#kept on reading fics

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[keferon]

......I found the new fic to lose my sleep over

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[iwantmochisoup]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIFT for @anticidic !! :3c (the first one is lil extra heh)

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

The drive's short one. 

Steve gets out of his car, opening the passenger door for Chrissy and escorting her up to the house, quietly envisioning what Jason would look like if a real monster got him.

What would he say, staring down the crazy, five-starred head, filled with teeth and drool? Would he turn back? Or run?

(Steve swears he doesn't take great pleasure in imagining Carver getting eaten, but he'll admit to taking a little.)  

"Chrissy do you have any idea--oh." Mrs. Cunningham startles, grasping her robe at the front as she spots Steve standing next to her daughter.  

"Hi Miss Cunningham." He says.

"Hello." She says suspiciously. "And who are you?"

"I'm Steve Harrington, ma'am." He watches as her mother straightens immediately at his name, and sinks right into the ol' Harrington charm, knowing instantly it will work. "I know you were expecting Jason, but I'm afraid he wasn't able to drive Chrissy home." 

"Oh, Steve! It's so late I almost didn't recognize you." She titters, suspicion gone. "Your mother and I are on the same charity board." 

Of course they were.

"I thought you were dating that nice Nancy girl." She says with a squint that mimics Chrissy's, because even in the midst of a crisis he can't escape the gossip that is Hawkins upper echelon. 

"Nance is waiting in the car." Steve lies smoothly. "I just wanted to make sure Chrissy got home safe." 

"What happened?" Chrissy's father appears, ushering them both in while blatantly peering around them, eyes sweeping the street before closing the door.

Steve recognizes the move. He's checking for nosy neighbors. 

"Jason and I broke up." Chrissy admits.

"What?" 

"We..." She falters in front of her parents. 

"What happened to Jason?" Her father asks, tuning back in once they're safely away from peering eyes.

"I'm afraid Jason and some of his friends brought beer to the party." Steve steps in to explain.  

"Oh Chrissy, it's a high school party. That's no reason to break up with him." Her mother fusses, face flushing in embarrassment. Her eyes dart from her daughter to Steve and back, and Steve knows he needs to start damage control. 

If he plays it right he can burn Jason while he's at it. 

"He was horrible, mom. Just awful." Chrissy says, but Steve can tell she's shrinking under her mothers gaze. 

"He drank quite a lot, Miss Cunningham." With a theatrical wince, Steve turns to face Chrissy's dad, lowers his voice and says "I'm going to have to talk to Coach about it." 

He gets the intended response, which is a raised eyebrow. "That bad, huh?" 

Steve nods once, painting a pained smile on his face. "He made a real fool of himself tonight, Sir. The basketball team has a reputation to uphold." 

"Oh." Mrs. Cunningham says, hand fluttering in front of her face. "I never would have thought…"

"He's normally a good guy. I don't know what got into him." Steve has them both eating out of the palm of his hand, attention neatly off Chrissy and onto the story he's feeding them. 

Its worth it to see her shoulders relax. 

"I couldn't let him take Chrissy home in the state he was in Sir, and he got very…" 

Steve pauses. 

Fills his voice with tempered disappointment, channeling his dad. "Belligerent. Said some nasty things."  

"Really?" Mr. Cunningham says, with a low whistle, and Steve knows by his tone alone that he's bought in.

Hook, line, sinker.

Steve nods once. "I have to get back to my girlfriend, but Chrissy'" He turns earnestly here, to let her know he's not faking this next bit. "Let me know if Jason bothers you at school. I'll set him straight again if I have to." 

"Thank you Steve." Mr. Cunningham says, as Chrissy's mom hustles her daughter towards the kitchen. 

Steve shakes his hand, then waves at Crissy as she calls her own thank you over her shoulder, before disappearing out the door and back to his car.

The same one where Nancy very much isn't. 

That's a problem for tomorrow Steve.

xXx

Tomorrow Steve gets into an argument with Nancy. 

She can't recall that Jonathan took her home, or that he's bullshit, their whole relationship, bullshit--

But she also can't tell him she loves him.

So Steve snaps at her. Storms off.

 Play’s more basketball.

It takes less than two hours for him to get mopey and another three for him to spiral into deciding he was wrong somehow.

That's what his mom said all the time anyway, wasn't it? The man's always wrong Steven, and he's the man here so…

He gets flowers, chocolates, and fucking waylaid (by Dustin Henderson with his Grow a Monster) and things go sideways from there.

 Train tracks and a junkyard and demodogs make time speed up. An encounter with Billy and a dinner plate causes Steve's recollection of the evening to be fuzzy. 

He just knows that in the middle of dodging death, he has the realization that Nance wants to break up with him.

That he should let her. 

Even if it hurts, even if he doesn't want to. 

She wants to be let go.

So Steve does. He respects her, and when he has a moment after its all over, he tells her to go with Jonathan.

(At least he permanently gets the squirts out if this. Or at least everyone but Mike.

Even if most of them are shitheads and one of them's Hargrove's step sister.

It's--something.

But when Dustin keeps pestering him, demanding Steve drive him all over Hawkins and then drags him to the movies, well.

It might be the best something Steve's had in his life so far. )

xXx

"Oh shit. Is that from Caver?" Eddie asks, popping up near Steve's car like the clown in a jack in the box. 

"Carver can't hit for shit. This was Hargrove." Steve replies, attempting an eyeroll before remembering that his entire face is a bruise. 

One, giant, never ending bruise. 

"I guess his step sister gave him the slip to come hang out with these kids I watch sometimes. I didn't know she wasn't supposed to be there." Steve shrugs, because it's the technical truth. 

If you turn it sideways and squint anyway. 

"Asshole tried to threaten the kid Max is into by slamming him into a wall and screaming shit, so I stepped in, and--" He waves at his face. 

The same one he's already getting looks for. 

"I was winning." Steve sighs theatrically. "He broke a plate over my head."

The story seemed to freeze Eddie but he recovers with a quick shake of his head. 

"You poor thing." He tuts. "Let me guess--you were more worried about the hair than the wound?" 

Eddie's hands flutter like he's going to touch Steve's head but he seems to contain himself at the last minute.

The hospital threatened to buzz it for stitches." Steve says darkly, playing into the bit. 

(He had not gone to a hospital. 

None of them had.)  

"What would our King be without his crown of hair?" Eddie laments, in a falsetto that was half insult half oddly sincere. It was jarring in that it was hard to get a read on, but the more Steve was around the guy the less it seemed malicious and the more it came off  as just….goofy.

Eddie Munson, Steve decided, was not a freak.

 He was a dorky little weirdo, just like all the other kids Steve now hung out with. 

Just older, and with slightly better hair. 

"Hey Eddie." Another boy calls out, approaching cautiously. 

He's got a leather jacket on, and if Steve thinks hard enough he can sort of conjure up a memory of the guy at Eddie's lunch table, throwing a piece of bread at a pale sophomore decked out in plaid. "You good man?" 

"Yeah Jeff, just checkin' in on the Hair here." Eddie sticks a thumb towards Steve, who raises his hand and waves. 

The falsetto comes back, somehow higher as the older boy swoons over Steves arm. "Soothing his poor soul after that brute Hargrove almost killed him." 

"Has anyone ever told you you're a lot like Bugs Bunny?" Steve asks, the thought leaving his mouth the instant he had it.

(He doesn't care, it's a legitimate question.) 

It has the effect of making Munson look downright chuffed. "I have actually, but only by my Uncle." 

"Why are you checking in?" Jeff interrupts, before seeming to realize he said it out loud. " Ah, I mean--"

"Oh he didn't tell you?" Steve says, as casually as he can muster. "Eddie claimed me and Chrissy at a party last weekend." 

See Munson? Two people could play the weird bit game. 

They've attracted more of Eddie's friends now, two more boys in leather jackets edging closer like frightened deer. 

(One of which is the aforementioned younger man Jeff threw bread at, and Steve vaguely thinks the guy's name starts with a g.) 

"Apparently we're his minions now." Steve tells Jeff in a rather put upon manner. 

"It was just you, the fair maiden chose otherwise." Eddie counters dismissively, voice dropping down low. 

Steve snorts. Hums a sarcastic; "Like you'd let us choose." 

Eddie finally abandons whatever voice that was supposed to be (a villain, Steve thinks, and wonders if it hurts Eddies throat to drop from a false high to a deep low that quickly.)  to say:

 "Mock me all you like, Harrington, but you can't deny the bit worked." 

Steve automatically went for another eye roll, and gets a flash of pain for it. "Who said I was mocking you, you dork? Just stating facts." 

Yet again, Eddie reacts weird to the comment. He looks almost bashful for a second, before he recovers, tugging his hair in front of his face as he plays with it.

The bell rings once in warning, and Steve makes a face towards the doors. 

"I gotta go, Mrs Clicks out to fail me. See you around, Eddie. Jeff." The way his eyes are bruised up he can't quite make out the face Jeff makes at that, but Steve's pretty sure the guys mouth was open. 

"She's a nasty one, my minion, best stay on your toes around her." Eddie calls, and Steve waves a hand in the air to show he heard. 

"What just happened?" Jeff asks, far too loudly for how close Steve still is. 

It makes him chuckle a bit, even as one of the other guys says something in a far quieter voice that has Munson squawking and flapping his arms like a bird. 

The winding little feelings in his chest squeeze his heart, and Steve shakes his head, refusing to be fond of Eddie Munson. 

xXx

College rejection letters come in, one after the another.

Steve could have made it into a few schools he's certain, except he hadn't really applied to any.

Not that any college other than Penn Hurst mattered. His dad wanted him to be a legacy, come hell or high water.

Steve's punishment was hand picked by his parents, and he gets the sailor outfit his new minimum wage job requires is supposed to be a part of it--that his dad made him apply because it was the most embarrassing thing he could think to subject Steve too-- but honestly? 

It's not that bad. 

Not even with Robin, the manager he met yesterday, and who positively, completely and totally, hates Steve’s guts.  

He figures he has time to win her over. 

All the time in the world, now that demons aren't trying to eat his, or any of the kid's, faces. He can focus on the small things. Build himself back up.

Figure out the person he wants to be, now that he's no longer King Steve. 

It’s the thought that kept him from attending any graduation parties. To go felt like backsliding into old habits. 

‘If the kids--if it comes back again--’ 

Getting drunk at night in a random house seemed almost irresponsible.

Particularly not with people Steve has history with, without anyone he really cares about being present. Certainly not Nance and Jonathan, who he wishes he didn’t know are at some end-of-year game night one of Nancy’s friends is hosting. 

(Steve can’t think about that for a number of reasons. 

When he does--because of course he does-- he makes sure to focus on the weirdness that is Jonathan Byers being someone he cares about, instead of the fact he can’t seem to kill his love for Nancy. 

Or that he's horrifically jealous of their relationship. 

That the best sleep he had ever had was between them, two nights after the lab, when they crammed themselves into Jonathan's bed because they all couldn't quite believe it was over.

That night had been so incredibly weird, but grouping together felt safer. Smarter.

Better.

Not in a way Steve wants to put into words. 

Not in a way he wants to confront at all.) 

His parents hadn’t been able to make it home to watch him walk at his graduation--his father landing a last minute meeting with some important person or other. 

Faked apologies were given, money transferred, and Steve, not wanting to sit in his too-huge house, had meandered to Family Video. 

Tried to forget his father’s cold voice in the background of his mother’s call, loudly announcing he’d have made it a priority to see Steve graduate-- if he’d gotten into Penn Hurst. 

Steve just shakes his head. Pushes those thoughts into the back of his head, into the same place all his other weird thoughts live.

The glare he gets from the tall, pimple-ridden guy working the rental counter was expected.

Chrissy Cunningham, was not. 

"I thought you’d be at one of the parties.” He tells her, when he turns down the romance aisle and finds her staring blankly at a shelf. 

She startles, before recognition flits over her face and a warm smile is directed his way. 

“I'm honestly not a fan of parties." She confides in him, hand clutching a tape in her hands."Not those kinds, anyway.” 

"More slumber parties, less keg stands your speed?" Steve guessed, blatantly turning his head sideways in order to read the title.

She awards him with a wider smile. "Exactly." 

"Chrissy Cunningham. Are you renting Jaws?" He teases, leaning in just a touch.

She flushes, but turns and squares up to him. Steve's delighted to see it. 

"Why yes I am. I'll do you one better and even admit it's one of my favorite movies." 

Steve grins at her, and sees the way she lights up on response, eyes bright. 

This is the Chrissy that Carver had tried to kill. The strength and pure fun that radiates off her enhances the beauty she has to something almost otherworldly. 

Steve has seen enough beauty in his life to recognize when it will stay. That Chrissy wil one day be 80 years old, with gray hair and knit sweaters, and she'll still be able to light up a room. 

"Like sharks killing people that much huh?” He teases. And it’s easy, slipping into this part of himself around her. The part he’s been trying to get back. 

The confidence that he walked with, before monsters crawled out of the ground, and Nancy put a hole in his heart.

"I'll let you in on a secret. ." Chrissy leans in, dropping her voice low enough that Steve has to lean in a bit too to hear. "My favorite character is the shark." 

Steve playfully gapes at her, and for the first  time in a long time, feels like things will be okay. 

He’ll be okay.

He won’t be King Steve. He’s not Nancy's Boyfriend Steve either--but someone else. Himself.

A Steve who exists outside of Hawkins High, outside his family name. 

He likes it.

"I told you that was his car. Steve!" A too familiar voice calls and Steve can't mask the despair that hits him as he turns to his (now least) favorite shithead, whose storming through Family Video’s doors. 

"Dustin." He identifies, with an edge to his voice he can only pray Chrissy doesn't pick up on. "Other brats. What are you doing?" 

Mike stands stubbornly at Dustin's right, Lucas nervous at his left. 

Will Byers is situated next to Mike but Steve's not as familiar with him, and has no idea how to interpret the kid. 

If he had to guess based on the face he’s being sent, Will’s more nervous then the rest--but equally determined. 

(This does not make Steve feel better. It in fact, somewhat convinces them they’ve run headfirst back into trouble.) 

"Well we were going to go to Lucas’s, but now, we're bumming a ride from you!" 

"I'm busy." He says flatly. 

"Ste~eeeve!" 

"I didn't know you had a brother." Chrissy says, hand covering her mouth. 

Looking back at her, Steve's pretty sure she's trying to physically hold back laughter. 

If one could shoot lasers with their eyes, Steve would be nailing Dustin for ruining--whatever it was that was happening here. 

"He's a rescue" Steve says flatly. "It’s not working out though. We're planning on returning him to the shelter.” 

"Wow Steve." Dustin returns, offended. "First of all, if anyone's rescuing anyone I rescued you, or did you suddenly forget that you show up to family dinner every Thursday at my house like a sad orpha--mmpphh!" 

‘Mmpphh’ because Steve had taken several long strides across the store to smack his hand over Dustin's mouth. 

"Sorry Chrissy, it would appear the asshole children I am paid to babysit escaped whoever is supposed to be watching them." He shakes Dustins head, in lue of strangling him. “Hit me up later we’ll discuss the shark’s best kills.” 

“Will do.” Chrissy says, as Steve begins the process of shoving his four smaller friends out the door. “Drive safe!” 

“No you don’t, and you’re gonna prove it by swinging through McDonalds for us.” Dustin sing-songs, swinging himself into the passenger side of the Beemer. 

“You assholes owe me, big time.” Steve hisses, as Lucas and Mike instantly begin making kissy faces the second they’re out into the parking lot. "I had plans tonight!"

“Do you have McDonalds money?” Steve asks, only to immediately wince at himself because fuck did he just sound like a soccer mom. 

“I have money I took out of my mom’s wallet.” Mike says as he settles into the car with his friends.

“Fine.” Steve sighs in defeat, starting the car. 

He determinedly does not ask if the idiots walked here, because there is a suspicious lack of bicycles, if only because he hit his mom quota for the day and Steve refuses to say anything else that might edge out his cool persona.

The one he swears he still has.

Supposedly. 

("Does my mom really pay you to watch me?" Dustin asks a while later, when the other brats are distracted. His voice is painfully honest, and softer than it normally is. 

"In food, yes." Steve says, because he’s not that much of an asshole--and maybe, because Dustin is truly his only friend right now.

Steve honestly looks forward to those Thursday dinners, helping Ma Henderson and having her fuss over him in a way his parents never had. 

In a way no one ever had. 

Dustin lands a solid kick to his ankle, making Steve curse. "That's not payment you ass!"

"Ow, God Dustin--" 

"Just admit you're my actual friend, you dick!" 

"Language! I swear your mom stole you from wolves, you animal--" Steve swatted at him. 

Maybe, possibly later, he will go on to admit that yes, Dustin is his friend. 

He will even agree to making up a stupid handshake for it. 

It involves lightsabers and gore at least, which Steve insists is very cool.)

[asexualzoro]

psa to all fic authors

saying someone was hanged = that person has been executed/murdered via hanging

saying someone was hung = that person has a massive dick

if you do not want me to giggle like a 12 year old schoolboy through your dramatic/tense/tragic hanging scene, please use the correct word

[isjasz]

[Day 53]

Ok quick ddd doodle tdy, fireworks for the bday man :DDD (he died after ofc)

[sorealis]

writing fics is so funny. writing ongoing ones is even more so

while no one owes me any comments, they're obviously nice to get. every single one, even if it's just hearts or something

i'm mostly amused by this, but i can't stop thinking about how often people write "can't wait to see what comes next" and then i post what comes next and they just... disappear. never come back. delete their bookmark and i see i've lost a subscriber who i assume was that person.

it just gets me wondering what was the thing that made them go "yeah nope actually i'm not finishing this"

[seance]

THE MUSKETEERS 10TH ANNIVERSARY REWATCH / fave episodes [3/?] ↳ SEASON 1, EPISODE 8 / the challenge

[titaniumions]

in my mind kakania would have little to no problem accepting the fact that she is into women. however the thought of her being into isolde is something that would absolutely vex her, i think. while they did start off as casual acquaintances and friends, isolde is still her patient, and to some level kakania winds up being responsible for isolde's wellbeing. with that in mind, kakania can hardly fathom the thought of burdening isolde with her feelings, which she feels absolutely selfish for even indulging in. even if those feelings were to be returned, it still wouldn't put kakania's mind at rest. it still wouldn't be enough to get kakania to convince herself that she's fine with feeling this way. ultimately it's not necessarily internalized homophobia nor societal pressure that troubles her, but rather her own ethical and psychological concerns

it'd be even worse for her if those feelings didn't exactly ... go away even after everything that happened in chapter 6. she'd be overwhelmed with guilt, and think to herself that the best course of action would be to distance herself from isolde, but the most painful part is that even after seeing isolde at her worst, she still can't help but want to love isolde. even after kakania herself had presumably tainted isolde's perception of her. so what if that's what was necessary at the moment. after leaving isolde broken and shattered, how could kakania even dare to think she deserves to love isolde? if it once felt horribly wrong for kakania to be in love with her, everything that has transpired between them only served to make it worse!

[hai-nae]

meant to post these sketches a few days ago? a week? but, well, life.

[lil-lemon-snails]

"I can't ignore what's under dancefloor boards, The rhythm of my heart a dead-as-disco beat, But I still move my feet, to slip out of this groove, I'm free" ~ 2econd 2ight 2eer, Will Wood, The Normal Album

I have been plagued with visions of LDR Sun every time I listen to this song and I NEEDED to get this out of my system @spadillelicious when do we get to smooch the boy pLEASE

v textless version and close ups under cut!! v

[soothsayerditty]

have a low effort meme redraw before i pass out,,, (lineless isn't my thing. but it's fun,,,!)

[rainychaoloveshack]

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝. 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠.

shadow looks pretty nice in your t-shirt. 

**⋆°•☁︎ content. shadow x gn!reader, slightly ooc, couple antics, fluff ⚠️reader is implied to be a human, but its not specified⚠️

☂︎ wc. 1k ☂︎ a/n. i actually wrote another version of this weeks ago, but it was suggestive, and thought it ended up too cringy to post. buttt i really liked the concept and decided to make it sfw and fluffy instead :)

likes, reblogs, and especially comments are extremely appreciated!!! (i like chatting to you guys!)

“[Name], could you put the AC higher?” Shadow says abruptly from his cozy spot on the couch, sprawled out as the TV drones on endlessly, chattering on and on, though it’s more so on to serve as background noise instead of him actually watching it. You turn your head to the side, a bit confused at his statement. “It’s cold here.”

Ah, now that you notice it, there is a bit of a chill in the apartment. A shiver flows through your body at the sudden realization, forcing goosebumps to rise on your skin as you wince. If even he can register he chill with his fur, he’s definitely right. It must've been you just shutting out the problem subconsciously. You haven’t even told him about the problem with the AC…

“The AC’s broken?” Shadow looks over to you, a frown spreading onto his face as he gets on to complaining about it. “For how long? And you haven’t called a repairman by now?” He growls, sitting up from the couch before rising up onto his feet. “Hurry and get me something of yours then. It’s not like I can just wear my coat here.”

The thought of Shadow wearing his comfy trenchcoat does sound appealing, the brown coat always falling over his form nicely (And he looks so damn good in it), but it’s not cold enough in here for that kind of attire. Plus, who's wearing their trench coat inside anyway? With a small skip in your steps, you beckon Shadow over to your bedroom and push the door open, heading over to your dresser to rummage through the piece of furniture.

Well, you have a little something here and there, and here as well…

Ah. How about this one? You tug it out of its snug spot in your dresser, letting it unravel in front of him, and his eyes scan up and down the shirt. It’s nothing special by any means; a plain, oversized black t-shirt with one of your favorite bands (or singers!) plastered on the front. But it gets the job done by covering the soft chill in most rooms or homes, including this one. It looks badass too, even with the faded logo.

“Here.” Shadow says, taking the shirt from your grasp as he slips it over his head, having to shift around a bit to make sure his quills don’t pierce the fabric. It’s not like it would really matter if it did, but Shadow always tends to be over-cautious of your things, even if they hold little to no real value. Even if it’s something simple like a mug you really like, or a pair of pants you like to wear, you can tell how he gets a little tense while handling things like that, always making sure the mug is away from the kitchen counter’s edge when he makes you a cup of coffee or tea, or folding your pants in the best way to prevent wrinkles.

“It’s big on me.” Yet he looks good nonetheless, as you expected. Shadow mumbles incoherently under his breath, pulling it in different ways in an attempt to make it more snug on him, but then he notices your interested stare. “... What's wrong? Do you want me to wear a different one?”

You shake your head the second he finishes his sentence, fixing the shirt's neckline around him, running your fingers through his chest fluff briefly to fix it up. For some reason, seeing him in such attire that’s unlike him wants you to make him look the very best he can be, even in an old band t-shirt.

Shadow lets out a small “hmm” noise as you do so, curious about your little fidgeting antics with his fur. “Am I your model for tonight?”

You hold back a small fit of laughter at the sudden (and odd) response to your behavior, a snicker making its way out as Shadow peers up at you, pleased at your reaction to his joke, especially since he doesn’t joke around often in the slightest. His chest puffs out ever so slightly, silently relishing in that feeling of achievement on making you laugh

It takes a fair bit of power inside you not to come up with something playful back, but you stay silent and take a step or two back, making a small rectangle with your fingers as you hold it up to his face, the smile on your face surely growing.

Shadow head cocks to the side at your gesture, but straightens up once he realizes what you’re doing.

“How do I look?” He murmurs, tugging on the neckline of the shirt to bring it down, before gazing back up at you.

As handsome as ever. Maybe he’ll even strike a little pose for you?

“Don’t test your luck.” Ah, as expected…

Then just like this would be fine, yes?

“[Name].” Shadow says sternly the moment you reach for your phone on the dresser, making your body tense up immediately at his tone of voice. “No pictures.” He hisses, walking up and swatting your hand away from your device. With a small pout, you cross your arms and glare at him. It’s not like you’re going to show anyone.

Anyone like Sonic, that is. Maybe another person.

“... Fine. Just one.”

⋆°•☁︎⋆°•☁︎⋆°•☁︎

“So, how bout’ it? A day out with me and Omega sounds nice, right? You can even bring [Name]. If you’d like.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, by the way; I saw that picture of you, lover boy. You should wear clothes like that more often. It suits you.”

“What?”

“That picture of you in that t-shirt. I didn’t know you were a fan of that band, Shadow. Or is it [Name]’s?”

“Rouge, what picture are you-”

Chills rise up your spine, a wince forming across your lips, and you silently refuse to turn around to meet that gaze currently piercing a hole right in your back.

Damn it. That loose-lipped bat…

“... I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

[thursdayinspace]

Soooo today's lunchtime smut contains no smut at all. It's also part of a WIP. Which didn't exist before I wrote this, but it does now. This is just feelings. Lots of them.

She’s been meaning to go home for the last hour or so. The fact that she’s still here, on his couch, feet on the coffee table, her body feeling sleep-heavy and her eyes closed…it might mean something or it might not. But here she is. He’s next to her mirroring her position, and she doesn’t think he’s asleep, she’d have heard him falling asleep from the shift in his breathing. It’s warm in here, and familiar. The walls around this house keep the world outside. That was their purpose when they bought it, and it is their purpose now, even if the reason for seeking shelter in here has changed.

She’s been meaning to go home, so why won’t her body move from this place?

When he rolls his head towards her to look at her she can feel it, and she looks back at him through half-opened eyelids and is powerless against the slow smile on her face. “I should go before I fall asleep,” she says, her voice low to fit the dim quiet of the room around them.

“You can’t drive like this,” he says, and something unravels in her chest. The last remaining tension seeps from her tired muscles.

“So it’s okay if I stay here tonight?” It wouldn’t be the first time. She still feels like she should ask. This thing between them has a name, but until one of them speaks it out loud, it has to remain vague. Undefined.

“Always,” he says, and she thinks about how his voice has changed since the day she met him all those many years ago. He’s not the same person, but at same time he is; he’s Mulder.

“Okay.” She closes her eyes again. The affirmation of right now is enough for the moment.

He gets up and she sighs; she was comfortable like this, with the warmth of him a steadying presence against her side. But then his arms slide underneath her shoulders, her legs. “Come on,” he says softly, and she blinks at him slowly as he lifts her.

“What are you—”

“We’re too old to fall asleep on the couch like this.”

Bed, then. She wraps her arms around him and leans her head against his shoulder. “I can walk,” she says, not expecting him to set her down, not wanting him to.

“I know you can.”

She feels small in his arms and it feels good. Out there in the world, she has to stand on tiptoe, spine straight, head raised high, making herself a giant. With him, she can let go. With him, she can be all the versions of herself that live inside her and he will look at her and know her.

“Thank you,” she says. For so many things. For letting her know him.

She thought she knew the ways in which the world could be known. Definable, quantifiable facts. Ever since she met him, he’s made her waver in her certainty. He never questioned the facts themselves, but from the start he asked the same thing over and over: How can you know?

This, them, what binds them together, is the greatest mystery of all. She has the words: love, friendship, loyalty, devotion. A neatly packaged set of ingredients that make up their relationship. But when she looks a little closer, she can’t define the words in any way that satisfies her scientist’s heart.

He kisses her hair and she breathes him in and she can’t put this into any tautological definition, any mathematical equation: a + b = c; Mulder + Scully = love. She can’t find a set of qualities that make up love. It just is. It’s in the way he looks at her, in the way her face breaks into a smile when he calls her, in the way it feels to kiss him. It’s in the way he carries her up the stairs to the bedroom.

“I have to brush my teeth,” she mumbles against his neck and he sets her down gently and follows her into the bathroom.

They brush their teeth side by side, the way they used to, and no time at all has passed since then, except the lifetime that lies between the day she left him and this moment. She has pajamas in one of the drawers of his dresser. She puts on one of his t-shirts instead.

When the lights are off she rolls into him, sticks her cold feet between his legs and rests her head on his chest. He holds her close and doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

She has no definition for home either.

His warmth becomes hers as she drifts on the edge of sleep. Nothing warms her like he does. She could be happy without him if she really tried. She could live a simpler life. He’s complicated, their life is complicated, and even though it would be possible, she doesn’t want to imagine anything else. She loves him with her entire heart.

“Mulder?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I want to come home.”

He hugs her tighter and the beating of his heart under her ear remains slow and steady. “You are.”

She’d been meaning to go home. And she did. Maybe she knows the definition of the word, in all the ways that matter.

[10thmusemoon]

Title for the ask game!

"Good Graces"

lmao prim why does this feel like I'm seeing beyonce at the grocery store??? i love your fics!

okay hm content warning for angst, major character death, bad end

Shenbros that grow up alongside YQY and that somehow makes everything worse.

YQY still makes the unforgivable mistake of saving Shi Wu, Shen Jiu still steps in, but now he has Shen Yuan attached to him too. The two get taken into the Qiu household, QJL still develops an obsession with torturing Shen Jiu but now uses Shen Yuan as collateral.. If he doesn't behave, if he isn't perfect, well then, QJL will just see how his little brother does instead. Throughout this all, the two grow even closer, SJ doesn't let the resentment fester because SY is the only thing he still has, the only thing that keeps his sane. SY bandages his wounds in the night, holds him close, brings him into QHT's circle of safety with clever words whenever possible. He is the only good thing in the world now that Qi-ge is gone. They just need to wait for him to come back, and things will be fine.

And surprisingly, he does! This universe smiles down on SJ for once and shows him mercy. YQY looks like a prince standing behind his shizun, regal in his fine robes, and handsome in the way that well fed nobles can be. SJ tries to focus on the negotiations, but his eyes keep drawing back him yqy's face, awe and hunger at war. It's because of this that he misses the way SY goes stiff, head swiveling between the cultivators in silently growing horror.

The negotiations are easier than SJ ever thought they would be, his and SY's lives are traded from one hand to another like any dirty coin. The only difference being now they are indentured servants, their contracts having an actual time limit, the conditions of which only require them to be CQMS disciples until YQY becomes the new peak lord.

Which is...fine. More than fine, even! SJ is convinced that if he really wanted to, he could convince YQY to runaway with them afterwards. When he tells this to SY he's shocked by his insistent refusal.

"No, we have to stay at CQMS. No matter what."

Whatever.

For 15 solid years, SJ's life is good. He stakes his claim on YQY as soon as he realizes there are people interested in him, shamelessly making himself at home by his side. SJ excels at QJP, determined to be the one YQY can rely on. If SY insists on staying at CQMS, then SY will just have to make it theirs.

(years down the line is experiences gleeful joy at seeing people's face twist when it's revealed he's yqy's spouse.)

SY in all of this, is living in crisis mode! His brother is the scum villain and is going to get qi-ge killed! Why the FUCK did Airplane never mention any of this!!??? No matter how badly he wants to fuck off to the beast peak, he doesn't! He stays firmly on QJP, taking on all the duties that deal with the new disciples to keep them as far as fuck as he can from Shen Jiu's clutches!! When YQY and SJ finally ascend as peak lords, naturally he continues handling any responsibilities of SJ's that deal with one-on-one contact with kids. And honestly? That's the ideal! SY's cultivation has never been as strong as SJ's, he's not the one meant to be the protagonists' narrative foil after all! He can coast by on teaching the fundamentals!

In SJ's eyes, SY continues to be his filial younger brother, taking on the burden of the tasks SJ hates. He spoils him, when possible, in the way only SY and YQY ever seem to understand. They are the only two good things that have been and always will be his. He doesn't need anyone else.

And then NYY arrives, and no one is more surprised than he is that he looks forward to teaching her the guqin, delights in how quickly she picks up the erhu. He doesn't understand why SY looms nervously whenever she's near, is irritated when he starts to suspect why. It's their first huge blow up.

And then the boy arrives.

He can't explain why this particular disciple is so repulsive. Why the dirt seems to stick to him, no matter how clean he is. Filthy fingerprints on grasping hands. Wretched thing has a certain look in his eye, a hunger SJ knows will be ruinous, insatiable. Just the way he trails after SY is enough to make him spit! And SY has always been a soft-hearted idiot, falling for the urchin's sob story! Just as obsessed! If they don't nip it in the bud now, they'll be rumors about them. The kind of things that pull righteous cultivators down from the heavens!

YQY listens to all of this indulgently, combing oil through SJ's hair and kissing his temple. As always, no matter how hard SJ tries to hold on, yqy always manages to pull him from his mood.

"What's wrong with having a favorite?" "It's not the same and you know it!" "He's just a child, if you let Liu-shidi back on QJP, it won't even be an issue."

Lots of grumbling about toads wanting swan's flesh. They both know the root of the issue is just that SJ can't let anything that's his slip out of his grasps. His love is all consuming, kept close to his chest in the fear that it will be stolen away.

LQG is not allowed on QJP, instead, SJ starts to teach more. Tries to test LBH relentlessly, waiting for him to fail so he can prove a point. This makes things worse between the brothers, more and more arguments come up until they resort to childhood tactics of wrestling across the floor of the Bamboo house and ripping out hair. SY breaks a hair pin he knows YQY gave him, SJ tears one of SY's manuscripts on abyssal fauna in half. The fallout is ugly enough that Binghe and NYY run all the way to QDP, breaking past the sect leader's chief of staff about the impending death of YQY's husband and/or brother in law.

Kneeling in front of an amused yqy, bruised and with bald spots, both brothers Shen explain their case, each threatening YQY not to show favoritism to the other. The proposed solution is to have LBH spend some time on Qiong Ding Peak, at least until he's qualified to go on night hunts on his own. SJ is fully convinced he's won, is ready to smugly denounce any comments about Qi-ge's blatant favoritism.

Neither expect SY's eyes go wide, for him to lean forward until he's crawling to yqy's side in excitement. Luo Binghe's praises fall from his mouth like honey. SY's running to his room for a brush and paper, outlining lesson plans and tasks LBH can take on to learn about all the good CQMS does for the realm. To SJ's revulsion, SY badgers YQY until he promises to include one on one lessons. QDP already has a head disciple, there's no harm in it, right?

In Shen Yuan's eyes, a light from the heaven's has shined down on him. Invisible to all, the system flashes an exclamation point above yqy's head, offering an alternative option to saving the sect.

[MISSION OBJECTIVE: SHIBOS GOOD GRACES]

[DO YOU WISH TO ACCEPT? Y/N ?]

It's perfect! No matter how much SQQ hates LBH, the combined forces of SY and YQY will stand united against him! The sect will be saved and SY will never see his white lotus darken! Maybe, and he's nearly salivating at this point, LBH might even consider staying at the sect and becoming the next QJP lord! It will take, of course, years to soften up SJ to that point. But really, when has he ever said no to SY when it truly mattered? He just needs to suck up and live in Shen Jiu's pocket for a little, it's fine! This will be easier than the time he accidentaly came back with several short haired monsters after a mission with LQG and needed a place to keep them! And now they farm them for brushes!

SY sleeps soundly for the first night in years, comforted in the knowledge that LBH's work ethic and stubborn tendencies will surely endear himself to YQY eventually. And then, one day, he knows with certainty, that if he's not there to protect LBH, YQY surely will.

The Immortal Alliance Conference is as disastrous as it was always going to be. There is a countdown floating ahead of Shen Yuan that only he can see. Sweat is pouring down his face as he fights his way after demons he once dreamed about. SY lost track of his brother ages ago, the two separating to different crisis points to save as many disciples as possible. At the three minute mark, bright blue laughing kaomoji offer their congratulations, informing him that the inmun requirements for SHIBOS GOOD GRACES have been met.

SY nearly collapses with relief, his steps slowing down a fraction, just enough to catch his breath. Fuck teaching the fundamentals to scholars nerds did not help him retain cardio! The times is in it's final seconds when he makes it into a clearing, eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief when he passes Xiu Ya embedded into the forehead of a Black Moon Rhinoceros Python's skull. Then, just further ahead, Shen Yuan's heart falls nearly out of his chest.

There are tears streaming down Luo Binghe's face as he tips backward off the cliff. The huadian beneath his messy hair shines a bright red, the soft glow reflecting off Yue Qingyuan's black pauldron. The sect leader, his da-ge, is slumped against Luo Binghe, arms in a tight embrace, an unfamiliar sword piercing him in the back as the two tumble towards an abyssal rift.

The wail of a dying beast pierces through SY's stupor, SJ stands with a blackened hand outstretched, only steps away from following the only man he's ever loved. Shen Yuan moves faster than he ever has before, half blinded by notifications he's never seen before. Something about heartbreak points, swords, and narrative foils. He doesn't care! He doesn't care! SJ is writhing in his hold screaming like a madman, over his shoulder Luo Binghe is getting smaller and smaller, Yue Qingyuan's robes fluttering around them like broken wings. Screams echo through the clearing long after the rifts have closed.

"I'M SORRY I'M SO--"

"QI-GE YOU BASTARD! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T LEAV-"

-

Five years later, Luo Binghe returns to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, notably missing the great Xin Mo sword. The protagonist kowtows in the bamboo house, forehead touching the floor and arms extended out to present a mahogany box of bones and a long sword with a plain scabbard before an alter. Shen Yuan kneels next to him, chest shaking with labored breaths, he follows suit with is forehead pressed to the floor. From his peripheral, he can see the way Binghe's shoulders have started to shake, a puddle of tears collecting just beneath his face. A tally of points starts to flash above the boy, Shen Yuan closes his eyes, another useless apology passes through his mind.

"Gege was right, Qi-ge came home."