#THE MAZE WITH ALL THE PEOPLE WHO LOOK LIKE THEY’RE ALIVE BUT ARE NOT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveshotzz · 5 months

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Is It New Years Yet?

steve harrington x fem!reader ✨Part One✨

Santa Tell Me

summary: When you meet Steve Harrington the first time it’s by accident, the second time a coincidence, and by the third he’s calling it fate.

wc: 8.1k

warnings: 18+ series, a christmas meet cute with steve who’s in his 30’s, smut in later chapters, drinking, smoking, eddie munson is our best friend/roommate, him and steve don’t know each other in this AU.

authors note: this wasn’t supposed to be this big or long but here we are. thank you for all your patience and sweet words, I’m so excited to share this with you.

series masterlist -> ✨ part two

The Marshall Fields feels alive with only three weeks left until Christmas, making it a next to impossible mission to get to your job in the restaurant that sits on top of the seven story tourist attraction. At least on time.

Bing Crosby’s ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ spills from the speakers overhead, the deep baritone of his voice is barely audible over the low murmur of conversation happening all around you. Lush, large boughs of green pine hang pristine from the historically tall ceilings, shimmering tinsel draped with purpose at the ends of them catching in the light. It reflects off the gold ornaments that cover it in a perfect pattern. It’s almost enough for you to forget how annoyed you are.

Your slip resistant shoes catch and scuffle along the deep crimson carpet as you move through the shoulder to shoulder crowd. It doesn’t take you very long to find a break in it, still scratching at your nose that itches from your walk through the fragrance department. Your small victory is quickly diminished when you see a swarm of families standing in front of the golden doors of the elevators.

You silently curse yourself for not leaving earlier, completely forgetting that Santa was on the fifth floor today. As if on queue, a little girl with perfect blonde curls that bounce as she runs smacks into your legs just like your realization, falling back on her butt with a thud. Her pearly white dress flutters around her, and the two of you stare each other down for what feels like an eternity until her mother rushes over with panicked apologies right as her daughter breaks out the waterworks.

The noise makes you grimace, mumbling a ‘it’s fine’ under your breath before turning on your heel. Reaching behind, you pull your phone from your back pocket to see just how late you really are, accepting defeat with having to take the scenic, much more time consuming route up the escalators. The bold white numbers that flash across the screen tell you that you’re already five minutes past the start of your shift. A long sigh slips from between your lips as you give up on trying to rush.

Moving with the flow of the crowd, the beginning jingle of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ starts to play, and with the grand spectacle of the yearly decorations, it’s hard not to feel all the emotions of nostalgia they’re trying to pull from you, making you roll your eyes singing along with her under your breath.

The big water fountain in the middle of the men’s department comes into view from the tops of bobbing heads, one of the many physical markers in this building you’ve had to use so you don’t get lost in the retail maze they’ve created, letting you know that you’re close to your destination. Weaving through the sea of people, you try to gear up to break free from the human traffic jam, the signs pointing to the escalators in your sights. His panicked voice is what you hear first, an obvious friendliness still hidden underneath it despite the way it shakes every time you hear him say “excuse me?”

Your eyes search for the owner, and when you find him, regret buries itself deep in your gut when they land on his face.

A perfect mess of dark chestnut hair, with tips that look like they were dipped in honey sits on top of his head. The hints of gold hidden inside shimmer under the lights, as it curls wildly behind his ears. It almost looks styled that way, that is until you see his big hand run through it twice in the span of a few seconds. Warm brown eyes squint as he turns in a full circle glancing between his phone and the signs the point to the city street exits on either side of him. The hoards of people surrounding him completely ignoring his existence as he looks around painfully lost.

His nose is sharp, just like his jaw that’s dusted with the faint hint of a five o’clock shadow. The two prominent moles that sit side by side on his cheek stick out on his unseasonably sun kissed skin that seems to glow against the dark maroon color of his sweater. It’s snug across a broad chest, just like the washed out black jeans that fit a light too well around his thighs. His chocolate colored peacoat looks tailored to fit his biceps, with shiny gold buttons that match the buckle on his russet leather loafers, and the chain that dangles from around his neck.

You watch him try to ask a few friendly faces for help, only receiving a shrug and a half smile by the ones that actually acknowledge him. He mutters something that sounds sarcastic to himself as you get closer, his hands moving animatedly before he huffs pinching the bridge of his nose.

Maybe it’s the Christmas decorations, or the Mariah Carey, or maybe it’s just the fact that you’d rather take pity on a handsome stranger than go to your job. Whatever reason it is, you decide to make the stupid mistake to help him.

“Hey,” you greet timidly, getting just close enough to smell the cedar and cinnamon that seems to cling to the expensive wool of his coat, ignoring the way your stomach flips because of course he smells good right?

“Are you lost?”

He doesn’t hear you over the internal battle going on inside his head, not even registering that someone is finally stopping to offer the help he’d just been pleading for, quietly grumbling, ‘you wanted to move to the city, now you can’t even find your way through a damn store’.

You clear your throat before it can get anymore awkward, alerting him of your presence while letting your curious gaze wander up his tall broad frame. Those squinted brown eyes look big now as they meet yours, and you can see green inside them that you couldn’t before and it sparkles brighter than the tinsel hanging from the boughs behind him.

Yeah, you’ve made a huge mistake.

He blinks a few times, before a wide smile stretches across his face somehow making him even more handsome as he reveals a set of perfectly straight teeth. The smile pushes up his cheeks, and crinkles the skin around his eyes, and you watch all the aggravation from before melt off of his perfectly sculpted face and you wish you could go back those few minutes in time and abort the mission. This is no damsel in distress.

“Hi” is all that he says, peony’s painting his cheeks as he runs his hand through his thick hair again. It looks even softer up close.

“Hey,” you giggle, nerves taking over and you want to pinch yourself for it. “I just wanted to see if you needed some help, you look a little lost.”

You try to seem indifferent when you catch the way his gaze roams quickly down your body, thankful you did laundry last night and had on your tight fitting work slacks today that showed off your curves.

“So lost!” He groans, the blush on his cheeks deepening with the tips of his ears. “If I’m being completely honest with you, I don’t even know what floor I’m on.”

You try to hide the way you snort, slapping your palm over your mouth.

“Hey, be nice!” He laughs, trying his best to fight it to put on a hurt expression, “this is like my first time here, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you try to fight off you smile, “I didn’t mean to laugh at you —“

“Steve,” interjects with a grin, those perfect teeth biting at his full bottom lip as he sticks out one of his hands for you to take, a gold band wrapped around his middle finger you didn’t notice before gleaming when it hits the light.

“Well, Steve,” you try not to laugh, which ends up being easy to do when you slip your hand into his and watch it disappear behind his long fingers when they wrap around them. “You’re on the first floor if you can believe it.

“That’s fucking embarrassing. Wow.” He groans, letting your hand go to run his palm down his face, and you hate that you feel the loss in your gut. “Sorry I didn’t mean to cuss.”

“I’ll let it slide this time,” You tease with a wink, enjoying the way it only makes the color on his face deepen. “Where are you trying to go? I work on the seventh floor. I might be able to take you on my way.”

It takes Steve a minute to formulate an answer to your offer, still stuck on the fact a complete stranger was being so nice to him, and the silence between you goes on just long enough to make you second guess everything.

“Or I could just try and give you directions if that’s more comfortable for you.” You offer, adjusting the straps of your backpack nervously.

“I’m trying to get to the women’s department,” Steve finally blurts out, sensing the shift in your energy and quickly tries to recover with another card through his hair and a crooked smile, “specifically the handbags, and I absolutely think you should take me.”

His gaze narrows the color in his eyes darkening into something more flirtatious than nervous.

“Who knows how long it’d take me to get there without a beautiful, clearly smart woman such yourself to help me anyway.”

Your stomach does that thing that you hate again, and all the heat in your body licks at your cheeks like flames. You can’t remember the last time a man actually used the word beautiful. Hot? Absolutely. Cute? Sure. Pretty? Yeah, a few times, but never beautiful. It sits in your chest where it blossoms into another painfully big smile that pushes your cheeks up even more, and you have to look away from his face for a moment when he matches it with his own.

“O- okay, if you just, uh wanna follow me?” Words get lost on your tongue and it comes out more shy than you would’ve liked, but you turn on your heel before you can think too hard about it when he gestures you forward.

You hear him mutter ‘are you kidding me?’ under his breath as you lead him to the escalators just around the corner, making him realize how close they were this whole time and you wonder just how long he was actually looking for them. The smell of mint hits your nose as you pass the Frango chocolate stand and it mixes with the spice of his cologne as he trails close behind. Butterflies threatening to break from cocoons hearing the way his steps match yours.

He stops next to you as you come to halt to wait your turn to hop onto the moving metal steps. You look up at him and there’s an awkwardness that threatens to fill the small space between you that has you giving him a tight lipped smile that he returns with the kind of confidence that makes your palms sweat and you have to look away.

“I say we make our move after white puffer coat comin’ up here.” His voice startles you when it comes out low, close enough to the shell of your ear that you swear you can feel the whisper of his lips. Spearmint stings your nose from the gum that snaps between his teeth, and the heat of his breath makes goosebumps jump along the back of your neck.

Why did you do this?

You meet his gaze from the corner of your eye, letting him see the playful glint that dances in them before giving a curt nod of your head.

“On the count of three…” You play along, despite everything inside you telling you to stop flirting back and it makes Steve’s whole face light up, long fingers flexing at his side with the need to find yours again.

“One..” He starts, and your eyes meet ‘white puffer coat’ who’s now only a few steps away before finding Steve’s again who’s stare very obviously never left your face.

“Two..” You giggle trying to hide the way your body starts to buzz and if it wasn’t for Steve’s giddy expression you’d be more embarrassed than you actually are.

“Thre-“ His final count gets cut off by the feeling of your fingers wrapping around his, tugging him onto the stairs early with a loud cackle that has you throwing your head back and he swears the sound tilts his world off its axis.

His cheeks dust pink under the bright light looking down his nose at you with a wide smile that shows all his teeth. An expensive loafer sits wedged between your work shoes and the other on the step above, caging you against the side as you ride up to the next floor, and he’s close enough for you to see a smattering of more freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and the side of his neck, even one on the tip of his earlobe.

He’s still holding your hand.

Your fingers twist and flex at the realization, dropping from his hold and Steve clears his throat because of it. Adam’s apple bobbing as you land on the second floor, he shoves his hand in his pocket, standing a more appropriate distance from you as you get on the next set of stairs going up.

“So what’s on the seventh floor?” He asks, finally breaking the silence that crackles with something you aren’t prepared for today.

“Oh, um, The Walnut Room.” you know where the big Christmas tree is?” You answer with a small smile and it makes him snort, the noise making your eyes go big and the corners of your lips twist up more.

“I couldn’t find the escalators, you think I know where the big Christmas tree is? Don’t flatter me so much or I’ll think you’re flirting with me, honey.” Steve grins, the cool air of confidence from before coming back and you hate that it makes your cheeks burn even worse the second time around.

“Well,” you start unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze as the two of you make your way to the next set of escalators with nerves rattling in your chest as the new floor brings more people, and it makes it impossible for him to keep his distance this time, “now you know where it is.”

“Is that an invitation?” He smirks looking down at you, teeth gleaming even whiter from this close and butterfly wings tickle at your rib cage.

“Getting a new purse for your girlfriend?” You ask in an attempt to dodge his obvious flirting, doing your best to ignore the way his fingers keep bumping into yours as you share the same step.

“Mom, actually. No girlfriend.” Your obvious prying makes something smug flash behind his eyes. “Is that the answer you were hoping for?”

You huff with a roll of your eyes, unable to fight the way your cheeks push up again despite the shake of your head earning a deep chuckle from Steve who can see right through you.

“I actually just moved here, maybe a month ago,” he starts, your heart sinking a little at his reveal and your walls that had started to slowly retreat quickly go back up the few inches they dared to come down. “M parents, they’re….they’re tough to impress, and I’m just trying to find something nice for my Mom. Something that screams ‘Hey! Merry Christmas! I didn’t make a big mistake moving here!’ You know?”

You nod with the kind of laugh that makes his eyes sparkle at the noise.

“A purse absolutely says that, I think.” Your words drip with sarcasm as the two of you make your way onto the third floor, shoulders bumping as you turn towards the next set of moving stairs, both your feet landing on the same metal step again.

“You know, I thought so too.” He beams, not missing a beat. “What about you? Got any fun plans with your boyfriend for Christmas?”

Before you have a chance to answer, an impatient woman choosing to walk the escalators in the kind of rush you should really be in knocks into Steve’s back with her shoulder, making him lose his balance and stumble into you. Large hands grab at your waist to steady himself, the warmth of his palms spreading through your body as it seeps through the thin material of your slacks. The steady beating in your heart stutters before your pulse kicks into overdrive when the mint on his breath fans against your neck for the second time as he mutters an apology finding his balance again. You bite at the inside of your cheek when he finally lets you go, straightening up to his full height again.

“Gotta love the holidays.” You laugh, letting out a shaky breath that threatens to give you away.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year, or that’s what they say.” Steve sighs, running his fingers through his hair again.

He somehow leaves it even messier than before, and you have to fight the urge to fix it for him, as the top of the fourth floor comes into view along with the end of your time with the man you only half way regret helping now.

“The answer to your question is no, by the way.” You finally speak up, a mischievous glint in your eye that matches your smile.

“No you don’t have any fun plans? Or No you don’t have a boyfriend?” He tries to clarify, with the kind of lopsided grin that has your knees wobbling under it.

You don’t have time to recover when the ground underneath you stops moving as you both hit the bright red carpet of the women’s department. The fast moving crowd and the fact that you’re pushing nearly twenty minutes late for work is the perfect escape you need to get yourself out of making the mistake of staying long enough for the charming new to the city bachelor to ask for your phone number.

“Handbags are over there.” You point to the giant Michael Kors logo that shines gold against a hot pink wall behind him, and you seize the moment he turns to follow the direction of your finger to hop back onto the escalators without a word.

You laugh echoes and bubbles over the even happier sounds of the Christmas music when Steve turns around to find you already half way up to the fifth floor.

“Really?” He throws his hands up, watching as you climb higher.

“I’m late for work! I hope your mom likes her gift!” You wave with the kind of smile that he’s sure will haunt his dreams tonight, that makes the corners of his lips twitch despite himself. “It definitely screams you didn’t make a mistake! Nice meeting you Steve!”

It had been four days since your run in with Steve, and much to your dismay that disheveled head of hair didn’t want to leave your mind no matter how much you tried. His breath stealing smile, and freckled skin invaded every day dream and even found their way into the ones in your sleep. No matter how many times you tell yourself that a man who looks like that has endless opportunities in a city like this, and he’s not going to tie himself down with a waitress who still splits her rent with a roommate.

A change of scenery and a day off spent alone at the Christmas market is almost enough to do the trick as you search for ornaments to put on the tree your roommate Eddie tried to stop you from getting, arguing that he’d have to be the one to take care of it if you got a real one. Which to be fair, ended up being true, but when you catch him reading Lord of the Rings under its twinkling lights, you don’t think he minds it all that much.

A few ornaments, two hot ciders, and a record shop later, you find yourself waiting for the train home looking at the sunset that paints the skyline in sherbet orange and red behind shimmering buildings. Lost in the music that spills from your AirPods, flashing lights catch at the corners of your eye, and the sounds of the holiday train start to get louder as its bright presence rolls up to the platform. The Santa that you know has to be freezing waves at everyone that’s waiting as it pulls in, and you can’t stop the way your cheeks push up despite the annoyance you would have normally felt if you were actually commuting somewhere in a rush.

The workers dressed as elves greet you with baskets of candy cane’s and bright smiles when the doors open, and relief floods your system when you see the train car is mostly empty. You give them a friendly wave and a nod, accepting the sweet treat before claiming your seat for the nine stops you needed to pass to get home. Red and green string lights flash strung up from the ceilings, and the silver metal poles that stick through the middle now resemble the candy they're passing out. The white fluorescent lighting that usually washes everyone out is replaced with a deep blue, and the faint sounds of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ battles for dominance with the music in your headphones.

Relaxing into your seat, you let the steady rocking of the train lull you back into your thoughts, disappointed when they inevitably go back to the man you’ve been trying to forget. Thighs pressing at the memory at the feeling of his hands grabbing at your hips on the escalator, you huff and cross your arms in a silent pout. How can you have a crush on someone you don’t even know?

The car starts to fill up more and more as the stops go, and by the third one you’re squeezing your tote bag to your chest with people surrounding you as they hold onto the plastic handles above your head. It’s hard to see anything above anyone’s waist, and you shuffle a little awkwardly in your seat. The spot in front of you frees up by the next stop and at the same time your AirPods die, a sigh of relief slips past your lips at the brief reprieve before the group waiting outside scurries in. That’s when you hear him…again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. First the damn bus, now the train? Jesus fuck- exuse me, god, I’m gonna be so late.”

The familiar smell of cedar and cinnamon envelopes your senses when a pair of black dress slacks fill your vision with a gold belt buckle on his waist that matches the chain you already know is dangling from his neck, and the ring on the hand that’s gripping the handle above you.

You curse under your breath, taking your AirPods out and the muffled sound of Dean Martin’s ‘Let It Snow’ becomes full volume, along with the clinking of the metal tracks when the train lurches forward. Leaning back in your seat, you let your eyes wander up his broad torso you’ve reluctantly thought so much about. Steve’s a little more dressed up than the last time you saw him with a white button up tucked into his slacks. You can still make out the outline of his tank top underneath, despite the dim lighting, and the way he leaves the top two buttons undone flashes you a little bit of chest hair. The chocolate peacoat is replaced with a black one that has buttons to match. It fits around his arms just as good as the other one.

His five o’clock shadow is gone now, and he somehow has even more freckles than before. Too distracted by him to scold yourself for having the urge to find and kiss them all, his messy bed head look he had the other day is replaced with something a little more controlled, and you wonder how much product he needed to use, especially that despite it all, a stray still threatens to fall across his forehead.

“Not a fan of the holiday train are we?”

Steve jumps at the sound of your voice, his eyes looking every direction but down until you clear your throat. They widen when they land on you just like the smile that spreads across his face, wiping away any signs of annoyance that plagued his features just seconds before.

“You!” He almost laughs, and he’s even more handsome than you remembered and you wonder how long it's going to take you recover this time, “Oh wow —“ even in the blue light you can see the way the color in his cheeks redden when he realizes that his crotch is unintentionally in your face, “let me just -“

He scoots back as far as he can which isn’t much but it’s enough to make the position the two of you find yourselves in less awkward.

“Well, well, well so we meet again.” He practically beams taking in your appearance now that you’re not dressed to go wait tables, catching the way he licks his lips before bringing his eyes back to yours.

“It would appear so Steve.” Your smirk, proud of yourself for keeping up the act of playing hard to get.

“What do they call these things? Christmas Miracles?” His confident demeanor reappears and you’re disappointed that it sets your body on fire just like before.

Your snort loud enough for him to hear, earning you a deep chuckle from his chest that gets him that smile of yours he can’t stop thinking about.

“You think you’re so smooth don’t you?” You tease, biting at your bottom lip, meeting his eyes from under your lashes watching the way it makes the green and gold inside them turn into something darker.

“Not really, but I think it’s working for you.” He winks, closing the space he made between you to let someone off behind him holding your stare from down the slope of his nose.

You narrow your eyes at him before you roll them but the twitch of your lips gives you away making his grin turn Cheshire.

“Where are you off to this dressed up? Hot date?” You question with an arched brow.

“For someone who’s pretending not to have a crush on me, you’re certainly fixated on if I’m dating someone aren’t you?” Shaking his head, he’s even more smug than he was on the escalators, “but no, beautiful, I’m on my way to meet a business partner for dinner.”

There he goes using that word beautiful again.

“What about you? The missing uniform tells me it must be your day off, spend it with that boyfriend of yours?” Steve smirks trying to get the definitive answer you refused him a few days ago.

“You’re calling me fixated? I’m not the one obsessing over an imaginary boyfriend I made up for someone else.”

Steve throws his head back in a booming laugh as a bright smile lights up his face in a way that rivals the train.

“I bet you think you’re so funny don’t you?” He mimics your previous sentiment with an intensity in his gaze that has you squirming in your seat.

“Not really, but I think it’s working for you.” Biting your lip as you wink, his hold around the handle tightens, and the gold in his eyes darken more. “I’m surprised you’re heading out of the loop so dressed up, where’s this hot business date?”

Steve’s smile falters, and the color you’re so used to warming his face drains along with the intensity of his gaze.

“What do you mean out of the loop?” That panic you’d heard shaking his voice a few days ago returns, as he tears his eyes away from you to look at the map above your head.

“Oh no, Steve.” You realize the mistake he’s made before he does.

“No, no, no, no,” he groans, stomping a shiny wingtip oxford on the dirty ground. “God, Richard, fuck - he’s going to be so pissed at me.”

He says the last part more to himself, regripping his hold on the handle, brows furrowing as he pinches his eyes shut in frustration. His chest heaves a few times, and the veins in his neck start to show before you hear his quiet exhale over the sounds of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’.

“Hey,” You start, and sweetness drips from your tone as you resist the urge to reach out and comfort him, “I’m getting off on the next stop, you can come with me if you want and I’ll help you get on the right train. It’s an easy mistake, really. We’ve all done it.”

He doesn’t open his eyes immediately, and you can tell that he’s trying not to completely break down but slowly they blink back open and meet yours. The teasing edge behind them is gone as they soften around the edges with exhaustion.

“I think I owe you my life at this point, honestly.” He huffs with a weak laugh and you know if his hair wasn’t done his hand would be running through it right now.

“Just a little bit.” You tease pinching two fingers together with a scrunch of your nose.

“Thank you,” he holds your stare, sincerity painting his features with something that makes you want to stand up and hug him.

“Anytime,” you shrug and it’s harder to fake being nonchalant when he looks at you like that.

The train starts to slow down as it approaches your stop, and the people around you become restless as they prepare to push through the crowded car to get off. Your body reacts like muscle memory when it comes to a halt with another lurch, and you stand up without thinking about the little bit of space that separates you and the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about all week.

Your chest brushes against a hard set of abs before and even harder set of pecs, the cedar and sandalwood of his cologne is stronger than the last time it took over your senses like this. Fresh. The faint smell of his aftershave tickles your nose, and the heat of his breath warms against the berry chapstick on your lips. The realization of your mistake hits right as you lose your balance, and your body falls flush against his.

“Whoa, honey.” Steve chuckles, one of his big hands grabbing firmly on the soft curve of your hip to hold you in place, and you swear you can taste the spearmint of his gum against your tongue from his proximity.

Your hands reach out on instinct grabbing at his waist, making the muscles underneath flex from your touch and you can just faintly hear his sharp intake of breath because of it.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m so sorry.” You bumble, instantly regretting looking up to meet his gaze. The smirk of his pink full lips has all your blood rushing to your cheeks as you quickly try to untangle yourself from him.

“You’re fine,” he laughs in your ear as you push past him, and it sends a shiver through your bones, especially when you can feel the heat of his body behind you as he follows.

The wind hits your face stepping onto the platform and the chill in the air feels good against your skin. People rush and zoom all around you as they try and make their next connection while you and Steve stand under the sign that flashes the next train times. In a loud roar, the holiday spectacle departs with jingling bells that ring off into the distance along with the whir of the crowd leaving you and Steve alone. You try to ignore the tension that bubbles under his stare against the back of your head, threatening to spill over any second as you pull out your phone.

“You live around here?” He’s the first one to break the silence stepping next to you, his gaze shifting curiously to your phone screen.

“Yeah, like three blocks away.” You answer absently, scrolling through the train lines too distracted by your search for the right directions to give him.

He hums quietly in response, pulling out his own phone from his coat pocket. His energy shifts from the panic on the train to something calmer, and you can’t quite put your finger on it. A nervousness still lingers in his shaky exhale that pushes through his nose, rocking back on his heels before shoving his phone in his pocket.

“What if we went out to dinner instead?” Steve blurts out, and his hand that’s been itching to run through his hair finally does, “I mean if you don’t have any plans right now.”

“Didn’t you say it was a work dinner Steve?” You laugh, finally daring to look up at your phone at him. Big mistake.

The wind catches his hair, and that long dark honeyed strand falls against his forehead while his teeth gleam at you in a hopeful smile.

“I feel like I kind of already missed it,” he chuckles, “I’m supposed to be there now and if I read those directions on your phone correctly it said what? - 45 minutes to get there?”

You glance down and see the bold numbers that only seem to go up as the minutes pass and rush hour starts to kick in.

“Besides, I owe you dinner for coming to my rescue twice in one week. I think the universe is really trying to get us to go get drinks if you ask me sweetheart.”

You laugh a little nervous, rolling your eyes to try and hide how you aren’t immune to his charms but the glint that sparkles in his stare tells you that it’s not working.

“I mean, I guess it’s only fair. I don’t want to mess with fate and all.” You sigh, and it makes his whole face light up, “but if Richard fires you, that’s not my fault.”

“You have my word, if this dinner ruins the entire reason I moved out here. I will not blame you.” He raises his hand in the air like he’s swearing under oath.

“Steve!” You gasp, shoving his arm, and it has him throw his head back in a loud laugh that echoes through the empty platform.

“I’m kidding, that’s not going to happen. I don’t think.” He grins, earning another eye roll from you, but he’s too giddy to care.

You choose the cozy little Ramen spot on the corner called The Furious Spoon that’s only two blocks from the train station. It’s a close enough walk to easily brave the deep chill that follows with the setting sun and casual enough so that this doesn't feel like something you’re telling yourself it’s not.

A date.

The warmth of the restaurant hits your frozen cheeks, thawing the parts of you that got bitten from the cold. Ainese hangs thick in the air, making your mouth water while the two of you make your way to the empty seats at the end of the long table that lines the side of the restaurant. You pretend not to feel his hand on the small of your back despite it burning a hole through your jacket as you push through the puffy coats that drape over the stools on either side of you.

Shrugging your layers off, both of you follow suit finding a home for them on the wide rectangular seats. Steve tuts at you when you go to pull your seat out waving your hand away.

“Seriously? No.” You half whisper yell, but the corners of your lips twist up and he decides it’s an empty objection pulling your seat out for you with a wave of his hand gesturing you to sit.

“My mom would kill me if I didn’t,” he swears but his smirk tells you not to believe a word he says as he puts both his hands on either side of your stool, spearmint hot on his breath against the shell of your ear. Cedar and clove on the fabrics of his clothes, it feels like he’s everywhere as he gives you two pushes in.

His knee bumps into yours as he takes the seat next to you, and another waft of his cologne hits your nose. Biting your lip, you decide to distract yourself with the menu as you actively try to make sure your leg doesn’t bounce with anxious energy. The restaurant is more crowded than you expected and Steve’s closer than you wanted. Your heart thumps wildly against your rib cage, scaring the butterflies that laid dormant for the few days in his absence right as they had started to stretch their wings.

“This all looks so good,” he hums, eyes scanning over the menu before bringing his attention back to you, chestnut and gold shimmering in the low light as he looks down the slope of his nose, licking his full lips, “Do you have a favorite?”

You can’t stop your gaze from flicking down to his mouth, words threatening to get caught on the tip of your tongue watching the way the corners curl up into a grin, small dimples pushing into his tan skin when he catches you.

“Depends on what you like protein wise, but my go to is The Mother Clucker.” You manage to get out, trying to clear out the nerves out of your throat.

“Excuse me,” he snorts, “the what?”

Rolling your eyes, you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth as you lean over tapping a red polished nail to the chicken option on the top.

“Do you need glasses Steve?” You giggle watching him squint to read it.

The question makes him look at you out of the corner of his eyes with a narrow stare.

“I’ve had perfect vision since high school. Thank you very much.” He scoffs holding the menu further away as if to help him focus on the small bold lettering.

“Sure looks like it, my mistake.” Raising a hand in mock surrender, the gesture makes him knock his knee with yours earning him a giggle.

“Here I am skipping out on an important work dinner to spend my night showing you how grateful I am and you’re just bullying me.” Steve only manages to keep a straight face until you hit him with a soft smack on his shoulder, a full bellied laugh escaping him when whatever retort you’re ready to give gets cut off by your server finally coming to the table.

Steve’s charm flows from him with ease as he speaks to the young guy with a big septum ring and spiked hair. He talks to him like they’ve been lifelong friends when you place your orders and it reminds you how easily he got that same genuine smile from you just a few days ago at work, and again now as you sit next to him for dinner instead of writing him off like you told yourself you would. Your stomach twists in knots when his knee bumps against yours and stays there, the warmth of his body seeping through the fabric of his slacks and your jeans.

“So did you end up finding your Mom a gift that screams ‘I didn’t make a mistake’?” You question resting your cheek in the palm of your hand as you lean on the table with your elbow, you lift your chin up a little at him and it makes him flush.

“Oh yeah,” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, “I-I didn’t actually, so that's great. I’ll probably just get her a nice set of earrings or something, it won’t matter in the end anyways.”

His eyebrows knit together and for the first time all night he purposely avoids your gaze with a sip of his water. Your eyes follow the movements of his throat as he swallows.

“What do you mean it won’t matter?” You press, curiosity getting the best of you watching his confidence slip.

“My parents aren’t exactly thrilled that I moved out here to help with this start up, instead of taking over their family business back home. It’s a long story, but it was a big argument, well - multiple big arguments when I told them I was leaving.” He sighs, and you can see the dread of their arrival start to hang over his head like storm clouds. “Besides we never really spent Christmas together my whole life anyway, they were always traveling for work, so this whole thing is just -“ He rubs at his temple, “a thing.”

He runs his fingers through his hair without abandon this time.

“Ahhh,” you hum as missing pieces of Steve’s puzzle are revealed and you hate yourself for finding him more attractive because of it.

“What about you?” He nods his head in your direction, mimicking your stance resting his head in his hand, “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Well,” you start, more nerves settling deep in your chest as you start to lay some of your cards down, “I don’t go home for the holidays cause I usually have work. But me and my family get along fine, I guess. But my roommate usually goes to visit his uncle so I’ll probably order something really expensive to eat and watch a Christmas movie I don’t hate.”

You shrug trying to hide that sometimes it does get to you, not having a full house of loud laughter or even someone to spend the day with, but the look in Steve’s eyes makes you feel like he sees you. He gets it.

“Favorite Christmas movie?” He asks without missing a beat.

“Oh, easy, The Grinch.” you snort.

“Fitting for you.” he winks, despite the tips of his ears turning red when your shoe finds his under the table.

“Rude. What about you? huh?” Your lashes flutter as you bite your lip feeling him start to play footsie with you.

“Jingle All The Way, Arnold’s my guy.” He smiles big at the giggle you give him, and it warms your face just like his hand that slides further down his thigh, dangerously close to yours.

The bubble you find yourselves in pops abruptly when the smell of your soup hits your nose. Two large bowls get set down in front of you, steam pouring off the tops so much it fogs the glass window.

“You would like Arnold,” you manage to whisper yell over your servers arm and it’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes, ignoring you giving the waiter a pat on the back with a ‘thanks man.’

The rest of your dinner is filled with easy conversion and touches that linger more than they should, just like the secret paths heavy lidded gazes make to each other’s lips that aren’t so secret in the dim lighting with your feet still intertwined. You hate that as you learn more about him, the more you want to know. The questions come with follow up questions as he tells you about the life that he left behind, his best friend Robin who he hasn’t spent more than six hours without for the last five years and how it feels like he’s missing a limb.

It feels mutual as both of you sit there long after your bowls are empty, snow falling from a now completely dark sky as Steve listens to you tell a story from high school like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. Just like the stories about you and Eddie before that, or the one about how you lost your I.D on a crazy night out. All of them felt like he was hanging on every word, and having his full attention like this made your stomach flip. The buzzing of your phone is what ends the night when your eyes catch how late it really is.

“Oh my god, is it really almost nine?” You gasp, but Steve seems unfazed, just like the tip of his shoe running up your calf.

“I’m actually surprised they didn’t kick us out,” he smirks, chuckling to himself before straightening his back. Deep crimson filling his cheeks when you both can hear the loud pop.

You’d tease him but you were too busy already missing his touch. God. Dammit.

“I should really get going, I didn’t realize we’ve been here for like three hours. I gotta be at work super early for this breakfast with Santa we’re doing,” You huff, standing up and the change in energy is almost enough to make Steve’s head spin.

“You live like a block away, I think you’ll get home fairly quickly.” He looks at you confused as he stands up, watching you stuff your arms in your coat with a struggle with tangled sleeves.

“I just, I promised Eddie I’d be home at a certain time and he gets all worried when I’m not,” It’s a lie but you aren’t going to tell him that your panic is from the fear that spending this much time with him has now pushed you past the point of no return.

He’s never going to leave your mind now.

“Let me walk you,” He insists, slipping on his coat with ease, broad shoulders filling it perfectly.

“I think you should worry about getting yourself home,” you tease, buttoning your coat that you won the fight with.

“Yeah, I can’t chance it, not without my good luck charm,” he winks and your knees wobble, “I’m calling an Uber. Can’t get lost that way.”

“Let’s hope so,” you smirk, bumping shoulders with him despite yourself as you walk past.

“Hey! I thought we were friends now.” He whines following close behind, both of you giving a small wave to your server on the way out.

The cold air hits you the moment the swinging glass door opens, sending a shiver up your spine, tugging your coat closer, you silently curse the hint of cedar you catch on the fabric.

“Are we friends now?” You arch a brown turning on your heel to face him as you both hit the sidewalk.

“I was hoping,” he gives you that smile, the kind that you know always gets him what he wants, and god do you want to give it to him. But the gold shimmering on his belt and the reminder that he just moved here makes you stubborn and weary. “Maybe if you give me your number, we can do this again sometime and find out?”

“How about this,” you suck at the inside of your cheek loudly, and you almost feel bad when you see how his face drops, “If we run into each other again, you can have my number.”

Steve stares at you for a second, disbelief painting over all of his pretty features, but he’s quick to recover with a hand through his hair and a new poker face.

“Deal.” He sticks his hand out and now it’s you who has to take a minute to recover, “What? I accept.”

You narrow your eyes at him before you place your palm into his, that charming smile outshining the white snow that falls onto his long lashes. He purposely holds it longer than he should, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life when the warm pad of his thumb starts to rub small circles into your soft skin.

“Till the next time beautiful, who knows, maybe I won’t take an Uber home. Take a gamble. I wonder who could possibly show up to rescue me.” He starts, earning another shoulder slap and a gasped ‘Steve!’

“Do not do that, Uber home you maniac.” You pull your hand away no matter how much you don’t want to, especially when he trails the tips of his fingers down your palm as he lets go.

“You win this time,” He grins pulling out his phone, and you watch him click the app before you start to walk towards the direction of home.

“I win every time, Steve.” You wink, taking a mental picture of the way it makes him bite his lip before you turn away hoping you didn’t just make some huge mistake.

Secretly hoping Steve Harrington gets lost again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrrington x reader

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spade-riddles · 24 days

Text

Submission: Death/Dying/Mortality & The Jack-O-Lantern of it all.

The first 🎃 was sent on May 13, 2023.

#4. 🎃 “Speaking of, I love Halloween, don’t you? I’m already counting the days until October.”

#11. 🎃 “Imagine this. It is 3 am and Halloween is over"

All Saints Day, while exact origins are uncertain, was originally most commonly celebrated in May (like, a LONG time ago. ~300-600 A.D). Specifically…MAY 13. The night before All Saints Day was called “All-Hallows Eve”, which is what we now know as Halloween. (I acknowledge that is through the Christianity lens, as I know there this is a holiday with pagan roots as well).

This is a celebration dedicated to remember the dead. I believe the use of the pumpkin/jack-o-lantern and the references to this celebration were easter eggs for the direction of TS11, before we even KNEW a new album was in the works. Furthermore, someone sent in a post identifying May 13 as the first documented date of JK & KK, which was also linked to the original spade riddles about MAY.

Now that it has been a few days since the release of TTPD, I’m shocked to see just how many references there are to the concept of death, dying, endings, resurrection, etc. Here is an incomplete list of all of the references to this theme throughout the TTPD rollout and release:

TN easter egg

“We hereby conduct this post-mortem” - AKA….after death. This was ultimately revealed to be lyrics from “How Did It End?”

Track 4 - Down Bad

“I might just die, it would make no difference.”

Track 5 - So Long, London

“My white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment.”

“I died on the altar waiting for the proof.”

Track 9 - Guilty As Sin

“One slip I’m falling back into the hedge maze, but what a way to die.”

Track 10 - Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“If you wanted me dead you should’ve just said. Nothing makes me feel more alive.”

Track 12 - loml

“Are they second hand embarrassed that I can’t get out of bed, cause something counterfeits dead?”

“And I’ll still see it until I die, You’re the loss of my life.”

Track 14 - The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

“Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?”

“I would’ve died for your sins, Instead, I just died inside.”

Track 16 - Clara Bow

“I’m not trying to exaggerate but I think I might die if it happened, die if it happened to me”

Track 17 - The Black Dog

“Old habits die screaming.”

“Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes, and hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons, Even if I die screaming, And I hope you hear it.”

Track 19 - The Albatross:

“She’s the death you chose”

Track 21 - How Did It End:

“We hereby conduct this post-mortem”

“Say it once again with feeling, How the death rattle breathing, Silenced as the soul was leaving, The deflation of our dreaming, Leaving me bereft and reeling. My beloved ghost and me, Sitting in a tree,D-Y-I-N-G”

Track 23 - I Hate It Here

“I dreamed about it in the dark, the night I felt like I might die”

Track 25 - I Look In People’s Windows

“I had died the tiniest death.”

And finally…resurrection (note: I am not a religious person, I’m writing about this from a literature/contextual perspective).

Track 9 - Guilty as Sin:

What if I roll the stone away? They’re gonna crucify me anyway. What if the way you hold me is actually what’s holy? If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly. I choose you and me, religiously

propriety (noun) - 1: the quality or state of being proper or suitable, 2: conformity to what is socially acceptable in conduct or speech, fear or offending against conventional rules of behavior especially between the sexes.

🫚 - 2/5/2024

Frost untouched, Conformity wins fights.

This 🫚 message seems to convey the message that conforming to what what society and the media, her fans, etc expect of her and will tolerate from her, is the only way she could gain enough traction to move forward. But in Guilty as Sin, she finally asks the questions “what happens if I roll away the stone?” Rolling away the stone, in a biblical sense, would reveal an empty tomb. An empty tomb was EVIDENCE that Jesus had risen from the dead.

So my thought is, what does rolling away the stone mean for Taylor? What are the implications of her asking, “What if I just give them all the evidence revealing my truth? They are going to judge me no matter what, so I might as well. If they want me to suffer my entire life by conforming to societal standards, they don’t know how impossible of an ask that is.”In Summary, 🫚 & 🎃 have absolutely proven themselves credible in foreshadowing the themes of this album and overarching story. And I’m sure as we continue to decipher their messages, we are going to find so much more.

#submission #🎃#🫚#this is excellent work

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silverynight · 4 months

Note

You don’t need to get started on it now, maybe note it down, but could you write a vigilante Tanjiro and Hero Pillars or bnha AU. Catch being that Tanjiro doesn’t kill criminals/villains, but he instead offers the rehabilitate then, for generations, his family have ran an underground fissility, and he’s the current matriarch. He’s also 19 in this.

Their jobs are to help and offer stability and rehabilitation to anyone who needs it, cause new flash, most of theses so called criminals/villains, are just broken individuals that’s turned to darkness cause of what they’ve loss, cause of the government system, lots of them have their homes their families, all thanks to the people who run the city.

Now this fissility’s entrances and exits are very well hidden, think has hidden as the sword smith village. And that the government doesn’t know about let alone and heroes know about, and cause of that, unpronounced to them, it’s because of this fissility that the crime rates have done so low. Throughout the years they’ve help so many people, most of whom end up working for them, and becomes this business if a found family.

Now as said before, Tanjiro is the current matriarch, so he takes in most of the work, also in this AU, all his younger siblings are still alive, however his mother and father are still dead. If course he’s not alone, he has all his siblings, especially Nezuko, and his best friends Zentisu and Inosuke helping him run the place.

This fissility has everything thing that they may need, such as a huge indoor green house where they grown all of their food. They so they only ever have to go out to get produce and meat, even then, they have the help of all their staff to buy just enough food for everyone. As well as a long forgotten underground hospital and pharmacy that they’ve got back running, with plenty of medications.

As for the Pillars, they sorta work like the console in Arcane, where they seem to do their best to help their community, however they don’t look beyond those the seek as ‘villainous’ cause they believe their is no hope or help them, their just ‘dirty violent criminals’. They too don’t know of the fissility, let alone Tanjiro being the reason the crime rate or villain sightings has gone down some rabbity.

It is only when they’ve come to notice that crime seems to how down even when they’re on week breaks, so they have an investigator, look into it, to which they’ve come to hear that investigator had spotted and followed an old suspect of crime carrying what look to be groceries and new blankets, go through a door that looks to be of a underground car garage, and that is very well hidden in maze of old building farthest down town. The investigator gives them all the directions on how to find it and they head there.

It sounds really interesting. I'll see what I can do.

#asks #ask silverynight #demon slayer

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wuxiaphoenix · 7 months

Text

Zpoc Survival, Retail Style

For some strange reason, a lot of recent zpocs, System Apocalypses, and other world-changing disaster plots seem to catch protagonists at home. Or, at worst, in some kind of vacation cabin or remote getaway. There’s nothing wrong with this, especially if you want to show off how prepared (or not) your hero is in everyday life.

But what are the odds? Seriously, if we’re talking a more-or-less average guy or girl, with a reasonably “ordinary” life prior to Things Going Boom - what are the odds that they’re actually at home when the apocalypse happens? As opposed to at work, caught in rush hour, or even picking up the week’s groceries?

I grant you, if the thought of an apocalypse hitting while I’m at home is bad, the thought of trying to dodge zombies inside Walmart is levels of urk worse. Channeled exits, mazes of shelves and items, people screaming - it’d be worse than Black Friday.

But. It’s a likely scenario. Meaning any serious prepper, or game nerd who’s daydreamed about playing the End of the World before it actually hit, might have at least considered what they’d do if that happened.

So. You’re in a retail store when the World As We Know It changes forever. What do you do?

In the first few moments of this situation you need to do something counterintuitive: ignore that this is an apocalypse.

Survival comes first and foremost. You have to deal with the immediate life-threatening danger. The zombie trying to eat your face ranks higher on the “must deal with” list than a dragon rampaging in the street outside. Treat it like any other natural disaster, and evaluate what you absolutely must do to make it through alive. What course of action gives you the best chance? Fort up where you are? (See, dragon outside.) Or flee the scene? (Trapped inside with zombies.) In prepper’s parlance - are you bugging in, or bugging out?

If you’re running for it, then exactly what kind of retail store you’re in may be less relevant. Remember that any reputable store has to comply with fire safety rules. That means fire extinguishers you can grab as makeshift weapons, yes - but more important, the main doors should be unlocked. If you’re closer to the back of the store and there are Things between you and the usual way out, head for the employee doors. You’ll set off an alarm going out, but that’s the least of your problems.

...Well, aside from the noise drawing more zombies. Plan accordingly.

But what if the major threat is outside, and you plan to bug in? To stay put, whether that be for hours or days or just a few minutes to catch your breath?

Consider the kind of store you’re in. If you’re in a strip mall or square, also consider other nearby stores; they may be better options, and can give you a wider variety of improvised weapons and supplies. Let’s take one particular short comparison: hardware store that Shall Not Be Named, vs. Books-a-Million. (Note, drawing off various stores I’ve personally been in, your local shops may vary.)

I’m looking at these in particular because they both have an advantage for siege/monster situations: you can get up onto an above-head-height level. In Hardware that generally means climbing the shelves or using the lifting machines, but you’ve got it. BAM has a slight advantage for those of us less athletically inclined in that the second level is, in fact, a formal second level, with stairs and all. OTOH that means you have a set place you have to barricade to keep anything else from getting up there. Both places do have breakrooms and bathrooms, so as long as the plumbing holds out and there’s some way to do electricity, sanitation and cooking are going to be easier. That said, there are some differences - here are a few!

Hardware. Pros: Tools, tools, tools; improvised weapons galore. Building materials to fortify the place. Maybe some comfy cushions and other homey stuff, depends. Also if you’re working with other people trapped in the same apocalypse, many customers and employees are likely to have useful making-stuff-work skills.

Cons: The stuff in this place was never meant to be lived-in long-term, the fertilizers and concrete dust and other assorted insults may eat your body alive by way of immune system arrrgh. Recruit a doctor. No, more than one. And look into getting a lot of fresh air.

BAM. Pros: Books. So much to read. How-to manuals will be Really Important if the internet goes down! Also when the fit hits the shan, “bookstore” is likely to be low on anyone’s “to be looted” list. You may pass unnoticed long enough to get the place set up and defensible.

Cons: You’re going to have to get most of your fortifying stuff somewhere else. And the people you’re likely to team up with here will have... a varying skillset.

Of course, the most awesome option would be having access to both of these. But that likely means laying claim to, and holding, a moderately large chunk of town. In the middle of an apocalypse. With everyone else going crazy trying to survive.

...Now that would be a story!

#creative writing #worldbuilding #writing prompt #zombie apocalypse #monster apocalypse #apocalypses in general #System Apocalypse

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rotworld · 2 years

Text

25: Gluttony

your roommate needs a plus one if she wants to get into an infamous vampire party on campus, and you're bad at saying no.

->explicit. noncon to dubcon, the messiest of messy consent, blood drinking, gore, implied mind control/mind-altering magic, student/teacher relationship, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

The Archambault Estate is such a stereotype that it’s the immediate result when you google “vampire mansion.” It’s at the very top of a hill because of course it is, hidden from prying eyes by a decorative iron fence and a rose garden so sprawling it might as well be a hedge maze. Plucked straight out of the Middle Ages with its gargoyles, castle spires and harsh, Gothic angles, it’s comedically out of place in the perpetually modernizing churn of your college town. It’s a point of obsession for a lot of people. You’re always running into students who applied here just because of the mansion, alumni who make an annual pilgrimage back, tourists who clog the local hotels in the fall and winter months.

Fall and winter is when Roderick Archambault holds parties, after all. And unlike the secretive gatherings of most old money immortals, the average person actually has a shot at getting inside the Archambault Estate. All they need is a vampire’s invitation and a friend.

The days get shorter, the nights get colder, and as the sun dips beneath the horizon, that sleepy, oak-shaded road that winds up the hill comes alive with a procession of luxury cars and foot traffic that wouldn’t look out of place in line for a nightclub. It’s a steep march to the top, which gives you plenty of time to try telling Sylvie all the reasons you shouldn’t be here. “People just up and vanish when they go to these, you know. They have the money to do whatever they want and get away with it. There’s no way it’s safe.”

“Those’re just rumors,” Sylvie says with the clipped tone of someone who’s already digging their heels in. “I know a guy who’s been in the Ciborium for years, he comes back safe and sound from every party he goes to.”

“That’s different,” you insist. “The Ciborium has protection. There are actually consequences if something happens to them—”

“And you’re looking at a prospective member, if I make the right connections tonight.” Her pleading tone just feels like a jab now, an unsubtle reminder of why you’re here. You’ve got no horse in this race. You don’t make a habit of cruising vampire parties looking to get bit, no matter how good it supposedly feels. It’s accurate to say you’ve been avoiding the estate and this entire part of town every cold Friday night. Sylvie thinks you’re sheltered and misinformed, buying into the same old stories people have been telling for years. That’s at least half the reason she was so insistent, you think. She could’ve asked anyone, but you’re the one who needs convincing that vampires are just like regular people and the Ciborium isn’t a cult.

You already know vampires are like regular people, which is to say they’re fine until they have more money than they know what to do with. You’ll just have to agree to disagree on the Ciborium.

“We’re not dressed for this,” you say, half-hearted. You know there’s no getting out of it at this point. But it’s true, most of the people trudging up the hill with you are making the hike in flashy ensembles, sequin dresses, mesh and designer print shirts, a few brave souls making the hike in stilettos.

“We’re dressed perfectly,” she says, shivering as she rubs her arms. Her jacket is thin, zipped just far enough to show off the skin between her breasts and lack of a bra. “I told you, casual is the way to go. They like it if you don’t look like you’re trying too hard. I mean, you look a little unavailable with your neck covered, but some of them are into that.”

You get there too fast. The road evens out, the gates are wide open, and autumn leaves carpet the narrowing road like a red carpet. You can’t deny that the place is beautiful. You’re plunged immediately into the famed Archambault gardens, no longer in bloom but still exquisitely beautiful with arch trellises, stone cherub fountains and a pond stocked with speckled fish. Sylvie’s practically vibrating with excitement all the way to the front doors, where a pair of doormen are vetting the guests. They’re dressed formally in black vests and crisp white undershirts, sleeve garters around their forearms.

It’s not a long wait. Roderick Archambault is notoriously lax compared to his contemporaries, and few people are turned away. Still, Sylvie feels the need to make an impression when it’s your turn at the front, rattling off her name, the name of several vampires at the party, and the name of her Ciborium contact before presenting you as her plus one.

“Your wrist, please,” the doorman says. You don’t budge. Sylvie is staring at you with the wide, watery eyes of a puppy watching you take its favorite toy away. “I won’t bite,” the doorman assures you. You see a flash of fangs when he smiles. “I don’t need to break the skin to pick up your scent.”

You didn’t know they did this, but it makes sense. The only real criteria must be how appealing your blood smells. You’re still reluctant so Sylvie goes first, proudly sliding back her sleeve and presenting her wrist. The doorman presses his nose to her skin and sniffs like this isn’t the weirdest shit in the world and hums, seemingly in approval. Now both of them are looking at you and you’re holding up the line, so you cave. Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. The doorman moves your sleeve back and you flinch when he brings your wrist to his face.

He doesn’t just smell you, though. He licks you. Not just a short press from the tip of his tongue, either, but a full, wet, open-mouthed lick. You snag your hand back and he laughs all shy and sheepish, like he just bumped into you or something. “Sorry,” he says. “Yeah, you’re both good. Go on in.” Sylvie ricochets right back into jittery excitement, clutching your forearm before you change your mind and dragging you with her and you’ve never been quite so terrified. You feel the doorman’s gaze burning into your back until you’re swallowed by the crowd.

You’re vaguely aware of Sylvie talking to you, rattling off historical and architectural facts about the Archambault Estate—“Did you know that the gargoyles are themed seasonally, depending on which direction they’re facing?”—but you’re not paying attention. You can’t. There’s so fucking much going on around you. A group of musicians is playing a sorrowful rendition of Vivaldi’s “La Folia” in the foyer. Bottles of bloodwine make the rounds on server’s platters, pouring thick and scarlet into crystal champagne flutes. A group of people standing in a circle to your left is talking about some dreadful party they were at two hundred years ago in the Belgian countryside.

Feeding happens out in the open. A lot of the vampires have a human swooning on their arm or curled up on their lap. Some have small crowds gathered around them, half-undressed with their shirts off, their bitten chests and necks exposed. Feeding service apps and campus matchmaking services look downright chaste in comparison to the orgies happening right in front of you. You watch a young woman get grabbed as she’s just walking by a group of vampires, giggling excitedly as she’s passed around. The first drinks from her neck, the second from the shoulder. A couple closes in on either side of her, feeding from both of her wrists at once.

The Ciborium is here, of course. They announce themselves with jeweled, chalice-shaped brooches, always wearing white. Sylvie sees one she knows, a man not much older than either of you with long, shampoo commercial shiny hair, and waves him over enthusiastically to chat. You’re introduced briefly. His name is Darren. You don’t catch much else with your attention tugged in every direction at once.

The windows are the same ornate stained glass of a cathedral, the marble floor leading up to a grand staircase flanked by suggestive stone sculptures. Between plush Victorian armchairs sits a table with a young man kneeling on top of it. He’s naked and aroused, his cock twitching against his belly and oozing a thick glob of precum, sampled by anyone who walks by from the throat, the arm, the thigh by a particularly brazen vampire.

“What about you?” Someone’s talking to you. Darren, smiling patiently as you snap back to attention. “You’re not a regular or I would recognize you. Is this your first party?”

“Oh. Yeah,” you say stiffly, shrugging. “Mostly just here for moral support.”

“That’s very kind of you. I’m sure Sylvie appreciates it.” Someone walks up behind him while you’re talking and starts caressing his neck. Darren doesn’t even flinch and leans into the touch, baring his neck for the stranger, all without breaking eye contact with you. “Do you know much about the Ciborium? Any interest in joining?”

Someone moans loudly across the room. The man on the table just came untouched and the vampire attached to the side of his neck strokes his softening cock, milking out every last drop across his heaving, shuddering chest. Sylvie looks, just once, just briefly, her face flushed. Darren is still staring at you with that vacant smile, shivering slightly when the vampire behind him noses against his neck.

“Bathroom,” you say quickly. “I’m just—real quick—”

You don’t know where the bathroom is, of course, and you’re not about to ask. Everyone you come across is naked, has their teeth in somebody else, or is at least five hundred years old and watching you scurry around like a mouse they’ll catch when they feel like it. You try to find the quietest place you can, going against the flow of the crowd down dark, winding corridors. A few private feedings are happening in small, candlelit rooms. The humans are ecstatic and desperate, crying out for more, for harder bites, for deeper drinking. Bodies glisten with sweat as they writhe in the unflinching grasp of vampires, some still cool and collected in their human form, others unfurling into more monstrous shapes.

You could leave, couldn’t you? Sylvie only needed you to get in. You don’t like the idea of leaving her here, but this is what she wanted, isn’t it? You pass another open doorway—something crow-shaped but much too big, wings fluttering, clawed hands pinning down a body that doesn’t seem to be moving. You hear a strangled moan and you can’t distinguish if it’s pain or pleasure. A long tongue laps blood from the floor. You stumble just a bit in your hurry to keep moving. Going back the way you came is too daunting and you find yourself up a flight of stairs and hopelessly lost, roaming an empty, quiet hallway.

“Are you alright?” someone asks.

You didn’t hear anyone behind you and bite back a startled yelp, flinching, putting some distance between you and the stranger before you turn around. Whatever you were going to say shrivels up and dies before it reaches your tongue, strangled by shock. Those are the same green eyes that greet you twice a week for a small, evening discussion section. Standing in front of you is Simon Ecklund, your classical lit professor.

The breathless “holy shit” slips out before you can stop it. You’re used to seeing him in approachable attire, a cream cardigan, a turtleneck, those silly patterned socks you catch just a glimpse of when he struts down the lecture hall steps. He’s wearing a corset. It’s short, just wrapping around his midsection, made of black and red brocade with a Victorian floral pattern, and it looks amazing on him, a frilled-collar poet shirt bunching loosely at the top. His pants are tightly fitted and you’re using every sliver of your willpower to keep your gaze above the belt. Usually he keeps his hair tied back in a ponytail but it’s loose and wild, a few strands hanging in his face giving him a wild, roguish look.

He looks mildly surprised to see you here, and maybe just a bit dismayed. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. You’ve never seen his fangs before. They’re not visible unless a vampire’s just fed, or intends to, and his are especially prominent now. “I’ve never seen you at the estate before.”

“Never been before,” you admit clumsily. Your brain is fried looking at him. The crush that’s been simmering just under the surface since the start of the semester has your heart racing. He can probably hear it. He keeps glancing just a bit too low to be looking at your eyes. The open space of your jacket, you think, where the thick material of your turtleneck is. “I’m, um. Here for a friend. She really wanted to get in, had to bring someone.”

“I see,” he says. God, this is awkward. Of course you had to be stubborn and come wearing the same tired shit you wear to class when you’ve just rolled out of bed. You’re imagining him lecturing in that outfit and it’s making your face even hotter. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m—yeah,” you say quickly. “Yes. Sorry. I didn’t really want to come. I don’t do these kinds of parties.” You lean against the wooden staircase banister, just to have something to hold onto, something else to look at. You’ve made a bit of a loop, somehow. You can see one of the hallways that leads into the foyer from here, people passing quickly below. A vampire slams a Ciborium member against the wall and grinds against their body as they drink, spurred on by the human’s weak, wanting gasps. Simon is next to you when you look again, staring down at the same scene. He rests his crossed arms over the banister, long sleeves dangling.

There’s something in the air, maybe. Something that makes you want to say and do stupid shit. “Is it, um, inappropriate to say you look good in that?” you ask.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He looks tense. He taps his fingers along the wooden railing in a quick rhythm. “About as inappropriate as me telling you that you smell delicious,” he says. “Which you do, by the way. It’s a very noticeable scent. You’ve stood out to me since the first day of classes.”

“I know,” you say quietly. You feel him staring. “I mean, I didn’t—I didn’t know you could smell it. But I know. People have told me it’s, um, distinctive. Before.”

Was he always close enough to touch? He shifts just slightly and you feel his thigh pressing against yours, nearly shoulder to shoulder. “Do you know what happens at events like these?” he asks. “I suppose you have some idea by now. You’ve seen us…interacting with human guests.” You nod stiffly, clutching the banister. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. “You probably have a very different opinion of me now that you’ve seen me here. I confess, I’m prone to overindulgence. Lord Archambault is very accommodating to our preferences. We can make requests, you know. I hardly feed elsewhere now.”

You’re still nodding, your body on autopilot. You have no idea what to say. You struggle to process this information. Simon Ecklund, your pretty, soft-spoken lit professor spends his Fridays in this den of debauchery. How long has he been going? How many of his students has he drank from, or fucked in a feeding high?

You see Sylvie drift by, the same vampire who’d been fondling Darren trailing close behind her. Simon’s gaze follows her. “Ah. There she goes,” he chuckles. “I’m afraid I’m to blame for you being here in a roundabout way. I’m the one who originally extended an invitation to your roommate. I was about to go looking for her. We’ve had an arrangement.”

Your eyes snap back to his face and he’s studying you closely, his expression unreadable but clearly patient. Waiting for something. You can barely string together a coherent thought, much less a sentence. “Wh—what? Why…?”

Simon’s gaze wanders down to the neckline of your sweater, then back to your eyes. He licks his lips. “Because you’re roommates,” he says, his voice thicker, a bit rough suddenly. “Your scent is all over her.” Simon’s movements are slow and graceful. You don’t recognize that he’s cornered you, caged you against the banister with his own body, until it’s too late and his hands are sitting on the railing on either side of you. His body is hot when it presses against you, bloodlust igniting beneath the skin.

There’s a feeling in the air like a storm coming, an electric prickling along your skin. You feel like something’s happening, something out of your control. You feel yourself touching him, your hands sliding into the fabric of his shirt and gripping tightly, bracing yourself for something yet to come. Simon’s fingers are scalding when he pinches the neck of your sweater between two fingers and peels down, out of the way, revealing your tender throat. The mere act of exposing you makes him inhale shakily.

“I don’t want to frighten you,” he murmurs. “But if I bite you, I won’t be able to stop. I know they’ve taught you that we should if you ask us to. But here, at the estate, things are different.” He caresses you the way you’ve seen others do it, that tender, suggestive stroke of his fingers across your pulse. He’s doing something to you. He must be. You feel unbearably hot. You forget about leaving entirely. You want to tilt your head, bare more of your neck to him. Simon hums in approval and leans in, the sound he makes just nuzzling his face against your throat utterly pornographic.

He asks, quietly, “Do you want me to bite you?”

You’re frozen. You can’t answer. You’re just aware enough to know something’s wrong with you, that you’re not thinking clearly. Your fists tighten around the fabric of Simon’s shirt and your breathing is quick and panicked. You feel unbearably hot. You start tugging frantically at your jacket, but Simon stops you, a hand clamping around your wrist.

“Do you want me to bite you?” he repeats. The words are calm and sweet, and the desperate sharpness of your grip is turning soft, plaintive, your chest heaving with labored breaths as you push yourself against him. He’s hard, you can feel it, you know he wants you, but he’s still as a statue. He doesn’t move no matter how you grind against him and whine his name. “You have to say the words. You have to ask. I won’t do this if you don’t.”

Something in his tone allows you a moment of lucidity. He’s changing. His soft hands are harder, blunt nails extending into claws with a ripping of skin. His pupils are all wrong, diamond-shaped, dilated slits. “Don’t hurt me,” you beg him. “Please. I don’t want to die.”

Without hesitation, Simon slides one of his sharpened fingers across his palm. The wound oozes, hissing steam. “I swear on my life you’re safe with me,” he says. That’s a big deal. It’s how they make promises to each other. Not to humans, you thought, but he’s looking at you so gently like he’s just realizing how afraid you are. The moment passes. What little lucidity he allowed you dissipates and your body fills with heat. Trembling, you pull his face against the side of your neck and hear him let out a sigh of pleasure.

“I want you to bite me,” you whisper.

Simon’s body grows, lengthening, ridges of bone becoming prominent beneath the skin. His wings rip through the back of his shirt. They’re enormous, leathery with hooks of bone at the apex, his wingspan easily able to engulf you and completely hide you from view. They’re damaged, too, stiff with scar tissue and rough along the bottom edge like unraveling fabric. There’s a distinctive rip through one of them, a fluttering patch of broken flesh resting against your shoulder. His face is hidden against your skin so you don’t see what his face becomes, can only guess what’s there by the pins and needles sensation of pointed teeth against your neck.

He doesn’t make you wait. His teeth sink into your flesh with a wet, sucking sound and you go rigid against him. It’s painful at first. You wriggle in his grip, trying to pull away. Simon makes a growling sound that scares you but his hand strokes slowly along your spine, trying to soothe you. He encourages you to use him, to grind on his thigh or against the bulge in his pants, and you do out of desperation. The pleasure is just sparks to begin with, but you feel it catching. There’s a warm haze in your mind that gets thicker the longer Simon drinks from you. He’s taking from you but he’s giving something back, something thick and heady that makes you go weak in the knees and hold onto him harder.

He stops just briefly. He fangs slip out of your skin and you hear him moan, feel the soft, warm press of his tongue across his bite. “You’re perfect,” he says hoarsely. His claws shred your jacket and right through your shirt underneath. You don’t care. You’re aware of so little other than the sensations of his hands on your body, the pleasant caress of the air on your bare skin. He’s lifting you, his claws sinking into the meat of your ass—and you’re naked, completely naked, can’t remember how or when, but you don’t care, need him too badly to care. There’s a shredding sound and then a hard cock pressing into you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and start to beg.

The next bite is better. The pain is still there but the pleasure mingles with it, intertwined in a sharp, maddening way that makes it impossible to separate the two. They enhance each other and you welcome both. Simon goes deeper this time. You feel the clench of his jaw. Slowly, he rocks into you and his slow pace makes you whine and twist in his grasp. The sucking sensation, the way his moans vibrate against your neck, make you arch your back. The more he drinks from you, the more impassioned he gets. He goes from leisurely thrusting to pulling you down onto his cock, driving himself into you hard.

Every memory you have of Simon Ecklund is tainted. You can’t think of him in the classroom without imagining him like this now, great and monstrous, bending you over a desk with his teeth in your throat. You want more. You want to give him everything, and take all that he has to offer in return. You get it now. You see why people do this, why people chase it, why the Ciborium has elevated it to a religion. There’s nothing like being fed on, nothing like this mix of agony and ecstasy. His fangs throb in your shoulder and you feel yourself tightening around him. Every thrust fills you. You feel as light and helpless as a doll yet painfully precious, held in grasping, greedy hands. You’ve never been so wanted before. You’ve never been so important to someone, their nourishment, their vice.

Simon rips his teeth out of you again and he’s panting, still licking and sucking at the wound even as he mutters to himself, “Enough. That’s enough. No more.” He forces himself away from the bite, trailing his lips across your jaw and eventually to your lips. Every kiss is clumsy and sharp. You can’t reciprocate properly, can’t do anything but moan helplessly as he bounces you on his cock and licks into your mouth. You taste your own blood as it dribbles from your mouth and he laps hungrily at every last drop.

Simon comes down from his bloodlust while you’re still inconsolable, begging for another bite. He stays away from your neck no matter how much you plead, his attention shifting to where your bodies are joined. His rhythm is calmer and steadier, no more rough, uneven thrusts. Your vision is blurry and unfocused but he still tucks your face against his chest before you can catch a glimpse of him. He rolls his hips and digs his claws in and it’s almost perfect, almost what you want. “You poor thing,” he murmurs. “You’re going to feel this in the morning.”

The words are meaningless to you now. Simon grips you like a toy and fucks you the way you want, fast and brutal. It’s enough to help you reach the edge and you cum sobbing, toes curling, your fingers raking along the spines of his wings and making him hiss in pleasure and pain. The aftershocks leave you trembling, holding onto him so tightly that you think you draw blood. Simon makes a rumbling sound that must be contentment, cradling you against his chest.

“I’m going to find us a room. I drank more than I should have. I’ll fetch you something to keep you stable. They always keep some remedies on hand in case of accidents. And your clothes are…well, Lord Archambault will have some spares,” he says, chuckling quietly. “You’ve given me the evening of my dreams, though I fear you may not feel the same way come morning. I think I can accept that, now that I’ve tasted you. I hope I can.”

You’re moving. You can feel it. Simon is walking, carrying you somewhere. You don’t know where. Can’t tell with the room spinning. Simon kisses your cheek and you mumble sleepily, nuzzling against his chest. The lights dim as he steps into comfortable darkness. You hear a door creaking shut. You’re set somewhere soft and warm, blankets and luxuriously soft pillows. The bed dips. Simon’s hand rubs your back and it’s impossible to keep your eyes open.

“It’ll be interesting to see you in class on Monday,” he murmurs.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original

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kuneh-o · 1 year

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Avatar Headcanon

I’m having Avatar Fever, so forgive me. So a thought I’ve been having is the various biomes that can possibly exist in Pandora. Mind you guys I don’t know much about it since I don’t go any further than the two movies (as in like read books and lores), so I don’t actually know if there is any more possible environments to exist. So far we have been introduced to reef, rivers, plains, mountains, forest biomes. We also know of a total of 15 Clans.

Pandora is a whole ass moon like planet, so it’s certain there would be so much more clans. As in so many more.

However..as someone who is basically IN LOVE with coming up with scenarios and own characters, I have made up my very own desert biome :)

yeah I have a lot of free time ay.

Welcome to Dier (Dee-yer).

warning: all these names are like mush of different things, they don’t specifically mean anything.

What I was thinking, the Desert is like “alive”. Like the environment consistently shifts.

I would say it’s like a moving maze. The sand, the landscapes move, it never stays the same. The village is quite modernised. Similar to dubai architecture. In the middle of the village is a spirit tree. In which the roots travel far (as in far far) The roots of the spirit tree and the spirit tree itself are immune to the desert’s shifting. So the Na’vi’s built a wall surrounding it’s perimeters. As soon as you step out of those walls you are well, good as dead :)

similar to this.

The animals regarding this, adapted to the desert’s ways. They travel consistently. Which makes it dangerous because you never know if you stumble upon a territory or not. I also imagine that food will be quite scarce. In conclusion, desert bad, desert not so good as much. Also, the desert doesn’t like shift everyday or something, just every once in awhile, but it’s unpredictable, you can be just chilling and all of the sudden you’re being swallowed by the ground.

Also, do y’all know the movie “Dunes”. I’d like to think the huge worm lives amongst them. Like they’re the main predator. However, they don’t really attack the Na’vi because they leave in the perimeters on the spirit tree and the Worm will not harm the tree. It still has its values at least.

the desert animals ^^

Some more ^^^

(I picked out random ones from Pinterest, so I don’t have individual theories for each of them, do share if you do!)

Also how the environment may look like:

I also think the land may contain riches. So the desert people wear a lot of fancy gold like jewellery. Since they’re more modern like.

Like these ^^

I have so much more to discuss, especially about my own character and her clan. However, that’s a story for another time. I’ll probably have more ideas later on, but for now, ^^.

I would really appreciate more ideas, input and feedback. Or anything I’ve significantly missed, or disregard anything! So please feel free to tell me!

#avatar #avatar the way of water #theories #theory #speculation #fan theory #headcanon #oc #i have so many ideas #I have a problem with coming up with things #I love my inputs #james Cameron give as more biomes and clans #first post

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white-weasel · 4 months

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Saw Saturday has come yet again, this time we watched Saw VI:

First off, this movie was so aggressively 2008-2009 in its theme I was FLOORED. Of course there were the predatory lenders, loaning out money to those they knew couldn’t pay it back (direct reference to the housing crash in 2007/2008) and then I got hit with the words “preexisting condition” and literally went “oh fuck the affordable care act doesn’t exist yet.” So definitely was interesting to get a blast from the past with social commentary that was very much based on popular public discourse at the time (not saying predatory lending and American health insurance aren’t also issues now just… a different kind of issue/focus)

I cannot believe that Strahm’s hand survived that entire crushing room so in tact. Then again I did not watch Strahm’s actual death at all because I’m too much of a baby about broken bones, but just seeing the rest of the corpse… man Hoffman got pretty lucky with that one

Perez didn’t die in 4/5 I fucking called it!!! Like I said, if I don’t see your body idc, you’re alive in my book

Still, I’m surprised that they revealed that bit of information to Hoffman. I guess at that point they were running off the assumption Strahm was Jigsaw’s accomplice and thus Hoffman would be a trusted ally in the investigation but man

Speaking of, Hoffman was sooooo sus this entire movie it was almost comical. I mean, it’s probably just because you as an audience member know Hoffman’s whole deal but still

Another Saw trap gauntlet! I think it’s interesting that as the movies moved more towards focusing on John Kramer and his crew as the main characters, rather than those in the trap, the traps have turned into multiple tests rather than just one. It makes sense from a story telling perspective though because that way they don’t have to explain multiple people’s deals why they’re in these traps and can instead just focus on one

With that, I think this was my favorite of the trap gauntlets yet! Actual tough decisions for William and I feel like it mixed the moral choices being put forward by 3 about saving people, while also making the decisions tougher/have more consequences like 5. I really liked the maze where in order to let her pass through he had to redirect the steam and burn himself and the shotgun carousel trap where he had to impale his hands in order to save just a fraction of those on it.

I was staring at the teen boy with his mom who have been put in that cage room with the acid and was like “He looks familiar but idk where I’ve seen him before” a few scenes later my friend just blurts out “oh my god that’s Rodrick from Diary of a Wimpy Kid” and we literally had to pause to take in that information

Once again though, not sure how I feel about more John Kramer lore being added, but this at least didn’t stand out to me as being Too Much yknow. It makes sense that there was a slimy insurance guy who screwed over thousands of sick people and also did it to John, who was a close friend. Didn’t break anything pre established too much

Idk if this was intentional but the whole thing about the knives used to cut the jigsaw pieces out being different for Hoffman vs John felt like it was kinda a reference back to John telling Hoffman that the blade on his pendulum was inferior. If Hoffman had just followed John’s lead and used a surgical precision knife, the right tool for the job, to cut up that latest victim, the discrepancy wouldn’t have been raised and they probably wouldn’t have even thought about re-examining the Seth Baxter tape

The scene in the audio technician lab? So good. Once again Hoffman is being so so sus but also he’s cornered. I do have to question the logic of letting Hoffman hear the actual incriminating evidence when it’s pretty obvious they suspected him at this point, but it led to an iconic moment so I will take it

Rip Perez for real this time :( genuinely did like her from what we saw from her and I desperately wanted her to own Hoffman’s ass

Did NOT expect Hoffman to have basically blackmailed Amanda into killing Lynn (and thereby killing herself) back in 3, but now that I think about it it makes sooo much sense. It never 100% clicked with me why Amanda did that with how I read her character, but knowing that she was making the choice between her father figure/mentor/person who’s approval she wanted most in the world hating her or killing Lynn, things have fallen into place better

Jill was MUCH more involved with the Jigsaw operation than I had previously thought. It was basically like a fucking murder family up in there lmaoooo

Hoffman in the reverse bear trap was unexpected!! And the fact he beat what was supposed to be an unbeatable trap for him??? Actually a little bit insane. (He and Strahm both surviving “unwinnable” traps? They’re perfect for each other) I cannot wait to see what Jill’s reaction is gonna be when he eventually shows up and is like “I lived, bitch”

We’re reaching the point where my friend doesn’t remember what happens in the series (she watched some of the movies year ago) She said she very clearly remembered 1-3, would remember things as they came up in 4, and now only remembers stuff from Jigsaw since she saw that one in theaters. However, she loves hearing me ramble about my theories and then likes to look things up about the movies so she can know ahead of time if I’m right or not lmao

In her words “See, I knew you would like these movies, not because of like the traps or the gore or anything, but because of the crazy shit that happens in the plot. It’s fun seeing you go crazy about the twists and then spiral until we watch the next one.” And she’s absolutely 100% right

#saw #saw franchise #saw series #saw vi #sawposting #white weasel talks #I scream about Saw

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artidoesthings · 1 year

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Lucky Vigilantes - An OC Story

(Under the cut bc it’s Long)

The Dusk District was known for the vigilantes, bounty hunters, thieves and wealth of other criminals that lurked in the metal maze. Hidden by long shadows and a sense of home. Many criminals formed gangs and families, hiding behind an idea of unity. It’s what they had to do to stay alive, make their own factions instead of going alone. But, fights naturally sparked between the groups. Everyone vying for some form of influence or power. A foolish battle in a land that seldom obeyed authority.

One such group was rather notorious, despite being unofficial. There was no record of any sort of gang or faction, but the group was often assumed to be a supposedly secret faction nonetheless.

The vigilantes living and working through the Lucky Lounge, a rather popular establishment within the Dusk District. Owned and managed by the rather enigmatic Clover. It was a curious establishment, even more so considering its residents…

+ + +

Another night had fallen in Kyreon, and so, the Lucky Lounge’s bar was beginning to fill up with its usual customers, faces Clover had memorized over the years. Idly chatting with each other. Business as usual.

That is… until a young girl dressed in pink and white came crashing through the door, followed by three individuals in makeshift armor. The girl dashed back, getting her bearings, the armor-wearing individuals readied their weapons.

Most of the usual patrons didn't bat an eye, chaos was commonplace at the Lounge, after all. Although some more unfamiliar customers seemed panicked.

Clover merely sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as he stepped out from behind the bar. Waving their hand, charged with a pale green magic. A light fell over the trio of goons, and they vanished… or, well… shrank. Becoming barely the size of a doll or action figure.

“Thanks Clover!” The girl who instigated this whole mess said, dusting off her dress.

“Eri, dear, you can't keep dragging your bounties home.” Clover warned, “I simply can't keep taking out your trash.” With another wave of her hands, the trio of miniaturized guards was flung out a nearby window.

“Sorry, but, er… no promises.” Eri said, bowing her head.

“Man, I could have used their power armor for my next invention!” A boy with bright orange hair cried, “That stuff looked like prime scrap metal!”

“If you want to dig through the trash, Lucen, be my guest.” Clover shrugged, returning to her place behind the bar “Don’t blame me if you get sick, again.”

“Your kids sure are a handful.” One of the patrons laughed, “They’re practically free entertainment!”

“They’re not my kids.” Clover snapped, “They’re a whole lot of trouble, but if none of them bother my customers, then I have no reason to toss ‘em out.”

On the other side of the lounge, Lucen had joined Eri as she headed upstairs. “Where’s Crys? You two are usually together.”

“She went to grab some snacks. My chip and candy storage has been running low!” Eri shrugged, “Aaaand I was being tailed by those goons. It's not like I could just endanger a bunch of innocent people!”

“Did you not just do that?” Lucen asked.

“Irrelevant.” Eri replied.

The pair reached the second floor of the building, where both of their rooms lay. Wanting to relax after a rather turbulent afternoon, Eri headed for her own room- only to almost get slammed into the nearest wall.

“TAELITH!” Eri shrieked, she’s certain the patrons downstairs heard it, “WATCH IT!”

“Ow- shit, okay!” Taelith winced, covering his ears. The gigantic red demon towered over the group, his horns nearly scraping against the roof. “Gods you are loud.”

“What are you even doing running around?!” Eri asked, “We are indoors! There are perfectly good rooftops to run around on outside!”

“Storm is trying to kill me.” Taelith said, glancing around the hallway nervously.

“Again?” Both Lucen and Eri asked in unison.

“Again.”

A blue blur caught Eri’s gaze, Storm put a single finger over their lips, and winked. Eri simply sighed. Storm and Taelith’s antics… if you could call it that, were often amusing. So she’d simply let this play out.

Storm tackled Taelith, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and clinging to him with a manic grin- “Gotcha, ya big oaf!”

Taelith’s eyes widened, the fact that such a big guy felt threatened by Storm, who was less than half his height, was rarely not funny. Especially on occasions like this.

“Taeeeeeeeelith.” Storm hissed, “I’ve got a new mission for us~!”

If the demon’s face could pale, it would. Taelith looked positively terrified. “C’mon Storm…”

“Operation; let's go on a nice date!” Storm grinned, punching the air, “That last job went great- we need to celebrate! I know you wanna see that new Dreamhunter movie, so let's just go!”

Eri nodded, “I see what’s happening here.” She looked at Taelith, a somewhat smug grin present on her face. “You’re worried about being a bad date for Storm!”

“No-” Taelith winced, his voice dropping to a whisper… “Okay maybe yes.”

“You got this, man.” Eri winked, “You’re super nice, not my type, but you’re kinda perfect for Storm. Trust the expert on this. I’ll even offer some tips later!”

“Okay…” Taelith nodded, before turning his attention to Storm. “Let's do it tomorrow.”

“Haha- hell yeah!” He grinned, punching the air, “This is gonna be great!”

“... Those two are weird.” Lucen said, watching the duo chat, as if nothing happened.

“You’ll understand it eventually.” Eri shrugged, “Or never, that's possible too.” The girl walked to her room, slumping down on her bed almost immediately, falling asleep quick. It’d been a long day after all, she needed her beauty sleep! Or any kind of sleep.

When Eri awoke, it must have been much later, as the noise from the bar below had silenced- save for a few familiar voices. The bar had closed, and the vigilantes could claim the space as their own.

Eri stepped downstairs, only to have a bag of chips thrown directly into her face. A familiar laugh could be heard from behind the aluminum blindfold. Crys had returned. The rest of the group was scattered around the area, many perched on tables and even the bar counter, ignoring the seats entirely.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Eidolon, a dark haired boy said. “You missed a lot of the festivities.”

“We just played some board games.” Lucen shrugged, “Which is why Ai is sulking again.” A girl with short, greenish hair, was curled up in a back corner of the bar, scowling.

“Sore loser.” Crys said, deadpan as ever.

“Rude.” Nico, a wolf-like boy frowned. Often disapproving of the other’s back-and-forth teasing, but having grown used to it over time.

“For once, that didn't cause collateral damage.” Clover nodded approvingly, “Seems you brats have learned from last time.”

‘Last time’ was an incident involving a game of cards, a few too many alcoholic beverages, some fighting and broken chairs. Needless to say, it was not an event any of the group wanted to repeat.

“Indeed we have.” Storm says, nodding in a sort of contemplative fashion. Being the cause of ‘Last time’, he’d certainly learned his lesson. Taelith nodded in agreement.

“Despite some people causing a ruckus.” Clover’s glare at Eri was not missed, causing the girl to look a bit nervous, “You’re all doing a good job. I’ve heard some customers say the Dusk District feels safer than ever.”

“That’s good.” Crys nodded, smiling slightly.

“On the other hand.” Clover’s tone darkens, “Some gangs seem to be getting ready for something, based on the odd rumor. If things escalate, you kids may need to do something.”

“I will keep an eye out for suspicious activity.” Eidolon nodded, “And an ear, the spirits will inform me of disturbances.”

“I can send my drones out to patrol too!” Lucen offered, “They shouldn’t explode anymore! Unless if I want them to.”

Clover offers the group a simple grin and a sigh, “Got that handled, hm? Then I’m guessing the Dusk District has got nothing to worry about… You kids are better than this dump deserves.”

“Someone has to keep the people of this place safe.” Ai speaks up. “If that must be us, then so be it.”

“So be it!” Storm echoed.

“We’re the best damn protectors this district has!” Taelith cheered.

“Heroes! Or, something close enough!” Eri chimed in.

The group laughed, they may be the best of the Dusk District’s vigilantes- from a moral standpoint at least, and they were the only ones who wanted to protect people, rather than overtake the district. The vigilantes of the Lucky Lounge were an odd sort, many doubted the rumors of their exploits. But, those who they’d helped would always say the same thing.

They were heroes, as close as someone could get to heroes in Kyreon, anyway.

#arti oc tag #I FORGOR TO POST THIS #kyreon verse #tag for my nonsense yippeee

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betweenlands · 1 year

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I posted 2,459 times in 2022

770 posts created (31%)

1,689 posts reblogged (69%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@autisticlalna

@betweenlands

@fluffy-papaya

@sequoiainthebox

@fearforthestorm

I tagged 2,459 of my posts in 2022

#yt - 1,914 posts

#txt - 1,040 posts

#art - 878 posts

#orig - 868 posts

#hermits - 851 posts

#misc - 552 posts

#dominioners - 445 posts

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#pic - 207 posts

#not mc - 188 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#hey remember like a year ago when there were minor dsmp issues with the egg arc and a friend of ours compared it to the start of yogs issues

My Top Posts in 2022:

actually i’m bored and i want to invent a brand new ask game, so:

send me a flower emoji + a character name, and i’ll make up a fic about them that doesn’t exist and include a snippet from that nonexistent fic!

586 notes - Posted February 25, 2022