#real tags time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mar-im-o · 2 years

Text

The morally gray and inexplicably ambitious act of dragging players into a Domain they haven’t chosen is far from an easy one.

Evo was different, for the game of Evolution was one each player had chosen to play in some form or another. And, sure, the players may have accepted the game of Life the first time around, but by the second season they had more than realized it was a trap, and by the third they’d begun to realize the role the Watcher’s played in it.

So, you have to change the Games. Keep them on their toes.

A Watcher pulls back an arrow, all eyes but one squinted in careful concentration at their target.

“You are certain of this?”

“Trust me, I’ve seen this in many a mortal’s media.”

The First Watcher seems unsure. It quiets Itself, though, as It’s Second lets the arrow fly.

The red-tipped arrow veers through the sky and with a ripple passes through the confines of the World Border, the magic easily dispelled with a wave of the Second’s hand. As usual, the trajectory is perfect. The arrow sticks in the back of one BDubs before vanishing in a puff of red smoke, and large, watery eyes look up at the imposing figure of Impulse.

The ortal BDubs coos, hands reaching to cup Impulse’s cheeks. “Oh Impulse!!”

The other player seems confused, a nervous laugh as he starts to back away, but the Second is quicker than that. Another arrow flies and finds its target in Impulse’s shoulder, and at once the man melts.

“Oh BDubs!!!”

The pair embrace in newly-discovered love as they mumble affections into one another’s chests.

The First cringes at such openly-romantic displays. “You must be joking.”

“I am not!” Says the Second. It is already preparing a new set of arrows, eyes shifting focus to Ethos and Joel. “Tell me this is not entertaining.”

“This is not entertaining.”

The Second rolls Its eyes, already preparing to strike another. “You have no sense of comedy.”

“Why are we playing this game, Sibling? Why not the one of death and blood and Bogeymen?”

“We’ve done that one already,” The Second says. The arrow flies, and Ethos winces at the pain for just a moment before his eyes lock on Joel with wide and melting adoration. “I am not a fan of reruns.”

“Then we add more rules.”

Another arrow to Joel. The two jump into one another’s arms, Ethos abandoning his boat entirely to squeeze into Joel’s. The Second chuckles at the sight. “Is that not what I am doing?”

“These rules are...”

“Hilarious?”

“Boring,” the First corrects. Its face contorts in disgust as the Second lines a shot up for Martyn. “Do not plague our Listener with your childish games.”

“Childish games are ones of fun,” The Second says. The arrow finds place in Martyn’s thigh, and he looks up to Cleo with a surprised recollection of love. His hands go to kneading one another, seemingly unsure how to approach the situation.

The Second lines another up to fire at Cleo, but the First shoves It aside. The arrow goes wide, sticking in a tree, and Cleo makes a noise of disinterest and leaves Martyn alone in the woods.

The Second scowls. “Look what you have done. Our Listener is lonely due to you.”

“Our Listener does not need this.”

The Second scowls deeper now, letting the bow slump so It may address Its partner. “You’re boring and intolerable.”

“Pardon?!”

“I have said what I meant! Can you not see the merit in this rule?”

“Perhaps not, but I can most certainly see the merit in removing you from this venture.”

“You would not dare.”

Were a mortal watching in on this conversation, they may conclude that the motion the First makes resembles a human crossing their arms. “I would most certainly! You are out of line.”

“And you are horribly horribly disinteresting.”

“Disinteresting? Well, if your ideas are so unbelievably superior to my own, then let me have a go.”

The Second snorts, handing over the bow which the First takes a bit like one may receive a baby monkey, such that it’s paired with a look of “this seemed like a good idea to start but now I am not sure how to hold this creature and I’m quite afraid everything could go horribly wrong if I breathe.” It takes it nonetheless, and nocks an arrow.

Focused, it draws back the bow towards Grian, the Third. The Second hums pleasantly at that, having considered targeting their rebel Watcher soon regardless. “Wise choice. And to whom were you thinking?”

“His hand,” The First says plainly, willing spectral hands to keep a firm grip as It pulls back the string.

“Excellent. You too remember their dynamic in our first game?”

Perhaps if this being were a player, It may have blushed. However, It is not a player, this It merely ignores the statement entirely.

“I am simply meant to hit Him, correct?”

“Yes, however if you wish to bind Him to His hand you’ll need to--”

The words come too late, for the First has fired the moment the Second said yes. The arrow follows a familiar trajectory until it sinks into the Third’s chest.

The mock player Sees the arrow, for He is as much a thing of Sight and Understanding as the First and Second, but the form of a player, no matter how inorganic, is still privy to the effects of witchcraft. The arrow vanishes, and any consideration of its origins is lost when His eyes lock onto that of his friend Big B.

The Second tries his best to hide the disappointed sigh which escapes as the First quirks Its approximation of a head. “It did not work.”

“The spell must be cast while the two are in eyesight of one another.”

“Oh,” says the First simply. It primes the bow again, however, searching the world until Its arrow points at Scar. “I shall simply do His pet then.”

“Once again, th--”

The arrow has fired, and Scar’s eyes go wide at sight of an allay hovering nearby. The mortal rushes towards the allay and attempts to hug the intangible thing, muttering about having finally found his soulmate.

The Second grimaces and makes to grab for the bow. “Return this. You have proven unsuited for matchmaking.”

“Absolutely not. Allow me another chance; you have had many.”

“You do not deserve another chance--”

“I rightfully disagree--”

The two bicker, tugging on the bow between them like schoolchildren might and (appropriate for such a childish conflict) cause a childish event. The quiver of arrows is knocked, and they tumble from the Seat of the Watchers and towards the mortals below.

Both the First and the Second freeze, thousands of eyes wide at the sight of far too many arrows piercing the back of an unsuspecting Pearlescent Moon.

“That...” The First begins. “That cannot be safe, correct?”

The Second smiles a devilish smile and leans in closer to observe the Game. “For the mortal? Most certainly not.”

“What will happen?”

“I could not guess.” The Second beams at Its sibling, and the sibling offers a shy smile back. “I suppose We shall See...”

“Hm,” The First hums, watching Pearlescent Moon drape herself atop her hound in tears. “See We shall...”

45 notes · View notes

riality-check · 8 months

Text

The eagerly awaited part 2 of the DILF!Steve concert saga is here!! Part 1, in case you missed it.

"You're not going."

"Come on! I haven't thrown up in an hour!"

"The drive to the venue is an hour and a half."

"Steve-"

"And if you throw up in my car-"

"Oh my God-"

"I'll kill you."

Steve doesn't need to see Dustin's eye roll in order to feel the full force of it through the phone.

"I'll just kill you. You'll have a headstone within the week that says Here Lies Dustin Henderson: Rightfully Murdered for Puking in Steve Harrington's Car," he continues as he packs Capri-Suns into the cooler for the car ride.

He doesn't remember ever being that thirsty as a kid, but if Anna wants strawberry kiwi, Anna gets strawberry kiwi. It helps that it's Steve's favorite flavor, too.

"I'd need a big ass headstone to fit all of that," Dustin snaps.

"Your big-ass ego would demand no less, shithead," Steve shoots back.

"Swear jar, Daddy!" Anna calls from her room, across the house because while she doesn't listen to Steve when he's right in front of her, she can hear him break the swear jar rule from halfway across the world.

He zips up the cooler, fishes a quarter out of his pocket, and throws it into the half-full soup can next to the stove.

(A quarter doesn't mean much, but Anna doesn't know that. The day Steve teaches that kid about inflation is the day his pockets become permanently empty.)

"Did she just swear jar you?" Dustin asks from over the phone.

"You baited me into it."

"I did no such thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You're not coming, though, are you?"

Dustin sighs, and, for all his teasing, Steve does genuinely feel bad. "I still feel like if I breathe wrong, I'll hurl, so, no. I don't think I'll manage the car ride, nevermind the actual show."

"Sorry dude."

"Don't be. Some dickhead will live stream the whole thing on Instagram, anyway. I'll live vicariously through them."

Steve snorts and picks up the cooler. He got Anna dressed beforehand, so it's just a matter of getting her to stop playing with whatever toy she dug up - Play-Doh has been the fixation of the week - in her room so they can go.

"Besides," Dustin continues, and Steve hates where this is going. "Anna loved the show, and you've got a reason-"

"Nope," Steve says, knocking on Anna's door. "Don't finish that sentence."

"All I'm saying-"

"I know what you're gong to say, which means you know my answer. I don't date."

Anna opens her door. From the little Steve can see inside, there are at least three containers of Play-Doh open and strewn across the floor. He thinks her Barbies are involved in it somehow.

"Time to go," Steve says, and he thinks, Please don't let there be Play-Doh in the Barbie hair.

"Five more minutes," Anna tries.

"Nope. Clean up and roll out."

"Hi, Anna," Dustin says through the phone.

"Uncle Dusty!" Anna shrieks, and she starts jumping up and down. "Are you comin', too?"

Dustin sighs, and Steve can't tell if it's at the nickname or if he's still cursing the universe. "No, but you and your dad have a great time, okay?"

"Can you, can you tell Daddy I should get five more minutes?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Anna, to her credit, ignores him wonderfully.

"If you clean up," Dustin says, because he's actually Steve's favorite person right now, "you get to do more headbanging at the concert."

Anna gasps like Steve didn't already tell her that earlier today, and she gets to work on putting her toys away. Steve helps, of course, and he finds that there is, in fact, Play-Doh in two of her Barbies' hair.

Fun. They're going to turn into Buzzcut Barbies when Anna goes to sleep because he can already tell that they are the furthest thing from salvageable.

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting Anna in the car, deploying the first two of many strawberry kiwi Capri Suns from the cooler, and making the drive to the venue, which Steve does with minimal road rage and accompanied by the Disney radio station.

Success by all metrics, really.

Dinner might as well be now, so Steve shells out a truly disgusting amount of money for overpriced chicken nuggets and fries at the venue. Anna will only eat half her portion but say she's hungry later, but that's what the snacks and water Steve smuggled in via his jacket are for.

They get to their seats, dinner finished up, just as the lights go down for the first opener. Steve looks to his left, half-expecting Eddie and his friends to be there before remembering that they won't be.

He tries not to feel too disappointed. He fails miserably.

The seat next to him, however, isn't empty. There's a note taped to the back of it, one addressed to Steve and Miss Anna, so Steve feels alright taking and opening it.

At the top, there's a messily scrawled phone number. Underneath, it says:

Here's my number. Probably a bad idea to call with all the noise. Texting works, though you should do that after the show. I'll be a little busy until then.

-Eddie

Steve puts the note in his pocket, puts Anna's ear defenders on, puts his own earplugs in, and looks at the stage, where-

Hang on.

He squints at the stage, where four guys have started playing a song that, frankly, sounds too much like literally all the music Steve listened to yesterday for him to care about all that much. The drummer is pretty small, with wild, curly hair. The bassist looks familiar. The lead singer, who is very talented but not to Steve's personal taste, also looks familiar. And the guitarist-

No way. No way in hell.

It's a total coincidence. Lots of guys have long, curly hair and heavy jewelry and big eyes and are wearing formal wear, for some reason, and catch Steve's eye, and-

"Thank you for such a great welcome!" the guitarist says, and his smile totally isn't doing anything to Steve, thanks very much.

Anna stops moving, where she's standing next to Steve, and climbs up into his lap to get a better look at the stage. She looks out, then back at Steve, then out, then back at Steve, making a face as confused as Steve feels.

Some days, he thinks he ended up with a clone, not a kid.

"I'll get off the mic in a second. I only do the talking because Jeff," the guitarist points at the lead singer, who ducks his head, "is really shy."

Jeff. That name is definitely relevant, but Steve is a permanent resident of denial.

"We fought about what song we were going to include next in our set list, so much so that we didn't decide until yesterday and had to consult a tiebreaker."

Okay, maybe Steve is a less permanent resident of denial than he thought.

"So, thank you to Miss Anna, who did great at headbanging for her first time-"

Anna whips around so fast, her forehead nearly collides with Steve's jaw.

"And to Steve, who's a big fan of American Psycho."

At the song name, the crowd loses their minds, and if Anna wasn't sitting right in front of him, Steve would join them.

Because what the fuck is happening right now?

His question isn't answered. In fact, about five more questions pop up in its stead when, during the bridge of the song, Jeff puts on a clear rain jacket and picks up a prop axe.

Please, God, don't let this traumatize my kid, Steve thinks.

Anna, thankfully, doesn't get scared. When Jeff brings the axe down, again and again, Steve's weirdo daughter fucking smiles. And giggles. It's kind of cute, actually.

When the song ends, she turns back to Steve.

"That's Eddie onstage," Steve says, and saying it, somehow, makes it real.

"I thought so!" Anna says, and she turns back to watch the show. Steve puts an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall off his lap when she bangs her head to the music.

The rest of the songs, in Steve's opinion, are better than the opening song. They're more melodic, which Steve can definitely get behind, and each of them has a gimmick onstage, all based off of various horror movies. It's ridiculous, but also really, really cool.

And Eddie, onstage, because it is the same guy who flirted with him and was so sweet to Anna yesterday, is really, really hot.

Steve has never had a thing for guitarists before. He's never had a thing for musicians before. Hell, until a year ago, he didn't realize he had a thing for men.

Eddie is. Uh. Yeah. Really doing it for him.

Steve doesn't know whether it's his enthusiasm, or the way he moves, or seeing his hair tied up, or the fucking dress pants and suspenders, or just his hands, but he does know he has to get himself in check because this is an all ages show and he's here with his daughter.

He already knows he can't add these songs to his grading playlist, not when they're accompanied by visuals of Eddie playing his guitar.

Sweet Jesus.

"Alright, that's our set!" Eddie says. "Thanks, y'all, for sticking around for us, and let's give it up for the next act!"

The crowd, including Anna and Steve, cheer as they exit and the lights go up.

Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to add Eddie's number to his contacts, and is greeted by not one, not two, but sixteen missed calls from Dustin Henderson.

Naturally, Steve calls him back. "Who died?"

"What the fuck?" Dustin yells, and Steve just puts the phone on speaker to save the rest of his hearing. "Did Eddie fucking Munson just personally thank you from the stage?"

"Swear jar, Uncle Dusty!" Anna says.

"Sorry," Dustin says. "But Steve. Answers. Now."

"How do you even-"

"Instagram live. Is Eddie the guy you were telling me about yesterday?"

Steve takes his phone off speaker. Prior experience tells him that this conversation has a less than zero chance of staying PG, nevermind PG-13.

"Yeah," Steve says. "He is."

"The one who flirted with you, and you forgot to ask for his number."

"Well, I have it now."

"What?" Dustin shrieks, and Steve is incredibly thankful that he didn't take his earplugs out.

"He left me his number on the seat."

"Text him."

"I was going to, until I saw that you called me sixteen times."

"Jesus Christ, Eddie Munson was flirting with you."

Steve rolls his eyes and hands a pack of gummy bears to Anna when she taps his arm. "He could have just been nice. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"Have you looked at him?"

"Wow, Dustybuns, I didn't know you were homophobic."

"I think it's the complete opposite of homophobic to try to get you laid."

"Hanging up!" Steve shouts because a part of him will never see Dustin as any older than thirteen, and no thirteen year old should ever say that.

"Text-"

Steve hangs up the call. "Can I have a gummy bear?"

"No," Anna says, mouth full, in her seat, legs swinging.

"I bought them."

She shrugs. "You gave them to me. Mine now."

Steve stares. She stares right back.

He sighs and opens a new pack of gummy bears.

With his mouth full of sweet Haribo corpses, Steve takes out the note and adds Eddie to his contacts. Before he can overthink it, he sends him a message:

I guess I don't have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we're even on that front, I'm a teacher, and Anna's full time job is preschool.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and focuses on making this a good experience for Anna, who somehow wormed her way into a conversation with the intimidating-looking couple sitting next to her.

Because it's totally not like a literal rockstar is going to text him back. Right?

Part 3!!

4K notes · View notes