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2024 Japan Grand Prix Race Analysis

My analysis of the 2024 Japan Grand Prix. Table of contents below detailing the order of the post. We have a lot to cover as this was an eventful race so I am not going to waste time making introductions.

Table of Contents  Ferrari – Race strategy: qualifying and tyre management – Charles: his qualifying and his race – Carlos: his race – In depth data and pace analysis Mclaren – Race strategy – Tyre management/Charles – Pace VCARB – Yuki: his race – Daniel: his crash with Alex Red Bull Mercedes Williams – Logan: his race – Team car problems Stake Concluding Thoughts

Ferrari

Ferrari had Carlos start in P4 and finish P3. Charles started P8 and finished P4. They both further secured Ferrari's lead for second in the constructors as well as keeping the WDC and WCC still competitive against Red Bull.

This race highlighted some areas that need to be improved on the SF-24 but more importantly it also showed some of the massive improvements that Ferrari has made in development and that is what made this race very exciting for Ferrari fans.

Once again the Ferrari strategy was great. It would have actually been good to mid if it were not for Charles having the skill and confidence to go for the one-stop strategy. But this is another race where I don't think they could have done anything better.

As it was with the starting grid positions Charles was looking at maybe getting P7 or P6 with a 2 stop strategy. And that strategy was most likely given the track and how much deg there usually is at Suzuka.

The reason Charles made it to P4 was because of his superior driving and tyre management, and Ferrari listening to him when he said he wanted to go for the one-stop strategy. They listened and it was 100% the right call on Charles’ part. 

Charles outperformed what should have been possible. If you don’t believe me just look at what Max, Lando, Oscar, Checo, Mclaren, and Red Bull are saying about his tyre management. Charles in the SF-24 was the only one who could have pulled that one-stop off. Seriously, the fact that Max didn’t think he could have done it is really all you need to know. They saw that and were genuinely impressed not only by the car but by Charles, because we saw that with Carlos he was struggling more with tyre deg and that was with a two-stop approach. 

So not only was this the best strategy to maximize points for Charles this race given his starting grid position, it was also just a truly phenomenal drive from Charles himself. 

And once again we are seeing incredible strides being made at the Ferrari pit wall in terms of timing and strategy. The pit stops for both drivers were on point. They listened to Charles and went with the strategy he wanted and it worked! 

Everything I saw this race was so promising for the trajectory of Ferrari and Charles’ season, and beyond into 2025 and 2026.

Charles: Race, Qualifying, and Free Practice

Charles ran a truly insane race. The only reason he gained all of the positions he did was because of his choice to do the one-stop and not only that but making it work! He gained every position it was possible for him to take and then some. His tyre management on this high degredation track was borderline supernatural.

Charles pulled off zero to negative tyre degradation on both sets of his tyres. (Negative deg is when faster laps are set as the tyres age) This was without question the best tyre management performance we have seen from a driver in 2024. It is something that no other driver could pull off (either due to skill, driving style, or machinery) and that is why Charles is Ferrari. 

Have I waxed on long enough about Charles and his tyres? Just wait till you get to the Mclaren section.

I also have a lot more to say about his pace and tyres in the data section.

For now let's move on to some of the questions people might have about what happened to Charles in qualifying and FP3.

Charles qualifying position was decided in free practice. I want to try to be brief, so here is a quick timeline of why Charles’ didn’t have the optimal setup for qualifying (this also applies to Carlos because both Ferrari’s underperformed in qualifying, there was a difference of 1/10th between them so it really was just a matter of the field being so tight)

Suzuka is colder during the day than any race we’ve had so far this year. With the SF-24 being so good with tyre deg that is actually a problem because it means that getting the tyres to warm up takes longer. 

The loss of all of FP2 due to rain was a big blow to Ferrari and especially Charles.

Charles has been having more issues getting his qualifying settings right to manage the tyre warming issue. This is due to his personal setup choices and driving style. Being gentler on the tyres in a car with less deg is leading to him underperforming in qualifying. 

So we lost valuable time when Ferrari really needed to understand the SF-24 behavior in the colder Suzuka temps. 

FP3: Charles and Carlos both got in some race sim laps, but only got to squeeze in 1 or 2 flying lap tests at the very end. Charles especially was frustrated by this. I believe that this came from not having the time to complete all of the program they had outlined to prep for qualifying and the race. 

Going into qualifying Charles didn’t have enough data to guide his settings for Q1. They went with a certain setup they hadn’t gotten to fully test and it didn’t work. Which led to them having to send Charles out again in Q1 with a different setup on another set of softs to try to set a better lap in Q1.

In Q3 Charles only had 1 set of softs remaining to set his best lap. It was okay but not enough. I do think that over qualifying he did get settings better on the car and if he’d had another set of softs he might have made it up to P6 (possibly P5) the middle of the field was very close so I don’t think this qualifying placement and time was as bad as it looks. It certainly isn’t great, but compared to his teammate and the rest of the top teams it wasn’t so concerning. 

So the lack of enough free practice to figure out the best qualifying setup for Charles in the colder temps is really what cost them here. I think this is why we saw Charles very frustrated at not having the time to do more flying laps during FP3 and Fred also not happy with the program they ran during all free practice sessions.

All of this does apply to Carlos as well. We’ve seen him qualify better in 2024 too so this was just a matter of the SF-24 settings on flying laps given the colder temps and the track. 

This is a current issue for the SF-24, but it is something that can be developed and I think there are certain upgrades that will address this. It is better to have a car base that is too gentle on the tyres than the other way around. The SF-24 tyre treatment is a good base to work with. This weekend just highlighted areas where improvements need to be made. The unfortunate part was the loss of FP2 because that was going to be important for colder temp data gathering.

I want to once again now take the time to shut down some narratives about Ferrari's race specifically relating to Carlos' lap 46 pass on Charles:

The reason Charles and Ferrari let Carlos pass was because Carlos was on newer tyres and thus had overall faster lap times.

It’s insane to expect a team to keep the car that has faster pace behind. I could see it if it was a difference of 1/10th or something or if it was the last lap of the race, then it’s up for debate. That wasn’t the case here, Carlos with the tyres that were 10 laps newer was almost 1 second faster. Keeping him behind would have not only compromised his race but also possibly Charles’. We don’t want a car just hovering behind the other. As we heard on the radio the main concern was keeping Lando behind. As far as gaining significant placement this race goes we always knew Lando was going to be Charles' competition. If the cars were fighting over pace with this big of a discrepancy in the pace we would have seen disastrous results. 

Charles knew this and this is why he let Carlos by. He was never intending to race Carlos(he literally said this in interviews after). With the way they started on the grid it was not going to be in the cards this race. Charles said as much and he isn’t upset about it. 

“Carlos overtook Charles”: No, Charles let him pass because that was strategically optimal for both Ferrari drivers. 

“Carlos’ pace was better”: No, he was on a completely different tyre strategy, the only reason he was faster is because he did two stints on mediums and then finished on newer hards. Charles overall race pace and tyre management was better. This is just a result of 1. Different starting positions and 2. Different tyre strategies. It’s very hard to do a driver-to driver comparison with blanket statements when they are on different strategies.

“Ferrari gave the order to switch with Sainz”: No, they just didn’t do that, I don’t know what race you were watching.

“They should have told Carlos to defend”: That would have been a bad strategy choice for both drivers. There is a lot more than current track position that goes into strategy calls.

"Ferrari strategy screwed Charles over again": No, Charles chose his strategy(and it was the right call). Ferrari did great in supporting him.

I don't understand why people want to run this narrative that we keep getting Silverstone 22' level strategy calls when that is just not happening.

Now Charles radio after the race may have sounded disappointed and in the heat of the moment he probably was. However in interviews after the race he was very happy with the car (I think he realized just what a good performance he put in) but also I think his big takeaway from this race was that Ferrari have given him a strong base to work with(finally) and he has been only saying more positive things since then.

Ferrari did amazing supporting both drivers. Especially Charles because it was his call to do the one-stop and they listened to him and supported him perfectly throughout running that strategy.

Carlos

Carlos ran a clean race. He gained the one position which is about what we'd expect from the car he was in and his starting position. His performance also gave us really good baseline data for the SF-24.

His race was mostly decided in qualifying and also the fact that Mclaren struggled far more than expected on this track. Ferrari initially thought he might have to fight Lando more for that position but Mclaren's struggle was Carlos' gain.

I also think that just this race in general from him and his driving style was really good data for the SF-24 to inform development and that is awesome!

I don't have a ton to add, it was good, got those WCC points for Ferrari and that's exactly what we want to see from him.

In Depth Data Analysis

The name of the game here is tyre wear. The SF-24 (especially in Charles' hands) has had phenomenal race pace and that is due to the fact that this car is so easy on the tyres. However Charles is the driver who has been able to pull this feature out of the car due to his driving style and tyre management skills.

We are going to look at a comparison of Charles' and Carlos' data to highlight exactly what was so interesting about Charles' pace. And then also adding in Max, because as the driver to beat he is a good benchmark(as well as showing the top performance of the RB-20)

Here is a comparison of lap times between Charles and Carlos, corrected for tyre age(because they were on different strategies)

For the medium tyre I used both their first medium stints. Carlos did two stints on mediums, I used his first stint for comparison because it means both tyres were subject to the same time of day and track temps and conditions. 

Now the lap times themselves here aren’t as important. Carlos and Charles were in different spots on the track and Carlos was in much cleaner air even on that first stint. The real thing to look at is the way Charles lap time stays consistent, and even gets faster as the age of the tyres progresses, while Carlos starts off with his best speed and then gradually gets slower. Carlos’ pace here is an example of what we expect to see - as tyres age they get slower so his pace on these tyres is perfectly normal, by the time he got to lap 14 before he pitted he’d lost more than a second of pace on those tyres (which is normal and expected). Then we can then look at Charles who is getting almost the exact same lap time out of his 11 lap old mediums as the first lap. Where Carlos has lost more than a second, Charles has lost nothing. Furthermore you can see multiple instances of an increased speed on his previous laps, which indicates negative tyre degradation. This goes against general tyre wear behavior and can only be attributed to Charles’ skill in extending the pace of his tyres.

I want to add that both driver’s pace was excellent and that both their performances would not have been possible without the massive leap Ferrari has made with the SF-24 and race pace tyre degradation. 

Again looking at the hards the actual lap time is not important here, Charles and Carlos were running very different strategies at this point. Charles was racing to extend the life of the tyres to pull off a one-stop and Carlos was trying to regain position near the front. What we are looking at is once again the way the lap times increase for Carlos steadily, and just don’t for Charles. 

Charles once again was pulling essentially the same lap time on 11 lap old hards, while Carlos had lost a full second. The sheer consistency here is what is scaring the other teams. 

I want to note here that none of this is meant to make Carlos look bad. I think his runs and tyre treatment were pretty good overall, but when your teammate is defying the laws of physics in the same car it can even make a good drive look not as great. But I have no issues with how Carlos managed, he gave a good example of what I would say is the base deg for the SF-24.

Now I want to compare Charles’ pace to Max’s, again correcting for tyre age. 

This is helpful because this is where we can get a look at match-ups for the future, the strengths of the SF-24 compared to the RB20. 

Here is where it gets interesting. Max on the hards was managing degradation amazingly, right on par with Charles. 

The big difference is on the mediums. After 11 laps Max had lost over a full second of pace on the mediums and Charles had not. 

This gap is where we are going to see big results come in from the SF-24 in the future. If I were Red Bull I’d be worried about this. And this is why they are also specifically worried about Charles, because we see that the SF-24 in Carlos hands is behaving as expected as far as tyre deg goes, the real threat based on the data is the combination of Charles Leclerc and the SF-24. 

Deltas Δ

Now let's take a look at what the change in pace lap to lap looks like for Charles, Max and Carlos. Again using those first 11 laps on the mediums.

Lap deltas are the change in lap time lap-to-lap, and this is a metric that shows if a driver is keeping pace, gaining pace or losing pace. Positive numbers mean a loss of pace, negative numbers are a gain. This is calculated by the equation of (Lap time B - Lap time A = change in pace or the delta Δ) So it's just the time difference lap to lap. This is how we can take a look at the actual pace and correct for lap times (which are not important here)

On it's own this doesn't look like much, yes Charles is managing best, but Carlos is also ahead of Max. This is showing where the SF-24 is better than the RB-20. The fact that of these three drivers Max is the worst on this metric is notable.

However the impressive part of Charles' tyre deg is not in these first 11 laps. Because after these laps Max and Carlos had to pit because they were losing time and their tyres were done.

Charles kept going.

Here is what Charles' full stint on the mediums looked like.

Charles continued to achieve faster laps and negative deltas well into the life of the tyres, and that is what is setting him apart from Carlos and Max.

Not only was Charles achieving negative deltas, he was doing it more consistently as the tyres aged.

For comparison here is Carlos' and Max's data overlayed on Charles full medium stint.

While the first graph on the mediums shows that both Ferrari's were outperforming the RB20 in terms of deg(or at the very least Carlos was on a very similar delta to Max), this is where you see the difference in the drivers. Because Max and Carlos had to pit because they were rapidly losing performance on those tyres(see above time sheets) Charles was not, and he only improved. He more than doubled the life of his tyres in comparison to the other two.

This is the graph that really matters because it shows what each driver was able to do with one set of mediums. And as you can see it's not even close.

This is where you can see the impact of the negative deg over time. Compared to the normal deg we see with Max and Carlos it serves to highlight exactly how outside of the norm Charles was operating.

Charles only continued to improve well beyond the other two. That's what was insane about his tyre management.

Neither Carlos or Max were going to be able to continue their pace (hence the pit)

I feel like the data really speaks for itself. Max and Carlos are good comparisons here, Carlos is a good driver in the same car as Charles, and Max is the current top driver on the grid and is known for his tyre management.

I want to finish this section with the sentence that is chilling the blood of every other driver and TP on the grid: Charles set his fastest lap of his race on 25 lap old hards.

Mclaren

So what happened to Mclaren?

A lot of people were expecting Mclaren to be the second strongest team on this track. And qualifying certainly made it look like that might be the case. With Lando being ahead of Carlos in P3 and Oscar being ahead of Charles in P6 on the starting grid.

So why did both Mclarens get easily defeated by the Ferraris?

I think there are 2 main reasons.

The Mclaren car is not even close to the SF-24 when it comes to tyre deg, that car loses pace much faster so it just cannot fight when a Ferrari comes up behind it.

Charles 1 stop strategy really messed up the team's pit strategy with Lando. 

In Mclaren’s defense no one thought anyone would be crazy enough to try a 1 stop around Suzuka, let alone have zero tyre deg on a high deg track. 

They seemed to be managing their pit strategy with Lando under the assumption that Charles was going to pit twice, and I think they were very worried about an undercut in the pits (after they didn’t get away with it in Australia I think they were very keen to make sure they kept their position)

But Charles didn’t do a 2 stop strategy. He stayed out and his pace on the hards was unbelievable. 

There was really no way for them to see that coming. It’s kind of hard when your main competition decides this is the weekend he’s going to challenge the laws of physics.

(And you thought I was done talking about Charles’ tyre strategy)

Here is a graph of Lando vs Carlos. That was the spot he lost, and you can see that the pit strategy is really what cost Lando the spot. Carlos came behind him on much fresher tyres and by then he'd lost the pace. He pitted too early, and that was due to Mclaren not understanding that Charles is on another level.

His pace was okay on newer tyres, but once they age the drop off was pretty bad. So the Mclaren car needs to improve in the tyre deg department if they want to see either of their drivers beat a Ferrari any time this year.

Furthermore Oscar once again struggled more because he is still the weaker of the two Mclarens when it comes to tyre deg, and on this track that really showed. 

But I think the fact that Mclaren kept trying to figure out when Charles was going to pit for his second stint and then he just didn’t really threw them off and had them making some weird pit calls. 

VCARB

Yuki

Yuki ran what was in my opinion the second most impressive drive of the race. He qualified P10 and finished P10. However to keep that position he pulled of some truly perfect overtakes. He was fighting to finally get that home race point. I was so excited seeing him put on that good of a show for his home fans.

In this race he became the first Japanese driver to score home race points since 2012, and that is just so exciting for Yuki and his fans. It really made that single point mean a lot. I don't think I have ever been more excited for a P10!

Yuki has really been showing what the VCARB car is capable of and it looks really promising. He seems comfortable and I think we will be seeing a lot more points from him this season.

Daniel: Crash with Albon and DNF

Going to be covering Alex and Daniel's crash this section.

On lap 1, Daniel and Alex made contact going into turn 3, resulting in both cars going off the track and ending up in the barriers. Both drivers had to retire from the race.

To me this looked like a result of crowding into that turn in the mid field with neither driver at significant fault. I don't think Daniel was trying to push Alex wide, and I also don't think that Alex mistook that corner. The FIA and stewards agree and Alex and Daniel's story of what happened make sense.

Going into the turn Daniel had the outside line, and he was trying to give room to the Aston Martin(Lance) on his inside. He didn't see Alex on his outside and his wheel made contact with Alex's front wing, causing his car to spin and pushing Alex of the line and into the gravel.

Alex thought he had the outside line to overtake and was in the process of attempting that when Daniel went to give space on the inside, this resulted in the contact and Daniel forcing him wide.

This crash really just was a result of crowding in that corner, Daniel was trying to give space to one driver and inadvertently crowded out another. There wasn't space so he was kind of in a lose-lose situation there.

I agree with the stewards that no penalty for either driver was warranted and that this was the result of midfield crowding, and some bad luck for both drivers. It wasn't a result of bad driving on either Daniel or Alex's part. Even if Daniel had seen Alex I am not sure what he could have done if he also needed to give room to Lance.

Ultimately I am glad both drivers are uninjured. Hopefully they have some better luck in future races.

Red Bull

I don't have a ton to say about Red Bull. My comparison in the Ferrari data section is what was most interesting about this race from the data standpoint.

They didn't do much, the Red Bulls started ahead and finished ahead as expected. Max and Checo both ran a really clean race. Again showing the power of the RB-20.

I will add that this was a really good race for Checo(probably his best this year), and it was nice to see him have redemption after Suzuka 2023.

Nothing terribly exciting to add. Max won again, well done Max!

Mercedes

Mercedes didn't have a great race, but considering that both their drivers DNFed in Australia it was good for the team to get some points. Lewis started in P7 and finished P9, while George started P9 and finished P7. So they swapped positions.

It seems that the Mercedes car might be better on those qualifying laps than the race pace (and even then it's qualifying has been inconsistent)

The most notable thing about Mercedes' race was when Lewis asked if he should let George pass when George came up behind him, and George did in fact make the pass. This was done simply because George's pace was better. Lewis knew this so it was best for the team.

I think that so far we have seen that the W15 is struggling in a lot of areas, and as far as drivers go George has been more comfortable in the car(could be driving style, setup, a combo of the two) than Lewis.

Both are solid drivers, and hopefully they can guide Mercedes into making improvements to the car to get them closer to top points. At this point the car Mercedes has made seems to have fallen short of expectations. Make no mistake though, Lewis and George are both drivers who are much better than the car they are in at the moment.

Williams

I covered Alex's crash with Daniel already so we are going to talk about Logan.

Logan honestly did about the best he could do in the car he had. After damaging both his front and rear wing in free practice and still using the repaired chassis from Australia his car was not in the best shape already going into the race. Additionally the Williams really struggled with grip in the rears and has been all over the place. Suzuka especially seems to have not been suited to it.

Yes on lap 41 Logan went off track into a gravel trap, but that was on a corner that had given more skilled and experienced drivers trouble this weekend so I am not going to fault him too much for that in the car he had. Better cars were having problems there too.

He did have a really strong first stint and was pulling some overtakes. Most of his positions were lost when he did get undercut by some pit stops, and then of course losing time to the gravel trap.

The win is that he finished the race and the car is intact. That may not seem like much, but given the state of things at Williams it's important.

There were some highlights for his race and I will say in terms of raw performance he has not been far off Alex this year. That car of Williams is really hindering both drivers.

Stake

Stake actually had pretty good pace overall. The car is not as bad as it has looked on paper. The main issues has been their slow pit stops (caused by incompatibility between the bolters and the tyre covers apparently) Zhou and Valtteri both showed some pretty good pace and were in positions for overtakes.

Zhou unfortunately had to retire his car due to gearbox issues.

Stake has really been a mess and we have not seen what that car can actually do in terms of performance overall, or what what their drivers are capable of in that car.

They are making attempts to address the pit stop issue and I think if they do that, then we will see both drivers picking up some P10 points at the very least.

Final Thoughts

I think we can all agree that Suzuka was the best race of the year so far from a pure racing standpoint!

Whew, that’s all I got on this race, so I will leave you with this final thought. 

This race was a warning shot from Ferrari.

[clockwork-ashes]

Shake the Frost - Part I

Read on Ao3

Summary: Elain’s visions lead her to the human lands where she seeks answers from the one male she’s been avoiding—Lucien. As the two of them work together, the walls built between them begin to crumble.

Note: SURPRISE!!! this is for the lovely @zenkindoflove for this year’s @acotargiftexchange <3 i was so so so excited to get to write this for you, all of your works are simply amazing and it was such fun getting to know you a little better the last few weeks!!! thank you for answering my many (many) questions, and i hope you enjoy this!!!

Elain POV 

Drops of blood, like lovely ruby tears, were scattered along the pure white snow. They glimmered as if they were expensive jewels, an allure to each perfectly shaped one. The sun was bright, vicious as it reflected on the ground and danced as far as the eye could see. 

Elain shook her head with an annoyed sigh, loose curls bouncing around her shoulders. She couldn't move the pieces of hair without letting go of the gifts in her arms, so she blew up at the strands in a way that would seem practiced to any onlookers. 

A dagger, the hilt fashioned from gold and expertly crafted to resemble a snake, was stained scarlet. The hand holding it had rings on each pale finger, no scars on the skin despite the comfortable way it gripped the weapon. 

“That is enough,” Elain mumbled, an order to herself in hopes that the visions would stop bleeding through her waking moments. The images no longer haunted her, but they were still a type of nuisance, like summer gnats, flickering in the corners of her thoughts. 

If she focused, Elain hoped to avoid the most gruesome of her repeating visions. Always, like clockwork, she would witness Beron Vanserra’s death. It was bloody and cruel, never peaceful, even if the way it was done had not yet been decided by fate, the result remained the same. The High Lord of the Autumn Court would die, marked by endless crimson that stained the earth beneath him. 

She had thought them nothing more than a figment of her unsettled mind, especially when at first they had slowly and steadily filtered into her dreams. When they had leaked into her everyday life, when she had begun seeing Lucien’s face among the bloodied chaos, she had no choice but to take matters into her own hands. Elain knew from the war with Hybern that trying to bury and ignore her visions wouldn’t work, and neither would trying to hide her fear and confusion. 

She had tried to tell Feyre once, but hadn’t been able to go through with it. Her sister was finally happy. Nyx was old enough to enjoy the Winter Solstice celebrations, and Feyre had been busy planning for weeks. It seemed unfair, and Elain could admit only to herself that she was using it as an excuse not to share her worries with anyone at all.

Still, the visions wouldn’t let her go. They gripped her, cold and unrelenting, forcing her to face countless versions of the future when she least expected it. Nesta would have asked too many questions, ones that Elain would be unwilling to answer, and so she had turned to Nuala and Cerridwen for help. She had asked the twins to take her to the human lands, and had begged them not to tell anyone just yet. Elain was thrilled when they simply told her she had to be careful, agreeing to bring her directly to the place that Lucien called home. 

Elain stood at the doorstep of the manor, right where Nuala and Cerrdiwen had left her. The evening frost bit at her skin, her arms heavy with the weight of her offerings, small gifts she had taken with her knowing it would be a slight to come empty-handed. She could hear the soft ticking of the stopwatch she had bought for her mate despite the fact that it was nestled in a cushioned box. For the Queen of Scythia, she had brought Winter blooms from Velaris, delicate and white, their petals like soft whispers. She had struggled to find something nice for Jurian and had simply settled for a bottle of expensive wine. 

Her knuckles hovered at the door as she shifted on her feet, hesitation curling through her. She had seen the manor before, what almost seemed like another life, and yet now it felt unfamiliar. She finally knocked, the sound thunderous against the thick wood. 

There was not a single sound that followed, not even the careful tap of footsteps just beyond the entrance. Elain frowned wondering if perhaps no one was home. 

She balanced the gifts in her arms, blowing at the stray curls that had fallen over her eyes. She raised a gloved hand, ready to knock once more, when she heard the lock shift. She stepped back, watching as the door opened slowly, leaving only a crack of space for her to peak into the manor. 

At the flash of familiar copper hair, Elain plastered a smile onto her face. “Happy Solstice,” she said with false cheer, hoping that she covered her disappointment well. She wanted to speak with Lucien first, but she supposed she should be grateful that at least someone was there. 

Vassa looked surprised for the briefest of moments, using her frame to block Elain from entering. She raised an elegant eyebrow, her blue eyes midnight dark as she offered a judgmental glance over the three neatly wrapped parcels. “Who invited you?”

Elain maintained an unbothered air, pretending that Vassa was simply keeping the cold out. She lifted the presents, smiling a bit wider in an attempt to look kind and unthreatening. “I wanted to give Lucien his gift.”

Vassa’s gaze flicked to Elain’s face, where she took her in with an unreadable expression, a hesitation that stretched just a little too long. Then, with a motion too practiced to be casual, she opened the door wider, her gesture one of forced hospitality.

“Come in,” Vassa said, voice cool but not unkind. She waved her hand in the direction of the hall. “Lucien should be back in a bit.”

Elain stepped inside, her breath catching as she recognized the space. It was Graysen’s manor, but the weight of the years made it feel distant, almost like a place she had only heard about in stories. She had barely thought about him in the last few years, and was slightly annoyed at being reminded that he existed at all. 

She followed Vassa down the hall, her booted feet soft on the old wooden floor, the air thick with the scent of something she couldn’t place. Jurian was in the sitting room, bare feet up on a pink couch that was absurdly out of place when compared to the rest of the furniture in the large space. His gaze met hers, unsurprised, as though he had been expecting her arrival.

Jurian. 

The name had been whispered to her since childhood, stories of a human general that had fought for the freedom of her people. Sitting on that gaudy pink couch, he looked ordinary, Elain thought. He was just like any other man, a touch of a battle-weary edge to his face, but nothing of the myth she had imagined.

“Something to drink?” Jurian asked, his voice easy, inviting. He leaned forward, his manner so unaffected it took Elain by surprise.

Vassa did not speak, but Elain felt her eyes on her, assessing and distant, as though her very presence was an offence. The room seemed to thicken with unspoken words, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Elain could still hear the ticking of the stopwatch still in her hands, steady as heartbeat, knowing she was the only one among them who could catch the delicate sound with her ears. 

Elain cleared her throat, her voice coming out smaller than she had intended. “Maybe some tea?” It was not just the awkwardness of the moment that made her throat tight, but also the unmistakable scent of her mate that lingered.

He was everywhere.

On the cushions of the couch, on the fabrics of the curtains, in the very air. It clung to the room like a shadow, a reminder that he lived in this space. Elain scrunched her nose when she was struck with the sudden urge to curl up into the pillows and bury her face into the cushions just to take it in. 

Jurian invited her to sit, gesturing with his hand to leave the gifts aside. Vassa sat as well, eyes watching her every move, as they all waited for Lucien. Time crawled by slowly, and Elain could feel the weight of the room pressing down on her. 

Elain had come in search of answers, and she knew that her exiled mate would have the information she needed. Jurian brought her tea, the night stretched on, and Elain knew with a deep certainty that it would be a long one. 

Lucien POV

The shift of the seasons pulled at Lucien in ways that were nearly painful as he crossed into the human lands, winnowing in one final jump beyond Prythian’s border.

Lucien was always left feeling a bit empty when he returned from his visits to Spring. His thoughts always lingered on the broken remnants of what once was, a court that had once been his home. Tamlin, at least, had seemed happy that he had stopped by. 

Lucien made sure he had a glamour in place as he walked through the quiet village, ensuring none of the human eyes saw anything more than a stranger passing through. They were all weary around him, casting him with careful glares whenever he passed. The streets, though, were empty, the silence eerie as everyone stayed indoors to celebrate the solstice with loved ones. 

He was nearing the manor, his senses piqued by something, a subtle tug that pulled his chest tight, a connection that only his mate could cause. 

Elain. 

The bond thrummed under his rib, constant and steady, like the flow of a river. Lucien rubbed a hand over his chest, frowning slightly. He had not gone to Velaris this year, not even after Feyre had sent her invitation. Perhaps it had been rude of him, but he’d simply written a note, promising to visit soon. It had been easier, after all, to remain distant, he thought. 

Lucien noticed the boot marks still left in the snow leading up the manor, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. The footprints were small, the pattern of the sole not ones he recognised as belonging to Vassa. Using a simple spell, he unlocked the door and stepped through the threshold and into the foyer. The bond flared to life with sharp awareness, drawing him towards her. It was as though his body had learned to respond to her presence even without his permission. Elain was nearby, and he was helpless to ignore it, to deny the way his heart picked up its pace in response. 

The whole world seemed to tilt on its axis as he paused at the entrance of the sitting room. He was unable to tear his gaze from his mate, even though he knew Jurian and Vassa would be watching his reactions carefully. 

“Elain?” he said, more question than anything. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rough, unsteady.

He heard the soft rattle of a teacup as she set it down on the table. Her back straightened, as if instinctively commanding the room around her, a queen in all but title. “You didn’t come to Velaris,” she said, her voice even, but Lucien heard the slight accusation buried beneath the calm.

He hadn’t expected her to notice, hadn’t thought she cared enough to even keep track of his comings and goings. It was a surprise, and he was unprepared for the sting it left.

She still avoided him, still turned away whenever he entered a room, her distance like a shield between them. He couldn't even blame her, but the ache of each dismissal settled heavy on his chest. Remembering his manners, he offered her the smallest of bows, “Apologies, lady.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, and Lucien’s heart did something strange, a flutter he couldn’t quite name. “No need to apologize,” she mumbled, ever polite. “It was just… I just noticed, that’s all.” She looked at him with an embarrassed tilt to her lips, her entire face having turned crimson. 

Vassa snorted then, a laugh that was sharp and unrefined, but somehow it didn’t feel entirely unwelcome. It cut the tension between him and his mate like a blade. 

“I needed to speak with you,” Elain said, her voice soft but deliberate. She glanced over his shoulder at Vassa and to Jurian who sat on the pink couch, a silent apology. “Alone, if that’s alright.”

While Lucien couldn’t see Vassa, Jurian merely raised his shoulders in a careless shrug. He motioned for Elain to follow him, taking his eyes from her as she grabbed onto her skirts and followed him to the porch that looked over the large courtyard. 

Lucien nodded. He motioned for her to lead the way, his mind already racing with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to. They stepped outside, and though Elain kept her distance, it was still the closest they’d been since the battle with Hybern. Her breath misted in the cold air, floating around them like a little cloud. 

Beautiful. 

Elain Archeron was like something made of winter. Her hair was tucked behind her pointed ears and he could see the sharp cut of her jaw as she looked at the frozen gardens below. She reminded Lucien of snowflakes, lovely and fleeting, put out a hand to catch one and they disappear. 

The tip of Elain’s nose was stained a rosy pink, and he created a small bubble of warmth around them instinctively, watching as her posture relaxed, seeming much more comfortable in the harsh cold. 

Lucien broke the silence between them as she hugged her arms around her middle, suddenly looking more nervous. “Please tell me that Feyre and Rhysand know you’re here.” He knew the answer even before Elain winced and turned away from him. “Nesta?”

She shook her head, a small frown pulling at her lips. “My friends know. They brought me here.”

Lucien couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips, running a hand through his hair. He had half a mind to walk back into the manor and write to the Night Court about where she was, but something in her demeanor, something in her dark eyes, stopped him. He could feel the weight of her decision pressing on him, even if she hadn’t said the words yet. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the truth tugged at him. He was going to be knee-deep in trouble if he kept her secret.

“Why?” he asked, his voice quieter now, gentler. “Why did you need to come here?”

Elain seemed to shrink into herself for a moment, her eyes fluttering closed as though she were steeling herself for something. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I see you in my dreams.”

Lucien froze, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn’t suppress the choked sound that nearly escaped him, couldn’t mask the shock that gripped him. His heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, he felt unsteady, as though the ground beneath his feet were about to crack open.

Elain flushed under his gaze, her eyes quickly darting to the snow beneath her booted feet. “I mean... my dreams and my visions,” she corrected, a little embarrassed, as if the admission were something she hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

He didn’t know where she was going with this, but the quiet urgency in her voice made him hold his tongue, waiting for her to explain. He remained still and kept silent, offering her the space to share whatever was on her mind.

“No one listens to me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Not my sisters, not the rest of the Inner Circle... no one. I thought...” She bit her lip, her eyes flicking up to his. “I thought perhaps you would?”

Lucien was left speechless, his heart clenching with something he couldn’t quite name. She was asking him, of all people, to pay attention to her. There was a part of him, an ancient and primal part, that nearly overwhelmed his senses, but he nodded. “I’ll listen.”

Elain exhaled a soft breath, reaching out with her small hand. “And what if I ask you to see?” 

Without a word in response, Lucien put out his own hand, letting Elain grab onto him so that she could pull him a little closer. The bond between them flared to life, the bridge connecting their souls allowing Elain to show him something unexpected. What she saw burned into his mind, and Lucien was no longer sure where his mate’s dreams ended and reality began.

[xxacademy]

tender

husband!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: succumbing to injuries inflicted by a B.O.W you fight the mental and physical battle to recovery. meanwhile, your husband does everything in his power to support you.

any leon timeline works, except re2. i did have older leon in mind though <3

a/n: inspired by lil a snippet from an anon request, find it here. anyhow, i love how this turned out, i was 🥺 writing it. pls lemme know what you think <33

content//warnings: depictions of blood & injury, hospital setting, non-graphic description of an IV, pain medication, y/n is used ONCE, pet names (dear, sweetheart, honey), hurt/comfort.

harsh white light wakes you revealing an image of horror. your trembling hands painted with your own dried blood, hooked up to an IV and a pulse oximeter. dazed, you know you’re in pain, but it’s not registering. it’s like you’re floating, possibly in a dream. a bad dream. but the reality of your condition is enough to confirm this is in fact not.

there’s a small group of medical staff standing at the end of your bed, talking quietly amongst each other. “the bloodwork came back, she’s not infected. all though the acid is wreaking havoc on her immune system, sending it into overdrive. the patient needs to be monitored for at least another two days.”

one of the nurses walks over to check on you, first, he looks at the monitors at your bedside, then goes to place a hand on your forehead. he notices you’re waking up, your heavy-lidded eyes focused on your hands.

he calls the doctor over, who pulls a chair up next to you. “hey, how are you feeling?” her voice is soft and calm.

“w-why am i here?” you mutter shakily, unable to make out much more.

“you sustained serious injuries on an extraction mission against a bio-organic weapon. you came in contact with its lethal acid, which is primarily why you’re here. your ankle is broken and you have puncture wounds in your arms.”

you’re still fixed on your bloodied hands, images of what you endured flood back. it was so intense- the last thing you remembered is a sharp talon-like claw piercing your upper arm. it all went fuzzy after that.

“you had surgery early this morning, and we have you on a morphine drip to help with the pain. please let us know if you begin to feel ill.”

you respond with an unsteady nod.

“you’re gonna be alright.” she smiles sympathetically.

another nurse comes into the room walking directly to the doctor. their speaking is hushed. “doctor, there’s a man here to see the patient. he says he’s her husband.”

“we can’t risk exposure from an outsider, we can’t have visitors yet.”

“he seems antsy.”

“well, assure him that she’s okay”-

the room is dead silent, so you can rather clearly make out what they’re saying.

“bring him in.” your voice quivering.

their heads turn, giving you a look of disappointment. similar to the one your mother gave you as a child. a sullen expression of remorse when she couldn’t afford to buy you new toys.

they do not want to hold your loved ones away from you. but it’s what has to be done. after all, it could mean life or death.

you sigh. you’re in no place to put up a fight.

“i’ll talk to him.” the nurse whispers. leaving the room.

“i’m sorry mrs. kennedy, you’re just not in a well enough state for visitors yet.”

you respond with yet another dreary sigh. fidgeting with the ring finger of your left hand.

your wedding ring is missing. you know you were wearing it prior. you’re always wearing it. sometimes you would loop it around a necklace chain, but you didn’t before this mission. surely it was on your finger.

“-doctor” you whisper.

“yes mrs. kennedy.”

“do you have my wedding ring?”

your tattered and blood-stained belongings were placed in a biohazard bag. a nurse picks up the bag feeling through the plastic for a ring.

“it’s not in here.” the nurse admits, a touch of anxiety in her voice.

“that’s okay.” you exhale.

it’s not okay. your beautiful diamond ring was more than just a pretty thing. it was one of the only sentimental pieces you coveted so highly. hand-picked by leon, it was a symbol of his undying affection. despite all the odds pinned against your love.

wanting to cry, but your bloodshot eyes are dry. the medication numbs you enough to let the pain run by, but you still feel broken, physically and mentally.

the hours pass as you bob in and out of sleep. your wavering limb’s finally settling. nurses and doctors are always present, constantly checking your vitals.

the next day two nurses come to bathe you at your bedside. gently wiping the sticky dried blood from your skin. the other trying to get it out of your hair.

“thank you, i mean it, thank you,” you whisper, fighting to keep your eyes open.

it was a relief. the sweet, metallic smell was driving you crazy. it felt itchy and uncomfortable against your skin.

…

leon hasn’t left the hospital. confined to a chair in the waiting room for the last day and a half. constantly flagging down staff for updates on your condition.

“she’s doing really well, the blood transfusion took perfectly.” the nurse smiles reassuringly.

“does that mean i can see her?”

“not yet, but soon.”

leon sighs. “well anyways, thanks for the good news.”

he sullenly returns to his chair. the stress and lack of sleep painting his under eyes dark. in his grasp is a picture you two took together, one he always carries in his wallet. it was taken a few years ago and you’re kissing his cheek. it’s the only solace he can find in the depressing waiting room.

leon had fallen asleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours. slumped over in his chair, chin resting in his palm. he jerked awake when his chin slipped. it was dark outside and the lobby eerily quiet.

3:47am

leon walks to the front desk heavy-footed and groggy. “my wife, y/n kennedy, is she okay?” his voice is grave.

“yes sir, she’s sleeping- and everything is looking good. but, you should get some sleep too sir, it’s gonna be a while until she wakes up.”

“-thanks.”

the pain of not being able to see you cuts like a knife. leon can't stand the image of you suffering and alone. but he’s borderline delirious from the sleep deprivation. he returns to his chair, lays his legs out across another, and falls asleep.

leon is jolted awake by a nurse tapping his shoulder. it’s morning- warm sun seeping through the windows and the smell of fresh coffee wafts through the lobby.

“do you need me to move?” he asks, still half asleep. voice deep and raspy.

“oh no mr. kennedy, your wife is on the right track to her recovery. you can go see her now.”

…

you feel much more alert, the daze the blanketing your apprehensive thoughts finally lifting. they switched you onto a far less invasive medication, which was probably helping.

it’s been a week since you’ve seen leon, and about two of those he’s been here, but just barely out of reach.

whenever the nurses praised you for the progress you made- you jump straight to asking if you're well enough for visitors. In your defense, it’s been unbelievably hard going through this journey alone.

the door creeks open, a very common occurrence of your stay. but instead peaking through the door is your blonde-haired husband.

you immediately start to cry- tears welling up and streaming down your cheeks. leon tears up too, casting a glossy filter over his blue eyes. he delicately wraps his arms around you, careful not to inflict any more pain. and you bury your face into his chest, immediately staining his shirt with your cry.

“i missed you, leon, i can't believe you’re here, i’ve missed you so much.” you sob.

“it’s really you, you don’t understand how much i’ve missed you, dear.”

you take your time, relishing in the comfort of your husband's arms. he gently rubs your back, consoling you with his touch.

“how're you feeling?”

“ugh okay, i guess. my whole body hurts and i can barely move. but the doctors say i’m improving- so yippee” your deadpan tone emphasizes how exhausted you are.

“that’s what i heard. and look, i know it’s been hard, but i’m so proud of how strong you’ve been, sweetheart.”

“i love you.”

“i love you, too” leon squeezes his embrace around you a little tighter, gently kissing the top of your head.

you smile, the first one in a while. but it quickly fades. “leon, can i tell you something.”

“of course you can.”

you fidget with your hands pressing your face deeper in his chest. “i lost my wedding ring- i think it was during the mission. i’m so sorry.”

“is that really what’s on your mind right now?” leon chuckles.

you look up at him with, tears streaming down your face. “you do understand how much that ring meant to me.”

“of course, i know, dear. but how can i care about the stupid ring if the wife i thought died is actually alive and in my arms?”

leon wipes the tears from your cheeks, his hand cupping your jaw. “i promise i’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“okay.” you say sniffling your runny nose.

with a big yawn, leon stands up raising both arms up into a stretch, his shirt lifts up slightly showing off his abdomen. “i’m going to find your doctor, see when you’re coming home.”

you smile. it’s nice not being alone. you feel bad knowing leon anxiously waited at the hospital for days. but there’s an unfamiliar warmth in knowing how much he cares. leon had always cared about you- before you were even dating. that’s one of the many reasons why you married him. aside from the ongoing list of shared interests- he’s so protective, it’s one of his beautiful ways of loving you.

leon comes back to the room, “looks like they need to run more blood tests, make sure that acid is out of your bloodstream before you come home.”

you’re totally spaced out, it feels like you haven’t even had a chance to take in what’s happened to you. it’s all become a blur, taking in the moments a second at a time. you were so worried about the details it almost failed to compute that you were nearly infected by the very thing you swore your life to rid of.

like a time release valve finally triggering; anxiety washes you cold- it could have been the end. leon would have been widowed, and all your friends would have been at your funeral. your mind is playing devil's advocate. what if i don’t get better? are the doctors just hoping i stay positive?

“are you okay?” leon’s bloodshot eyes are nearly aching with concern.

“i’m scared.” your chest is sinking deeper with each anxious breath.

“why? why would you be scared?”

it may not make sense to you now- but having leon there was a sort of reality check. alone, you just survived. with him, everything has weight.

“i dunno… i just want things to be okay. i want you to be okay, i want to get better.”

leon rushes to your bedside, holding your hands in his. “but it will get better- you’re doing better, so much better! i’ll be there every step of the way. i promise you.”

you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. trying to hang on to his words.

you sob, absolutely overcome by emotion. “i love you, leon. thank you for being here, thank you for everything you’ve done.”

a nurse knocks at the door but you don’t let go of leon’s hand.

“mrs. kennedy- so sorry to intrude. but the doctor wants to do a scan of your ankle. is that okay?”

you wipe the tears from your face, trying to compose yourself.

“yes, of course, that’s alright, thank you.”

leon whispers “you got this, dear,” before standing up and sitting in a chair by the window.

…

leon has done everything possible to make the next few days easier for you. like ordering takeout and watching your favorite movies with you. serving as a distraction while you recover.

it certainly worked. he’s good at keeping you calm, and the energy light-hearted. you didn’t even think it was possible, given the grim reality of your circumstances. but somehow he can have your eyes filled with tears, giggling with laughter.

four days you’ve been in the hospital, and today is your last one. you’re able to stand up and the effects from the B.O.W are finally gone. granted you still have a long journey to recovery, at least you can go home.

…

after the agonizing hours of travel, you make it home. leon helps you into the house, guiding you to your bed. “i want to take a bath, i feel disgusting.”

“i’ll draw one for you, you want it now?”

“hmhm” you nod.

“sure thing, sweetheart.” leon tenderly kisses your forehead.

he runs a hot bath, adding a little lavender soap, just the way you like it. he walks you to the tub and helps you undress. he holds your hand as you shakily step in, slowly adjusting to the hot water.

“god my first real bath in a week, can you believe it.” you sigh, sinking your body in the bubbly water.

leon chuckles, “i know, you poor thing, those nurses really tried their best to help. but it’s never the same, is it?”

“…especially considering i was covered in congealed zombie guts”

leon laughs, “but look at you now, covered in…” he pauses to read the name on the soap bottle “…lavender dreams”

you both giggle, in love and delighted by each other's company.

“okay, i’ll leave you to it, holler if you need anything.”

…

“leon! will you fetch my bathrobe!” you yell from the bathroom. you hear his feet patter across the hardwood, “coming."

you stare at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your wet hair, inspecting the scars, bruises, and stitches that litter your body. it feels like you came home to a different person, a body you’re now unfamiliar with.

leon peaks through the door. head cocked to the side. “everything alright, baby?”

“i don’t know- it’s hard to wrap my head around it. i-i feel off.”

“c’mere i got something to show ya.” leon swoops you off your feet carrying you in his arms.

“what are you doing?” you giggle wrapping your arms around his neck.

“you’ll see.”

he delicately sets you down on the couch in the living room and sits next to you. he fumbles around in his pocket pulling out a little black velvet box.

“leon-honey, oh my god, what is that.” your eyes are round and doe-like, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

he opens the box, presenting it to you as if his hands were a clamshell, revealing a glimmering ring set in pearlescent white satin.

“for you- i know it was hard losing the ring, but that one was beaten up anyways. you deserve something a little nicer.”

tears swell, gathering in the inner corners of your eyes. chocked up and rendered speechless, you mouth the words, i love you.

he reached for your trembling left hand, sliding the diamond wedding ring onto your finger.

“i love you, most.” he beams, the words fluttering with tenderness.

“i-i love the ring, it’s beautiful-truly. but how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“get a new ring, you were with me the entire time…?”

“i have my ways,” he smirks, planning on keeping that little secret to himself.

leon holds your hand, admiring the way your hand looks adorned by his diamond ring.

“remember when we got engaged?” he muses.

“of course i do! you took me to milan, i should have known you were going to propose.”

“you have the same look in your eyes as you did then.” leon swipes his thumb along your cheek, smiling to himself, gazing into your eyes.

“and you’re as smooth as ever” you look at him through your lashes, pupils wide. “but really leon, thank you, means more than the world”

“you are my world.” his soft lips meet yours, kissing you gently.

somewhere in the crystal pools of leon’s eyes, you find the hope you were looking for. his unbreakable faith in you, alongside his never-ending acts of love, is reassuring.

hell, it’s not going to be easy, but at least you're not alone.

⭐️tags

@yourgentlegirlfriend

[liyliths]

౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

summary: you thought you lost nancy, and you've supposedly figured out what's causing your nightmares. also, hopper is apparently interested in conspiracies about children with telekinesis, wonder where that one will go! while you're shopping for supplies to go monster hunting with nancy and jon, you run into the one and only: steve harrington, who sucks at relationships, and you can guess how that one ends. hopper finally finds out you've been tracking down a monster, and you've concluded everyone is absolutely terrible at keeping secrets!

The boy coldly looked down at Nancy, then shifted his hardened gaze to Y/N standing beside her. “And you, Smith, find some better friends. You’re better than a perv and a cheater.”  Y/N’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice steady. “You know what’s funny?” She called after him as he began to walk away, her voice sharp. Steve stopped in his tracks, turning to face her, waiting for her to speak. “I didn’t even know you and Nancy were dating. Hell, I never saw you act like it.” Steve locked eyes with Y/N, waiting for the girl to get to her point. “I also know cheating applies to flirting with other girls while you’re in a relationship, Harrington. Get some fucking self-respect.”

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: cursing, mentions of blood, fist fighting, mentions of nightmares, and steve harrington sucks at relationships

word count: 8.2k

────────────────────────────────────────────

The moonlight shined through the trees overhead, casting a gentle blue hue. The forest seemed to close in around Y/N and Jonathan as they raced through the trees with their hearts pounding in their chests. Y/N’s flashlight cut through the oppressive darkness, its beam darting from tree to tree, searching—praying for a sign, desperation growing with each step.

She couldn’t lose Nancy too.

“Nancy!” Y/N desperately shouted for the missing girl, making rushed steps through the dark forest.

"Nancy!" Jonathan’s voice strained after Y/N’s as it echoed through the trees, the urgency clear in his tone. The silence that followed gnawed at Y/N’s nerves, and her pulse quickened as they followed their tracks back to where Nancy was before they split up. Then, something flickered in the distance—something out of place. "There," Y/N pointed ahead, her voice barely above a whisper as she spotted the sight of a tree with Nancy's belongings scattered at its base. Jonathan’s head snapped in its direction, and they both sprinted toward it, skidding to a halt as their flashlights illuminated the scene.

It wasn't the belongings that caught their attention—it was the gaping hole in the trunk, like a bright wound torn open in the bark, making Y/N’s blood run cold. 

It was just like the one she had seen in her nightmare.

“Nancy!” Y/N screamed out, desperately now, only to be met with silence—the breeze whispering through the trees as if mocking their efforts.

“Y/N?!” Nancy’s voice suddenly screeched back, echoing through the dark forest—except she was nowhere to be found, her voice faint in the breeze.

“Follow our voices!” Jonathan shouted, kneeling in front of the tree, looking into the gaping portal with desperation growing in every inch of his body, searching for any sign of the girl.

“Nancy!” Y/N's shout pierced through the forest, calling out for the girl. “Where the hell is she?” Y/N's eyes darted around the trees, not spotting Nancy anywhere—despite her voice being so close.

She then knelt beside Jonathan in front of the tree and shined the beam of her flashlight into it, getting a closer look. They examined the hole in the tree, it gaped like torn-open flesh in the trunk, with the faintest glowing orange pulse coming from the inside of it. 

“What the...?” Jonathan whispered, his voice trembling. Y/N’s flashlight flickered over the dark, slick surface of the portal as she moved closer, hypnotized by the sight. She swallowed hard, her fingers itching to touch the strange, otherworldly portal.

“Don’t—” Jonathan protested as he reached for her arm, but before he could stop her, Y/N's fingertips already grazed the slick surface. 

Suddenly—a hand burst forth from the depths of the portal. Y/N screamed, stumbling backward, her heart lurching into her throat as she and Jonathan fell back to the ground in shock. Their flashlights flickered wildly, casting long, distorted shadows across the forest floor.

"Help!" Nancy's desperate scream echoed through the darkness of the woods, crying out. Y/N stared at the slick, pale hand that now protruded from the portal, her chest heaving.

“Jonathan, help me!” She scrambled forward, clutching Nancy's hand as she desperately tried to pull her friend back to safety. The cold, slimy texture sent a shiver down her spine, but she held on tight, refusing to let go.

Together, Y/N and Jonathan pulled with every ounce of strength they could muster, their hands trembling as they fought against the strange, resistant pull of the portal. Nancy’s cries grew louder, more desperate—as her upper body began to emerge from the depths of the twisted tree, covered in the thick slime.

“Come on, Nancy!” Jonathan’s voice was hoarse, his knuckles turning white as he gripped Nancy’s arm. 

Y/N’s muscles burned, her fingers slipping against the thick layer of slime coating Nancy’s skin, but she refused to let go. Her face strained, squeezing her eyes shut as her brows furrowed together. With a final, strained pull, Nancy came tumbling out of the portal, crashing into their arms as they collapsed together on the forest floor.

For a moment, none of them spoke, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Nancy clung to them, trembling uncontrollably, her face pale and her eyes wide with terror. Y/N pulled her closer, wrapping her arms even tighter around her friend, her heart pumping out of her chest with adrenaline.

“It’s okay,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky as she stroked her friend’s slick hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Nancy’s breath hitched as she tried to steady herself, clinging to her friends as if they were her lifeline. As Y/N and Jonathan held onto Nancy, they faced the tree she came out of—watching in stunned silence as the gaping portal in the bark began to close, sealing itself shut, until it was nothing more than an ordinary tree that no one would even look twice at.

Y/N locked eyes with Jonathan—questions written all over her expression. She swallowed hard, pushing down her panic. “We need to get out of here,” she said quietly, her eyes darting nervously around the dark woods.

Jonathan stood first, offering his hands to the girls to help them up. “Let’s get back to the car,” he said, his voice steady, though his hands trembled as he helped Nancy and Y/N to their feet, feeling the slight tremor lingering through Nancy’s shocked body.

𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐫

The dark road stretched out in the night, only illuminated by the faint glow of the vehicle's headlights. The moon hung low in the sky, casting light over the treetops that framed the narrow path. Inside the car, the tension was heavy. The hum of the engine sounded, but it did little to ease the growing discomfort between the group.

Nancy sat in the back seat beside Y/N, her hands clasped tightly together, trembling slightly as she spoke. She didn’t look like herself—her face was pale, with big, wide eyes. Her clothing, which was usually neat and put together, still held traces of the slime that had covered her in the woods.

"Then I stepped on one of those vines—they were moving. Like…" She trailed off, her voice still shaken. She glanced down at her feet, not meeting anyone’s gaze, but her mind was clearly elsewhere—back in the woods, back in that terrifying place she escaped from.

Y/N sat beside Nancy and felt her stomach twist. “Like living veins?” She asked softly, finishing Nancy’s sentence, snapping the girl back to reality.

“Yeah… like veins.” Nancy nodded, furrowing her eyebrows in thought, pausing for a brief moment.

“Your sketchbook… when you showed us what you saw in your dream back in the photo lab, that’s exactly what everything looked like,” Nancy recalled, a lightbulb going off in her mind. She turned in her seat, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Do you still have it with you?”

Without a word, Y/N nodded, slowly pulling the sketchbook from her shoulder bag. Her fingers felt cold as she flipped through the pages, each sketch bringing a new wave of dread washing over her. She hesitated for a moment, then pointed to the page Nancy had been referring to—the monster. Its twisted form, surrounded by the same vein-like vines that Nancy had described, stared back at them in pencil and ink.

“That,” Nancy’s voice was almost a whisper as she reached out to trace her finger along the edges of the sketch. “That’s the thing I saw. But how… how did you see this in your dream before any of this even happened?” Her eyes darted between Y/N’s, filled with confusion.

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely audible over the low rumble of the car. She glanced out the window, watching the dark forest blur by. “It feels like… with everything going on, they keep getting worse—the dreams.”

Jonathan’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, watching the exchange between the two girls, his brows furrowed in concern. He hadn’t said much since Nancy began talking about what she saw, but his silence was filled with the same unspoken dread they all felt.

Nancy looked back at Y/N, her expression urgent. “Have you had any more? Since… since all of this?” She questioned, her voice hushed—as though afraid the answer would be yes.

Y/N slowly nodded, her hands trembling as she clutched the sketchbook in her lap. “Yeah. The last one…” She paused, struggling to find the right words. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the lines of the drawing, feeling the weight of it all.

"It was different this time. Worse.” 

As Y/N finished her sentence, the air in the car felt heavy, as though they were all bracing for something none of them were prepared to hear.

“What did you see?” Jonathan softly urged, his voice quiet but firm, eyes darting in the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of Y/N.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she began to speak, her voice trembling. “It was like… I was back in the woods again. But everything was wrong. The trees were twisted, covered in those same vines, except they weren’t just moving… they were alive. Pulsing with this dark, slimy goo. The air was so thick, it felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Jonathan tightened his grip on the steering wheel as Y/N spoke, his knuckles turning white. Nancy’s hand, still hovering over the sketch, trembled slightly as she listened.

“And then… I heard Barb,” Y/N’s voice wavered as she spoke her name, taking a breath. 

“She was crying for help. I—I tried to run toward her, I almost had her, but the ground… it's like it opened up, and she… she was pulled under. I reached out, but I couldn’t—” Her voice broke, unable to finish her sentence, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket to distract herself from the lump forming in the back of her throat.

Nancy’s hand slowly raised to her mouth, her own eyes filling with tears as she imagined what Y/N had seen. “Is Barb…” Nancy tried to speak, but her breath hitched, her voice catching in her throat.

Jonathan, silent but focused, finally spoke up, his voice steady. “You think these dreams… they’re like some kind of warning? Or…” He trailed off, not knowing what to believe anymore.

Y/N shrugged, shaking her head as she tucked strands of hair that fell in her face behind her ear. “I don’t know… But every time I wake up, I feel like… something worse is going to happen. Like, I’m seeing things that I shouldn’t be.”

Nancy took a shaky breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “Then maybe…” She began slowly, her voice laced with unease. “That creature, the one from your dream—it has to be what took Barb. What took Will, maybe the answers are right in front of us…”

Y/N hesitantly nodded, her mind swirling with the terrifying possibility.

Jonathan’s voice cut through the thick tension. “It makes sense. The creature was eating that deer which was already bleeding out before we got to it… maybe it’s attracted to blood.”

Nancy’s expression hardened as she spoke, her face set into a determined line. “It’s out there. We have to stop that thing before it takes anyone else.”

Y/N stared at her sketchbook, feeling a heavy knot of dread forming in her stomach. She flipped through more pages, her drawings feeling much less like dreams—and more like glimpses of the horrifying reality she was beginning to find herself in.

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫

A pair of headlights cut through the darkness outside Hopper’s trailer, their harsh beams illuminating the swirling cloud of bugs that buzzed toward the light. The quiet hum of insects filled the night, their flutters growing louder as they gathered at the light.

Y/N stepped out of Jonathan’s Ford, the cool fall air hitting her skin. Nancy, still visibly shaken, slid out of the backseat to take her place in the front.

“Call me if you guys need anything,” Y/N said, watching as Nancy buckled herself in the passenger seat, her eyes distant.

“Got it,” Jonathan replied, his voice tinged with concern. His gaze drifted toward the empty driveway, finding Hopper’s car nowhere in sight. “And you’re sure Hopper will be here soon?”

“Yeah, he’ll be back soon.” Y/N offered a reassuring nod, though she wasn’t certain. With a final wave, she made her way up the gravel path to the trailer, listening to the crunch of her footsteps as Jonathan’s car pulled away, its taillights fading into the night.

Shaking off her unease, Y/N unlocked the front door and stepped inside, greeted by a blanket of darkness. She flipped the lock behind her, a chill running down her spine as she touched the cold metal. She tossed her bag onto the couch near the front door, the thud of it against the cushions muffled in the quiet room.

It wasn’t like Hopper to be out this late. Y/N scanned the room, her eyes drawn to the glowing red numbers on the clock, 10:34 PM. Hopper should have been home by now. Although it’s been usual for him to be running late with everything going on, he’s usually back no past ten PM. 

Her fingers hesitated on the TV remote as she stood before switching it on, the static-filled screen flickering to life, bathing the room in a dull glow. She switched on the nearby lamp, the warm light doing little to chase away the strange feeling gnawing at her gut. It wasn’t until she sat down that she realized something was off—really off.

The trailer was a mess.

Newspapers were strewn across the coffee table, articles scattered, as though someone had been frantically scanning through them. Empty beer cans littered the floor, some crushed, others standing untouched. Pill bottles were scattered on the table, some toppled over, their contents spilled. But what really caught Y/N’s eye was the phone—it had been unplugged, lying lifeless next to the wall socket.

Most of all, why was Hopper drinking again? 

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she stepped toward the cluttered table, the papers crinkling under her fingers as she flipped through them. One article stood out immediately:

"Terry Ives Suing" ‘They took my daughter’

By Benjamin Buck

“After the district attorney’s office declined to press criminal charges citing lack of evidence, local resident Terry Ives is not giving up her search for justice for herself and her daughter, and this morning filed a lawsuit against research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner and his staff.”

“Ms. Ives's suit seeks unspecified damages against Dr. Brenner and his facility, alleging physical abuse, sleep deprivation, malnourishment, and kidnapping. The suit alleges Dr. Brenner’s group was negligent in communicating the risks of the study, and in verifying Ives was physically fit for—”

Y/N’s eyes darted to the other articles and photos scattered across the table. Images of children in hospital gowns, their heads shaved clean, their faces devoid of any emotion. One image stuck out—a small girl, not as old as the others, staring blankly into the camera. A chill ran down her spine.

“Experimenting on children? Telekinesis? This is heavy stuff,” Y/N whispered to herself, shaking her head as she attempted to wrap her mind around the articles she examined. There was no way any of this was real, it had to be written by conspiracists.

It was crazy—beyond crazy.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden flash of headlights spilling through the window. She froze, her pulse quickening as the familiar sound of Hopper’s vehicle engine cut through the still night. She watched from the corner of her eye as the man stepped out, moving quickly toward the front door.

The door swung open with a creak, and Hopper’s eyes immediately locked onto Y/N’s in the living room, who was still standing by the coffee table, clutching one of the articles in her hand.

“What is all of this?” Y/N’s voice cut through the tension as she gestured to the mess around her. She stepped forward, watching Hopper carefully as he shut the door behind him. His face was covered with exhaustion, but there was something else there too, something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“It’s, um…” Hopper hesitated, clearly caught off guard. He glanced around the room, his eyes briefly landing on the crumpled beer cans and scattered pills, slightly panicking.

“A friend dropped by. Brought me some stuff, y’know, to read.” He reached for the cans, scooping them up in one hand and tossing them into the trash can with a clatter. “They know I like to keep up with the papers,” he added, as if that explanation would somehow smooth everything over.

Y/N crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Really?” She dragged, her voice dripping with skepticism as she glanced down at the articles again. 

“Really.” Hopper mocked, his tone confident.

“Because last time I checked, you weren’t into conspiracy theories about missing kids with mind powers, and you quit drinking.” Y/N shot back.

Hopper stilled for a moment, his expression faltering as he busied himself with plugging the phone back into the wall. He didn’t answer, and that only confirmed what Y/N already suspected—he was hiding something.

"Go to bed, kid. I'll clean this up," Hopper mumbled, turning away. His tone was evasive, as if ending the conversation would bury the entire topic. "You might be on your own for breakfast. Got an early start tomorrow."

Y/N didn’t move, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. As she held one of the articles, Hopper passed her and grabbed it out of her hands, stacking it with the rest of the articles. She could see right through him.

There was more going on here—something he didn’t want her involved in.

“Yeah, sure, Hopper,” she muttered, turning on her heel and heading toward her room, but not before throwing one last glance at the papers. Whatever Hopper was mixed up in, it wasn’t just a routine case.

And she wasn’t about to let him keep her in the dark.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

The sudden blare of the telephone cut through the quiet stillness of the trailer, jarring Y/N from her final moments of sleep. She stirred, blinking groggily as the early morning light fell through the thin curtains in her room.

The air was cool, and the distant sound of birds chirping filtered in from outside. With a groan, she pushed herself up, tossing the covers aside and shuffling outside to the living room as the ringing persisted, each note pulling her further into consciousness.

"Hello?" She muttered as she picked up the phone, her voice hoarse with sleep as she glanced at the clock on the wall—noting it was only 8:07 AM. She frowned, wondering who would be calling this early.

“Get ready and meet me at my house,” came Nancy’s voice on the other end, laced with urgency.

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand over her face as she tried to focus. "What? Why?"

"Just hurry up! I’ll see you soon!" Nancy chimed before the line went dead, leaving Y/N staring at the receiver in disbelief. She huffed, hanging up the phone, muttering under her breath as she shuffled toward her room to get ready.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬

Y/N biked through the quiet streets, the crisp fall breeze brushing past her cheeks as the soft hum of her tires on the pavement filled the air. She turned onto Maple Street, approaching the Wheeler's house. As she propped her bike against the garage and approached the front door, she could already smell breakfast cooking.

The door creaked as she stepped inside, and Y/N was met with Mrs. Wheeler peeking over from the kitchen with a pan in hand, while Mr. Wheeler sat at the kitchen table, immersed in a newspaper. Mrs. Wheeler, being the kind woman she is, warmly greeted the girl, “Hey Y/N, it’s nice to see you! Breakfast is almost done if you’d like some.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler, that would be nice.” Y/N sent a polite smile, watching Mr. Wheeler aggressively flip his newspaper. 

“You might as well invite the entire neighborhood over for breakfast,” He muttered, earning a swat on the shoulder from Karen as she passed him, placing cooked eggs on a big plate.

“Please, don’t mind him, you’re welcome anytime.” Mrs. Wheeler shook her head, glancing at Y/N as she sent a small smile, taking her jacket off in the living room. 

“Y/N, dear, would you mind grabbing the boys for breakfast? They’re in the basement on your left,” The woman kindly asked as she organized the breakfast plates. 

“Of course, Mrs. Wheeler.” Y/N nodded, setting her jacket on the couch, then making her way towards the basement.

As she approached, she could hear hushed voices from below, along with quick shuffling footsteps. She descended the staircase, only to be met with the group of boys standing awkwardly in front of a fort, almost as if expecting her arrival.

Dustin was the first to speak, a guilty grin covering his face. “Hey, Y/N, what are you doing here?”

Before Y/N could speak, a noise came from behind the fort, but Lucas cleared his throat with an awkward smile, playing it off. “Sorry, something got stuck in my throat,” He said, earning a hard slap on the back from Mike before Lucas shoved him. 

“Just helping you, man.” Mike protested, throwing his hands up defensively.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused by their strange behavior, but ultimately not too concerned. “Mrs. Wheeler says breakfast is ready, she wants you guys upstairs.”

“Oh, uh, yeah! We’ll be right up,” Dustin replied quickly, glancing nervously between Mike and Lucas.

Y/N lingered for a moment, watching the boys fidget. “Alright then,” she finally said with a shrug. “But don’t take too long, or the food will get cold.”

“Got it, Y/N!” Dustin added, nodding swiftly with a convincing smile.

She dispersed up the basement stairs, entering the living room. “I told the boys to come up. I’ll be right back, going to check on Nancy,” Y/N announced to Mrs. Wheeler as she approached upstairs, and she replied with a, “Thank you, Y/N!”

As Y/N climbed the steps, she heard a soft, almost panicked shuffling coming from behind Nancy’s door. Faint whispers followed, too muffled to make out but enough to raise an eyebrow. Y/N approached Nancy’s door, knocking on it softly.

"It’s me," Y/N announced, and the door flew open in an instant. Nancy stood there, her hair messy, and behind her, Jonathan was crawling out from beneath her bed, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Hi, Jonathan." Y/N greeted him casually through a smug smirk that tugged at her lips. "You guys are terrible at being secretive."

Jonathan stood up quickly, brushing off his jeans with a sheepish grin. "Hey," he muttered, glancing between the two girls.

"Everything okay?" Y/N asked, her gaze shifting to Nancy. “Yeah, but just so you know, it’s not what it looks like,” Nancy spoke as she shut the door behind Y/N, earning a soft chuckle.

“Don’t worry, that’s not what I thought. After last night, I could’ve used some company too.” Y/N shrugged, walking over to the edge of Nancy’s bed to take a seat.

"Well,” Nancy cleared her throat, her expression determined. “We have a plan—we’re going to need weapons and traps, lots of them.”

𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

Inside the hunting store, guns were hanging upon the walls, with mannequins styling the store's apparel—there was any kind of weapon or contraction you could need lying about. Nancy, Jonathan, and Y/N set their items down at the checkout counter, the cashier’s expression growing with curiosity, mostly utter disbelief. They had bear traps, gasoline, lighter fluid, nails—you name it. 

“And uh, four boxes of .38s.” Jonathan set his hands on the counter as Nancy continued setting things down, while Y/N helped to unload their shopping basket. Older music from the 70s blared over the speakers above the group, watching as the cashier grabbed the bullet cases from the shelf and set them down on the counter.

“What are you kids doing with all of this?” The cashier finally admitted his curiosity. Jonathan fidgeted his fingers nervously, and the group glanced at each other, not quite finding the right words. 

“Uh—” Jonathan began, before stopping himself, clenching his jaw.

“Monster hunting,” Nancy spoke up, shrugging as she raised her eyebrows sarcastically, causing the cashier to scoff—shaking his head in disbelief as he checked them out.

“Monster hunting?” Y/N mocked Nancy’s words as they returned to Jonathan’s Ford outside the hunting store. The sky was overcast and the streets were not so busy, mostly walked by people running errands with few cars passing by.

“Not like he would believe us either way,” Nancy shrugged as they approached the boy’s vehicle, opening the trunk. Jonathan chuckled as the group unloaded the hunting items in the trunk until Y/N paused, squinting her eyes to read the bright red title that caught her eye at the local movie theatre, The Hawk.

“You know, last week… I was shopping for a new top I thought Steve Harrington might like, to impress him.” Nancy recalled as she and Jonathan continued unloading the supplies, but Y/N let out a small gasp, finally realizing what the big, ugly red letters read at the theatre. 

“All The Right Moves: Starring Nancy The Slut Wheeler.”

“Uh, Nancy…” Y/N’s heart dropped to her stomach, staring at the spray-painted letters in complete disbelief.

It was cruel.

“It took me and Barb all weekend, it seemed like life or death, you know? And, now…” Nancy trailed off, paying no mind to Y/N as Jonathan finished her sentence.

“You’re shopping for bear traps with Y/N and Jonathan Byers.” Jonathan grinned sheepishly, gazing at Nancy before he shut the trunk.

“Yeah…” Nancy gave a soft smile, turning to glance at Jonathan.

“Guys,” Y/N’s eyes darted between Nancy and Jonathan, but they didn’t even spare a look at her.

“What’s the weirdest part? Me, or the bear trap?” Jonathan nudged Nancy’s shoulder with his elbow playfully, earning a hearty chuckle.

“You. Most definitely you—”

“If you idiots would stop flirting with each other, you could listen to what I’m saying!” Y/N was now yelling, attempting to get their attention, and she got it—before it was taken away by a car honking behind them on the street.

“Hey, Nance! We can’t wait to see your movie,” A boy called out with a nasty grin, his arm slinging out of the rolled-down window as the car drove by.

“What the hell was that?” Jonathan murmured, glancing between Nancy and Y/N. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but…” Y/N began, unsure of how to even tell Nancy about the words written on the theatre for the entire town to see. Before Y/N could continue, Nancy’s gaze shifted behind her, her eyes widening in shock as her jaw dropped. 

“What?” Jonathan scoffed, watching as Nancy hurried off, picking up her feet to jog across the street. “Where is she going?” The boy shook his head as Y/N followed behind him, chasing Nancy down the road.

They now stood before the Hawk, with the bold, awful, ugly red letters on display. Y/N looked between the sign and Nancy, shaking her head. “Who in their right mind would even do this? You haven’t been with anyone Nance, have you?” Y/N questioned, watching her friend look at the sign in disbelief.

Nancy was in a daze, feeling as if everyone who passed her had their eyes glued onto her, which… most of them did, whispering under their breath to one another. It was a small town, and the Wheelers were a known family, so Nancy’s name was something anyone would recognize.

The sound of faint chuckling and spray paint cans rattling echoed in Y/N’s ears, and she turned to see a group of teens vandalizing the side of The Hawk in the alleyway across the street. Nancy also seemed to catch onto it, taking quick strides toward the alleyway. 

Y/N caught up with her, with Jonathan a distance behind, turning into the alleyway to find the one and only—Steve Harrington, and his group of douchebag friends, with the same red spray paint that was on The Hawk.

Nancy’s fists clenched at her sides, her lips pressed into a thin line, before taking angry steps towards the group. Although Y/N didn’t know the entire story, she could recognize the look on her face—Nancy was angry, but most of all, hurt.

“Aw, hey there, princess!” Carol’s mocking tone pierced through Y/N’s ears. “Didn’t think the two of you would show up!” She added with a sneer, her eyes flicking between the girls.

Y/N was close behind Nancy, watching her march toward Steve. He didn’t look too happy either—his usual smug grin was replaced with something darker, more defensive. Tommy lazily grinned, holding a can of spray paint. "Uh oh, looks like someone's pissed," he droned, nudging Steve. 

Before anyone could react, Nancy’s hand flew through the air, smacking Steve across the face with a resounding slap, the sound echoing through the alleyway. Everyone gasped. 

“What is wrong with you?” Nancy’s voice trembled, the hurt breaking through her anger.

“What’s wrong with me?” Steve scoffed, holding his cheek. 

“What’s wrong with you, Nancy? I was worried about you.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but beneath it, there was something raw. “Can you believe it? I was actually worried about you.”

“What are you talking about?” Nancy threw her hands out, searching Steve’s face for answers.

“I wouldn’t lie if I were you, you don’t want to be the lying slut now, do you?” Carol stepped toward Nancy with an infuriating grin. Y/N reacted instinctively, stepping between the two and shoving Carol’s shoulder. 

“I would back off if I were you,” Y/N spat with a sharp glare, watching Carol’s jaw drop with disbelief, before Tommy snickered, looking behind them and breaking the tension.

“Oh-ho, speak of the devil!” Tommy smirked wickedly, raising his spray can as he watched Jonathan approach the group.

Nancy looked between Steve and Jonathan, her face softening just slightly. "He came by last night. Did you… try to sneak in or something?”

Carol couldn’t resist chiming in again, her voice grating, earning another glare from Y/N. “Ding, ding, ding! Does she win a prize?”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t like that.” Nancy stepped toward Steve, firmly stating her case.

“What, did he come over to study?” Steve clicked, raising his brows.

“Or, for a pervy photo session?” Tommy chuckled, slinging his arm around Carol with a smug grin.

“Look, we were just—” Nancy tried to explain, but she hesitated, and Steve noticed it. 

“You were just what? Finish that sentence.” He mocked, stepping closer to Nancy, his tone cold. “Finish the sentence.” 

Nancy faltered, avoiding his gaze, her mouth hanging open as she searched for the right words. Steve scoffed, taking a step forward. “You wanted to play girlfriend and boyfriend, but the second this freak shows up,” he gestured toward Jonathan, “you change your mind.”

Nancy’s expression crumpled, her eyes flicking to Steve’s in a silent plea. “Because you—you…” Nancy stammered.

“Because I, what?” Steve snapped.

Nancy finally found her voice, “Because the second things started getting serious, you avoided me. You flirted with other girls, you—” she paused, her voice cracking slightly. “You pushed me away.”

Steve shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Go to hell, Nancy.” The boy coldly looked down at the girl, then shifted his hardened gaze to Y/N standing beside her. “And you, Smith, find some better friends. You’re better than a perv and a cheater.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice steady. “You know what’s funny?” She called after him as he began to walk away, her voice sharp. Steve stopped in his tracks, turning to face her, waiting for her to speak.

“I didn’t even know you and Nancy were dating. Hell, I never saw you act like it.”

Steve locked eyes with Y/N, waiting for the girl to get to her point. “I also know cheating applies to flirting with other girls while you’re in a relationship, Harrington. Get some fucking self-respect.”

“Look, Y/N, it was never official!” Steve threw his hands out, in a weak attempt at defending himself.

“Then, Nancy’s not a cheater! You don’t even know the whole story!” Y/N shot back, throwing her own hands out.

Steve stepped closer, his voice low with anger. “You defending her?"

“Yeah, maybe this is a good time to learn how relationships work. You can’t treat people like pawns, Steve. Maybe by some miracle, this will teach you to act like you're actually in a relationship, and that’s if you could even stick to one girl—” Y/N began to ramble in a rage, before she felt herself get pulled back, locking eyes with Jonathan. 

“Let’s just go,” he muttered, trying to diffuse the tension.

Steve stepped toward Jonathan, his eyes narrowing at his hand locked around Y/N’s arm. “You know what, perv? I’m impressed, I always took you for a queer but I guess you’re just a little screw-up like your father,” Steve’s words began to shoot daggers as he shoved Jonathan, and Y/N was now grabbing his arm instead, guiding him away.

“Oh yeah, that house is full of screw-ups. You know, I guess you shouldn’t really be surprised, there’s a whole bunch of screw-ups in the Byers family,” Steve continued, and at this point, Y/N was dragging Jonathan’s arm while Nancy yelled at Harrington to stop.

“I mean, your mom! I’m not even surprised what happened to your brother,” The brown-haired boy wouldn’t stop, and Jonathan had entirely halted in his tracks as Y/N tugged on his arm, begging him to keep walking. 

“Please, Jonathan! It’s not worth it!” Y/N whispered urgently, watching Jonathan’s gaze shift to the ground. 

She felt the shift in his demeanor, his usual kind and quiet presence turning into something else. Y/N noticed the way he clenched his jaw, the way he held his fists together—his fingernails digging into his palms. He was starting to see red, and hell, Y/N couldn’t blame him.

“I’m sorry I have to break it to you, but the Byers, that family is a disgrace to the entire—”

Thwack!

Y/N gasped, her hand flying over her mouth as Jonathan’s fist collided with Steve’s cheekbone. The sound—a dull, sickening thud—echoed through the alley, sending Steve flying toward the vandalized brick wall. Steve staggered for a moment, holding his cheek as he looked back at Jonathan, absolutely infuriated.

Nancy rushed over to Jonathan, her eyes wide with fear, placing her hand on his back. “Jonathan, let’s go—”

Steve suddenly launched himself at Jonathan, tackling him to the ground with a sudden burst of anger. Both boys hit the pavement hard, and the sound of their bodies colliding sounded through the narrow alley. Nancy screamed, stumbling back as Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding in her ears. They wrestled on the concrete, limbs flailing as they each tried to gain the upper hand.

“Get him, Harrington!” Tommy’s voice rang out, egging his friend on as if the fight was some kind of sick game.

Steve had managed to stand, watching as Jonathan prepared to throw another swing. This time, he managed to dodge it, catching Jonathan off guard—landing a hard punch on his cheek with a thud. Jonathan was quick to come back from it, fueled by a rage that had sat for too long, sending a haymaker at Steve—knocking him to the ground, the sound of flesh hitting against each other making Y/N sick to her stomach.

And then it became brutal.

Jonathan pinned Steve down and his fists began to fly, one after another, landing punch after punch into Harrington’s face. The sound of knuckles smashing into skin and bone filled the air, each hit wetter and more vicious than the last. Steve’s nose exploded in a spray of blood, staining the pavement beneath them. His hands were up in a weak attempt to block the blows, but Jonathan wasn’t stopping. 

His rage was blinding, his fists relentless as he took out everything on the boy beneath him. At this point—Steve lost, and Jonathan had gone too far. The sudden sound of police sirens alarmed the group, turning around to see a cop car enter the alleyway. Jonathan was relentless, the sirens not snapping him out of his frenzy.

“Jonathan, stop!” Y/N’s voice cracked with desperation, but her words fell on deaf ears. She looked to Nancy, who was equally frozen, her face pale as she watched the scene unfold in horror.

“Come on, man, he’s had enough, let’s go!” Tommy, now panicking, grabbed at Steve, trying to pull him away from the relentless beating on the ground. But Jonathan shoved him aside like he was nothing, focused solely on pounding Steve into the pavement.

An officer ran up behind Jonathan, attempting to grab him as well, but in his fury, he elbowed him in the nose—sending him backward and stunning him. But the other officer managed to twist Jonathan’s arms behind his back, forcing him to the ground.

Steve, barely conscious, was pulled to his feet by Tommy, his face swollen and bloody, but he still managed to stumble away with his friends, fleeing into the alleyway. Jonathan was now detained, and Harrington managed to escape with his friends.

Jonathan, panting heavily, was slammed against the police car, cuffs snapping around his wrists. His chest rose and fell with exhaustion, but his eyes still burned with anger as he glared at the spot where Steve had disappeared.

Nancy and Y/N stood frozen, their eyes locking in utter disbelief.

"Of course," Y/N muttered under her breath, throwing her hands in the air. "Of course, Steve Harrington gets away with this."

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

“Hey uh, chief, you there?” One of the officers radioed in, nervously adjusting his glasses while running a hand through his brunette hair. His eyes darted around, waiting for the familiar gruff voice to respond.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Hopper’s voice came through, his tone already impatient.

“A fight broke out here, and—” The officer began, attempting to relay the situation, only to be cut off by Hopper. 

“Cal, I don’t have time for this.” The chief was quick to reply, annoyance now clear in his tone. 

“It’s Jonathan Byers,” Cal quickly added, bracing for the reaction. “Y/N Smith and Nancy Wheeler are with him. You haven’t seen Joyce, have you?”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably in the police station, taking in the cluttered workspaces, with file cabinets lining the walls and navy curtains half-drawn over the windows. Across the way was a hall leading to Hopper’s office. She stood by the fridge behind reception in the main office, watching quietly as the police station’s receptionist, ever so thoughtful, retrieved ice for Jonathan’s bruised face.

“Do you think we’ll be out of here soon?” Y/N questioned, glancing at her friends before looking at the older woman through her glasses. Her skin was aged, with short dark brown hair, and hints of gray styled neatly.

“You and your friend, yes, him—no. He assaulted a police officer.” She stated, not missing a beat, her words dry and matter-of-fact as Y/N read the name badge on her shirt, “Flo”.

“You’re living with Hopper now, right?” Flo questioned, breaking Y/N out of thought, wrapping the ice that was in a plastic bag into cloth. 

“Uh—yes, for now.” Y/N shifted uncomfortably, being reminded of her living situation amid everything.

Flo eyed her for a moment before shrugging. “I think you remind him a lot of his daughter,” She bluntly stated, looking the girl up and down. 

Y/N blinked, trying to recall a time Hopper ever mentioned having kids. “He has a daughter?” 

“Had,” Flo corrected her, her expression softening slightly as she handed Y/N the ice pack, hesitating before speaking again.

“She passed away from terminal cancer a few years ago—he doesn’t like to talk about her… but I think ever since you’ve come into his life, he’s turned it around for the better. You know, to take care of you.” The woman explained as Y/N took the ice pack from her, blinking, unsure of what to say—a bit taken back.

“He's never told me that…” The girl’s voice was soft, trailing off.

Flo shrugged again, her lips curving in a wry smile. “Doesn’t surprise me. That man’s a tough nut to crack, but he cares.” With the ice pack in hand, Y/N walked back to Jonathan and Nancy. She handed it over to Nancy, who gently pressed it against Jonathan’s bruised cheek since his hands were bound in cuffs. “Thanks,” The boy offered a soft smile, his lips pressed into a curved line, until the trio heard a car outside come to a screeching halt, vehicle doors slamming.

“I think that’s Hopper.” Y/N winced through her teeth, preparing herself.

The front door burst open, and the sound of heavy rushed footsteps flew past reception into the main office, being met with Hopper and Jonathan’s mom, Joyce. The chief’s eyes locked with Y/N’s as he entered the room with big strides, giving the girl a quick, disapproving look.

“Jonathan—Jesus, what happened? Why is he wearing handcuffs?”Joyce’s voice cracked with concern as she rushed toward her son in his seat.

“Because your boy assaulted a police officer, that’s why,” the brunette officer began, arms crossed over his chest with slight sass in his tone, but Joyce was quick to respond.

“Take them off.” She sternly spoke, only to be met with silence, neither of the officers meeting her gaze. “Take them off!” She shouted through the station, firmly repeating herself.

“I am afraid I cannot do that—” The officer sighed, shaking his head, until Hopper interrupted him.

“You heard her. Take them off.” He commanded, gesturing toward Jonathan, while the third officer intervened.

“Chief, I understand everyone’s emotional here but… there’s something you need to see.” He gestured for him to follow, and Hopper glanced at Joyce, her expression growing with concern.

The officers marched back inside, their heavy footsteps reverberating through the small station, throwing the hunting supplies the group had just bought before the incident on the desk the kids were sitting at. Nancy’s face tightened in discomfort, her eyes darting to Y/N, whose mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Jonathan’s expression was grim, his fists clenched in his cuffs as he avoided eye contact with anyone.

“What... what is all of this?” Joyce asked, her voice rising in confusion as she glanced through the pile of tools, her fingers brushing over the cold steel of the traps. Her expression twisted with concern, eyes wide with disbelief as she glanced between her son and the girls.

Hopper stood beside Joyce, his posture tense, arms crossed over his chest. “Why don’t you ask your son?” He shot back, his gaze laser-focused on Jonathan. “We found all this in his car.” “Why were you searching through my car?” Jonathan shot a defensive glare, challenging Hopper.

Hopper’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, the air between them growing heavier. “Is that really the question you should be asking right now, Byers?” 

The room fell silent, tension suffocating the atmosphere. Hopper let his words sink in before his gaze swept over the three teenagers. “I want all of you in my office. Now.”

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, finally meeting Hopper’s eyes. “You won’t believe me,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, the weight of the truth pressing on his chest.

Hopper’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes hard. “Why don’t you give me a shot,” he replied coldly, the challenge clear in his tone, daring him to spill whatever impossible story that was brewing.

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞

“You said blood draws this thing?” Hopper questioned, his tone thick with skepticism as he chewed on a toothpick, his eyes scanning the grainy photograph of the monster that Jonathan, Nancy, and Y/N had developed in the photo lab. 

“We don’t know, but… that’s what we think.” Jonathan glanced up at Hopper with uncertainty, while Joyce began shaking her head, stress written all over her face.

“I want to talk to you,” Joyce cut in, her voice firm. She glanced at her son, then the door. “Alone.”

Jonathan exchanged a look with Y/N and Nancy before following his mother out of Hopper’s office, leaving the two girls behind with the chief. Hopper sighed, running a hand over his face before looking at Nancy. 

“Nancy, I need to talk to Y/N as well.”

She nodded, giving Y/N a small, reassuring smile as she headed out the door, closing it softly behind her. Hopper waited until the door clicked shut before turning his full attention to Y/N. His posture was tense, one hand on his hip as he pointed at the photograph of the monster still on the desk. “This,” he began, his voice rising slightly, “This is why I didn’t want you going out and playing detective.” His disappointment was clear, his gaze locking onto Y/N, waiting for her to explain.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, hesitating. “I–I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you. That’s why I wanted to look by myself.” The girl began to explain, folding her arms as Hopper listened to her.

“The… the nightmares I’ve been having, I’ve drawn them,” she spoke after a pause, going to reach into her shoulder bag next to her, pulling out her sketchbook and flipping through the pages.

Hopper stepped toward her, examining the drawings she’d made. “This is the portal we saw, and this is what that place looked like based on what Nancy described when she was in there, with that thing,” Y/N explained, her voice shaking slightly as she watched Hopper look at the details.

“These are the nightmares you’ve been drawing…” The man connected the dots, his words trailing off. “I remember seeing one of these when we were having breakfast. How do you see this stuff, kid?” The chief was quick to question, rubbing his mustache in thought.

Y/N swallowed, feeling the weight of the question. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But the more everything happens, the worse they get. I know it’s crazy, but it's like... I’m connected to it, seeing pieces of what’s—” Y/N explained, before getting cut off by an erratic voice outside.

“Hold that thought, I’ll be right back kiddo,” Hopper sighed, placing a reassuring but heavy hand on Y/N’s shoulder, and quickly exiting the office. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the dimly lit room. She strained to listen to the rising voices beyond the door, her eyes narrowing.

Through the muffled wall, Hopper’s deep voice sounded, “What the hell is going on out here?” Other voices quickly followed, more frantic and desperate.

“A psychotic child broke my son’s arm!” A woman’s voice snapped, her words filled with urgency. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She leaned forward in her chair, the anxiety bubbling up inside her as she tried to piece together what was unfolding.

“I don’t have time for this. Please, just take a statement,” Hopper sighed, his voice growing closer as he began to retreat to his office. Y/N’s head shot up, her ears now fully focused when she heard one of the officers press the boy for details.

“Can you describe what she looked like?” The officer questioned, and Y/N heard Hopper’s footsteps grow closer to his office.

“Her head was shaved with a bloody nose, and she didn’t even look like a girl. And…” The boy paused, his voice becoming quieter, as if afraid to continue, while Hopper’s footsteps halted. “She can… do things. Like—make you fly, with her mind!” 

Y/N’s eyes widened. A bloody nose—superpowers. Just like the girl that was described in the articles Hopper had been looking into.

“Was she alone?” Hopper pressed, urgency now clear in his tone, while another officer told him how crazy this all sounded.

“No,” the boy replied, barely audible now. “She’s always hanging around those losers—Mike, Dustin, and Lucas.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Those kids are involved?

She thought back to that morning when she went to grab them for breakfast at the Wheelers, but they were acting suspicious… as if hiding something. A lightbulb went off in Y/N’s head. This girl—whoever she was—was with them. 

Those boys are absolutely terrible at keeping a secret.

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taglist: @anqelically @cupofjoekeery @steviespookie @hailqueenconquer @just-tiredman @x-theolivia @fuckshitslover @uselessnewt @kitdjarin1

[aelisinsims]

hello! i'm here with a longer post about the progress on torneskär so far.

as i showed you in an earlier post, i deleted the resort lot in favour of building this harbour. here you'll find lots of different things to do as i am trying to make every lot worth visiting (even though these are quite small lots).

some fishing shacks can be considered decorative, but i am still furnishing them, so if you decide to take a peak, you'll be catching a glimpse of the personality of the fishermen owning these shacks.

i've been super inspired to build community lots since i decided to delete the resort (crazy what can solve these mental blocks sometimes), and so now we have a school build, a fire station (in what used to be an old, abandoned factory), and even the sports arena.

i didn't think my sim would be able to sit down on the benches i made since they're technically chairs clipping into each other, but she could, so that's such a plus.

here it is from above. it'll move from a 35x25 lot to a 30x40 lot so i can include a changing room in the next export i make of torneskär, and it won't be situated here. i just placed a lot for it in world edit.

at any given time, there's like 5 taxi cabs on these roads by the way. absolutely insane.

as you can see. 6 cabs in this picture, actually.

the school, still a work in progress.

the fire station. this area hasn't received much love yet. this is going to be the more industrial looking area of this island (smaller island can be seen in the background).

play testing of torneskär is happening over on my discord, you're welcome to join ^^

[sparklingyandere]

Cabin Anthology

Childe/GN! Reader

summary: a somewhat broken darling reflects on their captivity

word count: 2.5k 

warnings: stockholm syndrome, violence, asphyxiation, childe is called ajax, manipulation, abuse, dissociation, codependence, anxiety and paranoia, neglect

Sometimes, Ajax went away for long periods of time.  

He would leave the pantry barely stocked, forcing you to ration for yourself for archons-know how long, and he'd lock away all the matches and kindling so the cabin was always freezing. 

In your first few weeks in your new home, he left only for hours or days at a time, returning with food or firewood, never warning you when he'd come back.

At first, you used that time to the fullest, scrambling through every inch of the little cabin he kept you in, searching for any secrets you could exploit.

You thought about escaping so often then, your every waking moment spent contemplating how you'd do it, convincing Ajax you could be left alone, and biding your time until the perfect opportunity. 

Then, your opportunity came. Ajax, seemingly out of nowhere, gifted you a novel written in your home country, which he must have had imported just for you.

"Here, to keep you entertained while I'm gone," he said, the word ‘gone’ attracting your attention more than the gift itself, "I'm going on a… a trip. For a week." He was coy about this 'trip,' as if you were dumb. "Can I trust you here by yourself for that long, darling?" he asked, cupping your cheek tenderly, in stark contrast to his threatening words. His tone was playful, but you picked up on the ‘hidden’ warning. Regardless, you nodded your head eagerly, promising good behavior, ushering him out the door. A whole week! You could be halfway to Natlan by then. 

-

The following attempt was such an explosive failure, you remember it like it was yesterday. Ajax unexpectedly came back from his trip several days early, swinging the wooden door wide open with a call of your name- only to see you knelt on the floor before him with a pin in hand- you had been caught red-handed picking the lock.

Time seemed to be still in that moment, you remember struggling to read Ajax's blank expression, his dead eyes seeming to look through you, not at you. Then, without warning, he grabbed you by the arm and flung you out the door into the Snezhnayan winter. 

It was cold. You held your arms out to catch your fall and they were buried almost to the elbow in freezing snow. You turned back to look at Ajax, who was glaring at you from the doorframe.

"You want out there? Fine." He slammed the door shut and clicked the lock. 

Shivering, you looked around and saw, for the first time, the outside of your cozy prison. It rested in a wide clearing surrounded by a dense pine forest that seemed to stretch forever. Over the trees, distantly, you saw mountains. 

You tried to stand up on your wobbly, trembling knees, struggling to find balance in the thick snow. You quickly came to realize that you were severely underdressed for this cold, in only thin, loose fabric. No worries, you could still make this work. After all, you were outside, that was the hard part, really. 

Luckily, you could see Ajax's trail of smushed snow and walk through his bootprints. Every barefooted step towards the treeline was pure torture, but hopefully you could follow the trail to wherever Ajax was coming from. 

The frosty air seemed to seep quickly through your flesh and into your bones. You could barely feel your feet, extremities already becoming numb and legs getting stiff, but you forced yourself to keep going. You had to try. 

You looked back towards the cabin; smoke was now pouring from the chimney. You thought about the warm fire Ajax must have lit, you longingly pictured the thick fur coat he had been wearing when he opened the door, and you felt… 

Hopeless. You were never getting out of here.

You took a few more wobbly steps, so close to the treeline. Maybe I can use sticks to make a fire, you thought, the snow is thinner under the trees, surely it will be smooth sailing from there. You managed another step before your knees gave out and you felt the cold hug of the snow. Snowflakes melted instantly against your warmer skin, leaving you freezing and wet. 

You close your eyes. At least you tried.

Some time (minutes, hours?) later, you felt your cold body being lifted from the snow and wrapped in something soft and warm. Instantly, you cuddled into it, coherent thoughts slowly returning to your mind. You're so relieved that you're alive, you forget where you are, you don't even bother to open your eyes and simply snuggle closer into the warmth. 

You yelp in surprise when you're suddenly dropped onto the hard, dry floor. 

Ajax kneels over you, his usually sharp features downturned with concern.

You stared at him blankly for a moment, your still-foggy brain swirling with conflicting emotions. You struggled over whether to be angry or thankful, but in the end, the only thing that mattered to you in that moment was that you were so cold, and Ajax was so warm. 

You crawl forward into his arms, which wrap around you perfectly, like two thick, heavy blankets. He hugs you tightly, a warm hand gently combing through your hair. “‘m sorry,” you whimper, bluish lips barely able to form the words you want to say. 

"What did we learn?" He asked gently, his voice was barely a whisper, but his hot breath against your neck felt like a kiss.

You didn't try to escape again after that. 

-

Ajax's love was like quicksand. It sucked you in and suffocated you, much like the man himself. When he wasn't out for 'business' (he always tiptoed around the subject, like you didn't know who he was) he was attached to you at the hip. 

Tonight was one such night. A blizzard raged outside, making it impossible to see out the frosty windows. The cabin was dark, and you sighed through chattering teeth, these stormy nights were among the creepiest, the gravity of your situation being significantly more difficult to ignore. Ajax had his arm slung over your shoulder, a thick quilt- sewn by his mother as a housewarming gift- settled around both your shoulders. You could barely make out the curves of his face in the dim lighting, but you didn't need to see him to feel his gaze.

He lifted a nimble hand to stroke your face. His calloused hand was cold too, freezing and rough, and you flinched away, shivering. Despite that, he smiled. "Is my bunny cold?" he teased. 

"No," you whined, unconvincing, curling the blanket ever tighter around yourself as Ajax pulled away from you, taking his body heat with him. He strode over to the stone fireplace along the far wall of your small living den, and you watched him kneel before it, lamenting the Ajax-shaped emptiness in the seat next to you. 

You intently watched Ajax strike a match, a small, orange light illuminating his face. The dark shadows contrasting the warm glow made his face look strangely creepy, but also accentuated his sharp, strangely handsome features. You couldn't help but smile weakly as he kindled the little match into a flame. Ajax always kept you warm, you couldn't survive a place like this without him. you wouldn't be in a place like this without him, part of you thinks, a small, quiet part that gets quieter every day. You smother the thought. 

The fire steadily grew, warmer and brighter, and Ajax turned to you, smiling expectantly. You snapped out of your thoughts and sit up straight. "Thank you, Ajax," you mutter, obediently.

He opens a storage chest by the fireplace and pulls out a hardcover book and some pillows. "Won't you come sit with me?" he orders, and you crawl off the sofa, pulling the blanket alongside you, to sit on the wooden floor next to Ajax. The warm light of the fireplace allows you to see his book in more detail. Snezhnayan Fairy Tales, it looks old: faded, greyish-brown covers and a fancy title typed in an outdated font. It's edges were slightly frayed, worn down from being held by so many hands. 

Ajax settles a pillow between his legs and invites you to lay in his lap. You do so, letting the heat from the fire combined with his warmth sink deeply into you, making you sleepy. Ajax cracks open his dusty book- literally, it makes a crack sound as it opens, possibly for the first time in years- flips the pages to a random story and starts reading to you in a gentle, coddling voice.

Naively, you think to yourself that this perfect evening could only be better with a warm cup of cocoa, as if this was normal, cute even, like you were lovers on a couples retreat. You don't have much time to ponder before Ajax's voice lulls you soundly to sleep.

-

Ajax was haunted by a hunger you could never sate; his dull, deep-blue eyes glazing over with a need you didn't understand. He would suddenly vanish, unannounced, in the middle of the day, often leaving you wondering how long you'd be forced to fend for yourself in your freezing hellscape. 

Hours later, he'd stumble through the main door, cheerful like nothing had happened, the light having returned to his eyes, making him look almost sane. Usually, you were so happy he hadn't left you for dead, you could ignore the mysterious stains on his clothes- they were probably there before- and the faint, rusty odor he carried. 

(If you dared ask where he went, he'd dance around the topic, merely chastising you for poking your nose where it ‘doesn't belong,’ changing the topic to something he deemed appropriate for you. The double life he had, for some reason, he was desperate to keep it secret from you, like he thought you couldn't handle it.)

You recall one dark day in particular, in which you had awoken from a peaceful slumber to a completely empty house…

-

Ajax rarely let you wake up alone, so you were instantly on edge. Tentatively, you explored each room, one by one, calling out Ajax's name. Each second you couldn't find him, your yelling became increasingly panicked, breathing becoming more and more erratic. So what if he isn't home, you tried to console yourself, to no avail, he leaves all the time… except, since the incident, he never left without saying goodbye. 

Where had he gone? What if he was finally bored of you- you had been settling a bit too much into routine lately- and he abandoned you here to freeze to death? 

You paced back and forth through the house for what felt like hours, mind racing with worst-case scenarios. In truth, you had no idea what time it was, but when the faint glow through the windows transitioned from yellow to orange to silver, you officially feared the worst. 

Unable to control your anxiety, you sank to your knees and let out a desperate scream. It was over, Ajax was gone and you'd either freeze or starve- 

The door creaked open, Ajax's concerned, but chipper voice echoing in your ears, “Bunny? You okay? I heard-” 

You jerk your head up, teary eyes making contact with Ajax's beautiful face as he finally walks in, and you start sobbing with relief. You leap to your feet and throw yourself onto him. Seeing your sorry state, Ajax chuckles and wraps his arms around you, “Aww, I missed you too, cutie” He teases, and even through your hysterics, you find the energy to be angry. 

“You left! How could you laugh at me-?” You hiccup through your sobs, only tickling Ajax more. You beat your fists against his chest angrily, to no effect. “I was so…” you trail off with a sniffle. 

Ajax manages to quiet his blatant snickering long enough to cajole you, taking your swinging fists in his hands to still them. “It's okay, Bunny, I'm here now… I would never leave you, silly.” His condescending tone is not lost on you, but you are too exhausted from bawling to care, finally giving into him. Just as you always do. One of his hands presses against the back of your head, holding you against his chest and gently stroking your scalp. The soothing gesture makes you just sleepy enough that when he scoops his free arm under your knees, you don't resist. 

-

You and Ajax both worked quite hard to maintain the flimsy illusion that this relationship was any kind of happy, any semblance of normal. Your sanity depended on it, but even so, the facade sometimes slipped. 

The murky, cold dishwater swallows your hands up to your wrists. You mindlessly scrub porcelain, staring at the reflective metal basin. Your reflection is warped by the water, you barely recognize yourself. Not that you could anyways.  

You look back at your failed attempts to resist or reason with him and cringe. Each night spent locked in the cellar, until your fists ached from banging the door and your voice was raw from crying out to him, still haunted you. 

That cellar- he must have had it built just to torture you- it had never been used for anything else. It was a wide, empty room with four concrete walls and a filthy dirt floor. Once, you stupidly tried to exploit your cellar time by digging a hole in the corner, trying to burrow out like some…

Like some kind of bunny. 

Of course, you got caught, when Ajax came down the creaky steps to fetch you (maybe he found your lack of wailing suspicious) with a storm lantern in hand. By the light of the lantern, your little crater, only a few inches deep, was all-too visible. He was so angry, he…

…You put your hands over his, not prying them away, just holding tightly onto him. Though you are pleading with your eyes for him to let you go, secretly, deep down, you hope that he won't, because the warmth of his hands and the burning in your lungs makes you feel alive. It makes adrenaline course through your nerves in a terrible, exciting way that you learned to love, because if you didn't, you wouldn't survive…

You shudder at the memory. Best not to think about it. 

A warm hand resting itself on your shoulder pulls you out of your thoughts. You jump away from the touch, skittish, and Ajax laughs. Over the years, you had come to hate that melodic sound, as it always seemed to be at your expense. 

You pull your hands from the water to see that they were pruned and wrinkly. How long have you been standing here?

“S-sorry, Ajax, I don't know what's gotten into me…” you mutter, still coming to terms with the reality you were in. 

His hand on your shoulder trailed down your arm, eventually clasping your still-wet hand. “That's okay, Bunny, you'll make it up to me,” he remarks playfully. Before you can ask how, he starts pulling you with him down the hall. 

In the end, though, you know it doesn't matter. You'd do anything to keep him happy, and not just because your life might depend on it. You were hesitant to admit it to yourself, and certainly never to him, but you knew why. 

Sometimes, you think he knew it, too. 

[flightyalrighty]

You're so so so so cool and so so so so talented and I am so so so so devastated oghghghb 😭

Can't wait to get my bank account up and running soon to sacrifice one of my ocs to this universe and cry about my lad as if I didn't do it to him...

I'm so so excited. But OGHHGHGHGHGHGHGH MY SONNNNNNNNic. MY POOR BOIS, THEY DO NO WRONG YOUR HONOR BECAUSE I SAY SO- INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY- no no ignore the fact they're quite literally and beyond red handed right now- INNOCENT.

I love how you're characterizing them, Shadow is used to being/has been treated as a threatening object/being out of control so his immediate response is to act accordingly even through the fear, but Sonic is so used to being the one protecting and saving others because he's so used to having control of himself that he's just panicking and acting irrationally even if it could risk others.

Sonic isn't being foolish but he's out of his element and reasonably terrified, Shadow is panicking as well but he's trying to process and rationalize things immediately because that's who he is. Sonic is act first ask questions later and Shadow is ask a few questions before acting. They're both quick to jump the gun, Shadow assuming sonic is covered in Tails entrails and just blurting it out to him AS SONIC IS PANICKING and Sonic trying to run off despite knowing he's potentially hurt someone.

Sorry I have no other way of expressing myself towards this ask, my brain is pudding, just know that I really enjoyed reading it and appreciate it a whole lot.

[stsgsk]

Thinking about Satoru With A Short(er) S/O

Fem Reader | Fluff | Sorceress Reader | ~2940 words

To the surprise of a grand total of zero people, Satoru teases you. To make it worst, it's nothing original either.  

Example 1: 

"Where's my S/O gone?" He asks, like you're not literally standing in front of him. But it's not his fault. If he look straight ahead, his eyes totally misses you. 

Example 2: 

"How's the weather down there?" He proceeds to bend down on your level and look around. "Yeah, this kind of sucks. You should try my altitude sometime. Sun feels a lot better" 

He ignores the heat from your glare. 

Example 3: 

He's also tried using you as an arm rest. Emphasis on tried.  

"Your crotch is literally within my punching range" you tell him once, and only once.  

He doesn't use you as an arm rest anymore.  

Ironically enough, he'll shut down anyone else teasing you, especially if it makes you uncomfortable. Teasing you is an S/O only privilege, exclusive to him.

Oh, and of course he has all sorts of nicknames for you. He tried 'knee-height' once, and you kicked him in the shin.

He has you saved as 'Shortie' on his phone. You saved him as '10-tier drying rack'. 

If you're on the quieter side, you've definitely scared him at some point. Sometimes, he's genuinely not aware you're there and looks down and just sees you down and actually gets a mini heart attack. 

"Oh crap!" He says after he's jumped back a good few feet, clutching his chest. "How long have you been there for? Are you trying to scare me or something?" 

No. No, you weren't. You had literally been standing next to him for at least ten minutes.

Even worse, sometime he just straight up walks into you because he's not paying attention to where's he's going and just straight up walks into you, sending both of you toppling over. 

"We've got to stop meeting like this" he says, smirking as he looks down at you. You're lying on the ground, and he's on top of you. 

"Satoru. This so the fifth time this week. Get off me right now" 

He gets better though! Don’t give up on him!

So, about you two walking.  

It really didn't work out for a while 

His long longs meant he walked faster and in longer strides. Your shorter legs meant the exact opposite 

At one point you actually gave up walking together for some time because it was a genuine piss-take. Satoru would be walking and talking and he'd asking your opinion only to realise you were still 5 traffic stops behind him 

You used to try jogging to keep up with him but that also took the piss because you didn't ask for a work out 

So after convincing you to give it another go, you and Satoru tried again and worked on it.  

He started walking a lot slower for you. It was definitely awkward at first, uncomfortable even since it really wasn't his normal walking pace. 

But when he saw how happy you were you two could actually have a conversation while talking, that you were no longer just staring at his back as he spoke and you could actually see his facial expressions and he could see yours, he decided it was worth it. Soon enough, it became second nature. 

Of course, you contributed to this effort too. You did work on your walking, getting faster too. Satoru assured you that you didn't need to go too fast or anything, since he didn't want you worn out, so you got to a faster speed you were comfortable with. 

So you two just walk and talk together a whole bunch now. Honestly, every time you two walk alone together is a date at this point.

Speaking of dates, he loves taking you out to the city because it’s bustling with so much life. But of course, there's the issue consisting of your height, crowded places, and you two get separated the first time you have a city date 

He’s so dramatic when he loses you in crowded places. It was inevitable, given you two were literally in Tokyo. But he is actually panicking. Like, he lost you. He actually lost you.

He's so silly, he's calling out your name and showing a picture of you (his lock screen) to every stranger he comes across in hopes of finding you. 

There's obviously no need for him to worry, you're a very capable sorceress, and a very capable person.  

What happened is either: 

a) You call him and ask him where he is. You literally told him you were going into that store on the left three stop lights ago.

It’s not his fault he's so tall, and Tokyo is so loud that he couldn't catch what you were saying. He probably didn't even know you had been talking to him 

"Well, if you grew like an extra few inches, I definitely would have heard you" 

You punched him in the arm for that 

Or b) you really did fall behind and swept away by the busy Tokyo people, and you only end up finding him because he's causing a big scene and kind strangers directed you to my boyfriend 

"Satoru, I'm here" You say, waving at him as you approach. “We’re such idiots. We should have just called each other-“ 

"Oh, thank goodness." He embraces you in a bone crushing hug. "We're holding hands from now on, every time we're in public. I'm not losing you again" 

And if you're fine with it, you two really do end up holding hands whenever you're in public. It's nice, holding his hand. 

Speaking of hands, the size difference? Satoru can't get over it. He gushes over it every time. He'll just come up to you randomly and stick his hand forward, your queue to press your hand against his. He'll slip his fingers between yours, give you a gentle squeeze, and won't let go. 

He laughs when you mention how you're starting to get neck pain from looking up at his face all the time 

So he starts to get down in that silly goofy pose he does for Megumi so you can look down at him. 

"Looking up, looking down, it'll balance out that neck ache of yours" 

He really didn't mind doing this for you. He actually enjoys it. He loves seeing your face when he’s looking down at you, and when he’s looking up at you. He’s notices difference things when he’s in these different position, the crinkle of skin around your eye when you laugh when he looks down at you, the way your lips stick out when you’re annoyed when he looks up at you. He really is enamoured by you.  

But when you two started kissing and hugging, he started to understand your point when he has to bend down to kiss you. 

Don't get him wrong, he loves you and loves kissing you, but it's really not ideal (and he's starting to get some of that pain you were talking about) 

So he comes up with a solution: His infinity! 

He uses it to get you to float up, so you're at a much nicer height for both of you to kiss. 

This is different to when you two kiss standing with him bending down to kiss you.  

It's the way you're eye level that makes both your stomachs flutter in a new way. It’s the way your nose brushes against each other in this slightly different angle that makes both your breaths catch. It’s the way your lips meet, as you drape your arms around his neck and he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close that makes both your hearts race. 

Yes, this becomes the new norm.  

Ah, he also loves kissing you when he's sat down, and you're standing. Oh, and when you're sat on his laps and kissing him? Or, even better, when you're both laying down and kissing? He’s excited to kiss you every time. 

One time, Satoru wants to take you out on a shopping date. He think it would be cute to pick out clothes for each other. He expects you to agree, and is surprised when you turn it down. 

You explain how hard it is to but clothes and shoes because of your height. It's either too long, too tight, too ugly, or just not right for you and shopping really was a pain for you.  

As soon as you're done ranting, he's already looking for a personal seamstress and shoe maker for you. 

"What?" you ask, incredulous as he explains to you what you’re doing. "Baby, no. There's no need for that." 

"Baby, yes" he corrects you. "There is literally every need for that" 

He's not taking no for an answer. You deserve to find the right clothes for you as much as anyone else. You shouldn't have to settle for what fits, you should be confident and happy to wear your clothes. 

Besides, he has lots of money. It would make sense to spend it on his S/O 

So yeah, all your clothes fit now, and you're seriously grateful. You tell Satoru all the time, but he can tell even without you telling him. The way you seem so much happier in the clothes you've always wanted to wear makes it obvious.  

And Satoru makes sure to go all out. Its way better quality than any other clothes you have. It will literally last over a life time  

Satoru also takes this as an opportunity for you two to match outfits and he absolutely loves it.  

It's literally a requirement for you two to match and look good. He makes sure to text you when you two are going to hang out to make sure you're both coordinating. 

Satoru: So it's yellow today, right? 

You: Yeah. You pick mine, I'll pick yours? 

Satoru: Deal 

And yes, you two are very stylish. Fashion icons. Couple goals, but that was already a given even before the matching outfits.

He loves to grab things for you. Will tease you a little about it, but he does enjoy doing things for you. If you'd rather be more independent, he'll offer to use his infinity to give you a leg up of sorts, or you'd use a stool or climb on something he'll make sure you don't fall 

"Is that really safe?" he can't help but ask, making sure to be alert in case you even wobble slightly on the stool.

You wave off his concerns. "It's fine. I'm basically a pro at this" 

Satoru also reaches for your clothes at the bottom of the washing machine and the ice cream at the bottom of your freezer for you, because he’s seen the Olympic level gymnastic just to reach them and is both impressed and concerned you'll hurt yourself somehow. 

If you need a leg up somewhere but you want to be independant and you two are in public, he will let you use him as a stepping stool. He will get on all fours so you can step on his back and do what you have to do. It's fine though, His infinity means you’re not actually touching him it's not like his clothes will get dirty so don’t worry, and he doesn't feel you stepping on him. He promises its no big deal.

He got you an oversized teddy bear this one time. It's literally the size of you, if not bigger. He was really proud of himself for getting it for you until you started cuddling it more. 

"Come on" he pouts. "I'm literally right here" 

If you don't give into his demands, he'll whine and whine until you do. He loves to cuddle you. He loves wrapping his arms around you, and holding you close. As he keeps you warm ans safe in his hold, he can't resist the urge to give you a flurry of kisses on the face. He's a weak man when it comes to you.

And if you decide to be the big spoon? He sometimes gives into the urges to pinch your cheek. It's just really cute to him how you want to hold him despite being the shorter one. Bonus points if you're the big spoon. Either way, he's a very happy man when he's with you like this.  

If you're mad at him, either he gets down on the floor or you get a chair piled with pillows so that you're looking down at him as you do and then start scolding at him. If you’re extra mad at him, you do both.  

If he's mad at you, he's going to be so petty. 

He'll pull a: "what? I can't hear you from up here" 

Or worse, if other people are there, he’ll turn to them and be like: "You guys hear something?"     

He always make sure you’re at the front of group pictures so you're actually in the shot. If you'd rather not be, he'll either use his infinity to make you float so you're seen in the picture, or if you want, he'll sit down with you as everyone else stands so you’re not the odd one out. 

When you're sitting down and your feet don't reach the ground, you can use his legs as a leg rest. He doesn't mind, he wants you comfortable. 

Or you can lean on him when you're tired, and he wraps an arm around you and keeps you in a secure hold.

"I've got you" he says to you quietly. He always treats you tenderly when you're worn out. "You can rest now." He says, kissing the top of your head.

If you let him, he'll carry you bridal style. Or any style.  

He also loves giving you piggy back rides. Especially when you’ve both got to get somewhere faster. 

"It's faster babe" he says, as though he literally couldn't just teleport you both instead or at least get there a lot faster with his infinity. He's just using it as an excuse to hold you, because he loves holding you. 

You two tried sharing blankets once, and you didn't do that again for a long time. The blanket distribution did not work between you both because of your height differences. Plus, if either of you tugged on the blanket, the other was missing out.  

But then he once saw you could wrap your blanket around yourself multiple times like a cocoon. 

Firsts thought: 'Aww, so cute' 

Second thought: 'Wait, this is possible?' 

He's forgotten you could actually do that, he's been tall for that long.  

So he buys a gigantic blanket so he can cocoon himself into too, so now you're both two cute caterpillars cocooned up together.  

This blanket was also big enough for both of you, so you finally did manage to get to share a blanket. It was definitely one of you two's favourite memories together, and became a thing you two did often. 

One time you both went on a date and came across a Face In Hole board. Unfortunately, you couldn't reach to get your face in because you weren’t tall enough. 

Whether you expressed or not, Satoru knows you're disappointed. And Satoru is not going to have a disappointed S/O on his watch 

He buys the necessary supplies, and works to create a face in hole board for you both, one that works for both your heights. 

And when he shows you, you're so touched.  

He painted on the board two silly looking curses with the hole the right height for you both. When the photos were taken and you look back at them, you could really tell he put a lot of work into and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated him.  

That became you're new lock screen.  

He laughs when you're too short for shade board in the car so it can't block out the sun for you and you're just keep getting attacked by sun rays. So, he lends you his sunglasses, and always does so when you need them.  

When public mirror are too high up for you so you can't check your reflection, you rely on Satoru to help maintain you’re appearance. 

"A little smudge here" he says, wiping it away with his thumb. "And you've got a few hair out of place. It's cute, though. I think you should keep it that way. No? You want me to fix it? Got it." 

When there's some sort of crowd and you can't see what everyone's looking at because everyone's too tall and all you can see is their backs, Satoru lets you get on his shoulder so you can both see.  

You know those couple pictures where it just shows their shoes? Satoru posted one once of you both. However, given how your large height difference translates into your shoe size difference, the comments go like this: 

Sh0k0: Is that a child? 

You: . 

Satoru: No, it's y/n >:(  

Sh0k0: I am so sorry 

Suguru: help i cant stop laughing  

There was one time you came back from a mission. Satoru heard that you failed. Thinking the worse, he came rushing to find you. You were in one piece, but clearly down. He asks you what happened, and he expects, well, something serious, he supposes. 

He didn't expect to be bursting out in laughter when you tell him you tried exorcizing a weak curse, but the curse got on a higher ledge and you couldn't reach him 

He laughs so hard it was basically an ab workout. 

After he recovers from his laughing fit (he actually never did, he bursts out giggling every few minutes as he remembers), he goes back with you back to the place your mission was 

But not to exorcize the curse for you. No, he knows you can do that by yourself.  

He uses his infinity to jump onto the ledge where the curse still was, proceeds to kick the crap out of the curse, knocking it off the ledge and send it tumbling on the ground in front of you. 

"You've got it from here, babe" 

And that's how you completed your mission that day. Yes, you wrote that, word for word, in your report. You felt bad for whoever had to wrap your head around your report, you really did. 

Satoru hates it when people underestimate you as a sorceress or as a person because of your height. And he's livid if someone puts you down for it.

He's your biggest cheerleader and you're biggest defender. He'll always be the first person to vouch for how amazing and strong you are.  

Because you are, and he makes sure to tell you that every day. Whether you're insecure about your height, or you don't give it a second thought, not a day goes by he makes sure to tell you how valuable you are as a person, and how much you are worth. 

TLDR: Satoru is absolutely in love with you. That's all there is to it. 

[hurlingdown]

☆ RULES AND CHARACTERS.

DO NOT INTERACT if you are . . . a minor, a zionist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic, racist, ableist, or a mlm fetishizer.

GENERAL RULES / NOTICE:

you must be 18 or above the age of 18 to interact with any of my content.

please do not translate or repost my works on another platform. (!)

i queue most of my posts / reblogs!

WHAT DO YOU WRITE FOR?

I WRITE FOR . . . top!male reader, dom/sub!male reader, ftm/afab! male reader, dom! gn reader. male & female characters, ftm/mtf characters, polyamory. nsfw & sfw, fluff & angst, dark content except for the hard no’s below. I DO NOT WRITE FOR . . . bottom reader. minors & aged-up characters, pedophilia, infantilism (agere), eating disorders, self-harm, scat / vomit, incest.

FANDOMS / CHARACTERS?

ONE PIECE Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Nami, Robin, Franky, Vivi, Law, Kidd, Killer, Ace, Sabo, Marco, Whitebeard, Boa, Mihawk, Shanks, Buggy, Crocodile, Smoker, Katakuri, Doflamingo, Corazon JUJUTSU KAISEN Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Toji, Sukuna, Choso, Yuki, Shoko, Ino, Higuruma # other fandoms i’m in: arcane, game of thrones, god of war, code geass, solo levelling, aot, death note, haikyuu!!, vinland saga, bleach, berserk, mouthwashing, ghost of tsushima, sifu, street fighter, resident evil.

HOW DO I BECOME AN ANON?

just send in an ask and add the emoji/name you want! reminder that you shouldn't feel pressured to interact on a frequent basis.

HOW DO I SEND IN A THIRST?

there are... literally no rules. it’s just called a thirst for lack of a better word for it. fluff, angst, smut, you name it—from a short paragraph to a full-on essay. anything is okay as long as it doesn't violate my "do not write" list!

[therainywriter]

I See You (Fluff)

Pairing: Tsuek'tu (Na'vi) x Reader

Tsuek'tu held you at his side, large hand encompassing your waist as he held you steady after you nearly fell off the thin vine you stood on.

You gripped his arm in panic, looking up at him with fearful eyes. “Tsuek- I’m going to fall.”

The end of his lip tilted up, “I won’t let you fall, just a bit further.”

He never let you go the rest of the way, acutely aware of your tense little form. He would protect you at any cost, his sweet one.

Ever since he rescued you from the thanator, the two of you have spent countless nights together- with you tucked next to him as he pulled you along amongst the trees.

You were constantly learning about their planet, the creatures and flora. But most of all, the people, their culture and way of life.

He often spoke in Na'vi, letting you listen as he pointed things out and described them. You were catching on, slowly but surely learning the complex language.

Tsuek paused, hand keeping you at the back of him.

"Kempe leren?" you asked quietly, unsure if you were actually asking what was happening.

He smiled to himself, you were learning. "Shh, do not scare the yerik," he said quietly.

He shifted his position, leaning back against the tree to your right and pulling you to his abdomen so you could see for yourself.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you rest against him, looking around the tree to observe the herbivore. The scientists call them hexapedes, their habits resemble those of deer.

They're fragile creatures, easily frightened but very protective of their young.

You watched it with admiring eyes, unaware that Tsuek was doing the same, but with you.

He glanced at the handmade jewelry adorning your wrist and neck, only two of many gifts you'd so sweetly accepted from him with a smile on your face.

You were comfortable with him, not shy to place your small five-fingered blue hand on his arm and share your curiosities. It drove him crazy.

He gave you a toothy grin when you jumped, gasping silently as the creature kicked one of its six hooves against the ground. You pouted, "Not funny-"

He hummed quietly, "Very funny."

He thought for a moment when you leaned your head against his chest, resuming your careful watch of the yerik.

He nudged you lightly, grabbing your hand in his and leading you elsewhere. "Za'u," golden eyes met yours as he glanced behind him.

You followed him, doing your best to keep up as his long strides. "Where are we going?" you questioned, slightly breathless as you hopped over a thick vine.

"You'll see, kal'in 'aw."

You were exhausted by the time he slowed down, legs aching but the pain tolerable in your avatar body. You took a breath in, only to have it knocked out of you as you registered where you were.

The Tree of Souls, you knew this place. Though you had only heard stories, you were familiar with it. It was a sacred place, deeply cherished by the Na'vi.

"It's- It's beautiful," you mumbled in awe, hand reaching out to let the glowing pink tendrils fall along the palm of your hand.

You turned to him and tilted your head, "Why did you bring me here?"

He looked at your big, confused eyes taking your hands into his larger ones.

"Oel ngati kameie, I see you," he said softly, looking at you as though he could see straight through to your very soul.

Your heart skipped a beat and you stepped closer, fingers tightening around his hands. "Oel ngati kameie," you repeated.

He leaned his head against yours, pressing a soft kiss against your lips which you returned just as gently.

[chemical-processes]

My friends ( @coquitten ily!!!!) wonderful wife @galaxythreads (😘😘) organized and executed a surprise party for me! Definitely unexpected and a blast XD

very happy to be celebrating my birthday for the first time ever

Presents haul under the cut

Ty so much again <3

[kisshwa]

u making the s/o of ateez an absolute feral/menace is what I live for(in texts😙)

s/o is kicking their feet and blushing!!

[clockwork-ashes]

Daylight

The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples.

Summary: Eris learns that Lucien is not Beron's son (one-shot).

Eris paced the small room, his steps soundless. Barefoot, ready for bed, cold rough stone to warm soft carpet. Over and over, again and again, a comfort. 

The smell of copper, sharp like night blooming flowers, hung in the air. Eris noticed that he had bitten through the inside of his cheek. He traced the wound with his tongue, the salt and metal of his blood enough to ground him, to clear his mind.  

Eris took a deep breath. He knew all the flames of this world, it was his birthright. Centuries he had lived, had witnessed much, gained enough wisdom. 

Eyes like gold, glowing unlike any fire made of Autumn, Eris had seen only a glimpse of it and had known. Magic was ancient, but simple, responding like a trained hound to those who had taken the time to learn its secrets. Stoked to life in the court he had been raised in, Eris would have recognised the flames as his own. 

Daylight. 

Sunbright, lovely, Lucien’s eyes had been twin stars in the darkness. 

It had taken every ounce of self control Eris possessed not to rear back at the sight, a death sentence. 

An oath taken, a promise made in blood, Eris had nearly forgotten. His mother’s hands, claws as she had gripped his arm, begged her eldest son to grant her strange request. Everything had been made clear as Eris had silently watched the Lady of Autumn gently stroke Lucien’s curls from his face, eyes half-lidded and gold only like sunlight could be. 

Small for his age and precious as all fae children were, Lucien was coddled by everyone in the Forest House.  

Half a decade, nothing in the grand scheme of things, and yet enough to change everything. The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples. 

The flames in the fireplace flared, Eris tugged at the short strands of blood red hair at the nape of his neck. He felt like he was drowning, his head already below the water’s surface, Eris choked on his own fear. 

“Eris, please.” His mother’s voice was quiet, a tremor in her words as she took to begging him once more. For what, Eris did not know, and in the moment he could not be bothered to care. 

Eris whirled around to face her, smaller than he remembered, the Lady of Autumn looked up at her son. His fear was reflected in her eyes, the weight of knowing that an executioner’s axe hung just above Lucien’s head. 

“How could you?” Eris snarled, the words biting, accusatory. Never had he spoken to his mother in such a way, the softest of tones always reserved for her. 

She shook her head, loose strands falling from her braid and framing her thin face. Defeated, her shoulders curved as she curled in on herself. Eris hoped she felt guilty. “You wouldn’t understand,” she murmured, dismissive and soft.

A strangled laugh, short and unamused, was dragged from deep within Eris. His mother took a careful step towards him, and Eris took a measured step back. Closer in age than half his brothers, Eris had always understood the Lady of Autumn. “Six sons were not enough?” Eris snapped harshly.

“All children are a blessing,” she did not look at Eris as she said it, more to herself than to him anyway. 

Eris wondered if those were the words his mother had told herself when she had first married the High Lord. A half truth quietly whispered when she had been alone, but not entirely convincing despite how often it was said.   

“A fate worse than death awaits him,” Eris argued, sure that flames had come to life in his amber eyes, voice louder. “You’re lucky father is in Spring, or Lucien would be dead already.”

“You don’t know that,” hands clenched into fists at her side, the Lady of Autumn raised her own voice to match.

Eris felt as the temperature in the room changed, uncomfortably hot, the flames in the fireplace and in the torches along the wall responding to the raging emotions of them both. “It’s cruel,” he hissed, “it’s wrong.” 

A child born of an affair, Lucien was well and truly doomed, and who else was Eris to blame but the Lady of the Autumn Court.

“And you know much about cruelty,” the condemnation was clear in the tone his mother used. 

If Eris had taken a moment to think, to consider how worried and frightened she was, perhaps he would have known to stop their argument. Instead, Eris pointed a shaking finger, angry, at the female that had raised him as best she knew how. “And whose fault is that?” The question was bitter, all poison, meant to hurt. 

“You can be so much like your father.” 

The last word a growl, the statement hung between them. Eris would have rather she had taken a knife to his chest. 

Almost as though the Lady of Autumn had struck him, Eris flinched back. 

With a startled gasp, eyes wide in shock and lips parted, his mother put out her hand. Regret, clear as river water, flashed on her sharp features. But the words had been said. “Eris,” she took a step towards him, “I didn’t–” 

The door opened suddenly, the ancient hinges screaming in protest, cutting her sentence short. Eris was glad for it, wished he had not come home, would have preferred the war camps to this. 

Eris had assumed the door was locked, panic coursed through his veins as he wondered who might have heard. Relief, like rain during a drought, came over Eris as Lucien walked into the room. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard, Eris and his mother silent. 

Eyes half shut with sleep, russet once more, Lucien dragged his bare feet along with a small blanket behind him. Eris watched as he rubbed at his eyes with one hand, as he broke into a little yawn.

“Ris?” He mumbled, voice heavy. “I thought I heard your voice.” 

Eris watched as his mother moved towards her youngest son, expecting him to go to her. Instead, Lucien made his way to Eris, nearly tripping on the blanket he had brought with him. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Eris barely recognised his own voice. 

With a half-hearted shrug, Lucien knocked into Eris’s legs. “I heard you talking in the hall,” another yawn before he continued, “You didn’t come say goodnight.” Completely trusting and entirely unaware of all that had happened moments before he had entered the room, Lucien clung to Eris. 

The Lady of Autumn watched with wary eyes as Eris lifted Lucien into his arms gently. “Let’s get you back to bed.” He murmured. 

Lucien merely hummed his response, tired. Resting his head on Eris’s shoulder, his breaths slowing once more. 

Eris could see the pleading on his mother’s face, but he did not look at her long. He turned his attention to the arched window, watching the first rays of the sun inching over the horizon.  

Daylight.

[xxacademy]

BLOODIED HANDS OF A LOVER'S MISFORTUNE —THRONE OF HIS OWN PART II

Leon Kennedy x Agent!Reader (she/her)

-> READ PART ONE

Summary: Blood, wine, fangs, touch-- his touch. Leon Kennedy made you his princess. He put you in pretty dresses, and put is mark on every part of you. But, it's time to face the reality of your situation. You are not Leon's princess, you are his back up. Now you're forced to do your job, and come face to face with the chaos of the vampire court.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content warnings: blood/gore, reader gets drugged and restrained, weapons, vampires, typical violence and themes associated with resident evil, i shamefully reference one of Leon Kennedy's cringiest one-liner's.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this!! action & horror elements are the best. i think i could write descriptions about blood and wounds forever... it's so strangely fun (?) anwaysss im playing re4r again and i cannot get leon's kicks outta my brain, lol. i hope you enjoy, and as always thank you for your patience. i am a full-time student and i have a full-time job, so writing can take me foreverrrrr.

Leon sits among the vampiric overlords while you sit alone, drinking a cup of tea, wearing yet another tightly corseted Victorian monstrosity.

The servants were undoubtedly kind to offer you clean clothes and breakfast, but that didn't make you want to leave any less. The uneasiness lingers dense in your stomach.

Last night was... Indulgent, to say the least. But the welcome has been overstayed, and you're antsy to leave the vampire's den. Hopefully, Leon will be quick to end their little conclave.

── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

You awoke suddenly to a loud clank beside you. To your groggy surprise, your tea cup had fallen and shattered at your feet.

The idle warmth of the fireplace and the cozy living room must have lulled you to sleep. Despite your mind being deep in a heavy fog, you found the strength to look around the room and confirm that you were still, in fact, alone.

You meandered to the heavily draped window and peeked outside. You prepared yourself to be blinded by searing bright snow, but... Oh, dear god.

The sun was setting. You rubbed your eyes in harrowed disbelief. The sun was fucking setting.

How could it be? It was only just morning. You couldn't have possibly slept the entire day.

Your hands were trembling mess as you squatted down to analyze the shattered tea cup. You grabbed a piece of jagged porcelain and brought it to your nose, breathing deeply.

You caught an unmistakably bitter note buried underneath aromatic peppermint. A sedative herb most definitely was used to lace the tea. You felt ashamed; how could you be so naïve, falling for such a novice trick?

But, there was no time to dwell. You scoured the room for a weapon. The only object that stood out to you was a particularly pointy piece of metal off an ornate candelabra. You ripped out the half-melted candles and bent the metal into a makeshift weapon, poking it into your skin to test its sharpness.

This should work, and if it doesn't? Well, It will, you told yourself.

Jaunty candlestick weapon in hand, you headed for the door, which was, unsurprisingly, locked. You analyzed the clunky metalwork and quickly determined it was an old-fashioned skeleton lock. You pulled several pins from your hair, fashioned them into impromptu Allen wrenches, and began picking the lock.

After several attempts and numerous broken pins, you finally jimmied the door open.

You set out into the gothic night-veiled estate, creeping through the labyrinth of hallways. Your heeled shoes and sweeping gown made stealth damn near impossible, but you had no choice but to make it work.

You followed the networking corridors aimlessly, pressing your ear to closed doors in the hope of finding Leon.

You heard pattering footsteps coming towards you, and in a desperate attempt to hide, you angled yourself behind a column of an archway. But as the person passed, a white-gowned servant, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned on her heels to face you.

Glowing red eyes met yours, and a mindless, other-worldly voice flowed from her: "You made a very grave mistake, chérie." The servant lunged at you, unarmed, fangs bared.

The candlestick you weld plummeted to the ground, and you grabbed the servant by the wrists and held her firm, straining to keep her away as she thrashed with all her might.

You threw her down by twisting her arm to the ground and holding her in place by firmly pressing your heel into her sternum. She cried a blood-curdling howl in pain, thrashing under your foot.

"Where is he? Where is Leon?" You demanded, rage filling your wavering voice.

The servant snickered, flashing small, jagged fangs.

"Tell me!" You demanded for the last time.

She was hysterically laughing now-- It was useless to attempt to communicate with a mindless thrall.

You reached for the candlestick and quickly bent over the thrashing servant and slit her throat with the sharp metal edge.

Hot blood spilled down her virgin-white dress, but her glowing red eyes stayed fully conscious. "You're a fool," she mocked, her fingers laced around your wrist.

You sunk your heel back into her sternum, this time with much more force, causing her head to smack against the floor. She hissed in pain. Blood was still pouring from her neck as you forced her hand off of yours. You repositioned the candlestick in your hand, aiming it for her heart.

You held her still by wrapping your hand tightly around her neck and drove the weapon through her chest. Her head lulled to the side limply, and her glowing eyes dulled- she was dead, finally.

You took a moment to catch your breath, staring at the woman's lifeless body. You couldn't recall a single vampiric servant from the previous night, so why now?

As you began to regain your composure, you looked down at yourself, pretty dress all covered in blood. It was an honest reflection of how terrible the last twenty-four hours have gone.

Regardless, you grabbed your blood-drenched candlestick and began creeping through the hallways once more. No one else seemed to be coming for you now. You were utterly alone as you tip-toed through the darkened estate. Utterly alone-- besides the gut-wrenching feeling that you were being watched.

The oil-painted portraits that decorated the looming walls felt like they saw everything. They saw you massacre that servant, they saw you lie to their rulers, they saw you drunkenly court your colleague. Maybe it was your own internalization showing, but you couldn't shake the feeling.

But you felt relief when you spotted a warm candlelit gleam emanating from the crack of a closed door. It had been the first trace of light you'd seen in these gloomy halls.

As you approached the door, you heard overlapping voices talking and laughing. It sounded like a blend of English and French was being spoken, adding to the dissonance.

You ever so gently pressed your ear to the door, attempting to make out what was happening. You couldn't understand a lick of the French being spoken. But you overheard something in English: "When are you going to get the girl?" a mysterious voice asked.

Another more familiar voice replied. “Quand nous en aurons fini avec lui.”

The King.

They must have Leon here. Your stomach dropped.

What could they possibly be doing to him? And the girl, that has to be me, right?

You don't know how it happened or how your cover could have been blown. What if they killed Leon?

There's no way you'd be able to defeat them on your own. Your mind traces all the rational options to go about this, but you conclude there is none. There is only one way.

You draw a quivering breath and open the mysterious door.

To your surprise, you revealed a grand banquet hall swarmed with almost the same lineup from last night's soirée.

The creak of the door caused all of their necks to turn to you instantly. The first thing you noticed was a sea of glowing crimson eyes. All the Lords have been turned now.

The King's stark pale skin and deep blood-red eyes burrowed through your soul. The pointed corners of his mouth raised in an impish smile. At the King's side was Leon, his arms bound and his head hung limp.

He had been draped and displayed at the hands of the merciless creatures that stalked this land. A centerpiece to their dastardly festivities.

"The bunny makes its way to the wolf's den. It's almost commendable." The King squinted, his head reaching forward in his throne to get a better look at you. "It looks like you even found someone in my estate to prey on. How scary."

"How did you find out?" You kept your words steady and firm.

The King laughed, "Ah, this is a good story."

"Go on," you said, taking a step closer.

The King shifted in his chair and took a sip of what was presumably blood from a crystal glass. "I had one of my men doing perimeter control on the south end. He made it all the way to the road, where he saw a car a few meters away-- and chérie, cars do not drive on that road."

Your heart sunk.

"He found a car and stopped it. I could tell you who he found, but I think you might already know. But in case you need a refresher, it was a United States agent with a very detailed file about you and Mr. Kennedy in his car."

You tried to close the gap between you and the King, but two guards restrained you by your arms after throwing your makeshift weapon to the ground.

"You bastard! You bloody bastard! What did you do to him? And what have you done to Leon!?"

"You're going to love this ma chérie. Leon is on the path to grand ascension— he'll become one of us soon. As for the agent that brought you here, he was at lunch the following day. Not exactly my taste, as I prefer the sweet blood of a woman, but he sufficed."

The room erupted in laughter, and long fangs taunted you everywhere you looked. Even the men who held your arms laughed at you.

You tried to break free of their grip, but they outmatched you. The men lifted you by your arms and dropped you before the King's throne. They pushed you down by your shoulders so that your knees crashed to the ground.

You hoped Leon would look up or say something. But he just rested on his knees, head down, in unwavering silence.

Your voice cracked, "And what about me?"

The King clicked his tongue, scanning your blood-soaked figure with heavy lids and a cocky glint in his eye. "You're simply too... Beautiful to just let go."

You rolled your eyes, "Give me a break! You think I'll just go along with you, easy as that?"

His lips formed into a cruel smirk, "I do."

You noticed earlier that the men who restrain you have swords attached to their hips, which could quickly turn the tide of this unlucky evening. The answer is, how?

"Just you wait, little dear." The King arose from his seat and picked up Leon by the collar of his shirt.

The King was tall; he easily towered over everyone in the room. His raven black hair flowed long down his back, extenuating his gaunt appearance.

It appeared that Leon had also been drugged. His body was limp, and he barely resisted as the King pushed him up and threw him into the arms of guards.

The King cleared his throat, demanding the room's attention to himself. "Good evening, everyone. You all know Leon here; He was incredibly loyal and fearlessly dedicated to our cause. But it's recently come to light that he and his darling little girlfriend are federal agents for the United States military."

The crowd murmured their feelings in disgust. "I know, this is very disheartening. But, I have a fitting punishment for the traitors."

The King dragged on about how he planned on turning you both into vampiric slaves, doomed to a life of servitude. But you couldn't care less. He clearly underestimated you.

You notice Leon begin to come to consciousness. It started with his hands forming into fists and then him rolling his neck from side to side.

He lifted his head, sunken blue eyes meeting yours. You were kneeling on the ground, dress blood-soaked and arms forcefully restrained by guards, all before him, to save him.

Leon's eyes darted to the swords the men beside you adorned, and then they darted back to you. He raised an eyebrow as if asking if you saw what he saw.

Yes— you mouthed the words, and Leon nodded.

"Ahh, you're awake." The King forcefully grabbed Leon's neck, digging his talon-like nails into his skin. "Your time has come, Kennedy."

Leon remained silent in the wake of the King's cruelness.

The King yelled for more guards, and they arrived holding a small box upon a velvet pillow. The King opened the box, taking a sizeable, needled syringe between his fingers.

That's how they're doing it, and Umbrella parasite, of course, You thought to yourself.

The guards holding your arms tightened their grip as the King approached Leon, flicking the serum vial menacingly.

"Let the coronation commence!" The King exclaimed to exuberant cheers.

In a quiet voice, he said to Leon only, "I wasn't planning on the girl being here, but how sweet is it that your lover gets to witness your rebirth?"

Leon scoffed, staring at the King directly, sizing up his foe. "We'll see about that."

The King was unphased as he closed the gap, reaching the needle closer and closer to Leon's neck, and when he was in range, Leon charged his leg and landed a devastating kick to the King's chest.

He went flying back and fell to the ground with wind-knocking ferocity. The syringe skidded across the marble floor, far from the King's grasp.

Before anyone could react, Leon freed himself from the guard's grip, flipping one of them over his shoulder and slamming him to the ground. He kicked in the other guard's kneecap, sending him down instantly. Leon stole both swords from either injured guard and pointed them at the King.

Sweat dripped from Leon's brow, and his skin looked washed out and pale. But he stood tall in the wake of the tyrannical leader. The people around began to stir. Some remained frozen in shock, and some readied themselves for a fight.

This was about to get very ugly, and you needed to break free. With your knees pushed into the ground, it was difficult to maneuver against the guard's strength.

You hastily attempted to drive your elbow into the stomach of one of the guards. He deflected it. But you tried again, aiming for his knee. You landed it this time.

"You bitch," the guard grunted as he stumbled back. The other one grabbed you by your arms, lifting you to your feet and placing you into a headlock.

Leon reacted swiftly by throwing one of his swords in your direction. The guard flinched as the sword propelled through the air, seemingly aimed right at his head.

But, you caught the sword by its hilt and wasted no time driving the blade through the belly of the guard who restrained you. The other guard, who was still reeling from his punched-in knee, was next. It was light work for you as you twisted the blade through his chest.

Leon called for you, requesting your backup as he fought off the vampire spawns. They had Leon surrounded, protecting their King like devoted honey bees.

You axed through the crowd, driving your long sword through the hearts of fresh vamplings. Leon held his own impeccably well. He pushed away hungry fangs with ease, kicking and slicing the hoard.

You joined Leon and pressed your back against his as you fought against the opponents from behind.

Through ribbons of blood, chaos, and murder, you gritted through your teeth, "What's the plan?"

"Kill the King and run," Leon grunted.

"Where to?"

"The cabin."

"You got it; I'll follow your lead." You couldn't hide the smirk that formed across your lips. It felt good to finally be reunited and dishing out justice.

Leon chuckled exasperatedly, "Just stay alive, sweetheart, and we'll all be singing kumbaya later."

part three coming soon xx

!! tag list -> @g4ys0n @elijahsprincess

[traditional-with-a-twist]

lxxv. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || fourth arc || AO3 || END

She was crying. 

Tears slipped from beneath her lashes as Shirayuki embraced her friends, holding them close for the last time before who knew how many more moons would pass?

The early morning light graced the four of them, gilding every edge with the mellow gold of a new day.

Torou remembered them in the rain, on a dark night in a roadside inn. What a different picture they presented now — how like and unlike that night.

Their happiness had a different quality — there was the tenderness of wounds still healing, in more ways than one.

...

Mitsuhide carried himself very differently than the slump-shouldered posture of defeat; he was straight-backed and present, with the air of watchfulness befitting a shepherd looking after his flock. 

They were tarrying at a break in the road, where the paths diverged — one final good-bye before they parted.

Kiki’s edge had mellowed into the liquid tranquility of a still pond. She almost glimmered in that company; her ease was catching.

Brighter still, Shirayuki was resplendent with the overflowing of affection, tears still clinging to her lashes.

As for Obi, he still wore bandages beneath his shirt, but he was back on his feet and had laid aside his sling.

...

Torou caught his eye as she stepped forward to claim her share of the farewell. She had preferred to lay low as the inquiry proceeded, having secured the authorities’ goodwill with the little gift of the prime suspect and resolution to their diplomatic difficulties, all in one.

She had no title to claim, however, so better not to attract attention to herself.

Besides, Torou had plenty to entertain herself with, as she observed the comings and goings in the modest diplomatic abode, with the four friends knitting their lives back together.

...

Obi looked back at her over his wife’s head, and she gave him her best cat’s smile.

“Well, well, Obi, I’d say I’ve paid you back for going out of your way for me.”

He knew her too well to take the bait; he only replied without expression, “Is that so.”

...

Torou spun herself around, laughing, and shook out her hair until her earrings jangled. It never hurt to tease now and then. 

“You’ve had an interesting vacation, it seems,” Obi said drily, watching her.

She cast him an arch look over her shoulder. “Oh, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Now, though, you’ve gone boring, Obi —” 

She indicated the road leading south to Tanbarun. “It’s time for me to take my leave.”

...

Torou sketched a curtsy to the knights, winking at the big guy – he was handsome as ever, that one – but she was surprised when Kiki bowed back.

“Thank you,” she said formally. “We are in your debt.”

“Yes!” Shirayuki clasped her hands, at her most earnest. “Without you, we never would have found Obi – or made it to them in time. Thank you, Torou — thank you for everything.”

“If there’s ever anything we can help you with, “ Mitsuhide added, equally earnest.

Torou looked droll, but she forebore to tease him, just this once. 

...

As Torou moved away, the impulse to embrace overcame Shirayuki again; she sprang to her friends once more and stretched her arms out to them.

“Kiki, Mitsuhide,” Shirayuki said, smiling up at them. “Thank you for everything.”

Mitsuhide looked down, rubbing the back of his head, but Kiki smiled back. “We won’t be far,” she said.

At this, Mitsuhide raised himself. “If there’s ever anything you need, then write to us, Shirayuki.” His gaze shifted to the man beside her. “You, too, Obi.”

...

He was answered with a lazy salute. “At ease, mister… we’re not headed anywhere dangerous. The missus just wants to see her old man.”

Shirayuki blushed and nodded, smiling shyly. “I thought…he’d like to know,” she murmured.

“Of course,” Kiki said. 

Mitsuhide looked blankly from one to the other.

...

“We will do the same,” Kiki continued, and his expression cleared. To see Kiki’s father — that was Mitsuhide’s object now.

He would recommit himself to knighthood, not as a servant of the crown this time, but as a defender of the Seiran estates.

Besides that, there was the small manner of presenting himself as Kiki’s future intended, in petition of her father’s blessing.

He has found his new purpose, as Kiki’s partner in life, her constant support.

...

When Shirayuki stepped back, Obi slid an arm around her waist. He often found excuses to hold her like that, hand resting on her hip, getting acquainted with the little beginning of their family together.

It had not sunk in yet, this news that his wife had been carrying as a treasure inside of her; he was still feeling around the edges of it in his mind.

It helped to prove to himself that it was true, to touch and feel that it was real.

...

Obi wouldn’t miss her, Torou knew — that was why she stopped and darted to his side.

With a dancer’s grace, she raised herself on tiptoe to peck his cheek with a kiss.

Then she swooped down on Shirayuki, that small package of surprises, and kissed her, too.

“What a wonderful woman you have, hm?” said Torou, and by that she meant full of mysteries, unfathomable. 

...

Torou knows there is no turning back for Obi this time: he is committed, held fast by that anchor still all but invisible to the eye. 

That wild man she knew before, with his reckless and changeable ways – he is gone; someone rooted and sure has taken his place.

She had watched and watched, and she thought she was beginning to understand, though it opened up long vistas of untrodden paths, trails leading to countries she had yet to explore and perhaps never would.

Torou feared little, but there was something deep and wide here that she would only approach with caution.

She was glad, for that reason at least, to say her goodbyes.

...

A shadow of disappointment crosses over her, but she shakes it off with long practice. “Nothing much for me to do around here…best be off!”

She lifts a hand as she saunters away, not south to Tanbarun but veering off at the last moment to vanish into the trees. 

She is gone like a whisper, a memory.

...

Mitsuhide and Kiki turn north. 

Obi and Shirayuki set their faces to the south. “Ready, missus?” he asked, lifting their pack to his good shoulder. 

They had scant possessions between the two of them, only a satchel or two of supplies. Obi didn’t like the thought of walking to Tanbarun — nor did he fancy a bouncing wagon ride.

“You’re not much for horses, missus,” he mused.

“Hm?” She blinked up at him, his train of thought too elusive for her.

...

Obi gazed back at her — his marvel of a wife who had risked everything to bring them together again, to make whole what he had broken.

He didn’t have words for that, so he only looped his hands at the small of her back and drew her against him, until he could feel the gently rounded curve of her middle.

Shirayuki reached up to touch his face, and he smiled through her fingers.

Then he brightened. “I know! Sturdy, strong – it would carry all the herbs you could want —”

“Obi—” She was laughing. “Obi, what are you talking about?”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Say, missus, how would you like a donkey?”

Read the epilogue: Rain, Sun, and Snow

[theoldwest]

⛧ CHANGING. ⛧

chapter one: Living Dead Girl ! ✩˗ˏˋ 18+ˎˊ-✩

An OC story set in the Supernatural universe.

Contains Mentions Of: drugs & alcohol, sex & violence, and the further consequences of growing up a monster hunter.

༶ masterlist ⋆ playlist ⋆ taglist ⋆ next chapter ༶

- .✦˚.★.˚✦.　 -

Babe watched her parents get turned into werewolves when she was 10, and she was never able to be the same after. Hunting became her life, dropping out of school and running from foster homes to learn absolutely everything she could to track down her parents. At 16, she finally tracks them down and puts them out of their misery, mourning for weeks before suddenly deciding to pick right back up where she left off, vowing to only stop when she’s dead.

It’s only years later when she meets Bobby Singer. He takes her under his wing immediately, giving her an upstairs bedroom to crash in and introducing her to the Winchesters, hoping to break the hermit out of her shell just a little, but nobody really expected her to take it literally.

——————

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Sam and Dean are the ones who watch her turn for the first time. It’s nearing the end of their hunt—they’ve been fighting off an unexpected swarm of werewolves for hours at this point, the barrels of their guns burning hot to the touch from how rapidly they’ve been firing.

But when the last werewolf drops, so does Babe— her whole body heaving. Something is happening.

Dean calls for her and goes to take a step closer before Sam suddenly stops him with a palm against his shoulder. She’s hunched over, hyperventilating— beginning to twitch erratically and flex oddly. The brothers have seen this behavior before, but never from her. They can’t even comprehend how the scene in front of them is actually fucking happening.

She moans in pain, and both Winchesters immediately feeling like throwing up and crying at the same time. They know Babe isn’t a shifter, so why in the hell is this happening? Why to her? Why now? She screams out in agony, digging her deep red acrylic nails into her own flesh to tear the skin from her back, the bones in her ribcage and shoulders wildly shifting and cracking— it’s absolutely horrifying.

It feels like hours go by in the 5 agonizing minutes it takes her to shift into the much larger, intimidating form, panting heavily and covered sinew and carrion.

“…Babe?” Sam basically whimpers, Dean holding in puke behind his palm.

She…? Continues to breathe heavily, slowly beginning to sit up. The dim lighting reveals her new form, now twice as wide and brutally muscular. The only way Dean recognizes it’s still her is that faded Martini glass tattoo on the back of her left shoulder.

They watch as she looks over her hands and arms, clearly just as the brothers are.

“…I—“ She begins, stopping as soon as she hears a voice emerge from her lips that she doesn’t recognize.

Sam and Dean are just… completely frozen in shock.

She flings shed from her face before slowly standing up in an attempt to collect her bearings, Her now torn-open shirt is clinging to her shoulders, her pants tight against her hips. Babe’s now a frightening six foot seven. It’s like when Captain America first gets chock-full of super-serum.

She looks at the Winchesters over her shoulder, speaking with a clear, deep tone.

“What the fuck just happened to me?”

—

A few years ago, maybe five, Bobby goes on a solo werewolf hunt. On paper, this case looks like a freakin’ walk in the park— sling a couple silver bullets and be done— so that’s exactly what he plans to do, loading his gun and starting his engine.

He turns his Chevy down the dirt road towards the dilapidated cabin the werewolves were last reported at, something quickly catching his eye— A huge plume of smoke in the evening sky, trailing over the tops of even the tallest trees. Not good.

Bobby floors it the rest of the way, cursing under his breath.

He pulls up to a raging fire. The flames are beginning to lick at the surrounding dry grass and trees, threatening to take the whole field in its heat.

“Balls.” He sighs, getting out of his truck to try to make sense of things when something else, about a 100 feet away, catches his eye.

He turns his head, realizing it’s rusty old light blue truck— one that has someone— or something— sitting atop it, smoking a cigarette. It looks as if they’re watching the burning building in… satisfaction.

He exhales and draws his gun, deciding against all common sense to go ahead and make his way towards the figure.

“…This your place?” The unknown person asks as soon as Bobby is within earshot; the light from the flames creating a golden halo of curls around their head.

“No. Is it yours?” Bobby responds, the barrel of his gun steady, his finger on the trigger.

“No.”

Bobby’s eyes flick to the rapidly growing flames before going back to the truck in front of him.

“…Did you—?”

The figure shakes their head yes, taking a final drag from their smoke before flicking it towards the flames.

“…I had to.”

It’s only then that Bobby can fully see the state this person is in. She’s very clearly a hunter— sigils and symbols tattooed on her torn up arms and bruised legs, her right eye swollen shut from a claw that tore through her face earlier. He can’t help but look up at her with pity, knowing the look spent rage and that dirty, guilty feeling that comes with revenge when he sees it.

“…When’s the last time you ate, kid?”

—

Bobby hasn’t seen someone demolish a burger like this since Sam and Dean were teenagers on their 80th growth spurt.

“You got a name?” He asks, watching her in a mix of fear and respect. He’d introduced himself on the way over just for her to answer with silence.

“Babe.” She responds through a mouthful.

Bobby just nods once, pushing his uneaten meal towards her with his pointer finger while taking in that gnarly gash across her face. Babe picks the burger up and begins to eat again, humming her thanks.

“…You should go to a hospital.” He says.

“And you should mind your business. I, uh, appreciate the meal, but—“ She takes another enormous bite. “I don’t do privatized healthcare, Robert.”

Bobby Singer is a very smart man. He can field strip a Mossberg 835 in minutes, is fluent in multiple languages, and has built multiple cars from the ground up for fun. Bobby Singer also almost always tends to put his heart before his head. He looks Babe over and sees a bitter, broken kid who’s tired of fighting—not just the attitude she uses as a front. He sighs and runs a hand over his scruffy beard before continuing.

“How old are you, kid? Nineteen?”

“Twenty-one, thanks.”

He nods. “…You been hunting long?”

Babe looks up at him with an unreadable expression, but eventually answers, her shaken trust won by the burgers and the fact she’s too goddamn tired to try and evade.

“…Yeah.“

He waits for her to continue, raising an eyebrow.

She clears her throat and takes a sip of her drink, trying to keep her head on straight.

“When I was a little kid… my, uh, parents were… turned in front of me. Werewolves.”

Bobby’s face sinks.

“And, uh, after that, I was in foster care and stuff for a while, then— my sixteenth birthday came around. I… had saved, like, five hundred and fifty dollars, walked into the first pawn shop I saw, and… bought a gun.” She visibly flexes her jaw and takes a settling breath, clearly not used to recounting this.

“I… didn’t know for sure what I was gonna do with it, if I’m honest. I had hit a huge wall with tracking my parents and… I just thought…” She sighs, going to run a hand over her face but wincing when she remembers the state she’s in.

Bobby’s only known her for about two and a half hours at this point, but her admission makes his eyes water. He blinks it away and continues to listen.

“…Anyways, one night I found ‘em, so I fitted the gun with silver bullets and took care of it.” She clears her throat once again, cutting the sentence short and hiding her emotions as best she can.

“…Kid, I—“

Babe shakes her head, interrupting his pity.

“…Tonight was the last of the pack and their alpha. They knew I was coming.” She sniffs back tears, fighting the way her lip trembles.

“So that’s why I had to—“

Bobby understands, immediately standing from his side of the table to wrap her in a hug.

Babe freezes at the kindness, not at all used to simple, necessary affection like this—she inhales sharply in response. It’s then the sobs completely wrack her body— the cologne Bobby has on is the same one her father would wear. Babe takes it as a sign, leaning into him and sobbing, absolutely fucking exhausted. She feels as if she has no driving force now that the last of the pack is gone; no reason to live with all this blood on her hands.

Bobby knows. He holds her to his chest tightly, providing stability. He tells her he’s sorry. That he’s here.

It takes a while before Babe can pull herself together. Bobby doesn’t mind. He pays for their food, and they just… sit and talk for a while. About music, about interests— jobs Babe’s had and places Bobby’s been. They talk about hunting, about Sam and Dean—and by the time they’re done, Babe realizes she doesn’t feel like absolute shit. She trusts Bobby— which is way more than she can say for just about… anyone she comes across.

“…Hey, you know of a decent motel around here? I’m getting tired of squattin’.” She chuckles, like that’s a normal thing to consistently subject herself to.

Bobby just blinks at her for a second before beginning to shake his head, flabbergasted by the question.

“Wh—? Dammit, kid, no. I’m… Babe, I’m sorry. But— I have’ ta ask you to come with me. I’m— I don’t mean this to cross a boundary, or like you can’t take care of yourself or anything, but—“

He cannot physically handle the idea of her recovering in this state alone. His face shows that. In these few hours he already feels responsible for her— it’s just his nature.

“There’s a whole upstairs you can have to yourself. My boys’ll stop by every now and then, but— Jesus, kid. You’ve been through it. I just want to put… hot showers and some goddamn clean sheets on the table.”

Babe blinks at him, not really expecting that. But she takes a moment to think; she was gonna be dust in the wind after this anyways— halfheartedly hunting until she dies young to vampires or tetanus or something. She also has gone home with much stranger men than Bobby that offer much worse.

“…Okay.”

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——————

a/n:

hiiii if you’ve read ‘Man In The Wilderness’ this is the same story but I like it more! :3 heheh thanks so much for reading <3 I appreciate you loving Babe like I do.

taglist ★ @moss-feratu