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#the dark timeline the wicked one

yanderestarangel · 4 months

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A/N:That's a really hot request! I love writing gang!bang x reader, sorry if it's a little bad, I did my best, sorry if it was too long too - thanks for the request<3

| PS: The nominations for each 'Bi Han' are: 'OG!Bi Han' - bi han from the reader's 'original' timeline, 'Titan!Bi Han' - bi han from the alternative timeline who appears at the end of the game helping liu kang in some endings, 'Dark!Bi Han' - fully corrupted bi han and also from an alternate reality. |

TW: v!sex, handjob,oral (f!re), double!blowjob, cum!play, face!fuck, they/them used, voyeurism, exhibitionism, threesome, gang bang, sub reader, aggressive sex, praise, degradation, dumbfication, afab anatomy, titan!bi han,og!bi han, dark!bi han x reader , sub!reader, smut, nsfw, little plot in final cut.

⸺ It would be an understatement to say that you weren't surprised when you saw your boyfriend take two people to your house, but they weren't two strangers... They were versions of himself. He introduced you to 'Titan Bi Han' a wiser, calmer and softer version of him, he was the same as your companion... But as if all the qualities were gathered only in him, without the 'rotten' part that the grandmaster had - and Soon after, it was the turn of 'Dark Bi Han', the totally corrupted version of him, however, there was still something that shone there, something that only you knew.

You didn't question at first what everyone was doing there, after all, you trusted your boyfriend, but you soon realized that it wasn't just a (a) normal visit... By the way each look devoured you... After all, Bi Han was a man jealous, but it was okay to share your partner, if you with other versions of himself... Right? You tried to protest a little... Telling your boyfriend - 'OG!Bi Han' that it was too much to have three men in your body at once, but they soon reassured you... Well, not all of them.

⸺ OG!Bi Han smiled, his eyes darkening with desire as he approached you. "-Don't worry, love. We'll take it slow and make sure you're comfortable every step of the way," he said, his voice low and seductive. Titan!Bi Han nodded, a gentle smile on his face. "-Yes, we want you to enjoy every moment, darling. We'll make sure to please you in ways you've never imagined," he murmured, his fingers gently tracing your arm.

Dark!Bi Han, on the other hand, wore a wicked grin as he closed the distance between you. His touch was rough, his fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head back. "-I don't care about your comfort, little one. I want to ravish you, use you for my pleasure," he growled, his breath hot against your ear. The contrast between the three versions of your boyfriend heightened the anticipation and excitement coursing through your veins.

OG!Bi Han leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss. "-We'll start with something simple doll face," he whispered, his voice dripping with anticipation. His hands wandered, one slipping beneath your shirt to caress your breasts, while the other trailed down to tease the sensitive skin at the hem of your pants.

Titan! Han's touch was tender as he pressed himself against your back, his hands trailing along your curves. He nibbled on your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "-I want to explore every inch of your body, my love. To worship you and make you feel incredible," he murmured, his voice filled with adoration for you.

Dark!Bi Han's touch was possessive and demanding, his fingers digging into your hips as he pressed his body against yours. "-You're mine to use, to fuck, little thing.." he growled, his breath hot against your neck. His lips traveled down, leaving a trail of cold kisses along your collarbone - They took their time, savoring every moment, as they brought you closer to the edge of pleasure with their skilled touches and sinful whispers. You were surrounded by a whirlwind of desire, lost in a sea of pleasure that only intensified with each passing second - As the intensity built, OG!Bi Han took the lead, guiding you to the bed, he positioned himself between your legs, his hands gently parting your folds as he leaned in to taste you. His tongue flicked against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body his lips closed around your sensitive bud, sucking and teasing it with expert precision.

Meanwhile, Dark!Bi Han held his throbbing cock in front of your mouth, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided himself between your lips. His length filled your mouth, stretching you as you eagerly took him in. Your tongue swirled around him, tasting his salty essence as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each rhythmic movement. Dark!Bi Han groaned with satisfaction, his hips rocking gently against your mouth. "-I've missed you more than words can express... And I'm going to fuck you until you're completely ruined, completely mine." - You hadn't understood his comment... yet. You decided to focus on pleasure, even though that phrase was playing in your mind, you tried to read the ghostly eyes of that corrupted version of your partner, but you found nothing but longing and lust.

Titan!Bi Han, not wanting to be left out, positioned himself next to you, his hand wrapping around his erect shaft. He moaned softly as you took control, your fingers gliding along his length, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive him wild. You could feel the heat radiating from his cock, the pre-cum slick against your fingertips as you stroked him, matching the pace of your mouth on Dark!Bi Han. "-Fuck..mmpmh- you're so pretty- yes... Just like that baby" OG!Bi Han increased the pressure of his tongue against your clit, his movements becoming more urgent and deliberate. Dark!Bi Han groaned, his hips thrusting into your mouth as he neared his climax. Titan!Bi Han's grip tightened around your hand, "-Yes fuck- I'm going to cum, keep those pretty little hands around my dick... fuck you're so good at this my bunny..."

And then, in a glorious crescendo, pleasure washed over all of you. Your body convulsed with ecstasy as your orgasm crashed through you, waves of lust radiating from your core. Dark!Bi Han released his load into your mouth, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum. Titan!Bi Han's cock pulsed in your hand, warm cum spilling over your fingers. And OG!Bi Han continued to lap at your sensitive clit, prolonging the pleasure until you were left breathless and spent. "-This isn't over yet doll..." He wasted no time in taking you on all fours, positioning himself behind you. Your body quivered with anticipation as he lined himself up with your wet entrance. With a firm thrust, he plunged into you, filling you completely. A gasp escaped your lips. Dark!Bi Han, ever the dominant one, stood before you, his eyes filled with a primal hunger. He relished in the power he held over you, his voice dripping with a deliciously degrading tone. "-You are an insatiable little whore.." he growled, his words sending shivers down your spine. "-Take his cock like a good little fucktoy. Show us how much you crave it."

Dark!Bi Han and Titan!Bi Han positioned themselves in front of you, their erect members proudly on display. You wanted to please them both, to take them deep into your mouth and show them the desire and passion you felt. With determination, you took them both in your hands, feeling their warmth and hardness against your skin. Your lips parted, and you eagerly engulfed both their cocks, alternating between them, giving equal attention to each. The taste of their arousal filled your mouth, their moans of lust spurring you on. As you struggled to accommodate both of them, your mouth stretched wide, taking in the delicious sensation of their lengths moving against your tongue. It was a delicious torment, the dual pleasure of being filled by both Dark!Bi Han and TiTan!Bi Han, their hands gently threading through your hair, guiding you with each rhythmic movement. You could hear praises being moaned and whispered, your knees hurt, your eyes were streaming tears and your pussy was drooling on OG!Bi Han's cock, you were being filled by all of them, the hot and cold sensation would almost make you pass out, if not it was the painful and delicious occupation of the dicks of the alternative versions of the grandmaster. Dark!Bi Han's hips bucked, a low groan escaping his lips, as he spilled his essence into your mouth. The taste of his release was both familiar and new, a delicious reminder of the intimacy you shared. Titan!Bi Han followed suit, the intensity of his orgasm, but he withdrew from your mouth, cumming on your face, and giving a light erotic slap with his cum-stained dick on your face.

"-Cum in their cunt... breed them like the little slut they are..." Dark!Bi Han told his counterpart, who started fucking you with all his intensity again, you couldn't take it anymore, looking for support in Titan!Bi Han while your cyromancer boyfriend filled you with cum, making you cry with pleasure. Your body hurt so much, you actually felt like you were going to pass out, as you saw a melancholy look coming surprisingly from the corrupted version of your boyfriend... Dark!Bi Han, a chaste kiss was left on your cheek by him, while Titan!Bi Han spoke something for the original version of your boyfriend, a 'I'm sorry' was whispered by the dark ninja, a small tear was left by him on your sweaty skin. You managed to regain consciousness and put together some loose sentences spoken by Asian men - you realized that your boyfriend, had allowed both to experience you intimately because in their reality, your version had tragically passed away. You were the only living version of yourself left, and they sought solace and connection with you, the closest thing to the love they had lost. Your heart found as you absorbed the weight of their sorrow. It was a bittersweet revelation - You reached out, your hand trembling slightly, and cupped Dark!Bi Han's cheek, his hand finding its place on your other cheek. His touch was gentle... but cold...deadly cold, his voice filled with pain. "-Thank you.. It means more than you can imagine."

You soon saw the two versions leave with your boyfriend, both giving advice and strategies on how to prevent your death... but they knew that deep down, there were fates worse than death, and that unfortunately... fate is inevitable.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

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meggahamicide · 2 months

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Okay, i've decided that i'm just gonna drop/dump some lore on Vermin, so if you're interested, read below! It's really long!

...o.0.O.0.o...

Personality:

Like canon-Leo's head-cannons, Vermin hides his true emotions behind a smile, but their differences are in the execution. Vermin's smiles are more wicked, more cruel, and he find amusement in making people fear him, having experience in getting people to listen to him by intimidating them.

He pretends to be indifferent to how the brothers act around him, but always keeps an eye out for any signs that they aren't as they say they are. Donnie specifically.

Big emotions are a no-no, so he hides them behind a passive face, empty of anything he's feeling so he can convince those he's talking with that he feels nothing, that he is unaffected by any stressors and anxiety. If anything get's too overwhelming, he retreats to a hidden corner to wait it out and tries not to remember how Draxum treated him when he let his emotions get the better of him.

Because he was raise without certain privileges, he gets extremely giddy around new experiences, such as sampling new foods and trying out video games and skateboarding. It's probably the only time he lets his guard down because he's so entranced by whatever is happening he forgets that he's not supposed to be showing emotion.

...o.0.O.0.o...

Relationships:

Raphael:

With Raph, Vermin just doesn't know how to deal with him. An injury brings Vermin to the lair and Raph is the one who heals him, but Vermin in uncertain whether or not he can trust someone with such obvious strength he can easily use to harm Vermin. He doesn't understand why Raph is so kind nervous when he could dominate his enemies.

Michelangelo:

Mikey is the one Vermin accepts the easiest other than April. Mikey has a way to handle Vermin without being too invasive and without threatening the slider in any way shape or form and eventually shows Vermin that there is kindness that is not expected to be repaid. He also helps Vermin lean into his chaotic mindset without it becoming harmful to others, like teaching him how to prank the other brothers.

And of course, Vermin loves trying his food, so Mikey basically tempts the slider like he might a feral cat.

Donatello:

Donnie is the one Vermin has the hardest time accepting. He's convinced he can easily beat the soft-shell in a fight, but once he discovers that Donnie is a scientist, he becomes wary of him, skittish and uncomfortable whenever he's around. He knows that there are other ways to get someone to obey than simply fighting.

It takes Donnie being patient and showing him that he means no harm over time that earns his trust. The softshell just has to break through the notion that all scientist are evil and only seek to destroy that which is closest to them. Donnie even goes as far as to promise to never let anything happen to Vermin ever again.

April O'Neil:

The first one to show kindness when Vermin leaves Draxum's lab. She shows the slider a side of society that he was being deprived of when he was with Draxum, helping him see that there is a place for everyone, that things don't need to hurt to be beneficial. She pretty much forcefully adopts him as her little brother and is even protective of him when he interacts with her other brothers.

Baron Draxum:

Was raised by Draxum. More info in the timeline.

...o.0.O.0.o...

Timeline:

Content Warnings: blood and injury, references to child abuse, loss of limb, needles, non-consensual drug use (kind of), non-consensual experimentation and surgery.

It gets dark, so be cautious of the warnings!

Age 0-4:

In the beginning, Lou Jitsu, later known as Splinter, only rescues three of the turtles, who eventually go by the name Donatello, Raphael, and Michelangelo. The remaining turtle, identified by his red markings, is picked up by Baron Draxum before the lab explodes, destroying his life work. The only remaining bit of his research is the tiny creature small enough in the palm of his hand.

Quick to find a place to stay and recover, the Baron begins working to piece together his research using his subject. He starts a book, scribbling down anything worth noting and refraining from any larger tests besides bloodwork and skin-scraping until the subject is larger, better able to withstand any more intrusive tests.

He begins raising the creature, claiming it as his own.

Age 5-8:

Called by the title Red, the slider reaches acceptable cognizance to begin training by the age of five. He is small, just below the Baron's knee, but he is intelligent enough to understand complex problem solving and language. Weapons training is less successful than desired, but that could be related to the subject's weaker limbs and child-like nature.

Baron Draxum is relentless in his education, always prepared to deliver swift punishment should Red be unable to comply with his desires. Red hates the punishment, often times covered in bruises from the extra training or with a headache from spending his nights in 'The Room,' but he is just as stubborn as his guardian, if not more so. He always seeks to make his boss proud, ignoring the voice that always tells him he's not strong enough, not good enough. Baron Draxum always has a reason for saying things like that, so Red knows he just has to try harder.

He's not exactly sure what a human is, but the Baron is convinced that he needs to kill them all.

Every other week, the Baron brings Red to another room where he 'collects samples.' Red doesn't know what they're for, but he's seen the elder gather some of his freshly peeled chutes and teeth when they fall off, always writing in that journal with a little turtle drawn on the front.

One night, when he's just turned eight, Baron Draxum leaves in a hurry. He's gone for hours, leaving Red to his own devices and wondering if maybe the yokai had finally got bored of him, wondering if he just left him behind because he couldn't satisfy him. Red tries not to listen to the little voice in his head that says maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's better if he stays gone.

Red doesn't see him until the next day, well into the night, and suddenly, he regrets ever thinking those nasty things of his guardian. The yokai is hunched by the door, missing an arm and looking very tired. Red runs to him, but the Baron doesn't even acknowledge him, holding a towel to his stump.

Red is crying. He knows he shouldn't, knows that tears mean weakness, but he's afraid for his boss, afraid of what is happening, because that's a lot of blood. He feels something well up in his chest as he sits next to his guardian, the feeling swelling into his lungs and arms, weaving through his bones and into his fingers, bright, blue light zapping over his fingers. Something guides his hand, pressing them against the yokai's injury and forcing the light into him.

He heals Baron Draxum.

Baron Draxum looks at him like he's solved the world's problems.

Age 9-10:

Test after test after test. Red is sure he's never been through so many tests, but he finally sees the Baron's pride and he wants to impress him, so he doesn't complain when the needle digs too far, or when the scalpel scrapes a little to much skin. This new power is good, that's all he knows. Baron Draxum calls it mystic energy, says that it was a power he was seeking all along, so Red doesn't complain when all of the test make him tired enough to pass out, or make him cry himself to sleep because his chest aches from how long he had to work. Baron Draxum is proud, proud enough to give him a portal sword and teach him how to use it, proud enough to hand him a pair of tonfa and guide him through the motions of building a shield, proud enough to smile when Red uses the kusari-fundo for the first time.

Red trains his new skill until he's sick, until he can't stand, until he can't feel the first time Baron Draxum uses that strange, green liquid on him.

Baron Draxum was proud.

Age 11-13:

Red is pretty sure his name isn't Red any more. It's Vermin. At least, that's what the Baron has started to call him.

Ever since he stopped being able to use mystic energy without fainting, Baron Draxum has stopped using that old name. Now he was a pest, a creature incapable of healing, or portaling, or simply making things float. He is weak.

Baron did something while he was sedated; took apart his plastron and looked around inside. Vermin thinks he was looking for what was so wrong with him, why everything the slider does ends up in failure. He now has a shiny new plate of metal on his chest and a paranoia of falling asleep.

He lost count the amount of times he was put to sleep, but every time he woke to something different, and injection of mutagen transforming his body while he was so out of it he couldn't even open his eyes. His toes and fingers become more flexible, grow sharp talons attributed to some sort of owl. His tongue becomes forked, able to scent things by merely breathing. His hearing and eyesight become sharper, a fox's DNA granting him night vision. He becomes stronger, faster, more agile, but it's never enough.

Vermin's starting to think that it never was going to be enough.

Vermin is awake when Baran Draxum puts in the ports, ignoring how painful it is and preferring to strap Vermin to a table while he digs into the slider's neck and arms, leaving six, shiny new devices embedded in his skin. The Baron has Vermin carry around a canister of green liquid on his back, a 'empyrean variant' he said, and with a click of a button, the canister sprouts tubes that dig into his ports, releasing the substance into his bloodstream. It hurts, floods his system with fire, but Vermin was used to pain. Now he just has a few more scars to show for it.

The substance grants him more power, more strength, more speed. His senses, already sharp, become that much more, overwhelming his sensory intake, but he learns how to fight past the side-effects. Missions outside of the lab become easier, training obstacles the Baron create become simple to dispatch, he always hurts but there is no other option.

It's always been the Baron and him, but maybe... maybe it doesn't have to be.

He's tired of hurting, tired to running himself to the ground, tired of covert missions that paint Baron Draxum as the ultimate threat when he's doing all the work, tired to sneaking around New York City in a futile attempt of gathering information that will likely never be useful. He tired of being compared to the experiments that didn't live through the first test, he tired of living up to a trio of dead beings that weren't even strong enough to compete with him. He tired to the punishments, of the bruises, of the empty room, of the nightmares, of the expectations.

He's just tired.

On the morning of his fourteenth year, Vermin comes to the conclusion that Baron Draxum isn't the be-all-end-all, that his ideals do not have to be his own. It fills him with a giddiness that leaves him trembling, his heart pounding.

In the middle of his fourteenth year, Vermin leaves.

Age 14:

The first person Vermin officially meets a human named April O'Neil.

Age 16:

...Vermin is starting to think his name was meant to be Leonardo all along.

#art #drawing #rottmnt #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #sketch #update #rottmnt vermin au #finally some lore #this turned out a lot longer than i wanted and yet still feels like i didn't explain enough

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ageingfangirl2 · 1 month

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You Can't Hurt Me! Haruchiyo Sanzu (Tokyo Revengers)

You work in a coffee shop, another day of being bored and fake smiling at customers, until a pink-haired man comes crashing through the window and meets his match. Sanzu x Reader (Bonten Timeline)

'Only two more hours until I can close this place,' you mutter under your breath, leaning on the counter with your hands on your face.

Your eyes roam lazily over the scattered handful of customers in the coffee shop. A loved-up couple in the corner huddled together whispering and blushing, a few businessmen and women tapping away at their phones, and a wannabe writer who practically lives here. All day everyday just like you, you think gloomily.

Still leaning on one hand, you tap your fingers on your other hand impatiently on the counter, musing over ways you could close the shop early for the day. You had three options that sprung to mind; one, you could make up an excuse about a gas leak since the building down the road had one a month ago, two, act crazy so everyone leaves and you potentially get fired, or three, bide your time patiently so you earn every dime of your paycheck.

You decide on option three, blowing out a loud sigh. You needed the money, you couldn't afford to lose this job in the current economy. Making coffee wasn't your ideal life, the job wasn't that hard, it just got boring in the late afternoon when the crowds thinned and you were left to your own devices.

You pick up the rag over your shoulder, deciding to wipe the counter down one more time when a loud crash startles you and snaps you out of your thoughts.

A man quite literally comes flying through the window, sending glass shards across the room, luckily there were no customers in those window seats. Customers scream in terror, as the man, bloodied and bruised rises to his feet, but unlike everyone else, you weren't terrified because things just got interesting.

As if he knew you were watching him, his eyes snap in your direction, his gaze fierce and piercing. You could see why people would be scared of him because he had interesting scars around his mouth and screamed 'mafia' vibes. But right now all you could think about was how you had another mess to clean up and your boss wasn't going to be happy.

'Will you stop dripping blood all over my clean floors?' you ask, voice monotone as you meet his gaze.

He growls, his voice dark and dripping with menace, 'Excuse me?'

'I just mopped,' you reply, and stand up straight, stretching to work out some kinks in your back from leaning over.

He reaches around his back, pulls a gun from the waistband of his trousers and points it directly at you, a wicked grin creeping onto his lips. At this point what few customers had stayed to gawk flee from the shop leaving the two of you alone.

You stare him down as he chuckles, 'It's just the two of us now.'

You nod, 'Great, I was looking for an excuse to close early.'

His grin wavers. He tries to take a step towards you but staggers backwards, wincing. Whatever fight he'd been in, it was catching up to him, 'quick. Help dress my wounds.'

He waves his gun at you with shaky hands, 'or I'll shoot you dead.'

You clear your throat and raise a single eyebrow, 'only if you ask me nicely sir.'

His eyes widen in shock, probably not used to being spoken back to, 'What did you say?'

You sigh loudly again, imagining being anywhere but here right now, 'did your hearing get damaged when you came crashing through the window?'

'NO!' He snaps.

You motion behind him towards the front door, 'Come on, then. Walk outside, and enter with a better attitude. I'll treat your wounds, but you have to be respectful.'

Confusion, anger and something else flash across his face while you watch him with disinterest.

'Who do you think you are? Telling me what to do,' he waves his gun at you again as he speaks.

Your tiredness turns into anger, 'and who the hell do you think you are? If you don't want to bleed out, you need to...ask...me...nicely.'

He stares at you, his mouth agape, speechless. Then he grits his teeth, 'Fine. Will you please kindly help me with my wounds?'

You smile a little, 'there, was that so hard?'

You pull out the first aid kit from under the counter and walk around the counter holding it in front of you as you carefully approach him. You reach out to pull off his suit jacket, but he flinches away.

'What are you doing?' he gasps.

You roll your eyes, 'I need to be able to see the wounds to treat them.'

He blinks a couple of times, realisation dawning on his face, 'Oh, right...go ahead...'

You extend your hand again slowly as if he were a dangerous animal that might bite. This time he lets you help him out of his jacket which you place over the back of a nearby chair, while he winces.

You let him remove his waistcoat, tie and shirt which was bloodied. It was a lot to take in coming face to face with his bare chest, he was in good physical shape. You'd think he was carved out of stone if it wasn't for the warmth that came off his body reminding you he was human. You quickly tell your brain to get out of the gutter with dirty thoughts, seeing the amount of blood on his chest, there was a lot of it.

The main wound was on his right ribcage, and looked like someone had stabbed him, but he had other cuts and gashes across his arms, and even his face, but some of those could have been from being thrown through a glass window.

You take a deep breath, 'let me guess, I'd hate to see the other guy?'

'Other guys,' he grumbles

You pull out a disinfectant wipe and dab at the cut on his face just to the left of one of his scars.

'FUCK YOU! OW!!!' he shouts.

You pull the wipe back in surrender, 'sorry, sorry,' you mumble, 'I should have warned you that this might sting a little.'

He grunts, and you move back in to dab the cut with a much more gentle touch, 'do you have to?'

You bite your lip, trying to hold back your laughter, he's awfully scared for a tough guy, 'if it gets infected, it's going to hurt a whole lot more.'

You try to quickly clean the smaller cuts and gashes not wanting him to lash out at you because he couldn't handle a little pain. After throwing out the bloody wipes, you unroll the bandage and start to tackle the deeper wound on his ribcage. He grunts and grimaces as you wrap the bandage tighter and tighter around his body.

'You really should go to the hospital, looks like this might need stitches,' you observe, as you wrap, noticing some blood seeping through.

He huffs, 'I couldn't care less about how I look.'

You stop your work and pull back looking at him with your own grin. His perfectly styled pink hair and smart clothes, all screamed I care, 'sure you don't.'

You cut the excess bandage and tape it down, 'how did you get into this mess if you don't mind me asking.'

He eyes you suspiciously, 'what do you care?'

You shrug your shoulders, 'Call me curious. Maybe I'd like to avoid ending up in a similar situation if it isn't safe around here anymore.'

He scoffs, trust me, I don't think you need to worry about that.'

You match his scoff, 'why not?'

He eyes you up and down smirking, 'You don't seem the type to get into trouble.'

You chew your lip, weighing up his words, 'Is that a compliment or an insult?'

He shrugs, 'You decide.'

You smile and puff out your chest proudly, 'compliment then.'

You watch him put his shirt back on along with the waistcoat which he leaves open, before slowly and carefully putting his jacket back on with the tie now in the pocket. When he's done you take a step back and finally take in the messy scene around you, 'now you can help me clean this place up.'

His mouth hangs open, 'you want me to what?'

You motion around you at the broken glass and blood, 'Clean up. Look at the mess you made. I've had a long day...a long week... and an even longer year.'

You slump down into a nearby chair, suddenly feeling the full weight of your exhaustion after the small adrenaline rush.

He shakes his head, 'do you think I care?'

You click your tongue, 'I don't know. I don't care.'

His brows furrow together, 'why aren't you afraid of me?'

You shrug a shoulder, 'I'm too tired to be afraid of you right now.'

He squints at you, curiosity in his eyes, 'You should be terrified of me. You should be begging me to spare your life.'

He prowls towards you, wearing a menacing grin, 'Don't you know who I am? Don't you know who I work for?'

'Enlighten me then,' you reply, back in your monotone voice from before.

His eyes narrow to snake-like slits as he takes in your bored expression, 'I'm one the most powerful and dangerous men you'll ever meet. I'm Haruchiyo Sanzu.'

You blink a couple of times, you couldn't care less who he thought he was, you hadn't heard his name before or even seen him around his area before.

He fingers the gun which was back in his waistband, 'I could hurt you so bad. You'd wish you were dead.'

You roll your eyes which you'd done a lot during this encounter, 'Sanzu, is it? I work in customer service. You can't hurt me in any way that matters.'

He looks frozen, almost like a deer in headlights. You manage to make yourself stand up and take off your apron which had his blood on and fling it on the table ready to call it a night.

'You--You don't--' he stammers, and this time when he eyes you up and down there's something different in his eyes, like he's seeing you for the first time.

You put your hands on your hips, ready to hand back any crap he decided to throw your way, 'What?'

He looks flustered, and he can't stop staring at you so you continue speaking, 'What? Spit it out. I don't have all night.'

As you step around him he manages to speak, 'You look better than this place, that's all. You don't belong here.'

You look down at your feet, suddenly very aware of yourself. You try to keep the heat from showing on your cheeks at his genuine words. He was the first person other than yourself who'd told you that you were better than this place.

'What do you mean by that?' you ask.

'It was meant as a compliment, geeze you're annoying,' he snaps back.

You pout, 'didn't sound like one with your tone is all.'

You flip the sign on the door from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED' before heading back behind the counter to retrieve the brush and pan along with the mop bucket, ignoring Sanzu, though you could feel his eyes on you.

'Well, uh...I guess I'll be going then,' he says.

You glance over your shoulder at him to see he is checking out the name tag on your apron, '...nice name.'

You slap your hand down on the counter, at least pay for a coffee, you've done enough damage.'

He continues to stare at you with the same shocked expression, that seems to have a begrudging respect undertone, you guess he'd never come across somebody quite like you.

'Okay, fine,' he says calmly, and approaches the counter taking his wallet out of his back pocket instead of the gun.'

'Err...wh-what do you want?' you stutter, not expecting him to take up your offer or even pay.

'Surprise me,' he replies, a lazy smirk on his lips.

He knew he was affecting you, maybe getting the upper hand on you after your attitude towards him earlier. So you decide to make him the simplest drink, not just because you are lazy, but because you think it suits him.

'Double espresso, black,' you call out, putting the drink in front of him.

He picks it up and sips it, his eyes sparkling at you over the cup's rim. He doesn't make any noise of approval or disapproval. Instead, he passes a crisp one hundred across the counter towards you, 'Keep the change.'

You gape at him, staring at the money, as he swiftly finishes the drink and throws the takeaway cup in the bin next to the counter. Wordlessly, he struts out of the shop with his head held high, leaving you with the mess he'd made.

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youatemylollipop · 11 months

Note

A smut with Mikey x fem reader please? I just read ur oneshot porcelain doll and got kinda horny tbh and just found myself wanting smth more explicit. 😏 U can ignore this if u want to, that’s completely alright! Also, I want it to be their first time? Like, it’s dark, sweet and consensual? 🙈 Reader missed Mikey and got so high and needy for him, but she isn't sober so Mikey decided not to go all the way with her and just satisfy her needs. 😳 Thank you! 🙏

A/N: I believe you are the one who made me horny.😳 Btw, you didn’t specify which Mikey you wanted it to be, so I kinda wrote about yakuza Mikey from the timeline where him and Takemichi hadn’t met yet.

Synopsis: Your boyfriend walks in on you masturbating. Nothing else to say, really.

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Characters: Sano Manjirō X Female Reader

⚠️ WARNING: Established relationship, first time, possessiveness, dark content, sort of, soft dom! Mikey, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f.receiving), fingering, drug use, Mikey uses angel and baby as petnames, MDNI!!

Word Count: 1.2K

As you breathed out, a cloud of smoke escaped your mouth, turning you into jelly. You didn’t know why, but suddenly a strange urge to slide your hand down your shorts and panties appeared as you thought of Manjirō. They way his long slender fingers would feel like, brushing over your oh so sensitive clit.

Your fingers are probably nothing compared to his, you think, but they will do for now. The feeling from the blunt does its magic as well, causing an unusual sensation of euphoria singing through your nerves. You simply continued to stroke yourself over your panties, hips jerking against your hands, whining Manjirō’s name with a timbre you didn’t know existed.

“Did you miss me this much baby? Miss me so much you couldn’t help but touch yourself at the thought of me?” Ah, and there he was in all his glory. His masculine frame leaning against the open door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with a wicked smirk.

You sat up as quick as lightning, removing your fingers from your needy little hole. A feeling of warmth spread across your cheeks, hands shielding your core as you did your best to hide yourself from his scrutinizing gaze. Toes curling as the male sauntered over to your vulnerable figure, leaning down to cup your now reddened cheek affectionately. “I asked you a question, angel.”

“Yes, but I didn't mean to-” The male hushed you, silencing you in one motion. He pushed you back down onto the mattress gently. Then he took the blunt from your grasp and made several puffs, while kneeling on the bed. There was no way he would leave his favorite girl all needy and desperate for his attention.

So Manjirō was quick to get into position, licking his lips as he removed your shorts and panties before laying between your open legs. Using his fingers to spread your swollen labia apart to see just how wet you had gotten for him. Then the blond scooped up your slick and spread it over your clit.

To him, your pussy is the prettiest little thing. Pillowy folds all wet—warm and sticky slick oozing from the center. The fat of your pussy lips felt so good when he cupped a hand over the mound. Your clit, all puffy, swollen, throbbing and oh so needy. Practically begging for him to touch it: like a siren, luring him into the depths of the ocean. Only for him to take and own however he wishes.

“Is my sweet little angel so needy she couldn’t wait till I got home?” He cooed mockingly, the tips of his fingers stroking your hole. A mischievous grin appeared on his handsome face as he leaned in to suck your clit before flicking it over.

A dizzy feeling evaded your senses as you were met with the sight of Manjirō between your legs. His arms are gripping onto your thighs while his head is buried between them. Busy making out with your pussy, sucking and licking it as if it was the greatest dessert he had ever tasted.

Your fingers curled into the bed sheets as you arched your back. Unable to speak as two of his long elegant fingers slid inside you. Oh, if only Manjirō knew how needy his girl was when high. It was such a pretty sight, but he had to be careful. Couldn’t let his dark impulses take over, since you were far too inexperienced to be able to handle it.

His girl was just too innocent and he had no other choice but to settle with satisfying her needs.

“What a pretty sight,” he murmured, rubbing two fingers over your folds, and gathering cream to your clit, the excess dribbling down the globes of your ass. He swallowed thickly. “Just look at it, [Name]-chin. Look what a mess your pussy has become.”

A startled and strangled cry escaped your lips at the sight of what was happening, causing him to stop and look up at you with a dark and lustful expression. That has you closing your thighs, but he tuts at you, snaking his hand to cup your cunt. “Hey, don’t be shy. It’s pretty—the prettiest.”

You wiggle and try to move away from him out of embarrassment, only for him to pull you back in and hold you down in place. Going back to gliding his tongue on your clit ever so slowly and gently, teasing you all the while staring into your glazed eyes, like a predator watching its prey.

He shifts his focus back to your pussy. Moving his face a little lower, his tongue starts to play with your hole, the wet muscle lapping at your essence and slithering its way into your tight little hole. Murmurs of how good you taste entering one ear and leaving the other.

He removes one hand from your thigh and brings it to play with your clit again, lightly pinching and rubbing it. Then he’s grinding his palm against it, the joints of his fingers getting all sticky and tacky with cum. He keeps grinding and grinding despite the noises of disapproval from you, despite the death grip of your plush thighs around his head, despite the frantic squirming of your hips against his face.

Soon at every swipe of his tongue and finger over your clit and clenching hole, a moan of pleasure escapes you. Manjirō’s tongue was sucking and licking over your clit, but only this time with more force. His hand taking care of your clenching hole, and considering just how wet you already were, he easily slipped two fingers in. You bite your lips to stop the moans, but it turned out to be futile as Manjirō worked wonders with his tongue and fingers.

However, just listening to you moaning was not enough for the ash blonde anymore. The male wanted to hear you scream in pleasure and come undone in his mouth. He wanted to feel your sweet honey like essence drip on his tongue. So he added another finger to your hole and started to fuck you even harder. Drilling them knuckle deep into you and curling them upwards to hit that precious spot of yours.

"Now, be a good girl and cum for me."

And as you finally cum, he focuses his hand in an angle that digs the heel of his palm over your clit. Your pussy throbs and twitches from overstimulation as you convulse. Back arching, eyes rolled back, mouth agape in a silent scream. Long legs twitching as you squirt your release like a broken fountain. Manjirō drinks up all that you give with great pleasure.

Your essence drips down from his chin as he raises his head and finally lets go of your legs. Your eyelids grow heavier by the second due to exhaustion from the earth shattering orgasm you just experienced. But right before you pass out, you hear him say something, and all you can do is nod your head at his question, a faint, satisfied smile grazing your lips.

"Did my sweet little angel enjoy her reward?"

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suzukiblu · 11 days

Text

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Jan behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

The hour goes pretty quick, either way, and Kon mostly keeps the kids distracted, and even a little bit entertained. He’s a performer at heart anyway, so he figures it’s his responsibility.

If it's not, he's gonna make it his responsibility, at least for the next hour.

A lot of people clear out of the camp in that hour in erratic fits and spurts, with alternate versions of their families or friends or just themselves, and Kon feels a little better about the idea of clearing out himself. He'll keep an ear on the camp until it's all cleared out, for sure, but at least he thinks it should be okay to leave it.

Jon needs–somebody, yeah, before something happens. Something always happens, when you're wearing the “S”.

Or you just find something that you have to happen to. Like, ethically speaking or whatever.

Kon figures he can keep an eye on Jon until either they all get home or this reality's Superman notices he's got an extra kid around. Assuming he's got a Jon here to recognize the heartbeat of, anyway. He probably does, if Kon's around and recognizable in the tabloids. Like, the timeline should be to that point, is all. And obviously Lois is gonna be a thing, so–yeah, he's gotta have a Jon by now. Maybe actually an older one than this one, come to think, but it's not like Clark wouldn't recognize his heartbeat anyway. Perfect recall and all, and he's had Jon's heartbeat memorized all his life.

Kon's pretty sure Clark still doesn't know his, but . . .

Never mind. Not important. Stupid thing to think about.

To care about.

Kon swallows. Keeps grinning for the kids, keeps coming up with new games for them to play, and waves goodbye to each one who gets collected by an aid worker and taken to whoever’s come to take care of them.

He wonders, again, if Ma and Pa would've come for him, if . . .

Stupid. Really, really stupid.

He wouldn't bother them with something that stupid anyway. He's a superhero. And he can take care of himself. He always has, hasn't he?

He'll take care of himself here too, even if . . .

Even if . . .

Kon tries not to think about . . . Kara. About Karen. Or “Paige”, or whatever she's going by now.

If she's still alive to be going by it, anyway.

If he isn't currently following in her footsteps, and won't ever see his reality again. Or her. Or . . . anyone he knows.

People who look like them, sure. People who came from the same concept of a person as them.

But not his own versions of them.

Not the versions who he belongs to.

He doesn't know what he'll do, if he can't get home this time.

He doesn’t . . .

He feels Rita approaching with his TTK–recognizes the shape of her body and the cut of her hair and the specific chip in the corner of her clipboard–and glances towards her, and is mildly surprised by who she’s with. It’s someone he definitely recognizes, but it’s not anyone he expected. At least not here and now, anyway.

“Your ride’s here, sir!” Rita says, looking as relieved as every aid worker who’s come up with a local host for somebody. Well–understandably, he figures.

“Hey, Rita. Hey, Alfie! No rest for the wicked, or just too many cooks in the kitchen again?” Kon greets with a grin, which is the easiest code phrase to use here that Tim gave him to start off with if he ever ran into an interdimensional Bat and the local Tim’s obviously gotta be the one who sent him, and Jon grabs onto his sleeve and blurts: “It’s dark this morning!”

Okay, Kon doesn’t recognize that one, but it’s definitely a Bat-phrase too. Jon was not particularly smooth about making it smooth, for one thing.

Alfred–impeccable as always in the full buttling uniform that Kon has maybe only seen him out of twice, and both of those times were blood-drenched emergency situations–smiles at them both without visibly reacting past that, though Kon hears his heartbeat spike in recognition. Since he was presumably expecting to see the pair of them, or at least him, Kon can only assume that’s code-phrase-related.

“Hello, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, smooth and pleasant, and Kon . . . blinks. “Please allow me to escort you and your young charge to the manor.”

Wait.

What?

“Uh,” Kon says slowly. “O . . . kay? Uh–thanks, Alfie.”

“Of course, sir,” Alfred says, and his pleasant smile turns just a little less polite and a little more sincere. “Interdimensionally displaced or not, we’d hate to leave you out in the cold. No matter what time of night it is.”

Well, “out in the cold” is what Tim told him to look for in response to “no rest for the wicked”, and he’s betting the “time of night” comment is meant for Jon from the way the kid perked up at hearing it, so . . . yeah, alright then. This is apparently just what’s happening now.

#jan #wip: mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees

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wildemaven · 10 months

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bloom : one | joel miller

→ pairing: no outbreak joel miller x f!reader

→ WC: 2494

→ warnings: meet cute vibes, reader is single mom, small injury at work, Joel to the rescue using nontraditional techniques to help (I don't want to give it away), daughter is a teen and bleeds sarcasm, fluff and more fluff, mention of divorce and adoption.

→ a/n: some of you are probably like “wait, what is happening?!” i started this series on another account that i was using to take a break from this one. I had plans to finish this series out over there and then just abandon the account and move back here. but i love this series and want it to live here with my other work. so, im getting things set up so i can post part two later this week and move back to this account for good. also, this is series is a TLOU AU, so I've fudged all timelines and relationships to make it work for me. Ihope you like it, am very nervous to share it with you all.

two | series masterlist | main masterlist

You’re staring.

It would feel less awkward if it were somewhere else, anywhere but where you are right now. Like sitting a table away at a packed restaurant, enough people crowded around to lessen your obvious ogling of a handsome stranger, eyes locked on his profile as you hide behind the empty glass you’re pretending to sip from. The crossing of paths in a grocery store would also feel less awkward, a quick glance back over your shoulder after your carts squeeze through the nearly claustrophobic aisle, your gaze on him as he stares at the shelves filled with sugary snacks— he most definitely would have a wicked sweet tooth you think.

Unfortunately for you, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, it’s just you and him, alone in the store front of the floral shop— your floral shop.

He’d walked by the front window, stopping instantly to read the shop’s name in gold letters above the entrance, then hands cupped over his eyes and face pressed close to the glass contemplating the shop’s worthiness of his time.

It’s a corner spot, sitting at the crossroads of two of the town’s busiest shopping streets— prime location. Bold was a chance you took with painting the exterior black, even with the apprehension of the city council deeming it too “gothic” for the town's rather conservative appeal. The dark exterior paired with black and white striped awning over the door was the perfect balance of moody and romantic.

It was worthy enough, pushing the front door open he stepped inside, the automated bell signaling through the shop. The heaviness of his boots scuff across the wood floor a few steps, his broad body stopping in front of one of the cold displays that held an array of dramatic arrangements. His hands tucked securely into his pockets as he looks around aimlessly, it’s evident this isn’t a regular occurrence for him.

“Welcome to Wilder Floral. Is there anything I can help you with today?” You greet him from your workbench.

Your hands busily work to trim the ends and dethorn the stems of a bundle of antique mauve roses, one of your best sellers, then trimming off the lower leaves before placing them in a bucket of water.

“Not really sure at the moment. Just browsin’ for now.” His deep voice sounds through the small space, the raspy tone sending a tingle down your spine.

“Okay. Well, if you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask.” He nods to you, catching the way his gaze doesn’t immediately break from you, he gives you a half smile then continues to look over everything again.

You’re staring.

Your mind is filled with thoughts of only this handsome stranger, quietly watching him over the now full bucket of cleaned roses.

You note the way his hip cocks out to the side as he stands with his large hands secure against his small waist. His eyebrows pinch together briefly, a look of deep thought painted over his face accentuating the little crinkles around his eyes. After a moment, his beautiful face relaxes into a calmer expression.

You can make out every muscle that runs the length of his arms, the weight of the arrangement he’s now holding provoking the defined musculature. His arms lifting and turning the vase with ease, examining every detail of the floral design you created.

You’re still staring. You can’t help it though. Actually, you can, but your brain convinces you that you are just admiring, so that makes it more than okay— right?

“You know, if you take a picture it lasts longer!” A hushed voice pops up from behind you.

“Ouch!! God dammit, Ellie! Why do you do that?!” You yelp, tossing the rose stem you were holding onto the table.

“It’s too easy! You were lost in la la land over some grumpy guy looking at flowers. I saw an opportunity, so I took it.” She laughs, pushing your buttons brings her a weird satisfaction.

There’s a throbbing pain coming from your hand. Looking down you see part of a thorn had broken off and was now embedded deep into the pad of your finger— a rookie mistake at this point in your career. You wrap your other hand around the base of your fingers, hoping some pressure will elevate the pain.

“I’m glad you enjoyed this. Can you just go grab the first aid kit in the back, please!”

“Yeah, yeah. Try not to fall for him too hard while I’m gone— don’t think you have enough bandages to fix that mess.” She sulks away into the back room.

“Shit!” You hiss, the pain getting more intense and now radiating through your entire finger.

“You okay ma’am?” The handsome customer asks you, stealthy in his approach to where you’re standing, still clutching your hand.

He places the floral arrangement he was holding down on your work table, his feet still moving in an urgent manner until he is standing in front of you.

“Yeah— actually, no… The thorn broke off and it’s in there real good. It hurts and I’m trying really hard to not be a baby about it. Someone’s getting a first aid kit out of the back for me.” You hold your pained finger up to him.

“Do you want me to take a look at it?” His hands slowly reach out, your lips parted and ready to speak but words fail you, only managing to nod a response.

Your mind briefly wonders what Ellie is up to, but the thought vanishes instantly once his hands wrap around your wrist and he brings your injured finger closer to his face.

“My name is Joel.” He looks over to you, heat pricks over your cheeks as he holds your gaze. It’s a cosmic thing, his touch activating warmth you’ve longed for. A corner of his mouth lifts, you can’t help but fixate on the dimple that forms resulting in a barrage of flutters erupting in your chest.

“Hi Joel.” Giving him yours in return, his smile growing louder as he repeats it back to you softly, like he couldn’t wait to say it out loud.

He refocuses back on your injury. A pinched expression, similar to the one he wore earlier, is even more adorable up close— zeroing in on the small wound that was tormenting you.

Joel’s movements are dizzying, an unbridled enthusiasm that elicits a sudden burst of desire you hadn’t experienced in ages, but he senses you trust him at your willingness to let him take control of the situation. Bringing your finger to his mouth, he wraps his pillowy lips around the tip of your finger and sucks with a gentle pressure. You watch him unabashedly, completely mesmerized by the way he jumped into action, how his cheeks draw in from the suction.

Your eyes lock when he looks up from your hand, sensing your eyes already on him, his thumbs drawing circles over your wrist, soothing over your racing pulse, as he continues to suck at the fleshy pad of your finger. It feels nearly overwhelming, the fierceness of his warm brown eyes has an inebriating feeling blooming inside you.

A gasp shoots through your throat at the feeling of his tongue slightly flicks over the part of your finger that is in his mouth, pressing the back of your other hand against your lips, embarrassed by your reaction to the erogenous sensation.

The whole thing is over as quickly as it began. Joel is pulling your finger from his lips, his grip still holding on to your wrist as he lowers your arm down to your side. You watch as the tip of his tongue breaches his lips, his pointer finger and thumb picking at the small little thorn that was once lodged into your skin, now resting on his tongue. He rubs his lips together almost nervously, the weight of the whole situation kind of sinking in.

“Got it!” He rasps, holding the annoying culprit up between his fingers.

“How did you know that would work? I usually have to dig those out with tweezers. That was— wow, thank you.”

“I get splinters regularly— I’m a carpenter. Sometimes when I’m out on the job, gotta use what you have. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, just knew it needed to come out— the last thing you want is an infected finger.” He rubs nervously at the back of his neck, hoping he didn’t over step in anyway.

“No! Not uncomfortable in the slightest!! Thank you, seriously. Rose thorns can cause a mean infection too. I appreciate it—“

“I leave for two minutes and you’ve already moved onto second base with the guy?!” Ellie announces her reemergence, holding the first aid kit in her hands and a grossed out look on her face.

“Ellie!” Your body runs cold, completely mortified, ready to crawl into the nearest hole.

“He had your finger in his mouth— probably more like rounding to third if I’m being honest.”

You grab the kit from her hands, setting it on the counter, turning to see Joel still rooted in the same spot with his hands tucked into his front pockets and a tinge of red across his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry! Sometimes I think my daughter forgets she has a filter and that she can actively choose to use it before she speaks.” You try to make sure he isn’t the one who feels uncomfortable now.

“Adopted daughter, actually.” You roll your eyes at her need for technicalities. Adopted, yes, but daughter nonetheless. “Also, in case you were wondering, cause I’m sure you are, she’s single.”

“Ellie!” You look back at her with a sternness in your voice, eyes blown wide in hopes she picks up that she can stop at any point in time. Turning back to Joel, you mouth an ‘I’m sorry’, your shoulders dropping in defeat.

There’s an awkward silence that settles over the three of you. Joel looks like he doesn’t really seem to know how to diffuse the awkwardness at hand, Ellie has a shit eating grin she wears proudly when she knows she’s embarrassed you just enough, and you simply would like to evaporate into thin air.

“So, this is the part where you give your relationship status to her— makes this whole ‘her finger in your mouth’ thing feel a little less weird for all of us.” She has a point. You had been wondering that very thing, but how were you supposed to bring it up when he’s sucking a thorn out of your finger with his gorgeous mouth.

“Single— very much single.” He laughs at how forward she is, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “I do have a daughter, probably about your age too.”

“What, your wife die or something?” Ellie asks with zero hesitation.

“No. Just an ole fashion divorce. Anythin’ else you wanna to know?” He looks to Ellie, ready for whatever comes next.

She studies Joel for a beat, “Nope, that’s all.”

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful to what ever greater power decided to switch Ellie’s filter back on.

Ellie turns to head to the back room, where she had previously been working on her homework, but turns on her heels in the process to look back at Joel and you.

“One last thing, she needs to be wined and dined before you even think about kissing her.” Then she's gone before you can say anything else.

The awkwardness creeps back into the room, you’re not really sure how to come back from all of that. You open the first aid box, rifling through the contents for a cleaning pad and small bandage.

“She seems like a fun kid.” Joel decides to take the lead, watching you swipe the alcohol pad over your finger.

“She is— she definitely keeps me on my toes at all times. But, she’s got a big heart under all her sarcasm.” You tell him. You grab for the bandage, but Joel beats you to it, snagging it off the table and ripping it open before you get the chance.

You hold your finger out in front of you, ready for him to wrap it up properly for you, but instead of sticking gauze, your wounded finger is met with his plush lips for a few seconds.

“Obviously, a kiss to make it better.” He smiles again and you melt, biting at your lower lip as he wraps the dressing around your finger.

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Speaking of daughters— mine is the reason I came here in the first place. I was wanting to get this arrangement for her. She passed a test she’d been stressin’ about. Thought I’d get her a little something to celebrate her.” Joel points to the flowers on the cash stand that he had been holding earlier, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket and pulling out his credit card ready to pay.

“They’re on the house today.” You tell him as you walk up to your computer, imputing the information to zero out the sale.

“No— no, I can’t let you do that. Lemme pay for them please. Least I can do for all your time and talent you put in.” Holding his card out to you, insisting he pay in full.

“You practically saved my life,” A slight exaggeration, but he laughs anyway. “How about you come here for all your flowers in the future, instead of my competitors, and we’ll call it even.”

“I can do that. I might just have a need for flowers soon then, I’m sure I can find an excuse to come back for more— you think you can handle that?”

“Yeah— I can handle that.” Handing him the vase of flowers, hoping he does find an excuse to come back and tell you how much his daughter enjoyed them.

Joel walks a few feet in the direction of the door then stops, turning back to see you’re already busily back to work with a handful of flowers. He says your name, falling from his lips like sweet honey, and you don’t think you could ever get tired of him saying it the way he does. “I’ll be seein’ you around. Try to be safe until then, m’kay?”

“See you around Joel. I’ll keep the injuries to a minimum until then.”

“I’d prefer no injuries at all, actually.”

“I’ll do my best.”

You exchange goodbyes, watching him cross the street and get settled into his truck from the store front window. You’re not sure why you miss him, having only just met, but there’s a longing that’s started to burn inside your heart.

Joel’s truck merges onto the road, he takes one last glance in your direction, his hand thrown out the window waving at you as he drives off, planning his next visit so he can see you again.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #bloom series #no outbreak!joel miller #tlou au #pedrostories

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sapphicseasapphire · 2 months

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sooo Time is a God, like a literal God. How does that affect the timeline splits? And if Time knows the windfish, then does he know Oshus? Can he just see through time? (it'd make sense. it's in his name) -a very curious mutual who needs to know the extent of flying fish angst

Great question! As always, I rambled too long so look under the cut haha!

Time knows EVERYONE! He knows Oshus, he knows Zephos and Cyclos and the Wind Fish and literally every God! He knows spirits- he knows Ordona, Lanayru, Eldin, and Faron (Twilight Princess). Knows Levias, he knows Skyward Sword’s dragons. He knows Dinraal, Farosh, Naydra- and for a time, he even had a connection to the Light Dragon. Anything that is godly or intensely spiritual, he knows. Now, this “knowing” is more of a “sense.” He can feel their presence, he can speak to them. But he does not form relationships with the divine. They’re not friends. In fact, Time does his best NOT to be involved with them, presiding over his own dominion and keeping watch over the flow of time.

Time cannot merge timelines, but he can sure split them!! And travel between. Every action, even the smallest ones, creates alternate timelines. Twilight decided to keep his hair down today? Wild chose to make creamy meat soup for lunch instead of vegetable soup? Sky kept his feet firmly on the ground, deciding that the clouds were too dark to be safe flying? Literally every little thing creates alternate versions of each person- the Twilight that put his hair up, the Wild that made vegetable soup, the Sky who decided to risk it.

Time has the power to redo, but not the power to undo. He cannot erase those alternate versions of people. By merging timelines, he’d negate their existence. Time’s responsibility as a God is to manage all of these timelines- a mere servant of Nayru- and protect his people. He can’t snap his fingers and undo and action, but he can go back in time and nudge people onto a different path.

He can warn Twilight of a village up ahead that would be suspicious of his markings, encouraging to leave his hair down. He could tell Wild that his healing herbs should not be wasted in vegetable soup, suggesting an alternative. He can warn Sky of a wicked storm, begging him not to hurt himself. To the onlooker, this might just look like bare boned time travel: going to the past to change the future. But to Time, it’s less linear. He raises his ocarina to his lips and jumps between timelines, hoping that he can take his companions with him.

Now… that’s a whole other issue. Each time he hops between timelines, he is technically meeting DIFFERENT versions of his friends. This is not the Twilight he knows- he has his memories, his thoughts, he looks identical. He’s not exactly an imposter but he’s not the same. Twilight would not notice this change, but Time would. That kind of awareness weighs on a person. And, in Time’s early days as a God, he does not use this power often. It’s not to be taken lightly.

As far as being able to see through time, I’m going to give that a solid “kind of.” He cannot see the future. But. He can see the past. He can infinitely rewind and switch timelines for a more favorable outcome. Some might think that he’s all powerful- that he knows what actions to take to lead to a better future, but really it’s just trail and error. He never knows the outcomes of his actions, but he has to power to redo them a million times until it succeeds.

I hope this answered your question!

#the legend of zelda #chain as cryptids au #sapphire rambles way too long #I answered question #time is so complicated and so cool #I really hope I’m going him justice in this au #cryptid time #links meet au

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munsons-maiden · 2 years

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𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

Is there a better trope than patching up each other’s wounds while silently pining for each other? I hope you enjoy this chapter! - Love, Kiki 🖤

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | THEN. You’re the only survivor among the Mind Flayer’s victims, thanks to your friends - but after the Battle of Starcourt, you find yourself adrift in a sea of nightmares. Until an encounter in the woods with Eddie The Freak Munson offers an unexpected life line and turns your world upside down. NOW. Four months have passed since the winter night you walked out of Eddie’s trailer and his life for good. But when the mysterious headaches and nightmares return full-force and something wicked stirs in sleepy Hawkins, starting a witch hunt against Eddie, you realize that there are two things in this world that might be more persistent than you’d thought: Evil…and love. The story is told in two timelines: the past (after the Battle of Starcourt) and the present (during the events of season 4).

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending, fluff, smut, it turned into a fix it fic for ST4

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (you need to be 18+ to read this story!), angst with a happy ending, attempted assault, bullying, canon-typical violence

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | ~16 k (it’s easy to split the reading into chunks if you like)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | allusions to SMUT (only read if you’re 18+ years old! virgin!Eddie x virgin!reader), mentions of attempted assault, canon-typical gore & violence, blood

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

[Sunday, March 24th, 1986. NOW.]

With Eddie’s name ripping from your throat in a desperate scream, you barrelled through the door and into the boat house.

The first thing you saw in the half-dark inside, pale moonlight spilling through the boathouse’s open back to illuminate the scene in front of you, was Eddie.

His back was pressed against the furthest wall, cornered like a fox on a hunt by Jason and Andy. His ringed hands were wrapped around the wooden hilt of one of the old boat’s oars, raised like a spear to keep the two away from him, and his dark eyes, already wide with panic, screamed with raw terror as they met yours, as you lunged forwards – and a resounding “NO!”, ripped from his own throat to mingle with your scream when a pair of hands grabbed you from behind, pulling you back as Eddie made to dart towards you, but Jason and Andy blocked his path.

“Ed-“, you cried, but your words were cut off by a hand being clamped over your mouth, muting you, your desperate thrashing futile against this sudden chokehold you were locked in as a voice you recognized as Chance’s crooned into your ear, “Not so fast, slut.”

Even in the half-dark of the boathouse, with only the moonlight filtering in through the building’s open back to illuminate the gleeful sneer on Andy’s face, the menace glinting in Jason’s cold eyes as steely as that of the crowbar in his fist as he looked at you, you could see that Eddie was trembling, unshed tears of panic glittering in his huge dark eyes to mirror your own as your eyes locked across the small space.

“How did you get out of your cage, little birdie,” Andy drawled as Jason’s eyes bore into yours, icy shards of hatred and…something else as you struggled against Chance’s hold, his arms locked around you like creepers, holding you against him with such force that you felt the air being squeezed from your lungs, forceful enough that you feared your bones might snap any moment as his hand pressed harder against your mouth, rendering you mute and helpless. As helpless as Eddie in his own corner.

“Aw, look at this, Freak,” Jason said, ice-cold gaze never leaving yours as he twirled the crowbar in his hand, “Looks like your little slut got it bad for you, huh?”

“Maybe he fucks better than he looks,” Andy drawled with a lewd grin, eliciting a chuckle from Chance, his breath hot and wet against the back of your neck to make you flinch, more tears pricking your eyes as you watched Eddie avert his gaze from you at the memories roused by Andy’s gloating words.

Of kisses shared beneath the silver light of a star-splattered November night sky, of wandering touches and gentle whispers that ended in nothing but heartbreak and pain.

“You were a distraction, Eddie. An adventure. Did you truly think this could be real?”

“You don’t mean that. You said it meant something.”

“I never said that, Eddie. That was you. I just told you I wanted it.”

Andy Warren’s vile words were twisting the knife you’d plunged deep into Eddie’s heart that night.

The way Eddie had averted his eyes from yours at the jab hadn’t escaped Jason, told him everything he needed to know – and for a heartbeat, his lips curved into a malicious, gleeful little smirk as he drawled, “Look at that. Did the little slut have enough of you, after all? What did you think? That a cheerleader would want anything more from you than screwing around a bit?”

At the sight of defeat – pure, all-consuming pain and defeat in Eddie’s gaze as he held Jason’s, his trembling fists tightening around the oar he was holding raised between them – rage blazed through you.

You wanted to hurt Jason. You wanted to scratch out these ice-cold eyes, rip away the gleeful smirk, make him pay for all his small and big cruelties against Eddie.

But you were useless. Locked in Chance’s grip, muted by his hand clamped over your mouth, and so fucking useless.

When Eddie didn’t reply to Jason’s taunts and humiliations – didn’t reply because of course he believed them after everything you’d said yourself that night – Jason uttered a dismissive scoff.

It was still there, that chip in his pride because you’d rejected and fought him, had bitten and punched him in the face before Eddie had ripped him away from you – and no matter what he suspected had actually happened between the two of you, it was evident that you might have let Eddie The Freak Munson do what you’d denied Jason. That someone had chosen The Freak over the King of Hawkins High.

It had been nothing but a game to Jason – and Eddie had won it without ever trying to play.

You’d always suspected that Jason had been wary of Eddie; his outspokenness, his refusal to bend beneath Jason’s bullying.

That’s why Jason had been hating Eddie long before he’d thought Eddie had taken his prize possession as well – because that’s all Chrissy had been for Jason. A beautiful trophy to show off. And it dawned on you that Jason was actually scared. Because if he didn’t believe Chrissy had been in Eddie’s trailer for a simple drug deal that night…

“Come on, tell us, freak,” Jason said quietly, his eyes holding this dark edge you still couldn’t quite pinpoint as he turned away from Eddie and took a step towards you, “Tell us what the little slut let you do.”

“Yeah, don’t be shy, freak,” Chance cooed, his breath stirring your hair as you struggled, fought to angle your head as far away from his face as his restraining grip allowed, “Tell us the dirty details.”

Jason took another step towards you, his lips pulled into a sneer as a new wave of fear clawed at your chest because once again, you were trapped, the memories of that night in the woods clawing their way to the surface, of Jason’s stale breath, the tase of blood and beer and sweat as he’d forced his lips on yours, his knee forcing your legs apart as he pressed you against the picnic table – but the tip of the oar shot out to block his path as Eddie reacted, stopping Jason mid-movement.

“Don’t touch her.” Eddie’s voice was trembling with terror, choked by the tears of panic he barely managed to suppress, his fists around the wooden hilt quivering with such force that the entire oar shook as his gaze locked on Jason’s.

There was something else glittering beneath the panic in Eddie’s umber eyes. It hadn’t been there before, not even beneath Jason’s jeers.

Dark and feral.

You struggled against Chance’s chokehold once more, his arms locked around you like creepers and his hand clamped over your mouth to mute your shouts as Jason’s own hand slowly closed around the tip of Eddie’s oar.

The rotting old wood splintered away in Jason’s fist like crumpling paper before he continued to stalk towards you.

Before you realized what was happening, though, Eddie jumped forward in another desperate attempt to stop Jason, the broken end of the oar raised – and Eddie’s suppressed roar of anger turned into a cry of agony as Andy’s crowbar smashed into his left knee, sending Eddie tumbling to the ground as your own vision momentarily blurred with the force of your tears at the sight, at Eddie’s scream ringing through the air.

With a scream of your own, silenced by Chance’s hand pressing hard enough over your lips now that you tasted blood, you struggled to break free, to get to Eddie who was cowering on the floor, but it was futile. Chance’s arms around you were as unrelenting as an iron chain.

And then, Jason was in front of you, blocking Eddie from your view. “What did you let that freak do, huh?”

His voice was calm, frozen as the surface of a lake in winter, but the slight tremble beneath the surface told you it cost him a lot of restraint to keep it in check. “Did you let him do what he forced Chrissy to do? Huh?”

With Chance’s hand still clamped over your mouth to mute you, there was nothing you could do but reciprocate Jason’s glare, to lace your own tear-stained glower with all the disgust and revulsion you harbored towards him while fury flared through your veins, momentarily melting away the panic with the raw, all-consuming hatred you were feeling for this monster in front of you.

And you did what you’d done when Jason had forced his lips on yours in the woods all those months ago.

You bit him. As hard as you could.

With a pained hiss, Chance pulled his hand away from your mouth – just as Jason’s own hand shot out to grab your jaw, fingertips digging into your skin with such force that you thought the bone beneath might snap like the old oar in his vise-like grip as he inched closer, until he was close enough for you to count the smattering of freckles on his pallid skin even in the dim light of the moon.

For his breath to fan across your face. Just like back in the woods, when he’d pinned you against the picnic table.

The whites of his eyes were bloodshot. And there still was this gleam you couldn’t decipher as he breathed, “Tell me what the freak made you do. Tell me what he forced Chrissy to do.”

“You mean what you wanted to do to me?”, you hissed through gritted teeth.

“I said,” Jason repeated slowly, his grip around your jaw tightening to elicit a pained wince from you, “Tell us what the freak had you do with him.”

There was a movement in the corner behind Jason as Eddie pushed himself up from the ground with a pained hiss, gaze blazing with panic and despair and rage, something so foreign in his dark eyes, one hand still clutching the broken oar, its splintered end raised towards Jason like a stake ready to be driven through a vampire’s heart – but Andy was faster, the crowbar in his hand whirring through the air for a second time.

This time, he aimed for Eddie’s side.

“EDDIE WATCH OUT!”, you screamed, but the warning came too late.

The blow to the ribs threw Eddie against the boathouse’s wall with a groan of pain that made bile rise in your throat as the air was knocked out of him, the broken remains of the oar still clamped tightly in his fist the only thing between him and Andy now, who was twirling the crowbar in his hands with a taunting grin at Eddie. His eyes were closed, face contorted in agony as he fought against the pain, his other hand pressed over the spot on his side where Andy’s crowbar had hit home. Even from a distance, in the sparse pale light of the moon, you could see he was close to passing out, the cold sweat on his face as Andy stepped closer, the crowbar raised for another blow –

“Not yet,” Jason directed, one hand raised in the gesture of a king holding court as your tears started to fall.

“Let her go,” Eddie choked out. Pleaded. The pain and raw, primal panic straining his voice were ripping out your heart.

With a derisive snort, his hand still clamped around your jaw, Jason turned around to face Eddie.

The only thing holding him upright was the wall at his back – and the only thing separating him from Jason and his friends was the splintered end of the oar he was clinging to like a lifeline. His hair was a wild mess of dark curls framing his face, skin paler even than usual in the moonlight that made his tears of pain glitter which had started falling down his cheeks as his eyes found yours, wide and filled with horror.

“Wanna make a deal, Freak?”, Jason spat. “You let go of the oar. And I let go of your little slut.”

“No,” you breathed, your eyes beseeching Eddie to keep the oar, his only fighting chance – and with defeat swirling in his dark gaze, Eddie’s fist around the wood loosened.

And the oar clattered to the floorboards. The sound rang through the tense air like the crack of a gunshot.

“No”, you breathed when Jason let go of your jaw. And strolled back towards Eddie, who was still hunched against the wall, dark curs falling into his face as he tried to straighten himself despite the pain Andy’s crowbar had dealt, his right hand splayed against the rusty metal of the wall to gain some sort of balance, while you hissed and trashed against Chance’s still unrelenting grip, kicking and squirming…to no avail. He was so, so much stronger than you.

“You said you’d let her go,” Eddie winced, and Jason sneered.

“I said I’d let her go. Not that Chance would.”

Andy let out a gleeful little laugh.

“So, we finally get to talk,” Jason drawled, coming face to face with Eddie, who was pressing himself against the wall, chest heaving with panicked breaths as his eyes landed on yours, a fleeting second of mutual understanding, as you desperately tried to come up with a plan, a way out of this fucked up mess – and your scream barreled through the air of the boathouse as Jason’s fist collided with Eddie’s jaw, slamming the back of his head against the wall before Andy grabbed him, ripping him away from the wall and into a chokehold as Jason commanded, “Hold him. I’m not done yet. I haven’t even started.”

With a flash of grim satisfaction in his eyes, Jason’s fist hit home a second time, Eddie’s muffled groan of pain ringing through the air as he doubled over with the punch to the gut, sinking to his knees. The only thing still keeping him from falling face-first to the weathered floorboards was Andy’s grip around his arms, fingertips digging into the worn leather of Eddie’s jacket as he slumped in the stronger guy’s grip, curls spilling forward to hide his face.

“STOP IT!”, you cried, throwing yourself backwards against Chance with as much strength as his chokehold around you allowed for – but it wasn’t enough to throw him off balance, and his grip tightened so painfully around you that you were sure the bones of your upper arms would snap like twigs. Snap like poor Chrissy’s limbs under the strain of Vecna’s curse.

Jason’s eyes had turned into shards of ice as he glared down at Eddie’s slumped form.

“What did you do to Chrissy?”

His voice was calm. Dangerously calm, fissures already crawling over its frozen surface with the pressure of unadulterated hatred beneath.

And into the silence, his voice barely enough to be heard over the happy lapping sound of the waters of Lover’s Lake splashing against the posts of the boathouse, Eddie uttered on a broken whisper, “She just wanted drugs.”

The scream lodged at the back of your throat was muted with your terror when Jason’s fist hailed down for a third time, hitting the side of Eddie’s face with such force that his head snapped to the side, curls flying, before Jason’s hand shot out to grab Eddie’s jaw, bending down, closer, like he’d done with you only moments ago as he seethed, “She was not a druggie. She didn’t do that shit. So what. DID. YOU. DO. TO. CHRISSY. FREAK?”

“HE DIDN’T DO IT! HE’S INNOCENT!”, you screamed – but the words died in your throat as Jason bent down to pick up the crowbar he’d discarded on the floor, and horror, overpowering horror, clawed at your chest.

“Jason, don’t you think we should just call the cops?”

Jason’s head swiveled around to glance at Patrick, who’d kept quiet until now, kept to the shadows until you’d eventually forgotten he was even there.

He didn’t look well. There was cold sweat pooling on his face, his breathing strangely shallow as his gaze flitted from Jason to Eddie and back.

“We got him, Patrick,” Jason replied, almost gently, his tone so reasonable while he was lost in his own little world of violence and bloodlust and vengeance like a king descended into madness, “Do you think the cops will do her justice? They think Chrissy was a druggie. They said she was seeing him for drugs when he lured her to his home with his twisted games. No. The cops can have my leftovers.”

Dread settled in your guts.

A kind of dread you’d never felt before; a dread no creature of the Upside Down had ever been able to instill in you.

“I know what you did, Freak,” Jason spat, attention zoning back in on Eddie. Stray strands of his dark hair were plastered to his tear-stained face, to the blood that was running from the fresh cut on his brow where Jason’s fist had hit him. “You snapped her bones. One by one.” Jason’s voice was rising, each word spat with venom. “Enjoyed her screams, probably. Caught in your sick little game.”

The metal caught a beam of moonlight falling into the boathouse as Jason placed the crowbar under Eddie’s chin, forcing him to lift his head, and you barely managed to suppress the sob clawing its way up your chest at the sight of Eddie, bloodied and beaten and so utterly broken, the gaze in his beautiful umber eyes dimmed with the haze of the blows to his head, by the terror shining in their depths. More silent tears were rushing down his face, dripping to the denim of his vest alongside the blood as Jason crooned, “Let’s give the Freak a taste of his own medicine.” The smile tucking at his lips was nothing short of cruel. “I want to see how many bones we can break before we need a new crowbar.”

There were no screams left in you.

Only panic, and dread, hacking black talons into your insides, clawing at your throat alongside the tears that kept silently spilling down your cheeks at the sight of Eddie - sweet, gentle Eddie who’d never hurt anyone in his life; who’d chosen kindness when it would have been so easy to let the scorn and bullying he faced for simply being different turn his heart as cold and empty as Jason’s; who’d made it his task to take care of all the other outcasts and freaks, to give them a safe space to be themselves, be proud of who they were instead of succumbing to the bullies – slumped in Andy Warren’s unrelenting grip. Bleeding and bruised and dazed with pain and panic, his head slumped again as Jason pulled the crowbar away. His wild mess of curls fell over his shoulders to veil his features from your sight; only the glitter of tears on his pale cheeks and the dark rivulets of his blood were visible beneath the dark mess of his hair as they dripped onto his shirt, his denim vest, the weathered floorboards of the boathouse.

And when Jason straightened himself and raised his head to the faint beam of moonlight seeping in through a gap in the building’s roof to illuminating Jason’s face – the panic in your chest turned into horror.

Raw, unadulterated horror at what you saw in his eyes.

They weren’t simply frozen anymore.

They were wild. Livid. And you finally realized what it was you’d caught a glimpse of earlier tonight at the townhall; this thing which had been lurking beneath the surface all this time, like the scales of a sea monster glittering beneath a lake’s waves. It had broken that surface now, revealing itself in plain sight.

Madness.

Jason Carver wasn’t the calm, collected kind of monster any longer.

He wouldn’t stop, you realized.

He would kill Eddie.

And his friends…they’d let it happen.

And they’d all get away with it because Eddie…Eddie was fair game. Nobody would care – on the contrary. The mood at the townhall meeting had been clear as day. They wanted Eddie gone.

They would celebrate Jason Carver as a hero once again.

And Jason…Jason was too far gone, descended into this world of self-righteous vengeance, lost in his own madness.

Jason would kill the boy you loved more than anything in his world.

After everything you’d done to keep Eddie safe from the Upside Down and its horrors, from the Mind Flayer and the horrid swarm of these things with their wings and talons and teeth…the monster which would take Eddie was human.

“Where should I start, huh, Freak?”, Jason droned now, prodding the crowbar against the red demon face on Eddie’s Hellfire Club shirt to push him backwards, against Andy, drawing out the power he was wielding. The knowledge that he had all the time in the world to do to Eddie whatever he pleased.

“I didn’t hurt her.” Eddie’s broken sob mingled with the happy gurgling noise of Lover’s Lake lapping at the posts of the boathouse, so out of place, and you could see these dark sparks of madness flashing in Jason’s eyes at the words as he stared down at Eddie, slumped on his knees, held only by Andy’s grip like a puppet on a string.

“Fine,” he spat, “Andy, we’ll start with his hand.”

“No,” you breathed, your whisper mingling with Chance’s gleeful snicker.

“Jason –“ Patrick begun, but you didn’t think Jason could even hear him. And Patrick shrunk back, ignoring the plea in your gaze to do something, to stop Jason when Andy heeded the unspoken command, this sickening grin on his face as he reached out to force Eddie’s hand to the ground, fingers splayed on the weathered wood of the floorboards, his rings glinting in the half-light of the moon.

“Your guitar days are over, freak,” Andy taunted, and beneath the mess of dark curls spilling into his face, sticking to the blood running down his temple in dark rivulets, you could see Eddie squeeze his eyes shut, preparing for the agony of his bones shattering beneath the blows of Jason’s crowbar – as the dark force of your own rage and despair finally crashed over you like a tidal wave.

At the thought of Eddie, who loved music so much, his skilled fingers plucking the strings of his beloved guitar. The memory of how he’d played hours and hours for you that Saturday, turning his heavy metal songs into slow, soothing lullabies which chased away the nightmares as you’d fallen into a deep slumber, the first peaceful one ever since last summer; all the memories and horrors chased away by Eddie’s gentle voice, the melody he coaxed from his beloved guitar. Eddie, so shy about his skill and so proud about his band, bashful as he was talking about their gigs at The Hideout. How you’d have loved to cheer for him in the front row, to watch him play. Watch him do the thing he loved the most, more even than he loved playing D&D: playing his guitar.

Eddie, whose heart you’d broken to keep him safe from the monsters of the Upside Down, only for the monster that was Jason Carver to get him now.

Time seemed to freeze as Jason drew back the crowbar for the first blow to shatter the bones in Eddie’s hand to forever steal music from him before he’d take his life as well.

With that scream of fury finally ripping free from you, your mind went blank as wrath and despair blazed through you, searing through your veins like a wildfire to consume everything in its path, burn it to down until there was nothing left of Jason and his friends but cinders for ever daring to lay a hand on Eddie.

The crowbar never hit its target.

A second scream filled the half-dark of the boathouse before Jason could smash the tool into Eddie’s fingers. Chance’s scream, as he let go of you, stumbling backwards, away from you as Jason froze mid-movement, mad eyes locking on Chance, then on you, as you barreled forwards to tackle him away from Eddie – and Jason shrunk back, shock widening his cold eyes.

It took the fragment of a moment for you to realize that it wasn’t you he was shrinking away from…but the sight of Chance, the sleeve of his letterman jacket having gone up in flames as he screamed, shrugging it off, the flames hissing as the piece of clothing hit the floor.

The dry, wooden floor.

And all Hell broke loose.

[Monday, November 4th, 1985. THEN.]

It was there again.

The wooden door, suspended in the night sky, stars scattered around it like splatters of paint against a black canvas, their eerie silver light falling through the colorful glass, the crimson petals of the stained-glass roses.

Dread freezing you, you watched the slow movement of the brass doorknob as it was turned from the inside, watched the door swing open.

One inch, two inches, three.

Watched the spidery fingers crawl through the gap, the movement slow, careful almost, as something started to run down the warm wood, over the brass doorknob, dripping from the door’s bottom and into the endless sky like rain.

Only it wasn’t rain.

It was blood.

Seeping from the crimson petals of the stained-glass roses as the door creaked open to reveal whatever it was this horribly disfigured hand belonged to.

And finally, you snapped out of your trance. A muted scream on your lips, you turned to run – away from the door, the hand, the stained-glass roses, away –

You didn’t get far.

A gasp tore from you as you tumbled to the ground, tripping over the tangle of creeping vines on the ground, your hands shooting out to catch your fall, push yourself back up to your feet to keep running…

And your gaze fell on the vines.

On what was beneath the vines.

The pattern of black ink on pale skin.

Bats.

A swarm of them; tiny bats forever frozen in black ink.

It hadn’t been the vines you’d tripped over. It had been something underneath them.

An arm.

Dread clawing at you, you slowly turned your head.

And your eyes met a pair of umber ones, wide and hollow and empty. So horribly empty, the life snuffed out from them.

There was blood.

So, so much blood.

Covering the ground, the vines wrapped around his torn and broken body, smeared across his lips, coating your own hands.

Eddie’s blood.

And when the muted scream ripped from you, the stars started to slowly drift down from the skies.

They had never been stars.

They were particles.

Your eyes flew open.

You barely made it to the bathroom before you retched, eyes squeezed closed as the flurry of images from your nightmare hailed down upon you. They’d engraved themselves into your memories.

Sobs started racking your body as you curled up on the ground, the cool tiles of the bathroom floor pressed against your feverish cheeks as hot tears streamed down your face.

And from the headphones you were still wearing, with the Walkman clipped to the waistband of your pajama shorts because the mixtape was still the only way to find a semblance of peace, floated the tunes of I Remember You.

[Sunday, March 24th, 1986. NOW.]

Reefer Rick’s boathouse was on fire.

The moment Chance had let go of you with a scream, you’d darted forward, ready to tackle Jason away from Eddie, slumped in Andy’s grip, bleeding and broken and half-conscious – but tackling Jason wasn’t necessary.

Face slack, he was shrinking away a step.

Not from you, you realized as you whirled around to the still screaming Chance, but from the flames climbing up the sleeves of Chance’s letterman jacket as he was frantically shrugging it off.

It all happened in the fragment of a second.

The crowbar clattering to the ground, Jason darted past you towards Chance, to help him get rid of the blazing piece of clothing with Andy following suit, letting go of Eddie who slumped forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

You caught him before he could fall over, your hands on his shoulders to stabilize him as his forehead slumped against yours while Chance was still screaming in the background as he tried to stamp out the flames devouring the fabric of his letterman jacket which had fallen to the ground, sending more and more sparks flying for the weathered old wood of the floorboards to catch fire, the whole structure a fuse ready to be set ablaze.

One of your hands came up to his cheek as you pressed, “We need to get out of here.”

At the sound of your voice, his eyes fluttered open. His gaze was dazed, unfocused as he blinked, before he groaned, “Yeah.”

“Can you walk?”

“Gotta,” Eddie pressed through gritted teeth, the word morphing into a low agonized groan spilling from him as you moved to loop his arm around your shoulder and help him get back up.

Your heart sank as your eyes darted to the boathouse’s door.

The good news was, Jason and his friends were gone.

The bad news…

In the seconds it had taken you to help Eddie get back on his feet, the fire had spread, flames climbing the wooden frame of the boathouse’s door to block the exit as smoke started to fill the space, filling your lungs to make you cough and stinging your eyes as your gaze flitted to the little old boat just as Eddie breathed, “The boat.”

“We gotta hurry,” you added.

With another pained gasp, his hand flying to his side where Andy had hit him with the crowbar, Eddie untangled himself from you to limp towards the boat, swaying precariously in his tracks – if from the pain or Jason’s blows to his head, you couldn’t yet tell – and you thanked your past self for the presence of mind to free the old thing from its lines and set it afloat already. It hadn’t even been two days ago.

The boat swayed when you jumped inside, the heat of the fire already burning on your skin, making sweat drip down your forehead and drying the tears on your cheeks as you reached out to help Eddie climb in behind you.

The smoke filling the boat house had turned into an impenetrable wall by now, greedy flames devouring the dry, weathered floorboards as they climbed up the posts supporting the roof, towards the wooden beams above, like creeping vines on a trellis.

It wouldn’t take long until they’d consumed the posts – and then the roof, the whole structure, would collapse right over the two of you.

“Try to start the motor,” Eddie choked, suppressing a cough as he limped towards the vessel’s front and dug out an oar out from underneath the assortment of ropes coiling on the boat’s floor, this one gladly more durable than the one he’d grabbed to keep Jason away. With his features contorted in pain beneath the sweat and tears and the blood streaming down his face from the gash on his brow, Eddie begun to row as your fingers were digging into the rope tying the boat to its pole on the boathouse’s ground, the material scraping and biting your skin as your trembling fingers frantically worked to loosen the knot, the smoke choking you, singeing your lungs.

The knot loosened.

And not a second too soon, if the low, resounding groan of the wooden beams of the roof above was any indication as you gripped the floorboards and pushed with all the strength you could muster, giving the boat an extra nudge to get out of this chaos of smoke and cinders and flames.

A trembling exhale of relief escaped you when the cool air of the spring night hit your sweaty skin as Eddie steered the boat out of the burning boathouse and onto the lake, the clear night air filling your burning lungs as you whirled around to look at Eddie.

He’d stopped rowing, his fists clamped around the oars hilt while he looked as if he were fighting hard to remain conscious.

For a heartbeat, the two of you stared at each other in shaken silence, your labored breaths filling the cool night air, the water lapping at the boat with happy gurgling sounds as your eyes scanned Eddie’s blood-smeared face, illuminated by the orange glow of the small inferno devouring the boathouse behind you, his eyes wide with shock, the reflection of the flames dancing within them as he breathed, voice coarse from the smoke of the fire, “Jesus H Christ, how…how the fuck…?”

He was interrupted as, with a resounding groan that echoed across the lake and made you whirl around to face the shore, the boathouse collapsed. Sparks rose into the night alongside the smoke, the heat of the fire prickling on your skin as smoke rose into the air.

“Let me do that,” you said softly, reaching out to grab the second oar from the bottom of the boat, the assortment of empty cans, sandwich wrappers, ropes and boxes Reefer Rick had collected there clattering around on the ground as you pulled the oar towards you.

Just as a shout pierced the night, ringing across Lover’s Lake and the small space Eddie’s rowing had brought between your boat and the shore, and your heart plummeting to the bottom of the lake as you recognized the owner of the voice.

“HEY FREAK!”

Your head whipped around towards the four figures standing on the grass of the shore, illuminated against the glow of the flames devouring the remains of the boathouse.

Jason and his friends.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?!”

“Shit,” Eddie breathed. It was an accurate assessment.

Your heart plummeted to the ground of Lover’s Lake when, against the backdrop of the dying flames, Jason shrugged off his own letterman jacket and dove into the water, a second one of his friends following suit while the other two remained on the shore.

You didn’t waste another second.

Your hand shot out to pull the engine’s string and get the rusty old boat motor started, but nothing happened. There wasn’t even a cough from the engine.

Whirling around to face Eddie again, your hands wrapped around the hilt of your oar and your gazes met, wide and wild and panicked in the moonlight as understanding passed between the two of you, and Eddie jumped to his feet, the boat swaying and pain contorting his features as he climbed towards the back to switch places as you plunged your oar into the water and started paddling.

“It – doesn’t – work,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth, anger and pain and despair lacing his coarse voice as with each word, he ripped at the string, each pull more forceful than the next until you feared he’d just rip it out.

“Maybe try a bit gentler?”, you panted, muscles burning from the exertion of rowing the boat, the lake splashing with every draw of your oar as sweat ran down your back underneath your sweatshirt.

Eddie threw you an indignant glance over his shoulder which would have been hilarious, hadn’t it been for the blood smeared across half his face and the jocks in the water set on hunting him down to kill him.

“What do you want me to, sweet talk it? Fine,” he turned back to the rusty old boat motor, a trembling hand patting the metal with barely contained frustration and panic as he implored, “Please. Please, okay? You gotta help us out here, sweetheart, ‘kay?”, before pulling the string again, gentler this time, as the ghost of a relieved smile played on your lips at the realization that he still had that gallows humor, even now, broken and bleeding and hunted.

The engine, though, stayed dead.

And the noise of splashing water told you Jason and his friends were drawing closer quickly. Far quicker than you were able to row the boat out of their reach.

“Almost got him!”, Jason’s shout mingled with the splashing sound of the lake, the frantic sloshing noise of your oar cutting through the water.

With a hissed, “Fuck,” Eddie snapped again, panic taking the wheel again as a fresh wave of adrenaline surged through your own system to propel your movements to paddle faster.

“Come on,” Eddie cursed, begged, one hand patting the rusty old motor as he pulled the string, over and over again, “Come on. Come. ON! HELP US OUT HERE, SON OF A BITCH!”

The engine answered with a weak splutter as Eddie slammed his hand against the metal with a frustrated, “No?! FINE!”, before he grabbed the second oar and started helping you row, panic and adrenaline taking the sharp edge of the pain he was undoubtedly feeling as he plunged the oar into Lover’s Lake – but it was too late.

Jason had reached the boat. Eddie jumped to his feet, the oar raised and ready to pounce down, his eyes trained on Jason as he roared, “Hey, stay back, there! STAY BACK!”

There was something new in his voice, feral despite the tremor of fear laced within as he wielded the oar, placing himself between you and the spot where Jason was trying to clamp his hand around the boat’s edge and pull himself out of the water as Andy Warren drew closer on your own side of the boat, and with a fresh wave of fury, you rose to your feet, your back pressed against Eddie’s and the dripping oar raised in your hands in a silent warning to stay back as Eddie thundered, “I SAID STAY BACK!”

“What you gonna do with that oar, slut?”, Andy drawled, his hand clamping around the boat’s edge to pull himself up as you let the oar hail down, the wood smashing into Andy’s hand with enough force to hear the crack of bones underneath. Andy’s scream made Eddie whirl around as the jock let go of the boat’s rim, and grim satisfaction barreled through you at the echo of his pained outcry in the spring air, the picture of Eddie, slumped in Andy’s grip as he splayed his hand on the floor, ready for Jason’s crowbar to smash into Eddie’s hand still fresh.

“Fuck around,” you dared, “And find out.” And that dark, twisted part inside of you wished Andy would do exactly that, simply for the satisfaction of doing to Andy what he’d have done to Eddie.

But Jason’s shout rang through the air – directed at Patrick, this time.

“Patrick! Hey, Patrick! What are you doing?”

Your head whipped around to the other side of the boat, to Jason, who’d stopped swimming towards you his attention on Patrick a few feet behind him in the water. Patrick’s was gaze trained on something in the distance, above the surface, eyes wide with…terror.

“Come on, Patrick! We almost got him!”

Patrick didn’t react.

And then…he was pulled under.

“ANDY!”, Jason’s shout for help pierced through the night, a splash from your side of the boat telling you Andy was heeding the call while you stared, at the ripples in the surface of Lover’s Lake where Patrick had vanished, as if he’d been pulled under, Eddie still as a statue beside while Jason’s shouts for Patrick rang through the new, deadly silence which had settled over Lover’s Lake.

There was a moment of shell-shocked stillness – before Patrick…was lifted out of the water and into the skies, like a doll in the invisible grip of one of those claw cranes at the arcade as dread coiled in your guts, your free hand shooting out to grab Eddie’s arm in silent terror as all four pairs of eyes stared at Patrick, suspended in the skies.

As his bones…his bones started to snap.

One by one.

You didn’t know who of you moved first, whether it had been Eddie or you to take the first step backwards to shrink away from the horror of Patrick’s body being twisted like a ragdoll in the sky – but it was enough to tip the boat.

Neither of you screamed as you tumbled backwards into the lake.

[Wednesday, November 6th, 1985. THEN.]

It was the third lunchbreak in a row you’d spent outside in the cold, hidden beneath the bleachers at the edge of the sports field, your gaze trained on the tree line of the patch of woods, the branches naked as they reached into the steely skies.

You hadn’t eaten.

You hadn’t slept.

There was no way anymore for you to fall asleep without Eddie’s mixtape – and no way to stop crying as soon as you listened to the songs he’d picked for you.

You knew you’d have to return to the cafeteria again at some point, face the fact that you’d see Eddie again, across the room. Make up an excuse for Robin and Nance as to why you’d avoided them for the past few days.

But not today. There was no strength left in you for that.

Back in the building, the halls still empty because lunchbreak wasn’t over yet, you rounded the corner to get the books for the next period out of your locker –

And froze in your tracks at the sight of the lonely figure walking down the hallway towards you.

It was the first time you saw him ever since Saturday. Since that November night.

He looked miserable.

His hair was unkempt as if he’d run through a hurricane, messier than you’d ever seen it, and the wrinkled flannel dress shirt he was wearing underneath his leather jacket looked as if he’d grabbed it from the laundry without realizing it was his uncle’s, the yellow-green-blue checked pattern so out of place on him, a weird contrast to the even more wrinkled DIO shirt beneath.

There were shadows under his eyes, deep enough to tell you he might have even gotten less sleep than you had over the past few days, and his eyes, those beautiful umber eyes…they were hollow as he stared back at you, as frozen as a deer in the headlights.

For a few heartbeats, the two of you stayed like this, gazes locked, the memories of everything you’d shared beneath the myriad of stars scattered in the November night skies above coming alive in your minds. And everything that happened after.

There was nothing you wanted more than run into his arms.

To tell him how sorry you were. That you loved him; more than there had been stars in the night sky.

To turn back the clock, to put this moment with him beneath the stars into a tiny little snow globe frozen in time, safe and sound beneath the shield of polished glass, forever.

To tell Eddie Munson that he’d left a beautiful tattoo of fingerprints on your skin, his kiss on your lips and his handprint on your heart.

You whispered the words in your mind as you stared back at him, into those beautiful umber eyes.

For these fleeting heartbeats, you stood frozen in this empty hallway. Eddie on one end, you on the other.

Worlds apart, hearts broken into a million pieces still calling out for each other.

With a trembling inhale you wouldn’t have noticed hadn’t you already known him like you knew the pages of your favorite book, Eddie turned.

And walked away.

[Sunday, March 24th, 1986. NOW.]

You’d thought you’d seen it all.

A parallel dimension. Monsters with faces opening up to reveal rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Shadows that lived, possessed.

Blood turning black.

Doors suspended in the night skies amidst a sea of scattered stars.

But this…what had just happened with Patrick…it was the most horrid scene you’d ever been forced to witness.

The sound of his bones snapping would stay with you until the end of your days.

And when you imagined Eddie, who’d been so horribly oblivious and left in the dark about the terrors bleeding into Hawkins, witnessing the same with Chrissy…you wanted to retch. And you wanted to weep.

But there wasn’t time either of these things as, lungs and arms burning from the exertion of steering the boat to shore, you let your oar clatter to the bottom of the boat, rallying every last dreg of strength left in your body to drag yourself out of the boat and onto the soft grass of the lakeside alongside Eddie. Your knees gave in and you sunk to the ground, water plastering your soaked clothing to your body, your hair to your face, sending shivers through you in the cool spring night air.

“Shit,” Eddie breathed as he let himself fall to the ground beside you, burying his face in his trembling hands as he hunched over. “Holy fucking shit.”

Like you, he was soaked from the plunge into Lover’s Lake.

The two of you were lucky that it had been a mild month so far, the spring sun having warmed the waters of Lover’s Lake to a point where, despite it still being cold, it wasn’t dangerously cold anymore. You were grasping for silver linings.

“Jesus. Fuck, man,” Eddie breathed again. “Jesus fucking CHRIST.” It was the softest, most contained scream you’d ever heard anyone utter as he raised his head from his hands. The gash on his brow was still bleeding, half of his face smeared with blood, wide eyes flitting to a point behind you, and you turned to follow his line of sight.

To the glimmer in the distance, the remnants of Reefer Rick’s boathouse, the dying flames setting the night aglow with their orange hue between the trees.

And with the adrenaline slowly fading from your system it dawned on you what had just happened.

You’d set this fire.

You’d burned down Reefer Rick’s boathouse.

With your…with your what? Your mind? Like El? That wasn’t possible.

“So, um,” Eddie spoke up, his voice a few pitches higher than usual, his bottom lip trembling as he was trying really hard to compose himself, “Where did. Uh. Where did the inferno come from?” He raked his fingers through his sodden curls, his hand trembling so hard that you feared he might rip out a few strands, the heel of his hand smearing the blood that was still seeping from the cut on his brow where Jason’s fist had hit home.

It dawned on you that he’d been out for long enough to not realize what had happened. Hell, you hadn’t realized it yourself – but Eddie had no clue.

You needed it to stay this way. Until you figured out what was happening. Why it was happening.

For a heartbeat, all you wanted to do was scream and holler at the night skies.

It didn’t stop.

It fucking didn’t stop.

You replied with the first thing that came to your mind. “Lightning?”

Eddie lifted his head to glance up at the cloudless night sky arching above. “Uh-huh.”

You glanced down, at your palm. At the pattern of blisters on your skin, left from when the doorhandle had singed you about an hour ago as you’d broken free of the supply closet Jason and his friends had locked you in.

It hadn’t been a hallucination.

Something had happened.

You quickly closed your fist, pulling the sodden sleeve of your sweatshirt down to cover your hand, praying Eddie hadn’t noticed.

Though before either of you could utter a word to break the shellshocked silence, the distant wail of sirens pierced the tranquility of the night.

Drawing closer, as your gaze found Eddie’s, the panic returning full-force.

Jason had made it to the shore with Patrick’s body. And he’d called the cops.

“We need to get away from the shore,” you breathed, jumping back to your feet as fast as your legs allowed for.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathed, a half-whisper, half-sob, muffled as he buried his face in his hands again.

Silent sobs were racking him, tremors running through him as he vehemently shook his head, teetering at the edge of a full-blown breakdown.

Because Eddie Munson’s official body count, as far as the police were concerned…would now be three.

Triple murder.

There had been many who’d faced Death Penalty for less.

You needed to get him away from here. To a new hiding place until Robin would return with the others, figure out what had happened, and – hopefully – find you. And you needed to do it now.

“Can you run?”, you urged, grabbing Eddie’s arms to help him back to his feet, the pained gasp ripping from him at the movement making your heart bleed, but you needed to move.

“I’ll make do,” he grimaced, a hand shooting out to press over his side where the crowbar had hit him, and you realized that you’d have to take care of his injuries at some point.

“Uh. What are you doing?”, Eddie inquired as you climbed back into the boat and started to rummage through the stuff which had collected at the bottom.

Sandwich wrappers, ropes, a soaked pack of cigarettes – and a triumphant little huff escaped you as you lifted a half-full bottle of whiskey into the air.

“I mean,” Eddie began slowly, swaying before he rested his hands on the boat’s ledge to support his weight as his confused frown deepened, “Some problems might be delayed if you drink them away but I’m pretty sure this isn’t one of them.”

You tucked the whiskey bottle under your arm before you delved back to the assortment of stuff Reefer Rick had collected in the boat as you announced, “We need to take care of your wounds. And this –“ you reached for a little tin box, your determined smirk widening a little as you opened it to find an assortment of fish-hooks and fishing lines and what looked like actually clean cotton handkerchiefs within, a switchblade on the side, probably for gutting fish, “This will do.”

You jumped out of the boat, storing the tin box of Reefer Rick’s fishing tools in the front pocket of your soaked sweatshirt, the bottle of whiskey still tucked under your arm as you grabbed Eddie’s elbow to support his weight.

“Time to go.”

“Anything in mind?”, he questioned, the wail of the sirens rising to a whole chorus as the first flickers of flashing police lights illuminated the shore in the distance.

“The woods? We’re…” You cut yourself off at the sudden burst of memories flooding you as you finally recognized your surroundings.

You’d been here before, on this side of the lake. Last year. On a beautiful sunny September day, one of the last days of summer. Skipping classes with Eddie after a flood of condoms had poured from your locker under the eyes of the entire crowded hallway because it hadn’t been enough anymore for Jason and his friends to simply smear the word SLUT across your locker door.

Another day, another time, on which Eddie had saved you.

Tears stung your eyes and stole your words at the memory of the summer sun filtering through the crowns of the trees, painting streaks of milk-chocolate brown into Eddie’s dark curls as he’d grinned at you, nearly toppling over a tree root sticking up from the path.

And for a split second, you could read it all in Eddie’s dark eyes, reflecting the very same memories, a mirror image of the heartbreak in your own chest, before he averted his gaze.

“Skull Rock,” he said quietly. “Let’s hide there.”

[Saturday, November 9th, 1985. THEN.]

Your breath was forming little clouds of white lace in the air as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, the fabric of your winter coat rustling softly. But no coat in the world could ever shield you from the kind of cold you were feeling, had been feeling, for the past seven days.

A cold seeping through you from within, colder than the Mind Flayer had ever felt when it nestled in your mind. Because this kind of cold…it was festering in your heart.

And yet it wasn’t enough to finally numb the pain.

Seven days.

It had been seven days since the night Eddie had kissed you, since his caresses had sent you into blissful delirium as he’d whispered all these sweet nothings to you – only that they hadn’t been sweet nothings. He’d meant them all.

Seven days since you’d broken Eddie’s heart and your own to keep him safe.

It hurt. And it would never stop hurting.

Seven days since the old nightmares had been replaced by a whole new kind of horror.

Of the moment the light in Eddie’s beautiful umber eyes had shattered into a myriad of pieces alongside your own heart underneath the force of your cruel words.

Of the Mind Flayer’s spidery shadow looming in the thunderclouds, watching Eddie.

Of the door, and of Eddie. Caught in a swarm of these beasts, their eerie screeches fading against the agonized scream ripping from Eddie as these things pounced on him, tearing and ripping and devouring.

The only thing keeping these things at bay was the mixtape Eddie had made you.

A cruel reminder of everything you’d lost. Every beautiful what-if that would only ever stay a daydream. And yet, you couldn’t stop listening to it, over and over again, because this mixtape…it was all you’d ever have left of him.

He’d move on. Find someone else, someone who didn’t have a stain on their soul and darkness in their heart. And the memory of you would blur over time, the ache numbed until there would be nothing left but a fading scar.

And above all else, he would live.

He would finally graduate. Walk that stage and snatch the diploma, probably flipping principal Higgins the bird as he walked off stage. He’d read Lord Of The Rings, plan campaigns and play D&D with his friends, play his beloved guitar.

And you would be the girl who’d so cruelly broken his heart on a cold November night, underneath a sea of glittering stars.

The tears had already started falling when you rested your back against the wooden top of the picknick table, eyes trained on the skies peeking through the bare branches of the trees surrounding the little clearing as your thumb, numb with the cold, found the button of your Walkman to press play and the first notes of I Remember You floated through your headphones, the first song on the mixtape.

You wondered if he was on the roof of his trailer right now, gazing up at the same stars.

Thinking of you.

Beyond the blur of tears, the first few shooting stars bled from skies, falling in showers of silver light and scattering dust in their wake.

Yes, you’d never be anything more but the girl who broke Eddie Munson’s heart.

But Eddie Munson would forever stay the boy you loved with all of yours.

[Sunday, March 24th, 1986. NOW.]

“Careful,” you winced at Eddie’s pained flinch as he let himself fall down onto the mattress someone had left in the slim spot between the two boulders forming Skull Rock, before you knelt down on the carpet of dead leaves in front of him.

The short run to Skull Rock – it couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes, drawn out with the limp in Eddie’s walk slowing the two of you down as you’d stumbled through the thicket – hadn’t done much to dry the two of you.

Just like your own, the water of Lover’s Lake was still soaking Eddie’s clothes, darkening the denim of his vest above the leather jacket and plastering the Hellfire shirt to his chest. Up close, you could see the outline of a chest tattoo beneath, making you wonder what it might be.

His hair falling around his pale face in a wet mess, as black as the night sky above in its sodden state.

“Yup,” Eddie agreed through gritted teeth, rings glittering in the beams of moonlight seeping through the canopy of leaves above as he pressed his hands over the spot on his side where Andy Warren had hit him with the crowbar, before he quipped, “Wait, careful with the wounds or the mattress?”

“Both,” you chuckled, and Eddie’s mirthless little smirk turned a little less mirthless as he glanced at the faded moldy fabric of said mattress before he deadpanned, “I guess if I don’t die of internal bleeding or shit within the next hour, one of the thirteen STDs I just caught by touching that mattress will finish the job.”

He looked horrible. There was still blood running down from the cut on his brow where Jason had hit him, running down the side of his face, strands of his wet hair plastered to the dark crimson rivulets.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest at the memory of Eddie trying to keep Jason away from you, so fierce in his attempts to protect you when it had been him they’d hunted, his bones they’d tried to break.

His life they’d wanted to take.

Robin’s words flitted back to you, spoken only hours ago.

I see the way you look at him when you think nobody’s watching. And I see the way he looks at you.

Then, you’d been certain that whatever Robin had seen in Eddie’s eyes when he was looking at you had been nothing but residual hurt.

But the way he’d fought to protect you at the boathouse, the ferocity in his eyes…

“Okay, let me see,” you said softly, breaking your train of thought as you gestured for Eddie to remove his hands from the spot on his side, scooting closer until you were kneeling on the filthy mattress beside him, your knees brushing his thigh as Eddie gave you a nod.

Biting your lip, you grasped the hem of his Hellfire shirt, carefully peeling the sodden fabric away to reveal the damage Andy’s crowbar had done, tears pricking your eyes again at the memory of Eddie’s agonized groan when the metal had knocked the wind from his lungs.

But before you could lift the shirt far enough to assess the skin over his ribs, Eddie’s hands shot out, gently grasping your wrist to stop you mid-movement.

The touch sent showers of sparks zapping along your nerves to make your broken little heart sing with his touch, and Eddie breathed, “Wait. What about you, monster slayer? Are you hurt?”

How was it possible, for your heart to painfully squeeze yet soar all at the same time at the sound of the old nickname, as softly spoken as Eddie always had despite all the pain you’d caused him? The way he still cared so deeply while believing your lies, that he’d been nothing but a distraction?

“I’m not the one who got beaten up with a crowbar,” you replied quietly while an incredulous little smile curved your lips.

“Yeah,” Eddie quipped, “I got a lot more respect for pinatas now.” Before you could utter a reply, his expression softened even further, concern darkening his gaze as he slowly turned your hand in his, scanning the pattern of blisters on your palm, and for a moment, your heart sank at the thought that he might have seen more than he’d let on, had connected some of the dots. Instead, he softly asked, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you lied, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’ve never been a good liar, you know,” Eddie said gently, his thumb flicking over your wrist, grazing the skin over your racing pulse in the softest fleeting touch as the lump in your throat grew while your mind flitted back to that November night.

“There’s never been an us.”

“I don’t believe you. Not a single word.”

Before you could muster a reply, Eddie added, “What happened at the townhall meeting?”

You swallowed, focusing on his fingertips still holding your wrist, the way your heart was fluttering like a frantic little bird in the confines of your ribcage. “They found out about Reefer Rick’s. I wanted to warn you, but they noticed me and locked me up.” When you glanced up again, there was this spark of dark ferocity settling in Eddie’s gaze, mingling with the softness as he asked, his voice so gentle, “Did they hurt you?”

“As I said…I’m not the one who got beaten with a crowbar.”

Because he’d dropped the oar, his only means of defense, for the fragile hope that Jason might have let you go. Without a single second of hesitation.

“Let me see,” you repeated softly, and Eddie let go of your wrist, leaving behind an empty feeling on your skin, in your chest, that old ache which had never numbed in the first place flaring anew as your gaze caught on the sliver of his skin already exposed. The v-line on his stomach running down towards his belt buckle; the shadow of his happy trail dipping below the waistband of his ripped jeans.

What the fuck is wrong with you, the little voice in your mind chided – the rational part, probably – to snap you out of your ogling as you quickly focused on an empty can of pringles someone had discarded at the foot of one of the boulders, taking a few moments to collect yourself, which were interrupted as Eddie inquired, panic rising in his voice, “Do you really think it’s that bad?”

No, I’ve just been busy ogling you like a creep, the voice in your mind replied, and you cleared your throat before you quickly replied, “No, just…”

I can’t stand to see you in pain. How hypocritical, considering you’d put a matching set of bruises on his heart four months ago.

Opting to cop out of this one, you stayed quiet as, with a careful movement, you lifted the rest of the soaked Hellfire shirt to expose Eddie’s upper body – and winced at the sight of the bruise already blooming beneath his pale skin like the petals of a black flower, right below his ribcage.

“Shit,” Eddie assessed.

“It’s…it’s not that bad,” you tried, meeting Eddie’s gaze as he cocked an eyebrow and clarified drily, “No. Shit, as in, goddamn it can you stop looking at me as if my guts were falling out.”

“I’m sorry,” you replied, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips to mirror his own, “Just…does it feel like something is ruptured? Like, your spleen or a kidney?”

“You truly know how to take the edge off things, huh,” Eddie retorted, but the end of his sentence was cut short with a hiss of pain as you let your fingertips graze over the black bruise, pulling away with a wince. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I thought I’d feel if your ribs were broken.”

“Fuck,” Eddie breathed, already moving to bury his face in his hands again before he seemed to remember the still bleeding cut on his brow and let his hand sink to his side with a frustrated groan, before he uttered meekly, “Can you check? If my ribs are broken?” He sounded so defeated. So devastatingly tired and defeated and scared.

“It’ll hurt,” you warned.

“It already does,” he retorted. He had a point.

You reached out again, fingertips gently grazing the edges of the bruise, pressing down a little as you followed the curve of his ribcage, biting the inside of your cheek to keep it together at Eddie’s pained sharp intake of breath while your fingertips wandered over his skin, trailing the outline of his ribs to examine the bone beneath as Eddie threw his head back, eyes closed tightly as he seemed to bite back an anguished groan that turned into a relieved exhale when you pulled your fingers away again.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” you stated, before you gently pulled the shirt back down, “But we need to take care of that cut now,” you added, already pulling the tin box of fishing supplies out of your sweater’s pocket, placing them on forest floor beside you, next to the bottle of whiskey.

It wasn’t exactly a first aid kit, but it was better than nothing.

“Uh. What are you doing with these?”, Eddie inquired cautiously as he watched you rummage through the tin box with Rick’s fishing supplies, inspecting the assortment of fish-hooks while his expression grew more and more alarmed.

“That cut on your brow will need stitches,” you announced, and Eddie’s face grew a little paler.

“Need, like, ‘or else you’ll die��? Because I don’t know if I can stomach you patching up my face with a fish-hook. There’s only so much I can take in a single night.”

“It’s too deep for the bleeding to stop on its own. And we don’t want you to get blood poisoning.”

You raised one of the fish-hooks to your face, inspecting it.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathed, observing you bend the fishing hook into the crescent shape of a surgical needle with a nauseated stare before he slowly added, “I dunno if I should ask. But you look like you’re not doing this for the first time.”

You gave him a little smirk as you proceeded to thread the fishing line through the fish-hook-turned-makeshift-needle.

“I patched up Steve Harrington with a bottle of vodka and dental floss.”

“Holy shit. Was it…was it one of the Demodogs you told me about?”

“Nope. It was Billy Hargrove.”

“Huh. I wonder who won that fight,” Eddie muttered under his breath, a trace of bitterness in his tone.

“It was Max,” you stated, snickering at Eddie’s crestfallen expression before you added, “She sedated Billy.”

“I knew the little redhead was a tough cookie but Jesus, I had noooo idea.” He sounded as if he couldn’t exactly decide whether to be bewildered, scared, fascinated or all three. “Maybe we should just sic her on Vecna. Let her take Sinclair’s infamous little sister and let ‘em hand that son of a bitch’s ass to him.”

“Wait.” You gave him a quizzical stare. “You know Erica Sinclair?”

“Shit, I don’t know the girl. I got burned by her. Destroyed.” Eddie chuckled. “She actually ended the Vecna in my campaign, come to think of it. Rolled a natural twenty last second.”

“What is Erica Sinclair doing in Hellfire?”, you teased.

“Have you ever tried to tell her no?”, Eddie deadpanned, cocking an eyebrow.

You snorted. “Hell, no. I’m not mad.”

“She was the sub for Lucas. He copped out for a game of balls-and-laundry-baskets that night. That was a few days ago, actually.”

“Oh. Yeah. He actually dealt the winning blow,” you said with a smile – but the giddy feeling in your chest about joking around with Eddie like you’d used to do died and wilted like a bouquet of flowers at the thought of that November night. Of the basketball game he’d visited just so you wouldn’t have to feel alone as you cheered for Jason.

Your eyes burned as you fiddled with the fish-hook in your hand, and the awkward silence which descended over the two of you made it evident Eddie had been plunged into the very same memory.

Of kisses beneath the glittering stars that ended in pain and heartbreak, your words the match to set all the bridges between the two of you ablaze, burn them down to nothing but cinders.

Just when you thought the quiet was too much to bear, though, Eddie stated, “So, Steeeeve Harrington got bested by Billy Hargrove.” There was a gloating little smirk tugging at his lips as he seemed to mull this over.

You couldn’t hold it against him. Before Nancy, Steve had been a total jackass. You’d loathed him with a passion as well. But Steve wasn’t that person anymore.

“He’s a nice guy, you know,” you smiled, “He changed. Nancy changed him.”

Something else flashed in Eddie’s eyes as he let out a little scoff.

“Yeah. Sure. If you say so.”

You knew the roots of Eddie’s disdain for Steve, his wariness for all the people who were like Steve. Steve himself might not have bullied Eddie – but it didn’t change the fact that Steve, once upon a time, hadn’t exactly met people like Eddie with kindness.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Harrington,” Eddie said quietly, his gaze trained on the links of his bracelet he was fiddling with.

“He’s one of my best friends,” you said. “Has been for the past two years.”

There was a flash of hurt in Eddie’s dark eyes as he nodded, dark curls spilling into his face. They were slowly beginning to dry.

You were my best friend, you wanted to tell Eddie, but the words were stuck in your throat.

How long could the two of you continue it, this weird dance around the topic of what had happened that night? Of what you’d done; why you’d done it?

“Nancy changed him,” you tried again. “He was a jerk, but he’s one of the good guys now.”

Eddie let out a breath that sounded like another barely suppressed scoff before he replied, “Yeah. Good for him.” And when he finally glanced up at you, you could tell he was irritated. Annoyed, even.

You gave him a little frown. “For someone who hates being put in a neat little box of prejudice,” you countered, “You’re certainly doing it a lot, yourself.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said quietly, his gaze unwavering as it rested on you, “The last time I got involved with the popular crowd, it didn’t exactly end well for me.”

It was like a punch to the gut. But you deserved it. You deserved all of his resentment. You’d deserve all of his hate either, if Eddie Munson had been capable of it.

He continued, “I mean, I was probably stupid to invite Chrissy Cunningham of all people to my trailer for a fucking drug deal, but she was pretty persistent about the Special K and I didn’t exactly add a boogeyman from a parallel dimension framing me for murder as a possible risk factor.”

“Chrissy,” you replied hollowly, your mind finally catching up as you pulled out one of the cloths from the tin box.

His prior words had never been intended to be a jab at you.

The relief flooding you made a lump grow in your throat before you reached down to grab the bottle of whiskey, pouring a generous amount of the clear liquid over the cloth in your hand before you glanced up at Eddie.

He was watching you, his expression searching as you raised the whiskey-soaked piece of fabric, as if he was waiting for you to say something.

“I’ll clean you up before doing the stitches,” you said softly, “Can you – lie down? Preferably in this little beam of moonlight.”

The open bottle of whiskey in one hand, the cloth in the other, you gestured at the small patch pale light the weak beams of moonlight seeping through the crown of the trees above cast onto the filthy mattress as you added, “Because else, I won’t see shit.”

Even in the half-dark of the nightly woods, you could see the queasiness in Eddie’s expression as he gave the fish-hook you’d bent and placed on the lid of the box on the ground an alarmed side-eye.

“Eddie?”, you repeated softly when he didn’t react, “Are you ready?”

“What’s the alcohol level in that whiskey?”

You tilted your head, squinting at the label to discern the small print in the weak lighting. “Um, sixty per cent. That’s good enough to clean a wound –“

You cut yourself off as Eddie grabbed the bottle from your hand, throwing his head back as he took two long swigs of the amber liquid, his hand holding the bottle shaking like leaves before he set it down and pressed it back into your hand with a small, curt nod that looked as if he were currently fighting hard to keep it together as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You wanted to take his hand, to take him into your arms and tell him everything would be fine, to kiss away all the cuts and bruises and tell him how brave he’d been back at the boathouse.

But of course, you couldn’t do that.

Heart heavy, you watched Eddie lie down on the mattress with another pained wince at the movement as he shuffled to position himself so the small patch of moonlight was hitting his face, his dark eyes intently following your movements as you inched closer, cloth and whiskey bottle at the ready.

He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed, “’kay, ready when you are.”

Placing the piece of cloth so the whiskey wouldn’t run into his eye, you raised the bottle, pouring a generous amount of the amber liquid over the gash in Eddie’s brow, biting the inside of your cheek to keep focused on the task at hand as his hiss of pain filled the silence of the nightly woods while the whiskey ran down the blood-coated side of his face.

“Fuck, that burns,” he choked through gritted teeth, his hands curled into fists at his sides as he fought his reflex not to shrink away.

“It’s okay,” you soothed, pouring some of the whiskey over your own hands before you started to clean the side of his face, fingertips grazing his skin to gently brush away the stray curls which were sticking to the already drying blood which kept seeping from the gash, “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”, Eddie breathed, and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours.

Even knowing him as well as you did, it was still such a stark contrast to see Eddie, who seemed so menacing and rough with his tattoos, his wild mane, his ripped denim and worn leather, look so small and scared and vulnerable.

And it dawned on you that even now, even with everything that had happened between the two of you, Eddie – who carried his weirdness, his loudness, his outspoken endearing theatrics like armor – still felt comfortable enough around you to strip himself of all these things. To allow himself to be vulnerable in front of you.

An overwhelming surge of love, of affection and fierce protectiveness flooded you. Gently, you brushed another stray strand of wet hair from his forehead, and Eddie’s gaze turned strangely intense as he glanced up at you.

“We’ll fix this mess,” you promised. “Stitch by tiny stitch.”

It was clear neither of you was talking about his injuries any longer.

There was a heartbeat of silence filling the space between the two of you, broken by the distant hoot of an owl, a fluttering of wings mirroring the flutter of your own heart as you lost yourself in Eddie’s dark gaze – before reality came crashing back in, and you raised the fish-hook.

“I’ll make it quick.”

“Scars are pretty fucking metal, come to think of it. And it can’t be worse than the Kitchen Scrapper.” Eddie contemplated with the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

You blinked. “The – the who?”

“That’s the guy from the trailer park who did all my sweet ol’ tatties.”

“You – you got tattooed by a guy named the Kitchen Scrapper,” you repeated.

“He was the only one who’d to do them for a few bucks. He made his tattoo gun himself.”

“Why is he called the Kitchen Scrapper?”

Eddie pursed his lips as he thought about that. “I have noooo idea. The guy works at the slaughterhouse down in Pine Mills so come to think of it, something like, I don’t know, The Butcher would have been more fitting.”

“And you still thing you’re not brave,” you quipped with a quiet laugh, before you shuffled a little closer to him on the filthy mattress, angling yourself, but you needed to be closer to patch that gash, to even see what you were doing in the sparse light of the moon.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“Um. I need to…I think I’ll need to sit on your lap to do this.”

There was a beat of awkward, crestfallen silence as he stared up at you, before he quickly said, “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Scoot over.” He did an awkward little gesture with his hands.

Heat burning in your cheeks, you moved to his lap. Straddling him.

Trying very, very hard not to think too much about the position.

And the images of that November night kept flitting back to you – of everything that had happened before you’d shattered both your hearts to pieces.

The way Eddie had kissed you, so gentle and fierce at the same time, of the way his touches had left burning trails of sparks on your skin as you’d buried your fingers in his hair, the sweet noises he’d made as you’d rolled your hips against his –

You cleared your throat, heat flaring once again in your face at the tingle in your chest…and the one not in your chest but…deeper, while shame crept over you because he was bleeding and bruised and hurt and hunted by a town for horrible crimes he hadn’t committed and waiting for you to patch up the wound Jason had given him because Eddie had let go of the goddamn oar so they’d let you go –

You gave a curt nod – to steady yourself, this time – and placed your free hand on the side of his face to gently angle his head a little further into the pale beam of moonlight, and something sparked in Eddie’s eyes at the touch, mirroring the sparks in your own chest.

And for a fleeting heartbeat, you stayed like that. Straddling him, your hand cradling his cheek, watching each other, a flurry of unspoken things swirling in the space between you.

Then, you broke the moment.

And set to work.

Eddie’s sharp intake of breath as you pierced his skin for the first stich made your insides twist, and you bit your tongue to draw your focus on the task of mending his wound as well as the fish-hook-turned-surgical-needle and the pale twilight the moon was casting through the canopy of leaves above allowed for.

The rivulets of blood still running from the gash in his brow mingled with the silent tears of pain streaming from Eddie’s eyes, running down his temples and seeping into the dark strands of his drying curls as you worked, and his chest was rising and falling with shallow breaths as he tried to reign in the pained noises clawing at his throat as his features contorted with pain.

“It’s okay,” you cooed softly, over and over again so he could focus on your voice rather than the agony of the fish-hook being pierced through the wound that was deeper than you’d initially thought, “I’m nearly done. You’re doing good, Eddie, you’re doing so good.”

“Better than Harrington?”, Eddie choked out through gritted teeth, “When you patched him up with vodka and dental floss?”

“So much better,” you confirmed gently, fingertips working on the second stitch, “Steve fainted.” Eddie didn’t need to know that Steve had been unconscious already when you’d patched him up.

There was the tiniest flicker of a very Eddie cheeky little grin before pain won over again and he breathed, “Gonna rub it under his nose so hard.”

His words were cut off by a strained groan of pain that made your heart bleed even more for him, and with a tremor in your own voice, you soothed, tying the fine fishing line into the third knot, “Just one more. You’re doing so good and it’s just one more stitch to go and we’re done, okay?”

A strangled noise left Eddie’s throat in reply as you pierced the fish-hook through his skin for the final time, tying the fine line into the last knot before grabbing the gutting knife to cut the line.

“Done,” you breathed letting the hook and knife fall to the tin box with a soft clatter, and Eddie’s trembling exhale of relief filled the air, his eyes still closed.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah,” he choked, “Gimme a second.”

You stared down at the now blood-soaked piece of fabric in your hand as you contemplated where to put it, and – as if he’d read your mind – Eddie snickered, “You could just leave it in that corner over there,” he nodded at the foot of the nearest boulder, “Something blood-stained would really contribute to the ambience of the empty beer cans and used condoms. Don’t look into that corner, by the way.”

You chuckled, letting the bloodied fabric fall to the ground beside you for now.

Until now, you’d successfully danced around the imminent realization that Skull Rock was Hawkins’ most famous make-out spot, thanks to Steve.

With a shaky breath, Eddie slowly sat up, your hands shooting out to his shoulders to steady him, your knees digging into the moldy mattress as you supported his weight.

For a heartbeat, you just stared at each other.

You were still on his lap, straddling him, and now that he was sitting…he was close, his face mere inches from yours.

Letting your hands fall away from his shoulders, you cleared your throat before you said, “We should clean up the rest of the blood, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed quietly, his expression timid, and you averted your gaze, face burning as you reached for another fresh piece of cloth to soak with whiskey. There wasn’t much of the amber liquid left in the bottle, but it would do.

Raising the fresh cloth in one hand, you placed the other to cradle the side of his face – and for the sliver of a second, Eddie’s dark eyes flitted down to your lips, before they found yours again, the expression within unreadable as he watched you dab the soaked cloth at the freshly mended cut, working your way to the side of his face as he tilted his head a little to the side, leaning into the touch of your palm on his cheek.

You knew the gesture was meant to give you better access to the blood-crusted other side of his face, but…your heart wasn’t as quick to catch up. And your goddamn memory was quick to provide the matching images of that night; the way Eddie had leaned into your touches as he’d kissed you, the way he’d shuddered when you’d ran your fingers down his back, tracing the curve of his spine.

Your skin prickled underneath the intensity of Eddie’s umber eyes as he quietly watched you, your fingertips working to brush away a few especially rebellious, half-dried curls which had fallen into his face again, gently holding them out of the way as you cleaned the dried blood coating his skin.

Did you imagine it, or had the space between the two of you shrunken even further?

“So, uh,” Eddie’s murmur broke the silence, his voice low, “What now?”

“I told Robin to get the others and meet us at the boathouse after the meeting. So, when they arrive and meet the cops which will be flocking around the scene by now, they’ll search the woods for us. They’ll find us. Maybe their visit at Creel house this afternoon even sparked a few new insights regarding Vecna’s whereabouts.”

“You really got a whole monster hunter family,” Eddie assessed. “Still dealing with that revelation, by the way.”

“Of the Upside Down?”

“Of the kids I adopted into Hellfire turning out more badass than I could ever dream of being. Shit. Like, Mike Wheeler? Hunting monsters? With Steve The Hair Harrington? Gonna be totally honest with you here, Steve Harrington not being a total douche was a shocker that hit way harder than the whole monsters-from-another-dimension shit. And then it turns out that the girl with the superpowers was Mike Wheeler’s girlfriend which – if I’m being totally honest with you here – I didn’t even believe existed, so that’s that. And these freshmen are goddamn heroes while I’m…still running.”

The bitterness in Eddie’s tone stung.

“There’s no shame in running,” you echoed the words he’d told you all these months ago.

“Yeah,” he scoffed quietly. “That was before I discovered that running away seems to be my goddamn default.”

“Eddie –“, you began, but he shook his head, his umber eyes finding yours in the half-dark, glittering in the pale beams of moonlight falling down upon the two of you, and you let the rest of your sentence fade into the cool spring night air.

On Eddie’s lap, it wasn’t cool anymore, though.

You were close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, through his own soaked clothes, the Hellfire shirt already beginning to dry beneath the leather jacket and denim vest, just like his curls.

One hand still resting on your cheek, you assessed your handywork. The four stitches to mend the cut had stopped the bleeding, and you’d managed to clean the blood from his face.

There was still a bit of it sticking to the curls of his bangs, and you reached up to gently clean it away from the strands underneath Eddie’s attentive gaze that made butterflies sear in your belly and made your heart do backflips and your pulse accelerate, before you let the fabric fall to the ground.

With the blood gone from Eddie’s face, you could see the shadows of bruises forming underneath his skin already where Jason’s fists had hit home. One beneath the cut on his right brow, one on his temple, and one – darker than the others already – on his jaw, and your heart seized painfully for him as you let your fingertips graze the bruises, one by one, the touch fleeting and light like the brush of a feather – before you realized what you were doing, and your fingers stilled.

“Sorry,” you breathed, “Does that hurt?”

“No,” Eddie murmured, his gaze briefly wandering back to your lips again before he swallowed, meeting your eyes.

His face was only inches from yours, his lips close enough to smell the whiskey on his warm breath as it fanned over yours.

You knew you should probably increase the distance between the two, and you should definitely get away from his lap, stop straddling him – but you couldn’t.

The gravity which had always pulled you towards him was back full-force. Only it had never stopped. It had always been there, from day one.

And so, you didn’t move away.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Eddie added on a whisper, and you gently traced the curve of his cheekbone, down to his jaw, fingertips grazing the outlines of the bruises as he asked softly, “What are you thinking?”

“That I’ll kill Jason when I ever see him again.” Only as the words floated in the slim space between you, you realized they were the truth.

Eddie’s expression turned stern as he said quietly, “You won’t.”

“Because he’s big and strong and I don’t stand a chance? I fought monsters before.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie said softly. “You’re a monster slayer. But you’re not a killer.”

You swallowed. “You don’t know anything about me, Eddie.” It was a dark whisper, an echo of the words you’d spat at him that night.

“I don’t believe you. Not a single word.”

“Because you don’t know me, Eddie. You don’t know anything about me. You never have.”

The hurt in his eyes as you said the words left no doubt that he was remembering them as well.

But to your surprise, Eddie said quietly, “I think I do. More than you want to believe.” His tone wasn’t hurt. It was soft.

You don’t know what happened last summer, you wanted to tell him. You don’t know that the Mind Flayer got me and what it made me do, and you don’t know that part of me liked it. Enjoyed it, to hurt the person who hurt me. And that’s why I know I wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Jason. Not a single second. Not after what he did, tried to do, to me – and especially not after what he did to you. Jason Carver had hurt Eddie. The next time you’d see Jason, you were ready to make him pay.

And the fact that Eddie didn’t think you were capable of that, proved your point even further.

There were still so many things he could never know – things that would forever snuff out the warmth he still held in these beautiful dark eyes when he looked at you, even after everything you’d done to him.

Apart from that, you’d slammed that door close for a reason, locked it behind you and threw the key away – and the reason hadn’t changed.

Because your dreams were still filled with everything you’d seen that night.

The door with the stained-glass roses, the hand creeping through, the Mind Flayer watching the two of you, watching Eddie, a looming spidery shadow in the crimson skies…and the swarm of monsters pouncing on Eddie, ripping him apart.

You could hardly tell him about these things. That your nightmares were filled with his anguished death cry as the Upside Down devoured him.

When you didn’t reply, Eddie breathed, “Is that why you did what you did? Because of all the monster shit? Is that why you left?”

“I told you why I left.”

“Because I was nothing but a distraction.” There was so much pain laced in his voice, his eyes; his gaze pleading you to tell him no, reveal the truth he was so desperately hoping for.

Yes, Eddie had been dragged into this mess now. He knew the tale, of the Upside Down and its monsters. But he could still get out of this because he wasn’t marked. He wasn’t stained, carrying around that dark, festering imprint you were carrying on your own soul. It was an easy equation – the Mind Flayer would forever be a part of you. And this connection, whatever it was…it would be Eddie’s death, if he came to close. Even if he saw the darkest part of you and still chose to stay…the Mind Flayer’s mark on you would cost Eddie’s life.

Nothing had changed.

And if you needed to suffocate that spark of desperate hope in his umber eyes as he gazed at you now, the moonlight glittering within their depths as he held your gaze and waited for your reply…that’s what you’d do. Everything to keep him safe.

“Yes. You were a distraction. It has never been anything more.”

You should move away, increase the distance between the two of you…but you couldn’t.

The spell he kept holding you under, this strange gravity drawing you towards him like a star to its twin, a moth to a lonely night in the dark, was too strong, overpowering every rhyme and reason, everything in you that screamed to keep this door locked.

And so, you stayed. On his lap, straddling him, your palms cradling his cheeks.

And you could see that Eddie didn’t believe you, saw it in the fierce spark in his eyes even before he said quietly, “Then why did you come back for me?”

His whiskey-breath prickled on your lips, mingling with your own, heart racing wildly as the space between the two of you shrunk, the moonlight dancing in Eddie’s pleading umber eyes as they held yours captive, stealing every last ounce of willpower from you.

You opened your mouth to utter a reply, conjure another lie, but Eddie whispered, “No more lies. Tell me the truth, or nothing at all. But no more lies. Please.” His voice was barely more than a rasp, so soft, as soft as his pleading eyes while the space between you shrunk, magnets drawn to each other, his face so close that the tip of his nose brushed yours, his lips nearly grazing your own as he added on a breath, “If it didn’t count, if nothing of it mattered…why did you go to the trouble to find me, monster slayer?”

Because I love you.

I’ll always, always love you, Eddie Munson. And I always have.

You couldn’t say it, no matter how hard you wished you could.

But his proximity had stolen your voice anyway, had chased all the lies you were ready to tell from the tip of your tongue as you inched closer still –

And your lips brushed his.

It was fleeting, ephemeral as the touch of a moth’s wing, the ghost of a kiss…

Before it turned into a real one.

Your heart skipped its next beat, Eddie’s own sharp inhale filling the air in the sliver of space between the two of you, as his lips met yours again.

It was greedy. Desperate.

And all your resolve crumbled like a house of cards in a hurricane as you melted into the kiss. Until your chest was pressed flush against his, your fingers tangling in the drying strands of his hair to pull him closer as Eddie’s hands shot up to your back, holding you against him as if he were scared you’d fade away like mist in the sunlight if he let go now, and the softest of moans spilled from your lips as you parted them for him, fire blazing through your veins at the sensation, giddiness and love and longing and everything in between to mend what you��d broken, to put all the shards of your heart back together –

“EDDIE!”

Never in your life had you moved so fast, back to your feet, mind spinning and heart racing and chest heaving with labored breaths as you as you jumped away from Eddie, just as Robin rounded the boulders of Skull Rock, Nancy and Dustin and Steve hot on her heels, Max and Lucas trailing behind, as Steve chided, “Don’t be so loud, man. That’s –“

He cut himself off as their gazes met your own, wild and panting, before Dustin’s gaze fell on Eddie, who’d jumped to his feet in time with you, a soft wince escaping him as Dustin tackled him into a hug.

And Eddie’s eyes met yours over the boy’s shoulder as he patted Dustin’s back.

Even from the distance, you could see that his pupils were blown, the soft blush dusting his pale cheeks visible even in the weak moonlight, and you quickly averted your gaze as Robin inquired, “What the fuck happened? The boathouse is in cinders, there’s police all over the place –“

“Are you hurt?”, Nancy questioned, her gaze flitting from you to Eddie, who was in the process of untangling himself from Dustin’s bear hug, looking as rattles as you felt.

“No,” you breathed, just as Eddie retorted, “Yes.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed as they darted between Eddie and you, before she said, “You look a little… disheveled.” There was a small huff escaping her as Nancy not so subtly slapped Robin’s back, and Steve’s gloomy expression turned even gloomier as he turned to Eddie, waving at him while he inquired, “What happened?”

Eddie’s hand shot up to his hair, the strands tousled where your fingers had raked through them, caught in the heat of the moment of the kiss only moments ago before he stammered, “Uh. It’s…windy.”

There was a beat of silence as you watched Max’s eyebrows shoot up and Luca’s brow furrow in confusion as he stared at the absolutely unruffled foliage of the trees above, before Steve muttered, “Not your hair, man, your face.”

You were having a hard time ignoring the way Robin’s gaze was boring into you. She’d truly mastered the art of side-eyes.

“Oh,” Eddie replied. “Yeah. Had a run-in with Jason and his mob of jocks.”

“Before we took an accidental swim in the lake,” you added.

“Vecna got Patrick,” Eddie finished. “McKinney.”

“What?!”, Dustin called out, in time with Lucas.

“When did he die?”, Dustin pressed, “Patrick, I mean.”

“Fuck,” Lucas muttered under his breath.

“I didn’t exactly check the time –“ you began, but Eddie called out, “I did. Well, sort of,” as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. “We fell into the lake right then, so my watch broke…nine twenty pm. That’s when he…when it happened.”

“That’s when the lights burst,” Nancy breathed.

“What did you find out at Creel house?”, you inquired, your gaze briefly locking on Eddie’s. He was still panting, his eyes still wide and the blush on his cheeks mirrored the heat in your own as your whole face felt like it was burning, and you quickly averted your gaze when Dustin spoke up, “We found Vecna.”

“What?”

“He’s there,” Max said, “At Creel house. In the attic, on the other side.”

“That’s not creepy at all,” Eddie muttered, drawing out the words in his usual lilting tone.

“But if he’s there…”

“Then all we need to do is find a gate,” Dustin interrupted, “Go to the Upside Down –“

“And drive a stake through his heart,” Max finished grimly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

In the weak moonlight, she looked like a ghost, the shadows under her eyes nearly blue, her headphones at the ready around her neck. With a glance at Eddie, she said, “Thank you. For saving my ass. I’ve been told Kate Bush was your idea.”

Eddie scratched the back of his head, his eyes flitting to you before he said, “Yeah. No worries. It was a gut feeling rather than some genius epiphany.”

“Wait – a stake?” Steve furrowed his brows. “Is Vecna – is he a vamp?”

“It was a metaphor.”

Another thought came to your mind. “But we still need a gate.”

Dustin grinned as he pulled something out of his sweater’s pocket, the thing catching the moonlight in a glint of silver as he raised it in the air, “I think we already found one.”

Eddie’s brows shot up. “A gate. Just like that?”

Dustin’s grin widened. “When the Demogorgon attacked, it left a gate. And we already know that gates to the Upside Down mess with the magnetic field of the earth.” And you finally recognized what the thing in his hand was as he raised it again, before he announced, “And ever since we went into these woods, my compass went nuts.”

“With a capital ‘N’,” Robin smirked.

With an expression warring between fascination and dread, Eddie took the compass from Dustin’s hand. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed.

“Exactly,” Dustin grinned.

You didn’t need to look at the compass to know the needle was spinning like a record in its player.

“So, uh, all we need to do,” Eddie summed up, still staring at the whirring needle of Dustin’s compass, dread slowly winning its fight against fascination on his face, “Is follow wherever the needle is spinning faster.”

“Which will be Lover’s Lake,” Dustin added. “Where Patrick died. If my theory’s correct, and they always are.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathed, rolling his eyes, “Henderson, you gotta keep that ego in check.”

“Wait, the lake’s where we’re coming from,” you protested. “There will be police, the firefighters –“

“They’re gone,” Steve interrupted. “Which is why we need to go now. They’ll be searching the lake and the surrounding woods for Eddie as soon as the sun rises, so we need to go now and see if Dustin’s right.”

“I am,” Dustin said. “Jesus.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interjected, pinching the bridge of your nose at the flood of new information, “There was a third quote-unquote murder and they’re not searching the surroundings right now? Isn’t that weird?”

“Oh. Yeah. You don’t know,” Robin spluttered. “The whole town’s gone haywire.”

Max uttered a scoff. “The townhall burned down.”

There was a beat of crestfallen silence as Eddie’s head snapped up, eyes locking on you as the world started spinning.

“Just went up in flames,” Steve confirmed. “Must have been right after you left.”

You curled your hand into a fist at your side, fingernails digging painfully into the blisters covering your palm.

The blisters from the doorhandle at the townhall, which had singed you right before it had sprung open. Just like that.

Just like Chance’s letterman jacket had caught flames.

“Oh, and that’s not all,” Max added as an afterthought, stepping towards you as she pulled something out of the pocket of her jacket, holding it out for you.

It was a folded piece of paper.

“You never saw because you were already on your way back to the boathouse this morning,” she explained, “But remember when I said I drew what I saw when Vecna got me? That place he didn’t want me to see?”

Your hands trembled as you unfolded the paper, mind going a mile a minute as your thoughts raced around her previous words.

The townhall burned down.

Just like the boathouse. And the connection between these places, of course –

You unfolded the paper.

Just that it wasn’t a paper, you realized now. They’d glued several pieces of paper together like a puzzle, and someone had outlined the silhouette with a black sharpie, lines crisscrossing the pattern of red to form a house. Probably Creel house, you realized.

And your sharp intake of breath filled the silence of the spring night as your eyes fell on the center of the house.

On the front door.

The bouquet of flowers, drawn with messy swirls of crayon at the center of the door.

Crimson stained-glass roses.

[Friday, March 15th, 1986. ONE WEEK BEFORE CHRISSY’S DEATH.]

The silence of the dream mingled with the music floating through the headphones of your Walkman at the frayed edges of your consciousness, Eddie’s mixtape tethering you to a sliver of reality as you shrunk backwards.

It was there again.

The door, suspended in the night sky, amidst the sea of glittering stars.

Just like always, like every night since that November night four months ago.

You knew what came next, the nightmare a familiar companion by now – albeit one to which’s horrors you’d never grow accustomed.

It would creak open, a deformed, spidery hand creeping through.

You would turn and run.

And you’d watch him die, hear his death cry lace with the music, the chorus of a million eerie shrieks as the creatures pounced down on Eddie in a hailstorm of wings and claws and teeth and ruin, mingling with your own scream when you eventually bolted upright in bed.

Your mind clung to the music of Eddie’s mixtape, your tether, your lifeline, the lighthouse’s beam guiding you to shore.

A nightmare, a nightmare, just a nightmare…

There was the silhouette behind the door, behind the stained-glass roses bleeding crimson.

But this time…something was different.

The brass doorknob didn’t turn.

The door didn’t creak open.

The deformed hand didn’t crawl through the crack to fold around the wood.

There was just the door, and the starry night skies.

And mingling with the music, the lyrics floating through the dream, was a voice.

So beautifully familiar, soft as it painted your name into the air in its musical lilting cadence.

And so horribly, horribly scared.

“Eddie?”, you answered, whirling around, eyes scanning your surroundings for a flash of his umber eyes, of messy dark curls and soft lips, of leather and denim and the glint of his rings – but there was nobody there.

Just a void filled with silent, distant stars.

“Eddie?!”, you called out again – and this time, he answered, his voice growing more desperate as he called out your name.

Screamed your name.

“EDDIE!”, you cried out, spinning faster and faster as his voice morphed into a horrid cry of agony – and your eyes fell on the door.

The silhouette behind, fists hailing down on the wood from inside, making the door rattle in its hinges as you darted towards it.

“EDDIE!”

“HELP ME!”

“EDDIE I’M RIGHT HERE!”

“GET ME OUT!”, he screamed, “HELP ME! LET ME OUT!”

He was behind that door.

With that thing, the silhouette with its deformed spidery hand.

Panic clawed at you as your hands wrapped around the brass door knob.

It was cool against the skin of your palm.

And through the petals of the crimson stained-glass roses, Eddie’s eyes stared back at you, wide with terror as he placed one hand on the glass and whimpered, “Let me out, monster slayer. Please.”

Without a second of hesitation, you turned the knob.

And ripped the door open.

But Eddie…Eddie was gone.

And your eyes flew open as you bolted upright in bed, the sweat-soaked sheets tangled around your legs as your chest heaved with shallow breaths, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

It had been just a dream.

Only a dream.

…right?

[Sunday, March 24th, 1986. NOW.]

It was the door from your dreams.

The door from your dreams was the door to Creel house.

The door to Vecna’s lair.

The door you’d ripped open in your nightmare nine days ago.

Exactly seven days before Chrissy Cunningham’s bones had snapped, one by one, on the ceiling of Eddie Munson’s trailer.

The stained-glass roses of Max’s painting swam before your eyes, blurred into splotches of red as your body went numb, and you sunk to your knees, onto the carpet of dried leaves, your friends’ voices rising around you, muted as if you were underwater as realization crashed over you like a freezing wave.

You’d opened that door.

Vecna had tricked you.

And you…you had let him in.

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞

----

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I hope you enjoyed this chapter! ♡

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢�� 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 ♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fix it fic #stranger things eddie #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson slow burn #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #joe quinn

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laurellerual · 4 months

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Arya and Sansa storyswap: an exercise in imagination

Premise: I tried to speculate what might happen if Sansa manages to escape King's Landing and Arya gets stuck in the capital. I collected my thoughts on this scenario trying to make logical, credible choices that respected the characterization of the characters and the timeline of the books (the wiki was very usefull for this). I discarded all the scenarios that end in "…and then she dies horribly" because they're boring. I write with assumption that they would still remain POV characters and therefore mantain a minimum of plot armor. Like everyone, I have my biases so it's not perfect, but I tried to put myself in the most neutral mindset possible. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts. Part 2, Part 3

Part 1/3: Sansa

A Game of Thrones

I believe Sansa's story would remain mostly the same until the end of Sansa III (AGOT). The only thing I feel like adding is an exchange with Arya. During breakfast Sansa notices Arya's bruises and her sister tells her about the secret passage with dragon skulls that she found, and how she got out of the Red Keep. Sansa clearly doesn't believe her and she thinks it's just Arya being weird.

At the end of Sansa III they receive the news that they will be leaving King's Landing soon, and she runs away crying and barricades herself in her room. In Sansa IV she is locked in Maegor's Holdfast and we find out that she went to Cersei to tell her about Ned's plan to leave. There's a narrative hole between these two chapters that can be exploited to make little changes. What happened that night after Sansa locked herself in her room? It has to be something that makes her change her mind about going to the queen or at least something that stops her from doing so. Personally I choose septa Mordane, you could expand her character and make her a little more similar to how she is in the show where she is shown genuinely loyal to House Stark.

The septa is present when Sansa escapes to her room so it's not unrealistic that she would decide to follow her. Sansa has been behaving "almost as wicked as Arya" lately so Mordane decides to follow her to lecture her or console her. Maybe she reaches her before she can barricade the door and make her see reason. Or perhaps seeing the girl so out of it she goes to Lord Eddard to talk, and she persuades him to talk again to his daughter and help her to calm down. Here you could write a scene parallel to the one in which Ned talks to Arya about Needle.

Sansa is not happy with her father's plans, and she begs him to go to the queen, to discuss this further and find another solution, to make her stay. To reassure her, Ned tells her that he already intends to go to Cersei (as he will do in Eddard XII), but he does not reveal the real reason why he wants to talk to her.

However he fears that the girl might take the initiative and do it herself. To be safe he assigns her a guard and ask him and the septa to prevent his daughter from interacting with Cersei before the departure. (I would like the guard to be Alyn but at this point he has already left for the Riverlands).

Cersei has less informations and when the moment of Ned's arrest arrives, Sansa is with her protectors that have already been warned to keep the Lannisters away from her. When the Lannister men arrive for her, the Stark guard slows them down and septa Mordane drags her away. First the two try to look for Ned, but they soon realize that the Tower of the Hand is under attack. The septa drags Sansa into the servants' quarters (into the kitchens? in the pantry?) idk.

The Septa shoves her in a dark niche, under a cupboard, throws a tablecloth over her and tells her to stay hidden. Mordane tries to think of a plan, but the Lannister men burst in. They recognize her as one of the Stark servants but when she does not provide useful information on the Stark girls they kill her. Sansa remains there all night, lying in the dust. She tries not to make any noise, she is terrified, and from her hiding place she can see the septa's corpse lying on the ground.

The first light of dawn comes in through a little window. Sansa tries to gather courage, she has to leave before the servants start working. The idea disgusts her, but she sees only one way to go unnoticed: she undresses Mordane, covers the silk dress with the septa's habit and hides the face with her veil. Then she wraps the woman in the tablecloth, as if it were a shroud and hides her in that same niche. She tries not to attract attention and find a way out. Sansa doesn't fully understand what happened, she would like to go to the queen or her father, but she is too afraid of the Lannister men after seeing them kill Mordane.

She hasn't eaten in a whole day so before leaving the kitchens she steals some food, like she did with Jeyne. The thought saddens her, who knows where her friend is? She hasn't seen her since she had breakfast with her and Arya. 'Arya...' Sansa remembers the secret passage her sister told her about and decides to try to reach it. With a little luck she makes it, no one pays attention to an anonymous septa. Thanks to the tunnel she manages to reach Flea Bottom.

Here she lives for a few days, trying to listen conversations to find out something about her father. Obv Sansa doesn't try to kill pigeons, she has to stoop to pilfering some food, and even eat trash. She mostly frequents the surroundings of the The Great Sept of Baelor and prays. She sings religious hymns and people take her for a begging septa and throw her some crumbs. One day the sept square fills with people, they are here for the execution of the traitor Eddard Stark. Sansa tries to climb up to not be crushed by the crowd. She sees her beloved Joffrey give the order! She screams, but her voice is drowned out by the noise.

The show is over, the people disperse again. She looks around desperately searching for something, she hopes for a friendly face. it is then that she recognizes a man dressed in black: it's Yoren. Sansa had seen him a few days earlier in the throne room, while he was asking father for men to recruit in the Night's Watch (in Sansa III). He's going away, but Sansa follows him. Now it's clear to her that King's Landing is no longer a safe place and this may be her only chance to return in the North, to home, to safety.

Yoren realizes he's being followed and try to scare her away. Sansa lifts her veil to show herself, she reveals her identity, She begs him to take her out of the city with him, she try to appeal to the ancient friendship between the Starks and the Night's Watch. Yoren looks at her face and recognizes a certain resemblance to Catelyn Stark. He chooses to believe her, so he cuts her hair, dresses her up as a boy and throws her in with the other recruits.

A Clash of Kings

I find it very funny that Sansa's boy name could be Sandor. Anyway, she tries to act nice and compliant to not put herself at risk, but mostly gets people to walk all over her. The younger recruits bully her because she “looks like a female (derogatory)” and she's an easy target. On the other hand, she doesn't have a sword to steal so Hot Pie and Lommy don't try to rob her, they just think she's a loser. Sansa keeps to herself, she doesn't go near Jaqen's cage, she doesn't catch a rabbit to share with Gendry, she doesn't manage to establish a particular relationship with anyone in the group. The commonfolk sucks, Yoren is kind I guess but he stinks. It will take a long time before she can start thinking about social injustice, for now she's just shocked by their miserable living conditions.

The Golden cloaks come looking for Gendry, but Sansa stays hidden because she thinks they are looking for her. Why would the queen want that rude guy? For a moment she thinks that he vaguely resemble Lord Renly… but no, that's nonsense. And even if it was, he's still a bastard. Yoren tells them that if the golden cloaks return they must escape.

One night the group go to sleep, but soon they are attacked by Amory Lorch. Sansa doesn't want to fight, she tries to hide, but in the chaos she ends up showing a soldier down from the tower, killing a man for the first time. She does everything she can to reach the trapdoor and escape. There's no way she'll go back to free Jaqen, but she decides to grab Weasel in the escape.

The small group of survivors, led by Gendry, arrive near an abandoned village. The Bull decides to explore it and takes Hot Pie with him. Sansa doesn't know it, but Gendry wants to abandon her and the others because he thinks they are just slowing them down. He has decided to propose the escape to Hot Pie because he is the second "less useless" choice after Arya. As per canon, Gendry and Hot Pie are captured by the Mountain's men (and probably die in Harrenhal).

Now here is an important change. Arya was captured and taken to Harrenhal because she returned to the village and try to save Gendry, but I don't think Sansa would do the same so she would not be captured at this point in the story. When Sansa and Weasel hear the sound of men in armor approaching, they run away to hide and leaves Lommy there to his fate.

The two girls now find themselves in the forest alone and without supplies in a land of burned villages, they're severely malnourished. Sansa would definitely think about trying to reach Riverrun, but she has no way of orienting herself. If we want to give her any hope of survival I'd say the only solution is for the two of them to be lucky enough to walk in the right direction. In this way the two get closer to the territory frequented by the Brotherhood without Banners and with a bit of luck the outlaws finds them before they die of starvation.

A Storm of Swords

The Brotherhood takes the orphans with them and feeds them. Weasel is probably left at the first inn/orphanage (where she will live a long and happy life), while Sansa meets Harwin, she is recognized and taken hostage. She learns that Winterfell has been conquered by Theon and that Bran and Rickon are dead.

She stark using women's clothes again because she prefers them. And also because every day she manages to hide the fact that she is a girl less and less. She has no intention of cutting her hair a second time, and now that she started eating regularly again she got her first period too. Coarse as they are, it is a relief to be surrounded by people who recognize her as a noble lady. Lady Ravella is a breath of fresh air and Tom is an acceptable singer. She enjoys Edric Dayne's company and thinks he's cute, but she doesn't understand why he wants to talk about Jon Snow.

Sansa is taken to Lord Beric who promises to reunite her with her mother. The sight of the undead man repulses her, but his behavior is chivalrous enough. She certainly doesn't try to escape, she just hopes that he respects his oath.

One day a prisoner with a familiar and unmistakable face is brought to the Hollow Hill: it's the Hound.

#sansa stark #arya stark #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #<sort of #more a summary than a story

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emeritusemeritus · 9 months

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Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt 3.

[Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of sex, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting. Tiny bit of angst, possessiveness, talk of kids.

A bit more Georgie smut for you (sorry Fred)🌹

George walked back into the room after quite a while and smiled seeing you and Fred cuddled up in bed. Fred's arm never left your waist as he read some of his quidditch annual to you, pointing out various players and teams he was fond of. You didn't have much interest in quidditch, other than supporting your secret boyfriends on the field, but Fred's voice had always been soothing to you and you relished in an uncommon peaceful moment with him.

"Where have you been?" You asked, catching sight of George standing by the door. He smiled and walked towards you, sitting on the edge of the bed as his hand rested on your leg, stroking gently.

"Just had a few things to sort angel, don't worry," he says vaguely. "Mum said teas nearly ready."

"Godric I'm starving," Fred says, suddenly overwhelmed with hunger at the mention of food, a good sign that his appetite was improving.

Tea was had, a lovely roast chicken dinner with homemade pumpkin spiced tarts for dessert. Fred managed to scare everyone he came into contact with on the way down to the kitchen on account of his still pale and sallow complexion, a fact he was most pleased about. When tea was finished, you offered to help with the pots but Molly insisted she didn't need help and so George whisked you away quickly. Fred gave a little salute with his hands as he disappeared into their bedroom on the second floor but George lead you further up the staircase, much to your surprise, only stopping once you reached the fourth floor.

You creeped up the staircase that lead past Molly and Arthur's room towards the little walkway up to Ron's attic bedroom but instead of ascending the stairs, George lead you out into a little cubby hole you'd never noticed before. He pulled open the hatch and urged you to climb through, realising within moments that you have walked out into the little balcony over the bathroom.

You couldn't believe your eyes at you looked at the sight around you. Everything added up in your head as realised what exactly George had been doing whilst he'd been gone as you looked around at the beautiful sight before you.

The balcony had been adorned with magically imposed twinkling lights that looked like fireflies wrapped around the wooden beams and lit tea candles off the side . There were an obscene number of blankets and throw cushions arranged on the wooden floor, all different textures and patterns which blended together beautifully to create the most comfy looking spot you could imagine. There were two goblets placed to the side filled with dark liquid and an old telescope next to a star map placed beside them.

You turned round to George as soon as you sensed him behind you, gazing at him with a look of sheer amazement at what he had done. All he had to do was give you his trademark shy but wicked smile and you were gone, reaching up to kiss him with sheer adoration. He chuckled against your lips, wrapping one arm around your waist whilst the other held onto the wooden rail as he kissed you back passionately.

"You did all this for me?" You asked, looking up into his beautiful eyes. He nodded and smiled, though he was a little bashful.

"George it's wonderful, thank you," you gushed, reaching up on your tip toes to place another kiss to his lips, already feeling as if you couldn't get enough of him.

"And the pièce de résistance," he says with a smirk, crouching down to pull back one of the blankets on the edge, showing a plate of pumpkin spice tarts he had clearly smuggled from the kitchen when Molly wasn't looking. You laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows and took a seat on the floor amongst the pile of fabric, crouching and then extending his long legs to drape across the balcony. He held out his hand for you and you placed your hand in his, moving to sit beside him. He immediately leant back on the cushions and pulled you down with him, your head resting on his chest as you both looked out at the night sky.

You let out a gasp at seeing the vibrancy of the stars in the sky, the lack of light pollution in the open countryside did wonders for the stars to sparkle in their full glory. You'd never seen so many stars at once like this, it was utterly breathtaking.

George entwined his hand with yours and stroked your hand with his thumb, fingers playing with your own as you felt him relax behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You don't know how long you both sat there, flicking between gazing peacefully at the night sky, chatting quietly between yourselves, eating the delicious stolen pumpkin tarts, taking turns looking through the telescope at the different constellations you could see, trying to match them to the diagrams on the star map.

After a while, you started to get chilly even with the array of blankets on you, your shoulders exposed in your short T-shirt, having not expected to be sat outside for too long. You didn't want the night to end and so you tried to hold off your shivering and blanket heaping as long as you could, trying to be subtle as to not concern George but it was pointless, he noticed everything.

"Are you cold angel?" He asked quietly, a gentle murmur beside your ear. You simply nodded, trying to slink down further into the blankets until he moved you forward off his body just enough to remove the thick sweater he'd been wearing. It was navy with a large, gold, emblazoned 'G' on the front and his long sleeved T-shirt below was an off burgundy colour which suited him so much. He immediately began to stretch the jumper around you, telling you to raise your arms as he slipped the sweater over your head.

"Twice in one day you steal my clothes," he smirks as he looks at you wearing his sweater, liking it a little too much. The initial on the front only heightened these feelings, knowing that even just temporarily, you were his and his alone, at least in this moment.

"If it means you stripping down, I'd take your clothes all the time," you flirted. He immediately leaned down, twisting a little awkwardly as he gave you a bruising kiss. You turned in his lap, only breaking the kiss momentarily as you moved to lie in your stomach, over George's body as you deepened the kiss, feeling as if you couldn't get enough of him.

His hands began to wander, as did yours, feeling the soft but toned plains of his body, the soft material of his T-shirt and the roughness of his corduroy trousers. Your hand reached down his body towards the edge of his trousers as you felt the obvious sign of arousal you were hoping for. He moaned a little into the kiss as he felt you cup his rigid length through his trousers, running your fingers over it deliciously to tease him.

"Angel," he warned against your lips and you had to hide your smirk as you began to undo the buttons to his trousers, needing to feel him immediately. You tore off his trousers, kicking them to the side and immediately climbed into his lap. You were eternally grateful to yourself that you'd chosen to wear a skirt at tea, feeling too restricted in your jeans and you were immediately rewarded for your decision as your clothed sex came into contact with his.

You gasped into his mouth as your hot and wet core slid deliciously over his, the material of yours and George's underwear only adding to the teasing aspect, feeling so close and get so far apart. You didn't doubt that George would be able to feel your arousal through your panties, you'd been wet for him for hours. You rode him lazily, rubbing your clothes cores together to create the most pleasurable friction you could. George was gasping and grunting with each undulation of your hips, his grip on your buttocks getting tighter and tighter as his kisses became feverish and frantic.

His hands left your butt for a split second as he reached under your skirt and ripped the side of your panties open, the lace side parts slicing in two from his brutish move. The one remaining, intact side of your panties did nothing to shield you anymore, falling limply down to your knees where they bent over George's legs, the chilly air hitting your hot pussy deliciously as you were immediately exposed. George managed to lift his hips just enough to pull his boxers down and you couldn't help but let out a moan at the feeling of his dick springing up out of his underwear and tapping your thigh, the rigidity and weight of it making you gush.

George's hands returned to your now naked bum underneath your skirt as he fondles, pinches and lightly spanks your naked skin, making gasps fall from your lips without thought. He suddenly places his hands on each cheek and spreads them apart, completely exposing you to the cold air around you, your clit throbbing at the sensation.

You couldn't wait any longer and dropped your hips down to meet his, the instant gratification overwhelming you as you began to ride your wet pussy across his hardness, your clit dragging deliciously over the ridges of his thick cock.

George's head slams back as he fights to hold back a deep and loud groan as the sensation.

It wouldn't take much to get you off, already so worked up from having him so close to you all night, his romantic gestures and sweetness making you want to show him your appreciation. You wanted to cum around his cock, suddenly feeling a little too empty at the very thought of his beautifully filling cock and so you reached down with your right hand, placed your left on his shoulder and grabbed hold of his cock and lined him up with your aching pussy.

You rocked your hips as he eased inside of you, moans and curses falling from each of your lips as the sensation.

His cock truly was perfect, perfect length and thickness for you with the most delicious, subtle upward curve that seemed to always hit the right spot within you. Both of your men were similar lengths, with Fred maybe having half an inch on his twin but George was just a fraction thicker than Fred and right now it was really working for you.

George's hands were everywhere, as if he didn't know where to touch you next, his mouth wide open and his eyes flicking everywhere they could see. His left hand suddenly crept up underneath the sweater you had borrowed, under the T-shirt and grabbed your naked breast, his long and deft fingers toying with your pebbled nipple. His right hand stayed firmly lodged on your right bum cheek, pressing gently as he guided your rhythm.

"Fuck angel, just like that," he moaned as you slightly increased your rhythm, bouncing up and down on his cock as your clit rubbed perfectly against his happy trail.

You were in heaven, you were sure of it. The beautiful stars, a sweet date planned by your boyfriend, said boyfriend's cock stretching you out and hitting every single erotic spot inside of you with each thrust, it could hardly be real.

"Georgie, George, I'm," you began to chant, trying your hardest to stay quiet, the conscious part at the back of your mind warning you to keep it down when your body wanted to scream. George nodded, as if he was agreeing with his internal monologue and immediately slipped the hand that was caressing your breast down to your clit. It only took two circles of your clit by his expert hands before you were cresting on your climax. You could feel your pussy tighten around his cock, twitching with desperation to fall over the edge and George rewarded you with instant groans and moans that he could no longer keep in.

You grabbed hold of his shoulders hard as you rode him, your orgasm suddenly overwhelming you enough to stop the thrusting as you let the tingling, hot sensation wash over your body. George has seemingly already anticipated this adn had began thrusting up into you as he neared his edge, his thrusts getting harder and sloppier as the desperate need to cum overwhelmed him. You had to lean forward and bite down on the juncture between his neck and shoulders to silence the scream that threatened to spill out and wreck the peaceful atmosphere surrounding the burrow.

George began muttering absolute nonsense, though you made out a few curses, groans and 'Angels' as his own climax overtook him, never stopping his hard thrusting as he dragged your hips up and down on his cock, using you for his own pleasure as he spilled himself deep inside you.

Once the orgasmic fog had cleared from your minds, you turned to each other with sappy, loving smiles on your faces, chuckling a little at the desperation you'd just encountered and shared a lovingly sensual kiss. His tongue licked along yours, never claiming dominance as Fred would but just caressing. You sucked on the lip of his tongue and immediately felt his softening cock twitch inside you, earning a loud groan from George.

You pecked his nose, watching a bashful smile wash over his gorgeous face and you began to climb off of him, feeling his cum begin to drip out of you in a slow trickle.

"I don't know how you do it angel," George says in wonder. You look back to him and see his lazing back on the pillows, arms behind his head and eyes closed with a wide, content smile on his face. He was still wearing his T-shirt but his spent cock was proudly still on display with no shame.

"Me? That was all your Georgie," you chuckled, leaning your head back against his chest and you repositioned yourself to how you were sat before, looking out at the stars. He removed one of his hands from behind his head and entwined your hands again, bringing your joined hands up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

It was peaceful again.

George eventually got recovered, slipping his boxers and sweats up over his hips as you continued to stargaze, his hand never really leaving yours. The lights had slowly began to turn off in the burrow as each member turned in for the night so you were left with just your twinkling lights and the last weak dregs of candlelight that remained.

"So if you don't do music, what would you want to do when you leave hogwarts?" He asks, breaking the comfortable silence as he mentions your conversation earlier in the car in the car. You considered the question for a moment, not really knowing what to say. You knew George and Fred's dream of opening their own shop, growing their business that they operated via owl post and at school, but you didn't really know where you fit into that dream, assuming you did. You still had a choice to make between them both, which you'd been omitting from your mind constantly, hating the overhanging unease you felt at the entire concept.

"I can't say I've thought about it much," you replied honestly, "I like potions, I mean I'm fairly good at it, I suppose something to do with that but it's kind of a limited career. I just don't have the burning urge to go out and break curses or be an auror or anything like that, nor do I want to be a trophy wife stuck at home with a bunch of children."

"Good thing you weren't placed into Slytherin then," George jokes, knowing that half of the Slytherin female population were raised to be married off to another pureblood family to essentially breed and maintain status. You snorted in acknowledgement, considering the ridiculous idea for a moment before falling silent again, suddenly feeling the weight of a building existential crisis as your thoughts spiralled.

"Do you want kids?" He asks after a moment.

"Yeah definitely, maybe just one or two though not a whole pack of Weasleys," you joked, before realising the implication of what you just said. "I mean, not like your kids or Fred's or anything I just meant because you have like a hundred siblings."

Your face must have turned beet red as words tumbled out of your mouth to recover from your misstep but the damage had already been done.

Surprisingly, George didn't laugh like you thought he would or made a sarcastic quip like his brother, he remained ominously quiet. Worried that you'd ruined the moment, or worse your relationship, you turned to face George and instead of seeing discomfort or anger, he had a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I don't know, I can think of worse things than seeing you knocked up with my kid," he says, looking down at you. You smile and nudge him with your arm, a little bashful from his words.

"Do you, want kids I mean?" You ask, trying to deflect, earning a definitive nod from him.

"Yeah, one or two, knowing my luck I'd get twins," he chuckled, staring up at the skies.

"Your mum would love that, finally a-bit of payback for the mischief you and Fred have caused," you joked, glad that there was no lingering awkwardness between you. He laughed and pulled you tighter into his body, agreeing with you.

"What about your plans? Still dreaming of the shop?" You asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to let him have his moment to talk about his passion.

"Yeah definitely, you know Harry gave us his tri-wizard winnings to set us up, so we've just got to get through this last year of school and start scouting for storefronts," George smiles. You smile along with him, nodding your head as you him adoringly.

"You know, I'm so proud of both of you, it's amazing to see how far you've come already," you say, stroking your thumb along his hand, "defying convention and other's opinions, being unashamedly yourselves and knowing what you want, it's kind of inspiring actually."

George blushes under your praise and gives you a warm smile at your words though you can see he doesn't fully believe it.

"I'm serious!" You smile, dripping his hand as you turn to sit and face him, "you're 17 and you have it all figured out, I'm literally not even close to figuring out what I want to do! You've already created so many wonderful things, started a business and have your next move all planned out, honestly I'm so amazed by you both."

"You know, we'll always need a helping hand at the shop, you could always take some time out after you finish school and come work with us," George says.

"You planning on keeping me that long?" You joke, though your fears had slipped through. You were uncomfortable at the thought of your future with the boys because at this point you couldn't see how you could chose just one of them. They'd be leaving and you'd have one more year of school left to finish, would either of them even still want you then?

"I'm planning on keeping you forever, if you chose me," George replies quietly, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud. "But that's not important, right now, in this moment, I have you and you have me."

"George Fabian Weasley, how romantic of you," you said, trying to lighten the rather intense conversation. He immediately burst into a wide smile and pulled you in for one last cuddle, kissing the top of your head.

"Want to head back in?" He asks.

"Five more minutes," you mumble, cuddling into him further. He chuckles but says nothing, happy to be holding you for just a little while longer.

#emeritusemeritus #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #harry potter #george weasley smut #george weasley x you #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #weasley twins x reader #Weasley twins smut #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley masterlist #george weasley masterlist

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wormconsumer · 2 months

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Based off a post I saw with the idea that Robert Smirke had fourteen friends, each falling too/representing a different entity, with Smirke himself being the Extinction.

To get the obvious ones out of the way: Jonah Magnus as the Eye, Mordechai Lukas as the Lonely, Maxwell Rayner as the Dark, and George Gilbert Scott as the Buried; these ones are all canon. Not directly canon but a pretty reasonable assumption is Simon Fairchild as the Vast; we know Simon had Maxwell Rayner help him with his Awful Deep ritual in 1853, which was only a few years before Smirke died, and Smirke hung out with Rayner a ton, so it makes sense for Simon to be part of the group (though by a different name; he only started going by “Simon Fairchild” in the 1930s). Another fairly reasonable assumption, in my opinion, is John Franklin for the Hunt. Franklin is canonically a Hunt avatar in The Magnus Archives, his real-life timeline overlaps with Smirke and the rest, and Rayner was canonically interested in his expedition, which was probably because he wanted to use Franklin’s knowledge of arctic exploration for his ritual, but could also imply they knew each other, and therefore, Smirke’s gang.

For the Corruption, my first thought was John Amherst, but he only became an avatar during the Second Boer War, which was about half a century after Smirke’s time. Instead, John Snow is a better fit. He was an English physician who lived during the same time as Smirke, and he had something going on; his descendant Neil Thompson has a syringe that belonged to Snow that had Corruption properties, so Snow fits. For the Slaughter, we could go with Charles Fleming. We know he was in China from at least the beginning of the First Opium War in 1839, and Smirke and Jonah and the rest were up and active on their supernatural studies since at least the 1810s, so it’s theoretical Fleming could have hung out with them, even though he didn’t become touched by the Slaughter until he went to China. Maybe he came back later, though he was in China at least until 1862. Alternatively, William Hall, the actual captain of the Nemesis, could be an option, his lifetime overlaps pretty well with Smirke’s, though there is no evidence he interacted with the Slaughter besides his interactions with Fleming and the Nemesis. Still, he was probably a bit more high-society that Fleming, so I kind of prefer him. Finally, for the more reasonable ones, we have Joey Grimaldi for the Stranger. Grimaldi’s timeline overlaps with Smirke’s, and we know he was affected by the Stranger even before he was turned into Nikola Orsinov. The reason I’m choosing Grimaldi instead of Gregor Orsinov or Nikolai Denikin is that we know for sure he was in England while Smirke was, unlike the other two.

Now for the more out-there guesses. For the Flesh, there are a few options. One is Eustace Wick, the Lutheran priest-turned-cannibal, who did live at the same time as Smirke, but he became an avatar in 1832, died in 1845, and has no evidence that he’d even been to England, considering he’s American. The other options would be Benjamin Carlisle, Benjamin’s unnamed wife, or possibly some other relative or descendant of theirs. I find this one the more likely choice, because Jonathan Sims specifically wonders how Benjamin Carlisle’s wife was able to give her statement to the Magnus Institute, considering she starved to death in a cave on the Oregon Trail in 1845, as well as the fact that an apparent descendant of her, Toby Carlisle, is living in England by the 21st Century and has enough of a connection with the Flesh to be pretty severely affected by the failure of the Last Feast ritual. The unnamed Mrs. Carlisle being the Flesh representative does mean she presumably gave in and cannibalized her husband, and the timeline only gives her about a decade to have hung out with the rest before Smirke’s death, but I think that fits, considering what Smirke said about just coming up with theories about the Flesh in his statement.

The Spiral has similarly not a lot to go on. I would just say the Distortion, seeing as it’s an immortal manifestation of the Spiral itself. We know that Ivo Lenshik’s father was tormented by the Distortion in a human form, and apparently Lenshik’s great-uncle did too, implying that the Distortion did assume a humanoid form sometimes, before it was forced to by the failure of the Great Twisting ritual. Plus, Jonah Magnus clearly knows who the Distortion is, which yes, he could have learned at literally any point from the past two hundred years, but seeing as we’ve got nothing else, I’ll choose to believe. For the Web, the only older avatars of the Web we’re aware of would be the historical owners of the house at Hill Top Road. We don’t know who owned it during Smirke’s time; the closest we have are the unnamed blackmailer who died during the English Civil War in the mid-1600s, and Walter Fielding, who died in 1923. Walter’s son and grandson both owned the house for about thirty years before dying, so with the same amount of time applied, Walter couldn’t be our Web avatar. Honestly, the answer might just have to be “whichever Web avatar was owning the house at Hill Top Road during the first half of the 19th Century.”

For the Desolation, we have even less. Diego Molina founded the Cult of the Lightless Flame at some point prior to World War II, but we have no idea when, and it couldn’t have been that long, considering what Eugene Vanderstock says about the immortality of Desolation avatars having some kind of limit. The same is true of the End. The only known End avatar who was alive during Smirke’s time was Nathaniel Thorp, who was a Death at the time, and didn’t become human again until 1970. It’s unlikely that Deaths got breaks to socialize.

So, in summary, we know for sure about:

* Jonah Magnus — The Eye

* Mordechai Lukas — The Lonely

* Maxwell Rayner — The Dark

* George Gilbert Scott — The Buried

We can make some reasonable assumptions about:

* Simon Fairchild — The Vast

* John Franklin — The Hunt

We can make educated guesses about:

* John Snow — The Corruption

* William Hall — The Slaughter

* Joey Grimaldi — The Stranger

We can make complete guesses about:

* Mrs. Carlisle — The Flesh

* The Distortion — The Spiral

* Owner of the house at Hill Top Road — The Web

And we have nothing for:

* The Desolation

* The End

If anyone has ideas or things I missed, let me know.

#tma #tmagp #the magnus archives #magpod #robert smirke #smirke's fourteen #jonah magnus #simon fairchild #maxwell rayner

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2cutie · 3 months

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Shang Tsung with Hope is now my roman empire, and if one of them dies - I will be crying rivers, so angst time!

During Titan Shang Tsung reveal and fight with Order of Darkness, Hope could try to attack Titan ST but he just grabs the cat and could probably harm it heavily (throwing it or doing something evil, all my homies hate Titan Shang Tsung). I think Shang would go rampage and try to kill his Titan counterpart, but second one already disappears.

i love angst, thank you for feeding me. Please, allow me to make it so much worse <33 also sorry this took me ages to reply, I saved this ask to think about and then forgot it was still in my box bfchd continuing cat!reader+Shang Tsung prompt

Shang had to (begrudgingly) side with Liu Kang when he realized he was a victim of deception. His own kind, even, from another timeline. It was both disgracing yet commendable.

Hope - you, his loyal & fierce cat - of course stood beside him through anything, even wars. Shang had trained you, enhanced you; you would battle by his side 'til the end.

So when Titan Shang Tsung posed a threat to your Shang, you were in a fury. You were fighting alongside him, but the Titan's army was vast, and you were caught between fighting many villains with familiar yet different faces from those in your timeline. Shang was fighting his own battles as you both could hold your own.

But that was until the Titan variation of him diverted his attention to Shang. Both versions of themselves battled, but your timeline's was not to compare to the Titan version. When you finished fending off your own enemy and looked to Shang, you saw him spiraling back to the floor, blood gushing from his nose. The crimson flow was staining his clothes, his hand grasping it doing nothing stop the blood.

You barely registered moving, or your claws gashing alongside the Titan's face. But you did feel the immense pain that followed after. The feeling of something - maybe somethings - in your body shattering as you were thrown to a wall that crumbled as you hit it. Some stone also would land on you from the sheer age of the deteriorating architect. Your mind turned fuzzy then, you couldn't really comprehend things. You felt paralyzed. Maybe you were. You could only faintly feel the buzz of pure pain vibrating through you.

Shang was still, as if he could not comprehend what had happened. He stared with wide eyes where he saw your body fall to, but the rubble was blocking him from seeing you. He didn't breath as he stared with a blank mind.

Until the Titan scoffed and his eyes flicked back to him with immense speed, a searing inhuman anger in his glare. The Titan Shang wore an impressive wound - your claws had seared him across his cheeks and to his lips, blood gushing down to stain his chin and neck, to his clothes. He wiped in vain, as the blood continued. You cut deep.

Frankly, Titan Shang Tsung barely registered what he had thrown to the wall; just acted purely on instinct from the threat and pain. But when he gazed back to his lesser counterpart, saw his towering rage, a wicked smile spread across his bloodied lips. Blood filtered to his mouth, staining his teeth.

"Oh my," the titan spoke, pure velvet. Sickening. Impure. "I didn't hurt your little cat now, did I? You can't possibly blame me. Who would bring a pet to a fight? That's all your own fault, really."

Shang Tsung's teeth bared as the Titan approached and he brought his hand away from his nose, instead using it to pull himself back up. Now, Shang didn't show much of his emotions outside of his careless, sassy demeanor. But now? He was pure unchecked, hysteria rage. Purely seething. If looks could kill, Titan Shang Tsung wouldn't be just dead a million times over, he wouldn't even have been born.

"How sad," the Titan continued, circling slowly around him. Predatory. Like an animal teasing his prey. "To think an offspring from me could be so pitifully stupid. Getting attached to such a filthy thing.. I truly am the superiority of all timelines. Which is exactly why I-"

Often times, Shang would ramble to you. It had been a thing between you two, since he didn't keep friends. He would ramble and catch your expression when he spoke too much. But he would roll his eyes and continue. "Please, I do not talk *that* much," he would say, containing to ramble.

But now? Yes, he could see just how much he talked. Just how insatiably annoying it could be.

Because he just gave a vicious, toasty uppercut to Titan Shang Tsung just to shut him up. It caught him so off guard, he bit his tongue, the appendage almost splitting in two.

The horror that passed on the Titan's face for even a split second before shifting to annoyance and anger would fuel Shang. Seeing more blood spill from his mouth inspired him. The Titan had to keep his chin tilted so he wouldn't choke on the blood. Shang hoped he would - but wouldn't mind if he didn't either. That way he could kill Titan Shang Tsung himself. Feel his neck crunch in his hands. He would avenge you.

a/n: ending is up to youuuu. did you survive?? does shang win?? eye emojs all around !!

#mortal kombat 1 #shang tsung x reader #shang tsung x you #shang tsung #mk1 #mortal kombat #my art #if you get the toasty reference i love you

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sareenademon · 7 months

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Unholy

(A drabble of Ashrah and Sareena. I wanted to explore their philosophical differences. Ashrah is more black and white and Sareena sees the world in gray. So in her original timeline the Kriss actually drives Ashrah a bit mad, similar to Dark Raiden. I feel like we got hints of that in MK1. I’m interested if they’ll go that route with her character.)

In the dim, otherworldly realm, the vampire Nitara knelt before Ashrah, the holy warrior with her Kriss blade gleaming malevolently in her hand. Nitara begged for mercy, her crimson eyes filled with fear and desperation.

"No, please, spare me!" Nitara's voice quivered as she pleaded for her life.

Ashrah's righteous fury burned within her, and she raised her Kriss blade high, ready to strike down the vampire. But before the fatal blow could land, a swift and unexpected intervention came.

Sareena, Ashrah's own sister and a demon herself, rushed forward, her hand reaching out to halt the execution. "Ashrah, stop! The fight is over. There's no need to kill her!"

Ashrah turned toward her sister, her expression twisted in rage. "What are you doing, Sareena? She's a vile creature that must be vanquished!"

Sareena stood her ground, unwavering in her determination. "It isn't her fault she was born this way. As a demon, you should be able to empathize!"

Their voices clashed like opposing forces, and a heated argument ensued, each sister defending her stance vehemently. The fight had shifted from the physical to the emotional, their words like daggers aimed at each other's hearts.

"You are the one who taught me that we should be merciful!" Sareena reminded her sister.

Ashrah's face contorted with anger, and she launched a series of fierce attacks, aiming her Kriss at Sareena, who dodged with remarkable agility. Despite the difficulty of the battle, Sareena refused to back down. "Not to vile, sinful creatures like her!" Ashrah declared as their struggle continued.

Eventually, the battle reached its climax, with Ashrah pressing her Kriss blade to Sareena's throat, the cold edge threatening to draw blood. It was a tense moment, the balance between life and death hanging by a thread.

"What are you going to do? Kill me like you did Jataaka and Kia?" Sareena sneered, her words cutting deep.

Ashrah's grip tightened on the Kriss, but she hesitated. Sareena's piercing gaze challenged her, and the silence grew heavy. Yet, Ashrah remained still, her resolve waning.

"You disappoint me, Sareena," Ashrah finally hissed, her voice a mix of rage and pain. "I had faith that I could break you of your demonic habits, but you have proved time and time again you are irredeemable."

Sareena's laughter was sardonic, echoing through the chamber. "You think yourself better, sister? You, who seeks your own redemption through the needless bloodshed of others? You are a hypocrite Ashrah. I abided your delusions because you saved me, but I see now, you have lost your mind."

Ashrah growled in response, her grip on the Kriss blade tightening, but she faltered when Sareena gripped the enchanted weapon with her hand. Blood dripped from her slender fingers.

"Go on then," Sareena challenged, her voice laced with bitter resolve. "Kill me. But know that no matter how many you slay, you will always be what you were made to be—a wicked demon."

Ashrah hesitated, the blade trembling in her hand, her heart heavy with conflict. When Sareena finally ripped the Kriss from her grasp and cast it aside, Ashrah could do nothing but watch as her sister walked away, her path shrouded in uncertainty.

"Where are you going?" Ashrah's voice rang out with both rage and pain.

But Sareena did not answer, her steps echoing faintly in the forsaken castle as she moved further away, leaving behind a sister torn between her quest for redemption and the bonds of sisterhood.

#sareena #ashrah #mk sareena #mk ashrah #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk 1 #mk nitara #nitara

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punkeropercyjackson · 3 months

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My Percy Jackson design is truly peak now that i'm thinking about all the elements together.He's full black and half latino since Sally is an afro-dominican woman who's parents were second gen inmigrants so he's got dark skin,big lips and his nose is big too.He's 6'4 by the time he's in his 20s because of the demigod genes and he stops shaving the lower half of his face by then but not the top of his mouth because he thinks mustaches are ugly.The timeline of his hairstyles from The Lightning Thief to Elysium on Earth(the last book of Tales of Dead Seas,my fansequel to Hoo that happens instead of Toa)is baby dreads > wicks > afro > dreads > locs that go down past her shoulders and she's gotten into putting beads in her hair as of SON too.Since she's transfem bigender and femme,she was on estrogen and it wasn't a full transition,including zero surgeries,but she still has curves and is busty because i want to cater to irl trans women with my hc,especially because they're the whole reason i hc her that and obviously she's also buff since she's a demigod AND the strongest one but realistically instead of looking dehydrated as shit so she has some fat.She wears makeup but black woman styles specifically,mainly y2k ones.Since she's canonically punk,i also gave her piercings and a dark sea blue battle jacket and it's rare she dosen't dress both masc and fem and she's got a mix of gothic/edgy and cutesy/kiddy things that were all gifts from Nico and Hazel(and ofc she diy's them stuff like that back).Her gray streak naturally faded to white and WOAH SORRY I BLACKED OUT FOR SEVERAL SECONDS What the fuck was i talking about.Where am i,

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honey-minded-hivemind · 2 months

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Imagine if I made an au where Reader was like, either a reincarnated villain/ess/ex, in an (platonic) otome-inspired universe, with platonic yandere X-Men characters...

How would that even begin to play out? There are several ideas it could take. It could be a royal-inspired otome, or a fantasy creature-inspired otome, or a witch/mage-inspired otome, even one with demon/angel-inspired stuff. But Reader would have been in the role of the villain/ess/ex, who's life was a tragedy twisted up in the darkness of others. A neglectful family, stuck-up peers, and some sort of dark power or relation to them, they were set up to fail from the start. They made a name for themself, trying to stop the Protagonist, someone who was a venomous and wicked sort of kind, not as innocent or sweet as they seemed, and who was the reason they had died in each timeline. Reader, in the new, last timeline, finally gives up. They stay out of the way, they stick to themself, and build up their own money and power without getting involved in the drama of others. Forget their false friends or horrible peers, their wicked rivals and those obsessive, awful people who killed them all for the poisonous "love" of the Protagonist. This time, they're going to survive, and this time, they're going to live, not by the laws of others, nor for anyone else, they are going to live and enjoy living for once. And they'll be d*rned if anyone gets in their way...

(What are y'all's thoughts on this AU? Any ideas on what kind of otome game it should be like, gimmick/magic/theme-wise? Any ideas for Villain/ess/ex Reader? Of for the platonic yans themselves? Or even... the Protagonist??)

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere marvel x reader #yandere platonic xmen #yandere platonic #yandere #🖤Villain/ess/ex of the Heart💔 AU

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