#and temporary character death

[mishapen-dear]

“There’s a problem.”

Bad twitches, pausing briefly, but doesn't stop crafting. “What is it?” 

“The entity crammer won’t work,” Cellbit says. Bad’s hand crunches suddenly into the mine. He blinks down at it to see that a little red light, blinking sweetly, has been unearthed by the abrupt handling. He uses his thumb to gently push the explosive beneath the surface of the mine once again, smoothing the dirt back over it. He takes in a slow breath. 

“We could blow him up with mines.” He knows that won’t work. It’s worth saying, anyway. 

“It wouldn’t be fast enough.” Bad can hear movement behind him as Cellbit shifts on his feet. Bad keeps his ears perked for any sudden movements, but keeps his back turned as he works. If Cellbit suddenly turns against him... well. He isn’t going to just walk into a cage trap this time. “He has too many totems. We need another plan.”

There is another plan- this would be the perfect time to mention it, but the words stay locked behind Bad’s teeth. It would be so easy. All he would need is someone to keep Forever distracted while he sets up the scanner somewhere unavoidable, and then Forever would just need to walk through it, and that would be that. But that would be that for Bad, too. The scanner can take everything from Forever. The scanner can take everything from Bad. His warpstone and his enderpearls and his chorus fruit and his totems and his scythe- no, it’s not worth it. Bad remembers the cage. He remembers how quickly everyone turned on him. They’ve proved how much he can’t trust them with this.

He needs to find his kids, first. Then, maybe, he’ll let them know about the scanner. Then, if they really, truly, cannot find anything else... Then. It might be worth it then. For Forever. 

Bad promises, “We’ll think of something,” and he crafts another explosive. 

–

They think of mines. They think of the slingshot. They think of mobs. They think of everything. 

It isn’t enough. Forever has so many totems that no plan is good enough, and they’re running out of time. Whatever they do, whenever they do it, it has to work, and it has to work fast. Forever on the Risus pills is very happy, and a little dumb, but he isn’t stupid- if he figures out that they’re trying to take the pills from him… Bad doesn’t want to think about it. But every new plan is just another dead end and a fresh headache, and they’re running out of time. 

So- he does what he has to do. 

One night, only a few days after Bad and Cellbit had their conversation about the entity crammer, Forever leads Bad to the beach. On the sand is a lonely little picnic blanket, red, surrounded by red candles and bunches of roses. Wine and crepes and a chicken dinner. Bad asks if the blanket’s wool was stolen from his base, Forever laughs and says no. The stars twinkle mournfully down at them; the waves mute their voices; the sand is so, so soft. Forever doesn’t stop smiling. 

The candles are too dim to light them well, but the ring gleams in the moonlight. Forever holds it out to him, beaming, and Bad’s blood is rushing in his ears so thunderously that even as he sees Forever’s lips move he can’t hear the question over all this noise. 

It doesn’t matter- Bad knows the answer. 

He says yes.

--

It’s easy to play fiance. It’s so easy. Bad sits on his bed all day, spinning the Sunshine Protector over and over in his hands, and wonders if the world has always looked so dim. There is always a weight in his chest and a lump in his throat, and it feels like if he doesn’t move he’ll combust but he barely has the energy to stand. Most of the time, he feels stuck in standby. He can’t look for his children, because Forever gets agitated if Bad isn’t home when he gets home, and that’s against the whole point, isn’t it? The point to keep Forever happy. Keep him pliant. Pliable. Easy to worm into his heart so Bad can rip it open from the inside out.

It’s hard. 

He’s just… he’s sad. 

He’s angry, too. It sits below the surface of his soul, buzzing. He wants to scream. He wants to tear. Whenever Forever smiles at him Bad wants to chew his face off with his teeth. But Bad has a job to do, and he needs to stay reasonable to do it. He’s gone wild before- he knows what happens. He knows he needs to cling to his own leash with both hands and never let go. But Dapper is gone, and Pomme is gone, and there is a ring on his finger -not even diamond- and Forever is always smiling. 

It’s the pills’ fault. Bad knows it’s the pills’ fault. He still wishes that Forever would try to kill him again. That would make everything very, very simple, very, very quickly. 

But then the plan would be ruined, because Forever has so many totems that he could escape, and Bad- 

Well, by that point, Bad would probably be a little ruined, too. 

The door slams in the other room. He goes still, then stands. He can hear his fiance calling for him. “Bad!” Forever. He sounds cheerful. Happy. “Meu docinho de côco! I’m home!” 

Bad expertly pulls cheer into his own voice. There are many things he is good at, and one of those things is lying. “Forever!” he calls back, and exits the room with the Sunshine Protector still in his hands. Forever, as always, doesn’t seem to notice. He perks up at the sight of Bad, like a golden retriever whose owner has just stepped in through the door. His perpetual grin is still on his face, being perpetual. There’s a wide, almost wild joy in his eyes; his happiness is tacky, like hard-candy drizzled left in the sun and then drizzled with syrup. 

“Bad!” Forever cheers again, laughing. His white suit is perfect, the Brazilian flag pinned neatly across his shoulder. Every day, when he comes home, Bad looks for blood. As always, he finds none. Forever bounds over to take Bad in his arms and spins them both, as if they’re lovers long-apart finally reunited after a dangerous sea-bound journey. Forever leans in, quick, for a kiss. 

There is a game they like to play. Bad doesn’t know if it’s a game for Forever, but it is a game for him. Since their engagement, Forever has gotten more bold with taking his pills in front of Bad- he’s gotten more bold in trying to get Bad to take them with him. Bad has only ever accepted kisses from Forever on his nose, cheek, and forehead- even before he saw Forever, moments before trying to catch his lips again, slip a pill between his teeth. 

The game goes like this: Forever attempts to -literally- kiss Bad into oblivion; Bad dodges.  

This scene plays out like all the ones before it. Bad turns his head to the side just in time, and Forever, undaunted by yet another failure, presses an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek instead of his lips. His free hand is on Bad’s other cheek, pressing their faces together with unfiltered affection. His hand is warm, and a little rough with hard-earned calluses, and his beard tickles Bad’s skin. His breath fans hot across Bad’s cheek. 

He’s so happy. 

Bad has never lost their game, but he thinks about it sometimes. Even if Forever managed to get a pill into his mouth, there’s nothing that would force him to swallow. But there’s nothing that would force him to spit it out, either… And then he holds onto the Sunshine Protector even more tightly and he messages Phil or Cellbit about whatever mass-murder attempt they’re thinking about trying next, at least until he can think about anything other than- that. They’ve gotten Etoiles in on it, recently, and any day now they’ll come up with a solution. They have to. 

For now, Bad wraps his arms around Forever when he pulls back, grip loose, and plays his part by not stabbing him. “Hi, Forever!” he chirps. The enthusiasm feels wrong, but if he tried to pull up fondness he thinks he would just pull up bile instead. Maybe he should. Maybe he should spit acid into Forever’s face and see if that will kill his smile, make him angry, make them fight, just like they used to. He wants, more than almost-anything, to see Forever snarl. As a precaution to unfiltered impulses, Bad flicks his wrist and sends the Sunshine Protector back into his inventory. 

“Hi, Bad!” There’s a flash of the pill between Forever’s teeth, sparking white hidden in his smile, and then he swallows audibly. Nothing happens for a moment, and then his eyes dilate, he starts to shake, and his grin widens far enough to show all of his teeth. Forever’s trembles turn almost violent, every other breath catching on a giggle. He falls against Bad, his weight pressing heavily into his fiance as the drug makes its way through his system. His hand goes from Bad’s cheek to his hair, pulling hard and clinging to it like a lifeline. His totem-hand digs painfully into Bad’s side. Bad just tightens his grip, and holds. 

It never lasts for long. Soon, the two are left standing in an almost-peaceful embrace, with Bad’s arms wrapped securely around Forever and Forever’s cheek pressed against Bad’s shoulder. Forever’s shoulders are relaxed; his back open; his neck bared. If Bad’s leash were looser, he could lean down and tear his throat open with little more than teeth. 

His head stings where Forever pulled his hair too hard. 

Bad’s voice comes out too soft when he asks, “How was your day?” 

“Oh,” Forever sighs. “Perfect, just perfect…” He nuzzles his face into Bad’s shoulder, the scruff of his beard making little scrtch scrtch sounds against the fabric of Bad’s robes. “But it’s even better now that I’m here with you.” Bad’s heart twinges. “And I’m going to go see Richarlyson when he wakes up,” Bad’s heart weeps. “Do you want to come with me?” 

His tongue is like lead in his mouth. “Sure.” 

Forever beams again. He squirms, and Bad lets him go. Forever doesn’t pay him any mind, just wanders over to the nearest mirror to peer at his own face. There’s scrutiny in his expression- Bad almost feels hopeful, and then Forever asks, “What do you think of my beard, Bad?” 

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re too nice to me, Badboy,” Forever scolds brightly. He’s still watching himself in the mirror. There’s a glaze over his eyes, almost fevered. “I want to look nice for our wedding.” 

Bad’s stomach swoops. “Well-” he starts, scrabbling for yet another reason to delay it. He needs to wash his hair? No, he used that last time- 

Forever derails all of Bad’s excuses by not mentioning a date, and instead saying, “Can you help me shave?” 

Bad freezes. “What?” 

“My face, Bad,” Forever insists, grin blinding as he turns towards him. “My beard. O cabelo do meu rosto.”

“I know what a beard is,” Bad snaps suddenly, sharper than he intended. 

Forever’s smile twitches. “Great! So you’ll help me? Por favor, meu anjo?” 

Give and take, don’t push too far. He’s here to stall for time, not to fight. The further he pushes Forever, the less he can control him. Bad takes a deep, slow breath, and shoves the anger back down. “...Okay.” 

Forever beams. 

–

That’s how the two of them end up in the bathroom, Bad sitting on the counter as he watches Forever meticulously craft the supplies. Bad had offered one of his own (many) blades for the procedure, but Forever’s grin had just grown wider as he shook his head and shuffled Bad into the bathroom. 

It’s cramped in there, both of them in their full gear. Bad watches Forever mix the shaving cream, golden totem glittering in his palm as he awkwardly holds the bottle still. There’s a faint rushing in Bad’s ears. The knife is already prepped, laying on a warm, damp towel on the other side of Forever, furthest away from Bad. 

His eyes keep going back to that totem. The rushing in his ears grows slowly in volume, until he thinks that he’s never going to hear anything else ever again. Bad is holding a totem, too. A totem of death, darker in colour and promising more pain. It’s not as good as a totem of undying but, as long as he holds it, he doesn’t need anyone to pull him up after a fall. The both of them, holding totems. 

He’s surprised when he hears himself say, “Forever?” 

Forever hums a curious noise. “Yes, meu xuxu?” 

Bad swallows hard. He doesn’t know where this is going, but he has a feeling, and over a dozen code attacks have taught him to trust when he gets a feeling. Carefully, he gives voice to the thought that’s been nagging him, “I need both hands to shave you.” 

“Okay!” Forever agrees, unphased. 

“Forever,” Bad says. “I need to stop holding my totem.” 

Forever doesn’t- falter, but he twitches, a little hiccup in whatever happy little daydream he’s been living in. “Don’t you trust me, Badboy?” 

Bad thinks about the mines. He thinks about explosion after explosion after explosion at the end of a disastrous proposal. Bad licks his lips. “It’s not… about trust,” he says, words cautiously measured. He’s not the one on drugs, but he feels like vibrating from knotted-up anticipation. “You know I’ve been here a while. You know it was… hard. Even before the code. I’m…” Forever looks up at him. “I need your help.” 

Forever cocks his head to the side, still smiling. “My help?” 

Bad bites his lip, then, and doesn’t miss the way that Forever’s eyes train in on his mouth. “Yeah,” he says, warming to the lie. “Yeah. I need your help.” He starts unbuckling his chestplate. 

Forever freezes, mouth falling open. “Badboy?” he says, voice a little tremulous. It almost sounds like him. Bad is embolded into continuing. 

“You’re in danger, Forever,” Bad says, and oops- too true. He drops his chestplate into one of his backpacks, then continues, “As president, I mean. Not everyone loves the Federation. The code, political enemies- they all want to hurt you.” 

“Political enemies,” Forever echoes with a laugh, and Bad feels something rush through him at the almost sardonic look Forever gives him. 

Bad smiles back at him, letting it come out a little nervous. One by one, he removes the rest of his armour. Pants. Boots. His hands are shaking by the time he removes his helmet and drops it into the backpack. “I know what it’s like. That… worry. Even with your loved ones. So I don’t- I don’t want to scare you, Forever, but I want you to put your totem down, too.” 

Forever keeps grinning. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” There’s a sharpness to his voice, a grated edge that just promises more shouting and more pills. A risk of him running off, escaping, and Bad can’t lose this opportunity now that he’s got it. But Forever is stubborn, and this isn’t enough, so… 

Fudge. Okay. He’s committed now; he has to keep going. Bad takes out the Sunshine Protector just to obviously, visibly, tuck that away into his weapons bag. Anything, anything, he has to remember he’ll do anything. He starts piling the rest of his inventory into his backpacks. 

“...Meu anjo? What are you doing?” 

“I want to- to help you, Forever,” Bad promises. He feels so naked. He’s fully clothed. He has no armour, and his hotbar has no weapon to defend himself from the man who tried to kill him only days before. It- he exists in a strange state of limbo. It doesn’t matter how killable he is, because he can always respawn. What is death to a grim reaper? What is death to an immortal? What is death to a grieving parent? But- still. There’s a vulnerability to packing away his weapons, his armour, his things. All of his prep made obsolete, no scanner involved at all. “But I can’t- if you’re holding a totem, I need to hold a totem, see? But you want to hold a totem in our house, which is totally safe, for the same reasons I do. So, if- if you’re the most powerful player around, maybe- maybe you can put it down. For a little bit.” Bad puts the death totem into the bag, and closes it with finality. 

Forever is quiet. His smile looks hollow now. 

Anything, anything, anything. Bad hops off of the counter and throws his backpacks into the tub, out of reach, and draws the curtain for good measure. Forever’s eyes follow the arc of his hand. “There,” Bad pants, and turns around again. He stands there, bared but fully clothed, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t been since- since- since some point he can’t even remember. “Now I’m- it’s up to you to protect me.” Bad wants Forever to try to kill him. “Now- now it’s your turn.” 

“Bad…” Forever says, his voice softer than Bad has heard in… a while. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

Bad’s heart drops. He’s so close. He’s so far. The rushing in his ears is so loud. He wants to bite, and claw, and hurt. He wants to dig his claws into Forever’s skin and- “I’ll let you kiss me,” Bad blurts, the promise tumbling all at once from his mouth like a badly-kept secret. “Once I’m done shaving you. Just- please, Forever. You know what it’s like. Please. Don’t you trust me?” 

Forever cracks. 

Bad’s breath catches when Forever pulls out his backpack -the one with the totems. Forever’s knuckles are white where his hands grip around the straps, but he places the backpack carefully outside the bathroom door before he steps away again. He looks jittery already, like a wild animal, and brandishes the totem still in his hand at Bad like a cross. 

“I’m keeping this one,” he says, and his grin looks painful. “I’m- this one, I’m holding onto this one. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Bad agrees, breathless. There is a lump in his throat. It’s hard to keep his hands still. Is he shaking? He might be shaking. Forever only has one totem. Bad has nothing. Forever has one totem. 

Forever picks up the towel and the shaving knife with one hand, then carries them over. He holds them out. Bad takes them- the blade he accepts by its sharpest point, but he’s careful not to bleed. “Okay,” Forever whispers. Then, too quick, almost desperate, he takes out his bottle and gulps down another pill. He stumbles to the chair as the shakes start to wreck him, almost toppling over before he snatches onto the chair’s back to steady himself. Bad, still holding the knife, does nothing to help. 

Forever manages to climb into the chair just as the trembles subside. He slumps back with a loud, satisfied sigh, like he’s just completed some great feat. He tilts his head back to look at Bad upside-down, his relaxation a stark contrast to the tension from just a moment before. He smiles dreamily up at his fiance, and it almost even reaches his (dilated, too wide) eyes. 

“Oh, Badboy,” he sighs happily. “Come on, come on! We’re all ready now, aren’t we?” 

Bad can very clearly see the column of Forever’s throat, stretched out and vulnerable. “Yeah.” Bad’s chest feels tight. He steps up behind the chair and looks down- Forever’s throat is right there. It’s a nice throat. Bad thinks it would be easy to fit both hands around it. He starts with just one hand. The damp towel is wiped gently over Forever’s mouth and jaw, then down over his neck. He does it again, preparing the skin for the sharp edge of the blade. 

Forever hums quietly, appreciatively. He closes his eyes, and Bad’s blood sings. 

An open neck. An ignorant victim. A single totem. It doesn’t matter how empty Bad’s inventory is- he has a knife, handed to him by Forever himself. Bad should stab him now. Two quick slices to the throat, a spray of blood, and a fresh corpse. It’s what Bad would have done before- but. He’s tense. There’s a stiffness to his muscles, and he doesn’t have armour. What if he misses? They’re so close together, it’s impossible to miss. 

There’s something almost… ritualistic about a good shave, anyway.. Bad can’t put the blade to his throat, not yet. Forever will know if he starts too soon. He has no armour. He needs to do this right. The shaving knife disappears into his hotbar. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Bad murmurs. He gently runs the towel along the bottom of Forever’s jaw, almost holding his mouth shut, but the president doesn’t seem to be bothered. Eyes still closed, he just makes a peaceful little humming noise. Bad moves the towel up a little higher- it hides the smile. It hides the smile, so Bad takes a moment to just… look. His stomach flips. Yeah, that’s Forever. That’s him. His lashes rest delicately against his skin, eyes shut and face smoothed into something peaceful. His hair has fallen into disarray, strands loose across his forehead, and Bad gingerly brushes them away.

He could lift the towel higher. It’s already over Forever’s mouth, and it could go over Forever’s nose, too. Bad could press down- or topple the chair, first, maybe, leave Forever falling into him as Bad suffocates him. Although- it would be difficult, but Forever could probably get a few good cuts into Bad before he suffocates, armourless as Bad is. But, then again, damp cloth is even better for a suffocation. Bad doesn’t think it matters if the towel is damp from water or from blood. Maybe he’d be able to keep the towel pressed down until he bled out. Maybe he’d die before Forever would; maybe he would fall across Forever and trap him beneath the wet cloth and the weight of his limp body, forcing the president to drown on the blood of his own fiance. Wouldn’t that be perfect? 

No. Too risky. It’s too risky. Forever still has all of his items. If he puts down a sponge and hits Bad hard enough, he’ll be able to get away before either of them could die. If Bad screws this up, he will never get a chance like this ever again. He has to be smart. 

So- cream, next, it’s shaving cream, next. Bad steps away as he throws the towel into his hotbar, then grabs the bottle and returns to Forever’s side.  “How did you learn?” Forever asks. Bad pauses a moment to realize what Forever’s asking, then laughs a little lowly.

 “I owned a pie shop, once,” he says. He pours the mixture into his hands to lather it. “I rented out the top floor to a barber. He was nice. Showed me a few things. Let me try a few things out with his clients.” 

Forever’s brows raise. “‘Try a few things out with his clients?’” he echoes. He’s -of course- still smiling, but there’s a note in his voice that Bad can’t read. 

“Yeah! Pies,” Bad explains. His heart twinges at the thought of simpler times. “They were pretty good. Now keep your mouth closed, Forever, or you’ll get foam in it.” 

Forever acquieses, but he purses his lips playfully until Bad gets his hands on his face. Once upon a time, when Bad first arrived on the island, his claws were sharp enough that he’d needed to wear gloves at night, just so he wouldn’t accidentally cut himself in his sleep. And then there were the eggs. Ever since Dapper arrived, Bad has taken a day out of every month to file his fingers down to dull, harmless nubs. Swords could do all of the cutting he needed, and what would he do if he poked Dapper too hard and ended up cracking him? He couldn’t bear the thought. 

But now. Bad uses the pads of his fingers to lather Forever’s face. If his claws were longer, they could gouge deep, bleeding ruts into his skin. As they are now, though, they do nothing more than scratch lightly over the stubble. At the worst, they leave a thin white line where they scrape over Forever’s actual skin.

In a moment of weakness, Bad swipes his dulled thumb under Forever’s eye, imagining the red tears that would bloom from the wound. Forever won’t cry over their lost eggs, but Bad could make him. 

Bad swipes his thumb again, pressing the pad of his thumb down with just enough force to feel at the edge of bone that gives way to eye socket. It’s an almost tender gesture, and Forever’s skin is soft. But Forever makes a little noise and Bad jolts, jerking his hand back. He swallows quickly, then wastes no more time in getting back to work. He lathers Forever’s jaw, his cheeks, around his mouth, a little way down his neck- he’s quick, and efficient, and doesn’t linger. And then… and then there’s nothing for Bad to do but wash his hands, and grab the knife. 

The shaving knife feels heavier. It falls into his hand from his hotbar with a solid weight. Inventories keep most items in the same state they were stored in, so the handle is still warm from Forever’s hands. 

Bad hand is steady when he puts it to Forever’s neck. 

His breath comes quicker, the rushing sound loud in his ears. Forever’s skin is warm and soft under his hand.  

Forever hums. His skin flutters beneath the blade. His eyes are still closed, his smile is wide. “What’s your favourite type of flower?” he asks. 

Bad hesitates for long enough that Forever opens his eyes to look at him. Bad swallows and doesn’t meet his gaze. He makes up for his hesitation by drawing the blade slowly up Forever’s neck, just an inch, and then summons the towel from his hotbar to wipe the shaving cream from the knife. “...Cornflowers,” he answers quietly. “Cornflowers are my favourite.” 

“Ah, cornflowers,” Forever sighs happily, smiling widely up at Bad again. Bad keeps his eyes pinned to Forever’s neck and draws the blade across a fresh patch of skin. “Those are the blue ones, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“They’re nice.” Forever hums. Bad puts the blade to his neck again, but then Forever keeps talking. “I think they will look nice in our wedding. We can have flower eggs! Imagine them, Badboy, all of them in their cute little outfits, throwing cornflowers around.” 

Ow. He can see it so clearly, too. His little eggs all dressed up and covered in flowers as they march down the aisle… smiling. Happy. Bad swallows hard. 

“I think the colours should be all black and blue,” Forever says, and shuts his eyes again. “And then you can stand out all pretty with your black and red, Bad. Will you wear your hair down again?” 

“...Maybe,” Bad says quietly. “Now shhhh, Forever… I need you to hold still, and stop smiling.” Black and blue… He felt stuck on that. Black and blue. Like a bruise. 

“Stop smiling?” Forever giggles. “But there’s so much to be happy about, meu anjo!” 

“Are you sure?” 

Forever opens his eyes to look up at Bad again. Bad looks back at him. The knife drifts upwards, slow, to press against Forever’s pulse. Bad’s hand is already slippery from the cold shaving cream, but he knows that the blood will be warm. He twitches when something warm touches his face- and he realizes, abruptly, that Forever’s hand has lifted up to tenderly cup his face. “Yeah,” Forever says, smiling.

Bad’s hand is shaking. Not a lot- not enough to cut, but enough for him to notice. They’re close. How long has Bad been leaning in? He presses the knife more firmly against Forever’s artery, but he doesn’t slice. “Stop. smiling,” he hisses. The words feel like grit spat from his mouth.

Forever’s thumb caresses the skin just beneath Bad’s eye, a mockery of the purely violent gesture Bad had subjected him to just moments before. Bad flushes hot in- in anger, or something else, but definitely with some anger, and then- and then Forever says, “Okay,” and he stops smiling. He closes his eyes again and leans back -Bad is startled to realize Forever had been leaning up towards him too- ultimately taking the blade away from his own neck, and he stops smiling. His hand falls away from Bad’s cheek, but it falls to lightly rest on the wrist of the hand that’s holding the towel. 

Bad is quiet for a long, long moment, just staring down at his broken fiance. And then- and then he gets back to work. 

The knife glides easily across Forever’s skin, shaving away the fine hairs of his beard. Bad is out of practice, but not so out of practice that he makes Forever bleed. When he moves on from Forever’s neck he has to lay the towel down so both hands are free to manipulate Forever’s face. He carefully pulls the skin taut where necessary, and only presses his dull nails down too hard once or twice. Forever sits peaceful and blank faced through it all. 

And then- 

And then it’s done. 

Bad turns Forever’s head to one side, and then the other, and he barely has it in him to pretend he’s inspecting him for any missed spots. And then he lets go, and he steps back. The knife hangs almost limply in his hand.

It’s when Forever is grinning again, standing now and inspecting his own face in the mirror, that Bad asks, “Is it nice? Being happy?” 

“What?” Forever turns to him, smile a little puzzled. His eyes are downright twinkling with fevered joy. 

“Is it nice?” 

“Yeah! You did a really good job, Badboy!” Forever praises. Bad’s traitorous heart leaps at the rare praise. Forever bounds the half-step over to swoop Bad into his arms and spin them, the two of them almost knocking over thr chair in the small space. Bad clings to him, and the single totem digs painfully into Bad’s side. 

“Forever, that’s not what I asked,” Bad insists almost even before they come to a stop. He feels lightheaded. “Do you like being happy?” 

“Yeah!” Forever chirps. “I’m with you, aren’t I?” And he leans in. When he kisses him, Bad doesn’t dodge.  

Forever is so warm. His lips are soft and the kiss is so tender, gentle like Bad is a wild animal who might be frightened off at the first wrong move. Forever’s hand comes up to cup the back of Bad’s head, the other arm wrapping itself around his waist. Bad is pliant, and he doesn’t kiss him back, but his arms wrap around Forever and pulls him in closer. Their bodies are flush together with no room for even air between them, and Bad thinks that if he focuses hard enough he could feel Forever’s heart beat against his own. He splays one hand across Forever’s shoulderblades, pressing hard to pin him close, and he uses the other hand, the one with the knife, to stab Forever in the back six times over in quick succession.

Blood sprays on the mirror behind them. Blood coats Bad’s hand. There’s heat at Bad’s back as the totem pops! and the room is filled with a stinging, magical shower of green and golden sparks- his ears ring from the minor explosion. Forever gasps into Bad’s mouth, and he tastes like iron. The knife was deep in his back when Forever’s heart stopped- the skin is already healing over it, so Bad holds on tighter and rips the blade out. 

Forever gets pulled back violently with the knife- their lips are disconnected with a slick sound that makes Bad’s head spin. “Bad?” Forever gasps. His eyes are wide, but not with joyous fever- with shock. It’s a good look. “You- you stabbed me?” 

“I did.” There’s something wrong with Bad’s brain, some wires that must have been crossed on a bad respawn because he’s dizzy, he’s too-warm, he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin- he’s grabbing Forever by his hair and forcing his head down to kiss him. 

There must be some wires crossed in Forever’s brain, too, because he kisses him back. It’s not tender or gentle- it’s a fight, just another battle that both of them are too stubborn to lose. Their teeth clack together and it’s awful and Bad’s blood sings. Forever tastes like his own blood and Bad bites his lip, hard, just to taste more. Forever gasps into his mouth, faltering, and Bad presses his advantage. 

He shoves Forever backwards, towards the wall, stumbling forwards with him so they don’t separate more than a few inches apart. Forever makes a shuddery keening noise when his back hits the stone- and Bad knows it’s not just from pain, but he thinks it’s mostly from pain, because the knife had been between Forever’s back and the wall and now it’s been aquainted once again with Forever’s flesh. Bad pants hard, and it’s Forever who drags Bad closer and catches his mouth again. 

There’s so much blood. 

And then, suddenly, the blood is all that’s left. 

[[PRESIDENT]Forever was slain by BadBoyHalo]

The shaving knife clatters into the ground as Bad falls into the space where Forever’s body once was. He catches himself on the wall, startled enough to stop breathing. There, on the ground, is the knife, shining wetly in the too-bright light of the bathroom. Next to it is a small pack that’s left behind after each player’s death- the remains of Forever’s inventory. Bad’s ultimate prize. 

Bad is frozen for a moment. He’s vaguely aware of more chat messages coming in at a rapidfire pace- Cellbit, maybe, and Philza, and Etoiles and whoever else is awake right now, but he doesn’t look at any of them. He falls to his knees instead which are promptly stained by the bright-red mess across the floor. He finds out that doesn’t care- nor does he care when he stains the pack when he scrabbles for it, and and he doesn’t care when he stains the inventory items when he rummages, and he doesn’t care when he stains the pill bottle when his hand finally clasps around it. 

He stares at Cucurucho’s smiling face on the too-white bottle, surrounded by smudges of red, then wipes his dirty thumb across its eyes to blind it with even more bloody smears. The bottle gets thrown into his inventory, then- the briefcase, right Forever had a briefcase, too, Bad needs to grab that, and- 

and then that’s it. 

That’s it. 

Mechanically, Bad pushes himself to his feet. He leaves the shaving knife where it is. He gets dressed in his armour, gathers up all of his backpacks, and then he goes home. 

He gets changed. He lays down in Dapper’s room, curled up on the floor next to Dapper’s empty bed. He holds the Sunshine Protector with both hands, closes his eyes, and tries to sleep. Bad doesn’t sleep. Bad also doesn’t answer any messages until morning, and maybe that can count as rest. 

His mouth still tastes like blood.

#mishapen words #4halo #qsmp #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp forever #'bout 6k words including what's above the readmore #ik some people prefer reading things on tumblr and some people prefer ao3 so there you go #proud of this one tho they're so.... #mind the blood #and temporary character death #and fake engagement #this takes place during the happy pills arc after forever proposes to bad the first time but before they save him #the big canon divergence is bad not trusting anyone to reveal the scanner #violence and kissing and drugs and #again #blood #so much blood #gayass shaving scene #some homicidal thoughts #and some homosexual thoughts #and i thinkkk that's all i need to warn for #anyway i fucking adore them #lets see if tumblr breaks this #if it does yall might see me fucking around to fix it so be warned

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve got the tattoo the day they held the very small, very secret service for Eddie.

He knew he had to get it somewhere hidden, didn’t wanna answer questions, not even from Robin.

The E+S on his upper thigh was precious to him, all he had left of the promises they made to each other as children and again as teenagers.

Eddie was Steve’s, even if he wasn’t here, and Steve would always be Eddie’s, even if Eddie no longer knew.

But eventually, the end of summer came, and the kids wanted to have something normal. Normal for them was a pool party that ended in a sleepover, and Steve didn’t have much choice about making it happen.

He wanted them to have something normal.

So he got his bathing suit on, forgetting the tattoo was in a spot that might show in it, and tried to have fun with them.

Robin noticed and then Max noticed, and once he’d tried getting out of the explanation twice in a row, Dustin and Will noticed.

So he just explained that he lost a dare with Tommy years ago and that got them to stop asking.

But he found himself crying in the shower that evening, trying his best not to make any noise as sobs wracked his body and it got harder and harder to breathe.

The only thing that snapped him out of it was the knowledge that Eddie would want him to go back downstairs to be with the kids. He wouldn’t want to see Steve like this.

He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to his tattoo, just like he’d done every single day since he got it.

And then he went downstairs to be with the kids.

His one rule during sleepovers at his house was he still go to sleep in his own bed. Sometimes Robin would join him, but most of the time, he slept alone.

He couldn’t sleep.

He could feel the exhaustion deep in his bones, but every time he closed his eyes and tried to drift, he’d get an overwhelming feeling of being watched.

His eyes would open and he’d look around, confused and frustrated.

And nothing would be there.

Which was good, great even. He didn’t want there to be anyone or anything there. But he did want an explanation for this feeling.

He sat up in his bed and sighed.

Maybe he could-

Something was definitely in his bathroom. The door had been closed earlier, like it always was, and now it was halfway open.

The light was off.

Steve stood from his bed silently, crept to the bathroom with his nail bat raised, and considered what would happen if he died up here.

“That’s a depressing thought even for your melodramatics, sweetheart.”

Steve barely resisted screaming at Eddie’s voice.

“Oh god. I’ve finally fuckin’ lost it,” he said as he turned the bathroom light on.

“I dunno. You still got it, baby. Even if you lost some weight in your ass.”

Eddie, or something that looked and talked like Eddie, was sitting on the sink in the bathroom.

“I did like those little swim trunks, though. Hope you wear those again for me.”

“What the fuck.”

“You know, that’s exactly what I said when I woke up alive. Kinda thought I was dying. Imagine my surprise when I didn’t.”

Steve held his bat tighter.

“Eddie? How?”

Eddie hopped off the sink and stepped closer, slowly, so he wouldn’t scare Steve.

“Not sure. But it’s not the craziest thing that’s happened.” Eddie wanted to touch him, Steve could tell. His hands were clenching into fists to resist. “I know I’m not human, but I’m close enough, I think.”

“Close enough for what?”

“To love you.”

Steve dropped the bat and fell against Eddie, burying his face in his neck and breathing him in, not caring about the dirt or sweat or grime clinging to his skin.

It was Eddie, and he’d take him any way he could have him.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been trying to get back here for so long.” Eddie’s arms held him tight enough to bruise. “Won’t happen again, won’t leave you again.”

Steve’s sobs were loud, but trying to contain them physically pained him. He’d been in enough pain for months. He had to let these out.

He felt Eddie waving his hands behind him, but then heard Robin’s rambling and decided to turn.

“-and he’s been distraught for months but didn’t tell me anything and then I saw his tattoo earlier and I thought, well, must just be a joke you guys had. And then I was like, no, can’t be, because you barely spoke. Or at least I thought you did. Clearly I’m wrong. I’m super wrong. Wrongest I’ve ever been maybe.”

“Robs.” Steve’s choked voice silenced her. “You know how I told you to go for it with Nancy because I really didn’t have feelings for her?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant, but yeah.”

“She protected me, both of us, really, so we could be together. Offered to pretend to date me so no one would get suspicious.”

“Steve. Steve Harrington. You had a beard?”

Eddie snorted. “I know you said she was funny, but I’m pretty she’s my second favorite human now.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’ve been with Eddie for forever. I mean, since we were kids practically.”

Robin was silent. A rare thing for her.

“Robin?”

“Sorry, just taking this in.”

“Yeah, Eddie being alive is a lot-“

“Not that. That is gonna come a lot later once I stop and think about the fact that he’s some kind of zombie.” Robin leaned against the doorway. “The fact that I came out to my best friend and he didn’t return the favor. That is queer code, Steve.”

Eddie laughed, and Steve let out another sob. He’d missed him so much, missed his laugh, his arms around him, his heartbeat-

“Eds. Eddie.” Steve lifted his head and pressed both hands to his chest. “You-“

“Ah. So I don’t seem to have a heartbeat anymore. As far as I can tell, I did actually die.” Eddie shrugged as if this news wasn’t absolutely insane. “So my best guess is vampire since I prefer blood to brains. But I can get by without it for a pretty long time.”

“How long?”

“Well, I haven’t had any since the day I woke up. Which is a few months according to your calendar.”

Robin held her hands up. “I’m going. Good luck. The kids are gonna flip.”

“Do not tell them. Not yet.”

Steve needed tonight, needed to have Eddie to himself before everyone else stole it for a while. He wanted to be selfish for the first time in a very long time. He knew Robin would understand.

“Sure thing. But you’re gonna have to be quiet. You’re lucky none of them heard you crying.”

Steve nodded and curled back into Eddie, placing a kiss against his neck.

“Glad you’re back Eddie,” she said as she left.

“I need a shower,” Eddie said. “Think it’ll wake the kids?”

“Nah. They slept through a tree falling in the yard last month during a storm. Just need to be quick,” Steve pulled away to start grabbing what he’d need for a shower, but Eddie pulled him back on, running his nose along his neck and sending chills down his spine.

“You wanna join me?” He asked.

“Of course I do. But we won’t be quick if I join you,” Steve smiled.

A real smile. One he realized he hadn’t had on his face since spring break.

“You wanna wait in bed for me, then?” Eddie beamed back at him.

“Can I stay in here? I don’t-“ Steve sighed. “I don’t wanna leave you.”

Eddie’s smile softened into something endeared. “Yeah, sweetheart. You can stay. Talk to me. Tell me what I missed.”

Steve told him about everything he could while he showered away the Upside Down grime, watching his shadow behind the glass door of the shower to make sure it never disappeared.

They made sure the bedroom door was locked before crawling into bed together, Steve laying on top of Eddie like he always did before.

He was heavier, but Eddie never cared.

Steve slept so long, Eddie had no choice but to go downstairs in the morning so no one would wake him up.

The chaos that ensued was nothing short of overwhelming, but Eddie didn’t mind.

He was happy to back with all the kids, even if they asked incredibly inappropriate questions about his body to find out what he was.

When Steve finally came down, he was still half asleep and barely registered the open-mouth stares of everyone as he came up to Eddie and rested his head on his chest, wrapped his arms around his waist.

Eddie smiled down at him and kissed the top of his head.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Morning, baby.”

“Sunshine?!” Dustin yelled.

“Baby?!” Mike yelled louder.

“Make them go away,” Steve sighed against his neck.

“You don’t wanna explain?” Eddie asked him, half joking.

“Not today. Scare them or something.”

“You think Eddie can scare us? We’ve all almost died!” Lucas said.

“Fine. Eddie and I are together, have been forever. The tattoo on me is our initials. Get out of my house.”

The kids just stared at them in silence until Steve finally turned from Eddie and put his hands on his hips.

“I wasn’t asking. Get out.”

The kids scrambled to leave, making promises (threats) to come back soon.

Robin waved as she walked out with them, throwing them both a wink and knowing smile.

“So how long do you think we have until they come back?” Eddie asked, rocking them back and forth gently.

“Few hours maybe.”

“I can do a lot in a few hours,” Eddie nipped at Steve’s ear, making him shiver and laugh.

“You got super strength with your new life?” Steve grinned at him.

“I wouldn’t call it super, but I could definitely carry you back to bed.”

Steve jumped up and wrapped his legs around Eddie’s waist, arms around his neck.

“Carry me to bed, then, Eds.”

“Anything your heart desires, Stevie.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #drabble #temporary character death #happy ending #vampire eddie munson

[strawberryspence]

The Harrington mansion is always dark.

Steve never really noticed it when he was growing up, not until he started dropping off Dustin and the kids. No matter how late it is, there's always a light on the porch for them. Like a sign that someone is waiting home for them.

It doesn't matter if his parents are out of town or not, it's always dark in the house. His parents doesn't care enough to leave a light for him. He won't leave it on for himself, because that feels pathetic.

Steve forgets about it, there's so many other things he should worry about.

He forgets about it until he starts dating Eddie Munson the summer of '85. Steve thanks the blue Scoops Ahoy shorts and the Corroded Coffin members for letting Eddie come in to the shop everyday for the whole summer until they finally start dating and making out at the parking lot.

Eddie starts hanging around Steve's house. Every night that Eddie stays at his house, Steve comes home to a house with a light on the porch.

The first time he notices it, he sat on his car crying for 30 minutes before finally caving in and entering the house. When Steve tells Eddie about this, Eddie visibly melts, scooping him into a hug before saying, "Oh sweetheart, as long as I am here, there's always going to be a light left on for you."

It's Eddie that makes the house a home. Steve doesn't care if he's living in a cardboard box, as long as he's with Eddie, it's home.

And that's why Steve's been standing in front of the dark porch for almost an hour now. Nancy's going to pick him up in a few more hours, so they can go back to the hospital and watch Max and Dustin.

But he can't— can't push himself to enter the dark house, knowing that Eddie's light and warmth is never going to touch it again. There's still blood stained on his hands, blood from when he had to leave Eddie's lifeless body in the Upside Down.

Steve wonders— morbidly— if Wayne has a light on in the trailer porch, waiting for a son that's never coming home.

Maybe it's weariness or maybe Steve just wants to peek inside and see if there's still a hint of Eddie floating around the house. Steve lets himself in the dark house, sliding down against the door as he sobs into Eddie's battle vest.

Outside, the porch light flickers. It blinks three times.

Rapidly. Slowly. Rapidly.

The flickering stops and the light stays on.

Because as long as Eddie Munson's alive, there's always going to be a light left on for Steve Harrington.

#aha #did yall see what i did there #side eye 👀👀👀👀👀 #is.... eddie alive??????? #yeh he is #yeehawsssss #daeheadcanons #steddie #steddie headcanon #steddie hcs #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie ficlet #tw temporary character death #tw mcd

[kikker-oma]

Warning: Blood, Temporary Character Death

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#he lives I promise! #I think legend is so ridiculously soft #but he’s so broken #poor boy would absolutely remember every unkind word he says #and try to apologize when he’s on deaths door #temporary character death #bloood #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu fanart #lu legend #lu sky #whumptober 2023 #whumptober

[puppetwoman17]

Okay so I love all of the cap identity reveal stories. Obviously. The anticipation of the reactions, the fact that someone they’ve known for so long, someone they’ve fought with and laughed with and cried with, is not even half their age…

But what if they NEVER found out? Cap’s identity, I mean.

I don’t mean life just continues on with Billy leading his separate lives. It’s more like(this next part is so fucking drastic lol) the league thinks cap is dead and suffer with the hole he left behind, only to somehow find out he’s alive, and to add fuel to the fire, he’s a young radio host in Fawcett.

The JL( and other heroes if you want) are fighting a being with incredibly powerful magic. I’m not good with the specifics, but it lines up with someone like Lady Blaze. The YJ team are acting as reconnaissance and backup. Everyone’s doing their part, including Cap.

But then something goes wrong. A miscalculation is all it takes for the fight to spin in the villain’s favor. Magic is a fickle thing. One wrong move, and sparks will fly with reckless abandon.

The fight is nearing an end, and it’s clear that almost all the heroes have been rendered useless. They’re either limping up to go again, or unconscious from the strain.

Everyone but Captain Marvel, that is.

To bring an end to the fight, Cap unleashes a powerful stream of magic, something no one has ever seen him pull off. It seems to zap everything out of him. The next thing you know he’s falling, his body slowly disintegrating. He makes it to the floor and smiles at the other heroes, all of whom are crying their hearts out as gold dust replaces him, for divine beings have no blood.

Billy, on the other hand, is fucking pissed. Apparently, Shazam created a failsafe in case something like this happens. He wakes up in the rock, unable to transform. His magic is still there, and with Solomon’s help he learns that his champion form will return after a couple years. For now, he needs to rest his reservoir.

Now, you’d think he would go tell the league, right?

But he’s not so little anymore, and he now knows that him being younger won’t be the only issue. Younger him was only worried about that little tidbit, but in truth, there was no guarantee they would let him stay if they knew he’d been lying so much. If he’d been able to keep his age a secret for so long, what else could he be hiding?

It’s not something he wants to do. The League, the YJ team, the Titans, they’ve all become like a family to him, despite almost all of them(barring the magic heroes) not knowing who he is. But he can’t risk being watched by parental hawks whenever he’s doing his champion work as Billy. He can’t risk them learning about his… circumstances. His crappy uncle, his annoying cousin, his(an oc I created for this post specifically but dw he’s not that important) crooked cop of a younger-older cousin. His living situation, his previous state of malnutrition, and all of his responsibilities. What a nightmare that would be, explaining all of that.

Also, he tries not to sound too cocky in his head, but he’s fairly sure at least a little less than half of the JL would kill for him. Or at least they’d beat someone to a pulp, which is still a pretty big deal.

So, he washes his hands of the JL and the sub teams and handles his champion work(bar fighting now cause his other body needs to regenerate) in his civilian form. It helps that the magic community, all sides of the spectrum, collectively decide not to tell the other heroes that their Champion is alive. They can get really annoying when it comes to their Boy Scout 🙄.

Plot, plot, plot happens. I’m thinking maybe Whiz gets an opportunity to interview JL members and they send their best reporter for the job. Or maybe something happens on the magic spectrum that brings them closer to Billy. Either way, the JL finds out Cap’s identity without Billy knowing and they are PISSED.

Billy has to deal with countless vigilantes, heroes, and teams lounging on his couch trying to goad him into revealing who he is. Either that r they follow him throughout Fawcett. Some people are angry with him, like Conner or either of the Roys. They try to make him angry. They want to see the real Cap, the real Billy(which is stupid cause of course cap isnt a fake persona but they’re too mad to realize).

Others feel betrayed, like Artemis and Wally(I refuse to acknowledge his death). Cap was a best man at the wedding and they really started to look to him as a sort of father figure. In fact, all the younger heroes love how he stood up for them and validated their feelings. To know that so much of their worries were being shouldered by someone who was years younger than them…

And the JL is worse off too. Their coworker, who they trusted and cared for, had been living alone since he was a child. Having to save for scraps until he finally got a home of his own.

The magic users are practically waiting for Billy to blow a fuse at everyone either fussing over him, attempting to make him mad, or following him whenever they felt the need. Mary’s laughing her ass off and Freddy’s smirking because now he can say “I told you so”. Shazam’s shaking his head because he told his damn protege that the champion doesn’t DO teams, but look where they are now.

Teth is honestly ecstatic. Comes to the next higher ups meeting and laughs in Billy’s face.

And Billy? Billy at least hopes he can make some money off of this: Okay but if I let you stay on my couch for the next three hours, that’s gonna cost you.

No no, I’ll let you follow me, but only if you do this one interview.

Maybe just stop trying to make me mad and just talk to me? Like I get you have issues but I already have a shit load of that so…

#billy batson #captain marvel #justice league #dc universe #shazam #identity reveal #temporary character death #magic community

[aceofwhump]

Torchwood: Children of the Earth Day Four (3x04)

#whump #whumpedit #torchwood #captain jack harkness #john barrowman #my gifs #mod post #ianto jones #shot #character death #temporary death #resurrection #back from the dead #immortal #cradled #comfort #gasping #hands #THE WAY IANTO HOLDS HIM CLOSE #THE WAY JACK HOLDS ONTO IANTO #SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

[cuubism]

Rock Paper Scissors

Dreamling | Pre-Slash | 5.7k | AO3

Dream suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead." "Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me." "I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds." "Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

Hob gets challenged to a duel. Too bad his opponent has it out for Dream, and has no intention of playing fair.

--

the first fic I ever started writing for Dreamling a year and a half ago, then forgot about! 😂 then randomly decided to finish.

--

“ROBERT GADLING,” yelled an individual Hob had never met before in his life, “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Hob squinted at him. Said individual was standing across the darkened street, dressed strangely in a white tunic flecked with gold. Then again, Hob’s barometer for strange was a bit different than what was normal, so who was he to say, really.

“What?” he said.

Suddenly this person was much closer to him. Hob flinched back, but couldn’t move much, close as he was to the pub door. “We have business,” hissed his pale-suited challenger. It was a masculine figure, blond hair swished to one side, eyes like fire. 

Hob wasn’t impressed. He’d seen worse. Better, too.

“Listen, mate,” he said, “I don’t really have time for this. I’ve already got something on the books tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

He started to walk through the doorway, but the… creature?—he didn’t think it was human—grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We have business,” it repeated.

Hob tried to shake off its hand, but its grip was like hot iron. It seared through his jacket and burned his skin. 

“What business?” he snapped. “I’m certain we’ve never met before, and my memory is actually pretty good, long as it is.”

The creature smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “You have courted those who have harmed me—and my ilk.”

“Not clearing it up at all.”

There was a sound like the swishing of a thousand ghosts, and then Dream was beside him.

Dream. How strange, still, to have a name, a history—well, sort of—to put to the face he’d circled back to over and over again for all these years. The name cut his friend into sharp relief—Hob’s shadow, finally united with the being who cast it. 

Where the pale stranger burned white-hot, Dream emanated cold. Hob had always found his friend’s cold aura strangely comforting. It didn’t feel dangerous and biting like the winter wind. Instead, it was the cold of lake water when one dove deep enough, a subtle and quiet draw to the otherworldly. 

Well. Usually it didn’t feel dangerous. Right now, it felt positively hypothermic.

Dream’s presence chilled the air until the stranger was forced to yank his hand away from Hob’s arm, shaking it out with a hiss. Hob’s breath fogged the air in front of his face, never mind that it was summer.

“Phaethon,” Dream hissed on one long, cold breath. “You are not wanted here.”

Phaethon pulled himself up haughtily. “I can go as I please. Night, or no night.”

“You may test that theory if you wish.”

Phaethon faltered, just a bit, before recovering himself. “I am here only to deliver a message. I challenge you, Robert Gadling, to a duel.” His blazing eyes flickered over to Hob, then back to Dream. “I did not believe you were one to violate the old rules of challenge, Lord of Dreams.” 

He bowed slightly. It felt mocking, which rankled Hob, who’d otherwise been keeping his cool. 

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” he said, for the third time. “I don’t appreciate being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Instead of answering, Phaethon said, “I’ve uncovered your history. There’s quite a lot of it, isn’t there? I wager it could make quite a bit of trouble for you, having all of that information turned over to certain parties. Human authorities. Occultists. Vampire hunters, they’ll love you–”

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, we can do that, or, you can choose to face me directly.”

“What do you seek to gain from the challenge?” demanded Dream. He seemed to know more about what was going on here than Hob, which wasn’t comforting. Hob didn’t particularly want to get drawn into some kind of immortal creature game with obscure rules he’d end up tripping over.

Phaethon’s grin emerged one tooth at a time. “I want… your dreams.”

Hob probably should have been more troubled by this. Instead, he just frowned in confusion. “Not sure that’s in your power, mate. You’re aware who you’re talking to?”

He didn’t need to gesture to Dream looming over his shoulder.

“If you agree to the terms,” said Phaethon, a hiss like lava dripping over stone, “then the magic will bind us.” 

Dream didn’t contradict him, but his anger cooled the air until Hob felt like he was standing atop a glacier.

“I think I’ll pass,” Hob told Phaethon. “Feel free to try to reveal me. I’m good at disappearing.” 

He turned to go—

“Lord Morpheus.” Phaethon turned the beam of his gaze on him, sunlight ricocheting off ice. “Will you stand in his stead?”

Hob grit his teeth and, against his better judgment, turned back around. “Don’t bring him into this. Look, if I win your challenge, what do I get in return?”

“You may request whatever you like,” said Dream. “Such are the terms of the agreement.”

“Fine. If I win, then I want this: you never speak to or of me again. That means no threatening me, no using me to threaten anyone else, no telling anyone about me—nothing. Got it?” God, Hob just wanted to go inside and have a beer.

Phaethon gave him a little bow. “Fair enough. I accept the terms of this challenge.” 

Dream seemed aggravated; a trickle of energy, like black lightning, scurried up the back of his neck and disappeared into his hair. But he didn’t intervene.

Hob and Phaethon shook on it. Then Phaethon retreated into the shadows again, calling, “Tomorrow at midnight, Robert Gadling. I will see you then.” Then his eyes blinked out and he was gone.

Hob shuddered. Good riddance. He rather preferred his eldritch creature to that one, thanks very much.

“What was that?” he said.

Dream’s presence was warming again by small degrees. The atmosphere was now more like an industrial freezer than Antarctica. “A minor demigod.”

“Oh, minor. Alright then.” 

“They are occupied by petty troubles,” said Dream.

Hob looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but elected not to comment. 

“Come on,” he said instead, leading the way back toward the pub. “We’re supposed to be having an easy night of it, dammit!” He wasn’t about to let some minor demigod ruin his night. He never knew how many of them he would get with his friend.

Dream’s gaze lingered on the spot where Phaethon had disappeared, but eventually, like the sweeping of a long coat tail, he followed.

---

"So, a duel," Hob remarked as they sat down across from each other in the pub booth. "I admit, I haven't dueled anyone in a few centuries, but I can't imagine it'll be—”

"It is not what you are thinking of," Dream interrupted. He had folded himself into the booth seat like a stick insect trying to cram itself in a jar. It was an absurd image, the long black coat, the spindly arms on the tabletop. "It is not a fight of the physical form. It is a battle of the mind and will."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"In such a challenge—” Dream began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, there to take their order.

"So, what can I get for you chaps?" she said brightly.

The idea of Dream being a chap was so hilarious Hob had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, maybe he wasn't taking the whole duel thing seriously enough. Oh well.

Hob ordered a beer and a plate of chips. When Dream showed no sign of speaking, he ordered for him, too.

“You can order whatever you like,” Hob told him, when the waitress had gone. “It is my pub and all.”

Dream picked up the laminated menu gingerly. It wobbled in his hands. He looked down at it with a flat expression.

Hob realized belatedly that he probably didn’t know what to order. How much had pub food changed since— God, 1910 or so? And it wasn’t like his friend would have had much time to peruse menus since, what with all he’d been up to.

“Just try the chips,” Hob said, taking the menu away from him. “We’ll see how far that gets you.” 

"I have no need of human food," Dream said, folding his hands back on the table.

“Sure, and I technically don’t need my left leg, either, but I do rather like having it.”

“You say strange things,” Dream murmured. “As I was telling you. In such a challenge—” 

The waitress returned with their drinks. Dream glowered at her. Hob thanked her brightly.

"So, you were saying?" he said, sipping his beer. "In such a challenge…?"

"In such a challenge—”

The waitress arrived again with their chips. Dream slammed his hands on the table, shaking the chips in their basket and making the waitress jump. 

"Sorry," Hob apologized, "we've had a bit of a day." Wasn't it always.

"In such a challenge," Dream continued when she had gone, in a tone that suggested he would not be stopped this time, "one must suggest a mind-form, which one's opponent will attempt to surmount and defeat. Then you attempt to defeat their new form, and so on until one challenger is victorious. It is… a predictive game, of sorts. If one can predict what one's opponent’s moves might be, one can choose forms to foil them. This can easily become complicated."

"So, it's like chess," Hob summarized.

Dream stiffened, lips pressing into an offended line. "It is not so simple as chess."

"Checkers?"

"It will not help you to think of it so." Dream took a chip and bit into it in irritation. "You just— oh." He stared at the chip. "These are quite pleasant."

"Can never go wrong with a good chip," said Hob, then furrowed his brows. "Haven't you had them in dreams before or something?"

"Presumably. It has been at least a century." 

Ah, yeah. That. "Well, they're frying them in veg oil instead of lard nowadays anyway. Kind of a different experience." 

Dream stared at him as if Hob made no sense whatsoever.

"Anyway," Hob continued, "am I even going to be able to create these mind-forms? I'm not exactly an otherworldly being." 

"The power is in you, though it may be more challenging to harness. And easier to let slip from your grasp. It is imagination, after all. Humans are good at imagination, though perhaps not so good at holding onto it."

"Hmm." Hob munched on a chip. "Okay. I'll work on my imagination." After seven hundred years or so of life, it was possibly a tool that needed some sharpening. 

"I admit it offends me greatly that Phaethon would presume to ask a human to fight in this way," said Dream. He suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead."

"Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me."

"I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds."

"Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

"Do not joke," Dream growled. Actually, he never truly growled. It was more like his voice dropped into a lower register than usual. Which was saying something. Hob interpreted it as a growl, though. "Do not joke when your existence is at stake. Your immortality cannot protect you from this." 

"Are you saying I'd be unmade if I lost?" Hob asked. It was a concerning thought, to say the least. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with his own mortality.

Dream’s tongue ran over his lower lip. "Potentially. The terms of the fight do not state so, but I do not know how such a duel will affect a human. The strain of it may simply tear you to shreds. It nearly drained me, the last time I fought."

"Wait, you had a fight like this? Recently?"

Dream tilted his head, gaze paling in confusion. "I told you that I went to Hell to retrieve my helm." 

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you had to mind-battle– who'd you mind-battle anyway?"

"The demon chose Lucifer Morningstar as his representative." Dream’s lip curled in distaste. "Hence, the near loss."

Hob looked at him in concern. "Are you alright, though?"

"Of course I am all right." He spoke it as two words, like the phrase had never before graced his tongue. Hob wanted to let out a long-suffering sigh, but managed to restrain himself. "I am Dream of the Endless."

"Mmhmm. Yep. Okay."

"You do not have to worry about me," Dream said stiffly, parroting Hob's words from before.

Hob thought that was evidently untrue, but decided not to mention the century of imprisonment or the multiple near-death experiences— could he die? Maybe it was more like multiple near-misses with eternal agony— since then. To preserve the relative peace of the moment. 

"So how'd you beat the devil, then?" he asked.

"I had everything to lose. Lucifer had nothing to lose, and only a paltry amusement to gain."

Was that an answer? Hob wasn't sure. 

"Okay," he said. "Well, I do have all of my dreams to lose, apparently. Plenty of incentive to win."

Ice crystallized along the rim of Dream’s glass, spreading from where his fingers pressed. “You speak as if you think I would ever allow this to happen.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “I thought the magic was binding?”

“Only by honor.”

“And so… what would happen if you violated that honor?”

The words trickled out of Dream reluctantly. “One’s word would not be trusted again.”

“Right. Exactly. I can’t let you do that, love. There’s a whole eternity of words needing to be trusted after this.” It was tempting, honestly, to let his more powerful friend step in and handle this—especially as Hob still hadn’t gleaned what the hell he’d even done to piss off Phaethon—but ultimately, it wouldn’t be right. He’d never used Dream as a clean-up tool for any of his problems in the past, and he wasn’t about to start just because he now knew he was the Lord of Dreams.

Dream’s expression darkened further. He truly was capable of embodying shadow when he was annoyed; Hob didn’t know how he hadn’t figured out the extent of his supernaturalness sooner, honestly. “You would not let.”

“Hey. Come on. I’ve solved plenty of my own problems, haven’t I? Have a little faith.” Hob kind of wanted to pat his hand, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “You don’t think I can win a duel against this Phaethon guy?” 

Dream seemed uncertain about it, and Hob couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Sure, he wasn’t a supernatural entity, but Hob had gotten himself out of a fair number of scrapes, and without the help of any Endless, thanks very much! 

“His rancor disturbs me,” Dream said at last. “I do not know what you have done to offend him.”

“Nor I. Never met the guy.”

Dream seemed lost in contemplation. Hob let him, and kept eating the chips.

Eventually, Dream said, “Even if this loss did come to pass… you would always have a place in the Dreaming.”

Hob’s breathing stuttered. “With you?” he said, sounding much smaller than he’d expected. It was… an ill-considered response, to say the least. 

Dream shifted in his seat. “I am the Dreaming,” he said. “It is part of me, and I it.”

“I see,” said Hob. But the thought kept turning within him.

---

No more was said on the matter until their beers were drunk and their chips polished off and they were strolling out the door of the pub. 

As they crossed the threshold, Hob was struck by a realization. He slapped Dream on the breast of his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm an idiot! Of course it's not like chess. It's metaphysical rock-paper-scissors!"

"Are you intoxicated?" Dream asked wearily.

"Nope. Just happy to have my old friend around again."

Dream’s form, unbreakable as the darkness between stars, stuttered. Behind him, his shadow wavered.

Then he swept away, leaving Hob to catch up. 

---

They met again on the field of battle, so to speak.

Phaethon was there before them, melodramatic in his white-and-gold cape. Not as melodramatic as Dream, though, whose eyeliner seemed darker than usual, somehow, and whose cloak swept all the way to the ground, pooling more like liquid than fabric. He was very displeased about these events, Hob could tell.

Hob shook Phaethon’s hand formally. Once again, the touch burned him, but he resisted the urge to shake his hand out in pain. Then they stood across from each other. Hob wished he had a sword, but that was not this game.

"As the challenged party, you commence the duel," Dream told him, standing not far from Hob’s side as Phaethon paced before them, grinning. "You may choose your form and begin."

Hob had thought long and hard about how he would start. He didn't want to go too big, else the fight escalate beyond his control. Obviously, he didn't want to pick something weak either.

What was out there that had tormented mankind, sowing destruction, breeding fear and illness and death, while barely reaching higher than an ankle? 

Hob had lived through it. The choice was obvious.

"I am a plague rat," he started, and saw Dream’s eyebrows twitch. Impressed. Ha! "Hiding in shadows. Letting sickness into our food, homes, blood."

He saw the rats in his mind. Scurrying through tunnels, climbing into grain stores, unaware of what they carried. A seething mass of tails and slick fur and beady eyes, churning, churning, churning. 

Phaethon curled in on himself, limbs creaking, boils popping on his skin and pus leaking from his eyes. Hob flinched at the reminder of those times. Horrible, horrible times.

Mentally, Hob prepared for the counterattack. Paper beats rock. What beats rat? Dog beats rat. Cat beats rat. Famine, extermination fumes, plague doctors, modern medicine—

"I," Phaethon ground out, through the contortions of his body, "am a flood."

Oof. Good one.

"A swelling, raging river, decimating any town in my path. Washing rats down to their deaths." 

A phantom wave smacked Hob in the face and hurled him to the ground. It crashed over him, gallons and gallons of water, surging up his nose, into his eyes, down his throat. He choked on it. He drowned in it. Debris in the floodwaters bruised him till he felt like a branch spinning out in the current, rather than a human.

Then. He managed to take in a breath.

He staggered to his feet.

Dream was standing a step closer, like he'd lurched forward, but he forced himself back into stillness.

"I," Hob said on a gasping breath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, "am a drought." Phaethon had taken it to another level? Fine. Hob would go scorched earth. "Whisking away all your water. Turning everything into dust."

Phaethon choked, throat suddenly dry. His eyes went bloodshot. His skin flaked and peeled, his lips bled. He clutched at his stomach as it heaved for water.

He could go rain again, Hob thought. Or ice age. Asteroid. Biblical flood—does that count if he already did a regular flood?

"I am famine," said Phaethon, when he'd recovered himself, though he was still rasping. "I wither crops without water. I starve everything that walks."

Hob's stomach caved in on itself. He fell to his knees, retching nothing but bile. His mind flashed back to his decades on the streets, so long without food he'd thought his stomach would start eating itself—and then it had. 

His arms shook. His body felt thin and liable to crack. 

"I," he croaked, still on all fours, "am an oasis. Rising from the desert, real, not a mirage. Offering reprieve." 

Too late, he realized this might restore his opponent. 

But instead, Phaethon creased and cracked, like he was the famine, persecuted by salvation. He clasped his stomach as if it was overfull; water poured from his mouth.

Water filled Hob's mouth, too, but it restored him. He climbed back to his feet.

Dream was definitely closer now. He wasn't imagining it. Still, he didn't intervene.

Phaethon was visibly weakened, but still he said, "I am selfishness. Infighting over limited resources. Society destroying its oasis."

Hob's limbs were torn in opposite directions. He yelled, but the invisible hands on him didn't let up, yanking at him like he was the final piece of food before everlasting deprivation. He pulled at them, but it was no use.

One of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop, and he bit down on his tongue so as not to scream. Blood exploded in his mouth.

"I am generosity!" he yelled, blood dripping over his lips. "I am brother sharing with brother. Stranger sharing with stranger."

Dream was looking at him now like he didn't know what to make of him. Phaethon, too, was staring at him, but with a look of disgust. 

"High-minded idealist, are you?" he sneered. "What the hell is generosity going to—”

His expression broke in half. His hands shook; he picked at his nail beds until they peeled and started bleeding. His lip wavered and his eyes beaded with tears.

Hob didn't know what was happening to him.

"Shame," Dream breathed from behind him. "So clever, Hob."

Hob hadn't actually known what generosity would do, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"I," croaked Phaethon, through tears, "am memory. History and anger curdled to a resentment which no generosity can overcome."

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, as he no doubt feared the anger, the resentment he so believed that Hob held over his absence would surge forth again. But it did not, for Hob had never been angry with Dream. Angry with himself, yes, and that he felt acutely, along with the fear and hurt of Dream walking away, the stewing guilt of it.

Memory held more than anger. Mostly, for Hob, it held grief. Grief for his friend who'd been imprisoned for so long, while Hob went about his life, imagining him lonely, isolated perhaps, but never knowing the truth. Grief for himself, too, for he knew that to always blame himself for Dream’s behavior had also been unfair. 

Tears slipped from his eyes. He looked over at Dream, who was still watching him warily.

Memory had far too many facets for Phaethon to use it as an effective weapon.

"I am forgiveness," Hob said, closing his eyes against a fresh welling of tears. He didn't know who he was forgiving. Himself, or Dream, who still seemed to need absolution from Hob, no matter how Hob told him he didn’t.

"I am hatred!" Phaethon snarled. His voice had gone animalistic in a last ditch effort to come out on top. But forgiveness clanged around him, pulling tears from his eyes, undermining his viciousness. "I am division even forgiveness cannot mend."

Just like that, he opened up the path for Hob to take his king. Checkmate. Game over. Rock paper scissors shoot.

"I am love," Hob said quietly, even as a sob caught in his throat as the memory of all the hate he'd witnessed in his life, the hate he'd participated in, and the fear, long-held, that even Dream might hate him, for his wrongs, or for overstepping, pulsed back to the forefront. He could never hate Dream, though. No matter what.

"Love can be easily destroyed," snapped Phaethon, but he was wavering. 

"But it always comes back," said Hob. Unwitting, he looked over his shoulder at Dream.

His friend was already looking directly at him. That tinge of red, so terrible and familiar now, was back along his eyes. He didn't speak, not to Hob. Hob followed his gaze as he looked over Hob's shoulder and spoke to Phaethon.

"Do you have a counter?"

"Love?" Phaethon laughed hysterically. "You brought love to a duel?"

"I believe Hob brings love everywhere he goes," said Dream, and Hob whipped back around to look at him, eyes wide. The tiniest smile was dancing on Dream’s lips.

Then a blade erupted from Hob's chest.

Blood sprayed. His heart stopped beating—actually stopped, he felt it. The sword had pierced right through it. He scrabbled for it with clumsy hands, but the blade shiiiinged back out before he could grab it. 

Blood spattered Dream’s face. Those pretty lips parted, eyes widened, the lordly bearing wiped from his expression leaving only a person, shocked and wounded. Hob would never forget that look of startled horror for as long as he lived. 

Which wasn't looking to be that long.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring from his chest. No use trying to stop it. It would mend itself, in time, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the instinctive rush of fear. He was dying. He was dying.

He fell on his side. Blood soaked his shirt. All told, it took maybe ten seconds after getting speared like a wild hog—

—for the world to completely blink out.

---

Hob's chest ached like a bitch when he woke. 

He was still on the ground, bloody mud around him, soaking his clothes. Oh. That was mud made from his blood. How horrifying. 

He opened his eyes in time to see Dream lifting Phaethon from the ground by his neck. His hand was a vice grip and Phaethon choked, scrabbling at his fingers for breath.

"TREACHERY," Dream snarled, louder than Hob had ever heard him. His voice boomed across the empty park. "I will unmake you."

"I'm not one of your creatures, you can do nothing to me," said Phaethon, but his assuredness flickered.

Dream’s being was a black hole eating light. "Watch it happen."

Hob coughed, dirt trapped in his throat, and shoved himself up on his forearms. Dream froze, and turned slowly to look at him, Phaethon still clasped in his hand like he weighed nothing. Dream’s attention was like being in the path of a comet.

"Hob," he said. "Are you alright?"

Hob knew, in that moment, that if he asked Dream to spare Phaethon from whatever fate he had in mind for him, he would comply. And what power that was. Hob didn't want to be the one doling out mercy or punishment, like a judge at the gates of Hell. But damn if it wasn't a thrill to have Dream look at him like that.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, with a bloody grin. "I'm Hob Gadling."

Dream smiled too, a ferocious smile, like that of a wolf.

Hob didn't tell him to spare Phaethon.

Apparently, they both had some savagery in them.

---

"So why did he kill me?" Hob asked later, when he'd showered all the blood off—God he loved modern showers—and they were both sitting at the kitchen table in his flat, drinking tea. Well, Hob was drinking tea. Dream was just kind of staring at it. "I mean, the cost of losing wasn't even that high. Not on his end, anyway."

"He was not interested in you at all," said Dream, still not looking at him. "I dragged the truth from him while you were… gone. This was all a ploy to get to me. To hurt me—indirectly, of course. Such a lower being could never hurt me directly."

"Wait." Hob tried to grapple with this. "You— are you saying I was like a kidnapped princess?" 

Dream frowned. "If you insist. The point is, he did not plan to let you walk away. By winning, or by killing you, whichever he could accomplish." 

"Damn. Maybe I should have let you fight for me."

"No. You represented yourself admirably. More than admirably. You won the challenge, fairly, and did not try to kill your opponent to do it." 

Praise from Dream always hit Hob somewhere deep. Possibly because Dream only said such things when he meant them. Possibly just because it was Dream saying them.

“Well, thanks for handling him in the end,” Hob said, instead of voicing that sentiment.

Dream nodded solemnly. “I would not allow such harm to befall you without interfering,” he said.

Hob took a sip of his tea to avoid showing how he felt about that quite so obviously on his face.

“Why did he want to hurt you, then?” he asked instead.

“He is the child of a sun deity,” said Dream.

“And… that… means…?”

“Sunlight chases away dreams. We are natural enemies.”

Hob frowned. “What about daydreams?” 

“Daydreams may take place during the daytime, but they exist in the darkness of the inner mind,” said Dream.

“Ahhhh.” Hob nodded sagely. Yeah, sure, that made sense. One hundred percent. Absolutely. “I don’t know, I feel like some dreams can survive in the daylight. Thrive, even.”

“Perhaps next time I have an altercation with a sun deity, I will call upon you,” Dream said, a bite of sarcasm in it. “To see if you can banish them with this mindset.”

“Don’t give me that cheek,” Hob admonished. Dream’s mouth popped open in offense, but Hob plowed on, “Just have an open mind about it, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you guys are in a symbiotic relationship or something, instead of enemies. You help people see what could be possible, and they balance it with reality.”

Dream was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I do not think approaching them in this manner will serve me well, at the moment.”

“Maybe not if they’re going around attacking you,” Hob conceded, and Dream cracked a small smile.

Sun deities, Hob thought. Really, life was full of such strange and interesting things.

“So when you went to Hell,” Hob started. Dream tilted his head, but didn’t seem thrown by the change in subject. “What did you wager in exchange for your helm? The game makes you wager something, right?”

“It was the demon who chose the other side of the wager,” said Dream. “He demanded I remain in Hell and serve him for eternity, if I lost.”

Hob was glad he’d put down his tea, as he’d probably have dropped it. “What? Was the helm really worth that risk?”

Dream leaned back in his chair, lips pressed tight in offense. Or maybe hurt. “I am nothing without my tools of office,” he said.

“That is not true,” said Hob, surprised by his own vehemence. Nothing? He thought he was nothing?

“I could not have restored the Dreaming without them,” Dream insisted.

“Okay, fine. They’re important for your job. But that doesn’t mean you’re nothing without them.” Hob went to lay his hand over Dream’s on the table, hesitated, then decided, fuck it. Dream started when their skin touched, but didn’t move away. Hob repeated his words, with even more emphasis this time. “You’re not nothing.”

Dream met his gaze, challenging. Hob didn’t back down.

“As you wish,” Dream finally said. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. “I can concede that the ruby breaking was ultimately beneficial to my power. But the helm is my symbol of office. To leave it in the possession of a demon is a continual humiliation to my realm and station.”

“Okay, I’m hearing you,” Hob said. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dream should be able to get his helm back. But he didn’t want Dream to risk horrible punishment for the sake of his pride. Better to slink away alive to try again another day, or so Hob felt. That wasn’t Dream, though.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said. “Even if you lost your helm and everything, and everyone in Hell thought you were pathetic—which, by the way, not sure Hell’s opinion is worth much anyway? but that aside—I’d still rather have you here than the alternative.” He threw Dream a smile, hoping he didn’t take offense to the idea that he could possibly be pathetic. “It wasn’t ‘The King of Dreams and Nightmares, et cetera’ that I missed for all those years, you know?”

“You did not know who I was, then,” Dream pointed out, but he seemed contemplative.

“I liked who I did know,” Hob said. “My friend.”

“Your friend,” repeated Dream slowly. Finally, he did pick up his tea, and took a sip. “A powerful title indeed, if you would have me when it is the only one I carry.”

“If you say so,” Hob said, which brought a small smile to Dream’s lips. If Dream wanted to think of it as a title akin to his kingship and endlessness and whatnot, then Hob would bestow it on him with gladness, and with a warm sense of honor that nestled right in his heart.

“It is…” Dream added, at length, “a meaningful title. To me.”

Rare, those expressions of feeling from Dream. Hob couldn’t help but to bask in them like a cat in a sunbeam. He remembered how Dream had looked at him during the duel. Love always comes back. Worth it, all the strife, to see Dream look at him like that, he thought.

“You defended me,” Dream said. “To prevent me taking the duel in your place. To protect me when it was not warranted.”

Wasn’t warranted. Hob really wished Dream would just learn to let Hob care for him.

"Would have even if I'd known it was you he truly wanted," he said. “I missed my friend for long enough. Wasn’t going to let something happen again when I could get in the way of it.”

“Your friend,” Dream said again. As if savoring the words. His lips tipped up again in a small smile. One just for himself.

Hob squeezed his hand on the table. A grounding touch, a reminder. “And don’t forget it.”

Dream turned his hand over on the table, and squeezed back.

#rip hob lol #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #temporary character death #such a hilariously different tone than the last thing i posted

[frostbitebakery]

Oh, This Fragile And Fleeting Youth

“CC-1010, you lost.”

Because Cody has killed him.

“Oh, come on! Sir. I mean, oh, come on, Sir.”

Cody has killed his brother.

“CC-1010, the stats read you drowned in your own blood.”

Because Cody killed him.

“Only a little bit!”

He grips the vibroblade tighter before it can drip out of his hand like the blood off the blade.

“Co— CC-2224, tell Trainer Vau that stabbed lungs don’t count!”

“Fox…” The name slips out of his mouth before he can catch it and drag it back into the safety of his heart.

His brother’s eyes widen like in surprise, like in death Cody brought down on him. “24…”

“CC-1010, I will write you up for insubordination if you—“

The blood spatter on Fox’s chest comes closer. He killed his brother. Distantly he can feel the Curse rising under his skin, prickling it from the inside. He had aimed at the neck. He had seen the swing of the blade across and through it. He had aimed at the neck. He had aimed at the neck. The blood grows closer, swallowing him. He doesn’t know why he had aimed at the neck. There’s no excuse why he—

“Hey, no harm done.”

Because Fox had slammed the butt of his blaster down on Cody’s hand, redirecting the strike to his torso.

“I’m still better than you.”

Reading bloody lips and Fox’s newly discovered cocky smirk. The skull is staring at him.

“CC-1010, do not take another step forward!”

Fox had choked on his own blood before going still. Looking up at Cody sightless and dead.

“Cody, pull yourself together. Now.”

“CC-1010,” the automated voice announces, “the training time limit with— CC-2224— has expired—“

“Thank fuck,” Trainer Vau groans.

“��� please leave the training area immediately and proceed to the med halls for check-up. CC-2224, please prepare for the scheduled training unit with— CC-1119— starting in— ten— minutes.”

Cody has killed his brother.

#the unlucky ones #my art #commander cody #cc 2224 #commander fox #cc 1010 #star wars #star wars art #clone troopers #tcw #tcw art #blood #disassociation #temporary character death #I blame #the space in between by how to destroy angels #DEAR GOODNESS #frostbitebakery art

[jewishrat420]

Steve always thought Eddie was beautiful.

He never let himself linger too long on it in fear of what he might see if he let himself look. If he let himself dust off the dirt that lay on top of it, too overwhelmed by the possibility that he really hadn’t had himself figured out the way he thought he did.

But it’s true.

Like the sky knows clouds that filter in and out of eyesight, like the moon knows the unwavering devotion of the tide, Steve knows this to be a fact as irrefutable as the nature of gravity:

Eddie Munson is beautiful.

It’s in the way his hair bounces with every step. These springy, frizzy little curls that Steve desperately wants to know, intimately, the way he knows his own. Wants to compare them, wants to feel them in the spaces between his fingers, the sensitive parts that nothing else really touches.

It’s in the way he lights up a room as soon as he steps into it, a walking sun that burns so bright that he leaves the hole of every space he was once in great and gaping and singed at the edges. Everything he touches turns to gold, everyone he meets ruined for anyone else.

It’s in the way he carries himself. Tall when people are looking and small when they aren’t, like his body is a show that no one ever willingly buys tickets for but ends up seated front row at regardless.

Steve would buy tickets.

If he had known, if he had been brave enough when it really counted, he would have bought tickets.

There is no one like Eddie, and there never will be again.

But it doesn’t matter now.

Because Eddie is still beautiful, Steve thinks, even when he’s pale.

Even when his skin is sallow and sunken, even when his big brown eyes are tucked behind grayed eyelids.

Even when Steve himself was the one to shut them, but only after he spent nearly an hour gazing into their emptiness.

His hair is shorter now, the frayed edges trimmed by Wayne. He’d laughed as he did it, a sad little hitch in his throat, because apparently Eddie never let him cut his hair when he was younger.

When his blood flowed warm through his arteries, when his skin was still pink.

Wayne said he used to bounce his leg so hard that he was worried he was going to stab the scissors right through his thick skull.

So Eddie grew his hair out, split ends running wild.

But Steve still thought he was beautiful. Frizzy hair and all.

Steve’s never seen him dressed so fancy, not even for his own graduation.

But then again, he never got to try on that suit he borrowed from Wayne. Never got to see just how long the sleeves were, because he never got to be as tall as his uncle, did he?

No, Eddie never got the chance.

Never got the chance to he a normal boy with a normal childhood. To grow into the man he could have become and then into the world that was always too small to fit him.

Eddie Munson: born to die in Hawkins, Indiana.

If only he had tried just a little bit harder.

Fought just a little bit longer.

But he did his best, didn’t he?

Steve certainly thinks so.

Steve thinks he looks beautiful, now, still, always. He tucks a trimmed curl behind his ear, wishes he could have known what it would feel like if his skin were warm.

But it’s okay. He’ll know the feeling one day.

Next time.

Next time, they’ll try again. They’ll try harder.

Next time, Steve won’t be afraid to tell Eddie how beautiful he is.

Won’t be afraid of what comes after, because it will be different.

It won’t end with Eddie, sallow and skinny in a suit six sizes too big for him.

It won’t end with Eddie, pale and pretty as ever, laying in the coffin that’s been on reserve for him since the day he was born.

Next time will be different, see, because it won’t end.

They’ll do it right.

Steve will do it right.

And Eddie will still be beautiful, and Steve will tell him so.

x

original post

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie headcanon #steddie thread #time loop #temporary character death #realizing feelings #oooo #steve is a sad boy #but also. determined

[bibuck-saved-me]

need someone to draw merthur as this scene in catching fire (arthur as katniss and merlin as peeta)

#i’d do it but i’m a shit artist and i wouldn’t do it justice #i’ve been reading too many temporary character death fics where merlin dies temporarily and arthur loses his mind #merlin #merthur #bbc merlin

[evenmoreofadisaster]

Hey :] . If it wasn't anything annoying or rude, could I ask for a drawing of the moment they "turn off" One from the last chapter?(Just imagining what Two looks like intrigues me haha). No problem ignoring this if it might be rude of me, it was just so shocking that it really REALLY left chills you know?

I'm glad you liked it :) It's a super interesting scene to draw thank you for the idea! I did say I would continue to make short comics for EMD...

Spoilers for EMD Smart Lair and tw for (temporary) character death and (greyscale) injuries below the cut

I listened to evil by melanie martinez all day.. all day (/pos)

oh and I guess this is Two's redesign reveal HAHA

#emd au #emd asks #emd au one #emd au two #teaaart #rottmnt separated au #even more of a disaster au #tw character death #its temporary but there's no way to tell from the comic

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1302

The whole ‘limbo moment where the whumpee sees a dead loved one who tells them they have to stay alive etc’ is touching and all, but what if the loved one was more aggressive?

Whumpee: “Am I dead? [Loved One] it’s so good to see you - I’ve missed you so mu-“

Loved One: “What on earth do you think you’re playing at? Get the hell back down there!”

Whumpee: “But- but it’s so painful.”

Loved One: *slaps whumpee*

Whumpee: “The hell was that for?!”

Loved One: “And now it hurts up here. Get back down there, you idiot, you’ve got people waiting for you. I’ll still be here when your time comes.”

#Whump #writing #prompts #angst #death tw #temporary character death #near death experiences #family dynamics

[steddieas-shegoes]

crawl home to you

for @steddiesongfics february song 'work song' by hozier

rated e | 5,223 words | full tags on ao3

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Steve should never have kissed him. He knew that now.

While Eddie was dying, bleeding out on the ground of their version of Hell, the only thing Steve felt he could do to help him was kiss him. It was quick, just a peck on the lips, lingering only for a moment. Their eyes never even closed.

Steve wanted to take in every remaining moment that Eddie had.

There was nothing else he could do, just hold him, try to whisper comfort that may not have even been heard.

Dustin was yelling to save him, but there was no way to do that. His injuries were too severe, he’d already lost too much blood. Moving him now would just kill him faster and more painfully. Nancy and Robin were trying to hold Dustin back, but their tears were making it harder to maintain any control.

When Eddie was gone, Steve set him back down on the ground.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, biting back the sob he could feel in his throat.

“We can’t leave him! Steve, please,” Dustin begged.

“We can come back for him once we check on everyone else. I promise. I’m not letting him stay here,” Steve lifted Dustin in his arms, ignoring his protests.

******

When they finally managed to sneak through the safest gate, Eddie’s body was gone.

Steve fell to his knees, silently begging any higher power to make him appear.

But Robin’s hand on his shoulder and Jonathan’s voice by his side made him stand up and leave.

He was gone.

He couldn’t even bring his body back to bury it properly.

He’d made another mistake.

******

Nobody moved on quickly, but Steve seemed to feel the most guilt. It was written all over his face anytime someone mentioned Eddie, it was in the way he visited Eddie’s uninhabited grave every weekend to clean it and leave flowers, it was there when he wore the battle vest around town, still bloodstained and obvious.

No one commented on it. Only Robin ever saw him cry over it.

Only Robin knew that part of his guilt was from not saying how he felt before Eddie died.

The kiss was too late and the words were nonexistent, and now Steve had to live with the missed chance.

******

It was a hot summer day when things changed.

It was subtle at first, the sky darker than usual and the air stagnant.

He got ready for his day, skipping the vest since he’d be volunteering and “bloodstains scared the children.”

And then he heard a crash outside, followed by yelling and banging on his front door.

“Steve!” “Open up!” “Code red!”

Steve ran downstairs and threw open the front door.

“It’s time,” Dustin said.

“Now?” Steve asked, incredulous. How had they not had more warning?

They all thought El and Will would be able to sense more of the Upside Down leading up to Vecna’s return, even Dr. Owens had mentioned a possibility of signs for days or even weeks leading up to his return.

How could they all have been so wrong?

“Where are we meeting?” He asked, running through a checklist in his mind of everything he would need to bring with him. Most of the emergency things he planned on having were already in his car, but it helped him keep the nerves at bay to have something to do.

“The cabin. It’s closest to the gate we can use. El’s already there with Will and Hopper getting what they can done. We don’t know how long we actually have.”

“Do they feel him?” Steve had to ask, had to know.

“El said she’s not sure if it’s Vecna or the mindflayer, and Will thinks it’s just the entire hivemind, but yeah. They do feel something. They expected it to be stronger so Nancy thinks something is messing with their connection,” Lucas said.

Steve nodded and told them to load their bikes in his trunk while he finished grabbing some things.

Most of what they would wear was already at the cabin, but he couldn’t do this without a piece of Eddie.

He slipped the vest on and laced up his boots. He put the only ring he had of Eddie’s on his ring finger, the only one it would fit on.

He checked the mirror once to make sure he didn’t look like he was falling apart at the seams.

The black shadows under his eyes and greasy hair would have to be alright.

******

They split up, but differently this time. One group stayed with El, protecting her while she protected the world. One group stayed with Will in the Upside Down.

Steve insisted on being part of the group in the Upside Down.

He carried his nail bat while Robin carried a flamethrower. She had lessons and everything.

Joyce had a rifle loaded with special bullets that exploded into actual flames upon impact, something Dustin and Suzie had cooked up over the last month to try to gain any leverage they could.

Nancy and Jonathan were ahead of them, rifles in hand to fire warning shots if they saw anything before Will felt it.

Will was quiet, but he’d been pretty quiet since he’d arrived in Hawkins.

It was eerily quiet, more than they were expecting. They’d come in thinking they’d be fighting off demobats and demodogs constantly, but so far they were met with nothing but falling ash and the occasional sound of a tree limb breaking.

“Are we sure he’s still here?” Steve finally asked.

“He’s here. I can feel him. He’s just being quiet, waiting,” Will answered. That was the most he’d said all day.

So they continued.

A gunshot went off.

Everyone froze.

Jonathan yelled to them that something was nearby.

“It can’t be him. He’s still too distant,” Will said as Joyce stood in front of him.

“Unless he’s messing with you,” Robin whispered. “He knows we’re on high alert, right? He knows we’re strong and we aren’t just gonna give up. He’s not gonna let himself be known until he’s certain he’s got us in our weakest spot.”

Will nodded. “I don’t think he has that much control over what I can feel, though.”

“He has a lot more control over all of you than you think,” a voice said from to their left.

All weapons were pointed towards it except for Steve’s, who would recognize that voice in any situation, no matter how insane.

“Eddie?” He pushed everyone out of the way and moved towards the voice.

“Wait!” Eddie said from the shadows, barely an outline visible in the darkness. “Don’t come closer yet.”

“Why not?” Steve felt Robin’s hand on his shoulder, comforting and holding him back at the same time.

“I’m not…Steve.” Something in his tone told Steve to actually listen to him, to not push.

“Can you at least let me know if you’re alright?” Steve was scared to actually believe this was Eddie.

Eddie was dead. His body was missing.

If this wasn’t actually Eddie, Steve wouldn’t handle it well. He’d do what he needs to make sure everyone gets out of here, but after that?

Who knows.

Eddie sounded like he was cursing under his breath, which felt like such an Eddie thing, Steve couldn’t help smiling a little.

Maybe the world would end today, maybe he’d die, maybe everyone would die. But right now, Steve felt Eddie’s presence, and that was something worth dying for.

“Okay, this is gonna sound like a trap.” Eddie cursed again. “But I don’t know if I can be trusted near anyone except Steve.”

“Yeah, hard pass,” Robin said as she tugged Steve back. He’d already put one foot forward like he was actually going to get closer. “If I can’t see you, you’re not getting any closer to him.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Eddie sighed. “I just need you to not freak out if I come out there.”

“Why would we-” Steve started to ask as Eddie stepped out of the shadows.

It was still pretty dark, but it was easy enough to see the outline of him.

In many ways, he looked the same, still pale, still long dark curls, still wearing the clothes he’d died in. But there were things Steve noticed immediately.

His wounds seemed healed, which should be impossible. Well, he shouldn’t even be alive, but even still, there should be way more scars covering his face and neck. His eyes were nearly black, not the deep brown they’d been before the life left them in Steve’s arms. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were pointed, sharp.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I haven’t been around anyone since-” He gestured to himself. “And I’m not sure how much control I have.”

“What…are you?” Nancy asked from behind them.

“I wanna say vampire, but nothing is really that simple, so blood-thirsting creature who hasn’t had blood since he discovered he needed it.” Eddie flashed his teeth. “I’ve got no heartbeat, which is weird. And I can hear what Steve’s thinking.”

“What?” Steve asked, almost too shocked by seeing Eddie to actually process what he was saying.

“Your thoughts have been like, the only thing keeping me alive. No blood yet, remember?”

“How does that even work?” Joyce asked, hand on Steve’s arm. “Did you feel anything strange?”

“No,” Steve answered, not taking his eyes away from Eddie. “So you…you know?”

“Yeah, Stevie. I know,” Eddie took one step closer and paused, closing his eyes. “I don’t wanna get any closer to anyone. But I know for a fact that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You know how that sounds, right?” Will finally spoke up.

“Yeah, Will the Wise, I do. Which is why I won’t push. But I think something happened when Stevie here kissed me while I was bleeding out in his arms and I’m pretty sure that I would actually die if I hurt him,” Eddie said.

Everyone looked to Steve, who could no longer think of a single reason not to go to Eddie.

Robin seemed hesitant to let him go, but he smiled at her and said to trust him. They all had plenty of weapons if something went wrong.

He walked closer, his only thought being able to actually touch Eddie again, maybe kiss him when he wasn’t dying.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Eddie said quietly as Steve stopped right in front of him. He seemed taller, just a couple inches, but definitely noticeable. “Gotta watch the teeth though. They’re pretty sharp.”

“It’s really you,” Steve reached a hand out to cup his cheek. Eddie nuzzled against his palm. “You came back.”

“I’ll always crawl home to you, Stevie.”

“How did this happen?” He whispered, his hand dropping to Eddie’s chest. He really didn’t have a heartbeat. “How are you here?”

“I don’t really know. I woke up and got flashes of your thoughts, and then my own memory kicked in and all I could think about was getting back to you.” Eddie leaned forward until his forehead touched Steve’s. “It killed me to hear how much you were hurting and I couldn’t do anything.”

“Why couldn’t you come through the gate?” Steve asked, fingers curling into Eddie’s shirt. “Why didn’t you come to us when we came to get your body?”

“Every time I tried to leave, I would pass out. One of those times was when I could hear your thoughts about coming to get me and I wanted to meet you at the gate, but I blacked out somewhere by Skull Rock?” Eddie sighed. “I didn’t get to you in time.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Steve sobbed.

“Hey,” Eddie cupped his face and shook his head. “You didn’t know. This isn’t your fault. If anything, you’re the reason I’m even alive-ish to begin with.”

It was like everything around them disappeared when Steve leaned up to peck Eddie’s lips.

It was even quicker than the first time, barely even a graze. But they both felt the spark.

Steve fell against his chest, his face nuzzling into his neck as he let out another sob. “I needed you.”

“I know. I’m here now,” Eddie said.

Steve hadn’t realized how much it was true, how much he did need Eddie this whole time. The grief he’d felt was beyond what he should’ve felt, more than what even some of the people closest to Eddie had been showing. It didn’t make sense to him why he felt so much for this man he barely knew.

“It feels like I have your heartbeat in my chest,” Steve mumbled. It didn’t make any sense.

“Maybe you do, sweetheart,” Eddie kissed the side of his head. “Must’ve stolen it from me when you kissed me.”

Steve smiled against Eddie’s skin. “Maybe I did.”

“Um, not to break up…whatever this is,” Robin started. “But Will’s hearing things.”

Steve whimpered as Eddie pulled away.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said as he laced his fingers with Steve’s. “I’m right here with you.”

And it turned out, he was more help than anyone could’ve expected.

He wasn’t exactly connected to the hivemind, but he could sense Vecna. He was almost certain Vecna was the reason he passed out anytime he tried to leave.

Which Nancy had explained probably meant Vecna would need to be severely weakened or die before Eddie would be able to leave.

If Steve had to kill Vecna himself to have Eddie back, he would. He would do anything.

But since Eddie seemed connected to him, he could give them more warning than even Will could when something was going to happen.

That warning is probably what saved them and ultimately helped El get into Vecna’s mind to finish the job she started in March.

It was obvious almost immediately when she won, when they won.

Steve’s first response was to hug Robin, her tears and sweat and a little blood soaking into his shirt while he cried into her hair. He could distantly hear everyone else crying and yelling, cheers coming from the walkie that Joyce was holding.

Everyone was okay.

Robin patted his back and pulled away. “You better get to Eddie before he rips my face off.”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he looked over to Eddie. He’d distanced himself from everyone, and even though he was smiling about their victory, he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Robin said, patting his cheek. “I’m happy for you. If he’s what you want, I’m glad you get to have him.”

“Thanks, Robs.”

Robin turned to pull Nancy into a hug and Steve made his way over to Eddie.

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Steve started. “You made sure we got him before he could get us.”

Eddie’s wide eyes wouldn’t focus on him, darting from his face to his neck to behind him.

“Stevie, I-” He groaned. “I really need blood. Everyone smells so strong. I think Vecna was covering some of my hunger before.”

Steve paled. “Okay. Let’s just- okay.”

“Steve.”

“Bite me.”

“Steve!”

“No, seriously. You won’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me. And I barely even lost any blood today. Might as well let you have some.”

Eddie whined. “I-”

“Eds, look at me,” Steve guided his face towards him. “If you drink a little now, we can all leave here. You can come home. You can see Wayne. You can see the kids. You can stay with me if you want.”

Eddie nodded. “I just don’t wanna freak you out. I feel like you’re handling this too well.”

“Maybe,” Steve snorted. “But this is not even top three weirdest things to happen to me. I want you to feel like you have control again. You can be in control of your own body.”

“I don’t know what it will feel like for you. It may hurt,” Eddie said.

“It won’t hurt as much as knowing you’re suffering.”

“You would fall on a sword I’m holding if it meant I was happy, wouldn’t you?” Eddie asked, shaking his head. “How have you not died?”

“I almost have many times.” Steve cupped the back of Eddie’s head and pulled him in, tipping his head to the side so he had better access to his neck. “This won’t be one of them. You can’t hurt me.”

“Steve,” Eddie nipped at his neck. “You smell so good. I can’t-”

“Then don’t, baby. Drink.”

The moment Eddie’s teeth sunk into his skin, every surrounding noise and sight was gone from Steve’s mind. All he could think about was giving Eddie everything, whatever he needed was his.

He could feel Eddie moaning against his neck, but couldn’t quite hear it.

Eddie’s arms were around his waist, holding him up while he took the blood he needed.

Steve lost track of time, lost track of everything except the way Eddie’s lips felt against his pulse point. His tongue lapped up the blood leaking from where his mouth connected to his veins.

They both shivered.

Steve blacked out.

******

“If you killed him, I swear to god Munson, I will kill you.”

Robin’s voice was the first thing Steve became aware of.

And then he felt Eddie’s fingers on his wrist, probably checking his pulse.

“‘M not dead,” he managed to say.

He was definitely in a bed, though he couldn’t be sure if it was his own. He didn’t really want to open his eyes yet.

He turned his head a few inches and let out a small whimper at the sting in his neck.

“Can’t believe you tried to eat my babysitter,” Dustin’s voice said from somewhere across the room. “After he basically saved you by kissing you. I gotta call Suzie. There’s theories on a “sleeping beauty” kiss, but there’s no actual science to back it up. Yet.”

“Dustin, please shut up,” Steve groaned. “I’m fine.”

He finally opened his eyes to emphasize his point, shocked to see almost everyone surrounding the bed he was in.

“This wasn’t really an everyone needs to be here situation, was it? I just passed out.”

“Eddie was panicking. He thought he killed you,” Lucas provided.

“But he cannot. You are soulmates,” El said from a chair on the other side of the bed. She looked exhausted, but otherwise okay. “It is impossible for him to kill you.”

“Well that’s…nice.” Steve was feeling a bit exhausted himself. “How long was I passed out?”

“Long enough to get through the gate and get you back to your house. 30 minutes maybe?” Eddie said, pulling his hand up to kiss his fingers. “I was worried I took too much.”

“No,” Steve said, certain he hadn’t. “I think it was just overwhelming. It won’t happen next time.”

“Did I hurt you?” Eddie’s voice sounded broken and unsure, like he would crumble into pieces if Steve said yes.

“No. You didn’t hurt me. I promise. It felt…good,” Steve was hesitant to say more with so many ears listening in, especially young ones. “It was just a lot.”

Eddie watched him for a moment, determining if he was lying. But he could read his thoughts, knew he wasn’t, and eventually gave a nod and another kiss to his knuckles.

“Well, since we know he isn’t dead and probably won’t be anytime soon…we should go!” Robin said because she was a good friend who knew what Steve was thinking even without the mindreading superpowers.

“But we should monitor him and make sure nothing weird happens. We don’t know what Eddie’s got going on and-” Dustin started to argue.

“Yep, he’s fine.” Hopper started to nudge everyone out the door. “We have stuff to do anyway. Eddie can watch him. He’ll call if anything weird happens, right?”

“Right,” Eddie answered, not taking his eyes off of Steve.

As everyone filtered out of the room, Steve blinked back at Eddie, fond smile spreading across his face.

“You need any more?” Steve asked when the door closed.

“You’re joking,” Eddie laughed, but there was no amusement in it. “I could have actually killed you. I’d never drank before and you tasted so good, Steve. You have no idea how hard it was to stop. And then you passed out! I almost had them bring you to the hospital!”

“I’m fine! I passed out because it felt good.”

“Steve. No one passes out like that just because something felt good.”

“Well, it did! It felt kinda like having five orgasms at once. Except kinda different, too. Like I wasn’t quite over the edge?” Steve shook his head. “Either way, I’m okay and it felt good and if you need more, you can have more.”

“I don’t need more right now,” Eddie sighed. “But I know I will. We’ll figure out what to do to make sure you get enough vitamins so I can drink from you next time.”

“Mhm. Sounds good,” Steve closed his eyes and tugged Eddie’s hand to rest on his chest, where his heart was beating against his ribs. “Feels like you’re part of me.”

“Yeah. You feel it too?”

“El said we’re soulmates?” Steve opened his eyes again and found Eddie’s gazing back at him already.

“I don’t know, but there’s definitely a connection. A pretty strong one. I don’t think we can ignore it,” Eddie admitted, almost apologetic.

“I wouldn’t want to. I should’ve told you before how much I wanted to get to know you,” Steve felt tears in his eyes. “You didn’t deserve to only know after you were already dead.”

“I’m not dead. I’m here with you.”

“But I watched you die. I thought you were dead. I mourned you with the kids. Robin had to stay with me for a week straight because I could barely sleep, blamed myself for everything. You must have heard all of that.”

“I think I heard a lot of it. You tortured yourself. I wanted to come here and tell you I was okay so many times. I tried so many times,” Eddie kissed his forehead. “But I’m here now. You’re mine now. I’m yours. We can figure out what this means for us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Will you get in bed with me?” Steve asked.

“To sleep?”

“Eventually,” Steve smirked. “Remember when I said I was still on the edge?”

Eddie snorted. “I’m not fucking you tonight. No way.”

“Why not?” Steve pouted.

“Because it should be special and because you’ve already been through enough today,” Eddie chuckled. “You can wait a day or two.”

“Can we at least make out a little?” Steve tried to compromise.

“Will you get some rest after?”

“If you make me tired enough.”

“I didn’t know I’d end up with Steve Harrington, The Brat.”

“You’re the one who pointed out I was a spoiled rich kid,” Steve argued, turning on his side so that Eddie could climb into bed next to him. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

Steve hadn’t felt this light in a long time, maybe even years.

Eddie must have sensed it, his beaming smile lighting up the room, his sharp teeth glistening in the low lamplight.

His lips crashed against Steve’s, his arms pulling Steve closer and then on top of him as he rolled onto his back.

Steve moaned into his mouth, licking past his lips and across his fangs.

He could almost still taste his own blood in Eddie’s mouth.

He rolled his hips forward, cock already straining against his pants. The friction was perfect, just enough to keep Steve on the edge, but not so much to make it seem like he was pushing.

He was pushing though. He wanted to see how far Eddie would go, how far they could get tonight even with the events of the day behind them and the exhaustion sinking in.

Eddie nipped at his lip, just enough to break skin, and Steve whimpered.

“Shit, sorry. Forgot how sharp these things are,” Eddie pulled away and thumbed away the blood.

“It’s good, I like it,” Steve gasped out. He pulled Eddie’s thumb to his mouth and sucked on it. “Bite me anywhere.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Please, I’ll be good. You don’t have to drink. Just…bite me.”

Eddie held him still for a minute, his eyes searching his face.

“I have an idea.”

Steve nodded. “Anything.”

“Ever fingered yourself?” Eddie asked casually.

“Um, kind of? I mean I have, but I got frustrated with the angle pretty quick.” Steve suddenly caught up to what Eddie was suggesting. “Are you gonna finger me?”

“If you have lube.”

Steve sat up, nearly falling back over from a head rush. Once he managed to stay upright, he reached over into his bedside table and moved a couple things over to get the lube.

He handed it to Eddie and started to get off of him, but Eddie’s hands grabbed his hips and stilled him.

“Nope, like this. I want you to ride my fingers,” Eddie smirked. “You can find what feels good like this. Use me to get off.”

“Is that what your idea was?” Steve gulped. He’d never done anything like this before and wasn’t sure he’d do it right.

“No, but it’ll make my idea more fun,” Eddie squeezed his hips. “But we can stop anytime, okay? Even if it’s just because you’re too tired.”

“I’m not.”

“Love, you defeated an alternate dimension and its super evil guy today. Plus, I drained you of a pint or two of blood. You can be tired,” Eddie opened the cap of the lube. “You wanna get undressed?”

Steve rushed to pull his shirt off, and quickly stood up to remove everything else. Eddie tried not to laugh at his eagerness; It was honestly pretty endearing.

Once he was naked, he got back on Eddie’s lap. “Are you gonna get undressed?”

“Not right now. This is all about you, sweetheart.”

Steve’s blush went down to his chest, and Eddie was ready to proclaim his love to anyone who would hear it. He didn’t care how ridiculous it was; He loved Steve and his beautiful red glow.

He hadn’t mentioned it to him yet, but Eddie could hear the blood rushing in his veins, could hear his heart pounding even from across the room. He could almost feel every breath in his own lungs.

He spread the lube across his fingers as he helped Steve scoot up enough to make this easier for both of them.

Steve’s breath hitched as he circled his hole, and Eddie heat rushing to the places his fingers brushed against.

He pushed a finger in slowly, slow enough that it felt like Steve’s entrance was making his finger a part of him. Steve let out a long, low moan as he pushed himself down further, until Eddie’s knuckle was resting against him.

“You were made for me, weren’t you?” Eddie said in awe. He’d done this plenty, but never like this, and never with someone who wanted him this badly. “Taking me like you’re starving for it.”

“Am starving for it. Need you,” Steve moved his hips forward and back, barely riding Eddie’s finger.

Eddie pulled his finger out and replaced it with two, trying to take it slow, but Steve wouldn’t let him.

“Oh fuck,” Steve whined when Eddie crooked both his fingers inside him, brushing against his prostate repeatedly as Steve’s hips started moving again.

His cock was leaking, dripping precome down his length and onto Eddie’s stomach. He couldn’t wait to have a taste of it later. Soon, if the way Steve’s heart kept skipping a beat was any indication.

“You want another?” Eddie asked him, somehow feeling breathless despite the fact he may or may not even need to breathe.

“Please,” Steve begged. “Need to be full.”

“You want me to fill you up?” Eddie stretched him open around three fingers, going a bit slower this time when Steve tightened around him. “How much can you take? Think you can do four fingers? Think you can have my whole cock in there next to a couple fingers?”

Steve nodded, though Eddie was pretty sure he had no idea he was doing it. He wasn’t picking up any actual thoughts from him right now, which was definitely good for his ego, but a little concerning.

“Hey,” Eddie paused with his fingers inside him, his free hand against Steve’s chest. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”

Steve blinked his eyes open and Eddie was gifted with a few random thoughts about how nice his fingers felt and how much he wanted to come.

“You wanna come on my fingers?” Eddie asked.

“Mhm.”

Eddie thrust his fingers in and out a few more times before tugging Steve down.

The new angle caused him to nearly scream, Eddie’s fingers putting constant pressure against his prostate as his cock got trapped between them.

“Gonna test something. Can I bite you?” Eddie whispered against his ear.

“Fuck, yes,” Steve agreed, tilting his head to the side like the good boy he was.

Eddie stilled his fingers, but kept them as deep inside Steve as he could. He leaned forward and breathed in the scent of Steve, his sweat, the lingering smell of his body wash from his last shower barely clinging to his skin, his blood.

His teeth found their mark and he bit down, groaning as he broke the skin and tasted the first drop of blood on his tongue.

He didn’t suck, didn’t need to. He lapped at the droplets of blood as he felt Steve tense, let out a high-pitched whimper, and warmth coat both their stomachs and chests.

He pulled off immediately, pulled his fingers out so he could wipe them off on the sheets.

“Fuck, sweetheart, that was perfect. You were perfect for me,” Eddie kissed his neck, his shoulder, the side of his head. “Can’t believe I get to do that.”

“Mmm…again?” Steve’s raspy voice breathed out against his shoulder.

Eddie laughed. “Not tonight, beautiful boy. I need you to rest. You did so good.”

“Mhm. You too.”

Eddie laughed again. How did this become his life? Or death? Undeath? Whatever.

He didn’t have the heart to move Steve, but he knew they’d end up literally stuck together with dried cum if he didn’t at least wipe them down. He managed to lift Steve enough to wipe them off with the sheet, but it wasn’t perfect and they’d definitely need to shower as soon as they woke up.

Eddie had changed as soon as he got to Steve’s house at everyone’s insistence, but he had yet to shower, and he was pretty certain the only reason he didn’t smell worse was because he technically wasn’t alive to produce any body odor.

He turned his head to look into the bathroom.

Steve had a huge bathtub. They could share in the morning.

For now, Eddie ran his fingers up and down Steve’s back as he fell asleep on top of him.

“Thanks for kissing me, sweetheart,” he whispered before closing his eyes and letting out any of the tension he’d been holding onto.

Tomorrow, they’d find a way to explain his presence to Wayne, and he’d really be back home.

But tonight, he’d let the weight of Steve and his love cover him up.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiesongfics #work song #check ao3 for full tags #vampire eddie munson #blood drinking #soulmates #canon temporary character death #canon typical violence

[wangxianficrecs]

Young Madam Jin by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud)

Young Madam Jin

by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud)

G, 5k, Wangxian

Summary: “Jiejie, I thought he had killed you!” “A-Cheng, what do you mean? A-Xian didn’t hurt me. I was protecting him. It was not his fault. It was my choice” A stupid ridiculous choice. She knows now just how she had been used. Kay's comments: This story was a super cool read and I loved this portrayal of Jiang Yanli! I loved to see her live (longer) and I really loved the time travel, though it caught me completely off-guard because I didn't read the tags before :D I think Yanli should be allowed to go apeshit more often actually. Excerpt: “They were Wen-” “They were the ones A-Xian owed his and your life to. And A-Xian’s A-Yuan, was he not a child? When we went to Yiling, did he not tell us stories? Does killing war orphans and refuges make us better than the Wen. Do you feel better now A-Cheng?” Jiang Cheng does not say anything, I can see he wants to yell and scream at me, but this at least he can't bring himself to do. Maybe it is because I have not raised my voice, or maybe it is that I look a little too much like mother. “Was it Jealousy again A-Cheng? Did you let others guide you to hate him, like mother did?”

pov jiang yanli, canon divergence, temporary character death, jiang yanli lives, time travel, time travel fix-it, bamf jiang yanli, jiang yanli/jin zixuan, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, jiang family dynamics, cloud recesses study arc, cold springs cave, marriage proposal, shameless lan wangji

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #Wangxian #MDZS #Kay's Rec #February 2024 #Young Madam Jin #StarClearWaters (Readoutloud) #Gen #short fic <15k #pov jiang yanli #canon divergence #temporary character death #jiang yanli lives #time travel #time travel fix-it #bamf jiang yanli #jiang yanli/jin zixuan #hurt/comfort #grief/mourning #jiang family dynamics #cloud recesses study arc #cold springs cave #marriage proposal #shameless lan wangji

[kikker-oma]

#i wanted the scenery to be disturbingly lighthearted #but idk im not feeling it. #i wish i did something different #but i dont know what that would be #oh well #im debating scenery while Four is bleeding out #has anyone checked for a pulse? #lets hope he still has one... #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu fanart #lu four #whumptober 2023 #whumptober #blood #temporary character death

[uniquevoidflowers]

I made a fic for @kikker-oma’s art~

Ao3 link:

Link to art:

Warnings: Blood, Temporary Character Death

Legend sat down at an inn bed with his thoughts. He tapped his foot on the carpeted floor, and looked up at the white ceiling.

“Don’t be a bully, vet. Sky doesn’t deserve that.”

Twilight’s words rang through his head, his eyes stinging. He had been pretty mean hadn’t he? 

The ranch hand was right, the chosen hero didn’t deserve Legend’s remarks. Sky was the kindest and most heroic soul the vet had met.

So why had he said those things?

The vet rubbed at his eyes, not wanting to cry.

A bully.

It made Legend want to scream. His goal was to help people right? If he couldn’t do that…if he was the exact opposite then…what use was Legend? 

The veteran wouldn’t give up so easily though. He’d try to change, and apologize to Sky. He thought over it, trying to picture what he was going to say. He hoped Sky would forgive him, no matter how futile it was. 

The veteran stood up off the bed, pulling off his blue cap and laying it on a side table. He took a deep breath and opened the door when—

“HELP!”

Legend rushed out the door and followed the cries of help, heart pounding. He found a young lady, crying and holding a man’s body. “What happened? Is he breathing?” The vet asked as he heard footsteps.

“No!” She cried. “I don’t know what to do. There are horrible monsters out there and he-he tried to fight ‘em but they were too strong.” 

He heard the captain’s voice, calling out for an explanation. The lady explained with a trembling voice and Warriors took one look at the limp, unmoving man before using chest compressions. Legend bit his lip, not sure what to do.

“What happened?” Time’s low, concerned voice made the veteran turn around.

“The lady said he tried to fight some monsters outside but couldn’t.” Legend informed.

The old man’s stoic eye trailed to the lady. “Where are these monsters and what specifically happened to him?”

“Oh Hylia.” The lady shuddered and then took a deep breath. “They have a camp real close to the inn and he didn’t wanna risk anything. One of the Moblins grabbed him by the neck and squeezed. He-he tried to get out but I heard a crack and he went unconscious. Out of blind rage I rushed at the Moblin and stabbed it with my pitchfork until it released my husband.”

“Was there any black blood?” Legend asked.

“Ye-yes. Come to think of it, I never recognized the Moblin. I just assumed it was one.” The lady mused.

“I’ll take care of the camp.” Legend decided. 

The lady’s eyes widened. “Are you a warrior or a knight or something?”

“Something like that yes.” The veteran shrugged.

“Well…I can’t stop you but, be careful.” The lady warned.

Legend gave a nod. “Slow down, vet.” Time interrupted. “You’re not taking on a camp alone.”

The vet scowled. “Why? On my adventures I was alone.”

“I don’t want to risk anything. I’ll grab the others, and we’ll all go together. Stay here.” Time said sternly.

“Fine.” Legend grumbled and the old man ran up the stairs.

After a few minutes of waiting the urge to leave and help was getting stronger. He needed to help. He was just about to go out the door when Twilight rushed over and stopped him. “And just what do you think you’re doing?” Twilight blocked the doorway.

The vet rolled his eyes. “I thought it was pretty obvious. I’m going to go help.”

The rancher shook his head. “Time gave you an easy task. To stay here. Why are you so insistent on making a choice that could get you hurt, or killed? That’s not helping anyone.” 

“B-but…” Legend’s protests stuck in his throat.

“That’s not helping anyone.”

“Bully.”

The veteran stared at the ground, trying to make a retort, prove that it was better that he did go but nothing came out. The ranch hand crossed his arms and leaned against the door, as if Legend would try to rush out now. Soon the others came, armed and ready to go. The rancher opened the door and the vet followed everyone silently. Hyrule nudged him as they walked to the camp. “You okay?”

Damn it of course his sweet successor would notice. “Yeah.” Legend nodded.

The traveller didn’t seem that convinced but he didn’t say anything. They crept to some bushes near the camp. “Four Moblins from

Hyrule’s era. Two red Wizzrobes from Wild’s era. Ton of Bokoblins from Wind’s era, and a…Lizalfos with an axe?” Time guessed.

“Daira.” Hyrule muttered.

“Weaknesses? Things to look out for?” Four prodded.

“That axe can go through shields. The Daira will throw it. Long range weapons are our best bet.” Hyrule advised.

“Wild, I suggest you fire arrows at the Daira. If it throws its axe at anybody, dodge don’t block.” Time commanded.

The champion nodded and climbed up a tree. “Two of us should go after the Wizzrobes, always keep an eye on them.”

“I can.” Hyrule and Four said at the same time.

There was an awkward pause before Time cleared his throat. “Yes, both of you can. The rest of us can do with the Moblins and the Bokoblins. Do not take more than one Moblin at once.” 

The veteran readied his sword, unsheathing it. “Let me distract them first.” Wild called in a whisper-shout.

The monsters looked at the trees, but then looked back at their fire. The cook shot an arrow at the ground near a tree, far away. The Bokoblins and Moblins went to inspect it while the Wizzrobes looked up where the arrow had been shot. Hopefully, Wild wasn’t caught. “On three.” Time whispered.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

They all leapt out of the bushes and Legend sprinted over to the Moblin with the pitchfork holes on its side. He sliced his arm clear off, and sure enough, black blood spilled out. The Moblin let out a roar and turned around, eyes fierce and hungry for revenge.

The veteran dodged a spear and ran up it, standing on the Moblin’s neck and slashing the monster’s neck repeatedly. The Moblin wailed and flung Legend off its neck. The vet landed on his neck but he got up before the spear could pierce his chest. He let out a battle cry and as Fi began to glow he impaled the beast. The Moblin whimpered and fell to the ground, disappearing in a puff of smoke. The only remains of the monster was the black blood staining Legend’s tunic. He turned around just in time to miss a sword. 

Another Moblin, snarled and picked up its dead friend’s spear. It wielded both the sword and the spear. Legend dodged both weapons with a hint of fear. He had never seen a monster double-wield like this. His resolve hardened an he grabbed his ice rod and froze it in place. He was running to lunge at it with his sword when agony reached his chest and he stumbled to the ground. 

Someone cried out his name. He had no warning when he was suddenly flung across the battlefield and he landed on the cold, bloody ground. He screamed, as his chest burned. He spotted the Moblin raising his sword to finish the veteran and Legend whimpered and tried to move but his limbs refused. He closed his eyes, heart racing as he readied himself for the blow.

It never came.

Instead he heard the beast roar in pain and the battle cry of the skyloftian. Soon something picked him up and there was a hand on the wound in his chest. “Legend?” Someone said frantically.

The vet managed to open his eyes a little and he could see the chosen there. “You’re going to be okay.” 

Sky reached to hug him, and Legend could see the tears streaming down his face. The vet coughed, a thick warm substance spilling from his mouth. Blood? That isn’t good.

“Time has the healing supplies.” Sky bit his lip, looking worriedly at Legend. “TIME COME HERE!” Sky shouted.

Sky? Oh yeah Legend was going to apologize to him. Realizing he might not make it he took a breath. “I’m so-ory I was so m-mean to you…” He coughed again. “Sky…I was-wasn’t very nice…was I?”

He hadn’t pictured apologizing like this but he hoped it worked. The grip on him got tighter as Sky held him closer. “NO! Don’t ever say that! Y-You’re the kindest of us all.” Sky shouted.

Legend blinked slowly, surprised. That…That couldn’t be right. 

“Bully.”

Sky was kind to say that. “I love you…Sky…” Legend slurred as his eyes began to droop even more.

“I love you too, Legend, so much.” The chosen replied.

Legend gave a small smile as his eyes began to close. 

At least he got to apologize.

————————————————————

Sky heard footsteps and Time’s voice as the vet’s eyes closed. “Vet, stay awake. Legend, please.” Sky begged.

The vet’s head rolled to the side, his mouth not opening or moving. The old man pulled out a fairy, both of his eyes open. “I couldn’t get here. The monsters were blocking my path.” Time panted.

The skyloftian’s heart twisted painfully. He grabbed Legend’s limp wrist and searched for a pulse, only to find nothing. The vet wasn’t breathing either. Sky let go of the veteran, kneeling beside him. Sky remembered his knight training and he put all his might into chest compressions, trying to revive the vet. After what felt like forever, he heard a small weak gasp and Sky stopped. “Fairy!” Sky cried out.

Time uncorked the bottle as quickly as he could and the fairy flew out and noticed the bleeding out hero. The fairy circled Legend and the wound glowed a bright pink before it was gone. Sky picked up the veteran and thanked the fairy who chimed and flew away. The battle was done, when Sky checked. “I’m so sorry.” Time choked out. 

The chosen swallowed. “It’s not your fault.”

If only Sky could’ve done something. The old man scoffed and left to tell the others what had happened. Then they began walking back to the inn.

In those moments before Legend had died he had apologized, said he was mean. 

Where in Hylia had that come from? 

The Legend he knew was soft, with a guarded exterior. He had once seen the vet with a bunny. Legend had scooped the animal up gently cheeks burning but his violet eyes were  filled with happiness. He had also been kind to people, helping out whenever he could, lightening the mood, offering advice. 

Why had Legend thought he was mean?

“Sky, come on.” Wind’s voice brought Sky out of his thoughts.

He came inside. The man from earlier was gone and the lady from earlier was talking to the innkeeper. She noticed everyone come in and gasped. “Are you all okay?”

Four nodded. “We all just need rest. The monsters are taken care of.”

“Thank you so much. Here, have this purple rupee.” The lady handed it to the smithy and looked worriedly at the vet. “What happened?”

“He took a nasty hit, but we got a fairy.” Time informed.

Well, Legend had also died but Sky guessed the old man didn’t want to worry the lady too much. “Well I hope he’ll be alright.” The lady hummed.

Sky nodded and began to carry Legend upstairs, and bumped into the captain. Warriors paled. “Sky?”

“I’ll explain later.” The chosen murmured and set Legend gently down on the inn bed. 

He pulled out a chair and sat down, relief making his eyes sting with tears again. “Sky, you’re covered in blood.” Warriors said. “Go clean up, I can stay here with him.”

The skyloftian stood up, nodding and grabbed a spare tunic. He headed to the inn’s bathroom to clean the blood off, and he gagged at how much of the blood-Legend’s blood- was there. 

He covered his mouth as a sob escaped his throat. Hot tears poured down his cheeks and he couldn’t stop them.

He had seen Legend die.

A knock. “Sky? S’that you?” 

“Y-yeah.” Sky responded, voice thick.

“Can I come in?” Twilight asked.

“Mhm. Just washing off blood right now.” Sky answered.

The door opened and Twilight came in, looking concerned. The chosen turned on the water and began to wash the blood out of his hands and nails. “Are you okay? No wait that’s not a good question.” Twilight sighed. “How are you feeling?”

Sky watched the blood wash out of his hands and stain the water that was draining a foggy red. “M’fine.” Sky spoke softly.

“Don’t give me that.” Twilight tried. 

“What do you want me to say?” Sky asked in a cold, icy tone.

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. “Sky.” Twilight didn’t seem to care though. 

He stepped forward and hugged the chosen. “Legend’s going to be okay. It’s okay, Sky.” Twilight reassured.

Before Sky could stop himself, he sobbed. “Twi-he died.” 

“I know. He ain’t dead anymore though. It’s okay.” Twilight continued.

Sky could still feel the blood on his hands. 

#unique writes #linked universe #lu legend #lu sky #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu time #tw blood #temporary character death