#maybe. MAYBE. i will even attempt steel soul some time

[layalu]

>:]

[nastybuckybarnes]

Street Mouse

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Summary:

Warnings: Language, Violence, Minor Angst, Hinted attempted assault, fluff, military inaccuracies (teehee)

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: i've got a whole bunch written for this pairing, and i might make some hc explanations. I've never played COD, sue me. I hope y'all enjoy and I'm gonna probably keep pumping out more parts of this cause i love love love it.

~*~

The distant sound of gunshots is akin to a lullaby now.

You're curled up in a rundown building, a tattered blanket draped over your legs as you try to get some rest.

The sound of more gunshots, these ones much closer, jolt you upright.

Risking a glance out the broken window, you peer down at the street below you, eyes widening as you see two men fighting intensely.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the display, and you can't tear your eyes away.

Eventually, the larger of the two plunges a knife into the smaller man, watching as his body crumples to the ground in a heap.

A shiver races down Simon's back, and he straightens, eyes carefully scanning the area for danger.

He turns around, glancing into each window before finally resting on the eyes he could feel piercing through his gear. His hand twitches toward one of the many weapons strapped to his body, but something about the wild curiosity in her eyes has him pausing.

You hold his gaze, unblinking and absolutely entranced.

He's a huge man, with a skull mask covering his face. Only his eyes are visible, and they all but gaze through your soul. He holds the staring contest, turning to face you fully until there's a soft grunt from behind him.

He glances over his shoulder as his comrade comes into view, and when he glances back at the building, you're gone.

He turns back to Soap slowly, risking one more glance over his shoulder, but it's as if you were never there in the first place.

"What is it? Ya see somethin', Lt?"

Ghost says nothing, only starts heading back the way he came, pausing to rid the corpse on the street of the weapons he was carrying.

You slowly peek out the window again, watching as the two disappear into the darkness of the night.

For weeks, maybe months, the country you now call home has been war-torn.

Schools have long since shut down, and the majority of the population has fled to find refuge elsewhere.

Which makes it a perfect place to hide.

And even though you know you should be keeping a low profile, you can't help but be intrigued by the skull-faced man.

And so you begin to follow him.

The streets are familiar now, as are the schedules of the soldiers and the hostiles.

Which is how you find yourself here.

You're not dumb enough to follow him onto the base or anywhere near it, but in the city when he's on patrol, those hours are all yours to observe.

Your curiosity does have you venturing farther outside of your comfort zone than you normally would, but it pays off every time your eyes meet.

And he's not oblivious to the new eyes that seem to be following him whenever he's in the city. Sure, he's gotten used to the locals staring whenever any of them walk through the streets, but these eyes aren't afraid or hostile. No, these ones are curious. Excited.

The next time he feels the gaze on him, he's outside at just past one in the morning, puffing on a cigarette in one of the few safer areas of the city. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he flicks the end of his cigarette, watching as the ash floats to the ground.

"As much as you try, you're not going to sneak up on me," He says softly, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the steel toe of his boot.

You say nothing, only watch curiously from the second floor of the house he's leaning against.

He turns around, backing up a few paces as his eyes dart from window to window, searching for your face until finally, they land on you.

"Show yourself."

You cock your head to the side, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Come on, I won't hurt you, but I won't ask again," he warns.

A little grin pulls at your lips and you lean forward in the moonlight, not enough to fully show yourself, but enough for him to see the outline of your face.

You shake your head at him and bring your hand up to the side of your head. With your pointer and middle finger extended, you curl your ring and pinky finger in, pointing the faux gun at your head.

'Bang,' you mouth, knocking your head to the side dramatically.

Ghost lets out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, his hands resting on his tactical belt.

"Why have you been following me?" He finally asks.

He's not one to second guess himself, not after all he's seen, all that he's endured. But he has to give you credit - you made him question his sanity for a day or two there.

Knowing that you're real, that someone has, in fact, been following him, puts his mind at ease.

You give him a soft smile then lean forward and press your lips to the glass.

He stares at the kiss mark left on the window, traces the soft pink mark with his eyes and then looks back up to where your eyes were, only to find that you've disappeared once again.

Simon Riley is a man who prides himself on his attention to detail, his situational awareness. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand how you manage to disappear into thin air like that.

This starts happening more and more frequently. Little run-ins, kisses left on windows, your twinkling eyes in the pale moonlight.

It's gotten to the point where he volunteers to go out on patrol if only for the possibility of catching a glimpse of your pretty eyes hidden between shadows.

And soon enough, the drawings start to appear.

The first one is drawn on a window, and he doesn't even notice it. Soap is the one who points it out.

"Look, Lt, looks like you've got a fan," he says, pointing to the window across the ally.

He glances over, following Soap's finger, and his brows raise.

On the window, drawn in what looks like marker, is a skull that matches the hard-plated mask on his face.

He scoffs, but deep down, he knows exactly who put that there. His suspicions are confirmed when he catches a lightning-quick glimpse of your eyes peeking through the curtains.

He starts seeing them more often. It surprises him how you manage to get into some of the most dangerous parts of the city and leave nothing but a skull drawing behind.

What really gets him, however, is one particular day, when they're tasked with a particular assignment.

Hostage rescue.

But the exact location of the hostages is unknown.

That is, until he notices little skulls drawn on the windows of one building. More skulls than he's ever seen you draw before.

Trusting his gut, he nods toward the building, signalling for his team to follow him as he approaches.

Sure enough, the skulls lead them better than breadcrumbs exactly to the hostages, and the hostiles are taken out quickly.

"How did you know it was this one?" Gaz asks once the building is secure, leaning outside with his Lieutenant as he lights up a cigarette.

He takes a long drag from it the blows out a cloud of smoke, his eyes flickering around in search of his helper.

"A little mouse told me," is his reply.

Never one to question his Lt, Gaz only nods and heads back inside to meet up with Soap.

As he smokes, Ghost notices a small piece of paper fluttering in the wind, half hidden beneath a rock on the ground.

Crouching down, he picks it up and unfolds it, scoffing out a chuckle.

On it is none other than one of your signature skulls. His little Banksy.

With his cigarette tucked between his lips, he grabs a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles down a half-assed picture on the paper, then tucks it beneath the rock one more time.

Though he can't see you, he knows you're nearby. He can feel your ever-present gaze.

"Ghost! Let's go!" Price calls from inside.

Tossing his cigarette onto the ground, Ghost turns on his heel and heads back inside to meet up with his team.

His back is turned for what feels like only seconds, but when he glances over his shoulder to check on the paper it's already gone.

~*~

You don't see the man with the skull face for a while after that, but you keep his drawing on you at all times.

It serves as a pleasant little reminder that life isn't so bad. Not all the time.

Your thoughts are shattered when you bump into a hard chest, tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

The night may be dark, but the moon shines brightly enough above you to illuminate the back alley you were sneaking through.

"Well, well, boys. Look what we've got here," the man says, a sick grin on his face.

He wears a similar uniform that your skull-faced soldier does, but this man's eyes are sick and snake-like. They send a shudder racing down your spine as you scramble back, scraping your hands on the ground until your back hits a wall.

"It's a long time past curfew, sweet cheeks. What're you doing out so late?" The ringleader asks, stepping closer to tower over you while his comrades circle around you, leaving you with no escape.

One of them grabs your arms and yanks you to your feet in front of them, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

The leader drags a dirty finger down your cheek, his brows drawing together when you yank your head back.

"I asked you a question, bitch," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to keep your head where he wants it.

You glare up at him, then spit directly in his face, watching with satisfaction as he flinches back.

He chuckles after a moment, squeezing your face harder and glancing at his friends.

"Looks like we've got a fighter. That's okay, we know what to do with those, don't we, boys?" He asks.

This elicits chuckles from the men around you, and you feel your stomach drop.

"Do we?"

The voice is like the crack of a whip in a still room, and the laughter stops immediately.

The men beside you straighten up, hands coming up in salute.

Like water dousing a flame, you feel some of your fear ease at the newcomer.

"Tell me, Corporal, just what might we do with those?" Ghost asks, stepping out of the shadows.

"Lieutenant! We were just... this street rat was out past curfew," the man holding your chin tries to reason, quickly dropping your face.

Ghost nods, looking between the men, his eyes scanning over their names before finally resting on your eyes.

"This is what you lot spend your nights doing? Terrorizing the locals? The people we're supposed to be helping?" He asks, stepping even closer.

The tension grows thick, and you watch as the man in front of you turns around to face his superior.

Ghost chuckles dryly, the sound lacking any humour.

"You know bloody well what we do to terrorists, Corporal," he whispers, his voice deadly, dangerous.

"Now, would you care to explain to me what exactly you were doing to this nice young lady?" He asks again.

You stare up at his icy blue eyes as he makes the man cower, absolutely bewildered and warm inside.

"She's out past curfew," the Corporal tries again, his voice whiny and afraid.

Ghost nods, "and if I remember correctly, we give the citizens a warning and escort them home, we don't corner them against a wall and try to have our way with them. Or did you miss that day of training?"

The soldier's mouth opens and closes several times, but Ghost stays stoically staring at him, gaze sharp enough to kill.

"I asked you a question, Corporal, and I expect an answer!" He snarls, stepping into the man's personal space.

"There's a place for scum like you, and it's not on my team. You're removed, go back to base." His eyes find the other men, "if I ever catch you lot in the city pulling a stunt like this again, I won't be so forgiving. Dismissed."

With that final word, the three men all but sprint away, leaving you alone with the man who's consumed your every thought for the past several weeks.

He watches the men leave, and you're tempted to make your escape.

As if reading your mind, his gaze snaps back to you and his head cocks to the side.

"Even you can't go everywhere unseen, can you, mouse?" He asks.

You blink up at him, your heart racing in your chest.

He watches you for a moment longer, his brows drawing together.

"You speak English?"

You blink up at him again and he sighs, "Christ."

Slowly, you reach into the pocket of your sweater and pull out a piece of paper, opening it up and showing it to him.

His lips twitch upward when he sees his scribbled mouse next to the skull you've drawn.

"Mouse," you whisper, touching the paper.

He nods, pointing to the little drawing.

"Mouse. S'what you are. Quick, hard to catch."

You cock your head to the side and he takes that moment to take you in.

Since that first day, he's imagined what you look like, what you really look like, and he has to admit, he's not disappointed.

You're pretty, lovely even. If circumstances were different... if he were to see you in a bar, he might buy you a drink, ask for your number.

But you're a local, a street mouse, and he's here on business.

He gently pushes the paper back into your grasp and takes a small step back.

"You keep yourself safe. Try to stay out of the streets after curfew." He turns his back to you and takes a step away, then pauses.

"Or at least don't get caught."

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WICKED LOVE WILL LEAVE ME BLIND

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dangerous games are played between you and dazai during one of the most important events of the year for the japanese underworld. you're never this risky, not when your reputation is on the line, but fuck being near him just seems draw out all of the worst in you.

(wordcount: 4.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia member!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, public sex, spitting, unprotected sex, gagging dazai w/your panties, switch!dazai, switch!reader. lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: WOOWWWWWWW u all can thank tumblr user mioblobby for this one, she sent in an ask 3 days ago and this consumed me so badly that i dropped all of my wips to write this. anyway, enjoy dazai & pmreader being absolute FREAKS in public

His gaze hasn’t left you once all night. You can feel it dark and heavy from where he’s leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the room, black coat hanging around his shoulders and a cold, unapproachable expression on his face, looking every bit the wraith people claim him to be. 

Chuuya is off somewhere to your side, smooth talking two of Mishima’s daughters, surely planning to end the night in one of their beds to get those loose lips moving about the meeting that their father had with Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber two weeks ago, something he’s been unnervingly tight lipped about when Mori pried. 

You’re entertaining two of the younger members of Mishima’s upper echelon, Abe Kimifusa and Ibuse Masuji—they can’t be much older than you, early twenties max, and they’re delighted by the attention you’re giving them. Ibuse is half hanging off your shoulders, arm wrapped around you, too many drinks in as he leans in close and laughs at some comment Abe makes about one of their fellow executives. You smile idly as you listen, resting against him as you take in their words, trying to pretend to be engaged with the conversation to not give away how you’re hyper-focused on a certain black-haired executive in the distance. 

Usually, he would join you and Chuuya in your attempts to gather some easy intel on the Sun and Steel—that’s what he’s done the past year and a half, at least, targeting some of the older members of Mishima’s upper echelon who would sell half of their organs and their soul for a night with the untouchable Demon Prodigy. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth now, knowing what he told you, but you still can’t help but be a little surprised that he’s not even trying to put up a facade of charm and wit, rather spending his time skulking in the shadows watching you, especially when his usual targets are so blatantly staring at him, waiting for him to make a move.

You think it’s hypocritical the way you’re so pleased over the fact that he’s not entertaining anyone tonight, because the thought of him letting any of those men drape themselves all over him like Ibuse currently is with you leaves a very sour taste in your mouth.

You also think that’s why you’re letting Ibuse take it as far as he has—to see Dazai get wound up about it. You don’t typically let people get touchy with you unless you plan on taking them to bed, and you have absolutely no intention of fucking Ibuse Masuji. He’s pretty enough with dark hair and a nice smile, but too stupid for your taste—maybe that’s a good thing though, if he’s already so loose-lipped now with only a few drinks in him, you can’t imagine how much he’d let slip in a post-orgasm induced haze.

You start to reconsider your decision on Ibuse, looking up at him contemplatively as he makes a snide comment about Kamatsu Sakyo—an older executive of the Sun and Steel, one of the ones you know have spent a night, or more, with Dazai, so your smile is a bit more genuine when you hear the way Ibuse drags him for being incompetent and useless.

“The older generation has to go,” Ibuse hisses, shaking his head as his arm tightens around you, leaning back against the wall. “They’re running us into the fucking ground. That fucker Kamatsu wants us to take that deal from the Red Chamber-”

“Masuji,” Abe warns, giving you a careful look, not as drunk as his companion. You raise your eyebrows at the comment from Ibuse, looking at him questioningly.

Ibuse waves off Abe haphazardly. “The Port Mafia did it right,” he says bluntly, taking another sip of his drink. “Wiped out the whole old regime after the previous boss died. That’s what the Boss should’ve done when he took over from his father. All of these old fucks need to drop dead.”

“The meeting with Xueqin went that poorly?” you ask casually, sure to keep the interest out of your tone as you look up at Ibuse.

“Don’t even get me started,” Ibuse scoffs. “That fucker wants-”

You’re careful to keep the irritation off your face when you hear the telltale sound of Mishima preparing to give his annual ‘thank you, fruitful alliances ahead!’ speech that always bores you to tears. Next to you, Ibuse sighs and pulls his arm off of you, pushing off the wall.

“We’ve gotta go up there with him. I’ll find you later?” he asks you, eyes a bit too hopeful, voice eager as he waits for your response.

“Definitely,” you say—the things you do for information.

With most of the attendees of the ball distracted by Mishima’s speech, you slip away to make your way over to the far corner where Dazai is waiting. Still, he tracks you—from the moment you make your subtle escape from the crowd until you’re standing right in front of him in the shadows where he’s lingering, his gaze remains trained on you, intense in a way that lets you know that he’s unhappy, if the way his jaw is tight didn’t.

“You’ve been having fun tonight,” he drawls, voice low as he looks down at you, arms folded across his chest.

“Is that what it seemed like?” you say lightly, taking a step closer, casting one last glance behind you to ensure that all eyes are pinned on Mishima before hooking your fingers into his belt loops to tug him closer to you. “At least I’m doing my job properly then.”

“It’s your job to let Mishima’s whore of an executive drape himself all over you?” Dazai tilts his head to the side, one hand sliding behind you to close the small distance between the two of you, leaving your chest pressed to his.

No, you let that drag on just because you could tell how irate Dazai was becoming over it, but Dazai doesn’t have to know that. So instead, you play coy.

“I have appearances to keep up,” you say, tilting your head up with a simpering smile, enjoying the way his gaze immediately darts down to your lips, lingering there before he has to forcibly drag it back up to your eyes. “You know that.”

“Yeah?” Dazai hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze drifts above you. “Maybe I should be making more of an effort with appearances then, Kamatsu has had his eye on me all night.”

Your eye doesn’t twitch at his words, but your grip on his belt loops tightens. “You don’t want to play that game with me, Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice deceptively mild.

“And why is that?” Dazai drawls, looking too smug for your liking as he looks down at you as if realizing how much his threat bothered you.

“Because I’ll win,” you say easily, fingers slipping from his belt loops to slide your hands up and down his sides before settling them on his slim hips, relishing in the way his lashes flutter at your touch. “You know that. It’s unlike you to pick losing battles.”

“I won’t lose,” Dazai says with a scoff, and you walk him backward until the back of his knees hit a chair, guiding him back to sit down in it as Mishima finally starts a long-winded speech that’s going to last at least twenty or thirty minutes.

You give Dazai another teasing smile as you stand in front of where he’s sitting, lifting your hand to his chin, tilting his face up toward you. You lean down, lips brushing his as you murmur, “You already have.”

“Have I?” Dazai asks, amused. He unconsciously leans forward to capture his lips with yours but you shift just out of reach before he can, raising your eyebrows pointedly at the annoyed look he gives you.

You make quick work of undoing his tie, slipping it from his neck before wrapping it loosely around your wrist, hyper aware of the way his gaze is trained sharply on your face, studying your every move. You bring your other hand back up to his face, cupping his cheek gently, and your breath catches as he leans into your touch, eye lidded as he looks up atwith you. He tilts his head to the side to press his lips against your palm, keeping eye contact as he lifts his hand to cover yours, shifting it so he can graze his lips against the pulse point on your wrist.

“You have,” you agree, grateful that your voice isn’t as breathless as you feel from the combined intensity of his gaze and his lips on your skin.

“How so?” Dazai looks entirely too smug, probably can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, and you itch to wipe the smugness right off of his face.

“I’m meeting Ibuse after this speech,” you tell him, now entirely too smug yourself as Dazai expression drops and goes icy, fingers stiffening from where his hand is still pressed over yours. “Need to get him to spill about the meeting with the Red Chamber, he already started getting into it before. If I get him alone, we’ll know everything we need.”

“Go ahead,” Dazai sounds deceptively calm, you’d almost believe he didn’t care if the look in his eye didn’t betray him, cold and promising bloodshed. “I’ll kill him.”

“You’ll start a war,” you say absently, the tips of your fingers brushing through his dark hair.

“I don’t care,” Dazai replies, and you know that he’s serious—it should worry you, he could throw all of your work with the Sun and Steel out the window in a split second, but instead you only find yourself giddy, tongue pressing behind your teeth and a smile curving at your lips as you look down at him.

“Careful, Dazai,” you breathe out, “almost sounds like you care.”

He does care, you know that and he knows that, but he refuses to admit it out loud. Refuses to put a label on anything between the two of you. You think it’s his way of maintaining some semblance of control over things; he thinks that if he actually admits what’s going on between the two of you, it’ll be a loss of control over himself that he can’t afford. 

As if threatening to start a gang war with the Mafia’s most important ally because you’re planning to sleep with someone for vital information isn’t a loss of control in itself. 

You also think it might have to do with the broken gasps he’d let out over the phone during the assassination plot on you a few weeks ago, when he thought that he’d miscalculated and they called his bluff, that they were going to get to you and no one was going to be able to get there in time to protect you. 

“Everything I never want to lose is always lost the moment I obtain it.”

You wonder, maybe, if he thinks that not making things official with you is his way of protecting both you and himself. 

But it’s fucking frustrating. It’s frustrating dealing with his hot and cold—days where he’s so clearly enamored with you, spending hours laid up with you admiring you while you do work, looking at you with eyes that should only be reserved for long time lovers, and then there are days where he can hardly bring himself to look at you, avoiding you at every given chance, cold and aloof. It’s frustrating, and it’s exhausting, you just want to be with him.

His eye darkens, jaw clicking at your words, but he doesn’t respond other than that.

You’re not sure what exactly compels you to take another step forward, you watch as his gaze tracks down to the low cut of your dress, as he shifts in his seat, legs spread, clearly withholding the urge to adjust himself in his pants. A dangerous thought crosses your mind, one that you know you should toss away because of where you are, how many people are just on the other side of the room, but you find your body moving before you can stop yourself.

You watch him inhale, gaze tracking down to where your hand has slipped into the high slit of your dress, casting one last look over your shoulder to make sure the two of you are at an angle that no one would be able to easily see you before pulling down your thin black panties—the ones you know he loves and wore just to see the way the pupil of his visible eye becomes blown wide at the sight of them, breath hitching.

You shift closer to him, balling them into your fist, one hand sliding behind the back of his head, fingers entwined with his dark hair as you tilt his head back, eyes tracing the exhilaration on his face as he looks up at you, realizing what you’re going to do, where you’re going to do it.

“You’re crazy,” he breathes out. The words are reverent, he speaks them in the same way you imagine he would tell you he loves you, it makes your breath catch. “Here? What're you gonna do if one of them looks over and sees you stuffed with my cock, hm? How're you gonna explain why you're full of cum when you go meet that clown?”

“You talk too much,” you note, stepping forward. “Open up.”

Dazai’s lips part instinctively, but before you stuff his mouth with your panties, you lean over him, fingers hooking around his bottom lip as you force his mouth a little wider, watching as his breath hitches and his lashes flutter when you spit right into his open mouth, swallowing it immediately. 

Your lips curl up as you lift the hand holding your panties, taking in an unsteady breath as he lets you push your panties between his lips; he lets out a muffled groan around them, eyes sliding shut as if savoring the taste of them. You shift your dress around slightly so you can comfortably straddle his thighs. His hands immediately fly to your waist, but you click your tongue lightly, pushing them off and sliding his tie around his wrists once you’ve got them behind his back.

He tilts his head to the side, giving you a heavy, judgmental look. He doesn’t even have to speak to know what he’s thinking: “You really think this is going to stop me?”

You give him a sweet smile, leaning in to graze your lips against his jaw, feeling the shaky breath he lets out around your panties. “If you free yourself from them,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear as you speak, “I’ll stop.”

You don’t wait for his reaction, directing your attention down toward his slacks, loosening his belt and unbuttoning his pants. You ease his cock out of his briefs, weight heavy in your hand, tip flushed pink and leaky. You give it an experimental pump, using his own precum as lube, and watch as he tilts his head back, giving a full body shudder.

“You’re so easy to rile up,” you sigh softly, shifting forward so that his cock slides between your slick folds, you press your lips to the underside of his jaw to smother the moan you almost let out when his tip catches on your clit. “I love it.”

You know he’s trying to shoot you a withering look, but the effects of it are severely diminished with how his face is flushed pink and his eyes are unfocused. You give him another saccharine smile, and that’s the only warning he gets before you’re sinking down on his cock. 

You can feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you up until the tip of his cock is nudging right up against your cervix. It takes all of your self control to bite back the loud gasp that nearly rips from your lips, not wanting to have to bury your face in the crook of his neck just yet, watching as he lets out a choked noise that’s loud even with your panties stuffed in his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Careful,” you warn, leaning in to drag your lips up his neck to the corner of his lips. You lift one of your hands to hold the back of his head again, gripping his hair as you force him to look at you again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. His gaze is unfocused, lips parting as he heaves around your panties, throat spasming—he looks fucking divine, and for a moment, you regret doing this here because you might have to kill someone if they see him when he’s looking like this. “You don’t want them to see you like this, yeah?”

You can hear the whine that builds in the back of his throat, trying to rock his hips up into yours. The sloppy sound of his cock driving into your cunt is too loud—Mishima is still speaking loudly, drowning out any noise that could possibly be coming from your secluded corner, but it’s so risky, you almost don’t know what’s gotten into you. If anyone happens to wander over this way…

“God, what do you do to me?” you gasp, leaning in so you can graze your teeth against his neck, threatening to bite down. 

You’re never this reckless—not when it’s your reputation on the line, you’ve spent years honing it into the weapon it’s become, and here you are risking it all just because Dazai Osamu decided to give you bedroom eyes during one of the most important events the Port Mafia attends. Fuck, he drives you insane.

His head lolls forward, forehead resting against the side of yours, lips brushing your ear. You can feel his heavy pants, each one catching over a moan muffled by your panties. You rock your hips back and forth quickly, each drag of his cock against your walls making you hot and lightheaded. Whether it’s just from the sheer pleasure of it all—the way the tip of his cock pressees right into that sensitive spot deep inside of you, the way he’s so quickly coming undone beneath you, body trembling and drool pooling at the corner of his lips around your panties—or if it’s because of the way anyone could wander over in this direction, catch you fucking Dazai so brazenly when there’s a crowd of one hundred and fifty, two hundred of the most important people in the Japanese underworld just on the far side of the room, you don’t know, but heat pools in your abdomen so quickly that it’s almost impossible to control. 

You can feel his breath ragged, his body tense, each roll of your hips against his has Dazai falling apart, and you can feel the telltale sign of his cock twitching inside of you, signaling that he’s about to finish. You tug his hair, pulling his head back from where it's fallen against you, and you lift your other hand quickly up to his lips, pushing them inside of his mouth to hook your fingers around your panties, pulling them out of his mouth.

Instantly, Dazai is pushing himself forward to press his lips against yours, freeing himself of his own tie so his hands can fly to your waist. You let out a low moan into his mouth as he pushes his tongue into yours, one hand sliding from your waist to your back, keeping your body flush to his as he grinds you down on his cock hard.

“Fuck,” Dazai groans into your mouth, voice choked. You can see the way he can hardly keep his gaze steady, the way he’s gripping your dress to try to keep himself grounded. “I-ah, shit-I’m close. I’m-”

You lean in to swallow his moan, kissing him hard as his eyes roll to the back of his head, hips stuttering as he spills his cum deep inside of you. Your breath catches at the feeling of his cum filling you up, warm, heavy, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling out from where his cock is still stuffed deep inside of you; it’s the last thing you need to push you over the edge, mind blank and jaw falling slack as your body shudders in his arms.

Black dots spot your vision, your nails dragging down his black coat, your whole body consumed with pleasure—it hits you so hard that you think maybe you might’ve passed out for a split second. The feeling of your release sends a shockwave through Dazai, you can feel the way his body spasms and jerks when your walls suddenly tighten around his sensitive cock.

“God,” Dazai breathes out against your lips, eyes glazed over as the two of you come down from your high, an expression so adoring on his face that you think for a moment, you might be imagining it. “You’re so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, leaves it to your imagination, and you want to press, but you don’t have the chance because you’re slapped hard with reality when you hear Mishima’s speech coming to an end, eyes widening. Your legs are shaky as you push off of him, hissing at the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of your cunt—you almost snort when you see how Dazai twitches and winces at the sudden movement, still sensitive.

“Clean yourself up,” you tell him sharply, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, trying to catch sight of yourself in the reflection of a nearby glass, watching from the corner of your eye as Dazai stuffs himself back in his pants, wiping your cum off of his expensive black slacks before sucking it right off of his fingers. He grabs his tie from where he’d let it fall to the ground, and then your panties, winking at you before he stuffs them in the pocket of his jacket. 

His gaze lifts to you as he rises to his feet, drifting lazily over your form, lingering on the way your skin glows with a soft sheen of sweat, the loose strands of hair that cling to your forehead—something you hope you can play off considering the air condition in the ballroom isn’t on. Then his gaze settles down on the lower half of your body, lips curling up into a slow smirk.

He takes a few steps closer to you, holding his tie out to you. “Re-tie it?” he hums, and you roll your eyes because you know he can do it himself and you know he has some sort of ulterior motive right now, but you take it from him regardless.

You quickly slide the tie around his neck, trying to tie it quickly before anyone catches sight of the two of you, but with you so focused on getting this done, you miss the way his hand sneaks forward until you feel it slip into the slit of your dress. 

“Dazai,” you warn, keeping your voice low, but your breath catches when you feel him gather up all of the cum that had dribbled out of your cunt, head falling against his shoulder as you try to force yourself not to react when he uses two fingers to stuff it right back inside of you.

You can feel the wicked grin against your ear as he leans down to tug your earlobe gently. “Good luck explaining this to Ibuse.”

Then he steps away, dark eye glittering dangerously as he looks down at you.

“I’ll find you later,” he says before turning to walk away.

You’re not sure if it’s a threat or a promise and you don’t have time to make a snide comment asking, because you hear Ibuse approaching you from behind, giddy and excited until he catches sight of Dazai’s infamous black coat retreating, swallowing thickly and eyes flickering nervously between the two of you—a common reaction to the executive’s presence, knowing how dangerous and unpredictable he can be.

You wonder if Dazai would make Ibuse half as nervous and uncomfortable if he’d known he just spent the last fifteen minutes with your panties stuffed in his mouth and his hands tied behind his back, whining and whimpering, muffling all of his sounds so people didn’t overhear the two of you. But you dismiss that thought—that’s knowledge for you to keep to yourself, you don’t like sharing.

“Let’s get out of here?” you hum, drawing him out of his thoughts before he can spiral.

He lights back up again, but you can tell he’s still nervous from Dazai’s brief appearance. “Yeah, c’mon.”

Two hours later, you wander out of one of the back rooms in Mishima’s mansion, intent on getting back to headquarters. You don’t get more than two feet before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, tugging you backward hard until your back meets a familiar chest.

Your heartbeat stills from the brief bout of erraticness when you felt someone grab you, relaxing back into Dazai, tilting your head back and to the side to look up at him as he holds your hips, keeping you flush to him.

“Did you fuck him?” Dazai asks, voice low and expression unreadable.

You have half a mind to say yes, just to see what Dazai plans to do if you did. He can’t kill Ibuse, not even he is reckless enough to start a war with the Sun and Steel right now, but you don’t think you want to risk it.

“Didn’t have to,” you say honestly. “He was babbling out everything I wanted to know before the doors even closed.”

Dazai searches your face for a moment as if trying to decide if you’re being truthful, when he does, one of his hands slips off your waist into his coat, and you hear the familiar sound of Dazai flipping the safety of his gun back on.

“Dazai,” you snap. “You can’t just-”

“I can do whatever I want,” Dazai interrupts you with the type of confidence that lets you know he had every intention of putting a bullet through Ibuse’s head if you fucked him, regardless of the consequences. The thought of that alone makes your blood run hot, pupils dilating as you look up at him; Dazai’s lips curve up slowly as if he knows just what’s going on in your head. He looks behind you curiously before focusing back down on you asking: “Is he passed out in there?”

“Mhm,” you agree, watching him curiously as you try to figure out what he might be thinking. “Drank too much.”

“Good,” Dazai murmurs, walking you right back into the room you’d come out of, a sharp smile on his face. He closes the door behind the two of you, gaze flickering over to where Ibuse is unconscious on the couch before he backs you up until your knees hit the corner of the bed, pushing you back onto it. “Let’s see if we can wake him up then.”

[smileyoongle]

Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader

Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU

Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.

Warnings- Mentions of blood, gore and murder scenes, eventual smut, JK is definitely a hard dom and mad possessive, vampire bites and blood sucking.

A/N- Even though I have tagged the people who asked to be tagged, there will be no taglist for this series from here on. I only tagged you guys to sort of let you know this series has started. It's a big struggle to keep all those usernames up to date so you might wanna turn on the notifs :)

Please find the introduction to the world of Amour Mort here!

You ran through the forest, tears in your eyes making it difficult to see the path ahead, but you could tell you were venturing deeper into the more dangerous side. At the back of your mind, you were very aware that you shouldn’t be here past midnight, and that if someone found you breaking curfew, you would probably be executed by the throne, thinking you were some sort of rebel revolting in the recent uprisings. But all of that paled in comparison to the despair gnawing at your soul.

The branches clawed at your skin, leaving angry red marks, but you didn’t slow down, only realizing you had come here barefoot when tiny stones began hurting the bottom of your feet. You were being chased—not by a person, but by your own thoughts and the relentless ache in your chest. Your father’s words would not stop playing in your mind, your palms pressing against your ears as you closed your eyes in an attempt to silence his voice.

"You're nothing but a burden to me. I wish you had never been born!"

Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through your right foot, sending you stumbling and falling to the ground with all the air being knocked out of your lungs. You winced, letting out a whimper as you managed to look back, gasping at the bear trap that had clamped around your foot. Its teeth dug into your flesh, and blood pooled on the dead leaves beneath you.

“No…” you cried out, sobbing at your misfortune, the pain from your wound shooting through your leg in waves. A thought came to you: maybe this is how you die, completely alone and unloved, with no one to care that you weren’t at home right now.

‘That’s not true! Lila cares…’

Your mind screamed at you, your sister’s pretty face popping into your head. Well, this was true; your sister did care about you. But really, there was only so much she could do when your father did not even acknowledge you as his daughter. You still remembered the party where a guest mistook you for a maiden working in the mansion. It had truly hurt you, but there was nothing you could say, not when that is probably what your father wanted the world to think. A part of you thinks he hates you because your mother died just five days after you were born, but how could you, a mere baby, be at fault for that?

Gathering all your energy, you began to drag yourself to a tree nearby, wincing and whimpering with every wave of pain that washed over you. You could even feel the burn on the skin of your forearms where it rubbed against the rocky and muddy ground, convinced that the sleeve of your dress was beginning to tear. Were you even going to make it back home? Did you even want to make it back home?

Upon reaching the giant tree, you pushed yourself up, managing to rest your back against the trunk, finally getting a good look at the steel trap wrapped around your foot. Meant for animals, it was likely a tool for the poorer vampires who couldn’t afford human slaves and fed on animal blood instead. It was the one law that favored humans: vampires were forbidden to feed on them freely. But nonetheless, it was always the innocent ones who had to pay the price. The night-walkers were given the gift of strength and brutality that they used against the weak, be it you or an animal.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, your breathing growing harsh, and your vision growing blurry. It was the blood loss, and you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. Either you were getting used to it, or your body had started focusing on the fact that you were dying instead. Whatever was happening, it was not good, and you had no idea how to help yourself.

“You shouldn’t be here. Not at this time.” A voice broke through the darkness, making you jump in surprise, your eyes immediately landing on a man’s silhouette standing just a few steps away from you. Your heart hammered in your chest, and, swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself further against the tree, hoping that would make you disappear.

Was this someone who was going to turn you in? Maybe the cause of your death was going to be execution and not a bear trap?

Your silence only prompted the man to move closer to you and into the moonlight filtering through the trees, your lips parting as you took in his face. He was truly breathtaking, with black hair that fell across his forehead and eyes that seemed to pierce through the night. There was black ink peeking at you from under the collar of his black shirt on his neck, more patterns emerging from under his rolled-up sleeve right up to his knuckles, making you wonder just how much of his body was tainted like this.

“N-neither should you,” you said bravely, though your voice was small and weak.

He chuckled in response, making you purse your lips as you watched him kneel down beside you, your body subconsciously shifting backward even though there was nowhere to go, every single thought in your mind long gone in the presence of this man.

His eyes slowly moved across your body, taking in your tear-stained cheeks, your tattered dress, and your bloody foot, tutting at the condition of your wound.

“This is why you shouldn’t be here, little human,” he said, your eyes widening as you caught a hint of amusement on his face, your blood running cold at the realization. Your breath was caught in your throat, and you were suddenly very aware of the blood you were soaked in, your eyes nervously flitting between him and your poor foot. If you had to die, you didn’t want to do so at the hands of a vampire. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine the pain that was probably about to suffocate you when he ripped your heart right out of your chest.

“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, staring into his eyes with tears in yours, shaking your head when he smirked and leaned in closer to you. Closing your eyes, you let the tears fall freely and turned your face away from him, his breath fanning your neck and making you whimper.

“You must taste exquisite.” He inhaled deeply, your chest heaving as his words made your heart thump harder in your chest. This has to be it. He was going to drain your body right now, and no one was going to find out ever.

Preparing yourself for the attack, you closed your eyes shut and gripped the skirt of your dress, thinking about your family for the last time before your life was taken from you.

“But I’m not going to do that.” Came his voice, your eyes slowly opening as you glanced over at him, noticing the sudden distance he had put between the two of you. A frown etched on your forehead, your tears drying up on your cheeks as you processed his words. He was not going to hurt you?

“I’m too old to lose control over a bit of blood.” He gestured nonchalantly towards your foot, shocking you at how he thought this was just a bit of blood. You were literally going to pass out soon.

“Wh-why are you here?” you stammered, biting your tongue when his expression hardened, his eyes sending daggers your way and letting you know that you shouldn’t have asked him that. Silence engulfed you both, your eyes failing to look away from him. It was almost as if he was holding you prisoner under his gaze, a flash of guilt disappearing from his dark eyes as soon as it came.

“I had to get away before they caught up to me,” he confessed, a cool breeze ruffling his hair as he stood up and stared down at you, his eyes reading the confusion in yours.

“Who-”

“My sins,” he responded before you could even ask, his thick boots crunching the leaves on the gravelly path as he walked in front of your stretched-out leg and sat down on one knee. A flash of lightning struck through the sky at that very second, as if to show that the heavens had heard his confession too. And when the thunder illuminated his face, you could swear you had seen the very face of evil.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked, tilting his head as you swallowed thickly, shaking your head hesitantly. But you knew he didn’t believe you when he let out a small laugh. It sounded bitter to your ears, like he was mocking you for being so weak yet trying to fool him at the same time.

“Well, you should be.” In one quick motion, his hand ripped apart the trap into two pieces, your flesh being freed from the sharp claws that were jammed into it. Dots filled your vision as your lips parted in a silent scream, your chest hurting as if you were having a heart attack, and maybe you were because you felt your body go limp as your eyes rolled back into your head.

Strong arms held you before you could hit the ground, your head suddenly resting against a firm chest as your breath came out all raggedy. You could feel sweat beading on your forehead, your body not having any energy to even let you open your eyes for a second.

“W-why…” you breathed out, your voice a bare whisper in the night. And the next thing you knew, you felt a hand pressing against your lips before a metallic taste filled your mouth. With all the energy left in you, you opened your eyes wide and grabbed the tattooed arm feeding you blood, your attempts at pushing it away failing miserably.

“Sshh, you need this. You need me,” the vampire whispered above you, his chin resting atop your head as he ran his free hand through your hair. Knowing that you couldn’t fight him off, not like this, you gave up and swallowed the disgusting liquid that made your body feel warm all of a sudden. You could hear your heart pumping and your breathing steadying as the blood worked its way into your system, your senses sharpening, and your strength slowly returning.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled his arm away, and you let out a string of coughs, gasping for air while the awful taste lingered on your tongue. It was truly ironic how the blood of someone dead could heal a living being. How a killer could give life to someone. And you were sure that this man who had saved your life was a killer too. Why else would he talk about his sins catching up to him?

“What did you do that you had to run away?” you asked as soon as you found your voice, your tired eyes glancing up at the man holding you. His eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips, sending shivers down your spine when he brought up his thumb and rubbed away some blood from the corner of your mouth.

“What’s your name?” He avoided your question smoothly, pretending you hadn’t spoken a word to him. Frowning, you thought about it for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea to tell him who you were. But at the same time, you weren’t a very valuable human. There was really nothing he could want from you that would make him hunt you down.

“Y/N,” you said, averting your gaze to your foot, which was now void of any wounds. Your skin looked completely smooth and untouched except for the dried blood staining it, leaving you staring in awe.

“Well, Y/N,” he started, regaining your attention, “you’re gonna find out tomorrow.”

You frowned at his words, wondering if this implied that he was going to see you tomorrow to tell you what sin he had committed. Too lost in your head to notice that he had stood up, you saw him offer his hand to you. Your fingers hesitantly took hold of his cold ones. With ease, he pulled you up as you slightly lifted your dress and examined your foot, pleased with the fact that there was absolutely no pain anymore.

“This is-” You turned to glance at the man, only to be met with darkness. The vampire was gone, the forest was silent, and you were alone once again.

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @scuzmunkie @girl8890 @adasboredom @acrazybiotch374 @tutnotmytea @leilei-9 @yoonjinhusbands @kumakoyan @ttanniett

[elliewritesfantasy]

Escape in the Night

A/N: I never thought I would be posting fanfiction on this account. However, Baldur’s Gate has captured my attention and my inspiration for months now. I don’t even know if anyone will see this, but I enjoyed writing it, and that’s all that matters.

Some protective dadstarion for you all. And strong boss Tav. Female Tav x Astarion.

Snow fell in great white clumps, blanketing the forest in an eerie silence. Cold crept up your fingers, reaching further with every moment that passed. You remained crouched under the boughs of an old maple tree, the bare branches leaning under the weight of the snowfall. You were burdened with your own weight; a greatsword hung between your shoulder blades, a relic of your paladin oath long forgotten among other worries, and a bundle against your chest. It was the one spot of true warmth on this winter night. Your baby. Astarion’s baby.

Armelle.

Boots shifted, crunching snow and dirt.

“Astarion?” His name was barely a puff of air from your mouth.

“I’m here.” He appeared next to you, and knelt. His silver hair shone even on this starless night, a mess of curls barely tamed. His eyes searched your face, his hands clenched around his longbow.

“Where are the vampires?” you asked.

“They’re close. I need to get you out of here.” Astarion placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you to your feet. “I’ve lost a lot of my vampiric senses, but not all.”

“I wish they would see reason.”

“I know.”

You had found a wish scroll for him long ago, as part of your promise after the defeat of the netherbrain. The wish scroll brought him not only the cure for him vampirism, but the promise of a wide open future free of having to hide in the dark. It brought him hope and the freedom to finally say that he could marry you without feeling like he had trapped you in a vampire’s nest for life. And it had brought him his second-most precious gift of all - the wrapped child you clutched with the strength of a mother’s fierce love.

The vampires didn’t know Astarion was cured. They thought he had sired a dhampir, the offspring of a vampire and a powerful being with hungers rarely fully sated. A dhampir would be an asset to their coven, and they wasted no time in searching you out in the two weeks you have had her. You hadn’t meant to have your baby on the way to Waterdeep for a companions’ reunion. She was early. A surprise. But you were already so far from home, it wasn’t worth it to turn back.

Maybe that was a mistake.

“Y/N.” Astarion broke you from your thoughts. “Waterdeep isn’t far. If you run, you can make it while I hold them off.”

“I can’t leave you.” Your soul burned with your paladin’s oath, and your hands itched to strike the vampires down with all of your holy might.

“Just for a second. I’ll meet you there I promise,” Astarion said. His lips lifted in his slightly crooked smile. “If we can survive the Absolute and the attempted end of the world, we can survive this.”

You steeled your nerves, drinking in his familiar confident expression, though it wavered just a bit as the bundle on your chest let out a small, sleepy whine. “Alright”

“I can smell you. I can smell her.” The crooning voice of the vampire master Kazimir cut through the dampened night. Your heart quickened.

“Run.” Astarion notched an arrow, his breath coming in quick, clouded puffs. “Run!”

You didn’t hesitate. Your boots dug into the snow, into the frozen mud and you sprinted with all of the strength left in your body. The lights of Waterdeep twinkled on the horizon. It wasn’t much farther. You could make it.

“Ah, not so fast.”

You skidded to a stop, your throat lurching with fear. Kazimir stood before you, red eyes shining with glee.

“I can’t let you go, not with that creature you have.”

“She’s not a creature,” you growled. You drew your greatsword.

“Oh, but she is. And what a delicious creature she would be to have. She should be raised by a real vampire, not a pithy elf and a weak spawn.” He drew his own blade, a wicked sharp rapier. “Hand her to me peacefully, and I will let you return to your spawn without fuss.”

“No.” You swung your greatsword in an arc, poised to strike.

“A shame. Then I will have to take her from you.” Kazimir lunged forward, blade catching on the woolen edge of your wrap. You lurched back, narrowly escaping his rapier. You raised your sword, letting the anger in your stomach explode outward, lighting the weapon with a golden light. The vampire hissed and shrunk back instinctually at the light. With a cry, you leaped forward, bringing your sword down in a blazing arc. The vampire recovered just in time, spinning out of the way of your smite, his cloak billowing out behind him. He vanished among the trees, flitting between them like a ghost. You reeled, then recovered, and grounded yourself in the snow. You had to be ready.

Your eyes searched the darkness desperately, your eyes struggling to perceive anything beyond the falling snow.

“Behind you!” Astarion ran from the trees, an arrow whistling through the air. It found its mark in the shoulder of the master vampire. He screamed, turning from you to Astarion.

A blast of blue light blinded you all in an instant. A dimension door appeared just to your left with a familiar hand reaching through it.

“Gale!”

“Come with me,” Gale emerged wholly, his hair whipping in the wind of the portal. “Quickly!”

“But, Astarion-“ you looked back the silver elf now fighting Kazimir with his dagger, locked in an expert hand-to-hand battle.

“You have something more important to think about now, eh?” Gale gestured to you once again. You closed your eyes tight, sheathing your weapon. With one last glance at Astarion, you let Gale pull you through the gate and into the candlelit drawing room of his tower.

Shadowheart was the first to run to you. “Y/N, what happened?”

You couldn’t answer, your body wracked with violent shudders and shakes. Some of it was from the cold, some from the fear that made your very soul twist. Shadowheart wrapped you in a blanket. Through a tendril of consciousness, you managed to pull aside your wrap to check on your baby. You collapsed into a chair at the sight of her, eyes still closed, asleep. Safe.

“I’m going back for him.” Gale began furiously searching for a scroll through the precarious stacks upon his end tables.

Shadowheart laid a hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t risk it. What if the vampire comes through this time?”

Gale shook his head. “I can’t leave him to that master. I remember how strong Cazador was.”

“We have to trust him,” Shadowheart argued.

You could only sit, your arms holding your baby to you, her head cradled in your hands. A prayer of safety rang through your mind again and again. You had been a thirty minute run from Waterdeep before, and with the fight, maybe it would take him an hour.

“Please, I need you,” you whispered. Gale and Shadowheart retreated, letting you hold your child and warm by the fire while your brain was wracked with thoughts.

Please. Please.

I should have stayed.

Please.

The door to the drawing room burst open. You ran to it immediately, blood rushing in your ears.

“I’m here.”

“Astarion.”

He was here, his armor streaked bright red with blood. His hair was clumped with gore, and a cut on his cheek shone. He drank your face in hungrily, then reached for the woolen wrap, pushing it aside to reveal the perfect girl curled at your chest, her fine, newborn-soft silver hair glowing in the candlelight. Astarion placed a hand on her head, giving her a soft kiss right above her brow. He pressed his forehead against yours, tucking you both into his chest.

Even years after his cure, the feeling of his body warmth was novel. You soaked it in.

“He’s dead,” Astarion said. He twined a hand through your hair, pressing you into his shoulder. “He will never bother us again.”

“I can’t believe you killed him.” You drew back, studying his face.

Astarion laughed, his brows crinkling. “What, you doubted me? Hero of the world, slayer of the netherbrain?”

“You know it was my sword that landed the final strike,” you teased.

Armelle stirred, drawing Astarion’s attention. Oh, how much he had changed. From only being able to care about his own survival, to dedicating his whole existence to the survival of two others. It scared him more than the impending end of existence did.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” He traced Armelle’s rounded, flushed cheeks, taking in the hair that matched his own, the nose that matched yours. “I have everything that I need right here.”

[semisomnosres]

And I also wondered how they would react to "My immortal soul"

Wuya: For her, this is a personal series, the viewer of which she became not of her own will, and without ability to change the channel. (then, together with another unfortunate person, drawn into this circus - Plop-Plop, and with a bottle of wine they complain to each other) There are ENOUGH moments that she would prefer not to see and forever forget, but this situation also has its advantages. There is something very funny about seeing Chase show off like a peacock in front of a ninja, and not only does he not fall for it, but also looks back at him like he’s a dirty sock. (At the same time, experiencing some kind of sympathy for? Which he denies as best as he can, but at this rate, even Omi will begin to suspect something) And when his attention is completely absorbed by the ninja, this gives her the opportunity, for example, to steal a couple of Shen Gong Wu Balances the state between looking with pain in the eyes and laughing as a hyena at situations

Sorceress: She hates the First and with all her soul wishes him, and his receivers especially Randy, a painful death for what they did to her lover. And she can’t just go and try to kill the First, because she understands that it will be difficult for her to resist them alone, and Chase’s existence also made a couple of changes to her plans:

1. Contrary to her first expectations, Chase does not seek to kill the First, as she decided at the first meeting. He also unobtrusively let her know that she would not interfere with his (toy) ninja. And if because of her something happens to Randy and the other ninjas, he doesn’t care. So she won’t so blatantly make attempts to get rid of the First, because then she will also have to deal with the thousand-year-old evil reptile. (she will not give up trying to take revenge, but now she needs to act differently)

2. The scenario where the First loses to Chase in his duel/makes a deal, etc. and ends up becoming the First's slave is pretty good for her. The sorceress is aware of the steel principles of the First, who would rather cut his own scalpel than give up his duties voluntarily (that’s why he didn’t retire after transferring the post but preferred to imprison himself in the form of a book) And see with your own eyes how the First will essentially become a pet their enemy, and how they wipe the floor with his pride as if with a rag - pretty good. (maybe she will even contribute to this. Perhaps :)

3. And another, in her opinion, unlikely outcome of events. Where Chase dies and the First is left alone again. The sorceress is not blind, and I think because of the specifics of her magic, she understands matters relating to feelings and emotions better than anyone else. He doesn’t admit it, but Chase’s death will still affect him, and when the guard lizard dies, she can again take matters into her own hands and calmly plan her revenge.

BTW Dff drew awesome art of the First under a love potion, and remembers that Amanda clearly has extensive knowledge in this area. It seems the culprit is found

[letsquestjess]

hello there, thanks for letting me know that your requests are open! I'm always a sucker for soft Crosshair, so might I request some kind of soft!Cross x reader please? As for the setting or story, I leave that completely up to you :) I personally love the enemies or friends to lovers trope, maybe jedi reader but please go with whatever inspires you and feels fitting 🩶 Thank you so much in advance!

Hello, hello! Thank you for the request. I love some soft!Crosshair so I couldn't wait to get stuck into writing this one 💜

Orders Are Orders (Crosshair x GN!Reader)

Summary: Crosshair tests your patience when he insists on disobeying your orders, but not everything is as you assume.

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Mention of blood and injuries.

-- -- -- -- --

“When I give an order, I expect it to be followed,” you insisted, your balanced tone carrying in the continuous hum of The Marauder cockpit. Hush lingered in the wake of your assertion. The soldiers of Clone Force 99 knew better than to interrupt you, and they hardly blamed you for your latest annoyance. 

The mission was a simple information retrieval, and yet Crosshair had taken it upon himself to throw a hydrospanner in the works, abandoning his post after a second wave of droids converged on your position. Through sheer willpower and agility, you all escaped with mere bumps and bruises, but you couldn’t have your team disobeying commands. It was not a good look, especially in front of other Jedi. 

Generals who failed to rein in their units were often brought in for inquiries, their abilities questioned and their station scrutinised. You were exceptional at your job, and you refused to let anyone or anything jeopardise your duty to the order that had raised you and the Republic counting on you.

“Do I make myself clear?” With a frosty glower that would freeze a desert in seconds, you directed your inquiry at the sniper leaning against the communication system, steeling your scowl as you combated with the disinterested glare he challenged you with. 

“We’re just trying to keep you alive, general,” Wrecker said, seeking, as he always did, to mediate the situation and lessen the swelling disagreement. 

“That is not your job, Wrecker,” you told him, gentler and understanding of the bond you all shared. Within the Force, you sensed their ardent loyalty. It was not an instruction that had been instilled into them in the growing tubes, but a sentiment they felt with every fibre of their soul. They liked you, respected you, admired you, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. Even Crosshair. Though, for some reason, he disobeyed you at the most inopportune moments. You attempted figure out why. Deviancy may be in his nature, yet he accepted some orders and disregarded others. 

“Crosshair, the next time you are told to stay in position, you stay in position. Understood?” 

His lips stiffened around the toothpick poking out between his teeth, and with a terse nod, he withdrew into the hull. Tech, Wrecker and Echo tagged along after him, no doubt to suggest he apologise and comply with your orders in the future. 

Drawing upon your meditation training, you inhaled the calm and exhaled the irritation bubbling below the surface. 

“There’s been a lot of tension recently, what with talk of the end of the war,” Hunter said diplomatically. “It can’t come quickly enough for some, but there has been chatter on the comms about what happens to us clones when we have peace. Many believe that squads will be split and sent across the galaxy.”

“That won’t happen to you,” you replied, perching on the side of the control console and resting your hands in your lap. “I pity the idiot who tries to separate Clone Force 99.”

A smile inspired the dimples beneath Hunter’s cheeks to deepen, but uncertainty crept in at his eyes. Nothing was assured for any of them, not even the Jedi. 

“I understand your apprehension, sergeant. The entire galaxy is swarming with unease, and while hopeful, it is natural that discussions of the war ending will encourage speculation. Between you and me, I have requested that I remain with the squad after the conflict has ended. I am yet to hear from the Council, but with Crosshair ignoring my orders, it makes that less likely.”

“Tell him that, please. If he knew, he wouldn’t push against your commands so much.” 

“I don’t know,” you grumbled, “it seems to be his preferred style.”

“We’re all deviant,” Hunter said with a shrug, keying in the doorway code and chuckling at your arched eyebrow. “It’s how we were made.” 

As the door of the cockpit slid shut behind him, you were left with silence and your own circulating thoughts. Perhaps you should be honest with the squad about your intentions? The sole reason you had yet to inform them was the prospect of raising their hopes only to have your request denied. Promises could not be made in a time of war, and even if the Jedi Council agreed now, there was nothing to indicate they would not reassign you later. 

Centering yourself in the Force, you let the living energy of the universe flow inside your veins, lightly settle every nerve, and remind you of your teachings. You were a Jedi. You must do as the Council commands. There was no room for negotiation. 

The next mission went off without a hitch or a hindrance, the area cleared of Separatist droids in record time and the captive troopers and their generals released from the carnage unharmed. Clone Force 99 combined their collective skills and served as a well-oiled machine. To your surprise, Crosshair adhered to every order. Even as shots coasted by and met with the hiss of your lightsaber, he did not interfere. 

Sprinting to The Marauder with mud and clumps of grass flying from your shoes, you captured Wrecker’s outstretched arm as Tech got the craft airborne and welcomed the calming rumble beneath your feet. “Comms from the north,” you panted, almost stumbling in your haste to get to the navigation monitors and entering the next coordinates. “Hunter, Echo, scan the transmissions from command and relay our status. Wrecker, man the turret. Separatists ships have been sighted in the area and I need them taking down before we land.”

“On it, general,” the brawler replied with gusto, hopping up into the rear compartment as Hunter and Echo joined Tech in the front cabin.  

“You’ll stay with me, Crosshair,” you said, overlooking his calculating regard. “You can snarl, and smirk, and hate me all you like later, but right now, we have a job to do.” 

“Who said I hate you?” the sniper challenged, a shadowed tinge of hurt lacing his tone. 

“Don’t,” you warned. Pressure mounted, and with no rest after the last three consecutive missions, your energy slid below your limit until you ran on reserves. Even the Force provided no comfort. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it and focus.” 

“I don’t hate you,” he asserted, his body inches from yours and almost boxing you in close to the console edge. “Quite the opposite.” 

Your fingers faltered over the keys, quivering from depletion and choked in dirt, blood, and stars only knew what. Indents from your lightsaber hilt ate into your palms in raw, alternating shapes. You hadn’t put your weapon away in weeks, fighting from one front to the other to demolish the Separatist blockade. Barely pausing or eating. Crosshair’s sincere-spoken remark felt like a salve.  

“Then why do you insist on ignoring orders?” you questioned. “Granted, it is not all the time, only when I seem to be in some sort of…” Your comment petered out as the patterns of his disobedience became abundantly clear, naked in the air between you. “Whenever I’m in trouble.” 

The ship lurched upon breaching enemy occupied airspace and compelled you violently to the immediate situation, but you could not shake the dawning discovery and Crosshair’s guilty expression. He only ever defied a direct order when you happened to be besieged or overwhelmed. He did nothing to deny it, and once this blasted battle was done, you were set on getting some answers. 

As soon as the Republic victory swept the transmission feeds and directives came through to pack up and leave, your entire being demanded recuperation. You noted it in your squad too, the glow of triumph in their eyes but the absolute exhaustion wearing out their bodies. 

After issuing the command to stand down and tend to themselves, you washed in the cramped refresher. Layers of mud pitched into the sink in lumps to manifest the bruising and the cuts beneath. No lasting damage, but enough to make you wince as you cleaned them and covered the nastier ones in bacta and gauze. With the chance to breathe, the extent of your campaign crashed into you like a rampant speeder. 

Hauling yourself out of the refresher and into the evening air, you discovered your squad perched on low crates and surrounding a campfire, sharing snacks and draining their canteens. They welcomed you with beams and ushered you into a makeshift seat. As the planet’s trio of suns burrowed into the horizon and the moon climbed the stars as though they were ladder rungs, stories, and witty remarks, and laughter sung into the night like a refrain in the face of the hardships you’d endured these past weeks. 

One by one, the squad retired to the ship, dragging their heavy feet to carry them to the confines of their trusty craft before they collapsed into their deserved slumber. 

“You should get some rest too, general,” Crosshair said, the last remaining and sipping at his almost empty flask of water. 

“And miss that?” you replied, motioning with a finger to the meteor shower crossing overhead in threads of jade and lilac to sew the cosmos together after the ruptures of war. 

Crosshair’s fatigued eyes lifted skyward, tracking the blazing trajectories as they blinked and melted away, their tails painting the otherwise undisturbed night in a hopeful glitter. 

You swallowed a large gulp of cold water. The tepid air soothed your lungs, the drink pacified your stomach, and the quiet tucked in your anxieties. “Thank you for watching my back today. Some of those shots were quite impressive.” 

“Only some?” Crosshair redirected his attention from the show in the sky, the comical note in his tone not one you were accustomed to, but welcomed all the same. 

“Maybe we are more similar than we realise,” you mused. 

“Oh.” 

“I mean we both take our duty seriously, care deeply about the people in our lives, and want the best for the Republic.” 

Crosshair tipped his canteen to you in approval of your observation. “Am I one of those people?” 

Your movements fell still, the restless bounce of your heels halting in an instant. How could you answer that? Of course you cared about him, you cherished him to the extent it mutinied against the Jedi code. As much as you struggled to withhold it and pin it down like a frantic combatant drowning their enemy in a puddle, you harboured affections for him that exceeded military respect and the compassion of a friend. 

“The only reason I ask is because I care about you,” he continued, tired but not of war; of bearing how you made him feel and of burying each fond thought of you. Of that plummet in his core when you were in danger and the dire twist at every shot with your name on it. “I will admit I didn’t like you when you first joined us, but... I care about you in a way that would get us both into trouble if anyone were to find out.”

You couldn’t have uttered a sound even if you wanted to. Not for the first time, you questioned your Jedi teachings and the rules that governed how you were to live your life. But this was different. This was not an issue of placing those beliefs under a microscope out of pure curiosity, but a personal matter that enraptured your very being. It tugged at the strings that created you and played such a delightful melody that for a moment you were not a Jedi or Crosshair a clone, but two people drawn to each other. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Testing the waters, you rose and seated yourself beside him on the wide crate, the embers of the campfire quelling under the tempering breeze but the reassuring warmth striving to provide for a little while longer. “There would be lots of explaining to do,” you pondered, “but I suppose if nobody noticed, then…” 

The way the low gleams of firelight flared in his eyes as they shot to you almost had you chortling. Never had you seen the unmovable, formidable clone so shocked. Even as the tide of battle fluctuated and ebbed, he remained unaffected. Yet you, with your stubborn nature and your concealed mischievous streak, dazed him better than any stun blaster could have. 

“So it’s true that Jedi can’t have relationships?” he sought. 

“It isn’t the standard. There are some exceptions, but not for me.” As his head drooped in disheartened understanding, you encouraged him back to you with a delicate touch to his cheeks. “Doesn’t mean I’m a complete stickler for the rules or that I agree with all of them. Only thing I am certain of right now is that I never want this night to end. If I could, I’d sit here with you until the stars went out.”

He angled into your caresses, starved of any contact beyond harsh shoves and punches of metal fists if they managed to get close enough, or the occasional pat on the shoulder from his brothers. The heat of your palms and the hope in your smile erased every kick, and scratch, and strike. For you, he would endure them all just to come home to this. 

Sinking into your presence, he planted his canteen behind him and cupped your face, worn fingertips flitting across your facets and features as though he was making a map of you. Your noses nudged and breaths merged, and at the tiny yet definite nod, he removed the gap. 

His lips on yours were warm, a little dry and timid until emotions soared. Clutching with desperation, pressing closer, ignoring anything that wasn’t the experience of each other. Your grasp found the fabric of his under suit and the thumping heart beneath. The beats hammered as quickly as your own, unfettered and free. 

The need to breathe became apparent and you both begrudgingly parted, his forehead resting against yours and his hands tucked under your jaw. 

“This doesn’t mean you get away with disobeying orders,” you teased. 

He pecked the tip of your nose and smirked, the tranquil wave of the dimming campfire illuminating his features and the adoration in his gaze. “Hm,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

[kyberblade]

Say That Again…. Please. (Din x Reader) - A Back To You Drabble

A/N: Idk. Don’t even look at me. It just happened, okay? (I’ve read over this so many times to proof read it, but I add to it each time, so now we’re just going to yeet it into the universe and hope it’s not gibberish. Okay? Okay.) I think this happens sometime after Part 18? I’m not sure, but I think inadvertently it just ended up there in my mind. I always thought they were kinda closer way before this, but also, not? Idk. I make no sense even to myself. Plot wise this is where it makes sense, so we’ll go with that.

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Word count: 2,767

Warnings: Din is an absolute menace like always. Maybe some language? I can’t remember. (Look, I’ve read over this so many times, I can’t remember where I landed.) Absolute tooth rotting fluff. Suggestive language and behavior, but nothing directly stated, just absolute menace behavior once again. Helmetless Din…. Sort of. What? Who said that? 🤨 Copious amounts of me slipping the phrase back to you into sentences in ways I think are sly and endearing.

Synopsis: Here we find a wild Mandalorian and his Mesh’la in their native habitat…. Here in this throwback to the first time things got a little frisky between these two. (Don’t worry, it’s still PG-13. 😉)

A huge thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex for once again reading this 5,000 times and saying I’m not insane.

| Series Masterlist |

Xxx

Crowding you back into the bulkhead, Din chuckled softly when you let out a quiet huff of air as your spine hit the cold metal of the hull.

The familiar press of beskar came to rest against your forehead, making you grin as your eyes fluttered shut. But all too soon, the cool touch of steel was rolling down and away, accompanied by a mechanical hiss that made your brows screw up in question. 

Before you could say a word or even open your eyes, the warmth of Din’s breath cascaded across your chest, making the last of your oxygen leave you in a rush. The prickle of his facial hair tickled as he lightly mouthed at your neck from bottom to top, taking his time as he went. 

It took you a moment, but you realized he had tilted the helmet back just enough to expose the lower half of his face, like he did when he ate with you and the kid in the privacy of the ship. Try as you might, your breath continued to stutter in your chest, and you felt the upturn of his lips in response as he made his way upward. 

He stopped just behind your ear, his lips surprisingly soft as they rounded to catch your lobe between them, the blunt tips of his front teeth coming out to play as he nipped at the flesh softly. “Mesh’la…..” His quiet voice came, whispered just for you to hear. “So beautiful…..”

“D-Din,” you tried softly, the Mandalorian groaning at the sound of his name on your lips as you attempted to clear your throat.

He let go of your ear and tucked back into your neck, his helmet riding back a little higher with the movement, exposing the tip of his nose to brush just right behind your ear. “Say that again…. please.” His hands began to pull your own up toward the armor on his chest, and further up onto his shoulders.

“Din,” you grinned at the unabashed groan that tumbled from his unmodulated lips, “are you sure? I don’t want to-”

The bounty hunter went stiff in your arms, his upper body and face pulling back and away from you just enough that you could see the slight downturn of his features. Nothing concrete, as he was too close, and you quickly averted your eyes down to his neck out of habit, but in the blur of your peripherals, you saw the rough curve of facial hair trying to conceal a saddened expression, but you were quick to wrap him in your hold, reassuring him with your words mumbled into his shoulder. 

“No! No, Din,” even now he let out a quiet hiss through clenched teeth at his name from your lips, making you chuckle with a gentle shake of your head. “I only meant, you giant Tin Can,” you snaked your hand that rested on his chest plate up and around the back of his neck, tracing light figures on the warm exposed skin there as he melted into your palm, the rest of his body quickly closing the distance he’d pulled away and molding back into you, his hands landing softly back onto your hips. “I don’t want,” you reiterated with emphasis before carding your hand up into the small tuft of his exposed curls and giving them a gentle yank that made his breath stutter deliciously, and the side of his mouth quirk up to meet a dimple in your peripherals as you watched his Adam’s apple bob in front of your face. Your voice went soft. “I don’t want to go breaking your Creed for just a moment of-”

“You’re worth it,” he cut you off, your hands suddenly pinned at your sides against the wall, and his face once again tucked into your neck mercilessly. Any inch of skin he could touch, he was. It was like it was his mission. And he always followed through. Mando always got his man. “Besides, I know what I’m doing, mesh’la.” 

You can say that again, you found yourself thinking, feeling your stomach sink into your feet when Din chuckled in response. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Instead of dragging it out, Din mercifully went back to the subject at hand, and you let out a thankful breath as you listened. “No Creeds will be broken.” He moved his kisses across your clavicle to your right side. “No vows,” he worked his way up, “No promises….” He was right over your lips now. “But just to be absolutely clear, like I said….” His voice had trailed off to a low murmur. “You would be worth it.”

You couldn’t take the breath you were trying to manage as you stared at his askew helmet. “Don’t say that,” you whispered. Try as you might, your eyes landed on his lips and wouldn’t look away, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

He was partly cast in shadows from the way his helmet was seated and the lighting of the cargo hold. You couldn’t even really tell a shade if someone held a blaster to your head. 

But, oh, the way they turned upward.

It had your stomach doing stupid things.

“It’s true,” Din smirked.

Oh, this won’t do at all.

Slinking your leg between his, you switched your weight and threw him to the ground. Landing on top of him, you let yourself feel a short burst of pride at the soft oomph! he let out on impact. 

Ignoring the desire to look at what was exposed of his now well lit face, you stared at the diamond in the center of his chestplate. Your hands were braced on either side of it in an attempt to hold him down, as you straddled his waist.

“Din, you're not thinking straight.” 

In an instant, the Mandalorian had flipped the two of you over so he was on top, your wrists pinned to the ground in his grasp on either side of your head as you glared up at him. 

“This would be much more menacing if your helmet were on straight.”

Din only smiled a tight lipped grin, like he was trying to hold it back, the curve of his mouth turning up one side more than the other in a lopsided smirk of amusement while he continued to hold you down. He was backlit now, so once again you could only vaguely see, but Din’s emotions always seemed to have their own tone. It wasn’t much of a leap.

The bounty hunter adjusted his weight, moving his lower half so his legs that were one between yours and one outside by your hip, were now between both of yours and applying just enough pressure to keep you down. 

“Can I get up, please?” You bemoaned, lightly struggling in his grip.

“Do you really want to?” He jibed, gently rolling his hips into yours and making your eyes go wide at the soft groan that fell from your mouth unbidden. “Besides,” his voice lowered as he did, his face now inches from yours as he lifted your hands and set them on his pauldrons. “I think now you’ll actually listen to me.”

“Think again, flyboy,” you whispered. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you attempted yet again to flip the two of you, but Din kept the momentum going and once again landed on top, the same lopsided grin twisting up his face as you pointedly stared at his equally lopsided visor.

Despite his obvious amusement, his tone was dry. “That was cute.”

As he brought your hands to rest on his pauldrons once more, you sighed, rocking your head back and forth, your eyes falling to rest on the glimmering beskar covering his chest. “No. No, Din. I’m not going to be the reason you-”

“That’s right,” he cut you off, bracing his weight on his right forearm and reaching across with his left to press a button on his vambrace that sent the cargo hold of the Crest into nearly complete darkness. “You won’t be.” 

As you stared at the blinking red, green, and white lights of a panel on your left to let your eyes adjust to the new twilight, the quiet thud of beskar on the hold floor pulled your attention back to him. Once again, your breath caught in your chest.

All you could see was his silhouette, the hold of the ship only illuminated by several barely lit panels, their various array of blinking colors casting the ship in an odd mood that seemed to breathe as the light faded in and out, trading one color for the next. No features were available in the dull light, just shadows, but still you closed your eyes on instinct, your face screwed up from the effort. 

Din let out a snort of amusement. “Open your eyes, mesh’la.”

You winced. “Din….” 

This time you both groaned, and it quickly devolved into quiet shared laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

Din’s voice was soft. “Mesh’la…. Open your eyes. It’s okay.” When your eyes still remained shut, Din sighed. He almost sounded sad. Or was that hopeful? Could they be the same thing? “I trust you.”

As you slowly blinked your eyes open, both to adjust to the low light and to make sure Din was absolutely sure, the Mandalorian guided your hands to his armor for a final time, helping you through the foreign motions of removing the beskar plates. 

He’d never had you help with this before. Sure, you’d watched a time or two when he had to make repairs on a single piece, like that time the whistling birds became the multiple random flying projectiles that ejected whenever they wanted on the tiny ship in hyperspace. 

Or when he was about to step into the fresher when you were staying somewhere going after a bounty…. He’d often remove most of it, and you’d quickly busy yourself with the kid or cleaning your blaster, or he’d start to, then notice you were making a point of averting your eyes and he’d quickly step into the fresher to finish the job.

You always felt bad when he’d duck into the tiny little rooms to finish, they usually barely offered enough room to even breathe and stand in, let alone remove armor and store it somewhere until after your shower.

But you just weren’t willing to be the reason he broke his Creed, no matter how relaxed he was. Or trusting. One wayward glance, and his entire way of life was gone. No matter how badly you wanted to just turn around and smile when he cracked a joke during these times, or would fuss over the kid…. Or say your name. It’d be so easy to just turn around, and….

No. It was easier to just never look the other way. Never look back toward him.

Now, however, the Mandalorian was right in your line of sight, or rather his silhouette was, and he was doing everything he could to keep you from looking the other way. To keep your eyes on him, your hands busy with his armor as it fell away piece by piece.

As the man beneath the metal slowly came into view beneath your fingertips, you smiled. 

He was just like you pictured.

What you could feel through his flight suit…. Warmth, muscle, the raised edges of a scar and a concealed weapon…. He fit every bit the picture inside your head, and the grin on your face continued to grow.

“What?”

You startled at his voice, eyes darting up to where his face should be. “You can see me?”

His silhouette shook its head. “Don’t have to. Your breathing changes when you smile. Always has.”

Brows knit together as your expression turned into something slightly sour, you looked up at him through your lashes. “That’s only slightly terrifying, Shiny,” you mumbled, disengaging the left pauldron as he chuckled.

Din leaned in closer to you, his nose nearly brushing against your own as his warm breath fanned out against your face. It made you startle just a bit, the feeling of a living breathing being beside you aside from the kid a foreign and frightening thing in the darkness surrounding you. He seemed to understand immediately, and was quick to soothe any remaining jitters away, shifting his weight up slightly and shimmying off his gloves right above your head so he could cup your cheeks with his bare hands.

As his calloused fingers wound into the hair right above your ears, you were shuddering for an entirely different reason.

“I know everything about you, mesh’la.” His bare forehead fell to rest on yours, the warm touch of his skin in place of the usual cold kiss of beskar you were used to instantly melting the scowling crease from between your brows, and causing your eyes to flutter. “That’s my job.”

Looking up at him through your lashes once again, you snorted out a laugh. “As what, my traveling companion?” Your hands moved to his chestplate. 

This dance had gone round and round for the two of you for so long you’d lost count, now. Admitting feelings, admitting caring, but never exactly what. It was driving you mad, honestly.

Sure, it was shallow, trying to find out this way what exactly you were to the Mandalorian, especially when the two of you were in the…. Position you were currently in. 

But needs must.

“That, and,” he said in a voice that said he knew exactly what you were trying to get at, as he helped you disengage the large piece of beskar across his torso, leaning back just enough to remove it himself and set it off to the side before he was back to trying to burrow under your skin and into your very bones.

Leaning your head to the side to give him better access, he made his way up and down your neck with soft kisses that were making your toes begin to curl inside your boots. “Yes?” You prodded when he didn’t go on, your voice surprisingly strong despite how distracted you felt. One of your hands came up to thread through the curls at the back of his head, your fingertips massaging his scalp lightly to try and bring his attention back to you.

“Sorry,” he chuckled softly, pulling back to look at your face. Your hand still tucked in his curls slid down to the side of his neck with the movement, and he turned his face into your forearm, mumbling into your skin, “Got distracted.” After he offered the inside of your wrist one last lingering kiss, Din turned back to face you again, and lightly ran the tip of his nose along the left side of your own. “Yes, your traveling companion, but also your friend. Partner.” He pulled back just enough that the tips of your noses were barely touching, his voice dropping lower in both volume and octave. “Lover.” Din moved after a moment to brush his nose along the right side of yours, softly kissing the apple of your cheek before adding the words mumbled against your skin, “You’re my other half, mesh’la.” 

You couldn’t help the grin that was climbing up your face. 

Sliding your right hand that was still resting on his neck up to cup his cheek gently, you let it fall down to clutch at his cowl that was still draped around his shoulders, shrouding the two of you in a familiar warmth you hoped never actually disintegrated like you always joked it might.

The smile only grew as Din chased after your palm once it left his face, a small frown turning down his features against your left hand still cradling his face when he could no longer feel your touch. But it quickly melted to match your own joy when you tugged on the fabric to pull him further down into you like you always did, clutching the fabric like a lifeline.

Pushing him gently, you rolled so you both were laying on your side facing one another, still so close you could share the same breath if you needed.

Turning into his neck, you whispered the words into the warm skin there. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum…. Ner riduur.” ("I love you…."; lit. "I will know you forever…." “My partner.”)

Din shuddered, cradling the back of your head in one ungloved hand and pressing your face further into him gently as he quietly moaned, “Riduur….” He let out a shaking breath. “Say that again…. Please.”

Xxx

Tag list to come!

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Chapter 9: Deus in Absentia

Previous Chapter: Chapter 8 - Miserere Mei

Summary: What are you to do when God has abandoned you?

Word Count: 15.6k

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, Resurrection, Supernatural Encounters, Grief, Major Character Death, Gore, Body Horror, Angst, Disturbing Imagery, Heavy Religious Imagery and Implications, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Note: Thank you to @pastel-pillows and @dr-aculaaa for the quick beta reads of the few snippets (you know the ones). This one is...I'm not even sure what it is but it's heavy and confusing and I'm so fucking proud of it. We've got 3 more chapters left until the end, it still feels like there's so much more to go, but we've really taken a turn for the worst...and now maybe we're heading for the better with this one.

Please note that after this chapter, I will be taking a brief hiatus from AASB (maybe til mid-november/december?) to wrap up some WIPs. (CCFest Halloween, the next installment of Gospel According to MV, the next chapter of Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction, etc. I need to clear it out. But we're not on so much of a cliffhanger this time.

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+.

“Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! […] I have given you my soul; leave me my name!” - Arthur Miller, The Crucible

October 30, 1987

The world passed by in a blur and you avoided looking at everyone and everything.

Except for Steve.

It was almost impossible to look anywhere other than directly upon him.

His head.

His body.

Both.

Either.

It didn't really matter anymore. They were both Steve, and at the same time, neither of them were.

They were pieces of him shorn apart in vile rage and wrath, one that something inside you--that the last lingering part of Eddie that resided deep in the pit where your soul should have been--said was unconscionable. But you somehow couldn't bring yourself to agree.

Probably because you, yourself, didn't have a conscience anymore either.

You tried to feel, tried to scrape together some piece of humanity from the leftover parts of your own jagged soul that clung to the corners of your being.

It was a futile task; from the moment that Mary Victoria's screaming stopped, you felt emptier than you ever had.

You couldn't move, couldn't bring yourself to do anything.

Billy regained some control of his body; he dropped Steve's head and ran but Steve's friends didn't give chase.

Mary Victoria scrambled to Steve's side in some futile attempt to reattach his head; she spoke broken words that sounded underwater to you. Whispers, then another scream, then whispers again. She turned to you and shouted something, and then broke down in tears.

Nancy and Dustin hauled him to the car, their own grief temporarily set aside, and debated where to put him. Where could they put him? Had they even figured it out? How many other friends had they done this to? How many slaughtered family members did they have to steel their hearts towards? Did it even matter?

Dustin even wrangled you at some point, shuffled you into the car. Where had you sat? In the front or the back? Who knew? All of a sudden you were back at the Harrington's leaning against the mailbox for support as a few people carried Steve's remains into the garage.

So you just stared.

You never broke eye contact; you barely even blinked.

Time passed.

Your body got weaker and wearier.

The sun rose, an ominous glowing red dawn, on a new day.

Everyone left the garage and disappeared inside.

But someone left the garage door open for you to come in when you were ready, and when you finally were, you trudged towards it.

Towards him.

You would've thought that the ground would have tried to grab you and hold you back, that your body would've broken and failed, that God Himself would smite you for even thinking of approaching Steve like you did.

But it was surprisingly easy to close the distance between the driveway and the folding table that had been erected to hold the body of a dear friend.

The body of a leader. The body of a hero.

Your eyes raked along his form and you punished yourself committing every inch of him to memory.

His clothes, his skin, the stains of blood on both, the way his eyes were not quite shut, the distinct lack of tension in his jaw, the remnants of a scar that circled his throat, and the jagged wound that had severed his head.

The wound seemed to follow along that scar like a guide; maybe it had been one, a weak point Eddie knew would be there to enact some ultimate retribution.

Your footing faltered and you grasped the edge of the table to keep yourself upright, but that only made you lean over the body.

Suddenly all of the feelings that eluded you from the moment Steve's body hit the ground--maybe even from the moment you had returned to Hawkins, as terrible and detached and inhuman as you were--barreled into you.

Steve Harrington wasn't the first dead person you'd seen, or the first that had died alongside you, fighting some monster. Shit, he wasn't even the first one that died because of your stupidity.

He was only the first...what?

What was Steve Harrington?

Who was Steve Harrington to you?

You gritted your teeth and thought about it, wracked your brain for some answer.

He wasn't a friend or family, he wasn't a neighbor or a coworker. He was a comrade in arms by sheer luck, and if it hadn't have been for that night in the tunnels, you doubted the two of you would have ever crossed paths.

He was a friend of a friend of Eddie's. Some coincidental flirtatious fling of Mary Victoria's. Mary Victoria who, you realized, was just as much of a stranger as Steve was. You didn't know her. She wasn't a friend, no matter how much you could hope or think that she was.

You didn't know any of these people. Didn't care about these people. They were just friendly neighbors who unfortunately became collateral damage. They were nothing.

Steve Harrington was nothing.

But that was the reason that whatever was left of your humanity was torn up as he lay dead before you.

An innocent life. Lost. Because of you.

So many lives lost, so many families broken, because you chose to act like some selfish and well-intentioned God, protecting the light when you yourself destroyed the light with everything you did and everything you touched.

They all tried to stop you--even fate; even God Himself--but you refused to listen.

No wonder your prayers went unanswered.

You felt a presence beside you, surrounding you; Eddie's phantom hand slid into your own and squeezed, offering some sort of comfort, but you simply clenched your hand into a tight fist in refusal. Then his hands were on your shoulders and his ghostly lips caressing your ear.

"You could heal him."

No, you couldn't.

"Bring him back."

It was impossible, actually impossible; maybe if you were whole, you could do it, but you knew if you tried, you'd only be confronted with how far you had fallen and how miserably you'd fail.

"But you'd heal him if you could," Eddie whispered. "You'd fix all of this if you could. That's what makes you good; you haven't failed yet, sweetheart."

You wanted to believe him, you really wanted to, but then you thought of Eddie, the other Eddie, the rest of Eddie...and the other you, the rest of you...and all of you together and separate and broken and whole and...and...

Your legs wobbled, your knees gave out, and you finally crashed to the floor. Eddie had the good sense to vanish.

And there, on the ground, you finally broke down in tears.

Because you could get no lower than this, short of burying yourself deep in the dirt where you probably should have stayed all those years ago when the collapsing tunnels had swallowed you. You should have died to spare Hawkins--all of Hawkins, Eddie and Wayne included--of this misery that your existence brought.

You could get no lower, short of diving straight into the pits of Hell itself.

Where you belonged.

November 6, 1983

You did your best to try and keep things calm after Eddie vanished.

You could still feel him and you were still a part of him, but he simply refused to let you follow; however, with no body to speak of, and the Upside Down seeming to rejoice that the chaos it desired won over peace, you had to pick your battles.

So you picked Wayne.

You sat by his side and provided all of the comfort and support that you could; you healed him as much as you possibly could, even though his wounds kept weeping and his body kept rejecting your efforts. You wondered, for a moment, if the serene acceptance you'd felt earlier was the cause of his prolonged demise; if he had accepted death on his own, you couldn't force him to continue living.

But then you felt the waves of fear emanating from him, as he lay there, and stared up into those eyes in the sky that watched you both, and you knew that whatever was causing him to perish was beyond what you could control.

So you soothed his worries, just like you'd soothed Eddie's when Vecna preyed on him.

"It's ok," you whispered the lie to him. "It'll all be ok."

It was also the lie you told yourself.

You tried to distract him from his anguish and fear by telling him a story; the nonsensical memories of your first time meeting him kept him calm, let him focus on his breathing, on keeping his heart going.

You weren't even sure that he heard you.

What he did hear, though, was Eddie's anguished roar as he reappeared on the barren plane of Lover's Lake.

At first you though it was the rage that had overtaken him before, when he'd pulled you from Billy's consciousness; you weren't expecting him to be crying bloody tears, raking his talons into his hair, and muttering repeatedly,

"What have I done? What have I done?"

"What happened?" He ignored your question, so you asked again. "Eddie, what happened?"

He shook his head and kept pacing; as you watched him, you felt like it was a very you thing to do, so you decided that the only way to get through to him might be the only way you'd get through to yourself.

You were by his side immediately, latching yourself onto him like the parasite you'd been to him for as long as he'd been under Vecna's control. The edges of your being melted with his as you ran your soothing hands over his face, his cheeks, his eyelids. You thought of the countless times that he'd done this to you to show you his affection and calm you down.

Finally, when he stopped torturing himself, you whispered into his ear, "tell me."

His shoulders heaved with labored breath, and then he finally nodded, eyes shut as he basked in the feeling of you.

You rejoiced in the feeling of being wanted by him.

"I killed him," he said with a broken voice, sending a shock down your spine. "I killed him."

"Killed who?" you asked, and his lip trembled.

"I didn't mean to," he whimpered. "I got carried away."

"Eddie," you said his name sternly.

"I'm not a monster," he continued. "I'm not, I'm not."

"Eddie, who did you kill?"

"Tell me that it'll be ok," he demanded suddenly, eyes shooting open. He stared...not quite at you, but through you. You wondered if he saw the concern in your gaze, the fear for him, or if he only felt it. "Tell me, please; I need to know."

"I'll tell you," you began slowly. "If you tell me what you did."

He took a breath, building some sense of courage, and then swallowed.

And what followed was one crushing blow after another.

Because as soon as the name "Steve" fell from Eddie's lips, a horrible sound came from Wayne.

A death rattle.

He choked and shook, more than he had since the time his body broke upon impact with the ground.

The rage and sorrow that you might've felt at the revelation that Eddie had killed Steve suddenly transformed into worry and fear for Wayne. As his body convulsed weakly and he struggled to find air.

You and Eddie both abandoned your anguish to go to his side; you hovered over him, hands locked together as you tried to guide him back towards life, but the fight was over, it seemed.

Wayne used the last bit of his strength to place his hand over Eddie's, his mangled, blood-stained fingers locking with Eddie's inhuman clawed ones.

Then with one last look towards you, he was gone.

October 30, 1987

The door to the house opened some hours later.

You had stayed on the ground and cried the whole time, the minutes ticking away--literally thanks to the watch adorned on Steve's cold wrist that punctuated every second that passed, like the telltale heart--between heaving sobs and silent tears that stained your cheeks and soaked the collar of your shirt. Your eyes felt swollen and painful, throbbing inside of your skull.

You knew you should take a minute, recompose yourself, and give your body a break from the constant barrage of thoughts and emotions, but you supposed this was a punishment of sorts.

Still, it wasn't punishment enough.

"Come inside," a gentle voice said from the threshold after a beat. "There's food. Or if you'd like to wash up. I don't know if you've slept out here either, but you could come and sleep in a real bed too."

"No," came your gravelly reply.

There was a sigh and footsteps, then Nancy dropped to the ground beside you. She folded herself as small as she could get, tucking her knees against her chest to rest her chin upon them, and stared up at Steve's body.

You weren't really sure what this was. You couldn't say that you were surprised that Nancy was out here with you at all. Out of everyone who resided in that house, who was left to tolerate your presence? What surprised you was how soft she was. Her voice, her posture, her presence. You supposed she was mourning Steve too, just like everyone else; you could see her own red-rimmed, puffy eyes in your peripheral vision.

But if she was here, you expected some sort of tongue lashing, heavy with accusations and blame.

Maybe she knew that she didn't need to do any of that. You blamed yourself plenty.

"So what do we do now?" she asked, voice devoid of emotion. "What's next?"

"What do you mean?" you questioned in return. "Steve's dead; you bury him or burn him...whatever you do with the rest of your dead."

"No," Nancy shook her head. "What's the next move to closing the gates and sealing the Upside Down for good? Wasn't that the grand plan?"

You hummed in response, a non-committal noise that seemed to irritate Nancy enough to turn and look at you.

"Weren't you here to save Hawkins? Save us."

"And I'm doing a great job of it," you gestured to the table, "aren't I, Steve?"

She scoffed, a very judgmental sound, and then turned away again.

There was a long stretch of silence, padded with muffled noises from inside the house and that ever-present ticking of Steve's watch. You could hear sharp and sudden intakes of breath from Nancy every now and again, and you expected some kind of jab to be sent your way, but none ever came.

Eventually she said, "I know how it feels to want to give up."

"Yeah?" you croaked in reply.

"I think that's all I've wanted since this all started," she continued. "For it to be over."

"Well, people like us...we don't ever get what we want." You didn't quite like the way the bitterness of your words tasted on your tongue but you supposed it was a flavor you needed to get used to.

"People like us..." Nancy trailed off and then nodded. "People like us can't give up, though, no matter how much we want it. I certainly can't do that, not with Holly relying on me. Actually, a lot of people in that house rely on me, so I have to keep going for them."

"That's nice."

"They rely on you too," she said matter-of-factly, and if you didn't know better that Nancy Wheeler hated your guts, you would've thought that there was even some laughter in her voice. "You made them believe in you, with your big words and your speeches and promises. They don't particularly like you. But they believe in you."

"Get to the point Nancy," you finally tilted your head to meet her gaze.

"Do I have a point?"

"It sounds like you're trying to get me to do something and I'm not sure what that something is."

"I'm trying to get you not to just give up," she held her hands out in some sort of offer to you. "I'm trying to get you to get back on your feet and fix this. Because you're the only one who can."

"Sure," you snorted.

"It's true!"

"I don't know if you noticed but I'm not doing so hot. A few days away from ending up like our good friend Steve here, I'm sure," you gestured to your body. "I had time to think and...I guess that's what happens when a vampire starts to suck out your soul? People probably never noticed since the blood loss kills them first."

"Then go back to the Upside Down and tell Eddie to fix this before you die," she snapped. "Let the gate shut behind you, I don't care."

"Never thought that you'd endorse me making a deal with the devil," you snarked.

"Is that what you think of him now?" she asked. "That he's the devil."

"What else is he?"

"He's your boyfriend, the love of your life," she threw her hands up in the air and shouted. "That's what you've been saying all this time right? 'I came back for Eddie, I love Eddie.' That's why Dustin made us keep it a secret. But even when you found out that he was alive and that he was a monster, that didn't change anything. But suddenly he does what? He kills Steve right in front of you and he's suddenly evil. You didn't care when he killed people before."

You couldn't help the laughter that suddenly bubbled out of you.

Where it came from, you couldn't really know for sure. Whether it stemmed from some sort of guilt or discomfort or realization that everything was futile and idiotic since you were dying anyway.

"No," you giggled. "I guess I didn't."

Or maybe that Nancy was actually right and you didn't care at all; it was that dark pit inside of you that swallowed her accusations and spit out the laughter instead.

Maybe Eddie wasn't the evil one, maybe it was you all along.

It was in your nature, after all; hadn't Jinette told you that time and time again.

But then Nancy, with her big words and fiery eyes and ferocious gentleness that laid just beneath the surface, started laughing too.

You were sure, if someone was looking down on the two of you right now, it would be a sight to see: you and Nancy, with your previous adversity towards one another, laughing hysterically and falling against each other.

Little by little though, that laughter produced tears, and then more tears fell, until the two of you were huddled together, crying once again. You were right, all that time ago, thinking that you and Nancy Wheeler were a mirror of one another. The strength, the loss, the perseverance, and the sorrow that lingered just below the surface.

"Eddie killed my boyfriend Jonathan," Nancy whispered. "And I hated him for it. I still do. It hasn't even been two months and it feels like there's this gaping wound in my chest, like my heart's torn out without him, and it's been like that for a lifetime."

"I'm sorry," you muttered back. "I'm so sorry Nancy."

"And then he started helping us," she ignored your apology. "He killed so many people but then...for some reason...he decided to help us and I almost killed him right then. Itchy trigger finger. But Steve...and Dustin...and my brother Mike...they all said to give him a chance. The Eddie who killed Jon, that wasn't the Eddie who was helping us, and I had to believe them, even though the hate was still there.

"Then came the battle. The end, or so we thought. The last stand against the Upside Down. Vecna...he killed so many people. He killed my family. My parents and Mike...and I was so close too, I could've died alongside them, and in those last moments I thought...I might even see Jonathan again. But somehow I was spared; Vecna even took that from me."

Nancy gritted her teeth and choked on a sob and her voice got progressively louder, until those last words, then she was quiet again.

She took a calming breath and kept going through her tears.

"Mom used to make us go to church, but I'd gotten too old for stuff," she shook her head. "Seen too much of this nightmare to believe in a god anymore, especially since the pain just got worse as more and more of the people I loved just kept dying. That wound got bigger, my hate got bigger.

"But then there was Holly...so I must've been spared by some god so that she wouldn't be alone, right?"

She paused and looked at you now, like you'd give her some sort of reassurance. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Was there a god? If there was, he wasn't in Hawkins.

Nancy just sighed at your silence and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.

"There are more people, of course, more people who survived. Mike's friends and Joyce and Steve...and Robin. Steve and Robin lost everything too--their parents and Robin had this friend Vickie that must've been like...it doesn't matter--but they had each other. And yeah, Robin's been there for me, probably more than anyone else in this mess. She's put up with me and helped me and kept me sane when I thought I couldn't handle it anymore. There's nothing I could ever do to thank her. Now she's lost another person and I can't even repay her kindness. But...and I feel bad for thinking of Holly this way...but everyone else had each other, and all I had now was this pain and this hate and this burden.

"Then Eddie Munson betrayed us for the Upside Down again."

You closed your eyes at her words, felt the pang in your chest at the hate in her voice.

"And then you came along," she sneered. "And you killed Barb. That was my friend too, you know; Barb was my best friend. The first time I saw her after Eddie...after Eddie did that to her...I had hope for the first time in a long time. But not for Barb. For Jon. That he could come back too, but Eddie couldn't even do that for me."

"Stop talking about Eddie," you pleaded, trying to stop the tears from starting again, but it was too late.

"But I have to," Nancy insisted. "Don't you get it? I have to talk about Eddie Munson. Because...because you love him. Just like I love Jonathan Byers. I hate Eddie and I thought I hated you too, but you love Eddie Munson. Eddie is a monster and you love him...and he loves you. Loves you enough to kill his friends for you. And you love him even though you're dying because of him and I keep having to remind myself that...that I would do the same thing if I was in your shoes and Jon was a monster too."

She was fully sobbing now too.

"I would do anything, anything, to have Jonathan back," she exclaimed. "I would let the world burn for him, I would die for him. But before I died, I would ask him to fix this mess, for everyone else I loved, because I know how much he loved me too."

There was a knock on the garage door that startled the two of you, and then a muffled "Nance, you ok in there" through the thick wood.

"Yeah," Nancy choked out in response and cleared her throat. "I'll be back inside in a second."

"Kay."

There were footsteps and then you were alone in silence again.

"Sorry," she shook her head after a moment. "I'm sorry. I don't...know what came over me."

"It's ok," you tried to reassure her.

"Are we good?" she asked.

"Are we?" you parroted.

She paused and inhaled shakily, then nodded.

"If we have to get out there and fight again," she started. "I'll have your back."

Without another glance at you, she got to her feet and placed a trembling hand on Steve's chest.

Then, with a clear and steely voice filled with a sense of finality, she repeated her earlier statement, "but you need to fix this. You're the only one who can."

November 6, 1983

Eddie stayed there for hours. Days. He stayed hunched over Wayne's body, further soaking his uncle's clothes with those bloody tears until there were no more left.

And there was nowhere else you would be, even if you could leave, than by his side.

The anguished roar of grief that escaped Eddie's body after Wayne took his last breath had shaken the very earth beneath you, and in your heart, only rivaled the scream he made when Vecna had finally broken him and he'd given up his soul.

You'd never seen him like this.

Never.

Broken and beside himself; he could barely function, could barely respond to your words or touch.

All of the other creatures in the Upside Down knew to leave him to this; you saw neither hide nor hair of them. There were no footsteps, no flaps of wings.

You felt awful at the triumphant feeling that bloomed in your chest to know that he wanted you there, that he accepted the comfort of your presence, however little of it that he allowed.

When he was tired, he clutched Wayne to his chest, and nestled into your embrace. When he was hungry, he closed his eyes and found your wrist, then drank deeply from veins that would only sustain his heart, and not his stomach. And when he felt anger again, he used you; you let him use you like he had during the eternity that he was trapped as a soulless puppet under Vecna's control, unwillingly faced with his humanity.

He slashed at you with his claws, he roared and yelled and lashed out, he fucked your phantom body to find some cathartic release. It was never enough, not like it would be if she had been there, and you had to come to the acceptance that although the two of you were two parts of one whole, you were not home to him the way that she was.

Instead you could only hold him, run your hand through his hair, brighten the void deep within him that got darker with his despair, and soothe the pain.

"Why do they leave me?" he whispered into you in the aftermath of one of those instances. "Why am I destined to lose everything?"

"I don't know Eddie," you replied gently.

"Why did he have to die?"

"We all die."

"No," he growled, unwilling to accept it.

"You've died before," you reminded him, and then you contemplated your next words. "And so have I "

"No," he repeated, snarling this time. He clutched you to him. "No, you'll never die. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"She's dying," you spoke of your other self now. "She's out there and dying."

"Please," he wept. "No."

"Death," you began. "It's not the end, it's just the beginning. You'll always have each other, even if you can't be together like this."

You were talking out your ass, you knew; an empty promise. Half of a lie. Even if he didn't have her, he would have you.

"Just like you'll have Wayne," you continued, "and he'll always have you."

You stared past Eddie now, at Wayne's body just yards away, resting in the pit that Eddie had dug and clawed in his rage. Neither of you particularly wanted his body to remain here, but what else could you do? Wayne needed to go back to Hawkins, and neither of you could take him there.

"Fate is cruel," you whispered to Eddie again. "Wayne knew how much you loved him."

"I know."

"Do you remember the story I told you once?" you asked suddenly. "About the oneiroi?"

It had been a long and hard day for him, still mourning your other self's departure from Hawkins. Dark thoughts had filtered through Eddie's head more than once after she left, and you had no choice but to intervene. To soothe him and heal him, to love him, just like you always would. And to do that, you told him a story about meeting the loved ones you missed the most in your dreams.

You cracked a smile when you felt Eddie nod against you now.

"You'll meet Wayne again one day," you whispered. "Maybe in your dreams. Maybe...maybe in heaven."

Another lie.

The remnants of his soul had long-since vanished though, and you'd said a prayer for it to find its way to heaven, where he belonged. But you knew better, and it was a bitter feeling to sense it...lurking in some unknown distance until it was time for him to make himself known to you.

"Maybe even here," you finished.

Just like Eddie's soul had.

At first, you thought it was a trick of the eye. But you weren't easily tricked; in fact, you had no eyes, no really. Then you wondered, and you couldn't know for sure, if you wished it or willed it into being.

You could see it, even from a distance. The twitch of Wayne's body inside the pit Eddie had dug. It wasn't a deep pit; a divot in the ground, more than a true grave. You could see the convulsions, and then the shifting.

Then you realized with some horror, that those things you'd tried to rationalize--the wishes and the tricks--none of those things had caused Wayne's body to move again. Or breath again, as you saw the soft rise of his flannel-covered chest.

This wasn't your realm; it wasn't yours to control. But you'd been here long enough to know better than to think you had any control. Maybe if you were real, maybe if you were her, you could change things. Maybe you could've stopped it. But you were you, and you'd witnessed time and again what happened to the dead that found themselves in the Upside Down.

They either perished, their bodies consumed along with their souls, or they were revived. By Vecna's hand. Or by Eddie's.

So how was Wayne moving now if the attempts to revive him had failed?

You watched in horror as his hands flinched and twitched, and then reached for the edge of the pit. You froze as he hauled himself upright, and then turned his head towards you in a stiff and unnatural way.

He stared right at you and you stared back at him, unable to look away.

Eddie hadn't ever truly been able to witness your form and Wayne had only been able to see you because he was dying. But for Wayne to be able to be alive again and look at you, see you, when you weren't really there? There had only been one set of eyes that had really looked upon you during your time here in the Upside Down.

And they were no longer in the sky.

You clutched Eddie to you, as if to smother him in your presence, in your being, so that he wouldn't see Wayne standing there. Healed. Alive. Whole. Other.

But it was too late.

The gasp that came from Eddie was the first nail in the coffin.

The tears that dripped from his eyes as he got to his feet were the next.

Each of the words that spilled from his mouth as he rejoiced in the resurrection of his uncle were like the strike of a hammer against the coffin lid to ensure it was secure.

And the embrace that he pulled "Wayne" into, a death bell.

The ground trembled beneath you, starting from the place where "Wayne" stood and radiating outwards; you could sense from all distances, the creatures of the Upside Down rejoiced the his presence. At their release.

You were frozen in terror at all of it.

Vecna, when it came down to it, was only human--even with all of his power--and, in a way, so were you. So was Eddie. For all that time, you'd done your best; you'd used your love, your tricks, to counteract the poison of his curse. You could fight against a human to spare Eddie from pain and death and his ultimate demise.

But this?

You were only human. And so was Eddie.

You didn't know how to protect Eddie from this.

October 31, 1987

You woke to the sounds of trick-or-treaters outside of the Harrington's garage.

It was an unexpected thing to hear and it startled you, their little voices shouting in tandem, followed by laughter. It seemed strange and out of place, especially considering the grimness that lingered in the garage with Steve's decaying body just a few feet away on that table.

The fact that it even was Halloween surprised you, but you hadn't really been keeping track of the date, especially not after your time in the Upside Down.

You forced yourself to your feet, body aching, and lifted the garage door to step outside.

The late afternoon sun greeted you, as did the crisp fall air; the neighborhood wasn't flooded with children trick-or-treating, but there were a few groups going around. All followed by parents with their weapons to protect from any horrors that lurked in the shadows; the Upside Down still posed the greatest threat, even if it was a holiday.

But there was just something so human, so normal, seeing them. Even in the face of danger and death, here they were, looking for a little bit of joy.

Your heart ached at the thought, and you wondered if that was Eddie reacting to their participation in his favorite holiday.

You watched as two little princesses, their taffeta dresses donned over matching turtlenecks to protect them from the chill, walked up the driveway hand in hand, scurrying between the parked cars, to approach the group hanging about on the Harrington's porch.

"I hope you guys like cookies," Dustin told them after their greeting, and he held out a bowl with plastic-wrapped treats. "Mom baked them fresh this morning."

Once they were gone, Dustin--who must've noticed you as soon as you stepped outside--waved you over.

"You remember Max and Will," he gestured to his friends who were situated in lawn chairs. "And maybe you remember Lucas too?"

"From the tunnels," you greeted. "Hi."

"Hey," Lucas shot you a tentative little wave, and then tried to get up to offer his seat to you. You motioned for him to stay seated, and then leaned against the side of the house.

"And Lucas's sister, Erica," he gestured to the girl sitting beside Max, who was the only one dressed for the occasion. A witchy purple dress and glitter makeup expertly applied on her face; it was cute and spooky and fitting for a young teenager like her.

"No trick or treating for you guys?" you asked, mustering up a small smile.

"We were going to," Max piped up, and then gestured down to the object in her lap. "Brought my trusty Michael Meyers mask and everything."

"I was actually going to go and spend the night at my friend Shelly's house," Erica interjected. "We all planned to dress as witches and do a seance."

"Oh yeah?" you asked, the part of your brain that always collected little tidbits about spiritualism and the supernatural activated. "Well, be careful. It's Samhain...spirits can travel between worlds easier. You don't want a ghost to follow you home."

"It's Halloween, it's make believe," Erica narrowed her eyes at you. "Besides I can't go."

"Why not?"

"Our moms asked us to stay close," Will explained.

"We're, uh," Dustin shuffled in his seat. "We're..."

"We're having a memorial for Steve later tonight," Lucas finished for him.

All of the kids looked a little somber at those words, shifting in their chairs uncomfortably.

"Oh," you replied softly, unable to really say anything else.

Dustin, of course, had to make light of the heavy moment. He held out the bowl of cookies to you.

"It's a potluck dinner," he explained and then gestured to the cookies. "Mom was already baking, so she figured she might as well make some extras."

"I'm ok," you tried to refuse the cookies.

"You didn't eat dinner last night," he insisted and you guiltily shifted your gaze away from his. "Or breakfast this morning."

He shook the bowl, and you sighed and took a cookie anyway, not willing to explain that you had no appetite. And even if you did, you knew it would turn to sawdust on your tongue anyway.

You stood there and basked in their conversation and in the trick-or-treaters that came. The boys all ooh'd and ahh'd at the visitors costumes; Erica continued to pout about not being able to go to her friends house until her friends actually showed up for treats, then she stood on the lawn and chattered with them until it was time for them to go; and Max...Max just sat there stiffly until the conversation started back up again, her unseeing eyes somehow always locked on you.

Like she was acutely aware of your loathsome presence.

You wondered for a second if she knew something was wrong with you, sensed it through any sort of lingering connection that you left behind when you'd made the journey into her mind. Had you left a bit of yourself in there too? Or maybe you were just reading into it too much?

"When was the last time you celebrated Halloween?" she asked suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. All of the kids turned to you with curious expressions.

"Uh," you frowned and thought about it.

When was the last time?

"Last October I was..."

You knew where you were in November; Nonna had passed away. That anniversary was coming up, wasn't it?

"...I was in upstate New York, trying to stop this old man...Goodrich...from sacrificing virgins in exchange for endless riches."

"Woah," all the kids sat up a little straighter in their seats.

"You know, all the crap we've seen, it would've been nice to have some variety," Will joked. "What else? The year before that?"

Ok...what was that...you remembered wishing you could be back in Hawkins.

"I was in Italy actually," you recalled. "Someone stole the shroud of Turin to invoke the Anti-Christ. It didn't work; that's not what relics are for."

"Ok that's still cool."

"Relics? Like in DnD?" Lucas questioned.

"Yeah," Dustin laughed. "She's a paladin."

"I am not a paladin," you rolled your eyes.

"Yeah you are," he insisted.

The boys all started tripping over themselves asking questions and bickering--even Erica getting into the mix, spouting off facts and stats about DnD gameplay--but Max had to interrupt them with a laugh.

"Halloween! Hello!" she clapped her hands. "You nerds can argue later; I haven't heard an answer to my question yet."

You smiled at them, feeling something akin to relief that they got to behave like silly teenagers amidst all of the bullshit that was brought into their lives.

You didn't want to leave Max hanging though, so you thought back again, and said very casually, "1984...I was in Hawkins that year."

But then you all got quiet.

Because you all remembered what happened, to each of you respectively, in 1984.

You, especially, felt your stomach churn. Not about the tunnels or Eddie or Gabriel or anything else. You remembered where you were on Halloween. Not that far from here, actually. At a party where you came across a drunk Billy Hargrove, Max's brother.

A party where you were dressed like Judith...with the decapitated head of Holofernes.

Your mind raced at all the parallels, at all of the strings that tied everything together. A severed head and Billy Hargrove, these kids in the tunnels, the looming threat of the Upside Down. That even the knife that you'd worn on your belt that night had been the one you'd told Mary Victoria to take from your glove compartment just a few weeks prior.

What was next? Was Gabriel going to show up and lead you on some other fated path? Or was this the end of said path all along?

Speaking of fate...fate was cruel.

Because just like it had three years ago, as the night fell on Hawkins, the horrible creatures of the Upside Down came out to play.

It was almost uncanny how quickly they attacked when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, like they were waiting for the brief reprieve that Eddie had afforded the town to expire so they could go on their hunt.

And you'd just mentioned Samhain, and spirits--monsters--ability to travel between worlds easier; you should have kept your big mouth shut.

You heard the wash of screams first, echoing down the street; initially, it just sounded like the screams of the children, excited for their tricks and treats, but then they grew in volume, and mixed with snarls and death cries.

All of the kids got to their feet, Dustin and Lucas with their weapons of choice in hand, as thundering footsteps seemingly shook the ground below you, and a sea of creatures spilled down the street, all tripping over one another to race to get to their prey first.

You all watched in horror as teeth ripped into flesh and one parent sacrificed themselves so that the other could flee with their children. As a group of younger teens used their treat-filled pillowcases to swipe at the monsters before they succumbed to the overwhelming attack.

Then the bats began to swarm, darting over the tops of houses and swooping to claw and whip and bite from the sky.

"Get inside!" Lucas finally shouted, arm already around Max to lead her towards the door. "Go! Now!"

But his screaming alerted the creatures to your presence, and several of them shifted their momentum to run towards the Harrington's house.

Dustin grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him, as you all scrambled to get into the house. The door slammed shut just as the heft of several demogorgons rammed into the side of the house; they roared from being denied their hunt.

There were shouts from further inside the house as everyone began reacting to the barrage of bodies ramming against windows and walls, and the screams from outside. Joyce had pushed her way past the others to get to her kids, her arms enveloping them in the biggest hug she could. As if she could protect them from the horrors of the world.

In fact, everyone crowded together, holding their loved ones, shushing each other with each and every scream that came from beyond the safety of the house. They chattered over one another, coming up with plans to keep the house secure, barricading doors and possibly boarding up windows. Nancy was at the back of the group, crouched down, trying to comfort Holly who was crying softly and saying something inaudible into Nancy's shoulder.

And then Mary Victoria, who wasn't even part of the group; she just stood back, wringing her hands together nervously.

Mare looked...

She looked fine, but the devil was in the details. Eyes puffy from crying, obviously anxious as you had already observed, she wore the same bloodstained clothes from the other night when you'd brought Steve back.

Guilt ate at you again, another little nibble to your insides where it had taken great big bites before; you hadn't even thought to check on her once you'd gotten back. Instead you'd sat in your self-imposed punishment in the garage, surrounded by guilt and self-pity and death while you waited for the decay of your own existence to consume you.

You were a bad friend...if you were even her friend; you'd doubted that friendship once in the past 48 hours and now here you were, doing it again. Because here the two of you stood, amongst this crowd of family, friends, and neighbors all facing their own demise, staring at each other across a great and unfamiliar void. Each of you alone, but Mary Victoria even moreso.

Because you'd brought her here, you'd left her to her own devices, you'd encouraged her to make friends...and now she'd been abandoned by all of them. By choice or circumstance.

You glanced between Mare and Nancy again, and you were about to open your mouth to address the group, to calm them and come up with a plan when a vicious and unforgiving BANG came from behind you.

The room went silent, and you turned on your heel to stare at the door. Another BANG and then another. The whole group startled as a series of roars also sounded from the other side of the door, and there were even a few frightened sobs.

You, however, stayed rooted in your spot; in fact, you even took a step forward, closer to the door. If something managed to come through, it would deal with you first. Powers or no powers.

At the very least, if it was Eddie controlling the creature, he might even decide to spare you.

Surprisingly, the roaring and the banging stopped, and instead there was scratching at the wood of the door. A single scratch, and then a fast, repetitive barrage of scratches. Then back again to several, single scratches. It was not like a demogorgon. Or a bat.

Something else.

You took another step towards the door and everyone shouted for you to stop.

"What are you doing?" Mary Victoria pushed her way through to the front of the group and grabbed you by the meat of your upper arm, her fingers digging and pinching painfully to hold you back. "Do you have a death wish? There's something on the other side of that door that wants to kill us."

"It would've given up by now," you tried to pull away from her. "Let me go, I think we're fine. This is different."

Mare pulled you closer and you turned to face her to try and get her to let up, but she was quicker.

"You're gonna get us all killed," she hissed at you. "All of these people. Because you have this inherent need to be right, to do whatever the fuck you want. Because you have this savior complex and victim complex and inferiority complex, somehow all at the same time. So can you just. Give. Up."

Each word was said with such bitterness and hatred, and it was justified; if anyone could tell you those things and you'd just stand there and take them, it was her.

That didn't mean you'd listen to her though.

"Maybe I do need to give up," you agreed. "Maybe I am this...awful blight upon the earth."

She faltered, her eyes and voice losing their hardness, and tripped over herself to say, "Well, I didn't mean--"

"You didn't," you interjected. "But I do. You don't need to think all of those things or any of those things about me Mare, I think those things myself. So yes, I am actually all of those things, and probably a million more. But you got one thing wrong. I don't just need to be right.

"I am right," you said with a tone of finality and freed yourself from her grasp.

God, wouldn't this be the moment to prove yourself wrong; here goes nothing...

You reached out and grasped the doorknob, and twisted it.

What was on the other side of the door was unexpected.

A shock, but a good one.

A single demodog, its flesh mottled with cuts at various stages of healing. Its cone shaped head opened and it roared--well,squawked--at you, and then it pushed its body against yours, rubbing against your legs.

"Cerberus," you muttered in surprise.

The group behind you all chattered together and Mary Victoria even said a snide "I didn't know you could domesticate one of those" but you ignored them to pay attention to your little friend.

He was alive; he made it. A little worse for wear, but he made it. The same joyous, light little creature that huffed and batted his head against your hands until you gave him the pets he desired. The same little monster that you felt some kind of affection for because of how much he felt like Eddie, how much he felt like home.

You had so many questions, ones that you knew Cerberus couldn't answer.

Why were the creatures attacking Hawkins again? What did that mean?

Was Eddie enacting some kind of plan to get you back? Had he sent Cerberus because he was the only creature he trusted to find you?

Or worse, was this in response to some kind of devastating loss? Had Wayne finally passed? Was it too late?

As if sensing your flurry of thoughts, Cerberus opened his petal-like mouth and gently clamped down on your wrist, shifting his body back towards the door to pull you forward.

Maybe it was all of the above? Or maybe it was a trap.

"Ok," you nodded and tried to free yourself from his grasp; even though he was a friend and his teeth weren't piercing your skin, you would rather not risk it. "I'll come."

That, of course, wasn't the right response according to the whole group behind you.

"Are you crazy?"

"That thing's a monster; kill it!"

"It was nice knowing you."

Cerberus stomped impatiently when you stopped and turned back to them. Your eyes roamed over each of their faces; you absorbed it all, the hate, the anger, the fear, the uncertainty. No one was going to follow you now, not that many had in the first place. But you had lost any hope of people being in your corner, especially now that you were seemingly making an idiotic choice.

Your gaze finally landed on Nancy, though, who stood protectively in front of Holly, and she hesitated for a moment, then nodded in some sort of pseudo approval.

Her words echoed in your mind: You need to fix this. You're the only one who can.

"I'm doing what you all wanted," you announced to them. "I'm going out into the darkness and either getting myself killed or fixing this absolute mess that I've only made worse since I got here. So either way, you come out ahead."

"We don't want you to die too," Dustin exclaimed with tears in his eyes.

"Dusty," Claudia shushed but you shot, what you were sure was, a tired smile at him.

"They can't really kill me," you explained. "Not if I'm dying anyways."

Dead was dead; you were ending up in the same place, regardless.

"What if," Mary Victoria began then. "What if we just...went into the Upside Down and torched the whole thing?"

"What does that solve?" you asked.

"Nothing, I think it would make me feel better though."

You snorted and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"How about," you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head conspiratorially, "if I do actually die, you get to use all the fire you want to avenge me?"

She contemplated it for a minute then nodded.

"I think I could accept that offer."

Your hand moved from her shoulder to clasp her own for a moment.

"Thank you for coming on this journey with me; see you around, Mary Victoria," you bid her farewell, and then followed Cerberus out into the night.

You were really getting tired of all this walking across town.

If Eddie wanted to chat, there was a perfectly usable gate right around the bend, but no, you needed to go over hill and dale, across the tracks, and now you were in the middle of nowhere.

Shit, if you were smart you would've just driven; gotten in the car and went. Cerberus could've had his head out the window.

Would that be as fun for a demodog as it was for a real dog?

"Maybe if reincarnation is real, in another lifetime, you would be a real dog and Eddie and I would have taken you out for walks. Instead of whatever the fuck this is," you told him when you'd stopped for a rest.

He just stood there and panted at you cutely...or as cutely as he could, considering he was a monster.

"You'd like that huh, Cerbie?" you reached out and gave his little head a pat and he basked in the attention.

Cerberus was doing his best to keep you safe, though; any flapping of wings overhead or snap of a twig and he would turn, hackles raised, and growl to fend off any potentially ill-meaning predators. However, there was one rustle from the trees that didn't sound like anything else, and it had startled you more than any of the other sounds had, but Cerberus seemed to ignore it.

Or maybe tolerate it?

His comrades were out here--the other creatures of the Upside Down--even if he rejected them to stay by your side. The brides could very well be flying overhead, looking for a quick kill and Cerberus knew he couldn't fight them. And Billy was also out there, as far as you knew.

Maybe even back under Eddie's control.

You tried to stay calm, tried to stay brave, and in order to do so, you convinced yourself that Lucy was out there in the darkness. Yes, that must be it; she was following along in her towering Splinter Cat form, as some sort of unseen protection, and Cerberus could sense she was a friend.

You knew better than to call out to her though, to be sure; it would be stupid to invite something to you on a dark and dangerous night.

So you continued your blind belief that it was Lucy.

It was a nice thing to think.

Eventually, you reached...well, you weren't quite sure about it until you got there, but when you got there, you were sore and tired and probably more than a little bruised. Climbing a hill in the dark with a weak body and only a dog-thing for assistance wasn't exactly an easy task. You grumbled and yelped and cursed.

But when you got to the peak of Weathertop, and saw the sprawling landscape of Hawkins below you, you felt some kind of...peace.

Well, as much peace as you could feel, as smoke and glowing fire and the ominous, ever-present red of the active gates illuminated the town.

Aside from the distant silhouettes of bats flitting by, the sky was serene.

That inky black that wasn't really black, but blues and violets and who knew how many other colors that were unseen to the human eye. Stars freckled that infinite and endless expanse of space, twinkling and winking down at the world. Watching, waiting, begging for someone to just look up at them.

The closest someone would ever come to witnessing Heaven before they died. The star-filled sky was a promise.

Living so close to the city all your life, you hadn't ever witnessed the true majesty of the stars and the sky until you ran away from home, and you really never got the opportunity to enjoy it until you came to Hawkins and met Eddie.

In hindsight, it was more special when it was with him.

The closest you might ever come to Heaven had been your time with him too.

"Where is Eddie, anyway?" you tilted your head away from the sky, away from the heartache, and looked back down at Cerberus, only to find that your little friend had vanished.

You called his name once, then again, squinting into the darkness to see if you could make out some shadow of his body running around the grassy hill. You even tried calling for Lucy, on the off chance she was around, but you received no response.

"Just great," you huffed and wrapped your arms around yourself. "When someone finds a demogorgon using my femur to floss its teeth tomorrow, at least Mare will know she was probably right about this being a trap."

You sighed and looked around.

"Or maybe he just got distracted by a squirrel," you rationalized, unsure of the last time your friend got to have a decent meal.

Still, you were alone.

And being alone in the night and the dark had never truly bothered you before; it was knowing that you weren't actually alone that was frightening. Knowing that something was out there, itching to kill you, was the scary part.

At least before, you had your power to protect you.

"What do I have now?" you huffed a sarcastic laugh. "God?"

You looked up to the sky again; hadn't you just thought that the sky was the closest thing to heaven that a human would witness in life? Was he up there watching? Protecting?

"Gloating?" you asked. "Maybe this wasn't Eddie leading me here, maybe this was you leading me on another path so you could gloat. Well here I am! I'm waiting for the 'told-you-so.'"

You held your arms out and tilted your head back and waited.

But nothing came. No voices, no lightning...nothing.

"You could've at least sent Gabe to stare at me with those dead eyes," you finally continued, and folded your arms against your chest once again. "But I know that's not your M.O. No I have to learn lessons myself, I need to earn forgiveness myself.

"Actually," you looked back up at the sky with raised brows, "actually, I have received forgiveness. Eddie gave it to me in the church. So hah. I think I win this battle. I'll be up in heaven soon to lodge my complaints to you in person. And I have a long list."

You laughed at the joke and then really thought about that night in the mirrored version of the church with Eddie. How beautiful and perfect those moments had been. After that, you'd really started to believe that you were worth salvation...and instead, you began your descent into decay.

"Is that what you actually wanted though?" you continued, asking a God that was probably not listening and would never answer. "To be done with this? Just like I am? Done with this curse and this family and this damnation? Done with me?

"I know I haven't been the best, but I think I've done my best, haven't I? Saved so many people, stopped the darkness time and again. How many years have been devoted to your service, to goodness, to the light? Not just by me, by all of the Knights. My nonna? What had she ever done to deserve what she got? We've all done the right thing, done what you've wanted, even if it hasn't been the right way for some of us.

"There had to be a reason for you to have chosen us? Why did you choose them, us, me? When it could've been any old so-and-so off the street. Why did you choose me when you expected me to fail?"

You shouted the last words and then heaved several deep, shuddering breaths, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Your body was a battleground of sensations and emotions as you tried to recompose yourself: pain and tiredness and sadness and anticipation and love and hate and hate and hate and fear.

And for what?

"Why did you let me taste the light," you muttered desperately, "when the plan all along was for me to die in the dark?"

"We could wait til the morning," came an oil-slick, smarmy voice from behind you. "If that would make you happy."

You whirled on your heel and came face to face with the instrument of your demise.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You shouted up at the sky, rage engulfing you once again. "You're gonna let Fred kill me?"

You weren't even surprised that you'd die this way. Caught with your metaphorical pants down, yelling at an invisible god, crying pathetically. But if a demogorgon ate you, at least you'd have some kind of dignity; this was just cruel.

"For what it's worth, I'm not the only one who volunteered," Fred sneered.

"That's so comforting," your head snapped back towards him. "And you won? I'm sure you're elated."

"The others got to taste you," he hissed. "It was my turn."

You did your best to stop from gagging; there was no way that Eddie would let him get his hands on you.

"I need to talk to your boss," you demanded. "Put him on the line."

"Eddie's not the boss anymore," Fred spat.

What?

"He won't be taking any calls."

"Then I need to complain to someone in charge," you snarled, trying to keep your sudden panic under control.

Eddie wasn't in charge? What did that mean? The Brides and the other vampires were engaged in some sort of fuckery that you'd witnessed in the Upside Down; you thought that was just to get rid of you, to remove Eddie's distraction, to get some kind of freedom. But to depose him completely?

You expected for Fred to either laugh in your face or cut you down, but instead he did what all of your adversaries tended to do with you: tell you their plan.

How many times had it happened? You must've just had one of those faces...

"When we died," Fred slunk towards you, one slow step at a time, wings dragging on the ground behind him. "Vecna needed us. We became a part of him, a part of the Upside Down, and in return, he regained enough power to cross back into Hawkins and enact his revenge. Our family and friends were killed...and we couldn't do anything to stop it. Until Eddie saved us."

His words were both reverent and wicked, that he saw Eddie as a leader, as a hero.

"He was ours," he said it with such devotion and desperation. "He saved us, gave us our lives back, tried to give us our souls back. And we all belonged in the Upside Down. It kept us whole, alive, together."

You took a step back at that; it kept them whole? The Upside Down? Hadn't you thought that you felt something shift in the realm itself, that it was laughing at you and mocking you? Was it alive?

"It's home," he said, as though he was answering you, and he smiled his terrifying, fang-filled smile. "It takes care of us, it keeps us alive, and in return, we keep it safe. We keep it fed. It just wants to live...and be left alone. Eleven...she opened those doors, and then Vecna kept them open for his own selfish needs...and now Eddie is doing the same.

"Because of you!" Fred lashed out with a claw and you shifted back to dodge it, only to trip on your own two feet and tumble to the ground. "You and his little friends. He clings onto his old life when we've given him everything! He betrays us for all of you! Why does he need them when we're his family now?"

"He deserves to come home," you argued weakly. "He wants to come home; I need him to come home."

"You were just about to give up," Fred taunted. "You were just about to die."

You closed your eyes for a moment, guilt filling you; he was right, you were about to give up.

"What is waiting here for him? What's waiting here for any of us? People who never bothered to mourn us? Who didn't care for us before Vecna? Who see us as monsters now?"

Then there was a shift, a change; something changed, something drastic. The slimy, smarmy, hateful voice of Fred changed--even his posture--and in its place was something different. Something old. The life behind his eyes was gone, and in its place something ancient and eternal and dark.

Not God Himself--not your God--but a God in a way. It was all true, or none of it was; that was your belief. This was the proof of the former. And now the Upside Down would use Fred to cast its final judgement of you.

"They're home," it said, stiffly and forcefully, like the words were difficult to say through this unfamiliar mouthpiece. "Let the doors shut once and for all. They belong with me. They were alone and I kept them safe within me."

It spouted off their names, both ones you recognized and ones you didn't.

Patrick, Barbara, William, Christine

On and on it went.

Frederick, Heather, Wayne, Edward

"Wayne is mine," you snapped at it, then you roared at it. "Eddie is mine."

"Then come and take him," it hissed.

"Or die trying," Fred regained control again and lifted a clawed hand to deliver one final, devastating blow. "Oh no! Too late."

Involuntarily, you closed your eyes to steel yourself from the pain...to prepare yourself for death...and you thought of Eddie. Both as he was before--imperfect, innocent, human--and now--vicious, monstrous, but still so him. You'd done that before, thought of him in the tunnels when you willed yourself to fight for him. Heaven or hell be damned; he would always be your salvation, it seemed, no matter what.

And now?

Now it was too late, and you'd die for him.

At least he'd be the last thing you saw, in your mind’s eye, before you died.

"I'm sorry," you whispered to him, tasting the saltiness of your tears on your tongue.

And you waited.

And waited.

For some sort of pain or blood. Maybe this was how death was, endless nothingness.

But there wasn't just nothing. There was a rustle of grass and leaves of the nearby trees and distant sounds of roaring and screaming from the town as the creatures attacked.

How long were you supposed to wait?

You cracked an eye open, and then blinked them both, and you stared awestruck at the sight before you.

No Fred. No nothing.

Well, not nothing.

A man, unassuming, hands folded behind his back. Dust floated on the air around him, and he stared at it rather than you, no expression on his face other than indifference. Boredom.

Gabriel.

"You fucker," you spat at him.

His brow lifted in amusement, and he spoke softly, "if I recall correctly, we’ve discussed your foul language before."

"I ignored your advice."

"An odd choice. But nothing that I shouldn't expect from you."

You sat up and looked down at yourself; no gaping wounds and nothing untoward, save for the cuts and bruises and scars you previously had.

"Am I dead?" you asked.

"Why do you think you're dead?" he questioned in return.

"Because I was about to be slaughtered by a vampire!" you shrieked.

"Don't you call me your guardian angel?" he shrugged, as if his response was the most obvious thing in the world. "I guarded you. Vanquished the demon."

You struggled to find the words to respond to that, as shocked and confused as you were.

"You...killed Fred?" It was the only thing you could think to ask, and Gabriel seemed irked by the question. "Where the hell have you been--"

"Hell," he repeated distastefully.

"--all the other times I was about to die and I needed you."

"Did you die?"

"What?"

"Have you ever died before?" he clarified.

"I needed you!"

"You thought you needed me," he explained. "You were always capable to solve it yourself. I would like to believe that tonight was a...lapse of judgment."

You let out a dry laugh and pushed yourself back to your feed; Gabriel just watched, no helping hand or anything, fucker.

"Well, thanks," you smiled. "I guess you're gonna leave me high and dry to handle it from here, so I'll be seeing you."

You turned on your heel and started walking down the hill when you blinked and Gabriel appeared before you again.

"It's a coincidence I was already on my way to you," he said, "when your Fred attacked."

"Oh lovely," you snorted. "You heard my little pity speech."

"He did."

It was a record scratch moment, and you balked.

He. He?

"David Lee Roth?" you whispered, trying to seek some comfort in humor even though you knew that this was...you didn't even know how to put to words what this was.

He. The man. The Big Boss. The almighty. God.

"He believes that you are ready," Gabriel nodded, ignoring your joke.

Your throat got tight and your eyes went wide.

"Ready...for the curse to be broken?" you asked.

The corners of Gabriel’s mouth quirked the slightest bit.

"Curse," he repeated, amused this time. "What curse?"

"The...Gabriel, so help me, if you're about to tell me that there hasn't been a curse this whole time..."

"Have you ever wondered," he interrupted you, "what your existence was for?"

"To save the world from the darkness," you replied matter-of-factly. "To end the curse on my family so they could go to heaven."

"Not yours. Humanity."

There was a beat, but then you couldn't help the laugh that escaped your mouth.

Actually, you started laughing uncontrollably, because only you, only you and only on this hill, and only with this angel would you have this kind of a conversation as monsters attacked innocents just a few miles away. After you almost died at the hand of one of those said monsters.

Do you know what the existence of humanity is for, asks the archangel to the lowly human. Good one, Gabe.

But Gabriel just stood there staring at you, earnestly expecting a response.

You sobered up enough and asked your own question, "why?"

Something that you'd come to learn about Gabriel over years of dealing with him was that he didn't like to draw things out. In fact, it seemed like he didn't liked to be here on Earth at all. Which wasn't your business as a human to know why, but was your business as his charge and the only person who could see him. He might have been a confusing bastard, but when information was important to convey, he cut to the chase.

Which was why it was odd when he said, "I'll put this in terms you'll understand: would you like a job?"

"A...job," you parroted. "What do you mean, a job? What job? I already have a job."

"You," he inhaled an unnecessary breath. "You are in training for a job. The job. His job."

And you started laughing again, maybe so you wouldn't start sobbing. But the tears came eventually, as you lost your balance and fell to your knees.

Gabriel was quick to catch you this time though, your body falling against his, arms tight around you. It was such a strange sensation, buzzing, and you weren't quite sure that you'd ever felt his touch before. This holy and pure and burning thing. Maybe when you were a small child and he was a companion instead of a constant reminder of the burden of your existence.

He was quiet as he let you cry in his arms like you had when you were a child, though. He gave you the time and patience that your confusion demanded.

The job. His job. You were ready; He believed that you were ready. The curse. The Knights. The power of heaven that coursed through their beings.

"Gabriel," you finally croaked. "I need you to tell me right now...that the Knights aren't the precursors to becoming God."

"Thou shalt not bear false witness," he recited.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I am not."

"But why me?"

"Why wouldn't it be you?"

"Because God...and the Knights...they're good," you fumbled over your words.

"And you are a Knight."

"But I'm...dark," you choked. "I'm dark and covetous and mean and evil. I'm empty."

"In the beginning," Gabriel raised a brow and looked at you intently with his fiery gaze. "There was darkness."

"And the knights protect people from that darkness," you nodded.

"But if there was only darkness in the beginning," he continued, "doesn't that mean He also came from the Dark? Like you, like everything else. From the Dark, there comes everything. From the Dark, here comes the Light."

You felt like you were losing your mind with how much it made sense; all of the things you knew, all of the things you'd learned and seen. The unjustness and hypocrisies of the church and of humans and monsters alike, all of your beliefs and the beliefs of others. It was all true, all of it.

This...this was the truth.

"But look at me," you grabbed at him desperately. "I'm..."

"You are kind and good," Gabriel began and you couldn't help but let the tears fall at his words, at the negation of every doubt you'd had in yourself over the years. "You protect those who need protection, and you inspire good in others. You see things that are wrong and unjust and you seek to fix them, and when you can't, you don't force them to be fixed. You honor the will of others."

Like every story you've heard.

"But I'm--"

"Made in His image." He nodded. "And ready to take the next step."

"Why this, why now?" you demanded.

"You often say how tired you are. He is tired. It shouldn't have taken this long. He has waited."

"Can I say no?" you whispered.

"No."

You scoffed and shooed him away from you so you could stand on your own and pace.

You tried to come up with every question, every excuse, every...everything that came hand in hand with becoming a God, and you simply couldn't say them fast enough as the answers poured into your head of their own volition. As some sort of...Godliness was anointed upon you, even though you hadn't verbally accepted.

It was all beyond understanding, yet somehow so easy to understand. Knowledge that you were never meant to know, but suddenly knew, and still couldn't reach in its entirety unless you wanted to reach it. Both tangible and intangible. Beyond a fragile mortal mind, and still made to exist in it, as though it was always meant to be there.

Made in His image, indeed.

"What about the Upside Down?" you finally said aloud, and gestured to the town behind you. "What about Hawkins?"

"There are more things in heaven and earth than can be dreamt in your philosophies,” Gabriel recited, surprising you.

“I thought you only knew how to quote religious texts,” you snarked.

“Some doors were never made to be opened," he ignored you. "And it's best if they stay shut forever. I'm sure you'll find your friends will be spared their suffering if you hasten the process of shutting that door again."

Just like Fred had said, just like the Upside Down wanted.

"What about me? My powers? I'm dying."

"In time," he explained. "your soul will heal. If you can recover the rest of it, the process will be easier. You won't die unless you're careless. I will not be able to save you again."

The rest of your soul, the other you, the piece of you that was in Eddie.

"Your power," he continued. "It's been there all along. You always had the capability, it was your lack of faith that led to your weakened state."

You frowned at him in disbelief, but as his words sunk into your mind, you felt the surge inside of you. Heavenly light spread through your body and although you still felt weak, it wasn't a superficial weakness from your wounds anymore. It stemmed from that gaping void at the center of you where your soul was shorn.

There was still that twinkle though, that warm piece of Eddie's soul that seemed to smile and basked in your strength.

Eddie.

"But what about Eddie and Wayne?" you finally asked, desperately.

Their souls, the souls of countless others, all trapped in the Upside Down thanks to Vecna and now the Upside Down itself. You couldn't just leave them there...

You couldn't leave Eddie there.

Gabriel's gaze got stormy then.

"It seems you've made up your mind, Little Knight."

And then, without another word--without so much as a good luck--Gabriel vanished.

November 6, 1983

Eddie spoke a mile a minute in relief at "Wayne's" resurrection; you could barely keep up.

Not that you were really trying to.

You were trying to hold yourself back, not to scream and cry. Not to pull Eddie away from this thing that had stolen his uncle's body.

He wouldn't understand. He wished for things to be better, he lamented being left alone, left behind. And now Wayne was back and everything was alright again.

How could you take that away from him?

He was happy, he was boyish and lively, and the antithesis of everything that his grief had allowed him to become. Not just in the days since Wayne had died, not in the days since she had left, maybe not since he himself had succumbed to Vecna's blight.

It hurt to watch him have hope, when you knew it wouldn't last forever.

And you prayed, to whatever god might be listening--you saw the corner of "Wayne's" mouth quirk--that Eddie would simply sense your apprehension and use some caution at his uncle's so-called resurrection.

But it was pointless.

"How are you alive?" Eddie asked through his relieved tears. "I couldn't heal you; I couldn't help you."

"A miracle," Wayne answered stiffly. "Maybe it was a delayed reaction; you saved me, son."

His words felt wrong; they felt like Wayne's words coming from Wayne's mouth, but there was an underlying lie to every syllable.

He was a predator, and Eddie was the prey.

Prey that walked right into his embrace, willingly.

"We'll get you home," Eddie continued. "Get you back to Rick's and set you up in that armchair with a beer and the tv remote and all of your bonanza tapes. I don't care how many ho-ho's you get at Bradley's for me, you're never coming back here again."

"No!" Wayne snapped at him, startling Eddie.

"W-what?"

"No," Wayne replied in a gentler tone this time. "No, I would rather stay here with you. How could I leave you when I just got back? Why would I ever want to leave you again?"

You felt sick at the manipulation. "Wayne" had been listening the whole time; the Upside Down always listening, ever-knowing, and always aware. Planning and biding its time until...this.

But to what end? Why was he trying to get Eddie to trust him; it wasn't like he could leave?

Oh.

But Eddie wanted to leave. He wanted to go back home, to his friends and to Wayne and to her. He wanted his old life back; he craved it. That home that he'd made, out in the wildness of the dimension past the edges of the mirrored Hawkins; it was a memory and a wish.

But wasn't that exactly what this place was? A memory and a wish and a trap to get you to stay?

And a place that everyone seemed to want to leave.

Vecna had been banished here, and the Upside Down had made a home for him while he'd recovered. Found the mechanisms of his revenge.

Countless souls trapped here--trapped--but instead of letting them wither without a vessel, the Upside Down kept them safe. But souls sought heaven, not whatever restless waste this was.

Eddie had been broken by Vecna, and then rebuilt; just like Vecna, his body couldn't sustain itself in the real world. He was more to the Upside Down than any of the others had been before; he was one of them, a part of the hive mind, part of a greater whole...and still he wished to go home.

Because of you.

You'd been getting him to hold onto his humanity this whole time; you were the only part of his soul he couldn't give up. It wasn't his to give.

Because of her.

She had been helping him. Helping you. She wanted to get him home, and whether she realized it or not she'd been pouring her soul into Eddie bit by bit, mouthful of blood by mouthful of blood; you recognized that as you got stronger and she got weaker. If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't have regained his humanity and she would've just perished.

You realized, horrified, that Eddie, who was torn in two between this world and the real world, now had a choice to m--

Eddie and "Wayne" both doubled over in pain, Eddie clutching his uncle's body in worry, even as anguish ripped through him. Roars echoed from the distance, great monstrous calls of loss. Even you felt the jagged sensations encroaching on the light within the void.

Eddie screeched a sorrowful screech, even more than he had with Wayne's death, and then fell to his knees.

"Wayne" dropped to his knees and pulled Eddie into his embrace; you could feel the dark tendrils of the Upside Down slither across your light as it penetrated Eddie's being once again looking to influence him. You dug your metaphorical feet in and stood as strong as you could against it.

"What's wrong son?" he asked. "What was that? What happened?"

"Fred," Eddie choked. "Something happened to Fred."

He rambled on, as if he couldn't put to words what it was that he felt.

"One minute he was there," he shook his head. "And then the next...I've felt them die before but this...it's like he doesn't even exist anymore.

"Where was he?" Eddie's eyes lost focus as he cast himself into the hive mind, as he tried to reach the other brides. "Hawkins? Why? They all went? Come back!"

He roared into the sky and "Wayne" tightened his grip on Eddie's shoulders.

"They need blood. You need blood. When was the last time you fed?"

"I'm fine," Eddie dismissed.

"Please," Wayne lifted his wrist to Eddie. "You need your strength."

"Eddie, no!" you snapped, interfering for the first time. Both Eddie and "Wayne's" heads snapped towards you, and Wayne even bared his teeth at you, seemingly on instinct. "No."

"No," Eddie shook his head, whether at you or "Wayne" you couldn't tell. Still, he refused his offer, and hauled himself to his feet. "Fred is gone, the others need to come home. We regroup and we figure out what happened; I can't...I can't lose anyone else."

He took a step away from "Wayne" and his wings flapped as he readied himself to take to the skies, but "Wayne" stopped him.

"What if," he began. "What if you could guarantee everyone stays safe? What if we all stayed here?"

"I don't," Eddie's brow furrowed and he paused and you closed the distance and latched yourself onto him again, staring right at Wayne as you willed the light to shine brighter.

"Why would you stay here?" you asked him. "Why should your uncle want to stay here? Think about everything waiting in Hawkins for the both of you. TV and beer and friends and music and..."

"Close the gates and protect yourself," Wayne pleaded. "Protect the friends that you have left. If your friend Fred is gone, you need to protect the others, they're the only things you have left."

It was a battle of wills as "Wayne" spoke to Eddie in one ear, and you spoke to him in the other. It was a battle that you knew you would never win; not against some eldritch being, some sentient deity of another dimension, while you weren't even whole.

"They aren't. Eddie you have them, you have them all. Your friends. Your friends. You hurt them and still they trusted you, still they believed in you. To fight against Vecna."

"They left you, they don't care about you. They always leave you. They've never understood you. Never wanted you. You're an outcast. A freak."

"I'm a freak," Eddie frowned, tears glistening in his eyes once again. "They never wanted me."

The thing about that was that you were human, and so was Eddie. That was some advantage that this thing believed it had over you, to use Eddie's humanity against you.

But then, you realized...that was the only advantage you had.

"Home, Eddie," you whispered desperately now and let the seed of the idea be planted deep within him. Not just for him, but for you too. "You want to go home. She's there, she needs you. She's waiting for you Eddie. You can cross the gate and go to her; I know you can."

"I want," he shook his head and looked at Wayne, his own internal battle going. "I want..."

You could feel it, it was on the tip of his tongue; he wanted to go home.

Get there, Eddie, say it.

But he couldn't.

So the battle raged on between an angel and devil on either of his shoulders.

October 31, 1987

The walk back to the Harrington’s was another solitary one.

Thankfully, you had the strength to do it this time.

It was also strange having your powers back.

Back, as though they'd gone anywhere according to Gabriel.

At first, you thought that was a bullshit response—you lost your power because you believed you lost your power; you felt the Upside Down or Eddie or whatever drain you, so you willed you’re own demise—but you knew that beliefs were important. You'd once told Eddie, on the anniversary of his mother's death, that Heaven was anything that she wished it to be. Anything that he wished for her, too.

And in some way, in your newly-acquired God-knowledge, you felt some sort of reassurance that Eddie's mother had received exactly what she believed Heaven to be. It was a warm feeling and it bloomed inside of the void as your Eddie rejoiced in it too.

You giggled at the feeling; it almost tickled.

"Gonna have to get used to that," you rubbed the space over your heart.

You tried to conjure other thoughts, other truths--what Heaven was for your Nonna, your entire family line now that you knew the curse dead broken, for all intents and purposes. You questioned what taking this job really meant...did that mean endless power and immortality? What were your responsibilities? What could you control? Did that mean that you were Gabriel's boss now too? Would he come if you called? Prayed?

That just brought the question of prayers themselves/ You couldn't hear any, from anyone; did that mean they never made it to God in the first place?

However, your thoughts were cut short when you sensed something dreadful happening ahead. It was innate; someone was in danger, in pain, and you knew.

With your restored strength, you took off running, each footstep taken with surety. Until you came across a pack of demogorgons tearing into the flesh of a still-screaming woman.

It didn't take much to kill them.

You reached out and conjured the fires from the depth of the earth to melt their flesh into the ground. You were shocked to find that the fact that their bodies and spirits and minds were not of this earth affected you. It was like a static shock, surging up your fingers. You winced when the last of them let a death cry out into the night, and rubbed your fingers together to ease the sting.

Killing monsters hadn't ever done that before; was that the Upside Down reacting to an adversary attacking it? Or perhaps it had something to do with your soul still being fragmented?

Now that you were aware of the complexities of your existence, fragmented wasn't even the right word in the first place; missing was the more accurate description. The part of you that Eddie had, the other you, was more you than you were right now. Exponentially so. You already knew something was missing, that you had scraps, but...you didn't even have scraps.

You had threads.

What did that mean? Did that mean if you let your soul heal that there would suddenly be another you out there? Would she eventually fade away? Did she just belong to Eddie now, like the Eddie in you belonged to you? How could you even heal it, when there was so little of you left? Your God-knowledge reassured you, but there was still so much confusion.

"Help," the choking voice of the woman broke you from your wondering, and you closed the distance and lowered yourself to her side.

It was a horrific sight; she was bleeding, dying, disemboweled, and missing chunks of flesh. And in the dark, you could see the wisps of her soul begin to depart from her body, ready to make the ascent. It was a sight to behold, one that you only really sensed before and never saw.

"My...daughter," she gasped. "I...can't..."

"It's ok," you shushed her, and cast out a calming energy. "It'll be ok."

With the shackle of your curse and of the church finally broken, you did what you'd always known was right; you reached out and set your hand on her torn shoulder and you cast your healing light into her, poured life right back in as it escaped from her body. Her skin knit back together, her midsection and her other wounds healed in the blink of an eye, until she simply lay there, whole, in the puddle of her blood and demogorgon guts.

It felt good, it felt right, like this was what you were meant to do all along. Your nonna’s words echoed in the back of your mind: you were made for miracles.

You held the woman as she cried, shushed her and reassured her, and then you realized that there was someone else that needed you more than she did right now.

You left her with a soft touch to the top of her head, and then set forth again, running as fast as your body could bear. It still wasn't easy, you hated running--

What good was being a God if you still sucked at running?

--but you finally made it to the Harringtons.

In fact, you bypassed the house entirely and threw open the garage door to reveal Steve's body still on that table.

There was a horrible pang in your heart as you laid eyes on him.

The wisps of his soul had almost fully departed his body; they were thin and faded, and he was almost gone. Gone to heaven, you knew instinctively, whatever that looked like for him.

Could you heal him? Revive him?

Should you?

He'd fought this fight against the Upside Down for a long time; would it be better to let him go? Maybe if you'd have realized that you were the one holding yourself back right after Eddie had done this to him, you wouldn't have had such hesitation and you would've resurrected him immediately.

But now?

Was this what being a God was like? Making decisions. Or, more appropriately, not making them? Making the wrong ones?

You continued to contemplate for a moment, then you reached out to try and touch one of the wisps of Steve's soul. They were intangible, but they intrinsically felt like a finely woven cloth, so many aspects of Steve intermingled with his friends and his family and neighbors.

You even felt a little bit of Eddie in there, the tiniest bit; echoes of the two of them walking amidst a cropping of trees in the Upside Down...talking.

Steve was one man...but his friendship and his protection touched and affected so many. Nancy had said how long he'd fought and how much he'd lost; you knew that feeling, and if you were to die...you'd probably wish to stay dead instead of continuing fighting for longer.

"That's a lie and you know it, sweetheart," Eddie whispered inside of you.

For a second, you were distracted by the smug realization that he wouldn't be able to call you Angel anymore.

"You'll always be my Angel."

And he'd always be the pain in your ass.

"So what are you gonna do?"

"What would you do?" you asked aloud.

He had the good sense to remain silent, though.

You sighed and hung your head, then moved your hand down to place on Steve's forehead.

"I'm sorry I caused this," you whispered to him. "I'm sorry I got the ball rolling on this chain of events; if only I knew what I was doing, things could've been different. I could've saved more people instead of being so selfish; I could've found a way to help and I could've gotten myself here some other way."

Could you have, though? Or had this always been the path?

"But there's no use in dwelling in the past," you continued. "I need you to know now...if I bring you back, it's not going to be easy. I need to fix this, I need to end this. And I'm going to need your help to do it. Save Eddie, save Wayne, save as many of our friends as we can, save Hawkins. You might die again. Shit, Gabriel said I might even die if I'm not careful."

You sensed a bit of apprehension in the lingering soul of Steve Harrington; he wanted to live, but he also didn't want to die again.

"This time, though, if you die...you die protecting your friends, instead of getting your head torn off because of me," you offered him. "So what do you say Steve? You up for one last hurrah? For Hawkins?"

And you couldn't help but laugh as the shape of Steve's soul shifted and almost looked like someone standing with their hands on their hips.

You pressed one hand to Steve's forehead and the other to his chest and you closed your eyes; you thought back to that night in the rain, the way that Billy...Eddie had torn into him, the sound of him choking, the breaking of his spine.

You let the images repeat themselves over and over again as you stayed there on the ground, helpless.

Eventually though, as the scene began again, you picked yourself up, and you walked over to Billy and Steve. You reached out and you stopped Steve's body from falling, and you stepped into him. You didn't need to pour yourself, you didn't need to imagine the threads of his being knit back together; no, you pushed the very essence of life and survival and love and friendship and everything that Steve was back into him.

You let your nimble, phantom fingers stitch his severed head back on with the threads of his soul that had escaped. You willed the blood to flow through his veins instead of spilling onto his clothes. You breathed life back into his lungs; you took every breath for him and with him, until you felt his chest rise and fall under your touch once again without your guidance.

You opened your eyes and stepped back; with baited breath, you watched as Steve's limbs twitched. He groaned and pushed himself upwards with those limbs until he was seated upright. He held his head with his hands, and then shifted them downwards to touch the now-thicker scar encircling his neck.

You cast one more wave of yourself, of your knowledge and plans, into him. You gave him one last chance to turn back and deny another chance at life.

Why did you ever think he would deny it?

Finally, he opened his eyes and locked them right onto yours.

"So," he said with a gravelly voice. "Are we gonna save the world, or what?"

"You are the light in a dark place. You are the water to my drought. You are everything I never knew existed and everything I wanted all at the same time." — Shelly Crane, Catalyst

Next Chapter: Atonement COMING SOON

[darkdemeter]

NOT FOR SALE

✘DARKSIDERS FILED CLIPPINGS | Horsemen x Female Watcher!Reader

NOTES 🗯️ ↳ Ha! I forgot that I posted this clipping on AO3.

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As a keen observer over the Horsemen, it is your duty as their watcher to keep them in line. To ensure that the siblings don’t meddle in causings of trouble. That nothing that they do conflicts with the Council’s standard beliefs.

But half the time, it’s them that watch over you. After all, you are rather comparable to War in regard of your age, even noted as maybe being younger than he is. And because of your lack of experience in the realms beyond the Council, it’s not entirely surprising that an encounter with the demon trader, Vulgrim, is an advance taken as something of an offence. His arrival had been hauntingly forthcoming, springing up from the serpent hole with a vigour of green mists that reek of the foulest smells the void has to offer. Humans were fortunate that the smell of souls was something beyond them – an invisible odour – however that fortune didn’t extend to beings like yourself and that of the demon before you.

“Greetings, Horsemen,” he purrs wickedly with a bow of his horned and cowled head. “It has been quite some time since we last… exchanged business.” A wide, lipless mouth full of fangs contort into a gruesome grin and his beady eyes shrink further into a thin fashion of perverted intrigue. His taloned hands clink together with a merchant’s contemplation. The plotting thoughts of a bargain and demise.

The Horsemen in your so-called charge each have a past’s moment of reflection with their own dealings with such a loathsome creature, and each of them held little to no absolute soft place for the trader. “What do you want, Vulgrim?” Death finally rumbles beneath the pale shell of his mask, amber eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I merely heard your approach and thought it best to lend my wares… for the right price, that is.” Vulgrim’s answer is nothing but trouble, his tone is low and venomously tricky, laced in a cocoon of self-gain and hungering profit.

Then his eyes turn to you fully and his attention is absorbed. With a noise akin to a feral infused growl, he reaches a hand forward, finger just catching the fainted wisps of hair atop your head. His nose – or the hole where one should be – drags your scent inwards. “Your Watcher would most certainly do,” he coos with a dark, throaty chuckle, fingers rapping against his worn and bony palms. “That scent… so young… so spectacular!”

You shrink away behind the Horsemen just as his clawed fingers attempt to reach for you again, to curl around you and drag you forth into his grasp. Both Strife and War can feel the intensity of your shadowed form quivering behind their backs. “She’s not for sale,” War says with a hardened glare and snarl. Strife then interjects quickly with a tilt of his head, “And that’s a whole new level of creepy, man.”

The soul trader appears to sigh in his agitated disappointment but is swift to conceal it. “Very well, be puppets to the Council at her hands, but that is not my concern. Now, I trust you have… other souls to trade then?” “For information of the demon tyrants,” Death attends to clarify sternly before any form of transfer can be complete. Vulgrim nods with an exhale passing the decayed gums between his fangs. “Of course.”

With a confirming nod, you watch the whirlwind of souls come to, their screams are hollow and faint at first before they’re consumed by the merchant, his hunger a sight that churns the pit of your stomach awfully. To think of those souls, be them the innocence of humans, the holy of angels or the evils of demons; all are absorbed into the maw of Vulgrim.

“The troublesome band of demons you hunt passed through this barren wasteland only days ago. They make their way to their den… to slumber… to regain themselves before their next traversal.”

Fury steps forward with a pearly glare, the steel tip of her heel buries into the crusty dirt beneath her unspoken threat. Her hand is idle, but it looms dangerously over the hilt of Scorn. “Where is this den?”

Vulgrim rumbles deeply and the sound echoes to the point it shakes you, and you fearfully dare to peer between the towering shoulders of War and Strife, only for your eyes to meet Vulgrim’s. His grin is still present and terribly wicked. “Are you sure she’s not for sale— aggh–!”

Vulgrim claws at the coiled chain wrapped around his neck and that threatens the thread of his own soul, Fury’s temper flaring behind her growl, “The den!” “Fury, stand down,” orders Death. His sister scoffs at the order but eventually relents and Vulgrim tends his fingers to the assaulted area, like a mangy hound licking its plague-infested wounds.

“Not too far from here. A day’s ride that a-way.” He points in the direction of East before he gauges the Horsemen’s reactions. Indeed, none of them were flinching in their resolve. You were nothing of a trading chip. Unsellable. With a less formal exchange of farewells, your group ventures in the direction Vulgrim directed. You feel his eyes on you as you pass, a whimper trembles in the chasm of your hollow throat when you hear him sharply inhale again, fingers snagging hold of the shadow curls of your hair, but not for long before each of the Horsemen make to unsheathe their weapons upon him, he’s quick to slink some distance away from you.

“Ah, ah,” Strife tuts gruffly, finger plucking at the trigger of Redemption. “As we said, Vulgrim… she’s not for sale.”

Death’s words were meant as a warning to be heard once. If the Horsemen so much as found him leering at you again, then they’d have a less civil encounter the next time. For their little watcher, a silent ghost of them, is not for sale.

[bhaalble]

While I'm on my script doctor shit: I want to talk about Karlach.

Karlach's not dealing with the same level of narrative neglect/hasty rewrite fingerprints that Wyll is. As a standalone entity, her arc works. I Am Not Immune To Weeping at the Post-Gortash Fight Scene etc etc. But it does feel oddly discordant with the other companion quests. Karlach doesn't really experience any moral evolution or make meaningful decisions. When we meet her she's a kindhearted friendly hero, and she will be that regardless of whether she dies in Faerun or goes back to Avernus. She's incredibly likeable while she does that, and I also don't want to come across like I think her writing is shallow. But in a game where all the companion quests follow a pretty intentional pattern regarding the cycle of abuse, it sticks out like a sore thumb to me that the resolution of the Gortash plot doesn't really impact her character arc one way or the other.

As always I feel compelled to point out that this isn't me going "actually she's secretly a bad person and the game won't admit it". This is more me attempting to mine some more in-depth conflict, using the existing arc as a template. With that in mind, these are the changes I would make:

-Make the use of Soul Coins MUCH MORE of a character point. With how much attention is drawn to acquiring these things for the first time and a special dialogue choice for whether or not you'll have her use them, it feels very much like a dropped thread that it doesn't really go anywhere storywise. Leveraged correctly I think this could've been the chance to show a crack in Karlach's persona. She's your big loveable attack dog who's been having the worst decade, yeah. But she's also a survivor, who's not only been deployed into an endless conflict but who also hasn't had a single person she can trust other than herself. I think you could make more of a thing about how the conditions she lived in in Avernus forced her to make her peace with occasionally stepping on other people, even some innocents, so she could live to fight another day. There's shades of this in some of her conversations with the tiefling refugees already, she mentions to Dammon that she felt like she couldn't really do anything for Elturel. Push into that guilt, and with it, that denial. Have ten years spent with devils maybe just maybe given her a slightly more removed view of the value of a life that isn't her own?

-Whether the player feeds her Soul Coins or not I think it should be specified by Dammon that her routine use of them during her time in Avernus has sped up her engine breakdown by putting it into almost permanent overdrive. Its a damnation of Zariel (who probably knew what the coins were doing, but didn't care) and a startling moment for Karlach, that there are consequences for being cavalier with the souls of others. High Approval Karlach either asks to stop taking them (if the player has been giving them) or thanks the player for encouraging her to hold off. Low Approval Karlach will ask to keep taking them on the grounds of "in for a penny in for a pound", arguing that they can't afford to lose the advantages the player has seen it gives them (if they have been giving them) or becoming frustrated that the player is judging her and what she's had to do to survive (if they haven't).

-Make the reveal that the Steel Watch run off infernal iron MUCH MORE emotional for Karlach, as she realizes she was an experimental run for Gortash to do this. Double down on this when the player discovers that they have corpses inside them (also, put this reveal before the Steel Watch foundry quest can be completed). Its both horrifying on a gut level to find out the stupid evil reason for all her suffering...but also she can't help but feel culpable for LIVING. If she hadn't been strong enough to survive it the experiment might've ended there. Its not true but it is one of the worst thoughts you can have when you've just found out you're going to die anyways.

-I would make the relationship between Karlach and Gortash much more mutual and much more (initially) positive relationship. Have him be genuinely glad to see her, genuinely impressed that she survived the hells. Its what he always liked about her, her grit, her ability to face down impossible odds and come out the victor. Compliments that would've made her happy back in the day and now feel like a punch to the gut. Its all build-up, though, to the Choice which will define Karlach's route.

-By virtue of his experiments Gortash has gotten very good at working with Infernal Iron. And he believes he can fix Karlach's heart, in exchange for her basically taking up a more elevated version of her old job. He could use a bodyguard powered by hellfire and with a strong understanding of devils. Its also, just good optics for his man of the people image to have his right hand be some outer city kid elevated to greatness. He makes a lot of promises in that moment: she won't die. She'll get a chance to have a LIFE back, but now a life with all the power and security she could ask for. More than that, they could change things in this city. Give its residents better lives, improve things for all the little Karlachs out there. And after that...who knows? The Hells might be ripe for some conquest back. Gods know they've both got old scores to settle

-She takes time to think about it, and talk with the player. In addition to all the other hang-ups she might have this is where the Steel Watch comes up again, with her feeling like she's poisoned by that knowledge. A player trying to persuade her into taking the deal can point out, in the end its not so different from soul coins. Why draw the line now. If this Persuasion check is passed she can note that at least they could afford to be choosier with their victims, putting the worst baddies to use for the protection of everyone. That wouldn't be so bad....would it?

-You meet Gortash for a final time. If persuaded by the player to not take the deal (or if left to choose for herself with High Approval) Karlach will kill him where he stands. His soul rises in the form of Bane's Chosen and you have a proper boss fight. If persuaded to take it (or left to her own devices on Low Approval) Karlach will take the deal. This will mean losing Karlach from the party (with the exception of the House of Hope mission where she will appear Jaheira style) as she will be busy protecting Gortash. The player gains custom armor from Gortash and an assembly of Steel Watchers they can summon in the Final Battle.

-If she doesn't take the deal her endings play out pretty similarly to how they do in canon, either dying or returning to Avernus. This time, however, its with a new lease on life (or death). She's gotten to choose to be better than the things that dropped her here. She's still scared, still angry. But she's also proven something to herself. That Zariel and Gortash and them were wrong about her, and that she is much more than the mindless weapon they wanted to turn her into.

-If she takes the deal it unlocks a new ending for Gortash. Rather than come to the Elder Brain himself he will instead give you his Netherstone as a show of good faith, trusting you to take the chance to subdue the Elder Brain for your mutual rule.

-If the Player subdues the Elder Brain you and Gortash move it back underground, pretending to have defeated it and using the fear created by the mind flayer outbreak to rule the populace. Karlach in the Epilogue talks to you about how the two of you are making massive moves in the city. She seems to be trying very hard to convince herself at least most of the changes are positive....from a certain point of view.

-If the Player destroys the Elder Brain, Gortash skips town and takes Karlach with him rather than face his disgrace. In the Epilogue Karlach says he's starting to rebuild in another city state, "not tellin you where, though. Don't really think I want to have to fight you if you decide to come smash this one too....even though I'd definitely win." She seems extremely worn down in this ending and trying to cover it up. Gortash lost a LOT of favor with Bane having his plans blow up in his face like that and its made him. Snippy. Still, "its a living. And it probably wouldn't even be that if it weren't for him." The player can hint that it may be time for her to start moving on to a better environment, and she says only if she can find someone to do a more permanent fix for Ol' Rusty. Gortash still has to do check-ups almost monthly to keep her stable.

-She still keeps in touch with Dammon, though....who knows. He might have some new thoughts after seeing all the blueprints Gortash has drawn up....

[alymccart]

Ask du jour because I’m in a lot of feelings right now and need a diversion from them and because I stayed home for a mental health day and have time to ask: Back to First Time, I feel like there’s a whole analysis or chapter behind Charlie’s words to Vaggie about their connection.

“It's been a long time. And I... uhh, I've never had this kind of connection with anyone before. This is... more intense than I was expecting.”

I’d love to get into this more because here’s Charlie, who is this being that shouldn’t even exist- or it’s unimaginable that she exists- and is astronomically powerful and probably as wise as time and space due to her connection with the cosmos (even though the show never talks about that but it has to be true? Maybe? I’m overthinking? I mean, I can’t imagine one could live as long as Charlie has and not have some wisdom). And Vaggie’s just a dead woman, right? Just a dead human woman (who I fucking love so much, this isn’t a criticism). So for Charlie to feel a connection with someone so much “less” than herself and for it to shake her enough during intimacy, Vaggie must be powerful herself. Maybe not in the same way as Charlie, but damn. She must have some kind of soulmate-level power over Charlie. Like they’re written in the stars and, in this one instance, Charlie is meant to be completely powerless.

Makes me wonder, as I am wont to do, how Vaggie’s story will evolve both in your fic and in canon.

Anyway, I think that’s enough word vomit for today. But also thank you? You don’t know it but writing these thoughts helped quiet a small feelings storm in my head.

TT^TT Another fantastic ask.

I really REALLY do feel like there's more to Vaggie than the show has shown us so far, which is why I'm attempting to kinda-sorta foreshadow that in my fics. I have no actual idea what exactly that "more" is, and I may end up being way off base, but I want to believe. Although the alt version of their first time that's going to be in Hellfire goes a slightly different direction, the same general scenario still plays out.

I definitely agree with your assessment about Charlie's power. She's the daughter of the first demon in hell and a very powerful angel (in my fic I'm going to with Lucifer being a seraph, though that isn't confirmed as far as I know), so there has GOT to be more to her than what we have seen. I'm going to bet there's some angel qualities that'll crop up as the story progresses (maybe she'll get wings!?). I also feel like Charlie is treated like a child in the show way, way too much. Until it's confirmed in the show, we don't really know for sure that she's over 200 years old, but going on that assumption, there is absolutely no way she's as naive as people seem to think she is. Sheltered? Maybe a bit, but she's a busybody, so there's no way she spent all of her life cooped up in a palace or something. So, my fic/headcanon Charlie has been around. She wants to help, she wants to be involved, she wants to experience things; she wants to make Hell a better place and to do that she needs to learn everything she can about it. Considering the fact that she's a one-of-a-kind royal hellborn demon and more-or-less impervious to permanent/killing damage from just about anything around her (save for strong angels like Adam and angelic steel weapons, and Carmilla is not stupid enough to sell them to someone who wanted to hurt Charlie because Lucifer would shred her to pieces) there's not much reason for her to be overly cautious.

"Soulmate-level power" is one way to put it. I really feel like Charlie and Vaggie's connection was at least catalyzed in their mutual desire to see this whole "redemption" thing through. For Charlie, it's to help her people. For Vaggie, it's partly to prove that she herself is worthy of redemption and partly to help end the cycle of death altogether. Murdering all of those Sinner souls and only questioning it after thousands had died, then thinking she had done the Right Thing and immediately being mutilated and abandoned by people she trusted as a result really effed her up, imo, and she's obsessive about making up for it. I think after that initial spark, Charlie sees someone she can truly believe is her equal, if not in power, but spiritually, so she is willing to let her guard down. She's comfortable showing that side of herself to Vaggie, and Vaggie is comfortable with that side of Charlie, so, in the context of First Time, it ends up being harder for her to hold back (and maybe a bit of unconscious "I don't want to hold back" that she has to fight for fear of hurting someone she believes is a squishy Sinner demon).

I'll see how things play out as the fic progresses. I've got a general direction set, but things like to crop up and throw me off course as I write (which I love, tbh). Thank you for the thoughts! Getting to really mull this stuff over out loud is really helpful. :>

[circeyoru]

Circe Circe look at this Alastor theory

https://www.tumblr.com/delightfulsweettragedy/751199425866694657/guys-hear-me-the-fuck-out?source=share

This might be the first time someone tells me to do theory reads. So before we get into it, definitely mention the writer and contributor of this theory @delightfulsweettragedy (sorry, if this is sudden). I mean no ill will or disrespect, I'm merely commenting my thoughts and understanding to the Hazbin world. You guys are free to agree or disagree or just okay this.

This theory basically names who could possibly own Alastor's soul. Please read that before this. Thanks! It's good to support the original poster.

Okie~ Let's go~!

Naturally, forgetting the fanfics and unintentional inserting of theories into the various stories all around fandom, Alastor's soul is owned by someone, and the owner could be someone already introduced, subtly appeared, or not at all.

I'm aware of the various theories that name Lilith or Eve or the Root of Evil (an unconfirmed character) or Zestial or even Niffty as the possible owner of Alastor's soul. But I don't go with any cause Season 1 of Hazbin Hotel is just too short and rushed for any concrete information and backstory to be revealed in detail. They are interesting and sometimes convincing theories, but at the end of the day, it's all theories and not canon.

With this one, it's a bit far-fetch and with some loopholes. I'm still on the side of reading and knowing, but not believing.

(1) Eyes.

I'm assuming the eye theory is the one about how red means owning souls? So like making deals? Similar to Overlords and Sinners basically. But here's the thing. This is Hell and red is quite a common colour. I think it matches the association with intimidation too?? Well, let's look at the Overlords who are the prime example for owning souls.

We don't have much background lore on them and I'm seriously wondering about Rosie cause some say she never died and stuff. Off track. Okay, so not all of them have red eyes. I'll list who does; Alastor, Vox, Valentino, Velvette, and Carmilla. Who doesn't? Rosie, Zestial, Zeezi, and the flaming skull with two hook-like antlers. BUT, they are all Overlords and own souls.

So? Red eyes doesn't exactly mean the ability to own souls.

(2) Who can own souls? And how?

Hellborns are supposedly soulless, so when they die, they just die. Unlike Sinners who would respawn with time. Unless it's angelic steel then game over, again. But hey, check back to Episode 7, who did Charlie say when Alastor was making a deal with her?

[Charlie: "You want my soul?"]

Surely, Charlie's a hellborn, but she has a soul? Maybe Charlie was in Lilith and growing before turning into a demon and being thrown into Hell. Maybe it has to do with the fact that Lucifer was a fallen angel. Maybe Lucifer and Lilith were the exceptions. We don't know. All we do is that Charlie has a soul.

Overlords deal with souls, we know that it's be contracts signed between individuals. But that might not be the only way. What if, an Overlord can forcefully take a soul?

I took this from Hazbin's wiki on Overlords. [In "Hello Rosie!", it was implied that an Overlord could own a soul by taking them without a deal or contract if they choose to do so. This was implied based on Vaggie's reaction...] Continue to read on the site.

This is a pageturner because if Overlords, as a higher rank of Sinners, can take souls, who's to say even more powerful ones can't? Sinners are restricted to the Pride Ring, not hellborns. So what if a powerful hellborn travels to Pride and attempts to take a weaker soul? Overlords, like Alastor, would think of them as no one but a foolish challenge cause they are more powerful than Sinners. Idk, cause Overlords might or might not have info on hellborns.

So this theory might be right, even when he doesn't have a soul, he could take and own one.

(3) Alastor's actions

It's confusing to say the least about Alastor's motivation and reason for his helpfulness. In the pilot, he says he's here cause of the entertainment and we do see him taking interest when Charlie was on the air with her hotel pitch. Later on in Season 1, we see Alastor's composure being threatened by the mere mention that was on a leash and it turns out to be a right at the end of the season.

Whether or not Alastor's there cause of the/a plan or his own amusement or trying to get a safe haven or something else, we don't know or we're not sure enough to say so. At least, it is for me when you think about it deeply.

All in all, theories are fun to think and debate on. But still, it's not canon until proven. You know, like Vaggie being a fallen angel? And who knows, maybe this theory is pointing us in a direction.

[ronearoundblindly]

Sweet requests 💙 I would love some sweet Jake Jensen or Steve Rogers. Reader and then have been fighting, and reader is ready to give up, but their man won’t let them. Please and thank you!

Rerouted, a Jake Jensen x Reader tale

Warnings for some language and innuendo, angst, kinda hurt/comfort due to miscommunication and insecurities. WC 2.7k

Summary: Vacation with your boyfriend is a disaster.

You’ve had smoother starts to vacations, that’s the truth.

Delayed flights. Turbulence. Arriving before check-in with a raging headache.

Jake did his (awkward) damnedest to sweet-talk the desk clerk to let you both into the room early, but his attempts failed and you put those thick headphones right back on and crashed on a lobby chair. You feel his bouncing leg shake the cushions gently as he sits guard over your luggage.

Though your head feels a little better, you need to shower before any real relaxation can happen. You shuffle your feet on the industrial hallway carpet and stare at the back of Jake’s sneakers.

The heavy steel door smacks you hard in the arm when he lets go just at the moment you turn to adjust the rollers of your bag.

“Dammit,” you hiss.

“Shit, babe, are you okay?”

It takes every fiber of your being to simply respond, “yeah.”

You immediately announce your intention to hog the bathroom for a nice long cleanse of your body, mind, and soul.

Jake asks for five minutes first.

Sure. Poop all you want, bud. It’s not like your very first international getaway as a couple has gone swimmingly so far…

You try some stretches to relieve a kink in that weird place below your neck and between your shoulders but not quite over your spine. Worst spot ever. Maybe the shower can heal all travel wounds?

Your boyfriend gives you the all-clear, but you didn’t even hear him close the door or flush. Whatever. He knows it’s your territory now. A forfeit is a forfeit.

A long while later you emerge a modicum improved with a clear head and the memory of not charging your toothbrush overnight. You had to sacrifice a cute beach coverup to make space for the charger. No matter because you’ve got time now.

You change into one of your swimsuits and a light maxi dress, throwing out a comment that some drinks poolside might be a good jumpstart to the trip, but Jake doesn’t move. He’s playing on his laptop.

That joke? The one where ‘you can take the man out of the tech but you can’t take the tech out of the man?’ Yeah, that doesn’t apply to Jake Jensen. It’ll be a cold day in hell when he leaves it all behind, but you check things on your phone all the time, too. Fair is fair.

You unplug what you think is one of the hotel’s complimentary devices—sad blow dryer or shitty coffee maker or something—and set your brush up. 

A quick glance in the mirror gives you a boost. Your skin looks pretty great, all things considered, and you have that new lip gloss to—

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

You jump in alarm, barely able to get to the bathroom door before Jake is right there.

“JESUS FUCK, WHAT DID YOU—fuck.” He rips your charger out of the wall to replace the other black plug. Jake doesn’t even look at you before huffing out “don’t TOUCH that” and racing back to his open laptop on the bed.

“Fuckfuckfuck, come on,” he mutters.

“Are you working?” you screech once it hits you that the device is some sort of signal amplifier. You aren’t tech illiterate, but you aren’t Jake’s level. He knows the golden rule is no work on your together time though.

“It’s important. I have to…there—“ he scrambles to type something out, zoned entirely into his computer.

His computer. Open to work. On your vacation. Which he brought extra equipment for.

Then you see another router on the small desk, and another on his bedside table.

And you’ve suddenly had enough.

“One day, Jay. One day,” you burst. “You couldn’t even give me one damn day of our own vacation.”

That momentary zen you felt flushes right down the toilet with your composure. Tears immediately sting the corners of your eyes. It’s all you can do to snatch sunglasses and a room key from the desk corner and walk out.

“Babe, wait, I just need a—“

The door shuts, fast as ever, loud as fucking thunderclap, and you’re barefoot in the hallway.

You do not fucking care and keep walking toward the pool.

One overly sweet and dangerously delicious cocktail later, Jake still hasn’t come to find you. You sit at the shaded bar with your hand over your eyes to take in the view since these are Jake’s prescription sunglasses you’ve taken. Either option is not great for the last dregs of a headache.

Cocktail number two it is…

Mercifully, clouds roll in. Not the kind that deters guests from the pool or beach. Nothing threatening the splendor of this perfect destination.

You walk to the edge of the pool deck and sip, waiting, alone.

Several times your brain tricks you into turning back, thinking Jake’s come out, thinking he’s groveling behind you. Do you even hope for that? Do you want him to sweep you off your feet? Do you believe him if he comes up with promises upon promises to put the work away, to instead put all that effort into you two?

You have no idea, so you just keep sipping until slurping on air and plunking the empty onto a free lounge chair.

Sputtering and coughing ring to your right.

“Dear god—” Jake wipes his mouth, holding a full coconut husk of your drink of choice “—is that what diabetes tastes like?”

He tries to hand you his peace offering, the peace offering he’s now taken some of and insulted. You turn back to the ocean, and Jake continues to squint harshly, nose scrunched so hard that you can see his teeth.

“Got something in my pocket—“ he smirks “—or maybe I’m just happy to see ya.”

Silence. He can’t hold the gag.

“It’s Tylenol. I grabbed Tylenol for your head.”

When you still don’t cave, he starts twitching, fumbling around with his watch, and clearing his throat.

“I wasn’t—there wasn’t supposed to be a—“ he swivels to look around him and steps closer “—a gig today, but then…boss, um, he—“ Jake waves his free hand out to help illustrate his lack of euphemisms for classified ops “—bungled a…a staging and—fuck it. I give up. He’s an idiot, and I’m a dick, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want them to get hurt if I could help.”

“You always have to help them, Jay. It never stops. I don’t see this working if you can’t step away for one damn day. I’m not this girl,” you fuss, “and I don’t want to date that guy.”

The wind picks up a little, swishing your hair around the makeshift headband of Jake’s sunglasses. You take pity and return them. He doesn’t put them on immediately though, his look guilty, replying in a soft and broken tone.

“Please don’t say stuff like that. I’m trying.”

“I am, too.” You square your shoulders to his and rip the drink out of his hand. “But isn’t trying and trying and not succeeding just failing in slow motion? Because that’s what it feels like to me every time you choose a machine over me.”

“That’s not fair.”

Your glare stops that line cold.

“What I mean is—ok, this is too…” Jake puts on the dark sunglasses. “Imagine my very sincere, partially-blind eyes when I say this is the best I’ve got. You know I don’t know how to be—“

“I swear to god if you say ‘lovah,’ Jake Jensen.” Little shit is always making a joke out of everything.

Since that is exactly what he was about to say, Jake cocks his hip and scratches his goatee. “Fine. Boyfriend. I’ve never gotten this far with someone, but I want it. I want this. I want it with you. I can’t be better until—ya know—try shit to do the best I can and maybe, actually, get better.”

You bitterly sip your sweet treat, saying flatly, “Charming.”

“I only had my job before—“ he pets his big hands down your bare arms “—you know that. It’s hard to switch off. And I am sorry. I did not intend to jump onto a…call the second we got here.“

Poking at the ice in your drink isn’t distracting enough. You’re mad and hurt. This vacation was supposed to cut you off from all that, to give you and Jake time to hang together uninterrupted, and most importantly, to feel like you were enough excitement and company for the guy inoculated from excitement by years of intense shit.

You do not feel like enough now.

“You brought an entire suitcase worth of equipment,” you say flatly.

“Force of habit,” he counters, trying to move his hands to your waist, but you step back. “It’s like a safety net. You pack an extra outfit per day and I come with…an extra router, couple of splitters, a sat phone, and…whatnot. Same sorta difference.”

“I don’t want to be on vacation with a sat phone and a split couple of wires.”

“Right. I understand that. I know it’s not…ideal.”

“And the next four days are going to be?”

“Ooh,” Jake hisses and makes a face, “if Pooch can survive that long without me, it’ll be a miracle.” He scratches the back of his head while you stare him down again.  “What?”

You clutch your drink, bunch up a bit of your skirt, and storm off down the boardwalk to the ocean.

It takes Jake a hot second.

“No. Hey! Come on,” he pleads quietly, hoping not to attract the attention of other guests while he chases you to the beach.

When Jake first approached you at a bar with the worst pickup line you’d ever heard, it was cute, endearing in an ‘I can fix him’ kind of way, but maybe you aren’t strong enough. You can’t just be training wheels while he gets his shit together. You’re not going to be some fucktoy in the corner and wait for him to get sick of you—or yell at you for doing something wrong—because then he’ll only associate you with being some sort of practice, a relationship that was doomed since he’ll want to start fresh with someone else who never fights with him, someone who understands this tech shit, someone who never gets angry, someone who isn’t insecure about—“

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Jake says, finally grabbing your arm to spin you around. “You are not practice.”

Did you…were you muttering all that…out loud? How strong are these drinks??

He jumps in front of your path when you attempt to flee, embarrassment warming you more than the shaded sun.

“No. No, I am not great at this. I’m doing everything wrong, and, babe, I know that.” Jake wildly talks with his hands and walks backward while you slog through loose sand. “I also know that you have put up with every stupid ass stunt I’ve pulled trying to impress you or be the guy I think you deserve. Which I am also convinced is some dude way better than me anyhow. Please don’t. Please don’t say you’re done with me. I can’t ruin this. You’re the best girl I’ve ever b—“

Jake cuts himself off with a wince.

Your head snaps up.

“Oh my god,” you shriek. “Were you just gonna say banged? I’m the best bang, REALLY?”

“Bagged,” he corrects with a sad flick of the wrist, “I was saying bagged, but then I knew it was wrong so I stopped and I’ve made it worse, haven’t I? Seriously if you just give me five minutes, I can look up the most spectacular apology. I can deep fake that cat from the Tiktoks you like reciting Shakespeare if you want just please—”

“Damn it, Jay. Get it through your head. I don’t want your rehearsed version of being a boyfriend, and for one weekend, I didn’t want to share you with your whole team.”

His eyebrows shoot up over the dark lenses. “Kinky,” he whistles. “Wait, no, I’m sor—”

“Go fuck yourself.” You walk away down the resort shore.

He infuriatingly does not follow this time, and instead, you hear his pathetic call “You look nice by the way. I like that dress.”

When that’s all you’ve gotten by a few seconds later, you glance to see Jake, too, walking away. That’s not right; he’s supposed to grovel. He’s supposed to keep following to convince you he loves you.

Sucking your drink down, you dump the ice, umbrella, and straw onto the sand and lob the coconut at Jake’s retreating form. You don’t have great aim.

It bounces straight off his ass and makes him yelp in surprise.

“What the—did you just…”

You puff out your chest, unashamed, as Jake’s mouth gapes open. He slowly stretches to his full height and adjusts his glasses.

“Why you little...“

“Yeah? What are you gonna—eek!”

 He’s after you.

You squeal and bolt down to the water in a zigzag to evade him.

“I’ll get you, minx,” Jake roars into the wind.

You can’t help but laugh as you barely dodge him. It’s easy for a special ops guy to catch a civilian in a long dress trying to run on wet sand, but Jake grins the whole time and lets you have a few extra moves before his arms wrap your waist.

He lifts you off the ground.

“Think that’s funny, huh?” he growls playfully in your ear, holding you tight as you thrash a little. 

It’s a fit of giggles for him to wrestle you into a hug, facing him. Jake’s still smiling, breathing heavier but not from any great exertion. He rests his forehead against yours, the wire rim of his sunglasses brushing your eyebrows.

“How’s your head feeling, baby?” His hands stroke your sides tenderly, and you sigh, a few more toxic fumes of anger releasing into the breeze.

“Um,” you assess, squinting, “better than my feet.”

You’ve dug the wrung of a barstool into your arch, stood on hot cement, traipsed across a sharp-shelled beach, and run over the solid, water-logged shore, all barefoot.

“I can help with that.” Jake kisses the tip of your nose and sweeps you up bridal style.

After an involuntary scream of alarm, you clutch at his neck. “That’s not necessary.”

“I know, but that’s the point. How else are you supposed to know how unnecessarily crazy I am about you?” For a complete nerd, your boyfriend is quite built. “And I’m gonna guess you are ‘throwing coconuts’ crazy about me, maybe?”

“God help me, I am.”

“Yeah? Glad you dig losers, babe, because I’m the biggest one you can find.” 

As he makes his way up the wooden steps back to the pool, you grip his flexed bicep. “Yeah, you are…”

He puts you down by the tap to rinse your feet, spraying first yours, then his.

“See,” he whispers, standing and moving you both out of the way for a large family to use the water, “I like ‘em frisky, too, so we’re a perfect match.” He keeps his voice very low. “I can think of at least one thing to do to keep you off those poor feet for a few hours.”

You bite your lip, and even though you can’t see his eyes through the mirror-finish, you know he’s affected by that move. “What’s that?”

He gets bashful and ducks his face off to the side--he’s not very smooth with dirty talk. He knows you love to tease him though. He also…loves being teased.

You take his hand in yours, giving it a squeeze, your own small ‘I’m sorry.’

Jake pushes up his sunglasses and beams with a snort of approval. “Well, it starts with ordering room service and then unplugging everything…”

A/N: Thank you for waiting since mid-December for this one, but I'm finally pleased with how it turned out. Sadly, I thought of the fight scenario way back when, and just kept blanking on a way to dig them back out of it. I really, really did not want a bunch of promises and excuses and it was important to me that it not be a one-sided issue. Relationships are, in fact, a two-way street after all!!!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @peyton-warren and I don't really know anyone else for a Jake tag, but yeah, let me know...

[mochees]

— two tortured souls

dazai osamu x chuuya nakahara | wc: 3k | crossposted to ao3

TAGS: drabble, angst, depression, post-corruption ability use, soft/comfort, generally low mental health mentions, chuuya has a BATH, use of petnames for teasing.

A/N: hihi!!! long time no write!!! remember when i dropped the most depraved, disgusting, self indulgent eremin fic ever and then dropped off the face of the earth with empty promises? me neither, moving on! anyway. been wanting to get back into writing lately but yknow..... the undergrad life........ but i find myself with too much time now that the semester is over so have a drabble thing i wrote a year ago and then just never posted lmfao. it was supposed to be longer but i just couldn't get the ending right so i left it kind of open i guess? anyway skk is real to me

Willingly sacrificing your autonomy is so much more than physically exhausting. Corruption leaves Chuuya feeling truly empty and insignificant. It makes him feel as though he really is just a vessel for something else. An empty, fleshy shell that doesn’t even belong to him. Unlike the physical exhaustion, however, the feeling lingers. It hangs around like a morning fog, obscuring everything as far as he can see. It’s disorienting and restrictive. Most of all, it’s loud. The voices that dwell in the fog are so loud, much louder than anything Chuuya has ever heard, and they echo. They echo, bouncing off of each other and amplifying every emotion, every word, every moment of despair.

Chuuya can’t remember how many days have passed since he used corruption. At least two, maybe even three. The fog is so thick that days eventually just blur together, and time turns into molasses. Resigning himself to a night or two in darkness, he tucks his knees against his chest and covers his ears with his arms, attempting to block out as much of the noise as possible. 

But you can’t silence your own guilt. 

It was pitch black in the house by the time Dazai arrived, which was unusual, but he figured that Chuuya was either tucked in and fast asleep already or strewn across some surface with a movie.

“Chuuya ~,” he sang. “I’m back ~!” Concern grew on Dazai’s face when the routine groan of usually completely false annoyance didn’t sound. He counted all the hats in the closet as he tucked his own clothing away and muttered to no one in particular, “he’s definitely here…”

The detective took a few steps before he sounded again, “Chuuya? Where are you?” The absence of an answer worried him further. No matter how tired, angry, or drunk Chuuya was, he always made a point of greeting his partner as unenthusiastically as he could.

Dazai made his way through the house, checking a few rooms before he found Chuuya. Scrunched up in the far corner of the bedroom, his faint form was desperately trying to be swallowed by darkness. Even for someone who consistently allowed themselves to actually be swallowed by the darkness, seeing Chuuya in such distress and anguish was deeply unsettling for Dazai. Chuuya always surrounded himself with people, and for him to look so alone–

Dazai shook off his thoughts and made his way over to the man, crouching low a few feet away.

“…uuya? Chuuya?” When he didn’t respond, Dazai raised his volume a fraction.

“Are you alright?” Chuuya jumped a little, unaware that someone had crossed into his world of anguish.

Dazai chuckled. He couldn’t help but find it a little humourous; it’s not often he was able to get the jump on him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Dazai?” Chuuya’s voice was hoarse and distant, and Dazai immediately steeled himself.

“Are you– what happened?”

The executive didn’t answer. He just stared—not through Dazai or at anything; he just looked ahead with no purpose. Chuuya could hear something but could not decipher the sounds for the life of him. He only realized they were words when he noticed Dazai’s mouth moving.

There was nothing about Chuuya's demeanour that told Dazai he was conscious. But he also wasn't unconscious. God knows Dazai is all too familiar with Chuuya's unconscious mind, and this wasn't it. There was no light in his eyes, but they weren't lifeless. It was as if Chuuya had trapped himself in his own body, caught between two states of being. He didn't know if Chuuya could even process what he was saying in this state, but he also didn't want to stop. Perhaps Dazai believed in a silly idea that the sound waves might reach him, that they would guide him through whatever limbo he was in. 

Once he finished, Dazai rose from his place on the floor and made his way to the bedroom door. Chuuya could see him leaving, but he couldn’t hear his footsteps. All he could focus on was the voices getting louder again, and the second that Dazai was out that door they started to echo again. Unwilling to fight them, Chuuya lowered his head back down and let the pressure build in his chest and ache his muscles.

Physically, the pain was no different from a hard day's work, but emotionally, it was excruciating. Every breath was hell. Each inhale wound a cord up tightly, but breathing out did nothing to release it. All of the fibres in Chuuya's body felt like they would snap and finally grant him a moment's release, maybe even exhaust him enough to sleep, but they didn't. Instead, they grew tighter and tighter, digging into every strand until it inevitably cut him into a million little pieces.

When Dazai returned, he was greeted with a sight more devastating than before. Tension was emanating from Chuuya like heat from a grill, and he looked positively hopeless.

“Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice was uncharacteristically soft—unfitting, really—but he hoped it might help Chuuya focus. “Will you come with me?” He waited a few moments, giving the redhead extra time to process.

To Chuuya, the sounds outside his head would die before they could fully reach him. The echo was good at drowning everything out like that. 

But luckily, Dazai always did have a talent for evading death.

“You don’t have to do anything, I promise. I’ll–” He hesitated. How can you promise to take care of someone else when you’ve never been able to care for yourself?

“–I’ll help you. Please, Chuuya. If you stay here, it’s not going to get any better.”

Chuuya Nakahara knows that he is right. Of anyone, Osamu Dazai would know, wouldn’t he? It takes him a little while, but with a few shaky breaths and silent tears, he lifts his head and places his hand in the one outstretched before him. This won't fix him, but he has to admit that when Dazai rubs his thumb along his skin, it releases some of the tension in his shoulders. Dazai leans forward and slowly reaches for Chuuya’s other hand, stiff from how tight he was grasping onto his other arm.

“Okay, up we go.” Wasting no time to get Chuuya out of the isolation he'd built for himself, Dazai does his best to support as much of his weight as he can while holding his hands. He doesn’t know how long Chuuya had been sitting there, but he reckons his legs have probably gone numb. As if on cue, Chuuya almost falls right back down before Dazai has a hand on his waist.

“Careful.”

Chuuya's eyes are red and puffy, and his agony has left trails down his cheeks. Chuuya has always been beautiful to Dazai, stealing heartfelt glances when the former isn't looking. But seeing him like this is, in a way, even more breathtaking to Dazai. It means that after all these years of being so sick of each other's mere existence that Chuuya, his rival, his partner, trusts Dazai enough to shatter before him completely. Bringing Chuuya's hand up to his mouth, he lets his lips linger for a few moments as they wait for Chuuya's legs to regain feeling.

Once Chuuya is stable, he lets go of the shorter man’s waist and leads him with one hand, still petting his thumb across the freezing expanse of his hand.

Chuuya doesn’t know what his partner has been doing, or maybe he does. He can’t remember right now; he doesn’t want to. Wherever Dazai is taking him, it takes no longer than twenty seconds, but he feels like a stranger in his own home, wading through the thickest pool of molasses. He can see a straight hallway ahead of him, but it seems like an endless maze of twists and turns. One foot in front of the other, he tries to tell himself, but it’s hard to tell your feet what to do when you feel like a stranger in your own body to. He can feel his face growing wetter as they arrive at their destination. However, in a brief moment of relief, he realizes that they're not tears but steam.

For the time that he had disappeared past the threshold, Dazai had run Chuuya a hot bath and made him something simple to eat. Knowing all too well what feeling this way does to one’s motivation and desire. But honestly, the last thing Chuuya wants to do right now is to bathe. It’s far too much work, and he’d rather be back in the dark in the corner or under a blanket. Even if it meant he’d be alone with his stupid fucking thoughts.

“I know it seems like a chore, but it will help, Chuuya.” Dazai’s familiarity with the muddied waters of one’s own psyche was currently vastly irritating. Chuuya knows that he’s right. He does, but even then, it’s still too much for him to handle right now.

Dazai takes Chuuya’s other hand back in his own. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I– I don’t know.” His voice sounded better to Dazai, the steam probably settling in his throat.

“It’s okay not to know, but I can’t stay here with you if you don’t know.”

Chuuya snaps his head a little at that, shooting his partner an exhausted expression. Dazai gives a slight smile at the motion and gives the others' hands, still in his own, a reassuring squeeze. Perhaps it’s a little morally wrong given the circumstances, but he thinks that he could have a little, tiny bit of fun with this.

“Would you like my help?” He asks again, and Chuuya nods his head before practically collapsing into his arms.

Oh, it is absolutely morally wrong, but he can’t help himself, so he softly teases the man. “Such a gentleman! Flirting with me before we spend the night in each other's company!”

That earns a tired groan from Chuuya who is not willing to put up with Dazai’s usual jeering, but also not unexpected of the brunette to choose the completely wrong time to make his jokes.

“I’m sorry, my darling.” He uses the pet name, knowing he’ll be able to get away with it tonight since Chuuya is too tired to fight him. He runs his fingers through red strands, waiting for Chuuya’s breathing to even out in his hold before moving his hands down to the hem of his shirt. Deft fingers slip underneath and rub small circles into the skin there.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Upon receiving a satisfied hum of approval, he lifts Chuuya’s shirt over his head and drops it onto the counter. Staying out of your head is hard when you’re alone. Knowing Chuuya has already surmised his partners' intentions of distracting him, gently, Dazai pulls him back into his chest and runs his nails down his back. Chuuya’s skin was already freezing before, so he can’t tell if his goosebumps are from chills, or from him. He hopes it’s the latter. After a few seconds, his movements shift into steady pressure trying to work out the tension that Chuuya had cultivated. When he feels Chuuya fall further into him, Dazai is pleased with his work already.

“Chuuya,” he presses harder when he finds a particularly knotty spot at the base of Chuuya’s neck. “Unless you want to get in with your pants on, you’ll have to take them off.”

This earns Dazai a particularly unimpressed look when Chuuya pushes off his chest.

“What?”

Chuuya continues to stare.

“Did you want me to do it for you?”

Well, Chuuya supposes that Dazai can’t help the fact that he is an idiot. After all, he did promise to help. He rolls his eyes and lets out a particularly rumbly sigh, and drops his pants himself, kicking them to the side.

“So forward of you~” teases Dazai.

Turning towards the tub, Chuuya grumbles. “I hate you.”

Dazai grins again. Even if he still feels worse than shit, he’s glad to see Chuuya with a little bit of his fire again. “I know you do. Here, let me help.”

Holding onto Chuuya’s forearm, Dazai helps him settle into the bath. Chuuya resumes his form from earlier in the night, but much more open. His arms are propped on top of his knees, hands hanging down, and fingers just dipping into the water. Dropping his head in between his shoulders as the heat surrounds his aching body, blue eyes fall shut. Then, he releases a deep breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. Dazai has his arm across the edge of the tub, resting his head with eyes full of admiration. With Chuuya completely bare in front of him, he traces the flow of his body with his eyes. Stopping often to archive all the little things he loves. Soft red hair that he can't help but play with. Shoulders that he's cried on. The gentleness of his otherwise blood-soaked hands. Even the scars littered across his skin, Dazai loves. They look much better on Chuuya than on him. He reaches out and just barely grazes the sides of Chuuya’s fingers above the water.

“What are you so happy about?”

Dazai hums in response, and Chuuya blows a ripple on the water. They spend a while like this—still, just next to each other, the only sound being an occasional jittery breath.

Dazai interrupts the silence by dipping his fingers into the water and letting the droplets roll off onto Chuuya’s shoulder. 

“Feeling better?”

Chuuya wiggles his fingers in the water, trying to find an answer below the surface.  

“C’mere, and turn around.”

Chuuya turns his head, resting it along his arm and staring the man down.Dazai can read it in his eyes: For what. 

“You’re still tense. So come here.” He presses his finger on the edge of the tub. “I didn’t get to finish getting all the knots out.”

Dazai is not as good at hiding his intentions from Chuuya as he thinks he can be. “You just want to play with my hair.” 

Dazai knows this. He feigns being insulted anyway, throwing his hands into the air. “And so what if I do? Is that a crime? Is it wrong of me to want t–”

“You’re real insufferable, y’know.” Chuuya turns his back to the side of the bathtub.

Dazai smiles sweetly. He likes that so much of their relationship can be left unsaid. Sure, sometimes it probably shouldn’t be unsaid, but it’s fine. Dazai is happy. “It’s why we work so well together.” 

He gets to work on dissipating the rest of the fear and anger in Chuuya’s bones, occasionally and very intentionally, getting sidetracked and twirling a lock of hair around his fingers. At the mercy of Dazai's frighteningly deft hands, a particular spot just above Chuuya's shoulder blade earns Dazai a groan—one he oh so graciously accepts. Working lithe fingers around it, Chuuya leans his head back onto Dazai as the little ball of stress is pulled apart, strand by strand. 

Chuuya's neck is deliciously bared, and Dazai is an opportunistic man. He trails kisses up to just below red lashes, slow and endearing. He continues massaging throughout, placing a final one on fluttering eyes before dragging his lips back down to Chuuya’s ear. 

“The water’s getting cool, my love. You should really get out soon.” Dazai is very pleased with himself when Chuuya shudders.   (He is an opportunistic man, after all, and it truly is such a wonderful opportunity to be the most annoying man on the planet.) He lets his mouth fall down to Chuuya’s shoulder, resting for a moment and trying very hard to hold back the biggest, dopiest grin. Of course, Chuuya can tell. He can sense the smallest shifts in Dazai's behaviour. Although, this time he could tell by just feeling Dazai's facial muscles straining against his shoulder. But Dazai doesn't need to know that. 

 "...Shut up. Get me a towel." Chuuya does a very bad job of hiding the blush on his cheeks. 

Dazai just smiles at his partner, he can't see, but it's a smile full of fondness. One with admiration, love, and as much as he'd rather die than admit it, respect too. Letting someone see you have a complete breakdown, watching as the industrial strength glue you've used to keep yourself from falling apart rapidly starts to degrade, and still trusting that they won't think any differently of or diminish you, takes so much courage. It takes so much trust to rely on someone, even someone you love, to help you set the pieces back together. 

That's something Dazai has never been able to do. He can't let go of that vulnerability, and he cannot have it used against him. Of course, deep down, Dazai knows that Chuuya would never do that to him, but it's hard to turn off those thoughts. It's hard to think of yourself as worth loving and caring for when you have never loved or cared for yourself. 

"Hey, are you okay?" The smile on Dazai's face is forlorn. Realizing that Chuuya is reading him like a book Dazai masterfully shifts his expression, changing the atmosphere around him. This is not about him, and he shouldn't be making it so. 

"I'm just peachy, Chibi!” Chuuya doesn't press any further.

Dazai wraps the towel around him, pulling at the ends to bring his partner closer. Taking a second to look over Chuuya, he notes that his eyes are no longer red and puffy, and his skin has a sheen from the moisture in the air. He truly is the most breathtaking person Dazai has ever had the displeasure of meeting. 

With Chuuya at his chest, he leans down and kisses the man. It's needy, in a way. Soft and tender, but full of so much want, so much need. Like if he couldn't be close to Chuuya anymore, he would simply explode. Dazai doesn't know how to express it though. How he would articulate these thoughts in a way that feels right, so he settles for something simple. Maybe it's not as meaningful, but he trusts that Chuuya understands anyway. 

[helluvahotelfan]

As usual, Jenn can’t sleep. Her mind won’t settle down, and the feeling of acquiring Max’s soul hasn’t settled. She supposed it will come with time, experience, and… more souls.

Fuck.

She moves from her bedroom to her kitchen, Jeffie close on her heels. He’d been extra attached as of late since she had come home with her injury and not once had let her out of his sight - which included all bathroom activities. She tried to reassure him that she was capable of being in the bathroom on her own, but he didn’t allow it. He had even gone so far as to be in the shower with her - which she supposed made some since given his shark tendencies, but still a bit of privacy wasn’t asking much, was it?

Jenn grabbed her cup of tea and made her way back to her room, setting it on her nightstand next to her phone as Jeffie jumped onto the bed. The poor pup was tired and she could tell he was eager for her to come back to bed so he could sleep.

“Sorry, boy,” she said as she patted his head. “I know you want to sleep. How about I grab a book and read in bed?”

Jeffie tilted his head from side to side, to which Jenn interpreted as a yes. She went to her dresser to pick a book to read when she spotted the necklace Vox had given her. She had taken it off to shower but hadn’t put it back on yet.

Gently, she picked it up and clasped it around her neck, staring at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. The blue gem made her eyes look bluer - or perhaps it was the tears she wouldn’t allow to break free. It helped make the bags under her eyes less noticeable. It did not, however, go with her oversized green t-shirt and shorts she wore for pajamas tonight.

She sighed and grabbed her book before returning to her bed. Once she was settled, Jeffie laid next to her, his head in her lap, and looked at her with a whine. She gave his head another pat and swallowed the lump in her throat.

She missed Vox.

Jenn looked up at her ceiling, her head resting against the headboard, and she closed her eyes. She knew all attempts at communicating with him would be useless at this point, but she just wanted to see him. To hold him and never let him go. Was that too much to ask? Was she being selfish?

She opened her eyes and set her book on the other pillow next to her. She grabbed her tea and took a couple drinks before placing it back on the nightstand. She checked the time on her phone by giving the screen a light tap and groaned at how late it was. Jenn’s sleeping habits were already terrible as it was, but given the recent events, they had been worse.

She wished her attempts to get away from it all would have been more successful - instead she had gotten shot at and, most recently, stabbed by angelic steel. The healing process was slow, but at least it hadn’t been fatal.

Jenn still didn’t know how she was going to explain this to Vox if he ever found out - which she knew was inevitable.

Maybe if I had a chance to get away from it all and not have anything threaten my life it would be easier to think about these things, she thought.

Suddenly, a weird - but familiar - sensation washed over her. She had only felt it a handful of times, but it was still something she recognized.

The necklace was activating.

“That’s right,” she whispered to herself. “I can travel with this…” She was accustomed to normal means of travel that the ability had slipped her mind. And she’d be lying if she said the idea wasn’t tempting.

She scoffed. “But where would I go?”

Anywhere, her inner voice answered. Just…away.

Before Jenn could form another thought, she was traveling through her phone and through the system. Panic was the initial reaction she had, but then she remembered what Vox said - that the system would get her to where she needed to go.

She reappeared and felt herself wobble a little at her landing. Moments later, Jeffie was beside her.

Jenn looked down at the pup before looking around and let out a gasp.

She was in Vox’s office.

There was no way - he had said that it was closed to anyone without proper access. How the fuck did she get it?

“Shit, fuck, dammit,” she muttered as her curiosity began to get the better of her. She wandered over to where Vox was and saw the cables hooked up to him, his face blank. He was completely absorbed into the system.

She’s torn, because she wants to curl up in his lap like she had done before and hold him close. To let him know she cared. To be there when he emerged from the mainframe. The one problem with that is she didn’t know when that would be.

She spies the sticky notes and pen in a different spot and decides to scribble a note for him instead. Although he’s deep in the mainframe, she knows he’ll know she has been here. The least she could do was leave him a note.

Jenn finishes her note and wonders…

She closes her eyes and imagines a flower appearing in her hand. It took some concentration, but when she opened her eyes, she now held a brilliant blue carnation. She set it on the note and gave Vox a final look.

“Come back soon,” she whispered before activating the necklace again, disappearing back to her room with Jeffie following her.

(The note:)

(@askoverlordvox)