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sweetsweetjellybean · 1 year ago

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Forgotten sons, Forgotten dates, Eddie coming to your rescue & Florence.

Masterlist Listen to Disarm Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:8554 beta'd by @superblysubpar

The slow roll of red and blue lights reflects on the big picture window in your living room, casting a glare across the TV screen. Shifting from your stomach, your head turns to meet the anxious expressions worn by your parents. The handful of popcorn you were holding falls to the beige-colored carpet where you’d been sprawled.

‘Honey…” your dad’s concerned voice cautions, but it’s too late. You are on your feet, greasy fingerprints transferred to your flannel pajama pants as you walk straight toward the door.

“Honey, don’t. It’s not our business.”

As the door swings open, a gust of frigid November air washes over you. Your bare feet meet an icy sting from the frozen boards of your porch. The staticky voices from police radios crackle through the cold night air, their words blending into an indecipherable hum as they float down the street. The wood underneath your feet turns to the scrape of cement as you leave the warm safety of your home and run down the rain-washed street towards the ambulances and police cruisers. Fallen red and yellow leaves stick to the pavement, their colors vivid in the flashing lights reflecting off the wet road.

Time stretches like a rubber band, lengthening each moment. People in uniforms hurry past, paying you no attention as you call out his name. The smell of damp earth mixes with the acrid scent of diesel from the idling vehicles. Bright lights from inside the house spill out into the dark from the open front door.

“Eddie,” you cry out again as a hand closes over your elbow, tugging you back.

“You can’t be here.”

You struggle, attempting to break free from the policeman's grip as he pulls you away. Your head turns, and your eyes finally find his. Frightened doe eyes peer back from a pale face tinged with blue. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, he looks much smaller, like the world has pressed its full weight down on him. The gray blanket covering his shoulder doesn’t protect him from the shattering of the only life he knows.

“Eddie,” you whisper his name, your voice trembling. He tries to stand, shrugging off the woolen blanket, his hand reaching out as the EMT seals the doors. The ambulance roars to life and speeds away, leaving you alone with the taste of salt from your tears mingling with the cold, crisp air. A gurney rolls past, bearing a figure lying motionless beneath a white sheet. Only a portion of her face is visible, her features obscured by a patchwork of black and blues, her dark hair falling to the side like a shroud.

"I've got her."

Your dad's strong voice breaks through the chaos as he sweeps you up from the policeman's grip. He holds you close, carrying you away like he did when you were much younger, your face buried in his shoulder, tears dampening the fabric of his jacket. The world blurs as his steps bring you closer to home. You cry for the boy who will face the rest of this world alone.

“Egg-white omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions. No spinach. And I’ll have a side of bacon, very crispy but not blackened,” Nancy says, handing her menu to the waiter before shifting her eyes toward you.

“Two eggs over easy, please–avocado toast and the fruit salad.”

“I’ll do the brioche french toast with the salted caramel and bananas. And extra whipped cream, please. Oh, and a side of sausage links.”

“What?” Robin asks after the waiter has left. “I’m hungry.”

“We just worked out,” Nancy scolds.

“I did hot yoga. I need to replenish,” Robin explains, raising a mug of tea to her lips.

After moving here, a night out always ended with breakfast at The Friendly Toast, welcoming the sun as it rose over the city. As habits and routines changed, it evolved into a standing brunch for just the ladies after morning gym sessions. The diner’s retro black and white flooring and red vinyl upholstered seating still bears the same traces of syrup as it did all those years ago, but the food is good, and the wait is never long.

"Was it the hot yoga or you're Saturday night with Taylor," you tease, earning a dreamy smile from a pink-cheeked Robin.

"Yoga actually wasn't that hot this morning," Robin admits, biting her lip, reaching for the creamer pitcher at the center of the Formica table.

Now that you all have a bit more cash to spare, Nancy leans towards the idea of brunching in a bougier spot in your shared Gold Coast neighborhood, but Robin is a stickler for traditions. The charm of Nancy Sinatra playing over the speakers and the selection of boozy milkshakes are what win your vote.

The food arrives quickly this morning. “Three hot plates for three hot ladies,” the waiter winks as he delivers generous portions on the ceramic oval plates. The smoky scent of bacon mixed with the sweetness of caramel. He pulls a silver canister from his apron pocket, giving Robin’s dish an extra squirt of whipped cream.

“Oh, he’s getting a very good tip,” Robin says, placing her napkin in her lap.

Laughing, you pick up your fork and break the yolk, letting the soft yellow drip onto the smashed avocado. Nancy rolls her eyes and picks up her beeping phone.

"No phones," Robin chides around a mouth full of French toast.

"Sorry," Nancy says, tapping out a quick reply before placing her phone face down on the table, "My brother is driving everyone crazy.” She unwraps her silverware before continuing, “He wants us all to come to Florida for Christmas since it will be the first one in their new house, but Hawkins is so much easier for everyone. Holly is still in school, and Jonathan doesn’t want to take that much time off from work.”

“Sounds like Steve.” Your eyebrow lifts as you take a bite.

“Steve only works so hard because he wants to take care of you,” Robin says, pointing her fork in your direction.

“He adores you,” Nancy agrees, “You're lucky.”

“I know.” You pick at your eggs. It’s moments like this that make it clear they’ll always be Steve’s friends first.

“Did you get the Bulls tickets for his birthday?” Nancy asks, before picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers and biting into it with an audible crunch.

“I ordered them last week,” you tell her, taking a bite of pineapple.

“I hope you got extra,” Robin says, dabbing some whipped cream from the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“You're not thinking of going now?” Nancy looks at her, surprised.

“No. Not for me,” Robin says, waving her off, “I’m sure he’ll want to invite Eddie now that he’s back in town.”

You sit up straighter in your chair, just the mention of Eddie's name has tension rippling down your spine. “I got him six tickets. He’ll have three extra to invite whoever he wants,” you say, settling the matter.

“Let me know how much I owe you for me and Jonathan,” Nancy tells you.

“I got it,” you assure her, “Just buy him a foam finger or something.”

“It’s his birthday. You’re really not going?” Robin prods, her voice carrying a note of judgment.

“Not if I can help it. You know I don’t like sports.” It's the same answer as the first time she brought it up, a few weeks ago. “He’ll have more fun with people who appreciate it. I’ll celebrate with him when we’re alone.”

“Say no more,” Nancy says, raising her hands as she looks down at her plate.

“Come on, Nance,” Robin laughs, “You used to celebrate with him in the exact same way.”

“Robin,” Nancy whispers through clenched teeth, darting her eyes toward you.

“I don’t care, Nance. It’s ancient history,” you chuckle. Steve’s high school relationship with her ended with a lot of heartache, but they obviously weren’t right for each other. The friendship that they share today is different from his and Robin's. She understands the pressure that he's under.

“I’ve always wanted to know,” Robin says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Who is better, Steve or Jonathan?”

“Don’t answer that,” you chuckle, patting Nancy’s hand as her face cycles through several shades of pink.

“I won’t,” she glares at Robin. “Oh, wait. I don’t owe you,” she says, turning back to you and shifting the conversation, “You owe me. I can’t believe you scooped us on Eddie’s studio opening.”

Sighing heavily, you fill your mouth with a big bite of your breakfast, but the taste is off now. This story is a relentless storm cloud, always hovering, disrupting the peace. He's only been here a week and here's another argument. Hurricane Eddie. He must be pleased, relishing the storm he's brought into your life.

“Spectrum doesn’t even write about music,” Robin points out with a slice of banana at the end of her fork.

“It would have been a great piece for Chicago Lifestyles. We even could have hyped it up on an episode of Chronicle,” she complains, mentioning the human interest show that Spectrum runs profiling things happening in the city. “I’m the one that organized his welcome night, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Don’t look at me." You raise your hands in front of you.

“Why did he tell you and not me that he was moving here?” Robin adds her own touch of gripping. “I should have been in charge of that.”

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” Nancy tells her, “You’ve never been able to keep a secret.”

“But you’re very pretty,” you chuckle, diffusing the situation.

“Thank you. I am,” she responds, swirling her last bite in caramel before popping it into her mouth.

Your laughter blends with the background din of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware as you savor the last bites of your meal. When the check arrives, Nancy insists on covering the bill, urging you to put your share toward the cost of Steve's tickets, and Robin leaves behind the promised very generous tip. With your plates cleared and goodbyes exchanged, the three of you leave the crowded restaurant.

As you trail behind Robin and Nancy, your phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. Fumbling through the pockets of the jacket you're carrying, you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, teeming with people entering and exiting the diner. Lost in distraction, you collide head-on with a solid chest. Strong hands instinctively grasp your biceps, preventing you from stumbling further. As your gaze lifts, you're met with the chestnut eyes that have been the wind, stirring up your world.

“Whoa. Careful, doll,” he says, surprise lacing his tone.

“What are you doing here?” You demand.

Flecks of gray paint pepper the tangle of dark curls pushed back from his face, joining the streaks and spatters covering his ripped jeans and a long-sleeved white tee, his wide eyes drinking you in.

“He’s meeting me,” Robin says, appearing beside you. “I’m taking him to meet an artist he’s commissioning. See, I can keep a secret.”

He’s still holding you, his eyes locked with yours, each ridge of his fingertips searing into your skin, the pressure of grip alternating like he’s reluctant to let you go.

“I’m late,” you murmur, pulling away from his touch and turning in the opposite direction to walk down the road toward your car.

"I’ll be right back,” he tells Robin before his footsteps echo on the sidewalk behind you. He waits until the restaurant is just out of sight.

“Doll-”

Keeping your pace purposeful, you push past people heading in the opposite direction, feigning deafness to his voice amidst the sound of traffic.

“Doll, just wait,” his hand brushes your elbow, but you spin before he can secure a grip. “Jesus. Will you give me a minute,” he mutters, frustration etching lines on his forehead as he rakes his hand through his hair.

“What do you want?” You ask, cradling your jacket closer to your chest.

“I had no idea you were here. I wasn’t trying to ambush you back there,” he tries to explain.

“It’s fine, Eddie.” Your eyes glance at the people passing around you. “You made it perfectly clear you’re going to go wherever you like.”

His tongue peeks out, wetting his top lip as he shakes his head. “Look, I wanted to tell you I don’t want you to do the interview.”

“Wow, okay.” Your eyes scrunch as the sting of rejection overpowers the butterflies filling your stomach.

“No,” he winces at his choice of words. “I want you too.”

“You’re giving me whiplash here.” You finally meet his gaze.

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you. Talk to you, but I don’t want you doing this interview hating me because you were forced into it.”

“It’s a little late for that-”

“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can tell them…I can say I changed my mind.” His words carry a weight of earnestness, a sincerity that chips at the wall you’ve built between you. The instinct not to trust him, to remember all the times he’s let you down, wars with the truth in his eyes, begging you for acceptance.

“We are both professionals. I can write it.” Your foot taps a quick rhythm against the pavement, as your face stays blank with defiance.

“If you’re sure...” he trails off, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your answer.

The words form and reform on the tip of your tongue until the truth slips past, “I don’t hate you, Eddie,” you admit just above a whisper.

“Well, that’s something,” he murmurs, searching your face.

The buzzing from your pocket resumes as the world shifts back into focus, breaking through the momentary understanding.

“I’ve got to go,” you tell him, motioning towards your car. “The magazine will call and set something up soon.”

He blows out a breath as his shoulders lower. “I guess I’ll see ya round then,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You nod, turning in the direction of your car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk to watch you walk away, the city filling the space between you.

Steve’s assistant is at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he speaks into a headset. With a pleasant smile and a wave, you pass by him, pausing at the double doors to knock once under the brass nameplate reading Harrington. You turn the knob without waiting for a response. Steve is seated behind his immaculate metal and glass-topped desk, not a paper out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him frame a breathtaking view of the city's skyline while the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the plush beige carpeting.

"Damn." He pauses with his coffee cup suspended halfway to his mouth, eyes roaming up and down your body. ‘Someone's a lucky guy.”

Biting your lip, his compliment has a smile lifting your cheeks. The velvet blazer covering over your shoulders crowns the plunging black silk tank you put on this morning. Its lacy edges trace the curves of your breasts, while your faux leather pants and ankle boots make your legs look miles long and hug your curves just right.

“Yeah, well, big assignment today,” you reply, running your fingertips along the edge of his desk.

In the past six years at Stax, you've delved into Ozzy's addiction, engaged Thom Yorke about climate change, and held the hand of a teary-eyed Taylor Swift as she cried over her ex. Your words have canonized the music that has woven the fabric of our culture. Eddie Muson is going to see you're not the same girl with stars in her eyes and headphones pressed to her ears.

Steve’s brow furrows, etched with a deep V. "I was talking about me. Date night tonight, or did you forget?"

The blood drains from your face as you respond with a forced smile, "Of course, I didn't forget." The lie tastes bitter in your mouth. “I always want to look pretty for you.” Spinning his chair, your knees find their place on either side of his thighs as you straddle his lap. Your fingers gripping his starched collar. The notes of sandalwood from his cologne hit your nose, mixing with the scent of coffee. His features soften as his hands glide to your hips, and you tip your head and press your lips to his. “We’re meeting Robin’s new girlfriend tonight, right?”

“Taylor,” he confirms with a nod. “You’ll like her. She paints naked while listening to Jane's Addiction.”

“And how do you know this?” You laugh, your lips meeting his for the second time.

“I met her the other day when I took Robin to lunch.”

“Ahh," you respond with a playful grin, your thumb tracing along the stubble that lines his jaw. "That explains it."

“So, just an hour at the gallery, okay? We’ll have a drink and say hello-”

“If Robin lets us go,” you interrupt.

“Just an hour,” he reiterates, “Then I’m taking you to dinner alone. And we’ll go home for dessert,” he promises as his lips find their way to your neck.

“Hmm. Where are you taking me?” You ask as your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not sure," he mumbles against your neck, “My assistant booked the reservation.” His lips trail lower, his grip tightening as his phone suddenly dances across the glass surface of his desk, its baseball jingle shattering the moment.

He picks up the phone, checking the number before setting it back down. “I’ll call them back,” he says absently before turning back to you. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have a conference in fifteen minutes. What are you doing here, Ace?” He asks, his eyes glancing towards the desktop screen that has been chiming with incoming emails.

“I’m meeting Jonathan. He’s driving over to CursedSound,” you say, climbing off him. “Thought I’d come say hi before I left.”

"Okay, you can tell me about it tonight," he responds, his tone distracted, as if he might not have truly registered your reply. He adjusts his glasses before refocusing his attention on the screen.

“Alright.” The clacking of his keyboard drowns out your quiet tone. You smooth out your shirt, sensing that you’ve been dismissed. He squints behind his glasses, tugging a handful of hair. Worry nags at the edges of your thoughts–he’s pushing himself too hard.

“See you tonight,” you call over your shoulder as you leave his office, not bothering to wait for the response that won’t come.

"All set?" Jonathan asks as he slides behind the wheel of his Volvo XC, his camera equipment already secured neatly in the back.

"Yup," you reply, clicking your seatbelt into place and settling into the plush leather seat.

"You know you didn’t have to come today," he comments as he maneuvers onto the bustling streets of the Loop, navigating the notorious Chicago traffic. "I’m just taking a few shots of the inside before it’s all put together and maybe a few portraits for the digital content."

"Yeah, I know.” You glance at him, offering a warm smile. "But I wanted to run through my outline for the series with him so he can be fully prepared," you explain, pulling your phone from your pocket and opening your email.

Eddie hadn’t reached out or texted once since the diner. The clock ticked slowly all week long, surrounded by magazine articles and album inserts, piecing together clues about what Eddie had been doing for the last eleven years while your outline came together, his silence crawling under your skin like a nagging itch. Maybe press for the studio had been all he was after, and his interest after all this time had nothing to do with wanting to see you again. Well, this time, he doesn’t get to dictate the terms, to decide if you’re useful or if you should be discarded like a day-old newspaper. Given the circumstances, showing up uninvited and unannounced seems fair.

After circling the block once, Jonathan finds a space to park across the street from the old brewery.

"Is this it?" You ask, using a hand placed over your brow to shield your eyes from the sun.

The older building stands out amidst the sleek, modern high-rises that dominate the commercialized neighborhood. Its rough limestone-clad facade wears the scars of time, with colorful graffiti adorning any surfaces within arm's reach of the fire escapes and a rather questionable-looking bodega with covered windows attached to the corner. However, the copper-framed bay windows gleam with a warm, aged patina, and the asymmetrical turrets, adorned with stamped rosettes and scallop patterns, give it a soul hiding beneath the urban decay—very Eddie.

"I wonder how much he’s paying to rent for this place?" You mumble.

"I think he bought it," Jonathan says, coming up beside you, weighted down with bags full of equipment.

You follow Jonathan around the corner to a rusted metal door adjacent to a brushed steel sign displaying the CursedSound Recordings name and logo, securely affixed to the brick wall. He presses the buzzer next to the door, and a screeching bell reverberates from inside. Metal grinds against metal as the locks release, and the door swings open.

"Right on time, Jon," Eddie greets, his eyes widening when he catches sight of you standing behind Jonathan. Your lips raise into a smirk as you stride past him, catching a whiff of the smoke and leather that cling to his skin as you enter through the open door. The short hallway opens into a bigger space. The heels of your boots clack against the scuffed parquet flooring as you move further into the room. Sofas and chairs covered by sheets surround a custom reception desk in the dimly lit room. Dust motes float in the beams of light that pierce through the rips in the brown paper-covered windows, revealing that this is inside of the bodega.

"This, uh... this will be the lobby," Eddie offers, gesturing vaguely around the room before his fingers rake through the curls at the back of his neck. He’s clad in a pair of expensive jeans that seem tailor-made for him and an open light grey dress shirt with a white tee underneath. His hair and beard are freshly trimmed but not too short, giving off that effortless California cool vibe. He’s grown into himself, carrying a confidence that comes with age and success. He looks good – it's annoying.

His stare prickles on your skin as he blinks at you like maybe you’re really a ghost of his past come to call.

"Is there more?" You ask, your tone haughty.

"Yeah. The studios are upstairs." He nods toward the propped open door, revealing a stairwell behind. He takes one of the heavy bags from Jonathan before following him up the stairs. You grip the green-painted metal railing as you climb the grey-bubbled stair treads, pausing at the landing to take in the view of the street. The city moves by at the same blurring pace, unaffected and unaware of the collectives of its inhabitants. Someone should stop and look once in a while.

The door at the top of the stairs leads to the wide hall that smells of drywall and paint. The deep red wall-to-wall carpet, the kind you’d find at a theater, looks new and plush, a contrast to the stark walls primed but not painted. Heavy black doors with the silver letters – A, B, & C denote the entrance to each studio.

Jonathan sets the bag he’s carrying down by his feet and eyes the room. "Mind if I look around?"

"Knock yourself out," Eddie tells him, placing the other bag beside the first. "Studio C is the farthest along."

Jonathan crouches to unzip a bag, pulling a camera from its depths, fitting the strap over his head before he wanders to the first door marked A and lets himself in.

"Didn’t expect to see you here today, doll. You aren’t on my calendar til next week." Eddie turns to you once Jonathan disappears from sight.

"I came to see what I was working with."

"By all means." He waves you forward.

Moving down the hall, you choose the door on the opposite wall – Studio C. The carpet is different in here, a rich velvet blue. The glass wall that is already in place reveals a spacious live room with strips of soundproofing covering half of the walls and more neatly piled on the floor. An isolation booth, where artists can focus on their vocals without distractions, has been framed out but remains unfinished.

"Well, what do you think?" Eddie asks.

An Interesting question. Your eyes wander, exploring the mixing room, where an impressive-looking soundboard remains veiled in plastic. A newly painted mural dominates the entire back wall – graffiti art portraying a massive skull shedding tears made of music notes that cascade onto yellow-bricked path winding through a cityscape. It exudes raw emotion and authenticity, just like the music that will soon resonate within these walls. You can already sense it murmuring from deep within, poised to fill the voids in people's souls, for that's what music does – it's an indelible tattoo on the heart, amplifying both pain and joy. This music – his music, will endure.

Standing in the room's center, you take a slow spin before locking your gaze with Eddie's.

"What a dump."

A deep furrow appears on Eddie's forehead as his lips press into a disapproving line.

"Should I be wearing a hard hat?" You raise your hand above your head and inspect the sturdy ceiling like it might collapse at any moment. "Has a building inspector been out?"

He crosses his arms over his broad chest as his eyes narrow, pausing for a breath as his lips part. Jonathan strolls into the room, unaware of his interruption, surveying the space with a thoughtful expression.

"Nice art. Is this the guy Robin hooked you up with?" He questions Eddie, who remains locked in his scowl.

"Yeah, it is. He’s coming back to do a wall in the lobby," he answers without looking away from you.

"That will look great," Jonathan says, nodding. "I’m going to set up some lights and get a few shots in here."

Eddie waits for Jonathan to wander back into the hall before he crosses the room in three big strides, stopping directly in front of you, closer than what would be considered polite. But this is Eddie, and it’s all part of the game. Your hands move to your hips as you straighten in defiance. The scent of mint on his breath reaches your nose as his index finger barely brushes your skin as he lifts the gold circle and bar necklace that rests at your throat.

"Harrington’s money has sure got you spoiled, princess," he mocks, giving it a light tug, causing the anchor end of the chain to rise up the valley of your breasts. When your eyes flash, his lips pull to the side, twisting in a smirk.

"I make my own money, Eddie." You remove your chain from his hand. "You sure have a lot of opinions about my life, considering you don’t even know me."

"I think I know you, plenty–"

He steps back when Jonathan reappears, bags in tow. He sets them down lightly before casting glances back and forth between the two of you, "Have you gone over your outline?" He asks.

"Not yet," you reply, flashing a sweet smile up at Eddie.

Jonathan clears his throat, growing slightly impatient. "Well, this won't take me long, and I'll be ready to head back. Why don't you go downstairs? I don't want you in my shot."

As you stomp down the stairs behind Eddie, the echo of your boots reverberates off the empty walls, the window glass reflecting an image of the unassured, sad girl you left in Hawkins. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you or the lengths you’ll go not to be her anymore.

The reception area sits in hushed stillness, broken by the distant hum of traffic outside and the gentle ticking of pipes like a clock counting the seconds. Eddie pulls the sheet covering an orange velour couch, sending a light cloud of construction dust into the air. Without waiting for an invitation, you take a seat at one end of the sofa. He settles next to you, spreading his legs wide and crossing one over his knee, his arm landing on the top of the cushions behind you. He’s sitting too close, the heat of his thigh pressing against yours, the spice of his cologne surrounding you. Close enough to see the light stubble on his jaw as he swallows. You shift forward to the edge of your seat, creating some space between you.

"You can’t even sit next to me anymore?" He asks, his tone a mix of disappointment and irritation.

"I’m sitting next to you right now." you point out, straightening your back further.

"Then relax. Jesus. You used to get mad if there wasn’t a seat for you next to me."

"Well, we’re not in high school anymore, Eddie."

"I’m not talking about high school," he murmurs, looking down at his lap before he raises his eyes to lock with yours.

The first few notes of a song you never wanted to hear again ripple to the surface, dragging up memories that should have remained weighted down in the cold depths of things forgotten. He disarms you so effortlessly, whether with a smile or his words. This was all a big mistake.

"I'm sorry," his fingers encircle your wrist, knowing he crossed a line he shouldn't have. You pull your hand away from his grip, and he quickly changes the subject before you have a chance to stand up and leave. "Did you want to tell me about the article?"

Lips parting, you pause to exhale, the sting slowly dissipating. "My editor…" you clear your throat, reaching into the pocket of your blazer for your phone. "My editor wants a series. There will be three featured articles." You tap on the screen bringing up your notes. Eddie raises his eyebrows and leans in, trying to read over your shoulder, but you angle it away as you continue, "That means I'll need three interviews…will you stop," you say when he tries again to see the screen.

"It's about me. I just want to see it," he argues, leaning further into your space.

"My god, you're like a little kid." Switching the phone to your opposite hand, you hold it at arm's length, "Haven't you grown up at all?"

His lips turn up until his dimples are on full display. "Why would I want to go and do a thing like that?

The exasperated scoff that leaves your throat is accompanied by your eyes rolling to the side.

"Not like you," he admits, his gaze roaming over you from head to toe. "After you interviewed Win Butler, he told me he couldn't have denied you the truth, and I'm beginning to understand why. Harrington’s got good taste. You've only gotten more beautiful."

Your features remain even as a gentle heat rises up your chest. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments. I'm sure Steve will appreciate it. Three interviews," you say, displaying that number of fingers, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. “The first will be on your past – early career, your move from Hawkins to LA. Then we'll move on to your present. Why you chose Chicago.The work you're putting into the studio and any projects you have booked when you open." You refer back to your notes, and this time, his eyes don't leave your face, intent on studying you. "The big finale will be the future. Where you see the studio in five years, your predictions on the direction of the industry. "

With a final tap, you show him the mock-up displayed on your screen, "I’m titling it Behind the Mixer: The Past, Present, and Future of Eddie Munson's Cursed Sound." You look up from your phone, your gaze locking with his.

His eyes are hesitant before he breaks your connection to look down at the device in your outstretched hand. "Wow, I'm impressed, doll." A rosy tint colors his cheeks. "It's so professional. Not used to seeing my name printed like I'm somethin'."

"You’ve had plenty of press," you remind him. "What did Rolling Stone call you? The man with the ear for platinum."

"Yeah, that's true. I've been written about before." He looks up, brown eyes burning into yours, your heads now just a few inches apart. "But never by you. They weren't your words."

The weight of his stare is too heavy. You turn your head to look around the room. Liar. The familiar itch prickles beneath your skin.

"I’ve read everything you’ve written," he prattles on as you cross your arms over your chest, your fingernails leaving half moons in the fabric of your jacket.

"I buy a subscription to Stax every year. I get Wayne one, too. Do you know he saves every–"

“Stop, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks, his brows sinking.

“This.” You wave your hand between you. “Whatever this is. I’m going to write a good story. You’re getting what you want.”

“What I want?” He looks surprised. “You think this is about the article?”

“Isn’t it?”

His mouth parts, words teetering on the edge of his tongue, when Jonathan's footsteps cause the stairs to groan under his weight. "Finished?" Jonathan inquires, "I'd like to wrap up with a few shots of Eddie by the sign."

"We're done," you confirm, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

"No, we're not, doll," Eddie argues, "Actually, you go ahead, Jon. I'll give her a ride home."

"No, you won't." You stand, not sparing him a glance. "I have somewhere else to be."

"We're losing the light," Jonathan laments, camera in hand, gesturing for both of you to follow.

“You got big plans tonight? Sure you aren’t looking for an excuse not to finish our conversation?” Eddie presses, trailing behind you as you step through the side door out onto the street.

“Believe me, it’s definitely finished,” you state, firmness lacing your words, stepping aside to get out of Jonathan's way.

"Just stand in front of the brick," Jonathan directs, "To your left," he motions with his hand.

“And not that it’s any of your business," you let an air of condescension lace your tone, "But I have a date tonight with my fiancée.”

“Relax, Eddie. Don’t look at the camera," Jonathan instructs when Eddie's jaw clenches.

Eddie's thumbs hook into the pockets of his jacket. "Sounds romantic," he snarks. "How long have they been engaged now, Jon? Two years? And we still haven't received a wedding invitation. Someone's having cold feet. My money's on Harrington."

"His name is Jonathan. No one calls him that, Eddie." You cock your hip, crossing your arms.

"I'm sure he would tell me if he minded," Eddie retorts, matching the irritation in your voice.

"I don't care," Jonathan sighs, "Can you just move around a bit and look down."

You narrow your eyes, inspecting Eddie as he gets into position."Did you cut your hair again?"

"I'm a thirty-two-year-old man. Sometimes I do that," he responds, scratching at his beard.

"Tip your chin to the right," Jonathan instructs from behind the camera, the shutter clicking in short bursts.

"Well, it looks stupid."

"Okay, I think I've got it," Jonathan says, lowering the camera. "Jesus, what is it with you two? If I wanted to listen to bickering, I’d go home to Nancy," he complains, with a red face. "Let's go."

The rush of water as it overflows from the upper stone basin into the fountain's pool blends the conversation of the other diners at the 3 Arts Club into the background. The atrium is dimly lit, relying on the massive crystal drop chandeliers cascading golden light and the flickering hurricane lanterns spilling candlelight onto the marble-topped table you're seated at. Steve smiles, holding your gaze as the waitress sets the plates in front of you. Swirls of green in his soft eyes are set off by the towering olive trees behind him, that give off a subtle woody aroma.

“For a minute, I thought we weren't going to make our reservation.” He unwraps his silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap.

“We almost didn’t,” you point out, “I think Robin wanted us to stay and join them after Taylor’s show.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. I want some time alone with you.” He reaches across the table, fingers closing over yours.

“Thank you for bringing me here. This place is really beautiful.” Your gaze sweeps upward toward the towering glass ceiling, where the night sky glows a deep plum hue painted by the lights of the city.

“Is it?” he asks, his eyes locking onto yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “All I see is you.”

Your cheeks warm, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Eat your salad, you charmer.” You roll your eyes before looking up at him from under your lashes.

The side of his mouth lifts as he lets you go to pick up his fork, mixing the shavings of parmesan in with the crips romaine and the delicate bites of chicken. Your phone vibrates against your hip through the pocket of your blazer.

Eddie: What I said had nothing to do with the article.

Without answering, you place your phone on your thigh, picking up your fork to break off a piece of salmon. The honey and black pepper melt on your tongue as you take your first bite.

“What did you think of Taylor?” Steve asks, spearing a few of your truffle fries with his fork and setting them on the edge of his plate.

“You were right. I liked her,” you tell him as a faint buzzing emanates on your thigh.

Eddie: If you would quit running away, I would have told you that in person.

Run away? A knot ties itself in your stomach as you blink down at the message on your screen, only hesitating for a moment before tapping out a reply.

You: I didn't run away. I had something better to do.

"Did you like the blue watercolor of the thistles she did?" He asks as you look up, placing your phone face down on the table.

"It matches the blue of the built-ins in your office. We could get rid of that old chair from your parent's basement. Redo the whole thing." His eyebrows lift hopefully as your phone rattles on the marble.

Eddie: Is that why you're texting me right now because you're busy doing something better?

“You're not touching my chair. My entire office is off-limits. I like it the way it is,” your voice comes out too sharp. Your gaze flickers between Steve and the glowing screen of your phone as you type your response.

You: Good point. An error on my part. Goodnight.

“I can always hang it in the guestroom. Who are you texting?”

His question captures your full attention. “Sorry. It’s for work.” You switch the button at the top to silent and set it back down on the table. “You bought it, didn’t you?” You ask, sinking your fork into a few fries before dipping them in aioli.

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes a big bite of his salad, avoiding your question as he chews.

“Steve, the house is going to be a museum to her ex-girlfriends. We’ll be able to give guided tours.”

He laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Art is an investment. Even my dad agrees.”

“Oh, your dad, huh? I didn’t know he agreed with anything. Can I have a bite of your salad?” Your fork hovers over his plate as you catch the light of your phone screen lighting up out of the corner of your eye.

“Yeah. Go for it.” He pushes his plate closer to you. “How was the salmon?”

“Good. You want some?” You ask around a mouth full of lettuce.

“I’ll try a little,” he says, swapping around your plates as you set your fork aside and pick up your phone.

Eddie: I bet Harrington took you somewhere real fancy. He’s probably hoping it will get him laid.

Your eyes narrow at your screen as your jaw clenches and your heel taps beneath the table.

You: He doesn’t have to hope. Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?

The wait for a response is short-lived as an image pops up on your screen. Sockclad feet are propped up on a coffee table beside a take-out box of tacos and a half-drained glass of beer, its foam running down the side. A hazy view of a television screen in the background.

“Is that still work? Who’s texting you?” Steve asks, his eyes speculative as he leans forward and glances at your screen.

“It’s just Eddie,” you dismiss the question with a wave of your hand as you darken the screen. "What about you? How are things with the radio launch?"

He studies your face a moment longer before his features soften, and he answers, "My workload has more than doubled. City Beats has as many divisions as Second City collectively, and I’m overseeing all of it.” His elbows land on the table as his hands tug through his hair. “I’m coordinating with marketing trying to promote it all across the city, and today, Richard called me into his office and said he wants me to meet the sponsors with Ted. Doesn’t think he can handle it on his own. Says I’m more advertiser-friendly.” He uses his fingers to quote the title.

“Can you tell him no?” You reach across the table for his hand. “It’s too much, Steve–for anybody. You've been working like this for months.”

“I can’t. The launch is in a few weeks, then I'll talk to Rich—” He stops mid sentence as his ringtone breaks through the peaceful ambiance. Pulling his phone from his breast pocket, he squints at the screen in the low light, a frown making him look more weary than usual. “I’m sorry, Ace. I need to take this.” He stands, giving your hand an apologetic squeeze before walking towards the entrance. “Hi, Richard. No, you're not disturbing anything…”

As Steve's voice trails off, leaving you on your own in the dimly lit atrium, the room continues to hum with conversations, laughter, and intimacy. You pick up your wine, the cold glass feeling delicate in your fidgety fingers, the crisp acidity of the sauvignon blanc offering little comfort. Dining alone shouldn't feel strange. People do it all the time, relishing their own company as they leisurely turn the pages of books or savor each bite. It's a skill you've yet to master, haunted by an irrational discomfort under the imagined weight of judgmental eyes, a residue of being the girl no one would sit next to in Hawkins. It's absurd, of course, but that old fear lingers, an uninvited companion.

As you reach for your phone, Eddie's name sits at the top of your notifications, and this time, the distraction is welcomed.

Until you read it.

Eddie: I read your album review of Lungs. You really stunk up the page with that one.

You: Lungs by Florence and the Machine? That was two years ago!

Eddie: I told you I read all your work. x

You: And what exactly did you take issue with?

Eddie: You trashed her. You said her vocals were overpowering and meant to cover up mediocre musicians. Said she was an alt Britney Spears.

Your nose scrunches with wince, recalling the words you choose to print.

You: I wrote what I felt at the time.

Eddie: The album sold 3 million copies. Don’t worry, Flo forgave you.

Eddie: Eventually

You: I doubt Florence Welch reads Stax.

Eddie: Well

Eddie: I had a copy.

You: YOU SHOWED IT TO HER!

Fury. Blind, hot, raging fury rolls through your veins. Your hand smacks onto the table with a resounding crack, causing the silverware to clatter and plates to rattle. A few diners stop to look at you, and you give them a bashful smile as heat creeps up your neck.

You: I’m going to hurt you. Slowly.

Eddie: Relax. No need to get kinky. It’s all water under the bridge. I worked on that album, and I intentionally asked for that bold, unapologetic vocal style. It was meant to be raw. It seems like the fans agreed. But, hey, everyone gets it wrong once in a while. Maybe you were on your period or something.

Your fingers dance across the keyboard, a torrent of response surging, ready to pour out, but you restrain the urge to send them – every ugly word remains unsent. His three dots flicker on the screen, and another message swiftly follows.

Eddie: The only reason I remember it was because her album dropped the same week you got engaged. At first, I thought it might be personal, but I wondered why after all these years. Then I realized you were probably far too busy writing Mrs. Harrington with big hearts around it in your diary to be worrying about me.

Words, false as a cracked melody, slip from your fingers with practiced ease, but beneath it all, guilt settles in your chest like a haunting refrain, its weight growing heavier with every truth left unsaid.

You: I don’t remember if I knew you worked on that album.

Eddie: I’m sure you didn’t.

He went down this path searching for something. Unspoken lyrics to a hidden refrain that have long evaded his grasp. Whatever he’s uncovered and what it means to him isn’t clear, but for now, he’s letting you off the hook. Relief sweeps over you like the final notes of a song, the recording skipping and cracking, ushering in something new between you– a tune you haven’t heard before.

Eddie: Thanks for clearing it up. I should let you get back to your date. Steve probably has steam coming out of his ears.

You: He had to take a call.

Eddie: He left you all alone? It’s a good thing I was around then.

Steve approaches the table, his smile painted on but not quite reaching his eyes. You discreetly slip your phone away into your pocket.

"Investors from Tokyo," he explains with a sigh. "Richard wants me on all the calls with them until we launch."

You reach out, your fingers tracing the contours of his stubbled jaw, "You're exhausted, baby."

"I know." He turns into your touch. "I've already paid. We can go if you're ready."

He takes your hand as you rise from the table, leading you through the restaurant and out onto the street. His arm goes around to waist to hold you close as you walk home. His hand occasionally dips lower than your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. It's easy to take the comfort he offers.

His warm, eager lips meet the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing, nibbling as he pushes you against the inside of your front door, sliding your blazer from your shoulders until it catches on your elbows.

"I thought you were tired," you gasp as his mouth journeys lower, leaving sparks of heat behind. His lips trace the curve of your collarbone, descending to the crest of your breast, where delicate black lace meets flushed skin.

"Not for this." He moves down to one knee, removing your boots one by one. "Never for you." They hit the hardwood with a clatter, their sound reverberating up the stairwell.

He moves back up your body, cursing when he struggles to find the zip at the back of your pants. Your laughter earns his smile as your head rolls against the thick oak door, your fingers searching for purchase on the soft material covering his forearms.

“Steve,” you breathe, your voice a heated whisper, just before his mouth finds yours.

The baseball rounding of the bases blares from his pocket like a hammer shattering glass. He pulls back, breathing hard, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead against yours. The ringing continues, too loud, echoing off the quiet walls of your home. His apologetic eyes lock with yours before he steps back, pulling out the ringing device.

“Fuck.” His knuckles turn white as his grip tightens, Richards's name lighting up on the screen. He holds it a little higher for a moment like he’s preparing to smash it on the ground.

"It's okay, Steve." You move closer to his side. Your hand gently glides down his arm, offering reassurance. "I've got a little work to do anyway. Take your call."

"Yeah?" he questions, his thumb hesitating over the accept button.

"Yeah, go ahead." You smile, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve answers the call with a hint of annoyance in his tone, "Richard." His voice gradually fades as you make your way down the hallway to the small office you've claimed as your own, tucked away behind the kitchen.

With one hand pushing up the creaking door, your fingers fumble along the wall for the switch to the banker's lamp perched at the corner of your desk. A faint light filters in as the first raindrops ping against the glass, leaving meandering trails down the black-paned windows dominating an entire wall. You approach the peacock-blue shelving that Steve had crafted to house your ever-expanding collection of CDs, records, and books. Running your fingers over the album spines, you find the one you're looking for and slide it out of its protective sleeve.

The mauve vinyl reflects the lamp light as you place it onto the waiting turntable. With a twist of a knob and a careful drop of the needle, the soft crackle emanates from the speakers, filling the room's quiet spaces. A honeyed voice purrs the lyrics as you settle sideways into the old leather chair rescued from your parent's basement. Legs dangling over the patched arm, you reach for the half-smoked joint in the ashtray beside you, lighting in time for the drumbeat to pound out a steady rhythm while the mild burn travels down your throat and into your lungs.

The soft haze reaches your brain, quieting the uncertainty as the scratch of the guitar joins in with the melody. Curls of thick smoke spiral and twirl with your exhale, dancing through the air. You sink deeper into the embrace of the leather, taking a few more deep puffs before returning the burning joint to the ashtray and pulling your phone from your pocket.

You: Yeah, Eddie. It’s a good thing.

AN: Sorry I'm a day late. The holiday weekend kept me busy. I'd love to hear from you. Comments, reblogs, and asks are always welcome and appreciated. I'll be doing some traveling soon, so updates might be affected but I will be writing.

Read Song 4 Remix Here Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Hugs and kisses for all my kittens - Jelly

P.S. To the lovely person who suggested Linger. I can't find your ask because my brain is broken or Tumblr is. I just wanted to know that your song inspired an upcoming scene in chapter 5 that I'm so excited to write. I can't imagine this story without it now. So, extra big thanks.

So everyone keep sending me your song suggestions, please! I promise I'm listening to everyone.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series #torn #Spotify

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ammonitetheartist · 1 year ago

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Welcome to paradise

(Also yeh I used the Eldritch Uzi design by @electrozeistyking bc. cool 👉👈)

EhehrheEHEHEHHEHEHE-

Judging by when I ended up finishing this, ig here’s your (early/on time/late depending on your timezone) Christmas gift (or general gift if you don’t celebrate it) from me: PAIN

I’ve recently been noodling with the idea of Cyn’s original consciousness being in a little mindspace of some kind, and then I started noodling with the concept I saw brought up by this comic: of the Solver taking Uzi as a host like her, aaand this was born!

Also I was originally gonna draw the panels individually, but since tumblr doesn’t have a way to exceed 10 images on mobile (as far as I know), I had to get creative

Edit: ghgghhhhGHHG WHY IS TUMBLR NOT LETTING ME LINK THE COMIC HHHHGGGGGRRGG- it’s the “She’s Gone” comic by the person I tagged near the top; you can find it in their top posts

Putting the image ID under the cut bc holy fricj-

[Image ID: A comic featuring catified designs of Uzi and Cyn from Murder Drones. The first drawing shows the first four panels; a front view of Uzi in her Solver mode over a snowy night sky, wings outstretched and a yellow X over her visor, then the same drawing with a perspective blur, then a black background with a yellow flash, like a TV turning off, and finally a completely black background.

The fifth panel shows a blurry drawing of Cyn looking down to the viewer, a black blur effect around the edges. The third drawing shows the sixth and seventh panels, starting with Cyn standing over Uzi, who is lying down, followed by Uzi jerking back in surprise upon noticing Cyn.

Panels 5-14 feature a dark, mottled yellow-green background with faint, pale yellow polygons of varying sizes to signify the mindspace. In addition, both Cyn and Uzi’s designs in this mindspace become solid color, with colored lineart. Cyn’s text is yellow and Uzi’s is purple.

The 8th panel shows Uzi on the right side of the drawing with a confused expression, uttering ‘Wh-‘. The 9th panel shows her head whip around in surprise. The 10th panel shows the background giving way to a drawing of Solver Uzi in the center, with her usual colors (very darkened), a glitch effect, and a yellow AbsoluteSolver symbol over her visor.

The 11th panel shows mindspace Uzi with a shocked, lost expression as she mutters ‘Wha…’ in a small voice. In the 12th panel, she turns to the left side of the screen, adding ‘Wh- where…’

The 13th panel shows Cyn sitting on the left side of the screen, a blank expression on her face. In the 14th and final panel, she wears an empty smile, and a dark tear slips from under her visor as she simply says, ‘Welcome to paradise.’ End ID]

#murder drones #murder drones uzi #uzi doorman #murder drones cyn #md cyn #murder drones solver #solver uzi #absolute solver #comic #md comic

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anjelicawrites · 1 year ago

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Every day is Halloween around here

Pairing: werewolf!Osferth x human!reader x vampire!Aemond Targaryen. Talk of werewolf!Osferth x vampire!Aemond Targaryen.

Synopsis: a slice of the life of reader and her monster boyfriends

Warnings: p in v sex, monsterfucking, talk of pregnancy, the boys being very protective, marking, biting, murder (but it's off screen and it's bad people, so it's OK).

NSFW and 18+ only please!

Your cunt is perfect around his cock, wet and warm, sucking him in with every push downwards you make. Your hands on his abs help you balance yourself, your arms frame your lushous breasts perfectly, the nipples a shade darker and, he knows, delicious against his tongue.

Osferth groans with need. He can smell how close you are, the squelching sounds your cunt makes fill his ears; he can barely contain himself, with the full moon so close he has to make the physical effort to keep his hold on your hips light, or he'll hurt you and it's so hard, you sound desperate to come, your walls hugging him now that you're grinding against his hips.

Aemond's pale hand pushes you backwards against his ivory chest, his fingers splayed between your heavy breasts, your neck exposed to his fangs.

The bite on your jugular his fast, the pleasure you feel immediate, Osferth can tell it in the way your cunt tightens to the point of pain around his cock, his orgasm hitting him violently, his paws grabbing at your hips, his claws stabbing your skin until blood appears, his seed, thick and copious, fills you and he fancies your tummy is a little inflated with it.

You are still keening, your body lax against Aemond, Osferth's paws force your hips to grind against his, to prolong the pleasure until you it hurts and Aemond has to lie you on the bed, Osferth's seed leaking down your tights, your pussy still clenching around nothing.

Aemond's cock slides against your drenched cunt, his fangs find your throat again, yet he doesn't bite.

His mind reaches for yours, sending out tendrils of thoughts to elicit yours, wanting to know if you'll let him have you again; your brain is barely coherent, soaring high on the pleasure him and Osferth have given you, your thoughts are a hazy mix of praises and prayers for more.

He can't deny you.

Slowly, Aemond enters you, the leftover shockwawes from your orgasms course through his cock, his fangs hitch for your skin, and for your blood.

The instant he bites you, you come, taking him with you, his dead seed filling you, mixing with Osferth's, the pleasure he feels blanks his mind, and yours.

You pass out with a moan.

Later, after your lovers have washed the sweat, blood and seed from your skin, you sleep between them, curled up on your side, facing Aemond, Osferth's paw caresses your hair, Aemond stares at you, lovingly.

Aemond knows his mind is being loopy, disconnected thoughts swimming there, knows he's making no sense in imaging you pregnant, the thought spurred by the way the oversized hoodie hangs in front of your body, as if filled by your growing tummy. He knows it's physically impossible: you and Osferth belong, for all intent and purposes, to two different species and Aemond is of the undead, after all . Yet, he likes to imaging it, your body slowly changing to accommodate a child, your breasts growing, your smell different.

"Stop it."

Osferth's voice is a raspy murmur.

With the full moon tonight, it's hard for him to push back his transformation, he still looks human, but wrong: hands too big and hairy, nails too long, pupil slightly vertical, the blue of his eyes tinged with yellow.

"Stop what?"

"You know what".

Aemond can't read Osferth's mind, he shouldn't be able to create a telepathic link with him, but, somehow, the connection Aemond has with you, has bled through to Osferth, who can feel the general shape of Aemond's thoughts, not the specifics, and vice versa.

"Don't tell me you never thought about it. Your lot is all about pack, family."

"Don't I ever." Osferth scratches his head. "The swollen belly, out pups kicking against our hands. The sweet taste of their nipples."

Osferth groans, he can feel his cock twitch.

"It would be nice. The slow lovemaking, the added pressure around our cocks -"

"Not now. Not with the full moon tonight. I barely controlled myself earlier."

Aemond understands.

The universe, with its sick sense of humor, has synced Aemond's monthly feed and Osferth's transformation.

Aemond knows how hard it is to hang on whatever shreds of humanity they both have left during those days. They always walk a thin line with you, human and fragile as you are, but when their monstrous natures fight to take control? It's when they see how defenseless you are: the wrong move, and you'll be dead.

It's late in the afternoon when you make your way, slowly, down the stairs.

Your whole body hurts, your pussy is sore and all your muscles feel overstretched and overused; coordinating your movements it's a feat, but you have to do it, to show your lovers that you are feeling better than what you feel.

"Sweetest!" Osferth reaches you and curls his paws around your arms, to help you. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." You smile. "And in dire need of a kiss." You puck your lips and go to your tip toes to reach his.

The kiss is careful, Osferth's face his more lupine, his teeth longer and sharper, you two need to play it safe, until he's done for the month. When your lips separate, you feel a bit dizzy, Osferth's taste in your mouth.

You shudder when Aemond hugs you from behind.

"You are so cold, my love." You say, your hand covering his. "You need to eat, properly."

Through your shared bond, you can feel Aemond getting ready to fight you, but you are faster.

"You will feed tonight." He tries to stop you, but you continue anyway. "You will because, if you don't, things might get messy."

You remember what happen the last time he tried to ignore his urges: that hadn't been pretty. You don't want to have to go through that again.

"And you as well, mister!" You tell Osferth

"I don't want to leave you alone." He answers

"The dogs will be here and nothing bad will happen."

Both males groan.

They are normally protective, it's in their nature, when it's that time of the month (Ah! Ah!), they both become unbearable in their need to keep you safe, to put you under a bell jar to isolate you from any form of harm.

"You'll still be alone. The house was almost burglarized once." Aemond says with a dark voice

"And you two took care of it." You position yourself so you can see both their faces. "Listen, it's far more dangerous if you two fight it and you both know it, and Osferth, you can't control it, you will shift, tonight."

Osferth kisses your forehead; you are being so reasonable and him and Aemond aren't. But you're going to be alone, with two predators on the loose, two predators that in their right mind will never hurt a hair on your head, but enslaved to their biological needs? Not even their love can keep you safe. Two predators who, for this very reason, have to hunt far away from you, leaving you defenseless against the very real human threats that someone who lives in the middle of nowhere has to face.

The irony of falling in love with your meal.

It takes a lot of convincing, like during every month, before your lovers, begrudgingly, leave.

You love the two of them, with all your heart, they are your life, but they tend to be over protective, as if you've never lived on your own and taken care of yourself since you turned eighteen. Sometimes they make it hard to keep the frustration to yourself, knowing that they mean well and that their fears are real, but they can't shield you from everything!

Slowly, you go up the stairs. Your legs hurt, your joints feel rusty and overused and you are more tired than you should be, Aemond must have drunken more blood than usual and now you're feeling like swimming through lead.

Stubborn as you are, you refuse to stop and soldier on, but you have to sit on the water closet the second you are in the bathroom, your head too dizzy for you to do anything else. God damn it, you think and stop immediately: you can't risk Aemond feeling your frustration. The idiot is liable of coming back to make sure you're ok and not feed the way he should.

When your legs feel more stable, you stand up and start undressing.

Since you've met them, you stopped wearing anything too short or revealing: you are covered in Aemond's bite marks and Osferth's scars.

Aemond's markings are intentional, he told you so one night, while he was taking you, his long body plastered against your back, your hands grabbing the headboard, one of his covering yours, the other tight around you hip, to move you on his cock.

He had licked the bite mark on your neck close, his saliva having some sort of healing power and he had whispered in your hear

"I could have erased my mark from your skin completely." A hard push that had made you whimper follows. "But I want the other vampires out there to know that you are taken. That you are mine."

You had come, immediately, your cunt wounding around his erection, and he had fucked you through your orgasm, biting your skin savagely, forcing you to come again on his cock, before painting your walls with his seed.

Some of Osferth's are, likewise, intentional: the signs of him choosing you as his mate run from the left side of your neck, down your arm, a complicated design only other werewolves are able to read. The others, he's left in his haste to have you, his hands keeping your cunt plastered against his face, nails grown into talons pircing your skin as you wail your orgasm or raking down your back as you ride him, while he is transformed.

During the full moon his biology forces him to change into a wolf, he can't stop it from happening; for the rest of the month he can shift into a midway form, where he looks more like a wolf, but can stand on his back legs (he reminds you of the werewolves from Dog Soldiers, only with less wolf face). He's fucked you in this state countless times and your body has to bear the markings.

How mad you've been after Osferth had told you that his marks, and Aemond's, were like a wedding rings, just more permanent. You had paraded around the house with silver on all your exposed skin and bought a worryingly amount of garlic to keep in your pockets.

A wedding ring I can throw away, if things don't work out, but these? You had thought. Now you understand your lovers meant good, that they expressed their love in their own, special way, but it had taken you time to accept it, to accept that they can look human, but that they aren't and it comes with a price.

You've come to love those sigils your lovers have left, accepting them had been hard and a proof that you three hold differences no amount of love can ever erase.

Slowly you enter the bath tub, warm water enveloping your tired body, with your eyes closed you enjoy the silence and the feeling of being alone, the only noises you hear are from the house settling around you.

You take your time with relaxing and washing, mentally decided which horror movie you're going to watch tonight. Your life is, already, a Stephen King novel, you don't have to add to it, but that's your favorite genre and, for once, you don't have to watch while your lovers groan and comment, because that's not how vampires and werewolves work and no, ghosts don't exist!

You fall asleep on the bed, the dogs around you.

You wake up in the morning, startled at not feeling your lovers bracketing your body, until you realize what day it is.

You still feel sore, not as much as you did yesterday, the long bath having helped at easing your aching muscles, but an Ibuprofen would not hurt, would it?

The house is still silent, which means Osferth is still recuperating in his kennel.

He's explained you, before your first full moon together, that in his wolf form he may be liable of hurting you, he may not remember who you are and his feelings for you, for this reason he had installed a huge box attached to the rear end to the garage, wood on the outside, steel on the inside, that would lock upon entering and that he would be able to open, only once he had transformed back into a human being.

It breaks you heart to know that he is alone, those terrible first seconds after his body shifts form and is hurting horribly, but you understand he does it for your safety.

"My love?"

"Osferth!"

He emerges from the garage, clothes torn, belly suspiciously round and dark circles around his eyes. You run towards him and hug him, ignoring the smell of wet dog he emanates.

"Are you OK?" You ask.

"Yes. - His voice doesn't sound convincing. - You know the guys from the prostitution ring I have been attacking this past month? They had a meeting with their bosses. There were more people than I thought there would be and I have eaten too much. I feel a bit bloated."

"Sit down, I'll bring you an alka seltzer immediately!"

Your heroic Osferth who, knowing that there's no escaping the transformation, uses his wolf form to target criminals in your area.

You are so afraid he won't come back, one day.

"Is Aemond at home?"

Aemond usually shares the big bed with you and Osferth, but for the night he has to properly feed. Once he comes home, he has to hide in his coffin, where the soil from his burial is. You can't check on him, because he might be liable of hurting you, without even understanding his actions. Like Osferth, he had to reinforce his hiding place and put a lock he can only open once he's back into himself. To let you know he's made home OK, he leaves you a Browallia on the kitchen counter.

The flower sits in the small vase, right where you can see it the second you enter the kitchen: you can finally breath, knowing he's made home too.

When the roller shutters start coming down mid morning, you know Aemond is finally ready to come downstairs.

He looks healthier, skin less ivory and warm to the touch. You hug him the second he arrives in the living room, where you are still cuddling Osferth, who feels like he hasn't digested his dinner fully.

"What kind of horrific mahyem have you left for the police department to investigate?" You ask.

Differently from Osferth, Aemond had never cared about his victims; he had started going after corrupted politicians and cops after you asked him to. He had agreed, but was firm in saying he was going to 'play with his food, at least', which meant maiming them horribly, killing them after having sucked them dry and then be creative with their bodies.

As the county anathomopathologist, you had, more than once, dissected what was left of Aemond's victims and then given him grief when he made stitching them back together just a tad too hard.

"I didn't even disemboweled them this time!"

"Thank God for its small mercies. - You say, your hand still rubbing Osferth's tummy. - Give us a kiss, now?"

"Yeah." Your other loves adds. "We need a kiss, now."

"So needy." He jokes, but his lips are greedy on yours, he can't help but nick your lower lip with one of his fangs, just so he can lick the wound clean.

Aemond's hand wounds in Osferth's short mop of hair when they kiss, a low growl of want erupting from both their chests, their eyes aflame when their lips disconnect.

"Shall I get the popcorn?" You ask, not so jokingly. Watching them, together, is a treat.

"My tummy is still too sore" Osferth says, letting his head fall on Aemond's shoulder

"Do you want me to cook you something?" The other male asks.

For all his posturing, Aemond is truly in love with Osferth. They might tease one another, their species being at odds for so long, but there's a string connecting their hearts together, and to yours.

"Just lie with us."

"Yeah baby. Cuddle us. We're starting a Mike Flanagan rewatch!" You say.

"Oh no, come on! Not again!"

"You know he makes me cry! You said it was going to be a John Carpenter marathon!"

"His new show comes out next month. We will be on a Flanagan lockdown until then!" And you simply turn the telly on.

Sometimes you are truly lucky they love you more than they do their lives.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

Poly taglist: @notyour-valentine, @fan-goddess, @aegonx

#aemond targaryen x reader x osferth #aemond targaryen x y/n x osferth #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #osferth x reader #osferth x y/n #osferth

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jackobbit · 1 year ago

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From The Weekly Magma!

A Sandman for your troubles, with a bonus doodle I made a few weeks ago that I never posted. Sandman is from the Ghost in the Machine AU which belongs to @.venomous-qwille, go read it if you haven’t already!

[ID: A Magma drawing of Sandman from Qwills Ghost in the Machine AU against a pale blue background, the colors of the overall piece are desaturated. Sandman wears a green hoodie, a yellow coat, light blue pants with stars and moons embroidered on it, and an ushanka. His hands and feet are a dark blue,glitter reflects off of the surface. He sits on a large grey beanbag with a purple and cream blanket draped over his lap, his legs pulled up to balance a laptop that sits on his lap. He looks down at the laptop screen with a soft smile as he types something on the keyboard. Next to the beanbag is a large, spherical stuffed cat plushie that lays on the floor. The plush is grey, with a white belly. Next to the cat is a large Pikachu plush from Pokemon. Pikachu is a yellow mouse-like creature with red cheeks and long, black-tipped ears. The plush has closed eyes, it lays belly down on the floor as though it were sleeping. “@.jackobbit” is written in the bottom left hand corner in white. /End ID]

[ID: A digitally drawn, chibi doodle of Sandman from Qwills Ghost in the machine AU against a light grey background, there is no color. Sandman sits cross-legged on the floor, holding a controller in his hands. The controller connects to a large monitor that lays on the ground, an Xbox stands upright next to it. Sandman has a blank, yet focused expression as he stares at the monitor, his mouth covered by the top of his hoodie. /End ID]

#fnaf dca #fnaf daycare attendant #dca fandom #dca au #my art #gitm au #Ghost in the machine au #this has been sitting in the drafts for ages lmao #I meant to add more art to this post like some sorta sandman mega thread but I haven’t uploaded art in ages so lmao #hopefully I’ll have more stuff to show once my finals stop kicking my ass

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olivia-crains · 3 months ago

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“I have been a therapist for two decades, I have seen hundreds of people, and I can say with absolute certainty that I have never met anyone with more self hatred than you.”

I never thought I would be 31 years old and in this position. My pastel apartment walls stare back at me, the opposite of my innards. The walls of my home are lined with various artworks from my favorite movies and shows, even my favorite people. My books and records are colored coded and sit aligned perfectly on the shelves before me. But all I can focus on is the key sitting on my coffee table, shaming me for my acts completed earlier today.

“Remember her?”

Her title card is a stark white.

You see the real Elisabeth Sparkle, she is so unbelievably beautiful, thin, successful, it appears that people love her but once alone you can tell she is unhappy. When someone matches your internal monologue, it make it fact. Harvey discrediting her and firing her and essentially degrading her, the sliver of self love Elisabeth had left, has died.

I realize many will call me stupid and say I missed the entire point of the movie, but this is my personal take on it.

I am 31.5 years old. I have not experienced a moment of self love. Please do not be like me. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. It’s completely exhausting and all consuming. I spend every waking moment thinking of things I hate about myself, and each and everyday I come up with something new. And when people start pointing out those things and agreeing with me, it validates the hatred. It validates the violence. It gives it more power. It makes the hole even deeper.

The car accident is so violent and yet, there is not a scratch on her. This may be untrue but it seems to me that she wished she died in that car accident. She has nothing to live for anymore. Her success is over. Her life is over. The physical appearance of her, sitting on that table, hunched over, a blank stare with dried tears on her face, but still there, its a visual I can’t shake. You’re still here and people so want you to be grateful, but all you can focus on is the bad.

I can’t think of even one thing I like about myself. I am overweight, my nose is difficult and gigantic, my skin is pale and covered in freckles and moles, my boobs are small, I have various skin issues, my teeth are yellow and crooked, my hair is shit brown and grey, I have thin short eyelashes, I have short and patchy eyebrows, I suck at doing my makeup, I have no sense of fashion, but the worst part of me, is what is inside.

“Everything comes from you.”

Elisabeth examines herself before activating. She scans every inch of her body, the shame radiates through the screen even when she is simply ordering The Substance. She is already so ashamed and she hasn’t even administered the drug yet. She is taking a step to try to be better. To meet the best version of herself. It is so heartbreaking.

“Would you like to stop? Go back to being just you. On your own.”

Sue’s title card is bright pink.

Elisabeth takes care of her. She places a rolled towel under her head, she makes sure she is comfortable, she makes sure is fed, she takes such good care of her, almost maternal. She looks at her with love and care, not envy just yet, how we would maybe view our past self or even little us. Before we really get to know ourselves.

Elisabeth counts down the days until Sue takes over, she sits at home, binge eating and watching television in her chair, further shaming herself. Why not make things worse? She keeps herself locked away and further isolates.

Self loathing is so paralyzing. Its so easy for people to say ‘just move forward, don’t look back!’ There is no moving forward. You are still there at the finish line. You.

“That this part of yourself is still worth something.”

Elisabeth sees the boy Sue has been fucking and feels the need to call Fred. You see a glimpse of the Elisabeth that loves herself in the scene. But the phone call with Fred is so vulnerable, he feeds her heart and ego in a sincere way and you can tell she feels like magic again, even if only for a moment. She brings down the ‘old junk: Elisabeth’ box from the closet, she puts on her red dress and gloves, she does her makeup and even smiles as she gets ready. She feels beautiful. She feels confident. For the first time in a while.

She looks at Sue’s lips. Starts over. She looks at Sue’s body. Starts over. She sees the billboard. Starts over. She keeps going back and checking. Looking for imperfections. She finally turns to violence and smears her makeup, pulling and beating her face, destroying the physical self and returning to her room to isolate and ignore the man who genuinely adores her. She was so close to having a moment of self acceptance.

I have been trying to find words to describe how visceral and all consuming self hatred is, and I have failed. It is something indescribable. It affects every single aspect of your life. The date scene does more than words ever could when it comes to describing self hatred.

“I can’t do this. I need you. I hate myself. Come on! They are going to love you so much. You’re the only lovable part of me. You have to come back.”

The attempted termination scene rings through my head. My immediate reaction to watching that scene was one of such intense fear, vomit crawled up my throat as I fought back tears. Demi’s delivery is completely soul crushing, the way she says the words above, each word said differently and laced with such intense hatred and pity all at once. It broke my heart. It was the first time in my life that I have maybe seen what others see when I treat myself in such a way.

Feel like I have to add this here and say that Demi Moore’s performance as Elisabeth Sparkle will sit on what I call my heart shelf for the rest of my life. She joins the likes of Nina Sayers and that’s a huge honor, in my eyes. It’s a performance so gutting and comforting I will reference it in times of turmoil for the rest of my days. Nina and Elisabeth. Two halves of my shriveled and broken heart.

There is so much self violence in this movie, and I realize that is the point but the way it is portrayed profoundly affected me. Sue holding Elisabeth up to the mirror and bashing her head in, but making her take a good long look at herself first. It is so extreme but internally, that violence is so much worse than one can ever imagine. There is a great deal of humiliation in this movie that I noticed a lot more on rewatches. Dragging her down the steps, making her look at her ugliness in the mirror over and over again.

Stop it. In the mirror. Hitting her head. Stop it. On the bathroom floor. Banging her head against the tile. Stop it. Sitting at the kitchen table. Alone. Hitting her head with her hands. All of this after she experiences moments of humiliation or pieces of herself come to the forefront of her mind.

The choice to kick Elisabeth to death, I mean god…kicking someone to death takes so much effort and energy, the scene itself feels never ending, you’re praying for it to stop while some in the audience are laughing at the absurdity of the scene. The blood spraying Sue more and more with each kick, Jesus Christ.

I am not worthy of self love. My life is pathetic to an extent I’m not sure anyone would ever resonate with. I am alone. I am a loser. I have no one. I have never been loved. I have never been touched. And the only person to blame is myself.

I am the meanest person you will ever encounter. I judge people who love themselves to the point it makes me hate them and resent them, I can’t understand it. How could anyone love themselves? But then I look at their lives and see why they do. They are loved. They get fucked. They have friends. They have talent. They have children. They have husbands. They have wives. They have a life. They are good people. They are thin. They are attractive. They have no flaws.

I do nothing for no one. I sit at home 7 days a week and stuff my face and watch reality television. I sit and stew in my self loathing and enact terrible violences toward myself on a minute by minute basis. I don’t feel worthy of the steps I take. I don’t feel worthy of the breath I make, nothing. I wish I was a completely different person. I would give anything to be anyone other than me.

I see people do things to better themselves and it makes me want to do the opposite, as if I’m somehow better than others because I’m humble and despise myself. Writing that now is the first time I’ve ever really thought about how ridiculous that is and how completely unfair to even myself that is. It makes me wonder if I even want to improve or if I want to be a person that lives in the past, worshipping my former body, my former self.

“Don’t be scared! It’s still me!”

The bleeding never stops. And in the end, only you remain. Even if its in the form of a monster. You’re still in there.

I took it too far today. As I dragged the key into my arm and saw the blood dripping down, I was met with so much shame. I was embarrassed over the way I was perceived and the way I acted over, idk, most of my life? But when I socialize and can’t control the way I am being seen and the way I act, the shame is so intense I have to find an energy outlet. Its so difficult to separate these thoughts from the desires to immediately carve out a piece of flesh or inject yourself. And now I am met with likely a lifelong scar that will serve as a permanent reminder of how much I hate myself.

Elisabeth ignores her own potential. It’s so deeply upsetting to see a character like Elisabeth feel this way and watching her downfall and how she becomes her own worst enemy. How can someone like that feel such a way? Look at her! Look at her life!

You always come back to yourself. Even as you fade from existence.

Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance is cathartic for those of us who hate ourselves. I wish I could kill so many part of myself, but The Substance made me realize that maybe beneath it all there is something about me that is worth celebrating, even if I haven’t discovered what exactly that is yet.

“It changed my life.”

#the substance #coralie fargeat #demi moore

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neopronouns · 9 months ago

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flag id: a flag with 7 stripes, which are near-black, tan, light yellow-green, green, medium dark bluish-green, very dark faded green, and near-black. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

aliensphynxic: a gender related to sphynx cats, ufos, green tractor beams, the movie 'the aliens are coming', executable code, the image below, and the phrase 'we are not alone'

[pt: aliensphynxic: a gender related to sphynx cats, ufos, green tractor beams, the movie 'the aliens are coming', executable code, the image below, and the phrase 'we are not alone'. end pt]

[image id: an image with a black background, which is bordered by red at the top and right and by blue at the bottom and left. it shows an older white computer with a hand made of a green grid reaching out of it to touch an outstretched pale human hand, somewhat similar to the painting 'the creation of adam'. a red light glows from between the two hands' index fingers. a blank image has been placed next to this image so it takes up less space on the screen. end id.]

for anon! the top and bottom black stripes are from the image, the second stripe represents sphinx cats and the human hand in the image, and the remaining stripes represent ufos, tractor beams, code, and aliens in general. the term is 'alien', 'sphynx', + 'ic'!

tags: @radiomogai, @liom-archive, @macchiane, @genderstarbucks, @sugar-and-vice-mogai | dni link

#aliensphynxic #my flags #my terms #new flag #new term #mogai flag #mogai term #mogai

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huffle-dork · 9 months ago

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Swap Across the CrystalVerse Chapter 7: PW Timeline

Read Swapboys | Crystal’s AUs | Read the PW Timeline

Read SITCV | SATCV Masterpost | AO3 Link

Alt lands, by himself, in a bedroom. It's not a familiar bedroom. Small, and made even smaller by how crowded it is with knickknacks. The walls are pale green. There's a desk, a wardrobe, a bed, and a small table shoved in the corner by a big window. On that table are candles, some figurines, bowls, a wooden wand, a plate with a five-pointed star drawn on it--an altar of some kind, apparently. And there's a cat. A small black one. Standing on the desk and staring directly at Alt with big yellow eyes.

Alt looks around the room and almost immediately groans out loud. He whacks the TRVLR in his hands with a scowl. "What is wrong with you?? Why are you acting up now??"

The TRVLR briefly shows the menu screen--and the code UF-0707019PW in the corner--before the low battery icon takes over.

Then, he notices the cat and he freezes. "Oh.. hi kitty?" He can't help but soften as he pockets the TRVLR and tries to get near it, holding out his hands for it to smell.

The cat immediately bolts, knocking down a water bottle and plastic cup of pencils as it jumps down from the desk and runs out the open bedroom door. No offense to Alt. Seems it just has the zoomies.

Alt glitches back in surprise and watches the cat jump away and can't help but laugh as he watches. Oh... tiny kitty zoomies. He remembers when Glitches had those-

Down a hallway, someone shouts. "Luna Void, I swear to fuck if you knocked over something important--no pets for the rest of the day!" It's followed by an exasperated groan and approaching footsteps.

Alt freezes at the voice. Shit! His mind blanks on something to do as he backs up- tries to think of something to say. He's broken into someone's house! ...completely on accident but! Still!

A man walks into the room, stopping in the doorway. He has long wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail, and is wearing a black sweatshirt with a design of a cresent moon made out of various-sized circles. He looks at Alt. His eyes widen and he backs away. "Wh-whoa, hey! Hey! I-I don't know how you got in here, b-but I'm calling the police!" He's reaching into the pocket of his jeans, probably going for his phone.

Alt jumps and glitches a bit to get closer, "Wait don't please I-I can explain!" He tries to say quickly. He searches the man's face, trying to see if he recognizes it. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you I just- d-don't know where I am-"

The man freezes the moment Alt glitches close to him. His eyes, somehow, go even wider. "What the--what the fuck?" He suddenly scrambles backwards. "How did--what--I--What the fuck?!" And then he turns and runs down the hallway.

"...shit-" Alt mutters and then tries to glitch after him. "Wait!"

The man reaches the living room, where there is another man standing. This one is wearing a blue button-up shirt and has a mustache. He clutches a phone in one hand like he's ready to dial.

"JJ!" the first man shouts. "I-I don't know what's going on, but--"

Then Alt appears in the hallway entrance. The first man spins around, gasping, and the second one jumps in surprise.

Alt finds himself freezing once again and he very slowly puts up his hands. "H-Hang on... please- I... I can explain- I'm not gonna rob you- or hurt you... I just... g-gotta figure out where I am." He swallows thickly. "Please, just, hear me out?"

He eyes the second man, taking in the signature look of JJ and feels himself start to relax. Okay- parallel again... so the first one must be... Marvin? Cuz cat?

The two men stare at him in shock. Slowly, Marvin backs up towards the coffee table. Then he quickly grabs a small piece of candy from a bowl and gently throws it at Alt.

Alt blinks and goes to catch it, holding it in his hands. He blinks comically back at the two men. "...uh... thank you?"

"What the fuck?!" Marvin shouts again. "You're real?!"

"Y-Yes I'm real!" Alt shouts back. He shoves the candy in his pocket and then shakes his hands, "Okay let's just.. back up. You already think I'm insane so let's just run with it!" He stands up taller and with confidence as he says, "My name is Alt Brody. I'm from another universe- a parallel one. Where the same people exist in different places. So... I know people just like you two, Jameson and Marvin."

The two of them just gape at him. Marvin glances at JJ and asks in sign language, Do you think this is a trick? Is A-N-T-I back?

He wouldn't do something that weird, JJ says. And if it was, he knows sign, you're not hiding anything.

"Fuck," Marvin curses.

"...I also know sign." Alt says sheepishly. His stomach drops at they seem scared once again of someone called Anti. Of course... at least the last one was kinda nice. "...I'm... technically a parallel of... your Anti. But, I'm not like.... evil or anything. I'm a magician."

Silence. "Okay. Yeah. Sure." Marvin laughs. "If this is a prank, it's not funny. Come on, where are the cameras? How did you do those weird effects?"

JJ just frowns at him. You're my age. You're not Anti.

Alt knits his eyebrows at JJ and slowly nods, "Yeah... you're younger than my JJ... huh." He then turns to Marvin and sighs, "It's not an effect." He holds out his arm and lets its glitch, showing it splitting into different colors and pixels before snapping back into place. "I'm magic. And also a glitch. Technically." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks at them. "...someone in your group... has to be magic... right? ...someone always is... somehow."

JJ and Marvin stare at the glitching. They both look weirdly pale. Marvin folds his arms, hiding how unnerved he is. "Yeah, okay, ha ha. I'm not that kind of witch. I-I-I don't know--how you're doing that--but this is a really fucking cruel joke."

I don't think he's joking, Marvin... JJ signs slowly.

"He--he has to be," Marvin says a bit desperately. "I-I mean--that sort of 'magic'--like in the movies--it's not fucking real!"

Now it's Alt's turn to look pale as his eyes widen. "...magic doesn't exist here...?" He breathes. Then, he pushes back his hair and slowly starts to laugh. "...oh boy... Mag is not gonna be happy..."

He looks back at them and opens up his palm, creating a ball of dancing electricity. He tosses it up into the air and as it hovers for a second, he glitches and then changes into a mostly black calico cat that stares at them up from the floor, his strange heterochromaic eyes practically glowing. Then, as the ball falls he glitches back and manages to catch it before it zaps away into the air. "...for me, magic is real." He says quietly. "I wouldn't lie about that."

Marvin and JJ watch all this silently, their faces an identical mix of awe and shock. Then Marvin slowly walks over to the sofa and collapses on it.

Are you okay, Marvin? JJ asks.

P-R-O-C-E-S-S-I-N-G. Marvin signs out the word letter by letter.

JJ nods. He leans back against the wall by the door. It's like... the many worlds theory.

You sound like H-doctor. Clearly, Marvin means 'Henrik' by that.

My point is, if it's true, then there are infinite possibilities. Including that magic is real somewhere.

"Fucking bejesus hell," Marvin mutters.

Alt shuffles sheepishly. "...sorry- we... haven't traveled to a world without magic before. I'm... so used to just being able to do it." His form buzzes with static for a bit, pixels vibrating off him before he forces himself to snap back together. "I guess it makes sense... we've been to enough places- about time we ended up in a place with no magic." He sighs and leans up against the doorway, "But that creates a lot of problems on my end..." He starts to take out his phone, hoping he can contact Jackie or Chase.

"This is... gonna be a lot," Marvin says. "Mr. uh... What was your name? Anti?"

He said 'Brody' too, JJ recalls.

"So, what? He's from a magical alternate universe where Anti is Chase's brother instead of y--"

JJ makes a shushing sound.

"Oh. Sorry."

Alt’s head snaps up at this, staring at Jj with wide eyes. “…you’re brothers with Anti…?” He asks quietly. He’s very quiet for a second, trying to imagine Dr. J being his sibling but… no. Too weird.

JJ tenses a little bit. By blood, he says carefully. Our relationship is... bad.

Marvin rolls his eyes. "Light way of putting it."

Alt nods in understanding.

“…it’s uh Alt, by the way.” He corrects Marvin, “don’t really go by Anti anymore… only Chase calls me that.”

For once, cell service and WiFi work. The cell service is abysmally low, but it's there.

Suddenly two cats run into the room. The small black one from before, chasing a fluffy ragdoll cat. The black one corners the ragdoll in and jumps on top of it, causing a "mrow!"

"Stop, you two," Marvin says automatically. "Not near the terrarium."

Alt glitches at bit back as the cats rush in but then his eyes sparkle. He kneels down, just to look at them as he grins. “Oh… such pretty kitties…!” He softly coos.

The ragdoll cat pushes away the black one, who zooms away while the ragdoll licks his paw.

Marvin grins. "That's Luna Void and Ragamuffin. They're my babies. Them and Salazar... though I wonder if I should change his name recently."

Marvin points at a large terrarium nearby. Inside, curled up on the floor, is not a pile of purple rope, but a snake. "I'm biased for the kitties, to be honest, though." Seems the cat talk has helped him recover from his rattled state of mind.

Alt giggles at their names. “Great names… I have a little void at home. Her name is Glitches. …you can probably guess why.”

Alt’s eyes wander to the terrarium and makes a slight Pog face as he almost glitches over- but he doesn’t want to scare the kitties or the snake.

“Woahhh! A snake! What a cool color!” Alt winces a bit at the name and laughs, “Yeah… not a great time for anything named from Harry Potter, huh?”

“He’s a lavender corn snake,” Marvin says, grinning. “And yeah… I’m thinking of calling him Crowley now, after a character in this book called Good Omens.”

Did you hear they’re making a series of that? JJ comments.

“I did! Think it’s coming out in May.”

Alt grins happily bouncing, “So cool- snakes are cool…”

Marvin takes a deep breath. “Okay. I think I’ve processed this whole… thing. Or at least I’m functional now. JJ? What about you?”

The same, JJ says.

“Alright. So.” Marvin looks at Alt. “If you’re… from an alternate universe… what are you doing here? How’d you get here?”

Once it seems like the others are settled he sighs and nods, “that’s the thing… we should be home. The first time we used this device, the TRVLR.” He pulls out the device to show them, “we didn’t know our code to get home but now we do and for some reason we keep ending somewhere different! Which might not be a problem if it was just me, my brother and Jackie… but we have a hitchhiker… a villain named Magnificent. He’s also magic… and very very dangerous. And everytime we jump- we end up separated… but pulled towards parallels we know in this universe.”

“Evil magicians,” Marvin mutters. “Ooookay. Great.”

JJ frowns. Don’t you use ‘Magnificent’ as your username on a lot of games?

“Wha—No!” Marvin says defensively. “It’s um… that… but in leetspeak. Whatever, are you saying I’m evil?”

I’m saying if they appear towards parallels of people they know, that’s a big coincidence.

Alt tries to hide his laugh about Marvin’s username.

“Okay whatever, moving on,” Marvin says hurriedly. “So we have to help you find this guy and the two others you came with? Jackie and… your brother? Chase, right?”

We know two people with those names, JJ says. If your friends appeared near them, we can contact them.

Alt sinks into his jacket and hides his hands in its pockets. “…you don’t have to help if you don’t want to- but… yeah they’ve most likely appeared by one of them.”

“Is Anti an option for people you appear by?” Marvin asks. “Since you’re like him? Because if that’s the case, they could be fucking anywhere, Anti skipped town a while ago.”

Let’s hope they don’t appear near Anti, JJ says. He would take advantage of that.

Alt stiffens as he hears about Anti and looks up in slight fear, “h-He skipped town? Oh… fuck. Yeah they… they might end up next to him- we’ve ended up in separate countries before… fuck!”

Please don’t panic, JJ says. If your friends have powers like you they can handle him easily.

“Can you call them or something?” Marvin asks. “Do phones work in other universes? If they don’t, we can at least check with Chase and Jackie.”

"Y-Yeah lemme see who I can call... I think I saw I had some bars..." Alt mumbles, taking out his phone. He dials Chase's number-

—————

Bro lands in a small, dark space that smells like cleaning supplies. What is this? A closet? Nearby, Jackie lands in an empty waiting room, with rows of chairs and a couple different hallways branching off. There’s a directory on the wall listing things that sound very hospital-like. He hears a clatter inside a doorway labeled ‘Janitor.’

Bro oofs and then feels around the room, laughing nervously. "H-Hey! Who turned off the lights?? Hello??"

Jackie rubs his head and shakes off the disorientation and then perks up when he hears Bro's voice. He laughs and goes to see if he can open the door- "H-Hang on Bro-!"

As Jackie goes over to open the doorway—which isn’t locked so he’s easily able to—another doorway opens. The front glass doors leading into this waiting room get pulled open and in walks a man in a snapback cap and gray jacket. He sees Jackie right away and grins. “I don’t think you’re allowed to go in there, bro.”

Jackie jumps slightly and whips around, looking at the man that entered. "Uhh-"

Bro peeks his head out of the closet, his own gray cap on backwards. "Yooo! Haven't ran straight into another me right away in hot minute! Sup?" He grins wide, going to shut the door to the closet behind him.

"You and Alt are wayyy too casual about all this jumping business, dude." Jackie mumbles.

"Eh its starts to feel less and less crazy with each jump."

The other Chase stops walking, taking in the sight of another him popping out of the closet. “Uh—What the—huh?” He stammers.

"See dude, you freaked him out!" Jackie says, nudging Bro.

Bro shrugs, "It gets all the weirdness out of the way!"

And then someone else appears, walking down one of those hallways. A man with shoulder length hair and round glasses, pulling on a red jacket. “Man, fuck that paperwork,” he mutters. “Hey Chase. Hey… wait a minute.” He glances between Jackie and Bro and Chase. “Uhhhhh…”

Jackieboy and Bro both blink at the new man that enters and Bro grins, pointing, "Eyyy two for one! Lets goooo!"

Jackie hits him again.

The other Jackie and Chase just stare at them. Then Jackie quickly walks over to Chase, giving the two a wide berth.

“Chase, what the fuck is going on?” he whisper-shouts.

“I dunno, I just got here! Isn’t there supposed to be a receptionist or nurse or something?”

“I think the desk guy is on break and I ditched the nurse.”

"Hi! Totally can still hear you by the way," Bro says cheerily. "Sorry to freak you out- we're you guys! From a parallel universe!" He beams. "Don't know where the hell we are though- hospital? I guess?"

"Probably- I've been in enough to recognize the smell." Jackie nods. "Uh sorry- to be honest I'm just as fucking lost as you two must be. But, I'm Jackie Mann- This is Chase Brody, also known as Bro Fantastic."

Bro waves.

The two of them just stare. Chase stiffens slightly as his name is mentioned, but they’re otherwise quiet for a while.

“Riiiight,” Jackie says slowly, clearly not believing them. “Well… good luck then. We’ve uh, actually got a thing to go to so we’ll be leaving now.”

“We do?” Chase says, confused.

Jackie nudges him. “Yeah. We do. So let’s go.” He looks more than a little freaked out.

“Yeah that’s a fair reaction-“ Jackieboy sighs.

“Oh- okay. No worries,” Bro says, letting his happy demeanor drop, “Guess you all don’t see this kinda stuff often here. Before you go though, can you tell us what city this is? Or I guess what hospital this is?” He shrugs, “We need to find some other people so it’d be nice to know. I think my cell should work here-“

Jackie pulls out his and nods, “Yeah I think we got bars.”

"Um... y-yeah, sure," Chase says uncertainly. "This is Southpoint General Hospital in Corrigale."

Jackie looks at him like he's crazy but he ignores him. "Um... m-meeting up with friends?"

"...kinda yes kinda no-" Bro laughs, "I gotta find my little bro, Alt. Then- well... we gotta find a really bad guy before he... does something... bad."

"wayyy to sugarcoat it, bro," Jackie mutters.

"They're already freaked out I don't wanna freak em out more!!" Bro whisper-shouts.

Chase and Jackie glance at each other. "Um... one second, please," Chase says, pulling Jackie to the side.

They're out of earshot for Jackieboy and his normal range of hearing, but Bro can still hear them whispering.

"Okay so they're not crazy fans of mine. They'd know I don't have a brother."

"Why do they look like us? What sort of bit is this? Are we on a fucking prank show? Who does that in a hospital?"

"I-I don't know! But, I... I don't think they're with Anti."

"Only Anti would be able to make makeup that real-looking, though."

"Maybe they really just look like us? Look, can you really see Anti pairing up with someone to fuck with us?"

"...No. I don't think he'd risk coming back into the city to do something so weird."

"...Chase I know you can probably hear them but can we just try to approach this like we're nor- okay yeah no you're not listening to me." Jackie tries to whisper to Bro but can already see his friend's eyes locked onto the other two.

In a quick zip, Bro comes a bit closer to them- not too close but definitely closer than he was. He blinks at them and tilts his head, "You guys mentioned a guy named Anti? That's technically who we're looking for! Well- my Anti- not yours, I'm guessing. Looks like this guy has you all kinda spooked. Is he a bad guy here?"

Jackie's head whips over to Bro. His face blanches and he suddenly bolts for the front door.

"Jackie!" Chase shouts. He glances at Bro. "I-I'm so sorry, he's--he's gone through some stuff. Jackie!" And he hurries after him.

Bro's face falls and he looks apologetic. He's frozen for a second before he rushes out after them.

“Wait- Chase!" Jackie yells out. He then sighs loudly before rushing after him.

Outside is a cloudy afternoon sky. Jackie presses his back against a lamp post, hands over his mouth and breathing heavily. Chase is trying to comfort him. "They said it's not the same guy, they're not with him, it's okay, nothing's gonna happen. It's okay, it's okay."

Bro slows down and tries to approach, "I-I'm so so sorry...! It's just... my brother- he's called Anti too. R-Really only by me but... I... I didn't know it would make you react like that... I promise my brother isn't anyone who would hurt you. He's... a really good guy- and magic! So... um... im... im really sorry..."

“F-funny name, hah…” Jackie leans his head back against the lamp post, moving his hands from his mouth to his chest. “I-it’s not your fault. It’s okay. This is just… really weird.”

“Do you need a moment?” Chase asks him.

“I’m good now. Promise.” Jackie rubs his eyes under his glasses. “S-so… your brother. His name is Anti? A-and he does magic tricks? Th-that’s cool.”

Bro looks sheepish as he nods, "Yeah... he goes by Alt now though. I call him Anti- but only sometimes. Cuz that's the name he wanted when he grew up."

"He can do more than just magic tricks- he's a magician. He can glitch and shit-" Jackie adds.

Chase blinks. “…glitch? More than tricks? What do you…” He trails off, realizing this isn’t the time for questions.

Bro looks really concerned, "... You don't have to say anything you don't want to but... I'm guessing your Anti... he hurt you? I just... we might run into him... knowing our track records. I wanna know what we might be getting into. ...my brother could be with him."

“Yeah, he… hurt me,” Jackie mutters. “Our friends, too. Y-you, uh, your brother probably won’t run into him. We think he left town to avoid the police.”

Bro nods solemnly, "...I'd be more inclined to believe that normally but... one time we ended up in other countries and... and he got really hurt there so I..." He looks terrified for a second and grips his hands into fists, "..police- so he's a criminal. Okay... I... I just hope Alt didn't end up with him." He looks back at Chase and Jackie and smiles slightly. "...I'm sorry for all the trouble. We can... get out of your hair- thank you for answering our questions."

"It's okay, really." Jackie nods slowly.

"Yeah, uh... nice to meet you. If a little weird." Chase laughs a little.

Jackieboy laughs, “Yeah it’s a bit strange. Thanks for humoring us.”

And then Bro's phone starts ringing.

Jackieboy and Bro seem like they’re ready to head out when Bro blinks and digs out his phone. “Oh! It’s Alt!” He quickly answers.

"Oh good!" Chase smiles a little. "Glad to hear he's alright--" And then his phone gives off a text tone. He blinks, answering it. "Uh... huh." He shows Jackie what he just received.

A messages from a contact labeled Double J. Weird question but have you run into anyone claiming to be from an alternate universe?

Jackie blinks. "What the hell...?"

“Chase! Are you okay?” Alt’s voice asks frantically on the other end. “Where are you?”

Bro looks relived, “We’re okay, are you?”

“Yeah I’m fine- I ended up with Marvin and jj- did you know there’s no magic here??”

Bro’s eyes widen, “Really? None at all?”

“No- they were really freaked when I got here - then they told me about the Anti here and I got scared that you were-”

“We’re not with him. I’m with Jackie actually- and we found both of our doppelgängers. But we’re okay- we’re actually right outside a hospital. Southpoint general.”

“Okay… it’s probably best for us to keep a low profile so- maybe we can see if someone can… drive us…?” Alt’s voice sounds disgusted at the thought.

Bro laughs. “Yeah maybe- I can ask.”

“And we’ll need to keep out for signs of Mag… I dunno how he’s gonna react to a world like this.”

“…Right. Okay bro bro we’ll keep you updated…”

Meanwhile, Chase is having a text conversation with JJ. Yeah how did you know?

Some guy showed up in Marvin's house. And I know it sounds crazy, but we believe he's telling the truth about the different world thing.

Jackie glances at Bro and Jackieboy. "What the fuck?" he whispers.

Chase keeps texting. How do you know for sure?

He could do impossible things. Like teleport and transform. I'm not fucking with you when I say this.

No yeah youre not the type Sounds like the guy is talking with his friends on the phone now. Something about meeting up. Chase and Jackie glance at Bro again.

I think were on the other end of that conversation Ask the guys for proof about being from another world. they might do something strange.

"You guys... weren't being serious about the parallel world thing... were you?" Jackie asks slowly.

Bro and Alt end their conversation for now and the hero blinks back at Jackie. “Oh no I’m completely serious.” He says, not missing a beat. He then grins mischievously. “Want me to prove it?”

“Bro didn’t Alt just say-“ Jackie tries to warn.

“I’m! From a world! Where Chase Brody is a superhero~” Bro laughs and then steps back into the air, hovering a little bit off the ground. He beams.

Chase's mouth drops open. The phone falls from his hand.

Jackie just stares blankly. "I'm not... I'm not hallucinating, right, Chase?" he mutters.

Chase shakes his head slowly. Then he suddenly bursts into laughter. "Man. Why couldn't I be born in the universe where I'm a superhero?"

"I mean... technically... you were, I guess. And this is... you?" Jackie gestures at Bro.

"Yeah. Yeah." He bends down and picks his phone up again. "Well. Uh. You probably don't want to fly like that for too long. Or else you're gonna end up all over the internet."

“Yeah Chase get down you’re not even wearing your mask!” Jackieboy scolds as he grabs Bro by the jacket and pulls him down.

Bro laughs and touches down quickly, messing with his hair. “Yeahhh that’d be bad for you… don’t want that. Not being able to fly around is gonna suck ass though-“

“Oh boo hoo- you’ll have to be normal like the rest of us for a bit-“ Jackieboy grumbles.

Bro shrugs, “So Alt is actually with your friends Marvin and Jj! So he’s safe- for now at least…. But that only leaves the issue of Magnificent…”

“Magni…what?” Chase asks.

“Isn’t that Marvin’s name on Minecraft?” Jackie asks.

“Oh my god- that’s amazing.” Jackieboy laughs.

“I don’t know, I don’t play Minecraft.” Chase says.

“You should ask JJ to add you to his server, it’s really cool, there’s a mushroom biome at spawn—” Jackie starts to ramble.

“God- we should get back into minecraft-“ Jackie blog says to Bro.

“Maybe if I didn’t have to keep catching this damned cat.” Bro grumbles.

“We’re getting off topic.” Chase shakes his head. “Okay. Remembering what you guys said, Magnificent is probably the guy you’re looking for. The bad guy you have to stop. Am I right? Do you have any idea where he could be?”

Bro shakes his head, “I have no idea. We have ways to track each other- but no way to track Mag. Usually… he ends up finding his way back to us. And if this place has no magic… he’s probably gonna try to find Alt. He has the device we use to travel between worlds.”

Jackie sighs. "This is... so much."

"W-well, uh... I can at least give you guys a ride?" Chase suggests. "Jackie can't drive, and I don't know if you guys know the bus system here."

“Yeah if you don’t mind that’d be great,” Jackieboy replies with a smile. “I know it’s a lot- a have a hard time following along when it’s stuff just in our universe-“

“Oh but- you guys were going into the hospital for something right? We don’t want to get in the way of that.” Bro adds.

"Oh, Chase was picking me up," Jackie explains. "I was, uh, in there for a while. But I'm good to go now."

"I kinda wanted to stop by and check on Jack," Chase mutters. "But this feels more important. I'm sure he'd understand."

"The question is, would he believe us?"

Chase opens up the camera on his phone. "That's what photographic evidence is for. Hey, other me? You wanna take a picture together?"

"Oh my god." Jackie rolls his eyes, but still smiles.

Bro’s eyes light up and he bounces slightly. “Yeah! Let’s do it!” He rushes over to stand next to Chase.

“Dork!” Jackie calls with a grin.

"God, the dork-ness transcends universes, doesn't it?" Jackie agrees.

“Yeah- but unfortunately he’s my dork.” Jackieboy laughs.

"Alright, say cheese." Chase holds the camera up high and does a peace sign as he takes the picture. Bro copies the gesture with a big ol’grin.

"And we're good." Chase puts his phone away. "We can do more later. I think we should head out now. I want to meet your brother. Oh! Wait a minute. He must be an alternate version of Anti, then? A... nice one?"

"Now that is hard to believe," Jackie says. "Oh, uh, I'm sure your brother is great, though."

Bro beams and nods. Then he messes with his hair. “Yeah- Alt’s a good guy. He’s not like a lot of Antis we meet. You’ll see. I uh- I think Alt said they’re at Marvin’s house?”

Jackie pauses. "I'm looking forward to meething him, then." "Great, that's not too far," Chase says. "Come on. I'm parked over here."

-----------

Magnificent lands on a carpeted floor. This is a long hallway of some kind, lined with doors that have numbers printed on them. Probably in a hotel. ...No, not a hotel. It's too... clinical for that. The magic ice holding his arms to his sides is gone. Not melted, just disappeared like it was never there, leaving only a lingering chill.

Magnificent pushes himself up, suppressing the chill that the ice left behind. He looks around the hallway curiously. He, of course, tries to look around for any sign of magic nearby. Surely there must be something?

... Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Usually he's able to sense at least some distant magic, but not this time. In fact, he almost feels his own magic more drained than normal. What the fuck?

Magnificent's stomach drops dramatically. There's no magic here? ...oh no.

There are voices coming from around a corner. They're coming closer.

He hears voices coming and he curses, quickly using his power to change him into his Jack the Magnificent disguise. But- less showman-y and more... business like. He tries to casually look like he belongs.

A group of three people round the corner. There's a short woman with black hair, wearing a white coat, a taller man in some sort of beige uniform that kind of looks like nurse's scrubs, and a man with brown hair wearing an off-white sweater, holding a notebook and pencil bag.

"--really glad it's been working out," the woman is saying. "I'd love to see what you're working on some time, but you don't have to share if you don't want to."

"No, I know, thank you," the brown-haired man says. "I feel like I should show you, yes? I mean, there is the therapy in art therapy--" He's the first to notice Magnificent. And he stops short, staring at him, confused. "...Marvin?"

The woman and other man also notice.

Magnificent stiffens. ...he knows that accent. He waves timidly, trying to seem friendly. "H-Hey! Whats up?"

...he's so fucked-

"Um... how did you get in here?" the woman asks. She looks at the tall man. "Oliver?"

"What? I didn't let anyone in."

The woman sighs. She gives Magnificent--under the impression that it's Marvin--a stern look. "You know we have security cameras, right? You can't just break in whenever you want. Aren't you still paying that fine?" She's close enough that Magnificent can see she has a name tag: Dr. Rya Laurens.

Magnificent tries his best to process this all quickly and sticks his hands in his pockets, shrugging. "What? I can't visit my good friend Schneep? Seems your security is a little lax so- you can thank me for showing you its flaws." He tries to laugh.

Schneep blinks. "When did you cut your hair...?"

Mag blinks at Schneep and pats his hair, "Oh uh- recently. It was getting in the way... you know?"

"Oh. I thought you liked it long." Schneep looks confused, but he accepts this.

Dr. Laurens still looks a bit annoyed. "Well... you still can't just do that. We're all on edge after what happened with Anti. You'll have to go."

"Ah right... the Anti thing." Mag says, nodding like he understands. "Dunno why that just... slipped my mind.”

"Um... w-well, he came all this way, we can... talk for a little bit," Schneep stammers. "I-I can show him my room."

"I don't know if we can allow that..." Laurens says slowly. "But... we can go down to the visitor's room, if you want."

“It's alright, Henrik- I can just come back and visit another time. Properly, of course." Mag tries to smile charmingly. "Though- i turned myself around so- maybe you can least help me find the way back out?"

Schneep chuckles. "Your sense of direction is still terrible, then?"

Laurens also smiles a bit. "Okay. Sure. Schneep, you want to come with?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Alright, then. Oliver, do you mind?"

Oliver shrugs. "Nah."

"Very professional sounding of you," Schneep mutters.

"It's this way, we'll take the stairs," Laurens says, hurriedly turning around back the way they came.

"Ah thanks- 'ppericate it." Mag smiles and follows after them.

As they walk Magnificent lingers behind, trying to see if he can probe into any of their minds... just to see what universe they're dealing with. He tries to look through Schneep's mind first.

There is absolutely no resistance to Magnificent's probing, but what he sees doesn't really make much sense. Schneep's thoughts and memories are in scattered fragments, interspersed with things that look incredible--bleeding shadows moving on the walls, eyes dangling from the ceiling, the feeling of things crawling beneath the skin--but aren't... consistent in the way real things are. The figure of a man with two-colored eyes loom large in his memories, half his face terribly scarred. Fear is linked to this figure and his cruel grins. Magnificent sees a man in a red hood screaming, arm bent at an awkward angle, and flashes of dead people's faces. There's a man with a mustache and gentle smile whose face sometimes flickers into the scarred man's, there's one with a snapback cap who's smiling at him, one with green-dyed hair who has the memory of sickness and guilt attached to him, one with a long wavy ponytail--ah, that's his other-world counterpart. The more recent memories are the most stable, many of them involving hour-long conversations with this Laurens woman, all of them taking place in this building. A hospital. But not the normal kind of hospital.

Hmm... so Schneeplestein is in a mental institution. Fascinating. But, not helpful. It seems there's no mysterious power or anything to harness here. The two-colored eyed man seems interesting but not in a way that captures his attention. Sure, he could conquer these guys minds and maybe suck their life forces if he's desperate. But... what is there to gain? Boring... hm... what to do...

They reach the first floor, winding through some hallways towards the front of the building.

"You know they say I will be able to leave soon," Schneep says. "Not on my own, a-and not... permanently, I mean. I'm not ready for that. But for small trips into the city. Maybe we could... do something when that happens." He trails off.

"That'd be nice, Henrik." Mag replies shortly, still caught up in his head.

Something has been bothering Schneep about Marvin during this short trip. He's trying to ignore the paranoia, but it's hard. Is this... really Marvin?

...He doesn't think it is. There's something in the way that he walks that's off. He's too... confident. In a way that almost reminds him of... him.

"Schneep, are you okay?" Laurens asks. "Remember to breathe. You're not breathing."

"I-I-I am f-fine," Schneep says. "Um... Marvin has been in this area before, h-he should know where to go from here."

Magnificent pauses as he realizes Schneep seems to be more wary all of sudden. His right eye burns bright green as he tilts his head at Schneep. "Is something the matter, Hen? You don't want to lead me to the door?"

Schneep gasps as his eye starts to glow. He staggers backwards, dropping his notebook and pencil bag.

"Hey, be careful," Oliver says, crouching down to get those for him.

"Schneep?" Laurens follows Schneep's line of sight--and sees Magnificent's eye glowing green. Her jaw drops. "...what?"

Magnificent starts to laugh, "Oh- did I give something away?" He chuckles a bit more and shakes his head and as he raises his head again, you can see the scars around his left eye. "Oh well... cat's out of the bag, now, isn't it~?"

A bloom of spiraled magic appears behind him as he laughs, "Don't know what I'll do in such a pathetic world but... a puppet is a puppet~!"

"Wh-what is--th-this is not possible--" Schneep stammers, backing up.

Laurens reaches for the pager on her belt, about to call for security.

Oliver pops up and pushes his way to the front, protecting the other two.

Mag starts to approach them slowly, grinning sinisterly as he puts a finger to his lips.

"Hush now, kittens. Don't want to alert the other normies to my magnificence just yet~"

The effects are instant. They don't know how to pull away. They don't know what Magnificent is even trying to do. The moment their eyes land on the magic, all of them are instantly under his spell. Schneep lets out a final squeak of protest before the magic completely takes over his mind.

"Mmmm excellent job, kittens.... don't fight it now." He giggles and prowls closer. He goes straight to Schneep and lifts up his chin. He hums, "Oh... I missed seeing this face under my power~! You know, Schneeplestein... I think you can aid me quite well..." He looks at Laurens and Oliver and tilts his head. He then snaps and shoos them off. "You two. I have no need of you. Lock yourself in one of these rooms and forget me and Henrik were ever here, won't you?"

Laurens and Oliver nod. They walk over to the nearest room, with Laurens dropping her keycard on the ground before closing the door on them.

"What will we do now?" Henrik asks quietly.

"Hm... what will we do indeed?" Mag giggles. He looks around and then hums. "We should get away from the cameras... we have a naughty cub to find." He grabs Henrik and in a snap, him and Schneep disappear in a flicker of static out of the hospital.

#SATCV #SATCV PW #alt anti #bro fantastic #swap magnificent #jackie mann #as someone who's only read like a 3rd of the PW timeline this was wild for me ajhkja #but also very fun #its not often the boys meet people without some kind of magic fuckery!#also mag is such a brat in this section it was kinda fun to play XD

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