#j writes

[deadboy-edwin]

okay but. does anyone ever think about "none of this was here before", and "you have to experience hell to really see what's here" and the implications of that???????

so. charles doesn't see anything in hell when he first enters. like he goes through all the empty rooms. he hears some odd things, sure, like the screaming when he rings the bell in the lobby, but he has a more or less tame walk through hell (all things considered).

but then, he sees edwin.

edwin, who is curled into himself, bloodstains painting his skin and clothes, a painfully vacant look on his face. the sight is an absolute juxtaposition versus the usual poise charles is used to seeing edwin carries himself with, his ramrod straight posture and pristinely coiffed hair a mere memory.

then, edwin speaks.

"charles?"

it's the softest and most vulnerable that charles has ever heard his best mate's voice. it's also the most terrified charles has ever heard edwin- and they'd faced off many threats in their years together as detectives. the disbelief in edwin's voice at even seeing charles again is painful, because seeing charles shouldn't even be a surprise, because there wasn't any version of this where charles didn't come to get him, where charles would allow that they would never see each other again.

ghosts do not have internal organs, or much physical sensation (iron aside), but charles swears he can feel his heart shatter into a billion tiny pieces in his chest.

a split second later, the baby doll head spider makes an appearance, whisking edwin away from him, edwin's screams laced with absolute fear-

that is the first instance that charles sees hell's monsters.

[novemberhaenys]

kinktober day one:

homelander x reader

using this prompt list by @the-purity-pen

prompt: dirty talk

word count: 561 (super short sorry!)

author's note: i’m gonna try to do kinktober !! i miss writing sm and it has been so long since i’ve had any form of inspiration !! this is a short lil blurb i’m sorry it’s not longer, i kinda proofread (i'm like half asleep rn but i wanna post this) (ok bye)

18+ only!! minors DNI - your media consumption is your responsibility!

“What would your little friends think, huh?” His tone of voice is mocking, demeaning. “If they saw you like this,” his eyes gaze up and down your body, which is pressed against the wall of your apartment. He has a hand wrapped around your throat as his eyes sweep over you. You’re wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, not exactly expecting a visitor at 2 a.m.

No, not a visitor.

An intruder.

Sleep keeps your brain foggy, eyelids heavy as you look up at him. You don’t respond, continuing to just look at him.

He presses his body into you, hand moving up to your jaw so he can tilt it. His lips brush the shell of your ear, “You’re dripping for me.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his words, hating yourself as you think about how sweet his voice sounds. He was a casual addiction, like caffeine or sugar. You didn’t notice yourself falling for him until it was too late- until the crash came. When you found yourself stuck between your good friend, Hughie, and the man who wanted to kill him: John. When you realized that, inevitably, you would have to choose. You couldn’t have both- John wouldn’t allow it. Hell, you’re surprised he hasn’t found the old Nintendo DS that you use to communicate with Hughie (he gave it to you as a gift a while ago, thanks to his employee discount at the shop).

“What would they think,” Homelander continues, pausing to bite the shell of your ear in between his teeth and tugging gently, “if they saw me splitting you open on my cock? If they saw the way you push back against me when I bend you over? You practically fuck yourself on it.”

You moan softly at his words, “Please,” you whisper. You’re not sure why you’re saying it. Is it a plea, a prayer? To some higher power, to John, to yourself for being so fucking stupid?

“I want to break you and put you back together again, and I want to be inside of you the whole time that I do so.” John says lowly, breath against your neck. His hands begin to rub up and down your body, groping and and kneading as he goes.

“John, please,” your hands wrap around his biceps, holding on to him as if he’s an anchor. “I need you.”

“Need me to what?” he kisses your neck as he waits for your response.

“Whatever you want,” you pant, fingernails digging into him, “anything.”

His arms hook around your thighs and he lifts you up, “I wanna watch you fall apart on my cock, honey,” his voice is low and raspy, a few notches above a whisper.

Your mouth opens before you can stop it, “Yes, John, as many times as you want, please,” your arms wind around his shoulders.

His voice is a whisper this time, “I wanna hear you say it.”

There's a small part of you that is embarrassed at how fast you follow his instruction, "Ruin me," it comes out clearly, accompanied by the daring look in your eyes.

His eyes are locked with yours as he sees the many more words you're saying with just a look. He smiles, thumbs tenderly caressing your thighs as he continues to hold you, your legs wrapped around his waist.

"Whatever you want, honey."

[happy-hermit]

HELLO HELLO EVERYONE :D

This is a fic for an AU where young teenager TCD Scar comes through Grian's rift :) It's a trauma reveal folks <33

Enjoy!!

===================================

Grian was beginning to believe that the rift had some form of sentience, given that at times it appeared to become quite… temperamental. Some days it would be almost eerily still and slow. Others it would— Well, it would do what it was currently doing. 

The rift was swirling with more shades of purple than usual, dark patches appearing and disappearing with alarming frequency. There was an electricity in the air that made the hair on his arms stick up, and Grian had the strange feeling in his stomach that the thing was emitting some sort of sound that was too low or high for human ears. It felt a bit like a thunderstorm. 

Grian had set up shop immediately upon noticing something was different, resorting to sitting in a chair staring at the Rift waiting on it to do something. It was horrifically tedious. Grumbot — in true Grumbot fashion — was refusing to give him a straight answer. Grian was beginning to suspect that he simply didn’t have one. 

So he waited. With several cups of coffee and messy notes strewn around him on the ground, he waited. 

He was sleeping when the whole thing really started —  because the Universe hated him personally, he was sure. 

He was already sitting up by the time he regained consciousness, heart beating in his chest, eyes wide and darting around in confusion, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was too bright, and his vision was too blurry from sleep, and where in void’s name was that wind coming from?

The rift chose that moment to start spitting lightning at him, and Grian let out a strangled yell as he dove behind Grumbot’s messaging system, abandoning his empty coffee cups to an uncertain fate. He ducked down and shut his eyes tightly as the glow of the Rift got brighter and brighter, as the high pitched noise emitting from it got higher and higher, until finally something in the fabric of reality snapped under the strain. 

From across the room, there was a short, terrified yell, cut short by the impact of something hitting the ground, and a clatter, like the person had dropped something. There was sudden and complete silence, until it was broken by a quiet groan. Heart in his throat, Grian opened his eyes and shifted, peeking over his makeshift shield to check things out. 

The Rift was back to what he considered to be normal, glowing a serene purple, calm as anything. His notes were strewn about the room and burned at the edges. His coffee mugs were nowhere to be seen. 

On the ground was a person. They were curled up on their side, clutching at their head with gloved hands. Their clothes were ragged and torn, bandages peeking out from under them as the figure shifted slowly. And then they sat up, and their face drifted into view. 

Grian’s breath hitched, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the blocks he was hiding behind. It was a kid. He had messy brown hair, jagged and uneven, like he’d cut it himself, and a bandage creeping up the side of his face from under his chin. He had a bandana tied around his neck, mostly a faded green, except for the faint splatters of dull red. His face was gaunt and his eyes were wide and scared as he patted himself down frantically, muttering to himself. The kid couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. He did not look like someone who believed he would live for much longer. 

Grian let himself poke his head just a bit higher over the barrier, frozen in shock and confusion as his unplanned visitor started whirling around and looking at the floor. His gaze finally landed on something that Grian couldn’t quite see, and his shoulders dropped in what seemed like relief as he went to pick it up. 

Grian… didn’t know what he was expecting. A sword, maybe? No. 

The raggedy little teenager had popped through an interdimensional rift in Grian’s basement, looking like absolute hell, and he picked up a gun. 

The kid checked that it was loaded in practiced movements, almost with the grace of a soldier. It contrasted sharply with the youth of his face, and the way his shoelaces were untied and tucked into his shoes. It painted a very concerning picture. 

His visitor was just beginning to gather his bearings, hauling himself to his feet with suppressed sounds of pain. He was favoring one leg. The gun was poised at the ready in his arms. 

Never let it be said that Grian was a smart man, given what he did next. 

“You can’t have those here.”

The kid made a strangled noise of alarm as he whipped around to face where Grian now stood apart from his makeshift cover, his hands raised in what he hoped was the universal gesture for ‘I mean no harm’. And then he was staring down the barrel of a gun. It wasn’t the usual kind of chaos that happened around here, but he was going to try his best to take it in stride. What was the worst that could happen? He’d get shot? 

He’d respawn. But the kid was staring at him like he wasn’t aware of that. Like maybe he was counting on the opposite to be true. 

Grian forced himself to look past the very threatening weapon pointed at him to get a better look at the person's face, and he met his eyes. They were a striking shade of green, trained on him with pinpoint accuracy and refusing to waver. At first glance, he looked almost angry. Grian knew, though, that it was only a thinly veiled cover for the heart-stopping panic crowding in behind it. For the confusion and pain and fear. (And why could he read a stranger so well?)

“I won’t hurt you,” Grian said, calm as he could manage, wings tense behind him. “But you’ve got to put the gun down.”

“You can talk,” the kid said, quiet and shaky. Like it was surprising. Something about it made Grian’s chest squeeze. 

“Yeah, I can,” Grian said, gentler now. “So can you. Can you tell me your name?”

The gun trembled for a moment, just slightly, and then went eerily steady once more. The kid swallowed hard and glanced around for a second before locking back on to Grian. 

“You’re not… infected?” The kid asked finally. 

Grian frowned a bit in confusion, his brow furrowing and wings rustling in unease. Infected. It sounded like a word with more weight than was really warranted. Like it came with a history. 

“I’m— No, I’m healthy as a horse,” Grian said, cracking an awkward grin. “Eat my vegetables and everything.”

The kid tilted his head, just slightly, and the gun dipped just a bit more towards the ground. Or, well. Towards Grian’s stomach. 

“A horse?” The kid repeated slowly, still in that carefully quiet tone, and if Grian didn’t know any better he’d think that he didn’t know what a horse was. Maybe he didn’t. 

“Yeah, you know— sort of like cows,” Grian said, now feeling absolutely insane. He was explaining the concept of horses while held at gunpoint. “But they’ve got longer faces, I think. And you can ride them.”

The kid, if anything, seemed more confused by that, and Grian gave up on the agriculture lesson for now. 

“You don’t need that here,” Grian redirected, gesturing carefully at the gun. The kid flinched a little at his movement, and Grian softened his voice as much as he could. “You’re safe, here. It’s safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. 

The kid's shoulders tensed even further, the gun recentering itself firmly on Grian’s forehead and those oddly familiar green eyes shuttering back into a mask of calm. Only the slight tremble of his mouth gave away his fear. He was scared. A tangle of frustration and heartbreak and helplessness coiled in Grian’s chest. 

“It’s not,” the kid said, firmly. “It’s not safe anywhere.”

Where had he come from, that he believed that?

“Look, you— You see that behind you? It’s a portal,” Grian explained, motioning to it in jerky movements. “Wherever you were, you’re not there anymore. You’re somewhere new.”

The kid shook his head, desperate eyes flickering from Grian to the Rift and quickly back again. They were shining with unshed tears, his mouth wobbling almost imperceptibly, and for a moment he looked terribly, horrifically young. Too young to be holding a gun. Too young to be scared of the world. Too young to be so convinced that it couldn’t change. That there was no more hope for things to get better. 

“But I— No. I didn’t go into any portal,” the kid said, voice raising a little, accusing. “Then how did I get here? Did— You did something.”

“No no no,” Grian said, hands raised again. “That thing has a mind of its own, I didn’t do anything. I just sat here.”

“Well I didn’t do anything, either!” The kid said, sounding slightly hysterical. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Grian said, as gentle as he could manage. His protective instincts were going haywire; he didn’t really know why. “Look, just— Weird things just happen sometimes. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Then where am I?” The kid asked, voice shaking horribly. 

“It’s called Hermitcraft,” Grian said, voice still carefully calm. “We’re in my house. Well— Under it.” He paused, hesitating, and his next question came out hushed. “Where did you come from?”

The stranger let out a shaky breath, gun unwavering and silence hanging in the still air around them. He didn’t answer. Grian could guess that it was nowhere good. 

They had run out of ways to stall the inevitable, in which the kid had two options. Shoot him or don’t. They were at a standstill. Something had to give. 

A soft noise from across the cavern interrupted Grian’s racing thoughts, and it took him a moment to place it as a muffled baa from one of the sheep in his sheep farm. It was barely anything, and yet the kid reacted as if it were a creeper beginning to explode, whirling to face the noise with wild eyes, swinging his gun in that direction. Namely, away from Grian.

Before he could think better of it, Grian rushed forwards, using his wings to propel him, and he disarmed the other before he even had the time to yell. A stray bullet shot somewhere into the ceiling in the brief struggle, loud enough that Grian knew someone would be coming round to check on it soon, and when the dust settled he was holding a gun, looking into the pale face of a terrified stranger.

“No!” The kid shouted, the loudest he’d been since he’d arrived, pushing at Grian with shaky shoves as he grappled for the gun. Grian deflected his attacks, heart sinking into his stomach as he watched the other grow increasingly frantic, breaths coming fast. “It’s mine! Give it back, it’s mine! You can’t have it, it— it’s mine. Please, please, it’s—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Grian said, out of his depth, practically pleading. “Nothing is going to hurt you, okay? But you— you can’t hurt anyone else, either.”

The kid just shook his head, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes as he backed away, hands in trembling fists at his sides. He glared at Grian with all the fire of a hardened soldier and all the fear of a child, green eyes flashing dangerously. Something prickled at the back of Grian’s neck. Some feeling he couldn’t identify. Déjà vu, maybe.

“It’s mine,” the kid repeated, firmer and quieter. “It has my name on it.”

Grian looked down, mildly curious among the adrenaline and confusion. 

He stopped breathing. Froze completely, hands white-knuckled on the gun. His skin went cold, heart tripping over itself in his chest. 

On the gun, in capital letters, was a name. 

[ SCAR ]

A name that he knew. 

Slowly, Grian looked up, breath hitching in his throat when he met the eyes of the stranger(?), now looking a little confused himself. There was a bandage on the side of his face. Judging by the size of it, it was covering a pretty nasty wound. Likely to leave a scar.

Grian knew exactly what it would look like, when it healed.

“Scar,” Grian said, his voice sounding odd in his own ears, blank and emotionless. “Your name is Scar.”

“I named myself,” the kid — Scar — said, still shaking a little, glancing around near-constantly. 

Grian swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, mind void of any clear thoughts.  “It’s a good name,” he said, chest aching.

“Do you have one?” Scar asked. His hands were fisted in the front of his jacket, twisting anxiously.

“A gun?” Grian asked faintly.

Scar shook his head. “A name.”

“I’m… Grian. My name is Grian.”

“Grian,” Scar repeated, nose wrinkling a little, like he thought it was odd. Scar — his Scar — had made the exact same face last week when he’d come across a problem at his park. Grian felt sick. “You’re—”

The rapidly approaching sound of fireworks cut off whatever the kid had been about to say, and he flinched like he’d been struck, turning wide eyes to the sky as he stumbled a few steps back, towards Grian’s content generator. Grian looked up as well, torn between relief and frustration. The kid had finally seemed to be calming down. 

“It’s okay,” Grian said, rushed and panicked as he held out a placating hand towards Scar. “It’s just one of my friends. They won’t hurt you.”

“Friends?” Tiny scared Scar hissed, like the very idea was ludicrous, and Grian was mildly offended.

Before he could come up with a reply, there was a call of his name from above, and Grian snapped his gaze back skyward, heartrate accelerating. 

Of course, Grian thought, watching as Scar crashed unceremoniously into the ground a few yards away. Of course it was him. Grian took a steadying breath and prepared himself. This was either the best possible option, or the worst. There was no telling where luck would have him fall, this time.

“Grian, I heard explosions!” Scar said, elytra disappearing as he straightened up from his rough landing. “Are you blowing things up without me? You know how much I—”

The builder cut himself off with a strangled noise, face falling quickly into something haunted. Almost scared. Any doubt Grian might have had about who the kid was vanished. They had the same way of being afraid. 

The way Scar was looking at the gun Grian was still holding confirmed it. He was looking at it with wide eyes and tense shoulders, breathing quick and shallow. He was looking at it with recognition.

“Where did you get that?” Scar asked, in a voice that Grian had never heard from him before, dark and small and shaking. 

Wordlessly, Grian stepped out of the way. 

And he watched as Scar locked eyes with his younger self. Just another day on Hermitcraft.

[jhutchlover1234]

nikto who caves to your demands and puts a ghostface mask on to chase you around the house

MDNI! cw for bondage, although the rest is fluffy :)

Nikto who tells you “I’m already wearing a mask, what does this change?” only for you, his partner, to answer that it is different and to just do it.

Nikto whose heavy boots stomp against the wooden floorboards of your home as you run away, effortlessly playing the role of the final girl.

Nikto who catches you with ease, scoffing behind both of his masks as you kick and writhe beneath him like a slippery eel trying to escape.

Nikto whose cheeks warm slightly when your squealing turns into gleeful giggling, your ankles trapped between his thick thighs as he binds them together with tape.

Nikto who rolls his eyes as you reach your hands out, pretending you’re about to scratch him, only for him to catch your wrists and bind those too.

Nikto who sighs when you continue to squirm, your cheeks now rosy from endless laughter, your heart singing with glee from having a partner like him.

Nikto who hitches both of his masks up to silence you with a kiss, leaving you breathless.

Nikto who effortlessly swings you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before stomping away towards the bedroom.

[eepyghost]

"Chip asked Gillion what his favorite color was, and he simply replied brown as if the answer held no gravity. At the time, Chip hadn’t believed him.

Gillion wasn’t lying. He couldn’t lie to Chip, especially not about something so trivial. It was brown, but it wasn’t brown in the simplest sense. He said brown, but he meant the off-gold amber hue that reminds him so much of the color of storm-crossed rocks after the sun eventually comes up after a night of thunder and lightning, like mother nature is letting the light return. Like the gods are reminding me I remain alive.

He’d said brown, but he’d meant a burnt umber, a mahogany, speckled with flecks of gold like a precious metal buried in a river rock, something ethereal in an otherwise everyday object. Darkened when crossed, but honeyed when shining with mirth. A shade I’ve never seen under the waves, a place where color is dampened and stained with cerulean.

He’d said brown, but he’d meant the shift to a marigold shade when such brown hits the light of a boyish smile. Like the hue changes when mischeif enters his mind, a color changing crystal in his own right. Like amber hitting the sunlight. 

Gillion Tidestrider said his favorite color was brown, and he meant it, in the simplest terms. But brown, in the back of his weary and exhausted mind, more meant brown, but in the eyes of the boy I love."

-------- a black blooded martyr (AO3)

tbh i'm mostly just proud of this section oops . . .

[hey-hey-j]

He can still feel his heartbeat straining even if he can’t hear it in his head anymore. It’s uncomfortable, but compared to everything else he’s been through lately, he’ll take it. He sighs again, dejectedly, and he brings a hand up to press to his temple…. Floyd bolts upright again. His pulse spiking to a fever pitch. His hand is grey. --- (or: the Rockapocalypse, from Floyd's perspective)

have at thee Floyd fans

[pinkcatcafe]

Mirror Mirror On The Wall...

As you were pushing away the wet hair stuck to your forehead, your mirror started to ripple, and before you had any time to process what was happening, a boy appeared on the other side. You both seemed to have the same reaction, and jumped away from the mirror with a yelp.

A/N: Aka you meet Riddle through a mirror before you arrive at NRC. First post, accomplished!! This is my first time writing a full drabble/fic, so I hope its not too all over the place. There's probably some inconsistencies with the twst canon so keep in mind it might be a bit OOC. Might do some of the other characters if this does well :3 Anyways, hope y'all enjoy! Apologies for any grammar mistakes. small note, I write NRC as an actual college, so everyone will be At Least 18.

Tw: None

Today was not a good day.

First you forgot to set your alarm and woke up late, which meant you had to rush and get ready for class. And just your luck that you were late for the class with your meanest professor, who chewed you out in front of all your classmates and you heard them snicker at your misfortune.

Then, as you were getting ready to go back home, it started to rain. In your panic to get dressed and out the door before your class started, you forgot your umbrella. How lovely. Complaining wouldn't do anything about the rain, so you just suck it up and run back home, hoping your bag won't get too wet.

At least you had some of your comfort food waiting for you at home, right? Nope. You were supposed to go buy some groceries today, but the rush of everything made you completely forget, which also meant you had none of your favorite foods in your fridge. You probably had enough to make the worlds saddest sandwich, but even thinking about it made you want to cry.

Finally having had enough of this terrible day, you decided to just go to your room and lay down for a while, maybe take a nap and sleep this bad day away. You open the bedroom door and head over to the dresser mirror. You kind of looked like a wet dog. A sad, wet dog.

As you were pushing away the wet hair stuck to your forehead, your mirror started to ripple, and before you had any time to process what was happening, a boy appeared on the other side. You both seemed to have the same reaction, and jumped away from the mirror with a yelp.

"What the fuck?!" You yelled, thinking perhaps the all-nighters you pulled the past few days had finally caught up with you.

"Who are you?!" Yelled the boy back at you, his eyes darting around the mirror, probably wondering how this was all happening.

"Why-" You start off, rubbing your eyes, unsure of what to say, "How is there someone in my mirror?"

You both looked at each other for a moment, and you came to the conclusion that either the boy in the mirror was real or you were in serious need of mental help. You stop thinking about having possibly lost your mind for a moment to look closely at the boy in front of you. He had bright red hair, with two small pieces of his hair forming a heart (which you thought was pretty cute... Maybe you could try a similar style sometime), and big grey eyes that seemed to be calculating your every move. His skin was pale, and his posture was (after regaining his composure) pin straight and perfect. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then started to talk.

"I take it you aren't the one who did this, considering how shocked you are. And if you did do this, I assume you wouldn't show up soaking wet." He says, quite matter of factly, and you remember your current appearance.

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. How would I even do this? By all means, this-" You say, motioning towards the mirror with your hand, "-should be impossible." You say, a bit annoyed at the fact that he also seems to think you look like a wet dog.

"Somebody must have put a spell on our mirrors, though I wonder who would dare step into my room to pull such a childish prank." He says, and his face starts to get a bit red from anger. You scoff at him, and he turns towards you, annoyance gracing his features as he raises an eyebrow.

"A spell, seriously? What are you, five?" You tell him, though it's not like you have any logical reason as to why a random boy has appeared through your mirror. You take a moment to quickly look behind your dresser mirror, but you only see the wall. The redhead scoffs at you, and you look back at your mirror in time to see him narrow his eyes, looking as if you were starting to get on his nerves.

"Yes, a spell! What else could it be? It seems like it might have been someones Unique Magic, considering the distance between our mirrors, since you don't appear to be a student at NRC." He says, annoyance slipping out in his tone, though it's not like he could hide it with the way he was looking at you.

"What are you even talking about? Magic isn't real." You say back at him, and he raises his eyebrows at your statement.

"What are you talking about? You must live under a rock if you think magic isn't real. You are from Twisted Wonderland, aren't you?" You go quiet at his remark, confusion showing on your face.

"Hold on, we definitely aren't even close to being on the same page right now. How about we start over and see if we can actually understand each other, deal?" You offer, and the boy takes a deep breath, before nodding along to your request.

After calmly (or as calmly as you possibly could) talking with the boy, you had learned a few things about him.

His name was Riddle, and he was currently a first year student at Night Raven College, which was somewhere in a place called Twisted Wonderland. After introducing yourself and telling him where you were from, you both concluded that Twisted Wonderland wasn't anywhere on Earth, and vice versa. You truly had no idea how something like this could even happen, but if you put any more thought into it you were sure your head would explode with unanswered questions. That was something for future you to think about.

You also learned that magic was a real thing in Twisted Wonderland, which is why he was so annoyed at your disbelief that someone had casted a spell on your mirrors, but when you explained that magic wasn't a thing back in Earth, he understood your reaction.

"Well, I must go. It is almost time for me to go to bed." Said Riddle, which made you look at the time, almost 9 o'clock.

"I have to go as well, I need to change out of these clothes before I get a cold or something," You say, pulling at the damp clothes stuck to your body. "But I'll see you later, I guess? If the mirror happens to do it's thing again."

"I suppose so. Goodnight, until we meet again." Riddle says, and as you wave goodbye, the mirrors surface ripples and the boy disappears from your sight.

Standing for a few seconds more to gather your thoughts, you wonder if maybe this really was just a dream. A weirdly real feeling dream. Whatever, you can think about it later. Right now you needed to take a warm shower and go to sleep.

You saw Riddle a few more times after that, and it was a nice surprise whenever you saw his reflection on your mirror. You would talk about how your day went, occasionally venting about what was bothering you, and Riddle offering advice when he thought you needed it. He would tell you about his studies and classmates, and you laughed at how often there seemed to be chaos at NRC.

You came to learn that he was a stickler for the rules, memorizing hundreds of them for 'when he became a Housewarden' he said.

"I will become a Housewarden next year, and to be a Housewarden of Heartslabyul I must know all 810 rules of the Queen of Hearts. How else will I guide my dorm?" He said with a smirk, and when you said that seemed way too excessive he went on an hour long rant, in which you decided to not mention the ridiculousness of the Queen's rules ever again.

You also learned that he had a big sweet tooth. His eyes would light up at the mention of sweets, and he loved to learn about the different sweets in your world, as well as comparing them to the sweets from Twisted Wonderland. He also told you about his friend, Trey, and how his homemade sweets were some of the best he had tasted. You were a little jealous that you couldn't have a taste.

There were times when you managed to make Riddle smile or laugh, and your chest felt warm each time you managed to make it happen. The first time this happened was when you tried baking on your own. Riddle had been bragging about some sweets Trey had made, and you thought 'what the hell, it couldn't be that hard, could it?'. You were just about to start your recipe, when you accidentally knocked the bag of flour off the counter, and in your haste to try and save the bag you got flour absolutely everywhere in your kitchen (and all over yourself). You heard Riddle calling from your dresser mirror and trudged over to your room, cursing at the mirrors timing and trying not to get flour everywhere. He heard the door creak open and looked up to see you covered head to toe in flour, an angry look on your face which looked ridiculous paired with the flour, and before he could stop himself he burst out laughing.

His laughter made such a beautiful sound, and his smile was just as lovely. You stood at your doorway, stunned, processing the fact that you made the ever serious Riddle laugh. Your previous anger at the mess you made seemed to melt away at the sound of his laughter, and you couldn't help but join in and laugh at the entire situation.

It wasn't very often when he laughed, but every time you heard his soft giggles, your chest got all warm and fuzzy. You were quite proud of yourself whenever this happened.

Riddle would never admit this, but he was also starting to grow fond of you. Aside from Trey and Che'nya, he felt like he had gained a new companion, and although you both didn't always see eye to eye, you were able to have fun and comforting conversations together, which Riddle greatly treasured. He always looked forward to the next time you would appear on his mirror, though he kept his excitement hidden.

Even if you did think he was too strict sometimes, with himself and others, you became quite fond of Riddle as well, which is why you were sad to see that his appearances on your mirror were starting to dwindle. The last time he appeared was about a month before the start of his second year. He told you he was chosen to become Housewarden, and you excitedly congratulated him on his accomplishment.

"It will become difficult to meet once I start my second year, due to my Housewarden responsibilities." Riddle told you, and while you were sad about that fact, you were also very proud of his accomplishment.

"Yeah, but I'll be cheering you on from my side!" You said, and Riddle felt his chest warm up at your enthusiasm.

You spent the rest of that evening catching each other up on everything that had happened in your lives since the last meeting. The mirror started to ripple, which meant you had a few seconds to say your goodbyes.

"Good luck Riddle! I know you will be an incredible Housewarden!" You said with a smile, waving goodbye to the smiling boy.

"Goodnight, until we meet again. And... thank you." Riddle replied, albeit a bit bashful at your well wishes, and his voice faded along with his reflection.

Neither of you knew that the next time you met would be marked by your arrival at NRC, but if someone had noticed how Riddle's cheeks were dusted in pink once you ran towards him and grabbed his hand, they kept quiet, lest they get collared by the blushing Housewarden. And if Riddle's heart skipped a beat once he met your gaze, well, that's only for him to know.

[gigglyrambles]

Of Campaigns & Revelations (Steve/Eddie)

Fandom: Stranger Things Characters: Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson Summary: Eddie loves planning campaigns, Steve loves planning events. So how exactly did the dream team get so sidetracked? Words: 2700+

Notes: Ahhhh not only is he late with his first fic on this account, but he's late for SS too. I was lucky enough to write a fic for the absolutely incredibly talented @rosiesramblings! I tried to use all of your prompts (earning a reward, too much energy and boredom) somewhere in the fic and apologies for the late post, but I hope you like It!!! A big thank you to our lovely host @hypahticklish too. Happy happy holidays and a wonderful new year to everyone.

Sometimes, Eddie Munson laughs and Steve swears it could shatter that Garfield mug he’s so obsessed with— despite the fact that he only uses the damn thing for hot chocolate.

Like the breathy laughter that burst from his lips last friday, When Robin spent a little too long comparing an old photo of Steve to the baby from The Labyrinth. Most memorably, a joke about their shared fashion taste had the party’s favorite dungeon master quite literally wheezing on the shag carpet, clutching his sides as if he’d never recover from the sheer hilarity of it all.

Or perhaps he was thinking of the high pitched yelp of laughter that broke free every time he was caught off guard. As much as Eddie hated to be genuinely scared, he found way too much amusement in getting jump scared. Shitty horror films, friends hiding behind doors, or even that lame haunted house from Halloween— All of the above earned the same result, a shriek that dissolved into laughter about halfway through.

Then again, they weren’t all bubbly and loud. Eddie’s laughter could be soft and sweet too, harboring an almost shy cadence when the time called for it and…

It’s at this exact moment, with utensils ever so neatly tucked into napkins and plates set along the grand mahogany dining room table, that Steve realizes he’s been thinking about Eddie Munson way too much. All it took was one crappy little chuckle, one silly reaction to a half assed joke, for his thoughts to wander. Anything the other said during his trance was a mystery, though as that playful voice came back into frame, Steve figured the context clues were probably easy enough to figure out.

“-not a fighter, clearly. Maybe a Paladin or a bard. One thing is for sure, you’d definitely play an elf or a half elf. A prince maybe. Estranged?” Eddie’s rambles are definitely pointed towards him, although it’s clearly more of a conversation with himself than anything else.

Calf crossed over thigh, he sits on the kitchen counter. Pale hands hold a green piping bag steady over a tray of freshly cooked sugar cookies, adding some ghoulish finishing touches. “Just say the word, Big Boy, and I’ll create the most perfect, personalized Steve Harrington campaign of the year.”

“You mean the only Steve Harrington campaign of the year?” Steve retorts.

Just like always, sarcasm drips from his lips like honey. Even after volunteering his house, time and energy to Eddie and his Hellfire Goblins, the self proclaimed babysitter still can’t seem to fight his natural born grumpiness.

That persona was like a security blanket or a teddy bear; Steve’s always relied on it to make the world less scary or more accurately, to make himself less vulnerable. The Harrington Boy, The King, The Babysitter, every new iteration had improvements, but they also had one thing in common: A security mechanism, an off switch of sorts. Something that Eddie Munson clearly lacked.

“Only cause you’re a buzzkill.” Eddie insists, licking a bit of green from his fingertips.

The cookies are far from perfect but they’ll undoubtedly impress the kids. Dark eyes examine each one with a precision he definitely didn’t supply when creating them, though eventually he deems them good enough with a dimpled grin and a cheeky thumbs up.

With two hours left on the clock, Eddie finds himself at a loss. All the fun tasks for the campaign tonight have been finished. Food and snacks were the first on the list to be crossed off with pizza scheduled for later and fresh baked cookies set to the side. Decorations were next. Everything from miniature figurines to home made maps to origami dragons and mini potion bottles for the kids filled with juice.

The idea to spike the potion bottles had been vetoed with a very amusing yet indignant huff. Despite Eddie's insistence that he was a 'born rebel' at fifteen, Steve refuses to give them a lick of alcohol before they hit senior year.

Aside from that, all that was left was mundane tasks like vacuuming or cleaning up the newly created mess in the kitchen. Most people would have cheered, thankful to finish their list of chores before the fun could begin. Though most people didn’t have as much energy as Eddie Munson.

“Well this is it, Stevie.” Eddie pipes up a few moments later, watching the other brunette readjust the table settings for a bunch of soon to be sophomores who definitely wouldn’t notice if the fork was on the left side or the right. “Two hours left and you’re too busy turning my campaign into a murder mystery dinner to pay attention to me so clearly? I’m dying. I can’t believe I’m gonna die of boredom in the Harrington Household… So big. So cold. So… white and mundane for someone as vibrant as myself.”

Eddie’s melodramatic performance is enough to peak Steve’s interest, but not his amusement.

“Finish Vacuuming the living room or stop complaining” Steve answers flatly. Over time, he’s learned that playing into the antics only magnifies them. Ninety nine percent of the time, just disregarding Eddie’s insane childish tendencies made them go away. “Besides, you can’t die from boredom.”

Ninety nine percent of the time, that would have worked.

Unfortunately, there was still that worrisome one percent to worry about.

“Well you might.”

“I might what—” Oblivious as ever, Steve finally ditches the table settings. Turning on his heel, the brunette’s lips are already parted, ready to question what the hell that response implies when he catches sight of the other’s stance.

Kitchen counter long since abandoned, the feisty dungeon master is taking stake across the room. Socked feet slide across dark polished wood, eerily unsettling in the quiet pace they set. Pale hands are held up, turned into claws with wiggling fingers that make Steve’s stomach flip as uncertainty settles in.

“Okay, okay. You might not die from my boredom.” Eddie hums lowly, lips curling into a grin that can only be described as downright mischievous. Each word is drawn out slower than the last, anticipation building between the two. “But you might not survive the cure. Let's see. I already tried knock knock jokes, barely effective. Funny movies, ehh somewhat works— Unless they’re too weird. Then you just sit all grumpy and confused— Anyway, not the point! Dear Steven, my point is…”

Similar to those puzzles Nancy used to force on him while babysitting Mike, he should’ve figured it out sooner, but he’s definitely seeing the picture a bit more clearly with time. They’re approximately halfway through Eddie’s villainous monologue when it clicks. Every example revolves around making him laugh which is an incredibly flustering thought all on its own. Out of all the ways to cure his boredom, Eddie wanted to do so while making Steve smile. Most people focused on his hair, his ass, his better known assets.

Eddie Munson was the first person to ever fixate on something so mundane.

Thankfully, Steve doesn’t have a second to worry about the heat crawling up the back of his neck, or the slowly developing crush that he’s most certainly going to ignore.

“… that I never asked if you were ticklish. Always felt like a cheap shot, you know? Low hanging fruit, but in the name of science, we do have to test every—” And that’s all it takes. The second the word ticklish leaves Eddie’s lips, the former jock is sprinting across the length of the dining room table and out of the room.

Heart hammering in his chest, the beat is so loud Steve can practically hear it ringing in his ears. White converse round a corner, running into the living room while quick footsteps sound close behind.

“Oh come on, Pretty Boy.” Eddie snorts through a laugh of his own. “Don’t run away from me!”

If he just looked back, he would have seen the way Eddie smiled at him from ear to ear, excitement and giddiness bursting from his pores. He would have seen the way the other nearly slipped in his socks, clearly lacking any grip as they ran around like little boys again. He would have seen the way those dark eyes lingered, how they drank him in, admiring his toned legs from years of athletics.

If he just looked back, maybe he would have registered how close he was to his demise. Then again, if he looked back, then Eddie might have seen how flustering that pet name was, or worse: He could have seen the smile tugging at his lips.

One foot rounds the corner of the couch but never gets the opportunity to touch down. Instead, fingers curl around the back of his sweater, swiftly pulling Steve until he’s falling. His back hits the sofa cushions with a soft grunt, brown locks splayed across the decorative pillow.

Everything flips in an instant. Eddie’s upper hand turns to shit the second he jumps onto the couch. Leaving more than enough room in between them, Steve takes the opportunity to act. Lightning quick reflexes give him just enough time to weave underneath the metalhead’s arm, flipping their positions until Eddie’s the one with his back against the couch and wide eyes looking up.

Though rather than looking scared he looks… exhilarated.

Any anxiety written across Steve’s face a minute ago is missing from Eddie’s now. As the general surprise wears off, he goes from wide eyed to giggly, immediately throwing his hands up in a mercy pose he knows won’t work. Wild curls fall in every direction, the occasional soft breathy laugh stumbling from his lips as he tries to worm out from underneath Steve’s pin.

“Stevie, C’mon. I was just trying to have a little bit of fun- Wait wait- Steve Hey-” In the long debated question of Dungeon Master Vs. Varsity Athlete, they finally know who comes out on top. Eddie’s rambled mixture of explanations, apologies and pleas fall on deaf ears the second nimble fingers touch down on his sides.

One of the most accessible vantage points, it proves rather successful when one squeeze elicits a sharp huff, all the air in his lungs leaving at once. Eddie’s body instinctively tries to pull away again, hands attempting to intercept Steve’s insistent poking and prodding of the soft flesh.

The silence lasts all of seven seconds. Any attempt to threaten Steve dies on his lips, choked out to make room for all the laughter taking control. Immediately thrashing around to the best of his ability, it’s clear that Eddie’s not going down peacefully.

“A little bit of fun doing what, Eds?” Steve questions. “Annoying me? Chasing me around my own house? I mean, shit, Munson. How the hell do you even have all of this energy? Honestly. I did you a favor flipping the tables, you clearly needed to tire yourself out.”

Each new guess and tease is accentuated with another poke at his vulnerable sides. One to the left right below his ribs, one to the right closer to his back, two on either side near his tummy, and one aimed in that squishy spot directly above his pantline— One that has his giggles interlaced with squeaks and squeals, struggling to handle any sort of stimulation that close to his hips.

“Nohohoho not thehehere!” Eddie whines half heartedly, though Steve can’t help but notice how little he fights back, hardly using any strength whatsoever in his attempts to grab onto those tortuous digits.

Thankfully for the thrashing Dungeon Master, Steve doesn’t get the chance to drill his thumbs into the divots of his hips for very long. An incredible stop on his grand tour of Eddie Munson’s giggle buttons, the destination proves to be too much. One sharp dig earns a yell so piercing the neighbor’s dog begins to bark, rough hands diving forward to grab onto anything for some sort of stability.

What Eddie’s trained fingers find instead is that squeezing Steve Harrington’s thighs renders the guy practically useless. A loud shriek splatters around the room, high pitched almost desperate giggles flying from his mouth. Any ounce of strength was sapped, curling up against Eddie’s chest in a way he’d swear was romantic in any other circumstance.

Umber eyes meet hazel, gazes locked with recognition on both sides before the tables are flipped yet again. Eddie hooks a leg underneath Steve’s knee, an arm worming out from below to wrap around his waist.

Before the Family Video employee can so much as suck in a breath from his fit of giggles, they’re back in the original position with a self proclaimed babysitter pretending not to enjoy himself on bottom and a metalhead who couldn’t hide it if he tried on top.

It turns out that Steve Harrington fucking shape shifts when you tickle him. The former jock’s confident sarcastic persona changes to something else entirely. If Eddie’s attempts to get away were half assed then Steve’s attempts don’t exist. Every new spot or tactic is brought with a new form of laughter, but they all have the same thing in common:

Steve’s leaning into it.

There’s no denying it. When teasing nails drag up his side, he turns into the affection rather than away from it. When his lower stomach is kneaded like a fresh pile of dough, he leans forward instead of pushing back. And when thumbs drill into his armpits, the brunette actually attempts to keep his arms up or at least not locked at his sides god forbid their fun ends too soon after being blocked.

Of course, Steve doesn’t notice this. Nor does he realize that Eddie was noticing this, but one of them has to be the observant one and it’s not the mess of giggles currently turning rosier with every passing second.

It’s almost as if their enjoyment is the key. Once that last bit of hesitance drains out, calloused fingers waste no time. Eddie changes spots again, this time clawing at his ribs with a smile that reeks of both vengeance and affection, a combo punch that would have made Steve breathless if he wasn’t already dissolving under deep belly laughter.

There’s way less talking now too. While Eddie’s an incredibly wiggly and talkative victim, babbling and thrashing through his hysterics, Steve seems to struggle getting anything out other than his laughter, only managing the occasional babble or squeal induced ‘Eds!’.

Finally those skilled guitarist fingers choose to take pity on him, allowing Steve to actually get a word in.

“Nohot… fair.” He breathes out through residual giggles. It doesn’t matter that the tickling has since ceased. Ghost sensations still tease and taunt across his sensitive skin, mentally swearing that he could still feel those fingertips dancing across his torso.

Eddie’s endearment drips like honey, dark eyes warming at the sight of his friend still struggling to get his act together. “No? I think that was totally fair. Plus, I slaved over those cookies, Stevie Boy. Heart and soul. Body and mind. Don’t I deserve a little prize?” His lips curl into a wicked grin, knowing damn well that his next words would fluster more than soothe. “Perhaps shaped in the form of those cute ass giggles of yours?”

Just as expected, heat begins to crawl up the back of Steve’s neck at the sentiment, though the rosy hue on his face from earlier makes it easy to mask the blush currently spreading. As if proving Eddie’s point further, playful pokes return to Steve’s torso, randomly nudging little spots until he’s back to bubbly uncontrollable giggles.

Using the last bit of strength, he reaches out to give Eddie’s side a squeeze, earning matching breathy laughter in return.

The fight grows less clear after that. Stray pokes and occasional squeezes keep both boys giddy, lost in their own little bubble.

For as long as he could remember, Steve Harrington had been a fixer. Even when the most misguided, he tried to right his own wrongs as well as everyone else’s around him. What began in early childhood as a terribly sad attempt of bringing his parents together had warped into a personality trait, a role he constantly forced himself to play out of fear of feeling useless.

But now the pressure of planning a perfect event for the kids is long forgotten and somehow he knows it’ll all work out. Because Eddie’s laughter is interlaced with his, their cheeks rosy and breath staggered. Suddenly, that familiar ache in his chest doesn’t feel quite as heavy as before and Steve realizes while doing absolutely nothing important at all, that he doesn't feel useless. He realizes that maybe…

“Hoholy Shit, Harrington. Forget weed. I think those damn giggles of yours got me high.”

Maybe this feeling between them was something else entirely.

Sometimes, Eddie Munson laughs and Steve wonders if love has always sounded like this.

[earako]

@walrus150915

Finally finished the fic ^^

[inciting-chaos-series]

The Night Shift: Chapter Four

If you'd like to be tagged when new chapters are posted let me know! -Ghostiewvlf ✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦

➢ Tag List: @valleys

➢Author: Ghostiewvlf & JTheGhost ➢ Rating: Mature ➢ Pairings: Corpse X reader | Corpse X y/n ➢ Themes: Slow Burn | Coworkers To Lovers | Angst | Holiday | Mutual Pining | Fluff | Smut? | Hurt/Comfort | Soulmates | Fake Relationships | Miscommunication | Forced Proximity | Found Family | ➢ Warnings: Crude Humor | Suicidal Jokes/Ideation | Drinking | Smoking |

➢Summary:

You work the night shift at a local dog kennel for boarding and daycare. You love the peace and quiet of the shift, but just when you get comfortable- a few break-ins happen around town, and upper management decides to place your quiet, brooding, shift lead on the schedule with you.

☽✧ Chapter Four: Fun & Games ✧☾

-Y/N POV-

After spending all day in labs and lectures you really were not on your A game for tonight's shift. You felt completely fried- mentally and physically. Walking across campus to and from your science and math courses and arriving on time when you had barely a five minute window between them had been exhausting, and the content in the classes left you wondering if you even had brain cells left. 

If you had any energy left you would try to remember to not set your schedule this way for your last semester- though the way your feet dragged as you entered the building and clocked in had you realizing it was no use. 

“Damn- long day?” Liz chuckled from behind the reception counter. 

“So long…” Your voice sounded defeated as it left your mouth. 

“Well, good news- most everyone was picked up from boarding today- we did have one drop off though…” Her voice wavered in uncertainty as you joined her behind the counter. 

“Oh yeah? Who got dropped o-” 

“Just the coolest little dude ever…”

You turned to the comically deep voiced interrupter and watched as Logan walked in from the adjoining break room with a small black Shetland puppy cradled in his arms. 

“Oh my god!” You swooned over the dog and cautiously approached to pet him, earning a laugh from both Liz and your boss as the puppy struggled out of Logan’s hold and into yours. 

“Suppose that will make your night a bit better huh?” Liz laughed out as she gathered her things to leave. “Also… Ryder wasn't picked up from daycare today. I emailed his owners and they requested to leave him here tonight, they're aware of the charges but still need to be billed, I left it open on the computer for you guys.” 

“Is this the universe apologizing for my long day?” You laughed as the puppy licked incessantly at your face. 

“Guess so…” Liz smiled and shrugged as she headed out, wishing you an easy night. 

“So, if you had a rough day- I’m guessing you’ll want to finish up that invoice, since you’ve got some furry company…” Logan chuckled. “I suppose I can lend you my son and get started on dinners.” He rolled his eyes playfully. 

“Oh so he’s your son now? Have you let his owners know- should I send them a quick update email while I’m at it?” 

“Fuck off…” His laugh was much more sincere than you expected as he waved off your comment on his way to the back. You smiled to yourself and got settled at the computer to invoice Ryder’s owners and collect payment, keeping the small puppy in your lap as he absently chewed your hoodie strings. 

---

“Do you drink coffee or tea?” He broke the silence between you as the dogs started to settle down from playing outside. 

“Um, tea usually…” you laughed softly and gave him a questioning glance, “why do you ask?”

“I don’t know- thought I’d ask in case I stop and get us drinks again.” He shrugged as he grinned down at the puppy jumping at his ankles. He groaned dramatically as he sat on a rock and placed the small dog in his lap- chuckling as it immediately gnawed at his fingers. “Plus I don’t know much about you- and if we’re gonna work most nights together I should probably learn the basics.” 

“Fair point.” You smiled and sat beside an exhausted looking Ryder a few feet from him. “That coffee was really good, especially for how cold it was.” You chuckled. “I usually get iced chais, so that wouldn't have been as ideal. What about you?” 

“Well, glad I made that call then. Cause I get the same…” He chuckled. “I mean- usually I turn to- stronger drinks- but chai will suffice at work.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want any red wine stains on our clothes at work…” You teased as you pet the panting dog beside you.

“Of course not… totally unprofessional.” He laughed along and rolled his eyes. 

“Well, if we're getting to know each other- umm…” you paused as you thought of good questions (that were at least somewhat professionally appropriate) to ask of your boss. “What made you get into animal care?” 

“Hmm, well I’ve always wanted my own animal- but I’m not sure that my lifestyle or whatever would allow me to properly take care of one, or that I could handle it I guess… I started out just watching my friends' dogs or cats. Then I saw an opening here and figured it would be a nice place to work.” He shrugged and smiled before meeting your gaze. “What about you? I know you worked on the vet side for a while- and you were at an ER before this right?” 

“That's… super cute? Sorry just- picturing you- deep voice and intimidating nature… as a pet sitter, it's strange to think about.” You laughed at the thought. 

“I know… I don’t really look- or sound- the type huh?” He chuckled in agreement and you shook your head and smiled.

“But um- yeah I did. ER was really cool, I got to see a lot of interesting cases there… and working on the vet side here was nice since I still needed more experience for vet school, but both those jobs were really demanding, and I needed to cut back so I could focus more on finishing school- so this seemed perfect for me right now.” 

“I'm glad…” he smiled sweetly, “-you’re smart and deserve to take the time you need to get your school stuff sorted. Especially if you have such a good plan.” 

“I wouldn’t say it’s a good plan- I mean, who knows what I’ll really end up doing.” You scoffed softly. “I never really wanted to go to college or anything but my family pressured me into it, saying I could never make it as anything without it.” 

“Well that's just- not true…” He scoffed loudly.

“No?”

“Definitely not. I mean, I basically raised myself- I was never close with my family- so I don’t really understand that perspective, but school never worked for me. I ended up dropping out pretty early…” he shrugged and turned his attention back to the puppy, now falling asleep in his lap. “I mean, it’s difficult dropping out so young and being like ‘I'm gonna make something of myself someday, I’m gonna do something big-’ but it’s definitely doable.With or without schooling.” His voice softened slightly as he spoke. You couldn’t help but stare at him, almost in awe, at how much he revealed. 

“I’m sorry Logan. That sounds… awful- I’m sorry you went though that…” you paused, “-but thank you. I suppose you’re right, it is difficult for sure… making a name for yourself, or figuring out what to do in life. ” You weren't really sure how to respond to such a candid response. 

“Eh, that's how life goes right?” He chuckled awkwardly, carefully picking up the sleeping puppy as he rose to his feet. “Spose we should let these guys back in, everyone seems tuckered out.” 

“Yeah, suppose we should.” You carefully stood as well, hoping to not rile up the dogs again as you all made your way in for the night. 

-Logan’s POV-

He stayed quiet as the two of you cleaned around the building, silently admonishing himself for his loose lips earlier. He had no idea why he’d shared so much, why talking with you made it so easy to share what seemed like all the most negative things about him. Maybe he was compensating- getting it all out in the open about how he was toxic to befriend so you’d turn tail sooner rather than later. 

He couldn’t help the nagging feeling of relief though, having told you a bit about himself and getting such a kind response. You probably just felt awkward, or pitied him, after all. He shouldn’t make it a regular thing. 

Eventually when you both had finished cleaning, you settled in at the front desk again. He was grateful when you pulled out your notebook and binder from your bag, knowing you would need quiet to do your homework and he couldn’t run his mouth any longer. He did find it a bit funny when you asked if he minded, of course he didn’t care if you got some homework done, especially with the awkward tension in the air now. He put on some soft lofi for you and scrolled on his phone as you worked. Every few minutes or so he’d sneak a glance at your papers, instantly regretting it as he was greeted with complex molecules, chemistry equations, and the pervasive fact that you were far more intelligent than he ever considered himself.

You huffed loudly, breaking the silence as you pushed your papers away and leaned back in the chair. He turned to give you a questioning glance. 

“If you’re stuck on something- I hope you aren't going to ask me for help.” He chuckled. “Because if I lock eyes with your papers again my brain will melt.” 

“No, no…” He bit down on the inside of his cheek as you laughed. “I’m finished. It’s not all correct, but I’m done.” 

“Ah, well good… its aura is haunting the entire room.” He chuckled, cringing away as you put everything back in your bag. 

“Yeah, believe me I know.” You pursed your lips and leaned back again. “You can put on regular music again if you want… Unless you brought your laptop?” 

“Fuck, you remembered that I said that?” He groaned and hid his face in his hands. 

“Sure do, so when you bringin it?”

“Hmmm…” he paused, humming suspiciously. “I don’t know I feel like- if I had some dirt on you, I might be more motivated to remember to bring it…” He insinuated with poorly feigned innocence.

“Wow, blackmail- that's bold.” You giggled, he merely winked in response, a sly grin across his lips. “I guess I’ll have to think of some dirt on me then…” 

The rest of the night was fairly calm. He pulled up some games on the computer for you two to pass the time, and he continued to joke with you throughout the night until it was time to clock out. 

“See you Thursday I guess…” He dramatically huffed as he walked with you to your cars. 

“Are you pouting about the shifts you work alone now?” You laughed as you tossed your things into your car, he smiled and rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, my two to three shifts I have alone are boring now…” 

“Right, because you’re such a conversationalist…” 

“Fuck off…” he chuckled before pausing as he did the same, “drive safe, text me when you get home…” 

He again waited until you were safely out onto the road before pulling out and heading home himself. He took a longer route home this time, opting to stop and pick up some groceries on his way-  not because it would keep his mind off you or from overthinking everything he said, it was only because his fridge and pantry were barren. 

After arriving home and putting everything away, he couldn’t help but feel anxious as he saw you still hadn’t messaged him. He groaned and took a swig from a new bottle of wine he’d gotten and began typing. 

Logan 🐺:

Did you make it home ok?

You: 

Right, sorry… forgot lol yes I did

He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

You: 

Were you worried? lol

Logan 🐺:

Well yeah you didn’t text me 😤

Sorry I care if my friends get home safe… sheesh

You: 

Oh so were friends now? Lmao 

He laughed as he sent back a barrage of offended gifs and memes. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been so eager to continue a conversation. 

You: 

Don't be butthurt haha, I just only ever see you at work is all 

Logan 🐺:

Well you're so busy with school- otherwise we could hangout

You: 

Hey don't blame me- you make my work schedule, you know what days I’m off 🤷‍♀️

Logan 🐺:

Fine… fair point…

Sunday?

You: 

I’ll think about it…

He rolled his eyes and sent a few gifs of graves before tossing his phone aside and attempting to wipe the ridiculous smile off his face. He knew this was likely a mistake, but he didn’t really care right now, maybe it was time to make a new friend. 

➢ Links:

✦ Fics Masterlist ✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦ ✦ AO3 ✦ Wattpad ✦ Art ✦ ✦ Requests Masterpost & Guidelines ✦ Request Trope List ✦ 。:゜:.*∵✧∵ ☽ Submit A Request ☾∵✧∵*:.゜: 。

[deadboy-edwin]

I have this idea for payneland:

Both of them get hit with some kind of spell of sorts that makes them "human" for 24 hours (basically like when they were alive: people can see them, hear them, touch them, they can taste and feel things again, the works)

What do you think they'd do in that time? Maybe taste their fav foods again?

So please bear with me as this will be more of brainrot than an actual fic because I just want to yap- but in my head, it would be kinda funny if the gang was able to get Tragic Mick to turn back into a walrus. The goddess Sedna would then "punish" the boys for daring to defy her- since she had said that Mick would never return to the sea if he chose to leave.

I feel like Sedna would lowkey have a soft spot for abused children, and would also see Mick's love for the sea, and on the inside not really be that mad tbh. Hence the "punishment". She'd "curse" Edwin and Charles to be alive once more.

They don't really know if it's permanent or whatever, but can you imagine the hilarity of Edwin being so used to phasing through walls and doors, then him just walking straight into a door and smacking into it because he's solid- Crystal would have a field day ribbing him for it.

I think, them being human would make them quite unable to take on cases, since admittedly them being regular humans (not everyone can be Crystal Palace Surname Von Hoverkraft okay) makes them vulnerable to beings like demons. So they'd have some downtime. That gives Charles time to think.

Being fully corporeal also allows Crystal to hang out with them like she would with living people. It also allows Crystal to notice things about them that would not have been possible when they were ghosts- like Charles blushing when Edwin adjusts his collar so it's up. Or how the two boys are so tactile. Sure, they'd always been tactile, but why does it seem Charles is extra touchy, now that both boys can feel physical touch?

I think Edwin, bitchy little nerd that he is (and we love him for it) would have a field day with Google. He'd struggle with whatever the fuck a laptop is, and how LED screens strain his poor eyes, and probs get those anti-blue light glasses, and Charles would have a bisexual awakening because Edwin in glasses???

Charles, on the other hand. I feel like boy would want to party. He strikes me as the kind of guy who would be fun at parties, and he'd probably drag the gang to a nightclub after spending the entire day eating different kinds of food (I think he'd enjoy cookie dough ice cream- but that's just me projecting my own cravings).

At the club, Charles might be a bit sulky because Edwin had spent a lot of the day on Crystal's laptop, despite them switching restaurants so that they could try everything- and he's thankful that the laptop is not present at the club.

Unfortunately, Edwin is Edwin, and his brand of anti-rizz also works on the living. You have living people coming up to him left and right, and Charles wonders why this hasn't happened much in death.

Crystal is fast to point out that it's because ghosts are invisible to regular humans. Edwin is not a ghost at the moment, so he's not invisible. She also makes it a point to tell Charles about exactly how many people had simped for Edwin in the afterlife (Monty, the Cat King, hello????)

I think Charles would then get drunk. One, because he's been a ghost for some thirty-odd years. Dude has no fucking clue what his alcohol tolerance levels are. Two, because he gets annoyed that Edwin is getting hit on so much.

There is a third reason that comes to mind once he's fully inebriated, and it's the fact that the following thoughts aren't exactly heterosexual

Getting pouty when your best mate isn't paying attention to you while you are having a meal together

Staring and practically drooling when your best mate is wearing glasses

Getting upset when guys and girls (despite Edwin's lack of interest in the latter) keep flirting with Edwin

Wanting to feel Edwin's touch while he has all his senses at full blast

The plot twist here is that since Edwin is also alive and fully corporeal, our repressed Edwardian boy has actually been icing Charles out because as a human, he does not have the luxury of willing erections away.

I think though, because it seems like immortal beings in the DBDA universe have a sense of humor (hi, Cat King and Esther- wicked as her sense of humor is), when Charles finally makes a move and pulls Edwin away from the admittedly gorgeous guy that had been chatting him up with a "He's in love with me, and vice versa, I'm afraid" and kissing Edwin in the middle of the dance floor, is when they turn back into ghosts.

Even though they're now invisible to most humans once more, Edwin is still quick to berate Charles on the PDA- though there's a softness to his berating.

They end up discovering that as ghosts, they can still feel physical sensations if there's enough emotion involved.

That is a fortunate discovery for all parties involved, especially for our girl Crystal Palace Surname Von Hoverkraft, who walks into the office a few days after the club debacle, and sees Edwin pressing Charles up against a bookcase, snogging him with a fervor, his thigh working its way in between Charles' legs---

"Hot," Crystal comments with a smirk, causing the two boys to jump apart with matching sheepish grins on their faces. "If I'd known Edwin kissed like that, I would've gotten it on with him instead."

[j-writes-fics]

oh also im writing a deadpool n wolverine reactfic!! theyre reacting to deadpool one. for funsies. :333

some excerpts under the cut!!

“Movie,” Logan muses, cutting off his new roommate’s rambling. Wade’s certainly said similar things before, but he’d been a little distracted with saving the universe. Multiverse? Whatever.

“You say stuff like that a lot, bub,” he continues. “Talk like you’re in a movie, or comic books and shit. Why?”

Wade blinks at him in surprise. “Huh,” is all he says.

“What?”

“No one else has ever phrased it so nicely.” He gives a little crooked smile. “I think they think I’m just insane.”

------

“So how does that work? What, we’re a simulation, like all that conspiracy-crap?”

“Oh, no no no, not like Free Guy. It’s more like all the timelines we know are… under a different timeline. Sorta like the TVA being over them, except they’re also fictional under this one outside universe.”

Logan gives Wade a blank look.

------

“Y’know what?” Wade says, interrupting his thoughts. “It’ll make more sense if you see it. And hey, you wanted to know how I got regeneration powers anyway, right? It’ll be fun! A little trip through the multiverse, my life, and the fourth wall all at once!”

------

“Where’s Al?” Logan suddenly asks. Normally, she’d be watching television with them in her armchair. And actually, Dogpool was gone too. He hadn’t even questioned it this morning, but now it strikes him as weird. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweet cheeks,” Wade says in a normal voice, then whispers, “It’s for plot convenience.”

“Oh. Okay.” Logan doesn’t know what that means.

------

:DDDDD

[happy-hermit]

Wrote a little something based on @stiffyck desert alien Scar au!! It does include some hermitshipping so be warned if that’s not your thing :)

================================

Nothing had even really been going on, when it happened for the first time. There hadn’t been any sort of grand moment beforehand, or big event to attribute it to. It snuck up on them, quiet and unobtrusive and yet bigger than anything that could be put into words.

Grian had been procrastinating building a certain part of his base, instead following Scar around as he terraformed around his half-built castle. It was getting to be early evening, the sun rays growing longer and the air bringing a slight chill. Scar seemed to feel it more than Grian did, if the small shivers every now and then were any indication. But then, Grian knew Scar wasn’t… from around here. Or from anywhere he knew. Curiosity had always burned low in his stomach about the topic, but he’d sat with it for so long that it didn’t feel obtrusive, anymore. Either Scar would tell him, one day, or he wouldn’t. It wasn’t Grian’s job to know.

Still, it was fun to think about. He’d be lying if he pretended he’d never stared a little too long. It was just…fascinating, was all it was. There was no other reason he would be staring, no other reason his face would get a little warm, sometimes. Anyone would find it hard to look away from Scar, he was sure. The hard scales covering his shoulders and circling around his eyes and on top of his ears, the sandy color to his skin, the fur peeking out between scales — it was just a tiny bit mesmerizing.

Apart from that, Scar probably had one of the most genuinely happy smiles Grian had ever seen. So what if his stomach jumped whenever he saw it? Anyone would feel compelled to smile back.

Grian sighed dramatically, leaning back on his hands and craning his head to squint at the sky. The faint beginnings of stars were starting to appear against the darkening blue, and Grian looked back over at Scar, who was still placing and replacing leaf blocks. His movements were noticeably more sluggish than they’d been a few hours ago, and Grian frowned a little.

“It’s getting dark,” Grian said, casual as he could manage, and Scar jumped, glancing over at him and then up at the sky. (Grian always got a strange feeling in his stomach, when Scar looked up at the stars. Like he was watching something he wasn’t supposed to see.)

“But the sun just came up!” Scar said, scowling slightly as he turned back to Grian. “The days are so short.”

Grian raised an eyebrow. “They’re the same as they’ve always been, buddy.” He gestured at the large area Scar has managed to terraform. “You’ve got to come up for air, sometimes.”

“I can hold my breath for days,” Scar grumbled, making his way over to where Grian was standing surrounded by shulkerboxes, and he seemed to register something. “What have you— You’ve been here this whole time?”

“What? Can’t a man hang out with his— with his best pal while he builds his lawn?”

“You just didn’t want to build the back of your base,” Scar said with a cheeky smile, and Grian huffed and looked away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grian said, turning back. “My base is perfectly— Hold on.”

Grian lurched forward towards Scar, eyes fixed on the side of his head, because— because he could’ve sworn he’d seen—

“Wait a minute, do— Was that—“ Grian stopped and squinted as Scar’s top set of ears descended back onto his bottom set, because he had two sets of ears. He had four. Except not anymore, now that they’d blended back into one. “You’ve got ears!”

Scar backed up with his hands out in front of him, laughing nervously and looking to the side. “Well— We all have ears, G, I don’t know what—“

“You have four,” Grian insisted, shaking his head in awe, wings puffing up in excitement. “Scar, that’s— that’s cool.”

Slowly, Scar hands lowered, and his head tilted a bit. “…It is?”

“Yeah,” Grian said, fairly certain he was vibrating in place, and something about Scar seemed to soften. He looked almost embarrassed.

“They don’t usually show,” Scar said slowly, hand raising to touch the ear that was still visible. “They’re more… They’re softer than the other ones. Not really protected, you know?”

“Can I see?” Grian asked carefully. His heart was trying to break past his rib cage.

Scar hesitated, and glanced over at where Jellie was curled up on a shulkerbox, watching serenely. Eventually, she yawned. Scar laughed a little, seeming a bit shaky, and he turned back to Grian with a small smile.

“Sure,” Scar said, hands fidgeting inside his pants pockets. “I mean, they’re not super exciting or anything.”

“Only if you want to,” Grian said, shuffling forward a half step. He shot him a playful grin. “But you should know that I’m invested now.”

Scar laughed, almost like it’d been startled out of him, and then he sighed through a smile. “You’re horrible.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Remind me why you spent the whole day here instead of your base?”

Grian slapped him on the arm with a huff of indignation, and Scar starting shaking with laughter, scales on his face shifting as his eyes squinted in joy. Grian felt a little breathless, all of the sudden, and looking at Scar’s ears didn’t help; they were separate again.

Scar’s laughter faded away as he realized what had happened, and his ears twitched, but didn’t fold back together.

“Can you control them?” Grian asked, stepping to the side to get a better look.

“Usually,” Scar grumbled playfully, glaring to the side as if he could see them. “But sometimes it happens when I’m… When I’m comfortable, I guess. I don’t think about it.”

“You trust me,” Grian said softly, a quiet realization that hit his chest like a freight train.

Scar smiled, a little shy at the edges. “Of course.”

The lower set of ears were just barely smaller, and covered in the softest looking fur Grian had ever seen. His fingers twitched, and he fidgeted with his sweater to put the energy somewhere else.

“Do you mind if…” Grian started, and then hesitated, eyebrows furrowing. Scar made a questioning noise, and Grian finished. “Can I touch them?”

Scar blinked, and the skin around the scales on his cheeks got a little darker. His tail swished in short movements in the dirt behind him, and Grian began to worry he’d said something wrong.

“It’s fine if it’s a no,” Grian rushed out, a bit flustered himself now. “I just— I don’t know why I asked that.”

“No no, it’s fine, I promise,” Scar said, voice a little higher than usual, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t mind, just…” Scar trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in thought, and Grian gave him a minute to think.

“Where I come from,” Scar started slowly, not quite looking at him, “when someone touches the lower ears, it means that they’re— like, a very close friend.” Scar cracked an awkward smile. “Or a very close friend, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” Grian said. “Sorry, I—“

“I said I didn’t mind,” Scar interrupted quickly, hands in his pockets again, face just slightly tucked down into his scarf, and Grian realized he was flustered. “So, if you don’t mind…”

A painfully soft smile crossed the avian's face — so embarrassingly fond that Mumbo would make fun of him for weeks if he’d seen it.

“I don’t mind,” Grian said, gently touching Scar’s wrist before reaching towards his ears, giving him time to pull away. Instead, Scar just stared back at him, seeming a little bit awed.

Carefully, Grian brushed his fingers over the top of the ears, and grinned when Scar’s eyelids immediately started to droop. The fur was soft, and thicker than he’d anticipated. Happy avian noises built up in Grian’s chest, feathers fluffing up along his wings as he gently rubbed Scar’s ears.

“Alright?” Grian asked quietly, and Scar just nodded rapidly. Grian laughed and kept at it.

Minutes or hours later, a low, rhythmic rumble started up in Scar’s throat, unlike anything Grian had heard. It was a bit like purring, if purring somehow included every pitch of sound at once. Maybe it should have been grating, but it was more like music than anything else. Like a built-in lullaby. Grian felt all the tension he’d been carrying from the week melt away, and he exhaled slowly. When he opened his eyes, Scar was watching him.

They’d sat down on the ground at some point in the past few minutes, Scar’s hands wrapped loosely around Grian’s arms to keep them steady as he rubbed his ears in small circles.

“Hi,” Grian said softly, mouth lifting at the corners without his say-so.

“Well hello there,” Scar responded, equally soft, still somehow making those noises while he talked.

Grian glanced over Scar’s shoulder and grinned as he watched Jellie hop up on the shulkerbox at Scar’s back. She immediately set to licking at Scar’s lower ears, and Scar sighed. Grian giggled quietly and finally let his hands fall back into his lap, letting Jellie take over.

“She does this a lot?” Grian asked, voice full of amusement.

“Oh, constantly,” Scar said, absentmindedly reaching back to pet her. “She thinks I don’t do a good enough job grooming myself and she has to do it for me.”

Grian laughed, leaning back and enjoying the show; Scar grumpily sitting still while his cat(?) licked the fur on his ears.

“She’s doing pretty good,” Grian chuckled, and Scar huffed, though he was starting to smile.

“She’s actually older than I am,” Scar said, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say, and Grian blinked. “I think she thinks I’m her child.”

“…She’s from where you’re from,” Grian said eventually, and Scar just hummed.

“Scar,” Grian started, because it finally felt like the time to ask. “Where are you from?”

Scar looked at him for a long while, seeming to study his face. Then he looked up, tilting his head and squinting at the sky. Grian was about to take the evasion of his question as an answer until Scar finally made a noise and pointed. At the sky.

“Somewhere around there, I think,” Scar said, still looking at the stars. “It’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure I remember.”

Grian followed Scar’s finger to find a patch of night sky, saturated with stars. It felt like it should have been a big revelation, but instead it simply slid into place. Like a puzzle piece he hadn’t been aware was missing. Somehow, it made sense.

“That explains a lot,” Grian said finally, and Scar burst out giggling, scaled tail thumping against the ground and all four ears twitching against his head. Jellie huffed and sat down to groom herself, and— Had she always had that extra set of legs?

“Thank you,” Scar said when he had finally stopped laughing, and he grabbed Grian’s hand in a gentle hold.

“For what?” Grian asked, a bit of warmth rising to his cheeks.

Scar just shrugged, a happy little grin on his face. “You don’t make me want to hide.”

Lost for words, Grian squeezed Scar’s hand, and together they watched the stars.

[jhutchlover1234]

minotaur! könig | draft for a j.ai intro i got lazy with :p

In the dim recesses of the Labyrinth, where shadows twist and coil like the serpentine corridors, the Minotaur suffocates in his own self-pity.

A pool of blood grows beneath his hooves, his latest victim—one of the young Athenians that had been sacrificed this recent cycle—lying still and half-consumed.

The air beneath his veil feels damp—wet when König huffs.

He catches his reflection in the crimson puddle below. A strange animal stares back.

König quickly averts his eyes, already feeling his veins thrum with fury—a burning hatred for the very circumstances of his existence. He is neither beast nor man, yet this—thing—embodies the torment of both. His body is a prison, its sinewy muscles a constant reminder of his primitive nature, whilst his mind, aching with self-awareness, yearns for something more—something beyond the brutality that defines his every waking moment.

Salvation.

That's what he yearns for—aches to have, to hold, to know.

Perhaps it'll save me, he tells himself. Perhaps my mother will bear to look at me again.

Existence as he knows it is a perpetual torment, a cyclic punishment for sins he cannot even remember committing—for the sin of being alive.

He is forced to play the role of the monster, the aggressor, chasing down those who dare enter his domain, only to be haunted by their shrill screams and his own uncontrollable rage. The thrill of the hunt, once a mere means to an end, has transformed into a cruel charade of fulfillment, a painful echo of what could have been a noble purpose.

He turns at the sound of a gasp, another sacrifice making themselves known. They're a delicate thing wrapped in fine cloth, knees nearly bucking under the weight of his gaze.

König watches as {{user}}'s throat bounces. Can't help himself as he imagines sinking his teeth into them.

[naivety]

when i finish my jewish silver doldrums religious imagery god/prophet dichotomy silverflint sickfic it's so over

[hey-hey-j]

aaaaaaaand the Holiday in Harmony swap is officially complete! Which means that now I can get to work on the Trolls 1 rewrite yippe yahoo!