#they're showing pity for something they think you're missing out on

[queerpumpkinnn]

You Snooze You Lose

3.9k words

Summary: you're just about to give up on the dating scene altogether, so who better than your neighbor friend to show you how good dates usually end? can you tell this is my favorite trope

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader (can be interpreted as older!Eddie)

Warnings: piercedtongue!Eddie, softdom!Eddie, mention of reader having an awkward date, alcohol (both consume but they're not drunk), Eddie refers to reader as princess/pretty and reader is afab but pronouns and clothing style is up for interpretation, Eddie picks up reader, thigh riding, choking, brief weed mention, fingering, oral sex, singular biblical reference?? (not counting someone saying 'oh god' or something of the like, kinda vague i think it'll probably go over a lot of people's heads), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling (eddie receiving), mentions of voyeurism, reader begs a lot a lot a lot, unprotected sex and creampie (this is fiction, wrap it before you tap it), nipple play, panty sniffing and stealing, scratching (eddie receiving), Eddie's mouth (however you're interpreting this the answer is yes), heaps of praise, sprinkle of dumbification, squirting, Eddie is a pleasure dom through and through, let me know if I missed anything

While reading, I recommend you listen to the altar is my hips - a Spotify playlist by me!

~

Your head fell back against the car, inhaling deeply and heaving a long sigh that devolved into something of a groan. Your social battery was impossibly drained.

You had just come from another pitiful excuse of a date, someone from work that a mutual friend had set you up with. It wasn't a total disaster, but it didn't leave you with butterflies either. But you were home now, so you could forget about the experience for the timebeing.

A voice calling your name pulled you from your thoughts. It was one you recognized immediately as your next door neighbor, Eddie. When your eyes located him you saw him sauntering out of his open garage towards your driveway, beer in one hand and jean pocket over the other. His chunky boots set in stone his walk, so casual and powerful, and oh god he's right in front of you now.

"You must be doing some serious thinking out here," Eddie chuckled, leaning on your car opposite you. "Either that or there's more to that tree than meets the eye because you've been staring at it for the last five minutes."

You chuckled back at him. "You've been watching me?"

"With a face like that, it'd be a crime not to."

There it was again. That little game you and Eddie played. Even from your first day in the neighborhood Eddie welcomed you with his abrasive charm and an open invitation to his services on a car. Which he seemed to exercise often- his garage door was often open during the afternoons, blasting music as he sat under his car doing god knows what. He never failed to wave and wink at you as you pulled into the driveway every day as you came home from work.

As you became more accustomed to him, your friendship evolved into frequent Friday night hangouts, sitting on the ground in the living room with a six pack talking about anything and everything.

You hated to admit it, but it didn't take long for your cheeks and ears to start to get embarrassingly red in front of Eddie, especially when your conversation topics became more, well, intimate. Whether or not he'd picked up on it, you didn't know- nothing had ever come of your little crush; you'd been content to leave that between you and your vibrator.

"Kid? Y'alright?"

There you go again. You shook your head, blinking a few times before shooting him an apologetic smile.

"Yeah, sorry."

"You seem a bit on edge. Wanna talk about it?"

You shrug. "It's nothing, really. Just got home from a date."

"Assuming it didn't go well?"

"It wasn't bad, it just- I don't know, it felt forced."

Eddie hummed, nodding lightly. "I hear ya. Tell y'what, take ten to get settled and let me clean up, then come over, we'll break out a couple of bottles and you can tell me all about it, yeah?"

"Sounds great," you agreed, and Eddie gave you a playful salute before sauntering back to his own driveway- which you may or may not have watched for a little too long.

Once you'd changed into more casual attire, you took the short walk down the street to Eddie's house. By this time, the sun was half set, and his garage had been shut, the only evidence that someone was home being the lights on in the kitchen.

"There you are. Was starting to worry," Eddie grinned at you as soon as the door swung open. You noted a flash of silver behind his teeth as his tongue swiped against his side teeth, and the tickling in your lower gut a moment later.

"Aw, you worry about me?"

“All the time, sweetheart,” the man flashed a grin, stepping aside to welcome you inside. "So, what's gotcha down?"

You heaved a groan, plopping onto his couch. "It's such a long story, I'm not even sure I have it in me to tell the whole thing. But he treated me like one of the guys. I mean, I want us to be friends too, but..." you clicked your tongue and sighed, words escaping you.

Meanwhile Eddie just watched you, arm slung over the back cushion across from you on the other side of the L of the couch. His beer bottle rested on his knee, balanced by his hand. "You wanted to be romanced."

"Yeah, I guess so. He didn't even make sure I got to my car safely."

Eddie's eyed widened, head cocking in disbelief. "Are you kidding?" When you shook your head no, he flung his hands in the air. "That's not even romantic! I do that for my friend's kids I drive around because I don't want them getting kidnapped!"

"I know, I know. That's not even the worst part."

Eddie scoffed. "What could possibly be worse?"

"Let's just say I know more about his bowel happenings than I would like to."

Eddie wrinkled his nose, sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Yeah, y'know princess, I get the feeling he's not your soulmate." He set his bottle down with a clink on the wood, running his hands up his thighs. "Man, even I could do better."

Something in your stomach turned over at the thought. Eddie seemed to notice your change in demeanor, however slight, and set his bottle down.

"Could you?"

Although it was after a few long, heavy seconds, the words escaped you faster than your brain could process them. Eddie's eyebrows twitched in something mixing amusement and bewilderment.

"I could," he mused. You swore that when he shifted his legs opened a little bit wider. "'Least your night wouldn't end complaining to a friend over a beer."

"Oh yeah? How would my night have ended?"

Eddie cocked a brow, lips curling.

You tilted your head to the side, eyeing him. Another long, heavy moment settled between you two, where you sat staring at one another.

Then your mouth moved of its own accord.

"Show me."

Slowly, so slowly, Eddie stood. sauntered over to where you sat. He watched you like a hawk, mischievous eyes captivating yours. A single, calloused hand reached out to your jaw, tilting it up a bit so that you were facing him. Eddie's mouth quirked up at the new sight.

"Y'want me to show you how your night should've ended, princess?" He crooned. You nodded dumbly, earning another chuckle. "Show you how you deserve to be treated, hm?"

Before you could give a response, Eddie's mouth was on yours, slow and deliberate and relaxed, seeming to simultaneously pull tension from your bones and set your skin on fire. Your fingers reached for his jacket, tugging him closer. Eddie gripped the couch back behind you to hold his weight, other hand coming to cup the back of your neck, slinking into your hair. His thumb rested on your pulse, smirking a little when he felt it racing.

"Pretty thing," he murmured in between hot kisses, "are you sure about this?"

"So sure, Eddie, please," you breathed, tugging his jacket off; the leather was cool to the touch, nice on your searing fingertips.

You could feel his mouth quirk up at your desperation. The hand that held the couch came down to your legs, lighting fire in their wake and finding the crook under your knee, tugging outwards. Heat brewed in your core at the implication- fueled even more so when Eddie pulled back with a grunt to tug his jacket away. Your eyes seemed to be locked in on his, somehow darker and lit with something primal. His kiss-bitten lips hung open in a lazy grin.

"C'mere, pretty." Eddie's hands grip your thighs with a searing mix of worship and need, pulling them apart and tugging you towards the end of the couch by the crooks under your knees. You let out a squeak, breaking quickly into a stifled hum of pleasure as his mouth found and made quick work of your neck, kissing and nipping and licking with that damn ball of metal down the front of your throat, hands splaying over your thighs appreciatively all the while.

"Eddie," your voice had risen into a near whine, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. All thoughts were clouded with his storm- his breath fanning your jaw, warmth radiating onto your body, almost chest to chest, hands teasing dangerously high.

"Hm?"

"Please, please Eddie..." you weren't sure what you were asking for, really, you just knew you wanted more of him. However he would give himself to you you would gladly take.

"Please what? Y'know I'm all yours, honey, I'll give you everything you want and then some but I can't help you if I don't know what that is."

"More," you huffed, reaching for his wrists.

"More?" Eddie teased; the condescending lilt in his tone was overwhelmingly obvious, but in your frenzied state you only nodded limply. Your hand tugged at his, and he followed your lead as you dragged his hand towards your neck, pressing at the back of his hand to indicate what you wanted him to do.

"Oh? Princess likes choking, huh?" The excitement in Eddie's voice was hardly containable, but he managed to play it off cooler than how he really felt- like a dog who just heard dinner being poured into his bowl. "That is interesting."

Eddie's grip on your neck wasn't really that strong, but it made your head spin nonetheless, eliciting a weak, content noise from you.

"There we go, fuckin' love hearing that." Eddie gave a kiss to your cheek, his other hand occupied with sending shock waves down to your gut as his fingers walked up the back of your leg. "What else does princess want, hm?"

You only let out a whine, too engrossed with the building, unbearable heat in between your legs, which, at the sound of his nickname, twitched further open.

Lucky for you, Eddie picked up on that immediately. "Aw, sweet thing, shoulda told me." He tuts, moving both hands under you and rearranging the two of you so that your crotch was hovering over his thigh, other leg hooking onto yours so that you were spread open for him.

"Here we go honey, y'wanna use my leg, hm? Get yourself off?" His words were muffled by the skin of your shoulder.

Realistically you knew you wouldn't be able to orgasm from dry humping his thigh alone, but God you were so eager for friction you were willing to try. You whimpered an 'mhm', setting yourself down on his leg- even that small touch made you gasp. Eddie's hands reached for your ass, helping you grind down onto him, nearly knocking the breath out of you when the contact you so desperately craved turned into a wildfire of need.

"That's it, sweetheart, keep going. 'S'it feel good? Yeah?" He mimicked your whimper of response, proud grin never faltering, even as he nipped at your jaw. His hands, firm, surprisingly gentle for how rough and calloused they felt, traveled from your ass to your waist, fingertips slinking under the hem of your shirt.

"Can we take this off, princess? Want to see you, pretty please let me see you." His voice was low and sultry and had goosebumps rising on your back. You whined an 'mhm', the thought of what he was going to do when you were topless spurring you to pull it over your head yourself.

Once your chest was bared to him, Eddie's hands, trailing lightly enough to tickle, found your poor, sensitive nipples, thumbs brushing over them enough to make you jolt, gasping in surprise.

"Eddie, Eddie- fuck, more, need more, please," you cried, hand flying to his hair when his head dipped to lick over your chest. Whether it was to tug him away or keep him there, you didn't know.

"Aw, I know, you're just insatiable, aren't you?" Eddie gave you his best faux sympathetic voice, and for a minute you actually thought he might feel sorry for you, like it wasn't his plan all along to get you worked up like this.

Eddie's hands worked under your legs, pulling you closer to him before hoisting you up, stomping somewhere in the house you'd only visited a handful of times and never under this circumstance- his bedroom.

It was a dimly lit room, smelling faintly of weed, but you weren't given much time to take in the sights because Eddie plopped you down on his bed, immediately towering over you, caging you in with his arms. His curls tickled your face, then your neck when he moved there. A few sloppy kisses quickly turned heated again when his leg wedged itself between yours. You took the opportunity, however fleeting, to rut yourself against the material.

But this time Eddie gripped your hips, pinning you down. "Patience honey, I'm getting there." The glint of warning in his eyes had you nearly shaking in excitement. A glimmer inside of you wondered what he'd be like if you ignored his warnings.

Eddie slithered down, slowly, kissing his way down to your navel. You willed your hips to stay down, not to lean into his touch, but they did anyway. Your eyes fell shut, head falling back and fingers finding the pillow for something to weakly grip onto.

But a tap on your hipbone snapped them open, looking down at a pair of big brown eyes staring up at you, hovering over your cunt. Knowing what he was asking, you responded with lifting your hips, making it easy for Eddie to slip your bottoms down Your phone nearly fell out of your back pocket from the force with which he flung them, as if he detested the fabric for its audacity to cover you up.

"Good, doing so good." Eddie gave your thighs a squeeze, smiling up at you with something a little kinder, more endearing than the smirk he'd donned the whole evening. With another squeeze, his head dipped down close to your clothed cunt. You swore you could hear him inhale, but your train of thought was halted when Eddie licked a fat stripe up the front of your underwear, sending shocks to your already hypersensitive clit.

"God- fuck!" You tried to clap a hand over your mouth, but Eddie tugged it away as quickly as it came.

"Y'doin' alright, princess? You seem a little tense." Eddie's teasing lilt came from somewhere under you, you could see the grin even through closed eyes. You opened them anyways. His smile was turned into something more playful, a glimpse of the boyish humor he always charmed you with. His head leaned against your thigh like a puppy, pouting up at you with false concern.

"Wonder fuckin' why," you gritted through your teeth, throwing your head back in exasperation.

"Easy tiger," Eddie chuckled, fingers pulling your underwear down- this time you definitely heard an inhale. You heard him mutter something along the lines of "saving these for later."

Eddie's fingers were quick to find you again, thumbs brushing over the joint between your thighs and your pussy, as if he thought the action was soothing and not setting you on fire.

You let out a strangled sound. "Eddie, I swear, if you don't fucking touch me-"

"You'll what?" Eddie's brow raised. His gaze alone made any snide remark die on your tongue.

As if on cue, your phone, long forgotten on the edge of your bed, lit up with an incoming call.

"Well?" Eddie prompted. You reached for the phone, seeing the absolute last name you cared to see illuminating the screen. You gulped, a tinge of guilt seeping in.

"Ah, I think I know who it is." Eddie chuckled, forehead knocking into your thigh as he made a poor attempt to hide his thorough amusement. "Well? Y'gonna answer it?"

You paused, made a face. You didn't even want to talk to him, really.

Eddie barked out a laugh at your reaction. "Shame. He could've learned a thing or two."

You giggled, but it quickly turned into a loud moan as Eddie's tongue, followed by that damn metal ball in the middle, began teasing circles over your clit. Somehow you were both infinitely relieved and worked up even more. Your phone was long forgotten, flung a little too far as, somewhere in the back of your brain, you heard it clatter on the wooden floor. Not that you could be brought to care, not with the way Eddie's tongue felt tracing your weeping hole.

"Fuck, all this for me? Sweet thing, if I knew how good this pretty pussy was sooner." You wondered momentarily what the end of that sentence was, but with his lips around your clit you weren't too worried. Ceaseless and electric his mouth was, bringing you slowly but surely towards that high you'd been chasing fervently for an hour now.

"Eddie, Eddie, I'm gonna- fuck! So good, Eddie, I'm gonna come, pleasepleaseplease-" You could barely understand yourself speak, so lost in your cloud of pleasure. But Eddie seemed to understand perfectly, cooing sweet praises into your cunt as he shook his head back and forth.

"Gonna cum, princess? Go on, you've earned it. Been so good, so patient f'me. Good, good, let go." He pulled both of your hands towards your lower stomach, interlacing them with his.

The noises you made as you unraveled under his marvelous touch were downright pornographic, downright sinful. One might be tempted to say you'd forgotten how to blush, but the heat in your cheeks would have shot down the theory. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, pulling pure electric heat from your sex as you writhed and shivered from Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

But when the pleasure subsided into jolts, Eddie didn't stop. His tongue continued tracing your clit languidly, and- oh- a new sensation at your core had you squeezing his hands.

"Eddie, ohmygod-" Quickly you realized what he was doing, one finger prodding around your entrance before sinking into your embarrassingly wet cunt, which welcomed him. Your back arched when his finger curled, a guttural sound ripping from your throat as he pushed deeper, searching for that spot, the one that would ensure a noise complaint from a few neighbors.

"Shh, you're okay, you're doing so well, hm? So well, yeah, relax- just like that." Eddie hummed, another finger joining the first and a high-pitched moan from you following shortly after.

And then he found it. That damn spot deep in your gut, and he bullied it with his fingertips over and over and over again.

"Eddie!" His name fell from your mouth like a hymn, moans almost swallowed by the pillow you tugged to cover your face when the brief thought of the neighbors made you a slight bit guilty. Your second orgasm of the night was coming at you full steam ahead, much easier to find from your oversensitivity as well as the new sensation that joined his thumb swiping over your clit.

"That's it, princess, give me another. G'na get you nice and ready, yeah?" Ready for what, you had an idea that sparked, if possible, even more delicious heat in between your legs.

You were animalistic at this point, nearly screaming for him to make you come again. You almost sobbed when his fingers pulled out from you, hands reaching weakly for him.

"Easy, easy, I know. Gonna make it worth your wait, mm? You want my cock, sweet thing?"

Your mouth salivated at the mention, and you immediately propped up onto your elbows to watch him line himself up with you.

"Please, Eddie, please," you sighed, head lolling back.

And there it was, that delicious stretch that had your mind reeling and fingernails digging into Eddie's inked shoulders.

"Oh, oh oh, so good, so good, Eddie, right there!"

Your hands were grabbing for every bit of him you could find. Tugging his hair, scratching down his back, pulling his neck down into a searing, heavy-breath kiss.

"Fuck, princess, keep clenching and I won't last." Eddie grunted into your mouth. His hand, previously pressing onto your lower stomach, pulled your legs so that your ankles rested over his shoulders, bending down a little so that he could move deeper, and did it have you seeing stars.

"Keep- ah- keep going, please, 'm gonna cum, gonna- Eddie!"

Your cunt convulsed around Eddie's cock, throbbing inside of you as you felt white-hot release wash over you. You sobbed into Eddie's pillow, chanting his name as he overwhelmed you with praise. Eddie fucked you through it as best he could, but you could feel he was slowing down, spurts of wet heat in your gut moments later.

"Oh, baby... didn't know you could do that." Eddie was grinning like an idiot, incredulous grin staring down at his thighs. Dizzy, you looked down where he was staring like he just won the lottery.

His thighs were splattered with what you could only guess was your own arousal, even a few drops on his stomach.

"Oh my god," you flopped your head back, hand covering your eyes and trying to cover your embarrassed smile.

"Hey, that was hot." Eddie pulled your hand away, giving you that same sweet smile, squeezing your thigh before pulling himself out. You winced at the feeling, guilt following as you realized his sheets were definitely soiled.

You let out a long exhale, mind still racing. Eddie, having tucked himself into a new pair of pants, watched you. When he concludes you've had a moment to sit and think, he strokes your arm.

"Hey, cutie. You alright there?"

"Uh huh."

Eddie chuckled at the stupid smile you're sure you wore. "C'mon, gotta get you cleaned up."

"Yeah- sorry about your sheets."

Eddie pursed his lips, shrugged. "It was worth it, don't you think?" You attempted to stand, but Eddie held up a hand. "Allow me."

Eddie carried you into his bathroom, seating you carefully onto the toilet before excusing himself. He came back a moment later with your phone, wet wipes, and a glass of water.

You and Eddie fell into more casual conversation- the latter participant heavy on the cocky jokes- it was comforting. He'd offered you to stay the night; not like you hadn't conked out on his couch before anyways.

Brushing your teeth with your finger, you tapped your phone to check the time- and almost knocked it from the sink.

"FUCK." You nearly sprayed toothpaste foam all over Eddie's mirror, holding the phone inches from your face in case your vision had somehow failed you the first time.

"What, what what??" Eddie shouted from the shower, a bottle clattering on the tile shortly after.

You spat your foam out, coughing. You pulled the curtain open enough to push your phone into the shower to show him the time and name of your most recent call.

A pfft noise followed by loud cackling echoed off the tiles. "Oh shit! Y'think he got a show too, sure it wasn't FaceTime?"

Meanwhile you sunk your head into your hands in utter mortification.

Although a tiny part of you was laughing too.

~

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[luveline]

needy reader with eddie when he’s been gone all day with a club meeting! pls it’s been on my mind :3

eddie is secretly just as clingy ♡ gn!reader / shy!reader | 1k words

You're lying in Eddie's bed, restless. Sick of staring at his things but too shy to snoop properly for something interesting to do, you wait for him to get back from his club impatiently. You wiggle your toes in your socks and dig them under the bedsheets, curling up in the centre of his bed with a morose pout. You bury your face in his pillows and breathe in the smell of his shampoo, his cologne. 

You forget what you're waiting for and end up dozing off, hands wrapped around one of his pillows, the sheets tangled between your legs. 

A warm hand clasps your shoulder, massaging gently downwards until he's found your hand. Eddie slides his fingers through yours, the warm bulk of his rings pressing into your skin. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he says. 

You blink at him through tired eyes and grin when you realise he's home. "You're back," you murmur, rubbing your face into his pillow. 

He brings his free hand to your forehead. 

"Sorry. Meeting ran over. Bored without me?" he asks knowingly. 

You wrinkle your nose at him and sit up. He's quick to help you, a lean arm wrapped behind your shoulders, his hand slowly drifting to the small of your back. You drop your head against his shoulder. 

"You want a hug?" he asks. 

You nod hurriedly, not wanting to sound clingy but absolutely being it. He makes a pitying sound that's actually quite nice and wraps you up confidently, his hand rubbing down the lengths of your arms, his cheek pressed to your temple. 

"I missed you," you croak. 

"I missed you," he says fondly. "You want water?" 

"No," you lie. 

What you want is for him to keep hugging you close like this, the warmth of his body sinking into yours, his thigh crushing your leg. You feel very safe. 

"You were gone all day," you say quietly. 

It's dark out. The only light in Eddie's room is the weak lamp on the bedside table. It casts his shadow across the rumpled sheets and gives his pale face an orange glow. 

You feel bad for being so needy suddenly and go to pull away. He gives you a great last squeeze and let's you go, though he takes one of your hands into both of his and works your fingers with his thumbs. 

"You can have me all day tomorrow. Swears," he says. He's giving you a look you don't understand,  maybe a hint of longing, a dash of apology. Whatever it is, he's too cool for it, and he clears his throat and nudges your legs with his knee. 

"Move over." 

"Get changed first," you say. 

"Not like it's my bed, or anything," he mutters, though he does as you demand and drops your hand.

You watch him change out of his club shirt and his Levi's. Usually you wouldn't but you've missed him and you want to make him laugh, so when he stands in his boxers and stretches whilst looking for something clean to sleep in, you wolf whistle. 

You're not very good. You wipe your spit wet hands against your chest and grin as he turns on his heel, eyebrows raised. 

"That wasn't me," you say. 

"No?" he asks. 

You both laugh and as soon as he's pulled a pair of plaid bottoms on he's crawling up the bed towards you on knees, pausing before your lap. He kneels. Shirtless. 

You raise your hand to the tattoo on his chest and draw a circle around it, following lines of dark ink diligently. 

"I love your tattoos," you say. 

He already knows but he smiles wolfishly and presses his hand overtop yours, two palms over his heart. 

"Thanks." 

"I'm serious. They're nice. They look good on you." 

"I didn't think you weren't. I can tell what mood you're in," he says, first kindly and then with a charged smugness. 

"What mood am I in?" you ask, trying not to show the effect he has on you.

"What mood?" he repeats dryly. 

His smirk is troublesome but extremely endearing. 

He guides the hand he holds to his chest over the curve of his shoulder. You follow suit and put your other shoulder behind his back, unsurprised when he takes your waist into his hand and drags you towards him. You climb onto his lap, thighs spread, hands closing around his neck. 

He strokes your back. His hand moves up and down, your shirt moves with it, and he takes it as an opportunity to slide his hand beneath the soft fabric and spread his fingers across your skin. 

"What mood?" he asks again, voice low and smooth. 

You hide your face in the juncture of his neck, forearms braces at his nape. "Stop, Eddie." 

"Stop what?" he asks. 

You slide up his lap. "You know what." 

"Don't act like this isn't exactly what you wanted," he says, though he says it with less heat than he'd spoken with before. "I'm just messing with you, sweet thing." 

The pet name makes you smile. He must feel it on his skin. "Better now?" 

You nod into his neck. "I miss you when you're gone all day." 

There's a small gap where the only sound is his hand rubbing your back. He digs his fingers into the dip of your spine and rubs soothing little circles there that have you sighing out. 

"I miss you too. Already told you that. You should come with me next time." 

"I will," you say, though you probably won't. 

He noses at your head until you drop your cheek to his shoulder and plants a smattering of tiny kisses on and behind your ear. "Don't believe you," he whispers.

He really shouldn't. You hug him closer and revel in his small affections, content to sit in his lap all night. Knowing Eddie, he might let you. 

[cowboyfromh3ll]

gonna keep the shy reader hcs party going and kindly request how arthur, john, and charles (and any other characters you might have added) would tease her once they’ve been together for a little while. who likes flustering her the most and who would get away with it the longest before she realizes he’s doing it on purpose 👀 as for the smutty part, what’s their favorite ways to rile her up before taking pity and giving her what she wants (i imagine some would be nicer than others lol)

Shy!Reader HC Ft. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith (Smut)

Y'all love your shy reader hcs

Warnings: smut

Arthur Morgan

I feel like Arthur wouldn't be too big of a tease but when he is, they're very non consequential things

You fell off your horse? You were hunting together and missed the shot by a lot? You hurt yourself trying to do something daring on a job? He'd be like omg come over here lemme fix it for you baby

His goal is never to make you feel less than or somehow incompetent with his teasing

But oh you got syrup all over your face and hands? You buttoned your shirt incorrectly? You snort when you laugh? He's gonna keep going until you're blushing and giggling at him to stop

Even if there's nothing wrong with your outfit he'll go over to you and find SOMETHING to fix

Will spend an unnecessary amount of time fixing your collar or scarf

It'd probably be pretty easy to tell what he's trying to do, not very slick

Would compliment you to try and make you blush but he just ends up making himself blush

If you're insecure over something he'll make sure to compliment that aspect of you over and over again

Flirts with the idea of marriage and kids one day and that'll have you SWOONING

Sometimes he'll rub your belly when you talk about it and it'll make you CRUMBLE

NSFW

Oh he's gonna be such a big tease, and he'll do it perfectly

Does it in a way that can be passed off as accidentally and goes unnoticed by anyone else but you

Rubs his crotch on you while making his way past behind you

Subtly brushes your thigh or ass with his hand

Kisses up your neck until you're all hot and bothered and pulls away before saying he's gotta do something

If y'all are sitting around a table in a group setting he'll have you on his lap so you can feel him harden. Keeps playing poker like nothing

If you're sitting next to him he'll place his hand on your inner thigh but never moving it close enough to where you want it

His favorite way to rile you up is to touch you all over during make outs then never going past that

Takes pity on you when he sees you get genuinely frustrated, thinks it's hilarious though

Charles Smith

He's so subtle with it that you wouldn't even catch it until a few seconds later

You gotta think about it before you truly get it

You could complain about how hot it is and he'll recommend you take off your clothes

Oh you say your backs hurting? Charles recommended course of action is visiting him at his tent tonight so he can fix it wink wink

You'll actually show up and he'll actually be surprised you haven't gotten it yet

Will give you a massage nonetheless

Would take you a while to pick up on it and that's the beauty of it to Charles

Would do things without the intention of making you blush but if he notices something does he'll keep at it

You like it when he plays with your hair? Then he'll braid it and put flowers in it and rave about how beautiful it is

Hands you flowers and tells you it reminded him of you

Makes you little trinkets and objects and says the most flowery things about how he tried to make it a fraction of how beautiful you are

NSFW

Like his aforementioned forms of teasing, he'll do just that

In fact, in times where you do catch on, he'll pretend like he never meant it that way and you're the one who's trying to get something going

Will give you THAT LOOK when you're together in public and you BOTH know you won't be able to do anything for hours

During make outs he'll rub your inner thighs or ass or sides but never touching you where you need it.

His hands are very light, his touches never heavy handed

He'd give in real easy to you. Just pout or give him puppy eyes and he'll give in

Even being bold enough to tell him what you want will have him in a trance

He's a giver so he can never deny you for too long for his own satisfaction

John Marston

Oh my God his teasing definitely goes too far

I don't mean that in a cute way I mean he probably ends up hurting your feelings because he does not know when to stop

Sucks at flirting

Your shy nature just makes it more awkward

But once you get used to his failed attempts at being coquettish you'll be able to recognize when he's trying to flirt

Is probably super obvious when he's trying and when he's successful he'll actually make you blush

His successful attempts are probably unintentional. Says something he won't think will land but is surprised when it works

Excuses himself for a moment and celebrates a few feet away before turning like normal

He has like a time to cool down on successful flirting. Only successful once every three days or something like that

Tries to compliment you but it comes out awkwardly and stiff

If you say something back slightly flirty he's gonna blank and not know how to continue from there

As soon as he approaches you and says "uhh.. hey" you already know what he's trying to do

Opposite of Arthur so he WILL tease you for falling off your horse

Awkwardly hugs you and pats your shoulder if you cry while apologizing profusely

NSFW

Can't rile you up for too long without exciting himself

Keeps his arm on your lower back and dips his fingers inside your waist band

Type to pull on your overalls (if you wear em) and lets them snap back into you

Will come up behind you and rub his stubble into your neck before whispering filthy things into your ear

Likes it when you put up a little playful resistence

If y'all are sitting down somewhere together he'll put his hand on your ankle before running it up under your skirt

Ends up giving in mostly because HE can't take it anymore and is too excited

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

I keep seeing so many people here getting angry that this season is "vilifying Ed", and it's depressingly fascinating to see how others can watch the same show and somehow see something completely different. Is it simply the lack of media literacy? Is it the inability to appreciate and enjoy complex, nuanced, morally grey characters without willfully blocking out anything even slightly unpalatable about them to the point where the character they think they love isn't really that character anymore?

Because, uh... Season 1 already "vilified" Ed plenty. Except "vilify" is the wrong word, of course. It wasn't in any way malicious or mean-spirited, quite the contrary, it was often played as comedic (until the end of episode 10 when it was anything but) - Ed was always meant to be a sympathetic character, he's a protagonist after all, and the show's portrayal of him is very compassionate. It merely refused to sugarcoat or shy away from his darker side. He's literally history's most famous pirate, you don't become one by being nice and treating everyone gently. He ambushed and strangled his own father to death when he was like 9 years old (100% deserved and justifiable ofc, but it still bears saying it out loud like this just to comprehend how unhinged this actually was). He loves torturing and maiming people for fun, and sometimes even animals (that scene with forcing a turtle to fight a crab). He didn't give a fuck about his crew members dying to satisfy his whim to meet Stede. He entirely failed in his role as a captain in ep 4. He effectively played a double agent with Izzy and Stede for a while before changing his mind. He attempted to murder Lucius. And while you could try to argue his punishment of Izzy was at least to some degree deserved, not only cutting Izzy's toe off but forcing him to eat went beyond punishment, it was sadistic torture.

So, yeah, please just read all that and take it in. And then remember once again that Ed is also a traumatised, lonely, depressed, sensitive, creative, curious, deeply passionate person yearning for true love and for something different in life... just like Stede. He loves music and can play the piano. He wrote a very vulnerable song and sand his heart out. He likes his tea with seven sugars. He enjoys fashion and dressing up. He has such a limitless sense of wonder for the world. He went on a trek with Stede just to make him happy, even though he hated nature and was in a shit mood that day. He wants to host a talent show. He wants to become free. He's clever and funny and fascinating. I love Ed.

Yes, it's possible to reconcile those two sides of him and accept both sides as the "real" Ed. You have to reconcile the two sides if you want to enjoy him as a character, because if you don't, you're going to either detest him to the core (which would make enjoying the show practically impossible since he's sort of a main character...), or you'll only be able to enjoy a diminished, crippled, cardboard cutout version of his character, which would be such a pity and a massive disservice to the creators of this show who worked hard to create interesting, multidimensional characters.

Not to mention you'd be missing one of the core messages of the show - the idea that people still deserve love and can be loved even if they're imperfect, or not necessarily good people. Because love is a human condition. It's not a sole dominion of "good" people. "Bad" people can fall in love too - even if, just like them, that love isn't exactly "nice" or "pure", and neither are the relationships that stem from it. They can be messy and exasperating. But "bad" people can also grow and change because of it. That's what OFMD is ultimately about - growth and change, learning to accept yourself but also become better. That can't happen if the character is already 100% perfect the way they are.Ed is far from that. So is Izzy. They can both become better, and they both still deserve compassion and understanding, because that's the environment people need to become better.

So, if you're mad that at the start of S2 the crew are sympathetic to Izzy's suffering and want to help him instead of kicking him when he's down, and what Ed did to him is being acknowledged as cruel and wrong... congratulations, you have completely missed what OFMD is all about.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part twenty-seven

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six

-

Sephiroth can't stand up. It's kind of embarrassing. Actually, forget that - it's really embarrassing! Even when sitting down he feels all wobbly and unsteady!

After the hyperfocus mode passed, it all just sorta crashed down on him.

He's barely managed to wrangle his fluctuating Qi back under control, but the wild surges, stops and starts and the awful flare-ups before have left him feeling like jello in human form. He's gone through what feels like an earthquake, a volcanic eruption, but from the inside - and then he strained to keep at all in! Twisted himself into a pretzel in order to teach, spraining his everything in the progress! Now his veins are freshly scorched, his flesh feels tenderised, and he can feel his bones. It is incredibly unsettling to be so aware of your bones!

For such a minor Qi-deviation it's really too much. Who told Sephiroth to have this much Qi - and also this many muscles! He's strained all of them!

And now he can't stand up. Well, not without swaying and stumbling and probably falling over himself like an idiot, anyway. Which makes it the same thing. His cute disciples - that is, the other SOLDIER members are still watching him. After what he put them through in his delirium, he can't show such an embarrassing face as to get up only to fall flat on his face!

He can hear them now, murmuring quietly amongst themselves in the hall outside.

"... Like, breathing, I think? And I think you're not supposed to think about anything…"

"How can you not think about anything?"

"... Been quiet for a while. No word from the director either…"

"... Think there's still chocolate bars left in the vending machine?"

Ooh, chocolate. Sephiroth could kill for a chocolate bar right now. He really should've thought about that before! Semi-modern world with inexplicably a lot of the same stuff as Earth has - he really should've realised that might include modern style sweets! And, damn, he's missed chocolate so much, back in PIDW. He should get chocolate, as a treat. He deserves it!

But he can't get up. Plus, he destroyed the place! How can he show his face outside after he destroyed the whole room? It's not like he can explain himself - this world doesn't even know what Qi-deviation is! On the outside it seemed just like he went crazy! Which might be in character for Sephiroth, but - still!

So here he is, a third hour in running, cultivating and meditating with no better way to solve this issue. Soon, something would happen to force his hand, or this would go on forever, and eventually he'd die. There's no other recourse.

At least he'd mostly managed to repair the damage done to his meridians. His poor dantians, flooded with chaotic Qi just when he got them to open up, took a hit - but hey, at least there's no golden core there to damage!

Yeah, that just… makes him sadder, really.

Sephiroth draws a slow breath and teases another snag in his system to loosen up - smoothing another scarred vein until it relaxes. He should go back to physical cultivation, it worked so beautifully for Sephiroth's system - but alas… he can't stand up.

Ah, he's really doomed.

"Heads up - elevator."

"Oh, shit, it's Hewley."

"Here we go…"

Sephiroth peeks one eye open, but the SOLDIERs by the door have gone quiet, and the ones further down the hall are too far away for him to hear - especially since it sounds like they're whispering out there. Probably explaining the situation to Angeal.

Ahhh! It's a pity he didn't bust a wall open in his deviated craze - he could've used it to escape! He might be about fifty floors above the ground level, but Sephiroth is supposed to know how to fly, right?! He could make it! He might even grow some wings along the way! It's been known to happen! Somewhere!

Angeal appears by the doorway, taking a moment to soak in all the destruction, and Sephiroth does his best not to look like he wants to curl up and die in shame. That resolution gets harder as Angeal walks over to crouch down in front of him.

Oh no, his face. I'm not angry, just disappointed much?! 

"Sephiroth," Angeal says gently. "Are you alright?"

Oh, come on, Angeal-bro! The disciples other SOLDIERs are right there! What is he supposed to say, huh?

Sephiroth exhales slowly and tries to think what Sephiroth should say in this situation. He destroyed the training room, busted up all the cameras and everything. Destruction of company property! There's probably going to be consequences for that, huh?

"What's the…?" Sephiroth starts and then winces at his voice. His throat is so dry it stings. Ouch.

Angeal relaxes a little. "They want you outta here, asap. There's a transport waiting. I'm supposed to deliver you to it."

… huh? That's, um. He has no idea! Is he being kicked out? He's Sephiroth - isn't he, like, the poster boy for Shinra's military might and stuff?

Angeal, clearly seeing his confusion, elaborates. "You're reassigned to Wutai, effective immediately."

… Oh. Great. "And if I don't feel like going anywhere?"

Angeal sighs. "I don't know. Nothing good. It's not like I can really force you to do anything, Sephiroth, but I'd prefer it if you came willingly."

Hah, jokes on your, bro, Sephiroth can't actually do shit right now!

… But he can't really stay here. And hell, being sent to a war front at least saves him from having to face any of this just yet! Maybe never. It's a corporate dystopia, and he's the poster boy - maybe Shinra will do him a favour and sweep this all under the rug! They did with Nibelheim.

And Wutai is the closest thing to home…

"... Alright," Sephiroth says. "But you're probably going to have to drag me."

"What? No, Sephiroth, you can just walk, it's alright -"

"Angeal, I -" just had a Qi-deviation and my system feels all outta whack, but that's not a thing and he's Sephiroth - can't admit weakness! "Just - give me a hand."

Angeal blinks and then goes, "Oh!" as Sephiroth visibly wavers, trying to get up. "Oh, a delayed reaction? Right, here -"

Sephiroth really has to be dragged up, like some drunk guy. And even then his knees almost give up! So embarrassing! His cute disciples the other SOLDIERs are watching!

Oh, urg, the nausea…

"If I throw up on you, it's nothing personal," Sephiroth groans, closing his eyes, both to fight back the vertigo and so that he doesn't have to see the other SOLDIERs reaction. No one is laughing at him, at least.

And then Angeal laughs at him. Rude! The man sounds relieved, though, as he grabs him firmly by the elbow, propping him up. "I promise I won't hold it against you."

Sephiroth sighs, humiliated. "Thanks," he mutters and then, plaintively asks, "Do they have chocolate in Wutai?"

"Chocolate?"

"I could really go for a chocolate bar right now."

"Oh, I bet," Angeal says, sounding a little amused now. "I don't know about Wutai, but I'm sure we can get you some chocolate somewhere," he promises. "Are you ready to go?"

No. "Yeah, let's go."

-

Is it even SY if he doesn't need to be carried once in a while?

[angelinthefire]

So my latest idea for deancas in the winchesters tv show (a tv show that I have not watched [... yet???]) is roughly something like this:

ok, Dean and Jack and Bobby get back to Heaven, and Dean goes into the Roadhouse this time. It's a little party. You can tell that Dean is still melancholy. And then he sees Cas again. Cas is kind of nervous. But Dean just melts when he sees him, and also manages to look somehow sadder. And he hugs him tight for a long time. And Cas relaxes too. But they're still in the Roadhouse surrounded by people, so they don't talk, and Dean gets pulled back into the celebrations.

But later, it's night, and Dean steps out back of the Roadhouse, into the field. Cas is there, looking up at the sky, hands in his pockets. Dean comes and stands next to him.

Their conversation starts out much the same way as in Full of Grace, with Dean being like:

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. Though I was hoping you'd take longer to get here."

Dean scoffs and shakes his head. "I tried, y'know. To be the guy you gave that speech to."

Cas turns to face him fully. "You are that guy."

"Cas..." Dean's gaze seaches Cas' face as he searches for what to say.

Then:

Dean focuses and asks softly, "What do you want?"

"Dean?"

"Tell me. You said the one thing you want is something you can't have. So tell me."

Cas fumbles for the right words for a beat, just the thought of what he wants alone starting to make him emotional. Finally he says with a sad smile, "To have a life with you."

And the irony is not lost on Dean. He takes a breath that's thick with tears, clearly thinking about might-have-beens. His gaze drops from Cas' eyes to his mouth, and he says with a soft desperation, "Then let's get out of here. Let's live."

Cas balks. "I can't."

"Since when do you care about rules?"

Cas just looks at him imploringly.

But Dean is already getting worked up at the idea. "Come on, what's one more time? It'll be just 30, 40 years, that's nothing." He grips Cas's arm. "But we can... you can have anything." His eyes are bright with a hungry kind of hope. "I want... I wanna give you anything."

And Cas is clearly getting reeled in. He's staring at Dean like he wants to kiss him.

"He doesn't mean it, you know."

Cas and Dean turn towards the new voice.

"Jack?" Cas says.

"He's telling you what you want to hear, so you'll do what he wants," Jack says with a kindness tipping towards pity.

"What the hell?" Dean says.

Jack turns to him, matter of factly, "Am I wrong?"

"Of course you're fucking wrong. The hell is wrong with you?"

Jack shakes his head sadly. "What's wrong with you? You have heaven, Dean." He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "There is something wrong with you, isn't there?" he says like he's seeing it for the first time.

Dean hardens. "Then kick me outta heaven. Go on!"

"... where's Jack?" says Cas, who hasn't stopped staring at Jack the whole time.

Jack turns to him, confused.

So Cas repeats himself, firmly but slowly, "Where is Jack?"

A horrified look comes over Dean's face.

Not-Jack smiles. "He's with me. Don't worry, he's safe." It's not reassuring.

And anyways, the upshot of the following dialogue would be that Chuck didn't win. Chuck has to live out his miserable existence on earth. But God did win. Because Chuck was just a guy that God was possessing. But the way God possesses someone, they start to lose sense of themselves, and parts of their personality start to find expression in God. Chuck was petty and squirrely. Jack will be a different kind of God. But the whole thing is unsettling and chilling.

I'm not sure how I would have things escalate, but they do. Of course Cas wants God to leave Jack alone, maybe he even offers himself as a vessel but God refuses. Idk, more stuff is said, it ends with God giving them a clear and definite threat about not screwing shit up anymore.

Then he disappears.

Dean and Cas are both striken. They talk. "What do we do?" - "What can we do?" etc. etc. I haven't thought about this part in depth, but some sort of plan is made.

Dean caps off the conversation with "We've got work to do"

They head towards the impala. Then,

"Dean?"

Dean turns towards Cas.

"Did you mean it?"

Dean doesn't answer at first.

"It's okay if you didn't," Cas says. And he's sincere. He's got bigger things to be upset about now, after all. "I'd understand."

Dean gets a hard look. He moves towards Cas, grabs him by the lapels, and pulls him close, and when they're close enough to kiss, Dean says,

"We're gonna kill god. And then I'm gonna show you how much I meant it."

End scene. And then I guess Dean and Cas just pop up in the background of the main plot here and there as they chase god through the multi-verse

[bugflies00]

do i have a presentation due at 8am that i have barely started even though its midnight? yes. however i was thinking again about the category 5 ctommy event last night and all the things i talked or saw people post about and it got me thinking

i was especially thinking about how ctommy is too often, in fan interpretations, forced into the role of the perfect, quiet, palatable victim — which, i mean, we've all made various posts on the subject, i don't need to get into the how again — but i was trying to think about why.

because on one hand, a good part of it, its true, circles back to what society has deemed the "acceptable" victim, which many of us have internalised and unknowingly refer back to, hence why many automatically try to sand ctommy down to be more "pitiful" (not saying people do this intentionally btw . we all have biases like that and they show up in different ways . i just like Talking about this stuff this is Not a callout or god forbid telling people to harass fic writers they disagree with. Ok.)

but i also think, in ctommy's case, a lot of it can come from. projection? well this might be the case with many other characters obviously but im focusing on ctommy here because like. i think he's a character who's very relatable for so many people, who are also loud and not subtle or discreet and who feel annoying most of the time, and a lot of whom are kids and teenagers. and something that's always struck me when reading comments etc about him is theres this sentiment of- when this fictional character is annoying it's seen as loveable and endearing, so why isn't it the case for me, as a person, in real life? a lot of those fans have also been hurt or perhaps even abused and found a way to relate through ctommy's own abuse

and so i think sometimes this tendency to "sand ctommy down" is less out of a desire to actually reduce his character but rather because, through him, they want their hurt and pain to be recognised. and as we all know, when ctommy is quiet, that is so unusual that in fics, it often immediately strikes a reaction of "oh, what happened to you, who hurt you". it's the idea that him being annoying and loud is missed, but people only realise that when he's gone quiet. so the more "quiet" and "docile" he is shown as, the more striking that reaction from other characters will be, and the more support he receives. im not in any way saying this is something you should apply to real people or anything, im saying that this is a trend not just in ctommy fics but in general media — if you're someone who is loud and brash, it's often portrayed like the only way people will acknowledge that you have feelings at all is if you lose that "spark", and suddenly people miss you being annoying.

and suddenly, it makes a lot of sense why so many fic authors write ctommy as so oddly ooc and quiet and pliable and docile — because they've been taught that's what a victim should be, but they're not like that! and you can live vicariously through a fictional character who's able to undergo a much more drastic outward transformation than you and be showered in love for it, and theres a desire for that to happen to them in real life, to have their hurt actually acknowledged. is this word vomit does anyone understand what im trying to say here

[roonotrue]

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #1

(((TW: Mildly graphicly written suicidal thoughts and ideations - DON'T READ IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE)))

Pain - Narinder

Narinder didn't realize how much it would... Hurt.

To be free.

His arms hurt, his body hurt, and his head hurt.

As a god, he had never felt pain like this, which was the first of many signs that he was no longer divine.

And that terrified him. His arms hurt so badly he couldn't move them, and for a moment it felt like the ghosts of his chains still held him in place. His head ached from the light of the sun stabbing through the window of his home, into his light-sensitive eyes.

He can't move. His whole body feels like lead against the soft bed below him. Blankets weigh even heavier on top of him, adding to the feeling of being restrained. He wants to thrash around and escape from under them, but his limbs cramp up with every attempt he makes to move them.

And the jolt of fear that surges through him at that realization makes him want to scream out in agony and terror.

But centuries of captivity have taught him the uselessness of struggling. Have taught him patience. So he clamps his jaw shut and keeps his eyes sealed closed. Trying to listen.

He only just joined his usurpers cult as a follower yesterday, the adrenaline from their fight hadn't even left his system and suddenly the damn Lamb was showing him to his own private grand shelter, set up farther away from the other followers for 'safety purposes.' Whether the Lamb meant for him or the rest of the cult he still isn't sure.

He didn't know how to respond, he was tired. So very tired. He had never felt tired before, but this mortal body... He secured the shelter as soon as the Lamb was gone. Barricading the entrance, and windows, sealing himself inside before allowing himself to collapse into the bed and rest.

Now he's not sure how much time has passed, just that it is daylight, and that the adrenaline of everything that's happened has now left this newly mortal body of his in shambles.

Freedom. He had wanted it so bad, and now he has it, but it's nothing like he had hoped.

He is angry and miserable, he wants to scream and cry, and he wants to go back in time and wring that lamb's neck when he has the chance instead of handing over the crown to the filthy traitor. He feels like a fool, powerless, and afraid.

Trapped by something even worse than the chains his siblings had used on him. Pain.

Speaking of the Red Crown's new wearer, as if summoned like a bat out of hell, a banging on the dresser Narinder had shoved in front of the curtain door to prevent any other pathetic followers from wandering in, or worse the said lamb.

"Narinder! It's breakfast! Well- lunch, you missed breakfast, I tried to have Noon bring you some food, but they said you did... Well, this." Narinder can only assume they're referring to the barricade.

"Leave me be, wretched traitor, I have better things to do than mingle with your pathetic following over subpar mortal slop." His voice almost cracks when he tries to shift his weight to lay on his back mid-sentence.

Thus he remains on his side facing away from the entrance, his back to the sound of the lamb's voice. Something that causes a trickling of unease to build in his mind, which he tries his best to ignore for now.

"No-can-do! At least, not right now, you need to eat! You're mostly mortal now, and even if age can't kill you, starving sure can!" There's a nervous laughter in their voice as they continue to stand outside.

The Lamb could easily get through the barricade, with his fucking powers that they stole. So why they aren't just barging in with no respect for their former god and master's privacy or personal space, he has no clue.

"Starving? How pitiful do you think I am? 'Mostly mortal' or not, I will survive without food for a day. Now leave me alone." He's not sure that even if he wanted to, he could claw his way out to get food. Or that his violently churning stomach could hold it down.

His whole body feels like it's slowly spinning from the splinting pain of his head and he's certain that if his stomach wasn't empty he'd have puked by now.

"Okay, listen, I get that after everything that's happened, you want to be alone, and I'll leave you alone! After you eat something, because, sure, a day won't kill you, but when was the last time you ate during your godlyhood? I'm willing to bet never, at least not during your time chained up, and that can't have translated well to your new form." Nothing has translated well to this new damn form, and it makes him snap.

"What part of leave me alone don't you understand!? I'm not eating even if you shove it down my throat!- Ack!" He hisses and tries to, in a burst of anger-fueled energy, shove himself around onto his back.

Instead, the effort sends a cascade of cramping through his back and down his arms.

His body spasms and curls in on itself and he grits his teeth trying to stop the whimpering from escaping his lips. He sounds pathetic. He is pathetic. Fates save him from the humiliation of the lamb having heard his pain at least...

"What was that about!? Are you okay in there!?" 

It's like the universe hates him.

That's the only real reasoning he can come up with. Fate, the universe, and everything in between literally hate him. And for what? Wanting to be more than what everyone told him he was?

He calls bullshit. Fate is bullshit, and the universe is bullshit, and everything in between is bullshit.

He wants to bury his head under his pillow and stay there until time itself brings this whole world crashing to an end.

"Narinder? Do you need help? If you don't answer I'm coming in!" Once more the Lamb is banging on the dresser-made door.

"I'm fine! Go away! Don't make me tell you again!" The threat comes out strangled and weak.

Still, there is a long moment of silence. For a moment he lets himself hope that the usurper has done as he's asked, and left, but with no footsteps away to confirm this, he knows they are still out there. Perhaps carefully debating their next sentence.

"... I know I'm the last person you want to see, let alone accept help from, and trust me when I say right now the feeling is mutual, but Narinder... If you are in pain... Or you're sick and that's why you're not eating, please, just tell me... I'm only trying to help." Help?

Help?

"I think I'd rather lie down and let you kill me before I let you help me." The words are barely a hissed whisper, but he knows they hear him.

There's a sharp inhale and a frustrated groan. Along with footsteps pacing back and forth before they suddenly stop and respond again.

"Fine! But news flash One Who Waits! This is going to be a hard adjustment for you! And if you want to go through it alone and make it all the harder, then fine! Be alone! Stay in your shelter all day, every day, and starve! See if I care!" They shout at the door.

Sounding angry, and fed up.

"That's what I'm planning on doing!" It wasn't, but with the pain making it hard to move, it is now.

"Fine!" And he can hear them storming off, hooved feet kicking at the ground at random intervals as they do.

...

It's true. He'd rather suffer here alone than accept that traitors help.

You betrayed them first.

He saved their life! His pathetic Bishop kin would have executed them if he hadn't given them a new lease on life.

And all he asked was for a cult in his name, for them to free him from his chains, and return the crown to him.

And kneel and accept being sacrificed to you.

All of this... This pain, this headache, the dampness in the corners of his eyes that he's trying so hard to not let spread down his cheeks... It's all their fault.

They should have at least killed him. Why couldn't they at least finish the damn job? That pathetic, traitorous, coward. Keeping him alive just to suffer.

Surely they've done this on purpose? This was some twisted way to prolong his agony as if being imprisoned for thousands of years by his own family wasn't enough torture.

Damn them. Damn them and every last one of their dead kin.

He would rather starve. Starve to death and at least go on his own terms. Hell if he had the physical strength and a sharp enough tool he'd turn it on his wrist right now. The Lamb probably won't even come by to check on him for a long while after that spat.

So at least they would have a small respite before the cursed creature maybe resurrected them.

But no, his whole disgusting body was failing him. He would have to die the slow way.

In a sick way, he's curious about it. What does hunger feel like? Heket complained of it often, even while she was eating she would be complaining about needing another meal prepared. The Goddess of Famine knew hunger like no other.

But the concept was foreign to Narinder. He ate sometimes when he was a god. The feeling was strange. Things tasted good, like fish, but they served no other purpose than to satisfy his tastebuds.

His stomach never longed for anything. Never ached in hunger pangs, never churned with nausea from eating something bad...

His mortal body... It will wither without food. His stomach will concave as he loses weight, and he'll become weaker, sicker, and lethargic. His skin will stretch over his ribs and bones making him look like a skeleton with fur... A horrific sight, befitting of the former and rightful God of Death.

A true testament to his fall from power, into a form as tragic as this, that decays at the mere lack of sustenance for a few days.

Or more. How long will it take? He wonders.

For his organs to start failing. His heart will go first, and the rest will quickly follow, having strained for so long to keep him alive... What will be the last thing he sees? Probably darkness. The light is too bright in the daytime for him to bear keeping his eyes open.

That's okay. He's never been afraid of the dark.

Kallamar was. He was scared of a lot of things though. Including him.

Heket wasn't. Nor Leshy. The two slept like logs at night, while Narinder would wander awake with Shamura- being nocturnal beings by nature.

Sometimes...

Sometimes when they were both still little, and Kallamar had a bad day and was scared to go to bed, Narinder would sneak into his room, and distract him. Annoy him really, but deep down, he thinks his older brother appreciated it. Not being alone.

It only lasted a few years though, just before the squid reached his teen years and became completely insufferable.

...

What would they all think of him now? Preparing himself to rot from starvation... Would they think him weak for accepting such a defeat? For giving in to this mortal body's suffering and allowing himself to perish in such a pitiful way...

Would they want him to live? No. No, they wouldn't...

They'd enjoy this... Seeing him turn to skin and bone. Watching him suffer in too much pain to even move, much like when he was chained.

It isn't until the light starts to fade and he can open his eyes finally that he realizes he failed.

And now the entire spot where his head rests on his pillow is wet with tears.

In the darkness, he can only really see what's in front of him. His head refuses to lift itself up or move without pain.

He is staring right at a window, the red curtains are closed, and it's blocked off with a turned sideways dark wooden table, but moonlight peaks in from the sides and top.

There is a side table. With a vase of Camellias in the corner. Just like the one Baal used to wear on his robes.

...

In the end, they all died for nothing, didn't they? The lambs, the Bishops, Aym, and Baal...

Everything he was trying to do... All of his elaborate plans...

They've all amounted to nothing.

It's then that another knock, soft and gentle rings through the room.

"Narinder? I want to... Apologize. I lost my temper earlier. It's just... Difficult to be nice to you. I mean, you... You know what? It doesn't matter right now. I've decided, that if you don't want to accept my help, I can't force you to. But, I still don't want you to starve, and I don't think you want to either so... I'll just leave some food out here for you. I don't really know what you like, but it's a fish bowl... Will that do?" The Lamb.

Narinder is thirsty he realizes, because when he goes to speak his mouth is dry, and he has to choke the words out.

"Fine... It's fine..." He calls, and he can hear them hesitating.

"Can I ask again if you're okay?"

"No." He responds much more firmly this time, his voice still gravelly.

"Right... Well, I'll bring breakfast tomorrow."

And they're gone. Footsteps softly fade away like a ghost in the night floating off to find a new victim to haunt.

...

Why couldn't they have just killed him?

~~~

The pain is still there when he wakes up again, and his mouth is disgustingly dry. It is early morning, and the light is not yet intolerable though, and he will take that victory for what little it is.

It smells like it rained last night.

Something about that makes him feel better.

Despite the oily feeling of his filthy fur, matted with blood and dirt. Despite his body still cramping with the phantom chains tightening around them like a serpent choking the life out of its prey.

Despite everything the smell of fresh, chilly damp air... Refreshes him.

He feels lighter. Cleaner. Content.

He takes a deep breath and for a moment... Everything is... Okay.

He opens his mouth, trying to breathe in the humidity of the air, hoping it will help with the soreness in his throat.

"I thought you hated the rain?"

"I don't hate the rain, I hate getting wet. My fur gets all heavy and takes forever to dry, and if I use a towel, it makes it all poofy, and the others tease me."

"I see."

"But I like watching the rain. And the smell of rain... It smells... Like the sky's cleaning the earth. Making everything as good as new again."

And then... Everything comes rushing back to him.

Like an anvil falling onto his chest, and it's hard to breathe as he chokes on a loud, surprised sob. Tears invade his eyes, flowing down his face onto the pillow.

Nothing is okay. That peace he felt... Just a cruel trick of his mind, making him forget.

A momentary respite before the world came crashing back down on him. He can never be content again. Never be okay or at peace.

He is angry. Frustrated. Grieving. Confused about what he's grieving. Their deaths? Their souls are trapped eternally in a hellish limbo, re-living their deaths so that they can feel the same pain he had felt for thousands of years... That's what he'd wanted.

For them to suffer.

And yet still his chest hurts and his lungs are heaving, and his cries are so loud he has to turn his face into the pillow to muffle them. Why does this anguish for his family that turned against him haunt him now?

It must be this body. This pathetic mortal body with its hyper-sensitive emotions, and non-existent pain tolerance. It's done nothing but weigh him down, dragging him below the waves.

Drowning him in sensations, feelings, and emotions he doesn't understand. Suffocating him in pain, and grief that he can see no end to. This form betrays him at every turn and it's not even been 42 hours.

At least he thinks it hasn't been.

Most of his first day is a haze, he remembers sleeping through the pain for the most part. Then arguing with the Lamb through the barricade. Then sleeping again.

After of course, contemplating his inevitable starvation. And after speaking to the lamb again...

"Can I ask again if you're okay?"

They're going to bring him breakfast soon. He doesn't know if they'll come inside and set it down or just leave it on the ground outside for him.

Would he even be able to go get it?

It's now that he starts to realize some of the pain has subsided. Everything is still cramping, and his head still throbbing, but with the smell of the rain and the growling of his stomach...

He's able to turn onto his back and only has to stop for a minute to grit his teeth and breathe for a moment. The fur around his eyes and cheeks is still wet with tears, and his chest is still heavy. He tries to focus on the smell of rain, but it does little to ease his thoughts.

All it does is remind him of simpler times.

Before the pain, and the headache, and the nausea, and the humiliation of defeat still burning through his veins.

It's getting brighter in the room, and he's able to take a deep stuttered breath as his eyes close to block out the painful light of morning. He should get the sniffling under control before the lamb gets here.

The last thing he needs is for that malicious sheep to know he's been crying- because Narinder knows that the damned creature is too old to still be considered a lamb. Has been since before the bishops ever went to execute them, but he knows his siblings never cared for technicalities.

Hell at some point they probably even started enjoying committing mass genocide of all sheep to prevent his freedom. Rams, ewes, and lambs, none were spared. All precautions taken to keep him locked away... They must have hated him so much to turn so ruthless. To become feared monsters, rather than beloved gods.

All to keep him caged.

By the time the sun has risen and the room is painfully bright, like clockwork, the lamb is knocking on the 'door' of the shelter.

"Narinder? Are you awake? I still don't know exactly what you like to eat, so I brought you a mixed meal. I see you didn't eat the fish, so I'll throw that out I guess..." They call, and he struggles not to groan.

He had kind of wanted that fish. He liked fish and it's been a long... Long time since he's had the chance to eat any. But what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't fucking move.

And he was still standing strong on not asking for help from his usurper.

He could move a bit more today though. He could at least try and sit up and eat... Then again, he doubts he'll be able to move the dresser out of the way to grab the food.

He could ask the lamb to bring it inside as a plan B. That doesn't count as helping him. Right? But does he want the lamb to see him in this state?

Absolutely not.

So he's back to plan A. Starve.

Sounds good enough for him. Or at least it does until his stomach decided to growl obnoxiously loud.

"See! I knew you were hungry! Please, just come take the damn bowl, I don't want to leave it on the ground, the bugs or birds might get it! Or Theeno. He steals food a lot. I'm working on that." So they are going to make another fight out of this.

"I'll come and get it when I'm ready! And if your damn follower tries to nab it then he can expect my claws across his face!" He hisses, and the Lamb lets out an exaggerated sigh.

"You're getting on my nerves, Narinder, can I at least just come in and set it down?" Hm. An opening for plan B... He still doesn't want the Lamb to see him...

He's buried mostly in blankets and pillows, so if he tosses his aching body back towards the window, he doubts the Lamb would truly get a good look at him...

And then your back will be exposed, clear as day for a second knife to find purchase.

He tries to shake away the insecurity, and it's not hard when his stomach growls once more. What's the worst the sheep could do? Kill him? It's what he wants anyway.

Is it?

He just barely holds in a painful groan as he turns back onto his side, curling even further into himself as he does.

"Fine. But I'm not getting up, move the dresser yourself." He calls, only mildly breathless, as he tries to steady his breathing again.

"Great! I was kinda gonna come in anyway if you didn't respond." Oh, if he could move...

He might take his chances trying to wring their neck.

Instead, he clenches his teeth to keep the anger from seething out and keeps his ears tuned into the sound of the dresser being easily shoved aside, the sound of wood grating against wood.

"Okie-Doki, I'll just put this right here. That okay?" He can feel their black beady eyes on him, with their burning red pupils.

"Whatever, it's fine. Make sure you put that dresser back on your way out." He grumbles, flinching only slightly when hears the lamb step closer to him.

At the clear sight of said flinch they stop moving.

"Of course. Anything else you need? Are you okay? I was thinking about building a few upgrades onto your shelter since you clearly don't plan on leaving, and I can see having to use the bathroom becoming a problem in the near future. And bathing."

Right. Of course, this body is going to need to use the bathroom. And even when he was a little godling, he needed to bathe regularly. He hasn't had a bath since before he was imprisoned.

Poor Aym and Baal. standing beside a god that reeked of blood and death for all that time. He had grown jaded to the stench of death, but he was still aware that it must not be pleasant.

"Do whatever you want, so long as you don't disturb me." It would make it more convenient for his solitude, and prevent him from having to bite the bullet and ask for help to be carried to the outhouses- because he was not going to shit himself anytime soon.

God or not, he had to keep some of his dignity intact.

"Right, no disturbing your wallowing, got it. I'll set to those renovations ASAP, I'll even do them myself so none of the followers accidentally annoy you and get killed." He snorts at that. Almost laughs.

"Wise decision."

And like that, his dresser is being pulled back into place, with what sounds like little to no effort.

...

His stomach growls again.

Now to get this body to sit up and eat...

... This is going to take a while.

[amethystunarmed]

I Need a Shovel to Love Him

Word Count: 4,226 A03 Link Richie calls Peter after the events of the opening night of Workin' Girls.

~~~

Holy fucking shit.

Peter is about to lose his virginity to Stephanie Lauter. 

They are on the couch in Peter's brother's apartment. Ted is gone for the evening, went to Ruth’s musical at the Starlight, but he had thrown a condom at Peter with a wink before he left. Peter was equal parts mortified and grateful.

By pure luck, Peter and Steph had managed to avoid getting tickets the same night Ted was going, giving them an opportunity to finally go all the way. They are making out on the couch, Steph straddling him while he gazes up at her in awe. Neither of them are wearing their shirts (Peter has come a long way from the first time he saw Steph in her bra and got so flustered he had to stop. He's just lucky she thought it was both hilarious and adorable). Her skin is hot against his, and when she trails her fingers down his spine, it gives him chills. Steph has finally taken pity on Peter, and moved to take her bra off herself, when the phone rings.

Pete sits up to grab it and Steph groans, flopping forward so her head rests on his chest. 

"Are you serious Spankoffski? You're answering your fucking phone right now?"

"I figure if it's my brother telling us he's on his way back because he finally realized the show isn't about sex workers, we'd want to know."

"... You get a pass just this once." She slides off his lap and Peter immediately misses her weight.

Peter fumbles for his phone and is surprised by the name that pops up.

The Power of God and Anime. Richie. 

Peter frowns down at his phone. Richie would rather die than make a phone call. For all Ruth loved talking to telemarketers, Richie about broke out in hives every time he had to make a call. (Between his phobia and Ruth's penchant for making the delivery boy uncomfortable, Peter had been making calls to Pizza Hut for them for years.) Richie wouldn't call. Not unless...

Peter hits the button and brings the phone to his ear, even as Stephanie groans behind him. He slides his legs off the couch and stands as he talks.

"Hey Richie, what's up? Aren't you at the show?"

Sobbing. Richie is sobbing. Peter's stomach sinks. "Richie? Richie, what's happening?"

"Pete?" Steph asks, suddenly concerned. Peter holds a finger up to her.

Richie hiccups. His voice is shaky, so much that Pete can barely understand him. 

"He- he- He went crazy, he killed them-" 

Peter feels like he's had ice water dumped over him.

"Who? Who killed who, Richie?" Peter gets up and grabs his shirt from where he'd thrown it earlier.

"Everyone, he- he-"

"Where are you?"

"The Theater."

Oh thank God.

"Richie, my brother is there, go find Ted, okay?" Ted was a fucking asshole but he would (probably) look out for Ruth and Richie, if only so Pete didn't tear him a new one. "He'll get you and Ruth out of there okay?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Richie says, sniffling, voice hitching. "Ruth and Ted are dead, Peter."

Peter drops his phone. 

He doesn't remember what happens next. He blinks and they're in the back of Mayor Lauter’s limo. Steph is holding Peter's now cracked phone to her ear. Miss Tessburger is prattling on about something but Pete can't understand her. Her words sound like a broken garbage disposal, continually revving but never getting any clearer.

He blinks again and Steph is kneeling in front of him. She sways as they take a sharp turn. She should be wearing a seatbelt, he thinks, inanely.

"Pete, you're scaring me."

Peter doesn't know why. He hasn't even done anything. 

He blinks and they're at the theater. Steph's hand is firm in his, the only thing that keeps him from drifting away. He trails behind her, letting her guide him to the sirens and the flashing lights. Until he sees-

Richie.

Peter loses time again. Suddenly he is sprinting, and Richie is too and Peter slams into him and they fall to the ground and Peter has his fingernails clawed tightly into Richie's vest so nothing can pry Richie away from him and-

He is sitting in the back of the ambulance. A scratchy orange blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. Richie is next to him. He has Peter's hand in a death grip, squeezing so tight Peter is beginning to lose feeling in his fingers.

An EMT is shining a light in his penlight in Peter’s eyes. It fucking hurts. Peter blinks aggressively at him.

“His pupils dilate, I don’t see any sign of concussion. As far as I can tell, Peter here is just suffering from a pretty extreme shock.”

He gives Peter a pitying little smile. Peter wants to knock his teeth out.

“But he’s not responding.” Stephanie is standing off the shoulder of the EMT. She has her arms crossed over her chest, her chin cocked out. It’s the same stance she’d had when she’d stood down Max Jagerman after they first started dating. It means she’s scared. “You can see it, he did it in the car too. Why the fuck can’t he hear us?”

The EMT hesitates a moment, then speaks slowly, like an adult on Sesame Street.

“Sometimes, when someone goes through something terrible, their brain will... take them away for a little. It’s a defense mechanism.”

Peter has already heard enough of this. 

“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here.”

“Oh, thank god.” The tension melts out of Steph as she throws herself at Peter’s free side. Her arms wrap around his shoulder and she tucks her head into his neck, like she is trying to get as close to him as possible. “You’re okay. Jesus Pete, never scare me like that again.”

"Pete?" Steph and Peter pull away from each other to look at a Black man in a checkered shirt. He nervously fiddles with a button on the cuff of his sleeve. Peter hadn’t initially noticed him, but he’s pretty sure the man had been standing there for a while. He seemed vaguely familiar, but Peter couldn’t place him. "You're Peter Spankoffski, right?"

Steph pushes over the ambulance, and stands in between him and Peter and Richie. "Listen, if you want a statement, go talk to some other smarmy asshole looking to get famous off this. Try Linda Monroe, she has an affinity for vultures." She is so fucking cool, so brave. Peter thinks he may be in love with her.

Oh my god he's in love with her.

He's in love with Stephanie Lauter.

He wants to tell Ruth, even though she'll ask a million uncomfortable questions. 

He wants to tell Ted, even though he'd give some awful advice about not being tied down.

Peter squeezes Richie’s hand.

"No, no," the man says. "I'm one of Ted's co-workers? Bill. Do you remember me?” The name slots into place. Peter remembers him in the backgrounds of office party pictures Ted had shown him and from when Ted brought Peter to a “Bring Your Kid to Work Day” even before he moved in with Ted full time. He has a recollection of Bill smiling at him from where he had hidden behind Ted, telling him, Richie, and Alice Woodward to all play nice together. Peter gives him a faint nod, which puts Bill somewhat at ease.

“Look at you, all grown up. So tall!” He is studying Peter with a sad sort of softness, cataloging all the changes from that little kid he’d met years ago. Peter wants to find the nearest bridge he can jump off of to avoid this conversation. “I wouldn’t have recognized you if Ted hadn’t had a picture on his desk." 

Peter wonders if he spontaneously developed a latex allergy, it feels like his throat is swelling shut. “He... He has a picture of me on his desk?” 

"Yes, he does.” Peter waits for him to elaborate, but Bill just offers him an awkward little half smile. Which, what the fuck? Did he just come over to here to remind Peter he was going to have to go to his brother’s fucking office and clean out his desk?

“Bill, I don’t want to be rude, but... why are you here?”

“Oh.” Bill furrows his brow at that, like he isn’t actually sure. “We came here together. Ted and I."

Peter squints at him. "Like a date?" He knew Ted had been sleeping around the office (knew too much about it, because his brother was kind of a slut), but he'd been pretty sure he'd been hung up on someone named Charlotte.

"No!" Bill denies, "He- I had an extra ticket, and I- he was the only one who wanted to come." Bill suddenly looked nauseous. "H- he was the only one who wanted to come tonight, and to spend time with me, and the whole night I just-"

"So you're the reason my brother is dead." The whole group snaps their heads to stare at him, even the EMT. He doesn’t know why they all look so surprised. It seems like a pretty logical deduction to make.

Steph wraps her arm around Peter’s shoulder, but she stays standing. He feels small tucked against her side. It feels nice.

Richie gives his hand a squeeze and runs his finger along the side of Peter’s hand. It feels nice too.

Bill sucks in a breath, like somebody stabbed him. Which is fucking hilarious, given the circumstances. He looks at Peter like Peter did something to hurt him. It does not feel nice.

“What? Don’t have anything to say about it? You just said it, you were the reason he was here.” The EMT winces, and Peter glares at him. He wisely decides to fuck off to the front of the ambulance.

“Peter, that’s not- I’m didn’t-” Bill fumbles over himself. Peter isn’t sure what he fucking expected.

“I think you should go.”

“Right, right, but I just wanted to say, if you need anything, you can-” He fumbles with his back pocket and pulls out a wallet, nearly dropping it on the ground. Ted always says that Bill never knows when to drop a subject, and so far, Peter isn’t seeing anything to disapprove this fact. 

“Here,” Bill says, as he holds a white card out to Peter. “My number’s on there, you can give me a call-"

And Peter just wants him to shut the fuck up.

"I said fucking GO!"

Bill jumps and drops his business card. Peter feels bad, but he's too fucking tired to apologize. He slumps against Steph's shoulder. Her breathing feels like a gravitational pull, and he doesn't think he could escape it if he tried.

Bill scurries off, and Peter is grateful. “Fuck,” he groans, hiding his face in the crown of Stephanie’s head. She smells like sweat and that fruity shampoo her dad won’t stop buying for her. “Ted was right, he’s a fucking busybody.” It tears through his chest, even saying his brother’s name. He thinks the only thing that could hurt worse would have been not saying it.

It grows quiet. At least, as quiet as the site of a disaster can be. If he listens carefully, he can hear Chief Sweetly crying about one of the actors or Officer Bailey debating with Grace Chasity over who gets to keep his gun. (He's pretty sure Grace is winning.) The noises of the parking lot combine into a low background, police interrogations and muffled sobbing weaving into a dull drone. The police have turned their sirens off, but the lights still flicker red and blue and white. Peter closes his eyes, and the solid colors flicker across the black of his eyelids. The repetition is soothing, smoothing over the anxious hum that has been blaring a klaxon in the back of his brain. Between the warm pillar of Steph in front of him and Richie’s solid weight across his back, Peter finds his eyes drifting shut.

Richie’s shoulders hitching, however, gets him wide awake in an instant. Peter sits up, away from Steph, and pulls Richie closer to him, so he is angled toward Peter. Silent tears flood Richie’s cheeks. His mouth is screwed up in a crooked line.

“What happened?” Peter asks, frantically looking Richie over. He seemed fine when they arrived, but Peter had just been happy he was breathing, he could have missed something important-

"It's my fault Ruth is dead," Richie weeps.

"What?"

"I killed her, Peter. I killed Ruth." Tears stream down Richie's cheeks.

"I thought you said-"

"I told her to audition! She wasn't going too, she said she wouldn't get in. I'm the one... I'm the reason."

Oh fuck.

"Richie..."

Richie just sobs and latches onto his shoulder. Peter can feel time slipping again and he digs his nails into his palm to stay present.

"Richie, it's not your fault."

"I'm the reason she was here."

The sick feeling in Peter's gut twists deeper. That isn't what he... Fuck. What does he say? What does he say?

Steph sees his hesitation and gets a wild look in her eyes. Her hand flutters to the back of Peter’s neck. Her fingernails graze the skin in a repetitive line, like she is trying to beckon him back. He wonders if she thinks he lost time again. If so, she doesn’t say. She focuses all her attention on Richie. "It's not your fault, okay? You blame the murderer, you blame the theater for hiring this whackjob, you blame God for all I care, but you don't blame yourself for that shit, okay? That's how you drive yourself crazy, and Ruth wouldn't want that, you torturing yourself for believing in her. Okay?" She reaches across Peter and takes Richie's free hand. "Promise me."

"Promise you?"

"You won't blame yourself. Promise me."

"I'll... I'll try.”Steph opens her mouth, most likely to argue, but she is interrupted. From the side of the ambulance, the EMT clears his throat, far too loudly, and rounds the corner.

Steph glares at him, but only says, "We'll work on it.” Richie nods, and  Peter is positive he is counting on her forgetting about it. 

With the EMT back, their closeness starts to itch. Peter can feel him searching them, trying to figure out just what they mean to each other. Peter is pretty sure a vivisection would feel less intrusive.

The three of them untangle from one other. Steph habitually tucks her hair behind her ears, straightening to perfect posture. Even at the scene of a disaster, she maintains her image. Not that Peter blames her. He is sure Dan and Donna will have all sorts of footage from tonight all over the news tomorrow. As a local celebrity, Stephanie will probably get a featured segment. The thought makes him feel nauseous. "Everything seems to be in order!" The EMT says brightly. "I don't think you two need to go to the hospital. Do you three have someone who can take you home?"

"My uncle is coming to get me," Peter lets him know. He looks toward Stephanie and Peter. “He can probably get the two of you too!”

Stephanie's frown deepens. It has been such a common expression for her tonight, Peter feels bad. He has etched so much grief into her face. "But Peter-"

"I'm fine, Steph."

"No you're fucking not. You keep fucking... Leaving."

"I've been here the whole time."

"But you haven't. The lights are on but nobody is home. It's... It's fucking terrifying, Pete."

Oh.

Pete turns to Richie, who nods. His palm is slick with sweat against Peter's. He looks freaked out, even considering everything that has happened tonight, which Peter again feels bad about. He is letting everyone down today. Still... There is one person he can't fail. He can't.

Peter looks up at the EMT.

“Where is my brother?” 

Richie swallows nervously. Peter feels his Adam's apple bob against his shoulder. "Pete...” He says slowly, like Peter just asked if he could move to Clivesdale. “He's d-"

"I fucking got that." He doesn't need a reminder. "Where... Where did they take him. After."

The EMT presses his lips together. “You should let your parents handle that, sweetie-”

“Then it’ll never get done. Where is he?”

“Everyone who was... who had passed before we arrived was taken to the hospital morgue.” 

“Huh.” Images of Ted, pale and expressionless on a silver slab flash through his head. So many nurses were going to see Ted naked. He would have been ecstatic. 

Then Peter is laughing. He is laughing so hard he can’t breathe. Stephanie and Richie are saying something, and they sound almost frantic and someone is shaking his shoulder but it’s so fucking funny Peter can’t stop. Tears stream down his cheeks as he cackles. And at some point his laughs have turned to sobs. They shake his whole body, and he thinks he might be screaming. He falls into Richie, and Richie is sobbing too. He wraps his arms around Peter, and hugs him tight to his chest. Peter can feel wet spots on Richie’s shirt where he is soaking him with tears and snot, but Richie only holds him tighter.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Pete,” he murmurs over and over into Peter’s hair. A warm weight drapes over Pete’s back, and  Stephanie reaches up to pet through Peter’s hair. 

“Let it out baby, let it out.” Her voice is wet.

Peter isn’t sure how long they sit there, crying. Long enough, that Peter runs out of tears, and he just sniffles through shaky breaths, feeling like a wrung out dish towel.

“What am I going to do?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Where... Where am I going to stay?” His parents were out of the question. Peter wouldn’t go back, even if they wouldn’t just slam the door in his face. Without Ted to pay rent on the apartment... “I’m homeless. Fuck.”

“You can stay with me!” Stephanie assures him. 

“Your dad is going to be okay with that?” 

“Are you kidding? He’ll love it. Taking you in right before the election? He’ll look like a hero.” She scoffs. “He’ll probably claim it was his idea.”

A car pulls into the parking lot, a beat up red Toyota probably older than Peter is himself. The bumper is more rust than metal. At the wheel is the mean barista from Beanie's. She is wearing an expression that Peter has never seen on her before, blatant concern weighing her face. Out of the car, comes Richie’s uncle Paul. He is still in his suit, like he was relaxing at home in a starched shirt and tie. Considering everything he knows about Paul, that probably was the case.

“Richie!” He yells, louder than Peter imagined he could be, “Richie!” His head frantically turns back and forth as he scans the crowds.

“Over here!” Richie yells, standing and waving his and Peter’s conjoined hands. He has backed up, so the lines of their legs are still pressed together.

Paul’s entire body decompresses when he sees Richie, like he is sighing with his entire body. He staggers against the hood of the car, briefly studying himself with his hands, before pushing past it. He cuts the corner too fast, slams his thigh into the headlight, but he doesn't even seem to notice the impact. He speedwalks over to the back of the ambulance, running up to his nephew to take Richie's face into his hands. “Richie,” he gasps, like holding him is the first breath of oxygen he has gotten all night. Something about it makes Peter's already sore eyes sting, and he has to swallow a lump in his throat.

Richie looks up at Paul with a brittle smile. “Hi Uncle Paul. Thank you for coming.” He says it like Paul has picked him up early from a sleepover. Paul doesn't even answer. He just opens his mouth and then closes it, once, twice, then a third time. Then he pulls Richie forward, unflinchingly, into his chest. His shoulders shake.

“Jeez, Uncle Paul!” Richie shrieks, “You're crushing me.” He doesn't fight the hold though, merely wraps his free arm around Paul and squeezes. The hand still holding Peter’s trembles.

The mean barista jogs up to them, finally catching up from where Paul had run off without her. Peter remembers Richie mentioning she and Paul were dating, but Peter hadn't realized they were “Drive me to get my nephew from the scene of a mass murder” serious. Good for Paul.

"Hey kid. How are you holding up?"

Richie sniffs. "Sorry, Emma. I know you were excited to have dinner with Tom and Tim."

"Kid, you don't have to apologize for... For any of it. I'm just glad you're okay." She places her hand on Paul's shoulder. “Babe, you're going to suffocate him.”

“Right, right,” Paul says, distantly. He lets Richie lean away, hands slowly falling, like he is ready to reach out and grab him again at any moment. He glances over, paling at the sight of Peter and Stephanie. He clears his throat as he processes their presence. “Hello Peter. Stephanie.” He says Stephanie's name slowly, like midway through saying it, he realized he wasn’t actually sure he was right. 

She graciously doesn't mention it. “Hey, Mr. Matthews.” Paul frowns, like he always has the few times she's joined them for a study session, but for once doesn't argue. Instead, he turns to Peter.

“Richie mentioned that Ted... Is... Is he, um-”

Peter doesn't have the patience for this. “Ted's dead, yeah.”

Paul gets that same stricken look Bill had, and maybe Peter should be nicer, but to be honest, he just wants people to stop looking at him. Even the fucking barista, who Peter is 99% sure has spit in his hot chocolate, is looking at him like he's a walking tragedy and Peter can hardly stand the writhing weight of their pity.

“Okay... Okay, okay,” Paul repeats, slowly, taking a deep breath. "I'm... I'm sorry for your loss. Ted and I weren't close but... I know he really, really loved you."

It's so impersonal, so distant. It’s a stranger’s eulogy.

It's exactly what Peter expects from Paul. Their mismatched relationship used to be something Peter, Ruth, and Richie laughed at Ted recalling his "best friend Paul" while Paul clearly only tolerated Ted, at best. Ruth had once called it a "tragic, one-sided bromance" and Peter had laughed so hard, milk shot out his nose. But Ruth isn't here. And Ted isn't here. And Paul doesn't like Peter's brother. And Peter can't help but say it.

"Ted called you his best friend." From the way Paul's eyes widen, this is news to him.

"Oh. I... I didn't know he, um, felt that way. I kind of thought he didn't like me."

"Being mean is how Ted shows affection. He learned it from our parents."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Pete," Steph exhales, like the words pain her. She nuzzles closer to his shoulder.

"Speaking of parents,” Paul says, in that frantic way he does when he is trying to change the subject, “are they coming to pick you up?"

"Fuck, I hope not." Peter says, before he can stop himself. He groans. Fuck his filter tonight, apparently he’ll just say anything. Stephanie, Paul, and Emma are looking at him with barely masked concern.

“Peter can stay over, right?” Richie asks, nervously. He still hasn't let go of Peter. Peter can't imagine asking him too.

“Of course,” Paul says and nods toward Peter. Then he looks at Stephanie. “Are you... Are you coming as well?”

“I...” Steph looks between them. “I’m not-” It is the most at-a-loss Pete has ever seen her. “I wouldn’t want to... You guys were... Ruth and I, we weren’t... We only hung out a few times, and... I shouldn’t.” It’s Richie who reaches out and grabs her hand.

“Please, come with us. For Pete, and... for me?” Somehow, tears begin to drip down Richie’s face. (Peter is distantly impressed. He thinks that if he cried anymore, he would crumble into dust.) “You’re our friend, Steph. You are Ruth’s friend too.” He chuckles, and chokes on it. “She was so excited to have a friend who was a girl, you had no idea.”

Steph sniffles a bit. “She was my first girl friend too. At least, the first one who was actually nice to me.”

“Steph...” Paul says. Peter didn’t realize it at first, but his eyes are red. “Even if you think you weren’t as close-” Paul’s voice cracks, “-as you should have been, you get to be sad too, okay?”

“Paul...” Emma says, a twinge of genuine grief in her tone, but Peter can’t bring himself to care about whatever the fuck they are talking about, because Steph is looking between him and Richie like she is waiting for them to say something. Words are fucking impossible but to be honest, Peter doesn’t want to talk anyways. He holds his arms out and Stephanie falls into them. And Peter was wrong, because as Steph silently cries into his shoulder and Richie worms his ways into the hug, shoulders heaving, Peter finds he has more tears left to shed after all.

[kaicubus]

Dating Wednesday Addams

warnings ✩° : mentions of violence, thats it.

pairing ✩° : wednesday addams x gn!reader

authors note ✩° : someone tell me not to get bangs like hers bc i already have curtain bangs and ive been prolonging my creepification but now its gettin real hard.

- Once you get close to Wednesday, keep in mind it’ll take a while, she kind of owns you in a way. Not in like a weird way or anything, but you're her special Y/n and hers only. That means that if anyone comes close to you with any romantic attraction, they're basically nothing but a corpse. Anything else she doesn't really care.

- At first she thought her feelings were pity towards you, then interest, then basically anything other than love because Wednesday Addams simply does not fall in love. That’s for her parents and her parents only.

- But maybe she’ll try just this once just for you.

- If you ever have any enemies or people who dislike you, chances are the person will be missing an appendage or two the next day. Bonus points to her if they actually put their hands on you, because that’s when she goes all out and reverts back to her childhood ways aka mindless torture, which is arguably worse than losing a finger or an ear.

- Not big on physical affection, I see her love language as more silent quality time. Maybe spending nights in her dorm as she works on her novel, not talking or anything but just being there is more than enough for her.

- Not big on physical affection YES but she will occasionally, very very rarely touch your pinky with hers as a signal she wants to hold your hand. Again, she’s ‘shy’ when it comes to that stuff, so when she instigates things it’s very slow and cautious.

- Wednesday secretly really loves when you get really excited about something she’s working on, example : her novel ((i think her stories are neat...)) and she even breaks her persona with a little smile, letting you know she appreciates the positive feedback.

- Stares at you SO much, it’s just a little creepy...psh nahhhh...but she finds herself mindlessly looking at you at multiple times of the day, out in public, in your dorm, in class, she basically is just staring holes into your head. Not out of violence or anything, she just stares. Doesn’t blink. Just stares.

- When you catch her looking at you, she gets the tiniest bit ‘nervous’ and starts blinking quickly and looking away. That’s also how you mess with her if you’re into that.

- If she feels extra nice one day, she’ll lend you a book of hers to show her admiration towards you. Especially if it’s one of her favorite authors. Or a hardcover.

- To be honest, I don't see Wednesday being the type to kiss you often, or even at all. But that’s not a bad thing! Many relationships make do without that kind of stuff. However there are some times where she’ll kiss the back of your hand, as she’s seen her father on endless occasions with her mother, because she just appreciates you so much—even if she doesn't show it expressively.

- Calling her Weekend instead of Wednesday as a joke and her actually liking the nickname to the point if you call her Wednesday in the same tone you do when you call her Weekend she gets kind of upset.

- Using love with Wednesday feels a bit off, but she really enjoys listening to her old music with you. You even learn how to use a record player for her ((if you don't know already, which i don't so...)) and now you're able to freely switch songs and play the ones both you and her like, like La Bruja by Tlen Huicani and Lino Chavez.

- She doesn't get jealous but if she sees you with another person and laughing with them the same way you laugh with her, she gets VERY offended. Wednesday will pop up behind you as you're talking to a friend or a classmate and stare there giving them the Kubrick stare until they back away and leave out of sheer fear and discomfort.

- No matter what you do, Wednesday is always super impressed. If you stand up for yourself? Impressed. If you get a good grade on a test you've been studying for? Impressed. If you straight up vandalize something and get away with it? Impressed.

- Scary. Movie. Dates. No, not Legally Blonde. But like actual horror movies and psychological thrillers that she actually likes. I’m talking Scream ((jenna ortega reference)), Pet Sematary, and all the Saws series. ((i’m so sorry if this is inaccurate but these are all movies i personally like but am also afraid of, especially pet sematary...but basically just any old horror movie, she’s not too picky when it comes to horror.))

- Always sneaking off together to solve mysteries or explore at night. There’s also moments where she runs way faster than you, so she ends up grabbing your hand and pulling you to safety without another thought.

[mdhwrites]

Honestly It's quite disrespectful and insulting, how Dana cared more about her beef with Disney than making a good show for the fans who supported her, some even financially. I've had it with her extreme fans raging to people when she's criticized for her obvious lack of care on S3 (the story in general), spamming and blaming on Disney and the shortening. Now that's revealed it wasn't Disney's fault for "ruining S3" since there was no S3 to begin with, that just puts more salt on the wound.

And lying about having plans for S3, what was that about? Stirring more hate on Disney? I find that pitiful and pathetic. If fans are gonna get mad at her from this revelation they have the right to do so. Toh should've stayed in the drafts or be written as a freelanche comic

Edit: I do think this person is too harsh on Dana as a person. I'm curious even what they mean by financial support from her fans (her charity livestreams? Unless she does those more often for personal gain but those people would likely donate anyways as just fans of the show) but as I go into below, I do agree that her unprofessionalism is a real problem and that with the fandom she somewhat helped rile up, it makes it frustrating to learn that a lot of this was on vapor. Not lies, but just... Not nearly as much solid foundation as we were led to believe. There is a lot to be said about how Dana, from my understanding, has been one of the most available leads on a show... Period? At bare minimum, for modern cartoons. Like others will talk but Dana was extremely candid. In fact, it feels like she probably learned some lessons from it because the blaming Disney stuff actually went DOWN as the show progressed. Like at least now it's "I wish I could have done more things," rather than, I dunno, just straight up trying to say they're why episodes you're not proud/ of aren't as well regarded didn't turn out.

Which she did.

With S1A.

Before SEASON TWO was out.

Like... You just shit talked literally half of the content that is out for your show and threw your publisher under the process. Why do I think that might not have been received well?

And when I was biggest in the fandom, around the time the news of the shortening happened, you heard a LOT of different explanations from Dana, like it was one executive who made the call or how TOH wasn't a 'part of Disney's brand' or the like. When the Florida stuff came out with Disney, she pretty explicitly called Disney out for it (which is fine and I approve) but then went on to insinuate that it was hard for her to believe that the show had been cancelled for any reason besides representation, a move I DON'T approve of and makes ZERO sense with how they got to do so much more gay shit in S2B and even add new elements like confirming Masha was they/them or confirming Luz being Bi on screen in Thanks to Them. It's not a great look for a director, especially during the times these statements were coming out.

Being unprofessional admittedly doesn't make her a bad person but like... Yeah, I get upset thinking about the contradictions here too. That even in the same post Hoot that she has to admit that the shortening pushed them creatively and they had no real plans, she's still talking like she had plans. Like there was something to be missed when... No. Not for the STORY. Just your bucket of ideas for a perpetual series.

It leans into the idea that saying you were going to do X means you would have done it perfectly. That Dana doesn't understand that the only perfect work is the one never done. She's fine with being remembered for what wasn't there if it means being remembered better. As a creator myself who struggles with putting things to the page... I don't know. It hurts to some extent.

Which just a small update: I've been having real trouble focusing the past couple days. My head is not on well right now. It's why these are being a bit more emotional and late night rather than my normal posts in the morning because that's just how I've felt like doing it. Hope you're all taking care of yourselves and see you next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[silentwillowwhisperer]

Jackets

Keith knows his jacket is bound to get ruined at some point during this chaotic war.

But hurts seeing the red material that has provided him comfort for so many years in tatters. All he can think of is blurry images of his dad wearing it, telling a younger version of Keith that someday he'll be as cool as his dad and wear cropped jackets.

It's all Keith really has left of his dad, so he can't help it when a tear slips down his cheek.

It's almost funny, really. All his hard work trying to seem emotionless to the other paladins only to flee the room in tears because of a stupid jacket.

He's hiding in the observatory, nestled against the wall in a dark corner. He spends a lot of time in here, so there's a few pillows and blankets already piled around him.

He's shaken from his thoughts by a soft knock on the door.

Well, there isn't really a door to the observatory, but there's a knock on the metal archway that serves as the entrance.

He stays absolutely silent (apart from the occasional sniffle) and hopes that it's just Shiro, and that he'll leave Keith alone.

"Um, hey, Keith? Bud? Are you... in here? You kinda ran out of there and... are you alright? Should I leave? Oh, dang it, this is stupid, I should leave. But can you at least confirm your existence so that I can tell Shiro that you're not missing?"

Keith inwardly groans. There's only one paladin who rambles like that, and he knows that Lance isn't likely to just leave once he hears the teary crack in Keith's voice.

So he quiet until Lance walks over to his pity nest (yes, that's what Keith is officially calling it, It's literally a nest that he built, he blames that on his Galra instincts) and sits down next to him.

"So... I knew that you have horrible fashion sense, but it's clearly worse than I thought if you're this upset about the jacket. If you want, we can go to the space mall and get you a jacket that will actually.. you know, keep you warm?"

Keith can feel the next wave of tears coming on. Desperately fighting them back, he whispers, "No. You can't r-replace it. It was my dad's. He's not here anymore."

He winces when he hears the wet crackle in his voice, it's clear that he's been sobbing.

Lance looks over at him with something in his eyes that Keith doesn't recognise.

"Oh. He's dead then?"

The way Lance says it is so matter-of-fact that Keith wants to scream.

"Yes! He's gone, and I'm alone! Are you happy now? Just go away. You clearly don't care about me, and you're right, the jacket is dumb. Do me a favor and throw it out while you go."

The guilt that flashes on Lance's face is almost enough for Keith to apologize, but he doesn't. Lance already knows what he's like, and if you mess with fire, you get burned.

Wordlessly, Lance starts to shrug of his own olivey green-brown jacket. Once it's off, he holds it out to Keith with a sheepish frown and diverted eyes.

"That was insensitive. I shouldn't have acted like that about your dad or the jacket. You can have mine, though. It used to be my older sister's, but once we get back to Earth I can just ask her for another."

Lance sounds so sure, so certain that they will make it back. Keith wishes he had even a fraction of that blind confidence. But then again, even if they do make it back, he has nothing waiting for him on his home planet. Nothing but a whole lot of pain.

Keith stares into Lance's steady blue eyes. Why the sudden show of empathy? All they ever do is argue, Keith knows that he's hardly Lance's favorite paladin. They're barely even friends.

"That's not true. We are friends. Or at least... we could be. "

Dammit. Keith must have said that aloud.

He reaches out hesitantly and takes the jacket. When he slides it on, the sleeves flop over his hands, and it swallows him whole. He glares at Lance when he hears a small snicker.

However, despite the size, it's comfortable and warm, and it kind of maybe smells nice. (And it's possible that he likes the bigness.)

He glances over at Lance to see the other boy blushing.

"Thank you. I... words are weird, but... I- thanks."

Keith flushes red across his cheeks and at the tips of his ears and looks down at the ground quickly.

"It's warmer than my old one."

Lance smiles warmly, and to Keith's surprise, shifts closer to wrap an arm around him. Keith doesn't know how, but they've maneuvered to that he's very slightly on Lance's lap, and annoyingly enough, it's quite comfortable.

He leans his head back onto Lance's chest and feels the other paladin chuckle softly, making his chest rumble a bit.

They don't talk after that, they don't have to. They just sit together and stare up at the stars visible through the observatory's glass roof, feeling tiny and so, so huge at the same time.

Keith is attached to that jacket now and wears it absolutely everywhere, but that doesn't mean anything! It's a nice jacket! (That still smells like Lance...)

[luveline]

hiii, can i have a blurb with emily, it can be literally about anything, i miss her and you write her impeccably ✨🥺

thank you ♡

Emily frowns at her computer screen. She's been having a hard time using the new system, and she can't stop batting at the feathered bangs that kiss her eyebrows, an agitated tic. 

She really doesn't like admitting that she can't do things. 

You rifle through your desk drawer. A few weeks ago you'd stopped for throat soothers on the way to work and found a packet of strawberry flavoured mentos at the gas station. I love the strawberry flavour, Emily'd said once, but I don't like any of the other ones. It feels like too much of a waste to buy the bag. 

You bought them. Chickened out on giving them to her. They're still sealed. 

"Hey," you say quietly, careful not to draw the attention of her deskmates. If Spencer or Derek were to witness this, they'd both laugh at you. Everyone knows how you feel except Emily, because isn't that always the way? "Emily?" 

She immediately turns her attention and concern to you, her eyes so dark and pretty it makes you feel sick. "Hey," she says, her voice dulcet, near melodic, "you okay?" 

"I got you these." 

You pass her the box of mentos without fuss. 

Her lips part in shock before melding to a smile that brags the pearl of her teeth. "Oh my god. Where did you find these?" Her gaze flickers between you and her newfound treasure. "How did you–" 

"I remembered, um, when we went to Austin, you," —you look down at her hands— "said you liked only the strawberry ones. So when I saw them I hoped you'd like them."

"Have you ever tried them?"

You rub at the inside of your wrist. "No." 

Emily's chair rattles as she stands, and mentos hit the sides of the box as she breaks the seal with her finger and tips a few into her palm. They're a light pink and smell strongly of strawberry, though there's a subtle coolness to them. 

"Here," she says. "I think you'll like them." 

You take it because she could offer you little tiny rocks and you'd eat them. You'd smile at her with cracked teeth. Emily doesn't realise how much power she has over you (remarkably) nor the effect of her closeness. You press the mento between your lips and she does the same, beaming this beatific, heart-racing smile at you as strawberry pops over your tongue. 

"They're good, right?" she asks, nearly smug. 

You nod quickly. You're not a reliable narrator and you'd say yes no matter what, but something about looking at her makes them sweet. 

"The– the new computer system, it's buggy, right?" you ask. When she looks at you dumbfounded, you correct, "Non responsive. Doesn't wanna listen." 

"Right?" She looks so relieved that it knocks you off kilter. 

"I think I figured out how to get my emails to stay in one place," you say, aiming for casual, barely making the mark. 

"Could you show me how to do that?" 

You sit in her desk chair at her computer and fix her emails to the desktop. The system isn't buggy, but you want her to feel capable. She is capable. Strawberry mentos over your shoulder, her hand resting on the back of her chair, fingertips brushing your back and silky dark hair skimming your shoulder, she's perfect. 

Spencer meets your eye from over the desktop monitors. He, of similar disposition, seems to be commending you on your demeanour with widened eyes and a small nod. 

Derek, on the other hand, taunts. "Is it hot in here?" he asks, fanning himself with his t-shirt. 

Emily leans over your shoulder to grab a case file from her desk, tossing it onto Derek's. "You can fan yourself with that once you've peer reviewed it for me." 

Spencer shakes his head in pity. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Emily asks you, looking down. "Are you hot too? You look flustered." 

"I'm feeling it," Spencer says. 

"Huh. I must be cold blooded," she says under her breath, the exhale tickling your neck. "Weird." 

[tavyliasin]

Yurgir: Did you lick the dead spider next door or something?

Tav: No but I can lick you

Gale: Not to doubt your, ahem, abilities, but I think such an act might kill you

Tav: No it's fine, I know the enlarge spell. Besides, we've got resurrection scrolls, haven't we?

Yurgir: Will not say it but at this point he might just find Tav too endearing to kill

Meanwhile Raphael is screaming into a pillow. A real "you vs the guy they have a crush on" moment

I wanted to reply to this - and the alarmingly similar one also in my inbox - last night when it came in, but I wanted a little more energy to do it justice. Farbeit from me to let down a fan of the fiend and the orthon with half arsed words~ Act 3 House of Hope spoilers follow, along with...well I'm not sure where this is leading yet, I have an idea so I'm going to chase it and give you the incident report~ ---

Size Matters, Not?

"Size doesn't matter," Haarlep muttered, combing through their master's hair as he sat on the edge of the bed fuming, "but you did show the Little Mouse your full form, didn't you?" "Of course I didn't stay in the pitiful mortal shell, Harlot, I spread my wings upon our first meeting when I summoned them here - I had thought them to be properly dazzled by my horns, my wings, my tail. I showed them a taste of greatness, all that I could offer, the devil they could know-..." Raphael paused, finally understanding the incubus's words. He began to sit up a little straighter, his shoulders carrying more pride even in the human guise that made it easier for the ever-preening creature behind him to ensure he would look his best for every meeting. "Why don't you just portal yourself right back there, wait til they emerge from that rancid little prison you left the Orthon in, and show them what real power looks like?" Haarlep gave him a gentle shove, the not so subtle cue to get up and stop sulking. "Unless you'd rather stay here, and play with me~" Their lilting voice was more than enough to spur the fiend to action. He was well aware of what would happen if he stayed, and as satisfying as it would be to lay with his personal incubus, that would do nothing for the festering rage in the bottom of his gut. "Fine. But you had better be right. I will not suffer such impudence from the rodent again. They are mine." The growl betrayed a little of everything Raphael worked so hard to deny, but was not missed by the quietly smirking incubus behind him. --- Several hours later, the House of Hope was a flurry of activity. Debtors were running through the halls, each seeking somewhere, anywhere, to hide from the footsteps shaking the walls, and indeed the one who was making them. Fire flared out from his whole body, huge and terrifying frame storming through the corridors and clawing hot molten lines in the solid stone walls. The fury burned hot in his mind as well as his body, a hundred thoughts condensed to a searing rage. Is this still not enough for them? I am huge, made of pure power, I have the flame of a thousand infernal suns...and I find them curled up with that...that...THING while he calls them "Little Rabbit"?! I was the first to name them, I dubbed them my Little Mouse, they should be mine, MINE- --- A few rooms away, a certain incubus suddenly realised they had somewhere else to be. Anywhere else. For at least a decade until this tantrum cooled off. --- END --- I may get to the other ask in my inbox a few hours from now~ thanks for the ideas! They're rather fun, and the other one will be much more focused on Yurgir rather than Raphael's side of things. --- Bonus Meme Gif --- This one is for the lovers of size difference. You know exactly what I mean, don't pretend you're innocent now, far too late for that~

[joprompts]

chess (musical) starters. part one. *starters from the musical. adjust as necessary.

everybody's playing the game but nobody's rules are the same. nobody's on nobody's side.

all men have a weakness: his is that woman.

no one in your life is with you constantly. no one is completely on your side and though i move my world to be with him, still the gap between us is too wide.

no one can deny that these are difficult times.

knowing i want you, knowing i love you, cannot compare to my despair, knowing i've lost you.

they're not too polite.

who needs a dream? who needs ambition? who'd be the fool in my position?

don't get me wrong, i'm not complaining.

that's the problem. he's a brilliant lunatic, and you can't tell which way he'll jump. like his game, he's impossible to analyze. you can't predict him, dissect him, which of course means he's not a lunatic at all.

i've been a fool to allow dreams to become great expectations.

how can i love you so much yet make no move?

one of these days--and it won't be long--he'll know more about me than he should.

if it were love, i would give that love every second i had.

wasn't it good? wasn't he fine? isn't it madness he can't be mine?

i'm on the case, can't be fooled. any objection is overruled.

pity instead the careless mother, what she missed, what she lost when she let me go. i wonder, does she know?

pity the child who knew his parents.

if i knew from the start, why am i falling apart?

i'm not getting rich. my only interest is in something which gives me the chance of working with the best.

you have caused such grief i can't forgive this evil thing you've done.

if you walk out on me, you're really betraying your father. were he alive now he'd surely be dying of shame.

you're on nobody's side, but your own.

there will be days and nights when i'll want you more than i'll want to.

you and i, we've seen it all.

this is the one situation i wanted most to avoid.

the one i should not think of keeps rolling through my mind and i don't want to let that go!

what's going on around me is barely making sense. i need some explanations fast!

what if he saw my whole existence?

what we've just seen's a pathetic display from a man who's beginning to crack. he's afraid. he knows he isn't the player he was and he won't get it back.

once i had dreams now they're obsessions. hopes became needs. lovers possessions.

maybe it's best to love a stranger. well, that's what i've done. heaven help my heart.

who'd ever think it? such a very pretty setting. tell me what's the betting, very pretty plotting, too. no matter--i've done all your work for you.

i want to talk chess.

how'd we ever get this far before you showed me what you really are?

never lose your heart, use your head!

looking back, i could have played it differently. won a few more moments, who can tell?

not much is known of early days of chess beyond a fairly vague report.

where's daddy? dead or in the KGB?

when i was nine, i learned survival, taught myself not to care.

pity the child who twenty-five years on, finds her confidence gone!

how you've hated my success!

it's the only thing i can stay true to.

you got your tricks, good for you, but there's no gambit i don't see through.

there must be more i could achieve but i don't have the nerve to leave!

how can you let mediocrity win? you have one chance left. win for chess. you were five one up. now it's five all. get a grip.

i don't see anything outrageous about demanding what i'm worth.

chasing our hearts' desire, but we go on pretending stories like ours have happy endings.

did i plan doing all of this for the love of a man?

[satanprotectsme]

The Girl in the Record Store - Chapter 2

Eddie Munson x Metalhead! Reader

Chapter Summary: It's your first day at Hawkins High, and it's just as chaotic as Eddie warned you it would be. He's there to help you navigate it, though.

Warnings: Angst, bullying, emotional, lmk if there's anything else I don't think there is!.

A/N: I try not to use (Y/N) in my writing, so he usually uses pet names instead even though they're not dating yet. I use petnames with people casually so I don't know if it's awkward or not, I'm sorry if it is!"

Waking up in the damp, humid, Indiana heat is something I don't think I'll ever get used too. I rip my sweat-soaked sheets off my body as fast as I can. Cracking my neck, I begrudgingly pull myself out of bed.

The thought of stepping foot into Hawkins High makes me want to vomit. Of course, I was eager to see Eddie again. We'd talked over the phone many times, and as happy as that made me, I miss that sweet smile that adorns his face. I miss the smirk that would lift his features while we spoke; I could basically hear it overtaking his lips we spoke over the phone.

I don't spend too much time getting ready, just powdering on some makeup and pulling on a simple, little black dress, leather jacket to match. I get into the car my dad had given me, a black 1969 Plymouth Barracuda, and start her up.

When I pull into the parking lot, I sling my backpack over my shoulders and hold my jacket around my forearm. A beige and brown van pulls in beside me. Eddie jumps out of the sliding door and smiles.

"Eddie!" I squeal, jumping back. "You scared the shit out of me!" I giggle, smacking his chest. He grabs his heart.

"Oh! Sweetheart!" He leans back. "You wound me," I laugh, rolling my eyes. I wander away from him, not looking back. "Do you have your schedule?" He asks, running up behind me.

"Yeah," I smile, handing it to him. "Do we have any classes together?"

"A couple, but they're both at the end of the day. You're gonna have to wait until after lunch."

"At least it's something!" My futile attempts to be optimistic are in vain. "Can you show me where Mr Latters class is?"

"Oh, Mr Latter? He's tough."

As he walks me to my class, all my jittery gaze will focus on is my peers stares, they're laced with venom. I lock eyes with one of the cheerleaders, but my gentle smile was met with a laugh. Eddie's voice, right next to my ear, feels drowned out and far away, in a catatonic state. I yearned for butterflies in my stomach, but I'm agonized with hornets stinging my guts.

"Sweetheart?" Eddie calls out for me, dragging me out of my stupor. I look up, we're outside of my class. "Hey! You okay?" He reaches his hand out for my shoulder. I nod.

"Yeah, I'm just a bit nervous," A feeble smile overtakes my lips, my eyes, however, still had hot tears welling in their ducts.

"You'll be fine, the assholes at this school won't do anything,"

"Thank you Eddie," I breathed, air barely escaped past my swelling heart and lungs, ready to split my figure in half.

"Go get 'em tiger!" He gently pushes me through the doorway, I giggle. Everyone's eyes on me as I walk in is definetely a bit jarring, but I just take a seat in the back of the class.

The first day at a new school might be the most unbearable thing I've experienced in my life so far. Having to introduce yourself everytime you walk into a room gets tiring. Hearing the hushed yet pointed laughs directed at me stung.

I was being circled by hyenas, and all I had to push them away was my pride. When the bell rang, I sped my way to the cafeteria, I look around for Eddie and his friends. I wasn't allowed to look for long though, it'd be too easy if I actually got to see them. Three tall guys and a cheerleader stand like a wall in front of me, the hyenas finally pounced.

"Nice to see the freaks have a new little freakette to hang out with," The blonde one laughs. His hubris was almost pitiful. I push to walk around him, but another guy blocks me from leaving. The cheerleader cackles.

"Freakette! Look at her that dress too, she'll probably be passed around by them. She's the only slut even willing to converse with that cult," we're similar heights, but it feels like she's looming over me.

Back at home, I'd probably stand my ground, even throw a punch or two, but I froze. "I'm not a slut," I hissed, barely loud enough for them to hear it.

"What was that?" the cheerleader slowly stalks towards me. Their predatory presence is enough to pierce my nerves, I can't help but shift back. If this was a one on one standoff, I'd be able to fend for myself, but the vulturine gaze all of them are holding over me is too much, I can't steer them away. After shifting back for a while, I feel hands on my arms.

"Actually, she said she's not a slut," Eddie snaps. I feel him pull me back, away from the instigators.

"Awww, the freak stepped in for his little freakette!" The blonde snickers. I pull myself away from Eddie and storm off, through the side doors, and to the parking lot. I swing open my car door and lean over the steering wheel. I look up to see Eddie jogging towards me. He leans into the passenger side window.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course," he opens the door and sits in the seat next to me.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I should've stepped in sooner, I-"

"It's fine Eddie," I dont mean to cut him off, but listening to him apologize made me feel worse. "God, I don't know how I'm ever going to step back in there," I chuckle, but my face is burning up red.

He looks down at his lap, fiddling with his hands before covering his mouth. "I'm sure you'll be fine, I'll be there for you next time, alright?"

"It's okay, Eddie, you don't have to fight my battles for me like that," I sigh. I play with the charm on my choker, my father had made it for me so long ago. He said it made me look mean and scary, like the badass little rockstar I am, that all the kids at my school wouldn't fuck with me when I wore it. That worked when I was a young kid, but not when you're 18.

"I guess I've just been fighting them off for years and I'm used to it, I'm sorry," He chuckles a little. "I don't know what your home town was like, but this is what small town Indiana is. I'm really trying to graduate this year, I wanna get out. All this cult talk and being an outsider since middle school, it's shit."

"Shit," I repeat. Looking up at him. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Fuck, anywhere that isn't here," He exasperated, sputtering into a smile. "C'mon, let's go back inside, you can't back down on your first day."

"I don't know," I trail off. He wraps and arm around me, and all the tenseness in my body seeps away. My soul was at ease in his presence, for the first time in my whole life.

"I haven't know you for very long, but I know you're strong, especially stronger than them," He looks deep into my eyes, a sweet smile laid on his lips. I sigh, but I can't help cracking one in return.

"Fine, let's go.

"Atta' girl!"

With a red dot on my back, I walk back into the school. The hyena’s still circled, but this time, I had a lion to fight them off for me. I got to spend the rest of my day with Eddie, at least until had to go back to work.

Thanks for reading!!!

its a little bit of a rushed ending but i didn’t know what to do 😭😭