#not gonna tag all the characters but for those curious:

[aroaceleovaldez]

doodle page from a couple months ago of demigods with unusual weapons cause i was thinking about it again the other day

[kandicon]

On the assumption that any lost body parts of the mechs still exist after removal and don't, like, disintegrate or something:

Note: since the fictions talk about all brains being rounded up and put to work no matter how small or unusable, this poll does not require that the mechs had to have their brains harvested as a whole for a brain to be counted (aka brains collected by a death from head explosion, for example, still count).

The Toy Soldier and Drumbot Brian are not included for obvious reasons, but the idea of ferrymen looking really hard to try and find their brains after they "die" and being confused is very funny to me.

[svtskneecaps]

here's how it goes:

everyone spends valentine's day in DEEP denial. tubbo isn't dead, he CAN'T be. when they die they come back, that's how it is, how it's ALWAYS been. the island is hell but at least fatalities don't stick, except in specific cases and all of them in the same white shells. of course philza jokes, he's thinking about tubbo, he can't stop. he's expecting tubbo to jump out at any moment, he's expecting to go to fobo and see tubbo hidden in the basement throwing darts at a picture of fit and pac looking at each other, he's expecting to go back to the dungeon and the body is gone (he hopes). tubbo's not dead. he can't die. none of them can, just the eggs.

(it never takes this long to come back; he knows something is wrong)

here's how it goes:

tubbo tells the kids "i'm on my last life." the eggs have always had lives. i don't think some of them have ever understood that the players have infinite chances, with their insistence on protecting their caretakers from deaths like their caretakers do for them, charging back into the eye worker war, refusing to back out of a dangerous dungeon before their parents do, wanting to protect. i don't know if they understand that to the players, death is like spit in the face: unpleasant, sure, but no big deal.

tubbo tells the kids "i'm on my last life" and of course they believe him. death is their constant companion, no more than two doors down. some eggs are used to it being a breath away.

here's how it goes:

tubbo is dead. the children mourn him. the players are scared. defiant. they always are. who among them has died? dan, missing; spreen, gone; maximus... well there was no body, no announcement, surely-

(how long did it take pierre to accept it? to realize it? to take down the missing person posters? not a day. not a day.)

juanaflippa died and there was a court case to save her. bobby died and the whole server journeyed to save him. when is the last time the players have taken death lying down?

here's how it goes:

tubbo dies, and he dies unloved (fit's arm is stretched out to save him). he dies without purpose (sunny is there, she's waiting, she knows he won't move). he dies and no one cares (chayanne refuses to leave, his godfather, he failed his-)

here's how it goes:

the valentine's party is so loud but too quiet. there's a name in the air, even when no one is saying it

"wow sure is good tubbo isn't here" phil says (he's said this before, he'll say it again, but isn't it strange how many times? perhaps even he doesn't believe it. perhaps he's trying to convince himself.)

here's how it goes:

a creature with too many faces comes. it tells them the truth they won't face. tubbo is gone.

quesadilla island says, "not for long"

[chushanye]

everyday I see people in fandoms treat different intepretations of a work as morally corrupt or accuse others of not knowing how to do analysis better than a third grader and while I sometimes get the frustration when people completely miss the point I do not understand the immidate hostility and urge to insult them, their intellegence, their morals or whatever.

especially 'cause like...I join fandoms so I can have discussion with people. that's what makes it fun. so it's a pet peeve of mine when people make it a point to call others morons in an attempt to shut down any actual discussion and just spark fights instead of like...opening up to see other's train of thought and introduce their own. like are you actually looking for an interesting perspective/interpretation or is this an attempt to validate the importance of your own opinions because you feel attacked by the existance of other interpretations?

[marshmellowtea]

tbh i feel like my interest in willmartha would skyrocket 200% if it wasn’t treated as the fandom’s Golden Fluffy Healthy Ship

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

can I just say that seeing the sword necro preview made me even happier that I invested in Aurene's Fang because Grand High Sovereign Ruju is absolutely going to be using dual-swords for his weaponswap when it comes out. a pair of life-draining Zhaitan's Fangs will be perfect for this rancid little robo-rat man...

[submalevolentgrace]

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

[fallenclan]

First of all: WOLFBITE OMG!!!!! I CALLED IT (i didn’t i was SHOCKED.)

Also: are there any other clangens you’ve been interacting with/reading? I’d love to get some reccs!

YES i love to look at other clangen blogs... here are a few of my favorites!! I'm going to tag them but if you're on this list and you'd like to not be tagged just let me know :)

@gooseclan - Shares a border with Fallenclan!!! i love their art sm its so silly <3 and I am Afraid for Bristlestar rn I'm not gonna lie

@cricketclan - Also shares a border with Fallenclan!! So insanely jealous of their art its unreal good

@boulderclangen - I just found them the other day!! Just starting out but their art is BEAUTIFUL and I'm really really excited so see where the story is going!!

@black-buttercup-clangen - I just did a bit of art for them a week or so ago, so you might know of them already, but GO LOOK!!! Fantastic art (the DEDICATION for all those backgrounds, my god) and I'm so intrigued by the story, especially whatever's going on with Burntfade. Looking At Him.

@circus-clangen - The CHARACTER DESIGN by god..... absolutely stunning. and holy hell what a concept??? i love their comics sm

@the-inky-waters - GOD i love their art... such wonderful colors and expressions. I'm so curious to see the story unravel...

@lionpawsdiary - Lionpaw and Spikedawn mean so much to me you have no idea. theyre so silly. grumpy old cat this weird little gal <3

@splinterclan The EXPRESSIONS the ART STYLE the CHARACTER DESIGNS..... Pansybloom my sweet girl i love you

@hushedclan DRYSTAR I LOVE YOU DRYSTAR.......... another blog with the most incredible art style holy shit

not an extensive list!! just a handful of the more recent ones I've followed, go check them all out!!!

[dunmeshistash]

Please forgive me if this has already been asked, but I scrolled through your blog and some character tags for about an hour and couldn't find it, so: do we know everyone's first death? I've seen a few of the canaries, like one dying from an arrow trap, but I'm curious about the main cast (Touden party, Kabru, etc)

Thank you for all of your hard work! This blog is so helpful and I really appreciate all you do 💕

I've never compiled that before but I can get those for you, the characters with the big profiles have the whole story of their first deaths so I'm gonna summarize those

Laios

Cause: Blood loss (stabbed in the chest by a living armor)

Marcille

Cause: Suffocation (Slime attack)

Chilchuck

Cause: Blood Loss (Opened a treasure chest and got stabbed in the throat by a mimic) (Died to mimics at least 2 more times)

Senshi

Cause: Blood loss (Dungeon Rabbit attack)

Izutsumi

Cause: Shock (From being caught by Laios' corpse being necromanced)

Falin

Cause: Blood Loss (Living Armor attack right after Laios)

Shuro - Toshiro Nakamoto

Was petrified by a cockatrice, then smashed

Namari

Wasting caused by a ghost

Kabru

Cause: Poisoning (Basilisk, just like Doni)

Mithrun

Cause: Undefeated, he never died in a dungeon before, which means his first death was actually the one on chapter 83, checked and it's updated on the new adventurer's bible, interesting!

Thistle

None in both adventurer's bibles

Other fun facts: Maizuru died for the first time to Chimera Falin

Characters that never died: Mr & Mrs Tansu, Kiki, Kaka, Pattadol, Cithis, Milsiril, Yaad, Zon and Leed

[rottiens]

THE TRUTH IN PRETENDING┊YOICHI ISAGI

✮ tags. . fake dating, mutual pinning, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, fem reader, very brief mention of/implicit reader x rin, all the characters are adults/the guys are pro players. divider creds: cafekitsune.

✮ wc. . 3.4K

✮ summary . . agreeing to do a favor for a friend comes with a big burden, one that rin is willing to make much worse for you.

After weeks of mulling it over, you come to the conclusion that dating Isagi is complicated. He often doesn't answer his phone because he's busy, he often doesn't return your text messages because he forgets, and many times, his soccer games are much more important than your relationship. So yes, being his partner can be complicated depending on how much you need attention, but being his fake girlfriend is simple. You just have to hold his hand, smile, laugh, look at him with longing eyes and answer the curious questions his friends ask one after another.

"Where was your first date?" "Who kissed who first?" "What is Isagi's favorite flavor of ice cream?" "What color are the boxers he's wearing?"

Each question wittier than the last.

Many times they would take turns interrogating you, almost as if they were waiting for the exact moment when you would let your guard down and admit that it was all theater, that you were just pretending. No one believed it at first, and they were right to be suspicious. You're one of the few childhood friends of Isagi's that they know, sometimes attending matches, hugging him to congratulate him after winning or buying him food to cheer him up after losing, but it had never been more than that. For Isagi to show up one day with you, holding hands, was strange.

"They're smart, they're not gonna believe it," you told Isagi when he proposed the idea. He still had his uniform on, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair as he pulled it back. You held the ball as he did so.

Of course they wouldn't, you had no hope of the charade lasting more than three days.

"You play along." You always did, especially when he looked at you with that smile that made you believe everything was going to be okay.

You weren't sure, but Isagi is your friend and you didn't want to disappoint him by bursting the bubble so quickly. He promised you that everything would be temporary, that he was tired of being teased by the whole team for never having had a partner, so he just needed an excuse to shut them up, at least for a while.

You already knew Bachira; he was the first one you managed to convince, and he was in charge of examining you from top to bottom the first time you entered the cafeteria of the place where they train, wearing one of your fake boyfriend's sweatshirts. Thanks to him, it was easier for others to believe in the relationship, and now he's the first one to run to greet you as soon as he sees you arrive at a meeting. He liked you, you liked him a lot too, he was a nice guy, so it became harder and harder for you to lie to his face.

On Fridays they have a tradition of going out to dinner and chatting, just Isagi and his friends, but for some reason he didn't want to explain to you, he commented that it was necessary for you to be there tonight too. The restaurant fills with the bustle and rowdy laughter of the team members, earning judging glances from the family dining at the next table. As usual, you're next to Isagi, who laughs at something Bachira just said, while you check your phone and rest your chin on your hand.

"I still don't think you guys are a couple," Rin accuses you out of nowhere. You look up slowly to see him pinning his eyes on you from across the table. Those eyes that always seem to know something you don't.

Rin is perceptive; he's always been the hardest to convince that your relationship is a beautiful fairy tale.

Isagi stops laughing. You catch him looking sideways at you, but the others don't seem to notice what Rin just said.

"Come on, man. Let it go, it's obvious they're in love," Bachira defends you like a good lawyer. You give him a warm smile, thanking him, before turning your focus back to Rin.

His gaze is cold and accusing, and pretty soon you don't feel like you're in a restaurant surrounded by people eating and laughing warmly, but on a witness stand, on trial for a crime you clearly know you're guilty of.

You force yourself to keep a calm smile. It's a tight line that seals your mouth and keeps your brain working a mile a minute, scrambling for an excuse or a clever response with which to defend yourself. Isagi's hand finds you on the table and you shiver at his warm touch. Your fingers tremble a little before they press against yours.

You think Rin, who snorts at your reaction, knows exactly what's going on. A hammering starts in your temples, and you feel a pool of sweat settling on the back of your neck.

"Just admit you're jealous," Isagi says, glancing in Rin's direction with a smirk curving one corner of his mouth.

Rin doesn't bother to look at him; instead, he examines you up and down. Barou, at his side, pays attention to what just happened and again you relive the tension that was created the first time you two arrived holding hands at that soccer practice. You hate feeling watched, judged, you've always been so bad at lying.

"You haven't looked at her all dinner, and she hasn't taken her eyes off her phone all night. Clearly not jealousy, but facts."

You cross fleeting glances with Barou and Chigiri, as if either of them could excuse you from your current circumstance. Your eyes, wide and frightened like those of prey trapped under the lights, only add more weight to your guilt. Swallowing your fear, you look down at Isagi's long fingers entangled in your hand and spit out confidently—

"I don't know what you find so interesting about our relationship that you always have to attack it, but…"

"Prove it then," Rin says, stuffing some rice in his mouth casually.

"Ugh?"

The others, including Isagi, stand expectantly at the tension growing at the table.

"Why didn't you come to the match yesterday to see Isagi? You know how important it was to him, where were you?" Rin shrugs his shoulder.

You immediately run in search of validation to Isagi's eyes. You've always been able to communicate with just a glance, and if you could see what was in his expression, perhaps you might be able to defend yourself against Rin's unprovoked attacks.

"Umm no. Eyes on me," Rin says, getting your attention before they can craft a believable lie. "Don't run away, you don't need his approval."

You feel the pressure building as you try to remain calm. Rin's gaze is piercing, almost daring you to find a way out. You straighten up, seeking to regain control of the situation.

You swallow dry, with the non-existent saliva that has left your scratchy throat. Isagi taps your knuckles twice with his fingertips and you wish you knew what he meant by that. You mentally check his itinerary; you didn't speak all day yesterday, both of you busy with the adult life you lead. You stressed about work and family problems; you had no idea which match Rin was talking about, so you decide to play the best possible card at this point.

"I couldn't make it," you say, and the group exhales in unison. Barou looks behind you, and there's something in Bachira's gaze that you fail to decipher. Isagi gives you a mortified look, and you don't know if you've hit the mark or just sunk deeper. If they realized it was all a farce, they would mock Isagi even more, and all of this would have been for nothing. "I was busy… with a family obligation, I explained to Yoichi."

The idea was to end the relationship in two weeks, that was all, and you could finally go back to your boring life where you didn't have to lie all the time and live in constant tension. The performance had lasted long enough to convince them that Isagi had a very pretty girlfriend, that he probably wasn't a virgin anymore, but it all seems to fall apart the longer those eyes keep boring into you.

"Funny," Rin says, pursing his lips. "We didn't play last night."

Rin is a giant, destroying everything in his path. In front of you, you watch his big feet crush everything solid you've been building for months. His constant insistence on showing that you guys were fake is already becoming annoying. What was he gaining from this? Your jaw slackens and drops gently to the floor, your lips quiver for an excuse as flakes of cold spread across your cheeks and numb your fingers.

"You know he hurt his ankle and that's why he couldn't play?"

Chigiri whispers something to Barou, and Bachira looks at you expectantly, the hungry gleam of curiosity intensifying in his eyes.

"Enough…" growls Isagi, in a tone that brooks no argument.

The tension at the table becomes palpable. You feel trapped under everyone's inquisitive stares, especially Rin, whose face shows no sign of relenting. His presence, relentless and critical, makes you feel diminutive and exposed.

Isagi takes a deep breath, his grip on your hand tightening. "Rin, give it up already." His voice is calm, but there is a hardness in his words that indicates how serious he is.

"Did you hurt your ankle?" you squeeze his hand, you look at each other. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because that's clearly another lie," Rin sings triumphantly, chewing and swallowing.

Happiness grows on his countenance as despair mounts in the fake couple. Your voice trembles, your eyes bounce like a ball between all the heads as if any could save you from that sinking ship the more you speak.

"I don't know why fool us, it's ridiculous for you to ask your friend to pretend to be your girlfriend when there is clearly no communication between you. Just admit what you are, Yoichi. A loser and now also, a liar."

Rin closes his case with a triumphant voice, pushing his half-empty plate away on the table full of utensils as he holds up two fingers and asks the short-haired waitress to come over and ask for the bill.

Anger, rage and shame simmer on your face. Isagi is red and pale at the same time, he has nothing more to say. Was he really going to let everything you have worked for fall apart? Bachira calls your name almost painfully and you can taste the disappointment in the sound. They really believed Rin.

Your chest swells. You are about to speak up and defend yourself, you remember Rin is someone of deeds and not words, in seeing to believe. During all this time all you have done is tell them how much you love each other, walk holding hands and attend dinners where Isagi forgets that you are his fake girlfriend because he pays more attention to his friends. Rin knows this, he's been watching you all this time and knows there's nothing you can refute him with, so you do the only thing you can beat him with. You agree with him.

You turn your body a little on your seat meeting Isagi's defeated countenance, an "I'm sorry" is tattooed on his face and in his puppy dog eyes. Then you place your hands on his cheeks and join him to you. It's just a kiss. A peck. You hear sounds of astonishment around you but you squeeze your eyes shut to forget them and set them aside, immediately Isagi's hand finds shelter in your ribs and slides to your shoulder blades. He seeks your mouth deeper and you let him, causing a scene in the public place.

His lips are soft and warm and invite you to keep kissing him, he smells so good, of cool mint and eucalyptus. You're sure Rin -and everyone else- notices his tongue slipping under yours and his teeth biting your lower lip. He tastes of the alcoholic beverage he ordered tonight and the salmon he devoured earlier.

Someone clears their throat and it's your cue to leave Isagi's mouth and notice the waitress behind Rin offering him the bill, then retreating clearly heated.

"Thank you for noticing. We're not going through the best time in our relationship and it's led to us drifting apart for a few days," you say. Isagi squeezes your fingers intertwined with his in a gesture that encourages you to continue. "I don't think it's necessary to talk about our problems in front of everyone, but I love Yoichi. Very much." You grit your teeth; there's a lot of truth in that last part. "And I would appreciate it if you would stop attacking us and stop trying to get us to justify our relationship in front of you."

As soon as you finish your speech, Bachira throws a crumpled napkin at Rin that lands on his chest and makes him wrinkle his forehead more. All heads turn at the sight of the boy.

"Boo! Leave them alone, they're clearly a couple in love," Bachira says.

"Sorry," Chigiri mutters on behalf of everyone.

"Isagi is lucky to have you," Barou comments without looking directly at you.

Rin is silent and, as usual, you can't read him. He avoids what just happened, devoting himself to placing the credit card inside the bill presenter and calls the waitress again to remove it.

Bachira changes the subject after that. They talk about soccer, about upcoming matches and about fast conversations that change and flow without settling on a single specific topic, a rhythm you often can't keep up with. Your interventions are few; sometimes you laugh and meet Rin's cold eyes. During the time you remain talking after paying, all you can focus on is how Isagi's fingers feel near you. Every so often, his thumb traces your skin, letting you know he's thinking of you, and the sensation sends a tingle down your lower back.

You say goodbye to Bachira, who waves his hand fiercely and sticks his head out of the cab window, waving goodbye and reminding you both how much he loves you. You are frozen in that specific moment until the car turns the corner and you lose sight of it. Then, reality becomes so present that you can no longer ignore what happened before.

Isagi gently squeezes your hand and whispers, "Thank you for being by my side."

"You have nothing to thank, you're my friend," you reply, trying to smile despite the knot in your stomach. Something electric crawls up your spine and sits in your chest. Your cheeks tingle as soon as your restless gazes intertwine. "And about what Rin said, I don't think you're a loser or a liar. You just did what you thought was right to get them to stop picking on you, I'm sure the right person will come into your life soon, you're a good guy."

Isagi nods at what you just said, putting his hands in his pocket as he looks you up and down.

"You kissed me too," he says, obviating your eyes for a moment, distracted by the little traffic filling the street tonight.

"I had to, sorry! Rin can be…" you shake your head, helping to emphasize your words with your hand gestures when he interrupts you.

"I know, thanks again, you were thinking too fast."

"I don't know how much longer we can keep pretending before they realize," you exhale, bringing your hands to the pockets of your jeans mimicking his position.

Isagi doesn't respond right away, you watch him bite his lip and distract himself with the tip of your shoes weighing whether he should say what's been haunting his mind these past few days.

"We don't have to keep pretending-" he says quietly, you almost don't realize what he just said until the sound of the wind brings it to you. His words are a block of ice melting on the back of your neck.

"Oh right, you had said we'd be breaking up next week, didn't you?" You hope he doesn't notice how muffled your voice sounds now, you bite your lip weakly to tame its tremors. You knew this was coming soon and you should have been prepared for it long ago.

"I mean, I think it's obvious that I like you. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable if you… not-"

Isagi leaves the sentence unfinished, his voice shaky. You breathe slowly, letting everything that happened tonight go down your throat like a hard lozenge. The silence in the air is heavy, interrupted only by the soft murmur of the wind and the distant noise of the city. The flickering street lights cast dancing shadows on the walls, increasing the flame of an atmosphere charged with tension and anticipation.

You remember all the times you've been by his side, from the games in the park to the hugs after his matches. His gaze, always warm and protective, is now filled with vulnerability, and you can feel your own heart racing.

"I'm sure I've been in love with you since we were six, Yoichi. If I had known you felt the same way I wouldn't have waited so long to say something," you finally say, your voice firm but soft, getting Isagi's eyes to light up. The distance between you seems to evaporate in an instant.

Before you can process it, your hand is already on his firm chest feeling the rapid beat of his heart. His nose fiddles against yours and you close your eyes, anticipating what is to come. Isagi doesn't give it to you right away; instead, his lips gently brush against the cupid's bow and the corner of your mouth. You exhale in despair, a longing sigh. You stand on tiptoe, seeking more of him, but he chuckles softly, mocking your impatience. A hand on your waist keeps you steady on the ground, controlling your movements. Impatiently, you push your head towards him, blindly searching for the vice that had become his mouth.

The moment you succeed, Isagi advances confidently, as if it were one of his signature moves. He gently takes you by the jaw and pushes his tongue into your mouth, brushing your lower lip with exquisite softness, as your tongues dance in a sweet, cadenced motion. The taste of his mouth envelops you, mixing unexpected sweetness with palpable urgency. You moan as he pulls away, leaving you in a state of drowsiness and dizziness. Your feet seem to tread on fluffy clouds, as the sensation of the second kiss soaks into your skin.

"Is it okay to call you my real girlfriend now?" he dares to ask over your mouth, his forehead resting against yours. You exhale a soft laugh, feeling the warmth of his breath mingle with yours.

"Please do," you reply, unable to contain the smile that spreads across your face.

"I think Rin likes you…" he blurts out suddenly. You take a step back to get a better look at him to understand whether or not it was a joke, you have a frown on your face, but you keep a hand on his chest. Isagi pulls you close to him again, unmoved by what he just confessed.

"No, he's always so mean to me," you protest, shaking your head in denial at the idea.

"That's exactly the reason," Isagi says with a mischievous grin. You don't want to decipher what it is about his look and smile that leaves you understanding that he likes to know he can have something he'll never have.

"Shut up, please don't make me think about him while I'm kissing you," you retort, raising an eyebrow.

"You're right. Let's go home," he suggests, gently changing the subject after leaving a fleeting kiss on your forehead.

"Home?"

"My apartment. Stay over," he says.

"Yoichi…" you murmur, trying to process the unexpected invitation and what it would probably entail.

"It's just sleeping over, I promise. And kisses, and maybe snuggle in my bed," he adds with a playful smile, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of tenderness and desire at what's to come and the future that awaits you together from now on and honestly, the idea had your heart galloping against your ribs.

[lookahotman]

Tied Up!

Sylus x Female reader

My contribution to the sub Sylus trope. I am so done with reading stuff where he would dominate the MC like come on y'all, have you not seen his cards, he would be the perfect Malewife.

tags: NSFW (It's not full on sex but whatever), Dom!reader, sub!character, sylus is handcuffed (from the bond moment),use of swear words(oh no!),dry humping, clothed sex

Also, this is the first time I have written anything, even smut, I promise I write better than this but you can also see this as me tweaking out cus there is not even sub love and deepspace content out there. Oh and this is also in first person POV cus I don't see that either.

One of these days I will surely kill Sylus.

The guy has made me run around for the past day just to find some stupid brooch I will need to attend the auction for protocores. He could have just put it in my hand and saved us both the trouble but no, everything seems to be a fucking game for him.

I have searched every nook and cranny, being caught by Sylus four times in the process, and yet that brooch seems to be nowhere. I am so exhausted, Time is a luxury right now, and I am running out of ideas for all the possible hiding spots

Does this brooch even exist or is he just fucking with me?

After Sylus throws me out of his room, claiming that he is 'going to bed', I just sit down and start doodling shit.

"Bastard! Now I get it. He never intended to make a deal with me in the first place!" I scream as I scratch the demonic sylus doodle I drew when suddenly Luke and Kieran start speaking from a distance, making me turn towards them.

"you're pulling your hair out over this, huh? If you want to do something, maybe we can help you." Oh please enlighten me, what could this guy possibly do? Steal the brooch from Sylus? He is literally his henchman. "what do you mean?" I ask, biting back my insults.

"if you want to conquer our boss's heart, you'll have to use a different approach. Luke then picks up a book and starts reading something "For some people, they get bored once they have everything. So only those who dare to challenge their authority can catch their interest."

Oh? Would Sylus really like that? Now I get curious as I walk over to the twins and take the book called 'Humanity and Conquer' from his hands.

"When you're dealing with such a person, you bow down and submit or take them out in one go. In other words…"

I raise an eyebrow at both of them. "Go on." the twins gave each other a glance and scream, startling me. "YOU STRIKE WHEN THEY ARE OFF GUARD!"

"Boss is the least guarded when he's sleeping, you only have one shot so don't waste this chance, just do it." Luke says, tossing me some evol sealing handcuffs and a Tranquilizer gun. He is right, My time limit is close to its end, I have to act now.

And that's how I end at up in Sylus's bedroom at midnight. Currently I am starting to have a lot of thoughts as I sit next to him and watch him sleep. "Man's gonna kill me the moment I pull this shit" "COME ON Y/N you are already here you can absolutely NOT back out now" "That's a very uncomfortable position to sleep in is he stupid he is going to get neck cramps when he wakes up" "He looks very hot while sleeping." Fuck. Denying it is probably of no use at this point. Something about Sylus makes me fucking weak in the knees. Is it his voice? His ridiculously handsome face? His body? Or the way he tests my damn patience. I am not sure. Seeing him like this though, how calmly he is breathing. How his exposed chest keeps expanding as he inhales, how those pecs flex while he is doing that, how vulnerable he is looking right now, It's stirring something within me. I want to devour him.

sylus…sylus? I slowly call him, ensuring he is asleep. This is not the time to be thinking about bull shit like that. get your head back in the game y/n. The aforementioned doesn't make any noise, completely oblivious of my presence as he keeps on sleeping, I take this chance and cuff his hand to the bed. "This is exactly what you get for all the terrible things you do." There. I cuffed his hand. Now what? Before my hand could even touch his body, he grabs my wrist and brings me closer to his face. Shocking me. I probably look like a deer caught in the headlights right now.

"Showing up uninvited at this hour… want me to tell you a bedtime story?" Wow. What a cocky bastard. well, not for long. "Don't talk to me in that tone mister, if anything you should be the one to figure out what's going on here, these handcuffs nullify a person's evol for an hour, so no matter how powerful you are, you are helpless as of right now." I say as I pin him down on the bed, his hand still cuffed to the nightstand. From here I can see how Sylus's chest starts falling and rising a bit faster than usual. Maybe I should tease him a bit.

"Really? what do you plan to do then since I have become your prey?" Did he actually just ask me that? Is he trying to provoke me, test the level of self control I practice? Oh well. I never had much self restraint to begin with.

"Hmm.. Let me think… How about.. This." I hear Sylus audibly flinch as I wrap my left arm around his torso and squish my left cheek on his left pecs. Comical. I had no idea I would enjoy riling him up this much. "What? A thorough body search is necessary don't you think? Or do you want me to stop? I ask, already aware of what his answer is going to be. After taking two long breaths, he chuckles, pretending to still be in control of the situation. "H-help yourself."

"Don't mind if I do." With that I use my free hand that's not trapping his body to grab his face. He immediately starts melting in my palm. I use my fingertips to give light touches to his cheek, chin and slowly rub his ear. His breathing seems to be getting heavier by the minute. I move closer to the side of his face. "Panting already? I have barely even touched you yet." I whisper, and then lick a long stripe across his earlobe, he is blushing so hard and even starts trembling a little bit as I proceed to give kisses down his neck. He is so cute. "Y/n…" He moans out softly unable to look into eyes and hold my gaze, to embarrassed to do so I guess. "What is it 'sweetie'?" He whimpers a bit at the word that he usually calls me. "P-Please…." "Please what honey? Use your words." "please!… please Kiss me." He says in such a meek voice, body hot to touch with all the flushing and blushing. And who am I to refuse such a polite request? I lean down and smash my lips to his. It was a hot makeout with our tongues rolling against each other, his mouth opening to give my tongue more access as I bite his bottom lip and yank his hair in the kiss, making him moan, again. God, He is driving me crazy. I can feel his hand tugging the handcuffs, he wants to break from it so bad. Although I doubt he won't be able to free himself. I release our mouths harshly, figuring that he must be out of breath by hearing his pants. His eyes are all hazy, blush creeping to his neck and chest, my god he looks so fucked out already. I slowly trace his chest with my fingertips and then all of sudden I feel something hard beneath his robe. "Would you look at that? You kept the brooch with you all along. It's as if you wanted me to touch you." Sylus starts chuckling at that. "I did." He replies, smirking, leaving me dumbfounded and speechless. "What?" "I did keep it with me. It was to see how far you were you willing to go to find this brooch, But mostly I wanted to do this just for you to touch me. Which is exactly what you're doing right now." Hearing that I put the brooch on the bedside stand, and then use my body to pin him down again. "So you did all this… just to grab my attention? My, my Sylus I didn't know you were such a slut." His breath hitches again, it seems to do that whenever I insult him. "What are you going to do to me y/n, will you punish me?" he says, while being all smiley. If a punishment is what he wants, Then it's a punishment he shall get. "Stop talking." I sit on him, cunt pressed to that raging boner he has gained, than I bit down his collarbone while grinding on his dick. "h-haah… Y/N! oh my god…a-ah~" If his breathing could get any heavier, then it just did, his eyes are starting to get watery, he starts thrashing around the bed but I don't let him go until I have made a nice reddish- blue mark on his collarbone. "Don't hA~Ah.. Don't tease please.." He exclaims shakily making me sit straight which probably added more pressure on his cock as I see his eyes roll back and back arch a bit. "Darling, can't you see I am punishing you? you cannot make demands here." Sylus tries to thrust up to get more friction but I block him, I am not going to let him finish him so early. What would be the fun in that? "lay still." Sylus infact does not lay still. He keeps moving, thrusts shooting jolts of pleasure through my body as well. I steady my breath, I am still the one in control. "LAY STILL SYLUS!" I slap harshly across his nipple, which seems to shock him. His eyes widen a bit as he lets out a loud whine and tears start falling from his eyes. And that's when something snaps within me.

"I-I am sorry, y/n… plEASE- aaagh~" His voice now a tad bit higher as I start twisting and rolling his nipples in my fingertips. "Oh my.. I didn't know you were this sensitive here." I then bend down and take one in my mouth, softly sucking on it and flicking the other one. I can feel his body turning into mush as I look up at him, Sylus is unable to hold my gaze, soft gasps and groans escaping his swollen lips, he looks so cute like this. I then release his nipple with a lewd pop and give the other one the same treatment, and while massaging the other pec, I grind on down him again. "T-tOo much. this is TOO MUCH! please let me hahh! pleaSE LEt me mOvE." I can literally see the hearts forming in his eyes beneath the puddle of tears. Maybe I should go easy on my poor baby. I place a gentle kiss on his cheeks and wipe his tears that were rolling down . And then I start riding him, or you could say humping, Sylus throws his head back on the bed, adam's apple bobbing and fists clenched. "Haa~! thankyou so much a-ah~ I'm.. yeah please use me just like that! thank you y/n THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUUU~" He starts to ramble incoherent words, a series of broken 'please' and 'thankyou's' and random chants of my name, it's all adding to the pleasure as the heat pools in my stomach, ready to be released any second. I feel like he is close to his release too. "I-I am ugh.. I am close y/n Please! please let me haaH~ Please let me…" "Go ahead baby. Cum for me." That's all it takes for him to cum in his robe, making it completely dirty below. I ride him throughout his orgasm and then lie on top of him again, head resting on his shoulder. We lay like that for quite some time when sylus starts speaking "Are you satisfied now? Please uncuff me Miss. Or I will do it myself." "I know you can. But you wouldn't dare." "oh yeah? why so?" "Because I haven't cum yet Sylus. You will only leave when I tell you to." I can feel Sylus twitching beneath me again.

This is going to be a very long night.

..............................................................................................................................

AU: kill me

[fairylibe]

Trick or treat ….. Jude Jazza fairy please ✨

full moon encounters.

431 words. halloween event. au. features: fairy! jude jazza × gn! reader.

꒰ summary ꒱ they say the full moon can tamper with one’s sense of direction. in which case, only the mysterious, curious spirits may accompany you to the end.

the moon appeared larger than usual tonight, and around you were trees, and before you a winding path.

i could have sworn i was going straight, but this path zig zags?

your heart was beating out of your chest, the anxiety from being lost starting to make it hard to breathe. it was only your eye caught an amethyst glow in your periphery that your anxiety turned into rapture. your hand reached out to touch that orb-like light, relishing its slightly cool sensation as it faded to nothingness.

“didn’t anyone teach ya not to wander in places ya don’t know when the moon’s full?”

you turned at the voice, finding a silver-haired man. notably, he had wings, illuminated by the bewitching moonlight. fairies with mysterious powers were rumored to reside in forests, away from humans — he must be one.

“hah, what’s with that look? the road ain’t gettin’ any straighter with ya dozin’ off like some twit.”

“i could do without the twit…” you muttered.

“yeah?” his grin only widened. “well, seein’ as yer lost n’ cowerin’ round here, i see no bigger one than ya.” his voice was a bit teasing, maybe sadistic even.

he walked past you and ahead of you, not bothering to turn back. “wh—are you just going to leave me here?!” you shout, chasing after his distancing back.

“if yer gonna cause trouble, then don’t bother.”

so… does that mean i can, if i don’t cause trouble…?

at first, you took smaller steps, testing if he’d barrage you with more insults, but gradually, you found your steps growing more steady. being around him even started to feel safe. he didn’t talk to you, but he walked with smaller steps over time, as though making sure to pace himself so you wouldn’t lose him.

this continued to the end of the path, where he finally spoke: “oi.”

“hm?”

when you turned to him, you were met with a small pain on your forehead. it took you a moment to realize he flicked it. “ow…!”

“that’s yer punishment.” there was that grin again. “don’t go wanderin’ places ya don’t know, ya twit.”

that was the last thing you heard him say. your vision was blurry as sleepiness wrapped you in its gentle embrace, so you didn’t know what expression he was wearing, or how those amethyst eyes shone…

but his voice was a tad softer than it had been. that, you were sure of.

after all, for how mean he was to you on the way out of that forest, you would loathe to miss such a thing.

fin.

꒰ tag list . ꒱ @drachonia @weepinglycoris @velisle @candiedcoffeedrops @.comment to be added or removed!

꒰ dedication . ꒱ @judesmoonbeauty | til 10 , 31 , 24! send me “ trick ” or “ treat ” and an ikévil character for a drabble! 🎃

[satrs]

𝘎𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦? PART 2! /// 1°

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ; How they ask you out + where your first date would be!

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ; Barou Shoei. Oliver Aiku. Sendo Shuto. gn!reader.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ; 0.8k

TAGS; fluff. crack(?). kissing.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ (proplayers)!

BAROU SHOEI

He is nervous. Nervous in like - heart rapidly beating, sweaty forehead, feeling like he is on fire. But did he show all that on the outside? Of course not, he's the King.

"Shoei are you alright?" Your voice snapped him out of his mind state, wiping his hand across his face to wipe off the sweat.

"Who are those flowers for? Are you planning on confessing to someone?" Oh god. His hand fiddled with his shirt in an attempt to escape the intense heat he was feeling. Is it summer time already?

You leaned against your doorframe, starring daggers into the poor man, clearly suspicious about his unusual behaviour. He was clearly really nervous and yes, the both of you are friends but why is he at your doorstep without even informing you beforhand?

" For You."

.・゜゜・

"So what is this exactly?" His attention was glued on scrubbing the surface, eyes swiftly glancing at you, floor wiper in hand as one hand rested on your hip, looking at him.

"A date." He walked up to you, taking the wiper from you, eyes nervously glancing away from yours as a grin played itself on your lips. "Cleaning my house?" He scoffed at that. "Well, it's not exactly clean, you know." An offended gasp left your lips as you lightly slapped his shoulder. "Hey! Well there's no kiss in for you today, that's for sure."

You giggled at his shift in expression. "What- wait! I didn't mean-!" You quickly shut him up with a kiss to his lips, leaving him perplexed as you took the wiper back, continuing your previous actions innocently.

OLIVER AIKU

What kind of spell did you cast on this man??? Why was he acting and thinking like this?? Him- the Oliver Aiku, wanting to date someone for good???

"You know, you're acting kind of weird, Oli'." Oh how he loved the nickname you gave him, a cheeky grin adoring his handsome face. "Oh, how come?" "You just seem a bit nervous." He craned his neck in your direction, hetrocromic orbs starring at you. "That's because I am. I have to do something I've never done before."

You laughed at that, his expression turning curious. "What? Bungee jumping?" He giggled at that. "Close one. Actually, I wanted to ask you out." Heat shot up your face, making him laugh in return. "So?"

"So? You're really serious about this?" He nodded at that, bright grin displayed on his lips. "Damn right."

.・゜゜・

"You really know how to flatter a girl, huh?" You stated, taking the bunch of flowers from his hold, admiring the colorful flowers. "Where did you buy them?"

He put up his hands as an answer, scars decorating his rough hands, impling that he plucked them himself. You hummed in approval, impressed by his efford. "You really are serious about this."

He stepped closer to you, caressing your cheek. "I am. About this - about us. I really want this. If you want it, too." To hide your perplexed expression, you cleared your throat, looking away.

"Don't you think I deserve a kiss for my speech." You playfully roled your eyes, placing a quick peek to his cheek. "Cheeky fool."

SENDOU SHUTO

Oh my god NAHHHH LMFOAOAOAOA

"Just spit it out already!" You irritaded voice caused the man to flinch, nervous smile adoring his handsome features as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I-I don't know how to tell you." you laughed at that, lightly hitting him at the shoulder at that. "Why? Are you gonna ask me out or something?" Your eyes widdened as you saw the young man turn brightly red at your words, lightbulb in your head lighting up.

.・゜゜・

"I was excited for this the whole month, Shuto!" He still couldn't belief that you actually accepted his weak confession, and even showed up on the date he had planned.

He giggled as he saw your excited expression as the both of you stood infront of the karaoke bar, an advise he got from Oliver. "What are you waiting for?" Your words snapped him out of his thoughts, causing him to flash you a warm smile. "Let's go in!"

He admired you from afar, lovestruck smile on his face as he hummed along to the song you sung to, your bright smile making his heart jump in happiness.

"Don't you want to try too?" He waved you off, saying that he was a horrible singer, but you showed no sign of letting go. "Nuh uh, there's no backing out now. Maybe you'll even get a kiss of you do really well."

There was no way you had to tell him twice as he sprung up to his feet, taking the microphone from your hand as he sang to the song with all his might.

No way he's letting a chance of getting a kiss slip!

©︎𝐊-𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐒. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[writingrock]

part one: the tale of two lovers

notes: strangers to lovers, fantasy universe, bakusquad, slow burn, fluff, slight angst, draconic language and culture, other tags to be added ... status: ongoing - this will be updated weekly, every Tuesday.

part list

pairing: barbarian!Katsuki Bakugou x fem!reader

chapter list

chapter 1

↬ excerpt:

The bard shrugs, resting his elbows on the table with an air of quiet conviction. "Stories are what keep us alive. They remind us of where we’ve been, what we’ve survived, and inspire others to forge their own paths. Besides," he adds with a grin, "I have a feeling your story is one worth hearing."

chapter 2

↬ excerpt:

Denki and Sero exchanged glances, both grinning now as they walked behind you. “I think they’re gonna get along just fine,” Sero whispered.

“Or kill each other trying,” Denki added with a laugh.

chapter 3

↬ excerpt:

There were a couple of things Bakugou noticed about you. It was natural that he was slightly curious about the latest addition to the party. After all, he needed to know if you’d be a threat to them, whether you were loyal, or if you’d bolt if the second things got too rough. Being suspicious of people was second nature to him—he didn’t know anything about you, and you weren’t exactly an open book either.

chapter 4

↬ excerpt:

“She’s not what I expected. That’s all. She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. But the Veil—” He trails off, his thoughts drifting to the dense, dangerous forest. “The Veil isn’t a place for anyone who isn’t serious. She’s not just a mapmaker. She’s… stubborn. Determined. Like she’s got something to prove.”

“Well then,” the bard asks, his voice softer now. “Did she prove it?”

chapter 5

↬ excerpt:

As more time passed, more facets of your character and abilities were unveiled, particularly within the complexities of the woods where your skills were most apparent. The group grew increasingly curious by your depth of knowledge and confidence with which you navigated both the physical and mystical aspects of the forest.

chapter 6

↬ excerpt:

“Karshoj, I thought you were an expert on these shitty woods!” Bakugou cursed, his voice smouldering with frustration as he kicked a nearby rock, sending it skittering across the ground. His fiery eyes locked onto you, anger practically radiating from him.

chapter 7

↬ excerpt:

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice slipping back into its usual hardness as he took the lead once more. And Bakugou’s quest was barely halfway done. There were still more artefacts to find, more trials ahead. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. And right now, the biggest obstacle to overcome was getting his group together and getting out of the caves.

chapter 8

↬ excerpt:

A day of rest was long overdue for the team. Especially after getting lost in those cave systems for god knows how long. Navigating through those tunnels had drained the group’s energy and dampened their spirits. Leaving them in desperate need of a break. It was clear to the group that they needed time to recover.

chapter 9

↬ excerpt:

“This is it,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath as you took in the serene beauty of the heart of Niniel’s Veil. The clearing before you was unlike anything you’d ever seen. A perfect circle enclosed by towering, ancient trees that seemed to watch over the space with silent reverence. The air was dense with magical energy, making every breath feel as if you’ve inhaled fumes of pixie dust.

chapter 10 [upcoming]

↬ excerpt:

Bakugou’s response was immediate and predictable, his brows furrowing as he let out a sharp scoff. “Hell no. You think I want her tagging along, running her mouth at every turn? She’s got a real attitude problem. Always got something to say, always pushing my buttons.”

comment if you want to be in the taglist for this series

taglist: @/chocogoldie @/devils-adversary @/l0kisbitch @/miikii0 @/onlyisaa @/sleepisfortheweakpooh @/helena-way07 @/enzstr @/qardasngan

[lokorum]

what would you say is your favorite jonmichael fic..... im very curious and love to reread anything in that tag

oh but how can i pick only one when they all are so good??? (,,•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ,,)?

aaaaaa can i make the several honorable mentions of the fics that made me scream and roll on the floor?????? pretty please???

scheherazade was one of the first jonmichael fics that i found while going through all of the cher's works because, evidently, they have no fics that are not worth reading!! (i'm sorry if and forty feet down only confirming it!!!)

sleep inertia has one of the best dialogues i ever read!!! the way cruelzy writes michael's lines??? aaaaaaaaa its so delicious and believable and never for a second i thought i'm reading something out of canon?? its just that good. 

carousel is the only one fic (from what i found) that i set in the last season and its adds a lot of layers to that big jonmichael onion that torments my eyes for a while now ldkfjgkdfjg also it's messy?? i mean the whole situation in the fic?? its so humanly complicated and it does not gives you the chance to experience any of the feelings clearly and i love it!! screechfox somehow captured all of the complicated stuff in one fic, blendered it together and for the whole time i just couldn't take my eyes away from it. 

five times michael saves jon's life and one time he doesn't have to - is here to sooth our pain and heal our wounds. i reread it so many times!! the dynamic between jon and michael in it is one to live for!!! sometimes you think 5+1 kind of fics can't surprise you anymore and then the coolest author like paisleycowboys enters the room and proves you wrong. 

to be like super honest, the 100 ways to say i love you series, when i first saw it, made me think im not gonna like it? i love my fanfics long and scary and bittersweet and with a bad-very-not-good-endings, so the title of this one made me go "hmmmmm HMMMMM hmmmmm hmmmm?" but ive started to read it anyway, theres not that many fics on the ao3 for jonmichael, we cant afford to be capricious and gosh GOSH i was so fucking wrong!!! its sweet AND sad AND scary AND awkward (in a best way!!!) AND it made me giggle so many times!!! NeedsCaffeineRightNow can make even the edgiest of us enjoy the soft kinds of fics (its not hard when they are written with so much care and love.)

POSSESSIVE!! MICHAEL!! COMBING!!! JON'S!! HAIR!!!!!! what else do we need from life?

transition, every time i reread it or think about it, makes me painfully aware of how many things should coincide for something to work. it's not one of those fics that completely encompass you; nor its the one that leaves you with new headcanons or in a good mood, no, i think it's the one that leaves you in dissoray, making you want to argue with author, to ask them what were they thinking about, pointing on your weak sides like this?, giving you something precious and then stealing it away? pushing your old bruises? that is to say, i have nothing but deep respect for indefensibleselfindulgence. to write fic that makes you want to engage in conversation? thats powerful 

Our 'Angel' of Static and Bone is written so inexplicably good, that more than once i wondered, how NeverwinterThistle was able to do it? and then i realised they are one of my fave bg3 and dishonored authors phpphp but really, the care, the effort that went into this fic? they are literally visible! you can feel the amount of time and brain juice that went into writing it. and the neighbor character? they appeared like two times?? and still their addition left me speechless with how clever it is, how different!! absolutely amazing work.

adjective noun has jonmichael chapter (11) that destroyed me as a person i swear i laughed so hard i dropped my phone and just kept giggling face-into-the-pillow style!!!!!! its rare for the fics to bring you this childish kind of pure joy; the little in-between moment of forgetting about everything, good and bad, and just have a good time. this chapter is definitely one of those rare things and it also made me wish there would be more jonmichael fics from cuttoth. somehow they nailed everything that should be nailed about this ship and did it in a couple of pages, what a magical work!! 

and well, now here's my fave fic, the one that took my head, shaked it like it's a soda can, and then left it open, fountaining at first and then dented and empty. 

I ask for nothing, but maybe I'm lying is the work that made me grateful for the fact that i know how to read in english. its....mmmm, you know that feeling when fic makes you go through literally everything? and then, as a bonus, through all stages of grief as well?

first you get hooked up by the beautiful writing style and so you know the fic is gonna be good and you get comfortable and you turn yourself off from the rest of the world and you read. 

you love pov, you love mood shifts, you love pacing, you love when scenes are short and you pause to think about what happened / you love when scenes are long and you get overloaded with the simple things that make you feel complicated emotions, you love it all. 

then you start to wish it would never finish; you look at the scrolling bar from time to time, a little bit too aware of how much there's left to read, a little bit too anxious about it. and at the same time, the fic starts to make you feel safe, confident, that at least it's gonna be alright, its gonna be that one work that will replace the canon events for you. it was the

“Oh. Oh, Archivist, no. That’s not right at all,” you say to yourself as you watch him march into artefact storage, both hands clamped around an axe. 

On a whim, you decide to save him."

line for me for sure uhhh it still hits as good as the first time too 

and then you get to the ending and you just stare at the screen. that hollowing feeling slowly spreading inside you. *sigh* its the best sort of inspiration im sure, but its the worse one too. i have no idea how possessedradios and authors like them are able to write something that kills you, then reanimates you and then makes you sit in front of the tablet drawing hours non stop. ''I ask for nothing, but maybe I'm lying" is so beautiful its scares and fascinates me, just like the podcast did. hell, better then the podcast did.  i know its silly but i even named my fisrt fanart of michael as the title of the fic 👉👈

ahhhh SO i rumbled again SORRY!!!!!!! every time someone asks something from me its either "i'll reply later" (replies 10 years after) or "tolstoy, hold my fucking beer". but i really hope that fic writers, not only those who are mentioned here but like in general? know how much they affect other people!! how their work creates safe spaces for others!! how they make readers smile or cry, even if those readers (im not pointing finger on myself idk what you talking about pgphpphph) are little gremlins that leaving comments once in a decade....................

have fun time reading!! <3

btw im working on a little fanart rn............. (expressing my deepest grattitude to ao3 johmichael writers 😳🔪)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

Diamonds on the Soles of His Shoes

May Prompt: Song Released in 1986 | Word Count: 2000 | Rating: T | Characters: Eddie, Steve, Robin | CW: Language | Tags: Post S2, Pre S3, Eddie POV, Pre-Steddie, Pre-Platonic Stobin, Eddie & Robin From Band, Graduation Party

For a song released in 1986, I picked Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes by Paul Simon.

Partially hidden behind the trees, Eddie looks at the house, large and looming. Sure, he's been by it before, did a bit of trick-or-treating here in the rich neighborhood, but he's never actually been inside Steve Harrington's house. Never stepped foot over the threshold, beyond those red double doors.

Said doors are standing wide open tonight, inviting the whole world inside. 

Steve Harrington's graduation bash. Everyone's invited. That's been the mantra all week. 

Everyone. 

Eddie's not so sure that everyone really includes him, and he didn't even graduate, anyway. Not even on his second try, and he's dreading the idea of spending a third senior year at Hawkins High. He'd be able to run Hellfire Club for one more year, but that's about it. The silver lining, small and weak, compared to the dark storm cloud that is the prospect of another year in that hell hole. 

He sees a girl from band, Robin Buckley, also lurking and lingering at the edge of the driveway. 

"You goin' in?" Eddie asks, sidling up to her, making her jump.

"Uh, maybe?" she says, but doesn't sound sure about it. 

"You know Steve Harrington?" Eddie asks.

"Only the back of his stupid head," Robin answers, snarkily. 

Eddie laughs, agreeing, "Yeah, same."

But she doesn't move, and he doesn't either, "Why are you here, Robin from Band?" he asks, like that's her legal name.

She doesn't seem to care, just saying, "Reasons," and it's just cryptic enough that he's curious.

"Do you have a crush on Steve Harrington? Gonna make a move before it's too late and he's off at Harvard or Purdue or wherever daddy's money bought him a spot?"

"More like Roane County Technical College," Robin mumbles under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she says, then turns and looks at Eddie, "just. I saw him applying to Scoops Ahoy, you know, the ice cream shop in the new mall? I don't think he's going to college."

"Maybe it's just a summer job," Eddie says, but that doesn't sound convincing even to his own ears. Why would Steve Harrington need a summer job selling ice cream?

"I don't think so," Robin says, and she's holding back. He can tell.

"Spill it, Buckley."

She cuts a look back at the house, then back at him, "Like, okay. You cannot tell anyone I know this, because, like, I took an oath–"

"You took an oath?" he asks.

"Okay, I didn't take an oath. But there was a lecture. A big lecture, about not repeating anything about what I saw cross the guidance counselor's desk, you know? I was her aide, fifth period."

"Okay, well, what did you see?" Eddie asks, because now he's curious. Very, very curious.

"Steve Harrington didn't get in anywhere. Nowhere at all. And now he's trying to sling ice cream all summer. With me."

"No way," Eddie breathes out, loving that he has this dirt on the little rich boy. Harrington's crown has been repeatedly tarnished this year, and Eddie's enjoyed watching the fallout from afar. 

"You didn't answer my first question: Do you have a crush on Steve Harrington?"

"No," Robin says, and Eddie follows her line of sight. Oh, ew. 

She's looking at the instigator of at least ninety-seven percent of the fallout King Steve's suffered, as he's holding court at the front door, like this is his party instead of Steve's. Billy Hargrove, surrounded by girls. Some freshly graduated, like the perpetually tone-deaf Tammy Thompson.

Eddie rolls his eyes. If he had to choose between the lesser of two evils, he'd take Harrington. 

"Hargrove?" Eddie asks, not even trying to hide his disgust at her bad taste, "I don't even really know you, Buckley, but you can definitely do better."

Robin laughs, but it sounds kind of sad, "I'm not interested in Billy Hargrove, either."

Eddie doesn't get it, then. If she's not here for Steve, and she's not looking at Billy, she's looking at…oh. 

No way.

He should have realized, should have seen himself mirrored in her or some shit. But he says nothing. If he's right or wrong, he'll never know, because it's just not discussed. 

"Glad to hear it, Robin From Band," Eddie says, and offers her his arm. "Wanna go in with me, then?"

And he's surprised when she slides her arm through his elbow.

Robin finds some girls she knows from her own class, and Eddie slinks off towards the pool. He can smoke a cigarette and see if there are any customers out there, so he can make a little bit of money, selling off his shittiest weed.

No such luck, it's strangely empty. Pool drained, even if it's getting warm enough for swimming, especially if it's heated. 

Eddie walks over to the diving board, and tests it, making sure it's not too bouncy. He doesn't want to take a header into the empty concrete, that's for damn sure. It seems safe, so he shuffles out until he can sit on the edge.

Lights a cigarette, and swings his feet.

The party inside is loud, and jam-packed, and Eddie is sure coming here was a mistake. There's nothing for him here, not at Steve Harrington's house. He should have rounded up Jeff and Goodie and found something else to do tonight. He's sure Gareth would have hung out, if he could get his mom to extend his curfew.

"What are you doing out there?!" The question comes, so sharp and hard, that it startles Eddie so much he nearly topples into the waterless void.

He grips the edge of the diving board, but loses his lit cigarette into the pool. Into the pile of dry leaves from last fall. Shit.

"Um, trying to burn your house down?" Eddie teases, and when he looks back, Steve Harrington is standing there, annoyed.

"Get off of that," Steve says, arms crossed across his chest like he needs to protect himself. From Eddie? In what world?

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Eddie taunts, batting his eyes.

"Please get off that," Steve says, dry as dust. No humor to be found. Which is odd. Eddie went to school with Steve for a long time, he is funny, as loathe as Eddie is to admit it.

He crawls off it.

"Just let me get my cigaret-"

"Leave it."

"But-"

"Don't go down there, Munson, are you stupid?" Steve snaps, and Eddie takes a step back. He's not stupid, but he's pretty pissed off now.

Eddie narrows his eyes, "Yeah, I have to repeat my senior year for a third time, Harrington, we all know that already," Eddie snaps, but rapidly loses steam. Steve Harrington's face says he didn't know that, not until Eddie told him. 

Fucking idiot, opening his own goddamn big mouth.

"Uh, well, um…" Steve trails off, "I'm sorry? I didn't get into any colleges if that makes you feel better. I was probably one D-minus in Mrs. Click's class from joining you."

"Ms. O'Donnell is the one torturing me," Eddie answers, off-kilter that he's even having this conversation with Steve Harrington.

And Steve smiles, "Yeah, I hear you. I think she only passed me because of my last name."

Eddie is taken aback, Steve Harrington is aware he gets special treatment? Aware of the diamonds on the soles of his shoes, as well as the noses so far up his ass they'll never see sunshine again?

Well, hell. It isn't good ammo to know Steve Harrington can't get into college if Steve's willing to tell him that himself. Kinda takes all the fun out of it.

"Heard you might be the new King of Scoops Ahoy," Eddie teases, and it is teasing, now. Not taunting.

And that must read, because Steve smiles.

"I'll look great in a sailor suit. I hope we get tips, because I'll kill it," Steve says, hands on his hips. But he doesn't look aggressive, he looks amused. 

And Eddie did that. Hot damn.

"What's up with the pool?" Eddie asks, and wishes he hadn't, when the black cloud passes over Steve's face.

"You know, Barb," Steve says, so soft that Eddie almost doesn't hear him.

Eddie's only heard rumors and gossip. That she went missing. That she didn't, and was instead found killed by everything from monsters, to Steve himself. The former seems more plausible than the latter, and isn't that ridiculous? 

"Did she die in your pool?" Eddie asks. Maybe she drowned.

Steve just kind of shrugs, "I don't know. Maybe. Where you were sitting was the last place she was seen alive, though."

"You're shitting me?" Eddie asks, but he's pretty sure Steve's not kidding.

Steve shakes his head. 

"Sorry, I didn't know," Eddie says.

"I know you didn't," Steve says, "it just scared me, seeing you sitting out there. All alone. Sorry if I was a bit of a dick about it."

And hell has frozen over, Steve Harrington is apologizing to him. 

"Um, you weren't. It's okay. Sorry I just made myself at home."

And Steve laughs, "Well, that's fine," he says, waving his arms around, "look at everyone else."

"And why aren't you with everyone else?" Eddie asks.

"Like who? My only friend these days is thirteen-years-old."

"Say what now?" Eddie asks, because that sounds creepy. Is Harrington, like, a pervert now? He'd heard rumors last winter about Harrington hanging around Hargrove's little sister, but he hadn't given them much credence. He knows the rumors that go around about himself, and the vast majority of them have no basis in reality either.

"Long story," Steve says, "long, long, story. I'm, like, his babysitter? Him and a bunch of other street urchins, I guess?"

"You're a babysitter?" Eddie asks, disbelieving.

"It's as shocking to me as it is to you. I'm not bad at it, though," Steve says, and he smiles.

"You're not like…messing with underage girls?"

"Jesus Christ, no, what kind of freak do you take me for?" Steve says, and he sounds so disgusted that Eddie's sure that's the truth.

"Sorry, I had to ask."

"Unless you mean, like, Nance?" Steve asks, brow furrowed, like he's really thinking this through.

"I do not," Eddie says with a laugh, "I thought you were broken up, anyway?"

"We are," Steve says, "definitely. We are. What about you?"

"Am I broken up with Nancy Wheeler? Yep, have been for as long as I can remember, anyway," Eddie snarks, and Steve Harrington laughs. An ugly, open-mouthed bray.

It's dorky, but real.

And Eddie's heart does a thing that he definitely didn't give it permission to do in his chest. Flipping and flopping, all willy-nilly.

He's not supposed to like Steve Harrington. 

Harrington's a rich boy, who doesn't try to hide it. And Eddie's poor as a pocket, with nothing to lose. 

But right now, standing out here in the near dark, he does like him. God help him.

"Word of advice, from one freak to another, stop saying it like that, or people will think you're a perv. Lead with the babysitting part."

Steve nods.

"If none of these people are your friends, why have a party? Why spend money on assholes that don't deserve it?"

Steve shrugs, "Habit, I guess. Won't be like this much longer, though. My dad's pretty mad about college. He's cutting me off."

Eddie blinks. That's…unfathomable, really.

Steve keeps talking.

"So, I got a job at the ice cream place in the mall. To learn my lesson. Earn my keep, whatever. You should come by, I'll hook you up," Steve offers, and Eddie feels insane. That can't possibly be a thing that they'll ever do. 

Then, Steve tries to sweeten the pot, "Pretty sure I'll be wearing a funny hat."

"And working with Robin From Band," Eddie says, and Steve just shrugs, like he doesn't know who that is. 

Poor Harrington, Buckley'll eat him alive, given half the chance.

And maybe, just maybe, Eddie will swing by to see that happen, live and in person.

Free ice cream and a show. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: Oh, these kids. If they only knew how important they'd all be to each other just a short time later.