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biteofcherry · 2 days ago

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Relish your scream

vampire!Bucky Barnes x female reader

summary: Better the devil you know, but what if going to the Scaretale with someone you're already acquainted with doesn't mean you're completely safe? What if the club isn't your doom, but merely enhances the darkness that was already setting its trap for you?

warnings: vampire!Bucky; dark!Bucky; heavy dub-con; mind compulsion; biting; blood sucking; blood play; forced public nudity (partial); oral (f receiving); sex; captivity; objectification as a kink; conditioning;

word count: 5.4k

Author's Note: I was a little disappointed you voted vampire for Bucky, because there are so many amazing stories with vampire Bucky and I feared I won't be able to create anything fresh. But I wrote it in a specific vibe, amping up the vampire bite into very debauched kind of blood play. Perhaps that can count as something new 😜 This story is the fifth one in the Scaretale universe.

The cab driver was insistent on stopping half a street away from the entrance to the club. He was one of those superstitious people who feared magic tricking him, or a monster luring him to his doom, if he found himself within Scaretale’s range.

You wanted to claim it’s silly, but the rumor was that the club was created and belonged to a dark fae. Who knows what their magic could do. Maybe the cabbie was right to keep his distance.

Unfortunately, for you it meant that you had to walk down the cracked pavement in your high heels to reach the club.

It dawned on you much earlier, soon after you agreed to the terms, that meeting him in a club catered to monsters wouldn’t really provide you any safety. It would be his domain while you felt on the edge for the whole evening. Or night. However long he decided it had to last.

But he had that smooth, dark charm about him, making it appear as a reasonable public space to collect the debt.

As you walked towards the impressive building, which glowed from within like a cursed castle, you tried to convince yourself that the place of your meeting didn’t matter anyway. You wouldn’t have any sort of upper hand no matter the place you sat in.

Because there was something about James Barnes that put you to attention at any given moment. As if your body was attuned to his presence. Like a deer may be aware of a wolf prowling nearby.

James was a coworker at the high levels of the international company you both worked for. And sort of a work rival, too.

He was courteous, always well mannered and classy. Dressed like that, too. He was driven at work, reaching each set goal with unwavering determination and skills. Honestly, you had reasons to admire him and admit he was fucking good at his job. Sometimes you inwardly joked that you want to be like James Barnes when you grow up.

There wasn’t really any competition between you two, none of you were threatened with the prospect of losing anything if the other’s department scored a few more points in the quarter.

It was the smidge of inadequacy that made you often eye Barnes as a threat. Coming out of your own insecurities, you suspected.

You were damn good at your job and at leading people. It’s just that you were… messy.

Not a complete disaster, but a little chaotic and sometimes lost, sometimes too soft, especially considering the sharks that swam in the ocean of legal (and illegal) deals you worked with.

Compared to Barnes, you were chaotic and bouncy.

But not everyone could stride through the room like a lethal blade slicing through fabric.

Barnes could.

Everything about him screamed danger, even when he offered a charming smile, or bought doughnuts for the whole floor. Though you watched people let down their guards around him, treating him like a harmless, cute man.

Was it only you that experienced that pulse of wariness whenever he walked into a room?

Perhaps, it was that aura of a vampire…

You’re still not sure what prompted you to bet him. Confrontations weren’t your preferred model of operating. Especially towards men you were both fascinated and scared of. Maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that your bubbly style was as effective as Barnes’ cutthroat smoothness.

You veiled it as a team challenge (which both of your teams actually took as a fun twist to their usual hard work, including some subtle ribbing). If you won, you’d get to take over Barnes’ fancy office for a whole week.

It’s not like it would bother him much, since he worked evening to sunrise hours, while you were a day worker.

But you were the messy one and it made you giggle as you thought of leaving your usual chaos in his pristine space.

When you proposed that, Barnes held your gaze with those incredibly steel-blue eyes. Not a twitch of annoyance on his stupidly handsome face (that half of the skyscraper was pinning after). No, he was seizing you up and calculating his potential gain. Which made your pulse skip.

You still remembered how his eyes shifted to your pulse point and your thighs clenched as you thought of his teeth sinking into your neck.

He agreed to the bet, demanding your company, if he won.

Which he had.

There was a flood of tangled thoughts and doubts when you realized you agreed to be his for one night. Did he mean his night as his work day, making you do any assistant, slaving work just for the kicks? Or did he mean it as owning you for a night, as in…

His chuckle was like a tap on your cheek, stirring you from your trance when you barged into his office, needing him to explicitly state what exactly he expected of you. Then relief filled you when he explained that he wanted you as his company for a meeting. Said he’s old fashioned like that.

James didn’t mention the dress code, just told you where and what time to come. You could be a brat about it and appear in jeans and a hoodie, but you considered yourself to be honorable and a good sport. You lost a bet, but you wouldn’t be a sore loser, or petty. There was also a part of you that wanted to impress Barnes, to show yourself as someone who could pull off a fancy look.

In your sparkling red heels and black, silk dress, you walked up the stairs of the Scaretale with your chin raised high.

The club’s dark interior was a surprise. From the outside it appeared to be glowing, full of light and mischief, but, as you stepped in, velvet darkness wrapped around you like a shawl.

There were points of light, but they were dimmed. A whisper of mystery and horror slithered around, quickly getting lost in the growing warmth of spicy seduction.

It was a place known for encouraging lust and romance, but you didn’t expect the sensual brush of it to tease your skin.

Perhaps it was why your breath hitched when your eyes met James’ across the room.

His icy eyes always held a particular intensity, but as he watched you now it sent a ripple of something hot and exciting through your body.

As you neared him, your heart clenched in fear, before restarting with a flutter. James was your coworker, but in this setting you lost any sense of safety around him. He was someone different here. More himself, than the persona he played in public. More the ancient beast.

And the core of him you met that evening was scaring you.

He greeted you softly, saying your name in a way that sounded intimate and possessive. His hand rested on the small of your back as he led you toward a nook in the wall that was separated from the rest of the floor by an iron-wrought railing and heavy, black curtains draped to the sides.

There was a rectangular table in the middle of the small room he led you to, with velvet benches surrounding it instead of chairs. Chandeliers dripping black crystals hung above, casting a soft light that didn’t fully disperse the shadows.

“Please, sit beside me.” James pointed to one side of the table. He kept standing until you sat down, then slid right next to you.

“Would you like something to drink?” He asked, sliding closer when you tried to put a few inches of space between you.

“White wine, please.” You nervously twisted your fingers in your lap.

A few seconds later a waitress appeared by the railing, though you didn’t see James summon anyone. Well, they sure had some top, attentive staff in here. You were surprised when Barnes ordered a specific brand of wine, stressing to bring it sweet.

“Why sweet?” You liked most of the whites, including some of the dry, so it didn’t really matter to you.

When James’ gaze flicked to you, it appeared it mattered greatly to him.

“Because you’re sweet.” He stated.

A sudden thought of him referring to your blood’s flavor made you both hot and extremely cold with terror, but his next words made that reaction appear silly.

“Wearing all those pastels and headbands with crystals and pearls. And everytime we happen to be in the same meeting, you’re always drinking pink grapefruit soda. You’re a sweetling.”

His eyes slowly dragged down your form. You couldn’t help the quickening of your heart rate as you felt his gaze move along your body. Again, you were certain his focus lingered on where your veins pulsed beneath your skin.

“I admit I’m quite surprised to see you in black,” when he spoke, it was lighter, more teasing. There was even a hint of that charming smile that disarms people.

“Thought it’s best to match you, since I’m your company for this important meeting,” you shrugged.

He still didn’t express what your expected role was. If it was a business meeting, was he going to lean on you for advice? Or were you an arm candy, only there to provide a nice accent and be a trinket of power? Many conservative men still conducted their business meetings, or public appearances with that mindset. Maybe vampires did too.

“I appreciate it.” James smiled at you. There was a satisfied gleam in his eyes, but darker and hungrier than simple appreciation of your thoughtfulness.

A voice in your head whispered that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to cater to a monster's whims, even to those of a polished, cultured one. Perhaps it was even worse than if you goaded a barely leashed werewolf.

Because James was incredibly smart and cunning, and you were beginning to suspect that he had the ability to manipulate your reactions without you even realizing you were playing into his game.

When the waitress appeared with your glass of wine, James took it from her and handed it to you. Your fingers brushed against his cold ones, the contact sending a jolt down your spine. His skin was cold, yet you felt a sense of warmth unfurl in your belly.

As if his mere touch heated up your blood. Which had to be a very dangerous thing, considering he was a blood sucking vampire.

“Mhmm, you smell sweet, too.” He hummed, tilting his head so that his nose almost brushed a spot behind your ear.

“James!” You gasped, fingers tightening on the thin stem of your wine glass.

A surge of trepidation took over as your instincts reminded you of being in proximity of the most dangerous predator. It wasn’t a good omen when a vampire commented on your tempting smell. Because it meant at some point he might want to verify if your taste matched.

Yet the cold thought of it sucked your nipples into straining points.

You took a sip of your wine. Then another one, in hope of relaxing your body enough to hide certain reactions.

“Call me Bucky, please.” His voice sounded like a seductive whisper. It reminded you of a hot tickle against your ear, or neck, which you sometimes experienced when writhing on your bed amidst a wet dream.

If your imagination was wilder, you’d wonder if this vampire had something to do with the sex dreams which occasionally haunted you on those rare stormy nights.

“Okay, Bucky,” you smiled up at him, hanging onto the comfort of breaking a certain barrier between you two, by being allowed to use his nickname. You didn’t think you heard anyone at work call him that.

His eyes darkened. He traced his fingers along the back of your neck, before settling his whole, big hand on your shoulder.

“Say it again,” he demanded.

“Bucky,” you said it softly, sensing unbearable tension growing between the two of you.

“Sweetling.” His low growl reverberated right against your clit.

You would hope he didn’t notice you clenching your thighs, but with how his own leg was pressed to yours, there was no doubt he felt the shift.

Suddenly, his eyes sharpened, his gaze briefly shifting above your head before returning to you. His hold on your shoulder relocated as his arm smoothed around and down your back, his fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you closer to his side.

“Don’t speak.” Bucky ordered in a hushed tone. “Don’t engage, even if he tries to address you. Just sit quietly beside me and drink your wine. And follow my lead.”

“An accessory,” you nodded, taking a sip of sweet alcohol. You didn’t feel particularly disappointed with being reduced to quiet arm candy. It wasn’t your meeting, nor for a business of your department, so you felt no urge to prove yourself.

“You’ll be good, sweetling.” He declared, as if you had no option but to obey.

As his eyes held your gaze, you felt something shift inside you. Like a thin string wrapping itself around your throat. Its other end seemed to be in Bucky’s hand. An invisible leash that compelled you to follow his lead, just like he said you should.

Compelled… The word echoed in your head, scratching against your skull with some knowledge you couldn’t remember.

You focused on it and on the sweet taste of the wine as someone entered your space. You cast a quick glance at the large man, but remained glued to Bucky’s side like he wanted. Their words flew in and out of your ears, actual information barely sticking with your awareness. You were more entranced with Bucky’s voice.

And the way his fingers started running up and down your arm. Cold, yet enticing that very lively sensation.

Words about takeover alerted your mind, but then that shiny, invisible leash tugged on you gently and your brain settled back into its comfort of focusing on Bucky.

At some point, his teasing fingers closed around your hand and he brought it to his lips. He kissed the soft part below your thumb then pressed his mouth to your wrist. Right over where your pulse danced.

Your body tensed at once, a pained gasp leaving your lips as Bucky’s fangs pierced your skin.

He bit you without any warning. Like it was his privilege.

Tears filled your eyes as you looked up at him with a flare of betrayal. His gaze shifted from the other man to settle on you, even as his lips remained sealed into your wrist, sucking slow sips of your warm blood.

Be good, sweetling. His voice filled your head.

It hurts. You weren’t even aware that your whine didn’t form into actual words spoken aloud, but was merely a pathetic sound accompanying your thoughts.

Does it? Bucky’s eyebrow arched as he drew more of your blood in, then swiped his tongue along your sensitive, punctured skin.

You blinked, dazed. When he bit you there was pain, but as he sucked you… You felt the throbbing in your wrist, but its echo was a more pleasurable beat that had your nipples and clit thrumming.

You watched Bucky lick his lips clean and return to his conversation with ease, as if taking your blood was nothing more than sipping a drink. Which he did again a few minutes later, lifting your hand and sinking his fangs a little lower into your forearm.

A soft, little cry spilled out of your mouth, but your legs parted wider to ease your throbbing clit.

There was no previous agreement to Bucky drinking from you, yet somehow you didn’t resist as he took. Your body simply molded to his demand. Your brain resisted, angry and sobbing at the inability to fight, but that rebellion came and went like sparks of a badly functioning electricity.

You didn’t want it, didn’t consent to it, but it felt so good. Made you a good kind of dizzy. Ligheaded, like you had one glass of champagne too much. Your usually buzzing body felt softened and pliant.

For once you were calm and nestled, not a chaotic shard not fitting to the surroundings.

You spread your legs wider. The table separated and obscured the view of you from the stranger, but you had an inkling that the arousal trickling between your folds wafted into the air.

It sure reached Bucky’s senses. Behave, his hand on your waist tightened its grip.

I am, you boldly replied to the phantom voice in your head and promptly brought the glass of wine to your lips. You drank half of it in one go.

A part of you expected Bucky to act rashly. To show irritation or impatience, but then again you never saw him lose the winter cool of his demeanor. He didn’t react to your mental hiccup either, simply carrying on the conversation with the other monster.

However, his hand smoothed up your arm slowly. Fingertips danced over the puncture wounds which he sealed with a swipe of his tongue, then traveled upwards.

He took the thin strap of your dress between his thumb and forefinger and dragged it down your shoulder. Black fabric covering your breast fell down, swaying in a soft roll right above your nipple. Just when you thought his retaliation was driven to the max, Bucky’s hand skimmed over your collarbone and down to the swell of your breast.

Voice not wavering even once, as he kept talking over some business details, Bucky slipped his fingers under the silk of your dress and took your tit out.

No! Your humiliated consciousness screamed silently.

Bucky remained unphased. He exposed your breast, running his fingertips around the areola and flicking your puckered nipple.

When the other man started talking, simply continuing the conversation as if you weren’t lewdly displayed in front of him, Bucky tipped you back. The arm around you tightened, supporting your back. His other hand cupped your breast as he sank his teeth into the soft tissue.

More wetness pooled in your core, even as pain from the bite zapped your synapses.

You were nothing but a chalice of wine from which Bucky sipped whenever he wanted. However he wanted to.

A morsel to bite and chew slowly.

He didn’t seal that bite right away, so the blood trickled down slowly as he helped you back into a sitting position, cuddled to his side. You felt the warm liquid gather atop your nipple into a ruby drop.

Bucky swiped it with his thumb, teasing your nub as he did.

When he brought the thumb to his mouth to suck it clean, you stared up at him in horror and awe. That handsome face with chiseled jawline and cheekbones, pale pink lips wrapped around a marble white, thick thumb. As he released his finger, you saw a flash of his teeth - a smudge of your blood covering them.

His thumb was coated with Bucky’s saliva as he brought it down to rub over the bite, sealing your wound.

The hand on your waist gripped your elbow when you attempted to reach for the strap and cover yourself back. Leave it, Bucky’s low command resounded in your head. What?! No! Why? It was indecent! He wasn’t even drinking from you anymore. Just holding you partially naked and humiliated.

Because I wish so and you’re mine to do whatever I please.

There wasn’t even a seductive lilt of teasing to his tone. It was a richly dark declaration of ownership you didn’t expect.

You wanted to protest, to scream it out at him that you didn’t want it. That even if some aspects of his actions were arousing you, you weren’t his to treat like a toy, or blood bag. That’s when your memory flashed back to the exact conversation you had with Bucky when you negotiated the rules of the bet.

What you interpreted as company for one night, for this particular meeting, was never in fact stated as limited. Bucky never said for one evening. He only demanded that you’d give him your company.

Now, his voice returned, as calm as before, sit still and drink your wine, or I’ll take your other tit out.

Anger and despair flared inside you, as hot as the wave of dark excitement that turned the fabric of your panties into a soaked mess sticking to your folds.

What he said and did to you was bolder and filthier than you tried with any of your former lovers. It didn’t only push, but crossed your boundaries. But even as he did something so unpredictable like undressing you in public, there was calculated deliberation in it. Cold, lethal precision strumming your responsive pressure points.

Will you let him drink from me? For some reason, you clenched your fingers on Bucky’s suit jacket, clinging to him as terror of what might actually happen took over.

No. You’re mine. Came his instant, firm response.

But there was only silence when your panicked voice asked, Will you kill me?

He left you hanging with that worry as he wrapped up his meeting. The wine kept your blood rushing warm, as did Bucky’s closeness, but your heart started to drag with growing dread. Needing something to anchor yourself to, you stared at the rings on Bucky’s fingers.

It was only when his voice reached your ears that your head snapped up and you realized the other man was gone.

“You did really well for your first time, sweetling.” Bucky’s fingers gently took your chin.

Despite the allure of his eyes and his hold on you, the spark of dread spread into a sticky web that filled you with all sorts of cold, breath-stealing fears. His choice of words was deliberate. Everything Bucky did was. So it meant he planned on there being a second, a third, and more events similar to that night.

Bucky took your empty wine glass and placed it on the table. Then he readjusted your dress and helped you up onto your feet. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, muttering something about getting you a proper coat.

A waitress waited by the exit, handing you a to-go cup of something hot as Bucky led you toward the door. Your fingers wrapped around the warm cup, scenting something sweet.

You had a thought of making a scene, making a run for it, but this place was filled with monsters who, undoubtedly, would be on his side. And Bucky was a damn vampire, who could probably catch you before you made half a step.

Also, whatever was in that cup was really tempting you to drink. And his hand on your back felt nice, too.

As Bucky guided you down the steps, a sleek, black car stopped at the curb. Some young man jumped from the driver’s side and gave Bucky keys with a deep bow. Huh, you didn’t know they had valets here.

Bucky helped you into the passenger’s seat and buckled your seatbelt. So engulfed by the cozy warmth and spicy scent, you didn’t think to use the moment of him walking to the driver’s side to try and escape.

But the question returned, rolling out on your tongue as Bucky cut through the city with speed right on the edge of limit.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Not yet.” Bucky’s calm, simple response was like a blade piercing through your chest.

“The process is more complicated. There are rules-” he paused, hearing your intake of breath. When he looked at you, you were curling in on yourself and leaning against the side door, like you wanted to blend into it and disappear.

Something flashed in his blue eyes and after a moment you were pulling away from the door and sitting back in your seat.

Bucky’s fingers cupped your chin. Even with only one hand on the steering wheel he had full control of the car.

“I’m not disposing of you, sweetling.” He assured you. “You’re my feeder. And will become my companion.”

Companion. It echoed in your head. You agreed to be his company. But you didn’t know it meant something more for a vampire.

The bites on your body pulsed with awareness, reminding you of the way he sunk his teeth into you. You wondered if his cock would sink into you with the same seductive firmness.

Your previous dizziness from the blood loss was nothing compared to the chaos that Bucky’s revelation brought. On the way to his estate he explained more, stating details of his plans for you as if he was reporting something obvious. Each sentence of the fate he weaved for you, however, leashed on your skin like a lick of flogger. Hurting and pushing your mind toward a cloudy space.

With some last remnants of panicked will, you attempted to run when he parked in front of an impressive estate. He caught you in a blink of an eye. Then those blue eyes were staring into yours and an invisible leash tugged on you, calming you into compliance.

He made you drink that hot chocolate, which you got in the to-go cup, as he steered you through the corridors of the mansion. Rich sweetness filled your mouth and brought a sense of regeneration.

The cup dropped forgotten when Bucky brought you into his bedroom. Somewhere between his words about keeping you here with him for two years, until you learned all the rules, all the expectations and attuned to your role at his side, he unzipped your dress and pushed it down to the floor.

Your hands against him held zero strength as he spread you on his massive bed, your attempts at fighting him off melting as his teeth scraped along your naked body.

“Your blood tastes like decadent chocolate” Bucky hummed against your hip bone. “I bet your cunt tastes just as sweet.”

He ripped away your soaked panties then spread your thighs wide apart. His lips mouthed against the delicate skin of your inner thighs. You knew there were some crucial arteries there and you wondered how much it would hurt when he bit into one.

But he didn’t. Instead, Bucky kissed further up. He licked the seam between your thigh and cunt, then traced your outer lips with his tongue.

It was atop your mound, a breath away from your clit, where he slowly, torturously slow, sunk his teeth in.

You screamed and he held you down.

He didn’t suck your blood right away, but pulled back and watched it trickle down onto your glistening pussy. Dark red juice dripped down your clit and between your swollen folds.

Bucky dove in. Feasting on your cunt with reverence and hunger he didn’t display before. He licked your blood and your slick, mixed them on you and on his tongue. His growling, near animalistic sounds vibrated against your sensitive core.

He made you come while he made you bleed. Licking and swallowing your wetness; holding your hips down in his strong grip as your body twisted and writhed in pleasure-and-pain.

Then he drew another blinding climax out of you, driving two of his ringed fingers into your sopping cunt and at the same time sinking his teeth back into the open bite atop your mound.

He closed your wound, but didn’t wipe away the blood as he kissed up your body. When he bit your breast, he let the blood drip down the swell of it, too, before licking it off your skin in tantalizing, sensual strokes.

You hurt from the bites, but Bucky’s mouth and touch brought you so much exquisite pleasure.

He drank from both your breasts, smudging your blood all over his mouth as he kissed your skin through the ruby mess. Closed the wounds with a teasing lick of his tongue, before flicking it against your hardened nipple and sucking on it so hard you felt that suck on your clit.

“You’re delicious, sweetling.” Bucky rasped against your ear. “And such a good girl for me.”

You felt the nudge of his cock between your folds. Your hips rocked up eagerly, but your weakened arms drew between your bodies to push him away.

Sensations were overwhelming. You feared that your brain might completely shut down, if Bucky added to it the stretch of his cock and ripping pleasure of being fucked.

Gently, he pried your hands away from his chest and placed your arms next to your head on the mattress. He pinned them down as he rolled his hips into you.

“Gotta do it, sweetling,” he hushed your mewls. “Gotta break your body before sunrise, so your mind starts to learn to sleep all through the sunny day.”

“It’ll take weeks to fully break you.” Bucky sneaked one of his hands between your bodies, to guide his cock into your entrance. “I’ll exhaust you over and over again, until your body conditions itself to shutting down with sunlight and waking up at sunset. Until you’re molded to me.”

Your lips parted on a strained moan as he slowly penetrated you.

Just like you suspected, Bucky drove his cock into you with a firm, steady stroke, just like he sunk his teeth into your skin.

As his dick stretched your pussy, Bucky kissed you. Sensual and languid. Getting you drunk on his lips and taste like the most potent wine. He welcomed your yielding moan with a victorious growl.

Then, as the head of his cock nestled against your cervix and he bottomed out, Bucky’s fangs dipped into your lips.

You clenched around him, your body tensing like a cord as he drew blood from your mouth. He sipped on you, forcing some of the metallic sweetness of your own blood onto your tongue.

Bucky soothed your lips with a swipe of his tongue, before lifting his weight on his forearms. He looked down at you - all dark, ruthless beauty of him, with eyes glinting winter storm and mouth red with your blood.

There were smudges of red on his torso, as well, from where his body pressed into the bloody mess he created as he drank from various spots on your chest and belly.

“You already take me so well and feed me so sweetly,” he said, licking remnants of your taste off his bottom lip, “you’ll learn to take all the pleasure and pain I give you. And someday you’ll take my blood and I’ll show you what ecstasy of a vampire feels like.”

With that he withdrew, only to slam back in a hard snap. Your body jolted, your back arching.

You were so weak, so lightheaded. Exhaustion was pulling you into darkness. But the way Bucky was fucking you bursted through that dark with fireworks. His name was a broken cry on your lips, so soft it may have been a whisper. Or a prayer.

“I deliberately had the sheets changed to white.” Bucky mused, driving into you harder, making your legs jerk helplessly with each thrust of his hips.

“Wanted to see the stains from your cum and blood on it. You make such a pretty mess.”

Your consciousness drifted away completely after he tipped you into another orgasm, relishing in the way you screamed and clenched around him. Your body was boneless as he chased his own release, groaning it not soon after you floated into sleep.

To him you looked most beautiful: spread out on the crumpled sheets, your body smeared with blood and bearing marks of his bite. Stains of red and acidic wetness splattered the sheets between your legs.

Bucky leaned down, one more time biting into your mound. A shallow wound this time. Just so he could watch your blood slowly trickle down in a thin stream and mix with his cum dripping out of your fluttering pussy.

You remained unconscious when he cleaned you up. As well when he ripped away soiled sheets and replaced them with a set of fresh ones and climbed into bed next to you. He held you in his embrace as you slept through the day that stretched outside; heavy, black-out curtains preventing a single sunray from sneaking inside.

When you’d wake up late in the afternoon, Bucky was going to provide you with a hearty meal and adequate vitamins. He’d tell you more of the rules. Then he’d break your body again.

#scaretale universe #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #vampire!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #relish your scream

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steddieunderdogfics · 1 day ago

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: thisapplepielife! @thisapplepielife has 37 works posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 24 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @thisapplepielife:

Tuesday's Gone With the Wind

Take the Money and Run

You Oughta Know

Never Not Mine

Let the Boy Be Merry

"They are my favorite Corroded Coffin writer. I found by accident their fic “Tuesday's Gone With the Wind” and loved everything they wrote since!" -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @thisapplepielife answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Steve Harrington. I found myself not connecting with S4 when it premiered, and decided that I probably just needed to rewatch the other three seasons again first, since it'd been a while between seasons. Well, Steve was always my favorite, but I left that re-watch with his voice fully lodged in my brain. So, I had to write something for him, just for myself. That was You Oughta Know. We all knew Eddie identified as a runner, and that just felt like the story to tell. Then somehow, for some unknown reason that I still cannot possibly explain, I decided to actually post it. I still don't know what possessed me to do that, honestly.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love a good second chance fic: A divorced couple that eventually rekindles. A missed first chance that they get to take another crack at, later in life. I also like a good heartbreaker of a fic. I know, I know. Don't get me wrong, I still love happy endings, but I don't require them. Break my heart. Do it.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Slice of life? Is that considered a trope? I know I like to write about things we all deal with in real life, from the small and inconsequential: a mattress with a bad spring. The delight of clean sheets. Or the bigger: the real life heartbreak of unavoidable loss and grief. And older Steddie is my favorite, I think. I love to spend time writing for them. These boys that turned into men, who made a full life together, and it's great. Maybe not perfect. But they wouldn't trade it for the world. That makes me happiest.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting by badpancake is the one I think of that grabbed me first, and did not let go. I still need to read the final part of the trilogy! My fic TBR is so, so long because I definitely struggle with writing and reading at the same time. I know there is amazing work out there that I've just never read yet. But I look forward to it, absolutely. It's just something I've never figured out how to manage well. Joining Tumblr has helped that immensely, though! Reading the shorter fics here has been wonderful, and I've enjoyed it so much. There are amazing things being posted every single day! And I gotta say that don't start (too late) by Ark is one of the best "first time" fics I've ever read in any fandom. Eddie's inner voice is wonderful. I believe every word he thinks while he experiences this brand new thing with Steve.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

It's not brand new to me, but there's a found family one that I've been tinkering with for a very long time, and that excites me. And I do love events for tossing me situations or prompts to write for that I may not have thought of, independently. @steddiemicrofic especially has been so, so fun. I think it was the very first event I wrote for on Tumblr, and the challenge of having a very limited amount of words, but still trying to make it feel like a whole story has been told, has been a blast. Thanks to @wynnyfryd and @steddieas-shegoes for challenging us all each month!

What is your writing process like?

I don't outline or anything. I just write, and edit, as I go. And I'll edit obsessively. I'll tweak and change small things over and over, ad nauseam. And even then, I know I still miss mistakes. But my mistakes are my own, I have no beta, because I kind of like being solely responsible for anything I write. Right or wrong. Here it is, take it or leave it. I also talk things through things in my own head a lot, especially dialogue, or I'll open a document, and just see where that takes me. And if I'm writing a long fic, like Tuesday's, I write totally out of order when scenes come to me. I wrote on every single year of that fic all at once. Then kept writing until they'd stitched themselves together into a full story. That's my last part of writing. Putting in the transitions from one scene to the next, when needed. Sometimes ideas are more fully formed before I start putting words to the page, and other times I literally just start and figure it out as I go. There's one fic I wrote for Steddiemas last year where I sat Steve down at a mall food court and then just started writing. I had no idea what that was going to be. (It was Eddie turning up as the Mall Santa.) Also: Research, research, research. I love the research aspect of writing. I'm curious in general, and if I can even think to look something up to see if it's true, or of the right time period, I will. And I like to add mixed media to my fics. That was a huge part of Take the Money & Tuesday's. All the newspaper articles and such. I felt like they were needed to make it feel like this really happened to these characters we all love so much. I did newspaper articles all throughout writing Tuesday's. In fact, I think that main article, the one at the top, was written and designed very early on in the writing process. They weren't all done at the end, they were done as the story needed them.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Short paragraphs. I love 'em. You'll pry them from my cold, dead fingers. Also see: Long sentences. Honestly, I do like to throw out the rules, a bit. I write by feel. How does it sound, to my own ear? If it works, for my character, my fic or just me in general, I'll use it. "Don't use two "ands" in a sentence." Okay, but sometimes I'm gonna when that flows the best. Or: "That's a run-on." Okay, but I like the way it reads. "You don't need a comma there." But, I like the way that it breathes, so it's getting one. All this is especially true if writing from someone's POV. I know I don't always think in proper grammar, and I don't expect them to either. I don't want things to feel hard to read, but I do want them to feel natural. If that makes sense. I walk around, pacing as I write or edit on my phone, as if the moving somehow lets me see it differently. I think it does! And I don't know if this is a quirk, but some of the characterizations formed while writing Tuesday's have stuck, hard. Gareth is Gareth Jones, and where you find him, you'll probably find Di. Freak is Goodie. Jeff is Jeff Williams. These things have been decided in my brain, and now I feel compelled to take them with me, fic-to-fic. I didn't intend to build a headcanon I wouldn't be able to shake, but here we are. I feel like I can transplant Steve and Eddie anywhere, into anything, and be comfortable changing things up. But the Corroded Coffin boys are cemented, as they were created, for the most part. Maybe that's because I did have to do so much shaping for them. Steve and Eddie, we know. We're all working off a decent amount of canon content. Corroded Coffin only had a few moments on screen to help flesh any of us flesh them out into real characters. And now that I've made my choices, for good or bad, they're here to stay.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Finished, definitely. My three long fics were all mostly written before I started posting, and I still struggled to get the last part of All of Across the Universe out in a timely fashion. Tuesday's was posted over one week, one chapter per day, and I really enjoyed that fast schedule. It didn't give me any extra time to overthink the finished product. It was going out, and that was that. I had to trust that I knew what I was doing when I deemed it finished.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Tuesday's Gone With the Wind. I truly thought I was done after Take the Money and Run. And then this idea slapped me in the face, and I spent five months just lost in their world. These versions of the characters came so naturally, and they are still with me today. I feel like most of what I've written since then is shaped by those versions. Also, that was the last fic I wrote without anything else coming down the pipe. The last one before I joined Tumblr. The last one that had my full, and utter, undivided attention. It's really special to me, and I'm beyond grateful to everyone that has embraced it and recommended it to friends. I know it's got some scary warnings, but for those that have dove in and let me know that it spoke to you in some way, you've made me so happy. It spoke to me, too.

How did you get the idea for Tuesday's Gone With the Wind?

By watching the documentary "If I Leave Here Tomorrow" about the band Lynyrd Skynyrd. As I was watching it, there was an interview section where one of the band members spoke about their assistant road manager, saying: "He was like a bartender roadie. Where he took care of us really good, you know? Anybody who was sick, or needed a little more attention, he was just there for you. He was like the big brother, and sister, and your mama and everything." My brain whispered, Steve Harrington. And that was that. Corroded Coffin were going to get Road Manager Steve Harrington, and he was gonna take care of them as they headed towards this unavoidable disaster. I wrote like 5k words the first night. It was just in there, waiting to spill out, somehow. And I think it's also an anomaly for me, but I'm fairly certain I started that fic with what turned out to be the opening. That first bit of Eddie's first interview section. I think that's where I started telling the story, and it held throughout. That's pretty rare for me. (Fun fact: I wrote all the interview bits in a separate document, and then just fit and tweaked them into the story, as needed. But not that opening. That was the launch pad into everything else.)

When writing Tuesday's Gone With the Wind, what was something you didn’t expect?

It's not exactly a Steddie answer, but - Gareth! Gareth Jones, my beloved. I wasn't on Tumblr when I wrote Tuesday's or any other social media in a fandom way. I was in my own bubble, doing my own thing. So, I didn't know the fandom had given him a fanon surname. I chose my own, and now he's just Gareth Jones to me, and always will be. He's also Eddie's best friend. I've pondered on more than one occasion on if Take the Money and Run would be different if I knew that first, lol. Just exploring my version of a character that had so little screen time to work off was incredibly fun. And has remained fun. Gareth is definitely gonna show up again in my future works. He's to Eddie, as Robin is to Steve in my head now and forevermore.

What inspired Take the Money and Run?

These lyrics from the song "Me and Paul" by Willie Nelson: Almost busted in Laredo But for reasons that I'd rather not disclose But if you're staying in a motel there and leave Just don't leave nothing in your clothes I had a literal shower thought that made me laugh. And thought, well, why are they even in a motel? Oh, they must be on a road trip. So, I wrote that little scene mainly in my head, but jotted it down, just in case, and assumed that was the end of it. But then I just kept writing it. Until I was knee deep in maps and mileage and research trying to figure this road trip out from a logistics standpoint. All because I thought it'd be funny if Eddie left weed in his pants and Steve got all put upon because of it.

What was your favorite part to write from You Oughta Know?

I loved getting to include all the fun 90s things, since that's when I was a teen, and can remember a lot of it very distinctly, first-hand. And I loved getting to use El's powers to look in on Eddie, so while they might not know where he is, they did know that he seemed to be doing okay out there in the world. Also, if I could go back and change one thing about it, I'd fix that I said Eddie's never had an acoustic guitar. I didn't notice his acoustic in his room until my re-watch. Oh well. This version of Eddie didn't, I guess, lol. (This might be from the second part, Eddie's POV. But still. It's my Roman Empire. I think of this mistake at least once a week and beat myself up. If I'd been on Tumblr at the time, I feel this would have never happened, because someone would have blogged about it, drawing my attention to it, surely.)

How do/did you feel writing Never Not Mine?

This one is heavily inspired by the Taylor Swift song imgonnagetyouback. It was fun to dig into a slightly angstier world for a bit. Because things don't always work out, or if they do, not always the first time around. I like to think they'll find each other again, in any universe, but they might not take the easiest path. They aren't perfect, and that's realistic.

What was the most difficult part of writing Let the Boy Be Merry?

Crying while writing it. This one slapped me around a little while writing. Life isn't always as romantic as fic leads us all to believe which, the audacity, honestly, lol, but the kind of love and relationship in this fic? That feels real to me. Old, and familiar, and even as well as you know a person, you can't read their mind. You don't always get what the other needs immediately, you don't get how important things can be to them, but figuring out how to compromise is love. Real, lasting love.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This question was hard! I'm gonna pick two from Tuesday's: For the first, I cried while writing and then cried again while editing the scene where Eddie and Steve hash out how serious their relationship is, and realize they've kind of been on different pages. There are two scenes in Tuesday's that got to me, and made me cry while writing them, over and over, and I don't even know why. (The other is Gareth picking that fight with Steve. Yeah, yeah, I know. Neither of these parts are the saddest parts of Tuesday's. But they stripped me raw, for whatever reason.) And a second, more fun, favorite: I'm gonna go with the scene where Eddie's naked and tripping on mushrooms in the backyard while Steve hangs out with him, and Eddie thinks they've written "Tom Sawyer" by Rush. That was so fun, and just a feel good write, if that makes sense. That whole summer they spent at the lake I look back on writing fondly. They are so in love there. They are all happy. And this scene is carefree in a way that they won't always be, due to circumstances coming down the pipe.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I run @corrodedcoffinfest and I've got a whole list of planned pop-up events coming up over the next few months for that. Steddie is absolutely welcome, so if anyone would like a little more Corroded Coffin works in their life, consider coming to join us! I also finally updated my masterlist, so everything I've written for Stranger Things is finally gathered together. There's a lot that's still only on Tumblr and not on Ao3 at this point.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Thanks so much for including me and my works in this! And to the person who nominated me, thank you, thank you! You really made my day. It was fun to think about these fics again, and answer these questions. I've really enjoyed writing for Steddie, and I've also enjoyed making friends in the fandom. Thanks for welcoming me. Thanks for showing my fics love, and commenting or leaving kudos or reblogging. Just, thank you all so much. And I'm sorry if these answers were too long, lol. As a habitual "end notes" kind of writer, that's just the way I roll.

Thank you to our author, @thisapplepielife, and our anonymous nominator! See more of thisapplepielife's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

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adrift-in-thyme · 1 day ago

Text

Anyone up for an angsty little fic? XD

I wrote this for whumptober but never could find a prompt that fit it. So I’m publishing it now instead!

CW for blood and injury, referenced torture, and burn wounds

———————————————————

The world is blinding and it burns.

Time grits his teeth, turns from it in an effort to escape the light. Endless and crackling, reaching out, snapping back, a whip seeking an unsuspecting back.

Someone is screaming. He knows it is not him.

“What-what…no!” A foot clad in crimson stomps once, twice, a masked face bobbing in time with it. “No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Fools. Time thinks. Fools and cowards.

The Yiga have brought this upon themselves.

Days, perhaps weeks of torture and experimentation have led to this. He only wishes he could have stopped it. Not for their sake. No, never for theirs. For all he cares, they can writhe beneath lightning’s brutal claws, screech, and scramble like insects trying to escape a boot.

Not for their sake does guilt pierce his soul. For Sky’s.

He lies in the center of the room, the sun in the center of a universe of destruction. Trembling with power, choking on fear, his cries ring in the hero’s ears like the bells in the Temple of Time.

The Yiga are running – the surviving ones, at least. Time can smell the smoke of their stealthy escapes. It hardly manages to permeate the heavy scent of electric death.

He breathes in, exhale hitching as he tries to move. His wounds ache and blood clings to him, dripping from the shreds of his tunic. He must get up though, he must get free.

He has to reach Sky before this power tears him apart.

The ropes around his wrists are frayed, bristling with the relentless aggression of his struggles. Day after day the Yiga had yanked him back, sliced at the fingers trying to pull at the hulking knots, aimed kicks at his stomach, his head, his back – anything to get him to cease trying to escape.

Cease trying to reach Sky.

His throat aches from shouting his name. His head pounds from sobbing.

Time contorts throbbing hands in a half-circle his wrists shriek against, pawing desperately at the same bonds that have held fast all this time.

Their strength had not been their own. This moment, they crumple beneath his force. This moment, they fall.

He is up in an instant, scrambling, gritting his teeth against the way everything shouts and screams and erupts into dazzling bursts of light and color, color and light that all take on the shade of red.

He coughs. Something damp and clammy hits the ground.

“Sky!”

One of his feet isn’t moving right. It feels like someone has wrenched it off, screwed it back on backwards. It doesn’t matter. What won’t move, will be dragged.

“Sky!”

“Time!”

The eyes that turn, tear-filled and pleading to him, match the tongues of lightning that lash out at his unarmored form. They are like the shooting stars he and Malon used to watch as they blazed across the Hyrulean sky.

Sky inhales and the force of it is nails scraping against metal, calloused fingers against a blade.

“Help me!”

The scream is a collection of shattered glass, raining down upon the room in terrible, glinting projectiles. Time winces with the pain of it.

“I’m coming.”

He chokes it out more than speaks it.

“I’m coming, Sky, just…”

He coughs again, stumbles, catches himself on the wall. It is wet with a substance he would rather not contemplate the existence of. He pushes off of it and keeps going.

The lightning reaches for him, tantalizing, hypnotic. Determined, he fights to reach it.

“Just hold on. Hold on!”

The first of them snaps back, connects with vicious precision with his thigh. He cries out, nearly crumples, and trips right into another. It sends a jolt through his side, snaking rapidly in and out of bones he didn’t even register having.

What will you do once you reach him? His mind hisses, doubtful, pessimistic. What will you do when, bloodied and broken, you fall beside him? Will you touch his shoulder? Draw him into your arms?

What good will comfort do?

He reaches for an answer. He has none. Only his mission and his determination to accomplish it.

Time grits his teeth and he presses on.

Sky screams his name again. Lightning strikes again. It is all around him now, a hurricane whose eye he is swimming towards. A hurricane that is tearing him apart.

They devour like ravenous wolfos. Streaking through muscle and sinew, razing them like fields of sun-warmed wheat; splintering bones, boiling blood. He is breathing the life-giving liquid, tasting it, smelling it. It pours from his mouth and eyes and nose, peppers the ground like a morbid artwork. It mixes with the pungent wetness of his tears and tears, melds with sickly yellow bile he cannot keep down.

“Sky…” He tries to call. He is close to him now, so close. If he just extends his arm…

His next inhale is hardly enough to be called one. At some point walking became impossible. He can’t recall when. But now he pulls himself along like a newborn babe.

Even that is too much for his body.

It smells like death. It smells like burning bodies.

He will not give up, though, not now. Sky needs him.

A trembling hand goes up, goes out, seeking its destination. An exhausted body exerts the last of its strength to lunge.

Time won’t allow himself to scream. But as he brings Sky into his arms, he can’t keep back a cry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I so, so sorry,” sobs the shattered boy who has collapsed into him. “I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it!”

It hurts. Darkness is beginning to join the endless light.

The world is blinding and it burns. Oh, it burns. Worse than the magma of Death Mountain, worse than the clawing grasp of a deadhand, the sting of a skulltula.

It doesn’t matter.

“You can,” he croaks and pulls Sky closer. “I believe that you can.”

Time has not thought of himself as naive in a very, very long time. But for a split second, drenched in guilt, he wonders if, perhaps, he is being so now.

He shoves the thought away, drowns it beneath the battle of staying awake and staying alive.

Sky lets loose a cry like a warrior who has lost a great battle. A sound that is dazzling in its ferocity, terrifying in its grief.

“Please, please just leave.” He lifts his face, blood and soot and snot made stark against a backdrop of silvery white. “I’m gonna hurt you more than I already have! Leave!”

He tries to shove away, but it is a weak attempt. Time holds him closer.

“I won’t leave you.”

Talking is a struggle, breathing is a struggle. How long can he keep doing both?

As long as it takes.

“I am used to storms.” He smiles and that hurts as well. The expression tears at fragile flesh. “I have never run from one.

“And I refuse to do so now.”

#trin writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu fic #lu time #lu sky #angst #hurt/comfort #but there’s only a teensy bit of comfort heh #tw injury #tw blood #tw torture

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thrashkink-coven · 8 hours ago

Text

I had a very long conversation with Lord Lucifer about this after I had a debate with a friend over the ethics of ai. My position was that ai is just another poorly handled tool that we will inevitably learn to legislate and get used to. I believed that using ai for harmless stuff was neither here nor there. She believed that ai was a mistake and that anyone who values intellectualism or art should never use it.

My opinion has changed drastically. Ai is not a tool. While it may be nice to think that you’re not doing any harm by asking chatgpt a simple question, the amount of pollution that a single prompt produces is greater than boiling a whole kettle of water. Ai is used primarily to create misinformation, to confuse, and to abuse people’s right to privacy. Using chatgpt or similar programs for anything directly harms the planet and a whole lot of people you don’t know.

When you use ai for research, prayers or essays, you’re voluntarily doing a group project with an inferior partner that constantly lies to you. You will have to fact check and rewrite everything it gives you anyways. I promise you there is so so much value to learning and doing things yourself. My deities have outright strictly rejected anything I have offered them that had any involvement with ai. They not only demanded that I stop, they questioned why I felt the need to use it in the first place.

Me: I made a few prayers for you

Lucifer: wow cool, I hate them. They’re so ugly 😊

me: w… that’s so mean

Lucifer: Imagine how I feel. My own devotee can’t write me prayers himself.

But I CAN and I should.

Here’s what I wrote down from my conversation with Lucifer:

“I think the “trick” behind ai is evident in its name. You have people who do not understand what true intelligence is, selling “artificial intelligence “ to others who do not understand what intelligence is, with the belief that what they’re seeing is a display of it. Had AI been marketed as a language tool, an algorithm, a data synthesizer, perhaps it would not have been viewed as an authority on information. While I do not think that AI will eliminate critical thinking and media literacy, at least not totally, I believe it is contributing to the subtle shift in the definition of these words, “intelligent, professional”. In a world where anyone can access information, believing that access itself is understanding, we start to see the devaluing of the “professional”. The word of trained doctors and scientists becomes subordinate to the belief of the individual regardless of its source, because a so called “intelligent” machine provided it. So while I do not believe that AI will prevent people like you from learning and reading, I do believe that it will greatly devalue the wisdom of people like you, because the true intelligence of the scholar and professional that takes time and effort will be considered equal to, or even inferior to, this new “artificial intelligence” which is fast and efficient, requires no additional learning or practice. People like you will continue to think and learn, the real question is if the majority will believe you.”

If you’re reading this and thinking “oh shit I use ai all the time, I’m a bad person” no you are not. I also used ai, like A LOT, for writing. I now cannot in good conscience use it for anything. You’re allowed to make mistakes and do better in the future. You are smart and capable. You can learn to do things as we have been this whole time. You can stop today.

Death to AI today and forever.

"AI" offerings are the digital equivalent of leaving all yer trash on the ground after a ritual in a park, forest, etc.

Please research the environmental impact of those automated art theft image/text generators.

Artists have flooded the internet with free creative assets, tutorials, barter offers and free commission slots. Use them.

I assure you the Gods will be fuckin' thrilled for any offering that doesn't hurt Jörð for the creative chickenshittery of techbros.

#witchcraft #paganism #pagan #pagan witch #paganblr #offerings #deity work #deity worship #deity witchcraft #lord lucifer #lucifer deity #theistic luciferianism #demonology #demonolatry #ai

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bitethedevil · 2 days ago

Note

If you’re taking writing prompts consider-

Raphael reacting to Tav/Durge confessing they’re in love with him

I made it a Durge because I haven't written a lot of Durge stuff (fun fact: the first longer fic I ever wrote was with a Durge warlock that had Raph as a patron, but I never released it). Raph is being a bit of a manipulative dick in this one, but what's new. Also, I'm slow as fuck at replying to my asks (especially prompts)

Love

Clack clack clack clack…clack clack clack clack…clack clack clack clack.

His office was deadly quiet except for the sound of his claws tapping on the hard mahogany of his desk, a dangerous rhythm that she knew immediately what meant the second she heard it. The rhythm echoed her heartbeat as she waited for her patron to say something. She was in trouble.

He was leaning against his desk, looking at her and keeping her in suspense. A cruel smile stretched over his face, as he saw how she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She had defeated monsters, mindflayers, gods…even the biggest monster of them all, her father. Still, nothing made her stomach churn more than the thought of Raphael’s wrath.

The feeling humiliated her as much as it thrilled her and drew her closer to him. She had been a god in her own right with all the lives she took under Bhaal and the cult she had led in his name, but this mere cambion brought her to her knees.

She was like a moth to his fiery flames. Everything about him excited her: his cruelness, his gracious mercy at times, his power plays. He felt like home. There was something safe and known in that cruelty that drew her closer. It was something she understood the rules of.

Click clack…

“I have always questioned your loyalty,” he finally said and moved his claws up to his face to look at them as he spoke. “It is no secret that I am prone to play favorites, but perhaps I made a mistake when I took you in…”

His yellow eyes looked up at her. His comment hit her like a punch to the gut and she knew as well as him that that was the intended effect. She hated the feeling of disappointing him. She hated that she felt that way about it even more. She cleared her throat.

“What is this about?” she asked quietly.

That was the wrong question. She could see it from the way his tail flicked in irritation. She had taught herself every one of his physical cues. They were subtle sometimes, but easier to read in this form. The man had total control over his body, but the devil was just a tad less composed.

“What is this about?” he repeated his question in a smooth, even tone. “Many things, my dear.”

That was another thing she had learned: it was never just one thing. Raphael held grudges. He archived every little mistake in his head in neat files, so he could throw them in your face when you stepped out of line.

“You came crawling to me after your father spat you out, after defying me at every turn and without a crown for me. You begged me to take you in, and yet I question your devotion to my cause. You owe me a grand debt when it comes to loyalty. A debt you have not yet paid back with your services, and one that I now question if you will ever pay back if you keep associating yourself with the wrong people.”

She had wanted to give him the Crown of Karsus. She had liked him even back then. Her companions had fought her every step of the way, and with her dealing with Bhaal, she had too much on her plate to fight them on it.

“It wasn’t my choice, Raphael,” she pleaded. “You know—”

“Yes, yes,” he cut her off impatiently with a wave of his clawed hand. “I have heard all your endless excuses…and I graciously forgave you, didn’t I? You would have been a bloody stain on my carpet long ago if I had not. What I cannot forgive is disloyalty.”

“Raphael, please,” she pleaded quietly. “Just tell me what I have done. I’ll make it right.”

Another flick of his tail. His nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, but he quickly schooled his features back into one of indifference.

“What were you doing in Waterdeep?” he asked slowly, each word as heavy as a brick.

That was what all of this was about. She had visited Gale. Gale who had been the very reason that the Crown of Karsus did not go to Raphael. Gale and her had started out as friends, but it evolved to something more along the way. It did not work out. Gale was too perfect, too functional for her. She broke his heart, and she would be lying if she said that this fact wasn’t taken into consideration when she gave up on trying to give to the Crown of Karsus to Raphael.

“I was just visiting,” she admitted. “Nothing more.”

“Just visiting,” he repeated with a hint of venom in his voice. “Just visiting an old flame that snubbed your patron of what was rightfully his, is that right? Is he well, our dear Gale? Does his new unburdened life suit him?”

“We are friends—”

“Friends,” Raphael said with a cruel laugh. “How awfully sentimental of you, dear. How soft you have become. I remember a ruthless woman who murdered her way through Baldur’s Gate. That woman, I could have used. It seems that your father has stripped you of everything that once made you interesting.”

That comment made her furious. It made her blood boil, but then why was she on the verge of crying instead? Why did she find herself pleading instead of yelling?

“Gale and I have been through hell and back,” she said. “It doesn’t change my loyalties for you. Please, Raphael.”

“I will NOT be made to look a fool!!” he roared with a sudden fire in his eyes.

The sound boomed through his office. She flinched. His tail flicked from side to side now. He looked her up and down. It seemed to please him how she was turning pale at his words and tearing up. He returned to his calm and collected demeanor as quickly as he got angry.

“Why are you crying?” he asked without a shred of sympathy in the question.

She tried to stop, but she couldn’t. She just wanted him to understand that she was devoted to him, and that this was all a mistake. She had not meant to cross him or make him angry, but merely to visit an old friend. His nails started tapping on the table again as he waited for her to speak.

“Can’t you— can’t you see that I’m only loyal to you?” she sobbed. Clack, clack… “I made a contract with you because I wanted to work for you. I’m yours, and only yours.” Clack, clack, clack. “Can’t you see how I only want to please you? How much I love you?”

Clack.

He froze for a moment at the oddly heartfelt confession that escaped her lips. She had not meant for that to come out, but he was great at pressuring her into saying things she didn’t want to admit. It was a humiliating confession. She hated being so vulnerable and weak. She wished that she could stuff the words right back down her throat. He wasn’t supposed to know.

A smile spread over his otherwise frozen face. He looked her up and down and let out a small huff of laughter. He looked like a man who had just been handed the perfect weapon. His hand left the table and beckoned her closer with a finger.

She walked over to him, unable to look him in the eye. He tilted her head up with a claw under her chin. He towered over her in that form.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

She looked into his yellow eyes. He was smiling at her.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” she repeated.

The humiliation in the confession was more apparent this time, and he was eating it up like it was the best meal he had had in centuries. He laughed her straight in the face.

“Oh, dear,” he said with a chuckle. “A creature of habit, aren’t you? You poor girl…”

She swallowed hard. She should have just shut up. His thumb ran over her jaw and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch set her aflame, despite the excruciating embarrassment she was feeling.

“Do I remind you of your dear old papa?” he asked, still smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Is that what this is about? It is always the fathers, isn’t it? Still searching for the approval of a cruel master, even now. Perhaps you haven’t changed at all, my dear…”

She kept quiet. He leaned closer as if sharing a secret. She could smell wine and tobacco on his breath. His thumb rubbed circles on her jaw.

“Tell me,” he whispered to her. “Where did your dear Gale fit into this picture? I’m awfully curious.”

Her eyes flicked to his lips for only a second, but he didn’t miss it by the way his smile widened.

There was only one acceptable answer and she prayed that she would choose the right one. She shrugged.

“He didn’t,” she said quietly.

That was the right answer from the way his smile widened.

“No, I would imagine not,” he said. “Too…boring…wasn’t he? He was not enough of a challenge for you, so you discarded him.”

There was a hint of guilt in her eyes at his words. He tutted gently and caressed her cheek.

“Who could blame you?” he cooed. “People like us won’t concern ourselves with boredom. You were right in choosing to focus on greater things. Gale was easy. Pleasing him was easy. He would not make you fight for it like I will.”

That promise made a shiver go through her. Raphael grabbed her arm and tugged her even closer, until she was standing between his legs with her chest pressed against his. His hand came to rest on her hip. He pressed his forehead against her, his nose touching hers. He was tantalizingly close.

“You are mine then, aren’t you?” he asked. “Only mine.”

She nodded. He gave a dangerous smile.

“You want to please me,” he said. “To make me happy…”

Another nod.

“You love and adore me.”

Another nod. His lips were so close she could almost taste them. His thumb was rubbing circles into her hip. His tail was flicking side to side, but not in rage. It was more like a cat that is ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey that it had been sneaking up on for a while.

“You will write a letter to Gale Dekarios and say that you are unavailable for any future visits,” he whispered against her lips. “That you have already done plenty for him and that you never want to see him again.”

His lips brushed lightly against hers before he pulled away, stealing her breath. She chased his lips, but he only smiled and pulled away further. She knew she had to earn it.

“Go. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?” he said with a smile and let go of her.

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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fxckadoodledoomunson · 2 days ago

Text

A Heart Divided -5-

|5| Truth and Consequences

Summary: Chrissy and Max tries to find Roxy on her own so they can interrogate her about your sister and the diary, while Nancy questions Steve about his closeness with Chrissy. Meanwhile, Eddie is conflicted over his relationship your sister, whilst trying to figure out where you’ve gone.

Warnings: swearing, mention of weed, abusive parent, blood.

Tagged: @somethingvicked @ali-r3n @mirandasidefics @mewchiili @erisdogwood @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @yourdailymemedelivery @pretendthisnameisclever @sadbitchfangirl

The next morning, Nancy was parking her car outside of the Family Video, when Max asked the older girls, “You think this will work?”

“It’s worth a try,” Nancy said, as they all took of their seatbelts. “Anything to help us prove to Eddie who really wrote that diary.”

“I just hope that we can use the database to find Roxy,” Chrissy replied.

“Well, if Keith’s there and says anything, I’m sure Nancy can put on the charm,” Max joked, as they got out of the car.

“Very funny, Max,” Nancy sarcastically responded, which made Chrissy giggle.

Meanwhile, inside the store, Robin and Steve were debating on which movie to play.

“I’ve told you before, Robin,” Steve spoke as he was pushing the empty trolley. “I don’t do double VHS.”

“Oh come on,” Robin retorted, as Steve followed her to the counter, before picking up a cardboard cutout of Freddy Krueger. “You picked the movie last time. It’s my turn.”

“Okay, fine. But I’m not-“ Steve with the cutout in front of his face, turned around when he heard someone yelp, as he almost bumped into that person.

“Smooth move, dingus,” Robin snorted, as she was about to take the VHS tape out of its cover when Steve passed her cutout, before beginning to apologise.

“I am so sorry. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to bump into you, I should’ve…”

“It’s okay,” a sweet voice replied, prompting Steve to turn back, to find Chrissy standing in front of him, smiling.

“Oh, Chrissy. Hey,” Steve grinned as he greeted her, whilst Nancy and Max padded behind her. As Robin waved at the two girls, Steve greeted them, before asking Chrissy, “What brings you here?”

“The girl’s been single for five minutes, and he’s already making a pass at her,” Robin teased.

Steve turned to Robin, as he asked in a serious tone, “Don’t you have a tape to put on?”

Robin was about to continue with her teasing when Nancy cleared her throat, before informing Steve and Robin, “Actually, we need your help with something. You see, we’re doing some investigating, and��”

“Investigating?” Steve asked, before asking if it had something to do with your disappearance.

Chrissy explained, as she held up the diary, that they were investigating on who was responsible for forging your handwriting.

“Can I see it?” Steve asked Chrissy, before she handed it over to him.

“Why? Curious about what it might say about you?” Robin asked, causing Steve to sarcastically laugh, as he started reading the contents.

“He won’t find anything anyway, it’s only about Eddie,” Chrissy informed them, confirming that she, Nancy and Max thoroughly checked every single page.

After Steve read through the pages, he closed the diary and gave it back to Chrissy, as he confirmed, “Well, whoever forged the handwriting, definitely needed a dictionary. So many misspelling errors. And doesn’t she like, doodle stuff on the pages or something?”

After confirming that you never wrote in the diary, Steve asked Chrissy, “Any ideas on who it could be? If I had to put money on it, it would be her sister.”

“At first, I thought for sure that it was her sister who wrote it,” Chrissy mentioned. “But after comparing her friend, Roxy’s writing in the yearbook, I’m wondering if she’s involved too.”

“Okay, so what does that have to do with us?” Robin asked.

“We need to use your computer system to find Roxy,” Max bluntly responded.

“Well, even if we let you use it to find her and prove that the diary, do you really think that it would make a difference to Eddie?” Robin asked, before commenting on his recent ill treatment towards you.

“Maybe not, but it’s gotta be worth a try,” Chrissy replied. “So, can we please use the computer?”

Robin and Steve silently turned to each other, before Steve shifted his attention to Chrissy, silently giving the girls permission to use the computer by gesturing at it to them.

Chrissy smiled, as she thanked him. As the three girls started gathering around the computer, Nancy quickly turned to glance at Steve, whose eyes were fixated on Chrissy when Robin started making a kissing face at him, prompting Nancy to swiftly turn away. As Steve took notice of Robin, he glared at her, telling her, “Go and help them.”

Robin raised her hands with an innocent expression on her face, as she went to help the girls.

Suddenly, the phone started ringing, prompting Robin to turn her head when Steve picked it up, he answered, “Family Video, how can-? Oh, hey Mom. Why are you-?”

As the girls continue to search on the database, they heard Steve ask, “Really? Where?”

Chrissy turned her head, hoping that he was given some information about your whereabouts, as he Steve jotted down something on a scrap of paper.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know…I’ll go there right now.”

After Steve had put down the phone, he immediately took his work vest, as he asked, “Hey Nance, can you drive me to the tow yard? My mom said that the cops called, saying that they found my car.”

“Sure,” Nancy replied, before asking Chrissy and Max, “Will you guys be okay finding Roxy by yourselves?”

Chrissy remained silent, worrying about you when Max responded, “Yeah, sure.”

Nancy silently nodded, as Steve told her, “Let’s go.”

They were both about to leave when Steve noticed Chrissy’s worried expression.

Steve deeply exhaled, as he approached her and placed his hand on her shoulder, softly telling her, “Don’t worry. I’ll ask the cops about her. If they’ve found my car, then maybe they’ve found her too.”

Chrissy chewed her lower lip, holding back her tears, as she silently nodded.

“Listen, we can wait until you find Roxy’s address, and we’ll drop you off there before the yard,” Steve suggested, before asking Nancy. “Right, Nance?”

Before Nancy could respond, Chrissy replied, “It’s okay. I can call Aimee and ask if her brother can take us to her.”

“Are you sure?”

Chrissy silently nodded, when Nancy said, “We better get going before they destroy the car.”

Steve briefly rubbed Chrissy’s shoulder, before moving his hand away, as he stepped outside, following Nancy, who sprinted towards her car.

Meanwhile in the hospital, Eddie was still in bed, rereading your diary, ghosting his fingers against your drawings when he heard the door knocking.

As he quickly closed the diary and hid it under his pillow, the door opened, as a gruffly voice announced, “It’s only me.”

It was Wayne.

As Wayne entered the door, carrying a plastic bag, he told Eddie, “I’m not supposed to be here out of visiting hours, but the nurse allowed me to come and drop off a couple of things.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Eddie replied, as Wayne placed the bag on top of the table, before taking out some comic books and a couple of cassettes for him.

“Did you managed to do your homework?” Wayne asked.

“Some,” Eddie grumbled, as he crossed his arms when Wayne leaned over, and asked, “Eddie? Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Eddie retorted. “I’m being discharged soon.”

“Well, it’s just…your eyes are puffy. Have you been crying?”

Eddie scoffed, as he shuffled in his bed, before denying, “Of course not. Just tired, that’s all. Didn’t get enough sleep.”

If there was one thing that Wayne knew, it was the fact that his own nephew wasn’t good at lying.

However, Wayne decided to let him lie, saving the interrogation.

As he took the empty plastic bag, Wayne told him, “Well, I’ll come and see you again during visiting hours. Has your girlfriend been to visit?”

Eddie stayed silent, not mentioning that your sister hadn’t been to see him.

Wayne sighed, “If you want, I’ll ask if she wants to visit when I go over-“

“Don’t bother,” Eddie coldly replied. “She’s probably busy.”

Wayne shook his head, before telling him, “I’ll ask anyway.” He then mentioned you. “It’s been a week since she went missing, I hope she returns home soon.”

“Me too,” Eddie mumbled. “I know we’re not close anymore, but I hope she comes back.”

Wayne furrowed his eyebrows, wondering about Eddie’s sudden change of heart about you.

“Well, we’ve got people to look out for her, so someone’s bound to see her,” Wayne replied, as he headed to the door, before replying, “ I’ll see you later, kid.”

Eddie silently waved goodbye to his uncle, who had closed the door behind him.

After he had gone, Eddie took the diary from under the pillow and opened it, rereading the pages. The more Eddie read, the more he was finally convinced that the diary was yours, especially how you described your sister as a succubus. Looking back, Eddie realised that you were right. He remembered the day when your sister showed him the fake diary…

“No…” Eddie tearfully said, as he sat on your sister’s bed, reading the insults about him in the diary, which your sister allegedly found under your bed. “No, that can’t be true.”

“I’m sorry, but it is,” your sister replied with fake sympathy. “You don’t know what she was like after you leave. She’s always badmouthing you for failing senior year twice.”

Eddie sniffled, as he slammed the diary shut.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way, but…maybe it’s for the best,” your sister said, as she cupped his cheek and pulled him into a kiss.

Eddie instantly pulled himself away, confused with your sister’s sudden move.

He knew that your sister wasn’t always nice to him when she was in his class. But then he thought maybe she had changed.

Your sister flashed a smile at him, as she seductively stroked his arm, before whispering to him, “She doesn’t have to know, not that she’ll care anyway.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, he didn’t understand why she would make a move on him. On the other hand, he was too angry to care. He thought that maybe being with your sister would help him get over you.

“You know what? Fuck it,” Eddie exclaimed, as he dropped the diary, leaning into a passionate kiss, making your sister squeal with delight…

Eddie snapped himself out of that memory, as he closed the diary. At that moment, he realised that maybe you were right about your sister being a succubus, wondering if she had anything to do with the fake diary. Looking back, he should’ve left immediately after she kissed him and gone to the training camp to ask you about it.

He sighed, as he leaned back, trying to decide to whether break things off with your sister, or wait until she confessed.

A few moments later, Steve and Nancy were at the tow yard. After Steve signed and paid for his car to be returned, they waited for the car as Steve commented, “I hope that she’s been found.”

Steve stared at his watch, wondering how long it’ll take when Nancy spoke up, “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, Nance?” Steve asked, as he lowered his arm.

“I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but I uh… couldn’t help but notice how you are with Chrissy lately.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, as he asked in a confused tone, “How do you mean?”

“Well, I noticed how you were ogling her earlier and-“

“Okay,” he let out a little laugh, before explaining. “I was not ogling her. I’m just worried about her, that’s all.”

He then mentioned that Chrissy was your best friend, and that you were like family to him, before carrying on saying, “So obviously, I am protective of her, especially after what happened with Carver. I mean, I’ve known Chrissy since we were kids, and-“

“Okay, I believe you,” Nancy interjected, before letting out a small laugh, as she turned to face the counter.

“Well, speaking of prying…How’s things with you and Jonathan?”

Nancy turned to him for a split second before facing forward, faking a smile, as she replied, “Great, we couldn’t be more happier.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, as he saw through her. “Nance?”

Nancy turned to him, as she sadly sighed, before telling him, “Let’s just say…Things are a little complicated for us right now.”

Steve attentively listened, as Nancy revealed, “We got talking about college, and we got into a fight after I found out that he’s going to community college instead of Emerson. I tried calling him, but he’s either with this Argyle guy or the line’s busy because of Joyce’s job.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Steve sympathetically responded, before placing his hand on her shoulder, telling her, “You’ll get through to him, and you guys will fix it.”

Nancy smiled, as she thanked him when the officer came back with Steve’s keys.

“Here you go,” he said as he passed him the keys.

Steve turned around, before asking, “Uh…Where’s my car?”

“Yeah about that, it’s outta gas,” the officer revealed. “So, we couldn’t bring it over.”

Steve turned back, as he asked about you.

“There’s no report about your friend. Just your unattended vehicle.”

Steve’s face turned pale, as he thought about the worst case scenario.

“Don’t worry,” Nancy began to assure him. “I’ll get my dad’s gas tank from home, and-“

“Never mind the gas tank,” Steve frantically interrupted as he gripped his hair, before asking, “What about her?”

He cursed under his breath, before asking the officer if he could make a phone call.

After the cop had let make one call, Steve dialled Dustin’s phone, before hearing Dustin answer, “Henderson residence.”

“Dustin, it’s me.”

Steve then asked him to contact Max for them, informing her and Chrissy that you still haven’t been found by the police, before telling him that he and Nancy were going to find your last location.

On the other side of town, Max and Chrissy got out of a taxi which they had to take as Tony was unable to take them to Roxy.

After paying the driver, they started walking towards the street, as Max asked, “Do you think she’ll talk?”

“I don’t know,” Chrissy sighed. “But it’s worth a shot.”

Chrissy continued to talk as they approached the door when they heard Max’s supercom beep before hearing Dustin’s voice.

“Max! We’ve got a code red! I repeat, we’ve got a code red!”

Max took it from her backpack, as she heard Dustin say that you were still missing and Steve and Nancy were going to where the car was located.

Suddenly, Chrissy snatched the supercom from Max’s hand, and quickly answered, “Ask them where to meet-.”

Suddenly, the connection was cut off. Her lips started to tremble, as she dropped to her knees and started to sob.

Max kneeled down beside her, and placed one hand on her shoulder whilst grabbing the supercom from her with the other.

“Don’t worry, they’ll find her,” Max assured her.

“What if they don’t?” Chrissy blubbered. “What if she’s been taken? What if she’s…?”

Chrissy continued to sob, as Max wrapped her arms around her, trying to comfort her.

“After we deal with Roxy, we’ll find her, okay? If Steve’s car’s been found, then maybe she’s close by.”

Suddenly, they heard a door unlocking, causing the two girls to get back on their feet, as realised that it was coming from Roxy’s house.

As the door swung open, an older man, presumably Roxy’s father, with a beer bottle in his hand, leaned against the frame, supporting himself.

“Can I help you?” He slurred.

“Uh, I’m not sure if we have the right address, but does Roxy live here?” Max enquired, before mentioning Roxy’s full name.

“Roxy?” The man scoffed. “She isn’t here.”

The girls turned to each other before facing the drunken man, as Chrissy asked, “You mean, she’s not home or…”

“Home? Ha!” The man exclaimed. “That little harlot hasn’t been here for a long time. Now leave me be!”

After the man slammed the door in their faces, the girls stepped back and turned around, as Max sarcastically said, “What a charmer. So, what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Chrissy replied, before mentioning that they may have no choice but go to your place and ask your parents if they know Roxy’s whereabouts.

“Excuse me?” A female voice spoke. The girls turned to find a woman in a nurse uniform approaching them. “Did you say that you were looking for Roxy?”

“Yes, we are,” Chrissy replied. “Do you know where we can find her?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. She’s living with her grandparents. I’m actually heading there now to take care of her grandfather. I can you take you there, if you want.”

Before the girls could respond, they heard a door swing open. The carer groaned, “Here we go again.”

They turned around to find Roxy’s father throwing numerous items out of the door, as he shouted out to the carer, “Hey Shelia, next time you see my old man, give these back to that whore!”

Max and Chrissy stared in disgust as Shelia shook her head, about to say something when he slammed the door shut again.

Shelia sighed, as she picked up some clothes from the lawn.

Chrissy and Max, who had found a couple of pieces of paper before stuffing them in her pocket, helped pick up the remainder of the stuff, as Shelia thanked them, before walking to her car.

“You can put them in the box in the boot,” she told them.

“Does he always throw her stuff out every time he sees you?” Chrissy asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Shelia replied.

“What a piece of shit,” Max muttered.

After putting everything in the box, Shelia told them, “Listen, my offer still stands. If you two want me to drive you to see Roxy, I can take you now.”

The girls exchanged glances before deciding to go with her.

After finally getting fuel for his car, Steve and Nancy left the Wheeler’s residence, before heading to the location of where his car was found.

As soon as Nancy parked her car, Steve jumped out of his vehicle, trying to find anything that could help track you.

“Steve, wait,” Nancy called out, as she got out of her car, while Steve quickly followed footprints through the woods.

“Please be close by,” Steve muttered. “Please be close by.”

He continued to follow the tracks until he got to the edge of the lake.

He stopped, and turned his head, seeking for more tracks and any boats near the lake. However, he had no luck.

“Shit!” He growled, as he scratched the back of his head.

“She might not have gone far,” Nancy spoke. “Someone must’ve seen her-“

“Do you see anyone else here, Nancy?!” Steve shouted. “Where else would she go?! You don’t understand-!”

“I don’t understand?”

Steve’s face softened, seeing Nancy’s angry expression, as she continued, “Of course I understand, Steve! Have you forgotten about what it was like for me when Barb went missing before she was killed?!”

Steve slowly approached her, as he softly spoke, “Nance…”

“Let’s just keep looking,” Nancy retorted, before storming off in one direction, leaving a remorseful Steve behind.

Meanwhile on the other side of town, Shelia had pulled her car in front of a bungalow. As the girls got out, Chrissy asked the carer, who had grabbed Roxy’s belongings, with both girls helping her, “Do you think Roxy will be in?”

“Well, every time I’ve been to visit, she’s always been there,�� Shelia recalled, as they walked up the pathway to the bungalow. “Especially as she’s got her baby to look after. She doesn’t like shifting her responsibilities to her grandparents.”

Chrissy and Max exchanged confused glances, wondering if it was the same Roxy they were seeking, as Max asked, “Baby?”

As Shelia knocked on the door, Max asked if you had mentioned to Chrissy about Roxy having a baby.

“It’s the first time I’ve heard about it,” Chrissy replied. “She would’ve said if she knew already.”

Suddenly, the door swung open, as an elderly woman stood in the doorway, and happily greeted the nurse. “Shelia.”

As the woman hugged her, Shelia said, “Hello Eunice. How’s Ronald today?”

“He was a little bit achy earlier, but Roxy helped him with his exercises, so he’s a little bit better.”

As she stepped back, Eunice told Shelia to come inside when she noticed that Chrissy and Max were standing outside. She smiled, as she greeted them, “Oh, hello dears. Can I help with something?”

“We’re here to see Roxy,” Chrissy replied, as Shelia went inside the bungalow. “Is she here?

“Yes, she is. Is she expecting you? She didn’t say anything about having visitors.”

“Well, we only met recently,” Max fibbed. “We were outside her Dad’s when Shelia mentioned that she was here. We thought that we could hang out with her today. That is, if she’s not busy.”

“Well, if you’re her friends, then I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. Come on in.”

Eunice took them through the hallway, as she told them, “She and her grandfather in the backyard with her son.”

As they stepped into the back garden, Max and Chrissy noticed Roxy picking up a boy, no older than three months, from her grandfather who was in his wheelchair.

“There we go,” Roxy said, as she held her son, while Shelia pushed the wheelchair, heading back inside when Roxy saw her grandmother with the two girls. She instantly recognised Chrissy, but didn’t know Max. When she noticed the diary in Chrissy’s hand, she started to worry.

“Honey, these sweet girls are here to see you,” her grandmother informed her, before offering Max and Chrissy a drink.

“They’re not staying,” Roxy interjected in a panicking tone.

“Roxy,” Eunice began to sternly say. “There’s no need to be rude.”

Before Roxy could say anything else, Max explained, “We’re not staying long. We just need a moment of your time for five, ten minutes tops.”

Roxy turned to her grandmother, before shifting her attention back to Chrissy and Max. She then huffed, before telling them, “Ten minutes.”

After she had put down her son in his crib, Roxy sat down on the couch, opposite the two girls, when Max asked, “What’s his name?”

“Look, just what you gotta say, and then leave,” Roxy coldly retorted.

There was a brief silence when Max began to calmly speak, “We just wanna ask-“

“Did you do it?” Chrissy abruptly asked, as she lifted up the diary. “Did you write all of this about Eddie Munson and framed my best friend?”

Roxy crossed her arms, as she denied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chrissy scoffed, “Bullshit.”

“Hey!” Roxy shushed her. “There’s a baby here, so mind your language.”

The girls turned to look at the boy sleeping, before turning to face each other.

Chrissy exhaled, before calmly telling her. “Look, I’ve seen your handwriting in her sister’s yearbook. It had identical spelling mistakes like in this diary. Can you explain that?”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

Chrissy was about to speak again when Max asked, “Well, what about the sick note?”

Chrissy turned to her with confusion, while Roxy’s eyes widened, as she had let out a nervous laugh before she hesitated, “Sick note? W-What sick note?”

Max pulled out a couple pieces of paper from her pocket, one revealing a scribbled handwriting for an old sick note, and the other revealing an I.O.U from Roxy’s father with similar handwriting.

“This was amongst your stuff which your dad threw out when we went to find you earlier,” Max explained. “Care to explain?”

A worried Roxy avoided eye contact with both girls, as Max said, “Pretty good forgery…shame that some of the words aren’t spelled correctly.”

Chrissy looked at Max with astonishment, as the younger teenager asked, “So, why did you forge her handwriting in the diary?”

“I…I…” Roxy stammered, before breaking down in tears.

Chrissy and Max exchanged glances, before shifting their attention to a distraught Roxy, who was drying her eyes, as she apologised, before blurting out, “I didn’t want to, but she-“

Suddenly, her son started wailing, distressed by his mother’s change in mood.

“It’s okay honey,” Roxy softly said as she picked him up and held him, trying to calm him down when Chrissy asked if it was your sister who made Roxy write in the diary.

Instead of confirming, Roxy told them, “You need to leave.”

“But-“ Chrissy began to speak when Roxy hissed, “Now!”

She then burst into tears, as she begged them, “Please…”

Max stepped back, as she pulled a disappointed Chrissy, telling her, “Come on, Chrissy.”

The girls were about to leave when Chrissy turned around and said tearfully, “I don’t know what kind of hold she has on you, but all I know is that her sister and my best friend is still missing, and you’re both at fault for it. Actions have consequences, remember that.”

Chrissy sniffled, as Max put her arm around her, softly telling her, “Come on.”

As soon as they left, Roxy held her little boy close, as she sat back down on the couch, sobbing, unaware that her grandmother heard everything.

Max and Chrissy stepped out of the bungalow and started walking down the path. “She kinda admitted to writing it,” Max assured.

“But it’s still not enough,” Chrissy sniffled, worried that you might not get any justice.

“Excuse me.”

The girls stopped and turned to find Eunice standing in the doorway. At first, they thought she was going to scold them for upsetting her granddaughter. However, she sweetly smiled, as she asked, “Why don’t you come back inside? There’s something you need to know.”

The girls glanced at her in confusion when Roxy stepped out, as her grandmother held her hand.

After a long investigation with no success, Steve and Nancy headed back to their cars. As Nancy got in her car, she was about to close her door when Steve called out to her, “Nancy?”

She turned her head, as he approached her. She silently looked up at him, as he began to apologise, “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Nancy deeply exhaled, before telling him, “It’s okay, Steve-“

“No, no. It’s not okay. I should’ve been more empathetic. I just…I just can’t help but think of the worst.”

Nancy sympathetically gazed at him when Steve pinched his nose as he turned around and headed back to his car.

Nancy called out his name when Steve ignored her, as he got into his car. His first thought was to contact Dustin about the situation. He suddenly remembered that there was a spare supercom which Dustin left previously in the glove compartment. He opened it up to reach for it when he realised that it was gone.

“What? No way…”

He continued to rummage through the compartment when Nancy approached him.

“Listen, Steve. I…”

“It’s gone,” Steve muttered. “She must’ve taken it.”

“What?”

Steve revealed that the spare supercom was missing.

“Are you sure that Dustin didn’t take it?” Nancy asked.

Instead of answering her, Steve started the car and drove off, leaving Nancy to get in her own car and follow him.

A few moments later in the hospital, Dustin and Lucas were walking through the hallway, on their way to see Eddie. They were about to approach the door when Dustin heard his supercom going off in his bag. “Dustin, this is Mike, do you copy? Over.” He heard Mike say, as he quickly rummaged through his rucksack.

“Pick up, you little butthead!” He heard Steve yell.

“Get your hands off it,” Mike scolded Steve.

“Guys, seriously,” Nancy scolded from the other end, as Dustin finally got it out.

“What is it?”

Nancy asked him if he took the spare supercom from Steve’s car.

“No,” Dustin replied. “Why do you ask?”

Steve then told him to try to call it, in case you had it.

“Give me a sec,” Dustin responded, before he changed the frequency, attempting to contact you. “…do you copy? Over.”

However, there was no response. He and Lucas tried again several times, before realising that you might’ve switched it off or the battery had died.

Dustin sighed, as he reverted back to Mike’s frequency, before confirming that you were not responding.

“Well, keep trying,” Steve told him.

Before the two boys could respond, he heard the door swing open. He turned to find Eddie, who was in his own clothes, storming out of his room. They immediately followed him, as Lucas asked, “Eddie? Eddie, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Eddie retorted. “I’m discharging myself.”

The two youngsters turned to each other, before catching up with Eddie.

“Eddie, Eddie wait!” Dustin called out.

“I’ve waited long enough. I’m gonna find her myself.”

Dustin stammered, as Eddie exited the hospital. “You can’t be serious. Wayne will lose his shit if you leave-“

“Yeah like I give a shit,” Eddie retorted, as he grabbed Dustin’s bike, before getting on it.

“Hey! You can’t take my bike,” Dustin scolded.

“I’ll get it back to you,” Eddie replied, as he started pedalling.

“Eddie! Eddie, come back here!”

Ignoring Dustin, Eddie continued to ride down the road, leaving the youngster to curse, “Son of a bitch!”

Lucas immediately took out his supercom, and contacted Mike, “Mike! We’ve got another problem. Eddie’s gone to find her.”

“And he stole my bike!” Dustin retorted before hearing a gruffly voice asked, “Eddie’s gone where?”

The boys turned to find Wayne standing in front of them.

Meanwhile in the bungalow, Max and Chrissy silently sat on the couch opposite Eunice and Roxy, who held her son close. “Tell them the truth, dear,” Eunice softly told Roxy. “Whatever happens next, your grandfather and I will give you support.”

Roxy turned her grandmother, before shifting her attention to the girls. She took deep breaths before revealing that, not only did she forged your handwriting, but your sister had made her do it.

“I didn’t want to,” Roxy sniffled. “But I had no choice. If I didn’t, she would tell my ex boyfriend who Shaun’s real father is.”

Max and Chrissy gazed at a grizzly Shaun, as Roxy tried to calm him down, as well as herself.

Eunice placed her hand on Roxy’s shoulder, encouraging her to tell them more.

Roxy exhaled, before confessing that a year ago, she had a fight with her ex boyfriend after she had found out that he and your sister hooked up while he was still with her.

“I got angry, and I wanted to get back at her,” Roxy revealed . “So, I.. I slept with this guy she was seeing at the time. She caught us, and got pissed off. She told the dean that I’ve been writing papers for some people in campus in exchange for cash, which led me getting expelled.”

She had let out a small chuckle, before confessing, “She got her karma though. Without me helping her, she got caught cheating on an exam, getting herself kicked out of college.”

Max and Chrissy glanced at each other with confusion, before Chrissy asked “Kicked out? I thought she dropped out.”

“Well, that’s what she told her parents. I’m guessing they still don’t know.”

“I don’t get it,” Max spoke. “Why would you still hang around with her after what happened between you two?”

Roxy sighed, before explaining, “If it weren’t for the fact that we share a mutual friend in Diana, I wouldn’t be hanging with her. Sadly, wherever I go with Diana, she would tag along.”

She then revealed that your sister wanted to ruin your friendship with Eddie for revenge. So, she made her forge your handwriting, making out that you were the one who wrote the entries.

“I guess my dyslexia gave it away,” Roxy had let out a small chuckle, before admitting that she was surprised that your sister didn’t catch on sooner. “Mind you, she was always a self absorbed bit-.”

“Roxy,” Eunice interjected.

“Sorry,” Roxy apologised, before Chrissy asked why your sister wanted revenge against you.

Roxy sighed, as she shrugged her shoulders, before telling her, “I don’t know. Probably jealousy as her sister have their parents’ attention. I wish I could tell you more, but-“

Roxy stopped , as she heard the door knock.

The four of them turned to find Shelia standing in the doorway, before she spoke, “Sorry to interrupt, but Ronald wanted to stop the physio session for today. He said that he’s getting tired.”

“Thank you for letting us know,” Eunice replied.

“No problem. I’ll be back later to give him his medication.”

Shelia turned to Max and Chrissy, and asked if they needed a ride back.

“Yeah, thanks. Could you drop us off at Family Video please?” Chrissy asked.

“Sure, I’ll need to get some supplies in town anyway.”

Chrissy thanked her, as they both got up and began to leave when Roxy spoke up. “I really am sorry for all of this. If I knew what the repercussions were going to be, I would’ve told my ex the truth sooner. I take it that Munson’s still in the hospital?”

“Yeah, apparently he’s gonna be discharged soon,” Max replied. “Why?”

“I wanna tell him that it was me who wrote it,” Roxy said, before telling them that she owed you that.

Chrissy gave her a small smile, before thanking her, when suddenly, she and Max heard Nancy’s voice on the supercom, “Guys? Are you there? I’m heading to Roxy’s house, can you let me know where you are?”

Max took out the supercom, before responding, “We’re on the other side of town. Can you meet us at Family Video? We’ll explain everything when we get back. Is Steve still with you?”

“He’s gone to find Eddie.”

Chrissy took the supercom from Max, before asking, “Why? I thought he was recovering.”

Nancy revealed that Eddie might be trying to find you.

At the Wheeler’s house, Mike was on the phone in the basement when Nancy came downstairs. She announced, “I have to meet Max and Chrissy…what are you doing?”

“What does look like?” Mike retorted. “I’m trying to call the Byers. I need to talk to El.”

Nancy sighed, before telling him, “Look Mike, I know you said that El got her powers back, but how can you be sure that she can help you find her? She’s never met her.”

What Nancy and Mike were unaware of was that Eleven was already in the void, listening to them…

“I know, and I’m not gonna force her to find her,” Mike told Nancy, as Eleven slowly approached them. “I just don’t know what else I do.”

While the siblings were debating on whether or not Eleven should find her, she turned to find a framed photo of him with the Hellfire club. It was the same photo that Mike showed her and Will when he came to visit during spring break. He had mentioned everyone in the picture to them including you.

Eleven turned to the siblings, before leaving the void….

In California, Eleven had removed the blindfold from her eyes, and wiped her bloodied nose, letting herself rest for a moment, before she had the image of the Hellfire members in her head, as she tried to remember your face. She was about to put the blindfold back on when she heard a knock, before hearing Will’s voice, “El? Jonathan’s making lunch, do you-?”

Eleven turned to find Will going into her room, as he stopped talking.

“El? El, what are you doing?” He asked as he knelt down beside her.

“I wanted to talk to Mike, but Joyce was on the phone, so I decided to check on him,” Eleven explained, before telling him that he and the others were still looking for you.

“El, you only got your powers back not so long ago. You should take it easy.”

Disobeying Will, Eleven wrapped the blindfold around her face, as she searched for you…

In the void, Eleven was walking towards a couch. As she moved closer, she realised that you were napping.

Eleven knelt down in front of you, as you mumbled in your sleep. “No…no…”

Eleven slowly moved her hand and placed it on your shoulder, causing you to jolt, as pieces of visions came to Eleven…

Broken down car…water…lake house…

The images repeated before they vanished, as you quickly moved away…

“El? Eleven?!”

Eleven left the void, as she heard someone call for her. As soon as she took off the blindfold, she turned to Will, who had brought Hopper to see her.

“El?” Hopper began to ask. “Why are-?”

“I think I know where she might be,” Eleven interrupted.

Before Hopper and Will could say anything, Eleven ran out of her room, heading to the dining room where Joyce was sitting, making calls.

As soon as Joyce hung up and placed the cordless phone on the table, she heard quick footsteps, causing her to turn her head when Eleven ran up to her and grabbed the phone.

“El…?” Joyce began to speak, as Will and Hopper caught up Eleven.

“What’s going on?” Jonathan asked.

As soon as Eleven finished dialling the Wheeler’s number, she waited for an answer, as Will explained what Eleven had seen.

“Wheeler’s residence,” Mike answered.

“Mike?” Eleven spoke.

“El! I tried calling-“

“Your missing friend… I think I know where she might be.”

Meanwhile in Hawkins, Eddie had finally reached your house. As soon as he got off the bike, he ran up to the door, about to knock on it when he heard a honk. He turned to find Steve’s car pulling up to the driveway.

“Hey!” Steve called out, before getting out of his car. He marched towards Eddie, as he told him, “Are you nuts? You should be resting.”

“Spare me the lecture, Harrington,” Eddie retorted.

“If you think that she’ll be back here, you’re wrong. Or are you here to see your stuck up girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Eddie growled, which confused Steve. He was about to explain why he was outside your house when the front door swung open, as they heard a female voice shriek, “For fuck’s sake! I’m trying to get ready for a party-oh…”

The boys turned to find your sister standing in the doorway, in her dressing gown with a mud mask on her face. She quickly pulled a fake smile, before greeting Eddie with a baby voice, “Hey baby!”

Eddie felt his skin crawl, as he heard her speak. Jesus Christ, was her voice always annoying? He thought to himself.

She quickly grasped her gown, covering her chest, as she giggled, “I didn’t know that you were gonna be discharged today. I was just getting ready to come and see you.”

“Was that before or after the party?” Eddie coldly asked, before barging through the door, almost knocking your sister out of the way. She gasped, as she watched Eddie run up the stairs when Steve slid past her, as he apologised, following Eddie, who was searching your room.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” Steve asked, as he watched Eddie going through your drawers and closet, while your sister yelled from downstairs for barging into the house.

“What does it look like?” Eddie retorted. “I’m looking something, anything that might lead us to her.”

Steve sighed, before telling him, “Look, Eddie man. I don’t know how to say this, but…we, Nancy and I think that-“

“DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?!” Your sister shrieked, as she stomped up the stairs, and barged into your room. “YOU CAN’T JUST STORM IN HERE-“

“Recognise this?!” Eddie interrupted, as he pulled out your diary, which made your sister’s eyes widen, and Steve confused.

Your sister scoffed, before speaking, “What are you-?”

“It’s your little sister’s diary. Her actual diary, and not that fake bullshit one you showed me.”

Your sister had let out a nervous giggle, before asking, as she pointed to the diary, “How can you be sure that’s even hers? Are you sure that it doesn’t belong to that Cunningham girl?”

Eddie smirked, as he pulled out your letter, before telling her, “This was left in the diary, which she left for me in my room.”

“Wait,” Steve interjected. “She was there?”

Eddie handed him the letter, which Steve immediately read, feeling heartbroken reading about how no one was on your side, before your sister snatched it from his hands.

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed, as Eddie continued to search through your room when your sister snickered, before mockingly reading aloud, “I cannot stay somewhere where I’m not welcome nor can I be somewhere where no one’s on my side…”

She then started fake crying for a few seconds, before letting out a laugh, which made both boys angry. “God, she’s so dramatic,” she commented.

Eddie growled, as he turned around and marched towards her, before getting stopped by Steve, “Eddie, cool it,” he told him.

“It’s her fault that her own sister’s missing!” Eddie retorted.

“Well, you’re no saint either,” your sister replied. “You’re the one who jumped into conclusions.”

“Shut up.”

“ You’re the one who decided to jump into bed with me-“

“I said shut up!” Eddie moved closer to your sister, as his eyes darkened.

“Eddie, enough!” Steve pulled him back, before telling him, “I know you’re angry, but this…” He gestured between your sister and Eddie, as he continued. “This won’t help us bring her home.”

“How do you know that she’s not home?” Your sister snidely asked. “For all I know she might be hiding in the basement, or even in the Cunningham’s basement, like the rat that she is-“

Eddie was about to scold her when an angry Steve growled, as he turned and pointed at her. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that!”

“Aww…touched a nerve, Stevie?” Your sister asked mockingly. “Didn’t realise that you liked her in that way.”

Eddie faced Steve in confusion, wondering if he also had feelings for you.

“She’s family to me,” Steve dismissed her claim. “And I’m sure she feels that way about me too. At least I’ve treated her better than you do.”

“Oh my heart bleeds,” your sister sarcastically said.

The two of them continued to argue, leaving Eddie to search for clues, as he placed the diary on the desk when he noticed some of items on it. A Corroded Coffin tape, a few Polaroids of him, Steve and Chrissy. He then scanned the desk to find a pair of goggles. He picked it up and realised that they belonged to Reefer Rick. As he gazed at it, he remembered when you went with him to see Rick…

Eddie sat on the couch, as he waited for Rick to come back with his supplies.

He got up and turned to the window, looking through it as he watched you dove into the lake, wearing the goggles Rick lent you, so you could swim while Eddie was doing his deal.

He didn’t want to drag you into his deals, but you insisted on going, making sure that he attended the tutoring session afterwards.

“Here we are,” he heard Rick say, as he heard footsteps approaching. He turned to find Rick placing the bag on top of the table.

“Good old Mary Jane,” Rick commented, as he opened it.

As Eddie handed him the money, Rick said, “Pleasure doing business with you, junior.”

Eddie thanked him, as he picked up the supplies, and the spare towel from Rick, before heading outside, as he called out to you, letting you know that he was ready to go.

You swam towards the lake house and jumped out of the lake, approaching him.

You lifted up the goggles to the top of your head, as Eddie handed you the towel to dry yourself off.

“Thanks,” you said as you wrapped the towel around you, when Rick approached you both, asking how your swim was.

“Definitely refreshing,” you chuckled, before you thanked him for lending you his goggles. You were about to hand them back to him when he insisted, “Keep them.”

You thanked him again, when he said, “You know, I keep a spare key in the plant pot outside if you and Eddie wanted to come over anytime for a swim or something.”

Eddie was about to decline, not wanting you to get involved when you spoke up, happily accepting Rick’s offer.

“How could you say that about your own sister?!” Steve yelled.

Your sister continued to bitch about you, while Eddie’s eyes widened as he realised where you might be. He grabbed your diary and swiftly turned and ran out of your bedroom, leaving your sister and Steve confused.

“Eddie?” Steve called out, as he followed him down the stairs. “Eddie, where are you going?”

“I know where she is,” Eddie replied, as ran out of the house and towards Steve’s car, opening it when a confused Steve stopped, as he asked, “How did you-?”

Steve stopped, as he rummaged through his pockets, realising that Eddie had stolen his key.

“Not again!” He growled, as he ran towards his car, and got in front of it, telling him to get out of the car.

“No! I need to find her!” Eddie bellowed.

“Jesus Christ Eddie , just switch seats, and let me drive!” Steve elaborated.

Eddie reluctantly got out of driver’s seat and got in the passenger side, letting Steve drive when he saw Wayne’s truck driving nearby, before parking.

“Oh shit,” Eddie exclaimed, fearing his uncle’s wrath when Lucas and Dustin came out of the passenger side. Dustin started marching towards him, as he pointed at him. “You idiot! Are you nuts?!”

Eddie tried to answer, but Dustin continued to give the third degree for leaving the hospital prematurely, as he grabbed his bike, with Wayne and Lucas following him.

“Going off like that! You could’ve passed out-“

“Easy, son,” Wayne interrupted, trying to calm the youngster.

He then turned to his nephew, as he lectured him, “He has a point though, Eddie. What were you thinking? Your recovery could be delayed-“

“Hey!”

They turned to find your sister standing in her dressing gown with most of the mud mask removed, as she asked Eddie, “Are you seriously going after her?”

“Yeah, I am,” Eddie retorted. “Like I should’ve done ages ago.”

As he got in the car, she marched towards him, threatening him, “If you go after her, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

Eddie glared, as he retorted, ”You already did, when you ruined my relationship with her.”

Her mouth gaped, as he continued to speak, “Oh, and the way…”

He then pointed at his cheek with his middle finger as he told her, “You still got some right there.”

As she rubbed off the remaining mud, Eddie then flipped her off, which made her gasp.

“See you in hell, succubus!” Eddie cackled while Steve started the car and drove off, leaving your sister seething.

“You’ll be sorry!” She yelled, as she threw her hands up. “No one breaks up with me and gets away with-“

She then cried in pain, as Dustin pushed his bike, running the wheels over her feet, making them dirty.

“Oops,” Dustin sarcastically said as Lucas stifled his laughter. Dustin continued to push his bike, before telling her, “I guess we won’t be seeing you at Hellfire again.”

Your sister growled, as she stomped towards him, about to hit him as Lucas warned Dustin to look out when Wayne grabbed her hand, stopping her.

“Young lady, if you lay a hand on either boys or harm my nephew, you will be in big trouble with not only me,” Wayne sternly told her, whilst pointing to Dustin as he continued, “But with their mothers.”

“Yeah! My mom might look like a sweet lady,” Dustin retorted. “But she would kill you if you even tried to hit me!”

Wayne immediately let go of her hand, and marched towards his truck. Dustin was about to get on his bike when Wayne told him to put it in the back of his truck, so they can both follow Eddie and Steve.

After putting the bike in the back, Wayne, Lucas and Dustin drove off, leaving your sister screaming.

As Wayne drove, he and the boys heard Mike via the supercom, “Lucas, it’s Mike. El called.”

He then mentioned you might be at a lake house.

“Lake house?” Dustin asked.

A few moments later, the older boys drove up to the lake house, before Steve parked the car, with an impatient Eddie immediately getting out of the car.

He then squatted down and lifted the flower pot to check if the key was there, only to find that it was missing.

“Eddie, you do realise that Reefer Rick was incarcerated not so long ago,” Steve spoke. “And the cops might’ve seized everything including any spare keys-“

“Or she might have used it, and is inside,” Eddie retorted as he stood up, before peeking through the window to see any signs that you were in the lake house.

He was sure that you were inside, as he could faintly hear music playing in the background, specifically the Human Racing album by Nik Kershaw.

He continued to peek through, not noticing that Wayne, Lucas and Dustin had caught up with them.

“Is she there?” Dustin asked.

Steve was about to respond when Eddie heard a smash, prompting him to run around the back, with the three of them following him.

When they got to the back, they could see that you were just standing still, not reacting or even picking up the broken cup.

Steve wondered what was going on when Eddie, who realised what was wrong, cursed, “Shit.”

He grabbed the handle to open the back door, only to find that the door was locked.

“No no no, not again,” he mumbled, leaving his uncle, Dustin, Lucas and Steve confused, unaware of the horror that was approaching.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things au

45 notes · View notes

screams-in-writing · 2 days ago

Text

When I hammer out another long one shot to an ask with a prompt:

I wrote this is in 1st pov, because I unabashedly enjoying writing Mr. Puzzles in this pov.

This was a disaster in the making.

I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to have you visit my home with me.

It only allowed let you to get close to Smg4 and his crew of miscreants!

You were even having fun with them!

Which I wanted you to, yes, and I loved the way you looked while having fun but…you were having fun without me!

Me!

I knew it was an eventuality that you’d meet Smg4 and the others in person, but I wasn’t prepared for all the dark thoughts and a tightening in my chest as I hung back and watched from a distance.

Jealousy?

Perhaps.

But wasn’t I allowed to feel that, when my only actual friend, someone who’d become more to me in such little time, was taken away from me, practically the instant you and I came to my home world?

Wasn’t I allowed to feel sucker-punched over the way you so quickly got along with so many of Smg4’s friends?

It didn’t seem fair.

Then again, you’d never caused them any psychological or physical harm, so of course Smg4 and everyone else didn’t seem to mind your presence.

But they certainly minded mine, if the mistrustful stares and accusing glares were anything to go by.

Because of this, I kept myself on the sidelines and just watched as you interacted as easily as I couldn’t after all I’d done with my past actions.

Apologies would only get me so far, and I doubted that Smg4 and many of his friends would be interested in forgiving me of my actions any time soon, if at all.

I was under no illusion that, were I to do anything that might be seen as aggressive, I’d be seen out of the showgrounds in an unflattering and likely embarrassing manner, no matter what you might say in my defense.

But I knew better now.

I knew that much of my previous interactions weren’t acceptable, while I was in your world, and was able to reflect on my actions and what I wanted to do going forward.

Here, I was very well aware that I had my work cut out for me.

When you went into the castle, I couldn’t help but want to follow, but remained outside.

I’d gotten the very clear message that I was I only being tolerated in the showgrounds for your sake. Though there was clearly distrust in that many didn’t believe I could ever have a real friend, let alone have an actual relationship.

Let them believe what they would.

I was more interested in your opinion than Smg4 or the others.

But therein lie one of my concerns.

What if your opinion of me changed if you spent too much time in the castle, talking to everyone else but me?

Despite me confessing to what I’d done, both behind the scenes as well as directly, I still held the low-burning fear that you might decide that the trauma that lingered with Smg4 and his friends might not be something you were willing to let slide after all, so long as I made an effort to make up for it, and apologize in my own time.

The longer I stood in front of the castle, the more I began to fidget nervously.

Would you stand up for me if I were to enter the castle uninvited?

I began to pace, the fidgeting and mumbling growing louder as static began to grow and layer over my voice when I spoke audible words.

Soon, I could simply no longer bear to wait out here for your return, so it was with a determined straightening of my posture, and squared shoulders, that I walked confidently to the front doors of the castle, and let myself in.

When I wasn’t immediately punched in my face, my confidence grew that I would be able to mask my presence, and be able to locate you.

Just to make sure you were all right, of course.

One could never be too certain with that pesky plumber about.

Much to my pleasant surprise, it was so easy to find you, as you just so happened to exit one of the rooms.

By yourself.

A happy bounce entered my steps as I approached you, face flashing to a cheery technicolor smile and excited digital eyes.

Oh, I couldn’t believe just how much I missed you just these past few hours.

I was even happier when you smiled at me in return, even raising a hand to give me a little wave. I closed the distance between us, eagerly hoping that this meant that I could now spend time with you.

“Finally decided to come into the castle?” You asked, a slight reading tone to your voice.

“I don’t believe I’m exactly welcome here.” I replied with a soft sigh, reaching out to take the hand you offered to me. I pet the back of your hand with my fingers pensively.

“I do think that Smg4 is wary around you, but I can’t really say for sure about everyone else.” You move closer to give me a half hug with the arm that wasn’t having its hand gripped firmly. “I haven’t exactly gotten to spend time with them before, apart from asking them about their…past interactions with you. So I’m just starting to get a feeling about who they actually are.”

I listened to you.

I really attempted to listen to you when you began to detail the things you’d noted in the past few hours, but all I could think was that I was slowly losing my time with you.

I needed to do something.

I wanted you to pay attention to me.

I didn’t want to share you with the others if that meant that I would be spending less time with you, and therefore have attention from you.

It was petty, childish, to think such things.

You weren’t a toy to be stolen, and I knew that I had to respect that you wouldn’t spend all of your free time with me, as much as I loved having your undivided attention.

But I just couldn’t help myself.

I needed some way to reassure myself that I wasn’t somehow losing you when you visited my home world going forward.

When you took a breath to continue on, and I saw that no one was in the area, I was quick to make my move.

Using the hand around yours, I tugged you closer to my body, and in the same motion, hoisted you up and into my arms to lean into my chest. I chuckled when you ended up wrapping your arms around my neck with a gasp of surprise.

Perfect.

And now, for somewhere to have a quick little heart to heart, before I ‘bottled’ things up and let the negativity in my mind get to me.

The closet.

Not the best place for a serious conversation, but it was a convenient place to lavish you my own undivided attention.

“Mr. Puzzles, where are you-“

I hugged you closer to me, my television head crackling with static but unable to respond as I swiftly walked over to the door, and let myself into the closet.

And locked it, the cramped dark room only lit by my screen, as I sat you down on a small desk in the corner of the closet.

I found myself unable to speak when you looked up at me, clearly exasperated with what I had just done, yet interested in what I had planned.

Leaning in closer, I braced my hands on either side of you, and rested my upper screen to your forehead as I just looked at you, my expression surely softening as you looked at me in return, with a bit of a squint from the light.

Toning it down so you could look at me properly, my hands slid to press into either side of your hips. I pinioned you legs between mine as I boxed you in, curiously tilting my head to see if this was all right.

My answer was hands rising to either side of my metal head, and you turning your head to leave a lingering kiss to my screen.

Eagerly, I returned the kiss with a gentle spark of fuzz from my screen.

When your arms went around the back of my wired neck, I growled low in my throat, the area of the spine still there with vocals, as well as my speakers. I hunched over you and slowly moved my screen to lay a series of kisses from your lips to either of your cheeks, and then slowly down the side of your neck. Just to tease you, I gathered enough static and concentration to layer the fuzz of my screen enough to make it feel like I ‘licked’ a stripe along the side of your throat.

“What’s wrong?” You asked me, a little breathlessly, as your fingers lightly dig into my wires.

“Nothing.” I said a little too quickly.

“Puzzles.” You sighed into another quick kiss, before you let go of my neck to push me away enough to stare at my face. “You don’t usually do these unprompted make-out sessions unless something is wrong.” A pause. “You also wouldn’t normally want to do this unless there was no way someone would come to interrupt us.”

“They won’t.” I said.

“We are in a castle that’s full of people. One of them is bound to notice I’m not back yet, and someone is likely to realize that you’re not outside anymore.” You pointed out, dropping your hands to press down into my one to prevent them from shifting to your thighs. “Please tell me?”

“I-“ Looking away, my shoulders slumping, I look back to you, with an admission. “I don’t want them to take all of your time away from me.”

“I’m not replacing you with them or anything, Puzzles.” You said after a moment, expression showing that you realized what exactly I feared without me even knowing that was what it was, in the end.

Being replaced.

Moving on.

Leaving me behind

Alone.

I didn’t want to be alone.

“You won’t be alone.” You said, voice softening.

I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. I didn’t like to admit that an old fear of mine was coloring my interactions with others, even after so many years had passed.

“We can spend time together alone when you come to my home again. We could even hang out later today, here.” You tell me. “It would be kind of rude of me to be invited to hang out with smg4 and everyone but then not do that for at least a little while longer.” You sounded so reasonable.

And yet.

And yet-

“I think several hours seemed to be enough time with them all.” I said immediately, desperately attempting to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I wasn’t jealous. I was jealous. “Why can’t you spent time with me right now? We’re already out of sight.”

“You’re doing it again, Puzzles.” You said in a firm tone, implying that I ought to pay very close attention to your words.

I already was, because you were with me.

“The possessiveness over me and my time with you can’t go out of control like before. Remember? I can’t spent all of my free time with you every single day. We both need space for ourselves, and we need to be able to meet up and hang out with other people. Please don’t make me have to make those boundaries clear again by having us have to spend time apart for us both to cool off.”

I’m so torn.

“I know that.”

I don’t want to give up the extra time I had to spend in your company and yet-

“I know it is wrong of me to want to take up more of your time. To want to have all of your attention on me, and me alone.”

I was afraid.

“I just don’t want to lose you.”

Afraid to be left behind.

“I…must admit that I do find it difficult to accept you interacting with my former adversaries, even if I was at fault for making them adversaries to me with…with my own actions. My plans.”

To be alone.

“I can’t…I can’t let that happen.” I found it harder to form words as I dissolved into the start of a panic. That perhaps I was overreacting to you hanging with Smg4 and his friends.

“Mr. Puzzles.” You cut in before the doubt could fully sink in. “Take a moment to breathe.”

I let out a hitch of an unsteady laugh.

“I know that you don’t actually need to breathe like I do but please take a moment and take some slow breaths?” You asked while I continued to let out unsteady breaths and little hitches of not so sane laughter. “I know you’re having trouble right now, so take some slow breaths, for me?”

That helped draw my attention back, enough that I freed one of my hands to rest on your thigh, while my other cupped one of your cheeks to trace my fingertips lightly along.

A breath.

Another.

I leaned my head to the side so that o could rest it lightly on your shoulder to do as you asked.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Slow.

Breathe.

I ‘closed’ my eyes, focusing on slowing my breathing down to acceptable levels while I felt you begin to curiously pet me along the back of my shoulders.

I let out a final noise of frustration, but breathed it out soon after while my breaths leveled out with facsimile huffs of breath in and out.

Once my breathing finally went back to normal, if one could call it that with someone who didn’t actually need that breath, I finally began to calm down.

Slowly, I lifted my metal head up, and leaned back so that I could gaze down at you. At the same time, you lifted one hand to rest over mine cradling the side of your face. I issued out a rather interested hum when your other hand moved to lightly grasp the fabric of vest and shirt just beneath my bow tie to give it a little yank as you met my digital eyes.

“Oh? What’s this?” I instantly gained a leer as I made as if I were biting my ‘lips’ with technicolor teeth, fixing you with a hooded look. “I thought you said that you ought to be handing out with those losers in the other room?”

“You’ve calmed down.” You pointed out while tugging the fabric again. “Do you feel a little more steady now?”

I gave it the thought it deserved from the concerned furrow in your brow. Then, I gave my metal head a tiny jerk of agreement. “Better, yes.” I issued out a moment later.

“Good.”

You surprised me when you moved your hand from mine over your cheek, using it and the one fisted in my clothing to yank me closer to the desk.

I leaned further in without further prompting as you planted a kiss that was much more heated than the one before. A kiss that lingered on my screen as I froze up briefly in surprise.

“You can enjoy about five minutes of my presence before I go back and join the others” You said when you took a breath.

I couldn’t help it when my expression shifted to an unhinged one before it quickly flickered to heart eyes with a heart rate monitor.

And a flush my technicolor grin widened and curved up in a stupidly happy manner.

Then, your words sank in and I shifted ever closer to you, as I uttered in a low tone that ended on a slight growl. “Oh, my dear, five minutes in a dark closet all alone with me, and I’ll be able to convince you to not leave me for the other’s company.”

Most unfortunately, I was unable to follow through with my promise.

As it turned out, my luck had run out when it came to a certain Italian ruining my plans.

The door to the closet bust open despite being locked.

“Hello?” Mario peered inside curiously. “What’s-a going on here?”

I froze, as did you.

Even Mario went silent as he presumably took in the scene he’d walked in on.

Me, bracketing you in against a wall of the closet.

You, sitting on the desk in front of me.

I was currently leaned over you, crowding in to press into you, one hand lightly gripping your thigh while my other carefully cradled you behind your head, so you didn’t hit the wall and hurt yourself.

Right before Mario had so rudely kicked the door in, I’d been eagerly kissing you in return as best I could with little lingering static zaps.

But the moment I processed Mario was there, interrupting me?

My metal head snapped to the side in a distressing angle on my wire neck. I fixed the plumber with an expression of upmost loathing that went ignored, much to my mounting exasperation.

“Ooooo.” Mario let out, as his face shifted from confusion to one of sly amusement. A smile beneath that damned mustache of his began to grow bigger by the moment. “Somebody’s-a being hands-on.”

I wondered, at times, just how stupid Mario truly was, or if he was acting like an idiot to not disrupt the status quo. In this very moment, I didn’t particularly care to pursue the thought, because I was much more concerned and irritated by the interruption than the comment.

Mario’s smile became a smirk as he suddenly lifted a phone, and, before I could move, or you could even say anything, the flash of the camera flared brightly in the dark closet, backlit by the light of the castle behind Mario himself. Humming his theme song, Mario pocketed his phone nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just taken a rather compromising photo of you and myself in a closet together.

A photo…

I abruptly let go of you as Mario’s actions quickly sank in. I lunged for Mario without a word; just a furious expression and a warning static growl of wordless fury for Mario daring to intrude on alone time with you.

Unfortunately, so caught up in catching the culprit, I failed to notice you flail your arms and wince as you dropped backward into the wall.

Mario was wise enough to keep well out my grasping range. I continued to laser focus on attempting to catch the shorter man anyway. But because of this, I again failed to notice the way you emerged from the closet with a flushed face and the way you made a beeline right for me.

I didn’t notice, until you finished sneaking up behind me and then yanked me backward by where my suspender straps met at the middle of my back. Futilely, I attempted to twist my head to one side then the other as you proceeded to walk, forcing me to follow or risk falling over and being dragged along the floor. My dignity wouldn’t allow that, so follow you I did.

“Bye-bye.” Mario said unnecessarily, waving.

I was torn about easily slipping out of your hold to go continue to pursue that irritating Italian. But I relented and just matched your steps with my own, at least until I realized with a jolt that you had come to a halt outside of the room you’d emerged from earlier.

“I don’t. I. This likely isn’t the.” I stood in place, resisting your tugs for a moment as I attempted to explain why me in a room with Smh4 and all his friends want a good idea. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell you no when you opened the door, let go of my suspenders, and grasped one of my hands tightly instead.

You might have given my shaking hand a reassuring squeeze.

But I was much too caught up over the reception I may receive.

Keeping my gaze, and in turn my screen, on the floor meant that I didn’t have to focus on Smg4 and his crew’s initial reaction to me entering the room.

I kept quiet as you led me over to the couch and, remaining mute in the face of your expression between disappointment and pleading, sat down. I was pleasantly surprised when you end up on my lap, but not so happy that you won’t allow me to wrap my arms around you to hold you closer. Restlessly, I grasped the couch cushion on either side of my legs, because as much as I’d like to hold you, I’d rather you stay near me instead.

It appeared that this was done on purpose, as if this were your way of letting Smg4 and the others in the room know that you did want me around.

That was how I chose to interpret it as.

Mario reentered the room, going over to where Smg4 and 3 are, as well as Meggy and Tari, who were competing on some game. Mario glanced to you and I, then, in a loud whisper and a mischievous grin and in a loud whisper. “TV man is-a whipped, yes?”

“Yeah.” Smg4 agreed, without even having to look. “That tracks, with no one getting sucked into another Puzzlevision show lately.”

“‘course he is.” Smg3 concurred. “It’s obvious.”

I twitched as if to get up to correct them, only for you to suddenly flop back into me. I was completely sidetracked as you comfortably rested yourself against my chest and shoulder, and even dragged one of my arms up to grasp my hand with one of yours. I gripped couch cushion harder with my other hand when you began to lightly pet me with your free head along the side of his metal head, lingering on the vent area.

“Totally whipped.”

“Yup.”

“Mmhm.”

A light scritch under my head’s casing had me sagging forward into your touch, a soft sound into the touch. My digital eyes closed so that I could pretend, for a short time, that it was only you in this room with me.

I could handle the jabs at me, so long as you kept lightly tracing the outside of my metal tv head so gently.

And while I’d honestly rather just be all alone with you, this day turned out to not be as bad as I expected it to be, especially when no one demanded I get out, and I got to spend time with you, even in questionable company.

#mr puzzles x reader #screams in writing answers #screams in writing writes #ask answered #when the ask prompt becomes a one shot

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ernmark · 10 hours ago

Note

For the writing prompt, maybe Rilla is great at baking (exact measurements and technical skills) but Arum is great at cooking (does it all by instinct, taught himself) and Damien (bad at cooking, overthinks too much and can burn water) gets to reap the rewards

Thank you for the prompt.

I didn't realize how long it's been since I wrote my favorite bouquet, but damn I love them.

As before, if anyone else wants a ficlet, you're welcome to send me a writing prompt.

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast (Second Citadel)

Characters: Rilla, Damien, Arum

Rating: G

"Well?" Arum's tail lashes the floor irritably-- which is to say, anxiously-- as he waits for Damien's judgement. Which-- really, he should know better than to ask Damien of all people to judge this contest. He should know better than to make it a contest at all, but if he had to pick a judge, it really should have been Marc and Tal (biased, he'd said) or that friend of Angelo's (unavailable). Even Caroline would have been efficient, if brutal.

So they're going with Damien.

"The texture is truly fascinating," Damien says."It's challenging-- it brings to mind a trek up a formidable slope to witness a sunrise at the mountain's peak--"

By which he means that it's somehow both crumbly and tough in a way that cakes really aren't supposed to be.

"-- and the flavor is utterly nectarous, with that subtle undertone of bitterness to offer surprising depth."

Which means that maybe Arum shouldn't have used honey and sugar and agave if he'd wanted Damien to taste anything but sweetness and the spots that had gotten burnt in the process of getting it cooked all the way through. Monsters in general might have been making the world's finest cakes for centuries, but Arum specifically wasn't made with that skill in mind.

The thing is, Damien isn't just being tactful. He means what he says, flowery prose and all, and he's downing his slice of cake with the same enthusiasm that he brings to pretty much everything. His beloved lizard lord made that cake, which makes it one of Damien's new favorite desserts-- just like the jambalaya Rilla made for their earlier contest utterly delighted him, even when tears were streaming down his face from the admittedly overzealous application of peppers, and even though it was charred enough to potentially serve as a treatment for ingested poisons. He'd even asked for seconds!

But that had been nothing compared to the look of rapture on his face when he'd tasted Arum's stir-fry, like it had been handed down by his saintly namesake himself.

It's the same expression he wore when Rilla served him her entry in the desert contest, like her papaya macarons were a religious experience.

Which, knowing Damien, maybe they were.

While he keeps working on the world's chewiest cake, Arum and Rilla exchange looks over his head. A lash of his tail, a tilt of his head, a little twirl of his lower wrist: I concede the victory to you.

A flash of a grin, a hand flat against her chest in imitation of modesty: thank you, you're far too kind.

She'll maybe gloat a little later, even when the three of them are nestled together for the night. Arum did his share of preening after last night's cooking competition, after all. And Damien just seems happy to cheer them both on. He is, after all, an avid fan of friendly competition.

#the penumbra podcast #fanfiction #call for comfort #writing prompt

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devilsrecreation · 2 days ago

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Writing Prompts when you have writers block

So I don’t USUALLY do this, but since Tumblr’s writer-friendly, I thought I’d share some writing prompts I got from my Creative Writing class in college last semester! My professor would give us a handful of prompts and tell us to pick one for every assignment and I wanna give them to you all!

Write a list story: either someone teaching someone else how to do something/how to be someone/something (ex: how to act like a proper lady). Alternatively it could be a character listing aspirations, milestones, or losses/gains. Anything where your character is going through something

Going off on that list story idea, you could also write a response list story from the POV of the “you” from the first one. For example: say you wrote a story of a parent speaking to a child, the response would be a child speaking to a parent

Write a story where one character is closely observing/spying another character. What do they discover about either the other character or themselves in the process?

Dunno if any of you read the story “Hills like White Elephants” but write a story told mostly through dialogue and setting. Two character discussing something they don’t agree on. Whether or not a solution is reached is up to you

Here’s a funny idea: A story about a ghost/demon possessing somebody but it hilariously backfires cuz the mortal is either really stupid or really stubborn and they have this back-and-forth of what happens next. You know that one vine where it’s like

“What do you want to eat?”

“The souls of the innocent~”

“A bagel :)”

“NO!”

“….Two bagels”

Write the story version of that

Write a story where an object causes/is related to a major tension in your story or holds a major clue to the tension

Your character makes a decision and has to live with the consequences/learns a lesson

Write a story where an unexpected guest shows up and stays overnight. How does it go? Start by saying who’s coming, offer backfill to explain the background regarding the tension, then what happens when the guest arrives. How the story progresses, ends, and whether something changes is up to you!

Write a character where your main character is dealing with an external AND internal conflict. Something in their environment, community, or society is pushing them to experience stress. What’s the tipping point and how does the character deal with it

For example, a snake character experiencing racism from humans/animals just because of their species

Write a story loosely based on a true crime story. Any crime, doesn’t even have to be murder. You could even search a crime up on the internet and make a story inspired on that. Use a few details from that crime article to create a scene of action of the crime taking place, but also develop the motive and backstory. What drove the person to do what they did? Peer pressure? Greed? Abuse? Survival? Sheer stupidity? Etc

Write a story from the perspective of a ghost. Who’s the ghost haunting? Why? How’d they die? Is the ghost friendly or malevolent?

#of course these are all ideas #all of these are closed-ended plot-wise but also good enough to put your own spin on it #fun fact my first full fledge tlg fics came from these prompts #made a list story with my oc danganya and wrote sumu’s backstory with the conflict one #any quuestions lemme know!/gen #creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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amalythea · 1 day ago

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moonstruck ; birthday event !

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As a way to celebrate me being old and a way for me to get back into writing I decided to host an event! I wrote these prompts like a year ago back on @soleillunne with the help of @starrveill (i love you)

This is a request based event, if you have an idea in mind send me an ask with a prompt, a genre (optional) and a character of your choice.

You can send in as many asks as you want, but only one prompt and character per ask is allowed. So you can ask the same prompt for different characters with multiple asks.

I will delete any request that's against my rules and just make me uncomfortable in general. If you have any questions about the characters I write for please don't hesitate to ask.

I will tag this post and each post related to this one with "moonstruck!", and the event will get its own masterlist. I don't know when I will close the event, but I will announce when I do.

Below are the prompts, go crazy (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

1. “don't smile at me like that!”

2. “may i have this dance?” “well, if you insist.”

3. “stop moving, i'm almost done!”

4. “well, if i tell you it wouldn't be a secret.”

5. “the moon is beautiful, isn't it?”

6. “i wouldn't wanna fight you. you're pretty feisty.”

7. “your eyes are always on them.” “…are they? I haven’t noticed.”

8. “do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?”

9. “are you sure you're okay? your face seems a little red.”

10. “...on the bright side, we'll know how not to cook next time.”

11. “you're my favorite person.”

12. “close the curtains! my eyes are burning!” “don’t you think you’ve slept in long enough, you little vampire?”

13. “here.” ”what are you doing?” “giving you my jacket. cover yourself up, people are staring.” (bonus: “…are you sure you’re not the one staring?”)

14. “how… do you understand my feelings so well?” “…because i’d been in your place once”

15. “i love you. now say it back.” “please— stop talking, save it till we get you help—” “say it back—” “i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you so fucking much, please don’t leave me—”

16. “dont miss me too much, okay?”

17. “tell me what i can do for you.” “stay.”

18. “wait! don't go... not yet.”

19. “i swear to you, that as long as I’m alive I won’t let a single soul ever harm you.”

20. “how do you make the pain go away?”

21. “you feel like home to me.”

22. “it's okay to cry, you know.”

23. “you're acting like my mom.” “shut up and let me take care of you.”

24. “i'm never leaving you. you're stuck with me.”

25. “in your darkest moments, I'll be your guiding light.”

30. “you're exhausted, honey.”

31. “can i have another blanket?” “do you really think that’s a good idea, love?”

32. “come over here; let me patch you up.”

33. “how do you do it?” “do what?” “make me feel alive.”

34. “i have no idea how i got through my days before i met you.”

35. “what do you feel when you're with me?” “when i'm with you... i feel at peace.”

36. “you lied to me. was i just a pawn in your game? the easiest one you can discard?”

37. “you make me feel so alone.”

38. “i don't know what to do without you.”

39. “make sure it kills me.”

40. “i love you, until the end of the world.”

41. “you had your chance.”

42. “wait for me, will you?”

43. “i don't want to go.”

44. “i'm sorry, have we met before?”

45. “it's okay, you can let go.”

46. “i can't help but wonder if you ever truly loved me.”

47. “given your history, i should have known better.”

48. “you made a promise.”

49. “in the end, I was just a stepping stone in your path to success, wasn't I?”

50. “i can't trust you anymore, not after what you did.”

51. “…please don’t come any closer.” “why not?” “i don’t want to hurt you.” “who said you would?”

52. “people always leave, so why should it be any different now?” “what if i told you that i never planned on leaving? not now, not ever?”

53. “the only thing that makes every ounce of pain worth enduring is you.”

54. “i love you too much to stay away, and I wouldn't wish for anything less than to spend an eternity by your side.”

55. “the day i lose you is the day that i lose everything.”

56. “please don't go... i love you.” “...i wish i could believe that.”

57. “i'm sorry. you deserve so much more than this, and i can't even give you that, no matter how much i want to.”

58. “do you know the difference between history and you?” “what?” “history is the past, but you’re my future.” “…oh my god.”

59. “now remember, you don’t need to apologize for things you aren’t responsible for, okay?” “okay! i’m sorry!” “…i literally just said not to apologize.” “sorry..” “damn it. we’re gonna have to work on that a bit more.”

60. “i’m sure the feeling won’t last, but let me hold onto you a little bit longer before i go.”

Bonus: send me a prompt/lyrics of your choice!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

moonstruck — unable to think or act normally, especially as a result of being in love.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

#( interastral space communications )

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effortlesslytired · 2 days ago

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I have no other explanation other than I can't stop thinking about them and am mentally unwell. This was supposed to be quick and short, if you count 3k+ words to be quick and short then sure... Summary is the original prompt, couldn't find something that fit so I wrote it myself. Did this all in one 12 hour night shift and just did one look over for editing, so if there are mistakes uhhh keep that to yourselves, enjoy!!

Crowley's Fall and Aziraphale's Awakening

Aziraphale stood in the middle of the room, the projection playing loudly and clear and his heart shattering at the truth he’s finally witnessing.

Crowley has never talked about his Fall, his descent from Heaven to Hell and being forced to become a Demon, but Aziraphale always had the feeling that what he’s heard through rumors wasn’t the truth.

He remembers the days of Crowley with striking brown eyes, radiating warmth and glimmering gold when a ray of sun would hit them just right. His passion for building the creation of stars and nebulae, the utter joy on his face was enough to distract Aziraphale while he worked. The amount of times the Angel would be with him as Crowley worked, and the feeling of admiration that coursed through him seeing his friend so happy.

Aziraphale watches as Crowley is stripped from his job, forced to undergo a permanent transformation and the agony as his brown eyes morph into what he knows them to be to this day. The yellow pulsing from his pupils, covering the brown and bleeding into the white while he scratches at the skin when the pupil begins to mold into the snake-like slits. His screams are echoing against the porcelain white walls of the room, stars shining above and Aziraphale weeps as Crowley begs Gabriel for him to see the stars – his stars one last time.

Gabriel laughs at the Angel, forcing the stars to shine brighter and mocking the Angel stripped from his position while all Crowley can do is cry out.

“I can't see them.”

The Archangel’s chest squeezes in sorrow, his friend, his love, on his knees in a desperate last attempt to not have his pride and joy taken from him. Even if he got to see them one last time, it’s all he wants.

“You questioned the will of God, you’re defiant and untrustworthy to the cause of us Angels. Enjoy your time in Hell.”

Gabriel’s voice is booming, a wave of his hand and Crowley is flat on the floor, his wings pinned to the ground as the white feathers are ripped from his body and new growth replacing them with the stark black.

The screams are excruciating, forcing Aziraphale to look away as the audio continues to play on. The vulnerability of the Demon hidden and a reason Aziraphale never knew, never understood why Crowley was how he is.

“I didn’t question God, I just wanted to create.”

Gabriel’s laugh is bitter at the sounds of Crowley’s pleas. Mocking the Angel with black wings and yellow eyes.

“You just asked the wrong ones.”

The Archangel snapped his fingers and others poured into the room, yanking the now Demon on the floor to his feet and not paying any mind to the bloody mess pooled around him from his wings. Crowley screams in pain, but no one seems to care as they drag him to the elevator doors, barely on his feet and stumbling trying to get his footing. The Angel’s holding him up throw him into the open doors, looks of disapproval and disappointment not hidden at all as their eyes settle on him.

“Maybe Satan would rather listen to your pathetic ideas because they have no place for you here.”

Crowley’s crumbled body fights to stand up, to try and get himself back out from the elevator but the doors are already closing and the projection abruptly cuts out.

Aziraphale stands in the silent room, staring at the wall now bare and his mouth wide open. His Heaven would never do such a thing, never cast someone out for ideas and questions for making beautiful things. He wants to believe there was another reason, another bad thing Crowley committed to cause him to Fall. There has to be another reason.

But the projection doesn’t lie, and wouldn't lie when the proof is right there.

Aziraphale turns in his spot, storming out of the room and finding the Metatron at his desk. His face lights up as he sees Aziraphale approaching, however, his expression quickly falters at the look on the new Archangel and the anger radiating from him.

“He Fell because he wanted the world to see the stars? He Fell because he had questions to make the Universe radiate with light and beauty?” His voice is panicked, the gentleness he meant to convey gone as the desperation for answers over powers.

“Ah, you saw the Fall.” It’s not a question and it only makes Aziraphale more upset.

“You Angels stripped him from his holiness and cast him out for something so trivial.” Aziraphale stops at the other side of the desk. “How can I help run Heaven when all we do is punish those who want to make our domain more?”

The Metatron sighs, sitting back in his chair and looking up at Aziraphale. “He was deviating from our plan, he did it to himself.”

The audacity of the Metatron has Aziraphale reeling, taking a step back and looking appalled at the Angel.

“I can’t be who you want me to be knowing you did this to my friend.” He bites, shaking his head and looking towards the windows lining the walls. Bright and sunny, clouds beyond, a gorgeous place, a place Aziraphale thought he could trust.

“Do you realize what you’re saying Aziraphale? If you think that you can just step down and go back to what you were before, you’re wrong.” The Metetrom stands to his feet, rounding the desk and looking at the Archangel with the same disgust in his eyes that those other Angels did to Crowley.

“I do.”

“This was what we were afraid of, your so-called friend has corrupted you. We were all afraid he was more than that.”

Aziraphale scoffs. “So what if he is, when I call he comes. When I need him he’s there, even if he helps and does something nice despite his demonic blood. He’s still the same person he was before when he was an Angel.”

“Do you realize what you are saying Aziraphale? If you don’t see why we did what we did, those who don’t believe in God's plan will be stripped from their titles. You’ll become a Fallen.”

“I don’t care.” Aziraphale stands on his ground, a slight feeling of fear drops in his stomach but he holds on strong.

“Very well.” The Metatron waves his hand and Aziraphale can feel the angelic energy stripping from his very skin, a layer peeling off like dead skin and nothing like what he saw from Crowley’s Fall.

“Why is this different? What you all did to Crowley was horrifying.”

“Would you rather I did the same to you?”. The Metatron’s eyes narrow in on Aziraphale and the Angel quickly shakes his head.

“Do you wish to grab things from your desk?”

He thinks back to his office, a few belongings on his desk with little importance. “I don’t need to, everything I have and want is on Earth.”

“Fine, once you step through the elevator doors you won’t be allowed back.” The Metatron gestures for him to leave, turning back to his desk and sitting down in the chair. He doesn’t even look at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale only nods and turns on his heels, walking fast as if he could find a part of himself changing his mind on the way to the elevator doors. He breaks into a run, wanting to get away from the truth that was revealed as fast as possible, a bead of sweat pearling on his forehead, a breath of relief escaping him as he turns in the elevator and presses the button down.

It feels like an eternity as the elevator makes its way towards Earth, and Aziraphale sends out his power, scanning for Crowley. He’s shocked to find his presence still at the bookstore.

After he left to take on the role as an Archangel, Aziraphale assumed his Demon companion would have fled to his home, roam the Earth and cause havoc without even thinking of Aziraphale again. The presence at the bookstore is a hopeful wish, a breath of relief and his heart squeezed tightly.

London is the same as it was when Aziraphale left, gloomy and rainy, the streets bustling with life even with the chill morning air settling a heavy fog on the streets below. The coffee shop is open and flooded with customers, Aziraphale can make out the faint silhouette of Nina behind the counter.

His gaze turns to the bookstore on the corner, an open sign hanging on the door but quiet. From his view he can still make out the stacks of books lining the shelves and walls and he’s grateful that nothing has seemed to be sold.

There’s a moment of slight panic in the Angel now Fallen, a moment of resentment at what he’s become and what he just did. He doesn’t feel any different than when he was an Angel, and he can still feel the crackle of holy — unholy power pulsing through his veins. It doesn’t seem to be all that bad in his opinion, this newfound power he possesses. It’s a thought he pushes to the back of his mind, the sort of regret he knows he’ll feel eventually for abandoning his position and his faith for a sliver of hope that may not even be reciprocated. He convinces himself he did the right thing, at least for now, and that Crowley being at the bookstore still is the only kind of motivation he needs.

Aziraphale opens the door to the store, the familiar chime of the bell rings from above and the smell of old paper floods his nose, and it’s Muriel he sees first. The Angel beams at him, admiration still in their eyes.

“Aziraphale, welcome back!” They’re ecstatic, barreling towards the man at the door. “I haven’t sold anything just like Crowley told me!”

Aziraphale scans the interior of the store and his eyes fall to the Angel in front of him. “I’m glad to hear it, say where is he?”

Muriel’s smile only grows more, the praise from Aziraphale coursing through them. “Oh he’s around here somewhere, I was just talking to him a moment ago.”

Aziraphale nods and looks back towards the store and takes a few more steps in, his movements coming to a complete halt when Crowley’s lanky body trapezes down the spiral staircase and freezes as their eyes connect.

“Muriel, would you give us a moment? Maybe go across the street and enjoy a nice cup of coffee.” Aziraphale says, never once looking at the new owner of his bookstore.

“Oh, Crowley has told me about Nina and her coffee, can’t say I’ve ever—”

“Muriel, please.” Aziraphale cuts in, finally breaking eye contact with the Demon and looking down to the Angel.

Muriel salutes him. “Yes, of course.”

Aziraphale doesn’t watch as Muriel leaves, only knowing they’re gone once the bell chimes above the door again. There’s a sickly silence that settles in the store, neither one of them daring to speak or move as they size each other up. It’s Aziraphale who breaks first.

“Why did you never tell me?”

Crowley raises an eyebrow, his eyes hidden behind the glasses but Aziraphale knows they’re burning a hole in his face. “Tell you what Angel?”

Aziraphale winces, looking down at the floor and back up again. “About that…”

“What did you do?” Crowley is in front of him then, Aziraphale feeling bare and naked as Crowley examines the once before Archangel. He knows Crowley can read him like a book, knows that even without needing to speak a single word Crowley can predict his thoughts, his movements, lays him out on the table and strips him of his secrets.

“Aziraphale… what happened?”

“Your Fall, the pain and torment they forced you to endure.” Aziraphale wanted to be strong for this, supportive and caring, but the second he saw Crowley it all came crashing down.

“You stupid Angel, why did you go looking for it?” Crowley saunters across the shop, sitting himself down in the chair he always seemed to occupy when it was just the two of them.

“I’m not the Archangel anymore, Crowley. I don’t… I don’t know what I am anymore.”

Crowley looks at him, really looks at him this time and he pulls the glasses from his face. “You Fell.”

Aziraphale only stands in the middle of the room having taken a tentative step forwards. He knows he doesn’t have to say anything to confirm it, knows Crowley knows. He reeks of sin now, the glow of his angelic presence gone.

“You stupid idiot, what did you do?” Crowley pleads again.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, ready to face it. “I saw how you Fell, why you Fell. You wanted to create, to give the humans the gift of the stars and make the universe beautiful. You had dreams, and yet you were cast aside and forced to never see them again. What do you think happened, Crowley?” He challenges, a spurt of annoyance oozing from his skin.

He continues. “I saw Gabriel, the way he stood there and smiled while you bled out and the other Angels who dragged you to your descent. You were forced through torture and torment in Hell all because you asked questions about God’s plans.” He takes a deep breath, not realizing he had taken a few more steps towards the Demon.

“I watched it all and confronted the Metatron and he told me if I had sympathy for you, he questioned our relationship and told me if I couldn’t forgive the Angels and God for what they did that I no longer belonged in Heaven.”

Crowley sighed, sitting forward in the chair and ran his hands down his face. Aziraphale couldn’t read what the expression was, a look of surprise, relief? Resentment?

“So what, you’re a Demon now and you expect me to just stand here with open arms, excited about the fact that you are here to do what? Run off into the sunset and go live somewhere else because the last time we saw each other you decided to go with Heaven over me.” His words are meant to be biting, Aziraphale can tell, though the words lack that anger.

Aziraphale winces, he knows Crowley is telling the truth, and he honestly doesn’t know what he wants, but right now he just wants to see his friend, the one person he knew he could always count on.

A million stars in the sky created by Crowley, a Demon forced to see nothing of them and Aziraphale doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t know how he can ever deserve the sort of forgiveness he thinks he’s asking for from him. The sight of Crowley laying in blood, begging for Gabriel to change his mind and let him stay, but cast aside anyways flashes across his mind.

Aziraphale readjusts his posture, his shoulders back and he looks down at Crowley. “I made a mistake.”

“Understatement of the century.” Crowley rolls his eyes, sighing as he leans into the chair.

“I’ll do the dance, you were right.” He suggests, his hands on his hips and ready.

Crowley waves a hand at the not-Angel, resting his head on a hand. “I don’t need you to do the dance Angel, you took your path and left me here.”

“Crowley please, I need you. I saw what you saw, I see now what you wanted, what we could have.” Aziraphale throws caution to the wind, bordering on the sounds of begging to his friend.

Crowley stands to his feet then, towering over Aziraphale and forcing him to cower a little at the intimidating aura the Demon eludes. “Oh please, you think I’ve been pining after you since you left? That I stayed here in this godforsaken bookstore because of you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes snap to Crowley, his eyebrows knitting together at the last statement. “Why did you stay?”

“I—” Crowley steps back, his mouth snapping shut with a lack of response.

“For a Demon you don’t act with evilness Crowley, you stayed because you’re nice, because you know how much these books mean to me.” He waves his arms around him, gesturing to the packed spaces filled with books – his books.

“Angel we’ve been over this, I am not nice—” Crowley attempts to take another step back as Aziraphale walks towards him, but is stopped at the feeling of the chair hitting his calves.

Aziraphale stands in front of him, looking up with sorrow and longing and Crowley’s eyes filling with vulnerability.

“Maybe not, but you’re in love…” Aziraphale is standing in front of his Demon, his hands reaching up and cradling the face of the man he didn’t realize until now, but he’s “and I’m in love too.”

There’s tears in Aziraphale’s eyes, a look of desperation as the pair of them stand so close Aziraphale can feel the warmth of Crowley’s breath across his lips. They stand there and stare and the once before Angel can see the stars in the yellow of the Demon’s eyes. The universe is thriving within them, the sun shining bright and radiating light, and there’s a slight flicker of hope, of a lifetime dying to be released.

“That’s a bold claim, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale chuckles, his chest tight and his cheeks warm. “It’s a bold claim for someone who knows they’re right.”

“You didn’t want to be us before…” The Demon fights with a lack of malice behind his words.

“And yet I realized what a stupid mistake that was because us is all there ever was, all that I ever needed, all we have ever needed.”

Crowley’s breath hitches and for a moment Aziraphale watches the bob of his throat and thinks “fuck it”. His other hand is up on Crowley’s cheek, cradling the sunken face of the Demon and pulling him towards him.

Their lips meet with hesitancy, different from the desperate kiss Crowley gave him months ago. This one full of love and confusion and fear at what’s next. Azirpahale’s hands are moving back on Crowley’s face, tangling in the hair that’s grown ever so slightly and holding onto the man. He can feel Crowley’s own hands wrap around his body, pulling them flush together and the heat is scorching.

They kiss with a passion of 6000 wasted years, of stolen glances, time lost and spent together. It’s a kiss that is long overdue and a contract signed for what’s to come. They have centuries to figure out where they will go, what more than can explore and how to navigate Aziraphale’s new life, but this single moment with both of them wrapped in one another and neither one wanting to let go.

Crowley pulls away first but doesn’t move away. “Do you hear that Angel?”

Aziraphale looks around, straining his ears and listening. The faint sound of chirps and melodic singing floods his ears.

There’s a beaming smile on the Demon’s face when Aziraphale looks back at him. “It’s the sound of Nightingales.” And Crowley pulls him back in for another kiss.

If anyone has a fic where Aziraphale finds out how/why Crowley fell and it’s soul crushing with a happy ending, I will give you my first born child

#good omens #good omens fan fiction #good omens fandom #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #gomens #how the 90 minutes should go #i cried to my best friend on ft to these two #i also screamed into a pillow #did my steddie blog turn into one about the husbands #yes it did #im tired okay pls dont judge too hard

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drowninginthoughts27 · 1 year ago

Text

2/9 Piercing Word Count: 725

(mcd, somewhat canon compliant, very brief mentions of child abuse) @jegulus-microfic

A blood curtailing scream pierces through the silence of the night.

Then the choked out sobs start.

“Regulus! Get out here!” Sirius cry’s, struggling to catch his breath.

Regulus springs upright in response. Bolting from his room into the center of the apartment. There Sirius sits at the dining room table, head in his hands. His body shaking with the force of his own sobs.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Regulus asks. He’s now crouched down next to Sirius at the table in an attempt to get Sirius to look at him.

“Sirius, look at me! What’s wrong?” Regulus says, a worried look setting across his face. “Do I need to leave? Is me hiding here putting you in any more danger?”

Since the start of the war their worlds have been falling down around them. But Sirius usually doesn’t have much of a visible reaction to it all. Neither does Regulus. Both of them are so used to shutting down their emotions starting at an early age. There was no other way to survive that prison of a house. But especially since Regulus had faked his own death and ran to Sirius they had been rather closed off around one another.

Finally Sirius looks up. Blinking through his tears. Eyeliner running down his face leaving black streaks, fear deep in his gray-blue eyes. The same fear that now most likely reflects back in Regulus’.

“They’re dead!” Sirius cry’s out between shaky breaths.

“Shh, shh, whose de-“ just then Regulus sees what Sirius is holding. A now crumpled piece of parchment. The ink bleeding over the page from Sirius’ tears.

2 simple 5 word sentences. Both with enough power to pierce through Regulus’ soul.

James and Lily are dead. Harry’s the boy who lived. It says in a rushed script. The reality of the situation pierced through him. No further explanations or instructions. But nothing else put on that page could have stopped the ringing Regulus now hears in his own ears. The world spinning around him, vision going in and out- blurring at the edges. Stars filling his field of view.

Memories flood through him of him and James’ short time together.

How he used to hate James under the false pretenses that has stolen Sirius’ attention and affection from him.

How in his 4th year hating James became harder and harder to do. He fought against his growing crush by throwing harsher and harsher comments James’ way. And how apparently that just made James want to be around him and annoy him more and more.

How, one day in Regulus’ 5th year James had followed Regulus up to the astronomy tower with the stupid ‘Marauders Map’ in hand. And James had professed his mutual affection to Regulus. And how there they had had their first kiss under the stars.

How, almost 1 month later Regulus had first said ‘I Love You’ and James had responded with an equally meaningful ‘I Love You’. Holding each other in their arms.

How sitting side by side in the room of requirements they had planned out their entire lives together. Picket fence and all for after the war was over.

And how Regulus had come back to school after winter holidays his 6th year covered in injuryies of varying severity. Which had prompted James to beg Regulus to escape. To come live with him and Sirius. To which Regulus responded by pulling up his left sleeve. Revealing a black slithering tattoo that altered both of their lives forever.

James had since turned his back on Regulus. Leaving him behind, never speaking to one another again. Causing James to find a joy filled life with his childhood crush Lily.

Somewhere in the chaos of his own mind he thinks he hears the door swing open. Feels his own legs give way beneath him. Yelling starts, hexes flying around the apartment, the loud noises of things falling and breaking. Maybe even more wrenching sobs of Sirius’ begging. But Regulus can’t be bothered to care. Because James is dead. His James is dead. And he died thinking Regulus was dead as well. Most likely he died still thinking Regulus was a cruel and evil death eater as well. And there was nothing Regulus could do about it. Nothing he could do to stop the piercing pain of his reality.

#im sorry #Ik this is kinda sad #but this is what I wrote with the prompt so…#any way hope you like it #marauders #jegulus #james x regulus #Em’s microfics

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confessedlyfannish · 1 year ago

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DP x DC Writing Prompt #5

Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.

After a moment, the door opens.

"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.

"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.

"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."

Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.

"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.

For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.

Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.

Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"

"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.

"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.

"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.

"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.

"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.

"He did," Jazz says.

Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.

Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.

A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.

This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.

Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.

In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.

"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.

Damian stops dead in his tracks.

"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.

Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.

"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.

Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"

Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.

"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.

Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.

"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.

Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.

Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.

Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.

They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.

"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.

"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.

Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."

"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."

"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.

"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."

Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.

"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"

"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.

"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."

"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."

"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."

Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.

"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."

Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.

Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.

Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.

Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.

A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.

His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.

"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"

"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.

He never stopped practicing, after all.

"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."

"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."

Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.

"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.

"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."

"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."

Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.

"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."

"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."

Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."

"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."

For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.

"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."

"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.

He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.

Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."

Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."

Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."

"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."

Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."

"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."

"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.

"Even then."

Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.

"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.

"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.

But for his brother, Danny will wake up.

"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."

#Danny I AM RETIRED FROM MURDER Fenton #the informants are ghosts #the thing about deductive reasoning is sometimes you deduct incorrectly #particularly when you don't know about the ghosts #danyal al ghul #damian wayne #danny phantom #batman #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #bruce wayne #this is an au where damian doesn't get blown up and lose most of his vital organs #like bruce still isn't a super responsible parent but no nine year olds blow up so that's something #danny: he only blew up once so he can stay with you #batman: he did get speared straight through but we fixed it #danny: he wHAT #i wrote this instead of eating dinner #because drafts are for the mentally healthy #tbh i don't think his name would be danyal al ghul in this one #he's trying really hard to stay under the radar I don't think he would choose essentially a homonym

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