#puppet making but in the sad old man way

[morose-melodies]

unavoidable fate | yandere! pre fatui! kabukimono/scaramouche x reader

summary: who is this strange man who roams around your village? and why is he so attached to you?

content warning: separation anxiety.

this is from scaramouche's story, "tiny doll." - he had done such things with great patiences in times past, after all, leaning things such as holding cutlery, wearing clothes, combing his hair... yes, he had learned to be a "human" from the little things up. 👍👍

"kabukimono,"

that was his name. the name of the man who appeared in your village a week ago. he roamed around and occasionally disappeared just to appear again later that day.

he seemed dejected. his eyes were always so distant, so sad. so one day, you stopped him and gave him a warm drink and a blanket, telling him to go home and be safe.

but he had no home. you tried to understand what he meant... "you have no home? then where did you come from?" your confusion was apparent as he took a small, hesitant sip from the cup you gave him.

"I don't know. I don't know anything," he replied before parting ways with you for the night. after that night, he seemed to hang around your house, like a stray cat that continued to come back to the person that helped it.

"don't look at me like that, it's weird," you look at kabukimono as he stood at the doorway ... he was watching you again.

one day, after your first interaction with kabukimono, he appeared at your front door one night, "please allow me to stay with you."

it was dark in your home. all the lights were out, you had blindly navigated through the house to get to the front door upon hearing your doorknob jiggle so late at night.

it was so late and you were so tired. you nodded, stepping aside to allow him in. kabukimono stepped in and stood there as you closed and locked your door.

you led him a few steps forward and guided him to sit on the couch. he was pliant, moving where you wanted him to and doing as you pleased. "'kay, sit there. I'll get you a blanket," you assured him before leaving him alone.

you reached out and grabbed his hand, ready to guide him to the couch where he would sleep for the night. the puppet flinched, his fingers tensing as if he were ready to pull away from you but didn't. "come on," you said, your voice hushed, and kabukimono wondered why you were talking so quietly.

alone in the dark, kabukimono sat there quietly, his hands on his lap. he liked you, or, at least felt an odd sense of loyalty to you. you helped him, so, of course, when he was cold and needed somewhere to go this night, he thought of you.

when you came back, you laid him down and put a blanket on top of him, tucking him in, and said, "come to me if you need something, okay?" and he went to sleep and so did you.

so, that next morning, before the sun had even fully came up, kabukimono was in your bedroom, standing at the doorway, watching you.

"uhm... good morning?" you sat up and looked at him, to which he replied, "... good morning."

that morning, as you bathed, did your hair, and got dressed, he was near, following after you and watching you.

it wasn't that you didn't mind him watching you but he just seemed so harmless -- the way he watched you was sort of curious.

"put this coat on, we'll go out to get some water," you offered, holding out one of your old coats to him and he took it from you.

as you put your coat on, you noticed that he hadn't put his own coat on but instead seemed confused, holding the coat. "uh, here," you took the coat from him and slid it onto him, "there. now, c'mon."

and together, the two of you went out to the well near the middle of the village and got two buckets of fresh water. hoping to make some use out of him, you gave him one of the buckets to carry and he did.

afterwards, the two of you went back to your house. settling down, you made him breakfast to keep him occupied while you went out to gather supplies and materials that you needed.

... but.

he was confused when you set a pair of chopsticks onto his plate, "I'm not... understanding," he confessed.

"um, it's a chopstick, y'know?" you moved to stand behind him, taking the chopsticks and sat it in his hand, helping him hold it properly.

instead of going out for supplies, you stood behind him, helping him get accustomed to the use of chopsticks. instead of a nice ten minutes breakfast, you spent thirty minutes teaching kabukimono how to hold and eat with chopsticks.

you didn't have any problems with kabukimono.

he was quiet and complaint, he hadn't given you any grief, well, not until you tried to leave for the day...

"where are you going?" he perked up almost immediately at the sight of you approaching the front door, "are you leaving? why? uh, where are you going?" standing from where he sat, he approached you, standing at your side.

he looked prepared to plead, to cling onto you and beg you to stay with him.

"I need supply, y'know... stuff to make food with," you explained to him but kabukimono seemed to worry more.

he didn't want you to leave. what if you didn't come back? he should go with you, shouldn't he? "can I come? please let me come with you, I can be helpful," he offered, standing so close to you that his arm was pressed against yours.

"no, no. you can stay, it's fine. I'll be back in an hour, you don't need to worry so much," you tried to ease his worries, patting his shoulder before turning to open the front door.

but all kabukimono heard was an hour. you'd be gone for an hour?? that was far too long! "wait, wait! I can help you, let me- please let me go with you!" He pleaded, running out the front door, after you, clinging to your arm.

"go back in! you're not wearing your coat, go. you'll get sick," you tried to shake him off but upon realizing that he wasn't going to let go, upon realizing that he was in a genuine state of panic over this, you stepped back into your house.

"calm down... look, i... I um, I won't go. I'll stay," you promised him, sitting him onto the couch before sitting beside him, "I won't go, I promise."

he had been breathing so fast, so hard. he'd never felt that way before, he'd never felt so terrified of losing something before.

that was sorta when it clicked for him that he didn't want to lose you and couldn't stand to be away from you.

[sp4ceboo]

Warriors: Choi San x Reader

A/N: ohh boyyy after the kpop fanfic drought im back and it's with warriors au choi san

Summary: San and Reader are mages, which means they are made to serve. They are lowborn, destined to obey humans - the nobles and the highborn - with their every breaths. What if they don't want that?

tw: 18+, smut (p in v, fingering, cockwarming sort of), swearing, violence, death, blood, minimally gory at one point, war, child soldiers (14 yo), society is a shit place to be if you're a mage, tons of worldbuilding, assassins, freaking bath sex, hint at sa at one point from some dude we hate, san is kind of a brat tamer, seonghwa cameo but sad, idk if you can tell but i suck at summaries, mention of a harem, mention of slavery

wc: 4.8k

As a child, you watched from afar, waiting for things you could not grasp.

They told you that you were made to serve. They recounted age-old tales, about gods that crafted humans in their divine hands, moulding the mages afterwards to be commanded by their beloved creations. They filled your mind with legends of faithful individuals of your kind who proved their worth with obedience until you wished to be like your forebears.

Back when you were but an infant, you believed it. You knew the two powers that were bestowed upon you by the gods, varying in every mage, were gifts made solely to assist the highborns. In your naivety, you thought the rosy flame cupped in your small, childish palms would be used to warm the nobles in the icy winter, and that you would fulfil your purpose through that, through being of use to them. They had no shame as they informed you you were just a tool forged for following their orders, and you were convinced it was all true - until you met San.

Although you were the one with the ability to summon an inferno, he was always the one with a burning fire in his eyes. Like all mages, he’d been taken from his parents the moment he didn’t need his mother’s milk - he was given as a peace offering from the Hwangso warlord for his control of water: helpful for the upkeep of the crops.

This occurred in the small period of time in which Hwangso, the neighbouring province, was attempting to forge alliances with your province, Neugdae. Soon after, your warlord breached their territory, claiming it as his - you often wondered if the news filtering back from the front lines of a new settlement captured ever affected San.

You met him when he was an eight year old filled with bottled fury too old for his years, and you were a quiet, invisible seven year old. At those tender ages, neither of you had developed your second ability yet, nor had you gotten a taste of the power at your fingertips, but San still held his head high; you remember marvelling at the way he’d make a point of meeting every single noble’s gaze and holding it. He was just a scrawny, sun browned kid back then - nothing like the elegant lethality of the man that he is now.

Every day until you turned fourteen, you toiled beside him. The work was cruel, your supervisors crueller; the sun would beat down on your back as you laboured in the fields, side by side with San as barely a quarter of the way across the settlement, the nobles sheltered beneath their silky parasols, boasting their pale, porcelain skin. Back then, San never spoke of the injustice of it all out loud, but something about the look in his eyes when he saw them swanning past stirred something inside you. He made you realise that you were not the soulless, mindless puppet that you’d been told you were, but a person.

It wasn’t simply the rage inside him that drew you to him, though. It was the way he remained sweet, kind, despite it all, making sure to send licks of cool mist down your neck when your supervisors weren’t looking, nicking extra crumbs of food for you and remaining beside you, a beacon of light that anchored you to sanity even in the dark.

Even when, you at fourteen, him fifteen, were sent out into battle.

There were always skirmishes between neighbouring warlords: a constant push and pull for more land, more resources, more power. They would attack on a whim - mages were expendable, nothing more than canon fodder; behind each squadron was a noble who would hang back behind the lines, commanding, unbothered by the bloodshed because it was the blood of mere tools.

By then, both you and San had developed your second abilities. San’s was the ability to manipulate shadows, turning them into almost solid shapes that could physically hinder attacks by forming daggers or clutching hands, or could temporarily block the world out in a shroud of rolling black fog. Yours was the art of shapeshifting; you let the outline of your body flicker between forms, changing into powerful, deadly creatures whose substance was inhabited by the soul of a wavering teenager.

You’d known that you’d be forced to fight since you were young, but you never could have imagined the brutality of war.

It was there, in the midst of the battlefield, that any lingering innocence was burned from your soul. You learned that San’s water did not just bring life, but could also fill up someone’s lungs until they drowned upon dry ground, that your fire was not just a source of warmth or light, but could also combust a man’s heart within his chest, that the animals you were teaching yourself to shapeshift into could maul and break bones.

Many nights, you would fall asleep, curled against San, your face buried in his side with his arm wrapped around you, the taste of blood still in your mouth from where you’d torn your enemies’ throat out with the vicious canines of a tiger or the needle sharp fangs of a lynx. You would leave the front lines soaked with crimson, the essence of other people in your hair, smeared on your face, caked and drying under your nails.

It terrified you, how easily you could slice their flesh open with your claws. Armour was not wasted on mages, only generals, so just like you, all they wore were roughly woven tunics tied at the waist and trousers - you met no resistance when you killed your own kind, silent apologies on your lips.

Within the squadrons were also humans that had fallen from grace - criminals who still felt entitled enough by their birthright to think they could have a fourteen year old mage’s body; San protected you until you could protect yourself. In the first few weeks, when the punches he threw were too weak to deter them, he would let them beat him, giving you time to escape before returning to you, limping, lip split and nose bloody but the fire in his eyes never faltering.

On those nights, tears of frustration would leak from the corners of your eyes as you cleaned him up. He could so easily stop them if he used his abilities, but by then doing that without being instructed to do so by a highborn would lead to a flogging or a beating - fairytales no longer worked on you at that age, so your commanders and generals utilised fear mongering instead. You remember the hate and helplessness burning inside you when you looked at them: if all the mages rebelled at once, the nobles would have no chance, but everyone was too scared. Using your abilities on humans only led to execution.

You remember Seonghwa: he was a mage a few years older who cared for you and San as if you were his blood. He got too strong - you can’t recall his second ability but his first meant he could push a man over the brink of insanity, until he frothed at the mouth and his brain boiled within his skull. When you first witnessed the depth of his power, you were originally struck by the pain in Seonghwa’s eyes, and then by the fear in your commander’s.

The next day, Seonghwa was gone.

Often, you wonder if he fought back, or if he just let them kill him.

After, you made San promise that he wouldn’t show them if his powers developed further. He made you promise the same, and when you fought beside him, he was a constant reminder to reign yourself in, to survive. You were more careful with your powers from then on.

Some nights, though, when the frost ridden night air cut right through the ragged material of your blanket, you huddled next to San and lit a small fire in your hands. He’d tell you to stop, and you’d point out that he was shivering; he’d reply that he’d rather that than get you caught, and you would ignore him, not missing the way he tucked himself closer to the flame.

You didn’t tell him, but sometimes you would shift into a small animal, like a raccoon, and steal food for him in the dead of night. You didn’t answer when he asked you where you got it from, just shrugging and thrusting the rolls of bread and strips of dried meat into his hands, telling him he should eat.

When you were sixteen, San discovered he could animate his shadows. He could mould them like clay in his hands, breathing purpose into them - they would disintegrate within about a week or so, their outlines fading until they dissolved into nothing. San shaped a little dragon for you, the length of your forearm and the width of one of your thumbs; he came to you with it cupped in his hands, awe limning his face as the two of you watched it wriggle through the air between you and coil itself around your wrist.

You have many memories of those times, but one remains crystal clear, even to this day. A year onwards from San’s dragon, you found yourself hemmed in by enemy forces, your body tired from the fight - victory was so close for your side, and because of it, the Hwangso fought even harder, like cornered animals. If you broke through them, you would have been able to easily end their commander, but they had you, six to one. Hands closed around your throat, choking, and as the consciousness bled from you, you heard San’s cry, smelt the fear in the air as he tore through them to get to you: that in itself would have been insignificant - you had saved each other countless times through the years - but he had disobeyed a direct command.

He’d been told to kill the commander. He’d had a clear shot, and even still, he’d ignored orders, choosing to save you instead.

Both of you were beaten for it, and even as you heard the sound of San’s ribs cracking, he held your eyes, silently telling you that he’d do it over and over again, if only to keep you with him.

You think that was the moment when the two of you truly got a taste for rebellion. It was the point in the long, winding thread of your life that made you realise that whatever they told you, you would disregard it if it were for San. Their words no longer had as much power over you, because you knew your bond with him was infinitely stronger than any fear they attempted to instil within you.

Soon after that incident, your commander retired, and he was replaced by a man who was more of a fool than him. You began to lose land to Hwangso’s troops, far enough that the settlement where you grew up in was ravaged, razed to the ground. Your commander informed you that you’d evacuate the highborns, leaving the child mages and the servants behind because they would only slow you down - that was the moment you decided to stop listening to him.

The last mage rebellion had been decades ago - they were not ready. It was pathetic how easy it was to overthrow them; together with the rest of the troops and the mages from the settlement, you rebuilt the town and fortified it. San treated his soldiers with respect, with loyalty, and they loved him for it, for the way he would march into battle with them instead of cowering at the rear, for the way he could often be seen in the newly restored fields, watering the crops, for the way he recognised them for who they were.

To this day, you’re in awe of it. Never in your whole life have you come close to anything but fear for a leader, and yet you see it clear in their eyes that they love San, and that he loves them. He is everything that the highborns fear - a powerful, confident mage, wreathed in righteous shadows, fiercely intelligent, a master of strategy.

One of his first moves was to ally himself with the Hwangso warlord, the very man who had given him as a gift to your province. Deep in the highborn’s eyes was the presumption that he could break San and make him yield, followed a month later by pure terror when you held a knife to his neck, hissing to never speak of San like that again. The two of you brought his head in a sack to Hwangso and claimed your rule over the province.

That didn’t mean it was easy, though. There were the nights when San would tremble in your arms, baring his fears to you, his doubts - that it was getting too much too fast: that maybe he really was just made to follow orders. You scoffed at that - you’d seen him grow up, watched his shoulders broaden and his figure fill out with muscle, you’d seen the fire in his eyes blazing with passion; you knew he’d always be more than enough.

You’re not sure when the love blossomed between the two of you. Maybe it was always there, first shown as fierce protectiveness, later as searing kisses where no one could see, of fingers laced with yours in the dark of night. He married you shortly after he began to be recognised as an actual warlord, not a rogue mage; it was a quiet ceremony, but the celebrations of your people were far from that - rumours of the Neugdae province’s mage warlord and his wife rippled like wildfire through the regions, stirring fear and hope alike.

Some wonder why San does not take more wives - he has control over the Baem province as well Neugdae and Hwangso now, and any warlord with that much power would take on a harem without blinking. Not San, though - he’s different from them, he is a mage, a lowborn, his bronzed skin a sign to them of his childhood in the fields, and they find he is an enigma, as is his mystery shrouded right hand man.

But not to you - you understand him as if you share a soul.

On the surface, you are his only wife, aloof and coldly beautiful. In the shadows, you are his sword, his hand. There are myths of you, of the fire wielding ghost that robes itself in a black cowl and changes its skin into a man’s worst nightmare; stories of how you will twist your victim’s thoughts around until he finds the tip of a blade poking out of his chest, speared right through his back. It’s how you prefer to operate - they fear the unknown, and you are the unknown.

The fabric of the bag held in your fingers is soaked with blood. Within it is the head of the Yong province’s advisor. He was an awful man who deserved what you gave him - in a locked room at the back of his house, you found several young mages, half starved and chained by wrist and ankle to each other and a hook set in the wall. Bile bites at the back of your throat at the thought: you’re lucky you never experienced the uglier side of mage slavery.

Night is falling, the sun casting long shadows down the road. You always find the darkness comforting - it feels as if San is near. Today he is; you raise your fist and knock thrice on the solid wood of the gates, lifting your hand in recognition of the guards who peek over the turrets.

Slowly, they ease open the doors, and you stride into the courtyard, your boots clicking against the roughly hewn pavings. A squadron of your soldiers are sparring, but they halt their training when you enter, snapping to attention as you stop at the centre of the space, the dying rays of the sun streaming down the steps towards you, the air still as you wait.

He appears, his gilded silhouette glorious at the top of the stairs. His shadow guards spill down the steps towards you as he descends; their bodies contort and bend, the swirling mass of them parting around you, liquid night, jaws snapping, circling you until you’re surrounded.

A smirk pulls at your lips, and you throw the bag at his feet. You do not bow low, simply dipping your chin as he extracts the head from the sack, inspecting it and nodding before returning it to its roughly woven grave and handing it to one of his shadows to take away. Meeting your eyes, his own filled with amusement, the hint of a smile flashes over his face.

‘Welcome home, my love.’

San’s words are soft, voice quiet enough for only you to hear. You suppress the urge to pull down your mask and kiss him, instead letting your fingers brush against his as you walk with him up the steps and into the hanok; his shadows close the door behind you and the moment they do, he hooks an arm around your waist and hugs you tight, his embrace warm and sweet as always.

You laugh. ‘I was only gone four days, Sannie.’

‘Four days too long for me to be separated from my wife,’ he replies, pushing your cowl back so he can kiss your forehead.

Gripping his shoulders, you tug him down so you can peck his lips before sending him out to the courtyard again - you’re the last person expected through the gates tonight, so he should go out and dismiss the mages training in the courtyard so they can go home to their families and lock up. A happy sigh leaves you as you toe off your shoes, walking through your home and stripping off your bloody clothes before submerging yourself in the pool sunken in the floor. San has already filled it with fresh water, and it takes you mere seconds to heat it up with your fire.

Leaning with your head against the wooden ledge of the pool, you let your muscles loosen, half closing your eyes. The silence doesn’t last long, though - there’s a soft, steady noise coming from the screen behind you, almost like… breathing.

‘Show yourself,’ you command into the still air.

A man steps into view - a human, eyes crazed, knife clutched in his fingers. You realise he does not know who you really are; he just assumes you are the mage warlord San’s wife, delicate and helpless, and you let that role engulf you, backing away to the other edge of the pool with your eyes wide, luring him closer.

‘Your man took everything from me,’ he spits, blade pointed at you as he stalks forward. ‘He took my power, my wealth, my squadron of soldiers. And now I will take his wife.’

Surging out of the pool, you dodge the swipe he aims at you, sending fire surging down the knife’s handle so he drops it with a cry and twisting his arm behind his back in the most painful way possible, wrenching him down to his knees with his face an inch above the water.

‘How did you get in?’ You ask coolly.

‘I’ll never tell y - ’

You send tongues of flame licking down his ribs. ‘Answer the question or suffer.’

The door eases open, revealing San. His eyes land on you, water dripping down your body as you pin the man to the floor, then the distorted reflection from the blade of the knife that’s fallen into the pool, and something dangerous flashes inside his gaze. You let him grab your attacker by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet as he brings him face to face with him; you see San’s jaw clench, his hands balling into fists.

‘How fucking dare you try to come anywhere near my wife,’ he growls, shadows coalescing behind him.

You can tell he’s about to say something else, but he stops as the man, trembling and fruitlessly clawing at San’s fingers, wets himself. Your husband’s lip curls in disgust, and he drops him at your feet, pressing him down onto his knees and yanking his head up so he is forced to look up at you. Bending down, you breathe in the sheer fear permeating the air, a soft smile on your face.

‘Now, answer the question.’

‘You’re not his wife,’ he whispers, pale.

‘Oh, but I am,’ you sneer. ‘But that’s not the only role I occupy.’

Slowly, his face drains of colour, horror rippling across it as it slowly dawns on him. He recoils in San’s grasp, scrabbling at the floor in a sorry attempt to put distance between you; he has finally realised who you are and he acts like fucking coward, his mouth gaping wide in a silent plea. Unhurried, you fish the knife out from the pool, twirling it around your thumb before gliding it gently over the skin of his throat.

‘I’m getting impatient.’

‘I - I - the guards, they were distracted upon your arrival, I snuck in at the southern perimeter, please don’t - ’

His words dissolve into a weak gurgle when you slice open his throat. Blood gushes from the seams of the wound, dribbling from his lips, and you step back as he tips forward, landing with a wet thump face first on the wooden floor. Glancing up at San, you sigh before getting back in the pool. One of his shadows carries the body away and your husband tugs his clothes off and slides into the water beside you, pulling you into his chest.

‘He did not hurt you, I presume?’

You snort. ‘He tried.’

San’s fingers run thoughtfully up and down your arm. ‘I’ll talk to the guards. I probably shouldn’t have put Jisung on dusk duty while he was recovering from that fever.’

You nod but don’t answer, instead pressing a kiss to his collarbone. He hums, tipping his head back to give you more access as you mouth at his skin, letting your palms wander over his shapely chest, grip his broad shoulders, skim his waist; you trace the many scars all over his body, and he allows you to, his strong hands gripping your hips when you settle in his lap.

He curses low at the feel of your teeth sinking into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his hips jerking upwards, and you both groan at the sensation of the underside of his cock grazing your clit. Smirking, you let your tongue lave over the spot where you bit, pressing a kiss to his jaw and pulling back as his hands tighten their grip on your ass.

‘Missed you too, Sannie. Good to know how much you missed me.’

‘So fucking bratty,’ he hisses.

A thrill shoots through you as he stands, the water sluicing in rivulets down the planes of his chest, lifting you and laying you on the edge of the pool, pinning your knees to the wood and spreading you open. The crude way he looks at you is all consuming, his eyes surveying you from where he stands with the water to his mid thigh, watching as your pussy clenches at the sight of him towering over you.

San remains there, just looking at you, and you curve your spine, almost whining in attempt to make him touch you without you asking for it. His lips quirk to the side as you squirm, trying to inch your hips down so you can grind against him, but his fingers tighten on you, refusing you.

‘What is it you require of me, love?’

Finding your attempts unsuccessful, you huff, glaring at him. He loves to do this, make you articulate exactly what you want from him - he likes the flush that heats your cheeks, your body still shy even after all your years with him, he likes the breathy noises you make when he forces you to tell him just what you desire when all you can think of is his dick, he likes it when you can’t  help but beg him.

‘Y - your fingers,’ you mumble. ‘And your cock.’

‘Say that louder for me, sweetheart, I didn’t catch the last bit.’

‘Your fingers and your fucking cock,’ you snap - a sorry endeavour at trying to hide how much you love when he inflicts this upon you.

San raises an eyebrow, not moving to touch you. Waiting.

‘Please,’ you add.

He smiles. ‘There we go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Your mouth opens to retort, but he slips his fingers inside you, and your back bows, a soft moan leaving your lips as he sweeps his thumb over your clit, his other hand palming your breasts, his tongue dragging over your skin. Burying your hands in his hair, you tug, making him groan low and deep as you pull him closer.

Delectably, his fingers curl, and you ache for him. San has ruined you for anyone else, he is branded onto your soul and also your body, fading marks from your last time together still slightly visible on your throat - a necklace of love bites, laying claim to you. He catches your chin as he brings you closer to the edge, tasting your moans on his tongue, grinding his palm against your clit.

You keen, coming hard around him, chest heaving, and he smirks, holding your waist as shudders wrack your legs from the aftershocks. The fire in his eyes burns ever brighter, so hot you feel your stomach go molten - your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails raking over his back, your tongue unable to form anything other than his name.

‘You’re always so willing to behave once your pussy’s full, hm?’

‘No, I,’ you start, but cry out when he pinches your clit in warning, the muscles of your thighs jumping as it lances through you, white hot. ‘Y - yes, yes, I am, please - ’

In one fluid movement, San buries himself inside you, sheathing himself until his hips kiss yours. Catching you wrists in his hand, he pins them above your head, and your back arches as he pulls out, agonisingly slowly, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging on your walls before slamming back in, tearing a cry of his name from your chest. Tugging your legs up from where they were wrapped around his waist, he hooks your knees over his shoulders - the new angle makes you sob, writhing beneath him as his cock head drives into perfection, drives you to euphoria.

Sometimes, San makes love to you, but not tonight: tonight he fucks into you mercilessly, traces of possessiveness lacing his actions as he litters your skin with bites, his hands leaving exquisite bruises on your hips. Pleasure tears through you like an arrow through your heart, white hot and maddening, ravenous.

‘You fit around my cock so well,’ he pants. ‘Like you were made for me, sweetheart.’

Something snaps inside you at his words, and as if he senses it, San presses his thumb down hard on your clit, speeding up his thrusts until the air is punched from your lungs. Stars flash before your eyes, and your mouth falls open, toes curling as you come on his cock, your cunt convulsing around him, thighs twitching; he doesn’t stop, just continues ploughing into you, and you tremble, tears slipping down your cheeks at the relentless pound of his hips into yours.

With a gasp, he pulls out and comes over your stomach, his wide shoulders rising and falling with heaving breaths, and you groan as he eases you back into the warm water, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he tucks your head under his chin, sliding his softening cock into you again. Wrapping your arms around him, you press a kiss to his jaw and rest your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

‘How do you feel, my love?’

You nuzzle your face into his shoulder. ‘Good. Really fucking good.’

He laughs, and you bask in the sound of his happiness and the comfort of his warm skin against yours. San’s hands run up and down your spine, soothing, and you smile sleepily; you are home, reunited with your other half, the missing part of your soul.

With San, you are complete.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hiya! Could you do a one-shot of Alastor x fem! reader who is like Art the clown (from the terrifier movies, all hallows eve and the ninth circle)?

Perhaps they met when Alastor first got to hell and reader wanted to kill him at first but due to his old fashioned ways (the courting and such) along with him being quite sadistic when it comes to killing, she became more curious about him and it led to a relationship?

How would their relationship be? Would it become more of a one sided thing? Would she try to harm him after he comes back from his seven year absence? I’d love to see your interpretation on this!

~ 🕷️

Terrify Me~

Alastor x Art Reader

(Anon, I promise I did not forget you! I have never seen these movies and call myself a horror fanatic! So I watched them all as I had the time to try and be better at this writing! I hope you enjoy and stay hydrated!) TW: Torture, Death, assault, Suggestive, Sad, Comfort

Hell was far more entertaining than back up on the earth, though yes, it sucked dying to those damn cops. This was where it was at. You had free reign to torture and torment those around you; the good deal was that people didn’t die permanently as long as you used the right tools. This led to such an easy time finding prey to stalk. It also allowed you to develop incredible powers as people begged and pleaded with you for deals on being free from torment. 

You were a terrifying creature, a black-and-white marionette doll with no voice box. Your movements and attention to detail got you through your life in hell. You were sadistic and cruel to whoever became your prey for the time you spent stalking them, hunting them, and slowly driving your enemy mad. You were so good at the job that people recognized you as an Overlord before even discussing it with you. Of course, who would dare get in your line of sight less you make them the next target? 

You didn’t care about hell’s silly hierarchy or games; you only cared about getting your fill. Your mind was on the prize of listening to beautiful screams and cries. Like a masterful puppet pulling strings, your looks did not portray your abilities all that well. You may have looked like the prey, but you were the top predator. You were deadly, mind, body, and soul.

Years had passed of your reign as the queen of torture till a new man arrived on the scene. Alastor, the radio demon, died not too long after your rise to fame and began to make waves in the underworld as he broadcasted screams of the damned and tortured. His show quickly became one of your favorites, and you would play it as you killed and murdered innocent demonic souls, hoping to make a deal with you for safety. 

Eventually, though, your love and passion for the radio demon's show turned to disgust and hate as he began to take your place in the world of torturing the damned. You had found a new prey to stalk, and it was someone who was equally matched. 

Your stalk began small, with just hushed whispers and knowledge of the man you wished to end. You found photos and some video of him, but it was grainy and distorted. He was a handsome man. He would be so beautiful strung up. As you thought of many ways to torture and abuse him, the next phase of your plan was in order.

Though you were an ‘overlord,’ you never attended meetings. However, you did start when it came to hunting Alastor. Watching his every move and emotion, you saw he was good at mimicking and faking just like you. Yet you had to say you were just that much better at it. When you two first officially met, you could visibly see the disdain on his face when you couldn’t speak. Like many powerful beings, Alastor puts weight on words, something you have no control over, always giving you the upper hand. 

You found every excuse to be around and speak to the man. Eager to move on to stage three of your plan to capture and torment this soul. Actively seeking Alastor out, you began to carry a notepad to speak with him. Small conversations that would sometimes run long. You enjoyed his voice, at least. You thought it would sound lovely, screaming in pain and agony. 

Though you had these sick, twisted thoughts about Alastor, you couldn’t help but be curious about the other feelings he elicited. You wanted to hear him sing, watch him smile, and enjoy his murder. His many good qualities interested you even more. You even sought medical help in the man before you as you didn’t understand these stirrings you had around him and him alone.

As the final plan commenced where you would capture and torture him, you were caught off guard by a single black rose being placed before you. Looking at it and holding it gently, you felt your undead heart flutter. This situation happened many times over and over.

You would go to kill or capture Alastor, and right there, every time you would execute your plan, he would have a trinket or doo dad for you to keep as your own. He began to touch you gently, shoulders, face, sides. Things started to shift in you; you were being courted, and it wasn’t until you experienced this love that you realized it happened: Alastor had you under his spell. 

Your plans of killing Alastor were long gone; now, you just wanted to have the joy of torturing others together. Come a year of your stupid game; you were now officially Alastor's partner in crime. It was charming how he always let you get the first stab and helped you stalk and scare others. He even taught you how to cook and kill the dead sinners. Things were well between you two, so well that domestic life began to become a norm for two sadistic sinners. Yet it all changed one day suddenly. You had been out on a kill someone you and Alastor had stalked for months. However, when you returned covered in blood and a dead body in tow, Alastor was nowhere to be found. You waited a year in that small home you two made, and he never appeared.

After seven long years, you returned to the top of the food chain; you were vicious and cold-hearted. Bloodthirsty. You allowed yourself to be blindsided by a man who couldn’t even say goodbye. Anger consumed you as the years passed, and you became known as the terrifier. You were deadly on a much larger scale than your first time on the scene. You were always longing for Alastor just to come back home. You were longing openly to all that you would kill him and make him pay.

While on the town killing, you heard a familiar buzz. Your blood ran cold as the familiar sound flooded your senses. Running to the old home, you two shared the life long forgotten: you hoped so badly to see him standing there as he once did. Would you kill him? Let him live? Fall into his arms again?

As you entered the house, he wasn’t there. It was still empty, still intact, the same as you left it six years ago. Sighing, you left and walked to the nearest brothel to kill some easy dirtbags. That's when you saw the shadow. Was this a game? Some sick, twisted game to make you think Alastor had come back for you.

Following the shadow, you grew more rabid and curious. Eventually, you found yourself atop a hill where the Hazbin Hotel sat. Walking in, it was silent; it was late at night, and you assumed everyone was asleep. Stepping further into the forbidden territory, you looked around cautiously. It was homey and bright, too bright for your liking, yet some of the decor looked like what you saw in your old home with Alastor.

You felt the presence before you heard it, and suddenly, a bright smile overtook your face. He was here; he was back. Seeing before you Alastor, the radio demon, your lost love, you took a step towards him, afraid it was fake. You don’t know what emotion overtook you the most. You wanted to tear him apart, yet seeing him there, everything felt so surreal. His smile, for once, was authentic, and as he opened his arms out for you and you rushed in, you heard the faintest, “Oh, how you still terrify me…”

[a-simple-imagine]

Tear apart the heart

synopsis: you just watched your girlfriend die right in front of you

pairing: victoria neuman x reader

words: 1k+

WARNINGS - themes of grief, blood, death, mention of body pieces

she promised you the world and instead, you got the most disgusting makeshift lab you ever had the displeasure of stepping inside. but it really didn't matter anymore.

that heavy feeling in your chest is brand spanking new. you search your brain for a comparison but it's like nothing you've ever felt before. it's almost suffocating. blocking off the one thing keeping you alive right now. air. gross, dingy air that was so polluted with chemicals and old take out, it almost knocked you sick but now a hint of copper joined this mix. an unwelcome change. a tickle against your cheek. you reach up to remove the tear. only it is red as it slips from the tip of your finger down your hand and to your wrist. you wanted to believe it was fake even as it trickled down your forearm. so desperate for none of this to be real. but deep down you know it is. it's blood. her blood. and maybe the droplets that adorn your skin should have been actually tears but they just never came. did that make youan evil person? undoubtedly. everyone cries when someone dies. it's like the first thing that's expected. but you just couldn't. what you felt inside wasn't sadness per se. or maybe it was. you couldn't tell. it didn't feel like when you were normally about to cry. this felt all-consuming. you felt rigid in this moment. unable to process anything. This wasn't ordinary. most people didn't watch the person they loved get ripped in two. weren’t drenched in tiny pieces of their girlfriend. it felt comical in a way. perhaps that was why you were having such a hard time acknowledging it. people don't just get ripped in half. this wasn't a comic book or some mid-budget horror film which gaineda startling cult following because they used practical effects instead of CGI for the gore but they didn't overdo it with the gore either. it was tasteful. no. this wasn't tasteful. you don't know what this is. you can hardly even look at her. you want to go back. dear god. you shouldn't have given in so easily.

"did you order the food?" you question, glancing up from her laptop that you had been playing on.

"What?" a brief blank expression that settles into a gentle smile. the kind of smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "no. sorry."

"Can I order something?" a silent nod puts you to work and decides what to have. "who were you talking to then- on the phone?"

"Hughie,"

the name alone forms a pit in your stomach. you used to think so fondly of him. you'd met him a great many times but that was before. "you can't be serious,"

"Just hear me out"

"no, Victoria- that man has tried to kill you multiple times," you express. "what could you possibly want from him?"

"out," a simple word. She cares not to elaborate as she walks closer to the kitchen aisle. taking her laptop, she spins it around to face her. "so what are we eating?"

"what do you mean out?"

she shrugs. "I want out. out of everything. I just- I can't do this anymore."

your heart beats a little faster. out of everything? out of this? that wouldn't explain the conversation with Hughie. although they used to be close friends. "what?"

"he's gonna help me get out of this mess," she expresses. "I think I wanted this for a while. like genuinely wanted it not just because of what was happening around me or stan or whatever. but now it's just not something that makes any sense."

"Vic,"

"It's pathetic really but I'm just never gonna be more than a puppet. and that's not what I want- I don't wanna be under anyone's control, y'know?"

"Sure," a lopsided smile with a hint of shrug. you didn't get it. felt like a few pieces of the puzzle were missing. a small sigh leaves her painted lips as she walks over to you. your eyes trail after her until you're staring into all too familiar eyes. usually so steely but today they possess a flicker of something different.

"Hughie is gonna help me get out. if I do this- if I help them bring down homelander then I just get to live my life away from all the bullshit. I realised all I want now is to be with Zoe. and with you too."

"Are we just skipping the part where he and his friends tried to murder you? how can we trust them?" you wonder what she can see in your eyes. the fear of what's to come. the joy of knowing she was willing to give up everything to be with you? That was a crazy thought. a crazy thing to admit. Victoria was gentle with you and loving but this felt like a different level of vulnerability. one you never saw from her.

"I'm not asking you to trust them," she holds your gaze, firm and pleading. "I'm asking you to trust me."

she had never steered you so wrong before. on shaky legs, you push yourself up off the dusty floor. brushing yourself off; little did it help. your heart races with your decision as 5 people - mostly strangers- surround you. you weren't a supe. you had no means to protect yourself here. they don't seem like they're gonna kill you as you turn around to find Hughie amongst them. he was covered in blood too. your girlfriend's blood. it was almost strange how fitting it was. That pit that once formed was now a silent rage as you stared at him. the man who Victoria trusted enough to come here. the man who promised her protection. the man who leads her to her death. he just stares back. a look of sympathy perhaps- no, pity. you take a deep breath and turn away in search of the other person you arrived with. zoe lies unconscious off to one side. at least you hope she's just unconscious. or maybe you didn't? what was a worse experience for her? you slowly make your way over to her. nobody stops you. nobody makes a move. you know you can't carry her so you just sit down beside her. a gentle hand on her side. you don't want her to be alone when she finds out her mother is dead.

[minniethemoocherda]

Loving You is a Losing Game

Summary: When Jean and Scott announce that they are expecting, Morph takes Logan on a night about town to drink away their problems.

A/N: Holy shit that last episode??!!!! Morph is my new fav and Morphine is my current obsession!!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

Well it had finally happened. Jean and Scott announced that they were expecting a baby.

And as expected, the news sent Logan into another of his lone wolf strops. Morph tried their best to cheer him up with some light sparring and purposefully bad impersonations.

But sometimes the only the way to forget one's issues was to get royally fucked.

Which was why Morph had annoyed their friend into a night on the town.

Morph picked the club because frankly Logan's idea of a nightclub was a watering hole for sad old men and pool tables. The one Morph picked was a little rough around the edges but all the best clubs were and since it was a Friday night, it was five shots for a fiver.

Logan wasn't exactly a nightlife kinda guy, but he did enjoy a drink so Morph had challenged him to a drinking contest. A game Morph was destined to loose, but then they always were when it came to Logan. Especially when unlike their friend they didn't have a super regenerative healing ability that fixed the continuous alcohol poisoning of one's liver.

By midnight however, the pair had drunk enough that even The Wolverine was getting tipsy, to the point that Morph had managed to talk him into a dance.

Well dance was a bit of a stretch. More like Morph was dancing around them whilst Logan stood as stationary as a tree. But Morph could see Logan's left foot tapping along to the beat, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into that soft smirk of a smile and the roll of his eyes as he let Morph use his arms to twirl themselves around. It was more than Morph could have hoped for.

Then of course Morph just had to take it too far and tried to make Logan dip them like a scene from some cheesy rom-com because the idea of The Wolverine doing that for real would be so ridiculous, only to trip over their own drunken feet. They would've banged their head on the dirty dance floor if not for a pair of sturdily strong hands grabbing their waist.

"Had enough to drink bub?" Logan asked from above them, that ever growing smirk haloed by the flashing lights above them.

"Not yet." Morph countered with a smirk of their own, as Logan picked them up and placed them upright again like they were weightless. "Which is why I'm going to get us another round of shots." Morph sing-songed, heading straight for the bar before they did something truly stupid, like put their arms around him.

As they waited for their round of shots, Morph hugged their hips where they could still feel the lingering warmth of Logan's hands.

They hoped nobody would notice the extra fingers in the darkness as they morphed to help carry the drinks back to their friend. This turned out to be a waste of effort as the drinks slipped from their fingers at the sight of Logan chatting up some pretty girl with red hair.

Even after all the drinks they'd had tonight, Morph was not fucked enough to deal with this shit and marched straight for the nearest bathroom. The men's bathroom. Which wasn't the right bathroom. But it never was. And in this form it would have to do.

They usually liked their human form. They knew they looked good. And they liked that in the reflection of the bathroom mirror they could see the eyes of their late mother staring back at them.

But right now, they felt like a puppet wearing an outfit made of a strangers flesh. However for Logan they would endure it.

For Logan, they would do anything.

They thought about going back out to the dance floor. Then they thought about a different redhead. And then they thought about getting another round of shots and another and another and-

A man stumbled into the bathroom. A short, muscular man with a lot of on display blonde hair. Through the glaze of alcohol induced vision, Morph spotted a flash of hunger in the man's eyes.

Now they were usually pretty good at clocking when there is someone like them. The same way they could sometimes just tell that someone is a mutant. But just because they might not wrong, doesn't mean the other won't have a bad reaction.

So Morph smiled and leant against the grimy bathroom mirror, allowing their unbuttoned silk of shirt to highlight the slim curves of their waist.

Music from dance floor could still be heard thumping through the bathroom walls and the other man took a step closer on every beat until Morph could feel his breathe against the exposed skin of their chest.

Then the music changed into something softer and Morph swayed their hips and even though they weren't yet touching so did the man and it was like the pair of them were asteroids slowly circling each other inching closer and closer until they were about to crash and Morph leant down with parted lips and-

BANG

The door slammed open as two much larger yet no less muscular men barged into the bathroom.

Morph barely has time to register the intruders when the man who moment's ago was millimetres away from grinding against their hips shoved them away.

"Get away from me you freak!" He yelled, that hunger in his eyes now burning with hatred and fear.

Morph crashed into the hard tiles of the bathroom wall, an already broken edge cutting through their shirt and ripping a gash down their back.

Over the sudden sting of pain they heard a trio of gasps.

It wasn't until they caught their pale grey reflection in the mirror, that they realised why.

This time when they look back at the man's eyes, the fear has been replaced by absolute revolution. Morph isn't sure which was worse.

"You truly are a freak." The man spat, crowding in on them again, this time with those other two men not far behind him.

Morph sighed.

They had fought Mr Sinister, they could easily deal with three drunk arseholes. Its just that they hadn't been expecting a fight tonight. Although at this point, they don't know why they weren't. It always ended in a fight.

But before Morph could throw the first punch, the two larger men were suddenly thrown through the door of the nearby stall, collapsing in a heap of broken bones and wood.

The first man didn't even have time to react when his face was smashed into the now broken mirror, trapped between two metal claws on either side of his head.

"I could smell that this guy was an ass a mile away." Logan snarled, his middle claw inching ever closer to the man's head.

"Don't!" Morph shouted, placing their hand on their friend's shoulder, feeling the tensed muscle of a predator waiting to pounce. "He's not worth it."

"But you are."

I love you. Morph wanted to say. But couldn't because they were walking on a knife as sharp as The Wolverine's claws and they hoped that Logan wouldn't react the same way as that arsehole did but they could not risk walking off that edge.

So as per usual they make a joke.

"I am not busting your ass out of jail. Again." They said, because as much as Morph honesty did not care about the world loosing three more bigots, they did not want to deal with the shit show of one of the X-men being arrested for a triple homicide.

Morph squeezed Logan's shoulder, like a wire using his body as a conduit to ground his anger. After a moment, the muscles under Logan's skin, loosened as the animalistic urge calmed and Morph couldn't help the sudden rush of realisation that they were the only person on the planet who could calm The Wolverine... aside from Jean of course.

With one last growl, Logan slammed the man's head against the remains of the mirror before dropping his unconsciousness body to the floor.

He then grabbed Morph's wrist and the shape-shifter was too drunk to resist as they were dragged out of the bathroom, back to the dancefloor past the bewildered looks of partygoers who weren't pissed enough to not notice the pair of mutants stalking past and out the club's back door.

Once outside Logan drops their wrist and Morph's sudden chill had nothing to do with the cool night air.

"I thought I told ya not to disappear on me again." Logan said, claws still unsheathed as though prepared to fight off a sentinel trying to steal Morph away again.

"Well I thought that you were busy chatting up that girl." Morph retorted, telling themselves that Logan was this over protective with all of the X-men.

"I was." Logan grumbled, "Until her boyfriend showed up."

Despite everything Morph can't help but bite a laugh because of course the red head had a fucking boyfriend.

Logan scrunched up his whole face the way he did when he was concerned but did not know how to say it. His head tilted to the side like a puppy at the confusion of for once not understanding their joke. This only turned Morph's laughter into a full on cackle.

"Whatever." Logan said, finally putting his claws away as they must have decided that Morph had finally lost it. "Doesn't matter anyway 'cus we're goin' back home."

"W-why?" Morph gasped through their own giggles.

"Because Bub, you're completely fucked."

"But-" Morph tried to point out that tonight was supposed to be for Logan's benefit, but the Wolverine beat them to it.

"We're goin' back home." Logan stated, this time grabbing hold of both their wrists as though he intended to drag them all the way back there himself. And well Morph had always found it impossible to argue against him.

"Fine," Morph sighed, their laughter dying off in the wake of drunken exhaustion. Hopefully the exhaustion would keep the nightmares away that night.

"Let's get back to the mansion then." Morph said, deliberately not calling it home. Not when home was the person standing next to them.

[snakeunderyourboot]

Finished reading “Under the Whispering Door” by TJ Klune and I need to scream about it, so beware spoilers ESPECIALLY under the cut

okay, so I have read 2 other TJ Klune books - The House in Cerulean Sea and In the Lives of Puppets, and while the first was an easy and happy read, the second is my top 5 books EASILY. I love In the Lives of Puppets, I love the world-building, characters, narration, ending, every little thing that is there - I love it.

So I was looking into some other TJ Klune books and I was considering reading Under the Whispering Door before and the only thing stopping me was the premise. You see, when you read the short description of the book, the first impression you will get is that this book is about asshole character that died but then brought back to life and now has 7 days to become a better person while living in the tea shop with this strange guy. And you will think how now this asshole character would try to change his life in 7 days, but also will fall in love with this strange guy and its going to be very sad, because they cant be together and then something will happen and they will get a chance to live happily ever after. Also the asshole guy will change himself completely in just 7 days. The premise is sort of interesting, but also seems so unoriginal and predictable, that I pulled off reading it for a long time.

BUT I was going on a stressful trip and I needed some nice cute book, to better my mood and I knew that TJ Klune books are always very funny and have a good moments, so I decided fuck it. Even if plot was going to be predictable at least there are going to be cool characters and it would do a fine job of keeping me company during this trip.

LET ME TELL YA HOW WRONG I WAS

Not about the characters, they are amazing and I love all of them, but about the plot. The premise is totally lying, because the book does start with a main character death and he stays DEAD. The whole deal with “7 days to live” comes only in a second half of the book and I was so shocked when it happened, because I completely forgot about it.

In fact, we spend huge deal of first chapters just getting to know Wallace(main character) and how the death works(really cool concept by the way, love it). The other characters are also great and I loved each and every of them. From Hugo who is such a patient and nice and encouraging, but at the same time so troubled and hurt, but he cant afford himself to break because other depend on them; to Mei who is actually pretty funny and a deep character, who experienced a lot and it shaped how she behaves, but she still chooses to be better; to Nelson, who is the best old man ever, the guy made me laugh so many times and cry, like Nelson is such a cool grandad(I didnt met my grandad, he passed when I was little, so I got attached to Nelson so quickly); to Apollo who is the best boy ever, the best dog; and to every other small character that appeared in the book. TJ Klune always has great characters, but my god in this book they are all amazing.

Wallace was also interesting character, that I grew to love with every chapter. His change from asshole to an actually nice guy felt a little bit rushed? Honestly, I noticed in TJ Klune’s books, characters who start as assholes but then changed to a nice guys, always have a good start and good finish but a little meh middle? Like Wallace was presented as such a big jerk and by even a middle of the book he become a completely different character which threw me off a little. On the other hand, considering that he died and then put into an unknown situation for who knows how long, maybe it is understandable why he changed so much. Still, I would prefer if he stayed a little bit as a jerk, just a little. A nice amount. Still, I liked him and his progression.

Remember what I said about Nelson making me laugh? This book is so funny, I laughed so much. Genuinely, the jokes are almost always hitting right in the center, especially the running ones. People who read the book - Walce truly does have a legs for it;))

The only thing that I a little bit disappointed about was the ending AND HERE IS HUGE SPOILERS DONT READ IT IF YOU HAVENT READ THE BOOK GIVE IT A CHANCE PLEASE GO RIGHT NOW AND READ DO NOT LOOK FOR MORE EVEN IF SOMETHING THAT I SAID BEFORE INTERESTED YOU EVEN A LITTLE GO AND READ IT I PROMISE YOU ITS REALLY GOOD

okay okay here the ending

I knew that Wallace wasn’t going to really go, even if book truly tried so hard to make me feel like that(and did a very good job with it, BUT I JUST KNEW he is going to be alright) and I thought that by the end he is going to remain a ghost but will now be allowed to stay in Tea Shop.And it sort of happened, expect he was also resurrected and made into a ferryman. Which felt too good to be true. I think I would prefer if he stayed dead but was allowed to stay in Tea Shop and they still had a relationship with Hugo even without touching and kissinf. I dont know, I feel like it could have been interesting and not as nice as the actual ending is. For all the talk in this book how life is unfair and we need to deal with it and try to get the best if it, the ending kind of undermines it. Maybe thats just aroace talking in me._.

Also can I talk how amazingly Wallce and Hugo fot for each other? Hugo who always put everyone first and then himself, who never allows himself to have something good, sometimes that he truly wants and Wallace who always took everything for himself and never thought about anyone. And how with Wallace, Hugo allowed himself to care and fight and ask for nice things for himself and he still cares about people, but now he cares about himself too. And how with Hugo, Wallace learn to care about other people and putting their needs first and how it culminated into him basically sacrificing himself for the good of others, because he truly learned how to love. They are such a good fit together, perfectly combining their strengths and weaknesses, like damn, my poor babies

TL;DR this book is amazing, olease read it, I love it so much

[lopposting]

yet another theory on carlo's death, more of a quick one though.

something that was brewing in the back of my head for a while that I cut from the other post, I deliberated for a while on whether or not it was worth posting.

[TW for content under the "keep reading" cut. I have also tagged as much. Keep safe, and read at your own discretion!]

reiterating from a previous post, a really interesting detail:

Carlo looks SO unhappy in almost every single appearance he makes.

When we look closely at his expression in the painting, it's not just a sullen expression. at first I thought he was staring back defiantly, which I still think is true; but the more I look closely at it, the more actually sad he looks (remembering that the mom may have died around this time)

and in the sand memories, in one he is a distressed child asking for his father, in the next two he is practically despondent (head in knees). He is extremely withdrawn.

more ways the story casts doubt over the bad ending

the final shot is of him smiling, which we're supposed to see as uncanny. like almost the antithesis of who we saw carlo is supposed to be.

So, again, from the earlier post that I cut: I started to think that we're only shown the stalker memory because this is the moment that lead to Carlo's actual death.

Why is him being rejected by the stalker so important?

What exactly about that moment lead to his death?

Then I had a sudden idea.

Did Carlo commit suicide after being rejected?

Suicide theory

After feeling orphaned through abandonment by his father, and losing his dreams of ever becoming a great stalker; [and perhaps contracting a disease that would guarantee a painful, slow, and lonely death] Maybe that was kind of the final straw for a clearly troubled young man?

And then the nameless puppet (carlo) attempting to destroy his "own" heart -  the act of self-destruction?

Getting real dark here... 

but maybe THIS is actually why Carlo’s full memories and ego couldn’t be resurfaced? Because ultimately, he chose to die?

[although, technically sophia chose to die as well]

and if Carlo did indeed take his own life, how would he have done it?

...

To be honest, I ended up feeling like this theory wasn't super valid, but it is still kind of interesting to me, from like a thematic viewpoint. Again, there's also Sophia and the idea of her being "kept alive against her own will", and then the parallel with "Carlo" in the box.

and then also him saying "I don't care if an old man like that kicks the bucket" [in the korean script] which is dually interpretable as, "That old geezer... couldn't be bothered (with death)[죽어도 상관 안 해]", as in "I wouldn't care if *HE* died" or "he wouldn't care if *I* died". [it's "죽어도 to die (if) - 상관 to care - 안 해 does not" in korean, to be clear.]

Also, there's why carlo's death is even such a mystery in the first place, it's like the story itself is so hush-hush about it, when ultimately - it doesn't matter. they could've just said it was the disease and be done with it. maybe because it involves something kind of taboo? IDONTKNOW

[anonymergremlin]

"I know that look in your eyes, Geppetto"

"Oh do you,child?"

"Yes, I do. You look like... mhh...a sad pathetic old man with a broken mind"

"..."

"I know what you think. 'How can I get [Name] out of my way. Mhhh... Maybe I send a few puppets after them, to make them finally become silent'... Trust me. I will do whatever I can to stay alive. Death can have me if you really want it but not before I made sure that my love, P, stays alive"

"You wouldn't dare -"

"Oh well. I would. I may keep my mouth shut for now... But I promise you, you will never get his heart"

[goodolddumbbanana]

I... I need Sun to get loose, man. I need Sun snap. I just can't take it anymore, seeing Sun just like that.

Right now, I hate Monty, Puppet and Foxy very much. Sun is right, who gave them the right to decide what they can do with moon?

Illusion of choice, they keep asking Sun but don't like the answer Sun gives.

Giving permission to my ass, like if Sun said no, bet they are still doing it.

So righteous, it feels sick. I hope Sun would never forgive them and cut ties with them. I hope Sun cuts ties with everyone else and starts a new beginning, even Moon.(earth and lunar have flaws, and they are really going in a thin ice right now, but still, they just think more for themselves and honestly, good for them...)

Because from the beginning until now, Sun was stuck, and kept being stuck.

Getting orders around by Moon, Monty, Puppet, Eclipse.... Forcing him making choices so obviously they still do it their ways, that Even Sun wants to save NM, no one would do that for him. And they only ask Sun, like just because what...? Suddenly they care for Sun's feelings? Heck no, they only do it so after that, Sun will stop crying and hating them because it is Sun's choice, it's Sun who decides to kill Moon, not Monty and Puppet.

To be honest, Sun and Eclipse are really alike, they are both getting trapped, if not the hand of others, so the hand of fate.

Sun getting pushed around like a joke, a trash can, by these people supposed to care about him.

And now some people, keep saying it is Ooc and Sun should forgive Moon and try more to change him?

Well I am sorry but I'd rather die than get back to my abuser, if they are not changing for the better. They are just like Moon, promise, promise, promise and then just do it worse, do the opposite.

And some people say New Moon is no longer abused like Old Moon, why did he get treated that way. Because back then, only Sun and Moon, and their co-dependents were never good, old Moon was not supposed to take everything on Sun, and Sun was not supposed to forgive Old Moon for every time Moon was doing something bad for him. Their relationship, was strained at best and toxic at the worst. Sun almost gets killed by Moon several times, and still keeps blaming himself, blaming everyone when it happens, because in Sun mind, it's not Moon fault, it's KC, it's Eclipse.

Sun is tired now. He is no longer trying to fix things himself, no longer letting people on his nerves anymore. (He tries his best okay)

And what does it connects to New Moon?

We have seen so many episodes recently, the way Sun keeps threatening people. Sun has threatened...? to kill Cat nap, Papyrus, creator, eclipse....? What does it mean?

It means Sun has gone tired, he finally learned that from Earth, because it turned out after Several therapy with Earth, Moon is not a good person and Sun was forced to be happy to keep Moon sane. And he shouldn't feel bad for thinking more for himself and some people would never change, not until they are seeing it themselves.

And it makes me sick in my stomach when people keep defending Moon, and say, think more for yourself is narcissistic behaviours, because you are supposed to forgive family no matter what they do. I am so angry at this mindset because as a person who grow out of it, it feels so hurt to be the one who tries to keep the relationship together while guess what... Nobody cares and just abused it. They never see it. For example my family, they never see how much their lashing out hurting me, just only about them, them, and them. And I always have to be the one to say it is not their fault, it's me, or someone else, again and again.

Growing up like that messes people up a lot. I have to numb myself, I don't even know what I feel anymore because I am not supposed to feel sad, I suppose to always be happy. Because I am happy making them happy.

And the breaking point happened when I went to college, when I get away from them. It hurts to think back, when I don't even have the nerve to think bad about them, not even in my thoughts.

I see Sun in me so much. Because of that, Tired of one person crap and then never take it from anyone anymore? Go girl!!!

Putting some boundaries for yourself is good, and if someone refuses to acknowledge it, well, good for them.

[glitteringcrab]

Unmortricken s7e5 - Evil Morty backstory (spoilers)

I feel like we have caught only a glimpse of Evil Morty’s backstory.

1. He was given a way out. He could “quit”. If “our” Morty was given the option to quit and and wanted to do just that, then he’d… go back to school. Hang out with Summer. Live with his mum and dad. Be normal. And yet, for Evil Morty, being told he could quit was the absolute last straw. What did he do? Did he go back to school? Nope. Did he puppeteer Rick into NOT doing adventures so he could live the rest of his days with his family in peace? Nope. After “Evil” Rick was killed, did he go back to his family? Nope. He stayed in the Citadel. Why did he not try to go back home?

2. He looked pretty scared when Rick started yelling at him. He didn’t even try to shield himself from the fall, he tried to shield himself from Rick… even though Rick didn’t actually raise an arm and looked sad afterwards.

3. He says “sorry to be such a high-maintenance Morty”. It’s like he knows what the spectrum for Morty agreeableness is and his place in it.

4. And then there’s the eyepatch thing. Sure, he could make an electronic eyepatch relatively easily, AND apparently he was knowledgeable enough to perform brain surgery on Rick… but kinda unlikely he could do the same to himself. In his room. This points to his right eye already being altered before this scene played out.

5. How did he know about the Central Finite Curve? OUR Morty didn’t. It doesn’t seem to be common knowledge. We weren’t shown Evil Morty finding out about it and seething in anger, that wasn’t his tipping point. He already knew all about it. Once he wrestled control, his plan was to go straight for the Curve.

6. And the first step to achieving that, was to erase his record from a Morty Agency. Why was his record there in the first place? It kinda points out to him being a clone Morty or a discarded Morty.

7. His photo in the Morty Agency is clearly disillusioned. He’s already SO DONE.

8. He described “Evil” Rick as “a man with an ego so big you could grab it like a joystick”. This kinda points to him knowing LOTS of Ricks and being able to compare.

9. After he seized control of the citadel, in his very first day, he closed the school brainwashing Mortys. Clearly he knew very well what was going on in that school.

10. I kept thinking how evil he must be to kill all Ricks (understandable) and all innocent Mortys (not so much) in the Citadel… He showed no hesitation nor remorse. And when he left, there was no triumph, only relief. (It was the first real smile we’ve seen of him, too).

Then I remembered our Rick killed many, many “innocent” Ricks too… whose only known crime was being a Rick and therefore potentially Rick Prime. Our Rick didn’t get so nihilistic for no reason though, we know his backstory. There’s no way 14 year old Evil Morty became EVEN MORE nihilistic for no reason other than verbal abuse.

…I think Evil Morty had no real home. His whole planet/dimension could have been ruined (probably by Rick shenanigans). Or, even worse, he was “bred” in the Citadel. Those memories of the Morty supply line/slaughterhouse might have been HIS.

He was enlisted in a Morty Agency, repeatedly cycling through various Ricks… And if we take into account what Evil Morty said through “Evil” Rick’s mouth (“if there’s one truth in the universe, it’s that Ricks don’t care about Mortys”) he was not once treated well.

He was taken in by Ricks who would drunkedly promise “Rick and Morty… a hundred years… forever…” (all the while picking him so they could replace their previous Morty, which I’m sure he was aware of) and then use, betray, abandon or return him to the Morty Agency if he wasn’t meek enough.

He would be taken (adopted? hired?) again and again, and have to live in the homes of families that weren’t his real family (and if they knew their Morty was dead probably didn’t treat him as their real Morty), all the while being promised that this team-up with Rick at least was “forever”.

Judging by his reaction when “Evil” Rick towered over him and by the modification in his eye, some of the Ricks beat him and some did surgical “improvements”, obviously for their own benefit and doubtfully with his consent (our Morty can supposedly turn into a car as well).

The argument he had with “Evil” Rick in the garage wasn’t a repetition of the same old argument Evil Morty kept having with his own grampa; it was the repetition “Evil” Rick has had with multiple discarded Mortys in the past. And it was Evil Morty’s last attempt to civilly demand to be treated well. He tried to express his disappointment in a healthy way and was basically told to go back to the Morty Agency and go through the whole spiel again with a new Rick, or being forced to live in the slums of the Citadel.

Evil Morty’s reenaction of “Rick and Morty, a hundred years, forever” was the mocking echo of the cruel false promise that had been repeatedly made to him.

People are saying Evil Morty is being set up to become the final threat in the series, but I think everything he does screams that he is an abused child who has given up on having a loving attachment with anyone and just wants to be left alone. I feel like he will get a healing/redemption arc in the end, intertwined with Rick’s healing/redemption arc.

…Also, I might add that Evil Morty is currently a prime target for any super-technologically-advanced interdimensional being that wants to become even more advanced. Sure, he is very clever, lives in a well protected base, doesn’t go looking for trouble, has lots of resources and advanced shield and weapon systems…

…but is also alone, with no allies, and his brain contains the schematics of tools and weapons stolen from countless Ricks, including our Rick and Rick Prime. Which can be stolen from him in turn… if he gets caught.

One final thought:

If there is any reason he let our Rick live, I think it’s because he could tell that our Rick cares for his Morty… which might come in handy for Evil Morty if an interdimensional being ever tries to use against Evil Morty a weapon similar to that was used on Diane…

(Plus I suspect the weird SUPER SUDDEN switch-places thing that Evil Morty did with Morty might not have been an animation mistake; I kept rewatching to see when they could have switched, but it there was no gap where it could have happened, unless it happened in a literal instant, which could been done by a device Evil Morty has. I know this is a stretch, but IF it’s true, it’s not too bad an idea to keep around a mad genius scientist who cares for his grandson, if you can instantly switch places with said grandson in your hour of need)

[hbyrde36]

Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)

CH 1 CH 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7

Chapter 8: Master of Puppets

WC: 5053 | AO3 link

Eddie woke to the sound of a phone ringing in the distance and his head throbbing. 

He rolled over, cracking one sore and puffy eye open to find himself surrounded. The two boys were already up—Max and Erica too. A graveyard of empty cereal bowls lined the coffee table in front of them, while Saturday morning cartoons played quietly on the TV. 

Despite how miserable he felt, something about seeing these kids just… being kids, filled him with a surge of renewed affection for the little shits, and reminded him of all the countless reasons he had to not fuck this up again.

He drug himself up off the couch, grunting with the effort like a 90 year old man with aching bones and deteriorated joints, and made his way to the kitchen—called by the siren-smell of good strong coffee. Steve appeared in the doorway as he approached, watching the scene just as Eddie had with a fond look in his eyes. He held two mugs, handing one off with a lopsided grin. 

Eddie looked down at the drink, finding it pale with too much cream for most people’s preference, but exactly how he liked it, and could almost smell the tooth-rotting sweetness of the excessive amount of sugar. It was perfect. How did Steve know?

“I love seeing them like this.” Steve said quietly, taking a sip from his own cup. Eddie didn’t need to look to know his was black. Blasphemy. “They don’t get to do it enough.”

Eddie offered a sad smile, humming his agreement. He looked back over his shoulder at the kids, and could only imagine how three years of fighting interdimensional monsters had cut pretty severely into each of their childhoods. Steve’s too, really. They often got caught up in worrying about the younger teens but Steve would have been what, 16 or 17 when this started? 

Babies, all of them. 

He turned back to say as much, but Steve tipped his head towards the kitchen, beckoning Eddie to follow. 

“That was Joyce on the phone.” Steve began, standing close—too close for so early in the morning when Eddie’s defenses were down, speaking low to make sure no one else overheard, the rumbling tone of his voice threatening to set Eddie’s skin on fire. 

“Owens’ people are sending a car to pick them all up, today.”

“What about Hopper?” Eddie whispered.

Steve sighed. “Well, she had to tell the Doc a little about our situation to explain why she was contacting him.”

“How’d that go?”

“She said he was weirdly accepting of the whole time loop thing, almost like he wasn’t surprised? Which, I guess they do research all kinds of weird shit in those labs, and he’s worked with kids like El for years, so maybe it just wasn’t all that unexpected. He knew some things about Vecna—Henry, whatever. Once they got talking she decided to tell him about the ransom note too, figuring he might have the resources to get Hop out, and they certainly owe us at least this much. He said they would handle it.” 

He shrugged, clearly trying to appear unconcerned, but suddenly wouldn’t meet Eddie’s eyes. Eddie knew him too well by now to be fooled. Something was bothering him about all this, even if he was trying to pretend like he was fine. 

“It’s okay if you’re worried. I know you don’t exactly trust these people.” Eddie said.

Steve tried to turn away, but like muscle memory Eddie reached out to lay a hand on his upper arm, giving him a knowing look.

“It’s stupid.” Steve said.

Eddie tightened his grip around Steve’s bicep, squeezing reassuringly as he rubbed his thumb back and forth. “I’m sure it’s not.”

“First I was worried about her going out there, and now—I know she’s right, they probably have ways to get to him that are much safer than her and Murray just fucking off to Alaska to meet with god-knows-who, and I’m happy that it’ll keep her out of the line of fire…” 

“But?” Eddie prompted.

“But, if anyone can bring someone back from the presumed dead, it’s Joyce Byers. I don’t know how much you remember from back when Will went missing, but she never gave up. Not when they found a body in the quarry, or when the whole town treated her like she was crazy for believing her son was still alive. Against all odds she fought for him, went into the Upside Down and brought him home. I just… Hopper deserves that. Someone who cares enough to bring him home no matter what.”

This time Eddie couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around Steve. At least now the other boy knew they’d been close before—friends. Friends could hug. 

As he had so many times before, he wished he could tell Steve that everything would be okay—but he just didn’t know, and he couldn’t bring himself to lie and offer false words of comfort. 

To his surprise Steve hugged him back, tentative at first, but he quickly melted into Eddie’s embrace as though he were starved for touch. It felt wonderful and devastating all at the same time to touch Steve like this—and to have Steve’s arms around him again too. It was a painful reminder of all that he’d lost, but still he refused to be the one to let go first. 

“Thank you.” Steve said, pulling back and roughly clearing his throat.

All at once Eddie realized how quiet it was. Steve’s headphones sat down around his neck, which wasn’t weird in itself, it was something Eddie had seen Max and Chrissy do whenever their ears needed a break too, but they never let the music stop. Steve's song wasn’t playing at all, and Eddie couldn’t handle watching him be taken like that again. 

He reached up, lifting the earpieces back over Steve's head, fingers itching to caress his cheek as they brushed by. He clenched his fist instead. 

“Your tape stopped.” Eddie said, breathless, his heart hammering inside his chest. 

Steve’s wide eyes never left his face as he nodded absently. There was a sudden tension in the air stretched perilously tight between them and Eddie had to force himself to take a step back before it snapped. 

Shaking himself, Steve finally looked down, popping the tape out of his walkman to flip it and begin again, the volume set as low as it could be, and still be heard. 

Eddie took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. “So, what’s on the agenda today?” He asked, managing to sound almost normal. 

“The kids should probably go home or something, spend time with their families and stuff before things get worse. We’re still going to need to stock up on weapons, right? Even if El gets her powers back?” Steve asked.       

“Yeah.” 

“Feel like doing some shopping today?”

Eddie shouldn’t have been surprised. It made sense for all the same reasons that it had in the last loop. The War Zone was closed on Sundays, and there hadn’t been a single murder yet in town to raise the alarms with the public or the Hawkins PD. Still, he felt a shiver make its way up his spine at the idea of the past repeating itself. Thinking not only of the store, but what happened after. 

He did his best to push those thoughts way, way down.

“Sure. I’ll let you break the news to your children.”

“Our children.” Steve corrected, grinning.

Fuck.

Eddie gulped, backing his way out of the room, stammering, “I-I’ll go tell Robin and Chrissy t-to get ready.”

-

Predictably, the kids fought back, having no interest in being separated now. As before, they all decided to go to Mike’s together, and it wasn’t until Steve picked up the phone to call and let Nancy know the plan that Eddie realized she and Mike hadn’t come back this morning the way they did last time. Funny how some things changed while others stayed the same, without obvious rhyme or reason. 

The trip to The War Zone went smoothly and pretty much as Eddie recalled. He’d racked his brain on the drive there, wondering if there was anything they could have used more or less of. Fire seemed to be the most effective weapon against the creatures of the Upside Down, so the molotov cocktails were still a good choice. 

If only they could source an actual flamethrower. 

Ultimately he didn't think any different number or type of weapons would be what turned the tides. This thing would come down to a battle of wills, he’d bet his life on it. 

Nancy got quiet as they were unloading the supplies after returning from the store, and Eddie could almost hear the gears turning over in her mind. It was no surprise to him when she eventually spoke up. 

“I want to go look for Fred.” She began, holding up a hand before anyone could argue. “And I know what you’re going to say. If we couldn’t find him last time what’s the point—but you said his body turned up in the trees behind his house right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied. “Sometime overnight or early in the morning they found him.”

“Okay so, that’s a clue we didn’t have before, and a place I’m sure I wouldn’t have looked.”

“How about this—the three of us,” Robin jumped in, indicating Nancy, Chrissy, and herself, “can go for a fun-filled hike in the woods, and we’ll leave you two here to hold down the fort in case Joyce or Eleven calls.” 

She met Eddie’s gaze, winking at him like she was doing him a favor. He grit his teeth and scowled. How she’d caught on already that there was anything going on between him and Steve, he had no idea.

…Not that there was anything going on since he was doing everything in his power to stay far far away from that possibility right now.

Steve didn't seem to notice their little exchange, thankfully, and was only watching the three girls with obvious concern. “If that's what you want to do. Just… be safe, okay?”

“Always.” Robin said, giving Steve a pat on the shoulder before getting back into the car with Nancy and Chrissy. 

The anxiety Eddie had already been soaking in all day reached a critical level as he and Steve were left home alone together, and more than once he found himself obsessively staring at the spot on the kitchen floor where he’d first held Steve, as he fell apart after Vecna had so ruthlessly attacked him on this same afternoon in another life.   

He had to find some way to distract himself or he was going to lose it.

There was only one surefire way to settle at least some of his nerves, but Eddie was too afraid to go outside and smoke—afraid to let Steve out of his sight for even a second actually, and so when he wandered away from him—for the dozenth time—to the living room, Eddie had no choice but to follow. As he did he recalled the bag of tapes he knew was stashed in the entertainment center—bingo.

He moved to the cabinet and pulled it out, digging for the only decent film among the bunch, not caring that he’d just watched The Goonies a week ago. Ironically, he thought the familiarity of it might even offer him some comfort. He glanced back over his shoulder to ask Steve if he minded, only to find him with his headphones off and silent, again. 

“Dude, how many times—” Eddie stomped across the room, his concerned frustration at Steve's carelessness spilling over to rage. 

How hard was it to keep a fucking tape going? 

He reached for the walkman clipped to the other boy’s waistband and yanked it off him—huffing as he popped the tape out, flipped it over, and shoved it back in, jamming his finger into the play button so hard he almost broke the damn thing, before shoving it back into Steve’s hands. 

“It needs to be playing to work, asshole, and you really need to start keeping those on your ears more.” He flicked the hanging cord of the headphones as he leveled Steve with a hard glare. 

“It’s–they–they’re uncomfortable.” Steve mumbled in half-hearted defense of himself.

It occurred to Eddie suddenly that this had never been a problem for Steve before. He’d never forgotten to keep his tape running, and never once had he complained about having to wear the headphones. 

He narrowed his eyes. “Really, Harrington? Because I’m finding it hard to believe that you can’t deal with a little mild discomfort to keep that fucking monster at bay after all the other shit you’ve endured.”

“Okay, fine. Just… listen, If Vecna doesn’t attack me before we go after him, how can we be sure I’ll be on his radar—that he’ll take me as bait?”

“Wait, were you–were you leaving the music off on purpose so he could get to you? What the fuck, Steve?!” Eddie shouted.

“What was your plan then, huh? To make Chrissy play the lure? How is that fair?!” Steve yelled right back. 

Eddie honestly hadn’t thought it through that far yet, and maybe Steve had a point. He certainly didn’t relish the idea of poor Chrissy being put on the chopping block again, but this certainly wasn’t the answer.

“It’s not fair to you either!” Eddie growled. “It’s not fair, period!”

“I can handle it!” Steve bellowed, smacking himself in the center of his chest. “And if it’s gotta be someone—why not me, huh? At least I have experience with this stuff! At least El knows me a little! If this whole thing winds up hinging on her piggybacking in someone's brain again, isn’t it better—easier if it’s someone she knows?!”

Again Eddie was brought up short. He shook his head—he couldn’t argue with the bulk of Steve’s logic, but–

“You don’t know what you're signing yourself up for! You have no idea what he’s capable of! Steve, don’t do this to–”

“Why does it matter so much to you if he takes me anyway?!”

Eddie recoiled, feeling the force of Steve’s words like a slap in the face.  “What? What do you mean why? Steve, you’re my—” He snapped his mouth shut, fighting to retain control of himself even as he spiraled further into panic. 

“We’re friends. I care about you.”

Right in front of his eyes, Steve’s face hardened into a cruel mask. 

“Friends,” Steve mocked with a bark of laughter, mouth twisting into an unfriendly smile. “We’re not friends, not really—you do realize that right? If you hadn’t gotten yourself caught up in all this, I would have never said two words to you. Why would I?”

All the blood drained from Eddie’s face. It felt like he’d been kicked off the edge of a cliff. 

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought of himself. A nagging fear in the back of his mind, that any feelings Steve was developing for him were circumstantial at best, nothing that would stand up to any sort of test—that it wasn’t real. That Steve had only clung to him because he was there—convenient and willing. 

He’d thought, after the kiss– 

Well, he’d started to hope he was wrong. Almost believed it when Robin gave him so much shit for doubting Steve when they’d spoken in the woods. But here it was in front of him. Proof that he’d been right to worry. 

“Honestly,” Steve went on, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’ve only been pretending to be nice to you so you’ll help us. Why else would I ever want to be associated with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?”

“Wh–what are you saying?”

Eddie’s eyes grew wet, hot tears threatening to fall. Oh god, what an idiot he’d been. 

“Poor thing,” Steve cooed at him, all pouting lips and false sympathy. “You should know, when you told me you were gay?” He paused, shuddering. “I was completely repulsed. I had to pretend otherwise of course, so you’d cooperate, but it made me sick having to lay next to you night after night.”

“Wait, I didn’t…” Eddie breathed, a barely audible whisper. “But, that didn’t happen this time.”

Something was very, very wrong here. 

He started to slowly back up, eyes darting between the doorway to the kitchen and the hall leading to the front door, trying to calculate his best move.  

“You’re not Steve.”

“Not quite.” The thing that wasn’t Steve smirked, folding his hands together locked behind his back. “Hello, Eddie. We meet at last.”

He was still wearing Steve’s face, but the voice coming out of his throat was becoming something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous.

Any relief Eddie felt for the fact that it hadn’t really been Steve saying those awful things to him was overshadowed by the terror of meeting his enemy in person for the first time, and in his own domain no less.

“Fuck you.” Eddie spat, projecting a bravery he absolutely did not feel. 

Steve—Vecna began to pace a slow circle around him. “I don’t know how you’ve managed this trick, sending yourself back in time over and over again, but it’s no matter. I’ve seen what’s in your head now. I know what you and Eleven and all your little friends have planned. It won’t work.”

A guitar riff Eddie would never forget, even if he lived a thousand lifetimes, began to fill the air around him. Someone, somewhere was playing Master of Puppets for him—trying to pull him out of this place. Trying to save him. Hope blossomed in his chest as he thought about what Chrissy had described seeing the first time he’d successfully pulled her out of her trance, and searched around frantically for any signs of an opening or portal. 

Either unable to hear the music or uncaring that Eddie was in the process of being rescued, Vecna kept taunting him. 

“Of course, you already know that, having failed so many times before. I wonder why it is you even continue to try and fight the inevitable. This is your fate, Eddie, and his.” The monster gestured to himself, to the suit of familiar skin he wore, drawing Eddie’s attention back. 

The eyes—Steve’s beautiful hazel eyes that Vecna had stolen to use against him rolled back and began to bleed. With a loud crack his jaw dislocated, hanging loose, mouth gaping open in a silent scream. Another snap and his arm bent back the wrong way, broken.

Eddie choked back a sob, his heart shattering into even smaller pieces as he witnessed first hand what he already knew Steve had gone through, knowing he'd never be able to scrub the image from his mind. 

“The sooner you accept that, the sooner your suffering will come to an end.” The words spilled forth from the gaping maw that Steve’s mouth had become.

Eddie cried out, screaming his pain wordlessly.

The music picked up suddenly, getting louder as the song reached its middle, giving Eddie the strength to look away—and finally he spotted it, a faint glow like the promise of sunshine coming in through an open window, emanating from somewhere behind Vecna, through the doorway to the kitchen. 

He took a few stumbling steps back, the disfigured visage of Vecna-Steve following his every move, and faked a run for the front door, pivoting at the last second to switch direction down the hallway, entering the kitchen from its other side and dove into the hazy mirage head first without hesitation. 

-

Eddie came-to with a shuddering gasp. He was on the floor, headphones shoved over his head and Metallica blasting in his ears. Strong arms circled him from behind, rocking him gently as a soft voice mumbled the same three words over and over again. 

“Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.”

“Stevie?” Eddie wheezed, out of breath and a little disoriented from his sudden fall back to reality. Which was saying something, considering he’d died and come back as many times as he had. He reached up, hesitantly pulling the headphones down around his neck. 

“Oh my god.” Steve let out a rush of breath, sounding relieved as he slid himself around to Eddie’s side, still cradling him in his arms. He looked Eddie up and down, as if assessing him for physical damage, a haunted look in his eyes.

“You’re okay?” Steve said. Part statement, part question.  

When he didn't answer right away Steve pursed his lips, concern evident on his face as he raised a hand up to gently brush the tears from Eddie’s wet cheeks. He hadn’t even known he was crying.

Eddie blinked up at him, caught between wanting to bury himself in the other boy’s chest, and the instinct to shove him away. He had Vecna’s vicious words stuck in his head now, replaying over and over again.

He knew it wasn’t real. Steve hadn’t said those things, would never have said those things. They weren’t his thoughts or feelings even if they were said with his voice. Eddie knew all of that, but still it was enough to taint what little comfort he might have allowed himself to take from Steve’s embrace.

That bastard had stolen Steve's face and used Eddie’s own insecurities against him, and it’d worked like a fucking charm. 

He sat up slowly, pushing Steve away with a firm hand on his chest. Steve frowned, actually tried to push back for a moment, to keep holding Eddie, before realizing what he was doing and backed off to give him space.  

“Is that… that was Vecna, right?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah, it was him.” Eddie pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough to see stars. If only it would erase the image of Steve’s broken form from his mind.   

“I’m so sorry.”

Eddie dropped his hands from his face abruptly to stare at the other boy. “What do you have to be sorry for?” He asked, incredulous.

“You tried to tell me how bad it was and I–I argued with you. That was the most terrifying few minutes of my life, and I was going to force you to watch that—again! How many times did you have to watch it happen to Chrissy? To me? I’m such an asshole” Steve closed his eyes, sniffling as he shook his head. “I’d still rather it be me than you, or Chrissy, or any of the kids, but it was… selfish of me to put you in the position to have to save me again on purpose. So, I’m sorry” 

“It’s not—you’re not selfish, and you’re not an asshole either.” Eddie sighed heavily. “And I hate to admit it, but you may have had a point. We can’t bait Vecna with something he doesn’t want, someone he isn’t actively after. I guess now that someone’s gonna be me.”

“How will that work? You’re just as much of a stranger to El as Chrissy is.”

Eddie tightened his jaw, readying himself for another fight, but Steve quickly raised his hands in surrender. “I'm not–I'm not trying to—I'm just raising a concern.”

“I’m not letting anyone else go through that if we don’t have to, ok? We’ll ask El about it when we can, and go from there.”

Steve nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”

-

Steve searched through his closet and dug up his old walkman for Eddie to use since he’d given his own up for Chrissy. There was nothing wrong with it, just an outdated model. A new pair of batteries and he was all set.

They made Eddie’s tape in relative silence, save for the music itself which they kept turned low to save his head—a side effect of the Vecna attack being a massive fucking headache.

The girls returned a few hours later, looking completely dejected and exhausted. They still hadn’t been able to find Fred.

Nancy didn’t stay long, wanting to get back to her own house to keep an eye on the kids, and it wasn’t until she left that the other two noticed the change in Eddie, and what he now wore over his head. 

Chrissy came up to him first, throwing her arms around his shoulders and resting her cheek on his chest. “Oh no, Eddie, you too?”

He hugged her back, and as bad as the day had been, he couldn’t help smiling to himself a little. He’d been so sure that he had ruined any chance of friendship with her this time around, but the easy affection gave him hope that it wasn’t a lost cause just yet. 

“I’m okay, Chris.” He assured her as they separated. “Harrington had my back.”

-

In a bid for normalcy, and while they had nothing better to do, Steve ordered some takeout for all of them to share while Eddie put his movie on—hours later than intended, but better late than never. 

He tried to enjoy it—the food, the conversation, hanging out with these people he’d come to care for like family—but his heart was in the past. Instead of the TV screen in front of him he saw Steve fighting off a grin as he’d watched Eddie flutter around the kitchen cooking for them. In place of the drink in his hand, he felt the warm press of Steve’s palm in his, remembering the way he’d laced their fingers together and held on all the way upstairs that night. 

Giggles coming from the other side of the room were what brought Eddie back to the present, and he glanced over to see that Chrissy and Robin had drifted awfully close to one another on the couch they shared, even resting their heads together as he watched.  

Not thinking he nudged Steve's shoulder with his own to point it out, wondering when they themselves had gotten this close, and tilted his head in the girls direction. 

Steve glanced over, smiling at first but then his body went visibly tense, eyes guarded as he looked back at Eddie.

Oh.

“You don’t have to worry I–” Eddie only barely managed to stop himself from coming out, though he wasn’t sure why, and changed course mid sentence. “I'm cool with—Robin. I just think it’s sweet that they’re getting close again.”

Steve took him at his word, relaxing immediately. “Again?” He whispered back excitedly.

Eddie nodded and went back to watching the girls, glad that this particular thing was a staple of the loops. 

Once the credits rolled and the girls made their way up to bed, Eddie helped Steve clean up, picking up trash and carrying their few dishes to the sink. He fled as soon as they were done, saying a quick goodnight before rushing to the downstairs bathroom to change and laying himself down on the couch, the big one this time. Dustin had been right, it was a lot more comfortable. 

He assumed he’d gotten away with it, that Steve had already gone up the stairs, but less than a minute later Steve came striding into the room carrying two blankets. He tossed one to Eddie before wrapping the other around himself, and settled down on the other couch. 

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping.”

“Steve.”

They both sat up, staring daggers at each other from across the room.

Steve broke the standoff first. “I don’t think you should be alone. What if something happens, or your tape runs out? Since you seem to have something against sleeping in a bed with me again, I figured I'd just join you down here. It’s fine.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Eddie grumbled. 

So much for keeping this one boundary, but he’d manage somehow. He suspected Steve still felt like he must have done something wrong before, and Eddie couldn’t live with him feeling guilty over something that wasn’t his fault. And, he supposed, there was no use in both of them sleeping on couches when there was a perfectly good bed upstairs.

Eddie reluctantly got up, flinging a throw pillow at Steve’s smug face as he did. “Come on then, big boy. Lead the way.”

-

In the familiar comfort of Steve's room, Eddie laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling, hugging his side of the bed to keep as much space as possible between them. He was exhausted from the attack, from the day in general, but his heart pounded as he found himself surrounded by all things Steve. His scent on the sheets, his pillow under Eddie’s head, his clothes strewn about the room.

He breathed it all in deep, and, still keeping his eyes pointed forward, finally dared to ask the question.

“How did you know what song to play for me?”

Steve shifted around, turning on his side to face him. 

“It was the tape from your Walkman. The kids took it out last night after they made Chrissy’s and left it sitting out on the table. It was a lucky guess, really. I just hoped that whatever you had been listening to last would work.”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. He’d survived by simple chance and dumb luck, and sure he was old hat at dying by now, but it didn't make the idea any less scary. He turned too, meeting Steve's eyes through the dark. 

“Thank you, that was… good thinking.”

“I was so afraid it wouldn’t work. One second we were screaming at each other and then you went so still. Your eyes rolled back and–” Steve’s voice cracked, unable to finish.

“I know.” Eddie whispered. And he did know, far too well, what it was like to feel so powerless.

He started to reach out, wanting so badly to cup Steve’s cheek or pull him close, but let his hand drop to the bed between them mid-motion. Steve slid his own hand closer, inch by inch until their pinkies touched, and then oh-so-slowly, he tucked his whole hand under Eddie's, entwining their fingers and gripping him tight. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t worked.”

Eddie swallowed a whine, praying Steve couldn't hear it, and squeezed back. He didn’t have the strength to pull away, though he knew with every touch came the potential to break him beyond repair. 

Chapter 9

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Reblogs are always appreciated and if you want to be tagged, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜

Taglist: @hitlikehammers @pearynice @cranberrymoons @thoroughlycollected @blubblesandink @finntheehumaneater @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @hellion-child @manda-panda-monium @spicysix @kikidoesfanfic @dreamwatch @lawrencebshoggoth @stillfullofshit @lil-gremlin-things @mamafaithful @klausinamarink @starlight-archer

[flamingfoxninja]

Pinocchio loved his father. You have to remember that as I tell you what happened. It’s crucial that you remember. Because he truly loved his father. You can probably say the same thing about loving your family, your sister and brothers, and it would mean the same as myself loving my own mother and father. But the love that I had for my family paled in comparison to the love Pinocchio had for his, or the love that his father gave right back. Maybe paled isn’t the right word, but I don’t think there is any word close enough to describe the immense difference between them and everyone else. They were each other’s world, with all the stars and moon and magic that surrounded it. Which is strange if you thought about it, since Pinocchio wasn’t in the village for very long.

It was weird when I first met Pinocchio. We live in the little village of Amanti in the country of Marienne. It was a quiet classic sort of village. Not everything had magic or witches or monsters that you hear in the stories you know. Some places are just the background sets, the places that just travel through in order to get to the real plot. That was our village, quiet and unobtrusive, and we liked it like that. Boring compared to most, but it was peaceful and everyone was happy and friendly with everyone else. The children certainly knew the other children, and I prided myself with knowing everyone in town. As much as a child would know anyway. But the one person I knew very well was Pinocchio’s father. 

He was an old man, with polished circle glasses and silvery gray hair. Though looking back, he probably wasn’t older at fifty at most. I had a habit of assuming anyone with remotely graying hair as old or ancient, because only old or ancient people ever had magic to them. And Pinocchio’s father was the most magical person I had ever known to that point. He worked as a wood carver, always tinkering away at his shop making clocks and toys to sell. But my favorite things were the puppets he made. Little wooden marionettes. It would take him a while to carve them, putting in extra care to their body and shape, perfecting them in ways that I would never even think about. About twice a month he would take his marionettes into the square in the little portable stage he had, and put on a show for the children. We watched as he made the marionettes move and dance across the stage, telling stories of knightly princes and clever princesses. It was the most magical thing I had ever seen, watching him breathe life into those puppets. 

Once, I was lucky enough to be taken by my mother to get a new clock. I must have been six or seven at the time, and saw him working on the head of a puppet as we walked in. My mother had wanted to ask about the prices or some other adult things, but I was louder and must have asked him a hundred questions about who the new marionette was and how they were made. It must have exasperated my mother but he took it in stride. He gave the warmest smile as he gently explained to me how the parts are made, how the strings are attached, and how he was able to make them so realistically. His eyes never stopped twinkling as I kept up my questions. I think it made him happy, knowing I took an interest. But then I asked why he was careful in carving the puppets. He paused, like he knew the answer immediately but couldn’t find the right words to express it. And when he spoke there was a twinge of sadness. He said, “Because I am not just creating a body, I am creating a life. And you must always take responsibility.” I was confused by his answer, but my mother had jumped in and took control of the conversation to the clocks he had available. They did their business and me and my mother went home. I saw the same sadness in Pinocchio’s father as we did. And though I knew that my mother was very much annoyed at me inside, she looked different as we left. It was the first time I saw the look of pity on someone. When we got home she took me aside and explained to me how adults can be lonely too sometimes. Sometimes, not everyone can find their True Love like in the stories. Or how sometimes, even after finding your True Love, you may still not get a Happily Ever After. It was pretty world-shattering to learn when you’re six, but she had told me how proud she was for making him happy while in the shop. Because Lonely People can still be happy too. I had made a promise to try and keep Pinocchio’s father happy for as long as I could. Even if it wasn’t as long as I had thought. 

And then life went on. The sun rose and set. The Baker baked and the Farmer farmed and I grew up. I still played with my friends and got into mischief that all children do. But I made sure every week to visit Pinocchio’s father to make sure he was happy. Sometimes I would give him gifts, small flowers or fruits I had on hand. Or sometimes I would give him good names for his newest marionettes, like Mr. Bisket or Madame Pearl-head. It would always make him laugh, and that made me feel good, knowing I was keeping my promise. 

But one day when I was nine, he disappeared. No one knew where he went, but a few people saw him acting strangely the day before. He was frantic, running all over searching for something. Then the next morning, he locked his shop and just left. No note, no word to where he was going. He was just gone. For weeks rumors sparked around the village, going from him losing a valuable wood carving to him chasing after a True Love, or just lost his mind and wandered away forever. They were almost as varied and colorful as the marionettes he used in his shows. Those same marionettes that hung lifelessly in the back of his shop. 

Then, a few months later, he came back. It was an astonishment really. No one had actually seen him return, much less expected it. Everyone thought he was dead. Or if he was alive would never actually be seen again. And yet, there he stood, opening his shop more joyously than before. His arrival was unannounced, but word spread fast and soon everyone came out to welcome him back. And we all saw that he didn’t come back alone. Standing next to him with twinkling eyes and a wide grin was a little boy, who he introduced as his son Pinocchio. 

When I first met Pinocchio, I wasn’t sure if I liked him or not. He was…new. Too new in my opinion. His rosewood skin was polished. It didn’t have any scuffs or bruises that you would see on the other children. He had the straightest teeth I had ever seen, like white-painted fence posts.  And sometimes when he moved, there was an odd stiffness to him that he wouldn’t shake off. He wasn’t inflexible exactly, but when he stretched it was like he was making sure that he was still able to move. Gently rolling his joints over and over until he was satisfied they were in order. It reminded me of oiling the hinge of a door. But more than that, I didn’t like the feeling of being replaced. Pinocchio was like the missing puzzle piece that completed his father, bringing him so much happiness and love that one only read about. It hurt seeing that. For years it was my duty to make Pinocchio’s father happy. But now Pinocchio came in and effortlessly took my spot, even if it wasn’t my place to begin with. 

I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so it started to come out as mistrust and anger. It wasn’t exactly mean, but it definitely wasn’t nice. I think his father caught on how I was feeling pretty quick, at least much faster than me. Pinocchio wasn’t in the store when I went to visit again a week later. It was just his father, who smiled brightly when I came in. I had missed our weekly visits while he was away, and I liked to think that he did too. When I entered he had me sit on his chair and said that he had a very important task for me. Pinocchio was new to the village, and he was afraid that Pinocchio might get lonely. He asked if I could show Pinocchio around the village and introduce him to the other children so he could play and make friends. I wanted to scream. I felt so sick. This was how our relationship ended, not with Pinocchio replacing me for his father, but with Pinocchio replacing me for everyone else in town. It was really silly looking back on it, but those feelings were so strong and genuine that I wasn’t sure if I could contain it all. But Pinocchio’s father looked so delighted at the idea of Pinocchio making friends. So I begrudgingly went along, agreeing to take Pinocchio to our games. I was making him happy, so I’d put up with whatever weirdness Pinocchio had. 

Embarrassingly, it actually didn’t take very long for us to become friends. For all of my worry and aggression when we had first met, he was just a normal kid. When I introduced him to the rest of the children, he got along with everyone so well. I wanted to be mad at him, that this was proof he was replacing me. But I wasn’t. I actually got along with him too. And I liked him a lot. We played every day after that, any chance we got. Tag, exploring, marbles, you name it. Pinocchio was one of the gang, he fit in so well it was like he was tailor made. There was a charm to him you know, where he would be so genuine that you couldn’t help but admire. When he laughed at your jokes, you knew he actually thought you were funny. If you got hurt, you could tell he was actually worried about you, not like most kids where you only worry if you would get in trouble. He really did care. 

Most importantly, he was honest. He was the most truthful kid I had ever known. If you want to get an opinion on something, you go to Pinocchio. He would always tell you what he thought, but he was never mean about it, or sugarcoat it. Just stated it as fact. And he would always find something he liked about whatever you showed, even if it was actually terrible. Of course, we would still get into trouble. He wouldn’t shy away from regular child mischief. But he always owned up to it, and accepted whatever punishment he was given. The first few times this happened, we had left him behind to take all the blame. No one wanted to get caught right? But he never called out anyone else. He wouldn’t lie about it, he just wouldn’t say anything to get anyone else in trouble. It must have rubbed off on the rest of us because eventually we all stayed to take in our share of the blame. He was good like that. He was my best friend. 

You need to understand, you have to understand just how honest he was. I’d never met anyone more truthful than Pinocchio. It wasn’t just a quirk or, or his personality, or even a pledge or anything superficial like that. It was a part of his core, his entire being. When he spoke the truth, there was a great comfort to it that just weighed on you to know that this was how the world worked. It was his own magic. So when I heard him tell his first lie, it killed me almost as much as it killed him. Almost. 

It was late that night, all of the children in town were out on the streets. All the adults were asleep, peacefully unaware that we snuck out of our beds for a bit of mischief and fun. It was a bright full moon, giving us enough light to play and dance under its gaze. I don’t think I had as much fun before as I had that night. At least, before she walked in. 

She was beautiful as she walked into the village square. Her face illuminated in moonlight with eyes twinkling like stars. Her dress was a void black, frayed and marked in intricate designs that covered her body. It was frayed, but it trailed behind her like an evening gown. Billowed might actually be the better word. She was so graceful it felt like the wind had summoned her, breezing through our simple lives without a care in the world. We all stopped our games just to watch as she walked closer. By the time she reached the square, everyone surrounded her. She was so beautiful. Like the night itself had taken form. She leaned on her staff and addressed all of us. She said she had a game for us to play, and seemingly out of the night air itself she pulled out a magnificent ball. It was as white as the purest snow, covered in the softest silk. It was wondrous and magnificent and promised to be the most fun for anyone to play with it. I wanted that ball so badly. We all cheered in excitement to play with that magnificent white ball. 

Soothing our excitement, she explained the rules. She will ask us a question and if we answer truthfully, we will get a turn. We all nodded, agreed to the rules. Eager to please and to take our turn. She started with my neighbor from down the street. “What is the name of your father?” she asked sweetly. Smiling, my neighbor answered, “My daddy’s name is Nico.”

A scream rang out. It was thick and ragged, coming from deep in the village. We all turned towards the sound, confusion on our faces. But the woman called to us, focusing our attention on her and her game once more. She walked up to a little girl next. “What of your father’s name?” she asked. “Robert,” the poor girl answered. Another anguished scream pierced the night. The woman moved down the row, one by one, asking each child the name of their fathers. And with every answer a painful scream. All of us cried. The children at the beginning of the line cried for the deaths of their fathers. While those at the end cried for what was to come. I myself wept so achingly because that ball still called out to me and I knew in my heart I would kill my father to play with it. Even as the night air choked on death. Even as I saw the ball writhe and squirm in the woman’s hand. Hatred burned inside me as I stared at that horribly beautiful woman who still wore that gentle smile. But I could not turn away. The ball had already claimed me, as it waited to eat my father’s name. 

Pinocchio stood next to me. His presence gave me some comfort, as little as it was, but he confused me as well because he did not cry. He looked pensive. His brows furrowed in deep thought. I wasn’t the only one who noticed as the woman approached. She turned her head slightly as she looked at us. Pinocchio looked uneasy while I sobbed. It felt like I was crying for the both of us, and that was important somehow. If I was the one crying, then Pinocchio wouldn’t be distracted with his own tears. That my tears allowed Pinocchio to think, give him time to take action and do…something. Honestly I was so racked with despair that I had to cling onto something otherwise I would go mad. So I cried for Pinocchio as much as me, and the woman saw. I think that’s why she asked him a different question, what his own name was. And Pinocchio answered truthfully. “My name is Pinocchio”. She smiled, then asked him, “And what is your father’s name?” 

Pinocchio looked uncomfortable, hesitated in his unease, then answered.

“Daniel”.

I couldn’t breathe. I was so terrified but I think this was the moment that broke me. I couldn’t breathe as I watched Pinocchio lie. Lie in the face of evil or god or whatever being it was that demanded the truth. He lied. I didn’t know how it was possible. I didn’t think that he was even able to lie. He never lies. But he loved his father. He loved his father more than himself and the moon and stars. His words lied but his love was genuine, and I wept knowing I could never have a love as profound as that. 

In my grief I had failed to notice the lack of a scream. But the woman didn’t. She frowned, then snarled. And with a wave of her staff Pinocchio fell to the ground dead. It happened so fast I didn’t even realize. Just watched his body go limp and loose and sprawled out below. I think it was my mind trying to process what happened, but it reminded me of one of his father’s puppets. As if the puppeteer that was holding him up suddenly cut the strings from his body. When I realized he was dead, I just had another reason to cry. And while I was next to be asked a question and kill my father, my tears were shed solely for my friend and his bravery. 

Then a miracle happened. Before the woman had a chance to turn away, Pinocchio’s body started to glow. It was a rich and vibrant blue, light and airy like the day sky. It rivaled the sun as it cut through the night, and blazed out of my friend. 

I’ve learned much about magic since then. Not just tricks and wizardry that most people have, but raw magical powers only possessed by the most powerful of arcane creatures. Fairies are one of them. Fairy magic is ancient. You cannot escape a fairy boon or curse. It will stay on you for all eternity and then some. But fairies know this also, and that is why when they lay their spells they are just as cunning as they are powerful. To avoid the brunt of the spell, they would use their own magic to shift the spell in a new direction. Weaving the magic to a new purpose. Changing a spell of death to eternal sleep for example. A fairy cannot completely alter the spell, and they definitely cannot remove another fairy's magic. If they do, then they will face a magical backlash of unimaginable power. 

When that woman used her magic to kill Pinocchio, she had disrupted the fairy spell that was placed on him. I don’t know how or when he had met a fairy, or what he did to receive their boon, but he had one. And it was powerful. And when that boon was destroyed, all that was left was unrestrained raw magic. The brilliant blue light came forth from Pinocchio’s body pulsing fanatically until everything was covered in its light. I couldn’t look away as magic enveloped everyone. Distantly I heard the scream of that wretched woman. I was scared, I was sobbing, and it felt like I would see nothing else but that blue light. 

Then suddenly, it was gone. The magic had vanished, leaving us still standing in the square. The woman and her staff and her horrible ball, they were gone. The night was gone too, an early morning sun gently rising in the sky. If I had not wept so harshly before I would have cried in relief seeing the sun again. The adults had come out of our homes and rushed towards us, embracing us in their own relief for what had transpired. I could have willingly drowned in my mother’s hug, fiercely clinging onto her as she gripped me. But the grief still stayed. Because Pinocchio’s body was gone too. 

The village has changed since then. It isn’t as overt as you might expect. The people are friendly enough with one another, we still have a sense of a small town comradely. We don’t go out at night. But considering the monsters that would normally lurk in the darkness, that’s just good practice. And we don’t shy away from the odd traveler that enters. They are still welcomed for their business. But really, only for their business. We don’t allow them to stay for long. But sometimes they stay long enough to realize that we never say our names. Not to each other and certainly not to outsiders. Names are a very powerful thing you know, but they aren’t needed in daily life. The Baker is The Baker after all, so we get by just fine. The only names that we say are the names of the dead. And Pinocchio’s. 

We’ve never recovered his body. It had disappeared along with the other wicked things from that terrible night. As well as his father. When some villagers tried to give him the news of his son’s death, they weren’t able to find him. His woodcarver’s shop is still closed, with marionettes hanging in dust and darkness. The villagers say Pinocchio’s name because he had died. And I know he did. But I also know that magic is a wondrous thing, and miracles can be repeated. Pinocchio’s father didn’t die that night. Pinocchio did in his stead. So I will wait for Pinocchio’s father to return once again, with Pinocchio standing at his side. Someone should greet them back properly. After all, his name isn’t Daniel.

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

Namari is the first of laios old party that gets reintroduced into the story before dungeon meshi really shows it's hand about the bigger themes it wants to tackle. Theres a lot of sneaky setup during her two chapters. Lets talk about her!

Dungeon meshi starts out as kind of a straight forward fun dungeon adventure amoungst adventurers and friends. Namari notably, throws a wrench in this perception while maintaining that lighthearted tone--notably, through introducing the fact Laios is a weak leader. Namari was in the party since the start. She was clearly in a bad situation at the time where adventuring was her only option bc she didnt have enough money to even get off the island. Despite that, she stayed in the party despite the fact she needs money bc she liked the comraderie. Sad that she felt like she had to choose between getting out of debt or having ppl she could be honest to.

All three party members who left did not have their needs properly met. Falin let her life be dictated by laios and marcille and was too passive to try to make choices for herself. She ends up getting eaten trying to save them + then puppetted around by thistle as a result of marcilles attempt (sucess) at reviving her (+ ends up starving the whole time) . I think shuro got kidnapped into laios party and then steamrolled over bc hes just so bad at saying no + also seemed to have never chosen anything for himself in his lyfe.

Theres a clear parallel between laios lack of attention towards these threes needs and his lack of attention that he was hungry at the fight.

Laios treated his like a group of friends going out adventuring without any regard to the needs of the group. Yeah, you could say they couldve told him, but as a leader its kinda ur job to actively keep tabs on this. And Namari really exemplifies this bc she really is in dire straits, her joining the party was out of desparation, and her need for money was getting ignored for years. That she even brought this up to the siblings and they still went on a dangerous expedition and didn't take missions aimed at making money is kinda like.. wow......

It takes a near death experience for her to realize she has really got to go actually achieve her goals —but crucially I feel if laios took more jobs to make money, she wouldnt have left at that crucial moment. I think theres an argument to be made that shuro probs wouldnt have left if namari didnt bc hes a passivity king and may have been more willing to get his retainers to work w laios party if they didnt both mutually agree laios wasnt cut out to lead the party to try to rescue falin. Which I dont think is an unfair assessment of his skills at the time.

Like he is well intentioned and doesnt mean anything bad by it but theres a limit to the amount of carelessness you can have as a leader. Later on, shuros going to have similar complaints and hes going to be much less nice abt it.

Anyways, i think its interesting the party namari aligns herself w afterwards is the right hand man of the lord of the island, awfully close to the occupation her father held before he disapeared after getting caught for money laundering. In her intro, she keeps her guard up from mr tansu and the party bc shes jaded about either having to accept a job for money or to be friends w her new party. I think this may be partially bc she let herself get dragged around for too long in laios party bc she had a soft spot for em. But after sharing a meal , having laios affirm his trust in her, and actively communicating w mr tansu shes able to get both the money she needs to climb outta debt and a good working relationship w the tansus and the twins by clarifying specifically how she feels. I think tansus a bit suspicious bc he thinks shes just in for the money and disregards her feelings as a result. I think theres a bit of an undertone that the way he treats her like a human shield reminds her of how she was cleaning up her fathers messes all the time as a kid.

Crucially, I think this is the turning point for how she acts bc she has so much love to give to the world! She needed to have this basic need taken care of before she oculd help other people. She goes down to the morgue to check for falin. She agrees to help kabru after hearing his motives w utaya even tho theres nothing in it for her. Shes the one who reaches her hand up to support him when he almost gets trampled by the adventurers in the dungeon.

I think seeing ppl help him without asking anything in return helped kabru be more open towards other, which leads to him throwing his lot w laios despite all his doubts.

Doesnt rat out laios party under the threat of interregation tho also it seemed shuro was just 🤐 abt it. She tells tansu shes headed down w shuros retainers to rescue him when he gets kicked like a football into the dungeon - also a nice bit of character development that she clearly wants to help laios w the water spirit and only goes w tansus permission, but here she takes the initiative and tells him she'll report if she sees anything funny. Crucially she throws her lot against the elves, who are the closest to power at great risk to herself. (tho lowkey she may lose her livelihood if the elves take over so there may be a bit of self interest there + her patron is in charge of some of it).

constantly asking shuro for his input bc she knows hes shy

able to support marcille when shes in tears after losing her dream falin and laios despite feeling awkward towards her (kinda interesting parallel w how shuro feels hes bad w laios

For the two of em, think laios failed them as their leader, so they leave. And afterwards, their relationship improves bc they can truely dedicate themselves to what they want from him as their friends--running a legendary sabatoge against the elf cops so he doesnt go to jail!!!

I think theres something to the fact shes the one shown being eaten by the lion when time stops. Then also the one in the mana realm happy that she’d never have to struggle or hunger again. Her whole life seemed to be cleaning up her fathers messes, getting cast out for her fathers messes, just a constant struggle w the dwarves not seeing her as someone worth being in their community and drifting around without a place to belong. Even tho she found ppl now it doesnt change what happened w her. It's sad. But she also accepts she has to go back and face the future.

her love for music and dance is interesting- how like something communal that draws others in spontaneously is something she feels close to

also interesting is her interactions w other races--seems like she primarily interacted w dwarves for the first few years of her life, w just tenous connections to people of other races and it was getting so suddenly ejected that got her there. No coincidence that shes the one who goes in between the orcs and elves towards the finale to go hey we are on the same side. Also not a coincidence she gets along so well w the twins who were abandoned by their families and taken in by gnomes but also always feeling a little out of place in that community.

Tansu clearly stand in for her dad : ( her mom walked out when she was young : ( honestly im really happy she gets a family of a sort w them.

Im also glad she still has her own interest in weaponry and design even tho its tainted w her fathers actions

Her friendship w shuro is so fun. You wouldn't expect them to get along so well bc they seem so different on the surface and namaris blunt in a way that ud think be offputting to shuro and he kinda indirect in a way that would piss her off but theyre very often on the same wavelength.

da warriors bond...no words are needed i think they might be using telepathy. once u get below the surface they have a lot in common.

family issues so severe it managed to creep onto a thrid person thats not their parent

pretty pragmatic ppl at their core (eg. shuros less mad about ancient magic being wrong and more that theyre gonna go to jail for 10000 years before chimera falin apears, his gripe about eating monsters seems more being about youll get food poisening that way etc. namari placing herself close to power in her new party, her insistance on getting paid, checkin the morgue for falin,when things get too complicated she focuses on what she can do now).

seemed to have suffered pretty badly under laios leadership

both seem to be treated as outcasts on the island, namari despite growing up there , shuro for being a forienger even tho 4/6 ppl on his party are foreign

theres interesting contrasts w her replacement senshi, in the way theyre both outcasts in the dwarven community and the way their family/partys legacies weigh heavily for them. but i ran out of steam

shes good at keeping ppl grounded and has a good inventory of ppls strengths. of the three ppl who left the party, i think she has the best potential to be a good leader at the start.

shes pretty linked to the community of adventurers as a whole but (u guessed it) i ran out of steam

I think a lot of her role in the story parallels w the theme that u need careful boundaries and consideration of other ppls needs to be an effective leader, something chilchuck hits upon a lot. but also you need to take care of your own needs first (senshis running theme) and be able to take good inventory of your desires to face the future (izutsumis running theme)

[belladonazeppole]

Come Alive

(I just couldn't leave you in a sad note @adyophene )

Husk was finally free.

He has his soul back but he was so afraid in taking the first step to Lucifer, if daring to move would reveal that all was an ilusion of true freedom.

Be free never look so scary.

Lucifer could see Husk hestiation on moving, how his eyes desire in be with him, 'You stumble through your days got your head hung low, your sky's a shade of gray.'

For a long time that was Husk life.

Full of grays and unable to lift his head with pride.

Not without seeing that smile.

'Like a zombie in a maze you're asleep inside, but you can shake awake cause you're just a dead man walking.' Ok, fucking rude but fair.

'Thinkin' that's your only option but you can flip the switch and brighten up your darkest day.' Easier said than done if he is honest but he gets what Lucifer wanted to say. 'Sun is up and the color's blinding take the world and redefine it, leave behind your narrow mind, you'll never be the same!'

He is right.

Husk wasn't in the same darkness anymore, his nightmare is finally over, they isn't anything or anyone that could control his world again. He wasn't the puppet of the radio demon, neither his "pal" and much less his fucking pet.

'Come alive!' He starts to slowly walk towards the king, a bit insecure at first but slowly he was making his way to the man who have his heart. At the sight of the cat-demon walking towards him the ruler helds his hand once more, like that time in the bar, he had the same look in his eyes. 'Come alive!'

A loving one.

Fuck he loves this man.

Once again lucifer spread his wings and takes a small jump still with his hand held towards him, waiting for him, 'Go and light your light, let it burn so bright reachin' up to the sky and it's open wide, you're electrified!' He winked at Husk making him snort in response,.

'And the world becomes a fantasy and you're more than you could ever be because you're dreamin' with your eyes wide open and you know you can't go back again—... To the world that I was livin' in because I was dreaming with my eyes wide open.' Husk just heard enough and takes finally Lucifer hand but this time he doesn't pull him down but flies to be with him.

This makes the king froze for a single moment to then look teary at the cat demon, 'So come alive I see it in your eyes!' He was overjoyed that the man who help him in his lowest and won his heart is finally getting his shine back.

That he was be free for the first time since he knew him.

That he wasn't afraid anymore.

With more conviction he sings, 'I believe that lie that I need to hide my face afraid to step outside so I lock the door, but don't I stay that way!' He won't lock anymore of himself, he wouldn't be agraid of wanting to give his heart again.

No living in fear.

No more fakes smiles.

The patronizing words.

No more of Alastor bullshit.

Now he would live his life once again at his fullest.

'No more livin' in those shadows!'He shouts loudly and with pride while glaring at his former owner, then turns to see Lucifer who look at him with foundness. 'You and me, we know how that goes.' He hugs Lucifer, the fear that once wrapped his body was finally gone.

Now was warmness what cover him.

At the feeling of Husk's arms around him the ruler of hell felt how his heart melt in happiness, 'Cause once you see it, oh, you'll never, never be the same!' His magic starts to cover Husk in golden light.

Now everybody would see Husk as he does.

'Little bit of lightnin' striking bottled up to keep on shining!'

'I can prove there's more to me!' 

He was still a loser.

A old gambler.

A has-been.

But he had more this time.

He has people to his side, his soul, his freedom, somebody who love him and more importanly he could spread his wings with pride once again. The light finally dims and shows Husk in his old (now new) suit back with his colors, no more red.

No more Alastor.

'I won't be afraid!'

[italiansteebie]

They’re sitting in Steve’s living room, squatting as Steve calls it. “What’s your song?” Steve’s eyes flicked over to meet Eddie’s. “C’mon, Steve. We’ve got everyone else’s. What's yours?” They’d been compiling a mixtape of all their Vecna songs. Y’know, the ones that would hopefully save them from a horrific death.  

Steve shrugged, “We’ve got all the important ones.” Deflecting, it’s what he does best. Robin snorts from the other side of the coffee table. “He’s probably embarrassed because it’s like… ABBA or something.”

“Hey! ABBA is iconic! You wouldn't know.” He defended, causing Eddie to let out a boisterous laugh. They moved on, getting the kids' songs burned on there, forgetting about Steve’s missing, unknown song. 

It wasn’t brought up again until later that night. Eddie and Robin were the only ones who remained. Besides Steve, of course, who lives there. They were curled up on the couch, an old movie playing on the TV, audio softly in the background. They’re high, and getting a bit too honest. “If “Master of Puppets” hadn’t saved my life, my song would probably be something by Bruce Springsteen.” Steve scoffed at that, “and you make fun of me for ABBA?” Robin snorted, “He got ya there, leather boy.” Eddie arched an eyebrow, “I'm not even… Wearing leather right now,” He laughed, “Anyways. Bruce is Wayne’s favorite. We listened to him all the time when I first got there.” Steve softened at that, leaning over to give Eddie a peck on the forehead and pull him into a tight hug. “That’s sweet, Eds.”

Eddie smiled before turning to Steve, “You still haven’t told us your song!” He accused. Steve had the nerve to look accosted. Robin nodded along, “Yeah, what is it, Dingus!” She bumped her shoulder against his. Steve sighed, “You guys….” He whined. “You probably won’t even know it!” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Quit being dramatic Steve. Just tell us.” 

“Fine! Fine… It’s Lonely Boy by Andrew Gold. I heard it first when I was 5… The nanny at the time looked at me… and I could just tell she was thinking ‘wow, this is your song, Steve.’ Because that’s what I was… I am…” It felt good, in the end, to get it off his chest, but the way Eddie and Robin were looking at him now is the exact reason he didn’t want to share. 

Eddie looked at him, eyes shining. “Oh, Stevie…” He whispered. “That's why I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want to bring the mood down.” He sighed, eyes shifting to Robins who looked just as sad as Eddie.

“Well… You’re not lonely anymore, right? You’ve got us.” Robin said shyly, a tone that didn’t fit her well. Steve smiled, “Yeah. I’ve got you.” He turned and gave Eddie a soft kiss, whispering “And I’ve got you too.” A warm smile spread across his face, but the moment was quickly over when Robin shouted “EW! Get a room.” Smile returning to her face. Steve rolled his eyes fondly, pushing at her shoulder until she fell over, eventually rolling off the couch. “This is my house!” He laughed. 

Maybe it’s time to figure out a new song. 

----

the lyrics to steve's song:

He was born on a summer day 1951

And with a slap of a hand

He landed as an only son

His mother and father said what a lovely boy

We'll teach him what we learned

Ah yes just what we learned

We'll dress him up warmly and

We'll send him to school

It'll teach him how to fight

To be nobody's fool

Oh, oh what a lonely boy

Oh what a lonely boy

Oh what a lonely boy

In the summer of '53 his mother

Brought him a sister

And she told him we must attend to her needs

She's so much younger than you

Well he ran down the hall and he cried

Oh how could his parents have lied

When they said he was an only son

He thought he was the only one

Oh, oh what a lonely boy

Oh what a lonely boy

Oh what a lonely boy

Goodbye mama, goodbye to you

Goodbye papa I'm pushing on through

He left home on a winter day 1969

And he hoped to find all the love

He had lost in that earlier time

Well his sister grew up

And she married a man

He gave her a son

Ah yes a lovely son

They dressed him up warmly

They sent him to school

It taught him how to fight

To be nobody's fool

Oh, oh what a lonely boy

Oh what a lonely boy

Oh what a lonely boy

Oh, oh, oh, oh what a lonely boy

Oh what a lonely boy

Oh what a lonely boy

[estrellami-1]

Okay my love I’m sending you a sad and pathetic prompt and then a cutesy fluff prompt (I thought about just sending you the cute one, I feel like all I’m doing these last few days is feeling awful and not being very productive or fun to be around and I think I was just wallowing when I wrote that comment so absolutely feel free disregard this one if you want) this is the sad one, I was thinking more hurt/comfort vibes:

This is just basically self insert except it’s not me I’m inserting it’s my situation lol, one of their relatives passes away (not Wayne) and on top of that they have to find homes for their loved ones pets that they loved the most of anything in the world when everyone is just telling them to euthanize or that everywhere is full and they’re four states and 16 hours away from the pets so it’s not like they can go pick them up easily if at all, which causes them to get sick/throw up a ton from the sadness and anxiety about the situation - enter the other who takes care of them to make sure they don’t worry themselves to death (if anyone wants to come take care of me and maybe just give me about 3000 hugs a day we could make this a live action roleplay situation lol🥺)

(Sorry this is just me complaining pretty much, the other prompt will be cuter)

Oh my love, you’re allowed to feel bad and wallow. I’m so sorry this happened/is happening!! I can’t give you any real hugs but I’ll give you ALL the virtual hugs I can ❤️

When the World Ends - Part 1

Steve’s voice is trembling when he finally makes the call to Eddie. “Hey,” he manages, letting out a pathetic, airy laugh at how badly his voice shakes on that one word. “Um. Can. Can you come over?”

Eddie’s amazing, so he says, “I’ll be there in ten,” and he is. As soon as Steve opens the door, he murmurs, “What’s wrong?”

Steve bites his lip, invites Eddie in. “Y’know how I never mention my parents?” Eddie hums. “But I always leave in the spring for a couple weeks?”

Eddie nods. “Your grandparents, right?”

Steve nods. Bites his lip again, looks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. “Um.” He sniffs. “My grandpa passed today.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, reaching for him until Steve shakes his head sharply. “What can I do?”

Steve huffs. “What can anyone do?” He wipes his face and begins to pace. “My grandma’s too old to stay on her own now, let alone with all the animals they’ve got, and of course it’s not like her own son would help, not when he could be in Cabo instead, finding new ways to cheat on my mom with his secretary or assistant or her secretary or who the fuck knows. And I want to help but I can’t leave Hawkins, not when everyone else is still here, and there’s still a chance, but it feels so selfish not to go when she needs me-”

“Steve,” Eddie interrupts softly, hands up between them. “Take a breath, man, it’ll be okay. I know you love your grandparents but this isn’t all on you, okay?”

Steve slumps back into the couch like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Says, barely above a whisper, “I’ve got animals out there.”

Eddie hums softly. “What did you say?”

“Animals. Pets. I can’t have them here so my grandparents have ‘em. I’ve got a dog and chickens and a horse and what ‘m I gonna do with them?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Eddie promises him.

Steve groans and stands up again, beginning to pace again. “They’re four states away, Eddie! I don’t have a horse trailer, I dunno anyone in Hawkins who has chickens so I dunno if that’s even allowed, and I can’t bring my dog here!” He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing. “I guess the horse could go back to the neighbor, but they gave her to me for a reason, and I dunno what’s gonna happen to the chickens, and imma have to give the dog away, too, and get my grandma somewhere she can be taken care of, and fuck, there’s still the house-” he chokes on an inhale and a sob, standing still for a moment before he dashes through the house.

Eddie watches, wide-eyed, and follows when the sound of retching reaches his ears. “Oh, Stevie,” he murmurs, dropping to his knees beside him, hand hovering over his back. “Can I touch you? Rub your back?” Between gasping breaths, Steve nods, so Eddie puts a gentle hand on his back, rubbing up and down. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs. “I know how scary this all seems right now, but you’re the strongest person I know, ‘sides Wayne, and you’ve got people who care about you and who’re gonna be here for you very step of the way, okay?”

The puppeteer cuts the strings once again, and Steve sags sideways into Eddie, trying to regulate his breathing, still quietly choking on his sobs. “Want me to call Birdie?” Eddie asks quietly, moving his hand to wrap his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve shakes his head. Says, between breaths, “She’d panic.”

Eddie hums. “And you wanna be okay for her when she panics.” Steve nods. “Okay, I get that. I’m glad you called me.”

Steve sniffles. Eddie hands him some toilet paper. Says, after he’s blown his nose, “Feels like the world’s ending.”

Eddie thrown back into a memory from months ago. “If the world ends again, you know where I am,” he’d said. He hadn’t been sure, at the time, if Steve would call him. But they stayed friends, to the point where Steve calling him wasn’t quite the rarity it used to be, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever felt so honored.

“And you called me,” he murmurs, back in the present day, knees sore from the bathroom tile. He knows they’re going to pop like an old man’s when he stands. He decides not to worry about that right now.

Steve nods. “Knew you’d come.”

“And I did,” Eddie nods. Rubs his hand up and down Steve’s arm. “How’re you feeling?”

Steve sniffs again. “Like shit.”

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle. “I probably should’ve guessed. Ready to get up? Or wanna stay here for a minute?”

“Wanna stay here forever,” he says, but shifts to get up.

He stumbles a little when he stands, hissing. Eddie steadies him. “Legs’re asleep.”

“That’s okay, Stevie, I’ve gotcha. Come rinse your mouth out, m’kay? We’re going back to bed. I’m gonna make a few calls, okay?”

Steve won’t look at him in the mirror. “Gonna leave?”

“Not unless you want me to,” Eddie swears. Steve meets his eyes for a brief second. Shakes his head. “Then I’ll stay until you get sick of me.”

Steve manages a shaky smile. “Not possible.”

Eddie sighs contentedly. “Rinse your mouth out,” he gently reminds him. “Let’s get you up to bed.”

When Steve’s in bed, Eddie turns to leave, then turns back just as quickly when Steve grabs his hand. “You’re not leaving?”

Eddie squeezes his hand. “Not leaving. Just gonna make a quick call.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers, but his breathing picks up again, and Eddie changes his mind.

He bullies his way under the covers next to Steve, pulling him in until his face is tucked into Eddie’s neck and Eddie can rub his back. The call can wait until Steve’s asleep, so he can get back before Steve wakes up.

Steve’s world is ending. That’s every bit as important as the world itself ending. So Eddie resigns himself to stand guard over Steve’s dreams, keeping them happy as best he can.

I hope y’all liked this! The fic tag is the name (“#whentheworldends”) and my writing tag is “#starambles”. Remember I’m NOT doing a taglist for these, so subscribe to either to see where this goes next! Send me an ask with the next thing you want to happen in this fic!