#oof this hurt to write

[jabbers-wild-world]

@lilmcttens | continued from here!

“Yeah… you did.” He sighed, and he almost appeared as if he was still living, still standing right there. Except that he was translucent.. “It bought me some time, I guess… So.. Thank you, for that at least.” He paused, staring sadly for a moment or two at his gloved hands. He was so lost, so miserable and.. and broken. There were still bloodstains marking his spectral form. At his throat, down his chest.. He almost seemed like he was still bleeding even now, especially from the thin line across his throat, but his blood never touched the floor, never left a mark anywhere but on him.

“I… I just wanted to say.. that I’m sorry.” When he finally spoke again, it was like he was struggling with the words, as though it was growing more and more difficult for him to breathe, but.. ghosts didn’t breathe.. This.. this was just an after-effect of his brutal, miserable death. “I was.. living a lie without even.. without even knowing it…” Another pause, and a shudder wracked through him. For a moment, he didn’t seem aware of her or.. much of anything, his eyes going blank, his posture sagging a bit as it seemed he was caught in a wave of blinding pain, and then…

“I’m… sorry..” He murmured, dragging himself back to awareness again. “Tell Luz… that I.. I don’t.. blame her… It- it’s.. n-not her fault.. I—” He was dazed and distant again, another shudder of pain.. “Please.. tell her… I’m s-sorry..”

[2aceofspades]

TW: Blood/Injury, Implied Death

_______________________________________________

With you

Lil one-shot I guess...??

_______________________________________________

After the dust cleared, it was dead silent. The air was thick with moisture from the dark clouds looming above them all. Someone, probably Raphael, yelled out something Two didn't quite process, his ears still ringing as his vision slowly cleared.

A faint blue glow flickered in the near distance, not too far from where Two was slumped on the ground. More muffled shouts rang out as Two attempted to collect himself, staggering to his feet and trudging over to the source of-

No.

Just the image alone was enough to bring Two collapsing back to his knees. Stupid, he thought.

"H-hey..." One's weak voice just barely got through to Two, snapping him right out of his thoughts.

He stared down at the dimming blue glow, watching it flicker and fade in and out. How the hell are you still here, breathing?

His thoughts became flooded in his head, even more so as he felt his arms cradle his brother's near-lifeless body.

"Did we win?"

Two felt his jaw clench at One's question, feeling frighteningly close to grinding his teeth until they were flat.

Did we win?

The question echoed in Two’s head, as if that would better help him process this moment. In any other instance, he would have deflected and scoffed at such an empty, meaningless question. Did it matter? he thought as he titled his head up, looking around briefly at the wasteland that surrounded them. It was over, that much was apparent.

"Yes,” he huffed, looking down at his brother in his arms as he continued, “Now, shut it and save your strength. Your heart-"

"I know," One croaked out in between a few sputtering breaths, interrupting Two in more ways than one. Two tried to ignore the cast-off of blood coming from his brother's mouth, despising the sickening feeling settling in his stomach as it hit his chin. One smiled weakly up at his brother, his eyes dull and unfocused.

How dare you, Two thought to himself.

His eyes flickered from One's exposed heart, bleeding out and hardly beating, and back to his brother’s face. His brother looked beaten, bloody...broken. It wasn't a look he saw from him often, if at all. It was that damn smile that he watched waver as One's heart beat softer and softer. What cruel irony, Two couldn't help but think, a metaphorical expression brought to life by his stupid, thoughtless, idiotic brother.

Two could still fix this. Even as he held his brother tighter against his own plastron and felt his shirt get soaked by the horrid mix of blood and empyrean; he thought to himself how he'd be the one to fix this.

There was no other choice left.

“Good…” One let out the softest of chuckles, “…we…we can s-start over.”

Something in Two’s own chest faltered, even just briefly. It was enough to shut out the feeling of One’s pathetic coughs and wheezes against him. He watched how One's eyes dulled further, his gaze wandering away from Two's face.

Starting over? That wasn’t ever an option, not one that Two had ever weighed in his mind. He wasn’t sure if that was even an option now. After everything he had done, everything he sacrificed, worked for…his brother still wanted to burn it, bury everything down and out of Two’s reach. One wanted this win, he wanted the impossible.

“Impossible…” Two muttered under his breath.

He heard yet another faint chuckle. And then the dense silence that followed.

_______________________________________________

~bonus doodles~

(':

[stevebabey]

steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

[deceivesthem]

the touch startles him. he almost withdraws himself, ready to hike up his shoulders and run for the hills. but something keeps him grounded despite the cool touch that bleeds into his skin. he doesn't like it, but he doesn't complain or pull away despite the evident discomfort. he hates it and yet he does nothing to stop it. it only further proves that he is not all there---any other moment of the day and Oliver would have ripped himself away completely and stumbled his way into explaining why he couldn't handle being touched without actually explaining anything. still, his shoulders stiffen, the muscles tense even as he allows the stranger to lead him away. for a brief, terrifying moment, Oliver is back at home at thirteen years old, forced to meet Jeffrey's "work friends" with his hand at the middle of his back, forcing him to act like his life was completely normal, as if his stepfather hadn't murdered his mother six years prior. the sound of the man's voice pulls him back into present, azure eyes blinking the fog from them. "wh---? oh." he takes in what he says, briefly stealing a glance at him before nodding absently. he looks in the direction they're heading---he can see the shelter close by. he wasn't being lied to. his shoulders relax, but only a little bit. still tense, he replies distantly, "Oliver---m-my name... is Oliver."

Arthur watches intently as Oliver's eyes dart around, patiently awaiting the response he knows is coming. When the other licks the blood off of his lips with apparently little concern, he blinks in genuine surprise. Certainly this isn't another vampire he's stumbled upon... He can hear his fluttering heartbeat, smell his own blood coursing through his veins even under the stench of the cooling blood he wears. No. This is just a very interesting human, he decides. When he finally manages to respond in the affirmative, Arthur gives a curt nod. Placing a cold hand on the other man's shoulder—careful and slow so as to hopefully avoid startling him—he gently turns him to face the direction of the nearby park shelter. Gravel crunches underfoot as he starts them walking, maintaining the contact even as they start moving. Whether the other finds it grounding or grating, he's passively curious to find out. "It's just a couple of minutes." In the name of seeming friendly, he offers, "My name is Arthur, by the way." They're still a pair of strangers, alone in a secluded place, one of whom is covered in blood... but he figures maybe common courtesy can alleviate some of the inherent mistrust here.

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

also thinking again about werewolf luo binghe and his human mate shen yuan,,, they would be so cute together,,,, lbh getting extra sticky around the full moon, and sy indulges him because ‘he can’t help it; his instincts mean he needs me to sit on his lap in the common areas of the pack’s den’

he doesn’t entertain such shameless pda except around the full moon and certain lunar events™ like eclipses (and festivals/celebration like the new year,,, and the springtime,,, and binghe’s birthday…………). but when those roll around, shen yuan is a blushing mess.

he’ll be held on binghe’s lap with his big dumb wolf boyfriend pressing his nose to sy’s neck, sneaking a hand up under his shirt to press against the skin of his middle, nipping at his ears and making low, pleased rumbling sounds deep in his chest. binghe will insist on hunting and cooking for him, serving him first, feeding him by hand for as long as sy can stand it.

lbh takes advantage of sy’s indulgent moments shamelessly. he gets to cuddle his cute little mate out in the open where the rest of his pack can see it, reinforcing his claim. he gets to run with his pack and then be praised for it when he comes back to his mate with whatever he hunted for him. he gets to soak in his mate’s scent and the scent of ‘uspacktogethermates’ and it makes him feel so warm and safe and wanted.

basically werewolf boyfriend binghe is sticky as fuck

[wrathofrats]

Angst promt 15 with Dew being mean to Phantom/Aeon in the beginning :)) either pure angst or hurt/comfort you choose -🌧️

Part 10293839 of dew doesn’t know how to cope with his trauma.

Warnings for: dew being overly cruel, like he’s really mean to phantom to justify his own trauma. Aether is said to be dead here, Detailed descriptions of dealing with grief, morally wrong thoughts, it’s angst.

No I don’t think dew is bad, this is all based in real grief. He’s not right but he’s not a bad ghoul. I want to make that clear. Dew tries to make it right in the end, this is a lot of him working through his own feelings. I didn’t leave it sad forever.

-

Sometimes dew feels like the perfect tragedy.

A fairy tale of love and loss that you tell your kids at night to not make them greedy. To teach them to enjoy what they have, to stop complaining.

A fucked up fable of a being forced into a shell that’s not his by a lover he no longer has and truly his own skin feels like his mates mausoleum.

His self hatred falls upon phantom most of the time. A better target than his own flesh and bones in his head. It’s a silent agreement between the ghouls to never mention it, to make sure phantom and dew don’t stay alone together too long but the only verbal concerns come from late night whispers in low lit rooms of the house.

Dew feels unjustified in his hatred, knows it in fact. Can’t rip away the feeling of phantoms existence being wrong. It punches him in the chest everytime he sees him, when he sees his guitar, when he sees him practice his magic. It’s wrong and gross and dew feels disgusted with him, like a cheap puppet of someone he loves.

He wonders if he could make phantom into a bad dog. If he will lash out when scared. Something tangible to justify his hatred. A bite wound to justify his fear. It’s part of the reason he’s so cold to him. His own civil war of wanting to leave the kid alone, knowing he’s done nothing wrong, and wanting to hurt him so phantom can hurt him back. He wants tangible evidence of phantom being cruel to him back so much he could almost taste it. He’s sick, he’s disgusted with himself but dews never been anything but stubborn. A malicious brain worm that will only feed on seeing his own manipulated proof that the kid can be fucking cruel too.

Dew gets worse with his gross brain parasite. Dropping his obsession with aether to instead obsess over being correct and justified in his feelings. Hes lost this much, he can’t stand being wrong on top of it. He has to bite his tongue every time he sees phantom to not immediately try and cause an issue. The common smiling face makes him want to smack it off of him, the sound of Swiss giggling at phantom antics makes him want to scream in rage that he’s not all that special, aether didn’t deserve what happened to get that thing to replace him

The ghouls notice a clear change in him that never leaves. Dew turning from an inconsolable grieving mess into a vengeful creature who they barely can even talk to anymore. All of his words ooze venom, the looks he gives anyone who even go near phantom have them cringing in their own discomfort.

Phantom gets the worst of strange feelings. Summoned into a pack of those receiving the news of the loss of their friend. He feels immediately outcast, though they’ve all worked to remedy the feelings, it still eats at him more than they’ve told him it should. It probably lingers from dews stares but he can’t help but feel as if he was born with the original sin he can scrub his skin of. Maybe if dew accepted him he wouldn’t feel sick everytime he was in a group setting, or maybe it’s truly always going to be like this, phantom doesn’t know.

It’s not his fault he’s curious, the hint of his name having him tune into different conversations using his quintessence to help. He should’ve known better than to use it on dew though.

Mountain approaches dew first about the problem. Phantom watches him finally chase after him to his room after dew came down to grab water, immediately retreating upon seeing phantom sitting on the couch.

Dew what on earth is your problem?

Mountain speaks quietly, barely enough to hear even with his magic

Are we really doing this? You know my fucking problem mountain!

Dew is a bit louder, doesn’t care if anyone hears, it’s a painful thought.

You’re acting like a child. I know what you’re going through but-

You have no idea what I’m going through

He sounds on the verge of tears

You have to learn to accept it. You can’t keep doing this, you’re tearing the pack apart with your shitty attitude

Fuck you, he’s the one tearing us apart, I didn’t do anything

It’s one thing to assume what’s wrong, but for phantom to hear it? The words hurt physically, but he’s unable to stop himself from ignoring the conversation.

Phantom didn’t do anything and you know that

He’s the reason aethers dead. Aethers gone and we got a shitty fucking child to replace him and you expect me to be ok with that?

I’m done. Fix your attitude. Get help. You know you’re wrong.

The tears flow down phantoms face. Bile burns at his throat and he can’t help but look around for someone, anything to comfort him. Maybe he is some shitty child.

Mountain rests his hands on phantoms shoulder to warn him of his presence before sliding next to him and pulling him into his arms.

“Did you hear any of that?” Mountain asks, worried but knowing the answer.

Phantom nods his head

“He’s wrong. Dew will get over himself, don’t listen to him. He’s going through a lot but you’ve done nothing wrong bug”

Phantom tries not to directly sob into mountains shirt, hiccuping and biting his cheek

“If he didn’t mean it, why would he say something like that?” His voice cracks through his tears

“Grief makes people do stupid things. He’s looking for someone to blame so he can take it off of himself. I promise it wasn’t your fault though”

They hold each other, mountain squeezing phantom tight enough to release some of his own feelings.

Dew is a direct contrast to the warm embrace happening downstairs. Sitting alone in his room, barely a thought besides his own internal rage and these days it’s all he really does. Sit and stew in his own self pity, praying that maybe if he hopes hard enough everything will go back to normal, though he knows it won’t. A vicious never ending cycle.

His bed is cold, has been for months. He yearns for someone to save him though is utterly convinced he must deserve this. It must be some kind of punishment for something he’s done. It’s fitting for a monster of his kind, to want something so much but to know you’ll never deserve it.

Phantom was gifted with a different kind of quintessence than aether and omega were, less medical and more thoughtful. He was naturally empathetic, to a fault at times. His magic made him feel things others felt deeply, able to control their emotions with just his finger tips.

He decides to confront dew, a peace offering, an apology, he doesn’t know but he can’t stand the situation. He can’t stand having someone he should care about be practically fading away because of his own hurt he’s never been shown how to deal with properly.

“Can we talk?” Phantom knocks on the cracked door, opening it far enough to see dew sitting on his bed, still staring at the wall.

“Nothing to talk about” dew says nonchalantly

“I’m sorry if I did anything to you” phantom starts

“You’re fine”

“I’m sorry that I annoy you”

“It’s ok” dews tone gets more annoyed everytime he speaks

“I’m sorry about what happened”

“What?” Dew finally turns his head to look at him

“You didn’t deserve that. And I’m sorry no one’s ever tried to help you” phantom practically whispers

“They did try”

“They stopped. You’re still hurting and they stopped. They gave up. And I’m sorry”

“Why do you care? I’ve always been mean to you” dew looks like he may cry himself

“I can’t blame you, it’s not fair what you’ve been through. You’re allowed to grieve in your own way since no one ever showed you how” phantom steps into the room. It smells odd, like dew hasn’t showered in a couple days. Old plates of food and bottles of water stack his bedside table, the other looking pristine and untouched with a book sitting on it. Phantom looks at the book for a couple seconds too long before dew speaks again

“It was his. It’s the last thing he read.” Dew almost smiles, “his nightstand still smells like him”

Phantom doesn’t speak, just nodding along. He doesn’t know what to say, but dew takes the silence as a chance to keep going.

“Sometimes I can smell him on you. Quintessence has a scent to it, it’s smoky and sharp, Swiss gets it too when he’s been using magic.” He chuckles “I know he’s been training you. I wish aether could’ve”

“Really?”

“He would’ve loved you bug”

[afewproblems]

For the angst prompts ;

"You look like hell." "I feel like it."

Famous Eddie showing up on Steve’s doorstep years after Eddie left

Oooo love this idea, thank you very much for sending it Nonny! I hope you enjoy!

***

"So, he's back in town," Robin says instead of a greeting into the receiver, a leading lilt in her voice.

Steve sighs and knocks his head into the wall beside the mounted hand set, "yeah".

She hums, the sound crackles over the line like static in Steve's ear.

"You want me to come over?" Robin asks carefully, as though dismantling a bomb, picking through what to say as gently as she can, hoping it's right.

And Steve hates it.

He hates that even after all these years, Eddie Munson can get right under his skin like this.

It should have ended back in '88, when Eddie had left them all behind to 'make it big'.

Or at least, that's what the note had said.

The one in hastily scribbled blue ink, dropped on the cold and empty side of the bed that Eddie had left. Steve had awoken alone, with only the note and the smell of weed and cigarettes and sex on his sheets.

He had tried calling the trailer, only for Wayne to pick up and explain that Eddie had been planning this for weeks, 'didn't Ed tell you?'

Eddie had left for New York along with Gareth, Jeff, and Grant, bound for city lights and a better music scene.

No, Eddie hadn't told him, but Steve didn't say that. How could he?

Instead, he thanked Wayne, his voice hoarse, and hummed something close to a yes when Wayne asked if Steve would make sure to drop by when he had time, the Pacers season had started after all.

"Steve?"

Robin's voice breezes through the phone again, jolting him back to the present.

"Sorry Birdy," he sighs, shaking the last memories of the Munson's from his mind, "don't worry about me, really".

She scoffs and Steve can almost picture the way she's certainly rolling her eyes, "I always worry about you Dingus, that's what I'm here for".

"I know".

They talk for a little longer, speculating on how much longer Clinton will last in office now that the truth has come out and which of them would host the finale of Seinfeld --'it deserves a special night Steve, we are taping it, getting as many snacks as we can, and indulging in some good old misanthropic comedy'.

He tells her goodnight after another half hour, and insists that he'll be okay.

And he will, of course he will.

It's been ten years since Eddie Munson set foot in Hawkins, and there was absolutely no reason for them to run into one another.

Well, sure, he still kept in touch with Wayne over the years --how could he not when the old man seemed to pull excuses to see him out of thin air.

Robin had always cautioned Steve on his continued relationship with Wayne, questioning why he insisted on maintaining contact with Steve.

But it was nice to have someone to watch the game with over a beer, the occasional barbecue in the summer and hell, Steve had even celebrated a Thanksgiving or two or three with Wayne Munson.

With Steve cutting off his own parents years back, it was nice to feel like he had still had someone looking out for him.

And really, there was no reason for Eddie and Steve to run into one another.

Steve would be fine.

***

It's almost a week after his call with Robin that the doorbell rings and Steve's world comes to a stop.

He's putting away the small grocery trip, and to call it that was a bit ridiculous considering the snack to fruit ratio, but Robin had been very specific about their Seinfeld watch party slated for the coming weekend.

Steve opens the fridge door to pop the milk in, tossing a, "coming!" over his shoulder as the bell rings a second time.

Steve hopes it isn't his neighbor again as he makes his way to the front hall of his small home. It would be her third time angrily telling him that the tree in his backyard had shed even more crabapples over the fence and into her yard.

And considering their postage stamp lots, where else was the poor tree going to do it?

"Look Mrs. Patterson," he says wearily as he flips on the porch light and opens the front door, "I'm going to do something about the branches this weekend--"

But it isn't Mrs. Patterson standing on his front porch.

It's Eddie Munson.

Steve blinks, feeling as though part of himself has been wrenched from his own body to watch from above. His palms are sweaty all of a sudden and there's a tightness in his chest that grips his lungs, he can't breathe.

Eddie tries for a half wave and a smile, but the effect is lost as Steve continues to stand in shocked silence.

He's thin; Eddie had always been on the lanky side but his shoulders were still broad and he was strong enough to lug his band equipment around. He's almost gaunt now, with deep set bags under his brown eyes. His curly hair hangs somewhat limp over his shoulders and he reeks of stale cigarettes.

But it's undeniably Eddie Munson standing at his front door.

There are so many questions, and Steve wants nothing more than to demand answers if he can manage to get the words out without yelling.

What are you doing here? Why are you here now? How did you know where I live?

How could you leave like that?

"You look like hell," Steve says instead, his grip tightens on the door frame as Eddie drops his head in a nod.

"I feel it".

His voice is slightly deeper, more gravely in tone now than it was ten years back.

But perhaps that's what screaming into a microphone and partying in New York for ten years will get you.

"How did you know where I live?" Steve asks after another beat of strained silence.

"Uh, Wayne, I ask him about you a lot and about half the time he'll give me an answer when he's not calling me a dumbass and telling me to call you myself".

"Wayne has been telling you about me" Steve says faintly, feeling as though he might be sick on Eddie's shoes.

Wayne, someone that Steve had been looking up to, getting advice from, and spending so much time with, had been doing so just for Eddie.

All this time.

Robin had been right to tell him to be careful.

"Leave," Steve whispers suddenly, making Eddie step back in surprise, "I don't want to see you, either of you, again".

"Wha--no, Steve, wait!"

But the door is already closing, slammed against Eddie's hands that knock and knock, pleading with him to open the door, to just hear him out.

But how can he?

It wasn't just Eddie showing up after all these years, but on top of that, everything that he thought he had with Wayne had all been some ploy to help his nephew keep tabs on him.

He'd let himself be hurt again, by another fucking Munson, one he thought he could trust.

Steve locks the door and flips off the porch light, uncaring of the muffled curse from the other side of the wood.

He doesn't want to hear what Eddie has to say, after all, Eddie hadn't cared enough to stick around all those years ago.

Why should Steve?

[lettherebemonsters]

Adam snorted wryly.

" St. Peter's a pussy bitch but he guards that gate like a dog. He wouldn't let anyone in unless they had their name in his book."

Adam stared at Charlie hard. VERY hard. Man he wished he knew what her life was like if she was THIS pampered all the time.

" You don't think I've seen people die? You're, what, two hundred years old? I'm older than humanity. I'm older than most things that ever existed. I've seen genocide, wars, murder, rape....I've seen things that'll make even your skin crawl. So don't fucking lecture me on me not knowing how you feel. Because I felt that shit for THOUSANDS of years."

Adam was so tired of everyone looking at him like a monster. Back home, he was a celebrity of sorts, sure....but he wasn't even considered a person. Only Lute cared about him.....but down here, he didn't even have Lute. He was just.....all alone....

If Charlie was getting angry, so was Adam. And he was far, FAR worse at maintaining control than she did. And he was getting to a very dangerous point right now. The very air seemed to be burning with heat, making it harder to breathe. And Adam looked like he was burning up from the inside.

" Heaven doesn't do death because death doesn't EXIST up there! The people up there died and EARNED a place up there! Fuck, there hasn't been a dead angel since your overlord friends tore the head off my youngest exorcist Pudding.

Fucking miss that bitch.....she had a heart of sugar."

Adam had a strange look about him. A look that wasn't something he usually had.....he almost looked like he was pitying Charlie.

" Take one look at those sinners out there you love so much. Do you know their names? Why they're down here? Or do you suddenly think all sinners down here are the same? Take your friends in this hotel. The friends that have been telling me how they want to fucking gut my Lute in front of me every chance they get.

Your spider pal was a leg breaker for the mafia. He tormented innocent families for money and killed innocent people because if it. Your cat friend? He destroyed lives with his gambling and has no regrets for it.

And that fucking deer of yours? He's eaten people on Earth. He tears apart souls and shoved them into his microphone for a laugh.

I get that they're your friends, but you don't even KNOW most of the people down here you're convinced are all sunshine and rainbows. I know ALL my Exorcists. I named ALL of them. I watched them when they first started, I watched them practice. I was teaching them everything I could to make sure they weren't hurt down here.

My girls ARE my family. They're all I have up there, down here.....everywhere. But you just see disposable angels that aren't worth shit unless they're missing an eye."

@hellsdisneyprincess

Adam had been trapped in Hell since the last Extermination ended in a disaster. He had woken up to find his wings gone, horns jutting out of his head, claws like some kind of dinosaur...

It was horrible. He hated it. He tried reaching home but Embassy was abandoned. Heaven had shut off all communication.....and Adam was trapped.

No amount if screaming, breaking things, pleading and praying had gotten Heaven's attention. And he had stewed in anger all this time.

He was watching the daily life of the sinners from the balcony. He preferred staying up here in his room given how everyone in the hotel vowed to make his life a grueling nightmare down here.

Down below, sinners were doing the usual stuff. But what made Adam tense was seeing parts of his girls still sold. Angel wings, feathers, angel skulls and organs.

It made him feel sick to his stomach seeing the Exorcists he'd known since they joined his army....reduced to mere meat.

" If your citizens are so happy carving up my girls like livestock......wait until they get their hands on the winners. It's going to be a buffet for your people."

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hold on i need to get a thought and emotions out. so with Welcome Home, there seems to be a before and an after. obviously, we're in the after. the website is the after. and if it turns out that the story we see, the one where shit hits the fan and the show is practically erased, then... that already happened. whatever horrors we see, we'll know that there is no saving them. there is no happy ending - it happened, and it's tragic. the show is doomed to end and be scrubbed away. if any of the characters are revealed to be dead/gone by the website, then when/if we see them at an earlier point, we'll Know

and there's a special kind of dread and horror in that for us, the audience.

[noblecorgi]

Helloooo!

My new SnowBaz fic’s first 2 chapters are out!

It’s dark people. Very dark.

Bring on the paaaaain!

(Please pay attention to tags and TWs!)

On The Rocks

Lady Salisbury is the founder and CEO of Ruth’s Kitchen, a high-end baking and cookware company that, following 40 years of being a boutique line in the UK has exploded on the international market following a marketing deal with the Great British Bake Off.

Lady Salisbury, too busy to do her own shopping now and suddenly finding herself on breakfast tv and daytime talk shows across the UK, Europe and North America has hired a personal stylist and shopper, Basilton Pitch.

Enter her troubled grandson Simon.

@wellbelesbian @whatevertheweather @emjaydellyone @emeryhall @ebbpettier @roomwithanopenfire @raenestee @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @ichooseyousnowbaz @ic3-que3n @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @onepintobean @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @philaet0s @artsyunderstudy @alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @stardustasincocaine @starchaserdreams @facewithoutheart @frjsti @letraspal @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @captain-aralias @basiltonbutliketheherb @ninemagicks @monbons @martsonmars

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

*

[pareidolla]

a new au (stp voices as the protags of scarlet hollow, simultaneously) has hit the pareidolla

long long long rambling under cut:

plot bunnies

i'm thinking this au would happen after the strange beginnings ending instead of a standard modern au. the construct collapses after tlq departs with stranger, and the voices are forcibly expelled to the nearest world.

all eleven of them wake up weird clothes. the only other person with them, some weird guy, says they're on a "bus" headed for "scarlet hollow." weird stranger notes they've must have traveled far judging by their british accents (what the hell is a british???)

tabitha's eyes bulge as her cousin (hero) steps out of the bus followed by ten other people like it's a clown car. cue hero's panic as he plays along, apologizing profusely to this scary woman who's apparently his relative (???) and learns he's here for her mother's funeral (!?!!!?) fortunately, oppy cuts in and calms things down

i think the voices would be mainly separated, as opposed to all eleven of them being there for every scene and it playing out beat-for-beat like it does in the game.

for instance, only a few of the voices, particularly hero, would be driven to the estate by tabitha while the others would be forced to walk. some might hit the library, the general store, or the diner first and meet different characters then. broken definitely perks up at the mention of a church

i think hero should get to look at a bird. as a treat

trait justification

mm i've been puzzling over traits for awhile. some voices are a natural fit for a trait while others less so, and picking two for all eleven is going to require some serious stretching. i know some of the npcs in scarlet hollow have one trait but it feels... mean? lazy? to skimp out on giving everyone two traits

i think it makes sense for hero, broken, and cheated specifically to be playing hard mode. the latter because suffering defines them and the former because, try as he might, hero simply won't be able to save everyone

hero makes sense to be power build i think, i think? it's not only strength but protection, and who is he if not the the long quiet's guard? a bit stumped on a third trait however...

if i could then i would give everyone the hot trait (♡) but being hot is more about how readily people trust/like you than it is about appearances. hero's kindness would disarm most people, meanwhile smitten and opportunist make a great effort to charm others

opportunist was also made for street smarts. i just know this little weasel would lie his ass off to tabitha, sucking up to her and complimenting the scarlet estate every chance he got, before immediately gunning for the forbidden wings the moment she was out of sight. worst man alive /aff

i feel pretty comfortable in the talk to animals + keen eye for combo for hunted. perceptive voice... animal princess... p simple!

(god i want him to meet gretchen so badly. little beast, how do you expect to run with legs so small and a body this fat? ... cute?)

not quite sure what to do for smitten's second trait however. he's arguably one of the strongest voices so powerful build makes sense, but i'm also tempted to give the hot/pb combo to stubborn and i don't want any of the voices to double up. alternatively, talk to animals might be a cute nod the princess. except, instead of a bluebird as a companion, it's dustin, the desk possum.

skeptic gets the detective combo, obviously. not much to write home about here - i just think it'd be fun to see him sleuthing in another horror game. i hope he and smitten befriend kaneeka and discover what anime is

broken i'm a little... eh about in terms of traits. i'm learning towards keen eye since he's the most understanding of people's emotional states, but anything else feels like a stretch. powerful build since he can endure suffering? mystical for his connections to tower? bleh...

well, stubborn gets powerful build, obviously x2. i'm a little lost for a second trait because he's kind of straightforwardly The Strong One. not the sharpest, not the most insightful, don't see him as particularly magical enough to justify mystical or talk to animals but, as mentioned earlier, i think there's a case he could be hot. i'm only marginally against it since he's a touch aggressive and that might rub people the wrong way, but people adore jocks, and the developers once called adversary a himbo, and stubborn is basically just her.

paranoid with mystical and keen eye just makes me laugh tbh. suck it up, boy, you're gonna see EVERYTHING

cold might have also mystical, possibly? on one hand, it's the Scare The Hoes trait and cold excels at that, but i'm not sure about it. but the same, i don't think any other trait fits him either like... sure, maybe he's strong but is he ever going to use his strength? yeah, he has a brain but is he ever going to think? yeah he can see but is he ever going to-

banging my head over cheated and contrarian too. i love you both sm but your personalities are complaining about the narrative and avoiding the narrative respectively. how do i possibly convert you two into traits. this is a nightmare

[tanjir0se]

Me, known huge crybaby whose daddy issues resulted in over-attachment and fawning and codependency, writing Sanemi when HIS daddy issues result in pushing loved ones away from the belief he doesn’t deserve love, and fear of commitment:

Me writing sanemi when the daddy issues result in poisonous and paralyzing anger, half directed at himself, because it’s easier to be angry than to admit he’s hurt, but that still only serves to destroy him and his relationships with others:

[boinin]

If you're still taking the otp questions, could I request 6, 7, 19 and 29 for tabiori? Thank you!

Hey anon! I've really softened towards these two with the new Karasu lore that EpiNagi gifted us. Childhood friends to imprisoned football rivals to lovers, let's gooooo

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Hiori likes that Karasu has an opinion on everything. Sometimes it takes coaxing to get him to take a stance, if he doesn't feel like he's had enough input data or time to mull it over, but Karasu is no fence sitter: he's always clear about his values and what he thinks, which Hiori admires as a perpetual people pleaser. Hiori also loves his searching dark eyes.

Karasu finds Hiori physically attractive, but it's that sadistic edge to his bf's personality that has Karasu down bad. He likes someone with bite, who won't take his snark without retaliation. But Hiori's genuine kindness also allows Karasu to unwind in his presence. It's exhausting putting on a mask every day, and Hiori is the only person Karasu trusts to see the real him. Without his usual defences.

7. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

In comparison to what I've said for Karasu before, I don't think he'd get more defensive after realising he has feelings for Hiori. Their friendship started on the basis of mutual admiration, and Karasu's crush is an evolution of that. That said, he has no plans to admit to his feelings, ever.

Hiori feels lame about his own crush, thinking he's naïve for crushing on his senpai. He'd still happily chat and hang out with Karasu, but becomes more prone to awkward silence around him. After getting dating advice off his internet friends, he'll watch Karasu for signs that he's interested in being more than friends. Hiori would eventually make a move, and the rest is history.

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

Oof, I'll start with the less sad family dynamic. Karasu cultivates an air of mystery around himself. No one knows for sure when he's bullshitting or being serious, even his mom. When he signs off a phonecall by saying, got a hot boy waitin' fer me, she writes it off as her son's sarcasm. It keeps being his excuse though, and eventually she realises he's serious. She's surprised that Karasu's dating the quiet polite boy from his football team, but supportive of he and Hiori.

Hiori's parents are in frequent contact with him, but only ever ask about his training, diet and sleep—not to mention his performance in whatever league he's playing in. They find out he's in a relationship when he lets it slip in an interview. They scold him for not focussing 100% on his career. He starts ignoring their calls.

Yukimiya and Otoya manage to suss out Karasu's feelings before he and Hiori get together, and tease him for it until the good news breaks. The four hang out together often. Hiori doesn't publicise the relationship, but talks to his closer friends and teammates about Karasu, like Isagi, Nanase and Kurona.

The two of them quickly get fed up of people insinuating that they're a cute couple just because they're both from Kansai.

29. One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Both of them look up to one another, but it's partly as a means of quantifying their own inadequacies. Karasu will never be as athletically gifted as Hiori. Hiori will never have Karasu's unfazed attitude or the same determination to pursue his dreams.

Neither of them will fully understand the level of emptiness the other used to hide behind the polite smiles or sarcastic remarks.

[trudemaethien]

kix/slick + example

✨💖✨pillowtalk✨💖✨

(immediately pre-christophsis UwU)

“Do you ever think…” Slick’s murmur comes from inches away, on the same pillow as his bedmate’s ear.

“Hmm?” Kix hums drowsily, moving his hand to reassure Slick he’s listening. He thinks he’s touching his side, or his hip maybe. It’s too late at night for anatomy.

“D’y’think it’s wrong that we have to fight?” is the surprising query from Slick’s busy brain.

“Slick, you love fighting.” Kix’s voice is as dry as Geonosian wind, disembodied in the dark bunkroom.

“Well, I mean. Yeah, but even I don’t want to always have to strap on my shell and pick up a blaster and shoot-move-communicate, you know? Maybe I want to… fight with words sometime.”

“Slick, you—

—Do that all the time too, anyway,” Slick choruses over top of him, “yeah, I know. But, Kix. You hear what I’m saying? If you could do anything or go anywhere, and wouldn’t get in trouble for it, what would you do?”

Kix sighs, chest rising and falling under Slick’s arm as he seriously considers the question.

“I’m a lifesaver,” he says finally. “As long as one single brother needed me to be on call listening for Medic! that’s what I’d choose. I believe it’s my responsibility to use my knowledge and skill for the good of my people; and my brothers, the GAR, are my people, thus by extension, the Republic itself.”

“But do you think that because you were taught that, or do you think it because you think it?”

Kix snorts, rolling half on top of his vod and making his response come muffled between them. “S’a little demeaning, sayin’ I don’t know my own thoughts from some lousy brainwashing, buddy,” he says, more amused than annoyed.

Slick’s arms come up and circle him, hands smoothing down his back and back up under his sleep shirt. He sighs gustily.

This concept must really be bothering him.

“What would you do?” Kix asks, encouraging.

Slick is silent for a long moment, but Kix senses it’s not because he doesn’t have an answer. He waits him out.

“On Triple Zero,” Slick says finally, and Kix makes a tiny go-on noise, “I saw this…bunch of protesters.”

He doesn’t say anything more, and Kix mulls that over. “So you want to …protest?”

“I want to fight for the things I believe in,” Slick says, almost embarrassed. “Same as you, our brothers are my people, and I just don’t think it’s right that we should be sent to seed the stars, that karking drivel, or have to be calling for a medic, if you can get there on time before we die for objectives we don’t even care about.”

Kix kisses his neck, his stubble-rough jaw, his cheek before Slick turns into it and meets his mouth.

Kix lifts his head and touches their brows together. “I’ll get to you before you die,” he swears with utmost confidence, even though it’s a foolhardy thing to promise. “Just call me, and I’ll be there.”

Slick’s throat clicks as he swallows a couple times before he can speak, and when he does, his voice is rough with emotion.

“If I need you, I’ll call.”

Pillowtalk 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51594214

[saturnmused]

@soulwaned asked: you're the one who told me to let off some steam.

BRIEF DISAPPOINTMENT FLICKERS over features before the emotion is buried deep under layers of feigned indifference, a habit that astarion is particularly good at. he gives a shake of his head at gale's words, ignoring the pang of hurt in chest that could only come from frozen-over heart. ❝ you're an absolute oaf, dekarios, ❞ the vampire spawn says then, & at least there's a hint of offence taken in tone, hard & with a cool edge to it. ❝ i didn't mean for you to let off that steam with her. ❞ he's not about to elaborate on what he truly meant now that gale's gone and enchanted someone else, not when it hurts just to think about. serves him well for allowing himself to be vulnerable for once, astarion thinks to himself, fists clenching at sides. he can't even look at gale now, unwilling to meet gaze & strengthen their connection. ❝ just ― forget it, alright ? clearly it doesn't matter to you. ❞