#i needed someone flay-able

[elexaria]

living with ghoap was nice. two big burly fellas to keep you company, to reach the top shelves in the kitchen for you, to absolutely plough you into the mattress when you couldnt itch your own scratch for once. they were good lads.

but there were countless times where they’d be away for work, so you knew you couldnt be fully dependent on them. they knew that too, so they weren’t exactly going to object to you having fun without them. so long as you were happy and safe, they were content.

but fuck, the men out there are absolutely horrible to deal with. sleazy, there’s just… no ability to have any kind of banter with these things that think only with their cocks.

until you meet kilgöre alexander.

he’s gigantic, his shoulders probably share the same width as mount everest’s base. easily, kilgöre is the tallest man you’ve ever been with. he dwarfs simon in size, which is very telling in itself.

it’s hard to pry away at who kilgöre is as a person. he’s austrian, likes keeping himself to himself. absolutely refuses to tell you what he does for a living, because it’s on a need to know basis. “sounds like something a terrorist would say.” you jokingly coo one night at dinner, smirking as he rolls his foggy blue eyes at your comment. “har har, very funny.” he mockingly says, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly.

he’s one of the best things that’s happened to you in a while. he doesn’t know about the particular living arrangement you share with simon and johnny— like he says, it’s on a need to know basis. plus, you haven’t boned either of them since you met this fella. ghoap know what’s up, but they’re not bothered by it. they’re just glad to see you doing well for yourself. “ye have a glow about ye, love.” johnny coos in your ear one day, smirking as he watches you fluster and flounder around the kitchen, trying to make excuses. “it’s the vitamins i’m taking” this and “i’ve quit dairy” that. he knows the truth, simon know its too.

but there’s one thing that makes the attachment to this man absolutely unbearable.

he disappears from time to time.

some days it’s only a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks at a push. absolutely no contact.

he swears it’s to do with his line of work, that one day he’ll be able to tell you everything. but for now, he asks just for one thing.

“just… wait for me.”

it’s been almost a month with no contact from kilgöre, and it feels like every morning with no text, no nothing, you have a growing pit inside of you that can’t stop gnawing at you, eating you up whole. what the fuck? what could he possibly do for a career that makes it so he goes days without checking his phone? it makes you feel sick to your stomach. what if he’s in a gang or something?

besides, how the fuck can you keep on waiting for someone who you don’t even know is even alive? for all you know, this behemoth of a man has been hog tied and dumped at the bottom of a lake with cinder blocks strapped to his feet. how are you supposed to wait for someone who shows no signs of leaving or coming back?

“that light in yer eyes has dulled.” johnny remarks one evening, a sad smile on his lips. your eyebrows knit together, feigning confusion. “huh? oh, yeah. uh… it’s the gluten intolerance i reckon.” you murmur to yourself, flashing a weak smile to consolidate his inquisitive gaze. “i’m fine, though.”

simon huffs as he leers next to you, skilfully flaying pieces of fish with a pensive look. both you and johnny glance at him, which only makes him grunt in response. you furrow your eyebrows at him, urging him to elaborate on what the pressing issue is.

“we reckon shit’s hit the fan with that new bloke of yours.” simon bluntly replies as he wipes off the chopping board with a damp cloth, hands gently scooping up guts, scales and delicate fish bones to dispose of. you scoff, eyes never leaving the cuts of fish meat that rest on a plate, waiting to be delicately battered and fried up.

“whatev—“

“and i know you, you’ll try and refute the truth that i know what’s going on. that we know what’s going on. so, none of this nonsense, alright? what’s up?”

johnny and simon silently watch you, their simultaneous waiting for any reaction from you making your skin crawl. at first, you scowl and huff. shifting your weight from foot to foot as you become defensive. simon cuts you off again, “none of that bollocks. tell the truth.”

you give in. on bated breath, you explain the whole situation. how kilgöre is the kind of man you had never expected to fall for, how he had managed to steal your attention even while being so elusive and secretive. how you desperately want him to come back to you, like he said he would.

johnny frowns, and simon nods in your direction, wiping his blood stained hands with the damp cloth. “fishy hands.” he murmurs, wiggling his fingers to prove he can’t comfort you with a hug. johnny nods, swiftly making his way around the kitchen island to come give you a warm hug. it’s a solid hug, one you’d never object to having. johnny’s large hands rub circles to your back, his bearded chin resting against your shoulder as he sways gently.

simon stands behind johnny, holding eye contact with you as he continued to carefully clean his hands. he raises his eyebrows in thought, before glancing down at his fingernails as he begins to meticulously clean underneath them to rid his skin of all things fish.

“this… kilgöre bloke. i reckon if he’s the one, he’s worth waitin’ for. but don’t think for a second he should get away with leavin’ you this long without so much as a text, yeah? rip ‘im a new one when he comes back.” he advises, glancing back up at you with a slight smirk when he hears you chuckle, your laugh strained with emotion.

he steps closer, carefully tilting your chin up so you can meet his gaze better. he gently wipes a stray tear from your cheek. “if he’s the man you think he is, he’ll explain everything if you ask him to. and if he does? great. if he doesn’t?” you wince at the idea, frowning.

he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your brow.

“then he’s a bloody eejit, as our johnny boy would say.”

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #poly!ghoap #poly!ghoap x reader #könig #könig x reader

[ineffably-human]

We're going to scream about Nandermo all week, but right now I need to talk about Baron Afanas. Because the Baron's arc, so to speak, always felt like a big part of the series DNA for me - and oh fuck did this episode deliver on why.

I think we can agree: in the show, vampire society is fucked up, right?

Vampires on their own have plenty to deal with that can make them crazy. They have to live by killing. They lose everyone from their old lives. They have to find new reasons to keep going on, forever, so shit can get decadent really fast.

But holy shit, what that's turned into in vampire society? Where you actively put cruelty over mercy, and violence over solving your problems? Death cults and scam artists roam free, but if someone has depression the best thing to do is ignore them. Someone can get their mind wiped or be locked up for centuries, and that's just what you do to your species.

--

So: the Baron's arrival is the first conflict of the whole show. The joke is about an ancient powerful creature of pants-shitting terror, vs three lesser vampires who just want to live their lives and not get murdered for being too lazy to conquer humanity. There's a lot of talk about how to please him: do you keep to the old ways, or pick up some new traditions? Decorate with flayed skin, or with glitter? And the Baron says: who cares, you're all soft and useless. All that matters is getting more control over this world, until people are cattle and we have no reason to hide anymore.

But later he confesses: that shit stopped mattering ages ago. He's not even real nobility, he's literally impotent, and he talks about doing horrible things because he doesn't know what else to say. He's angry and half-crazy from boredom. And admitting that, owning those feelings, means suddenly he has three new friends and a whole new world of things to enjoy.

There's the Baron the rest of the vampire world knows, but for one night we see the ancient, unknowable terror was just a guy. Maybe he's always been just some guy.

That fun puts him in a vulnerable position, and he's killed by the most unwitting vampire slayer in fiction. But Baron Afanas is changed. He sucks dirt for a year and still comes out of it with a new lightness and joy to him. He saves the Sire, another ancient terrifying monster everyone was eager to kill or send away. They adopt the hellhound. They get cozy and give advice. They make popsicle stick houses and go on walks. They live.

And that seemed like the end of the story until last night - when the Baron suddenly felt like the butt of a joke everyone knew but him. Spurred on by someone else who feels lonely and ignored, the Baron felt vulnerable. And he snapped back to how he lived for centuries.

'What the hell are you all doing, enjoying yourselves? We're supposed to be unhappy. We're supposed to live centuries of unhappiness, bringing pain to everyone in our path, and we're definitely not supposed to cheer up our friend who's sad.'

--

Nobody liked the Baron before Guillermo killed him, not even other powerful vampires we meet; they saw the Baron as a crazy far beyond their own crazy. But this is also how vampire society values you. It's how they measure Nandor's worth when they think he's dead, too: how old and powerful you are, how much you've been able to conquer and kill.

Vampire pods are both cliquish and aren't expected to last in the first place. If someone dies, you literally paint them out of your lives and forget. Everything we see discourages feelings, sincerity, or even basic companionship. The only way to earn respect is to be cruel. The more cruel you are, the more powerful you are. The more powerful you are, the more feared you are - the lonelier you are, the crazier you are. It's practically designed to create the Baron, or worse.

But new vampires don't behave that way. And the vampires we follow in the show don't behave that way - because they have each other, because they've been encouraged to have each other, often by Guillermo. (Holy shit, Nadja saying maybe she'd be fine dying, and Nandor immediately asking if she's okay? Nothing changes in this house, except everything does. They're not going to almost lose one of their own ever again.)

The vampires in the heart of vampire culture never seem happy to be like this. It doesn't have to be like this.

--

The Baron doesn't become a tyrannical monster for long. Because he never actually was one - and because he spends two evenings and a fireball to the face, watching Nandor and Nadja fight for Guillermo. Watching them plead and cling and defy, seeing Guillermo's earnest feelings in spite of his bloodline and the mistakes he's made. Seeing Nandor's perfect trust, and then his grief, the way he insists that Guillermo was never 'just' anything. The Baron can't find real fulfillment in hurting someone (because that ship sailed ages ago). He can't deride them for caring, because he's cared for a long time now.

And when the Baron admits that's who he is, when he says it out loud, he only gains more in his life. He finds new depth in the happiness he'd felt for a while now, because he's admitted and allowed himself to be happy. And now he has the children he's always wanted. Living together, the Baron and the Sire are still ancient and powerful - and they're also family, finding real joy together in a world that was ready to dispose of them.

"I suppose with the right company, it can be beautiful, this eternal existence."

--

There's an inherent selfishness to being a vampire, taking from someone else in order to live. But there doesn't have to be inherent cruelty, or lack of love.

They're all ready to admit they care. The Staten vampires have all cared for Guillermo or each other in their own ways this season. And Guillermo doesn't lack for flaws, but loving his monster family has never been one of them. (When he and Nandor work their shit out, they're gonna be insufferable.)

Now they just have to let the Guide in. Because she's absolutely starved for love, and vampires get pretty fucked up when they're on their own.

#fandom: wwdits #what we do in the shadows #wwdits #i am a meta gremlin #baron afanas #tl;dr i am a sucker for choosing love #especially when the world around you says it's stupid or you're not allowed #but love was always in you so it happens anyway

[yandere-romanticaa]

I honestly can't get the image of soft! Cyno out of my head.

People are terrified to the bone whenever someone even so dares to utter his name but you, you sing it like a song and he's always listening, always admiring the sound of your voice. He sits in his office and stares blankly at the documents in front of him, his mind occupied by the thoughts of you - what were you doing, with who are you with? Do you miss him, why aren't you visiting him in his office? Ah, he gets so grumpy when he doesn't see you for a period of time, no matter how short it may be. He prowls the halls of the renowned Akademiya, his entire aura and being darker than the night itself, his eyes feel like daggers to whom ever dares to even take a single glance at him. The General Mahamantra is in a foul mood and Cyno thinks he's being subtle.

He has no idea that the students have legitimate escape routes prepared and other safety precautions in store for these dark times. No one wants to see Cyno on a good day, let alone a bad one. (But not you though, no, you never avoid him... You come to him willingly, like a cute little puppy, the thought alone just makes him want to smile.... He'll be more than happy to even give you some treats if it means you'll stay more.)

Cyno also has no clue that everyone managed to catch on that he is absolutely smitten. Those longing looks of his leave nothing to the imagination and despite his harsh words and tone, Cyno always perks up whenever someone says your name. (People are careful with this though. No one wants to get flayed alive by the General Mahamantra is they make the mistake of speaking ill of you... )

And even if you do something reckless, foolish, downright dangerous, Cyno still doesn't have the heart to be completely mad at you. One of his worst nightmares is seeing you all alone in the desert, lost and bloody, surrounded by the enemy, all of which want to end your life for good. To add salt to the wound, he can do nothing and ponder over the fact that he wasn't there to save you, to be there for you.

That's why he can get so irritated and impatient with you sometimes.

"Stay inside the city." he orders you, but you always just brush him off with a smile and a wave. Don't be so casual with him about this, please, he isn't joking around. His bleeding heart can only handle so much, he doesn't need this excess stress.

"If you aren't in the city, I won't be able to watch over you..." is what he wants to say but the words die out on his lips as he watches you go, his spear in hand and his chest aching with pain.

He can do nothing but watch and sulk from the shadows, sucking in the gentle smiles you so carelessly give to strangers as he sharpens his weapon, ready to end anything and anyone if they dare taint you.

#yandere cyno x reader #yandere cyno #genshin cyno x reader #cyno x reader #genshin cyno #cyno #genshin impact #genshin #yandere genshin impact

[brewstersbru]

I want to get more used to writing low stakes lil blurbs so please enjoy this, also posted on ao3 under my pseud brewstersbru :) hopefully being able to post it here will bring the perfectionism anxiety down lol

***

Astarion is perhaps the one of the most interesting, irritating, but somehow undoubtedly kind people Halsin has ever observed. Though he’d flay anyone who had the audacity to tell him it.

The duties of an Arch-Druid are many, and often arduous in nature, but nonetheless rewarding. And it all boils down to watching, observing, noticing little idiosyncrasies in the people he leads. The people who trust him with their lives and wellbeing. Halsin has become well-accustomed to watching, as any good leader must and it is no surprise that the skill has followed him to where he is now, camping with a menagerie of illithid-infected souls, searching for a cure.

Though, with this aforementioned observational skill, Halsin has gotten the distinct impression that many of them seek quite a bit more than a simple cure. Absolution, freedom, a clearer path forward. It is so often in the words they don’t say, rather than those they choose to reveal. For example, Gale never talks of an ‘after’, a concept all of the others seem so enamored with, save Astarion, of course. He simply hums and offers a small melancholy smile when conversation turns to the topic of everyone’s plans after they find a cure. It wasn’t difficult to figure him out, not when Halsin had been paying attention. Gale is convinced that dying is the only way to atone for his sins. To be forgiven.

Halsin’s heart aches at the thought; poor child, it is not a sin to wish to be loved. But he digresses.

Astarion, curiosity that he is, had immediately captured Halsin’s attention when he’d joined camp. On the surface he seemed shallow, and ill-tempered, but Halsin has not gotten this far in life by making quick judgements on a person’s first actions after he’s met them. Sure enough, he’d caught a glimpse of the real Astarion not even two days later.

It had been a long day, brimming with long, arduous battles after which they had all come out exhausted and bloodied. Wyll, with his lion’s heart, had fought especially ferociously. Perhaps too much so. His robe was torn horribly across the front and he’d had to be propped up as they trudged back to camp, unfortunately neither Halsin nor Shadowheart had maintained enough energy to heal anyone.

Astarion had almost immediately wedged himself under Wyll’s arm, curling an arm around his waist while also berating him as they walked. “What in the hells were you thinking jumping out like that! You’re weak, leave the feats of strength to Karlach you dolt!” And on and on. The words were cutting, and not entirely fair, but still, his hands remained gentle against his friends skin and he walked slowly so as not to jostle his injuries.

Shadowheart- exhausted herself, likely with a beast of a headache after all of the concentration spells she’d been slinging- had told Astarion to shut it, only hearing the words and not the worry behind them. He had obliged- another kindness-as his eyes darted around the scrunched pain painted over her expression and his own expression set in resolve. Still, he performed a pout, and everyone took it for what it was- or rather, what he’d wanted them to take it for: Astarion being his usual surly self.

Halsin took it for what it truly was, a man doing his best to aid his friends and keep their spirits high after such a grueling encounter. He’d thought they needed someone to direct their exhausted irritation at, lest they start picking themselves apart instead (something Halsin had noticed, but was unaware Astarion knew of) and offered himself like it was as natural as breathing.

The kindnesses didn’t stop there, either. When they made it to camp he’d taken Wyll to his bedroll as the others collapsed onto their own. Rummaged through the camp supplies until he found a potion of greater healing, then did not feed it to Wyll until he was half asleep and delirious.

“Mmh… Dad?” Wyll had murmured, eyes squinted closed as he moved his head around. Astarion had simply hummed and continued feeding him the potion.

For the rest of the night he prepped ingredients with practiced efficiency and left them next to the communal cooking pot for when the rest of the party woke for breakfast. Halsin had needed to trance for a few hours, loathe as he was to turn away from the scene, and when he returned Wyll’s robe had been mended, folded and placed aside his head. Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Halsin hoped he’d found his way to his own tent for a short trance.

Elves do not need to sleep, this much is true, but even a short trance would have done wonders to refresh and replenish his energy. Astarion had to know that.

Halsin is still unsure what the other elf had done for the rest of that night, but he’d emerged from his tent with just as much practiced, haughty vigor as he’d always had halfway through breakfast the next morning.

“Astarion! Good morning! Thank you for aiding me in our trek back yesterday.” Wyll had smiled at him, something warm and molten in his eyes. Astarion simply huffed and waved it off, “Well, dear, someone needed to lecture you about the dangers of heroism. None of these dimwits were going to do it.” Wyll smiled and the others gave halfhearted protests from where they’d been digging into the breakfast Gale had prepared from the ingredients Astarion had left out for him. There was a sparkle in his eye as he caught sight of them eating it, something almost like pride, if Halsin had to name it.

The others had been dumbfounded, asking around the campfire about who had done it. When no one came forward they’d simply shrugged and taken it to mean that the culprit was too humble to take credit. Besides, who were they to question a miracle such as this. No one asked the vampire if he’d done the deed, why would he have? He doesn’t eat food anymore and he doesn’t even really like them.

It’s exactly what he wants them to think. Halsin has to give him points for his dedication to maintaining pretense. Wyll doesn’t mention his robe, but his eyes dart from hand to hand trying to scrutinize any bandages or pricks that might indicate a late-night sewing session. It’s a smart move on his part but Astarion, it seems, is a masterful tailor. His fingers are unbandaged and unbloodied.

Everything carefully thought out and executed. Every kindness meticulously planned and hidden. He truly is an enigma. He would rather his friends believe him selfish and cruel, than see him for the gentle, caring man he truly is.

The kindnesses continue, always carefully implemented so as to erase any and all suspicion that Astarion may have had any part in it. He continues to be outwardly difficult and mean so as to cover his tracks. Halsin can do little but watch, as he always has, that is, until Astarion’s little kindnesses eventually and inevitably extend to him, too.

He is not so easily fooled, has seen past the performance that the other man puts on for some reason that he is still trying to parse.

It’s a quiet evening, the battles of the day had been hard, but nothing they were ill-equipped to handle. The shadow curse has been getting to Halsin, though. Seeing his greatest failure in all of it’s unbearable misery has been weighing on him. And he knows his struggle is not invisible to his fellow party members. They seem unsure what to do about it, though, seeing as he is a centuries old former Arch-Druid with life experience they could hardly fathom. He enjoys his time at camp but cannot say with certainty that he is truly close to anyone there. Though he wishes to be, he is afraid they’ve placed him on somewhat of a pedestal after his actions in the grove, forgetting that he is fallible and full of emotion, same as them.

He very nearly misses it, when it happens, too caught up in his thoughts to hear the slight shuffling near the entrance to his tent. Thankfully, he doesn’t, and emerges with a small smile.

Astarion freezes at the sound of his emergence, crouched over something small and wooden at his feet. Then, almost as if possessed, his shoulders relax and he looks up with a devilish grin. “Halsin! My dear, I was just looking for you. Some wretched little thing of a child has gifted me with perhaps the ugliest wooden duck I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. And these things are in no way ‘beautiful’ on a good day. I cannot have something so… distasteful loitering around my tent. You mentioned you liked ducks so I thought it would be of better use here. Otherwise I’m throwing it in the river.” It’s a lot of words, more than the vampire generally tends to use in casual conversation, as much as he pretends he’s an insufferable chatterbox. That’s the second clue Halsin gets that perhaps there’s more to this than Astarion is telling him. The first being the way he froze, as if he hadn’t been expecting Halsin to be there. “Looking for you”, right…

Astarion stands and nods at the duck on the ground. It’s small, a little misshapen, but it’s got hearts carved where it’s eyes should be and for some reason Halsin finds that hopelessly endearing. He kneels and cradles the thing gently in his cupped palms.

When he looks up Astarion is grinning at him, still in that sneering performative way he likes to, but in his eyes that shine of pride makes itself known. Halsin likes the duck, it’s obvious. And Astarion is proud of himself, but he’ll never tell. He’ll never let anyone else be.

The third clue is dripping sluggishly down Astarion’s finger, stark and red against his deathly pale skin. Halsin remembers the first time he’d whittled. His hands had looked much of the same. He smiles.

“Thank you, Astarion. This is very good. Would you like some salve for your hand?”

Astarion’s eyes widen, only fractionally, but noticeable if you’d been looking in his eyes. And Halsin had been. Still, his expression shutters and he pastes another smirk on before turning his nose up at the duck.

“Thank the Gods, that ugly thing is your problem now. And I’ve no idea what you mean dear, my hand is perfectly serviceable.” He rushes away with a perfunctory wave, likely to rob Halsin of the opportunity to call him out on his bullshit. Halsin only smiles and cradles the duck. He’d bloodied his hands for this, for him. The surge of affection that washes through him is entirely involuntary but wholly welcome.

Astarion wakes from his trance the next morning to a gift settled gently at the entrance of his tent. It’s a wooden cat, masterfully carved from a dark oak and undeniably beautiful. Perfectly fitting the vampire’s tastes and sensibilities.

A note lies beside it in what he recognizes to be Halsin’s messy scrawl.

Thank you, Astarion, again for the duck. It thrills and delights me to know that you care. It did make me feel better, you know, and I still have that salve if you need. All you have to do is ask. I thought I’d return the favor, seeing as you do so much for the camp but refuse to let anyone see it, or thank you.

I see you. I thank you.

Yours,

Halsin

#bg3 #astarion #halsin #bloodbear #halsin x astarion #halstarion #gale being a wet cat #wyll being dashing and heroic #can you tell im swooning #i care him sm #you guys dont get it like i do #covert kindnesses #astarion is kind of like those cats that look away as they slide food towards you #like ‘gods ur pathetic but /here/ i guess’ #brublurbs

[sattlersquarry]

the great divide (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4 AU, the sequel to orange juice) After your miraculous return to the land of the living, you aren't doing well.

Word Count: ~12k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation. The reader has panic attacks and intrusive thoughts about Not Wanting To Be Alive. If that will be triggering for you please don't read this (read my happier bloom series instead). there's also an allusion to a relapse, slut-shaming, and allusions to sex (although there's no smut, it just gets slightly steamy). this fic is angst + hurt/comfort with an optimistic ending. inspired by noah kahan's music (including this amazing demo on instagram).

a/n: please let me know if i missed any warnings. please don't read this if you think it will be too triggering. the last thing i want is to make someone upset! but writing this was cathartic and helped me work through some things, i think. writing is magical!

🫀🫀🫀

THE GREAT DIVIDE

SOMETIME IN 1987

You aren’t sure how long it’s been since you last saw your friends. It feels like a fucking long time.

You woke up on the ground of the Upside Down, covered in dried blood and terrified at the sight of Vecna towering above you.

He brought you back to life. He wanted to send you back home and use you as a soldier and spy, the same thing he did to Will, Billy, Heather, and countless others.

“If you do this,” Vecna had growled, “You can once again see your family. Your friends. Your beloved Steven. Otherwise…you will die here.”

You refused, not interested in being his lackey. He tried to flay you anyway, but he was weak from the hell Nancy, Steve, and Robin rained down on him, allowing you to escape his clutches.

He stalked you for days, finally catching up to you—but you got the upper hand, using Eddie’s spear to stab him. Repeatedly.  

Killing Vecna caused the gates he opened to sew themselves back shut before you could get through. You were glad that your friends no longer had to worry about Vecna and his army of monsters pouring through the four gates, but it meant you were trapped on the wrong side of the universe.

Vecna gone meant the Upside Down could revert back to what it was before he arrived. Now, the sky of the Upside Down was a buttery yellow, and it was much warmer. You saw patches of green grass and flowers starting to grow in various spots around town. But it still felt like a nightmare.

You wander the Upside Down each day with a routine: avoid monsters, forage for food and clean water, and visit the gates to see if any of them reopened. Food and water aren’t as hard to find as you feared, since the world isn’t so much of a poison, desolate nightmare anymore. But the gates stay staunchly shut, much to your chagrin.

You miss your life. You miss Steve. You miss his laugh, his smile, his kisses, his touch. You would do ungodly things to see him again.

You hope he’s okay. Any time you want to give up, you remind yourself that if roles were reversed, Steve would keep fighting to come back to you no matter what.

And, to your pleasant surprise, he does just that.

🫀🫀🫀

AUGUST 1987

It’s been three months since you returned to the land of the living. You’re not taking it well.

Surviving the Upside Down meant constantly being in fight-or-flight, scrambling to find food and clean water while avoiding demo-creature attacks. Without Vecna’s evil influence, the animals weren’t so bloodthirsty—but they still needed to eat.

You were able to avoid them, surviving yourself off disgusting canned food from the Upside Down’s version of the Big Buy and whatever houses you ransacked. It wasn’t very appetizing. It made the meal you were serving up today seem like a 5-star, 5-course delight.

It was neither of those things. It was for a church potluck that your mother had a hand in throwing. Lots of casseroles and carbs. She dragged you along to volunteer in hopes to get you out of the house.

Ever since you left the hospital in May, you’d only ever left the house to go to doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, and Steve’s place. Your parents wanted to encourage more of a well-rounded life and schedule, and although they’d never admit it, you figured they hoped you’d turn back to your normal self. To the person you were before it all happened.

You think she might have died.

As you plate some macaroni and cornbread for your next patron, you sense eyes on you. You glance over and see two women at a table a few feet away. To your chagrin, they’re gossiping about you.

“I mean, it’s appalling,” an old bat named Shirley hisses. “She claims to have lost her memory after the earthquake and gotten lost, but it’s obvious that she just ran away.”  

“Probably thought she was grown up, that she knew better than her parents,” Mildred says with a sniff, adjusting her too-big glasses.

“I can’t believe she left poor Steve Harrington high and dry,” Shirley adds.

Your heart clenches at the fact that these women see you as a villain, as an irresponsible idiot who up and left everyone who loved her out of spite. If they knew the truth…if they knew the nightmare you’d survived…

It only gets worse from there.

“You know what Cynthia told me?” Mildred says. “That her cousin’s roommate’s friend’s brother saw Y/N working a street corner in Manassas. It's just shameful.”

Anger burns through you, hot like hellfire. So, what? You’re not just a flake—you’re a slut to this people now, too? What happened to ‘loving thy neighbor’ and ‘forgiveness’ and all that shit?

“Can I get some more of that?” an elderly man says.

It snaps you back to your task at hand: dishing out food to hungry churchgoers.

“Ah, yeah,” you say. You dump macaroni on his Styrofoam plate. “Sorry. Here you go.”

The man smiles and ambles off. You take a deep breath and try your best to tune out the whispers of the chattering hens.

Your mother must notice the scowl on your face. She makes her way to you, practically floating, as graceful as ever. She’s totally in her element. She deserves a daughter who doesn’t clomp and stumble her way through life. Who doesn’t jump at every loud noise and sleep with a hunting knife under her pillow.

“Doing all right?” your mother asks you, giving you that sympathetic look that you think you might despise by now.

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

“See?” she says. “I knew getting you out of the house would turn that frown upside-down!”

She doesn’t know about the Upside Down. She thinks you got injured in the earthquake, stumbled through the Indiana woodlands, and got found by cops two states over. That you couldn’t remember where you came from due to amnesia, that since they pronounced you dead no one assumed you were the missing girl from Hawkins until your memories came back.

You let her comment slide and fake a smile, figuring it’s better to pretend you’re fine than feel it all.

🫀🫀🫀

That night, you chat with Steve on the phone. He’s gone back to college for the fall semester and you miss him terribly.

He promised he’d come back to Hawkins every other weekend. He knows how hard it’s been for you coming back. Or, he says he knows. Sometimes, you get the idea that he doesn’t really understand.

How could he? Every time he tries to get you to open up about what happened and what you went through, you shut down.

However, when he asks how your day was, you decide to be honest.

“It sucked,” you say. You blow out a huff of air. “These old crones were being total bitches at the church potluck. Apparently, the new conspiracy theory is that I was turning tricks in Virginia.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry Y/N,” Steve says. For some reason, the sympathy in his voice makes you wince.

“But it’s fine,” you say quickly. “I don’t care what they say about me.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“It’s okay if you do, you know,” Steve says, speaking slowly and carefully as if he’s worried about setting you off. (For good reason; you’ve been prone to outbursts of anger lately.)

“I know!” you say, defensiveness seeping into your tone. “But I don’t give a shit. Really.”

“Good,” Steve says. But he sounds unconvinced. “You shouldn’t.”

Another pause. It lasts a little too long for your liking. You clear your throat.

“I should probably shower and head to bed,” you say. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, totally,” Steve says. You don’t understand why he sounds almost intrigued by the prospect of your boring nighttime routine until he says, “A shower with you sounds like heaven right now…”

Shit. You’re really not in the mood for phone sex. Even if that’s not what Steve is angling for, just slightly flirty banter doesn’t sound fun to you either.

Steve has been a total gentleman ever since you got back. You’ve kissed a little, but anytime he tries to take it further, you stop him. As much as you longed for him in every sense while in the Upside Down, you don’t feel ready to re-engage in those kinds of activities—like you’ve been shot back to the insecure, unconfident person you were before you started dating Steve.

He respects those boundaries and never, ever presses for more. But you worry he’s getting bored and wants to get back into old habits, possibly evidenced by his shower comment.

You’re a coward. You don’t tell him outright that you’re not in the mood, afraid he’ll have an out-of-character reaction and chew you out for being a prude or a tease.

“Huh?” you say. Steve starts to repeat his salacious comment, but you interrupt with: “Bad…connection…can’t…better…”

You hang up the phone and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

🫀🫀🫀

OCTOBER 1987

It’s a Thursday in October, and you’re taking a trip for the first time in a long time.

“You have everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Toothbrush? Extra socks? Lambchop?”

You huff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms like a petulant teenager.

“Mom! I’m an adult. I do not need a stuffed animal.”

“But you packed her, right?”

You mumble out a “Yes” as she pulls up to the parking lot near Steve’s apartment building.

You applied for spring admission at the University of Indiana. Your lovely boyfriend invited you to stay with him for a few days so he could show you around campus for homecoming weekend.

Tonight is the unofficial campus tour with “Tour Guide Steve.” Tomorrow, you’ll help him and his friends put the finishing touches on a homecoming parade float, and Saturday is the big football game.

Before your disappearance and assumed death, your parents were insanely strict about you staying the night with Steve and wouldn’t have allowed it. Now, they’ve mellowed out—but you hate thinking it’s because of some kind of twisted pity.

Steve must have seen your mom’s minivan pull up from his apartment window, because he jogs over to you before you’ve even grabbed your bag from the trunk.

“Hey, babe!” he says with a beaming grin; the picture of exuberance. You can feel his excitement roll off him in waves. You feel like an asshole for matching his energy. Even though you’re excited for time with Steve, you have a pit in your stomach at the thought of being away from home for so many days.

Of course, if you get accepted to U of I, you’ll be away from home for weeks at a time. You try not to think about that.

Steve hugs you tightly, and you hope he can’t sense your apprehension.

He seems not too, still smiling as he gives your mom a quick hug and then offers to carry your duffel bag for you.

You give your mom a hug goodbye, promising to call if you want to get picked up early.

You and Steve wave as your mom drives away. After dropping your bag off at his apartment, Steve takes you on an abridged campus tour that ends at the dining hall. He wants to introduce you to his friends.

He has friends here. Of course he does, you’re glad he does. No one should feel like they don’t have friends, or like their girlfriend is their only friend. But what does it mean that your boyfriend is your only friend lately?

Nancy’s off at Emerson. As for the Hawkins crew, Jonathan’s busy with family stuff, helping Joyce and Hopper renovate their new house. Eddie’s preoccupied with his band, trying to get Corroded Coffin off the ground after a he-was-accused-of-murder hiatus. And Robin’s a student at Roane County Community College, spending her days with marching band and classes and clubs and work.

They’ve started inviting you to things, and sometimes you go. You usually don’t have much fun, distracted with your own anxieties and unable to think of anything interesting to say.

So, the fact that Steve seems to have moved on from everything so easily and has a pack of friends at college makes you feel pathetic, even though it shouldn’t.

At the dining hall, Steve introduces you to his buddies. When Steve lived on-campus last semester, Gus was his roommate. Now Steve’s moved into his own apartment off-campus, but the boys still hang out often and play together on a club basketball team.

Jessica is Gus’ girlfriend. She has a kind smile and compliments your sweater.

The last friend in their clique is Rochelle. She’s tall and slender, like a supermodel. Apparently, she and Jessica grew up together and are good friends.

Everyone greets you happily when Steve introduces you—except Rochelle, who looks you up and down like she’s inspecting you. It makes you uneasy.

You immediately start to dislike her more when she laughs loudly at Steve’s jokes and squeezes his shoulder flirtatiously.

“You are tew much, Harrington,” Rochelle says, flipping her shiny hair over her shoulder.

It makes you feel tense and jealous and angry and sick all at once.

You’re completely content to listen in silence while the others chat, but then Jessica asks where you go to school.

“Oh, um, here, in the spring,” you say. “Uh, hopefully.”

“That’s awesome!” Gus says. “You get the full Hoosiers homecoming experience a whole semester before having to pay tuition.”

You chuckle and smile. Any good feelings you have about this interaction come crashing down when Rochelle asks, “So, like, if you aren’t a student right now, what do you do?”

“She’s working at Sonic,” Steve says. “Saving up money. Right babe?”

You turn to him, face falling. You’re not working. You tried to apply for a job at Sonic and had a panic attack when you saw the gap in your resume from your 15 months in the Upside Down, so you roller-skated your way home to unemployment.

Did you not tell Steve that? You suppose you “forgot” to tell him about that panic episode.

“Uh, actually no,” you say, furrowing your brow. “Not anymore. I’m just taking a semester off.”

Surprise flashes behind Steve’s eyes, but he recovers quickly. He throws an arm around your shoulders and says, “Right, of course.”

The rest of the conversation is mostly you smiling and nodding along to the funny stories and inside jokes the group shares. When you and Steve get back to his place later that evening, you apologize for not updating him on the Sonic situation sooner.

Steve waves away your apology.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says.

“But I feel bad,” you say, fidgeting with your fingers while you sit next to him on the couch. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

(You didn’t truly forget. You were embarrassed and didn’t want him to know.)

“These things happen,” Steve says. “I totally get it. For a few months after Vecna and…you, my brain was like scrambled eggs. I’d drink myself to a coma every other night. I definitely didn’t have the sharpest mind.”

You appreciate him for understanding. Except you feel shitty because you’re lying to him about forgetting. It’s a vicious cycle.

The two of you put on a movie, and while you’re lying on the couch with him, you start thinking of something you haven’t done in a long, long time.

You lightly trace your hand up and down the arm that’s wrapped around your middle.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “Would you want to…”

You clear your throat.

“What?” Steve asks.

You aren’t sure how to ask for what you want without sounding wholly desperate and/or pathetic and/or like the horniest bastard alive.

“Go to your room?” you say.

“Sure, if you want, we can go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

You laugh lightly.

“No, I mean. You know.”

You wiggle your eyebrows and Steve’s jaw drops. Mouth agape, like a goldfish, his brains seems to short circuit.

The air is charged with something you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Are you sure?” Steve says, a barely audibly whisper. His hand cups your cheek so delicately, and you feel cherished. Love. Seen.

“I am,” you whisper back, before pulling him closer to you for a kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss you dreamed about while you were trapped in another universe.

It makes you feel electric, the same way your first kiss had. That iconic kiss happened because Steve found out you’d never played spin the bottle. In his kitchen late, late at night, he took an empty soda bottle and spun it on the countertop.

He had maneuvered it just right and stopped it with his hand when the bottle neck pointed right at you, like a compass needle finding truth north.

“Well, what do you know,” Steve had said at the time, with a dopey grin on his face. “It’s you.”

“If you wanted to kiss me so bad,” you had quipped, “you could’ve just asked.”

And then you two kissed like crazy, amongst other things.

Back in the present, all your hesitancies and qualms about re-engaging in intimacy and sex with Steve are thrown out the window when you feel his lips on yours.

Giddy as if it’s the first time (because, in a way, it kind of is), the two of you break apart and practically race down the hall to his bedroom. Thank goodness for no roommates, because when you’re in there, Steve slams the door and presses you against it to kiss some more, closing the gap between the metaphorical great divide that you’ve placed between you both.

You tug at his shirt, and he pulls it off before the two of you stumble into his bed.

Things heat up, and they’re going great. Steve is kissing and biting your neck, probably leaving a hickey or two, but you don’t mind. His hands are gripping your waist, practically leaving scorch marks in their wake.

You’re loving this. You’re having a great time.

Until you’re not. The trains of thought in your brain all rush from the station at the same time, colliding at a junction on the tracks.

What if you give Steve an infection? Not an STD, but like, an Upside Down sickness. You could be a carrier and not even realize it. Is that a possibility? What did Dr. Owens say last time you saw him?

He advised you not to get pregnant. He said there’s a possibility your future children could have birth defects after your time in the Upside Down. Birth defects! You’re only 21 years old and your body is poisoned. Not enough to harm you in the short term, but the long term effects on you (and your progeny) could be terrible to deal with.

But Steve really wants kids. What if he finds out you can’t give him children and he leaves you? You really, really don’t want him to leave you.

You don’t realize it, but you start breathing a little harder. To Steve, it seems like you’re insanely turned on. Mentally, your brain is on a different plane of existence.

He’s going to leave you because he’s better off without you. He doesn’t realize it yet but one day, one day. He will.

Vecna was right. Vecna said Steve would get tired and bored of you. That’s why the monster tried to recruit you, to flay you. That’s why he pursued you across the Upside Down for days, hunting you like a dog until he cornered you at the quarry.

Steve finally takes notice of your erratic breathing pattern. You’re not reacting how you usually do to his kissing. He ceases the lovefest and leans up on his elbows.

“Y/N? You okay?”

You don’t hear him. You continue to hyperventilate, your eyes screwed tightly shut.

And when you stabbed the beast through the chest with the spear Eddie left behind, you didn’t even feel sorry.

Is that the kind of person you are? A sick, violent freak?

But it was self-defense!

But if you hadn’t tried to draw the demobats away, you wouldn’t have been in that situation. You went against the plan. You caused all the bad things that happened to you.

You’re a bad person. A bad omen. A bad girlfriend. A bad daughter. A—

“Hey, can you hear me? Y/N?”

Steve’s soft, slightly panicked, voice brings you back down to reality.

You nod, eyes still shut.

“Sorry,” you say. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, still speaking quietly as if he’s afraid to scare you. You don’t feel his hands on you anymore, but you sense he’s still close. “It’s okay. Can you sit up? I think you should drink something.”

You sit up slowly and open your eyes. Steve looks frazzled, but he musters up a smile when he hands you a glass of cold water.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You don’t respond, just take a sip.

“Can we just go to bed?” you say after a moment, voice cracking.

Steve nods and gives your knee a gentle squeeze.

“Of course. And, hey, listen, we don’t have to have sex anytime soon, okay?”

“But—”

“No, seriously,” Steve says, shaking his head vehemently. “I mean, of course I like having sex with you. Probably too much.”

You snort and shake your head, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“But you know I don’t mind waiting. Right?”

You nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

But as you lie awake, tossing and turning, your brain continues feeding you lie after lie, and you find yourself believing the opposite. Prude, tease. Bad girlfriend. Bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

The next morning, you, Steve, Gus, Jessica, and Rochelle work on a homecoming float for the club basketball team the boys are on.

It’s fun at first. The parking lot is filled with floats for all different student organizations. Someone is playing music a bit too loud, but the energy is electric.

It takes a turn when Steve rushes off with Gus to get more supplies.

While you’re kneeling by the float trying to staple tinsel trim around the edge, you hear Rochelle and Jessica whispering conspiratorially on the other side. They can’t see you due to a large papier mâché basketball blocking you from view.

You're awash with embarrassment, feeling warm head to toe, when you realize they’re talking about you.  

“You know what Mollie told me?” Rochelle said. “When she and Steve were hooking up last year, he called her Y/N, like, three times.”

Your heart shrinks. You didn’t know Steve had been involved with anyone while you were gone. In fact, he said the opposite.

“That’s kind of sweet though, when you think about it,” Jessica muses. “But I wonder what caused Steve and Y/N to break up and then get back together. I’ve never dreamed of breaking up with Gus.”

“I heard some other super freaky stuff about her,” Rochelle says. “My sorority sister, Tina, is from Hawkins too. Apparently, Y/N had, like, amnesia or some shit after that earthquake thing. And she was like missing.”

“Damn,” Jessica says. “That’s crazy. How’d she remember stuff and get back home?”

“Who gives a shit?” Rochelle scoffs. “That’s obviously a cover story. Tina said the real story is probably something much simpler. Like she ran away to become a stripper but couldn’t hack it because she doesn’t have a good body. And, well, we’ve seen that firsthand.”

Anger and shame courses through your veins, and you tug on the hem of your sweatshirt. You’re comforted only a miniscule amount when you hear Jessica come to your defense.

“Don’t be such a jerk. And we have no idea what really happened so stop making shit up, mkay?”

“I’m just repeating what I heard. But Tina’s right, her whole deal is so weird. I can’t believe she’s Steve’s girlfriend. He deserves better.”

Those words echo in your head. He deserves better. He deserves better. You’ve been thinking that a lot yourself lately.

You don’t care if Jessica and Rochelle see you when you toss your stapler onto the ground and stomp off.

“Oh, shit,” you hear Jessica say. “Nice going, Roche.”

“It’s not my fault! I didn’t know she was creeping around!”

As you beeline through the throngs of float-makers, you bump into Steve, holding a box of glittery something. He grins at you.

“Hey, where’s the fire?”

When he notices the grim look on your face, he sobers up.

“Whoa, what happened?”  

“Who’s Mollie?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Steve pales. He swallows hard, grip on the box loosening. He gingerly sets it on the ground next to him and shrugs.

“No one.”

“Liar.”

Steve glances around before leading you away from the crowd to a secluded spot on the outskirts of the parking lot.

“She really was no one,” Steve repeats. “Just some girl I had a class with. I was lonely and she liked me, so we went out twice.”

“I heard Rochelle say you hooked up with her,” you say. You cross your arms and try to keep angry tears at bay. “You told me you didn’t find anybody else.”

“I didn’t!” Steve says, a little louder. He clears his throat. “I meant that. We almost hooked up, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You sigh and shake your head. You want to believe him so badly. But the voice in your head that’s been so cruel to you lately isn’t convinced.

“Do you still think about her?”

Steve scrunches up his face, wholly confused at your line of questioning.

“What? No, of course not. Like I said, we hung out twice, had one near-miss, and then never spoke again. Babe, is everything okay?”

He reaches a hand to your arm and you flinch away. Your action makes him frown deeper.

You rub your forehead.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “Just tired.”

A beat. You think Steve’s going to accept your answer, until: “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying!” you say, irritation creeping into your tone. “I’m just tired. Okay, Steve?”

Steve fidgets from foot to foot. He’s starting to look as agitated as you feel. With an annoyingly calm, even voice, he says, “I think you’re not being honest.”

“And I think you should shut up,” you fire back, before you can stop yourself.

Steve’s face contorts into a frown, the line between his brows deepening.

“Whoa, what the hell?” he says. “Why are you being like this?”

“Because I just found out you lied about not being involved with someone while I was gone!”

Steve rubs his face with his hands, as if he’s trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. He takes a deep breath, another one, and then finally speaks.

“Y/N, I thought you were dead,” he says, voice strained. “You can’t seriously be jealous of me spending time with someone else because to my knowledge, I was never going to see you again.”

You know you should apologize for your outburst. Tell him about your insecurities, now dialed up to 1000 thanks to Rochelle’s comments. Rejoin his friends at the float like the normal girlfriend he probably wishes you were.

But instead, you find yourself voicing one of the fears that’s been swirling in your brain since June.

“It would be so much easier for you if that was still the case, right?” you ask, softly.

“Excuse me?” Steve asks.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. “Bringing me back?” He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. You clear your throat and, louder, add, “Because it would be so much simpler for you to date a girl like Mollie or Rochelle.”

“Jesus, Y/N,” Steve groans. “Don’t bring Rochelle into this.”

“Why not? She’s obviously obsessed with you!”

“Yeah?” Steve scoffs. “Well, I don’t like her. I like you.” He shakes his head, as if he’s short-circuiting, and corrects, “I love you!”

Too late. You already heard the Freudian slip of your worst nightmare. He doesn’t regard you in the same way he did before your so-called death. You’ve changed too much.

You shake your head vehemently.

“No,” you say. “No. You loved the girl I was before it all happened.”

“You’re still the same girl!”

“I’m not!” you shout. You’re so angry, so upset, so emotional, you can’t stop. You’re floating above your body and watching yourself speak when you say, “I’m not. She’s gone, and sometimes I wish you’d never brought me back so I wouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve goes still once more. When he finally replies, his voice is dangerously quiet: “How dare you say that.”

You hadn’t expected that. You’d expected him to swoop in with comforting platitudes. To hug you and promise it would all be okay. To truly hear the words you’re saying—the thoughts you’ve been too afraid to voice in therapy, thoughts you’ve sugarcoated in your mind to lessen that bitter feeling on your tongue when you finally speak them aloud.

“What?” you whisper. Your eyes sting, unshed tears collecting on your lash line.

“How dare you say that,” Steve says, shaking his head. He’s angrier than you’ve ever seen him. He runs a hand through his hair and barks out a laugh so hollow, you can practically hear the echo in his ribcage. “That’s so fucking selfish that you wish you were still down there. I was miserable without you. I didn’t want to go on. I didn’t think I could!”

He's not getting what you’re trying to say. You open your mouth to reply, to apologize, to try and fix things, but Steve continues.

“So for you to be so callous, to think so little of me, to think I’d rather date some vapid airhead just because it would be ‘simpler’? To think I somehow can’t love you anymore because of what you went through? That’s just…bullshit!”

You heave out a sob as tears roll down your cheeks. Steve’s expression morphs into one of guilt. He swallows hard.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t get to tell me my feelings are bullshit!” you snap. You sniffle and roughly wipe your tears away, before jabbing a finger into his chest and pressing in. “Ever since I’ve been back, it’s all about how everyone else feels about it. You and my parents are so much happier, and you seem to think I can snap back to how I was before and forget it all happened and be grateful that I survived. Well, I can’t!”

Despite your distance from the parade planning festivities, you see a few curious students glance in your direction. You can’t be bothered to care.

“I don’t know how to go on with life like normal after 15 months in that hell, and no one understands what I’m going through!” you yell. “No one has been through that! And I’m miserable and scared and anxious and I’m lying to my therapist week after week because I can’t even verbalize what I’m thinking without feeling like I’m losing my goddamn mind. So sorry if sometimes I wish all this would go away.”

Steve’s facial expression cracks your heart in seventeen pieces. He looks devastated and confused.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, somewhat cautiously. “You’re right. I’m not handling this well, not seeing it from your point of view. But this is the most you’ve expressed how you’re feeling about it all. For the past few months, I—I don’t know. I thought you were feeling okay.”

You sniffle again and shrug.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Steve says. He clears his throat. “This is good, I think. Well, no, it’s not good that we’re screaming at each other in the quad. But getting our feelings out is—”

“I want to go home,” you say, cutting him off.

Steve closes his eyes, sighs softly, and nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll drive you back to Hawkins tonight.”

“No, I want to go now,” you say, voice cracking as you try not to cry harder. “I want my mom to come get me.”

Hurt flashes on Steve’s features. “Babe, are you sure? I really don’t mind. I want to, actually. The drive will give us more of a chance to talk.”

But you’re too tired and overwhelmed to talk anymore. Steve understands, though his shoulders are slumped as the two of you walk back to his apartment.

He offers to pack your bag while you call your house. Your mom picks up on the second ring.

“Hello, Y/L/N residence.”

“Mom?” you sniff. “Can you come get me?”

“Oh, of course sweetie!” You hear the jingle of car keys. “Wait, are you crying? What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare?”

“I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Did you and Steve have a fight?”

“His friends were really mean,” you say quietly, deciding not to disclose that you indeed got in an argument with Steve. “This girl, Rochelle, said one of her friends from Hawkins is telling everyone I was a stripper.”

“Oh, don’t you listen to that.”

You can’t hold back tears as you begin to cry harder.

“How come everyone makes up those dumb rumors?” you say through sobs. “And if people on campus already know them, how much worse will it be if I’m a student here?!”

Your mom soothes you over the phone before promising to get there as quickly as possible. As you hang up the phone, Steve comes in from down the hall, frowning and carrying your now-packed duffel. He doesn’t even try to be subtle about his eavesdropping when he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me Rochelle said that to you?”

You shrug and look down at your feet.

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I keep replaying our conversation in my head,” he says, “and I feel like an ass.”

“You’re not, Steve.”

“No! I am. I absolutely am. You were honest and vulnerable, and I immediately got mad. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say flatly. Admittedly, you’re not sure if you forgive him yet. But you know you didn’t treat him well either, so you say, “I’m sorry too. I was insensitive. I know you had a hard time while I was gone—”

“But it’s nothing compared to what you were dealing with,” Steve says. He steps closer to you and intertwines your hands together. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“My mom’s already on her way,” you say. “And you should rest up. Tomorrow’s the parade, and the homecoming game.”

“I don’t need to go to the game.”

“Steve—”

“I’d rather come back to Hawkins this weekend,” he continues. “Spend more time with you. Talk things through, you know? Maybe I can just ride with you and your mom, and Munson can bring me back Sunday.”

He’s sweet. But you aren’t sure how to tell him that you really, really don’t want to be around him right now. You don’t want to be around anyone, really.

You take a deep breath, gently drop his hands, and say, “I think I need some space.”

You can’t look Steve in the eye, but you hear the pain in his voice when he says, “Oh. Um, okay. Yeah. Of course. Space.”

You two sit in awkward silence while you wait for your mom to arrive. When she gets there, Steve continues to be a gentleman, carrying your bag for you and politely making small talk with your mom. He gives you a hug goodbye, but it doesn’t linger the way his hugs usually do.

As your mom drives away, you watch your boyfriend get smaller and smaller in the side mirror.

Before leaving, you promised him you’d call him that night.

You conveniently “forget” to do that.

He leaves a message at 9:37 p.m., asking you to call him back.

You don’t.

🫀🫀🫀

NOVEMBER 1987

“Hey, babe. It’s Steve. Again. I know we agreed on ‘space’ but I haven’t heard from you in three weeks…I don’t want to rush or smother you, but I’d really like to talk, even if it’s for, like, five minutes. So please call me back. I love you, Y/N.”

-

“Hey Y/N. Are you doing okay? Robin says she saw you and your mom at the store the other day and you just seemed kind of…out of it. To be honest, I’m worried about you. Listen, even if you don’t…even if we…even if you’ve decided you don’t want to be with me anymore, or something, I still care about you. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Please call me. Bye. Love you.”

-

“Hi Y/N, I’m coming back to Hawkins for Thanksgiving. Can I come by after you and your parents have dinner? I want to check in. On how you’re doing, and on how you’re feeling about ‘us.’ Let me know, okay? Bye, Y/N.”

-

“Hey. I’m going to swing by your place after I’ve finished Thanksgiving dinner with the Buckleys. Robin told me you’ve been avoiding her too. And Eddie, and Jonathan. I know you’re going through a tough time, but don’t try to do it alone. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way last year. I’ll see you tonight, all right?” 

🫀🫀🫀

You’ve spent the past month and a half wallowing. All you really do is sleep, eat, shower, and take short walks around your neighborhood for exercise. Any time Steve calls the house phone, you tell your parents to let it ring and let it go to voicemail.

It’s shitty of you, but you aren’t sure how to dig yourself out of this hole that you’ve found yourself in. You’re still feeling rather undeserving of Steve.

So when he shows up on your doorstep on Thanksgiving, wearing that maroon sweater that you’ve always just adored, the first thing you do is apologize for your radio silence. Then, you offer him pumpkin pie.

“I won’t say no,” he says. “As long as you split it with me.”

While your parents cuddle on the couch and watch It’s A Wonderful Life, you and Steve sit on the kitchen counter and eat slices of pie with whipped cream.

For a few minutes, you exchange small talk and pleasantries. Then, Steve gets down to business.

“How have you been doing, really?” Steve asks.

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Y/N,” Steve says with a sigh. “Please just be honest with me.”

You suck in a breath.

“Okay. You want honesty? I’m having a really hard time.”

“I know,” Steve says gently. “And I want to help. Can you talk to me about what’s going on?”

You consider it. You consider wrenching your heart open for him and admitting all your fears and insecurities. But last time you broached this subject with Steve and tried to be wholly honest about what you were feeling, you didn’t explain it right and he took it the wrong way.

And you also hear what sounds like Rochelle’s voice in your mind: He deserves better. He deserves better.

You save yourself the trouble and say, “I need to get my shit together. And I’m not being a very good girlfriend while I do, so I think we need to break up.”

Despite your best efforts to stay strong, you feel tears coming on. Everything only worsens when you hear Steve whisper, “What?” 

He deserves better. He deserves better. He deserves better than you.

“I have to focus on myself right now,” you continue as the tears roll down your cheeks. You stab your pie with your fork and say, “I’m sorry. I love you so much—”

“I love you too, Y/N, so I—”

“—but I need to deal with this on my own. It’s not fair of me to treat you like this.” You clear your throat and add, “You deserve someone who can give you everything you want.”

“You’re what I want,” Steve says. You can’t look at him, but you get the impression that he’s tearing up too. “I mean, if this is really what you want, I’ll respect your decision completely, but I just have to know—is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

You don’t want to do this—

—but he deserves better.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Steve says after a beat. “Even if we aren’t together anymore, I’m still here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, still decimating your pie slice with your fork.

“Okay, good.” He sniffles.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to keep apologizing.” 

“Sorry. Ah, I mean—”

Steve chuckles, despite everything. You two share an awkward hug goodbye before he leaves.

You stay in the kitchen and hear him wish your parents “Happy holidays.” As you hear the front door open and shut, as you hear his car turn on and drive away, you try to convince yourself this was the correct choice. That shutting him out means he’ll live a happier life without you.

The pit of emptiness like a chasm in your soul will go away eventually, right?

🫀🫀🫀

FEBRUARY 1988

It’s been 3 months since you broke up with Steve.

You decided to defer your U of I enrollment. Steve, being a good friend, calls a few days before the semester starts asking if you’d like help moving into your dorm, and you break the news to him. He understands but sounds disappointed. It makes you feel terrible.

But this is the right choice. You aren’t ready to be away from home, away from your parents, even if it’s just a couple hours away.

You start taking community college classes to fill your time and get some credits, along with working at Bradley’s Big Buy as a stocker. It’s mindless, monotonous work. It’s kind of perfect.

What isn’t so perfect is your therapist, Elaine. She’s nice enough. But she doesn’t seem to get it. You aren’t able to fully tell her what you went through, considering she knows nothing about the Upside Down, so she can’t really help you.

When you start opening up about the dark thoughts worming their way through your mind, Elaine advocates strongly and staunchly for putting yourself out there and making new friends to fill the void. You’re starting to wonder if you’re wasting your time shelling out $50 a week.

You do think a better social life would be good for you, so you invite Robin, Eddie, and Jonathan to come over to your place for a horror movie marathon. (Nancy would be invited too, if she wasn’t away at school.) You’ve rented a D-level slasher trilogy about a man in a hockey mask attacking pageant queens. It’s small potatoes compared to what you’ve actually been through.

Jonathan agrees, but both Robin and Eddie tell you they can’t make it. Robin because she’s got the flu. Eddie because he has band practice all afternoon and into the night.

It stings like a barb ripping you open when you swing by Melvald’s for cheap movie candy and spot the two of them across the street, laughing as they head into the Hawk with…Steve, who must be home from school for the weekend.

So they do want to have a movie night. Just with Steve and not you. Message received.

You wonder if Steve said something to sour you in their eyes. You thought the breakup was amicable. You know he was upset by it, but he respected your decision. And he doesn’t seem like the type to badmouth an ex, especially after all you’ve been through together.

But anxiety rolls through your nervous system the rest of the day. As you and Jonathan watch the crappy movies, you just feel numb.

“Jee-sus!” Jonathan yelps as the killer’s chainsaw hacks through someone’s limb.

He glances your way, eyebrows raising. “What? That didn’t scare you?”

You shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”

Jonathan’s brow furrows. He leans over and pauses the movie.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? We can watch something else. Or, if you’d rather be alone, I can head out.”

You pick at a loose thread on the pillow in your lap.

“Are Robin and Eddie mad at me?” you whisper.

“What?” Jonathan says with a laugh. “You’re, like, the nicest person in a fifty-mile radius. Why would they be mad at you?”

The old you was nice. The current you is moody. But Jonathan is also pretty moody, so maybe your moodiness is baseline in his eyes.

“They both said they couldn’t come tonight,” you continue, “but then I saw them just an hour ago in downtown Hawkins heading into the Hawk with Steve. Why else would they make up excuses not to come unless they were mad?”

Jonathan takes a long, slow sip of his grape soda and shrugs.

“It’s probably because they don’t want you to think they chose Steve over you in the breakup.”

“But that’s exactly what they did!”

“Maybe not,” Jonathan says. “Maybe they just made the plans with Steve before you invited us over and it’s easier to turn down your invitation than cancel on him.”

That’s a very logical way of looking at it, but it still stings feeling like you’ve lost two friends since you and Steve aren’t together anymore.

You and Jonathan continue watching, but his mom calls halfway through the second movie, forcing him to leave early—something about El using telekinesis to turn her bed into a bunk bed and it backfiring horribly.

You try to push your worries out of your mind, but paranoia takes a hold. As you toss and turn in your bed that night, clutching Lambchop for a semblance of comfort, your brain bullies you.

Robin and Eddie are pissed at you. Probably because you haven’t gone to any Corroded Coffin shows since you’ve been back. You’ve been a little preoccupied.

A little selfish, more like. It doesn’t matter what you’re going through. You should still support your friends.

But why? You don’t like drinking alcohol anymore because you don’t like feeling out of control. And the Hideout is the only place Corroded Coffin plays, and that place reeks of booze and cigarettes and bad decisions.

Maybe that’s why Eddie’s mad. Is Robin mad by proxy? Did Steve shit-talk you to her? How did he describe the events of the breakup?

Were you a bad girlfriend? Are you a bad friend? Bad person?

Yes. You’re a bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

You happen to run into Robin on the community college’s campus the following Monday. You can’t help but ask if she’s feeling better.

Her eyes widen and she plasters on a smile.

“O-oh, yeah!” she says. “I’m feeling loads better. Tons! Tons better.”

“Your sinus infection is gone?” you prompt, knowing full well she told you it was the flu.

“Yep! All gone. My sinuses are as healthy as can be. I feel like I could live to be 100!”

You exchange a few more pleasantries and shuffle off.

🫀🫀🫀

MARCH 1988

There’s a dark cloud hovering over your mind. Most days, you’re lethargic. You go to classes and go to work, and you do start going to the Hideout on Tuesday nights with Jonathan and Robin to watch Eddie play with his band.

But that’s the extent of your social life. You’re feeling lonely and drained.

Things take a turn for the worse in March. It was a cold, cold winter in Hawkins, and spring is shaping up to be warmer but just as gloomy. Really bad thunderstorms shake the windowpanes of your house most days, and the streaks of lightning remind you so much of the grayish-yellow Upside Down sky, it makes you sick.

You can’t help but find yourself thinking you want to disappear to escape it all. Not die, exactly. But fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Maybe when you woke up, things would be better.

You try to explain what you’re feeling to Elaine the Therapist, and she doesn’t understand what you meant in the slightest.

“Have you gotten checked for narcolepsy?” she asks.

You give her a tight smile and say you’ll ask your doctor about it at your next checkup.

A bright spot is when Robin invites you to a party at her apartment. You forgot her and Eddie’s little white lie from a few weeks ago and RSVP yes.

The party is going well. You’re having a nice conversation with Jonathan and Eddie when Steve walks in, and he’s not alone.

Your heart sinks to your feet, through the floor, and all the way to the core of the earth when you see Steve is joined by Rochelle.

You don’t even hear any of the conversations happening around you. You quickly excuse yourself to the kitchen for a glass of water—and because you need to be alone.

You get about 15 seconds of a reprieve before Steve enters.

“Listen, it’s not what you think,” he says quickly.

“Hello to you too, Steve,” you say. You can’t even look him in the eye, choosing instead to study the ice cubes in your glass.

“I’m not here with Rochelle,” Steve continues. He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, yes, she’s here. And I’m here. And we’re here together. But not together together! God, I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“None at all.”

“She needed a ride to her parents’ house for the weekend,” Steve explains. “She lives just forty-five minutes from here. But I guess they were out of town, and she didn’t have a key, so she’s staying with me. And she didn’t want to spend all day in my house alone, so—”

“She’s here,” you finish for him. You finally look him in the eye and force a smile. “That’s fine, Steve. You can hang out with whoever you want.”

“Trust me,” Steve snorts. “I’d rather not be hanging out with her. I’m just doing her a favor because she’s friends with Jessica and Gus.”

Before you can respond, Rochelle saunters into the kitchen. She smiles like a shark—all gums and teeth.

“Oh, it’s you!” she says. “Y/N! How have you been?”

“Fine,” you say politely. “How about you?”

“Oh, just great. Really great. Sad to not see you around campus, though. I thought you enrolled?”

She has the impressive capability of making everything single sentence sound like an insult.

“I’m going to community college instead,” you explain. “But I really should get back out there.”

You give Steve and Rochelle a wide berth before stepping back into the living room.

The rest of the party goes by fine. Except you can’t quite contain your rage watching Rochelle throw herself at Steve all afternoon.

She sits too close to him. She constantly whispers in his ear and giggles, like they’re sharing inside jokes and secrets. While Robin’s putting on a movie for everyone to watch, you swear you even see Rochelle put her hand on Steve’s thigh.

The only thing that makes you feel better is that Steve blocks every one of these advances. While Eddie regales you all with a Corroded Coffin storytime, you even notice Steve's slotted himself in between Robin and the wall, forcing Rochelle to stand off to the side near a potted plant.

When the party’s over, you wish Robin well and try to slip out unnoticed. Unfortunately, Steve has a terrible habit of noticing everything about you, and he follows you out.

“Hey, wait up!” he calls, jogging behind you as you speed walk to your car to avoid the sprinkling rain.

“Sorry, I have to go,” you say, struggling to unlock your car door.

Before you can get it unlocked and make your escape, Steve places a hand over the driver’s side door handle.

“Hold on,” he says. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Well, I have to get home—”

“This’ll take five minutes,” Steve promises. He traces an X over his heart. “Cross my heart, hope to cry.”

You scrunch your nose in confusion. “It’s ‘die.’”

“Huh?”

“It’s ‘Cross my heart, hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye.’”

Steve’s eyes widen and jaw drops, affronted. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles. “Why would anyone ever want to do that?”

“That’s the point!” you say, and you can’t help but laugh at the appalled look on his face. “You don’t want to do that, so you keep the promise.”

“Ah. Okay, well, I’ll be fast. I just want to see how you’ve been doing these past few months. I—I miss you, you know?”

You swallow hard. The rain’s starting to pick up now. You don’t want to wait too much longer to drive home, or else it’ll be too hard to see. And if you see lightning, you’ll probably have a panic attack behind the wheel, making you a danger to yourself and others.

“I miss you too,” you say. “But I really, really need to get home now.”

You think of leaving it at that, but your heart feels as sad as the look on his face, so you add, “But you can come by my house later tonight and we can talk? Uh, how’s 8 sound?”

Steve’s face brightens. He gives you that smile that always makes your stomach do a backflip.

“I’d like that,” he says.

You smile back and open your car door. Before stepping in, you turn to him and say, “Do not bring Rochelle.”

“Cross my whatever and hope to who-gives-a-shit!” Steve says as he walks backward away from your car. You give him a small wave, which he returns, before getting in the car and driving off.

As you suspected, the drive home is much, much too anxiety-inducing. Thunder seems to shake the whole frame of the car as you drive across town. Rain falls in pails, as if angels are taking buckets and throwing them on your car specifically. Your windshield wipers can barely keep up, and cars are honking and passing you since your fear is causing you to drive about ten under the speed limit.

You try not to let that bother you as your hands grip the wheel for dear life, the muscles from your fingers up to your shoulders impossibly tense. There’s a reason your mom drove you everywhere last summer and fall. Getting back into the habit of operating a motor vehicle isn’t easy, and everything seems to scare you now.

Despite everything, the drive is going fine—until one of the cars passing you cuts a little too close as they swerve back into the right lane. They almost clip your front bumper, which causes you to panic and swerve off the road near the now defunct trailer park.

Your tires squeak on the wet grass and you slam on your breaks, heart pounding. Shuddery breaths draw in, out. In, out. You try and collect yourself and turn your left turn signal on to merge back onto the main road. However, something gray out of the corner of your eye causes you to whip your head in the direction of the trailer park.

This is where you died and were resurrected—well, the version of this in the Upside Down. In Hawkins, the area is cordoned off. No one can live there anymore, thanks to the big cracks in the earth. Once gates, they were now sealed, but they upended some trailers and tore others in two.

You see a flash of movement between two broken trailers. The gates are supposed to be closed, and there aren’t supposed to be Upside Down creatures in Hawkins anymore, but you can’t help but wonder alternatives. You feel compelled to check it out. 

You turn off your car’s ignition, grab the flashlight from your glove box, and clamor out, ducking under the “CAUTION” tape and jogging into the park. You squint in the rain, the beam of your flashlight scanning the surrounding area. You step over uneven earth, wondering if you’re wasting your time and should just—

“GRRRRRROWWWLLLL!!!!!”

You whip around and gasp. The gray creature you saw wasn’t a demo-creature, but a mangy, stray dog with muddy fur. It snaps its jaws and you see three little puppies cowering under a bush behind it.

An overprotective mama dog wouldn’t have scared you two years ago. You would’ve known exactly how to handle the situation without freaking out. But now, your fear spikes and you remember the few run-ins with hungry demodogs you had in the Upside Down. The dog is blocking your way back to your car, so you turn on your heel and run in the opposite direction, toward the imposing forest.

You can’t think clearly. Your mind is on fire. All you can think is Danger! Danger! Danger! And it’s keeping you from making any rational decisions.

You swear you hear the dog chasing behind you, snarling and ready to attack. You zig-zag between trees and glance behind to see if you really are being chased.

You lose your footing on slick mud, left ankle twisting painfully as you fall to the ground. Your flashlight skitters out of your grasp and rolls away, blinking out.

Now, you’re stuck in the rain, in the dark, with an injured ankle and no flashlight. Thankfully, the dog wasn’t following. But you feel powerless, hoping you can muster any survival instincts from your time in the Upside Down to make your way back to safety.

🫀🫀🫀

At 7:58 p.m., Steve parks outside your house.

He’s more nervous than he needs to be. He tries to remember that this isn’t a visit to win you back, as much as he wishes it was. No, he’s respecting your decision. But he’s glad he has the chance to just talk to you.

After you dumped him, he spent way too much time overanalyzing that fight you two had in October. It solidified the fact that he was an ass, completely misunderstanding you and getting mad for no good fucking reason.

Admittedly, he was tempted to throw away all his progress and drink away his misery. But he didn’t, channeling that energy toward more productive things. His mind is clearer than it was, and he’s going to make it right this time. Steve wants to check on you, the way his friends checked on him while he was having a tough time. Their support was invaluable.

Steve rings your doorbell, shaking out his umbrella.

The front door swings open. Your father looks expectant, before he frowns.

“Steve, hello,” your father says. “Is Y/N with you?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Uh, no,” he says. “I’m supposed to meet her here.”

Your father curses and puts his head in his hands.

“Is it her?” your mother says, rushing around the corner with the cordless phone tucked under her shoulder. When she sees Steve, her shoulders slump. She speaks into the phone, “Hopper, she’s still not back.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, heart sinking. “Y/N’s missing?”

“She never came back from Robin’s party,” your father says, stepping aside to let Steve in. “You saw her leave, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod. His mouth feels very, very dry.

Your mother continues murmuring on the phone with Hopper, and your father continues grilling Steve: “How was she? Did she seem upset?”

“A little nervous, maybe,” Steve says. He swallows hard. “I, uh, I think she was freaked out by the storm.”

You should’ve driven her home, Steve thinks. You idiot. If something happens to her, it’ll be your fault.

“She’s been so quiet lately,” your father says, voice strained. He clears his throat. “And so jumpy. But she said she wanted to start driving again. We thought she was getting better…”

Your father looks like he’s beside himself. Steve is unsure what to say to make things right.

Your mother hangs up the phone and sighs. “Hopper’s going to go look for her,” she says. She chokes out a sob. “Oh, Roger…she’s been so down lately. What if she…”

“Let’s not speculate,” your father says firmly, though he looks anxious about the possibilities.

Your parents decide to drive around looking for you, and Steve joins the search in his own car as well. He can’t sit idly by knowing you’re out there, possibly in distress, possibly in danger.

🫀🫀🫀

While you’re sitting against a tree trunk trying to shield yourself from the rain, there’s a morbid part of you that’s okay with this.

You wanted something bad to happen. You wanted to be in some kind of distress, because you being hurt means people have to care about you. Right? They have to really, truly see that you’ve been struggling but haven’t been able to ask for proper help.

You snap yourself out of that thought process, trying to remind yourself that people do care about you. But it’s hard to feel that way when you’ve put so much distance between yourself and the people you love.

You aren’t sure how long you sit in the rain having a pity party, watching your swollen ankle get bigger and bigger. You need to ice it and elevate it. And anytime longer in this rain, you’ll catch a cold.

So, you crawl on your hands and knees and find as sturdy a branch as you can on the forest floor. You use it as a pseudo walking stick to help you hobble back toward the trailer park. You know the way, thanks to your time traversing the forest daily in the Upside Down.

As you get closer to the break in the trees, you hear people calling for you. You shuffle there faster.

“I’m here!” you yell, stumbling through the tree line. “I’m here!”

It’s Chief Powell and Hopper, and they look relieved to see you. Officer Callahan and an animal control worker are trying to coax the mama dog and her three pups into crates.

“What happened, kid?” Hopper asks, sitting with you in the backseat of Powell’s truck while the other man radios for an ambulance and a tow truck for your car. The usual gruff timbre to Hopper's voice has a softened edge to it today, like he can sense your emotional fragility.

“Some jerk pushed me off the road. And I thought I saw…I—listen, the mud made the dog’s fur look gray, and I thought it was—”

“One of these hellhounds?”

You nod.

“I’m not sure if you realize this,” Hopper says. “But it’s been two years to the day since you…you know.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t remember,” you admit. “I mean, I knew the anniversary was coming up soon, I just…”

“We were all worried you…did something,” Hopper continues cautiously.

“I wouldn’t,” you say, much too quickly. “I mean, I feel like shit a lot of the time, but…no. I wouldn’t.”

Hopper nods, eyeing you. He doesn’t quite look convinced.

When the ambulance arrives, he rides with you to the hospital. Then, your parents meet you at the ER, while a doctor looks over your ankle.

It’s sprained, but not broken, thankfully. They send you home with a brace, some crutches, painkillers, and instructions to elevate and ice.

The whole drive home, your parents give you a speech about how much they love you and how they want to know how you’re doing, and that if you ever feel low, to talk to them because they can help. Normally, that kind of thing would annoy you, but after today—the fear of seeing what you thought was a demodog, of being back in the wilderness by yourself, even just for a few hours—you appreciate the gesture.

It's after midnight when you get home, and the rain has finally let up. Your dad helps you up the porch stairs, leaning the side with your bad leg against him the whole way. You almost don’t notice the note tacked to the front door until your mom points it out.

It has your name on it. You open it. Parts of it have been scratched out, but you can still read it all.

Hey, Y/N. I was driving around looking for you when Hopper found me. I’m so glad to hear that you’re going to be okay.

I’ll swing by tomorrow to chat, if you’re still up for it. If not, no worries. I know it’s a tough time. I just want you to know that I miss you I care about you more than you know I’m here.

-Steve

🫀🫀🫀

When Steve comes by the next day, he’s not alone.

You’re surprised to see him and Max Mayfield standing on your porch.

“Uh, hello!” you say. “How are you, Max?”

“Pretty good,” she says, “now that Steve is taking us for ice cream.”

You raise your eyebrows and adjust your stance on your crutches.

“Oh!” you say. You look to Steve. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Everything about his posture is tense, nervous. You wonder if this is an intervention or something—if you’ll arrive at the ice cream shop and be bombarded by the rest of your friends and a licensed professional promising a “safe space.”

You tell your parents where you’re going, promising a million times that you’ll be careful, and hobble down the porch steps to Steve’s waiting car. He’s a gentleman, one hand hovering behind your back and ready to catch you if you fall.

Max lets you have the passenger seat, likely due to your injury. On the ride over, you consider (politely) asking what she’s doing there, as you expected this conversation would be about the nature of your and Steve’s relationship.

A part of you deep, deep down had hoped he would beg you to take him back. A part of you deeper down felt selfish for that, but it was what you wanted.

You made a huge mistake letting him go.

Steve ends up taking you both to Sonic, pulling into one of the parking spots and pressing the “Order” button. Max leans up from the backseat, sticking her head between the two front seats, and rattles off a complicated order of hot dogs, fries, slushies, and ice cream into the speaker.

“I thought this was just ice cream,” you say with an eyebrow raised.

Max smirks.

“Moneybags Harrington is paying,” she says, patting him on the shoulder.

“I resent that,” Steve grouses. But there’s a sparkle in his eye.

When the food comes, Steve divvies it up amongst the three of you. However, he quickly comes up with a shoddy excuse to step out of the car—something about the fries being a medium instead of a large.

Max climbs over the center console to settle in the driver’s seat.

You aren’t sure what to expect when you’re alone with Max, but it’s definitely not, “Dying and coming back really sucks, doesn’t it?”

Your burger immediately tastes like sandpaper. “Oh, let’s not talk about that,” you say. “Let’s talk about fun things. Have you learned any new skate tricks recently?”

“Don’t deflect,” Max says, waving a french fry at you for emphasis. “Steve said you were having a hard time because no one could relate to you, and I’m probably the only person in the world who can.”

She’s not wrong. After your return to the right side of the universe, you learned that Max woke up from her coma, completely healed, after you killed Vecna and the gates closed. You hadn’t thought about how the two of you had similar, paralleled experiences.

“It does suck,” you say quietly, swirling your spoon around in your ice cream cup. “And I kind of feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“For me, it was a lot of anger,” Max says. She fidgets with her own food as she continues. “I couldn’t understand people’s priorities anymore. Like, what do you mean you’re worried about a chem test, Dustin? A few months ago, the world almost ended!”

“I totally get that,” you say, and your heart already feels lighter. “And my parents don’t understand what really happened, so they just don’t get me at all. Why I get so scared, so angry. So jumpy. It makes me feel like I’m a freak in their eyes.”

“I feel like my mom doesn’t even see me anymore,” Max says. She clears her throat and you catch a glimpse of tears gathering on her lash line before she roughly wipes them away. “Like to her, I’m a ghost.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you say. She scoffs.

“And there’s another annoying thing,” Max says. “The empty platitudes to make us feel better. That shit doesn’t fix anything!”

You’re not offended by her outburst, because you honestly agree. The two of you lament a bit longer, and by the end of the conversation, you’re feeling on top of the world. Sure, nothing is really fixed. But you finally realize that you have a kindred spirit in all this.

You and Max make a plan to do things together more often. You’re seeing her as a de facto little sister already, and you’re hopeful that your planned meetings will be just as beneficial for her as they are for you.

Steve comes back after what seems like a millennium, shooing Max back to the backseat.

“Took you long enough!” she says.

He just smiles.

🫀🫀🫀

JUNE 1988

It’s the first day of summer.

And it’s been a year to the day since you returned.

You expect to feel more anxious than you do. Instead, you feel peaceful.

You’re doing a lot better, genuinely. You found a new therapist (sorry, Elaine) and since it’s someone who worked with Dr. Owens, you’re able to spill all the gory details of your past and your trauma. Healing isn’t easy, but you feel yourself slowly sewing yourself back together again.

You and Max stick to your word and take weekly trips to Sonic. You talk about the heavy stuff, but also the normal life stuff. You sometimes have guests. This past week, Lucas and Mike tagged along, arguing the whole time about what should happen in the Ghostbusters sequel that’s supposed to release next year.

You and Steve…ah, what’s there to say. You want him back, but you imploded the relationship and it feels selfish to waltz up to him and say, “Hey, hot stuff. Wanna get back together?”

However, you’ve officially enrolled for the fall semester at U of I. While he’s home from Hawkins for summer break, under the guise of asking for tips about campus life, you spend a lot of time with him.

You also spend time in the library, doing some studying to catch up before you start your classes in the fall. Your high school graduation was a lifetime ago. Literally.

Steve, Robin, and Jonathan join you for those summertime study sessions, although Jonathan and Robin usually bicker over the music theory books and Steve doesn’t get much done except for doodling in his notebook. But sometimes you catch him staring at you, and then his cheeks flush pink in that adorable way that makes you want to do something stupid, like beg him to take you back.

If only you knew if he really felt the same…

…which you find out he does, during the summer solstice.

You’re at the county fair with your friends, but they’ve all run off to watch the fireworks, so it’s just you and Steve at a picnic table downing sodas and cotton candy.

Your fingers wrap around the cool glass of a now-empty Coke bottle, and you place it on the tabletop. You attempt to look nonchalant as you spin it slowly.

Once it’s picked up momentum, you let it go, watching it spin a few more times before stopping it with your hand when the bottle neck points at Steve.

“It’s you,” you whisper, attempting to recreate that magical first kiss moment from years and years ago. You clear your throat at Steve’s dumbfounded expression. “Ah, sorry. You don’t have to kiss me. I was just…”

To your pleasant surprise, Steve’s face splits into a grin. “Well, gee, Y/N,” he says. “If you wanted to kiss me that bad, you could’ve just said so.”

A million canaries titter a love song in your heart as he leans forward.

The two of you kiss, for the first time in a long time.

The great divide in your soul is starting to seal. And everything feels right.

THE END

🫀🫀🫀

a/n please lmk what you thought 🩵

tags; @aloneinthehellfire @starry-eyed-steve @hollandweather @wisdomssdaughterr @huffledor-able541 @springautumn

@sunshinesteviee @curiositydooropened @crappymixtape

#st fic: oj #st fic: tgd #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

[lanadelray-gurl]

“Can’t fix something that doesn’t want fixing.”

Warnings!!!: Smut,use of a mirror during sex?(idk if that counts) p n v,oral f and m receiving,cheating,no condom during sex(wrap before you tap) choking,hair pulling,slapping and scratching,Elvis cheating on Priscilla. Let me know if I missed any<3

Pairing: Elvis Presley x fem!reader

Plot: Elvis was always smooth with the ladies. But when he met a girl he wasn’t able to drive crazy he’s gotta know what he’s doing wrong.

It was pretty much your dream to go to an Elvis show,maybe even see if you could sleep with Elvis. You knew well he was with a new girl every night and you wanted a chance,you were also known to get around or to put it into better words no one was able to tie you down. You never liked staying with people very long,you liked to be free. Everyone in your family hated it,your mother disowned you and your father sent you packin’.

You weren’t going to complain,there was no point in doing so. What is done is done,you made it on your own. You worked your ass off and made your own money,you moved from your small town and went off to LA. At first it was tough living out there,barely scraping by due to the ‘luxury’ lifestyle. You started modeling just to make enough cash and it worked! You made it in the work of modeling,and you were well known around town.

You noticed how frowned upon it was for a lady to be interested in more than one man. But when it came to the men in your line of work..it was just “oh boys will be boys!” And “men have needs!” Well you weren’t having it! You took what you wanted from any man that would offer,you’d take someone new to your luxury apartment almost every other week. Yeah so what you liked sex? A girl has needs too. But during all this time you still haven’t seen an Elvis show or even seen Elvis! But tonight that was gonna change,you made sure once you knew tickets where available you bought them. You booked a room in the international hotel on the top floor,trying to up your chances to get close to Elvis.

You were finally escorted by your own personal security to the stage room,this was your chance. You made sure you were sitting up front,very close to the stage. Making sure he could see you,your (h/c) hair was pinned up nicely and you had on your best dress and heels. He was gonna see you tonight. He had to! Suddenly the lights dimmed,pulling you out of your thoughts. People were shuffling around to get to their seats as the show began to start,the curtains lifted slowly. You watched as Elvis walked onto the stage,guitar in his arms. He was wearing his glamorous white suit,he basically glimmered in the bright lights that shined towards the stage. He waved to his fans,smiling that beautiful smile. It made something inside of you twist and turn,your body started to feel warm and fuzzy. You heard everyone around you clap,whistle and shout. You couldn’t help but clap with them giving him your support.

He walked to the microphone,adjusted it and smirked shaking his head slightly while laughing to himself. The band started playing,that’s all right. He began to sing,his booming voice sending out chills in your body.

“Well that’s alright momma..”

You felt something inside you throb,you couldn’t tell if it was your heart or somewhere a bit lower..

“That’s all right for you..”

God you were going crazy,you sat there in your seat. Gripping onto the fabric of your dress,your breath was quick,your heart was racing. You had to have him.

As the show continued,you couldn’t control your arousal. You felt the wetness pour out of you and into your pretty pink panties. Your pussy clenched around nothing as he moved his hips and basically flayed around the stage. Soon the show came to an end,Elvis walked off the stage hugging and kissing the woman who came through his path. You stood right in front of Elvis,your heart raced in your chest.

He gently held your face,his strong hands made you shiver. His cold rings made your hot skin sting,he looked into your eyes the vibrate blue color was beautiful. He leaned in,pressing his pillowy lips into yours it felt like heaven,you kissed back deepening it. It surprised him normally with his fans it was quick and gentle but now with you..it felt hot and sensual. He pulled away and stared into your eyes..why was his heart racing? He felt hot all over maybe it was from his performance or maybe it was you…

You smiled at him,your hands lingering on top of his. He gave you a half smirk before walking off and going to his other fans. Elvis soon went with his Memphis mafia up to his lavish hotel room. You followed after them,they walked towards the elevator watching them enter and then once the door closed you watched the light above the door flicker as it went up each floor. You watched it stop at the very top floor and you smiled,he was on the same floor you were how lucky! You entered the elevator and pressed the bottom to the top floor,your heart racing praying you’d be able to get there in time to see Elvis.

Once the elevator stopped at the top floor you rushed out of the door. You felt desperate but who wouldn’t chase the opportunity to say they got to fuck Elvis! You weren’t missing this moment,you didn’t see him the hallway but you did see a door close just as you entered the hallway. You walked towards the door,noticing how it looked a bit more decorative than any of the other doors. Thats gotta be his room,you walked towards the door and with a shaking hand and a heavy sigh you knocked on the door,you heard heavy steps walking towards the door. You were quick to smooth out your dress and slick back any stray hairs,you leaned against the door frame popping out your curvy hips. Once the door opened you were face to face with Elvis but instead of his jumpsuit he was wearing a black and burgundy silk robe.

“Hey there darlin’..you lost little lady?”

He tilted his head slightly,a cigar hung between his teeth,with his silk robe he wore sunglasses with gold rims. He had a slight smirk,he remembered you from the show. You were the girl who made his heart race.

“I’m awfully lonely tonight..and by the looks of it..”you glanced around his room,it was empty but well decorated. His wife was no where to be seen. “You seem pretty lonely too..” you giggled softly. Elvis took the cigar from his teeth and held it between two ringed figures,he suddenly moved from in front of the door and let you inside..who was he to deny a girl some company?

You walked into the room,taking in the loud and elaborate colors and decorations,taking note of each detail. Your hips swayed as you walked which caught his eye,he rested that cigar on a nearby ashtray and followed behind you. His hand made its way around your waist,you of course smiled eating up all of his attention. You were guided into his room,you dropped you purse on the floor and kicked off your heels while biting your bottom lip. You sat back on his big,plush bed. Lifting up one of your feet and pressing it against his chest. He gently held onto your calf,pressing kisses against the top of your foot and down to your knee.

God you were intoxicating,you weren’t like the other girls who came and went..no you were like fresh air. You knew what you wanted and you weren’t gonna leave until you got it. You were like him..that’s what it was. He pulled down the straps of your dress before sitting on his knees between your legs and reaching behind you,unzipping your pretty dress. You allowed it,tilted your head and smiling smug down at him. You stood up letting the dress fall of your beautiful body,he stared up at you from the floor,kissing you thighs and admiring you pink lace panties and matching bra. He worshiped your body,your soft skin driving him crazy..he finally stood up,but slowly making sure to kiss your thighs up your stomach and then stopping at the top of your breast once he stood up fully,towering over you.

He gently caressed you arm up to your cheek. He gently held your face and you leaned into the gentle touch. Enjoying it while it lasted,before he leaned forward to kiss you,but you pressed a finger against his lips. You shook your head and reached up and took off his sunglasses.

“I wanna see those pretty blues honey..”

You spoke gently before you finally pressed your lips against his. You tossed his glasses off to the side,your hands now working on untying the silk robe,once the front of the robe opened you pulled away and looked down at his slightly toned but still soft and plush body. You ran your hand over the exposed skin and stop and the band of his black briefs,you smiled and glanced up at him.

“We’re gonna take care of little Elvis..can I?”

You questioned,he of course nodded “I’d like that very much momma..” he spoke gently and watched as you dropped to your knees,you slowly pulled down the briefs. His cock was half hard,bouncing slightly as it twitched from the sudden chill of the cold air,you parted your plump pink lips and wrapped it around the uncut head. You swirled your skillful tongue around the salty flesh,he gently gripped onto your hair messing it up,not that you cared..you felt as his cock twitched once more as it got fully hard. You couldn’t fit all of it down your throat,you used your hands and stroke the rest of the shaft down to the base.

You bobbed your head skillfully “fuck— god that mouth is so good honey,don’t stop that babydoll..” He moaned loudly and started to thrust into your mouth making you gag,spit dripping down your chin onto his full balls. He continued to thrust down your throat pulling your hair forcefully,making you whimper around his cock. This made his breath hitch in his throat,he finally slammed your head into his pelvis,your nose buried deep into his light colored pubes. You always forgot he used to be a blond. You slapped his thigh before he released your head,you fell back onto your ass trying to catch your breath,one had held you up and one wiped you slobbering mouth.

His cock twitched wildly,he looked up at the ceiling before closing his eyes and catching his breath,he looked down at you and smirked tilted his head towards the bed. “Up on the bed..lay on your back momma.” He demanded and you obliged. You got up,crawled onto the bed. You laid on your back,Elvis stood at the end of the bed after kicking off his briefs he got onto the bed sitting on his knees in front of you. He yanked off your panties and put them into the pocket of the silk robe. You bit your bottom lip and squirmed,he grabbed the bottom of your thighs and putting them on either side of his hips,he put his middle and ring finger in his mouth,wetting them.

Elvis gently pressed his wet digits against your tight hole,you arched your back as you felt the pressure. The two fingers finally pressed into your wet pussy,curling up and pumping into you slowly. You moaned loudly and gripped into the sheets “Elvis! F—fuu-!!” You clapped a hand over your mouth and tried to hide your moans,he quickly gripped your wrist with his free hand and uncovered your mouth. “No no no baby..I need to what this pretty moans babydoll..” he growled and pumped into your tight,wet cunt faster

“A-ah! P-please Elvis s-slow down!”

You started to whimper and beg,your already messed up makeup just getting worse from your ongoing tears. Her firmly but gently pressed his thumb against your neglected clit,you started to curl up into yourself and you squirmed and moaned. It felt like hot lightning was running through your body as you rocked into his hand,his thumb making swift and quick circles against your now throbbing clit. You let your eyes roll back into your head your mouth hung open and you whimpered loudly as your eyes fluttered shut as you came on his fingers.

Your back arched off the bed for a few moments,your legs twitched and started shaking. He pulled his fingers away with a smile,he leaned over you as you came down from your orgasm. You felt him press hot wet kisses against your skin,he gently rocked his hips against you,his leaking tip rubbed against your tip. This made you cry out “hmm baby..so wet and so pretty oh honey I’m gonna fuck you senseless..” he whispered in your ear before pressing more kissing against your neck and collarbone,he reached behind you and unclipped your bra revealing you basically perfect breast. He left a trail of open mouth kisses against down to your left breast,he took the hardened nipple between his lips before gently biting on it and sucking,his other hand gently grabbed onto your right breast and he started to gun it softly.

With his other hand he held onto his shaft and slowly pressed Into your warm pussy. He let out a shuddered gasp,his mouth hung open and his eyes shut. You grabbed onto him,one hand scratching his back from over the silk robe and the other pulling his hair. He groaned loudly,his held you close to his body and thrusted into you. He pushed you back down into the bed and looked down at you he was growling and grunting like an animal. “So fucking tight— such a good girl coming to my room and basically begging me to f-fuck that tight pussy ah fuck” he tried to catch his breath. He picked you up,moving you with him.

He sat at the edge of the bed making you ride him ,a mirror facing the both of you. He watched as your pussy took his cock so good,he rocked your hips sloppily. “Look at me fuck you honey..l-look how good y-your pussy take my lil Elvis..” You looked over your shoulder and watched yourself in the mirror. “Fuck Elvis..your cock feels so g-good! Fuck!” You moaned loudly and arched your back,you let out loud soft whimpers. He slapped your ass as hard as he could the rings on his fingers making large marks against the already large handprint. You felt a turning sensation start in your stomach,you knew you were about to cum. You grabbed onto his shoulders erratically,trying to reach your climax.

“You gonna cum? My babydoll wanna cum? Come on go ahead cum all over daddy’s cock darlin’…”

he moaned into your ear,he watched your rockin’ hips in the mirror and scratched your soft gentle skin. You cried out,tears flooding your eyes and the rest of the already running mascara dripped down your cheeks. You finally started to sloppily and erratically rock and shake your hips down into his cock. Your climax hit you like a truck,you slumped over on his shoulder and continued to let him fuck your swollen and puffy pussy,causing you to become overstimulated. You continued to twitch and shake on his cock. He grabbed onto your hips with all the strength he had left,definitely gonna leave bruises on that pretty skin.

Elvis was reaching his orgasm and he started to twitch crazily,he made you looked at him while he smirked “Make daddy cum baby,make daddy cum..—“ He moans loudly and he started to thrust up into your abused and sore cunt,he watched as your face twisted and turned. Finally you felt the warm squirts of his hot cum feeling you up,he groaned loudly and slammed you down on his cock. Before you knew it,you were being laid down back onto the bed. Elvis settled his face between your legs,your legs behind placed over his shoulders. You started whimpering and squirming trying to get away from him “E-Elvis..it’s too sensitive!—“ you were cut off by Elvis gently sucking your swollen clit,you cried out and sobbed into your hand. You couldnt handle it,his tongue traced over your hot slit,licking up his and your cum. His tongue prodded at your hole,it made you crazy you couldn’t help it but you gripped onto his hair and pressed his perfect face into your slit. You came all over his face,rocking your hips against his nose before finally letting him go. He lifted up his face,his perfectly sculpted face was glistening from your sweet cum,you looked down at him and watched him smirk before plopping your head back down onto the pillow.

Once you plopped you head back down on the pillow you passed out,only waking up hours later into the night. You were cleaned and wearing a nice silk robe..he must’ve cleaned you off and gotten you covered up. You sat up and looked around,you were then face to face with a sleeping Elvis..you needed to leave. You slowly got out of the bed,grabbing your clothes and your heels. You tried to find your underwear but remembered Elvis took them,you decided to let him keep them,you wouldn’t miss them too much..

You creeped out of the bedroom and then you looked around making sure no one was there,you saw one the members of the Memphis mafia laying and sleeping on the couch. You tried to be extra quiet,you then walked out of the front door and leaned up against the now shut front door,you sighed heavily before rushing down the hallway and into your hotel room. You slammed your door and sat down on the floor against the door “I just fucked Elvis Presley..” you whispered to yourself,you smiled and laughed while combing you hands through your messy hair.

Elvis woke up that morning,expecting to see the beautiful woman from the night before. “Shit..” he looked around frantically and confused. He got out of bed and put on his robe,checking the whole room. You were gone..you didn’t even bother to say goodbye..normally he was the one doing the running after a night of fuckin’. He shook his head and laughed to himself while holding his forehead,what did he do to run you off? He had to find out..he called his buddy

“hey..yeah it’s me E..I need you to figure something out for me..Yeah I need you to find someone for me..”

This was gonna haunt him for as long as he lived..he needed to find out who you were..you were who he wanted.

Okay! That’s the fanfic! I kinda left it on a cliffhanger incase I wanted to make this a story I’m no totally sure so let me know what you think! Don’t forget that request are open<3

#Spotify #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis aaron presley #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfic

[jamesdeniscouldnever]

Yay! I'm absolutely enthralled by this series, so the inspiration just keeps flowing. Same as the rolan fic Zevlor's hurt/comfort won. I love him. These two made me realize I love teiflings. Gonna scream. This takes place if you failed to save him in act two but its a little AU in the sense that you save him before Orin can...ya know.

The Guardian's Guardian

Summary: Caught in Orin's sordid little web, Zevlor finds himself on the receiving end of some less than pleasant treatment. Hes sure he deserves it for being an oathbreaker and abandoning his fellow tieflings. So why, amongst the pain and torture he endures , does he find his mind seeking comfort that he doesn't deserve in the memory of a friend?

Zevlor couldn't begin to find the words to explain his terror. He was certain he'd simply be turned into an absolute cultist after Ketharic had taken him, nothing special and no one of note. But no. Instead, when Thorm had been killed and the injured Tav had been making their way out of the belly of the beast, they had missed him. At least, he liked to think they missed him. Surely they wouldn't have left him there if they'd known...would they?

He'd been at peace with the idea of dying there, but all that had shattered when a terrifying woman with pale skin that swirled in strange patterns had appeared. She'd smiled so cruelty when she saw him. She had said only one word.

"Perfect." And that was all it took. She'd opened the pod, grabbed him, and in a swirl of ash, they were someplace else. Someplace dark and damp and reeking of blood.

That was almost a week ago. How he'd survived so long he wasn't sure, he'd been on the receiving end of numerous beatings, tortures, and even a flaying since then. He winces to himself as the memory of his own raw nearly-skinned flesh on his left leg causes it to flare in pain once more. Certainly, some God must be keeping him alive for their amusment. Or for his own punishment.

If he'd just fought the absolute harder, he wouldn't be in this mess. His people would be safe. Tav may have had more help in slaying Ketharic.

Tav.

He closes his eyes, feeling the cold stone of the cell floor against his back, and allows himself to think of them. He doesn't deserve the comfort their memory brings. He doesn't deserve to fantasize about them bursting through the door and rescuing him. He doesn't deserve to be worried about them. Certainly they were okay. Far far away from this cultish temple to a filthy God. Far away from him.

That thought brings him more comfort than he was expecting. The idea that they were somewhere safe beyond Orin's reach makes him exhale a breath of quiet relief. A relief he had no right to feel. They weren't his.

He'd been in love with them, no doubt, since the Grove. Their kindness, their leadership, the diffusion of tension among the refugees, and their willingness to help. Help teiflings, no less. A notable trait since the fall of Elturel.

If anyone had been around, he'd have scolded himself for the small smile he allows to creep onto his lips as he thinks of them, their smile, their eyes. It's enough to make him ignore the pain the action brings by reopening the scab on his split lip.

He feels his eyes growing heavy, the tension of pain outweighed by his outright exhaustion. He's almost able to slip into a much needed sleep. Almost.

But the comfort is cut short by the sounds of shouting somewhere above him. It must be loud to traverse the stone of his prison. Perhaps someone had displeased Orin. Perhaps she was making another sacrifice to her awful parentage. Maybe Zevlor would be next.

He doesn't open his eyes. Let them come take him. Let his suffering be over. Let his punishment finally be complete.

But even as the screams and yells die down, they do not come. Even as the whole of the caverns fall silent, they do not come. No, what comes is a frantic voice and the sound of several pairs of boots scraping against the dirt and stones. He is certain now - he has, in fact, died. Died and, through some measure of mercy from the same gods who ignored him, been allowed to see them again.

"Zevlor, please! Where are you? Please, Gods, tell me we weren't too late!" The panic in their voice is enough to rouse him. There shouldn't be such pain after death, such a heartbreaking cry. Unless this is his personal Hell. No, this is not real. He won't play their games anymore. He doesn't respond.

"Zevlor! Gods dammit all! Please! Please answer me!" Tav's voice cries again, closer now. The sounds of clanging doors and cells being ripped open follows them. He sighs in content. Even with such pain laden in it, their voice is like a symphony to him now. A soothing balm to caress his soul. He only wishes it was singing one of the lullabies they'd taught the children or telling one of their stories. But this would do.

The world begins to fade around him, finally letting him go. From deep within his swimming hearing, he hears a cell being yanked open. A desperate cry that sounds as if someone is in pain. A word repeated over and over. He strains as much as he cans to listen-

"-vlor! Zevlor. Please, Zev, please!" A desperate cry. He feels hands on his chest, his neck, then moving to his face. He flinches despite himself, and he hears what sounds like a sob. He tries to open his eyes. Tries to tell the visage of his beloved Tav not to cry, that it will all be over soon, but he can't control his tongue nor his eyes. It's as if they're both turned to rock inside his skull.

The last thing he hears before darkness pulls him down is a fractured sentence.

"Karlah- arry him plea- ave to get out of here!"

After that is dark. He's not sure for how long. He's not sure if he was conscious during it all or not. All he's aware of now is warmth that the cells of the cult of Bhaal had been devoid of.

A crackling sound. A fire. He tries to move his hands, move any part of himself. He's able to feel the twitch of his tail and something soft pressing against his fingertips. A bedroll?

No. A bed. A real bed. The soft dip of mattress under him tells him this. Where in the 9 hells is he?

He struggles his eyes open, the light that meets them a little garish compared to the dark of his previous surroundings. However, they adjust after a moment, and he blinks several times. He's in a room, lavishly decorated, warm, large. He turns his hand and sees several beds, all just as large and soft as his own lining the walls. Curtains hang from the doorway, having been pulled down, presumably for his privacy. He hears voices speaking soft beyong them.

He tries to speak but finds his throat hoarse and painful. He tries to sit up instead but groans out loud in pain as he moves his left leg. Right. Basically skinned alive. But looking down, he notices it's been bandaged, the scent of yarrow and other medicinal herbs wafting from around him.

His yelp seems to have been heard as footsteps rapidly approach the curtains, and a pair of hands yank them apart, a face appearing between them. Tav.

Their eyes are wide, set in both fear and relief, their bottom lip quivers slightly before they swallow and quickly close the space between the curtains and his bed. They don't hesitate to drop to their knees beside him, taking one of his clawed hands in theirs.

"Zev! Oh gods, have mercy, you're awake! You're awake. You're safe. I'm here." Their voice seems to flit through the stages of grief, then relief, then gentle happiness. He doesn't reply, just stares at them with wide eyes of his own.

They simply hold his hand tight and keep repeating the same words to him. As if they're an incantation that will heal his battered body. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm here."

His eyes flit to the curtains, and he sees faces peaking through. Tav's companions. They watch with varying degrees of pity, joy, amusement, or disgust. His looks back to Tav and tries to speak, but only a croak replies. Tav's eyes widen, and they're reaching for the pitcher of water beside the bed before he can even grasp at their hand as it leaves his. They pour a glass and hold it to his lips for him, their other hand cradling the back of his neck as they urge him to drink. He does, and before he even realizes it, he's drained the glass. They pour him another, but he only sips at this one before he finally speaks.

"It's you. You came for me...why? Why would you do that? Why would you put yourself and your friends in danger for me? You could've been hurt! You could have been killed!" Its not until Tav places their hands on his cheeks and hums soothingly that he realizes his voice had been growing in volume. One hand remains on his cheek, and the other moves to stroke through his hair, passing across the bases of his horns. He can't keep himself from sighing and curling in on himself at their touch. Tears blur his vision, and he let's them fall. He's so relieved. Not for himself but for them.

"Zevlor, of course I came for you. I would never have left anyone to Orin's torture, but least of all you. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you." They hushed. His tears continued, and wrecked sobs finally burst forth from his throat.

"But why!? I don't deserve your kindness, your sacrifice, and care! I-I gave in to the absolute! I left my people to die! I broke my oaths, I left innocent children helpess, and now I put you all in danger. I'm a murderer." Zevlor wails. He deserved to die there. He shouldn't be here, he should be a body laying in the pits of Avernus left to-

"Zevlor!" Their voice cuts through again. They're gently pulling his hands away from his arms, where scratches and traces blood are now forming. He'd been hurting himself and hadn't even realized it. "Stop. Zev, your people are safe. I got them out of moonrise, and I returned them to their families. There were a few losses but...I did what I could. Arabella's parents... but that doesn't matter. It isn't your fault. The absolutes hold on people is almost unbreakable, but you did it. You broke it. You aren't a murderer. You're a victim. Please don't hurt yourself over this, I can't bear to see it. I love you too much for it."

Their words are so earnest and spoken with such certainty that he almost misses the end part. His gaze whips up to meet theirs, and he almost cries anew at the look in their eyes. He buries his face in their chest and breakdown down once more. They hold him close and gently rock back and forth with the. They rub his back and stroke his hair and whisper words of encouragement and kindness to him. He takes a deep breath and pulls back from them. He pulls his head back and whimpers.

"I love you. I've loved you since that day in the Grove that you saved Arabella from Kagha. Since you showed Geux how to defend himself or kept Lia and her brothers together. I must have annoyed the others with how much I talked about you after we left there. But I couldn't help myself. You're perfect. You're goodness incarnate. I love you. I need you." His voice sounds foreign to himself. Desperate and teary and full of fear. But that's just the effect Tav has on him. He can be weak in front of them. He can be vulnerable.

Lips press against his before he can even look up again. He let's his eyes slip shut, and he sighs into it, allowing himself to melt into the safety of them. There's no heat behind it. No heavy breaths or searching hands. Just chaste, gentle and caring love. Safety.

They pull away before he's ready but place another kiss against his forehead. They sit on the bed beside him and pull his head against their chest. They whisper sweet nothings to him, promises of care and safety.

"I'm here, you're safe. All is well, everything is going to be okay. I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe." They hum into his hair.

He feels something stir within himself, and he makes a decision then and there. He may have broken his oaths, but he's making a new one to himself. Tav, the guardian of the world, the bringer of peace and safety. He's going to protect them with his life. He'll be there for any fight, any pain, any troubles. For the rest of their lives. He will be there. A gaurdian's gaurdian. And this oath, he will not break. No matter what.

#bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bg3 zevlor #bg3 spoilers #zevlor #tav x zevlor #zevlor x tav #zevlor/tav #tav/zevlor

[gumnut-logic]

Okay

Have a little FishTank with a background of pissed off Scotty.

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight for all her help on this and for putting up with my crazy as usual :D

It was supposed to be something and this is what happened. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

-o-o-o-

Virgil rolled his shoulders as he stepped out of the elevator and into the comms room. He wasn’t surprised to find Scott’s commander persona firmly and concisely flaying someone via hologram at the main desk. Virgil had no doubt that several heads would roll after this incident.

But he would field Scott later. Besides it was fair to let the person responsible reap their rewards.

A pissed off Commander Scott Tracy was a weapon of precise destruction.

For the moment, Virgil had two aims. He rolled his shoulders again. Maybe three. Some paracetamol wouldn’t hurt alongside the coffee.

Both would be needed to tackle his main priority.

His little brother Gordon.

Those four words made it hurt even more.

Because Gordon was his little brother and when some asshole threatened the Fish - no matter how adult his brother would ever be, he would always be their Little Fish - and then had the nerve to physically assault Gordon…

Virgil beat down his anger. Anger wasn’t what he needed right now. Scott had enough to cover the entire family and then some. What Virgil needed was to be calm and centred so he could be there for Gords.

Because despite having the military background, the tough exterior, and a strength of will that continued to stun Virgil with its ferocity, Gordon was…

Hell, he was Virgil’s little brother and while Scott eviscerated those responsible, Virgil had to make sure he was okay.

Beyond the obvious physical injuries.

The anger had to be stomped on again.

He jogged down the kitchen stairs and grabbed the paracetamol out of the medical kit stashed under the sink. He chugged it down with some coffee, probably hotter than it should be for the meds, but he needed both so that’s what he worked with.

Gords was lying on one of the loungers by the pool. It was odd to see him out there but not actually in the water. The sling holding a broken arm, the concussion, and black eye, hidden by convenient sunglasses, were reason enough.

As with all of Gordon’s injuries in the field, Virgil was fully prepared to find a way to enable his brother to get back into the pool as soon as possible.

It was a survival instinct, after all. A Fish out of water tended to be flammable and explosive - Virgil liked their villa in one piece and minus the pranks born of boredom or frustration.

But it would be a couple of days at least before Gordon could be let into the pool this time. The broken arm was fine, it was the head injuries that weren’t conducive to swimming.

Virgil stared out at his little brother a moment while downing the remains of his coffee. Food was likely out of the question, but Gords might be able to manage a light drink, get some simple sugars and energy into him.

Turning back to the kitchen, he rustled up some tropical fruit juices, coconut cream and ice, dropping a splash of cranberry into the mostly yellow and orange concoction. A small smile and Virgil dug out one of his brother’s little cocktail umbrellas to give it the Gordon-pizazz it required.

He even made one for himself, put both of them on a tray, along with a small bowl of brightly coloured barley sugars.

Holding the tray steady, Virgil stepped softly out onto the patio and bee-lined casually in his brother’s direction.

The dark sunglasses glanced up. “Virg, I’m fine.”

Virgil ignored him, sliding the tray onto the small table next to Gordon. Not saying anything at all, Virgil grabbed the nearest empty lounger and dragged it over, dumping himself into it with a sigh.

He claimed his drink and fiddled with the umbrella. They reminded him of his fish brother, they really did.

And the drink was cool on his coffee-blasted throat.

Nothing was said for a long moment.

“Scott toasting the GDF?” Gordon didn’t even look at Virgil.

“More like roasting, after skinning and gutting.”

“Perhaps we should put warning labels on our uniforms. Warning: Commander will go medieval on your ass if you ever lay a finger on any member of International Rescue.”

“Family.”

Gordon groaned. “Way to serious a perfectly good pun, bro.”

Virgil shrugged and his shoulders ached. “It was a serious incident.”

“Yeah.” The word was mostly breath and ever so resigned. His brother looked away, out towards the sea.

“How are you feeling?”

A sigh. “As I said, I’m fine.”

Virgil sipped at his drink. “You don’t look fine.”

Gordon shifted where he sat. “What do you expect?”

“No expectations.”

His brother scoffed and turned back to looking at the ocean. There was nothing but breeze, birds and the waves for a very long moment.

“No, I didn’t expect it all.”

“Expect what?”

“The good guy to be such an asshole.”

Virgil didn’t comment, sipping his drink and waiting…

“They are supposed to help us. Supposed to be us. I didn’t expect him to do that. I would never put my life above so many. I’m in this because I believe in what we do!” Gordon’s uninjured arm was pointing and gesticulating not unlike their biggest brother inside. Virgil was often struck by how Scott and Gordon were so similar, yet so different. “We are the ones with the skills, the equipment and the vow to do everything we can to help people out of dangerous situations. There were families, Virg! Little kids! And he was willing to sacrifice them all.”

“You did good, Gords, you know that.”

“I should have done better.” Gordon’s good hand balled into a fist. “I should have seen it coming. Should have seen beyond the uniform. Should have hit him harder!”

Virgil turned on the lounger and let his feet touch the concrete so he could reach over and place a hand on Gordon’s leg. “You did everything you possibly could. None of us expected betrayal, much less from the GDF.” He drew in a breath. “It will be fixed.”

Gordon scoffed. “Of course, it will be fixed. With both Scott and John on their asses, they’ll be lucky there is any GDF left by the time they’re finished.” Gordon wilted just a little. “I hate it when you guys have to do that. Scott doesn’t need any more grey hairs, and Johnny shouldn’t have to skirt the law. I should have handled it better.”

Virgil stared at his little brother. “What John does with the law is not your responsibility.” Though Virgil would need to check on his space brother. John was as pissed as Scott. Maybe they should have a movie night tonight with all the junk food to go with it. Drag John down, corner Scott, and get the lot of them to sit down and take a breather. A few hugs would definitely not go astray either. Some reassurance that Gords was still here. “And Scott is going to kick ass regardless. That GDF officer had no right to intervene on our rescue and then to put his life above all the others he was meant to save…” Virgil let the sentence hang and he fought down his rage and outrage again. He swallowed. “You did what you always do, Gordon.” His eyes latched onto those dark sunglasses. “You did us proud.”

The sunglasses stared at him a moment. “You okay?”

“I will be.” Once his brothers were okay.

“Virg?”

Virgil slid off the lounger and onto his knees, holding his arms out a little. “C’mere.”

Gordon rolled his eyes, but smiled as Virgil enveloped him in a hug.

It was for Virgil as much as Gordon.

To find a GDF officer on the train carriage had been a blessing at first. The man had taken charge, liaised with IR, and set people at ease. But once IR made it onto the scene and Gordon, and the rescue rig, arrived to start getting people out, the man has changed.

Sure, it was a perilous situation and yes, the train could have dropped any moment despite Two securing it with grapples. But nothing excused the man’s conduct.

He had thrown fellow passengers aside and demanded to be rescued first. Gordon, of course, said no. IR had its priorities and not only was the man a trained GDF officer, but fit and healthy, and, if the emergency became more dire, he would be more likely to survive a more physical rescue attempt. Unlike the elderly and the children on that train.

And hell, the man had taken a pledge to serve and protect.

None of them had expected anger from the man, much less physical violence. He grappled with Gordon, determined to board the rescue rig first.

Gordon was well trained and an expert in self defence. However, the dynamics changed when you were hanging over an empty chasm that ended in certain death.

Gordon was thrown from the train and it was one of the worst moments in Virgil’s life. Yes, his brother was tethered, thank god, but the carriage was precarious, moving with the sudden change in weight distribution, and tangling with the safety line. Both Gordon and the rig had been dragged down with the train, forcing Two to compensate. Alerts screamed as the grapples securing the carriage strained with the sudden shift.

Virgil’s voice still ached from his yelling his brother’s name.

And the lack of an answer.

It had been Virgil who shimmied down the rescue rig cable, desperate to locate Gordon with John worrying in his ears.

He had found his brother upside down with a massive dent in the side of his helmet, faceplate cracked, unconscious.

Virgil retrieved and secured him in the rescue rig.

Then it was Virgil who had to face the rogue GDF officer. Virgil, who was considered the gentle giant who wouldn’t hurt a soul.

Virgil, who physically picked up the yelling man and, despite his struggles, strapped him into the rescue rig in a very specific unable-to-move way. Hence the aching shoulders and the bruises.

Twenty people were rescued from that train, the very last barely making it out as gravity and wind finally took their toll and John was forced to release Two, or lose them all.

Most of them were injured in some way, but none as much as his little brother.

The GDF officer spent the rest of the ride strapped in the rescue rig in Module Two.

Virgil managed to not say a single word to the man the entire time.

Gordon woke up swearing, halfway to the hospital, and didn’t let up until the doctors let him go under Virgil’s supervision several hours later.

Debrief had been explosive. Scott livid, John tight lipped and furious, Virgil…

He pulled his little brother in just that little bit tighter.

“Oof, Virg, I’m okay.” But Gordon didn’t let go.

Virgil released him a little, but rested his head on his brother’s non-injured shoulder and closed his eyes.

And tried to convince himself of Gordon’s words.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #nuttyfic #fishtank #there were supposed to be more hugs in this #it was supposed to be a giftfic but isn't good enough #eh it is what it is #at least it is no longer a wip #unless a sequel starts chewing on my brain #which is always a possibility #after all Scotty is not happy #John is livid #and Virgil is a long smoldering mass of anger

[strangerquinns]

Deadly Reunion| Chapter 27

Eddie Munson x female!reader // a stranger things apocalypse au

summary: You and Eddie have been best friends since childhood. But when the outbreak happened five years ago, you were torn from one another in the chaos. but now you’re left alone, after your group was killed by another radical crew, leaving you to seek out what was once home. // zombie apocalypse Hawkins set in 1993

warnings: angst + adult themes w/ descriptions of violence, blood, torture + other zombie apocalypse related issues (no use of y/n)

word count:2K+

⪻ previous chapter | next chapter ⪼ | stranger things masterlist | chapter one

Eddie never thought of himself to be a lucky man. He was the kid who lived in a trailer park with his Uncle cause his dead-beat father couldn’t handle raising him. Not after Eddie’s mother died.

Wayne took Eddie in once he heard his once brother-in-law was leaving his ten-year-old son home, nearly starving, so he could steal some care or do some drugs.

That was maybe the one time Eddie thought of himself as lucky now that he really thinks about it.

Eddie didn’t even want to imagine what his life would be like if he was raised by his father.

But after that, Eddie was never lucky again.

Bullied relentlessly through middle and high school by the same group of kids who saw him as nothing but a freak. All because he refused to fit into the cookie-cutter life everyone else in Hawkins seemed to fall into eventually.

He repeated high school more times than he’d like to admit.

Even when Eddie thought his luck was changing and Corroded Coffin was finally discovered, signed a record deal, and started recording an album.

The world ended, cutting his dreams and the life he knew short.

Now Eddie doesn’t really understand the cruel joke that is continuing to play out as he lives each day through. Where he had to stand back and watch friends and family die – Eddie was still here. Going through each day just hoping to be able to wake up alive the next.

But then you came back into his life – then Eddie thought he was once again a lucky man.

After years of the two of you being apart, by some miracle or way of god, you stumbled back into his life.

But then Eddie had never felt fear like when you collapsed into his arms.

When you were hurt before – Gareth was there to tell him that you were ok before he even saw you. He didn’t have his other best friend this time to tell him that everything was ok. Not when your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and you dropped limp into his arms. Eddie scrambled to catch you before your head smacked down against the ground beneath you. He didn’t have someone to tell him that you were okay as blood started coming into your ears, not a lot, but enough to cause worry.

No matter how much Eddie shook you to have you wake up, you lay there in his arms. Barely breathing, eyes not opening.

Steve was the one to snap him out of it, reminding him that they needed to get back to camp. Eddie gathered you in his arms and ran like he’d never run before. Ignoring the way his body screamed out in pain as he carried you in his arms. Instead, focus on the path in front of him and the warmth of your body against his. Behind him, Steve and Wendy ran alongside him, the entire way till they got back to camp.

Covering Eddie’s 6 whenever it was needed – thankful that the colder weather caused packs of Flayed to be sparse.

“Open the gate! Open the gate!” Steve shouted as the gate of the Camp came into view.

The men above moved quickly to pull the gate open, allowing the three of them through. Eddie didn’t stop to speak with anyone as he passed others through the front lawn of the Lab or through the main entrance. Instead, he went straight to Gareth, once again praying that his friend would be able to help.

“What happened?” Gareth asked, working quickly as he examined you.

“I-I don’t know,” Eddie spoke in a rush, “We got separated. When we finally found each other she collapsed not long after.”

Gareth nodded his head as he pointed a small flashlight into your eyes, feeling a small spark of relief when your pupils dilated.

“We need space, Eddie. I’m sorry.” Gareth explained, already pushing on his friend's chest. Pushing him away from you.

His throat choked with panic as his dark eyes focused on you.

“The medical wing is filling up with more people than we’re prepared for. I will do everything I can, but please.” Gareth spoke again before Eddie was out the double doors.

Eddie stood there and looked through the small circular window as he saw Gareth walk back to you. He didn’t get to watch for long – not as the curtain was pulled and everything was out of sight. Steve and Wendy came running down the hall as Eddie leaned against the wall, dropping his hands to his knees, and letting out a pathetic cry.

Eddie didn’t care that he looked weak at that moment.

He didn’t care what others would think of him as the tears moved down his dirt and blood-stained face.

All he could think was that finally his luck ran out and he was going to lose you.

Eddie’s leg anxiously bounced as he sat at your bedside, his eyes focused on your bruised face, the need to sleep causing a headache to form.

“You need to go and get some rest,” a gentle voice spoke from his left.

Blonde hair and bright blue eyes looked down at him with a gentle smile spreading across her lips. She walked to the empty side of your bed and bent down to overcheck the dressings wrapped around your ribs. You refractured the little healing your ribs did from your last injury.

That wasn’t the scariest part.

No. The scariest came from when no one was able to figure out what the damage to your head.

After speaking with Wendy, who was in a quarantine room currently, Gareth was able to determine that you had smacked your head when fighting with Henry. The additional head trauma to what you’d already been through, on top of the possible concussion – your body had simply been through too much.

No matter how much Gareth tried to tell him that rest was good, that your body needed it, needed it to heal. Eddie didn’t care. He wouldn’t believe that you were okay till you once again opened your eyes.

“I’m sorry…what?” Eddie spoke, blinking his eyes a few times to relieve some of the fatigue he was feeling.

“You should go and get some rest. Staying up and torturing yourself isn’t going to help her out at all.” Chrissy, one of the new volunteers for the medical wing spoke. “I’m sure she’d want you to take care of yourself, no?”

Eddie didn’t answer even though he knew that she was right. They sat in a long moment of silence as Chrissy checked you over, it wasn’t till she was about to leave that he spoke.

“I don’t want to leave her,” Eddie spoke softly. So soft, Chrissy wasn’t sure if she heard him at all. “Not when she needs me.”

Chrissy smiled slightly, with nothing but gentleness in her eyes, “Go and shower, get some sleep, eat, and come back. If she wakes before you can make it back here, I’ll come and get you myself.”

Eddie opened his mouth, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“You’re covered in dirt, blood, and god knows what else. She is not going to want to see you like that. Trust me,”

Eddie nodded his head, “The moment she wakes?”

“I will come and get you.” Chrissy agreed.

Eddie sat there for a moment, his dark moon eyes falling on your form, before looking back to Chrissy and standing. He took a half step forward before sweeping back your hair, and bending down, to brush his lips against your forehead.

“I’ll be back, sweetheart, I promise,” Eddie whispered before kissing your forehead again.

“Thank you,” Eddie said to Chrissy before walking away from your bedside and heading toward his trailer.

Where he took a cold shower, washed the dirt from his pale skin, and changed his clothes before crawling back into bed.

It didn’t take much effort for sleep to take over his mind.

But when the dreams did come – he was once again just a boy from a trailer park but this time holding the girl that he loved most.

Eddie walked slowly around his trailer as the early morning started to come up through the trees. The sleep that he had wanted, more so needed, barely came. He spent more time tossing and turning with worry than anything else. He poured his coffee into a worn mug he’d kept in a cupboard. It was weird for him to walk around and not hear you padding around in the bedroom or bathroom.

But he tried not to focus on that, knowing it would only cause his worry to increase, but it was there in the back of his mind. Instead, he dressed and headed out of his trailer and to the main area of the Camp. He helped out with those who needed it and picked up a little more work wherever it was seen needed. They had lost a few people – meaning there were fewer hands in some areas to keep the Camp running.

“We might need to run a raid soon, Hopper said that some of the supplies are running down quickly, especially medical needs,” Steve spoke as he and Eddie worked with unloading some of the food grabbed from the small garden. The last few crops it seemed with the weather getting colder.

“I had a feeling that would be coming up,” Eddie sighed, wiping away his curls from his forehead. “Do we even have enough for a run?”

“We’d either have to gather new recruits or with a smaller group.” Steve shrugged.

Eddie hesitated for a moment, “How is Robin? I haven’t seen her around since we’ve come back.”

“Not…not great.” Steve paused for a moment before continuing, “Losing Vicki really seemed to send her over. It’s going to take some time.”

Eddie nodded his head in understanding before continuing to finish up their project. Once the two men were done, they headed back up to the main floor. Eddie couldn’t help but look down the hallway that led toward the medical wing. Steve caught the moment and saw the frown that deepened on his friend's face.

“How is she?” Steve asked with a soft voice.

A heavy sigh passed through Eddie’s lips, looking down as his hands grasped together tightly.

“I-I don’t really know outside of that she had suffered some trauma to her head, or at least that’s what Gareth is saying was the cause. Not much they can really do with the little that they have.” Eddie looked to his friend, “I’m trying not to hover and be in the way, but…it’s hard…I worry. I can’t go back to how it was before she was here, Steve. I can’t.”

“Who said that you have to? Why would that thought come into your mind, man.” Steve spoke hurriedly.

“I can’t help it.” Eddie shook his head, “I just…can’t help it.”

Eddie sighed heavily and walked the trail back to his trailer, before changing out of his clothes, and into something more comfortable. And then he walked the path once again and down to the medical wing. He walked by a few that he saw resting in the cots, a few tending to them, or family sitting with them.

But his focus was on you and only you.

You were tucked beneath the blanket that was draped across you, fresh bandages along your knuckles and forehead. Eddie grabbed the chair that sat pressed against the wall beside your bed before taking a seat. Your face was still serene from the deep sleep you were in despite the bruises that decorated your face.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie spoke as he reached over and grabbed your hand gently, before continuing and telling you about his day.

Hoping in some way it would not only bring you comfort.

But have you come back to him.

I hope that you enjoy the new chapter, a short little filler. Please reblog, like, or comment if you enjoyed it!

@mopeymopeymouse / @aris-house / @brxkenartt /@akiratoro420

@stylesxmunson/ @aactuaaltraash / @fandomgirl17 / @ches-86/ @chaoticcancer / @munsonology / @bellamy-barnes / @theonlyh3artbreaker / @idkidknemore / @familyvideowithsteve / @eddiesdingus / @thefemininemystiquee / @the-world-is-a-mess-and-so-am-i / @xdarkcreaturex / @lunr-flwr / @cherry-omi/ @im-emma22@munson-enthusiast / @munsonmecrazy / @jupitar-jul / @katiemrty/ @maddie-luvs-eddie /@eddiemusworld/ @ih3artdanielle / @eddiesguitarskills / @hargrovesswifee /@chaoticcancer / @rh1nestonecowg1rl / @atombombbibunny /@munson-enthusiast / @hellf-1-re / @fangirling-4-ever / @corrcdedcoffin /@sidthedollface2 / @emma77645 / @eddiiiieeee /@beep-beep-sherlock / @moldy-khunt / @bokutoswifey /@trixyvixx / @lma1986 / @plk-18 / @sav12321

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you

[sublimecatgalaxy]

can you do 18 and 21 from your prompts list with billy hargrove🤍

I love soft!billy man. I know it's not canon but I think it would be if they didn't unalive him lol.

'Gentle' is not a word most commonly associated with Billy.

He's been known as tough, rough around the edges, a bad boy, an asshole; sure. He's been describe as being cold and standoffish, having a short fuse, and being successful with anyone with breasts, especially when he first moved here to Hawkins from California.

He used to be someone associated with violence even.

But since the night at the mall, he's been a completely different person. This person- this Billy- is associated with the word gentle among other words.

His hair sticks to my wet skin and my arms slither around his neck, holding him tightly to me as the warm water passes down between us. He's been insistent on us 'conserving water' together after late nights in the backseat of his car, but I know the real reason is his need to be close to me, intimate even. And who am I to complain. Considering he was never warm and gentle before almost dying, I would never not take whatever he would offer me in the realm of intimacy.

Especially since I'm lucky he's even alive, that I get any time with him at all.

His face is tucked tightly into the crook of my neck, his back rising and falling in quiet breaths as silence consumes us, the only noise being the quiet music playing in his room, the sound of Lucas laughing down the hall with Max and the sound of the water running above us.

"You're warm." He grumbles quietly against my skin, a soft smile stretching across my lips as my fingers brush against his scalp, soothing his aching mind. Since being flayed, he's been struggling with terrible headaches, sometimes unable to keep his eyes open or focus, like now. The lights are completely off in the bathroom, not wanting the buzz of the fluorescent lights to hurt him any more than he's already feeling, the only light being the small lamp in the corner of the room.

"How are you feeling?" He shrugs at my question and I take that at face value, knowing that he just sometimes doesn't want to get into the horror stories that he's still struggling with; the stories he's not able to confide in anyone about.

He straightens up, his eyes barely seen in the dark room, the steam swarming around us as he leans down to capture my lips in a brief kiss. I hum quietly, rubbing my hands up and down his back as his own hands secure themselves on my hips.

"You bring me a sense of comfort that I haven’t felt in a really long time." He whispers shyly, eyes dipping lower than mine and he leans away from me, overwhelmed by his own words. He acts as if he didn't want them to leave his mind, shocked to hear them out loud, wanting to stay tough and distant like he used to be but something tells me that he struggles a lot to not tell people how he's feeling and the last person he wants to hide things from is me.

"I'm glad, Billy. You deserve comfort for once in your life." My hand cups his jaw gently, his head bobbing in a disbelieving nod and his eyes flicker back and forth between mine. He doesn't say anything else, just bites at his lip until I force him to stop, my lips capturing his in another distracting kiss.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan

#billy #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #billy x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic

[ghostinthegallery]

Re-reading Twice Dead King, the character I was most struck by on a second viewing was Mentep. Now there’s a tragic figure. Simultaneously a mentor, an ally, an antagonist, someone so terribly understandable who I want to smack upside the head for being a lying liar who lies.

Ultimately, Mentep is a penitent. He has committed terrible acts (that we only get scant details of) and he wants to redeem himself. Thanks to his tampering with his own memories, he doesn't fully know what he is repenting for, which puts him in a bind. However, he knows that he played a role in creating the flayer curse/longing sickness, so he goes to a planet where a high concentration of them have gathered and works on his cure. He's respected, he's able to do his work with only occasional interruptions from the local angsty youth. Things are good-ish (until the armada shows up.)

Mentep and Oltyx have a weird relationship. Despite being his normal asshole-teenager self, Oltyx does respect Mentep more than most. Trusts Mentep enough to let the guy perform experimental brain surgery on him. Twice. And Mentep is able to be much more candid with Oltyx in return. He's one of the few consistently calling Oltyx out for his bullshit. On the surface, it is a standard mentor relationship, but what got me on a second reading is that there is hardly a single conversation Mentep has with Oltyx where he isn’t lying to and/or manipulating him.

It starts early with Yenekh. Mentep knows Yenekh has been suffering from the curse, he hasn’t told Oltyx, and when he finally has to tell him, he conveniently does so right before distracting everyone with the “oh btw, we’re all gonna die to a giant human armada” news. This is done with the best of intentions. Mentep wants to protect Yenekh (and Oltyx, in his way), so he delivers the news this way to get the bad news out of the way and then both of them on the same side. But it is the start of a pattern.

Which we get again when Mentep fails to mention a that Antikef is a flayer den ruled by a “We have Illuminor Szeras at home” Vizier, and boy does that end badly for Oltyx (see the last 60% of Ruin). Naturally, Mentep has a good explanation:

But it is another lie, one that costs Oltyx dearly (put a pin in this, I am coming back to it.)

There's some little fibs and ommissions along the way as they go to Carnotite, but it all builds up to The Big Lie. The one that sends Oltyx spiraling and gets Mentep killed. Because you know what really helps with paranoia? Finding out your mentor and your best friend have been hiding a secret blood pit in your basement! Again, it makes sense why Mentep is lying about this! He has every reason to believe Oltyx would have rejected the flayed ones he and Yenekh were sheltering (he in fact does exactly this), and Mentep's entire goal is to cure the curse to atone for his role in its creation. However...

I think Oltyx is correct to call Mentep out here (Oltyx is wrong about most things, but not this). Somewhere a long the way he became a means to an end for Mentep. Mentep was focused on The Curse and not the person in front of him who was cursed. He used Oltyx's friendship with Yenekh, his need to save his kingdom, his trust, his fears, all in service of admirable goals, but he was using Oltyx. Is it any wonder this is where it ended?

The lies were Mentep's undoing from the start. Remember the lie about Antikef? The one that led to all the events of Ruin? Yes, Oltyx and Djoseras did talk and avoid a civil war, but Oltyx also went through hell. He saw his home turned into an abbattoir, his father reduced to barely more than an animal. Oltyx was literally vivisected and almost consumed by his own dysphoria. And then committed regicide after leaving his brother behind to die. Antikef is where Oltyx truly learned that compassion was weakness and saw how horrific the flayer curse could become. So how was he ever going to accept the flayed ones as Mentep wanted him to? Oltyx experienced the comically perfect combination of traumas to ensure that would never happen, thanks in part to Mentep's manipulations.

I cannot stress enough that Mentep's individual lies all made sense at the time. May have even been the best option, at the time. But the consequences piled up, and even as he is dying he still refuses to give Oltyx even a scrap of the truth. That is the core of his tragedy for me. Well, that and this:

He bases all of his manipulations on his understanding of people's psyche's, which are usually accurate, but it also traps them. It gives them no room to grow or surprise him or for outside factors to come in and intervene. Contrast this with Zultanekh, who is upfront to a fault. He gives Oltyx advice and resources, but what Oltyx does with those things is up to him. Even when he is screwing up royally, he's allowed to make those mistakes. Mentep causes ones of Oltyx's darkest hours (the secret blood pit), while Zultanekh lifts him out of another (the Blood Angel's attack). In the end, Zultanekh is the one who sees Oltyx's true growth and witnesses the birth of his kingdom. A birth that comes not from curing the curse but embracing it.

There was never a sickness to be fixed, which means Mentep never would have achieved his redemption because he was focused on the wrong things. Which does make his death and rebirth as Xott a bit of a reflection of Oltyx. He was too burdened in his first life, but in his second he (or at least a version of him) was able to witness the people he hurt reaching a place of peace.

#warhammer 40k #necrons #twice dead king #oltyx #mentep #shit this one got long #I have a lot of thoughts about the sad robots okay #pro tip: maybe constantly lying to the paranoid teenager with anger issues isn't gonna end well for anybody #side note I do wonder if Mentep's habit of manipulation came from his time on Carnotite #That place got scary man #learning how to work people may have become a survival tactic that he just internalized #poor yenekh stuck in the middle #my boy did not deserve that #zultanekh repeatedly proving that he is best

[starry-eyed-steve]

Max taking the risk in season 2 is the reason she survived so long, and it will (hopefully) be the reason she gets saved in season 5.

I love the angsty lumax scenes comparisons/parallels like every other person, but it's not true that Max getting involved led to her being in a coma in s4. I think people want an angsty Lucas arc for the last season where he blames himself for everything, but I need someone to reassure him it's not because he got Max involved in s2. I believe his guilt will mostly stem from him not being able to stop Jason in time, letting Max go through with the half-baked plan and, in general, letting Max isolate in the months leading up to Vecna. (Which is already enough. Someone needs to give him a hug in s5)

Max being part of the group by accepting the risk, actually saved her life in multiple ways.

In s3, the chance of her dying due to Billy would have been significantly higher than it actually was. Billy would have gotten possessed either way. It was Karen's fault, not Max or the party, that he was at the wrong place at the right time. If Max hadn't known about the Mindflayer or El, she wouldn't have suspected anything, thus making her an easy target to get flayed as well.

If she were to survive s3 on her own, Vecna would have still targeted her because she felt guilty about Billy dying not because she witnessed it but because she wished that something would happen to him to make the abuse she suffered from him stop. And when something did happen, she blamed herself. Her complicated relationship with Billy is the reason why she got cursed. It was never because she took the risk. Her issues stem from outside of the supernatural things. Without Lucas and her friends, she wouldn't have survived the first attack. She would have been confused like Chrissy, Patrick, and Fred, not knowing what was going on and then dying a horrific death.

Taking the risk ensured her to live as long as she did because she had the opportunity to get information that were vitol for her physical well-being.

But taking the risk also gave her the opportunity to live a more fulfilled life. In the beginning of s2, Max was super closed off. She was scared to get close to anyone because of her brother. He was threatening to harm people if Max disobeyed him (aka him trying to run the party over as a scare tatic to get her back under control after the argument). So she pushed Dustin and Lucas away. It was easier and safer for everyone involved. If we take Runaway Max as canon, then Billy actually physically harmed one of her friends, so it's understandable that Max tries her hardest to stay away in the beginning. Only due to Lucas and Dustin constant persuading and pushing she opened up a bit more. And then when Lucas told her the huge secret she was suddenly a part of something so big she had to allow herself to trust others because her life was dependent on it. It gave her the opportunity to be honest and vulnerable to an outsider, which also then led her to free herself from her brother's control by the end of s2. Meeting Steve and the rest and seeing that someone was willing to protect her from her brother's abuse gave her the strength to set boundaries, which then allowed her to be happier and more open. She met El and found amazing friends in the party, which she wouldn't be close otherwise. It also allowed her to have a different relationship with Billy. In s3, they seemed to be more relaxed before everything went south.

Without getting involved, she probably would still be the closed off girl she was at the beginning of s2. She would still be under Billy's control until he died. And then she would be alone without anyone really looking out for her, which would lead to her definite death in s4.

Lucas saved her physically and emotionally by giving her the opportunity to take the risk. And because of that, she can still be saved in s5.

#clearing out my drafts #if someone already wrote about this i apologize #i just saw some gif sets and posts about lucas blaming himself for getting max involved #and idk it's not true and i hope the duffers don't give him this reason in s5 #and if they do someone has to point out that lucas saved max multiple times already #anyway if i think about lumax more i'm gonna cry #they are both so tragic #i need them to get a happy end in s5 #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #lumax #not tagging the other character for reasons #stranger things #stranger things analysis #sandra says stuff

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Kamaitachi

CR 13

Chaotic Evil Medium Fey

Bestiary 6, pg. 176

These wicked and fickle fey can appear just about anywhere that there's pain to be caused and lives to be ended. They appear cloaked in their Dust Devils, magical winds that whip around them at all times, carrying their little weasely bodies around like a single spaghetti noodle in a pot of boiling water. Despite how cute and silly they look, they're among the most vicious and sadistic of all Fey, maximizing the fear and agony in whatever creature crosses their path for no other reason than their own twisted amusement. What's worse is that there's almost no warning before they strike; depending on what sort of debris is in the Dust Devil, one may not see the beast within until the wind blows past them and tears the flesh from their bones.

While in their shell of wind, Kamaitachi (which I will shorten to 'itachi' from here on out) can fly at speeds of up to 120ft a round without issue, bending and twisting through the air with the ease of a barracuda in the open sea. Their sole offense is their quartet of Deadly Claws, scythe-like limbs so razor sharp that they can straight up do the Samurai Diagonal Cut at will, but more on that later, for now we'll focus on the claws themselves. Each claw deals 1d6+12 damage boosted by their constant Greater Magic Fang to hit even harder, and as previously mentioned these claws are especially deadly, critically hitting on a 19 or 20 and dealing x3 damage on a successful crit. Every blow also lacerates the target to deal 1d6 bleed damage a round, and the weapons of the Itachi are designed to flay the targets so agonizingly that a struck creature must make a DC 23 Fortitude save every time they're hit or become sickened by the pain for a round.

Able to make upwards to four of these attacks if it manages to Full-Attack, an adventuring party will rarely have to deal with that except against a foolish Itachi. It's got Flyby Attack and no reason not to use it to cut a party to ribbons bit by bit, savoring their slow and terrible demise. It can get away with this kiting behavior, too, because while a cursory glance at its stat block reveals only DR 10/Cold Iron as its primary physical defense, you have to look a little further down to realize that you're going to need to be able to fly or have a way to ground the beast to actually fight it and win, because Dust Devil automatically deflects ALL small projectiles; arrows, bolts, and bullets are utterly useless against it, and any throwing weapon has a 30% miss chance. Magical AoE, lines, cones, and rays all still work, though they have to contend with the wonder weasel's 24 Spell Resistance.

Side note because I'm legally required: If you or a loved one has ever been beaten to death by a creature with Flyby Attack, please remember to regularly apply readied actions to your party bruisers.

Anyway, these vicious weasels have another, far more horrific use for their claws than ripping someone to shreds: blackmail. As I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, Itachi can swing their cutting limbs with such speed and ferocity that the victim doesn't even realize they've been cut until the violent fey blows on them just a little too hard and they fall to pieces. Delayed Doom allows the fey to 'store' its claw hits up on any number of targets, preventing the damage, bleed, and Pain but leaving it on a trigger delay, allowing it to deal otherwise fatal damage to a creature but refrain from killing them outright.

Such unfortunate creatures are walking time-bombs, the Itachi able to cause the stored damage, bleed, and agony to blow up all at once with nothing more than a free action at any point within the next two weeks. This allows the Itachi to wring poor souls for all they're worth in the hopes that it will choose to spare their life, turning friends and family against one another or forcing victims to perform painful, humiliating, dangerous, or otherwise criminal actions at its request... only for many such victims to suddenly fall to bloody pieces anyway, as the Fey has no compulsion to honor any deal it makes.

This also means an Itachi can do a drive-by scything on someone and make them believe it missed, so it can just float in the air above them, giggling to itself as it picks the perfect moment to make their head fall off. Being hit with a Full-Attack causes, at minimum, 52 damage + 1d6 bleed, so an especially sinister DM could have one of these creatures ambush the party multiple days in a row, FA-ing them one at a time before flying off, and then once it's stored up damage on everyone over a few days, drop in and instantly take off half the party's HP with a free action. That, or fly down, hit someone a few times, then fly back into the sky and carefully wait for their HP to drop below a threshold where the Delayed Doom would kill them. Is that unfair? Yes. I only recommend this tactic if you want to be especially evil to your party!

How does it know if someone is below a specific threshold, though? Because Itachi can also cast Status at will, and frequently do so in order to keep track of interesting or amusing victims. If a victim manages to get further than 1 mile from the weasel, or is so amusing to it that it doesn't trigger Delayed Doom for 2 weeks, all the stored damage falls off harmlessly, so the weasel has a vested interest in keeping them relatively close if it wishes to prolong its suffering.

Delayed Doom also ends if the Itachi is slain, and doing so is actually a little bit simpler than it looks... if you have access to specific spells. See, the Dust Devil of a Kamaitachi gives it incredibly offense and defense, but the weasels must maintain control of the wind in order to keep its shields up. If it enters the radius of any spell which controls or alters the winds, no matter the spell's level, it must save against the spell or the Dust Devil dissipates, taking away the Itachi's fly speed, immunity to projectiles, and 6 points of its AC (lowering it from 29 to 23). Alter Winds and Control Weather are both options presented by the book itself, but with such long cast times (and Control Weather being a spell level too high for a party encountering a single Itachi besides), you may want to aim for more practical spells such as Calm Air, Tailwind, Air Geyser, or Gust/Blast of Wind, all of which either end the Itachi's flight or can easily be argued to do so.

The Itachi can still make a saving throw against the incoming inconvenience, but if it fails it has to waste its entire turn using one of its 3 castings of Control Wind on itself just to restart its Dust Devil, giving the party enough time to surround it and beat the snot out of it. Without its defensive tornado it's both less mobile and more vulnerable to being beaten into the ground... and depending on how high up it was when your party invoked the winds, it might already be damaged by the fall. I think, after all the trouble one of these little bastards can put a party through, they may take some satisfaction in seeing it hurl towards the ground, tumbling end over end like a dropped pasta noodle.

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 11 to 14 #Pathfinder #dungeons and dragons

[penny00dreadful]

Spies AU - Part 8

Part 1 Part 9 AO3

27th October 2015

In all honesty, Steve had planned to try to go about his life as normal in the week after his conversation with Hopper. 

He was going to finish up his own mountain of paperwork from the Fred affair at Robin’s desk with her, without spilling his personal secrets and quite possibly the secrets of the whole fucking company like he’d been on the verge of doing every time he looked at her, end his day as normal, go home, eat, veg on the couch and then go to bed. 

Standard boring stuff.

He was going to continue to keep his mouth shut.

Keeping his mouth shut was literally his job.

He was a spy.

Keeping secrets was, like, the main thing he needed to be able to do. 

He’d always been good at it.

From his parents dirty little secrets that would have been eaten up at the monthly Homeowners Association meetings, to his own sexuality.

And when it came to the job, Robin knew that there were some things he just couldn’t tell her otherwise people might die.

But the problem with that was in all of those previous circumstances, Steve had been a consummate professional. Even when he had to keep his mouth shut about the kids he was protecting, Robin knew very little and understood. She was good with that. She knew it was a job thing.

This was so clearly not a job thing anymore.

Not even because Steve found the guy so stupid fucking attractive it made him feel like he dropped IQ points whenever he saw him, his brain filled with fuzzy static of prettyprettypretty. But also because he fucking cared. 

Steve cared so fucking much about Eddie and wasn’t that just a terribly dangerous game to be playing?

He wanted to know what side of the bed he slept on, he wanted to know what his favourite food was, he wanted to know how he watched movies, if he had to pay attention to every second or if he talked the whole way through. He wanted to know how he tied his shoes or if he stayed in his pyjamas for as long as possible every day or if he had to be dressed to feel awake or how many sugars he had in his coffee or if he ate dairy or had any allergies or what the stupidest thing he ever did as a kid was.

Steve wanted to know everything about him. 

And Robin could fucking tell.

She was staring at him from across her desk like she wanted to drill into his brain with her eyes and dig through the mess in there to figure out what was going on.

Because Steve would have told her immediately if it wasn’t job related, they both knew that. 

So the fact that he hadn’t and the fact that he so clearly wanted to but still wouldn’t meant it was something got to do with work and Steve just hoped she thought he was hooking up with a coworker or something. 

He couldn’t ignore her as he stared down at the papers in front of him, shuffling them around and flipping through them back to front and front to back, trying to distract himself, trying to avoid her eye and just hoping, somewhat hysterically, that if he didn’t pay attention to it then the problem would go away.

But of course it wouldn’t be that simple and he was fit to fucking explode.

He had to talk to her.

Not because he felt obligated to, not because a soulmate bond was an immediate right to all of his deepest darkest secrets, which it wasn't, but because he needed to.

He needed a sounding board, someone to bounce his brain off of. Someone to help him work through his messy thoughts and sort them all out. Someone to tell him he was insane and he needed to stop thinking like this. 

Or alternatively someone to tell him to go for it, go get his man and sweep him away from everything dangerous, skipping off into the sunset.

He made it a whole week, stewing at Robin’s desk before he cracked, practically feeling the fissure running down his body, cutting him in half.

“I need to talk to you.” He muttered, head in his hands, hair clenched between his fingers and feeling like he was flayed open, bearing the softest most delicate parts of him in those words alone. Just waiting for her to wrap him back up warm and safe or take a vicious bite, though he knew in his heart of hearts which one she’d do.

He could hear Robin shift where she was sitting, his own gaze still trained on the desk below him while Robin was probably staring a hole through his skull again.

“Okay.” She said eventually, ignoring how Steve’s shoulders slumped in relief. “The local?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s whole body unwound, the tension practically bouncing from his back at the thought of finally, finally being able to get this all off his chest.

He had expected Robin to give him a little more flack for it, for giving in and clearly going against protocol, but she was his guy.

And he knew, he knew that she would always be on his side, no matter what.

“Do you want to go now?” She asked, already cramming her paperwork back into her drawers.

Steve started to follow suit, sorting his own papers out into neat little stacks. “But don’t you need to finish-”

“I can finish it tomorrow, this is more important.”

Steve’s heart swelled, glowing bright and warm. Robin took her job very seriously, but she was also serious about him and Steve loved her for it.

Maybe Steve hadn’t completely thought this one through. He was boxed into a booth with Robin who was acting surprisingly nonchalant about the whole thing, but that could be because she wasn’t quite aware of the gravity of the situation yet.

But he was a spy, right? Part of the job description was to get out of tight spots, literally and figuratively. So if he needed to vault the table and race out of the bar doors before Robin was able to catch him by the scruff of the neck, then he could do it easily, right?

However the way she was looking at him now with slightly raised eyebrows, just daring him to try while she drained her glass told him she would be expecting it.

And she always played dirty.

She went for the hair.

“Okay.” Robin snatched his glass out of his grip, the one he’d been swirling between his hands, trying to find the answers to all his questions amongst the amber and floating foam. She downed the dregs of his drink with a grimace. “I need you to talk to- ugh. I don’t know how you drink that shit. I need you to talk to me, stop talking to the booze.”

Steve shrugged. 

He hadn’t even fought her on the robbery of his drink, just stared passively as she did it.

“It’s nice.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Talking to the booze?”

“No, the beer.” He slumped lower in his seat. “It’s nice.”

“No, it’s not.”

It was a well worn argument. One they had nearly every time they came here together and Steve knew he was acting strangely. He was usually a lot more defensive of his tastes.

“Evie. C’mon, talk to me.” She threw her arm over the back of their booth and turned towards him, knocking their knees together and bringing them closer. “That’s why we came here, isn't it? Something’s bothering you and you’re ruminating and you’re going to start catastrophizing soon if you don’t let your conscience in.”

Steve huffed, smiling. “You’re my conscience in this scenario, Jiminy?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re awful at it.”

“Eh.” She shrugged. “I do okay for myself. You’re still alive aren’t you?”

“Somehow. Despite the drinks you mixed me during Dustin’s 21st.”

“Hey,” she gave him a light punch to the shoulder, “I was trying my best!”

“I didn’t even make it to my bedroom that night. I slept in my bathtub.”

“Steven.” Robin rapped him lightly on the shoulder again. “Don’t disparage that tub. It’s the comfiest tub I have ever slept in.”

“When did you sleep in it?” He sputtered.

“The night of my 25th.”

Steve blinked at her, confused. “But you were in bed with me that night?”

“I started out in bed with you, yeah. Then everything got really spinny. Then many things happened in your bathroom that I’d rather not talk about but I cleaned up after myself so it’s fine-”

“Is it?!” It had been over a year but now Steve was wondering if he needed to nuke everything all over again.

“-yes, it’s fine. Then I fell asleep in the bathtub and I woke up at some point in the morning and wandered back into bed.” Robin shook her head. “But we’re not talking about my 25th and we’re not talking about the horrors your bathroom has seen. We’re talking about your spiralling brain.”

Steve looked down, the smile slipping off his face. 

With a deep breath he took her hand in his, sitting on top of the table and began to twist her rings around her fingers, like he could untwist his own thoughts with them.

Robin let him, waiting him out patiently while he tried to think of what to say.

“Do you think people can be good but be stuck doing less than good things because of their circumstances?”

“Yes.” She answered without hesitation, barely having to think about it, it seemed.

“I don’t… I don’t mean like stealing food from the grocery store so they can eat or- fucking forging prescriptions so they can get the meds they need or whatever.”

“I know. You wouldn’t be spiralling if it was as simple as that. You’d be helping.”

Steve couldn’t stop the tick up at the corner of his mouth. She had such faith in him.

“Like that guy in the alleyway?”

“The guy..?” She blinked at him, thinking. “Oh, the hot drug dealer?”

He bit his lip. “Yeah.”

“Then, yeah. Like him.” Robin’s words were soft but her eyes were bright, like everything was becoming so much clearer to her now. “Whatever happened with him, by the way?”

Steve tore his eyes away, looking back down at their hands.

“What if this good person has done some really fucked up shit?”

She scoffed. “More fucked up than what we do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s in the ‘more fucked up’ category in my head because we’re the good guys and he’s-”

Steve swallowed and Robin gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, reassuring him that she was there. 

“So, he wasn’t just a hot drug dealer?” She prodded, gently.

She truly was his conscience, his soulmate, the other half of his brain.

“No.” Steve shook his head and squeezed her fingers back. “He’s not.”

“Then who is he?”

Steve looked up at her again, darting his eyes in between hers, searching for any reason he couldn’t tell her. Anything. The slightest bit of hesitation or wariness or anything beyond soft curiosity. But there was nothing. She was just filled with concern for him and wanted him to get whatever this was off his chest. She just wanted to help. 

If he could trust anyone with this information, it would be her.

“He's my informant. He’s Kas.”

Robin swallowed but otherwise didn’t move. She continued to stare at him, her face impassive and Steve could almost see the buffering symbol circling on her forehead. 

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and began to chew on it, still thinking, still processing.

Steve held tight to her hand throughout, almost unwilling to give her the option to pull back, even if he knew she wouldn’t.

“Kas is real? He’s not just a myth to scare baby spies and Creel’s enemies?” She asked, her voice even and calm in a way Steve knew she was still working things out in her head.

“Yeah, he’s real.”

“And you think he’s a good person? Kas? The Bloodyhanded? That Kas?”

“I do.”

She looked at him, watching every move incredibly closely and Steve felt like he was going through the most important quiz of his life. 

“Why?”

Her question wasn’t accusatory and Steve knew that. It was just fact finding.

“I… I don’t know, honestly. He’s never hurt me. Even when I was quite literally at his mercy in what I’m pretty sure was his torture room, he never hurt me. And then again in Zagreb, with the goons.” He looked up at her. “I didn’t kill them, Rob. I didn’t take them out. He did. I was tied to a chair with a dislocated shoulder. I was finished. And he- I don’t know, I think he took issue with how they were treating me.”

“How they were kicking the shit out of you?”

Steve smiled a little, his mind repeating mine. 

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe that was all it was, things weren’t being done his way but… he killed them. For me. I know it was for me. Because they hurt me.”

“Do you think he might have been doing it because he just thinks you’re pretty?”

“How do you know he thinks I’m pretty?”

“Everyone thinks you’re pretty.”

Steve tipped over until his forehead was resting on her shoulder, rolling his head to look up at her. “You’re right, it’s a curse.”

Robin smiled down at him, a gentle comforting thing. 

Steve shrugged, an inexplicable shiver crawling down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he straightened up, glancing around, expecting to feel eyes on him, but there was no one paying them any attention.

Most were too focused on the game playing out on the big screens around the bar and the streets outside the windows were empty. 

He turned back to face Robin. “I don’t think it’s just because I’m pretty. I mean I haven’t seen him out saving orphans from fires or pulling kittens from trees but… I don’t know. He just doesn’t feel bad.”

They stared at each other in silence, Steve slumped and fidgeting through his nerves and Robin so still and all-seeing it was like she was some statue on top of a church.

“Okay.” She said simply.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. If you don’t think he feels bad then I think he’s probably not bad.”

“Oh. That was… easy?”

“Evie.” Robin brushed her thumb over his knuckles. “You’re the best judge of character I know. I trust you.”

“Risky thing to do.”

“I don’t think so.” She smiled at him again, bringing his hand up to place a kiss along his knuckles. “What brought this conversation on?”

“I don’t know. I-” he shrugged. “I’m worried about him.”

“Why?”

“I think I might have gotten him in trouble with his higher ups. Or his higher up, singular.”

She grimaced. “Creel?”

“Yeah, he was the guy who I stopped from killing Fred-”

“You stopped Kas?” She nearly shrieked, but remembered to keep her volume low at the last second.

“Yeah, I know. But I think on some level he might have let me. Like the guy is much faster than me, not as strong but very quick and I was able to disarm him and get him up against a wall? It just doesn’t add up. And I think that has put him in danger. I don’t know, just something he said.”

“What was it?”

“He-” Steve sighed, curling himself up as much as he could, leaning against Robin who put an arm around him. “He asked if I would be worried. And that was kind of all he asked, he didn’t elaborate but it sounded like he was asking would I be worried if he went missing or got hurt or something.” He pressed his forehead into her neck. “I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Is that unusual? It's only been a few days.”

“No, but it feels different this time.”

Robin nodded. “And no one else knows? Hopper or-”

“Hopper knows.” He muttered, tensing and feeling her whip her head around to try to look at him, her hair catching him in the eye.

“Ow.”

“Hopper- Evie, do you really think that’s a good idea? He could… He could strap him down for interrogation or hide him away at the other end of the world under lock and key so he doesn’t-”

“He won’t.” Steve said, his voice firm and sure.

“You can’t know that-”

“I do know that. Because I won’t let him.”

Robin’s arm stopped its up and down soothing motion over his bicep.

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do.”

She cursed under her breath, flicking him in the forehead. “Fuck, okay. I guess we’re doing this then. This fucking guy better be worth it.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes I do, Steven.” She sighed, squeezing him tighter. “You think if this all goes tits up and you have to go against The Agency, I’m gonna let you flounder around on your own? You’d be fucking lost without me.”

“I would. I’d be so lost, Bobbin.”

“So what did this Kas guy say when you asked him to run away with you.”

It was Steve’s turn to freeze now.

“Uh…”

“Oh my god, Evie. You haven’t even asked him?”

“I did! Kind of… I-”

“He said no?”

“Not in so many words. He refused… but he said ‘I can’t’.”

“That’s not straw clutchy at all.”

“Let me clutch my straws in peace.”

“Fine, fine. Are you gonna continue to do that here or at home? You need your space to think?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Yeah. I need to figure out how to… I don’t know. Convince him to exit the employment of one of the most dangerous men in the world.”

“Want me to come with you? We could continue to drink about it?”

Steve gave her a little chuckle. “No, not that’s okay. I need to brainstorm some crazy scenarios and have you talk me down from them and I can’t do that if you’re there when I’m coming up with them.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “The old Scoops Ahoy way.”

“Yeah.”

Robin pushed herself to her feet and continued to hold onto his hand as he sidled out of the booth and they made their way out of the bar. 

Just before they parted ways, Robin pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing him as fiercely as she could.

“You know I’m with you no matter what, right? No matter what happens. If you cause an international incident… again or-”

“Almost caused an international incident.”

“Sure, sure whatever.” She waved her hand dismissively in front of her. “But like… no matter what I’m in your corner.”

“I know, Rob. I know. I’m with you too.”

He pressed a quick kiss against her forehead and when they’d finally said their goodbyes, he headed home, his mind swirling with thoughts on what the fuck he was going to do about the whole situation. 

How he would even find Eddie again to be able to convince him to leave. 

Could he? Could he convince him? 

What was even holding him down to Creel’s service at this stage?

The whole way back to his apartment, and into the elevator, he was thinking about it, staring off into space.

It was only when something started to niggle in the back of his mind to look around, he saw it.

Hidden in the groove on the button to his floor was a smudge of blood.

It was so small, barely visible, practically invisible to everyone else but not to him.

Okay.

Hopefully someone had just gotten a nosebleed or something and the cleaners hadn’t come through yet.

What were the chances he would be so lucky?

Pretty fucking low.

He had a weapon or two concealed on his person. He almost always did unless he was sleeping or showering, so he dropped into a crouch, pulling one of his smaller guns from his ankle holster.

Most of the field agents didn’t carry one. The men didn’t anyway. Because apparently having a small gun was an affront to their masculinity. 

Like a bullet ripping through the air gave a fuck about how dainty the gun it came from was.

When he straightened back up, he pulled his small dagger from his belt, mostly handle with a little triangle of sharpened metal at the end but it would take less than that to sever a carotid. 

Bracing his dagger hand under his gun, he kept the barrel pointed towards the ground as the elevator doors opened upon a blissfully empty hallway.

There were no more hints that anything was wrong.

No more blood, no bullet holes in the walls, no mud streaked footprints on the carpet, nothing out of place.

That didn’t stop his heartbeat slowly climbing as he approached his apartment door.

He’d have loved to hover for a few moments, listening in to see if he could hear anything but of course the thing was soundproofed. 

Well, there was nothing left for it, he had to go in.

He’d been stuck in a safehouse for long enough before, he’d be damned if he put himself back in one willingly.

Plus, it’s not like he knew someone was in his apartment.

It could be nothing after all. 

Yeah, right.

All doubts left his mind when he lowered his hand to unlock his front door, palming his dagger and tightening his fingers around his door handle to activate the unlocking mechanism through his biometric security.

But only one lock clicked open. 

Just one sound.

Not the multiple quiet whirrs and clicks that should be audible.

Which meant someone else had opened his door while he was out.

So someone was inside. 

Or had been inside and since left.

“Fuck.” Steve cursed to himself under his breath.

He fucking hated sweeping his apartment for bombs or poisons spread onto surfaces.

It was so fucking tedious.

He just wanted to collapse on his couch and continue to drink his problems away, at least for a little bit.

Well no chance of that now. 

Steve let go of the handle, allowing the door to swing open and gripping his dagger again under his gun, wrists locked across one another as he pointed the barrel around every corner before stepping through. 

Immediately his eyes zoned in on the difference. 

His lovingly reupholstered couch had an unmoving and silent shadow of a body spilled over the cushions. 

Almost as if they could be asleep.

He couldn’t tell who it was in the darkness.

Panic gripped him, crawling up his throat as he went through the mental checklist of who it could be, who could have been left there as a message to him, a warning to stop pursuing.

Could it be any of the kids, any of his fellow agents?

Robin?

But he’d only just seen her, they wouldn’t have had time, right?

Plus, they used code names. Anyone who had overheard them talking would only know her as Birdie and outside of work they just looked like any two friends?

How could they know she was his guy in the chair?

They couldn't, right?

He’d only just seen her, it couldn’t be her?

Steve was just about to take another step forward to get a better look when the shadow moved.

A pained, wheezing voice called out to him.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Part 1 Part 9 AO3

Schedule Update Post

Divider by firefly-graphics

@geekymagicalpotato @estrellami-1

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the STWG for their motivation

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #penny00dreadful #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #fanfic #pennys anniversary event #spies au #spy steve harrington #robin buckley #guy in the chair robin #cat and mouse spy fic #assassin eddie

[facelessxchurch]

Headcanons: The Red Right Hand

• Serpine is one of only a handful of people who ever gained the red right hand and not only bc it's a forbidden technique even among necromancers. Powerful magic like this takes a price not everyone is willing or able to pay. If you want to cause pain, you'll need to endure pain as well.

-> For one, the process of creating the red right hand is excruciating and requires a high pain tolerance and self-discipline.

-> Second, even if the ritual is a success the red hand might not work for its user. For it to function you must have the sincere will to kill and to cause pain. Any second thoughts, hesitations or any other form of reluctance and the technique will fail (think the three unforgivable curses from HP). This is a technique only someone sure of their own sadism would ever attempt to learn.

• That also means that the red hand is safe to touch as long as Nef has no interest in killing you and prevents him from killing anyone on accident.

• Despite that everyone (apart from Mevolent) still gets nervous when he takes the glove off.

• (That's why his coup failed. He tried to kill Mev with his red hand, but when he hesitated it stopped working.)

• Nef always wears a pair of black leather gloves bc wearing one glove would look odd and make him stand out, which could get in the way of him manipulating and charming his way to his goal.

• Even after the ritual is completed the hand will never stop hurting though the pain did dull with time. Nef got used to it eventually.

• But the more he uses the hand the more it hurts (nerfs the hand so he can't just one shot kill everyone). The worse the pain gets the longer it will take him to recover from it. Being masochistic as well as sadistic Nef revels in the pain he has to endure as much as the pain he causes but once it surpasses a certain level he'll require pain-numbing leaves which he always carries for cases like this. If he is desperate enough to use his hand until he himself ends up screaming on the floor, curled around his red hand he is long past the point where pain leaves will help.

• The Red Hand is the ultimate "I will shatter myself to cut you with the shards" which fits Nef and his spiteful, self-destructive tendencies so well.

• While the shadows necromancers use are magic fuelled by death, the red hand is pure death magic.

The Ritual/Learning the Technique

The ritual involved him having to flay his own hand. He needed to do everything himself or it won't work

There is no need to use the right hand for the technique to work. It just happens that Nef is left-handed. For one it would be foolish to do something like this to your dominant hand. But also, flaying yourself is hard enough with your dominant hand, let alone your other. Imagine the strength of will it took for him to calm himself and try to suppress the shaking of his hands as he kept cutting.

During the ritual, the use of anything that would dull the pain is strictly prohibited.

As if being flayed isn't bad enough, he had to coat his hand in a mix of oils and herbs which burned like hell. They prevent the exposed flesh from getting infected or bleeding out and offer the protection that normally the skin would have provided. It also prevents it from healing.

All through the ritual he has to repeat the incantations Tenebrae dictated to him in a magic language he only half understands due to its age and lack of access to the resources he would need to fully understand it despite his best efforts to obtain them.

Unbeknownst to Nef the temples have the missing texts needed to fully learn the language which is how Tenebrae was able to to change the incantations so the red hand would temporarily kill any necromancer it was used on before resurrecting them. This would ensure Skul's survival as well as protect the temples (including himself) from Nef should he decide they outlived their usefulness.

The ritual to learn the technique is written down in the Grimoire of a dark mage and former leader of the Irish Necromancer Temple which is why they still have it long after his passing and can use it without triggering the protection curse placed upon it. The curse is the only reason Nef didn't force them to hand the Grimoire over. He can either deal with breaking a curse or stay friendly with the necromancers. The latter seemed less suicidal.

The Grimoire is presumably still hidden in the abandoned Irish temple somewhere.

#Nefarian Serpine #skulduggery pleasant #red right hand #headcanon #Nefarian Serpine Headcanon #magic

[cannebady]

I'm thinking about hands.

Perhaps, once the world has been saved again, apologies made and bridges mended, they may find themselves tangled up among soft sheets; demonic whip cord strength wrapped in the strong arms of an angel made to protect.

Crowley awakes to the feeling of soft, strong hands stroking his own long fingers. Up and down and back again, warm and solid and dearly missed. It's been awhile since he's allowed his corporation to feel things. Much easier to deal with an angry press of plump lips if one miraculously forgets what feeling is like all together.

For millions of years they've been leaning in, then drawing away, ending up mostly at arms length, and now Crowley can't name many parts of him that aren't drowning in contact and it's smashing his focus to shit.

It's more that he can't stop focusing on Aziraphale's damnable hands, which have not ceased to stroke his own (he tries not to think about what his spindly fingers feel like, mind a cloud of, does he like it, am I nice to touch, fuck), continuing to learn the landscape of Crowley's digits by fingertips alone, and sending Crowley's higher order functioning on a one-way trip to parks unknown.

He's never woken up with someone before, is the thing. Never had his latent hunger for contact so immediately sated upon waking. In the liminal space between sleep and dream, Crowley's corporation took the contact offered and reconnected his dulled out synapses and now he's awash and overwhelmed and, dare he say, happy enough that he might just yell or cry or pass out.

He's shivering, he realizes, which Aziraphale must be able to feel. Real demonic, him, shaking in the arms of one of the holy host (a former supreme archangel, even) but he challenges anyone to get this much attention, this much affection, after years of starving and not crumble to pieces.

Those awful, wonderful, healing hands grip him suddenly, lacing thick, soft fingers through his own (providing cushion for them, a safe place to land after so long untouched, it's been so long), and a deep, sleep-rough-but-proper voice speaks into his ear, "I've got you my darling, I'm right here."

It's like a balm on Crowley's fraying nerves and he makes a noise that hides precisely none of that thought.

"I won't be parted from you, my dear. Not again. Never again."

It's exactly what he needs to hear and it flays him a bit that he's this vulnerable. Again.

But maybe this is the way forward. Their way forward. Maybe he needs to have a little faith (hah!).

He remembers a stage in a bygone era, his trembling finger on the trigger and "Trust me," on the angel's lips. He remembers that he did, and that he was right to.

Decision made, he lets his fingers curl Aziraphale's in, tight, to hold and to keep.

His reward is a kiss on his jaw, right below his snake, and a sound of complete contentment from the being holding him close, safe from the world and his own insecurity.

Things are wont to change, Crowley muses as he drifts off again, not least of all himself. Perhaps now, he's not changing alone.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #my fic #ineffable husbands #good omens fic #ineffable spouses #go2 spoilers #Sort of #Go2 compliant