#and smeared his blood on his face before going to get revenge

[deanjohn]

WAIT.

[justkending]

It's just a hobby. (Drabble)

Summary: You took up a new hobby, and Dean likes to poke and tease you for it, but you feel the need to seek a little revenge for the constant joking. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3300+

A/N: I started this during the summer when I started five different crocheting projects (ADHD carried my summer hobbies) and decided to finish it before school started back up. I am currently still writing Found Memories, but I have to put a pause on it as the first month of school tends to take a lot of my time away from hobbies like writing… I’m moving to teach 8th-grade English this year and could use all the energy you’re all willing to send my way! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short story, and I’m happy to have the inspiration to write for Dean again :)

(Also, this is the closest to smut I think I've ever written...)

_______

“Seriously?” Dean grumbled as he looked in the rearview mirror seeing me pulling yarn to untangle a knot I had created. 

Knowing where he was going with his normal banter, I just laughed and continued to focus on the craft in front of me. 

“I pulled this out like 20 minutes ago. How are you just now noticing?”

“I’m watching the road,” he argued, and I rolled my eyes. As always, he had been sneaking glances to the back of the cab at me every other minute. “The hunt wasn’t even 40 minutes away from the bunker. Why did you bring that?” 

“Why do you listen to the same three Led Zeppelin songs when you're upset about a hunt?” I countered, and he opened his mouth to disagree, but I answered for him to skip the sarcastic conversation brewing. “Comfort Dean. It’s all about comfort.”

“Why are you so weirded out by a normal hobby?” Sam jumped in, smirking, and sporting one of the many beanies I had made him with said hobby, which he had come to love. He looked down at a newspaper in his lap, no doubt already scoping out a new hunt. 

“It’s not-” Dean stumbled on his answer. “I’m not weirded out by it. It’s just not a hobby I imagine someone like Y/N taking up.” 

“You just described why you’re weirded out by it,” Sam looked at him with a blank stare. 

He ignored him and rolled his eyes. 

“What kind of people do you imagine the crocheting community to be full of?” I smiled, still looking down at my hands and knowing his answer already. 

“Grandmas,” he replied almost immediately. 

“Hmm,” I hummed as if surprised by his confession, even if it was wrong. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll stop wasting my talents on things for you.” 

I could see his eyes shoot up in the mirror and a look of regret ghost over his green orbs. 

Dean liked to make a big deal about this particular hobby I had started up a little over six months ago. I think a part of him just liked to tease me about it, but deep down, I knew he was proud of my growth. He was just bad at voicing it.

The first things I ever crocheted were just simple squares in different stitch work to learn a variety of them better. Those squares became washcloths and, surprisingly, were still used daily in the kitchen. 

I learned to make bags, socks, hats, sweaters, stuffed animals, and even a few blankets. 

“Just 30 minutes ago, you took down five security guards, wrestled three teenage vampires, and booby-trapped half of his nest. Now you’re crocheting a sweater for Charlie that says, ‘What’s up bitches?’ in the backseat. Mind you, with blood still smeared on your face,” he raised an eyebrow at me in the mirror. 

I looked up and leaned toward the front to get a better look at myself. 

“Oh, shit, I thought I got it all,” I groaned, seeing a smear on the side of my face I must have missed. 

“It doesn’t add up,” he shook his head, but I could see a joking smile on his lips. 

“Much to your surprise Dean, girls can have more than one personality trait. I know you boys are all, ‘Ugh, monsters! Kill, kill, kill! I need a scotch in my hand and The God Father playing on loop in the background to show how manly I-’

“Hey,” Sam cut me off and looked at me with his sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m on your side.”

“You’re right… You also like to read and share fun facts,” I winked, touseling his hair and getting a scoff of a laugh as he swatted my hand away. “See how hurtful it can be when you forget our brains have the capacity to do more than one thing?” I turned back to Dean with my arms crossed on the bench seat in front of me. 

“I don’t think you're incapable of having more than one interest in life; I just think it’s interesting that you chose a 90-year-old women's side gig as your hobby,” Dean countered, pulling into the garage. 

“Well, if you can’t appreciate it, then you can’t have the gifts my hard work creates,” I huffed, gathering my things and sliding back to the door as Dean parked the car.

Once the car was in park, I was the first out. I wasn’t actually mad at him, I was a hundred percent messing with him, but he deserved it for teasing me this long about it when I knew he loved everything I had made him this far. 

He had a favorite blanket that he preferred to sleep with now. He had a nice sweater he wore around the bunker when he was cold. He had a few pairs of socks he preferred over store-bought ones. He even had a miniature plush Batman figurine that sat on his desk that I had learned to crochet just for him.

“Y/N, you don’t mean that!” he called after me, standing in the door on the driver's side of the Impala and shouting over the roof of it where I was walking inside. 

“We'll find out soon,” I yelled back, never turning around. 

The next three days, I teased him like he had me about this whole ordeal, but in my own way. 

When we were cooking in the kitchen or doing dishes, if he grabbed one of the squares that now acted as our kitchen hand towels, I would steal it from his hands and say, “Sorry, merchandise can only be used by those who value it.” 

With which he would respond, “Wait! I need that!” with his hands drenched in water after washing his hands. 

Just for extra measure, I took all the towels and moved them to a new place only Sam and I knew. He was happy to join in on my little prank, and every time he had one, he made sure Dean saw him with it. 

“Where did you get that?” Dean would jump up from wherever he was and march over to him to try and steal it. 

“Only the VIP customers have access to these,” Sam would wave it above his head out of reach of Dean. 

Another time, after a hunt, it was freezing in our motel room, where the heater barely worked, and the hotel didn't have enough blankets. Luckily I had one packed in the trunk of Baby, and I used it for extra coverage.

Even though Dean and I shared a bed, I wrapped it around me as I slept and said, “Sucks that you hate this so much, or else I’d share with you…”

He stared at me with complete annoyance when I gave him an exaggerated “Oh well” face before stealing it all for myself. 

I did, however, wake up to sharing it, but only because he had stolen it, and I was too tired to fight him about it.

I think one of my favorite times I rebuked him of his privileges was when he was wearing a pair of socks I had made him for Christmas around the house. I may have gotten a little more intense than I needed to, but the look on his face made it worth it.

He had come into the movie room to binge a few episodes of a new series I got him hooked on, and after he called me in to watch with him, I noticed the specific socks he had on. 

I grinned once my brain had formulated a plan to make him regret ever giving me hell for a hobby he obviously loved himself.

“Claire said there was a show called Love Island we should watch. I have no clue what it’s about, but she said it was popular and what the kids are watching now,” Dean conversed as he grabbed the remote from the table and stood with a blanket (not one of mine, as I had relocated all of them so he couldn’t find them) around his shoulders. 

He was in the perfect position for my plan. 

I walked over and, instead of facing the TV, stood right in front of him and looked up at him. 

“You know what we could do?” I whispered in a low and sultry voice, bringing my hand up to his chest and inching my fingers up to the collar of his t-shirt before pulling at it gently. His eyes instantly darkened, and he was frozen in his place. 

“Wh-What, uh, what can we do?” he stammered out. Even after three years of dating, he still got nervous. I loved it. 

“I think you know what,” I said, tiptoeing upward to quietly say in his ear, bringing my hand from his chest to the back of his neck, softly pulling him closer to me. 

“I think I have an idea,” he replied more confidently, immediately bringing his free hand to my waist and squeezing it. 

I could have faltered there, but I held strong. I was going to make him pay for all his little ‘grandma’ jokes he had sent my way the last few months. 

I pulled back, sending him a smirk that I knew revved him up. He returned it with his own and started leaning down, forgetting his grip on the blanket and remote. Now both of his hands sat on my hips with a stronghold. 

Before he could lean down any further, I pushed him backward harshly on the couch, and at first, he was shocked, then he was excited. 

Slouched into the cushion, looking up at me, his tongue came out to lick his lips and ended with a bite to his lower lip as he eyed me up and down as I stood over him. 

“Dear God, Y/N,” he hummed under his breath. 

I guess it helped that I was wearing some of my shorter PJ shorts, ones he had told me were his favorites, and a shirt that was cropped and slightly falling off my shoulder.

He had a thing for me being in a disheveled manner like this. Reminded him of how I looked after we fucked around, and he held pride knowing he played a part in the kind of glow I gave off. 

I wasn’t sure how long I could do this without failing myself on the original mission. I came here to fuck with him, and now he was the fucker. Or at least he was going to be if I didn’t follow through with my plan in the next minute. 

“You know, you should be happy you were by the couch,” I smiled, stepping to him and strategically bringing my legs to straddle his hips teasingly. 

His breath hitched at that, and I knew I had regained the upper hand. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he hummed as he admired my hands pressing into his chest as I leaned in, bringing myself closer to him. 

“I was about to take you wherever I found you,” I whispered, looking him dead in the eyes with a soft smile. I looked him up and down and bit the inside of my cheek. That seemed to trigger his hands back to my hips instantly. This time a much more possessive lock on them. 

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I can’t complain,” he said lowly, and I knew he was hooked. Now it was time for revenge. 

“Can I ask you a question?” I hummed, running my finger lightly over his hair down to his jaw, using the tip of it to push his chin up so I could see his eyes better. 

“Please,” he buzzed, drunk with lust. 

“Hmm,” I hummed, smiling more, dropping my gaze to his lips, then back at his eyes where he was drowning in dopamine by our current position. “Those socks you have on?” He didn’t catch on immediately and just furrowed his eyes as he processed what I asked. “They look familiar.” 

I leaned back from my seat, still straddling his hips, but not with nearly as much pressure as before. 

“What-” Dean started, but it dawned on him mid-thought. His eyes went from ready to tear my clothes off to annoyed realization. “Seriously.” 

“What?” I feigned ignorance and stood up, repositioning myself between his legs, both hands on his knees as I looked at him and leaned over. 

He couldn’t tell which way this was going for him, and that was the point. I was still winning this little game. 

I eased myself lower, squatting with my knees going into the couch and in between his thighs. My hands went flat on his knees and slowly started working up his thighs. 

“I can’t tell what you’re doing here, Y/N,” he said in a breathy voice. I watched as he tried to control himself, looking up away from me but not being able to help react to my hands on him. 

“I’m not doing anything,” I said in a voice that made him lower his nervous wandering eyes back to me. The amount of green in his eyes disappeared slowly. 

“You’re teasing me,” he said shortly as if he was worried his voice would tremble if he didn’t get it out quickly. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” I shrugged with a pursed lip before bringing my hands slowly back down his legs. 

“You’re mad at me,” he stuttered the last word when my hands worked their way back up, but further up than before.

“Now, why would you think that?” I tutted, shaking my head with an exaggerated look of hurt. 

All he could do was take a slow, deep breath in as I tilted my head and smiled devilishly at him.

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t play innocent.” 

I grinned.

“You and I both know I’m far from that…” My tone was darker than before but in a seductive and tempting manner. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He shot up from his slouched position and leaned forward, grabbing my forearms in his hands and pulling me up in his lap with his nose mere inches from my own. 

“If your goal was to make me suffer, you won,” he whispered so quietly; if I wasn't this close, I wouldn't have heard it. He tilted his head up just enough for our noses to brush before pulling back. 

“Keep it together, girl… Keep it fucking together,” I repeated in my head. 

“Did I? Or am I just getting started?” I snarked, and that caused the new grip on my thigh to tighten, and I almost groaned at the pressure. 

“Don’t start a war you can’t win,” he smirked, feeling as though he possessed the power. 

Two can play that game. 

I smiled, bringing my free hand up and tracing it behind his ear before wrapping it slowly around the back of his neck. I brought his face closer to mine but stopped right when I could feel the brush of his lips. 

Our chests were pressed into each other, and I could feel his heart rate pick up. Perfect. 

I nudged our noses again and smiled as his eyes closed, and he naturally and lazily chased my lips. 

I rocked my hips in a measured manner, placed perfectly in the middle of his lap, and he sucked in a breath at the friction.

“Women don’t start wars. They finish them,” I whispered before promptly standing up and, in a swift motion, yanking the socks he had on off and walking to the exit. 

“Y/N!” I could hear his shout from the couch from where I knew he was with a full hard-on, unable to move just yet. 

“This granny is going to bed!” I shouted, speed-walking to my room in case he decided to run after me. 

“You little-!” the shout still seemed far behind me, and I quickly shut my bedroom door and locked it. 

Thankfully, I think I left him incapacitated for a second, and he didn’t follow me immediately. 

I actually didn’t hear from him for the rest of the night. I hoped I didn’t upset him, but also, the whole reason I had done what I had was because he had become a little ass about my favorite hobby. I don’t mind the jokes, but after a while, you want a pat on the back for learning something new. Especially from someone you care about. 

I went ahead and did my normal nighttime routine and got into bed before I started to read a book. I must have dozed off while reading because I woke up to the lights out, my book on the end table, and Dean crawling into the other side of the bed. 

Before I could say anything, his arms came around my waist, and he pulled me to his core. He was in his boxers and one of his soft t-shirts I made him wear to bed. 

For the record, I was perfectly fine with him in no shirt (or pants, for that matter), but when he did wear a shirt, I made him put on a certain kind cause his band and certain graphic tee ones were itchy on me when we cuddled. 

He took a deep sigh and nuzzled his face into the crevice between my neck and shoulder, one of his favorite places. 

“Why’d you lock your door?” he asked, already knowing I had woken up. 

He had definitely picked the lock.

“I thought you were going to hunt me down, and I forgot to unlock it,” I replied sleepily. 

There was silence for a minute, and eventually, he spoke up, whispering in my ear his apology. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” I sighed with a winning grin he couldn't see, knowing why but playing coy anyway. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you how much I appreciate your brain,” he answered. 

That was not what I expected, but I was intrigued. 

“Hmmm,” I smiled, moving my hands to his that were wrapped around my ribs and nuzzling my backside closer to him. “Don’t stop now; you’re on a roll.” 

He laughed and invited my attempt to fit into him like a puzzle piece.

“You’re ambitious with everything you want to learn to do, and I don’t tell you enough how much of a turn-on that is,” he hummed, rubbing his head into mine and peppering a kiss on my neck here and there. “And I know you know how much I love the skills you gain, but sometimes I’m bad about just saying how impressive you are to me.” 

“You like my crocheting skills, Winchester,” I chuckled, turning my body to face him now and throwing one of my legs over his hips, pulling back in some. “Just say it.” 

“I love your crocheting skills,” he replied with a wide grin and brought a hand up to move the stray hairs that fell on my face. “I love your baking and cooking. I love your impressive TV show-binging skills. I love the random facts you have stored in that beautiful brain of yours. I love your surprisingly nerdy side of Marvel and superheroes. I love your attempt at being a gardener.”

“Hey, I have three plants that are thriving right now!” I argued, poking a finger in his chest, which he grabbed and kissed the tip of. 

“I love everything you’re passionate about,” he finished off. “I don’t tell you enough, and sometimes I like to see that face you give me when I tease you.” I gave him a look. “Maybe more than sometimes… But! I do love all those things and more about you, Y/N.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” I replied, scooting in closer. “But it is nice to hear it from those captivating lips of yours.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

We started smiling at each other, and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about earlier. 

“I’m sorry I teased you,” I sighed, moving to where I was embedded in his chest, and he wrapped himself back around me. 

“Don’t be. I deserved it,” he replied, chin on my head before he bent down and kissed the top of it. “I will say, though, I’ve never been mad about seeing that side of you.” 

“What side?” I looked up at him. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing,” he chuckled, pulling my head back to him. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed after a minute. “Hey.”

“Hm?” 

“You’re my favorite person. You know that, right?” 

“Feelings are very much mutual,” he answered, caressing a hand up and down my back. 

“Good. I’d have to kill you with one of my knitting needles if you said otherwise. Who said needleworking wasn’t dangerous, right?”

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente​ @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose  @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan  @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @drakelover78 @caruhleener

Supernatural Tags:

@flamencodiva @hobby27 @sucker-for-dean @deans-baby-momma @squirrelgirl67 @death-unbecomes-you @snffbeebee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @musiclovinchic93 @vicmc624 @carryon-doctor-lock @perpetualabsurdity @herscrunchiehairtie @spnwoman @shamelesslydean @monkeymcpoopoo @winchestergirl82 @luciathewinchestergirl @deansyahtzee @thatgirl1456 @sucker-for-dean @atomicloverdonkeyperson @screechingartisancashbailiff @akshi8278 @supernatural3002

[yourlittlebunnyy]

a court of shadows and darkness

masterlist - previous chapter - next chapter

chapter three

summary: Selaene, Rhysand's sister, Azriel's mate runs away after the High Lord of Spring tries to kill her.

warnings: death

enjoy! <3

"Mother! Selaene! Father!" Rhysand's voice echoes through the mountains, but the Illyrian Steppes remain silent before his prayers. With his hands in his hair, his grip so tight it tears them apart, the male's knees give way, and at this point, he does not care who sees him. Sobs shake his entire body as he slumps to the ground, and he does not even feel the frozen snow soaking his clothes. He feels nothing but the pain of that loss. All he can do is think, after his family was killed, that it was all his fault. His sister had tried to call him, but he did not arrive in time, and now they are all dead. He opens his eyes just wide enough to look at the patch of his mother's blood mixed with Selaene's blood smearing the white snow. The sight is almost poetic. He will get his revenge, whoever was the bastard who killed two of the most important people in his life. And his father.

He hears footsteps behind him but he doesn't compose himself, not caring who might see the future High Lord of the Night Court in that state.

"Brother...," it's Cassian, he realizes. He lays a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"Get the fuck away." And as he has arrived, he leaves, silent. Around him, a gentle breeze caresses his face, the only uncovered part of him. It should be icy but tepid, as if it were a last goodbye, a last cuddle from his family before they leave forever. More sobs make his body shake. He takes off his gloves and slips his hands into the snow, the pain in his scalp fades and he immediately regrets it. But it's quickly replaced by the snow that is so cold it burns his palms. He deserves it, he thinks, he deserves it after failing to protect those he loves.

He stays there an indefinite time. His clothes are soaked and the sun is setting, now the air is so cold it freezes his bones, and Rhysand stands up shivering like a small child.

Before he leaves he makes a promise to himself. It doesn't matter how, only that no one he loves will ever die from his lack of attention again. He will never again fail in his task. With one last look at the blood-stained snow, an action he is not ready to do-but must, he leaves, leaving his mother, father, and sister for one last time. When he returns to the Wind House, he does not find Azriel. He enters and each step seems heavier than the last. He does not bother not to drag his wings, does not care about appearances. Even breathing becomes too strenuous. He finds Cassian sitting at the table, his cheeks streaked with tears. At the sight of his brother so grief-stricken Rhysand cannot hold them back himself. He sits at the table with him, the house so cold and empty without the laughter of the two females. He wonders if one day he will forget even the sound of their voices.

"Azriel?" he asks after what seems like infinity. The broken voice reaches Cassian's ears distantly. When he answers, his voice is a reflection of his brother's. "He... he's gone mad, Rhys."

A heavy silence fills the air with tension.

"I'm going to kill him, Cassian."

"I know, Rhys. I know. But Azriel may already be thinking about it."

Cassian looks at his brother in the eyes. His gaze dull, his eyes red and puffy. They make him look centuries older. The warrior believes that he himself is in the same condition as Rhysand. Selaene and her mother have also been his family, have been the only family.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. He woke me up at dawn after he heard-he heard Selaene die from the bond. Goddamn, Rhysand." The brother's voice cracks so hard. They have never cried like this in the nearly seventy years they have known each other. Rhysand watches the Illyrian warrior, his brother, fall apart before him. Something in his gaze changes.

"Find Azriel. I'll take care of the bastard." At the change in his brother's tone, Cassian lifts his face in surprise. "Do you-do you know who-?"

"Who could it have been but Tamlin'." He points this out in a voice so distant that the warrior wonders how he can plan a murder under these conditions. "Brother, I don't think-"

"No, Cassian. Find Azriel and let me have my revenge."

The warrior can do nothing but nod. Before he goes, he takes one last look at his brother. The icy voice is not reflected in his expression, still heartbroken. When he is about to leave the room, he turns a small bow to him. Now, Rhysand is a High Lord.

"NO!", Azriel's screams wake Cassian. His brother did not scream, ever. Not even when he had nightmares, not even when he was being tortured did he ever scream.

He can do nothing but grab the dagger hidden under the mattress and run to his room. What he certainly did not expect was to see his brother kneeling, sobs wracking his entire body, hands clutching his chest at heart level. When he heard his brother enter the room and looked up, Azriel's eyes are of pure pain.

"Azriel... what's going on?" He approaches him and kneels before him, the dagger forgotten on the ground at the doorframe, two strong hands rest on his shoulders to give him support.

Azriel rises hastily, trembling knees not offering him too much stability causing him to stagger slightly. Cassian is worried-he has never seen his brother in such a condition.

"Selaene..." he manages to gasp and a pain expands in the warrior's chest. "Azriel. Speak, Selaene what? What has happened?"

"The bond. I don't... I can't hear it anymore, Cassian. It's empty." His brother's cracked voice shatters him.

"I-I thought you wanted to accept the bond."

"No, Cassian. I don't..." Azriel takes a short pause, a long breath, and Cassian has never been more agitated. If he is not suffering because he was rejected, what else could have happened that is so terrible? "I don't feel her anymore. She is..." But Azriel cannot finish the sentence. He can't. The sobbing that beats him is so violent that the warrior has to hold him up as the ShadowSinger cries on his shoulder. He himself cannot stop the tears. The situation is so surreal.

"Azriel." His voice is broken, like when he was a baby is crying in Rhysand's mother's arms. "I swear if this is a joke-"

" Fucking hell, Cassian. It's not a fucking joke." His brother's voice is so harsh that he feels guilty for even thinking it.

"I have to go." He suddenly breaks away from the comforting grip.

"Azriel, brother..."

But before he can even finish the sentence, Azriel disappears into his shadows.

463 years later

"I have never entered your room, Azriel. It is an honor." Feyre's voice and her little comment make Azriel smile slightly.

"I like to ... keep my own space." The Fae smiles at her words, and the Illyrian notices the female's gaze wandering around the room. Too much for his liking.

Her eyes land on a romantic book, one that Nesta has recommended to him and he is far too kind to tell her he will never read. The Fae picks it up and lifts it to show him, a feline smile breaks across her bright face. "Uh-huh. I didn't know the much-feared Spymaster read such impurities!"

An amused snort escapes his throat, but he doesn't respond further. He lets Feyre take a closer look at the room and comment on every single thing in it-not that he has many, fortunately. This is exactly why he does not like it when people enter his room.

As the young Fae continues to browse through his things, he heads to the real reason he brought Feyre to his room. The damned paperwork that his High lord desperately need for some reason.

"Fey. You're supposed to be looking for the reports, not the dirty books your sister lends me."

"Ah! But look at you going all defensive," she chuckles, and Azriel struggles to hide the smirk that lights up his face, "there's nothing wrong with wanting to read a little pepper every now and then." She laughs again after seeing the Shadowsinger roll his eyes.

"Oh...," Azriel pays no mind to whatever caught the Fae's attention, probably another piece of junk. "Az?"

"Yes?"

"Who-who is it?"

The Illyrian warrior's entire body stiffens at such words, somehow knowing full well what, who he is referring to.

"She is... it's gorgeous." The tone suggests to him that she is speaking more to herself than to him. But Selaene is still an open wound for him, and he is not ready to talk about it, and perhaps never will be.

After her death he simply ignored the pain, doing nothing about it. Rhysand became High Lord and he was made Spymaster, he begged his brother to send him on so many missions that he forgot about Selaene. Of course, he did not succeed. But at least he was busy and time made things better. But every time she is mentioned ... he still feels that unbearable emptiness in his chest, and it would hurt less if his heart was ripped out of his chest alive.

"Is that Rhys's sister?" Feyre's question brings him back to reality. He stares at her for a long time, and the Fae cannot help but notice the pain that flashes in his eyes, pain so fiery and burning. His eyes blur, as if inside his head he is replaying memories. When he does not respond, she speaks again.

"Rhys told me about her. But I didn't know you were related."

Azriel still does not answer, and Feyre realizes that he will probably never answer. She feels like a bad person for asking such intrusive questions, and feels the need to make up for it.

"I'm sorry, Az. I didn't mean to bring back bad memories."

Azriel wanted to yell at her, to get out, to not speak about her.

He wanted to scream that she was not a bad memory, but he could not. It had been decades since anyone had mentioned Selaene.

It had been decades since anyone had mentioned Selaene. Sure, above his bed there is a painting of her that he stares at every morning as soon as he wakes up and every night before he goes to sleep. Gods, there are days when he sits on his desk and stares at her for hours, unable to look away. But this is different. Someone talking about his dead mate in front of him is different. He is not ready to voice his thoughts, and perhaps never will be.

"Maybe ... maybe I should go. Don't... forget about the papers, I'm sure Rhysand doesn't need them that much."

Azriel watches her leave her room, and hates the look he receives. Compassion. The look he gets from his brothers whenever they see him alone at a ball, or the look he gets whenever a bond is mentioned.

He stares again at the painting of his beloved, and lets the memories he has of her calm his mind and the shadows obscure his vision, as if to put a wall between him and reality.

He wonders when was the last time he heard her voice, her laugh, her name on his lips. And when he tries to remember the sound of it, he can't. He has forgotten Selaene's laughter.

After almost a century of it not happening, Azriel lets tears flow freely down his face and sobs fill the room, careless of who might hear. The shadows themselves, who loved his female as much as he did, cry and call her name, as if at any moment, she might return. As if she simply went out on an errand.

He wonders how his brothers would look at him now, weeping for a lover lost almost five centuries ago. Who knows how much compassion he would find in their looks.

next chapter

[yujeong]

what do u think is the relevance of the black cat on tonkla? what goes on inside his head when he sees the cat?

Anon, I could talk about that damn cat all day, but my head is a mess and I can't fully put my thoughts in order. This post was the best I could do, but since you asked, I'll try to explain how I view the whole thing as coherently as I can. In very few words, the cat represents many things in relation to Tonkla: loss, powerlessness, mourning, bad luck, love, revenge and so on. Whenever the cat appears, it encompasses all of those things, some of these prevailing over others depending on the scene in question. With that said, let's take each scene and analyze it a little bit, shall we? First instance - Episode 1: Right after Korn leaves, Tonkla hears his cat meowing. The cat looks at him for a short moment, then it immediately flees to the kitchen, where it disappears before it completely turns around. (In this moment I'd like to mention how, in my opinion based on Episode 7, Tonkla's cat was probably killed near or in the kitchen. The space isn't shown clearly but it'd make sense, since 2/3 cat appearances happen close to the kitchen.) In order for us to understand what Tonkla is thinking once he sees the cat, we need to remember what happened for it to appear in the first place: Korn left to go to his dad, his actions and words reminding Tonkla that he doesn't come first. Korn, the man Tonkla loves, left him. Just like his cat did. But it's not only that.

This specific moment has stayed with me. It looks like he's reminiscing a past memory. Like he's remembering how his cat was killed, how he lost something he loved, how it was brutally taken from him. And the memory must have hurt, because he exhales, rests his head on the couch and then:

He does this. Many people, myself included, thought this was about Korn, and it very well could be, and it kind of is, but I also think it's about the cat. It's about the loss and the loneliness and how it's a constant in Tonkla's life. Second Instance - Episode 7: This time, at first the cat meows softly like before to get Tonkla's attention, but then the sound the cat makes is angrier, its gaze sharper. Now it stays there and it doesn't flee and it stares at Tonkla without fear. So, what happens this time to make the cat appear? Tonkla gets upset by Win's approach of bringing Title to justice. He feels it's not enough, like it's not the correct solution to the problem. An important detail to this moment is that we don't only hear the cat meowing. We also hear its bell ringing. The one Tonkla was holding when he pushed his father down the stairs. When he killed him. What goes on inside Tonkla's head this time is simpler to understand: the cat serves as a reminder of what he's done in the past. The realization dawns on his face, his fingers itch with it, the sink becomes his old house's floor with his father's blood smeared all over it.

"Right," he thinks. "I can take matters into my own hands. I don't have to rely on anyone else." Third Instance - Episode 7: Finally, we hear the cat and see it briefly walking by Tonkla's gun, the one he uses to shoot Great. Here, what happens before this moment to make the cat appear is interesting to me: Tonkla finds out Great and Korn are related, something he had no idea about, judging by his reaction:

And it's interesting to me because I believe that for a moment, he was conflicted:

He understood what him doing harm to Korn's brother would mean for him and for their relationship. That's why, even when the cat meows and the gun appears in the frame, he still has that face:

But of course, this doesn't last, because Tonkla understands the poetic irony of the situation. And he finds it hilarious.

That's what his smile means to me. He's not losing it, it's not a deranged expression (although it is). He just finds it all amusing and I can't really blame him. This is the moment the cat represents revenge. This is when it crosses Tonkla's mind. All the other things are still there - the loss, the pain, the loneliness, all of it - but this is what prevails in the end. Oh, and because I saw a few mentions of mental disorders floating around in regards to Tonkla seeing the cat, I'd like to end this post on a very unserious note, by adding a moment from 13 reasons why of all shows: Clay: "I don't actually see ghosts." Justin: "I get it. You wrote my paper on magical realism."

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Eyes on Fire

Gortash x F! Dark Urge

18+ complicated feelings, combat, adrenaline, power play, sadomasochism, dry humping, breast worship (m!), choking, marking, humiliation kink, p-in-v, just a smidge of tenderness

The visage of the Archduke won't leave her, and itching for blood, his favorite assassin is about to pay the Lord a very welcome visit...

Masterlist

-

This could not continue.

The way he looked at her was haunting her. It was a mistake in hindsight to confront him alone, but as they drew closer to the city small flickers of memory sparked. She had traveled these roads of that she was certain, smells, sounds drawing back.

The name was familiar in a hazy, frustrated way. Karlach's mouth forming it with appropriate spite. But it stirred something half formed inside her. Muffled and far away, but undeniable.

It wasn't until they entered the town proper, and she caught sight of a peeling poster that she got some clarity.

Her eyes were glued to the portrait. Karlach's venomous bark of a laugh shocking her out of her trance.

"Wow, that's generous alteration." Ripping the poster down, only leaving a white layer of fuzzy torn paper. "He fucking wishes."

She blinked. Even with the inaccuracies of the portrait, quick flipping pages of memory of that face played over the backs of her eyelids.

"You okay, soldier?" Karlach offered, hand strong on her shoulder.

"Yeah," She shuddered. "Just thinking about all we have to do."

Not entirely a lie. She had made up her mind to go alone right there. Karlach would get her revenge, trust. But she needed to do this on her own.

When his eyes had met hers at the coronation, they lit up with unmistakable adoration. The way he spoke to her, low and nearly gentle, but still with that air of malice. He was one of the first people to actually take the time to explain her past to her. And his information, much to her dismay, was priceless for unraveling the knotted tapestry of her past.

She paced in her tent. A dog in a kennel circling. Dagger hand spinning a blade in irritation.

No, this wouldn't do.

Sneaking out was commonplace for her at this point, often preferring to be out of camp at night. After Alfira, she had lost confidence in her self-control, and sleep just became another enemy. Honestly, she wondered if her companions felt the same. If they were comforted to have her away during sleeping hours.

It didn't take her long to find a Steel Watch centurion patrolling through a low Rivington street.

"Hey!"

The centurion turned, towering over her.

"Citizen. What do you need assista-"

"Yeah, yeah, cute..." She waved her hand dismissively. "Hey, tell your boss I want to talk. Alone."

The centurion shifted, sputtering and releasing to new control. That vexing baritone voice emitting from its chest.

"Where and when?" He crooned.

"Here and now. If you can catch me, Enver." She hissed, not able to restrict the smile smearing her face.

Before it could react, she darted under the centurion's legs and took off like a shot towards the fortress.

She heard his laugh faintly as she ducked through the street in a whip of hair. Releasing her body to adrenaline felt so right, unbuckling the blades at her hips.

She was itching for blood, but as she approached, the Fist only stepped aside. Leaving her path clear, straight to him.

His voice, still inside the Watch calling out. "This one is mine. Let her through."

Sprinting through the grand hall, she pulled her twin blades from their prisons. Flipping them eagerly as she darted up the stairs, the beginnings of the coronation hall filling her vision.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, a hand grabbed her by her long braid from behind, wrenching her to a stop. A knee kicked into the base of her spine.

The force caused her to drop her blades, only winded for a second before she clasped her hands and drove her elbow back with all of her force into his ribcage.

His hand released her braid with a loud gulp of air. She swept his leg and circled to kick his knee forward for good measure.

Gortash fell on one knee, laughing with what little air he had. Arms suddenly rocketing back and gripping the back of her shirt as she leaned forward to wrestle him to the ground.

In impressive strength, he flipped her over his body. Slamming her down into the marble floor in front of him.

She saw stars, back landing hard into the fall. Could feel a rib or two crack, groaning in pleasure.

"Thank the Gods, you haven't changed." He panted. Catching her mouth in a flipped ravenous kiss.

She moaned into him, gripping dark hair in her fist.

His taste, brandy and chewed peppermint, something she had longed for without realizing.

His clawed hands holding her head in place as he feasted, the bite of metal welcome against her flushed skin. The soft sounds he pushed into her mouth so desperately making her hips roll.

He kicked away her blades, forcing her dagger hand under her back as he flipped and straddled over her. So he did know her well.

She fought against his hold, a wicked smile splitting his face. Forcing between her legs and grinding his hard cock viciously into her center.

Her head fell back, his intended outcome. Mouth diving onto her neck, sucking and biting into the soft flesh.

"You always did need some taming before we fucked." He chuckled against her saliva slicked throat. A tapestry of bruises already spreading.

"What makes you think I won't kill you?" She panted, traitorous hips rolling into his.

"Oh, I hope you haven't given up on that." He encouraged. "It's so much more fun when you draw blood."

She smiled and wrapped her strong thighs around his knees, using her core to rise up and crack her forehead into his.

"Fuck!" He shouted, falling back. A trickle of blood dripping down his face.

She moaned in the back of her throat, licking it up in a flat pull of her tongue.

His blood tasted just as good as she remembered, the copper and salt savoring on her tongue.

Her hand snapped down on his throat, grinding hard into him with unrestrained rolls of her hips. Eyes fluttering up into her eyelids as she lost herself in the sensation.

He gripped onto her hips, watching her through lidded eyes. One clawed hand ripping her shirt down the middle in harsh yanks.

His hips stuttered against hers when her breasts sprung free, pupils blown wide with lust.

"Fuck..." He hissed, reaching up to palm the round flesh into his hand.

She knocked his hand away, pinning it down under her knee. Rising onto them, just to crush his hand under her weight.

He twisted in pain, gasping. Back arching instinctually as his body tried to pull him free.

"Arching your back already for me?" She smiled, leaning forward and applying more pressure on his throat as her dagger hand undid the ties of his trousers. "How embarrassing."

He fisted her dress in his free hand, a smile visible on his upturned face.

As soon as his cock sprung free she leaned back, her bare cunt sliding viciously against it.

He gasped out, the slightest whimper in the back of his throat.

Oh she wanted to hear that again.

She pushed his shirt up to his clavicle, pinching and rolling a nipple between her fingers. His fist slammed down onto the floor when she took the other into her hot mouth. Slurping the hard bud with a pulsing tongue.

She got her reward, choppy pleading whimpers. His hips writhed, silently begging her to let him inside.

Content to torment him more, she nibbled down on the peak. "Funny, you always have your chest out." She hummed, dragging her fingernails in hard lines down his chest. "Like your begging to have your tits sucked."

He groaned in response, cock twitching against the languid grind of her cunt. Precum spilling onto the tone of his belly.

She smiled, gripping his pecs in both hands. "Oh you like that, don't you?"

She laved flat stripes up and down his engorged peaks, saliva dripping down his ribcage.

"Ah-!" He moaned, trying to still his hips.

"Ohhh," She cheshire smiled. "Are you about to cum, Enver?" Her hips not stopping one bit.

"Before I've even taken you inside? Are you going to cum all over yourself like a bitch in heat? How humiliating."

She stopped her hips entirely, rising back on knees. Leaving his leaking cock cold and bothered.

He whined, eyes clenched shut.

"Look at me, dog." She commanded.

His eyes shot open, finding hers. Lips falling apart. Face dumb with lust.

"Good boy." She smiled, pushing her fingers into his mouth.

He sucked down eagerly, tongue swirling around the pads of her fingers.

"Very good boy." She moaned, finally teasing the head of his cock into her entrance.

His hips bucked and she forced her fingers down his throat roughly in response. He barely gagged and she couldn't help but be impressed.

"You'll behave or you'll get nothing." She promised, rising back up.

His hands clasped under his lower back as a peace offering.

"Better." She hummed, and without warning, slammed him inside of her to the hilt.

His eyes shot to the back of his head, back arching and twisting to the side. Mouth opening around her fingers to cry out.

Her hand slid back down to his throat, other pushing on his lower belly, holding him in place. Her hips rising and falling in slow malicious waves.

She moved entirely at the pace she felt like, his hips straining up against her hand. Using his body as her own personal fucktoy.

He was a delicious sight under her, chest marked and slick, face crumpled in pleasure, held in place by his brusing throat. Clearly holding back his orgasm with all of his might.

She bounced hard a few times just to torment him then slowed back down to her own pace. His body tremoring in restraint.

"I could go for sooo much longer, how about you Enver?" She mocked, fingers flexing in an arc along his throat.

His eyes met hers in desperation. Face flushed with his effort.

"Say please, and I'll let you cum inside me." She hummed.

He bit his lip, a spiteful smile crossing his lips.

"Please..." He purred, voice only gravel and heat.

She smiled and pushed hard on his lower belly, anchoring herself, and began slamming up and down onto him.

His head fell back, and she gripped into his hair and brought it back up. Staring hard into him.

He leaned up, bending his knees. Wrapping his arms strong around her back. Eyes held in hers. That softness returning.

She slowed her hips to a roll, lost in him for a moment. The clear awe in his face spellbinding her.

No, she had to remember herself.

Pulling the dagger strapped to her thigh, she plunged it in his shoulder.

He froze, eyes meeting the hilt, then rolling back hard into his head.

He gripped into her undone braid as he came. Shuddering hard as he flooded her, voice stolen except for hitching whining gasps. Hips pushing up in stuttering pulses.

She pulled her blade out slowly, moaning low in her chest. Catching the silk pull of blood in her mouth. Lapping greedily at the wound.

He cupped her head to him, trying to catch his breath. Still seated deep inside her. Resting his head against hers. "You came back to me." He murmured, mostly to himself.

The tears that prickled at her eyes broke her indulgence. Rising off of him, hating the longing that her heart held without her input.

His hand trailed down her long hair as she pulled away, bringing it to his nose before she stood.

She shook the blood off of her dagger with an instinctive flick of her wrist. "I'm not who you think I am."

He smiled, eyes challenging that statement with a pointed glance at the unconscious movement she just made.

"Doubtful, but thank you for the new scar. It will go well with the others." A flash of knowing moving over his eyes as her eyes traveled, searching for more of her claims.

"I detest you." She tried for venomous, but it only widened his smile.

"Oh, I did miss this."

~

[a-babe-without-a-name]

Sister Lovers, Water Brothers

Chapter Seven: Bats out of Hell

Masterlist

Steve wasn’t happy with the way Munson was treating one of his kids. So unhappy in fact, that he forces himself into their club leader’s van to see what he’s getting up to with Chrissy Cunningham, and maybe it’s a good thing he’s so paranoid because it might just save her life.

Or, the one where Chrissy doesn’t die in the Munson trailer, and, despite the world-ending, the king(former) and queen(current) of Hawkins High cannot take their eyes off Eddie Munson

Read on AO3 (content warnings in notes on A03)

Steve flailed on the ground, punching and kicking at the bats feeding on him. Every time he managed to kick one off, it just rushed right back in, its razor-sharp beak and teeth tearing into his flesh. The tail of one was still wrapped around his neck and he was unable to defend his torso and neck at the same time. He was beginning to run out of air, the tail crushing his windpipe only getting tighter as he thrashed.

His vision was beginning to blur when a loud smack sent one of the bats spiraling away from Steve, flapping its wings as it took off. His friends had shown up and were currently trying their hardest to protect Steve. Chrissy smacked the other bat with an oar, sending it away like Nancy had done, while Robin rushed around to the bat that was choking Steve.

She slammed her boot down hard on its tail, keeping it from tugging at Steve’s throat while Nancy slammed the end of the oar into it over and over again.

“Kill it! Kill it!” Eddie shouted, wielding the heavy flashlight Steve had lost earlier.

A bat swooped down attempting to take Eddie to the ground. Before it could make contact, Chrissy swung her oar, connecting with a crack and sending the bat dead to the ground. Robin twisted her boot into the tail of the bat, using her other foot to stomp on it as hard as she could.

“Nancy, watch out!” Eddie shouted, spotting a bat coming down directly for Nancy.

Before she could react it attached itself to her back.

“Nancy!” Robin shouted, grabbing the tail of the creature and yanking on it, she punched at its wings, trying to get it to go away.

“Robin! Get it off!” She screamed struggling against the creature.

“I got it!” Chrissy shouted, spearing her oar through its side and prying it off of her back.

Robin slammed the bat against the ground and Nancy shoved her oar through its head, finally killing it. Another bat swooped at Eddie, he smacked at it with the heavy flashlight, trying to keep it away as it snapped at him. Chrissy knocked it away with another hit, strong enough to break its bones and send it careening to the earth, lifeless. The hit also managed to break her oar in half, leaving her with only a jagged stick.

*

Thanks to Nancy and Robin, the tail around Steve’s neck was finally loose enough for him to get his hand under it. Steve didn’t have time to think before he pulled it away from his neck enough to sink his teeth into the bat in revenge for the chunks his friends had taken out of him. Knowing that it had been overpowered the creepy fucker tried to escape, but Steve kept hold of it as he struggled to get on one knee. He stood, swinging the bat by the tail, repeatedly slamming it into the dry lake bed.

Eddie, weaponless and unsure how to help, could only watch as Steve viscously destroyed the bat. His eyes flicked between him, repeating the motion a few more times, and Chrissy impaled a bat in the face with the broken handle of the oar and slammed it into the ground with a scream.

“Jesus H. Christ!” he screamed, searching the sky for more bats, but that appeared to be it for now.

They all looked on as Steve tore the final bat in two with his bare feet and hands, its blood still dripping from his mouth. Eddie was going to write odes to the picture before him-the half-clothed fighter panting as he rode out the aftermath of the fight. His hair was a mess, and all of him was smeared in blood and grime that only served to better contour his muscles even as they relaxed. He spat off to the side, then looked down to assess his wounds. Beside him, Chrissy rose, stake covered in bat guts, looking just as rugged.

Her white sweater was definitely past saving, Eddie thought remorsefully, as he looked over her for injuries, but found none.

“You okay?” Chrissy asked Steve, turning him away from an approaching Nancy with a hand on his shoulder.

“Well they took about a pound of flesh,” Steve tried to joke, “but other than that, yeah, okay.” She looked over the road rash tracked down his back, from the bat dragging him by the throat, and the blood seeping out of his stomach skeptically.

Eddie took them in, standing together. Logically they made more sense together- two of the same kind of people, brought up in the same circles, barreling down the same path of high school sweethearts turned unhappy married couple. They were even pretty in the same way.

“Do you guys think these bats had, like, rabies?” Robin asked, hunched over the one Steve had shredded. “It’s just rabies is my number one greatest fear, and I think we should get you to a doctor soon because once symptoms set in-”

“Robin,” Chrissy cut her off, not unkindly, but whatever she was going to say died in her mouth as the shadows of more bats appeared against the flashing sky, their strange cries filling up around them. “We need to move,” she said instead, and no one bothered to argue with her, just followed as she sprinted for the tree line.

*

At the Wheeler’s house Lucas, Dustin, and Max were all squished awkwardly into a loveseat, swarmed by disapproving looks. Lucas’s family, Dustin’s mom, and the Wheeler parents were all crammed into the small room with Chief Powell sitting in a chair at the center, directly across from the three kids as he began interrogating them.

“What exactly were you all doing at the lake?” Powell asked, leaning forward in his chair, waiting for an answer.

On the loveseat, they look to each other for answers. They hadn’t had the opportunity to come up with a plan. They floundered for words, Lucas and Dustin offering nothing while Max took the lead.

“We were, uh,” She looked to Lucas, who was no help, “We were just going for a walk.”

“A walk?” Officer Callahan asked, incredulously, “At 9 p.m.?”

“To the lake,” Dustin squeaked, shrugging his shoulders, “we were gonna… take a little swim. Little night swim.”

Max and Lucas just nodded along with Dustin’s unconvincing lie. His mother somehow believed it.

“Dusty,” She cried, “Someone was just murdered there!”

“Yeah, we, uh, we didn’t realize that until we got there.” Dustin’s voice evened out as he became more confident in the lie.

“That’s why we didn’t swim!” Lucas added.

“And Nancy?” Karen asked after her own kid, “Was she with you at this… night swim?”

“No”

“Yes, uh…” Dustin and Max contradict each other.

Dustin raised his eyebrows thinking for a moment before lamely offering, “We’re not sure.

“She was there,” Dustin said, thinking as he spoke, “Then she left… it’s all a little confusing.”

“And that’s when you guys came!” Lucas added.

“Right! And they dared me to say what I said,” Max nodded, Dustin and Lucas fake laughing and agreeing with each other, “About the killer.”

“You're lucky you didn’t get shot.” Ted Wheeler condescended, making them stop laughing awkwardly.

“Have you had any contact with Eddie?” Powell asked, trying to refocus.

“That psycho… freak killer?” Dustin said, clearly not believing his own words, “God, no. Nope. Absolutely not.”

“We haven't heard from him in ages,”

“We barely know the guy!”

“Who?”

“Oh, that’s a bunch of bull!” Erica jumped in, cutting off the three freshmen.

“Erica!” Her parents shouted at her.

“I mean, you realize they're lying.” She continued, Lucas and the others shaking their heads, she ignored the pleading looks, “The whole couch is on fire!”

“Erica!” Her parents jumped in again, trying to keep her from embarrassing them.

“It’s just the facts!”

“Are you lying to these policemen, Dusty?” Dustin’s mom asked, disappointed.

“No!” Dustin squeaked out.

“Lying to the cops is a crime, Son.” Lucas’s father warned.

“I’m not lying!” Lucas lied.

“The fire is consuming us!” Erica shouted at her brother.

“Threaten them with a little jail time,” Ted Wheeler shifted in his seat, staring the kids down, “Maybe that’ll loosen their lips.”

“Oh, so you want to send our kids to jail?” Lucas’s mom asked, narrowing her eyes at Ted.

“We need to take this seriously!” He replied while Karen tried to defend him,

“He didn’t mean it like that!”

The group descended into chaos. Chief Powell watched as the people around him all began arguing with each other. He knew this was a bad idea.

“Shut up,” He tried, and when no one heard him he rose from his chair, screaming “Shut Up!”

The group was silent, reacting to the Chief like they hadn’t just been behaving like children.

“We’re gonna try a more civilized approach,” Powell looked around at the group, explaining what he had wanted to do in the first place, “One at a time. You first.”

“Wait, what?” Max asked when Powell pointed to her, “Why me?”

“Follow me,” he demanded, turning and walking out of the room.

“I’m not even in the Hellfire Club.” Max scoffed, irritated.

“Do I need to cuff you?” Callahan asked, hand on hip. Max rolled her eyes, “Up! Chop-chop!”

Max complained as she stood up and stomped after Powell into the other room, leaving her friends behind.

*

Still drenched from the plunge through Lover’s Lake, the group huddled, shivering, in the shadow of Skull Rock. The swarm of bats continued to circle over the treetops, but when it appeared they were moving on, Robin slowly crept out. Nancy and Chrissy were close behind, watching her back.

“That was close,” Robin said, letting go of the breath they’d all be holding.

“Too close,” Eddie agreed with a pained chuckle. Steve stood up to follow but cursed as he lost his balance and stumbled into Eddie.

“Steve?” Nancy called, worry clear in her voice, but he told her he was fine.

“No, you’re not dude,” Eddie said, “you’re losing a lot of blood.” He was holding most of Steve’s weight with one arm around his waist, trying to keep from touching the open wounds on his stomach. With his other hand braced against the rock, Eddie slowly lowered them both to the ground, so Steve could rest against it as Eddie assessed the situation.

He’d dressed injuries before- wrapped cuts on his hands, taped Wayne's broken finger once, and iced plenty of bruises, but this was a whole ‘nother beast. Steve reached to press against the bites, but Eddie caught him by the wrist,

“Hey! Woah! Those are dirty enough already,” Eddie warned, wishing that had something to clean him off with. Nancy and Robin circled in closer, trying to reach their friend, but it was suddenly feeling suffocating.

“Can you…” Eddie looked to Chrissy for help, “Can we get some space?”

She gently pulled Robin away, nodding at Eddie supportively, but Nancy lingered nearby. Steve breathed through his teeth, hissing in pain as he settled further against the rock, trying to get comfortable.

“Let me-” Nancy reached for Steve, but he flinched away from her. He darted a handout, clenching the shoulder of Eddie's jacket to balance himself.

“Wheeler, back off,” Eddie told her.

“Just let me, I’m his-” she cut herself off.

“His what, Nancy?” Eddie bit, unable to think or help Steve while she was in the way. “Just back up,” he ordered.

Shocked by his harsh tone, Nancy relented.

Finally able to think, Eddie shrugged his jacket off his shoulder and let it fall to the ground behind him. Then he pulled his shirt over his head and did his best to tear it into strips between his teeth. Seeing what was to come, Steve shifted back off the wall onto his knees, with his hands locked behind his head.

Eddie would have loved to say he was entirely focused on stopping the blood flowing steadily from Steve, but it would have been a lie. Sue him, he loved a battle-worn hero and paired with the image of Steve stretched out before him awaiting Eddie’s attention, his imagination was running wild.

“Just do it,” Steve said, having waited long enough.

“Okay,” Eddie said with a deep breath, readying himself. He leaned further into Steve’s space, wrapping his arms around him to get the makeshift bandage in place, before pulling it taught back across his front. Eddie's hair fell forward, brushing at Steve’s shoulder and chest as he worked.

Steve let out a groan of pain right into Eddie’s ear, and he had to bite down to ignore it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled instead of making a joke he knew he would regret.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispered back into the little space between their faces. Clenching his jaw, Steve looked up, inadvertently flexing his arms as he tried to stop from yelling out. Eddie couldn't help but trace the smooth lines of his neck and biceps only inches away from his face as he secured his handy work with a knot.

“Too tight?” He asked, leaning back, hands raised as if Steve were a spooked animal.

“No, it’s good,” Steve assured even as pain washed over his face. He let out another groan, as Eddie sighed in relief.

Done, Steve tried to even out his breathing. His eyes were wide and hazy, as he tried to ignore the pain, but they latched on to Eddie’s. He nodded, encouragingly, and mimicked slow breaths for Steve to follow.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

He was lingering. Eddie knew it, but he didn’t want to leave Steve until he was ready. Eventually, it was too much, Eddie couldn’t stop the need to move any longer.

Steve ached when Eddie finally looked away, wishing he wouldn’t leave quite yet. But without a reason to stay, he collected his jacket where he’d thrown it earlier. When he stood, Steve was eye level with what looked like pieces of a broken sword trailing down the side. He blinked rapidly as if to clear the image, but it was still there. Steve could only pull his eyes away from the tattoo to look up at the rest of Eddie's exposed chest where more work was suddenly on display. Before he could get a good look at the spider, or make out the thing below it, Eddie was helping Steve with a hand under his arm.

Once Steve was up, Robin swooped in rambling once again about rabies, even as she glanced between Steve and Eddie, who was fleeing up a rock to put space between them.

“I kinda feel like punching you right now,” Steve deadpanned, her hand slipping into his.

“Sense of humor still intact,” she laughed scared, “that’s a good sign.”

“Eddie,” Chrissy warned, worried he’d slip.

At the top, he turned to look down on them all and asked, “So this place is like Hawkins but with monsters and nasty shit?” Another look from Chrissy, and Eddie, smiled indulgent before beginning to make his way down the rock.

“Watch for the vines!” Nancy warned, coming back from the shadow she had been sulking in while Eddie patched up Steve. “It’s all a hive mind.”

“A what?” he asked, frozen with his arms held out for balance.

“All the creepy crawlies around here,” Steve explained, “they’re like, one, or something. You step on a vine, you’re stepping on a bat, you’re stepping on Vecna.

“Shit,” Eddie said decidedly.

He continued to creep down the rock, now careful to avoid touching any of the vines he had hardly noticed on his way up. Now he could see that they were all moving minutely, crawling towards something. Once he was close enough, Chrissy held up her hand and helped him to jump back down. He hadn’t been listening to the conversation, but apparently she had.

“ You have guns in your bedroom ?” Chrissy asked, unbelieving.

“A Russian Makarov and a revolver,” Nancy snapped back, not one for having her abilities questioned.

“You almost got me with that one,” Steve reminded her bitterly.

“And you almost deserved it,” She smiled back, earning him a confused, almost disdainful look from Steve. Chrissy rolled her eyes and spun Eddie so she could pull his vest off his shoulders, and throw it at Steve’s face.

“It’s cold,” she said by way of explanation, “To Wheelers then?”

Chrissy watched as Nancy bitterly took up the lead towards her house. She raised an eyebrow at Robin, silently asking her what Nancy’s deal was. Robin replied with a shrug as they continued to walk shoulder to shoulder.

They hadn’t been moving long when the ground began to shake beneath them, throwing the whole group off balance and tumbling to the ground.

Chrissy flailed backwards, ass-hitting the ground hard when she landed. Robin came down onto her lap with a yelp. Instinctually Chrissy cradled Robin’s head, muscle memory saving Robin from hitting the ground too hard. Robin clung to Chrissy’s sweater, hiding her face in Chrissy’s shoulder, both of them holding on tight as they waited for the earthquake to stop.

“Goddamn,” Chrissy cursed, bracing herself against the ground.

“Okay, second on my list of least favorite things,” Robin said into Chrissy’s shoulder, “Earthquakes.”

“You okay?” Chrissy panted as the ground became still again, looking over Robin for any serious injuries.

“Yeah,” Robin said shakily, “Good catch.”

They waited on the ground for a moment, trying to catch their breath. Chrissy looked over her shoulder, worried about where the guys had ended up. Eddie was flattened out under Steve, all of their hands curling around his torn-up stomach trying to mitigate any further damage. Eddie groaned and let his head fall back against the ground as Steve pulled himself up shakily, looking over to the girls.

Robin peeled herself away from Chrissy, standing and then offering a hand to help Chrissy up. Chrissy dusted her pants off as she jogged over to where Nancy was still on the ground.

“Are you okay?” Chrissy extended a hand to Nancy, who eyed it cautiously before accepting the help up.

“I’m okay,” Nancy nodded, brushing the debrief off her sweater, “You?”

“Yeah,” Chrissy nodded, glancing back at the other three who were slowly approaching, “Yeah, we’re okay.”

Chrissy and Nancy waited a moment for the others to catch up. Eddie headed for Chrissy, placing a hand on her arm.

“You okay?” He asked, closer to her than he needed to be.

“Yeah,” Chrissy nodded, looking over him as well, eyes catching on his bare skin beneath his jacket, “Are you?”

“Right as rain,” He assured, hand dropping down to hers for a moment and squeezing. Neither of them noticed the knowing smirk Robin cast at the ground.

“Good. Everyone is fine,” Nancy interjected, “Now lets go before it happens again.

Nancy darted ahead of the group as they continued walking. Chrissy tried to keep her hand in his, hoping the contact would stave off her anxiety. When she realized that it was throwing both his and her balance off as they tried to avoid stepping on the vines, though, she let go. She threw a glance behind her shoulder, checking in on him as he settled into place walking behind her. He smiled back, he was still there. Not going anywhere.

It was only a few more minutes when Robin apparently became irritated in the silence.

“You’ve got a good arm on you,” Robin said to Chrissy awkwardly, “Is that from cheerleading or…”

“Huh, oh, thanks,” Chrissy laughed softly, smiling at Robin and making her relax, “No actually, that’s leftover from softball.”

“Haven’t you been a cheerleader since, like, middle school?” Robin asked, confused.

“Yeah, but I did softball in elementary, and after cheer was over in the spring in middle school,” Chrissy explained, aware that Eddie and Steve had backed off a few yards to have their own conversation, “I got too busy for it once high school started, but I guess the muscle memory never really went away.”

Robin nodded and then Chrissy continued, “You know we were on the same team for a bit, you don’t remember that?”

“What? Really?” Robin asked, somewhat embarrassed that she had forgotten.

“Yeah, dude, for like a whole season in middle school,” Chrissy laughed, bumping her shoulder against Robin’s, “I think it was 6th… no, 7th grade.”

“Oh. My. God!” Robin gasped, suddenly remembering the awful months of forced sports participation, “I had that totally removed from my memory.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you.” Chrissy scoffed, “It was the worst season ever. It rained, like, every game and I remember practices being so hot.”

“Oh, god!” Robin wrinkled her nose at the memory of sweaty outdoor practices and her socks being drenched in the dugout, “And Carol Perkins was on the team, too, right?”

“Ugh, Carol fucking Perkins,” Chrissy spat, thinking of her ex-peer, “She was clinically evil. Do you remember when she tripped that girl Candace during the first practice and she broke her arm?”

“Yes! I think she moved after that,” Robin said, “Like, I really can’t remember ever seeing her again after that.”

The two girls giggled thinking about the horrible fucked up season.

“God, that was awful, I don’t blame you for not coming back,” Chrissy wiped at the tears caused by her laughter. “The only thing that kept me there that last year was the insane crush I had on the assistant coach.”

Robin laughed and then froze for a moment. She remembered the assistant coach being a girl. Maybe Chrissy misspoke? But, no, the other coach was also a girl. They had never had a male softball coach.

Chrissy tried to hide the ways she flinched, suddenly worried she had misinterpreted some key information about Robin. Maybe she had been staring at Tammy Thompson all those years because she liked her hair.

“That’s so true!” Robin said, a little awkwardly, but the gentle acknowledgment was there, “Honestly, I probably would have too if I hadn’t felt like I was melting into the ground every day.”

Chrissy relaxed, letting her shoulder drop as she laughed with Robin.

“Speaking of crushes,” Robin said, drawing out her vowels and side-eyeing Chrissy, “What’s up with you and Munson?”

“What?” Chrissy asked, eyes darting away, “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Oh really?” Robin raised an eyebrow, and then latched onto Chrissy’s hand dramatically pulling her in and pretending to gush, “Oh, Chrissy! Are you okay! Please, get as close to me as you physically can! Kill me if you want!”

“Robin stop! ” Chrissy hissed, laughing at her exaggeration of Eddie, “You’re insane! That is not what he sounds like.”

“It’s not far off!” Robin insisted, Chrissy glanced behind them, luckily Eddie was too busy encroaching on Steve’s space to notice Robin’s theatrics, “Plus, he doesn’t have to say anything. Literally, everyone can see the way he looks at you.”

“Okay, whatever,” Chrissy rolled her eyes, glancing off into the woods.

“Hey, I think it’s cute!” Robin defended, “Y’all have that whole, Romeo and Juliet thing going on, very romantic.”

When Chrissy didn’t say anything Robin continued in a softer tone, “Seriously, though, nobody can question that he cares about you a lot. And you clearly feel the same.” Robin teased just a little bit with that last line, and then added, “Personally, I’m rooting for you, it’s like watching a soap opera or something.”

“I’m glad we entertain you,” Chrissy shook her head with a laugh, an easy silence falling over them as Robin left her with her thoughts.

Chrissy hated that Robin was right. She knew they were probably gross to watch, unknowingly gushing over each other's well-being the past few days. Chrissy couldn’t help it, though, Eddie was the first person in what felt like years that actually saw through her Queen Bee persona. She remembered the spark she felt when he had invited her to see his show down at the Hideout. She had done her best to quell the feelings she had, telling herself that she cared about him in a friendly way, but the truth was she probably would have thrown herself in the lake after Eddie had he not resurfaced last night.

Chrissy looked behind her again, looking for Eddie. She found him face to face with Steve, looking up at him only inches from each other. She turned back around quickly, the sudden feeling of intrusion making her blush. She furrowed her eyebrows at the ground, realizing suddenly that she had been so busy staring down Eddie, she might have failed to notice the other jock he seemed to be interested in.

*

“Eddie, hey man,” Steve called as they started walking, and nodded for Eddie to join him in the back of the group away from the girls. “Listen, I just wanted to say thanks for saving my ass back there, and uh, patching me up.”

He didn’t know how to thank him for the vest. Chrissy had given it to him, but the fact that it was Eddie’s was why he was enjoying wearing it a bit too much.

“Shit, you saved your own ass, man,” Eddie scoffed, “I mean that was a real Ozzy move you pulled back there.” Steve looked at him blankly. He must be talking about the kids' nerd shit again.

“Ozzy?” Eddie prodded, to no avail. “When you took a bite out of that bat,” he smiled at the memory, “Ozzy Osborne? Black Sabbath?” Steve could feel Eddie watching him and was carefully avoiding his gaze, so he couldn’t tell that Steve had no idea who he was talking about.

“He bit a bat's head off on stage,” Eddie explained as if it was the coolest thing anyone had ever done.

“I don’t…” Steve finally admitted brows furrowed.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter,” Eddie waved off, “It’s very metal, what you did. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Metal?” Steve repeated, looking away to hide his blush. He was pretty sure that was a good thing in Eddie’s mind, comparing Steve to his music and what sounded like a performer he liked. “Thanks.” Steve wondered if the album on the back of the vest was Ozzy, or if Eddie would show him Black Sabbath sometime when the world wasn’t ending.

“Henderson told me you were a badass,” Eddie told him, “Insisted on the matter, in fact.”

“Henderson, said that?” Steve questioned, surprised. He knew logically that Dustin cared about him, but the kid always seemed to be arguing with Steve or making fun of him.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie confirmed, confused on how Steve could ever doubt that. “Shit, that kid worships you dude. Like you have no idea. It’s kinda annoying, to be honest.” Eddie laughed lightly and shook his head, sending his hair rippling around his face and hiding his smile.

“I don’t even know why I care what that little shrimp thinks, but uh, guess I got a little jealous, Steve,” Eddie said, teasingly intoning his name. “I guess I couldn’t accept the fact that Steve Harrington was actually… a good dude.”

Steve cringed at the full name, but he understood; he hadn’t been a good guy for very long. He wouldn’t go so far as to describe the change graduation and Robin had wrought on him as “flying in the face of the universe,” but Eddie was one to exaggerate.

“… and my own personal Munson doctrine,” Eddie finished his rant with hands held over his heart, eyes fluttering- looking the image of flirtation, but Steve managed not to react.

Eddie dropped the act, before bringing it back even stronger.

“Still super jealous as hell, by the way,” He admitted, leaning in close to Steve's face, grinning up at him madly. Steve couldn’t help but glance at him, heart picking up at how close their faces were together before elbowing him away. “Which is why I would have never jumped in to save you in any… normal circumstances,” Eddie explained, looking around at the madness they had been thrust into. “Nope, outside of DnD I’m no hero. I see danger and I just turn heel and run.”

“Give yourself a break man,” Steve cut into his self-deprecating talk with a hand on his chest, all too aware the only thing separating them was the layer of leather. They stopped walking for a minute to face each other, once again too close for Steve to process.

“The only reason I came in here was because those ladies came in straight after you. Wheeler and Buckley didn’t hesitate for a moment, and I have no idea what inspires that kind of loyalty…” They both looked ahead to where Robin and Chrissy were talking happily, and Nancy led them further into hell. “But I know it looks as close to an unambiguous sign of true love as these cynical eyes have seen.”

“I think you’re thinking of yourself,” Steve laughed and started walking again. Leaving a caught-off-guard Eddie in the dust, only for him to gracelessly jog to catch up again.

“You jumped in after Chrissy didn’t you?” Steve guessed. “That’s what made you come in here. That’s your sign of true love.”

Eddie blinked owlishly at him, so Steve continued,

“Besides, whatever Nancy and I had… it’s long gone.”

“It doesn’t seem like she knows that,” Eddie muttered conspiratorially, ducking his head and looking up at Steve through his bangs.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, watching her marching through the trees sadly, before looking back at Eddie, “but I’ve definitely moved on.”

He knew there was no hiding the desperation in his eye. For so long, he’d searched for somewhere to put all the love that built up in him. It’s why he and Robin were so attached, why he took care of the kids as best he could, and yet there was more affection and emotion than he felt he could ever give away. Now he was faced with Eddie and his big doe eyes searching for an answer he would never give, and Steve knew that he’d have to carry it all around at least a bit longer.

His melancholy was quickly cut off, however, by the earth beginning to shake again, threatening to knock them off their feet. Steve fell back against a tree, as Eddie stumbled into him saying through gritted teeth,

“Here we go again.”

*

Once inside the Wheeler’s, Nancy rushed them up to her bedroom, eager to be on the move again. Steve, however, hung back. In the kitchen, he could hear a quiet voice, as if distorted. Splitting off, he searched the first floor of the house, hoping if something was there to kill them Nancy would find her guns quickly.

The rest of the group disappeared upstairs and stayed there long enough for him to confirm that there was no other living thing in the house with them, and yet he could still hear something. It mocked him.

He circled back to the kitchen and tried staying still so there was no other sound as he listened. When the noise came again, he recognized it.

“Dustin?” He asked aloud, confused. There was no way for the kid to be upside down, and even searching more intently now, Steve couldn't find a walkie-talkie hiding anywhere in the kitchen.

“Dustin! Dustin!” he yelled, spinning in place as he watched for any sign of the kid. “Dustin! Hel- Hello?” Part of him expected Henderson to burst through the wallpaper like the Demogorgon had done at the Byers' house, but as the rest of the group returned Steve was still shouting at nothing.

“Maybe he does have Rabies?” Robin said, staring wide-eyed at her friend.

“Steve, what are you doing?” Chrissy asked, loud enough for Steve to hear and turn to them.

“Henderson,” he explained excitedly, “that little shit he’s like in the walls or something.” If anyone could get them out of this pickle, it was Dustin. “Just listen,” he told them, before going back to yelling for the shithead to show himself.

The group of four stood stock still, trying to tune into whatever it was that Steve was hearing. It only took a moment for each of them to finally hear the voice

“Why is there a gate at Lover’s Lake,” It was Dustin’s voice. Disembodied, distorted, and echoey, but they could all hear that it was him.

“Dustin!” Eddie called out joining Steve, the rest of them doing the same only seconds after.

They darted around the Upside Down version of the Wheeler house, calling out for Dustin and searching behind curtains and chairs.

“Alright, either this kid can’t hear us or he’s being a total douchebag,” Steve said, stopping his search.

“Will found a way.” Nancy said, almost to herself.

“What?” Steve asked, turning to look at her.

“Will. He found a way,” She began to explain, “He found a way to speak to Joyce…through the lights!”

“Who’s Joyce?” Eddie asked at the same time as Chrissy asked,

“Who’s Will?”

Nancy didn’t respond, instead, she rushed towards a lamp near the wall, trying to flick it on. When the button clicking didn’t light it up, Steve told her to try the light switch on the wall.

Nancy aggressively flipped it up and down, wishing for something to happen.

“Uh, guys?” Steve asked, getting everyone’s attention, “You seeing this?”

They followed the beam of his flashlight up to the light fixture on the ceiling. In the light, red particles glittered in the air.

Robin, Chrissy, and Eddie watched as Nancy approached the fixture. She reached up, hesitantly brushing her hand through the particles. Instead of the particles floating away like disturbed dust, the red specks glowed brighter where her hand was, swirling around her fingers. The gentle buzz of energy could be heard as well.

In awe, the rest of them approached the light. Brushing their hands through the particles, in awe at the feeling. It was like submerging their hands in warm TV static.

“Does anyone know morse code?” Nancy asked, pulling her hand down and looking around.

A chorus of disappointed no’s came from the group. Nancy frowned, wondering if her dad or brother would have had anything that had Morse code on it.

“Wait, does SOS count?” Eddie asked, looking down at the girls next to him, they dropped their hands, looking up at him blinking, “Is that… is that good?”

“Uh, yeah,” Chrissy nodded, “I think that’ll work.���

“Cool, cool,” Eddie said, looking up at the lights and thinking for a moment before he began pulsing his hand in the light, making them glow in pattern.

Before they knew it they were all kneeling on one side of Nancy’s bed, waiting for the kids on the other side to plug in the Lite-Brite.

“Okay, are you guys seeing this?!” Dustin’s disembodied voice shouted.

Nancy reached out to where she thought the Lite-Brite might be. Particles swirled and glowed around her hand.

The sound of Dustin laughing in excitement on the other side rang out around them.

“Okay, okay,” Dustin said, “I'm not moving it, but we're going to unplug it, okay? Stand by! Okay, try it now.”

They all shifted nervously. If this didn’t work, they had no idea what to do. Chrissy grabbed Eddie’s arm, holding on to him tight as she watched. Nancy hesitated, thinking for a moment before reaching out and tracing letters in the space.

H I

“Hi!” Dustin’s voice rang out, “Okay okay -- um -- that worked!”

“Yes!” Steve shouted, reaching around Nancy and grabbing an excited Eddie by the other shoulder.

“Hi!” Eddie shouted back at the glowing particles. Chrissy and Robin were giggling in relief. It was working. This was working.

Nancy reached out again to trace more letters, thinking of the quickest way to explain their situation.

S T U C K

“Stuck!” The kids on the other end said,

“Yes, we are,” Robin said, collapsing her hands below her chin.

“Okay, they’re stuck in the Upside Down.” Lucas figured.

“You can’t get back through Watergate?” Dustin asked.

“Watergate?” Stave said, “ What the hell is Watergate?”

“Oh,” Robin realized, “because the Gate’s -- in water..”

Chrissy snorted, shaking her head. She hadn’t known Dustin very long, but the joke made sense for him.”

“Hm, cute,” Eddie said, looking down at Chrissy and shrugging.

“Okay, well, no,” Nancy said, reaching out to spell again.

G U A R D E D “Guarded.” The voices repeated back, pausing to think, “Watergate is guarded.”

“Perfect! Yes, yes, yes.” Steve exclaimed, glad they figured it out. Eddie clapped dramatically at the lights.

“Okay, okay, um, well, we have a theory that maybe could help with that,” Dustin called back.

“Yes, genius child,” Robin sighed, rubbing her face with her hand.

“We think Watergate isn't the only gate, that there's a gate at every murder site.”

The five of them sat there for a moment, looking between each other in confusion.

“Does anyone understand what he's talking about?” Nancy asked

“No idea,” Eddie shook his head.

Grimacing, Nancy reached out and drew a question mark into the particles.

“Okay. Seriously,” Dustin whined, “how many times do I have to be right on the money before you guys just trust me?!”

“Jesus Christ, this kid’s gotta get his ego in check,” Steve commented, rolling his eyes at his childfriend who couldn't see him.

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie said, leaning forward to confer with Steve about their shared child.

“I know!”

“Okay, so…” Nancy turned to Eddie, “How far is your trailer?”

“Seven miles, give or take,” Eddie told her.

“Nancy,” Robin started, “I get your house in here is like, weirdly, frozen in time and shit, but, haven’t you always had bikes?”

“Yeah,” Nancy nodded, “I can’t remember how many we had at the time, but there are at least some.”

“Okay, cool.” Robin said, then gesturing to Steve Eddie, and Chrissy, “Why don’t you three go check it out, and we’ll tell them on the other side to meet us at the gate by the trailer?”

They agreed easily and left Nancy’s room, following Steve through the Wheeler house to the garage. The Wheeler’s station wagon was sitting in the garage, but given that no other electricity in the Upside Down seemed to work, they didn’t bother.

They found four bikes leaning in a pile in the back of the garage and began pulling them apart and setting them against the wall. Steve did a quick inspection, not wanting a broken bike chain to be the thing that killed one of them.

“Here,” He rolled one of the bikes over to Eddie as Robin and Nancy came into the garage, “There are only four, but you and Chris can take this one.”

“Thanks, man,” Eddie nodded, taking the bike from him.

Robin, Nancy, and Steve picked up the other bikes. The five of them carefully rolled the bikes out the side door of the garage, making sure not to disturb any of the vines on the ground.

“If we can just get to Kerley, it’ll be a straight shot south.” Eddie pointed in the direction of his home as he sat down on the bike.

“Should be easy,” Steve said, getting on his own bike, “Just everyone be careful not to run over anything weird.”

Eddie slid forward on the seat and with a wink and an exaggerated voice said, “Get on, babe.”

Chrissy scoffed and smiled, rolling her eyes as she swung her leg over the back of the bike. Sitting as close to him as she could, she wrapped her arms around his middle, holding on tight as he took off.

To her it felt like no time before they were there at the trailer. She knew it had been not so easy for the others, especially Eddie- who had been doing twice the work. The group skidded to a stop. The others threw their bikes down, but Eddie just planted his feet and laid his head backwards on Chrissy’s shoulder as he panted.

“Are you okay?” She asked, feeling guilty.

“I’m great!” He gave her an exhausted smile, “I coulda done at least seven more miles.”

Chrissy stood up from the bike, allowing Eddie to hop off and drop it to the ground.

“That’s gotta be a Guinness World Record,” Robin said, panting, “most miles traveled inter-dimensionally.”

“Just inhaled a bunch of that crap,” Steve coughed aggressively, spitting on the ground, “It’s stuck in my throat.”

In this world, the gate was out in the open, a glowing red crack in the ground. They approached it slowly, the gate writhed and creaked.

“That must be, like, right where Anne died,” Robin said, frowning at the ground.

In front of him, Steve could see Eddie wordlessly take Chrissy’s hand, squeezing it as Chrissy wiped at her face.

Steve sighed, of course Chrissy knew Anne- she was her boyfriend's sister. He had seen them hang out around town probably more than he saw Jason and Chrissy out. He’d be sure to say something to her when they were through and out of immediate danger.

“I think there’s something in there…” Chrissy said nervously, leaning back away from it.

A dark shadow began pressing against the membrane, lifting it up at a point. Suddenly it burst open, sending them all rushing back screaming. A long stick violently banged against the sides of the gate, wetly ripping the membrane to shreds as they looked on in disgusted horror.

When the movement stopped, Steve slowly crept forward, “No way,” He breathed looking down into the gate.

On the other side were Dustin, Max, Lucas, and Erica. They were standing opposite Steve, like a reflection in a puddle.

“Hi there!” Dustin waved, beaming down, - up?- at Steve.

“Hi,” Steve and the others replied, amazed at what they were seeing.

“Holy shit this is trippy,” Robin said, wide-eyed.

“Bada-bada-boom!” Dustin shouted, making Steve roll his eyes at the cocky expression.

They all stood there for a moment, both sides looking down at each other.

“Alright, I guess I’ll be the guinea pig,” Robin shrugged and approached the gate. As she got closer, she kneeled down, unsure of exactly how to go though in a way that made sense. Taking a deep breath, Robin decided to crawl on the ground, shoving her torso through first. When she was halfway through, she reached her arms up, letting Max and Lucas pull her the rest of the way until she was lying on the ground in the real world.

“Oh my god,” She laughed, climbing to her feet, “That was so weird.”

“You’re next,” Eddie told Chrissy, walking with her to the edge, he helped her kneel down on the ground before she repeated Robin’s actions. She giggled on the other side, agreeing with Robin as she helped her up.

Steve watched Eddie disappear through the gate next, then leaned over it grinning back at them,

“Come on in the waters great!”

Nancy rolled her eyes and waved for him to get out of the way, before sitting on the ground beside the opening and awkwardly rolling through, ending up in the same position on the other side. Steve stepped up to bat, letting his feet dangle through first then pulling the rest of him through. It felt like hanging off the edge of a pool upside down. As he sat up he could feel the strange rush of gravity switching direction as vividly as water rushing around him, but the feeling didn’t stop. Instead of ending up on the other side where he expected to see all his friends waiting, Steve was falling through empty air.

There was nothing around him, just darkness rushing past him until he landed hard on his back in an eerily familiar setting.

The vines, wiggling underneath him made it obvious that he was still in the Upside Down, and he recognized the smooth curved walls of his pool, even if he’d never seen it drained like this. Over the lip of the pool, he could see his house in the distance, the lights on, but what insisted on his attention was the rotted face of Barb peeking between the tendrils, more like limbs than plants, that encased her.

“Do you remember what you did, Steve?” A booming voice asked him, “Or have you already forgotten?”

Of course, he hadn’t forgotten. As much as he tried to forget, to separate the good memories of that night from the horror and guilt of the next morning Steve had never been able to. He still saw Barb, scared and lost in the woods, every time he looked out his bedroom window. He hated himself for not checking on her, for not even peeking out the curtains before he and Nancy fell asleep.

It sunk in now that she had never even had a chance to leave. If her body was here, trapped in the evil version of his pool, she must have been pulled in, same as how he was dragged into the depths of Lover’s Lake. Before Steve could process that revelation, blood began to rush out of the drains along the side of the pool.

“When I kill someone, I never forget,” the voice taunted, but Steve wasn’t listening any more. Blood had started pooling, thick and warm, around his bare feet, sending him scrambling for the ladder, pulling himself along with the vines.

Stepping off the final rung and onto solid ground, he made to run for his house where he could see the silhouettes of his parents in the kitchen window, but his backyard was gone. Instead, he was standing at the top of an old staircase, looking out over a sea of red decorated by debris floating freely through the air as if suspended in Jello.

A clock chimed warningly, reminding him of Max.

“I see you’ve been looking for me, Steve,” Vecna, he decided it must be Venca, said as if chiding a small child. “You were so close.” Looking around, taking in the shattered but still recognizable pieces of the Creel house, Steve began to cautiously make his way down the stairs. At the base, where the entry hall should have been, was a circle of peaked spires.

“How did you find Victor’s home? Was it as lovely as you expected?” Vecna continued to taunt. “I’ve been meaning to check back in, but I’ve been busy.”

Closer now to the twisting structure of vines, Steve could make out the mutilated face of a young girl who must have been Anne Carver.

“So very busy.”

He spun around, trying to find the source of the voice or escape the sick scene before him he didn’t know, but his eyes landed on the stained glass Robin had shattered only yesterday, before descending into Vecna’s memories.

Steve watched agape as it dawned on him, how this all connected. The buzz of the tattoo machine shut off as the man turned to Steve and greeted him. Finally feeling himself again, released by the wash of Henry’s memories, he sprinted down the hall. Knowing logically that he wouldn’t be able to escape Henry in the memory of Hawkins's lab, didn’t stop him from trying to escape.

He rounded the corner on a boarded-up door, and tore at the crummy-looking wood. Splitters scraped at his hands, but it barely registered over the dire need to get away.

“Steve,” Vecna called, his footsteps echoing and wet on the smooth tile, but Steve was focused on the task at hand. He managed to pull one board free, then another.

“Now that you’ve seen where I’ve been, I’d like very much to show you where I am going.”

The final board broke free and Steve pushed through the large swinging door, only to find himself back in the room with Brenner before it was eclipsed in darkness. An unseen force pushed him backwards, making him sit as he could feel vines trapping his arms and legs. One wrapped around his neck, threatening to cut off his air for the second time that day. No amount of struggling did anything, as Vecna appeared before him creeping closer and closer with an outstretched hand. His fingers were more like claws, and as he flexed them in front of Steve’s face, he watched the world end.

[j0elmill3r]

Wish You Were Here (II): Welcome To the Machine

"Where have you been? It's alright. We know where you've been."

Pairing - Joel Miller x Daughter!reader, Tommy Miller x Niece!Reader

Summary - Witnessing your fathers' demise at the hands of the daughter of a man he killed saving your best friend, you realize your crusade for revenge for your father’s brutal death is bound to be a bloody one.

Warnings - Diverges from canon and I mean it in no way at all follows canon, spoilers for the last of us part 2, canon violence, death, mentions and implications of suicide, baby girl struggles mentally, implications of self-harm (Please let me know if I missed any!)

Word Count - 2.5k

A/N - And here is the second chapter, almost halfway already? damn. Anyway, I just wanted to say that this series? Does not follow anything of the second game at all, only in that Joel dies and someone hunts down Abby. I hope everyone is enjoying it, and as always, feedback, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Joel Miller Masterlist

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Joel had thought settling down in Jackson would have helped you and your often fragile mental state. Your dad knew that you struggled with your mental health, and he wished that you had better access to at least some help in managing whatever was going on with you mentally. He hoped that settling down somewhere would help stabilize your mood with some kind of routine, that maybe now you'd be able to relax after being so tense and on edge for the past year.

But it appeared to have done the opposite to you.

With nothing to think about, you didn't have anything to distract yourself with, which left you alone with your often loud, deafening thoughts - deafening thoughts which told you to hurt yourself. Joel knew about your tendencies of self-harm, at 16, he had found you in a bathroom in the QZ, holding the deep gash on your wrist. But he thought by now that you were past that, that you had gotten better. Maybe not.

Joel climbed up the stairs, having heard a smash and then your panicked gasping and crying, he had to check on you, knowing your slightly shady history with things smashing near you and holding the shrapnel to your wrists.

"Y/N?" He called out for you, reaching the bathroom door to where he had located you. He rattled the door, only to find it locked. "Y/N. Open the door," Your dad demanded. Joel continued to rattle the door. "Y/N!" He was panicking now, what if you had gone too deep again? You hadn't locked the door the last time, making it easier for Joel to get to you in time - But if you had gone too deep in this instance, you could have already bled out by now, laying dead on the floor in a pool of your own blood. "Y/N stand back. I'm kicking this door open." You barely had any time to react before the door was kicked down, and you looked at your dad, your face the double of a deer that had been caught in headlights, looking its killer dead in the eyes.

"D-dad!" You cried, clutching your wrist as you looked at your dad. Joel took the sight of you in, your hands and clothes stained with blood, pieces of the smashed mirror scattered around you - A large piece sitting on the sink beside you, your blood smeared across it. "This isn't what it looks like!" You tried to defend your self-destructive actions to your dad, who knew that this was exactly what it looked like.

"Y/N, put that down please," Joel said, referring to the sharp piece of glass you held in your hand tightly, the sharp object cutting deep into your hand as you gripped it. You sobbed as you held it tighter, your breathing increasing as you noticed the concern on your father’s face. "Come on, baby girl, it's okay," He assured you, holding his hand out to you in a reassuring gesture. Your panicked and bewildered eyes met your dad’s concerned ones, and you dropped the piece of glass which you held in your hand, it falling to the floor and shattering into smaller pieces. You didn't react as Joel took your hand that wasn't cut up from the glass, and led you out of the bathroom and to your bedroom, sitting you down on your bed.

He sighed to himself sadly as he picked up the first aid kit from the kitchen, Joel really thought that settling down would have helped you with your issues, but it appeared to be the opposite - You had seemingly gotten worse. You sat in silence as your dad stitched you up, he was a pro at this, having done it so many times before. It never mattered how many times he stitched up your cuts, Joel could never stop the helpless feeling that nestled deep in his stomach - He wanted so badly to help you, but he knew that what you were going through was far from his level of expertise; All he could do was assure you that everything was going to be okay, even if neither you nor he believed that it was true.

You awoke with a startled gasp, Tommy looking over at you with concern on his face. In your tired gaze, his figure was a blur, which you almost mistook for your dad - And then you remembered. It was a funny thing, grief. Sometimes you were blinded by it, it weighed you down and made you feel like you were drowning with no surface in sight, the cracking of your dad's skull would deafen you as you were forced to relive the day of his death over, and over. Then there were the days when you could seemingly escape your grief. There were days when you could wake up and forget all about your dad's demise, you'd be able to go about what needed to be done, and then at a point in the day, it would catch up with you. It would hit you like a train, dragging you with it for miles and miles before coming to a screeching halt.

"You alright?" Tommy asked you, watching as you ran your fingers over the scar on your hand, a nervous tic you had picked up. You nodded and looked away from your uncle, unable to meet his eyes - A telltale sign that you were lying to him. Tommy knew you were going through so many emotions, especially towards your former best friend, Ellie - Who had packed up and moved to a farm with her girlfriend, Dina. You couldn't understand how she dared to have acted so attached to your father - and often act as though he was hers - and then pack up and leave straight after his death. "You can talk to me, you know." It broke Tommy's heart when he thought of you and everything life had put you through at such a young age - Losing your childhood, your older sister dying, your mental health issues, and now losing your dad.

"Yeah, I know, Tommy," You told him. The car battery had died just outside of the Indiana state line, so you and Tommy had been walking since then. You were reminded of the hike trails that Joel had shown you and Ellie while you were on the way taking Ellie to the fireflies, he told you that he used to bring you and Sarah on these walks, even though you were too young to remember them.  "Are there any firefly-occupied QZs out here?" You asked your uncle, turning back to look at him as he walked behind you.

"One just outside of this forest," He told you, watching as you huffed and rolled your eyes, powering on through the dimly lit forest, despite it being broad daylight, there was minimal light in the forest.

This was shown when you stepped right into a bear trap, the contraption clamping tight on your ankle. Tommy, noticing the look on your face, then looking down, ran towards you, clamping his hand over your mouth to muffle your screams as the shock dissipated and became pure, unfiltered pain.

"Hey. I know it hurts but we have to be quiet," You continued to scream into your uncle’s palm, even as he tried to shush you. "I have to try and unclamp this so we can keep moving." Tommy knew he could be straight with you, he knew Joel had raised you to accept that that was how people had to talk to you to keep you alive sometimes. You chewed on the insides of your cheeks, accepting the roll of gauze that your uncle handed you from his backpack and clamping down on it. Tommy knelt down by your legs and pried the bear trap open with some struggle, swiftly catching you as you fell to the ground with a muffled cry of pain. Acting fast, Tommy quickly gauzed up your ankle to attempt to staunch the bleeding, but judging by the paleness of your face, Tommy knew this was getting bad.

"Tommy," You pointed to behind him, noticing a hoard of infected coming on the horizon. He looked to where you pointed, and he didn't, not even for a second, consider leaving you. "No, Tommy you have to go." You pushed him. He shook his head as he put his arms under you, lifting you up with a groan.

"Not without you. Not a chance in hell," Tommy threw you over his shoulder, leaving you room to grab your gun should any infected get the chance to get close to you. You shot at a couple of them before your vision started to blur, the world around you gradually dimming as you continued to profusely bleed. "Y/N? Hey, Y/N, stay with me, don't close your fuckin' eyes." He demanded, noticing that you had stopped shooting as he continued to run out of the forest with you.

"Tryin'," You were tired, and it wasn't long before you went limp over Tommy's shoulder. Luckily, he was out of the forest, immediately making a beeline for the small shack which sat outside of the QZ. Tommy knew this QZ, having worked with the fireflies to take it over. He barricaded the door shut after laying you on the floor, seeing that your blood had soaked through the gauze he had wrapped around your ankle.

You groaned as you woke up, the sun streaming in through the blinds causing you to squint your eyes at its harshness. Wait, this...this isn't the forest, why were you in bed? You looked around as you sat up, recognizing your surroundings as your bedroom in your house in Jackson. Your ears perked up at the sound of guitar playing from downstairs, if you recognized correctly, it was Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd - And there was only one man you knew that could play the guitar like that.

Throwing the duvet off of you, you sprung to your feet, looking down to notice there was no evidence of your leg ever being caught in a bear trap. You let out a sigh of relief and made your way down the stairs, freezing as you got halfway down them - Joel and Sarah sitting laughing on the couch. Your dad spotted you first, concern on his face at your presence.

"Y/N?" He got up from his spot on the couch, Sarah having to do a double take at you - You were no longer her tiny baby sister, but instead a fully grown woman. You accepted your dad’s embrace as he waited for you at the bottom of the stairs for you. "No...No, baby girl, why are you here?" Joel asked you.

"I-I was in the forest with Tommy and my leg got caught in a bear trap, there was a lot of blood," You explained to your dad. Joel shook his head sadly as he sighed, Sarah still looking at you in shock. "Hi." You said shyly, giving her a small smile. You hated that you knew so little about your own older sister, you wished that you had gotten to spend more time with her.

"You...You," Sarah couldn't find the words to express how she felt, so just hugged you, even though you were now taller than her. "You're not little anymore." Sarah knew it was childish to say, just because her life had ended,  it didn't mean yours did.

"You got little," You joked back to her with a teary laugh, looking back to your dad. "I miss you." You choked on a sob as you looked at your dad. Joel smiled sadly as he hugged you once more, savoring the moment for as long as he could before letting you go.

"I miss you too, baby girl," He assured you, kissing the top of your head. "But you can't stay here," Joel told you adamantly. You looked up at him, shaking your head.

"What? No, I wanna stay here," You pleaded with him, not knowing if either of them had any control over who could stay. Joel shook his head and put both hands on your shoulders.

"I know baby, but it's not your time," He was tearing up, he felt selfish for wanting you to stay. He hated that he could only have one of his girls at any one time, he just wanted the 3 of you to be back together as a family again. "You have to go back, for Tommy."

"But, dad-"

"Y/N."

"Y/N"

"Y/N?"

You let out a quiet gasp as you woke up, seeing your uncle hovering over you. Tommy was taken aback by your sudden hug, but accepted the gesture, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

"Sorry," You apologized, avoiding eye contact with your uncle, who smiled at you comfortingly - If he was being honest, Tommy actually appreciated the gesture. "How long was I out for?" You asked him, rubbing your eyes.

"Couple of hours, I didn't realize how deep that went. I'd say you're lucky to be alive," He told you, before helping you up onto your feet, wobbling on your injured foot before standing steadily. You took your backpack as he handed it to you, slinging it over your shoulder and limping out of the shack. The more you thought of what Tommy had told you - Lucky to be alive - That was too real to be a dream. Had you died for a couple minutes? You hoped not, you would have felt terrible, the thought of your poor uncle Tommy being forced to resuscitate you days after losing Joel broke your heart. He broke you out of your trance by putting a hand on your shoulder.

"So, what's our plan?" You asked him, looking up at him as he stood beside you. He let out a sigh as he studied the gates, barbed wire tangled around them to deter people from both entering and escaping.

"We go through."

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[sugolara]

Not alone

ft. Katsuki Bakugo x Shoto Todoroki x Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

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They moved off the road and settled underneath the shades of the trees, sitting on a fallen log so they could regain their breath. Izuku had given her a water bottle, his ears listening in on her chugging the water. He was worried that if he had not arrived sooner she may have succumbed to dehydration as he didn't know how long she had been laying there.

As his fingers played with moss that had grown on the trunk, he couldn't help but ponder what horrors she had gone through. His eyes would occasionally flick towards her bloody clothing. Her jacket was almost covered in blood, her jeans weren't as bad and as for her boots only blood had been splattered on. Her hands and cheeks however had smeared blood.

As she chugged her water at a very fast speed, some had dripped from the corners of her mouth falling to her shirt. She would occasionally feel Izuku's eyes on her. She assumed he was probably staring at the fact she had no manners, but she had realized how terribly she looked.

She took the last bit of water that was left and set it down on her lap, wiping her mouth with the parts of her jacket sleeve that weren't dirty, "It's not mine. The blood. It doesn't belong to me."

His eyes casted down to his dirty shoes, "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. It's just...how do I know you're not...infected."

She shrugged before removing her jacket. She lifted the sleeves of her shirt to show him her exposed skin. She then raised the bottom of her shirt and the underneath layer to show him her stomach and back, "No, bite or scratch marks. I would show you my legs, but I think we'd both be uncomfortable."

He nodded as he handed her jacket back. Though he was convinced, he wanted to know if she had to hurt someone to save her life as he didn't want to be the next victim. For him to assume that wasn't nice, but as he's been on the road he's come across many people who wouldn't hesitate to do so.

It didn't matter if you were a man or woman. When it comes to being in a life or death situation you tend to do things that put you above everyone else, "You're right. Can I ask who's blood you have on?"

"Oh," She started, looking down at her clothing. Bits of memories came up, her expression softening in a sorrowful look, "I can't really say. It might be the dead's blood or...my family. It could also be the animals I used to take care of."

He mentally slapped himself. He should have figured out that the blood could have possibly been her family. Even if he wanted to know whether she had harmed someone, he should have approached in a different direction. Though at least now, as he stared at her sorrowful face, he didn't see a malicious intent.

"I'm sorry." He stated as he looked down at his hands, "I shouldn't have asked. I know how it feels to lose someone."

Her eyes flickered towards him, "It's fine. What do we expect, right?"

He looked back at her, his eyes glued to her e/c eyes and he couldn't help but feel as he got a better look, that she kind of looked familiar, "You're right."

A twig snapping behind them caught their attention. They quickly stood up, Izuku's rifle was raised while F/n only had her empty gun. Fortunately for them, it was only a rabbit looking for food. Their actions startled the rabbit and had it running away, the white critter left their field of vision as it got deeper into the woods.

"We should get going and find somewhere to stay before it gets dark." Izuku said, "Your ankles fine, right?"

She nodded, "Yeah, doesn't hurt too much. Do you have an idea on where to go?"

He embarrassingly chuckled and pointed ahead of the road, the opposite direction of Musutafu, "I kind of planned to go this way. Hopefully this road will lead us to a town instead of a city."

Though it wasn't much of a plan, she followed after him. She held onto her jacket as it was hot, she could even almost feel the hot road underneath her feet, "So, are you from Musutafu or were you just visiting?"

"No, I'm from Musutafu." He eyed her with a smile, "What about you?"

"Me too." She said, a peaceful silence washed over them as they continued forward. Izuku would have felt apologetic that he wasn't as talkative as he was before, but that was only because he was tired and needed some rest. He would assume the same was for F/n as she looked the same as him.

After a few hours of walking in silence, the sun had begun to set down. The orange sky was beginning to fade as the shades of purple and blue began to take over. The stars even began to shine brightly.

Izuku let out a sigh, "We need to find shelter before it gets completely dark. I've noticed the dead seem to be more active at night. It's almost strange how they sometimes sleep like we do."

"It's probably the cool air." She said and looked at her surroundings. Almost like someone was listening, a cabin hiding by some trees was just in the near distance. She pointed ahead and began approaching, "We found our place to rest."

"Good eye!" He followed after her. Before they took a step inside he held her back, "You don't have a weapon. Stay behind."

""Kay." She blinked at him and watched as he reached inside his bag to grab a hammer before opening the door ajar. He banged on the walls and listened for any movements that a dead might be inside. When nothing approached him he opened the door, though there wasn't much to keep an eye for as the cabin was an open space.

Two twin size beds were on the back left side to the front door, the kitchen was to the back right with a wall all separating it from the beds, and a chimney was placed at the front right, next to the door.

He stepped aside so F/n could enter and closed the door. As Izuku stepped towards the kitchen, she locked the door and noticed just how many locks were placed. She then looked around noticing not even a bathroom was around. It was probably a cabin where the bathroom was in the back.

She turned towards Izuku who rummaged through the kitchen cabinet, "Anything?"

"No." He let out a sigh, "Just pots and pans. Can you check the fridge?"

She walked towards it, but just as they expected everything inside had turned foul, "It's all rotting. It can be used as fertilizer if we plan on making a garden though."

He closed the cabinet door as he thought, "No. We wouldn't want to live somewhere with no walls protecting us. Maybe there's a grocery store farther ahead."

"Maybe." She shrugged before heading to the farthest bed and setting her bag down, "But we should check tomorrow morning. I'm beat."

He nodded as he approached the open bed and set his stuff down. The moon was just rising and the cabin had gone completely dark. With them both settled down on the bed, they tried focusing on any moaning as they didn't want to be surprised by a dead.

Nothing was heard but only the sound of their breathing. With their backs turned against each other, they tried their hardest to sleep. Tonight would be the first night F/n would sleep without her family. The first night where her sister wouldn't seek her comfort and where her parents and aunt wouldn't bid her a goodnight. Neither her cousin having her stay up despite how tired they were.

She only hoped the memories would disappear and be replaced with ones she was deeply fond of. In her fetal position, she steadily closed her eyes and listened to the breaths that existed in the cabin before sleep consumed her. 

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

Prapai sees red. 

He tells Rain to take care of Sky as he moves quickly into the living room where Gun is putting his clothes back on….

Putting his clothes on because he'd been practically naked in Pai's bed…because he'd been in the middle of raping Sky, Prapai’s Sky… in his own fucking bed. 

There are no thoughts in his head as he grabs hold of the man and punches him as hard as he can in the face. 

Gun goes down hard and Pai can feel someone else trying to pull him away, but then Phayu is there, throwing his own punches while Prapai rips all of the piercings out of Gun's face before punching him again. There's a crunch under his fist and he feels himself float a little as blood gushes out of what is definitely a broken nose. 

Behind him he hears Phayu calling his name. Telling him to stop. A hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. “Pai. That's enough. You'll kill him.” 

But Pai…he can't. He can't stop, he has to end this. He can't let this monster get another chance to hurt the love of his life.  

“Would you have held back if Stop had gone through with it?” He asks, tone serious. He knows this is a sensitive topic for his best friend, but he's out of options here. “Would you have let him live if he had raped Rain?” 

A look of horror crosses Phayu’s face. He hadn't seen Sky. He'd been in here dealing with Gun's minions. “No,” He says, “I would have fucking made him pay. I'll call P'Chai,” and then he’s letting Pai go, standing back and bringing the phone to his ear as Pai hits Gun again. 

And again.

Until his knuckles are split open and ache. Until Gun's face is a bloody mess and he's missing at least two teeth.  

He shakes out his sore hand and stops his assault for a moment. He wants this to last. He can do more than just throw a punch to get the man beneath him to suffer. He starts talking, voice low as he tells Gun that he's met his match. He pets his broken face and brushes his now blood smeared hair back so he can see his eyes, one bruised and swollen shut but the other open and looking at him in fear.  

He asks him how it feels to be under a real man as he wraps his hand around Gun's throat and chokes him. Not long enough for him to pass out, but long enough for him to be afraid. He's telling him he's going to pay for every mark and every nightmare he's left Sky with. 

Starting with his hand. 

“You thought you could touch what is mine?” He asks him, and then pulls his trigger finger back until it snaps. 

The scream that follows is music to his ears, but he's being too loud, and Chai isn't here to do damage control yet. 

“Shut him up.” He tells Phayu, and isn't surprised when his best friend just drops down in front of him and puts his hand over Gun's mouth.  

He grabs the next finger. “You thought you could hurt him? Break him with these filthy fucking hands of yours?” 

Snap. 

A muffled scream. 

“You thought you broke him before, huh? He never told me what you did, but now I can fucking guess. You thought you'd ruined him, but you didn't. You just lead him to someone that actually loves him. He was smiling again. Happy again. And you couldn't stand that could you? That he was fucking happy?” He breaks another finger and the man thrashes beneath him. 

“So you decided to, what? Get revenge? Because he didn't stay broken and lonely? It wasn't enough that you hurt him years ago? You had to go ahead and do it again.” He leans down to whisper sweetly in his ear. “But this time you fucked up. Because the one that loves him is me and I don't take kindly to assholes hurting the people I love.” 

He sits back up and asks Phayu to get him a cigarette.

Gun groans miserably, begging him not to do it through broken lips as Payu fishes one out of Gun's own pants pocket and lights it for him. 

“How many times did you burn him? I've only seen a couple scars but I have a feeling it was more.” When he refuses to answer Pai puts the cigarette between his teeth and shoves Guns shirt up. “Hold him down,” he says before taking a drag, and when he's sure he can't move he blows smoke in his face and pushes the lit cherry against his left nipple.

Where he knows a piercing used to be on another body.

The scream is barely muffled, by his own hand this time, and he should probably worry about the neighbors, but he can't find it in himself to care. 

He's too busy yanking the man's pants down so he can put another round burn mark on his thigh. Right where he knows Sky’s silvery scars lie. 

[kalevalakryze]

I Don't Need A Jedi, I Need You

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Ahsoka Pairings: Shin Hati/ Sabine Wren,  Characters: Shin Hati, Sabine Wren, Ahsoka Tano, Baylan Skoll Warnings: Abandonment, Revenge, Rage, Violence, The Dark Side Of The Force, Healing, Force Bond, Blood and Violence Notes: For Whumptober Day  10  This is going to be small, but def something I plan on delving into more Prompt: No. 10: “You said you'd never leave.” Word Count: 3,174 AO3 Link: Here!

They found him three weeks after Shin had been cleared to get up and start moving. Three weeks after she started the journey of rebuilding muscle and herself. Ahsoka and Sabine left her alone, for the most part. The Togruta’s cloak hadn’t left Shin’s shoulders since that first night, waking with it draped around her shoulders. 

Her tunic had been ruined with blood and holes that even she could not repair, so the Jedi’s cloak became all she had to cover her modesty, though Sabine had helped her repair the straps of her bra. The pants she’d been given upon her reluctant rescue were tied to her waist, double knotted to prevent the article from sliding off. Her pauldrons not longer shined where they sat strapped to her shoulders beneath the cloak, smeared with blood (an unfortunate amount her own), with a thin layer of ripped fabric separating metal and skin. 

Shin’s gloves and pauldrons stopped just before her elbows, bare skin and muscle just barely covered by Ahsoka’s cloak where it sat when her arms were down. Sabine helped give her a proper haircut, though there was nothing that could be done to force the brown from their head, leaving the only blonde in her hair for the frayed Padawan brain that settled over her right collarbone, dirty green beads untouched from where they were intricately woven the last time Baylan had helped them dye their hair. 

When they found Baylan, Shin had only found out through Huyang receiving his comm as droid and apprentice worked on fixing her saber, the charge pack wouldn’t hold and the crystal inside was reluctant; like Shin closing herself off from the force and from the kyber had harmed it. Huyang had spent days working with Shin to work with the blade, to reach back into the pool of the force no matter how much it hurt to reconnect.

It had been impossible, up until this point. The blade kept coming out warbly and unstable, before sparking back into its emitter and threatening to spark through the Apprentice’s hands. Huyang hadn’t even had the time to turn towards Shin, to warn that he knew their thoughts, order them to stay behind. She was gone in seconds, leaving only the tail of Ahsoka’s cloak whipping in the wind as she whistled for her Howler. 

Shin rode hard and fast across the Peridean wastes. The Nomads that had allied with the ‘Rebels’ had done what Shin’s own bandits could not; They found Baylan Sköll, and she would be damned if she let him get away. 

“We need not be at odds.” He was trying to worm his way out of the circle the Nomads had him trapped in, trying to talk his way out in an illusion of peace. Shin slipped from the Howler’s back, boots thudding in the dirt as she breezed closer, shoving past an armored being. Baylan was facing away from her, but she could see the way his shoulders tensed.

“You were supposed to return with the Imperial fleet,” His chin rose, yet he still did not look at her, igniting the anger that sat dormand in her veins. 

“I was supposed to die.” They snarled, venom in their tone as their hand wrapped around the hilt of their saber. The crystal resonated with her anger, with the hurt she knew was pouring off in waves, knew her Master could feel it too, the danger of the person he’d created. “I was supposed to die when Thrawn realized you were gone.” 

Baylan’s head turned until Shin could see the hard line of his lips. “You turned against me.” They snarled, finger hovering over the ignition of their saber. Anger flooded their mind, they could strike him down right here, prove that they could choose for themselves, choose this desire for revenge over it all. 

“Only a Sith deals in these absolutes, Shin. We are not Sith,” He sounded tired, like a father explaining to his child that the park was closed and they could not go play until another day.

“I am what you made me!” When their saber ignited, the orange of her saber was bled out, barely visible behind the tangible reality of the pain Shin had been carrying. “This is the end for you, my Master.” 

Near red arced through the air towards Baylan’s head, he’d seemed to be in acceptance of his fate, Shin could finally be free of this pain. She could finally let the past die, she just had to kill it, and maybe then she would be able to breathe again.

A pillar of pink energy stopped her blade, Sabine Wren placing herself between Shin and Baylan, supporting her saber against a beskar gauntlet. “Shin, you need to stop,” The Mandalorian was out of breath, like she’d ran the whole way here, or had worked herself up at the thought of what she knew Shin would do.

“This isn’t you,” Sabine pleaded, trying to get yellowed eyes to look at her, to turn their murderous intent away from the man at her back. 

“You don’t know me,” Shin snarled, teeth bared. Her muscles were still weak, arms shaking as she pushed against Sabine’s saber, moving one foot forwards to attempt to bring her down like they had on Lothal. 

When the connection broke, Shin sidestepped, avoiding interlocking blades with Sabine again; She wasn’t their objective. If the Mandalorian wanted to stop her, then she would have to take Shin’s like. 

Baylan’s gaze was somber, yet he did not probe the bond he once had with the apprentice, did not offer a vocal apology; He felt he knew how this story would play out, that if Shin would commit themselves to killing him, then it was their destiny. “You promised!” Shin hissed, emotion closing at her throat as she swung her blade. Sabine’s use of the force was growing, enough to prevent the blade from doing much else to singe her Master’s robes. 

Throwing her saber to the ground, Shin decided she wanted to feel the life leave his body. He abandoned her, Thrawn left her to die, and the Force was nowhere when she needed it most. She would not kill him as his apprentice, but as the daughter he raised, as the bandit and the monster he’d crafted. 

Her fist cracked against his jaw with a snap of his head to the side. Her second hit went into the unarmored section of his gut, knuckles cracking over his liver and sending him doubling over. The armor at her knee rang when she brought it up to smash into his chin, his blood flying from his mouth in spittle as teeth cracked under the pressure. 

Shin followed him to the ground, knee pressing into his abdomen as her hands secured themselves around his throat. His hands pressed into her wrists, but the armor stopped him from being able to do anything. “You promised me, Master.” A fat tear dropped onto his cheek as Shin’s face reddened. ‘What did I do wrong?”

A large hand settled against Shin’s shoulder as Baylan’s face turned purple. “You need to let him go, Shin,” Ahsoka’s voice washed over her, urging her grip to loosen. Baylan’s breath rushed past his lips in a choked rasp. 

“No.” They vehemently declined like a petulant child. She wanted it to stop hurting- she needed it to stop hurting so bad. She could feel the stubble of rough hair against her fingertips in the holes of her gloves, could feel the warmth of his skin like a beacon of his life, life that she needed to take away. “He deserves it,” 

“Perhaps,” Ahsoka agreed, kneeling in the dirt beside Shin. “But you don’t want to be the one to do this.” The hand on her shoulder was an anchor, as was the warm thumb that pressed past the thick material of her cloak, rising goosebumps to sweat damp skin. “You don’t know that,” They argued, even as they felt the fight abandon them too. “You can’t know that.” 

“But I do, Shin.” Their eyes were still yellow, overpowering the pools of blue and silver, with dark veins spreading across pale skin, but Ahsoka could see that glimmer of hope, that promise that Shin was still good. “You’re in an unimaginable spot right now. And try as I may, I cannot make this decision for you. You have to decide for yourself.”

Ahsoka’s hand begun to raise from her shoulder, willing to leave Baylan’s fate up to the turmoiled blonde. Two hands wrapped around her wrist, keeping her hand in place; the choice was made. 

“Come on,” Ahsoka guided them up, off of Baylan, guiding their sorrowed eyes away from his broken face. They turned back at him one last time. “You said you'd never leave.”  Sabine was picking their saber from the ground, though instead of offering it back to the Apprentice, the weapon was handed to Ahsoka. Shin did not argue as the Togruta clipped it to her belt; wanted nothing to do with the near red blade, the reminder of how much she was failing in all of her teachings. 

Ahsoka walked with Shin all the way to the shuttle, where she dropped bonelessly into a seat in the cockpit, hands in her lap, staring at the flashes of scarred, pale skin that poked through the holes in her gloves. Their fingers clenched and unclenched; Baylan deserved to die, he promised he’d never leave, promised he would always be there, and yet… He left, he left her alone on a planet far from home, on a mission she did not agree with. 

Now she was stranded on the graveyard planet, housed by the enemy, and abandoning all of the teachings she had once been so eager to learn..

Ahsoka settled into the seat across from her much more gracefully. Her hand reached out once more to touch the cool skin just above their gauntlet, bringing their focus back up. “You did good, Shin,” Ahsoka praised, fingertips grazing tensing muscle, easing the stiffness. 

“I was going to kill him,” They argued, though their voice held no fire, their accent thicker than could translate to basic, words slurring as she reverted to a language that had been dead to her for so long. “I wanted to kill him… I want-”

“But you didn’t, because that isn’t who you are.” “Why is everyone so intent on telling me who I am?” They seethed, leather gloves creaking as their hands flexed in anger. 

“Because you need the reminder that you are more than you’re seeing yourself as, right now.” Ahsoka pulled Shin’s saber from her hip, holding it into the chasm between them. Shin stared at the weapon sourly, as if it could be at fault for her pain. “Take your kyber,”

With a sigh, Shin reached for the saber, though it was pulled away before her fingertips could brush cold metal. “With the force, Kurs’kaded.” Sabine spoke up, alerting the Apprentice to her presence, leaning in the open doorway; she hadn’t heard the Mandalorian come in, the force hadn’t given her the brush of whatever it was she’d grown used to with Sabine’s presence. 

“I don’t need the force, and I don’t need you.” They snapped, rising to their feet harshly. She turned away from her saber and faced the door, staring past the faded paint on Sabine’s pauldron as they started for the door. “I can’t let you go,” Sabine’s hand reached out, pressing on Shin’s shoulder, barring her from the exit. “Not like this,”

“It’s none of your concern,” Shin had growled, fingers wrapped around Sabine’s elbow, rearing to flip their positions, to fight her way out if not for the burn of muscle, than for the promise if she got too far, they would kill her.

“What if you don’t come back, Shin?” Sabine wasn’t looking at her, golden eyes focused on the ragged scars from the blade that had ripped her open, had brought her to them after months of isolation from everything. This was enough to give Shin pause, to stop pressing against Sabine’s hand, and to watch as The Mandalorian’s hand shook where it parted Ahsoka’s cloak further across her bare abdomen.

Her fingertips were cool against inflamed scar tissue, still in the painful process of healing without the aid of bacta or any real medical supplies over the alcohol created by the Noti to help keep it sterilized. Shin swallowed thick in her throat. She could feel the Togruta’s eyes on her back, but the glide of Sabine’s fingers along her scar and the way the Mandalorian’s hand pressed against the plate of armor over her abdomen, where Shin knew her own scar sat healed under all the layers.

“What if you leave, and we can’t get to you in time?” There was a vulnerability to Sabine’s voice, a hurt that Shin found she did not like being the cause of on her face. “What if you come back wrong?” 

“Careful, Mandalorian; Someone might start to think you care.” Their voice was raspy, cracking with unidentified emotion as their hand finally dropped from Sabine’s elbow. 

“Seriously?” Sabine scoffed, the jab of her finger into their stomach had them yipping in surprise, stepping back, away from the shock of pain. “All this and you didn’t figure that one out? Are you a di’kut?” The next time Sabine touched her, it was with the palm of her hand into their shoulder, forcing them back into the chair. 

Shin’s head turned to pass a helpless look towards the amused Jedi Master as Sabine’s fingers gripped at her jaw, forcing them to look her in the eye. “Of course I fucking care. I’ve cared since you stabbed me, I’ve cared since Seatos, I’ve always fucking cared.” 

Shin’s gaze was fixed on Sabine’s narrowed eyes, on the twitch of muscle under the collar of her flight suit, and on the smooth furrow of her brows. 

She’s beautiful…

Ahsoka stood and brushed past Sabine; The Apprentice watched in her peripherals as their saber hilt was clasped to Sabine’s belt, before the Jedi was sweeping from the cockpit with the door swooshing shut behind her.

The moment the door shut, Sabine’s lips were pressing against theirs, urging their eyes to close and their hands to move back to the Mandalorian’s elbows as she leaned onto the arm rests of the cockpit’s chair. 

Shin’s heart thudded against her chest, with each thump entwined with the glide of Sabine’s tongue across her lips, the anger faded, the hurt eased, finally offering the sought after reprieve from the hurt. 

Sabine pulled back, breathing hard as their eyes blinked open. “I care, and I’m not leaving.” She whispered in their shared air, hand raising to brush against their cheekbone before she was leaning back, dropping into the chair Ahsoka had once occupied.

“Now take your saber back; we’ll fix it together,” 

Begrudgingly, Shin sighed and raised her hands. Opening back up to the force after months of trying didn’t go as she’d prepared herself. For the first time since Seatos, it felt like coming home again, as she felt the life spark back into her being, reclaiming her space in the cosmic flow of life, interweaving her story back in the threads of the universe. It was overwhelming and it hurt, until she felt the warmth of someone pressing forward with her, someone whose fate was  so so intricately woven with her own existence. When silver eyes opened, Shin caught the look of concentration on Sabine’s face, and the crack of a smile on her lips when her eyes opened and caught Shin staring. 

It took some work to figure out the flow between them, as Shin’s saber was brought to hover between them, pieces unfolded from each other as they slowly worked to expose the wounded Kyber. She’d bled it a lot, had made her crystal hurt the way Baylan had made her hurt, and it was evident in the darkness and the blood of the force threatening to overshadow the orange, but… it wasn’t too late. 

Shin had many dreams healing from her wounds, months back, but in her fever, she could recall the feeling of Ahsoka’s hands brushing through her hair, of delicate fingers smoothing the rough edges of her braid, and the promise of “It’s never too late.” Passed between the silence, a promise that they hadn’t been able to understand.

Now though, with Sabine’s form rising from her seat, Shin watched as the woman’s fingers brushed against her Kyber, the pad of her thumb trailing along the ridge from where she’d snapped it from the peak on Ilum herself. “It’s okay,” Sabine promised, gently; Shin could feel it, could feel her words and her touch as if her and the Kyber were of the same entity, as if, in the red that Sabine was urging away from the crystal, she was easing the darkened blood from her own presence in the force.

Shaking her head, Shin rose, trapping the Kyber between their hands as they interlocked their fingers with Sabine’s. The Mandalorian glanced at her once, before her eyes shut. Her forehead pressed against their joined hands. Shifting their weight between their feet, Shin’s head bowed, fingers squeezing against Sabine’s. “I am one with the force…”

“And the force is with me,” 

When they separated, there was no red to be found in the glowing Kyber, a bright, vivid orange, paler than she’d seen but still bearing the unique coloring, floated between them peacefully, held up by the combined force of both apprentice and padawan. 

“I know you,” Sabine promised, as they worked to reassemble the saber together. “Forever. You hear me?” She grabbed the saber from its stasis, pressing it into Shin’s waiting palm. “You can stab me, you can call me names, and you can walk away right now, but don’t you dare forget; I know you, and I care.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Shin promised, closing the distance and hesitantly moving to rest her forehead against the feisty Mandalorian. 

Sabine’s arms circled their neck, noses bumping together as she leaned up on her toes, fingers carding through the short, scruffy hair on the back of their head. “Better… say it again,” 

Rolling their eyes, Shin pressed forward to shut her up, pressing their lips together with little fanfare, hands moving to rest on Sabine’s sides, thumb pressing into the space between beskar and flightsuit to brush against the fabric over her scar. 

Baylan Skoll would go on to become their prisoner, but Shin would not give him the glory of a reaction, or a response when, the next time they visited, her padawan braid was gone, cut with care by the Togruta who held out her hand in kindness when he had left. 

She wasn’t a Jedi and she wasn’t a sith; She was just Shin Hati, and Sabine was just Sabine; together and individually, they were both Enough, and that was good enough.

[mamawasatesttube]

timkon for “Please don’t do this.”?? :))))

It's a scene from Tim's worst nightmares, come to life.

The Time Trapper. Superboy-Prime. Back in their dimension, hell-bent on exacting his revenge on everyone who "scorned him" for being misunderstood. The havoc and destruction he wreaks everywhere he goes are bad enough, but they're not the thing striking true terror, frigid and fierce, into Tim's bones.

"How much time do we have?" Kon asks, watching the red smear in the clouds grow larger. His arms are folded across his chest; his jacket shimmers with starlight, his eyes aglow against the inky black of the night sky.

Dread roots Tim to the spot.

"About three minutes," Cyborg reports, his voice taut even over comms. "We need at least ten."

Kon nods, more to himself than anything. Tim can see the determination in the set of his jaw, knows exactly what he's going to say before he can even open his mouth.

He knows innocent lives are at stake, so very many. He knows it's bigger than just the two of them. He knows, and yet—

His hand moves on its own, grabs a desperate fistful of Kon's jacket. "Please don't do this," he begs, and hates himself for it, because they both already know it's the only way. He needs to be a cape right now, a strategist, a hero, but the terror clawing up the inside of his chest belongs merely to Tim, a man who can't bear the idea of losing his beloved. Not again.

Kon looks down at him so tenderly Tim's heart hurts. He can't do this again, he thinks; it broke him before and it'll shatter him now. But Kon smiles at him—the sky is growing redder and the air already smells of smoke and Cyborg and Oracle need another ten minutes before the motherbox trap can be sprung, and Kon smiles anyway.

"You're not losing me this time, Rob," he says. The leather of his glove is smooth against Tim's cheek as Kon's thumb caresses along the lower edge of his mask. "Promise. It's just ten minutes—this chump won't know what hit him."

He leans in, presses a gentle kiss to Tim's forehead; his lips are warm and soft against Tim's skin. Tim's eyes are wide behind his mask. He has to get a grip, he knows; he's normally so much more levelheaded than this, he needs to keep his head screwed on straight if he's going to be useful at all out here, he... he can't be a distraction, he can't get Kon hurt—

"I'll give you a proper kiss when I get back," Kon tells him, and somehow even flashes a grin. "See? Now I have to come back to you safe 'n' sound."

Distantly, some horrible part of Tim is already packaging and processing that into the grief he doesn't want to drown in again. He can just picture himself falling to his knees by Kon's broken body, again, shaking him and demanding he wake up, that he promised he'd kiss him when they saw each other again—he can already feel the shards of that broken promise cutting into his heart and he hates himself for that, too.

"You'd better," he tells Kon. His voice, at least, comes out steady this time. "I—"

He can't even bring himself to joke. To tease and tell Kon or else I'll find someone else to cosplay Star Trek with next summer, or anything stupid like that. On any other day, in any other battle, with any other opponent, sure.

But today?

He cups Kon's face in his hands, draws him in, presses their foreheads together. Tries to convince himself he isn't saying goodbye. "Be careful, clone boy."

"I will." Kon gives his shoulders a quick squeeze, still smiling at him. Tim doesn't know how he does it. It's one of the many things he'll never be able to stop admiring about him; the thought makes his heart lurch.

And then Kon is tapping a finger to his comm again, as that blood-red streak in the sky draws nearer, and Tim desperately tries to find his usual levelheadedness somewhere deep beneath all the panic, all the instincts clamoring at him to keep Kon safe. He has to make himself useful.

"I can buy you that time," Kon tells Cyborg. "I'll hold him off until you're ready."

The comm crackles again as Vic answers, but Tim hardly registers it. He's too busy watching Kon shoot up into the night sky, his silhouette dark against the stars.

♥ angst/fluff prompts ♥

[kindnessisweakness2]

Delusional - Part 26

Stepping out of the warehouse into the afternoon sun, Delaney felt like she wasnt actually there. What she could feel though was the quickly drying blood on her face and neck. Her hands were covered in claret. Her hands. She had blood on her hands. 2 people were dead because of her. Alex was right. This was going to haunt her. She had convinced herself that if he was dead he would never hurt her again. How wrong was she? She'd been wrong alot lately. Wrong about alot of things. She would go through the rest of her life knowing she was a murderer. "Baby?" Jax's voice called out from behind her, but he sounded far away. Hands grasped her shoulders and before she knew it Happy's stern face came into her vision. His eyes burned into her soul and she felt her eyes sting with tears. She could see Jax and Opie in her peripheral vision, they stood close watching her and Happy's stare down. They both knew he would never hurt her, their relationship very sibling like. But that didnt mean they weren't worried. Delaney had been through so much and they were both scared she would break down any moment. Happy's voice broke the silence. "I want you to listen to me, D. If anyone knows about the burden that Murder places on your shoulders its me. Sometimes you can bury it and act like everythings fine. Wont even think about it. Other times you'll be lay in bed, 3am and the voices of the people you've killed will fill your head. You'll give everything in the world to make it stop. Do not pretend you are fine when your not. We're your family, always have been, since the day you scrambled red faced into TM for your interview with Gemma. " The Tacoma Killer smiled at the memory of the first time everyone met Delaney. "What i want you to remember is both them assholes got what they deserved. What you gave them was mercy D. A quick death. Because i promise if I got my hands on either of them, I've tortured them for hours. Made fucking sure I took my time. And on the days when those voices fill your head, and it gets too much to carry, you call me. You fucking call me!" Happy demanded as he held a tearful Delaney, his own eyes brimming with tears. Tears of anger for what happened to someone he was close to. Tears of pain for everything she went through all them years she was with that prick. And maybe even tears of disappointment that he didnt get to extract his pound of flesh for the revenge and anger that burned within him. Pulling the girl into the tightest hug he was allowed to considering she was still healing from a bullet wound, Happy kissed the top of her head. "Your a fighter D. You always have been. Its who you are inside. And i swear, I will protect you and little peanut until the day i die, and I'm not going out of this world easy." Happy pulled away from the hug and wiped his eyes. Clearing his throat he turned to glare as a smirking Opie. "Well shit Hap, thats the most words I've ever heard you speak since ive known you!" Happy Glared and rammed his fist into Opies Shoulder. "If either of you mention this, i will fuck you up!" And with a final promise of violence and a nod to Delaney Happy got on his bike and rode away.

Taking a deep breath, Delaney pushed her hair back, no doubt smearing blood across her face. She couldn't believe her life. It felt like she was taking constant hits from every direction, smashing apart any good thing that happened to her. Turning to Jax, she managed a small smile. "Lets go see Dr Knowles shall we?" Following behind Jax to his bike, Delaney thought over how she was gonna handle the troublesome doctor. Killing her wasn't an option, as much as she would love to wrap her hands around her pale neck and watch the light fade from her beady judgemental eyes. Plus killing his first love would probably drive a wedge between her and Jax. He would see her as a cold killer rather than the woman he fell in love with. Fuck, he's probably shocked she killed Alex. Would he look at her different? Would he be disgusted? She didn't have time to let her thoughts wonder anymore as Jax slowed the bike to a stop in Tara's driveway. With a quick nod from the Delaney he made his way towards the door, her staying close behind him. She only had time to press a quick reassuring kiss to the back of his neck before the door swung open and Tara's smiling face appeared.

Here we go, was the only thing Delaney could think.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Damage Control - 1x22 Devil's Trap

Zero bars. 

“Shit!”

Sam stuffs the cell phone back into his pocket, mind racing. He can’t call 9-1-1. Both Dad and Dean are gravely injured. The demon might return. The Impala is out back. From the map he studied earlier he remembers the location of the nearest hospital. 

It’s up to him now. 

“Sit tight,” he says both to his father and his brother, as if any of the two were able to get up and walk under their own power right now. “I’ll be right back.”

He runs outside, grabs the first aid kit from the trunk of the Impala, throws a blanket into the back seat and leaves the door wide open. Back inside the cabin, he drops to his knees between his father and his brother. 

Dean first.

“You with me, man?”

He’s curled up on his side, white-faced and breathing in faint puffs, arms protectively cradling his chest. When Sam gently rolls him onto his back, he groans feebly in response.

“Is he– … Sam, is he okay?” Their dad is trying to drag himself closer, leaving a trail of blood on the floor boards.

“I dunno. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Sam unclamps Dean’s arms and pulls his blood-soaked t-shirt up to expose the damage. He finds two long and deep slashes across his chest and stomach that look almost surgical. The lower one has opened the muscle tissue of Dean’s belly, but at least he can’t see intestines. The white of bone shimmers through the one across Dean’s ribs. 

“Oh God.”

Sam rips open gauze pads and slaps them over the wounds, applying pressure. Dean moans in distress.

“That bad?” John Winchester, hand clutched to his own bleeding leg, sounds scared, and if Sam wasn’t so busy trying to save his brother, he’d take a moment to be surprised.

“He needs a hospital,” he says instead, Dean squirming feebly underneath his hands. “And fast. I’ll get him there. The both of you!”

“Hnnng… Sammy! Fuck, that hur— guhh…!” Dean squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. His lips are slick and dark with blood.

“I know, Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam apologizes. He’s scared, his heart beating frantically in his chest, but he’s trying not to show it. “I know it hurts like hell. But we’ve got to slow down the bleeding before I move you.” With one hand and his teeth, he rips strips of tape from a roll and secures the dressings as best as he can. At least there’s not nearly as much blood welling up as before, when the yellow-eyed demon, in their father’s body, had held Dean in his vise-like grip. 

“You’re gonna be alright, son.” Their dad’s voice sounds steadier now, his commanding tone returning. Sam can still hear his worry for Dean, but also his anger about letting the demon escape.  “We’ll get you out of here, fix you right up. And next time we find that yellow-eyed bastard, I’m gonna pay him back for what he did to you, I promise!”

Sam turns to him and tosses him a rolled-up bandage before pressing both palms back on Dean’s chest. While he shares his father’s need for revenge, he has different priorities now.  “Here, tie this around your leg!” 

Over his shoulder, he watches his father wrap his gunshot wound and pull the bandage tight with a teeth-clenched grunt. Counting in his head, Sam gives them all three more minutes, his pressure on Dean’s wounds steady. He takes a deep breath. Then he lifts his palms to check.

The dressings are blood-smeared from Sam’s hands, but, encouragingly, there’s no bright red soaking through - at least not yet. Dean’s eyes are open and lucid, his breathing sharp and fast, but uninhibited. This may be their window of opportunity.

“Alright, brother,” he says as firmly as he can. “Think we can get you up now?” 

He knows that, ideally, he shouldn’t move Dean, go for help instead and bring back the cavalry. But the demon might come back, and they’re in no condition to fight. They’ve got to go.

Dean blinks heavily and scrunches up his face, bloody teeth showing. He’s starkly pale against all that red. But he nods. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” Sam pulls the t-shirt back down over Dean’s bandages. He gets up and behind Dean and slides his hands underneath his armpits.

“I’ll get him to the car first, then you,” he informs their father.

“Sammy, you can’t–”

“Yes, I can.” 

A choked sound of agony comes out of Dean when Sam hauls him upright, but the injured Winchester does his best to get his feet under him and not pass out in the process. Sam slings his brother’s arm across his shoulders and hooks his free hand into Dean’s belt. Dean’s breathing raggedly, trembling with pain. But he’s vertical, and that’s got to be good enough.

“Ready?” Sam asks.

Dean nods weakly.

Taking most of his brother’s weight, Sam somehow manages to half-carry, half-walk him to the Impala. He lowers him into the back seat, propped up so he doesn’t choke on the blood he’s still bringing up in small amounts. Whatever the demon did to him, it must have caused internal injuries as well. Sam grabs the blanket and spreads it over Dean’s legs to keep him warm. 

“Stay awake, okay? I’ll be back with Dad in a minute.”

When Dean doesn’t react, Sam urgently pets his cheek. Sluggishly, his brother’s eyes peel open. 

Sam gives him a shaky smile. “There you go. Now stay awake!” 

Reluctantly, he leaves his brother alone and rushes back into the cabin. His father is already standing, leaning against the wall, all weight off his injured leg. 

“We’ve got to hurry,” he says urgently. “He might come back.”

The hairs at the back of Sam’s neck stand up.

 “I know.”

If the bastard shows up again, Sam will not hesitate. He’s got one bullet left.

He slides under his father’s arm to support him.

“Sam, where’s the colt?”

“I got it.” He feels the weapon safely tucked into the back of his jeans. “Let’s go!”

When they’re at the car, Dad dropping heavily into the passenger seat, Sam’s dizzy with exhaustion and adrenaline. It’s a heady mix - his heart pumping in his ears, his legs shaking, thoughts ricocheting in his head like a spray of bullets. Danger pings up his spine, screaming at him to run run run, and in the middle of it all he’s trying to stay calm, the only one left standing.

He zips around to the driver’s side, yanks the door open and slides behind the wheel. Turning the key in the ignition, he whips his head around to check on his brother. 

“Dean?” 

His brother’s limp in the back seat, but his chest is rising and falling, the blood on his shirt glistening in the dark. His eyes flutter open when he hears Sam’s voice.

Dad has turned his head around as well, for once getting his priorities straight. “Hang in there, son,” he says, and manages to make it sound like an order. “You’re strong! You’ve got this!”

The engine of the Impala roars to life. Dirt and pebbles spray as they take off, the big car lurching on the unpaved road. Sam grits his teeth against every pothole, only now becoming aware of his own injuries again. His right eye is so swollen that it’s messing with his vision on that side, and he squints into the darkness ahead. His cheek’s puffy and hot, pain radiating down into his jaw and screaming for an ice pack. 

No time for that now. Beside him, his father is white-kuckling the dashboard and bleeding through the bandage around his leg. Behind him, in the rearview mirror, Dean coughs, fresh blood trickling down his chin.

Sam pushes his own pain into the background and focuses on driving.

The Damage Control Series - Masterlist

Read the whole series on AO3 here:

[asksisternyx]

An Image Grotesque And Obscene

The second installment of the lore series that is actually set before the first. I don't know how many parts there are going to be, but I wanted to finally get more of Nyx's story out there. I'll be posting the first one to this blog too, please check it out if you haven't!

Includes: mild panic attack, blood mention, quintessence use, summoning ritual, Aether gets bitten

"So, you're saying you were summoned by a literal child?" Aether asked as he stared at Nyx incredulously.

"Yes, I was. I know it's kind of hard to believe, but that is the truth.” She responded calmly.

He sighed heavily. “I never questioned the validity of it, I just…how does a child get ahold of the materials necessary to do a summoning?”

“The basement of her house had a chamber that was left over from a couple hundred years ago. She discovered it and began studying summonings. Look, do you just want to go into my mind?” She asked in a slightly exasperated tone. “It'd be a lot easier to understand if you just saw it.”

The quint looked extremely hesitant at first, given how unstable her element became when exposed to other quintessence. Still, she seemed determined to help him understand. He eventually nodded and got up to sit beside her on the couch.

“Alright, but I'm pulling back immediately if your quintessence starts to act up.” He said firmly.

She nodded once. “Alright, I'm ready.”

In seconds, Aether had gone from his office in the Abbey to a furnished basement. The door opened and a young girl, he assumed was Nyx’s summoner, walked in.

“I have a lot of homework to do and Josephine keeps bugging me, mom! Yes, I'll be back up for dinner.”

The girl called back up the stairs. She huffed irritably as the door shut, making her way to a bookcase on the opposite wall. She stopped as she reached for a switch hidden behind some old books, looking around before flipping it.

Aether watched in fascination as it swung open, revealing a doorway into a ritual chamber, as Nyx had described. It wasn’t dissimilar to the ones the Ministry used. He wondered briefly, as he made his way in, if there had once been a Ministry here.

The chamber was dimly lit and looked as though it was already set up for a summoning. He looked around, recognizing the sigils in the ritual circle that were typically seen when summoning a quintessence ghoul. They all looked correct, except for one. One of them was written differently, but he couldn't tell what it meant.

The young girl chanted the summoning incantation perfectly, much to Aether's shock and awe. She looked to be no older than eleven or twelve yet somehow, the summoning was going flawlessly.

The sigils went from their typical lavender color to an angry red. The Pit opened up and what crawled out was not a fully formed ghoul, but a mass of blood red quintessence energy.

Dread and despair fell so heavily on the chamber, Aether could barely breathe. He felt a sudden sharp pain in his arm and knew he had to get out fast. The last thing he saw was the summoner grinning wickedly as the portal closed.

“I will use you for my revenge.” She said in a chilling tone.

He pulled back from Nyx's mind just before the dread and pain could get any worse. When he returned to the Abbey, he was laying on the floor of his office, Nyx kneeling beside him in tears. There was red smeared on her face and hands. Had she been hurt while he was in her mind?

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you, Omega is on his way!” She exclaimed as she sobbed.

Her panic confused Aether. Aside from being a little nauseous and a cold, he felt fine. That was, until he tried to move and couldn't. A shock of pain went up his arm and saw the blood.

He hadn't pulled back fast enough and she had bit him. Quintessence venom was an extremely potent paralytic, he would be down for a couple of days at least. Still, he was grateful that it was only his arm and not his neck.

“I've been through much worse. If we do this again, though…you're wearing a muzzle.”

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpcember 14

All of this Whumpcember is a single, long fic, with the prompts used in specific scenes, in order. See the Masterlist and AO3 link here.

((content warnings: beating, domestic abuse ))

promptspiration: @whumpcember Day 14: Cornered

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy Whumper: Harry Potter Pairing: Harry/Draco whump type: physical beating fic type: post-Hogwarts AU

words: ~700

-------------------

The door came open, and then it slammed back against the wall. Draco shot upright and pushed himself back before he was even conscious of why.

"If I tell you to stay someplace," Harry raised his voice as he came in, stalking toward the bed, "I mean for you to stay there! Not run away and hide someplace else!" 

He was scrambling out of the bed without pausing to get his bearings. "I didn—"

"Did I ask for your excuses?" He grabbed for Draco's arm, missed, and that sent a snarl over his face. He blocked the path to the door with his body and Draco found himself pressed into the corner of the wardrobe and the wall, struggling to breathe.

"I thought you were going to be good now!" Harry was yelling into his face, seizing the front of his shirt, and his eyes were bright and wet like he was about to cry. "You agreed to be with me, it's supposed to be fixed!" A fist collided with the side of his face.

But it wasn't just Harry hitting him, it was the ring on his father's hand as he punished him for colouring in a book when he was little, it was Thorfinn Rowle catching him alone to take revenge for his injured pride after the Dark Lord made him torture him, it was Bellatrix hitting him and screaming in his face that it was his fault Potter escaped, it was Harry and Weasley beating him down into the Quidditch pitch for his mouth…

"I'm sorry," he gasped, sinking down the corner, sagging against Harry's grip on his shirt. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" 

"Liar!" Draco slammed into the side of the wardrobe, head first, and then he was on the ground, being hit or kicked, sharp pains in his side. "Stop lying to me! If you were really sorry you'd be better!" 

"I'm sorry…" 

"Stop it!" A shoe stomped down on him with a blinding pain.

"Stop treating me like this when I'm trying to help you." Harry was panting over him, hands clenched. "Stop fighting against me. Stop undermining me. I don't need to fight everyone for you, and fight you too."

"I'm sorry…" he panted.

Harry's fist slammed into the wall, and he flinched behind his hands, breath hitching. "Stop lying to me! You always say whatever you think will get you out of it, but you don't actually care! Stop lying and just actually be good for once!"

He didn't try to answer this time, hiding behind his trembling hands, and Harry's breathing slowly relaxed. He stayed there, looming over him, tense. It could snap again at any moment.

"I'm leaving," Harry finally said. "I don't know when I'll be back. Eventually. Stay the fuck here. If I come back and you've left… I don't know, Draco. I really don't." 

And then he left. The door locked behind him. 

Draco didn't move. He wasn't sure at first if it was over, and then he didn't know what to do.

His head hurt… 

He had the unpleasantly familiar mineral taste of blood in his mouth. Moving his hands eventually, he found his lip was bleeding. He looked at the blood smeared on his finger blankly. It was slick when he rubbed his thumb over it. 

He should move. It took some effort to shift onto his knees, and the bed looked roughly a continent away. 

Why? Why had he gone and done this? It hadn't even occurred to him when he left that he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. That wasn't like him, to be so unaware. He needed to pay more attention. If his stupid brain had problems picking up those details, he needed to try harder. He never should have been in this situation, if he'd just paid attention…

With an effort, he forced himself back to his feet and limped to the bed, holding his side stiffly. He made an unconscious sound as he gingerly lay down, trying and failing not to aggravate any of that pain, and had to make an effort to breathe normally, carefully, so that he wouldn't pull something.

Fuck, his head hurt…

He closed his eyes to try to handle the pain and focus on his breathing.

[madhatterbri]

Don't Let Go | G.W.

Summary: Hazel Diggory gets injured during a Quidditch match. George Weasley visits her.

The worst part about traumatic events are the nightmares. The monsters that come alive in the depths of our mind and take control. During the day, Hazel tried to busy herself to forget about the quidditch match that made her end up in the hospital wing. At night, she was left alone to her thoughts.

The screams from her teammates and fellow students echoed in her mind. Slytherin quidditch players flew close to her laughing at her injuries. She could still feel the grass against her skin as she laid on the pitch. The way the blood poured from her open wounds as her hand gripped her stomach.

Hazel woke up with a jump. She blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. Now familiar sights and smells of the hospital wing calmed her for a moment. The tired teen laid back in her bed. A frustrated sigh filled the room. Just once she would like to sleep without remembering that night.

"Rough night?" George Weasley asked at the foot of her bed. She was startled by him. Her brown eyes stared at the boy. His face riddled with worry.

"Hey, Georgie, have a seat," she smiled and pointed at the visitor chair. George smiled briefly before taking the seat as offered. His eyes were full of concern.

"Hazel..." he started yet stopped. The words speeding in his mind. The Gryffindor couldn't find the right words to say. He cleared his throat. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she answered. George didn't believe a word she said. The normal life of the party wanted revenge on the Slytherin for what they did to her. Detentions and suspensions just weren't enough.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

"George, this isn't your fault. The Slytherins sees us as weaklings," Hazel assured him. She loved being a Hufflepuff but it was true. Slytherins always deemed them weaker. "Would you mind bringing me those bandages? I'm afraid I'm bleeding again,"

Smeared blood displayed brightly through her bandages. Her hands were cut from her fall off the broom. George grabbed the bandages and scooted the chair closer to her.

"Thanks. I can do them myself. I don't want to stress Madam Pomfrey anymore," she thanked. Once she attempted to grab the bandages from him he moved them away.

"I'll do it," he offered.

"Thanks. You doing it will be a lot easier," she smiled and sat up. Hazel went to work removing her bandages. She balled her first to try and stop the bleeding. "When did you become such a good nurse?"

"When you pull pranks on your younger brother you tend to learn a few things to cover your tracks," he answered with a mischievous grin. His hand grabbed hers and started to work the bandage around her wound. The way his fingers caressed her hand made her heart skip a beat. There was always something there between them but they never acted on it.

They were scared, she reasoned, scared to push the boundary from friends to more. They knew each other practically all their lives since their fathers worked in the Ministry together. He was always there to protect her from bullies.

The bandage was secured over her wound quicker than she would have liked. George stood up and placed the bandages on the table.

"I should go before Filch wakes up. Gave him a couple sweets and he went out after only eating one,"

"Don't," she breathed and grabbed his hand. "Please stay with me,"

George sat down on the chair. There hands never letting go.