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wlntrsldler · 7 months

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i. busy streets and busy lives, and all we know is touch and go. | luke castellan | state of grace

fourteen-year-old luke castellan develops a crush on the pretty girl who shows him a type of kindness he'd never experienced before.

athena!reader x luke castellan. not canon compliant, no betrayal. happy ending luke :)

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fourteen-year-old luke castellan was apprehensive to let go of annabeth’s hand. the small girl just healed from her injuries following their arrival to camp. she showed no sign that she was physically not okay, but luke could still feel her shaking. they’d both just lost thalia, a companion, a friend, who they faced the scariest things with, far greater than any of their imaginations could conjure up combined. luke didn’t think it was a good idea for her to be sent off to cabin 6 just yet, away from him.

“s’kay, luke,” annabeth tugged on his hand. he looked down at her, finding no trace of nervousness on her features. instead, she had an eager smile on her face as mr. d and chiron waited for her to walk across the stone path to meet her siblings. “i’m not going far.”

oh, luke realized. he was the one shaking.

he put on his brave face, telling himself that he had to be strong for his sister, but he knew deep down, he probably needed annabeth more than she needed him. the girl looked excited to be with her real siblings, and luke was being selfish keeping her away from them. he’d just lost so much already; his childhood, his sanity, at one point, his mom, thalia, and letting go of beth’s hand felt like he was giving up. he just needed something to live for, something bigger than his survival.

luke crouched down to get eye-level with her, smiling softly, “if you need anything, i’m just a few doors down, ‘kay? whatever you need, little beth.”

“i know,” she giggled, innocence in her eyes. she didn’t quite understand why her brother was being dramatic about it. they were safe now.

luke ruffled her hair, making her squeal, before getting up. he gave a courteous nod to chiron and mr. d, taking hold of beth’s hand again as he walked towards the two children of athena waiting across the way.

luke didn’t miss the way annabeth’s eyes sparkled at the buildings around her. she pointed out the intricacies of the columns lining the exteriors of some of the cabins, marveling at the vines that engulfed the walls of cabin 4. luke wondered if he was ever this small, if he ever found the beauty in the small things the same way that annebeth did. perhaps, in memories that are lost and locked away in the back of his mind, he used to be like her.

annabeth looked happy here, safe. luke let out a breath of relief that he didn’t know he was holding in. he’d given up on a life other than survival a long time ago. since he was nine, he’d been running from everything all on his own. then he met thalia and he didn’t feel so alone anymore. and meeting annabeth, well, he found a new reason to keep going after that. she was too young to have experienced all of this. if he couldn’t protect his own innocence, maybe he could protect hers as much as he possibly could.

“you must be annabeth,” you smiled at her, crouching down to her height the same way luke just did. “i’m y/n. i’m so glad to have a new sister.”

“yeah, i’m annabeth. nice to meet you,” annabeth removed her hand from luke’s grasp, reaching over to shake your hand. your eyebrows raised in surprise, pleased at her manners, and accepted her handshake. she pointed at luke, “this is my brother, luke.”

the boy beside you, holding a clipboard, furrowed his eyebrows. he flipped through the notes he had on his board, “i was told there was only one child of athena.”

“yeah, no, i- i’m a child of hermes,” luke shook his head, the name of his father tasted bitter on his tongue. he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, “she just means it like metaphorically? is that the word? we-we’re not actually related.”

you stood up, eyes darting between him and beth. luke’s eyes met yours and he couldn’t help but flush under your stare. he’d seen pretty girls before; in line at a grocery store while he stuffed his pockets with stolen twinkies and chips, in the mall where he’d sit at sometimes to get away from the harsh weather outside, even on his way to see chiron and mr. d when he got a glimpse of aphrodite’s daughters, but he’d never seen anyone like you before.

you had a commanding presence about you, like you had the answers to everyone’s questions and knew what was best for everyone, but it wasn’t intimidating at all. one look at you and luke knew you were a leader, one that led with grace and empathy and blessed with a face of an angel. you had soft features, kind eyes, high cheeks like you didn’t go a day without smiling, and hair that framed your face perfectly. he wouldn’t be surprised if people didn’t hesitate to follow you to the ends of the world if you asked them to. he was about ready to do that and he’d only just met you.

you grinned at him, the crinkles by your eyes appearing, “but she’s your sister.”

the smile that he returned to you was effortless. he glanced down at annabeth, nudging her, “but she’s my sister. annoying, but my sister, nonetheless.”

“hey!”

you and luke laughed at her harmless protest, sharing a look with each other that nobody else caught. the boy next to you, who unenthusiastically introduced himself as oliver, tucked his clipboard under his arm and motioned for all of you to start walking to the cabin.

“luke,” oliver said, stopping his tracks, “we can take it from here. i’m sure you want to get some rest in your cabin after the 48 hours you just had.”

luke wanted to say no. he didn’t want to leave annabeth yet. he would rather sit through long, droning minutes of learning about athena’s cabin, though he had no use for it since he won’t be living there, than retreat to the hermes cabin. but he also didn’t want to seem weak, clinging onto a seven-year-old girl when he should be perfectly fine on his own. annabeth said so herself, she wasn’t going far.

you lived up to your angel-like demeanor when you spoke for him. you noticed the flash of panic in his eyes as he took in oliver’s words. you cleared your throat, “rest is for losers, oli. plus, the more the merrier. i say luke should come with us.”

oliver huffed, but nodded, continuing his steps to cabin 6. you fell into a rhythm with him, conversing about camp activities that luke wasn’t too familiar with yet. annabeth trudged happily beside him, silent as she stared out into the view of camp. luke had to pull her by her shirt to stop her from running into things, her excitement getting the best of her.

as oliver began his rant about some ares kid, you turned your head to sneak a glance at him and annabeth. luke felt his chest tighten when you smiled at him, all teeth and sunshine, before returning to your conversation with your brother.

annabeth tapped luke’s hip, “i like her.”

luke couldn’t hide the smile on his face as he looked down at her. his cheeks hurt from smiling so much, “me too.”

luke wished he could say that the rest of his introduction to camp half-blood was as pleasant and nice as his interaction with you, but the rowdy cabin he was met with after he left annabeth in cabin 6 was something that he was not prepared for. unlike the athena cabin, where things were neat and put together, scrolls and books lining the walls, the hermes cabin was a mess.

there were clothes thrown everywhere, makeshift beds in every corner of the cabin, and dozens of kids, claimed and unclaimed, running around. luke wanted to punch oliver across his face because how on earth was he supposed to get some “rest” with all of this going on?

luke sighed, adjusting the bag on his shoulder as he searched for an empty bed. much to his dismay, the only bed available was the one right next to the entrance. he tried not to think about how little sleep he’d be getting with the door slamming open and shut with how many kids seemed to live in this place.

luke rolled his eyes, watching his siblings jump on the beds as they chased each other. none of them seemed to notice that he arrived, that he was new, but he learned from you earlier that too many half-bloods came and went in the hermes cabin. they were probably used to seeing unfamiliar faces and didn’t bother to introduce themselves anymore.

with a silent groan, luke lay on his bed, trying to drown out the noise of laughter by pushing his thin pillow against his ears. the noise wasn’t unwelcomed, per se, but it was just foreign to him. he’d spent countless nights falling asleep to the sound of coos from animals in the woods and the sound of hushed echoes in the caves he called home. he’d slept through the roaring of the train tracks by his head and the sound of city noise outside his window when he managed to sneak into an empty motel room. he’d slept through the feeling of imminent danger, but never this. he doesn’t remember the last time he slept to the sounds of children laughing.

he probably got a few minutes of rest before the cabin door swung open. the children quickly quieted down, which made luke get up from his position on his bed, ready to thank whoever it was that got his siblings to calm down. of course, luke wasn’t surprised when you were standing at the door, arms crossed over your chest.

“come on, guys,” you tutted, shaking your head. “can’t you see someone is trying to rest? luke is new here and you’re not making a good first impression.”

mumbles of apologies rang through the cabin before they all scurried out the door, all blushing in embarrassment as you sent them a look of faux disappointment. you walked over to luke, stopping at the foot of his bed. he sat up straighter, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes.

“sorry about them,” you grimaced, “they have too much energy for their own good sometimes, but you’ll grow to love them. i swear it.”

“yeah, they’re cute.”

you couldn’t help but snort at the sarcasm in his voice. you motioned for the seat beside him on his bed and luke moved over to give you more space. you were so close to him that he could feel the heat of your skin radiating off you. “i take it your first day hasn’t been the best?”

“it’s been… okay,” he trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. his curls were a mess on his head and he’s sure the pillow he had against his face left an imprint. “just a lot to take in, i guess.”

“i get that,” you said, taking off your shoes to sit criss-cross on his bed. luke thought the cartoon owls on your socks were charming. “i remember my first day here and how chaotic it was. i would love to tell you that it stops being like that after a while, but i’d be lying and i don’t want to start off our relationship on a lie.”

luke knew that what you meant by “relationship” was platonic, with no romantic connotations, but he was a teenage boy developing a hopeless crush on a pretty girl, way out of his league, so so sue him for how his heartbeat increased ten-fold at the word.

he tugged on the neckline of his shirt, “do they always listen to you like this?”

“i don’t know if “listen” is the right word,” you chuckled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “i’ve been here a while, so all the kids know me. i dunno, if i had to guess, i’d say they’re just used to me.”

luke hummed. you were being modest. it was clear that all the kids liked you. on the way to the athena cabin, multiple campers greeted you as you passed by, completely ignoring oliver who was beside you and him and annabeth who were trailing not far behind. you had to make so many stops to engage in small conversations with the people you ran into, younger and older kids alike. he was shocked at how you remembered everyone’s names. he lost track after the third kid.

luke’s stomach growled in hunger and he couldn’t even play it off because it was silent in the cabin. he shut his eyes, embarrassed, as he looked away from you, clutching his stomach, begging his body to be his friend for once.

“perfect timing, luke,” you showed no sign of being affected by his embarrassment. you slipped your feet into your sneakers. luke noticed you tied the laces of your shoes loosely, making it easier to take them on and off. “lunch is in five minutes so we better get going. when the ares kids get there first, they massacre the food before any of us gets the chance to put anything on our plate. all that training makes them hungry.”

luke followed you out the door as you explained the structure and schedule of camp half-blood. he was only half paying attention to you because he was too busy listening to the sound of your voice and watching your face light up when you talked about something you found particularly cool.

as you approached the line for food, thankfully before the ares kids, you handed luke a tray. he began to scoop up some food, before turning to look at you, “don’t take this the wrong way, but shouldn’t the hermes head counselor be showing me around? not that i’m not enjoying this tour you’re giving me, but i figured each head counselor for each cabin would be doing this for their new siblings.”

“typically, yeah,” you shrugged, “i’m not even the head counselor of cabin 6 yet.”

luke’s eyebrows raised, “you’re not?”

“nope,” you replied, leading him over to an empty table. he sat across from you, waiting for you to continue. “oli is, but he’s leaving after this year. he got accepted to MIT. i’ll be taking over for him when he leaves.”

“that’s cool,” luke nodded, taking a bite out of the chili mac on his plate. “who’s the head counselor for the hermes cabin?”

a frown appeared on your face as you looked down at your plate. you used your fork to push around your food, “lettie used to be.”

luke knew that tone– grief. it was the same tone he used to tell two apollo kids to be quiet when he overheard them talking about thalia when he and annabeth were still in the infirmary. that tone meant that it was something that shouldn’t be discussed. he changed the subject, “how’s little beth settling in?”

your usual smile returned to your face at the mention of annabeth. luke was glad it was back. “she’s great! she’s brilliant, which i expected, but she’s incredible. truly, luke, she fits right in.”

pride bloomed in his chest. of course beth was already impressing people. she was too smart for her own good and sometimes luke had trouble keeping up with her. at least now she had her siblings to talk to. “she is great, isn’t she?”

you nodded, “polite, too. can’t say the same about some of these kids.”

as if on cue, two kids started bickering with each other, using colorful language that luke was sure they probably shouldn’t be using at their age. they continued to spew insults at each other before an older camper marched over to them and scolded them. the interaction ended in the two kids muttering insincere apologies to each other.

you motioned to the scene with your fork, “see what i mean?”

luke laughed, bringing his attention back to you. “how long have you been here?”

“three years,” you pulled out the necklace from under your shirt, showing off the beads on the string. “i got here when i was 11. grover was my protector, too.”

“how was–” he cleared his throat, swallowing the last bits of chili mac he had in his mouth. he usually didn’t care about how messily he ate, but you were so put together that he figured he shouldn’t scarf down his food like a heathen in front of you. beth used to make fun of him because he inhaled his food so fast that she wondered if he even chewed. “how was your life before all of this?”

“nothing special, really. my dad tried his best to raise me, but he didn’t really know what he was doing. a single dad raising a daughter on his own is hard enough, and adding that your kid is a demigod would surely have anyone raising a white flag.” luke nodded in understanding, too familiar with the pressures of that from what he could remember about his mom. you continued, “but life was good before camp half-blood, normal. i grew up in a small town in connecticut so there wasn’t much to do.”

luke’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “where in connecticut? i grew up in westport.”

your jaw dropped, eyes lighting up in glee. you dropped your fork on your tray, leaning over to grab his shoulders from across the table, “no way! i’m from south wilton!”

the name sounded familiar. he recalls seeing the name on a road sign when he first left connecticut, but he couldn’t remember exactly where it was. a lot of the places he used to go to as a kid blurred together into one giant mush over the years, but with how excited you were to find out he was from westport, he figured you guys lived relatively close to each other.

luke thought about it; a different life where he probably met you under a different circumstance. maybe you guys ended up at the same high school, both terrified little freshmen, hoping that the older kids would take it easy on you on your first day. or maybe you met earlier than that; perhaps luke was sent off to another middle school, no doubt after getting expelled because of his shenanigans like he always did, and you’d be a student there. there were so many other ways you could’ve met each other, but something in his heart told him that the ending would be the same.

you’d still be the nice, pretty girl sitting in front of him at the lunch tables, showing him the ropes of life, showing him the type of kindness he never experienced before. though, he’d probably be eating the smushed pb & j sandwich that he forgot in the bottom of his book bag that his mom packed him for lunch instead of chili mac and you’d both be normal kids, excitedly talking about recess activities instead of swapping war stories about hellhounds and monsters.

“what a small world,” you commented, sitting back down on your seat. luke missed the feeling of your hands on his shoulders. he liked how touchy you were. it was like your emotions were so intense that you had to grab onto someone to keep you grounded. you looked up to the roof, wondering, “i wonder how many times we almost met each other. south wilton is only ten minutes away from westport.”

“probably not many times,” luke replied, off-handedly. he wiped his greasy fingers on the napkin beside him. he didn’t know he still managed to get messy even though he tried his best to eat proper, but you didn’t seem to mind. “i didn’t really go out a lot, i don’t think. always had to stay home with my mom.”

maybe it was because you were the daughter of athena and you were blessed with heightened emotional intelligence, but you sensed that there was something deeper to luke’s words that he seemed to not want to share.

luke lived with the unfortunate ability to only remember the bad things that happened in his life. he attributes it to his knack for survival; if he remembers the things that could get him caught in a sticky situation, then he won’t put himself in that predicament again. dodging death left and right for five years meant that his brain was filled with a step-by-step guide on how not to die, which left little to no space for happy memories. the things that he does remember from his childhood were things like turning the stove off because his mom forgot she was in the middle of making dinner or remembering to close the window in the fall or else the house gets too cold because his mom forgot to pay the electric bill for the heater.

not really the best memories to have of his childhood, but it taught him a lot. it kept him alive.

“that’s okay,” you took a bite out of the strawberry on your tray, red juice slipping from the corner of your mouth. you wiped it away with your forearm, giving him a wide grin, “we met each other here so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

before he could answer, annabeth came racing to the table, out of breath. she was grinning like a fool, already talking luke’s ear off about how great the athena cabin was. luke pushed his tray away, turning to face the girl, nodding happily as she animatedly explained all the new things she’d learned. he couldn’t get a word in to respond because she kept talking and talking, but luke didn’t mind.

he stole a glance at you as annabeth took a break to take a sip of water. you watched the two of them fondly, chin propped up on your hand, listening to the girl’s stories as if you weren’t there when it all happened.

he thought of your question. no, he decided, it doesn’t really matter. he was here with you now.

#frances writes #frances song fics #state of grace #luke castellan #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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escapistpainter · 1 month

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So since batman has flooded my Tumblr, I'm making fics based off of scenarios I've seen. Thanks to @everwalldigan for the idea, I hope I do you justice🙏🏻

The air of the warehouse was thick and muggy in the late summer evening. The sound of muffled conversations, grunts, and the sound of rope rubbing against metal filled the area. "You really got connections, huh boss?" A gruff voice boomed through the empty building, belonging to a large man with a cocky grin plastered on his lips, a syringe in hand. The man a bit further away responds, albeit, quite unintelligibly. Squatting down in front of the man they had tied to a pole who's looking at them with with a deadpanned, almost annoyed expression. "Y'know, since we got you here, why don't we have some fun, eh bats?" A snarky chuckle rang through the room before he takes the syringe and stabs it into Batman's arm. The man let's out a groan through gritted teeth while it sinks deeper into his flesh before the man before him injects the unknown substance into his body.

"Let's start it simple...are you and red hood connected?" It was a random question for sure, though it would clear some things up. Before he can stop himself, Batman speaks. "Yes." Shit, truth serum, of course it is. He shouldn't be surprised at this, so many others have done this before. It's just a nuisance. The tall man's smirk only grows. "This is gonna be fun. I could get you to reveal yourself, but what fun is that?" He flashes a cocky smirk, "Well, since you have SOOOOO many of these 'sidekicks', who's your favorite bat-vigilante?" The man was just acting childish now and Batman couldn't help but roll his eyes but he still couldn't control his words. "I don't have a favorite. At least not currently."

The man readjusts his position, staring at the hero bound in front of him with a raised brow. "And what does that mean?" "Well, it depends on the circumstances. So if red hood doesn't kill someone this week, he gets placed higher on the list, he steals the batmobile and crashes it, least favorite until he makes up for it. Usually Orphan is in the lead, she doesn't talk back, she finished her duties in a timely manner and sometimes makes me origami cranes that I arrange on a shelf to display." The man looks at him, confused and surprised at his response. "That's a lot more indepth than I thou-" His sentence is cut short by Batman beginning to speak again. "Nightwing gets off pretty easy with just coming over to visit every now and then to have dinner, but those points get lost when he has a sling." The man found it hard to look away or cut him off as he was explaining, only motioning for the others to come closer, as if wanting to show them something.

"Red Robin gets the silent treatment if hacks into the county servers and decides to Rick roll everyone and only starts being spoken to if he helps me wrangle Robin and stop him from strangling Super boy. That gets Robin to need to go on longer patrols and doesn't get to go on missions with me as a punishment but I take that back if he prepares dinner, which he almost never does. I can't do anything to control spoiler, she just does what she does and I can only hope it's not a war crime, the less awful it is, the less she gets punished, though if she decides to spray pepper spray all over the inside of my mask one more time, I'm taking her girlfriend privileges away." *No one knows when but he's now holding a white board to display the charts of his favorites and everyone just assumes he has it just in case? It's Batman, who knows.

A voice blares over his comm system and into his ear. "B, we've tracked your location, we're almost there, do you copy?" Several minutes of silence went by as he shouts again, "B, do you copy?!" And a groan ring out before his comms beeped off. "The signal," Batman continued, "is similar to orphan in the sense, he doesn't get into trouble so he's always very high, but it hurts when he ignores me so I put him just a tad lower for hurting my feelings. And Oracle, well, she's not good, but she's not bad, she kinda just... Exists outside of missions, sometimes she sends me cat videos and I like that so she gets a few points ahead. And if all of my kids suck, then super boy gets the title of favorite, he's so much better than what I have to put up with. But if he runs away and has Superman start riding my ass more than normal, straight to the bottom and either bathound or batcow take that title."

Once he finishes speaking, the room is filled with eery silence while the criminals look at each other like he just gave birth. No one had expected that to be the outcome of the simple question but they're all brought out of their contemplations when a loud crash echoes through the warehouse, causing the men to spring to their feet. "What was that!?" One of the men shouts as the other see a dark figure appear behind him. "Me bitch." As soon as the man turns around, hard knuckles crash against his face and he falls to the ground. It didn't take long for the others to start getting picked off as well until the last guy is collapsed on the floor unconscious.

"You could've taken them down yourself B." Jason remarks, hauling the men into a pile. "They asked a question." Bruce exhales, feeling slightly disappointed in himself for just staying there. "And you know I don't like when you swear, further down you go." "What?! Not fair!"

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mc-i-r · 1 year

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Disposable Heroes

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four Ao3

A/N: Guys, I’m so sorry for the late update! Life has been crazy for me the past couple weeks but I hope that I can get back to writing more regularly. This chapter is the well-awaited Eddie pov, as well as a ton of backstory for him that I didn’t really plan on but it just kinda came out. This chapter is kinda rushed, I’m gonna be honest, but I wanted to get it out to you guys as soon as possible since its been awhile. There are gonna be some major warnings here so I’ll post them below. Take care of yourselves and stay safe, now enjoy!

Tw: homophobia, homophobic language, child abuse, domestic violence, referenced drug use, Eddie being incredibly gay

———

It’s a muggy Sunday morning, the summer sun burning through the last vestiges of chilled night air and frosted dewdrops as it rises from its slumber. Like the sun, Eddie rises as well. However, it’s with much less fanfare and grace due to the obnoxious pounding at his front door.

He groans dramatically, shoving his face in his pillow and willing whoever the fuck decided to bother him at—he glances at his alarm clock on the other side of the room, squinting to read the numbers—nine in the morning to go away. His wish must have pissed off some universal god because the knocking only gets louder, making the window above his desk rattle with every shake of the door.

With a sigh big enough to rival the windy intro of “Holy Diver”, he pulls himself to the door in a zombie-like state. Movements sluggish from his interrupted sleep, he misses the doorknob twice before finally turning it, throwing it open with newfound strength to find one Robin Buckley in all her glory. Her fist is raised and ready to knock again, her face the epitome of righteous fury as she glares at him.

“Uh, hey Buck. Whatcha doi—“ he begins, only to be interrupted by Robin shoving past him and barging into the trailer. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and pulling on his hair slightly before shutting the door.

Kids and their manners nowadays.

“Yeah, sure, come on in. Totally fine. I wasn’t sleeping or anything, noooo,” he says to himself before turning to face his intruder. Whatever Buckley is upset about seems serious, and from the icy look she’s giving him it also seems like it’s his fault. Her hands are on her hips like she’s in a Steve Harrington impersonation contest and plans on taking home a first place prize. Something in him squirms at the thought.

But, he is nothing if not a performer. So, of course, he puts on a show.

“Lady Buckley,” he declares in a posh British accent, bowing deeply with a flourish on his arm. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine morning?”

He’s expecting a fond eye roll, or a laugh, or huff, or something. He gets silence.

“Cut the bullshit, Eddie. We need to talk about Steve,” she demands.

Steve… Now isn’t that an interesting subject?

Now, Eddie has always been different. He was loud, and jumpy, and fidgety, and the other kids never wanted to be friends with him because they were scared. He was always covered in dirt, always barefoot because he either forgot to put on shoes or the ones he had were too small for his ever-changing feet. He would talk to himself, mutter little reminders under his breath or work through the questions plaguing his mind aloud because he just functioned better that way.

Then, at eleven, he found out just how different he really was. He was outside during recess when he fell off the monkey bars and scraped his hands and knees. He huddled on the ground, tears falling down his small cheeks because it hurt and his wounds felt like they were throbbing. Then a boy, James, ran up to him and asked him if he was okay. James had stark blond hair, a face full of freckles, and bright green eyes. He looked so concerned for Eddie, and was gentle when he picked up one of his hands to inspect the cuts littered there. It was that gentle touch that elicited a flutter of butterflies in his stomach, and ever since then Eddie knew.

When he had gotten home to the trailer that day, he felt confused. Other people in his class were constantly talking about who they “liked”; boys liking girls and girls liking boys. About how they would get all nervous around their crushes, and Eddie realized he had never felt that before. All of the girls in his class were just… girls to him. They never gave him that fluttery feeling James had. But… no one ever talked about boys liking boys. No one ever said if it was okay, so Eddie thought it must not be. That boys liking boys wasn’t okay. That he wasn’t okay.

It took awhile, but he finally confessed to Wayne that he liked boys, that he got all the little butterflies that boys were supposed to get about girls. Wayne shook his head and told him that he could feel butterflies for anyone he pleased, as long as they made him happy. They both cried that night, and ended up in a hug so tight they nearly fused together.

Since then, Eddie’s come to accept the fact that he’s gay. Has added it to his whole anti-conformist persona, even. So when high school hit he let himself finally be free. He joined Hellfire club, made friends with the upperclassmen who ran it, and learned all the intricacies of D&D that he never imagined he would. After two years, he met Gareth and Jeff who joined Hellfire much in the way he did. Then, Grant joined halfway through Eddie’s junior year and he quickly recruited him as well. He found his friends, his people, and he finally let himself be himself around them.

He told them he was gay after a long session of lazily practicing in Gareth’s garage and smoking, the weed having loosened both his limbs and his lips. They were all extremely chill with it, even after the weed had worn off. That, however, didn’t exempt them from making fun of him though.

Eddie was loitering in the hallway after school, waiting on Gareth to finish up a quiz he missed the week prior, when none other than Steve Harrington walked out of the pool room in nothing but those little speedos that leave zero to the imagination. Seriously, all those girls were right, holy shit. After he picked his jaw up off the floor, he noticed Steve was looking at him with that adorable little confused puppy look before a god damned smirk fell across his face. Eddie’s face, he knew, had to rival that of a Victorian nobleman fawning over a sliver of pale skin shown by a lady across the room with her face hidden by an elaborate fan because he was literally drooling for the man in front of him.

It got considerably worse when Steve leaned down to drink from a nearby water fountain, making Eddie’s mouth go completely dry with this blatant offering of ass right in his face. In hindsight, it might not have been an offering, per say, but it was definitely there and Eddie was definitely staring. So it really wasn’t a surprise that he jumped when Gareth tapped his shoulder, Eddie having not heard him come up behind him, and he turned on his heel so fast he’s surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“Dude, you good?” Gareth asked. Eddie opened his mouth, squeaked out, “I’m fine” and immediately felt his face go up in flames. Gareth glanced over Eddie’s shoulder and he could see in slow motion the series of thoughts that crossed his mind. Gareth went from concerned to confused to understanding to smug so fast it was almost comical. When their eyes met, Eddie’s went wide.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” he hissed, and the smug look only intensified.

Once they got to his van, Gareth immediately rounded on him.

“Seriously? Steve Harrington?” Gareth teased. “Of all people, it had to be that douche?”

Eddie groaned and clenched his eyes shut. “I know, Garebear, now shut up before I push you out of the van.”

Of course, news about his little crush spread around his friend group like wildfire, and soon enough he was being teased by them relentlessly. Eddie knew his crush wouldn’t get very far, Steve was very clearly straight and in a happy relationship with Nancy Wheeler of all people. Still, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about that smirk.

Just as his crush began to fade away, Steve showed up to school with a busted face and eye bags deep enough to rival shitty vampire Halloween make-up from a toddlers costume contest. Feelings came rushing back, the intense need to protect, to find out what happened and get justice for that pretty face.

Then it kept happening, and Steve showed up to school with a beat up face yet again. However, judging by his stumbling and droopy eyes, it came with a concussion this time. Just when Eddie was trying to figure out who did it, Billy Hargrove came stalking through the empty halls and all attention was focused on his scabbed knuckles. On the hungry glare he sent Steve’s way. On the way Steve shrank back a little on instinct.

And Eddie… Eddie just couldn’t leave well enough alone, now could he?

He walked up to Steve, brows furrowed. “Harrington?”

Harrington didn’t turn, eyes still focused on the spot where Billy had been before. Eddie tapped his shoulder. “Steve?”

He jumped that time, like Eddie had actually hit him, and spun to face him. Up close, his face looked a hell of a lot worse and Eddie had to suppress a wince just looking at him. Steve looked at him confused, though it was hard to tell between the swelling and assortment of bandages on his face.

“…Munson?” Steve began. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up.”

He said it flippantly, with a wave of his hand towards his left ear like that explained everything. It didn’t, but Eddie felt like it wasn’t his place to push.

“You good, man? You look like you got in a fight with a dump truck and lost,” Eddie said. “Badly.”

He expected Steve to scoff and roll his eyes, push past him and hit his shoulder too hard to be an accident. He expected him to spit some barb and walk away, to leave Eddie there in the hallway alone. None of that happened, though.

Instead, Steve smiled. A little self-deprecating, but a smile nonetheless. He huffed a laugh.

“Make it a supercharged dump truck and you’ve got it right,” Steve joked at his own expense. It resulted in a shocked laugh bursting from Eddie’s lips, which he immediately stopped by smacking a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand away. “That’s not funny. I mean… your joke was, just not,”—he gestured to Steve’s… everything—“this.”

“It’s okay man, I know what you meant,” Steve said sincerely and Eddie doubted why he was ever called King Steve. The person who stood in front of him was the furthest thing from what those jocks supposedly worshiped that Eddie had to hide another bubble of laughter.

“Seriously, dude, did you even go to a doctor?” Eddie asked, and at Steve’s wince he knew the answer. He rolled his eyes and slung an arm around his shoulders, careful not to land too hard in case he was bruised there too, and led him down the hallway towards the nurse’s station.

“Uh,” Steve began. “Where are we going?”

“The nurse,” he explained. “Figured a look wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed a little under his arm, and Eddie decided to focus on him during their walk down the empty hallway. He noticed the way his hair bounced a little with every step, how a couple strands were threatening to fall from their perfectly coiffed positions. He noticed his moles and freckles, how he had a smattering of faint ones all over his face from time in the sun. He noticed how his nose was a little crooked now, with a bump on the bridge that wasn’t there before the weekend. He noticed how pretty his eyes were, with at least three different shades of brown all swirled together like melted chocolate with flecks of forest green nestled in the folds.

He noticed that Steve was looking at him.

They had come to a stop in front of the nurse, yet Eddie’s arm was still over his shoulders. He quickly retracted it, but Steve didn’t move away and neither did he.

“Well, this is your stop,” Eddie nearly whispered out. Steve smiled, just a small quirk of his lips, and his eyes flitted across Eddie’s face.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he started. Steve took a step backwards toward the station and did a little wave with his fingers that had no right being as endearing as it was. “See you around.”

With that, he disappeared behind the thick mahogany door and Eddie was left there alone, face full of flames and smiling like he was in fucking love with the guy.

Fuck, maybe he was a little bit in love with the guy.

That feeling didn’t waver, not even after seeing him in a skimpy sailor uniform as he scooped overpriced ice cream for toddlers in the Mall. Or, when he was pinning him to the rickety wall of the boathouse he was hiding in after seeing Chrissy murdered in front of him by some freaky wizard from an alternate dimension with a broken bottle to his beautifully freckled throat.

That feeling greatly intensified when he saw Steve take an honest to god bite out of a demonic bat and spit the flesh and blood out on the dried lakebed in the previously mentioned alternate dimension.

And, really, you can’t blame him for falling all the way when he found out exactly who dragged his half-dead body out of hell and saved his life.

So yeah, Steve was a very interesting subject indeed.

“Is… Is he okay?” Eddie questions as he straightens from his hunched position, head tilting to the side and making his bangs fall in his eyes. Robin throws her hands up with a mighty huff and a frustrated groan.

“Obviously not!” She exclaims. She starts pacing around his living room, back and forth in front of the coffee table. “He’s obviously not okay because you’ve been avoiding him and making him feel like shit for months and I’m actually really worried about him ‘cause he’s been doing stupid shit that can get him killed and I don’t know how much longer he can go on like this before it completely ruins him.”

As Robin rambles, her face turns a bright shade of pink. She finishes her speech, sucking in a deep breath as if she ran out of air. Eddie’s brows furrow.

“I haven’t been avoiding Steve,” he defends weakly. He hasn’t, not really. He just… he doesn’t want to get hurt.

Okay yes, Eddie is practically in love with the guy, but that doesn’t mean Steve feels the same about him. They’re friends, that’s it. Steve is going to find some beautiful girl and get married and have the houseful of kids he’s always wanted and Eddie will be here, still pining from afar. He knows it would be easier to just forget about him, and forget about the feelings clutching his heart like a starved hawk with its first fulfilling catch in months. That’s why he’s been slowly letting go over the past few weeks, trying—and failing—to get that stupid pretty boy out of his head. Of course, it’s not working, and every day he spends not talking to Steve feels like hell.

So no, he’s not avoiding Steve. He just doesn’t think he could survive it if he confesses and Steve rejects him completely. Staying away means he won’t accidentally reveal his feelings for the man, and judging by how much he’s feeling, it wouldn’t be very hard for that scraggly cat to come clawing and screeching out of the proverbial bag.

Robin, however, thinks the opposite because according to the look she’s giving him, she says he absolutely fucking has.

Eddie sighs. “Okay, maybe I have just a little bit but it’s not—“

Eddie freezes, stomach plummeting as Robin's rambling words take purchase in his mind. She said Steve was doing something stupid, something that could kill him. Flashes of a night now a distant memory play in his mind, one filled with panicked breaths, stilted tears, and a bloody bat with nails.

“Robin… What do you mean by ‘stupid shit’?” Eddie asks tentatively. Part of him wants to know the answer, while part of him fears the idea of ever finding out. Robin only gives him a confused look and crosses her arms.

“Eddie, that’s totally not the point of this conversation and you know it—“ Eddie cuts her off by waving his hands.

“Robin! Just…” he trails off. Should he tell her about Steve? He promised he wouldn’t but…

“Okay, I have to tell you something about Steve but please please don’t tell him I told you because I promised him I wouldn’t but if you also know something about him then I think you should know about this too,” he rushes out, words tumbling fast out of his mouth as his lungs scream for air. Robin’s icy glare has melted a bit, turning into one of anxiety and caution.

He sighs and flops down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks down at his hands. He feels more than sees Robin sit next to him and he knows he has her attention.

“What happened, Eddie?” She prompts, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I had a visit from Steve awhile back, around four or five days ago,” he begins. “It was early in the morning and I couldn’t sleep so I was writing notes for a new campaign idea in the living room. I could feel that something was… off, so I looked out the window and there he was.”

He ran a hand over his face, pushing his bangs back and pulling on the ends. He glances over at Robin to find her looking at him. He squeezes his eyes closed for a moment before looking back at her.

“He wasn’t all there, Robin. Like… like he was trapped in his mind or something. I thought,” he huffs a deprecating laugh, “for a moment there, I thought he was cursed.”

He doesn’t mention that the image found its way in his head and can’t seem to find its way out, like a stubborn housefly who keeps banging against the glass hoping to be freed. The thought of Steve floating—eyes rolled back in his head while his lids flutter and his limbs shudder and break one by one—has kept him awake on more nights than he can count. The thought of him being subjected to his worst nightmares given life, all the lies that he tells himself turned to truth. The thought of Eddie being completely helpless, watching him die in agony in front of him.

He doesn’t mention that every night since then, he’s called Steve. He needed to hear his voice, to know he was okay. To know he was alive. He never got a call back.

“I got him to come inside but he didn’t stay long. Something spooked him, I think, I just… I don’t know, it was really weird. Like…” he trails off, unable to find the words.

“Like he was in fight or flight mode?” Robin suggests, and he nods.

“Pure instinct.”

Robin groans. “Shit, this is worse than I thought.”

“Wait, did he tell you?” He asks. Steve was so insistent on Eddie not telling her—made him promise, in fact—so why…?

“Well… after a very long, very emotional, and very vulnerable conversation, yes. He told me on his own terms though, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she supplies. “He… He didn’t tell me a ton of details, though. Not… Not like that.”

There’s a pause as Robin clenches her eyes closed and looks away from him.

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” her voice comes out just barely above a whisper, something he wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t right next to her. Eddie stays silent, unwilling to break the solemn mood. Robin, however, misses that message entirely as she smacks his arm.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me, doofus?!” She accuses, giving him a half-hearted glare that is no less threatening. Eddie holds his hands up in surrender, unable to hide the exasperated look on his face.

“He made me promise!!” Eddie defends. “Plus he gave me those damn puppy dog eyes and I couldn’t say no.”

“He is really good at that, especially when he wants something. He says he has no clue but I bet you he does,” Robin whispers, almost conspiratory as if they’re sharing a terrible secret. Eddie can’t help but smile and shake his head. Screw Harrington and his stupid pretty eyes.

“Did he say anything else while he was here?” Robin asks after a moment of silence.

“No, that was the only thing he said really, other than an absent ‘I’m fine’ before he bolted out the door. It was a very uh… one-sided conversation,” Eddie explains. “He mostly gave only one or two word answers before he panicked and ran.”

“I’m gonna assume he didn’t tell you why he left?” She asks, and at the shake of his head she curses. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”

Robin shifts beside him, raising her hand to mindlessly chew on her thumbnail. He thinks the conversation is over. Or, rather, wishes it were over.

That universal god must really hate Eddie today because Robin roughly shakes her head and waves her hands around, letting out a huff.

“Okay, one problem at a time. That was totally not the point of this little talk and you know it, Munson,” she admonishes. “Why. Are. You. Avoiding. Steve?”

She punctuates each word with a, quite literal, punch to the arm. Eddie reels back, dramatically clutching his bruised arm and gives her a fake glare.

“Ow!!” He rubs his arm. For her incredibly bony arms, she really can pack a punch. He’s only half joking that it hurts.

“Answer the question!”

“Fine fine…” he takes a deep breath, knee bouncing with building anxiety before he stands up, unable to quell the urge to move. He paces twice in front of the coffee table before he has the nerve to look at her waiting gaze.

“So, as you know, I am a raging homosexual,” he states, and at his pause, she nods. “And I miiiiiight have a teeny weeny, itsy bitsy, enormous crush on him.”

The end of his sentence is rushed out, words jumbled together as he screws his eyes closed and waits for… whatever Robin’s response is going to be. He waits for five seconds. Then ten. Then twenty-five because yes he’s counting. If he knows one thing about Robin Buckley it’s that she doesn’t know when to stop talking so silence is a very rare occurrence for her and now its been a whole minute and something must be wrong so he opens his eyes to find her—

The only word that even remotely comes close to encompassing the expression on her face is seething.

He instinctively takes a step back.

“Edward Lee Munson you better explain yourself right fucking now or I swear to every god out there that I will rip out your spleen and feed it to the neighborhood dogs before you take a step out that door,” Robin all but growls out, eyes icy and cold as they stare through him. He’s quick to explain because he really quite values his spleen, thank you very much.

“Okay, okay, geez I get it! Fine,” he huffs. “I’ve been avoiding Steve because it’s hard to be around him.”

Robin only raises an eyebrow. Eddie groans. He really wishes he didn’t have to explain his big, fat, gay love this early in the morning.

“It’s hard because he’s so…. So Steve all the time. He’s so kind and caring and hot— god, Birdie, he’s so fucking hot—“

“Okay, yeah, I didn’t need to know that,” Robin interrupts.

“Sorry,” he says, a bit sheepish. “Every little smile he gives me feels like a swarm of butterflies are fighting horde-style to get out of my stomach. I just…

“I think I’m in love with him,” Eddie confesses. The way her eyes blow wide is comical, and he’s half expecting them to pop and burst like they do in cartoons.

“But I know better,” he gives her a sad smile. “I know that I’m not special, he doesn’t mean it like that. Like I want it to. And…. And I know he never will.

“I thought that distancing myself would make the feelings go away, make it… I don’t know, hurt less? But not seeing Steve at all… fuck, it hurts worse than dying and I know what that feels like. Now I don’t even have him as a friend,” he scoffs at himself, shakes his head a little and focuses on a framed picture of him, Steve, Robin, and Dustin from graduation on the wall. Focuses on how Steve’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders, hand gripping his upper arm as he smiles shyly at the camera. How Eddie himself is leaning into his side, tucked under his arm as if he belongs there. As if he’ll ever belong there. He looks back at Robin.

“But this is what’s best. I can’t have my stupid heart feeling things my brain knows it shouldn’t,” Eddie ends his little speech by flopping back down on the couch. Part of him regrets telling her, but another small, itty bitty part is almost grateful.

Eddie’s always had a way of caring too much, even from a young age. Wayne could tell you better than anyone that Eddie has always had a soft side. He could tell you that Eddie refused to let him kill any of the bugs that got into the trailer when the weather turned cold and insisted that they be put outside under the trailer where it was at least a little warmer. He could tell you that every time Eddie would see another person cry, he would too.

He’s just always been like that, so carrying this around with him everyday? It was becoming too much to bear, having to put on a face around everyone so no one could tell. So no one could see how it was breaking him inside. Wearing him down to the bone. Slowly, slowly killing him.

Robin sighs beside him and he had almost forgotten she was there. Her voice is quiet and strangely gentle as she speaks.

“Why do you think that, Eddie?”

What?

“What?” He asks incredulously and knows his face is in a similar state to his voice.

“Why do you think Steve wouldn’t like you like that? Has he said anything to make you think he wouldn’t?” She clarifies, which really doesn’t clarify anything at all for him because what?

“Um… are we talking about the same Steve? You know, Steve Harrington, Hawkins’ resident ladies man? Why the fuck would you think I’d have a shot?” He explains. “He’s so painfully straight and I am so painfully not, Robin.”

Robin just looks at him like she’s trying to read his mind. Or, rather, push a thought into his mind. Waiting for something to click. It doesn’t. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Besides, Steve never tried to talk to me about the whole distance thing, so I just—“

“You know what happens when people assume things, Eddie,” Robin interrupts.

“—figured that he didn’t mind,” Eddie finishes with a glare. Robin closes her eyes and takes a breath as if calming herself. She pinches her nose, right between her eyes like Steve always does when he’s frustrated or tired, and turns to him. She takes his hands in hers, and her face is only a mere mask of calm, the tumbling waves of anger rolling just under the surface.

“Eddie,” she begins. “Have you ever thought of the possibility that Steve doesn’t talk about his feelings? That he would keep it all bottled up inside like he does with literally everything else?”

Well, when she puts it like that…

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Robin agrees. “I only found out about this whole… thing two days ago and that was only because I just so happened to catch him falling asleep at work. He wouldn’t have told me if I didn’t ask him, I know that for sure. He… Eddie, he honestly believes that this is all his fault. That he’s the one that fucked everything up between you and he kids.”

Eddie’s brain screeches to a halt. “Wait, what do the kids have to do with this?”

“You haven’t told them anything?” Robin asks, eyes going a little wide.

“Have I told a bunch of teenagers—whose opinions I regretfully respect—that I have a crush on their babysitter? No, I have not.”

“Okay, yeah that was a stupid question, sorry,” she amends. “Just… the kids are avoiding Steve and I can’t think of a reason why.”

“They’re what!? Wait, why haven’t I heard of this until now?” Eddie exclaims. Robin gives him a look that makes him deflate a little. “Let me guess, you only found out two days ago?”

“Bingo, we have a winner!” Robin fake cheers, raising her arms in a mock-celebratory fashion. She drops them with a huff. “They haven’t talked to him in weeks, Eddie, and I think it’s because you have been avoiding him.”

Her tone isn’t accusatory, but it still makes him feel like shit.

“They must have picked up the sense that something was going on between you two and assumed they should be avoiding him too,” she suggests. Eddie leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t get how they could think that, though. I mean, Steve has been nothing but good to them for years now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees. “But they’re kids. Stupid, dumb, ungrateful kids, but they’re still kids.”

Eddie drops his head in his hands, pressing hard on his eyes until spots form behind his eyelids.

“I really fucked this up, didn’t I?” He asks it rhetorically, but Robin gives a noise of agreement anyway. “How do I fix this, Birdie?”

“You could start by talking to him,” Robin suggests.

Now isn’t that a terrifying thought?

Because knowing you have feelings for someone is one thing, but telling them? That’s something so far out of the realm of possibility for him that he’s never even thought about considering it.

“Have you lost your fucking mind, Buckley?” Eddie exclaims, looking over at her with wide eyes. “I’d like to keep all my teeth if you don’t mind. I mean, I know I’m not your type and everything but some poor schmuck would probably like to look at this face one more time before it's beat all black and blue.”

Robin only rolls her eyes at his rambling—which is rather hypocritical of her if you ask him, since she seems to treat rambling as an Olympic sport she plans on winning every time she opens her mouth. She grabs his face between her hands and honest to god shakes him.

“I can’t tell you everything, but I’m telling you to trust me and talk to him,” she practically demands, giving him a pointed look much like the one from before. Except he still doesn’t know what it means, as that final piece has yet to click into place.

He nods in her hold, partially afraid of her now, and she releases him.

“We need to fix this. Now,” Eddie insists. He looks over at her. “We need to talk to the kids.”

Eddie stands up, running to his room and groaning at the mess he left. Tossing his sheets and blankets back on the bed, he reaches under his bed for the walkie he knows he last saw under there three days ago. Except, it’s not there. He stands up, scrunches his eyebrows, and thinks.

Let’s see… it was next to the keychain that was on top of the VHS sitting on the books on the corner of the desk, then he moved it when he had to answer one of Lucas’ questions which he did while he walked around the trailer and he laid it down when he finished to get some cheese from the fridge, meaning—

Eddie runs back to the kitchen, finding the walkie on top of the fridge, right where he thought it would be.

“Got ya!” He grabs it and runs back to the living room where Robin is waiting very impatiently.

“Where even was that?” She asks but he ignores her, electing to set the frequency so he can talk to the kids all at once instead of answering her. He presses the button.

“This is Eddie the Banished calling an emergency Hellfire meeting pronto,” he orders into the speaker. “I repeat, emergency Hellfire meeting.”

He waits for a response. One minute. Two minutes. Three—

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Eddie mumbles, pressing the button again. “Over.”

Immediately, Dustin responds. “Hear you loud and clear, Eddie. Is this a code red situation? Over.”

“Nope, not a code red. More of a uh…” he glances over at Robin who shrugs. “Code yellow? I think. Over.”

“What the hell is ‘code yellow’? We don’t even have one of those,” comes Erica’s, as always, sarcastic remark. Eddie can faintly hear Lucas yelling in the background.

“Munson, you better not be shitting with us.”

“I promise you, Red, I wouldn’t. Not about this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, people! You’re supposed to say ‘over’ when you’re done talking! Over.”

“Shove it, Dustybuns, the adults are talking.”

Eddie has to hold the walkie away from him at Dustin’s responding shriek. He presses a hand over his eyes. These kids are going to kill him one day.

“Guys, this is serious. Just get your asses over to my trailer as soon as possible. Robin’s already here, does someone have Little Byers and Supergirl?”

“I’ve got them. Over and out,” Mike responds.

“Erica and I are on our way. Over and out,” Lucas says.

“Be there in fifteen. Over and out,” Dustin declares. Eddie glances at Robin, sharing equally nervous and worried looks. This is not going to be fun.

Thirty minutes later, all of the kids are cramped in Eddie’s living room. Lucas, Max, El, and Mike are scrunched together on the couch, while Will and Dustin sit on the floor in front of them. Erica claimed Wayne’s recliner as soon as her and Lucas got there, refusing to move for the older teens.

Robin is standing next to him, hands on her hips again—really driving home the whole “Steve is my platonic soulmate” bit—as he stands there with his arms crossed. The two of them remind Eddie of disappointed parents about to tell off their kids, which, in reality, isn't too far off.

“Okay, what the hell?” Dustin asks, still breathless from the trek there. “I literally just got home an hour ago. Why did you call us and make us bike all the way here in the heat?”

“Because you deserve it for being shitheads,” Eddie defends and rolls his eyes. He’s met with a cacophony of dweeby teen voices as they retaliate.

“What did we do this time?”

“What?! We didn’t do anything!”

“What did Dustin do, now?”

“Me? Why am I the one being blamed? I wasn’t even here!”

“Because you’re too damn nosey, dude.”

“Ouch, Lucas. Ouch.”

“Hey!” Eddie yells, clapping his hands to get their attention. It startles them all enough to quit talking over each other and look back up at him. “Okay, I’m just going to get to the point. Why are you all avoiding Steve?”

Mike gives him a confused look and crosses his arms, his expression the epitome of teenage angst.

“We thought you hated Steve, dude. You would always leave the room whenever he was around with some shitty excuse so we just decided to do the same,” Mike answers. Dustin nods from his spot on the floor.

“Yeah, we all thought he did something or said something to you since every time we brought him up, you’d shut the conversation down somehow. It just… naturally progressed from not talking about him to not talking to him either,” Dustin explains.

“Steve stopped showing up to things, too. He used to help me practice but he’s not shown up in weeks,” Lucas adds.

“Mom’s gotten really worried about him. He’s not shown up to dinner in a while, either,” Dustin chimes in. He shrugs. “We just thought the feeling was mutual.”

Eddie clenches his eyes closed and throws his head back. Fuck, this is worse than he thought. He hears Robin shift beside him, and knows firsthand the look she’s giving them right now.

“Have any of you even considered asking Steve about this?” Robin asks accusatively. “Or even talking to him about anything other than rides or movie nights?”

Silence falls over the room, so thick and suffocating that Eddie briefly prefers the air of the Upside Down to this. He pulls his hair, scrunching down on the floor and balancing on the pads of his feet.

“This is all my fault,” he groans, twisting strands of hair frustratedly.

“It is,” Robin agrees and ignores the glare Eddie sends her way for that. “But we can still fix this.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Mike asks.

“Why does Eddie look three seconds away from strangling himself with his hair?” Max hesitates, sounding the most cautious he’s ever heard her. Eddie groans and avoids eye contact with the group.

“The reason I’m avoiding Steve isn’t because I hate him. It’s uh… quite the opposite, actually,” he explains, nervously fidgeting with his rings and pulling a thick strand of hair to hide his face. He glances at Robin, who gives him an overly enthusiastic thumbs up, and he rolls his eyes.

Max and Erica give him equally smug smirks while Will looks at him with wide, understanding eyes. The rest of the group, however, look confused.

“Wait, then why are you avoiding him?” Dustin asks.

“Dude, that makes zero sense,” Mike counteracts. El just looks lost, almost like she’s trying to read his mind. Which… he really wouldn’t be surprised if she could at this point. Eddie sighs.

“That’s not the point,” Eddie redirects. “The point is that an issue with me and Steve shouldn’t affect you guys’ relationship with him.”

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, and he deftly ignores the pointed look she sends his way. “Steve has been there for all of you for years.

“Dustin, wasn’t it Steve who helped you catch D’art when he escaped from your cellar? He bought pounds of meat for you to lure a demodog away with, then fought a pack of them by himself to keep you safe. Steve put himself in the line of fire again against said demodogs in the tunnels after he was beaten unconscious by Billy, then sacrificed himself to Russians just so you and Erica could make it out alive a year later.”

Dustin clamps his mouth shut from its gaping position—likely from him wanting to defend himself from the truth—and has the decency to look sheepish. Eddie turns his gaze to Lucas.

“Lucas, wasn’t it Steve who helped you train for basketball when you started to show an interest in it? He practiced with you every week, even after a long shift at work or when he felt like shit, just because you asked. Steve protected you against Billy because it was the right thing to do, and took a beating so you wouldn’t. Not many people can say they’d do that for someone else, especially not against anyone as vicious as Hargrove,” Eddie adds. Lucas drops his head in his hands, knee bouncing from his place on the couch.

“Max,” Robin begins. “Steve checked up on you every day after Billy died. He would bring you food or ice cream or a distraction, but he was always there. He would drive you to the arcade just to cheer you up, let you beat him at Dig Doug and Pinball just to see you smile. Steve was terrified to let you be the bait for Vecna, he… he kept telling me that he wished it was him instead. That he should be the sacrifice, not you.”

Robin wipes her eyes where they begin to tear up, and Eddie uses the pause to look at Mike. He still has his arms crossed, but the smartass look on his face has dwindled a little.

“Mike, I know you don’t like Steve because of him and Nancy, but you can’t hold onto that grudge forever. What happened between them had nothing to do with you, so there's no need to be mad at him for it,” Eddie states. Mike isn’t looking at him now, and something tells Eddie that the kid just needs a reality check. Hopefully, this will work. “Steve has been protecting you from the beginning, even when you were more than hostile to him. You’ve at least got to give him credit for that.”

Eddie looks around, sees the morose expressions on the kids’ faces.

“Steve has picked you all up countless times from Hellfire, waiting the entire session out in the parking lot while wasting away in his car. He was there rain or shine, snow or sleet, and he never missed a day. Not once,” he states.

Eddie first found Steve’s presence after Hellfire to be confusing, an anomaly. He didn’t know that the Steve the kids talked about was the same Steve he had a debilitating crush on in high school, not until he saw him waiting outside after the first session the kids attended, leaning against his maroon BMW like a Calvin Klein model. A ball of anxiety formed in his stomach at the sight, because one thing about Steve Harrington was that he’s unpredictable. Eddie just didn’t know if it was good or bad yet.

“You know, usually when people graduate they tend to stay away from high school, not willingly come back,” Eddie teased.

His words seemed to spark some life into Steve, as he jolted from his relaxed position against the hood to stand firmly beside his car. Steve ran a hand through his hair, and looked Eddie up and down.

“You’d probably know more about that if you managed to actually graduate, Munson,” Steve quipped, but it wasn’t mean. He had a smile on his face, and the air around him was friendly. Some of the anxiety churning in Eddie’s gut eased at the sight.

“Besides, who says I’m here willingly?” Steve asked rhetorically, as Dustin made his appearance by running up to him and immediately began talking his ears off about the new campaign. Steve turned his full attention on the boy, nodding along to certain comments even when Eddie knew for sure Steve didn’t know what the hell Henderson was talking about. The other kids soon crowded around the former jock, all talking so incredibly fast that Eddie was surprised the sound barrier survived their cracking voices.

Eddie watched as Steve glanced at him over the kids’ heads, giving him a loose smile and a shrug as if saying, ‘what can ya do?’

Soon, all the gremlins piled into Steve’s fancy car, still talking and gesturing wildly with their hands. Eddie had a passing thought that he should get Steve some earplugs or something to at least help drown out the noise. He immediately shook his head at the thought and jumped in his old, beat up van, driving home to an empty trailer and trying desperately to forget Steve Harrington existed.

“He always waits until the excitement starts to wear off before he takes you all home, letting you talk to each other for nearly an hour after each session despite the fact he never has a clue what you’re talking about. He always listens to you guys, no matter what,” Eddie supplies. “Did you guys know he has mixtapes for each of you?”

At the question, they all look at him with varying degrees of confusion and an all-too-late realization. Eddie huffs, while Robin mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, ‘of course they didn’t.’

“There’s one for each of you, filled with songs you like or mentioned liking at some point despite some of them not being his own taste. He listens to you, all of you, and it fucking hurts to know you don’t see that,” he exposes, and part of him regrets letting a bit of his anger out. Though, the kids need to know this is serious, that you can’t go through life assuming the worst in people, so if being angry is what it takes then so be it.

The kids have various emotions on their faces, ashamed and regretful being the two most prominent. Dustin clears his throat and looks up at Eddie, flicks his eyes to Robin, and returns them to his lap.

“I… I didn’t realize he did so much for us,” Dustin quietly admits, and a small part of Eddie cheers at finally teaching the kid a thing or two about humility.

“We’ve been taking advantage of him for… for so long,” Lucas breathes out. Max nods morosely beside him, and Will raises a shaky hand to cover his mouth.

Mike rolls his eyes, still petulantly crossing his arms. “Why should we even care about him? All he’s probably doing is wallowing in his fancy house or something.”

He says it with a layer of snark so thick, all the kids turn to him with varying levels of bitchy glares. Eddie, however, can tell his attitude is a mask, a way for him to hide how he’s truly feeling to prevent from being too vulnerable. From being too open. Eddie knows a lot about that.

It started when Eddie was four and he scraped his knee on the harsh gravel outside his parents’ run-down home in Kentucky. Tears rolled down his chubby cheeks as he ran inside to tell his mom, who he knew would take care of him. She told him to play outside, and not come in until she told him so, but his knee really hurt and he was scared they would have to cut it off if it bled too much. At least, that’s what Charlie—a kid who lived two streets over—said they would do.

When he stepped over the threshold, something felt off. The house was quiet, more so than normal, and it set him on edge. The TV was filled with static that grated on his little ears, and he covered them with his hands as he made his way over to turn it off. He picked up the antenna off the floor, wondering how it got knocked off the top of the TV in the first place. He looked around the living room, finding it in a similar state of disarray. He followed the trail of broken things before him; the overturned coffee table, a spilled ashtray, a stray pillow, and the chair his dad always sat on, pushed far out of its normal place. He questioned who could have messed up his house like this, leaving a big mess behind.

He found his answer when he ventured into the kitchen, just a few short steps from the living room, and found his mother laying on the floor. She was on her stomach, arms splayed out as if she tried to catch her fall and head turned to look at the doorway where little Eddie stood. Her eyes were closed but she was still breathing, the floral pattern of her dress moving with each breath. Shards of ceramic were spread out around her, littered with droplets of dark blood that spilled from a cut on her forehead. It dripped down the side of her face, along the curve of her cheek and onto the floor where it formed a small puddle. Her skin was pale in the artificial light of the house, the soft yellows doing nothing to soften the tones of her ashen face.

“Mama!” He ran up to her, falling to his knees beside her still body. He shook her, trying to get her eyes to open, but all it rewarded him was a pained grunt. His eyes welled with tears again, this time for his Mama, but nothing he was doing was working.

A shadow fell over the floor and he looked up to find his father blocking the light from the gold-colored light fixture above the kitchen table. His face was stern and dirty looking, his stubble well past the point of a five o’clock shadow and leaning more towards a sleazy strip club owner. There was a smear of blood on his face from his hand, which he noticed was bruised around the knuckles. However, the sight of what was in his other hand made him freeze, entire body going stock still.

In his father’s left hand were the remnants of the broken plate on the floor, the jagged edges cutting into his skin where he gripped it tightly. Matching blood littered the edge, and a splatter of the dark liquid traveled up his hairy arm and disappeared into his rolled up flannel sleeve.

He looked up at the figure before him, and the tears spilled over against his will.

“What happened to Mama?” He asked. “Why won’t she wake up?”

“‘Cause she’s sorry, son,” his dad answered, throwing down the ceramic and causing it to shatter against the floor. Eddie flinched, and his father caught the motion. He hadn’t been able to quell it, hadn’t learned how to hide his fear yet. The man scowled at him, lip curling as he grabbed Eddie’s arm and hauled him off the floor in one solid motion.

“She’s weak, Edward,” he began. This close, Eddie could see the redness of his eyes, and the deep purple bags that hang underneath. “Just like all women. Do you wanna be weak, boy?”

Eddie shook his head, and his father gripped his arm tighter. “Answer me!”

“N-No sir,” Eddie muttered, voice small and weak in the face of his father.

“Then stop that fucking crying, don’t be a sissy. I ain’t raising a fucking faggot, Edward.”

With that, his dad dropped his arm and stumbled into his bedroom down the hall. As soon as his figure was gone, Eddie turned back to his mom, crouching next to her. Sometime when his dad was talking, her eyes had opened and her breathing grew stronger. Eddie felt like it was nothing short of a small miracle.

“Mama, are you okay?”

“‘M okay, baby,” she replied, pushing herself off the floor with a grunt. She sat up with Eddie’s help, and frowned when she saw the reddened mark on his arm. “I shouldn’t have let him do that to you.”

“You were hurt, Mama. ‘S not your fault,” Eddie reasoned, pulling his arm out of her grasp to wipe at some of the blood on her face. “You’re bleeding, too.”

“Oh,” she began, reaching up to touch the wound as if she hadn’t realized it was there. “It’s nothing, Eddie, just a little scratch. Mama will be okay, promise.”

She didn’t look okay, this close, with her sunken-in face and slowly forming black eye Eddie hadn’t been able to see before. But his Mama was always right. Always.

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asked, holding out his little pinky. His Mama smiled, and raised a shaky hand to lace her pinky with his.

“Pinky promise.”

A year later, he was riding in the car with his Mama, backpack at his feet. She was dressed nicer than he ever remembered her being; a baby blue, short-sleeved dress hugged her slender frame, paired with white heels, white bug-eyed sunglasses, and a sheer white scarf she had tied around her hair. Her suitcase was in the trunk, but his father was nowhere to be found.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Where’s Dad?” He asked. His Mama cleared her throat before she answered, voice shaky.

“He’s not coming with us, Eddie,” she said. “We’re going somewhere far away from him. Somewhere new.”

“Where?”

“Have a look for yourself, honey,” she said, pointing to the window. Eddie crawled up on his knees to look out, seeing a sign welcoming them to a place called Hawkins. He sat back down in his seat, looking back at his mother.

“What’s here?” He asked. His mother smiled.

“Your Uncle Wayne. He’s my brother,” she supplied. “We’re just going to pay him a little visit, okay?”

A few short minutes later, they were parked in front of a small trailer, a gruff looking man waiting for them on the newly-built porch. They got out of the car and Eddie grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders before his Mama led him up the steps.

“Eddie, this is Uncle Wayne,” his Mama informed. He looked up at her and she nudged his arm, urging him to say something.

“H-Hello, sir,” Eddie greeted, sticking out his small hand for the man to shake. Wayne huffed a laugh and crouched down, causing Eddie to take a step back on instinct, before he took his hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet ya, Eddie,” Wayne began. He let go of his hand but stayed crouched. “You can call me Wayne, or Uncle Wayne, or Uncle, or—hell, Todd for all I care. Just none of that ‘sir’ business, you got me?”

Eddie smiled and nodded. “Sorry, si—uh, Uncle Wayne.”

“That’s better, boy,” Wayne said, smiling as he clapped his shoulder softly. Wayne had kind eyes, blue and soft around the edges. They weren’t mean like his fathers. Instead, they looked exactly like his Mama’s—save for a few extra wrinkles around the edges. “Why don’t you go on inside while your Mama and I talk?”

Eddie did as he was told, walking in the trailer and taking in his surroundings. It was small, smaller than his house, but cozy. A couple mugs were hung up on the wall, paired with three trucker hats and a framed picture he was too far away to see. An old, floral patterned couch sat on the long wall of the living room, a coffee table in front littered with an opened can of Coke and a half-eaten bag of chips. The windows were open to let light in, making the space feel much bigger than it actually was.

He stepped into the kitchen, just a pace away from the living room, and took in the red-toned wooden cabinets and cream countertops stained with coffee rings yet to be wiped away. There was a hallway to his left where he found a single bedroom and a bathroom. The bathroom was small, just big enough for a stand-up shower, toilet, and sink. A single toothbrush sat in the cup on the side of the sink along with a bar of soap and an almost empty tube of toothpaste. On the other side of the sink though, Eddie noticed an unopened toothbrush. It was blue and had sparkles throughout its plastic. At the bottom, there was a small dog sticker and it made him smile a little.

His attention soon wandered to the bedroom, where he found a little twin-sized bed and tons of boxes. The bed was bare, save for a folded up quilt near the bottom with a pillow on top. The boxes were filled with various things; clothes, books, a cassette player, shoes, and tons of other small trinkets. He sat on the ground, pulling a box closer to look through it. There were thin books near the top labeled ‘Hawkins High’, and he flipped through it to find pictures upon pictures of people. He read the names, sounding them out to see if he could get them right. Some of them were weird, though, and he quickly put the book down to look at something else.

There was a box of cassette tapes to his left and Eddie scooted over to look through it. There were tons of names he didn’t recognize as he rifled through the plastic cases, though one stood out to him.

He picked up the Fleetwood Mac tape along with the cassette player from a box near the closet, plugging it into the wall and putting the tape in. He eyed the front door, seeing it still firmly closed. Just then, the tape clicked, causing him to jump, and he pressed play.

The familiar voice filled his ears, and he smiled. He and his Mama used to listen to Fleetwood Mac back home in the kitchen while they made supper, singing along with the tape or the radio to fill the house with music. The sound of it brought a smile to his face, and he closed his eyes as he listened to the words.

Engrossed in the music, he barely registered that the front door had both opened and closed until a soft hand was laid on his shoulder.

“Eddie, baby, I have to go,” his Mama said, and he jumped to his feet. He kinda felt bad about going through Uncle Wayne’s things without him being there, but if they were leaving then he didn’t think he would get too mad.

“Where are we going now, Mama?” Eddie wondered. His mother’s face turned pinched, and she lifted her glasses to look at him directly. She wore make-up, much more than she usually did, and as she crouched down Eddie could see it was barely disguising a bruise along the top of her right cheekbone.

“Eddie, only I’m leaving,” his Mama corrected. “You’re staying here with Wayne.”

At that, his whole world fell apart.

His mother, his Mama, was leaving him. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t go with her, that he couldn’t stay with his Mama like he wanted to. Wayne seemed nice from their brief interaction, but he didn’t know him. Not like he knew his Mama.

His stomach sank to his feet, and it felt as if someone poured ice-cold water over him. His eyes grew wide as tears welled, spilling over his cheeks.

“Why, Mama?” Eddie sobbed, wiping at his face because he wasn’t supposed to cry. “Why can’t I go with you?”

“You just can’t, Eddie, I’m sorry,” she stated. It felt hollow, her explanation. Like she was hiding something.

“But why?”

“Because you just can’t, Eddie!” She snapped, and Eddie’s breath caught. She sounded mad, but Eddie had never heard her get mad, not at him at least. He didn’t know what he did, only that she wouldn’t let him go with her.

She took a breath and cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“But- But you can’t leave me!” Eddie wailed. “Mama, please!”

She opened her arms and he fell into them, clinging hard enough to deem separating impossible. She hugged him back just as tight, and Eddie saw evidence of tear tracks streaking through her caked-on foundation.

“I know, baby, I don’t want to leave you either,” his Mama soothed. “But Wayne is going to take care of you, okay?”

Eddie looked over her shoulder to see Wayne leaning against one of the kitchen countertops, smiling sadly at him. Eddie screwed his eyes shut and buried his face in his mothers neck.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” Eddie mumbled before he moved to look at her. “Pinky promise you’re gonna come back for me.”

His Mama cried and wiped at her cheeks, smearing the make-up and making the bruises appear fresh on her pale skin. She held out a pinky, and Eddie laced his with hers.

“I promise, Eddie,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead before getting to her feet. Her and Wayne shared a hug on her way out, and Eddie caught Wayne wiping his eyes too. He and his uncle stood on the porch as his mom drove away, waving until her taillights disappeared around the curve of the road.

That was the last time he saw his mother.

Unfortunately, it was not the last he saw his father.

He stayed with Wayne for two months until his father found him. They had grown accustomed to each other in that time, Eddie having warmed up to another parental figure and Wayne having gotten the basics down for caring for another being. Wayne insisted he start school in the fall, and he was two weeks in when all hell broke loose.

His father rolled up to the trailer in a fancy-looking sports car Eddie knew his dad didn’t have the money for. He stumbled out on the gravel, banging on the door until Wayne pulled it open.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Wayne asked, standing firm in the doorway.

“I’m here to get my son,” his father demanded. He pushed past him and stormed the place until he found Eddie in the only bedroom—Wayne having set up a cot in the living room.

Eddie hadn’t expected to see his father again, mostly because he didn’t think the man really cared for him. That was prominent when he snatched Eddie off the bed and hauled him out of his room.

“Dad?” Eddie questioned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking you away from here,” his father responded, glaring at Wayne who stood blocking the doorway.

“You’re not takin’ him anywhere, Al,” Wayne countered. He crossed his arms, looking far more intimidating than Eddie ever imagined. “He’s happy here.”

“He’ll be even more happy with me,” his dad insisted. “With his real family.”

“Son of a bitch, Al, I am his real family!” Wayne yelled. “You ain’t got the means for takin’ care of that boy, and you know it.”

His father stood toe to toe with his uncle, glaring at him. He whispered something Eddie was too far away to hear, but it made Wayne deflate completely.

Eddie didn’t want to leave. He found that these past two months with Wayne were filled with more happy memories than he ever remembered having back home. Wayne was nice, a little rough around the edges but he was a big softy inside. He cared about people, that much was evident in the way he was constantly helping people out around the park. He was a good person, so leaving him felt like his Mama all over again.

“Come on, son,” his father demanded, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the trailer. Eddie looked back at Wayne, eyes stinging. He waved, and Wayne waved back. He watched the trailer from the backseat until he couldn’t tell which one was theirs, only facing the front when his dad snapped at him.

They rode for hours, far past the Indiana state line, until they ended up in a strange city filled with tall buildings and blinding lights that made Eddie’s eyes sting. They went through the city, stopping on the outskirts in a run-down neighborhood even more decrepit than his old house in Kentucky.

He spent two years with his dad in a city he came to know at St. Louis, but it never felt like home. Not like the trailer with Wayne, or anywhere his mother was. He learned how to hotwire cars and how to drive like a bat out of hell whenever his dad told him to. He learned that he was too much to take care of; his father constantly complained about feeding him, keeping him clothed, taking care of him like a father should. He learned that showing emotions would only get you hurt, that he had to hide them to survive. He learned what all the different white powders did to someone, how they would affect your mind and your body. How they made his father violent, or remorseful, or depressed, but never happy.

His father was on a bad trip when a rush of red and blue lights invaded their windows, sirens blaring and making Eddie’s ears ring. Their front door was kicked open, the old wood splintering easily under the force of a steel-toed boot. Police flooded the house, and Eddie was grabbed and dragged out before he had time to comprehend everything that was happening.

He was sitting in the back of a cop car with the door open, body completely still as police went in and out of their house. He couldn’t let them know he was scared out of his mind, that he was afraid of what they would do to him. He knew the best way to get through it was to show nothing at all. To be indifferent. Emotionless. It was the only thing his father taught him that he deemed useful.

His father was dragged out of the house by two policemen, kicking and screaming at them but Eddie couldn’t hear what he was saying, ears having gone deaf to anything other than the ringing in his head. Next thing he knew, his father had broken free and punched one of the officers, causing several to tackle him to the ground and handcuff him before practically throwing him into a car and hauling him away. All Eddie could do was watch, knowing there was nothing he could do to help him.

“You got somewhere to go, kid?” One of the cops that took him out of the house asked, leaning against the open door and blocking the flashing lights. Eddie nodded, and the cop took him back to the station where he called Wayne.

“Eddie, son, where are you? Are you okay? If that bastard hurt you, I swear to god—“

“Wayne,” Eddie began, his voice rough from not using it. “Can you come get me?”

A pause. “Sure, kid, where are you?”

“St. Louis,” Eddie supplied. There was cursing on the other end, muffled so Eddie couldn’t tell what was said but he knew Wayne well enough. Even after only two months, the man had become more like a father to him than his own dad ever was.

“I’m coming right now to get ya, just hold on tight, okay? I’ll be there ‘fore the morning.”

True to his word, Wayne showed up right before dawn in his beat up truck. He stormed the station like a madman, looking for him. He was rumpled, like he threw on just enough clothes to be decent before booking it all the way here. If he knew Wayne, that’s probably exactly what he did.

“Eddie? Eds, where are ya?”

“Sir,” the lady at the front desk interrupted. “I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice—“

“Wayne!” Eddie perked up from the desk chair he was sitting at in the station, running around desks before jumping straight in his uncle's arms. Wayne held onto him just as tight, and he could’ve sworn he heard a sniffle or two come from the man.

“I was so worried, Eds,” Wayne whispered. “I tried lookin’ for ya, I swear I did, just—If I’d known he’d taken ya to another state I wouldn’t’ve stopped ‘til I searched the whole damn country.”

“I know, Wayne,” Eddie muttered. “I missed you too.”

As much as Eddie tried, he couldn’t put up that mask of indifference around his uncle. He could try, sure, but it never worked longer than five seconds before he saw right through it and it crumbled at Eddie’s feet.

“Let’s get you home, son,” Wayne insisted and before he knew it, Eddie was asleep in the passenger seat of the truck as they took the highway home.

Since then, Eddie and Wayne had become inseparable. There were no secrets between them, no masks. They weren’t needed, not when Wayne was more than good to him. They weren’t wanted, either, since Wayne made sure to remind him that showing emotions wasn’t a bad thing. That it was good, healthy.

It wasn’t until much later in middle school when he learned that having a mask was necessary sometimes. Especially when people started calling him a freak and a weirdo because he wasn’t identical to everyone else. Because he lived in a trailer with someone that wasn’t his biological parent and wore hand-me-down clothes that were baggy on him since his growth spurt hadn’t hit yet. He donned the air of indifference he had left behind long ago, letting the names and rumors bounce off his skin like water off an umbrella.

That need intensified when high school hit and the rumor mill grew exponentially. Suddenly, he was bombarded with accusations of Satanism, prison time, drug dealing—though that one was true—pet raccoons, and, at one point, an army of undead babies he sucked the life out of that he could command at will. Really, the shit people came up with was astounding, and Eddie learned to shove it all away. None of it was true—save for a couple things he would never, in a million years, tell another soul at Hawkins High—so he made sure to act like it was true. Let people believe what they want to believe. In the meantime, Eddie used it to his advantage to prevent anyone from getting too close. From looking past the barrier he put up between himself and everyone else.

So yeah, Eddie knows a little bit about where Mike’s coming from.

“Actually…” Robin starts. “Steve’s not doing so great—“

“What?!” Dustin squawks out, cutting Robin off and all but jumping up from his seated position. “Why the hell did you not start this whole damn thing with that?!”

“We were getting there, Henderson!” Eddie clarifies. “Now sit your ass down.”

Dustin—for once—does as he’s told. Eddie looks to Robin and gives her a nod, letting her have the floor.

“Steve’s got it in his head that he’s the only one allowed to sacrifice himself for us, that he’s only needed or wanted when he can put himself in the line of fire. So, like the caring dumbass he is, he’s been wandering around Hawkins at night because he’s worried that something will happen.”

“But I closed all of the gates,” El starts, head cocked and eyebrows scrunched like a confused puppy. “We are in no more danger.”

“I think part of him knows that, Supergirl,” Eddie explains. “But he needs to know for certain, to make sure you guys are absolutely safe.”

She nods, and sadness finds its way to her eyes. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy for her, knowing that learning how to live all over again is never easy.

“He’s not been sleeping much,” Robin continues. “It’s like he’s barely there anymore. Like he’s just… a shell.

“He thinks you all hate him. He thinks he deserves this for all the shit he did in the past, even though we all know he’s more than made up for it by becoming a decent fucking human being,” she spits out. There’s anger in her eyes now as she glares at a stain on the carpet, unwilling to look at the kids but needing to get her point across. “He broke down in my arms because this is the fifth fucking time the people he’s loved has left him and I think… I think this time broke him.”

She raises her head and looks over the kids, tears balanced on her lower eyelashes and threatening to spill over.

“You’re his family, the family he got to choose, and you still… you left. Just like everyone else has.”

The room fills with silence as the words sink in.

“How… How do we fix it?” Will asks, his quiet voice now loud. Eddie sighs and rakes a hand through his hair—a motion that keeps reminding him of Steve—before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I know part of it is my fault, I admit that. I shouldn’t have just stopped talking to him all of the sudden, I should’ve… well, there’s a lot of things I should have done but I didn’t, so I plan on fixing that,” Eddie admits. He looks around the room, makes as much eye contact as he can to drive his point home. “You should too. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to cut it, not this time. Not for this.”

The kids all nod, and Eddie gestures to the door to dismiss them. They all look like kicked puppies with slouching posture and ducked heads, walking out of the trailer with their tails between their legs. Dustin and Mike are the first to hop on their bikes, ready to either apologize and get it over with or get as far away from his and Robin’s disappointed glares as possible. Before they can push off, Eddie calls out to them.

“Hey! Give it a couple days,” Eddie orders. “Steve… He’s going to need some time. Go to him when he’s ready, okay?”

He’s met with various nods and ‘will do’s as some of them take off, their knobbly knees hitting the handlebars of their too-small bikes. Then, he notices a particular brunette has yet to leave, her bike with little white training wheels still standing in the grass. Her big brown eyes lock with his and, even though there's a porch between them, he can feel the seriousness in her gaze.

“I miss him. He was always very nice to me,” El confesses. “He always gave me piggyback rides.”

Her face falls a little. “I did not know we were being mean to him.”

Eddie finds himself softening a little at her words.

“I know, Supergirl,” he winks at her. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

She giggles in response and hops on her bike, meeting up with Max who stopped to wait for her a few yards away.

Eddie closes the door, falling against it with a thud. He groans, the sound bouncing off the thin door and out in the empty trailer. He turns to go to his room, preferably to wallow, before nearly jumping clean out of his skin.

Well, he thought the trailer was empty, except there now stands one Robin Buckley who has resumed her unimpressed, hands-on-her-hips, "you're a fucking dumbass" position from earlier.

"Jesus H. Christ!" He exclaims. A hand comes up to grab at his heart which is actively trying to beat out of his chest as his lungs grapple for air. "Birdie, I forgot you were there."

"Yeah," she deadpans. "Clearly."

Eddie straightens up, and quirks an eyebrow at her rather over dramatically. Robin rolls her eyes.

"Well?"

"It's a deep subject," Eddie sarcastically responds. Robin, unfortunately, doesn't find that funny. "'Well' what?"

"Go apologize!" She yells.

“Okay, okay, geez!”

Eddie pats himself down, looking for the keys to his van before Robin clears her throat. He looks over at her to see an unamused quirk of her eyebrow before she points to the hook by the door where his keys hang.

“Thanks, Buck!” he exclaims, pressing his hands together in prayer to the saint she is. Grabbing them, he throws the door open and clears the steps in one jump, stumbling a bit on the landing but really, he’s quite proud of this rare athletic appearance.

Jumping in his van, he slams a random tape in the deck, grinning a little at the song that plays first. Despite his obvious avoidance of the second track, the Master of Puppets album still holds a very special place in his heart. So it's really not a surprise that the song that just so happens to play first reminds him of the very man he’s going to see, sacrificial tendencies and all.

He slams on the gas, tires squealing as he peels out of Forest Hills trailer park faster than he ever has before.

He’s not running away this time; not running from a small cheerleader’s body trapped on his ceiling, not running from angry town hicks with their fiery pitchforks, and not running from a creepy interdimensional demon who enjoys sucking the life out of depressed teenagers.

No, this time, he’s running to something. Running to Steve.

He just hopes Steve will let him.

———

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#stranger things #steddie #pre steddie #disposable heroes #disposable heroes mcir #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things drabble #stranger things fic #robin buckley #robin gets to punch eddie like she wanted to #eddie munson backstory #i gave him a life oops #domestic violence #child abuse #homophobia #stay safe yall

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queenofmoons67 · 3 months

Text

Sir Link, Royal Palace Mouser

Fandom: Linked Universe, Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors

Tags: Warriors-centric, Warriors' POV, Alternate Universe, Warriors is a (warrior) cat

Summary: In which Zelda introduces Sir Link, Royal Palace Mouser, to the newly arrived Chain.

Word Length: 1054

Link walked through Hyrule Castle, stride long and head held high to show off his newest armor. Zelda had commissioned it weeks ago, and it had just arrived at the royal armory that morning. She hadn’t seen him in it yet, though; Link had enlisted the help of a few squires with all the buckles, and then been pointed towards the throne room. Apparently, a group of travelers had arrived, and Zelda had granted them an immediate audience.

Interesting.

Link halted outside the throne room and gave an impatient sniff. The pair of guards at the door jumped.

“Sir Link!” one said, and pulled the door open with a bow.

Link nodded back, but his attention was taken by the scene inside. Zelda stood not on the dais, but in the hall before it, as she normally only did with friends and family. Weren’t these strangers?

Link jogged forward and called her name. “Zelda!” he cried. “Zelda!”

The queen turned to him, face lighting up. “Link!” she called back. “There are some people you simply have to meet.”

Link reached her side, and immediately pressed his body against hers, putting himself between her and the strangers. If they wanted to harm her, they’d have to go through him first.

“Oh, Link,” Zelda cooed. “Did you get your new armor? How does it fit?”

Hands slid under his armpits. Link startled and tried to get away, but he was too slow: Zelda had already lifted him into her arms, fitting his hind legs under one and supporting his front legs with the other.

Link laid his ears back and looked away, sulking. It was so embarrassing when Zelda manhandled him in front of people, but he supposed he could make an exception this once. And only because of the new armor.

Link huffed, but raised his chin so Zelda could see his full profile. Her fingers slipped under the buckles with practiced ease, making sure the armor wasn’t too tight, and then did the same with his scarf.

“Perfect!” Zelda announced, and pressed a kiss right between his ears.

Link sighed. The strangers, Zelda! They were right there! Staring… rather intently at Link, actually.

“Everyone,” Zelda said, cuddling Link close now that the inspection was done. “This is Link. Link, these are your predecessors!”

Link hacked. His what now?

Zelda’s arms fell away, but Link landed easily on his feet. His back arched, new armor bending with the movement, and the surprise-prompted hairball landed right on a pair of fancy shoes. Their owner immediately shrieked and leapt away, but Link simply sat, licked his paw, and drew it over his ear before looking up.

Seven pairs of eyes stared back. Mr. Fancy Shoes with the fancy pink hair streak was cursing in a manner unbecoming of a queen’s presence as he changed his shoes a few tail lengths away.

“So…” one of the strangers ventured, his handsome white cloak drawing Link’s eye. “Is this… the only Link in Hyrule?”

“The only one!” Zelda agreed cheerfully. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Well. Link wouldn’t say adorable, but he was Sir Link, Royal Palace Mouser, and his new armor and Hyrule-blue scarf did make him look quite fetching, if he did say so himself.

“Wild,” one of the other strangers started, his one-eye narrowed on Link. “You’re the oldest in the timeline. Have you ever heard of Hylia choosing… ah…”

A teenager with long, blonde-hair knelt in front of Link and held out his hand, fingers curled inward. Finally, someone with manners! Link sniffed the hand, then purred and moved closer, rubbing his head against the side.

The boy, “Wild,” smelled of the best parts of Hyrule: Forests thousands of years old, fish washed with river snow melt, and the open air. Link didn’t leave the castle often, due to his job keeping it mouse-free, but on windy days, he could smell all of Hyrule from the highest tower’s parapet.

Wild let Link scent him, then grinned up at the others. “A cat? There is one story, about a hero born smaller than most, sworn to protect Hyrule Castle itself. The Sheikah never gave it much attention. Guess they should have, huh?”

The last words were delivered with a scratch behind Link’s ears. He leaned into it for a second, but then backed away at the reminder of his sworn duty. Hyrule Castle didn’t just mean the stones: It meant Zelda.

Looking up, he met the queen’s eyes.

“The story is true,” she said, and clasped her hands over the front of her skirt. “Link used to be a wild cat. I found him the same day I found the Master Sword; they lived together, abandoned in a meadow, and I could only draw the sword when I also held Link. We wouldn’t just name any cat ‘Link,’ after all.”

Zelda grinned wryly, but her gaze was shrewd on the strangers. She judged them for judging her and Link alike, and he leant into her legs to show his support.

“Do you still wish to take him with you, now that you know the truth? Or will you leave him to his duty?”

Wait, what? Link looked up at her, but Zelda’s gaze hadn’t budged from the strangers.

“I apologize,” the one-eyed man said. His voice was firm, but quiet, even in the large, echoing hall. “But even if Link is not who we ourselves expected, Hylia knew who we would find. She means for him to join us.” His eye fell again on Link, softer than last time, and crinkled when he smiled. “He looks well-prepared for a journey. Four is a smith, and can care for his armor. The rest of us will care for him the best we can. I can promise you that.”

Zelda smiled. “And he will care for you in turn.” She knelt and placed two fingers under his scarf, checking its fit again. “Come back to me, Link,” she whispered.

Link nuzzled her arm. An entire war had raged around him, people trying to control him and, through him, the triforce of courage. They had thought it would be easy, with his feline, non-Hylian form. But Link had fought Cia, and he had fought Ganon, and he had succeeded.

He could survive a journey with strangers, for Hyrule and Zelda.

For home.

[End Fic]

I would LOVE to continue this AU, but I'm also hesitant to do a full fic. If you have any ideas / certain scenes you want to see, let me know!

#linked universe #linked universe au #linked universe fanfic #linked universe warriors #lu warriors #fanfic #legend of zelda

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onemustimagineaemondhappy · 7 days

Text

[the bride wore red]

[whatever they tell you, the wedding is not about the bride]

Summary: HOTD x Ready or Not x Happy Death Day AU. Plays fast and loose with ages, continuity, some character backstories.

The Targaryens fall under the influence of a Red Priestess and resort to human sacrifice as a way to preserve power, and protect themselves and the Kingdom from a devastating plague that recurs every thirteen years. Ravenna is set to marry Aegon and, on their wedding night, the family plans to sacrifice her. Aemond is chagrined when he realizes the bride does not know what she is in for.

Now, here’s the catch – the bride has already done this. Many times. She has been stuck in a loop, repeating the night and all its terrors, over and again, trying for a very specific outcome.

POV shifts between Aemond and Ravenna, italics are past loops and they sometimes appear out of order.

CW: all of them?, strong language, death, gore, sexual content, incest, cult behavior, mental abuse, sexual abuse, sugar, spice and everything not nice

Word count: ~9k

Aemond stood arrow-straight in the hallowed halflight of the Grand Sept. Its carved stone walls reached impossibly high, towering over the worshipers like a mountain over a hill of roiling ants. The light poured in at a slanted angle from the largest window above the dais, drawing every eye to it. He, alongside his family and that of the bride, had the choicest position to observe the ceremony. Standing on the dais, raised up and displayed to the unwashed masses, he faced the gathered crowd and the happy couple. The Septon was pontificating in his usual droning, self-important way. The spare prince had learnt many moons ago to ignore his drivel.

All these ceremonies had sounded insincere and hollow to Aemond, from his earliest youth. Watching wretched men and women piously bow and sagely repeat words of wisdom and mercy and benevolence, only to turn around and head into pleasure houses or dedicate themselves to thievery and lying, or any other path to the destruction of their soul. For all his flaws – constantly enumerated to him and rubbed in his face – Aemond at least did not count hypocrisy as one of them. That had to be worth something, he told himself. At the very least, he could sneer to his heart’s content and feel nothing but self-righteous satisfaction. As the Septon’s words faded into a tangle of echoes bouncing off the Sept’s stone walls, he focused his eye on the bride and groom.

The woman was as tall as Aegon, possibly inching him out by the height of a thumb. Aemond smirked as his gaze dropped to his brother’s polished, ornate boots, made specially for this occasion. Larys had intercepted whispers that the cobbler surreptitiously modified the insides of the boots to make Aegon stand taller on his wedding day and, looking at him now, Aemond was sure the murmurings had been correct. As the second-born son of the King, he ought to disdain malicious rumors such as these, but the relentlessly harassed child in him still preened in delight whenever Aegon showed just how low and inadequate he was deep down, and even on the surface. Still, an evil, tormenting voice that never allowed too much joy to bloom in his heart reminded Aemond that it was his brother – not he or anyone worthier – who was marrying the captivating beauty from the Riverlands.

Her dress was a shock of white with silvery embroidery that looked like it took a lifetime to stitch. A nod to her house’s emblem, the silvery trout. It was an unfortunate sigil, Aemond had always thought, one of the stupider and less auspicious ones he was forced to learn by heart as a boy. The Dragon, the Direwolf, the Lion, the Kraken - those stirred the imagination. Still, the Tullies made their little bride take everyone’s breath. A collective gasp of admiration swept across the Sept as she was walked from the doors to the dais, on the arm of her proud father, in a manner of speaking. A deep, regal blue cloak, trimmed with auburn furs to represent the House Tully colors covered her frame and concealed most of her dress until the ceremony demanded she be uncloaked.

She stood tall and poised, her long raven hair framing her face in meticulous braids and curls before spilling in lush waves down her back. The shimmer of her dress seemed to make her skin glow in the twilight of the gloomy Sept as she hid her two mismatched eyes – one sapphire blue, the other emerald green - under her lashes. Aemond realized he had half expected to see her wear some odd, multicolored cowl, or ostentatious jewelry or hairstyle as a nod to her much-discussed heritage. But it seemed her maids and likely her house’ council knew the bride would shine brightest with nothing beyond her odd brand of preternatural beauty adorning her.

Lady Ravenna had started life, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, as an orphan in some secret corner in the shadows of Asshai. All Otto and his spies could ascertain was that a missive from Pentos paid for her board on a ship bound there, where the Lord of the Riverlands grew enchanted by the babe crying in the night while he was being hosted in Pentos. The Lord had had three wives who died in childbirth, spurring rumors of his mad rages that their children had been female, or a curse drifting over from Harrenhal and striking the lineage dead. His gesture of taking in an orphaned female child with no name from a distant land to ward, and later adopting her, had quashed at least one of those rumors. If he could dote so achingly on a stranger’s child, and a daughter at that, he wouldn’t have struck dead his own wives and his own blood. When the beauty from Asshai, now the beauty from the Riverlands, grew hale and hearty, as wise as she was pretty, and as strong as she was kind, the rumors of Harren’s curse slowly evaporated as well. Lady Ravenna was a credit to her father and her lands. Lands that could be useful and contested soon, when King Viserys inevitably succumbed to his long and awful ordeal of an illness.

Lady Ravenna’s ambition had been to train as a translator, since the privilege of studying with the maesters in Oldtown was denied to her sex. Having educated herself as well as she could with the tutelage provided by the Riverlord’s own maester and various teachers about the world and the place where she had come from, the value of any knowledge, especially knowledge that unlocked access to new people and heretofore undiscovered information via arcane languages, the young lady had become infatuated. She studied voraciously and was by all accounts a prodigiously talented student. So much so that the ailing King himself was charmed by her abilities and accomplishments. To the Riverlord’s surprise and partial dismay, King Viserys had his own maester make himself available to the precocious lady, supervising her instruction in High Valyrian.

It was the only time Aegon had shown any concerted attempt to master and use the language, trying to impress the studious young woman. To Aemond’s barely concealed pleasure, the lady far outstripped his pathetic brother’s abilities within weeks. Days, probably, Aemond was comfortable in guessing, even though he kept a respectful and wary distance from Lady Ravenna, especially in those early days, and he could not vouch for how speedily she progressed while he was busying himself training doubly hard in the yard and riding Vhagar until she got restless and resentful of too much aimless flying taking a toll on her limited stores of energy.

Aegon’s quickly developing infatuation was a nuisance and an embarrassment to the royal family, as the wretch possessed manners suited only to taverns and the shadiest of pleasure houses. When he embarked on his ill-advised courtship of Lady Ravenna, it mainly served to mortify those present. Soon, however, it became apparent Aegon had no intentions of letting up his advances, tantamount to assaults. Too late, it seemed, he was taken seriously, as his affections – perverse and intense as they unfailingly were - had taken deep root in his rotten heart.

Fate was calamitous in its persistence to bring the Riverlord’s daughter together with the young dragon prince. The Lord of the Riverlands had become concerned when his daughter had taken up and excelled in several languages, and all the more when word of her gifts and determination reached even the ears of the King. His support for his adoptive daughter was a dagger to the Lord’s heart, though he was not yet prepared to admit it. Ravenna’s ambitions to work as a translator and train up even more would inevitably take her away from him, most likely far across the sea. The very notion broke the Lord’s heart, long ill-used and trampled upon by the vagaries of fate that had taken three good women he loved in his own way from him, and every child he had fathered along with them. Now fate was still not satiated of his pain, working its fingers through the unraveling tapestry of his family to spirit his adoptive daughter away as well.

To tempt her into staying put, desperate to keep her by his side, the lord had floated the idea of making Ravenna his heir. Her ambitions and abilities would serve her well in that position and she might have opportunities still to develop and satisfy herself further in her new potential role. There was resistance among his people, turbulent and difficult at the best of times, when the idea was first brought forth. A woman, and a foreigner at that. One not even born to their Lord, or anyone in the Riverlands. It was an outrage and an unacceptable notion. Over time, seeing the Lord’s determination and persuasive arguments, alongside Ravenna’s own admirable comportment and wide array of skills, the other lords gradually softened to the idea.

Then at last, fate dealt a kindness to the Riverlord. The young prince, the King’s first trueborn son had taken a shine to her. More than that, he made repeated advances and demanded a betrothal from both the Riverlord and the ruling family. It was an opportunity not to be missed, a gift wrapped invitation from destiny to remain in Westeros and embrace a life no one could have dreamed up.

Since the Riverlord seemed to be following in the King’s footsteps, naming a woman his heir, it stood to reason that the Riverlands would be keeping faith with Rhaenyra once she made her claim to the crown. Marrying Ravenna to Aegon was far more of a political move and far less an appeasement of Aegon’s preposterous tantrums and declarations of love. What niggled at Aemond’s mind was why the Lady Ravenna would agree to the wedding, as it was to proceed.

As far as advantageous matches went, one of his loathed bastard cousins would have been a better choice, as much as he hated to admit it. Conflict seemed inevitable, whether it was contesting Rhaenyra’s reign in the immediate future, or contesting the reign of her bastard children, ugly dark-haired pretenders sired by hardly more than servants, and living only to shame their family as long as they drew breath. Being orphaned herself and begotten gods know how, Aemond wouldn’t expect Ravenna to care all that much if either of the three snivelly toad-faced bastards, Luce or Jace or Joff, was made her husband, as long as they were in line for the throne. Unless she supported the succession of Aegon and intended to rally her father and the other lords to his side. But even if she did, the price she would need to pay for this wedding seemed too high. Aemond wondered, more than once as the nuptials approached, if he were to marry a princess, or if he were a woman marrying the son of a king, would he have the ambition and fortitude to face what awaited Ravenna this night?

His answer was as easy as it was clear. Yes. He, Aemond, would. But he, Aemond, was not the soft animal that Ravenna seemed to be, only just uncurling out of the lifelong loving embrace of a doting father, adored for her beauty and benevolence. He, Aemond, had hardly ever been held. People looked away from his ghastly, ferocious visage. He was feared and detested, starting with his closest family and reaching endlessly around him, like an evil miasma that left him only to train with the sword, read philosophy and history, disdain and best others, honing his ambition and fortitude to a fine point, until that was sharper than the points of blades crowding around him and piercing into his once-soft heart. He couldn’t imagine what the demands of this night of fire and blood would do to someone who was not a dragon. And then he knew.

One final once-over told him beyond a shadow of a doubt. Ravenna did not know. With her open expression and rapture with the ceremony, there was no way she was prepared.

Aemond now grappled with a disapproving scowl on his face, trying not to glare at his brother. His arms were folded behind his back and he balled them into tight fists, feeling the lean muscles that coiled up his arms and shoulders start to shake with the effort. He didn’t tell her, Aemond clenched his jaw, the thought repeating relentlessly in his head, the snivelly lying spineless little ferret didn’t tell her. He wondered then if he had ever believed Aegon at all when he assured him that he had, or if he was only trying to appease his own conscience. But now, there he stood, shaking under his black leathers, conscience decidedly unappeased as he looked at her, walking headlong into a trap, unaware.

The other time his family had attempted this desperate maneuver, all parties had entered it with a clear understanding of what was at stake. Some, he shuddered to remember, quivered with a deranged kind of anticipation of the bloodshed. He never so much as pitied the priestess, even if her ordeal had horrified him as much when he was a boy of three and ten, as it did now when he was a man of six and twenty. The ordeal turned out to be for naught, and that was the main thing his family ever seemed to regret. Now the wheel was turning again, the time was ripe for another attempt, and the same evil threatened them all again. Aemond had no qualms about spilling blood, or doing what was necessary. The crucial difference between the last sacrifice and this one, however, was that they all knew what was coming and what was at stake.

Aemond stood stewing in his righteous anger, watching the ceremony slip irrevocably by like sand in an hourglass. He watched as Ravenna’s father pulled off her pristine maiden cloak, telling himself in some distant, secret corner of his mind that he would do something about this. Help her, surreptitiously somehow, even kill his own brethren if they were particularly bloodthirsty or played unfairly. He would actually gleefully murder Aegon given even a shadow of a reason. But there were others around him now, in this Sept, who he suspected could stay his hand with a look or a well-chosen word. So he knew all this supposed determination was for nothing – even if he did have some moral fiber, which was disproven time and again, it wouldn’t avail to anything. Shrykos always won in the end, ending and restarting invisible cycles, raising up the insignificant and smiting the giants. There was no contending with the gods, especially the deranged, wicked ones, sprung from the blazing infernos of Old Valyria.

Aemond resumed listening after Aegon was handed his Targaryen cloak to robe it over Ravenna’s shoulders. Their mother had to relent to the standard black and red of the Targaryen house, but made sure the cloak was pinned together with a bright emerald pendant. It had the effect she intended, glimmering in vibrant green sparkles, drawing every eye and bringing to mind Hightower colors, twinned in Alicent’s own luxuriant velvety emerald dress. It announced to the world this exquisite woman was for the first and trueborn son of Kind Viserys, her son, not just another ornament to the great dragon’s scales. Aegon stepped closer, moonstruck and stupid, unfurling the long cloak. Aemond had to look away in disgust from his brother’s idiotic expression, anticipating those fateful words of covenant on the air, with this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife. How anyone could say them with any degree of earnestness was beyond him, and he wondered if his dimwitted brother was capable of remembering any short string of words that did not include expletives.

Aemond’s interest in the insipid words waned as his attention was caught by a marked change in the bride’s expression. She stiffened, like she suddenly woke from a nightmare, face darkening and growing contemptuous. Aemond glanced around himself and no one else seemed to notice it right away. ‘No,’ she announced decisively, snatching her hands back from Aegon’s and stepping away. Her resolute cry echoed through the quiet Sept, as though casting a spell over the gathered throng. No one reacted for a long, incredulous moment. Things like these simply didn’t happen outside of nursemaids’ and troubadours’ tales, and even there, they beggared belief. Ravenna stepped back again, and again, more surely, and within a few steps, she was making her way backwards down the aisle where her father had escorted her to give her over to her husband-to-be. Murmurings started, but still no one thought to take any decisive action. Had she run, hunting instinct would have sent dozens of people descending on her. Yet, her strange confidence in leaving almost leisurely created a sense of normalcy, like this was the right thing.

At the door of the Sept, Ravenna paused, turned, and locked eyes with Aemond. Deliberately. The look ripped through him like a quarrel. He got the odd, yet undeniable sense that she was saying something to him – saying a lot; so much all at once that he could decipher none of it, except that it was deathly important.

The commotion finally started outside the Grand Sept; Aegon came to his senses at long last and perfunctorily raced outside, pushing through the roiling crowd to catch up. It was no trouble on Ravenna’s end to explode on him, not after the night she had just had, screaming herself hoarse about what a liar, coward, pitiful, wretched, twisted, disgusting creature he was, that she’d rather die than marry him. Being exactly the coward, pitiful, wretched, twisted, disgusting creature she knew him to be, Aegon just stared, first in shock, then indignation and, finally, humiliated fury as she stalked off. The guests gathered around the jilted prince, gobbling like confused, outraged turkeys, faces suitably red and wattles jiggling under their weak chins. The Targaryen family gathered in a separate circle, talking in hisses and murmurs, exchanging hurried, loaded glances. Queen Alicent landed her heavy gaze on Aemond. ‘Find her. Convince her to come back,’ she commanded and Aemond nodded, a habit upon receiving an order. It would be easier said than done.

“You’ve been helping her?” Aegon demanded, outraged. Aemond didn’t see who it was that actually dealt the blow, but his clothes were quickly drenching with blood, the warmth almost pleasant against the chill of the night. An axe lodged itself deep in his chest and his lungs refused to breathe through the sharp, scorching pain.

“You of all people should be thanking me,” he managed to gurgle, the effort of it almost insurmountable. He was fading fast. “She’s your wife.”

“What are you talking about, ‘my wife’? Are you trying to get us all killed, you disfigured freak?” Aegon bellowed in hysterics although plenty of the night remained still to do the ritual. In his already limited, and now quickly shrinking, field of vision, Aemond saw how Ravenna struggled against Daemon’s pitiless arms that closed around her, trying to reach for him, eyes desperate to express how sorry she was for what happened to him. He knew. He was sorry too. They had been so close, the gate was right there. It was careless to stop and share looks. Try to express this madness that seemed to develop between them. It cost them everything in the end.

Spitefully, Aegon rose to his feet next to Aemond’s prone body and stomped the axe further in.

There was nothing to be done today, Aemond assured himself as he walked aimlessly around, circling the enormous leering skull of Balerion deep in the cellars of the Red Keep. Vhagar’s skull wasn’t much smaller, he mused reflexively whenever he found himself there. He swelled with an odd mix of pride and shame at the familiar thought. Pride, to be the rider of the mightiest living dragon, battle-hardened and fierce. There would likely never again be another to match her splendor and size. The dragons hatched over the last few decades had been markedly smaller, slow to grow, reluctant to bond with riders. Vhagar was the last true dragon worthy of the name. And then rose shame, that he needed to cling so desperately to Vhagar’s strength and might as a reflection of his own worth. There had been a time when he would have been happy with just an egg, or with the smallest, most inauspicious dragon, as long as it was his.

To redirect his thoughts, he walked carefully, foot over foot, back achingly straight, to the mass of candles, burning serenely and occasionally crackling, fusing together to create a solid, oozing mass of wax, endlessly burning in this underground shrine. He held his hand over the candles, warming his blood to a boil, testing the dragon inside. The action brought to Aemond’s mind one evening, while Aegon was courting Ravenna, trying to impress her. He similarly held his hand over a candle for a hideous amount of time, steady and self-satisfied, enjoying as horror swept across onlookers’ faces. Not a flinch nor a wince to betray any pain as they gasped and looked away. Aemond knew Aegon had used his old trick of affixing a scrap of leather to his palm, smooth and thin enough to be imperceptible, but resistant enough to flames to shock those not privy to his childlike antics. In his youth, a similar trick was used on Aemond by Aegon and his bastard cousins, convincing him he was resistant to flames and the test was likely to help him in bonding with a dragon. For his efforts, he was rewarded with a swift scolding from his mother and many weeks of applying a thick, reeking ointment to his palm from the maester’s apothecary. The cloying ointment did its job well, there was hardly any mark anymore to betray Aemond’s shame and stupidity from that long-ago time. He was silently gratified when Ravenna didn’t coo and swoon from the sight of Aegon’s feat, merely inquiring if he was sure he was in no pain. He smirked to himself, rubbing his long fingers over his warm palm, soothing the burning spot in the middle.

The day, and night, would be eaten up by appeasing guests and trying to save face, he knew. In private, there would also likely be a sacrifice. A goat – maybe a lamb this time? Something to rival the innocence of Aegon’s runaway bride in the eyes of the ancient gods, so they don’t precipitate their vengeance on the Targaryen family. They were overdue a willing sacrifice, or at the very least an offering, thirsting for blood that was human. The wedding would simply be postponed until whatever got into Ravenna was settled, and then all would be well, Aemond thought. Well. From the Targaryens’ point of view, that is. What was good for the axe wasn’t necessarily good for the tree. Aemond had chosen to be the axe and there was no going back, he protested against himself, against the queasy roiling in his gut. He thought he had made his peace with it long ago; aligned himself with the interests and beliefs of the dynasty his family was building, stone by bloody stone. But every now and again, something woke his nagging conscience and he was left wrestling with it in the impenetrable dark, and each time, he came closer to losing.

“You should take me away from here. Hide me,” Ravenna told him, the pleasant tones of her voice echoing gently in the intimacy of the shrine. She didn’t make it a demand, or a question either. Aemond did not feel surprised she was there, which should have been cause for alarm in itself. He knew he would take her, and she seemed to know it too. He should have felt like she fell into his lap, appearing here out of nowhere, and making his job of retrieving her and convincing her of going through with the wedding that much easier. But something told him her actions were more purposeful than just falling haplessly into a trap.

The Kingswood.

Nestled deep in the forest, Aemond had come across a dilapidated cottage. While the King’s retinue amused itself with hunting defenseless animals, he spent his time wandering away from the party and dedicating himself to restoring the ruin with his own hands, for his own private use. When the place was decently restored, he could lock himself away for hours and read or just be with his thoughts, uninterrupted. The secret cottage had bestowed the opportunity on the young prince to clash with outlaws and bandits who sought refuge in the woods. On several occasions, he’d found men sniffing around the cottage, stealing the belongings he’d left behind and even trying to break in. He’d easily bested them all, which was only to be expected, given his superior weapons and advanced combat training by the rigorous Ser Criston Cole. Still, he found satisfaction in rising to the challenge when ambushed and besting opponents in real life scenarios, not just the practice yard. Those minor skirmishes soon became more of a nuisance than a pleasure, so Aemond decided to conceal the cottage to the best of his ability so as not to have it attract unwanted visitors, and undid some of his restorations to make the interior less hospitable.

By this time, the cottage had been abandoned for many months, with the prince struggling to remember the last time he’d retreated there for some solitude. The forest was vast and it gave sufficient room to Vhagar to rest and to spread her wings, so he only ventured to the Kingswood to give the old girl some space and sport.

The place was bound to be squalid and in disarray, and he wondered if the lady would object and be insulted to be taken there. But for secrecy, there was no other place that Aemond could guarantee was unknown to all but him.

Ravenna shuffled quietly down the corridor, back against the wall for safety, and slipped into the library like a shadow. Several nights of sneaking around and some useful instruction from Aemond had taught her how to get around as unseen as a ghost. Aemond was waiting there, as he always did, each new night after the chase for Ravenna had started. A sword hung off each of his hips and he towered over a table, resting his weight on his two clenched fists. He never joined the hunt, hiding himself away for as long as he could, until she inevitably ran into him, as though pushed by unseen hands of fate. She stared wordlessly at the back of his head, listening for anyone in the corridor outside.

“I have to call for them. You know that,” Aemond said quietly, his tone resigned. He kept his eye on the long desk in front of him, shined up and stretching deep into the large library, heavy with scrolls and bound books.

“But you won’t. You want to make it fair for me, at least somewhat. To give me a head start,” Ravenna countered, quiet and as collected as the surge of panicked hot blood rushing through her constantly for days and days now would allow her to be.

His decision never changed. Aemond was loyal to his family. Loyal and true, as unbending as the metal of his armor. If he turned his back on them, he was no better than his whore-sister, spewing out bastard after bastard, or his perverse brother. But for all his superficial iciness, he did not have a cruel soul. He especially hated seeing innocent and damaged things suffer for the amusement of tyrants. He couldn’t put her above his family’s dynasty; that was absurd. But he didn’t have to offer her up himself either.

Ten seconds, Aemond decided, that night and all others before, and all the ones to come. Ravenna had to save herself, and he would remain sitting in the solitary library, playing deaf and dumb, and blind in both eyes. He would count slowly, he knew that as well. That didn’t seem too egregious a thing to do. And if she proved resourceful and smart, then he would be vindicated. Then he could do more without feeling like a fool and a traitor. But how did Ravenna know that? The words she spoke and more than that, the way she spoke them, sounded like a prophecy of some oracle, or a witch.

Aemond turned to take in the sight of this peculiar, entirely confounding woman, and the corner of his mouth curled in a strange sort of delight. She had already gotten rid of the excess on the bottom of her dress, making it easier to move. If he wasn’t mistaken, a small dagger she picked up along the way was tucked into her sleeve. It almost felt like she had come prepared for this very eventuality.

Ravenna came close, angling herself perfectly into his limited line of sight, as though she knew exactly how far his field of vision stretched. Aemond felt like he would erupt in a furious, humiliating blush at the idea, and clenched his jaw tightly against it, willing his body not to flush. She laid her hands on the desk and stooped to be on eye level with him. Having caught him with her gaze, she leaned in, coming intimately close. “You know the shortest path from the Tower of the Hand to the dungeons?” she asked, her eyebrow arched meaningfully. It wasn’t really a question. “I’ll be behind the locked door – you come find me when you’re able.” So she knew about at least one of the hidden passages in the palace. Ravenna could see his face pull into confusion and suspicion, a dozen questions crowding on his tongue. “Just do it. Please,” she gritted out, eyes boring into him, deep and unyielding. His gaze flickered over her face, taking it in. It didn’t feel like some desperate ploy to throw herself at him, at anyone at all, and ransom her life with her body. Others had tried that, with him and others besides, and it never panned out anyway, irrespective of how cheap it was to begin with. No, this was something else. Aemond didn’t understand it, but time was short. He knew he wanted to hear more.

What madness possessed him? Aemond hardly thought of anything as he took the old winding passages built all those years ago by Maegor for all his secretive and sinister purposes.

So much of the time, Aemond struggled with himself, trying to bury unwanted, treacherous feelings as they worked to knock him off his path. He feared losing himself in them. Jealousy ruled him, anger washed over him like waves crashing into rocky shores, uncertainty about his place in the world a constant, silent companion. It was maddening. Now, for the first time he could recall, he was attempting to stir any of them up. Guilt, hesitation, even the mildest aversion or suspicion. All those usually roiled right under his skin. But there was none to be found now.

He slipped into the narrow, dank corridor, throwing his cloak over Ravenna. They quickly worked, of one mind, to cover the sparkling slashes of her dress, throwing the hood halfway down her face and fastening the long cloak everywhere they could. As he gave her an assessing once over, Aemond told himself this was the first cloak she was robed in after her maiden cloak was removed; his. Even then, no guilt or aversion could be summoned.

They scuttled like rats all the way down the winding path – a familiar, well-trodden trail that led to Sylvi’s brothel. The madam was unsurprised by Aemond’s appearance, as ever, and didn’t bother disguising any familiarity between them. That was the only pang he’d experienced so far, his eye flying surreptitiously to the bride’s half-hidden face, looking for any scowl or twitch of her shapely mouth at the recognition passing between the prince and the madam. There wasn’t time to search long for her reaction or offer explanations – besides, he hardly needed to give account of himself to his brother’s would-be wife. The bride was tucked away in Sylvi’s brothel until Aemond could appease and dismiss guards and other miscellaneous searchers, sending them away from the roads he needed to use.

They rode hard, under cover of darkness, into the Kingswood. He hadn’t said a word the entire time. He barely even needed to look back to see if she was following as the drumming of her horse’s hoofs right behind him told him she was keeping up with perfect ease. He wondered if he should break the silence once they arrived at the cottage, but it seemed too hard to begin. What was there to say, really, beyond acknowledging their madness?

��Get me out of this thing,” Ravenna’s tone was a demand this time, for the first time in their acquaintance. She twisted as though the dress was burning her, laced on the inside with some insidious poison. Aemond didn’t react immediately. This should be the groom’s job, he mused, his lean fingers twitching at the thought of touching her and disrobing her. Was he really devoted to Aegon at all, or simply to social mores; what was holding him back? She needed to get out of that dress eventually anyway, he rationalized, urging his legs to move.

It was her voice, the tone she used. Familiar and unabashed, like she wasn’t afraid of him at all. Like they had known – trusted – each other. Pushing with defiance against the flutter that thought gave him – he would not look weak, not look like a fool – Aemond looked the dress over and tackled the task ahead of him.

She was buttoned and laced in, from the wrists to the elbows and from the chest to the chin, the rich fabric heavily embroidered with silver. It must have taken an age to sew and lace her into the thing. The rest of her dress followed her curves until it flared, silken and dreamy, giving her the appearance of some ethereal being, something that might come to a man only in a dream.

His progress was slow; fingers too twitchy and clumsy to fiddle with the delicate buttons and lace. His pride was wounded when a voice in his head reminded that it had been a very long time since he had laced a woman out of her clothes too. He wouldn’t be this clumsy if someone put cold steel in his hand. But a warm, soft, attractive woman… One leagues above those in Flea Bottom. That was a novelty.

The bride had both her sleeves all the way unbuttoned and he was still making his slow way up her spine, hands clammy and growing shakier with every passing moment, imagining the full weight of her undivided attention on his pitiful efforts. She moved her hair obligingly from her neck when he made his way up high enough. Almost done. Confidence bloomed in Aemond for a moment; he could do this. Finish the last button and give her leave to go into the bedroom, if one could call it that. It was a tiny room with a bed that was less uncomfortable than the long bench, bare wood and punishingly narrow, that protruded from the wall in the main area that served as the living and dining quarters, library, solar and armory. He resigned himself to it, knowing he would wake up stiff and achy. But he needed to do the respectable thing if he stood a chance of convincing her to go back and go through with the wedding.

The last button came undone and her body slumped in relief, grateful to be free of the binds. The two sides of the dress came apart, sending a rush of cool air across the sensitized skin, making her shudder.

He could not do this at all. As though pulled in by the tide, Aemond’s fingers ran down the trail of spine he had exposed and his heart raced from the contact, pounding in his ears. She shivered some more.

It was a terrible, stupid, wrong-headed idea. He was weak, and a fool, and this would end badly, so badly. Aemond chastised himself bitterly as she turned and caught him by the collar; as she seared her lips into his; as she pulled him inside the bedroom. He screamed and hurled insults at himself in his head as he pulled the rest of the dress off her; as he helped her undress him; as he groaned with need at the lightest touch. He admonished himself as he tumbled back on the bed; as he relished the sensation of a slick, hot cunt around him; as he stared at the ceiling, buzzing and empty, vowing to continue the barrage in the morning.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. He had died already several times, by someone else’s hand and once or twice by hers. A mistake once - he snuck up on her in the dark. It was a reluctant, ultimately unsuccessful attempt to help her, despite every reasonable thing inside him telling him not to do it. It wasn’t instantly fatal; Aemond bled out slowly in their hiding spot, an evil reward for his instinct to do the honorable thing. Ravenna found him, pale and lifeless, at dawn. Another time when he was caught under the wheels of the carriage hurrying her out.

She had revealed too much, the time it happened. Too eager to get a move on, coax him to her side, she pushed too hard, made him nervous. She knew far too much of exactly what she shouldn’t and he panicked. His hand was swift, merciless around her throat. It was her turn to learn how it felt to die at the hand of the one she was trying to save.

He wanted her, from the very first time, when it was all terrifyingly new. And, while he didn’t remember the loops, not in the literal sense, that feeling accumulated – an instantaneous, demanding desire, to keep her from what was coming, to possess her. So when she pushed and yelled and went from that meek, but intelligent creature Aemond felt so much tender compassion for to an angry, demanding mess that led him expertly through passages and hiding spots even he barely knew, it was too unsettling. ‘Are you a spy? Who sent you? Who told you all of this?’, he demanded, shoving her against the wall as soon as they ducked into a hidden passage that she by rights should not have known existed.

‘It will sound mad,’ she bemoaned, eyes hopelessly filling with tears. She knew she had overstepped and his temper flared, fearing the danger he imagined in her, ‘but you did. We found it out together, over time.’ He faltered for a moment and she called his name, as if she knew him, as if she expected him to save her.

He pushed her harder against the wall and squeezed his gloved hand around her neck, first one and then, reflexively, the other. Black spots appeared in her vision, further obscuring the already dark passage. He didn’t mean to; he thought she would crack and confess. But Shrykos, unseen but felt, stoked his rage and he didn’t even know his own strength in that moment. The windpipe between his squeezing hands was crushed. Moments before, she seemed like a hurricane, capable of crumbling the Red Keep and all the dragonblood within it, and then she snapped between his hands, fragile like a bird. Aemond slumped in time with her body, in a grotesque act of mirroring, and his vision blurred with unshed tears before he ever touched ground. This was the last thing he wanted, and it came still, regardless of his desperate wishes, and at his own accursed hands. It was too much, and none of it made sense.

She wasn’t dead yet. The body clung to life still, holding on to the last breath still in her chest. But no more would enter through her ruined throat. Her eyes were bloodshot and a tear slipped silently down her face. She reached for him, hand crawling pitifully in his direction. It felt like grief, and forgiveness. She could no longer feel it by the time he peeled off his gloves and lunged for it, squeezing her hand uselessly with both of his.

Aemond woke up with the glare of the sun on his face. He remembered that the day before, a part of him was wondering if he and his family would survive to see this dawn. If he did, he questioned how he would feel about it. If he confessed to them, or to the bride, that he wasn’t even sure he believed that all of this bloodletting served any purpose at all, would if bring relief to anyone, himself included? Those concerns seemed endlessly distant in this moment.

His mother, his brother, the specter of the Red Priestess as she burned all those years ago, even the immeasurable threat of a plague were far, and in this unassuming cottage, tucked out of the way and humble, one could imagine the old gods of Valyria were far away too. What would they want in an unremarkable place like this?

The bride was asleep still, breathing deeply, her shoulders rising and falling slowly. She had not redressed the night before and neither had he. Her hair, carefully done up for the wedding, was ruined by what they did the night before and now stuck out in places it shouldn’t. He wanted to touch it, cradle her head and cup her cheek. He wanted to be given languid kisses and have breakfast, one bite at a time out of her fingers, in no rush to go anywhere or do anything.

Instead, Aemond slipped carefully out of bed and got dressed, scribbling a short note with his finger into a metal mirror that hung on a wall and gathered a generous coat of dust since the last time he visited. He should bring some essentials to the cottage; paper, ink, food, clothes.

Stay, it read, and he placed it on his pillow.

Aegon’s nose cracked under Aemond’s knuckles and he cried out like a dying animal, cowardly and over-dramatic as always.

“Shut up!” Aemond descended on him when he fell to the floor, grabbing his collar and pushing a knee into his chest. The broken nose was for his own satisfaction – Aegon would have squealed under the mere threat of physical violence. Therefore Aemond waited to make his demand until after. “There’s got to be a way out of your chambers, to the dungeons or to Flea Bottom. Even if Maegor hadn’t built a passage, someone would have in the intervening years,” Aemond snarled and Aegon looked from him to his bride and quickly surmised that compliance would keep him safer than trying to cry out and alert anyone to their presence.

Aegon crawled on hands and knees, whimpering and wheezing with every whistling, gurgling breath, slinking under the bed and revealing a hatch covered by a priceless Dornish rug. The descent was steep, landing onto a small clearing that branched in several directions. Most of those were collapsed or dead ends. They belonged to abandoned projects or restorations, forgotten over time or relinquished in favor of better routes. They still served different Kings and their confidantes for stashing treasures and illicit substances in their nooks and crannies. The only path that led where Aemond demanded to go was long and narrow, opening onto a small room.

Once a part of an old private cellar and later used for storage, it became the place where Aegon could take young girls and hide. Eventually, it was where he would take Helaena. It had a sofa, an old dresser and some chairs that were broken or out of fashion. There were some clothes scattered around, likely forgotten or discarded after the acts took place, and a small desk with paper and an ink pot. A few cups and plates, crusted and stained, along with a long empty cask of wine, showed that the pair spent many hours there once upon a time, away from prying, judging eyes. Even before any idea of a brother-sister marriage was ever considered between them, Aegon considered it to be his right. He knew, however, that attitudes were changeable. An increasing number of wagging tongues considered the old ways to be unnatural. But they didn’t know what it was like to be blood of the dragon. It couldn’t mix and dilute, it refused to. So Aegon knew he wanted them to be alone for it.

Aemond knew very well what the room meant, but beggars can’t be choosers. He hoped Ravenna wouldn’t infer anything distasteful. Once he was satisfied that the three of them were out of the way and there was very little chance anyone would happen upon the room, he whirled on Aegon. Aegon was about to plead for his life, but Aemond was fast, slamming the pommel of his sword against the side of his head. He collapsed and, just to be safe, Aemond stuffed some fabric – a stocking by the looks of it – into his mouth before tying his wrists and ankles together.

“You should be safe here,” he stood and smoothed his long hair into place, adjusting inside his leather doublet and securing his sword back into its sheath. He walked the few paces over from where he stuffed Aegon in a corner, incapacitated and posing no threat. “I’ll go--”

“Stay,” she asked, timid but sincere, clasping her fingers around his wrist.

“Stay,” Ravenna pleaded, tired of the screams, of blood, of running. Three days in a row now, no rest, no breaks. Who knew how many more. Maybe none, maybe this would work. Maybe a thousand more.

Aemond followed and sat opposite her on the sofa, having assiduously dusted it off first. It wouldn’t sweep away the acts performed on it, but she didn’t want to make him uneasy by pointing that out. He sat stiff and cautious, like a cat only recently tempted into proximity with a human.

The air was thick with questions, with incredulity, impossibility. Perhaps he wanted to apologize, on behalf of Aegon and the rest of his family, for trying to ritualistically kill her. Or perhaps the Targaryen prince in him, the blood of the dragon, before all other things, wanted to undo the moment of mercy and pull her by the hair to be thrown like so much kindling before Vhagar. There was something studied and inscrutable about him, the way he held everything back at all times. Perhaps the best guess was that he didn’t know himself what he wanted, or what he would do next.

“You said you…” he started, voice betraying how dry his throat was, “ahem, that you… have done this? Before?”

She nodded. How could she explain? If she said she struck a bargain with a dark deity, would he think her insane for believing it, or merely stupid for doing it?

“Can you,” he started the question, not sure if it was fair to ask what he was about to, “tell me how this all started?”

“Congratulations,” a voice said, gleeful and unearthly.

Ravenna ignored it, staring out the window at the gathering dawn. The air was thick with the acrid, choking smell of burning bodies. Their skin and hair reeking as it burned, their fat crackling, blood turning to black tar. Jewelry fused into charred bones and petrified flesh, the only indication now to the identity of the mangled corpses, vanquished by brilliant green flames. Smoke rose from the Dragonpit and a throng of people was gathering around to investigate. Ravenna wondered what sort of sight the incinerated dragons inside their once dwellings, now tombs, would make. Vhagar, too large to fit inside with the others, had been resting in a field outside the walls of the Keep. She had soared into the air with a desperate screech, mourning the loss of her rider and her kin. Ravenna looked away with a heavy heart, expecting the enormous dragon to come plummeting through the air like a blazing falling star, wreathed in green flames until all of her flesh sloughed off her ancient bones.

The smells and stains of the previous night clung to her dress, blood and viscera splattering every inch of her body. The insides of all those dead on her dress and skin felt dirtier than anything she could imagine, so she absent-mindedly ran her hands down her now red dress, wiping off what she could. She wondered where to go now, how to explain the doom that befell the Keep in the night.

“It’s rude not to respond. Especially when you are being congratulated,” the voice went on, vibrating through her bones.

“Am I free to leave?” she asked, trying to project a confidence she was nowhere near embodying.

“Yes, but surely we can talk as you go?” the voice said and Ravenna started making her way down the cavernous Council room, descending the blood-slicked staircase, stepping over yet another concealed hatch that could have made all the difference in the preceding night, but she was still unaware of. “What are you going to do now?” the voice asked just when she dared to hope that maybe all the horror that surrounded her was all a product of her rattled imagination. It all just seemed too much, too unreal.

“I’m going as far away from here as possible.”

“Oh, really? Don’t you want him?”

The voice of Shrykos took shape, insinuating her presence onto the room. It was beyond human, beyond even concepts of holy and unholy, as far as Ravenna understood them. The form ate up all the air, all the gravity, pulling the floor at a slanted angle, and every ounce of Ravenna’s weight toward it. Her gaze helpless to look away, it struggled to take in the goddess. Taller than any man, Shrykos stood unrobed and unblemished before her. Around her head, dragon horns raised and curved, giving her a frightening, reptilian appearance. Her skin was in places smooth and marble-like, and in others, covered in scales that shifted hues in an oily sheen. Folded behind her sculpted back and shoulders were dragon-like wings. She pulled one aside to reveal what she was offering to Ravenna.

She froze, unable to look away from either. Before Shrykos said anything else, before she could take in the sight fully, Ravenna knew what the hideous goddess was talking about. Aemond was lying dead on the floor, his chest cracked open, dark and deep, like dry earth at the height of a scorching summer. They had buried an axe in him out by the gate when he was trying to sneak her out. She imagined him being dragged back to the Keep at the same as she was; Ravenna, knocked out with a vicious blow to the back of her head and waking to find her wrists strapped to a bloody altar; Aemond, hanging hideously loose on the shoulders of his brother and his sworn protector knight, dead or dying, and dropped like garbage on the floor as they joined the sacrifice in the bowels of the palace. It seemed Shrykos did not bother incinerating what remained of Aemond until he was little more than ash, like the others. Maybe it was because he was already dead and she had more amusing, living prey to toy with. Maybe his preserved corpse was a shining lure to reel Ravenna back in.

“No,” she said feebly, not wanting to look. There was so little holding her together after this night, she couldn’t stand to see him lying there.

When the goddess spoke again, her voice, now coming from an adamantine body, made Ravenna’s very bones feel like they were on fire. She closed her eyes, shaking with the effort of not crying out, of remaining upright despite the searing, blinding pain shooting through every inch of her body. She wondered how all those who burned that night felt as the green flames consumed them, bones and all, and if the agony could have been worse than what she was feeling now.

“You kissed him out by the gate, in a dark little corner when you thought you were alone and no one was watching. Someone is always watching,” Shrykos whispered confidentially.

“So?” Ravenna scoffed, trying to lie to the goddess, as if she couldn’t see right through her façade.

“You asked him to leave with you. So sweet. He wanted to, you know. He was this close to taking you by the hand and running out with you right then and there.”

“I don’t want to hear this anymore.”

“I can give you another opportunity; to get what you want. All that you want.”

“I don’t think so.”

“He helped you. Once, and again. You don’t want to help him at all?”

“I’ve seen how you’ve dealt with your worshippers. And I’ve read enough histories and heard enough sermons besides to know not to play games with gods. There is no winning,” Ravenna said, reminding – convincing – herself. She was mere steps away from being free of this, whatever it was.

“But you did, you won. You can do it again, dragonslayer girl; I believe in you. And whether you know it or not, it is your destiny. And this time,” Shrykos added, as though sharing a secret, “we’d both be playing for something that we actually want.” Ravenna’s eyes were coaxed to go where they didn’t want and landed on Aemond’s lifeless body resting in a halo of his own blood.

“When does this game end?”

“You’ll know when it’s over.”

“How many tries do I get?”

“As many as necessary. Until he is either yours or mine.”

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen imagines #prince aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc

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sydsaint · 1 year

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Idc he's hot 💛💚

Summary: After months of listening to Rhea and Dom, the reader snaps and leaves Judgement Day. Lucky for her, Jordan is an old friend and more than willing to assist with her new problem.

Raw is about to go on air and Judgement Day is all grouped up backstage.

"I think that Dom and I are gonna start the show." Rhea grins to herself. Dominick hanging off her shoulder.

"Oh, what a surprise!" You mumble under your breath from next to Finn.

Finn nudges you gently on the shoulder, warning you not to start something. But Rhea managed to hear your little comment. "What was that, Y/N?" She asks you with a raised brow.

"Nothing." You reply dryly. "Have fun out there." You fake a smile.

Rhea stares down at you for a moment through her thick false lashes but does not say anything else. She walks off and beckons Dominick to follow her.

Once Rhea and Doninick are gone, Finn turns to you with a stern look on his face. "Really, Y/N?" He scolds you.

"What?" You huff. "I'm right, aren't I?" You defend yourself. "Just because she's a champ doesn't mean she's got to act all high and mighty."

"Just, don't start anything with Rhea, Y/N. Please." Finn begs you.

You roll your eyes at your best friend but give in to his demand and nod. "Yeah yeah." You grumble.

Rhea and Dominick come back through the curtain a few minutes later after both of them managed to stir the pot and get Dom booked for a match. They walk over to you, Finn and Damien grinning at themselves.

"Now that'a how you open a show." Rhea laughs with Dominick.

"Yeah, being bitchy and entitled to the crowd until someone wants to come out and finally shut you up. Real original." You just can't help yourself.

Finn clenches his jaw next to you and rubs his forehead. He knows a fight can't be far out, now.

"What was that?" Rhea glares at you with a hand on her hip.

"Yeah! You can't talk to Mami like that." Dominick steps in.

You roll your eyes and shoot daggers at Dominick. "Fuck, you are so annoying!" You sneer at him. "Are you even capable of doing anything but dickriding Rhea like your life depends on it?!"

"Hey!" Rhea steps in.

"And you! God, I cannot stand you!" You point a finger at her. "We get it! You're every teenage boys and gay girl's fantasy woman! No one cares! Try getting an actual personality and fans that aren't horny teenage boys!" You fume.

The room falls silent as you and Rhea size one another up. Rhea goes to speak up finally, but you stop her. "Don't!" You warn Rhea. "I'm sorry, Finn. I love you, but I can't spend another second pretending to care about those two. I'm out!" You turn sharply on your heel and dismiss yourself.

You storm out of the backstage area fuming to yourself. People duck out of the way as they see you coming down the hall. But one person doesn't budge when you cross his path. Finn's old protege, JD McDonagh. Aka Jordan Devlin.

"Woah, who are you headed out to kill?" Jordan puts a hand out in front of him and stops you from advancing down the hallway.

"I'm not in the mood, Jordan!" You growl.

Jordan chuckles but doesn't budge. "Well, I can see that." He chuckles. "Where's Finn at? Or the rest of your crew?" He asks you.

"Ugh, don't even get me started." You seethe. "If I have to hear about Rhea or that idiot Dominick again I swear I'm gonna lose it." You grit your teeth.

"That so?" Jordan replies. "Hell, say the word, darling. I'll head over and kick some manner into Ol' Dominick's ass right now." He suggests.

You shake your head, finally coming down from your outburst. "If I wanted that idiot's ass kicked, I'd do it myself, Jordan." You insist.

"Fair enough." Jordan nods. "You can always hang out with me tonight, darling. I'd love your company tonight if you're not hanging with Finn and the crew." He offers.

You think for a moment. The idea of hanging out with Jordan again doesn't sound terrible. The two of you used to hang out often back when Finn was still training him.

"I guess hanging out with you might not be so bad." You tease Jordan with a sly smile. "So, what's up? Got any plans for tonight?" You ask him.

"I've got one that you might like, yeah." Jordan nods and slings a casual arm over your shoulder. "I'm sure that you're aware that your bestie Rhea got Dom scheduled for a match tonight?"

You nod and turn your head to face Jordan as the two of you walk. "No, you didn't." You are quick to realize what Jordan is implying.

"Oh, but I did, darlin'." Jordan nods with a mischievous grin.

"No way!" You laugh. "Oh, this is perfect!" You clap your hands together. "I could kiss you right now, Devlin!"

Jordan laughs with you and holds his arms open with an inviting smile. "Lay one on me then, darlin'." He offers.

"I was kidding." You roll your eyes with a playful giggle. "Maybe if you win though." You tease him.

"Against Dominick Mysterio? Easy." Jordan scoffs confidently. "Come on. Let's go score ourselves an easy win for me and some sweet revenge for you."

You and Jordan head down to the curtain. Dominick is already out in the ring with Rhea at his side. And neither of them has any idea what's about to happen to them.

Jordan's music hits and he heads through the curtain. You wait a few seconds so he can get his full entrance done before you head out and shock the crowd.

You lock eyes with Rhea as you make your way to Jordan's side and he slings his arm around you again. She stares daggers at you and you return the look of disdain. Dominick is a little surprised to see you with Jordan. But one whisper from Rhea and he's ready to go.

"Go kick his ass." You offer Jordan a last word of encouragement before he climbs into the ring.

The match begins and you stalk around the ring to where the commentary table is. Rhea sneers at you as you pass her, but you just keep on walking.

"Y/N! This is certainly a surprise." Corey greets you when you walk over to his side of the table. "Tell us, why exactly are you out here with JD Mconagh instead of your Judgement Day colleges?" He asks you.

"I am no longer affiliated in any way with Judgement Day, Corey." You explain with a smile. "I joined Judgement Day when it was a group for people that wanted to be dominant and on top." You add. "Not some rat tag group of wannabes and glorified social media stars."

Rhea turns around when she hears your statement. The two of you stare at one another for a moment before you casually go back to chatting with Corey. You voice your displeasure that Finn won't be joining you. But besides that, you show no remorse for your prompt exit from the group.

Around the end of the match, Rhea takes it upon herself to help Dominick out so he can pull a win. But you are there just in time to stop her.

"Why don't we let mister Latino Heat, handle this himself, Rhea." You stand directly in her path.

"Ha! You think that I'm scared of you?" Rhea laughs.

You stand your ground with a cool smile on your face. "I know you are." You grin at her. "You're scared of me, Rhea because I have the one thing that all those other girls didn't. A partner."

The bell rings again and Rhea's head snaps to the ring just in time to see Jordan's hand being raised. You laugh as she fumes and slip into the ring and over to Jordan's side.

"Nice work, distracting Rhea for me." Jordan grins as you raise his hand in victory.

"My pleasure." You grin at Rhea outside the ring with Dominick. "You won. So lay one on me, ace." You tap your lips gently.

Jordan cracks a larger-than-life grin. "Yes, ma'am." He wastes no time and you find yourself in a dip before Jordan's lips are on yours.

#wrestling #wwe fandom #wwe fanfiction #jordan devlin #jd mcdonagh #the judgement day #rhea ripley #dominick mysterio #monday night raw #finn balor #wwe x reader #x reader

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commander-krios · 7 months

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Everything

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: Rolan's had little time to himself since becoming the Master of Ramazith's Tower. Thankfully, he has friends willing to help him get a break. Words: 3924 Additional Tags: Gift Exchange, Tieflings, Romance, Love, Valentine's Day, Fluff, Post-Canon

Read on AO3

Elturel Tiefling Camp Discord Server Exchange treat for a few Dammon/Rolan lovers!

Rolan had begun taking his midafternoon meal breaks at the Elfsong Tavern, away from the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries. The first reason being it was quieter in the tavern during that time of the day, the majority of the inn’s guests sleeping off their nightly overindulgences while the rest made day trips into the city. The second reason was it made it more difficult for Cal to seek him out with questions about the mundane things, those things that could’ve waited the hour he took to eat and catch up on some reading. This was easier, simpler, and he could sit and ponder his own thoughts before trudging back to some disaster or another at the store.

When someone slipped into the unoccupied chair at his table, however, he was beginning to think that the Gods themselves were plotting against him.

“You look bored.”

Lakrissa watched him with a grin, pushing a glass of wine towards him. He eyed the drink suspiciously before glancing up at her, taking in the perfectly groomed ponytail that tumbled over her right shoulder, her chin propped in her hand, elbow on the table in an undisciplined manner.

“I didn’t order that.” Rolan said instead, ignoring her probing gaze to bury his nose in the book again. She didn’t take the hint, only nudged the glass closer to him. It was a bribe, he realized. For what, he had no idea. “What do you want, Lakrissa?”

She raised her eyebrows before a laugh escaped her lips. “Want? There’s nothing I want from you, mage-boy.”

“Then why-”

“Think of it as a thank you.” She reached into the little pouch on her side, pulling out a scroll, setting it on the table between them.

Rolan stared at it, immediately recognizing the fancy calligraphy and stamp on the document. Swallowing nervously, he lifted the glass and drank deeply, refusing to be baited into the conversation. She had no proof it was him. The silence between them was tense, but when he finally returned the half finished wine to the table, he cleared his throat, glancing away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid. You’re one of the only people who knew about the bard school. I figured it would be denied. Anti-tiefling sentiment is still high after all of this time, especially so soon after Elturel.” Lakrissa returned the scroll to her bag and replaced it with a hastily scribbled letter. Rolan knew Wyll Ravengard’s handwriting mainly from their recent correspondence. There was no mistaking it. “Wyll said you made a convincing argument about opening a school in a letter. His father approved it because of you.”

“I-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Rolan.” Lakrissa told him, securing the letter with the scroll once more. “You owed us nothing, but you helped anyway. So thank you.”

Rolan blushed, fingers trailing over the page of the tome in front of him. He liked Lakrissa, she was one of the only people who saw the reality of their situation from the start. Elturel, goblins, the shadow-cursed lands… and she continued on despite it all. Perhaps because of it all. Rolan had only made everyone’s lives more difficult with his ranting. But they’d still traveled with him and now he had the means to help everyone. He intended to use it.

But one thing he wasn’t expecting was sincere gratitude.

Rubbing the back of his neck, his claws got caught in the strands of the hair loosened from his bun. “Uh, don’t mention it. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

At the pleading in his voice, Lakrissa grinned like a cat who caught the canary. Uh oh. “Oh, I won’t tell anybody. For a price.”

A groan slipped out and he buried his face in his hands. “Hells, what is it now?”

Lakrissa laughed, pouring another glass of Arabellan Dry. Then he watched through his fingers as she stood, tucking the chair back beneath the table. She glanced down at him thoughtfully, as if trying to best articulate what she wished to say. Or maybe she was trying to torture him more, he wouldn’t put that past her.

After a moment more, she sighed, waving towards the exit in the direction of Sorcerous Sundries. “Lia and Cal are worried about you.”

That was unexpected.

“Whatever for?” His hands dropped to the table and he had to resist the urge to grab the wine glass as a barrier against the uncomfortable thoughts that spun at the back of his mind. Worried? About him? All he ever did was worry about them, and now, they had everything they could’ve dreamed for. What was there to worry about?

“When was the last time you went out?”

Scrunching his nose in confusion, Rolan waved to their surroundings sarcastically. “What do you call this?”

“Hiding.”

He scoffed in offense, but didn’t deny it. Because it was true in a way. He was hiding, mostly from Cal’s questions about the Sundries. “I was busy doing work before you so rudely interrupted me.”

“Oh, so rude of me to bring you wine.”

He rolled his eyes, noting her sarcasm but refusing to argue about something so stupid. She was being unusually nice today, but he figured she was as bored as he was, sitting here in the quiet tavern. If she wished to speak to him about something to alleviate that boredom, he’d gladly discuss wine, the latest novel, hells even the Gazette’s more recent gossip, but his personal life was not one of those things.

“How about this then?” She lifted the glass of wine and took a deep drink of it herself. Must’ve been a really slow day. “When was the last time you went out with Dammon?”

His blush deepened at the mention of the man who was… well, not quite his boyfriend, but something close enough. Digging his claws into the wood of the table, he caught the satisfied expression on Lakrissa’s face. She’d gotten under his skin and she knew it. “That’s none of your business.”

She let out a snort, refilling the wine one final time before setting it directly in front of him.

“Don’t you fret, mage-boy. Since you refuse to admit to doing something nice and taking the ‘thank you’ that comes with it, I’m going to find a way to thank you that you can’t refuse.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?”

“Think of it as a promise.” Ruffling his hair like he was one of the tiefling children, Lakrissa laughed when he reached up to knock her hands away in irritation. “And try to be less grumpy, Rolan. As much as it pains me to admit, you’re actually cute when you smile.”

Lakrissa waved before swiping the rest of the wine bottle from the table, leaving with his wild thoughts and burning cheeks. With one final look at the full wine glass beside his book, he pushed his chair back and made a quick exit, intending to put as much distance between him and the Elfsong as possible.

~~~~

“Alfira was here earlier.”

The next day immediately started off on the wrong foot. From the moment he’d woken up, a mischievous specter followed him, creating chaos everywhere he went. First, the lava elemental broke free of its compulsion, wandering outside and nearly setting a house on fire. Then, his projection started malfunctioning, and he had to stand at the desk for hours before Cal came down to relieve him. He’d also had to toss a few troublemaking kids out of the store for trying to steal one of Tolna’s books as a prank.

Gods, he still had a headache from the tongue lashing he’d gotten after.

And now he had to deal with this? It appeared Lakrissa wasn’t simply teasing him, after all.

Rolan glanced up from his accounting books, furrowing his brow at Cal’s words. There were very few reasons as to why the bard would show up at his store and he figured they all had to do with her girlfriend’s threat. “And? Did she say why she was here?”

“Yes.” Cal sauntered over to his desk before dropping a sealed envelope on top of his paperwork. “She left this.”

Rolan stared at the flowery pink paper envelope in concern. “And what is that?”

“Maybe you should open it and read it. It’s addressed to the ‘Master of the Tower’.” Cal sat beside the desk, putting his feet up on the edge. With a glare aimed in his brother’s direction, it only took a moment for Cal to get the hint and drop his feet back to the ground, a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “I’m sure you already know what it says so please, enlighten me.”

Cal nodded, sitting up straighter and smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt. “They’re throwing a party. For the bard school’s opening. Alfira said it would be a huge favor to her if you came.”

Of course she did. It’d been weeks since he’d done much else besides sit at this desk and update the ledgers for the store: the vault inventory, the supply inventory, the accounting. Lorroakan hadn’t kept any sort of organization for the entirety of his time as Master of the Tower. Rolan didn’t even know if he turned a profit or steadily lost money.

“I have so much left to do-”

“Come on, Rolan. You helped them get the deed to the building. The least you can do is show up and celebrate with them.” Cal dropped his voice, his expression softening significantly. “You should go, have some fun.”

“Does everyone know about that?” Rolan sighed, feeling the fight leave him at Cal’s grin. He never did things for himself, but Cal and Lia… if it meant that much to them, he’d do it even if he hated every second. “Fine. But the moment somebody decides that I need to give a toast because I helped, I’m leaving.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. No one is willing to stroke your ego. It’s big enough as it is.”

Rolan coughed to cover the laugh that threatened to expose him. “I think you need to spend time with someone who isn’t Lia.”

“You’re just mad because she’s right.”

Ignoring the barb, Rolan realized he hadn’t seen his sister all week. She hadn’t lived in the Tower for a few months now. The Flaming Fist barracks were comfortable enough and Lia refused to spend every quiet moment with her brothers (or so she said), but she at least visited on occasion. Strange.

“Where is Lia, anyway?”

“Oh, uh…” Cal rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes to the floor, pretending to study the intricate tiles. Rolan didn’t need to spell detect thoughts to know that his brother was running through a hundred different excuses for their sister, before choosing what was most believable. Whatever was next out of his mouth was going to be a lie. “She’s… working?”

“Are you asking me or is that your answer?” Rolan tapped his feather pen against the envelope, tempted to open it to see the words for himself. “Because last I remember, Lia works the overnight shift.”

“She’s picked up some extra work.” Cal rushed to explain, standing as if that would stop the interrogation. “Alfira mentioned Dammon would be there. If that changes things.”

“Oh?” He tried not to sound interested, but gods dammit, it’d been too long since they’d seen each other. Maybe a public appearance among drunken bards wouldn’t be as awful as he thought. If he managed to avoid the singing. “I might be able to squeeze in a quick word with everyone.”

He almost missed the smile on Cal’s face as he slipped out of the door. “Whatever you say, Rolan.”

~~~~

The Elfsong Tavern was in chaos when he set foot inside. Drinks were poured freely, multiple bards were singing off key between hiccups, and others were guffawing and cheering along with the song. Or perhaps it was songs. None of the tunes were the same. Rolan spied Lakrissa near the bar, a glass of wine in each hand. She weaved through the crowd, a bright smile on her face as she watched the revelry. It was all a bit much for him, but he’d promised Lia that he’d make an effort to connect with the rest of the Elturel survivors.

He could do this.

“Rolan!”

He turned as Alfira appeared at his side, and without warning, she threw her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly against her smaller form. Using her lute must’ve given her a set of strong biceps because for a brief moment, Rolan struggled for air.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

She smelled suspiciously like a fruity wine and when she glanced up at him, Rolan immediately noticed her flushed cheeks. “Already drunk, hmm?”

Alfira giggled, nudging his arm as soon as she released her hold on him. “No, silly. I’m having fun. You do know what that is, correct?”

Lakrissa slid up next to them, holding out one of the glasses of wine towards him expectantly. When he only stared back, she raised an eyebrow before thrusting it into his hand. “Take it, dumbass.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“It’s your favorite.” Lakrissa said, handing the second glass to Alfira who took it happily. He slanted his eyes at her, immediately suspicious. “Drink up. Enjoy yourself. There are plenty of drinks to go around.”

He briefly considered asking her what her ploy was. She was definitely up to something, but decided an argument was a worse choice than simply drinking the wine. So, with a forced smile, he took a long sip, waiting for the inevitable hammer fall.

Rolan wanted to leave, these types of events always made him anxious about performing well enough to be considered ‘polite and stimulating company’, but this was their party and celebration. Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy being around all of these people, it wouldn’t be proper for him to rush off. The wine hit his tongue with its familiar woodsy flavor, the berry lingering as he swallowed it down. Lakrissa watched him intently, her mouth twitching into a smirk as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“If the crowd is a bit much, there are some fabulous views from the roof.”

“Why would I-”

Slipping her arm around Alfira’s waist, she turned back to the party, glancing over her shoulder at him with a conspiratorial look. “You can thank me later.”

Once Alfira and Lakrissa blended into the crowd, the sudden desire to flee tickled his mind. It would be so easy to disappear, to return to the Tower and forget this entire night happened. He figured no one would even notice, too drunk and invested in the party to realize that a guest was missing.

But he hadn’t seen Dammon yet.

And despite everything he’d thought earlier, he really did want to see him tonight.

The best course of action would be to go to the rooftop where it would luckily be quieter and wait until Dammon either appeared or he didn’t. Then, he could slink off into the night with no one the wiser.

~~~~

The roof of the Elfsong was much quieter, though the rumble of the party could be heard beneath his feet. With a quick sweep of his gaze, he noted the cushions set up beneath a pergola and a small table with chairs off to the side. The air smelled strongly of flowers: roses, lavender, and fuchsia, a tantalizing combination that helped to ease the anxiety in his chest.

He breathed deeply of the cool night air, not cold enough to need additional layers, but enough to make him shiver slightly as a breeze loosened his hair from his bun. With a disgruntled sound, he attempted to gather the hair in his hands but the wind made it impossible.

“Leave it. I like it down.”

His hands froze, the strands slipping from his fingers, and he turned, his darkvision making it easy to see what he’d missed during his first sweep of the area. A pair of piercing blue eyes ringed in gold, golden hair pulled into a bun over an undercut, and a set of familiar horns.

His breath caught at the sight. “Dammon.”

The tiefling blacksmith slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, smiling up at him. He wasn’t wearing his usual garb, the things he wore in his day to day work. No, tonight he looked comfortable in a pair of dark slacks and a loose tunic, tucked into his waistband. Simple, but effective and Rolan couldn’t stop from staring.

“Fancy seeing you at one of these parties. I didn’t think you ever left that Tower anymore.”

Rolan flushed, grateful for the darkness and the wind blowing the hair in front of his face, if only to hide his embarrassment. “Yes, well, things have been busy. Swamped, really.”

Dammon’s gaze trailed over his robes, one of the dressier ones from Facemaker’s, bought at a price that he’d balked at before Lia forced him to hand the coin over. But with how the other tiefling’s eyes flitted across his chest at the gleaming gemstones and down the length of the sleeves at the elaborate embroidering, Rolan knew it was worth it. If only to be admired by him.

“Glad you could pull yourself away.”

There was no judgment, no anger or disappointment, just Dammon being… Dammon. Kind, understanding, accepting. He turned to walk to the edge of the balcony, his face hidden in the shadows.

Rolan followed without even realizing it. They stood, side by side, so close that Rolan could feel the warmth of his skin on his own. It wouldn’t take much to reach out, take his hand, perhaps press a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“Lia’s been helping out at the forge.” Dammon’s admission pulled him from his thoughts. The blacksmith glanced down at the street below, watching as the people milled about, laughing and drinking and singing. The party was in full swing, yet here they were standing above it all, watching the city shed inhibitions and find joy in the mundane. They were safe, they were happy, and they were free. “She’s been trying to lighten my load so we could… have this.”

“Some time to ourselves without the crushing weight of responsibility?”

Dammon chuckled, leaning an arm against the banister, eyes on a fixed point in the distance. For a man who worked with weapons most of the day, there was something so soft about him. It’d taken Rolan too long to figure out what it was. His eyes. When Dammon looked at a person, he saw many things but the first and foremost was that he saw their soul. Not the facade they put up, but who they were beneath. At one time, it scared Rolan to be seen so deeply but now… now he craved the horrifying ordeal of being known by another person.

Of being known by this man in particular.

Rolan sighed as Cal’s sudden onslaught of questions, all in regards to the running of Sorcerous Sundries, began to make more sense. “It seems Cal was trying to do the same.”

The sounds of a lute and a lyre floated out of the windows of the Elfsong and people on the streets began to spin in a dance of wild limbs and stumbling feet, too drunk to do much else besides rocking back and forth or falling. The rest of the city stretched out ahead, lights flickering against a velvety black backdrop, the stars above burning as brightly as the streetlamps.

He didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was the Arabellan Dry still tingling on his tongue. Perhaps it was the beautiful sounds of Alfira’s lute from below. Or it could’ve very well been the fact that his family, his friends, the people who cared about him, had done so much to give him this peace.

Rolan’s hand slipped into Dammon’s, noting how easily their fingers slotted together.

He’d always wanted somewhere to call home. For years, it had been Cal and Lia and the little family they’d built out of the ashes of their lives. But the upheaval by the descent into Avernus, the difficult road traveled to Baldur’s Gate, Lorroakan and everything with the Netherbrain… he didn’t think he’d find happiness again, only pain.

He was grateful to be completely wrong.

“What are you-”

“Shh.” Rolan tilted his head to the side, nodding to the dancers below, a smile curling his lips. “Do you hear that?”

Dammon raised his eyebrows, amusement flitting across his features. “The music? It’s kind of difficult not to.”

“And what do people do when they hear music, Dammon?”

The blacksmith rolled his eyes, but his face softened more than Rolan thought was possible. He straightened, turning towards Rolan with expectation. “Why don’t you tell me? So I don’t get it wrong?”

Butterflies went to war in his stomach, but the challenge in Dammon’s eyes was intoxicating. He was going to make him say the words. Despite his intelligence, his knack for learning and doing things his own way, Rolan struggled with the right words. But action, that was easier.

His free hand slid along Dammon’s waist, their entwined hands turned into proper position. When Dammon met his gaze again, his eyes burned like blue fire ringed in gold. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his heart pounded out like a war drum in his chest, but he managed to force a single question out before he lost his nerve.

“Dance with me?”

Dammon’s eyes widened slightly before a grin spread across his face. His hand tangled in Rolan’s loose hair, strands sliding his fingers. Then he leaned in, lips brushing softly against Rolan’s, the contact a shock but a welcome one. His mouth was warm in the cool night, and he drank him in like a man who hadn’t touched a drop of water in days. His skin burned, his heart threatened to dance right out of his damned chest, and still, it wasn’t enough.

Rolan shifted closer, wrapping both arms around Dammon’s waist, deepening the kiss with a swipe of tongues and teeth. Everywhere their bodies touched, Rolan felt like he was on fire, flames beneath his skin threatening to burn him to ash. And it would be a good way to go, he thought, as the kiss finally broke.

Because with the way Dammon was staring up at him, smiling like he was nothing more than a drunken fool, Rolan understood. What they had was important, as important as anything else in his life. And he was going to fight like hell for more nights like this.

“I thought we were supposed to be dancing.” Dammon whispered, breath ghosting against Rolan’s cheek as a laugh left his mouth.

“Do you want to?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. “Dance, I mean.”

Dammon ran his hand through his hair again, but his gaze never slanted away. Chills ran down Rolan’s spine at the intensity of his eyes that he almost didn’t hear the words. “It was your idea, but I like this too.” His lips brushed against Rolan’s briefly before he pulled back, nothing but tenderness on his face.

And Rolan couldn’t help but agree.

This was nice.

It was everything.

#my writing #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #bg3 lakrissa #bg3 alfira #rolan x dammon #dammon x rolan #gift exchange

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britcision · 1 year

Text

Happy WIP Wednesday everyone! Hmmmm… What do I have for you today? Is it Danny’s question?

Nope! It’s Jason! ☺️ because I’m a bad person and I like making you all wait. I will tell you though, you’re getting Waylon’s answer from his own perspective, which is why Danny’s part cuts off where it did

———————

I’ll Take The Highway ii

Jason didn’t exactly object to being led out of the bar by Harley; Danny wanted to talk to Waylon in private.

Jason had figured Danny had something to ask the guy about. He hadn’t exactly expected not to be part of the conversation, but that was fine.

He’d know if Danny got into trouble. Fuck, Danny could handle any trouble Gotham could dish out, probably. And the rogues had some basic manners; not starting shit in Freeze’s place was one of them.

Penguin might put the squeeze on and make your life uncomfortable if you lit up the Iceberg Lounge. Dr Freeze’s cold shoulder was a lot more literal, and he didn’t do “proportional response”.

So yeah, he could be cool and give Danny some space.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Harley wanted to talk to him either, although he still didn’t see the point. But he let her guide him around the side of the building to a back alley anyway.

“Still fine, Harley,” he said before she could get started, both hands raised in front of him.

She gave him an all too knowing look and hopped up to sit on the dumpster. Put her about a head taller than him. Not that he cared.

“Sure, kid. You’ve been goin’ through a lot though, so I gotta ask; is there anythin’ ya wanna talk to Auntie Harley about?” She asked in her sweetest voice, interlacing her fingers under her chin and batting her lashes.

Jason snickered and leaned against the other side of the alley.

Shit, he wasn’t even annoyed with her play acting. The pit was a happy little puddle in his chest, all sunshine and roses.

A week ago he’d have walked away. Been pissed at wasting his time, getting in his way. How much of that had been because of the Lazarus pits, the problems with the ectoplasm he’d apparently been supposed to be solving?

Was that why nothing had ever been enough? Why he always had to keep pushing? Carve himself a patch of Gotham, keep going. Cut the crime out of Crime Alley, not enough.

Take up with the Outsiders, keep himself busy, rushed off his feet so that when he fell into bed for a couple hours a day he didn’t even dream?

When was the last time he’d taken a breath and just… relaxed? It all felt so long ago, but it had barely been a week.

It just. His whole life had unclenched, like it was a muscle he’d finally stopped using.

Fuck, maybe he should talk to Harley about it.

He got the feeling she knew though, those eagle eyes tracking his every move. They’d never really hung out, but he was uncomfortably aware of how well she’d known him.

How much of him was still the boy she’d known?

She was waiting for an answer, and all of a sudden Jason wasn’t sure what he’d say. Knew that if anyone in the world understood, it just might be Dr Harleen Quinzel.

He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes. Fuck, he was getting as bad as Bruce.

And if that thought didn’t kick him up the ass…

“You ever wake up one day and realise your whole life’s been going wrong?” He finally asked, glancing up from the corner of his eye.

She’d dropped the cutesy act, leaning forward with her arms braced on the edge of the dumpster, her face professionally calm. Open. Sympathetic.

“Think I might know just a lil about what that’s like,” she agreed softly, and Jason snorted.

“Yeah. Well. Turns out ever since I came back from the dead I’ve been haunted. Literally. And no one ever noticed.”

He hadn’t even come all the way back, but he couldn’t say that. Not yet. But maybe he could share some of the rest.

Harley nodded slowly, giving him her full attention. Just waiting for him to go on.

It kinda felt like being under a microscope, but not in the cold, analytical way Bruce did that always pissed him off. Like she really cared, and was looking for all his broken parts so she could help him fit them back together.

Fuck, if his kid self had ever known he’d one day trust Harley Quinn over the whole Justice League…

Shit, he didn’t even know how much she already knew.

“The pit rage… it’s a psychosis people get, coming out of the Lazarus pit. Makes you angry, violent, stronger, like a blind rage. For most people it goes away. Mine didn’t.”

He almost wanted to laugh, bitter and sharp.

“Because it wasn’t just the psychosis. I’m not fucking weak, I’m not fucking broken, there’s something else living inside me and it made me so fucking angry all the time…”

The frustration was building again, but this time it was his. All his, not a bubble, not a stir, and part of Jason thrilled with it. He could feel however he wanted, just him.

He cut it off though, forcing himself to relax before Danny could notice. Could worry about whatever he was projecting in his aura.

He could kinda still feel Danny’s, which was new. Not brushing against his, not touching like they were close, but he was aware in a way he hadn’t been before.

Like if he shut his eyes he could point in exactly the direction Danny was standing.

“Danny’s the only one who noticed. Well, really, he’s the only one who could. It’s a ghost thing, and he… he got me help. I feel like myself for the first time since… since I came back.”

He hadn’t even noticed how much the background rage burnt through him until it stopped. Until he could look at his family and see their prodding for what it was; concern.

It was still surprising him, and maybe would for a while. Kinda hoped not though. It wasn’t the most cheerful train of thought.

Seeing that he’d run out of words, Harley gave him a moment to find more, then reached over and ruffled his hair. It was barely a strain in the cramped alley.

“Kid, anyone with two eyeballs t’ rub together can see Danny’s real good for ya. So why’s Bruce tryin’ so hard to keep ya apart?” She asked gently, and Jason snorted.

Rolled his eyes and folded his arms, caught himself doing it, and forced them back to his sides.

“Not rubbing his eyeballs together?” He asked dryly. Harley just snickered.

“Please, if we could get ‘im ta stop overanalysing everything that’d be the miracle. So what’s got ‘im on edge?”

Jason hesitated for a long moment, thinking about it. Finally he shrugged; as always, Bruce was a mystery to him. The man who’d taught him all the tricks to pick apart any mystery. Except himself.

“No idea. We played a prank on him and the Mansons at the gala like we told you last night?” He offered, already aware it wasn’t likely to be the answer.

Harley shook her head in agreement, which almost threw him off.

“Nah, you’re right. The whole making-out-in-a-closet shtick is classic, even if he didn’t see through it yet he’s never cared about you boys smoochin’ before,” she agreed, then sighed and tugged him in to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Whatever his problem is though, it is his problem Jason, an’ what he pulled at the gala has nothin’ t’ do with you or Danny. I already told ‘im off about not talkin’ to ya and I’m gonna do it again when I catch him. Right now I just wanna hear you say you know it ain’t your fault,” she told him firmly, cheeks held between both hands.

Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes. And the rising lump in his throat.

“I know Bruce’s bullshit isn’t my fault, Harley,” he grumbled through smushed lips. Harley squeezed his cheeks a little tighter.

“Then say it anyway. It ain’t your fault Brucie has a bug in his ass, and ya ain’t done anything wrong to deserve it.” She was firm as the wall behind him, utterly unrelenting.

And she could go on for hours, if memory served. Long enough for Danny to come out and see. That was why Jason told himself he gave in.

Nothing at all to do with the way her words ached and bled a gentle warmth into the icy void in his gut where the anger still roiled.

“It’s not my fault B’s got the emotional capacity of a wet newspaper. I don’t deserve his helicopter bullshit any more than anyone else,” he told her obediently, doing his best not to be too sarcastic.

Harley placed a kiss on his nose and released him.

“That’s my good boy. Now, more about this haunted thing. You boys got a plan?” She asked sharply, head cocked as she watched his face.

Cheeks red, Jason leaned back against his wall and pretended it made him out of reach.

“We do,” he said curtly, looking down at the trash strewn ground. Trying to explain it now would take too long, Danny would be out soon.

Of course Harley noticed, nodding thoughtfully and leaning back, kicking her legs.

“Well, if ya ever want to tell me more, you’ve got my number. An’ I’ll get Brucie off ya back for a while, even if I’ve gotta call in the Boy Scout. Whatever you aren’t tellin’ ‘im, don’t let ‘im rush ya,” she told him firmly. Jason had to smile.

“Aren’t you the one always telling us to communicate?” He asked half rhetorically. Harley grinned and hopped off her dumpster, making her way to the front of the alley.

“It only works if ya wait til you’re ready. Pushin’ an’ rushin’ only makes it worse,” she explained airily, stepping out into the street.

Turning, and freezing like a hound on a scent. Eyes narrowed, she patted Jason on the chest as he stepped out after her, not turning her head.

“Jason darlin’, be a dear an’ run get Auntie Harley her bat. The bike’s parked ‘round the back,” she said ever so sweetly, and that tone combined with the narrow eyed glare meant Jason knew exactly who she was looking at before he turned.

He did it anyway, eyes widening as he caught sight of Batman, in full gear, coming down the street towards them. Accompanied by John Fucking Constantine.

Had he seriously come to chase him away from Danny in person? In fucking costume?

The anger surged, his and the pit’s, held back only by the small woman in front of him. The dainty hand on his chest, that’d turn into an iron bar if he pushed it.

Sure, she couldn’t actually hold him back, but she didn’t need to. Whatever Jason wanted to say or do to Bruce, Harley could do a whole lot worse.

Anger melding into a vicious satisfaction, he turned straight back down the alley with a spring in his step.

————

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones s @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 5 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog g @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon n @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi i @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf

#dp x dc #wip wednesday #danny fenton dead and loving it #chapter 15 #i’ll take the highway pt 2 #jason time!#so many people wanna take care of this lil nugget #and kick bruce’s ass

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lettersfromaphrodite · 1 year

Text

[17.25]

― pairing : Changbin x fem! reader ― content warnings : angst, smut, fluff, vampire au, reader is a vampire, Changbin works in a brothel, medieval settings, dom!reader, sex toys, unprotected sex, fantasy au ― word count : 3.569

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🧛‍♂️ VAMPIRE! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho // Felix

«If I don’t drink some blood I might as well go insane.» you pointed out, plopping on a leather armchair while rubbing your temples; Minho chuckled without actually getting distracted from the book he was reading, «You still have to explain me why you basically live in my house, even if your mansion is way better than mine.»

«Someone has to keep an eye on you.» with that, Minho closed the book, looking at you with mischievous yet gentle eyes, «You should go to a brothel to feed, like everyone else does.»

«But-»

«But, nothing.» Minho sternly interrupted you, «Give it, at least, a try.» you weakly sighed in answer, not sure yourself why you were so adverse to the idea of going to a brothel. Minho was right, by now, most vampires went there in order to feed; human boys and girls willingly offered themselves so that you could feed instead of going off killing people.

Of course, even so, news where vampires ended up losing control and killing them weren’t rare.

You decided to follow Minho’s advice on a rainy Monday evening, as soon as you felt your hunger starting to cloud your senses. Changing into some clothes which didn’t look too expensive, you quietly headed to town.

Contrarily to what you expected, the brothel didn’t look shallow; rather, it was filled with people – mostly vampires, quietly sitting at the tables and talking with humans.

It was indeed strange, some of them had humans comfortably sitting on their lap while they kept talking about important matters with other vampires, and some others were already making out in the crowded hall. You sat alone at one small table, watching a vampire chatting with one of the hosts while sitting on another’s lap; you scoffed at her behaviour, wondering how many times she came back to seem so at ease not with one, but two boys which definitely seemed at her mercy.

«She’s gonna have much more fun than me,» you admitted to yourself, advertising your gaze and raising an eyebrow.

From upstairs, a boy started walking down the stairs re-arranging the belt of his trousers, wiping his lips before heading outside; you scoffed at the lack of manners.

«It’s pretty common, but I guess you must be new.» a husky and sensual voice caught your attention, and you turned your head to your right.

A boy was smiling sheepishly at you, his chin on the palm of his hand and his elbow resting on the wooden table; he wore a white shirt which was basically half unbuttoned, exposing his toned chest, and his leather pants were tight enough to perfectly hug his strong thighs.

«Aren’t you cold?» you muttered, and the stranger chuckled at you.

«Why don’t you find out?» he immediately retorted, imperceptibly scooping closer to you; the boy not only had an alluring scent, but also was extremely attractive. His dark raven hair framed his godly features, and his dark brown eyes were sharp and mysterious, inevitably charming you.

Surprisingly enough, you found having small talk with the boy both teasing and pleasing, but you didn’t come to a brothel with the intent of finding a new friend, didn’t you?

Thankfully, the boy – Changbin, seemed to read your troubled expression, and got up with a smug expression.

«Shouldn’t we head to somewhere more private?» he said, standing in front of you and moving your hair out of your face with an unexpectedly gentle movement.

«Shouldn’t you learn how to improve your pick up lines?» you got up as well, his hand following the movement of your body and gently remaining on your features.

Changbin scoffed, «Trust me, doll, they don’t pay me enough for that.» he chuckled, and you raised an eyebrow at this uncharacteristic outcome. Changbin held your hand, leading you upstairs and through a long corridor just to turn on his left on the last room, which had his name on a wooden target.

“So, they all have personal rooms,” you silently wondered, and as he locked the door behind the two of you, you curiously glanced around; the room was rather simple, a large wooden bed was standing in the middle of it, and against the wall there were a wooden wardrobe and a wooden desk. You hoped for him to have an actual house and not live in such aseptic environments, but you didn’t have enough time to question that, because as your eyes met the wall on your left, you felt a wave of lust pervading your senses.

What you definitely didn’t expect to see, was a small collections of sex toys hanging from a wooden hanger fixed on the wall.

What Changbin expected from you was a good lay, to sexually satisfy you and helping you you quench your blood thirst, hoping you wouldn’t leave him on the verge of death. Changbin expected this night to be like every other times, his partners being naturally submissive to his rough behaviour and to be harshly turned around just in time to let them feed and eventually, jerk off to finally orgasm once his partner had left.

What Changbin definitely didn’t expect was for all the control he always had to be taken away from him in the moment you pushed him on his bed just to immediately straddle him.

«Are there any particular rules I should be aware of?» you questioned, knotting your hand in his hair just to yank it backwards and kiss the expanse of his exposed skin.

«No kisses on the lips, and we’re good.» Changbin mumbled, wondering why you were asking that question.

«Good, I’ll give you one rule as well, then.» you mouthed against his skin, pushing him on the mattress. «Before you do anything, always ask for my permission.» you ran one of your nails on his neck, lightly scratching on the skin just to see few droplets of blood erupting from it.

Changbin nodded, feeling already aroused by so little contact – thing that never happened to him, and you leaned down to lick at the scratch on his skin, slowly savouring the blood you collected in your mouth; as cliché as it was, Changbin’s blood was delicious, and you couldn’t wait to taste more.

«Undress me, kitten.» you ordered in with a gentle tone, sitting back up and unconsciously pulling your weight on his hardened length; Changbin immediately sat up, confused at his own submissive behaviour but also, eager to please you.

His hands immediately reached around your back to loosen the strings of your corset, and you guided his lips against your collarbone thanks to the grip you had on his hair; judging by how obedient Changbin was already being, you knew that you were indeed in for a wild night.

Changbin had his eyes closed and his mouth open in a constant, silent moan; you rode him fast, allowing him to put his hand on your hips but harshly pinning his arms against the mattress anytime you realized Changbin was unconsciously trying to set the pace.

«You might want to listen to me,» you cooed, halting the movement of your hips, «unless you’re not that interested in coming.» you let go of Changbin’s arms, wiping some sweaty strands of black hair from his forehead; Changbin shook his head, mumbling quiet apologies, and you reminisced your movements.

The thing was, for Changbin it wasn’t guaranteed the fact that he would come as well, most vampires were known for using brothels as a way to relieve their own sexual frustration and thirst, not actually caring about their occasional partner; therefore, he was more than surprised when you waited for him to come before chasing your own orgasm, gently sucking at the skin you had scratched earlier.

What he didn’t know, was the fact that you refrained yourself from biting the poor boy because he had a bit too many bite marks on his chest, some of them were still healing, some of them seemed painful; you kept licking at the scratch on his neck until you saw the wound closing, and detached from him with a satisfied sigh, allowing yourself to fall on the bed for a moment.

Changbin was hesitant, and definitely not used to this treatment; he wanted to thank you, but “thank you for letting me come as well” seemed an incredibly stupid thing to say, and so, he kept quiet, watching you re-dress yourself with a blissed out expression. «Can you help me, please?» you sat back on the bed, pointing to your corset; Changbin nodded, carefully tying up the laces while asking you whether they were too tight or not.

«Wait, doll, this is-» Changbin incredulously looked at the amount of money you left on his nightstand, «this is too much. I can’t accept it.»

«Quit it, you did well.» you waved off, stretching your arms above you, feeling regenerated after finally drinking some blood, «Use the spare money to buy actual clothes.» you giggled, before walking out his room.

«Until next time, kitten!» was the last thing Changbin heard, as his eyes were fixed on the now closed door in disbelief.

Five months later, you had ran back to the brothel a countless number of times; even you didn’t need to feed, you kept coming back because you missed the feeling of Changbin’s skin on yours or sometimes, you simply missed him.

Clearly, you couldn’t admit it out loud, and so, you learnt to find your small dose of happiness in the simple action of Changbin dropping anything he was doing as soon as he saw you entering the brothel.

Obviously you couldn’t know, but for Changbin it was pretty much the same thing; even if he was spending the night with someone else, his mind kept wandering to you, to your touches, to the feeling of your lips on his skin.

Changbin wasn’t submissive with anyone else but you, and much to his surprise, he loved it each time more than the previous one. With your mutual feelings strictly hidden, you and Changbin slowly created a routine where even if the both of you had come and you had fed, you’d stop to chat a little more; sometimes you were both still naked on top of the covers, sometimes you were already dressed once again.

The more time you spent with him, the more you realized how good of a person Changbin really was, and your desire of stealing him away from the brothel steadily kept increasing.

«Let me touch you, please, I-» Changbin’s sentence was cut off with a whine as you sucked more eagerly on his oversensitive tip; the sound of him tugging at the belt tying his wrists to the bedpost made you smirk, and you looked up just to meet his blissed out and unfocused gaze. You knew you were being unfair, claiming that you wanted him to feel good just to tie him to the bed and slipping a dildo in his butt and cockring on his length, but Changbin had eagerly agreed to your proposal, and not even once asked you to stop.

«I already told you, kitten,» you answered, focusing your attention on gently biting and sucking the unmarked skin on his inner thighs, «today is about you.»

Changbin’s moans started to rapidly increase and his thighs began to shake as you suddenly changed the angle of the dildo, repeatedly brushing directly against his prostate; he arched his back with a loud whimper just to fall back on the mattress, dejected at the sensation of his orgasm slipping away from him, the fact that he kept being stimulated brought tears of pleasure in his eyes.

«I can wait more,» Changbin whimpered at the sensation of your fingers slipping of the cockring and brushing against his oversensitive length; you simply shook your head, tossing the cockring on the bed and quickly driving the boy to his first actual orgasm of the night.

Truth was, you would have kept teasing him all night just to hear more of the delicious pleads and moans continuously escaping his lips, but since it was his first time being completely at your mercy, you didn’t want to be too rough.

Changbin came untouched, his prostate being stimulated was more than enough for him to spill his release all over his stomach and his chest with a loud moan, his back arched off the bed while he was tugging almost painfully at the restraints around his wrists; as soon as he came, you took the opportunity to sink your teeth into his inner thigh.

«Sit on my face,» he whined, weakly, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

«Changbin, you’re still shaking.» you pointed out, wiping the blood from your lower lip, but the determination you saw in his eyes did nothing to ease the desire you felt and the wetness between your legs.

«I want to make you come,» he said, and you immediately gave in with a nod, too aroused to play difficult; as you were about to reach for the belt and untie him, Changbin stopped you, «Can you keep me tied up?» his tone was almost shy, and there was definitely a blush on his face which wasn’t due to his orgasm; you cursed under your breath, not expecting him to get so bold all of a sudden.

Needless to say, it didn’t take you too much to come from Changbin’s tongue alone.

«You spent the extra money on charity?» you questioned in disbelief, and you felt Changbin nod against your chest; it was the first time you cuddled in such an intimate position, and it was difficult for the both of you to hide to each other your mutual happiness, «I’m surprised at how nice you can be.»

«Doll,» Changbin scoffed, hovering over you by balancing his weight on his elbow, «I sell my body and my blood for money, how am I supposed to be nice?» he questioned, and you found yourself unable to answer.

Truth was, you were more than ready to list him an infinite series of reason why he was an incredibly nice person, but you knew that if you started, you would inevitably have confessed your feelings as well. The realization of a vampire having unrequited feelings for a boy which worked in a brothel was the only thing that made you shut up.

«I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t be considered one.» you sighed, your hand running into his black hair while your gaze was locked.

Changbin’s eyes started to flicker between your eyes and your lips, slowly leaning in; your eyes widened, but you kept still, not wanting to ruin the moment with a possible misinterpretation of his actions. Changbin’s lips brushed against yours; it was a faint, almost inexistent sensation, but it was still enough to make you yearn for more.

As you were about to actually connect your lips for the first time, a knock on his door made the two of you realize about the fact that you were about to kiss.

«Looks like our time is up.» he mumbled against your lips, a somewhat sad expression making way into his eyes.

«Until next time, kitten.» you mumbled back, and eventually re-dressed yourself.

The next time you entered the brothel, you knew something was off. The first thing you noticed was the fact that the majority of the hosts were crowded on the stairs, thing which immediately alerted you because it never happened.

The second thing you noticed was the fact that Changbin was nowhere to be seen; a strong smell of blood invaded your senses as you curiously walked towards the stairs in order to ask someone what happened, when a sudden realization made you stop in your tracks. You felt your heart hammering in your chest as adrenaline made your body move fast, driven by worry; you could recognize that scent anywhere.

With quick steps, you made your way to Changbin’s room, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut not to give into the horrible temptation in front of you.

Changbin was laying on his bed in a small pool of blood, weakly talking to a doctor kneeled next to him, checking the wound on his neck; anger bubbled inside you, anger which not even Changbin smiling at you despite his atrocious pain managed to quench.

Patiently, you waited for the doctor to patch him up and exit the room, just for walk towards him and scoop a now unconscious Changbin into your arms; you were in such a hurry, you didn’t bother to dress him up, and simply covered him lending him your cape – not caring if it got dirt with blood.

No human or vampire dared question your actions, the mere expression on your face clearly showed that you were ready to jump at anyone’s throat if they ever tried to stop you.

Even if you were acting recklessly, you didn’t care, you egoistically allowed yourself to choose for Changbin, a thing which you never dared to do even if you repeatedly suggested him to quit his job. Seeing him in this state, finally made you realize that you weren’t meant to live for eternity if you couldn’t even protect the boy you loved.

Changbin’s unconscious body was now on your bed while you were sitting at its feet, your servants meticulously looking after him, changing his bandages and providing him with fresh new clothes. He woke up few hours later with a groan, startling you as you finally had managed to momentarily drift off to sleep.

«God, Changbin!» you mumbled, sitting at his side in less than a second, helping him get up into a sitting position.

«Oh, I just earned a new title?» he groaned, clutching at his now bandaged neck; he weakly took in his surroundings, clearly not used to the expensive furniture in the room; the most reasonable thing your brain suggested you to do, was to throw your arms around his shoulders and hug him close, action which once again, Changbin didn’t expect.

«It’s okay, doll,» he mumbled, hugging you close to his chest as well, «it happens, sometimes.» instinctively, you scoffed, finding it paradoxical that Changbin was comforting you, and not the other way around.

«This is why you’re not going back there, ever again.» you said, not wanting to part from him and look into his eyes. Changbin chuckled quietly, caressing your back.

«So, you finally decided to take me home?» once again, him being so relaxed about the fact that he basically almost risked to die made your heart sink in your stomach.

With a sigh, you detached from his embrace, daring to leave a quick kiss on his lips; the fact that Changbin looked at you with his eyes wide in surprise was a more than satisfying reaction.

«My poor heart,» you heard him mumble, and instinctively leaned in, worried about him being hurt somewhere as well. Changbin quickly held your head with both hands, «I like you so much, my heart is about to burst.» he repeated a little louder, staring in your eyes.

And so, that’s how you and Changbin properly kissed the first time, sitting on your wide bed, and carefully avoiding to make his wound open once again; Changbin’s kisses were gentle, his lips adoringly moving with yours, and your heart shared the same wild, happy and enamoured rhythm.

Eventually – thanks to Minho’s and his friends' help, you managed to track down the vampire which almost killed Changbin.

Needless to say, she didn’t stay alive long enough to see the sun rise on another day.

If you thought that Changbin living with you was the best thing to happen to you, you were definitely in for a surprise.

Exactly four years after you saved him, Changbin asked you to turn him into a vampire as well.

«I look at you and I know I have found my soulmate,» Changbin said one night, as you were cuddling in your post orgasm state, he was mindlessly running his fingertips on your back, and your head was placed on his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat, «I realized how fleeting my life is compared to yours, and I don’t want to be parted from you.»

It was as if your heart grew twice its size, and your hand momentarily stopped in mid air, halting your action of caressing his chest; Changbin’s marks almost completely faded, and still, you’d spend as much time as you could gently placing kisses above them, as if it could help him getting rid of the painful memories.

«I would love that.» you admitted with a smile, finally voicing your secret wish for him to stay with you for eternity.

«Do vampires get married as well?» Changbin asked out of the blue, and you immediately propped up, balancing your weight on your elbows.

«Changbin?» you questioned with your eyes wide, your heart hammering in your chest because there was no way in the world you could get that lucky; Changbin chuckled at your reaction, gently booping on your nose twice.

«Would the fact that I’d let you turn me right in this moment be equal to handing you a proposal ring?» Changbin questioned, and you immediately connected your lips with his in a gentle, loving kiss.

«It’s even better.» you smiled against his lips, and since that night, your kisses never stopped.

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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#fanfics #stray kids scenarios #vampire au #vampire series #stray kids vampire series #changbin x reader #changbin scenarios

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thepaperpanda · 2 years

Text

A Little Snowball Fight || Ivar the Boneless x fem!reader

Masterlist ❄

Summary: Your friendship with prince Igor dates back to when you cared for him as a child. One day, he introduces you to Ivar, the Viking prince from the far north. After first courtesy, a little snowball fight ensues. At the end of the meeting, Ivar makes a very interesting offer that you cannot refuse

Warnings: none

Word count: ~ 2215

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

A/N: today’s prompt: Snowball Fight

Ice skating was one of your favourite pastimes, so you couldn't say no when young Igor invited you to skate - skating was especially fun when you had someone to skate with.

"Do you want to meet my new friend?" Igor asked, holding your hand as you glided across the ice together.

You glanced at him while humming softly. "Does this refer to this Viking prince? What was his name again... Ivar?"

After nodding immediately, the boy raised his head up and waved at Ivar.

Standing on top of a deck that provided a vantage point, Ivar nodded gently at Igor who was ice-skating below. Despite spending almost an hour outside, Igor was far from fatigued; Ivar was impressed by his stamina. The wooden railing was a perfect place for Ivar to rest his folded hands while watching Igor and rethinking his own matters.

In the same way that Igor did, you waved your hand to attract strangers' attention as well. Despite hearing about Ivar, you never had a chance to speak with him personally.

He kept his face straight, attempting to stay polite as he waved his hand back at you.

Soon, Igor pulled you off the ice so the two of you could join Ivar on the deck.

Ivar's lips were tinged with a smile as Igor and his female friend joined him. "Hope you are tired now, my boy," Ivar said as he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "There is nothing better than returning to the warmth of the indoors when you are freezing."

"Who said I was freezing?" Igor asked, raising his eyebrow and tilting his head as he looked at Ivar. "I am fine, but I would like you to meet Y/N. I used to be cared for by her when I was younger."

Ivar's blue eyes inspected your face and features with ease. A tone of pride permeated his introduction, "My name is Ivar, Ivar the Boneless."

"My name is Y/N. It is nice to finally meet you in person," you said, bowing your head a little.

The smile on Igor's face was contagious. "You see, Ivar? I told you I have a very pretty friend."

In response, Ivar nodded his head a little, his smile growing wider. "There is no doubt in my mind that you did not lie in the slightest."

As Ivar's eyes slipped over your body, he met your gaze and had no choice but to admit you had the most stunning eyes he had ever seen on a woman.

You gazed at Igor, then grabbed some snow to rub into his cheeks, causing him to whine and laugh simultaneously. "As I told you before, Igor, be careful not to say things like this. It is rude to suddenly speak in such a manner."

It would have never occurred to Ivar that you would be the first to initiate a fight. He watched the scene with amusement. His question came out of the blue moments later, "Are you Russian, Y/N?"

A smile spread across your face when Igor hugged you, hugging him back you looked at Ivar "Как думаешь, красавчик?"

"My first impression of you was that you're one of the most temperamental women I've ever seen."

Laughing softly, you bend down to whisper something into Igor's ear; a smile spread across Igor's lips. Looking back at Ivar, you smiled. "Thank you so much for your kind words. I really appreciate them."

Observing Igor interacting with you, Ivar slowly cocked his eyebrows. "My lady, aren't you aware that whispering in company isn't considered polite?"

"Aren't you aware that strangers shouldn't listen to certain matters?"

In spite of a temperature way below zero, Ivar's soft chuckle that escaped his lips was accompanied by a little cloud of steam. "That's right."

"Don't worry, I didn't say anything derogatory about you, or did I?" You teased, looking directly into Ivar’s eyes.

"She said she loves your eyes," Igor revealed your little secret without hesitation.

Ivar observed the two of you and decided not to comment on what Igor said, instead he nodded his head. "Maybe we should take a stroll back inside?"

Igor shrugged and said, "The two of you can go inside, I'd like to stay a little longer."

As you sighed, you looked at the boy and shook your head; he was impossible to get fatigued easily.

After politely waiting for you to move, Ivar followed you to the stairs and down on the ground level.

Taking a look at Ivar, you asked, "How's it going here for you? I hope Igor isn't bothering you too much."

The man shook his head eagerly, "No, he isn't bothering me at all. Igor is such a wonderful young man. He reminds me of myself when I was his age," Ivar's tone faded into silence. "Are you from here or did you come from somewhere else?" He asked, smoothly changing the topic.

"It's funny how you are so curious, aren't you? I was born and raised in this place, so I can truly say that I am from here," you replied politely, raising an eyebrow.

While walking through the ice and snow covered path, Ragnarsson listened to your words. A crutch-dependent person found walking in such conditions to be a challenge, so Ivar was stopping from time to time.

A worried look crossed your face as you looked at the young man. "Ivar, I am sure all the snow must be a great burden for you. Can I help you in any way?"

Your polite pleas for assistance went unanswered. Who did you think he was? Although he was crippled, he was capable of walking on his own, so he didn't need any kind of assistance. "Isn't our winter beautiful?" He asked, again changing the topic.

The hint was taken and you did not press any longer. "Despite the cold, it's beautiful. As usual."

"Do you like winter?"

"Well, not really. It's cold, and I don't really like skating because of it, but it's still fun."

"What other winter activities do you fancy?"

As you walked behind Ivar, you quietly grabbed some snow and moulded it into a ball and threw it at Ivar's back. "Snowball fights."

The moment Ivar was hit in the back, he turned around to look at you. "Seriously? Have you thrown a snowball at me? Isn't it kind of silly for someone like you?"

"You asked what winter activities I enjoy, so I showed one to you," you gave him a shrug in a form of response. "You don't have to be so stiff."

Ivar stuck his crutch in a snowdrift and slowly leaned forward to collect some white fluff, which he formed into a ball before throwing it skillfully at you - the ball hit your left shoulder. "I'm not stiff, Y/N, as you put it. I just prefer observing and planning."

"Isn't that exactly what you called? I observe and plan how to..." You threw another show ball at Ivar, hitting him in the stomach, "... Successfully throw snowballs at you."

Observing you, Ivar cocked his eyebrow and threw another ball of snow at you, hitting your cheek with it this time.

You gasped and wiped snow off your face. Your response was, "Oh, you! You're dead!" By saying this you made a big snowball and got ready to aim it.

When Ivar observed you making a snowball, he wondered how a dodge could be made.

The snowball was thrown right at his face as a way to pay him back.

As Ragnarsson couldn't dodge, snow got into his eyes when the ball struck his face. With his vision blurry, Ivar took one tiny step back and flopped on his butt in the snow as he tried to wipe his eyes.

You ran up to him, whispering, "Oh, gods! I should have been more careful!"

Ivar's facial expression initially displayed anger and disbelief; eventually, these emotions dwindled and he laughed as a smile spread over his lips. "Okay, that wasn't what I expected. It was a strong hit, Y/N."

As you wiped snow from his cheek, you quickly began to apologise. "Thank you for not being angry with me, but I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have... Your legs..." Your voice was nothing more than a tiny whisper as you looked at his face. "Forgive me, please."

He caught himself staring bluntly into your eyes - they were huge and had the most beautiful colour he had ever seen. He had a burning sensation in his cheeks from your hands as you slowly rubbed snow off of him; he discovered your palms were so warm and felt cosy. "It's fine."

"You seem to be getting warm... Are you feeling sick? Oh! I shouldn't keep you out too long today, it's cold," suddenly, you started to panic.

Your sudden solicitude surprised Ivar, who raised his hand to signal you to remain silent for a moment. “First of all, it is cold, yes, but I am accustomed to it, so no worries there. Second thing, stop worrying, nothing wrong is happening. Deal?"

Biting your lip, you nodded slowly, still feeling bad and hoping you didn't hurt him. "Let me assist you with getting up."

After a moment of thinking, he accepted your hand and slowly stood up. "Thanks."

A smile of apology appeared on your face as you squeezed his hand. There was still a feeling of guilt in your heart.

Another snowball aimed at Ivar's shoulder struck him suddenly. "For Valhalla's sake, what was that this time?" The young man grunted, looking around, only to see Igor gathering snow into his hands already, forming another ball with a smile on his face.

Looking at Igor, you blinked and shook your head. Before a snowball hit you right in the face, you managed to utter only a quiet, "No, Igor, don't..."

Using his forearm to block another snowball aimed at him, Ivar shouted, "Better stop it now, dear boy!"

"Come on, Ivar! It's fun! You can practise your combat skills with me now! Let's fight!" Igor shouted enthusiastically.

Ivar, instead of responding, slowly leaned down, made a huge ball from the snow he gathered, and then threw it at Igor, hitting him in the face. "It's for aiming at the lady."

A snowball thrown by you hit Igor before the boy could prepare another snowball to throw at Ivar.

"It's time to show the little one what it's like to start a fight with the adults!" You briefly looked at Ivar, a mischievous grin dancing in the corners of your mouth.

Ivar was throwing ball after ball at Igor, occasionally chuckling to himself as he did so.

As soon as you did what Ivar did, poor Igor was scrambling to surrender.

Ivar slowly limped closer to you with his crutch in hand and asked you quietly after leaning closer to you, "Y/N, are we accepting his surrender?"

Keeping your eyes on Ivar, you hummed softly. "It seems like it might be a good idea. What do you think?”

"I agree."

"Then I agree too," you nodded at Ivar, then looked at Igor. "It's time to get inside before we get sick."

After looking at you for a moment, Ivar gave you a nod of approval. Although Ivar wore a thick fur coat and a hat to keep himself warm, he began to feel cold under the clothes. "The idea is good, Y/N. We could get some warm drinks."

Before Igor joined you, Ivar offered you his shoulder after shaking the snow off his thick fur. "Shall we, Y/N?"

In response, you accepted the offer, wrapping your arm around his shoulder and discovering with surprise that his shoulder was very well-built and seemed to be very strong, even with the fur covering it.

Biting inside of your cheek, you tried not to get distracted by thoughts that crossed your mind. "With pleasure, Ivar. Also, I’d like to point out that your combat skills are also impressive, you have a very sharp eye,” you praised him, feeling the blush spreading across your cheeks.

In spite of his crippled appearance, Ivar was far from being an idiot, and he immediately noticed a slight change in your behaviour after you got closer to him. He suggested politely, "I was wondering if we could enjoy a pint of mulled wine and discuss our likes and dislikes a little more?"

Your eyes never left his as you tightened your grip on his shoulder and gently nodded your head. "It will be my great pleasure, Ivar the Boneless."

Both of you didn't seem to notice Igor standing right beside you, hands resting on his hips. "It is not my intention to interrupt your lovely exchange of views, but I am hungry, and I know Oleg will send guards looking for us if we don't return inside soon. I know you two get along really well, but let's leave it for later, shall you?" The young prince gasped and walked to the front door of the palace. “I can’t handle their teeth-rooting sweetness,” he whispered to himself.

Ivar rolled his eyes after listening to Igor's rant and led you back to the palace. "Having Igor between two fires tomorrow might be a wise idea if he continues to behave this way."

#ivar the boneless #Ivar x reader #ivar x you #Ivar the Boneless #Ivar the Boneless fluff #Ivar fluff #Ivar the Boneless x reader fluff #Ivar the Boneless fic #Ivar's heathen army #Ivar Ragnarsson #vikings #prince igor #vikings x reader #vikings fic #vikings fanfiction #vikings fluff #vikings ivar #paperpanda winter writing event #writers on tumblr

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caratdeulforever · 24 days

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

school bus graveyard x oc's

chapter three

warnings: bad writing, lowercase intended, might contain wrong grammar, none more that i can think of

author's note: i was feeling active? haisjsi im trying my best here so i hope you like the way i write each characters and well the plot. that's all thank you, i hope you enjoy!

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chatter filled the whole high school cafeteria. the lunch ladies watched the well-mannered students get their food. the whole place bustled as everyone talked amongst each other. the place was divided in different friend circles, all talking about different things at different volumes and energy.

all but one table, for at one side of the cafeteria was a table occupied by our eight protagonists. ben didn't bother eating and was already sleeping on his side of the table. aidhel was mixing the milk from the cafeteria to the coffee in her tumbler. she had let aiden taste some of it and the boy physically recoiled at the bitterness and literally forced her to at least add some dairy to it. he then busied himself by making a temple of some sort with his mashed potatoes and fries. ashlyn was just staring off to nothingness, ignoring her plate of food. tyler was the same on the other side of the table. his chin was propped up on his palm and he stared daggers down at his food. taylor, frances and logan were just soundlessly eating their food. 'just as awkward as i thought it'd be.' ashlyn thought to herself as she basked in the silence of their table.

"i think we should go back to savannah."

everyone besides ben, perked up at the voice that suddenly broke the ice. everyone stared at tyler expectantly but he was already looking back at the girl right across him. the same girl who paused in pouring her milk to turn her head at him curiously.

"i thought everyone agreed that it was too dangerous...?" logan asked out as he looked away nervously. they had this conversation one too many times, and he hoped that the answer remained. tyler scoffed and straightened up, taking his chin off his palm to look at the bespectacled boy incredulously. "so what? we're just supposed to let things the way they are?"

"even so, we can't risk the possibility of getting permanently stuck on that place." aidhel commented as she placed the carton of milk back down. she looked at him and he had to bite back his tongue because he can't talk back to her when she's giving him that look. the same look she always did whenever she wanted to challenge him to counter her claim. ashlyn hummed in agreement, "i'd rather be semi-stuck than permanently stuck."

"well maybe if you would have told us the truth from the beginning, we wouldn't be stuck at all!" tyler said getting annoyed as he faced ashlyn's direction. frances made a noise of irritation and shoved her face to her hands, "not this again." she groaned out while logan rubbed her back comfortingly. taylor and logan pursed their lips as they felt the upcoming argument.

"don't even start there ty," aidhel added im with a frown as she looked at tyler. the brunette boy turned to give her his own version of her looks but she just shook her head at him. ashlyn opened her mouth to come in her own defense, "i already explained why i didnt-" but paused to look at aiden when he suddenly interrupted her.

"aren't you one to talk." aiden said cutting her off, his hand still holding the fry as he stared at his almost finished artwork. "you're the one that brushed it off as a prank and walked off." he said as he raised a fry in the air. aidhel and the others watched him apprehensively, what he says can only infuriate tyler even more. "with your personality, i seriously doubt it." he said coldly, finally looking up to look at the hispanic boy.

silence enveloped them all and the others darted their eyes from aiden to tyler. they all knew that what he said is the final blow. tyler's fist clenched and before he can stop himself- he already had slammed his hands on the table.

slam!!

"whether i would have believed it or not, she should have said something!" tyler exclaimed as he stood up abruptly to make a point. "now we're stuck in some demonic dimension," taylor, frances and logan just stared at him nervously and dumbfounded. "running away from flesh-eating deadly creatures," the guy from beside them awkwardly moved away, growing scared as he subtly heard their topic of conversation.

"we don't know yet if they really are flesh eating." aidhel pointed out, crossing her arms as she looked at him cheekily. tyler turned his head sharply and glared at her, "besides the point!" he huffed and clenched his eyes shut. he took a deep breathe and looked at them, "i've lost count how many near-death experiences I've had, none of us have slept in days, we can't tell our parents or any-"

bam!!

ben slammed his own fist at the table, successfully catching everyone off-guard. even though he had a deadpanned expression, the way he put his finger on his lips serves as a warning for him. aidhel placed a hand behind his back and rubbed it comfortingly as she told him to sleep again. she turned to glare at the boy and tyler shivered at the intensity of their gazes combined.

he took a deep breathe and looked down, dropping back to his seat. "if we don't go back to savannah where this cycle begun...then what else are we supposed to do?" he said almost hopelessly. at that, everyone quieted down as they let his words sink in to their mind. what he said is perfectly true, they had done everything they could to get of the mess they were in. so far, they hadn't known how and why they were experiencing this thing that they were experiencing. there was nothing they can do, they were clueless about everything that's been happening. how did they got there? how will they be able to go out? what if they die in there? so many thoughts spiraling all at once.

aidhel pursed her lips as she looked away but not after casting a concerned glance at the brunette boy who was visibly shaking. her hand twitch to hold his hand like she always had done since the first time it had happened. it was a way to calm both of their nerves, a simple way of comfort for them both. but it looked far too intimate when the others were just right there with them. so she just clenched her fist to her lap, sighing.

frances just looked down at her food, and gripped on logan's hand under the table. logan squeezed her hand back and rubbed his thumb over her palm, smiling at her to calm her nerves. ben couldn't even sleep anymore, just looked away to ponder to himself. taylor had also avoided gaze to anyone and looked at tyler worriedly, wanting to take the stress of her brother to herself. aiden kept a smile to himself but if you squint hard enough, you'll see it droop down a little as he thought back on their situation.

'as annoying as his outburst was, it's understandable.' ashlyn thought to herself as she let out a quiet sigh. 'if we go back, then we might find out what's happening and how to escape...or we could make things much worse. should we risk it?'

two weeks ago

ashlyn sighed as she finally got on the bus. her ears buzzed with the muffled voices of her peers, the earbuds surely helped in reducing the volume around her. she quietly walked, her eyes kept to the ground as she did. 'i made it.' she thought as she remembered racing from her room to the front porch just to reach the bus in time. 'ugh, its so loud.' everyone was so hyper in the morning. she ignored the ruckus as she brushed past the teens chatting amongst each other.

she perked up when she saw three unfamiliar figures just by the end of the bus seats. 'are they new?' a blonde headed boy was practically stuck on the window pane, gawking at something outside. a black haired boy tried pulling him back, slowly getting annoyed at the antics of the boy. there was also a blonde headed girl sitting in front of them, slowly dozing off by the window with earbuds on her ears.

as she walked closer, the blonde headed boy turned to look at her and they both made eye contact for a second. 'ah, we made eye contact.' ashlyn looked away almost immediately that they did. 'crap, my seat is in front of them.' she looked around and sighed, the only available seat was beside the blonde headed girl. well so much for sitting alone, she knows she must have jinxed something. she walked over slowly to sit. she would have asked if the girl was awake but she didn't have the heart to disturb a person's good sleep. 'don't talk to me, don't talk to me.' she chanted in her mind in hopes that none of them would try to strike up a conversation with her.

"hi."

ashlyn jolted and nearly jumped out of her seat when the boy suddenly popped up just beside her ear. out of reflex, she fell on her seat and hit her back on the seat in front of them, staring widely at the blonde headed boy who was looking at her from the top of her seat. the loud commotion and sudden movement caused the blonde headed girl beside her to open her eyes. what she didn't expected to see was a ginger girl on her back.

"what are you doing there?" she asked, her hands navigating her phone to lower the volume down of her music. she offered her hand out for her, ready to pull her up back on the seat next to her. ashlyn looked down at her hand and hesitantly took it and she was easily pulled back to sit beside her.

"is that your house?" the blonde boy asked and pointed to a secluded area beside the house that the bus just stopped into. "what's up with the whole bus graveyard thing?" he added in curiously as he observed the tall walls decorated with murals and grafittis. inside the area was numerous run down school buses with its own set of painted decorations. the blonde girl looked out on the window curiously and raised a brow, 'that looks interesting.'

"its a junkyard with used buses."ashlyn replied gruffly. 'personal space dude, give me some.' she thought to herself and scooted a bit far away from the blonde boy. the blonde headed girl snickered to herself quietly as she watched the girl scoot a bit close to her. the boy however blinked as if his ears didn't processed what ashlyn had just said, "that's it?"

ashlyn frowned, "yeah?" she looked away, anywhere but him. sweat trickled down slowly on the side of her face. "well that's disappointing." the boy said looking at her impassively. the girl beside ashlyn raised a brow and looked back to him, "what do you expect?" she asked amusedly.

the blonde headed boy leaned back on his seat, his head propped behind his arms. "i was hoping for some kind of lore or paranormal jazz." he said shrugging, closing his eyes momentarily.

ashlyn scratched her nape awkwardly as she looked away, 'good luck finding anything like that here.' she thought before sitting up right.

'guess the conversation is over?' she thought when she felt that the conversation died from then. the girl beside her thankfully wasn't as talkative as the guy behind her, which was something she was grateful for. 'please be over.' she thought hopefully as her hand slowly reached over for her phone. but perhaps she spoke too soon because the boy seems to not like silence.

"anyway.."

ashlyn flinched and her shoulders dropped in a discouraged manner, 'so close.' she flinched when the boy suddenly popped up behind her again, "i'm aiden!"

'i'm not interested!' ashlyn internally screamed as she kept her eyes ahead. she tried to ignore the boy but he couldn't seem to pick up the obvious signs of her discomfort.

"that's my cousin ben," aiden said gesturing to the boy sleeping beside him. ben just swayed with the bus as he dozed off in the early morning. "and that's my sister, aidhel." he added in pointing to the blonde headed girl beside her. the girl smiled at her slightly before focusing back to look at the window.

"we just moved here a week or so ago from virginia. can't remember what town it was though. oh hey, we live just a house down from you! since we live so close, we should hang out often." aiden rambled on as he leaned on the seat to look down at her. ashlyn paused and looked up at him nervously, 'no. no way. i need to stop this progressing disaster.'

ashlyn raised a palm up to him, "sorry, nothing personal but, i'm a bit tired and not in much of a conversation mood." she said looking away slightly, not wanting to see his dejected expression. aidhel perked up and glanced curiously at her brother to check his reaction.

aiden was perplexed, blinking slowly as he looked at ashlyn. he smirked slightly and aidhel had to groan, because she knew that look all too well. "its fine, i get it." he said nodding to himself. 'finally.' ashlyn thought to herself a bit relieved that it went well.

"you're just shy right?"

both aidhel and ashlyn paused to process his words. 'huh? hold on-' aiden just continued smiling and looked down at her coyly. "it's alright, i'm good at talking, so it'll be fine."

ashlyn deadpanned at him, 'no, i'm not shy. i just want to be left alone'

aidhel pinched the bridge of her nose, slightly getting stressed at her brother's antics. "aiden just sit back down." she told him with a tight lipped smile. aiden grinned devilishly and shook his head, "nope!"

even as they arrived at school, aiden kept on rambling ashlyn's ear off. ben just stared at the ground as he followed after his cousins. aidhel really felt sorry for ashlyn, she can see the gears in the girls head turning to think of a plan to escape them. aidhel had attempted numerous times to stop his brother's yapping but to no avail.

'how do i escape?' ashlyn thought to herself glumly. the four of them entered the campus and aiden's voice never once faltered. aidhel watched the other students by the hallway and pursed her lips, 'there's so many people.'

"woah this is a small school." aiden commented as he and his sister looked around the place. aidhel hummed, "well this is a small town aiden."

'why are you still following me?' ashlyn asked to herself. 'maybe if i ignore him, he'll leave me alone?' she thought before taking a sip of her tumbler.

aidhel and ben yanked aiden back up making him pause in his talking. ashlyn looked back curiously and shared a look with aidhel who smiled at her knowingly. aiden raised a brow at them both but ben and aidhel just pointed to the door by the hallway. ashlyn glanced at the door they stopped into, office.

"oh right," aiden said with a small chuckle as he fixed the strap of his bag over his shoulder. aidhel sent another smile to ashlyn and thankfully she finally got the message, 'my chance!' ashlyn practically beamed in her mind before sprinting out of the scene for dear life.

"we gotta pick our schedules...up?"

the three of them stared at an empty space in front of them. aidhel grinned while ben just blinked not really caring about everything. however when aiden started to laugh really loudly, the two of them shared an exasperated look. aidhel raised a brow at a stray lady bug on ben's bag while waiting to aiden's laughter to die out.

"look a lady bug." aidhel said as she slowly get the lady bug on her finger. ben raised a brow and stared at the insect before looking at her. he subconsciously smiled at her, sometimes she really was a child. aiden however just grinned to himself, oblivious to what was happening behind him. "she's fast."

aidhel rolled her eyes, "i would too if i was her." she said before blinking when the lady bug suddenly flew away from her hand. ben watched the insect fly away before looking at aidhel pout to herself. he patted her back comfortingly and she huffed a laugh. aiden then sighed before straightening up, "c'mon let's get our schedules." he said before pulling them both inside the office room.

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#aiden clark #ashlyn banner #ben clark #logan fields #sbg x reader #school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard x reader #taylor hernandez #webtoon #webtoon x reader #ashlyn sbg #sbg (webtoon)#sbg

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