#Season 4 canon divergence

[echoing-gravity]

Batman: No metas in Gotham.

Ladybug: No Leaguers in My city.

Season 4 Ep1 Truth villain: Ladybug! Tell me your biggest secret!!!!

Hawkmoth: Yessssss tell me who u are

Ladybug: I'm Adopted!!! And my dad is secretly batman but he doesn't know that I know !!! and i kinda hate him for not helping with this bullshit so he can go fuck off !!!!1!!!!

Marinette internally: *-uckfuckfuckfuc-*

Truth:....what?

Hawkmoth: what.

The justice League: What!

Bruce Wayne- watching the fights' newscasters Livestream with the batfam *-WHATHEFUCK.*

Damian: *already has a knife* he is NOT happy.

Give me fic recs. Or write it urself idc. I NEED this scenario like- yesterday! And I can't write it because I'm to focused on writing dp x DC Braindead.

I want a fic where no one know who ladybug is and no one knows who batman is(except Marinette and her fucking photographic/phonetic memory) but now do to Naja shamac live reporting EVERYONE knows who ladybug's dad is.

And also maybe ladybug x red Robin let the geniuses love each other plz.

( Damiette is a bit overrated. It's just: wow I'm a teenage hero, I like animals. Wow I'm also a teenage hero who has magic animals. That is their whole dynamic. And honestly I think tim has more things in common with Marinette to bond over with.)

the "get out of my room DAD!!1!!!" au that we all need

[goldenlaurelleaveswrites]

[Redacted]

AO3

How do you talk about the unspeakable? How do you share a secret you can’t tell? 

____________________________________________________

This was a complete accident. I was chatting with @quickspinner and @rierse and I plunnied myself and I somehow ended up with... this.

I'm still not entirely sure what this is 😅

_____________________________________________________

She dragged her feet along the cobblestones as she made her way to the bridge, doing her best to prolong what little time was left and delay the inevitable. The inevitable that was like lead in her heart.

She had been so stupid. To think that…

Being Ladybug had been hard enough. She had had so little time for her family. Her friends. Herself. 

And that had been before… 

She should have known better. She should have known that secrets and love didn’t mix.

That Ladybug had to come first. And the box now too…

That all she would ever do was hurt people. 

And she had hurt the person in Paris who deserved it the least. 

And it had been entirely her fault.  

Despite her her heavy heart weighing on her and her best efforts, all too soon, she was at the bridge she knew Luka would be waiting for her on. 

Her footsteps were too loud in the quiet of the night. The city was mercifully if not painfully quiet; the streets, usually bustling with nightlife were all but deserted. The river too, usually choke full of tourists taking romantic strolls along its banks, or taking in the city lights from boats, was serene and silent.  It was like the city itself was holding its breath. Like it knew what she was about to do. 

What she had to do. 

Slowly, she made her way towards its centre, where a lone figure stood. 

He was staring down into the river below, his shoulders hunched and head hanging heavily as he leaned against the railing. She knew she wore her heart on her sleeve, and in his own way, Luka was just as much an open book. She could tell by the way he was drumming his fingers on the railing that his mind was going a mile a minute, and that he was trying to slow it. Just like she could tell he was frustrated with himself by the way he was digging the toe of his shoe into the ground. 

That he was hurting. 

She had to stop herself from going right up to him, to stand beside him the way she had grown so used to doing. So fond of doing. It wasn’t fair to him. 

None of this was. 

She opened her mouth, and floundered with words that were suddenly lost to her. 

“Marinette,” he said quietly, still looking down into the water. 

“Luka…” she managed to say. A lump was forming in her throat that made even just his name difficult to say. “I…” 

Luka pushed off from the railing, turning to look at her as her voice trailed off pitifully. His face was haunted by pain. Pain she had caused. But because he was Luka, there was patience there too. And that deep sense of understanding. 

The lump in her throat was suddenly impossibly bigger, turning her already uphill battle of trying to find words she didn’t want to say into a treacherously steep climb. And it didn’t help that Luka was watching her with so much patience and care. The way he always did when she tripped over herself.

She had never wished more than right now, that she had never been chosen. 

Uselessly, she opened her mouth. No sound came out. She wetted her lips and took a shaky breath. 

“Marinette-” he started to say. Just the way he said it, so gently, yet so heartbroken.  

“I don’t want to lie to you, Luka,” she almost whispered. “I don’t think I can-” the hurt was still so raw in his eyes. She dropped her gaze. Maybe it was cowardice, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. She wouldn’t be able to say the words she had to say if she did. “I mean-” her voice cracked. Hot tears were pricking at her eyes. “Maybe we should…”    

“I’m sorry, Marinette.” Her eyes snapped back to Luka. Unshed tears blurred her vision, but she could see the anguish on his face, as clear as day. “I- I saw that you were upset.” It was so horribly odd, seeing Luka so distraught. “But I wanted to know. Secrets and lies,” he sighed, his eyes refusing to meet hers, “they’re hard for me.” 

“Luka… Luka no…”

“And I meant it, whatever it is, I will support you. If you ever tell me. But I don’t want you to- not if you don’t want-”

“Can’t,” she corrected.

He paused, his brows furrowing together. His fingers plucked at invisible strings, the way they always did when he was trying to puzzle something out, whether it was a song or a math equation. And then his fidgeting froze, and he looked up at her. “Can’t?” She nodded dejectedly. He frowned, but it was the frown he got when he was concentrating on something. And then, understanding flashed in his eyes. And then he nodded solemnly. “If you can’t tell me�� maybe…” despite the heaviness in his eyes and in the space between them, a familiar glimmer of what she had come to recognize as Couffaine Chaos shimmered in his eyes, “Maybe you can tell me, without actually telling me.” 

“What? Luka, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Just hear me out,” he said with what sounded like an attempt at a chuckle. “You know how whenever legal or government records are released to the public, they redact private or sensitive information?” 

“Yeah…” she said slowly.

“You could try that?’ he offered. 

“You want me to write a report on-”

“No. I thought…” he ducked his head, dropping his gaze to stare down at his shoes. “Well, I thought since you’re here now…” he finished, somehow peeking up at her through his hair despite being so much taller. 

“Oh. I…” 

“But only if you’re comfortable with it!” His head had shot up, and he had taken a step towards her, his hand reaching out in a familiar gesture of comfort. 

Only… 

His hand had frozen. Just above her shoulder. His eyes wide with hesitation and his face wracked with guilt. 

And then he had taken an uncertain step back. 

And her heart had broke. 

“How do I… how do I do it? Do I actually say it or do I just skip that parts I can’t tell you or…?” 

A shred of a genuine smile slipped through the heaviness on his face, dissipating the guilt that had been there. The guilt he shouldn’t have shouldered. It had been her fault Shadowmoth had gotten to him… 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a right way to do it. But you’re sure?” She nodded. “Ok. Take as much time as you need,” he said with a tiny, encouraging smile still tinged with the heaviness that had been there since she found him on the bridge.  

“Ok…” she said slowly, still not particularly convinced. “I-” she stopped to take in a shaky breath. Luka nodded again in that patient way of his. Her breath rattled her chest as she let it go. “The reason I kept leaving your date was because redacted. Not because I didn’t want to be there.” The words came out- tumbled out faster than she had anticipated. 

“How did that feel?” He asked quietly, and suddenly his hand was on her shoulder, its familiar weight comforting even with how light- how hesitant his touch was. “Better?” She looked up into piercing blue eyes brimming over with concern; she hadn’t even realized she had flinched as she had spoken, well, almost spoken the words she had kept secret for so long. 

She frowned. She- she was still reeling from how Luka had been akumatized. How it had been her fault. How this whole mess had been… 

But she was also… 

She hadn’t told him. It was still a secret. He was still safe. 

She shouldn’t have, but.. 

Swallowing the thick lump in her throat, she slowly nodded. “I- I do.” 

His concern melted into a relieved smile. 

“But I still didn’t- I still can’t…” 

He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “But you did.” 

“But I… you still don’t know…” 

His eyes softened. There was a weariness in his eyes. A tiredness. But understanding as well. 

“I don’t know where you disappear to. But I do know that it’s not a matter of won’t, it’s a matter of can’t. You said it yourself.” She gave a small nod of agreement. “And I also know that you just told me. Or at least,” he amended with a tiny chuckle, “told me what you could. And maybe it’s not the truth I wanted to hear. What I wanted you to share. But I can’t- I don’t want to force you to share your secrets…” his gazed flickered down, and his shoulders slumped. 

“Luka… that wasn’t your fault. Shadowmoth… he took advantage of you. I know you would never do that. He twisted your pain. After I… after I hurt you…”

“Marinette…” 

“I am so, so sorry, Luka. I never wanted to hurt you. But I did. So many times. I know I did,” she said when he opened his mouth, no doubt to protest. “I know I did,” she said again, quietly. “I hated leaving you. I hated lying. I couldn’t bear it- I can’t bear it, hurting you.” 

Suddenly, she was enveloped in familiar arms. Clutching her tight to a chest, their comforting weight and pressure offering her the promise of safety and security they always did. And the dam finally broke. 

Hot tears streamed down her face as she buried her hands in Luka’s hoodie. As she curled into him. “And I wanted to tell you. For a long time. But I-” she clung tighter to him, burying her hands in the soft, threadbare fabric of his favourite hoodie as she took in another shuddering breath. “I’m scared.” 

Luka’s arms tightened around her protectively the second the words left her lips, and she let herself melt into him even more. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath in, trying to ground herself in the familiar scent of clean laundry and wood and something faintly aquatic- his body wash maybe. She had never asked. One of his hands had found its way to the nape of her neck, and was cradling her head as he ran soothing fingers through her hair. 

“If you- if anyone found out… if I redacted… I would lose my redacted. All of them. The ones of my family. My friends. You.”

He held her as he let her cry, murmuring sounds of comfort and encouragement, and humming soothing tunes under his breath. He let her cry until she didn’t have any more tears to cry. 

At some points, she had felt tears that weren’t hers trickle down the back of her neck as he held her. 

“Are you…” he finally asked, breaking the quiet, “are you safe? I don’t want to- you don’t have tell me anything- But you said you were scared. I just want- need to know if you’re safe.” 

Sniffling, she nodded. “I- I’m safe. You don’t- don’t have to worry about me.” 

She was surprised by the quiet rumble of laughter in his chest. 

“I will always worry about you, Marinette. I care about you,” he murmured into the crown of her head.  

She pulled away from him, despite his protests. But just enough so that she could look up at his face.His eyes were red and slightly puffy. And there were tear tracks cutting down across his face. Her own eyes were itching, and she knew her face was just as tearstained, if not more. 

“And I’ll always worry about you. I love you.” 

His eyes widened ever so slightly. And then they softened before drifting down to her lips. Her own gaze shifted to his. With her hands still clutching fistfuls of his hoodie, she braced herself against him as she pushed up onto her tip toes as he leaned down to meet her halfway. At the last second, her eyes slipped shut, and her lips found his. 

Despite the taste of his tears on his lips, it was sweeter than any of the first kisses she had ever imagined. 

When they finally broke apart, they didn’t go far. He held her, and she was only too happy to stay there in his arms. 

It was impossible to say how much time passed. Some of it, they spent in silence, content to just hold onto each other. Sometimes the time slipped by with murmured words of comfort and whispered reassurances. And some, with quiet talk of how they were going to navigate this place between truth and lies. 

She sighed with contentment as she shifted in his arms to rest her cheek against his chest. And then she blinked. 

That couldn’t be… 

No… 

She blinked. Tried to clear her vision. 

But it was the same, loud, exaggerated purple hair. The same loud ensemble. There was no mistaking or denying it.  

“Luka,” she whispered. 

“Hmm?” 

“Look.” 

She felt Luka shift. She felt him turn enough to follow her gaze. She felt the sharp inhale of his breath.  

It was hard to tell if Jagged could see them both staring at him; he was awkwardly hovering on the pavement, halfway between the bridge and the Liberty. He was standing close enough to one of the lights that she could see the way he shifted his weight, fidgeting as his eyes darted from the two of them and the Liberty. Like he wasn’t sure if he should retreat or wait where he was. 

It was so odd… if was hard to reconcile the awkward, uncomfortable and uncertain looking Jagged with the rambunctious rockstar she knew. 

“He’s my father,” Luka said quietly. 

“Do you… do you want to talk to him?” she asked quietly. 

Luka hummed, and the vibrations in his chest tickled against her cheek. “I do,” he said quietly. “But not yet. I just… I want to stay here. With you.” His arms tightened around her with his words, holding her so close she swore she could hear his heartbeat. “Just a little bit longer.” 

She nodded. And then she tightened her arms around him as well, pulling him closer. 

So that she was holding him, too. 

[zadien]

I'll just scribble down a vague idea, I said. It'll not take too long I said. 3000 words later! They're up denial creek without a paddle and Angela is standing on the banks wondering if she should throw them a rope.

Lucy scratched a nail over the stressed label of her sweating beer bottle. “I’d have to see him at work though. Probably a bad idea to sleep with someone I work with.” Angela nodded. “True. He does seem clingy and you’re too nice.” “Exactly,” Tim said, with a firm nod as he sat back. “You’ll sleep together, and the next day he’ll call you his girlfriend, bring you to meet his mother and try to buy a house. And if you say no, he’ll play the kicked puppy and you’ll feel bad. And then you’ll have another puppy—a sex puppy.” Angela bit her cheek to stop herself from smirking as Lucy reached out to swat his arm. “No! Tim! Don’t call him that! That’s weird.” Tim grinned. “I’m sorry. Sex puppy.” “Stop!” Angela raised her bottle to her lips and studied them. There was something there. A vibe, an energy. She couldn’t put her finger on it. They weren’t flirting, at least not overtly, but there was something tangible there. They didn't even seem to realise it. Maybe another time, another place, another universe. Which seemed a shame, because they were uncannily perfect for each other in a way Angela could never have anticipated—she doubted Captain Andersen could have suspected how well the pairing of Bradford and Chen would turn out.

[buggachat]

OT4 (Adrien, Marinette, Alya, and Nino)-centric Sentimonster Adrien fic, angst and hurt/comfort, 1/14 Chapters

Everybody had expected Monarch's defeat to be a moment of triumph. Nobody had expected Gabriel Agreste, unmasked and mind frayed from continual abuse of the miraculous, crying out to all who would listen and making Paris certain of one thing:

His son, Adrien Agreste, is one of his sentimonsters.

And now he's missing.

Nobody can find him— not even the superheroes, and not even his closest friends. But Marinette, Nino, and Alya aren't ones to give up so easily. They'll find him, no matter what it takes.

(But, geez, would it kill Chat Noir to lend a hand?)

So, I wrote this ~70k word fic a long time ago and it's been sitting complete in my docs for a few months. I'm finally going to start posting it, maybe weekly, maybe even more often depending on how I'm feeling.

Basically, it's a self-indulgent culmination of my love for the OT4, Adrien angst, and hurt/comfort.

[steddieunderdogfics]

hunter's moon by mourningshowers

@keycarabiner

Rating: Teens and Up

17,072 words, 2/2 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Season/Series 04, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Werewolves, Pack Dynamics, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Werewolf Mates, Pack Bonding, Fluff, Courting Rituals, Everyone is a Werewolf, Except Robin, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

Summary

“What about your pack?” Steve asks, because, well— Werewolves are social creatures. Humans may not be right about the specific dynamics, the leaders and the runts and pack structures, but they got the general idea right. The idea that wolves have a distinct need for life, to be surrounded by it, sustained by it. There is no point in running beneath the glow of a full moon without people you trust. People who understand what it's like. “Don’t have one,” Eddie replies stiffly. “Don’t need one. I have my uncle. And my friends. Even though they’re human, they help with the whole socialization thing.” He’s a lone wolf, Steve realizes. That’s the smell that rolls off of Eddie Munson in irrepressible waves: it’s loneliness.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Werewolf AU.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[blaithnne]

I’m literally fine I don’t care its not even that big of a deal it’s whatever who’s Hilda

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Masterlist

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, (eventual) smut

Total word count (so far): 102k

A/N: Multi part Rhys Montrose x Female Reader fic. FYI, this fic will incorporate the use of Y/N. I have decided to also post this fic on AO3 (same username as on my Tumblr) and to change the x Reader to an Original Female Character over there using a fictitious name. That will be the only difference. So, if the use of Y/N isn’t your thing, go ahead and look the fic up on AO3 :)

Below you'll find the links to all the parts that have thus far been uploaded. I will try my best to upload a new chapter each week. Every part is also accompanied with a 'soundtrack', these are all listed below as well. Finally, a little preview of what's to come... I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoy writing it! There aren't a lot of Rhys x Reader fics out there, so I hope I can bring some extra flavour to the table.

Ps don't forget to watch the trailer/edit I made for the fic! x

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23

Soundtracks: 00. Feeling Good – Nina Simone 01. Royals – Lorde  02. Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene – Hozier  03. (I Just) Died in Your Arms – Hidden Citizens  04. Secrets And Lies – Ruelle  05. No Good – KALEO  06. …Ready For It? – Taylor Swift 07. Meet Me In the Woods – Lord Huron 08. The River – Daisy Jones & The Six 09. The Silence – Manchester Orchestra 10. Power – Isak Danielson 11. wicked game – Jessie Villa 12. Beautiful Crime – Tamer 13. Toxic – 2WEI 14. Cherry – Lana Del Rey 15. In the Air Tonight – Natalie Taylor 16. Whole Lotta Love (Dermot O’Leary) – Hozier 17. Lavender Haze – Taylor Swift 18. Don’t You Know – Jaymes Young 19. One For My Baby – Frank Sinatra 20. Run Baby Run – The Rigs 21. Sinnerman – Nina Simone 22. And so It Begins – Klergy  23. Darkness In Your Heart – Cowbell

Preview

Song: Feeling Good – Nina Simone

The sound of the heavy door opening as it noisily scraped the floor made you look in his direction. 

Rhys entered slightly out of breath, looking positively dishevelled as he ran a hand through his unruly curls.

“What happened to you? Killed another person?” You couldn’t help but teasingly joke, taking in his state as your eyes roamed freely over his physique. 

Rhys had put his hands on his hips, taking some deep breaths to slow down his heart rate. When he looked up at you, head tilted to the side, he shot you his charming smile that feigned innocence.

No way.

You stared at him. 

No way the man was truly this brazen.

He started to move closer to you, his eyes mischievous as they betrayed his wicked actions. You marvelled a little at how quickly you were getting better at reading him. Perhaps you recognised the murderous tendencies from the mirror. 

[mysterymuseffn]

Do you know any s4 divergence fics for Caskett anf Alexis + Beckett (and even Martha) bonding?

Oui oui ma chérie! The below have some nice bonding moments between Kate + Alexis and/or Martha every couple chapters or so - and all S4.

Bated Breath by Lydian Stone (156K)

Linchpin AU. Castle's rescue of Kate from drowning becomes the linchpin of change in their relationship, and events from that night lead to resolution for them both.

Enlightenment by Kate Christie (63K)

Kate has a sudden realization that she is ready for more with Castle. As a result, she needs to revamp her lingerie drawer. S4 AU.

Partners by FanficwriterGHC (45K)

Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

do you know of any fics that exist in an au we’re the s4 breakup never happened? like blaine hanging out in the loft with rachel santana and kurt while he was still at mckinley in s4.

From a previous ask, where Blaine didn't cheat in season 4, we have these three below. However, most writers tend to follow canon that they broke up for some reason in season 4. ~Jen

The Secret About Blaine’s Cheating byMadPie

After reading everything I could possibly find, this is what I think actually think Blaine did that night with Eli, and this is how I believe how Kurt will find out.

~~~~~

Loneliness Found Me by  CoffeeAddict80

Instead of cheating on Kurt, Blaine finds himself singing about his feelings to what he thinks is an empty auditorium.

~~~~~

Exhibit McKinley by @tonks42

AU Season 4. Living so far apart from NYADA student Kurt, Blaine decides to send his boyfriend a series of letters and objects to chronicle his senior year.

~~~~~

The Air in My Lungs By JButler

Kurt wasn't trying to be perfect, just honest.

~~~~~

Check the Season 4 tag for fix it fics.

Scenes During the Break Upby misqueue

A collection of vignettes set in season 4 across the time in which Kurt and Blaine are broken up. Not in chronological order. For the Klaine Advent 2013 challenge. Stories are consistent with my The Architects of Life canon ‘verse.

Note: Many of the stories have the friends-with-benefits tag.

~~~~~ 

There are lots of season 4 fics where Blaine hangs out with the newbies, Sam, Tina and Artie when they are split - Killerqueen80 on AOS writes some great stories.

Glee Gen Fictlet #2 Graduation Party By Killerqueen80

The remaining four seniors plan a graduation party, all of new ND and some of the graduates who have helped them at competitions and such are invited to attend. it ends up being biota 2.0. basically just shenanigans with former grads witnessing the drama free family dynamic the current seniors helped create.

~~~~~

If you want Blaine hanging with Kurt, Rachel and Santana, here are some that are set in season 5.

Drunk on You by flaming_muse

It takes Kurt three times to fit his key in the lock of the apartment’s door, partly because Blaine is swaying heavily against his side, a warm, drunk weight keeping him off-balance, and partly because the alcohol in his own system is making the lock swim just enough in the plane of the door that he can’t quite catch it.

Bushwick futurefic, set within the next year or so, after Blaine’s graduation, no spoilers past 5x03

~~~~

Bushwick Game Night by flaming_muse

Pictionary in the Bushwick loft is serious business.

Bushwick futurefic, set sometime in fall 2013, spoilers assumed through but not past 5x07 (“Puppet Master”)

[nixthelapin]

Humble suggestion: while I love the Guardian Marinette stuff in s4, I think a cool different route for s4 would’ve been to basically jumpstart s5 early by having Hawkmoth never lose the Miracle Box at the end of s3.

Now, Miracle Queen was obviously the fandom’s least favorite episode (that is now in debate with s5 finished, but I digress). But I think ending it on a low note like s4 did would’ve been so cool, and also help with some of the show’s plot armor.

The specific plot armor I’m referring to: Marinette has all but 2 Miraculouses as her disposal, and yet they make no progress against Shadowmoth. It’s literally 17 v 2. They almost won against him with just 5 (s2 finale) and only didn’t because they were caught off guard by Mayura. Hawkmoth upgrading to Shadowmoth does nothing to really make him stronger other than making it easier to make senti beings, which they have already faced before.

The proposal: Miracle Queen happens mostly like canon, they use the existing Miraculous users to fight Ladybug & Chat Noir, but Hawkmoth and Mayura keep the rest, maybe even hide the Miraculouses (and let’s say they take them out of the box to use the box as a decoy so when Fu changes ownership, they won’t be trapped inside). Ladybug and Chat get the Miraculouses from the active users back, so not all of them are lost. So, to keep track:

Hero Team: ladybug, black cat, fox, turtle, bee, snake, dragon, horse, monkey (9)

Villain Team: (everything else) butterfly, peacock, rabbit, tiger, ox, mouse, pig, rooster, goat, dog (10)

So it’s almost an even match! (In terms of numbers at least… those power sets are arguable 😬)

But! It has the same Ladybug-guilt issues as s5 (her feeling at fault for losing them) because she accidentally led Hawkmoth to Fu, and I think it helps solve the issue of how many individual new Miraculous episodes they had to stuff into s4 before she lost them at the end (Penalteam was really doing overtime lol).

I do think this version would lose the Alliance rings, but it would be good ground for setting up some kind of villain team instead. Probably not with all of them at once- while that would be smart to overwhelm the heroes, Gabe doesn’t have that many allies 😂. Natalie is half dead and that just leaves the psycho 14 year old (Lila).

The heroes could also win back the Rabbit like they did in s5 with the time chase (with some tweaking because the dynamics of the two would be different from that point). Because that thing is WAY too powerful to let the villains keep yet not let them win with it (not this time, plot armor!) At least with the heroes they have the excuse of “don’t mess with the time continuum,” which hawky clearly wouldn’t care about.

Thoughts?? This was just a tangent thought that popped up out of nowhere, so there are probably some holes, but I think it’s a fun idea! Any other suggestions or add-ons? Or do you think I’m totally off my rocker? I’d love to hear anything!

[rosie-b]

Growing Fangs

Oh yeah, I almost forgot to post this here, but that future Dupain-Cheng kids fic I haven’t updated since 2022? I finally finished it 😊

You can read it on AO3 or below on Tumblr! (Links both go to the first chapter because 2-year hiatus :) the section below is just the 4th chapter though)

The next morning, Adrien and Marinette gathered the family together after breakfast and told them that they needed to have a super-important meeting.

Emma raised her eyebrows at the news. Louisa had been expecting this, because of what Tikki and Plagg had told her yesterday, but her heart started to race at the news. She wasn’t sure what the meeting would cover, how much her parents would tell her and her siblings, or whether she could convincingly fake a genuine ‘first’ reaction to hearing ‘news’ she’d already had some time to process.

Hugo tilted his head and asked the first question for her. “Maman? Why do we need a super-meeting? Is it because we met the superheroes yesterday, and now we’re super, too?”

Adrien let out a low, half-hearted laugh. “You know, you’re kind of right, Hugo. This is because of what happened yesterday. I bet you all had fun meeting Chat Noir and Ladybug, right?”

Emma nodded seriously, Louisa followed suit, and Hugo bounced up and down as he exclaimed, “Yes! That was awesome! I wish we could see them every day!”

Marinette’s lips twitched. “Again, you’re not that far off, Hugo! We have something important to tell you— and it has to be kept completely secret, okay?”

Hugo’s forehead wrinkled. “Why?” he asked, bouncing his leg up and down on the sofa in the living room where they’d gathered.

Adrien reached out and lay a calming hand on his son. “Because I lost something yesterday, and whoever found it might use what we’re going to tell you against us all if they find out about the secret. You’re all old enough that you can understand how important this is, so we’re going to trust you.”

“It’s scary to finally tell you this—though one of you might already know,” Marinette added, with a sideways look at Louisa, “—but we’re family, which means we’re all in this together. It’s more important for us to trust you and tell you the secret than keep it to ourselves any longer.”

Normally-patient Emma crossed her arms at that and burst out, “Okay, but what is the secret, then? Are you going to tell us you’ve secretly been working with the heroes this whole time, like Auntie Alya?”

Adrien and Marinette exchanged glances with each other, gripping each other’s hands tightly as they sat in the center of the group.

“Kind of,” Marinette began, and Louisa, who’d been feeling the same creeping sense of guilt from yesterday crawling back over her, interrupted before her mother could get any farther.

“They’re not working with the heroes, Emma,” she blurted out. As everyone turned to look at her, she swallowed hard and wiped her palms on her pants. “They are the heroes. That’s why Chat Noir and Ladybug came to help so fast yesterday. Papa’s Chat Noir, and Maman is Ladybug. I found out when I was six, and I never told any of you except Plagg and Tikki. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Marinette looked skeptical at first, but then she sighed and reached out to comfort the girl sitting on her left. “It’s okay, Louisa. I wish you had told Papa and me when you’d found out, but thank you for coming clean to us now. I know that takes a lot of courage to do.”

Adrien, surprising Louisa, agreed with her mom. “Besides, the fact that you kept it a secret for this long, and didn’t tell anyone? That’s almost exactly what we’re asking all of you to do today. We need you to know that your parents are Chat Noir and Ladybug, and we need you not to tell anyone outside of this family— and Auntie Alya and Uncle Nino’s family. Alya and Nino already know, anyway, and their daughter is about Hugo’s age. I think it’s safe to tell her, too.”

Emma stared at her parents with huge eyes, peering around her sister to take in as much of them as she could while still sitting on the sofa. “Wait, you’re Paris’ favorite superheroes, and Louisa found out, but none of you ever told me or Hugo before?”

She sounded insulted and upset, and Louisa cringed, wishing she could sink into the floor. She knew she should have told Emma and her parents before! But no, she just had to keep it all one big secret!

“Sweetie, it’s not that we didn’t want to, but do you have any idea how forthcoming a small toddler can be? You used to go around telling strangers anything when you were younger, just like Hugo did. If you knew we were Ladybug and Chat Noir, there’s no knowing how many people would have found out! And a secret like that is dangerous to let out to the wrong person. I know it’s hard to believe, but please trust that we only wanted to protect you. Well, your father and I, anyway. I don’t know why your sister didn’t tell you, though I have a guess,” Marinette laughed.

Louisa leaned back and slid down the sofa until only her head and torso remained on the cushions.

“Well?” Emma demanded. She leaned over her twin with an accusing stare. “Why did you keep it to yourself, ‘Isa?”

Louisa closed her eyes. “It was stupid,” she said reluctantly. “I just wanted to have a secret, so I could feel special. Since we were younger, and everyone kept mixing us up, I didn’t feel like me, just like ‘Emma’s twin, Louisa’.”

Emma frowned. “I guess I understand that. But you could have told me later!”

“Emma,” Adrien interrupted gently. “You and Louisa can talk more about this later. But don’t be too mad at her, because this wasn’t really her secret to tell. If it had been more recent, she’d be in a lot of trouble for keeping her secret from us, but right now, I think it’s better if we forgive her and move on, okay? Your mother and I still have something important to tell you.”

“You being superheroes wasn’t it?” Hugo asked. He’d been bouncing with excitement on his end of the sofa for a long time, with his mind seemingly blown by finding out that the two coolest people in the world happened to be his parents. “I thought that was pretty impo-tent!”

“Im-por-tent,” Marinette gently corrected. “It was! You’re right, Hugo. That was a pretty big secret! But we have some news to share with you, too. Do you remember how we said we lost something yesterday?”

Emma nodded sullenly as Louisa slowly pulled herself back up to a normal sitting position.

“Well, that something was one of the Miraculous,” Marinette said. “That’s the jewelry that turns people into superheroes, like Chat Noir, or supervillains, like Hawkmoth.”

Emma, Hugo, and Louisa all cringed at the reminder of their grandfather. They’d been haunted by what he’d done for long enough that they all knew at least some of the crimes he’d committed against Paris and the rest of the world.

“So, with a Miraculous, whoever puts it on has access to a lot of power. They can use it for good or for evil,” Adrien explained. “But your mother and I have known for a long time that there is going to be another Hawkmoth in the future. We don’t know who it will be, or when they’ll get the butterfly Miraculous, but we know they’re not going to use it for good. And yesterday… yesterday, someone took the butterfly Miraculous from us.”

Hugo whimpered. “You mean there’s gonna be another supervillain? A bad guy? Are they going to hurt us?”

Adrien picked Hugo up and held him on his lap. “No, sweetie, we’re not going to let them hurt you! We’re Ladybug and Chat Noir, right? No bad guy is going to beat us, and we’ll never let them hurt our family!”

As Hugo relaxed, Emma asked, “But we are in danger, right? Because the Miraculous is lost? Can we find it and keep it safe again?”

Marinette shook her head. “We’ve already tried searching for it. But someone must already have it, because I can’t locate the Miraculous, even though I’m the Guardian, which means I should be able to find where it is.”

“Then, what can we do?” Louisa demanded, finally asking the question that had been on her mind since last night. “Tikki and Plagg told me the Miraculous is gone, but they didn’t say what happens next. So, what is it? Do we just wait for the next Hawkmoth to show up? Do we keep searching for the Miraculous?”

“Could we ask Auntie Alya to post on the Ladyblog and say whoever found the Miraculous should give it back?” Emma asked. “That’s how you normally talk to Paris, right?”

“It is,” Marinette confirmed. “But we’re afraid that posting about the lost Miraculous will inspire more people with bad intentions to look for it. We can’t risk it, but we will keep searching. We will take the Miraculous back someday.”

“And in the meantime,” Adrien said, “We need you to stay alert and help us. We’ll tell you more about the Miraculous and Tikki and Plagg and Nooroo later, and you can help search for the Miraculous. But don’t go out of your way to do that, because more than anything else, your mother and I want you to stay safe. So, now you know that a bad person might try to fight Ladybug and Chat Noir. They may also try to trick you into telling them about us, so don’t! Or if anyone wants Hawkmoth’s grandchildren to join them in some weird revenge plot, tell us about it, okay? We don’t know what the new Hawkmoth’s plan will be, but we want you to know that they’re out there and we want you to stay away from them.”

“Remember, you’ve taken self-defense classes,” Marinette said. “You know how to protect yourself against a normal person. But if you think you find anything related to Hawkmoth, tell us about it. Don’t keep it a secret from us! That way, we can help you, and we’ll take Hawkmoth down that much faster. You want the good guys to win, right?”

“Yeah!” cheered Hugo from Adrien’s lap. “Ladybug and Chat Noir always win!”

Marinette smiled. “That’s right. So, trust us as much as we trust you. I know this might seem scary,” she said, turning to look at Emma and Louisa, “but it’s nothing we can’t handle. We’re the Dupain-Chengs, and we can make it through anything together. Sounds good?”

Hugo cheered again, and even Emma and Louisa smiled. Maman was right, this was a scary situation, but Louisa trusted her and Papa, and she knew Emma did, too, even though she was upset. In the end, they were going to win. Ladybug and Chat Noir would make everything okay again, once the Miraculous was back in their hands.

That evening, Louisa talked to Emma about keeping the secret from her. She apologized, and eventually, after a lot of pleading and bargaining desserts and information about the kwamis, Emma agreed to forgive her sister for keeping the secret for so long.

“You would have told me eventually, right?” she asked as they were getting ready for bed.

Louisa paused to think. She’d been delighted by her secret at first, but then she’d been more afraid of letting her parents know about it than anything else. Now that the secret was out, she didn’t feel any less like Louisa, and she’d been itching to share the secret with someone other than the kwami for years, anyway. She’d practically let Maman know she knew yesterday by suggesting they call the heroes. Maybe Louisa had been ready to let her family in on the secret, after all.

“I think so,” she said, finally. “I wanted to after the first year. But I got used to keeping the secret a secret, you know?”

“I guess,” Emma grumbled. “Like how I got in the habit of always picking raspberry sorbet when we get ice cream, even though I like other flavors just as much?”

“Something like that,” Louisa admitted. “But, Emma? I’m really glad you know, now. I wanted to be different, but I always wanted to be your sister. And I don’t want to keep any secrets like that ever again.”

Emma tilted her head consideringly for a moment and then looked at Louisa with a small smile.

“I’m glad. I like being your sister, even when people do get our names mixed up. It’s funny, because they think they know us, but we’re the ones who know each other best. So, no more secrets?”

“No more secrets,” Louisa agreed. They shook on it and climbed into bed, Louisa taking the bottom bunk and Emma the top bunk, as usual. It had been a very big day, and they were still little, after all.

But they couldn't stay little for long. Eventually, the Dupain-Cheng children grew into the knowledge their parents had given them, as scary as it was.

At fourteen, Louisa was far from the same girl who’d spied on her parents and kept the world’s largest secret for a few years. She still didn’t like Ferris wheels, but she and her sister (and even little Hugo, who wasn’t so little anymore) had changed quite a bit since they’d found out about their parents’ secret and the missing Miraculous. They were in collège now, and they weren’t as powerless as they’d been back when the butterfly had been stolen. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Their parents had trusted Emma and Louisa with Miraculous of their own—not to be used in any fights, Miraculous-related or otherwise, unless absolutely necessary, and only to be used on patrols with their Maman or Papa’s permission—so they could help defend Paris, and more importantly, themselves, if they ever needed to. Emma got the snake Miraculous, and she always used her power wisely. Louisa trusted her to avoid abusing the ability to create time loops, and to let them all know any important secrets she found out while in a previous loop. Hugo didn’t have a Miraculous of his own yet, but as soon as he made up his mind and picked one, he’d be joining their ranks along with Zélie, Alya and Nino’s daughter, who’d been trusted with the turtle Miraculous.

As for Louisa, she was happy with the tiger Miraculous. It was similar to her Papa’s, but it also helped her stand out with its bright purple and pink colors. She found that Roaar was an encouraging friend to have, and the confidence required to wield the Miraculous reflected the way she’d changed since she was young and liked to keep secrets.

She still kept some secrets, of course, especially from the general public, but now Louisa knew she could share her knowledge without losing what made her special. People still mixed up her name with Emma’s sometimes, but other times, people would act shocked that they were related at all! No, Louisa was much more secure being herself these days, and she preferred to share her knowledge instead of hoard it when she thought her friends should know about it. Roaar helped her learn how to balance keeping some things to herself and sharing other things with the world.

Like the secret she’d just learned earlier that day on one of her patrols, for example. That, she was all too eager to share.

Pulling out her phone, Louisa called the Guardian’s number, stored within the magic of the Miraculous she was still wearing. It wasn’t long until Ladybug picked up.

“Hello?” Marinette asked. She sounded confused, but not concerned. It wasn’t often that Louisa or Emma called while on patrol, but sometimes they still called to ask about special tricks or inside knowledge about their Miraculous that only the Guardian would know.

They were getting more comfortable with their roles as Paris’ new heroes, the sidekicks to the old guard.

“Hey, Maman,” Louisa said as a smile played about her lips. “This is Mauve Tiger. I have a lead on the new Hawkmoth’s whereabouts… and I think with any luck, we should have the Miraculous back soon.”

Louisa felt pride rise in her chest as her mother exclaimed excitedly. Finally, they had a lead!

What she knew wasn’t much, but it was enough to spark hope that soon, the Dupain-Chengs troubles would be over. Roaar had gotten close enough to the butterfly Miraculous’ energy signature that she could sense it, so she let Louisa know its approximate whereabouts. Louisa had faith that her family could work together to take down the new Hawkmoth before they could cause any severe damage. Maybe they’d even take the Miraculous back without a battle!

It had taken years, but Louisa finally felt like she’d made up for the mistake she’d made by keeping her big secret from her family. She could work together with her siblings and parents to right the wrong caused by the butterfly Miraculous’ theft, and that spoke to how much they trusted each other.

And trust, as Louisa had learned, was worth much more than a secret, no matter how big or special it was. So at last, she dared to hope for a happy ending.

[steviewashere]

Discombobulated by The Disembodied

Rating: Teen and Up (May Change)CW: Graphic Depictions of Violence/Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Blood & GoreCharacters: Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Vecna, Other Characters to Be AddedTags: Canon Re-write, Canon Divergence, Season 4, Vecna's Curse, Steve Harrington Gets Vecna'd, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship, Steve Harrington Has Nightmares, Traumatized Steve Harrington, Mild Humor, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Worried Robin Buckley, Mentions of Steve's Bad Parents, Other Tags To Be Added WC: 4,177

Season four rewrite where Steve gets targeted instead of Max. More to be added eventually, but here's chapter one! Enjoy! <3

Or, read it on AO3 Over Here!

🪦—————🪦 A bloody nose isn’t good for business. Not when it drips down onto the case he’s holding. Staining the pristine white edge with a rich pool of his warm blood. He’s never done well at the sight of it. And knows damn well she won’t allow him to just walk around Family Video with a wad of toilet paper up his nostril. “Robin,” he calls out towards the back room.

“What d’ya want Steve? I’m on break!” She shouts. Her mouth is full of something. Probably fries, if the smell of grease in the air says anything.

“Um—I—Don’t freak out!”

“You know that as soon as you say something like that, I’m going to do it regardless. Now, what’s wrong?! Use your big boy words!”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. Finger laying flat against his nostrils, head tilted towards the ceiling. The flow won’t stop. He pinches. Voice high pitched and embarrassingly similar to Kermit the Frog, “I’ve got a bloody nose! I’ll go to the bathroom and clean it up, already half way there. Just need somebody to watch the counter.” And since he’s honest, he’s in the men’s restroom before she has the chance to even open the break room door.

It’s a mess. His hand is coated in his own blood, already drying between his fingers, caught in the life lines. A faint ring of red on the edge of his right nostril. Damp spot above his lip, caught in the little bit of mustache hair he’s got, tacky. It’s on the tip of his tongue when he catches a little bead between his lips. He wets a paper towel and dabs at the stains on his face. The white paper turning hideously pink. Almost salmon. Wrings it out under the steady stream of warm water from the tap, watching as the blood washes away in little swirls. This has to be the most inconvenient time to get a nose bleed. But every single time has been inconvenient. Is there convenience in blood on his face?

He sighs when he’s finally clean. And takes a good look at himself in the mirror. Dark circles and oily skin. Shaking hands. Dark pink lips—stained. “Get it together,” he mutters, “rent’s due in a few days. Need all the money you can get.” He runs his hand over his face, grimacing at the flakes of blood that come away from his sweaty palm. “Fuck.”

When he’s back on the sales floor, he has to force the annoyed sigh back down his throat. Robin’s already looking at him. Wide eyed and reaching out. “I’m fine,” he automatically says. She’s got questions, he knows this. Will he answer? Most likely not.

“There’s no way you’re fine, Steve!” She says in return, exasperated. It’s her signature catchphrase. “That’s the fifth nose bleed in the last like…four days? You should really—“

“Get it checked out. I know, Robbie. I can’t do that and you know that.”

She grumbles some sort of profanity under her breath, missed by Steve’s slow shuffling towards the counter. “Steve, I’ll literally…give you my paycheck for the rest of your rent if it means you’ll get checked out by a doctor,” she attempts to bargain.

“I’m not taking your money, you need that, too,” he rebuttals. “And I’m not going to a doctor. I don’t have insurance. It’ll get better, I’m sure. We have nothing to worry about.” Though when he looks down at the cases on the counter, stretching to take one, his hands are shaking. Of course he’s worried. He’s had concussions and enough doctor visits in the last three years, it’s enough to finally make his parents tut and coo over him. He’s heard all about brain damage and risks and all the other garbage. What’s nose bleeds on top of that? Just a minor setback. But also, maybe it does mean something. Maybe he’ll die in his sleep, too much blood on his pillow. He’s not sure. The doctor would prescribe him something, probably. Though, doctors aren’t his forte. Not after last summer.

“What if it’s cancer?” Robin oh-so helpfully supplies.

“It’s not cancer,” Steve drones.

“What about a brain bleed?”

“Think I’d know if that was happening.”

“What about—“

“Robin,” Steve interrupts firmly. “Your little diagnostics are not helping. And I wish you’d stop for the sake of my own sanity. I’ll get it figured out eventually. Now’s just not the time.”

He grabs the tape he had before, wiping at its edges with a sanitary wipe. The cloth is pink in his hand. Just like it’d been in the bathroom. He knows that she’s right. She always is, or at least mostly to some degree. But he can’t miss work. Not when he’s got groceries to buy and bills to pay and rent to cover. Not when he’s on his own, no longer covered by his parents.

“When will be the right time? Because at this rate, Steve, it’ll be when you’re covered in your own blood and dead on the floor.” She moves behind him. Standing all too close to his back. He moves away. Her hand falling back down to hit the side of her thigh. “Why won’t you just let me worry? Let me in, y’know. I’m your best friend, you can trust me.” He hates how wounded she sounds. A strain in the back of his throat. The lurching in the pit of his stomach.

“I do,” he weakly murmurs. “I’m just fine with handling this kind of stuff. Not like I haven’t done it before.”

“But you have your own place. You have independence. You’ve got your friends,” Robin lists. Voice rising in urgency and volume. “They want to help you. They want to give you what your parents couldn’t, Steve! That’s part of my purpose! To just be there!”

He sighs. Bends himself in half over the counter, forehead resting on his open palm. The aching tinge of a migraine settling uneasily behind his eyebrows. They’re getting more frequent, too. He’s already out of his prescription medication for this bullshit. Now reliant on Tylenol, and ibuprofen, and weed from Eddie Munson. It’s been weeks since he’s been able to just go about his day, normally and at peace. Haunting nightmares. Whispered voices in cold silences. Getting high just to cover up the pain that doesn’t even recede when he’s finally out of his mind. It’s bad that he’s got Robin yelling at him. Bad that he wants to cave, give in. Knows that he can’t, though. It’s all such bullshit. “I’d ask for your help,” he grits, “But it wouldn’t do much good.”

She exhales sharply over his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to fucking mean?” Her voice bites.

“It means,” he drags on, voice going weaker and weaker by the second, “means that I’ve tried everything. And nothing you could do is going to help me right now. That’s all I meant. I’m not—You know I’m not that guy anymore.” A part of him wants to cry. Grovel at her feet. Chomp down on the side of the counter and sob into the surface, sounds muffled by the formica. But he stays bent over his own hands. Knees forward and ready to crouch down. His hair flops into his eyes. It’s almost laughable how he keeps forgoing his normal hair care routine, but knows that it’s cause for concern, too. What the hell happened to me, a small part of him wonders. The rest of him is just caught up in Robin. What she thinks of him. Why she sticks around for somebody like him.

Steve stands from his stupor. To look back. Her eyes are forlorn towards the doors. Body tight and still. “I don’t know how you can help,” he mutters. “I’d ask if—“

“I know,” she quickly interrupts. “Doesn’t mean you have to be alone, though. I—I’m gonna head back to the break room. Have the rest of my lunch. Take yours in fifteen minutes, alright?” Her eyes find him. And for once, her eyes that are normally excited and curious and welcoming, are dull and closed off. “I want you to eat today. Bounce back. Be yourself.”

He nods once. A finality to it. “Right. Yeah, I’ll take my lunch soon. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be normal.”

“Then don’t be normal. Just be Steve. Be the guy I’m friends with. Not some…Some self conscious jerk who won’t let his best friend worry. Because she does. Do that. A lot. But only because she loves you and doesn’t like the idea of you being dead. So don’t do that. Don’t die because you’re being an ignorant moron.” He laughs, loud and belly forward. Something in him sparkles, glinting gold and honey-like when she smiles at him. Even as she tries to hide it from his sight. She chuckles herself and walks by him, but not without throwing a fake-out punch to his arm. “Fries are calling my name, Steve-O. Practically screeching for me to eat them.”

“Go eat, you dork,” he chokes out through his fit of giggles. Stomach clenching with the words. “I’ll still be here, you know that.”

“You better be, Steve Harrington. Or I’ll find you and kill you myself.”

“Not unless somebody gets to me first,” he fires at her back, already half way through the break room door.

She flips him off. Good natured. Chipped nail polish gleaming in the Family Video light. Her voice is muffled by the swinging door. “Don’t be a stranger! Maybe close up! Come chow down! I’ve got your stupid burger with yellow mustard, you freak!” Before he can dignify that with a response, the bell above the front doors chimes. He schools himself.

His headache festers. And he swears, for a moment, that somebody whispers his name.

——— Before he sleeps, he pops three Tylenol. Technically, he’s not supposed to. But he’s also out of weed. And what he’d normally take for migraines. This goddamned headache won’t leave him. It went from a dull ache within the last four days to a throbbing, pulsing mass at the back of his head. And, sure, maybe he should go to a doctor. Not now. Not with what his brain will surely create for him tonight.

He’s tried just not sleeping. But then he’s too groggy in the morning. Running off of tepid cups of coffee and whatever candy he grabs from the rack in Family Video. While it’s not ideal, the suffering in his sleep, he knows that he’ll have to shut his eyes. Sweat through his clothes. Get caught in the blankets like a mouse in a trap.

It takes a while. The all encompassing brownish-black behind his eyelids to swallow him whole. But it does. Sucking him in, tying him down to the mattress, shoving him further and further into the indent his body makes.

———— He can hear them screaming through the large metal door. The separation growing farther and farther as he sits. Strapped to the chair. Eyes pointed and unblinking at the door. Nauseous and off-kilter, but so damn afraid. Terrified as another screech breaks through the underside of the door.

They shouldn’t have come down here. No matter how enticing this secret code was. No matter if he knew where the music was coming from. He knew that it was stupid. That all of this was a bad and awful idea. And now he’s got two basically brand new people roped into his and Dustin’s bullshit.

The screams fade. Walls crumbling around him. He’s stuck to the chair.

Trapped. His labored and panicked breathing echoing between the floor and the endless abyss that cages him in on all four sides. Beyond where the door was, he sees them.

He tries. Tries really hard to look away. To find a corner or a stain by his shoe or a stray ice cream cone crumb on his uniform, but to no avail. His eyes remain glued to where the door should still be. Where it should be shielding him from this gnarly, unsightly, gruesome view.

Robin Buckley is a tangle of broken limbs and matted blonde hair, smeared lipstick and plucked black fingernails. Her sneakers are soaked in red, covering the doodles he’s seen before, smearing whatever ink was previously there. The white on her uniform is unmistakably pink. Her face…Steve doesn’t recognize it. Features smashed in, bloodied, or missing. Eyes no longer blue. Just two black holes. Suggestions for where eyeballs should go. And he veers his line of sight just to the left of her slumped body, all crooked and messy on the bench they’ve thrown her on. There, on the ground by her rolled over left foot, is her eyeballs. Piercing blue and retina tailed.

Dustin Henderson is also more broken bones than put together human. His curls are frizzy, stained with red, sticking tacky to his forehead. A bloodied pile of teeth lay rotting next to his corpse. His hat is too far away for him to reach. Hands tied behind his back and strained, rubbed red raw on his wrists. T-shirt worn from camp instead ripped and jumbled, stained with crimson, and sticky to his body.

Erica Sinclair. She’s only twelve years old. He can’t look any longer. At what he couldn’t prevent. What he should’ve been able to save. They’re all kids, a part of him realizes. He’s the only one there who’s an adult, who’s had the chance to graduate high school, who’s alive.

A presence lingers behind him. He dares not turn his head.

But a disembodied voice accompanies the lingering shadow towering over his soon-to-be corpse.

“Steve Harrington…Your time is up.” ————

He startles awake in his bedroom. It’s dark. The black inkiness undefinable in the space around him. Filled with the white noise of silence. His clothes are wet with sweat. Limbs locked straight and stiff at his sides. Eyes centered to the foot of his bed.

There’s nobody there, which he wants to believe. But Steve swears, in this torturous moment, a figure stands over him. Tangled in its own flesh. A singular white eye. Dangling claw-like hand brushing the comforter tucked insecurely at his feet. It’s mouth remains still and closed and absent of lips. He swears it. He hears it. “Steve Harrington,” the figure seems to whisper. Voice deep and rumbling. Disembodied from all sides.

He swears it comes from the figure. He knows it does. It has to. But the next time he blinks.

Eyelids squelching with the tears he couldn’t sense.

The figure is gone. Dissipated. He knows he won’t sleep again. Searching the room, eyes going right towards his night stand, the alarm clock reads 3am. It was worth a try. Managed a good five hours somehow. It’s something.

It’s enough as he peels himself from bed and stumbles to the bathroom. It’s enough when he reemerges in a towel with sopping wet hair. It’s enough when he idles in his car outside of the shitty apartment complex he’s managed for himself.

It’s enough to wonder if what he foresaw was just a figment of his imagination.

For now, however, he pulls out of the parking lot. Riding slow and careful to Robin’s house. Today’s the day of the championship game. And he’ll be damned if he misses it.

——— “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Robin drawls. She doesn’t have to look at him to know that it’s the truth. Her eyeball is practically pressed against the passenger’s visor mirror. Applying her mascara with fingers prying the eye open, tongue squished between her teeth, nostrils flared in concentration.

Steve scoffs. “It’s just early, man. Not that weird.” He rolls his shoulders as much as he can with his hands extended to his steering wheel. Sometimes he wishes she weren’t so perceptive. Or that she only noticed him when he was down on his luck about his dating pool, not his existence. He blinks sluggishly, the road blurring for a brief moment. He should’ve had more coffee or something this morning. Being alert is important. Being aware. Being ready, especially after what he saw last night.

“It is a little,” she mutters, still hyper-focused on her makeup. “I mean—Usually, you’d be melting my ears off with some discussion about your dating life. How much it sucks. What you’re looking for. Your success in bed the night before.” Finally, she pulls herself away from the visor, open mascara tube in hand, and stares long at his profile. “Did you even go on your date yesterday? That girl…What was her name…From the other day? Thought you scored a movie with her or something.”

He shakes his head. Eyes vigilant to the road. “Heidi. Her name is Heidi, first of all.”

“Okay, Heidi. Her name is Heidi. Did you go on a date with her? Or are you going to tell me how she isn’t the right person? Because you aren’t eager to. Which means one of many things: she’s going out of state for school, she’s more interested in your douchebag dad, she thought that you could get her a word in with Tommy the Horrid, or she almost bit your dick off while giving you a blow-ie and now you’re too afraid of a girl with a little bite to her bark.”

“Hey! The girl that almost bit my dick off had serious teeth to her, dude! I have every right to be afraid of somebody making a snack outta my dick,” he objects. “Besides, I wouldn’t know about Heidi because I didn’t even call her!”

Robin sucks in between her teeth. “Low blow, Steve-O.”

“I forgot!”

She groans. “That’s even worse, Steve,” she bemoans. “It’s like objectively terrible to forget to call the girl that you asked out. If anything, I should’a called her and taken her up on the movie.”

“Oh, come off it,” Steve shoots. “God forbid a guy forgets every once in a while.”

“God forbid a girl accidentally bites your dick,” Robin mumbles under her breath. She leans forward before Steve can refute and turns up the music on the radio. Her nose crinkles immediately. “Tears For Fears…Again? It’s the exact same tape as yesterday!”

Steve just shrugs in response. Sure, it is the same tape. But also, it’s keeping that lingering whisper at bay. He’s made almost a science out of it. Whenever he prickles with a floundering sense that he’s being watched, he plays the first few seconds of their song, “Watch Me Bleed”. It works, though. Brain zeroing in on just the voices emanating from the tape’s delicate nature. He plays it in his Walkman at work. During his break. From the stereo in his car. The sound system he stole from his parents. Wherever he can fit the music like caulk between tiles, that’s where the whispers don’t reach him.

She sighs at his non response. “Alright, what’s going on with you?” She finally asks. “We’ve been in this car for like fifteen minutes. You won’t talk to me about girls. You won’t ask me why I’m getting all dolled up or whatever. And now you’re listening to, admittedly, the most heart wrenching Tears For Fears album I have ever heard. At least so far.”

“Does there have to be something wrong with me to listen to Tears For Fears?”

“Yes. When it’s depressing, there absolutely needs to be something going on with you. Talk to me,” she eggs, slapping the back of her left hand on his bicep. He winces at the sound. “Let me in Steve or I’m gonna ban you from picking movies at work.”

He gasps, offended. “You wouldn’t!”

“I’ll turn on The Apartment everyday I work with you this week. Swear on it, I will. Let me in or there will be dire consequences.”

He shifts in his seat. And for the first time in the whole drive, he pulls his line of sight over to Robin. She stares back. But he can’t actually bring himself to look. Not at her eyes or where her lipstick might be smudged. Or at her fingernails, no matter the color they’re painted right now. He finds a freckle between her eyebrows instead. “Okay, fine,” he mutters. “I’ve been having nightmares, that’s all.” And then he’s back at the road. The long and stretching road. An uneasy silence around all aspects of his car. It’s not usually this vacant. But something is changing, shifting. Lurking, he can sense it.

“Just nightmares? Or does this have to do with the bloody noses and chronic headaches you’ve been getting, too?” Of course she knows what to ask. The exact questions he doesn’t like answering.

He shrugs once more. “I don’t know, Robbie. Maybe. Probably doesn’t help my headaches when I get less sleep than needed. The nose bleeds are their own issue, I think.”

“See, this is why you should be going to a doctor. They’d actually know, y’know? Instead of speculating all this garbage.”

“Robin—“

“I’ll drop it. For your sanity. But, come on, it’s not weird to you? Not at all. All these things suddenly happening in your life. Practically mingling and making out in the corners. There has to be—“

He can’t listen to this any longer. To her paranoid ramblings. The what ifs and possibilities. At the next red light, he slams harder than necessary on the breaks. Hands squeezing the steering wheel tightly. Pointedly looking at his white knuckle grip. Tears simmer in his eyes. But he can’t. Can’t do this. The next swallow of spit he takes is harsh and agitating on his throat. “Why are you putting on so much makeup? Nobody has ever cared that much about a pep rally. Why do you suddenly care about this pep rally?” He interrogates.

Except, while he’d been expecting a long and agitated ramble that turned all too sappy, there’s silence. An odd and tense type of silence. Drawn with charcoal and engulfed in flames. His chest drops inwards, stomach swooping towards his throat, and his breath grows choked and distant from himself. He doesn’t move his eyes. For fear that the tangled flesh of that unidentifiable late night visitor will be wearing Robin’s scent. Doused in her perfume, but wickedly tall and bent. He doesn’t look. Not even when the recognizable drag of claws grows sharp and mean on the back of his right hand. Even as they curl into the cuff of his jacket. Even as the fabric bunches with the movement. Crinkling like plastic. And for a moment, it’s like he’s ground beef stowed behind plastic wrap on a grocery store shelf. Awaiting some fate. A fate somehow like death. Death after death.

“Steve,” it whispers. Definitely not Robin. Deep and masculine and vibrating. He swears the voice echoes in his chest. In his head. But he favors the steering wheel. Doesn’t want to confirm something he made up. He’s making this up. He has to be.

“Steve,” it tries again. The claws on his hand press firmer. He winces. But doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Even if it could take him at any moment. Even if it could diffuse his suffering. Even if it would rid him of the crawling under his skin that he’s tried to lock away for the last three years.

The next time, “Steve,” is said again, it’s Robin. Shaking his hand. Firmly pushing into his skin. Panicked and sharp and loud by his ear. He blinks, shifting, whipping his head to see her. Her piercing blue eyes perfectly placed in their sockets, fitted by black mascara and her lips a shiny pink, freckles, shaking voice, meticulously styled bob. “Steve, hello? What the hell—Where’d you just go?”

He flits over his surroundings. Pulled to the side of the road. Idling with the engine on. The tape done and over. How long have I been out of it, he has to wonder, and how did I get over here from the road? “I—I don’t know what that was,” he musters. “Lost in thought, I guess.”

“Is your head up your own ass or something? Made me have to pull over and emergency brake, you asshole.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs, “must be more tired than I thought.” His hands go back to the steering wheel. The leather squeaks under his sweaty grip. It’s solid where he touches. The only thing he can hear are his hands and her breath. He sighs with exhausted relief. “So,” he chirps, “getting ready for Vickie, right?” He deflects. “She definitely likes boobies. And you like boobies. Match made in heaven.”

For a moment, Robin’s eyes flash with something like grievance. A worry. But she schools her expression and scoffs. A tight, tight laugh. “Don’t call them that!” She squawks.

If he continues to egg her on, he can pretend like there isn’t something breathing down his neck. Can pretend, too, that he doesn’t feel the need to be ready. For danger. For imminent peril. For his death.

🪦—————🪦 More to come later, but take this for now. Basically throwing you a bone. Whoops. Chew on this for a bit while I think about how to keep the narrative going.

[steddieunderdogfics]

For Monsterfucking weekend:

Translucent Hearts by merry_magpie

Rating: Explicit

Words: 43,504

Chapters: 9/9

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Tags:

STMonsterMay Monster Steve Harrington Human/Monster Romance Monsterfucker Eddie Munson Minor Original Character(s) Original Character Death(s) POV Steve Harrington Major Character Undeath Mildly Dubious Consent Porn With Plot The Upside Down (Stranger Things) Steve Harrington in the Upside Down Post-Vecna (Stranger Things) Post-Season/Series 04 Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Hurt/Comfort Soft Dom Steve Harrington Sub Eddie Munson Angst with a Happy Ending Angst and Fluff and Smut Queer Themes Bisexual Eddie Munson Bisexual Steve Harrington Aware of Own Bisexuality Steve Harrington aware of his own bisexuality and still has an existential sexuality crisis Steve Harrington Steve Harrington is Eddie Munson's Bisexual Awakening Body Horror Masturbation Tentacles Sexual Fantasy Light Bondage Fantasy Disability Disabled Character Chronic Illness Minor Violence Making Out Blow Jobs First Time Blow Jobs Telepathic Sex Bottom Steve Harrington Top Steve Harrington Bottom Eddie Munson Top Eddie Munson Anal Sex Tentacle Sex Oral Sex

Summary:

He looked down. He was naked. Everything seemed the same as he scanned down. The same hairy chest. Arms and hands were the same. His sides looked like they hadn’t been bitten by Demobats at all. There was no pain. He looked further down. His dick and balls were still intact, thank God. His legs were fine, and his feet- Well, shit. One foot looked normal, while the other was purply-pink and slightly see-through. It was the right shape, and it moved with him as he thought about curling the toes and then flexing them, but he could clearly see through it, too. As he looked at it, it filled in and became as solid-looking as his other foot. Okay. So that was new. --- Steve is turned into something a little weird in the Upside Down, saves Eddie's life, falls in love, and then fucks him. All while dealing with being whatever the hell he's turned into. Written for the Stranger Things Monsterfucking May Challenge. For something that should be a pwp, it has a surprising amount of plot, romance, and world-building.

Why I'm reccing: This is such a well-executed, clever premise. I love the way Steve and Eddie's respective crises are handled, as well as Steve's struggle to come to terms with what's happened to him. Author "chose not to warn" for the archive warnings, but this is one of the gentlest uses of that I've ever seen.

Translucent Hearts by merry_magpie

Rating: Explicit

43,504 words, 9/9 chapters

Archive Warning: Creator chose not to use

Tags: STMonsterMay, Monster Steve Harrington, Human/Monster Romance, Monsterfucker Eddie Munson, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), POV Steve Harrington, Major Character Undeath, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn With Plot, The Upside Down (Stranger Things), Steve Harrington in the Upside Down, Post-Vecna (Stranger Things), Post-Season/Series 04, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Dom Steve Harrington, Sub Eddie Munson, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Queer Themes, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Aware of Own Bisexuality Steve Harrington, aware of his own bisexuality and still has an existential sexuality crisis Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is Eddie Munson's Bisexual Awakening, Body Horror, Masturbation, Tentacles, Sexual Fantasy, Light Bondage, Fantasy Disability, Disabled Character, Chronic Illness, Minor Violence, Making Out, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Telepathic Sex, Bottom Steve Harrington, Top Steve Harrington, Bottom Eddie Munson, Top Eddie Munson, Anal Sex, Tentacle Sex, Oral Sex

Summary:

He looked down. He was naked. Everything seemed the same as he scanned down. The same hairy chest. Arms and hands were the same. His sides looked like they hadn’t been bitten by Demobats at all. There was no pain. He looked further down. His dick and balls were still intact, thank God. His legs were fine, and his feet- Well, shit. One foot looked normal, while the other was purply-pink and slightly see-through. It was the right shape, and it moved with him as he thought about curling the toes and then flexing them, but he could clearly see through it, too. As he looked at it, it filled in and became as solid-looking as his other foot. Okay. So that was new. --- Steve is turned into something a little weird in the Upside Down, saves Eddie's life, falls in love, and then fucks him. All while dealing with being whatever the hell he's turned into. Written for the Stranger Things Monsterfucking May Challenge. For something that should be a pwp, it has a surprising amount of plot, romance, and world-building.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Monster Fucking.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[laysean87]

This story is my first Avatar: TLOK fanfic. A Lin/Asami crack pairing that was written off the top of my head, and wasn't outlined or anything.

Might consider doing some more of these two in a proper story once I'm finished with doing Teen Titans, Justice League/Justice League Unlimited, and Young Justice stuff on AO3.

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 22

Part 21 | Part 23

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: another Rhys pov! (to make up for the long hiatus lolol) Enjoy <3

Song: And so It Begins – Klergy 

“The disappearance of Tom Lockwood, sir.”

Bloody hell.

Even in death, the bastard managed to find a way to disrupt Rhys’ life and well-crafted plans one way or another. 

He felt a surge of adrenaline, but whereas most other people would succumb to the nerves, start sweating and rambling, make mistakes. Rhys didn’t. Instead, it only sharpened his focus, making him that much more dangerous. 

The reporter had used the word disappearance, meaning Lockwood’s body hadn’t been found, meaning there was no physical evidence that could potentially link him to the crime, which ultimately meant that he was in the clear. At least for now. If he played it right, perhaps Rhys could even turn this little hiccup into a story that would reflect him positively in the press.

The mob of journalists and cameramen were waiting with baited breath for him to comment, silence befalling the crowd once more. The only sounds that could be heard were that of the bustling city around them—the honking of a double-decker bus, London’s never-ending construction noises, and the screeching of a police siren a mere two blocks away. 

Rhys allowed a mixture of emotions to pass over his features. Initial shock—which hadn’t involved much acting—followed by a hint of grieving sadness, before he settled on a more calm, compassionate look. Because, like any good psychopath who studied the intricacies of human emotion, Rhys knew that that’s what the public needed to see in a leading figure. Someone who showed the appropriate level of feelings and compassion, but ultimately was able to offer reassurance and take action if need be. 

“Mr. Lockwood…” Rhys shook his head, unfolding his clasped hands to convey a subliminal message of openness and sympathy. “I must say that I am deeply shocked by this news. Is there any more information regarding his disappearance?”

“News surfaced after an anonymous tip was made to The London Dispatch, a spokesperson for the T.R. Lockwood Corporation has just released a statement that they are and have been aware of the circumstances and are working on an internal investigation, the Met Police have also just reported they are launching their own investigation,” the same reporter summarised, reading off of his phone. “Any thoughts on what could have happened, Mr. Montrose?”

Any thoughts… Oh, he had plenty, alright. 

An anonymous tip. To The London Dispatch. That could only be from one man: Jonathan. 

Did he seriously have the balls to go to the press, knowing full well that Lockwood’s disappearance could be traced back to him? Rhys hadn’t thought he would raise the alarm after revealing that detail to him, but it seemed Jonathan was keen to call his bluff.

On the upside, Lockwood’s employees had tried to keep the whole thing under wraps, just like you and Rhys had predicted. But now that it had come out, the peace and quiet would come to an end, especially with the police’s involvement as well.

“I could not say at this time, I’m afraid,” Rhys stated, schooling his actual thoughts. “I think, as of now, the best course of action is to allow all parties involved to conduct their investigations without adding unnecessary speculation that could potentially hinder their job.”

That prompted an immediate response from the crowd.

“You don’t think Lockwood’s partners should’ve been upfront about their CEO going missing?”

“Lockwood was last spotted in Prague–”

“Hasn't his staff already been hindering the police?”

“–over two weeks ago, what are the chances that–”

“Considering these suspicious circumstances–”

“–could this be another murder?”

“I understand,” Rhys interrupted, raising his hands in an attempt to quiet the masses. “I understand the demand for answers. I do. But we have to let them do their jobs. The Met Police will get to the bottom of this and find Mr. Lockwood, I have every faith.”

Lukas stepped up to the press then, drawing their attention with a wave of his hand. “That will be all for today, everyone. Please, step aside to let Mr. Montrose pass.”

They did so begrudgingly, some ignoring his campaign manager as they kept shouting questions left and right. Rhys walked past them, thanking them for their time. His head of security met him halfway, guiding him the last couple of metres to the car.

“Where’s Y/N?” Rhys asked.

“She’s waiting in the car, sir,” Reggie answered.

“Mr. Montrose!”

“One final question, please!”

Rhys easily picked up on the thinly veiled exasperation in Lukas’ voice as he tried to reason with The Telegraph. “No can do, sir. Mr. Montrose is already late for his next commitment. If you have any follow-up questions, please feel free to send them to our office.”

But the seasoned reporter wouldn’t just let it go, following Rhys all the way to the kerb.

“Mr. Montrose! What about his family?”

Reggie had already opened the passenger door, but Rhys paused, turning back around. He had to give it to the guy, no politician in their right mind could ignore that type of question.

He wetted his lips, a mournful smile flickering across his face. “Ofcourse, I give my deepest sympathies to Mr. Lockwood’s family during these uncertain times. I hope he will soon return in good health, and be reunited with his loved ones.”

Rhys dipped his head, pouring all the sympathy he did not actually feel into a final smile before he slid into the back of the car, where he was greeted by you, sending him an amused but troubled look. 

Reggie shut the door as Rhys leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Take us back to Primrose.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver nodded. “We might hit some traffic, though. There’s been an accident on Holborn and City Road.”

“That’s alright. Nothing we can do about it. Get us there as quickly as you’re able.”

“Straight away, sir.”

Rhys raised the soundproof, glass divider between the front and back of the car, giving you the privacy to talk about all that had just transpired without the driver being able to eavesdrop. 

You turned to face each other as the car pulled into the stream of ongoing traffic.

“So. Deepest sympathies, huh?”

“Why yes, ofcourse, darling,” he grinned.

You snorted. “Liar.”

He was about to retort when his phone started ringing. Rhys checked the caller ID, and sighed. “Excuse me, this won’t take long,” he said, accepting the call. 

“I don’t want to hear a word about Cynthia, Luke,” Rhys announced, wanting to move past his indisputable error in judgement quickly. “Go back to the office, coordinate from there. We need to get an official written statement out ASAP, one that is based on all the facts known at present.”

“Agreed, sir. I’ll fetch Brian to–”

“No. No, have Sam write it, she’ll need the experience. Just make sure to double check it before you post it online.”

“You don’t want to read it yourself? Are you not coming to the office?”

“No, I’ll meet you there later. There’s another pressing matter that requires my attention first. I trust you to handle the situation while I’m out.”

“Yes, Mr. Montrose.”

Rhys ended the call and pocketed his phone before resting his head against the headrest. What a day this was turning out to be. And it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. 

He must have involuntarily let out another sigh, for he felt the softness of your touch, your slender fingers wrapping around his hand. 

“How is that patience of yours doing?”

“I won’t lie, it’s hanging by a thread.”

“Figures,” you smiled, squeezing his hand.

Your smile was quickly overshadowed by that same troubling look from before, one which you didn’t have to hide anymore.

“That anonymous tip… it must be–”

“Jonathan? Yes, I think so, too,” Rhys finished. “Unless you called The London Dispatch and failed to inform me of a new tactical move.”

You shook your head no as the car slowed to a stop, now officially stuck in the busy rerouted traffic. “Nope, it definitely wasn’t me,” you said, looking out the window to catch a glimpse of St. Paul’s looming presence.

It was a cloudy day, ten a penny for London, even during the summer time. The storm front may have passed, but the uncertainty of what was coming still lingered in the air.

“Whilst you were giving your statement to the press, I kept thinking, why?” You looked back to Rhys. “Why would Jonathan do this now? He knows that we put the account that was used to bribe the pilots in his name. That was supposed to keep him quiet, at least for a little while longer. So, what’s his angle?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, the same question dominating his thoughts. “Jonathan’s calculated. But also rash, and unpredictable, as today has clearly demonstrated… We need to act quickly before he goes from being a liability to a full-blown threat.”

You chewed your lip. “You know who else can become a threat?”

His eyes flickered between yours, trying to find an answer there as he mentally went down the long list of possible enemies he made along the way. The ones that were still able to draw breath, that is. 

Only one name came to mind.

“Marcus Atkinson.”

The man who conspired with Lockwood to have Rhys removed from the upcoming elections, by categorically trying to erase him from the face of the earth. 

“Atkinson,” you agreed. “So far, he’s been quiet, but there’s no telling what he’ll do now that the news of Lockwood’s disappearance has been made public.”

Rhys hummed, affirmative. “You’re right. We need to prepare for every possibility.”

“Is that why we’re going home?”

“No,” he said, a little reluctant. 

You frowned, not following. “Then why did you tell the driver to take us back to Primrose Hill?”

He sighed. “Because you’re going home, whilst I go and pay dear old Jonathan a visit.”

You paused, slowly letting go of his hand as the meaning of his words landed.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

Rhys set his jaw, his decision already made and final, but that didn’t stop you from glaring at him.

“And you’re sidelining me because…?”

He looked away, something flicking over his expression. “It’s the only way I know how to keep you safe.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “What about me and what I do for a living gives you the impression that you need to keep me safe?”

Rhys winced. He’d anticipated this reaction from you. But there was no way in hell he would allow you and Jonathan in the same room ever again. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you could fend for yourself, because, as more than one occasion had attested, you certainly knew how to throw a punch or two. And make it hurt. He himself was privy to the knowledge. 

However, he didn’t trust Jonathan and what he would do… Especially now. Besides, as far as Rhys could tell, Jonathan still didn’t know anything about your true identity. And he’d very much liked to keep it that way. 

“He’s a psychopath, Y/N,” Rhys stressed. 

“Right,” you drawled. “Do you want me to look up the exact definition? Because I’m pretty sure it would also include present company.”

He smiled, bitter. “I’m not planning on hurting you. Jonathan might. You know the things he was mixed up in across the pond. If he figures out how important you are to me…”

His forehead creased with genuine concern, and even in your anger, your eyes softened a little at the admission.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he amended. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I want to keep you as far away from him as I possibly can.”

You nodded thoughtfully, still far from happy with his decision. But Rhys wasn’t going to change his mind, and you knew it as well.

Once again, the sound of a phone pinging interrupted your conversation. Privately, Rhys hoped it would put an end to it as well, although you quickly relieved him of that illusion. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“A man can hope,” he muttered.

You shot him a warning look as you retrieved your phone, effectively making him shut up.

He looked around, noticing they were still motionless. No. That wasn’t right. They had moved about three car lengths in the last five minutes. Progress, he thought, clocking his inner voice’s sarcasm with a wry smile. At least the extended travel time would give him a little more time to prepare for his surprise attack on Jonathan. Although, that twat was likely already waiting for Rhys to show up after the shit he pulled earlier today… 

Rhys gritted his teeth as he thought of Jonathan. How he must have watched the press interview live on tele, probably thinking he’d won this game… Well, Rhys would make damn sure that his victory would be short lived. 

A startled noise came from your side of the car, and his eyes shot back to you, jerking him from those thoughts. 

Your wide eyes were scanning whatever message had appeared on your phone’s screen, four times over, as if making sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. A wave of worry careened through him as he watched the colour drain from your face.

“Y/N?” he said, alarmed.

“Oh my god…”

Frantically tapping the screen, you brought the phone closer to your face. “Oh my god.”

Before Rhys even got a chance to ask what the hell was going on, you’d already pressed the device to your ear, fingers now tapping restlessly against the car’s interior door.

“Y/N,” he said, firmer this time, clasping your hand in his. You looked at him, panicked, uncertain… terrified. Rhys felt his own stomach drop. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The call went straight to voicemail, and you groaned in frustration. “Damnit, she’s not answering her phone.”

“Is it Zoe? Sadie?” Rhys tried, concern slipping into his voice. 

He softly squeezed your hand to garner your attention. It worked. You refocused on him, visibly swallowing a tang of adrenaline before shoving your phone into his hands. Rhys read the ID: Zoe. He was right—there were only so many people that could pull this type of reaction from you. He could probably count them on one hand.

His eyes slid down to read the most recent incoming texts, and he sucked in a breath, immediately understanding your nervousness.

>>> mum’s back

>>> please come

Your mother… 

Alarm bells went off inside of him, his concern slowly getting replaced by something sharper, harder. 

You’d both known the day would come, yet the words on the screen still shocked him to silence, the only thing he could muster a feeble, “Fuck…”

“Yeah…”

Rhys closed his eyes. Another person who had completely disappeared—albeit not by your doing—resurfacing. It had been quite the mystery as to what had happened to her, and you had spent many a night trying to figure out where she could have possibly gone. Without much success. But now she had seemingly returned.

The timing could also not have been better. Apparently Murphy’s Law always lurked around the corner somewhere.

“Where did she come from all of a sudden?”

“From hell, likely.”

He huffed a strained laugh. That was certainly one possibility. Rhys met your gaze, then. The initial shock had lifted, and now the fire he’d grown to love glowed bright in your eyes.

“I’ll kill her,” you whispered, unyielding. “I swear to god, if she’s hurt them… I will kill her.”

You snatched your phone from his hands, your thumbs flying over the keyboard as you typed out a series of messages in quick succession.

“Hey,” Rhys said, pitching his voice into a soothing range. “They’re gonna be okay. Just like their big sister, they can fend for themselves.”

“I know they can,” you said, still holding your phone in an iron grip. “But after what happened last time, I can’t help but worry.”

He couldn’t stop himself. “I know the feeling...”

You dropped your phone, turning to him with a look that made it abundantly clear that now was not the time to test you. 

“Rhys,” you warned.

“Sorry…” he muttered, squeezing your hand again. “How do you wanna tackle this?”

“I’m going over there.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Right now. I have to make sure they’re okay. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you shot back, eyes narrowing.

Rhys pursed his lips. Yep. He deserved that.

You looked outside to find that you were, still, stuck near St. Paul’s. And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. Sighing, you clasped the door handle, but before you could sprint out, Rhys tugged you back to him.

“Whoa, wait a second,” he said, worry seeping back into his voice. He didn’t want to part like this. “Are you sure you want to do this by yourself? I can help.”

You looked at him evenly. “This can’t wait. And neither can the Jonathan situation.” 

Damnit. 

No, it couldn’t.

“I’ll take care of my mother while you take care of our professor,” you offered, running your thumb over his hand in an attempt to persuade him. However the grim look on your face wasn’t helping.

He held your gaze for a long moment, equally grim, before nodding once. There was no other way. 

“Be careful, and call me when you need me,” Rhys implored, already cursing himself for agreeing to this plan. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said, purposeful, determined.

And with that, you were off, shutting the car door with force. 

Rhys watched you go, worry now mixing with guilt. By trying to protect you from one situation, he was now the sole reason you were diving head-first into unknown danger all by yourself.

Although, you would have gone either way. No matter the circumstances. You were just like him in that respect. Once you’d made up your mind, there was nothing anyone could do to dissuade you. Rhys had to let you go. Leaving you the space to deal with problems the way you saw fit. He didn’t like it, but if he wanted to keep you by his side, there was no other choice. 

As far as he was aware, your mother wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. But even so, she’d come pretty close to manslaughter with the Hackney house fire. Rhys also knew for a fact that you hadn’t yet told him about all of the harrowing things you’d endured during your childhood. Some details, yes. But definitely not all. He hadn’t wanted to push you too hard, you would tell him when you were ready. Just like with everything else. 

Rhys shook himself. Dwelling on this wasn’t going to do him much good either. He had his own headache to deal with. After that, he would work to make things right with you.

He pressed a button, lowering the glass divider. “Change of plans. I need you to take me to South Kensington.”

—

An hour later, after trudging through London’s busy traffic, the car parked in front of Kynance Mews. The driver hastened to open his door, and Rhys slid out, glancing left and right. 

“Give me twenty minutes,” he said, adjusting his suit.

“Yes, sir.”

The ride over had given him plenty of time to consider his options, which in the end boiled down to two simple objectives: kill Jonathan, or not. 

As tempting as the first option was, Rhys had to accept that it wasn’t the most prudent one. Now that Lockwood’s disappearance had become a public affair, and the police were conducting their own investigation, there would be a lot of heat bearing down on the case. Sooner or later, the police would find out about the bribe money, and once they’d successfully trace the money and start making connections, ‘Professor Jonathan Moore’ would be the subject of a lot of scrutiny. 

Like with Atkinson, the risk would be too great. If either of those two were killed right now, people would surely start asking questions. Questions Rhys didn’t want to be asked. 

Therefore, with a tinge of annoyance, he opted that the best course of action was to keep the professor alive a little longer. 

However, Jonathan couldn’t continue on like this. He had to be reined in—reminded of who was in control here. Good thing Rhys had one more trick up his sleeve, and now was the time to use it.

He made his way inside the building, taking the stairs two at a time, determination edged in his pace. Once he made it to number ten, he lifted his fist, landing a series of powerful knocks on Jonathan’s front door. He didn’t have to wait long before it swung open. 

Rhys bursted into the flat, the door nearly hitting Jonathan in the face. 

“You’ve been busy, mate.”

Jonathan recovered quickly. “So have you.”

His dark eyes tracked Rhys as he strode around the flat, making sure there were no unwanted third parties present. Once he made sure there wasn’t, he stopped in front of Jonathan, meeting his gaze.

Rhys took a breath and nodded. “Tell me about it. It’s hard work, winning these elections—making sure all possible threats are dealt with accordingly.”

Jonathan looked him up and down, measured. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Among other things... I was starting to miss our fun little chats.”

“I wasn’t,” the professor sneered.

“Oh, pray tell,” Rhys said, light.

Jonathan appeared calm, but the tightness around his eyes told Rhys all he needed to know. A single, disdainful head-tilt cinched it.

So, this would be fun.

“You’re a cold-blooded psycho.” 

His mouth twitched. “Ah, one that needs to be taken down? Is that why you tipped the press?” 

“I’m done with your bullshit and your fucking mindgames,” he hissed. “And I’m not going down for your sins whilst you become mayor of this godforsaken town.”

“And yet here you are,” Rhys snickered, waving a hand at him. “Digging your own grave. Or did you forget that Joe Goldberg helped cover-up Lockwood’s murder?”

“I’ll tell them the truth about you,” Jonathan promised. “You’re not getting away with this.”

“And who do you think they’ll believe?” Rhys returned, tilting his head, a challenge. “A suspected murderer who faked his own death, or the man that’s working tirelessly to strengthen their police force—making sure their kids will have access to a higher education, someone who’s battling corruption and fighting for what’s right. You tell me.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No… No, you will go down for your crimes.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. “And what crimes are those? Do you have any proof? Or will this be another case of your word against mine?” he taunted, stepping up to the fuming American.

Jonathan stood rigid, frowning in contemplation. He took a moment to mull over whatever thoughts held him before he looked at Rhys askance. 

“There has to be proof. People always seem to mysteriously disappear or die around you. Like last night.”

Rhys remained entirely unfazed. “That Fernsby bloke, you mean? Well, if you’d listened to the news, you would know he died of natural causes. Very unfortunate but it happens,” he said, inscrutable, picking a piece of lint off of his suit. “Besides, I have an alibi.”

“Of course you do,” Jonathan mumbled, more to himself. “Your girlfriend?”

Anger simmered under Rhys’ cool facade at the mention. But he couldn’t let Jonathan see it. 

“She serves many purposes,” he smirked, lewd.

Jonathan’s face twisted in disgust. “You’re using her.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s all she’s good for anyway. A pretty face for the cameras, and an excellent shag at night.”

Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable despite his own nature. He took a beat, his eyes locked in an endless stare, seeing seemingly nothing. Then he blinked, once, and looked up to Rhys again. 

Something in his eyes had changed. Like he’d made up his mind about something. Rhys couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t sit well with him, at all. That much was clear.

His smile faded, it was time to get down to business.

“Alright,” he exclaimed, delightfully startling Jonathan in the process. “Enough chit-chat. I think it’s about time I remind you of a few things…”

Jonathan stiffened, but didn’t respond. Rhys sauntered over to the window, the one providing a perfect view into the flat of one Miss Kate Galvin. The flat was dark, and it didn’t look like anyone was home.

“Do you know where she is?” Rhys asked, peering through the window.

He didn’t need to specify who he was referring to. Not to a seasoned stalker like him.

“At work,” Jonathan said, clipped. 

Rhys glanced back over his shoulder, clocking Jonathan still standing in the exact same spot, shooting daggers at his back. Rhys’ lips curled. 

“Remember this feeling, Jonathan,” he said as he zeroed in on the fireplace, bending to pick up the fire iron. “Remember how it feels to know where she is. To know she’s safe…”

He twisted the metal object leisurely, feeling the weight of it in his palms. “But above all, remember how I can take all of that away, in the blink of an eye.”

If possible, Jonathan stiffened even more, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. 

Rhys’ eyes sparked with amusement. Jonathan hadn’t wanted to play any more of his ‘mindgames’, but unfortunately for the professor, he was only just getting started.

“Now, we wouldn’t want her to meet the same fate as her father, would we?” Rhys mused, using the metal tool to prod at some charcoal remains. “Because speaking of unfortunate things, I’d say that would definitely qualify as such.”

Jonathan glared at him, not even attempting to cover the hatred he felt for the man daring to enter his home like he owned the place—and threaten him, his girlfriend, and everything he had tried to rebuild for himself. 

“Stay away from her,” he said, voice as cold as ice.

“Come now, Jonathan. There’s no need to get snippy,” Rhys tutted, eyes flicking to him. “You and I both know that whatever happens to her, it’s entirely up to you.”

The sound of metal scraping against the fireplace's stone surface caught Jonathan’s attention, his eyes flying to where Rhys was still playing around with the rod. He relished the look on Jonathan’s face, a sweet mixture of trepidation and rage. It meant he was listening carefully. 

“Fun fact about fire,” Rhys went on, off-kilter. “Which, correct me if I’m wrong, I believe you may be familiar with,” he added jokingly, stabbing at a larger fragment of unburned wood. 

“Nothing ever truly vanishes. There’s always something that remains. And what’s so amusing about this fact is that you never know which pieces are left behind… or when they might resurface.”

This was it. The last card Rhys could play to keep Jonathan silent—short from killing him, ofcourse. 

To threaten him to complete the framejob by planting Lockwood’s other hand that you and Rhys had kept as a backup, and call in the cavalry. Physical evidence tying Jonathan to the crime, in combination with the paper trail already set up in his name, would ensure Jonathan’s arrest and indictment. And he knew it.

Jonathan swallowed. “Lockwood?”

Rhys walked up to him, eyeing him steadily. “You better stick to our first agreement, and keep quiet,” he warned, tapping the fire iron against Jonathan’s chest. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you’re going down for all of it.”

Defeat flashed over Jonathan’s face. He was still angry, no, livid would be the better term… But the growing apprehension and doubt was unmistakable.

Satisfied that his message was received loud and clear, Rhys dropped the metal rod to the floor. The loud clang of the object hitting the wooden floor caused Jonathan to flinch back, much to Rhys’ pleasure.

He turned his back on the American, gleefully making his way towards the front door where he paused, resting one hand on the handle, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“It’s all about who holds the power, mate,” Rhys smirked, looking back to Jonathan, whose jaw was clenched tight. “And at present, that isn’t you.”

–––– 

A/N: FINALLY a Joe and Rhys meet… I know it’s been a long time coming 🙈 I had a lot of fun writing this particular scene, I hope you enjoyed it as well. Now let’s see if Jonathan will heed Rhys’ warning or… not. hehe

––

Tags: @artaxerxesthegreat

[samanddean76]

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Gabriel (Supernatural) Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Alastair (Supernatural), Lilith (Supernatural), God | Chuck Shurley, John Winchester, Mary Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, season four au, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Love, Rescue, Research, Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Gabriel (Supernatural), Mental Anguish, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Constantine References, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is Tortured in Hell, Dean Winchester's Soul, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Borrowed grace, Hell Is Never Going To Be The Same, First Time, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Eventual Happy Ending, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2024, Art by xfancyfranart Summary:

Dean Winchester is living a plain, ordinary, and boring life. Until one day a new student shows up in the little town of Spain, SD. It’s love at first sight, but then an unimaginable tragedy happens, and Dean is left alone in his misery. Or is he a student attending Oxford University on a full athletic scholarship who finds a familiar face in his coxswain? Or is he hiking in the desert and attempting to save a known stranger? Or is he a traveler who stops for the night at a cheap motel and finds the pizza man of his dreams? Or is he none of those things? Just an unwitting victim of fate and destiny?

Castiel had led the assault on hell, in order to save the righteous man and prevent the first seal of the apocalypse from being broken, lest hell should be allowed to reign on earth. In the aftermath of his disastrous mission, he is being held captive by Alastair, and his image is being used in a final, determined attempt to break Dean.

But the profound bond that Castiel feels towards the pure soul won’t allow him to go down without a fight, and he makes a desperate prayer to his very old friend to set in motion a chain of events that might save him and his beloved mortal, or possibly, doom them for all eternity.

@xfancyfranart​ @deancaspinefest​