#inspired end-of-year gifs i know. original to death

[beingfacetious]

I bet you're gonna have a really great year. Yeah?

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

-------------------------------------

Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

-------------------------------------

It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

[gatorbites-imagines]

Apparently I have a twin now, so I'll call myself 'Crow Doctor'.

But can I request a Nightwing x Male Rogue Reader?

Basically, while Nightwing is fighting some other Rouges, he's hit with fear toxic or something and gets knocked out.

Reader being a bootleg medic of sorts, takes Nightwing to his hideout and patches him up. Taking care of him until he wakes up.

When he does, he figures out that Reader is a doctor who patches up and gives aid to the citizens of gotham that can't afford medical bills or insurance. and maybe after a bit, they start catching feelings for the other.

- Crow Doctor

Dick Grayson x Rogue Male Reader

Headcanons

Sorry this took a million years to write Crow, but I hope you enjoy it anyways :3c

Kinda took the rogue aspect and ran wild. Thought since you went by Crow Doctor, a plague doctor would be fun.

You were one of the newer Gotham Rogues, a next gen, as some would say. They called you Cadaver King, because of your start in the city, scattering corpses all over a specific area of the city, like you were marking your territory.

You wore something mildly inspired by plague doctors, only furthering your image as some kinda wacky insane doctor. No ones ever actually seen you carve people open for fun, but the rumors run rampant and keep normal criminals and gangs out of your territory.

Sure, bodies would still pile up at the borders of your territory as you slowly grow your area, and you have been thrown into Arkham more than once, but you always get out one way or another.

Unlike the other rogues, you are always able to stay out much longer, because you never just attack the public for no reason. You are most known for the cadavers found around the place stitched closed and looking like science experiments.

The bats quickly figure out that all the cadavers they find are criminals, people who do crime and hurt others just because they can, and never someone who steals or does crime because they have no other choice.

You get some respect from Red Hood for this reason, especially when he sees you targeting those that hurt children, using them in sick experiments and furthering your medical knowledge.

The Bats never figure out that under the surface, you are the backer to most smaller medical clinics around the city. The ones not run by Wayne at least. You are a monster, yes, but like all villains you have an origin story, and yours involves those you cared for not getting the medical help they needed, because they couldn’t afford it.

In your past, you would help anybody you could for free, finishing medical school top of your class. But your less than stellar past caused prejudice in many, and you found yourself used and abused by those above you in the food chain.

It didn’t help that you would steal to support those who couldn’t afford medical help themselves. What finally caused you to snap was getting caught stealing medicine, and instead of just getting you arrested, one of the top doctors in the hospital poured dangerous liquids all over you, scarring you for life and putting you in a constant state of torture.

Seeing so many innocent people die because of greed, and seeing your superior laughing as you writhe and wail in pain, is what breaks you. He ends up the first of your many cadavers, his body splayed out in his own operating theater.

Its only a very long time later that people discover just who’s doing all this killing, since so much death and murder happens around Gotham. It’s the fact that they have all been cut and stitched up professionally that clues the Gotham Police in on it being the same guy.

Then you start making a name for yourself, you start fighting the Bats, you target public figures, leaving their bodies hanging from their mansions or workplaces. All whilst wearing your plague doctor mask.

You have even done procedures on multiple of the bats over the years, never anything that could kill them, and it always ends up being stuff that helps them in the long run. They don’t know that though, they just think you are a psycho that likes to cut into people.

All the backstory aside, its this that leads to you hanging around in the shadows and observing as the Bats are fighting the latest Arkham escapees. Scarecrow has pulled himself into your territory, and whilst you like Jonathan, and have worked together many times, it still annoys you.

Seeing Nightwing go down because of fear toxin also makes your blood boil. Mainly because, unlike Jonathan who only seemed to care about fear, you were still a doctor at heart, and you knew how much fear toxin could harm the body, having treated many patients in the past.

That’s why you end up chasing Jonathan out of your territory, wielding different surgical tools and other blades on your person.

Returning to the rooftop with the passed out hero, you don’t even have to think about throwing him over your shoulder and bringing him to one of your many, many, medical studios around the city.

The only people who has more hideouts than you is probably the bats, and yours are definingly more medically equipped than theirs. You never know when youll find a patient, or how quickly they need treatment, so of course you and your lackeys have as many treatment areas as possible.

Theres not much you can do about fear toxin outside of giving Nightwing an antidote and giving him some oxygen to clear it out of his system faster. You stay nearby to observe him though as you work on patient reports.

Normally your lackeys stand for it, all lackeys having above average medical knowledge in general, but you like to check stuff over yourself, just in case. It’s a great way to spend time as you wait, and being productive during.

You have a lot of reports to answer from your lackeys during the night, as the other rogues being out means a lot of patients you need to help. Unlike other lackeys, yours don’t really wear uniforms, meaning they can sneak around without the bats knowing they’re yours.

The only thing that puts them out as yours, is the fact that they all always have medical equipment and first aid kits on their person. You honestly find it kinda funny how the Bats can never seem to figure out your ways, at least not fast enough, as you change up how you do things constantly.

As the night passes, with you waiting for Nightwing to wake up, you end up removing your outer layers. Shrugging off your heavy coat and gloves, even taking off your plague doctor mask. Underneath you wear a compression therapy mask most days, as the liquids the doctor threw on you left lifelong damage.

In the beginning you had been horrified and disgusted by your appearance, but over the years you had come to accept it as a part of yourself. You found out it had a tendency to make patients trust you more, as they knew you had been through something just as horrible as themselves, so you never tried to fix it with plastic surgery.

When Nightwing finally wakes up, you check on him, go through the basics, make sure he’s all there, before you shove him out of your studio. He doesn’t even have time to ask who you are, or what you are doing, or why you helped him.

Going back to the cave, he talks to the other Bats, and they are able to find the injection point where you injected the antidote to the fear toxin, and they can find clues to the treatment you gave him.

You owning an antidote means you are either connected to the Gotham Police, or, you are able to find it yourself, meaning you are a criminal. It puts you on their radar, both as Cadaver king, and as yourself.

The only one who would probably recognize you is Batman himself, since he’s always the one putting you in Arkham, but none of the others have ever seen your face.

Dick finds himself drawn to you in some way, and he ends up hanging out in the area you treated him, hoping to find you again.

Its only coincidence that he ends up in your territory again next time he’s really banged up from patrol and you find him. You are maskless again, compression mask on, as you scoff at his sorry state and drag him to the same studio you used last time.

It becomes a common occurrence, Dick running off to you to get treated. He even starts entering your studio when you are not there, and its only thanks to the sensors you have around the place that you know he’s there, since you don’t give him a way to contact you.

As time passes, he finds himself in your studio for the smallest cut or bruise, just because he wants to spend time with you, and you can’t find it in yourself to send him away since the acrobat has quadruple flipped his way into your heart.

The first time he sees your full face, covered in scars like it is, you can’t help but be gripped by fear that he will be disgusted by you. But instead, he just smiles and looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Its only after you guys have been a thing for a while, that he discovers your rogue status. And it’s because he’s spending time in your studio again, when you come barreling in, in full rogue getup, carrying one of your lackeys who had a bad run-in with killer croc.

Dick just stands in the shadows and watches with wide eyes as you rip your mask off and get ready for surgery. He watches as you bark as your other lackeys to get them ready, and he watches as you save the lackeys life.

Somewhere inside Dick probably already knew who you were, how else would you have access to the kinda equipment Gotham’s biggest hospital struggled to get their hands on. He knows all you do for people, as you guys have talked about it before, and he can’t find it in himself to hate you for the fact that you target the worst scum of the earth and use them to further your knowledge.

Its only after you finish up with your lackeys that you look at him, a sad look in your eyes as you know you guys will need to talk.

Its ends with you two on the rooftop of the building, spending a long time just sitting and talking. Talking morals, personal codes, your past, your future, so on and so forth.

But instead of breaking up with you, Dick ends up pulling off his domino mask and telling you who he is before kissing you. You are both people with missions, and Bruce is the one with the no killing rule. The fact that your experiments have slowed down a lot over the years only helps.

You are great at keeping secrets, and you can never find it in yourself to expose Dicks identity no matter what.

You end up worming your way into Anti-hero status as Cadaver King, since it starts to become public knowledge that you have so many legal medical facilities all over town, and that all your lackeys know medical knowledge to help people.

Doesn’t stop you from hunting down corrupt doctors or those that use and manipulate the weak and desperate, but that’s just how it.

Imagine the Batfams reaction when Dick brings you to dinner at the manor for the first time. They know Dick is in a relationship, and has been for a while. Bruce almost chokes on his drink when Dick shows up with you on his arm though.

Most of the family will accept you though, especially with your anti-hero status. You probably end up getting along most with Jason though, since you guys already got along as Red Hood and Cadaver king.

Expect to become the entire batfams doctor though, taking some weight off of Alfreds shoulders. Even Alfred can get overwhelmed with how many of them there are. Ends up letting you get along well with Alfred though, so that’s a plus.

[book-place]

Anti-Hero

Warnings: tua season 1 spoilers, mentions of killing and death, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of heart attacks, drinking, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Hargreeves siblings x sister reader

*not my gif*

Summary: When you left, all of your siblings hated you, and now you were facing them once more

A/N: Welcome to book place’s one year event!!

Inspired by: Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser

You let loose a long breath and glanced hesitantly up to the tall, menacing building before you. The building of your childhood, if you could even call it that.

To be completely honest, you didn’t even know why you had come back. You hated your father and your siblings hated you, so why would you show up to the man’s funeral, when they would all be there?

As much as you wanted to turn back around and hail another cab to get you as far away from this place as possible, you put on a brave face and pushed the door open, stepping into the vast entryway.

Barely three small steps had been taken inside by you when you froze at the sound of your name being called.

“Y/n,” Allison had her lips parted slightly in shock from where she and Vanya stood at the end of the hall.

You swallowed thickly, “Hey, guys,” You greeted in a voice that was barely even audible to yourself. You toyed with the ends of your gloves nervously.

“Oh, um,” Allison cleared her throat and strode across the room to see you, stopping a healthy three feet away, “It’s so good to see you, Y/n.”

The words were forced, and you knew it, but you gave her a tight lipped smile and a nod anyway.

“Yeah, same here, Y/n!” Vanya called, and you knew in that moment that after everything, she must have been almost as uncomfortable with being here as you were.

If your original gut instinct wasn’t any indication before, then this interaction told you everything about how this visit would go.

The sight of Diego crossing to the staircase caught all of your attention and he snapped something about Vanya not being welcome back before his eyes snapped over to you.

“Y/n,” He spoke in an awkward greeting before skirting past the three of you and clambering up the stairs.

Not only did your siblings hate you, but you just got confirmation that they were also still scared of you. After all these years, when they had grown up beside you and learned how to deal with your ‘gift’, and yet, they were still wary of what you could and possibly would do.

Midnights become my afternoons

You sat on the windowsill in the attic, legs dangling out the window as you looked up at the moon and stars.

“I figured that I would find you up here, Miss. Y/n.” You heard a voice sound behind you.

Unconsciously, you smiled and turned around, “Pogo,” You greeted kindly.

His smile was something that hadn’t changed a bit over the years, “It is so good to see you.” He said genuinely, walking over until he could grasp your gloved hand and squeeze it gently.

He had always been the only one who wasn’t afraid of you. Of what touching you could do to them. Of how painful their deaths would be if they laid a single finger on your bare skin. How without meaning to, you would slowly and excruciatingly kill them.

That’s why you wore gloves and long sleeves at all times, so that no one would unintentionally be hurt by you.

“It’s late,” You hummed when you pulled away, “What are you doing up?”

“Why, I came up here to ask you the same question.” He mused.

You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning your back against the wall, “I don’t usually go to sleep until really early in the morning.” You informed him.

“Well, that can’t be healthy.”

You laughed loudly, the first time you’d done so in what felt like many months, “It’s probably not.” You agreed once you sobered up.

Too busy looking back out the window, you failed to notice Pogo glance behind him and give a hidden figure a single nod of reassurance.

The only thing that brought your attention back to him was once he gave you a slight pat on your clothed knee, “I am always available if you wish to speak about anything.”

You smiled genuinely, “Thank you, Pogo.”

“Hey, n/n.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of a new voice that spoke as soon as Pogo had left.

“Diego,” You breathed out.

“Listen,” He cleared his throat awkwardly as he shuffled into view, coming to a stop right in front of you- less than a healthy distance away, “I’m sorry about earlier. I just didn’t think you were actually gonna show.”

You smiled tightly, pulling your knees up to your chest, “Yeah, that makes two of us.”

He sighed, dropping down into a crouch before you and looking up into your eyes, “I know none of us left off on a good foot- especially with you- but I want you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”

Your chest tightened at his words. After all these years of thinking every last one of your siblings despised you for who you were- what you could do- you never thought one of your brothers would be telling you that he didn’t actually hate you at all.

“T-thank you, Diego.” You choked out, eyes filling with tears, “That means a lot.”

When my depression works the graveyard shift

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took tentative steps towards your fathers old office, the one that was supposed to be vacant now that he was dead.

The clattering of objects only got louder the closer you got, and it was making you nervous. Perhaps someone had broken in when they heard that the billionaire was dead? The last thing you wanted was to have to resort to using your powers, because you doubted any of your other siblings would come to your aid. Expect of course, maybe Diego.

“Hello?” You called out slowly when you stepped into the room. At the sound of your voice, a head popped up from behind your fathers old desk with a wide grin, and you couldn’t help but relax slightly, “Klaus.” You breathed out.

“N/n!” Your brother squealed, jumping up the rest of the way and scrambling over to you with outstretched arms.

Alarmed, you took a sudden step back, and he stopped short when he noticed.

“Oh!” He giggled, placing a hand near his mouth, “I forgot about the whole no touchie thing!”

“What are you doing in here?” Your eyes shone in curiosity, pushing down the thoughts that threatened to swarm your mind about Klaus’s first instinct being to hug you.

“You know,” He waved a dismissive hand, “Just getting ahead on my inheritance.”

Despite yourself, your lips twitched upward slightly at the words, “Really?” You asked in slight amusement.

The man’s jaw dropped open and he stared at you with wide eyes, “Was-was that a smile I just saw? Gosh, my memories from when we were kids consisted of you being completely stone-face.” He let out a shrill giggle again, “Though, I suppose I’m now the one that’s stoned!”

Whatever form of a smile had adorned your face immediately fell and you crossed your arms tightly over your stomach.

All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

This was terrible.

The silence was painful to sit through. You must have looked like you had an itch with the way you were shifting back and forth on the couch you stiffly sat on beside Vanya.

Nobody was making eye contact with one another, it was just all of you- once siblings, now complete strangers- sitting in a tense circle in your childhood living room.

Finally, Luther cleared his throat and pushed himself off of the couch that was directly across from you, “So, I guess we should get started.” Everyone’s eyes snapped over to the man that had grown more than a little bit over time, “So, I figured we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at Dad's favorite spot.” He spoke awkwardly.

“Dad had a favorite spot?” Allison’s eyebrows had shot up alongside yours in surprise.

Luther’s own eyebrows furrowed, “You know, under the oak tree. We used to sit out there all the time.” He looked around for anyone to agree with him, only to be met with bewildered looks, “None of you ever did that?”

You shook your head softly, looking down at your hands that fiddled with one another from where they rested in your lap.

Klaus strolled over and began talking loudly, and you sat back and watched silently as everyone went back and forth a little bit.

“Listen up,” Luther tried to reign the family in once more when they got off track, “Still some important things that we need to discuss, all right?”

“Like what?” Diego asked with a roll of his eyes from where he was leaning against a pillar near the fireplace.

“Like the way he died.”

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open a little as you looked at him, everyone else adorning similar looks.

“I don't understand. I thought they said it was a heart attack.” Vanya piped up in confusion.

“Yeah, according to the coroner.”

“Well, wouldn't they know?”

“Theoretically.” It was clear that Luther was beginning to realize that he had made a mistake by bringing this all up.

“Theoretically?” It was the first time you had spoken up, and you felt a couple of the others glance at you as you did so.

Yet again, your siblings began to bicker back and forth, and you sank lower into the couch cushions, not at all liking the way their voices raised more and more by the minute.

“Oh, isn't it obvious, Klaus? He thinks one of us killed Dad.” Diego’s voice snapped you harshly back to the present and a dangerous silence overcame the entire room again.

You looked up at Luther in disturbance, only to find him already staring down at you. And all at once, you felt your mouth go dry and your throat begin to close up slightly, “You don’t actually think-“

All around you, your siblings caught onto what Luther was really indicating and they adopted looks of shock. Diego let out a low whistle, “That’s messed up, man.”

“Look,” Number one stressed, “I’m just saying, according to the corner, there was nothing wrong with him. With your powers- you could painfully kill a person without showing a mark.”

You hadn’t even realized when you had stood up, but flinched back violently, as if struck, “You think I would kill him?” You whispered with tears forming in your eyes against your will.

Allison pursed her lips and averted her gaze when you desperately looked around for help, making you realize that she was uncertain as well.

“Wow,” You breathed out tearfully, shaking your head back and forth softly before shuffling out of the room.

“Y/n, wait-“

“Good job, Luther.” Diego scoffed and hit his shoulder against his brothers as he trailed after you, “Way to lead.”

I should not be left to my own devices

Somehow, not too long after leaving the living room, you ended up in the courtyard surrounded by your sibling, gazing up with wide eyes at something floating in the sky.

“What is it?”

“Don’t get too close!” Allison called, moving to place her arm in front of you and Vanya, who had your mouths dropped open and took unconscious steps forward.

“Yeah, no shit!” Diego yelled back over the wind, eyes glared against the harsh wind whipping straight at all of you.

Per usual, everyone kept shouting back and forth at one another about what to do, and in doing so, Allison dropped her arm and you were able to slowly creep forward.

Just then, someone fell out of the thing in the sky, landing in a heap right in front of your feet, but everyone was too busy glaring at each other to notice.

“Guys…” You called back cautiously, “Does anyone else see little Number Five, or is that just me?”

They come with prices and vices

You sat on the stairs with your head in your hands, still trying to wrap your mind around everything.

At the beginning of the day, you had come back home expecting to say your goodbyes and possibly even make peace with your father. But now, your long lost brother is back, and not only that, but he claims to have been way older than any of you, whilst being stuck in the body of his thirteen year old self.

“Hey, n/n,” Said brother greeted, strolling over to where you sat with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a sandwich.

You linked your fingers behind your head and tried to smile at him, but you had no doubt that it came out as a grimace, “Five.” You greeted.

Before his disappearance, Five had been the only one who truly was never afraid of you. Even if Diego claimed not to be now, you knew he was still slightly wary, and with good reason too.

“I take it things didn’t go well after I left?” He asked, plopping down onto the stairs beside you.

A small chuckle left your lips at his bluntness. Same old Five.

“No,” You agreed, “They never stopped being scared of me. And I never stopped being scared of myself.” You admitted.

He had always been the only one you could tell everything to about yourself without the fear of judgment.

The two of you fell into a silence that consisted of him munching on his sandwich thoughtfully, “You know,” Five spoke up once he had polished it off, “I think the others have always been more intimidated by you than anything.”

Your eyebrows went up, “How so?” You never really saw yourself as an intimidating individual.

“Because you’re so much more powerful than we all are… and the old man knew that.” He stood up and gave you a tight lipped smile, patting you once on your clothed shoulder and disappearing up the stairs, leaving you to dwell in your thoughts.

I end up in crisis (tale as old as time)

Allison placed a finger over her mouth to signal for you and Vanya to stay silent from where your backs were pressed up against a wall opposite of her.

A large figure in a mask came creeping through the door that you stood on either side of with a large gun resting in his grip, making your heart tighten.

Right on cue, your sister lunged out, kneeing him in the stomach and punching him in the face the second he doubled over in pain.

Quickly, you ushered Vanya out of the room and made sure she was a safe distance away before spinning on your heel to face Allison and the man, the two now throwing punches at one another with the gun discarded to the side.

Without hesitation, you dove at the man and jumped onto his back, throwing him off balance and sending him to the ground.

When he fell, Allison reeled her foot back and sent it straight into his head, effectively knocking him out cold.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, panting and trying to catch your breaths.

“You know, Y/n,” She spoke up, surprising you, “I don’t actually think you killed dad. I would never think that of you. I was just in shock that Luther would say such a thing that I didn’t know how to react. A-and I’m sorry for not saying anything when he accused you and I know I should have-“

“Allison.” You cut her off gently, “It’s okay.”

She visibly relaxed as if a weight had been taken off of her shoulders, “And listen, I know you think we all hate you,” She took a step forward and slowly placed a hand on your shoulder, eyes searching yours for any sign that you were uncomfortable with the close proximity. “But we don’t, I promise you we don’t. You were just always isolated from us by dad- and I’m not saying it isn’t partially our fault- because it is, but we’re not kids anymore so there’s no excuse for how we acted. I’m sorry.”

First Diego with the apologies, Klaus acting like everything was normal, and then Allison. You couldn’t believe that your siblings were actually trying to make up with you.

Similarly to how when your brother first talked to you like this, tears began to form in your eyes and you smiled up at her, “T-thank you, Allison. That- that means a lot.”

She shook her head gently, “I’m just sorry that it took so long for me to be able to say it.”

I wake up screaming from dreaming

You gasped, shooting upright with heavy pants as you tried to regain your breathing and keep it under control.

You have been through this routine enough times to know what to do so well that it’s almost like second nature to you at this point.

“Y-Y/n?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Vanya's voice. She stood in the slightly opened doorway of your childhood room, where you had just been sleeping.

“Vanya,” You breathed out, leaning your back against your headboard, “What’s up?” You swallowed thickly and tried to seem as normal as possible.

The woman hesitated, “I… I left something here so I came back for it but I heard a scream…”

You let a breath loose and allowed your head to fall back, “Sorry,” You apologized in a whisper.

She shook her head back and forth vigorously, “No, no, it’s not your fault. I get it… I get nightmares too…”

You lulled your head to the side and looked at her, “Yeah?”

She nodded, hesitantly shuffling into the room before slowly sitting down on the end of your bed when you moved your feet for her.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She asked gently.

It was then your turn to shake your head, “No, no, it’s nothing I can’t handle- nothing I’m not used to.” You reassured.

“Well… I’m here if you ever need anything.”

You smiled softly, “Thank you, Vanya.”

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

“Five?” You looked up from your plate filled to the brim with breakfast foods your mother had cooked for you as you watched your brother swiftly walk by, “What’s going on?”

“I need to run an errand.” He answered curtly, “I’ll be back soon.”

Anxiety began to set in the pit of your stomach, “O-oh, do you want me to come with you?”

He quickly shook his head back and forth, “There’s no need, it could be dangerous.”

That made the fear double inside of you, “Are you sure you have to go?” You saw him freeze in his steps when he heard the worry seeping through your tone.

He sighed softly and turned around to face you, “It’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

You gnawed on your bottom lip, “It’s just… you didn’t come back once. What’s to say it won’t happen again?”

“Me.” He reassured you, “I say that it won’t happen again. I won’t let it. I promise.”

With that, he gave you one last of his rare smiles and continued out of the kitchen.

'Cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time)

“Oh, sorry,” You mumbled, eyes immediately turning downwards the second you entered the living room, “I didn’t realize anyone was in here-“

“Y/n.” Luther immediately shot up from where he had been sitting on the couch, “No, I’m glad you’re here.” Your quick steps to exit the room paused, “We should talk.” He cleared his throat.

You eyed him hesitantly, “About what?”

“I’m sorry for saying that you killed dad!” He blurted out, cheeks turning red as he spoke, “It’s- it’s just that I was so upset and I didn’t know what really happened so I was creating scenarios that I didn’t even want to come true and-“ He stopped himself and took a deep breath to calm down, “And I know that it’s not an excuse, but I’m still very sorry for saying that you would ever be capable of something like that.”

You stayed silent for a moment before slowly nodding your head, “It’s okay,” You said softly, “I forgive you.”

“Really?” He sighed in relief, “Good, because I was scared for a moment there because I was acting like such an ass and-“

“Luther.” You tried to push away the small smile that threatened to grace your face, “I already said it’s fine, just leave it.”

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

“We’re like outcast buddies!”

You looked over at Klaus with a raised eyebrow at his words.

The two of you sat on the stools near the bar in your living room, sipping on some concoction of alcohol that was no doubt older than both of you combined and would have given your father a heart attack at seeing if he was still alive.

“I’m pretty sure all of our siblings are outcasts.” You reminded him.

He sat there, pondering your words for a moment before signing and swirling his straw in his drink, “No, no, I suppose you’re right.” He frowned a little bit and slumped his shoulders slightly.

“Do you… want to be outcast buddies?” You asked hesitantly, eyeing your brother.

Immediately, he perked up with a large grin, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” He shrieked, “We can start a club! We can print t-shirts! We can invite new members-“

You chuckled, sitting back and watching in amusement as your brother got excited over seemingly nothing.

At tea time, everybody agrees

“Thanks for the food, mom, it looks delicious.” You said sincerely.

The woman smiled softly and reached over to cup your cheek, and you immediately leaned further into the touch. Because she wasn’t actually human, she could touch you without consequence. And though you knew it wasn’t the same as if another person touched you, you still took what you could get because it was all that you would get, even if it wasn’t real.

“Of course, sweetie.” She answered with that wide, kind smile of hers gently removing her hand after a moment and leaning down to place a ghost kiss on your forehead, making your eyelids flutter shut.

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

“It’s really weird to look at, isn’t it?” Five asked, walking up and standing beside you, gazing up at the wall.

It was a portrait of you and all your siblings, before Fives disappearance and Ben’s death, hanging in some random of the many hallways of the home.

“It is.” You agreed with a sigh, eyes taking it all in.

The way Five was the only one standing even remotely close to you in the painting didn’t escape your attention. Nor did the way everyone but him seemed to have their bodies angled away from you just slightly.

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away and you cleared your throat, “Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we never had these powers?” You asked suddenly.

It had been a thought that had been eating away at you since you were at least seven, never having been voiced out loud by you.

“I try not to dwell on it,” Your brother admitted, “‘Cause there’s nothing we can do to change it.”

Despite his words, you allowed yourself, just for a moment, to picture what it would be like. To be able to hug people and shake hands without them having to worry for their life. To not be the scariest, most deadly person in any room you stood in.

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

All around you, walls were crumbling down and falling every which way. Each small piece of flying debris threatening to hit you.

Not so gracefully, you stumbled through the shaking building, blindly grasping onto the walls for support as you watched in horror as the house came apart all around you for reasons unknown to you.

“Y/n!” You whipped around at the sound of Luther, Allison, and Diego each calling your name and you began sprinting in their direction at the opposite end of the hall.

They each took a large step back when you neared though, causing you to pause, despite the fact that you needed to push on so that you didn’t get hit.

“What is it? What’s happening to-“ You began asking anxiously

“What did you do?” Luther’s words and tone of horror made the rest of your sentence die in your throat.

“How could you do something like this?” Allison whispered, and despite all the chaos, you somehow were still able to hear her. Her eyes shone with betrayal.

“What?” Your eyebrows furrowed, “What are you talking about?”

“Dad always said that you only reached the tip of the iceberg with your powers.” Diego was glaring at you coldly in a way that made even your heart freeze, “But I never thought you could be capable of something like this.”

“What-“

“Your powers are to destroy.” Luther hissed venomously, “You can kill everything around you, so why can’t you demolish everything in your path as well with just the touch of your bare fingers?”

Your lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, much like the walls around you, “I would never- I can’t even-“

“I can't believe we trusted you.” Allison shook her head and slowly began backing away once more, “We’ll never make that mistake again.”

The other two trailed after her once they threw more harsh glares your way, not even caring as you sank down to your knees in shock, oblivious to the house that was still caving in on itself all around you.

You had nothing to do with this, you had no idea what was happening. How could they think that you did? After everything, all the progress you all made?

Your suspicions that you had first stepped into this house what felt like years ago- when it had only, in reality, been days- were true.

Your siblings truly did hate you.

The Hargreeves 🦹- @lovanitu @your-local-questioning-agender @jvdethirlwall @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @mukbee @i-writes-things @kiyomi-uchiha777

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Chapter 8: Miserere Mei

Previous Chapter: Chapter 7 - Exodus

Summary: You wake up back in Hawkins with a broken spirit and find an unexpected ally in the place you least expected to find it.

Word Count: 11.7k (that's a fun number)

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Original Character (Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Van Helsing Inspired, Kas!Eddie, Religious Themes, Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Fate vs. Free Will, Death and Injury, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Discussion of the Upside Down, Fluff, Supernatural Encounters, Grief, Major Character Death, Gore, Body Horror, Angst, Disturbing Imagery, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Note: OK YALL SERIOUSLY. THIS CHAPTER IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART AND I NEED YOU TO LOOK AT THE BOLDED WARNINGS HERE BECAUSE JESUS ITS NOT GONNA BE PRETTY.

MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH ESPECIALLY

Ahem. Thanks @pastel-pillows for doing those few little beta reads. Lub you.

This series will not be for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“You look as if you thought it tainted you to be loved by me. You cannot avoid it.” - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South

November 6, 1983

One minute he was there. Holding you, surrounding you, soothing all of your worries. He tried to assuage the fear that had overcome you at the sight of him so broken, but he couldn’t seem to understand it himself.

And the next, he was gone.

You were left in the dark unsettling void alone again.

Until Eddie started screaming. Sobbing.

It was a viciously painful sound that cut deep into the very core of you. Suddenly all the fear and meekness that had overtaken you in the comfort of his presence—the permission you were given to be vulnerable—disappeared, and you were thrown back into the role you'd played for years.

It was almost a relief. Almost.

He required your strength, and you’d always known what it meant to be strong in the face of desperation.

But when you went to Eddie to try and fix him, fix whatever had hurt him, the sight you found was even more horrific than you expected.

He was huddled on the ground, cradling Wayne's broken body as it sputtered on blood and choked for air. Well, they were both broken actually, just in different ways.

The grief was overwhelming; you couldn't tell where yours ended and his began but that was probably because they were one in the same. You almost wanted to let it overtake you. The grief. The guilt.

You hadn't been there. How had you not realized? Had you been so busy cleaving together the fractured pieces of him that you’d neglected—

It was Wayne that stopped those insidious thoughts from getting the best of you.

Even in death, he was holding it all together for you. For Eddie. You didn't even need to cast your consciousness outwards to feel him; he was doing a brilliant job all on his own to convey just how calm he was in this moment.

You felt all of Wayne Munson and aside from the obvious pain that emanated from him, you felt other, very human things. Fear, sadness, serenity. You almost laughed at how foreign they were here--they tickled you--but Wayne’s humanity had never been a question.

Fear, but not for himself. For Eddie. Because he wouldn't be there; what would become of the boy now?

Sadness that he couldn't help anymore, that he would leave his son alone to this fate.

Then serenity. Because it was all serene in the end wasn't it? Given the circumstances, he'd been waiting for this day for a while. He survived for so long because of Eddie, and he'd seen enough to know that Eddie would be fine.

You cast a sense of reassurance towards them both; yes, Eddie would be fine. Between the two of you, he would be taken care of.

You swore Wayne's gasping lips quirked and the corners of his eyes crinkled. Then the serene feeling spread through his limbs, and it happened.

His life force started seeping out of him--his soul--hazy and distorted, like the air on a hot day. It glowed a brilliance that was unknown to the naked eye but easily detectable to someone like you. Something like you. So much of it was Wayne himself, and then there…you could see it...a little bit of Rick, an old man named Benny, other friends he had throughout the years. There were little bits of you, both as you were then and as she was now. And then Eddie. Less than you'd gotten used to but more than anyone else would ever hope to have. Wayne was family after all.

Seeing those last bits of the two of you...something deep inside of you wanted to close the distance and grab them covetously. But they belonged to Wayne. You knew if you tried, they would disappear in your grasp like smoke.

But they were precious commodities and for them to fade away would be devastating. Rather than let them go, you wondered if you could--

"What are you doing just standing there?!" Eddie growled at you, broke you from your thoughts. His tone was sharp, cutting, like broken glass. Understandable, given the circumstances. You shushed him softly and he simply whimpered and turned his head back to Wayne. "I need to fix him. Please."

You watched as he laid his uncle out on the ground and concentrated. His hands, his claws, undeniably gentle as they ran over the wounds and willed them closed again. Just like you'd done to him, just like she'd taught him to do.

Wayne was different from the Brides or Billy. They had been empty and Eddie had to fill them back up again in order to resurrect them. He had grasped what remnants he could piece together from the writhing mass of other in the Upside Down, and when he couldn't get enough, he'd simply shorn a part of himself--a part of you--off to shove into them.

You watched in awe as the brilliant haze seeped back into Wayne's body. As life was slowly restored.

Only for something to snap, something to break, and the wounds tear open again.

Eddie roared, bloody tears and spit spraying over Wayne's form, as despair overcame him. His body bent over Wayne and grasped the torn and blood-saturated flannel of his shirt; his wings stretched into the sky and then folded over the two of them. Protecting them.

"Please help," he wept. "Help us."

You tried to take a few steps, get as close as you could, arm outstretched so you could run a hand along his back. You could offer your strength to him, and yes you could try to heal Wayne; it would be easy. Easier than it had been with Eddie; you didn't have Vecna to contend with now.

But something pinched at the back of you. It held you back. You thought you could feel it, looming above you, and it caused goosebumps to erupt along your skin.

You thought you knew that feeling. The room. The eyes.

You tried to fight the fear that gripped you, shake away the claws that grabbed for you. You should have been able to free yourself and close the distance, free Wayne, free Eddie.

You had the strength; she'd given it to you.

It would be easy...wouldn't it?

Instead, the pinch released and a hand rested on your shoulder, and you turned to glance at the source.

October 28, 1987

Breathe in.

Everything hurt.

Breathe out.

Like...everything hurt.

Well, actually no, your legs felt numb and you'd lost feeling in your arm where it was tucked under your head. Although, numbness was a kind of pain wasn't it.

Numbness. Emptiness. They were your new friends.

The world slowly came to you, piece by piece at first, and then rammed into you like a truck.

Feeling, smells, sounds.

The squishiness of a cushion below you, the tightness of something wrapped around your chest and torso, the smell of coffee and pancakes, and the sounds of...people singing?

"You sad pathetic man, see where you've brought us to. Our ideals die around us, all because of you."

You squeezed your eyes shut--tensor tympani roaring in your ears at the strain--and then you slowly opened them.

You groaned at the brightness first, the sun filtering in through the Harrington's gauzy curtains, and then your eyes rested on the television. At the two men circling each other singing verses back and forth like an argument.

You glanced around to ascertain your whereabouts; track lights overhead, the lightwood entertainment system, shelves full of books and VHS tapes and records, plush carpet.

The cushions by your feet shifted and you turned your head to find Mary Victoria sitting at the end of the sofa, bowl of popcorn on her lap, attention glued to the TV.

"Everytime I look at you I don't understand. Why you let the things you did get so out of hand."

Your heart practically stopped in your chest.

"You'd have managed better if you'd had it planned." The singer began to vocalize a melodic scream of despair and anger, and then the electric guitar punctuated the whole argument.

"What the fuck," you rasped, and Mare jumped beside you with a soft oh shit. "What the fuck are you watching?"

You winced at the sharp dryness of your throat and then gagged at a musty, metallic taste in your mouth. Mare scrambled around you; the popcorn bowl was set on the coffee table, a button pressed on the remote, and then a straw placed against your lips.

You were grateful for the cool water to soothe your throat and wash away the taste of convalescence from your mouth; you were not grateful for the weary eyes of one Mr. Jesus Christ Superstar frozen on screen, staring sanctimoniously right into yours.

When you finally had your fill of water and Mare pulled the straw and cup away, you shut your eyes again and sighed.

"Little on the nose, don't you think?" you asked.

"What? The Jesus thing?" she snorted. "Steve's mom liked musicals, I guess. They had the tape. I couldn't help myself; I've never seen it before. It's frowned upon."

You tried to turn onto your back and winced at the pain that wracked your body and the prickly numbness of your arm; you grit your teeth together and tried to wiggle some feeling in your hand, all the while groaning, "I fucking hate you sometimes."

"Uh, no," Mare shook her head. "You love me, actually, because I've been taking care of you for the last 48 hours round the clock."

"Thanks.”

"You know what was really super duper fun," her tone got sharper. "Was opening the door the other morning, ready to go on a patrol of town, only to find your barely breathing body on the doorstep with a fucking feral cat sitting on top of you that wouldn't let us near you without hissing."

You froze.

Then it all came back to you.

The Upside Down, your escape, Lover's Lake, Lucy, the Brides.

Eddie.

Wayne.

You reacted instinctively, shooting upright, ready to go and save the older man, but your body was quick to put an end to that plan.

There was a sharp eruption of pain in your hip, and all your muscles seized; you suddenly lost your breath and went crashing back down onto the sofa again with a yelp.

"Are you kidding me?" Mare screeched and she moved to your side immediately. Her fingers plucked at the edges of your clothes and she continued tutting, all while you insisted you had to go, the sound of both your voices garbled as your ears rang throughout the pain.

“IneedtogoIneedtosavewayneeddieIneedtohelpthem”

"Weonlyjustgotthebleedingtostopnottoolongagowhathefuck."

"I'm fine," you gasped. "I need to go. I'll be fine."

"The hell you will."

And she was right.

This was indeed Hell.

Hell was the soreness of your body as she shut down any more of your protests and helped you to your feet and walked you to the bathroom down the hall.

Hell was the shock of seeing yourself in the mirror, all thought of the others gone as the damage was revealed; your clothes were ripped and soiled, and you were bandaged and still sticky with dried blood. That person staring back at you was strange and unknown, but she had your face, your body, and your shame.

Hell was the distinct feeling of emptiness inside of you, even worse that it had been in the Upside Down. You almost felt like vomiting at the feeling of it and at the cloying phantom of death that followed you as you stepped from the sink to the toilet, and then back again.

It lagged behind you, arms held out as though it would catch you should you fall and deliver you to the devil with a vicious expedience. It was that feeling that let you know you were still alive, because if it hadn't been there, you would have been sure that you were dead.

Was this what your father had felt in those days, those minutes, before he succumbed to whatever had killed him? A distinct awareness of how alive he was, and then how easily it could slip away from him?

You gripped the edge of the sink tightly, until your fingers went numb, and bared your teeth at your reflection.

You had to stop living in the past, that's what got you into this mess in the first place. Now you had to focus on the present, on the future. How else were you going to fix this...fix everything?

But it was going to be hard to save everyone else when you knew that you couldn't even save yourself.

You were grateful when Mary Victoria knocked on the door.

She led you back to the sofa and scolded you, then eventually doted on you. Pillows fluffed, water refilled, breakfast --though cold--served. She even cut up the pancakes into little bite-sized pieces for you.

"I can do it myself mom," you sassed and shooed her hands away to grab the knife and fork yourself. "It's not like I'm in a full body cast or something."

"Hey what if your hand slips and you cut a finger off."

"With a butter knife?"

You stared at her expectantly and shoved a bit of syrupy pancake and sausage into your mouth.

You tried not to gag; despite the enticing smell, it dissolved into sand on your tongue.

"It's not even like I can punch you in the arm or anything," Mare sighed and rolled her eyes, then reached across and rested a hand lightly on your shoulder, her thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. "You're too hurt for retaliation."

"I missed you too," you smiled tensely.

It could've been the food, or Mary Victoria herself, but slowly but surely you began to feel invigorated.

You knew it wasn't much, just enough to pull you away from the precipice of death, and for that you were grateful.

"So this is how the life of a knight is," Mare stated, pity heavy in her voice. "Go on to save the world and end up on the brink of death. Because we're two for two when it comes to that. Me with the lighting and now you with..." she gestured at you in a non-committal fashion. "...everything...everything else."

"I don't think martyrdom is exactly on the job application but it's listed under 'other responsibilities as assigned by your supervisor," you deadpanned and speared another bite on your fork.

"Did Eddie do this to you?" You froze and refused to look up at her. "Did he?"

Had he done this to you? No, he didn't. Not really.

So it should've been an easy thing to answer.

Instead you muttered "next question" and forced yourself to choke down another bite of food.

"Why aren't you healing?"

You did look up at her this time, blinking blithely with the inability to answer once again.

"No seriously," she continued. "I know I asked you not to heal me when I got struck by lightning but I also know that you did something to help me anyways. You said you could heal, so why aren't you healed yet."

You debated telling her the truth; shit, aside from Wayne and Eddie...no one knew what was happening to you. You barely knew. You could only guess that you were dying, even though your gut instincts--and, honestly, the current state of you--told you that you were probably right.

And Mary Victoria might've been your friend but she was still a nun; you didn't know how well she would react to you telling her you were now suffering the first in a series of divine punishments that would lead to eternal damnation.

You didn't know how she might react if you told her you lost your powers for breaking your oath to God by consorting with a creature of darkness. And fucking him and letting him feed off you. Even if that creature was your boyfriend and the love of your life.

Maybe Mare was right to think that the lightning struck her because she called God an asshole. You'd been doing it all your life and now look at you.

So what was a sinner like you to do but sin more?

"The Upside Down was draining me," you lied.

"What?!" she exclaimed.

Well, it wasn't all a lie. Maybe a half-truth. Or a quarter. Or less.

You explained what you had been feeling, how you had been feeling, in those days in the Upside Down with Eddie, and that the only time you felt better was when you were back in Hawkins.

You dove into as much detail as you could without spilling all the beans; you couldn't help how many of them spilled on their own though. Especially when you got to your escape--framed as less of an jailbreak and more of a casual departure--and Cerberus's diversion, the Brides and vampires attacking, and finally Wayne and Lucy's appearance.

Mare, of course, had her questions and got progressively more confused and frustrated as you went on:

"I thought Kas...Eddie controlled the Brides?"

"Who's Cerberus? And who's Lucy?"

"Wait, did I miss something? You're here. Eddie's still in the Upside Down. What happened to Wayne?"

You heard the crunch again as that final question fell from her lips; together they intermingled and echoed inside of your skull.

What happened to Wayne? crunch What happened to Wayne? crunch

"I don't know," you finally whispered a choking, croaking response.

"What do you mean you don't know?" she exclaimed and got to her feet to begin pacing in outrage. "Did that dusty old coot seriously just leave you here with the fucking cat and mosey on back to Lover's Lake?"

"Mare--"

"Because I have a few choice words for him if he did. Are you fucking kidding me? Did he think he was absolved of responsibility just because he ferried you across town? His nephews fucking cronies did this to you, and he's living it up on shitty beer and frozen lasagna."

"He isn't."

"And how do you know?" she turned to you, the picture of righteous impatience with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows sky-high.

"Because..." you licked your lips and took a breath to steel yourself.

If you said it, it would be true, but it was already true wasn’t it? If days had passed here, weeks had passed there and if Wayne hadn’t died immediately, he was either dead now or suffering some unending nightmare. Or he was healed and fine and just a prisoner of Eddie and the Upside Down, like you had been. And you didn’t know which of those things was worse.

"Because he's...he might be dead."

She didn't get a chance to respond, because the door opened and Robin's chipper "we're back" echoed through the house.

Mary Victoria's head snapped up towards the hallway, and you did your best to crane your neck, only to see Dustin, Robin, and Steve make their way into the living area of the house.

"You're awake!" Dustin brightened immediately when he saw you. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm sure she's feeling like sh--" Robin tousled his hair, but her words were cut short.

"She's fine," Mare snapped, and then her eyes darted down to you, and back to the others. "We've got bigger fish to fry."

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked.

"Yeah I thought we were gonna have sloppy joes for lunch," Dustin tried to joke and lighten the obvious tension.

"We need to rescue Wayne Munson," Mare announced.

"What?" Dustin, Steve, and Robin spoke in tandem.

"What do you mean rescue Wayne Munson?" Robin asked. "Rescue him from what?"

"From the Upside Down," Mare said matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious answer.

"Oh, just the Upside Down,” Steve let out a sarcastic laugh and placed his hands firmly on his hips. “Miss Gutted Fish here wakes up from her coma and we’re supposed to go running into the Danger Zone because she says so?”

“She isn’t saying shit, I am,” Mare insisted, crossing the distance and getting in his face. “Something happened and Wayne’s in the Upside Down and hurt.” She looked back at you. “Maybe dead. So we need to go now if he’s gonna survive.”

You all watched as they shared a moment of silent communication, something innate that you didn’t have the care or the energy to decipher. But it was an awe-inducing battle of wills on display for everyone to witness; Mary Victoria, the unstoppable force, versus Steve Harrington, the immovable object.

“Why isn’t Eddie helping him?” Dustin questioned and broke the tension. Steve snapped his fingers and pointed at the younger boy, as if to second that question.

“He can’t,” you tried to say, but Mare talked over you.

“I think there’s been a mutiny on the Bounty,” she explained. “And Captain Eddie isn’t in charge anymore. We might need to save him too.”

“You can’t!” You tried again.

"You just said Wayne might be dead," Mare snapped at you now, "and Eddie can't save him so it sounds like it's a rescue mission to help both of them to me."

"We're not rescuing anyone," Steve threw his hands up in the air and he turned his attention to you as well. "You know, I went along with all of these plans you've had before. They didn't sound too bad either. Your little vampire Kas hunting bit? I had some kind of hope that we could close the gates; that we could save our friends.

"I didn't even bat an eye when you were making your little treks into the Upside Down yourself, because you seemed to be making some sort of progress with Eddie...healing him or fixing him....I can't imagine what it was you were doing.

"But then you showed up dead on my doorstep." Steve spat at you. "Literally. I almost had to give you CPR."

"Do you want me to say thank you?" you asked numbly.

"This is not a joke!"

"I know it isn't."

"See, I don't think you do," he continued harshly and then pointed over at Mary Victoria. "Because I'm hearing two different stories here. We need to go to the Upside Down to save the Munsons. But no, it's impossible to save the Munsons. Which is it? Is this a trick?

"Have you been flayed? We didn't check hard enough to see if a slug crawled inside of your wounds; maybe Kas implanted you with something and is controlling your mind to lure us into a trap."

Steve reached out and poked at your bandaged wounds and even in your weakened, practically powerless state you could see what he saw, memories pushed into you. Images of a screaming Eleven, and a worm that wriggled under the skin of her leg, and a Billy under the control of the Mind Flayer.

If only it were that simple, you thought, as the others all shouted at Steve in shock.

But you knew he had a point, knew that his anger--anger at this situation, anger at you--was warranted.

"We're not sending another person into that hellhole; we've lost enough loved ones and we're struggling to protect everyone that's left as it is," Steve spat at you, ignoring the others. "You're done playing hero. Done. As a matter of fact..."

You were blinded by the pain that radiated through your body as he hauled you to your feet; he continued to ignore the shouts of the others as he dragged you across the living room and down the hall. You stumbled and tripped, your legs stiff and barely functioning, as you struggled to keep up with him.

Keys jingled and a door opened, and suddenly you were pushed into a dark room. You fell to the ground with a pained oomph and curled in on yourself on instinct, seeking some sort of comfort or maybe even the embrace of death.

"I am going to protect my friends," Steve's strained voice called into the darkness over Mary Victoria's shouts of have-you-lost-your-damn-mind.

He slammed the door shut, cutting the room off from what little light spilled in from the hallway, but through the heavy wood you still heard, "Even if I have to protect them from you."

November 6, 1983

Somewhere between life and whatever this existence you now inhabited was, you'd come to expect the unexpected and slowly understand the inexplicable.

The mystery of faith and all that, isn't that what they said?

And you wore the slightest bit of smugness knowing that, although she had seen the world and lived, you would know more than she ever dreamed.

But this was something beyond.

You felt, but you could not see, the presence before you.

Well, actually you could, in a way.

He felt so familiar, with a hand on your shoulder, and a presence larger than life, just like he'd always been. However, to your eye, he was simply...light and goodness and softness. He was darkness and shadow and the rage of a summer storm.

He was ephemeral...just like...

"Help us," Eddie moaned again, pleaded, and the grip on you tightened.

"I have to go," you whispered. "They need me."

It tightened further, almost painfully, and pulled you closer until you fell into the strange form.

He was solid when he touched you. His hands gripped you tightly, lips caressing your forehead and then the shell of your ear, but when you tried to touch him and steady yourself, your hands went right through.

His words were unintelligible, but somehow you still understood. You didn't need to listen to the sounds; still, you heard. He poured a frantic plea right into the very core of you, wove a request and a warning together, and you couldn't help but agree.

When you looked back at Eddie, to make sure that he was still there and that Wayne was still alive, you could barely make out something else...something more...out of the corner of your eye.

And it felt like heaven.

You knew him. Of course you knew him. You were a part of him. It had just been a long time since you'd been together. Your edges didn't quite fit anymore. He'd lost himself, and so had you, but somehow you'd also gained more than you really knew what to do with anymore.

He pulled back and you could practically make out the begging look on a face that you couldn't see, and you didn't hesitate to nod in promise.

The world around you rumbled then, and he vanished, evaporating into thin air without a trace, as if he'd never been there in the first place.

And as the roiling, tumultuous sky above you rolled and woke to convey its displeasure, you ran.

Just like she had.

Away from Eddie, away from his snarling and begging and cursing; you hardened your heart to his desperate pleas and rage-filled threats that echoed after you.

Away from Wayne, who Eddie kept alive by sheer will alone. He would die here if you failed, and then what would become of him?

Away from the languid eyes that slowly creaked open and surveyed the waste; you knew they would hone in on Eddie and Wayne, but you couldn't do anything to shield them anymore.

Away from everything left of the people you loved to, hopefully, get the last chance you might ever have to save them.

Away from damnation...or possibly straight towards it.

October 29, 1987

Silence.

That's what waited for you in your cell.

A tense and unending silence.

Ok...you were being a little dramatic.

It was the garage, not a cell; Steve had tossed you into the garage like a bag of old trash to be dealt with later. So silence wasn't all that waited for you. There was also a lawnmower and dusty lawn chairs--one that you fell into after you caught your second wind--and the ever-present smell of motor oil.

There was also your cellmate, Billy Hargrove.

You'd honestly forgotten about him.

And where you might have usually felt a little bit bad about that, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Especially as he just sat there, equally as unbothered by your arrival or your presence as you had been by his.

He was no longer tied up like he had been when you first brought him to the Harringtons; now he sat against the wall with one hand cuffed to an exposed pipe.

Billy didn't move much, didn't talk, and didn't look at you. He just kept his head bowed as the thumb of his free hand rubbed along the seam of the dress pants he still wore.

So yeah, it was still a tense and unending silence for as long as they kept you in that garage.

Maybe you weren't so dramatic after all.

Time passed, the sun shifted in the sky and filtered in through the small windows at the top of the garage door, and then it set again and you and Billy truly sat in darkness.

Day then night, then day again and night again.

There were no visitors, no noise coming from inside the house. You’d at least thought you would hear Mary Victoria arguing with Steve. Something. But could you really bring yourself to care? She didn’t owe you anything and this was exactly what you deserved.

It was a trial run for hell, sans torture and screams.

Meals were brought and supervised by Claudia, who also escorted you to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself and she could clean and redress your wounds.

You felt nauseous as she muttered little prayers over the nasty slashes and cuts and bites, and you had to resist every single urge to lash out at her. What good would her prayers do? Would the blessings of a good woman like her help God feel some sort of mercy towards you? You didn’t want it.

But you resisted that dark urge in the end, and she led you back to the garage.

Tonight, with a rumble of thunder outside, she graciously flicked the light and explained that a storm was coming. Dustin always asked to sleep with the lights on; you shouldn’t have to sit in the darkness too.

Too late, lady.

You realized Billy was missing when you returned and you figured they’d taken him on his own bathroom break.

They always coincided with yours but he was always there when you left and when they brought you back.

With the unexpected time alone, your thoughts wandered.

How would you get yourself out of this mess? Did you even want to? Was Wayne alright? Was Eddie? Why hadn’t he sent the Brides to bring you back, if he’d been so desperate to get you to stay? Maybe he had and your friends here in Hawkins had done a good job of fighting them off? A better job than you had.

Maybe Eddie was too busy trying to care for Wayne to even give a shit about you? You cared more about Wayne than you cared about yourself or Eddie, at this point. Shit, why did you even care about Eddie at all when he had caused this, whether it has been on purpose or not?

Had he even been the one to cause it? Hadn’t it been your fault all along? Your headstrong nature, your savior complex, your mission to save yourself and go to heaven, your blind love for Eddie—even now as you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t care—they had all been your undoing, hadn’t they?

What would you do if you could turn back time? Would you make all the same choices again?

“Fuck didn’t I just say I needed to stop living in the past?” You sniffed as tears began to leak from your eyes. You reached up to wipe them away, only for your fingers to come back stained in blood. You scoffed at the sight. “Great. Just great.”

You mashed the heels of your palms into your eyes and took deep breaths to calm yourself and stop the tears from falling. You didn’t need another cryptic sign from God; you just needed…

You didn’t even know what you needed anymore. Silence. That would be the best. Just silence.

Of course, that was the last thing that you got, as the door into the house opened once again and Scott led Billy back to the corner he’d been sitting in. The handcuff clicked shut, and then with a scowl shot towards you, Scott was gone again.

Thankfully, he left the light on.

Or maybe not so thankfully.

Because with the garage illuminated, Billy finally found it in himself to look at you.

And oh, he looked. He stared unblinkingly as you sat there and tried to staunch the flow of your bloody tears.

He muttered something softly, soft enough that you could barely hear. And when you didn’t respond, he cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke up.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth,” he recited, voice gravelly.

At first, you were shocked, then you groaned and closed your eyes. Your thoughts turned, not to the Billy before you that had been resurrected by Eddie…by Kas, but the Billy that you’d met back in ‘84. An empty, cold, douchebag.

“That’s the last thing I expected you to say,” you scoffed and then let your head fall to the side so you could look at him tiredly.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” he paused contemplatively and then continued. “I think that line is my favorite.”

An unexpected choice from him.

But what did you know about Billy Hargrove except what little you’d scraped from him and Max, and what Eddie had told you back in ‘84.

Dark, dangerous, beast. Empty.

“Is Mary Victoria conducting Bible study in her spare time or something?” You asked sarcastically to change the mood.

Billy’s brow furrowed and he pursed his lips before he responded, “she tells me stories sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes; of course she did.

“There are better Bible stories than the sermon on the mount,” you argued but then shook your head at how ridiculous this was. “But I guess she is a nun. Devoted to the salvation of all. What else did she tell you about?”

“Frankenstein.”

Another unexpected response.

“Alright Mare,” you straightened in your seat and nodded in approval. “So not just the bible. I’m impressed.”

But you wouldn’t put it past your sexually-repressed friend to remember a story about putting a perfect man together.

“She lets me tell her stories too.”

“What kind?”

“About things I remember,” Billy explained. “My life…in California. The water, the diner, my mother…Max. Harrington still won’t let me see her.”

He yanked his restrained hand forward weakly, then it dropped to the floor again.

“I just want to apologize,” he whispered, only audible due to the otherwise intense quiet in the garage. “To her. To Lucas too. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called Children of God. Mary said that’s her favorite.”

“You have a crush on Mare or something?”

“No,” he immediately shook his head. “No I…”

He stopped himself and his brow furrowed again, concentration evident on his features. Like he was chasing something.

You watched and waited for him to find whatever thought it was he was looking for, but time passed and it seemed impossible.

Billy was empty though, a shell with the echo of a man’s soul inside. That’s what you had seen when you chased Eddie…chased Kas through his mind. Billy might never find what he thought he knew and it was unfair of you to make him suffer through it, even if you were uncaring of anyone’s suffering but your own at that moment.

You might’ve been an asshole, but you weren’t cruel.

“I have a favorite beatitude too,” you broke the silence and pulled Billy from his thoughts. “I’ll give you…I don’t know. I’ll give you a dollar or something if you can guess which one it is.”

There was a flash in his blue eyes then, and they got brighter and livelier as he straightened. Initially, you dismissed it as some sense of competitive spirit that had overtaken him.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,” he recited stiffly. “For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

You clapped weakly and congratulated him on his guess.

“It’s Nonna’s favorite too,” he continued, and you stopped clapping, your hands frozen in mid-air.

Billy’s expression changed then, softened. He held his hands out—or tried to, the restrained wrist caused the handcuff to clatter against the pipe—and apologized.

At first you were confused, angry. Your initial thought was that he had pulled some sort of memory from you when you’d been in his head; it wouldn’t have been hard.

But then you realized that it wasn’t Billy you were talking to anymore.

And all of the feelings that had been suppressed by the overwhelming sense of failure bubbled to the surface.

“Eddie,” you croaked. “You son of a bitch.”

You would’ve lunged out of your chair and across the garage to grab him and shake him, but a sharp pain lanced through your heart and you sunk back into your seat.

“No, stop,” Billy shook his head frantically. “I had to talk to you. Please.”

“You’re gonna talk to me alright,” you said through gritted teeth. “Y-you’re gonna tell me…why you did all this. Why did you let this happen when you could’ve just let me go?"

He just blinked at you and said, "you look terrible."

"No thanks to you," you spat at him and then you took a breath to try and control the pain. “Is Wayne…” you couldn’t finish the question.

“He’s dying.”

You felt a bitter relief; he wasn't dead...but surely time wasn't on his side. Or yours.

“Then heal him.”

“I can’t.”

"Yes you can, I showed you how."

"No."

"Then let him die and resurrect him like you did to the others, I don't care. You figured it out on your own then; you can figure it out now."

"He needs you." Billy leaned forward, words suddenly desperate as he tugged on the handcuff. Then said, low and barely audible. "They both do."

It was a record scratch moment.

Both?

You stared at Billy, eyes darting between his as you tried to figure out what he...Eddie...

But it wasn't Eddie in there, was it? No, when Eddie had controlled Billy there was something so...well, it was so Eddie when you thought back wasn't it? Even though you'd convinced yourself at that time that he was Kas.

Who was it then?

"You have to come back," Billy pleaded. "You're the only person who can save them. Just like you saved me."

"Saved...you?" you questioned.

You couldn't help it this time, curiosity beat out the pain and the strain on your body; you heaved yourself to your feet and ventured across the garage. You knelt before Billy and looked into his eyes.

"Who are you? P...Patrick? Is that you in there?"

You knew as soon as the words fell from your lips that it couldn't be Patrick. It didn't feel like him, not from what little you had pulled of him. But it wasn't Billy--whoever this was had presence and substance, not the great void that he seemed to be stretched across--and it was definitely not Eddie either.

No, whoever this was felt familiar. They felt warm but not in a way that they themselves emanated that warmth; it was the warmth you left behind when you got out of bed on a cold morning, your residual body heat still there right under the blankets. It called out to you, urging you back in, and you--hurt and hollow--what you wouldn't do to sink back into it.

You'd only ever felt like that with one other person in your life, ready to lean into their being with all of yours.

But if it wasn't Eddie...who was it?

You watched Billy's mouth open and close rapidly, his brow furrowed again, as he searched for an answer that he couldn't seem to grasp.

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered frantically. "I don't understand it half the time...and I didn't realize why until I saw you for myself the first time. I thought I was the only one...I don't..."

He continued to ramble, the frazzled energy coming from whoever resided inside of him infectious, and you felt the residual anxiety begin to seep into you like it belonged in your body instead of Billy's.

Then it happened.

You didn't quite realize it at first, as you reached up to fiddle with the pendant of your necklace.

It had been an old habit when you still had your crucifix, to run your fingers along the delicate flowers when you were nervous. When you'd left Hawkins and took up the Oath of the Holy Order, you'd put on your father's necklace, proudly sporting the seal, but the habit continued. Now, you'd run the pendant back and forth along the chain when you felt the anxiety bubble up.

It was a tell that you'd tried hard to break, so you wouldn't give away your emotions when you were under the scrutiny of an adversary. Still, your body sought comfort in the repetition in times of worry or doubt.

Times such as the moment you found yourself in now.

As your fingers grazed the metal of your necklace, you watched as Billy reached his free hand up to his own neck. His fingers faltered at the hollow of his throat as they brushed bare skin instead of whatever was expected to be there.

You watched as he curled his fingers inwards, clenching them into a fist, as he was unable to mirror your actions.

And it hit you.

A mirror.

You gasped and your eyes darted up to meet his.

His pupils were wide, just like they'd been the last time someone had been inside of his body.

The last time you had been inside of his body.

When you'd forced your way in and given chase to Kas...Eddie...only to unexpectedly find yourself in the labyrinth of the void.

How was that possible? How was this possible?

But you knew how. Didn’t you?

You’d seen the strings. You’d told Mary Victoria. You knew; you always knew.

You and Billy blinked in tandem, and then slowly and simultaneously reached out towards each other.

As your fingertips touched his, you felt a spark of something surge into you, filling up the broken emptiness in the most acute but satisfying way.

You let out a broken wail and tears built in your eyes again as you felt like you could breathe properly for the first time since you woke up back in Hawkins the day prior. Maybe for the first time since you realized the Upside Down was slowly draining you, since you realized God was punishing you for breaking your Oath.

Your body acted on some greedy, desperate instinct, and you tangled your fingers with Billy's hoping to feel more of that spark, feel more of that energy pour into you. You chased it, needed it, begged for it.

Nothing else came through, though; that spark was all that you would get.

"More," you pleaded, tears leaking from your eyes and down your cheeks.

"I can't," Billy whispered.

She whispered.

You whispered.

You closed your eyes, and clasped your other hand around his and squeezed, then you languished in the invigorating feeling of that light inside of you.

Not whole, but still more than you had in the past few days.

And somewhere down in the depths of whatever pit had formed during your time in the Upside Down, it mingled with another spark of light. One that had brought you comfort so many times before.

At the motel, in the graveyard, in a thousand places where you thought you'd meet your end but never did.

You could feel him smile deep within you, that silly crooked smile he gave you the first time he asked if you liked cheese fries.

"Do you understand now?" Billy asked softly, and you nodded silently, not quite ready to return to reality yet. "You had to leave, had to, but now you have to go back. Wayne. Eddie. They need you. We need you."

"Why can't you do it?" you asked after a tense beat.

"I've helped him so many times."

"Help him one more time?"

“There’s only so much I can do before he stops listening to me. He’s stubborn. You know that.”

Billy snorted a dry laugh, just like you would, and it wasn't lost on you that this put a whole new meaning to talking to yourself.

"Besides, I don't exactly have a body."

"What do you call this one?"

"It's not mine to keep." He leveled you with a serious, pleading look. "Wayne will die if we don't go."

There was another beat of silence as you thought about everything that waited outside of the garage. Shit, you thought about everything inside of the garage too. About you and your powers--or lack thereof--and of the tall task that awaited you back in the waste of the Upside Down.

Save Wayne. Save Eddie. Save Hawkins. Save yourself.

Or die trying.

The last one seemed more likely the longer you thought about it.

Billy squeezed your hand.

"I'll be right there with you," he muttered. "For as long as I can."

There was something unspoken there, some kind of danger, some kind of warning. That at some point in this challenge, you might be alone to face the dangers once again.

Wasn’t that always the way though? You’d only had yourself to rely on for most of your life and in some twisted way you might not even be able to rely on yourself.

But with another squeeze of your hand, something new bloomed inside of your chest between the warm glowing light and the deep dark pit. It was something that had been lacking since you’d begun to lose your powers—maybe something you’d lacked forever.

No, that wasn’t right. You’d had it before, but it had always been born of others. Nonna, Mary Victoria, Dustin, Eddie…hell, even your father.

This time it came from you and you alone.

Hope.

"Alright," you croaked and cracked a determined smile. "I'll try."

Existing in the real world again was strange.

Overwhelming.

Having a body was the first challenge.

It had been so long since you had one, and Billy's body was so different than your own had been. So much stronger--especially after what the Upside Down had done to him--vast and complex.

When you'd done this before--pushed your way into Eddie's body to shield his mind and spare him from Vecna's torture--there hadn't been much walking or talking, had there? Just the will not to break from the painful invasion.

And screaming.

You'd guided Eddie through this though, through the control of another's body and mind, so many times. With the Brides, then with Billy. It had been second nature to you then, so it must be second nature now.

Helping him had always been second nature, though. Loving him.

You had always been there when he needed you; even when he didn't want you there, you became the loathsome lurker who pulled the strings just beyond sight, puppeting the puppetmaster.

To suddenly abandon him to help her...help yourself...felt wrong.

But in the end it was all for him, wasn't it? To help him? To save him? You were a part of him, so to do this, it must have been right.

The escape from the garage was the next tedious obstacle.

The handcuffs didn't dare give, no matter how much the two of you tried to get them off: jamming a screwdriver into the little lock, yanking on the chain, wiggling a too-big hand through the cuff itself.

"You can try and melt the metal?" she suggested. "I can't but...maybe you could."

You tried to summon a holy flame, tried to remember the way you had burned through the tunnels that night long ago--the way you had? She had? You both had?--or reach out and feel the heat at the center of the earth.

But it was lost to you.

"What good am I?" you wondered aloud, defeated.

All of your failures came to the forefront of your mind then, and you couldn't help but feel the overwhelming sense of self-loathing. You couldn't save Eddie from Vecna, couldn't shield him from the horrors he enacted himself; even in this stronger state, you couldn't seem to do anything.

You felt rage stir within the walls of the abyss you currently inhabited.

Not your own rage; Billy's.

You felt your control of him slip the slightest bit as his body reacted of its own volition to the familiar stimulus of anger and frustration, and your resolve crumbled further. You felt him shake, felt the world tilt; suddenly, you couldn't see through his eyes, and you tried to shout for help, only to wince as Billy's strained shout deafened you.

There was a bang, and everything stilled, and then you were in control again. Not only in control, but you were free. Through Billy's eyes you saw the pipe had been cracked in two, and you were able to thread the other cuff over the sharp, severed copper edge.

"Ok, that's one way to do it," she huffed a laugh, and you mirrored her on instinct. When was the last time you had laughed? It had been with him; that was his laugh coming through her. You knew it. "Do you want to punch the door open too?"

The flimsy garage door was easy to negotiate though; a quick pull of a string and up the track it went.

Conversation, believe it or not, was the next obstacle you faced.

She was determined to walk to the gate and cross through herself, even though there were cars in the driveway.

"It's not far," she insisted, even though she was already struggling to catch her breath. "They'll hear the car start."

And she talked the whole time you walked.

Eddie hadn't been the most talkative during your eternity with him in the Upside Down. He growled at you, you taunted him. You guided him, he ignored you. It was enough.

So much of your bond was intrinsic and unspoken.

But she couldn't read your mind, so she asked questions.

Read your mind? Read her own mind? Could you read your own mind? It was a headache to try and figure out. In fact, she said those exact words to you, so maybe you were on more of a similar wavelength than either of you realized.

"Do you...remember things?" she asked.

"Remember what?" you questioned in return.

"Well when did you..." she trailed off and gestured vaguely between you. "When did we..."

And you tried to remember, tried to convey how and when...whatever happened, happened...to both of you...to all of you...but it wasn't straightforward and you meandered through the explanation without really explaining anything at all.

The mysteries of the universe. The mysteries of life. The meanings of life.

"Now I know how people feel when I give them a bullshit answer," she sighed.

"Do you do that a lot?" It was your turn to ask.

She had the good sense to look a little bashful.

"I don't...know much about you," you told her honestly. "We...you and I stopped...and then...Eddie and I started. And he and you...started. On separate paths."

Words and explanations. They were hard. Confusing.

"But we found a way back towards each other," you concluded.

"Guess fate is real then, huh?"

"Bullshit," the two of you swore in tandem and you laughed together.

For nearly an hour, you continued along the dark suburban streets towards the nearest gate as lightning flashed with the passing storm. The rain had stopped but the ground was still wet and it proved challenging to navigate with your clumsy control of Billy's body and the ever-present weakness in hers. You paused as often she needed, and helped her along with an arm around her waist or sometimes even a hand held in hers to keep that spark you shared alight.

Helping her along--helping yourself--felt good. It felt real.

But as she muttered and cursed under her breath about the fucking Upside Down and God and corruption and punishment, you couldn't help but feel some sort of guilt. How could you tell her that your strength came at the expense of her weakness?

How could you tell her that it had been you all along?

That it had been Eddie, whether he realized it or not?

And speaking of Eddie...

The final hurdle you had to cross in order to save the love of your life...was the love of your life.

Lightning flashed overhead and the world around you shook with thunder.

No, not with thunder.

With a roar of outrage.

It ripped through the barren labyrinth of Billy's mind and you felt your control slip through your fingers. You tried to hold onto it for as long as you could--hold onto her for as long as you could--but fear, shock, and despair were powerful weapons and you weren't immune to their effects.

"Where are you?" Eddie wailed through the halls like a vengeful phantom, calling your name desperately. "You thought you could run from me? Hide from me?"

You felt his presence pull at the corners of your being like a magnet; the instinct to go to him and soothe his distress was almost too great, and you knew he knew that. You knew he was betting on it.

"Oh no you don't," you murmured to yourself, to Eddie. "This is for you; I'm doing this for you."

You pushed Billy onward and hauled her along with you. If you could make it a few more blocks, just to the gate, she could cross through and it would all be ok.

Wayne would be saved and you could all figure this out together.

Outside of Billy's body, she must have felt you falter, and you realized that she was holding Billy up more than you were holding her now. Her voice seemed distant as she asked what was wrong and you ignored her to try and push forward.

You prayed for the strength to keep going...but when had prayer ever been on your side?

His claws speared through you and ripped you away.

The world shifted and tilted as you were pulled back through the void, back into Hell, and into the grasp of the devil himself.

Eddie's appearance was jarring, monstrous, wild. The wings, the teeth, the bloody tears running down his cheeks, his sclera red and pupils blown wide in an endless dark abyss.

"Why would you run?" he growled but his lip quivered with emotion. Sadness and anger radiated from him in waves, and you choked on it. "Everyone runs from me. Everyone leaves."

You rested your hands atop his, fingers stroking over talons to try and soothe him, like you always did.

Like you were meant to.

"She left too," he said through gritted teeth. "And Wayne...I...why..."

But the turmoil in him only grew.

You could see what he saw; feel what he felt. The vestiges of Wayne's immortal soul in some repetitive limbo as Eddie failed to heal his uncle but couldn't let him pass through into death either.

"You have to let him go," you said softly, words coming easier to you now. You tried to conjure some kind of image for him; a heaven that waited for Wayne if only Eddie could let him go.

"I can't."

"Let him find peace."

"I can't!" He growled again and clutched you tightly, painfully. "I can't let him go, I need him. I need you. I need...I need..."

And you watched in horror as his focus on you wavered, and he stared through you, a new and terrible idea forming.

The idea--going and taking her and bringing her here--wasn't even the terrible part. It was the method in which he planned to do so.

Moreover, the beast that seemed to facilitate it.

Because although your hands grasped him to give him comfort, other hands began to emerge from around him. One taloned hand on his shoulder, another on his waist, another on his leg. They climbed up his body, piercing his skin, poisoning his mind.

She left you, they left you, they ran. They left you behind. They left you here.

You knew these words, you fought these words before; Vecna's words to try and get him to give up his soul, give up his life.

"Eddie, look at me," you pleaded. "She'll come back. She's already on her way. And she'll help save Wayne."

But he wouldn't listen.

You're alone; bring her back. Keep her here. Keep them all here and you'll never be alone again.

"Eddie no!" you snapped and tried to grip him as hard as you could to get him to stay.

But it was too late.

He vanished, evaporated like dust beneath your touch. The disembodied hands and words vanished too and retreated, up and up and up into the cursed red sky filled with swirling clouds and sharp, dastardly lightning.

And in those clouds you found two eyes staring down at you, with crinkles in the corners of them, as though they taunted you.

I win.

You nearly fell as Billy dropped to his knees, your strength giving with the sheer dead weight of him.

He gasped and then began to sob, gut wrenching sobs from deep down within him.

"Where am I?" he asked and looked up at you, the presence within him gone and his own consciousness snapped back into place. "What happened?"

"Billy," you knelt down to try and help him, soothe him. "It's ok, it'll all be ok. We're just out for a walk."

"No!" He shrank away from your touch as though it burned him. "No...they keep putting me places, they keep locking me up. Why? Why?"

Why, indeed.

Your mind was flooded with questions as you watched him curl in on himself and cry.

Why was the real Billy suddenly back? Why had you lost control of him? Where did you go? Did that mean something happened in the Upside Down? Did something happen to Eddie? To Wayne? That you were needed there instead of here?

Did that mean that you were running out of time? Was it too late?

You looked around and tried to think, tried to pinpoint exactly where you were. Lover's Lake shouldn't have been very far away, if you could just muster up enough strength to get there, you could get to the Upside Down and...and then what?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You screamed into the sky and it responded with a flash of lightning. "FUCK!"

The strain that walk had put on you was no joke; you'd never be able to make it there on your own. You'd barely been able to make it as far as you had with Billy's help. Your legs felt like jelly, your lungs ached.

You were so close! So close but so far!

Was this what it was like to be human? Was this what it was like to be normal? Without the power of heaven coursing through you to keep you going?

How had they done it? All of the prophets and all of the disciples? You thought about Moses crossing the desert and...and Jesus crossing the desert...and...shit, a lot of people crossed the desert didn't they? That was a little bit unoriginal.

But they had god on their side, they had hope. So you had to cling to that little bit of hope you still had.

"Fuck," you groaned one more time, rolled your head back, and closed your eyes.

You mustered what strength you could and reached out.

It didn't mean much now. You felt nothing. Not the sky above or the earth below; not the wind rustling through the trees, or the thoughts and feelings of all those souls that surrounded you. You were weary and numb and permanently trapped in an intensely mortal body that was swiftly on its way towards death.

Death.

It was older than anything except for God, wasn't it?

Maybe even older.

Death was a promise. It came for everyone and everything. It had traveled beside you--beside everyone--and by the time you'd reach the end, its presence would be welcome no matter what waited for you on the other side of the veil.

Heaven. Hell. Nothingness. Void. Maybe even a new life and a new death.

It was all true. Or none of it was.

But Death was an old friend, and when you cast yourself into the void that surrounded you and formed inside you, you asked Death to show itself.

Can you show me where Wayne Munson is?

There was no answer.

Can you show me where Eddie is?

There was a warm wink in the void.

The rest of him.

Lightning flashed behind your eyelids and thunder rumbled, then a light drizzle began to fall. You gritted your teeth and dug deep until you felt...something before you...a dark presence...a shadow...

Can you show me something?

"Angel," a voice croaked below you and something grabbed your ankle.

You jumped in shock and opened your eyes, expecting...well you didn't know what you expected, but nothing wasn't it. Nothing, as in, nothing different. Just you and Billy Hargrove, who was knelt on the ground before you, his hand outstretched to touch your calf.

"Are you an angel?" he whispered.

"Unfortunately not."

"That's what he calls you," he continued. "Eddie. He calls you his angel."

"Well I'm not."

"Mary Victoria told me stories about angels. She said that they take you to heaven if you're good."

"Those are just stories," you told him, spite heavy in your voice.

"Or they send you to hell if you're bad."

"Those are just stories, Billy," you spat. "Angels don't do anything. Angels are useless. They're tricksters, they're--"

Lightning flashed nearby and the sound was deafening and you gritted your teeth--bared your teeth--silently daring Gabriel to just show himself so you could give him a piece of your mind.

Billy's hand gripped you tightly and then he let you go and clasped his hands together, begging.

"I'm good," he sobbed. "I'm good. I'm seeking forgiveness, I'm trying to be better but...the others don't believe me."

"Billy," you sighed, but he cut you off.

"I don't want to be damned to hell!"

You groaned.

God damn it Mare, could you be less of a fucking Nun? Scar this shell of a man with the threat of eternal damnation.

"The devil...that's who keeps pushing me out of my mind and taking control," he clutched at his head now. "He tries to tell me to do bad things."

"Billy, it's fine."

"I tried to control it and I couldn't," he cried. "They keep taking me away when I just want to go home; why won't they let me go home."

Back and forth you went--he with his hysterical raving and you trying to calm him as best you could in the middle of a road, in the middle of the rain as the storm got stronger--and you considered the possibility that all the times his body had been controlled had really fucked him up for good.

"He's in there now," he whimpered. "He's clawing his way in, I can feel him."

First vomiting dirt, and now this. God, maybe if you just put him out of his misery he wouldn't have to suffer anymore.

"Eddie! Stop! PLEASE!" Billy shouted.

Bright lights! Then a screech!

BANG!

You jumped at the arrival of a familiar car, wincing a door slammed shut. Several car doors.

You backed away from Billy, almost shielding him behind you as the headlights beamed, as Steve, Dustin, Nancy, and Mary Victoria appeared, weapons in hand.

"There you are!" Steve shouted from several yards away. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"How did you get out of the garage?" Mary Victoria rounded the other side of the car and pushed past Steve to get to you.

You fell against her as soon as she got her arms around you, the strain on your body finally getting the best of you.

"What are you guys doing here?" you asked.

"What do you mean? You stage a jailbreak and you don't expect us to try and find you?" Nancy scoffed.

"Nance, leave her alone!" Dustin defended.

They surrounded you and started asking you questions, Mary Victoria and Dustin checking to make sure you were alright, apologizing for even putting you in the garage in the first place.

"We need to get out of here; the demogorgons hunt at night."

"No, we need answers; what made you leave?"

"Why do you think they left, idiot?"

It was a flurry of voices and thunder and movement around you and all you could focus on was...

"Now that you guys are here," you interrupted them all. "We need to go, there's not much time."

"What?!" Nancy and Steve exclaimed in tandem.

"Not much time for what?"

"To save Wayne Munson," you said matter-of-factly.

"Save Wayne Munson?" Steve snorted and placed his hands on his hips. "I thought you weren't putting ideas in Mare's head."

"I wasn't--"

"She wasn't, you ass," Mare snapped at him.

"--but we need to go. I need to go," you insisted. "Just me. Just get me to Lover's Lake and I'll go alone."

"Fat chance."

"Have you seen yourself?" Nancy's tone got softer now as she looked at you, really looked at you. "You don't look like you should be anywhere, let alone going into the Upside Down."

"I need to go," you tried again.

"No," Steve grabbed your arm and pulled you away from Mary Victoria. He yanked you forward, just as he had the day before. "The only place you need to go is back home, back to the garage, and you need to stay put this time."

"Don't be such a fucking dick--"

"Oh real mature Dustin."

"--dictator, Steve."

"I'll think about it," Steve spat and rounded back towards the car, tugging you along and muttering under his breath all the while.

"Let her go Harrington," came a low growl through the constant din of the rain.

All of your heads turned towards Billy, who stood hunched just a few yards away.

He stood there, stock still--not even breathing--and stared at you and Steve from beneath hooded eyelids.

"Don't think about playing hero now Hargrove," Steve sighed at him. "Besides I don't have room for you in the car unless you wanna be hogtied to the hood, so let this be your get out of jail free card."

"Let her go," Billy growled again.

"What part of no don't you underst--"

Steve didn't get a chance to finish because Billy swiftly closed the distance, hand flying through the air at an impressive speed to try to claw--claw?--at him.

When he let you go to dodge the attack, you lost your balance, tripped, and fell to the ground. You smacked your head against the asphalt and became dazed.

Chaos broke out between Billy and your friends. For every burst of energy he seemed to have, there was an equally long period of sluggishness where he seemed to move in slow motion, and that gave the others a chance to get their own hits in.

Mary Victoria wielded Robin's hockey stick, Nancy taking cheap shots with the butt of her shotgun, Dustin trying to slash at Billy's ankles with his spear.

He growled and spat and lashed out at them as they tried to subdue him, and every time he pushed them away or got free, he turned his sights on you.

Eyes shadowed, pupils blown...wait...

But then there was Steve with his fists.

To be fair, though, he did get a few good hits in: an elbow to Billy's stomach, a swift kick in the ass, and then a punch right across the cheekbone that sent spittle flying and Billy crashing to the ground.

But Steve hadn't been there to witness what you had.

He hadn't witnessed the manner of your escape, or Billy's return to his own body and the fearful breakdown that ensued.

He hadn't watched something unseen put the fear of God into Billy.

No, not the fear of God.

Fear of the Devil.

Fear of Eddie.

As he shouted and cried and clawed at his head, worried that He would force him to do evil deeds on His behalf.

So as you realized what and who had taken control over Billy, Steve--brave, foolish Steve--turned his back to his enemy and started back towards you.

"Alright let's get you h--"

He choked as a body slammed against his back and sent him careening forward then pulled him back, as one hand grabbed him by his hair and the other encircled his throat.

"She is mine," Billy hissed in Steve's ear as Steve tried to scratch at his hands to free himself. "So when I tell you to let her go..."

The hand around Steve's throat got tighter, and he let out a choking cry.

"...you let her go Harrington."

And you don't really know how you could've stopped it from happening even though the world seemingly moved too slow. Like an out of body experience, even though you were so acutely aware that you were in your own body. Trapped in your own body. Unable to do anything.

Maybe you had a concussion, but none of the others were able to stop it from happening either. You were all frozen.

Billy's nails grew long and sharp and he and Steve screamed in harmony as those talons cut through Billy's skin and through the flesh of Steve's throat.

Or maybe it happened too fast to stop instead, some holy or unholy speed that the forces beyond granted.

You couldn't tell for sure with the rain, but you thought you saw tears streaming from Billy's eyes as he gritted his teeth and sawed through layers of sinew and muscle and connective tissue. As he severed bones and crushed Steve's windpipe.

And all you could think of was Billy chanting "I'm good, I'm good" just minutes before.

Or maybe...just maybe...it was Fate that said Steve Harrington had to die.

A fountain of blood rained from Steve's neck, from his head--staining his polo and his jacket and his hands and his whole being--as it was so violently removed from his body.

Maybe he'd avoided death a hundred times before this and now his time had come.

And you swore his eyes got wider as his spine finally snapped in two, and they locked right onto you.

In a final plea for help.

Or simply to ensure you knew the blame resided solely on you.

But Steve shouldn't have died like that...

Steve's body fell away from Billy, who held the head aloft like a trophy, and landed on the road with a thud.

And you just stared, even as Mary Victoria let out a blood-curdling scream.

...and Eddie shouldn't have killed him.

“Oh mother I’m scared to die. Where, where do my good deeds lie?” - Phildel, Funeral Bell

Next Chapter: Deus in Absentia

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Hey, could you do a rottmnt boys with a dragon yokai S/O who's roughly 8' foot, really tough scales, and is a bit of an older sister/mom friend.

Thanks, I love everything you do ❤️💙💜🧡

Thank you for the kind words :)

I've already done 2012 Leo with a dragon Reader, check it out if you want!

Raph, Leo, Donnie and Mikey x dragon yokai Reader

Raph

★ Canonically Raph is six feet tall, so you are taller than him by two feet. The hight difference between the two of you makes him blush. He's not used to being around someone who is taller than him.

★ He's always had to be the responsible one in his family so giving someone to share that burden is a godsend. The first time you showed concern over him getting hurt he froze up because he didn't know what to do.

★ Don't even get me started on when you clean up after him. He feels really bad about making a mess but with his size it is unavoidable, it's something that you both know well.

★ I like the trope of dragons hoarding treasure but imagen your "treasure" being stuffed animals. Hear me out. Just think about him walking into your home expecting it to be full of treasure. Only to see a literal mountain of stuffies in front of him. He'd be smitten.

★ Mom friend head cannons! (Might have repeated some stuff)

Leo

★ Lord knows that this guy needs a mom friend to keep him in line. Remember the episode where he continuesly eats poison? When you found out you dragged him to his room by the tails of his mask and lectured him for about a hour.

★ He's a little scared of you, not gunna lie. Leo would never admit it though. If anyone in his family found out they all would start threatening to invite you over when he's back on his bullshit.

★ He pushes every button you have but it's worth it because he would give up anything for you. And you would do the same. The things you put up with in the name of love....

Donnie

★ At first he hated it when you motherd him. He doesn't need to be babied! Honestly he only hates it because it's a blow to his bad boy image. Later when you start to date he can't get enough, just as long as his family isn't in the room.

★ He has a bad boy image to maintain, so don't try to dote on him in public. If you do you will get a death glare because he can't bring himself to push you away.

★ Similar to 2012 Leo you gotta hide your mystical valuables from him. But unlike Leo's 2012 counterpart he doesn't want to give them back two there original owner. He wants to study any/all mystical items you have.

Mikey

★ Big lady! Please carry him when he doesn't want to get up. The only person who has been able to carry him in the past 5 years is Raphael. He does the grabby hands thing and everything to try and get you to pick him up.

★ The size difference between the two of you is great because you always end up being big spoon while cuddling. This includes making massive pillow forts in the lair to binge watch shows and have lazy days in.

★ He practices drawing dragons in a traditional Japanese art style (also known as ryu or tatsu). Your figure is really unique and it inspires him to draw more inhuman characters.

★ Although he loves it when you pick him up, it can be very scary when you fly high up with him. It takes him awhile to warm up to it, pretty funny considering his future self floats. (that's basically flying, right?)

[hibiscusangel15]

Entity Horror Movie Rec List: The Stranger

The Stranger is an entity that personally freaks me out. I already don’t like interacting with strangers if I can help it, and the idea of a creature completely stripping away all that you are and no one, not even those closest to you, being able to tell the difference is horrifying.

A lot of the movies on this list rightfully feature aliens, specifically those of the shape-shifting or infiltrating society variety, and loss of humanity.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

The original nightmare that threatened the world!

I didn’t put a specific year for this one because honestly both the 1956 and 1978 versions are great movies in their own rights. The ‘56 version is a bit cheesy by today’s standards, but honestly, the first time I saw it, I was freaked out by the concept for days after. It’s still pretty effective, in my opinion.

Both versions depict the fear of The Stranger the best of the movies on this list. The infused paranoia of the ‘78 version is near-perfect for it. Noticing something is wrong with the people around you, but not exactly knowing what is something The Stranger adores playing around with. That and clowns, I guess.

Fun fact: The ‘56 version was originally set to have a more miserable ending, but the studio forced the director to shove in some feel-good end instead. I think the more nihilistic ‘78 version revels in that opportunity instead. It also features a cameo by the main character of the original, so it’s almost a self-titled sequel, in a way.

The Thing (1982)

The ultimate in alien terror.

What is there to say about The Thing that hasn’t already been said? Its practical effects are disgusting, grotesque, and unlike anything that has come before (or since). My favorite John Carpenter movie bar-none. Everyone from Kurt Russel to Keith David to even the dog is so good in this movie.

The main characters getting picked off by a bloodthirsty creature that can look like any one of them at any time makes this movie a paranoia-fueled, tense nightmare and I love it. They work through who among them (lol) might be an alien in really smart ways. It has quite a bit of body horror and nasty practical effects, but I would still recommend you watch this anyway.

Games like Among Us are heavily inspired by its premise (and I think InnerSloth credits this movie directly for inspiration). If you haven’t seen The Thing (1982) yet, I cannot recommend this movie enough. Just watch it.

IT

Listen, a movie rec list covering The Stranger wouldn’t be complete without some reference to clowns or the circus. What shape-shifting, fear-hungry clown suits this Entity better than Pennywise? If you say the Killer Klowns from Outer Space, I stg...

Obvious references to Tumblr’s obsession with 2017′s Pennywise aside, both iterations of Stephen King’s IT are fun in different ways. Tim Curry’s 1990 mini-series Pennywise is a lot goofier while still being off-putting while Bill Skarsgard’s Pennywise leans more towards being sinister.

Both operate like a creature of The Stranger, in that they lure in their victims with something seemingly innocent and familiar before flipping it into something unfamiliar and wrong. Literally the definition of stranger danger.

To be honest (and I think most people agree), the kids’ half of the story is way more fun than the adult stuff. It: Chapter Two’s cast is fantastic, but it doesn’t totally save the latter half of the story being a bit laughable compared to what their kid versions faced. Probably because (spoilers) they literally bully Pennywise to death. Like how can you not find that fucking hilarious what the fuck.

(Spoilers over) Obligatory clown/circus-related movie lol. They’re both set in different time periods, which reflect different kinds of fears of the time. The 1990 version is set in the 1950s/1970s and the 2017 version is set in the 1980s/2010s. I think both are worth a watch, though you can watch whichever you feel like and you’ll get pretty much the same experience.

They Live (1988)

If I had a nickel for every time John Carpenter made a movie in the 80s about aliens disguising themselves as human, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.

All jokes aside, They Live is a horror-comedy that definitely leans more into the comedy and social commentary than horror. Whether you find the alien designs horrifying is more personal preference (I find them kinda goofy), but what they set out to accomplish is still pretty relevant today.

Even the regular humans in this movie fail to trust each other or are immediately shut down when they try. It also has one of the LONGEST fight scenes I’ve ever seen in my life (it’s kinda hilarious how long it goes on tbh). Definitely recommend if you need something light to start off with.

Under the Skin (2013)

“You don't want to wake up, do you?”

I will admit, Under the Skin is an artsy film that will not be to everyone’s tastes, but I think it’s accessible enough for those new to horror to try out, too. It definitely requires subtitles if you have trouble understanding thick accents, though.

Under the Skin is about an alien disguised as a human woman luring unsuspecting men to her domain. What ends up happening to them is something I don’t want to spoil. The imagery is so haunting and surreal that it’s hard for me to describe, anyway.

I also think it’s an interesting look into what an alien (or in TMA, any Entity-born creature) might do if it wanted to look beyond its purpose and join humanity. Think Agnes Montague if she was an Avatar of The Stranger instead of The Desolation, I suppose. It’s as tragic as it is unsettling.

END

That’s it for The Stranger! Most of these are classics that most people have seen, but I still feel like these are very fitting.

If you guys want a Part 2, I could definitely delve into movies that dive more into Uncanny Valley territory. I want these rec lists to be more a crash course into horror rather than digging deep into the weirder stuff I’ve seen (just yet).

More Entity rec lists:

The Eye

[s10127470]

Introducing.....The Avengers!

Hey there folks!

I'm back again to introduce you all to another upcoming work of mines.

This one is called: The Avengers.

If the name didn't already give it away, it's gonna be based on The Avengers.

The series will serve as a modern reimagining of the team.

Which doesn't like much. But there would be two elements of the series that would really help it stand out.

Firstly, this series would bring the team back to their comic book roots.

I know that sounds a little strange, but remember, the Marvel Cinematic Universe REALLY changed these guys. So much so that most people think of The Avengers as movie characters rather than comic book characters.

And secondly, The Avengers here will be quite young.

Like, in their 20s.

That was because a major inspiration for this series was "The Batman", which focused on Bruce Wayne as a younger, slightly less experienced Batman, whose only been at the vigilante gig for about three years when the series begins.

I always thought that was a pretty cool thing to do, and I always wanted to see that done with other heroes.

Now that we got the basics our of way, let's talk about The Avengers themselves.

For this series, the starting roster will be taking some inspiration from the new Ultimates run, as it would feature both the original founding members of the team and few more additions.

As for who we have…..

Iron Man and War Machine:

Starting off the roster, we the have the invincible armored Avenger himself.

In terms of his characterization here, Tony Stark is going back to how he was portrayed before the MCU.

And before Civil War destroyed his character altogether……

Witty, charismatic, humble, and always looking towards the future.

As you would expect from Tony Stark, he’s the CEO of the renowned Stark Industries.

And since we’re going back to the characters’ comic book roots, Tony is now back to having an actual supporting cast.

He’s got his secretary Pepper Potts, his head of security Bethany Cabe, his personal bodyguard and chauffeur Happy Hogan, and the most shocking of all, his butler and longtime friend Edwin Jarvis.

Another thing to note about this Tony is that he’s back to having Iron Man be a secret identity and using him under the cover of being his other bodyguard and close friend.

As for his backstory, this would be pulled right from Iron Man: Armored Adventures.

Five years prior to the present, Tony and his parents Howard and Maria Stark (who he actually had a good relationship with in this universe, plus they’re his ACTUAL PARENTS) were going on vacation for his 21st birthday.

Yeah. Tony is gonna be 26 in this series.

Unfortunately, their private jet malfunctioned and crashed.

This resulted in the deaths of Howard and Maria.

Tony luckily survived, but he ended up with a shrapnel deep in his chest.

This resulted in him getting his iconic Arc Reactor in order to prevent the shrapnel from reaching his heart and killing him.

And if all this wasn’t bad enough, Tony would soon find out that ownership of Stark Industries would be going to their longtime business partner Obadiah Stane.

And for the cherry on top of this shit sundae, Stark Industries would start manufacturing weapons and selling them off to ACTUAL TERRORISTS.

As you would expect, Tony couldn't stand to see his family’s legacy being absolutely tarnished and tainted by all this.

Luckily, Tony would stumble upon blueprints for a suit of high-tech armor that his father was creating as a birthday gift for him.

And so, with his genius-level intellect, Tony was able to finish the suit.

And this, Iron Man was born!

With his armor, Tony started destroying the weapons manufactured by Stane and stopped the terrorists using them.

Overtime, Tony would eventually uncover two things.

Proof that Stane was the one who sabotage the private jet.

A deed that declared that Tony would be the rightful owner of Stark Industries in the case of the deaths of Howard and Maria.

And so, with this newfound info, Tony was able to expose Stane for the bastard he really was, got him sent to jail, and officially took his rightful place as the CEO of Stark Industries.

However, despite achieving this goal, Tony decided to stay as Iron Man because he liked helping people.

Shortly after getting Stark Industries back, he would bring aboard his childhood best friend and the other hero of this section, James Rhodes, or Rhodey as everyone else usually calls him.

Characterization-wise, Rhodey is loyal, courageous and a man of pure honor.

He and Tony have been pals since elementary school.

After graduating high school, Rhodey would go on to join The United States Air Force, where he would eventually become a skilled pilot.

After separating from The Air Force at age 23 (he's currently 26 as well), he would return home to Manhattan.

Upon his return, Tony offered him a job as an aviator engineer for Stark Industries, which he accepted.

After about a year of working, Tony would share his secret to Rhodey about being Iron Man.

It was a shock for sure but he took it really well.

And he was proud to hear that Tony was using it to help those in need.

After hearing this, Tony thought it was time he needed a partner.

So he created a new suit of armor just for Rhodey.

And thus, War Machine was born!

In terms of what their suits can do.

Both grant it's her users superhuman strength, incredible resilience, and the ability to fly at superhuman speeds.

The Iron Man suit utilizes energy as it's main mode of defense.

It attacks with repulsor rays, lasers, pulse bolts, the unibeam (a special beam that can be shot from the chest), and a massive proton cannon.

The War Machine utilizes actual weaponry.

It attacks with a gatling gun, a bazooka, a rocket launcher, a grenade launcher, and heat seeking missiles.

As for the duo's physical appearances.

Tony has slightly tanned skin, a slim build, blue eyes, long black hair with his frontal bangs from Earth's Mightiest Heroes, and a van dyke beard.

Rhodey has dark skin, a lean and athletic build, brown eyes, dark brown lips, and curly black hair in a crew cut style.

Both of them stand at the same height out of the armor: 6'1.

But in their respective armors.

6'4 (Tony) and 6'7 (Rhodey).

Also, Tony will be half German-American (on his father's side) and Mexican-American (on his mother's side).

As for Rhodey, he would be Cameroonian-American.

And finally for the looks of their suits....

Tony's would have the look of his EMH armor but with the gloves and boots of his classic armor.

And Rhodey's would be the Model 5 version.

Thor and Sif:

Next we have the mighty Asgardian duo!

One thing we need to establish right off the bat is what Thor and Sif are gonna be.

Both of them (as well as the other Asgardians) are going to be legitimately, honest-to-god, mythical beings.

I know these seems weird to really emphasize, but Marvel media has had problems of just not knowing what The Asgardians are.

The comics are definitely the worst in this regard.

For decades, they considered The Asgardians to be mythical in nature.

But come the 2000s, they've been trying to retcon them into essentially being aliens who were made into gods by humanity......

Who also just so happens to use magic and have connection to mystical forces.....

Anyway, as for the origins of the two, it's drastically different from most iterations of the characters.

As many of you, unbeknownst to most of humanity, exist the legendary Nine Realms.

And the most notable of them all was Asgard, the home of The Asgardians.

The Asgardians themselves were essentially demi-gods, possessing physicality far greater than any human.

But the most powerful of them were The Gods.

They possessed far greater physicality than any of the other Asgardians, along with special powers and abilities.

And Thor and Sif were among this group.

The Asgardians were renowned for being powerful, brave and honorable warriors.

And over the centuries, they would start interacting with and helping out humanity.

So much so that they would start to get worshipped by them.

Most notably the seafaring warriors known as the vikings

Unfortunately, this also made them a primary target for some of the most dangerous forces in The Nine Realms.

This really came to fruition during the 970s A.D. with the event that would change The Nine Realms forever.....

Ragnarok.

This event saw The Asgardians going to war against the combined forces of Surtur and the fire giants of Muspelheim, Thrym and the frost and rock giants of Jotunheim, and giant wolf Fenrir.

Those forces were renowned and feared across The Nine Realms for being some of the few beings that could rival and even surpass The Gods in raw power.

The end result of this was incredibly bittersweet.

The Asgardians manage to win and drive off the evil forces, but it came with a hefty price.

Asgard was destroyed and many of their own lose their lives in the battle.

And among those lost lives were The Gods.

However, all wasn't lost.

It was foretold that in a thousand years, The Gods would rise again.

In the year 1999, two particular individuals were born.

Donald Blake in England and Ericka Velez in Spain.

The two lived fairly normal lives.

After graduating high school, Donald and Ericka left their home countries to attend Empire State University in New York City.

Donald was going there to study medicine, while Ericka was going there to study agriculture.

When the two first met each other, it was love at first sight.

And over the first months, they would spend a lot of time together, getting to know each other.

But during their time together, the two had this lingering thought in their minds.

Their relationship felt somewhat.....familiar.

So in this universe, The Asgardian Gods were reincarnated into humans.

Thus, Donald Blake is Thor's new form rather than a persona created by Odin.

And in their previous lives, Thor and Sif (just like in some parts of the comics and in the Norse myths) were lovers.

After getting fatally wounded during Ragnarok, the two made a vow that even in death, their love would continue to live on. And when they would finally be reincarnated.....someway.....somehow.....they would be together again.

But everything changed when during their senior year, the campus was attacked by an army of rock giants.

As everyone flee for their lives, Donald and Ericka stayed back to make sure their fellow college students got away safely.

Unfortunately, they ended up getting struck by the giants, being fatally wounded in the process.

While clinging to what little life they have left, Donald Ericka confess their love for each other and weakly share a kiss.

But as they're doing so, a thunderstorm suddenly appears above them.

And soon enough, the two are struck by a bolt of lightning.

Suddenly, the couple find themselves as true identities: Thor and Sif.

With their newfound power, the couple manage to fight off the rock giants.

Once the rock giants were gone, the couple returned to their normal forms, which were miraculously healed from their fatal injuries.

Along with that, the memories of their previous lives came back to them.

However, they were each left with a weak leg.

Luckily, they were magically given wooden canes to walk around with.

And these canes would serve as the source of their power.

With a single tap on the ground with their canes together, a bolt of lightning would come from above and strike them both, transforming into their godly forms.

Today, both at the age of 26, Donald works as a physician and Ericka runs her own health food restaurant.

But when there's danger around, they always answer the call as Thor and Sif!

Characterization-wise, it's a classic case of opposites attract.

Donald is quiet, laid-back and rather serious, whereas Ericka is loud, boisterous and kinda goofy.

But when they go into their god forms, their personalities are completely switched.

But don't worry, Thor here won't end up like how he did the MCU, where he was more or less reduced to a total joke.

He knows when to take things seriously and he's still an incredibly capable warrior.

As for what they can each do.

Both Thor and Sif possess god-like strength, speed, agility, stamina and resilience.

Thor, with his legendary hammer Mjolnir, can fly, manipulate lightning and wind, and create powerful thunderstorms.

He's also the strongest of the two.

He can also charge his entire body with lightning in order to move faster.

Sif wields a enchanted viking sword and possesses the ability to control all plant life.

She can also manipulate the fertility of plants….and living organisms.

As for their physical appearances.

Donald has fair skin, a slim build, blue eyes, messy red hair, a beard, and stands at 5'10.

Thor has fair skin, a broad and muscular build, long blonde hair, blue eyes, and stands at 7'0.

Ericka has fair skin, an hourglass figure with an average build, blonde hair in a pixie cut style, blue eyes, pink lips, and stands at 5'8.

Sif has fair skin, an hourglass figure with a muscular build, long black hair, blue eyes, red lips, and stands at 6'6.

As for their outfits, they would be sporting their classic duds.

Ant-Man, The Wasp and Goliath:

Now we come to the black sheeps of The Avengers.

It’s pretty sad how despite being two of the five founding members of the team, Ant-Man and Wasp then to get left out in a lot of recent Avengers media.

And if they are included, it's usually Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne because "iT's GoT tO bE lIkE tHe McU"!

But in the series, the Ant-Man and Wasp here are gonna be none other than the originals: Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne.

And accompanying them is none other than Bill Foster, aka Goliath

Yes.....the same Bill Foster that got killed in Civil War by a robotic double of Thor built by Tony.

I still can't believe this is real.....

Anyway, their backstory goes back about four years ago.

At that time, Hank was a freshman at Empire State University, studying biochemistry.

There he would meet and befriend Bill, a sophomore who was also studying biochemistry and would also be his roommate.

Not a long after starting at ESU, Hank would eventually meet his future girlfriend and wife, Janet, who was a junior studying fashion.

Yeah.....one thing to note here is that in contrast to most iterations of the two, Hank is the younger one rather than Janet.

In the present day, he's 22 while she's 24.

And Bill is smack-dab in the middle at 23.

Anyway, the two would quickly become friends and soon enough, become a couple.

Not long after they started dating, Janet introduced Hank to her parents, one of which being the renowned Vernon Van Dyne, the at the time co-owner of D & L Research Enterprises.

During his freshman year, Hank would find instant popularity upon his discovery of a group of sub-atomic particles that gave anyone who used them the ability to alter their size at will, along with granting other physical attributes.

He would named them: Pym Particles.

Hank would officially see his start as Ant-Man right around Janet's 21st birthday.

Her birthday party was crashed by a bunch of robbers, who were holding everyone hostage and demanding all of the Van Dyne's wealth.

Luckily, when that occured, Hank was gone, putting the finishing touches on two inventions he had been working on recently.

When Hank returned to the party, he saw the hostage situation going on, much to his horror.

Luckily, he got the idea to save everyone with his latest inventions.

Those being a special belt that could eject the Pym Particles into one’s body and a helmet that could communicate with and mentally control ants.

And so, with his creations, Hank was able to defeat the robbers and became the superhero Ant-Man.

For the next year or so, Ant-Man was the talk of the town on campus.

With many people wondering who it could even be.

The only people who knew it was Hank were none other than Bill (who had known as the birthday party and would go on to join Hank as Goliath after using some of Pym Particles to stop a collapsing building) and Janet (who eventually found out after about a year into dating each other and joined Hank as Wasp in order to take down The Zodiac, a criminal organization who murdered her father for his research).

Today, Hank and Bill now run their very own biochemistry research complain you: Pym and Foster Laboratories.

And Janet runs her own fashion business: Van Dyne Design Studio.

In contrast to the prior entries, we’re gonna be looking at the outfits of our heroes first.

Hank, Janet and Bill’s outfits would be pulled directly from the designs of Eye-of-Ra-X, however, they would all be wearing visors like in bahy_ibrahim's designs.

Hank has them filling up the eye holes and mouth hole of his helmet.

Bill will have a full-face visor for his outfit.

And so will Janet, along with the same helmet you see in bahy_ibrahim's design, which is obviously a callback to her classic outfit from the 1960s.

The cool thing about their visors is that just like in bahy_ibrahim's designs, they would each have a distinctive colorful glow.

Hank: Red.

Janet: Yellow.

Bill: Blue.

Not only that, but the visors would actually be how they use the Pym Particles.

Which allows me to segway to their powers and abilities.

With the Pym Particles, Hank, Janet and Bill are all able to alter the size.

Being able to shrink to the size of an insect, or grow to the size of a building.

In addition to that, Pym Particles also grant its users enhanced strength, speed, agility, reflexes and endurance.

But there is a twist to this.

In this universe, the Pym Particles actually come in different colors.

And not only that, but these colored Particles specialize in enhancing different physical attributes the best.

The red Pym Particles gives its user the best agility.

The yellow gives its user the best speed.

And the blue gives its user the best strength.

As for the special abilities of each of the trio.

Hank can use his helmet to communicate with and control ants to do his bidding.

Janet has bio-synthetic wings that allow her to fly and thanks to some experimentation from Hank, can shoot blasts of bio-electric energy from her hands.

And Bill, also thanks to some experimentation from Hank, can expand any part of his body.

Kinda like this....

As for their personalities.

Hank is basically Flint Lockwood.

A goofy and eccentric but kind-hearted inventor with an active imagination.

Janet is what would expect from her.

Spunky, outgoing, bubbly, friendly, and sassy.

And Bill is essentially the straight man to both of them.

But don’t worry, he still has his goofy moments too.

As for their physical appearances.

Hank has fair skin, a lean and athletic build, shaggy blonde hair in a curtains style, a soul patch, blue eyes, and stands at 5’5.

Janet has tanned skin, an hourglass figure with an athletic build, brown hair in a bob-cut style, yellow and black lips, brown eyes, and stands at 5’10.

Bill has dark skin, a lean and athletic build, black hair in the form of an afro, dark brown lips, brown eyes, and stands at 6’2.

And finally for their backgrounds.

Hank is Italian-American (on his father's side) and Greek-American (on his mother's).

Janet is Dutch-American (father) and Thai-American (mother).

And Bill is Senegalese-American (mother) and Gabonese-American (father).

The Incredible Hulk and Rick Jones:

Finally, we've arrived at the two final members of The Avengers!

In contrast to his fellow Avengers, Bruce Banner's backstory isn't really much different from that of his comic book counterpart.

For as long as he can remember, life has just been handing him L after L.

From growing up in an abusive family, to being mercilessly bullied at school.

Even when he left for college, he was still always getting pushed around due to his short stature and meek nature.

After graduating college, Bruce went to work at a United States Defense Department nuclear research facility in Desert Base, New Mexico.

There he would meet renowned the Army general (and future opp) Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross, and his daughter, Army soldier Betty Ross, who Bruce would start a relationship with.

After about a year of working there, the United States Army were ready to develop the world's very first Gamma Bomb.

And if you know the Hulk's backstory in the comics, you know how this all plays out.

Fast-forward to present day, Bruce (now 25) is on the run with 15-year old orphan runway Rick Jones, from the forces of General Ross.

There two things to note about the characterization of Bruce here.

He already has control over The Hulk. Which I know sounds blasphemous, but hear me out. This isn't gonna be like a lot of modern media, which has Hulk being Bruce's primary form, only returning to being Bruce every once in a while. Here, Bruce is able to turn into Hulk and return back into himself at will. So with that being said, you may be wondering, what's gonna be Bruce's conflict? Well, the answer is pretty simple. Bruce feels that there's no place in this world for him to belong. Which he already felt for his entire life given that he's been, ya know, everyone's punching bag. But this only got worse when The Hulk was created.

One of Bruce's most defining traits will be his compassion and maturity. You would think that after spending most of his life being pushed around and abused, Bruce wouldn't even bother helping people. But no. He always goes out of his way to help those in danger, despite his reputation. Speaking of which. I forgot to mention this with the other heroes, but status-wise, they're pretty well-known and well-regarded among the public. But in the case of The Hulk......it's a little complicated. In this universe, Hulk is seen as an urban legend, with people not quite knowing what to make of him. Some believe he does exist and see him as a monster. While others just think he's a myth. Back on topic, you would also think that Bruce would use his newfound power to get revenge on those who wronged him. But no, he doesn't. Bruce knows that if he did, he would just end up stooping to the level of the scum who've abused him his entire life. Especially his parents.

Next we come to Rick Jones.

For as long as he can remember, Rick has always been on his own.

Orphaned at a young age after his parents died, he's spent years going from orphanage to orphanage.

Along getting in frequent trouble with law enforcement.

Largely because he was, for lack of a better term, a little shit.

But that all changed when Bruce saved him from the Gamma Bomb.

Rick became a more level-headed, understanding individual.

One of the elements of Bruce and Rick would be their friendship between each other.

These two really bonded over their shared feelings of loneliness and being social outcasts.

Plus, these two really care for each other and overall want what's best for the other.

Rick wants Bruce for finally find his place of belonging, while Bruce wants Rick to finally find a home and more importantly, an actual family.

As for what Hulk can do.

He possesses virtually unlimited physical strength, which only increases the angrier he gets.

That strength of his also allows him to leap to incredible heights and across far distances, run at incredible speeds, and produce powerful shockwaves by clapping his hands together.

He also has a regenerative healing factor as well, allowing him to heal from even the most fatal of injuries.

Also, the angrier Hulk gets, the more he starts emitting a gamma radiation glow.

This glow allows him to actually manipulate gamma energy, specifically through simple bursts.

As for their physical appearances.

Bruce has fair skin, a slim build, messy shaggy brown hair, a five-o'-clock shadow, brown eyes and stands at 5'2.

Hulk has green skin, an broad and extremely muscular build, messy long dark green hair, green eyes and stands at 8'10.

Rick has fair skin, a lean build, messy shaggy reddish-brown hair, brown eyes, and stands at 5'5.

As for their backgrounds.

Bruce is Scottish-American, while Rick is Welsh-American.

As for their outfits, Hulk would wearing the same outfit from the Marvel vs. Capcom series and Rick would be the same outfit done by lunamidnight1998 for their Avengers fan series.

Well that's all for now!

I hope you guys liked this promotion post! And I hope you guys are excited for this series as I am!

The series will premiere next month with a five-episode mini-series, which would establish our heroes and show them uniting for the first time.

And the main series will premiere in either January or February.

Also, one last thing.

My ideal art-style for this series would be done by Anicomicgeek.

I really like his style.

It would definitely work for an animated series.

And in addition to that, it feels pretty reminiscent to the art-style of EMH's art-style as well.

But anyway, I'll see you guys next time!

[queenie-official]

✨Behind the scenes ✨

‘Summer Love’ series masterlist

alright so i decided to release the behind the scenes early since i hardly got anything for the q&a event lol

so without further ado here are a bunch of cut dialogue concepts and how scenes were originally going to go✨ as well as some other cool things:

from part 1, breakfast reveal scene:

“honestly shocking the Directors didn't catch wind of anything." Well that's not good but it can't be that bad?

it very much was that bad. she not only lied about small things like her birthday, how many siblings she had and about her ethnicity. but she also lied and spread rumors around about several of the other girls at camp that were pretty damaging. one of the lesser rumors was about a girl she said was a slut who slept around with all of the guys on camp.“

this was originally how Jasmine’s backstory was supposed to go, i had based her off the guy my bestie fake dated (which is what inspired this whole fic i’ll go into details later)

and this was some of the stuff he did which was fucked up but not messed up enough for me lol i wanted Jasmine to be like as close to a real life villian as possible (hence the outing of a older camper)

from part 2, opening scene:

“you drop the act when you turn to close the door behind you smiling brightly at her and sharing one last laugh. Unfortunately for you the moment is soured when you physically bump into someone else.

"oh my gosh i'm so sorry i-" you cut yourself off when you look up and see who it is. you and padme were often so much in your own world that it was easy to forget there were three of you assigned to the cabin, said third member was giving you the death glare.

if looks could kill you were sure you'd be slaughtered on the ground right now. "sorry" you push out, even though you hated Jasmine it's not like you lost your manners. she doesn't say anything, just snarls and steps back slightly.

there's a silence before she finally says something "are you going to get out of the way or what" you swallow and step past her. she doesn't spare you another glance as she walks into the room. anger burns under your skin but you persevere, pushing it down and letting it fizzle out before continuing your original mission of showering for the day.”

i ended up scrapping this whole part of the scene, it just felt unnecessary to add in my mind; especially when i realized as much as i wanted jasmine to have a bigger role in the fic i didn’t want her to be a antagonist for the reader. at least not in the way this would of solidified her, after all i wanted this to be more fluff than angst lol.

from part 2, the favorite camper scene:

“Anakin scoffs at Ben's answer. "forget that, she's also the coolest camper there is. my first year with her in my group she helped me sneak a bunch of " he cuts himself off only because he spots Windu walking past you guys.

he clears his throat once Windu is far enough away. "we broke into the Kitchen after hours and stole a whole case of pudding cups. snuck them into our cabin and hid it. the Kitchen staff was so mad and confused the next day. Ahsoka and I played innocent and helped ourselves to as many pudding cups as we wanted till we ran out" Anakin snickered.”

this was going to be what Anakin had said to answer readers question about Ahsoka being his favorite camper, i scrapped it because it felt lame 😭 and also seem more like something between two campers rather than a camper and a counselor. which is why our poor curly blonde boy doesn’t get to speak at the end of the scene 👩‍🦯👩‍🦯

part 3, late night walking scene:

“"hey me and Ben live together too, we got an apartment just a few months ago" you hold your shoes and socks in your hand as you walk in the shallow water, a small content smile on your face.

"you know, when i was talking to Honey about you guys and she saw a photo of Ben; she found him super cute. even wanted to reach out to him but realized it'd probably be to weird"”

so as you can tell i had originally planned on Ani and Ben loving together like Honey and Reader do; i decided against it when i thought the parallels between the four of them would be too similar

also wanted to expose Honey’s interest in Ben sooner with the intentions of Ben going into meeting her knowing she liked him, but decided against it the end. which worked out since we got that cute scene i wrote with Ben being flustered meeting her 🤭

part 3, possible bonus end scene dialogue:

“"oh my anxiety ridden, true crime obsessed bestie, how i've missed you."”

welp it’s pretty obvious i didn’t get far with this one 😀 so initially i had planned on including a bonus scene where Reader and Honey finally reunite after reader gets home and this was going to be her greeting dialogue to Honey.

scrapped it in favor of the bonus scene with Honey meeting everyone✨

so i’m not sure if anyone picked these up but i did make a few references at the end of the series 😋😋 so ima point them out just so it gets the attention it deserves✨

so to start us off the first reference made is a hamilton one for us theater girlies 💪💪:

“whoever said in the eye of a hurricane there is quiet for just a moment was a liar- or you'd yet to reach that brief moment of respite.”

fun fact this wasn’t even the original reference, initially it had been a lot more direct. but it honestly felt out of place which is why i changed it- here’s the original, you’ll see what i mean

“mess as you move to lay on your stomach, opening your phone to text Honey. when Lin Manuel Miranda said in the eye of a hurricane there was quiet for just a moment he wasn't kidding”

out of place in the sense readers mind was very much not quiet yet 😭 sis was still going through it

anyway the next reference is a Julie and the phantoms reference 🤭:

“he holds his hand out and you feel your heart hammer in your chest as you take it without hesitation. and when he intertwines his fingers with yours you think you may just faint. this was different, not a sole around to see you two and yet here you both were.

"this is an interesting little relationship you and i have" he jokes and you can't help but giggle. he swings your hands beside you both as you guys walk. bright smiles that could outshine the sun on your faces. an interesting little relationship indeed.”

guess what, i’ve never seen Julie and the Phantom’s 😗 so why may you ask did i think to use this? easy it twasnt me 😌 it was Bestie @everydaydreamer

so everyone give a round of applause and thank yous for this scene to Ren 🥰

next up we have a harry potter reference (no i do not support JKR but i did grow up with the movies and have love for them im sorry 😭):

“one that you mutually had acknowledged last night without actually discussing it. "mooorning" Ben greets you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as you sit beside Anakin. taking a long dramatic sip of his water before sending you both a wink. Anakin wasn't paying much attention as usual.”

it felt to perfect not to include!! i can so see Ben doing this the same way George did to Ginny and Harry✨

and lastly, completely unintentionally might i add (thanks to my bestie @munsondjarin for pointing out this accidental parallel) we’ve got a ROTS reference💃:

“"you know when i was younger, my mom would take me and my stepbrother camping with Ben's family all the time." he shifted you in his hold as he extended his own roasting stick over the fire, carefully twisting it as he roasted his marshmallows. "and i still remember the first time i was finally allowed to roast my own marshmallows. i burnt them to a crisp"

"how'd you manage to do that?" you laugh and he smiles against the back of your head, continuing to twist the stick in his hand. you follow his lead twisting your own as he spoke again.

"well for starters i was like 9 and ornery." his voice was low, it rumbled in chest and against your back. "and i was so focused on trying to mess with Ben that i forgot i was even holding a marshmallow over the fire to begin with. the worse part was they all saw the marshmallow on fire and didn't say anything! not even my own mother" you bite back a laugh, poorly as he can very much tell you’re laughing at him.

"my first betrayal- she'd said it was the natural consequence for messing with Ben. she was right of course but i still got upset and threw a fit" you mumble a quiet 'bratty' under your breath and he gently pinches your side making you giggle.“

i think it’s safe to say we all know what specific scene this reminds us of 👀

*cough* *cough*

next i have just some fun details to share💋

when coming up with the campers for Naboo cabin i also came up with names for all three of the main cabins mentioned✨

i even pre assigned which counselor was assigned to each camper.

📖= reader ⛈️= Jasmine 👑= Padme 🩵= Ani 💙= Ben 🦖=Rex

unassigned campers were for the other two conselours in Rex’s cabin who never get named 😗

Next fun detail to share is actually some messages between me and my bestie that are cross referenced in the fic 😭

alright and i think that concludes this BTS post 🥳🥳

anyways i know i keep saying this but really thank you all for the love and support 🫶🏼🫶🏼 i’m glad you enjoyed Summer Love!! have a wonderful day huns Xx<3

series tag list: @anakinskwkler @anakinstwinklebunny @divineani @huayan @poppysrin @bxbyysstuff @dollhobigem @skywalkercinema @corio-letit-snow @avatarobsessedgirly @kelsxxyawn @7xss @throughparisallthroughrome @humongouscatfest @rhiannonhippiegirl @akixxrafiiy @ter-luer @w0rsh1psells @bulllsseye @anitaxl

in case you lovely’s wanted to see the BTS

[plumblossomcafe]

Halloween Special (1/?)

The day the emperor's daughter was born, he killed all the people in the Garnet palace she was born in. During the massacre, he recalled the name of his daughter, "Y/n," amused after the massacure, he left while saying, "Amusing. I wonder how long this thing can thrive in accordance to its name." After that, he never saw his daughter again, and even if she wasn't loved by her father she had others who loved her by her side, Streetword Rambler(Madame Ping) was one of them.

5 years later, the princess grew to be a timid, meek, and soft spoken but yet smart girl and was fully aware of the distance between her and her father but never knew why. That was until, one day, she overheard the maids talking about the story behind the palace of her birth. The palace was originally where the emperor's concubines lived, including her mother, and when she was born, her father killed everyone after her mother's death and spared her only. The princess was devastated at the thought that many innocent lives died because of her birth, even so she was grateful for being alive but was afraid of her encountering her father and deeply wished to avoid him, sadly that wish won't come true.

Hey guys, so even if Halloween is over tomorrow, I want to make this Halloween Special end until the end of November. This is an intro of the special, and you guys can let me know in the comments how you want this story's journey to go.

Edit: This is the change I want to make, I'm inspired by the Who Made a Princess manhwa, but I'm not copying it, I am taking some phrases, but I'm changing some things but I'm inspired by it.

Roles:

The archons= King/Queens, also known as emperor/ empress in the story

"Children" of the Archons: Prince/Princess

Adepti: Knights/Sorcerers

Tri-Comission/Liyue Qixing/Characters in high positions: Nobles that work closely to the imperial family.

Others: Merchants or other jobs

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 2: Operation

(Disclaimer: only three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about K.O. here. For more information about Caliban and R.D.—who are only mentioned, but still deserve some credit—go here and here. For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(There's a little something-something included at the end of this story; a sneak-peek for the events of Day 6 and Day 7. Originally, there were going to be three bonus snippets at the end of three specific stories, all leading up to a separate story as a Halloween Special. But I was on a time-crunch, and plans had to change. Just figured I'd give some extra context.)

(Trigger Warnings: blood/gore, disembowelment, knives/blades, descriptions of illegal business, implied violence, implied murder/death, mentions of cannibalism, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7

___

A slick, bubbling sigh crept up into the air as Murdock raked his dagger down the target’s chest. 

The crimson line left in his wake slowly grew wider and wider, oozing out to unveil the remaining layer of muscle tissue that stretched about the sternum. Having that stuff be touched by cool, relatively fresh air for the first (and last) time must’ve been something else. 

The edges of flesh seemed to pucker, almost resembling a frayed seam in clothing. 

Even if he typically didn’t do much harvesting himself, he’d still stuck around to chat and watch one of his many accomplices harvest from plenty of targets in the past. He still knew most of the basics.

Through the years, Murdock and Caliban had bonded over quite a few things—knives being one of them. Sure, the cannibal’s pun-addiction never failed to be infuriating, but he (and, by extension, his sister) was still a damn good colleague to have. 

Someone who was not only a reliable body-disposal resource, but also knew how to make collective millions on the Black Market, as well as help play some thrilling games with the mob’s targets?

That was someone who you’d have to be an absolute dumbass to not want in your corner for this type of business. 

And business was typically good when knives were involved. Yeah-yeah, other weapons had their merits, other weapons were more suited for certain situations, take your pick. 

(OR just finally own up and admit that blades are the best when it comes to dramatics. Not only because they make the work nice and messy, but they also require you to actually practice and learn so you can eviscerate the idiots who decided to talk behind your back with even more skill and flair than the average JoCat-inspired comeback.)

Knives were one of the things to have awoken his passion for mayhem years ago. 

Knives brought blood, and blood brought profit and suggestion and energy…

A soft, strangled groan seeped out through the target’s teeth. Murdock paused, turning his head to peer down at the other man’s eyes. 

It seemed that most of the lights were out—save for one that was still trying to flicker out of pure desperation—but someone was still home. He wouldn’t be for much longer, of course, if the lack of motion and the glaze in his eyes and the unnatural angle of his neck and the space between each shallow, wheezing, barely-audible breath was any indication. 

Murdock chewed his lip before shrugging to himself, returning his focus to the incision. 

It could be hard to apply the right amount of force (since people were infamous for being shockingly durable and shockingly fragile at the same damn time). But then, there was always a plethora of potential buyers wanting organs for a plethora of increasingly specific and increasingly fucked-up reasons. Even the ones with a little damage could still make money.

As Murdock set his blade off to the side and took hold of the sections he’d just sliced, pulling them even further apart and tearing a few strands of formerly internal tissue, he caught a metallic glint out of the corner of his eye. 

There, resting right above where he’d just started cutting, was a tiny pendant crafted in the shape of a butterfly. Squinting at it, Murdock realized that the charm’s bright yellow material looked oddly pure. Moreso than the brass of his own necklace. Not only that, but there was a total of four little gems adorned it, one attached to each wing, all cut in a Marquise style.

…Gold, a voice in his head hissed. GOLD.

The color, the way it shone in the light; there was no way this thing wasn’t genuine! Hell, if his guesstimate was right, then it had to be fourteen karats! Which, in turn, meant even at its size—just big enough to balance on his thumbnail—it would still be worth a little over five-hundred dollars. 

Even more than that if those stones were authentic diamonds and not just Swarvoski…

Sure, when it came to stuff outside a target’s body, a price like that wasn’t much compared to the prices of the stuff inside a target’s body. 

But that was just it: patrons of the Black Market were often there simply because they’d grown bored of normal luxuries (and true luxury never came without the suffering of others, did it?). 

If they weren’t looking for organs or skin or bones, then they’d be looking for trinkets that seemed casual at first, only to come with sinister stories. 

Such as, for example, a little jeweled trophy snatched away from the poor victim of a hitman while they lay dying a slow, painful death. 

Bloodstains could dress up the sale even more, but then, most of those elite customers got all pouty and extra annoying if they couldn’t flaunt what they bought. With that in mind, Murdock decided to put the butterfly charm off to the side until he was done with the harvesting. 

The thin chain snapped like a reed as he pulled, pinching the butterfly’s sides between his index-finger and thumb.

And then, all the jokes Caliban had made about butterfingers were ringing in his ears as the pendant was suddenly airborn…

___

Of all the things K.O. had imagined when he’d first been offered a place in The Pentas Family, petsitting was not one of them.

Not that this was really a problem, mind you—he’d gotten the other things he’d expected and then some. (A better fighting schedule, a much more profitable hidden-in-plain-sight arena, opponents to beat to a pulp, paid assignments on top of the money he raked in each time he won a match…)

Besides, while he was a definite dog-person, he still had a soft spot for animals in general.  

Even the one that might just be attempting sabotage at the moment. 

“I know what you’re trying to do, Snare,” K.O. called, not looking away from the cutting board and the various leafy things he’d been systematically chopping up for the past few minutes. 

Snare’s only response was to keep weaving around the fighter’s ankles, regularly pausing to reach up and paw at his knees. 

A half-smile on his face, K.O. continued, “Look, even if I did end up getting one of my own fingers by accident, I still wouldn’t give it to you. I already gave you one from Cal’s freezer, and the instructions say you can only get two per week. That’s just the rules, and the only time I can really break any rules is when I’m in the ring.”

He paused, thinking. “And even then, I save that for when the other guy decides to fuck around and find out.”

Snare tilted his head, craning his neck to look up at him, his dark amber eyes eerily thoughtful as always. Even if Caliban was the only person who could really read the leucistic hare’s body language, K.O. just knew when he was being judged (whether it was in a playful manner or not).

“...Yeah, I’m not sure why I told you all that, either,” K.O. replied with a shrug. 

Sooner or later, everything was ready. 

K.O. reached over to set the knife down in the sink, then carefully lifted up the cutting board and strode out of the kitchen. Snare followed along, only to bury his nose in his bowl, nibbling at the mix of dark green the fighter dropped off.

K.O. carried on, soon marching up a narrow staircase that stood just across the hall from Caliban’s bedroom. 

This house’s second floor only had two rooms to offer: a tidy guest suite, and a surprisingly spacious office. K.O. entered the latter, setting the board of goodies down on a desk in one corner before surveying the cage that loomed in another. 

Where Snare’s hutch was wide enough to nearly take up half of Caliban’s living room, the enclosure that R.D. had set up for her rats was tall—topping four feet of wire-mesh, the metal framing of its sides hidden by smooth gray wood. Hell, K.O. would put money on this thing being intended for creatures like ferrets or chinchillas…but then, even the smallest animals needed way more space than what they were usually given in the pet stores. 

The cage’s interior was organized into five levels, all connected by little ramps. Judging by the little nametags that were attached to the corners of the tiers (HERBERT on the first tier, SURRIDGE on the second, MOREAU on the third, FORSYTHIA on the fourth, and PHIBES on the fifth at the very top), each one acted as a sort of bedroom for each of the rodents. 

“Hey, guys. I figured you’d like some snacks to start off the week,” K.O. greeted, leaning down and smiling as he peered through the mesh. Through all the bedding and tiny blankets and even tinier toys, several pairs of beady eyes peered back, each with a little pink nose that twitched curiously.

K.O. hovered by the desk, flipping through the notes that had been left for him. Once he got to a page labeled FEEDING, he took a moment to re-read: 

There’s a big bag of nutri-pellets in the cabinet by the cage; just one tablespoon in each bowl is enough per day. (Make sure to refill their water-bottles every morning.) Still, rats are big omnivores, so it’s best to give them a little extra variety 1–3 times per week.

Phibes likes apple slices (PEELED AND WITHOUT THE SEEDS)

Moreau likes thinly-chopped carrots (again, PEELED)

Surridge likes small cuts of pear and mango (if you didn’t already guess that they should be PEELED AND HAVE ANY SEEDS/PITS REMOVED…well, I’m not TOO disappointed, but still. You’re an adult, you should be able to see a pattern by now) 

Forsythia likes kale and spinach, judging by how many times he’s tried to sneak leaves out of Snare’s bowl (I know I was specific before, but please, PLEASE tell me that you won’t try to peel stuff like leaves)

Herbert likes cauliflower and broccoli (look, I’ll be very grateful if you follow my instructions, because that means you care about keeping my little guys healthy and happy…but if you seriously try to peel tiny trees, then I’ll have no choice but to tell Cal to keep an eye on you for a while)

Rats really only need protein on occasion. Too much in one sitting will just make them sick. So, if you think that they deserve a meatier treat, then it has to be something LEAN. There’s a container full of roast chicken in the fridge; these guys all love a thin slice of the breast or skin. (If you really want to go the extra mile, carve the bones out of the wings and break them in half. They’re perfect for gnawing habits, plus the marrow is a great source of vitamins and minerals.)

DO NOT FEED THEM ANY HUMAN FLESH. SNARE CAN ONLY PULL IT OFF BECAUSE HARES ARE NATURAL OPPORTUNISTS; THEY’RE BUILT TO SCAVENGE OFF OF LARGER PREDATORS WHEN THEY NEED TO. YES, WILD RATS CAN HANDLE THAT TYPE OF DIET, BUT THE DOMESTIC ONES JUST CAN’T.

Good luck, and thanks again for taking the time to look after everything! See you soon!

— R.D. & Cal

K.O. snorted; the letter was dripping with sarcasm, but he respected people who were so meticulous with their pets. It just meant that they cared.

Plus, it felt nice that he was trusted to help out with something like this; after all, it wasn’t like Caliban could afford to just drop Snare off at a boarding kennel, considering the hare’s special diet…

Each tier on the rat-cage had its own little door, which made it easier for him to drop off the right snacks into the right bowls. None of the rodents tried to scurry out or climb on this new person's arms, though they did approach to cautiously sniff at his hands. 

(Well, all but Moreau. He just squinted at K.O. with near-palpable suspicion. But then, Moreau only had three limbs—there was a stump where his right hind-leg should’ve been. So, it seemed he had every damn right to be a little withdrawn.)

Before he could try to pet any of them, however, a faraway noise caught his attention…

“...Murdock?” K.O. called, remembering exactly what he’d been up to before all this.

Murdock didn’t call back, either because he hadn’t heard his accomplice or was just intentionally ignoring him. 

K.O. chewed his lip, then closed the rat’s cage back up and headed back down the staircase.

All the while, that noise got somewhat louder and clearer, muffled yet echoing in a way that could only be caused by old concrete walls.

Once he’d returned to the first floor, he couldn’t help but smirk upon recognizing a string of very frustrated, very colorful words set in that familiar baritone. 

___

Blood was a fickle thing. 

On most occasions, Murdock enjoyed that fickleness. 

There were so many different ways that deep crimson juice could seep out of someone just depending on the angle of a laceration. 

Sometimes you had to make it all rush out and splatter all over the walls in a manner of minutes, other times you got a chance to stretch the bleeding out and watch a pool form on the floor, growing wider and deeper and darker. In any case, you never missed out on feeling the weight of your blade as it sank into flesh.

This current occasion, however, was not one of them. 

“Where is it?!” Murdock hissed to himself through clenched teeth, looming over the fresh cavity.

Despite his leather gloves, it was pretty damn obvious that his knuckles were turning white. He gripped the surgical tweezer he’d found in Caliban’s toolcase, jabbing it back-and-forth, side-to-side in the crevices of the target’s intestines. 

Crimson droplets came spraying out, though the stains they left weren't really noticeable, considering the deep shade of currant that colored his favorite turtleneck. On the other hand, the specks that landed on his black-tinted shades stuck out in a very sinister way.

“Where is it, where is it, where in the flying FUCK—”

“Where’s what?” A familiar voice interjected, accompanied by a hollow chorus of footsteps that were growing closer and closer. 

Murdock paused, straightening his back and glancing over his shoulder just in time to see K.O.’s thin-yet-muscular form descending the hidden staircase (or, one of many hidden staircases, to be precise. Almost every one of his peers had a den like this). 

The Pentas Family’s resident illegal-fighting champion wandered over to stand by his side, glancing down at the mess on the block kitchen island that, thanks to Caliban, doubled as a human-disassembly station. 

Murdock heaved a sigh, finally loosening his grasp on the tweezers. It was a bit surprising that he hadn’t broken them just yet.

 “...I found some jewelry on this guy last-minute,” he explained, nodding to the target’s face (which was, interestingly enough, still twitching and twisting in agony. The strangled sobs had multiplied and even gotten a little louder). “I was just taking it off to put in its own jar or whatever for selling later on—”

“But you dropped it and can’t find it now?” K.O. finished, not bothering to hide the mirth that started to flicker in his blue eyes.  

“I know where it is!” Murdock snapped. He then pointed at the target’s guts, speaking quickly before his friend could remind him of the aggravated mantra he’d been spitting out just a few seconds ago, “I saw where it landed! But when I tried to grab it, it somehow slipped again and sank in deeper.”

K.O. sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, brow furrowing with sympathy. He moved to stand on the other side of the island, opposite of Murdock, before squinting down at the body cavity. “Well, what does this jewelry look like?”

“A butterfly. A really small, golden charm with diamonds studded on the wings,” Murdock answered, nearly bumping heads with the fighter as he leaned over again, pushing the tweezers back down into the tangle of bloody, organic tubes. 

“...Huh. So this guy technically has a physical butterfly in his stomach,” K.O. announced, chuckling as he fidgeted with the pockets of his amaranth-dyed jeans. “Cal would’ve loved this.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Murdock warned, trying his damnedest not to imagine all the puns Caliban would use if he’d been present to see the incident at hand.

(Even if he and the cannibal in question had agreed on plenty other examples of taunting terminology from the criminal underground.)

The cage-lights that adorned the tunnels’ old walls every twenty-or-so feet were dim and flickering. But their near-ancient glow still glinted off of blades quite nicely. 

Both Murdock’s dagger and Caliban’s cleaver had seemed to sear through the air as they took turns slashing at their victim, circling around him not unlike a pair of sharks. 

The intruder had collapsed against the old, rusty railing, crying out in pain and probably regretting every choice he’d made that led to sneaking down here.

Murdock tsk-tsked, kneeling down to snatch a handful of the intruder’s hair, forcing him to face him. “Hey, that’s what attempted sabatoge gets you. Especially when you think you can just break into our dens.” 

He’d traced the very tip of his dagger along the intruder’s cheek, drinking up some more fear before he pressed it into skin. He only used enough force to bring out a little bead of dark red; this show of restraint really didn’t mean much, considering the mess of blood and bruises that he and his accomplice had already inflicted on his head, his neck, his arms…

The bead in question soon turned into yet another thin line that ran down the man’s face, eventually merging with the gore that oozed from his busted lip.

“Wait!” Caliban had suddenly exclaimed, moving to kneel by the intruder’s side. “Wait-wait-wait, hold on!”

“The first couple ‘waits’ didn’t tip me off,” Murdock had snarked, though he did pause his movements. “Why? What’s the matter?”

Caliban grabbed hold of the intruder now bloodstained shirt-collar, partially lifting him up. He then gestured to all the fresh cuts marring flesh. “All these wounds are hungry, ‘Doc! Can’t you see that?” The mask of faux-concern slipped, sadistic glee worming its way back into his expression. “We’ve gotta feed them some SALT!”

The intruder squirmed, wretching and gibbering and shaking his head as he tried to escape. But it was no use; pretty much all the air had been knocked right out of him. And even if it hadn’t been, the collective pain from all those bleeding gashes would’ve slowed him down.

“Oh...Oh!” Murdock crowed, nodding as realization came along. He reached over to clap his accomplice on the shoulder. “Good point, Cal! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!” 

Caliban smiled cheekily. “That’s why we have these little collabs, isn’t it?” 

Murdock got to his feet, pacing along the old platform to peer at the intentionally-place graffiti on the walls. “We shouldn’t be too far from your den—” He then stooped back down, trapping one of the intruder’s arms in a vice-like grip. “C’mon, let’s get to it!” 

“Right!” Caliban cackled, taking the intruder’s other arm as he stood. 

With that, the duo had started dragging their victim along to his fate, eager to test out yet another interrogation tactic. 

“You really think you’ll have enough salt for this?” Murdock wondered aloud, glancing back at the struggling mess of a man who decided to fuck around and was now finding out. 

“I mean, I should,” Caliban replied. His brow furrowed as he stared at the floor, probably going through a silent checklist. 

A few seconds later, he simply shrugged, a sharp, toothy grin etching its way across his features as he looked back at Murdock. “But even if I don’t…I did put a gallon-jug of vinegar under the sink just yesterday.”

“Ooh,” Murdock hummed, offering an unhinged smirk of his own. “Yeah, that’d do the trick for sure!”

Caliban nodded. “Plus, it won’t make much of a dent in the skin’s price, as long as I wash it during the harvest…” 

Murdock’s free hand moved to tug at the edges, trying to give the tweezers in his other hand a bit more leeway. Blood pooled up and out due to the pressure. 

K.O., meanwhile, fidgeted in place, watching and thinking. “...Remember, skin goes for ten bucks per square-inch. So, if some sections need to be cut smaller because they’re too stretched—”

“I’M AWARE,” Murdock replied, raising his voice to be heard over the truly sickening (one might even say gut-wrenching) song of squelches caused by all the friction. 

The target made a feeble attempt to raise his voice, but that didn't change the fact that he was well past forming coherent sentences anymore. 

K.O. raised an eyebrow at this, shock beginning to ripple in his eyes.. “Hang on—is he still alive?”

Murdock, taking another quick, angry little break, shrugged. “In a way.”

“But—but I broke his neck not even an hour ago!” K.O. protested, moving to gape at the target’s twisting face. “He fell like a soggy trash-bag! Like a ragdoll! He hasn’t moved at all since before we even got here!”

“Broken necks aren’t always fatal,” Murdock mentioned, digging through the fleshy maze yet again. “Sometimes it just damages the spinal nerves enough to cause paralysis. Maybe you just didn’t twist it enough.”

K.O. hummed at this, surprise warping into morbid fascination. For whatever reason, he didn’t reach around the target’s neck to finish the job just yet. Instead, he went back to glancing in mild, semi-snarky awe at the sheer force of Murdock’s pissed-off snarl and forehead-creases. 

Murdock was too focused to see how the fighter sidled around the island to stand just behind him.

That changed with a quickness as he felt a weight materialize on both of his shoulders. 

“Here, you look stressed—”

“What makes you say THAT?” Murdock growled, refusing to look away from his work. 

“—let me give you a shoulder-rub,” K.O. continued, his tone of voice just singing about the shit-eating grin that was growing on his face. 

“I don’t want one,” Murdock argued, rolling his shoulders with much more force than strictly necessary. “Do not touch me, do not touch me, do not touch me, do nOT TOUCH ME!”

“Alright, alright,” K.O. relented…but only for a few seconds. “I can still help—what if I just put my arms under yours?” 

 “YOU FUCKING GET THOSE OUT FROM UNDER ME!” Murdock snapped, shifting in place to fend off his accomplice's arms before they could brush against his sides. 

K.O. snickered, finally holding his hands up in defeat. He moved into Murdock's field of view again, coming to stand by the target’s head. 

For the next moment or two, there was somewhat blissful silence. 

“What if you just left it like this?” K.O. piped up again. “It might give some extra edge to the sale. Kinda like one of those raffle games.”

“Raffle games?” Murdock echoed, incredulous.

“Yeah! Y’know, the whole ‘Guess How Many Beads Are In This Jar! The closest number gets a price!’ thing.”  K.O. spread his hands in a lame gesture. “Maybe you could squish these intestines into a jar with the butterfly still inside, then just tell potential buyers about it! No way there won’t be at least one person desperate enough for gold that they’ll dig through cold guts.”

Although that idea did sound pretty funny, Murdock still shook his head, snorting. “The average set of intestines are about sixteen feet long when they’re stretched out. Good luck finding a jar big enough to hold all that and keep it sealed without cracking.”

With another forceful sigh, Murdock threw the tweezers down. He took a second to tug at his gloves, then flexed his fingers…and plunged his hands into the target’s intestines. 

Full. 

Submersion.

While he didn’t gag or retch or react in the way any normal person would, Murdock still couldn’t help but cringe a little. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually handled entrails like this—he’d forgotten just how thick and dense they were. 

The hitman set his jaw and kept at it, glaring at nothing in particular as his fingers became lost in the maze of gore. Even with his gloves on, he’d still be able to feel the sharp, carefully-sculpted edges of that stupid godddamn butterfly charm…once his hands actually came across it, that is. 

More wheezing, unintelligible sobs came leaking out through the target’s teeth. 

“Calm, cool, collected…” K.O. taunted, drumming his fingers on the target’s forehead. “…I’m gonna frame you for tax-fraud…”

Murdock didn’t pause, didn’t look over at the fighter…but he just could stop himself from sputtering a small, low, flabbergasted chuckle at such a random comment. 

He didn’t see the way K.O.’s lips curled into a tiny, genuine smile. 

Whether or not the target was still in the headspace to be worrying about a threat to his taxes (or the current state of his organs), he still kept on wailing, kept on choking.

Kept on being an annoyance. (A much more macabre annoyance than average, but an annoyance all the same.) 

“This FUCKING GUY won’t shut THE FUCK UP,” Murdock seethed.

He finally looked back up from his work, locking eyes with K.O. as he used one very messy hand to toss his thumb over his shoulder. “Get a towel—get some paper-towels, get some water. We’re gonna FUCKING waterboard this guy.”

Now it was K.O.’s turn to sputter with disbelieving giggles. But he certainly didn’t hesitate. He raced over to the utility sink in the corner, returning seconds later with a wad of dripping paper-towels. 

“Next time you TALK—” K.O. started to warn…only for the target to let out another choked scream. The fighter pursed his lips and slammed the soaked towels down onto the target’s face.

…It actually ended up muffling the ensuing cries even more than expected. 

And that got a genuine belly-laugh out of Murdock. Maybe not enough to stave off an impending migraine, but something was better than nothing. 

“You’ll be sleeping with the fishes!” K.O. chortled, pressing his handed on top of the mess to keep everything in place. “You’ll be sleeping with the goddamn FISHES!”

More time passed by; now that all those distracting screams had been taken down a notch, things seemed to move a bit faster.

The metallic stench of still-warm blood hung heavy around the duo. Had the air been any hotter down here, it might’ve grown thick enough for them to almost taste the plasma as they breathed

“Let’s be honest here,” K.O. said, shifting in place and lifting his hands away from the target’s face (somehow, the paper-towel-gag didn’t slide off to plop down on the floor). “Can you actually get that butterfly out?” 

 “I am so close—I just felt it, I almost had it out, but it just clipped the edge of the—” Murdock took a deep breath, turning his head to crack his neck a few times, relieving some of the tension that had gathered there. “I swear to God, I can get this!”

“Alright, alright! If that’s the case, then it might not be as deep as it was before!” K.O. moved closer, leaning down toward the cavity. He reached over to pluck up the tweezers, then started gingerly probing at the entrails. 

Murdock’s own hands pulled back, soon coming to rest on his temples in a noble attempt to keep his brain from eroding through his skull. He barely even noticed how the blood smeared against his skin.

A hollow, aggravated, exhausted groan poured out of his lungs. For a few seconds, he simply took a turn to watch. 

Evidently, the powder-keg of K.O.’s patience had an even shorter fuse than Murdock’s. 

In one swift, fluid movement, he tossed the tweezers away, one hand curling in a fist that plummeted against the surface of the guts with a wet, smacking thump! 

And then…THEN…

Time seemed to slow down. 

Whatever primordial entity that potentially ruled over this cruel universe finally decided to say, “Why not?” 

Because as the intestines quivered from the strike, a tiny, glinting projectile suddenly erupted out from the very center of the mess, arching in the air before landing just a few inches away from the cavity with an anticlimactic plink!

The two mobsters both froze in place, their mouths dropping in near-perfect unison. 

The next moment almost felt like a whole hour as they stared down at the golden, diamond-encrusted, butterfly-shaped trophy. 

K.O. was the first to break the stunned silence, throwing his head back and practically screaming with laughter. Murdock followed suite, his own guffaw starting out with a wheeze that built up in volume over the course of a few seconds. 

“Did you see that?!” Murdock just barely managed to ask, still wracked with breathless cackles. 

“How did that just happen?!” K.O. asked, getting a rare pass for answering a question with another question.

___

[You actually read this far? Wow, that’s dedication! And as a thank you…here’s a little hint at what’s to come, featuring a couple more fanmade characters: my second-ever CrankEgo, and my first ever SepticEgo! To learn more about them, go here. I just feel like the ever-obscure EldritchPlier needs another rival besides my own LeviathanPat. And why shouldn’t that new rival come with his own semi-cultist companion like Cruz?]

(One more thing: if you’d like to use distorted fonts like the one you’ll be seeing in this story, go here.)

The Oozing Crown hadn’t even been closed for a minute. 

Outside, the electric sign at the top of the building hadn’t even been turned off yet. 

It still glowed with an eerie light that somehow still managed to be welcoming. Its neon wires all worked together to portray a grinning, emerald-green skull with hot-pink liquid fountaining out of a jagged hole in its parietal. 

One Moses Norbert had just barely finished cleaning the main floor, securing the rows upon rows of bottles behind the counter. Just as he reached to lock up the shelves for the night, a very distorted, very familiar voice came pouring into his mind like molten lead.

“𝗕⃥𝘖̸𝗜⃥𝘓̸ 𝘜̸𝗣⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘝̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗜⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥𝘈̸ 𝘊̸𝗢⃥𝘒̸𝗘⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗗⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘐̸𝗫⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸ 𝘞̸𝗜⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗝⃥𝘈̸𝗣⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗦⃥𝘒̸𝗘⃥𝘠̸.⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗡⃥𝘈̸ 𝘉̸𝗘⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗟⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘕̸𝗜⃥𝘎̸𝗛⃥𝘛̸.⃥”

All the time Moses had spent running the surface-level of this business granted him the power to find the coveted bottle of Suntory Toki just by muscle-memory. He moved into the kitchen, grabbing a can of Coca-Cola Vanilla from the fridge before setting a pan atop the stove.

 “Oh, yeah? Praytell why? Cosmic seasonal depression beyond my comprehension?” Moses asked, chuckling to try and hide the way he stiffened. 

It wasn’t at all uncommon for the creature he’d learned to call Septic to ask for some special drinks once the brewery-and-distillery-combo was devoid of all mortal witnesses. 

Hell, jokes connecting his drinking habits to the fact that his otherworldly tone was somehow laced with an honest-to-God Irish accent had been a big part of his and Moses’ bonding in the past. 

But this was…different. 

It wasn’t like Moses was a stranger to adding all sorts of distinctly un-kosher things to soda or alcohol by now, but being asked to boil beverages was never the best omen.

“𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗟⃥𝘐̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥,” Septic snickered, though his pitch was still obviously weighed down by something else. “𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥.̸ 𝘛̸𝗘⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸ 𝘐̸𝗦⃥.̸”

Despite the fact that no-one was actually around to see his expression, Moses raised an incredulous eyebrow (besides, he knew Septic could see far, far beyond the barriers around them).

“October,” he answered. 

“𝗬⃥𝘌̸𝗣⃥.̸ 𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘖̸𝗕⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘈̸𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸ 𝘍̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸?⃥”

“…Halloween,” Moses continued, occasionally stirring the soda as it started to heat up and bubble.

“𝗖⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘈̸𝗠⃥𝘜̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸𝗢⃥.” A chorus of almost porcelain clicks echoed through Moses’ head; Septic must have been gnashing his multitude of sharp, jagged teeth together in contemplation. “𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗗⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗦⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘈̸𝗗⃥ 𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗣⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸ 𝘔̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸𝗧⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗞⃥𝘗̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥'̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥𝘖̸ 𝘔̸𝗨⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘐̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘐̸𝗥⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸𝗦⃥.̸ 𝗜⃥𝘍̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘈̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸ 𝘝̸𝗘⃥𝘕̸𝗧⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸-⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸𝗦⃥𝘐̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗦⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗬⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘖̸ 𝘉̸𝗬⃥.̸.⃥.̸”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Moses agreed, his brow furrowing at memories of stupid Karens who had ruined one night of trick-or-treating too many when he’d still been just a little kid.

The cola had reached a rolling boil by now, so he turned the burner off and fetched a glass from one of the cabinets. After pouring a little more than a shot’s worth of the whiskey, he carefully upended the steaming pan over it. 

And as the concoction practically mixed itself together, realization came in. “…Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

“𝗜⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥'̸𝗧⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸,⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘔̸ 𝘐̸?⃥” Septic snorted, an eye-roll evident in his pitch.

Moses crossed the kitchen, rooting through the storage closet tucked into one corner. It took little time for him to find a wooden chest stashed on the highest shelf, well out of view to any strangers who might’ve come in here for whatever reason. He opened it up, fishing out the mask he’d been given years ago, as part of the pact he’d made when he was first brought to the apartment on top of the brewery’s roof. 

The mask was an amalgamation of leather and metal. It almost resembled one of those typical, vintage gas masks…that is, if those pieces of old-fashioned gear were designed with six spindly copper blades attached to the base of the mouth-guard by a set of rivets. It resembled the mandibles of some kind of hellish, overgrown insect. 

And that wasn’t mentioning the mask’s eyes. Yes, it had a primary pair for the wearer to actually, y’know, see through. But it had many, many more, all scattered about the top, having apparently been welded onto the mask’s dome. Right now they were a deep, rich shade of cobalt, though they would sometimes change color depending on what type of ritual he participated in. 

Even though he’d signed a (relatively) mutually-beneficial contract years ago, Moses was still somewhat at risk. 

Trees emitted oxygen, outer abominations emitted surreal terror that could physically manifest in a number of nasty ways. 

(And that included the whole “names have power” schtick. The last part of Septic’s name was the only part that could be spoken by a mortal without causing their vocal cords to explode into tiny, sinewy pillars of thorns from the inside-out. Despite all the adjustment Moses had gone through, the last time he’d dared try to say Septic’s full title, he’d ended up crying bloody slugs for the rest of the night.)

(...Plus, having a special mask for stuff like this gave way for the perfect excuse to make jokes about using protection during rituals. Oh sure, you could say that you wouldn’t jump at an opportunity like that if you found yourself working with a sentient crime against nature…but then your mother would’ve raised a fucking liar.)

Pulling the mask over his head, Moses stepped out of the storage closet and knelt down in the center of the kitchen; the cellar door was well-camoflauged, topped off with a slab of the same material as the floor in here, but he knew how to find the right edges. 

Like some kind of weird, reverse murphy-bed, the door glided up and open, revealing a short steel stair-unit.

With that, Moses grabbed the freshly-brewed beverage and headed down. 

As usual, the basement was dark, but the mask helped Moses’ eyes to adjust quickly. It was also much, much bigger than the brewery’s main floor; his footsteps reverberated as he paced along an industrial catwalk that overlooked all the machinery down here. But then, most of that stuff was attached to the walls, not taking up too much space. 

No, what really needed accommodation were the tanks—a group of seven, to be exact. Six were positioned by the sides, split into two groups of three. They were each about eight feet tall, each painstakingly crafted from silvery metal, each able to brew or distill about a hundred barrels’ worth of product. 

And yet, none of them could really compare to the seventh tank.

It stood before the rest at the very head of the room, looming at fourteen feet. It boasted a shiny copper material…though, you couldn’t really tell whenever Septic was active.

As Moses descended yet another metallic staircase and approached, a bright glow sparked to life inside the seventh tank, casting the room in a dark-yet-vibrant shade of green that silently screamed with toxicity. 

Moses’ shadow stretched along the floor behind him as halted just a few feet away from the radioactive-looking vessel. The source of that glow rose up, floating in the center and not even having to wade closer to rest his hands—or, more precisely, his clutches of talons—against the tank’s foremost inner wall. 

Even though Septic’s outline was blurry, it was still easy to see the several eyes scattered about his torso in arms. They came in a variety of shapes and sizes, all glowing and rolling around in their misplaced sockets. A mane of long, dark hair twisted through the liquid, the movement looking similar to trapped, spasming eels.

The tank’s hatch (which nearly scraped against the ceiling) popped open with a pressurized hsssssss. Clouds of discolored steam billowed into the air, along with a smell that was reminiscent of geyser pits…that is, if the natural sulfur came with a trace of sweetness that could only ever be produced by rotting flesh. 

Moses held the glass forward, prompting Septic to reach up. One of his arms gave off a chorus of pops and cracks as it protruded from the hatch, stretching far too long far too quickly.

The bones in his translucent skin shuddered and warped, his translucent skin glistening. Droplets slid off, smoking as they met their end against the concrete floor.

Then, just a millisecond after his claws wrapped around the glass, the limb retracted back into the tank with an echoing splash!

Septic’s outline craned his neck to greedy gulp down the casual elixir. Once the glass was drained, he opened wide, causing the strands of torn flesh along his cheeks to stretch even further.

The liquid inside the tank did nothing to muffle the cacophony of crunching and shattering that would’ve made much more sense echoing up from the depth of a malfunctioning garbage disposal.  

Septic then let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders. “𝗔⃥𝘏̸,⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥𝘕̸ 𝘚̸𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥.̸ 𝘊̸𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗠⃥𝘚̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘚̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥.̸” He nodded in Moses’ direction, pupil dilating in the eye on the center of his chest. “𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗞⃥𝘚̸.⃥”

“No problem,” Moses replied, nodding back. He started rocking back and forth on his heels. “So, what’s this Halloween ritual about? If you’re already taking the atrocity-equivelent of blood-pressure medicine, then it’s gotta do with something bigger than the usual stuff.” 

Despite his new anxiety, Moses couldn’t help but snicker to himself. The usual stuff he’d just mentioned involved harvesting souls and emotions from the people he could get away with knocking out and dragging down here to meet a very gruesome fate inside any one of the tanks.

(And he didn’t even really have to clean them out afterwards! Thanks to Septic’s power, the mess pretty much always just dissolved out of existence once the task was complete! How lucky was that?!)

“𝗜⃥𝘛̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘙̸𝗜⃥𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸𝗟⃥𝘍̸,⃥ 𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥.̸ 𝘐̸𝗧⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘜̸𝗬⃥𝘚̸ 𝘞̸𝗘⃥'̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸ 𝘕̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘓̸𝗣⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸ 𝘐̸𝗧⃥.”  Septic clicked an elastic, forked tongue. He slowly spun around in the tank, almost like the stuff inside lava lamps. 

Moses tilted his head to the side, curiosity worming its way into his head. “Wait…this’ll call for more people than just us? For guys like…like you?”

Septic nodded; despite his obvious apprehension, he still bared his fangs in a grin at the inquinsitiveness. “𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥'̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸ 𝘗̸𝗥⃥𝘖̸𝗕⃥𝘈̸𝗕⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘈̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸ 𝘈̸ 𝘍̸𝗘⃥𝘞̸ 𝘗̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸𝗜⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘚̸ 𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸𝗣⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘞̸𝗔⃥𝘙̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸ 𝘔̸𝗔⃥𝘚̸𝗞⃥.̸ 𝗕⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥'̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸ 𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘠̸ 𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸𝗙⃥,̸ 𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸𝗜⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸ 𝘋̸𝗘⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸𝗦⃥.̸ 𝘚̸𝗢⃥,̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸ 𝘚̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘌̸ 𝘗̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥𝘛̸𝗬⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘈̸𝗙⃥𝘌̸ 𝘍̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘔̸𝗢⃥𝘚̸𝗧⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘛̸.”

Moses hummed at this. Yeah, there was still a lot of foreboding that came with the statement…but already had bragging rights for working with a cosmic horror! And soon he’d get to work with even more?! 

There was no way anyone else’s upcoming Halloween plans could compare to his. No. Fucking. Way.

“𝗗⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥'̸𝗧⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥ 𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗖⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥,” Septic warned, having clearly both seen and felt the rising adrenaline. “𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘜̸𝗬⃥𝘚̸ 𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸ 𝘚̸𝗢⃥𝘔̸𝗘⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘗̸𝗘⃥𝘛̸𝗧⃥𝘐̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸𝗧⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘚̸ 𝘖̸𝗙⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥ 𝗜⃥'̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸ 𝘌̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥.”

“...How the hell can I not get excited at a concept like that?!” Moses asked. “If human drama manages to be so weirdly entertaining, then eldritch drama must be even wilder!”

“𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥,” Septic agreed with a sardonic chuckle. “𝗟⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘒̸,⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘚̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥ 𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗣⃥𝘓̸𝗔⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸,⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗘⃥𝘋̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗩⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘐̸𝗙⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥𝘌̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥ 𝗥⃥𝘐̸𝗚⃥𝘏̸𝗧⃥.̸” 

He paused, diving down for a few seconds before floating closer to the top of the tank. “.⃥.̸.⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸,⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗞⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥,̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘋̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸'⃥𝘛̸ 𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘝̸𝗘⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘌̸𝗫⃥𝘗̸𝗟⃥𝘈̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸ 𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘠̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘍̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘋̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸'⃥𝘛̸ 𝘞̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸.⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗝⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸ 𝘕̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘒̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗣⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸ 𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘈̸𝗗⃥ 𝗨⃥𝘗̸.” 

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” Moses chuckled. He then glanced at the catwalk over his shoulder. “How long will you be gone?” 

Where some monsters were bound to follow rules that kept them out of places, Septic was restricted to being kept in a place. Ever since he’d had that chance-meeting with Moses, however, he’d had a counter to that pesky binding.

Granted, he could only stay out of his tank for a short time before being dragged back by whatever force was in there underneath him, but he wasn’t one to look a gift morbid-fascination-prone-human in the mouth. 

“𝗝⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗪⃥𝘖̸ 𝘋̸𝗔⃥𝘠̸𝗦⃥.̸ 𝘐̸ 𝘚̸𝗔⃥𝘝̸𝗘⃥𝘋̸ 𝘜̸𝗣⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘌̸𝗫⃥𝘛̸𝗥⃥𝘈̸ 𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥𝘎̸𝗬⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘚̸.”

“Gotcha. Well…good luck with that, I guess.” Moses moved closer, soon climbing on the stepladder that was pretty much always propped up against Septic’s tank.

He held the hatch’s brass handle in a vice-like grip, knuckles very quickly turning white. He ever-so-slightly leaned to the side, bracing himself. “Ready when you are!”

The green light grew more vibrant, more poisonous.  

The tank began to rattle, to groan, to shudder in place. The unearthly liquid inside gurgled and churned as Septic’s form all but flooded out. 

Moses’ instincts screamed at him to lower his head and wrench his eyes shut…but everything was over before he even could. 

The glow had vanished, leaving the basement full of shadows, safe for the light that trickled down from the kitchen through that door-in-the-floor. 

The air was clear. 

Septic was gone…though, his voice was stubborn enough to stay for a few more seconds. “𝗦⃥𝘌̸𝗘⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸!⃥”

“Likewise!” Moses called back. As he slid down the ladder and started making his way back toward the kitchen, he added, “…And bring me back a toy!”

[To be continued on Day 6...]

___

@sammys-magical-au

[yuri-is-online]

Cat Got Your Tongue? (MMO AU: Leona Kingscholar x Reader)

Master Post for AU: (x) please read for overview and links to other parts.

a/n: Sure Leona says he doesn't like video games but this is my blog and I choose the au. I ended up having to re-write this because the original premise wasn't working but this fits Leona's vibe a bit better. Side note, but I am thinking I'll probably write a sort of part 2 for each of these once I am finished with each of the main "routes" since there was some stuff I wanted to include in this fic but cut because it didn't flow.

notes: They/Them pronouns used for Yuu, loosely inspired by Love is Hard for Otaku and crappy otome games, Leona is a junior and Yuu is a freshman in American college years, some mild Ruggie slander? (he's hustlin and bustlin) Not a lot of gaming in this one sorry.

Sometimes Leona really hates having a functioning brain.  Maybe if he had been born comatose his family would have taken time to understand him.  Hell maybe he would have understood them.  And maybe, maybe if he’d been a bit more stupid, a bit more happy, a bit more inspiring and a bit less morose, someone would have looked his way.

Someone.  His bright green eyes settle on a desk strategically chosen in the furthest shadows of the classroom where someone sits.  They’re tired, fighting against the eight am death sentence of a class to stay awake and take notes.  Nose always at the grindstone with so little in the way of reward, just like always.  Sometimes he wonders if they’ve ever noticed his gaze, it’s been on them for a long time creating a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he’d gladly brush off as disgust to Ruggie when pushed.  Not that Ruggie ever pushed hard over something he wasn’t getting paid for and he had enough sense not to laugh at Leona to his face.  They both knew it was worry.  It was written all over his face and twitching through his tail, they look up to meet his heavy gaze and twitch.  A smile works its way to his face involuntarily as he closes his eyes.  

He is getting tired of waiting.

~~~

[FC] <Tempura Kun> I STG IM GONNA KERMIT A FELONY

[FC] <Granny Smith> fr?

[FC] <Granny Smith> where we pullin up?

[FC] <Tempura Kun> whatever hole my Algebra TA crawled out of this morning

[FC] <Granny Smith> we pullin out (´×ω×`)

[FC] <Tempura Kun> （πーπ）

[FC] <Tempura Kun> real brave

[FC] <Tempura Kun> ur such a big man 

[FC] <Granny Smith> HEY

[FC] <Granny Smith> I thirst for the glory of combat not suicide 

[FC] <Gloomy Samurai> whisper or get in a linkshell if you’re just going to bitch and braid each other’s hair

You smother your screams with a pillow as your discord lights up with a call from Epel, which you answer quickly enough it barely gets a chance to ring.

“Just not yer day, huh?”  Epel sighs sympathetically, but you know he’s making that stupid smug face of his.  “Whatcha do this time?”  

“I accidentally gave Dr. Crewel some paperwork dad had me working on and when I tried to explain that to Leona, he laughed at me before I got it all out.”  Epel whistles.

“Did you get the papers back?”

“Yeah.”  You glare at your monitor as you settle into your desk chair.  “Would have been nice to keep my dignity though.”  Epel has enough sense to not to tease you more, just inviting you to a party and shooting a message to the guild to see if anyone is up for running a few dungeons while you stew in your frustrations, squishing your pillow and try to avoid reflecting on your day.  Realistically speaking it wasn’t that bad.  You’ve been pretty lucky in life compared to some people, as your adoptive father is so keen to remind you, he is very generous.  He’s paying for you to go to a good school (that he works for so he’s actually just paying for books), he let you keep Grim when pretty much every other foster family you were placed with tried to get rid of him, and you have a pretty solid group of friends left over from highschool.  But still, you like to think you have a right to complain about things, what sort of father makes his kid go through zoning laws under the guise  of “father child bonding time”?  And what sort of teacher’s assistant says that’s not his problem and snarks about taking off points of your actual homework?

Leona Kingscholar apparently, it’s his idea of a joke.  By the day after tomorrow he’ll be back to his lazy self, slapping a half assed grade on your homework with a bunch of snarky commentary that’s surprisingly helpful when you go to amend your notes.  Assuming he doesn’t hijack your table in the library to take a nap first.  He’s a pain in your ass, and the worst part is you really don’t know why.  Leona’s a junior, you think anyway, and outside of his job as a teacher’s assistant you don’t have any shared classes.  Epel plays on the Spelldrive team, talks him up pretty much every chance he gets, so you guess he’s pretty good at that if nothing else.  Maybe he’s mad at you on Epel’s behalf?  He invites you to their games sometimes, but you never go because you’re too afraid of the crowds.  The thought makes you huff in frustration as Rex and Snake join your party and begin bickering about what to que for; that’s between you and Epel, what’s his captain got to say about any of that?  What does he want to do, show off?

[FC] <Snake Whisper> Tempura you still good to heal?  Gran said you were stressed.

[FC] <Tempura Kun> I’ll stress more if I make you heal lol

[FC] <Tempura Kun> Thanks for asking <3

[FC] <Snake Whisper> σ(^○^)

[FC] <Snake Whisper> You’re good

You stretch and do your best to pop your neck.

Vivat Rex >> You shouldn’t stress about making him heal if you’re tired.  It’s ok to take a break.

Tempura Kun >> lol I like heals I’ll be good promise

Tempura Kun >> ty for worrying tho &lt;3 <3

Vivat Rex >> <3 ofc can’t have our only competent heals falling over dead

Tempura Kun >> HA i’m telling Nautilus u said that

Vivat Rex >> (^_~)  punk ass bitch deserves it

The instance cuts off your reply and you settle into your chair determined to enjoy the hour and a half you set aside for yourself today before you have to go back to being an overworked unpaid student.  Before you have to go back to trying to convince your friend Ruggie that you have a friend named Rex who is real and not a figment of your imagination that lives in your computer caused by dehydra- wait.  Your eye twitches settling on the date and time mocking you from the lower right of your second monitor.

“Epel.”

“Hm?”

“I need you to go wall to wall or I’m gonna be late for work.”

~~~

“Finally.”  Ruggie gives an exaggerated stretch as he yawns.  You sigh to yourself in relief that he isn’t too upset that you’re a few minutes late, you know Ruggie’s a busy guy from the few closing shifts you’ve worked together.  He’s one of the few people you feel actually respects your situation, if the side hustles he kicks your way are anything to go by anyway.  You’d hate for him to think you’re ungrateful for his help.   “I’m practically dead on my feet here, took you long enou-”  You pause in tying your apron, unsure of why he’s staring into you so disapprovingly you almost swear he’s been replaced by Leona.  Almost.  His signature laugh is too unique.

“Stuff it.”  You scowl and his laughter gets louder and it’s a wonder his tail doesn’t knock any of the cigarettes off the back counter shelves.

“Oh you look disgusting.”  He fishes his phone out of his back pocket as he clocks out, checking it just out of your view as you try to salvage your pride and settle into your seat.

“You don’t look so hot yourself either.”

“Yeah at least I don’t look like a truck hit me and backed up to make sure it finished the job.”  He looks somewhat serious for a brief second.  “When was the last time you actually ate food?”

“Before I came here?”

“Instant noodles don't count.”  Your silence is speaking volumes you don’t have the strength to combat and Ruggie sighs.

“I know I’m one to talk, but you should really get some rest.”  His lips quirk into a grin for half a second, quick enough to have missed if you had blinked as if he remembered something amusing.  “Unless you’re angling for someone to force you.”

“Like a health professional?  You know the old crow will just look for a second opinion.”  Ruggie lightly flicks your shoulder while he continues to focus on his phone on the way out the door.

“You mean thirty-second.”  He doesn’t even look up to say goodbye.  “Well I’m out!  Try not to scare off the customers.”  If you had to regularly interact with customers you would not have taken this shift.  Epel had given you a hard time about that, something about personal safety being more important than sanity.

[FC] <Granny Smith> not what I said

[FC] <Granny Smith> u should at least have someone visit when ur alone on shift

And you did sometimes.  Ace likes to drop by after practice, and Epel hadn’t said that with the intention of not showing up himself.  Jack and Deuce probably would have visited even if you were on a daylight shift, not that Jack would ever admit to checking up on you outloud.  But it was still very much only a sometimes thing, not that they didn’t care or worry they just had lives.  Most of your time at the convenience store was spent alone scrolling through magicam on your phone, only looking up to ring up a hoard of energy drinks for whoever was just as tired as you were.  Though maybe not today, Rex had tried to convince you to just call out.  He always does, complaining about how he’d have to run things with Nautilus now, but he might have had a point today.  The chair you and Ruggie snuck behind the counter is not remotely comfortable but you swear it feels like a cloud.  You tried to focus on your magicam feed, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care about the fan art Gloomurai posted of the First Fantasia Knight Commander.  If anything it just made you sleepier, like he was personally inviting you to take a nap on his lap or something.  Your eyes shut and your phone drops out of your hand.  When you finally wake up you swear it has only been a minute at most but the smug look of your customer suggests otherwise.

“Morning sunshine.”  Leona looks painfully out of place in this shitty college convenience store.  The dingey, twitching light barely bounces off his hair and you swear his clothes have to cost more than all the electronic equipment in the place combined, maybe even more than your computer back home.  An odd thought to have, he’s literally just wearing the same kind of athleisure wear you had been wearing almost twenty minutes ago while gaming, but you recognize the branding on that shirt from a rant Ruggie went on a month ago.  Something about wondering why anyone would pay that much money to leave the house looking stupid in cheetah print.  “Are you even listening to me?”  Leona drawls, lazy and the slightest bit disappointed, he has been talking to you since you woke up you belatedly realize and completely fail to hide the fact.  Leona sighs, tail thrashing in annoyance as he moves to join you behind the counter.  “Whatever, just move over.”  You almost fall off your chair.

“What?  No no no this is an employee only zone you cannot take a nap back here.”  You have no idea how Leona is expecting to fall asleep, even if you’ve tripped over him on the campus lawn before you’re sure the green has to be more comfortable than this questionably sourced tile.  And yet he seems happy enough, bracing his back against the concrete wall as you turn your confusion back to the counter and notice a thermos that you don’t recognize next to you.

“That’s yours.”  Your head whips back around but the fucker’s eyes are closed and he looks so incredibly unbothered your loud retort dies in your throat.  He doesn’t bother to meet your piercing gaze no matter how long you stare at him, you get more of a response from the thermos when you accidentally elbow it trying to get more comfortable at the counter.  It’s a nice thermos, one of those expensive insulated things that cost a ridiculous amount of money, in a bright yellow that nicely compliments the royal looking lion sticker stuck to it.  There are a few other stickers, the NRC logo, a Spelldrive team logo, and a reaper job icon.  The last sticker makes you smile, you’re pretty sure you linked a similar looking sticker to Rex in the guild discord a month ago, the design included a silhouette of the cowboy hat from the class armor set behind the icon just like this sticker.  Exactly like this sticker, you realize as your tired eyes settle on the artist’s signature.  The shop bell rings you to attention, a significantly less interesting customer enters the store and you try to shove your rising panic to the back of your mind and try to focus on doing your job.

Leona’s annoyed sigh goes completely unnoticed.

~~~

“You aren’t going to tell Crowley I slept through most of my shift right?”  You have to be pushing things, Leona hates repeating himself and this is the third time you’ve asked him.  Leona had insisted on staying with you until the end of your shift, you had insisted he had better ways to spend his night but admitted, when he had explicitly asked, that no you weren’t uncomfortable with his presence just didn’t want to be an inconvenience.  That made him laugh, not unlike the little exchange you’d had this morning, but this time he had actually entertained your attempts at talking to him.  Until the time came to leave and he offered to walk you home.  Leona seeing you asleep at your shitty job was bad enough, the thought of that ramshackle house made your stomach tie up in all sorts of knots.  “I know you probably don’t see it as a big deal-”

“Because it’s not.”  He snorts.  “Really who do you think you’re trying to impress?”  You wince, Leona swings the thermos with that taunting sticker just out of view, as you huddle into yourself and he sighs stopping under a street light and turns you to face him.  “No seriously, just who are you trying to impress?  You’re always working to the point you’ve practically stopped being yourself.  It’s annoying.”  

“Well what’s it to you?”  You huff and Leona doesn’t bother to immediately answer.  Your eyes drift back to the sticker on his thermos.  

“Maybe I like playing games with you.”  His voice and face are uncharacteristically soft, but still unnervingly intense.  He doesn’t bother specifying what he means, almost like he’s daring you to ask first so he can make fun of you for thinking Rex was anyone other than him this whole time.  “Maybe I like Yuu enough that I want to spend just a little more time with them and not this weird zombie who doesn’t know the way back to their own house.”  

“Oh please-” you roll your eyes and turn back to the road only for your retort to die in your throat.  You are not, in fact, headed towards the haunted mansion.  This road, this stupid street light, is next to a diner you know the college sports teams like to go to after games.  Leona, gently, tugs you by the sleeve of your jacket towards the door.  “Hey, I can’t afford-”

“Oh don’t misunderstand we ain’t here for you, I was just feeling a bit hungry.”  The smug bastard doesn’t even pretend to hear your protests as he pushes his way into the diner and doesn’t wait to be seated.  He just drags you towards the back of the diner shooting you a truly catlike smirk over his shoulder.  “Of course if I have something left over, we can share.  Maybe if you play nice you can get your own straw.”  He spins you into the booth across from him, and despite what he literally just said shoves the plastic menu back into your hands when you try to hand it back to the clearly amused waitress.  

“How long have you known I was...”  You feel stupid even trying to broach the topic, there’s a pretty clear line you don’t cross when making online friends.  It’s even in the guild rules, you’re pretty sure “don’t ask for anyone’s IRL info” is probably Gloomurai’s life motto.  But Leona doesn’t seem to care, which you suppose is in line with what you know about Rex.  His laid back attitude was what had made him the most approachable out of all your guildmates, not that you would ever have thought to apply such a description to Leona.  If anything he seems confused why you’re so shy about talking, like he’s known who you are the whole time and that’s why he spent so much time pinging you in game or why he decided to spend his night keeping you company. 

“Maybe I like playing games with you.”  Something starts curling up in your stomach at the thought that he just might have, if Leona notices you loosening your jacket to release some steam he pretends not to notice.

“Epel mentioned he was gonna try to get you into the guild.”  Well that’s news to you, looks like someone is going to get yelled at later tonight.  “I didn’t expect you to be so excited about healing, but I ain’t complaining, it was cute and now I don’t have to take Naut’s shit outside of raids.”   Cute.  You intake a sharp breath and Leona definitely notices your nerves, clearly planning to press the point unless you can cut him off from the chase.

“W-what exactly do you have against Nautilus anyway?”  With the way Leona’s face wrinkles you idly wonder if he knows who Nautilus actually is too, or if he’s just displeased that the focus is no longer on him.  “He’s not bad at his role.”  

“Naut pays too much attention to pointless shit.  Sure he’s good but it’s not like he does world firsts or anything.”  Neither does Rex but that does seem to be besides the point when he’s paying for your dinner, especially now that it’s in front of you.  Diner food might not be the healthiest but Ruggie really was right about instant noodle not counting as a meal.  “You know he and Snake used to bitch at each other while they were supposed to be doing callouts?  Had whole ass arguments over cooking instead of calling out shackle timing.  Gloom and Musclered never stopped ‘em either since it was ‘funny.’”  They still do, just in discord and not while you run things.  It’s hard to picture someone as professional as Nautilus doing something like that, but then again you know that Rex has known him longer.  “So just in case you thought I was just being nice earlier, you are the better heals.  If I could get the cards I want with just you, Epel, and Ruggie I would.”  It’s disturbing how clear the picture is in your mind: your lala, Epel’s roe, and Leona’s cowboy coded catman being joined by some hyper pink catgirl in the mini game bunny suit that you can easily see Ruggie using to scam some tech worker out of his monthly salary in Pirate’s Port wiping to an EX rank trial because Leona decided his logs weren’t orange enough.  It sounds like a good time, and you can’t keep yourself from blurting out:

“We should try to run something sometime anyway, it’d be fun.”  And before you can retreat back into your shell,  Leona smiles, smiles and burns away any sort of shyness you wanted to have over talking video games with someone as “normal” as him.

“If you can think of something just text me.”  You fish out your phone and can’t even bring yourself to cringe at the time with just how happy that suggestion makes you feel.

And Ace said playing MMOs would get you zero bitches.

~~~

This was a mistake.  It was hard to keep that thought from drumming away at your nerves the longer you stood in the station square; Leona had been the one to invite you out, not the other way around, so if he really ended up not liking this then that was his fault not yours.  You even took into account that Leona was a lazy bitch and suggested you meet up later in the day instead, but then again…  You try to resist drowning in a wave of self flagellation over the clothes you picked out as you somehow manage to sink further into the park bench you have decided to camp out on.  For someone who had been so insistent they were not going out on a date when their generous adoptive father asked where they were going during such prime father child bonding hours, you felt insanely self conscious.  That was normal right, people who actually went out with their friends to do stuff other than pal around the local big box store put thought into their appearance.  Not that there was anything wrong with that.  If this goes south you know you already confirmed you can have Jack over here in two shakes of his tail and that’s probably exactly what you would end up doing.  But when Mannon posted in the guild discord about a First Fantasia themed pop up cafe that was going to be A) running for a limited time within walking distance from your house and B) giving out a code for an in game pet-

Well admittedly your first thought had been to invite Epel, but Leona had texted you almost immediately after Mannon dropped the link.

[irl catboy] ruggie said you aren’t working this saturday

[irl catboy] come with me to the stupid cafe i never know what to order at those places

With such a gentlemanly request how could you possibly refuse?  And now here you were fifteen minutes early trying to keep yourself from going stir crazy, or from jumping out of your skin when an increasingly familiar deep voice whispers a sleepy “hey” into your ear.  

“Seven’s Leona!”  You’re half ready to hit him with your backpack but your indignation and fright are almost entirely wiped away by the sheer figure Leona cuts against the setting autumn sun.  Someone, Ruggie you decide, because there’s no way Leona decided to dress up to come see you himself, forced your upperclassman into a knit  black turtleneck with golden claw-like trim on the neck and rolled up cuffs.  He’s kept his usual tan slacks, but the ugly woven sandals have been swapped out for a more weather appropriate pair of ugly slip ons with similar gold claws to the turtleneck.  His hair’s still tied up like he’s been at spelldrive practice, not that you fully know what he looks like outside of Epel’s descriptions and your own imagination. 

“What, did I scare you?” you drawls, clearly eating up the attention you’re lavishing on his appearance.  Before you can collect yourself enough to stand up he leans down to cow you back into the bench.  “Maybe I should scare you some more?  The mousey look really suits you.”

“Oh shut up!”  You huff and stand, trying your best to avoid cracking your head off of Leona’s stupidly broad frame as you both go to head towards the cafe.  ��Did you look up the menu online or are you just planning on winging it?”

“You really like to put effort into things don’t you?”  Leona doesn’t look or sound too upset but there’s a strange wistfulness to his look you do not really like, but it’s gone before you can pick at it too much.  “Nah I figured I’d just let you pick.”

“Are you sure?”  You try your best not to sound excited, you swear the only thing you admire about Ruggie is his work ethic, not his grift.  “I could just take advantage of you and force you to get a bunch of stuff only I’d like.”  As if he’s reading your mind, Leona's green eyes twinkle with mischief you know will bite you in the ass later.

“Oh no you would never do that.  I know for a fact that you are just too nice for that.”  The “unlike someone else" goes unsaid as Leona decides to really double down on the gentleman act when you reach the cafe, holding the door and not even pretending to look at the menu until you prompt him.

“Do you want to get the reaper soda?”  Leona shrugs. 

“Does it sound like it will taste good to you?”  It does but that’s sort of besides the point, you’re much more interested in the white mage one.

“I just thought you might want the coaster.”  You murmur and he smiles.

“I’d lose something like that real fast, you can just keep it.”  Your eyes have to pop halfway out of your head with how hard he laughs, other patrons shoot a confused look at your table as you try to resist the urge to self combust.  “Let me guess, they’re worth somethin right?  In that case all the more reason for you to keep em.”  The look in his eyes is practically daring you to ask if he’s really sure, but knowing Leona he wants an excuse to tease so for now you swallow your insecurities and point your awkward smile up at the server who comes to take your order.  

“Um can we get one reaper soda, one white mage soda…” your voice trails off and Leona pipes up with the name of a burger you don’t remember reading out to him but they apparently serve anyway with how quickly she notes it down.

“And is the check separate or together?”  She sweetly asks and before you can so much as breathe Leona cuts you off.

“Bill goes to me.”  You glare at him, well try to really Leona’s a hard person to stare down.  “Didn’t I say you could get whatever?”  Not literally, it was more implied along with the trouble that you weren’t expecting to catch up to you this quickly.  His smile widens, not quite wolfishly, more like a lion staring down a particularly foolish gazelle that’s stumbled weak kneed into his territory.  “Go on, tell the nice lady what else you want, she won’t bite you, that's my job.”  Flames aren’t enough anymore.  You need to turn into a particularly fine paste or particle dust to relive how fast your heart is beating.  Luckily for you the server seems amused, letting out a good natured laugh as she shoots you a wink.

“You heard your man, what can we get for you?”  You take back every judgment you have ever passed Ruggie’s way.  With just how proud Leona seems like now he really is asking for it.

 ~~~

“You don’t really do things like this much do ya?”  Leona kept his teasing to a minimum after the bite comment thank god and kept his word about letting you keep the coasters.  Pretty much everything at the cafe seemed to have some sort of First Fantasia themed knick knack you were allowed if not encouraged to take back with you.  Leona had offered to walk you home once you both saw how dark it was, promising that would be your only stop this time much to your relief.  You weren’t sure how much more of his teasing you could take.

“I mean I’ve got Epel, but Ace, Deuce, and Jack don’t really like mmos.”  You aren’t sure if it has ever actually been established if you are friends with Sebek, but unless someone teaches Malleus how to use a mouse you doubt he’s going to be logging into anything other than a literal tree anytime soon.  “Sometimes Epel will send me links to merch he thinks I’d like, but he’s more into the…”  You pause to try and find the words for what it is you want to say, knowing your friend will kill you if you make him look lame.  “Sense of pride and accomplishment you get from beating high end content.”

“That sounds like him.”  Leona says proudly.  “He’s like that with anything mildly competitive.  One of his better qualities, just don’t go telling him I said that.  Wouldn’t want it goin to his head.”  There’s no way you’ll be able to keep his mild praise a secret from Epel forever, but what Leona doesn’t know won’t hurt him too much.  “But that’s not really what I was asking.”  Your pace slows as Leona lapses back into silence and you wrack your brain for what he actually could have meant.  “Do you like going out to cafe’s?”

“I… don’t really know.”  You liked tonight.  Talking to Leona, when he was awake enough to participate, was always fun.  Even when you were trading jabs back and forth in class.  “I used to dream about finally finding someone who I could do stuff like this with, but I kind of gave up after my last date said-”  you freeze in your train of thought and walk.  This had not been a date in any way shape or form.  Sure, Leona played a video game with you, and sure he’s been going out of his way to talk to you in real life more regularly since he came to visit your work.  But it’s not like he did that for any reason other than-  “said it was just too weird.  Said I was just too weird and I guess I just sort of got tired of not being able to talk about things that interested me so I gave up trying.”

“Then why not just date me?”  Leona’s eyes are a really strange shade of green now that you’re staring straight into them.  It’s like he’s got two neon lights shining a spotlight directly on you every time he speaks, judging and picking apart whoever he is looking at.  And right now he is looking pointedly at you, making it clear this isn’t a conversation he is going to let you run from.  “I told you before, didn't I?  I like playing games with you.  I want to spend time with you; I want to hear about your day every day, from what annoyed you to funny things you and your friends did.  I want to see you happy and know I made that happen, because you make my life a happier one just by being in it.  The only thing I have ever not liked about you is that you work too hard, and that’s not unfixable.  You just need to let me be a bad influence on you.”  It’s a confession you never really expected to receive, but somehow so very much him.  It’s insulting, honest, and just a touch demanding but it reaches into that small shrunken part of your heart that you’ve been burying most of your feelings in for who knows how long now and fills it with warmth.

“Would you-”  It feels like a silly question but with how intently Leona is hanging on your every word you feel a rush of power going straight to your head.  “If we were going out would you stop wiping things on purpose?”  He blinks, if he’s surprised by the request or shocked he got this far you don’t quite know, but he quickly recovers, moving into your space to offer his hand.

“If you ask nicely.”  You gladly take the offered arm and influence, squeezing his much larger hand with a soft smile.

“Then it’s a dea-”  Leona cuts you off with a kiss, swallowing your mouselike squeak along with most of your air with a speed you didn’t know he possessed.  

“Don’t use that punks line.”  He practically growls and you can’t hold in your happy laughter any longer.  It could just be the streetlights, but you don’t think Leona looks all that mad.  Quite the opposite really, not that you expect him to voice it out loud.  Instead he leans in for another kiss in a gruff effort to show just how much he means what he has been trying to say all along.

I’m happiest when I am doing things with you.

*if you are curious about Leona's outfit, I based it off of Lion King clothing items in Disney Dreamlight Valley (black and gold claw shoes, tan sunny slacks, and the gray claw top for those looking for specifics)

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

Thank you for offering your askbox. I've been thinking that Izzy being just a side character whose story wasn't main plot thread makes even better proof that not everything was well planned? If I was a writer and this would be easily the most discussed topic about the finale, I'd reflect on storytelling decisions I made. There's a good reason why Izzy's fate overshadows everything despite that he wasn't the point of the show.

(Post posted 10/31/23) Feel free to comment below if you agree or disagree, we're all here for discussions.

Thank you so much for this amazing question!! [If you're seeing this and want to discuss some aspect of S2, or my thoughts on OFMD overall, SEND ME AN ASK! I love doing this]

TLDR: Vague characterization from historical records means Jenkins is free to bend history without a lot of guilt. During early days of casting and during scene changes Jenkins got inspired by Con's audition tape. Con was told to play this shit as a Jesus/Judas relationship. An amazing performance in S1 keeps the character relevant in fandom spaces in the hiatus, and in Jenkin's mind for S2. The S1 season finale accidentally reveals a really interesting dynamic in Ed/Izzy's relationship. [Speculation from this point on] Jenkins feels like he needs to explore, with little plans to fully explore it. Fleshing out both Ed/Izzy abuse and love.

Jenkins realizes 'Oh shit, Izzy wasn't supposed to be this' midway through S2. But he still follows his original plan in killing him off, because he's not needed for the story in his outline, leading to him accidentally killing off a character as they're growing and healing. Leading to what some consider a move SO off-brand for the show, they are leaving the fandom.

[*Tin Foil Hat On*] I expect the original cut of S2 to include more scenes of the crew. I bet for every other Izzy scene, we got a crew scene. So when 'extra' not plot-relevant scenes had to get cut, they kept the Izzy scenes due to Izzy's stable arc, the fact that he'd die at the end either way and Con's amazing performance.

EXPLINATION AND DEPTH BELOW! It's a long one. A lot of this post will be speculation, interviews from Jenkins, and highly dependent on if you were in fandom between seasons 1 and 2. If you need me to hunt for sources, I can do that for you.

I'll separate everything into a chronological timeline as much as possible.

Before we touch on why Jenkins wrote Izzy to stick out in the story, we need to assume how he outlined this entire show.

Pre Con O'Neill:

I am of the personal belief that Jenkins likely wrote out an imagined arc for Ed and Stede. Including a lot of cool set pieces, fights, etc. for the three seasons he wanted vaguely based on the real lives of Stede Bonnet and Edward Teach(watch a YouTube vid documenting their history, it's a wild ride) turning it into something explicitly romantic. This is easy enough to do, as most of what we know about them was written YEARS after their deaths.

Next was filling in the cast. This is where we get our crew, mostly characters Jenkins made up, as very little is known of the men either sailed with.

Izzy Hands being a pirate under the age of 18 whose notable actions with Blackbeard include- Captaining his own vessel, running a ship aground, being Blackbeard's first mate, and getting shot by Blackbeard maybe on accident.

[THEORY] So. If you're any writer you see that and think 'cool a side character we know almost nothing about'. You slot him in as being Edward's one thing keeping him to the pirate lifestyle. Not necessarily romantic, but a serious Boss/underling relationship. This is a bit of how Izzy was written in S1 UNTIL-

Con O'Neill is cast as Izzy.

In interview, Jenkins has admitted that Con's audition tapes influenced how he wrote Izzy. As a writer, this shouldn't necessarily be ringing red flags. But he has gone on record as admitting to changing the script before shooting to suit Con. IN SEASON 1. My guess is Izzy at the end of episode 10 was meant to be more of a side character. Another Frenchie, or Wee John, who serves their purpose and then gets pushed to the side by the plot.

But at some point, Jenkins wrote how important the dynamic was between Ed and Izzy. Describing Izzy/Ed to Con before filming S1 of a 'Jesus and Judas' relationship like in Jesus Christ Superstar.

If you tell a (then closeted) queer actor who has been playing queer roles since the 1990s that his leather daddy character was having a Jesus&Judas JSC dynamic in a TV show that respects and celebrates queerness? 🤩 MY GOD.

[Speculation] That's how we get an Izzy Hands who is watching the man in front of him slip away, trying to dig his heels in. Hell, if I were Jenkins, I'd be adding a few more lines for Izzy to be pissed just to see Con have fun in the role. Let him be mad. Let him be in the background of scenes just glaring. Let us see a man slowly lose something he's built up his whole life.

[As mentioned from Comic Con- From Con O'Neill] This was important for me to bring up as Jenkins could have said 'henchman' but he didn't. Hell, when Taika and Con did hair and makeup they'd listen to the JCS cast album. It was a choice on both their parts.

[ovservation from here on out] Con plays it up, and a lot of queer fans saw this and grabbed hold of a man so desperate to keep the man he loved close that he sacrifices almost everything for it (Izzy also signs the Act of Grace to get Ed out of there).

Izzy, in a show full of openly queer people, is still on the fringe of society. SO MANY queers saw this and said 'OMG me'. ME INCLUDED. With a super supportive actor who genuinely is respectful of the fandom? Of art, and fic and meta? The Izzy 'Canyon' became so loyal because Con is a Queer Elder we didn't know we all needed in our lives!

Jenkins accidentally wrote into what could be an amazing story of a queer character living in a homophobic society where he learns to open himself up. All without ever writing a 'coming out' scene for Izzy. Jenkins knows this. Hell, since S1 Izzy fans have been telling him how cool that type of arc would be.

Now here comes the issue of where to take a side character, when you have loose plans for them.

S1 IS TIGHTLY WRITTEN ONTO ITSELF... S2?

Something we might forget now is HOW tightly written Izzy's falling out with Ed is tied into Stede and Ed falling in love. Beat per beat, Izzy is shoved away as Stede takes his place. That's really fucking smart. So smart, it was planned in the writer's room. The fact that some took it as romantic, that Ed could ever really love him back? Well...this is where Jenkins had a decision to make.

So he dips his toe. Let's make Ed even more violent than at the end of S1ep10. Let's include the bit where Blackbeard shoots Izzy Hands. Let's have Izzy confess his love for Ed and have it not be enough for Ed to change his mind. Let's show Izzy rising like a phoenix reborn after a failed suicide attempt where Izzy chooses to mutiny on Ed to protect the crew. Let's see Izzy growing. Because Jenkins loves Con's performance. Everyone in the cast enjoys him as a person. Let's give Izzy one last hurrah.

Jenkins knows this character meant a lot to Con. It's obvious in the way Jenkins recently confessed he told Con about Izzy's death midway through shooting. Sadly we likely will never be told when Con was told. But imagining Con filming the AMAZING character change of S2eps 1-2, then AFTER being told Izzy would die anyway? Oh. I wouldn't be alright. Not after all his fans had spent the last year telling him how much seeing a character like Izzy 'being accepted because they are worthy of love'.

This is the 1 thing that fucks me up. Not telling Con until midway through shooting, Versus his belief that writing Izzy's death was a fitting way to end his story. BOTH CAN'T BE TRUE. Right? If Jenkins felt the need to take con aside and go grab a meal to announce Izzy was dying but then market the ending as a 'Good Idea'. Then...What? If Con felt it fit the character, then he would have likely guessed Izzy would die. But that wasn't the vibe in the fandom at the time. It feels like a decision Jenkins made this season.

Because yes, some general audiences predicted that Izzy would die. But when your core fanbase for a character don't expect it, you didn't plan the death correctly. Fuck, I thought Izzy was trying to RECOVER this whole season. Not that Izzy was hiding how hard he was struggling. That's not a good sign when I've ALWAYS called Izzy as some brand of suicidal/depressed.

[Quote from Jenkins Entertainment Article: Oct 26 2023] 'What's the best journey we can give him(Izzy)? And what's the most interesting thing we can do with Con, who can do just about anything?'

That is not the quote of an author who has planned everything out. That's a writer who knows points A and E and is fighting to find everything in between.

The Fly in My Ointment

There's a point most writers know when a character or story slips out from under you. You didn't mean for this to happen. Hell, I write Scene by Scene outlines. My stories change. When Izzy Hands' growth arc became the most interesting part of S2, Jenkins had a choice.

How far was he willing to bend his idea to keep a character that wasn't 'essential'? Not that fucking far apparently. Because for some reason, Jenkin's labeled Izzy in his mind as 'Blackbeard' and tied Ed and Izzy's fates together. Ignoring how this season Izzy died to separate his old life with Ed from his new life with this crew.

Your question poses it perfectly- If I was a writer and this would be easily the most discussed topic about the finale, I'd reflect on storytelling decisions I made. There's a good reason why Izzy's fate overshadows everything despite that he wasn't the point of the show.

That's a trick they teach you in some writing podcasts. That in the end, you are telling one story. You can have twenty side characters and a romance arc, but in the end, you are telling one story. Each side character is going to show what happens when you fail or succeed at the central thesis.

What do we have in S1? What does Frenchie sing to set up where our story STARTS-

"A pirate’s life, [it’s] short but nice,” -“we won’t live long,”  AND “to death we go, a certain death we go.”

Our characters expect a short simple life of what most pirates EXPECT. In my mind, this story has ALWAYS been about survival. From the extravagance of Stede's ship, and a crew ready to throw him overboard, to the barebones Shark eats Shark type of survival described in Ed's own fleet. OFMD is about living in a world that doesn't want you there. About surviving and thriving. About these two men from different worlds coming together and forging a life of kindness for them and for their family.

Saying fuck you, I'm here, I'm still alive, and I'm going to THRIVE. I deserve kindness, happiness, love, and a fully lived life. I deserve to spend my short time on this Earth happy.

IN S2? The ONLY character that matches this thesis is Izzy. After scenes of Izzy struggling. Of finding himself. Of crawling up from his own personal hell, Izzy dies. He dies from a random bullet wound in the same spots that didn't kill Stede or Ed in the previous season. Breaking the one established rule for wounds in this universe that the left side is the safe side so that Izzy can die.

Even if Izzy spent this entire season wanting to die, he tried to live. For a few days after a breakup of over 20+ years of casual intimacy. Of a bond where Izzy was the murderer, the brawn. The dangerous right hand. Where Izzy dying meant not just his death, but likely that of Ed. Given the man's constant depressive moods, crews that didn't like him, and reoccurring suicidal tendencies. Ed didn't need Izzy Hands anymore. Ed had Stede now. He was ready to finally leave Izzy for good. What will Izzy Hands do now?

He gave up. He tried to move on. He listened after being told he was too rough, too loud, too mean. He tried. He tried to survive this new way of life surrounded by people who supported him. But he was tired. After so many years of putting up a mask, tearing it down was too much work. So he wanted to die. In the end. Izzy died in the arms of Edward surrounded by his family.

Buried on a plot of land Jenkins has already told us Stede and Ed will leave when things get boring. Left behind like the corpse of a pet the family has forgotten. Buried without his ring and cravat, items Izzy is only seen without when he's naked. Without the prosthetic gifted to him by a family that cared about him.

Izzy wasn't mourned for more than five seconds, before Stede and Ed were making jokes on his fresh grave, and then the episode moves on to a wedding.

RIP Izzy Hands- a man who loved more than he was ever loved in return.

Was this the right message? FUCK No. But for those of us who believed that theme of queer survival and community- We saw framing Izzy's death like this as a fucking betrayl.

Izzy Hands isn't buried with his most prized possessions- they're left out to be stolen or rot in the front yard. With only one man crying over his death and a silent funeral. He leaves this world without more than a 'he was intense'. Which...isn't great coming from the man Izzy loved for most of his life.

The reason why we're mad about Izzy isn't that it's Izzy. It's that when we boarded this flight we were given a set of rules to follow. It's a comedy about men falling in love on a boat that sometimes gets serious. That's it. To watch a character start to grow only to die for NO PLOT SPECIFIC REASON. Is insulting. If your death has no tie to the narrative (sacrifice or it comes with a revelation) it's a death just set up for shock. Izzy and Ed could have had that deathbed confession talk at the start of episode 7.

A REASON WHY I'M MAD BEYOND THAT SPECIFICALLY. [Very Personal Gripe]

A SALUTE TO CON O'NEILL -AGAIN!

I had the privilege of hyper-fixating on this show from the entirety of S1 ending to S2 beginning. During this time I explored the catalog of Con O'Neill's work on Tumblr under the tag 'Conography'. I watched this man play queer roles since the 1990s. Genderqueer/somewhere on the Trans spectrum, Gay, Bi. This man loves to play a queer story, even if it's sad. If it's tragic. He will breathe new life into their lungs and express their moments of Joy. Of love. Of community.

After the filming of S2 at a con, Con he felt comfortable publicly coming out due to the love and support he felt from our fandom. Do you know JUST how crazy that is? That Con KNEW Izzy was dead, yet he loved our fandom so much he let himself be vulnerable, and come out as queer? It's fucking INSANE to me, and shows just how much this show means to him.

He's not just Queer. He's a Queer fucking elder whose been protective of this entire community since S1. This 57-year-old man has proudly stood up in the name of Trans rights this entire time. Treating everyone, but especially Trans Izzy fans with so much fucking respect. Trans Izzy is a common headcanon partially because of how comfortable people feel knowing they won't get harassed because they interpret Izzy a certain way. That trans people feel at home seeing themselves as a misunderstood character with a chip on their shoulder.

I'm pissed for every in universe thing listed above AND NOW THIS. Because our Queer Elders are dead. There is a generation of Queer people we can never get back. They died from a mix of society pressuring these people into the closet or an early grave. Of disease running wild in communities unchecked. Of media ruining the careers of anyone who dared to come out. To see Con O'Neill So Fucking Happy and having it cut short because Jenkins thought Izzy was better dead than being an actual background character makes me see fucking red.

No. Jenkins probably didn't know Con was Queer when writing S2. But I'm assuming he still saw how happy Con was at Izzy fans before S2 was written which still makes it feel shitty.

Sure. Give Izzy all the amazing speeches about family and belonging and rip that right from his hands as soon as Izzy realizes it's something he might want for himself. Let's have Con O'Neill say all the prominent lines that are a blatant metaphor for why the Queer community needs to stick together.

Izzy's arc isn't just overshadowing the conversation because it was mismanaged and feels unplanned, it also just feels cruel to the central arc of this series. Add that to an actor who was so vocal about loving this community, it feels pointed to give him a tragic ending.

Jenkins doesn't need to consider why people hated this finale. Because there are SO MANY Ed/Stede fans who just don't care. They put Izzy in the box with every other side character and decided to put their effort into the protagonists and point and laugh when we suffer. Jenkins won't rethink anything because he can just say the 'Izzy community was passionate and are sad their favorite died'. Ignoring how this season made Stede into a shittier, less sympathetic captain and gave Ed an interesting arc only to give up before the finish line.

[spine-buster]

Lost in the Memory | Ryan O'Reilly | Volume I

gif credit @/mitchmarner

A/N: Well, here it is...the first instalment of a very inspired plot bunny that appeared the day that ROR became a Leaf! Hope you all enjoy what is basically porn without plot :)

TW: sibling death

“We have an MLSE-owned condo that you can both go to take a few moments before the game – get that nap in – before coming back here.”

Ryan let Noel take it. He made up something on the spot, that he already owned a condo somewhere near here as an investment, and it was sitting empty, so he’d just go to that to get his pre-game nap in. Nobody was the wiser. After Noel was handed the keys to the condo, Ryan ordered an Uber to take him to Summerhill.

As he approached the front door of the original Victorian semi, he admired the bay-and-gable architecture that reminded him so much of the house the Napier kids grew up in. It was why Whitney loved it so much in the first place, and why Ryan bought it for her without giving it a second thought. Original stained-glass windows. Hardwood floors and trim. Original wood-burning fireplaces, still working after being built in the 1890s. Old but cozy. Grand but homey. Four bedrooms, just like there was in her house growing up, one for each of the kids, and of course one for her parents. Ryan could still remember where all the kids’ bedrooms were on the second floor, for various reasons.

Owen was the eldest Napier child, born in 1986 just like Cal. He was the smartest of all the Napier and O’Reilly kids too, save for probably Tara, and his job as a surgeon out in Kelowna proved it. He and Cal played a lot of hockey together, but when Owen decided to get serious about science, he quit. He and Cal drifted apart slightly, but they were still good friends and still kept in touch a lot. Tara came next in 1988, and Ryan and Gareth followed three years later in 1991, within weeks of each other. The two boys were inseparable, whether they were riding their bikes, on their skateboards or rollerblades or scooters, zooming down hills on toboggans – not to mention on the ice. They were always playing together on the same teams, until Ryan left for Toronto and then the OHL. But even then, Gareth would get himself to any game Ryan was playing that was even remotely close to their hometown. Whitney was born four years later in 1995. Owen and Gareth weren’t too excited to get a baby sister – they would have obviously preferred a brother – but Ryan still remembered the day she was brought home from the hospital. Shannon came in 1997, and the group was complete.

When Ryan got drafted, the Napier family were there celebrating with his. Even all of his foster siblings – almost 50 of them – loved the Napier family. When he was drafted and moved to Colorado, they’d make a trip with his parents once a year to watch him play. When he moved to Buffalo, they would drive down multiple times a year to catch a game and support him, knowing what he was going through there. His house was their house. Their house was his house. Their joys were his joys, and their tragedies were his tragedies.

He heard the door unlock. When it opened, he saw Whitney standing on the other side in a pair of Lululemon tights and a crop top. She seemed surprised to see him, even though they’d texted before he got on the plane.

“I thought you’d be taking your pre-game nap,” she said.

Ryan stepped into the house. He didn’t want to waste time. “I’ve got two hours until I have to be back at the arena,” he said, closing the door behind him and locking it without even looking.

In one swift movement, he wrapped an arm around Whitney and pulled her against his body. She let a giggle out. “We can get up to a lot in two hours, can’t we,” she whispered, her voice husky as she looked up at him. It was only then she realized he was wearing a stereotypical Canadian tuxedo, and she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. “And look at me. I’m not even wearing what I promised for you.”

“You know I don’t care about that right now. I like you better like this anyway,” his voice was just as husky as hers. His hands travelled down over her ass and he picked her up, just as he had countless times before, and she wrapped her legs around his torso, just like she had countless times before. There was no hesitation on either end when their lips and tongues met hungrily, not bothering with pleasantries or soft beginning kisses. That was for those who were unsure or perhaps didn’t know what they were doing, and Ryan and Whitney had been doing this for over ten years.

Ryan was big and strong. He always had been, even as kids – when he’d pick her up and carry her to her room kicking and screaming so he and Gareth could play video games in peace without her annoying them as kids; when he’d push her on the swing in the park and she’d go higher than all the other kids, making them jealous; when she wasn’t so little anymore and she’d pair up with him in pool fights where he’d let her get on his shoulders and he was as solid as concrete foundation. Hockey had only made him bigger and stronger. All the training he did throughout the year, and in the summers with his dad, only meant that his body was always overpowering in its size and stature, but not in a bad way. The first time they’d done this he’d been so gentle with her, but it only took until the second time for Whitney to want to feel his entire body against hers, and for him to use it to his full advantage (and to hers, if she was being honest). They hadn’t looked back since.

Ryan wasted no time carrying Whitney up the stairs, climbing them like it was nothing and leading her to her bedroom. When he placed her down on the bed, their lips didn’t even leave each other’s until she began to grasp at his jean jacket. “Take this off,” she breathed out. “I want to feel your body, Snook.”

Whitney pushed the jacket off his shoulders, and he tugged at the sleeves and pulled it off, throwing it off the bed. She snuck her hands underneath his top, the firmness of his body beneath her fingertips once again. It didn’t matter how many times it happened; it invigorated her every time. There was no other body on this earth that felt like Ryan’s – she was sure of that. And it didn’t matter if they were in bed, in the backseat of his car, in a pool or hot tub, or anywhere else, the feeling of his physical body so close to hers reminded her constantly that Ryan’s body was made for her, and her body was made for Ryan.

Before she could take off his shirt, Ryan began leaving a trail of kisses down her body, dragging his lips and tongue along areas until he pushed her crop top up, exposing her bra. “Take this off, baby,” he mumbled against her skin. “I need to see you.”

Whitney leaned forward so Ryan’s giant hands could slip underneath the fabric and pull her top off, and she followed quickly in pulling her sports bra over her head, lying back down on the bed with her arms above her head. When she felt Ryan clasping his hands over hers, applying pressure to keep them from moving, she grinded her hips up against his. “Fuck,” he let out quickly, quietly, biting his bottom lip. He crashed his lips against Whitney’s, sticking his tongue down her throat and causing her to mewl in pleasure, her hips grinding against his once more.

He could already feel himself getting hard – it never took long with Whitney. He moved down to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Her little sighs and moans were what he got lost in; the same little sighs and moans he would think about when she was on the other side of the dinner table or deck in front of their friends or family and he couldn’t touch her like he could behind closed doors. The thought of them clouded his judgement so much sometimes that he’d tune out what everyone was saying around him and remember a time where he’d pinned her body under his and all they felt was ecstasy.

He began to place big, open-mouth kisses down her chest and stomach, getting achingly slow around her belly button. When he set her hands free, they immediately went to gathering the fabric of his shirt into her fists, pulling it off him quickly so they were both topless. His lips returned dangerously close to the waistband of her leggings. “Not now, Snook,” Whitney said. “Later. I want to feel you inside me. It’s been so long.”

Ryan could barely think straight. “Later?”

“Later,” she nodded, her hands moving down to the button and zipper of his jeans, unfastening them in record speed. “I need to feel you fill me up like you love to.”

She helped him wiggle out of his jeans, and he pulled her tights and underwear off. When he was back on top of her, he grabbed one of her thighs and hooked her leg around his torso. He squeezed at the flesh of her thighs, both their chests heaving up and down. “D’you still have your IUD?”

“Of course.”

The way Whitney closed her eyes as she felt Ryan enter her – every time – still got to Ryan – every time. The way her eyelashes fluttered, then closed shut, then the inhalation of breath. He could feel her nails digging into the skin on his shoulder blades. “Look at me,” he said, almost demanded. Whitney’s eyes fluttered open to do as she was told, even though he was still pushing himself inside her. “You look so beautiful under me like this,” he told her.

“You’re so good to me, Ry,” she called him the pet name only she was allowed. He was called Snook by his entire family. He was called Ryan by everybody else. But only Whitney could call him Ry. “God, you feel so good inside me.” By this point Ryan was fully inside her, basking in the feeling he knew all too well. With one of Whitney’s legs still hooked around his torso, he began moving in and out of her at a steady pace, making her eyes roll to the back of her head from the pleasure. She brought her hands around and cradled his face, her thumbs grazing over his lips. “You love having me like this, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Legs wide open, ready for you.”

“Yes.”

“Did you think about this when you were alone in St. Louis?”

She knew the answer to that question. She just wanted to hear him say how desperately he needed her. “Yes,” he huffed out, feeling her hips push into his again. “All the time.”

“Now that you’re in Toronto we can do this all the time,” she said. He watched as the slightest of smiles adorned her face, biting at her bottom lip. “You’ll be over a lot, won’t you Ry. Having me like this. Getting me on my hands and knees for you.”

The thought of it was heaven. If he could play hockey in Toronto and make love to Whitney in some sort of alternating schedule…well, that was his idea of paradise. “D’you need me like I need you?”

“Yes,” Whitney said without hesitation. “God Ry, you feel so good. Keep doing that. I want it to last as long as possible.”

Ryan grabbed her hands again, holding her wrists together above her head with just one hand. It was a while before he released them, and a while that they were back on his shoulder blades, digging deep into his skin. He couldn’t surmise how long they’d been going for, but he knew it had been a while, judging by the sweat on his body and how flushed red Whitney’s skin was, not to mention how puffy her lips were from all their kissing. He could feel himself getting close, and judging by the sighs and moans escaping Whitney, which he knew all too well, she was close too. “Look at me, Whit,” he said again, watching as she looked him in the eye.

“I want you to come inside me, Ry,” she breathed out. “Think about your cum in me while you win against the Habs.” He grunted at the thought. That would make him go crazy. “And when you get back home I’ll be waiting for you – waiting for you to fill me up again.”

Another loud grunt from him. She knew exactly what to say. “Fuckin’ love you, Whit.”

“Love you too Ry. Ever since we were kids.”

No more words were exchanged. Instead, laboured breaths, solid moans, and passionate cries filled the room until they came together, the feeling of Whitney tightening around his cock sending Ryan over the edge, and the feeling of Ryan coming inside of her, just as she wanted, sending Whitney over the edge too. He went for as long as he could, pumping in and out of her slowly as he felt her body shivering with pleasure, until even he was too tired. He collapsed onto her slowly, and she immediately wrapped her arms around his body, holding him close. They kissed for a while, slowly and passionately until they breathing returned to normal, with Ryan still inside her. Eventually, they lay together on their sides, holding each other.

Ryan’s eyes were getting droopy, and he was having a hard time staying awake. With the whirlwind 12 hours he’d just gone through, Whitney didn’t blame him. She began running her fingers through his hair, letting her nails massage his scalp. “Do you like how I redecorated the place?”

Ryan let out a tired smile. “Didn’t get to see it. But I bet it looks good. Not that my opinion matters.”

“Why not? You own the house.”

“I may have bought it but it’s your house,” he said. Her told her that all the time. He nestled his head into the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath in before exhaling. Whitney could feel his entire body relax in her arms, and she knew he was going to fall asleep any second. “I made a promise to your brother that I’d take care of you,” he continued, “and I’m not gonna break that promise.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d told Whitney that, either. “I know. I remember you saying that to Gareth as he lay in his casket.”

“I’ll always take care of you, Whit,” were Ryan’s last words before Whitney felt his breathing steady as he fell asleep.

Gareth passed away in the summer of 2013, when he was 22 years old. Whitney was just 18, about to move to Toronto and enter her first year of university at Ryerson to study communications. After hopping over to Russia, signing an offer sheet with Calgary, and then signing again with Colorado, Ryan was home early for the summer because the team hadn’t made the playoffs. Gareth, Ryan, and a bunch of their buddies had gone to the beaches near Goderich for a day of some fun and paddleboarding. One by one they had left, until Gareth was the only one. He was supposed to be back out again at 8 that night for a party, but he never showed up. That’s when everyone started to worry.

She remembered texting Ryan first, of course. They spoke every day.

did gareth go your house to get ready for that party?

i left the beach at 2 cuz i was getting sun stroke gareth was still there with jonesy, , john, ben, burnsy, and trent why?

he never came home he’s not answering his phone can you please come over ry

The specific details remained a blur to Whitney. She remembered little pockets of what happened, such as Ryan bursting through the front door. She remembered the kind police officer begging her and her parents to get some rest before the search resumed in the morning but being unable to, despite Ryan in her bedroom with her, holding her and rocking her back and forth, telling her that everything was going to be okay. She remembered not being able to stomach Bonnie O’Reilly’s broccoli chicken casserole even though it was one of her favourites. She remembered Ryan squeezing her hand under the table.

At some point, Whitney remembered hearing the worst news of her life: Gareth’s body had been found washed up on the shore of Lake Huron near Blue Water Beach and had been immediately transported to the hospital. So much water had gotten into his lungs that he’d developed an anoxic brain injury.

She remembered when she first stepped into his hospital room and felt physically sick by how many tubes he was hooked up to, including the ventilator. She remembered the doctors telling them that Gareth had drowned, that he was brain dead, and that they would have to make the choice as to when to remove the ventilator. They waited by his bedside for two days before Owen made it back from British Columbia.

On June 5th, at 3:30 in the afternoon, Gareth James Napier passed away.

Whitney doesn’t speak about his funeral.

***

When Ryan woke up an hour later, he and Whitney were still in the same position, nestled together in her bed. Her hand was still in his hair, their limbs entangled with one another’s. He groaned slightly, knowing that he had to leave but not exactly wanting to. He looked at his watch.

“You should take a shower before you leave,” he heard Whitney’s voice.

“Come with me.”

“Ryyyyyy,” she elongated his name, giggling slightly at the end. “You can’t have sex when you’re trying to wash the smell of sex off of you.”

“You said later, Whit,” his lips grazed against her skin. “It’s later.”

Whitney would never be able to forget how Ryan’s beard felt between her legs. After kissing and washing each other and Ryan eating her out within an inch of her life (seriously, he had to use his hands to hold her up because her legs turned into fucking jello and Ryan wasn’t about to let her fall in her own bathtub and get a concussion), they stood together at her front door, kissing, waiting for his Uber to arrive.

“We fly out to Chicago after the game, and then from there we fly to Buffalo,” he informed her in between kisses.

Whitney already knew. She’d looked up the schedule. “D’you want me to be in Buffalo, Snook?” she asked. He hesitated. “I can be there. I know it’s gonna feel…interesting for you.”

“I can let you know which hotel we’ll be in,” he acquiesced. “If—if you can even come that early. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Whit.”

“I don’t want you feeling alone in Buffalo. I know how much of a mindfuck it can be for you being there,” she wasn’t having any of it. “I can hang out with all the Leaf fans.”

He smiled. “I’m gonna have to get you a jersey.”

“Only if it has your name on the back,” she said, running her hands up and down his chest. “You can fuck me in it after.”

Ryan groaned, leaning his head down to kiss her. A car honked outside. “If you drive home fast enough that night, we’ll be able to. We won’t have to wait.”

Another kiss, this time more urgent. And another. And another. And another. “I’ll see you in Buffalo, Snook,” Whitney finally said her goodbye.

Another kiss. This time, Ryan bit her bottom lip between his teeth and pulled it along with him as he moved away. A soft mewl left Whitney’s lips. “See you in Buffalo.”

***

When Ryan played in Buffalo, Whitney would drive down to see him play. She wouldn’t tell anybody where she was going or what she was doing because it was their little secret. Sometimes she’d go just for a game and to be with Ryan afterwards, and she’d drive home the next morning to make it in time for her 10am class; sometimes if Ryan had a particularly long home stretch, she’d stay over longer and they would stay holed up in his house, making love in every room and on every surface imaginable. In between she would finish school work.

It wasn’t as frequent when Ryan first got to Buffalo. He’d signed a seven-year contract extension for an absurd amount of money – $52.5 million – and was putting up good numbers. But the team kept losing. And losing. And losing. It started to take a toll on him mentally. He’d call to talk with her and their conversations would last hours. Sometimes he’d get really emotional. Sometime he’d even cry, and her heart would break over the fact that he was feeling this way and she couldn’t be there to comfort him. He admitted to her long before he said it in the media that he’d felt like he lost the love of the game multiple times throughout the season. He didn’t need to say it in the media for her to know.

The most heartbreaking moment for Whitney came during a rainy night in Buffalo. It was her last night staying with Ryan until he had to leave for a whopping 14-day road trip with the team. He’d been grasping on to her the whole last day, as if she’d float away back to Toronto without saying goodbye. When they were cuddled in bed together, just kissing, she could feel fresh tears roll down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Snook?”

“What’s wrong with me, Whit? Why can’t I win? I—”

“Snook, you can’t put that pressure on yourself. The team doesn’t start and end with you—”

“First with Colorado, now with Buffalo…everywhere I go I feel like a cancer.”

Whitney remembered having a sick feeling in her stomach as Ryan said those words. She remembered wiping his tears away with her thumbs and with her kisses, begging him to realize he was worth so much more than what he thought. She remembered telling him over and over how much she loved him, hoping that it would calm him down, but it didn’t help much. He was too far into his own head. The next morning, as he showered and finished his packing, Whitney was scared to let go of him. She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want him to be away from her when he was so vulnerable. She made him promise to call her every day, even though they already spoke every day through text.

He kept his promise.

That summer, Ryan was traded to St. Louis. On the one hand, Whitney was sad because he wasn’t close anymore. There was no way she could just drive to see him so often now. On the other hand, she was happy he was traded out of a situation that made him lose his love of the game. She still visited him in St. Louis, but much less often. They still got up to their fun.

She parked in the same spot as she always did, and navigated the Keybank Centre like the back of her hand. She joined the legion of Leafs fans watching the warm-ups, getting as close to the glass as possible. She wasn’t wearing a Leafs jersey, so realistically, she’d stick out like a sore thumb. Despite her family being Leafs fans, she only ever wore Ryan’s jerseys.

Ryan saw her during warm up. Whitney knew he did because there was a cute little smile on his face for a few minutes, and there was a cute little smile on her face for a few minutes, watching him out there in a Leafs jersey shooting pucks and skating around. The days when her mother would haul her to arenas for Gareth and Ryan’s hockey games were long over, but the dream was alive for him: he was a Stanley Cup Champion. He was a Conn Smythe winner. And now he was a Toronto Maple Leaf. She only wished Gareth was here to see it all in person, even though she knew he was watching from above.

As she went to her seat after warm ups, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

You look beautiful.

She couldn’t help but smile.

Focus on the game you pervert.

She eventually took her seat, only about ten rows up from the ice. Barely four minutes into the game, she got her first gift: Ryan scored his first goal as a Toronto Maple Leaf. The only other time she thought she was as loud was when he won the Stanley Cup. A grand total of thirty-seven seconds later, he scored again.

Whitney knew she was going to be in for a hell of a game.

When he finished his hat trick at the end of the game, she cried a little. It was made all the more emotional by the fact they were in Buffalo – she had to admit that. But once the buzzer rang, and the Leafs won 6-3, she pulled out her phone instinctively, just as she had countless times before.

Leaving now. If you get home before me let yourself in. I’m so happy for you. And I’m so fucking excited for later.

It was when she got to her car that she received a reply. She thought he probably had to handle some post-game press which is why it took him so long.

That was for you. And you better be fucking excited.

***

At just before midnight, Whitney and Ryan’s lips crashed against one another’s in the privacy of her home. Their kisses were frantic, their hands, too. They almost knocked down the vase at the front entrance, and almost tripped going up the stairs to. But when they finally got to her bedroom, Whitney pushed Ryan to sit down on the edge of her bed. He watched as she dropped down to her knees in front of him.

She unbuttoned his pants and slid the zipper down expertly. She knew how to get into every pair of pants he wore. “You like what you see, Snook?”

“You know the answer to that,” he said, helping her wiggle his pants off of him. “You always look so pretty when you’re on your knees for me.” He brought his hands forward to cup her face, guiding her up slightly so he could place another sloppy kiss on her lips. “All that tonight was for you, baby,” he told her.

“You don’t have to butter me up Snook, I’m gonna suck your dick regardless.”

Ryan let out a chuckle. When he felt her hand over his growing length, he groaned slightly. He kissed her again. “You’re sweetness. That’s what you are, Whit. Sweetness.”

That was a nickname he had called her time and time again. And not just in bed. In the morning, when they would make coffee together; at dinner, when he was pouring her a glass of wine; when she was on the couch and he was in the kitchen as he would ask if she wanted more popcorn. The first time he called her that, they were still teens, and he was still using it to this day. Snook and Sweetness.

Whitney bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know if you should be calling me sweetness before what we’re going to do.” Ryan could feel his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he watched her free his dick from his underwear. She stroked him a few times before giving him one last look. “You wanna come down my throat?” she asked.

He nodded.

She licked the underside of his cock, causing him to hiss. She placed a few kisses along his head before she began sucking, only lightly, teasing him into oblivion. When she was satisfied with the number of curse words that left his mouth, without warning, she took more of his cock into her mouth. He leaned his head back in pleasure, and when he felt her take even more, a new string of expletives left his mouth. “God Whit, you’re so fucking good.”

She hummed in response, the vibration allowing for a new sensation. He could feel her swirl her tongue as he watched her bob her head up and down his shaft, taking more and more into his mouth with each passing moment. He pushed her hair out of her face and gathered it in his hands. He watched with eyes wide as she took all of him down her throat. He felt the back of her throat with the tip of his cock and grunted. She took him like that a few more times, with his help, his chest heaving up and down.

“Whit—”

“Hmmm?”

“Gimme your fingers.”

Whitney brought one of her hands up. Ryan grabbed it and brought it towards his mouth, sucking her index and middle fingers. He took them out of his mouth but kept them close, spitting on them before looking at her. “Touch yourself.”

Whitney whimpered at the command and did what she was told, sticking her hand down her underwear and placing them directly on her already wet pussy. She touched herself for a while as she kept taking Ryan’s cock down her throat again and again, even going so far as to spit on its head when she came back up once. Ryan couldn’t do anything else but curse, taking a while before he could finally formulate something else to say. “Look at me, Whit.”

She looked up at him with her beady eyes, popping his cock out of her mouth. “Yeah Ry?”

“You were fuckin’ made for me, you know that?” he huffed, bringing the hand that was in her hair around her face so he could wipe the spit off her lips with his thumb.

Whitney nodded quickly. “You were made for me too.”

“This pretty little mouth was made for me,” Ryan continued, “and your pretty little pussy too.”

“All for you,” Whitney agreed. “All for you.”

When Whitney continued sucking his dick, Ryan knew he was getting close. The moaning and sucking sounds definitely didn’t help, and he let Whitney know by saying it out loud. She took him all the way down to the back of her throat a few times more before Ryan bucked his hips and felt his hot cum release in her mouth and down her throat. He was gasping for air, his mouth wide open at the sensation; Whitney moaned in pleasure at the feeling and taste of him, as it had been so long since the last time. She continued to suck every last drop until she could feel his dick soften; only then did she finally stop.

Ryan pulled her up by gently tugging on her hair. His lips crashed on to hers and he pulled her body against his, falling onto the bed together. They wasted no time in removing each other of their clothes. When Whitney slid out of her underwear, Ryan got a look at how wet her pussy already was, covered in her own juices and his spit, and practically had a heart palpitation. “Come sit on my face, sweetness.”

She crawled over his body and sat on his face. He wrapped his arms around her thigs and pinned her down so she could barely move – just enough to grind if she wanted to, or if Ryan let her. It took no time at all for Ryan to start lapping at her pussy, starting with one long lick from bottom to top and sucking on her clit for good measure.

Whitney ran her hands through Ryan’s hair and gripped on to it. She knew she’d get beard burn, but she didn’t care – she wanted this to last as long as possible. Even though she was anticipating what would happen after this – all the positions they’d tangle themselves in, how many times he’d make her come, how much Ryan would leave her wanting more – the thought of Ryan between her thighs using only his tongue and lips to make her come was something she thought of way too often, especially on lonely nights when she was desperate to see him, or nights where they’d have phone sex and only her fingers could do. She had to have an active imagination because only the real thing – the real Ryan – could ever make her feel as good as he made her feel. Nothing was better than Ryan, because nothing or no-one loved her more than Ryan.

“Just like that, Ry,” she signed out, cupping her breasts in her hands and pinching at her nipples before having to grip the headboard.

“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet,” Ryan mumbled against the lips of her pussy, sucking at her clit right afterwards.

Her moans and mewls got louder. She knew her voice would be coarse tomorrow because of it – and he hadn’t even made her scream yet. That was still coming. She couldn’t help but tug on his hair and make him moan in the process. When she began grinding on his face slightly, she could feel his hands grip at her hips and help guide her – she knew she’d have marks there tomorrow, but she didn’t care.

After a while, when Whitney couldn’t hold it in any longer, she cried out his name over and over again as she came on his face, her entire body shaking on top of him. The only reason why she didn’t completely collapse was the headboard and Ryan’s strong hands. Eventually she shifted her body down, so she could see Ryan’s face, only to see that it was wet and covered in her juices.

“Holy fucking shit,” she blurted.

“I’m ready t—"

Ryan didn’t get to finish his sentence. Whitney acted fast, crashing her lips onto his so she could taste herself on his face. “Holy fuck,” she mumbled in between kisses.

“See how good you taste? How sweet?” Ryan mumbled in between kisses. “I could get drunk on you. I could eat you out all fucking night.”

“Tell me how you want me, Ry.”

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Whitney inhaled sharply. She did as she was told. She always did with Ryan. So did he. That’s what made everything so…nice. That’s what made everything so unbelievable. She faced away from him, but she could feel him watching her, getting a full look of how ready she was for him. When she felt him grab her hips again, she readied herself to feel his cock deep inside her pussy.

Instead, she felt Ryan’s body hover over hers. She closed her eyes, oblivious to what was going to happen next, until she could feel him placing light kisses at the back of her neck and across her shoulder blades. He was taking his time, being gentle, savouring the moment before they lost themselves into each other. “I love you, Whit,” he whispered into her ear.

“I love you too Snook,” she said.

“I’ve loved you forever.”

Whitney took another deep breath. He kissed along her ear. She turned her head so they could make eye contact. “It doesn’t feel like this with anyone else.”

“I know. It doesn’t.”

“I only ever feel like this with you, Ry. Nobody else can make me feel good like you do.”

“Same, Whit.”

There was a moment of silence between them, knowing what was about to happen. “Will you fuck me how you know I like it?” Whitney asked, her voice as sweet as how she tasted.

Ryan didn’t bother to answer. He continued his soft kisses down her spine instead, before placing a final kiss at the base of it and grabbing her hips. He could tell how giddy she was in anticipation. “Face down, ass up, sweetness.”

Whitney whimpered just at the command. In one swift movement she moved her body, and before she could say anything else, she felt Ryan’s cock teasing at her entrance. He was going to make her beg because she loved to beg, because she asked him to fuck her the way she liked it and this is how she liked to be fucked. She liked every way with him, but special moments like this deserved something special, and he was going to give it to her. When they made love, like the afternoon he arrived in Toronto…that was different. It was soft, and it was passionate, and it was the physical encapsulation of the conversation they’d just had, but what was about to happen next was anything but.

“Tell me how much you need me, sweetness.”

“I need your cock, Ry. Fill me up,” she begged.

“Beg. Beg.”

Whitney bit at her bottom lip. “Please Ry, pleeeease. I need to feel your cock inside me. I need you to fill me up. I need you so bad, Ry. I need what only you can give me.”

Ryan entered her in one swift movement, and her pussy was so slick that he slid right in and bottomed out. Whitney cried out in pleasure, and it didn’t take long for him to start pounding in and out of her, hearing her get louder and louder as he became rougher. Instinctively she would try to rise every so often, and Ryan would push her back down, making her cry out even louder for how he was controlling her pleasure. At some points, even her knees began to buckle and spread from under her, bringing her closer to the bed, and Ryan would have to pull her hips back up. He’d lost track at how many times he felt her walls tighten around his pulsating cock, lost track at how many times she cried out his name.

He pulled her hair so that her body was flush against his chest, bringing one hand around to tease her clit, and another to wrap itself at the base of her neck. He wasn’t choking her, because she didn’t like that, but this was their alternative. She brought her own hand up and placed it over his, trying as best as possible to intertwine their fingers.

“Fucking hell, Ry,” Whitney managed to get out. “Feels so fucking good.”

“D’you love it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Tell me how good it feels. Use your words, sweetness.”

Whitney couldn’t believe him. She also couldn’t believe she would oblige. “You feel so fucking big,” she began, heavy breaths punctuating every thought. “You stretch me out, and my pussy…my pussy feels so full. I can’t wait until you come inside me. Can you feel how wet my pussy is?”

“How many times did you come?”

“I—I don’t know. I always lose count with you.”

Ryan leaned back and took Whitney with him, so she was lying down on top of him with one hand at the base of her neck and another on her pussy, his cock still buried deep in her. “Ry—”

“Take it Whit. Take it like the good girl you are for me.”

Though he couldn’t see it, Whitney’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as Ryan pumped in and out of her in this new position, hitting an angle that was sending her even quicker over the edge than before, which she didn’t think was possible. “Ry…Ry…fuck Ry…” her nails dug into the back of his hand. Her heartbeat was out of control.

She didn’t even know how much time had passed in that position – how could she? – before she heard Ryan utter the magic words. “I’m fucking close, Whit.”

“I wanna face you when you come, Ry. Can you—”

Before she knew what was happening, he slid out of her and got on top of her. Though she whimpered at the loss of his cock inside her, he spread her legs and hiked one around his torso and entered her again. Though it felt like she had been having just one continuous orgasm for the last several minutes, she was desperate to feel him come inside her, to feel one last wave of pleasure throughout her body. They looked each other in the eye; Whitney could see a fire in his that he reserved only for her.

“Tell me how much you need me, Whit,” he huffed.

“I need you more than anything, Snook,” she told him, because it was the truth.

“Am I the only one that gets to come inside of you?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she bit her bottom lip. “You’re the only one. The only one that gets to come in pussy, because it’s all yours, Ry. All yours.”

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, thrusting into her so forcefully that she cried out his name over and over. When she felt him come inside her, she grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck. Her finally orgasm rushed throughout her entire body like a title wave, hers and Ryan’s breathing the only thing to be heard in the bedroom. His breathing was so frantic it almost sounded high-pitched, almost like he was going through an asthma attack. His face was still buried in the crook of her neck as he collapsed on top of her. When he rolled over to the side, his cock left her pussy for the first time (for more than, like, five whole damn seconds) in what felt like hours. Whitney’s body was still shivering from her orgasms. Ryan was having a hard time catching his breath.

It was a few minutes before either of them felt even 0.0001% semblance of normalcy. Ryan was the first to look over at Whitney, who was still staring up at the ceiling. “Are you okay, Whit?” he asked.

“I’m better than okay,” she whispered – it was the loudest her voice could get.

Ryan couldn’t help but smile. “Ready for round two?”

Whitney whipped her head to the side to look at him, only to see him smirking and giggling like a little school girl. “I don’t think I’ll have a voice tomorrow. I don’t even think I’m going to be able to walk tomorrow,” she chastised.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, outstretching his arm so she could roll into his body. When she was tucked into him, he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for being in Buffalo tonight.”

“It was nothing,” she said. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I love you, Whit.”

“I love you too, Snook.”

***

There was a long road trip coming up to the west coast. Seattle, Edmonton, Calgary, Vancouver, and then to New Jersey, before finally coming home again to face Edmonton during a Hockey Night in Canada. This meant that Friday was a good a time as ever for Ryan’s parents and Whitney’s parents to drive to Toronto to watch the game against Minnesota. Ryan had secured them tickets and access to the family room – as family members, of course. Whitney would have to be on her best behaviour.

They all had lunch earlier that day, before Ryan usually went down for his pre-game nap. Whitney met up with the parents at their hotel before the game, getting her friends and family pass from her mom before she walked with them to the arena. After giving their names and passes to a man named Omar, they were led to the family lounge, where there was at least half of the women Whitney assumed to be the partners of the men on the team. There weren’t any parents around, though, which Whitney thought would make them stick out like a sore thumb.

They weren’t there long before Whitney noticed a woman balancing a toddler on her hip approaching them with a big smile.

“Hello! You must be the O’Reilly family?” she asked.

“That’s us! And friends!” Brian said.

“It’s very nice to meet you. Welcome to the Toronto Maple Leafs!” she extended her free hand to shake everyone’s. “I’m Aryne Tavares, John’s wife, and this is my son Axton.”

Bonnie waved at him and he waved back. “We’re the O’Reillys,” she pointed at herself and her husband, “and these are our friends and neighbours, James and Alice Napier and their daughter Whitney. Whitney and Ryan grew up together.”

“Come take a seat, please – Ryan mentioned to John that you were all coming tonight. Can we get you any food? Whitney, follow me, you can meet some of the partners…”

It was a bit of a blur for Whitney, if only because she was meeting so many people associated with the players on the team that it was hard to keep track of them all. She met Bee McTavish, who was getting married to Morgan Rielly this summer; Aberdeen Bloom, who was with William Nylander (Whitney had read her book and had loved it); and Lusine, who was with Rasmus Sandin (Whitney didn’t think there’d be anyone younger than her present, but lo and behold). This sort of situation had happened before in Colorado and Buffalo, where things went normally, and in St. Louis, where things went a bit…differently, but Whitney was glad to say this was normal. They were all very nice, very welcoming, very talkative.

St. Louis hadn’t been like this. The first time she’d met the team, it was much less formally – at one of the guys’ raucous birthday parties she just happened to be in town for. Most of the guys were nice, albeit buzzed, but they were manageable. Jordan Binnington and his hands definitely weren’t, and he had a hard time taking no for an answer until Ryan had to step in. While that was long in the past, whenever it was brought up or remembered, Ryan still got angry about it. The anger didn’t come from a place where he though he owned Whitney or that she was his and no-one else’s – it was because Jordan was just downright disrespectful, from his words to his intentions to his actions. Ryan had been nothing but respectful to everyone his entire life, and he couldn’t fathom acting like Jordan towards anyone.

It was when Whitney emerged from the washroom during the intermission between first and second period that things got interesting. Everybody had been so nice, and then she saw Bee McTavish waving to get her attention. “Is everything okay?” Whitney asked.

“Aryne said Bonnie told her you and Ryan grew up together?” she wanted to clarify.

“Yeah,” Whitney nodded. “He’s known me since I was a baby.”

Bee looked around, over both shoulders, before she lowered her voice. “It’s Aberdeen’s birthday tomorrow, but since the boys are leaving for Seattle, we’re having her birthday party tonight,” Bee explained. “Lusine and I spent an hour decorating her place for a surprise birthday before we got here. You and Ryan should come! Get you away from your parents if you want.”

Whitney didn’t know what to say. It was the first time she was meeting everyone and they were already inviting her out? This was probably the nicest group of women she’d ever met. “Oh my God, that’s so – that’s so kind of you, but please, if this is a friends thing, please don’t feel obligated—”

“Oh my gosh, don’t even start,” Bee cut her off. “It’s nothing serious, and we would love to have you. I’m sure Ryan will love to get to know the boys even better in an informal setting, away from hockey.”

Whitney couldn’t help the smile that overtook her face. “I’ll ask him when we see them, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes…if only to get away from having to entertain his parents on a Friday night,” she winked.

“Boomers in the big bad city,” Bee joked.

“Nah – Brian and Bonnie are actually from Toronto. They’ll be fine. They may actually know a bar to go to.”

***

It was almost one in the morning before Ryan and Whitney called it a night at Aberdeen’s surprise “Quarter Century” birthday party. While they could have stayed longer, they promised their parents brunch at 11 the next morning before Ryan had to leave for the airport. They weren’t in for a long drive up to Summerhill, thankfully, because the second that they were in the elevator, away from the condo, Ryan grabbed Whitney’s hand.

“You know what I remembered tonight?” Whitney asked as they emerged from the parking garage.

“What’s that?”

“Remember when Binner was flirting with me?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but not in an annoyed way – in an angry way, which – if Whitney was being honest – was the exact reason she brought it up. She wanted a little bit of heat to fester while they were in the car. “What about it?”

“Just how bad the flirting was,” she cracked a joke. “He wasn’t even being subtle about it.”

“Whit—”

“Remember how you had to talk to him and got angry with him?”

“He deserved it,” Ryan said simply. “I never got over it, by the way. I’m still angry with him about it.”

“He helped you win a Stanley Cup,” she deadpanned.

“Doesn’t matter. He disrespected you and made you feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness for making you feel that way.”

There was a moment of silence between them, with only the sound of the rubber tires moving along the road filling the void. Whitney’s hand snuck across the dash and landed on Ryan’s thigh, squeezing it gently. “You never told me what you said to him, you know.”

He moved his hand to grip her thigh. “Come on, Whit.”

“Come on, Snook,” she countered, raising her hand higher on his thigh, dangerously close to his member.

She watched as Ryan bit his tongue, and it had nothing to do with how high her hand was. She knew he was having one of his small internal battles. “I just told him to knock it off. That I didn’t like how he was treating you. You clearly weren’t interested and what bothered me was that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He told me he bet you were used to it and that’s when I kind of lost it on him. Told him that you weren’t, and that if he was gonna keep doing that, I’d knock his teeth down his throat.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. “Was that before or after he put his hands on me and pulled me in to sit on his lap?”

Okay, now Ryan was getting angry. Remembering the thought of seeing Jordan’s hands on Whitney, in places where Ryan knew only his hands had been, sent him spiralling. Pulling her onto his lap, like some kind of dog – Ryan had steam coming out of his ears that night. “I fuckin—I can’t—I think it was after,” he honestly couldn’t remember. The anger clouded his memory. “All I remember is wanting to give him a black eye. Dad always said no violence and I’ve never wanted to punch a guy until then.”

Whitney didn’t know why, but she loved hearing all of this. She loved hearing about how upset Ryan got, what he said to Jordan, everything. It wasn’t that it made her feel wanted or valued – she always did with Ryan, so that wasn’t an issue. And it wasn’t because she generally disliked Jordan – although that was a perk. But she felt herself getting hotter with each passing second. “You hated it because I belong to you, right?” she prompted, her voice low and not suggestive at all. She saw Ryan hesitate to go down this road, and more than a few moments of silence passed between them. She squeezed his thigh softly. “You can say it Ry. It’s okay.”

“I don’t think…” he hesitated again. “You don’t belong to anyone, Whitney. I don’t like that.”

“Okay,” Whitney nodded slightly, her voice sober. So she struck out on that one – that was fine. “Sorry, Snook.”

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetness.”

Another few moments of silence. Whitney noticed some recognizable shops, so she knew they were close to home. She removed her hand from his thigh and placed it over his, which was still resting comfortable in her lap. She made sure their fingers intertwined before moving it up. “Remember when we were kids and we used to getaway in your car for hours?”

Did he. Ryan could still vividly remember the first time they hooked up in his car. For years there had been such charged energy between them that Ryan didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, this was his best friend’s younger sister. On the other hand, he quite literally couldn’t keep himself away from her. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that they literally grew up together. It began with instances like Whitney sitting beside him on an old porch swing one night, where Ryan felt like his body was on fire. It continued to other instances, like when they were playfighting in the pool one night and Ryan couldn’t get out at the same time because…he had something to hide. Then, later that summer, Whitney and Ryan shared their first kiss. It almost didn’t happen, because Ryan was convinced Gareth would be lurking in a bush ready to kick his ass, but they were safe. From the moment he felt Whitney’s lips on his, he was a goner. He knew that there would be nothing else like it. They kissed more than a few times after that, and each one was their little secret. It progressed to Whitney and Ryan texting each other in secret. Nobody knew about the kisses. Nobody knew about the pictures she was sending him, either. Not nudes, but suggestive enough.

When Ryan came back the following summer, things were cranked up to 1000. Gareth wasn’t around as often because of his summer courses (though he was still around quite a bit), and Owen had already moved to British Columbia, which meant that unless Ryan and Gareth’s friends were around, when they were alone, Ryan and Whitney got into a lot of trouble. Kisses turned to makeout sessions – on couches, in his bed, on her bed. Then makeout sessions on couches or beds turned into makeout sessions in Ryan’s car, when they’d drive to Goderich together to watch the sunset over the lake but end up not seeing the sunset at all. Kisses and makeout sessions turned into touching, too. Lots of touching. Whitney could still remember what it felt like the first time Ryan’s hand snuck underneath her sundress and in between her legs. Ryan could still remember what it felt like the first time Whitney zipped down his pants and snuck her hand beneath his underwear.

They were supposed to be watching the sunset one night when Whitney made the suggestion that they have sex. Ryan was against it at first, coming up with any excuse he could. “You’re my best friend’s younger sister” was the obvious one. “You’re barely seventeen” was his other, more plausible excuse. Whitney didn’t care; she didn’t care that he was older and she didn’t care about his excuses. He was the safest, most natural, most responsible, most loving choice. All the boys at school were gross little perverts, and here was Ryan, who had always looked after her, who was always asking if he could stick his hand down her pants, always asking if he could grope her boobs. Most of all, she wanted it because she knew he loved her. There was no way it could be with anyone else. She wanted him so badly that it was driving her insane. But then there was a moment when Ryan looked into Whitney’s eyes and everything changed. They weren’t desperate – far from it. They weren’t even pleading. Instead, what he saw in her eyes was everything he loved about her, all the memories they shared growing up together, all the times they had each other’s back when they broke a vase or had some unexplained bruise or fed their vegetables to the Napier’s dog, Cinnamon.

And so, as the sun set over Lake Huron, in Ryan’s car, they had sex.

And they hadn’t stopped since.

“Of course I remember,” Ryan said. He made a right-hand turn onto the street. Whitney knew it would only be a minute or so until he pulled into her small driveway. “I—I always remember those times. Those were some of my favourites.”

Whitney squeezed his hand again. She was wearing pants, but when she guided Ryan’s hand between her thighs, he could feel her core. “They’re some of my favourites, too.”

“Why are they for you?” Ryan asked.

Whitney took a moment to collect her thoughts. “I—it’s gonna sound weird, Snook.”

He gave her a look from the driver’s seat. “I spit in your hand the other night and told you to touch yourself. We’re past the point of weird, sweetness.”

Whitney couldn’t help but snort. He was right, that was for damn sure. “I’ve always thought you were attractive. Like, once I hit puberty, I found myself only being attracted to you, or, like, trying to find guys that looked like you so it wasn’t you because I thought it was wrong at first. And so when we started hooking up, for me, it was a lot about the emotions, sure, but more so about, like…the physical. Like…your body, Snook. Just…your entire body is just so big and strong, and when you’d hover over me or I’d get to run my hands along your back or your chest, I just couldn’t get enough of your body. There’s always been something so visceral about your body to me. So remembering back to the first time I got to touch it…God, I could make myself come right now just thinking about it.”

Ryan stayed silent for a few moments, taking in everything Whitney had to say. “For me,” he began slowly, “it’s some of my favourite memories because I—you—you were always just a ray of light. Like so many people got moody and pretentious, but you didn’t. You matured and whatever, but you still experienced joy. Every day wasn’t the end of the world for you. You saw every day as a chance to experience joy.”

Whitney was smiling. “I talk about you like a hot piece of ass, and you talk about me in the most beautiful way.”

“You were always a handsy kid,” Ryan joked. He finally turned into her driveway, parking the car and turning it off. “But your body was just as enticing, sweetness. I still remember the first time I touched you too. How your body responded immediately. Just like now,” his voice was getting lower and lower, his eyes focusing on his hand between her thighs.

Whitney leaned over the centre console first, kissing Ryan sweetly. Their lips couldn’t leave one another’s, and eventually, Whitney began climbing over to get into Ryan’s lap. He pushed his seat all the way back so they would be more comfortable. His hands immediately went underneath her top as they continued kissing, and everything felt back like it did in Goderich, on the coast of Lake Huron. From the kissing to the touching to the windows fogging up.

With Ryan’s hands over her breasts, Whitney felt overwhelmed – but in the best way. “Make love to me here, Snook. Just like we used to,” she breathed out.

“Yeah? You want it?” Ryan asked.

She nodded. “I want it. I want you, Ry.”

Somehow, Ryan helped Whitney out of her pants. Then, somehow, she pushed his down too, sticking her hand down his underwear to free his cock. His hand travelled down between her legs, teasing at her lips and causing her to moan. “You remember the first time I touched you like this?” Ryan asked. Whitney nodded her head. “You remember how you were squirming in my lap?”

“I was trying to get your fingers deeper.”

Ryan giggled. “Your entire body was shaking when I touched you.”

“Because I couldn’t believe you were,” she said. “Things I had dreamed about for so long were happening.”

Ryan pushed a finger ever-so-slightly into Whitney’s pussy, causing her to catch her breath. “What else did you dream about?”

“It—it started with you kissing me. Then I would dream about your hand or your mouth on my pussy,” she explained as they looked each other in the eye. “The first time I dreamt of us having sex, I woke up in the middle of it and I was touching myself.”

“Fuck Whit, you never told me that before.”

“Did you ever dream about me, Snook?”

“All the time,” he nodded. “Still do, sweetness.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Most of the time it’s burying my face in your sweet pussy,” he began, pushing his finger further into her. “Can I tell you a secret, sweetness?”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes, when it’s been long since we’ve seen each other, I dream about something as simple as holding your hand.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. He called her sweetness, but he was sweetness personified. He said things like that all the time, and it didn’t matter what it was, but Whitney would fall for it every time. He was so sentimental. “Make love to me Snook.”

He guided his cock to her entrance and she lowered herself on top of him, gasping at the angle that he was entering her, especially since they were so close physically. It took her a few moments to get used to the feeling. This wasn’t the first time they had hooked up in a car since they were horny teenagers, but it had definitely been a while. “You feel so good, Whit,” Ryan huffed, gripping at her hips.

“Can you do me a favour?” she asked, opening her eyes and finally focusing back on him.

“What’s that?”

“Can you kiss me here?” she asked sweetly, moving her hair out of the way and pointing to her jawline.

Ryan smiled. “Of course,” he mumbled, already moving forward to place kisses exactly where she wanted them. She grabbed onto the backrest right by his shoulders.

“And here,” she pointed to her neck, causing Ryan to move down.

She began moving in his lap, slowly, running a hand through the hair at the nape of Ryan’s neck. He moved back up to her lips and they kissed for a while, Ryan’s tongue down her throat and hands squeezing her hips. She didn’t want this to end quickly, so she didn’t move quickly, either. There was something so intimate about the moment, despite them being in the front seat of a car. Reminiscing on their memories right before this must have been the kicker. Ryan was just as gentle then as he was being now, except now they both knew what they were doing.

“Ry?” she pulled away so they could look each other in the eye.

“Hmm?”

“D’you love me?”

“Of course I love you,” he said, kissing her right afterwards. “D’you love me?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “It’s only ever been you, Ry.”

He hummed in happiness. “It’s always about you for me.”

Whitney leaned forward, giving him small, light kisses along his jawline and neck before moving up to his ear. “Tell me I’m yours, Ry.”

“You’re mine, sweetness,” he huffed into her ear. “All mine.”

“All yours,” she repeated. She didn’t belong to him – that he made clear – but she was his, and he was hers. “Look at me, Ry.”

He did. His eyes were so blue, Whitney thought that the oceans were captured in his eyes. They were always like that, but when he grew the dark beard, they somehow became even more prominent. “You’re so beautiful, sweetness,” he said. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful girl in my life.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. While fucking Ryan was out of this world, making love to Ryan was the best. While fucking felt so good, and so satisfying, and always left them wanting more, making love brought an emotional fulfillment neither could get from anyone else. “Your girl.”

“My girl,” he kissed her passionately. The windows had fogged up so much, but their pair continued kissing anyway, Whitney’s grinding in his lap giving them more and more pleasure slowly but surely.

Whitney moved to kisses along his jaw when she felt herself getting close. “I want to feel you come inside me, Ry. Will you do that for me?” she whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetness,” he tightened his grip on her hips.

She didn’t move any faster, but she could feel Ryan guiding her back and forth. They were looking into each other’s eyes the entire time as they got closer and closer to their release. It seemed as if even their breaths were in sync, huffing out laboured breaths until Whitney became louder and louder. When he came inside her, Ryan could feel her legs shake in his lap, the moans escaping her as she nestled into the crook of his neck. “Oh fuck Ry…” she didn’t know what else to say, couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Was that what you wanted, sweetness?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It was just like when we used to sneak away to Bluewater Beach.”

Ryan smiled again, and he knew Whitney was smiling too. He slipped out of her, but they stayed embraced for a while longer before they began to feel the cold permeate the car. “Let’s go to bed, Whit.”

She sighed, knowing she’d have to get off his lap. She looked him in the eye one last time before resolving to climb off him and back into the passenger’s seat. “Will you hold me?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to,” Ryan promised.

They redressed and rushed inside, desperate not to feel the cold night air for too long. Whitney washed off her makeup and Ryan got ready for bed, lying in bed in his boxers with the blanket open until Whitney slipped in. He made sure to set his alarm for 9:30 before outstretching his arms and having Whitney cuddle in to him. Just like he promised, he held her as they fell asleep.

“I love you, Snook,” Ryan heard Whitney say, barely above a whisper, right before she fell asleep.

“I love you too, Whit,” he responded, placing a small kiss on her shoulder.

***

“She was very nice,” Bee said to Aberdeen as she helped load the dishwasher of all the glasses used for the surprise party. “She was mentioning how she and Ryan grew up together in Seaforth. She’s got two older brothers, and Ryan’s got three other siblings, and they’re all best friends.”

“That’s so nice,” Aberdeen said, slightly buzzed, trying to hide from Bee that she was going to lose her balance any minute. She gripped on to the counter top for dear life. “Did you watch them at all? See anything fishy?”

Bee furrowed her brows. “Uh…no? Why? Did you?”

Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders, a playful grin playing on her face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re not just friends.”

[hiatuswhore]

♕ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʇɐᴚ ʇǝǝɹʇS ǝɥ⊥—ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ǝpıɹԀ

♕ A/N: Ahhhh here is The Prince and The Street Rat—A Game of Pride. So this was originally always where the story was going but for a minute I did consider taking it an alternative direction. If I did change it though every hint of this ending throughout the chapters would be some meaningless. There is one more part to this story. Let me know what you think, comments are a great motivator! Thank you for enjoying this story with me😁.

♕ SUMMARY: The world works in mysterious ways and so does the residents of Kings Landing. One never knows what they find in the alleyways and rooftops. Whores, drunks, knights, thieves, sometimes even Princes.

♕ WORD COUNT: 5.9K

♕ WARNING: Nothing out of the ordinary 🕺🏽

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Swallowing thickly, you exit the room with Aemonds cloak covering your shoulders. Your dismissal lacks directives, the guards trailing behind you aimlessly. The corridors are still more maze than familiar, finding your way through without thought.

“(Y/n)!” Taliya exclaims, rising to her feet taking two steps forward. You step back, staring as though a puzzle sits before you. Biting the inside of your cheek, Daltis blinks, studying you without pause.

"I want the truth. Did Cayde die for some foolish cause of having me rise in station?" Narrowing your eyes, Taliya turns to Daltis, who wears a face of stone. Bawling your fists, your head tilts as you meet Daltis's gaze. You grimace, barely above a whisper, "Do not lie to me."

"No. He died because he loved you. He knew not of these dealings—of the hope a Flea Bottom girl has inspired in thousands," A breathless cry leaves your lips, clutching the Targaryen cloak without care of the shooting ache through your muscles. Thousands.

"I will not be the face of an injudicious movement. The weaponization of my familiarity with the Prince is an act of treason. This cause will come with senseless deaths in my name. I will not bear this. I won't," Somethings never change. Not your stubbornness or Daltis's patience. All these years and still, your defiance shines, exhausting your elders.

"Do tell what Flea Bottom girl speaks as you do. Stands as you do, flouts about amongst high Lords and Princes. You have cemented your place in the histories. Done things no other has and lived to tell the tale. No matter how fast you run, how cunning you are—(Y/n) you cannot escape this," Daltis's gruff tone commands the room as a Lord Commander demands his men. A reminder of the strength that allows his underground dealings to flourish. Your grimace softens, lips trembling into a strangled cry. A long sigh leaves Daltis as you wipe away your tears before they build, "You are the very best of your father. Do better than he. Put trust in this. It is you who will better the realm. The world will never forget (Y/n) Rivers, I am certain of it."

Exiting the chamber doors, you reach your own. Clothes damp against your skin. A servant runs a hot bath, silently lingering by as you consistently dunk yourself beneath the surface. Returning with only your face sticking from the water. Your mind absent from your body, a calm holding every crevice of your body. Sleep comes easy, dawn arriving with Alicent directing every aspect of the new day.

Alicent structures your day-to-day with heavy vigilance. Roslyn aids you in the mornings and nights. Breakfast consists of terse silences leaving Taliya failing to garner conversation beyond the briefest of words. After you sit for lessons in etiquette and houses.

Alicent structures your day-to-day with heavy vigilance. Roslyn aids you in the mornings and nights. Breakfast consists of terse silences leaving Taliya failing to garner conversation beyond the briefest of words. After you sit for lessons in etiquette and houses.

The days seemingly never end. You are Helaena's companion in your free hours. Joining her for walks, reading to or with her in the Godswood, and her favorite part of the day—braiding her hair.

"I hear you jumped from Vermax into the Bay. Far above the water and land," Helaena says, smiling gently in the mirror. You make careful work of lacing her hair with flowers. Not looking up to meet her gaze. Your second dance with death floods your memory.

"Rather pushed. I fear the story muddles in my memory. I cannot recall great detail," Helaena's smile widens as you finish her braid, using a flower to lock the ends. You offer a tight-lipped smile.

"I hear songs sung of your fearlessness. The people are quite fond of you. As am I," The young Queen's eyes shine with a level of obliviousness never known to you. A childlike glow. Forcing a broader smile to your lips, your stomach turns. No one speaks of your time with the Velaryon Prince, not to you, at least. The whispers and rumors fall deaf on your ears. You place your hand on her shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze.

"I am nothing but a humble servant. While your praises honor me, I am just a girl," Helaena shakes her head, placing her hand on your own. She looks up at you over her shoulder. The light squeeze of her hand earns a strained smile, and the moment ends as swiftly as it begins. A distant stupor seizing the eccentric Queen.

"Ablaze be the city as the bells ring, surrender leaving only the river," Helaena blinks with a shake of her head, rising to her feet with a giddy smile. She spins in the mirror, gushing at how the white flowers compliment her lilac gown.

"I beg your pardon?" You say, but she only reiterates her love of the flowers in her braid. Shaking your head, you take her hands. Meeting her gaze with urgency, "Before that, your grace. Your mumblings. You have shared them before."

Helaena frowns, your grip on her hands firm. She tilts her head, letting her shoulders fall, her eyebrows pulling knit, "The bells?"

Helaena turns to her mirror and grabs her earrings from her table, fastening them as a servant announces Aemond's arrival.

"My apologies for the intrusion. Lady (Y/n), can I have a moment of your time?" You glance at Helaena, who only smiles. He rubs his thumb along his fingers, carefully tucked at his sides. Aemond gestures to Helaena's empty library, allowing you to go first. You cross the room with your hands clasped before you, saying nothing as he closes the door behind you. Meeting your gaze, the room stills, neither of you eager to speak first. At the break of silence, you almost fail to hear the low him of his voice, "How are you?"

"You disappeared before my departure to Rivverrun. Then avoid me for weeks, and rather than presenting an explanation or anything for this new life thrust upon me, you inquire of how I am? We both know very well your grace, the answer expected of me as a proper lady," Your jaw clenches, eyebrows creasing in disbelief. He mutters an apology that drowns beneath your scoff. Shaking your head, a mirthless laugh leaves you. Squaring your shoulders, you supplant exasperation with a courteous smile, "I thank you, my lord, for your care of my well-being."

"Don't do that. Do not close me out," He's across the room, standing before you in seconds. You stare up at him, narrowing your eyes with an incredulous glint.

"The Dowager Queen made her expectations clear. What is it you want me to say, Prince Aemond? My fear is of no import. My lack of protection in the Keep walls concerns no one. So why bother shouting when no one will hear me?" You shove him back, one push becoming three, three becoming five before he stands pressed to a wall. He makes no effort to stop you, the dejection in his demeanor fueling your fire. He mutters you are right, halting the assault you inflict upon him. Your hands trembling as his words cut through your anger with ease. You release a strangled cry of frustration, stepping away as you run your hands over your face.

"I am sorry, (Y/n). The mess I have made of your life is a wrong I cannot undo. My selfishness has brought us here, but I swear to you. Ask of me anything in the realm of possibility, and it is yours," You drop down onto a chair, your leg bouncing incessantly beneath you. Realm of possibility. A gentle reminder of the reins that hold you steady. Little to no leverage to support your wish to leave. You stare off, focusing on nothing, in particular, the bounce of your leg coming to an abrupt stop. Aemond saying nothing as your face turns to stone.

"Break your oath to the Baratheon girl. Wed yourself to me," The words leave your lips without a second of reconsideration. Before your very eyes, the gentle Prince vanishes. Aemond's gaze darkens, a sneer taking his features.

"Do not toy with me," Aemond seethes, pacing the room like a caged animal. You rise to your feet, his theatrics doing little to curb your composure.

"I do not jest. I do not love you as you wish me to, but I do love you, my childhood companion. This marriage is not to appease you but of self-interest. Your mother is right; you have endangered me so. The assassination of a Prince's whore is of no consequence, but a Targaryen Princess? That comes with a hefty debt to be paid, a costly one. Your brother will gain the favor of the common people in light of our union, further solidifying his claim to the throne. You trapped me in this storm, now aid me in weathering it," Your perfect posture and level head conceal all evidence of your parentage—your history. A known girl through the streets of Kings Landing.

You speak plainly, watching Aemond blink vehemently. His eyes scan the room aimlessly. The offer of his dreams, and he stands like a bumbling halfwit. You bite your bottom lip, your chuckle filling the silence. Aemonds incertitude written across his face, "Quite the love story you and I, huh? They'll sing songs of our love. The poets will write ceaselessly of faux tales of the long journey that brought us to our union. One of passion and wild romance."

Helaena skips through the doors hooking her arm through your own, announcing it's time for supper. You half nod in Aemond's direction, leaving the room without another word. Like breakfast with Cayde's parents, dinner with the Royal family carries on in agonizing silence. If Aegon's drunk enough, he entertains you all with his nonsense that reminds you all of the imbeciles who sits the Iron Throne. Tonight he sits fiddling with his potatoes with the focus of a maester performing a procedure. The clanging of cutlery against plates fills the air.

"Your hair looks lovely this evening, my girl," Otto beams at Helaena, an earnest you would not believe was there without witnessing firsthand.

"Thank you, Grandsire. (Y/n) did it for me. She is very good at braiding," Helaena leans her head on your shoulder, smiling up at you before retreating to her food. Otto nods his head, his gaze cutting to you.

"Very impressive lady (Y/n)," You bring your cup to your lips to cover the scoff that edges to the surface. Taking a long gulp, you lower the cup displaying a dazzling smile. The Lord Hand only chuckles, turning to his food as his daughter wears a pointed stare. You stare back with a blank exterior, giving no inkling of submission.

"I have an announcement to make," All eyes move to Aemond. Grabbing your chalice once more, you raise an eyebrow as his eyes meet your own. On his feet, even Aegon refocuses his gaze from his plate to his brother. "I am to wed the Lady (Y/n)."

You continue eating even as Otto turns to you. The clang of Alicent's fork against her plate echoes through the hall. Helaena's claps in approval fall into her lap as her mother pinches the bridge of her nose. Aegon's eyes bounce between yourself and his mother, chuckling while reaching for Helaena's glass. He takes several gulps of it as Alicent reminds her second-born of his betrothal to Floris Baratheon.

"Why in the seven hells would we break our needed alliance with the Baratheons?" Alicent focuses her glare on you as she speaks to Aemond, her father's gaze never leaving your calm composure. You bring a fork of potatoes to your lips, chewing slowly as your skin crawls the room granting you audience.

"The favor of the people. People of Kings Landing know her. Tales of her exploits have swept the realm. The people love her. Wed her to our Aemond. A common girl to a Targaryen creates an illusion. They say Targaryens are closer to the Gods than men, and with their union comes a fantasy. That of the low-borns being closer to Targaryens. Closer to the Gods. Bringing much-needed favor to Aegon's claim to the throne," The twinkle in Otto's eyes brings you pause. He turns to Alicent with a pleased expression as she openly gapes. She questions the solution to appeasing Boris Baratheon, a simple fix. The promise of Aegon's heir to a Baratheon child, the promise of a Baratheon with a Royal title. A pipe dream.

"Well, then, I believe congratulations are in order. To my brother and his lovely bride-to-be. A wonderful addition to the family indeed," Aegon grins like a madman raising Helaena's cup as he stares at you. You raise your own cup, the falsity of your gratitude covering nausea plaguing your gut. The ache of shackles that forever bind you. A Targaryen Princess.

The Green Council are the first to learn the news. You sit relishing in Lord Lannisters sneer. No one dares to question your presence or the need for an emergency meeting. Your smile grows as Otto makes the announcement. Lord Lannisters eyes widen as silence takes the room. Otto regales their rationale briefly, shifting to the true purpose of the meeting, the expectations of your own and Aemond's union.

Word spreads like wildfire with the summons of all Lords in the realm expected to be in attendance. House Baratheon coined an honored guest. An array of events carefully crafted by the Green Council.

Escorts by the King's Guard through the city, a stroll through the markets. Many familiar faces do not miss the opportunity to congratulate you, feigning more familiarity than necessary. Both you and Aemond are present at food banquets, personally handing food to the needy of the city. Low rides on Vhagar showcasing your unheard-of betrothal, a Prince, and a nameless girl.

You go from a pawn to a show pony in a blink of an eye. How delightful. Overnight your wardrobe changes drastically. Hightower green at the forefront, if not green, then an emblem skillfully sewn to the bodice. You say nothing about the constant changes in your environment. Each day brings a new public outing, carefully orchestrated by the King's privy council down to the styling of your hair. Feeding off the fondness the common people share for you. Outside these outings, Aemond often disappears, and every inquiry of where earns long silences.

"Very lovely choice, your Grace," Roslyn laces the back of your gown. The fabric traps your body's heat.

"Must I wear this all night?" You squirm, rolling your neck, relishing in the light pops of your muscles. Roslyn chuckles as you grumble about the gown choice not being your own.

"Smile, my lady. Today you make history. (Y/n) Rivers. A Targaryen Princess. Your betrothed wished to start your day with a surprise," You shiver against the cold against your skin. The blue sapphire sitting between your collar bones. Bringing your hand to the shimmering gem, your back stiffens.

"He gifted me this?" You turn as she finishes tying the gown. Her smile widens as she nods. Chewing your bottom lip, you turn back to the mirror. Closing your eyes, the faint hum of water plays at your skin's edges. You take a deep breath basking in faux weightlessness.

"What do you think?" Aemond's lips pursed as you stood before him. Your lips gapped as no words left you. The silence in the room was without a hint of its beginning or end. He released a heavy sigh, muttering a slew of regrets as he adjusted his eye patch.

"Prince Aemond One-Eye. The most fearsome warrior in all of Westeros. I think when read in the histories, you shall sound quite legendary," Your hands grab his wrists, the eye patch resting on his eyebrow. A tight-lipped smile on your lips as you looked into his eye. You moved slowly, not taking your eyes off his lone one. The removal of his eyepatch came with a deep shudder from the young Targaryen.

"I—do you ever yearn for something you cannot have?" Aemond shifted on the balls of his feet as he dropped his gaze.

You chuckled while deeming him a fool, "There's plenty Flea Bottom girls yearn for that they can never have. If I had to say, then I would say family. But whilst looking at yours, I fear maybe not."

"We're family. You and I."

"Are you alright?" You wet your lips, opening your eyes with a deep exhale. The chamber doors open with a quick knock, Taliya offering Roslyn a half nod.

"It's time," She says warmly, holding out her hand with a wide smile. Neither of you says a word whilst journeying to your carriage. A sea of guards surround you at every turn. The open top leaves you privy to watching eyes. Gripping Taliya's hand, the whites of your knuckles contrast the rest of your palm. "All will be well."

Her touch gentle as the guards lift you both up from the ground. The march out of the Keep reveals cries of excitement through the streets. Smiles greet you with urgent calls of hello. Your mind awaits the second you open your eyes to greet the sun beaming down on your hammock. It never comes. The many faces blend into an indiscernible crowd chanting in unison.

(Y/n)!

(Y/n)!

(Y/n)!

"Smile. They love you," Your gaze cuts to Taliya. She smiles happily at the city's people as though it's a common occurrence. No longer a nameless face in the crowd but the cause of the gathering. A weak smile takes your lips, the Sept drawing near in the distance.

Soldiers struggle against the masses who fill the road to see you, just a girl, on her wedding day. Swallowing thickly, you raise your hand, earning a thunderous roar of cheer. The soldiers stop at the Sept stairs. Daltis stands at the bottom behind a row of soldiers. He dons fine blue silks, with ripple stitching decorating his lapel—matching his wife.

"It's quite strange. Despite all he has brought to my life, I question if I can do this," Squeezing Daltis's hand, you pull him close, shielding your trembling form from onlookers. Holding back a shudder from wracking your body, you release a mirthless laugh, "I scheme for the Black Queen."

Daltis meets your misty eyes with a sharp gaze. The wordless interaction lasts mere seconds before he nudges his head toward the Sept. You grip your skirts, stabilizing your feet as Daltis continues with a smile ghosting on his lips.

"Did you not hear me?" Tugging at his arm at the top of the steps, the blinding shine of the sun matters little. Dalits turns to the crowd with a wave, fueling their cheers that fill the air.

"Your machinations are for the good of the realm, are they not? Why bother looking back? You're not going that way," The squeeze of his hand on your own comes with a quiet that clashes against the many yelling patrons behind you.

At the top of the stairs, you look up where the structure's edge meets the sky. The ground beneath you exists in mind only. You know you stand before the people of King's Landing, an indisputable truth.

Yet still, your body lays, the soft ripples of the Bay swaying your limbs above the surface. Just because you don't get it right away doesn't mean you will not.

The moments blur into a peculiarity unknown to you. You take note of every second from the moment you step into the Sept. The eyes of strangers watching your every move, all trained in the art of neutrality. Deceit beneath boards.

The eye of Aemond stays on you as though no other exists in the world. His boards now dismantled, adoration painting his features. Dalits drums his fingers against your palm the entire way without faltering, and you spare each other mere glances. His eyes find Aemond, the wordless transaction leaving to a path you have long traveled. To the House of Dragons.

Even now, as the world erases history, your mind screams reminders of the past. Before you stands a blubbering young Prince eager for his own dragon. In front of him? Not a woman grown, not a Targaryen Princess, but a sharp-tongued Flea Bottom girl—a bastard, oh the irony. Two children, spouting vows lost on the schemes of larger powers.

"The love of the Seven is holy and eternal. The source of all life and love. We stand here tonight in thanks and praise to join two souls as one. Father. Mother. Warrior. Smith. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. Hear now their vows," Inhaling sharply, your gaze stays on Aemond. Your eyes cut to your hand bound to Aemond's by ribbon, the tremble of your hand clear.

"I am his, and he is mine."

"I am hers, and she is mine."

His lips on your own reveal the tether tied all those years prior while two fools scaling an alleyway wall. Oblivious of all to come. A fate only the Gods could foresee.

On the Sept stairs, you both wave, masks of joy painting your expressions. In your carriage, away from the prying eyes, you both find yourselves watching the other.

"Are you alright?" You break the silence, fiddling your fingers in your lap. Aemond's eye travels from your own to the sapphire between your collarbones. The silence deafening.

"I had hoped you'd want this as much as I. Have I doomed us?" He speaks barely above a whisper, watching as your eyes focus on your fingers. You lift your shoulders, dropping them with a childlike huff. The calls of your name make your head snap up, and your eyebrows pull knit.

"Princess (Y/n)!"

"Princess (Y/n)!" Aemond chuckles softly to himself, the voices of many filling the carriage. Your eyes lock with his own, a faint smile on your lips. We'll figure it out, you mouth, a weak smile taking your lips.

Stepping into the grand hall hand in hand, a line of congratulations awaits you. Aegon toasts to Aemond and yourself, announcing Boris Baratheon as an honored guest. You narrow your eyes as Aemond grins to himself, the servants setting out an array of dishes.

"By the gods!" Reaching forward, the familiar Dornish candy garners stick between your fingers. The sweet mixing with the sour on your tongue pulls a hum of approval from your lips. Aemond chuckles, sipping his wine, "Well, you're the clear culprit behind this. This is my favorite of all sweets."

"I'm aware I specifically requested it. Aemond the generous remember," He says. A soft chuckle leaves your lips, turning forward, your cheeks burning as you scan the room with wary eyes. Nothing. Not a single element of the festivities sit out of place, your stomach somersaulting as your heart hammers. The high merriment and endless wine do little to pull your avid overview of the feast.

"Are you alright?" Aemond's hand finds your knee. His eyebrows pull knit as you offer a contrived smile. "We can retire early if you like."

"No, I guess I'm just not used to so much attention," You murmur, looking around the room once more. It all remains the same. If the Rogue Prince plans to strike, he offers no clear warning to you.

In the corner of your eye, you watch Aemond follow your careful scan of the room. His eye narrows, swallowing thickly as your corset becomes a slow choking death. He knows. Your frantic state hides beneath a blank stare. Rising to his feet, an eerie smile takes his lips, "I have a surprise for you."

"Uxoricide is frowned upon, I've heard," You joke, failing to break the pressure that holds your chest. Aemond only rolls his eyes. His smile faint as he guides you toward the dance floor. The crowd parts like the sea in a wise old tale. Nobles make haste at the sight of your presence, offering bows and curtsies in reverence except for one.

The coils of her hair strike you first, a clear connection as only one other in the room shares such a rare look in Westeros. Your strides slow as you take her in from a distance, almost trailing behind Aemond as a result. Her skin glows beneath the candlelight like your own, her parentage and connection to yourself without a shadow of a doubt.

You come to an abrupt stop. Aemond's body jerks back to find you akin to a statue. Staring forward like a woman possessed, your eyes glaze over as your mind scrambles to make sense of who stands before you. Aemond returns to your side, his touch cautious as his breath tickles the shell of your ear.

"My absence in recent weeks has been little to do with the pending war. Your father's Pentosi background proved to be a challenge, even I could not conquer it, but Dorne was not. This is Syva, your mother's mother," Syva stands with a gentle smile, and her eyes crinkle in the corners. You turn to your husband, swallowing the fire that bubbles in your throat, willing the tears to remain in your ducts.

None of you move, Aemond pursing his lips, likely scrutinizing his actions to deem them good or bad. It's Syva who breaks the standoff. She stands before you taking your hands with a gasp.

"By the gods. You look just like her, my Mala," She cries, a misty haze in her eyes. Mala, her name was Mala. Aemond greets her with a familiarity that rings truth to his recent absences. You watch as your grandmother places her hands on both of his cheeks, thanking him profusely. Words evade you, your throat drying as Aemond excuses himself. His smile beaming as he passes you, joining some nameless Lord not too far from your shrinking form. Opening your mouth to speak, nothing leaves you. "I imagine you have many questions for me, dear girl. Not for a second do I ever want you to think I didn't want you. Pranar…your father, He and I never truly saw eye to eye. When I got word of his—I looked for you, but I just couldn't seem to find you. For a time, I thought maybe you had been taken too."

Lacing your fingers in her own, your lips tremble into a crumbling smile. The music and dancing around you now distant fixtures in a grand hall far beyond anything you know. Syva smiles, wiping the salty tears from your cheek, disregarding the few who whisper of you both. "Oh, but look at you now. A Targaryen Princess. From the day you were born, a force like no other."

"Please, grandmother, join us. I wish to know you. To know my mother," Your request leaves you in a raspy plea. Syva chuckles, urging you to remember yourself.

"You are no Lady or nameless Princess of some quaint Realm. You are a Princess from the House of Dragon Riders, dear. I have no place at that table with you, but if you'll have me here at court, I would be honored to know you," Swallowing the ache of your cheeks, your smile does not falter. Nodding your head like a giddy child, you swear to her she's more than welcome, confessing familiarity to be what you most desire. "I have heard the tales of your husband. The cruel Prince, the kinslayer. And that may all be true, but the fervor that boy carries for you, dear. You don't see that every day."

Following Syva's gaze, your eyebrows raise at the outlandish sight. Aemond stands with his brother, a boisterous laugh consuming the two—a new cup in his hand. You excuse yourself from your grandmother, promising to find her before the night's end. At Aemonds side, you ask the dragons to share what humors them so fervently. A pause sits between the three of you as Aegon retells his tasteless joke leaving Aemond to shift on the balls of his feet. The frivolity of your laugh breaks the ice leaving the three of you in a band of grins.

You find Aemond already looking at you as the laughter dies down. No longer at your wedding feast but on your rooftop without a care in the world. Smirking up at him, he narrows his eyes, raising his eyebrows.

"My apologies, my Lord, I almost mistook you for my husband, Prince Aemond. About this tall, a brooding Maester with love for awfully boring things. Such as philosophy and history," Aemond chuckles, intercepting his next cup of wine you down it lacing your fingers into his own. A gag leaves your lips silently, cursing the Lannisters and their coveted Lannisport wine, "While this arrangement may not have been my hearts to desire. I give you my word, I will try."

"Are you certain of this? If today marks the day I become dragon food, the history will write of the Kings Landing Bastard who haunts the Targaryen dynasty," You whined as Aemond rolled his eyes. He walked several paces ahead of you, practically dragging you to the Dragon Pit.

"We are bonded. Even now, Vhagar knows of my care for you. She will not harm you," Aemond insisted. You halted in place as she came into view, your eyes wide as Aemond tugged at your arm to go with him.

"You ride that?" You visibly gulped as Aemond grinned with pride. Aemond's pleasure did not falter at the hesitancy that seized your body. You squeezed your eyes shut, allowing him to guide you, the low rumbles of Vhagar making every muscle in your body tense.

"Lykirī! Dohaerās!" Aemond rested his hand on top of your own as he pressed your palm flat upon the beast's scaly skin. Your eyes remained shut as you pushed back into Aemond's chest. “Vhagar, rhaenagon issa jorrāelagon.”

"What's that mean?" You asked, eyes still clamped shut. The low rumble of the world's largest dragon eased beneath your fingers. Aemond only chuckled, the warmth of his hand atop your own gone without warning. Your eyes whipped open, "Aemond!"

"Avy jorrāelan," Aemond rests his head against your own, Aegon grumbling as he abandons the two of you in the center of the dance floors.

"What's that mean?" Meeting his gaze, your chest knots, weaponizing incompetence easily. If he knows, he reveals nothing studying your face with a smile akin to a giddy child. Cayde sits in your mind, the lines of your morality blurring. Have I betrayed him? Does he hate me?

"At the latest hour, leave with me on Vhagar. There's a home for us in Dorne, isolated enough to hide Vhagar close enough to Sunspear for you to find work, which I know you enjoy. I can dedicate my days to my studies and to a new life. Syva lives in Sunspear. You can know her—our children can know her. She helped me with all this. It's your family home," You stumble from his hold, an incredulous look in your eyes. Onlookers eager to be privy to the dealings of the odd marital pairing.

"What of your family? Your sense of duty and pride would never allow such fantasies, so what is this?" You narrow your eyes, practically hissing as you visibly seethe. No care for the crowd that forms around you.

"You and me, this friendship is my greatest accomplishment. My pride and joy. You're my family. My duty is to you. This marriage is an oath I will not break. I love you," You cannot evade this, his words clear. Aemond pulls you back in, his smile unfazed by your venom. The fury that bubbles in your chest renders you silent, the weight of his words crushing you, "Feel no obligation to say it back, for my words are nothing. I have broken every oath to you, but I love you, and I wish to show you rather than tell you. A home away from all this awaits us. Let's start our lives together. No Iron Throne. No Hightowers or Targaryens. No Royal drama. We can be happy. I can make you happy."

"I—" Your eyes flutter shut, opening and closing as your vision splinters. Stumbling forward, Aemond takes your hands as the room turns, a fog consuming you whole as your body melts into your husband.

“(Y/n)?” A faint ding reaches your ears, drowned by a chorus of gasps. You whip your head toward the doors, following the gaze of the masses. A Kings Guard stumbles to his knees, clutching his throat. Crimson red paints the floor, Aemond muttering of it being one of his niece and nephew's guard. The clanging of his armor to the ground echoes through the room, a barrage of screams following, the room descending into utter chaos. The Rogue Prince.

"Aemond?" You cry. Violent gags jerk your neck forward, your vision blurring and refocusing as it pleases. The buckle of your knees comes with the chill of the hard floor beneath you. Aemond cradles you close as legs race around you in an endless flurry.

"I need Maesters now!" The ferocity of his screams small against the thunderous screams of scattering nobles. You clutch his shoulders, a strangled cry leaving your lips, a raging pressure setting your windpipe ablaze, holding you captive.

"The b—" Your eyes wide as he screams for a maester a final time turning his attention to you. A loud cry leaves his lips as his eye lock with your wide ones, terror dancing in them as you frantically grasp at his shoulders. Your nails claw his skin as though holding him keeps you tethered to the earth.

Head tilting back as reality collapses on itself, the sky blue sky greeting you with the beaming of the blindingly hot sun. Taking a deep breath, your chest swells at the ease that comes with the taken-for-granted task. Water creeps further up on the sides of your head, a cramp shoots through your chest. You jerk forward, a hand flat on your back, keeping you above the surface.

"Dad?" A frown takes your lips, and in a blink of an eye, the dark ceiling returns and strands of white take your vision. Your lips crumble as a cry leaves your lips once more, finite doses of air invading your windpipe.

"It's going to be okay. Issa jorrealagon. I'm right here," Aemond coos. Wiping your tears from your cheek, he pulls you to his lap. His voice wavers and cracks as he rocks you both back and forth. "We'll name our little girl Mala, like your mother. I pray to the gods she looks like you, but she'll be a brooder, and you'll hate it—I just know it. And a son, we'll name Cadis to honor your friend. He'll be every bit of you. He'll have your laugh and your distaste for anything scholarly. I'll steal eggs for them from Dragonstone. No child of ours will go without a dragon. We'll be happy, our little family. Can't you see it?"

Violent tremors cut through your body, specs of black dancing across your vision. Each of your senses collapses into each other except one. The clear ringing sits in your ears, the tintinnabulation becoming your focus. The bells. Aemond takes your hand in his own, your hands trembling as your mouth opens. He leans down, your breathing low and choppy.

The line between consciousness and unconsciousness blurring. All collapsing into a dull nothingness with no beginning or end. No husband and wife.

In Kings Landing of all places. Home to the vile, cruel, and everything in between.

[bebepac]

Memories of You

I am participating in @choicesflashfics prompt: Not all love stories get a “happily ever after.” Sometimes ... it’s just once upon a time.” 

The Book:  TRF The Series: The Cordonian Arrangement The Pairings:  Riley x Nico / (Riley x M!OC) past pairing of Liam x Riley Word Count: 2477 Warnings and Ratings:  Character death, adult language, grief/  Teen Song Inspiration: Here Without You By 3 Doors Down Summary:  Liam gives Riley Nico’s final gift.  Riley reminisces of points of her and Nico’s life together towards the end of their relationship.  

Original Post: 03/25/23 at 3:31PM EST

He didn’t even notice her watching him, well not at first.  Nico was sitting up in bed reading a book.  She rested her body against the door frame, watching him.  Finally his eyes slowly drifted up from the book to her.

“What?”  He inquired.

She giggled at him.  Nico smiled back, shaking his head, not understanding.  “Tell me,  what's so funny?”

Riley giggled.  “You’re so cute, Nico.”

Nico set the book on the night table.

“I’m cute?”

Riley nodded her head.

“Very cute. Did you know that your lips move when you are reading to yourself?” 

Nico's smile widened, and he nodded in affirmation.

“Yes, I know, but only when I'm reading a book in English.  I like to sound out the words in my head while I’m reading, to practice.”

“You can barely detect your accent at times when you speak English.”  

“I learned it very young and because I practice! A lot of doors have opened for me in my life knowing multiple languages. I know we’re doing the right thing  teaching Angelo both English and Greek at the same time.  He speaks perfect Greek already.”

“He’s only two.”  

“Well he speaks perfect Greek for a two year old. I want all of our children to know multiple languages.  It’s important. I want all of our children to have every opportunity, every door open to them that they could possibly have or want..”  

“All of our children?”

He jumped out of bed walking over to her, pulling her into his strong sturdy arms.

“Yes, all of the children we’re going to have together, but we have to make them first. We have work to do Wife, come on!"

Riley squealed as Nico picked her up, carrying her over to their bed.

Based on her due date, that night, three weeks before they found out about his diagnosis, Riley had finally gotten pregnant. They had created life together, before they knew Nico's life would be ending.

Riley blinked away the tears. That was a memory. When she opened her eyes their bed was empty. Nico passed away almost two months ago. A sweet memory of when they were happy, before cancer invaded their lives.

Before Liam had left, he gave her something he had been holding onto that he promised Nico he would give to her when he thought the time was right.  Envelopes addressed to each one of them, herself, Angelo, and  one that simply said ‘Baby K.’ She put the others away for safekeeping and began to watch hers.

"Agápi mou (my love) if you are watching this, Liam thought giving you this video would help you more than hurt. Everything I've done, I never wanted to hurt you Riley, even in death. I am grateful for every moment we spent together as a family.  That's why it pains me that I had to leave you this way, knowing all the loss you have experienced in your life, and I never wanted to be the cause of more. I promise you, that I held on to the living world and to you, as long as I physically could, because I didn't want to leave you or Angelo."

Nico's voice broke, and his eyes filled with tears. "And…..I didn't want to leave our baby that you are carrying. 

I wanted to be there, and I am thankful you allowed me to be there for Angelo in all of those ways, so I can hold onto those memories always, and I know what maybe it could have been like with our child. I hope that you will permit Liam to be there for you in that way. It would completely change him as a man.  An experience he should have, that he missed out on, not knowing of Angelo’s existence.  I truly believe Liam would do right by you and our children should you give him the chance. I don't know how much time has passed, but my hope for you is you are in a better place emotionally, that you are coping, and healing,  but you’re not over me just yet.”

Nico’s face turned from deadpan serious to twinkle in his eyes with a mischievous little smirk before he smiled small at first, then laughter erupted from him. 

 Riley smiled at the screen.  Even in grief, he had made her smile.  She rubbed her stomach affectionately.

“That’s your Daddy, little one.  I hope you can hear him. He always had a joke for me to lighten a heavy mood. He knew how to make me smile, because he understood my sarcastic, dark sense of humor, and he loves you so very much. I hope you can feel his love all the way from heaven.”  

“I believe you’re smiling and I wish I could see you right now in the moment watching this, witnessing the changes to your body, because pregnancy agrees with you. You were more beautiful to me each passing day as you carried Angelo, I can only imagine you now. But, I guess I will just have to settle for this.  I should have known you were pregnant again before you even took the test. How should I have known you’re wondering?”  

Nico entered their bedroom, it appeared to be late one evening.  He walked to the bed; she was sprawled out from under the covers sleeping.  

“Hear that?”  He whispered.

Nico leaned the camera in closer…. To her.

She heard snoring.  Nico made the sound of a mosquito and gently tickled the tip of her nose.  In sleep Riley slapped her face.

Nico covered his mouth trying to not laugh out loud,

 the amusement clear in his eyes.   After a few moments when he was sure she was still asleep, he began speaking in a whisper again.

“Just so we’re clear, I officially win this argument. This is undeniable proof that you snore Riley Karahalios.  

Breathe heavy my ass!  Do you hear that?!?!? That’s a full on snore!!! But it doesn’t make me love you any less, my little buzz saw."

He lovingly pulled the covers up around Riley, tucking her in.  She watched herself snuggle into the covers, and Nico whispered.  “I love you  to the moon and back again.”

She heard herself sigh contentedly, mumble something incoherent, and commence to snoring again.

“But in your defense, you only snore, and you’re an incredibly deep sleeper when you’re pregnant. I guess your body needs the extra rest; you are growing life inside you, eating, and sleeping for two. Sweet dreams."

He planted a kiss to her cheek before  walking  back out of the room, towards the outdoors.  

“In all of this, I really have made peace with what's happening to me.  Maybe that’s not what you want to hear, Riley, but it’s true.  There is so much beauty in this world if you silence yourself enough to listen and pay attention.  I’m going to enjoy as much as I can, while I'm still here.  Our home may be small, but it’s ours. I love the happy home we made together.  

And I know what I asked of you.  I believe you could be happy with Liam again. You were happy with him at one time, because I saw it.  I don’t want to pressure you. That’s not what this is about.  I want you to have love in your life and be and feel supported, and Liam could be that force for you. I want you to seriously think Riley, what will make you truly happy, and chase that, whatever that means to you.  I pray you are closer to finding it now, than you were when I left you."

The video panned out over their yard and their land.

"God, it's a beautiful night. There’s not a cloud in the sky and the temperature is perfect. But.....I want to tell you something else. You told me the story of your brother, and how your life has been touched by the supernatural from a very young age, and I believe every word.  This is why I know you will not doubt what I’m about to tell you.  It's been almost two weeks since we found out we were pregnant, and every night since, I have had dreams of a child. Our child. She comes to me in my dreams every night, giving me glimpses of who she is, and who she will become with you as a mother.  I love everything she has shown me.  She’s so cute, and sassy.

I have memories of a child, our child that isn’t even born yet.  She’s so beautiful, Riley.  She’s going to take your breath away, the moment you lay eyes on her for the first time.”

Riley had just found out two days ago the baby she was carrying is a girl.  Tears filled her eyes, as she caressed her stomach.

"And I see that you love your Papa too. Thank you for giving him such a special gift. I can't wait to meet you, my sweet darling girl."

She heard her voice off camera.

“I couldn’t sleep, and didn’t want to bother you.  I’m coming back inside now.”

He looked back at the camera, smiling.

“You’re calling me, and I want to go and cuddle with you now that you’re awake, so I can hold you until you fall back asleep.”

She paused the video, in that moment, he looked so content in his life and the world around him, and that's the exact way he always made her feel.

Not all love stories get a ‘happily ever after.’  Sometimes …. It’s just once upon a time.

“Is that how you want me to tell our story to our children?”  

“Yes, because even though we didn’t get that opportunity to grow old together I’ve been so happy to be with you, Riley, that you loved me. I've felt love from you everyday  since we left Cordonia. Not going to lie, for a moment, I wondered did you settle for me."

"Nico! I…."

"I know you love me.  Do you have any regrets? If you would have known then, this is what would happen to us now, would you have still chosen me?”

“Yes. Because I love you. You gave me a family, and I’m surrounded by not only your love, but theirs. I would have rather had our happiness for the years we had it, then not at all. Do you have any regrets?"

Nico was silent for a while.

"None about you. But I have one."

"What is it?"

"I love you. I love that our wedding was small and intimate. Deep down I know you and I were all that matters,  but my mother was incredibly hurt that she was not at our wedding.”  

“Then, let's get married again.”

“Riley….”

“When the time comes, you’re not going to have any regrets Nico, I won’t let you.”

“A wedding like that takes time to plan. Time… we don’t have.”  

“With everyone helping, and we have a big family Nico, all we need is a week.”  

“Riley….”  

“Nicolas Alexi Karahalios, will you marry me again?”

Nico smiled,  “Where are my flowers, you’re not going to get on bended knee? Come on, am I really that easy?”

Riley playfully pushed him away from her, to which he pulled her back into his grip.

“Yes, I will marry you again.”  

Riley was right with all of Nico’s sisters, helping and his mother, they were able to pull together a simple and beautiful outdoors ceremony.  

Nico had picked a breezy linen suit for the occasion, one that he later requested he would be buried in.  When it came time for Riley to look at dresses, Nico smiled and told her that he wanted to be surprised. He wanted to do things differently than the first time around.  They followed every tradition to the letter, except spending the night away from each other, the night before the wedding to which Nico flat out refused.  That night before the wedding, Nico wanted his little family close. Riley, Angelo, Nico, shared their bed together, with Chance and Icarus  at their feet.  

The day of the ceremony was perfect weather.  

Nico was in awe of the flowing  dress Riley had picked for their vow renewal.  

During the course of the ceremony, she glanced at Nico.  He looked tired. Without asking, Riley slipped her arm around him, letting him rest some of his weight on her.

“Thank you.”  He whispered in her ear.    

The man that used to be able to pick her up like she was a feather, was having difficulty simply holding himself upright for ten minutes.  But even in that, she still saw strength and determination in his eyes.   Nico enjoyed the rest of the day’s festivities comfortably from his seat with the exemption of the times he wanted to dance with his beautiful wife.

Two weeks later….

“He’s in pain, please give him more medication.”  

The hospice nurse shook her head.

“He’s refusing it.  He says he doesn’t want to fall asleep. He’s very agitated.”

“But he’s in pain, he needs it.”  

“He's fighting his transition. Maybe you should try to talk to him, to see if you can convince him.”  

Nico opened his eyes when she stroked his cheek.

“Please take the medication, Nico.”  

“No.”

"I don't want you to hurt."

"But I don't want you to hurt."

"I'll be fine." She said it even though she didn't believe it.

Nico saw right through her words.

"You're a horrible liar, Riley, you know that."

"Please… don't be in pain for me."

"I am willing to take it all if it means you will have none. You're not ready."

"It wasn't supposed to be this way."

"I know, life rarely follows our plans. You’re not ready.”  

“She’s not, but we will help her through it.”

Nico looked over Riley’s shoulder to his mother  and Athena.

“We will help Riley through it all.  We will take care of her, and your children.  Riley is family and she will always be.  She’ll never be able to get rid of us.”

Each placed a comforting hand on Riley’s shoulders.  Riley laughed  through her tears, her eyes meeting Nico’s again.  

She mustered up the confidence thanks to the two women standing behind her giving her the extra strength she needed in that moment.

“See,  I told you.  I may not be fine right now, but in time, I will be. Thank you for loving me so completely, Nico.”  

“I will love you for eternity Riley, until we meet again.”  

Riley kissed his lips, and finally Nico agreed to take the pain medication.

She settled next to him in bed and whispered in his ear.  “Now you can rest.”

“I can rest.”  

Not even ten minutes later, Nico took his last breath.  

Over two months had elapsed since Nico passed away,  Liam had flown back to Greece a total of three times since he initially left.  Twice for her prenatal appointments, and once for her birthday.  Liam was really trying to be there for her,  and at the same time respect her boundaries, and the grief she was still experiencing.

Liam seemed surprised when he opened the door late that evening.

“Is everything alright Riley?”  

“I… don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

“You don’t have to.”