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kikiiswashere · 1 month

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Children of Zaun - Chapter 22

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Piltover makes initial decisions in response to the Children of Zaun claiming responsibility for the airship crash. The Undercity suffers at their response - unwittingly sending more Trenchers into the Children's ranks. Silco and Katya continue to flirt. Kells commits a horrific act, for which he is promptly punished.

Special Note: Many, many thanks to @sand-sea-and-fable for being my bestie and beta for this chapter!

Chapter CW: Sexual assault. The text right before and after this part with be in bold and will be colored red so you may choose to skip if that is safest for you ❤️

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 6.1K

“We have a problem,” Grayson announced, striding into Bone’s office.

The Councilor looked up from his desk, pen pausing in the middle of the sentence he was writing.

“What is that?”

The Captain sighed and sat down heavily in the chair in front of his desk. She fidgeted her hat between her fingers, spinning its stiff brim to and fro.

“Someone has laid claim to that airship crash.”

Bone blinked. Then set down his pen. “Who?”

The airship crash and subsequent arrest of a teller at Clockwork Vault had thrown Piltover into a tizzy. Not much information had been made available to the public yet, but it had kept Grayson busy; unable to commit to the work she had agreed to do with the Undercity Councilor.

“Some group in the Undercity. They are calling themselves the Children of Zaun.”

Bone stared at the young woman across from him, his gut growing heavy and sinking to his feet. He felt cold sweat begin to accumulate on the back of his neck. He could feel his dreams for the Undercity slipping away. It would have been one thing if the airship crash had been perpetrated by one or two people; but a group admitting responsibility for it?

“I have not heard of them.”

“Neither have we,” Grayson admitted.

“Why did they attack the ship?”

“To get the money. They sent LeDaird a note saying that it was the start of Piltover’s ‘reparations’.”

“When was this note sent?”

“Yesterday afternoon. Tubed from a public booth in the Undercity to the station. LeDaird has a meeting with Heimerdinger in an hour about it. I am to meet him there.” Grayson paused before saying, “I wanted to give you a heads up.”

Bone nodded, fingers drumming nervously on the desk. Heimerdinger would call Council to a private assembly upon hearing this news. He knew what the Council would say. That the airship attack was an act of terrorism. That these ‘Children of Zaun’ were terrorists and needed to be dealt with swiftly.

Not necessarily justly.

Justice couldn’t exist in a vacuum of panic.

Bone would not be able to work towards his goals of Undercity equality and equity with Piltover concerned and smarting from underground retaliations.

His access to Grayson would diminish, too. Their fragile olive branch already bending under the conflicting weight of her duties and his goals.

“LeDaird doesn’t know you’re here right now?”

Grayson shook her head. She ran a wide hand through her black hair and repeated, “I wanted to give you a heads up. This group is demanding secession from Piltover. At the risk of being crass, Councilor Bone, shit is going to hit the fan.”

“Indeed,” he muttered, mind whirring frantically.

The scandal of a Piltovan teller trying to fleece Topside families would be old news by suppertime tomorrow. All anyone would be concerned with was this burgeoning terrorist group and their divisive demands. His seat on Council would be met with more scrutiny. His goals for the Undercity completely undone and unjustified.

“I am going to do what I can,” Grayson said, placing a hand on the desk, “to keep helping you. This doesn’t change that. To be clear.”

Bone swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

Council met for an emergency assembly later that day. When Bone limped into the chamber, Sheriff LeDaird, Captain Grayson, and Heimerdinger were already present. The two Enforcers stood with rigid spines in the center of the floor; Piltover’s founder sat in his seat looking uncharacteristically grave.

Bone took his seat as the rest of his peers strode in. Each of their faces were variations of the same theme: exasperated. As if being called to action was a major inconvenience.

“Councilors,” Heimerdinger greeted. His tone was serious as his bright blue eyes flicked to each face seated around him. “Thank you for meeting here on such short notice. This call is in regards to the airship crash that happened earlier in the week. Sheriff LeDaird has come into some alarming evidence.”

All the Councilors – save for Bone – mumbled surprised sentiments, looking to one another. The sheriff took a step forward, folding his hands behind his back.

“I have alerted Professor Heimerdinger that a group has claimed responsibility for the crash.” He paused as he withdrew a weathered envelope from his inner-breast pocket, holding it up. “This arrived to the Enforcer Headquarters yesterday afternoon.” He took out the scrap of paper housed within the envelope and read, “We are the Children of Zaun. Consider the coin the beginning of your reparations. We are the Children of Zaun. We are The Storm’s Fury. And we demand freedom.”

LeDaird’s deep voice echoed through the deadly quiet chamber. Bone felt a chill go down his spine and a flame light in his belly.

“Zaun?” Xiu sniffed.

“It is a reference to Oshra Va’Zaun. Or Kha’Zaun. The true name has been lost to time,” Bone said, quietly annoyed that the other council members did not understand the connection. “The port city from whence Piltover rose.”

“So, this letter came from the Undercity,” Krum said.

“From a public booth in the Lanes,” LeDaird confirmed. “Enforcers are currently investigating these booths, asking questions to see if anyone recalls someone suspicious or out of place using them.”

“Who are they? These Children of Zaun?” Bolbok ground through his gears.

“We are investigating that as well,” LeDaird promised. “They are not a gang or terrorist group we are familiar with. Likely, they are a new development. We are doing our best to get an idea of their numbers – “

“What about the money they stole?” Hoskel voiced. “The families that odious teller stole from are upset enough already. Now, their money is in the hands of a terrorist group? Reparations, indeed.”

Bone’s fingers clawed slightly on the table, waiting for the inevitable.

“Councilor Bone,” Heimerdinger finally said. His tone was kind, but prompting. “You are our eyes and ears into the Undercity. Have you heard any rumblings amongst your constituents?”

Bone closed his eyes, felt the drag and scrape of breath down his throat. His very being thrummed as years of tamped down distrust pulled at his bones. There had always, always been rumblings of secession in the Lanes. Fissurefolk grumbling and dreaming of a better life. But those moans and wishes fell by the wayside when mouths needed to be fed, and housing needed to be maintained. At the end of the day, they were too tired to rail and fight against their overlords.

Independence was too lofty and unrealistic a goal. Even Bone knew that. That was why he was on Council, why he had reached out to Captain Grayson; to try and bridge the gap. And what these people – these Children – were demanding, what they had done, would jeopardize that.

“I do not know them,” he promised.

“Are these the same individuals who attempted to rob that shipment for the Enforcer Headquarters a few weeks ago?” Councilor Thornenburg asked, stepping over Bone’s answer.

“At this point there is no evidence to suggest a connection,” LeDaird explained, “but we are looking at it as a possibility.”

“Councilors,” Heimerdinger interjected, his bright tone sharp and grabbing. “I called you here today because as the leaders of Piltover, we must decide how to move forward with the information we have. The safety of our citizens takes the utmost priority. We cannot tolerate anything that stagnates our great nation’s progress.”

Bone pursed his lips together. His eyes flicked over to Grayson, who exchanged his gaze with one of careful aloofness; but in the depths of her brown eyes, he saw a flash of concern, a muscle in her jaw flexed. Around him, his Councilor peers nodded and got to work.

Katya rifled through the shipment that had just been delivered to the clinic, carefully stocking the product while internally making note of which items would be stowed away in her coat later.

She felt . . . strange. A confluence of feelings had taken root within her over the past several days, and most of the time she couldn’t make heads or tails of them. The past two weeks had been very eventful – both broadly and intimately.

In the days following the Children’s letter, Council published a very scant bulletin about the airship crash and the Children’s involvement. She heard rebellion members and other Zaunites alike scoff and roll their eyes at Topside’s carefully crafted announcement. About how, suddenly, disdain and interest in the crooked Clockwork Vault teller was no longer anywhere to be found. The attention and fault fully shifted to the Undercity. As unsurprising as it was, the benefit of Topside’s compulsory prejudice resulted in the Children’s numbers growing again; now knowing that there was a cause to funnel that ire into, that there were likeminded citizens actively pushing for change, more and more Trenchers showed up. Sick and tired of being blamed and persecuted.

And persecuted they were.

Despite Council insisting that the actions they were taking were for the benefit of the entire Piltovan city-state, their solutions only negatively affected the Undercity. Registrations for Bridge passes was put on hold; those – like Katya – who already had Bridge passes were temporarily denied entry onto Piltover’s side of the river. Exemption was made for Viktor, Heimerdinger had seen to that. But Katya now passed him off to Ivy at the attendant’s hut on Piltover’s side of the Bridge, as oppose to meeting on campus.

The day those actions were put into effect, Viktor had limped toward the Bridge’s gate, Ivy at his side, with an expression that both cracked Katya’s heart and set it aflame in righteous indignation. He looked scared and confused. She had twisted the thread inside her coat sleeve tightly around her finger and bit the inside of her cheek.

I am doing this for us.

She felt more certain about that sentiment now. More solid. More sure. Her and the Children’s efforts would wipe away the concern from her brother’s face; from the faces of Lanes’ children across Zaun. It was an emotion they should not have to experience. Certainly not at the hands of their government.

As the attendant lifted the barricade, Ivy had ducked to protect her hair and Viktor limped toward his sister.

“Hello, Katya,” Ivy had said, her signature kind smile setting her face aglow. She unshouldered the bag on her back and held it out.

Katya took it without greeting in kind.

“Let’s go home, Viktor.”

At home, she explained what Council had done, why she couldn’t pick him up in Piltover anymore. She left out her involvement with the Children of Zaun; she still wasn’t ready for him to know. She didn’t want him to worry about her. Nor did she want him to have to carry that knowledge and navigate his way through Piltover every week. Not until he absolutely had to.

“Why did those people steal? Why is Topside closing the gates, though?” He had asked.

Katya looked at him intensely, every cell of her body vibrating with a sense of injustice. She pet a hand through his thick hair, hoping the touch would ground her. It didn’t. She felt more agitated.

“Those people – The Children of Zaun – are trying to right the wrongs Piltover has done to the Undercity,” she had told him. “Remember how you noticed your professor taught history differently than Papa did?” Viktor nodded. “Topside is in power. Wants to remain in power. So, they teach their lessons differently. So, they do not have to change. They punish us so they don’t have to change.”

Viktor’s eyebrows creased. “Then why do I go?”

“You know why – “

“I mean, besides the clean air – “

Katya had taken her brother’s face into her hands and said, “Because you deserve to be there, Viktor. You deserve the clean air and the opportunities the Academy will afford you. You do not need to give that up. These people – the Children – are working to make sure that others may have the same chances, too. We are not less because we are from this side of the river. That’s why they are doing what they are doing. That is why Piltover is doing what they are doing.” She sighed, and loosened her hold on his cheeks. “Do your best not to worry about this, Viktor. You will go to school. You will breathe clean air. And, hopefully, someday soon, you’ll walk across the Bridge home to a free nation.”

Viktor’s small bud of a mouth thinned, but he did not broach the subject again.

When Katya walked him to Piltover’s side of the Bridge the following Monday, Ivy had been waiting for them. As on Friday, Katya did not acknowledge her beyond handing off her brother’s bag.

She’d drawn Viktor in close, as she always did when they parted. But this time, she whispered in a voice that sent shivers down his spine, “You deserve to be here, Viktor.”

They parted, Katya dragging her hand through his hair and down his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he had replied, and, despite everything, concern shimmered in his eyes.

Katya’s lips pursed at the memory, and brushed her fingers along the neatly packed glass vials tucked securely in the box she was unloading. For the last supply order, her request for larger vials of medicine was approved. She had managed to convince the mine’s board that it was more economically feasible to order certain items in bulk – the high-strength decongestant among them. It was a maneuver that ended up being additionally helpful since supplies to Zaun were being bottle-necked by Piltover. Shipments on everything destined for the Lanes were delayed by thorough screenings, and, in a place that already had so little, Zaunites felt this transgression acutely. Businesses suffered, food on dinner tables became more meager.

The Children did their best to counteract this by greasing the wheels and lining the pockets of the few traders who dealt with Zaunite businesses directly. They were mostly morally grey types, whose scruples laid less with loyalty, and more with extra coin. Which the Children paid to get extra food and weapons into the city.

Katya had met Silco and Sevika one of the nights a trader from Bilgewater was due to deliver a few small packages of food, a case of liquor, and a roll of leather that held a few worn sabers. The meet up location was an inconvenient distance from anything, but that was the point. It was easier to do the hand off several klicks down Zaun’s shoreline, away from the docks that faced Piltover.

In the dark, only the glow of purple algae beneath their feet, Silco and Sevika had gathered the goods into their arms. Katya handed the trader – a bent and crooked old Yordle with leathered skin, no teeth, and ears with so many holes in them that they looked moth-bitten – the clutch of agreed upon coins and stowed the rolls of knives in her coat.

“Remember us,” Silco had said gravely, fixing the trader with intense eyes, “and we will remember you.”

The Yordle chuckled – a sound more akin to a rattling motor – and returned to his small boat, carefully moored against the rocky shoreline. He had not responded to Silco with words, but he nodded. Deftly, he navigated his vessel away from the shore.

They watched him go, before Katya had said, “Let’s get this back to The Drop.”

Silco nodded and led the way. Katya at his shoulder.

She had been concerned the night after she pleasured herself to thoughts of him, that things would be inexplicably awkward between them. As she arrived at work that following day, lead-heavy regret settled in her stomach. She was certain she ruined it – whatever it was.

Her fears were dashed later that day when Silco appeared in the clinic to tell her how sore he was, and to ask questions about the lesson that had blossomed in his head over night. Warm relief melted the despair in her gut. She looked up into his pink-tinged face delighted that he had sought her out. They talked until Will showed up. Like last time, he fixed Silco with a disapproving, questioning look that had the young man skittering from the clinic. Katya was close behind. They laughed together about how uptight her clinic co-worker was.

Katya plucked two of the larger glass vials from the lineup, and set them aside, intending on giving them to Enyd. The medic had suggested to her that she may want to up her daily doses of medicine through the cold season, to see if that brought her any additional relief. It meant she’d go through the decongestant faster, which is what prompted Katya to fight for the larger bottles.

Since the airship crash, Katya had shared supper with Silco and Enyd a few more times. The older woman showed her several, easy kitchen tricks and recipes that would be simple to replicate back in her own home. In exchange, Katya shared with Enyd her attempt to cook the tentacles with herbs a couple weeks prior.

Enyd chortled upon hearing that Katya had attempted to eat the wilted plants.

“That was good instinct,” Enyd had said, “to infuse the fat with the flavor of the herbs. But, as you experienced, once the herbs have imparted their flavor to the dish, they have little use.”

“Very brave of you to test it out on yourself instead of Viktor,” Silco had snickered from his seat at the table. “Big sister, indeed.”

Katya playfully flicked her napkin at him, and he laughed.

One evening, Enyd’s cough was particularly bad, and both Katya and Silco insisted that she not cook and exert herself further. Instead, the matriarch directed the pair from the kitchen table on how to make that night’s meal. Between Katya and Silco continually messing up and laughing, the process took much longer than usual. However, Katya found the end result to be even more delicious than normal.

Katya smiled to herself at the memory of that night, closing the lid of the crate and carrying it to the supply closet. She put away the vials of medicine in neat lines on the shelf, their arrangement reminding her of the neat rows Enforcers marched in.

An unsurprising result of the airship crash and the Children’s letter was increased Enforcer presence throughout the Lanes. It was inevitable, predictable. As such, Trenchers – whether they were among the Children or not – were prepared to deal with pushy questions and accusations. And knew to protect each other.

Something that was a surprise to the Children, as well as the Enforcers, was the development of someone graffitiing ‘Zs’ throughout the Undercity. After Council had released their statement, someone – perhaps the same person – painted FREE ZAUN across the face of an abandoned Promenade shop that faced Piltover. Council had it painted over, only for it to reappear a couple days later.

No one in the revolution admitted to the tagging, even amongst themselves. Tongue-in-cheek rumors about the spirit of Janna doing it whispered through the ranks. Some Children, bolstered by the secrecy of the original artist, joined in. Soon, it was difficult to walk anywhere in the Undercity without seeing nods to Zaun and their right to freedom. Small, artfully-minded ‘Zs’ were drawn in chalk on the sides of buildings. Bluebirds cut from paper hung on clotheslines and lampposts. ‘We are the storm’s fury’ etched into metal handrails.

The Undercity was embroiled in the cause, the notion of their freedom brightening their eyes and lightening their souls. A ticking clock ready to ring in a new era.

The next box was stuffed with soft bandages and gauze. She carefully thumbed through them, checking the invoice as she went. The speaker on the desk crackled to life, causing Katya to jump and curse. She cursed again, realizing she had lost her place.

“Foreman Baz to medical.”

Katya groaned, staggered to her feet, and over to the desk, pressing the speaker’s button.

“Go ahead, Baz. This is medical.”

“There’s been an accident in Fissure 27. Kid from Unit 88 got his leg caught between the track n’ a mine cart. We got the cart off ‘em, but he’s not calmin’ down ‘nough to stand. Can you come n’ give him something? Check ‘em over?”

Katya eyed the clock above the door. Her shift was due to end within the hour, but she did not want to leave this miner waiting for Will. That, and, if the boy was in Unit 88, that meant Unit 90 – Silco and Sevika’s Unit – would be nearby. It would be nice to see them, if only for a moment.

“Fissure 27? I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Fissure 27 was in the northern section of the mine, the oldest part of it. The tunnels there were large, having been carved out multiple times over the mine’s life. They were some of the first tunnels that became fitted with giant turbines, great fans that had drilled deeper and deeper into the terra. Most of the rock here had long since been squeezed of its main resources, those turbines now sitting eerily still in great, deep shafts.

However, per Piltover’s insatiable appetite for progress and productivity, some of these ancient tunnels were retrofitted to become storage space and garages for mining equipment. Others were further exploited for their resources; miners there were given orders to chip and pulverize the already dead stone to create gravel.

Grave robbers desecrating a corpse.

Since the collapse of the western mine tunnels, the units that had been working that rock were moved here until the board either found something else for them to do, or until the collapsed tunnels were excavated and rebuilt.

Katya walked the north end main vein from which the fissures branched out, clinic-issued medical bag bouncing at her hip. The foreman she passed paid her no mind, most of the miners did as well – too focused, too tired, or too hollow to acknowledge her. A few miners did catch her eye though. She recognized them as members of the Children. She nodded at them, and they nodded back. A quick, curt, but meaningful recognition.

She strode past Fissure 26, a small child accidently bumping into her. They murmured an apology and kept their eyes to the ground. Katya’s voice caught in her throat, recognizing him as the boy with the jaw injury she’d treated some weeks back. He was too quick for her to get a decent look, but the flesh around his neck and lower cheek was beginning to discolor, the sweet smell of rot gently wafting off him.

Her heart cracked and ached as she watched him scurry back into the fissure. This one – and she was guessing the same for 27 – were some of the tunnels that had been converted into equipment repair and holding space. She craned her neck a bit, glancing at the heads, faces, and bodies. Finally, spied Sevika’s tall form near the back end of an old excavator. She was holding the engine hood open with one powerful arm while a slim frame she recognized as Silco’s was half way in the machine, head first.

Sensing eyes on her, Sevika glanced up, and cracked a wide smile at the sight of Katya. She jerked her chin in greeting, and then looked at her questioningly. Katya playfully rolled her eyes and held up the bag slung over her shoulder. Sevika’s eyebrows lifted and made an ‘oh’ shape with her dark lips, nodding her head in understanding.

Her silver eyes then fell onto Silco’s back, his head still stuck in the machine’s engine. She swatted his behind with her free hand. Silco yelped and jolted, the excavator clanging as he hit something inside. He ripped himself from his work and spun on Sevika, his face contorted with disbelief and anger.

Sevika winced as his headlamp blinded her. She gripped the light with her hand, blotting it out, and jerked her head toward the fissure’s entrance. He flicked his headlamp off and turned. The glower on his face melted into an expression that tugged at Katya’s heart. His eyes brightened, a pleasantly surprised lopsided grin pulling one half of his mouth up. Then, like Sevika, his brows pinched quizzically, and she jostled the medical bag again and pointed a finger to her left, indicating the next fissure over. She waved at the pair, and continued toward her destination.

As Katya entered Fissure 27, she was displeased to see that apparently Kells was a member of Unit 88. He seemed to be expecting her, as he put himself right in her path as she entered the wide, yawning mouth of the tunnel.

“Hey, Nurse.”

She frowned. “I was called about an accident.”

“Hey! Hey!”

Both Kells and Katya spun to see a tall, scarred man in dirty overalls and headlamp waving her over.

Foreman Baz.

Without another word, she shouldered past Kells and made for the foreman. He led her to a small, dark crack in the tunnel wall, an annex of sorts. Before entering, she noted one of those humongous, inoperable turbines nearby, nestled in the deep, dark mine shaft it had once created. Katya was not naïve, but nevertheless felt claustrophobic at the thought of the near-infinite plummet that awaited some careless miner off the edge of one of those mighty blades.

She shook the thought from her mind and the shiver from her body, and followed Baz into the small tunnel.

Katya assumed that back in these tunnels’ most lucrative days, miners had followed a vein of precious minerals here, only to have it quickly run out and abandoned. Now, it was used to store small carts and a few lengths of track. A small group of young teens were gathered around a sobbing and shaking peer who was propped against one of the walls.

They parted, eyes wide and worried as Katya and Baz approached. The young teen against the wall was shaking, skin sallow, tears and snot running down his face. Katya knelt beside him and unslung the bag from her shoulder. She murmured reassuring things to the frightened boy as she pulled out a small chem-torch and turned it on. Flicking the small, tight beam of light over the patient, she assessed his injuries, and was pleased to discover that they weren’t too bad. There was a large tear down the length of his left trouser leg, the skin beneath scraped and badly bruised. There was one bleeding gash down his shin, but it wasn’t so deep that muscle and bone peeked through. The boy was mostly in shock and scared.

Katya began her work, gently asking him what had happened, what his name was, how old he was, what he did in the mines, if he had any activities outside of work he enjoyed; all questions to ground, sooth, and reassure him.

Thankfully, the wound required no stitches – it would’ve been challenging in the low light of the space. Katya cleaned and packed the injury, gently wrapping his shin with gauze and gave him a few pills of antibiotics and a small tube of salve.

“He can get back to work?” Baz gruffed behind her.

Katya pursed her lips, hating the answer she had to give him.

“He can.”

The boy should’ve been allowed to go home and rest. The boy shouldn’t have needed to work in a dangerous mine in the first place. The best she could do was give him a regretful and sympathetic look; he returned it with one of hollow understanding, the tear tracks down his sooty cheeks finally drying.

Baz ordered two of his peers to help him up and carry him over to their work area. They did so, and once they staggered from the small crevasse, Baz thanked Katya and followed them out. She nodded her head, lips sealed tight in displeasure.

Once they were gone, she took a moment to let the feelings of injustice and rage wash their way through her body. They passed, as feelings do, and she began cleaning up her equipment.

Katya started at the sound of rock beneath boots and jumped when Kells suddenly dropped down beside her. He leered at her in the low light.

“Need help?”

He reached for the partially unrolled length of gauze, and she snatched it up, shoving it into the bag.

“I am fine.”

She sloppily threw the rest of her equipment back into the bag, not even sparing Kells a glance, before standing a making for the main fissure. But a mighty, painful yank on her ponytail stopped her, pulling a surprised yelp from her throat. Her legs tangled and the medical bag tumbled to the ground. Before Katya could respond or cry out, Kells deepened the grip he had on her hair to the roots of it, slamming her front against the rocky wall. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. Her mind spun and body went cold. She didn’t understand what was happening . . . and did at the same time.

Kells pressed his body against hers, pinning her in place. The hand gripping her hair pressed her face into the wall, while the other had snatched her left wrist and jerked it behind her back, her shoulder barking in protest.

“You’re an uppity bitch, you know that?” Kells hissed into her ear, spittle landing on her exposed cheek. “And I’m fucking sick of it.”

Katya choked on her voice. She willed a scream to tear from her throat, but none came. She lost access to her body, limbs freezing in terror. Kells pressed further against her, using all his weight to press her against the wall. She felt his hardness against her backside and gasped in distress. The hand that had held her wrist snaked around her front, and grabbed her sex. Her mind screamed for her body to do something, to fight back somehow.

Her bladder loosened and freed its contents all over Kells’ palm. He made a disgusted grunt and smashed her face into the rock further.

“You’re supposed to pee after, dumbass. Don’t you know that, nurse?”

Undeterred, his hand reached a little higher and pulled apart the buttons on Katya’s fly. She whimpered when he kicked her stance wider and began attempting to shuck her trousers down her legs.

Finally, she found her voice. It was painful to speak, the sound sharp and brittle against her tight throat.

“Please – “

“Don’t worry,” he cooed wickedly, grinding against her. “You’re gonna get it – “

Then Kells gasped, grunted and cried out in frustration as his weight was flung from Katya’s body. She sobbed in relief and slid down the wall, looking over her shoulder to see what had happened. Her heart leapt into her throat. Overwhelming gratitude and shame coursed through her body. Silco was standing between her and Kells. Why was he here? How had he known to come? He’d thrown her attacker against a broken down mine cart, and Kells was trying to gasp air back into his lungs.

Silco glanced over his shoulder at Katya and growled, “Are you okay?”

His eyes were blazing beneath the light of his headlamp. The fierceness of his face enthralled and scared her all at once. She wanted to cry. Wanted to rage. Wanted to melt away and disappear. Before Katya could say anything, Kells staggered to his feet and lunged at Silco.

Silco barked in surprised as he was bowled back, grunted as he hit the hard ground. Kells straddled him and landed a couple messy punches to his face. One hit landed on the headlamp, and it shattered the glass and snuffed out the light. Kells yelped in pain as glass shards embedded themselves in his knuckles, as the hot filaments of the bulb burned his skin.

It was enough of a distraction that he didn’t sense Katya springing up. She grabbed the medical bag and hit him in the head with it. Kells grunted and Silco rolled them over. Now on top, he laid a few sharp jabs to Kells’ head. After his opponent stopped grappling for his face, Silco hopped to his feet and stomped on Kells’ groin twice. The man on the ground screamed and reflexively pulled in on himself, rolling onto his side in the fetal position.

Silco would’ve liked to take things farther, but as he turned to Katya – saw her hunkered on the mine floor in a trembling heap – he knew he had to put his own personal rage aside. For the moment, he just had to be grateful that he had bowed to the will of his infatuated heart and sought her out. He had to be thankful that his need to say ‘hello’ while she was near, had allowed him to interrupt her from suffering an abuse akin to his mother’s.

His focus was on her. Her need mattered more right now than his own to kill the piece of garbage a few feet away.

“Come on,” he said, reaching out for her. “I got you.”

Breath coming out in hyperventilating huffs, she took his hand and stood. She hurriedly fastened her trouser buttons as Silco picked up the medical bag. He began guiding her out of the small crevasse, his hand a grounding, protective presence on the small of her back.

Just as they were about to re-enter the main fissure, the sound of gravel shifting under boots and a low growl were all the warning they received before Kells launched at them, this time armed with a short length of mine cart track in one hand. As he swung at them, Silco shoved Katya to one side. She tripped to the ground as the metal track collided into Silco’s face with a sickening crack. He wailed and stumbled back. The outcry alerted the rest of the unit in the Fissure, and nearly everyone looked up from their tasks.

Silco couldn’t feel the pain, only the numbing vibrations that were rattling his skull. He sensed wetness pouring down the lower half of his face, and he knew it was blood. He could taste the metal of it on his tongue. The blind rage he had reined in at the sight of Kells assaulting Kat became untethered, and he rushed at the other man, lifting his weapon back, preparing for another swing.

Silco snarled as he ducked under the track – heard it whistle over his head – and grabbed Kells by the neck, punching him in the jaw. Kells dropped his weapon in surprise, but recovered quickly, charging forward, grabbing at Silco’s back and kneeing him in the stomach. Silco grunted and doubled over. His arms dropped from Kells’ neck to wrap around his waist, and tackled forward. Both men lost their footing and rolled across the floor. And onto one of the turbine’s blades.

Blood rushed in Silco’s ears as he rolled on top of Kells, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him multiple times into the metal. He heard nothing but the rage in his head. Saw nothing but the man – the monster – beneath his hands. Silco was unaware that the rest of the miners were shouting and yelling, some egging the young men on, others calling for them to stop. Katya screamed for him, and pushed her way through the riotous crowd until she stepped onto the turbine.

Only she permeated the rageful haze of Silco’s mind. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and failed to see Kells reach for a rock that was sitting a couple feet away. He smashed it against Silco’s temple, causing him to choke in pain. The force of the blow dislodged Silco from his position on Kells, and was knocked to the side. Kells rolled over and scrabbled towards Silco, the rock still clutched in his hand.

Silco’s head throbbed, and he didn’t see Kells advancing on him. Kells’ free hand gripped at Silco’s throat and he raised the rock above his head.

Kat yelled and ran for the pair. She threw herself into Kells’ body before he could strike down. In her fear, in her anger, she failed to notice how the turbine’s blade narrowed as it approached the giant shaft of the mechanism. She failed to realize her own strength and power as she bowled her attacker over. And off the turbine blade.

Katya managed to catch herself before she followed Kells over the edge. Between her breaths and the pounding of her heart in her ears, she heard Kells’ body break and shatter as he hit the blades beneath them. Then there was one final, stomach-turning CRUNCH as his body reached the pit floor hundreds of feet below. Then there was silence.

Notes: Woof. That was . . . a lot. At least Kells got his. Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts with a comment, and please reblog! Y'all are the best!

Coming Up Next: Katya patches Silco up. Enyd is very distaught when her son comes home with a battered face. She becomes even more upset when she hears why, and decides to pay Katya a visit.

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #grayson #professor heimerdinger #heimerdinger #viktor #young viktor #silco #young silco #sevika #young sevika #original characters #silco x oc #silco x katya #silkat #sa tw

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lastchancestardomm · 9 months

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Sum silly Twins ideas that my autistic brain have floating around;;

• The Twins learn about the brand MSCHF and think it's the best thing since sliced bread

• The Twins run around a boring Earth mall to "spice it up" and they discover... escalators

• The Twins causing chaos within and subsequently destroying an arcade

• The Twins try cheating a claw machine by teleporting inside of it, and end up getting themselves stuck inside

• The Twins visit an aquarium and become obsessed with trying to obtain a jellyfish (they successfully catch the thing, and try to eat it by the end of their epic venture, but get the sh*t stung out of them)

• The Twins collectively suffer from a panic attack and someone (Reader, Jared, Alice- I didn't really think) comforts them

• The Twins do a mirror maze and accidentally separate from one another, leading to shenanigans and an emotional reuniting of brothers (summary ; in a ten-minute time span the Twins go through full-on character arcs and emotionally reunite as if they haven't seen each other in a 100 years)

#superjail twins #techno twins #the twins #superjail #autism is autisming

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storiesbyrhi · 1 year

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Angel of the First Degree - Chapter 15: Christmas

Eddie Munson x Chubby!Reader 3605 words Series Masterlist

Warnings: Anxiety; fatphobia including internalised; drug use; bullying; body issues; discussion of body function and fluids; period shame/stigma; disclosure of sexual assault (chapter 2); disordered eating and thoughts of food; shitty/abusive/critical parents; porn magazines; smut; reference to suicide (specifically Virginia Woolf’s); no beta; grief/mourning; verbal fighting; meat (turkey)... for the vegans; warnings updated each chapter

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson finds you in the midst of a panic attack, it is the beginning of something. A fic featuring body and sex positivity, Eddie in a dress, soft small moments, scary big truths, and all the usual special feelings you’d expect from one of my stories.

Chapter Summary: It was the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Author's Note: We also continue with our little peppering of glimpses into Eddie’s masterplan. Bonus: We find out what's in the Garfield mug.

“The roads are awful,” you tried to argue.

It was just under a week until Christmas, and from where you sat on the bed, you could see snow falling outside. Forest Hills had already become a depressing version of a winter wonderland.

“I’m taking Wayne’s truck. He got chains put on.”

Eddie continued to shove things into his duffle bag, not bothering to face you as he spoke.

“Why can’t they at least meet you halfway?”

Eddie held back a smirk. “It’s not the same as me driving over to someone’s house to sell them a few joints. Not your friendly neighbourhood drug dealer. They’re a supplier, you know?”

“Okay but doesn’t that make them dangerous?”

“That’s why you’re not coming,”

“Eddie,” you whined, but the pitch is sad and he heard it.

Eddie stopped packing and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s one night, angel. I’ll be in and out there. I promise if there was a different way of getting the product, I’d do that. But no Rick means I gotta fend for myself, and I want it done before Christmas, ‘kay?”

He felt like shit for lying to you, but there was no other cover story. Eddie had spent hours thinking about it, but all alternatives made no sense. Driving to Chicago to buy a few months’ worth of drugs got him to the city without you.

Eddie had added flourishes to the story to make it seem more real. People suffered through the holidays; weed was a saving grace he could charge a premium for. People partied through the holidays; coke and party drugs at holiday rates. Supply and demand.

It was hard for you to come up with a valid enough reason for him not to go. The income generated from the product would be supporting you after all. Regardless, you felt sick knowing Eddie would be alone on the icy roads for so long, and you were terrified at the thought of who he’d be meeting in the Windy City.

When Eddie kissed you goodbye, he held your face in his hands and studied it. “I love you,” he said softly while his expression was set in a hard frown.

“I love you too. Be safe.”

Once he was gone, you went back to bed with the hopes of sleeping through the subsequent forty-eight hours.

At the wheel of Wayne’s truck, Eddie had Hawkins in his rearview mirror, and a list of addresses and times riding shotgun.

…

It came as a surprise to you that you had, in fact, not met all the different sides of Eddie. As Christmas Eve Day dawned, your boyfriend was running on adrenaline, black coffee, and a questionable amount of sugar.

You sat at the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of milky tea, watching him measure out herbs and spices. At first, he was explaining the recipe to you. Quickly it descended into Eddie muttering something about oven hot spots and internal turkey temperatures. It would have been funny if he didn’t look so unhinged.

When Wayne came home from his night shift, he froze in the doorway at the sight of Eddie in the kitchen.

“Jesus. This shit starts earlier every year,” he said.

“Yeah. Yeah. And every year I get closer to the perfect fuckin’ bird, don’t I? Huh? Yeah?”

“Alright. Calm down. Don’t get your turkey in a twist… If this is happening, I’m taking the bed for a couple’a hours,”

“Yeah, ‘kay. Don’t mind the wet patches,” Eddie replied with a dumbass smile.

You closed your eyes and felt your cheeks heat.

Wayne made a noise of extreme discontent, grabbed the blanket hung over his fold-up bed, and disappeared into the bedroom.

“Why did you have to say that?” you whined.

Eddie cackled and returned to his precious Christmas Eve roast. “After you eat this, you’ll let me say whatever I fucking want.”

When his prized bird was safely on its way to cooked perfection, you joined Eddie to help prepare the sides. Mashed potatoes and peas. Gravy and cranberry sauce. Most of it was store-bought mixes because Eddie had spent so much on the bird. You didn’t care at all. With the trailer smelling of food and pine, and a small collection of gifts under the tree, it was shaping up to be a kind of beautiful Christmas.

When Wayne emerged from the bedroom, it was late afternoon. Dinner was well on its way to being cooked, and Eddie was sitting on the floor in front of the oven. He’d let you bake gingerbread on the condition that he watched the oven to ensure his turkey wasn’t affected.

“If anything, my cookies are gonna smell like it!”

“Lucky them!”

Wayne took his usual position in the single armchair in the corner of the room. He’d put on a record then relaxed in for the night.

“We don’t always get Christmas Eve together,” Eddie explained. “He asked for it off this year,”

“That’s good,”

“For you,” he added. You had joined Eddie on the floor next to the oven, and looked over at him when he said it. “My first Christmas with him was awesome. I mean, all things considered. Reckon he wants yours to be too.”

It felt good in that way that hurts.

When your cookies were out and cooled, you and Eddie sat at the little table against the wall and began to decorate. Your first three were gingerbread replicas of you, Eddie, and Wayne. You glanced over at Eddie’s plate. He had bitten limbs off his men and eaten them happily.

“They fought valiantly,” he told you.

“Who was the war against?”

“Christian fundamentalists,” Eddie replied, not missing a beat.

“Jesus,” you laughed.

“Nah, he’s actually on the other side.”

You watched him for a few more moments, lost in his own little storyline of broken soldiers and religious zealots. Truly, there was nobody else like Eddie.

After gingerbread men and spiked eggnog, the Christmas crackers were brought out. You won against both Eddie and Wayne, wearing a pink and a blue paper hat on your head. Wayne won against Eddie, leaving Eddie to pout and smell the gunpowder sticks left in the halved crackers.

“Like sparklers,” he told you, inhaling dramatically.

Wayne unraveled the tiny piece of paper in his hands and sighed. “Why did Santa’s helper go to the doctor?” You and Eddie shrugged. “Because he had low elf esteem.”

Eddie snorted. “Alright, gimme one?” You handed him one of yours. “Ahhh, ‘kay… What’s the best Christmas present in the world? … A broken drum… You just can’t beat it,”

“We should save that for Gareth. Okay, mine says… What do you get when you cross Santa with a vampire?”

“Frostbite,” Eddie answered immediately.

“Yeah,”

“That’s my favourite Christmas joke,”

“You have a favourite Christmas joke?”

“Yeah. That and: what do you get if you cross a bell with a skunk? Jingle smells,”

“That’s bad,” you said but laughed anyway.

“Wayne has a photographic memory for shitty jokes,” Eddie told you, pointing up at his uncle.

“What did one snowman say to the other snowman? … Can you smell carrot?”

And it went on like that until the oven timer binged and Eddie screamed so loud beside you that it hurt your ears.

“Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck. Yes. Yes, this is it. I’ve done it. I’m a god. I’m a culinary god. The best goddamn chef in all of Indiana.”

You and Wayne stood and watched Eddie pull the turkey out of the oven. He’d done the math and timed all the sides perfectly. He began to mumble to himself (although you were beginning to suspect he was actually talking to the turkey) and put things on serving plates.

“Guess we better set the table,” Wayne said.

The small table against the wall was pulled out and a third folded chair was fetched from somewhere in the trailer. You set out three plates and lots of cutlery. The table wasn’t big enough to put everything on, so Eddie arranged a buffet on the kitchen bench where you each could serve yourself from.

“Looks good, kid,” Wayne offered when you were all at the table.

Eddie took a swig from his can of beer. “Thanks,”

“Really good,” you added. Eddie smiled at you. For a split second, less than even, you saw something in his expression. “What?”

He chewed his lip. “I just… It’s good to see you excited about food,” he said softly. Only months earlier, it would have been a risky thing to say. Not anymore.

You smiled back at him.

“We eating? Or…” Wayne hesitated. “You wanna say grace or something?”

Eddie snorted. “Grace?” They pulled faces at each other, then Eddie conceded. “How ‘bout… Here’s to… graduating, having a hot girlfriend, and a perfectly cooked turkey.”

Wayne shook his head but held his drink up anyway. In unison, the three of you said cheers.

…

Christmas dessert was bags of candy and the final dregs of eggnog. You and Eddie were laying side by side on the floor under the tree, looking up at the twinkling lights.

“What time you start tomorrow?” Eddie asked Wayne.

“Early.”

You hadn’t thought about the fact that so many people work on Christmas Day. You had been living a life of privilege with your parents, one that included holidays off.

“Let’s do presents tonight then,” you suggested.

“Good idea,” Eddie agreed, sitting up and pulling Wayne’s haul out.

A couple of records, novelty socks, and a book of gift vouchers Eddie and you had made that entitled Wayne to things like ‘get out of your turn to vacuum,’ ‘one night alone in the trailer,’ and ‘get out of jail free.’ He laughed at it and Eddie made a comment about how it was probably going to come back and bite you on the asses.

“Your turn, angel,”

“We agreed one thing each,” you whined when Eddie pulled out multiple gifts.

“This one’s from him, so that doesn’t count. And also I was born to break the rules baaaaaa-beeeee,” he replied, his big brown eyes jellifying you.

Wayne’s present to you was a gift card to Build-A-Bear. “I know it’s a bit of a cop-out, but… you know… you’re always happy when you get back from that place.” The gift card was the type you could only buy in-store. The picture of Wayne Munson in that rainbow vomit of a room was somehow even stranger than Eddie in one. You wondered if Kasey had served him.

Eddie had bought you two books, and much like the one you received for your birthday, one was suspiciously aligned with what you would have had to read if enrolled at college. The other was about how modern sociological ideologies can shape the supposed objective understanding of ancient art and literature, therefore ancient culture. Eddie got the gist of it but winced when he flicked open to a random page and tried to read the academic writing. He knew you’d love it.

After the two books, he handed over a final gift. After all the birthday presents and other things he’d given you, you wondered what there could be left for Eddie to wrap.

“Oh, fuck. Hang on,” Eddie exclaimed, jumping up and running to the bedroom, returning with Hellfire. “You might need him for this.”

Unwrapping the small box, your heart melted and you giggled at the cuteness. It was a small replica of Eddie’s pick necklace obviously meant for Hellfire. When you put it on him, it sat perfectly around the cow’s neck. Eddie had used his miniature figurine equipment to make it for you, pulling apart old jewellery in the process.

“Now he really matches you,” you said holding him up, beaming.

“Actually, he matches you. There’s more in the box.”

With Hellfire next to you, you picked the box up again and moved a piece of tissue paper. You hadn’t noticed when Eddie stopped wearing his necklace. Now, it was in the box, offered to you in an act of devotion. It was a promise that he was yours, completely and entirely. And, you were his, adorned with his trademark.

“Eddie,” you started.

He knew that tone. It was the one that voiced shaky thoughts of inadequacy.

“Before you do the whole routine,” Eddie interrupted, waving an accusing finger at you but still wearing a soft smile. “Don’t be a grinch.”

You breathed out, then nodded. The weight of the chain and pick was nothing, but still, it felt like a grounding force weighted with love.

Honestly, you didn’t know where to go from that, didn’t know how to process what the gift symbolised, so instead you picked up your Christmas present to Eddie.

“Well, I stuck to the one thing rule…” you teased.

There was a strange little store in Hawkins, barely a hole in the wall. It sold candles and incense and glittery rocks. Not long after Eddie had passed ownership of the ruby ring to you, you had seen another like it in the store. It probably wasn’t a real fancy ruby, but the red stone was genuine. The ring was less dainty than yours, but you were drawn to it every time you passed by the store.

The woman who worked there reminded you of Stevie Nicks, always in lace and hand knitted things. She had watched you come and go from her store, always lamenting over the red garnet ring. “What does it mean to you?” she asked one day.

You felt embarrassed to be so seen, but she was kind. When you told her about Eddie and showed her the stolen ruby ring, she smiled, saying, “Red garnets are gemstones full of love.” After she told you about how scientists were making synthetic garnets but without the earth energy or characterising imperfections, you moved aside so she could help a group of teenagers.

The group was vaguely familiar, maybe they had been Juniors that year. On top of the usual anxiety you felt whenever groups of kids were nearby, you sensed something else. The girls in the group were asking lots of questions about things on one side of the store, while the boys huddled together on the other. Doing your best to stay off their radar, you slowly made your way to where you could spy better. They were lining their pockets with small trinkets and crystals.

The woman had been so gentle with you, never making you feel bad for not buying whenever you stopped by. You imagined it was hard to own a business like hers in a town like Hawkins. Besides, you thought, there were rules about shoplifting. Eddie had told you he never used his five-finger discount anywhere where the owner was also the person at the register. Honour among thieves.

The kids in the store didn’t get the memo and it filled you with a dash of bravery. You quickly moved to the closed door and knocked over a stack of books that sat neatly by it. Everyone in the store looked to see what the commotion was.

“Sorry,” you said. “I’ll pick them up. You guys can pay for the stuff you’re getting while I do it. I’ll be quick.”

The boys all looked at each other. “What stuff?” one tried.

You began to slowly rebuild the book tower.

“Guess I should get baskets so customers don’t have to put things in their pockets,” the woman said, leaving the girls to go stand in the boys’ personal space.

They dumped all the things out onto the counter, legging it out the door just as you opened it wide. “Fucking bitches!” and “Freaks!” were thrown in as they left.

“Did they break anything?” you asked, walking over to help the woman put things back in their rightful homes.

“Thankfully not. I normally just let them leave with it all,”

“Why?”

“Apparently confronting people makes myself a target, according to the Chief. S’not been the same since Hopper died…”

“I’m sorry,”

“Not your bad to apologise for. Anyway, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

You thought on it… “I did. It was the right thing to do.”

The woman looked at you, almost through you. She had that otherworldliness to her gaze that Eddie sometimes got. People like them saw the universe differently.

When she offered you the ring as a reward for stepping in, you declined. As you did the next time you were there and she offered, and the third. The fourth time you sighed.

“This ring stopped being mine the minute you walked in here,” she said. “I think it’s meant for your boyfriend.”

Sitting on the floor cross-legged, Eddie mirroring your position, you knew that the witchy woman was right all along.

“Just one is one more than I need,” Eddie said, tearing into the small gift. The wrapping paper gave way to the small velvet box. “Oh my gawwwd.” It was a new voice for him. “Baaaaabe. Honey bunny. Cupcake. You shouldn’t have.” He hadn’t even opened the box. “I do. I will be your wife.” But then he opened the box and his impersonation of bouncy fiancé girl dropped. His eyebrows knitted together.

“You don’t like it?” you said more than asked before you could stop yourself.

“No, no, I love it. It’s just too much,”

“Oh. No. It’s not…” You went to say more but didn’t really know how to begin to justify something so small to someone so big.

Thankfully, Eddie shut up and accepted it, putting the ring on and staring at it. You knew him well enough to know he was holding back tears. His eyes glossed over and he scrunched his nose up like a rabbit. When he was ready, he looked back up at you.

“I love you,” he said so seriously. There were so many things going through his mind. A masterplan with so many moving parts he felt tired all the time. It was coming together though, and he was so close to the reveal.

“I love you too,” you replied, voice shaky.

Wayne waited a few moments before breaking up the intense gaze-off you and Eddie were in. He cleared his throat. “I’ll put this here for safe keepin’,” he said, standing and reaching up to a shelf of his mugs to put the book of vouchers in it. As he angled the Garfield mug, he heard a sound. You watched Wayne pull the mug down and peer inside. “What the hell?”

“You would not fucking believe how long I’ve been waiting for you to find that!” Eddie said, loud and proud, shooting up and clapping his hands.

Wayne fished out the object and held it up. It was a human tooth. “Jesus. Is this real?”

“Ah-huh,” Eddie answered, cackling. You and Wayne both waited for him to explain. “You remember when one of my wisdom teeth was coming in?”

“Do I bloody remem- Yes, Eddie, I do. Bitched and moaned about it day and night but wouldn’t go see anybody ‘bout it,”

“Yeah, well, you know Hacksaw Henry? Got him to pull out the back tooth so the new one could just come in. Worked a treat.”

It was hard to tell who was more horrified.

“You did what?” Wayne nearly yelled.

“Hacksaw Henry?” The name told you a lot but you needed to know more.

Eddie laughed again. “That’s been in there for almost two years,”

“Hells bells, you’re going to be the death of me,” Wayne said, flopping back down on his armchair and throwing the tooth across the room to Eddie.

“No, seriously, Hacksaw Henry?”

“He’s from the other side of the park. Watches too much T.V. and reads these weird medical journals. He’s Forest Hill’s resident quote unquote doctor,” Eddie told you while examining his old molar, remembering the day it was pulled from his jaw.

“You let him pull a healthy tooth?”

“Nah; I paid him to pull it. ‘Sides, the tooth wasn’t perfectly healthy. When the wisdom one started to break through, this one started to rot. See?” he explained, handing the tooth down to you.

You could see what he was talking about, but all in all, it still seemed like an insane thing to do.

“Cheaper than an actual dentist. Hurt like a bitch, but heard getting your wisdom teeth out does too. Skulled a six pack before to calm my jangled nerves… And voila…” Eddie added. “Honestly thought you’d find it sooner, old man… Guess Garfield isn’t your favourite?”

“You know those are the special ones,” Wayne said, pointing to that particular shelf of mugs.

“Can I keep this?” you asked, still studying the tooth.

Eddie looked at you and grinned wide. He loved that you wanted it. That you’d asked for it. He would have pulled all his teeth to give you a complete set if you’d use that soft voice again.

“Consider it your final present. Merry Christmas, babe.”

Forest Hills was loud and lit up with Christmas cheer. Once you and Eddie had retired to bed that night, you held each other under the covers.

“It’s weird we both went with jewellery,” he said, finishing the sentence with a kiss on your forehead.

“Great minds?”

“Great minds,” he agreed.

The stretch between Christmas and New Years was a strange liminal time for most people. As you and Eddie drifted to sleep, bruises from his lips leaving a trail from your neck to your underwear, your two great minds thought of that in-between space and what it meant for you both.

Next Chapter: Fireworks

End Note: RIP at Wayne sitting there while you and Eddie get all lovey dovey over a tooth lmaoooo. Also, If you’ve seen the episode of Bob’s Burgers where Bob starts talking to the bird and falling in love and shit, that’s the energy we were channeling here.

Fic Taglist: @ajeff855 @b-barnes04 @eddie-munson-is-a-sweetheart have you changed your URL? @nerd-squad-headquarters @word-wytch @harrys-tittie @munsonsmel0dy @sidthedollface2 @eddiethesexy @bardicfrustration @orpheusredux @munsonsgirl71 @a-time-for-wolvess @eddieswifu @rosaline-black @thegirlwhohides @emotionaldreamer @e0509 @briasnow-blog @kiyastrf94 @erinsingalong @rainylana @thescarletangelsstuff @mrsdollardog @tayhar811 @chickennug90 @b-irock @nana90azevedo @eddiemunson95 @akiratoro420

Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24

#Mine #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x Chubby!Readder #Chubby!Reader

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ravenite-void · 1 year

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Writer’s gore manual

There are (in my opinion) two main types of gore. Single body gore, where there's one person in the focus and gored. Or battlefield style with more people and subsequently more gore. Note, that I am not a medical professional. I’m just a weird person.

Single body gore

(Tho can be used up to three to five people, when done well)

This way it's the best to focus on details. That's what's noticeable the most here.

Human bodies (and basically anything humanoid enough) has four main things to focus on.

Muscles

Blood vessels

Nerves

Bones

Each thing has a unique effect on the body.

A wound, blunt or piercing the skin will affect all those things.

Stabbing a muscle will make it unusable; depth and width means a lot, as well as the direction? rotation? of the blade. If it's along the fiber, it's less damaging. You can stab a muscle with a swiss army and still use that muscle (don't try it at home!). But if you stab/cut muscle across the fiber, wide or deep (or both) it will be either very painful to use the muscle or just plain impossible.

Braking a bone will make the affected area unusable as well. Bone or more broken in limbs effectively disables adjacent joints and the rest of the limb further from the body. Broken bones are also sharp. They can puncture muscles, skin, organs, blood vessels. In most cases it's not the issue. Usually injury done by stronger force can misalign the bones. One of the more interesting and also bad to happen examples are broken ribs and punctured lung. Can be only fixed by surgery when the ribs are realigned and the injured lung reinflated. Open fractures are also a nightmare, as the very nature can cause infection to the injury and complications when the bone is moved because it’s literally sticking out of someone’s body. Also lot of blood.

Blood. Small blood vessels are everywhere. Then there are the big blood vessels. Any injury that goes skin deep and further will produce blood. The bigger, the bloodier. Artery hit = almost an instant death, unless they're given first aid. Internal bleeding (usually from broken bone or blunt force injury) is Bad™. First, you don’t see it, second blood can put pressure on organs and limit their function. The worst places for internal bleeding to happen are around heart and inside brain. Here you can see major blood vessels, so you know there will be a lot of blood. Needless to say, arteries are pressurised. When cut, they’ll squirt blood periodically until your human bleeds out.

Head injuries are never good. You can always write it off as concussion, if it’s bad, coma or brain damage and bleeding is safe way to go.

Nerves. There's a few nerves in the face that getting damaged can put half a face out of commission. The biggest thing is spine. Broken spine doesn't have to cause spinal cord injury. But it's pretty likely. Anything on the level of the injury and bellow dies off.

Multiple body gore

Where's there more people, the details become blurry. Instead more vague sensations become more prominent.

Smell of blood, of course. Metallic, iron/rusty smell. You'd probably throw up from a lot of it.

Then pee. When people die, at first all their muscles relax. Including their bladder and they pee themselves.

And vomit. Refer to the first two mentioned thing.

At that point it's safe to say you can add mental distress. Panic attack, dissociation... There's a lot of shit happening, people dying and suffering, to feel unwell even a bit is natural. For more, refer to Single body gore, but in lesser detail

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing guide #gore #gore writing #writer #writers #how to write

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inevitablemoment · 10 months

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Egon and Dana Friendship Headcanons

Okay, I’m so happy to see that my post offering Egon and Dana friendship headcanons gained enough interest, so... enjoy! It’s all under the cut.

The gang lets Dana (and Louis) crash at the firehouse when the Gozer incident leads to the subsequent demolition of the building on Central Park West.

Dana suffers a lot from night terrors, and not wanting to bother Peter, leaves the room to clear her head and sees Egon working in the lab late one night.

Egon and Dana get to talking, and he ends up opening up to her about the loss of his wife, as well as the custody of his daughter Callie.

Dana continues to struggle with the trauma of her experience, and Egon offers to let her and Peter spend a few days at his and Cathleen’s old lake house upstate.

When Dana and Peter’s relationship begins to fall apart, Egon makes it very clear that he will not be their “go-between,” which Dana is able to accept.

About a year after Dana and Peter break up, she begins dating Andre Wallance.

Even if he’s rubbed the wrong way by Andre, Egon is supportive of Dana’s new relationship-- she’s even able to convince Andre to let Egon be one of his groomsmen.

About halfway through Dana’s pregnancy, Andre auditioned for a traveling orchestra and was accepted.

As Andre wasn’t there for Oscar’s birth, Egon ended up being Dana’s Lamaze partner.

When Oscar was only a few weeks old, Andre returned from the tour, but told Dana that he was scouted by the manager of an orchestra in London.

Not wanting to uproot her life after just having a baby, on top of the other issues that they were facing, Dana filed for divorce.

She dealt with some pretty rough postpartum depression, but Egon always came through to help her.

It was rough for him, as Callie’s mother, Cathleen, also struggled with postpartum depression after Callie’s birth.

After defeating Vigo, Egon tries to call Callie, but his mother-in-law lies to him and says that Callie doesn’t want to talk to him, and Dana comforts him.

When Egon begins claiming that Gozer will return, it leads to Dana having a panic attack, which Peter verbally castrates him over.

The night before Egon leaves for Summerville, Dana visits him and he apologizes like he had never apologized before.

She forgives him and expresses concern for his increasingly erratic behavior.

He again apologizes and says goodbye to her.

Years later, in 2021, Dana is surprised when Janine Melnitz shows up at her and Peter’s door.

Janine tells her that Egon died, and that he was right all along about Gozer returning.

The two are able to convince the three remaining Ghostbusters to go to Summerville (though Ray needs a little more push), but Dana remains in New York.

A week in between the end of the film and the mid-credits scene of her and Peter, Dana and Oscar go to Summerville together.

Egon’s ghost shows up and they both tell them about all that he missed in the past thirty years.

Egon shares one final hug with his surrogate sister and nephew before he returns to his place in the afterlife.

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pacificwaternymph · 1 year

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Any Deaf Scott Au thoughts lately?

Following Scott's capture, torture, and subsequent rescue, Scott is absolutely terrified of being alone, or in any enclosed space, even one he's familiar with. He clings to Jimmy like he'll physically die if he lets go. Any time Jimmy tries to leave, he lets out this terrified, guttural noise and tightens his grip, silently begging him not to go.

Half the time, he doesn't seem to realize where he is, or that he was even rescued at all. Any time someone tries to enter who isn't Jimmy or Gem, he backs himself into a wall and curls up, as if trying to prepare and protect himself for what he thinks is coming.

He hasn’t spoken a word to anyone. They aren't even sure if he can talk, or if his vocal cords have been permanently damaged, especially after they figure out that he's suffered severe hearing loss. The slightest thing sends him into a panic attack. Someone moving too quickly, or accidentally sneaking up on him. He constantly has a haunted look in his eye, always expecting the next person to walk through his door to be Joey or Sausage.

They try to get him to leave his room, but he refuses. He hates being stuck in it, but he won't come out either, almost as if he believes that he can't. He won't eat anything, he won't drink anything, he won't sleep unless someone he knows, someone he trusts is there with him.

Gem and Katherine can't even heal him because the very sight of magic is enough to send him spiraling, it reminds him too much of Sausage.

It takes weeks before any progress is made at all. Weeks of Gem and Jimmy constantly switching out, stressing. Everyone's worried, but he's had an averse reaction to most people so no one can see him. It's stressing everyone out to no end, and on top of that, they still have Xornoth to contend with.

But things do start to happen. Scott starts communicating with them again. He starts pointing, nodding yes and no, and then occasionally writes out a word or two. His face isn't quite as gaunt, he's not quite as hunched over all the time. Slowly but surely, he's recovering.

And then Xornoth gets uncorrupted.

#Deaf scott au

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asksavel · 2 years

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Mod note: The following plot post contains a depiction of a Panic Attack. Please note that the mod also suffers from panic attacks, and the depiction shown is how I experience, and subsequently treat them for myself, and also my own children when they have them to a degree. They ALSO have different recovery methods to me. Panic attacks are INDIVIDUAL EXPERIENCES and what is shown may be very different to what you personally go through. Please be assured that I know this, and that you are not alone. :)

- Dravol’s relationship page has been updated. Laivan’s has also been updated. - - Dravol’s profile has been updated. -

#laivan #dravol #plot #asksavel #tw: panic attack

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crylamby · 3 months

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𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒.

the mercy hill church rituals were rounds of torture that many churchgirls and churchboys underwent to determine the use of humans in ritualistic sacrifices. those who succumbed to the stress first were given as mere fodder for the preacher’s monster son, while the others were continuously, subsequently, put through the torture again in an attempt to break them down.

lamb survived each trial, albeit some worse than the rest; most terrible of them all being used as a vessel for a demon. it wore him down from the inside, suppressing his immune system and causing near - deadly fevers. upon the preachers attempting to purge it from his body, he died in the process ━━━ and was even autopsied before he was resurrected. he still bears a v - shaped autopsy scar upon his chest and belly.

many church children developed severe aquaphobia after the rituals, including lamb. an attempted drowning under the guise of a divine ritual & baptism was administered, with the head being forcibly held underwater for a long period of time until unconsciousness or death was achieved. something as simple as staying hydrated became incredibly difficult for lamb, and he often suffered panic attacks if he was to shower or take a bath.

among the two remaining trials in the mercy hill rituals are polar opposites, though just as frightening to their sufferers; crucifixion and live burial. lamb still bears scars upon his palms and the tops of his feet, with extensive permanent nerve damage that renders him incapable of forming a full fist & has since changed the way he walks + runs. he developed nyctophobia & claustrophobia due to being buried alive, forced into a coffin and positioned with his arms in an ‘ x ‘ across his chest ━━━ which has caused a trauma response of sleeping in the same position, even without meaning to.

#oh my poor meow meow.....#𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄. MONOLOGUE OF A DAMNED CHILD.

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textsfromthetva · 20 days

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Marvel should let Rafa create his own comedy show about Brad’s life after he’s released back on the Sacred Timeline

Rafael’s own buddy-comedy movie Blindspotting (which he directed, produced, acted in and more) and it’s subsequent TV series did REALLY well and his old series on YouTube are funny too, so I feel like Rafa definitely could do it

Ooooo, what a concept! I'd want it to be a tragicomedy though, which I know he could also pull off.

So Brad is trying to pick up where he left off with his carefree celeb lifestyle, which is a fun romp, but now he's also got some serious Trauma to contend with. Like you don't just watch your mentor (that you were weirdly intimate with) and a bunch of your colleagues getting horrifically squashed to death in front of you and shrug that off like it's nothing. Not to mention his own cube-based torture at Loki's hands. And pruning D-90. And getting possessed by Sylvie and killing someone while not in control of his own actions.

Yeah, I can see some potential for comedic elements, but I want to see rampant PTSD as well. I want him to suffer from an extreme case of claustrophobia, where feeling trapped in any enclosed space sets of severe panic attacks. I want him to become a total control freak, especially when it comes to his own bodily autonomy. I want nightmares. I want flashbacks. I want the angst.

… You guys can let me know in the notes where you'd add the comedy, because I'm obviously only bringing tragedy to the table. Or send me an ask about it! I love asks.

#asks #anon #brad wolfe #I'm in an angsty mood and ready to see my babygirl suffer

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redlegend-a · 1 year

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because horror is what I do

Morale Rules for Mt. Silver

Morale is a statistic determined on a value from 1-5. It can be played with completely independently from any system. It is based upon a character's most relied on statistic when keeping them sane in stressful situations.

In 5E terms, Morale is determined based on that stat's modifier. For example, Red relies on Wisdom to move through stressful situations, and has a +4 modifier to Wisdom. He would have 4 morale points and a maximum of 4.

Upon encountering a situation where he would feasibly be "shaken" or demoralized, I announce he's lost a morale point. at 0 he has a "morale failure" and rolls on the failure table.

If you lose another morale past 0, you immediately roll another option on top of your original failure.

To regain morale, make a DC 15 WIS save at the conclusion of a long rest.

Morale Failure Table (d12)

Anger: All attacks do +1 additional damage. You may not succeed on Wisdom Saves until your next long rest is complete.

Hopelessness: You suffer the effect of Bane until you complete a long rest.

Uncertainty: All saving throws are made with disadvantage until your next long rest.

Impulsiveness: You suffer a -5 penalty on all Perception checks until your next long rest is complete.

Terror: You must make a Wisdom save DC 12 upon attempting to short or long rest. This effect ends when a long rest is complete.

Exhaustion: You immediately gain 1 point of Exhaustion. This effect ends when a long rest is complete.

Illness: You are considered Poisoned until a long rest is complete.

Panic: You must make a Wisdom save DC 12 whenever you encounter another creature (only for the first creature in the encounter), on a failure you are considered Frightened of that creature. This save can be re-rolled at the beginning of each of your subsequent turns, ending on a success. This total effect ends when you complete a long rest.

Paranoia: You have advantage on Perception checks to detect enemy creatures, but can only long rest upon succeeding a Wisdom save DC 12. You may repeat this save every two hours. This effect ends at the completion of a long rest.

Hallucinations: You experience vivid auditory or visual hallucinations. These hallucinations act as a Hypnotic Pattern (Save DC 12) triggered by a specific thing. This effect lasts until the completion of a long rest.

Anxiety: You have advantage on Stealth checks when any creature is in sight of you besides yourself. You have disadvantage on melee attack rolls. This effect ends at the completion of a long rest.

Rapture: You have advantage on attack rolls but take 1d4 damage of that same type every time you do damage to a creature. This effect ends at the completion of a long rest.

#ooc #;;tables

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spncompostheap · 1 year

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S1 Dean Head Canon

My main inspirations for this.

When Dean goes on a bender and loses track of John, he panics and goes to find Sam at college. While Sam agrees to go on one case, the death of his girlfriend hurls him back into the hunting scene. While the brothers hunt Wendigos, and a lake monster, Dean does his best to keep his drinking in check and only indulges heavily during his downtime. Dean’s mental health takes a hit after confiding in a child witness about his past traumas while on a case. CPTSD rears its ugly head sending Dean spiraling into self medication amidst nightmares and anxiety symptoms to the point that even Sam notices.

When the brothers get called about a demon possession case involving airplanes, Sam learns just how terrified his brother is to fly. Afterwards, they realize John has changed his voicemail and is now actively deferring cases to them despite continuing to not check in. When Dean tries to ignore his grief about dad and heads for Atlantic City, hoping to relax, Sam starts a fight and accuses him of being “a useless alcoholic just like dad”. Dean storms out, goes to a bar and gets smashed only to wake up the next morning in bed with a stranger and no memory oh he'd gotten there.

Dean coasts for a while after, still drinking but trying not to go overboard. He hunts with Sam and mostly enjoys it, as much as anyone really can. Priorities shift suddenly after Sam has psychic visions of their childhood home in Kansas. Dean had promised himself never to return after his last trip, when he almost killed himself driving drunk and consequently been charged with a DUI. When ganking the ghosts involves a chance encounter with his mother’s spirit, Dean is left shaken. His nightmares return and intensify, and without realizing completely, he ups his frequency of alcohol consumption to daily as a counterbalance to protecting his mental health.

After investigating a haunted asylum where Sam gets possessed, and says some nasty things before shooting him, Dean starts to doubt his relationship with Sam. When John does eventually reach out it's to tell his sons explicitly to back off and stop looking for him, then order them to pursue a separate case. Sam gets pissed and the brothers argue which ultimately lead to them separating. While Dean doesn't let on how badly he’s hurting, having lost his family again over the span of a day; Sam sees his brother’s subsequent apology for the giant red flag that it is. Tracking his brother down, Sam saves Dean from a pagan deity, they eventually reconcile and continue hunting together.

Having been more than willing to go out in blaze of glory before Sam rescued him, Dean starts drinking on the job and hunting recklessly. When they encounter a Rawhead, Dean’s reactions are slowed, and he inadvertently electrocutes himself, killing the monster. After suffering a heart attack, Dean’s prognosis isn't good, but he’s more than willing to accept death over his brother’s attempts at some kind of magical cure. When Sam randomly finds a faith healer and tricks Dean into tagging along, he’s surprised when Rev. Le Grange actually heals him. When the other shoe drops, however, Dean realizes he’s only been saved at the expense of somebody else. Unable to justify having been saved this way, Dean is additionally burdened by Layla’s impending death once they've shut the faith healer down.

In the aftermath of nearly dying, continued radio silence from dad sends a louder message than if John had bothered to pick up his phone. Dean tries to put himself back together as best he can by getting drunk and celebrating Sam’s 23rd birthday. Later after a tip concerning a possible haunting in PA, Dean’s not entirely sure he’s ready to get back in the saddle again. Though he initially does go along with Sam, all bets are off when he gets an emergency call from his ex-girlfriend Cassie.

Sam psychoanalyzes until his brother starts to squirm, inadvertently giving away details of the only real romantic relationship he’s ever had. Amidst battling a racist ghost truck, Dean tries to gain some closure but only really gets overdue makeup sex instead. After leaving Missouri, Dean struggles between wanting to drink himself into oblivion and wanting Sam to give it a break with the psychoanalysis bullshit already. To save face, Dean starts carrying his flask again, only drinking when he knows Sam can’t see. Mother’s Day weekend becomes an additional trigger, and Dean’s actually kind of surprised just how easily one cheesy af Hallmark greeting card can push him over the edge.

When Sam starts having psychic visions again, Dean’s already been drinking steadily for days, adding to his anxiety about driving anywhere in the middle of the night. When the crime scene turns out to be real, Dean isn't sure how to cope sober and his intoxication contributes to him almost being killed by Max Miller. Though he tries to comfort Sam, Dean is in fact freaking out about pretty much everything. It becomes clear that Sam doesn't remember their childhood like Dean does at all. While that was kind of the whole point, it still hurts remembering all the ways Dean had shielded his little brother from John’s drunken rages.

Dean is overwhelmed and falling back into his more alcoholic tendencies- ignoring John’s rules and carrying a flask everywhere.When the brothers get a motel room, Dean over does it until he fears he may have actually poisoned himself after he starts experiencing loss of appetite because of nausea / vomiting, headache, dizziness & chest palpitations *(i.e. mild alcohol withdrawal symptoms). Hiding his illness from Sam, Dean tries to put himself back together.

When Sam gets kidnapped by humans, Dean freaks out and jeopardizes his own identity while trying to track his brother down. The guilt of almost having gotten Sam killed leads Dean into going cold turkey with varying degrees of success until he ultimately fails the way he does with everything. While Dean does manage to put down the flask, he’s left with constant cravings and no other foreseeable way to numb out his mounting internal pain. Meanwhile, Sam is as oblivious as he is distracted with finding John to support his brother's attempts at sobriety. When Dean falls back on his and John’s rules for drinking, he finds that he’s grown too dependent on alcohol for the rules to be much help. Dean vaguely remembers John having gone through detox several times over the years, although he never really thought about why it was happening until now.

In Chicago the brothers encounter Meg Masters, and without knowing it, accidentally lead John into a trap. When Sam alludes to quitting hunting again, Dean is noticeably crushed, unable to see past his dysfunctional views of family. Later on after telling John to go, Dean tries to find ways to keep Sammy close while engaged in hunting. Continuing his attempts at curbing his drinking, it’s a surprise to Dean when Sam seems to be going in the opposite direction by actively seeking out booze and dive bars. Although Dean hasn't said it out loud yet, he’s starting to accept his inherited alcoholism and worries about Sam meeting the same fate. Inevitably prank wars prove to be a safer form of brotherly bonding than getting wasted.

Dean’s feeling sentimental spending time with Sam and not thinking so much outside of that. Though arson works on taking out the Tulpa in Texas, things easily could have gone differently especially given how the future Ghostfacers were also thrown into the mix. Fearing that Sam’s just going to ditch him again contributes to Dean having intrusive thoughts and increased anxiety. Although he somehow maintains his tough guy facade by suffering through, eventually his attempts prove unsustainable.

When John texts coordinates the brothers revisit an old case, that’s extremely triggering for Dean. While they do manage to save the day, Dean’s forced to remember hard parts of their childhood along with the perceived guilt over knowing the shringa continued killing children for 17 more years because of him. Dean can’t take back his past mistakes and worries about how many kids have had to die at the hands of the Shringa because of him. But robbing Michael of his innocence is the icing on the cake, and soon Dean backslides into alcohol as his primary coping mechanism. Father’s day weekend brings up a bunch of other stuff for Dean, he’s spiraling again and likely couldn't maintain sobriety if his life depended on it.

After encountering a hot girl and a haunted painting in upstate New York, Dean is doing poorly and tries to deflect by pushing Sam toward Sarah Blake. Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean’s cycling through a constant state of intoxication with no idea how much less a desire to stop. Ganking the ghost and saving the day, Dean’s living it up with a beer in his hand and his brother by his side once more. Despite Sam’s ambivalence, Dean convinces him to celebrate the fourth of July. Everything’s great until Dean nearly gets another DUI and Sam has to find a way to save his older brother for a change.

Weeks later when they stumble onto a nest of vampires in Manning, CO and reunite with John. Dean is conflicted when John wants to enter the vampires' nest to steal a gun that can supposedly kill anything. It rapidly becomes clear that dad wants to ditch them again and this time Dean knows it’s because John’s on a suicide mission. Dean recognizes the look in John’s eyes because he’s been there himself enough times but he also knows that losing his dad this way will damage him beyond repair.

When John is captured by Azazel and Meg after she kills several close friends of the Winchesters’. Dean realizes that would give it all up indefinitely just to have his family back together and safe. Reconnecting with Bobby Singer guides the brothers through exercising Meg out of her host's body. But although the boys do find their father Dean is first to see that John’s been possessed by Azazel. After Sam shoots his dad in the leg with the colt, the demon is forced to vacate John's body, and the Winchester’s escape. En route to safety, however, the impala gets struck by a demon possessed truck driver and leaves a badly injured Dean on the verge of death.

#supernatural #season 1 #spn headcanon #dean winchester #tw: depression #tw alchoholism #tw sucidal ideation #canonically fits into gaps between first season episodes #potential spoilers #fanfic inspo #ao3 wip

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