#to the point that he actually pulls a knife on someone in real life

[ampersand-ghoul]

As someone who's survived PTSD and has DID, I really see a lot of very similar traits in Sunny that I see in myself and I actually hc Omori himself as protector/gatekeeper alter and Something as a persecutor.

[luveline]

Babe congrats on quitting!!!

I live coworker!James sm he is so lovely and i cant heló bit asking for more

R having a bad day and James doent know until he teeases her and she just like opens up to James a bit more?

thank you!!

You can’t escape Remus’ sweet questions of concern, though he’s tactful. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Remus asks, James a haunting somewhere near the customer complaints desk. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You really don’t wanna come to dinner with me?” 

It’s a nice offer, but Remus is part of a package deal, and he’s the only one of the three who isn’t exhausting; Remus’ boyfriend Sirius is well meaning but so beautiful and so alarmingly aware of it, while James is all those things too, but much less subtle about it. “I’m too tired for the walking, thank you. I’m just gonna stay here and eat my sandwich in slow bites.” 

Remus laughs, wrapping his scarf tight around his neck. He doesn’t tuck it under his coat. Sirius will do that for him. It’s heartbreaking to see every day, a reminder of real love in the world that will seemingly never touch you, but it’s cute too. 

James rockets back to his desk. He’s always in a hurry. Half-frantic, he pulls his rucksack from under his desk and unzips the main body. To your horror, he unveils a large Tupperware of white rice, asparagus, and what looks to be chicken thighs. Next comes his portable knife fork. 

He notices your watching. “It’s just rice and chicken,” he says defensively. 

“No, I’m not–” You shake your head. “Not about what you’re eating. Eat what you want, James.” 

“Don’t I always?” he asks. “Not about what I’m eating. Your general look of disgust and disdain is to do with something else, then. Did you accidentally look in the ladies bathroom mirror again?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

James tucks his chair in, face paused, hands hesitating at the sides of his dinner and then flat to the desk. “Hey, is something wrong?” 

Maybe his comment before struck a nerve. Maybe you’re having a terrible day, and everything’s piling up, and you can’t be expected to keep in your feelings forever. Or maybe you’re dumb. “Guess I did look too long in the mirror,” you say. 

“You’re upset?” he asks, startled.

You shake your head vehemently. Slow. “I’m just having a bad day.” 

“What happened?” 

You stare at him for a moment, take in the concerned twitch of his brows as they pull down and in, the set of his nice mouth, remarking to yourself on how the snarky sarcasm erases itself from his expression so quickly, leaving behind a boy with a very sweet face. 

His hand curls into a loose fist. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“I don’t know if you ever get this, but sometimes I,” —your face goes white hot suddenly, an acknowledgment of the powers over you you’re giving him in needing reassurance— “look at myself and I feel a bit off. And I thought if I had lunch by myself I’d have time to not be looked at? Um. Which is why I was unhappy. Not because of you.” You frown at him. “You do make me unhappy, though.” 

He pretends to laugh at your weak insult, which is generous. “So you actually did get upset looking in the mirror? Shortcake, I was kidding about that, it's not like it makes any sense.” 

You frown at one another. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re nothing worth being upset over?” James suggests. “You’re pretty. You know you’re pretty.” He points at you with his fork. “You do know?” 

“No,” you mumble. 

“I’m not telling you again,” he says, looking strangely as though he’d quite like to tell you again. 

“I’m consistently below average.” 

“Where? Do you have an address? I must go to this place where you’re the standard.” 

Something weird and queasy summons to life in your chest, before levelling into a surprising pleasure. That was definitely a compliment, and from James, though annoying he might be, it means a lot. He’s outrageously good looking, after all, and especially when he smiles, which is nearly constant. He’s smiling now with the fondness of someone who knows you better than he actually does. 

He ruins it rolling his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Which I’ve come to expect!” he says, sliding a thumb under the clasp of his Tupperware. “Why would you think you’re not lovely? To look at, that is. You’re a huge pain otherwise.” 

“That’s uncharacteristically mean, even for you.” 

“I’m balancing it out. Want some asparagus?” 

You excuse yourself for a quick trip to the bathroom, where you mouth questions at your reflection of the puzzled variety. Has James been replaced by a body snatcher? Or are you finally seeing the version of him everybody else in the office seems to know?

When you get back to your desk, your figurines have been upended by a ‘freak earthquake’. He’s back to normal.

[tomieafterdark]

Toxic!Eren drabble (18+ minors dni) 

Synopsis: you want to break up but your bf is too toxic to allow that. 

Recently I had a conversation with someone and it kind of inspired this drabble (If you feel like Eren is not like canon Eren here, it is because his personality here is also based on whoever inspired this smut), except he did not fuck me after saying he would leak shit if i backstabbed him. Also a tiny disclaimer: I feel like this is obvious but I will say it anyway, everything written in this is purely fictional and should be kept that way. If anyone tries this with you in real life, get help. This is also not an accurate representation of my dynamic with whoever this smut is based on, he just has his “moments” and I like making smut out of them. That is all.

About ten minutes ago, you told Eren you wanted to break up. Things aren’t working out, and he’s way too much for you right now. Instead of having a normal reaction, he does the unthinkable—threatening to leak certain information about you and certain pictures.

It hurts you deeply, not to the core but close enough. Trust isn’t easy to build up, and it was even worse for you considering your past wounds that still haven’t healed. Every bit of trust you had built up just shattered in that moment, as if it was never there to begin with. 

He is dangerously good with words, sometimes it makes you feel like you’re his puppet and he pulls the strings whenever he wants to. Even if you can resist his words, his intense stare will pull you in instead. He has the most beautiful eyes, of course no one can resist their pull. 

When you were upset about him threatening to leak your information and photos, he just started pulling the strings without a care in the world which is what led you here; back arched, face buried in the plushie, whimpering and crying as he pounds you with no mercy. 

Your mind is foggy, you still haven’t processed the words that came out of his mouth when you wanted to break up. You did not, in a million years, expect those words to come out of him. It pretty much feels like a knife to your throat. Just as you are about to get lost in thought and perhaps cry some more, he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls on it harshly. 

“Get a grip.” He says coldly and lets go of your hair. 

You try to argue back, but he is 5 steps ahead and starts circling your clit before you even open your mouth. Whatever you were wanting to say just comes out as incoherent blabbers and whimpering as your insides squeeze tighter around him. He chuckles in response and mutters “that's what I thought” under his breath.

Since he is 5 steps ahead he is also aware you will cum any second now, which is why he switches positions quite hastily. He has your legs resting behind your ears as he teases your entrance by barely giving you the tip. He knows you get needy and will do or say anything to cum. You look up at him, that smug sadistic look on his face puts you in subspace faster than you can blink. At this point he practically got what he wanted, you won't want a breakup after this. Whatever else he does to you is just for fun. 

“Please..” you plead, looking up at him with puppy eyes. You had cried so much earlier that your face was glowing from it.  

“Repeat what you were telling me earlier babe,” he says while continuing to tease your sensitive entrance with the tip. “Tell me how I am too much for you and how you don't want to continue this!” You can hear the anger in his voice now, he does not take kindly to breakups unless he is the one doing it. This was peak betrayal to him. 

Something about him turns you into a horny nymph, even though this was your chance to resist and actually break up with him, your body and mind were both betraying you completely. You were so desperate for him, being manhandled and fucked disrespectfully hard by him was the only thing on your mind right now. His firm grip on your thighs, as he was pushing them back further, was not helping. He could feel your pussy squeezing and fluttering around his tip, even if you were not saying a word right now the rest of your body was very loud and clear. 

You feel your eyes watering again, from the frustration this time. It doesn't help that he is staring right into them, all while caressing your face. Staring into his eyes, especially with the state you are currently in felt like a trance. You were so lost in his eyes, you weren't even aware of how you were trying your best to move against his tip, completely desperate for any friction you could get.    

You have no idea how much your crying turns him on, same with your frustration and desperation. It was about time he reminded you again of how badly you need him, a reminder that no one but him could get you to act like this just for dick. He was equally desperate for you, probably more frustrated than you but he is so stoic and cold on the outside. You would never know. He had enough of messing with you though, and by the looks of it you were nearing your edging limit. 

His right hand lets go of your thigh, creeping up to your neck instead. He keeps eye contact as he chokes you very lightly. He is so close to your face, staring deep into your eyes with a predatory look. It makes you shudder, but it also makes you want to spread your legs even more for him. 

The way he suddenly bottoms out fully, with no warning, has you seeing stars. You had been in this position with previous partners, but none of them reached this deep inside of you. You have to bite your cheek to not scream, especially when you look down on your stomach for a split second and you can see his dick print on it. You suddenly remember that back when you had just gotten to know each other, you texted him saying you want him in your guts. Looks like you got what you wished for. 

He chokes you harder while pushing your head back, making you look right into his eyes again. His stare is so intense, you want to look away sometimes. His stare made you feel so vulnerable and exposed, it cut right through all your layers and saw right through your soul. It would not be too far off to say his eyes were fucking your soul. 

“I-I’m gonna cum-” you whimper, struggling to keep eye contact. You know exactly what you have to say next if you don't want him to suddenly stop and edge you even more.

“I’m sorry for causing unnecessary drama-” you cry out. “I-I was wrong..I do not want to break up..I love you!” 

“That's right.” He smiles and starts thrusting into you even harder, he drops eye contact now and the focus shifts to between your legs. He is obsessed with how you take all of him in so well, he loves watching you swallow him whole and he especially loves that you are so sensitive that you quiver and squeeze around him at every movement he does. 

He doesn't stop fucking you when you cum. Not even slowing down the pace. 

Instead, both his hands are on your hips now slamming you against his pelvis. You keep squirting, but he doesn't stop even for a second. You are so overstimulated at this point, every few thrusts make you cum all over him. 

You are close to tapping out at this point, eyes rolling at the back of your head. You are in safe hands though, he may be toxic and not allow you to break up because he is too possessive and wants to almost own you, but with that comes him being extremely careful of you. He pulls out and slaps you lightly to wake you up, fully attentive of you now. 

“Babe, are you okay?” He asks, albeit in a cold uncaring tone, but that's just how he sounds in general. He really does care.  

He comes back and slaps you again lightly, holding a glass of water in his other hand. You wake up this time. 

You don't really say anything when you regain consciousness nor do you drink the water, you just mumble “I am fine” under your breath and start straddling him. There is something about his caring nature that turns you on so much, his attention to detail is already attractive as it is but when it shows like this during sex it just makes you want him on a different level. 

The breakup was history at this point, now you were on top of him whispering dirty things in his ears. You wanted him to fill you to the brim with his cum, then fuck you with all the cum in you and cum in you some more. You had never met a guy that unlocked this side of you, it feels unreal, he is so perfect it drives you mad. 

“Please fill me up, I need you so bad..” You were crying in his ears as you quickly slid his cock inside of you, wasting no time and starting bouncing on it. “I truly am sorry for earlier, I could never be without you!” 

He is both amused and extremely turned on by your behavior, mostly turned on though as he wastes no time, putting you on your back with your legs on his shoulders. Eren had no idea how hot he looked, the sounds he was making was music to your ears. You were staring in awe as he came inside of you. 

You truly can't get enough of him, so when he collapses next to you on the bed, you crawl over to him licking him clean hoping it will lead to a round two in the shower perhaps. 

Author's note: I did not proofread this. If you find any mistakes, take it to the grave pls. 

© 2024 tomieafterdark | All rights reserved

[gallusrostromegalus]

So, I am begging you here, pls tell me that Ikkaku and Yumichika are still bffs on this AU. I need the violent miss- and yet perfectly matched bastards to still be forever ride-and-die with each other.

Also, all the dropped tidbits relating to Yumichika are gold and I am hoarding them like a squirrel hoards his nuts for winter.

They are actually, for real, legally married.

Ikkaku was 500% ready to fight the entire Gotei-13 when he took the 628-year old marriage certificate he and Yumichika had gotten in 72 North to the Seireitei Records Office to be honored.

Instead, the sole hiccup in the process was the young lady behind the counter asking him to spell Yumichika's surname for her as this document seems to have been... stained, at some point.

"-That's not... Blood, is it?" She asks, concerned.

"Uh. It's actually. Um. Soy Sauce." Ikkaku mumbles.

It would have been less embarrassing if it had been blood.

Turns out, Gay marriage- and indeed, divorce, or changing your name, or gender, or becoming the third, fourth or seventeenth parent/legal guardian to a kid is a nonissue in soul society, because someone complained *once* and Yamamoto declared that, one, he didn't care, and two, the rest of the military commanders were hired off death row, and *this* is what you're complaining about? Fuck off.

But here are some Yumichika Fun Facts:

Everyone in the 11th division has really, really good personal hygiene and well-cared for hands, feet and nails because Yumichika's mother was a doctor at a rural hospital and put the fear of dysentery, cholera, pneumonia, tetanus, sepsis, trench rot and necrosis into him even more than fear of the gods, and he very much continued this sanitary evangelism.

Yumichika's other mother was a drag queen at the brothel that adjoined the hospital and taught him all about hair, makeup, poisons, manners, alley fights, how to play the shamisen, how to make a knife out of anything, flower arrangement and how to curse the hell out of a motherfucker of it comes to that.

Kubo was wrong Yumichika looks out for all his sisters not just his cis-ters.

Kenpachi was friends with Yumichika before either of the ever knew Ikkaku. He met Yumichika shortly after adopting Yachiru when Yumichika saved him from drowning in the river that ran through his home village.

Kenpachi asked Yumichika what he could do in gratitude for saving his life, and Yumichika, seeing his sword, asked if Kenpachi could "give him a real fight, for once"

They had a jolly little scrap that left Yumichika in the hospital for three months, an almost insatiable lust for battle, and a permanent bald scar on the edge of his eyebrow, which is where he glues the decorative feathers he wears.

It also got him (lovingly) told to move out and make his way in the world.

Yumichika met Ikkaku some years after that, when the theater/brothel he was working at hired Ikkaku on as an Emcee and a comedy act in his own right.

Ikkaku loves making people laugh and is damn good at it.

Yumichika was already considering making a move on him when a heckler pulled a sword on Yumichika during his act and Ikkaku beat the shit out of him with a chair without a second thought, and Yumichika decided he was going to seduce and marry this bald little maniac then and there.

It still took the better part of six months, because Ikkaku was convinced that Yumichika was "Way out of his league" and "He's just being friendly to a coworker!".

Things finally became clear when, having reached a boiling point of sexual frustration, Yumichika challenged Ikkaku to a duel, beat the hell out of Ikkaku with Kujaku, and screamed his feelings directly into Ikkaku's face.

"Oh." Said Ikkaku. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I'VE BEEN SAYING THINGS AND SHOWING YOU THINGS AND SITTING IN YOUR LAP AND KISSING YOU FOR SIX MONTHS YOU FUCKING MORON."

"...I may be stupid."

"At least you're also cute. C'mere you sexy cueball."

-and they have been blissfully if dramatically wedded since.

It was many years after that that they had moved on to a different brothel as a duo floor show act, when they got to talking to some of the other working girls about their travels and Yumichika tells the story of how he got his eyebrow scar saving a real freak of a guy from drowning after he got stabbed by a river stingray, but then he challenged him to a fight because- well, he was young and cocky and a small fish, but in a tiny pond- and promptly got his ass beat.

"That's wild!" Says Ikkaku. "I also challenged a random freak with a stingray scar on his leg to a fight because I was bored and- all due respect to you and Kujaku, my beloved - but he gave me a thrashing the likes of which I'd never had before or since. He had his daughter with him was the weird part- he was a real big bastard, face like a cliff, but his girl was this adorable little pink thing."

Yumichika sits up, frowning. "-seven feet tall in socks, big vertical scar on the right side of his face?" He asked, gesturing to his own.

Ikkaku put his drink down and pointed at Yumichika "-and bells in his hair! You fought Zaraki Kenpachi too??"

"Yes! What the hell?" Yumichika laughed. "I wonder where he is now..."

"Oh Gods, he had the WORST sense of direction! He's probably managed to walk in and back out of the Soul King's palace on accident!" Ikkaku giggled

"Well, if he's the same seven foot tall sword bastard with the scarred face and pink little girl on his shoulder as the seven foot tall sword bastard with the scarred face and the pink little girl on his shoulder standing out in the street looking lost as hell, you can go ask him." Said their coworker Sachiko, pointing to the giant standing not a dozen feet away.

"Look Ken-chan! It's YuYu and Baldy!" Yachiru giggled.

"Yachiru!" Yumichika gasped, delighted.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!" bellowed Ikkaku.

"YOU AGAIN!" Zaraki bellowed, ecstatic. " BEEN A FEW YEARS, LET'S SEE HOW MUCH YOU LEARNED!!"

Ten minutes of incredible violence, twelve minutes of evading the police and twenty-one minutes of getting lost on the way back to the brothel, a bloodied but still standing Yumichika was explaining to the Madame that the giant bastard carrying the unconscious half of her prized floor show duo behind him was, in fact, an old friend of theirs whom she should absolutely hire as a bouncer, you can see how effective he is!

Madame Tsubaki, who recognizes incredible spiritual power and fighting potential when she sees it, and who is still very petty about the divorce from her husband the Shinigami Captain-General, allows herself to be persuaded.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Thoughts on Jason Todd’s choice of weaponry?

:D an ask! Yay!

Oooh, lets see, I'll start with the crowbars because I appear to be like one of three people on the entire planet who actually likes them.

They're a tacky as fuck riff on the fact that Jason's death is central to his character. They overemphasize the manner in which he died, muddy the waters about what part of his death is important to him, and strangely cheapens the manner in which he died through the parody feel of it.

No one seems to really disagree with my analysis here, but I happen to enjoy that about them and think it's very on brand for Jason. What can I say? They're fun!

Best Quality - His Wiggles

This ultra-sharp curved blade used to be his signature character design feature, the way the white streak in his hair is now, and I'm really not sure why it didn't stick!

Best weapon he's ever had, bring it back please!!!!!

The All-Blades

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...

I have mixed feelings about the All-Blades. Like much of Lobdell's work: phenomenal idea, poor execution. Giving the guy who is most known for being morally grey a set of powers that is exclusively based on moral absolutes sucks shit, I gotta be honest, and the trick he pulled on the blood blade was cool but ultimately does nothing to solve those problems.

HOWEVER

I want to love them so fucking badly. A set of glowy soul blades is a dope sicknasty off the chain concept and I wish the well wasn't poisoned with the moral implications and the restrictions to use them only on the "Untitled", a set of enemies that only exist for Jason so far as I can tell. If someone seriously took Jason down a magic based path that removed the DnD alignment chart bullshit, I would be so game to see them come back! Hell I wouldn't even insist on a better cooler design for them!

...though uh, yeah those are the least interesting magic sword designs I've ever seen tbh

Normal Ass Swords

They're alright I guess. Like, there's nothing in it really, but it's not bad?

Guns - Real Bullets

Excellent, evocative yet simple, straightforwards and to the point. It makes hella sense thematically to boot, love this for him, please give him back his pistols and miniguns and shit

Guns - Rubber Bullets

Hate. HATE. hate ick disgusting bad NO.

I just fucking hate rubber bullets, like, as a concept. I refuse to accept "non-lethal" bullets as a valid use of gun, either in real life or in fiction. Guns are for putting many holes in things very fast!!!! If you're gonna use a gun, fucking well own up to that!!! Do not play this silly ass game of pretending that you can change out the material and do the same things as with lead bullets but with the video game status effect of "non-lethal" applied. YOU ARE GIVING PEOPLE SMALL CIRCULAR BRUISES. This is still harmful, yes, ooph ouchie, but it is not even slightly a good use of a gun, you are wasting holster space, and carry weight, and the physical materials used to make it all!!

JUST USE A FUCKING STICK! YOU DON'T RUN OUT OF STICK AMMO!

My belief in his capacity to take out enemies is shattered the instant those fuckers are on panel. Maybe this ain't entirely rational, or realistic to how fights go with rubber bullets IRL, but I hate them so much on principle that I will ignore any counterargument you might have that they'd work. I will die on this hill. Rubber bullets BAD. Please stop making him use this!!

Bombs

Love it, give him more bombs forever

ka-BOOM!!!!

His Brain

This is actually his best weapon - sorry wiggly knife, you're being shunted down to number 2 on a last minute technicality! I think Jason is at his best when he's outsmarting people and making long term fucked up schemes to ruin people's lives.

He's so good at it! It's so fun to watch him do it!

Genuinely a shame that this facet of him was mostly lost after Flashpoint, though to give credit where it is due, in Rebirth Jason did ruin the Penguin's life in an impressively elaborate way, which I did really enjoy. I want to see him be a tactical deliberate menace to one person in specific again idk, that's part of why I do kinda agree that he works better as an antagonist than a protagonist - which it should be noted does not mean I think he works better as a villain necessarily, his ethics aren't what matter here - he's just had his best moments as the schemer, and it's hard to have a protagonist schemer even when you make them ethically the good guy.

I hope you enjoyed my nattering on about Jason's weapons :D thank ye again for ask!

[akunoniwa]

Knife Prty

AN: gang. I've not published anything in like. Three months. For me, this ""piece"" is more of a way to break the ice of my mind that's since frozen over. Overall, I am very reluctant to write, let alone publish, Astarion for various reasons, but I was listening to Deftones one day and was feeling devious.

Synopsis: In which you hold the memory of your first encounter with him very near and dear... He uses it to his tactical advantage...

Pairing: Astarion x fem!reader/tav

Warnings: MDNI, knife play, most definitely would not recommend fucking or getting fucked with a knife handle, sorry it sounded hot,

WC: ~2.3k

A knife balanced against your neck, a familiar blade, increasingly warm with your heat. It was a grave distraction as it teetered threateningly along the grain of your skin, but you’d made a purposeful mistake of telling Astarion how nice it felt to be not just beneath him, but his dagger. It was objectively dangerous, the feeling wasn’t conveniently replicated, thus it felt… real this way, vital. His hand had an instinctual way of slotting itself between your thighs, the heart of his palm blanketing your blooming clit. Two fingers coaxing slick sweetness and moans from your body that twined around him.

“Is this…” Your hand searched behind you to grab at his right upper thigh, pulling him into your backside, “...What you needed, my love?” His words, shrouded in his misty tone, implored you in tandem with his hand.

He was in too many lovely places at once, your muscles slacking in unison as you both stood bare in the middle of the large bath in the vacant House of Hope. Fresh killers you were, in need of a cleanse in every sense, but something about finally taking out Raphael and his accessories had you both at peculiar odds. Astarion was made to witness your vulnerabilities to Haarlep, and despite knowing you well at this point, he found he was unable to accept that you were actually susceptible to its charm. Even if that weren’t the case, he wasn’t about to say he was basking happily in the image of you being ridden by an incubus who ought to just be Raphael himself. The more he was made to think about it after the fact– fighting beasts to save Hope, slashing down Raphael himself… His mind deviated drunkenly back to your body… You. With someone… Something else. 

He decided he’d have you in that very spot, right in the Hells where his heat in this moment would make even the waters here boil over.

You two haven't really spoken about what happened in the graveyard, perhaps enough had already been said and done. It’d been weeks since, and no matter how paramount it was to you both, in different respects, Cazador had virtually nothing to do with the looming Elder Brain.

But Astarion’s declaration of his new ‘life’, or an amendment of his living death, still prevailed. This revitalization of sorts stood prominently, following him decisively like a shadow he didn’t have. Constant proof of him as him.

The sharpened metal at your throat was an afterthought to you at the time, but a thought nonetheless– one Astarion had hung onto dearly. Ever since you’d told him in a passing moment that you found your first encounter with him haunting your more unsavory moments, he couldn’t rid himself of the reminders.

“Gods, yes…” You shamelessly ground your hips into his beckoning hand, requiring his attention like nothing else. He was, needless to say, extremely turned on by you in any case, but here… Like this, adorned with his blade that had just slain that imbecilic devil, in addition to his enslaver just weeks prior. He could hardly allow his mind to wander trying to understand, but here his knife somehow signified something of untouchable worth. Trust… A morbid reenactment, sure, but how he adored you so, obsessed with how he was able to thrill you in such an asinine way.

You could feel him straining against you, that familiar sensation of his needing you… Though, he enthusiastically opted to see how long he could play with you, guiding your orgasm through the thickets of his teasing maze.

“Sick little love… I can feel you pulsing against my fingers, so fucking hot and wet.” His remark was serpentine and crude, hips rutting his cock ever so slightly between the swells of your perched ass, “How many times have you thought about this…?” He needed to sift through your tainted mind, needed to hear of your hunger, starvation, for him, as much as he tries to pretend he doesn’t love the assurance. Does your mind, too, think of him like he does of you? Remind me… He’d think– You must keep reminding him of how he tears your sanity to such decadent shreds.

His pace slowed only to allow for precision, his middle and ring finger hooked inside you knowingly as he worked at your left shoulder with his tongue.

“Fuck…” Your small, overwhelmed squeak indicated he was doing exactly as he should, rubbing the velvety spot just past the threshold of your cunt that made you shudder in his embrace, “I don’t even know…” He felt your head fall back on his right shoulder in blissful dejection, “It was more than a few.”

“My routine of devouring you isn’t enough, hm?” His fine-pointed fangs indented your skin on cue, not yet drawing blood.

You let out a breathy laugh, “Admittedly… I was nervous about the pain at first, but… You always manage to make such reckless things feel so good…”

“You drive me insane, darling. Utterly insane. Especially when you say deranged things like that…” Still hooked, his fingers sped up with dedicated intent to make you cum, skin sticky with sweat as you were sealed against his front, “A knife to your sweet neck is all it takes to make you drip down my hand?” You made him feel murderous, vulturine… Alive? Your adorable reactions picked at all the right places within him like crows.

You hummed a dizzied whine in time with his firm pace, a rush of everything creating a cyclone deep within your core, “But, you’re holding it…”

“That I am, dear. Watching you fucking lose yourself like this is truly a sight to behold.” The knife pressed its taunts as he fucked into you while you tried to keep steady.

“Don’t stop…”  You couldn’t and didn’t want to fixate on anything else but the pleasure he was giving you, “Please…” Your free hand subconsciously rushed to blanket the one that worked at your beckoning hole, making him gleam beneath your needy touch. His precum began to gradually garnish your backside– Why in the Hells would he stop now?

He need not hide his satisfaction, never with you, a grin causing his words to fray upward with lust, “Pretty, pretty thing… Cum for me.” He sprinkled your shoulder with nipping kisses once more, “ Give it all to me…” He crooned right into your center, his tone broad and smoky.

Hardly needing much past a syllable, your violent shakes when you cum were one of his favorite things to witness, let alone cause. His hand was caught in a vice grip between the tide of your plush thighs as he continued to press into that perfect spot as you came, your moans resonating through his cock. He loved the way your nails dug into the back of his thigh to bring him impossibly close, the other hand around his wrist… Holding onto him for all that you were worth in this moment.

“So divine…” He dragged the knife torturously down your chest, its fine point flicking just barely at your nipples, circling them, “I know how much you like when I tease here…”

You wanted to cry out, every nerve ablaze after your orgasm as you warmed his coated fingers. Instead, you gnawed on another dulled groan in your mouth as the metal tip tickled your areola.

“Let me hear you, darling… There’s no one around.” His voice enveloped your mind like a lecherous fog, words enunciated as they cut into you, “I’d almost say that’s a shame, as I can’t decide if I’d want everyone in all the Hells and beyond to hear your little noises, or have you all to myself.”

“Astarion…” He was breaking you, collecting your pieces, and puzzling your lust-drunk self back together as he pleased.

It seems everyone at camp has been reaching the apex of their struggles at once, especially since reaching Baldur’s Gate– seeing an unwanted face or two is inevitable. It’s been a smothered blur, and to put it more plainly, you and Astarion have not really been afforded time together. It was absurd, fighting almost toe to steel toe beside him, but this was the case day in, day out, everything else had to wait. You’d begun to miss him… You’d tried to brush it off, perhaps it was just you and some arrangement of irrational justifications. His biting quips seemed more distant, even when he held you after a long outing, he felt… Far. And the only reason for this was the non-squirmy affliction you both shared for each other. Of course, he missed you dreadfully. Hence his body currently being superimposed onto yours, an eclipse of raw, splitting desire.

“Give me more… Say it again.” He urged feverishly as your hips still twitched here and there, your movements waking through him.

“Astarion.” You trailed a caressing hand up the arm he latched around your front, just listening to what little was left in your mind. You found the hilt of his dagger gripped in his other hand, guiding it so the fuller would rest on your flattened tongue. Licking a careful stripe towards the tip, he watched in an attentive daze, your projections onto the knife translating to his groin just as you’d hoped.

“Yes, darling…” He finally pulled his fingers from you, experimentally wiping your slick onto the knife. You could feel his smirk radiating beside your cheek as he tugged the blade to his lips. Making sure to secure your eyes, you watched as he tasted your sweet mixed with metallic, making you writhe beneath the image before you.

Swiftly, as he does, he flipped the dagger to lead the rounded pommel down over your stomach, slowly flowing over your pelvis, ultimately pressing down on your clit. He managed to grip it in a way so as to avoid cutting his own hand, running the ball between your swollen folds.

“Mm, I wanna touch you…” You whined pitifully as you writhed, wanting to make him feel as good as he was making you feel, lavish him in pleasure as you’d been ceaselessly imagining.

The moonlight was damn near blinding that night on the overgrown plot of his not-so-restful place… How he pushed you back, fiercely, claiming everything as his own– most importantly, himself. You almost giggle at your spontaneous recollections, how forceful yet tediously careful his movements were as he made it no secret that he’d take you then and there. How his knee swiftly presented you to him, his relentless, passionate kisses…–

“Perhaps I want to be sure that we are on the same page…” The pommel grazed your quivering center, rolling your arousal to a fro, insinuating his intent, “Do you think I enjoyed watching you moan beneath that infernal wretch?”

“I was truly trying to sort out the hammer business… I can’t say I was willingly enthused, he had to charm me just to get me to consider taking my clothes off.”

“It was certainly a… production… But I must be frank, it was not something I ever dreamed of being made to see. How that… Thing nearly made you succumb to its little tricks.” He angled the dagger so as to push it inside you, just a bit, dragging out another melodious moan from you.

He chuckled at this, deciding to drop the matter for the moment, “My filthy darling… You wouldn’t cum around my dagger, would you?” He chided, knowing full well that he’d see to that being the case, “It seems… You just need to be fucked, no matter how.”

The hilt was thick, stretching you generously as its smooth leather pushed further into you. He gripped the guard to avoid splitting his hand, but the risk of a small injury paled in comparison to this, “Maybe there’s something about Avernus, this house… I just feel… Hot,” You debated momentarily, wondering if it’d be more of a burden to speak from what little of your mind remained, “...And I didn’t want to bother you by telling you that I missed you. In any capacity… I’ve missed all of you.” You forced coherence despite him establishing a cyclic rhythm.

He kissed your cheek a few times in response, though found himself quickly perplexed, “Bother me– Darling, never. You’ve… Missed me?”

“It’s been fighting nonstop for weeks, and save for… A few instances, the last few months. All I’ve wanted was to just be able to relax with you, to truly just be.”

“You’re going to tell me this as I’ve buried a dagger handle inside you? You’ve got peculiar timing, my sweet.” His movements subconsciously stilled as he was looking to you for an unknown kind of answer.

“Gods–” You clenched as he kissed your neck this time, allowing his fangs to indent just enough to make themselves known again, “I’m sorry… I guess I could’ve said it any time… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No, no, no– love, so could I,” He opted to always shower you with every pet name he could recite, perhaps as a habitual hedge, perhaps to drown you in his doting, “I’ve most certainly missed you, too.” He could feel you attempting to move onto the dagger, sending his body and estranged soul into a frenzy, “So, so much…” He found he just wanted to make you scream, in this particular instance. He’d been rearranging the meaning of intimacy in his mind slowly but steadily alongside you. While harrowing associations would inevitably remain attached to the act, he wanted to overwrite as much of that as he could with images of you. Of true rejoice, pleasure. He swore, his cock twitched upon reminding himself just how good you make him feel, body and beyond.

[astarionancuntnin]

Dancing on the Edge of a Knife

summary: ever since his ascension, Malva was convinced that Astarion was the only person who could understand her every twisted desire. well, almost. there are some things she still keeps to herself, he simply wouldn't understand this part of her, the one who dances on the very edge of her knife.

or Ascended Astarion learns how real punishments work

rating: E

word count: 2.8k

pairing: ascended astarion x consort malva (oc, evil!sorcerer!tav)

cw: 18+. KNIFE PLAY (big warning cause the whole fic will turn around this specific one), smut, post-game setting a few years later, mention of violence/murder, mentions of and actual self-harm, slight voyeurism, shared sensations, blood play, bdsm relationship (Master/Pet, punishment), teasing, overstimulation, orgasm denial. full list on ao3

a/n: i just dont pick where the inspo comes from but malva lives rent free in my head

a/n2: decided to make the stories about malva and astarion into a series, they can be read independently but if you wanna read the first one featuring lotsa spanking, here it is (they also get to cum in that one)

a/n³: song inspo is PRETTY PLEASE by dutch melrose

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

It was just another day of bloody business for Malva and her Master. 

Another party used as distraction; another life to take; another bloodshed.

Another reason to dive her pretty blade into the chest of yet another unfortunate soul.

She remembers back when Orin had mentioned her potential to join the ranks of the bhaalists, and of course, she would’ve; Malva’s talent to murder people came as naturally to her as her powers had, but the mere idea of being attached to any godly entity made Malva retch.

And Bhaal out of all of them? The same one who sent his minions to do his dirty work? Really, what was the point in becoming a God if you didn’t use that power for yourself?

No, Malva acted sinfully within her own code based on her own goals; no Gods or voices guiding her blade, only her inner bloodthirst and the knowledge that she was mightier than any other mortal crossing her path. Compared to other species, she was already considered immortal, but now, as a vampire? A spawn of the Vampire Ascendant, out of all of them? She might be even greater than the Gods themselves.

Even then, killing was just a job, something that needed to be done nevertheless, and knowing how much she had to do, she just decided to take pleasure in it. After all, the line between pleasure and pain had been blurry ever since Malva could remember, even at a young age.

Ever since her mentor had shown her how to master her powers.

“You will need to use your powers for the greater good,” he had said. “They come with responsibilities. Wield them to perfection so they serve you on every occasion. Those powers are a part of you.”

Obviously, she remembers thinking, they're what makes me better than the others.

“But you need to know that, as much good they can do, they can also harm, and to fully understand this, you'll need to feel them yourself.” 

She recalls how he had grabbed her arm and inflicted a benign version of a lighting spell on her, just to show her how it would feel to receive it — the impact of it, even on a smaller scale.

“Now, every time you inflict this pain on someone, you'll carry the weight of it as if you felt it yourself.”

He couldn't have been as right and wrong at the same time.

Yes — the spark lighting up her skin had burned, and she had flinched and pulled her arm back the second the shock hit her. 

But what a delectable sensation it had been.

How the burn had tingled and resonated through her entire body, lingering long after, introducing her to a new world of possibilities, one she hadn't even considered.

She had spent the rest of her life chasing that feeling.

Using her powers on herself as she was still learning them, gradually increasing the intensity as she became numb to the minor pain to still feel the hurt but relishing the burn of the wound, that sweet tingle rippling on her skin.

Venturing into taverns as she grew older, looking for easy strangers with whom to spend the night to easily discard them once morning came, until one night led to her first kill, and instead of fear she had felt a thrill. The same one as her self-inflicted burns.

Picking up dangerous bounties only to use her powers on others without holding back, see the light leave their eyes as she felt the blood from her own wounds drip from her body, smearing her pale skin.

A knife held at her throat, her life hanging by a thread — the burn of the blade penetrating her skin even better than any cock could ever feel.

The rush of heightened pleasure that clouded her mind for those brief moments was better than any sketchy potion on the market, and yet, the conclusion always turned out the same.

This rush was short-lived. 

Every kill was done with the next one already in mind.

Pain was her pleasure, and no one had understood that about her in the past. She even led herself to believe that Astarion didn't understand how far her limits went. Believing he couldn't satisfy all of her needs — and he would go far; spank her hard, choke her, bite her — all things she adored, but there was still something… missing. 

Something she would just need to take care of by herself.

So that night, a night that felt as meaningless as the others — or that should’ve been — she let her mind wander after disposing of this nuisance of a man. With her spirit  clouded with lust from the blood now warming her veins, she eyed her dagger in her hand with a different intention.

Her dark, yet see-through long dress didn’t allow for under clothing — like most of her other dresses, she had noticed — and the skirt, which split in the middle only to be covered by a thin layer of fabric, made it easy for her to pull the slit of her skirt aside and slide the blade of her knife along her plump thigh.

The tip just ghosted over her skin at first, teasing herself with the weapon that had taken so many lives already. A shiver ran down her back at the promise of what was to come — finally, feeling somewhat alive once again — getting wet from the mere memories of the last time she had touched herself like so.

The blood of her previous victim still coating the blade as she pushed it deeper, breaking into her skin — just enough to draw blood and for her breathing to turn into whimpers.

Just enough to feel that same burn, that pain that turned into pleasure so quickly for her.

She had thought she had been subtle, that her time away wouldn't cause Astarion to come looking for her. Afterall, the kill had taken her mere seconds, she still had plenty of time to take care of herself and go back to her Master. She could always use the excuse that he had been a difficult target — either way, she’d come up with something.

Little did she know, he had felt it. 

Their connection was greater than with his regular spawns; he was able to feel any sensation she felt as well as accessing her mind at any time — not that she knew about the former — and the second that knife slid across her skin, Astarion had known.

The pain in the inside of her thigh, this familiar burn; one he recognized instantly.

Oh, and he ran to find her, expecting the worst, only to find her with her legs spread open, leaning against the wall of the hallway with a body at her feet, and the hilt of her knife sliding across her wet slit, with sinful moans escaping her luscious lips.

He couldn’t say he was surprised at the sight, this was Malva after all, the woman who took a malicious pleasure in the murders she committed — ones she never questioned. The same woman who smiled as she took each and every of his punishments.

And yet, that was the last thing he expected to see when he ran for her.

So here he stood, watching as she pleasured herself with the soiled weapon she had visibly used on the corpse lying nearby, her other hand holding back the fabric of her dress as leaned back against the wall, her chest heaving as her pleasure overtook her.

Worry aside, he was now fixated on her every move. Watching, learning, so he could use it on her later. This was just one more thing to add to his library of possibilities when it came to her.

What was unacceptable was how she took those liberties without involving him, how she so easily broke those chains, and dismissed his authority.

Not only that, but she had been cutting herself — cutting him. 

He only had himself to blame, after all he had never made her aware of this part of their connection, but now the consequences of his actions had caught up to him. The same cuts he remembered suffering, that made him bleed out to near unconsciousness years ago, and all because of their connection, he was reliving these moments all over again. 

No, no, this time was different — this time he was in control, he had a say in how this would go. If his consort wanted to play, he would play along.

He leaned back and away from her eyesight, a flicker of malice flashed in his ruby eyes as he opened his mind to reach out to hers.

“Enjoying yourself, pet?”

He smirked when he heard the clink of her dagger as it fell to the floor.

“Master?” She answered back through their connection. “I was just finishing up with this—”

“Oh no, dearest, you are far from done.” He cut her off. “Pick that dagger up, and cut through your other thigh, the same way you did the other.”

She briefly remained silent as she collected her thoughts, “How did you…”

“The dagger, pet.”

“Y– Yes, sir.”

He felt the ghost of the blade over his own thigh at the same time he heard her breathy moans echo in the hallway. 

He didn’t expect the vivid flashes of his past coming back to him, the burn of the scars in his back searing through his skin. He was all powerful now, this was long in the past, why was he still affected?

“Enough, pet.”

He needed to change his approach, no matter what, Malva was going to inflict this pain onto herself. He just needed to control it — make it feel good — for both of them.

He closed his eyes, banishing the remaining memories of his past to conjure the image of his consort instead.

“Take the hilt of your dagger and smear it with your blood.”

He imagined her in her long-sleeved black dress — the one he had picked for the night, with the embroidered red dragons partly covering her chest, matching his own ensemble — legs apart and cunt exposed with her dark blood slowly dripping from her thighs getting smeared over her skin as she ran the hilt of her weapon across it, coating it in her crimson.

“Now, guide it towards your slit, but don’t push it into you.” he paused, giving her time to follow his instructions, “And up to your clit. There, good girl. You’re gonna be rubbing yourself with it until I tell you to stop.”

He sensed a hint of doubt from her when she remained unmoving, “Do you not trust me, pet?”

“I… I simply didn't expect this from you.”

“Are you not glad I’m making the effort to keep your days exciting?”She bit her lip, remembering her dread of the previous dull days, “Yes, Sir.’

“Good, then close your eyes, and start rubbing that dagger over yourself.”

He heard her loud sigh before she finally let the bloody weapon touch her sensitive spot, allowing himself to feel her pleasure in his groin as she made it twirl and slide over it.

He let his head fall back against the wall as the sensation took place between his legs, only taking in the feeling temporarily before he shot his eyes open, ready to take the matter in his hands.

With her eyes still closed, Malva didn’t see Astarion approach her. She didn't feel the weight of his gaze as he stared her down like prey. But she did hear the pounding of his heartbeat against his chest as he grew closer, and her throat bobbed in anticipation between two raspy breaths, the movement between her legs relentlessly accelerating, her juices mixing with her blood as she neared her collapse.

“Tell me,” he purred down their connection. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Really good.”

“Don’t shy away from details now, I want to know exactly how you feel, dear.”

“The cuts… they burn deliciously, Sir. I’ve— missed this feeling, ah—” She became increasingly sensitive as she rubbed her swollen bud ceaselessly. “How… my wounds feel as the blood rises to the surface. When the burn spreads through my thighs and between my legs, fuck—”

Her breath accelerated and her mind blanked out as she focused on the growing ache between her legs.

“I’m— I’m close,” she panted.

Astarion might have to learn more about his dark consort after tonight, but if there was one thing he knew without a doubt, it was the clear signs of her collapse. With her head thrown back, her body messily leaning against the wall as her legs quivered from the excessive stimulation, and her pace getting sloppier as she was reaching her climax, he knew exactly how long until she reached the edge. Some time, right about…

Now.

“Stop,” he finally spoke up as he stood in front of her.

“What?!” She exclaimed, shooting her eyes open as she lifted her head back up, staring right into his eyes.

“Drop the knife, now.”

Reluctantly, Malva plunged her blade into the luxurious carpet, grunting as she did so. 

“Still feeling good, my dear?”

She shot him a frowning glare, chest heaving and lips parted as she panted.

“What do you think?!” She shouted. “I was so damned close– fuck!”

He snickered, stepping forward to meet her stare, “So you truly believe you deserve this? That you deserve more than what I've already allowed you, when you’ve been touching yourself behind my back?”

She lifted her head and without breaking eye contact, retorted with a growl, “You wouldn’t grasp how to please me, even if I showed you precisely how.”

He wouldn’t usually accept this behaviour from her, but this time around, he wanted to see how far he could take it.

“Is that so?” He smiled as he closed the gap between them, his stance hovering over her. “In all the years we've spent together, have I not proved you wrong already?” 

She backed into the wall as he pushed her against it, one hand caging her beneath him, while the other reached for his waist to pull out his signature dagger, bringing it up and pushing Malva's head upwards as he pressed the tip right under her chin.

“Do I need to prove my point again?” 

Her frown softened, “You seem to have underestimated me, my Lord.” 

Their lips were but a whisper apart, the threat of the blade restraining Malva in this position, leaving Astarion in complete control once again. All his consort could do in this position was talk back, something she was annoyingly well versed into.

“I'll have you know that it'll take me more than a few spankings to be truly satiated.”

He chuckled, “My beautiful, dark consort. I should've known you grew from the thorniest vines.”

His vision dropped from her eyes to her lips, trailing the tip of his dagger along her jaw and down her neck, stopping right at the valley between her breasts.

“Is this what you want?” He leaned his head above the crook of her neck, whispering roughly in her ear. “For me to slice you open and bleed you out, right here, in the middle of this hallway with our guests still waiting in the main room?” 

As he slid the blade down, partly slicing open the front of her dress, a faint line of blood appeared in its wake. The knife travelled down her chest, just past her navel, where it paused, leaving the dress only partially cut through.

He brought the blade back up with the same agonising pace, resting it right over her breast, barely pushing against her to pierce the skin, “Answer me, pet.”

Malva was already lost in the feeling of the blade hovering right above her heart, the word barely slipping between her lips as she held in her breath, one she kept forgetting wasn’t necessary anymore.

“Yes.”

He pressed deeper into her, just enough for the blade to penetrate her supple skin, pushing a deeper moan out of her, “And do you think you deserve it?”

“Y– Yes, Master.”

“Mmh…” He let his knife slide back down where her pleasure had accumulated, pressing its flat side against her glistening cunt, just enough for her to believe in the promise of what would come… 

Only to remove it completely right after, licking her blood and juices off from his weapon before pushing himself off the wall.

Malva blinked as her breathing came back to her, watching as her Master walked away from her, leaving her in an even messier state than he found her in.

“Maybe next time I’ll believe you.” He made sure to pick up the blade she had thrown down earlier as well, “You'll have to use your powers to carry out your tasks from now on, I’m sure you’ll manage though. After all, I can't trust you to carry around a blade if you risk to hurt yourself, can I? It would be unwise on my part, I’m sure you understand.”

Without knowing it, his consort had opened up a whole world of possibilities for him, and it all started with her first, real, punishment.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated, I love reading your feedback! <3 (tag list will be in the comments moving forward!)

[mistressoftherant-blog]

TUA Finale

Spoilers below for the Umbrella Academy final and my not so positive opinion of it.

Why did anyone on the writers team think it was a good idea to have Lila and Five do that?!

I already didn't like Lila for the stunt she pulled with the kid, making Diego get attached to a boy he would never see again and then dropping the bombshell that she was pregnant. I was already a little mad that Five ruined Diego's breakout plan from the asylum, getting him stuck with a needle, put in a straitjacket and locked in a padded cell.

I never appreciated the fact that both of them call Diego dumb constantly (nor the fact that the show has dumbed him down significantly since season 1). The body shaming from Lila was also uncomfortable.

But this... this was a whole new level of awful. And because it was the end of the season and they were all dying, Diego just had to accept it and move on?? Like this was shoved in at the end for a bit of cheap drama.

Cheating is not the answer to feeling unhappy in marriage, especially not with your husband's brother. Especially not when you have three young kids. I really wish Lila could have just been a friend to them rather than in a relationship with any of them. It always bothered me how the writers basically erased Patch and then had Diego move on with Lila like what they had had was nothing, when her death was such a massive moment.

And it was despicable behaviour from Five, especially the way he acted towards Diego in his in-laws home (Or his own home, I wasn't quite clear on that). He's always been condescending and arrogant, and treated Diego in particular in a pretty shitty way, but I always accepted that he was a well-written character. This move destroyed that.

Plus, there is no getting around how weird it was age wise. Five is a man in his 60s mentally (actually, would he be in his 70s seeing as he said he was 62/3 in the beginning of the show and then they spend 7 years trapped?) and a teenager physically. It's creepy. Majorly creepy. Expecially as the writers basically threw this in because they decided everyone needed at least one love story. Which is not true. Platonic stories are just as important narrative wise, and in real life. Also odd vibes that Five's actor would have pretty much just turned 18 when they filmed all of that.

Also, did they just forget that Digeo has a stutter?? I thought for sure that he was going to stutter when confronting Lila and Five as that was a big emotional moment which tends to bring his stutter on or make it worse. But, nope, no stutter at all. (I also feel like Lila was quite patronising when Diego was stuttering last season, though that may just be me reading too much into it as I never liked her character.)

They also seemed to forget Lila's abilities. They made her stupid powerful, (and yes, call me petty, but it pissed me off that they introduced someone who could steal all of their powers and who was basically an extreme, overpowered, not like other girls character), but didn't keep it consistent. Why could she use Viktor's powers in the final fight, but no one else's? Couldn't she have just teleported them into the building instead of needing to dig the knife in deeper for Diego by saying how much she needed Five?

This season was a hot mess, and I have so many gripes with it. There were some good points, like Jean and Gene were fun antagonists, and the Diego and Luther brotherly relationship was great, but none of that can redeem just how awful it was overall.

[gabessquishytum]

I’m cackling over the idea of Hob tricking Dream into caring for him by letting himself get kidnapped. I love an angst kidnapping but this is just so funny to me. Hob is a former soldier who was a weapons expert and has had six centuries to learn to fight. He has scrappy street smarts and instincts honed over centuries. Sure, let’s say someone actually does get the jump on him. It’s scary! At first.

But the kidnappers aren’t like…great at it. They think he might be a vampire or something but they aren’t equipped for villainy and aren’t sure what to do with him once they have him. They don’t even tie him up very well, nor do they pat him down and find his pocket knife. Instead they hover around throwing garlic his way to see if he recoils.

Because Hob doesn’t feel he’s in any real danger and lately work has been tiring, he’s pretty happy to chill until Dream notices he is gone which takes only 2 hours. And dream storms in in full Nightmare mode to save him, and Hob is very grateful and puts on a big show, throws himself into Nightmare’s… clawed arms and kisses Nightmare’s…fangs or whatever. And Hob earns himself a two-week vacation in the Dreaming with his doting boyfriend, being fed grapes and snuggled and adored.

Yes!!! Extremely valid!!! Listen sometimes life is very stressful and I too would low-key like to be kidnapped, tied up and sprayed with holy water by amateurs. It's like a spa day, right?

Hob has definitely been through worse. And while he's not thrilled to be tied up in a basement somewhere, he knows that within a few hours, Dream will absolutely come and pull the house down brick by brick if necessary.

Hob loves Nightmare so much. He doesn't come out much but when he does he is SO possessive and protective of Hob. Hob just feels so safe when he's got Nightmare's strange gangly limb wrapped around him. Admittedly during the rescue he does ham it up a bit but he figures that he deserves to be cooed over and covered in kisses by Nightmare's lovely slobbering fanged mouth.

Back in the dreaming, Hob is pretty much dragged to Nightmare's lair. Nightmare curls around him and licks him from head to toe, making sure that Hob smells like him and no one else. When some time has passed and Dream shifts back into his normal self, he treats his love to a proper banquet of dream-food, a massage, anything he wants after his ordeal.

And Hob climbs into Dream’s lap (Dream is Big at this point so Hob just snuggles in perfectly), because what he really wants is to be held. And maybe a dreaming version of a venison pasty.

[heliads]

REQUESTS OPEN OMG EVERYONE CHEERED. hi i was thinking.. what if… hmm.. what if.. guardian angel y/n x connor lassiter where in unwind instead of lev saving him after the happy jack explosion its y/n. (they kiss at the end PLEase)

ANYWAYS ILY u survived exams i’m so proud !

'angel ex machina ' - connor lassiter

masterlist

They find Connor Lassiter staring at a billboard. He’s slumped against a wall, eyes hollow and vacant, like nothing in this world could possibly be more fascinating than a couple hundred square feet of boastful advertising. The bright colors seem to laugh at him, tantalizingly out of reach from where he crouches now, separated from the rest of the world by the walls of a harvest camp.

We have guardian angels! Low prices, high protection! 

Even if Connor somehow managed to piece together enough cash for their exorbitant prices, it’s obvious that a guardian angel would be wasted on him. Connor is days away from his own unwinding. Not even a real guardian angel could pull him out now, let alone the vapid models in suits they’ve got bedazzling that billboard. Everyone knows you can’t actually hire a guardian angel. They just show up somehow, save your ass however many times you need it, then disappear. There, then gone. Intrinsically a part of your life, and then it’s like you’d never known them at all.

Guardian angels are extraordinarily rare. The closest Connor’s ever come to meeting one is hearing a story his dad used to tell, and even then, Kirk Lassiter had only briefly glimpsed one of his neighbors getting saved from a car accident by one of the angels. Not exactly a core memory for Connor. His mom had never seen one at all.

That’s the way it usually goes. There aren’t that many guardian angels in the world. Rare things, they are. Somehow, they decide that a person is important enough to save, and then they swoop in and do what they do best. That’s usually saving them from disasters– floods, tornadoes, you name it. There’s an iconic photograph of a guardian angel rescuing someone from a burning building that Connor sees annually in his textbooks; something about the wings silhouetted against the flames is irresistible to school publishers. Hayden swears that he heard about somebody who got a guardian angel to do their taxes, but Connor figures that’s another of the boy’s bad jokes. Guardian angels are for real problems, not tax fraud.

Hell, no one even knows what guardian angels look like. There are photographs, sure, but they always turn out strangely blurry, like when the sun’s too bright outside and all you can do is squint. Even the people who’ve seen guardian angels say that their memories faded oddly quickly after the incident. No one can decide if they look like people, if their wings always appear, if they’re even recognizable as guardian angels at all. The only thing the masses can agree on is that guardian angels do exist, and they’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Least of all Connor. He’s harbored a hope that he’d get to meet one at some point, obviously, everyone has. Imagining that you’d be important enough to warrant an angel sent to watch over you is everyone’s secret fantasy.

Connor’s a few hours away from getting unwound, though, so he’s pretty sure that dream will die like the rest of his:  unwanted, unclaimed, unfulfilled. He’ll go to pieces as yet another boy who dreamed of being great, another poor soul ignored by the angels. The only difference is that, unlike most of the teenage population, he’s not even mediocre enough to live past sixteen. He’ll be in parts by tomorrow. Then, who knows? Maybe his elbow will go to a kid worthy of an angel. Connor wasn’t, but maybe his unwound pieces will be.

Connor shakes his head slightly to rid himself of the thoughts. He’s not usually like this. He’s not a quitter. He’ll go under the knife protesting his unwinding. It’s just a little difficult to keep up the fighting spirit when he knows that at last, despite all his running and hiding, he’ll be unwound anyway. There’s no fighting the Juvenile Authority. All his great efforts just delayed the inevitable. It cuts him to say it, but it looks like they were right after all.

In an attempt to get his mind out of obviously dangerous waters, Connor rips his gaze away from the offending billboard and glances around him. Only now does he notice another future unwind drawing close to him. Connor stretches and stands, forcing the corners of his mouth to upturn slightly so Y/N, his closest friend here and only ally among the cops and lambs to slaughter, don’t think he’s totally deranged.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asks, coming to a stop by his side.

Connor shrugs listlessly. “Nothing. Drafting my will.”

With anyone else, he’d probably stay silent, but Connor learned a long time ago that trying to hold his tongue around Y/N L/N is a losing game. They met in the basement of Sonia’s antique shop, Y/N having arrived barely a few minutes after Connor and Risa. Talk about a coincidence. They quickly hit it off, and as proof of their friendship, they’ve even ended up at the same harvest camp after it all went south back at the Graveyard.

If Connor were trapped with anyone, though, he’s glad it’s them. Not even Hayden can make Connor laugh as much as he does with Y/N. They understand him in a way that no one else ever has. If he were feeling particularly stupid, he would call it love, but Connor knows better. They’re both about to get stripped to pieces. If he spills his guts now and they friendzone him, Connor will have ruined the best part of his life for nothing.

So he stays silent, and watches Y/N laugh at his joke. “I want your car after they unwind you,” they inform him. “Maybe even the house.”

Connor pretends to be outraged. “Both? That’s absurd.”

Y/N snorts. “Who else would you give them to? The tithe?” Then, in a quieter voice, they glance towards the billboard Connor was staring at, and add on, “Maybe an angel?”

Connor sighs. “They can’t sell real guardian angels. No amount of flashy billboards can hide that.”

Y/N nods. “You’re still tempted, though?”

Connor lifts a shoulder. “Who wouldn’t be tempted? The idea is great. I’d love for someone to save me right now. Or maybe just care enough to try.”

“I care,” Y/N offers.

Connor gives them a wry smile. “I know you do. But you’re stuck in the same mess as I am, so maybe I’ll hold off on believing in your escape plan until you’re out, too.”

Y/N looks at him for a second, too deep for Connor to understand, then cracks a grin. “You should believe in me, Lassiter. I’m tunneling out from under the dorms with just a spoon. I might make it halfway to Florida by the time we get the unwind order.”

Connor scoffs. “That only works in movies. You’d need a miracle to break through an inch of concrete, let alone all the way past the borders.”

Y/N smiles at him, a little secretively, a little knowingly. “I’m pretty good with miracles.”

“Sure you are,” Connor says, stretching his arms to rid himself of an unpleasant pinch in his muscles. “Any chance you can whip one up to save me from my impending doom?”

He isn’t expecting Y/N to respond, obviously, but when their face drops at the sight of something approaching behind him, Connor knows it’s not just from his lack of belief. “I’d have to make it quick, wouldn’t I?” They mutter under their breath.

Connor turns around to see a squad of Juvey-cops bearing down on him. He swears under his breath. “This is it, right? They’re going to take me away?”

Y/N’s face looks ashen and wrong. “I should have saved you. “

“We should have saved each other,” Connor corrects gently. Usually, he isn’t the sentimental type, but as the guards get closer, he can’t resist the urge to lean closer to Y/N and whisper to them, “Hey, I’m glad for the time we had, alright? It meant– It meant a lot to me. You know. If I was going to talk to anyone on my last day, I would have wanted it to be you anyway.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “Don’t say that.”

Connor stares at them. “Why not? It’s true.”

Y/N looks like they want to argue– why, Connor isn’t sure, but the guilt in their eyes is like nothing he’s ever seen before– but before they can say a word, the Juvey-cops close in around him, cutting Connor off from Y/N like slamming a door in their face. They give him the usual speech about how it’s time for him to be unwound, but Connor can’t find it within himself to pay attention. It’s so typical of him, honestly, to be zoning out during what may be his last hour whole, but all he can think about is Y/N, who disappears into the distance as the cops drag him away, Y/N, who he’s now left here alone, Y/N, who will join him in this fate not long from now.

Connor doesn’t want to be unwound. Obviously. He doesn’t want this, and the sheer force of his not wanting overwhelms him as they lead him closer and closer to the doors of the Chop Shop. A crowd of other unwinds has gathered by the door; apparently the final moments of the Akron AWOL make for some good entertainment. The band is playing. Connor wants to run, run far and fast like he always does, but for the first time in his life he realizes how pointless it is. If he tried to flee, they would catch him. They would drag him back, and it would be like nothing ever happened. There is no way this day ends with anything but Connor in pieces.

Connor forces his legs to move him mechanically towards the Chop Shop entrance. Just before the darkness of the place swallows him whole, something tells Connor to glance over his shoulder one last time and he sees Y/N staring at him beseechingly. He doesn’t know how he’s able to spot them so easily in the crowd, but he can. Like he would know them anywhere. Like doing anything but looking at them is impossible.

Then the guards shove him into the Chop Shop, and Y/N is gone, replaced by the dark certainty of Connor’s unwinding. The hallway seems to stretch out forever, but before Connor can take even one more step, a few very confusing things happen all at once.

First:  there’s this shift in the air. Connor can’t describe it. It feels strange and wrong, burning on his tongue like electricity. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and Connor knows at once that something is about to go wrong.

Second:  the room erupts in fire and smoke. The bone-rattling boom of the explosion comes later, a little delayed, but Connor sees the white flash of heat and light first. He’s knocked off of his feet, and time seems to slow down. The entire world is gone, replaced only by Connor, floating hazily through the smoky air, and the blossom of fire around him, searing off everything else.

Third, and most confusing of all:  out of nowhere, Y/N is right in front of him. Y/N, yes, but Y/N different somehow. It takes him a moment to realize why. Their eyes glow white, brighter even than the explosion, and their skin is radiating off this cool, pearlescent light. He has no idea how they could have possibly gotten in front of him so fast. He has no idea how they’re seemingly immune to the heat and force of the explosion around them.

Y/N reaches for him, pulling Connor into their arms. Their head presses against his, and they whisper quietly, forcefully, “Be safe, Connor.”

The command reverberates through Connor’s entire body. He doesn’t even remember hitting the ground, and when the explosion clears, he’s– He’s fine, actually. Nothing hurts. When Connor stares at his body, he’s utterly unharmed. Not even a scratch on his skin. He is totally untouched by the explosion that has just decimated the entirety of the Chop Shop.

Connor looks around him and realizes that Y/N is sitting in front of him. They’re both on the grass outside the Chop Shop, although he doesn’t remember getting there. Y/N is unharmed also, although Connor can say for certainty that there is still something wrong about them. It takes him a moment to get his scattered thoughts in order, and then he remembers. Y/N’s eyes wink pearlescent at him from a few paces away, and he knows.

“You’re a guardian angel,” Connor stammers out.

Y/N nods. “I am.”

Easy as that. They say it like it’s nothing. Like Connor hasn’t just had his life saved by a supernatural being currently sitting criss-cross applesauce in front of him on the waving grass. He’s had a lot of time to wonder what it would be like to meet a guardian angel, but it never would have occurred to him that one would have been in his life this entire time without him knowing.

Connor stares unseeingly at them. Try as he might, he can’t force himself to believe that Y/N is anything other than, well, Y/N. His friend. His best friend. The person he’s been crushing on since they stumbled into him by accident in the dark of Sonia’s basement. He remembers the flighty beat of their heartbeat when they were in his arms then, and he remembers what it felt like when they embraced him again in the smothering heat of the Chop Shop inferno. All Y/N. All an angel.

“You were trying to save me,” he begins, then stops. That really sums it up.

“I was,” Y/N agrees. “It was always about you, Connor.”

The idea doesn’t compute to him. “Then why wait until now to save my life? Why not make sure the Juveys never found us out in the first place?”

Y/N tilts their head to the side, considering this. “The job of a guardian angel is to save their primary assignment, sure, but also to minimize suffering wherever they go. I knew the Chop Shop explosion would happen if I didn’t save you. This needed to happen so everyone else here could be rescued. Worse things would have happened if I didn’t interfere now. It may not seem that way, but it is.”

Connor can practically feel gears in his head spinning. “So you knew how this would end the whole time?”

“I knew the great catastrophes of your life,” Y/N corrects. “I knew many paths you could take. This was the big risk, though. I didn’t get to see any more after that. Now I know just as much about your future as you do.”

Connor whistles under his breath. “That’s comforting.” Then, a terrible thought occurs to him. “Wait, that means I was your assignment. Like a job? Were you ever really my friend at all, or was that just something you had to do to complete your assignment?”

Y/N rears back as if hurt. “I have always been your friend. Guardian angels aren’t supposed to ever reveal themselves. I was actually meant to never talk to you until I saved you.”

“What changed?” Connor asks. He can’t stop himself.

Y/N smiles softly. “I saw you. You looked like someone fun.”

“Someone fun,” Connor echoes. He tries to think about his life, if anyone could see that and decide he was someone worthwhile. Someone fun. Someone an angel could watch and want to befriend. A warm feeling blossoms in his chest. Pride, maybe. Or the realization that the one secret he’s been keeping may go both ways after all.

“Yeah,” Y/N says, growing a little embarrassed. “I like you. My bad.”

Connor laughs. “That’s not bad. I like you too, by the way. In case you didn’t see it when you were receiving visions about my life.”

Y/N’s eyes dart up to his. “Really?”

“Really,” Connor says. “What, you didn’t know?”

Y/N shakes their head. “Like I said, I could only see what happened to you up to the Chop Shop exploding. Everything after that is a mystery.”

“Well,” Connor says, drawing closer to them. “I’m glad I get to surprise an angel once in my life.”

Before Y/N can ask him what he means, Connor kisses them, and after a moment of shock, they kiss him back. He’s not sure if he’s the first person in the world to have kissed an angel before, but he wouldn’t mind having that accolade under his belt. Just so long as he gets to be the person to kiss an angel two times, or three. Or forever.

requested by @julysn, i hope you enjoy!

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @locke-writes, @sirofreak

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[athreehundredthirtythree]

A Story About Veilguard & Me

I normally pop on here, at infrequent intervals, to mindlessly reblog DA memes and art from mutuals. I very, very rarely post at all, and almost never in my own words. This time, though, I have to. And you'll have to forgive me--what I'm going to say might sound unkind or like I'm not giving the game a fair shake. Also, there will be MAJOR spoilers, and I'm going to get very personal. It will be long.

All this to say, I don't expect anybody to actually read it. Or care, for that matter.

But sharing is a part of grief. And I need to tell you a story.

My parents divorced when I was a kid, and my father moved 1800 miles away (approx. 2900 km for people who live in sensible countries), so my uncle was a formative figure in my life. He was snarky, sarcastic, brilliant, and kind. He was the sort of person who all the neighborhood kids considered a father figure. He was my first DM in my first tabletop RPG, and my first video game was Baldur's Gate, played as I sat on his lap. I made the decisions and he moved the characters and clicked things to make them happen. He was my first Valentine, sending me a Vermont Teddy Bear on Valentine's Day when I was a little girl. I'm in my 30s. I still have that bear. His son, my cousin, had prom the same night as mine since we went to the same school. But my uncle made sure to come over to my house to see when I was ready and tell me I looked beautiful. He was my father in all but name. When I was little, he brushed my hair and tucked me into bed at night, telling me story after story, improvised on the spot just for me.

When I was in college, he got sick. I was the last to know. My entire family knew before I did. My uncle apologized, said he hadn't meant to tell me last. He'd assumed my mom told me. She hadn't because she "hadn't wanted to upset me during the semester." I was upset, but, hey, at least I knew now. And my uncle was doing well and responding to treatment.

Some years passed. I had a kid. Then the worst loss of my life, followed a few months later by another kid. All the while, my uncle's health was in decline. I had to watch him go from being a bright, vibrant presence in my life, a sun I could guide myself around, to a husk of the person he was. But I would talk to him a lot. I tried to get him into Critical Role when he got too sick to play D&D anymore, so he could still keep it in his life. But my aunt couldn't figure out how to make the podcast work, despite my written instructions, sadly. Instead, I told him about anything I was doing--now I was telling him the stories, for a change: about my life, about my kids, about how we were all doing fine.

Everyone told me he was doing okay, he was in a status quo. He'd never get better, but at least he wasn't getting worse. Cold comfort is still comfort.

I came home after the holiday party at my job a few years later when my mom pulled me aside for a chat. My uncle's health was failing, she said, and my entire extended family had kept that from me because they didn't want me to be upset at work. I had a job to do, Mom said, and she wanted me to be able to focus.

It was as she was telling me this that she got the phone call. My uncle was dead.

Her lies made it so I never got to say goodbye in a way he could hear.

I will never forgive her that.

And she knows it. I've told her. And all she can say is she's sorry, but she made the best decision she could at the time. For the sake of a job I don't even have anymore.

All this to say: I hate Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

In this game, the writers at Bioware have just made me relive one of the worst things that ever happened to me. For the sake of a fun little plot twist.

It's not a fun little plot twist. It's not an extra twist of the fictional knife for pathos points. It is a real thing that happened to me--a light in my life went out and I lost a chance to say goodbye when it would have mattered because of someone else's lies.

Dragon Age was, bar none, my favorite video game series, and I have an encyclopedic knowledge of its lines and lore. I have loved it since the moment I booted up Origins. And now I don't know if I'll be able to play any of the games again, knowing how it ends for a character who, by every metric but height and hair color, is a dead ringer for the uncle I lost. Who was a comfort when my uncle died--I don't have my uncle anymore, but Varric was always there, a click away, endlessly supportive, with a one-liner and a story, so reminiscent of the presence I will forever miss.

Is that stupid? Sure. But who said grief has to be smart? I make no apologies.

The fact that Solas can be forgiven for this, can ride off into the sunset with a romanced Lavellan, and Varric's narration sounds approving of it... feels like a judgment. Varric's lines about it being "[his] decision, [his] sacrifice. And you [Rook/player] don't get to take that from me" feels like a very personal "fuck you." It feels like Varric, as an unromanceable character, despite fandom clamoring to smooch the dwarf since DA2, is more disposable than Solas. Fuck it, it's not like anyone loved him, right? It's not like he was integral to anyone's story.

I am aware that Bioware doesn't know I exist. I'm a random schlub on Tumblr, and people who've been callously lied to about a death in reality are a vanishingly small group of people, not an important bloc to consider. But if the entire company had set out to make a game to hurt me personally, if they'd had a vendetta against me and wanted to break my heart--and not in a fun, engaging fictional way like they usually manage, but in a way that reminds me of a very real grief and hurts in a very, very real way... this is the exact decision they would have made. To not just kill him, but to lie about it for the whole game. I could have been okay with a Varric death in this game. Hell, I intentionally bring him with me to do "In Hushed Whispers" in DAI so I can see the terror demon toss his corpse into the room for the extra pathos. Death in stories happens, particularly ones with stakes as high as this one.

But writing that affects you, that makes you feel, makes you think, makes you cry--it's only good as long as it's in good fun. And there's a vast gulf between "a story that made me cry" and "a story that made me fucking despair because I just realized I can't remember what my uncle's voice sounds like anymore and I'll never hear it again." Between "a story that gave my favorite character a send-off in a way I disliked" and "my uncle will never meet my son, and I just got a big, fuck-off reminder of that fact." And Veilguard is the latter.

I wish I could say I loved the game. I wish I could say the ending brought me the closure I never got. But closure is a lie; the wound doesn't close. You just learn to compensate. The story cracked my heart along fissures that will never heal. And it hurts as badly now as it did the day I lost him, when I found out how much my family, my own mother, lied to me and I lost out on the chance to say goodbye in any way that mattered.

A gentle reminder to any writers out there who've made it this far: remember your readers, your players, your audience all bring their own context to your story. A fun twist to you because you watched The Sixth Sense over the weekend can be deeply, heartbreakingly painful to a player, because they bring their own life to whatever tale you tell. Take care with how you treat your characters; they're fictional, sure, but that doesn't mean they're disposable--because what happens to them can matter more than you think to an audience member in grief.

Next month, it will have been five years since he died. A milestone and a tragedy. The son my uncle will never meet is sitting on my lap as I write this and try desperately to remember what his voice sounded like. And this time, there's no one, real or fictional, to offer that missing presence. Because knowing how the story ends changes how the beginning feels.

Thank you for reading.

[apomaro-mellow]

S2E01: Halloween Special

S1 Finale

“So what’re we doing this year for Halloween?”, Max asked as she went through the rack of costumes.

“What do you mean what’re we doing?”, Will asked in return.

“I mean are you guys really not going to go to the party?”

“You mean Jason Carver’s party? Pass? He’s already been a jerk and it’s only been a month”, Mike frowned, though it was hard to see from behind the Batman mask.

“Yeah, but he’s not gonna be the only one there”, Lucas pointed out, tying a vampire cape to his neck.

“His friends and the jerks on the team aren’t that much better”, Will argued.

“I thought we were going trick and treating?”, El asked, holding a ballgown to herself and seeing how it looked on her.

Dustin burst through the doors of the costume shop, ignoring Steve’s protests as he ran to his friends. “Guys! I know what we’re doing this Halloween!”

“This oughta be good”, Max nudged El.

Dustin was like a firework as he spoke. “Four words! Real. Life. Haunted house!”

--------------------------

“Holy shit Nance! What’re you supposed to be?”, Steve’s shout could be heard over the music.

“Get a clue, detective, I’m Carrie.” She had the tiara and dress and was covered head to toe in fake blood. 

“That’s inspector to you”, Steve said, tipping his hat. 

“Never expected Harrington himself to dress up for Halloween”, Eddie grinned, decked out in a crazy suit and top hat.

“I thought El was gonna go trick or treating and I’m usually on chaperone duty. So I grabbed this from the shop”, Steve said.

“So she was gonna be the Penny to your Inspector Gadget?”, Robin asked, adjusting her eyepatch.

Steve nodded, then looked over at Jonathan. “And what’re you supposed to be?”

“The guy who showed up uninvited”, Jonathan deadpanned.

“Ahh, what’s a party without a few of those? Especially on the most haunting night of all~”, Eddie winked.

“Yeah, it’s not a real party until someone dies”, Steve said, just as a blood curdling scream was heard.

A girl in an angel costume ran into the living room and turned off the music. “Jason’s dead!”

Robin pursed her lips. “You were saying, Steve?”

---------------

Flashlight illuminated the facade of the house. “Are we really going in there?”, Will asked.

“It’s an actual haunted house”, Dustin said.

“How do you know?”, Max asked.

Dustin led the way forward. “I heard a bunch of guys from AV talking about it. They came here to film something and heard a bunch of noises. Then, they ran into Chrissy Cunningham. They said she looked totally freaked out.”

“Chrissy Cunningham? The head cheerleader?”, Mike said in disbelief.

“Geez Mike, I thought you didn’t care about popularity”, Max rolled her eyes.

“Everyone knows who she is”, Mike said in his defense. “And besides, why would she be in a place like this?”

“Maybe an unknown force from beyond called out to her~”, Lucas teased, putting on a scary voice.

El tried to hide her shiver. “Like a ghost?”

“Time for us to find out”, Dustin said, going through the unlocked door.

---------------

“Jason’s dead!”

“Fuck!”

“Shit! How’d it happen?!”

“Is someone gonna call the cops?”

“No fuzz, we got booze here!”

“Where is he?”, Nancy asked.

The girl pointed a shaking finger to the bathroom and Nancy pushed on, the others behind her. Sure enough, when they got there, Jason was in the bathroom, in an Indiana Hoosiers uniform, knife sticking out from his chest.

“I’m gonna puke”, Eddie said.

“Good thing we’re in a bathroom”, Robin pointed out.

Nancy reached out towards Jason and Steve had to pull her back. “Hey hey whoa whoa, don’t just go touchin’ dead bodies.”

“I’m trying to figure out what happened.”

“Okay, counter - when the cops show up, your prints would be all over this. Let’s think.”

“It had to be someone from the party”, Nancy said. “No one leaves. Start gathering suspects.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one in charge here? I’m the inspector”, Steve pointed out.

“You’re about as qualified to do that as I am to sail a ship”, Robin said, adjusting the fake parrot on her shoulder.

------------------

“Are we allowed to be here?”, El asked, nose twitching at the dust in the air.

“If they didn’t want kids coming in, they would’ve boarded up the doors and windows”, Dustin reasoned.

Will turned his flashlight up to the ceiling. “Or maybe they figured only stupid kids would go inside an abandoned house.”

There was a clattering sound from upstairs and they all froze. All had expressions of fear while Dustin’s mouth was open in a wide grin.

“I told you guys!”, he whispered. “Real life apparitions!”

“Hey, what exactly was the plan here?”, Lucas asked. “I don’t see any ghost hunting equipment on you.”

“If I get possessed, I’m suing you”, Max threatened.

“We’re not here to hunt, and they have no reason to hurt us either”, Dustin said. “This is purely a mission of exploration and first contact.”

“Wait”, Mike suddenly looked all around. “Is this the Creel House? Dude, this is a murder house!”

“Sshhh! You’re gonna scare the ghost.”

“Murder house?”, El questioned, moving closer to Mike.

“Some guy offed his wife and kids. Dustin, this is serious, even Nancy’s told me not to ever come here”, Mike said.

There was another sound from upstairs and Dustin tightened his cap in determination. He started up the stairs, the others slowly following behind but disgruntled about it.

----------------

Making people stay after there’d been a murder was easier said than done. But most of the basketball team had stayed, as well as the cheerleaders. 

“Alright, time to do some questioning”, Nancy said, pacing back and forth in the living room. Although, since she was covered in blood, it was more like she was stalking after having already killed her prey.

“No need”, Steve said. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

Jonathan crossed his arms. “This oughta be good.”

“Well, out with it inspector”, Robin urged.

“Jason must’ve had an enemy with it out for him. And who else would that be but Andy!”, he pointed a gloved finger at him.

“You’re crazy!”, Andy glared.

“Oh we’re all mad here”, Eddie slung an arm over Steve’s shoulders. “But go ahead and explain, inspector.”

“With Jason gone, Andy would get to become the captain of the team.”

“I wouldn’t do that. But Patrick might.”

“Where’s Patrick?”, Jonathan asked.

The scream from the kitchen took their attention away. The girl in the angel costume, Heather, was staring at Patrick’s dead body. There was a puddle of blood on the floor, but no obvious weapon or wound. 

Nancy bent over, ignoring Steve and Robin’s combined protests. Her eyes narrowed. 

“Something’s not right.”

The light shut off.

There were screams, and scuffled and by the time Eddie found the lights and turned them back on, both Nancy and Patrick’s body were gone.

--------------------

Dustin led the way, with Lucas was right behind him with Max clinging to the back of his shirt while also pretending not to. El was flanking Mike and holding his free hand while Will brought up the rear.

Every little sound and creak had them freezing, including the ones that came from their own steps.

“Is this place even up to code?”, Max asked.

“Yeah, it’s not gonna be a ghost that gets us, but tetanus”, Lucas quipped.

Then they heard something fall and shatter in one of the rooms and all joking stopped.

“Okay, something’s up”, Jonathan said.

“You’re damn right Byers! Nancy’s gone!”, Eddie shouted.

“Wait, what about Jason’s body?”, Robin reminded them all and they were back in the bathroom. 

Sure enough, Jason’s body was gone too. Just a few drops of blood left on the surface of the tub. 

“Okay I think I really am gonna be sick”, Eddie said.

“None of this adds up”, Jonathan said. “The killer left bodies the first two times. If they killed Nancy, where’s her body?”

“Hey! Does the trench coat and hat mean nothing to you people?”, Steve asked, frustrated. “Round up the suspects!”

But by the time they returned to the living room, everyone else was gone. Thunder roared and the lights went out again. When they came back on, Robin was gone.

“Wait, I think I know what’s going on”, Eddie said, just as the lights went out again and then HE was gone.

“Okay, this is serious”, Jonathan said. 

“You’re tellin’ me. People sure are gonna talk about how much of a dud this party was”, Steve pointed out, popping some candy in his mouth from a bowl.

Jonathan looked at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously talking about the crap they’re gonna gossip about?! Can’t you tell what’s happening her-”

The thunder roared again. And it went dark again. And just as the previous times, Jonathan was nowhere to be found when the lights came back on. Steve looked around, finding himself completely alone in Jason Carver’s house.

“Hmmm.”

“I’VE COME FOR YOUR SOUL HARRINGTON!”, a maniac in black robes and a clown mask came out at him with a knife.

Steve’s eyes widened and he delivered a punch to their jaw.

“Ow! Dammit! What the hell?!”

“Yeah, what the hell?!”, Steve shouted back. “This is the best prank you could’ve thought of?”

Jason took the mask off, glaring at him. “You’re a freak, Harrington.”

“Then I’m in good company. Now let the others go so we can get on with this night.”

Steve walked out with the rest, the basketball team and cheer squad all frowning at them as they left.

“Worst. Party. Ever”, Eddie said.

“Next time, we should just hang out with your sister and her friends”, Robin suggested.

Nancy nodded. “Their night had to be better than ours.”

---------------

The kids crept to the door they’d heard the sound from. Their footsteps were nearly silent now. And it sounded like whispering on the other side of the door. Dustin took a breath before throwing it open and six flashlights illuminated the room. They were met with the screams of two teens and they in turn screamed.

“What’re you kids doing here?!”

“What are YOU doing here?”

“We’re not kids, we’re freshmen!”

“Are you ghosts?!”

“Seriously, what the hell!”, the girl screamed, buttoning her shirt back up.

“Dude!”, Mike shoved Dustin. “This is a makeout spot!”

“So you guys aren’t like the-the living dead or anything?”, Dustin asked, dejected.

“Hell no!”, the guy shouted.

“Why are you making out in a creepy old house?”, Max asked.

“Is it how you get romantic?”, El pressed.

“Munson told us about it.”

Now that got them all to go silent for an unnerving amount of time. Eddie? Eddie had secret makeout spots? The idea made them all shiver with fright and they were sufficiently shooed off home.

“I think that’s enough horror for one night”, Lucas said.

Will nodded. “Seconded.”

“Why would Eddie know anything about makeout spots? He’s a virgin”, Dustin shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense. And why would Chrissy be here?”

“Can we all just agree to never speak of this again?”, Mike suggested but it was more like an order.

“Yeah.” “Sure.” “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

[nomoreusername]

Lily Of The Valley (Part 2)

Pairing:Aris x female reader

Summary: Despite trying to sleep, Aris suggests something that sticks inside your head.

Waking up, I stretched my limbs as I climbed down the ladder to see Aris still fast asleep. It was decided the second we found this place that the bottom bunk was his. The alternative was him having to struggle just a little more for essentially no reason, and I'd prefer it if life could be just a little easier on him after all he had gone through, all that we all had gone through.

Still, we were alive to go through it. I just need to remind myself that sometimes.

Watching him for a moment, I listened as his breathing remained even while he was still in a deep rest. Glancing at the clock I saw that it was around eleven. While that's later than usual we had been up for a few extra hours last night. Besides, we weren't exactly in a hurry to get somewhere.

Heading to the food boxes, I pulled out the one labeled snacks and dug through it until I settled on canned pears and peaches. Grabbing a red sharpie, I crossed out the eighty for the new number.

Grabbing a pocket knife, I got my peaches open the old fashioned way so that I wouldn't wake him. Scratching at the metal, I dug my tool into the lid and fought with my meal. Refusing to bend to its will, I kept slicing at the edges, only to get measly dents. Scowling at the can like it wasn't saving my life, I stabbed the middle of it.

Apparently, my frustration was exactly what I needed as it went right through. Getting up, I grabbed a fork from the drawer before placing my knife back under the hole. Opening it, I resisted the urge to bash it against the counter as I tried again.

Eventually, after plenty of struggle and muscle aches, it was good enough. Now that I knew how to do it I started the process over with the pears, nearly slicing myself open. Still, after debating quitting I settled for the bare minimum again as I put a fork inside the hole and tip toed back to the bunks. Taking a seat at the end of his bed, I set the pears on the ground as I ate my snack.

Barely a second later I heard loud cursing as the sheets rustled. Looking at him, I saw Aris giving me a halfhearted look of irritation.

“There are easier ways of giving someone a heart attack, but that would probably work well,”He said, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

“It's not my fault you wake up like I’m throwing you in a river. Besides, I got you food to make up for it,”I shrugged, grabbing his snack with one hand and giving it to him. Now sitting criss-cross applesauce like I was, he thanked me before looking at me funny.

“Why does the can look like it was mauled by a bear?”

“I didn't want to wake you up from the can opener,”I explained.

“No. You’d rather watch me sleep.”

“Don't flatter yourself. I like watching you dramatically wake up,”I corrected.

“It is not dramatic. You are literally just sitting there, staring me down.”

“Actually, I was focused on the peaches,”I corrected yet again.

“Sure. Whatever you need to tell yourself,”He drew out, giving me a teasing grin before eating his meal. Sitting there in silence, I looked at my food, glancing up at him everyday now and then, occasionally meeting his gaze before he looked away.

“Hey Y/N,”He whispered, his tone completely different in a way that I couldn't quite explain.

“Yeah? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It's just that,”He trailed off, swirling his fork around the can as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“It's just what?”

“It's just, do you ever think about the world?”

“About seeing it?”I asked quickly. He just gave me a hesitant nod as he kept fidgeting with his food.

“I think about it, but I have no real interest in leaving this place. It's just a wasteland out there,”I pointed out, looking at the way his face dropped. “Are you thinking of leaving this place?”

“Kind of. It's just that I re-read this book, and it was about two people exploring places nobody was brave enough to go. I just remember thinking that that could be you and I. So what if it was? What if we left?”

“Where would we go?”I asked, putting my empty can down before moving closer.

“I don't know, but I think that it would be worth it.”

“We’d at least need a goal,”I responded, entertaining the idea.

“I have one.”

“Of course you do,”I sighed.

“I want to find a Lily Of The Valley.”

“A what?”

“A Lily Of The Valley. It's this beautiful flower that represents hope and good luck while also containing toxins. Can you imagine seeing something good yet dangerous? Can you imagine getting to be near something like that?”

“The world is dead. Plants aren't growing anywhere,”I reminded him.

“But what if they are? We’ve been stuck her for years. Maybe things have gotten better. Maybe it's changed, but we'll never know unless we look for it.”

“And if the Double T’s don't want to go?”

“They might,”He shrugged. “But as long as I have you everything will be okay,”He added, reaching for my hand. Taking it, I looked at him as I thought about it. Truly thought about it.

Everything was against us in this plan. How little we know, how little we’ll be able to bring, Cranks, weather, the fact that we hadn't left this place in years, and his-

“Stop,”He said firmly, giving my hand a squeeze. Bringing my eyes back up to his face, he knew exactly what I was thinking. “Don't worry about that. Just think about everything else. We could finally leave this place. We could see what's up there.”

“Aris.”

“Y/N, we don't have to be our own prisoners. We’ve done that our entire lives.”

“It's also why we're alive,”I reminded him.

“But we aren't. We’re surviving, but I want to do more. Don't you?”He pleaded.

“If living means dying, is it worth it?”I pointed out.

“You really don't want to go, do you?”

“No. I don't.”

“Oh,”He muttered, letting go of my hand and putting them in his lap. Looking away, he fiddled with his fingers as we sat in heavy silence.

“I’m going to go check on the inventory,”I said, doing anything to break it. He just gave me a nod as I got up. Not looking back, I walked behind the metal shelves and leaned down. Pulling a box out, I just stared at it for a while as I thought about what he said. Then, I remembered just what happened last time we didn't have a plan and pushed it out of my head. It was silly to leave the place full of safety and food and water. Everything we’ll ever need is right here. Why risk it?

× ~ × ~ × ~ ×

Laying on my bed for a long time, I blankly stared at the ceiling as his words refused to leave my head. Realizing they wouldn't stop haunting me, I climbed down so that I could actually hear him and gently shook him away.

Whatever sleep stage he was in must have been light because he opened his eyes basically the second my fingertips made contact with his skin. Turning over, he rubbed his eyes as he sat up and looked at me, probably wondering why I woke him up at three in the morning.

All Parts

“So, when do we leave?”

Next Chapter

[barry-j-blupjeans]

Day Three - Myth

There’s something incredibly disconcerting about being able to see your own breath when you breathe out. For someone like Lup, it was always a reminder of where she came from. Cold, windy nights on the street with Taako, hidden in the back alleys of a city that never really went dark, unless you knew where to look. The chill was part of the reason they had moved away. Starting a fresh life somewhere warm had always been the goal.

It didn’t get cold out here. Even in the winter, the lowest it would drop would be the mid-forties. Lup hadn’t seen natural ice in years.

But here she was.

To be completely honest, being a YouTuber wasn’t the hot shit that it was made out to be. To be even more honest, Lup and Taako often put their lives in major jeopardy with the cryptid hunting videos. They had never actually gotten any solid evidence that the cryptids they were looking for existed, but that’s what video editing was for. Instead, the danger came from being out in places like the woods she was in now. Far enough away from town to lose even the shittiest of wifi, deep enough into nature that no one would know where to find her.

They took a lot of measures to make sure they never got separated. And now Lup was out in the woods by herself, with her way too expensive camera and a sweater not heavy enough for the chill that had settled over the area.

And the camera wasn’t even working. It had been static all night, but now it had dissolved into straight nothingness. There was nothing Lup could do to get the view back in focus, or back at all. Maybe if she hadn’t been so focused on it, she would have felt colder. Maybe she would have watched her step more carefully.

Maybe-

There was a flash of red from her left. Lup staggered slightly, then stopped walking. She aimed the camera towards it, just in case. If she was about to get murdered or some shit, then at least they’d have video evidence.

And she’d not be going down without a fight, thanks to the obsessive amount of pocket knives Magnus had given her. They had gotten her out of more than one shitty situation before and she could do it again.

The temperature seemed to drop lower. Just being able to see her breathe was something, but now the cold was starting to seep into her lips and fingers.

Logically, she should stay put. She hadn’t strayed far from where she lost track of Taako. Or Taako lost track of her, or whatever. But there was a dread creeping up her throat that had started with the static and increased with the chill. If it came down to fight or flight, she couldn’t exactly choose the latter and leave Taako behind.

And it was only when the screen of her camera cracked into shards that Lup realized. Oh.

Fuck.

Despite doing this for several years, they never really encountered a cryptid before. Like, duh. It’s not like they exist. If the Mothman was real, someone deffo would have gotten that guy on camera. If Bigfoot was out there somewhere, he’d probably be trying to buy some fuckin’ Air Jordans or something. If the Red Robe existed, then he would have been recorded already. The flimsy excuse of him “breaking cameras” was supposed to have been a convenient sidestep.

But here she was. Cameraless, freezing, and stuck staring at the red, hooded figure emerging from the trees.

He was fucking terrifying. Where there should have been a face beneath his hood, there was a curling ball of static that dripped down his chest. What could have been hands looked more like inky black claws, curved and pointed, much like the dozens of pocket knives Lup had on her. Past his knees, the robe began to fade away, leaving a wisp behind him, tangled up in static and empty air.

It was horrifying. But when he spoke—

When he spoke, Lup figured that the most awful part of it all was the ache in her chest.

“Lup,” he said, in what might have been some sort of twisted joy or disbelief. “Lup, you came back.”

Fight or flight, baby. And Lup was all out of flight.

She pulled the pocket knife out of her sleeve.

[noforkingclue]

No Questions Asked (Laszlo Kreizler x reader) Chapter 21

No Questions Asked tag list: @fandom-lover-4, @ajeff855, @booksarekindaneat, @greeneyedblondie44

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You kicked your legs back and forth as you stared at the chalkboard. You bit your lip as you looked over Polly’s last words. The words that she risked her life to get for you.

The parents know more then they’re saying

Bitter mocking words. Words that just a short while ago you would’ve done anything to hear, to have your point proven right. But now… now all you wanted was your friend back. You jumped when you felt a soft hand on your shoulder. Kreizler was next to you. You looked around and couldn’t see either John or Sara. You wished that they were here.

“Still feeling guilty?” he asked

“You tell me.”

“You were not to know that she would die.”

“I should’ve done though,” you muttered, “I knew the type of bastard she was with. I thought that his death would,” you waved a hand, “I don’t know…”

“Resolve your guilt?”

You glanced at Kreizler out of the corner of your eye and nodded.

“But it didn’t.”

“In some ways,” you said, “I know he can’t hurt anyone else but in others,” you ran your hands over your face, “it won’t bring my friend back. And now-”

You cut yourself off and swallowed thickly. You hopped off the table and walked slowly towards the board. After a second you heard Kreizler approach you. His hand appeared back on your shoulder and you had to resist the urge to lean back into him.

“And now you think this is wrong.”

You hesitated for a moment. You chewed your thumb nail and paced about. Saying it out loud would mean admitting to your fears. To the fact that your failure led to the death of one of the few people in this city who knew you, the real you.

“What’s this, Doc? You think you’re wrong?”

You and Laszlo glanced around. John and Sara had just walked in. You hugged yourself tightly and walked away from the board. The awkwardness had once again settled between you and Laszlo. John gave you a curious look and you pointedly looked at the floor.

“I need some fucking air.”

You pushed your way out of the door. You took a deep breath and leant against the brickwork. Fuck. You had hoped to leave all of this behind. To have a fresh start in a new city where you could actually help people. You’d never escape death, not in your world, but you wanted to do something even with your limited resources and power.

“Hey, doc?”

You glanced over when you heard an unfamiliar voice. It wasn’t uncommon for strangers to approach you asking for help. In the world you operated in, finding someone with even some element of medical knowledge (who asked very low fees) was a rarity. Word travelled fast.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Got something for you.”

“What- AH!”

The stab was swift and the blade sharp. You gasped and staggered back. You were vaguely aware of people shouting around you and you glanced down. The knife was sticking out of your stomach and the greyish white was your shirt turning a vivid red colour. You sunk down to the ground, shock settling in. In any other situation you’d know what to do. But with this… you never thought that it would actually happen to you.

“Doc? Hey Doc!”

You looked up. Your vision was swimming and you couldn’t see who was talking to you. Dark spots clouded your vision and you felt yourself slowly overcome to unconsciousness.

“Doc!”

*

You let out a groan as you were slowly pulled into the waking world. The first thing you noticed was just how comfortable the bed you were lying in was. Your fingers curled against the sheets and you knew you should be savouring this moment. You knew that you would never be in a bed as nice as this ever again.

Wait.

You didn’t know anyone who had a bed like this.

Your eyes flew open and you sat up sharply. You let out a cry of pain and put your hand over your wound. You glanced down at the bandages covering your chest and flopped back on the pillows.

Great. This was just what you needed. You were  just about to drift off to sleep when a thought hit you. Where was your shirt? They needed to take it off in order to help you which must mean…

Ah fuck.

This was going to take a lot of explaining.

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (52)

part 52 of 55 | 1894 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

It’s been three days since Steve told Robin about the blackmail, and Eddie is a goddamn wreck. 

This is a mean place to leave off, but the next chapter goes up on Monday. In the meantime, enjoy your Friday the 13th. ❤️

52.

It’s been three days since Steve told Robin about the blackmail, and Eddie is a goddamn wreck. 

Spring Break had left him with plenty of physical damage—scars that start on his left cheek and continue down to his thighs, deepest near his middle where he’d almost been eviscerated, and on bad days he still has a trace of a limp. 

There’s non-physical stuff too. Nightmares. He now has first hand experience with going to war against and being eaten alive by literal monsters, after all. And there’s Chrissy. . . . Always Chrissy. Those few but terrifying days had shattered his long-held beliefs in the difference between real life and fiction without any pause to let him pick up the pieces. What a mindfuck.

He still has nightmares, even with Steve in bed beside him; they both do. The comedown is easier together than alone, but it still happens. What surprises Eddie, though, is that his are about familiar things made horrifyingly unfamiliar. Running from the cops or angry jocks, for example, now supercharged with the cops pumping him full of lead and the jocks pummeling him to death, or coming at him with knives and stabbing out his entrails. Yeah, the bats and the blood and the fucking vines everywhere are in the mix too, but they’re horror movie props. They’re the spectators, the window dressing, even though every bullet or blow or knife feels like it has teeth.

Everything from Spring Break happened so fast, is the thing—even though the essence of it all is seared into his brain, his dreams never get the details quite right. All that Upside Down shit feels less real in the light of day, and like maybe he went crazy and imagined all of it. Sometimes the only way to make sure is to ask Steve, or Dustin, or any of his new monster hunting friends.

Worst by far, somehow, are the nightmares where those friends, the only people in this shitty town who had been right there in the trenches with him when public opinion screamed for his head on a pike, just . . . lose interest in him. Where they lose touch, slip through his fingers, and all he’s got to show from knowing them is a mangled torso and a tendency to jump at shadows. 

Lately, he’s been dreaming that Robin, the first fellow queer friend he’d knowingly made in this hellhole town, is the first to turn away from him, and he can’t even blame her.

“She’s making me sweat it out on purpose,” he groans, face-down on the floor in Jeff’s temporary room at his aunt’s house. It smells like dust and old cigarettes down there, but he figures it’s what he deserves. 

“Dude, you blackmailed her best friend,” Jeff points out. Unhelpfully, in Eddie’s opinion. “Not very well, but still. If someone pulled that shit on you I’d be out there slashing tires and egging their house.”

“You’re such a comfort,” Eddie mutters into the carpet. “I’m so glad I come to you with my problems.”

He can practically hear Jeff rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I am. She might be messing with you, but at least she’s not fucking with any of your shit. I know you consider the silent treatment to be the most hideous form of torture—”

Face still hidden, Eddie winces. Because Jeff’s not wrong, but Steve and Robin have been actually tortured for information by evil Russians and he’s a total wimp in comparison. 

“—But it could be a lot worse.”

It could be. He knows that. And Steve keeps assuring him that everything’s fine, that he talked it out with Robin and she’s calmed down by now. Eddie nods along but keeps gnawing his nails down to the quick anyway, because that’s with Steve. She’s fine with Steve, calm with Steve, and still her schedule has casually omitted running into Eddie in any way. As far as he’s concerned speaks for itself.

And it doesn’t help when he tells Jeff about telling Steve about telling Jeff—which, okay, fine, it sounds stupid when put like that—his best friend had rolled his eyes and said, “Really Ed? You only just now thought to mention it?”

One more thing for Robin to rip his head off over. And Steve probably won’t pick him over her, which makes Eddie want to crumble to dust. 

Well. He doesn’t think Steve should pick him over Robin. The actual ‘he picks me, he picks me not’ shit is something his guesses seesaw back and forth on all the time. 

The world hadn't stopped for the apocalypse, let alone Eddie nearly dying or Eddie freaking out. Thatcher Tire doesn’t want him back after the murder charges and the government payout won’t last forever, so he’s spent the entire day going from storefront to storefront in what passes for downtown Hawkins.

He knows that Steve is working at Family Video today, because he’d pried himself out of bed and Eddie’s starfish grip that morning for that very reason. He also knows that Robin isn’t on the schedule today, because he’s thought to ask before dozing back off for a few hours. So he feels no hesitation before sailing into the video rental store from the deserted parking lot and announcing with a flourish, “You are looking at Melvald’s newest stock boy, courtesy of one benevolent Joyce Byers!”

It comes out as a weird mix of triumphant and resigned, falling flat in the still air of Family Video. Because yeah, he has a job, but it came at the heels of a series of rejections and feels like a pity offer. Does it count as nepotism if it comes from the matriarch of their weird little unofficial monster-hunting family?

When his declaration goes unanswered, Eddie takes a moment to really take in his surroundings. He’d expected no one else to be in the store, and there isn’t; but it isn’t Steve behind the counter.

It’s Robin. 

The door has already closed behind him, cutting off the easiest escape route. He could open it again, but that would be going out of his way to run from danger, something he’s promised himself he won’t do anymore. And . . . Steve had sworn up and down to him that everything’s fine. 

The deliberately blank look on Robin’s face suggests that Steve was incorrect.

Eddie moves forward by sheer force of momentum, jamming his hands in his jeans pockets and clearing his throat. “Uh, hi.”

“Hello,” Robin replies, in a tone that implies that the rest of that sentence is ‘and welcome to Family Video, where the theater comes to your living room,’** or whatever corporate bullshit she and Steve might technically be required to say but never actually do. Eddie’s heard her customer service voice before, but never directed at him. He almost trips over his own feet hearing it now. 

“So. . . .” Eddie usually prides himself on knowing what to say, or at least being able to vamp for time and posture a lot until he figures it out. To have it happen with someone he knows well is absolutely excruciating. 

A tiny part of him worries that Steve had set him up for this, faked having work today or something to force this meeting and get it over with. But Steve wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“Is Steve around?” he asks finally, aware that the silence has been dragging and Robin, unusually, is making no attempt to put it out of its misery.

She narrows her eyes and jerks a thumb over one shoulder towards the door marked Employees Only. 

So, okay, Steve is probably on break and Eddie had just misremembered Robin’s schedule. That’s fine. That’s something, anyway. He can work with something. 

With a vague salute that he hopes to god comes across as inoffensive and casual, Eddie beelines for the break room. He’ll feel a little better with Steve at his back, or at least after he gets a chance to hiss “I told you so” and work some of the panicking out of his system.

The break room, however, is empty save for a flimsy card table, some shitty folding chairs, and a couch that's definitely seen better days. Eddie looks around, dumbfounded, and even ducks into the adjoining manager’s office to double check that Steve isn’t holed up in there for some reason. He hears the break room door swing open and shut again and darts out hopefully, but—

It’s Robin again. “Steve felt a migraine coming on a couple hours into his shift and called me to fill in for him,” she announces. “I just flipped the sign to closed. We, Eddie Munson, are going to have a talk.”

-

** I read the "Welcome to Family Video, where the theater comes tyo your living room" line in Cut and Changed and Rearranged by AidaRonan and could not get it out of my head, so it crept in here. And then I had to dig around until I found the fic it was from, because my memory for titles is like Swiss cheese. Anyway, great fic, highly recommend!