#waiting for the sword of damocles to drop on him

[landwriter]

Hob just like love missing scenes?? do tell :)

He’s blond. That’s the first thing Hob notices, when the stranger - not his Stranger, just the lowercase sort, comes and sits down next to him. Thank Christ, he thinks, he couldn’t cope with some raven-haired beauty, not tonight. Maybe not for a few decades. Maybe he oughta move to, to bloody Finland or somewhere.

“Rough night?” asks the stranger. He sounds like a cowboy out of a Hollywood film.

Hob tries to smile and winces instead. “That obvious, am I?”

The man smiles. His teeth are white and perfect. He’s dressed in a cream suit and wearing coal-black sunglasses in the middle of the night, indoors. He’s the most American thing Hob has ever seen.

“Nah,” the lowercase stranger drawls. “I just wanted an excuse to come over. Drink to our troubles?”

Hob blinks. He’d started twelve hours ago with beer, which turned to wine, then whisky, then bitter disappointment and a cab ride here, and now more whisky, except it’s hideously expensive and he’s too deep in his cups to appreciate it. And he still knows he’s being hit on.

“Hob,” he says, and holds out his hand. The stranger takes it, and his grip is firm and cool. He momentarily forgets that he’s supposed to get a name in return. “What are you drinking tonight, mate?”

The stranger smiles again, long and slow this time, and lust slithers into Hob’s gut, settling comfortably atop the mess of misery below. “Well, whatever you’re buying.”

---

all I've done for it so far! but really want to cover Corinthian's accidental use of Hob's "Life is so rich" line - here's my notes for the rest of this:

hob’s reaction, etc- his suspicion, smelling the death, wanting annihilation, knowing something is STRANGE about him. maybe even in earlier section - hob sensing he’s dangerous. poss the Corinthian offers a fake name. poss the name is like, randomly chosen, and a few minutes later hob notices it’s from a drink behind the bar, or on the cocktail menu, Usual Suspects style. immediately sobers up best he can. assessing situation, assuming he is a Dangerous Man, and thinking, perfect. a fuck and maybe a fight. then later, kissing, finding the dagger, and being honestly incredibly turned on, knowing he was right.

I think it could be a super fun and hot drabble and I really wanna jump into Hob's fresh-off-1989 mindset here because it's surely INSANE

#if you sent me a wip game ask i haven't answered congratulations am now desperately writing more so i've got something to share #<3<3<3 #the sandman #hobrinthian #the corinthian/hob gadling #hob x corinthian #like genuinely imagine the instincts hob gadling must have after 600 years #coupled with feeling forsaken by the only person who's known him that long #the still-fresh optimism of that day that dream will show up and they'll make up and BANG ??? hopefully? #and then he doesn't #he's gone #but here's a dangerous hot dilf who reeks of contradiction and is hiding secrets #tell me there's a world where heartbroken hob gadling does not sniff that man like CATNIP and FUCK HIM FOR THREE DAYS STRAIGHT #waiting for the sword of damocles to drop on him #pissed at dream for being so constantly opaque and taking it out on the corinthian #and channeling it into a secret he KNOWS he can call down and summon #if only every time he named the truth it could be thus fulfilled #my writing

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 79

Part 1 Part 78

It’s warm in the grass. Warm where Will’s body heat is radiating out and caressing Steve’s calf. His whole body is warm, like it's all one infection that he needs to ice. Maybe he’s the infection, and he needs to let himself burn out.

The hole has disappeared, sewed up like its own sutured wound. Steve misses it, the way he blinks, and the cavity is gone. Eddie’s no longer visible down there, his grunts muffled by clods of earth. But, Steve can still feel him. They’re leashed together. 

Eddie’s been swallowed by the belly of the beast, and Steve’s not sure what that means. If he’ll be welcomed, or subsumed. But Will’s still right beside him, and his mind’s still ticking away on what he knows – Eddie, Will, Eddie, Will, Eddie. 

So, he sits. And he waits. 

There’s noise up here, now. Unknown men shouting unknown words. Will stands up to talk to them, ankle brushing its scorching ache along Steve’s elbow. Steve doesn’t get up. He just keeps gazing, unblinking, at the bright dot of Eddie’s light beneath packed dirt. 

It’s like Steve’s there, and then he’s not. 

He thought he knew burning before, knew the pain of heat. This isn’t heat. It’s an inferno. It’s not Will’s ankle against his elbow, or Eddie’s hand against his cheek. 

This is a fire that takes, and takes, and takes away everything that Steve is. He can’t see the grave that isn’t, can’t remember who they buried in there. Curly hair and doe eyes and dimples are burned out of him at the quick. 

He’s there, and then he isn’t.

Steve tries to remember what it is he knows. He tries to hold onto the cadence of names he can almost remember on his tongue. They drift away.

There, then not. 

Steve is fire. Steve is pain. 

Then, he’s nothing at all. 

***

It’s a feeling, what makes Will turn away from the men and their flamethrowers, and the threat they pose. It’s like flames, licking across his chest, like a bond turning to ash.

He’s getting used to Steve’s vacant eyes, the way he’s both here and not. He’s not used to this. Steve’s lying across the ground now, absolutely writhing, with only the whites of his eyes visible in his twitching sockets.

“Steve!” Will rushes to his side, dropping quick enough to bruise his knees on the cold, packed dirt. His hands hover over seizing shoulders, afraid of what his touch might bring. “Eddie!”

He can feel Eddie, underground but closing in. He pulls, and pulls, and pulls.

It’s Steve opening his mouth and screaming that prompts Will to settle his hand on Steve’s shoulder, fingers brushing cold skin as he tries to hold him in place. It doesn’t work. Steve continues thrashing, and Will rocks along with him.

There are men in suits, men with guns surrounding them both now, yelling panicked words at each other that buzz through Will’s ears but don’t solidify. He won’t look away from Steve, can’t when he’s screaming like he’s dying.

“Eddie!” he calls again, He squeezes Steve’s shoulder hard enough to hurt his own hand, pushes him into the dirt, but Steve’s too strong. He thrashes, uninhibited.

Between blinks, Steve’s face is clouded by familiar smoke – it writhes into his mouth, eyes, nose. Just like it had in front of the school, as if Steve’s been trapped in this moment ever since, suffocating.

Will follows the spiraling smoke, up, up, up into the sky, where the shadow monster looms, writhing just the same as its tentacles, just the same as Steve. It’s blocking out the familiar red of the Upside-Down. Will never thought he’d miss it.

Before he can miss it for long, red starts to swirl through the smoke. For a second, Will thinks it’s the sky poking through, the smoke dissipating into the air. But, no. It flickers through, like fire sparking. Like the end of one of Eddie’s cigarettes, quivering in the breeze.   

He wants his Mom, wants Eddie, wants Steve, all safe and bundled and warm in his house this morning, even as the sword of Damocles dangles over them all. The strike of the blade is always worse.

“No, no, no, no!” Like Will’s own distress summoned him, Eddie’s kneeling on the other side of Steve, palm clasped to his forearm as he holds on. Or maybe he’d been there the whole time. “Stevie, no!”

Will looks down to Steve and sobs, barely audible over the sound of Eddie’s continued wailing. Steve’s skin is blackening, the skin on his cheeks flaking, like a ribeye steak charred to long on the grill. That same red flickers through the dark pits of his skin, embers shining through.

He's on fire.

So is the monster.

It’s no comfort at all because Steve is screaming and turning to ash beneath their hands.

Will looks up and meets Eddie’s eyes. They’re hollowed out, like Eddie know this is the end. Like he’s accepted it, as long as he gets to keep his hold on Steve.

Eddie runs his palm down Steve’s flaking arm, intertwines his fingers with Steve’s, somehow tender even here, at the end of the world.

Will doesn’t want this moment to end, too afraid of the silence that’ll wring when Steve’s just dust.

It doesn’t last.

It’s a domino effect – the vast body of the smoke monster collapsing in on itself, falling to the floor. Steve slumping into the ground, still as the grave. Eddie, gasping just once before he collapses overtop Steve. Will lies down atop them all, listening to Steve’s heart beating beneath his ear as he welcomes his own quiet grave.

 

Part 80

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #steddie upsidedown au #will byers #this first part was always supposed to be short as hell so a two for!!!

[rascheln]

Stormy Ocean - a moodboard for @lovebillyhargrove

"We're stuck." Steve hangs up the phone with a deafening clack on the receiver and blankly watches the waves crash against the shore below.

It's too late in the year for more than a skeleton crew of caretakers to visit the luxury retreat once a week to keep up maintenance, so there's only a small ferry available that can't handle a stormy sea.

Steve grits his teeth when he doesn't get a response. Turns around to see Billy open a wine bottle that definitely doesn't belong to him- yet- and pour dark liquid into two waiting glasses.

Billy's voice is bone dry. "What a surprise."

Not like the weather forecast could have predicted this. Billy just had to push the date for the showing a few more days ahead. Multiple times. Until the weather forecast hung over their heads like a sword of Damocles and the people the estate actually belongs to started to get restless enough to send Steve off with their only prospective buyer regardless of the extreme weather warning.

Billy is a great actor. If there's something he doesn't want Steve to know, there won't even be the hint of suspicion that something is amiss. Except now, there's a blatant, unapologetic calmness to his expression. His movement is smooth and unhurried as he approaches Steve and wraps an arm around his waist like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Like the scent of his perfume hasn't changed to a deeper, even woodsier tone. Like he's picking up their relationship as if it's a conversation they simply dropped for a moment and not an entire two years.

And the worst part is: They both know it's working.

#harringrove #harringrove moodboard #st edits #harringrove edit #when in doubt i fall back on my all time fav trope: getting back together<3

[giorno-plays-piano]

Adore Adore

Part I

Pairing: king!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: yandere-ish Steve, obsession, noncon, threats, mentions of murder and misogyny, magic.

Words: 1.3k

Summary: The King looked just as you remembered him the last time you were summoned to the court along with your father to the coronation: he seemed to emit light anywhere he went, bold and overpowering and radiant, with his perfectly golden hair and white teeth and unearthly blue eyes, and people were drawn to him like moths to the flame.

P.S. There is no description of reader's appearance, but there's a mention she has short hair.

_____________

"Our fair King is looking for a bride," your father said one evening at the dining table, dropping the words carelessly as if to delude you, reducing their importance.

The King was looking for a bride. It meant that your days - just like the days of many noble unmarried daughters in the kingdom - were now all about fitting of new dresses, honing your skills of seduction, and refining your already impeccable manners while waiting to be invited to the court. As much as you despised being paraded around like an exotic animal with your father spreading false rumors about your amazing beauty and incredible charisma, it would be more tolerable if you knew you were to be wed to a promising young man of the same social standing, with soft eyes and kind hands. But the King...

The King was young and handsome and clever and cruel. His affection was alike to Damocles' Sword hanging over your head.

But, perhaps, you didn't need to worry too much. Despite your father claiming you were the most beautiful young lady in the whole province, upon seeing you anybody could tell you were not handsome in the conventional sense. The court had far more impressive - and far more eager - ladies who would be a better match for the King. You were just a count's daughter, and although you were promised a king's random for your dowry, it wasn't colossal enough for the King.

But the invitation had been delivered to your doorstep anyway, and soon you begrudgingly left your home for the capital with your father hoping you would catch attention of some lesser noble, at least. You were of age to get married, he reminded you as he looked at your sour expression.

The King's riches hadn't impress you even when you stepped in the grandest ballroom of the royal castle where walls seemed to be made out of gold and green tourmaline. You were itching to escape the moment the King had arrived, surrounded by his royal entourage, all of them dressed too extravagantly to your taste, like a flock of peacocks. The King looked just as you remembered him the last time you were summoned to the court along with your father to the coronation: he seemed to emit light anywhere he went, bold and overpowering and radiant, with his perfectly golden hair and white teeth and unearthly blue eyes, and people were drawn to him like moths to the flame.

Underneath all this shine was nothing but a cold, cold man with a heart like a burning iron fresh from fire. They said he got it from his mother, a mere maid who bewitched the last King with her deadly charms.

But you were plain in the eyes of nobles of the court, and you wore no gold, only silver, and your hair were cut short when other daughters wore them long, in the most elaborate hair arrangements in accordance with the latest fashions. The King merely spared you a glance and moved on, surrounded by women so beautiful each of them could be a fairy queen. All of them were eager to please him for a chance to wear a golden crown, and you were not.

You were safe with your plain-looking face and the stupified expression you wore as if you were nothing but a country bumpkin. Soon you left the ballroom behind and descended down the stares into the royal gardens for a breath of fresh air - luckily, an acceptable excuse for a young lady - to get as far from the King as you could. No one would look for you since your father got carried away by the endless talk of politics and rumors circulating in the capital he would never get a hand of back in the countryside, and all the ladies you were acquainted with were busy trying to win King's affection.

Finally, you let yourself breathe, exhaling too loudly for a young lady of your standing as you stared somewhere up, at the silver stars shining high up in the midnight sky. Soon you'd be home again, in the safety of your mansion where the King would never come because he showed disdain for houses like yours, plain just like you and your face and your dress, blind to its warm, welcoming charm. What did a man like him know of true beauty?

Letting the long silver gloves slide off your hands, you took a breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a mere moment, listening to the joyful sounds coming from some other ladies who descended the stairs. Perhaps it was wise to wander further into the gardens to escape their attention.

"What do we have here?" The King's voice cut through the silence, and you felt like a wave of heat flushed through your body, the tips of your fingers burning as if you put them on the red-hot surface of the furnace. "It is a shame a beauty like you hides herself in my gardens."

Carefully, you turned around to face him, remind him of your plain looks and be free again, and you nearly succeed: the King frowned a bit at your face, his silent dissatisfaction with your appearance stinging a little.

"I wouldn't call myself a beauty with so many ladies much more refined than me present, Your Majesty", you bowed your head in respect and curtsied, hoping he would leave you alone at once.

He spoke softly, "My, that is true. But why wouldn't you compete with them in matters other than beauty? I am sure you have something else to offer."

His quiet words and suddenly gentle tone surprised you as you blinked at him, unsure, but the heat he seemed to radiate was suffocating, and you nearly choked out, "I am afraid I do not have much to offer comparing to the esteemed noble daughters of the capital, Your Majesty."

Which was particularly true to those of high standing who had no need in a wealthy wife. If the King knew your name - you very much hoped he didn't - he knew as much.

"It almost seems you do not want to compete with others at all," he mused, surprised with your honesty, and took a step closer to have a better look at your face. You despised the way he loomed over you like a tower, tall and proud. "Do you not want to become a queen? Wear a jeweled crown with great pride and sit on the golden throne on the right side of the King?"

The heat coming from him was nearly making the flush melt off your face, but your blood boiled not because of it. Anger tore through your chest like a knife, and for a second you forgot that he was the King, and you were but someone's daughter, and you said to him, keeping your eyes on his face, "No."

It took him aback, your honesty, your anger, the intensity of your voice, and then it took you aback when you remembered he was the King, and he could take offense and call you undignified and unworthy of marriage. But all for the better, you thought. As long as he didn't marry you, you could come to terms with anything even if you would have to grow old alone in your father's house, unwed and with no one to leave your wealth to.

But he didn't look at you with disdain. He didn't call you unseemly. Instead of displeasure there was something strange in King's expression, something dark and cruel and eager when he watched you with a sharp glint in his eyes as if he could bore a hole in you just by looking. And then all of a sudden his handsome face flushed and his eyes grew eager as he took your ungloved hand firmly, and the young King said, "But you will make a fine Queen, I think."

________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodierin @yeolliedokai @what-is-your-wish @lou-la-lou @gachawipes133 @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @youngdreamer3214

#steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #yandere #captain america

[phantomfallacy]

Fontaine is wild.

Back in Genshin Impact after a long, long hiatus haha.

Finally, we're in the heat of the story and I don't have to wait 10000 years for a new quest. In fact, I'm so behind I feel rich with undiscovered primos...

ANYWAYS, I came back for Clorinde but stayed for Wriothesley...

He's such an interesting character. And I'm not just talking about his buns.

The Surging Sword of his burst reminds me of the Sword of Damocles. It's the symbol of a looming sense of catastrophe, the overhanging reminder of death and oblivion.

This could apply to all of Fontaine, as a whole, but Wriothesley, as someone who knows the truth about the Primordial Sea and the sluice gate, is burdened by this metaphorical sword more than most. Furina cannot compare, because although she does not want this catastrophe to fall and is just as anxious about it, she will not be a victim to it. In the end, she'll be left alone, but she'll also be left unscathed.

Other Fontainians know about the prophecy, but not the details. They do not control the flow of this information information that Wriothesley does. Thus, the responsibility of the metaphorical sword is heavier on him than most.

Ceasing my simping for a bit, there's also the Fortress of Meropide itself, which I find extremely, EXTREMELY interesting. It's a place where the worst of the worst end up. It's a place where they're reborn. It's a place where people created an economy and livelihood, for happiness.

How confusing.

Is it a good place? Or is it a bad one?

Welfare meals and stable jobs, but treachery and breeding grounds for people like Dougier…

I have some suspicions that the actual Fontaine is a hotbed of crime. You know the concept of society creating villains because that specific society requires villains to function? Well isn't that just Fontaine? The Oratrice requires the "dramatic justice" to create fuel, so Fontaine obligingly hosts crime like it's Saturday Night Live.

As such, Fontaine's society cannot be as simple as we see it in game. That's just not logical.

In Neuvilette's character quest, we see just a drop of the politics, and though in present day, the threat against Melusines are gone, there are no doubt other undercurrents.

There's the child trafficking ring that persisted from Wriothesley's childhood to Lyney's childhood. Who's to say it doesn't still exist?

There's Sonny and Luca. For those who haven't played the quest, you can start with Virgil. Pretty sure everyone's seen him around. The game puts him in such an obvious area, and Sonny and Luca appear in the same spot afterwards. It's like a quest that's bound to have 95% players complete.

And don't tell me no one thought Spina de Rosula isn't a mafia.

People who cannot win the rat race get trampled on, and who are those people if not a majority of the prisoners who decide to stay in the Fortress of Meropide after their sentence is finished? They would rather live peaceful lives than participate in what goes on up above, which proves I may be right to say Fontaine's upper echelons is rather difficult.

You could say that the Fortress is a refuge for exiles as the game claims, but I think it's also a fortress by its most proper definition. Guarded by Wriothesley, how would the unnamed factions of Fontaine reach in? Why else does the game repeat the fact that it's an autonomous entity, that of which even the courts of Fontaine have no hopes of influencing?

#genshin impact #genshin analysis #fontaine #fortress of meropide #wriothesley

[itsuki-minamy]

"K - RETURN OF KINGS" (Novel)

CHAPTER 9: NEKO'S DREAM (Part 1)

* List of Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Awashima Seri let out a deep breath as she leaned back on the couch in the living room.

Ever since they were defeated in the decisive battle of Mihashira Tower, Awashima barely took a break. There was a lot to do. Pick up the injured, transport them to the hospital, rearrange shifts to fill in the gaps, contact and inform relevant parties, track down the missing "Dresden Slate" and gather information, while conducting normal activities such as crime patrol, in order to minimize the members' agitation due to defeat. She couldn't show even the slightest hesitation.

"Phew."

Awashima let out another sigh and rubbed her eyes.

"Please rest for a while." If Akiyama hadn't negotiated with a serious expression, Awashima would have kept working. And then she should have collapsed. Not to mention the physical exhaustion, the mental exhaustion was reaching its limit. Awashima still suffered from losing, and there was one thing that worried her more than anything else.

This is the case of Munakata and Fushimi.

It seems that there was an argument between Munakata and Fushimi in the early morning of the 25th. Even if she regretted not being there at that time, now it wasn't a big deal.

The most shocking thing was the fact that Munakata had an argument with someone. What that "King" made was a theory or a statement, even if there was, it would have been an argument, and it was unimaginable that he would fight violently with someone.

No, thinking so, Awashima smiled while she still covered her eyes.

She has only seen Munakata get angry once. How many years ago was that? When Suoh had just become the "Red King". Munakata tried to persuade Suoh and for some reason it turned into a battle.

At that time, Awashima could do almost nothing. When she became a member of the "Scepter 4" clan, she learned the entire history of supernatural powers. Among them, the clash between the predecessor "Blue King" and the "Red King", which is said to be the worst, and the "Kagutsu Incident" at the end. The clash between Munakata and Suoh seemed like a repeat of that.

Even Suoh couldn't have ignored that story. Despite that, that man easily kicked Munakata away. What made Munakata angry was Suoh's irresponsibility.

However, Fushimi is not a "King".

Even as capable as he is, he is just a member of the clan. He is in no way equal to Munakata. It was unthinkable that Munakata would have a fight with him and finally drive him out.

Could that also be because of the injuries he received?

Then...

"What I can do?"

Her gaze moved slowly, and settled into a gothic-style coffee table near the couch.

Awashima's saber was leaning there.

(Reisi Munakata's right-hand man is you, not me.)

The man who once said that to Awashima cut to his own "King". As a result, he saved this country. Habari Jin expected that? A clan member who is most loyal to himself brings death upon himself. Was that the right path for her?

What about Munakata?

Wait, who will be by his side when she drops his "Sword of Damocles"? Could it really be her?

Is it possible for her to kill the Captain...?

"......!"

The doubts that had been suppressed until now spilled over, and Awashima frowned as if she was enduring the pain.

Despite being defeated, Munakata is still alive and well. The Clansman are also desperately searching for the whereabouts of the "Green King". There is still a chance to get the "Slate" back. They did not lose completely.

Still, the second hand of doom is definitely advancing.

When "that moment" comes, she must draw that saber. That was the role of Seri Awashima, the Vice-Captain of "Scepter 4", which she couldn't cede to anyone else.

Lying back on the sofa she tried to catch her breath.

She didn't want to think about it anymore. She remembered that Akiyama took it from her when she tried to remove her PDA from her chest. Because if she does, she'll have to work.

From there, her thoughts turned elsewhere.

No one was able to contact Fushimi. All incoming calls from "Scepter 4" were blocked and in the case of "Homura" it was no different. Contact lost and gone. They have no idea where and what he is doing these days.

One of the reasons she wants him to come back is that Fushimi's disappearance is the cause of half of that hustle. He is a capable man. When it comes to information processing, there's no one better than Fushimi, and there are mountains of jobs that can't be done without Fushimi.

And she on the other hand is just worried about Fushimi.

Fushimi is not a nice person, even by flattery. Rather, to put it bluntly, he has a bad personality. He's the type of person people hate, and Awashima didn't like him either.

Still, there is something about Fushimi that cannot be left alone.

He is sharp as a knife, but has a brittle side like glass. Despite being extremely talented, he is fatally bad at trusting others. Where and what is he doing now that he has jumped from "Scepter 4"? Thinking about it makes her feel uncomfortable. Hopefully he doesn't get desperate and get involved in weird things.

Just as she was thinking about it, there was a knock on the break room door.

"Fu, Vice-Captain! It's hard!"

Awashima sat down heavily. A lot of hard things have happened in the last few days. Just adding one more thing now won't change anything, the voice from the other side of the door pushed away a careless thought.

"The "Jungle" clansman, Douhan Hirasaka has escaped from prison! It is believed that the missing Saruhiko Fushimi guided her!"

++++++++++

Blade proof suit, tactical vest, heeled boots and combat gloves. Even when she got dressed and moved her body, there was nothing unnatural about it. The grenades, flashbangs, and shurikens that Fushimi always kept on hand were nowhere to be found in the cardboard box that Fushimi brought, but it couldn't be helped. Those clothes were just "trial items", and the ones in there were "dangerous goods". In any case, if she went back to the hideout, she could replace it.

Fushimi looked coldly into the rearview mirror as Hirasaka adjusted her equipment in the back seat. There was no light inside the van parked in the dark alley, and the only light was the unreliable interior lights.

While he pretended to manipulate a PDA, Hirasaka also watched Fushimi without letting her guard down.

In a way, that place was dead.

If one of them wanted to, a battle would break out in no time. Other than Fushimi, Hirasaka has no reason to keep him alive. If the freedom that was fortunately obtained was solidified, it would have been better to shut Fushimi's mouth there.

She wondered if she could.

She answered herself that she could do it. Dangerous goods have been seized across the board, but she's got a switchblade in her combat gloves. Make a hole and pick his throat. That would be enough.

"Do not think too much."

Leaning down from the driver's seat, Fushimi stabbed into the nail.

"I took the knife out of your glove. Right now you don't have anything you can stab or cut with."

Hirasaka tried to operate the glove. Shukon, a stupid sound resonated and the knife did not come out. Hirasaka shrugged as she gave him a cool look.

"You have quite a hobby going through women's clothing."

"I never thought of you as a woman, wall-breaker. I tell you, there's no use trying to escape. Next time, I'll sew your whole body to the back seat."

Before she knew it, a knife appeared in Fushimi's palm. When she thought about it, she remembered that this man was also a concealed weapon user.

"Alright."

Hirasaka raised both hands as if she was giving up.

"Cancel the plan to kill the enemy. It's impossible. So what do you want from me?"

Fushimi snorted and waved his hand, and the knife disappeared like a magic trick. Then, he said...

"I'm going to be a ranker. Help me with that."

As expected, she was surprised.

But once she got past the initial shock, a thought came to her: "That must be so.". Fushimi's actions were clearly a rebellion against "Scepter 4". In that case, Fushimi should have given up on the Blue Clan, so it was only natural for him to run to "Jungle".

Hirasaka said...

"If it's the second time, is betrayal something you're good at? Even I frown."

"Don't lie, you say it's wrong because it's against morality. Your parents seem to have seen through your true nature."

Of course, Douhan was not a name given to her by her parents.

But that didn't matter. Hirasaka asked.

"What are my benefits?"

"I got you out of jail."

"Do you want me to return the favor? Unfortunately, I don't remember turning into a crane."

"I know, you can't follow me without millet dumplings."

Saying that, Fushimi blurted out something.

She received it reflexively. Of course, it was not a millet dumpling. It was a wad of rubber-bound bills. 500,000, guessed by touch.

"Is it a deposit?"

"If the mission is successful, I will give you the same reward. In return, all the points earned are mine."

Hirasaka thought fast.

Exchanging points for cash violates the "Jungle" rules. However, there are loopholes in any rule, and even though two people completed the quest, there are often situations where only one person gets points. You can help one without accepting the quest. So if the other checks it with cash, he is effectively buying points with money.

A million per mission, not a bad amount. However, drinking only in "not bad" conditions would not be a business.

"A million, regardless of the difficulty of the mission. That's not worth it."

Fushimi responded flatly.

"I will generate incentives based on the difficulty level. When I rank up, it will come with a bonus."

1,000,000 is the minimum guaranteed amount and the incentive is negotiable. It was perfect, or rather, it was definitely a delightful piece of work. Hirasaka thought for a few seconds and decided that there was no point in throwing it any further. Instead of sticking around and getting concessions, it will be more profitable to stay in a short and long relationship.

"Alright."

Facing Hirasaka, who briefly agreed, Fushimi nodded and started the engine.

Hirasaka asked while she was a bit surprised.

"No way, from now on?"

"What do you think of that 500,000? I already sent you the mission details. It's an easy job, so there's no incentive."

Saying that, Fushimi started the van.

Inside the trembling car, Hirasaka pressed the switch on her neck. A full-face tactical mask covered her head. A glowing green HUD appeared in front of her and various information was projected onto her retina.

"Work.", she murmured into her mask.

Hirasaka is a professional. There is a precise calculation formula behind the action, and it is not moved by emotions.

Still, this situation brought a kind of excitement to Hirasaka. She could work. It was the only thing in her empty life that gave Hirasaka a feeling similar to joy.

Feeling the electricity of "Jungle" running through her body, Hirasaka slowly began to read the details of the mission.

++++++++++

Neko was gone.

After the "Decisive Battle at Mihashira Tower" ended that day, and after she disappeared due to recognition tampering, she never appeared again. It was the same when he returned to School Island, and no matter how many times he called her, never got a single answer.

"Where did she go? No way..."

Shiro smiled and shook his head at Kuro who frowned in concern.

"No. Neko is close, because this island is her home."

Although there was no wind, he felt the rustling of the leaves and the branches of the trees. Neko was close. She was probably close enough to hear their voices.

"Then why doesn't she appear in front of us?"

At Kuro's question, Shiro made a slightly sad face.

"...I wonder if she is afraid of us."

Emotions are everything to her. Anger, sadness, joy and fear. Get closer to comfort and move away from fear. That's how she lived her whole life.

Not long ago, her peace was with Shiro.

It was different now.

Shiro has become an object of fear for her. That's because Shiro has realized the root of Neko's fear.

What Neko fears the most is "Ameno Miyabi".

Her real name. The real me of her. She is terrified of who she really is.

Not that Neko understands why she's afraid of him. Of course, Shiro doesn't know either. If Neko herself doesn't understand how she ended up in that state, no one can.

But at that moment, the image of a scared, trembling and cowering Neko broke his heart.

Shiro looked away from Kuro and slowly looked around him. Somewhere in that field of vision, Neko could be. Maybe not. Using the power of the "King", it is easy to remove the disguise from her. But doing so would not solve anything.

Instead, Shiro raised his voice.

"You should go to Kukuri. She's not scary, right? So, when you've calmed down, can you come back? I want to talk to you, Neko."

There was no answer. The trees were quiet. Kuro lowered his eyes pitifully.

Still, Shiro muttered under his breath.

"...I'll be waiting."

Then he walked away. To the student dormitory, to the place where Shiro was, to the place where Kuro and Neko should return.

++++++++++

"Eeeh?!"

The reason she unintentionally let out a voice was because there was someone in her room, which should have been empty. A student dormitory where the students of Gakuenjima live. After classes were over for the day, Yukizome Kukuri found that "lump" when she returned home humming.

The lump was in her bed. She was using a futon. She knows that she is a person, but she doesn't know who she is. As far as Kukuri knows, however, there is only one person who would likely do such a thing.

That is to say...

"...Wagahai-chan? What are you doing?"

The "lump" collapsed. From the mouth of the futon, from the dark shadow, only a glimpse of blue eyes peeked out.

"...Alright."

"Eh?"

"I'm Neko."

Her voice was tinged with tears.

With a small sigh, Kukuri put her school bag on the ground. As she sat on the bed, the ''lump'' began to move. Kukuri asked kindly.

"Did you fight with Kuro-kun?"

The "lump" moved again. She shook her head. Kukuri continued, placing her palm along the back of the futon.

"So, Shiro-kun?"

She moved a little more this time. She denied it even more than before. Knowing it wasn't a fight between the two of them, Kukuri let her gaze wander through the air.

"Well, then..."

Saying that, Kukuri remembered that she didn't know anything else about Neko.

Both Kuro and Neko live in a different world than Kukuri. The two are not students at the school, but for some reason they are mysterious beings who have settled on that island. Recently, a boy named Isana Yashiro joined them. She knew they weren't ordinary people, but Kukuri didn't quite understand who they were.

When she was searching for the words, the "lump" came to her.

"It's frightening."

"Eh?"

Wide-eyed, Kukuri asked the futon.

"What are you afraid of?"

"......"

The futon moved. as if trembling After a brief silence, she heard a muffled voice.

"Ameno Miyabi."

She had no idea what she was talking about.

"Hmm, I see..."

Kukuri crossed her arms and thought deeply. It's like asking a baby. She didn't understand what Neko meant. She has no way of expressing what she wants to say. Or maybe she doesn't want to say it in the first place. The only way to fill in the missing information is by marking each one.

"Why are you afraid of that?"

After a while, Kukuri asked.

"There is a door."

A door. Is it some kind of metaphor? Kukuri blinked and waited patiently for the word of the ''lump''.

"I hear a voice coming from the door. It's calling me. Her name is Ameno Miyabi..."

Kukuri took a deep breath.

She calling her. Does that mean "Ameno Miyabi" is Neko?

As if she read Kukuri's thoughts, the ''lump'' moved violently.

"No! Wagahai is a cat! It's not like that!"

Neko is an emotional girl. Jumping, crying and laughing, she has seen that kind of thing many times.

However, it was the first time she had seen Neko deny something so desperately.

A conflict was born within Kukuri. She doesn't know much about Neko. She might be safe to say that she doesn't know anything. And yet, is it okay to say something to Neko now? Surely Neko is afraid of a fundamental "something". Also, is she okay if she carelessly touches her?

No.

It is neither good nor bad.

She wanted to do it.

This innocent girl is scared to the point of death. She wrapped in a futon and snuggled up. If so, she would love to help her. Those were Kukuri's true feelings.

"Well, the door is..."

As if groping, Kukuri twisted the words.

"Isn't it possible to throw it somewhere? How about we throw it in the sea or in the mountains?"

Neko shook her head at the trivial idea.

"Impossible..."

"Well, what about opening it? If you try to open it unexpectedly, you might wonder what it is."

Once again, Neko denied.

"No..."

Laughing softly, Kukuri patted Neko's back.

"I see. That's true. You can't open scary things by yourself. Fine, then…"

Kukuri said what came to her mind.

"What if you're with someone?"

"......"

"Kuro-kun or Shiro-kun. If it's those two, can you open it together? That way, it's much less scary than opening it yourself."

The "lump" didn't even move.

Just when she was wondering if she said something wrong, Neko whispered.

"You can stay?"

"Eh?"

"Even if I'm not a cat, will Shiro and Kuro still be together?"

She wished could tell her that it's normal.

But saying that, Kukuri was not irresponsible, nor was she familiar with those two. She doesn't know what kind of people Yatogami Kuro and Isana Yashiro really are.

That's why Kukuri said...

"What do you think, Wagahai-chan? So, do you think those two will break up?"

After a short pause, the "lump" began to move.

Seeing that, Kukuri smiled.

"I see. Good for you."

"......"

The mouth of the futon, from the shadow inside, peered out blue and gold eyes. When she blinked once and opened her eyelids, the tears had already disappeared.

++++++++++

She heard a voice.

From inside the closet. through the door. The voice kept calling her name.

"Ameno Miyabi."

The owner of that voice was not alone.

An old man's voice yelled as if he was crazy.

The voices of a man and a woman cursing the monster and asking it to return the child.

The voice of a young man, intelligent and cold.

But they were all different. She knew it wasn't true.

"Ameno Miyabi."

Actually, it's her voice.

Wagahai's voice. Her voice.

She was the one who made the door and pushed everything through it. She forgot about it. After all, Wagahai is a cat. Cats do not think about anything, do not remember, do not worry, they just need to sleep comfortably in a safe place. Because that's all she wanted, she turned into a cat.

Even though that was all she wanted.

"Ameno Miyabi."

She heard a voice on the other side of the door. She heard her own voice. "Ameno Miyabi" is called "Ameno Miyabi". She was calling Wagahai.

Maybe she could open the door, because she was the one who closed it. Cancel recognition manipulation ability. It's easy because she's done it before with Shiro.

But then she doesn't know what will happen.

What would those two say if she was selfish? Will they accept her as she is?

Or like those people, will they fear her and turn away from her?

If that happens, she is certain that she will never be able to find peace again.

That's the only thing Neko was afraid of.

"Oh."

Her heart jumped a lot, and Neko reflexively jumped high.

With wide blue and gold eyes, she Neko saw him.

On the bedroom ceiling. A green parrot perched on a windswept water tower.

The entire body is covered with hair. A real cat would have curled her fat tail. Fear and chill numbed Neko's judgment.

Suddenly, the parrot spread its wings and screamed.

"Whoa! Stupid cat, scared, scared!"

Her face turned red. Anger overcame fear and Neko threatened Kotosaka with her entire body.

"There's no such thing as scary! Stupid!"

"Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah!"

Kotosaka laughed triumphantly, and Neko shifted into a battle stance. Just when she thought she was going to catch him, rip off his wings, and dunk him in the sauce, Kotosaka's demeanor changed in an instant.

"Please stop, Kotosaka. I came looking for her today. Don't make her angry."

"Whoah!"

After a sharp cry, Kotosaka fell silent. Sensing a touch of intelligence behind his camera gaze, Neko braced herself.

"Eh?"

Of course, Neko knows the names of the others. Even so, the reason she asked was to delay the main topic, even if it was a bit.

The parrot nodded and answered.

"Right. It's my first time speaking like this, so let me introduce myself again. My name is Hisui Nagare. I am the "Green King". What is your name?"

A name. It's nothing, it was accompanied by the pain of spitting fire.

"Wagahai... I'm Neko..."

"Oh, really?"

Neko froze at the question which he immediately returned to.

"Is your name really Neko? No, that's not the right question. Do you really think your name is Neko?"

"......"

"In that case, I'll teach you. Your name is Ameno Miyabi. The only daughter of Ameno Taichi and Ameno Hinako, who lived on 1-3-21 Higashi Naebara, Naebara City, Kanagawa Prefecture."

Neko certainly remembered the feeling of something entwined under her feet.

"14 years ago. You were 2 years old at the time and miraculously survived the Kagutsu Incident in southern Kanto. Perhaps your super power was awakened at that time."

That grabbed a leg like it was mud, crawled like an ivy and tried to bind Neko's body. She was afraid and wanted to run away, but she couldn't move her body.

Neko knew what that was. The true nature of what she herself had confined and bound.

It's called "past."

"You lost your parents and used your cognitive manipulation to survive. Even so, you were still young, so maybe it was instinctive. You manipulated the perceptions of a couple, and underneath them..." 

"Stop."

Neko said that to Nagare, who was talking about her own "past" with a machine voice that spoke clearly of the record nonchalantly.

Surprisingly, Nagare suddenly stopped speaking. Kotosaka tilted his head curiously.

"You really don't remember. I get it. Apparently, you can even manipulate your own perception."

"I don't know, Wagahai is like that..."

"Of course. You've even sealed the memory of sealing your memory. It's natural that you don't know. I also didn't come here to talk about the past. My origin is in the past, but I always look to the future."

Then Kotosaka spread his wings.

As if he extended.

"I came looking for you. Ameno Miyabi, or simply Neko. We are compatriots."

Neko blinked slowly, looked at Nagare and asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's put it another way. We are comrades."

At those words, Neko violently shook her head. She looked up with her blue and gold eyes like a kitten cowering in fear and threatening her enemies.

"No. I'm not your friend. You bully Kuro and Shiro! I hate those kind of people!"

"You don't like people bullying those two. Is it because they're your friends?"

"That's right! Shiro and Kuro are Wagahai's friends!"

"Even if they know your true identity, will those two still be your friends?"

Like an awl, Nagare's voice accurately pierced Neko's weak and soft parts.

"Ameno Miyabi. Or Neko. That's what you fear the most. Fearing your true identity would be known, you kept your true identity away from yourself. It must have been painful to be called a monster by those you believed in. I feel sorry for you."

Her chest ached as if she had been stabbed. Breathing became rapid and shallow. Not knowing why that happened, Neko's face twisted in pain and fear.

"Is there any guarantee that those two won't do that? Any guarantee that they won't run away from you after finding out who you really are?"

Yes. That was terrifying.

She was sure that she would be fine. That's what she wanted to believe. It was easy and logical to think so. Shiro forgave Neko. She gave him a fake personality and memories, manipulated him conveniently, even so, Shiro told her that she could stay by his side.

But, now, if that didn't happen...

Just thinking about it made her body shudder. Even if she knows it's impossible, it's like there's a physical obstacle and her thoughts stop moving forward.

As if he huddled against Neko's fear, Nagare whispered softly.

"I would not do that."

Neko looked at Nagare.

"Because I already know your true identity. How did you do that? Why did you do that? Because I know more than you do."

"......"

"Neko. Or Ameno Miyabi. We are compatriots. We are friends. If you are a monster, I am a ghost. I died because of that incident, and then I was reborn because of that incident."

Monster. The words that once drove her to loneliness strangely no longer scared Neko.

That's probably because Nagare is telling the truth. It's not because he's blaming himself or cursing, but because he believes he's a true partner.

"But I deny my own words. I am not a ghost, I am a human. You are not a monster either, you are a human. To survive, to pave the way, we will use all the power we have. If that is not human, then all the humans in this world would be inhuman."

With his intellectual tone intact, Nagare's words took on a tinge of warmth. It's as if he was silently revealing his hidden feelings that he had been thinking about for a long time.

Neko muttered in a weak voice.

"I am a cat..."

"Yes. You can also be a cat. That's what it means to be human. It doesn't matter if there is someone who will become the "King". It's okay to have humans turn into cats. It's okay to have a parrot to be your friend. That's the kind of world I'm aiming for."

At those words, Neko's eyes widened.

The first thing that came to her mind was a warm world. No one would harass Neko there. They would not throw stones at her or call her a monster. Because there is a world where everyone has turned into a monster. Manipulate people's memories, spit flames, and fly freely. In a world where everyone is like this, Wagahai, she could still be a cat.

#k #k project #reisi munakata #k rok #isana yashiro #neko #yatogami kuro #silver clan #homura #suoh mikoto #homra #fushimi saruhiko #yata misaki #douhan hirasaka #jungle #scepter 4 #seri awashima #nagare hisui #kotosaka

[saffloure]

ೃ༄HIT DICE (II)

EDDIE MUNSON X HARRINGTON!OC

MASTERLIST

✧chapter two: the sword of damocles

↳ word count: 6,9k

↳ spoiler warning: season 1-3

↳ other warnings: I believe none! v fluffy

↳ mentioned songs/artists: The Smiths, Veteran of the Psychic Wars by Blue Öyster Club (reference), Live After Death by Iron Maiden (album), Heaven and Hell by Black Sabbath/Dio, Young Hearts by Commuter

↳ a/n: writing Stacy and Steve’s interactions brings me so much genuine joy… we love annoying siblings

The last week of November was rainy, although calling it rainy would be a grave understatement.

It was raining cats and dogs, heavens pouring out. Almost as if the sky above Hawkins split in two, vomiting all of its contents on the unfortunate townspeople.

One of them being Stacy Harrington.

Normally, Thursday's were quite busy for the dark-haired girl. Seven classes in a row followed by her science club meeting, only to later having to grab the groceries her mother was making her pick up each week. Today, however, having an AP chemistry test and not being able to park her car close enough to the grocery store was enough to completely diminish the crumbs of her already loop-sided mood. Her hairdo was completely disheveled, her clothes soaking wet. On top of that, she tripped over her untied shoes, shattering the juice bottle in pieces and destroying an aglet in her left boot in the process.

Now, the only thing Stacy dreamed of was to change into her pajamas and listen to The Smiths while reconsidering all of her life choices that had led to her today’s misery.

"I'm home!" she called loudly as she passed the kitchen door, only to hear no response.

Not surprising at all.

Sighing, she laboriously climbed up the stairs. The clinking sound of her bag's metal buckle resounded through the hallway when it accidentally slipped off her shoulder. With the appearance of a veteran of the psychic wars she opened the door of her bedroom. The only thing she had in mind was to slam her body on her fluffy bedding.

Yet, as it often happened in Stacy Harrington's life, nothing went as planned. And instead of relaxing in her warm bed, she let out a terrified shriek the second she noticed three silhouettes in her bedroom.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she screamed loudly, dropping her bag on the ground.

"Hey! No swearing near the kids!" the firm voice of Dustin Henderson reprimanded her.

Him and his two friends were already seated, each in a different place — Dustin behind her desk, Mike on the pouf near the window, and Lucas on her bed.

Shaking her head as she approached the boy in the Camp Nowhere cap, Stacy responded in a resilient tone, "What the he—! What the heck are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Well, as the matter of fact, we came here to see Steve," Dustin answered evasively, watching as his friend's younger sister took off her soaked jacket.

"Sorry to disappoint, but he's probably at work," Stacy replied, her face getting red the moment she noticed Lucas getting comfortable on her bed. "Sinclair! Get your shoes off of my sheets! Have some decency, dude!"

"They're not...!" Lucas tried to argue but the moment he noticed the visible mud on his sneakers, he corrected himself, "Sorry..."

"Believe it or not, we've already been at Family Video. No sight of Farrah Fawcett," Dustin explained, crossing his arms. "Robin says he went on a date."

"Again?" The tone in which Stacy responded caused Mike to chuckle. "Geez, you can wait for him if you want to," she added with a resigned smile.

"Actually, Stacy..." Mike stopped as soon as he started, noticing the morbid stare that had just made a return on her face.

"No. No way. Don't tell me he’s promised you something… again," she interrupted, watching all of the boys suddenly glancing at each other. Almost, as they were communicating through telekinesis.

"It's your lucky day, Stacy! You gotta drive us to the party meeting!" Dustin exclaimed in an excited tone that usually was so infectious it made others equally agitated.

Yet, this wasn't the case of Stacy this time.

"Don't you have a sister, who can drive as well, Mike?" she complained, tilting her head to the side.

"N-Nancy's busy."

"Guess what? So am I!" She threw her hands in the air, noticing Dustin standing up.

"Pretty please, Stacy! Just this one time," he begged in a childlike tone.

"Oh, don't make those eyes, Henderson. You look like your asking your mom to buy you a toy," Stacy sighed, simultaneously grabbing a denim jacket that was hanging from her chair. "You're fortunate enough I like you," she mumbled.

The moment she turned on her heel, she heard the three boys bursting out in excitement, muttering quiet expression of joy. She couldn't help but smile at their reaction. On the span of the past two years, they had ultimately grew on her. So much so, she stopped treating them as annoying neighbors and began to see them in a nearly friendly-like light. Heavy impact on the matter had the fact they had fought outer-dimensional monsters together… but now it was only a secondary thought.

"One more thing!" Dustin called after her before they walked out of her room. "Can you also pick us up?"

"You've gotta be kidding me..."

"It's pouring outside!"

As much as she wanted to throw an immature fit, claiming she had other, more important things to do, Stacy forced a smile onto her face, trying to keep her composure.

Four hours later, apparently driven by her own lenience, Stacy found herself on the school's parking lot, revising her biology notes just to kill time. It had already gone dark, the moon illuminating the town of Hawkins through the massive dark clouds.

However, it wasn't impatience that had cluttered up her mind just now. She had returned to the spot she dropped them off half of an hour early, just because of a merely real sensation that began to appear in her consciousness. It being the fact that it was Eddie Munson, who was the party's Dungeon Master.

She hadn't spoken to him for two weeks, ever since the unpleasant resolving of their last conversation. Stacy Harrington would have never admitted that, but that matter had become a reoccurring theme in her mind. In classes they shared, she caught herself glancing at Eddie whenever she got a chance. It wasn't the stare the girls tended to send their love interests, no. What was causing her to do so, was the indigestible guilt of not knowing how to start a conversation. Something within her claimed Eddie could get embarrassed by her. Maybe he didn't even fancy talking with her in the first place. After all, it was her, who forced their first meeting. Granted by the fact he could've agreed on it purely out of sheer politeness.

Stacy slammed her head on the steering wheel.

Why were social interactions the only aspect of her life she couldn't be confident in?

"Screw that," she murmured to herself, getting out of the car.

The unexpected outburst of her own bravery surprised her. Now, strolling through Hawkins High corridors, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket, trying to maintain the shallow cockiness.

It didn't take a long time to locate in which classroom the Dungeons and Dragons meeting was taking place in. The contrary, actually, hence the sound of agitated high schoolers was quite audible in the empty school. Stacy took advantage of their investment in the game; standing by the repealed doors, she leaned on the frame, silently watching the party screaming in excitement as one of their members — Stacy recalled his name started with the letter G — approached the board.

"Hit dice! Hit dice!"

"Gareth the Great is under a fainting spell when the Basilisk sinks its fangs into his skin! He cries for help, or so he thoughts! His voice is already erstwhile... Only seconds share his body to join in!"

"Don't say!"

"Beware! Thy days are coming to inevitable end, Gareth the Great! You can only wait ‘till sweet death releases you from your impending doom!"

Stacy's eyes widened at the sight of Eddie Munson elevated posture. His dark locks falling down the sides of his face as he announced to the players the two possible choices they could make — save their friend or slaughter the beast. One contradicting the other. She remembered Gareth's name now. How could she not when he so frantically clamored for help?

It's just like theatre, Stacy thought to herself, subconsciously grabbing the doorframe when it was Dustin's time to proclaim the party's choice. Shivers came down her spine the second he gallantly stated they were going to rescue Gareth.

The thrill had not left her body since she started listening in. It simply couldn't. Not when Eddie Munson shouted, "The sword of Damocles has been lifted!"

It might have been stereotypical to never expect such a comparison from someone, who repeated his senior year. Not only that — Stacy couldn't help but smile how noticeable his investment in the game was. He appeared to be just in his element; almost as if there was no better place for him.

The game ended with the greatest closing monologue Stacy had ever heard. There was a sudden change in Eddie's demeanor when he asked the others to help him collect their stuff. Yet, the rest of the players seemed to still relive the events that took place, chatting between themselves with the most genuine expression on their faces.

"Is that Stacy Harrington?" The question asked by one of the boys she didn't recognize finally broke her out of the trance she had found herself in.

"Hi," she greeted the party in a quiet tone, suddenly feeling quite embarrassed. That's exactly when she felt the urge to cover it with a smooth, "Sorry for eavesdropping.”

"How long have you been standing there?" Stacy couldn't tell at that moment, but Eddie's reaction was awfully similar to hers.

"Not long enough, apparently," she answered with a soft smile, deciding to set her foot in the dimmed classroom. "You guys have never told me DnD was so gnarly," she added, glancing at the board they started to clean up.

"Either I must be deaf or Miss Hawkins really said our silly little game is cool," Eddie replied with one of his brows raised.

"Well, I've never expected it to be so... addictive to watch. But considering I've only seen the campaigns in Mike's basement I shouldn't have been surprised," she chuckled, taking a few steps towards Eddie. "Can I touch this figurine or will I immediately get possessed by your scary DnD monsters?"

"Possessed. Totally," Eddie smirked at her exaggerated question, yet still deciding to hand her out the figure. "It's hand painted," he did not fail to mention his own hard work.

The moment Stacy raised her eyes to look at his face, she noticed Gareth the Great giving him a quick pat on the back before saying goodbye and leaving the classroom. The gesture made her let out a single chuckle. She fairly recognized it as wishing Eddie good luck.

"I-uh, sorry for that. They can be quite..." Eddie felt the sudden urge to explain herself, yet was stoped by Stacy shaking her head rapidly.

"Don't be. It was funny," she giggled, her attention now fully absorbed by a cassette located on the edge of the table.

"What are you listening to?" she asked, it picking up and noticing the magnetic tape was hanging out of it. "What were you listening to?" she corrected herself, causing the corners of Eddie's mouth go up.

"It's a recording of Iron Maiden's concert... but the quality sucks. Each time it gets jammed on the third song."

"Which concert?" she asked while tilting her head.

"Stacy! You were supposed to just pick us up!" Dustin called loudly, visibly getting impatient.

"We're having a conversation here, shithead!" Eddie reprimanded him, his brows furrowing.

"Hey, don't bully Henderson. That's fucking rude," Stacy intervened, trying to maintain a serious face.

It was impossible, however, when Eddie looked down, nearly taken back by her response.

"Which concert?" she repeated her question, the sweetness returning to the tone of her voice.

"Uh, I don't know if it tell you anything..."

"Don't underestimate me, Munson. It's not like Iron Maiden is an underground band or something," she interrupted him, sending him a challenging smile.

"Live After Death," he finally replied, but noticing the increase in her blinking rate added, "I've warned you that..."

"Oh, come on! You haven’t even heard me out yet," Stacy giggled, amused by his timid reply. "I have that concert on VHS."

"Really?"

"Really," she confirmed, nodding her head. "I can lend it to you. You can stop by tomorrow after school."

"A-at your house?" Eddie muttered, although he couldn't tell how he did it. After all, he was completely awestruck.

"Where else?" Stacy chuckled, handing him back his cassette. "Gotta go. Apparently I'm a voluntary taxi today."

He watched her leaving the classroom and messing Dustin's and Lucas' hair when she caught up to them. As he had lost the sight of her, he slowly raised his hand to touch the place where Gareth patted him a while ago.

To be completely frank, it could've truly been his lucky charm. Especially when the next day, still not believing in what had happened, he knocked on the door of the Harringtons property.

"Oh? Guess who decided to show up!" Falsely offended tone of Stacy greeted him, her hands on her hips, her nose scrunched.

"Who else did you expect, buttercup?"

"Well, definitely not you since you’d decided to skip the last two lessons," she scoffed. "No wonder O'Donnell doesn't want you to pass her finals."

"Now, this..." Eddie smirked and pointing his judging finger at her continued, "...is exactly how I imagined you to be."

Stacy shook her head, letting him into her house, "Excuse me?"

"Ruuude," he whispered directly into her ear, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Oh, shut up," she murmured, playfully nudging his side. "All that I'm saying is you're ought to take this shit a bit more seriously, Munson," she added, beginning to go up the stairs.

"You know, I came here for the VHS, not to be lectured," Eddie replied, following her right away. "Why do you care anyway? 'S not going to be anything new if I fail the finals," he added, his voice getting timid.

"I'm just worried. That's all," Stacy admitted, her cocky persona from a moment ago completely vanishing.

Worried.

Eddie couldn't tell why this word seemed so genuine when spoken by her. Moreover, he couldn't quite find the reason for her being worried about him in the first place.

Him. Eddie Munson. A freak. A person she supposedly had nothing in common with. A person people like her bullied.

And as much as Eddie wanted to surrender the heart-warming flattery — he couldn't. Not while still having some remains of his common sense.

"Oh, would you look at that," Eddie smirked, crossing his arms before the gallery wall in the hallway that led to Stacy's room. "You look like a sad raccoon on that photo," he added, pointing at the picture on which she and her brother were seated next to each other — both in collared shirts and matching Christmas sweaters.

It was the expression on the girl's face that made the photo absolutely comedic: her brow was furrowed, her arms angrily crossed. On top of that, there were remains of a sour grimace on her face — her smile that was making her appear nearly annoyed was probably forced by the influence of her mother.

"A sad raccoon," Stacy repeated in a scoff. "I look like I'm constipated," she corrected him.

"Well... That's another way to put it," he smirked. "Hey, who's that?" He pointed at another frame in which two girls in Halloween costumes were standing next to each other.

"Me and little Chrissy Cunningham," Stacy answered, a soft yet somewhat sentimental smile entering her face. "We used to hang out so much as kids... Our mums are best friends," she explained quickly.

"You don't now?" Eddie asked, quite surprised by her remark. He often saw the two girls chatting with each other during breaks, despite Chrissy being a junior and Stacy a senior. Therefore it was odd seeing the latter now looking away, her demeanor suddenly changing.

"Her boyfriend's a bitch," she spitted out with a slick grin. "I'm sure you know him..."

"Yeah. After all I'm so invested in the life of the Queen of Hawkins High," he rolled his eyes, however his sarcastic remark caused Stacy to giggle.

"Come on! Everybody knows Jason! He's the greatest douchebag our school's ever seen... and that's quite a title to be called by someone's, whose brother was claimed a first-class jerk for majority of his life," Stacy rambled, suddenly grabbing Eddie by the hand and pulling him towards the direction of her room.

"Oi! Careful here, buttercup! You're going to rip my arm off," he joked, praying Stacy wouldn't turn to take a look at him. He didn't even need to see his reflection to know his cheeks were bright red.

"You can live with just one arm," she dismissed his worries, seating him on her bed.

As soon as she left him — quite dumbfounded, to be honest — Eddie glanced over her bedroom, his eyes fixing on one of the bookshelves. At first, he thought there was a multitude of books with thin covers, arranged in coloristic order. It took his brain another while to process that, in fact, the bookshelf was not filled with books, but with vinyls.

"Your room is like a goddamn record store," he murmured under his breath, getting up to take a look at the record player located by the window.

Stacy didn't answer him as she was consumed with attempts to reach one of the boxes with VHS cassettes from the shelf above her desk. With a corner of her eye she managed to observe a smirk that began to dance on Eddie's face as soon as he noticed the record that was left in the player.

"Can I put it on?" he asked with sheer excitement, receiving a nod in reply. "I had no fucking clue your taste in music is that good," he muttered the moment Stacy's bedroom was filled by the opening of Heaven and Hell by Black Sabbath.

"I'm flattered," Stacy replied in a dramatic tone, only to cover how smitten she was with that mere general statement.

Even if Eddie didn't mean it as a compliment.

"Have you heard Dio's version of this song?" she asked after the first verse, making her way towards him. With a nod of confirmation from Eddie, she added, "Well? Which one do you like better?"

Eddie Munson's mouth opened agape.

"Do you really want me to choose between Ozzy and Ronnie James?" he questioned with a expression of true offense.

"Just for the statistics," Stacy declared innocently.

"You're mad, woman! You've completely lost your mind!" Eddie railed at her antics, his left hand theatrically swaying to finally rest in the middle of his chest.

"Anyone would after hearing Dio in '83," she teased him, fairly amused by his dramatic utterance, "Ozzy doesn't stand a chance."

"A blasphemy!" he let out a quiet shriek, his hand clenching in mid-air.

Stacy couldn't held back the burst of giggles that was incoming the moment their conversation started. Bending in half, she covered her mouth with the palm of her hand as she uncontrollably relapsed in peals of laughter. It took her another half of a minute to calm down and look at Eddie with eyes all teared up due to the tittering.

Her bottom lip trembled, unable to stop the unconscious smile when she chimed, "How come we only started talking a week ago?"

A rapid movement of Eddie's eyelids brought him back to reality.

"Well," he said, "it's kind of self-explanatory." He looked around Stacy's room, only to later point at himself.

"Oh, shush!" the brown-haired girl boomed, realizing Eddie was going to compare their differing social statuses once again. Noticing his fretful look, she reassured him, "It doesn't matter, it's just a shame we didn't talk earlier. You're hellaciously cool, Munson."

Eddie chuckled, watching Stacy throw herself onto her bed. His right hand traveled to his matted curls as he scratched his scalp.

"You're hellaciously cool, too, buttercup," he gushed, a wide grin taking up almost the whole space on his face.

He almost failed to noticed when Stacy patted a spot next to her, inviting him to sit on her bed. Her legs swinging from its edge and her torso resting flat on the cozy bedding.

This time, there was no hesitation in Eddie Munson's movements. A sudden streak of comfort hit him like a lighting as he took a place next to Stacy. Not a moment after, he felt his arm being pulled down, so as the two of them were bound to lay down next to each other, facing the ceiling. A sound of another Black Sabbath song from the same record synchronized with Stacy's tapping on the wooden bed frame. Her eyes were shut, a gentle look of perpendicular tranquility mixing with her tender smile.

Eddie couldn't help but to glance at her, turning his head slightly. Her whole appearance mesmerized him — so peculiarly serene, so graceful, Stacy contrasted with the thumping tones of loud metal song playing in the background. Because of that, the only thing that began to occupy Eddie Munson's mind at that moment was to come home and model a Dungeons and Dragons NPC after the ethereal aura Stacy was emanating with.

"Eddie?" Her subdued tone caught him slightly off guard.

"What's up?" he asked, watching her open her eyes.

"I really meant it, you know?" she whispered, turning her head towards him as he waited for her to continue. "The being worried thing," she explained quietly, placing her head on the palm of her hand.

"Oh?" Eddie exclaimed, his eyes, however, still focused on the ceiling.

"If you ever needed help with school and stuff... I don't really mind lending you a hand. That is, of course... if you want to."

Eddie's face completely sunk. He could've also sworn the blood in his limbs stopped circulating. Muttering almost inaudible "sure", he didn't feel the small smile appearing on his face. Focused on not behaving like an ultimate weirdo and destroying the peaceful atmosphere surrounding him and Stacy, he didn't noticed her face lighting up the moment he agreed on her proposal.

However, it had to be a week until Stacy's suggestion had a chance to be realized. Admittedly, the occurrence would have never seen the daylight if it wasn't for Stacy eavesdropping on a conversation that took place during her science club meeting. Eddie's math teacher came to gossip with Ms. Bailey — Stacy's biology professor— about the amount of homework the curly-haired Guild Master was due to hand in as soon as possible. Apparently the work had mounted on so tremendously, the two teachers made a bet between themselves as to see if Eddie was going to complete given tasks before the deadline. When Ms. Bailey stated that she believed he could do it, Stacy knew she was going to do everything in her power to help her win her little gamble. After all, she could shoot two birds with one stone — that being helping both her favorite teacher and the person she had grew so awfully fond of just recently.

Yet, Stacy Harrington's life wouldn't have been completed without having to fulfill her day-to-day duties, first. That why on a first Thursday of December she was making her way to her brother's work place, instead of taking care of her own errands.

The sound of Young Hearts by Commuter welcomed her warmly to the video store — and warmly certainly wasn't an exaggeration. The beginning of the last month of 1985 brought with itself nothing but unbearable wind and arctic freezing temperatures, comparing to what the people from Indiana were used to. Hence why the little brown skirt Stacy decided to wear was causing her legs to tremble from the cold she wasn't prepare to endure.

Yet, all of the feelings relating to her physical state evaporated as soon as she noticed her brother, fully invested in a conversation with a red-haired girl she recognized from her school.

"Steven! Mom says she won't put your socks in the washing machine unless you buy her gloves! She says she's too afraid she's gonna get infected with mycosis!"

The look on the girl's face was indescribably comedic. So much so it made it dreadfully difficult for Stacy to maintain a serious expression. As she muttered, "I gotta go," Steve leaned over the counter in hopes to stop her.

"Hey! Hey! That's not true!" he called out maniacally, however, it had only caused the redhead to speed up and leave the store the quickest she possibly could. "Come on, Stace! Why are you always like that?" Steve whined, covering his face with his hands.

"Because, dingus, if your future lover does not understand the siblings jokes, she's not the one," Robin explained for Stacy, sending her a smile of contempt.

"Ditto!" Stacy exclaimed cheerfully, pointing a finger-gun at her brother, "Besides, if I were you, I'd be so, so thrilled to see me," she added, grinning devilishly.

"Huh! Even if my life depended on you, I'd never be happy to see you," Steve responded sarcastically, watching Stacy trace a line down her cheek, imitating a tear falling down.

"Ouch," she mumbled in a falsely sad tone, leaning on the counter, "Even if I said daddy came home early today?" she added, noticing Steve's eyes beginning to sparkle up.

"No way!"

"Oh, I am as serious as dead man," Stacy whispered, taking her wallet out of her pocket.

At the beginning of each month, usually on the first weekend, Mr. Harrington used to hand his children in their allowance. This, however, had changed as soon as Steve decided against him and did not apply to college. Getting lucky with not being completely cut off the money, he needed to bear the consequences of having strict parents for the first time in his life. Thankfully, Steve wasn't left all alone. Especially not with a little sister like Stacy. Despite all of their bickering, despite all of their pointless fights, she was the one to offer to split her share of pocket money on two. All in all, her parents were less demanding when it came to her — being younger had its blissful pros.

"You guys freak me out more than the gap in Mrs. Click’s teeth," Robin sighed, placing the box full of movies on VHS before Steve and pointing at the display shelf right away, "Put it somewhere on there."

"Yes, chief," Steve saluted, walking up to the shelves and messing up Stacy's hair as he passed her by, "Thanks, booger. You can actually be nice sometimes."

Stacy scoffed, crossing her arms, "I don't know whatcha talking about. I'm always nice to you."

"Sure," Steve sang with an audible tint of sarcasm in his tone, adding, "Wanna go eat something after my shift? But we need to split the bill in half. I'm still broke as h..."

"No, I can't," Stacy interrupted him, simultaneously grabbing her bag.

"Why not? You scared off my date of the night, you're obliged to go with me now."

"I'm tutoring someone."

"You? Tutoring someone? Who?" Steve furrowed his brow, almost dropping the box he was holding to the ground.

"A classmate."

"Is it a boy?" he asked immediately and not waiting on her answer he went on, "Oh my god, Robin! Can you believe that? Stacy's going out with a boy!"

"Steven..."

"Look at her! All grown up now, going on a little date! What a shame if someone went there with you and complain about your dirty socks!" he rambled, overdramatizing his monologue. Noticing how his sister rolled her eyes, he gave her a nudge, "I'm just messing with you. Quit making that face."

"Sometimes I wonder which one of us is more malicious," Stacy mumbled, subconsciously smiling as she walked up to the exit.

"Me, duh," Steve stated, his voice resembling one of a high school girl.

Shaking her head, Stacy started the engine of her car, securing the books that were placed on the passenger seat. Through the whole ride, a wide grin kept being plastered on her face. Her fingers energetically tapped on the steering wheel to the sounds of the cheap mainstream song full of synthesizers. She couldn't help but dismiss the fact of how morbid that tune sounded. To be honest, Stacy couldn't really care less. It was the idea of spending time with Eddie Munson that was making her so unexplainably jovial.

Parking her car by the side of the trailer with the number he had given her yesterday, Stacy grabbed the textbooks she had brought with herself along the way. She didn't even need to knock on the door before she heard them opening. Just as Eddie was waiting for her.

"Hi."

"Hey," he greeted her, letting her through the door. Glancing at her clothing choice, he asked "Aren't you cold?"

Stacy smirked, looking down at her bare legs, covered only by sheer tights, hence the skirt was definitely not providing her any comfort, "Nope. Super cozy, actually."

Eddie shook his head, not believing a word he had just heard, "I have some beer if you want to warm up."

"Shitty idea, really. We are supposed to be studying," Stacy stated in a hushed tone as if she was telling him the most sacred, hollow secret.

Hands on his hips, Eddie smirked, turning his head towards the direction of his room. The trailer him and his uncle lived in was rather meager, therefore Stacy could clearly see almost his whole bedroom from where she was standing. Noticing her widened eyes fixed on the room, Eddie began to feel embarrassed. He had already visited her house, therefore he could easily compare the conditions they lived in. Without a doubt, his room was half, if not a quarter size hers.

"I-I know it's not ideal but..."

"Of course it's not," Stacy interrupted him, hugging the books she was holding. There was a mortified look in his eyes she failed to notice before continuing, "Your desk is non-functional at this point. Look, I know that those DnD figures need to be put somewhere, but we did agreed on learning math today," she complained, pointing at the cluttered up piece of furniture.

A weight had been lifted off of Eddie's shoulder when he heard the light-hearted response. It was that exact moment when he caught himself expecting the worst when it came to situation like those. Almost as he was afraid to make a bad impression on her. Odd, he thought to himself. Amidst everything, Eddie Munson was the last person in Hawkins to care about anyone's opinion. What differed now?

"Well, you can just move them to the side," he shrugged, suddenly regaining his usual composure. "'S not like they bite."

"The figures? Maybe not. But Dustin Henderson? That's a completely different story," Stacy chuckled, sitting on one of the two chairs Eddie had prepared for them.

"Oh, tell me more," Eddie smirked, separating each word to maintain the mysterious tone of the conversation.

"A year ago he tried to bury me alive after touching his freshly painted bard," she explained rapidly, rolling her eyes, "Then he got offended because I said playing as human in a fantasy-based game was for losers."

Eddie couldn't keep himself from laughing out loud at her claim, asking her in response, "So if you ever played... what would be your race?"

"Like a witch covered in warts," she blabbered out without a second thought, "...never mind. I don't think witches are a race."

Eddie smirked, glancing at her agitated face, "Nope. But we have elves for example."

"No, not that. Elves are supposed to be those ethereal nature-prone creatures and I want something... like, really fucking ugly," she confessed, her expression resembling Eddie's, "Don't laugh, I'm being serious! If I were to have a figure, I want it to be utterly disgusting! You know, just to lead people off-track and make them feel uneasy just by looking at it... Ah! A goblin! You have goblins, right?"

"Yeah," Eddie chuckled, covering his mouth with his tangled curls. The way Stacy was engaged in the conversation was nearly making him blush. "You should try playing sometime. I can teach you if you're up to," he offered, noticing her brow dramatically furrow.

"Speaking of teaching..." she grinned, opening up one of her textbooks, "...enough of the small-talk. We're doing math."

"You really do know how to kill the conversation," Eddie sighed, placing his chin on the palm of his hand.

"One of my goblin powers, you know," she winked at him, causing the both of them to laugh. "Now, focus. You'll insult my teaching abilities if you won't."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," Eddie replied with false politeness, gaining a side stare from Stacy that reprimanded him better than any words would.

It took Stacy around twenty minutes to explain him the two first two types tasks. To her surprise, he had been nodding his head through all of her lecture. It was strange to her how he didn't ask her any questions, so she decided to put his skills into a test. The rules were simple — both of them needed to solve four issues then compare them. It so happened that their three first answers were identical, which caused an expression of surprise to came upon Stacy's face.

"Only the last one is wrong," she muttered, biting on the pencil she was holding.

"I... think you forgot to extract the root," he answered, showing her the correct solution on his calculator.

Stacy's mouth open agape as she took a look at her notes, admitting "Holy shit. You're right."

"This is one of those one in a lifetime achievements," Eddie smirked, "Who else can say they won a homework battle against Miss Hawkins?"

There was rather a long period of silence before Stacy collected her thoughts. By finally doing so, she said quietly, "Edds, it's not like I don't believe in you. I just... how did you..?"

"Helps having a great tutor," he shrugged, yet noticing Stacy's demanding stare, added, "Don't forget it's not my first time repeating senior year, sweetheart."

"So why don't you..." Stacy stopped herself in mid-sentence, hoping that expressive gesticulation would help her find the right words, "...why don't you put in effort equal to the one you put into your campaigns?"

Eddie let out a single chuckle, rolling his eyes, "Because I don't feel like it?" Again, it was that specific Stacy's stare that caused him to answer her honestly for the second time, "...because school's stressing the shit out of me."

His hushed tone made the tension in his bedroom abruptly unbearable. What added to that was the lack of response from Stacy. Meaning, she was waiting for him to continue.

"I... even if I know how to do those stupid math problems, I can't seem to focus on a test. Even with the same exact thing in front of my eyes! I just can't remember any-fucking-thing... And besides, I hate this goddamn place. I hate the people there. I hate the teachers. And I hate that my pea-brain is not fucking working... So that's why I skip classes. That's why I can't manage the deadlines, can't get even a mediocre grade... I-I..."

Only know he realized he had rambled on certainly more than he should. The idea of him confiding in Stacy Harrington made him stutter, almost as if his subconscious mind was yelling at him to stop over-sharing his high school experience. The experience that he didn't even consider as being relatable to her.

"Sorry..." he whispered, frantically avoiding meeting her eyes. His fingers fidgeted with the plastic calculator case as he tried his best not to look up at her.

"You are pissing me off, Munson. So much, in fact, I can't even put it in proper words," Stacy responded through the gritted teeth, her hands finding her way to the sides of Eddie's face. Gently placing them on their cheeks, she raised up his head. "Stop apologizing to me each time you say something not necessarily typical. Because if you think it'll make you look weird — it won't. You're just making it harder for yourself when it comes to dealing with it."

He didn't realize his eyes sunken so much into his face, they were causing him to appear like a cover of Iron Maiden's first album. One of his hands went up, only to drop by his side as he couldn't find the right words to express what he was currently feeling. Hence, in fact, Stacy Harrington couldn't put how he was feeling any better.

"I know this might be a cliché... but I... I do really think you're one of the most dashing people I've ever met. Everything about you, Eddie is so... captivating. I always thought talking with you was going to cause a kerfuffle between..." Stacy rapidly ended her monologue, realizing a sly smirk appeared on Eddie's face, deepening with each word she spoke.

The moment sheer confusion spread across her face, he couldn't keep his chuckle in any longer.

"Un-fucking-believable! You're laughing at me!" Stacy scoffed, half-offended. The other part of her, however, was highly susceptible to Eddie's infectious smile.

"I-no! It's just..." Eddie stuttered through the outbursts of laughter as he observed her face going entirely crimson red. "Dashing, captivating, kerfuffle... You use so much fancy words when you're trying to be serious. Especially the last one! It sounds like you're either a fucking German or completely wasted!" Eddie exclaimed, watching the multitude of emotions going through Stacy's mind and reflecting through the muscles of her face.

"Kerfuffle is a great word," she whispered on the verge of laughter. Her left hand raised once again, this time with a finger pointing at him. "Besides, I'm not the only one, who uses overly-dramatic language, Damocles," she defended herself, referring to the time she walked on his DnD meeting a week ago.

"Hey," Eddie smirked, flicking her nose. "Don't get upset. I didn't mean it as an insult... and to be honest I think it's kinda adorable," he admitted.

"Adorable," Stacy scoffed, looking away in attempts to cover her growing smile. "Have you ever seen an adorable goblin? I don't think so," she muttered with her eyebrow raised.

There had been a strange tingling Eddie began to feel as Stacy joked back. Just as if something was trying to force him to embrace her in a hug, ruffle her hair while laughing at her silly remark. At the same time, he was being pulled back to his chair as the second, more rational part of him, wanted to sit back and observe how her shining curls bounced back as she shifted her upper body in agitation. Hence, in fact, just the simple ability to spend time with her was making Eddie Munson the happiest he had recalled to be through this whole semester. Or maybe even a little bit longer.

"Eddie, buddy, what's that nice cherry Chevy doin' on our driveway?" A deep, raspy tone interrupted the interaction between the two high schoolers, causing their heads to turn towards the direction it was coming from.

"Uh, that's my uncle," Eddie murmured to Stacy ever so audibly.

"Didn't know you were having guests over," the middle-aged man exclaimed, wiping his hand on his slightly grayish T-shirt (that deliberately used to be white) before reaching it out towards Stacy and introducing himself, "'M Wayne Munson."

"Nice to meet you, I'm..."

"Oh, I know you. You're the little Harrington," he interrupted her, causing a wide smile to appear on her face.

"Yeah," Stacy chuckled.

The whole aura of Eddie's uncle was incredibly calming. His easy going presence and the way the words flew out of his mouth were making it easy for her to lean into the conversation.

"'Ya studying something, I see," Wayne pointed at the desk, simultaneously raising up a plastic bag with two white take-out boxes, "I'll leave your food on a table, but if you have told me you invited a friend, I'd..."

"No, that's all right. I've already had dinner." This time it was Stacy, who interrupted Eddie's uncle.

"Whatever you say, little Harrington," he smiled warmly, leaving the two alone in Eddie's bedroom.

"You can have some of my fries for... you know, all the effort," the Dungeon Master smirked, tilting his head towards the direction of their math notebooks.

"A fine method of payment, can't lie," Stacy shrugged with an amused expression. "But just to let you know... as soon as we finish eating we're coming back to solving math problems."

"Suuure," Eddie sang, quickly getting up from his chair.

"Eddie—!"

"What? What are you saying?" he called, leaving his room and leaning over the doorframe, "I can't hear you from so far away."

"Eddie Munson, I swear to god..!"

"I can't hear you!"

#eddie munson x oc #stranger things #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson x harrington!oc #eddie munson x y/n

[blacktobackmesa]

cant stop thinking about if gordon got sick. i think itd be early on the team getting outta the game. he just works himself too hard and get really sick and passes out in his bed for a few days (gets up to eat and stuff but the thought of looking at a screen makes his migraine and nausea worse, which he didnt think was possible).

just. the idea of the science team not understanding this radio silence. i imagine he talks to them a lot, even if not for a long time, at least little updates and stuff pretty often. so then just nothing- no "i'll be away a bit" message or anything is probably scary. and i cant stop thinking about if anyone would think hes done with them now that he got them out. or thinking he forgot about them. or thinking he died and theyd never know. and just how that would feel. like, when an internet friend suddenly stops updating their blog and you suddenly realize you have no way of contacting them to make sure theyre okay, but this is worse right? because what if something happens to the computer?

just. all the what ifs.

(and then the guilt gordon would feel when hes finally well enough to go back on)

i dont know if this would even fit into the au at all but its been stuck in my brain and i love the au so much i wanted to share <3

ohhhhhhh man. Oh man. You’re right on the money.

Everyone would have their own fears and stance on what they think happened. Did Gordon give up on them? Did the computer break? Did…did Gordon break? And all they can do is just try to go about their lives, completely powerless to help him or learn more about the situation. They’ve all just got damocles’ sword dangling over them, waiting for the cord to snap if and when news reaches them.

And maybe a few days in, a family friend or neighbor drops by with some soup and the innocent question of whether Gordon needs anything done around the house. And he’s just like “you know what? I can answer questions about this later, but yes, yes I do, can you help me with something on my computer?”

“Well, I’m no techie—“

“I just need to get— [coughs violently into arm]— there’s just a program I need you to open up, and a voice chat thing I need to get into— don’t worry about it, I’ll-I’ll talk you through it.”

#gordon streamman #❤️❤️❤️

[helianskies]

hello! for the dialogue prompts, i was wondering if you could you 28 + turkspa. thanks!! <33 (i love your writing!!!)

anon ily and i'm sorrry this took a while (i got distracted by things) but look. turkspa. sacred sacred (angsty) turkspa 💘

Conflict

Everything hurts. His chest, his head, the pouring wound in his abdomen whose painful consequence is overwhelming his entire lower half… but not just them; his heart aches, too, and his eyes sting with bitter tears as he tries to stand back up, yet hardly has the energy to hold himself up on his knees, let alone his feet. 

Antonio hates that it has come to this. He may not be surprised—perhaps, in the end, this is the only path he has—a cruel inevitability—but that does not make the pain any easier to bear.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts in a way he does not recognise—in a way he fears he has not known pain before. He knows he won't die—not from anything other than blood loss, if he is so unlucky—but he feels otherwise. He feels Death. He wants Death. He wants an escape, because the pain he will have to live with instead will surely kill him anyway.

He had thought himself in love. He had thought that he had found a way to overcome the grip of politics, of culture, of society, and to live a double life. He had thought he could cheat the system of being a personification. He had thought he could play at being an ordinary human. But it had all been a lie. And now Antonio remains there kneeling in a growing puddle of his own blood, choking on vanishing air and his own naivety.

The person—the personification—that he holds responsible (yet also is hesitant to blame; is that naive of him, too?) stands over him, in the meantime. Cupid's arrow, Damocles' sword. Why does he watch? Why does he stand there silently and watch? Antonio cannot bear to face him. He fears moving, and being struck again. He fears pleading for a quickened end, but fears a crueller version of mercy.

The pain ebbs and flows in small surges. Pain, then numbness. 

"I am sorry it had to come to this between us," the other says, though there is a lack of apology in his tone. A brute after all. “I tried to warn you. I tried to tell you to stay away.”

A laugh, stinging and sardonic, squeezes past drying lips. “Yet you kept coming back,” Antonio counters. “All this time, you… you let me believe, l-let me…” 

But he can’t even get the words out. Ebbs and flows, pain and numbness. Antonio coughs and groans and makes the risky decision to lie down. He knows he’s going to die. He would prefer to save himself the fall—the sensation of being on the verge of dying and suddenly plummeting, as though down to Hell.

When his head hits the ground, it is both bliss, and surrender. 

“This was never going to end any other way,” Sadık narrates all the while. 

Antonio can barely hear him. His head throbs too loudly. 

“You should have known that.”

If he were human, he would already be dead. His injury would have killed him.

“We could never be more than a fantasy.”

If he were human, he would have died so fast, but nation bodies, oh, they were such resilient things…

“We would never have survived war.”

Why couldn’t his heart be that strong…?

Antonio blinks and the tear that has held him together finally releases, dropping down into the dirt. How much of the world has been watered by tears, he wonders? How many nations weep, only for a flower to eventually sprout in that same place? Maybe there is something in that thought. Maybe his loss will become a gain for the world; a single flower, imbued with an impossible magic, resilient like a nation—like a nation should be, at least.

Still, with what energy remains, he searches for the other. His breathing may be frantic, blood may be blossoming from his body, a funeral rose, but he still searches for Ottoman, only to find him… walking away. Walking away from him, from them, from everything they once had. 

Something possesses Antonio. Fear, perhaps. Desperation.

“W… Wait,” he calls out, though it may only come out as a breathy whisper, “don’t leave. Don’t leave…”

And by some miracle, he is heard. Ottoman stops—Sadık stops—and he turns back to look at Spain—at Antonio—and he exceeds all expectations. It takes a moment. It takes some deliberating. But, in the end, the other steps back towards the dying nation and crouches down. Perhaps that is so Antonio does not have to strain. Perhaps that is so he can get a better look at his cheap victory.

“What is it?” he asks. His hand finds Antonio’s and, suddenly, they are not enemies but lovers again. It almost steals the Spaniard’s last breath away. “I was going to leave you in peace. I would hate to be the last thing you see, this time.”

But Antonio doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about what Sadık wants or does not want. It is time for him to be selfish.

So he musters what he can—squeezes a hand—and says, “I need you to tell me something.”

Silence is an invitation.

“Was it… ever real for you…?”

Silence is an answer. 

Silence is an answer that Antonio does not get to hear, because as he stares at Sadık for those few seconds and waits to know, waits for the truth, waits for peace, his breath and blood run out. He stares at Sadik for a few seconds more, but he does not see, like he does not hear, like he does not breathe. He does not know what that answer is, and he likely never will.

Sadık can only sigh. He regrets, in some ways, the things that have happened between them. He wishes it could have gone differently. But life as a nation—as an empire, like they both are and must now always be—rarely allows for the sort of life that Antonio has pursued. Perhaps Sadık should have warned him sooner…

Seeing that there is no one around—certainly no Spaniards, nor any of their allies—Sadık makes a decision. He makes a decision that surprises the other half of himself that would have left Spain there to die and wake up and struggle, and that decision prompts him to spend a minute or so carefully bringing a lifeless body into his arms. 

With it, he stands. Blood will stain his clothes and hands, but since when has that bothered him? He will take Antonio with him so that he will not be alone when he revives. Because that is worse, he feels: to revive alone, rather than to die alone. 

And think about it, he tells his other half, his empire-self, what an advantage it would be for the personification of the Spanish Empire to be under our charge, in our camp, in our custody. 

Such an argument helps him walk, and walk faster than he thought he could.

[ final wordcount, 1148; prompts can be found here! ]

#helia writes #hetalia #historical hetalia #hws spain #hws turkey #turkspa #i am once again feeling things for them #i really enjoyed writing this one so thank you for requesting them <3 #also this got long again. my goal was less than 1k words for all of these prompt request things but look #you got me good anon. you got me and so i got you #also also anyone looking for a historical period here. uh. 1571 war of cyprus. right before lepanto. bad timing toni tch #tw blood #tw injury

[mikaharuka]

Word Search... In Triplicate

That's right. It seems I started some sort of monster domino effect here, ever since I did my 2x version. Because you see, not only did I do my 2x version and provide 10 words for people to choose from... y'all decided to be overachievers and do all 10 words anyways XD

So it's come back to me... in 3x form, thanks to the trifecta that is @alpaca-clouds, @udaberriwrites, and @mrsmungus. At this point, I'm just waiting for this to roll off the deep end, so here we go XD

-

Words for me (Alex): Sword, Blood, Shiver, Voice, Lock Words for me (Alhaira): Gold, Glass, Jump, Nervous, Call Words for me (Miranda): Wrist, Closet, Dinner, Bridge, Snow

Words for you - Pillow, Trust, Mirror, Fog, Bird, Coffee, Wedding, Return, Terrify, Hidden, Stone, Whisper, Suffocate, Prepare, Garden

-

So, I'm leaving 15 words (all pulled from the Prithvi draft, by the way), and you just choose 5 words from there that work, but I already know that someone will try to do all 15, so... that's on them! Have fun! XD

I'm tagging the three people I know love this game and overachieve on top of that - @alpaca-clouds, @tsunderewatermelon, and @mrsmungus - but also am tagging @udaberriwrites, @lena-hills, @axolotlsupremacyowo, @sliebman10, @0nelittlebirdtoldme, @thememoryofthatday and am leaving the usual open tag for anyone else who is interested. No pressure, of course :)

Everything is from Apricity or the Prithvi draft, as always.

-

Sword - [Midnight Freefall, Apricity Ch 14]

Mike considered the doctor for the first time without the Sword of Damocles hanging over him. Despite the blood red eyes, disheveled appearance, and other inhuman traits, he could finally catch a piece of the “peaceful doctor” the rest of Forks saw… and despite the mild, unstable aura still lingering around him, the man seemed sincere and contrite. He could see the person the Quileute Shifters had come to trust over the centuries.

-

Blood - [Azure Mystique, Apricity Ch 11]

Beau slowly opened his eyes and looked up only to meet blood-red eyes staring back at him, heavily dilated in arousal. The being’s lips were also stained red, glistening against the azure moonlight. He swiped his lips with pale fingers, licking away and gently savoring every drop before smoothly dropping to his knees and gliding over his form. Beau continued staring back in awe, caught in a surreal hypnosis, trembling as an even deeper longing coursed through him. A deeper desire for something. Something even more.

-

Shiver - [Prithvi, Mahabhuta Ch 1 - Draft]

A warmth spread from just above his heart, sending warm shivers through his body. Ah right, that was a thing, wasn’t it? That neat, multicolor, geometric pattern that had been around for a very long time. Hell, he couldn’t remember a time when his skin didn’t carry this beautiful Mandala, this lovely mark that he enjoyed sketching during the occasional free moment in between homework and housework… wait, no. No. No way. That couldn’t be right.

-

Voice - [Amber Maelstrom, Apricity Ch 7]

He spent the past two days recovering at home, yet every time he relaxed, amber eyes trailed hungrily over his skin, burning him in their wake. Every time he moved, cool fingers caressed his hair and traced patterns over his form, prickling his skin under their touch - and that was during the day. At night, a deep voice purred his name, hands splayed themselves possessively across his body, and a tongue intertwined with his own as deliberate fingers dipped dangerously lower. It was a dance that played out until he woke up dazed and feverish, only to be abruptly plunged back into reality. He was no stranger to risqué dreams or musings, but the last two days had been particularly intense, with his mind drifting off rather easily unless he kept an active leash on it. The last thing he needed was for someone to notice his new set of problems

-

Gold - [Cerise Blossom, Apricity Ch 6]

Beau wasn’t stupid - he was clearly attracted to the doctor. It was hardly his first time crushing on someone, but calling this a mere crush almost felt offensive. Those gold eyes had lured him in and kept him entranced while a chain fastened itself around his chest, leaving the man free to pull on said chain however he pleased. 

-

Glass - [Ivory Verglas, Apricity Ch 5]

The moment of zen burst and Beau’s consciousness returned to the scene. The mangled mess of a van was crushed into a pile of junk mere feet from him. Even without his glasses, Beau could see a wide dent deeply imprinted into the van’s door. All the while, shards of glass surrounded him and dark smoke rose above the blurry blue pile of metal. After a moment of near-absolute silence, all hell broke loose. Voices screamed and footsteps pounded around him as Beau felt a hand on his face.

-

Jump - [Prithvi, Mahabhuta Ch 1 - draft]

‘He is here. He has returned here.’ The jumps she made only confused him. Not only was he somehow unable to get a word out to ask about his location, but she didn’t even make sense in what she was saying… and were her eyes somehow even brighter than before? Besides, with all the gossip he heard around town, his curiosity was now piqued. Just how important was this event and this going on? Just who were these people? And what is- ‘He has returned for his Bride.’

-

Nervous - [Platinum Elysium, Apricity Ch 1]

Despite the mild discomfort Beau felt in accepting the gift, a warm feeling bloomed within him. It reminded him of the art notebook his grandmother gifted him on his eighth birthday, just before she passed away. Sure, he was still nervous about living with his dad and awkward stuff would happen, but after seeing his father’s efforts… maybe life in Forks might actually turn out well for him. With a new surge of energy, Beau got out of the car and opened the trunk only for Charlie to pull the bags from beneath his hands.

-

Call - [Midnight Freefall, Apricity Ch 14]

“How should I address you? Edward uses Mike, but Rosalie calls you Michael.” “Either is fine. Most people use Mike, but my parents and Rose call me Michael.” “Very well, Michael.” Figures the vampire would go for his full name. “My apologies. I did not answer your question.” Oh yeah, there was that. Mike nodded at the doctor to continue. “I did traverse the distance on foot.” “How long did it take you to get here? It takes at least four hours by car.” “I suspect you already know the answer.”

-

Wrist - [Jade Challenge, Apricity Ch 8]

“What is this?” “It’s called the Celtic Diamond.” “It certainly looks unique - most knots I’ve seen are standalone.” “This specific knot is a family design. All of us wear the Celtic Diamond somewhere.” Beau recalled Elle’s earrings, Mina’s wrist-band, and the doctor's pendant. “Yeah, I remember something like that. But what does this have to do with me?” “The Celtic Diamond is something we use as… protection of sorts.” “Protection?” Beau sat up, alert and curious. “From what?” “Just protection in general. To be honest, I’d feel much better if you kept this necklace on your person. Maybe even wear it, if you’re comfortable doing so.”

-

Closet - [Obsidian Current, Apricity Ch 10]

Julie led him to the living room, and said “So there’s this video and-” “You want to try something with my hair?” Beau finished. “What else?” Julie left to grab a new hair brush and hair elastics from the closet. “Well, aren’t you prepared?” Beau asked as he took off his glasses and undid his updo. “Of course I am! So anyways, while I was looking up new styles for myself, I came across this really cool Viking style that would totally suit you.” Julie brushed through his hair. “It’s this series of side braids pulled back into a loose ponytail that’s half-up, half-down, and… whoa! Your hair’s almost as long as mine!” She started on a looser braid at the top of his head. “What was I saying? Oh yeah, so this’ll look amazing… if I can pull it off.” “You say that like you haven’t done more complicated stuff,” he said wryly. “Maaaybe…” Julie conceded.

-

Dinner - [Sangria Totality, Apricity Ch 13]

With all this information and all these revelations swimming through his flooded mind, Mike found himself suddenly grateful that he was spending the night at Hoshizuki rather being than stuck at dinner then in a car for hours with his totally-in-the-dark classmates... excepting Angela. He really needed time to process everything and could already feel the exhaustion creeping up behind him. Unfortunately, it seemed like the night was only about to get started for him.

-

Bridge - [Sangria Totality, Apricity Ch 13]

Pink was the first thing he noticed - the pink blooms of the many cherry blossom trees lit by the moon from above and soft lanterns from beneath. The blossoms cast a warm pinkish aura against the rest of the cool blue-green forest and the garden spanning the clearing. The garden itself was an aesthetically pleasing space, with smaller trees, flowers, and stones surrounding a pond with a red bridge spanning across the surface. Small electric lanterns dotted the stone walkways, the bridge, the gazebos, and the rest of the clearing. It was something out of a timeless space.

-

Snow - [Platinum Elysium, Apricity Ch 1]

Evergreen trees towering over the fields; emerald moss climbing over wood fences; powder-white snow lightly dusting the flora; slender icicles hanging from signs and guardrails - it was an otherworldly winter wonderland. Thinking back to his summer visits, he realized that the mystical aura permeated the area year-round. Luscious green foliage, sprawling shamrock vines, vivid reds, oranges, and purples dotting the horizon, blooming brilliantly as they sought the sun’s rays. Images of the winter he saw and the summers he remembered blended together in his mind, sparking something significant deep within, leaving him with a buzzing sense of anticipation.

#my excerpts #my tag games #find the word tag #tag game #mizuka's tag games #winter light excerpts #my writing

[ethereousdelirious]

Okay okay I rly need to get back on my queueing, but will I? Will I????

Sicktember 2023 Day 20

Prompt: Cramping Pain

Fandom: Ac.e A.ttorney

Characters: K.ristoph, Ph.oenix

Notes: The one I've been WAITING for! My favorite prompt and my favorite fill! I have been LOOKING for an excuse to hit K.ristoph with my M.egane Squishing Hammer, and at long last, the occasion is upon us

CW: emeto, slight car accident? it's not gruesome, it's just a plot contrivance

All in all the day had been remarkably peaceful. With Trucy spending the weekend at a friend's house, Phoenix had been free to engage in other pursuits; namely, getting Kristoph Gavin out of the city.

He'd been anxious of late, playing with his hair, picking off flakes of clear nail polish when he thought Phoenix wouldn't notice, flinching at loud noises.

Well.

He didn't flinch, per se. Kristoph wasn't a man who flinched. But he'd close his eyes and sigh and run his hands down the length of his hair.

Phoenix's official diagnosis was overwork, though his actual working theory remained darker, less defined.

Something.

Kristoph had always had a great 'something' lurking in his shadow, like he lived his entire life under the Sword of Damocles, just waiting for it to drop. Like he was never comfortable, though he could certainly hold the pose.

He hadn't wanted to leave the city, but Phoenix had all but forced him, employing every trick up his sleeve until Kristoph had finally lamented with a strained, ironic smile.

The subsequent misadventure had involved getting lost in the desert on cracked backroads and stumbling across a spectacular wildflower bloom.

Phoenix had never considered himself sentimental, but he'd unearthed his ancient mobile phone to take a picture on the low-res camera: Kristoph smiling in genuine wonderment at the brilliant sea of rainbow blooms before them.

And Phoenix had realized something with an unpleasant chill that counteracted the bright desert sun: he'd never seen Kristoph smile before. Not that smile, with teeth on display and light in his eyes, the smile of unburdened innocence.

They'd stopped for lunch at some tiny café attached to a decrepit motel and, after purchasing a road map for a dollar fifty, carried on.

"What's your favorite flower?" Phoenix asked, still musing on the desert blooms, and having grown tired of Kristoph's obscure German operas.

Kristoph turned the volume down. He'd been unusually quiet and stiff since lunch, and even now, he looked a little ill at ease. "Forget-me-nots," he said after a brief, contemplative silence. He glanced at Phoenix for a moment, just enough to parse his expression. "Do you know them?"

"I'm a pianist, not a botanist," Phoenix said, unashamed.

Before them, light reflected off a weathered speed limit sign. Kristoph slowed the car accordingly. "They're little blue flowers," he said, "five petals, small."

His easy expression faded and he shifted in apparent discomfort, swallowing.

Phoenix knew better by now than to ask what, if anything, was wrong, so he sat back and tried to picture forget-me-nots.

What happened next happened so quickly, that he only processed it in retrospect, when the shock had worn off.

The sight of a sun-bleached stop sign loomed in his mind's eye. Kristoph had stopped for it, and then… Then a nasty jerk forward and a terrible crunching sound, and Phoenix was afraid his head might strike the dash before his seatbelt locked up and held him in place.

A car zipped past them, so quickly that Phoenix couldn't even think to process the color or model and then they were moving again.

Swearing under his breath in German, Kristoph pulled over. There was no shoulder to speak of, just a flat expanse of rocky dirt studded here and there with mottled green brush.

"You okay?" Phoenix asked.

Kristoph let out a shaky exhale, face and knuckles the same sickly shade of yellow-white. A thin, white scar stretched over the skin on the back of his hand, but that was old, Phoenix knew. Nothing to worry about. "Fine," he muttered, sounding very unlike himself, and got out.

He stumbled, his hip hitting the door with a thump, and Phoenix unbuckled his seatbelt. The shock was wearing off slowly and he knew better than to stand right away. He moved slowly, letting the startled animal of his body adjust to the new positioning. Then he took a deep breath and got out of the car.

The heat wrapped around him in a many-armed embrace, driving a pained sigh from his lungs. The exhaust smell didn't help matters, so he made a wide arc, kicking up small dust clouds with each step.

He found Kristoph staggering forward to brace himself against the ruined trunk of his white Buick, his palm square on the shining metal.

"Kristoph?" Phoenix asked. He hadn't seen any blood, still didn't, but… something clearly wasn't right.

Only the wet, unpleasant sound of vomit hitting pavement met his ears. Kristoph didn't say a word. Didn't make a sound. Or if he did, Phoenix couldn't hear it over the thrum of the engine.

"You okay?" Phoenix asked. "Did you hit your head?"

Kristoph straightened for half a second before doubling over again, clenching his fist against the car's surface. It had to have been burning him, but he didn’t even flinch.

"Okay, hold on." Phoenix opened the back door and led Kristoph over to it so he could sit in the air conditioning without the pedals and steering wheel obstructing his ability to get comfortable. "Talk to me, Kris."

"I, ah…" Kristoph took a few shallow breaths, one arm resting gently across his stomach. "I've asked you not to call me that."

Phoenix laughed despite himself. "So no head injury, then."

Kristoph shook his head. "I think…" He gagged into his knuckles, looking utterly disgusted with himself and perhaps the whole situation. "Food poisoning."

"Ohhh." Phoenix thought for a moment. "How's the car?"

Kristoph took his glasses off and ran a hand down his face, blinking away the remnants of discomfort lining his face. "The rear bumper is pretty much kaputt— falling off." He shook himself, mouth twitching in irritation. "I don't think it's safe to drive, not all the way back to town. I'll have to have it towed."

His accent was creeping out a little, Phoenix noticed with a very misaimed frisson down his spine. It was like he didn't have the energy to school his mouth into the correct shapes to hide it, sinking back into the familiarity of a mother tongue he'd tried so hard to abandon.

Phoenix checked his cell phone. "No signal." He shifted his weight only to nearly fall backwards as Kristoph darted forward.

He crumpled at the back tire and braced his palms in the dirt and Phoenix held his hair back without a trace of disgust.

It was hard to keep the doubt at bay, however. Now that he had a moment to think, the strange quality of Kristoph's smile ran circles in his brain. Was Kristoph really never happy? Or was Phoenix reading way too much into something innocuous?

Below him, Kristoph shuddered and stilled, muffling a groan behind closed lips.

One thing was undeniably clear: he certainly wasn't happy now.

In the end, they limped the car back to the motel and the café that had caused a solid half of the mess in which they found themselves. Kristoph had to pull over once to get sick again, throwing his door open and ducking his head over the fog line while Phoenix winced and tried to focus on the latter half of Liederkreis.

Kristoph was pale and shaky when he got back in, but he kept the car between the lines, and that really was the best Phoenix could hope for without giving himself over to total delusion.

They parked up front, under the massive neon sign that might have been a work of art when it was turned on, but was nothing but an eyesore now. The gray lines spelled out "MOTEL" and traced the contours of a saguaro cactus.

"Stay here," Phoenix said, running his hand over Kristoph's brow.

Kristoph held up a finger before reaching into his breast pocket and passing Phoenix his wallet.

Since only one other car sat in the lot, Phoenix had his pick of rooms. He chose the one they'd parked in front of to make things simpler.

Once inside, Kristoph made a beeline for the bathroom, leaving Phoenix to stand there with his hands in his pockets.

"Uh, hey, Kristoph?" Phoenix gently knocked on the door. It was cracked, but the fact that Kristoph had shut it all meant he likely didn't want to be disturbed. "Can I come in?"

"...I'd rather you didn't."

"Why's that?" It couldn't have been that gruesome.

Kristoph was quiet for a long time, so long that Phoenix began to fear that he'd passed out. But when Phoenix shifted his weight and reached out, the answer came. Quiet, abashed, the answer came: "I'd really rather no one saw… this. Me."

"Aw, Kris." Phoenix leaned against the doorframe, a sympathetic smile on his lips. Kristoph always had been preoccupied with appearances, but he hadn't known just how deep the fixation went. "You know I've seen worse. Hell, I've been worse."

It was true. Phoenix hadn't handled the loss of his badge well and Kristoph, being the nearest sympathetic ear, had borne the brunt of it. They'd barely known each other and Phoenix had leaked snot and tears all over the front of his suit like he'd regressed back to college age.

"C'mon, somebody has to hold all that hair back," Phoenix said.

The door eased open with a creak, revealing a deathly pale Kristoph propped up against the edge of the yellowed bathtub. His hair had come unstyled in spectacular fashion, hanging in golden ropes around his shoulders and in his face.

"Handsome as ever," Phoenix said, kneeling in front of him. At Kristoph's reproachful look, he put up his hands in surrender. "Really!"

"Now's really not the time for jokes, Wright," Kristoph muttered. A tremor ran through him and he pulled his arms in and swallowed.

"Ah, now I know I messed up." Phoenix scooted closer and began to brush Kristoph's hair out with his fingers, pulling it back from his face. "You only call me 'Wright' when you're irritated with me."

"I'm not irritated with you," Kristoph said slowly, drawing in erratic breaths between words, "Phoenix."

He still shivered persistently, growing somehow paler with every passing moment. Only the washed-out olive undertone of his skin remained, tinting his face a nauseated green.

Phoenix shifted his attention, digging in his pockets for one of Trucy's hair ties. He always had one or two floating around his person; she never remembered to grab one on her way out the door and inevitably wanted one when they were out.

Aha. There it was, a magenta scrunchie zipped inside his inner hoodie pocket. Kristoph's breath hitched and Phoenix got a move on, hastily pulling Kristoph's hair into a low ponytail. He finished just as Kristoph made a lunge for the toilet, spitting bile and not much else into the water.

When he was done, he stayed curled in on himself. Shivering. Forehead pressed to the toilet seat.

Phoenix put a hand on his back. "Hey, Kris?" Testing the waters. When no response came, he began to stroke Kristoph's back. He was a little warm against Phoenix's hand, probably running a fever. "Does your stomach hurt?"

Kristoph nodded as much as his cramped positioning would allow.

"Let's get you into bed, okay?"

Kristoph said nothing, but his shoulders shook, and panic struck Phoenix like a lightning bolt before he realized that Kristoph was laughing. It looked like it hurt,

“Kris? I’m gonna help you stand, okay?”

The laughter petered out when Phoenix braced his hands under Kristoph’s armpits, died entirely when he got to his feet. Kristoph steadied himself on the wall. Pale, sweaty, but stable, one hand clutching his stomach. His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose, and he squinted at Phoenix even across the tiny expanse of the bathroom. “Sorry,” he breathed, then winced and held himself tighter.

“Hey, better laughing than crying.” Phoenix hooked an arm around Kristoph’s shoulders. “C’mon, lie down. I’ll see about getting a heating pad for your stomach.”

He helped Kristoph out of his layers, leaving him in briefs and a fitted T-shirt. The fine weave was soft under Phoenix’s fingertips and he let his hand linger, tracing small circles over Kristoph’s sore stomach. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but admire the view. Kristoph, it seemed, simply could not be made to unravel. Even now, sick as a dog and one layer from naked, his commanding presence filled the room. He didn’t blush or avert his eyes, didn’t cross his arms to cover himself. Like diamonds, unbreakable.

Phoenix had never really had an eye for nice things. When Kristoph’s lionesque assurance pushed up against him, he pushed back. Abandoning his efforts to be covert, he looked languidly up and down the length of Kristoph’s trembling body and whistled.

Kristoph looked at him askance but said nothing, eyes flashing behind his glasses.

“Sorry,” Phoenix said calmly, “I couldn’t help but admire the way you managed to find briefs and a shirt in matching shades of white. How’d you pull that off?”

Kristoph curled up on his side on top of the covers. “Trade secret,” he said softly. “You were just leaving, weren’t you?”

“Point taken.” Phoenix retrieved the trash can from under the small wooden desk that served as a TV stand. He set it on the floor on Kristoph’s side of the bed and paused. The tremors wracking Kristoph’s body could have been from the fever or from the pain he was in but regardless, it was hard to watch Kristoph shake like that. This level of vulnerability looked wrong on him. “If you’re gonna hurl, aim for the trash can, okay?”

“If you’re going to go,” Kristoph said pointedly.

“Alright, alright, understood.” And Phoenix went out, blinking in the sunlight.

#ethereous writes #sicktember 2023 #emeto

[rogue-bard]

The starting deadline had been his first gray hair. As a ginger person, it took him quite a lot longer than Fjord, who had started going all 'silver fox' by the sweet age of 20, and even Veth, who had just begun showing off a silver fringe around last year. He was, as far as he knew, the very last one. (Yasha and Essek didn't count in this comparison, for obvious reasons, and Caduceus disqualified based on dietary reasons...) But no matter how long it lasted, they had destroyed his last chance to save his parents in Aeor, and with it the only possibility to stop times' ever advancing gravitational pull on his very own sword of Damocles. There was the Time Stop spell though, and sometimes, Caleb had walked in on Essek, late at night, or early in the morning, when humans can be reasonably expected to be fast asleep, buried in Dunamancy books that specialized on time. It could have been nothing. Time was Essek's specialty, as he kept reminding Caleb. But maybe Essek, too, was trying to look for a way to stop time, in a very particular, partial way. And somehow, that thought hurt even more than pretending the Drow didn't care. Essek was making plans of torturing his lover by inviting Jester to arrive a week early for Caleb's fifty-fifth birthday – “You know she would love to help with preparations, and you will do everything in your spell book's power to finagle your way out of having to celebrate, which I won't allow this year.” – when it was there: In the mirror, in between red and orange and ginger. Caleb stared at it. “Do you think we should move Jester's and Fjord's room next to Veth's and Yeza's until everyone else arrives?” Essek's voice from the room next doors shook him out of his stupor. He sounded so lost in thought about something so mundane... Caleb twisted the thin, white strand around his palm. “Yes, we should,” he said, as he ripped as hard as he could. Only his birthday. They had still time until after his birthday. He wasn't gonna drop dead in front of his ever-young boyfriend because of a gray hair. He didn't need to leave Essek right now. Plus, when the Nein were there, on his birthday, and staying over until at least a couple of days after, Essek wouldn't be alone. Yeah. He shouldn't be alone. That was the whole point. “I think they will appreciate not being alone on the third floor.” Essek poked his head in, and Caleb saw his fanged smile in the mirror as he tried to hide the tiny sliver of gray in his hand like Essek would see it as the proof of betrayal that it was. He forced a smile on his own face, but it make his cheeks hurt. “As will you, I'm sure.” Essek let out a huff that was almost a laugh. “I could never alone,” he said. “Not when I am with you.” His cheeks still hurt. But now his eyes stung, too.

“Caaaay-leeeeb!” Jester, as usual, was very versed in using her outside voice, right next to his ear. “Oh my gosh, you're sooo old now!” He winced a bit. Weird, he was used to her voice, wasn't he? And his ears weren't bad, but they also were not what they used to be. “I am exactly one day older than 55,” he answered her warily. “Yupp, birthday's over now, birthday boy,” Veth nodded. “I'm sorry if we're in the way of you two love-birds celebrating it in a more private way.” She grinned at Essek who was standing next to him, their shoulders not even touching, but for some reason, Veth acted as if they were digging for each other's tonsils with their tongues. (As she does.) When nobody else dignified her remark with a reaction, Jester squealed: “Like making tiny ginger Drow babies that float and have really good hair and a weird accent!” “Or, you know, just fucking,” Veth shrugged. “Yeah, I don't think making babies works that way, Jester,” Fjord hummed, imperturbable by now to Veth's crass language or his wife's antics. Caduceus smiled down at the Half-Orc, a tiny glint of mischief in his eyes: “How can you be so sure?” And of course, Kingsley was right there with him: “Exactly! With two wizards, you never know. Might make tiny cat babies trying to figure out how to explode a house.” “Or explode a library trying to make soup,” Beau added flatly. “That was one time, Beauregard,” Caleb cut in at the same time as Essek said: “I still am very sorry about that. I hope you told the Soul as much.” The monk shrugged. “'s fine. Was more fun than I had there in a week.” “Also since you always come in disguise, they don't really know who you are and you can still come back and visit us and go look at books,” Yasha tried to cheer him up. “Very nice,” Veth said and gave them a thumbs up. “But back to fucking.” In the corner of his eye, Caleb could see Fjord facepalm. The blue Tiefling on his arm wasn't as merciful however: “Yes, tell us if you can make tiny floatie Eslebs! ...Cayseks?” “Through fucking,” Veth added with a nod. She was clearly trying to get a rise out of either of them. Yeza might have been looking apologetic, but he was very clearly relieved that for once, he wasn't the victim of his wife's brutal teasing. Caleb wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of blushing, but he assumed that he wasn't her prime target anyway, since he was pretty shameless when it came to these things. “I think it might be time for bed for me,” he simply said and was already turning around when he felt someone grip his wrist. When he turned to look, Essek leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, but only to disguise the whisper in his ear: “Do not dare leave me alone with them while they are in this mood!” He couldn't help but laugh, throwing Essek's clever ruse of faking a kiss to be subtle about his plea to the wind. “You could come with me,” he suggested. “Always,” Essek promised. Leaving tonight would be cruel, Caleb decided. Maybe he shouldn't leave Essek here with them, when they would needle him day and night about what might have transpired between them that had made Caleb leave. And Essek would be sitting up while they slept, mulling over their questions, thinking that he must have missed the clues, and that it was ultimately his fault. When in reality, it was just the inevitability of Essek finding him dead in bed one day, if he stayed for too long. But even though he tried to leave early so that Essek would remember him as the man he fell in love with, rather than a geriatric, he still had years if he wanted to. He could wait a few months. “Have fun fucking!”, Jester yelled after them and while Essek refused to turn around, Caleb just gave her a wary: “Ja, sure”.

Oh look! It’s a continuation of my last ficlet from this post! And I turned it into a ~5k fanfic! (read the whole thing on ao3 here)

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #shadowgast fanfiction

[cursed-or-not]

I couldn’t get one of the vignettes to work, so naturally this sat in my drafts for way too long, but this is based on a post by @thiscastielhasflown about Cas blushing around Dean :))) 

Cas doesn’t think he’s ever felt so human and so holy at the same time.

He is not who he thought he was, and neither is Dean Winchester.

When Cas accepted his orders, when he agreed to go to Hell, it was under the pretense of rescuing a righteous man. Cas expected a soul so pure it hurts to look at it straight-on, one so bright it burns.

What he did not expect were the ragged shards in front of him, thrumming like a heartbeat.

It’s not the concept of a soul, not the made-to-order design, but instead the lived-in, broken essence of a human.

It is still bright, but just enough that Cas can’t look away.

Here is a human soul: righteous and recalcitrant and real.

Cas doesn’t know how he’s supposed to move on. This is an order unlike any other, a mission he’s not sure he can complete; he doesn’t know how he can pull this soul from the fire with the clinical precision that’s expected of him. He isn’t sure he can leave the scene without leaving fingerprints, a sprawling scar that proves his guilt.

Yes, this is ordered, but it’s also intimate.

Cas knows what souls look like in theory, but this is messy and charred, and there is light shining through the tatters.

Cas is captivated by the man behind it.

Here, Cas can see the toll a lifetime takes on a human; he can see this soul’s--Dean’s-- greatest joys and miseries, can feel his pain and pleasure and imperfection.

It’s achingly, hauntingly personal, and Cas’ face burns at the intimacy of it all.

Cas doesn’t know what this feeling is, but he thinks it’s distinctly human.

Cas is already marked.

                                                         . . .

It happens more and more often now that he’s human.

Cas’s cheeks burn every time a customer yells at him at the Gas n Sip, every time Nora looks at him a little too long, every time he makes a new mistake at being human.

It never feels the same as when it’s Dean making him blush, but Cas has started to forget what that feels like.

When Dean visits, he can’t fathom how he ever couldn’t remember.

They’re in Dean’s motel room together, and Cas is trying with everything in him not to break down.

This man, this kind, beautiful, caring man is the same one who sent Cas away.

He doesn’t know how to reconcile that, and Cas feels ready to burst with everything he’s not saying.

Part of him wants to ask. Part of him wants to make Dean tell him why Cas had to leave, why he wasn’t good enough anymore, and part of him wants to tell Dean that look, this is what’s become of me since then; I don’t have a bed or a home or a family, and I don’t know what I did wrong, but I know you sent me away.

Another part of him wants to cup Dean’s jaw in his hands and kiss him until everything feels okay.

“You know, Cas, it’s real good to see you,” Dean says, and Cas almost yells at the sincerity.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair because Cas wants to hear it and Dean means it and they’re still so far apart.

“You too, Dean,” Cas tells him, because this part of him always wins out.

Dean offers a small smile, but something in his face is crumpled and wavering beneath it.

Dean lets out a quick exhale, and Cas can’t read his expression.

“Cas…” Dean begins, and Cas doesn’t want to hear it anymore.

“It’s okay,” Cas says quickly, and he can’t tell if he means it or not.

Dean closes his eyes.

“It’s not,” he shakes his head bitterly. “I’ll explain it to you, one day, but for now it’s shitty and selfish and not okay.”

Cas doesn’t know what to say. He’s still hurt and angry, but this is Dean, and today is one of the days Cas wishes that he had powers that could heal more than just physical wounds. He wishes he could lay a hand on Dean and make him better, make him smile, but even when he was an angel, the best he could do was heal battle wounds before they bled out. Today, he doesn’t even have powers.

“I believe that you had a good reason,” Cas says honestly.

He doesn’t know what else he believes, but that much has to be true.

“It doesn’t matter if I did,” Dean tells him, but he doesn’t look quite as exhausted as he did before. “I’m sorry.”

Cas smiles gratefully.

“Thank you for coming,” Cas says. “And for letting me stay with you.”

“Well, mi casa es tu casa,” Dean jokes, gesturing around the motel room. “Weird stains and all.”

Cas almost slips up, then. He almost says that a cheap motel room with Dean is better than a sleeping bag in a lonely store, but he catches himself.

“I don’t mind,” Cas says instead. “I’m grateful.” Dean huffs a laugh.

“Come on, man, it’s not like I’m doing a huge favor. It’s a shitty motel room.” Dean grins. “Not even the honeymoon suite.”

For some reason, the idea of sharing a honeymoon suite sets Cas’s cheeks ablaze.

Dean doesn’t notice under the dingy motel lighting.

Later, when Dean wakes up to Cas watching him for the first time in years, Cas doesn’t notice the blush coloring Dean’s cheeks, either.

                                                     . . . 

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air like the Sword of Damocles, but Cas thinks that the only one threatened is himself.

Dean won’t say it back, Cas knows.

He isn’t sure what he expected, but Dean won’t look him in the eyes and Cas needs to say something else before this stretches on any longer and his cheeks are burning again.

Cas wishes he could write off the blush as an effect of the poison, but he thinks that whatever this is won’t break as easily as a fever.

Cas looks away.

“I love all of you.”

He leaves it at that.

                                                         . . . 

Cas has been back for three days when the house of cards finally crashes.

It’s been delicate, since he got back.

He understands; you can’t just drop a love confession on someone and expect it not to get awkward. Cas may not understand everything about being human, but this, he does.

At first the lack of confrontation surprised him. Looking back, though, Cas thinks that it’s the most in character reaction possible.

Cas had come back, Dean had pulled him into a fierce hug, and then they’ve been carefully avoiding any alone time since.

Cas thinks this might be the kindest reaction, might just be Dean trying not to break his best friend’s heart, but the silence is worse.

Cas has accepted his role in all of this, and he knows not to expect more than he can have. Still, if nothing else he wants his best friend back.

Cas has never really been one to take the first step, but considering the leap of faith he took before the Empty came, he figures he can manage a conversation.

He waits until Dean’s the only one left in the kitchen.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says carefully, and Dean doesn’t look as trapped as he expected. Mostly, he just looks tired.

“I think…” Cas struggles to find a way to begin. “We should talk.”

Dean nods around his beer, taking care not to look at Cas.

Cas stays on the other side of the counter.

“I know that we’re acting like nothing has changed,” Cas begins, “And if that’s what you want, then I understand. But if you have any… concerns, then--”

“Really, Cas? Concerns?”

Cas blinks. “Maybe that’s not exactly the right word, but--”

“Cas, that’s not even the right sentiment,” Dean responds, finally looking at him.

“Then what are you looking for?” Cas asks, and he hates that even now, he doesn’t know.

“What am I looking for?”

If Dean objected to “concerns,” his offense is even greater now. Cas’s brow furrows.

Dean continues, “Cas, you told me you love me!”

Cas almost flinches.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I did.”

Cas can’t meet Dean’s eyes, but he’s not sure he wants to know what they’re saying, anyway.

“There’s-- kind of a lot to unpack there, man,” Dean says, and his voice is marginally calmer.

Cas looks up.

“I’m sorry.”

Cas knows immediately that wasn’t what Dean was looking for, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what he is.

“You’re sorry, huh?” Dean’s voice is low, and Cas thinks there might be something ragged in it.

Cas blinks. “Yes.”

Dean huffs a bitter laugh.

“Okay, then. Think we’re done talking.”

“What-- Dean,” Cas protests, utterly confused as to how this went so wrong.

Cas steels himself to continue. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable, but Dean, I don’t want-- I can’t lose you.”

Something in Dean’s expression softens, but his shoulders stay tensed.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he offers. “Listen, I get it. You said something on impulse and I misinterpreted it and now you’re sorry, apparently. Yeah, it sucks, but you’re not gonna lose me.”

Cas feels confusion etch onto his face.

“You think that my apology means I regret it?”

Dean looks at him like it’s obvious.

“I mean, it’s understandable,” Dean replies, gesturing widely.

Cas can’t believe how wrong this conversation is going.

“Dean, of course I don’t regret it,” Cas admits, still at a loss for how Dean could have reached that conclusion. “When someone confesses something in their dying moments that they’ve been carrying with them for more than a decade, they’re not generally lying.”

Dean looks at him half in doubt and half in wonder.

“I never said you were lying,” Dean grumbles in protest. Cas thinks the sullenness is more for show than anything else.

He has moved to Cas’s side of the counter.

“Well, I wasn’t,” Cas responds, and he knows it’s not witty or clever or important, but maybe if he keeps reaffirming it, Dean will start to believe it.

“I’m glad,” Dean says, and he puzzles Cas by offering him his beer. Now, they’re shoulder to shoulder.

Cas isn’t sure why, but he takes the beer. Dean’s eyes track the motion as he raises it to his lips, and Cas’s cheeks burn when Dean watches him swallow.

This time, Dean notices.

“You blushing?” Dean asks through a cocky grin, and damn it that just made it worse.

“No,” Cas grumbles.

“Now you’re lying through your teeth,” Dean accuses, taking his beer back and taking a sip.

“Well, I wasn’t lying about the other thing,” Cas responds, trying to regain his composure.

Dean’s joking disposition crumbles, and he glances at Cas’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dean nods, looking like he’s milling something over.

He seems to decide to take another sip of beer instead, but as he raises it to his lips, he says, “I love you, too, you know.”

Of all the responses Cas was expecting, this never made the list.

His face is hot again, though, and his heartrate is a little too sporadic, and if Dean keeps drinking beer like it’s a normal friday night, Cas is going to go insane.

His brain finally catches up to the situation.

“You what?” Cas asks incredulously.

Dean’s casual dimeanor finally falls away, and this time it’s his turn to blush as he looks at Cas over his beer.

“Love you,” Dean mutters, and it’s barely audible, but it’s more than enough.

Cas gives himself five more seconds of shocked staring before he huffs a laugh.

“I never thought…” Cas doesn’t know where it’s going, just knows that he’s never felt awe like this before.

“Yeah, me either,” Dean admits. “But it’s true.”

Dean sets his bottle on the counter, and Cas watches the movement, heart still beating a little too fast.

There’s still too much to say and also nothing. When Cas turns to face Dean, Dean takes his face in his hands.

Cas looks at him in wonder, eyes tracing the freckles and smile lines on his face.

Dean bites his lip quickly, still considering something, and then Cas doesn’t know who leans in first, but they’re kissing.

It’s honey-sweet and molasses-slow, and Cas thinks that this has to be why freedom exists.

#idk definitively what this is #bc it's part 15x18 coda #and part destiel through the years #but it was nice to write something #spn fanfic #destiel #15x18 coda #first kiss #spn spoilers #mine

[angst-fairygodmother]

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 13: DARKNESS FALLS

Word Count: 2362 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: T Content Warnings: swearing, references to violence (canon-typical), heavy angst, sort of spoilers for TUA season 1? Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Confrontation || Masterlist

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

Two weeks after your visit to the Academy, and everything that followed, a headline caught your eye as you poured coffee for a couple at the diner. ‘Eccentric Billionaire Reginald Hargreeves Under Federal Investigation. Crimes include Smuggling, Arms Dealing, Fraud’ screamed out at you in bold black print and you barely managed not to scald yourself as your hand trembled.

Your mind was racing. It hadn’t seemed real, when you were making phone calls and “visiting old friends” and whispering in the right, or wrong, ears. It was a stab in the dark, that you never expected to amount to anything. But it seemed like someone, somewhere, had listened and moved on D.S. Umbrella and your father-in-law.

A bubble of elation built up in your chest. Unable to contain yourself, you yelled out that you were taking your 15, despite the earliness of the hour, and jogged down the street to pick up a copy of the morning paper for yourself. As you scanned the article, more snippets jumped out: “midnight raid,” “suspicious and hazardous materials,” “illegal within city limits.” They also mentioned looking into his accounts, heavy investigation into recent break-ins at the warehouse that authorities suspected were to cover up evidence, and a re-examination of the adoption records for his now infamous Academy of children. That last one made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t wanted to drag Diego or his family into any of this, and certainly not risk having his world flipped upside down. Still, there was hope nothing would come of that bit, and he would never have to be involved, and everything else was well worth it.

With a giddy giggle, relieved and stunned that things were going better than you could have hoped, you tucked the paper into your bag and returned to work, feeling lighter than you had in a while.

~

“This is insane,” Diego said, dropping onto the couch, head in his hands and the copy of the paper you’d brought home on the table in front of him.

“Is it?” you countered, sitting down on the far end and tucking your knees up to your chest. “We knew he was up to something…”

“But not this! Why would he raise us the way he did if he was a criminal?”

“Covering his tracks maybe? Or there’s something bigger here we haven’t put together.”

“You’re not even a little surprised by this,” there was something flat to his tone.

You shrugged, knowing that he knew you too well to deny it.

“What did you do?”

“Technically, nothing.” He fixed with you a firm, unamused expression that made you sigh. “I just talked to people. Gossip, anonymous tips, that sort of thing. I didn’t really think anyone would listen.”

His jaw clenched as he struggled to reign in his anger. “Who else did you talk to?”

“A few journalists, some law enforcement that Patch put me in touch with who wouldn’t ask too many questions, some folks in my line of work. That one clearly didn’t go anywhere, or we would have heard by now, especially if there’s an investigation too.”

“Thieves?”

“No waitstaff.” You rolled your eyes.

“What for?”

“I thought...I figured if some other crews went in, free looting, it would make it harder to figure out what we took, cover our tracks some.”

“That doesn’t make sense. He already knew we were there. Y/N, what aren’t you telling me?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done now. I’m sure nothing will happen, the authorities are probably in his pocket, and if not...Prison for someone like your father isn’t even that bad. It’s a penthouse, just one with a 24/7 guard at the door.”

Diego looked annoyed but didn’t say anything else. You bit your lip, the silence tense over the two of you.

“I’m sorry, Diego. I just thought...it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

He grunted in acknowledgement. A moment later, he stood, silently getting ready for bed, despite the relatively early hour, and went to bed without a word. You waited, fighting back tears, still curled on the couch. You didn’t expect Diego to be thrilled the way you were that something was happening with Reginald, but you also hadn’t predicted this anger.

“Y/N,” he called softly, an indeterminate time later, making you jump. “Come to bed, sweetheart.”

~

Things in the household felt fragile after that, even the dog could sense that both you and Diego were tip-toeing on eggshells, waiting for the outcome of the investigation, like the Sword of Damocles.

And then it dropped, with a breaking news bulletin, one that made you almost grateful that Diego had a late night at the gym. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shuddering, as you watched an all too familiar building go up in smoke.

“No one knows what, if anything, was taken by the miscreants seen fleeing the warehouse shortly before the explosion, or why they chose to destroy the structure so definitively,” the news anchor said, the rest of her words blending into a drone in the back of your mind.

At some point, you fell asleep there on the couch, waiting for Diego to come home, startled awake in the morning when the door slammed shut.

“Diego?” you asked, frowning and rising to greet him. “Are you okay?”

He laughed bitterly, shaking off your hand on his arm and stepping away. “You’re really asking me that, Y/N? After everything you’ve done?”

“What are you talking about, Diego?”

“I’m not an idiot Y/N.”

“No but evidently I am, because I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.”

“Don’t,” he growled, shaking his head again. “D.S. Umbrella. Thieves, an explosion. You’re honestly trying to tell me you had nothing to do with it?”

“I didn’t! Not...directly!” you protested. “I promised you that I wouldn’t go after him, so I called in friends who could, who would.”

“How is that any different?”

“I...you said yourself that he was dangerous, and he proved that to me. And I got scared okay? I panicked, and when I saw a solution, I took it. Torch and burn, and salt the earth seemed like a good idea.”

“And Luther? Was he part of your plan or just an acceptable casualty?”

“What do you mean?” your frown shifted from one of upset to confusion.

“Pogo called, last night. Dad sent Luther to the warehouse had he got caught in your friends’ chemical explosion. He’s lucky to be alive.”

There was a slight hitch to his voice as he spoke, and you knew that despite the years of tension between them, hearing such news about his brother had shaken Diego badly. And you hadn’t been there for him. You reached out for his hand, to comfort him as you usually would before recoiling.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt.”

Diego scoffed in disbelief, nostrils flaring angrily. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I don’t hate your brother, and I had no reason to want that. Because your father was the one who sent him in, alone and probably unprepared even though he knew better than anyone what hazards were in there. Because I’m your wife, and I wouldn’t lie to you, not when it mattered. Because I never wanted any of this, I just couldn't sit back and do nothing.”

“Why not? And give me a straight answer this time, Y/N.”

“While you and Luther were busy getting out all your boyhood aggression or whatever, I tried to find answers just like we planned. Only instead I ended up having a nice little chat with Reginald. And he said that everything was staged, that it was an audition. That I passed. And he threatened you, and he called the Academy a failed experiment.”

“You never said anything to me.”

“I didn’t know how,” your voice was sharp, pleading. “I have even less answers than I did when we started. All I have is that your father didn’t care about you, but he did about me, for something. He was willing to let you die to test what I could do. He was okay with the idea of hurting you to keep me in line. I...I had to protect you. So I did the only thing I could think of to do.”

“We’re s-supposed to be a team.” His eyes were still dry, but you could see the pain written across his features, and you closed your eyes against the sight.

“I know,” you said softly.

“W-w-we could have figured it out t-to-tog-gether if you had ta-lked to me…”

“We tried that Diego,” you wanted so badly to reach out for him. You hated that you couldn’t. Not now. “It had us spinning in circles.”

"So you just shut m-m-me out?" His lip quivered.

“Would you have done any differently?” you gave up on even trying to keep your own emotions out of your voice, tilting your head in question as you looked at your husband, the man you loved, and said words that you knew were breaking both your hearts. “Honestly?”

He was painfully silent, lips pressed together and eyes downcast as he considered your words, and what his answer would be. Rather than let the question continue to stew, you forged onward, almost afraid of what would happen if you didn’t.

“I’m truly sorry that Luther got hurt, and glad he’ll be okay. But I still stand by what I did. It was the right choice to make. If anything, it worked out better than I had hoped.”

“H-how could you say t-tha-that?” despite his stutter there was outrage in his voice now, raising the pitch to almost a shout.

“If it’s him or you, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no choice. I’m not sorry for that.” You shrugged. “And maybe almost losing his last loyal son will be enough to get your father to back off, to rethink, stop doing...whatever it is he’s doing.”

Diego’s body tensed and his eyes narrowed to a glare, the full fury and hatred locked inside suddenly directed at you. There was no trace of the pain in his voice now and it made your blood run cold.

“Luther’s an asshole, but he’s m-y family.”

“I know that, Diego. And I know how much family means to you. That wasn’t how I—”

“You know, you’re starting to sound a lot like my father.”

You stared at him, aghast.

“You’ve been just like him this whole time, haven’t you?”

“What?” you couldn’t keep the break and horror from your voice, didn’t want to.

“All this scheming and planning. Using the rest of us as puppets. It’s all about the so-called greater good. And screw anyone that gets in your way.”

“Diego, that’s not—” You tried to pull your emotions back into check but couldn’t. Hot, desperate tears pooled in your eyes before spilling down your cheeks.

‘Not what?’ you froze to ask yourself. ‘Not fair? Not true? Isn’t it though? Wasn’t he completely right, that you and Reginald were circling each other, playing a game with each other? Lay a trap, dance away from it. Steal a piece of information, change it’s meaning. Capture a bishop, sacrifice a knight. Move and counter-move. For months now.’

“I’m going to the gym tonight,” he said, making a dismissive gesture when you remained silent for too long. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He turned on his heel, throwing a few things in a duffle bag haphazardly.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” you said quietly as you watched him pack, rooted in your spot in the living room.

“Of course it was a mistake!”

“I don’t mean things with your father or D.S. Umbrella,” you took a deep, shuddery breath. “I...I mean us.”

“What?” his voice dropped, all the anger leeching away as he hesitated in the middle of folding one of his turtlenecks.

You took a shuddering breath, “None of this would have happened if we hadn’t gotten tangled up trying to pretend we fit together, in each other’s lives.”

“Y/N. Stop.” He shook his head, words clipped and forced. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what Diego? What we’re both thinking? I love you, so much. More than I can possibly say. But...I don’t think that’s enough. I was...we were better off alone. Everyone was.”

“That’s not t-true.” He took a step toward you and you took a step back. He looked like the world had just dropped out from under him.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Please?” you begged, voice and lip trembling. “If you can say that, after everything I’ve done, after all of this, I’ll believe you. But...don’t say if it’s not true.”

“That’s it?”

“I don’t know.”

Your gut gnawed at you, the still image of the burning warehouse catching in the corner of your eye. It felt like he was going to forgive you, even for a moment, for that, for Luther, and you couldn’t fathom that. And the more you spoke, the more you found yourself meaning the words. You loved him, and he loved you, and that could only hurt.

“I should go,” he said, half-heartedly, almost asking you to stop him.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

His keys rattled as he picked them up, and the door closing behind him seemed louder than you had ever imagined possible. It felt like one of his daggers was protruding from your chest. You couldn’t breathe.

“Diego, wait!” you called shakily, throwing open the door but not quite chasing him into the hallway.

He stopped but didn’t turn around. Silence hung like a wall between you. Your tongue felt like lead. What could you possibly say to undo what you had just done?

The minutes dragged on, the silence unbroken.

With a sigh you could almost imagine wafting back to flutter over you, he started to move again, and you stood there until his back disappeared. Only when he was truly gone, did you sink to the floor.

“Goodbye Diego,” you murmured, the words trailing off into a sob.

#And No One Lived Happily Ever After. The End #I mean technically there's an epilogue and some sort of sequel but this is the 'end' #the epilogue isn't going to make things better I promise #13 is an unlucky number right? :/ #how to break your reader's heart (and your own) in 2.5k or less #an essay by Shye #Light Fingers #Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic

[spideyanakin]

Another One Bites The Dust

Will Turner x Reader

Synopsis; You’re in great need of a swordsmith 

Requested by; @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes // Reader is disguised as a man and puts in an order for a sword with her father's money. She's planning on running away, and Will goes with her. They end up on Captain Jack Sparrow's "Black Pearl"

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Masterlist✨🧚🏻‍♀️

"And another one bites the dust" you smiled as you bowed towards the headless straw man you had made for sword training.

You placed your sword back on your hip and clapped your hands to remove the dust from it, happy with how your daily training went.

You heard a soft clap from behind you and turned around to meet eyes with your father.

"Well done, you're getting better." He said nodding towards the headless mannequin.

"Well thank you, father." You smiled as you walked towards him.

"But it isn’t suitable for a lady..." he said pointing to your sword and pants.

"I know, I know... but it makes me happy! So what do you care? You’ve always loved watching me practice!" You chuckled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving to your room.

"Y/n?" He stopped you.

"Yes?"

"Please wear the dress I got you... The Viscount is coming tonight."

"Alright." You smiled before leaving, rolling your eyes on the way out.

~

The next morning you’d woken up too late for your father's taste. He came barging in the room accompanied by two maids and a new dress even more beautiful and detailed than the previous one.

"Morning to you too." You breathed out as the curtains opened.

"I can’t believe you are still In bed! What will the Viscount say if you're late for breakfast!"

"Why is it important if he cares." You chuckled as you got out of bed. But the silence in the room and the way your father was staring at you was enough for all your questions to be answered.

"No." You replied. "No way." You nodded your head no as you walked in panic around your room.

"Yes. Yes, you are going to marry him! It’s a smart match for Port Royal and the entire family."

"Then I'll run away!" You said raising your arms in defeat.

"A lady like you won't be able to survive two days out there." your father stated which sent striking anger into you.

"You clearly know I am more able with my sword than most men are!" You stopped right in your steps.

"Yes! And that's what im most afraid about! I forbid you to use your sword again. It’s not proper for a lady like you. What would he say if he saw you use one." He shook his head. "I’m taking it all away. I won’t risk this!" He grabbed all your attire from your closet.

"Hey, that’s mine!" You felt tears rise as you tried to grab it from his arms but he didn't let you.

"A little help here." He looked at the maids who pulled you away from him. "I’m taking these away. And you will stop acting like a- like-" the words failed him as he saw you scream and shout from the maid's arms.

"Pirate?" You spit out after a moment of silence.

"Yes." He replied in a tone you'd never seen before. Fear struck you as more tears spilled. You heard the small clicks of the door locking and once the maids released their grip on you, you came crashing into the door trying to open it.  You felt weak as you couldn't do anything and slid down the door sobbing. You were bound to be a noble's wife and trapped in a castle for the rest of your days and it was your worst nightmare.

~

The next thing you remembered was sitting at breakfast with a tight corset, puffy skirt, and preppy hat. The weather was so hot and humid and you felt like ripping it off you, even with your father's comments on how expensive it was.

You used your fan barely paying attention to what the Viscount had to say.

"Sir, he’s here." The butler entered clearing his throat catching the attention of your father and the Viscount.

"Alright let him in then!" Your father smiled and waved towards the table.

A few seconds later, a young man with brown hair came in. He was shifting in his spot holding what you knew was a sword box.

"Ah! Mister Turner!" He smiled as the young man entered the gardens.

"I have your sword, Sir." He opened the box revealing one of the most beautiful pieces you’d ever seen. The golden and the fine silver of the sword was breathtaking and the sword work was amazingly done.

Your mouth slightly opened at its beauty and you couldn’t help but reach for it. But you quickly redrew your hand as your father shot you daggers with his eyes.

You looked up to see the man who had made it and met with the most beautiful pair of honey eyes you'd ever seen. He gave you a soft smile that made your heart melt on the spot. The warm sensation sent a smile through your lips. You couldn't help but keep your stare fixed on him as you suddenly felt shy under his stare.

“Viscount, this is the swordsmith I was telling you about.” Your father cleared his throat at the silence and tapped Will’s shoulder.

Will was brought back to reality and gave a tight-lipped smile to the Viscount.

“That will be me.” He cleared his throat and nodded.

“Wait so you designed every sword my father owns?” You placed both your hands on the table and stared at him with wide eyes.

“I think I did...” Will nodded with a smile.

“That’s” You were going to finish your sentence but your smile was wiped off your face as your father glared at you to shut your mouth.

You kept quiet and took a sip of your tea, looking away as if not interested, but keeping a sharp ear.

“I apologize for my daughter, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Your father laughed it off and earned a chuckle from the Viscount and a forced one from Will.

You brushed it off and kept looking at the sea wishing you could sail them with no laws to your name.

~

Throughout the next days, you watched as your father was showing his sword collection to the Viscount and testing him on his skills here and there. It made you sick to your stomach to see these two enjoying the use of a sword while you were stuck to the side with a fan and a dress.

Every day you had a quick reminder that he was going to propose in a few weeks and every day the fake smiles were killing you even more.

One night you decided you had enough. You dismissed yourself from dinner and walked right into your father's room, grabbing his coat and vest and the first hat you found on your way out.

You got dressed in your favorite pair of pants and added his vest plus his coat. You stuffed all your hair in his hat and left.

If your father was going to lock the door of the armory and take your sword away you were going to find another way to sword fight.

You grabbed the first sac of money you laid your hand on and walked out of the house.

You stayed quiet until dawn struck, and walked into town when the golden sunlight hit and the clock struck 8. You walked through the quiet streets until you found the ‘Mr.Brown Swordsmith’ sign.

You took a deep breath scared to meet those brown eyes again before knocking and pushing the door.

“Hello?” You tried to make your voice as deep as you could before looking around the room, the soft sound of crackling fire ringing through it.

Will Turner turned his head around to meet your eyes recognizing you instantly. His stare shifted to your outfit and slowly realized what you were doing. Your hair was all stuck in your hat and you tried to keep your head down. You were wearing a large vest that covered your shapes.

“Hello?” Will replied trying not to chuckle seeing you like this.

“I would like a sword sir.” You replied.

“Designed or premade?” He asked pointing to the rack of swords.

“Designed.” You made your back straighter at the thought of designing your own sword.

“You have a design in mind, sir?” He asked a bit skeptical in calling you, sir.

“Actually... Yes.” You replied a large smile painting your face.

~

The weeks went by and every day you tried to go and see Will’s work. He never stopped to impress you as his work was getting more and more beautiful.

“You know Mr. Smith your sword is one of my most delicate pieces so far.”

“Oh really?” You asked a little touched by his comment.

“Yeah! I mean a beautiful sword for a beautiful girl.” He said finally dropping the sword of Damocles.

Your cheeks started burning as you didn’t even notice you’d blew your cover.

“You don’t mea- Wait?” You started a sentence but realized what he had said. You looked at him with wide eyes and a smirk painted his face. “You knew?” You removed your hat letting all your hair flow down which sent Will's knees weak.

He gulped as he realized you were even more beautiful with your hair out. He looked at you and started laughing,  a soft laugh that made your heart melt.

“How long have you known.” You laughed as your mouth stayed open in shock.

“Since the second you entered my shop.” He replied with a new chuckle.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” You placed a hand on your hip.

“I mean you were so caught up in your act I didn’t want to burst your bubble.” He stated.

“I- You-!” You stayed frozen in shock as he stared at you a wide grin on his face.

“Well, I didn’t do anything.” He raised his hands in innocence. You folded your eyes and pointed a warning finger at him wanting to say something but words failing you.

“I think you should go.” He said out of the blue pointing to the clock on the wall.

“Right.” You looked at it before shifting in your spot. “Well I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Turner.” you nodded before walking towards the door.

“See you tomorrow, Miss. L/n.”

“You can call me Y/n” You smiled before walking out the door a large smile on your face.

The next day you removed your hat the second you entered Will’s shop. Your loose hair flowing as you did so, making Will weak.

"Hi.” He gave you a shy wave unable to communicate.

"Hey." You smiled and placed your hat and vest on the coat hanger skipping a step as you walked towards Will. "How’s my sword?” You asked getting closer to the fire.

"Very good." Will smiled as he showed you the handle. The golden rims of it made you forget all about your old one. Its delicate work was definitely one of Will’s greatest creations.

"I’ll say give it a few weeks." He smiled and you smiled back, a small silence falling as you stared into his eyes.

~

Every day with your father and the viscount felt like tortue. So when on one particularly sunny day when the viscount asked your hand in marriage, every thought you'd ever had about staying and living this life of torture slipped away and you finally knew you what you wanted.

That was the last straw for you to finally leave this place.

During these few weeks, the back and forth flirting with Will actually turned Into something. Something the two of you never did anything about and swept under a rug. Something that could be felt every time you stepped into that shop.

"Will you do me that honor?" The Viscount asked as he held your hands.

You stared at him for a few seconds before turning your stare to the sea. You watched the boats for a few seconds, letting a soft breeze pass you.

"Excuse me." You said before dropping his hands and leaving towards the city, leaving a confused Viscount on the side of the water.

You tried to run as fast as you could, dropping your hat on the way and leaving your shoes scattered somewhere in port royal.

You ran through the paved streets and right into Will’s shop. You found him, sharpening the blade of your sword, he was too focused on his work to notice you walking inches close to him.

"Hi?" He asked as he saw the closeness between the two of you. You were trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and lowering as your corset made it harder to breathe. Your bright blue dress caught Will’s eye as he had rarely seen you dressed like a ‘proper’ lady. He didn’t have time to admire the golden embroideries of it before you closed the gap between the two of you, crashing your lips to his. Will opened his eyes in surprise before closing them and melting into your kiss.

He snaked an arm around your waist bringing you even closer to him as you placed a hand in his hair.

You pulled away trying to steady your breath before slightly speaking up.

"Run away with me."

- Tag List - 

@averyfosterthoughts @slytherinambitious​ @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes

#will turner #will turner x reader #will turner x you #will turner x y/n #will #will turner imagine #Jack Sparrow #Black Pearl #pirates of the caribbean #pirate of the caribbean #pirate #x reader #fan fiction #port royal #elizabeth swann #william turner

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [70]

xii. damocles, pt 1

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: death, fighting, injuries, it's a war, baby. language, McCreary is an asshole, mentions of blood.

Summary: The war begins, but the victory that seemed within grasp at nightfall disappears as the new day dawns.

a/n: the season 5 finale is here!!! i can’t believe we’re already finishing up with s5 and will be starting s6 on friday! feels like I just started sharing season 1 with you guys a few weeks ago. regardless, it’s here, and the end of the show is approaching, so buckle up! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Just before dawn, the march begins.

You and Bellamy march at the front near Octavia, there to ensure that everything goes according to plan. No one says a word as you move from the desert into the rocky ravine that leads to the edge of the valley. Everyone is silent, in their own heads, working up the nerve to keep going and not run away from the war that grows closer with every step you take.

The sun is up in the sky by the time you reach a vantage point for the pillboxes, but it’s hidden behind clouds that sag with rain, waiting to fall. You and Bellamy crouch behind a rock, Octavia at your back, and peer through your scopes to the entrance into the valley, gaze landing on two small buildings on either side, buzzing with prisoners. Bellamy confirms the information is correct, and turns to pass it to Octavia. “Two pillboxes, just like Echo said.”

Not even a second later, you can hear the distant sound of gunfire, and you add, “That's our signal.”

You and Bellamy watch the prisoners evacuate the two pillboxes and head into the woods, towards the first entrance to reinforce their position. “It's working, they're moving out.”

As soon as Octavia has confirmation that everything is going according to plan, she turns to face Wonkru, pulling out her sword and lifting it into the air. Everyone acknowledges the signal and begins to march towards the valley, Octavia in the lead. You and Bellamy jump back into the group, just behind the Red Queen, and he reaches out to squeeze your hand in reassurance before the fight begins. You look over at him and smile, hoping you look less worried than you feel, and Bellamy gives you a strained smile in return. As you draw closer, Indra comes up behind you, looking between you and Bellamy, “You both did your best to stop this. In the end, if we have to fight, it's better to win.”

You both nod, and you get distracted when you see a young boy run past you to catch up with Octavia. You realize it’s Ethan, the boy that Madi beat in the arena, and you watch Octavia turn to him to say something. And just as soon as the words leave her mouth, everything goes to shit.

Looking back, you would have realized that everything was too quiet, gunshot no longer firing in the distance from the first position. You would have realized the hairs on the back of your neck and arms were raised, warning you before the danger struck. But in the moment, you notice none of that. Your focus is turned on Ethan and Octavia, and then seconds later, you watch as Ethan falls to the ground, a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead. You instantly turn to look at Bellamy, and he’s already looking at you in alarm, grabbing your arm and leading you over to Octavia. He grabs her arm and pulls her behind a rock for cover, tugging you down beside her. “We should be covered.”

Octavia doesn't stay in place for long, but you barely register her turn and grab a gun from behind you. Instead, your focus is on the pillboxes nearby, and sending your bullets into them, hoping you’re taking some of the prisoners out. As you shoot, a high pitched whine pierces the air, and your stomach flips, immediately recognizing the sound as one of the big guns. Seconds later, your fears are confirmed when a blast hits the ground somewhere behind you, punctuated by screams of pain as it hits a group of people.

You hear Brell yell out, “Retreat! Back to the bunker!”

Octavia, however, immediately yells after her, “No! Advance! It's the only way!”

Bellamy grabs your arm again, and then his sister’s, pulling you both away from the danger. You move willingly, eager to survive the day and not die in a senseless war, but Octavia drags her feet, fighting her brother and slowing all three of you down. “O, it's the only way! We go back, and we find another-”

Bellamy never finishes his sentence, because all three of you get thrown through the air. One of the prisoners fires a blast cannon a few feet from the three of you, sending out a shockwave that sends all of you flying. The force of it knocks the air from your lungs, and just as you start to breathe again, you hit the ground hard, losing all the air in your body in one large rush. Your head cracks painfully against the ground, and you feel a sharp stab in your right shoulder. The pain floods your senses, making everything feel fuzzy, and seconds later, you pass out, everything fading to black.

-

Bellamy hangs on a post opposite of you, tied up the same way Finn was when he was going to be killed. You can see a collar around his neck, the skin beneath it dark and bruised, and blood drips from multiple places on his body; his face, his arms, his stomach. You can hear him struggling to breathe, and you think at least one of his ribs is broken, though you’re sure it’s more. And as you watch him, calling out to him, you see McCreary walk up beside him, giving you a sinister smile. “This is your fault, you know. You wished him down here on that shooting star, and the Universe listened. Lucky for me though, because I get to have a little fun with him.”

He flips the switch for Bellamy’s collar, and you watch as the man you love screams and shakes with pain. Tears stream down your face as you scream and tug on your restraints, “Stop it, you asshole, just stop! I’ll do anything you want me to, just stop!”

McCreary’s head cocks to the side, interested, and he turns off the collar. He walks over to you, to the pole you are tied to, and whispers, “Interesting. You know, they told me what the savages call you: Wanlida. They say it means Bringer of Death, and I guess I just want to test that theory.”

You feel dread wash over you, and he holds up a knife, your knife, right in front of your face. “Kill him.”

You balk, trying to back away from him despite the restraints around you. “No! Why would I even consider that?”

McCreary smiles, and holds up the controls for the shock collar in his other hand. “Because either you kill him, or I do. Death by your hand, or death by mine. But I know which will hurt more.”

You look at Bellamy in alarm, and his head lifts weakly towards you, eyes begging. “Please. Just like Atom. Please.”

You shake your head, and Bellamy keeps begging, tears streaming down his face, as McCreary watches. “You’ve never seen a shock collar on the highest setting before, have you? Well, neither have I, because the guards were banned from ever using it after they killed one of the prisoners on the first mission by cooking him alive. They said it was pretty gory, and that he felt every second of pain until the end.”

You glance back towards Bellamy, starting to shake and cry, and he nods his head, trying to get you to do it. “Please, natshana.”

His begging breaks your heart, and though every muscle in your body is telling you that it doesn't want to do this, your mind and your heart have mercy on your love, and you find yourself nodding your head at McCreary. “I’ll do it.”

His face splits into the biggest grin, and he cuts you loose with your knife, before holding it up with a serious expression. “If you try anything, you watch him die, slowly and painfully, before I pass you around this camp. When these prisoners are through with you, you’ll be begging for death, but I’ll never give it to you.”

You nod weakly, believing every word he says, and he presses the knife into your hand and steps out of your way. You pull yourself over to Bellamy, your body groaning with the movement, clearly just as injured as Bellamy is, before you finally come to a stop in front of your love. He’s weak, barely hanging onto life, and he uses what strength he has left to lift his head and look at you. “My radiant moon. It’s okay, it’s just like Atom. Just like Atom.”

Tears fall down your face as you look at him, lifting the knife to hover near his neck. “I love you, Bellamy Blake.”

“And I love you more than the stars. In this lifetime, and in the next.”

You whisper back, “Forever.”

And then you start to hum Clair de lune, tears falling down your face, nearly blinding you. You press the knife into his neck, and he winces for a second before blood starts to pour out of the wound, draining the life from his body. It rushes over your fingers and coats your hand, and you sob as you watch the love of your life take his last breath, dead by your hand. You drop to your knees, crying hard, and you feel someone snatch the knife from your hand before you’re restrained again, tied up at the feet of your lover. McCreary drops to his knees in front of you, smiling like a lunatic, and he mutters, “I didn’t think you’d ACTUALLY do it. Rather unfortunate for you, because I never had any intention of killing him.”

You freeze in place, your brain struggling to process the words. “What?”

“I wasn't going to kill him. I just wanted to see if you actually bring death wherever you go.” He laughs out loud, clearly enjoying this. “Looks like you do.”

You lunge towards him, intending to rip his throat out with your teeth, but you’re stopped before you make it close enough, knocked back with a sharp blow to your head. The force of it knocks you to the ground, your head pounding, the angle you’re in giving you the perfect view of Bellamy, sagging against his restraints, dead. The last thing you hear before the gunshot is the echo of words in your head, bouncing around, torturing you. Wanlida, Bringer of Death. Cursed. Threat to everyone she loves, including Bellamy Blake, who now lays dead.

-

You wake with a start, the movement shifting the injuries on your body, and you groan in pain, starting to reach up to touch your head. But before your hand moves an inch, a hand clamps down on your wrist, and Bellamy mutters, “Don't move.”

You force your body to pull your eyes open, coming face to face with Bellamy, relieved that he’s alive and okay, and the nightmare in your head isn’t real. Both of you are lying a few inches from each other, and you can see Octavia on the other side of him, watching you. “Bellamy, my head-”

You try to reach up again, but he cuts you off and holds you still. “Don’t move! They’re shooting anyone that moves. I have watched 15 people die in the last few hours. The second you move, you die.”

You whisper, “I understand.”

He releases your wrist, and he looks at your head the best he can without moving a muscle. “The bleeding’s stopped for now. In a few hours, when the sun goes down, we’ll move. Until then, we stay still as we can. We’ll check your injuries then.”

You nod your head and reach your hand out for his slowly, both of you side by side in the sand, holding hands. You stay like that for hours, through rainfall and gunfire, watching as people try to surrender and get shot down. You, Bellamy, and Octavia stay silent and frozen in place, watching as the sun sets and the stars rise up, the only light coming from the moonless sky. A spotlight passes over the gorge every few seconds, searching for movement, and after enough time has passed, Bellamy whispers to you and Octavia, “Okay, it's dark enough. Next time the light passes, we go.”

You watch the light get closer to you before it passes over each of your bodies, and as soon as it clears you, Bellamy whispers, “Okay, now!”

You all use your hands to push yourselves up, and you nearly cry out in pain at the tension that puts on your shoulder. But you don't have time to investigate, you just bite back your pain and run forward, following Bellamy and Octavia. The light starts to draw closer again and Bellamy whispers, “Get down!”

You all drop to the ground quickly, the ground shoving something deeper into your shoulder, and you bite down on your lip so hard it draws blood, trying anything to stay silent. After a second Bellamy whispers, “We're clear, come on!”

Octavia starts to run the wrong way, towards a rifle, and Bellamy turns to her in shock. “O, what are you doing?”

She drops behind a rock, propping up the weapon and aiming towards the pillboxes. “We'll never make it past those lights. Grab a rifle, there's one right there.”

“No! As soon as you pull that trigger, we're dead. Come on.”

Bellamy starts to drag her away, back on your original path, but as you move, someone reaches out and grabs your ankle. You call out to Bellamy, “Wait!”

The hand is sticking out from beneath a pile of bodies and you start to shove the bodies to the side, off of the person, as Bellamy and Octavia run over and help you. When you finally reach the hand, you see Indra looking up at you. “Indra!”

“Gaia's hit. It's bad.”

You crouch beside Indra, following her arm to where it is clasping onto Gaia’s leg in an attempt to slow the bleeding. Octavia whispers, “Are you hit, too?”

“No.”

“We have to get Gaia to Jackson. Come on, Indra.”

Octavia pulls Indra away from Gaia, revealing the bulletwound on her daughter’s thigh, and you immediately clamp your hand down onto the wound to slow the bleeding. Indra fights against Octavia, trying to reach out to her daughter again. “No, we can't move her. Wonkru will come back for us.”

You look at Bellamy and mutter, “We need to stop the bleeding.”

“Not here, we need cover.” He points over to a large wall of rocks nearby, making sure you all see it. “They won't see us behind those rocks.”

Just then, the light starts to draw close, and you all drop down, playing dead, until it passes over you. As soon as it’s gone, you help Bellamy sling Gaia over his shoulder, and you mutter, “Now! Run!”

You all take off towards the rock wall, dropping down behind its cover with a sigh of relief. Bellamy lays Gaia out again, and Indra holds her daughter in her arms as you kneel down and take a look at Gaia’s wound. It’s likely been bleeding for hours, a fact that starts to worry you, and you look around for a way to stop the bleeding as Bellamy whispers, “Even if we stop the bleeding, we'll never make it carrying her.”

“Save yourselves. I'm not leaving my daughter.”

You almost smile when you see the belt around your boyfriend's waist, and you reach out towards him, grabbing at the belt, and he looks at you in shock for a second before realizing what you’re doing. He pulls it off and hands it to you as Octavia backs up Indra, “Indra's right, they'll come back for us.”

Gaia’s eyes are closed and her voice is weak as she retorts, “Why are you doing this? A week ago, you threw us all in the pit.”

You pull the belt around Gaia’s thigh, above the wound, and yank it tight, hoping the makeshift tourniquet will work. Bellamy helps you secure it in place as Octavia stares down at the injured Flamekeeper. “A week ago, you were a traitor. Next week, you may be again. Right now, you're Wonkru.”

Bellamy, who is not buying it, quips, “She thinks when Wonkru comes back, you'll tell the followers of the Flame to follow her back through this gorge.”

You look up at him, brows furrowed together, realizing you must have missed a conversation when you were knocked out earlier. He shakes his head, and you know he’ll explain later. Octavia mutters, “If they don't, everybody dies.”

With Gaia patched up the best you can right now, you all lean back and give her some space. As you do, Bellamy turns to you, reaching up to touch your head. “No fresh blood, which is good.”

“When we were getting up, I felt a pain in my shoulder.”

You shift a little, trying to find some light, and when you do, you see something sticking out of your shoulder. You can’t tell what it is, but whatever it is, it’s stopping the bleeding, only a little bit of blood leaking through when you put too much strain on it. Bellamy whispers, “It’s okay for now, but we have to get out of here or none of us are gonna make it.”

Gaia must hear this, because she weakly whispers, “Nomon...”

Mother… Indra looks down at her weak daughter. “Ai kamp hir, ai goufa.”

I'm here my child. Gaia fights to keep her eyes open, getting worse with each passing second. “Yu souda klir ai of.”

You have to let me go. You can see Indra fight back a wave of emotion, the first time you’ve ever seen the strong warrior on the verge of tears. The sight of it brings tears to your eyes, and Bellamy reaches out to grab your hand. When you look over at him, you can see him fighting back tears too. “No. Wonkru na komba raun gon yumi. ‘Mo na throu daun. Jos ste gonen kom liwa mou, en–”

No. Wonkru will come for us. They will fight. Just hold on a little longer- Gaia cuts her off and counters, “‘Mo nou na komba hir. Wonkru ste shada… Ai gonplei ste odon.”

They won't come. Wonkru is broken. My fight is over. You see her eyelids flutter closed and you look at Bellamy in alarm before crawling over to Gaia’s side, nudging her arm. “Hey, no. What about Madi? What kind of Flamekeeper leaves a 12 year old Commander to fend for herself? Keep fighting, if not for you, then for her.”

Gaia nods a little but her eyes stay closed, and you keep your eyes locked on her chest, relieved to see the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Octavia steps closer to all of you, looking at Gaia, reflecting on her words. “Wonkru ste shada. I broke it.”

Her voice is broken, just like her people, and Indra’s reaction is immediate. She takes her eyes off her daughter for the first time since you found her, and fixes her gaze on Octavia. “Yes, you did.”

Octavia turns away, upset, peering over the ridge just as someone starts to stand. “There's someone alive out there!”

Bellamy pulls her back down just as the person is killed, the gunshot echoing in the space of the gorge. “Get down! They'll see you.”

“What do you care if I die? Isn't that what you want?”

Bellamy’s voice shakes with emotion when he whispers, “Yes.”

You look at the siblings as they turn away from each other, both of them fighting back tears for different reasons. But you don't have time to help them, because Indra reaches out to grab your arm. “Her heartbeat is slowing, we need to go now. I'll give them a target. The next time they open fire, we run.”

You look at Bellamy, and he nods. “I'll carry Gaia.”

Gaia, still clinging to life, grabs her mother. “No, you're not dying for me.”

Octavia turns to face all of you, nodding in agreement with Gaia. “She's right. I may never be able to fix what I broke, but I can save you. I'm the one they want most of all. When they open fire, run like hell.”

Tears well up in your eyes as Octavia stands, moving to walk past all of you, into sight, and Bellamy grabs her and pulls her down. They both stare at each other, tears in their eyes, unable to say all the things that have been left unsaid. Octavia looks at him, lifting a hand to his cheek, and says, “My brother....”

She turns to you, putting her other hand on your face, tears in her eyes. “My sister...my responsibility.”

And then she drops her hand and steps away before either of you can argue or stop her. She runs straight into the middle of the gorge, aims her gun at the pillboxes, and starts shooting. As she does, she yells, “You are Wonkru, or you are the enemy of Wonkru! Choose!”

Bellamy grabs Gaia and starts to run, and Indra sticks close by his side. You bring up the rear of the group, grabbing a rifle on your way, protecting your backside. You all run until you hear Octavia’s gun click, now out of bullets, and you stop to watch in horror as she drops her weapon and falls to her knees, the spotlight now illuminating her. She holds out her hands, welcoming death, but it never comes.

Salvation comes instead. 

The rover comes barreling through the ravine towards you, the machine gun on the front firing rounds at the pillboxes, saving all of you. It comes to a stop right beside Octavia, and you watch her run towards the vehicle. You, Indra, Bellamy, and Gaia all backtrack and run towards the rover, with you and Indra pushing Bellamy ahead, making sure he and Gaia make it first. As you get closer, Emori yells from the turret, “Hurry up! We're not staying!”

Murphy jumps out of the vehicle with one of the sonic cannons in his hand, trying to shoot the pillboxes, but it fails. You pull your focus away as you reach the vehicle and help Bellamy to load Gaia up inside. Then Bellamy climbs inside and pulls Indra in, followed by you, then Octavia. You step into the vehicle, looking to the driver’s seat to see who came to your rescue, unsurprised to see your niece in the seat, turned around and grinning at you. You get to her the best you can in the small space, giving her an awkward hug around the seat and muttering in amazement, “My dazzling little sun.”

She hugs you back tight, only pulling away when Emori ducks back into the vehicle and yells, “The cannon is gonna blow! Get us out of here!”

Madi pulls away as you hear the door to the rover close, everyone safely tucked inside, and she immediately takes off, putting distance between you and the weapon. It explodes a few seconds later, the blast so large it shakes the rover, and you fall into the seat beside Bellamy awkwardly, the rover shaking and moving as Madi makes quick work on getting you out of the gorge. You look around at the occupants of the vehicle; Madi, Murphy, Emori, Indra, Gaia, Octavia, Bellamy, and Echo. You feel a cloud of awkwardness as the two of you make eye contact, but there’s no time to worry about that now. Now, as you barrel back into the desert, back towards your camp, every single person in the rover is thinking about one thing: how to win the war.

-

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#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction