#I'm going to tag the chapters under that

[mattodore]

playing with dionte's hair bc i'm procrastinating

[moongothic]

You know I was wondering if Crocodile ever did have any kind of involvement with the Revolutionary Army in secret (lest the Government finds out and revokes his Shichibukai status), what kind of involvement would that even have been

And now, with both the Vegapunk/Ohara flashback and Kuma's flashback, it's being made very clear to us that the Revolutionary Army was broke as hell 22 years ago. Like the fact that this has been brought up twice now in a relatively short span of time is interesting to me, that's usually a sign it's not an unimportant plotpoint

But you know who would have had money to help fund the Army

A funny little warlord who would eventually go and build a fucking casino to run for funsies. A warlord who had to give the Government some of his Pirating Income to keep his warlord-status

Like Crocodile hated the Government anyways so why not help fund the Revolutionary Army in secret, out of spite if for no other reason

Vaguely related, but I keep on remembering this scene (post-Enies Lobby), which at first glance just seems like a basic Lore Dump

But then there's the

"Yet..."

(Or "however", she says "no ni" in Japanese and you could translate that in many ways, I would probably have gone with "however" but that wouldn't have fit into the speechbubble)

Mind you, the conversation just kind of ends there, next we see Garp realize he probably shouldn't have mentioned Dragon infront of such a massive audience, so wherever that "yet" was going to lead to we will never find out, because Oda conveniently changed the subject before we got to it

And you know. Like yes, Robin could be just expressing her shock over finding out that the leader of the Revolutionary Army had a child with someone

But also, Robin was a part of an organization that was trying to overthrow one of the founding countries of the World Government in an explicit attempt to go against said Government (compared to like, Blackbeard, who currently wants to make Fullalead into a "pirate country" that's a part OF the World Government)

Like you don't have to be a genius to look at Crocodile's ultimate goals and compare that to what Dragon is doing and find a few similarities here and there maybe

(Also like, Crocodile's equivalent in Romancing SaGa 2 is meant to be Wagnas, the queer-coded leader of the Seven Heroes (whom the OG Shichibukai are based on) who "hoped to help the world". You know, an interesting detail and all.)

Not to mention, during the time Robin spent with Baroque Works, if Crocodile was ever in contact with the Revolutionary Army at all, considdering she has the ability to easily spy on people and that she didn't trust Crocodile one bit, it wouldn't be unsurprising if she ever spied on Crocodile and/or just overheard a phone call or knew about Crocodile having secret spending habits or something

(Mind you, I'm not saying "she knew" Crocodile was involved with the Revolutionaries, more that she might've been Suspecting Things, that "yet" being about her connecting the dots while unsure if her conclusion was right or not)

Of course Crocodile's plans can't have been Dragon Approved by any means, especially considdering the Army had been looking for Robin for over 10 years (pre-timeskip)

Four years of which were with Crocodile. Like if he was FULLY allied with the Army and KNEW they were looking for Robin, surely he would've called Dragon and been like "hey I found the kid from Ohara, wanna come hang out" or something. But no, he had bigger plans and kept Robin a secret from the Revolutionaries and the Government alike

Also like, I have seen people question why the Revolutionaries weren't involved with Alabasta's rebellion at all, and "Oda hadn't come up with the Revolutionaries yet at the time of writing" (/"OP was meant to end at Alabasta at one point so there would've been no reason to introduce the subplot at that point") aside Between Baroque Works being a secret organization working undercover (thus the Army might not have been aware of the civil war being manufactured), the framing of the King making him look bad and very much the type of monarch that deserved to be overthrown in the Army's eyes, and Crocodile maybe lying through his teeth about what was happening in the country... Yeah, the Army's lack of involvement with Alabasta suddenly makes sense

EDIT Minor addition: Just realized that because Crocodile was technically working for the Government, if the Revs ever did send forces to participate in Alabasta's civil army and taking down the throne, the Government could've easily ordered Crocodile to step in to stop the rebellion and take down the Revolutionaries, right? Because he was supposed to be on the Government's side, right? And surely the Army wouldn't have wanted to fight against Crocodile if they were secretly allied (Croc's secret betrayal aside), and if Crocodile refused to fight the Revs the Government could've seen that as a reason to revoke his Shichibukai rights (which wouldn't be great if they wanted to keep Crocodile in a position where he could fund the Army?). So it could've also been a case of it being for the best for everyone's sake to let this one play out "naturally"

But my point is

I'm just deeply intriqued by these little details and wonder if I'm Actually Masterfully Connecting The Dots Like a True Genius or just seeing a pattern where there's none. Like this is far from confirming the theory, I'm just saying, the pieces do kinda fit together do they not

[reborrowing]

Pocket Guides to Zombie Survival, Ch 1

next | ao3 a couple ghoulish little scavengers discover actual ghoul, unaware that the apocalypse began several months back. ~2k words, horror g/t but the horror isn’t coming from the gt (yet). ao3 cw for gore, death, zombies and associated horrors

There was a body at the human campground. 

It was the first human to show up in the woods for months, several weeks past the giants' usual spring return to the woods, and it was dead. There should have been human hikers tromping through their wide, winding trails months ago. There should be families making temporary homes out of the neatly divided lots. There was just the one body, lying in front of its RV for nearly a week.

Rei missed the annual parade of giants and all the bright colors and chaos and treasure they hauled in with them. She was tired of the random, menial tasks around the warren she kept getting assigned in lieu of borrowing and volunteered herself to go investigate the body. She figured a dead giant couldn’t be much more dangerous than a sleeping one. 

Her stomach shifted now that they were actually approaching the body. It was disgusting, yes, a landscape of raw meat and gore, but there was something else too. Something she couldn't quite identify that urged to get away. 

Whatever it was she sensed, Coop didn't seem to notice it at all. She bounced through the clearing towards the sickening heap. She'd invited herself along and Rei couldn’t complain. Her sister was always itching to do something stupid and Rei had learned early in life that it was best to indulge her before she found worse trouble on her own. It was a bonus that the warren-keepers felt more comfortable giving her investigation their blessing. Borrowers like herself might train to evade humans and navigate their turf, but Coop was a guard. They trusted her to be able to evade or defend against anything else that might be out here.

"Ew,” Coop said, “I thought that scout was exaggerating, but ghosts, that's nasty!”

She pointed to the looming mess ahead, as if Rei might otherwise miss it. The giant’s shoulder looked like it had exploded. The top of their flannel was in shreds. Rotting meat sloughed off its shoulder and the left half of its face had been ripped off of the cadaver’s head, hanging on by just a few stringy bits.

Rei edged closer. There were no clean cuts. It was pulpy, a bit like when a crow ripped apart a squirrel, although it looked like most of the meat had been only shoved to the side, not carried off or eaten. What was left was a jagged, bloody horror with piles of rotting slurry that all stank worse than a sewer.

It wasn’t all bad. The body's lower half was perfectly intact, including its jeans. Rei had been hoping to bring back some denim. She would just have to hold her breath for the harvest.

She stepped over a lost clump of hair to have a look at what was left of the poor giant’s face. The half resting on the ground was gray and bloated but otherwise still human. A rough, reddish outline of teeth marred the corpse's forehead, where it still had enough skin to mar. Rei bristled, her fur suddenly standing up on end as if she were being watched. That same urge to get away got louder.

The body had been bit by something big, at least dog-sized. But there was no way it was a dog that had made that mark, or any kind of predator she’d seen. It had wide, flat teeth in front and was made of two nearly even parentheses. She licked her lips. It was a lot like the shape of her own bite, if her canines were duller. And huge.

Her gaze slid across the gory remains to look at the corpse’s exposed jaw, feeling ill. It was supposed to be a ghost story that humans ate people. But she looked at the teeth lurking behind the shredded tissue, she saw that they were close to the same size as the indentations on the forehead. There was at least one other giant nearby, one that had managed to go unnoticed by a half dozen different scouts. One that was crazy enough to try and eat another human.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her sister’s shouts.

"Hey, Rei! Do you know if humans are poisonous? I mean, if you ate it, could you eat it or would it make you—"

"Do not! Gross!” Rei snapped.

"Not me! No, Ew! It’s just, we’re not the only scavengers out here. He’s been out here for days, how come nothing else is eating him? I don’t even hear any maggots.”

Rei turned as Coop’s blonde head appeared over the body’s forearm. She had its watch proudly slung over her shoulder. But her quizzical expression suddenly popped into wide-eyed, bared-fangs fear. The dead face shifted with a loud, wet noise. She froze as a rush of air blew over her, sucking at her hair, as the corpse inhaled through its empty cavity of a nose.

Rei ran for the cover of the nearest bush. Behind her, Coop squealed as the corpse shuddered around her and began to get up. It was clumsy, maybe because so many of its muscles were missing or rotten, or maybe because it was dead, but that was hardly important when it was a few hundred times heavier than the two of them combined.

Rei ducked into the foliage and turned to wait for Coop. She watched in terror as her sister jammed a needle through its palm to no effect.

Anyone knew a needle couldn’t stop a human, hardly anything could, but it was supposed to at least give them pause. But the body didn’t flinch. It didn’t even seem to notice the metal now lodged in its flesh. Its hand slid backwards, knocking Coop along with it. There was a nasty snap as it pushed itself to its feet, back up to its towering height. Coop lay crumpled beside it. 

It swayed for a moment and sniffed at the air like an animal before turning to where Rei was hiding. It was unsteady, with wide and unpredictable steps. Rei hunkered back further into the bramble. It crashed carelessly through the thorny growth, only missing her by chance.

Her heart hammered as she wove through the branches. She pushed herself off the side of the not-so-dead body’s sneaker and back into the clearing for Coop. The giant stumbled around in the undergrowth for a few seconds before huffing in another breath and turning straight towards her. Rei paled.

Coop was curled up with pain. At a glance, her leg was broken and her shoulder was messed up, any other injuries could be assessed later. The important point was that she wouldn’t be able to make her own way back to the warren or some other safe haven. Rei was going to have to carry her, which meant they weren’t going to be able to run.

And if that thing was using smell to see them, ghosts only knew how far it could track them from anyways. She couldn’t leave it a trail back to the whole warren. She swallowed nervously and dragged Coop under the nearby RV before it caught up to her. It slammed against the side but, for whatever reason, didn’t think to get down on its knees and crawl after them. It shook the whole structure, stubbornly banging against the wall, but Rei and Coop were able to pick their way up to a gap leading into the RV’s interior.

They would just have to hope it gave up quick.

--

There was a lone human left hiding out at the campgrounds.

There had been four of them when their RV had pulled into the lot last week.

The first, they’d known was sick before they had even parked the camper and set up camp. Markus swore up and down and over and over that it wasn’t the sickness, even stripped down to his boxers to show off that now zombies had caught him. It was just his lungs acting up again, he insisted. They’d been bad for years, and now he was going without any kind of treatment. His brother said he ought to be in the hospital. No one argued. Nick was right about Markus needing professional help, his prescriptions, and bed rest. His old life.

But that was all gone now. Everyone had an “old life” that they’d lost. Survivors lived in a harsher world that lacked all the other essentials of modern civilization. The best, most qualified help Markus could get was Nick’s wife.

She had been a dental hygienist, before. There wasn’t much she could’ve done then and there certainly wasn’t anything for her to have done now.

She was gone too, she and her husband. Kayla didn’t know which kind of ‘gone.’ In the hours between Markus’ death and sunrise, the other virus took his body without anyone noticing. She and Nick went out to deal with the corpse been caught off guard when it rose up to deal with them instead.

Tasha might be dead, undead, or just lost in the woods. She had taken the shotgun. Kayla had heard it fire once in the distance. She could still be alive out there.

Nick was not.

Nick was dead and waiting to kill her, lying right on the other side of the RV’s walls. He’d stay dormant until something got too close or just too loud. As far as Kayla knew, he could wait like that forever. She might be able to sneak out the side if she wanted to find some other way to go. Maybe.

She stared at the door, the thin barrier between her and him. Between her and the rest of the world. She was safe here, so long as her supplies lasted. Kayla imagined she had a while before she starved, since they had been intended to sustain four people. Instead, she had doubts about how long her mind could last, but, well, that had already broken, hadn’t it?

Nothing made sense anymore. 

And then she wasn’t staring at the door at all, she was watching time unwind back to Markus’ dead body. He’d died on the sofa after hours of wheezing and bleeding and coughing and crying. It hadn’t looked like the zombifying fever, he’d been lucid for the whole miserable experience. He’d died. He’d gone stiff, as death intended. She hadn’t heard of that before, someone keeping their mind intact only for it to blossom into rotten undeath once the soul was gone. 

What if she was sick too? How could she know?

She could feel herself pulling the latch closed again. The lock clicked. The door rattled as Tasha tried to pry it open. Kayla’s stomach sank with the horror of what she was doing. Coward. Tasha screamed and her gun clicked uselessly. The door stopped rattling. Tasha had run, pursued by her undead brother-in-law. 

Kayla used to like being alone, but now the thoughts that she was left with included fears much worse than a growing sense of personal failure. She shivered and reached for the little emergency radio. She fiddled with the controls, scanning for any signs of life—or so she hoped, the radio had been Nick’s and she wasn’t really confident in her ability to use it. This whole setup was Nick’s.

Eventually, she turned the radio to the only station she knew still had a voice at all and wished it would play something else.

This NOAA weather station is temporarily off the air. Please tune to an alternate weather broadcast or visit weather dot gov for the latest weather information. 

But there was no new information. There was no one left to send it. No one left to research this plague pulled out of a horror movie. Civilization was over and Kayla was alone with death lying in wait just outside.

Until it started banging on the walls.

taglist - @whumpsday @da3dm

[gerrydelano]

oh no. i'm writing the introduction to fantasy au lmao fuck

[lilflowerpot]

Hi! Hope ur well, just wondering how the galra would feel about ivf and surrogate mothers and such things.

Also, would diabazaal have had any other religious groups or did they have one decided belief

I've actually addressed both Imperial surrogacy, and the Empire's major religious groups (along with a follow-up regarding various funerary rites) before!

I know my blog has rather a lot to comb through at this point, but for those of you not in the know, I //am// a meticulous tagger, so you can notably narrow down my posts to just the worldbuilding ones if you take a gander at #galra history & culture!

[verfound]

FIC: Coffee Shop Soundtrack: 1/10 (MLB; Luka)

Rating: Mature

Characters/Pairings: Luka Couffaine, Original Male Character, Anarka Couffaine, Juleka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Tom Dupain; Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Luka Couffaine & Anarka Couffaine, Luka Couffaine & Juleka Couffaine, Luka Couffaine & Tom Dupain, Luka Couffaine & Everyone (basically)

Summary: It all started one Saturday when Luka picked up an extra shift at work and his estranged father unintentionally stopped in with his new family for coffee.  Now Luka’s…processing.  Dealing.  And not well.

Sometimes it gets worse before it can get better.  Sometimes it doesn’t get better at all.  Sometimes that has to be ok.

Author’s Notes/Warnings: (Big Long Wordy Note About This Fic on Ao3 Cut For Tumblr Sanity but) That ficlet from back in 2019 that became more than it ever was supposed to as Ver worked through some shit and oh my God it's finally up I'm not freaking out at all

Ch 1

Coffee Shop Soundtrack

Chapter One: That Saturday He Saw the Tattoo

“Have a great day, ma’am,” Luka said as he handed the woman with a large hat and oversized sunglasses her change.  She nodded curtly and moved on to the end of the counter, and Luka took a moment to breathe.  Usually, he worked the afternoon shift.  It was a schedule that had worked around school, back when that had been a concern, and after he’d graduated he’d asked to stick to it.  It helped with his nocturnal lifestyle, and it was easy enough to work around gigs and his girlfriend’s own crazy schedule.  Still, every now and then his manager asked him to pick up a morning shift on the weekend.  It wasn’t always bad: he liked the little café he’d started working at during his final year of lycée.  It had a nice, laid-back atmosphere, the pay was good, and the owners had offered him a fairly steady gig on Friday nights.  As jobs go, it could have been a lot worse.  At least this one didn’t get messed up by unexpected rainstorms (which, in Paris, happened more often than he liked – it was the biggest factor in his decision to leave the pizza shop and apply at the café).

The morning had just been…taxing.  He’d performed the night before, and while he hadn’t stayed too late he’d spent a good two hours after the performance walking around the city with Marinette – and even longer after that texting her once he’d seen her home.  When Elise had called him at six-thirty that morning because Trevor had called out, he’d sorely considered chucking his phone out the porthole.  So he was already tired to begin with, and then the weekend rush had come through.  He reached up and rubbed at his eyes with his forearm.  At least the crowd was tapering off.  Two more hours, and then he could crash…

[kittlyns]

Wrote out like a 5000 word vent post only for tumblr to scramble the tags so I guess that one is staying in my head forever and ever

[reinedeslys-central]

when it's been so long since you've read a fic that you forget about it and you find it in the search tags and start reading it again

and it's great, if a little familiar, but you've read a lot of these sorts of fics bc you like this tag a lot, so you assume it's nothing

but then the deja vu starts adding up and you start to wonder

and then moments before the great big Plot Twist Reveal happens you're suddenly like ah hell this is the bloody sundial fic again isn't it

smh this has to be the fourth time yet

[flowercrowngods]

(cw: suicidal ideation & dissociation in time travel au steve, snippet from chapter 9)

It’s only been a week and he sort of wants to die. For the first time in his life that thought is there, boring into him with sudden clarity.  He blinks it away, terrified and nauseous, a pit opening in his stomach at this realisation. He shoves it to the side, choosing to ignore it (Like everything else, then? Robin calls him out, and Steve blinks her away, too), instead focusing on the entrance hall and double doors that have appeared in front of him. He’s pretty sure they’re real, but there is still doubt, still uncertainty, still fear that he is losing it. That he is losing. He takes shaking steps towards them even as his body continues to feel further and further away from him. 

[candied-cae]

And Who Are We At The End Of The World? - Please, Be Gentle with My Breaks - II

Chapter 17/? - - - Read it on AO3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]

Word Count: 7,561

Summary: There's a difference between being broken and having a few breaks. But a lot of these kids and been dealt a lot of blows, and not just from physical monsters of the Upside Down. There's still a lot of stuff hidden just under the surface that they haven't been able to show just yet.

More ST Fics

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

The next morning, everyone in Hellfire had stopped by the hospital for a visit.

It was a very busy room that Thursday. And the nurses warned the whole slew of them to take it easy on him. Eddie might’ve been on the mend, but he was supposed to destress and let his body take care of itself while it began to cover over wounds with scabs to one day become scars.

That’d been an idea to wrap his head around.

Scars. Big ones.

Not just little lines of them from scrapes or spots from embers or other sorts of accidents. But real, big scars. The kind that showed a war had ravaged his body, or something like one. Which was the easiest way to imagine what he’s been through anyway. So, big scars were in store for him. Acted less like something small to point out and tell the story of; and more like a bold accessory - more similar to his own tattoos, more obvious, in that regard - but ones he couldn't really tell the truth about.

However, the gang gathering around him was a welcome distraction to the thought of his flesh trying to piece itself together and with baby fresh skin. With the wrong color and texture compared to the rest of it.

Dustin showed up with a small box of things he’d effectively stolen from the Munson trailer that morning. A couple tapes he grabbed, a player with headphones, a tattered blanket from the floor of his bedroom, a couple books, and his D&D notebook. A few general things Wayne recommended would help Eddie survive all the time spent in the sickbed until he was sent on his way home.

Lucas had wandered in with a similar assortment of wares for Max. A blanket off her own bed, studio pictures she’d taken with El, some of her comic books, and he brought in a stuffed tiger she won and gave to him last summer. She joked that it was going to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't go messing around with monsters again. Maybe it could watch out for her this time. They were all things that he knew had no real way of making her wake up sooner but even so, he secretly hoped they might help. Somehow.

Mike started making jokes about bringing over some bean bag chairs from his basement to make the hospital room more welcoming to guests. Bruce readily agreed that the stiff, small chairs provided were really no way to treat the people coming by the entertain him. Dustin pulled out a bag of chips from under the blanket and said they should all bring in snacks if they were really going to hold a one-shot there and make themselves at home. Eddie quickly made grabby hands at him and demanded to be given some first as the oldest and hurtest among them.

He also added that if they wanted to treat him, they could’ve snuck him the metal lunchbox that he usually deals out of. Let Eddie make himself a roll, or two, while he was in medical lockdown. That’d really relax him and make him feel at home more than some nicknacks or an old rag. He did pause a second to tell Erica she wasn't allowed to do any drugs until she was a grown-up, though. Before Jeff decided to be the one to tease him and ask if he really thought getting busted for smoking pot in a hospital right after he avoided a murder charge was the best idea.

They’d all started casting in suggestions for the kind of campaign they’d wanna do if Eddie was gonna write the whole thing up himself. Some wanted more puzzle aspects with things to figure out and solve. A few wanted more NPCs to interact with that weren’t just for hiring, fighting, or dying. A side comment was made about maybe not loading the battlefield so much that everyone dies as a way to close the session, they all laughed at that. Eddie swore he wouldn’t take it easy on them.

“What’s the point of fighting if you know you’ll win?” he’d asked.

“Actually getting back to the tavern to brag about it for once. Getting to say I settled down with the pretty barmaid when the adventuring day was done. Maybe.” Gareth argued back.

Josie looked at him doubtfully and asked Gareth how sure he was any character of his stood a chance with a woman, fictional or otherwise.

They all started barking laughs after that. More friendly insults flew around the room, the ones they've all already said a dozen times to each other and knew didn't hit any soft spots. Just the kind to rile them up, earn a few pointed glares and spur the next round of hits.

All the Hellfire members had a good dose of fun during their visit. But after a couple hours, Eddie started feeling pretty worn out. The guests all excused themselves and made sure everyone made it home while Eddie got started re-reading The Hobbit, since Henderson thought to include that in his care package. The familiar lines lulled him into a comfortable nap tucked in under his own blanket pretty easily. The items from home made the sterile room feel a little bit less alien. He didn't even get fifty pages into it - the company hadn't even reached the elves of Rivendell - before his eyelids were heavy. Soon he was putting the book back on the table and rolling his head away from the sunlit window to catch a few z's. But when he woke back up again, it wasn’t to an empty hospital room that felt a little too big.

Steve was back again. He’d been sitting in the chair with pursed lips. Slightly lost in thought while his fingers picked at the pages of the stack of books on the bedside table.

And he figured this was technically the third time he’s woken up with Steve Harrington by his side. Including the CPR incident, of course. As much as he was trying not to think about it. For his own sanity. Of course.

“Don’t get a paper cut,” Eddie cautioned as he pushed himself to sit up in the bed.

Steve startled slightly. Yanking back his hand with a finch, eyes snapping to Eddie before he shook his head. “No need to scare a guy…” he muttered under his breath.

“What? I was just watching out for you. Unless you were looking to steal a sleeping man’s literature, then I’d have to gut you. For the honor of my beloved books, you know.”

“Was just stopping by to pass along a message - a few of ‘em - on my way to the store.”

“Alright then, proceed.” Eddie nodded.

Steve began to count off the many points on his fingers,“ Well, firstly, Claudia wanted to ask if you had any allergies - I think she wants to bake you a fruit pie. If you had any preferences. But then Dustin said you were snoozing, so it’d probably be easier to ask your uncle. So he said you don’t really like pies, then he thought that you’d probably want new clothes until you get out of here. Since the old stuff is gross and ripped up now, and those hospital gowns really suck. But he was about to head off to work, so I said I could run some over.” Steve nudged a grocery bag by his foot at the mention,” And El wondered if you had a trick that grew your hair out long. If there was anything that worked fast. But I think Erica said her mom knew something she’d make for her, so I guess that’s taken care of. Oh! And your uncle wanted the keys to your van so he could check it over? Said you had a long drive coming up he wanted to make sure it’d handle okay.”

“Okay, wow- tell everyone to chill out about me, would ya? Alrighty, so… no major allergies, but yeah, fruit pies aren’t really my jam. But that’s usually because Wayne makes ‘em, and I think he skims when he reads dessert recipes so they all come out mushy. But Lady Henderson could probably make an apple that doesn’t rot in the Munson family refrigerator.” Eddie snickered to himself.

“I’ll pass that along.”

Eddie swung his legs over the side of the thin mattress, and dug a hand into the plastic hospital tote he’d been handed back, rooting around his belongings,“ And I’ll gladly trade you my keys for some clothes since you’re the little postal boy running my deliveries today.”

Steve passed over the bag he’d brought and pocketed the key ring while Eddie giddily broke for the bathroom. Dropping comments about wearing something that didn’t leave his ass hanging out as he slipped behind the heavy door. He was happily greeted by the sight of an Ozzy tee with bleach stains at the top of the bag. He’d nabbed it from a thrift shop in Indy a while back since he still hadn't been able to buy merchandise from a show himself. A little nod from Wayne about the tickets he and the other Corroded Coffin members had saved up for and been waiting to go to for months now. And now the affair was almost in reach, and he nearly missed it bleeding out in another world.

But instead, he tugged the shirt on along with a pair of loose pajama pants, already feeling worlds more comfortable than he had in a while. Alive and breathing. With exciting plans so close he could almost hear the buzz of the speaker system kicking on. Could almost feel his friends jostle around him while the music starts. It was the first time he’s actually gotten to put on some of his own clean clothes and think about upcoming plans in almost two weeks. And those two weeks in particular felt like years. He emerged from the bathroom feeling like both a new man and a little bit more like who he was before he traveled to another plane of existence, twice. And still, Steve was sitting in that damn chair.

“Were you waiting for the fashion show, or was there something else?” he asked.

Steve shrugged a second, like he was pretending he wasn't even sure himself,“ There mighta been another thing I was told to share when I dropped by.”

“Well?” Eddie dropped into the chair next to Steve instead of taking to his hospital bed,” Do you always like holding out to build suspense, or are you gonna share it already?”

Steve’s hand slipped into the pocket of his jacket. And then he pulled out a small golden tin. “Village Moisturizing Lip Lickers Lip Balm” it read with sweeping letters. Wild Cherry flavor.

Eddie’s mouth fell open for a second before quickly snapping shut again.

What was that supposed to mean?

And why did it look like Steve was holding it out for him?

“I’m sorry, what’s this about? This you telling me my lips are crusty after you kissed me awake like little Snow White?”

“CPR,” Steve corrected.

“Tomato-Tamato,” Eddie waved him off and placed a hand over his heart,” Point being, I don’t think an insult is a very nice present after all I’ve been through.”

Steve rolled his eyes and slid the top of the tin back. The container jutted out from under the cover like a matchstick box, and what Eddie saw inside was not some bright red lip gloss like he expected. Instead, it had been cleaned out and now held two thinly rolled joints in the case.

“Don’t judge a man for how he hides his stash when he’s so kindly sneaking you some drugs, maybe,” Steve suggested while Eddie looked down with glazed-over eyes. Almost like he was looking at a little bit of handheld heaven. “Henderson mentioned you had a certain special request.”

“I apologize- I apologize so much.” He corrected with clasped together hands,” Thank you. Thank you dearly, Steve Harrington, for this generous gift. I owe you my life for this immense kindness you found fit to bestow upon this humble man. Now, do I get them both or-”

“Don’t be greedy. I have it on good authority that this is top-shelf stuff right there. California quality. I planned to try it myself too.”

“Oh, so we’re having a smoke sesh together then? Thought you had a job to get to.”

“Eh. I don’t think any of us are betting on the reopening tomorrow being all that 'grand.' I got the keys to the place anyway. I can just stop by after-hours to finish looking over and sweeping up shop. Could hang around here for a bit. Unless you have some business you need to get to and want me to just take mine on the road.”

“Nah, nah. You’re welcome to stay. Plus I don’t think I’ve got a lighter on me so…” Eddie all but batted his eyelashes at him.

Steve couldn’t believe it,“ How does a dealer not have a lighter on him?”

He spoke sorrowfully,“ The one I had in my jeans took a dip in Lover’s Lake. She hasn’t sparked for me since.”

“Alright, alright.” Steve hummed, plucking out one of the rolls and placing it into Eddie’s eagerly awaiting fingers. In the second he spent pulling out his own, Eddie had already placed his between his lips expectantly. Brown, doe eyes wide open and stuck on Steve, waiting impatiently, almost starry with childlike glee. He looked silly to be that excited for a little pot.

“Geez,” Steve shoved on his shoulder as Eddie seemed to just keep leaning closer and closer in anticipation,” Make yourself useful and crack open the window.” He told him as Steve sat back to snake a hand into his pocket for the light.

The window only went halfway up - probably some policy or other about patient safety - but it gave them a few inches of screen they’d be able to blow the smoke out of, so it was enough to not stink up the room too badly. It didn’t take long to get themselves situated with each of their blunts burned at the ends. Steve struggled to remember the last time he’d lit up in the middle of the afternoon. It wasn’t even 3 pm yet. Most weeks around that time he's picking up Robin from the high school, and if his car even smells like cigarettes she'd pinch off her nose and groan about the stench.

Eddie, on the other hand, was no stranger to a little mid-day high.

Most days - when he wasn’t a wanted man on the run, that is - he liked to get a little baked. With or without any of his buddies, it usually slipped him into an easier state of mind. Made movie-watching, channel surfing, or songwriting just a little more entertaining. The thing was… he hadn’t really gotten any action over the last two weeks, his lungs took a bit of a beating in the last few days, and he’s just slept for the last few hours instead of responsibly sipping on the water by his bedside like was recommended. So, while he usually has no problem taking down the smokey sweetness and ignoring the irritation it brings with it, his constitution had taken to rolling with disadvantage on this particular occasion.

“Thank you, Dustin Henderson.” He spoke quietly into the embers like grace before a meal.

Then he sucked in a deep drag like he was so used to doing and immediately felt the prickle settle into his throat. His cheeks soon went red as he put all his efforts into keeping the toke down without hacking it up like an inexperienced little preteen. But in just seconds, the seal of his lips failed. In a fit of sputtering coughs, ashy breath blew away from Eddie, and those previously wonderstruck eyes were holding back tears.

And, had that been all of the event, Steve probably wouldn’t have laughed very much. Maybe a little, he was a drug dealer after all, but it wasn’t lose-your-mind funny.

The thing was, as Eddie’s body fought against the unwelcome feeling, it pulled at the still too-fresh stitches on his sides. He instantly yelped out and threw his hands down in an attempt to soothe the broken but healing skin. He barely caught the roll tightly pinched between his lips, nearly dropping it in his sudden jolt.

He looked ridiculous. Face red and scrunched up, eyes watery and mad, arms crossed and holding himself, joint precariously about to fall. Now that? That was a sight that reached “fucking hilarious” in Steve’s book. Since it was painted over someone you’d think could handle his shit better.

Steve quickly placed his own hand over his mouth, trying to hold back the laughs like how Eddie had just tried to hold back his wheezing.

“What-” he’d been interrupted by more coughs,” What the fuck are you- giggling at over there?” Eddie asked him angrily through the struggle.

And that was it.

The dam broke, and all of Steve’s laughter suddenly poured out of him. Like a tsunami rushing over a quaint coastal town, he was loud and cackling in a way that shook him so hard that he started feeling a similar strain on his own matching stitches. Eddie’s face screwed up further, and he started to kick away at Steve and his chair to separate them if he was going to be made fun of like this.

And then Steve felt the yank on his sides as he tried to bend away and out of reach. He copied Eddie’s pose to hold onto his still sore wounds.

“Don’t mock me!” Eddie yelled at him, assuming it was part of Steve’s joke.

Which was somehow only funnier.

“Stop! Stop it! The nurse is gonna kill me if I make her do these again!” Steve cried out as he pushed himself away, trying to dodge Eddie’s barrage of socked feet before someone actually caused some damage.

That made Eddie finally start to laugh in response. And before they could control themselves, they were both laughing so hard they cried. All the while wincing and swearing it wasn’t funny. Insisting that it hurt, and it was all the other’s fault, and they really needed to grow up, and have they no shame.

It took a while for the two to wind down. It was funny the way they just fell into the funnies so suddenly. Kind of felt like they’d really needed them. There was so much stress hanging around everything all the time. The opportunity to just laugh couldn’t be wasted. And they could only thank their lucky stars that all their yowling and cackling didn’t call a nurse or someone to check on them and catch them red-handed.

Eddie would eventually re-find his tolerance, so he and Steve were able to burn through their lit joints in something closer to peace. Eddie reiterated that he hasn’t had a fit like that in a long time. He could handle a bit of marijuana, but he was on his deathbed just a couple days ago. He deserved a pass.

Steve sighed. It wasn’t like he was judging him much over that part or anything. He hadn’t even smoked much himself recently. Since Robin hated cigarettes so much he just had less time to himself where he’d be able to without complaint. Plus, being alone with it isn’t the same as sharing the high with someone. And that circle he used to have that would crowd together at parties to get crossfaded didn’t exist anymore.

“So, what song did you pick?” Eddie asked as they worked through their inhales more smoothly.

Steve covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. Rubbing over his face in annoyance while a groan erupted up out of him.

“Ugh, which little asshole told you to ask me about that one, huh?”

“What? None of them? Nancy’s on my case about picking one, so I was asking around. Geez, didn’t know that was a sore subject for you, your majesty.”

Something in Steve objected to the title. But he pushed it down and moved on. Giving up the name of his worst-kept secret because even if he didn’t say it, there were about a dozen other people with the answer.

“Oh? Miss Bonnie Tyler is what does it for you?”

“What? You got a problem with her?” Steve came to her - and his own - defense.

“No. Not at all. Bonnie can rock, man. Just… not what I was expecting from all of that.” Eddie said with a motion to the man sitting across from him.

Steve challenged him,“ I thought your whole thing was about how assumptions about people are wrong? Especially in my case after your epiphany in the woods.”

“Look, I’m not a perfect person, alright.” Eddie shrugged and gave himself over to the idea,“ But sure, The Hair likes Bonnie and Footloose, noted.”

“What do you need with a list of my likes and dislikes?”

“Oh, it’s for my super evil satanic ritual. I’m gonna steal your soul and sell it to the highest bidder. It’s gonna finance my everlasting youth and ticket to fame, don’t you know?”

"Didn't realize I fetched such a high price."

"I assure you, I'll be getting top dollar. Might even hold an auction, let the demons enter a bidding war to lay claim to your fate."

“Ha ha.” Steve mocked with a flat, unimpressed tone. "Well, make it even."

"What?"

"Since you're collecting a list on me, give me the dirt on you." Steve reasoned and looked back to the table of paper he was peaking at earlier.

"What do you want to know?"

"What about this?" Steve picked off the top book from the stack," Tell me why this matters to someone."

And before Eddie could brace himself, his own copy of The Hobbit was being thrown at him. He barely caught it, not being a jock like Harrington and Sinclair.

"Have a little respect for a guy's literature!" he cried, cradling the words of Tolkien to his chest like he needed to protect them from further threat.

"Is it any good?" Steve asked. And he wasn't really being a jerk with the question. He seemed a little curious, but in the way that someone who doesn't like to read is only half-interested.

"Is it any good?" Eddie ridiculed. "Yeah, it's good. It's great. It's a staple of the genre, a legend of the bookshelves-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah- It's a classic, a must-read before you die, it'll fundamentally change you with the moral of the story. Sure, someone can say that about anything."

"Well, The Hobbit is the real deal."

"Convince me. Why do you like it?"

And Eddie was off to the races. A smile stretched across his face while he crossed his legs up in the chair. He started by commending the style of the writing. It was a simple, easy read. Something good for newbies to read and get into the fantasy world Tolkien built for the first time without getting overwhelmed. It was a prequel to the big trilogy, something to tell you where some of the pieces came from by following a smaller adventure. And the way it was written... it was written like it was meant to be read to someone. It was built for storytelling. Which Eddie loved to do.

"It's homey. And, I mean, I've buzzed through it a few times myself, and some of these lines just warm me up each and every go-through. Only part that sucks is that since it's such a foundational part of getting into fantasy, everyone I know with any sort of interest has already read it. One day, I'm gonna find someone I can read it to for the first time. Watch them discover it with my voice leading the way."

Steve shook his head. Reading was never a fun subject for him, so trying to make that some kind of expression of love just didn't seem like something anyone could really enjoy. Maybe he was a little stuck in his ways, but books were a headache. He was pretty sure about that. And, if he needed to deal with a hardcover headache, he'd rather take it from a lump on the noggin than spend hours looking over neverending lines of print.

Their Californian gifts had started working their magic though…

Purple Palm Tree Delight. What a thing it was.

He wouldn't say it was making him more agreeable to the idea of Eddie cracking open the book and lecturing at him, but he was in a better mood overall. More comfortable. Less on edge. Maybe a little too honest.

Steve was soon sat all lax in the uncomfy chair. Slumped down in it until his head could rest along the low back. He rolled that head, now feeling lighter than it had when he walked in, over to look at Eddie and snickered.

“I'll tell you a secret,” he offered, his shoulders hiking up to shrug slightly before he closed his eyes and muttered,” I already finished everything up at Family Video.”

“What?” Eddie’s head craned to the side.

“I wasn’t stopping here on my way over there. I stopped here on my way home.”

“Why’d you say otherwise then?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t wanna seem like I was betting on hanging around too long.”

“You brought a guy weed while he was stuck in his sick bed and ‘didn’t wanna seem like you bet to hang around’? What’s that about?”

“Who wants to seem desperate?” Steve posed the question at him, before dropping some of the advice he picked up from always wanted to seem like he's got everyone's approval,” If you always act like you’ve got somewhere else you can be, then it’s easy to run off when it feels like the welcome's expired. It's not as much of a rejection that way. Just you getting to your plans.”

Eddie understood it when it was spelled out for him like that. But that's never been the way that his world worked.

“Well, thank you for sticking around anyway.”

“Yeah…”

Steve seemed like his mind was going somewhere. But Eddie didn’t know how to follow it, wherever it was trekking. Steve's mind was unfamiliar territory. So he asked about his neighbor. Eddie’s eyes shifted over to where she was laid out, sharing their room, but not their conversation.

“Has Red always been as badass as she was last week?”

Steve’s whole expression softened when Eddie looked back at him. He set his hazel-y gaze onto her. Clear fondness was written on his face as he considered the question.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Steve paused. Remembering.

“She was always kinda crazy, as much as I saw. You sorta have to be to follow a kid you just met - one who swears up and down that monsters are real - out to a junkyard past sundown where another kid is saying they’re making a trap for one at. The same night we beat back demented, freaky hound-things, she apparently drugged a real demon, took my bat, and nearly smashed his family jewels under the spikes. Told him to get lost and leave her and hers alone. And I got to get scared shitless while she slammed the gas in his car and nearly drove us all off the road.” Steve would sometimes swear he still felt dizzy from that delirious wild ride.

“Her step-brother?”

“Yeah. Him.” His voice went lower as he continued,” First day I met her and she was beating back a two-legged monster. All on her own.”

Eddie looked back at her, wondering how much more hell she's lived through than he has. And she was still kicking.

“She’ll be fine.” Eddie decided.

“She will.” Steve agreed.

Time stretched on from there in easy conversation. Before they really knew it, the hour had flown by, and the clock would soon hit four. Steve was about to be sent on his way by the seemingly incredibly punctual nursing staff. So he smacked his hands on his legs and stood up from the window seat.

The daze of Purple Palm Tree Delight was already slipping away, so he figured he’d be fine to drive without sitting in the parking lot for a sobering nap.

“I’ll head off and drop these keys with your old man.”

With a nod, Eddie stood up behind him,” Well, since you’ll be running into him later anyway, might as well drop off the rest of this mess too.”

He picked up the plastic hospital bag that was effectively dirty laundry. Messy Warzone vest, tattered Hellfire shirt, black ripped jeans, and the jewelry he’s honestly been feeling sort of naked without. With that thought, though, he figured there couldn’t possibly be any medical harm in him putting back on just his necklace and favorite ring while he waited to be released.

“Just let me grab…” he’d started while he ducked his head down and picked through the sack. But he soon fell silent as his eyes raked over the contents.

Steve gave him a second before it seemed like Eddie wasn’t just quiet out of focus. “What’s up?” he asked, watching the man fuss about his belongings with growing nerves.

Immediately, Eddie grabbed onto the bottom of the bag, turning it over and dumping the entire contents out onto the hospital bed. Dirty, bloodied clothes littered it, but he just shoved past them and touched the bits of silver shining back at him through the grime. Worst part was, it wasn’t all there.

His mother’s engagement ring was gone.

And there weren’t really words for the way that felt.

He might describe it like his stomach hollowed out, or like the ground beneath his feet vanished, or like he was instantly drenched in ice water. He might say that it felt worse than blacking out or hearing his voice crack over a microphone. Could even think about all the other things he would’ve happily given up before that ring.

But he couldn’t say any of that to Steve Harrington. Even if they just spent the better part of an hour giggling and getting pretty damn candid with one another. That ring - his mother - that just wasn't something he talked about. With anyone. Period.

So instead, he froze. His hands pressed heavily into the covers, and he started to curl his finger and dig into the clothes with the anger, and the shame, and the feeling like, suddenly, he didn’t know what he was doing anymore. In just a second, he felt lost. And it was all he could to try and stave off the oncoming tears. The ones trying to boil over, and not over something as surface level as an itchy windpipe.

“Everything cool?” Steve tried again.

And Eddie snapped back up. His face no longer aimed down at the remaining objects thrown out before him. He reined himself back in enough to survive the next few minutes, his fist holding onto the chain looped through a red guitar pick. As if he could even pretend that was all he’d been looking for. He tucked the rest of it back into the bag and handed it over quickly.

“Fine.”

That was all he really trusted himself to say.

And, as if that ending didn’t just flip the last hour they spent together on its head, Steve decided it wasn’t his business. So he took the offer with an attempt at a casual smile.

“Sounds good. I’ll pass it along.”

And he was gone.

The nurse made a face at them when she got to Eddie’s door to dismiss the visitor. Even though they’d been careful to blow all the smoke out the window and dispose of the evidence, the smell of weed stuck out from the otherwise chemically clean hospital. But she let him walk anyway, so Steve went out the door and climbed back into his car.

The passenger seat of the Beemer was full of cassettes and vinyl records from the group for Mikhail to pour over when he got back. He made mental notes to call Claudia and let her know apple pie was the request while he pulled out of the parking lot. Heading toward the edge of town to make a detour so he could hand over the rest of Eddie’s belongings to his uncle.

Steve buzzed the main entrance of the power plant when he arrived. In just a minute Wayne was opening the heavy metal door and greeting him with a friendly expression behind tired eyes. And in those eyes, there was a brief flash of recognition. One not so dissimilar to the way the nurse had looked at him on his way out of Eddie’s room. With a quick quirk of his nose, Steve was pretty sure he smelled the marijuana on his clothes.

But Wayne moved past the notice without comment,” Thanks for making the run for me, son.”

“Sure. I’d say any time, but this was my last day off before Family Video will have me all but chained to the store until we get more hires.” Steve huffed and handed over the bag.

“I feel that. Things are running ‘bout the same over here.” he yawned and took Eddie's stuff,“ And how’d he seem? I won’t be able to go by myself except for a bit tomorrow morning.”

“He’s all good. Needs to make sure not to mess with his stitches too much, but good.”

Wayne smiled fondly,” Yeah, he was always one to pick at scabs when he was little, so that tracks.”

Steve weighed the thought with a light chuckle,“ I don’t know if he’s picking 'em, but he was kicking at me, so he needs to watch that he doesn’t pull them undone overexerting himself too much.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side looking at him,“ He was kicking at you?”

Steve simply answered,“ Long story.”

“Right… Well, thank you again. For the keys and whatever you did that made him worked up enough to kick at you.” Wayne studied him for a moment and added,” But you mighta deserved it, all I know. You a troublemaker?”

“All I did was laugh! I swear!” Steve insisted.

“Hmmmm… maybe so.” he didn't act as if he bought it,” Why don’t you get on home now, ‘fore someone starts to worry about you.”

“Okay. But if you need anything, let us know. We’re all watching out for each other.”

“How ‘bout I call you when we got a place to move back into - one that's not tore in half - and I’ll put you to work hauling boxes. Till then you can relax.”

There was another small chuckle to come from Steve as he was about to head off. “Yes, sir,” he told him. But he turned back around right before Wayne had shut the door to get back to work.

“Actually, I did have a question,” he added.

Wayne looked back at him and stepped out of the doorway,“ Yeah?”

“Eddie was fine while I was there, for the most of it. But, at the end, he got kinda quiet. It was after he looked through his bag and pulled out the necklace. But maybe something was missing?”

Wayne’s eyebrow drew up, and he started combing his hand through everything. It didn't take long for a look to come onto his face. A knowing kind that said he'd pinpointed exactly what it was. Still, he checked with Steve,“ You said the only thing he took out of the bag was his necklace?”

“Yeah, with the red pick.”

“Not one of his rings?”

“No,” he was sure of it,” He just left the three of them in there and handed it over.”

Wayne nodded slowly and looked past Steve. Something like regret or a kind of mourning sat in his eyes. “That explains it…”

“What?”

“He has four rings.” Wayne corrected. “These big ones, he likes them, 'course, but the other one is the important one. He lost one of these and he mighta just been annoyed, but… the other was his mom’s.”

Those last words left Wayne like he barely realized he said them out loud. Maybe he hadn't meant to. It was a wistful thing, spoken with a soft sorrow to believe the news. Mostly just to say it to himself.

But he had said it out loud and just a few feet away, so Steve heard it.

“Oh…”

Steve couldn't exactly imagine how it felt. To picture his mom's engagement ring… it wasn't something that filled him with happy feelings. It… it usually stirred something in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw the large stone glint under harsh lights. To watch it twist between her fingers any time finances became the topic of conversation. It seemed to be a nervous habit of hers that always caught his eye with a sharp gleam.

But the way Wayne spoke of Eddie's, it meant something good to him. And it was gone. After such a terrible thing, he lost something important.

“He never takes that thing off, so if it wasn’t on him when he went into the hospital and got put in this sack… then it’s lost.” he resigned himself to the fact.

“Or maybe it’s in the RV.” Steve offered, trying to find hope.

“Or deep in the woods, or out in the street, or maybe it's stolen…” Wayne argued against the optimistic approach,” There’s really no way of knowing for sure, kiddo. But that- yeah, that would sour his mood.”

Wayne sat with the knowledge a second before he looked back up at Steve and excused himself,“ Uh, thank you for mentioning it. I’ll check in with him as soon as I can. You have a good one now.”

Steve didn't really know what else to say,“ Yeah, you too. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Things just happen sometimes. Can't do anything about it.”

And the door shut behind him while Wayne’s eyes stuck to the bag. Like, perhaps if he just looked a second longer, the ring in question would appear for him. Because thinking of going back to his boy and telling him that he was right - it was gone, and he couldn't get it back - it almost broke his heart all over again.

Before Steve went home, he stopped by the trailer park. It wasn't completely planned. He more so just found himself there to the thought of Eddie alone in that hospital room looking at his unusually bare finger. He unbuckled from his car in front of the Munson's place. Stepped up the stairs and let himself in through the unlocked door, past the police tape. He walked into the living room and looked over the carpeted floor for the shine of misplaced jewelry.

If it fell off of Eddie's finger when they flipped through the mini-gate, it would've landed there. That's what he figured.

The room around him was covered in mugs and baseball hats, most of which had been knocked off the shelves and hooks. Scattered onto the edges of the room, around the mattress and scraps of torn sheets. They'd all really made a mess of it in their rushing around. He knelt down to the ground and combed his fingers through the short shag, tugging the rope out of his way. But there was no missing ring in that trailer, in or out of hiding.

He came out of the small home and looked across the driving lane. The Jameson's RV had been returned and parked back in their lot a couple dozen yards away. He did mention that place to Wayne when he thought about where a ring could've gone. It could be in there if it was thrown off his hand sometime between the Upside Down and the emergency room. He hadn't thought to look for it when the police let them get back their stuff. Didn't know it was missing back then, of course. But now that he was on the hunt, that was the next place to check.

On his way over, he watched the gravel under his feet for if the ring was lost when Eddie was loaded up, but there was no sight of it down there either. As he turned the corner around the front of the vehicle, he saw the couple lounging in fold-out chairs. Just like they had been when the kids took their mobile home in the first place.

Okay. Steve just needed to ask them if they might've seen a ring somewhere in there since they got it back. Couldn't possibly be too awkward. Surely. They'd understand.

The pair looked up at Steve as he approached. He pulled on his nicest expression and threw up a hand in a quick greeting. They seemed to study him for a second. Not placing his face easily.

“Hi there. Uh- I'm Steve-”

But that was about all it took for their eyes to darken at him.

Mr. Jameson spoke up first,“ How dare you-”

Immediately, Steve fell into apologies,” I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really didn't plan to bother either of you at all. Especially not after… everything. Um- but I needed to ask something. Real quick. Any chance-”

“You don't need to be askin' us anything after what you and those hooligans did-”

“I know. And I agree, and I am really, really sorry. But-” There was a slight stutter to his breath as he tried again,” if there's any chance that the two of you might've seen a ring laying around. One of us just found out it's lost and-”

The fire in the woman's eyes blazed with insult,“ Are you accusing us of stealing-”

Steve tried to signal surrender. “Absolutely not, ma'am-”

But she rolled on through, pointer finger raised to keep him silent,“ If we'd seen anything in there that wasn't ours, we would've handed it over to the police to give back. I don't know what kind of people you think we are-”

“I swear I wasn't assuming-”

“But we're good people. Not the kind to steal a good, honest person's home and drive off with it without an ounce of respect. Knocking over trash, wasting their gas, making a mess of their things with no regard for the people it belongs to-”

“Again, I'm so sorry-”

She raised her voice following the interruption,“ But I cannot believe, after all we've been through since then, that you'd show back up here and try to extort us.”

Steve's eyes almost bulged out of his head at the suggestion. He frantically shook his head,“ No, no, no-”

“So now what?” her husband picked up,” You gonna call Powell with your rich kid connections, tell him you left valuables behind? See if they'll strip our RV and hand you whatever jewelry they might find in there for you to pawn off? Catch your thrills that way?”

“No! I would never. I swear. I just- I already looked around, and this was the last place I could think of where it could've fallen, so I thought I should ask-”

“I think you best get, boy. And I don't ever want to see you 'round here again, or we'll be the ones making a call to that police station.”

“I- I understand. I'm sorry to interrupt your evening. Have a good night.”

Steve scampered away from them pretty quickly. Not stopping or slowing down until he got into his car and closed the door. With his hands firmly on the wheel, he checked the mirrors to make sure there wasn't a disgruntled pair hot on his trail. Though neither of them seemed to follow him away from their property.

He let out the breath he was holding.

“Shit.”

He wasn't sure exactly why he felt so desperate to find that ring for Eddie. Surely he or his uncle would be able to look around for themselves. And, he knew that it wasn't exactly his fault. He didn't see it and kick it away without knowing what it was or anything. But if Eddie was wearing it before Steve picked him up and hiked him across the Upside Down and back to their own Hawkins… and if Steve was careless or something, let his arm flop around or whatever, and that was when it fell off… in that case, it did feel a little bit like his fault.

To think about that whole evening looking back, maybe he shouldn't have let Eddie volunteer to hang back by the trailer with Dustin as the distraction. Maybe Steve would've been faster at outrunning the bats, or maybe Eddie wouldn't have gotten strung up by vines, and maybe Vecna would already be dealt with, and Eddie wouldn't have lost his ring, and Max wouldn't be stuck in a coma, and…

The possibilities swirled around his head long after he'd driven away from the trailer park, made it back home, and excused himself for a shower. Steve's messed up a lot of stuff in his life. Maybe those past few weeks were just the latest mistake he's made so far.

[seventh-district]

wow!!! nothing better than watching your AO3 subscribers stat go down every time you post a new chapter of your current fic!!!

[birlwrites]

i really need to know if it’s carrow or mulciber who died, because, like. if it’s carrow, then i wouldn’t put it past alecto to be like, "well, you killed my brother, so yours better watch his back." either way, the situation is fucked, because while it was self-defence, it’s still murder, so regulus is going to have to weasel his way out of this one. but if there is the added issue of sirius having a target on his back because of regulus, well, that would be next-level fucked

in the interest of accurately setting expectations, i want to be super clear that tyrant isn't like...... 100% thoroughly written? there will be loose threads by the time i've wrapped it up, since it is very much a first draft and i'm focusing my efforts on writing ttdl rather than fleshing out tyrant. one of those loose threads is what the junior death eaters are going to do about regulus killing one of their own. (this is partly because of where tyrant ends - it covers through the end of fifth year and leaves things pretty open-ended)

THAT BEING SAID: the fact that there's been a murder immediately changes the stakes of the disciplinary action involved. regulus has a lot of weaseling to do............. as does every hogwarts student with a dark mark, which is a low but non-zero number

in summary everyone's in trouble afjslghskdfsjld

oh but on a tangentially related note, in ttdl, sirius IS about to get dragged into slytherin drama because of regulus, and the baby death eater responsible will find out rather quickly that this was A Bad Idea.

[zoophagist]

Hi, do you know any places where I can read/download "Book of Renfield"? After your posts I really want to check it out, but Amazon refuses to ship stuff to my town ><

hey! that makes me so excited to hear that you're interested in it! (when will tim lucas start paying me for being that book's entire marketing team?) i got mine used years ago, so i'm not totally sure, but you may be able to find it in used book marketplaces online! one of my friends recently had success that way, and found it pretty cheap. not sure where you're trying to ship to, so i don't know how helpful i can be suggesting a specific site that will work for you, but alibris, thriftbooks, and biblio have all saved me in a pinch in the past. ebay even seems to have several copies. and not to state the obvious but if you haven’t already, maybe try your local library! lots of libraries will take purchase requests, so even if they don't already have it, they might be able to purchase a copy that you can then check out!

[dustofthedailylife]

The authorly struggle of having to write your story first but already wanting to tell everyone about the major plot points.

[beauzos]

me updating SOBR in big chunks before my friends can even finish reading the last chunk

[ohproserpine]

v. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and bloof, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder

"THAT SLAG!"

Velvette's piercing scream echoed through the meeting room, slicing through the air. Vox and Valentino jolted, turning their gazes toward the source of the disturbance.

"Good-for-nothing piece of shit twat assistant!" Velvette paced the room, her movements agitated and frantic as she angrily tapped away on her phone.

In a sudden surge of anger, she flung her device across the room, sending it flying above Valentino's head. A crash punctuated the air as it collided with a window, the impact shattering the glass into shards that rained down onto the floor.

"Velvette, darling," Vox raised an eyebrow, his voice calm as always, "What's got you so worked up?"

He took a sip of his coffee, the rich aroma wafting up from the steaming cup as he idly scrolled through his laptop. "Is it that showgirl situation again?"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Velvette rolled her eyes. "Of course, it is, you git! It's been literally the ONLY thing I've been banging on about this week!"

Valentino's sigh cut through the conversation as he adjusted his sunglasses. Holding his glittering firearm up to his face, he pressed rhinestones on it with tacky glue, unfazed by Velvette's anger.

"It's just some performer, babydoll. We can find a replacement."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Velvette seethed as she stormed toward them, her heels clicking loudly with each step. With a forceful slam of her hands against the table, it shifted forward, jolting the items on its surface. With a hiss of pain, Vox recoiled, his hand jerking back from the scalding coffee he had spilled on himself.

"The boutique opening is in three days! How on earth am I supposed to find a girl who's got the looks and a set of pipes in time?!" she exclaimed.

Valentino looked up from his bedazzling, a raised eyebrow visible above the rim of his sunglasses. "Have you tried one of my models? I got a lot of pretty little chicas who can charm the socks off anyone. No need to stress yourself out."

"Your models? Do you have any idea how much time and effort it's going to take for me to wrangle those little amateurs into something remotely resembling a professional performance?" Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Sod off!"

Valentino snarled in response but turned away with a huff, muttering under his breath, "Have it your way."

"If I may," Vox spoke, wiping his hand with a grumble, the sting of the burn still lingering. He tilted his head slightly, raising a single brow. "Have you tried scouting?"

"Have I tried scouting?" Velvette mocked, her hands waving around in frustration. "Of course I have! All I've come across are bloody singers around here, and they all look like they've been dragged through the dirt backwards!"

"Well, have you tried the back district?" he offered, tapping his claws on the long glass table. He watched as Velvette pulled out a pocket mirror from her purse, visibly cringing at his suggestion.

"Why in bloody hell would I go there?" Velvette grimaced as she re-applied her dark lipstick. "I'm not about to waste my time scouring the back district for some dime-a-dozen talent. I need someone who's got class, not gutter scraps."

"Well, there's this performer," Vox insisted, snapping his fingers. A screen materialized with a whiz, displaying a video of a figure in a sparkly silver dress singing and dancing. As the video drew to a close, the camera zoomed in, capturing a close-up of the woman's face. Her features were radiant, a smile gracing her lips as she gazed out at the audience.

Velvette snapped her mirror shut with a flick of her wrist, interest sparking in her eyes. She leaned in closer, studying the performer's features.

"Who's this?" she quipped.

"Dolly, at least that's what they call her," Vox hummed, sliding the screen over to Velvette. "She works at Mimzy's Lounge."

Velvette's expression darkened, strands of hair falling over her eyes as she took the screen in her hands, leaning down to view the image again. The glow of the projection illuminated her face, casting shadows that danced across her steely expression.

"Mimzy?" she uttered the name slowly, her lips dripping with venom. "That's the cunt who tore up my best showgirl!"

"Drama," Valentino chuckled, spinning his bedazzled gun around his fingers.

"Well, this Dolly girl is her biggest star, and she's been making quite a name for herself there," Vox drawled, gesturing toward the screen. With a tap of his claw on the screen, he zoomed in closer. "She's got the looks, the voice, and the stage presence you're looking for."

"And she's managed to shine even in the shadow of that cesspool," he added with a sardonic grin as he sipped from his coffee.

A flicker ignited in Velvette's eyes as she straightened. "Then it's settled. I'll pay her a visit."

"Sounds like you've got a plan brewing, my dear. Care for some company?" Vox spoke with a smirk playing on his lips.

Velvette shot him a knowing glance before a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "Why not? I could use some of your charm."

.

"Cher? Dearest? It's time to get up," the radio atop your bedside table rumbled, your husband's voice crackling through the air.

Grunting in protest, you burrowed deeper into the warmth of your blankets, seeking refuge from the harsh bite of the morning. But Alastor's persistent calls refused to be ignored.

"Mon cœur? Cher? W̷A̴K̶E̴ ̶U̸P̷!̶" it blared, the words amplified by hissing static, demanding attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly peeled yourself away from the cocoon of comfort that had enveloped you. Sitting up, you felt the blanket slip from your shoulders, pooling around your hips. Memories of last night flooded in, and the remnants of Alastor's romantic gesture still adorned your room. The bouquet sat atop your dresser, with scattered white roses delicately strewn across your bed like whispers of affection.

Despite the tender atmosphere, a throbbing headache reminded you of an unwelcome guest that accompanied you into the morning—the hangover.

Dragging yourself to the side, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort. Then, pushing yourself to your feet, you padded across the room, the cool floorboards sending a shiver through your bare skin. You picked up the radio, its incessant blare akin to an annoying alarm clock, with Alastor's voice still grating on your nerves.

"Alright. Alright. I'm up, love," you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes which still felt thick with sleep.

The radio rumbled with delight at your response.

"Hellish morning to you, my dear!" Alastor's voice boomed through the speakers, his jovial tone slicing through the early morning gloom. Despite your grogginess, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sound of his voice.

"Hellish morning to you too, darling," you returned, laced with affection.

"I trust you had a restful sleep?" Alastor questioned.

"As restful as one can get with a noisy radio blaring in their ear," you sighed, already feeling the weight of the day bearing down on you.

"Hah!" Alastor laughed, the sound making you roll your eyes. "But where ever would you be without my dulcet tones to serenade you awake?"

"Probably catching a few more precious minutes of sleep," you muttered, already regretting the start of another day. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

"Ah, but that's why you love me."

Back in his hotel room, Alastor chuckled to himself as he shrugged on his suit jacket. From his microphone, he caught the rustling of your clothes, followed by the gentle rush of running water.

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a gramophone, its boxy form materializing atop his dresser with a soft thud. Soon enough, the needle gently descended onto the spinning vinyl record, releasing a soft, nostalgic melody that filled the room.

I'll never smile again Until I smile at you I'll never laugh again What good would it do?

As Alastor began to sing along, his smooth voice seeping through the rusting speakers of the radio, you paused in the middle of washing your hair, caught off guard by the unexpected serenade.

"Stupid, stupid man," you muttered under your breath with a shake of your head. And yet, despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, warmth creeping into your heart.

For tears would fill my eyes My heart would realize That our romance is through

Exiting the bath, you toweled yourself off and approached your wardrobe, humming softly as you selected your attire for the day. After scanning through the hangers, you settled on a vibrant red hooverette dress. With matching stockings and white heels, you completed the look, the final touch being a few roses plucked from the bouquet Alastor had given you, tucked behind your ear.

I'll never love again I'm so in love with you I'll never thrill again To somebody new

Dressed and ready to face the day, you returned to the radio, the soft strains of music and Alastor's voice still lingering in the air. As the final notes faded into silence, you stood for a moment, savoring the fleeting illusion of domestic bliss for a moment longer.

With a pang of sadness, you glanced at the clock, realizing that it was time to go.

"I have to head out now, darling," you spoke into the radio, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. "My shift starts in a while."

"Ah, until we meet again, mon cher," Alastor's voice replied warmly. "Do take care of yourself."

In response, you leaned down to press a kiss against the speakers, a gesture of your affection. The soft sound of the kiss was barely audible, but Alastor's ears perked up and caught the gentle touch against the metal surface. He chuckled softly, then, with a soft click, the radio fell silent.

As you slipped your purse over your shoulder, a thought crossed your mind—should you bring the radio along? The temptation to have Alastor's voice with you throughout the day was strong, but the risk of further damaging the precious device gave you pause. With a sigh, you decided against it, opting to leave it safely in your room, where it would patiently await your return.

Heading out of your room, the lounge was already buzzing with the hustle and bustle of customers and staff. Although no singer graced the stage yet, the speakers blasted with the familiar tunes of Hell’s Top 10 Hits.

"There you are!" Mimzy's voice cut through the lively atmosphere, her smile failing to reach her eyes as she bounded towards you.

"Mimzy," you greeted flatly, acknowledging her with a nod.

"How are ya doin', doll? Just the person I was looking for," she purred with a bat of her eyes. "Alright, listen, I've got a marvelous idea for a performance."

You sighed inwardly, bracing yourself for whatever scheme she had cooked up this time. Mimzy's requests were as extravagant as they were challenging, always pushing the boundaries to maintain her club's "reputation" and squeeze every last dime from these sinners' wallets.

"Let's hear it," you replied, mustering a polite smile.

"So, I was thinking," Mimzy began, tapping her finger along her chin, "how about a duet? A throwback to the good ole days, sharing the spotlight. It's bound to be a performance these wayward fools are going to talk about for ages!"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the relatively tame suggestion. The blonde wasn't exactly known for her subtlety or restraint when it came to showmanship. At most, a duet with Mimzy was sure to be a spectacle, for better or for worse.

"And when is this going to be held?" you grinned tensely, hands at your hips. There was bound to be a switch somewhere.

"When else? Prime time tonight!" Mimzy giggled as she threw up her hands with a flourish.

And there it was.

"Tonight?" Your eyes widened, shoulders squaring in shock. "Miss Ma'am, that's cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"

"Bushwa! We'll make it work," Mimzy replied dismissively, waving off your concerns with a flick of her hand. "And I've already got the perfect song in mind. It'll be a real humdinger, mark my words."

"Alright," you sighed, hoping for the best but bracing yourself for the chaos that was sure to follow. "Tonight it is."

"That's the spirit! Hell, why don't you take the morning off?" Mimzy grinned as she hurried off down the hallway to make preparations. "I'll see you tonight! Make sure to be here by sunset!"

Standing by the stairs as stiff as a pole, you watched her skip off with an unusually chipper air. It struck you as odd, but you pushed the thought aside, eager to have the morning to yourself. As you turned away, however, your head throbbed once more, the reminder of your hangover cutting through the moment.

"Looks like a ciggy is in order," you muttered to yourself, rubbing at your throbbing temples. Making your way outside, hoping to smoke away the edge of discomfort.

Trudging along the filthy backstreets, you did your best to avoid the muck and other questionable liquids that lined the roadside. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, assaulting your senses with each step you took.

No one spared you a glance as you passed; the citizens of hell were absorbed in their own pursuits or concerns, and you blended into the backdrop of the grim landscape. 

Finally reaching a clearer stretch of street, you took a seat on one of the benches, the worn wood groaning under your weight. The city bustled around you, a mix of sounds and movements that seemed to blur together.

With a weary sigh, you reached into your bag in search of company—nicotine.

Fingers fumbling through the contents of your purse, you felt the familiar shape of the roll, and with a hum, pulled it out. However, as you continued to rummage through your belongings, a sinking realization settled in.

Your matchbox wasn't there.

Dropping your head into your hands with a scowl, you could feel the stress mounting within you, bubbling up like a simmering pot ready to boil over.

Wallowing in your misfortune, you failed to notice someone approaching you from behind. A sudden tap on your shoulder jolted you, and as you turned, you found yourself face to face with a tall and slender spider-like demon. His frame was practically drowning in a plush white fur coat, the color almost blending into his skin. It contrasted sharply with the sleekness of the black bodycon dress clinging onto his curves underneath.

"Need a light?" he asked casually as he held up a pink-colored lighter.

You eyed him skeptically for a moment.

In hell, kindness often came with a price. Whether it was a favor owed, a debt to be repaid, or simply a hidden agenda waiting to be revealed, nothing came for free. However, when your head throbbed again, you sighed and relented with a nod, accepting the offer despite your reservations.

Angel Dust ignited the lighter, the flame pirouetting gracefully and flickering in the wind. Drawing closer, you leaned in, offering the tip of your cigarette to the flame. With a gentle hiss, the tobacco caught fire, wisps of smoke curling into the air like ethereal dancers. As you took a deep, shaky inhale, the saccharine poison of the smoke flooded your lungs, leaving a bittersweet taste lingering on your tongue. Shutting your eyes, a sense of calm washed over you as you leaned back, letting yourself be carried away by the fleeting tranquility of the moment.

Remembering you had company, you grounded yourself and opened your eyes. "Thank you ever so much, dear. Can I have your name?" you asked, tilting your head up at him. The stranger moved to sit down next to you, the worn wood of the bench creaking under his weight.

"Angel Dust," he said, and your eyes shot wide open, lips forming an 'O' shape.

"The porn star?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"Didn't take you as the type to watch my shit, toots," Angel laughed heartily as his grin widened from ear to ear in response, his golden tooth gleaming at you like a wink.

"Well, I may not be your typical fan, but your name does tend to make its rounds in conversation," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. Taking a drag from your cigarette, you gestured with it casually. "I saw you in my husb—erm, the Radio Demon's commercial. Hazbin Hotel, was it?"

"Yeah, and don't worry, I know. Dolly, was it?" Angel Dust replied smoothly, his demeanor surprisingly nonchalant given the situation. Extending his hand for you to shake, he continued, "Nice to finally put a face to the name."

His confession caught you off guard, but you shook his hand firmly nonetheless. "How did you—did Alastor tell you about me? You two must be close."

Angel Dust hesitated, a grimace crossing his features. His crimson eyes darted away briefly, as if weighing his words carefully.

"Let's just say... word gets around in our circles," he replied vaguely, tugging his coat closer around himself.

"I don't know him that well, though," Angel Dust admitted with a shrug, his gaze drifting off momentarily. "Sometimes he can be a bit..."

"A pompous dick with a sadistic streak?" you suggested, exhaling smoke as you raised an eyebrow at Angel Dust, testing the waters.

Angel Dust laughed genuinely, throwing his head back. "Something along those lines, toots," he grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Well, it's good to know I'm not the only one who sees it," you remarked, a wry smile playing on your lips.

"Believe me, ya ain't alone in that," he agreed. "So, ah—What brings ya out here? Aside from the obvious need for a blow."

"Just needed some fresh air," you admitted with a shrug. "Plus, I may have indulged a bit too much last night and woke up feeling like death warmed over."

"I hear ya," Angel Dust replied, nodding sympathetically as he raked his eyes over your worn-out form, noting the slump of your body and the dark circles under your eyes. You looked so different from the sparkly performer he had seen on stage days ago.

"Hey, I actually caught one of ya shows the other night," he piped up, attempting to shift the conversation to a lighter topic.

"Did you?" you cooed, surprise evident in your voice.

"Yeah," Angel nodded, stretching out on the bench, spreading both his arms across the back of the wood. "Gotta say, ya put on quite the show up there. I mean—ya had the crowd eating out of the palm of ya hand."

A faint smile crept onto your cheeks at his praise, a swell of pride rising within you.

"Well, thank you," you bowed your head in gratitude, momentarily forgetting your fatigue in the warmth of his words. "It means a lot coming from someone like you."

Angel Dust waved off your thanks with a casual flick of his hand, lips jutting out in a playful pout.

"Ah, c'mon. I call it like I see it," he grinned with a shrug. "N'trust me, I've seen my fair share of performances."

Lost in the easy flow of conversation, you surrendered to the comfort of the moment, finding solace in the presence of your spider companion. Hours passed, and before you knew it, the sun dipped below the horizon,  painting the park in hues of golden warmth.

A jarring ringtone shattered the moment, causing Angel Dust to glance down at his phone with a whistle. His brows furrowed as he scrolled through a flurry of notifications, irritation flashing across his features.

"As much as I'm enjoying our little chat, duty calls," he sighed, flicking away ash from his cigarette. "Can't keep the boss waiting."

You nodded in understanding, offering a wave as he rose from the bench. "No worries, Angel. Catch you later."

"Looking forward to it, dollface," he replied with a wink before sauntering off into the city streets, leaving you to enjoy the peace alone. After a few minutes of watching the sunset, you decided it was time to go. You stubbed out your cigarette and rose from the bench, making your way out.

As you approached the streets leading to the lounge, the neon lights of the city burst into life, casting vibrant reflections on the pavement. Climbing the stairs to the entrance, you were enveloped by the familiar sights and sounds of the establishment. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cigarette smoke, mingling with the pulsating rhythm of the music from within.

Mimzy was nowhere to be seen, which came as a welcome relief. And with a last scan to ensure she wasn't lurking anywhere nearby, you made a beeline straight to your dressing room, eager to ready yourself for tonight's performance in peace without a certain blonde talking your ear off.

Taking a seat at the vanity, you began to prepare for the evening ahead, carefully applying your makeup and fixing your hair into place.

A sudden knock broke your routine, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the door. With a quick twist of the knob, you swung it open, revealing an imp demon. White blotches adorned his skin, and he sported sunglasses perched high up on his nose. In his hands, he held up a box, his expression expectant as he waited for your reaction.

"May I help you?" you murmured, tilting your head at him, curiosity coloring your tone.

"Yeah. Are you Dolly?" the imp asked, his tone curt and impatient.

"Yes?" you replied, a brow raised.

"Great. This is for you, lady," he said, thrusting the box of jewelry toward you. "If you could just sign here so I can get the hell out of this shithole, that'd be great."

You accepted the box from the imp demon's outstretched hand, eyeing him warily as he thrust a pen and clipboard in your direction. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly took the pen and scrawled your signature on the dotted line, handing the clipboard back to him with a curt nod.

"Thanks," he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he turned on his heel and hurried away, disappearing into the crowded hallway of the club.

Interest piqued, you turned your attention back to the box in your hands. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingers along the surface and lifted the lid of the box. Nestled amidst folds of satin lay a pearl necklace, the orbs gleaming as if moonlight itself was captured and trapped within. At its heart, a rose pendant bloomed, its petals of silver. 

Taken aback, you reached for the small card tucked within the box. Gently retrieving, you turned it around to see the words "From Al" penned gracefully in elegant script.

"Oh, you cheese…"

With a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you delicately lifted the necklace from its satin-lined cocoon, feeling the cool weight of the pearls in your palm. As you draped it around your neck, the pendant nestled against your collarbone.

Feeling as giddy as a teenager in love, you turned away from the vanity, your heart fluttering with excitement. With a skip in your step, you crossed the room to the wardrobe, fingers dancing over the array of neatly hung dresses.

Before your fingers could grasp onto a dress, a sudden deafening explosion tore through the air. The sound was thunderous, shaking the walls and causing the ground beneath your feet to tremble violently. The shockwave slammed into you with palpable force, knocking you off balance and sending you crashing to the floor amidst a cloud of dust and debris.

Alarm flashed across your features as your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river. With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up from the ground.

What in hell was that?

Staggering to your feet, you ran out into the lounge. As the dust settled, you could see the entrance of the lounge now reduced to a gaping maw, the doors blown open by the force of the explosion. The familiar sights and sounds of the club were replaced by a scene of utter devastation, with debris strewn haphazardly across the floor and smoke billowing out into the night air.

Two ominous figures cast dark shadows amidst the panicked frenzy of staff and customers.

Struggling to discern the figures amidst the chaos, you squinted, trying to make out the details. One of them was a slender demon, dressed immaculately, with cedar-brown skin and long, fiery red curls tied into neat pigtails.

A sinking feeling settled in your chest as you recognized her as one of Hell's infamous overlords. Your heart plummeted further as you caught sight of Mimzy, ensnared in Velvette's vice-like grip, fear twisting her features as she struggled against her captor.

But it was the presence of the figure behind Velvette that truly sent a shiver down your spine.

The TV Demon, Vox.

His gaze swept over the room with a detached coldness, as if the pandemonium were of little consequence. Suddenly, his icy eyes locked onto yours, freezing you in place.

"Mimzy, dear," Vox's voice buzzed with deceptive sweetness as he addressed the shaking blonde. "Why don't you go and have a little chat with your esteemed employee about our... conditions?"

Wide-eyed with fear, Mimzy frantically nodded, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Make it quick," Velvette scoffed, releasing her grip on Mimzy's throat. The blonde stumbled toward you, her movements shaky and unsteady.

"What is—" you started, but Mimzy cut you off, panic evident as she began to drag you backstage. Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed you into your dressing room, swiftly locking the door behind you.

"Mimzy, what in hell is going on out there?" you demanded, leaning down to her height and shaking her by the arms.

Mimzy's breaths came in ragged gasps as she leaned against the door, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled to find her words, her entire figure trembling as she tried to compose herself.

"It's Velvette," she finally managed to choke out.

"Why is she here? What does she want from us?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your tone as you searched Mimzy's face for answers. But her response only added to your unease.

"You need to go with them," Mimzy decided abruptly.

"Go with who? What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice turning breathless with disbelief.

"She's out for payback, see? And she won't stop until she gets it," Mimzy explained, her tone grave yet determined, like she had some ace up her sleeve. "I gotta level the playing field, doll. She wants a replacement, and she's chosen you."

"I can't just go along with this!" your voice rose to a shout as you began to shake her again, nails digging into the chiffon of her glove. "My contract with you ends in a year. If I go with them, I'll be their pawn for all of eternity!"

"I can't just risk Velvette destroying everything I've built!" Mimzy defended herself, her tone devoid of remorse. "Do you have any idea how much work it took for me to get this place running?!"

Anger surged within you, fueled by betrayal and fear. "What about me? What about Alastor?"

"Oh, him again!" Mimzy shook her arms away from your grip and pushed herself off the door. "You've been so obsessed with that radio fool, you've forgotten who's been with you since the very start! Ever since you got hitched to him, you stopped caring about a damn thing!"

"I cared! And I still bloody well care, Mimzy!" you shot back, your voice rising with anger. Your eyes blazed with fire, cracks beginning to form on your face as your demon form threatened to break free. "But you were an empty, hollow shell of a woman with naught in her head but money! You'd sell out anyone, even me, to get what you want!"

Mimzy recoiled slightly, her façade momentarily cracked by your words. "You-You think you're any better? Running off with your precious Alastor, pretending like he's the savior of your life. But I know you've heard his broadcasts. I know you've seen the news. He's no better than me, playing you like a puppet while hiding behind his façade of being a good man!"

Enraged, you lunged forward, tackling her against the wall. As fury consumed you, your form contorted and twisted, taking on a monstrous semblance. Your features morphed, sharpening into angular lines, while cracks spiderwebbed across your skin like shattered porcelain. Limbs stretched and warped, turning jagged and broken, resembling the joints of a marionette. Teeth elongated into razor-sharp fangs, and as you bared them in a snarl, your lips curled back in a grotesque mockery of a mouth. "Say that again! I fucking dare you!"

"I'll say it as many times as I damn well please!" Mimzy spat, her voice trembling as she locked eyes with your hollow gaze. "Until you get it through your fucking thick, cracked skull!"

The blonde's hand darted to a nearby object, seizing hold of a picture frame within reach. With sudden, fierce motion, she swung it, the weighty wood and glass connecting with your transformed flesh in a sickening thud.

"Mph—!" Biting your lip to stifle a scream, you staggered backward. Thick blood dripped from the wound, pooling on the floor and mingling with the cracks in your porcelain-like skin.

"You've got some nerve!" Mimzy's voice thundered as she stood over you, her pale face flushing crimson with anger. "You wanted that fame, and I made it happen. Now you don't?! Fuck! Some ungrateful brat you are! Willing to throw it all away for some man! Do you really think what he feels for you is love?!"

As Mimzy's tirade continued, her words cutting through the haze of pain and anger, a sense of disorientation washed over you. Her words struck a nerve, stirring up memories that you had long tried to suppress.

.

Rain poured down, drenching your hunched form. The world around you blurred into a chaotic whirlwind of colors and shapes, disorienting and suffocating. 

Beneath the fabric of your dress, your knees throbbed painfully, raw from the harsh scrape against unforgiving concrete. Your hands desperately fumbled in the darkness, searching for something to anchor yourself to. Then, finally, your fingertips brushed against the familiar texture of rusting metal.

With a ragged sigh of relief, you realized you had found the gate of your house. Summoning all your remaining strength, you clasped both hands around the cold, wet metal bars and attempted to pull yourself up.

Through the haze, you felt rough hands sneak around your waist, and as your vision cleared slightly, your husband's face emerged from the blur. His once impeccable suit now clung to him like a second skin, soaked through by the downpour. Strands of his usually neat hair stuck to his forehead, dampened and dripping onto his glasses. Cursing like a sailor under his breath, he scooped you up into his arms, expression turning tense as he felt the icy chill of your body against his own.

If you weren't moving he would have thought you a corpse.

"Cher?" Alastor's voice cut through the fog in your mind, but your response was sluggish, your gaze glassy and dilated. "Merde. Did you drag yourself here all alone?"

Without waiting for an answer, he moved, cradling you in his arms as he hurried back toward your house. Once inside, he wasted no time in laying you down on the sofa.

"Al," you finally spoke, whimpering softly as you raised a shaky hand towards him. Alastor immediately moved towards you, hushing your cries as he pressed a deep kiss on your lips.

Your husband moved to cradle your face in his rough hands, and what he saw shattered whatever fragments of his heart were still intact. Bruises and dried blood stained your body, your skin clammy and pale. Streaks of mascara carved paths down your tear-stained face, and your limbs twitched involuntarily. The taste of whiskey still lingered on your lips, and the fearful haze in your eyes mirrored the terror of a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

"Who did this to you?" he growled, his pupils dilating with anger as he knelt before you, gently slipping your torn stockings and muddy heels off your feet.

"Mimzy," you sobbed out, curling into yourself, the weight of it all feeling too heavy on your shoulders.

"I tried to quit. She didn't let me. The bar. She gave me a drink. More and more. I couldn't stop. I was just so upset." Your words were fragmented, broken by the wrenching sobs that shook your fragile form, vulnerability laid bare before him.

"Mon cœur," Alastor hushed, rubbing circles into your ankle with his thumb. "Calm down. Take your time."

You made an effort, though the first few attempts were shallow and rushed. Eventually, you managed to draw in a deep breath, releasing it in a rush before taking another. And another.

"That's it, my dear. Now, what happened?"

Summoning all your strength, you opened your mouth and began to recount the harrowing events of the night.

Earlier this evening, you had mustered up enough courage to hand in your resignation letter to Mimzy. However, her reaction was far from pleasant. An argument erupted, filled with less than savory words being thrown around like daggers.

Before you knew it, Mimzy's rage boiled over, and she tackled you, raining blows upon you with a fury that bordered on madness, beating you with an inch of your life. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

Her demeanor shifted drastically, morphing from a raging storm into a gentle breeze. With a sickening sweetness, she offered you a hand up, as if nothing had happened. Weak and disoriented, you allowed her to lead you to her private bar, where she poured drink after drink, urging you to indulge.

As per habit, you found yourself consuming the alcohol with reckless abandon, the burning liquid dulling the pain and blurring the edges of reality

Alastor's heart clenched at the anguish in your voice, his expression darkening with a mixture of concern and simmering anger. Slowly, he rose from his seat and lifted you onto his lap, cradling you gently in his arms.

Taking your hand in his, he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur.

"Let me take care of everything, doll," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "She won't ever bother you again."

The tenderness in his voice caused your breath to hitch, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to fall into the reassurance of his presence. It offered a fleeting sense of security amidst everything surrounding you. Yet, slowly as the puzzles fell into pieces, a gnawing sense of dread clawed at your insides.

"Alastor, no," you whimpered, withdrawing your hands and pressing them against his chest, pushing him away with trembling fingers. "Please don't tell me it means what I think it does."

Your gaze pleaded with him, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance, any glimmer of hope that what you feared was not true. However, your husband's smile remained unchanged—comforting yet chilling—as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your lips.

"I would kill for you," Alastor murmured against your skin, his thumb tracing the contours of your wedding ring. Bending down, he pressed a tender kiss against the golden band, sealing his vow with the promise of bloodshed, lips lingering against the cool metal. As he drew back, you found yourself ensnared by the intensity of his gaze, pools of brown reflecting a manic fervor.

"Please let me kill for you."

Tears blurred your vision as you bowed your head, the weight of his words sinking deep into your soul. You knew Alastor's devotion knew no bounds. Whether it meant causing pain, shedding blood, or delving into the darkest corners of his being, he would do it for you without a moment's hesitation.

A warmth trickled down your cheeks with each blink, tracing a path along your skin. Your eyes burned fiercely, tears cascading down your flushed cheeks and silently dripping from your chin like dewdrops. As you attempted to draw deep breaths, your body shook with a desperation to escape, though you couldn't quite grasp what it was you were fleeing from.

A ragged sound echoed through the room, grating against your senses. It took you a moment to register that the noise came from your own lungs, your breaths torn and jagged as they struggled to find a rhythm.

"Okay," you whispered, the weight of that single word heavy with the burden of guilt and a future tinged with blood.

There was a soft chuckle, accompanied by the gentle touch of a hand moving to caress your cheeks. "Good girl."

.

Snapping back to the present, you found yourself staring at Mimzy as she raged around the room, her fury unleashed on the surroundings, wrecking anything and everything in her path.

A man who kills for you. A man who dirties his hands for you. Is that not love?

A kick from her sent your vanity toppling over, causing bottles of your perfume and whiskey to crash from its surface. The glass shattered upon impact, releasing splintering sounds that pierced your ears. As the bottles broke, the air filled with the pungent scent of flora, mingling with the rich aroma of spilled whiskey.

It must be love.

With a hand trembling from adrenaline, you ran your fingers through your hair, the sticky feeling of blood staining your palm. Rising unsteadily to your feet, you turned to face Mimzy, strands of damp, bloodied hair falling over your cracked porcelain face.

"You ornery washed-up bitch," you rasped out in a laugh, voice breathless and laced with venom. "I should have left you to rot in that forest."

Mimzy froze, her wide eyes locked on you.

"What did you say to me?" she seethed, her voice trembling with anger as she extended her hand toward the shattered liquor glass and the spilled liquid, her fingers curling into fists.

With a flick of her wrist, the whiskey began to swirl and solidify, forming chains that snaked around your limbs, binding you in place. Your muscles tensed against the restraints as Mimzy manipulated you like a puppeteer. Slowly, you reverted back to your regular form, forced to your knees before her.

The blonde bent down, her grip firm on your face, nails digging deep into your skin as she pulled your head up to face her. "You're here because of me! Everything you've ever achieved was because of me! I made you a star, and this is how you repay me?!"

You recognized the anger in her tone, but beneath it lurked a deeper pain and desperation. The poor gal was fighting to reclaim control over a situation slipping through her grasp.

A sudden knock at the door startled Mimzy, causing her to tense. The door creaked open to reveal the imposing figure of Vox filling the doorway. As he entered the room, a wave of static filled the air, crackling and sending goosebumps cascading over your skin. His gaze swept over the scene, taking note of your restraints and bloodied head before settling on Mimzy.

"What is the meaning of this?" 

Under Vox's gaze, Mimzy's confident demeanor faltered, replaced by a nervous tremor in her voice. "I-I was just… settling some unfinished business, mistah," she stammered, attempting to regain her composure.

"You've just damaged the merchandise, sweetheart," Vox stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to you with a wave of his hand. "And we can't have that, now can we?"

With a casual snap of his fingers, the wires from the stage lights above writhed and twisted, tearing free from the ceiling with a deafening creak. They snaked through the air like serpents, wrapping around Mimzy's torso and dragging her away from you with a forceful yank.

With Mimzy taken care of, Vox then turned his attention to you.

"Dolly, was it?" he smiled, voice disarming. "I've got to say, I have always wanted to see you up close."

"You've seen me," you replied with a cold edge to your voice, slowly backing away and pressing yourself against the wall. "I'm here."

"Charmed," Vox smiled, his gaze heating as he drank you in, every detail of you like candy to his eyes. As Vox strode towards you, you instinctively curled into yourself, shrinking back deeper against the wall. He chuckled softly, noticing your reaction, and halted his advances. Instead, he took a seat on the cushion by your toppled vanity, glowing eyes locked onto you.

Pretty Dolly Heart.

Your lips were painted a vivid red, pouting slightly in a frown. Damp, glossy curls framed your face, shimmering in the light and tempting him to reach out and run his fingers through them. Rivulets of blood marred your temple, staining the delicate white flowers nestled into your hair.

The TV Demon was interested in you, and he wouldn't let go until he went home with you tonight, that much was clear.

"I have a deal in mind," Vox turned to Mimzy with a look in his eyes that screamed trouble. "Are you willing to trade your soul for hers?"

Your blood ran cold with fear.

"As Velvette and I are business partners, our souls contracts are intertwined. I'm sure there would be no issue if you signed the deal with me instead," he added with a chuckle, his eyes swirling with a dangerous allure.

Panic clawed at your insides, urging you to flee from the impending doom that loomed before you. But rooted to the spot by fear, you found yourself unable to move.

"Yes! A-Absolutely!" Mimzy's words shattered the heavy silence, her voice trembling with desperation as she nodded frantically. Her eyes remained nervously glued to the crackling electricity of the torn wires still wrapped around her, the fear in her gaze mirroring your own.

With a clap of his hands, Vox conjured a new contract and a strong burst of wind swept through the room, ruffling curtains and causing objects to tremble on their surfaces. Blue light flooded the walls, casting eerie shadows and filling the room with an ominous glow. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, every hair on your body standing on end as if charged with static energy.

A tablet materialized and floated before you, its screen pulsing with a faint, golden glow.

"Make her sign here, and it'll be done," Vox instructed, his voice carrying an air of finality as he handed Mimzy a stylus, tapping his clawed finger along the screen of his tablet.

With a trembling hand, Mimzy took the stylus and held it out for you, the strings of her magic wrapping around your limbs once again. You attempted to shout out, but Mimzy's magic stitched your lips shut, leaving you unable to utter a sound.

Helpless, you watched as your hand was forced to reach out and take the pen into your grasp, your fingers moving against your will as Mimzy guided them to sign the contract. With each stroke of the pen, a wave of despair washed over you, a muffled sob bubbling from your throat as your name appeared on the screen, sealing your fate.

Vox's grin widened, a glint of triumph dancing in his eyes as he held up your old paper contract with Mimzy, the words now rendered meaningless. With a swift motion, he tore it to shreds, the sound of paper ripping echoing through the tense silence of the room.

"Welcome to VoxTek, Dolly."