#while having limp noodles for arms

[helsensm]

artist-character outfit swap for mk ask on telegram (ofc it's my fav skin)

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 28] || [Chapter 30]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: illness, injuries, hurt/comfort, fluff Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: they're very sick... poor babies

Chapter 29: Taking Turns

The next couple of days were rough. 

Between:

Kyle unable to bend down or stand straight for too long before his hip protested;

John unable to stretch himself in any direction due to his lower back hurting;

Johnny limping from his knee and with an arm on a sling;

and Simon having… not quite the flu but something? and getting dizziness spells every time he moved…

You haven’t gotten any proper rest either and have been running back and forth trying to help care for all of them.

They try their best to help, really… But the amount of groans, winces, and strained voices you hear whenever Kyle tries to make you all food, John tries to bend down to help with laundry, Simon tries to sweep, or Johnny tries to do anything two-handed… It’s hard.

Your flat suddenly feels too small for them, for you. 

Haven’t slept in your bed the whole weekend… But hey, at least you get to cuddle Simon all night every night. He’s like your own heater…

It comes to a head on Monday morning. You’ve gotta get to work… It hurts you to leave them like that, all alone, all day, in the state they’re in.

“So… there’s the spare key-” You handed the spare to John who had tried his best to be up with you for breakfast, leaning himself on the wall by the front door as you talk in hushed tones, Simon sleeping barely a couple feet away on the couch, actually getting rest.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine-”

“John…” You murmured as you looked up at him, your face showing nothing if not a deadpan inquiry. “You’re all dying.”

“We’re not dying. We were but we’re doing so much better after having you dote on us all weekend, darling.” He replied with a playful smile, which was cut through by a little wince that made his blue eyes press shut.

“Right.” You retorted and rolled your eyes. “Because you’ve gotten so much better, huh?” You taunted and shook your head.

“It’s fine… we’ve got… 3 or so functioning pairs of legs, 2 spines, 3 and a half pairs of arms and 3 working heads…” He trailed off, humourously listing the unaffected parts of their ailments.

“Ah yes… And somehow none of you are functional at all.” You teased again, smiling playfully, receiving a sigh and a conceding in the shape of an eye roll from him.

“Anyways,” You told him as you cupped his face. “You get back to bed… And try not to die, all of you. This flat isn’t mine, I don’t think you should die in here.” You added.

“Copy that.” John nodded with a chuckle which drew another wince from him. He kissed your forehead lightly then limped his way back to bed.

-

You had just gone on your lunch break when you shot the lads a message to check on their state:

you: how r u all doing? 👀

By the time you came back from lunch, you hadn’t gotten a reply to your text… And normally that wouldn’t worry you…

If it weren’t for the fact they’re bunked down in your flat because they’re all injured or sick.

You went back to work with your phone in your pocket, patiently waiting a text from them… 

you: pls tell me ur alive

Even with that message, it still took another hour and a half for an answer to come.

You were about to jump ship and go home early by then, when Johnny answered you.

Johnny: souo you: what? Johnny: soup Johnny: [1 Video Attachment]

The video you got was not one you expected. 

Firstly, it was a very zoomed in 10 seconds of one of your metal pots with a heeping quantity of chicken noodle soup boiling in it.

Then, the camera panned over to display Kyle, John and Simon sprawled on the couch, head’s dangling back over the edge, snoring away.

“We made soup… bonnie.” Johnny said from behind the camera, his voice groggy and dragging, a consequence of the strong painkillers he had been taking for the last 3 days after his gunshot.

“Gonna have seconds… it’s so good…” He announced in a conspiratory tone and shushed the video before he finished the video.

How they managed to force themselves to stand up and stay awake long enough to cook a whole pot worth of soup, you have no idea. 

But, hey, at least they were alive. And that eased your worries.

And so, you got back to work, finishing your work day.

Coming back to work, you were surprised to find the flat in a similar state as when you left, which was surprising considering you expected a mess of dishes and food left for you to clean.

The boys had also moved from the couch and to the bedroom, their snores and heavy breaths coming from down the hall, as well as the sound of the shower running.

You closed the door carefully behind yourself, took off your shoes and padded over to the kitchen with the little shopping bag worth of things you bought after work.

Just as you’re about to start putting things in the fridge and cupboards, a figure show up at the kitchen door, making you jump a bit and huff a breath of surprise.

Turning to look at him, eyes wide and startled, you come face-to-face with a glistening wet Kyle wrapped in your last clean towel. There you go, needing to do more laundry again.

“Hi, Kyle… Didn’t hear you come in.” You admitted with a smile as you looked at him.

“Hey, lovie… How was work?” He murmured as he approached you and kissed you softly on the forehead. He certainly seemed a bit more mobile than yesterday when you put him to bed.

“It was good… I see you boys made yourselves right at home, huh?” You gestured vaguely to the pot of soup on the back of the stove, lidded to keep for later.

“Yeah… John had the idea… Sent Soap to the shops to get the chicken and the carrot and all…” He trailed off as he nuzzled himself against you, an arm wrapped around your waist as he rubbed his nose against the crown of your head.

“I see… He was able to carry everything one handed?” You asked playfully, earning a chuckle from Kyle. 

“Surprisingly yes…” He trailed off and smiled as he lowered his head to steal a soft peck from your lips.

“What about cooking? Who did that?” You asked playfully as you returned the kiss, then, slipped away from his arm wrapped around you. You resumed putting things away in the cupboards and fridge.

“We took turns…” Kyle admitted a bit sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Every 10 minutes we’d switch spots with each other and sit on the couch…” He trailed off and chuckled. 

“I see… I can imagine how that went… the four of you lot wobbling back and forth between the kitchen and the sofa… leaning your head on the cupboard because of the pain while you TRIED to shred chicken and stir the soup and all?” You joked.

“It was miserable… But the soup’s really good…” Kyle admitted.

“Yeah, bet it is… Johnny sent me a text about it…” You added with a chuckle. “Now how about you dry yourself up and get dressed before you catch something, hm?”

“Or you could warm me up instead…” Kyle quipped and winked at you.

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @cod-z , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @xxshadowbabexx

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[rookiesbookies]

mischievous COD ideas😈

Heavily pregnant reader knowing that her hubby doesn’t want to be rough in the slightest with her due to her pregnancy and refrains from punishing her, so she abuses that fully to be a brat

To my sweet sweet brat reader, Im sorry if this is not all you hoped as I am a resident good girl. The one time I was a brat I got degraded (“such a good bitch”) and cried. I hope I do a good job portraying the relationships, if I dont let me know and I will edit it or rewrite sections that dont fit. You also didn’t specify so imma write for my usual set of lovelies. (Im also added Krueger because I’ve recently fallen in love with him a lil bit and he kinda fits thi)

The boys with pregnant brat wife

Price

This man is too worried about helping you get your shoes on. “You’re pregnant, isn’t not being able to see your feet punishment enough?” He’s not going to do much other than pinching you. Whether it’s your ass or your arm, and they’re hard “i had to discipline Soap subtly and im a dad” pinches. He’ll also use pressure points. Give the back of your arm the good pinch and twist. He’s just trying not to take it personally.

Soap

He’s googled what positions he can put you in. He’s googled if its safe for the baby. He has googled what he can and cannot do. He has spoke with your doctors about it, as embarrassing as that phone call was. And for certain punishments, its a long game. Like holding your ice cream you crave hostage until you learn. If he can’t make it sexual, he’ll find other ways.

Ghost

Like Price, he’s also using pressure points. Not the ones that knock you out but the ones that feel weird or make you got “ow”. Cannot get hard and it’s not because you’re not hot its bc he literally gets more flaccid than a limp noodle at the thought of possibly hurting that baby. He’s also very good at holding grudges and every time you brat out and walk all over him, he’s making a note on his phone for later.

Konig

Oh but he just got you to whine and cry you admit you want his cock. He knew eventually he could wait out your little game. “You acted out and now you must wait until I want to give it to you. You ask so nicely though, keep trying. I like when you beg.” He’s so mean, he’d make you wait until after you gave birth and however many times you acted out is how many weeks (or months depending on how he’s feeling) after you have to wait to get any pleasure from him.

Keegan

your toys aren’t doing it for you anymore? Nope. He’ll keep fluttering his fingers over you figure and let you use that tiny dildo he got you that cant even stretch you like he can. That’s all you get. His hands wont even go lower than your waist. They wont even touch close to your nipples. This is real torture. Every orgasm is so unfulfilling. I feel bad for you really. Hope this teaches you.

Gaz

He’s a doormat anyway. I don’t see him punishing anyone. He’s too much of a gentleman. I do believe he’d pull orgasm after orgasm out of you casually when you act up with his hands. Never giving you his dick as much as you beg. Pleading, crying for it, he wont budge. No you can deal with the consequences of your actions while he sits here and watches this movie. “Why aren’t you watching, love? You picked the movie. No, no, stop your whining, just sit and watch.”

Krueger

Sebastian doesn’t care. He’ll find other ways. Like right now you’re legs spread and hands flat against the wall as he spanks your ass, every time he does you have to say thank you and apologize for snapping at him. He knows you’re hormonal, but he’s going to make you apologize. Oh and he’s kissing away those tears and asking you if you understand what you do wrong while running you a nice bath and all the rubs and lotion for your poor butt.

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

As for the "Is Skully Secretly Jacked?" debate, I would like to bring up a point made by someone in the tags of the post that started said debate:

The twins do kinda-sorta look like twigs. Granted, they aren't human, but still.

And in my opinion, Vil and Rook both look like twigs as well.

[Referencing this post and this post!]

My response includes many example images that are MASSIVE spoilers for book 7 cards (which haven’t been released in EN yet!!) so please proceed with caution.

I think a lot of the characters definitely look like twigs due to their in-game live 2D models usually not accurately depicting their actual bodies. Just as an example, here are what the twins look like in live 2D:

... And here is what the twins look like in (Mermaid Fin SSR) card artwork. You can see there is a MAJOR discrepancy.

We also see this in Floyd's Club Wear card. His arms are much more defined in the card art and are noodle thin in the live 2D model:

It's not just the twins either. Another notable nerf between the card art and the live 2D models occurs with Silver and Sebek. I mean, just LOOK at their arms in the P.E. Uniform cards... and then how sad and limp they look in the actual gameplay...

Vil and Rook are entirely different cases. Both of them are typically wearing long sleeves, which conceals their bodies and gives the illusion of lacking muscle.

It was stated in the Magical Archives that Rook is beefier than Trey (who is quite strong from playing soccer as a kid and helping out at the Clover family bakery). It also makes sense for Rook’s character as a huntsman wanting to hide his presence (thereby making it easier for him to observe his prey). Showing off how big of a threat he actually is with his physique out on display defeats the whole purpose.

Without the arms covered, we can see how truly muscular Rook is—though again, the live 2D model is greatly toned down.

Vil, meanwhile, is in a separate category. He is strong too—this much is true! However, his build ISN’T jacked up like Sebek, Silver, Rook, etc. Why? Vil states that he dutifully trains to maintain his figure as a model but is also mindful that he doesn’t get too bulky, as that wouldn’t be aesthetically desirable for his work. You can still be strong while being lithe. Think about dancers, for example.

Vil has also demonstrated in side content such as the Sunset Savanna hometown event and Beans Day that he’s able to take down opponents far larger than him using tactics besides brute force. This includes using his foe’s weight against them to toss them and acting gravely injured to make his foe cocky.

And now let’s revisit Skully! I’d say he definitely doesn’t LOOK bulky, whether in his art or in the live 2D model.

For the sake of argument, let’s say he’s hiding massive arms under his suit. But like… where exactly?

Unlike the sleeves we normally see, the Nightmare Suits are visibly stitched. They can only be so effective for holding together. Just looking at the artwork, it doesn’t look as though Skully’s arms are straining to be freed or pushing back against the seams.

Okay, so what if Skully’s instead like Vil and has a lean frame that hides a surprising amount of strength? I don’t really buy this either because no lore supports it. Vil trains extensively because his career demands it and he is a tenacious person. What reason does Skully have to keep in such shape? He isn’t really described as an athlete or dedicated to health or something along those lines. Boy just LOVES Halloween. There isn’t a clear lore reason why Skully would want to get (excuse me for the pun) jacked.

So yeah, that’s why I don’t believe Skully’s secretly physically strong. He’s literally just… lanky.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

YOU SAID SOFT!JASON AND I CAME RUNNING

soft!jason who just needs a fucking hug but its a stubborn bitch about it until reader basically forces him to hug her (its koala szn ok i dont make the rules) and his resolve is just GONE and he melts into her touch bc he really needed it

I follow the book of SZA for this season.

Personally ima imagine Gotham Knights Jason cause he gives off ugly bulldog vibes and I love that, but all Jason lives matter here 😊❤️

—

It’s been a while since you’ve witnessed a squash get butchered into many interesting pieces.

The tackling of the oddly tough spaghetti squash was always handled by your boyfriend, who made cutting it into its prepared state look incredibly easy. Cut it into multiple rings, season them, roast them, then fork out the perfectly cooked, sizable noodles with said utensil.

He was lost in thought, he had to have been, as said rock hard vegetable had been resorted to crooked, uneven cubes. His bowed head and dark expression after you quickly noticed, only signified the assumption to be true.

“Jason.” You tried his name again for a second time, concerned enough to settle a hand along his forearm. It was a miracle he hadn’t lost a finger yet, but knocking on wood in your mind would’ve been powerful enough to make it happen.

“Jason.”

The knife pauses, the man blinking once as if someone snapped in front of his face. He lifts his head a bit, coming back to his senses only to realize the state of what mess he’d created on the cutting board.

“Shit,” Jason mutters once, glancing over to see if the other half of the spaghetti squash was still intact.

“Shit.” The curse was further dragged out a little louder. Too lost in his dark cloud of remembrance to realize he butchered it all. Great. Just great.

“Hey,” you speak up, watching him catch your gaze for a split second before avoiding it, quickly setting the knife down.

“Hey.” He clears his throat, his hands piling together the fragments of their now ruined meal. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You try to insist, watching him scoop up the pieces in his hands. “We can still roast it, make it into something still eatable.”

Jason didn’t respond.

This makes your worry meter spike just a little bit more.

“What’s with that frown handsome? You love Italian night.” You question, keeping your hand settled along his forearm.

There was nothing Italian about this dinner, except the homemade sauce and crumbled choice of sausage from an authentic butcher.

He groans but not out of irritance for your words. His hand shifts, making your hand etch back as he leans against the counter, his head bowing once more.

“Nothing.”

What’s going on in that kind mind of his? Was he involuntarily reminiscing of topics and experiences you don’t dare to mention? Was he beating himself up inside for his slip up, ruining a crucial part of your guys’ dinner?

“Come here,” you step closer, slightly extending your arm out a bit as an offering.

Jason nearly etched his head off to the side, nearly mumbling an ‘No. M’fine babe,’ but you weren’t having it.

“Come heeere,” you tried again, reaching your arm up along his opposite bicep, attempting to capture his broad build into your limited embrace.

You make the effort to squeeze in between the tall man of muscle and the kitchen counter, managing to fit both hands over hud shoulders, securing them being his neck.

“We can fix it.” You tell him before he can say otherwise, his brow either furrowing or raising in mixed surprise, and or denial, “We can ask Alfred for one of his secret recipes. If it doesn’t work, fuck it. We’ll make nutella sandwiches or something.”

His brow sharply quirks.

You return the expression with a smile.

You’re a bad influence on him. He adores that about you.

He huffs, an edge of his tone resembling a weak, throaty chuckle. A corner of his lip raised into a limp smile, which was all you needed to see.

“Long day?”

He merely has the strength in his social battery to respond as his head lowers to settle along your shoulder. With a single sigh, the weight of his body against yours nearly had you squished against the counter. A pleasant company along your sides were those ‘unrealistically’ large hands guarding your back from digging too deep against the marble countertop edges.

“Yeah.”

Your small hand cradles the back of his head, nearly soothing the pain from his tension headache. His eyes close, another small sigh leaving his nose. Not all of the palpable stress leaves his body, but your comfort nearly dulls it down into something much more manageable in seconds. Something much more bearable.

Your soft voice floods his aches and pains with a golden warmth of serenity. Your secret super power did wonders on his heart and mind. You didn’t even have to try.

“How’s Nutella sandwiches sound, actually?”

“We don’t have the marshmallow fluff.”

“No, but.. think we got strawberries.”

His brow slightly quirks again. Tonight sounds like it’s getting better already.

[gardenofnoah]

eyeeeee am suffering today so here’s my beloved taking care of me

.

.

“you hurtin’?”

you sniff, pressing your forehead into his stomach. he reaches down to comb his fingers through your hair, and you wonder if he knows what effect that absentminded little action has on you. tears sting at the corners of your eyes and it’s embarrassing—you try to hum an affirmative reply but it comes out more of a whimper.

katsuki’s patient—hand smoothing over the back of your head lovingly while he waits for a real response. you take a deep breath and offer him a nonsensical, mumbled “i’m sorry.”

“what for?”

“it’s just that this happens every month and i’m sure it gets tiring to have to check up on me—“

you’re cut off by a sharp flick to your forehead. you look up at him, eyebrows furrowed, pouting a little. “ow?”

he huffs out a chuckle, threading his fingers through your hair again. “that didn’t hurt, you wuss.” he bends down to kiss the spot anyway, and stays crouched so he’s at eye level with you. “s’my job to take care of you.”

you start to protest, because it’s really not, but he just reaches out and flicks your forehead again.

“fucking—why—“

“‘cause you think too much. i didn’t ask what you thought about the emotional labor distribution in the relationship, you motherfucker” and you know he’s mocking you, but he’s stupid and it makes you laugh, which softens him a little bit. “i asked if you were hurtin’ because i know you are and i want t’help. so just shut up and let me do that.”

you blink at him, and the tears are back with a vengeance—he sees your lip wobble and tuts at you, reaching to pull you off the couch and into his lap where he sits on the ground.

“fuckin’ crybaby,” he mutters, but it’s only fond as his hands work their way under the material of your (his) t shirt to rub your back. his warmth dulls the ache, if only a little bit.

“fuck off,” you whine, but it cracks a little and it’s muffled into his shoulder and it makes him laugh. you feel it rumble beneath you and you press closer, wanting to feel it again.

“what d’ya need?”

you pause, thinking about it. “i want to bury myself in the blankets on the bed.”

“okay.”

“and i want the cat.”

“okay?”

“and i want you to pass me snacks underneath the blankets.”

“oi, you’re not eating on the—“

“you have to knock first.”

he levels you with a look, cocking an eyebrow at you. you’d be intimidated if you didn’t know it was all for show—he’d do anything you asked him to.

“and also—“

“jesus christ—”

“i want you to hold my hand.”

that gives him pause, and you’ll make fun of him later for the way you watch him fold like a limp noodle.

“under the blankets?”

“under the blankets.”

he sighs, all dramatic, and he hauls both of you off the floor with a concerningly little amount of effort. you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you back to your bedroom. he sets you on the bed—gently, instead of his usual wwe style takedown—and dutifully throws the comforter over your head. you settle in, listening to him rummage around the house.

you hear him return, and you reach out to hold the comforter down so he can’t pull it up.

you hear him pause, and then sigh deeply. you hear the smile on his face.

“…knock, knock.”

you release your grip on the blanket, and he raises it only enough to shove your cat’s head through it. the little thing chirps it’s excitement to have joined you and you cackle, pulling her the rest of the way through.

you hear him pad back to the kitchen, muttering a “little fuckin’ bridge troll,” to himself. your cat settles in and katsuki returns, dropping what you assume to be your snacks onto the bed. you shoot an arm out from under the blankets and grab for them, yanking them under. you hear him snort, and then feel the bed dip under his weight as he settles in next to you.

you reach under the blanket again, feeling around blindly for his hand. he lets you tap around the bed a few times because he’s the worst, and then you feel his warm fingers intertwine with yours. you let out a pleased little hum and drag his hand under the blanket.

you press a tiny kiss to a scar over his knuckles. “love you,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek into the back of his hand. he squeezes your fingers gently.

“love you, you little freak.”

[aetherdoesthings]

did you see the arlecchino animation and teaser??? a;fasjl;f

they make me so sad :(( also, the teaser was hot af tho, had me so downbad. arlecchino's lore is just so 😭

~EL anon

would you like new toys?

i simped so hard during the animation and teaser i decided to write a mini series fic about arlecchino. i have a lot of thoughts about it and now i'm regretting not taking up your offer lmao

forethoughts: my love language is writing someone an entire fic about them (not really, but i will write you an entire letter).

notes: fem!reader in mind, but gn!. NOT AN x READER!! READER IS A CHILD IN THIS!

In every cluster of children, there was always one that had trouble making friends. 

That title was unfortunately bestowed upon you.

Always excluded in activities and games, left to play in the corner with the leftover, worn out toys while everyone chose the newest and best toys in the box. It had always been that way; you didn’t see it changing any time.

Father was always more lenient and caring with you. She made sure you were the first in line to get breakfast, lunch and dinner. While everyone had a curfew, you were allowed to wander the halls freely and exit your room. That of course didn’t make it any easier for you to make friends. 

Like a robot given the same set of codes and no changes, days blurred into weeks, and weeks blurred into months while you lived your solitary life. 

~

You sat crossed leg, facing the corner of the playroom, hands empty. You ran out of luck; all the toys were already gone by the time you got to the box. Letting out a sigh, boredom finally consumed you, prompting you to stand up, brush the dust off your shorts as you exited the playroom. No one batted an eye or even glanced at your direction; to them you were invisible. To everyone you were invisible.

Wandering the halls of the House of Hearth at night gave you a pretty good scope on the architecture of the building. If someone asked you where the infirmary was or the bathroom, you could accurately pinpoint the location for them. You looked at the colorful glass panes on the sides of the halls, raising a hand to block the sunlight from hitting your face. They called you a dreamer, delusional for your ideas and thoughts. Said your hopes were far too high. Father always disagreed. Father always disagreed with whatever the others called you.

A sudden shriek was ripped out of your throat as your body went sideways, shoulder hitting an even stone ground. You winced, forcing yourself to sit as you examined your body. You could barely make out what was your leg and arm with the lighting. Standing up, you decided to explore the uncharted territory in your little mind map. The walls were lined with sharp blades that glimmered under the narrow light source opposite to the swords. You looked behind you, to your sides, in front of you, as you allowed curiosity to take hold of your mind. With two hands, you lifted one of the blades from its holding place, letting it fall onto the ground. You dragged the blade along the stone to the center of the room, ignoring the shriek of protest the sword was making. Letting out a deep breath, you gripped your hands around the hilt of the sword, lifting it as high as you could. When you’d finally lift it over your head, a triumphant cheer exited your mouth, eyes admiring the shine and sharpness of the blade like a bee eyeing a flower. 

“Children like you should not be wielding such dangerous objects.” Your muscles went limp, bones turning into uncooked noodles as your head spun to the direction of the voice. Father. Fear wasn’t just done with taking hold of your body. Fear was transmitted into the blade itself. Before you knew it, a sharp pain emitted through your forehead, a rush of warmness surging towards the area. The sword fell on your side, next to your collapsed body.

“Y/N!” Father was instantly by your side. Through that cold and emotionless facade, you could see a flash of worry and fear in her eyes. Fear. Father felt fear. Your head was placed in Father’s arms, knees hooked onto her other arm as you were rushed out of the dark room.

You sat on Father’s table in silence, fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt as you stared at your dirt covered, bruised hands. Father reciprocated the silence, as she stood in front of you, using a cotton ball to dab up the blood. You winced at the serum that was infused with the cotton against your fresh wound, knuckles turning white. Father didn’t let out any remark at your wince, rather you could feel her actions becoming more gentle and tender. 

“This might hurt.” Father muttered, picking up something from her tray of material, the object having a thin string tail behind. You could barely stifle a shriek as the needle penetrates your skin, the lithe object dancing from one side to another, piercing hole after hole in your skin. You gripped onto your sleeve for life until your hand was ghost white, as Father stitched up your wound before you could blink. Father let out a sigh, snipping any remaining string as she set the needle on the tray. Her eyes shifted downwards, her lips pursed as you felt her gaze burning into your skull.

“...I’m sorry.” You murmured quietly, the words regurgitating out of your mouth, unable to squeeze anything out under her gaze.

“I thought I told you that recklessness always leads to failure. What were you doing out of the playroom?”

“...” You could feel the corners of your eyes starting to burn up, your mouth quivering. Father noticed. Of course she did. 

“Look at me.” Father sighed. 

Reluctantly, you lifted your head, meeting Father’s eyes. Instead of scorn and disappointment, you were met with understanding and warmth, her pursed lips turning into a thin smile. Thin. Just like the ice you were on. Father could smile all she wanted, but you knew you were as good as dead.

Father’s hand went for your head, sharp fingers combing through your hair. “What type of toy do you like, Y/N? I am planning to get more for the toybox; it appears we have a shortage of toys. Of course, I would like to get the best and newest toys for all. I was wondering what you would like to see and play with.”

Your heart moved an inch higher from your stomach, still threatening to fall and combust into millions of pieces. “U-Uhm… I d-don’t know…”

“Speak up, my child.”

“I-I don’t know… what toys I like, Father…” 

Father let out a chuckle. “Of course. How could you choose your favorite in an empty box?”

You looked down at her words. Of course Father knew.

“Y/N.”

You looked back up at her, meeting her playful eyes, a look you knew she only gave you and you only. 

“How about I introduce you to some… new toys not any of the other children have seen? Would you like some new toys?”

“Toys… the others haven’t seen?” You tilt your head at that statement.

“Yes. Toys the others have not seen. Are you interested? I will personally teach you how to… play with these toys.”

You nodded your head, a small hesitant smile on your face. Father never offered the other children new toys. Father never offered how to play with toys. Father never played with the others.

The corners of Father’s thin lips tugged upwards slightly, as her finger hovered over your wound. She helped you off the desk, hand holding yours as she led you out of her office. “It is almost time for lunch. But I would rather you get some rest after what happened. Rest assured I will bring food to your room.”

“Y-Yes, Father.” You mumbled.

Father led you to your room upstairs, setting you on the plush mattress as the blanket was draped over your body. She ran her fingers through your hair again, petting your head before strolling out of the room. “Rest well, my child.”

~

Arlecchino closed the door, letting out a sigh. She made her way back downstairs to join the other children. “Rest assured, my child, no one will ever dare to lay a finger on you anymore. No harm shall ever come your way.”

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

↳ warnings: mention of weapons

↳ song: smells blood—kensuke ushio

↳ notes: first hazbin one shot. reblogs are appreciated, and i love feedback

masterlist | commissions | carrd

You knew this had been coming for a while.

Angels had always been a problem for hell. The extermination was a day every sinner feared; the possibility that anyone could be singled out by those glowing white masks plagued the public's knowledge. And now that the time until the next one had been cut in half, windows were being boarded up tighter than usual.

No one knew what was waiting for them when they died a second time. Theories ran rampant—as they always did around this time. Talk of double hell or a void full of inky black circled around the pentagram city like water down a drain. Overloads and imps alike all locked their doors, somewhat content knowing that the possibility they would die was slim.

You, however, did not have that luxury.

Charlie Morningstar adjusted her amour awkwardly, standing in front of a sea of waiting eyes. Her knees felt like limp noodles, and she couldn’t stop sweating. The Hazbin Hotel behind her cast a looming presence over the small army she had gathered over the past few days, bathing sharp toothed grins in a giant shadow. You yourself were dressed for battle and standing next to the princess, and other members of the hotel stood in a loose line beside you, fanning out into a wonky semi-circle.

The gun in your hand gave a slight click as you messed with it, checking to make sure the chamber was loaded with enough ammunition. You gave a slight hum as the angelic bullets sparkled up at you from their place before you placing the magazine back in place. The discovery that the angels own weapons could kill them had been a bit ironic to you, and you had been the only one besides Alastor too laugh a little when you heard the news.

Charlie had begun a speech while you had been checking your gun. A small noise came from the back of your throat as you listened to it, occasionally giving her a slight smile when she’d lock eyes with you.

“Nervous?” You heard Angel whisper in the midst of Charlie detailing her gratitude. Glancing away from Charlie, only just now noticing that Vaggie had been keeping her hand on the small of her girlfriend’s back the entire time, you chuckled.

“Only about your questionable fashion statements.” You responded without much real emotion. Flicking at the top of Angels head, your finger came in contact with a little feather hat, and the spider caught it before it hit the ground. You just grinned as he gave you a mock glare.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that tiny hats are very in style!” His Brooklyn accent slurred his words comically.

“Sure thing.” You snickered, only quieting once Husk sent you a look from over Angel’s shoulder.

You yourself had forgone any niceties like Angel’s hat or Sir Pentious’s war uniform. You figured that if you died today, you’d want to do it how you always looked. With a reinforced chest plate curtesy of Carmilla Carmine, you supposed.

By the time you had finished, Charlies speech was wrapping up. Looking around, you noticed most of your companions had broken into soft smiles, shifting on their feet as Charlie addressed them specifically.

A cheer rose as she finished—from both the cannibals and hotel goers. You were among the latter, raising an arm with a yell as hats were tossed in the air in celebration. You must have been the only block in the entire city to be celebrating right now. In a weird way, that filled you with hope, although you’d never admit it.

“This better work.” Cherri Bomb scoffed. But she was smiling, and you noticed her arm was around Angels tall shoulders.

In fact, as you looked around, you noticed nearly everyone was glowing with anticipation. The stench of fear was prevalent as ever, but it was outmatched by friendly noogies and excited chatter. Nifty was bouncing around with a thin knife, cruel excitement filling her eye. Husk had a far away look in his eyes as he thumbed his deck of deadly cards, but it was a fond one. As if remembering a better time. Even you were more comfortable than usual, playing with the trigger on your gun as your eyes swept across everyone.

Alastor seemed to be the only one standing alone.

“Ready to face off against someone that’s an even bigger dick than you?” You asked him, referencing to the first man Adam with an appropriate amount of sarcasm.

The Radio Demon didn’t even so much as jump when you walked quietly up behind him. He instead rolled his shoulder back and twirled his cane around. You supposed he had heard you coming with those heightened deer ears of his—something you had pointed out as unfair multiple times. It’d come in handy today.

“My, such dirty language for this grave situation!” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Red eyes observed your every movement, and by now you had grown accustomed enough to his unsettling ways to return the look. You grinned at him mischievously, but only for a heartbeat.

“You sure your shield will work Alastor?” Your tone dipped into a lower tone of questioning now, testing the waters of how he was truly feeling. It was no secret to you that Alastor wore a smile to hide his true intentions, and it annoyed you how well it worked. So other methods had to be used in your favor. You found the most effective one was simply asking him what you wanted to know. Of course, he has lied to you plenty of time before, but you considered the situation unique enough for an honest answer

“Doubting me now of all times, dear?” He chuckled darkly. “A mistake I hope our enemies make.”

“Not in the least.” You looked away from his piercing gaze with the casualness of an old friend, and not someone that he could kill with a snap of his fingers. “Just cautious. Can’t be making mistakes today.”

Alastor said nothing more, but you had a feeling he agreed with you.

A sudden cry rolled through the crowed gathered in front of the hotel. You squared your shoulders as a call of ‘it’s coming!’ rang. From somewhere in the underfed of heads ready to dig into angelic flesh, you thought of Vaggie hugging her girlfriend one last time. You thought Sir Pentious nervously smiling at Cherrie Bomb, and you thought of Husk chuckling at Angel Dust’s antics. Even Alastor rose into the air from somewhere next to you, and onto the top of the hotel. A sign that it truly was about to begin.

With a cock of your gun and a tensing of your stance, you dug your heels into the dirt, looking up at the red clouds with a steely glint in your eye. You listened to the voices of friends and sinners and to the roaring in your ears. Memories of nights in your room here came to mind, and you held onto them like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

Then the sky opened up, and death itself poured from it.

[iridescentprose]

your dangerously stupid little idiot - steve harrington x sinclair!reader insert

author's note: a long overdue steve fic that's been sitting in the drafts. i miss steve.

divider by: @bunnysrph

summary; you're in a secret relationship with steve - fluff; no warnings

The sound of laughter and the consistent thud of footsteps coming up the stairs made you groan. Although you'd much rather stick to your hermit agenda, you promised your parents you would keep the door to your room open, ensuring that your younger siblings and their friends didn't burn down the house without you knowing about it.

Hunched at your desk, you were busy with your nose in a book until a sudden incessant taping at your doorway got a little too annoying for comfort.

"Nice Van Halen poster."

"That's Bauhaus, idiot," you said, while your heart began to drum in your ears. You kept your back turned to him, eyes trained on the same sentence you had been reading ever since you heard Harrington's voice from downstairs. "What are you doing here, anyway? I don't remember Lucas inviting you over."

You heard him shuffle across your room —over to the poster with four Caucasian men clad in grey suits and dark sunglasses. You heard your bed creak, followed by an exaggerated sigh. You looked over your shoulder.

"Steve—"

"How come you don't have a picture of me on your wall?" He's lying in the center of your bed, legs hanging off the edge while his eyes are fixated on the Bauhaus poster above your headboard.

You sighed and shut your book before swiveling to face your boyfriend. "Because I'm not a psychopath...and last I checked, you can't carry a tune to save your life, Harrington." Abandoning your book, your walked over and grabbed his wrist, initiating a game of tug of war with a weak start.

Steve chuckled as he sat up, his body flopping forward like a limp noodle as he gave into your lack of strength. "Hey, hey. What's the rush? We're not going to get caught. Your parents aren't here."

"Yeah, but Erica and Lucas are. We'll be over before we've even started—"

You shook your head, a hot flash rising to your cheeks as the word 'dating' got stuck in your throat.

The word made you cringe. It made feel you like were in one of those lovesick romance movies whenever you said it. An unfamiliar queasiness rose in your stomach as Steve rose an eyebrow.

Crap.

You had been caught.

"What was that?" Steve stood up straight, towering over you, his features laced with an alert sense of curiosity. He had stepped forward now, nearly trapping you between him and the wall. You still had a hold on his wrist. "I didn't hear that last part, Sinclair. 'We'll be over before we've even started...?'"

You rolled your eyes. "Cut the crap, Harrington. You know what this is," you hissed under your breath, eyes darting to the open door that could expose your secret any minute.

"Yeah, but I don't think I've ever heard you say it out loud before," he said with an amused grin on his lips. A tendril of his hair loomed over the center of his forehead. You resisted the urge to brush it back into place. Now wasn't the right time for that.

Now wasn't the right time for whatever this was.

"If you don't get out of my room, you're not going to live to hear me say it."

With a small grunt, you pulled him by the wrist, guiding him to the threshold of your door. He's stumbling behind you, stifling a laugh and purposefully dragging his feet until they reach the creaky floorboards of the hallway. You then maneuver around him, taking your place in front of your door as you wait for your boyfriend to retreat back down the stairs.

But as smooth as a criminal, Steve turns around, arms braced against the doorway, feet locked into place. He has no intentions of moving until he gets what he wants.

"Harrington," you whisper, lowering your voice as you both were now in closer proximity to the stairs and Erica's room down the hall.

"Sinclair."

Seconds of silent staring pass before you sigh in defeat.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"But, I'm your idiot," Steve says, his face lingering close to yours. He's wearing a contagious smile that has somehow slid across the thin space between you and jumped on your face. "Now, are you going to repeat what you said earlier or am I going to have the privilege of properly introducing myself to my future in-laws?"

Crossing your arms, you lifted your chin and narrowed your eyes. He always found a way to have the upper hand, even if it made him look dangerously stupid. But as dangerously stupid as the thought of Steve introducing himself as your boyfriend to your parents and siblings was, you couldn't stop your lips from twitching upwards.

"I said," you started, your voice getting lower which each word, "If my brother or sister finds out that you're in my room, we'll be over before we've even started dating for a month."

You swallowed your embarrassment, your eyes falling to your shoes as the word tumbled out of your mouth. Steve had asked you officially to be his girlfriend only two weeks ago and you still couldn't admit out loud that you were dating him. Let alone in secret.

Having Lucas and Erica find out before your parents would be an never ending nightmare. Your parents had forbade you from dating until you had finished school. Thankfully, you only had a few more months and then —and only then—did you plan on making your relationship with Steve known to your parents.

"See?" Steve said, tilting your chin upwards. "Was that so hard?"

But before you could say 'yes' with gritted teeth, Steve had pecked your lips, leaving you speechless.

"I'll see at Family Video on Friday?" He whispered, already backing away from you as laughter came from the room right down the hall.

"Uh, yeah," you said, trying to keep your head straight. "Family Video. Friday," you confirmed long after he had vanished down the steps.

You leaned against your doorway, massaging your temples as you fought the smile on your lips.

"That boy is going to be the death of me," you mumbled to yourself before retreating back into your room and rereading the same sentence of your book all over again.

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝KISS ME BETTER, PLEASE?❞

— fluff, satoru x reader, shoko and geto cameo, typical sick satoru and reader is an enabler but he’s cute so it’s fine <3

Chicken noodle soup, apple juice, ginger tea, and a hefty amount of snacks. Besides a plethora of cuddles and kisses, you’d gotten pretty much everything that Satoru requested.

You speedwalk, borderline sprint, back to your shared apartment. Shoko and Geto agreed to take care of a very sick Satoru while you went grocery shopping for more supplies, but knowing him (and those two) he was likely annoying the hell out of them and they were probably about to strangle him dead.

Balancing bags on either arm, and one between your teeth, you flail your keychain around until the house key makes itself known, shoving it in the lock and stumbling into the living space. Before you can even announce yourself, you hear Satoru, raspy voice and all, feebly calling for help from the bedroom. It sends a protective panic through your spine, and you drop the plastic bags in the doorway before hurriedly shuffling down the hall.

“Satoru?,” you call out to him. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Your boyfriend lets out a muffled-sounding groan as loud as his sore throat will allow. Fearing the worst, you rush towards the cracked open door of the bedroom, tossing it open and staggering inside to be met with–

“Hey, no!,” you stomp over, smacking Geto’s hand away from Satoru’s squished cheeks. “Stop that right now, Suguru!”

The man chuckles at you, Shoko huffing in mild annoyance nearby as she fiddles with a cigarette. “It was the only way to shut him up, he was bein’ all whiny and mopey while you were gone.”

Shoko reaches over to poke Satoru in the cheek, causing him to shrivel away into your awaiting arms. She giggles, but she and Geto avoid the angry gaze directed at them, fearful of your wrath.

“Don’t be mean to my Satoru while he’s sick.,” you scold and point an accusatory finger at the two. “Out, both of you.”

Geto gets up from his spot on the edge of the bed, hands tossed up in surrender. “Fine, fine.”

Satoru sticks a triumphant tongue out at them and Geto starts to throw up a middle finger before meeting the daggers of your eyes. He escorts himself out, Shoko close behind him, and Satoru snuggles deeper into your arms, red and sniffling face stuffed into your chest.

“They were so mean to me, baby, so mean!,” he pouts, even more dramatic than usual. “Hurt my feelings. Kiss me better, please?”

He blinks those woeful, puppy-dog eyes at you, and you can’t help pressing a lingering kiss to his abnormally warm forehead. Satoru grins, happy to have finally gotten the smooch he’s been craving these last few days, and the hug around your waist tightens.

“Got some snacks for you in the other room, love, lemme go grab you some.,” you coo into his bright white hair.

Satoru shakes his head, voice barely able to be made out as he smothers his face into the heat of your body again. “No, please. Stay here.” He says it less like a plea and more like a matter-of-fact statement, because he already knows you’ll stay.

You sigh against the crown of his head and caress the wild mess of white hairs between your fingers. Satoru heaves a deep, content breath, eyes fluttering close against your shirt, and his raspy inhales grow even as minutes pass. His hold on you gradually loosens, and you feel his body go limp as he presumably falls asleep in your clutches.

“Satoru…?,” you whisper.

“Don’t you go anywhere.,” he mumbles, exhausted, and you giggle. “I mean it, you.”

“Okay.,” you sigh in defeat and settle in next to him atop the covers. He clings onto you immediately like a teddy bear, limbs tangling with yours and Satoru curls up the best he can into your side. He shoves his head back into your palm, a silent plea for you to massage his scalp some more, and you entertain him without question.

“ ‘Kay, baby, goin’ to sleep.,” Satoru mutters into your neck and, amongst the the fatigue, you can hear light traces of playfulness in his voice.

“Good.,” his smile grows wider when you place another kiss on his temple. You’re sure to be sick in the next week. “Sleep well, babes.” And Satoru squeezes you a little tighter before caving in to slumber.

[m3talmunson]

Any reasonable person would think, with the sheer length of Eddie's hair, that he would have the slightest idea of how to care for it.

If you thought that, you'd be wrong. He was flying by the seat of his pants, with a bonus of simple luck. It was astonishing that his hair didn't get matted throughout day to day life, let alone the end of the world.

Yes, Eddie obviously went to a hospital after it all. Nobody could have survived that level substantial of injuries without it. But no matter the NDA's, or the "freedom from prosecution," as Dr. Owens puts it, it didn't come with a clean-wiped slate in the public eye.

So Eddie chose to lay low. He got the treatments that were deemed necessary by the doctors, and then he got the hell out of there.

At least, from all of this, Eddie learned only to run when he needed to.

Part of him was scared he and Wayne wouldn't be able to swing the bill. That part of him was satiated when Owens's team swung the bill and replaced the... mangled Munson trailer. These government reparations didn't anywhere near touch the damage that was done, but Wayne and Eddie would take what they could get. Like they always had. Of course, the universe saw fit that Eddie take a little more.

Eddie was told -putting it politely- to stay the fuck out of that trailer park. Just because his name was cleared legally doesn't mean he should be anywhere he would normally go about his business. Not for the next couple weeks, at least.

And Steve Harrington, ever so giving, offered up his home as sanctuary.

And of course, Eddie was immediately trying to find a way out of it. When that didn't work, he started asking how soon he needed to leave. He didn't want to feel like a burden, especially not to Steve.

"Stay as long as you need, Eds. Forever, for a little while, on and off, literally anything as long as I don't have to carry you out of hell again. That's the one condition."

Sure, living with Steve had it's perks. He had some semblance of privacy, walls with ANY soundproofing, and company. What more could a boy ask for, you would think.

Not living down the hall from his crush while looking like a walking nightmare, Eddie thought, was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask for. He did not get that.

Despite living in the same house as him, he avoided Steve like the plague. Steve had made it clear his 'what's mine is yours' attitude was open to Eddie, but Eddie preferred his room. His boxes from the old trailer were there, his guitar, his sanity (or what remains). The moment he limped his way out of that door, he was in the realm of Steve. And he did not feel up to the task of being presentable in front of his literal crush.

Still, Steve came into his room every so often. Eddie went to the hospital, but he wasn't magically better. Steve changed his bandages, helped him when he needed it, brought him homemade soup? Because, somehow, Eddie is in an alternate dimension where Steve Harrington is making him his grandma's chicken noodle soup recipe for him. And it is PHENOMENAL.

Eddie could have never expected any of the past month's events. He was still grappling with the fact that life would just... return to normal somehow after the end of the world.

He had enough on his plate. However, the universe thought fit to throw some more on.

During one of his Steve-check-ups™, Steve just absentmindedly mentioned something Eddie was dreading.

"How have you been dealing with all that hair? I mean it's been in a new bun every day this week but you can barely lift your arms?"

"Well, actually Steve," Eddie started, "I haven't. This is the same bun you put in on Wednesday." He tilted his head down, he didn't really want to look Steve in the eye when he said that.

"Well shit Eddie, what can I do to help?"

And wasn't it oh so nice when Steve looked up at him with those big eyes, knocking on the door of his soul. How could Eddie turn his gaze from that?

"What can be done? I can't wash it until these fuckers-" He pointed at the sides of his abdomen, to the bandages that Steve had just finished replacing, "have healed enough for me to lift my arms, which should be almost any time now. Then, we can take these bandages off, I can get out of your hair, and I can clean my own."

It was pretty obvious that neither of the men liked that agreement, but Eddie saw it as the only option. Wait a week, lift his arms, get the hell out of dodge. Easy enough.

"I could wash your hair. You know I know how to." Steve replied, a genuine offer, not a throwaway or handout that was just a kind gesture.

"No, Stevie, you don't need to worry about m-"

"Checkmate, I already do. You lock yourself in here except for food, I don't even feel like you're enjoying yourself! What's the point in breaking out of hell, fighting tooth and nail, just to sit in your room? C'mon Eddie, let me do one thing to make your life easier." Steve was interrogating him, but for his own good? And only two weeks ago he thought Steve was just some highschool douche that he just had a little crush on once upon a long time ago. Here he is, caring for him like they've known eachother for years.

"You do enough for me." Eddie hid the blush building on his face by looking to the ground across from Steve. Steve just moved his head there.

"I want to do more. I'm offering to do more."

"You're not going to let me say no, are you?"

"It's your hair, your body! But no, not really."

"Let's go," Eddie said, swinging his legs carefully over the edge of his bed.

And that's how Eddie ended up in a T-shirt and boxers, head laying back in the kitchen sink. He hadn't really gotten to the standing-for-long-periods-of-time point of recovery, so Steve pulled up a stool and a towel for Eddie's shoulders, and got ready to work above his head.

"I'll tell you when to put your head back, don't want to freeze you with the water."

Steve turned the faucet to the hottest setting, then throttled back a little. He carefully took Eddie's hair out and brushed through the ends. It had been in a bun for ages, so at least it didn't get knotted.

"I don't really know much about how curly hair works, but-"

"Oh me either," Eddie interrupted. "Barely even knew I had it. Don't worry about me big boy, no special treatment needed."

"Oh you're getting special treatment, whether you like it or not," Steve said. "Tilt your head back."

And so Eddie did. And he would be flat out lying if he said that he didn't love how gentle Steve's hands felt running across his scalp. He would be lying if he said he didn't like being pampered, just a little. He would be a liar if he told you that this wasn't somehow sensual, or that he wished it had more meaning.

Something about the way Steve was massaging his scalp made him think there could be.

"I'm gonna block your forehead from the water, just warning you." Steve used a cup to get the water to the base of Eddie's scalp, he was thorough with the details and everything.

It made Eddie feel loved. That's new.

Eddie nearly blacked out until it was done. He just soaked it all in, feeling cared for. He had felt cared for before, but never loved, not by someone who wasn't obligated to.

"Why do you do all of this for me?" Eddie truly wanted to know.

"Why shouldn't I?" He replied, as if it was nothing.

"Nobody does." Eddie wanted to say more, but now wasn't the time to throw a pity party and cry in front of Steve Harrington.

"All the more reason to."

"Harrington," Eddie tried to sit up as he talked, "you don't-"

Steve pushed him back down by the chest, conditioner and water soaking into his shirt.

"Don't strain yourself, seriously. Let me rinse this out, then you're free to go back to whatever you were doing." He left one hand on Eddie's chest, not keeping him down, but just resting there. Like he forgot about it, but it felt intentional.

Eddie dragged his hand up to Steve's on his chest.

"Thank you. Really," was all he could muster up without those tears rushing back.

"Of course, Eddie. Wouldn't rather be anywhere else." He continued to work around the ends of Eddie's hair, slowly turning the water off and doing some final slow scrunching motions with the towel not around Eddie's shoulders. "You're all done. Let me help you up."

Taking Eddie's hand in one of his and lifting from Eddie's back, he got Eddie sitting up right. The hand on his back let go, but not the hand in Eddie's.

"Well? Anything you usually do that I can help with?" Steve asked.

"You've done enough," Steve got ready to cut him off, but Eddie beat him to the punch, "I can't do any more without bending over, which is off the table. Seriously, Stevie, you've done more than enough. You've been insane amounts giving and patient with me. You've given me enough."

"I wish I could give more."

"I know."

"I could give more." Steve offered, ready to give all he had in the world.

"Steve," Eddie said, some type of begging look in his eyes, "I don't want to read too much into this but you've offered me more than I could reasonably take. You've given me sanctuary, food, care, what more is there?"

"Love."

Steve laid it all out on the table. All he had left to give was hope that Eddie would take it.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie asked.

"Please."

And when Eddie took it, it was magical. Just for a moment, all the pain, and bad memories, and nightmares, they just stopped. Suddenly, for a second of time, their was no ring of pain around Steve's neck, no searing, or scorching, or stabbing in Eddie's sides.

Maybe Eddie won't live in Steve's house forever, but he might live in this moment forever.

~~~~~

Thank you to @warlordess for giving the prompt in the comments of my last post! SO sorry it took so unbelievably long, but my show finally closed! Everyone, feel free to leave any prompts in my asks from now on! All of my previous posts as well as this one will be on AO3 soon, then I'm going to make a pinned post with my account! Thank you all so much for the patience you graced me with, hopefully it won't happen again!

[tigerf00d]

Stack It

Pairing: Spike x Reader

Other Characters: Giles, Buffy (only mentioned)

Tags: No use of Y/N, gender neutral reader (afab body, one use of the word ‘princess’), slight injury, hurt/comfort. Mentions of Spike's past.

Word Count: 3k

Summary:

“Just your luck, the one person you didn’t want seeing your epic landing that you swear you could have brushed off and been a-ok in time to join the others to patrol.”

After Buffy arranges herself a rare night off, reader is determined to patrol when things go wrong.

A/N: Posted this a while ago on my Ao3, but since I just finished the second part, I figured I would finally transfer it here!

UGHHHH. Sometimes Spike can just be… such a pain in the ass. He was a stupid vamp with the stupid instant noodles hair and, his stupid voice and stupid cluelessness.

God, and he’s just so head over heels for Buffy and I hate the jealousy, but I’m right there. I know I’m not the slayer, but I like to think being her shadow has its perks! Well, perks besides always being around the slayer to see her get doted on by Spike and his stupid, pretty smile.

Whatever, D.D. I have to go. I will update you tomorrow.

You sighed, closing the notebook, holding your innermost thoughts and feelings before tucking it securely into its hiding spot. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your friends not to go through it; it was just that a certain vamp that held your affections had the tendency to peruse whatever handwritten book was at his disposal. Which, as annoying as it was, reminded you of the first time you felt feelings for him. While reminiscing sounded mighty appealing when the alternative was the cold, dark night just outside your window, you couldn’t hesitate. Tonight was all hands on deck for patrolling so Buffy could have a full night’s sleep for once, an idea you were fully behind. Sleep was so so nice, and she rarely got very much of it.

Looking once more at the area where your diary was, you turned back to the window and exited, but not before tripping on the ledge that you only seem to trip on when you absolutely do not need to trip on it (not that you ever do), landing not so gracefully into a bush… and maybe one of your neighbour’s garden sculptures, which to its credit, looks fine, if a little completely broken in half. You, on the other hand? That’s gonna leave a mark. Maybe. It should be fine.

Ok, so when you wrote “Slayer’s shadow”, there was an emphasis on the shadow. You didn’t have any of that mystical, cool and not-at-all painful landing juice in your veins. Fuck that hurt. Was your side wet, or were you just imagining things in your new dazed state?

“Did you just… fall out of that window?”

Just your luck, the one person you didn’t want seeing your epic landing that you swear you could have brushed off and been a-ok in time to join the others to patrol.

Before you could respond, you heard Spike call out to you, and the ground swirled around your feet. the little green blades of grass dancing and coming closer before a sudden stop as Spike caught you just before you fully collapsed.

“I’m fine.” Wow, did your knees hurt.

“I may be old, but I’m not senile pet.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and you rolled your eyes in response.

“Ok, well, maybe I’m not fine. So what?” You stood up, pushing yourself off of him and brushing stray grass off of you.

“I was going to come tell you that I spotted some folks of the unsavoury sort near my crypt, but I think we should get you patched up first.”

“Sounds good, but before that, I think I should have a lie-down.”

“You humans and your tenacity to cause yourselves bodily harm will never cease to amaz—”

Your body went limp in his arms, or so you were told. All you remembered was the surroundings disappearing as you suddenly felt it was simply Too Much to deal with and passing out.

Coming to was… not the best you’ve ever felt. Your head swam, and the light felt like someone was rubbing your eyes harshly, as though they were trying to stop you from being able to see the person above your face.

“Giles? She’s waking up now.”

“Huh? Wha time’sit?” Whose bathroom are you in right now? Why does it smell so familiar?

“Shhh, you seem to have done a number on yourself. This next part won’t be pleasant. I’ve managed to do most of the patching up already, certainly nothing I couldn’t handle, but there seems to be one spot that is uh, well. We figured you might want to choose who did it. Within reason, of course.” The older man spoke, without the adrenaline in your system, the dull ache on your ribs, hands and legs blossomed into a throbbing pain, which only rose as you listened.

“Hurts, Giles.”

“I know, I'm uh, sorry about that. The sooner you pick the sooner I can give you a good painkiller, alright?”

Tears threatened to roll down your cheek. Great. What was supposed to be the first time on the job, and you manage to fall out of your own window so badly that your clothes are probably ruined and you don’t even remember if the baddies you were supposed to stake were dust or if the others were totally mad at you or something.

“So, who should I call for?” Giles prompted gently. You groaned as you shifted your weight before answering,

“Uh. Spike. Send in Spike.” Despite your better judgement, he was the one you were most comfortable around out of everyone, Giles was great and all but his sordid youth was a memory to him, Spike seemed to understand what being your version of outcast was like.

“Right. Very well then. Spike? If you're not still eavesdropping by the door, they’ve requested you.”

“I was not eavesdropping.” Spike muttered as he entered.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, head lolling slightly as you saw the bleached blond peer his head in the doorway.

“So, what needs to happen Giles?” You asked with false confidence.

“Well, You have to lift your shirt a considerable amount, hence the waiting for you to wake up and what not, then Spike will clean the wound, do any stitches if he has to, and help you bandage.”

“All that and you haven’t even bought me dinner first,” Spike tsked, “it’s unbecoming.”

Giles fixed an unamused expression to the vampire, “Do you want me here for this?” he added, his soft gaze focusing on you, despite Spike's teasing.

“Uh, no, thank you, Giles. Just uh, just Spike.”

“I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

You nodded feebly in response, watching as he exited, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

“Right. Well. Take your top off.”

“Giles said I would just need to lift it.”

“Giles lied.” Spike emphasised.

You leaned back on the cold floor for a moment, thinking as he hovered above you.

“Help me?” You slowly sat up, attempting not to jostle yourself and lifting your arms so the black fabric could be pulled over them. The air was cool on your exposed skin, and the sports bra you had bought so that fighting was more manageable pulled the skin around the wound painfully taut. You must have landed on a particularly pointy gnome or something for your side to be so… open. Or maybe the fence post?

Good thing you weren’t of the blood-sucking persuasion like the man before you otherwise, Poof.

The vamp nodded, “That will have to come off too, I think, love. It’s pulling the skin, and we don't want it to stuff any possible stitches, now do we?”

Nodding distractedly, your heart skipped a beat. Both at the thrill of being called love (and admittedly, of being naked in front of Spike) and also the whole being naked in front of Spike thing was daunting, and the situation wasn’t exactly what you’d imagined.

Teeth worrying your lip for a moment before you looked at him in silent question before once more lifting your arms, it was clear he understood your desire for help.

“Now I’m taking off your clothes? If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was all an elaborate plan to get me to touch you.” Spike removed his duster, which you knew was just so he didn’t get any blood or chemicals on it, but it was nice to imagine he was doing it in solidarity.

“Shut up, Spike. Just fix me up so we can go. Please.” You averted your eyes, face heating up as you crossed your arms over in your chest in an attempt for body heat and dignity.

Spike raised his palms in surrender. “You’re the one that picked me, Princess.”

You stood carefully, before moving so that you were sitting next to the sink and spike moved to in between your legs, the height difference making it as though you were straddling him. Spike lifted a wipe that you knew was going to sting the tender flesh on your side, but you would rather a short moment of ouchy rather than running the risk of an infection.

“C- can you talk? Please?”

Spike glanced up from where he was focusing before looking back down and touching the wipe to your skin gentler than you thought he was capable of.

“Mmm? What about?”

You gasped from the mix of the cold wetness and the feeling of the sterilisation working, “Uhm. You? Just, ow, fuck, careful with that— just talk about you?” You paused before smiling weakly. “You seem to be good at that.”

Spike glanced up at you once again, unimpressed.

“Well… I suppose I could tell you of before I was sired.”

“Gross.” You made a face.

“Not in that way, idiot.”

“I knowwww, it’s called a joke. You should try it sometime.”

Spike paused his scrutiny of your injury for a moment to roll his eyes.

“Maybe I won’t tell you then.”

He began to clean the area closer to the wound, removing the albeit small amount of blood that had dried along your side.

“No! I’ll be good, I promise.” Readjusting slightly to give him better access as a demonstration.

“Hm. Ok. Well, as much of a surprise as I'm certain it is, I wasn’t always such a hit with the ladies.”

You stifled a giggle.

“There was one girl I was really into. Back in my human days, I wrote her a poem.”

“Oh, Spike, how sweet!”

“Yeah, well, you’d be the first to think so. My alias back in the day was ‘William the Bloody’, which sounds somewhat prophetic, I suppose.”

“But it wasn’t meant to be, was it?” You ask, disheartened.

You knew the answer. It had haunted you on the rare nights when restlessness crept in.

“No. It wasn’t.” He responded quietly. The sanitisation was done, and after deciding stitches probably weren’t necessary, he began preparing the dressing.

A solemn silence hung around the both of you, making the desire to fidget in discomfort increasingly strong.

“Spike?”

“Mm?”

“Can I be honest?”

The vamp stilled, looking up.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

“I… thought what you wrote for her was nice.”

“Oh? And how would you know what I wrote for her?”

Your eyes widened as you averted your eyes, warm cheeks sure to be obvious to the man who could probably hear your heart stuttering.

“I may have.” You glanced at him, bracing yourself against the cold surface you sat on. You couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a few seconds as you realised what you were about to reveal.

“I may have done some research. On you.”

Spike crooned, “Now, I stopped trying to kill the slayer a decent while before you came along. Why on earth did you do your homework?”

You still weren’t looking at him, and he gently pushed your jaw so that your eyes stared into his own.

“Come on, pet, you wanted to be honest.”

“I have all this time on my hands, so I… reviewed their old notes. And you're just… interesting.”

“Interesting? Hm? And this has nothing to do with the way your heart quickens and your blood thrums when you notice me, does it?”

Well, that confirms that. WHAT? Wait, where did that come from? Hello? HE DOESN’T KNOW, DOES HE? Is… was that real? Is this some gnome-induced blood loss or delirium? DOES HE KNOW WHAT HE’S TALKING ABOUT?

“What are you talking about?” You hesitate to ask.

“Oh, surely you knew I could tell?” He was teasing you again. He had to be.

“Tell… what?”

“Don’t act obtuse. I’m a vampire. I can tell when a heartbeat changes and most other things involving blood. It’s kind of what we do. But you already know that.” Spike’s face was nearly stern looking, but you could tell from the way his eyes were fixed upon your face it was a mask for his curiousity, and possibly something else.

Sighing, defeated, you at him and begin to explain.

“I— ok. Yes. It had— has something to do with that. Ok? You’re right. I wanted to know more about you, but it’s not like you have a police record that counts, anyway. Except maybe a deranged missing persons list.” You paused, catching a breath and correcting your line of thought. “I don’t know… I just. I wanted to know what you were like when you were human.”

He let you stew in your thoughts for a moment as he dressed the wound, pressing the material down softly, which caused you to let out a quiet hiss.

“And were you surprised? That the man you see today was once so… pathetic.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, gaze intense.

“William Pratt was not pathetic.” You were surprised to see shock colour his features, this was evidently not what he was used to hearing.

Had no one told him that he wasn’t an unwilling outcast in all his long years of life? Surely, at least Drusilla had let him know he was wanted in a way that wasn’t asking him to do things? Beyond… manipulating him in return.

“He was… naive and kind-hearted, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. At least not initially. And I think that’s brave, to share your affections so publicly, even though she rejected you. She didn’t deserve you. So no. I don’t think ‘William the bloody’ was pathetic, or a lonely loser, or any of that, and neither are you, Spike.”

The vamp was quiet, still processing your sudden liveliness and what you had revealed.

“You better believe it, Spike. I may have terrible common sense when it comes to self-preservation. At least in this instance. But I have pretty high standards for myself.”

“I never finished that poem. How did you find it?”

Oh. well, that was harder to explain. And you grew more awkward despite all that you had been previously vulnerable about.

“There are excerpts in the Watcher bo–”

“Lie.”

You rolled your eyes. “You aren’t the only one with… sticky fingers.”

Spike blinked before a mischievous grin crept upon his face.

“You stole it. From me?”

Cautiously, you nodded, uncertain if this mischief was going to be at your expense;

“You're the one who kept it.” You added defensively.

“My, what a strange one you are, pet. You can’t even successfully exit a window without needing to be patched up, and somehow, you manage to steal from a vampire? I’m almost proud. If you hadn’t stolen from me, maybe I would be.”

“Listen, Spike, uh. I’ll explain my grand heist the second I have some clothes on, ok. I need to move.”

Spike looked at you cheekily. “And what if I wanted to keep you like this? I rather fancy the view.”

You squeaked in response, face undoubtedly growing redder by the second as the man laughed at you.

“I’m only playing, about the keeping you this way bit, at least.”

“Spike!”

He tossed a smirk your way and then wordlessly looked down at the clothes you had been wearing. “Ah.”

Your sports crop? Pretty much fine, but you would rather be comfortable right now, so that wasn’t exactly an option. The shirt you had elected to wear was ruined, the fabric torn and with a patch of dried blood where that stupid statue elected to attack you.

He picked up the article of clothing and offered it to you with a raised brow. You didn’t want to wear it, but it wasn’t like you had any other options right now. Sensing your hesitation, Spike put it next to you rather than in the hand that was reaching for it.

“I’m about to make your night, poppet.”

“Huh?”

Spike ignored your question, electing to begin pulling off the black tee he was wearing instead.

“You ass.” you grumble, accepting the shirt and putting it on as you ignore your face heating up.

The fabric was soft in a way that can only be achieved by being worn in. Who knew how long he had had this shirt in particular, though.

You looked up from fiddling with the hem. The threads were loosening there, and saw hunger in Spike’s eyes. Typically, hunger would be concerning, considering you could be his next meal after all, but this hunger was… different. It was flattering, even,

“Spike?”

The man blinked and made an aborted shake of the head, clearing away the thoughts that evidently lingered. Covering this behaviour with his signature sly grin, he boxed you in between his arms, and if Giles were to walk in at this moment, he would view it as strikingly indecent.

“Nothing, love, just like seeing you in my clothes does something to a man.” He tilted his head to the side, examining you as you realised just how close you were to his now semi-nude frame.

You made sure to not be caught lingering on his torso despite him having confirmation that you liked him. Spike licked his lips, eyes glittering with mirth.

He leaned forward, and you sucked in a breath, your own eyes widening slightly in anticipation, and you watched his mouth twitch upwards.

He leaned closer, eyes boring into yours,

“You know… if I were alive, I’m sure we would share symptoms.”

“Pardon?”

His lips twitched again. He was trying not to grin. Spike was definitely enjoying playing with your mind but trying to keep it serious.

“I find you interesting too.” he parroted your words back, but you were still loading this information, he. He. Spike? He liked you, too? Oh good. Good. WHAT? Yes, that’s excellent. That really works out nicely for you. I'm sorry he what, now? He does what?

“Just to uh, double back.”

“Mmm?” he glanced at the door, listening to the others outside.

“You mean you like me, right? Like. Like like?”

The vamp looked back at you tiredly.

“Yes, pet. I like like you.” he hesitated momentarily, glancing at the door once more, before kissing your cheek and laughing breathlessly at your tiny squeak.

Spike withdrew, beginning to look around at what had to be cleaned up.

As Giles returned, your fingers grazed his cheek where he had just kissed you.

“Is everything alright, in there? I thought I heard somet—”

Giles frowned, blinking twice and looking between you and Spike.

“Spike, where’s your shirt?”

Spike waved a hand in your direction, picking up your tops and presenting them to the man, plainly answering, “Theirs was bad.”

[specific-dreamer]

can u elaborate more on pony being darrys little “shadow” like all the cute/irritating things he would do that would annoy darry but also just funny to the rest of the fam

edit: i thought i posted this way back when soz it too so long omfg soz it took so long to answer you, i’ve been thinking v hard on this and most of these might be ooc since i haven’t read the book in like a month

when i say shadow, pony tried to do literally everything darry did

i mentioned already younger pony doing darry’s workouts. like darry’s in the gym doing pull-ups? so’s pony, darry just gave him bands to assist him (pony only uses them when darry looks, he has dangled from the bar multiple times).

darry’s doing a farmers walk around the room while carring 35lb dumbbells? well, darry tried giving him 10lbs but pony’s face got all red and darry knew if he didn’t do something pony would cause a scene

(they went back home that evening with ponyboy crying and whining about how his arms hurt and felt like limp noodles)

not much of a shadow but

pony hated listening to his parents. mrs c: “pony grab your coat it’s gonna be cold”

pony: “no i won’t get cold”

darry: “pony go get my jacket i’m cold”

pony comes back with both him and darry’s jacket because “what if i get cold too ?”

in middle school, when darry first started doing jv football, he had the meanest coach ever. his coach didn’t want anybody on the field that wasn’t actively on the team and darry tried explaining that to pony one night but at this point ponyboy was at the peak of his shadowing (probably 6-8 yrs old to darry’s 12-14).

he took darry’s helmet and when asked why he said “i’m going to football practice”

at 14 darry was a peak middle school boy, he ate a lot and fast as hell at that. but when he ate at home he had to eat slowly because pony always tried to match pace with him. like if darry ate two bites in a row before chewing, so’s pony. if darry got an extra helping of green beans, ponyboys gonna make a face but he’s gonna get an extra helping too.

(subconsciously, i think pony still tries to match darry’s pacing when the eat. like darry’s done growing now, he’s 20 so eats a lot slower than he use to as a kid, and when pony catches himself matching pace he can’t help but notice that darry eats like a sloth in comparison to him)

ponyboy learned how to “read” when he was a toddler, like 2 or 3 because he saw darry reading and wanted to read too (ofc he didn’t actually know how to read but he knew when to turn the pages and he could read goodnight moon and that was good enough for him)

pony tried doing football once because he saw how much fun darry had playing and he figured if he played too then darry would have no choice but to hang out with him more

he made the team somehow but he quit before the first practice because he didn’t like how far he’d be thrown whenever he got tackled (middle school pony is skin and bones, 70lbs wet, he’s flying when he gets tackled)

he also did not like the feeling of the wind being knocked out of him everytime either

lowkey this is when the decline of his shadowing starts, the poor baby

[tigerdrop]

Got any fun thoughts to share about Ford and Bill?

they drive me crazy dude. i have a lot to say about them so im putting it under a readmore

ive been billpilled for 1 million years dog. hes like the Blueprint. bills the perfect entity to me: terrifying shapeshifting demon who can slip into every corner of your mind and read all your thoughts and memories. and also hes a cartoon character with noodle arms and a cute shape. and hes a pathetic worm whos hung up on his human ex. and hes a funny little guy whos playful and mean and delights in tormenting you but juuuust enough so that he doesnt break you. Hes so awesome

like. listen. this isnt going to be a surprise if youve read literally anything ive ever written. but if bill possessed ford and slammed his hand in a car door and got a kick out of it and put him in a funny little outfit id be fine about it. ford was literally in a 24/7 freeuse lifestyle with him so why WOULDNT he

yeah im kind of a masochist. Why do u ask

put his ass in a horny neurotic guys body and see what happens. hit his dick with a cartoon mallet for fun. slap him around a little. feels cool and neat! like "human bodies are so responsive, huh" said while blanfords about to jam a fork into an outlet (thats my name for it btw. Im not looking it up)

what if i hurt you?? what if i dropped you??? Just kidding :-)

i dont know how much genuine sexual pleasure bill would get out of it so much as the thrill and novelty of a new human sensation but i think that could be fun in and of itself. jacking off with another guys body in a weirdly distant way like Haha Wow. Im getting kind of flustered here! (actively jamming a coke bottle into his pussy)

and the thing that really drives me crazy about ford is how much fetish shit he thinks about/makes inventions for/has inflicted upon him. i think in the series finale hes tied up like 3 fucking times. its insane. he wants to give up control of his body so fucking bad dude!!!!! (exhibit A: ford going limp like a kitten whenever hes picked up. it happens more than once.)

and theres even more contrived bondage bits in the deleted scenes! its maddening. hes an insane obsessive bdsm-lifestyling pervert and hes likethe ideal guy to match bills freak

hes soooo fucking easy. its so much fun to me. theres something really erotic about the way bill makes him feel special about his hands......like.......its naked flattery but its also kinda true. its weird. he likes weird shit. and ford falls for it soooo easy. drives me nuts

now walk with me. think about how easy that same interaction would transfer to ford being transgender. and your not allowed to get mad at me bc this is just my thing now

its so strange! kind of captivating. bills been around the block but the western conception of transmasculinity is so recent that for him it might as well be a blink of the eye. so i think it would be new to him. especially given when he actually makes a deal with ford. just another special thing about his special little guy. he *knew* there was something about ford

and to be frank i think that if you were a transmasc pervert in the 70s and a dream demon came along that understood you inside and out and can make all of your bizarre fantasies come true. well. you would have been fucking stupid not to fuck him

i need to read the book of bill so fucking bad bc the extra context of bill being super hung up on ford drives me CRAZY!!!! i love bitter lovestruck jerks. i love divorce. and i think they could and should hook up again. bad guys that are reluctantly forced to stop being so bad are so much fun and fords huge fucking ego didnt go anywhere. i think bill could convince ford to give him a second chance. at least just to hook up for old times sake

anyway. im making a bill itabag. Gotta go

[guy-in-a-dress]

Rating the main M*A*S*H crew on their hugging abilities

1. Hawkeye

The hugger of all time

Probably picks you up n hops around with you while yelling about whatever the fuck he's being insane about at the moment

The skinny arms lowkey dig into your everywhere but it's worth it

9/10

2. Trapper

Beefy teddy bear

IDC if he said he's out of shape in that one ep I can see that beef. Muscly ppl are some of the best huggers

WILL spin you. He probably sends the kids that hang around around the camp into orbit when he's in a good mood

10/10

3. BJ

Father figures give the best hugs

Also something about that mustache make him feel significantly huggier idk why

He'd probably jump around like Hawkeye or at the very least shake you like a rag doll

You know you've had a good hug if you feel mildly concussed afterwards

10/10

4. Henry

What did I say about father figures

His office is open for hugs as long as he's not on the phone with his wife

He'd be real confused going into it tho

"Arms over the shoulder- oh no around the waist okay"

Also whatever is in those vest pockets would poke you

8/10

5. Potter

Grandpa. Need I say more

Not to mention he's a horse girl(gender neutral), who are known for being excellent at hugs

Unfortunately he smells like an antique barn but that comes with the job of being your friendly neighborhood horse grandpa

9/10

6. Frank

Unpopular opinion time but I genuinely think he's capable of being a great hugger

Like he needs SOME type of positive trait to balance out his cartoonishly evil persona so I think this is a bone I'm willing to throw

He'd probably be that relative that you let hug you bc you feel kind of bad for him

Then he ruins the moment by saying the most horrifying shit imaginable

That and he always seems to be in a cold sweat no matter the weather

7/10

7. Margaret

A good hugger when it counts

Isn't one for hugging or physical touch beyond sex

However

She will not hesitate to hug a patient or child if she's asked or if she feels it's necessary

If she's in a good mood she'll hug a nurse who's having a hard time

7/10

8. Charles

The repressed of all time

Will not give hugs unless he's mega drunk

Probably wasn't hugged enough as a child

If someone else initiates he'll probably complain but eventually reciprocate like the antagonist-turned-bitchy-roommate he is

Definitely get "disgusting. Do it again" vibes from him esp in later seasons

5/10

9. Radar

Nope

Look I'm definitely a "southerners and midwesterners give the best hugs" truther but this boy is a limp noodle

You'd get an arm around the shoulder if you're lucky

He's probably bad at handshakes too

Won't initiate unless he's on the verge of tears or losing his mind with hype

4/10

10. Father Mulcahy

Since he's a priest I'm choosing to count him as a father figure and by this point you know what I think about dad hugs

He's 100% DTH(down to hug) and won't bring it up again afterwards (he counts hugs as silent confessions)

He'd probably do the 'rocking back n forth' thing too if he thinks it's necessary

11/10

11. Klinger

Fuck yeag

Is a lot like Mulcahy in that he will hug anyone he thinks needs it

Also probably has several handkerchiefs on his person just in case you need to cry

If he's upset he'll probably squeeze you like a stress ball without realizing but that shit's therapeutic

10/10

[jimcornflake]

Ch2 - Mantis

A/N: This is my last blorp before I pass out. It’s 2am, I’m caffeine crashing so incredibly hard, and I need to sleep. But here’s my life’s work while I’m at it, so here you go.

🎀

It wasn’t before long that you managed to lose your entire purse, your phone, one of your contacts, and- oh yeah- all the people you came in with. Your eyes were heavy and cloudy, pupils blown wide. Your body felt like a wet spaghetti noodle as you stumbled past people.

“Can anybody find me water?” You asked the nearest group of people. They were familiar faces, but for some reason you couldn’t recall their names.

“Bathroom!” A boy in a white beanie told you and pointed behind you to the door to hallway off to the side.

You mumbled a thank you and urged your jelly-feet to carry you to the nearest bathroom sink so you could drown yourself in the faucet to get rid of the wicked cottonmouth that had set in.

The fluorescent lights that greeted you on the other side are less than pleasant. You cringed away from them, shielding your eyes with your hand. You stumbled around blindly till you felt a door and decide that it was the bathroom that you’d been looking for.

You pushed it open and uncovered your eyes to find that it wasn’t even close to a bathroom at all. There were no stalls, no air-dryers, no tampon-dispenser that hadn’t been touched since 1988; only a dirty red box in the middle of the room.

At first glance you thought it looked like dirt smeared across the bright, chipped paint. You blinked a few times and looked again and realized that it was closer to blood.

The box moved and you startled immediately. You almost ran out of the room and may have peed yourself only just a bit.

After waiting to see if it would move again and being met with stillness, you moved closer. You crouched down beside it where the old rusty locks were and undid them one by one.

“Hey, tiny. It’s okay, how’d you get in there?” You clicked your tongue and cooed.

As soon as the last latched had been slid open, the box burst open and you were tackled to the floor by a grimy man with wild, wide eyes. The air was knocked from your lungs, leaving your chest aching and tears pooling in your eyes and in that moment, all you could think was, why the fuck did I expect it to be an animal?

“Run! Run! Okay? You need to run!” The man panicked and dragged you up to your feet while you instinctually struggled and protested.

He threw you in to the hallway at the same time that the doors to the party burst open and people came stampeding through screaming something awful. He tried to stop them, yelling something about traps and getting caught while he grabbed on to people who only wanted to wriggle out of his grasp.

You soon saw why he was so desperate in his attempts. It all happened in seconds.

Razor wires caught on to ankles, blades swung down from the ceiling in to throats, sharpened stakes sprung out of the floor and impaled abdomens.

You’d never seen so much blood. You’d never seen the way skin can be sliced through so effortlessly as if it were paper. You’d never seen somebody’s brain fight to retain basic function of the body and you’d never seen the light leave the eyes of their limp body.

The shock was setting in. You felt like the blood running through your veins was ice cold and the static cloud around your eyes grew as did your progressively tunneling vision.

Suddenly the hallway was a hell-tunnel filled with dead, mangled bodies; some of which were half-alive and reaching out for your help; and at the end of that tunnel was the man you’d freed from the box.

He stood at the window, looking at the street that was a two-story drop down. He kept switching from the window to your face.

His eyes suddenly widened and he pointed, “Behind you!”

You felt a sudden mildly painful constriction around your arms and waist as you were lifted off the ground. You watched as the man gave himself a running start in to the window and fell to the ground with the shattered glass.

Now it was only you and the person who was grabbing you so tightly. You wiggled and kicked and finally got your arm free. You jerked it back as hard as you could and heard a grunt as the pressure was released and you fell to the ground.

You didn’t care to look back, you made a mad dash for the window to hopefully dive out and have your fall broken on that strange dirty man. You didn’t make it as in the next second you felt a sudden sharp pain in the back of your right thigh.

It stung and you stopped and trembled, shrieking through your teeth as your hands hovered uncertainly over the wound. You collapsed to your hands and knees as your shaking legs could hold you no longer.

You clenched your jaw and clasped your hands together so tightly that your bones were almost breaking under the pressure. You pressed your head against your forearms and tried to block out everything around you.

You felt a hand yank your head back by your hair and then a tiny prick in your neck. Your pain began to melt away slowly and you involuntarily relaxed. You grunted at the sharp pain and squelch that accompanied a blade being pulled out of your leg.

The last thing you knew before you completely surrender to unconsciousness was that you were picked up from the floor as if you were nothing more than a sack of potatoes and hauled back to the room with the red box.

🎀

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