#and they press it in a book..so its eternal in a different way..and then they kiss..man

[asimpforyagami]

propmts 1, 5, 6, 7, 8 for kolya please

(if it's a bit much you can excluee 5)

↷ A/N ─ its never too much nonnie :) ilyy ty for sending these reqs!

★ PROMPT ─ 1, 5, 6, 7, 8

!! FT. ─ nikolai

─ wearing his clothes

Nikolai had known for ages that you had your eyes on his clothes. The way you droned about how your date outfits looked so bland and probably needed the addition of boots, how you complained about cold hands wanting to wear gloves, how you put on his hat and sent him pictures captioned "It looks better on me."

Especially with Halloween just around the corner, and you suggesting you two switch outfits for the day, it became all the more obvious.

"But, dove," Nikolai whined. "My suit is a part of me."

"No," you giggled. "I'm the clown of the couple tonight."

"Well, I must say that's a very cute clown. Clowns are supposed to be scary, right?"

"You're not scary."

"You're right," he said. "I'm not scary. I'm completely bonkers!"

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

─ kissing

"Ah, it's good to be back," Nikolai stretched his arms.

"What do you mean? You were right here," you said.

Nikolai gasped. "How vile of you! To overlook my struggle from the hall to the kitchen, all to get you a refill of the popcorn."

"You could've just used your ability."

"Doveeeeee," he whined, and you sighed. Of course, now that he has said that he's been away, he will not stop until he gets what he wants from you.

"Fine," you roll your eyes, and Nikolai immediately uses his fingers to press your cheeks together in a pout, giggling before pressing a long kiss on your lips.

You close your eyes and he releases your cheeks, your lips still in the duck faced pout. A few seconds passed like that. Then, Nikolai pulled away and stared at you before tackling you on the couch and kissing all over your face. His hat fell somewhere on the ground as he tickled your stomach, your face red with laughter and overwhelmed by the love he was showering you with.

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

─ cuddling

"Dove-"

"Shh," you shushed him and Nikolai immediately fell quiet.

You had put one of your legs on his, trapping him with both your arms around his torso, interlocking behind his back. This was probably the first time Nikolai had reluctantly agreed to be the little spoon.

'Reluctantly' because of the reasoning that he did not like being "trapped'. He claimed that he was a 'free bird' and desired 'eternal freedom'.

Nikolai sighed. Sure, the feeling of you practically choking him with your face buried in his neck was different. He felt numb, staring ahead of you as you hugged him.

Thinking... Thinking about you. How you had changed him so much. How he felt much, much more free than he ever was when he was with you. How a hug and a kiss would make him forget all his problems, all that bound him to the world.

He thought and thought. About how if this was any other person he would be ashamed at being trapped by their body this way. About how surreal your warm breath felt against his neck. About how if this was the 'worst case scenario', he was completely okay with it.

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

─ reading to him

"And the little Swallow asked the Prince, ''Why are you weeping then?'," you recited, book on your lap as Nikolai stared at you with interest.

He was never one to read stories. He'd rather they be read to him, which led to this moment, with you lying on the one-seat sofa and him on the longer couch, propped up on his elbows and feet dangling along your words.

"What did the Prince say then?" he asked excitedly, and you turned the page before continuing the story.

Funny, he thought, how you always managed to get books and stories that he likes. Or maybe, as his bi-colour eyes turned glossy with admiration for your beauty, it was only because you were the one reading them that he enjoyed them so much.

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

─ nightmare

You shook Nikolai awake. He had been twitching and shaking in his sleep, breathing hitching when he woke up with a gasp.

"You okay? What's wrong?" you asked, concerned.

"Nothing," he replied too quickly, eyes still hazy.

"You're lying," you said firmly, propping yourself up on one shoulder and pressing a hand on his chest. "I can feel your heartbeat."

"I'm okay, dove," he said again. "Why are you awake at this hour?"

"Kolya, please be honest with me."

Nikolai sighed. He wanted to say that it was nothing, that he wasn't gonna let a stupid nightmare dictate his emotions. But perhaps he could use this as an opportunity for himself?

"Hold me?" he suggested instead.

You narrowed your eyes, but complied anyway. You pressed a kiss against his forehead, and Nikolai couldn't help but think that whatever the dream had been, he was glad that you were there for him always.

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

#bsd x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd imagines #nikolai imagines #bsd fluff #nikolai fluff #bsd nikolai x reader #bsd nikolai gogol #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai #nikolai bsd #nikolai x you

[ventismacchiato]

40 just playing the part — after party !

epilogue

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes: still in the future, tw: fluff, suggestive content, this is just a little smth to wrap the au up neatly

You exchange smiles and polite nods as you make your way past the staff and fellow actors backstage, clutching your award in your hands against your chest. There was residue sweat stuck on your face from the fluorescent lights of the arena and your mouth was dry from all the speeches you did. But you had your mind on one thing, better yet one person. Your fiancé whom you hadn’t seen in a week due to opposing schedules was finally under the same roof as you and the night was nearing its end before he was swept away on yet another flight.

After what feels like a stressful eternity you finally spot a tuft of indigo hair in the distance making its way to sneak into a dressing room to get away from socializing. Typical.

You maneuver your way through, catching the door with your heel and slipping into the dressing room. You look around, it was barren. You narrow your eyes, had you gone insane from not seeing your lover for so long you were hallucinating him?

Just as you were about to turn around to leave disappointedly you felt a pair of arms snake their way around your waist and a firm chest press against your back.

“Hey,” Scara greets, his chin on your shoulder as he plants a kiss on your neck, “Congrats.”

You turn around, quickly wrapping your arms around him and going straight for his lips.

“You too,” you grin, eyeing the trophy identical to yours with his name imprinted on it sitting by the mirror, “I had a running bet you’d cry on stage, you lost me a hundred.”

“I can cry for you in bed later,” he murmurs, his hands caressing your hips as his lips trail your jaw, “I don’t have to leave until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good,” you say, sliding your hands underneath his dress shirt impatiently.

“My mom was in the crowd today,” he says against your lips, taking the trophy from your hand to set it on the table so he can gently press you against the dressing room door.

“Took her long enough,” you smile before you feel the door behind you push against you in an attempt to open.

You and Scara quickly separate from one another and try to fix yourselves as your manager, Jean, walks in. She eyes Scaramouche’s undone collar and your disheveled hair with a heavy sigh.

“No comment from me,” Jean says, shutting the door behind her, “I’ve received the news.”

“About…the project?” you ask, sharing a look with Scara.

“Yes,” she smiles, waving her phone.

You and Scara had been trying to book a role in your ideal marriage location so you guys could finally tie the knot whilst working. But everytime something comes up to prevent it. Whether it be a last minute location change, you both having to film in different spots, or your friends not being able to fly in. It was torture.

“You guys finally got it,” Jean announces, “The project starts next year. I’ll leave you both to…celebrate in your own ways,” she knowingly says, shaking her head as she slips out of the dressing room.

“It’s finally happening,” you grin the moment she’s gone, squeezing his elbow and yanking him closer.

“Fucking finally,” Scara sighs, letting himself begrudgingly be wrapped in a hug.

“You’re stuck with me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Those better not be your vows!” you chastise.

“What do you want me to say?” he hums, pressing himself against your back to lower his lips to your ear, “You are the bane of my existence, and the object of all my desires.”

“Now you’re just quoting one of your movie lines.”

“I meant it though.”

You bite your lip to fight the smile threatening to show itself on your face, a childlike bundle of glee in your stomach at his words.

“You want me so bad.”

“Shut up.”

“You mispronounced I love you.”

“It goes unsaid, you already know I do.”

.

.

.

୨⎯ THE END ⎯୧

just playing the part !

masterlist — prev

synopsis: you and scaramouche are both drama majors and have been at each other’s throats vying for the same lead roles since high school. but when you’re both cast as each other’s love interest in your second year you’re forced to be civil with your academic rival and see him in a new light. are his feelings for you true or is he just playing the part?

author’s notes: hi! tysm to you all for reading and keeping up w this work, it means a lot to me that sm ppl enjoy smth i wrote on a whim :) and if ur rereading this or are a reader in the future ty to you too! i appreciate all the silent readers and everyone sending me asks/comments (even tho i cudnt reply to them all i loved reading them) i hope to see you all in my notifs in the future but if not i’m glad you gave my writing a chance <3 ily! have a great day/night mwah

taglist: @monochromaticelliot @kaedear @stxrgxzxr @shirmxie @elakari @lacy-lady @linn-a-a @one-offmind @kithewanderingme @quepasoash @leathernourishingshoepolish @mangobee @lxry-chxn @dameofthorns @kunihaver @kythe1a @elysiasbae @hikaru-exe @tokkishouse @raiihoshii @cherrybeomgyu @kunikuzushiit @thenightsflower @lilneps @goodthingimsam @lovelyiez @euhla @beriiov @abvolat @kittycasie @b0bafl0wer @bubblyclouds @atlatcaheart @artssleepy @baelloraa @tartagli-yuh @satowaluverr @hangesextra @scaranaris-lil-niko @caffinatedcoma @wheneverthesunrise @hajimeseyo @itsyourgirlria @hyunrei @redactedhimbo @caliginous-skies @vinskyspuff @miissfortune @criminalinthemaking @scaramouches-girlfriend @scrmgf [1/3]

#genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin impact smau #genshin impact fics #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x reader smau #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x oc #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi smau #kunikuzushi x you #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer gi #wanderer x y/n #wanderer gi smau #just playing the part smau

[grandlinedreams]

Ok, so reincarnation/soulmates? Reader ate some fruit that basically has them living forever, and the only thing keeping them going is knowing that Law will eventually be reincarnated every decade or so after he passes. Each time he meets our dear reader again he can FEEL a pulling.

Reader also has a collection of pictures/memorabilia to remind her of each of Law’s lives.

YES I am such a sucker for the "souls intertwined so completely that they find each other over and over" also listened to 'The Moon Will Sing' by the Crane Wives bc it slaps and its always applied to that kind of relationship so OUGH

[Heads up!: mention of reincarnation/multiple lives, angst if you squint, but mostly some fluff]

You've known him for a very long time.

You don't tell him that, you never do ㅡ you can't. All you do is let yourself orbit towards him the way he does to you, let yourself take comfort in the time you have with him, however fleeting.

It isn't like you have a choice. And even in the darker times where you have to be without him, endure that lonely, phantom limb of an ache ㅡ you take solace in combing through the things you've kept of this go around.

A pendant, a dried flower pressed between the pages of a book, pages yellowed by the years ㅡ little scraps that keep you grounded, keep you sane.

Time has forgotten you, cursed you to stand against the current of it ㅡ you see people come and go, make new names for yourself, sink into as best you can.

But you never forget him.

ㅡ

This time, his name is Trafalgar Law.

He doesn't remember you, he never does ㅡ as is the deal ㅡ and he's already been through so much by the time you meet him.

His eyes are bright and sharp even for the perpetual shadows beneath them, body inked with tattoos that make you wonder if he knows he's had them before, different symbols but same spots ㅡ little pieces that echo through the vast emptiness of time.

Having lost so much already, you can tell he fights that familiar pull, treats it with wariness and caution. You don't push him, let him take things at his own pace.

When you've lived as long as you have, you have patience in spades.

ㅡ

"You're sure we've never met before?"

It's bothering him, the odd tickle of deja vu that he feels when he looks at you. It lingers like an image on the edge of his periphery, fleeting and gone when he tries to focus on it.

"I doubt it," you say, "I was born on a different sea." It isn't a lie ㅡ he just doesn't need to know how long ago that was. "I've never met you in my life before now."

Another not quite lie ㅡ this version of him is entirely new to you. New and yet so much the same ㅡ as he always has been, over and over.

You regard him with a little bit of sadness, Law realizes. Bittersweet and tucked at the edges, like you know something he doesn't ㅡ and only when you think he doesn't know you're staring at him. Because when he looks at you properly, all you do is smile.

And despite it all, Law lets you in. Lets you smooth the ragged edges, lets you wiggle your way in where he swore he'd never let anyone be ever again.

Law thinks he's destined to lose people, and maybe that's true ㅡ but so are you. You know that your time with him is fleeting as it ever is, between one blink and the next.

And then you'll be alone for a while, tread the waters of time as you have before, let the current take you where it needs to. Then you'll find each other again, eternally bound to each other by forces outside the control of either of you.

You've loved him a hundred times, and you know you'll love him a hundred more and beyond that ㅡ but this version of him is your favorite, you think.

And for whatever time you're allowed this go around, you'll give him every bit of love that you can, all the flaws and hurt and heartbreak ㅡ all of it.

You'll love every bit of him as you always have, and you always will.

#ㅡmine. #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered. #anonymous #–ml: law.

[talesof-old]

nightly studies | c.w.

pairing(s): charlie weasley x male!reader

warning(s): 18+, smut, blowjobs, slight edging, very slight voyeurism?, sharing an apartment, shower sex, needy reader, reader has a penis, not proofread or edited, i don’t know what i’m doing i wrote this in one sitting

word count: 1.7k

a/n: so originally the request was for while charlie and reader were at hogwarts but that would make them underage so i changed it so they’re working at the romanian dragon reserve

i did change the request just a tad, so i hope that’s fine!

masterlist

charlie weasley + smut

You’d been listening to Charlie talk about the characteristics of the Antipodean Opaleye for at least thirty-five minutes. You glanced at the clock on the apartment wall and grimaced.

23:49.

You shifted in your seat, pants rubbing against your dick in an unforgiving tease, leaving you nearly gasping. It couldn’t be helped; Charlie was most attractive when he talked about the things he was passionate about, and one of those things just happened to be dragons. The two of you had been studying for the newest addition to the Romanian dragon reserve for hours at this point.

One glance over at Charlie solidified the inkling that stopping for release would not be an option. You sighed, grabbing your previously abandoned quill and marking the notes sheet you’d made.

“-and it’s got to be one of the prettiest dragons I’ve ever seen.”

You nodded along, finishing your note about adult breeding habits. At least someone was getting ducked down.

A gentle hand touched your thigh, high enough that you nearly jumped out of your skin. “You alright, love?” Your face burned but you hummed, nodding at the redhead. He leaned closer, head just inches from yours.

“Are you certain?”

You rolled your shoulders back and spared him a glance. His eyes glittered in the soft candlelight, which under any other circumstances would have you kissing him like a starved man. He jerked his chin towards your papers. You huffed, handing him the pages with words still damp from ink.

“Blimey, you’ve gotten far more done than I have.” You shook your head. A soft smile fought its way to your lips; of course Charlie Weasley didn’t have to write any of the information down, he was Charlie Weasley. The other dragonologists didn’t joke about him being the Walking Dragon Encyclopedia for nothing.

“Not all of us can keep all of that information in our brains.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. The stubble on his chin rubbed against the sensitive flesh of your face, reminding you of a much different place you’d like to feel it. You shifted in your seat again. The boner you’d been rocking for what felt like an eternity seemed to grow more sensitive with every moment. If you glanced up, you might’ve noticed the all too knowing smile on Charlie’s face.

Silence fell over the both of you, save for the scratching of quills against parchment or the clinking of metal in ink pots. It droned on and on, echoing like a drum in your ears. Charlie, potentially intentionally (and infuriating) oblivious, dutifully wrote out the notes he imagined he’d need later.

A part of you hated him for it.

The other part of you ended up winning, however. A quick glance at the clock told you it was twenty past midnight. Your shared roommate’s shift ended in just a little over an hour.

“How much longer you got?”

Charlie’s brow furrowed in mock innocence as he flipped through several pages then turned to you.

“Dunno, maybe a chapter?”

You clicked your tongue. “You have fifteen minutes. Please come to the bedroom when you’re done.” He simply blinked at your request; a borderline plea for him to follow.

“Love, you know I love you dearly, but why…?”

You stacked your own books neatly, putting a lid on your ink pot and organizing your paper. His expectant words had you gnawing at the inner part of your cheek.

Heat spread across your neck. Was he really going to make you explain yourself? Truly?

Instead, you stood.

In moments, Charlie’s face was beat red, though the shit-eating grin on his face let you know he was far from embarrassed—or surprised. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face and shuffling to the bedroom.

“Be there soon as I finish, love. Don’t get started without me.”

His words turned firm. You bit your lip, closing the door behind you and undressing quietly. Night shifts sometimes ended earlier than normal due to the overlap of shifts, so there was a chance your roommate Sasha would be back at any moment.

You crawled into bed, clad in nothing but underwear, body nearly trembling with anticipation. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your eyelids despite the tension that seemed to snake through every inch of your being. Sleep would come quickly tonight.

Your cock ached at the lack of touch, enough that you seriously debated starting without your boyfriend. Time dragged as you laid among the soft sheets. Another glance at the clock.

00:52.

You groaned, head flopping back onto the pillow. Privacy was rare to come by these days, especially at the Sanctuary. Both of you loved your job with every fiber of your being, but damn if it didn’t sometimes get to you. It was like being in school all over again.

The door creaked open and Charlie’s sheepish smile instantly had you raising a brow.

“Sasha’s back.”

You nearly wept.

“Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

Charlie crossed the room to tug you from the bed, all but dragging you into the bathroom. The cogs in your brain slowly but surely started turning. A grin spread across your face.

“Shower sex? Really? Well you sure know how to seduce someone.” Charlie shook his head and wrapped his arms around you, peppering your face and neck with kisses. You hummed at the affection, tracing over the burn marks on his arms.

“Need to drown out the noises, rather not have him walk in on the two of us.”

Your dick throbbed at the idea of potentially getting caught. Charlie turned, switching on the shower and letting it warm up. In the meantime, you stripped down completely with him following suit, both nude in the chilly bathroom. Your cock slapped against your abdomen as you waited for the water.

“Remind you of anything?”

You laughed as you conjured up an image of the prefect bathroom.

“Perhaps one too many fond memories.”

He reached a hand under the water to test the temperature. With a nod, you were stepping into the rather small shower cubicle. He settled behind you, nipping at the skin of your shoulder as he reached around you to splay a hand over your abdomen. You clamped your mouth shut to avoid the keening noise that would’ve erupted from your throat.

“Careful, love.”

You leaned against the wall, desperate for stability as his hand lowered, gliding over skin until he gripped your cock at the base. You bucked your hips, the sensation too much and not enough. Red hot pleasure nearly blinded you as Charlie fondled your balls, your legs trembling at the sudden assault.

“I’m too tired to shag. Give you a jobby?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to open your mouth.

He was down on his knees in an instant, lips smacking before he turned you to face him. He leaned you against the wall, legs just barely parted for balance. Charlie guided your cock to his mouth, lips parting as he took you in. You gasped, already far too close from how long you’d waited. He inched you further into his mouth until you were as far as you could go. Your eyes rolled back as he gave an experimental suck, his tongue warm and soft against your sensitive flesh.

Pleasure coiled in your gut like a spring. If he wasn’t careful, you’d blow a load quicker than a virgin.

“Charlie-“ You weren’t even sure what you were going to say, especially as he drew back and began licking at the veins of your dick. Warm water pelted against your side. You choked, reaching a hand out to the wall as he kitten licked all the way up the length of you. He paused for a brief moment, long enough that you looked down.

His hair was halfway in his eyes, sipping wet as he regarded you like something divine. Your knees went weak.

“Beautiful.”

His lips attacked themselves to your balls, already taut from holding back a rapidly impending orgasm, and you used your free hand to cover your mouth.

He grinned, moving to lick one long stripe on the bottom of your cock to the tip. Your hips bucked against his face. He loosened his jaw, careful of his teeth, and allowed you to sink back into his warm hole.

You shook, teetering on the edge of climax, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed.

He sucked, bobbing his head up and down as if daring you to cum in his mouth. You moaned loudly against your hand, trembling like a baby fawn as you felt your balls tightened and your cock pulsed. Your hips involuntarily jerked, sending you deeper into his mouth. The tip of your dick hit the back of his throat, and instead of choking he sucked hard.

Just as you nearly fell over the edge, Charlie pulled away. You whined, tears filling your eyes at the denial. Reasonably, you knew he was trying to wear you out. But you’d rather cum right now. Charlie rubbed his cheek against your thigh, far too tender for what he’d just done.

“Don’t be mad, lovely.”

You inhaled sharply as your climax slowly faded away.

He pressed kisses to your inner thighs, alternating between sucking hard or gently licking at the skin, desperate to mark up your skin. He gripped your legs, his fingers digging in as he returned his attention back to your cock.

Your chest heaved as he sucked on your head, running a tongue over your slit. Your hands splayed across the tile of the shower, unsteady in their search for solid ground.

He took you deeper, your abdomen tensing as you rapidly approached your orgasm once more. Your body ached with desire. He bobbed his head, each motion sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Late nights always heightened your sensitivity.

You bucked against his mouth, moaning as he swirled his tongue around your shaft.

Charlie hummed, and all of a sudden it was too much. You cried out, white flashing across your eyes as you came. Charlie swallowed, throat still massaging you through your orgasm. You whined weakly, panting as your vision returned. Charlie slowly pulled you from his mouth, patting your thigh as you groaned. He wrapped his arms around you. You leaned heavy against him, body shaky.

He kissed you hard, salty cum still on his tongue as he did. You moaned against his mouth, almost desperate to have another go at the taste of you still lingering.

A bang on the bathroom door had you jumping in his arms.

“Are you two done now? I need to take a piss!”

You laughed quietly, resting your head against Charlie’s shoulder.

“We need to get our own place.”

+++

#harry potter x reader #harry potter #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts mystery #charlie weasley x male!reader #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley smut #charlie weasley #x reader #talesofold birthday special

[queersatanic]

Hello !!! 💖 I'm a young satanist trying to figure out how to properly worship and live the lifestyle, but with all the Nazism and such that satanism is infected with, I'm a bit lost as to where to turn for good information that's not gonna accidentally get me on board with ideas that have nasty shit hidden in the shadows of them. Are there any good books/organizations I can look into or just some general tips? <3

We have a certain perspective on this, so bear that in mind.

What is attractive about Satanism as a concept is not really the "might is right" ideology of Anton LaVey and its worship of social stratification, and it's not The Satanic Temple's pyramid-shaped classical liberalism / Gen X trolling.

Rather, it's taking the idea that even if the story of Christian mythology were true, Satan is still the hero for looking at an omnipotent tyrant and that tyrant's proposed immutable hierarchy for the universe but choosing to rebel and grant people agency over their own lives.

And it's the idea that if the Christians say we are demonic or of the devil's party for being queer or seeking the common good of all people, well, then we're with the devil and down to party.

For that reason, anarchism is more central to Satanism than wearing black or lighting candles, even though the aesthetics are what distinguish it from other strains.

From that, Errico Malatesta is a good place to start because he wrote for a long time and focused on pamphlet-style works that could make sense to a typical person, rather than academics.

Malatesta is easy to read, and still relevant in lots of ways because he lived through so much and lived his ideals (famously, for example, refusing to talk to the cops after he was shot by a fellow anarchist over an ideological dispute).

"The ABCs of Anarchism" by Alexander Berkman is also a good introductory work for establishing fundamental values and why.

You also can listen to that one as an audio book over at Audible Anarchist.

Note that both of those are straight white men, and the "mainstream" of anarchism has often had a problem of failing to recognize or live by principles of opposing all hierarchies, including white supremacy and cishetero-patriarchy. The fact that anarchist Becky Edelsohn "dated" Berkman when she was 16 and he 36 (and that this was supported by Berkman's previous partner Emma Goldman) is one example of this. Mikhail Bakunin gave us one of the best quotes of all time regarding anarcho-satanism ("But here steps in Satan, the eternal rebel, the first freethinker and the emancipator of worlds"); Bakunin was also a racist.

Other people can give better advice and examples, but Indigenous Anarchism, Black Anarchism, Anarkata, Queer Anarchism, and Anarcha-Feminism are all areas that a person needs to put work into in order to undo the kyriarchy — the whole structure of interconnected systems of oppression we're indoctrinated into and subjected to.

"But what does that have to do with Satanism?" Mainly it's to help you spot when something you come across is engaging in the sort of hierarchical, fascistic, or even neo-Nazi ideas that LaVeyan Satanism and its offshoots have always had connected with them. They're not always obvious, and having good principles established is the best immunization and antidote to being exposed to new ideas with euphemisms and shibboleths you can't be expected to be prepared for.

You also can come up with your own rituals and ideas. For example, the Satanic Flame Ritual we have is not due to access to some secret knowledge but it helps externalize and objectivize an internal, subjective, emotional process. Things like candles and flames or altars are best seen in that light.

Anyway, hopefully that helps. It's not that you should never read something like The Satanic Bible or other esoteric works to get ideas. It is that Satanism is the exact opposite of place to look for good ideology or consistency, so you want to start somewhere else for that (we say anarchism) and then look to Satanism and other Satanists for aesthetics and inspiration for rituals that you can modify and integrate into your life in ways that best serve you.

#ask me anything #satanism #anarchosatanism #errico malatesta #Alexander Berkman #anarchist communism #anarchism

[miioouu]

15-Threesome: Bakugo Katsuki and Tsukishima Kei.

       Who doesn't love Halloween? It's the perfect occasion to let go of reality and become someone new, from a totally different universe too. The perfect occasion where people show their interest, their true personality, where worlds collide. 

      So it wasn't really a surprise to you seeing so many people dressed as movie characters, book characters, and whatnot. But what truly caught your attention, were those two boys on the opposite sides of the room. Both blond and a scoff decorating their faces, they're so in character it made you smile a little. You're kind of surprised that you're seeing people dressed as your ultimate favorite anime people; Tsukishima Kei and Bakugo Katsuki. You definitely have a type: blond boys with a temper, to keep the description short, but why you truly loved them is for what's going on deeper; when they put their mind to something, they'll do whatever to achieve their goals, stubborn and ambitious, kind of just like you. 

       And your aim tonight was to get one of them, or both really, you wouldn't mind. So all night long you kept your eyes on them, watching as they moved and rejected the people around them, and whenever they caught your gaze, a flirtatious smirk would make its way to your lips, causing both of them to scoff, but you were observant, and saw the way their cheeks reddened more and more each time. It wasn't hard to get them close to you, one was sitting next to the bar, perfect place, you'll bump into him anytime you need more alcohol in your system, mutter a sweet apology as you'd get more and more handsy throughout the night. And the other was leaning against the wall next to the balcony, you don't smoke, but that doesn't mean you won't pretend to, searching in your bag for one as you made your way to the door for fresh air, every single time, you'd brush against him, closer and closer, you'd maintain strong eye contact as you'd walk by. 

      It's not until the end of the party that they both approached you, Tsukishima first. Hands in pockets as he leaned down, face mere inches away from yours "I could tell you don't smoke, you're not that sly you know?" You smiled innocently, your hands coming to rest on his shoulder as you tried to pull him down, but an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you slightly away from the taller man. "I don't like it when others try to get in my way, you know?" The sentence aimed more at your partner than you, but the situation itself is making it harder to breathe, the tension becoming too heavy. But that was your goal all along, and you can't believe it's actually working."I can be both yours if you don’t mind?" Silence rested between the both of you before the volleyball player sighed deeply, taking both of your hands, and dragging you two outside. 

"Where are we going?" The hero asked nonchalantly, though obviously impatient to get some action, "I live pretty nearby, come over?" You stated with a batting of eyelashes, knowing you didn't need much to convince them both. The walk there felt like eternity, the tension, the impatience and the anticipation is making it hard to keep calm, your footsteps loud and fast against the pavement, once you finally reached your apartment, you were breathing heavy, either from the physical exercise you just did, or simply because of lust, you didn't know and you had half a mind to think about it right now.

     The bang of the door closing echoed around the room, both men wastes no time to attack you with their lips. Surprisingly no fighting for dominance, Bakugou's lips crashed against yours, his tongue darting and licking your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and even though you didn't want to give it to him, when his rough hands got their hold on your hips, pressing you tightly against him, you couldn't fight the gasp that you let out. Kei was being more gentle, or more sensual let's say, his lips were on your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin and leaving red and blues to mark you as his. His bulge was pressed tight against your ass, he groaned every single time you’d move, you’d grind against him, his pants were becoming too tight and he’s genuinely about to lose it. He’s not the only one either, but the ever so loud boy didn’t dwell in his misery, instead, he was quick to take your shirt off for you, throwing it somewhere around the room, his mouth found purchase between the valley  of your breast, thanking whatever god above that you weren’t wearing a bra. He continued his mean to one of your nipples, his pink muscle flicking it, licking it and sucking at it. Your moans are soft and breathy, and even more desperate than before now that Tsukishima’s finger found your other nipple, twisting and tugging at it until it became erect, and without even meaning to, they were in sync; as soon as Bakugou’s mouth left your right one, he moved to the left, letting the taller boy switch side, always keeping you satisfied. 

        Although they had to do more than that in order to satiate you. “Please, more. I want more.” It’s like the switch flipped inside them, remembering that there’s so much more they still need to explore. Swiftly, you were turned around, now facing the salty boy. Your hands flew to land at the base of his nape, your fingers playing with the short hair, as his played with the hem of your skirt. Slowly, and agonizingly so, he pushed it down your legs, taking the soaking lace panties with them. Both men were left staring at your folds, glistening under the soft yellow light above you. “Prettiest pussy I’ve seen.” His voice is calm compared to the character he was portraying, the spikey blond guy couldn’t keep his hands to himself, his arm wrapped around your waist, his hand coming between your thighs, spreading your folds apart before one of his thick fingers dived in, pumping in and out of you. If it weren’t for the mouth pressed against yours, swallowing every moan and whine, you’re sure you would’ve woken up your neighbors. Tsukishima kept moving his lips moving against yours, his tongue going on an adventure inside your wet cavern, exploring every nook and cranny inside, and every now and then, his lips would wrap around your wet muscle, sucking on it. In the meantime, Katsuki inserted another finger in at that point, his thumb circling around your clit. With all the stimulation going on, it’s truly no surprise how fast you came. Your nails digging into the volleyball player’s shoulder, pulling you close as you reached your high, keeping yourself steady as you felt your legs turn into jelly. 

         But what’s one orgasm? The two men are very similar, even when it comes to their sexual opinion; one orgasm isn’t enough, if the room is stinking up of sex, there must be something wrong. Now it’s Kei’s turn to dig his nails into your shoulder, pushing you down to your knees before exchanging looks with the other blond. Katsuki isn’t dumb, he quickly realized what the other was insinuating, so he too went down his knees, before pushing your on all fours. His hand found their place in your hair, pulling at the root so you can watch as the blocker took off his pants, before shoving his oozing dick into your face, a silent order that you will undoubtedly oblige. Your tongue darted out, licking at the tip and tasting him, moaning at the flavor. Too occupied inching him into your throat, you didn’t hear the explosive boy unzip his pants, catching you off guard as you felt something hard pushing through your folds. Teasing you, and himself, as he thrusted himself between your lips, making sure to nudge the head against your clit. Still sensitive from your previous orgasm, your body twitched, squirmed under them. But enough is enough, as much as he loved hearing your muffled begs, Bakugou was about to break himself. Grace was never his forte, in one thrust, he shielded himself completely inside you, and set a rough pace from the start. The force of his thrusts made you rock back and forth, choking on Tsukishima’s member, your gagging echoing around the room, mixing with the men’s groans, and the sound of skin slapping against skin. His pace became even faster, erratic even, Kei’s hold on your face kept you from moving, he wanted more and the only way to get it is if he did it himself, fucking your throat like a fleshligh. It’s obvious who’s the first one to succumb to the pleasure, with both man using you like their personal fuck toy, you couldn’t contain it anymore, your back arching as your cunt pulsated around the blond’s dick rapidly, your vision turned white as your moans vibrated through the taller man’s body. Your frantic contractions triggered Bakugou’s orgasm, his hands held your hips, so strongly you’re sure it will leave bruises for the next few days, he nestled deep inside before rope after rope filled you up to the brim. What pushed Tsukishima off the cliff was the sight of your mixed cum dripping down your thighs, pulling on the floor, his warm liquid shooting you to the back of your throat,making you choke on him. 

       It took you all a couple of minutes before you’re able to see straight again. You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. And you’re stubborn, you’re ambitious, now that you have had a taste of them, you know you’ll be craving for more, so with no hesitation you spoke up “So can you take your costumes off now? I wanna know who truly made me feel so good.” Silence echoed in the apartment as both of them gave you the most genuine confused, quizzical look you’ve ever seen “What costumes dumbass? I hate this whole Halloween shit, so childish.” 

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #tsukishima smut #tsukishima kei x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #bnha #bnha smut #kinktober #female reader

[omegasshyghuleh6661ghosts]

Tag: @judgementdaysunshine

You weren't expecting to get caught in the rain like this, but you weren't about to complain either. Especially not when you had the quite pleasurable view of your lovers in front of you, wet tee-shirts and jeans hugging their muscular frames as the three of you stood under some dense tree cover just off the path you'd taken.

It was early October, and WWE had a house show along with a Smackdown taping in Detroit that you and your boys were booked for. The three of you had chosen to stay at a hotel for four days, giving you plenty of time to explore a bit more instead of opting to stay closer to the Downtown area for a shorter amount of time.

"The perk of working and traveling with your partners."

You'd once joked, Eddie not bothering to stop the chuckle that bubbled up from his chest.

Rey's hand had been intertwined with yours, Eddie staying close to your side as the three of you walked through the park you'd found. Neither man really minded the cooler weather, while you were fully in your element.

"It looks like it'll rain soon, mi amor. We should head back to the hotel soon."

Eddie turned to face you for a moment, eyes glancing up toward the sky before meeting yours again.

"If it rains, so be it."

A warm smile formed on your lips as both men laughed at you, the three of you continuing to make your way through the trails. They'd gotten into a conversation about something you couldn't quite focus on, your attention drawn to the different plants and wildlife you'd managed to catch glimpses of.

You hadn't felt the first droplets of rain hit your skin, not noticing the tiny dark spots that appeared on Eddie and Rey's shirts. The taller of the two men turned to look to you, seemingly not noticing the rain either.

"See something you like, sweetheart?"

Your smile grew slightly, laughter bubbling past your lips as he flexed his biceps for a moment.

"I always see something I like when my amazing, sexy Latin lovers are around."

Rey turned toward you and Eddie, chuckling at the two of you.

"You can't resist the Latino heat, mi amor."

You shook your head, walking up to them and giving each man a kiss on the cheek. Eddie wrapped an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your temple.

"I couldn't resist you even if I wanted to. You're like air, and loving you is just like breathing. It just feels so natural."

The three of you continued down the path, the rain quickly picking up its pace and You weren't expecting to get caught in the rain like this, but you weren't about to complain either. Especially not when you had the quite pleasurable view of your lovers in front of you, wet tee-shirts and jeans hugging their muscular frames as the three of you stood under some dense tree cover just off the path you'd taken.

You couldn't help but take another picture as they assessed the 'damage'. Rey was the first to look up, brow raised slightly.

"Souvenir for later."

He chuckled, walking over and wrapping an arm around your waist as Eddie sat down on a small bench he'd found. Slipping the camera from your hands, he gave it to the taller of the two men who gladly accepted it before you could utter a single protest. His free hand came up, thumb rubbing gingerly over your cheek before he brought you in for a slow, mesmerizing kiss that made your breath catch in your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut, hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

Kisses like these, whether with Rey or Eddie, never failed to get the same reaction out of you. Heart pounding in your chest as your breath hitched, holding on to some part of them like they'd disappear if you didn't hold them close to you, head seeming to spin as they deepened the kiss.

After what seemed like an eternity, the two of you broke the kiss, quietly struggling to catch your breath. Once you'd managed to calm slightly, Rey brought you to the bench. Eddie handed him the camera, carefully pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt and traced over your skin as he trailed kisses along your neck and jaw.

Once more, your eyes fluttered shut as his kisses trailed upwards. He finally kissed you after a few moments of teasing you, his movements just as slow and loving as Rey's had been. His hand came to rest on the small of your back, yours resting over his heart as your fingers clutched his shirt.

A short time later the rain died down a bit, the three of you running to your car and heading back to your hotel. You'd showered together, the three of you curling up together in bed to warm up as you watched whatever happened to be on TV.

You'd find out much later that each of the men had photographed these moments with you, neither one noticing as you lost yourselves in one another.

You weren't expecting to get caught in the rain like this, but oh, you were so happy that you did.

#Eddie Guerrero x Fem Reader x Rey Mysterio #WWE imagines #WWE fluff #Eddie Guerrero imagines #Rey Mysterio imagines

[richincolor]

New Releases

A whole bunch of new books out today from a variety of genres and a little something for everybody. I'm looking forward to reading, The Eternal Ones, the conclusion of Namina Forna's Deathless trilogy and a I always love Renee Watson's work so I'm excited to read her book of poetry that I can share with my students. Read on to check out this week's new books. 

This is How You Fall in Love by Anika Hussain Bloomsbury YA

Zara and Adnan are just friends. Always have been, always will be. Even if they have to pretend to be girlfriend and boyfriend… Zara loves love in all forms: 90s romcoms and romance novels and grand sweeping gestures. And she’s desperate to have her own great love story. Crucially, a real one. So when her best friend Adnan begs her to pretend to date him to cover up his new top-secret relationship, Zara is hesitant. This isn’t the kind of thing she had in mind. But there’s something in it for Zara too: making her parents, who love Adnan, happy might just stop them arguing for a while. She may not be getting her own love story, but she could save theirs. So Zara agrees and the act begins: after all, how different can pretending to be in a relationship with your best friend be to just hanging around with them like usual? Turns out, a lot. With fake dating comes fake hand-holding and fake kissing and real feelings… And when a new boy turns up in Zara’s life, things get more confusing than ever. The course of true love never did run smooth, but Zara’s love story is messier than most…

The Eternal Ones (Deathless #3) by Namina Forna Delacorte Press

Mere weeks after confronting the Gilded Ones—the false beings she once believed to be her family—Deka is on the hunt. In order to kill the gods, whose ravenous competition for power is bleeding Otera dry, she must uncover the source of her divinity. But with her mortal body on the verge of ruin, Deka is running out of time—to save herself and an empire that’s tearing itself apart at its seams. When Deka’s search leads her and her friends to the edge of the world as they know it, they discover an astonishing new realm, one which holds the key to Deka’s past. Yet it also illuminates a devastating decision she must soon make… Choose to be reborn as a god, losing everyone she loves in the process. Or bring about the end of the world.

The Boyfriend Wish by Swati Teerdhala Katherine Tegen Books

Deepa’s a hopeless romantic. And even though Deepa’s checklist for the perfect boyfriend is a mile long, her mom and dad’s fairy-tale love story makes her feel like romantic success ought to be a family trait. It’s why when her grandmother gives her a jasmine flower with the promise that it will fulfill her heart’s greatest desire, and then a new boy moves in across the street, Deepa knows—he must be her wish come true. Rohit checks off every box on Deepa’s timelessly handsome, a thoughtful listener, and a romantic who knows his flowers. Deepa’s next-door neighbor (and constant tormentor) Vik also surprisingly approves, though she knows it shouldn’t be a mark against Rohit. Is it luck or is it magic? Deepa doesn’t want to take chances, so when her grandmother warns her that the wish is only permanent if she seals it with a kiss, she knows she needs to move quickly. Rohit is the right boy in every way, so then why does Deepa not feel like he might not be the right choice?

A Suffragist’s Guide to the Antarctic by Yi Shun Lai Atheneum Books for Young Readers

November 1914. Clara Ketterling-Dunbar is one of twenty-eight crew members of The Resolute —a ship meant for an Antarctic expedition now marooned on ice one hundred miles from the shore of the continent. An eighteen-year-old American, Clara has told the crew she’s a twenty-one-year-old Canadian. Since the war broke out, sentiment toward Americans has not been the most favorable, and Clara will be underestimated enough simply for being a woman without also giving away just how young she is. Two members of the crew know her nationality, but no one knows the truth of her activities in England before The Resolute set sail. She and her suffragist sisters in the Women’s Social & Political Union were waging war of a different kind in London. They taught Clara to fight. And now, even marooned on the ice, she won’t stop fighting for women’s rights…or for survival. In the wilderness of Antarctica, Clara is determined to demonstrate what a woman is truly capable of—if the crew will let her.

Dead Things Are Closer Than They Appear by Robin Wasley Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

A painfully average teen’s life is upended by a magical apocalypse in this darkly atmospheric and sweepingly romantic novel perfect for fans of The Raven Boys , Buffy the Vampire Slayer , and The Rest of Us Just Live Here . High school is hard enough to survive without an apocalypse to navigate. Sid Spencer has always been the most normal girl in her abnormal hometown, a tourist trap built over one of the fault lines that seal magic away from the world. Meanwhile, all Sid has to deal with is hair-ruining humidity, painful awkwardness, being one of four Asians in town, and her friends dumping her when they start dating each other—just days after one of the most humiliating romantic rejections faced by anyone, ever, in all of history. Then someone kills one of the Guardians who protect the seal. The earth rips open and unleashes the magic trapped inside. Monsters crawl from the ground, no one can enter or leave, and the man behind it all is roaming the streets with a gang of violent vigilantes. Suddenly, Sid’s life becomes a lot less ordinary. When she finds out her missing brother is involved, she joins the remaining Guardians, desperate to find him and close the fault line for good. Fighting through hordes of living corpses and uncontrollable growths of forest, Sid and a ragtag crew of would-be heroes are the only thing standing between their town and the end of the world as they know it. Between magic, murderers, and burgeoning crushes, Sid must survive being a perfectly normal girl caught in a perfectly abnormal apocalypse. Only—how can someone so ordinary make it in such an extraordinary world?

The Fox Maidens by Robin Ha Balzer + Bray

Kai Song dreams of being a warrior. She wants to follow in the footsteps of her beloved father, the commander of the Royal Legion. But while her father believes in Kai and trains her in martial arts, their society isn’t ready for a girl warrior. Still, Kai is determined. But she is plagued by rumors that she is the granddaughter of Gumiho, the infamous nine-tailed fox demon who was killed by her father years before. Everything comes crashing down the day Kai learns the deadly secret about her mother’s past. Now she must come to terms with the truth about her identity and take her destiny into her own hands. As Kai desperately searches for a way to escape her fate, she comes to find compassion, and even love, in the most unexpected places. Set in 16th century Korea and richly infused with Korean folklore, The Fox Maidens is a timeless and powerful story about fighting for your place in the world, even when it seems impossible.

Call Me Iggy by Jorge Aguirre & Rafael Rosado First Second

Ignacio “Iggy” Garcia is an Ohio-born Colombian American teen living his best life. After bumping into Marisol (and her coffee) at school, Iggy’s world is spun around. But Marisol as too much going on to be bothered with the likes of Iggy. She has school, work, family, and the uphill battle of getting her legal papers. As Iggy stresses over how to get Marisol to like him, his grandfather comes to the rescue. The thing is, not only is his abuelito dead, but he also gives terrible love advice. The worst. And so, with his ghost abuelito’s meddling, Iggy’s life begins to unravel as he sets off on a journey of self-discovery. Call me Iggy tells the story of Iggy searching for his place in his family, his school, his community, and ultimately—as the political climate in America changes during the 2016 election— his country. Focusing on familial ties and budding love, Call me Iggy challenges our assumptions about Latino-American identity while reaffirming our belief in the hope that all young people represent. Perfect for lovers of multigenerational stories like Displacement and The Magic Fish.

Bunt! Striking Out on Financial Aid by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert First Second Molly Bauer’s first year of college is not the picture-perfect piece of art she’d always envisioned. On day one at PICA, Molly discovers that—through some horrible twist of fate—her full-ride scholarship has vanished! But the ancient texts (PICA’s dusty financial aid documents) reveal a loophole. If Molly and 9 other art students win a single game of softball, they’ll receive a massive athletic scholarship. Can Molly’s crew of ragtag artists succeed in softball without dropping the ball? The author of the New York Times best-selling Check, Please series, Ngozi Ukazu returns with debut artist Madeline Rupert to bring an energetic young adult story about authenticity, old vs. new, and college failure. It also poses the question: “Is art school worth it?”

Black Girl You Are Atlas by Renée Watson & illustrated by Ekua Holmes Kokila

A thoughtful celebration of Black girlhood by award-winning author and poet Renée Watson. In this semi-autobiographical collection of poems, Renée Watson writes about her experience growing up as a young Black girl at the intersections of race, class, and gender. Using a variety of poetic forms, from haiku to free verse, Watson shares recollections of her childhood in Portland, tender odes to the Black women in her life, and urgent calls for Black girls to step into their power. Black Girl You Are Atlas encourages young readers to embrace their future with a strong sense of sisterhood and celebration. With full-color art by celebrated fine artist Ekua Holmes throughout, this collection offers guidance and is a gift for anyone who reads it.

#new releases #weneeddiversebooks

[buttermynutter]

Signed, Viktor | 18/18

Transcript:

Good forever,

I have been informed that we will be able to move into the building tomorrow! Words can’t describe how excited I am, though I suppose they won’t have to once we’re living together.

It does make me a bit sad that there’ll be no need to write each other for a bit, but I suppose we’ll be back to our usual routine once the academy semester starts.

Either way, almost nothing can replace the feeling that came from hearing the clang of my message tube and rushing over to it, hoping it was from you.

I say almost, because I now know you’ll be in the next room, which is exactly where I want you to be, other than laying in my lap.

The simple joy of knowing that your presence is right around the corner - whether figuratively or literally - hasn’t left me since I first met you, and I don’t believe it ever will.

I’m quite certain that it’s because our love isn’t entirely about fitting together without issue; the light shines best through the small parts we don’t share, illuminating them so we can learn all the better from them. Like the cotton candy from the aquarium, our pink and blue never really make purple, just sticky hands and beaming faces.

But the color is what makes it interesting, and the sugar I still find underneath my fingernails isn’t any less sweet because the both of us aren’t perfect. In those niches, birds whistle and doors open between us to the words we don’t have to say, the words that I can trace with my fingers on your face and my lips on yours.

I like to think that I’ve grown my own garden in my time with you. The birds whistle here too, and this time, I feel I can fly just as high as them. There’s a bloom of anticipation here, contentment budding there. Each petal is iridescent, and even if they fall, I press and dry them between pages of a book, the feelings lasting longer than any of its words. I pot a new plant each time we meet, and you water it with your laughs.

I breathe in, and my thorns are trimmed.

A trail of cobblestone cuts through it all, but leaves and vines still reach for my ankles. Sometimes I let them pull me back into the memories, where I fall asleep in that tangle of dreams until the dawn wakes me.

Sometimes you doze off with me, and those days, we’re cradled by the stars - we could float apart through the vastness of the cosmos for eternity, but my heart would still be safe with you.

When you smile, the flowers face your way like they would the sun.

Some places, the path is worn, some places there’s a stone missing, but we point them out and catch each other when we don’t, stopping to look at our reflections in the water running through the cobblestone cracks. It flows differently each time, but a familiar current lingers.

Trees form a border, ever-growing, ever in season - each bears different fruit, and by now we know what’s sour, what’s sweet; with you on my shoulders, it’s the perfect height to pick the latter.

Their golden leaves play hide and seek among the shadows, and we sometimes get cut when reaching through the twigs, gilding our wounds. Our veins look like branches for a reason, begging to share their flowers. Either way, we kiss the scratches and tell each other it’s to help them heal, but if anything, it’s our souls that are patched.

We still run from the bees, we still start at the spiders, but in the end, they only feed the garden, and we thank them when they’re gone.

You always tell me the trees listen, but I’d swear they talk too when you come around.

I’m glad - for once, this letter is not a goodbye, but a hello.

Another flower is ready to be potted.

At the end of the trail, I’ll be waiting.

Signed,

Viktor

━━━━━━━

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Table of Contents

#arcane viktor #viktor/reader #viktor x reader #viktor #viktor x you #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane fic #arcane fanfic #arcane league of legends #netflix arcane #league of legends x you #league of legends x reader #league of legends #league of legends fanfic #viktor the machine herald

[dyns33]

Flufftober 4 - Only lovers left alive

Adam x Eve x Reader 

           "They came back."

           "The zombies ? I thought they came often, which really pisses you off all the time."

           "No. It's different. It's the little zombies."

Y/N looked up from her book to stare at Adam, who was circling the living room like a cat defending its territory, passing by the window to look through the curtain to see if the intruders had finally left. Eve didn't move, as she hadn't moved when someone rang, continuing to stroke Y/N's hair while humming.

It might sound strange, but since living with ​​vampires Y/N had lost track of time. Her days had turned into nights, the hours seemed to either go by terribly fast, or stand still for an eternity, and so she hadn't realized that Halloween night had arrived.

She could have guessed that it was a night that Adam hated even more than the others. Children, or 'little zombies' as he called them, kept coming asking for candy when they saw that there was some light.

           "They threw eggs." grumbled Adam, pressing his nose against the window. "On the door, and on my car."

           "That's what happens when you don't give them a treat. You get a trick."

           "It's a collector's car, very old, very precious. Next time, I'll open the door and eat one as an example."

           "We don't eat little zombies. Eve, tell him we don't eat little zombies."

           "Listen to our darling, love." she said continuing to play with her hair as if nothing had happened.

           "... Not even a finger ? To stop them from coming ?"

Of course, Adam wasn't really serious. He knew what would happen if he hurt a child. Not only was it wrong, he had never hurt a little zombie, when he was still a zombie himself and after his transformation, but also because even more zombies would disturb their serenity.

They might even have to move. Which he didn't want at all. He hated travelling even more than he hated humans.

Small humans in particular.

For her part, Eve still said nothing. She didn't really like mortals, but they fascinated her sometimes. She always wondered what incredible they were going to invent the next day. But not a word about the children.

           "You... Did you have children ?"

The two vampires turned to her, oblivious to the screams that echoed in the street.

           "I mean, before. Or after. Not in a conventional way of course, I understood that it was not possible, but by transforming them? Or is it prohibited perhaps ? I imagine that it is not a good idea to change a child. You wanted to have some ? You... Want to have some ?"

The couple said nothing, each suddenly looking at the other. Obviously they had never had this discussion, or very quickly, a very long time ago, and they had wanted to forget it.

Y/N then quickly changed the subject, asking if they had ever tried making blood candy. While Adam grimaced and indignantly thought of such horror, Eve remained silent.

Later, when Detroit was totally asleep and the musician was taking advantage of the calm to compose a new song while wearing his headphones, Y/N got up to face Eve.

           "You... You wanted children, didn't you ?"

           "You're funny, darling. Where do you get such an idea ? With Ava, Adam, and now you, I already have a lot of work. But to answer you clearly, no, never."

           "Really ?"

           "Really. However... Adam wanted some. At first."

           "Adam wanted children ?" Y/N whispered loudly, not sure if he could hear them through his headphones.

           "At first, as I just told you. He was devastated to learn that I couldn't biologically have one. Of course, he almost immediately talked about adoption. Then I turned him, he saw the world with my eyes and he gradually changed his mind. I'm not sure he really wanted a child. It was more the idea of ​​creating something with me, and we've created a lot together since."

           "It's still a bit sad."

           "Maybe. But it would also have been a lot of fear and argument. Beings like us avoid getting attached to too many people. It's so easy to lose our loved ones. Not only did he not want a child anymore, but for a long time Adam didn't want to see anyone but me. A real hermit. He only spoke to people if it was necessary, or if they were really exceptional, so very infrequently."

With a big smile, Eve then rubbed her head against Y/N's like a cat, to show her all her affection, and make her understand that she was special.

The three of them now formed a small family. Soon they would transform her, and they would be together forever, even when they weren't together, happy to know they would meet again at some point. .

They didn't need children for that.

           "I still wonder if Adam would have been a good father. I mean, I know he would, but I imagine him being very stressed."

           "Oh, darling, you know him so well." Eve purred, kissing her. "You just have to see how he behaves as soon as you have to leave the house. With a child it would be much worse. And you have to be prepared. When you're like us, he won't let you go anywhere alone for at least a century."

           "You're kidding ?"

           "No, she's not kidding." Adam replied, continuing to play the violin, still wearing his headphones and turning his back to them.

           "You are not my father !"

           "I don't see the connection. Zombies are dangerous, the world is dangerous, I'm only careful."

           "It's just excessive." translated their lover. "Don't worry, I'll be there to calm him down, so you can fly on your own. Even if I'll still be attentive. I don't want anything to happen to you either. "

           "It seems to me that we are all fine only because you are here to make sure of it." half joked Y/N.

This made Adam groan, who seemed to decide that he had composed enough for the night, and that he too deserved a little attention, going to slump between Y/N and Eve, silently asking for caresses and kisses.

They were going to meet his expectations when there was a very loud knock on the door.

           "Trick or Treat !" shouted adults several times, visibly drunk.

           "... I was wrong, big zombies are just as terrible as little zombies." mumbled Adam. "They're there later at night, and they're harder to scare."

           "And they'll piss on your car."

           "... I'll eat one, as a warning !"

Despite his best efforts, Adam couldn't get up, caught by his two lovers who held him down until the intruders left, showering him with all the love they could.

Adam was almost not angry the next day, when he had to wash his precious car with lot of water, the smell was unbearable for him.

#only lovers left alive #adam olla #adam only lovers left alive #adam olla x eve olla x reader #adam olla x reader #eve olla #eve olla x reader #eve only lovers left alive #flufftober 2022

[lehdenlaulu]

I'll get into the whole "the show is not perfect either as an adaptation or in general and people are allowed to criticize the choices it makes" thing more later, but since I've seen a lot of vaguing about it, I'll just say this:

Armand is both a major and very very complex character in TVC. Possibly the most complex in the whole series. He's tragic, fucked up and fascinating and his physical appearance is a crucial part of who he is and has relevance to the plot in several instances, Claudia's eventual fate for example. He too was turned too young and it's something that absolutely affects his psyche. He too is eternally a pretty little doll, something that both has brought him unspeakable trauma and something he has learned to use to his advantage as a tool of manipulation. He's frequently compared to a Botticelli angel in the books and it's not just there as a superficial description. He's a devil who looks like an angel and as someone who grew up deeply religious it has fucked him up.

Obviously some people are attached to him being a pale redhead, just like people are attached to Lestat being a blue-eyed blond, but I'm fairly sure most of the concern from book readers is essentially "how much exactly have they changed him?". Because those changes will in turn affect other things, other characters, other relationship dynamics etc. And again, if anyone's physical appearance is relevant to both the character and the larger plot in TVC it's Armand's. So I'd even go so far as to say getting him right is one of the most important tasks especially if you're looking to adapt TVC in its entirety. He cannot just be any random dude in adaptation without it inevitably affecting other things.

Again, I don't believe the issue to virtually anyone is that they tweaked his background/ethnicity, but the "what else is different?". How much have they aged him up, is his overall backstory still the same? How much of the Rashid persona was an act? There are hints, sure, but we don't know yet. I understand that some people welcome the changes due to (perceived) age differences, interracial power dynamics etc. but... it should be a bit fucked up, you know? It's all fucked up. It's kind of the point.

And finally, if you ask me personally? My issue is much less his appearance than the fact that I'm not really getting anything tangibly and undeniably Armand from the character, not from the way he's been portrayed. He's a very blank slate at this point, and the only real hints throughout the season have pretty much been through dialogue. Telling, not showing. I've suspected from since before the show started airing and have been keeping a close eye on "Rashid" as a result, and the thing is, while I'm not sure if it's fair to place the blame on the actor at this point, I do think it was a mistake to introduce the character this way. Because doing justice to a character when you have to essentially play the character playing a character for a whole season without giving too much away, or getting a chance to do press etc.? That's a tough task on any actor, and as things stand I sadly can't say I'm convinced he succeeded.

And if this oddly muted Armand is what we're just supposed to accept as the show's version of Armand? I'd say there's every reason to be concerned and disappointed. *shrug*

#Darna talks TVC #Interview with the Vampire #IWtV AMC #IWTV spoilers #Armand #Armandgate #The Vampire Chronicles

[hellarchy-a]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐘 to spoil her, to shower her with love and worship the very ground she walked on. each day his lips touched porcelain skin, travelling from knuckles up her arms. every day there were new things they could discover, she was his sun and he was the earth orbiting around her, his eternal light. 

it was something for mammon to capitalise on love, to see money flow from chocolates carved in hearts and fancy-looking presents. though lucifer was none the better, every year he indulged, and overspent on his love. this year is none the different. first breakfast in bed, he even made it all himself ( then he had offered himself to her as well, early dessert he had said ) he'd offer her a day out but he'd prefer the privacy to shower her in love, adoration, did he say love ? a day dedicated entirely to the two of them.

now a night out, only the best of the best : a balcony view in ozzy's establishment, the only place they could get at least some privacy. fingers entwined with hers, another few kisses pressed upon her palm.    ❛❛   do you know how much i love you ? the day i will not love you is the day my silly little heart stops working.   ❜❜   they'd have to rip his heart from his body and even then he would love her still with his entire being.

earthly holidays rarely found their way into hell, but the more sinners held a presence in the pride ring, the more demands were made of both mammon and asmodeus to provide leisures for a day revering saint valentine. among the denizens, love was in the air, while there were no cupids to shoot their arrows, there was plenty of hitmen still out at large in hell.

she had never regretted choosing him over humanity, over mortality and the end of life, over the wonders of the world. she had traded pleasures of earth and heaven for pleasures of hell, and did she find pleasures in hell. there was no greater pleasure than when she sang her harmonious melodies to the rings, her songs taking hold of both body and heart. but there was none she sought more than her love, her morningstar.

when she had finally gotten out of bed this morning, she had danced with him in the kitchen, calm and collected, something short and swooning where they would sway together to whatever played on the radio. (hopefully the radio demon at least has a penchant to look at the calendar.) their laughter would fill the otherwise-emptied rooms of their grand palace. to see the rings in all their splendour was something else when it was at the side of whomever you had loved most, and lilith found no greater joy than being at lucifers side.

hell would not see the pair on this day, no matter the year, and it was rather apparent that they decided to spend their time away from the prying eyes of the hellborn and sinner alike. the tradition, as lilith recalls, had a rather rocky start but established itself fairly quickly. (no thanks to their support for it.)

ozzie's was always booked out for years as the fabled day approached. but asmodeus seemed to always have a spot for them on their balcony seat. a place where they could hide away from the wide world, from the clash of angelic spear and demonic gunfire. her slender arm reaches across the table to interlock fingers with his, holding as tightly as the day they fell. she beams a smile to him, all dulled, pearly-white teeth.

" and i love you, more than anything. more than heaven and earth, more than the rings. if the day comes where everything around us collapses, i will hold you tightly. "

the sand is warm under her bare feet, her chair with its legs buried deep within the earth for stability. she has been sitting here for a long time, her long, blonde hair moving in the breeze. lilith adjusts her sunglasses so that they do not stick so heavily to the bridge of her nose, peeks out from under her sunhat, looking around the beach. only her domicile residing in the distance. she shrinks lower into her seat, hands brushing up her face and under her shades, wiping away the dampness that meets her eyes.

for seven years, a dam had been put up to safeguard herself from the emotions of her past life. behind it, she locked everything regarding her life in hell. lucifer, charlie, the sins, the pride ring, her palace, her dresses and jewelry. her love, her heartache, her cynicism and warmth. lilith locked everything behind a wall, not seeing the fissure on its surface.

do you know how much i love you?

she stands up, folds up her chair, and tucks it under her arm, and begins heading inside. a shaky breath leaves her, and her steps are slower as she ponder the memory.

more than anything.

the dam breaks.

#long post / #pridefell #🥀 v: the rules are shades of grey!

[fishandships]

Salve

Universe: Identity V (Time of Reunion/Ashes of Memory) Summary: The Naturalist shares a salve for The Prospector's scars that unexpectedly also proves to be a balm for his soul. Word count: 1362

A follow up to Campbell + soup, in which the ship actually starts to get a little shippy 6v6 bc i can eternally only sum up the attention span to write the “interesting” parts lmao

—

For the umpteenth time that day Norton had to stop himself from scratching at his scar. It always worsened in the winter, when his skin was dry. It was maddening, impossible to ignore, but of course scratching it only made his parched skin bloody. So he cursed under his breath and balled his fingers into a fist, a combination of behaviors that earned him an anxious glance from The Naturalist, who was seated nearby with a book. “What’s wrong?”

Norton was learning that The Naturalist was a flighty, nervous individual, as jumpy as a deer. He made a conscious effort to unclench both his fist and his jaw. “Just this damn scar. It gets so itchy in the winter.”

The Naturalist’s shoulders dropped as they became less tense. A sympathetic look came over them. “Ah. Do you have anything to put on it?”

He stared at them. “Like what?”

The Naturalist closed their book and stood. “I have a salve that might help.”

More curious than hopeful, Norton followed them to their room, where they began digging through a green travel chest. From it they produced a small, flat, circular container. When they opened it, a pleasant floral scent drifted from within. “What’s in it?” Norton asked.

“Oil of lavender, helichrysum, and rosehips to rejuvenate the skin cells, as well as a little beeswax for bonding,” they explained.

He appreciated that they included the purpose of the ingredients in their description. When they offered him the jar for examination, he took a sniff of the floral aroma. “What’s heely…whatever you said?”

“Another flowering herb. It’s related to sunflowers. The heli part of the name comes from the Greek word for ‘sun’...” The Naturalist blinked as if catching themself. “Sorry. Habit from work.”

The way they turned a bit pink and lowered their gaze made something odd happen in Norton’s chest. “I don’t mind,” he found himself saying, despite having little care for flowers. “That’s interesting.”

He must not have sounded very convincing, as they looked somewhat doubtful. Rather than press the matter, he asked, “How do I use it?”

“You just apply it to the skin. You’ll want to massage it a little for it to really do its work.”

“So rub it in.” That sounded easy enough.

“No, no, no,” they said quickly. “You don’t want to rub it too much or it will just evaporate before absorbing into the skin. And you have to be careful when it’s so close to your eye. Here, may I-?”

Without really thinking about what they were asking, he replied, “Sure.”

The Naturalist scooped a bit of the salve onto their first two fingers, scooted in close to him, and with a feather-light touch applied it to his cheek. Norton froze still as a statue. The salve was pleasantly cool and immediately soothing on its own, but as their gentle fingers began moving in small circles to work the mixture into his skin, a kind of calm came over him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. The last time anyone had touched him so gently had been his mother when he was just a boy with a scraped knee that she cleaned and bandaged and kissed better. Still, this was different, more deliberate somehow. The persistent circling of their fingertips was almost hypnotic.

As they worked, their face so close to his, Norton could see a scar in their right eyebrow that he’d never noticed before, cutting down from their forehead towards the bridge of their nose. He wondered how they had obtained such a mark. Perhaps that was why they owned scar salve. “Where did you get this stuff?” he asked.

“I make it,” they replied, their voice quiet and distant in their concentration.

They scooped a bit more salve and focused their ministrations on his temple. His bangs were in the way; when Rosario brushed them up off his brow they just fell forward again, so Norton held his bangs back with one hand. The scent combined with their soothing touch relaxed him immensely. His eyes wandered over their features now, partly out of curiosity to see if there was anything else he hadn’t noticed. The Naturalist was oblivious to his staring, so focused were they on their work, their brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Norton had to admit, they were handsome in a boyish way. They had long eyelashes and a smattering of freckles left over from the summer fading on their cheeks and nose. Their lips were shaped like a bow, the kind with a curve in the middle, but soft and plush as a pillow. Norton wondered if they’d ever been kissed. It was hard to imagine they hadn’t. He wagered they tasted like the aromatic tea they were so fond of drinking. It would surely be a pleasant experience to spend some time slowly savoring them and feeling them relax and melt in his arms…

“What are you doing?” The Naturalist demanded, bracing a hand suddenly against his shoulder.

It was only then he realized he had apparently started to lean forward, focused as he was on those tantalizing lips. Now the spell was broken, and Norton blinked several times to clear his head. “Oh, sorry, uh…that stuff smells good, it’s really relaxing.”

This excuse had the intended result of disarming them. “Good. How does it feel?”

Now that he was paying attention again, he realized that not only was the itchiness gone, but his skin felt pleasantly supple and fresh, better than if he’d just washed. “It doesn’t itch anymore,” he marveled. “It feels so much better.”

The Naturalist looked pleased. “Excellent, I’m glad to hear that. Here.” They closed the little tin and pressed it into his palm. “You should keep it in case it starts acting up again.”

He examined the little jar in his hand, thinking. Their gentle massaging had been so pleasant that he wanted to feel it again. Glancing up at them, he quirked his brow. “If it does, I might need you to give me another demonstration on how to use it.”

To his delight, their features took on a charming shade of scarlet. “I—…it’s very straightforward, I’m certain you won’t have any trouble. As I said, just don’t rub it too hard and don’t get any in your eye.”

He tossed and caught the jar deftly a few times. “I just don’t think I can do it like you can. It felt real nice.”

They turned their blushing face away with a scowl. “…it makes you smell a lot nicer, too,” they muttered, and he didn’t think they meant it as an insult.

“There you go,” he said decisively. “It’s a win-win. I get more massages, and you don’t have to put up with my stink.”

“You’re insufferable,” they said, still scowling and blushing.

“If you don’t want me around, you should quit giving me free stuff.” Norton continued grinning and tossing the jar, enjoying watching them squirm.

The Naturalist glanced at him from the corner of their eye. “Is that all there is to it?” they asked softly.

Was he imagining it, or did they sound just a little disappointed? He stopped playing with the jar. “Well, the other thing you’ve got going against you is that your company, as frigid as it can be, is still better than anyone else in this place.”

“Well,” they stammered, “I suppose I’ll have to learn to tolerate you, then.”

His grin broadened. “Sounds like a challenge to me.”

“Get out of my quarters,” The Naturalist demanded with absolutely no real force in their tone at all.

Norton waggled the jar at them. “You didn’t tell me how often I need to use this.”

He held their gaze this time to ensure they caught his meaning. From the way their eyes widened in surprise as their blush returned, he reckoned they had. “…whenever you feel discomfort,” they said quietly. “If you would like assistance, you know where to find me.”

Their sincerity touched him. His smile softened. “I might make you regret that,” he said half-ruefully.

A mischievous glint flashed in The Naturalist’s eyes. “Sounds like a challenge to me.”

#identity v #idv #norton campbell #idv prospector #prospector idv #the naturalist #rosario killick #oc/canon #otp: magnetic attraction #my writing

[sanguine-inkwell]

I feel like I've neglected the blog again, so! Mod Smoke here again. Time for an update on the sanguinarian shenanigans.

I've added a few books to my reading list, and the one on my bedside table is Energy Magick of the Vampyre by Don Webb. I tend to keep my own council and use several grains of salt when it comes to witchcraft, especially when people start spelling magic with a k, but I can definitely see how this could scratch some of the itch. For better or for worse, there's something predatory and preening about the nature of the vampire, and the more educated you are about yourself and your options the easier it is to take your urges out for a little run in healthy ways.

I'm on the fence about auras, energy, and all of that, but I'm a theatre kid at heart. The power of presence and presentation, the intersection of stage magic and religious ritual, is absolutely a real tool. Mod Glass is more straightforward about it- she definitely believes, and to my eternal bafflement she manages to feed on trees and flowing water. I can definitely believe in that, and the way she's a little less primal after sitting in a park for an hour. Clearly something is being achieved there, so it's possible- I'm just tragically doomed to my own version of cynicism, and thus the awkward anxiety of trying to ask the butcher for blood.

(I still haven't.)

I've got my coconut water, my pomegranate juice, my aesthetic and my interests. It's enough for now. I don't know if I'm flourishing, but I'm nearer that than not, so I'll take what I've got.

I think in a lot of ways it's easier to separate what you "should" want from what you do want. Especially when you're a teenager, you want the validation of community- community for its own sake, to some extent, but also a mirror to tell you you're real.

I fell into that when I found the otherkin community, pagans, all of it- if I let myself keep on with that, I'd still be content with the idea that dragons are supposed to crave eating rocks or hoarding shiny things. That's not what I need, or even what I really want. I want community, and I'm not going to find it by conforming to any standards, or I quite simply wouldn't be me. I try to hold onto "build it and they will come", for better or for worse, but I do go looking in my own way.

You don't net as much weird, queer, and othered community in the Bible Belt as you might expect unfortunately. It's a work in progress.

Back on the more direct topic though, I'm having fun snatching the other mods for deep philosophical discussions over drinks. I think it named itself Mod Citrine...? It's not on here often, mostly because it's even less inclined to the kind of theatrics I get up to. No roses and candles and gothic spires for that one. We feed on different things, I think, when it comes to blood- and that's why I can't entirely write off the possibility of some strange unquantifiable energy being involved. It's incredibly, deeply intimate for me, and for a moment I could almost convince myself I do have powers beyond doing mostly even eyeliner wings. It's definitely not the same kind of power or even hedonistic high that comes from sex, but I can't define it to save my life except through poetry.

For Citrine... it prefers not to call itself a vampire except by the strictest definition. If pressed, it'll say alterhuman or otherkin, but mostly for someone else's benefit so they can slap a label on and move on. It's not a vampire with all the bells and whistles the way myself, Glass, and Key are, with the gothic yearning and nocturnal tendencies and the fifteen different types of black lipstick on top of the hunger for blood. It calls itself an object spirit, a thing that had enough sentiment attached to it to get reincarnated, with some urges left over. Objects aren't animals, aren't primal the way animals are- but the desires and dreams attached to them are human, in a way, as much as they're not, divorced from the breadth of human emotion and distilled into inhuman too-clean drives, the way a storm or a mountain has drives.

Even so, it has a relationship with blood, just like I have a relationship with blood, and that interests me. I come at it from the perspective of a vampire, the hunger of the human predator that seeks to thrive, and then beyond thriving seeks their own pleasure. Citrine comes at it from the perspective of a sword, skill and fulfilled purpose and occasionally even as an offering. Not a biological hunger, not in the same way, but a hunger of purpose. Maybe ideology or identity. It makes some sense. As a vampire, I have to feed. The community itself is proof enough that the definition of feeding is varied. A sword would want blood, and specifically blood, because that's what it's built for and meant to do.

Needless to say, next time I make my substitute I'm offering some and seeing what it thinks. Partially for science. Partially because I'm pretty sure it'll work and I want to see the look on Citrine's face. Join me in pretentious vampire hell, I drink pomegranate juice out of wine glasses and it's very very fun.

That said, dinner's almost done, so I'll leave off here. Have a good night!

#mod smoke #rambles #sanguinarian #alterhuman #actually vampiric

[papermachedragons]

A Safe Harbor

Beep-beep–beep-beep. Beep-beep–beep-beep. Beep-beep–beep-beep.

The steady beep of a machine fills the air. It drags Eddie from the heaviest, deepest sleep he has had in—. He does not know how long. The answer alludes him.

Surprise ripples through him. At the noise. At the dark all around him, which he is finally registering. He supposes it is better than the supposed nothingness he has been folded into in until now. It is that he is registering it that is the surprise. He was not supposed to be able to register it at all.

Darkness clutches at him from all sides and he floats in its grasp, unable to tell up from down, much less where his eyes are and if he even has them anymore.

He remembers a broken body. Clouded and empty eyes.

But that was some time ago.

The dark keeps swarming at him. And from its grasp, he remembers a different swarm. Made up of leather and gnarly bones and snarling teeth.

The Upside Down.

There were bats. So many bats. Everywhere around him. Attacking him. Killing him. And he still can't find his eyes. Who knows, maybe they took a leaf out of Vecna's book and gorged them out.

The flashing image of bared teeth, unholy screeching and thundering, rumbling clouds, sends a spike through him. It jumps and jolts through him. Dropping him like the rush of jumping off a cliff.

Something shifts. Fabric rustles. So, Eddie may not have found his eyes, but he has found his ears.

"Hey, Munson," a soft, gentle voice says. Something nudges him, shaking him gently. The touch makes Eddie flood back into his body. Like his soul has been held back in a container and this tipped it over and he rushes forward, like the currents of a river.

Light rushes forward. Washing over his closed eyelids. It prickles, sharp and stinging against him. His body remains floating, oddly numb and distant.

"You waking up over there?" says the familiar voice.

A small grunt escapes past his mouth, rough and gravelly. "Shit, man," the words rasps rough and croaky from his throat. Every word rubs against his throat like sandpaper. He pulls a face, eyes squeezing shut. The light against his eyelids disappears in the scrunch of his face. "Not sure I want to."

The hands stays on him, pressing warmly into his arms.

Finally, Eddie finds his eyes and blinks them open.

Bright light floods his sight. It spears into his eyes, like a pair of daggers, stabbing repeatedly into them.

Rapidly, he blinks.

The light stays blaring into his eyes. Flooding his vision with bright, white light. Burning against his eyes.

He groans and gives up, closes his eyes and keeps them closed.

"Robin, Robin—” one of the hands leaves his arm “—the light, the light." Fabric rustles, like someone is gesturing wildly, air whooshing and swooshing.

Someone moves. Footsteps hurry across the floor. Shoes slaps against linoleum. Hands fumble against the wall, nails clicking, fingers fumbling. A switch clicks. The light bathing Eddie's eyelids vanishes.

"You still there, Munson?" The hand returns to his arm, joining the one that never left. Fingers clenching in a small squeeze.

Eddie wants to say, 'How the hell am I alive and which devil did you sell your soul to, to ensure that?' To Harrington, of course. If anyone were to have found Dustin curled over Eddie's body and refused to accept it, simply for the grief in the kid’s eyes and the tears on his cheeks; it would be Steve. If anyone would go through hell and back, to keep Eddie alive, if only to keep the kid happy, it would be Steve.

"I always expected a one way ticket downstairs. But this is certainly too bright to be Hell," Eddie says instead, slowly blinking his eyes open. Steve's frowning face greets him. Faint light touches upon him, barely lighting up his face. Eddie makes a face at him, shooting for exaggerated and comical and not sure if he manages. "Though I'm not sure I'm ready to stare at your ugly mug for all of heavenly eternity," every word croaks from Eddie, rubbing against his raw and tender throat. Grating and dragging through him, as if his vocal chords have turned to sand, while he has been lost to oblivion.

He tries to swallow. The motion hard and rough. It clicks loudly inside of his throat. Air rubs harshly against the walls of his esophagus and a weak cough claws up through his throat, scratching at the dryness. He turns his head to the side and coughs weakly into his pillow.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Steve jumps to his feet, arm reaching for the small bedside table standing to the side. A cup stands waiting there, complete with a little straw sticking out of it, bend at the top.

Eddie blinks at it; at the promise that they were waiting for him to open his eyes; at the forethought to keep him comfortable once he did.

Fingers closing around the side of the cup, Steve brings it forward, gently tipping it. A finger juts out, keeping the straw in place, letting Eddie drink from it.

The water burns down his throat the first two careful sips. By the third, it has turned into a gentle twinge. The fourth washes the last bit of pain and sand clinging to his throat and mouth away.

"Thank you," he says quietly, glancing tentatively at him, when Steve pulls the cup away at a nod from him.

When he sets the cup back on the table, Eddie eyes the pair of sunglasses set aside there. Out of place and strange in a hospital room.

Clean stale air rushes in to Eddie's lungs from a cannula set into his nose. Every push of air rushing from the tube stretches his lungs. It almost scratches against them. His lungs sore and raw, throbbing at the touch of the stale, slightly hard air. It is almost as if he had been breathing in harsh chemicals and burned the flesh inside of his lungs, leaving the flesh raw and vulnerable.

  Every breath forced into him, tears at the soft flesh, almost rubbing against throbbing scratches, sending flashes of twinging pain through him. The plastic inside of his nose itches slightly, but it disappears completely in the grasp of the throb inside of his throat and lungs.

He is lying in what feels like a hospital bed. The room around him is lifeless and clinically cold, its walls that carbon copy that most government buildings and hospital has.

Someone shifts, fabric rustling lightly, pulling Eddie's eyes back to Steve and Robin.

Gaze looking up and sideways, Eddie eyes Steve up. Pale, drawn skin stares back at him. Heavy circles drag below Steve's eyes. Something tight and tense clings to the corner of his mouth and around his eyes, drawing tight up across his brow. Honestly, he looks worse than he did after their first round with the Upside Down, bleeding out and chunks of flesh missing from his stomach.

"And here I thought, I was the one nearly dying," Eddie says, casting another glance up and down, then raises his eyes to his, meeting his gaze with raised brows. "You look like hell, Harrington."

"Yeah?" A crooked smile quirks from his lips. "You should see the other guy." But the tightness around his eyes does not let up.

A glance sideways shows Robin wearing a wary, pained look, which she throws at Steve, lips pressed into a tight line and her brow tense. Catching Eddie's eyes, she shakes herself out of it and forces her mouth to tilt up into a small smile.

"Well," he says, breaking the suddenly tense air lying around them, casting a glance between the two of them. "This is one hell of a welcome committee. Where's the fanfare and the trumpets?"

"Company budget cuts." Robin makes a face. "The fanfare and band were the ones to go."

"Oh, well," he shrugs, "I suppose, I'll survive without just this once." He points a finger at them. "But I better get some kind of bonus."

"Like what?" Steve frowns. Bafflement flickers across his face.

Eddie thinks for a moment. Expression musing, though far from the extreme exaggeration he usually falls into. His body far too heavy and tired to sink into old patterns and comfortable cloaks. Fingers snapping, he points at him. "Like free rental movies for life and waived fees, no matter how late they are."

A snort bursts from Robin.

Eddie arches an eyebrow at her.

"It's just—” she grins, words bubbling and light, carrying a laugh in its grasp “—Erica said something similar, back when she got pulled into it."

He huffs a laugh. "Figures. That girl is a power house." He eyes both of them, trying hard not to get stuck on the bruises painted across their skin and snaking up both of their throats. "How are you not both out of job from caving to her demands?"

"Rental videos aren't the same hot property as ice cream, that's why," Steve says with a grin. Tightness still clings to his face. It twists the grin slightly, making it look heavy and forced.

A grunt sounds from the back of Eddie's throat.

He raises a hand to rub at his face. Tubes of plastic rustle. They pull and tug at his skin, lifting up into the air along with his arm. Eddie looks down his arm, following the curve of the tubes stuck into his veins. He quirks an eyebrow at them and says, "I suppose, waking up as a pin cushion is better than not at all." He drops his hand back down, but keeps it lifted slightly up off the blanket. He stretches out his right hand. Fingers stretching and curling back up. For the first time since the first morning in the boatshed, Eddie's hand stays entirely pain free. There is not even a twitch of stinging pain or a prickle of pins. He lays his other hand on top of it, fingers folding around his palm and rubs at his right hand, the best he can past the needles and tubes attached to it. Careful of the IV on the back of his hand, he digs and massages at the palm of his hand. Digs his fingers into the muscles, flesh and ligaments lying underneath the skin at the back of his hand and in the palm. It does not even ache.

A small sigh of relief falls from Eddie's lips. God bless America and god bless morphine.

Dropping his hand back down, he lifts his eyes back to Steve and Robin, letting his gaze truly settle on them and their rumbled appearance, far too bruised and far too tired.

"You guys certainly are a sight for sore eyes," he tries. "Never expected to be so happy to see your ugly mugs again." A grin stretches across his face, wobbling and shaking on his lips.

The fingers curled around his shoulder gives a squeeze. Hand shaking him lightly, Steve grins down at him. Smile equally shaky and weak. "What are you talking about," he says, voice forcibly light, "we're always a delight to look upon."

Rolling her eyes, Robin comes forward and settles by the edge of his bed, turned towards him. One of her hands lands on the bed beside Eddie's feet. Her eyes, worried and slightly red, focuses on his. "How do you feel?"

He cracks a grin at her, teeth flashing. "Like death warmed over."

"Certainly gave it your best shot." Steve looks at him, unimpressed. Eyebrows arched high on his brow, he says, "What did I tell you about being cute?"

"Oh, but I'm so very good at it." He grins, all flirtatious and shameless.

Face a mask, Steve stares deadpan at him. Something undiscernible swirls inside of his eyes.

Cold tickles down Eddie's back. Like cold water rushing over his spine.

The grin drops off his face.

Eddie looks away from him. Gaze falling over the blanket covering him, following the creases and lines over it. He clears his throat. "Sorry."

"That's not—” Steve tries. "I didn’t mean—” he breaks off, sighing. One of his hands falls on Eddie's shoulder again, the touch light and gentle.

Tearing his eyes off the linens, Eddie raises his gaze to his, looking up at where he sits perched beside him.

"You did what you thought was necessary," Steve says. "You held the defense line. You did good, Eddie," his voice is raw. Every word has been raw, Eddie thinks. Carried croaking and dry from his throat. As if he has to force them out past sandpaper walls.

Frowning, he lets himself look at Steve. Head tilting up and down the pillow to look him up and down.

The clothes he wears is rumbled and wrinkled. It hangs limb and flat from his back and shoulders. But it is not what Eddie's eyes zero in on. Black, blue and purple bruises hang around Steve's neck, coloring his skin like a morbid necklace or scarf. Blooming like flowers, they reach up and down his throat, almost looking like strains. A bruise pops out from his cheek. Another from beneath the neckline of his shirt, just peeking out past the edges.

"Just," Steve continues, unaware of Eddie's divided focus, giving his shoulder another light shake, "next time you follow the plan, yeah?"

"Haven't anyone ever told you plans don't always work out?" Tearing his eyes away from his bruised and mottled skin, Eddie grins, like he is talking about one of his D&D campaigns, not real life monsters. The grin drops from his face almost immediately though. A rush goes though his stomach. Swoops through him like the drop off of a high cliff. The ground gives out beneath him and his eyes widens. "Next time?" he repeats, voice picking up in a shrill tone. His pulse picks up. Heart giving a throbbing, heavy beat. A responding, hurried beepbeep–beepbeep echoes it from the machine standing off beside Eddie's bed, monitoring his heartbeat. "What do you mean next time?" Frantically, he looks back and forth between him and Robin. Eyes wide and white.

At the foot of his bed, Robin picks at the blanket covering Eddie's body. Fingers tangling in the fabric, eyes downcast. A hollow appears in her cheek, almost as if chewing at it with her teeth.

Neither one of them responds.

"There wasn't meant to be a next time after this, right?" Eyes still darting frantically back and forth between the two, picking up the grimaces twisting across Steve's face and the tightness entering Robin's. Eddie's own eyebrows lift high on his brow, his voice gets higher and higher as he continues, words tripping over each other, "Vecna was meant to be it and we fought him and we're here and this doesn't look like the end of the world to me, so we won, right? It should be over, right?" Through his rapid tirade, words tripping over each other the more he speaks, Steve and Robin glances at each other. Wary expressions cross their faces. In his chest, Eddie's heart picks up speed and his pulse jumps through his veins and roars in his ears. "Right?" he adds in a whisper, hands clenching into a tight fist, like a child grabbing their blanket at night, gripping it vice-like, as if it is the only thing keeping them safe from the monsters under the bed.

Resignation falls over both of them. Robin shoulders slumps. Defeat creeps over the turn of her mouth and she looks away, avoiding his still searching gaze.

Sighing, Steve's lifts one hand and rubs it over his face, fingers digging briefly into his eyes.

Eddie does not wait for any of them to speak. "Fuck," he says, breath whooshing out of his mouth like someone punched him in the gut. He sits back. Slumping back against the pillow, his entire body slackens, muscles giving out.

Maybe the prize for Eddie's life was not Steve's soul. But Vecna's. Maybe Eddie got life breathed back into his lungs and in exchange, Vecna was given the same; one soul for another, except they both live. A different kind of balance, but balance all the same.

"Hey, hey," Robin says, rallying. A fragile smile stretches from her lips. She shifts her hand from the bed to Eddie's leg. Hand falling on Eddie's ankle, she squeezes and gives him a slight shake. "We got through it this time. We'll get through it again."

"Shit." Inside of his chest, his heart pounds. Every beat jolts through him, like small shocks running through his veins and slamming into his chest. The heart monitor picks up its increasing rapid beats, beating increasingly louder and faster, somewhere to the right of him; filling the room with his fragile heart.

Everything inside Eddie is shaking. Trembling. Shaking. As if the earth beneath him is shaking, still shaking, trying to throw him off.

Breath trembling, Eddie raises his hands. At least, he tries to. Plastic tubes from the IV tug at him, prickling underneath his skin at his movement. Grimacing, he glances down, looking over himself. An IV sticks out of the back of his right hand. It runs up alongside his arm before falling out of bed, leading to a pouch filled with clear liquid, held up by a metal stand that stands by the head of his bed. A pair of metal clamps has seized his other hand, clamped over two of his fingers, almost like a pair of jaws, digging incessantly into them. It makes him increasingly aware of the cannula still sticking into his nose, pushing stale air into his lungs, tickling through his nostrils and prickling oddly inside of his lungs.

He raises his hand again and fidgets with the tube, lightly pushing at it, as if that small motion might rearrange it enough to lift the constant itch inside of his nose.

"Hey, don't pick at that," Steve says softly. Reaching out, he grabs at Eddie's arm and pulls it away from his face, careful not to dislodge the cannula.

"I'll go get a doctor." Robin jumps to her feet and hurries to the door. Shoes thump over the floor again, disappearing out the door.

Eddie looks around at the headboard above him, gaze trailing over it. "What?" he says, "I don't get a red string?"

"Um, we're not—” Steve begins, stumbling slightly over his words.

Curious, Eddie turns his gaze back to him.

Steve rubs at the back of his neck and says, "We're not at Hawkins Hospital."

Eddie raises his eyebrows in a wordless question.

"You remember what we told you, about the other times?"

Not that they managed to tell him much, in what little time they had to spare for him, in between fighting Hawkins newest monster and trying to keep each other alive. But what little they did, he remembers vividly. "Gates opening to another dimension, human flesh-made monster, girl with superpowers and tulip-looking monsters named after D&D," he says monotone and deadpan. "Hard to forget any of that."

"Yeah, the people from the lab, they came back. They had to scramble to make the lab functional and inhabitable again, but they're trying to help with clean-up and all that." He gestures loosely between them. Hand drawing a weak map in the air, connecting the three of them, even with Robin gone for the moment. "That includes stitching all of us back together."

Eddie snorts. "They going to take credit for all the hard work we did for them too?"

"More likely trying to find a believable cover story."

"Riiight," the word stretches long and languid from his mouth, "there are no heroes in Hawkins, because there's no reason for there to be."

"You're getting it," Steve says with a grin and glinting eyes, which is so unfair Eddie wants to pinch him in retaliation.

Thankfully, Robin arrives back just in time to save him; a doctor right on her heels.

He steps into the room. Shoulders covered in the typical white hospital coat and a folder held in his hands. The gaze that meets Eddie's is somber and serious. Eddie takes it as a point in his favor, when he does not smile at him.

"Mr. Munson, that was quite a condition we found you in."

Eddie makes a so-and-so gesture with his hand.

The doctor tries a small smile, clearly going for friendly but missing by a mile. Eddie thinks it makes him look far too schmuck and a little creepy too. But maybe that has more to do with everything Eddie knows he let happen without stepping in. When Eddie just stares at him without reacting, he glances down at his folder, holds a paper up and scans through the one below it. "I'm Dr. Sam Owens, I've been following these supernatural events, since '84, so you're in good hands here." The folder is lowered and he looks back at him. Grey eyes look down at him. He places a hand on the frame of the bed. "Now, how you feeling, son?"

"Could be worse," Eddie shrugs. He tilts his head to the side, considering. "Surprised I'm not feeling worse actually."

"We've got you on some strong medication to get you through the worst of it. Now that you've woken up, we'll be waning you off it bit by bit, so that you can come back to the land of the living."

Eddie resists making a face at that. Considering the amount of bats he remembers swarming him and the hazy memory it has left him with, he expects before long, he will be missing the sweet relief of strong, probably morphine shaped, medically prescribed drugs.

While the doctor quickly looks over the charts and papers in his hands, Steve pulls a nearby chair close. Pulling it right up beside Eddie's bed and sits down in it, leant forward, with his arms lightly crossed, propped up on Eddie's bed.

Robin goes to stand beside Steve, keeping away from Eddie's bed, freeing up the space, but remaining a firm figure by Steve. She props herself on the backrest of Steve's chair, sat perched and twisted at the waist. Arms crossed and a firm expression on her face. Her eyes sharp and focused on the doctor. Almost as if she expects to need to watch his every step as much as she would a trick from Vecna.

The doctor casts a drool eye on them. Expression somewhere between resigned and exasperated.

Eddie follows his gaze. Eyes falling onto Steve and Robin as something uncomfortable and scared curls up inside of his chest. He expects the doctor to send them out of the room or something, but he simply returns his eyes to the papers clipped onto his clipboard and begins.

Over the droll of his voice, Eddie throws a quirked eyebrow at them.

With Robin too busy staring the doctor down, Steve is the only one that catches it. He gives a roll of his eyes and a shrug.

The casual way Steve does this with, settles settles deep and warm in Eddie's chest, so different to the scared sharpness of before, when he thought they would be sent away.

It also gives him a feeling that something passed between them and these doctors before, where they made a point of fighting for their right to be at his bedside. Enough that their presence is accepted now.

Relief swoops through him, cool and steadying, settling in his stomach like a comfortable weight.

It surprises him.

He supposes, amongst boats and tarps, quick there-and-gone-again mentions of monsters and otherworldly battles come to life; these people wormed their way underneath Eddie's skin in a way no one has, since his uncle first slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into his side and called him his kid, while Eddie's hands were still blackened and blue from sparks of electricity and scarred from the times his father was too deep in a bottle or himself to care that his anger and irritation cut more than himself; Eddie, a kid scraped raw and tender from the rough, calloused hands of his father and the gravelly sound of his voice; grinding at him and his thoughts until only malleable dust and mud remained.

Eddie turns back to the doctor and listens with half an ear as he goes over Eddie's condition and treatment.

The first thing he tells him is that the five of them, who had been in the Upside Down, suffered damage to their lungs from toxins and alien bacteria from the air in the Upside Down. The four, who had been stuck in there previously for longer, even more so.

When the doctor says this, Eddie looks to the side, eyes falling on Robin and Steve. They both nod. Something must pass across his face, because Robin cuts across the doctor’s voice and adds, voice something gentle, and tells him the four of them had been wearing oxygen masks for a while, when the lab people first came back into Hawkins, just in time to catch the final wave of the battle and their bloodied bodies, as they tumbled back through the gate.

The words cause Steve to fidget. He crosses his arms across his chest. Huffs a large puff of air and collapses back in his chair, nearly throwing himself against the backrest and almost pushing Robin off. A grimace flashes across his face. Twisted and rough, pulling on his features in a pained mask.

Eddie cannot help but watch him working through it. Eyes tracking every movement he makes.

He wonders if he too is thinking of brown curly hair and wide eyes; round, chipmunk cheeks and an incessant voice, talking a mile a minute and how misplaced that had been in that hell dimension.

It is easier then, to keep looking at Steve, at the way his chest rises and falls with quickened breathing, fisting at the flesh of his arms; knuckles at the back of his hand standing out, bones shifting and rippling against his skin as he raises a hand and rubs his face. Steve also tears his eyes away from the doctor or scientist or whatever he is. Drops his hand and turns his head away, staring at the wall with hard eyes and a flexing jaw.

Without looking at him, Robin reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder.

At her touch, Steve's shoulders ease, falling back down from his ears. A deep breath passes through his chest. He turns his head back around, but fixes his eyes away from the doctor, settling them somewhere above him. The look inside of them is intense and sharp. Fire burns deep inside of them, unforgiving and aflame with a dull anger, like the heat of embers in the embrace of a burning pit.

Gritting his own teeth, Eddie forces his eyes away from Steve and turns back to the doctor, listening as he lists all of Eddie's lingering injuries and the treatment of them, how long it would take to heal and how long he will have to stay.

When he mentions stitches, Eddie looks down himself, eyes sharpening, trying to see past the bedclothes; to see past the bandages, he can feel wrapped tightly around him, plastered up against his skin.

In the corner of his eyes, he catches sight of movement; Steve, shifting slightly back and forth in his chair with a soft rustle of fabric.

Eddie looks at him, a question in his eyes.

Catching his searching gaze, Steve gives him a small smile. A twitch of the lips really, but Eddie takes it for the acknowledge it is.

Steve reaches down. He grabs a hold of the edge of his sweater and pulls it up. Brunching the fabric up — shirt underneath included — he bares his stomach, presenting one side to Eddie. White bandages wrap around his stomach, thick and wadded, pressing into the places where Eddie knows chunks of his flesh are missing. But aside from a very small dip in the bandages, Eddie cannot see any trace of the gaping wounds the bats left in him. He holds it up long enough for Eddie to get a good look at it, then smooths his shirt back down over it.

Unaware or perhaps uncaring of the inattentiveness of his audience, the doctor drones on.

Once he finishes the itinerary of Eddie's many injuries, he comes up, fiddles with the pouch attached to the tube going into Eddie, looks over the heart monitor, takes a few notes on one of the pages gathered on his clipboard and leaves with a last, irked warning towards Steve and Robin about letting Eddie rest or they will be kicked out.

"Wouldn't need to deal with us, if you'd been here sooner, buddy," Robin says, pointedly closing the door behind the doctor. Turning, she sags against the door and crosses her arms over her chest. "Urgh, I do not understand, how you've been able to deal with these guys the past 3 years," she groans, her head knocking back against the door.

"It's like conditioning," Steve says, snapping his finger and pointing at Robin. "We get used to their ugly mugs meaning the worst is over. And we start liking them."

"Shit, they're going all Pavlovian on us," Eddie says. He pulls a face, expression souring. "I hate to tell you, but I kinda think it's working."

"I still kinda hate them." The line of Robin’s arms tighten and tense as she bristles her teeth at them. "I still can't stand to see my signature from all that massive NDA they made us sign last."

Steve clicks his tongue. "Nothing like a good ole NDA to bring you back to earth after battling yet another all-powerful monster from an alternative dimension and saving the world again."

"You'd know," Robin says, face twisting in an imitation of a sneer, all playful and mocking.

"Hey, my ego got well beaten down in '83 and it still hasn't got back up." Steve holds his hands up in surrender. "Don't think we're in any danger of that."

"But I bet you're really good at signing those NDA's, huh?" Eddie adds with a large grin and a sideways glance at him.

Something twists across Steve's face. It's gone too quick for Eddie to pick it apart. Voice bland and his face a mask, he says, "Yeah, and I bet my signatures even prettier than yours."

"Aw—" Eddie puts a hand on his chest "—you trying to make me jealous, Harrington? And here I thought we were past this." The grin he shoots at him is teasing and crooked.

Steve rolls his eyes but gives no other reply.

A lull falls between them. Quiet settles in the air, heavy and tense. The kind Eddie has become used to this last week.

"How's Dustin?" he finally asks, looking at Robin, because it is somehow easier to ask her, than look at Steve, who shares too many things with Eddie, when it comes to this particular curly head of hair.

He still sees him cross his arms and huff in the corner of his eyes, pointedly turning his head to the side, looking down.

Cheek hollowing, Robin considers, chewing at her cheek. "He's not great." A grimace twists across her face. She scratches at the back of her head and casts a glance at Steve.

The words drop heavy and loaded into Eddie's stomach. He looks away from her. Head dropped forward. Gaze skirting across the white blanket covering him. His hands pick at each other. Searching for the familiar metal usually wrapped around them. When he keeps coming up empty, he moves his hands forward, skirting from twisting fingers to the blanket, twisting into it, pulling and rubbing at it.

"He wanted to stay here. For when you woke up," Steve says, bringing Eddie's eyes up, back to him. He leans forward on the chair again, leaning into Eddie's bed, almost leaning across it. Arms still crossed but his face open and his eyes warm. "We couldn't really move him."

"Thank god Mike, El and Will returned to town and finally gave him incentive to leave," Robin says with a smile. She looks back at Eddie and tips her head towards him in a nod from her position by the door. "Nancy promised she'd make him rest some and eat a proper meal, before bringing him back."

"Okay, okay, that's good," he says, voice distant and small. He picks at the blanket. Fingers dancing across the surface and pinching at folds in the fabric, looking up and away from them. Eyes skirting the ceiling. "And everyone else?" he asks, tentatively. His eyes fall closed as the words leave his mouth, as if they cannot bear to stay open and see the way they land.

A stilted pause walks through the room.

"Shit," the word shakes from his mouth, trembling from his chest and into the air. He lifts a hand. Brings it to his face and rubs. Pushes fingers into his eyes and grinds until it hurts. White light flashes against his eyelids. A burst of pain chases it, striking through his eyes with a viper-like burst.

"No, hey, it's okay." Footsteps hurry across the floor, lurching towards him. The mattress dips and a hand settles on his shoulder once again. Another weight settles on his ankle.

Warm fingers press into him as the hand on his shoulder squeezes.

Eddie peeks out from behind his fingers, looking up at Steve hovering above him. By his ankles, Robin has stepped closer, dropping an arm over the edge of the bed, curling a hand around his ankle.

Steve looks down at him, his gaze steady, and says, "We're okay. A little bruised—” he makes a face and tilts his head to the side “—a lot traumatized. But alive. Okay?" Their gazes lock. Steve’s eyes burn unyielding and impossibly strong down at him and Eddie's own are as if hooked to them. Impossible to look away from; impossible to look at for too long. "We all made it. We're still here. We're okay."

Slowly, Eddie drags his hand down his face. Leaving them curling loosely over his chest. Still looking up at Steve, their gazes locked with an unknown force, he nods. Slowly tipping his head up and down, not once breaking eyes away from Steve's.

"Okay," Steve echoes. Giving his shoulder one last squeeze, then leans away from him. The intensity falls off of him like the shredding of a different skin, leaving him sitting on the edge of Eddie's bed, shoulders sagging slightly; just as weighed down as he has been, ever since Eddie opened his eyes.

Eyes darting between them, Eddie looks from Robin to Steve and back again. Over and over.

The heaviness clinging to Eddie's body, rushes forward like the rushing tide. A wave tiredness, tinged with the dull touch of heavy drugs and pain medication. It ebbs and rises through him. Lapping at him like the sea at shore.

He stifles a yawn in palm of his hand and blinks heavy eyelids that drag up and down, trying to pull him under the waves.

It would be so easy to follow them in. To follow their tantalizing call and get swept away in their grasp. Bury away in the darkness and hide from Vecna and everything he has touched. But Eddie fears what would be waiting for him in the dark. Fears the snapped, broken limbs, the sunken, burst eyes and the blank stares, waiting for him in the dark. Without the knowledge that everyone else is safe, to keep him shielded against its touch, he fears he would drown in the nightmares waiting for him in the dark of his eyelids. And so he pulls himself free of the heavy waves lapping at his body and looks up at Steve, trying not to gnaw at the inside of his cheeks. "Tell me?"

The two share a glance. Something flickers across their faces, not quite grimaces, but too heavy to be anything else.

"What do you remember?"

"Not much," is what he answers.

The truth is this: he remembers leathery bodies swirling around him. The smack of boney-leathery wings hitting his body; sharp teeth that tears at his flesh; pain shooting through him, burning him up like an inferno; the eerie silence and the ringing in his ears; a heartbeat, all at once, pounding with the speed of light and sinking below the surface of heavy waters. He remembers the end. That the bats were swarming him and suddenly they were not. Bodies tumbling down around him and smacking to the ground. Dustin was there, somehow back beside him, despite all of Eddie's efforts. If he could have moved, Eddie would have cursed every god he had ever heard the name of for making it happen. He would have thrashed and shouted and screamed that Dustin was not meant to be there. Dustin was supposed to stay safe.

 Nobody heard the soundless screams tearing through his already mauled body, and Dustin stayed holding Eddie as the pain gave away to numb. He stayed. Hovering above him, face swirling at him out of the red and black.

Eddie tried not to feel grateful, but it was hard not to feel relief flooding through him that his last moments would not be spent alone in a world worse than the one he would be headed to.

Which was another thing, he tried not to feel grateful for; Hell would be a relief after this.

All that is left in his memories is Dustin looking down at him, his mouth moving. The words he said are garbled words that emerge from his memory all wrong and static, like loops from a broken record; scratched and incomplete.

What he knows with certainty is that he passed out, out there, somewhere between red skies, cracks in the ceiling and the floor of his trailer; dragged back to life by people stronger and braver than Eddie has ever been.

If they see the echo of those red skies and Dustin’s last promise in his eyes, they do not comment on it.

Robin comes around the side of his bed and sits down in the chair closest to Eddie, the one Steve abandoned. She lifts a foot. Props it up against Eddie's bed, between Steve's legs. The soles of her shoes squeaks against the bed.

Steve stays sat on the bed. Turned and twisted towards Eddie, one knee bent up and laid on the edge of the bed, his other leg stretched out, touching the floor with his foot.

They do not start where Eddie wants them to. "We returned after setting Vecna afire. We expected you to have cleared out, like planned. But we found you, away from the trailer and on the ground."

They tell him of the aftermath. Not everything. He can tell from brief, stilted pauses and long shared glances between them. But he does not call them out on it. He just listens to their tale. A tale of returning to the trailer with empty hands and an even emptier victory, expecting to find them waiting on the Rightside Up of the gate, but finding Dustin curled around his prone body, desperate and determined not to let him go. Eddie was apparently awake then. Looking up at them with glazed eyes.

Steve was the one to disentangle Dustin, much to the other's protest.

It plays out like a scene from a movie, in Eddie's mind. Their voices echo out over the images blooming before his distracted, distant eyes, like a voice over, half a second behind the moving image. Disjointed and jagged. Like two damaged pieces, trying hard to fit together. Try as he might, he will always be missing those seconds that are lost in their cracking seams and jagged edges.

The picture is gruesome.

It tells a story of Eddie and Dustin, both covered in grime and blood; Eddie prone on the ground, Dustin above him, curled around him, clinging to him, screaming himself hoarse and raw at Steve, Nancy and Robin as they draw nearer; deaf to their quiet words of offered soothing and comfort. Clinging to him. Thrashing with every effort of Steve trying to pull him away.

Steve tries to get through to him, but his words fall on deaf ears; Dustin's grief so severe it drowns out the one thing that could shelter him.

Screaming and crying, Dustin clings to Eddie, fighting off Steve's every attempt at pulling him away. It takes a few tries of pulling and tugging at Dustin's arms, but Steve's strength wins out in the end and he manages to tear Dustin away.

Dustin thrashes and twists in Steve's arms. Arms slapping and leg kicking, screaming himself hoarse at Steve, “—on't understand! You never even liked him and you're probably glad he's dead and it's your fault! He never should've—” and Steve has to hold him tight to keep Eddie and Dustin safe from the kid's thrashing kicks “—it should have been me! It should have been you! Why Eddie? Why take Eddie, when we were so close?" And Dustin crumbles into Steve, falling into his arms.

But Steve barely allows him time to hold him, before he's throwing him at the girls with a hard shove and returning his focus to Eddie.

The two girls catch him, barely just keeping him from stumbling and falling over his ruined leg.

And then there is Steve, crashed to his knees by Eddie's side. Arms a blur as he whips his jacket off his body. He bends over Eddie, a concentrated, furious expression on his face. Hazel eyes burning out at him in the dark night. As if the fire in them will burn away the darkness creeping towards Eddie from the corner of his eyes and bring him back into the light; a fire just for Eddie to ignite himself on and blaze back to life.

Steve lays his hands on Eddie and the fire burns away the night, taking Eddie with it.

And the scene winks out.

Here, Robin tells him, Steve held Eddie together with first aid. But Eddie cannot pull a single image out of the black hole in his mind. Not even his own fantasy rises to fill out the blanks.

A grim cloud of heavy somberness has crept forward, pouring out of Eddie’s wound – hidden beneath his hospital clothes and blanket – and the edges of Steve’s voice; filling the room with its looming shadow. Almost suffocating everything in its presence. It falls over Robin and Steve, shadowing them; pulling furrows across Robin's brow and twisting a frown onto Steve’s face, forcing his gaze to the floor, arms crossed tight and tense in front of his chest.

Eddie glances at Steve. "Didn't know you knew first aid, beyond mouth to mouth, Stev-o." A weak smile pulls at his mouth, although it feels more like a grimace.

The attempt at lightness falls flat and dead to the floor.

"I told you. Lifeguard," he says, short and flat. Eddie crooks an eyebrow and Steve shrugs, then adds, "I took a course after the second time. Couldn't really rest until I did, really."

Robin throws a sideways glance at Steve. The line of her mouth presses thin and tight. After a short moment, she shakes herself out of it, then turns back to Eddie and resumes the story. She tells of Steve managing to hold Eddie together long enough to lift him up and carry him out of the Upside Down.

"Aw, you carried me." Grinning, he nudges Steve side. "What a chivalrous knight you make. I'm sorry, I missed the main event of the night, then. What a sight that must have been."

Steve rolls his eyes. The mask of tension over his face finally breaks and it feels like a victory. Tiny and insignificant. But a victory nonetheless.

Robin's words made another image break loose from the depths of his mind.

It floats at him from the depths of his mind, like a petal bopping and floating on a river, pulling Eddie’s attention away from them.

There is Steve, hovering above Eddie, looking down at him with pained eyes, his face twisted in a grimace. Eddie knows, he is bruised. The short time he has been awake has barely afforded enough opportunity to see them all, and most of them are probably hidden away, beneath layers of fabric and bandages, but he can so easily see the dirt and grime clinging to his skin, the dried blood he picked up somewhere between it all and the marks collected over his neck, reaching up towards his jaw.

In the memory, Steve hardly even looks at him. Just bends over him with a shuttered look over his face. He eases his arms beneath him and oh so carefully rises to his feet with Eddie cradled gently in his arms. Body pressed up against him; chest solid and firm, rising with every breath he takes.

Eddie does not know how much of all of these scenes that play out in his mind is memory and how much is imaginary; drawn forth from Steve and Robin's voices, painted with the brush he has used to guide his players through campaigns in his years as DM.

He supposes, it is easier trying to stitch together the moment of his near death, as if it were movie, from their rough, croaking voices, than to focus on the looks in their eyes and see just how thin and frayed they are.

The memory fades and he can focus back on the tale in time to hear Robin tell that Steve's first aid kept him alive long enough for the lab people to storm the city. Leaving a small handful of people to keep Eddie alive, right there on the dirty floor of his trailer, while they got their shit together, seized equipment from Hawkins Hospital and could transfer him to the lab.

He tells himself, he is grateful his memory is fuzzy and tries not to feel the aches across his body and inside his chest that have nothing to do with his new scars, and everything to do with old wounds picked apart and picked open anew; baring his soul and heart on his sleeve.

It is easier, Eddie tells himself, to let it play out like a scene from a movie in his mind. Easier than wonder if the memory of those arms around him, that heartbeat beating out against him, that rise and fall of a steady, solid chest, those pained eyes looking down at him, are merely wishful thinking; a make-believe story to lull him to sleep at night, when the darkness makes the red lightning seared against his eyelids that much brighter, or if it is a true memory.

They fall quiet for a little while. The moment of Eddie's close call with death hangs heavy and limp in the air all around them.

After a long moment, Eddie clears his throat. "And everyone else?" he finally asks.

It turns out; Eddie was the only one of the Upside Down crew that ended up in a hospital bed.

Vecna left Robin, Nancy and Steve with bruises and rasping voices. Dustin with a limp and a hunched, sad disposition, hovering around inside of Eddie's room like a ghoul, waiting for him to awaken.

They only tell him the rest of it as quick and simple as they can; Lucas carrying both bruises and a shaken heart; Erica shaken and angry, but whole, which is a small miracle in of itself.

But then they get to Max.

Max, who is left with milky eyes and vision impairment; with all of her limbs broken and wrapped in full body casts; alive and awake in Hawkins hospital, but barely saved from Vecna's claws. When they tell him this, voices small and hesitant, Eddie's eyes fall closed. His breath catches in his chest. Hitching inside of his lungs. In his chest, his heart flutters, like the weak flutter of dying wings. Heart stuttering and scrambling to keep up with it all. He shudders. It surges through him in wave after wave. He grasps for something to catch him. Hands clutching at the blanket. The fabric twists between his fingers, pulling tight and taut. A painful lump forms in his throat. It scratches and claws at him with every hitching breath he takes. His eyes prickle. Tears build and immediately fall from his eyes. Falling from closed lids and rolling down his cheeks, leaving a damp path on his skin behind.

Eddie brings his hands to his face and hides away in his palms. Not drying his tears, just letting them absorb into the skin on his hands.

The weight beside him shifts. Fabric rustles lightly from the movement.

A hand touches his own. Fingers skim over the back of his hand, grazing his skin. They shift forward, moving down and around, where they curl around his wrist. A thumb sticks out and flicks across the back of his wrist, careful of the IV tube. "Eddie," Steve tries. But Eddie keeps his hand up, despite the warmth of Steve's grip and his fingers curling solid around his wrist.

He pulls his hand up. Fingers unfurling from his wrist and drawing up towards Eddie’s. It inches into the space between Eddie's palm and his face. Skin smoothing against Eddie's, grazing as it touches him, fingers wrapping around his.

A gentle pull tugs his hand away from his face. Steve pulls Eddie's hand, tugging it through the air to rest on a soft, supple surface.

Eddie's eyes flicker open and he watches, breath caught in his lungs, as Steve lays his hand in his lap. He smooths his palm over Eddie's, pressing it gently down into his thigh. After a moment, he slots their palms together, letting his fingers fall into the spaces between Eddie's own.

Looking down at their joined hands in his lap, Steve brings his other hand forward and tugs Eddie's hand into it. Curling his fingers around it, cupping the back of his hand with his, encasing Eddie's hand in both of his.

"It's okay, Eddie, we made it out," Steve says, voice smooth and gentle, still looking down at their hands. He looks up then and turns his gaze back to Eddie, locking Eddie's eyes within his gaze once more. "She made it out. Max will be okay."

"It wasn't meant to be like this." Eddie shakes his head, breath hiccupping in his chest. "She was meant to be okay." He presses his free hand into his face. Pain stabs his eyes and cheeks at the pressure.

Steve's hands tightens around his other hand in a squeeze.

By his feet, Robin lays a hand over his ankle and rubs it lightly.

Even with so much hanging unsaid in the air between them, heavy and cloying and suffocating in the hospital room, they do not say much else. And Eddie does not ask them to.

Steve remains sitting on his bed. Eddie's hand clasped in his own, resting them in his lap. And Robin stays sitting at the foot of his bed. Her hand a comfortable weight on his ankle.

Time passes by them, almost as thick and cloying as the air itself. The steady beeping of Eddie's heartbeat and the gentle rush of their breathing remains the only sound that passes between them. It rises and falls in near tandem.

Enough time pass that Eddie cannot keep himself separate from the tide flowing in the periphery of his consciousness and the lightness of Eddie's painless limbs rush over him. It washes up through him and floods his head. Its touch light and heavy all at the same time. His body floats somewhere in the air, carried in the warm grasp of a drifting cloud. Head heavy and weighting down on his pillow.

Eddie yawns. Blinks heavy eyes at them, forcing them to stay open every time they slide closed. He raises a hand to grind at his eyes.

"What happened? Really?" he finally asks between yawns. "You said Vecna—” he stutters over the name “—you said he wasn't— you said it wasn't over."

Looking away from him, Steve and Robin shares a glance. Expressions hesitant and wary.

"Look, you're tired," Steve says, turning back to him. "Just rest some more." He lays a hand on his shoulder, fingers curling around him and looks down at him. The look in his eyes warm and understanding. "We'll tell you everything, when you wake up again. But I promise you, right now, for a while, we're okay. We've won some time. I promise you that." Hazel eyes lock with Eddie's. A strength, bright and unbreakable, unbending and unyielding burns inside of his eyes. They stare down at Eddie. The strength inside of them offered up for Eddie to take as much of as he needs. Even if it should leave Steve with nothing.

And Eddie almost wants to reject it. Wants to take his words and throw them back at him, cursing him out. Almost wants to grab onto that soft looking fabric of his blue sweater and shake him until he tells him everything that Eddie has missed. To demand that they stop coddling him.

Except.

It has never been coddling.

Not once, since they found him in that boatshed with a broken beer bottle clutched in hand — his eyes wide and pupils blown, every breath rapid and shaking within his chest and his entire body trembling — have any of their actions or the words they have spoken to him, coddled him.

He looks at Steve. Eyes trailing over him, picking at the corners of him; at the clothes hanging all creased and wrinkled from him; at the limp swoop and sagging strands of his normally perfectly styled hair; at the tiredness that clings to the corners of his face; at the way, despite it all, his eyes still burn bright and strong down at Eddie.

A huff of air blows from Eddie. Chest deflating, he looks away from both of them. "Not sure I can fall asleep, knowing it's not all over." He shakes his head. The movement small and tiny, barely able to move his head at all through the heavy grasp trying to drag him under.

Still. Once Steve leaves his bed to sit down on the other chair, Eddie blinks sluggishly at them. The weight of his eyes even heavier, now that attention has been brought on them.

Only when Robin tells him they will still be here next time he wakes up, is he able to breathe deep. Air falls slowly in and out of his lungs. Its touch makes his chest rise and fall steadily, deeply.

Finally, Eddie allows his eyes to fall shut and for his body to fall into the waters of heavy painkillers. It does not take many beeps of the heart monitor, ringing deep inside of his ears, as if chasing away every other sound, before the tiredness clinging to his bones, rush forward like the tide at sea.

He falls asleep to Robin and Steve's voices drifting into his ears, soothed on the waves of their soft words and he wonders, if he will ever be able to fall asleep, as easily as he does then, without being carried in their embrace.

Continue reading chapter 1 of A Safe Harbor on ao3

Or read the newly posted chapter 3, if you've been here before

#stranger things #ficlet #stranger things ficlet #fanfiction #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington

[the-sisters-library]

Can you save us a bit of the overdone doom and gloom with a bright spot? Maybe an example of a villain getting what they deserve? A sign of hope?

I can provide both, anon! But I have different moments in mind for each. So I’ll start with the sign of hope.

From Titandeath, which focuses on Legio Solaria, a women-only Titan Legion, led by their Great Mother, Mohana Mankata Vi, the princeps and human soul of the Warlord Titan Luxor Invictoria. She’s already very old at the start of the book and is making plans to pass on the role to her daughter. She sustains mortal wounds in battle. And so her life support is, reverentially and with love of her family, terminated.

What’s remarkable about what comes next is that Black Library actually shows us what happens to a virtuous soul in the Warp in the afterlife. And it would seem that there is some hope after all.

This is a very long excerpt, but I couldn't come up with a way to cut it well.

**

"A button press began the end of Mohana Mankata Vi's life.

There was wind upon her skin. She was youthful again, and free of the tank and the infirmities of age. Her steed Hamaj tensed between her legs, eager to surge forward into the landscape before them. The dark forest lay behind. Ahead, there was nothing but golden grasses as far as the eye could see, the kind of landscape a rider could lose themselves in forever. Downy seeds brushed against skin warmed perfectly by the setting sun.

'Come, Hamaj,' she whispered. The horse needed no encouragement, but sprang into a gallop straightaway, arrowing through the grasslands towards forever.

A heaven, of sorts. But it could not last. A diabolical laugh cut the sky, making it bleed. Grass wilted where the sound travelled. The earth shook. The wound in the sky spread its bloody lips. opening up a vista of madness, an ocean of energy where monsters waited to devour her.

'Stop!' she commanded. But Hamaj did not heed her, and plunged onwards. The ground shook and began to break into fragments. Soil frittered away into multi-coloured vapour. Grass launched itself at the growing rift like arrows loosed. An invisible force pulled at her soul, dragging her towards the waiting maelstrom of sharp eyes and teeth. Hamaj whinnied in panic and fell into the yawning nothingness. The last parts of the prairie vision evaporated, leaving her alone.

Otherworldly predators circled, ready to tear her to shreds. Mohana Mankata Vi screamed. This was the reality of the warp. This was what the Imperial Truth hid. At the last moment, she felt utterly betrayed, and understood finally why the traitors had turned. White-winged things with rasping mouths dived at her through looping whirls of impossible colours. She floated helplessly. Through will alone she shifted herself aside from a swooping beast, its razored fins caught her, and her soul's arm bled light. The creatures turned, excited by the sent of corposant upon the empyrean's current, and dived. She closed her eyes, wishing it all to be over.

A great song played. The loudest war-horn she had ever heard blasted across the non-space of the warp, and foundry heat beat at her back. She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by a golden light, and the creatures fled before it. Trembling, she turned.

A vast being filled eternity. She had the impression of a human form though the entity was too large for a mortal eye to encompass. Its blood and bones were grinding cogs, its thoughts living streams of plasma, its eye lenses the size of galaxies.

An iron door appeared in the maze of machinery in front of her. She looked up, searching for a face, and saw a shining entity looking back down that turned from flesh to light to mechanism and back. Through the door radiated the familiar, plasmic warmth of Luxor Invictoria's reactor. She sensed its machine soul, more apparent to her now, not almost alive but truly living thanks to the grace of her Machine-God.

A voice spoke within her, beautiful as the finest singer, grating as the mightiest machine. Where there is service, there is life, it said. It is time.

Mohana Mankata Vi passed through the portal, where, for one last, ultimate time, she joined with the spirit of the TItan."

#horus heresy novels #horus heresy #titan legions #legio solaria #mohana mankata vi #titans #princeps #the warp #machine spirit #omnissiah