#new tag because I WILL find this post when it happens and I WILL scream about it

[indiiglow]

I am not responsible for the person I will become when we finally get to meet Gaster

[jjenthusee]

Enthusiasm

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Sometimes the most intimidating can be the most tender.

A/N: HAPPYYY NEW YEAR i give u soft Jason 😌 i’ve been on and off (so sorry about that) but im excited to see what stories will be posted to this account this upcoming year :D so much has happened to end December, but i powered through and i wanted to finish something that was sitting in my drafts. so please ENJOY :) comment if you’re comfortable, reblog if you like the story, and have some flowers 💐

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, i just wanna kiss his beautiful face fr, reader and jason are in competition of who can out fluff the other

Word Count: 2.5k

previous work linked here

The smell was strong.

Gunpowder and soaked clothes. Jason felt like a wet dog coming home with his tail between his legs. Holding onto the door frames, trying to not bump into the walls.

He had hoped the rain would have washed away most of the blood and burnt smell that radiated from his skin, but no matter how much he tried to rub it off, it was still there. Lingering after his every step, after every breath he took.

Each step into your apartment felt like he was contaminating more of the air, that he was diminishing the warmth you exuded so effortlessly.

His fingertips burned as he tried to grab a dry shirt and some sweats to change into, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

His mind raced and raced as he couldn’t focus enough to grab a single hanger in the closet. He already felt like he was standing underneath a beacon of light from the single bulb illuminating the entire closet and he couldn’t afford to wake you up now, you might smell him and you would find him disgusting until he would beg and beg that he could strip all the smell away.

Jason felt dizzy at the thought of you leaving. He had imagined many scenarios, all kinds of ways you would be gone. Tortured, kidnapped, or you simply walking out the door as he watched because you didn’t want to love him anymore.

It sickened him. A kind of bile that stuck to his throat when he tortured himself with the thought of you leaving him. He rubbed his face, feeling his calloused hands scratch against his skin as he tried to rub more of the smell away.

He could imagine the sound of your voice, screaming his name in fear or even quietly fading as you faded from his arms.

Sometimes the hallucinations felt so real, like you actually left until he found you at home. Living your life, perfectly fine.

“—on. Jason.”

He instinctively grabbed the knife from his utility belt, so quickly and efficiently that it felt like breathing for Jason.

He was still dizzy, but parts of your face were slowly focusing through his lashes, readjusting until your entire face was clear in his vision. He saw your wide eyes, opened because of the suddenness of him aiming a knife to your neck, but what made him feel even more sick to his stomach was the worried look on your face despite the survival instinct overpowering his brain.

It screamed how much you cared about him. The same man that pointed a blade at you.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Jason, it’s me. I’m right here.” You stood still. Watching the intense adrenaline rush from Jason. It had been a while since you’ve seen him escalate this badly.

“No, no. I‘m—you’re not real.” He pleaded, talking more to himself than at you.

“You’re home. You’re back home.” You tried to reach out with your words, giving him something to metaphorically grab onto.

“Please go away.”

Your heart pinched at his broken words.

“Everything is okay. I’m okay. I am right here.” You repeated.

As adamant as Jason was about stopping his hallucination, he couldn’t raise his voice. He was quietly whispering his pleas as you stood at arms length, confusing his reality and mental images. You didn’t waver to call out to him because he felt more wary of you than you did of him.

The blade he held to you was something he hadn’t done before and as frightened as you were in that moment, you stayed calm. Not for yourself, but from how much he shook and his disheveled appearance, Jason was just scared.

You continued to speak to him, giving him tender reassurances, explaining and truthfully telling him how safe he was and how he could relax from the anxiety plaguing him.

Jason’s eyes were relaxing as he listened to your voice, his muscles were loosening his grip from the blade the more in tune he felt with reality, and he suddenly felt all the exhaustion weigh on him. His knife felt so heavy. Every second he was growing more tired as he realized he was safe enough to finally let it go, so he threw it to the side.

The blade bounced to the floor, reflecting and shining the light from the closet back into the dark bedroom.

You took a deep breath watching the blade leave Jason’s hand, then you looked back to him, seeing his soaked hair stick to his face. His armor caked with dirt and blood blending into the fabric.

As much as you wanted to call Alfred, Jason was in no condition to see another person right now.

As you analyzed him, you saw, physically, how much the night had roughed him up. Jason’s hands were limp at his side, his head hung to your feet as you stepped closer to him, testing how close he was willing to let you get.

“Jay? You’re still in your armor, we need to get you out of your soaked clothes.” You gently spoke.

He said nothing to you, focusing on pacing his breaths in a way that didn’t cause him more anxiety. He kept his eyes closed.

“Do you need my help? I can help, but if you want to do it yourself—“

He grabbed one of your fingers, his frozen hand stinging your warm one that absorbed the heat from your blankets not too long ago. His large hand held onto your singular finger, feeling your smooth skin, trying to sink into the soothing feeling of physical touch.

You patiently waited, letting him go at his own pace to grasp that he was safe enough to ask for this much from you.

“I’m glad you made it home.” You spoke. Feeling Jason’s skin trace your knuckles and veins in your hand like he was memorizing and analyzing the living being he cared so much for.

As he continued his small rubs, he eased his touch to a feather light hover over your arm. Feeling up to press his thumb underneath the fabric of your shirt sleeve, mentally talking to himself about the feel of the fabric and its color.

You let him ground himself, taking note of how still you kept your body. All control was in Jason’s hands like a puppeteer over your entire self. He wanted to scream out to himself that he was selfishly touching you, but he was walking a very thin line of losing his mind any second and the feel of you was keeping him focused on something other than his racing head.

He was so tired that he grasp his hand onto your shoulder to gently pull you toward him, resting his head into your hair, smelling how familiar you were.

He thought you smelt so much better than the gunpowder and burning flesh from his body.

He rested his hand behind your back, slowly feeling up to cusp behind your neck, letting his fingers settle onto your pulse. Counting the thumps and feeling the repeated rhythm he memorized numerous times to fall asleep to.

Jason brought you in closer, matching his breaths to yours because if he felt like passing out, he reasoned to himself that it should be completely because he wanted to be one with you.

You settled your forehead onto his neck, taking a deep breath into his skin.

Jason flinched, feeling his skin tingle to your warm breath exhaling to his hair. He hummed before he was about to pull away from you, remembering his stench.

“I’m sorry, I…stink.” Jason apologized, fighting against himself to release you, but also grip you harder.

You pulled him back to you by his neck and arm, leaning his damp hair onto your head.

“You don’t need to apologize. Besides, I love your smell. I think I stink ‘cause I haven’t showered ever since I got back from work.” You lazily smiled up at Jason, appreciating that he was talking to you.

“You don’t smell.” He emphasized, whispering his sincerity into the small space between your bodies.

“I was sweating a lot today, so we can be stinky together if that’s what you’re worried about.” You comforted him, reaching up to cusp his cheeks. Soothing the redness on his face from his harsh rubs. “We can wash up together if you want to. It’s also okay if you want to do it by yourself. I’m always open to what you tell me, no matter what I’ll be right here until you let me know.”

Jason felt the ease in his shoulders, the voice in his head calming. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was a little quieter when you were speaking so gently to him.

“Can we wash up together?” He asked into your palm, rubbing his nose into your warm hand.

“Of course we can. I can get the water ready while you get out of your gear.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed into your touch.

“I won’t make the water too hot. I also got a new shampoo yesterday and I haven’t used it yet, so we can smell like eucalyptus together.” You could feel Jason’s frozen nose on your hands. “Hon, you’re freezing.”

Your worries were unanswered, leaving you to only furrow your brow at the man in front of you. Jason could only look up from your hands, clearly having nothing to say, but patiently waiting for you to give in to his tender gaze.

He knew you would give in, you always did and he wanted to use it to his advantage to not speak about his night.

He removed his gloves and you heard the slightly damp fabric being pulled from his fingers. With free hands, Jason reached out to rub off the furrowed look on your face, in attempt to cover his tired appearance.

“You’re lucky I’m going to be nice about this. I was about one call away to summoning Alfred or I would’ve drove your motorcycle all the way there if I had to.”

Jason chuckled as he kept kneading the line between your eyebrows. Listening to your stubborn worries that felt like music to his ears as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Threatening me now?” Jason asked. Amused, but willing to listen to your voice continuously. The way his voice teased you made your heart tingle, enough to distract you for a moment to look at the way his hair fell onto his face. His features were carved by wavy hair, elegantly placed hair strands that made you waver between frustrated and enamored, but unable to stop your heartfelt lecture.

“Maybe you can distract me, but Alfred is too experienced to even consider hesitating with you.” You tried to go move your eyebrows in defiance against Jason’s thumb, not backing down just yet. “I was about to haul you on my shoulders and dump you onto the back of your motorcycle. I didn’t go through all those lessons with you to not use it against you.“

“I knew it, you were always too excited to take it out for a drive. Can’t believe my own student was actually plotting against me all along.” Jason held onto your face, shaking his head as he traced your jaw with his fingers.

“It’s called “enthusiasm,” Jason.” You started to feel for the zippers of his jacket, moving your fingers against the leather as you slowly took it off his shoulders, carefully watching his body language to ensure you weren’t making him uncomfortable.

“Enthusiasm.” Jason repeated. In the same tone you always swooned at, hearing the familiar low roughness in his voice that was only reserved for you. A dangerous combo as he touched your face so affectionately, you could feel your face heat in the dim closet light. “I know all about enthusiasm.”

He leaned in to slightly peck your bottom lip, feeling his own lips barely touch yours. He felt how dry his lips were, but yours were soft enough to drown out his other worries and insecurities. Enough to feel the intimacy, but not enough to solidify something more.

You smiled, clearly won over by Jason’s charm. In one swoop you pulled the jacket off Jason, leaving him in his usual patrol skintight top with his emblem reflecting what little light was in the room.

You couldn’t imagine the fear that red bat symbol brought to the bad people lingering at night, realizing the bad shit they brought on themselves because that emblem was the last thing they would remember.

But you always liked what was beneath it, what it tried to protect. The part of Jason that he relentlessly tried to hide and you had the patience to slowly unveil every bit of it.

“Save that enthusiasm because we might not be able to wash up if you kiss me one more time.” You rubbed your hands into the back of his neck, feeling the tense muscles and wanting to help him relax for a bit with some warm water and rubbing some shampoo into his hair to hopefully allow him to sleep a little tonight. “Clean your gear in the morning, I wanna warm up with a shower and you can help me dry my hair.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed as he kept rubbing your lips with his thumb. You felt accomplished as you felt his hands slowly warming from your physical touch.

“I’ll get us some fresh towels. Grab the new shampoo after you remove your gear.” You released yourself from Jason and made your way to the bathroom. “It should be in the bag by the bed. I forgot to take it out.”

With some soreness, Jason removed his utility belt and picked up the thrown knife to safely secure it back in its place. He felt the weight in his eyelids as he made his way to the bathroom, hearing the water turn on.

When he pushed the door open silently, he watched the way you moved. Adjusting the heat of the water, placing freshly dried towels on the counter, and the way you were so perfectly domestic.

Jason didn’t want to disturb you, soothing himself to the sight of you after he exhausted himself from the repeated torture his mind put himself through.

When you looked back, the look you gave him almost made him melt to the tile floor. That it was unreal he was allowed this.

You pulled him into the bathroom, much like the other ways you introduced him to various simplicities he started to enjoy in his life.

He didn’t want to admit it to you, in case you would be offended, but he cherished how mundane you were. That he could feel as close to ordinary next to you. That the scars that littered him weren’t going to drive you away.

Piece by piece, clothing were removed from the two of you. It was comfortable to bare yourself, to share this intimate experience of bathing together. Washing and holding each other under warm water. Massaging and lathering soap.

The steam was filling the bathroom, slight humidity relaxing your skin and your shared scent radiating off each other.

The night was turning into dawn, but you dried each others hair. You gently laid into the bed to slowly rub at Jason’s head, easing him and yourself into another slumber.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Only Fans (18+)

Bayverse!Raphael x reader

A/N: Inspired by a post I saw here on Tumblr. I can’t remember who posted it, so if someone knows who they are, please tag them and let them know I wrote something inspired by their little Raph x reader Only Fans idea. Because honestly, I agree. I think he would be into that, ngl.

Takes place in a world where mutants are accepted in human society.

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Size difference (size kink?), filming, filming of porn?, voyeurism?, rough sex.

It started with small home videos, you and your boyfriend made for only the two of you to enjoy. The first film was due to the simple reason, that Raph wanted you to see what he saw whenever his thick member stretched you out. You were only able to feel it, not see it. His thick, almost over sized green member pushing in and out of you, with your wetness all over it. It was erotic to watch, you would have to admit that. And that was when you and Raph had the idea to continue filming yourselves just for the fun of it.

Then the need for money came into play. Both you and Raph worked a lot, but with the whole world only getting more and more expensive, especially in a city like New York, with everything but the wages raising, you and Raph had to find another way to make income on the side. And the idea came surprisingly quick to the two of you - opening an Only Fans.

Human mutant relationships were nothing new at that point. They had been happening for years, especially after the official acceptance of mutants in society. Yet you and Raph were surprised to see how few videos of humans and mutants that were on the internet. It was an untouched market, just waiting for you and your boyfriend to tap into it. And with the thought of knowing people would watch what your boyfriend was able to do to you, excited the two of you quite a lot.

Your first video was a success. Filmed on your shared bed with the camera angled just right, so that Raph’s large member thrusting in and out of you was on full display, both of your faces out of the line of sight. And with the title “Mutants ramming human hard from behind”, both mutants and humans were on it in no time.

One video became two, and then two became five, and soon it was a whole thing. You and Raph was gaining the money you needed, just by having sex in the comfort of your own home. Even before you and Raphg started this Only Fans thing, the two of you had a very busy and healthy sex life. Now you had a busy and healthy sex life, gaining money on it. You only saw wins.

Your most popular video to date, was one of you and Raph on the couch, with the camera standing on the coffee table. It started with the two of you being dressed in very formal clothing, as the two of you had just gotten home from a date at a local restaurant, making out with your faces just out of the shot. It didn’t take long before Raph had your red dress pushed up, your lace panties pulled to the side, and his long finger inside of you, making you moan and whimper as you held on to him for dear life. Soon, Raph’s slack pants was down around his angels with you straddling his waist, bouncing on his long erection, his large hands holding your dress up and panties to the side. Soon it took the turn that you and Raph’s videos usually did. As the intensity grew, things got rougher, resulting in Raph ripping off your underwear, before grabbing a hold of your waist from under your thighs, leaving your legs dangling up over his big strong arms. From this angel it was easy for him to lift you up before slamming you down onto him once again, making you scream and moan, while Raph groaned and churred. It ended with both of you caming hard, with you having an earth shattering orgasm that left shaking and convulsing on Raph, while he shot his white robes into you.

You couldn’t walk right for a whole week after that, proving in more ways than the numbers on the video, that it had been a success. And as soon as your legs were functioning normally again, you and Raph was back on it again, making hard rough love in front of a camera.

[valentinebugzee]

Sonic Boom! Agent Stone AU (pt.1)

(This is kind of an outline thing for the fic I plan on writing in the future btw!!)

Chapter 1 posted!

•On one random Tuesday, a coffee shop named "The Mean Bean" appeared in the middle of town, with no construction and no posters for the place, as if it fell from the sky.

•It probably did since it's sonic boom and all.

•Sonic and friends had different opinions on the place, but all of them went in anyway.

•Sonic thought he wasn't really a coffee guy but it wouldn't hurt to try something new.

•Amy admired how beautiful and modern the place looked, unlike the rest of the establishments in their formerly unnamed village.

•Tails questioned how they had managed to construct a cafe that quickly without anyone noticing.

•Knuckles wondered why this bean shop smelled like coffee.

•Sticks, however...had her theories.

•Upon laying her eyes on the establishment, she started coming up with 50 theories per second; her friends dismissed her to get the plot going.

•Sticks's suspicions didn't subside one bit once entered the shop and made eye contact with a grinning barista with the name tag "Stone"

•What really got Sticks paranoid is how nice and friendly the barista was, and how he was the only person working there.

•Stone served them and said their orders were "on the house"

•Sticks refused to order anything, claiming it was a trap and the food had microchips in it to read the villager's thoughts and know the village's most crucial secrets.

•Right in the middle of Stick's yap session, Eggman initiated a very well-timed attack.

•Cut to Shoujo vision-eyed Stone laying his eyes for the very first time on the village's one and only villain (or the only one that matters)

•He quickly snapped out of it, adjusted his clothes, and cleared his throat, then walked out of his coffee shop to greet the villain.

•He had politely asked Eggman to take the fight somewhere further away from his coffee shop and Eggman surprisingly obliged (not without blowing up in Stone's face ofc) (Stone didn't look like he minded) (He actually looked even more love-struck) (weirdo)

•The fight ended, and the gang went back to the coffee shop, where Stone inquired about the evil doctor who almost blew up his shop.

•That was Stick's last straw; she started screaming about how Stone was a government agent who would doom the entire village if they didn't stop him.

•She ran out screaming when her friends still didn't believe her.

•Girl, get better friends.

•She figured that if she was going to foil the evil government agent's plans she needed someone else helping her, another pair of eyes to look out for the village if the government agent decided that she was an obstacle in his way and kidnaps her to a work in a secret underground trees-that-are- actually-spy-cameras-factory.

•And that's when she found Shadow in a cave that he definitely doesn't live in.

•He reluctantly agreed to help her because he was also suspicious about that guy, not that he cared about the village but he didn't like being oblivious about evil happening on his turf.

•He didn't believe stick's microchipped food theory, but Stone being a government agent didn't seem too far off for him...

•They both had their separate attempts at getting answers out of Stone.

•First was Sticks, she set up a trap.

•ofc Stone fell for it because how else would the story progress.

•She interrogated him as he was upside down hanging from a tree outside her home.

•He denied all claims and feigned innocence, claiming he was just a barista that came from far far away to simply serve people happiness in the form of coffee.

•She opted for more efficient interrogation techniques, she turned around and entered her home to..grab a feather and tickle him idfk

•Once she returned outside she saw the net was burnt to crisp and the human was nowhere to be found.

•Now she's sure she's not paranoid.

•She reported her findings to Shadow.

•Now it was Shadow's turn, seeing how Stone definitely had some special equipment/weapons on him the idea of there being microchips in the food didn't seem too uncanny.

•Shadow showed up to The Mean Bean, Sticks intently staring at him from behind the glass doors (creeping everyone in the shop out)

•Shadow thought he shouldn't interrogate him as that would end up as fruitful as Stick's efforts.

•Instead he chose to just behave as a normal customer, he was the ultimate life form after all, if there was something odd about the food then he'd know (I'm pulling this shit outta my ass okay)

•Just like the badger had described him "Very sweet with an evil aura", and something about trees.

•Stone felt somewhat nervous/awkward towards the hedgehog, so far all his customers were either stupid or friendly excluding the badger that kidnapped him because she wasn't a customer at all)

•The Hedgehog chose a cat muffin, glaring at stone the entire time.

•That was the best goddamn muffin he has ever had in his life.

•He slammed the money on the counter and returned back to a very distraught badger.

•"ARE YOU OKAY?! ARE THE RADIATIONS GETTING TO YOUR BRAIN?! ARE YOU BRAINWASHED?! DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR TRAGIC BACKSTORY?! DID THE MUFFIN DO SOMETHING TO YOU?!"

"Raspberry jam..."

"huh?"

[thatoneweirdgirl17]

Okay I came up with this at work because I was left alone with my thoughts for 10 hrs.

Imagine a feyd x single mom reader except the baby is Paul’s. Reader used to be a servant in caladan and eventually her and Paul messed around, she approached lady Jessica in confidence for help but instead got sold off because Paul getting a servant girl pregnant was not part of her plan. Later feyd kinda saves reader from the a-hole who bought her but in reality he was there to kill the guy for betraying the baron and saw reader and decided he wanted her. He finds out she’s already pregnant but instead of killing her of getting rid of her he kinda hides her away so he can have his own secret lil family (maybe as a way to cope with the childhood that was stolen from him). Feyd has his harpies protect and hide her and the baby and over time the girls bond (baby is having the worlds most protective and feral aunties). Eventually reader tell feyd who the baby’s dad is and explains how she ended up at the a-holes house. Feyd finds the situation hilarious but still decides to protect reader and raise the baby as his own (not really out of love but more as a jab at Paul like haha I have your toys but they do eventually grow to care about each other, maybe not love but definitely a codependency). When the baby is born he immediately becomes attached to her (I must protect this tiny creature) which is a new emotion to him.For a couple of years baby girl grows up seeing feyd as her dad. Eventually the events of dune happen and right before Paul is about to stab him, feyd says something along the lines “ go ahead and kill me in front of your daughter”. Paul is understandingly confused until a lil 4-5 year old comes running out to feyd screaming daddy and using the voice to make Paul back off. Everyone can instantly see who her biological father is since she has his hair, eyes and is able to use the voice. Feyd would definitely have a shit eating grin when Paul learns that his mother is the reason his daughter grew up without him. Paul tries to approach her but she turns her head and says to feyd “daddy I wanna go home” and Paul’s heart just breaks at the realization that he lost his daughter before he even knew about her. Paul can’t kill Feyd since he would loose his daughter even more and they basically create a custody agreement where Paul can come and visit her every month.

Please if someone turns this into a fic tag me so I can read🙏

Edit: I am planning on writing this out but give me some time since it will be my first fanfic since high school

@dreamlandcreations @triluvial @austinbutlerslovers @sansaorgana @purejasmine @sebastianswallows

Update

I finally had time to start writing this and although it’s my first fic I’m really proud of it. I ended up making a second account with the intent to only post fics there to make things easier for myself. If you’re interested in reading I’ll add a link under this.

[rainba]

Here it is... The fic where Luka kidnaps both his darling and Kairos.

TWs/tags: human furniture, dubcon, kidnapping, slight depiction of violence, pet play, NSFW, mind break, cucking (?), dark content, use of shock collars

Reader is GN, however, there is one paragraph where the reader is gendered. The asterisk* will mark the paragraph with afab reader, and the one in parenthesis is amab. :3c)

MDNI! 18+

In one previous post, I mentioned that Kairos and Luka do live in the same universe and city– and in a few other posts, I mentioned that they’d never share their darling. If one of them tries to kidnap darling, they’ll just report the other to the police. 

Then another idea came up, a way that Luka could circumvent that predicament: Luka figures that Kairos would instantly report him if he kidnapped his darling. So… In order to stop that from happening…

Luka would kidnap both you and Kairos.

Luka’s house is definitely big enough to keep both of you. In the beginning stages, he’ll keep Kairos locked up in the attic while he keeps you in the basement. The basement is much cozier– meanwhile the attic is all dusty, hot, and muggy.

Between you and Kairos, Luka will be much, much nicer to you. He’s (quite literally) obsessed with you, so of course you get the better treatment. He cooks your favorite meals and feeds them to you by hand. He gives you plenty of water and always showers you in attention– sometimes he’ll even place a TV down in the basement and let you watch random stuff. You know, just so you don’t get too bored. He wants you to feel at home–! When you learn to accept your new life, he’ll spoil you rotten.

But for Kairos..? Luka is absolutely brutal.

Luka will rub in the fact that he beat Kairos in “winning you.” He’s simply just the superior man– the superior partner. Luka loves you too much to ever let you go. After all, you're the only person that has ever made him feel anything at all. And he really drives in the fact that you belong to him, and that Kairos will never have the chance to even touch you.

Luka will walk circles around Kairos as he mocks him relentlessly.

“Nobody is looking for you.”

“You’re pathetic. Disgusting freak.”

“They’re all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kairos will scream, squirm, and cry as much as he possibly can– but nobody can hear him. Luka is right: nobody is looking for him. Kairos doesn’t have any family. He doesn’t have any friends. He’s stuck in this hell forever.

To keep Kairos alive, Luka gives him his leftovers. He dumps it onto the dirty ground and drags Kairos next to it, commanding him to “eat up.” Kairos is forced to pathetically writhe on the floor and eat without his hands– all because Luka refuses to untie him. As for water, Luka forces Kairos to drink out of a dog bowl.

Most of the time, Kairos can’t hear anything. Luka’s house is eerily quiet at night. And during the day, Kairos can sometimes hear the sounds of children laughing and playing outside, or he’ll just hear Luka casually going about his day as if there aren't two people locked up in his house.

It’s torturous.

Over time, Luka will get you to warm up to him– call it stockholm syndrome kicking in, if you will. Or maybe you already loved him and he just needed to build trust with you. Either way– you eventually upgrade from the basement to his bedroom. And that’s when things get infinitely worse for Kairos.

He’s not just listening to Luka going about his daily routine now– no, now he has to also listen to the two of you fucking multiple times a day. The way you’re moaning out another man's name… The sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall… Kairos finds himself choking and sobbing as he’s stuck tied to the chair. Sometimes he starts to dissociate and pretends that he’s somewhere else.

Most of the time he pretends that the two of you just got married, and he’s playing out different scenarios of honeymoons in his head.

After a few more weeks or months go by, Luka will grow bored of keeping Kairos tied up in the attic. If he’s gonna keep a hostage, he might as well put them to good use. So what does he do with Kairos?

He uses him as human furniture. Forces him to also be a pet.

You’re horrified as you watch Kairos crawling around the house with a gag in his mouth and a leash attached to his throat. If Luka feels bold enough, he might even have the words ���Luka’s Bitch” decorated on the collar. Oh– and it’s not just a regular collar, either. It’s a shock collar.

Any time Kairos acts out and disobeys Luka, he earns himself a shock so powerful that it causes him to seize and collapse onto the floor.

…This entire time, you thought it was just you in the house. You didn’t know there was another person. You’re not alone.

It makes your stomach churn.

And Luka encourages you to use Kairos as furniture as well. Use him as a footrest, use him as a table or a chair– do whatever.

Over time, deep down, incomprehensible and guilty thoughts begin to appear in Kairos’ mind. Things that made him once want to throw up now make him feel… Funny. He’s so happy that he gets to see your face again–!! He’s finally reunited with the love of his life, it’s just a shame it’s under such horrible circumstances.

Kairos doesn’t mind if you use him like furniture. It’s okay if you do it. But he loathes it when it’s Luka who’s using him.

The difference between you and Luka is like night and day. While Luka berates and degrades him, sometimes even depriving him of basic necessities, you always sneak around and give Kairos lots of love and extra food. 

Kairos always breaks down and cries in your arms when you show him kindness– he’s so very thankful for it. But be sure that Luka doesn’t catch you. If he sees you being sweet towards Kairos, he’ll harshly punish Kairos and then fuck you right in front of him. Every time.

Kairos always feels so pathetic as he's forced to watch you getting ravaged by Luka. The way you're moaning under his touch... The hot, sticky sound of Luka's cock sliding in and out of you... All of this happening while Kairos is tied down and unable to do a thing. He's so fucking hard, and there's nothing there to relieve him. Luka punishes Kairos if he dares to look away.

In order to gain more privileges, both you and Kairos need to work to gain Luka’s favor. If the both of you prove that you’re capable of being trusted, he might give you more freedom. He’ll let you look out the windows every now and then– might even let you use the kitchen. He's much more open to giving you privileges than he is to giving Kairos any.

Except, of course, he always hides all of the sharp objects in the house. He doesn’t want you two to have access to weapons. And if you try to poison him even once, he’ll immediately make the kitchen permanently off limits when he's not around to watch you.

Also, over time, another funny thing happens. Luka doesn’t really like punishing you outside of sex- he'd much rather shower you in rewards. He’d rather save the roughness and punishments for more intimate settings. After all, he’s trying to earn your love– not make you hate him. So, what does he do instead?

Every time you act up, he’ll drag Kairos by his leash and punish him in your stead. After all, he knows that you care about Kairos and his wellbeing, so he uses that against you.

Oh, you just tried to break out of the house? You tried to poison Luka? Well, that deserves a proper punishment. Luka will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as he brutalizes Kairos. Whips him with a belt, kicks him in the stomach, takes away his food privileges for the next 48 hours... It’s horrible.

And in a way… This would cause Kairos to start policing you, too. Which is exactly what Luka wants. Kairos really, really doesn’t want to get punished. I mean, deep down, he’s absolutely happy that he gets to take the beating instead of you– it’s like he’s your hero!! …In some weird and twisted sense. But also, he really doesn’t want to get punished, so… Please don’t act out.

However, when the months keep rolling in, Luka will slowly warm up to Kairos. All of the punishments will grow less severe– and sometimes, Luka just lets you all off with a warning. It’s obvious that a big change has happened when instead of Luka just fucking you in front of Kairos, he lets him join in on the fun.

Except Luka doesn’t really want to touch him– so, he’ll let you touch Kairos instead. It’s what Kairos always wanted– Right?

Kairos should thank him. 

Luka will tie his arms behind his back and keep him firmly locked to a chair, completely naked. Kairos feels so ashamed that he’s hard– but god, he can’t help it. He’s so excited to finally be able to touch you, his darling, the person that should’ve always been his–!

And Luka will make sure it’s enjoyable for everyone. Luka will strip you of your clothes, but he might put you in a cute pair of thigh highs, just for the fun of it. Luka will grab you by your hair and push your face into Kairos’ lap as he utters one phrase, “suck it.”

You’ll do as you’re told– you don’t have much of a choice. Kairos’ eyes instantly light up as you wrap your lips around his sensitive cock.

Finally– his dreams are coming true…! 

Sort of.

As you suck him off, Luka will lift your ass into the air and he’ll fuck your tight hole. He’ll keep his right hand on your hip while his left hand grabs the back of your head, lacing his fingers into your hair. He doesn’t care if you can barely breathe– he’ll shove your head all the way down on Kairos’ dick as he bottoms out inside of you. Occasionally, he’ll lift your head up and lean in to kiss you on the lips.

It’s all so hot– but ultimately, it’s all for you and himself. Luka will always make sure you cum, that’s his top priority. His second priority is to make sure he gets to fill you up. As for Kairos? Well… Luka doesn’t care all that much.

If Kairos doesn’t cum? That’s too bad. It’s Kairos’ own fault that he didn’t come undone. But if he does cum? That’s alright too. 

However, don’t expect Luka to make you stop sucking. Kairos will be squirming in his chair whining like crazy as you overstimulate him, his body trembling from the sensation, but you can’t stop until Luka says you can stop.

The second scenario is much more likely to happen than the first. The moment Kairos looks down and sees your fucked-out face choking on his length… He’ll cum right on the spot– every single time, without fail.

After the first instance of Luka letting Kairos join in the sex, he earns a lot more privileges. He can finally sleep in the same room as you two–!! But he’s not really allowed to rest on the bed. He’ll be forced to curl up and sleep on the floor– but hey, it beats the attic any day, right?

Luka also takes off Kairos' shock collar. Since Kairos has proved himself to be a good boy, he's now allowed to roam around freely. Hell, sometimes Luka will pet Kairos and give him some praise. It... Makes Kairos feel strange, but in a good way.

Kairos is also now allowed to cuddle you sometimes. When you’re simply sitting on the couch and trying to relax, Kairos will immediately hurry over to your side and rest his head in your lap– desperate to feel even an ounce of affection from you. He might ask you to stroke his hair and kiss the bruises Luka left on his skin.

* If Luka is at work and Kairos knows there’s no cameras around, he might beg to suck on your tits– you know, for comfort reasons! It would really make him happy to have them in his mouth– it would be therapeutic, even.

((And if you’re a guy, Kairos will instead beg to frot you. While it’s a lot more dangerous and the punishment for getting caught is heavy, Kairos is willing to risk it all. Don’t worry–! You can just sit there and relax; Kairos will be the one doing all the work with his hand.))

You know how stressful and traumatizing this whole situation has been for him… He needs to be comforted so badly… So.. Pretty please?

In some sick and twisted way, over time, Kairos grows to like the way things are– perhaps his mind does this as a way to cope. He tries his hardest to find all the positives in living this kind of life:

> He gets to spend every minute of every day with you!

> He doesn’t have to worry about talking to strangers.

> He doesn’t have to work and maintain a job.

> He doesn’t have to cook and clean for himself.

The list goes on. Kairos gains all of these benefits, and all he has to do is give up most of his basic human rights and submit to another man…!

Okay, Kairos still admits that is pretty bad. But… At least he has you…! That’s all Kairos really cares about in the end!

For Luka? He’s satisfied with the way things are. Not only does he not have to worry about Kairos ratting him out to the police, but now he has both the love of his life right by his side and a fun little pet to take his stress out on. 

So… Everyone… Wins? In the end? ❤️

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 6.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 5K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: ok, so my notes on AO3 reminded me how actually this fic crawled into my brain and it was with Drugs in Our Body. So, what should happen after this chapter is whatever happens in DiOB - it serves as somewhat floating chapter. The story can be read without it, but there might be some gaps in the next and future chapters, as I reference it briefly. So, it's ch.6. -> DiOB -> ch.7. I hope that makes sense, I don't know who I think I am, doing this kind of stuff.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

“A C?” you gasped as you opened your paper, the glaring red C screaming at your incompetence. How could this happen? You’d worked on it for an entire week. You turned the paper around, desperate for any explanation, but all you found was Heimerdinger’s poetic scrawl: ‘Not entirely botched but needs more work. Seek and you shall find, Y/N. You can give me a fix-up if you want a higher grade.’

“Don’t worry, I got a D,” Sue sighed, her arms falling to her sides, the paper crumpled in one hand. She hadn’t put in nearly as much effort, spending most of the week hanging out with Alice and doing what she smugly referred to as “girl stuff.”

“Yes, but I put in about a month’s worth of research for this,” you muttered, the frustration spilling out before you could stop it. You caught Sue’s glare and quickly backtracked. “I’m not saying you didn’t! I just… I don’t understand.”

“Well, he says you can fix it. He didn’t say that on mine, look,” Sue said, holding up the crumpled paper. The note read: ‘Not bad. Could be better. Pay more attention to details next time. H.’

“You could ask Viktor for help?” Sue offered faintly; her eyebrows raised. You inhaled sharply, preparing to unleash a tirade of insults about why that was the absolute last thing you would ever do. But before you could, Sue hastily amended, “Or Jayce! He has office hours in the afternoon, or so I’ve heard.”

“I… guess you’re right,” you said, letting out the breath you’d been holding. Seeing Viktor in class was already more than enough to deal with. He acted as if nothing had happened, which only made you more furious. That anger had sharpened even further when Angus had texted to ask you out for coffee, leaving your stomach tied in knots as you agreed.

You met him at a cosy pub near campus, the same one you used to frequent with Hale, Sue, Jayce, Mel, and, well… Viktor—though only because he was coerced, not because you wanted him there. Angus asked you question after question, and you found it surprisingly easy to talk to him. You told him funny stories about your parents being new age freaks, about how much you loved your mum’s Polish cooking, and how your dad had kept you in a strict yoga routine since you were six, grooming you to take over his practice.

You admitted how you’d chosen genetics instead, a quiet rebellion against your mum’s recall healing teachings—only to discover there was some truth to them, realising that everything in the universe was connected.

Angus was fascinated. He told you about his three brothers, who’d gone into law and programming, and how he was the family’s scapegoat. He spoke warmly about his close bond with his mum and his dream of running a facility to help kids overcome trauma through theatre and dance.

You praised him for it, but when he misread your words as an invitation and leaned in to kiss you, you froze. He stopped, eyebrows raised, waiting for you to explain. All you could manage was a clumsy explanation that you’d had a wonderful time, but it made you realise you needed to sort out your own issues first.

He laughed, a soft, knowing sound. “I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be straightforward,” he said lightly.

He seemed like the kind of guy who could easily find someone else, but the thought still left your heart aching. And somehow, it was all Viktor’s fault.

The way he never asked about any of those things. The way he only asked where you were from to wind you up.

You braced yourself through the day, slogging through classes and lectures with the weight of that damned paper gnawing at you. By the time the sky turned dark, you found yourself reluctantly heading back to the science lab, resolved to ask Jayce for help. It felt strange to ask him instead of Viktor—like you were dodging some inescapable fate.

Jayce had always been approachable, quick to befriend the “fresh meat.” If there were any rules about student-TA relationships, he seemed to ignore them with a confidence that made you smile. Viktor, on the other hand… well, he was a different beast entirely.

Stuffing a banana into your mouth as you walked, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in one of the school’s tall windows. Not great, but not tragic either. The real issue was the way your face—mid-chewing—gave away just how much crying you’d been doing. It was painfully obvious, even to you.

You barged into the TA’s office without a second thought. “Hey, Jayce, do you have some time to take a look at this?” you asked, your focus entirely on digging through your bag, where the cursed paper had been unceremoniously shoved earlier.

But when you looked up, you froze.

The person at the desk wasn’t Jayce. It was Viktor.

He glanced up at you, eyebrows raised in surprise at your abrupt entrance. And there it was—already forming—the smirk you hated so much. Before he could unleash one of his insufferable remarks, you scrambled to backtrack.

“Shit, sorry. I thought it was Jayce’s hours. I’ll come back some other time,” you blurted, already halfway out the door.

“Please, don’t be ridiculous,” he said, standing up too quickly, his hand wobbling on his cane. You saw it but decided not to step in to help. “I can take a look.”

His voice carried a careful edge, and you hesitated. You didn’t trust him—not after the last time. He had crossed a line, and you’d felt the sting of it for days. He knew it too. He saw it in the way your body tensed every time he leaned over your workbench in class to offer advice, advice you now refused to take. He saw it now, in the faint swelling of your face, the traces of tears you hadn’t managed to hide.

He knew it had been wrong the moment you stormed out of his office that day, leaving him slumped in his chair with a quiet “Shit,” slipping from his mouth.

Now, as you lingered in the doorway, Viktor saw a chance to make amends. He wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.

You eyed him suspiciously before finally handing over the paper, reluctant and still keeping your distance. Viktor perched himself on the edge of the desk, flipping through your work, his sharp eyes scanning for Heimerdinger’s signature wisdom.

“Ah, right. He can’t be bothered to write more than this,” Viktor huffed, reading the vague ‘Seek and you shall find.’

“Thankfully, I made notes for you on this one,” he said, glancing up to meet your eyes. There was a genuine effort in his grin that made you uneasy.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be Jayce’s hours?” you asked, crossing your arms as you watched him pull a set of notes from his bag. Why would he make notes for you in advance? It didn’t add up. Was this some elaborate act to stage a redemption arc for himself?

“Why? Has your focus shifted already?” Viktor’s retort slipped out before he could stop it. The playful edge in his voice made your spine straighten, ready to snap back with a sharp response. But before you could, he quickly softened his tone.

“He’s sick,” Viktor said, his gaze steady, almost remorseful. “I’m covering for him.”

You didn’t know whether to believe him, but the vulnerability in his tone threw you off balance. For once, it seemed like Viktor wasn’t trying to wind you up—or at least, not entirely.

You didn’t say anything at first, but you leaned in closer, your gaze falling to the notes Viktor had spread out on the desk. That familiar scent of his—body wash, something clean and sharp, mingled with freshly washed wool—drifted to you. It was oddly comforting, though you couldn’t quite figure out why it felt so… intimate.

He tapped a finger on the first section of your paper, pointing to where you had rushed to conclusions, skipping the part where you should have explained how you’d arrived at your findings. “You’ve got solid results,” he said, his voice low and patient, “but Heimerdinger’s mark was his way of telling you that your argument is missing a crucial part. You skipped over how you proved your hypothesis—how you got to the results you did.”

You nodded, following his finger as he guided you through the mistakes you hadn’t even noticed before. His advice was precise, practical, and, oddly enough, warm. It wasn’t just about correcting your errors—it was the care he was taking with you. He wasn’t simply telling you what was wrong; he was showing you how to fix it, step by step, as though it actually mattered to him.

“This part here,” Viktor continued, tapping another section, “it’s the hardest part for most students. The construction of the paper—the logic of it. That’s what gets people. You didn’t make any mistakes in your research or results. It’s just the way you laid everything out. This is the part most academics struggle with. It just takes practice.”

You swallowed, warmth rushing through your chest. You couldn’t tell if it was the unexpected kindness or the fact that he was taking the time to explain everything so thoroughly, but something inside you shifted. Your shoulders relaxed, and the tension you’d been carrying eased, just a little.

For a moment, you let your guard down. You allowed yourself to actually listen, to trust in what he was saying. But as his steady, warm tone settled over you, a flicker of confusion took hold. Was this real? Was he being this careful with you because he cared? Or were you just imagining it, reading too much into the moment?

Your mind raced, a swirl of emotions and doubts tumbling over one another. It had only been a few days since that… moment. You weren’t sure if you were holding on to the idea of it or if Viktor’s actions now were a sign that something had shifted between you.

You glanced at him. His focus was entirely on your paper, his expression neutral. But something in his eyes made your heart beat just a little faster. Was he really this warm, or was it just the warmth of the moment? You couldn’t tell.

“How is your hand?” he asked suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. His gaze drifted to the small bandage covering the alkaline burn from the other day. The question seemed to slip out unbidden, and you weren’t sure if you appreciated the reminder.

You blinked, thrown back to that moment by the sink: his voice sharp and cutting, his dark eyes boring into you, his fingers pressing gently against your wrist as his mouth asked, “Why are you not wearing gloves?”

Your pulse quickened as you quickly tugged your sleeve over the bandage, concealing the mark. “It’s fine,” you said, taking a step back.

He spoke your name softly, his hand darting out to stop you. This time, his movement wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t unsure, as it had been before. His fingers closed around your wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough that you couldn’t slip away.

He turned your hand palm-up and carefully began peeling the bandage away. The gentleness of the motion disarmed you, and you stood frozen, watching as his sharp eyes inspected the wound beneath.

You winced at the gesture, and Viktor presumed it was painful, though your face twisted more because here he was, exposing you once again. “Don’t be such a baby,” he chuckled.

“I could say the same to you,” you muttered under your breath. Viktor only shot you a glance, laced with a knowing smile.

“It’s looking good. Let it air out once in a while,” he said. This would be the moment to release your hand, but he couldn’t help himself; he held it for a little while longer. He was about to mention how you could always count on him for help with essays and long-term homework, just to cement the quiet truce between you. But you beat him to it.

“You don’t know the first thing about me.” It blurted out before you could stop it. It just shot out of your mouth like an overworked spring.

Viktor was taken aback. His mouth hung open for a moment as he processed your words. What exactly did you mean by that? It was a challenge you threw without thinking. But he could take it. The silence between you stretched, and when you started to retreat your hand, about to mutter an apology, he spoke, hesitantly.

“I… I know you’re half-Polish,” he said, offering a sheepish smile, as if apologizing for how he’d gathered this information. You shot him a glare, but Viktor wasn’t deterred.

“I also know you’re into genetics.” Your sigh was almost audible. These were the things most people knew about you by now. But he wasn’t finished.

“I know that you know Hamilton by heart.” You raised an eyebrow, but he pressed on.

“I know you don’t abandon your friends when they need you. I know you’re ambitious, smart, and funny. I know you laugh at silly, dry chemistry jokes. I know you chew on your pencil when you’re focused.” Your breath hitched slightly, but you stayed silent.

“I know…” he hesitated, his voice softening, “how warm your hands are when you get… excited.” He knew so much more about you but was too afraid to say it. He knew the feeling of your fingers on his scalp as you pulled him closer into a kiss. He knew the taste of your tongue and the sound of little gasps you made when he touched you. He memorized it all and replayed it over and over again in his mind.

You swallowed hard, feeling a strange mix of warmth and nerves twirling inside you. You didn’t speak, just looked at him, and Viktor, not certain about the effect of his confession, refused to meet your gaze. His touch on your hand was tender now, softer than before.

He cleared his throat, finally asking, “So… what do you know about me?” You blinked, thrown off by the question. You answered quickly, not thinking too much about it.

“I know you’re Czech… and that you’re a sad fart.”

Viktor couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and unexpected in the air between you. You felt the tension lift, just a little, as you shared this strange, awkward moment. He released your hand and leaned back against the desk, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, his voice carrying a mix of humour and something more sincere.

“Well, it seems that we need to work on that. I’m so much more than a sad fart. I’m also a stiff, meticulous bastard, I’ll remind you.” He pointed a joking finger in your direction as you rolled your eyes.

“What do you have in mind, then?” you asked, your tone still guarded but tinged with curiosity.

“A… ceasefire?” Viktor suggested, his smile lingering, though his gaze softened slightly. “At least for now.”

Your lips twitched into a half-smile. “As long as you promise not to shoot me in the back.”

Viktor chuckled softly under his breath. “I might have a history of unsportsmanlike conduct, but perhaps we could… start over? Unless, of course, Angus…”

You raised an eyebrow at that, feeling a grin tug at the corners of your mouth. “Oh, you wish I told you,” you teased, your tone a playful challenge rather than an outright denial. “But yes, a ceasefire and a do-over I can accept. No dirty moves, Viktor.”

He leaned in ever so slightly, his voice still playful but with an edge of something deeper. “I solemnly swear.” He held up a hand in mock sincerity before smirking. “No dirty moves… this time.”

His gaze lingered on you, the teasing glint still present, but there was an undercurrent of something else in his tone. He wasn’t making it clear—what exactly were the two of you trying again? Was it just the tentative friendship, the awkward truce formed after your bickering? Or was it something more?

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he might be pushing for something beyond the ceasefire, though he wasn’t saying it outright. Perhaps it was just your imagination, overthinking again, but the uncertainty made you uneasy. You wanted to keep your distance, to hold the upper hand, but something in Viktor’s manner made you hesitate.

Your fingers brushed the edge of your notebook, a telltale sign of your nerves as you glanced up at him. “You’re really not going to elaborate, are you?” you asked, giving him a look that was equal parts challenge and curiosity.

Viktor shrugged, his expression a mix of amusement and caution. “What’s to elaborate? We’re starting over. That’s enough for now, isn’t it?”

You bit your lip, refusing to let him see how much his words made your pulse quicken. Instead, you smirked, masking the flutter of emotions beneath a calm exterior. “As long as you don’t get any funny ideas.”

His gaze softened slightly, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. “No funny ideas. For now, anyway.” He straightened, placing his hands back on the desk, but the space between you still felt charged and unfinished.

***

To seal the deal, both you and Viktor made an equal effort to keep things neutral—meeting among friends, in public spaces, testing the waters of this truce. One such occasion found you at the pub with the usual group of six, an outing entirely orchestrated by Viktor.

He and Jayce weren’t exactly studying; instead, they were buried in notes, trying to distil their findings into a polished research summary for Heimerdinger. Across the table, Mel and Hale were prepping for their theatre history exam, their discussions frequently devolving into competitive banter as they lobbed historical facts at each other in an effort to outdo one another.

Sue, ever diligent, was rewriting her entire textbook into her notebook as if the act itself would cement the knowledge in her brain. Meanwhile, you were seated cross-legged on the floor, quietly working on your genetics paper, tuning out the chatter as best you could.

The group was a collage of concentration and lively exchanges when you simultaneously let out a yawn and your stomach grumbled loudly, the sound cutting through the general din of the pub.

Viktor’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at you over the rim of his notes, his tone wry as he spoke. “Feels like there is more than one need to address here.”

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You quickly moved a hand over your belly as if to stifle the sound. “Uh, I don’t suppose they have sandwiches here?”

“They do!” Jayce chimed in enthusiastically, leaning forward with sudden interest. Food always seemed to pull his attention from whatever he was working on. “And not the worst ones, either.”

Viktor exhaled with a knowing sigh; his expression lightly amused. “Eh, they are… not bad,” he conceded. His tone softened, and he leaned slightly forward, tilting his head in your direction. “What say you?”

You hesitated for only a second before Viktor began rising from his seat. He moved with a kind of deliberate precision, setting his notes neatly onto the side table. You noticed how his gaze briefly flicked to Jayce’s writing, his lips twitching in approval before returning his focus to you.

“Uh, sure,” you said, already scrambling up from the floor. Your papers lay abandoned dangerously close to the pub’s cozy fireplace, but you didn’t notice. Instead, as you rose, you wobbled awkwardly, your leg prickling with the unmistakable sensation of pins and needles. You grabbed onto Hale’s shoulder for balance. “Sorry, my leg fell asleep.”

Viktor smirked, his hand resting lightly on the head of his cane as he stood. “Are you trying to copy me?”

You grinned despite yourself. “Totally. Can I borrow that?” You reached out toward his cane, your eyes glinting with playful defiance.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he straightened his posture slightly. “You can try,” he said, holding the cane a fraction tighter as if to make a point. “But I warn you, it comes with certain… responsibilities.”

“Oh, I bet it does,” you quipped, brushing past him toward the bar. “I can see myself torturing students with such a vigilant symbol of authority,” you added, throwing him a smirk over your shoulder.

Viktor followed, limping slightly but keeping pace with you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation as he shook his head.

Behind you, Jayce called out, “Grab me something too!” but neither you nor Viktor paid him any mind.

Hale sighed deeply, finally turning his head away from Mel, who had been poised to deliver another historical fact to outdo him. Instead, his gaze followed you and Viktor as you approached the bar.

“That,” Hale said, his voice low and contemplative, his eyes fixed on you and Viktor as you waited for your coffees at the counter, “will either be beautiful or tragic. Or both.”

“I’m sorry, what are we looking at?” Sue asked, peering over her notebook.

“Our dear friends poking at each other’s hearts,” Hale replied with theatrical solemnity, folding his arms dramatically.

Jayce let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “Get out, Hale. Viktor would never.”

“Oh, he already did. Just… look at them,” Hale insisted, gesturing subtly in your direction.

Mel perked up, abandoning her train of thought on Renaissance theatre entirely. “Alright, that’s way more interesting than theatre history. Show me what you’re seeing.”

“Alright, kids,” Hale said, sitting up straighter and adopting the tone of a sage sharing forbidden wisdom. “I will share my magic with you, just this once. Look at Viktor. He’s already deep in. See how he’s leaning toward her? I bet he’s saying everything as quiet as possible, so she has to get closer.”

Four heads turned toward the bar, studying the scene unfolding by the counter. Sure enough, your head lingered close to Viktor’s mouth, your neck stretching slightly as though he were, indeed, telling you a quiet joke meant only for you to hear.

“Or,” Jayce countered, raising an eyebrow, “it’s loud in here, and he’s favouring the good leg.”

“Quiet, unbeliever,” Hale dismissed him with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Now, pay attention. Look at his hand. It’s hovering over her, see? He touches her every so often—nothing dramatic, just enough to remind her he’s there.”

The group watched as Viktor’s hand brushed your arm, subtle but deliberate, before retreating again.

“And now,” Hale continued, lowering his voice for effect, “he’s going to make her look. Watch how he gestures toward the bar—something he said, no doubt very clever—and there it is. She’s looking at his hand.” Your gaze flicked down to Viktor’s hand as he emphasized his point, your expression a mix of amusement and concentration.

“Now, notice her,” Hale said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “She’s holding back, but she’s doing that thing she does when she likes someone. See how she doesn’t look directly at him when he talks? Instead, she leans toward him, like she’s pulled by a magnet.”

Right on cue, you tilted your head slightly toward Viktor, though your eyes remained fixed elsewhere.

“And now,” Hale declared with a triumphant grin, “he’ll look away, and she’ll steal a glance. Ah! There it is.” He pointed as your gaze darted to Viktor’s face the moment his attention shifted elsewhere.

“And what is she looking at, you ask?” Hale continued, his tone dripping with faux gravity. “She’s checking if he’s comfortable with her. Or, in Viktor’s case, if he’s in pain. Watch her eyes.”

Sure enough, your gaze swept over Viktor’s posture, subtly assessing the way his body shifted against the cane.

“And now, for the dramatic finale,” Hale announced, holding up a hand as if to quiet an invisible audience. “He will pass her the first cup of coffee, and she will take it from his hand. That way, they’ll touch—skin on skin. And…”

The group collectively held their breath, eyes fixed on the bar. Viktor handed you a cup, your fingers brushing briefly.

“She’ll look at him and make a joke,” Hale continued confidently, “and—yes, there it is.”

You said something with a wry smile, your eyes glinting, and Viktor’s laugh followed—a soft, genuine sound that made his shoulders relax.

“And now,” Hale finished with a flourish, “he’s shoving four sugar packets into his coffee while she’s not looking. I guess that’s just Viktor being gross.”

Sue stifled a laugh, Mel smirked, and Jayce shook his head in disbelief.

“And this,” Hale said, leaning back triumphantly, “ladies, gentlemen, and beautiful creatures, is the cautious love that we are lucky enough to witness blooming before our very eyes.”

“With your voiceover, it feels like spying on someone having sex, Hale,” Mel quipped, arching an eyebrow.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Hale replied, completely unfazed, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. Reading people was his superpower, and he had seen through Viktor the first day they all met in the very pub that was now their place of refuge. You, he knew by heart.

“Man, you are frightening,” Jayce whispered loudly. “Watching this careful study, well… maybe you’re right, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” he added, glancing toward the bar. He hurriedly returned to his notes, mindful that you and Viktor would be back any second and shouldn’t know what had just transpired. Feeling the weight of three questioning stares, he sighed and elaborated, “Viktor does more of… guest performances rather than full seasons, if you catch my meaning.”

“Oh, let him try a guest performance with my darling girl, and I will shove his cane up his—” Hale’s expression shifted instantly from threatening to sickeningly sweet as he noticed you eyeing him from the distance. “Did you get what your heart desired, my love?”

“I suppose. What are you guys talking about?” you asked, your gaze sweeping suspiciously over the group before landing briefly on Viktor. You sent him a silent question, but he didn’t seem to notice, too absorbed in his meticulous effort to sweeten his coffee.

“Nothing… Renaissance theatre history… lip gloss,” came a broken chorus of voices in response.

Your eyebrows shot even higher on your forehead. “Uh… as you wish, weirdos,” you dismissed, focusing on your sandwich instead.

The group fell into a brief silence, the kind that crackled with unspoken thoughts, pens scribbling, papers being shuffled around. Jayce kept glancing toward Viktor one time too many, his eyebrows furrowing as if he were trying to decode something. Viktor’s patience snapped first.

“What?” Viktor asked, irritation colouring his tone. “Do I have something on my face?”

Jayce blinked, startled. “Huh? No, just… never mind,” he muttered, hurriedly returning to his notes. Was it possible for his friend to have a thing with you and never mention it?

Before the awkward moment could deepen, Sue suddenly jolted upright as if struck by lightning. “Shit! I need to pack!” she exclaimed, shoving her notebook into her bag with alarming speed. She leaned over to you, kissed your forehead dramatically, and declared, “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m away.”

You rolled your eyes, chewing on your sandwich. “No promises.”

Sue hesitated for a split second, her gaze flickering briefly toward Viktor before snapping back to you. “Or do,” she added with a sly grin, winking.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Have a nice weekend, Sue.”

“You too!” Sue called over her shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Once she was gone, Jayce tilted his head curiously. “Where’s she off to?”

You swallowed your bite and shrugged. “Spending the weekend with her dad. Family bonding time, you know how it is.”

Viktor, who had been stirring his coffee in a slow, thoughtful rhythm, glanced at you. “So, you are alone for the entire weekend?”

You met his gaze, an eyebrow arching. “That’s right. Why? Got something in mind?”

Viktor’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk, but all he said was, “Maybe.”

You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Careful, Viktor. As a wise man once said, too much love can kill you.”

Jayce, who had been sipping his drink, choked on a laugh, sputtering as he tried to regain his composure. Viktor’s brows knitted together in confusion for a moment. He rested his chin on his hand, mulling it over until realization dawned. He straightened, looking at you with mild disbelief.

“Wait,” he said slowly, his voice laced with both amusement and incredulity. “Did you just quote Meatloaf at me?”

You grinned wickedly, your eyes glinting with mischief. “What can I say? I have range.”

Jayce laughed again, shaking his head. “I can’t decide if that’s impressive or completely unhinged.”

“Unhinged,” Viktor replied flatly, though the corners of his mouth twitched in betrayal of a suppressed smile.

You raised your sandwich in a mock toast. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Of course you would,” Viktor muttered, taking a long sip of his now overly sweetened coffee.

But as if taking your cautionary tale seriously, Viktor didn’t reach out to you at all on Friday evening or Saturday. You had half-expected a witty text or some excuse to drop by, but your phone remained stubbornly silent.

You told yourself you didn’t care. If Viktor wanted to brood or busy himself with his mysterious projects, that was his problem, not yours. You weren’t going to waste your weekend waiting for him to decide otherwise. So, when you overheard someone in the dorm hall mentioning a party on the third floor that evening, you figured it was better than wallowing in boredom.

[bonefall]

the ShadowClan talk made me look through Brokenstar's BB Tags, and. a) is Lizardstripe still related to Finchflight, if you are keeping Finch-Dawn as a couple (with Dawncloud's age redux)? b) i keep seeing stuff about Snowtuft and killing kits, but i cant find anything actually detailing on that on the blog, and one of the older posts also mentions that Blizzardwing is either his son/grandson AND that Lizardstripe's mother was the kit he couldn't kill. what is all that about, im dying to know.

This is info that's scattered across a bunch of different posts, plus more deets and changes I haven't had a chance to dive into. Snowtuft committed an atrocity which would torment his victims and descendants for generations, for both its legacy and its trauma.

SO I wanna put as much of it as possible into one place for now, so you don't have to go guessing based on older posts. Especially since some of those posts are long outdated, but I haven't contradicted them yet.

To start the story of the two families, it begins with Snowtuft and the bloody end of the Crusade Era.

CONTENT WARNING; this is one of BB's darkest tales. It involves depictions of xenophobic violence, child murder, war crime, PTSD, abuse, and kidnapping. BB!Snowtuft's a bad kitty!

SEE: Kitten Stealing

(Also: After writing it out, I kinda realized this would be great as a BB entry on its own. I should come back and clean this up someday.)

PART 1: THE LAST CRUSADE

Cedarstar inherited the Crusades from Houndstar, continuing them more out of respect for her legacy than true zealotry.

He had actually been chosen as a deputy because he would run the Clan while she was off gallavanting.

He wasn't a pushover or anything, just prefered logistics. Him and Pinestar were tragically ahead of their time.

...but like other cats of his time, he was from a culture that didn't extend personhood beyond the Clans. So, he continued the Crusades.

Even though they weren't getting easier.

Crystal of Chelford had already used a new tool to carve a red future for the cats of the town...

and what were once defenseless little targets began to unite into organized, armed response teams.

Non-BloodClan "zones" got rarer and rarer.

The territory and underlings of an influential cat named Jay were among the last holdouts, so it's where most of ShadowClan's raids were launched.

And on one of these raids... it happened fast.

Snowtuft turned an alley and was ruthlessly attacked. He defended himself.

In the confusion, another assailant ran towards him. He acted swiftly.

It was reflex! Instinct! He couldn't tell what was coming at him. It was a split second decision.

He couldn't undo what had happened. The kitten was dead, next to its mother.

And the others were screaming, crying, terrified.

Snowtuft doesn't remember what he did next. He doesn't want to.

But Puffballburr does.

She used to see it every night.

She remembers her name, too-- Pixie. And her mom. And her littermates.

And the look that washed over his eyes when he realized the ragged flesh at his feet was a kitten.

Raw shock, electrifying shame, the dawning horror of knowing you've definitely done something that you're going to get punished for.

And when his white, blood-splattered face turned slowly towards her and her wailing siblings, she recognized that emotion too.

It's a very childlike response, really.

He needed to cover up his accident.

And he almost did, too. It was dumb luck that stopped him as he grabbed her tail and dragged her out from her hiding place. One of his clanmates heard the awful racket, and Pixie had survived just long enough.

PART 2: ONE OF US

They took her away, just like any other "honor kitten," but the Clan cats believed this was different somehow.

Something about the naked horror of what Snowtuft did, maybe. Impossible to ignore.

But it's not like he faced any real justice for it, not that Puffballkit could remember seeing. So clearly it wasn't very different at all.

His mate left him, and the older warriors regarded him with a distant sort of "shame." He was ostracized from many circles.

But Puff's siblings had not been "clan cats" so the Warrior Code did not apply to them. He faced social dishonor, not legal.

Ever-merciful Cedarstar did not want to "ruin" more lives.

"Not when the kit is far too young to even remember what happened," he said. But she did remember.

And her name. Her mom. Her littermates. That face.

She just knew, growing up, that she couldn't know about it.

Because Snowtuft was always right there, just around the curve of the den, just behind the cover of the rose bush thorns, listening.

They're ALL Snowtuft.

To admit she remembers it is to admit she isn't one of them. And if you're not one of them, the law does not apply to you.

As a kid, she couldn't articulate it. But she understood it.

Deep down to her brittle, kittypet bones. Her filthy, stillwater blood.

The ungrateful heart that beat in her chest.

Fear expressed as a constant, calm obedience of authority. A permanent dread, as if living in a pack as a sheep in wolf's clothing

So she was quiet, notoriously so.

Whoever her foster was, Puff was like a little white shadow. It's where the warrior name came from, eventually-- a puffball clinging to someone's fur. (after writing this though, half of me wants to start calling her Lambfur or Lambfrost.)

ShadowClan plunged into the Campaign Era with Heatherstar's invasion of the Mothermouth Moorland, and the massacre of some kittypet family became awkward history. Those old enough to remember still kept a distance from Snowtuft... but war took its toll.

War means death and those older members of the Clan are not replaceable.

Younger cats weren't there to see the horror of what Snowtuft had done... and time would make him bolder.

Finding growing sympathy in his apprentices, spurred on by the hardening of the culture in tandem with the official birth of Thistle Law, Snowtuft started to change history.

The official Educator of ShadowClan (still unsure who this was) had one story, and Snowtuft had one too.

"Details" were quietly changed in his. They weren't "kits" but "young cats." They charged out to aid their mother. Then maybe she wasn't their mother. Who knows.

Pullball's name was left out of these stories, on both sides. No need for the kittens to know that she wasn't one of us.

And if she was? That's a good thing for her. Living the life of a Clan cat.

He wouldn't share if "he wasn't asked," but all of his actions, his language, was a silent plea to be asked.

He wanted to forget the whole thing, because of his nightmares, his constant shame and punishment, how hard the whole ordeal made his life-- but he couldn't so it was constantly coming out of his mouth.

There was a deep resentment on his end, towards Puffballburr. How she was part of the Clan now, always reminding him. Like it was her fault.

In the end, Snowtuft didn't blame himself. He blamed everything else. The guilt was killing him a little bit every day...

But not as much as that WindClan cat's claws did. Those killed him a lot in one day!

But Snowtuft's death didn't bring Puffballburr any peace. She just felt... annoyed. Which was strange to her-- she should feel relief, but, she didn't. She was just thinking about how the next battle with WindClan would be harder without an extra set of claws.

PART 3: GOING HOME

Puffballfur is the queen of low empathy, and her emotions are... hard to predict.

Not in a chaotic sort of way, but in a "Huh, interesting, I didn't think that of all things would get me going" sort of way.

She both lives in constant "fear" but also a persistent banality. It's kind of like being in a cage with a chained tiger, but you've marked the exact spot on the floor where the tiger's chain ends.

Imagine getting nightmares that stop you from sleeping, but you know that they aren't going to come true. So you lay there with a throbbing heart, mostly feeling annoyed that you're going to be tired in the morning.

That's her life.

Sometimes when she couldn't sleep, she'd roll on her back in the nest and critique the assassination attempt in her mind.

Did he think his dumb plan through? Or did he just react without thinking? It was going to be obvious he killed a bunch of kids, whether she survived or not.

Or maybe he would have just said that the rogue killed her own kits to prevent them from becoming Clan cats. They'd probably believe that.

Either way it was sloppy. Could have had more kits if he didn't kill her sibs.

She had connections within the Clan. A foster, hunting buddies, apprentice. She was kind to them, especially when they were useful. But...

It feels like she's not like them. Like they have variables to their behavior that she doesn't. Drives and desires that are pointless, sometimes even frustrating.

Like the concept of "honor." Ridiculous. Every single person who talks about it is hypocritical about it in some way, and it causes unnecessary fights in the camp and on the border because of ridiculous ego.

She just performs it because the other cats value it-- and when people like you, you get what you want.

I'm not sure who her mate was, or if it was even just one. In any case, when she found herself pregnant, she declared Queen's Rights. I feel like she might have had a fling with someone, but got annoyed by their clingy behavior.

When her daughters were born, Bracketkit and Lizardkit, she felt pride.

Because... they didn't belong to someone else. They weren't even really ShadowClan's. They were hers.

For the first time since her mother and littermates had been taken away from her, she felt like she was looking at family. People who would always be with her.

But that didn't last...

...because a chance encounter only a few moons later reconnected her with someone who remembered her.

Not a littermate, but an older sister. Marmalade. She couldn't believe that Pixie was alive.

This is a WIP zone because I'm not sure, yet, if I'm keeping Hal's attack on ShadowClan. In any case, they continued to reconnect for moons.

The fact that she was remembered, that she could talk openly about what happened, and that Marmalade wanted her and her kittens to come home made Puffballburr's stomach flutter with excitement. She felt valuable.

And with the war getting worse and worse, this was absolutely the best choice for her kittens as well. They would be safer with BloodClan than they would with ShadowClan.

No longer would she be Puffballburr. Her name was Pixie.

ENTER: LIZARDSTRIPE

Puffballburr wasn't a bad mother, but it would feel a lot better to be Lizardstripe if she could have the simplicity to just say she was.

Her earliest memories of her mom and her sibling were outside of the camp on a cool, clear spring night, laying in soft marshgrass. Puff was laying on her back with her hind legs bowed out, a kit tucked under each paw, pressed to her fluffy, warm chest. Her face was turned upward, quietly, at the moon, as her daughters slept peacefully.

She's not sure how long after she'd opened her eyes that this memory took place, but Lizardkit looked up towards the bright, starry sky... and she remembered that the light hurt.

Her needs were always taken care of, but Puffballburr hated explaining things.

You learned quick to treat your questions like a valuable resource, and to listen carefully.

Lizardkit was sharp, much sharper than her sister. She caught onto the way that her mother viewed relationships in a very transactional sort of way-- and stayed aware of her balance.

And had to consider the cost of doing the things her mother was fond of, versus what the other kittens and queens in the nursery expected of her.

What Puffball didn't realize when her children were born was that they were family, but they were also ShadowClan. Even if this was not something she had ever felt a connection to.

Deep down, it didn't truly click with her that her children were not extensions of herself.

And when Lizardkit was a child, learning history from the Educator and getting involved in more of the Clan's goings-on, Puffballburr spent less and less time with her. Because she was reconnecting with Marmalade.

When Bracket and Lizard had their apprentice ceremony, Puffballburr was not there.

Lizardpaw's mentor was the infamously powerful, chaotic fighter, Finchflight. Bracketpaw was assigned to Brackenfoot. (There is an earlier post suggesting that Lizi and Finf were going to be related. I decided to make them mentor/apprentice instead.)

Finchflight immediately began to stress the importance of loyalty. Being one of the younger cats who had sympathized with Snowtuft and knowing the secret behind Puffballburr's beginnings, he nurtured a pain within Lizardstripe. Encouraged her to let the distance between her and her family grow.

Eventually, Puffball told her children that they were going to leave ShadowClan. They had family in the town, would be safe there, could start a brand new life together.

And Lizardpaw was shocked.

It was like everything Finchflight had said was true.

And they were going to leave her.

She reacted violently to the suggestion, attacking her mother. Told them that she was going to expose them, lead a patrol right back to their new hiding place, bring them "back home."

In defense of Puffballburr, Bracketpaw brawled with her sister. They fought viciously, until their mother separated them with a desperate, devastating whack to Lizardpaw's head.

Laying dazed on the ground, she heard an apology before passing out.

When she woke up, she was safely protected within a blackthorn bush-- with a nick on the outside of her ear.

She stayed out there for hours, not knowing what to do, where her family had gone, or what she was going to say when she got home.

But, looking at her reflection in a puddle of water, she became so angry at the idea of this being her first scar that she ripped the other ear, on the opposite side.

When the search party found her, they asked what had happened to her. If she had seen her mother or her sister, or if something had gone wrong.

"Nah. Took a nap to get away from them. Ripped my ears on the thornbush."

Later, when she would be interrogated or questioned by people she didn't want to lie to, she would tell a half-truth;

"I did it to myself. Liked how it looked. Last I saw of Puffballburr and Bracketpaw, they were upset I'd done it and left, so I took a nap."

She didn't mind that her Clanmates thought this was weird. She didn't care about whispers that it was all done for attention, or that it was dishonorable to do such a thing and they probably met a predator after storming off, and she didn't even mind the gossip guessing at the "real" reason behind her ripped ears.

The only people who ever got the whole truth were the Forget-Me-Nots. After their disappearance, Lizardstripe didn't talk about her family for years, insisting upon having no further details. Even if it meant that mystery and suspicion would hang around her like a cloud.

BLIZZARDWING: KIN OF SNOWTUFT

Snowtuft's daughter was named Lilyfur. She was a kit when her father slaughtered Pixie's family.

When her mother left her father, she also distanced herself from him. This was something Snowtuft was outraged and saddened by.

But Lilyfur's mother couldn't stand the idea of a kitten-killer trying to stay close to her daughter. How could he look at little babies, the same age as his own child, and kill them?

Lilykit grew up very conflicted. She remembered how much she loved her dad, understood that he was a kitten murderer, but he continued to be so kind to her into adulthood.

It was hard to think of him as someone who could do something so horrible.

Earlier draft had Lilyfur die and her kittens were raised by their kin, Snowtuft, but I'm currently leaning towards Lilyfur being alive but just letting him be an active part of their lives-- in spite of her discomfort.

Because the more time he spent in her life, paradoxically, the more obsessed he became with all the "time he lost out on."

Which ended up including entertaining a lot of conversations about how he'd never done anything wrong, ever, and everyone was mean to him.

Lilyfur: "ok maybe he's not evil but my dad is really annoying <:/ but he's really lonely. He needs me. and i cant take him away from his grandkits"

From this, what Blizzardwing absorbed was the idea that love and forgiveness was always tolerating your family no matter what. This would express itself in his toxic relationship with Hollyflower.

But Blizzardwing now has a sibling. I haven't settled on a name yet-- but I'm playing with him either being Angelshade or Silkflower.

I really like the name "Angelshade" as a reference to the notoriously deadly white mushroom, the Destroying Angel. But also. someone in the audience asked if I could give the prefix "angel" to a cat because it's their name, and I feel a little bad about giving it to a character who is going to be one of the nastiest little background characters in all of BB lmaooooo

i'm so sorry angel (positive), is it okay if there's an angel (derogatory)

ANYWAY, Untitled Blizzardwing Sibling grew up adoring his grandpaw.

Radicalization can be a slow creep. He loved peepaw, so if he was asked when he was young, he would happily repeat the adjusted version of history he was taught.

And then when Snowtuft died, he wanted to remember him fondly. The story slowly changed, becoming more "accurate," just getting more comfortable with the idea of dehumanizing outsiders.

So what, if he killed some kittypet? And if some kits had already been indoctrinated into their kittypet life? It was still a gain for ShadowClan, in the end.

One summer day, without warning, he came home with two little kittens. One was white, one was brown, both had the pinkish tinge of poorly cleaned blood.

He grinned playfully at Brokenstar, and claimed Queen's Rights in a singsong tone.

Because of that rite, no one could ask where he'd gotten those kittens from. But everyone knew he'd done something grim.

Those kits, Whitewater and Brownstone, grew up under the crescendo of Brokenstar's reign, both taking part in the WindClan Massacre.

Whitewater's bloody story includes joining Mudclaw's Rebellion, giving birth to three kits, a souring relationship with her son, condemnation to the Dark Forest, ends in the Battle of the True Eclipse after killing her grandson.

Brownstone's tale includes a relationship with a WindClan cat during the bloodiest period in the history of their two Clans.

And their father's story ends in Chelford, after being exiled from ShadowClan by Nightstar. His canon counterpart is the Unnamed White Rogue from Rise of Scourge, who tries to order Scourge to be his personal servant.

(the other two cats are Braketail, the "Offbrand Brokenstar" pale tabby, and Pirateheart, the gray rogue with green eyes. Glitch Warriors for the pile!)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddie-spooktober.

Bats in the Belfry

Prompt: Bats | Word Count: 2400 | Rating: T | POV: Steve | Pairing: Pre-Steddie | CW: Language | Tags: Post S4 Events, Eddie Died...Or Did He?, Eddie Munson: Bat Boy, Steve Harrington: Exasperated Human

There's a colony of bats that keep swarming the house. It's odd. They've never been there before, and now it's like they're drawn to him. Steve wonders if this is some sort of horrible side effect of his bat bites from the Upside Down. Maybe he's a bat whisperer now, but he can't be sure because they won't light anywhere long enough for him to actually interact with them.

Not that he really wants to interact with them. But if they are gonna keep roosting around the pool, he'd rather find out why.

It's not the first time he thinks that if Eddie were still here, then at least he'd have someone else to ask, to see if this is happening to him, too. But he's not, and Steve's had to come to terms with that. He failed. They lost one of their own. Yeah, Eddie was new to the group, and Steve didn't know him well, but Dustin is mourning his loss. Big time. 

They all are, in their own ways.

Steve is just handing over cash to pay for the pizza he's had delivered, when a bat flies in through the front door, and immediately clings to the ceiling, out of reach. Great, that's just what Steve needs. A bat in his house. Robin will really freak out if he can't get it out before bedtime. She'll be sure he's gonna get rabies if he goes to sleep with that thing in here, and undoubtedly gets bit by it. And honestly? He cannot get that awful round of shots around his belly button just to ease her mind. He can't.

He loves her, but that's not happening.

So, Steve finds the broom in the closet, and tries to usher the bat back outside without letting more in, but it's not at all interested in exiting. Instead flies right up the stairs, and as Steve gives chase, he sees it fly into his open bedroom.

Great. Just fantastic.

Now, it's just sitting on the edge of his headboard, staring back at him.

"Um, I think you're a little lost. The other bats are hanging out by the pool," Steve says. Which, fine. He can give up the pool. But he really can't give up his bedroom. 

The bat just tilts his little head, as if he's listening, but not taking initiative to get the fuck out of the house.

"You can't stay here, you have to leave," Steve says and goes and opens his bedroom window. "Out!"

Then the bat zips over, but not to leave. Of course not. Instead it perches on Steve's shoulder and Steve's first instinct is to knock it away and scream bloody murder. But he doesn't. He just tries to focus on the little eyes looking back at him. He's too close to really see it well, but Steve's trying.

Steve leans towards the open window, and shakes and shimmies, trying to force it to let go of his shirt, but the bat just leans in the opposite direction, towards Steve's neck. Wings tickling Steve's skin. The bat is clearly not leaving.

Then it starts squeaking and chirping, and batting its wings and Steve sees why. There are other bats flapping towards the open window.

Oh, hell no.

He slams it shut.

"Are they picking on you for some reason?" Steve asks, as if he'll get an answer. "It's not because you have rabies, right?"

The bat doesn't answer, of course, but kind of slaps him in the face with a wing, and Steve's gonna take that as a no. 

"I can't have a pet bat," Steve says, "that's weird, even for everything I've ever experienced."

Then, like it's offended, it's flapping its way into the closet, rooting around, as if it's looking for something, if that's possible.

Steve peeks in, and watches as it settles on Eddie's stained battle vest. 

Well, that seems fitting, somehow.

Steve pushes the other clothes around, giving the bat some room, and closes the door to the closet. Leaving it in darkness. They like that, don't they? He thinks so. Nocturnal and all that shit.

And at least it's trapped in the closet, and not flying around the room.

"Don't bite me. That's the only rule," Steve says through the closed door, and hopes it fucking listens if it somehow finds its way out overnight.

In the morning, Steve cracks open the door and peeks into the closet, and where the bat was last night, is something that's taken the shape of Eddie Munson right there on the floor, buck-ass naked.

Now, Steve screams.

And that wakes the Eddie-shaped thing up, making it jump. Steve is fucking freaked out, and he slams the closet door shut, and leans against it. Blocking whatever that thing is, inside. Steve needs help. He needs Robin, and Nancy, the kids. He needs everybody. He needs his bat, the nailed one, not whatever this thing is. 

But he can't get any of those things without leaving his post and possibly letting this thing loose.

"What are you?" Steve demands through the door he's trying to hold shut. Every monster he's faced has been, well, pretty straightforwardly monster-looking. Not human at all.

"I'm Kas the Betrayer! Kas the Destroyer! Kas the Bloody-Handed! The First Vampire!" it shouts, way too loud and over-dramatic. It sounds ridiculous.

"Really?" Steve asks. Because he's suspicious of these claims. All that? It's a little much. 

There's a chuckle behind the door, "No, of course not, Harrington. I'm the town freak, accused murderer," comes the voice that sounds exactly like Eddie. It sends a chill down Steve's spine.

And then he's mad.

"No, you're not! Eddie's dead!" Steve yells, because whatever it actually is, saying that, well, that's pissing him off. If Dustin sees this thing, he's gonna freak out.

"Really not, big boy," Eddie says, and that gives Steve pause.

It can't be. No way. 

"Eddie?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out," Eddie snarks, and Steve laughs. His heart is still pounding, but he loosens up, just a little. Maybe this is Eddie. Somehow. El's different and they've all accepted her, so, maybe Eddie is different now, too.

"Are you a bat?" Steve asks.

"Only sometimes. I can't control it."

"Are you really a vampire?" Steve asks.

"Not that I know of," Eddie answers. "But I could bite you, and then we'd find out together." 

Steve sighs with exasperation. 

"Be serious. Are you gonna attack me if I open the closet door?" Steve questions, because he's not in the mood for a fight. Not this early in the morning.

"Wasn't planning on it," Eddie says, dryly. "Can I at least get some underwear before you fling those doors open, though? For my modesty, dude. I'm feeling a little exposed in here. It's awfully breezy for a closet. There's an air vent blowing right up my crac-"

"Okay, okay, hold your horses," Steve interrupts.

If this isn't Eddie, it's a damn good mimic, and Steve supposes if that's the case, it deserves to kill him, just for being such a good actor. 

Steve goes over to his dresser, and picks up his walkie, turning it on, clipping it to his belt under his shirt. Just in case. Grabs his nailbat from under the bed, leaning it against the dresser.

Then he looks inside the top drawer, shouting, "Boxers or briefs?"

"Boxers!" Eddie answers, and Steve picks out a pair that he could stand to lose, and cracks the door open, and holds them out. A pale, ring-covered hand takes them. 

"You keep your rings when you change, but not your clothes?" Steve asks, leaning against the door again. Suspicious.

"I don't make the rules, Harrington. Last time I woke up wearing only my socks. That was a great look."

Steve laughs, even if he doesn't want to, even if he wants to be cautious. It just sounds dumb enough to be something that could happen to Eddie Munson, if he was turning into a bat.

Then, a minute later, "Okay. My dick's covered."

Steve shakes his head, unable to bite back the smile that threatens to split his face, as he eases the door open. As promised, Eddie's standing there in Steve's boxers, dick covered, and Eddie's also scrounged up an old swim team long-sleeve t-shirt from the depths of the closet.

And then they just stare at each other.

"Eddie?"

"Yep."

"Explain yourself," Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Um, I'm a part-time bat now?" Eddie says, looking sheepish. "From the bites, I guess?"

"I'm not a bat! And I got bit, too!" Steve screeches. He doesn't think he's a bat. But what if he's a bat and he just hasn't realized it yet? Fuck. Maybe he's a goddamn bat and that's why all the bats are lurking around the house.

"Did you die?" Eddie asks, "Because I did, I think. At least a little. Something happened when I came back."

"You became a bat? Can you like, poof, switch? Is there smoke?" Steve asks, then digs in his dresser, tossing Eddie a pair of joggers.

When he looks back, Eddie's at least a little more decent. Then he digs out a pair of socks, and tosses them over.

Eddie hops around getting them on each of his feet.

"No, I'm not Dracula," Eddie says, "Jesus H. Christ, Harrington. Keep up. Like I said. I can't control it. At least, not yet. The sun goes down? Bat. The sun goes up? Eddie. Most of the time, anyway. It's frustratingly unpredictable."

Steve ponders that, "Are you still…you? When you're a bat? Like, do you remember it?"

"Yeah, sure, I just can't talk. Which, for me, that's pretty fucking rough, man."

"I bet," Steve snarks, and Eddie just grins. 

Steve's relieved. He's probably not a bat, then. But he better make sure.

"Am I a bat?" Steve asks.

"Yep. You're the ringleader. King Steve, Bat God."

"Really?" Steve asks, the idea making him a little queasy. He doesn't want to be the ringleader of bats.

"No! You don't think you'd know if you were a bat? I think you're the one with bats in the belfry!" Eddie snaps, waving his arms around his head, indicating he thinks Steve is the crazy one. Which is pretty fucking rich, coming from bat boy over here.

"I don't know! I've never been a bat before!" Steve argues back, hands on his hips.

"And you still aren't one now!" Eddie yaps.

If he's not the King of Bats, and they aren't at the house to follow him, well. He has a thought: "Are you the one that brought all the goddamn bats to my house, then?"

"Um, no?" Eddie says, clearly lying.

"Eddie."

"I didn't mean to. They all started following me. Like they think I'm their leader. I can't shake 'em. When I saw the opportunity to get away from them and get into your house at the same time, I took it. Sorry about that."

"You don't sound sorry."

"I'm not, I lied to make you feel better," Eddie says, and Steve laughs, and Eddie smiles at him. It's good to see him, honestly.

And he allows himself a second or two just to take him in, alive and mostly well, then declares, "I'm glad you're okay. Sometimes bat or not."

"Thanks, Steve. Me too."

"Does anyone else know about you?" Steve asks, because they're gonna have to protect him. Just like they protect El. The special ones, amongst them. Keep it quiet.

"Um, no?" Eddie says, clearly lying again.

"Eddie."

"My uncle. And Gareth."

Steve is only vaguely aware of who that is, and only because of Henderson.

"That's it? Just the two of them?" Two's not so bad. They can deal with two-

"And JeffandGoodie," Eddie adds in a rush, as if mashing the two names together will make it less of a problem. Steve crosses his arms. 

"Eddie! You should have told one of us first. Me, or Henderson. Nancy. Lucas, Erica-"

"I'm scared of Erica," Eddie interrupts.

"Join the club, we're all scared of Erica!" Steve responds, "Fuck, you could have told Mike, I don't care. Just any one of us, in the know."

"I'm so sorry, Harrington, that I went to my own friends first instead of you and your monster version of the Scooby Gang. Hardy Boys. Nancy Drew. I don't know. All of you freaks."

Steve laughs, "Oh, now we're the freaks?"

"You know about monsters. You kill monsters. That's kind of freak behavior, Harrington."

Fair enough, Steve supposes, and he giggles at the thought of himself in an ascot like Fred Jones. Eddie's just poking at him. It's what he's always been good at, running his mouth and pissing people off.

Snapping back to the problem at hand, he honestly thinks he likes Eddie Munson. Smart mouth and all. Maybe they could be friends. Which he could have never imagined saying before spring break. He's really glad Eddie made it out, even if he's changed. They're all changed, just not in the exact same way as Eddie, and that's okay.

He's gotta tell Henderson. Pull that kid out of his funk. And Eddie's gonna love seeing Henderson's longer hair, rings and whole Eddie-inspired change. Steve's gotta be there when Eddie lays eyes on him for the first time.

"My band, they're pretty excited. A metal band with a real bat playing lead guitar? That's a multi-million dollar proposal, right?"

"Sure, Munson. I just hope after your first gig you enjoy your government sponsored cage, because that's exactly where you'll end up. Being poked and prodded. The freak."

Eddie sighs, and flops on Steve's bed, "I know. But let a guy dream."

Steve nods, and lays down next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder, "Eddie Munson. Bat Boy. Just like I saw on the cover of The National Enquirer."

"Weekly World News, Harrington, get it right."

And Steve just laughs, turning his head to look at him, "We should call the others. They'll be so excited to see you."

"Give me a few minutes?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods. He can give him a few minutes. 

And they just lay there in the quiet, the morning sun peeking through the curtains. Warm glow, all around.

"I turn into a bat," Eddie finally says.

"Yes, you do," Steve confirms.

How fucking weird is that? Only in Hawkins.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries, pop over to @steddie-spooktober and follow along with the spooky fun! 🦇

Notes: Bat Boy did not actually make his debut in the supermarket tabloid Weekly World News until 1992. Guess in their universe he popped up a little bit earlier, lol. I couldn't resist. And the twenty-one shots around belly button rabies shots have gone out of standard since the 80s.

[kar1nsworldx]

Chrismd with a massive crush on arsenal or Chelsea super league player 😩

Eyes on the target

pairing: ChrisMD x f!reader Instagram!AU SUMMARY: fans slowly realise that a certain youtuber has a crush on their favourite female football player requested: yessir! my apologies anon that it took so long to post, but I really hope that you like this! I tryed to write it as long as i could x AUTHOR'S NOTE: loved writing this and I hope anon that you got what you wanted! Please do send more requests, I'd love to write more <3

ˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 🧸ྀི

ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩

y/n l/n

liked by arsenalwfc, ksi and 67, 552 others

y/n l/n: what a night to be a gunner 😍

tagged: @arsenalwfc

.

COMMENTS;

leahwilliamsonn: get it ❣️

bethmead_: iconic night? I think yes xxx

ksi: went to the game, absolute banger of a goal

y/n l/n: haha tysm, big fan of your lots videos x

use4r: lmaoo did not expect ksi to be here 💀💀

kimlittle1990: a screamer was scored tonight 💋

y/n l/n: all thanks to you 😍😍

katie_mccabe11: ❤

caitlinfoord: ❤

laiacodina5: ❤

y/nily: what a player

user101: were so happy to have you y/n, welcome to the club <3

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y/n l/n

liked by caitlinfoord, chrismd10 and 72,832 others

y/n l/n: thank you everybody for such a wonderful night and season!! much love for you all - 24/25. see you soon ❣️

tagged: @arsenalwfc

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COMMENTS;

drinkprime: 🔥🔥🔥

caitlinfoord: 🫂🫂🫂

user777: y/n do you accept my hand in marrige? 🤲💍

y/n l/n: mmmm maybe one day, but atm I think I have someone on my mind, I'm sorry 🫂

user777: AHHHHH YOU REPLIED HOLY SHIT

useroo: who is on your mind exactly miss y/n?? 🤨🤨

y/n l/n: mmm i don't know, I think I'll keep that a secret for now 🤭😚🤫

useroo: ULQDBDIXCIAOKSBCJCJJXNDBEJOWJDNC

y/nmarryme: y/n i love you 🗣

arsenalwfc: thank you y/n!

chrismd10: miss l/n everybody 💪🔥

y/n l/n: chriss 💪😍

xeuserxe: umm.... okay 🤨

us3r: the emonji combo????????

katie_mccabe11: the woman herself, y/n l/n 💋😍

y/n l/n: katie my love 💋💋💋

katie_mccabe11: 🫂🫂🫂

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y/n l/n

liked by chrismd10, miniminter and 56,892 others

y/n l/n: just because the season ended dosen't mean my love for football did ☺️ new youtube video coming out in 3 days everybody xxx 🌟

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COMMENTS;

xeuserxe: AHHHH can't wait to see it!!! 😚

user111: mmmmmm whos that in the third picture? 🤨🤨🤨

y/n l/n: you'll find out soon enough xx

user111: 🤨🤨🤨

drinkprime: 🔥🔥🔥

y/n l/n: prime 🤝 me

ksi: hell yeah ❤

us3r: sidemen x y/n video when???!???

sidemen: 👀🤫

useroo: WAIT WHAT

chrismd10: sick video coming out soon 🔥

y/n l/n: yessir 🗣

userly: chris how would you know that its a good video 🤨🤨🤨

usermybeloved: something is going on between them I just know it

laiacodina5: you just can't stay away from the stadium can you?

y/n l/n: you know I can't lovely 😚

user505: MOTHERRRR 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

y/n l/n: CHILDDDD 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

user505: OHMYGOD YOU ACTUALLY RESPONDED I AM SCREAMING WHAT THE FUCK AAHWWHDUCEHJCCHHCHCHDHJC

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chrismd10

liked by y/n l/n, georgeclarkeey and 562,777 others

chrismd10: England's national darlings and @y/n l/n

tagged: @bukayosaka87 @y/n l/n

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COMMENTS;

y/n l/n: Christopher count your days

chrismd10: yes dear, of course dear ❤

user444: LMAOOOO WHAT

userly: AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHA

useredup: istg somethings deffinitly up theyre fighting like an old married couple

bukayosaka87: ❤

y/n l/n: my photo creds??? where????

chrismd10: sorry gorgeous, forgot to mention that ❤

y/n l/n: mhm, sure sure 🙄❤

user777: THE HEARTS??? "GORGEOUS"????? WHAT IS HAPPENING

useroo: this was not on my 2024 bingo card

miniminter: lucky bastard

theobaker_: @y/n l/n be advised that prick never gives photo credits

y/n l/n: thank you for the information theo x

chrismd10: mate shut up

arthurtv: can I come next time? I want to met y/n too :(

chrismd10: no

y/n l/n: christopher you better bring him too next time

chrismd10: yes ma'am

arthurtv: yay!

y/n l/n: 🫂

xeuserxe: BAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

user505: y/n is becoming arthurs parent confirmed

us3r: I love them

userly: AGHHHHHH THE CAT IS SO CUTE WTF????????

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arthurtv

liked by georgeclarkeey, tobjizzle and 102,732 others

arthurtv: mama y papa - chris actually took me to meet the legend herself, y/n l/n!! 🎉

tagged: @y/n l/n @chrismd10 @mycoffee:)

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COMMENTS;

y/n l/n: ARTHURRRRRRRR :))))) 🫂🫂🫂🫂

arthurtv: Y/NNNNNNNNNN :))))) 🫂🫂🫂🫂

chrismd10: why are you never this nice to me

y/n l/n: fuck off chris

chrismd10: ...

user111: AAWHWHHAHSBXJC THEYRE SO CUTE

user101: I LOVE THEM BAHAHAHHAHAHAHA

chrismd10: yea yea youre welcome mate

georgeclarkeey: boyfriend come see me soon :(

arthurtv: george were not boyfriends! but yes i'll come over tomorrow (:

reevhd: cuties

user505: MAMA Y PAPA, MAMA Y PAPA

useredup: arthur became chris's and y/n's offical child, its confirmed

y/nily: arthurtv thank you for this beautiful pictures of y/n

user777: y/n once again I am asking, do you accept my hand in marrige 💍🤲

chrismd10: she does not.

user777: AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA WTF?????

xeuserxe: JELOUS CHIRS????? HELLO????

useroo: I love how Arthur tagged his coffee in the 3rd picture :((((( 🫂

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y/n l/n

liked by jackgrealish, laiacodina5 and 102,652 others

y/n l/n: to my suprise my photographer isn't such a shitty photographer as I thought he'd be

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COMMENTS;

user444: MOTHER IS MOTHERING

chrismd10: 🔥🔥🔥

user101: BAHHAHAHAHAHAHAA SAME CHRIS SAME

useredup: chris youre so real for that

y/n l/n: 😍

useroo: and may we know who this photographer is?

useroo: and do we know of him by any chance???

y/n l/n: 🤷‍♀️🤫🤭

useroo: AGHHHHHH Y/N SAY SOME ACTUAL INFORMATION PLEASE

y/n l/n: nuh uh

useroo: FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK MEEEEEEEE

useredup: @useroo is having a mental breakdown, love to see it

useroo: 😐

laiacodina5: pretty girl

y/n l/n: says you! xxx

katie_mccabe11: literally marry me

y/n l/n: 💋💋💋

chrismd10: im suprised hes even dealing with you considering youre quite a prick

y/n l/n: oh fuck off ya twat

chrismd10: my point has been proven ladies and gentlemen, goodnight

y/n l/n: shut the fuck up (affectionate)

userly: #fav-old-married-couple

user444: i love them

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chrismd10

liked by calfreezy, behzingagram and 232,752 others

chrismd10: theres a silly goose in the last picture, spoiler alert; it's not me!

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COMMENTS;

behzingagram: peng

y/n l/n: 😍

s1demenl0ver: HAHAHAHAHA LITERALLY ME

user101: Y/N IS SO FUCKING REAL

useroo: hm.. 😶🤨

chrismd10: 🔥🔥🔥

calfreezy: brother ditched us

userly: ARE YALL SEEING THE 3RD PIC?????????

user505: I AM LIKE WHO THE FUCK IS THAT WITH HIM?????????

userly: I DONT HAVE A CLUE

useroo: AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

theburntchip: what a man

y/n l/n: I feel bad for that poor girl, because shes the one dealing with YOU, ya fucking twat

chrismd10: shut up ya prick

userly: as I said, their my #fav-old-married-couple

wroetoshaw: nice mate

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chrismd10 added to their story;

⤷ y/n l/n liked chirsmd10's story! ♡

⤷ y/n l/n: twat

.

y/n l/n added to their story;

⤷ chrismd10: I literally hate you

⤷ y/n l/n: Ily2!

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lionesses

liked by vikkstagram, calfreezy and 532,477 others

lionesses: we proudly announce that the lionesses have qualified for the euros, thanks to y/n l/n's hattrick! ❤

tagged: @y/n l/n

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COMMENTS;

arsenalwfc: y/n l/n everybody! ❤

y/n l/n: 💋💋💋

chrismd10: LETS GOOOO Y/N!!!! @y/n l/n 🔥

y/n l/n: CHRISSSSSSSSSS 😚❣️💋

behzingagram: get inn 💪

arthurtv: Y/NNNNNNNN 🌟

y/n l/n: ARTHUR 🫂🫂🫂

calfreezy: thats how its done 💪🙏

katie_mccabe11: MISS Y/N EVERYONE

y/n l/n: love ya irish 😚 🇨🇮

leahwilliamsonn: love ya @y/n l/n ❤❤❤

y/n l/n: love you too bae 😍

laiacodina5: thats my girl!!

y/n l/n: 🫂🫂🫂

theburntchip: yes lass 💪

georgeclarkeey: yessir

ksi: 🙏

tobjizzle: ❤

philfoden: congrats! 💙

jackgrealish: well done ladies 💙💙

rico.lewis: 💙

wroetoshaw: very nice

kylewalker2: 💙

johnstones5: 💙

miniminter: 🔥

drinkprime: thats how its done 🔥

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y/n l/n

liked by arsenalwfc, arthurtv and 60,854 others

y/n l/n: Pre-season in the states 🇺🇲

tagged: @arsenalwfc @kyracooneyx

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COMMENTS;

usermybeloved: y/n in her editing era 🔥

user007: lets goooo

arthurtv: good luck y/n!

y/n l/n: thank you arthur!

arthurtv: :)

chrismd10: yea yea good luck ya prick 🔥

y/n l/n: thank you twat 😚

kyracooneyx: 💪💪💪

arsenalwfc: glad to have you back l/n! 😉🙌

theobaker_: lets gooooooo arsenal ❤

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y/n l/n

liked by chrismd10, drinkprime and 91,576 others

y/n l/n: Third kit is a charm ❤ #coyg

tagged: @arsenal @arsenalwfc @adidasfootball

.

COMMENTS;

userly: stunning stunning girl xx

useredup: ahhhhhh you look so good!!!

adidasfootball: 💪😉

chrismd10: fucking peng

y/n l/n: 💋💋💋

user101: OH???!?????? 🤨👀

us3r: EXCUSE ME

user2.0: OHMAGAWD

drinkprime: 🔥🔥🔥

arsenal: looking good miss l/n 💪

y/nily: y/n look bad in a kit challange (impossible)

user777: y/n pls marry me? 💍🤲

chrismd10: she says no xx

user101: BAHHAHAHAHAHA CHRIS ILY

useroo: BAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAA

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y/n l/n

liked by chrismd10, georgeclarkeey and 78,237 others

y/n l/n: is mister pickles 🥒 an icon? sources suggest that he is (sources; me, chrismd, arthurtv, georgeclarkey)!

tagged: @chrismd10 @arthurtv @georgeclarkeey

.

COMMENTS;

chrismd10: hes more iconic than you thats for sure

y/n l/n: youre going to lose your privilege to see pickles if you continue to do this christopher

chrismd10: yes ma'am, sorry ma'am

xouserxo: AAAAAAAAA I LOVE YOU TWO SO MUCH SJX

arthurtv: I'd say the sources are correct!

georgeclarkeey: that dog is one sassy little dude. i love him

xeuserxe: AHHHH HES ADORABLE

caitlinfoord: pickles is the best (:

user505: "all hail pickles" we say in unison 🗣🗣🗣

useredup: PICKLEEEEES 👹👹👹👹

y/n l/n: back off, pickles is scared 🤺🤺🤺🤺🤺🤺

theburntchip: what a distinguished fellow

arsenalwfc: were missing the lil man on the pitch

chrismd10: btw i will be stealing him

y/n l/n: cunt

user007: AHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA

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y/n l/n

liked by chrismd10, chloekelly and 137,699 others

y/n l/n: oui oui bonjour 🧸☁️

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COMMENTS;

chrismd10: do you even know what that means?

y/n l/n: En fait, je comprends ce que ça veut dire, espèce d'idiot - TRANSLATION; Actually, I understand what that means, you idiot

chrismd10: hot.

y/n l/n: HAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHA

xouserxo: AHHHHH PARIS 🎀🎀🎀🎀

user111: are we not going to talk about the fifth picture...?

useroo: mmm y/n whos that in the fifth picture? 🤨

y/n l/n: mmm i thinks it's..... nonya business 🤫😍😍😍😍

useroo: 😐😐😐

useredup: @useroo is so done w y/n's shit 💀😭

chloekelly: pretty ♡

y/n l/n: AGHHHHH CHLOE I LOVE YOU DBJXCLUXEFG

user007: y/n youre so real for that xjxnc 😭

user444: paris is really the city of love, right @y/n l/n ... 🤨

y/n l/n: deffinitly!! 🤭🤭🤭🤭

kyracooneyx: happiness is a good luck on you. so is being in love

y/n l/n: off with your head, youve already said to much

userly: BAHAHHAHAHAHAHA

us3r: LMAOOOOOOO KYRA GIVE US MORE INFO PLEASE

kyracooneyx: well you deffinitly know him

y/n l/n: KYRAAAAAAAAAAA

useredup: OHMYGOD I THINK MY SUSPISONS HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED THANK YOU KYRA!!!!

chrismd10: 📸📸

y/n l/n: 💋💋

y/nily: 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

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chrismd10

liked by behzingagram, wroetoshaw and 206,554 others

chrismd10: as the missus said, "oui oui bonjour 🧸"

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COMMENTS;

y/n l/n: do YOU know what that means? 😐🤨

chrismd10: oui

theburntchip: smooth fella smooth

calfreezy: nice going mate

behzingagram: happy for you ya twat

tobjizzle: ❤

y/n l/n: ily

chrismd10: ily2

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y/n l/n

liked by chrismd10, zerkaa and 707,633 others

y/n l/n: god its so hard to be in a relationship with such a lovable twat ❤

tagged: @chrismd10

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y/n l/n: love ya @chrismd10

chrismd10: even more than pickles?

y/n l/n: know your fucking limits.

us3r: BAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA

bambinobecky: 🥳🥳

caitlinfoord: ❣️❣️❣️

laiacodina5: whoooooooo 🌟🌟🌟

katie_mccabe11: happy for you doll xxx

y/n l/n: @useroo so it looks like nonya business was actually mr. chrismd (: sorry for all the caused breakdowns xxx

useroo: fuck me im so happy but also fuck you coudn't you have announced this before all my breakdowns miss y/n

y/n l/n: nope! 😛😝😜🤪

useroo: 😐❤

useredup: AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

xouserxo: HELL YEAAAAH

arthurtv: mama y papa

y/n l/n: hello child <3!!!

chrismd10: hello.. child.

arthurtv: 😄😁

theburbtchip: about damn time

tobjizzle: soo happy for you guys ❤

y/n l/n: thank you tobi!!! ❣️

user007: WAR IS OVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER

user777: oh.. so thats why you wont take my hand in marrige :( BUT YAY SO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS

userly: IT FINALLY HAPPENED FUCK YEAAAAS

user444: YIPPIE YIPPIE YIPPIE YIPPIE YIPPIE

user111: MOTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

user101: *screams in single*

usermybeloved: BEST COUPLE IN 2024 CONFIRMED

y/nily: ❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

chrismd10: love you too darling ❤

y/n l/n: YAYAYAYAY

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chrismd10

liked by miniminter, arthurnfhill and 1,572,684 others

chrismd10: love you to ya prick

tagged: @y/n l/n

.

COMMENTS;

ksi: congrats bro

chrismd10: thanks ksi

tobjizzle: ❤

theburntchip: as I written before, about damn time

callux: 🎉🎉

wroetoshaw: im suprised ya fucking bagged her mate, bloody hell well done

chrismd10: thanks harry

zerkaa: 💚

arthurtv: my parents are finally together :)

arthurnfhill: im impressed

miniminter: 👏👏👏

behzingagram: how the fuck did you bag her

chrismd10: actually quite easily for your information you fat prick

vikkstagram: 🌟🌟🌟

calfreezy: sap

chrismd10: shut the fuck up ya long dick

calfreezy: midget

georgeclarkeey: sigh, ive lost another boyfriend 😞

y/n l/n: it's okay pookie we'll share ❤

chrismd10: ...i did not consent to this.

us3r: my childhood youtuber getting together with my favourite female footballer was not on my 2024 bingo card

useroo: about fucking time.

s1demenl0ver: 🥳🥳🥳

useredup: congrats guys 👏

user111: ❤

user007: I AM LITERALLY SO HAPPY OHMYGOD

user777: @chrismd10 will you ask y/n if she'll take my hand in marrige 💍🤲

chrismd10: she says no, AGAIN.

useredup: AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHA

user444: YASSSSSS

user101: nahh but honestly chris takes really good pictures

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y/n l/n added to their story;

⤷ chrismd10 liked y/n l/n's story! ♡

⤷ chrismd10: I literally posted a cute little photodump of you and you're posting this??? Ya fucking prick

⤷ y/n l/n: l love you too ya twat! Also let me post our child ❤

⤷ chrismd10: yeah yeah whatever. i love you too ya prick ❤

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chrismd10

liked by georgeclarkeey, arthurtv and 876, 543 others

chrismd10: it's possible that she likes her caps more than me..

tagged: @y/n l/n

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chrismd10: just so you all know I am not a sap, I did not know she'd post arthur on her story the moment id post her okay?? fuck off ya twats

behzingagram: sap

chrismd10: shut the fuck up

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y/n l/n added to their story;

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[snootlestheangel]

Hear Me Out

Guys, just, hear me out: YouTubers/Streamers AU for COD. There was a series of posts on @cod-dump 's blog about what games are banned for the boys and I've just been thinking about this but with Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and Alex where one of them is the actual streamer/gamer dude and the others just almost always play with him (maybe Roach if we went on the path that he's not actually mute, just kinda hates talking)

Retired or discharged for whatever reasons, the 141 are actually kinda happy to be living semi-normal lives. Maybe they're not all entirely civilian now, maybe Price has a position that doesn't require him to be on the field but he's still teaching/being a Captain.

But he's constantly telling the boys to find things to do to keep themselves happy. Especially Gaz and Soap, cause the military is kind of all they know, they've never had to be civilians really as adults.

Ghost is transitioning fine, and he's been a huge help for Soap, but Gaz is still kinda struggling. Eventually something happens and Alex is part of his life, but it's still not really what Gaz needs to feel "normal".

So Soap and Alex convince Gaz to start streaming/recording videos of their gaming sessions. It's a slow start, and Gaz is getting frustrated.

Until one time they play something silly but incredibly rage-inducing. It's a trending game because it's designed to pit you against your friends but is still silly nonetheless. There's one clip in particular that starts trending and becomes the reason Gaz's channel starts to take off.

The clip? Gaz yelling at Soap for something and Soap immediately just cursing him out in straight Scots only for Alex, an American, to scream into his mic as loud as humanly possible "WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER?!?!" after having been dead silent for the last 2 minutes. Why did he scream this? Not because of Soap's Scots, but because he had secretly just won the round after having lost the entire time they'd been playing.

People eat that shit up! Suddenly everyone's like "damn there's this hella attractive dude that records gameplay with his friends and they're all really funny." Everyone falls in love with Gaz's appearance first, but then they actually hear him and his friends interact and it's just trading insults and stupid jokes, acting like there's no one watching and they're suddenly kids again.

It eventually comes out that Gaz and his friends are all veterans, and despite the air around military not being the best, there's no denying that caring for veterans is a must. People slowly start to support Gaz's channel/streams, and before he knows it, he's actually got quite the following. His whole thing is about "wanting to do something to distract himself and others from the shitty aspects of life with a few laughs and some good games"

Eventually they convince Ghost to start gaming with them. It makes Gaz's popularity grow because now there's this really deep accent in the mix that's completely clueless as to what he's doing like 90% of the time (I just have this gut feeling that '22 Ghost is so fucking awful at video games) that they refer to simply as "Ghost". Suddenly, the chaos Gaz and his friends are known for increases tenfold. Ghost is flirting with all of them, Soap is arguing with him over literal couple things that come with living together, and there's a new element of really dark humor that wasn't there before (there was dark humor, just not this dark)

They're playing The Backrooms one time. They're not even in the game yet, just in the lobby. Gaz is laughing at Alex's tag for the game "MYLEG!" which is a reference to that one fish in Spongebob always yelling "my leg!" after an incident. Gaz is laughing too hard to actually explain to his viewers that, yes, Alex is an amputee. Soap starts making fun of him, as usual, and that's when it happens.

Alex: "I'll take my leg off and hit you with it, Soap, I swear to god." Soap: "I forgot you were already missing one for a second there and got real concerned." Alex: "No, Soap, I planned on removing my other leg. The one that's still attached, yeah. Just like a lil *pop noise*, ya know?" Gaz: *wheezing so hard he almost throws up*

Then they're playing this silly monster/cryptid hunter game called "A Day Out" and there's skeletons every now and then on the map. Gaz walks up to one and just starts freaking out, saying Ghost's name over and over.

Ghost, freaked out: What?? Gaz, pointing at the skeleton: Look, it's you! *cackling* Ghost, after a concerning long pause: *quietly* Nah, I'm not gonna say that Alex: SAY IT COWARD Ghost: No, that's my brother *Gaz making the most horrified face as he tries not to laugh* *Alex and Soap are losing their shit* Gaz: NAH THAT'S NOT OKAY

That clip posts and the internet looses it. I see this being the actual first video Ghost is in, so for this to be the first thing the viewers get of him, it's safe to say he's a hit. It's also never explained that Ghost does have a deceased brother, so there's just an acceptance of Ghost's skeleton brother.

There's several times where they've all gotten together and played silly games like Mario Kart when there's a bunch of them. There's the sober one and there's the drunk one, where there's so many different languages being hurled as curses at each other, Gaz gives up on captioning ANY of it.

OOOOooooooooohhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!! WHAT IF! Roach becomes his editor once he gets popular enough so he can spend more time playing games, solo ones when the others are working.

For a while, everyone's going crazy wanting to see what the others all look like, and sometimes (cause we're assuming the world they live in now during all this is a lot better), they're joined by Rudy or Alejandro, or both in one rare instance. Sometimes, for old times's sake, during the drunk gaming sessions, they'll call Laswell only for her to scold them. There are times they'll bully Roach who always, as the editor, changes their words from the insults to compliments. Or he definitely trolls Gaz a lot with some of the editing, and it's all around just a good time. Hence why everyone wants to know what they look like.

Then it's around the holidays after about 2 and a half years of Gaz's channel being as popular as it is. He posts a single picture on his socials with a group of people and the caption: "Love seeing the boys over the holidays."

It's such a nice photo; Alex with an arm wrapped around Gaz's shoulders, Soap and Ghost on his other side with Roach between Soap and Gaz.

And the internet has once again gone crazy. Why? Cause not only are these dudes fucking hilarious, but they're hot and taken.

Except, as they all end up teasing him about, Roach is very much still single XD

I have been watching too much YouTube lately, can y'all tell?? Haha anyways back to my hole I shall crawl

[bratbutcute]

A silent pact of silence

Hi! @theanonemu it is I, your secret Santa. I finally revealed myself to gift you… your gift.

Okay I’ll stop it ahah, I hope you have some free time because this fic got LONG.

Just a little reminder: English isn’t my first language, so you might find some grammar mistakes! If so please dm me or comment so I can fix them.

Now let’s dive right in.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor/Lucifer

Prompts: Lovingly wrecking with gentle & light tickles; Character A unknowingly tickling character B who tries to suffer through it but eventually gives way and hijinx ensue;

Disclaimer: other than this is a tickle fic (obviously I’d say) there is nothing more to add to it.

Words count: 4524

Lucifer goes to the library to run away from his worries; he likes being alone there, until Alastor arrives to disrupt his peace. Will they listen to Charlie’s notes and become friends or will their rivalry prevail?

Happy late Christmas, Yule, Hanukkah, Solstice, Kwanzaa, and all the other celebrations happening during these days ❤️

(tagging here you amazing @squealing-santa, thank you so much for your patience and for your amazing organisation. This was my first year participating but I really loved having you as a host)

~~~

“Dear guests I hope you’ll like this library! Read as much as you like but don’t forget to make new friends! -Charlie”

Books or, to be more precise, reading books is something quite unusual in Hell.

Sinners usually enjoy other kinds of activities in their afterlives.

Lucifer has always loved them, since the moment humans came up with the idea of putting words onto paper he's been engrossed by the thought of carrying knowledge in the palm of your hand.

He has read thousands of books, written by humans on Earth - smuggled by those who could go there -, written by sinners in Hell, and he himself has written some of them. Charlie has always loved hearing her father interpret a story by doing different voices and shapeshift to fit the characters.

The Hotel had a rather big library, not the greatest, but it was still a work in progress. A few armchairs and couches were arranged in the center of the room, next to a coffee table with mugs and cute post-its with inspirational quotes on them.

These post-it were scattered everywhere, on the chairs, on the table, between the pages of the books. They were cheesy and sometimes did’t make sense, trying to encourage sinners to discuss about books and share their ideas. Lucifer couldn’t help but smile every time he saw one, thinking about his daughter and her good naive heart.

He found solace in that place.

He went there by chance once, after finding himself wandering around the Hotel trying to run away from the mean words screaming inside his head. After that it had quickly become an habit to go there during the night, past the time when Angeldust or Husker would still be awake, in that limbo halfway between the night and the morning, when the lights of Heaven were still not visible, but they started to peak between the clouds.

It was always quite when he went there.

No thoughts, no worries.

“When you’re feeling lonely, ask for a friend to join you! Having friends is fun! -Charlie”

Night after night Lucifer had been dragging himself into the library, reading books in silence to quite the thoughts screaming into his head. As a result he hadn’t slept in weeks, but on the bright side he also hadn’t had a nightmare in a long while.

Everything was perfect before his little ritual got ruined by none other than Alastor. That bitch.

Alastor was already there when Lucifer arrived. He was standing next to a shelf, hand ready to grab a book when their sights intertwined.

Everything felt static for a second.

Lucifer was about to ask him what the Hell was he doing there, but his mind was too clouded and words felt heavy on his chest. They just proceeded to ignore each other, much to his confusion: that demon was known for loving to mess with him. Why wouldn’t the dear say something?

But he didn’t dwell on it too much though, hoping this would be a once in a lifetime situation

Unfortunately for him he was quickly proven wrong.

The next day Alastor was there, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, and so the following day and the one after.

Every single night Lucifer wanted a bit of peace, a place to recollect his thoughts, Alastor was there to ruin his evening.

He wouldn’t talk, but he would raise his eyebrows at every book Lucifer chose. He would turn his pages quicker than the king, creating an unspoken competition to finish first.

Lucifer came out of these nights even more exhausted than before, crashing onto the bed and waking up a few hours later, after a dreamless sleep.

“Good actions don’t need words! Try doing something good without taking the credit! -Charlie”

Lucifer had to admit something: having Alastor in the same room while dark thoughts stomped on his head was kind of therapeutic - although he would never say it to the other.

He always managed to distract him, even if it was with childish challenges and mischief, such as changing the place his current book was placed or steal the book the other wanted to read.

Words never left their mouths while they were there. They would stare at each other for a few seconds while entering the room, and then proceed to read in their designated spots: Lucifer on the couch, legs stretched on the coushions, his duck slippers on the floor next to him, and Alastor on the armchair, with his old school red nightclothes on and a tea cup in hand.

Lucifer started to think about those nights of theirs during his day, napping during the afternoon so he would be able to actually enjoy his silent time with the man.

Nothing had changed in front of Charlie or the Hotel crew. They would still bicker and fight like they hated each other, but he couldn’t help but thinking that he felt their arguments less animus than before. There were times he would find Alastor staring at him, his usual grin a bit softer on his lips.

He started looking forward to the night, feeling his heart pounding in his chest before opening the door of their secret place, hoping he wouldn’t be alone.

The reason was simple: he had spent the majority of his existence feeling alone, feeling casted out. The one who fell, the one who asked too many questions, the one who couldn’t handle a family. The one nobody really cared about and that frankly was had stopped caring.

But having someone share his worst moments with was… kind of comforting.

Then again, Alastor was still a peace of shit.

“When others choose to wrong you try confronting them with their actions! You might find that it was a misunderstanding! -Charlie”

It started after one of their fights during the day.

Lucifer wasn’t really sure what they were fighting about, but he could proudly remember how the argument ended: with him making fun of the deer. Angel had laughed, chanting a “Poor Bambi”, a nickname that was usually used by the former heavenly creature but was quickly catching up.

When Lucifer arrived at the library Alastor was already there - that wasn’t uncommon - but he wasn’t in his usual standing position, looking for a new book to devour in a few hours. This time he was in his armchair. Waiting.

Lucifer faltered before entering, a weird uneasy feeling slowly creeping behind his neck. He knew something was about to change.

He barely had time to pick a book and sit before shadows in the room started to morph, trembling and deforming the floor. The lights wobbled as if there was a earthquake (a hellquake?) and Lucifer would have probably screamed if only it hadn’t lasted more than just a few seconds.

Terrified and confused Lucifer stared at Alastor, forcing his mouth to remain shut, and found the sinner grinning ear to ear with pure amusement in his eyes.

As Lucifer started reading, one of those weird dark tentacles darted through the air right in front of the angel’s face, making him jump on the couch and drop his book. Needless to say Alastor was beaming in his place on the armchair. His stupid cup still in his hand, held with his pinky finger up.

Lucifer’s eye started to twitch. He wasn’t going to be the one breaking their pact of silence - ironic how that agreement was made… silently.

Alastor’s shadow retreated quickly with a book, only to dart back again, this time taking the most inconvenient road, purposefully knocking Lucifer’s book again the second he picked it up.

This did get a silent sight out of the king of Hell.

But the demon did not care enough to take his eyes off the tome.

This new annoying habit seemed to amuse Alastor a lot since he started to do it every single time they were there: Lucifer would arrive, think that nothing was wrong only to find a dark shadow scaring both Heaven and Hell out of him.

Three nights in a row and Lucifer was done with this.

He was the King of Hell, he was a powerful and fearful being: he was going to show it to that pompous prick.

When the tendril flew in front of him he moved quickly, grabbing the shadow with one hand, his eyes turning red and fire sparkling between his horns.

The movement was so fast that Alastor was caught off guard, but he was definitely impressed.

His cheeks burned bright as his smile trembled.

Since that day he never tried to use his shadows again.

“Hug someone today! Only after they agreed. Consent is important! -Charlie”

After the event nothing really changed, other than a small, but definitely important thing: they started greeting each other with a smile. Which wasn’t unusual for Alastor, since his smile was always shown on his face, but it felt as if that mask was slowly crumbling down.

Not only this, but Lucifer started looking forward to that smile, to that small act of kindness and intimacy the two of them shared.

And then one night came the touching.

Lucifer had seen Alastor touch pretty much every single hotel guest. Squeezing shoulders, pinching cheeks, being affectionate in a mocking kind of way, always using either his hands or his shadows to assert his dominance. And the king of Hell hated that behaviour: Alastor didn’t care if he crossed a boundary, he showed everybody that he could do whatever he wanted with them, regardless of their comfort.

The first time Lucifer and Alastor shook hands the latter cleaned it right after, so you can imagine how surprised and confused Lucifer found himself when Alastor decided to sit next to him, grazing their legs together.

His stomach churned and his head turned immediately to stare at the demon.

Alastor didn’t talk - again, nothing unusual for them in that room - but his smile twitched a bit.

Was he making fun of him? Was he trying to distract him from one of his schemes? Was he trying to get him back from the shadow situation?

The touch lasted a few seconds before Alastor repositioned himself, crossing one leg over the other, one foot making contact with Lucifer’s leg.

The king was so confused he didn’t flip a single page the entire night.

“Be sweet, be kind, be good! -Charlie”

Alastor started being more and more intimate with Lucifer.

He started offering him his tea by preparing two cups before the king arrived. He covered him with a blanket whenever he fell asleep on the couch.

It stopped being subtle when the cuddling started.

It had already been a few nights of sitting one next to the other, thighs or feet touching and eyes wandering over each other. The deer would casually touch him by grazing his hands, or by putting his hand on the king’s tight as a leverage to stand up.

But one evening his hand simply remained on the king’s leg. Fingers slowly moving. Before Lucifer could react Alastor was caressing him, as if they had been friends for their entire lives.

It lasted a few seconds - as soon as Lucifer’s brain registered the warmth it was already gone.

His heart was pounding in his chest, butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach. He felt lightheaded.

Whenever Alastor showed signs of kindness he felt like a young angel again, experiencing emotions for the very first time.

He’d find himself with golden cheeks and shaking hands.

And one night, after thinking about it the entire day, he finally made his move.

Alastor was already in the library, sitting down on the couch, nose buried in a book, his ears twitching every now and then, as if they were part of the action written on the pages.

Lucifer took a couple of breaths, trying to calm his nerves as he found the courage to sit down and take Alastor’s hand.

The action was very… awkward.

They stayed there in silence, staring at each other’s eyes while holding hands as if it was their first interaction since being created.

When he realised the absurdity of the situation his cheeks became golden. He tried to stand up again, ready to leave the room but Alastor tightened his grip.

He tilted his head as the touch morphed.

Alastor intertwined their fingers as nothing weird was happening.

Lucifer felt like falling for perdition all over again.

“Laughter is the best medicine! Laughing with your friends is the best antibiotic! -Charlie”

Six months had passed since the first time the two creatures had found themselves reading together.

Six months and nothing had changed: the hotel members still thought they hated each others - although Angel started whispering about the weird intense looks they sometimes exchanged.

Six months and, at the same time, everything was different.

Alastor and Lucifer had started by pestering each other every day and were now cuddling on the couch, Alastor’s hand scratching the king’s back, as the man had his head on the other’s lap.

They both pretended to read, but they would spend the majority of time plotting the next move, plying a game of chess to become more and more intimate.

Six months and not a single word had really left their lips. Until that day.

Alastor’s fingers were being gentle on the man’s soft pyjamas, soothing the skin underneath.

A bit too delicate for Lucifer’s taste.

Goosebumps were starting to form on his back and a maddening sensation was making him uneasy.

Al’s nails circled around the middle of the back, running up and down, switching between one finger and all four.

Lucifer was holding on, concentrating on not making a sound, focusing entirely on keeping his mouth shut.

He twitched when he felt the sensation move closer to his side. He gulped down some air and the bit his lips.

Alastor was reading, not realising the torture the other man was enduring. He was absentmindedly cuddling him, too focused on the words he was reading to notice the torture his ‘friend’ was enduring.

His fingers found the softness of Lucifer’s sides.

The king lost his battle.

A single uncontrollable giggle. So desperate to leave his lips, so cruel, so… liberating.

It was the first time Lucifer had made an actual sound in that place.

Alastor’s ears turned and his interest peaked.

His mouth opened, as to comment, but then he closed it, an evil grin on his face as soon as he realised what was happening.

This was interesting.

Lucifer’s eyes widened. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. He tried to sit down but Lucifer’s fingers travelled back to his skin, scratching and caressing teasingly his sides.

Lucifer put his hand on his mouth, feeling the giggles build up in his throat. His legs started shaking, his torso twitching, anything to stop the sensation.

He slowly lowered his hand, his mouth ready to talk for the first time but when the other demon realised what was happening he stopped immediately his attack.

He got a bit closer, breathing Lucifer’s air, and he out a finger on his pale lips.

So this was how it had to be: defeat at first word.

Lucifer gulped loudly.

Alastor’s fingers went back to work, ready to pinch his sides but the only thing they found was air and dust.

In a puff of glitter Lucifer transformed into a snake - he was still Lucifer Morningstar, the most proud being ever created, if he could run away from this humiliation he would - but Alastor reacted quickly and one of his shadows manifested around his tail, snatching him off the floor. He transformed back into his demon form, dangling upside down with his foot held by the tentacle. His face morphed into a “Are you kidding me?” kind of expression.

Alastor left his place from the couch, facing his victim. He looked composed - as always - but a glint of mischief shined in his eyes.

He was going to destroy him. Lucifer shivered as he watched Alastor’s hands caressing the air around his body, not picking a particular spot, but letting him suffer through his indecision. As Lucifer started to thrash around, thinking about how to run away again his shirt rose up and Alastor eyed his midriff with interest. Lucifer’s mind panicked so hard that he transformed into a bird and immediately tried to fly away.

But again, his opponent was very determined.

He reappeared right in front of the door - his only way out other than the very closed window - with a wider and more menacing grin. Lucifer crashed right into him, reappearing as his usual form in a cloud of sparkles.

Alastor didn’t leave him a single second to think this time, trapping his wrists with one of his dark shadows and heading them above his head.

His stomach was again in a very vulnerable position, since his shirt had risen from all the tossing around. He had a trembling smile on his face, giggles almost leaving his lips just because he could feel Alastor stare at his body.

Probably because of this expectation he would have never anticipated fingers gently caressing one of his underarms.

Lucifer gasped and a weak groan left his throat. The touch was gentle, delicate, the fingertips tenderly swirling on his armpit. And it was so, so, devious. He started drumming his feet on the floor.

His mind kept repeating a series of “no no no no” and “okay okay okay” that he would have said out loud to distract himself hadn’t there been that stupid game of silence between them.

Lucifer tried to think of all the way he could turn the tables, tried to think how to attack him but he lost it when Al started tickling his other armpit too.

His giggles started dancing around them, uncontrollable. He couldn’t run away, he couldn’t ask for him to stop: he could only laugh.

Alastor grin widened, but he didn’t change the pace of his attack: he was going to be ruthless and methodical.

As the fingers teased his armpits, two dark shadows descended on his ribs, tracing small circles on the bones, making the fallen angel hiccup with laughter.

Lucifer really lost his battle, twisting his body to run away, too busy laughing to concentrate on shapeshifting. It was unbearable, a slow torture he knew he couldn’t endure by just letting himself laugh.

To confirm his suspicions, the moment Alastor brushed a single finger on his stomach he really gave up.

«Wahahaait!»

The room fell silent again. Alastor stopped moving. Lucifer stopped laughing. The books seemed frozen on their shelves, and the air was eager to listen to words.

«Your majesty,» it wasn’t an insult, but it wasn’t meant as a title. The king’s brain stopped working as a goldish blush dusted his cheeks. He was not expecting those words and he was not expecting to react that way. «we’re in a library. Noise should be kept at a minimum.»

Okay, he was going to kill Alastor.

Sweet golden laughter poured out of the angelic creature as the demon attacked his stomach. His fingers caressed his navel, pinched his sides, walked around his skin.

He was so light that Lucifer felt conflicted about what to feel, as if this wasn’t a kind of torture to him but was a weird act of kindness.

«Alastohohohor-» he got lost in his laughter. Giggles and high pitched squeals echoed in the darkness of the room. He realised his hands were free to move the moment he found them holding onto Alastor’s wrists, not quite pushing him away, not quite remaining still. He wasn’t sure about what he wanted to do.

«Ahahahahl» he put one hand on his mouth only to slam it back again as a tendril attacked him on the armpit. He laughed louder, feeling every part of his being ticklish.

It felt embarrassing. It felt private. But it felt… safe.

They were alone in their personal room where no one could bother them.

He giggled louder: «Ahahahahllll! I- ihihi- I demand you to stohohohop!».

Alastor grinned.

«Why should I? My king didn’t seem to mind my hands on his body before.»

«Ahahahahalasthohohor!»

«What my dear? Isn’t that true?»

Lucifer dissolved in another fit of laughter as Alastor lovely pinched every bit of skin he could find from his sides to the middle of his navel.

As hiccups started to leave the king’s lips the tickling slowed down.

«Have you had enough my dear?»

Lucifer could only nod, titters leaving his throat.

Red lights stared shining through the window.

Lucifer sighed, laughter tinted on his lips. He stared at Alastor: he looked bright, shining of a unique and mischievous light that only he could radiate.

They were very close, Alastor on him, hands holding him still. Lucifer’s skin was still sensitive, at every little movement he felt like starting giggling again.

Their faces were few inches apart, so close they could feel the warmth of each other’s breath.

Lucifer found himself staring at the other’s lips; only to realise he wasn’t the only one.

It felt as if they were getting closer, as if he could taste Alastor’s lips had he only moved a bit.

«I guess I will see you tomorrow my dear.»

And just like that he was gone

“You can find friends everywhere! Even at the library! Ask the person next to you what are they reading! Who knows what might happen! - Charlie”

That night Lucifer arrived at the library before Al.

He arrived before midnight. Angel and Husk were still at the counter, chatting and giggling together. They greeted him, but he was too distracted to care.

He sat on the couch, twisting his hands and waited.

When Alastor arrived the king was so nervous he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

He immediately stood up, eager to talk right away, but Alastor went straight to the shelves, picking a book up.

Lucifer was confused to say the least.

Alastor sat down and started to flip pages as if nothing had happened between them the day before. When he picked his cup up Lucifer became furious.

«Are you kidding me?»

The sound of the king’s voice made Alastor jump. He probably thought that their pact of silence was back on because he looked confused.

«Is there anything wrong sir?»

Lucifer was fuming.

«I thought-» he shook his head and tried again «We’ve been coming here for six months. You’re the one who started messing with me. I came here just to read in peace and you-» he had to take a moment to recompose.

«I was fine. Then you arrived and disrupted my peace. You started to get closer and at first I thought it was to mock me but then… it seemed like you cared.»

Alastor sat there, staring.

«I thought you were starting to like me. I know in front of everybody you were your usual bitch self but- but here, here you were sweet and kind and.. and you started getting closer, touching me, putting your hand on my shoulder and- and yesterday I thought..» he put his fingers in his hair.

«Yesterday I felt something. And I know you felt it too because you were giving me that weird specific smile you have when you are actually happy and.. and now you just sit there, drinking your stupid tea and reading your stupid book as if nothing happened. And you have the courage to ask me if there is something wrong?»

Lucifer was out of breath, hands shaking.

It took the deer a few seconds to take it all in. Then he slowly closed his book, put his cup down and got up.

«Six months ago I came here to annoy you.» he began «Charlie told me that she was worried about you and asked me to check on you, as if I was some kind of nurse. My original plan was to hide every book you were reading.» he softly smiled avoiding the other’s eyes.

«But then when I saw you the first night you arrived... You looked miserable my dear. Charlie was right, I just couldn’t take advantage of a helpless puppy like that.» he tried to joke around his feelings, but the nickname didn’t feel derogatory as probably intended.

Alastor stood up and turned himself towards the books. He talked slowly, but each word was tinted with honesty.

«I decided to keep you company, to keep an eye on you so that if I helped you you’d be in debt. But then you started being… you again. After a few nights of pestering you I saw your face changing, I saw your smile coming back. And I found myself waiting for those moments.» he sighed facing Lucifer who was so shocked he didn’t know how to react.

«I am- I am sorry for hurting your feelings: that was not my intention.» his sight finally met Lucifer’s «But I wasn’t toying with you. Even if it started like that: adter all it was endearing to see you embarrassed.» Lucifer rolled his eyes at that.

«But I soon realised I wasn’t just having fun though: I was seeking out these meetings. Suddenly I found myself thinking about you during the day. Hoping we would fight so I could spend more time with you.»

Alastor feelings were shining around them now, dancing through the space between their bodies.

«It took me a while to understand and accept what was happening. And then yesterday when you were adorned with the most beautiful smile I felt something I thought I would never feel. Something resembling… more than just affection.» he whispered.

Lucifer felt himself moving without being able to control the motion. His hands brushed Alastor’s hands and their eyes locked just like the first day there.

Their library. Their sacred and demonic place. The only room that saw them as friends.

Everything felt so distant, but so alive, buzzing with energy.

Alastor took his hands, but Lucifer was the one who closed the gap between their lips.

All those days spent bickering, arguing over stupid shit, fighting one against the other, only to be defeated by a small environment full of books.

The kiss was small, soft, more than just brushing their lips, intense but not overwhelming. It was everything Lucifer needed to remind him how to breathe, how to feel, how to live.

It tasted like rivalry and play, like mischief and honesty. It simply tasted like them.

They smiled at each other, Lucifer’s hands shaking.

«Shall we go back to our readings my dear?» Alastor asked. He seemed composed as always but a hint of blush was dusted on his cheeks.

«Yeah, of course.»

Before leaving, Lucifer found a new little note on the table. This time it wasn’t on the usual yellow post-it.

Charlie’s words were written on a heart shaped red card.

He smiled before leaving the room.

“May this library always bring joy and love to whoever needs it.

P.s. love you dad

-Charlie”

~~~

This message is for AnonEmu. I really hope you like this fic, I swear I tried to honour your prompts, and I hope the length of the it didn’t scare you.

When I first read your pairings I thought about writing for a lee!Alastor ler!Vox fic but honestly I’m so happy I changed my mind.

Trying to write a cute, fluffy and lovingly tickle scene between two of the characters that hate each other the most was challenging, but this gave me the opportunity to actually focus on the story and not just the tickling part, which I realise it’s quite short, but I really hope you can still appreciate it.

The characters are probably a bit OOC but I swear I tried to give them at least the right vibes.

Having said that, I really have to thank you AnonEmu, I really want to thank you for your prompts, and I really really really want to thank @cantsaythetword. You’ve been an amazing host, you’ve done so much and you deserve all the love and recognition in the world.

Now you probably wont see or hear from me for a few months, but I wanted to thank all the people who reblog, comment or like my art and writing.

You make me proud of my work.

[rainbow-starheart]

🌟 Rainbow StarHeart’s Final Word on This Matter 🌟

Enough.

This has gone on long enough. We have given this person too much time, too much energy, and too much space in our minds. They have overstayed their welcome and abused every chance given to them. Their actions speak louder than their words, and their only goal is to drain, manipulate, and take power where none was ever theirs to claim.

No more.

From now on, silence is our response.

They thrive on reactions, on conflict, on pulling us into endless, circular arguments where they twist words and warp truths. They want attention, any attention, whether it be anger, frustration, or attempts to reason with them. They feed off it like parasites, desperate for hosts to keep them alive.

But what happens when we cut them off?

What happens when we erase them from our conversations, from our thoughts, from our timelines? They shrink. They disappear. They return to the shadows, forgotten and powerless.

And that is exactly what we will do.

🚫 Block them.

✂️ Delete their messages.

🛑 Do not respond.

🔇 Do not engage, do not acknowledge, do not give them another drop of what they crave.

Let them scream into the void. Let them desperately try to claw their way back in. Let them drown in their own irrelevance. Because once they realize no one is listening, they will be forced to face the truth—

They are nobody. From the start as an anon to rise as a block evader to a harasser to a manipulator

And the only power they ever had was the attention we mistakenly gave them.

So from this moment on, we move forward. We focus on what matters. We uplift each other. We create, we inspire, we thrive—without them.

They are dust. And dust is meant to be swept away.

Silence is our final answer.

How to spot them if they ever make an appearance? Simple, different Pfps, random usernames, seems like a normal blog? No, look down and scroll across their accounts and find there's nothing but reblogs of their repeated song and dance, no other posts about other stuff but direct harassment to antis and others in between

Let's not give Shoo the attention anymore,we only made them popular because we have them the attention they've been feeding off

New tag: #Ignore Shoo

I realized that now

And as I said

Let Silence Be Our Answer

hexaround @ilovepeachplssm @starsdontshinetheyburn @borntobreakfree @kenakostarcat16 @undertale-person @baxstarmallow06 @chibitacolord @iookingle3rd @nightfox67 @scally-wiggles716 @youwillneverknowthingsblog @pastelpixel1987 @komeame @fictodreamer @countingthestarsthings @beecha @elizachangreaves @impostortheguyiguess @broskiimwatching123 @creativity4ever @suckaysuamigos200 @hauntedbelieverpaper @zestytyler @doom0424 @aponibloom @darnelldraws @railway323 @deer-genius-idol-unmatched @jwintix @kittenwatermemes @shadowwolfmemes @violetthediamondsblog @holorform2009 @sho-can-g

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Tumblr WILL NOT let me post the fic and this ask at the same time and I've tried legit five times. So THANK YOU anon for the request and I'm sorry for the weirdness in uploading. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this!

My Ghost.

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: You don't know what happened that night. Things were fine, life was good, then your partner is on the news for all sorts of shit you never would've thought him capable of the day prior. He was dead, he was evil, and you were trying to move on. But what's the proper etiquette when the dead show up on your door unannounced?

Tags: No use of Y/N, hurt/comfort, fake death, mentions of drinking, drug use/dealing, grieving, arguing, cursing, flashbacks, brief suggestive scenes, suicidal thoughts.

Other Works in This Series: 'Repentance' (Prequel to 'My Ghost') • 'Lapses' (Sequel to 'My Ghost')

Notes: The way I've been trying to upload this for two hours. Oh my fucking God. Anyways, everyone say thank you to anon for getting me to write something that doesn't make God cry.

-¤°》◇《°¤-

I'm not hard to please, but I'm not desperate despite what the rumors may say.

People enjoy gossip. People who don't know fuck all about you. And my standards are fine. Were fine. And I don't mean standards such as 'buys me flowers everyday' or 'doesn't deal coke.' I mean standards such as 'is a decent fucking person.'

"That's what I thought you were up until all of this fucking... disappearing for months!" I scream, anger fueling me. I don't let the other emotions win out, don't let them have a say. Because if I do, I'll be too conflicted and overwhelmed and then I'm gonna cry, and that's not fair.

People had warned me he was trouble. Terms such as 'wannabe cowboy,' 'rebel without a cause' were tossed around in warning. But to me, he was just Billy.

Then he was dead.

Now, he was here. He showed up at my door nine months after leaving me with a small little keychain on the kitchen table and a soft kiss on my forehead, saying he had some plans for that evening. But he'll be back soon.

Then he was on the news. And a gas station blew up. Gangs, stolen vehicles. He was probably dead. Things would be easier if he was dead.

Fine. Maybe I initially ignored warning signs. Maybe I was distracted by his handsome side profile, too busy admiring his nose to notice the occasions it was dusted with the trace of a fine powder. Maybe his hands were too beautiful for me to realize they were slipping money to men in dark jackets when we went out to the rougher parts of town. But he was mine and I was his, and overall he was a good person.

He was alive. He was alive and I was mad because if he was dead then at least it would be valid that for nine months I have had to deal with the accusatory stares of our neighbors assuming I knew, the pity from my loved ones, and the betrayel that kept me awake at night. It would mean he hadn't left me to deal with his repercussions, that maybe there was a valid excuse. An undiagnosed brain tumor that finally gave way to insanity, a gun to his head. Something that was not the worst case scenario of just... being an awful person. I could let his things rest around the house undisturbed, hiding from the world and waiting to find the courage to join him one day and living in denial in the meantime. What the fuck was all of this?

"I couldn't tell you," he keeps saying. "It was better if you knew nothing until I was sure I could come get you."

"Why didn't you just take me with you from the start?" I ask. I've been pacing the floor for the past twenty minutes ever since he showed up. It was better than throwing every breakable object in the cheap, worn down shack of a house at him, which was my second instinct. My first was to pull him into my arms, draw the curtains shut and hide him away so that he'll never leave again. Like an idiot.

He laughs bitterly. "You would not be asking that if you knew what the fuck I went through," he says. His words sound like they should be angry, but there's this lightness to them like he can't let himself think too much about it. It just makes me angrier.

"Don't fucking laugh!" I snap. "Do you think any of this is funny?"

"I think you're funny when you're mad," he deflects, smiling. "You got this whole routine. Pacing, nose twitching. I like the Shirley Temple stomps, like you're a kid."

I groan loudly, the noise almost sounding like a low scream in my throat.

"You owed money to fucking- who?" I yell.

"The details don't matter-"

"When I have been grieving your death for nine months, they fucking matter!" I snap. His brows furrow, his hands mid air as if to say 'the fuck did I do?'

"You know me, okay? I don't get caught," he says as though it were obvious.

"I know fucking nothing!" I practically scream.

When we met he was just a guy at a bar, handsome, wearing that same ridiculous jacket that I couldn't help but stroke the white fluff on, tequila running through my veins.

"Can I help you?" He asked, smirking.

"Just wanted to see what it felt like," I said.

"Wanna feel something else?" He asked, his chin resting on his head.

"Oh, fucking gross. Fuck o-"

"I was talking about this," he said, whipping out his keys to show off an odd, weirdly shaped keychain with short, stiff fuzz. "Don't call me a pervert just cause you're one."

He was smiling. It was an easy smile. Careless, happy with life. I loved that smile. It meant things were always alright as long as he was smiling.

He was smiling on the photo they used for the manhunt.

We'd danced the whole night. He didn't know hardly any of the songs, causing him to be off beat. I was too drunk to keep time, so I stepped on his leather boots enough times there was a visible scuff on the top of one by the end of the night. I always felt bad, offering to replace or help pay to fix it. He wouldn't let me.

"They're a keepsake," he'd insist. "A living memory." He wore them everyday.

He's wearing sneakers, today.

At the end of the night, I stumbled out of the bar with a note in my coat pocket. It took two weeks for me to wear that coat again, and when I found the slip I'd almost thrown it away, assuming it was something dumb. But when I saw the worst handwriting in the world displaying a number belonging to someone named 'Keychain Guy,' I almost couldn't wait to call.

"Bullshit," Billy snaps. "You know me better than anyone."

"Don't say that," I say, putting a hand out protectively to keep him away. "That's exactly why everyone thinks I was just fine with that whole- fucked up thing!"

A gas station burned. A stolen vehicle. People were dead. People were dead.

Billy was presumed dead.

There was no funeral. He had no family, and none of mine wanted to put money into something that would be protested by the whole town anyways. No body to bury, nothing to do but gather up his things and smoke what remained in his stash until people came to nurse me back to life. By that point there wasn't even relief in drugs. The taste simply reminded me of better times cooking in the kitchen as we blew the smoke into each others faces, or worse. Better. Whatever.

I never questioned when Billy went out of town. I knew his work had details I didn't want nor need to know. Money was tight. But Billy always came home with little things whenever he went on unexpected trips. Knick knacks, snacks, some item I'd seen at the store and picked up to make a comment about. Had he been particularly forthcoming about his dealing when we started dating? No. He said he worked for a local small business, which technically isn't untrue. But about six months in, he was the one who approached me and sat me down at the small, rickty round table to tell me the truth. And that's what mattered to me. The economy is shit and it's not like it was meth, so who am I to judge?

About a year into it, I was begging for him to do something else.

"I don't like you disappearing," I told him. "I'm scared one day you're gonna piss someone off and that'll be the end. Then what am I gonna do?"

"Then you're gonna make sure they don't fuck up my face during the embalming process for the funeral," Billy said around his hand rolled cigarette. I whip the small dish towel at him, making him laugh and protect his small ashtray that I made him for Christmas the year prior. It was shitty, uneven, and I'm 99% sure a fire hazard. But he wouldn't use any other ones unless I was the one who bought them for him, and even then he favored this one. 'When this place goes up in flames,' I thought, 'I'll regret that gift.'

I'd kept it by the kitchen window every day since he'd died. "Died." It was his spot.

He moves to sit there now, looking in his pockets for the small box of prerolled cigarettes.

"People know you weren't involved," he says dismissively.

"Your friends know. What about the old ladies at church? The checkout clerks at the store? How about the fucking mailman?" I shout, convinced I'm still talking to the dead. "You think they know the ins and outs of the local psychos support group?" I ask, gesturing and stepping closer.

I was the local outcast now. Not to be trusted, not worth kindness. Shame was my title, and when Billy appeared on my doorstep at an hour where only I was awake I was sure I'd caught the same awful disease that must have been what sent him spiraling that winter day. It wasn't until he pushed the door open fully, taking me into his arms and pressing a warm kiss to my lips that I knew he was real. It was a feeling I was in the early stages of forgetting, blurry and cold. But here he was, the stubble on his chin a bit longer and his ears missing the small hoops that had glittered in the sunlight when he walked out the door.

Then I'd pushed him away. And the fight began.

"I'm not a fucking psycho," he argues. His hands pat around his outfit, searching. "You got a lighter?"

"Fuck off." I kept his favorite in my left pocket. I had to be careful what things of his I wore or kept on my person. People close to me knew I would have never condoned his actions, but even they had glared at me in the early wake of Billy's death when I dared to wear one of his shirts out of the house, or more commonly one of his thick leather jackets. But a lighter can be hidden, and unless you had borrowed it you wouldn't know it had specifically been his. So I kept it with me all the time, just feeling it next to my skin with the only barrier being the fabric of my pocket. Without a thought, I cover the small item as though he can see right through me. Picking up on the hint, he's rises from the table and begins walking over to me.

"Don't be a dick, just let me borrow it," he says, holding out his hand.

"Fuck off," I snap.

"You've said that. I just need it for two seconds," he says as his hands begin to gently grab at me, one on my shoulder and the other dipping into my pocket.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I yell, slapping at him.

"Just let me have-"

He cuts himself off as he pulls out the lighter from my pocket, his thumb grazing over the printed picture. The Statue of David. He'd bought because it made us laugh. One side was the regular statue, the other a close up of its small genitals with cursive writing underneath spelling the art piece's name.

"Oh," Billy says quietly.

We stand for a moment, silent. He doesn't seem sure what to do. My lungs burn with unheaved sobs. I fucking hate this.

"You were gonna come back," I finally say quietly. I hate how my voice sounds when I'm upset. I hate that I'm wearing his dogtag, an item he'd bought at a World War II museum in middle school that he gave me for our first Christmas because we were both too broke to actually buy each other anything, hence the poorly made ashtray. I hate that when I sleep at night it's in his clothes that I rarely wash because the idea of losing his smell makes me want to scream. I hate that his scent is different from the bottle of cologne he kept next to my makeup, one time spilling all over the entire bathroom counter because we'd gotten too wrapped up in each other, dragging our nails down each others backs and watching ourselves in the mirror until one wrong move of my hand revealed he'd been a bit too careless about screwing the lid back on earlier in the day. I'd always warned him about that.

I'd been in the bathroom putting on my permanently scented blush when I got the text.

"I was going to," he said softly. "Then I couldn't."

"So what?" I say, not daring to turn and face him, choosing instead to stare at where the cheap, old wood paneling of the wall meets the shaggy, stained carpet that you have to wear shoes on due to the staples that have begun sticking out of it. "You just propose to someone and then pretend to die?"

Valentines Day was an awfully cheesy day to do it. So it's a good thing it was a technicality.

The day had been lovely. Billy had saved up a little to take me to a local hibachi place, telling me to wear my best outfit and jewelry. It was slightly overkill, but it's the small things in life, isn't it?

We'd come home with a bottle of wine, a low budget movie to ignore and hands searching desperately for each other.

"I love you," he'd said between pants. "You're mine."

"Buy a ring," I'd dared. Our minds were buzzed, the bottle half empty and our clothes thrown away without care. Took me weeks to find his both of his socks.

I hadn't meant for him to take it seriously. But I guess he decided it was time.

Two days later I thought it was odd when he walked into the house with my favorite lunch. It wasn't expensive really, we just usually got it for special occasions or days that had been mentally harder for me. And things were normal that day. I was getting ready for my shift, running around like I always do trying to make sure I've got everything.

"Your coffee's in the cup, will you just sit down?" He laughed, watching me. I quickly collected the take out box, sipping my coffee and wincing over its temperature.

"Fuck, that burns," I cursed. He wrapped his arms around me, trying to get me to sit at the table. "Baby, I can't," I protested softly, but I was laughing. He was peppering me in kisses, giving me those big puppy dog eyes everyone knew were my weakness. He wanted for nothing so long as he looked at me just like that.

"Just this once," he asked, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I couldn't help the blush and giggle that rose from me, but I also couldn't be late.

"I'll make up for it," I promised, slipping away and running into the bedroom to get my shoes. When I ran back in, pulling them on and coming to kiss him goodbye, I nearly fell over when I saw him on one knee, smiling and looking at me like 'I told you so.'

I don't like how itchy the ring feels on my middle finger as I twirl it in thought.

"You don't know what happened," he pleaded, his hands still on me. "If you would just listen to me-"

"The news gave a pretty good description, William. I don't think there's missing pieces in my head, unlike you," I say coldly, detaching from myself so to not have to deal with my emotions. This makes him stiffen, pulling away and resuming his place at the kitchen table, lighting his cigarette and placing the ashtray in front of him like nothing has changed when everything has.

It feels like I'm out of time. Like I've been shoved into a picture of what my life looked like before. Except the house was never this clean, clothes always scattered about. Not just in a fit of passion, we just had bad habits when it came to picking up. Billy would always say the chairs are more decorations then they are seats, anyways. "Why would you use those when you have such a nice seat here?" He'd ask, wiggling his hips and placing his hands behind his head, making me laugh.

Billy never looked so well put together in the house, usually in a wife beater and his hair framing his face. He'd always joked he looked like a dirty hippie around me, and I'd always show him how much I liked that. Not that he looked fantastic now. When we went out he was known for putting in effort. He always had more hair products than me, which I found funny. Though he refused makeup. Once I'd managed to talk him into eyeliner. 'Guyliner' I'd teased. He liked it, but said it should stay between us with a wink before asking where to get dinner. Now he sits before me in clothes obviously stolen to help him look unremarkable, his hair shaggy and uncut, so different from the man I loved.

"Who are you?" I asked him. That man didn't shrink away from accountability.

He sighed, smoke swirling around him as he wipes his face with his hand.

"I don't know. Can't tell if I'm better or worse, to be honest," he admits softly. His eyes look haunted, heavy bags underneath. It's the way his shoulders sag as though his will to go on is slowly draining from him in this very moment that makes me want to break now. Like whatever reason he had for still going was fruitless.

I didn't like the way we mirrored each other like this.

I slowly scuff my feet towards him, tapping my fingers against the back of the wooden chair before pulling it out to sit across from him. It's a start.

"So if you tell me," I say slowly. "Am I going to wish you were dead?"

He doesn't look at me. "I don't know."

Great.

The night is long. Morning comes without an invitation, the blue sky beginning to glow through the shitty blinders I always told Billy we should replace one day. I understand less than when we started, we've both cried more than once, and between our fingers is cigarette stubs and the feeling of each others skin, hands laced together as though another click of an old remote to an outdated TV with batteries you had to rub against your shirt to make work would reveal the smouldering remains of a gas station, displaying the estimated body count and deeming one of us as a devil of the worst kind, ripping us apart.

"Jesus," I say when it's over.

"Yeah," he says. "So, needless to say, my anxiety is shit now."

It isn't funny. It's a tragic statement. But when we both glance into the others eyes, it's his small little smirk that makes me laugh like I haven't since my mother sent me the local news report with his picture covering the front page. The same one that shows everything is still okay.

"I'm sorry," I say. Then the laughing turns into sobbing, and then I can't breathe. And I really am sorry.

I'm sorry I couldn't help him. I'm sorry he went out on a romantic whim and borrowed money he shouldn't have for the ring I was too ashamed to wear on the proper finger. I'm sorry he couldn't come back for me. And I'm sorry for hating him when he showed up unannounced at my door.

"Hey," he says gently, standing and crossing to me, removing his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders to comfort me. It's unfamiliar, evidence of a life he wouldn't have led if he had just stayed by me and it upsets me, but his lips against my wet cheeks ground me, familiar and soothing me, coaxing me into wrapping my arms around him, clawing my trembling fingers through his hair. Still soft. Still combed.

"You can't stay here," I choke out.

"I know," he says quietly. There's nothing for a long time, our bodies shaking as we cling to each other. In our arms are the unspoken months of grief. Of his longing for our home, of my insanity. Death looms over the furniture, light hidden away lest it take away my sacred treasures I'd used to keep his spirit close to me.

"I can't lose you again," I say.

"I know," he says, smelling my hair and placing a soft kiss on top of my head. "But I can't promise stability if you follow me."

My brows furrow, my mind racing in confusion, my hopes rising. Follow?

"I know a guy," he says quickly, his arms tighter as if scared I'll turn away. "Says he can get me a new identity and a one way ticket to somewhere. I don't know where yet, but it's worth a try."

My fingers trace his back, swirling invisible patterns over his shirt. He'd always liked that after a rough day. I can feel the tension begin to slowly fall away from him at the contact, his breathing growing deeper and more steady. "And you want me to come?"

"Need," he corrects. "I don't regret leaving you, but I can't stay away. Even if it's more kind to let you mourn and find a better life."

A new life. A new identity. New name, new everything.

Maybe I am insane. Maybe this exactly the kind of mental break Billy had that day. Maybe I was doomed to follow his spirit no matter what. Maybe this is a second chance. Maybe God had granted me a mercy I'll never be able to repay, no matter how many night I spend in worship at a church or between this man's legs. Maybe I'd spend every day looking over my shoulder, paranoid and eventually turning cruel to strangers so to keep this one person everyone told me to let go of from the very beginning.

But the same Billy.

"Can he do a marriage license?" I ask after a long silence. I can hear him laugh, pulling away to look at me.

"That eager?" He asks softly, his eyes gentle, thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into his touch, softly placing a kiss on his palm.

▪︎》◇《▪︎

"Well," I say, "I already have the ring."

Masterlist

As cute as this was, please have better standards than the Reader I wrote in this fic. No man is worth that. I am DEADASS. Anyways, love y'all <3

[onpointedfeetandbrokendreams]

Day 2 - Painland Week

Day 2 of Painland Week 2024: August 5th - August 11th by @painlandweek

Prompt: Myths / Legends

Tags:  Post-canon, Case-fic

TW: None

Edwin stopped writing mid-word - which, in hindsight, should have been the first evidence that something was wrong, if Charles hadn’t been distracted - and he asked:

“Sorry, wait a tick, you said you are trying to retrieve a lost sword from a lake, and the sword’s name is?” 

“Excalibur, yes,” finished the client.

Edwin tapped the pen over his notebook twice, not even pretending to go back to taking notes - second evidence - and threw the universal ‘closet, now’ look at Charles. For his part, Charles had been listening to the conversation like it was something happening inside a bubble, or on the television, something he wasn’t a part of. His brain had been stuck on a very different train of thought ever since the client entered their office, because the first thing Charles’ mind supplied him with was ‘wow, he’s hot,’ immediately followed by ‘uh, that’s new, since when do I find random boys hot’ and ‘wait, does that mean I can finally be not straight and return Edwin’s feelings?’ - all in all, very confusing thoughts to have in the middle of a potential case.

He did follow Edwin to the closet, though, because it was muscle memory to follow Edwin anywhere without question.

“So what do you think?” Edwin asked, “a curse?”

“It could be, if the missing sword is cursed that would explain why he can’t find it in the lake,” Charles replied, trying to cut through the haze enough to form a sensible thought.

Edwin raised his eyebrows in confusion. It was unusual for them to not be on the same wavelength, they rarely needed to explain themselves further during conversations on almost any topic. It made Charles feel like he had failed some kind of test. “Mr. Rowland, the reading assignments are mandatory to every student.”

“What are you talking about, Charles? There is no sword.”

‘What?’ Charles didn’t say, not eager to repeat the experience. 

Edwin apparently could see right through his desperation, because he sighed with that ever-present hint of fondness and explained:

“This man thinks he is Arthur Pendragon, the once and future King of Britain, on a quest to find his missing sword Excalibur. There is absolutely no way that it is true, hence the hypothesis that he might be cursed. It is not unheard of for ghosts to develop mental illnesses, but it usually involves more rage and screaming, thinking you are the long lost King of Britain seems too specific for that.”

Taking a breath he didn’t really need, Charles focused back to the present to catch up with Edwin’s reasoning. “I think we should play along, if he has been cursed, there has to be a reason, maybe he will lead us to the artefact, or the person who cast the spell on him.”

“That is a brilliant idea, Charles,” Edwin agreed with a smile, more to tell him that they were back on the same track than anything. It sent that shiver up his spine that happened every time Edwin looked proud of him.

“We have decided to take your case, sir Pendragon,” Edwin declared as they returned to the office.

“Thank you, my kind subjects,” Arthur replied, and Charles, who was now in control of his mental faculties, had to fight to suppress a snort. He pushed all the ‘men are hot’ thoughts in one of those carefully locked boxes he had started collecting after Port Townsend to consider at a later date, or maybe never.

--

The hike to the lake where the magic sword was supposed to be was incredibly nice.

“We should do this more often, mate. I mean, mirror travel is cool and all, but look at the view!” He pointed to the mountains in the distance, the clear sky, and he felt excited like that one time he went camping with his friends when he was fifteen - before those same “friends” ended up murdering him.

Edwin put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “That is a good idea, perhaps we could take a small vacation after this case is closed.”

It was nice to see Edwin like that, more open, more relaxed. Not having to fear Death separating them, or Hell coming back to take him had done wonders in improving his well-being, which made a lot of sense if Charles was honest. Now that he had seen Hell himself, he had no idea how Edwin had kept it together as well as he did for over thirty years after he escaped.

“I will have you two executed if you do not find my sword right now,” the client declared.

Charles was quick to bow, not trusting Edwin’s bedside manners enough. “We are sorry, sire, we promise we are doing everything we can.”

--

They looked everywhere on the lake and around it, Edwin even tried different spells to reveal hidden magic, but they found nothing. 

“There must be something we are missing, he does not have the object binding the curse on his person, and I can’t find anything of worth in this place,” Edwin said, moving a bit further from where Arthur was looking longingly at the middle of the lake.

“You know that sentence you wanted to write on the wall of the office? ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’, maybe he really is what he says.”

Edwin looked a very balanced mix between flustered and impressed. “While I appreciate you remembering my favourite quote, I think if King Arthur existed, we would have heard about it before.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Charles conceded.

While they were going over their notes again, trying to notice something they might have overlooked, or a different spell they could use, an eerie figure appeared next to their client. It was a very pale man, all dressed in black.

The next moment, they were sprinting towards him at full speed.

“Who are you?” asked Edwin, while Charles retrieved his brand new cricket bat from the pocket universe he carried in his backpack.

The man, or being, or whatever he was, smirked, which was an odder sight than if he had manifested eyes all over his body, or a flaming wall behind him. “You must be the ghost detectives my sister is so fond of.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am Dream of the Endless, I apologise for the inconvenience my escapee might have caused you,” he continued, ignoring Edwin’s disbelief.

“Dream of the Endless,” Charles repeated under his breath, trying to make sense of the words. “So your sister, who is fond of us is…”

“Death,” he said, matter-of-factly. “She wishes you would stay and say hi, sometimes. For now, I thank you for your service.”

He turned to keep talking to Arthur then, and after a while the two of them disappeared in a whirlwind of sand, leaving Charles and Edwin to gape at the empty space where they had been. 

“Well that was an experience,” said Charles. “So he was, what? A dream?”

“What a thought, to stop and say hi to Death,” Edwin exhaled at the same time. He was smiling his relaxed smile again, and Charles found his eyes stuck on the curve of his lips, the hint of tongue and teeth peeking from them.

“So, you fancied the once and future king?” the lips moved to form the words, before going back to that beautiful smile. 

Only when the meaning registered, Charles blinked. “What? No, of course, I-” he started, before remembering that they did promise each other no more lies, “maybe a little. Didn’t you? He looked like, I don’t know, the perfect example of man, the one you would expect to see on an advertisement for the entire species?”

Edwin pursed his lips, in that expression he made when he was trying not to laugh. “I can admit that he was objectively good looking, but, you know, blond hair and blue eyes is not really my type.”

He said it in his prim tone, the same way he would say ‘pass me that green book on supernatural diseases’, but there was no mistaking the flirtatious glint in his eyes.

Charles stopped. For a moment, it almost seemed like Edwin knew something that he didn’t even fully know himself, something carefully hidden in one of those boxes “to consider at a later date or maybe never” that he had been collecting. But flirting was like a second nature to him, so he couldn’t help but replying:

“Yeah, and what is your type?”

“Let me see,” Edwin said, slowly, carefully, stepping closer with every word. “Tall, athletic, big dark eyes, unruly hair,” he was right in front of him now, “likes to throw himself into danger to protect others, what else? Insanely clever and perceptive. Shall I continue?”

Charles took a deep breath, his eyes were fixed on the small space between them. “I think I should tell you something.”

If it was on anyone else, the fake surprised expression would have fooled him, but he knew Edwin’s eyes and smiles better than his own. He had to struggle to remain serious, even if he appreciated it for what it was: a way to give him the time to set the pace of the conversation and to take the lead.

“I have never allowed myself to think about it before, you know, with my dad being the way he was, but lately I have been noticing that I am attracted to guys as well. At first it was only one specific guy, but-” he stopped, cringing at the way it sounded, “What I mean is, I didn’t say anything because it was something too important, I had to be sure, and it’s easier to admit you can like someone when you have nothing to lose from it.”

The flirty smile turned into a soft one as Edwin said:

“You have every right to take your time and experiment, you don’t have to say anything, I apologise if-”

Charles stopped him very effectively by cupping his face with his hands. “I don’t want to experiment with anyone else, I think I’ve locked up these feelings for long enough.”

Edwin’s eyes widened, he looked like every ounce of confidence he had mustered up until then had left his body. “As much as I pride myself in my detective abilities, I need you to please say it out loud at least once. It’s been quite difficult for me to believe it, even when you were not at all subtle.”

“I like you,” Charles said immediately, wanting to erase the insecurity from his face. “I haven’t stopped thinking about your confession and what it could mean for our future, and I think I am finally ready to take you out on an official date, if you still want that.”

It was Edwin who leaned in first after that, but like it happened many other times, they met in the middle, instantly on the same wavelength again.

Distantly, almost completely hidden behind the all-encompassing sensation of Edwin holding him and their lips pressed together, Charles thought about how absurd it was that he had to thank the fucking King of Britain for finally managing to have this conversation. Edwin would tease him for all eternity.

[genevievefangirl]

Gen's Top 100 DBDA Fics - PART 4

For all caveats/rules/backstory, please read the Master Post

Halcyon Days By: cordelianoir @cordelia-noir Rating: T Tags: AU - Modern Setting, AU - High School, AU - Heartstopper, Protective Charles, Protective Edwin Payne Summary: There were a lot of reasons why Charles Rowland had changed schools. His suffering grades, constant reprimands over being out of dress code and the school’s growing suspicions about his home life were only some of the reasons why Charles’ mother enrolled him in boarding school for sixth form. There was really only one problem… well two problems, maybe three. ------------ When Cricket-star Charles transfers to St. Hilarion's, he urgently needs a Latin tutor. Enter Edwin Payne, a language genius but not very popular. As the two become friends, the past rears its head in ugly ways. Can the two navigate such a new, odd-couple friendship in the face of their pasts? And what happens if that friendship starts to blossom into more? My Notes: The most adorable (yet sometimes dark) boarding school AU there is! I think I speak for a lot of us in the fandom when I say this fic warms my heart. I'm not usually a fluff person, but this fic balences the fluff with the hurt very well. I highly recommend if you haven't read it already

half of my soul, as the poets say By: thegirlofthorns @edwinspaynes Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, gravestones Summary: Edwin existed, just as Charles had. Charles, who occupied a space in loving memory. A much-deserved space – Edwin would have wanted it no other way – but the core of him wanted to scream that he had been here, too. He never would be again, but he had lived, and he had breathed and laughed and moved with too much frippery and frill to continue on breathing, and he had been a whole person, once. And it had not mattered. So looked at CHARLES ROWLAND through tears, allowed himself to. Even Charles's hammer on metal on stone was not enough to dull the pain, but it was enough to remind him that he was still here, even if he was no longer living. It was an awful sound, a jarring sound, and tears shone in Charles’s eyes as he focused intently on carving out the A in his surname, but it was something. They were there, together, and they were feeling. - Or, Charles finds Edwin's unmarked grave and will, in the lightest of terms, not be having it. My Notes: I love Charles being angry at the world for how Edwin died and how little anyone cared about him. This fic expands on that and the epithet that Charles puts on Edwin's gravestone is perfection.

head in the clouds but my gravity's centered By: shadowquill17 @shadowquill17 Rating: T Tags: Feelings Realization, Love Confessions, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Charles touched Edwin’s face when they were in Hell, and it made them both feel better. So of course he keeps doing it. And of course it escalates. My Notes: Who doesn't love some intimate face touching from their best mate? I think this is a great tactic to use to pull Edwin out of his own head lol

Heaven To No One Else But Me By: coloursflyaway @coloursflyaway Rating: T Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization Summary: We would like to offer you a gift, Edwin Payne, the entity says, and holds out its hand; Charles has to force himself to stay put and not step between it and Edwin, because it feels like danger, even if it shouldn’t. The entity wouldn’t hurt Edwin, he tells himself, and he knows it’s true, it’s just that it is so powerful that even the slightest touch is terrifying and Charles is terrified about losing Edwin all the time anyway. “Why me?”, Edwin asks, head raised high and the entity’s light reflecting off his skin in a way that makes it look like porcelain, fragile and translucent and beautiful, “Why not Charles?” There is nothing we could offer Charles Rowland to take his pain away, the entity says and its voice rings out in Charles’ head. But you, we could erase yours. If you wish us to. Edwin gets the opportunity to go back in time and change his life so he will never have to go to Hell, but price of it is losing Charles; Charles can only stand next to him and wait for his decision. My Notes: Edwin sees flashes of the life he could have while Charles just stands by thinking Edwin is going to leave him. It is so painful, but also so good.

hell or high water - Series By: oddessea @oddessea Rating: T Tags: AU - Different First Meeting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Charles Rowland, Protective Edwin Payne Summary: Together - After decades of searching for a way out of Hell between being eaten by a large spider made of baby dolls, Edwin Payne is ready to try anything. When he finds a torture chamber in an out-of-the way part of the Doll House, he meets a boy his age named Charles Rowland. But, more importantly, he realizes that he might not be the only one who doesn't belong in Hell, and that, maybe, escaping is easier when you aren't alone. Feel - Every good detective agency needs an office, and every good detective needs a break. After escaping from Hell, Edwin and Charles want nothing more than to have a nice, long rest. Charles worries that something irreparable has been done to him by his time in Hell, but he can't worry about that now. The Dead Boy Detectives have their first case, and if they solve it, they may just earn their very own office and, hopefully, somewhere safe for them to land. My Notes: The boys meeting in Hell greatly shifts their bond and dynamic in this fic and I LOVE IT! They are so attached to each other and I can't! Like you think they are codependent in canon? Read this!

holding on to patience (like a sunrise) By: toomoon (jjjat3am) @toomoonfic Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Getting Together Summary: In the aftermath of their appointment to the Lost and Found Department, Charles and Edwin's hug lingers. or, 5 times Charles touched Edwin, and one time Edwin touched him first. My Note: We can all agree that hug in ep 8 was great right? Well here's a fic expanding on their various touches after that!

I dont think I could stand to be (Where You Dont See Me) By: BadBoyDeanAsf @thepopsicle Rating: T Tags: Protective Charles Rowland, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Trauma, PTSD Summary: So Charles decides then and there with his eyes boring into the image of a woman who couldn’t have possibly been half as lucky as them that he would confess to Edwin. He wasn’t sure when or even how but he knows without a doubt that his partner deserved to know he was loved, that his feelings weren’t unrequited. - Six months after the events of S1 canon, the boys are trying to return to normal in London and deal with their own struggles. Edwin is fighting the grief of losing Niko and Charles struggles between worrying for Edwin and attempting to unpack his feelings. My Note: Charles worries so much about Edwin in this one that it makes my heart hurt. He just wants Edwin to be well again and takes him to see some art to try and make him feel better and it turns into some deep thoughts.

I Turned Back One Last Time (just to prove you were there) By: isnt_that_wizard @skateboardtotheheart Rating: T Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Protective Charles Rowland, Touching, Touch Starved, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Angst Summary: Since they'd fallen out of hell, the Night Nurse slamming the door on the awful baby doll demon behind them, Charles had been itching to touch Edwin. And it wasn't like his usual touch-oriented personality just wishing to have some sort of contact. He could control that easily enough after all this time. No, this was something different. This felt like a desperation. A need to be in Edwin's personal space, to keep his hands on him. He wanted to wrap his best friend in a hug and never let go, he wanted to sit as close as possible as they heard a new case. He wanted to take Niko’s place as she grabbed Edwin's hand to drag him to watch another one of her shows. He wanted to tuck Edwin against him as they sat on the couch. He would wrap an arm around Crystal and wish it was Edwin, who was merely across the room. --- After Hell, Charles is terrified of letting Edwin out of his reach for fear that he might get taken away again. He is, of course, being very subtle in his attempts to keep Edwin close. or a series of moments when charles can't stop touching edwin to remind himself that he's real and safe, until it all finally catches up to him and he snaps My Note: Charles is freaking out in this and the tension is palatable. In particular the end of chapter 2 into the beginning of chapter 3 gives me such strong emotions. I have reread this one so many times

i’d be the choiceless hope in grief [that drove him underground] By: Laney_Rockin @laney-rockin Rating: T Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Hell, Unhappy Ending, Angst, Orpheus and Eurydice, Love Confessions, Time Loop Summary: Charles had a bad feeling that when Edwin stopped running up those spiral stairs the first time something terrible would occur. An awful gnawing feeling deep within that he chalked up to a ghostly intuition. If he was alive he'd think it was a stomachache, almost on the edge of making him sick. He hated when he was right. ---- Or: Charles becomes much more like Orpheus than he'd like. Edwin doesn't blame him for it. He doesn't think he ever could. My Notes: We love Hell time loops! But also you want sad? Here you go. This line in particular sticks with me, I love it so much. (spoilers ahead!) - "I said the ending was tragic, not that the love Orpheus and Eurydice had for each other was. In fact, it was perhaps the greatest part of the story. Eurydice holds no ill will towards her husband even as she dies a second time. Knowing and comforted in the fact that she was utterly adored by him."

If I could hold you for a minute By: HistoriaGloria @historia-gloria Rating: G Tags: Case Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Protective Edwin Payne Summary: "For as vicious as it can be for ghosts, iron is not as common as you would think. It is rare, in Edwin’s experience, that the supernatural forces they are dealing with actually know that iron hurts as much as it does. Rare, but not rare enough." Charles is hurt on a case, leaving Edwin and Crystal to pick up the pieces. My Notes: The fight scene in this fic really stands out, it is super well done. And Crystal gets to help the boys!