#or like *violent bleating*

[theswedishpajas]

Been listening to more VJ recently and it put my brain into top gear these past few days.

Ref under readmore

Screenshot taken from the music video for Niet Naar Huis Toe by Vieze Jack on youtube.

[queer-geordie-nerd]

When you hear a Jew say “My ancestral homeland is important to me, to my culture and traditions. Israel means something to us as as a people and we believe it has every right to exist and to defend the lives and safety of its citizens like any other nation on earth,” and you hear “We want all Palestinians dead actually. Yay, genocide,” then that is very much a you problem and you are absolutely operating from a standpoint of ingrained antisemitism.

I follow many Zionists (while my own personal viewpoint is very much pro-Zionist, I won’t ever call myself one because I am not Jewish and it is not my place), and *all* of them without exception, are intelligent, reasonable, peaceful people who want nothing more than the safe return of the hostages held in Gaza, a ceasefire that will guarantee the safety of Israeli and Palestinian civilians alike, and hope for a chance of a future that will uphold the dignity and well being of peoples on both sides of the border. And they are vilified as the worst people alive because they care about Israel and its continued security and the safety of 10 million human beings within its borders.

Meanwhile, almost without exception, any antizionists I’ve come across, as well as having a fundamental misunderstanding of what they’re purporting to be against, have been wildly aggressive, abusive, and think absolutely nothing of using the most vile, violent, dehumanising rhetoric I have ever seen in my life and then have the audacity to bleat about being “on the right side of history.”

I absolutely know where and with who I stand and I do so without apology.

Do you?

[shadow4-1]

“Dying alone.” You hummed, running the brush through your horse’s hair. “Y’know, it’s been weighing on me.”

Price huffed out a soft breath and nuzzled his graying muzzle against your palm. You smiled at him, rubbing your knuckles over the soft fuzz of his snout. When you’d first got him he’d been a young workhorse too ornery for any ranch hand in the county. After doing some research, you figured out he was a European breed, one not meant for the rough hands of your fellow Americans. You’d gotten him cheap, and yet his training came at a ‘price’. It took awhile for you to learn his ins an outs but he quickly grew to become your favorite - as well as your oldest. He was the first member of your ranch after all.

“I’ve never wanted to look for a man. They’re so gross, Price.” You sighed, working a few tangles out of his short, dark mane. “They always say they want me for me, but really they just want the ranch.”

There was a short bark from the door of the barn. A black and white, muscular dog stood waiting for your command. You tsked at him and he slowly came trotting up to you, head low to the ground in a submissive posture. The closer he came, the more you noticed the white fur surrounding his eyes and snout - starting to gray like Price’s.

“C’mere Ghost.” You hummed.

The dog obliged and pressed the top of his head into your hand. Ghost was such a mutt. You’d picked him up as a pup from a mean roadside vendor. If you had to guess, he had some kind of German Shepherd in him. Maybe some Rottweiler or Pit Bull? You couldn’t be sure. But what you did know, is that -

“Aw, look at my best boy! You’re my best boy!” You baby talked, squishing his chunky face. Ghost just licked his lips in indignation but made no move to escape your hold. Price snorted loudly and pawed at the ground, upset that you stopped brushing his mane.

“Okay okay. I get it.” You laughed. “Let me just finish up here!”

-

There wasn’t any field tending that needed to be done, so you sent Price off to the fenced in pasture. Despite his age, he kicked up dirt and pranced about in delight. You smiled at the old horse before heading back to the barn. Ghost sat patiently outside, his metal tags glinting in the sunlight.

“Okay, boy. Show time.”

And just like that, all hell seemed to break loose. Ghost ran into the barn and started to bark. While usually subdued, this time his bark was loud and mighty. The sheep and cows stirred in their pens. The chickens squawked from their roosts. You threw open the barn with a mighty heave. And just like that, the animals were also let out into the fenced pasture.

The cows bounded out happily, their bells clanging. Then came the half dozen sheep and their young lambs, followed by a dozen assorted chickens. You sprinkled chicken feed and enjoyed the morning mayhem. A rooster made himself known from the pack by standing up straight, puffing out his chest, and crowing with so much might you thought he might hurt himself. You poured a bit of feed in your hand before crouching down.

“Here Johnny, Johnny.” You giggled, shaking your hand.

The large rooster strutted up to you with absolutely no fear. He ruffled his feathers and clucked at you before eating the feed right out of your hand. When he was done, he let you pet him. If you wanted to pick him up, you easily could’ve. Most mornings you spent with him on your hip. Despite how amazing of a rooster he was, he never got violent with you. Now, any other hired help, it was a different story. Come to think of it, none of your animals really worked for anyone else but you.

“Sorry Johnny.” You sighed, standing up and taking a step back. “Gotta trim-woah!”

Something hard nudged firmly against your rear. You regained your balance and looked behind you.

“Kyle!” You scolded. “Yes, yes! You’re going out to the pasture too!”

The large billy goat bleated at you and rubbed the top of his de-horned head against your hip, as if to scratch himself on your belt. With a soft pat to his head, you lead him through the pasture and farther into the green grass. It took him a minute, but after taking a glance at Price on the other end of the field, he began to run towards him. The two creatures met in the middle and began to play.

You weren’t entirely sure why those two got along so well, but they certainly did. Price playfully nipped at Kyle’s short tail. Kyle just bleated in excitement and tried to ram his head into the old horse’s leg. They were a funny little duo, that was certain.

And with that, you began to finish up your morning chores. You collected the eggs and the fresh milk from the gallon jugs in the barn. You cleaned up the stalls and polished Price’s riding tack. Once you made sure everyone had fresh food and water you decided to go inside and clean up. Today was an easy day. All you would be responsible for was to bring the animals back in as well as feed yourself.

You showered, dressed in a flowy white sundress, and headed outside. You sat out in the pasture, under the shade of the old oak tree and your floppy sun hat. This day was like no other. After enjoying a bowl of fruit and a glass of iced tea it didn’t take long for you to doze off in your favorite lawn chair.

-

You dreamed that you were taking Price back to the stables after a good ride around the ranch. It was late, and the southern heat was oppressive. You wiped the sweat off Price’s back with an old towel as your removed his tack.

“Y’know. Despite your age, y’ still give a girl a great ride.” You chuckled at the old horse. You rubbed his snout. He snorted at you and you giggled. “You have no clue what I’m talking about.”

With another laugh, you turned to the stall's gate. You opened it just enough to reach to the built in shelf next to it. You dug your hand into a small box and swiped a handful of sugar cubes from within it. You turned, hand outstretched to offer it to Price. Except, when you turned, there was no longer a horse.

Standing there, completely nude, was a human man.

You gasped in shock and took a step back, hitting the edge of the stall’s wall. He took a step forward, blue eyes glittering. He eyed the sugar cubes you now clutched tightly in your palm. He reached forward, prying them from your grip, before hungrily tossing them into his mouth. He ate them with no discomfort and even smiled as he swallowed them down.

“Thanks, Love.” He licked his lips, remnants of the glittery sugar still caught in his mustache.

“P-Price?” You squeaked.

“Who else would it be?”

You had half a mind to run, but you were so enamored with the thought that your precious horse could be a human. He stepped even farther forward, boxing you into the corner of the wooden stall. Your head hit the wall, making the various items hung up shudder from the impact. Price unhooked one of the ancient reins away from the top of your head before dropping it into the fresh hay at your feet. He admired his hands for a second and so did you.

“I-you-wh-what is going on?” You managed out. “This is some kind of joke, right?”

Price didn’t seem to hear you as he tried to get a feel for his own body. You watched in shock and arousal as he flexed his arm muscles and observed the firm ripples of his own chiseled abdomen. He petted down his belly and admired the thick curls that trailed over his cock. He gripped at it, tugged at it experimentally before seeming to realize something important.

“Ready for that ride, Love?”

[chelseeebe]

never leave (nevermind)

18+ mdni. canon compliant sorta kinda. takes place during the events of s4. violent scenes described. r and eddie are exes. reader gets vecna'd. lots of angst.

a/n: i've been writing this on and off for what feels like months and it's definitely noticeable in parts where my writing improves drastically. howeverrr, i've been wanting to write something s4 related for a while bc most of my fics are au's and as fun as they are, the canon material is also v fun (just very difficult to translate into a fic)

8.9k words.

being home for spring break meant one thing; avoiding eddie munson like the plague. 

it wasn’t exactly easy what with being practically neighbours but you’d certainly tried to make yourself invisible around the trailer park. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you hadn’t seen him for eleven months, not even a trace of that wild hair until one friday night when his van screamed down the gravel road, music bleating loud enough for you to hear inside. you’d known it was d&d night, he still held the club at the high school and no doubt would still be in charge of it, even after he eventually graduates. 

you shouldn’t have even looked. it’s not like you wanted to see him. just curious as to why he felt the need to make so much noise so late at night. 

that’s when your eyes saw her, green hawkins high skirt and the fluffy ponytail to match, flouncing out of the van without a care in the world. 

chrissy cunningham wasn’t exactly who you’d imagined eddie would go for. she was prim and proper, wasn’t into smoking weed and talking about ozzy osbourne but pom poms and cheer routines instead. 

it shouldn’t even hurt. 

you’d been broken up for the best part of a year, away to college, living what was supposed to be your best life. 

but it does. 

pangs through your chest in insurmountable waves, rushing to duck down beneath the window before either of them saw you peeking. 

you don’t dare look out again, maybe it was the fear of being caught or more likely for fear of hurting yourself anymore. 

eddie’s single, he can do what or whomever he likes. 

slinking back into the couch, hoping the crackly tv would drown out any of the lingering thoughts. 

a sharp, stabbing sensation rings through your head, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to shut it down. 

only since you’d been back here, in hawkins had you felt it. people always whispered about how this town was cursed, perhaps it was you after all, bringing the bad luck to the innocent people of this shit hole. 

you drag your feet along the corridor to your bedroom, deciding that being buried beneath your blanket was better than constantly punishing yourself with sly glances out the window. 

-

a multitude of fists pummel at your door, sunlight just barely breaking through the clouds as your eyes open. 

nothing in this world could be so important to cause this reaction, especially not at this time of the day. 

you slink to the door, grumbling your way through the trailer. 

the door swings open, revealing a very out of breath dustin henderson and max mayfield, looking frantic as they pant on your doorstep. 

“what the hell? it’s nine am,” you grunt, wondering how the two even knew you were home. 

being with eddie had meant you’d come to adopt the gaggle of kids he played d&d with, driving them to and from games, offering a place to stay when their parents thought they were at each others houses while they were actually fighting monsters. 

the usual. 

the monster stuff was secondary, getting thrown into the deep end last summer after what was supposed to be a shitty mall job to save up for college, had turned into slimy monsters trying to kill you. 

eddie had only really seen the aftermath, the piles of what remained of starcourt on the floor and the cuts that littered your limbs. you had told him that night what had actually happened, terrified that the government were listening at your door, ready and waiting to throw you in jail for speaking about what you’d seen. 

dustin had made it very clear that you had to be careful not to talk too openly about it, delving into the whole world that rumbled beneath your town. 

you weren’t exactly eager to relive that night in the mall, a haze of slobbering monsters and telekinetic little girls. putting it to the back of your mind as some weird fever dream, a symptom of living in hawkins. 

“eddie’s in trouble,” dustin frowns, “is your mom here?” forcing himself into the trailer, max at his heels. 

“no she’s not-” closing the door behind the rude tweens, “i’m sorry- what’d you say?” hoping you’d misheard him. 

he peers down the hall, lousily checking the perimeter, “eddie’s in trouble,” completely serious. 

“and what does that have to do with me?” putting your hands on your hips, hoping to display some sort of authority, though it rendered useless against their stubborn attitudes. 

“remember the mall?” he deadpans, grabbing the phone from your wall as max pulls out a list of numbers. 

“yeah? i’m still not.. why’re you here? you can’t help him at his trailer?” 

dustin sighs, long and exaggerated, “he’s not at his trailer. we don’t know where he is,” aggressively punching in numbers, “and why didn’t you tell me you were back? i thought we were friends!” ever the sarcastic little dweeb you’d always had a soft spot for. 

“i didn’t tell anyone,” shrugging as you slink into the kitchen, deciding that if they were going to stay, you were at least going to need coffee, “i still don’t understand what’s going on!” 

“we’ll explain later,” max yells, fumbling around in her backpack. 

you tut, relieved that the pounding in your head had subsided at least. 

-

you’re somehow roped into driving the two to family video, receiving the details on the drive over. 

cops had swarmed the trailer park by the time you were ready, piling into wayne’s trailer, talking in hushed voices and yelling at anyone that dared to leave their own homes. 

wayne had come back from work this morning to find chrissy cunningham’s body on his floor. limbs broken and her eyes weeping with blood. 

any sane human would assume it was eddie’s doing. he didn’t exactly hold the best reputation in this damned town, but you knew murder wasn’t anything he was capable of. 

“that monster, from the mall,” dustin continues, leaning over the centre console, “that has something to do with this, i know it,” speaking with such confidence that you had no choice but to believe him. 

“how do you know that?” you question wearily, pulling into the parking lot, “i’m not saying i don’t believe you, but how do you know for sure?”

“well,” he buffers, “i don’t, but i’m 99.9 percent certain,” hopping out of the car before you can get another word in. 

you contemplate just waiting in the car for them to be done with whatever the fuck it is they’re even doing. not keen on seeing more people you really didn’t want to. 

you follow them in either way, ducking your head in some half-assed disguise. 

“-dustin!” robin squeals, reaching out to grab his arm, “those are my returns, you dweeb!” 

she and steve turn to you, perfectly in-sync, “when the hell did you get back?” speaking in unison. it’d be unsettling if you hadn’t spent the entirety of last summer with them both. 

you shake your head, “uh..” regretting your decision not to just wait in the car, “a few days ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?” robin huffs, thankfully distracted with the mess dustin was inflicting upon her store to chastise you too badly. 

“sorry,” you say meekly, picking up the fallen tapes from the floor as a shitty kind of apology. 

she smiles gently at you, before turning back to dustin with a seeding hatred in her eyes, “what are you little nerds even doing here? do you not have anyone else to piss off on a saturday morning?”

“eddie’s in trouble,” dustin repeats for what is probably the thousandth time today, holding the receiver up to his ear. 

“oh eddie?” steve quips, “what’d he do this time?”

dustin holds his finger up to shush him, unloading his rehearsed spiel down the phone to whoever. 

steve looks over to you for some clarity but you just shrug, not really any wiser on what was actually going than he was. 

this goes on for what feels like hours, listening to dustin and max inquire about eddie to each and every person on their call list, just to end up with a dejected frown when absolutely nobody has heard from him. 

“rick,” dustin nods, drumming his fingers against the desk, “rick! he said he was going to meet rick today! d’you know where reefer rick lives?” swivelling in his chair to glare at you. 

“reefer rick?” robin repeats with such disdain, it’d honestly have been nicer if she’d just laughed in his face. 

you shrug, “i don’t know.. maybe?” offering absolutely zero insight whatsoever. 

“you know, you were only together for four years,” he snarls, doing nothing to help his cause. 

“oh i’m so sorry that i can’t remember every single place we went together,” you hiss back. 

dustin eyes the empty computer and you can almost see the lightbulb go off above his head. tapping into the family video system as if he had any right to be here. 

“you’re not supposed to be on that!” robin hollers, reaching for the mouse though his hands are quicker. 

“stop it!” he screeches, typing rapidly into the computer, “jesus christ, how many rick’s are there?” scrolling the plethora of rick names that had appeared. 

he figures it out pretty quickly. 

realising that reefer rick probably wasn’t using the local video rental store to watch sixteen candles or risky business. 

“you know where that is?” he asks steve, tapping the address on screen. 

“uh.. i think so,” steve wavers, squinting his eyes. 

“great,” dustin shoots up, grabbing his backpack without a second thought, “you drive,” pointing at steve, “you follow,” turning to you, giving zero alternative or chance to protest before he’s out the door, tugging at the handle of steve’s car. 

-

you do as he says, obviously. fearing that if he were to be left alone with robin for too long, she might just wring his neck. 

eddie’s nowhere to be found, the house looks empty and his van isn’t here leaving you back at square one. 

“he has to be here,” dustin frets, pointing at the large shed on the other side of the yard, “let’s just have a look.. you wanna find him don’t you?” turning to you specifically. 

a few years ago you would’ve said yes with zero hesitation but now you’re not sure if you even care. the thought of seeing eddie again makes you a little nauseous. not even owing to the fact that he was a potential murder suspect. 

“why’re you looking at me?” you scowl, “i think we should just leave this to the police.”

“no!” stopping dead in his tracks, “they’ll kill him and you know that,” his eyes sharp as everyone falls into silence. 

he was right, as he often is. which makes this all the more irritating. 

you nod, gesturing for him to continue to the rundown shack behind the house. 

there’s nothing in there, at least no signs of one eddie munson. 

it all just seems useless. if eddie had used the neglected brain in his head, he’d be far away 

from hawkins by now. he was nifty enough to survive on his own, you were sure about that. 

steve jabs at the tarpaulin as you peer out of the door and into the quickly darkening night sky, spinning rapidly as the tarp crinkles and something comes flying out. 

eddie. 

with his hands now pinning steve back against the wall, chest heaving with sheer, seething anger. 

only dropping his hold on him when it registers who it actually is, eyes wide and startled. 

a million and one feelings rush through your veins. you hadn’t prepared to actually see him again, to now be stilled by the sight of him locking eyes with you. 

the slow realisation dawns on him, quickly forgetting that he was a wanted man, all encompassed by your presence in this suddenly stifling shed. 

steve gasps for air, breaking the tension and pulling the attention back to him. robin’s quick to soothe his arm while dustin launches into a quick scolding for eddie. 

it’s not long before he moves onto the next phase of his master plan, dragging max to the corner to loudly discuss what they should do. 

“when’d you get back?” eddie asks, leaning against the dusty wood panelling, “i haven’t seen you..” his voice cracks but he’s unwavering. 

good, you thought. though really it was all useless now. 

“couple’a days ago..” picking at the wood splinter on the wall, “when’d you start murdering teenagers?” hoping it wasn’t too harsh of a dig. 

“ha ha,” he deadpans, running his hand over his face, “you don’t think i did it, do you?” worry seeping through his tone. 

you shake your head no, choosing to meet his eyes, a little reassurance that even if you did think he was a loser, you definitely didn’t think he was a murderer too. 

he nods, sighing into his palm, “fuck,” deflated, exhausted by the day he had endured, “they’re gonna kill me,” shrunken into himself, resembling a dejected little puppy. 

“they’re not gonna kill you,” but your voice shakes a little, not unnoticed by eddie. 

“you don’t sound so sure,” he chuckles, turning his gaze to the rotting floorboards. he looked horrible, to put it nicely. the bags under his eyes were dark and his hair an even wilder mess than usual. 

“i’m not really,” refusing to lie to him, even now. 

he looks up again, unwavering melancholy in his eye, “how’d you find me?” 

you glance over at dustin’s busybody, passionately explaining the next steps to an exhausted looking steve, his hands gesturing for a fight. “he tracked down rick’s address from family video and then wouldn’t let us leave until we found you.” 

eddie grin grows, finding the motivation to get himself off of the dirty floor, “yeah.. sounds about right.” 

you’re too close for comfort now that you’re eye to eye, uncomfortably close while your relationship was still so fragile. 

he breaks away first, striding over to dustin, “what’s the plan? i really need you to save my ass, dude.” 

dustin nods, vowing to keep eddie alive, no matter what it takes. 

-

dustin doesn’t hang around. 

the minute the suns risen, he’s pounding on the bedroom door, waking the sleeping pile of limbs you’d collapsed in. 

“i’m gonna kill him.. i’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” robin grumbles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, staring daggers at the door. 

“eddie’s not answering!” he hollers, busting through the door, “we have to go back to rick’s! now!” pulling at nancy’s arm, presuming that steve had told him no to driving him around this early. 

you rouse just enough to really see the panicked look on his face, swinging your legs off of the bed to grab his shoulders, “what happened? we can go i just need five minutes.”

“he’s not answering,” panting between his words, “i told him to check in at six! it’s nearly six thirty.. something’s wrong.”

“okay,” you nod, trying to wake yourself up, “okay.. let me get dressed,” finding your discarded pants and practically jumping into them. 

dustin’s in the passenger seat before you can even run a brush through your hair, only just able to brush your teeth before he’s got his fist on the horn. 

“jesus christ dude,” you exclaim, shoving the keys into the ignition and speeding off before he has the chance to chastise you again. 

you’re grateful that it’s still early and the chances of getting a ticket are slim because you most definitely had broken some kind of speed limit, but truthfully it was mostly to get dustin to shut the hell up. 

knowing eddie meant that you knew he was probably fast asleep, ignoring the cracklings of the walkie for the sake of a couple extra minutes of shuteye. 

you turn down the long wooded drive, wondering if rick was back yet and just how he’d react to eddie’s ex-girlfriend and some random kid showing up on his doorstep at seven in the morning. 

you’re forced to slam on the breaks, almost sending dustin through the windscreen as eddie’s face appears before you, his hands slam the hood, screaming something nonsensical. 

“ohmygodohmygod,” he rushes, throwing himself into the backseat of your car, “you need to drive!”

“what the hell happened?” dustin probes as you turn around, only now seeing the barrage of cars parked outside of the house. 

“jason..” he gasps, “those fucking meatheads he hangs around with.. they just showed up,” sliding down into the footwell just as jason rounds the corner of the house, yelling something about your car as you hightail the fuck out of there. 

“they.. they- they think i’m the devil or some shit,” eddie gasps, his petrified face appearing in the gap between your seats, “they’re fucking crazy man.. fuck!” 

your fingers tighten around the steering wheel, hoping to speed away before they got wise enough to follow you. 

jason wasn’t much but his lackeys would have zero issue beating the shit out of eddie, or you for that matter. 

you instinctively go to the first place you can think of, which in hindsight seems like a mistake now the gravel is crunching beneath your wheels. 

forest hills was still crawling with cops trying to determine who or what had killed chrissy, though thankfully at daybreak their presence seemed to have dwindled a little. 

“we should be okay here for a while.. stay in the car until i get the door open,” flashing him a harsh glare to make sure he really understands. 

the three of you barrel into your trailer, grateful for the silence, unsure of how you’d ever explain this entire situation to your mom. 

“shit man,” eddie marvels the walls, mouth hung open, “haven’t seen the inside of this thing for.. a while,” a sadness to his tone. 

“yup,” choosing to ignore his glum cadence in favour of keeping the peace, “you can sleep in my bed,” tossing your keys into the bowl. 

“you sure?” eddie asks, though he’s already making his way up the hall, all too familiar with your trailer. 

“knock yourself out,” collapsing onto the couch to resume your own interrupted slumber. in a time not so long ago, you’d have relished crawling up next to eddie in bed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to tuck you up under his armpit. 

you brush off the glum feeling, wrapping your own arms around your body instead. 

dustin gets to alerting the wheeler residence, informing them all that eddie’s okay and you were going to hang out here until he came up with some plan.  

it’s almost noon before eddie rises again, asking if he can take a shower before dustin unleashes his plan. 

that horrid buzzing niggles it’s way back into your brain. a dull pain that quickly becomes sharp, stabbing at the sides of your head. 

“are you okay?” dustin questions nervously, ditching his notebook to step closer with caution. 

your fingers clutch your temple, unable to form a coherent sentence as the pain throbs through your frontal lobe. features screwed up in searing pain. 

“eddie!” he screeches, his fists pummelling against the bathroom door. 

eddie emerges, towel slung around his waist, barely able to turn the water on yet, “what? what the hell is going on?” quickly shutting up when he sees your sorry state. “are you okay? what happened?” rushing over without a second thought. 

dustin stands in horror just behind, watching as eddie’s thumb swipes the underside of your nose, coming back an unexpected shade of maroon. 

“she just dropped! i-i don’t.. i’ve never seen this before!”

“you’re bleeding,” eddie fuses, “dustin.. tissue now,” tilting your chin upwards. 

the pain subsides slightly, allowing your eyes to reopen and meet his, “there’s.. tylenol in the drawer,” letting him keep your chin between his fingers.

dustin speeds around the room, collecting supplies as your laboured breaths become easier, the ache dissipating as quickly as it came on. 

eddie dabs at your nose until it’s clean, shaking out two of the pills onto his palm for you to take. “what the hell was that?” nagging yet concerned all rolled into one. 

“i dunno, i’ve been getting these.. headaches, since i’ve been back,” looking between dustin’s horrified face and eddie’s distressed one.  “it’s probably nothing.” 

“that didn’t look like nothing,” dustin adds, still wary of your state. with all of the supernatural happenings at the moment, he had right to be. 

“it’s fine,” shrugging them both off before the questions got too much. “what’s the plan dustin?”

he and eddie share another glance, pretending that you weren’t right there in front of them. “uh..” erring the line of caution before jumping right into it, “okay so we need to go down.. down there.”

-

it’s stupid, reckless even. 

but what other choice do you have when the world is caving in and your ex-boyfriend is on the run from the police? 

eddie climbs through the window of the rv, pulling your eyes away with a quickness as his shirt rises up to reveal his lower back. 

the door swings open some moments later, gesturing for you all to climb inside as he gets to hot-wiring the gargantuan vehicle. 

you pile into the back, ducking below the windows while his fingers fiddle with the live wires. 

“do you even know what you’re doing?” nancy asks, her eyebrow raised in quiet concern. 

“nancy please,” eddie huffs, “while your dad was teaching you how to ride a bike, my dad was teaching me how to hot-wire a car.. i know what i’m doing.” 

she hums, settling into the passenger seat without another word. 

it shouldn’t be attractive. you should think it’s utterly reprehensible to steal and engage with such criminal behaviour. 

but you can’t. 

not with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth like that, his hands whirring away as robin looks on with a screwed up face. 

the engine roars loud, alerting the entire trailer park to your existence. eddie hightails it into the back, choosing the empty spot next to you as he yells for steve to drive. 

this all so ridiculous, flying about the back of the rv as steve speeds out of town. finding somewhere solitary for you all to prepare. 

-

everyone seems to be in cahoots about something, scarpering from the rv the second you walk inside. leaving you and eddie to navigate through the uncomfortable tension alone. 

you take a seat anyway, picking up the discarded knife on the table, running your finger along the dull blade with a sigh. 

you’d never imagined that the two of you could ever be so awkward together, having been close for the entirety of your lives, it felt awful to not even want to look at him now. 

“i’m sorry.. about chrissy,” you swallow, still sharpening the knife, hoping he won’t say something to make you drive it into his throat. 

the rest of the group ‘prepare’ loudly outside. dustin screeching at the top of his lungs for steve to put him down while robin tuts in annoyance. 

eddie looks up, a little glum, “yeah.. she was a good girl, she didn’t deserve that,” dropping his own knife on the table in front of you with a clatter. 

“i didn’t realise you two were.. together or whatever,” the look on his face immediately forces you to regret your words, hoping the ground would just swallow you whole. 

he scoffs, “together?” knocking his knee into yours softly, “you thought we were together?” 

oh my god. it’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined. cheeks burning as your eyes meet his, “oh! i thought.. someone said.. i don’t- i don’t know,” clinging onto the knife with sweaty palms, deciding whether to slice your own mouth off so nothing else could fall out of it. 

“she was buying weed,” he laughs quietly, “pretty girl but.. not really my type, you know?” 

you nod, looking back at the table in hopes that he’d just drop it now. so much for being the nonchalant, cool ex. all you’d done is solidify your psycho status. 

“i haven’t really..” he begins again, never knowing when to leave well enough alone, “i haven’t moved on, i guess,” shrugging as his own gaze slips. 

if you were going to live through the end of the world, you hoped it’d come soon. the tension in this cramped rv was enough to make whatever was happening with the underworld seem like a dream. 

“oh!” is all you can conjure up. unsure of what response he was expecting from you. the breakup had been amicable.. sort of. to you, it made sense to breakup. you were away to college and he was repeating senior year again. you had almost died in the town you grew up in, he hadn’t. 

it was a multitude of happenings that forced you apart. grief and it’s intertwining webs of despair had proved too much for your relationship. too much for you to handle on your own. 

eddie hadn’t agreed. 

he couldn’t understand it, why you needed out of hawkins so bad. but he wasn’t there, hadn’t seen the things you had. 

the guilt had wrecked you for the first few months, afraid that you’d abandoned him in that very town for a new life after promising for so long that you wouldn’t. 

“sorry, i shouldn’t have said that- i didn’t mean anything by it,” he fumbles, pulling on his bottom lip, “well i did! just.. not the time or place, you get me?” digging himself further into his hole. 

your eyes meet his again, gnawing at the skin on your bottom lip, “it’s okay.. you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” 

“i think what i meant to say was that i missed you.. i’m glad you’re back,” eddie coughs, un-jumbling his words at last. 

it’s simple enough and really shouldn’t make your heart swell the way it does. you weren’t together. he wasn’t yours. that was that. 

but maybe there’s something about experiencing the end of the world with someone that makes you a little reminiscent. 

“i missed you too,” you smile, hoping that the overwhelming feeling of adrenaline is just from the interdimensional monster that lay beneath you and absolutely nothing to do with his doe eyes and plump lips. 

his eyes flicker, trailing from your eyes to your lips. the air seems to shift around you, leaving the room at an expedient rate. 

“you missed me?” eddie growls, looking back into your eyes, “then why’d you leave me here?” a deep set frown forming on his lips that wasn’t there a minute earlier. 

“what?” you question, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanour. 

“you left me. you left me here to die after you told me you wouldn’t,” he snarls, leaning closer. 

his eyes are glossy now, glazed over with what looks like tears. 

“i didn’t.. no,” backing away from him, “you were supposed to come with me.. you.. you..” shaking your head. 

eddie’s eyes change completely now, pupils turning a slick grey. a dark cloud fills the room, overflowing out of the tiny window, covering the furniture and your body with the thick smog. 

“it’s your fault,” the voice rumbles, no longer bearing any semblance to eddie’s, the walls decay in front of your eyes, wallpaper rotting as they crack and crumble. 

“it’s your fault,” it repeats, louder this time, “he’s going to die,” it cackles, filling the room with the booming voice. 

“no,” you scream into the void, thrashing around to find the source, “take me! take me instead!” yelling as loud as your throat would allow, but it’s futile. 

there’s no one here. 

eddie had gone. crumbled into a pile of ash on the floor, left on your own in some barren wasteland, the blood-curdling screams of menacing creatures travel through your body. 

“you can’t save yourself,” the voice booms, pulling your eyes to the horrific humanoid figure stood amongst the ruins. 

“what do you want?” you scream, stepping backwards over the rubble. 

the man.. thing just smiles, “i’ve been watching you for some time, you shouldn’t have come back here,” walking towards your cowering frame. 

“w-why? who are you?” fingers trembling as you attempt to grab onto something, anything to bring you back to earth. 

everything you grasp crumbles into ashes, disappearing before your eyes as you struggle to breathe. wheezing through the dark clouds, not an inch of relief. 

“we’ve met before,” completely ominous, “you don’t remember me?” tilting his head to the side. 

it feels like you’ve seen it before, somewhere in a far away dreamland. 

that’s when it clicks. 

the bad dreams you’d been having, there had always been something there, a presence you couldn’t ever see clearly. 

but now it makes sense. 

“h-how did you do that? how did you get into my dreams?” the rubble beneath your feet disappeared with every step. 

his head shakes and the landscape rumbles, a clattering of stones fall to the ground, jolting your body backwards. 

“you let me in,” he rumbles, stepping closer, “you’re the reason any of this is happening.. it’s time for you to pay.” 

his spindly fingers reach out, forcing you further and further back until your foot catches against  a stone, sending you flying backwards into a sudden abyss. 

you awaken with a harsh gasp, eyes opening to find eddie towering above, his brows threaded together in fear as the others screech around you. 

“she’s awake! are you okay?” eddie rushes, holding your face between his palms, “oh my god,” as white as a sheet, shock rippling through his body. 

you nod, blinking in the sudden bright light, exhausted from doing nothing at all. nothing felt real except eddie’s fingers brushing over your worn skin. 

too tired for tears, too afraid to speak. your eyes shut on their own, trying to ground yourself back in this reality. 

you relax into his hold, your breathing falling into line with his as their voices turn into humming background noise, focusing on the path of eddie’s fingertips instead. 

-

eddie hadn’t dared to leave your side, following you around like a lost puppy, watchful eyes widening every time you moved or breathed too loud. 

it would’ve felt suffocating if you weren’t scared to death. instead, it was a welcome comfort. a sense of familiarity in the most awful time. 

you felt immense guilt, knowing that the end of the world had to happen for you to speak to him again. the man you’d gotten married to a thousand times in your head, the man you’d had a plethora of baby names with. it was all so insane. 

dustin hadn’t exactly instilled much confidence in you. with news of fred benson and patrick mckinney’s deaths, he had figured out the pattern of attack. 

they’d all died the same way, eyes burst and their limbs snapped one by one. 

eddie had recalled how chrissy went into a similar trance, her eyes glossed over, completely unresponsive. though the moment he’d said it, his heart sank, realising that chrissy wasn’t the only one he’d witnessed like that. 

logically, that meant that you were next. 

dustin had uncovered what was essentially a countdown to your death. nobody wanted to say it, or even acknowledge it, but you weren’t stupid. 

that meant that whatever plan he had, he had to perfect tonight, ready to attack tomorrow. 

before it’s too late. 

he’d said the quiet part out loud. a shared grimace encompassing the room, pitiful glances in your direction. 

despite the fact that your demise was quickly approaching, you had felt a strange sense of peace. perhaps actually knowing your fate was better than not knowing. 

there would be an end to all of this. 

-

steve had offered his house for you all, his parents away on some trip for the next week meaning eddie could hide out in peace. a much better arrangement than the wheeler’s house again, ted had started to despise the groups of teenagers in his basement. 

sleeping bags and blankets strewn across his gigantic living room, sleeping bodies filling every spare inch of carpet. none of you wanted to be apart for more than five minutes. sleeping on top one another was the ultimate comfort. 

eddie had volunteered for first watch, keeping his eye steady on you from the corner of the room. 

it’s a little difficult to fall asleep knowing that he was watching you like a hawk, surveying every tiny change and movement. 

dustin was supposed to take over at some point in the early hours, but judging by the sounds of his rumbling snore, that wouldn’t be happening. 

you sit up, shuffling over to eddie’s perch, avoiding your sleeping friends on the ground. 

his eyes dart to the floor, as if he hadn’t been staring intensely at you for the last hour.

“d’you have a cigarette?” you whisper, knocking your knee into his. 

he nods, raising his brow, “you don’t smoke?” baffled by your question. 

you shrug, smiling into the darkness, “how would you know?” hoping it didn’t come across as snappy as it seemed. 

he doesn’t reply, just shuffles around in his pocket, producing the scuffed up box with his lighter. 

you nod towards the door, getting up from the floor with a small groan. limbs still aching and weary from your run in with death earlier. 

he follows behind, glancing at the room of sleeping teens before slipping out onto the porch with you. 

steve’s house was secluded, the massive back yard and the trees that surrounded it made sure that no one would find him here. 

you perch on one of the lounge chairs, gesturing for eddie to join you, watching the steam from the pool dissipate into the chilly march night air. despite being in the same tiny town, his house was worlds apart from the trailer park you two grew up on. 

he places a cigarette in your palm before sliding one between his own lips, passing you the lighter first. 

it’s a silent exchange, unsure if you could talk about anything without crying, though it’s meaningful. eddie had been selfish plenty of times during your relationship but at his core, he’d put you before himself each and every time. 

you light the cigarette, gazing off into the distance. hoping to god that he wouldn’t bring what had happened earlier up. 

“when’d you start smoking?” he asks, keeping a respectable distance between you though he wishes that wasn’t something he had to worry about. 

“when i found out that i was dying tomorrow,” exhaling slow, trying not to let your voice wobble. 

he sighs, “you’re not gonna die,” with less conviction than you’d have liked, “you can’t die,” shaking his head at such a ridiculous thought, “you won’t.. you won’t,” mostly for his own sake. 

your eyes squeeze shut, heart aching, squeezing your chest tight. last week you’d been terrified about your literature final and now none of it even mattered. 

“what if i do?” you ask earnestly, finally meeting his eyes, “everyone else has? we don’t know if dustin’s right.. if we can beat him,” shrugging helplessly. 

chrissy had died, patrick had died, fred had died. that meant you were next. 

his jaw clenches, wishing you’d stop, “you’re not,” throwing his cigarette butt to the side, “i won’t let you, okay?” 

you nod, albeit not believing a word he said. it was difficult to be so optimistic when the only evidence you had, said otherwise. 

“this vecna..” eddie begins again, “he doesn’t know what’s about to hit him,” sounding slightly more confident than before, “we’re gonna kill him and you’re.. you’re gonna live and graduate and do all that great shit you still have to do.” 

you don’t mistake the pain in his voice, the knowing that he should be there for all of that and that it had been his own fault for now being a footnote in the story of your life. 

“i really do miss you,” you clarify, “i’m not sure how much of our conversation earlier was a vision or not..” 

eddie chuckles, breath shaky and unstable, “no.. you said that before, you know- before you got possessed,” bumping his shoulder into yours, thankfully injecting his fucked up humour into the otherwise dark conversation. 

“was it scary?” 

he scoffs, almost offended that you’d even ask, “i shit my pants,” smiling with the side of his mouth, not fully committed, “reminded me of that stupid movie you made me watch.” 

he had never liked horror movies, this tough guy exterior that exclusively listened to metal was all a guise. he’d watched the film through his fingers, clinging onto your arm. 

“you were very brave though,” letting your cigarette fall to the floor, sure to be lectured by steve in the morning. 

he shies away, looking down for a brief second, “i’m not gonna let what happened to chrissy happen to you too..” meeting your gaze once more, “i promise.” 

“i don’t think you can promise that,” sharing a meaningful glance. 

“i can and i will.”

you nod hesitantly. his words, as much as you’d like to believe them, meant nothing when the supernatural was at play. 

his eyes flicker down to your lips, just like they used to so many months ago. but you don’t pull back, only leaning in further. 

if you lived past tomorrow, you’d no doubt regret this but as that wasn’t looking at all likely, what was a kiss between traumatised exes? 

eddie makes the first real move, his palm coming to cradle your cheek. you hope to god this isn’t another vision, that he won’t be cruelly torn away from you this time. 

“is this real?” you can’t stop yourself from asking, sighing as you do. 

“this is real,” he assures, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “d’you want to stop?” 

“no,” closing the already dwindling space between you, placing your hand on his in such earnest intimacy, a sensation you’d missed so deeply for an entire year. 

your lips touch, your eyes falling shut as his breaths start to steady, humming into your mouth in satisfaction. 

it didn’t feel so bad now, nothing could be so utterly terrifying while you’re touching him like this. 

eddie breaks away first, only a few inches of distance, just to gaze into your starry eyes, “i never thought i’d be able to do that again,” with utmost sincerity. 

“you weren’t supposed to,” shaking your head. if things had gone according to your plan, you’d have never seen him again. 

but it doesn’t work that way. 

fate had other plans for you. 

his lips twitch into a small smile, thumb drawing over your tired cheeks, “can i do it again?” 

“please.” 

connecting your lips once more, the cold tip of his nose bumping softly against yours. it was impossible not to notice how well you fit together, moving in synchronicity and with such tenderly care. 

inside, dustin wakes up in a cold sweat. looking over at the empty spot on the floor where you should be, but now we’re not. 

“shitshitshit,” he panics, whispering loudly to himself as he crashes around the house, stepping over the sleeping bodies. 

dustin’s panicked face shoots up from the window, gawping at the barely visible sight, straining to make out what the fuck he was even seeing. 

it only dawns on him when your lips leave eddie’s, foreheads resting together that it would be in his best interest to not interject and end up with his ass beat. 

you come back in some twenty minutes later, after a plethora of shared kisses and soothing words. deciding to settle in the same empty spot on the floor, his hand only comfortable enough to grace your waist, under the blanket. 

now wasn’t the time for questions or prying eyes judging your decision. you weren’t even too sure yourself. 

it’s the only time you’ve felt comfortable enough to sleep tonight, watching his chest rise and fall, knowing that he was here, alive and that for right now, you were too. 

-

the carnage pulls you from your sleep, people yelling over pancakes and glass clattering as max’s shrill voice scolds lucas for being too loud. 

you look around at the mess of blankets and empty sleeping bags, the door to the living room was closed though it made no difference. 

you’d have preferred to stay in the empty room, unwilling to address the situation with eddie last night but your stomach rumbles, pulling you out of the room and into the bright, bustling hallway. 

robin swings out of the kitchen at the sound of your presence. she’d clearly tried to help with the breakfast efforts, though unsuccessfully, emerging with flour down her shirt, jeans and somehow in her hair. she smiles gently at your weary eyes, “we didn’t wanna wake you.. you were knocked out.”

“thanks rob,” even though their incessant arguing and yelling did eventually rouse you from your sleep. 

in the kitchen, dustin sits with his feet swinging off the tall stool, a too-wide, toothy grin growing on his face the second he spots you, “well good morning! how’d you sleep?” a sarcastic little quip that you know holds something deeper. 

“great thanks, you?” narrowing your eyes as you fill a mug with coffee. 

he waits for steve to exit the room, turning back to you with the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable, “yeah, really good,” he twists his body to peer out of the door, ensuring no one could hear, “so you and eddie huh?” 

“me and eddie what?” refusing to entertain his cryptic questions. 

“i saw you two last night, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” wiggling his stupid brows as he shovels yet another pancake into his uncontrollable, jabbering mouth. 

“and i saw you wet the bed last year, do you want to go there?” flinging his taunting right back at him. 

dustin’s mouth falls open, “you can be a real bitch, you know that?” taking his heaped plate back into the living room. 

steve strolls back in, staring down dustin’s scowl before his eyes trail to you, “what’s wrong with him?” 

you smile, tight-lipped and fully loaded as you pour a cup of coffee, “oh nothing,” looking over the food with slight disgust. the hunger hadn’t really hit you yet, too occupied with trying not to die to care about pancakes. 

eddie interrupts your noisy brain, cackling as he comes into the kitchen, “maybe you should stop being such a smart-ass then,” immediately quietening down when he spots you. 

you don’t speak, instead communicating with a shared look before you focus on the cup of coffee in your hand. 

steve looks slowly between the two of you, “you good?” 

“yeah.”

“yup.” 

you both simultaneously reply, refusing to acknowledge the tension in the empty kitchen. 

“o-kay,” steve whistles, deciding that sitting with dustin and his terrible attitude would be far better than whatever this was. 

it’s not supposed to be awkward. 

it was just a kiss. or multiple. 

a few kisses between exes during the end of the world. that’s all. 

“d’you sleep okay?” he dares to ask, feeling comfortable enough to make eye contact now that steve had left. 

“yeah.. thank you, for looking after me,” smiling gently at the bleary eyed boy. 

“i told you i would,” he reaffirms, “you’re not doing this on your own.” 

“i know,” you nod, swallowing the growing lump, “but i’m scared eds.. i don’t want you to die because of me.” 

eddie tuts, rounding the counter to place his hand on your arm, “that’s not-,”

dustin hollers, falling through the kitchen door, giving away the groups prying position, “ow shithead!” shoving lucas backwards as they materialise one by one. 

dustin, lucas, max, erica. 

in that order.

“are you fucking serious?” you screech, throwing your arms into the air. 

this was low even for dustin. 

“sorry! sorry! go back to confessing your love or whatever the hell was happening!” scurrying off to finish his pancakes and no doubt inform robin and steve what they’d witnessed. 

“i can’t believe him,” you frown, turning to eddie who’s stifling his laugh. “it’s not funny,” but your lips twitch anyway. 

“it’s kinda funny,” his hand still lingering on your arm, his smile reaching his eyes, “you don’t care if they know.. do you?” 

you shrug, perhaps you did care a little bit. you were the one who’d broken up with him, deserted him for college. maybe you didn’t deserve a second chance. 

“it’s okay..” he nods, as understanding as always, “this is weird, i get it," as understanding as he was, he wasn't able to conceal the dejected puppy gleam in his eye.

"it's not that," pathetically reaching for his hand, "i'm just.. i'm supposed to die today, i don't want to.. lead you on, or get your hopes up or whatever," putting your finger up to stop eddie from interrupting, "i don't need you to tell me that i'm not. just let me spiral about this," smiling as you speak, truly a means to soothe yourself, not just eddie.

"o..okay," his whole speech shut down, leaving him with nothing. his eyes flit over to the mountains of food steve had whipped up, "you should eat.. you've got a busy day of not dying to get through," smirking right through your snide glare.

-

something feels off, a nervous twisting in your stomach that makes you want to call the entire thing off. 

you could go down there and fight this with them. screw whatever prophetic visions you’d had. 

eddie hadn’t even wanted to go, desperate to stay in the attic with you, watching over in fear of losing you again. 

“what if.. what if something happens and they don’t know how to fix it? they’re kids.” he’d pleaded, sat on the porch outside of the large house in your final moments of peace. 

“dustin can’t do this on his own,” you cooed, only slightly wishing that he could execute this plan on his own. “you have to go. i’ll be okay..okay?” not entirely certain about the truthfulness of your words. 

he takes a sharp intake of breath, fingers forming a weak fist, “you better be,” the moon reflecting off of his caramel iris’, capturing the entire universe in two tiny orbs, “i don’t want to lose you again.” 

your head dips, quickly losing the ability to look him in the eye, overwhelmed with guilt and the reminder that you had been the one to end things. 

“it’s okay,” grabbing your hand to place on his bouncing knee, “i’m not.. mad about it, or upset and you shouldn’t be either,” squeezing your fingers in a bid to draw your eyes back to him. 

“i don’t-,” huffing a frustrated sigh, unable to form a coherent thought when the impending battle loomed over your heads. “everything is so fucked and i don’t know if we’re gonna make it this time.” 

eddie’s fingers lace between yours, holding your hand tighter, “we’re gonna be fine.. okay? everyone is gonna be fine,” inching closer in the thick of the night, “i’m gonna be right back here, as soon as that bastard is dead.. i promise.” 

this time, you punctuate his sentence for him, springing forward to latch your lips to his, using your free hand to cradle his stubbly cheek. 

you long to kiss him forever, never escaping this embrace, knowing that there’s a chance it won’t happen again. his lips soft, desperate to stay attached to you, too. 

“oh! shit! uhm-,” robin stutters, clattering out of the door. 

you break apart, containing the low groan of disappointment, “sorry rob.. ‘s everything okay?” eddie’s as bashful as ever, his cheeks flushing a deep scarlet, even in the darkness. 

“yeah! uh.. nancy told me to tell you that we’ve gotta go now or it’ll be too late,” swinging from the door as she speaks. 

he glances at you again, longing for just one more minute of this peace. one more second of your touch. 

but it doesn’t come. 

they leave in a hurry, cycling maniacally away to the trailer park, leaving you, lucas, max and erica to conduct the rest of the plan. only fragments of hope left as you watch them disappear over the hill, praying for someone, anyone to just keep him safe.

-

everything is eerily calm, far too silent for the situation at hand. 

you sit cross-legged in the attic, looking between lucas and max who had taken it upon themselves to converse through a notepad. 

they reminded you of you and eddie once upon a time, giggling teenagers trying to navigate love together. 

it’s sweet, full of the same adolescent innocence you were desperately trying to regain. 

eventually they break apart, lucas traipsing over the creaky floorboards to check on you, equally confused by the serenity. 

he turns to walk away, almost frozen as his brows furrow and his pupils dilate, “you killed them.” 

your mouth falls open, immediately hushing him so as to not screw up nancy and dustin’s carefully thought out plan. 

“you killed them all,” he parrots, a sinister air surrounding him. “eddie trusted you and you killed him.. you’re a murderer,” the venom flying off of his tongue, severing your heart in two. 

the plan had worked. you were back in wherever it was you were taken before, confirmed by the sudden darkness, the wallpaper splintering and putrid stench that had filled your nose. 

lucas isn’t lucas at all. 

a mimic to the higher power cursing your town, only a small part of his master plan to destroy hawkins. 

your surroundings melt away, lucas nor max no longer appearing before you. instead, you’re faced with a flash of red, and a maniacal cackle. 

henry, as you’d since learnt he was called, begins his tirade, just as you’d planned. 

“why didn’t you stop them?” he booms, appearing in the corner, “you let them go after everything i showed you.”

he didn’t scare you, not anymore. when the time was right, lucas would slide max’s walkman over your ears and pull you right out of this hellscape. 

“they’re going to kill you,” standing stoic, resistant under his thumb. “you can’t hurt anybody else.. not anymore,” gritting your teeth, such determination to have him hear you. 

his burnt frame disappears right before your eyes, a loud, blaring laugh appears from behind. 

once again turning to darkness, only this time it’s accompanied by a chorus of screeching. feral creatures and familiar voices circle around your head. 

his torment is ruthless, voices, namely eddie’s rattle around your brain, wailing and screaming, loud enough to make your ears ring and your head ache. 

your eyes open to your trailer, watching yourself argue and cry at eddie. 

the day you broke up. 

“you’re just gonna leave me?” he despairs, just as feeble as the first time he’d said it. 

“i can’t stay here eddie! you don’t get it! i nearly died.. i can’t do that again,” and yet, here you are. 

a shrill, shrieking sound fills the room before the scene crumbles before your eyes leaving you to the decaying scene you bore witness to before. remnants of the creel house float through the scarlet sky, threatening to crash into each other. 

“maybe i can’t hurt you, but you can hurt yourself,” vecna’s voice squawks, flashing forward to a scene you’ve never seen before. 

eddie, with his back against a door, you can only assume he’s trying to keep something out. a grotesque mix of blood, sweat and tears seep down his cheeks, the door beginning to thump from the pressure of whatever was on the other side. 

“this all could’ve been so easy,” rapidly wiping the imagine from your view, only to appear mere inches away, decrepit hand rising above your face. “don’t you wish you had just listened? don’t you wish that you had just come with me?” now mocking with his tone, condescending even though he’d gotten you exactly where you’d wanted. 

“no.. no no no,” arms suddenly restricted by a slimy tendril, forcing your face to meet his, “you’re not real.. you’re not-“ a sudden, awful constriction wraps around your lungs, squeezing the air from your body. 

“i’m not.. real?” he mocks, the corners of his mouth creep upwards, “i didn’t want this to happen this way but you’ve left me no choice.” 

you gasp loudly for breath, struggling within his grasp for a means out of it. where was lucas? or max? what happened to the plan? 

over the last few days, you’d become quite comfortable with the idea of dying. it became fact, an inevitable consequence of getting yourself tangled up in this entire thing. 

but now, as it looms over your head, you want out. 

you want to be with eddie. you want a dozen kids and a quaint house on the corner of maple. maybe a dog or a cat that he’d picked up on the side of the road. slow dancing in the kitchen after a day of warm sun. 

you want to live. 

his fist closes, leaving your lips blue and begging for oxygen. “this is what had to happen.. your time-“ his rambling cut off by a ground shattering boom, the tendril dropping your body at once. 

he stumbles backwards, grabbing onto his chest. your vision too blurry to coherently make out what was happening, a mixture of colours that swirls away quickly. 

your aching bones thump to the floor, gasping for air as the familiarity of the creel’s attic fills your peripheral. 

max and lucas swarm your body, muttering over one another, their small hands shaking in fear as your head is placed on max’s lap. 

“what the fuck? what the fuck do we do? lucas!” she hollers at lucas, as if either of them had any idea. 

they shouldn’t have to be concerned with any of this, nor tasked with the pressure of keeping you alive. your breathing steadies though your chest still heaves, leaving the comfort of her hold to scan the room. making sure that this was real, that you were home. 

four pairs of feet appear before you and not one of them the dusty pair of reebok’s you were waiting to see. 

collapsing once again, in a crumpled heap on the dusty floorboards, your voice cracks, broken as you speak. still reeling from the onslaught of abuse you’d endured. 

“where’s eddie?” 

[astralnymphh]

Omg can I request Ellie and reader on halloween night exploring an abandoned house that’s known to be haunted. Ellie and reader are both huge fans of horror and ghosts, often exploring abandoned places and even using those apps that you can talk to ghosts with. So, you both go, but terrifying things begin to happen and you’re both freaking the fuck out equally. Bonus points if Ellie gets protective <3

ok so yeah i had to do a bit of a drabble for this one! nothing too extreme though, but i love this idea. instead of them using apps, because ellie is such a nerd, i think she would have the genuine gear for it. girl heard the words "ghost hunting" and decked out immediately in all the utilities. ellie image @/angel-gbc

“Can you tell us your name?”

This house is a chamber of disembodied sounds. Ellie discovered it on her usual walk from work, dead and moth-eaten as ever, and all she wanted to do was explore it through and through. She loves horror, and you follow her on that sentiment. The Victorian face of the house has remained gently intact—a debris-ridden ghost of its preceding self—save for a few holes, shattered windows, spots of soot from fire, and the eternal state of squalor. Eternal life of loneliness, unwantedness. Quite a big, blotchy stain on a lovely modern neighborhood full of copy and paste houses, huh?

Wrong!

Gentry used to live there, and now the gentry want it torn up. Like a sketch you feel disgust looking at.

But you admit this plainly. Watching your nerdy girlfriend psych herself to come here with every gimmick and gadget pushing on the seams of her backpack really is cute. Noticing her lip curl when there's even a second of static feedback on the spirit box, really is the cherry on top of a long weekend; you regret nothing.

For now.

She is kneeling, you are crouching. “You can use the—um, spirit box,” Ellie swallows her throat clear, adjusting the placement of the equipment. ”To talk to us.” Ridiculous excursion or not, you both felt a bit on edge. Hairs raise in anticipation.

Your pores felt susceptible. Open to the change in the air, responsive to the uncomfortable sounds of clothes and limbs shifting. Maybe your mind had made up an individual now: a pompous and rich woman. Tight in the waist from the boning of a corset, and rather busty because of it. She is the woman of this household, you believe, and she circles you with broad shoulders and steel curiosity. Not too creative for a nineteenth-century ghost.

You could feel her stare crawling all over you. Or your imagination. Shivers run up your spine regardless.

“Hey, maybe we should ask what happened to her,” you bleat, not conscious of how disomforted you look palming the back of your neck, or your words. The air has gone cold.

Ellie scales a brow at you. “Her? Shit, have you gone psychic now?” Her questioning tone drips of mock and shock, somehow simultaneously. But one widens her expression when static crackles inside the receiver, and lets a low sound through. She props up on her knees. “Could you tell us what happened to you?”

The feedback ends.

Ellie huffs a sigh of disappointment, lowering herself again. So much for going psychic. “Good job, though. Seem to 've said somethin' right,” she reveres you softly, pricking a knee up to set her fist on. Her leather jacket shines low with your flashlight.

The event left you paranoid, but all you can do is wonder if she feels the same, but stomachs a facade over it. God, does she think she needs to impress you?

Apparently so. Behind the silence, came a violent clatter of wood, or a door, none can be sure. You were the first instantiation; something between a shirek and a gasp calls your hand to cocoon at your chest, and you scatter aimlessly onto your bottom. It felt like an injection of fear. It made your blood drain. Made your breath run thick.

Fucking ghosts.

Ellie repined in a yelling whisper. “Jesus!” Her silhouette much more composed and still upright, but with a hand on her heart. Faint sounds of her scooting over, however, spurn your sight from the suspected room of activity, her acorn-brown brows pulled to a worried low. “You good?”

The gentleness of the question soothes. “Sure.” Somewhat.

Her lips quirk, and she hesitates a laugh. “Ha—yeah. No clue what the fuck that was,” she rasps as she slides up next to you, the warmth of her hand eroding the stifle in your back. She encourages you to ease into it with rubbing motions. “Way scarier than horror movies make it out to be, huh?”

You over-ease, “Definitely,” the word falling out so heavy. The charm of her actions make you forget this place even surrounds you. Material disappears. “God, my heart is racing.” You lean into your knees.

Ellie noses at your neck, tip smushing. “I got you.”

She does. You cannot see her from your cocooned vantage, but you can feel her breath, and sweet lips forming into kisses. The little noises created let you imagine instead: she is probably donning a dorky smile, and has wispy, brown, shut eyes. You picture her hand coming up to clasp your shoulder, right when it actually does.

“Good thing we aren't in an actual horror movie, though,” Ellie presses the joke into your humid neck, slowly creeping behind your ear. “That would suck.”

You bring your forehead up, smiling tauntingly. “You would probably die first since you're so distracted.”

Her mouth clicks. “Shut up.” But resumes the delicate act of pinching at your skin without shame. That, for her, is the reason the other-worldly, torturing atmosphere around you turns to something of a soothing bliss. Funnily enough, it happens during said movies. Distractions on your neck and a greedy girl hungry to eat them whole and proudly.

Though, when she finally comes to her senses, she plays knight in converse and band-shirt armor and scopes the area of interest. Nothing was there except an old broom and a rat nest. Made for a whole lot of embarrassment later on in bed, that is for damn sure. Little comments of “I'm such an idiot,” rolling off your tongue while Ellie complimented you on your sudden intuition; the house did indeed belong to a woman of affluent status. How sexy is intuition? Ellie would know.

But Ellie loves being your ghost-hunting bodyguard—and nerd—either way. Something inherent inside her says she might be made for it.

a/n: wrote this in one go so i hope it suffices enough! click here for my autumntime masterlist!

[saphiccarma]

Sex with a Ghost

Summary - You weren't sure why you were on Earth, or why you could sense the Darkhold, but you did know you encountered the most beautiful woman on earth.

Warnings - Smut, fingering (R receiving)

A/N : I've never written smut before 😭I apologise if it's really bad (which it probably is)

Wanda moved to a house out in woods after Westview, shame filling her at what she had done. She hadn't meant to take control of all those people, make them her puppets in her own little personal town where she could live out her personal fantasy of having a life with Vision. Part of, the largest part, loved that. She had children who ran around and baked with her, who loved her and she loved them.

She saw the boys now, bolting in through the room, their smiles bright. From an outside view Wanda saw herself stirring some brownie batter. They dipped their fingers in as Wanda scolded them playfully.

It was a dream. It was all a dream. At least that's what she wanted to believe. In some reality, she had this. She had her boys and presumably Vision. A sick feeling boiled in her stomach, one filled with rage and jealousy, but also sadness.

Wanda was yanked out of her dream, her perfect dream, and back to her reality. Her eyes opened blearily, blinking away sleep as she adjusted to the light coming in from the window and softly illuminating the room. Weird, she didn't remember opening the curtains. Sitting up slowly, she listened to the birds chirping, her sheep bleating, the wind swaying the trees, and footsteps. Wanda did a small double take. Footsteps, feathery light, were above her, just barely audible.

As the footsteps continued, Wanda threw on some clothes, changing out of her night gown and opened the window fully. She stepped out, using her powers to elevate her to the roof. Wanda landed softly, a contrast to her emotions, and raised her hands, prepared to fight.

She froze.

A woman stood on the roof, her legs bending and straightening as she spun around. Her arms flew through the air as she danced along the rooftops. Blowing in her face, the wind ruffled her hair and made it whip around her face. The dress she wore was dancing with her, billowing as the wind spun past. The sunlight hit her just right so that it looked like a spotlight coming from below. The oddest part was her body. The tips of her fingers, the end of her nose, the outline of her entire figure, seemed to be floating away - attempting to carry her body up in little wisps. She looked like a ghost.

The woman slowed, spinning around and making eye contact with Wanda. Slowly, she blinked, her arms coming down to rest at her side as she tilted her head in a way that reminded Wanda of a puppy.

"Hi," she said softly, her voice mixing with the wind.

"Who are you?" Wanda asked, her Sokovian accent making it through just barely.

Blinking slowly, the woman approached Wanda, her hands splayed out in a placating way, as if she were approaching a scared cat. She got into touching distance before stopping.

"You do not know me?" Curiosity dripped from her words as she titled her head once more.

Wanda shook her head, scowling at the woman, "No."

She didn't look the slightest bit familiar. Nothing about her seemed familiar. The woman sighed, her shoulders sagging.

"But you can see me?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Why wouldn't I?"

A smile crept across the woman's face, "Because I'm a ghost."

^______________________^

As you thought, Wanda was a force to be reckoned with. She contained a violent power that was meant to be controlled, one that could not run free. Her magic was a force of nature, not meant to belong to someone who ran free throughout the world. Wanda would have been raised properly and properly taught if she had raised by witches.

You drifted through her house, taking in the cozy decoration. Couches, meant for a family lined the living room, beneath a TV and in front of a roaring fireplace. Wanda led you to the kitchen, her steps hesitant, yet confident. She had a calm vibe to her house in the decor, and despite that you couldn't help but shiver. An air of darkness lingered in the house. It floated in the air, wafting through all the corridors and seeping through the floor. The Darkhold.

"You are in possession of the Darkhold," you murmured.

Wanda's head snapped towards you, her brows furrowed, and nose scrunched, "How do know that?"

Offering her a soft smile, you pointedly glanced down at her fingers, "The tips of your fingers are stained with the darkness of it, and I can feel it."

"You can feel it? How?" she asked, pausing in her walking, staring at you curiously.

You pondered her words, wondering the best way to explain it. Even you didn't quite know yourself. Your powers were a mystery to you, they simply came to be when you died. Dying wasn't a pleasant experience, having been stabbed, you could still remember the blood flowing from the wound as you limped through the snow. When you were alive you were no one of significance, not even a witch. And yet, when you died, the gates to the underworld refused to let you in. Rather you were rejected and forced to wander the world, drawn to the dark forces of life.

"I do not know," you shrugged, answering honestly, "I just do."

The woman tilted her head, regarding you in an odd way. She was a pretty woman. Red hair cascading down her back, slightly messy, that fell atop her brown jacket. Green eyes that had the ability to shine bright red, but both beautiful.

"Why are you here?" she questioned, taking a step closer.

You licked your lips, "Because I thought you could see me. No one's seen me in years."

Carefully you took a step forward, even though Wanda looked like she wanted to step back and raised your hand slowly. Eyeing you warily, Wanda didn't step back, but her breathing increased, bushing the top of your head. Ever so slowly, you placed your hand on her arm, and for once it didn't phase through her skin.

"I'm not phasing through," you whispered, pressing your hand into her skin, "It works."

You smiled up at her, a sight Wanda found adorable, the way your pale eyes shimmered and your lips curled upward in pure delight. While you were adorable, she wasn't sure what to think of you. A ghost, who appeared at her home out of blue, and somehow knew she had the Darkhold.

"Sorry," you stepped back, hand falling away, "It's been a while since I've been around someone."

"That's alright," Wanda's lip quirked upward.

You bit your lip, pondering your next question, toes bouncing just slightly, "What do you plan on doing with the Darkhold?"

Wanda's mood changed immediately, her shoulders tensing and eyes turning to daggers.

"That's none of your business," she snapped, the thinnest layer of red coming to coat her eyes.

"I can help," you offered, enjoying the way she seemed to perk up, the red dispersing from her eyes, "I've been following the Darkhold around for years."

Licking her lips, Wanda's eyes bore into you, your fingers fidgeting ever so slightly.

"I'm going to bring my kids back," she whispered.

A sadistic grin crossed your face, "I know how to do that."

^______________________^

You danced in the spare room in Wanda's house, your legs burning and lungs thumping from exhaustion. The nightmare was still in the front of your mind, phantom pain in your stomach. A knife being plunged into your stomach by a girl your age, the snow coating you as you were left to die, hauling yourself up to limp away, and finally collapsing in the snow.

There were light footsteps entering the room, ones that you ignored, hoping Wanda would go back to sleep. But she didn't, you caught a brief glance of her leaning on the doorway, her arms crossed and a small smile on her face, filled with adoration. It had been a few months since you first met Wanda, and while the woman was harsh, sometimes considered cruel, you understood her. She was kind to you, welcoming you in and caring for you.

"You should stop," Wanda said softly, her eyes taking in your sweaty face. She didn't even know ghosts could sweat or get tired; she didn't even know you could eat.

You gave her no response, continuing through the movements. Your arms hurt from being raised and if you could bleed, you were sure there would be blood staining the floors. Red wisps stopped your movements, pinning your arms to your sides, spinning you around to face Wanda who had her hand raised slightly.

Glaring at you, you huffed, "Wanda."

She approached you, gently cupping your jaw in her ring clad fingers, digging just slightly into your cheeks. The tips of her fingers were cold, stained from the magic of the Darkhold.

"I told you to stop." Her voice carried an air of dominance. One that filled you with shame.

"Sorry," you mumbled, "It just helps me to cope with stress."

While your gaze was fixed on the floor, you didn't notice Wanda's lips curl into a smirk. She leaned in close, her breath warm against the shell of your ear.

"I know a better way to help you destress." Her voice was sultry as she spoke those words, pulling back and tilting your chin up.

Your heart pounded as she pulled you in for a harsh kiss, her lips pressing up against yours. Fighting for dominance, Wanda shoved you back towards the wall, slamming you against it. Her teeth bit down on your lip, requesting permission to enter. Your lips parted to allow her tongue to slip in. It was a heated kiss, one that only ended when Wanda pulled back, her breathing heavy.

Her pupils were blown as she looked down at you, "Bedroom?"

You nodded, letting out a surprised squeak when Wanda lifted you up, your legs wrapping around her waist. Taking the opportunity, you nipped at her neck, relishing in the way she growled softly. Teasingly, you liked a strip up the column of her throat. Wanda let out a shaky breath, the palm of her hand landing on your ass.

"Stop that."

You grinned against her neck, pressing a soft kiss before biting down hard. Wanda growled once and suddenly she was no longer holding you up and you were falling flat on your back before you landed on the mattress. She climbed on top of you, trapping your body to the mattress,

"Someone's being naughty," Wanda smirked down at you, her eyes filled with mischief.

You smiled up at her cheekily as her hands snuck under your shirt, making their way to your breasts. Her hands came to tease your nipples, pulling at the little nubs and twisting. You gasped, squirming underneath her. She leaned down to kiss at your neck, nipping and soothing the marks over with her tongue.

"Wanda.." you whined, hands coming up to pull on the fabric of her shirt. Ignoring your whine, one of Wanda's hands slide down the side of your body, making its way to the waist of your pants. She tugged on the waistband, and you lifted your hips up, allowing her to pull it off with your panties and throw it to the side. She shuffled down, keeping her left hand playing with your breast, and the other resting on your waist. Her lips, soft against the wisp of your skin, trailed up the length of your thigh, kissing up to where you needed it most.

You whined, tugging at her hair, "Touch me."

Wanda chuckled, the sound cruel and cold, "I am."

A moan escaped you when she bit the inner skin on your thigh. Her index finger and thumb twisted your nipple harshly, resulting in a breathy moan from you. You tugged at her hair, trying to encourage her to get on with it. Wanda just laughed, her breath tickling your core. She swiped her fingers up your folds, your slick gathering on them.

"Aww," she cooed, not at all sweetly, "Is this all for me? I've barely touched you." Her fingers tapped on your lips before you could respond, asking for entrance. Opening your mouth, you licked her fingers clean of your slick, her fingers heavy on your tongue. "Does my needy baby want me to fuck her?"

"Yes," you pleaded when her fingers popped out of your mouth, "Please."

Wanda didn't respond, instead attaching her mouth to your clit, swirling around it. Her fingers entered you slowly, ever so tediously pumping in and out. She licked and sucked at your clit as you moaned, pulling at her hair for more. She ignored your silent please, instead continuing to swirl her tongue around your clit and pump in and out of you slowly. Picking up pace, she switched to hammering into you harshly, curling every now and then, hitting your sweet spot. Moving her mouth away, Wanda silenced your whine by attaching her lips to yours, kissing you passionately. With everything going on, you quickly reached your climax, that familiar heat coiling in your stomach. Your legs trembled as you started to let go, pressure building inside you, and just before you could have release, Wanda stopped. Her fingers pulled away and she stopped kissing you.

"No!" You cried, sitting up slightly to grab at her hand and pull it back to your core. Wanda laughed in faux pity, frowning at you. Before you could protest anymore, her fingers rammed into you once more. Wanda edged you two more times, pulling you to the edge, reading your body language, before she would pull back and look at you with regret that she didn't really mean. And for the fourth time, two of her fingers pushed into your sore pussy, her palm slapping against your clit if she went far enough. If it were any other time, you would've been embarrassed at the wet sounds that came from the room and the moans that escaped your mouth when she hit the perfect spot. Your climax came quickly, her skilled fingers bringing you to the edge.

Her fingers slipped out just slightly, causing you to panic, "Please, please, please," you begged, "Please."

Wanda continued pumping in and out of you languidly, considering your plea, "Go ahead." You sighed with relief when her fingers picked up pace, pounding into you again. Your climax came as quickly as it had gone, your body tensing as you finally let go, spilling all over her. Pulling out slowly, Wanda brought her fingers to her mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

You laid panting on the bed, arms spread out as your chest rose and fell. Wanda flopped down next to you, her other hand that wasn't in her mouth coming up to brush your hair out of your sweaty face. Smiling at her you kissed her lips softly, tasting yourself on her. She hummed softly, pulling you closer. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, your head leaning on her chest, listening to the sound of her heartbeat, her very real heartbeat. Her fingers played with your hair, stroking your neck softly as she wrapped herself around you.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she whispered, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

"No," you whined, pulling her back when she tried to pull away, "Stay here."

Wanda laughed, the sound soft and melodious, "Just a few more minutes."

You smirked in victory, whispering three words you never said until you met Wanda, "I love you."

[silverhalla]

update: sometimes the gods want you to grovel publicly on tumblr dot com before they let you craft the really fun mourn watch rook ideas that you’ve been WAITING FOR

torn every moment of ever day between playing an ingellvar rook because it’s new + cool and playing a warden rook because my warden concepts are 100000% more fleshed out and SO doomed by the narrative

[dreamyintersexouppy]

ok so what if we were trapped in a secret evil scientific program together and were wheeled restrained into the same room and you’ve been fighting your restraints for hours by now and you see me just small and scared and barely squirming… and then we have to watch each other get injected with several serums that we can’t recognize and the doctors doing it say something but we can’t recognize it because we immediately start to go hazy…. and by the time we’re both able to focus again we’ve been unrestrained and locked in a small empty observation room, bright fluorescent lights washing us in a harsh glow as we hear mumbles of the people observing us outside…. and you’re staring at me, naked and still whimpering on the ground, no not staring it’s something else,,, you’re smelling something… but so strongly you mistake it for sight but it surely can’t be because it’s simply the overwhelming feeling that i smell Delicious… and as you keep staring you realize i’m not squirming anymore, i’m shaking, violently, and looking down you are too. you’re hunched over and you can feel something inside you shift, like a joint dislocating but feeling relaxed after the sudden pain of it shifting,,, it smells… no feels… euphoric…. with the twisting and popping of muscle and bone you hear all that comes is pleasure instead of the expected pain… you look down again and realize your legs are small, slimmer…. twisted backward and….. growing fur… as you collapse forward, your spine popping in staggering ecstasy, you look to me again… i’ve only gotten smaller, my face softening my legs and arms shortening, my body being squished down into being so stubby and round with a fluffy tail starting to poke from my exposed rear… and then you feel it… the real pain.. throbbing and dripping and Aching… a knot and painfully hard shaft weighing down your hips… and my scent in your nose guiding your snout to flip my shivering little form on its back… staring into my beady black eyes wide with fear…. not speaking not begging just an animal staring death in the face as you find my hole with your prodding tip and dip inside to watch my new little body shudder and scream with pain…. helpless and bleating like a pile of meat-to-be trapped underneath you… haha.. you know… what if….? 👉👈

[urcursebreaker]

burning body waiting. (ellie williams x fem!reader)

read chapters one, two, and three here.

warnings: 18+ content, canon-typical violence, gore, angst, graphic smut, scissoring, fingering, use of marijuana. | word count: 11.7k.

chapter 4: match in the dark

❝ the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. ❞ — richard siken.

. . .

The stories always say that love is something you fall into.

For you, it's always been a bludgeoning, throttling force, bone-shattering and breath-robbing; sudden and violent and jarring.

So why does this feel not like a punch to the gut but a slow and tortuous ailment of your health? An intrusion of sickness and vein-pulsing agony?

Instead of pummeling you with a lethal blow, your feelings for Ellie crept and slunk through your bones, a terminal parasite, malignant and festering inside. Until it was a sure thing. A cancer. Until your veins were blackened with heady need. Until there was a dark, frothing plague teeming from your heart, hammering to a consistent tune.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

Or maybe you don't love her.

Maybe it's some third sinister thing. Living in the cracks of cruelty that stretch between friend and lover.

Last night, after baring witness to Ellie's breakdown, the sound of her wailing, heaving sobs followed you into a tenuous sleep.

You dreamt of a young girl, a smattering of freckles garnishing her sun-kissed face and arms, familiar, mossy blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. She clutched a watch in her fist, it's face splintered, cracks like lightening fracturing across the broken surface. She lurched it into the rapid waters of the river she stood before, her eyebrows pinched in earnest, chest heaving.

"Why are you so sad?" You had asked the girl, your voice a whisper in the wind, not fully belonging to you.

The girl only released a long, heavy breath and pivoted away, marching down an unmanicured path of ferns and overgrowth. She grew taller and leaner as she strode away, until the figure that dissipated through the line of trees was one you have slept beside. 

And now you are woken up in that damn 7/11 to that same girl firmly shaking you.

Except now she's older— and a new scar marred her lip. A new slit cleaved her brow. And a new, harsh edge of ferocity contoured her face— still so young, in a world that would never allow her to be.

She had to shake you a few times before you came to, snapping awake in a bleated panic, lurching up. She was huddled over you, a finger to her lips, a solemn alarm flaring in her pale eyes. The overhead vines careening from the high rafters billowed gently with the breeze; the serenity of it deceiving to what prowled the weeds.

"To the left," she mouths meticulously, and you nod, carefully slipping out of your sleeping bag, heart drumming ceaselessly.

She unsheathes her switchblade and slinks away, her eyes trained on the glassless wall as she stations behind a counter, distractedly gesturing for you to follow.

You slowly retrieve your shotgun from the littered floor and pocket a shiv you crafted the night prior, shooting brisk glances over your shoulder as you inch to Ellie's side. A faint whistle rises from the swaying grass.

Fuck. More Seraphites.

They must be tracking you, if they're spreading this far into Seattle. They tend to lurk on the outskirts, basing along the edges of the city so they can terminate anyone who attempts to get inside.

You never heard of them abandoning posts before. Killing over a dozen of them must have earned you their vengeance.

Ellie must have a similar thought, for when you reach her side, she whispers, "I should have gone to their base and killed every last one of them." Her face was grim and hard with fury, jaw barred, as she glared over the counter in the general direction of the whistle.

You follow her gaze and your muscles tense. The piercing afternoon sun glints off the metal tip of an arrow— aimed directly at you.

"Get down!" You shout jitterly, just as the potent snap of the bows tension unleashing splits through the silence of the day. You shove Ellie down and duck over her right as it spears loudly through the chipping wall behind you, where her head had been precarious seconds before.

She looks up at you with wide eyes, her knuckles gleaming white against the shine of her blade. Her momentary shock morphs into a scowl that manifests on her face.

She shrugs her shotgun off her shoulder and aims it for the weeds— blasting through the first outline of a human that she sees without a second thought. Thickets of seared, chunky blood burst through the air, followed by a series of sharp, undulating whistles. Your ears ring boisterously from the gunshot.

You sense movement to your right and crawl past Ellie— who clips another Seraphite, her body rocking with the force of the shot— to investigate. Fortunately, your backs are covered by two withstanding, cavernless walls, leaving only the hole to the right and the sizeable gap overhead.

Ellie seems to have the other wall covered.

You use a rusting shelf as a barricade, crouching, shiv in hand, the blade biting through the cloth you wound around the bottom. You turn it over in your hands, tongue prodding your lip, casting furtive looks above you every couple seconds to ensure nobody inflicted an unexpected aerial attack.

Arrows rain down, piercing the walls, clattering off the concrete. Gunshots boom thunderously, reverberating through the vacant city, paired with the guttural screams of those they met. You chance a peek at Ellie to find her completely unscathed, propped on one knee, squinting through the thick scope of her rifle. She must've swiftly exchanged weapons while you were looking away; always efficient.

You swivel back around and feel the tiny hairs on the nape of your neck raise at the shaved head poking through the whirling canary, only about ten feet away. You hold your breath and flush your back with the shelf, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He slithers into the room, bow drawn, frame veiled by a cloak seeped with rain water. Brutal, discomfiting burn scars eclipse half of his face, as if he were lowered, sideways, into a pit of roaring flames.

Back at the Front, everyone always refers to the Seraphite's as Scars. It's starting to make sense why; you had never seen one this close before.

He puckers his lips to whistle, and you deign that as your opportunity, before he summons another Scar. You spring out from behind the shelf and drill your blade through the side of his neck, tearing through tendons. "Gotcha!" you breathe sardonically.

His large body crumples in your arms. You lower him to the floor with a dull, sappy thud, blood instantly pooling across the concrete, lapping at the tips of your boots.

An insistent whistle echoes closely from the weeds he emerged from, and you mutter a curse, hoisting up your gun and loading it with bloodied fingers. You're about to shoot the nearing figure when a brutish man descends from the crater in the ceiling— landing on top of you.

"Fuck!" Your scream of raw surprise rips through your throat as you plummet under his weight, your arm twisted unnaturally and agonizingly beneath his body.

He yanks you back by your hair, peeling your body off the ground with ease, and you wrestle with his unyielding grip, grunting as you squirm and peer at him over your shoulder. His eyes are crazed, a deep, rigid scar splitting his cheek, fatal determination overtaking his face.

You think fast, hastily fumbling for the blade in his companions sputtering throat, writhing under his formidable hold, your breathing sparse as he crushes you. "Feel Her love," the man growls in an accented drawl, his pick-axe reered back, poised to strike.

You successfully dislodge your blade just in time.

You arch your arm back as forcefully as you can from the obstructive angle, nicking him in the chest— just enough for him to stagger back and graze his digits over the superficial wound— and for you to crawl out from underneath him.

You only make it up to your knees before the handle of his pick-axe is caging your throat, crushing your windpipes, a hoarse whine wheezing from your lips. He hauls you back, and you flail for the bar compressing your neck, feet aimlessly lashing and kicking the floor. "El—"

Dots swim and flood your vision. Your flickering pulse rattles droningly in your skull. You can't breathe. You're dying. You're going to die. You're going to—

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Ellie bellows.

Suddenly, the pick-axe falls from your throat, clattering with a resounding echo to the floor, and you drop right along with it. Through the haze of your disjointed vision you see the previous keeper of your fate— Ellie's switchblade protruding from his head, before he slams lifelessly to the floor.

You rake in breaths hungrily, the sudden, painful burst of oxygen blazing like fire through your lungs. You claw listlessly at your throat, as if that will stop the blistering burn, or vanquish the coppery tang of blood rendering your tongue.

Ellie then shoots his already deceased body twice— his immobile carcass lurching, jolting with the swift bullets— and doesn't spare the dead Scar a second glance before shooting the one approaching in the weeds with masterful precision.

He thumps to the ground with a muffled groan of anguish, and his departure is followed by a wave of dense, apprehensive silence.

Ellie lingers in that taut, defensive stance for a moment, her shoulders tense, face lined with concentration as she sweeps her gaze over the sprawling field. Eyes skittering over the towering buildings in a speedy examination.

And then her eyes fall to you, alarm leeching the color from her sharp face. She quickly lowers her gun and bunches her stiff shoulders. "Are you alright?" She demands brusquely.

You nod skittishly, chest heaving with your rapid, hungry breaths. "Fine," you croak out, voice hoarse and gravelly, scraping out of your raw throat.

She nods absently, slinging her gun over her shoulder and bending down to fist the knife puncturing the man's head. She gives it a forceful, ruthless tug, his upper body heaving off the blood-blemished ground. A harrowing crimson cascades down his skull, glistening over her fingers. She yanks it out of him with a second, ardent jerk, and he slumps onto the floor, his own gore splattering repellently through the air. She surveys the blood and bits of cartilage on her blade before calmly wiping it off on her pants.

You scarcely register the disturbing scene of the Seraphite's you downed together.

Ellie's callousness must be wearing off on you. The dark pond of sudsy blood gathering around your feet ignites only a faint ripple of disgust in you; and a hint of knee-buckling relief, that you had someone so unapologetically cutthroat at your defense.

She offers you a steady hand and you take it. She hauls you to your feet, and you waver, your grip unabashed and bruise inciting. "Are you okay?" You ask attentively, a tremor underlying your tinny voice as you eye her top to bottom.

On the exterior, she's untouched by harm, and the relief that floods you is instantaneous.

"I am if you are," she says with a dim smile, surveying you for injury in turn. "We should get the fuck out of here, though. You sure you're good?"

"I'm fine," you offer a meek, hopefully reassuring smile back, unhanding her. You clear your throat and discard your broken, useless shiv on the floor, your breathing evening out. "Lead the way, my noble Knight," you tease with a shaky grin.

She rolls her eyes with affection and mimics a flourishing bow. "Yes, my Queen," she snorts, before pivoting away, heedlessly overstepping the dead body of your attacker and trudging for the opening she'd been guarding, her backpack already slung over her shoulder.

Your scratchy, cackling laugh scorches your throat, but you stifle the dizzying pain, her responding laugh, breathy and chittering, making the hurt worth it.

It was the sweetest thing you have ever heard. So light and natural and opposing to the violence she had wielded mere minutes ago to protect you.

As you trail after her, trusting her direction without question, you think you'd let her be as mean to you as she needed to be if you could hear her laugh like that again.

Which may be the scariest thing of all.

• • •

ELLIE

Her resolve was dissipating through her fingers. Now particles, everything she fought for was reduced to inconceivable dust, streaking through the wind, escaping her clutches.

She had destroyed versions of herself, tapered off past selves, trimmed and manufactured herself into this precarious thing that she was now.

A shell, filled by a need to take back all that had been stolen; a vessel for her grief and anger. She felt like she lived and breathed the horror that clung to her insides, fermented and congealed, taloned rage clawing it's way out of her with every step she took closer and closer to reclaiming the vengeance she was owed; the debt that was due.

But now the calamity in her mind has quieted. Her pain felt distant and hushed; it watched and whispered. She was never truly liberated from it. Only when she's with you does she feel that boulder lift, that bone-crushing mass of misery eased off her soul. But it's hearty weight lingers phantomly, etching itself into her bones.

She glances at you through the waning firelight, your thoughtful expression dim in the flickering amber glow. Your eyebrows are skewered, lips pursed, eyes indulgently roving over the pages of the tattered book splayed across your lap.

She had no idea how you found the room to store useless objects. From your brothers stuffed childhood bear, a chunky, faded hot-pink cassette player, to a couple weathered, worm-eaten books, you seemed to carry only your indulgences.

When she was fourteen, her backpack was similar. It overflowed with graphic novels and worthless trinkets. Joel had everything they needed, carrying double his weight in supplies. Despite everything she'd seen, despite everything he did, he gave her a simple life. One she could not envision herself pursuing ever again, without him there to urge her on.

She wonders if your brother was that guiding light for you, too, a match in the dark, as Joel had been for her.

She looks at you, and she wonders if you have ever truly been alone.

You perform with a buoyancy and easiness she cannot replicate. Either you have never known suffering at all, a portrait of innocence under a brush of death; or you knew it too well, with an intimacy that left you unblinking and acclimated to its sharp edges. When it tried to cut through you, it's relentless knifing was fruitless, it's slashes meeting metal, sliding off the shine of your armor.

Do you even know it's there? That even though you are not brutal and unforgiving— as she herself had become— remaining steady and balanced under the ruthless beat of the worlds bitter drum was a shield in itself?

She both admires and envies your ability to let it all roll off your back as it's hurled at you.

"What?" You drawl at her notably indiscreet examination, amusement seeping into your tone like liquid gold, eyes unstraying from the pages— though she can see, even from the distance that separates you, that your eyes are bright and swimming with it.

For months now, she has locked her feelings down, imprisoned them behind walls of adamant, impenetrable steel. Had deliberately tailored a mask that would keep them from slipping through.

And then there's you. Feeling unabashedly and unapologetically and, unknowingly letting her know she can do it, too. That you see the wounds that gauge her soul and do not flinch at the sight of blood. That you see the hurt that shines in her eyes and do not pity the tortured girl, but embrace the wrath of the killer that torture had birthed.

Being understood was once something she ached for. But now that someone is starting to understand her, to see through the defenses she constructed, she is afraid. She is terrified of being seen, of being known.

Almost as much as she fears being alone.

She is facing that fear day by day, and it is just as fucking scary as she anticipated.

She was cripplingly alone, and she felt the aftershocks of it belting through her. She's a lost, untethered soul, searching for its other end, though the thread had severed and all that remained was remnants of fragmented, disjointed memories, and rippling regrets that would never be ironed out.

She has nothing to return to; no home, no person. Instead, she keeps coming back to that hollowness inside, where the grief is stored, and fed to the flames of rage that blaze there. It is the only consistency she knows now. Even you are not a promised thing. Not when you had a brother somewhere out there waiting for you.

And not when she had a list of lives to end.

You are not enough to mend the gaping hole inside of her; you will never match the shape of that gauge. No one will. No one can replace the things he taught her, gave her.

But at least now... when she lays her head to rest, there's a beaming voice, illuminating the shadow-shrouded void of her mind. Beckoning her toward the light.

And it's yours.

She fights the darkness. Wrestles out of its restraints— the guilt and sorrow that anchors her down— and runs to that voice, desperate for the sun.

But the darkness always seems to win in the end.

"Ellie?"

Your soft, tentative voice lulls her out of her clouded thoughts, and she averts her gaze from the fire to look at you. She blinks the dark specks away and discerns your earnest face. Your attention is honed in on her now, the book dog-eared and closed in your lap, head tilted inquisitively. "Where'd you go?" You ask quietly, your voice a whisper under the crackling embers.

She feels her head shaking before she even forms a response. "Nothing. Nowhere," she insists, blinking rapidly, stroking a spectral scar on her forehead. "I'm just tired. How's your book?" She urges casually, craning her head back and resting it on the tree stump of the sprawling oak behind her, studying you.

A big, unadulterated grin contorts your face. Your cheeks dimple, smiling teeth luminous in the firelight. Her heart skips a beat at the mirth glimmering in your eyes. "So good. It's my favorite. I've read it six times," you chuckle at the look of disbelief that slips through the cracks of her facade and continue, "My mom used to read it to my brother and I a lot when we were kids."

She nods, plucking the grime out of her fingernails, swiping her tongue over her teeth. She glances down at her hand to conceal the warmth rising to her cheeks at the sight of your infectious smile. There is no other way to describe it; it is debilitating, impossible not to mirror.

"What's it about?" She murmurs, ducking her head, her emerging smile evident in her tone. She hopes the shadows eclipse her face from your view.

"Oh, it's just a collection of fables," you sigh contently, wistfully, reclining back, clutching the fraying book endearingly to your chest. You sway your knees back and forth, feet planted to the ground, peering up at the star-speckled sky before tilting your head to face her. "Do you like to read at all?"

Ellie yawns gingerly, extending her legs out in front of her, staring down at her muddy, threadbare Converse. "I used to read comics. There was this series I collected... Savage Starlight?" She winces as she pronounces the humiliating name.

Your responding gasp is so sudden, an animal audibly skitters through the weeds. You lurch up in astonishment, wisps of staticky hair fanning around your shocked face. "Wait, really? My brother loved those!"

Ellie laughs, and you visibly loosen at the sound. She pretends not to notice. Just as she pretends not to feel the warmth budding and blooming in her chest, a sprout of something gentle taking root in her heart.

"Yes," she huffs out, rewarding you a vague smile. You were the only thing that made her feel like she could smile anymore. "I read them all. Probably more than 6 times, actually. So. I got you beat."

"Pfft," you bat a hand of dismissal, rolling your eyes playfully, laying back down— resting your head on a smooth, upturned rock, leisurely prying your book back open. "Does looking at pictures even count as reading?"

"Comics have words!" Ellie protests defensively, straightening.

Your boisterous laugh echoes through the dense forestry, booming out of you, as you drop the book and cradle your stomach, rolling over with the force of your guttural laughter. "You are so easy to rile up!" You cackle tearily, wiping your eyes.

Ellie snickers. "You're an ass," she chides, laughter bubbling in her chest, threatening to escape her sealed lips. She threads her fingers through her unruly hair, sweeping the russet strands out of her face. You jeeringly stick your tongue out at her, and she flips you off, earning her another one of your exuberant laughs.

"Read your book," she scolds with a raspy chuckle of her own, pointing at the now discarded fables. She rummages through her backpack, the sound of your stifled giggling following her as she fishes out her journal.

She waits a couple minutes, until you're helplessly engrossed with your novel, your brows once again pinched in concentration, before thumbing through her journal, flipping to that tarnished, browning page. Her eyes flicker over the names she memorized distastefully, that familiar anger burning bright.

Abby

Nora

Owen

Mel

Jordan

Manny

Whitney

She absently ghosts her fingers over that taunting, four-lettered name. Abby. Her throat swells with grief, searing-hot anger boiling in her stomach. The condemning red marks slashing through the names of those she already killed grant her only momentary satisfaction. It's not enough to quell the hatred the unmarked name at the top sparks within.

Nora she killed weeks ago. She let the spores smother her lungs, debilitate her of breath, ring her dry of any vitality and will to resist her tragic fate. Then she took a pipe to her head. Over and over. Just as Abby had done to Joel. Just as she would do to her.

Then she killed Nick, and Jordan, after the Wolves tailed and captured her. They beat and chained her to a counter, as if a pair of copper-rusted handcuffs would restrain her— would save them from her blinding wrath. The scar she brandished him with was rigid and pink and poorly stitched, dismantling his otherwise smooth cheek. She told him that stopping her from extracting her revenge would be futile.

Then she broke free and stabbed him persistently, with ferocious, vehement arches of her arm, until his blood had coated her face in fine beadlets and puddled in heaps that sapped her feet to the floor.

And, most recently, she killed Whitney. At the hospital, where she took you to bed and tasted every glorious inch of you, high with adrenaline, pulsating with want.

She told you she took out a few infected.

But it was only Whitney there, alone, guarding the sewage system, swaying to the boisterous music that reverberated through the concrete-walled boiler room. She slit her throat and kicked her into the murky, sludgy water. Then shot her twice just to insure that she did not inexplicably survive.

After the night you shared, a part of her was horrified of you unveiling the deplorable, merciless acts she committed. She did not know if she could face you. She slaughtered a person in cold blood and touched you with the stained hands that did it.

She left, just in case you found that bleeding body floating in the basement, and turned terrified, accusatory eyes on her. She did not know if she could bear your disdain. Or worse— you being disgusted by the harrowing life she has dedicated herself to.

Because she could not change.

She has a purpose, now.

To take everything from those fuckers. Leave them with nothing as they did her.

She's going to take and take and take. The life of Abby's friends, crushed and squandered beneath her foot. The solid foundation of security they built, ripped apart at the seams, until walls topple and plans expire— until all the Wolves are scurrying through the wastelands, tails tucked, howling for mercy.

She abandoned the safe, armed walls of Jackson for this mission. Nothing could jeopardize it; not even her captivation with you.

Fortunately, you never found Whitney's body.

She should've been relieved. But when she stumbled upon you again, in that blossoming valley, there was spite there, and for a completely different reason. One she never considered; that you were truly scathed by her abandonment. She thought you would be better off without her; better rid of the sucking parasite leeching the good out of you with each moment she spent in your presence.

"Hey, Ellie?"

She snaps the journal closed briskly, sucking in a sharp breath. She thought you had fallen asleep; you had not shifted or spoken for an impressive duration of time. Especially for you.

"Yeah," she responds groggily, scratching her head, slipping the journal back into her bag, the list temporarily forgotten. She glances up to find you gone.

She staggers straight to her feet, calling your name, her tone dripping with apprehension. "Where are you?"

"Shh," you instruct quaintly from the shadows, whispering meticulously, "Over here."

She peers through the darkness encompassing the camp you'd assembled together, trailing your voice, conveyed through the cloying, nectary wind. The warming spring breeze fetters her hair.

She deciphers your figure in the tall, swaying canary, your stature hunched and diligent. "Come here," you whisper urgently, loudly, beckoning her over fervently. She reaches for her gun but freezes when you make a noise of disapproval.

Instead, she follows your voice, curiosity and concern weighing the scale in equal measure. "What is it?" She rasps quietly, cresting your side. Your eyes are trained intently on a small, shapeless shadow, lithely prowling the weeds.

"Come here, kitty," you drawl sweetly, clucking your tongue, drumming your thigh. The small creature pauses its strides, slowly lowering itself to the ground, giving an impassive lick of its paws.

"It's a cat," you mutter to Ellie, as if she had not already gathered that.

She refrains from rolling her eyes. "I can see that. Why were you even over here to begin with?"

You pointedly disregard her, taking a heedful step forward, crouching to be level with your new feline friend. "Come here, sweet thing. Come on. It's okay," you lull in a reassuring tone, patting the ground insistently. The cat only stares at you.

You sigh, arms draped defeatedly over your knees, frowning. "Okay. Never mind. Go back, please, I think you're scaring it."

"What?" Ellie snaps, and the cat startles, bracing it's paws in the dirt, back arched. "No way. Animals love me."

"Kay, well, it was coming to me before you came over here, stepping on every single branch you could find." You argue flippantly, shooting her a glare.

"It's your fault, you're the one who called me over here, dick!" Ellie defends airily, waving her hands.

You clap a hand over your mouth to conceal your automatic chuckle. Your rumbling shoulders and escaping snorts give you away. "Okay, okay, fine," you chortle breathily, shaking your head. "God, that look on your face never gets old."

She groans out a husky laugh, falling back a few paces, propping a mocking, insulted hand over her heart. "You are evil."

You flash her a sinister, lippy smile, mischief twinkling in your eyes, before averting your focus back to the cat, who had inched closer while you argued.

"Yes, that's it. Come here, baby," you click your tongue in a series of encouraging noises, and the cat— ears perked, nose sniveling— prances over to you, as if you waved a heaping bag of treats.

You tenderly, dubiously scoop the cat into your arms. Though acutely tense, it allows you to hold it, claws hesitantly retracting from your sleeve, piercing green eyes slitted and alert. "She's hurt," you inform, scratching it's matted, furry back. You slowly ascend to your feet and nod back toward the camp, following Ellie as she begins to trudge back. "I saw her limp by and followed her over here. Do you have some more gauze?"

"For the cat?" Ellie drawls incredulously, shooting you a look over her shoulder, stepping over a cluster of unearthed roots.

"Uh, yes? She's small, it won't take much." You assert, hiking the cat up as it starts to thrash and mewl anxiously. "Please?"

She wanted to tell you no, but she found that it was impossible to form the word— especially when you were gazing at her with sheer hope, head tilted pleadingly. "Fine."

"Woohoo!" You exclaim triumphantly to the cat, softly stroking between its luminous eyes with your thumb, easing its trepidation. It whimpers, pink nose prodding your jaw, pawing at the latticed hem of your tank top. "She said thanks, El-Bell!"

"How do you know it's a she?" Ellie asks as you enter the fire-illuminated clearing, the light casting ominous, flickering shadows over the deep, towering pine trees.

You shrug, hoisting the cat by its underarms, promptly spinning it around and baring its tattered, grimy belly to Ellie. "Yeah. You were right. Girl." She concedes with a grimace.

Ellie resumes her original position as you perch cross-legged across from her, planting the knotted cat in your lap. She's coated in a sweep of sleek, midnight black fur, so sumptuous it reflects the moon's sapphire glow. Her green eyes are unnaturally bright against her dark coat, penetrating through Ellie as she unpacks her gauze.

"I'm getting it," she mumbles to it warily, and it pivots away from her with unnecessary drama, curling it's tail.

"Don't be rude," you reprimand the cat, who ignores your scolding and persistently licks her splintered paw.

"Here you go," Ellie says, tossing you the gauze and medical tape. "You better hope your little friend doesn't get hurt again. I don't have enough supplies to fix her boo-boos."

She swears the cat fucking glares at her, before curiously, reluctantly sniffing at the gauze.

You must have seen it, too, for you giggle smugly. "What was that about animals loving you?"

"Shut up," Ellie grumbles, leaning back, hiking her knees to her chest. Exhaustion weighs heavy on her eyelids. She surveys you, bleary-eyed, as you scoop the cat into your arms and gingerly pry the wound, a pained shriek tearing from it's tiny body.

"Shh, it's okay," you comfort genially, petting her back as you fumble with the gauze, lightly encasing her wounded paw. "See? Almost done, already."

The cat relaxes in your gentle grasp, allowing you to seal the bandage around her paw. Ellie herself is nearly lulled to sleep by the pacification in your tone— the soft, honeyed melody of consolation rolling off your tongue.

"All done," you state quietly, pressing a forbearing kiss to her nicked ear, delicately peeling her out of your lap and placing her on the ground. "Be free, little one."

The cat lingers, staring at you nearly contemplatively. She blinks slowly, languidly, before swiveling away and skittering through the craning grass, disappearing through the trees.

You watch her go with a bleak, placid smile, the wind whipping your hair. Then you turn to Ellie. "You sleep, I'll keep watch."

She opens her mouth to refute, but you slice her a cutting, silencing look. "You're actively falling asleep as we speak. I'm good. You rest. I want to read some more, anyway," you insist blithely, dusting off your pants and walking back to your previous spot.

Ellie merely mumbles a response, her head already drooping. She falls into a brisk, fitful slumber, so tenuous that the snap of a twig could send her lurching. For once, she does not dream. Visions of terror did not cleave her conscious or beat her breathless. She saw only the flicker of light through her eyelids, and the quiet fragility of her own mind.

Until a faint meow has her bursting out of her slouch, eyes darting frantically around the clearing.

The black cat has her uninjured paw primly resting on Ellie's thigh, peering up at her expectantly with eery, incandescent eyes. Upon her attention, she nimbly removes her paw and demandingly rubs her head against her leg instead, another tinny meow ringing out of her.

"She's back. And I think she wants to lay with you," you explain humorously over the pages of your book— now nearly finished.

"Oh?" She replies in bewilderment, as the cat spins and pads her feet a couple of times before nestling into her side, resting her head on her dark paws.

"Can I come lay with you?" You murmur sleepily, casting fleeting, cautious looks at her as you stow your book away. As if already bracing for the sting of her rejection.

Ellie's heart throbs perniciously in her throat; she swallows in trepidation, sweat gathering on her palms. "Yeah. Yeah, of course," she forces out, wiping them on her jeans, straightening. Even after viewing your body after dark and eating your pussy, you make her nervous as fuck.

Even more so now that she knows how good you taste. And how perfect you are. Now she's burdened the knowledge that she cradles something precious in her hands, and she could unintentionally destroy it.

"I added some wood to the fire," you announce wearily, words punctuated by tiny, bursting yawns, as you adjust your oversized corduroy jacket around your shoulders and clamber over to her, a sheepish smile transforming your fatigue-dulled face.

"Come here," Ellie finds herself muttering, mimicking your exhaustion, spreading her legs and gesturing to the grass-cushioned ground beneath her. The cat still pressed into her, undeterred by her shifting.

You crawl delicately into the space between her legs, smiling through the yawn splitting your face, drawing a yawn out of Ellie, too. "Want me to keep watch again? You need to sleep some more," you say, reclining back against her chest and comfortably situating yourself, humming richly in unsuppressed delight.

Ellie wraps her arms around your shoulders, steering you back into her embrace, resting her chin on your mussed head. The affection should not come so naturally; she should not instinctively reach for you. It's not good.

Not fucking good at all.

"No," she whispers navally into your ear, eyeing the blazing fire through the tendrils of your unbound hair, that gleam with the dwindling light. "You sleep. You didn't sleep at all last night."

You tense fragmentarily in her grasp, muscles tightening under her arms. You hesitate, before craning your head back to face her, eyes searching. "You didn't either..." you whisper heedfully, lifting a hand and resting it on her forearm, stroking soothingly.

She had suspected you heard her cries last night. Instead of the confirmation making her feel ashamed, she felt... free. You saw the depths of her despair turn inside out and you did not cower at the hideous, wretched pain she unleashed.

"I never do," she replies baldly, swaying you gently, mouth hovering near the crest of your ear. Your thumbs tenderly caress the scars garnishing her arm, your eyes fluttering blissfully, your body sinking into her warmth. "Just sleep."

The lack of resistance proves just how desperately you needed it. You are whisked into a precipitated, fragile sleep, your breathing light and measured, your frame tucked up and slumped into her chest.

Her mind wanders only briefly to the violence lurking in its dark crevices, as she watches dense tendrils of smoke arise from the tamed fire, whirling and cascading toward the abrasive, glistening night sky, polluting her view of the stars.

She fantasizes of a smoldering house; a massive fire roaring from its pits, erupting in rippling flames that smolder the caving ceiling and dissolve the weak floorboards. She imagines the sear of blistering skin and the melting screams of anguish, of those who had incinerated her heart. She envisions all the relics and archives of her past being licked up by the fire and consumed by the glaring, ravenous heat.

Then she glances down at you, your blank, unconscious face illuminated by the flickering, dim orange glow. Something inside her softens, and she knows, grievously, that she has become malleable and pliant under your molding hands.

She stares at the slumbering, unbothered cat before returning her gaze back to you.

All of her hatred seems an afterthought to what she had right in front of her.

• • •

YOU

Blood pools on the fractured pavement. Firefly laps at it ravenously, her whiskers tinged crimson. "That's disgusting," you scowl disapprovingly, snatching her off the ground. She hisses in protest, clawing aimlessly at your sleeve, eyes crazed with hunger. You tap her bloodied nose reproachfully. "Bad."

She nips at your finger and you relent with a hearty sigh, placing her back on the ground. She skitters behind the rotting carcass of a clicker, it's head blown off in odious, blossoming cordyceps, pulsating dimly in a puddle of venomous blood. It's the first of hundreds.

You lift your head and examine the carnage that laid, revoltingly and obscenely, before your squinting eyes. Dozens upon dozens of butchered infected— cleaved into indistinguishable bits, sputtering blood, gushing decayed organs and crumpled flesh— piled in the lush street.

"What the fuck happened here?" Ellie drawls with a surprising amount of disgust, eyebrows furrowed as she ascended from her crouch, kneading a clump of clotted blood between her fingers.

You gulp down the thick lump of trepidation bulging in your throat, fretfully shaking the tremor out of your hands. "Don't know. It's gnarly, though," you respond, fighting the wobble out of your tone.

Truthfully, you recognize this distinctive gore.

After your parents tore each other to bits, Zander adopted a newfound disdain for infected. Before, he humanized the restless, ungovernable creatures— sympathized with their fucked up fate, to be killed and morphed into a monster.

But after the accident, he hated them. He found impressively disturbing ways to terminate them. Eventually he founded a signature method; to slice them into pieces as your parents had done, unbidden and under the influence of the infections debilitating madness.

This was him. You know, in the deepest caverns of your soul where your joint grief was stored, that this was his doing.

Not to mention the ragged Z carved into the blistered, yellowing flesh of one of the dead runners. You kick it's gnarled, unseemly body over to hide the exhibiting brand from Ellie, curling your lip with rehearsed repulsion. "Gross," you whisper, though internally, relief swarms your nerves, cacooning your apprehension in a warm blanket.

He is alive.

And the mark signifies that he is leaving signs for you to find.

"I'm just mad they beat me to it," Ellie complains under her breath, glowering at the expanse of cadavers cloaking the broken road. She tips your chin up, extracting your lingering gaze from the reeking bodies. "You good?"

You brush her off with a forced, invigorated smile. "Yep!" you chirp, nodding robustly, side-stepping a clicker. "At least we don't have to deal with all of them. Whoever did it, we should thank. Saved us some ammo," you craft your words meticulously as not to unearth your burrowed truth.

Ellie studies you a moment before dropping her hand. "True," she eventually yields, eyes wandering to Firefly, who was attacking a cord of muscle that protruded from the gaping stomach of a dead clicker, gnawing at the tough tissue. "Get your batshit cat. We're losing daylight."

"She's a perfectly normal cat," you retort, though your rebuttal is contradicted by the face you make. You grimace as she swats at a springing cordycep, growling ferociously. "Firefly! Stop that!" You shout, snapping your fingers.

Her ears twitch, head lurching up, green eyes wide. She is deathly still. You snap again, and she darts after Ellie skittishly, following her lead.

You chance another look at the wreckage, toying with the gold wedding band dangling from your throat. It was your mother's. Zander wore your fathers matching one around his neck. You usually kept yours stowed in the pits of your backpack, but you needed that touch of home.

Ellie had lifted your hair and gently latched it around you without questions asked, a hint of understanding in her eyes. You were grateful for her silence in that moment. Usually it unnerved you when she didn't speak. But in that moment it felt like a gift as opposed to a punishment.

"Where are we heading?" You question plainly, tucking the wedding band under your shirt, the memories a wild, unleashed zoo animal, tranquilized and thrown back into its enclosure. The ring is damp with your incessant, sweaty fidgeting.

"There's a place up ahead I like to go. Thought we could rest there for the night," she replies vaguely, glancing furtively at you, then the cat, her lip curling. "I still can't believe you named that thing Firefly."

"It's a cute name," you grumble back, sweeping your sweat-glistening hair off your neck and fanning the hot skin. "You could've come up with something too, you know."

This morning, you had awoken in Ellie's arms, jovial and recharged. For the first time in months, you had an uninterrupted, rejuvenating sleep, one that added a spring to your step and an effortlessness to your trekking. The cat was curled snugly in your lap, her affectionate purrs vibrating against your legs.

Ellie was stiff-necked and ill-tempered for the better half of the day, massaging the tension out of her shoulders and grumbling her responses.

"What should we name her?" You had asked, sprawled on your back, hefting the cat into the air as if she were a wailing baby in desperate need of motion and entertainment.

"Dramatic?" Ellie had quipped dully, and you rolled your eyes skyward.

"What about... oh!" You jerked upright in excitement, still cradling the cat in your arms. "Firefly."

An indecipherable emotion passed over her, tension lining the contours of her face. A hint of contempt glimmered in her eyes, and it felt like she was glaring down her nose at you, judging you like God weigh's pupils of sin, even as she sat at your eye-level. "Don't tell me you believe in that Firefly bullshit, too?"

Her reaction both intrigued and befuddled you. You possessed minimal knowledge on the Fireflies beyond the basics— that they were a reformed militia group that was majorly massacred by a man, who resulted in the death of Abby's father— and that she recruited a few friends to go after said man.

And someone was hunting them down for his murder. You had lost Nora and Jordan to the spiteful hands of his avenger; which is the only bright side to being excluded and shunned from Abby's circle— you were not involved in the man's murder, meaning you will not be involved in whatever vengeance they earned themselves.

Every now and then, back at the base, they get a few former Fireflie's filing in to join the Wolve's. Isaac— the focal overseer and governor of the WLF— was wary of stragglers that claimed past allegiances to the Fireflies, but welcomed them anyway, if they guaranteed to defend the base and protect his established citizens, as you and Zander pledged to do.

"No. Not at all. All of those stupid groups are bullshit," you agreed ardently, shaking your head in aversion, stroking Firefly's tummy. "I meant the actual insect, fireflie's. I just think they are so pretty at night. And I swear I could see the moon reflecting off her. Just seemed fitting."

Ellie had paused the sharpening of her blade. She analyzed you in the dewy, clouded sunlight, combating the interest off her face. But it flashed too late for her to conceal; her eyes lit up. "What other groups do you know about?" She asked carefully.

You shrugged, feigning indifference. "Like the Seraphites," you hummed, finger-combing Firefly's shiny black coat. "And I've seen another group around here. But I think they were just travelers."

Ellie said nothing, resuming her survey of her switchblade. She polished it with a tattered cloth and studied it, and that was that, the subject abandoned.

Now, Ellie snorts, peeling back a looming, overgrown branch to allow you passage. "Nah. That's your cat." She says as you saunter by, even as the cat pads after her, nose tipped to the air, breathing in the sent of damp soil, heady rot and the faint, sweet traces of a budding spring.

You trudge along the rocky, uneven path, bricks and shattered molasses-brown beer bottles specking the dirt, holding hope tight to your chest.

After stumbling upon Zander's mess, all the worry you harbored for your brother had ebbed away. He's alive. You hope the others are, too.

Even if you are not amicable with a large number of his group, a couple of them treated you fairly. Whitney was the closest thing to a friend you had there; she always tracked you down in the mess hall and shared her lunch. She even alternated her watch-shifts with Manny to join you on yours when she could, and shared her access card to the armory to practice shooting with you.

When you had first arrived, you scarcely knew how to use anything beyond a hand-gun. She trained you on a variety of firearms when your free time corresponded; you owe the new capabilities that kept you alive on this expedition to Whitney. She was the only one who never made you feel bad about it. She simply demonstrated for you without comment or judgement.

You hope whoever was sent to retrieve you— if anyone at all— was safe. Though, considering that Isaac didn't even send out a search party for Owen when he went missing, you doubt that he would gamble the life of his prized soldiers just to find a meaningless girl who was bullied and deluded out of his faction.

Clearly it did not stop Zander from looking for you, if the mutilated bodies of those infected were any indication. It could not be a coincidence. You know it was him. You just know it.

A strange part of you just hopes he doesn't find you yet. You have an intuitive, twisting suspicion churning in your gut, that this tenuous thing between you and Ellie will snap if anyone, or anything disrupts it.

You have a feeling that in finding him, you'll lose her. And you don't know what that means. You don't know where you're supposed to go from here; but you know that you can't just let her go.

With that, you saunter up to Ellie and flash her a winning, mindless smile, slithering your hand snugly into her back pocket. She tugs you flush into her side with a finger curled in your belt loop, and you stumble into her with a stunned laugh, Firelfy at your heels. You wish things could stay this easy.

You look at her and find strength beyond what had been forced upon you— a strength to fight for a better future.

• • •

Tangled, warm white Christmas lights dimly illuminate the abandoned teen-girls bedroom. Peeling posters are plastered to the walls, fraying with age and weathered by earth's course battering. A threadbare beanbag chair collected dust in the corner, the once vibrant purple now grimy and muted with time. Cobwebs edge the corners of the room in a luminous sprawl, their thick tendrils sparkling under the light.

You could see why Ellie found comfort in this place.

A black rack of CD's lined the desk, where the residue of ripped and prodded band stickers marred the refined oak. A thick coating of dust blanketed the surface. Your eyes flicker from the impressive album collection to the hot-pink poster board taped haphazardly to the closet with leopard print duct tape. Emboldened words scrawled in bright marker and glitter gel pens jut out in bubbled letters— MAISIE'S SUMMER BUCKET LIST 2003!

You avert your attention back to the desk, and the stack of mussed, tattered sketchbooks. The black covers are stained with charcoal and splotches of solidified paint, pages scattered. You rummage through one idly, thumbing through the doodles that range from gleaming sunrises to descriptive depictions of infected in a variety of stages, flowers blooming from their skulls instead of cordyceps.

You hum, grazing your pinkie over the elaborate drawings. "Have you seen these? They're..." you trail off in bewilderment when you glance up at what had captured Ellie's attention.

The dead body of a fallen solider.

Ripped camo dangled in tattered strips from the skeletal frame slumped against the unhinged door. It's jaw was missing, baring decaying teeth. Flies rattled in its hollow skull and buzzed busily about its frame. Ellie crouches and examines the chain enveloping it's neck. "They were a firefly," she informs you bleakly from over her shoulder, smoothing a thumb over the raised design etched into the pendant.

She rips it off it's neck sharply, and an involuntary screech bursts out of you when the head rolls off the body with a sickening crunch, thudding to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. Ellie watched it fall with disinterest, holding the necklace up to you. "We should put it on your cat," she says, glaring pointedly at Firefly, who nestled herself into the bean bag and chewed on something dead she scoured, tail waving lethargically.

"Go ahead. I'd wait until she's done eating, though, or else she might maul you."

She releases a long-suffering sigh but ascends from her crouch, jingling the pendant tauntingly in your face, eyebrows raised. You laugh as she pursues Firefly with rightful caution. Her deliberate movements do not stop the cat from freezing and glowering at her, dark fur elevating.

"It's okay," Ellie drawls with no conviction. "Relax, dude."

Firefly makes to dart away, but Ellie swiftly wrestles her into her arms, holding her firm, as she hisses and screams in protest, squirming. "Come here, little devil," she grunts out harshly, sloppily clipping the pendant around her neck. Firefly swats violently, nicking her with a razor-sharp claw.

Ellie relinquishes her grip and Firefly wastes no time scrambling away, scurrying under the half-dilapidated bed. Her brilliant green eyes flare with menace from the shadows, narrowed at her.

"The shit I do for you," Ellie clicks her tongue and brandishes the furious scratch that superficially sliced her arm.

You ignore the jest. "Should we get rid of... of..." you stutter, gesturing at the body apprehensively, shifting from foot to foot. "That?"

Ellie nods, and you follow her to where it's rotting. She carelessly scoops up the skull and chucks it out of the gaping hole in the wall, before bracing her hands on the remnants of its body, leveling you with a look. You scramble to aid her, mustering a confirming nod back.

With joint effort, you shove it over the edge of the building. You peer over the jutted lip of the bedroom; numerous stories stretched between you and the pavement. Mist gathers in a dense, ominous cloud, shielding your view of the ground below. The bones clatter and deconstruct until they're engulfed by the haze. You were so far up, you couldn't hear them break against the earth.

You glance at Ellie to find her already observing you.

"What?"

She simply shrugs and rises, dusting the loitering essence of death off her hands, changing the topic with a fluidity that came with her consistent avoidance. "We can either try to fix that bed or sleep on the floor. Take your pick."

"I don't think Firefly would appreciate it if we took away her hiding spot," you quip, and it was settled.

The day was not yet done, but you set up camp regardless. Both of you maneuver in a pleasant silence as you unbundle your sleeping bags and roll them over the stained, carpeted floor. Ellie positions hers a whopping ten feet away from yours, the distance nearly offensive. "What are you doing?" You ask in disbelief, pausing your bed-making to gawk at her, open-mouthed.

"What?" She snaps in alarm, glancing around, looking for tangible evidence of her misdeed.

You point at her bed roll incredulously. "Why are you so far from me?"

She tenses and flicks her gaze away, her bag sliding off her shoulder and to the floor with a hefty thud. "I didn't want to assume you'd want to sleep by me."

You blink fervently. "Ellie."

She watches uncertainly as you punctuate her name and drag her sleeping bag next to yours, until they're close to overlapping. "You literally had your tongue inside of me. Stop being weird all of a sudden."

She visibly reddens, a vicious blush blotching her cheeks. You open your mouth to continue, adrenaline coursing through your veins, when she charges at you and cups a silencing hand over your mouth, a pained smirk tugging at her lips. "Just stop!" She hisses, her lips a wobbling line as she resists a grin of her own.

You chuckle and stumble back, licking her palm. She blanches and releases you, wiping her spit-damp hand on her jeans, her sudden movement sending you plummeting to the floor. You drag her down with you, your breathy laughs mingling as you collapse in a tangle of limbs onto the sea of slippery blankets.

You both burst into another fit of laughter when Firefly growls at all the commotion. She pads out into the foyer, swaying her tail with sass.

"Do you ever shut up?" Ellie mutters lowly, laughter clinging onto every lulled syllable, as she props herself on an elbow and gazes down at you, running a finger over your bottom lip.

You smile, and she traces the shape of it.

"Do you want me to?" You whisper humorously, and her thumb joins her finger in its exploration of the curves of your face, stroking your cheek with an unlikely tenderness that had the power to undo you.

"Never," she mumbles back, applying a chaste, shapeless kiss to the corner of your mouth. It's not enough. She deigns to pull away but you sling an arm over the back of her neck and hold her in place, lips seeking hers with repressed fervor.

She groans into your mouth, the decadent sound rumbling through you, alighting a glimmering need within. You increase the speed and intensity of the kiss— her noises an invitation for more— and propel yourself up with a hand plastered unsteadily to the floor, combing your fingers through her hair with the other.

Her hand rests on your throat, the pressure existent but not imposing, as she guides you into a languorous dance with your tongues. You buck your hips up to sate the craving for pressure and she slips a hand down to your waist, guiding you up and into her.

"I want you for real this time," she blurts breathlessly, words blasting into your tingling, swollen lips. Her eyes are teeming with earnest, pupils so dilated with lechery, they reflect you, doe-eyed and wanting. "No interruptions. I don't fucking care what it is... I'm not going to stop." She utters the words with quivering determination, fumbling with the button of your jeans.

You desperately nod your assent, arching up to assist her in removing your jeans. She brushes fluttery kisses to your exposed midriff where your tank top had ridden up, hurriedly tugging your jeans down, until they pooled at your ankles. She shucks them over your cowboy boots and hurls them to the side.

Your heart hammers with anticipation, core throbbing at the sight of her absolutely unraveled with yearning. Ever since that night in the hospital, you've wanted more. Needed more. You were just as fucked up by your need for her. It consumed you, ate you from the inside out, until all that was left was a thirst that could not be quenched without her hands on you.

"Fuck me, Ellie," you demand hoarsely, winding your hands up her thighs and shakily unbuttoning her jeans as she looms over you. She arches back and unabashedly shreds off her shirt as you hike down her jeans, unveiling small, supple breasts and hard, tantalizing nipples.

You kiss up her pelvis, across her toned, bruised abdomen and to her sternum, licking a slow stripe over one of her nipples and swirling it on your way up, eyes trained on hers lasciviously. You nip and suckle at a spot on her neck and she cranes her head back, hiccuping a sharp cry. She pants and lulls her head as you kiss and nibble the bared column of her throat, her hands roaming up the front of your body, palming your tits through your shirt.

She lifts herself off of you momentarily to kick off her jeans over her Converse, discarding them quickly, before she's back on top of you.

She's framed by the dying daylight penetrating the gaping hole behind her, her eyes flickering over you hungrily. She glides her hands under the hem of your tank top and yanks it over your head, tousling your hair, rejected with all the other articles of scattered clothing.

She pries your legs apart forcefully, and you squeak, as she pulls you closer to her. "How do you want it?" She croons gravelly, voice rich with heady desire, eyes honed in on your face with predatory focus. As if she could take every hint of pleasure you show and have it for herself. She straddles your pelvis and slowly, faintly swipes her pussy over yours, your clit throbbing at the contact. "Like this?"

She cradles your leg in her arm and drags her pussy across yours again, this time with more force. You bite your lip to suppress a whimper at the delicious sensation. "Or do you want me to really fuck you?" She thrusts against you hard for emphasis and you choke back a stunned moan, jerking.

"Yes," you breathe carnally, hair fanning around your head, mouth agape— all subtly gone with the wind that billowed through the room and cooled your slick skin.

"Yes, what? Use your words," she demands, hand encasing your throat, rocking into you with that same jarring force, another moan escaping you.

"Fuck me," you pant, nearly drooling, the husk of her words a fuel to the kindling that was her pussy moving against yours, "Please just fuck me. I need you, Ellie."

She smirks haughtily, wicked satisfaction gleaming in her blue eyes. "That's my girl," she praises knowingly, leaning down until her mouth brushes your panties. She sinks her teeth into them and tears them straight off your body, her hand never abandoning its anchoring hold on your throat. The movement was so effortless you could feel yourself dripping, the duality of this woman stupefying you.

How she could go from awkward at your flirting, to claiming your body as if it were a land she possessed and ruled in the matter of minutes.

You whimper unintelligible nonsense, unable to form coherent words to convey your debilitating need. Wanting her feels as natural and essential as breathing. Explaining it is nowhere near as simple.

She removes herself from you just to slide her own panties off, repositioning herself between your legs, holding your leg to her chest. She offers no warning before she grinds her bare, wet pussy into yours, the skin on skin making tingles of pleasure erupt through your core.

It was nearly too much.

You emit a shuddering moan and arch your back as she returns her calloused hand to your throat and slams into you, rolling her hips, your clits rubbing and chafing. "That's it. Fuck," she hisses out, her tattooed arm stark against your thigh as she hoists it to her, using it to drive into you with fierce precision, your pussy's slapping together stickily.

"Oh my fucking god," you mewl dumbly, tits bouncing, as she angles her hips and relentlessly drives her pelvis into yours, her breaths clipped and high-pitched. You undulate your hips and grind up into her, meeting the ferocity of her thrusts, your juices coinciding and glistening on your thighs. "Ellie."

"Fuck, yeah," she pants blissfully, peering down at you. "You feel so good."

She leans over you, slapping a hand next to your head, folding your leg up to your chest, the position allowing for better movement. She grinds into you from the new angle, your clits gliding and throbbing, and you feel yourself ascending higher and higher, toward that peak you nearly met the other night, at the hospital.

She fucks you nearly senseless, your frame wracking with her thrusts. She burrows her face into the crook of your neck, hot breath ghosting your skin, tiny grunts departing her lips. She grazes her teeth over the flesh and you shudder, her hand that was planted to the floor snaking up and finding yours, interlocking your fingers.

"I'm gonna cum," you whimper into her mussed hair, writhing beneath her, choppily grinding up, your muscles tight. You use the hand that's not intertwined with hers to fist her hair and reer her head back, until your faces are level, gazes locked. Both of you are heavy-lidded and pupil-blown, her eyes brimming with that same pleasure that was mounting in you.

"Cum with me," she orders breathily, your noses compressing, and on demand your body convulses and a blinding white light shreds through your vision, an uncontrolled moan belting out of you as she continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

"Fuck," she groans without restraint as your pussy's squelch, a cry leaving her as she reaches her own peak, her eyebrows furrowed, a dimple surfacing between her brow. She breathes into your open mouth, and you claim it as your own, granting her fleeting kisses through the aftermath.

Not a single thought filters through your head. Nothing beyond her drenched pussy, resting dormant upon your slick thigh, and her lips eloping with yours. You don't even know where to begin when it comes to processing the unprecedented feeling that roared throughout your body, or the swelling off your heart.

Neither of you say a word, your harsh, heavy breathing mingled and protruding the silence. Ellie peels herself off of you, her legs shaking as she thuds to the sleeping bag adjacent to you, her damp forehead pressed into your bare shoulder. She peppers a few kisses over it before falling back, expelling a deep, contented sigh.

You angle your head to face her, a dazed grin splitting your face. "What. The. Fuck. You've been holding out on me," you muse dreamily, playfully swatting at her.

She snickers huskily, scratching her head, propping it on an elbow. Her bare chest glistens and heaves with her labored breaths, as she reaches under the broken bed and slips out a shoebox. She dumps the contents out on her abdomen— a packet of finely minced weed, rolling sheets, a mini box of matches and one pre-rolled joint. "You smoke?"

"I have. Don't do it much though," you admit with a sheepish chuckle, watching her. She licks the length of the joint to insure its sealed before slipping it between her lips and lighting a match, bringing it to the tip. She waves out the tiny flame once smoke billows from the end, taking a measured, steady drawl.

She closes her eyes briefly at the sensation before passing it to you. Her lips quirk as you survey it dubiously before holding it hesitantly to your mouth, sucking in. Her smirk morphs into a resounding laugh when you sputter out a choppy haze of smoke, a profound burn blistering your lungs.

"That shits gross," you cough gutturally, passing it back, batting the swirling smoke out of the air. "You keep that stuff here?"

"No," she responds, smirking, inhaling another graceful heap of smoke. Exhaling slowly. You watch her watch the tendrils churn through the otherwise still air. "It was here when I found this place. Whoever lived here before was stashing it," she glances to the summer bucket list, "Maisie was a stone-er." She chides, flicking the ashes off and taking another hit.

She is noticeably put at ease. Her muscles are relaxed, and her smiles form innately and without dictation. As if all her worries have been laid to rest, now that she got to feel you.

It had the opposite affect on you.

The dark, possessive thoughts that have been circulating your mind like vultures preying on rotting roadkill did not flea at the taste of her.

All it did was amplify your morbid longing.

You snuggle into her embrace and rest your head against her drumming sternum, entangling your sweat-glowing legs together, fusing your bodies. She holds the joint to your lips and you take a drag, careful not to invoke another coughing fit, and she takes one after you, blowing precise, opaque O's with the smoke. She gently runs her fingertips up and down the length of your arm, clutching you to her.

"Can we do it again?" You blurt, angling your head up to face her, and she pauses her stroking. She says nothing as her hand winds down your arm, coasts over your hip, and creeps between your legs.

You suck in a breath when two fingers collect the wetness pooling at your entrance and drag your slick to your clit, rubbing delicately, the feather-light application of pressure evoking a whimper out of you. You squirm and rock into her hand, and she chuckles on a weed-laced breath, "Mm. You want me to fuck you again?"

You nod frantically as she works your pussy with her fingers. She sits up suddenly, taking you with her, until your spread in her lap. She holds the joint between her lips as she uses one hand to palm your breast and the other to expertly thumb your clit, smoke coiling from her nostrils. "Needy fucking girl," her approving groan is muffled by the joint, as she inches her fingers down your wet folds, teasing your entrance. "You want my fingers again?"

"Please," you whine, as reeking smoke tickles your earlobe and wafts into your face, the hand that wasn't easing fingers into your cunt slithering down to keep one of your legs spread, curling around your thigh, kneading and caressing, the joint between her massaging fingers.

You reach back to feather your fingers through her hair, riding her hand, breathy gasps escaping your lips. "Mhm. Good girl," she praises gravelly into your ear, curling her digits inside of you, stroking that sweet spot.

You tug helplessly on her hair and crash your head back onto her shoulder, arching desperately as she makes you cum for the second time, this time drenching her rough fingers.

She doesn't stop there. She maneuvers you out of her lap and sprawls you onto the bed roll, your legs spread, pussy gleaming and sated before her devouring eyes. She braces your thighs in her arms, takes a hit, and exhales onto your clenching pussy, the faint gust stimulating your throbbing clit. You moan and attempt to inch away, but she pins you down and eats you stupid, until her chin is dribbling with your juices, her sardonic smile highlighted by the cum glistening on her lips.

After she was done, she unburried herself from your legs and licked the juices off her lips, eyeing you sensually. She acted as if she were about to go right back down, when Firefly began scratching at the door insistently, meowing manically. Both of you redressed, hefting your tops and underwear back on.

You let the cat in and enveloped yourself in the near-translucent, cotton sheets, observing her as she tiptoes in, sniffing the air. She follows the scent to the crumpled joint on the floor, nosing it curiously. Ellie clicks her tongue in reprimand and tosses it over the side of the building before she tries to eat it. The last thing you needed was a high cat.

After discarding the joint, Ellie plops down on the hazardous edge, swinging her legs. She looks at you from over her bruised shoulder. "Come on," she urges, patting the space next to her.

You oblige, the sheet trailing you as you wander over to her. She takes your hand as you gingerly lower yourself beside her, effortfully prying your gaze from the dizzying height.

The mist had cleared with the days dissipating humidity, revealing the enchanting sweep of ocean that spread before you, dark waves emphasizing the curve of the earth. The sun gleams amber like a glass of whiskey caught in the light, painting the clouds a mass of colors, descending toward the seam of sky and sea.

You avert your attention back to Ellie. Her eyes are sealed, brown lashes fluttering with the breeze, tawny hair cascading with the salt-tinged wind. Her freckles are emphasized by the golden, showering glow, gilding her features. You sit on your hands to keep yourself from tracing them.

Firefly inches over, perching next to you, her green eyes mirroring the setting sun. You close your eyes and drop your head onto Ellie's shoulder, wrapping the sheet around her.

There's a prolonged beat.

And then she tilts her head and rests it on yours, hand gripping your thigh proprietarily. You don't even hesitate. You slide your hand over hers and stroke the bruises blossoming on her knuckles, smiling to yourself.

taglist: @elliesexual @jottedinklings @a-little-bit-of-everybody … let me know if you want to be tagged for updates

[yandere-fics]

♡ Selene Finds Lamb Darling Injured In The Forest ♡

Selene had to be honest, she didn't like hybrids, for the simple fact they got injured so often, it hurt her eyes to look at them knowing that they were likely not going to live a long safe life, most wound up with some sort of injury by adulthood just because they had triggered a wolves instincts and gotten bit and sure the wolf always managed to come back to their senses, realizing they were biting a person and not an animal like they thought but that still left the hybrid injured, most of those unfortunates went to the city afterwards, hiding themselves away, growing an intense fear of werewolves and forests. The gods were truly cruel to give her, the biggest and scariest of the werewolves, who lived surrounded by forest for miles, a poor injured lamb hybrid for a darling. Her first instinct when she saw you was to tear your attackers to shreds but they were no where to be seen when she found you slumped against a tree, likely they'd attacked you outside her territory and had backed off when they saw you going into her territory, not wanting to incur her wrath, sadly even if she did know where your attacker was, she had much more pressing matters like calling the temple to her mate to her house to treat your leg which looked mangled beyond repair, likely would need to be amputated though she didn't say that to you as she carried you to her house, trembling against her, you were already so frightened and she didn't want to make it any worse by mentioning your leg even though it scared her somewhat but you could get gravely ill or infected from it and they would not be able to save you, she'd have to kill every remaining god if they gave her her mate just for you to die in her house.

You sat incredibly still even as the mangled limb was hacked off, likely scared that now you had five werewolves around you and were trapped in a house that reeked of werewolf, with no way to escape for miles if things got violent, not that you could escape easily missing a leg now. Selene didn't know how to approach you for the first days you were in her house, giving you the meds that the temple gave her, often having to force them in your mouth with a kiss to get you to take them, though you did learn just to take them on your own after she kissed you a couple times to force it to happen. You never allowed her to hold you, even at night your instincts were to push the werewolf away, your fear was completely overwriting the mating bond that should have made you relax and curl up in her arms. It wasn't like she could do anything to make you fear her less other than weight though, she knew her voice was deep and growly, terrifying to you and the usual werewolf courting methods wouldn't work because you would likely faint if she brought home a deer for you so she just had to grit her teeth and bear knowing her mate hated her. Even though she knew you were scared it didn't mean she was going to let you go, she still held you every chance she could even though she could feel you stiffen in her arms, still marked you even though you let out a bleat in response, trying to push her away, still made you kiss her before bedtime, sometimes trying to grab your arm so you could feel how hard she was for you, so you might start to realize you were her mate, not her food. She even hunted down the bastard who attacked you and killed them in front of you to show she didn't approve of their actions. Didn't help in the slightest though.

Leading to you trying to escape her house just a couple months after she finally got you, her finding you crawling on the ground outside, unable to get far because of the missing leg situation, it was then she had to put her foot down.

"Lamb, I've done my best to be forgiving for your attempts to push me away, I believe it's your turn to forgive me for scaring you." You said nothing to her, you rarely spoke but your ears were folded down like you were submitting to her words which she grinned at. "Good, then it's time I mate you tonight."

Your head darted up in alarm but when you saw her smile you knew she wasn't going to take no for an answer and just rolled over so you could present for her. She just hoped after this you'd be a bit less scared of her.

[junkdrawerfics]

Swan Sisters (Part 2)

Part 1

Jasper Whitlock x Reader + Bella Swan and Sister! Reader

Summary: An addition to the sister!reader series, where you are Bella's sister and a vampire, not that she knows. Yet. When the car accident happens, you find yourself lost in a mix of concern, lies, and familial arguments. Can you keep Bella quiet when Edward can't?

Word Count: 3645

Warnings: No? Hospitals? Sisters kind of arguing? My midnight editing attempts. Movie-based not book-based (though it hurts my soul)

Note: This one is a lot more Bella / sister!reader focused. Also, I'm realizing this will take many parts because there's so many bits I want to write from this point of view. There will likely be two more parts (at least).

@twilightlover2007 - here's part 2 <3

---

The second you hear about the car accident, everything stops.

Jasper watches you wearily from your bedroom window. He can feel the emotions pouring off of you. Concern. Dread. Fear. Each carrying the force of a violent tidal wave. But you don’t move an inch. You’re frozen in time, like a picturesque statue of pure marble. Despair captured in beauty.

“Is she okay?” You squeak as the shock slowly wears off.

“Yes…” Jasper hesitates, quietly adding, “Edward saved her.”

Edward? He saved her?

“Was he close to her when it happened?”

“...No.”

Alarm bells start ringing, flashing red lights and all. You search Jasper’s eyes, finding your panic reflected in their gold depths. No.

“So he-?”

“Yes.”

“And he-?”

A sharp nod.

Oh dear God.

“We need to go,” you declare, swiping your purse from your bed.

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can!” You flip back to him, but freeze at the stricken look on his face. 

Shame simmers under his pained expression, his eyes clouded with so much self-doubt, you wish you could just take it all away. You didn’t mean to spark that, you didn’t think about what hospitals could mean. Wounded humans. Blood. It’s too dangerous for him to go, you should have known that.

 Overwhelmed with tenderness for the blond, and a touch of guilt, you drop into the windowsill next to him.

“Sorry,” you murmur, voice soft.

You just feel so…so messy. Drawn so taut you could break. Concern filling every cell in your dead body. It wasn’t even like you said anything to hurt him, he knows that, you know that, but it still feels like you made him feel like that.

Jasper, so fully in sync with your emotions, your thoughts, gently brushes his fingers against yours before intertwining them. The gesture is so simple, so reassuring and firm, you can’t stop the shuddering breath from escaping you as you collapse into his side. His arm wraps around you tightly, as if he can hold together all your cracking pieces.

“Sorry,” you bleat again, “I just- I’m just worried, you know? We’ve finally started spending time together, and if she figures out what we are, or worse, something happens, we’ll have to leave. I’m…I’m not ready for that yet. I didn’t mean to speak carelessly.”

“It’s okay, darlin’, I understand.” Jasper’s lips brush against your forehead, his voice low and smooth, lulling your storm back to calm waters. You curl even further into his touch, humming softly. “Why don’t you go check on her, and I’ll find Alice? She might’ve seen somethin’ about all this.” 

“Thanks, Jas.” Your voice is muffled by his sweater, but the blond still hears it, and you can feel a flush of love from him, his power.

“You’re welcome, darlin’. Always.”

It’s difficult to extract yourself from the embrace. Being around Jasper when he’s in a good mood is too addictive, since his emotions usually pour over onto you, even when he doesn’t mean to. His love is like warmth, the kind that starts in your chest and spreads to every inch of your body. It’s the closest you get to feeling alive again.

But you do manage to tear yourself away eventually. Jasper, sensing your reluctance, gives you one of those slanted, teasing grins, “Can’t get enough of me, can you, darlin’?”

“Oh shush.” You scrunch your nose at him, feeling much light as you swing your legs over the windowsill. “Don’t make me regret this whole ‘forever’ thing.”

His eyes practically sparkle with mirth. “I wouldn’t think of it, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, “Go find Alice, you dummy. I need to go give Edward a serious scolding.”

“Don’t be too hard on him.”

“I know, I know.” You wave a hand dismissively. “I can’t be too mad at him. I just want to screw with him a bit, you know?”

“My mate,” Jasper hums, shaking his head amusedly.

“Count yourself lucky.” 

You duck forward, pressing a brief kiss to his lips before pushing off from the window. It’s a rainy day, the clouds thick and dark like usual, the smell of wet bark and dirt swirling through the air. The familiarity of it all eases the last of your stubborn nerves. When you spin back around, Jasper is right behind you, catching you around the waist and pulling you in for another kiss. 

“I count myself very lucky,” the vampire purrs, your noses brushing, “every day, darlin’.”

“Good, that makes the both of us.” Though you are definitely more lucky. You’ll never understand how you ended up with someone as amazing as Jasper. “Now, go talk to Alice.”

“Be careful at the hospital.”

“Will do, Major.”

You bite back a grin when Jasper shoots you a narrowed look. Before he can get another word out though, you give him a little wink and take off through the woods. 

His low laughter echoes behind you, fading into the hum of the forest.

---

You definitely shouldn’t be here, you think to yourself as you step into the hospital. The smell of blood hits you like a bruising punch to the gut, so hard that you stumble, clutching at the nearest wall for support. You can hear the pulsing heartbeat of each person in the room, the sound of blood rushing through their veins. A siren song. Taunting. Tempting. Your lips part, the smell so thick you can practically taste the warmth on your tongue.

Would their blood taste different because they're sick? 

The thought makes you pale. Disgusting. You’re disgusting. You clench your jaw, bones aching as you force yourself to be still, force your lungs to still.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)?”

Blink. Smile. Be human.

You turn to the nurse at the desk, a girl you recognize as one of your seniors from high school. Merissa? You think that’s her name. She’s looking at you with concern-steepled eyebrows, dark eyes wide.

“Hi! Yah, I’m fine,” you bite out through gritted teeth. “I’m here to see Bella? She got into a car accident.”

“Oh sure! She’s in our general treatment room, your dad just got here too.” She points to one of the sets of doors, “Right through there, I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding her.”

“Thanks!”

And thanks to her interruption, you have a little bit more control over your roving instincts, at least enough to make going into the back less intimidating. When you find your family (due to Charlie’s growling at the poor boy you can only assume was the driver in the accident), Carlisle is already taking a look at Bella.

Thank the heavens for Carlisle. The man is an absolute saint and you’ll never understand how he can spend the whole day here.

“How is she?” You appear at Charlie’s side, making both him and Bella jump.

“Where on Earth did you come from?” Charlie barks, a hand over his heart.

“Jasper told me what happened so I rushed over,” you explain quickly, turning to your sister, “He said it was a crazy accident. The truck just barely missed you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bella groans. She’s probably said that a million times by now, but it’s good to hear it from her. It’s even better to see her with your own eyes. No bruises. No blood. She is fine. Lucky for you. “It could have been a lot worse if Edward wasn’t there.”

“Edward? Your boy?” Charlie glances at Carlisle.

The older vampire looks your way, lips pulling into a thin line. A slight nod of your head, almost imperceptible, tells him that you know what happened. Bella just barely catches it.

“It’s kind of amazing he got to me so fast,” she adds on, eyes narrowed, flicking between the two of you. “He was nowhere near me.”

She must already be suspicious. Which means you have to convince her she’s wrong. Which means you need to lie. Again.

“Did you hit your head, Bells?” You plop onto the bed next to her, feigning concern to the best of your abilities. You have to resist the urge to flinch when she glares at you.

“She did,” Carlisle inputs, and Bella shifts her glare to the doctor, though he remains unphased, “No concussion, thankfully, but this kind of incident can have repercussions on the mind, so you’ll want to keep an eye on her. Now, I’m sorry to run, but I have another patient to attend to.” He gives Charlie one of his award winning smiles and steps over to the other boy. 

“I’m not a kid,” Bella all but snaps, her jaw clenching so hard you can practically hear her teeth grinding, “I’d appreciate it if everyone stopped treating me like one.”

“Hey, you’re still my kid,” Charlie retorts, “If Doctor Cullen says we need to be careful, then we will. No arguments.”

Bella just huffs, obviously not happy with the outcome of the discussion. You squeeze her shoulder, but she just shuffles off the bed, barely casting you a glance. Frowning softly, you follow them back towards the front of the hospital.

“Bells,” you start.

She doesn’t let you get far, “I know what I saw. You may not believe me, but I do.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you-”

“Then why’d you brush me aside like that?” She flips back around to you, stopping dead in the middle of the hall. You do flinch this time. The look on her face, a mix between disappointment and frustration, buried beneath a fine layer of suspicion, sends another stab of guilt through you. 

Charlie glances between the two of you, shuffling awkwardly off to the side. He looks seconds away from fleeing, and you cast him pleading glance, silently begging him to stay. Facing a cougar alone? Easy. Facing Bella’s fury on your own? Down right terrifying.

“I’m gonna go sign some paperwork,” he coughs, and you gape at him as he dashes down the hall. 

Coward!

“I thought you were supposed to have my back?” 

Don’t say that.

“I do, Bells, but you sounded crazy back there.” Each word feels like a burning coal in your mouth.

“Crazy?”

“I mean, yah.” You shrug meekly. “You make it sound like he teleported or something to get to you. It’s a bit far-fetched, you know?”

Bella purses her lips. For just a short moment, doubt clouds her expression. It gives you an inkling of hope, that maybe this can all end well. Maybe she’ll let it go and everything will just go back to normal and you can kick Edward’s butt for being so careless then thank him for saving her. Maybe-

But then her eyes fall on something, someone, behind you, and her brows set into that stubborn line all over again and your hope deflates.

“I’ll be right back. He can clear this all up.” You can't get a word in before she takes off down the hall behind you.

You spin, resisting the urge to groan when your eyes fall on Edward. He’s standing with Carlisle and Rosalie, the vampires murmuring tensely amongst themselves.

If only you’d had a few more minutes.

‘Angry human, incoming.’ You project your thoughts loud and clear.

Edward looks your ways, eyes blowing wide as he catches sight of Bella walking towards them. For a split millisecond, you can read the panic in his expression, just before the facade of composure comes crashing down. Carlisle and Rosalie seemingly disappear as Bella reaches him.

‘Good luck, Ed. You’ll need it.’

If people could sweatdrop, you’re sure you’d be seeing the emote on the vampire right now. Bella isn’t pissed, not yet at least, but one misstep and she could certainly be there. You can only imagine how Edward feels handling this. Probably like a fish out of water, since he can’t hear her thoughts. Serves him right for his impeccable timing.

You prop yourself against the wall, focusing in on their hushed conversation. You hate using your powers for this, to listen in on something that should be private, with your sister no less, but right here, right now, you just can’t afford to give her that. This involves all of you.

“How did you get over to me so fast?” Bella asks, voice much softer than when she was talking to you. 

“I was standing right next to you, Bella,” Edward corrects with an easygoing smile.

That won’t work.

“You were standing next to your car, across the lot,” Bella argues.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes. You were.”

You smile bemusedly. They’re already like an old, married couple.

Edward glares at you over Bella’s shoulder. You glance away, pretending to watch the nurses walking around.

“You hit your head, I think you’re confused.”

“I know what I saw.”

There’s no more uncertainty in her voice.

A heavy sensation settles in your chest.

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy disappointment.”

---

“Is there anything else you need?” You flutter around the room, grabbing extra blankets, pillows, making sure everything is in reach. Since Charlie had to go back to the department, it up to you to get her settled in before going to find the Cullens.

“I’m fine, (Y/n),” Bella sighs, standing in the doorway with crossed arms. “I don’t understand why I couldn’t just go back to school but Edward could.”

“Perks of having your dad as the doctor,” you chirp with a wry smile.

Bella just rolls her eyes. Stubborn girl. Only she would have a near death experience and then insist on going back to school. Most kids would jump at the chance to have the day off! You know you would.

“Anyways, I got you some water, and aspirin for if your head starts hurting - tell me if it does okay? And I can whip you up some food if you want, or order in, whatever you-”

“(Y/n).”

You cringe, stopping in the middle of fluffing one of the many pillows you brought in. Slowly, the slowest you’ve moved in a long time, you turn to glance at her over your shoulder. And the sight makes your stomach churn, a fresh wave of guilt pouring over you.

Bella’s always been brave. No matter how hard you’ve tried to get her to open up, she’s always hidden her struggles from you. So, seeing her standing there, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, arms curled around herself as if she’s trying to hide from the world, it tears the ground out from under you.

“Do you really not believe me?” Her voice is meek, so different from her usual self.

“Oh, Bells,” you sigh, reaching for her.

But Bella steps away, avoids your touch completely, and that hurts. You clench your fingers, letting your hand fall to your side. You deserve that, you guess. You’ve done nothing but avoid her this whole time. Even now, you’re only here to try and convince her she saw it wrong.

You haven’t exactly been a good sister, have you?

“You don’t.”

“I-” Your jaw clenches. What can you say? You don’t want to lie, not again, not when you know it’ll just drive this wedge further. You can’t lose her, not yet. You’re not ready.

“Well?” Bella scowls, eyes burning holes through you.

You purse your lips, quietly breathing out, “It’s not so simple, Bella.”

“What do you mean?” She takes a step towards you, and you swear you see fire burning along the edges of her figure. You take a step back, wary. “You either believe me or you don’t. What’s so difficult about that?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know.” 

You know you’re not helping. You know the answer should be simple. But so is your desire to love your sister, to keep her in your life, to not let go of one of the good things left of your human life.

“Obviously,” Bella scoffs, “Like why you’re always disappearing now? I feel like I see less of you than when I lived in Phoenix.”

“I can’t-” You cut yourself off, biting your tongue.

“Can’t what?

“I can’t talk about it,” you finish weakly.

“Why?”

“It’s not mine to talk about!”

“Why? You seem to be a part of it, whatever it is.”

“Because, Bells, it just isn’t! And you need to stop poking around it.”

“So you are hiding something.”

“Y- No!” You groan, collapsing onto the bed. “Just drop it Bella, please, for me.”

Bella just shakes her head, “I can’t.”

An abrupt silence fills the room, settling heavily over the two of you. You’re both heaving, tense with more to say but no fight left to do it. You can’t budge, and neither will she. A heavy sigh passes your lips as you drag a hand over your face.

What a mess.

The bed shifts as Bella sits next to you. You glance at her, eyes narrowed, tired, and she looks just as worn out. It’s been a long time since you’ve fought like this.

“...I’m sorry, Bells.” Your voice is quiet, pained. No response.

Seconds tick by like hours until she breaks the silence again to ask, “Can you just tell me one thing?” 

You should say it depends. The less you reveal the better, considering you definitely just made this all worse. You’ve always had a sucky poker face. But you can’t bring yourself to say it, to keep this exhausting facade up, so you just offer a slow nod.

Bella hesitates, brows synching as she scans your face, “Do I…Do I need to be worried about you in all of this?”

Irony.

At its finest.

With a melancholic smile, you shake your head, “No Bells, I’m okay. I’m happy, actually. I’m just worried about you.”

“Okay.”

And just like that, the tension drips away, leaving the two of you in a comfortable moment of acceptance. You lean against her shoulder, relief flooding you when she doesn’t lean away. Her head even falls against your shoulder, just like when you were younger. 

This is what you’ve missed.

And it’s only then, with your nose touching her hair, that you realize her scent doesn’t smell nearly as appealing to you. You hadn’t even noticed it this whole time. A tiny grin captures your lips as you shut your eyes. Finally.

“Can I ask you something?” You hum eventually.

“Depends.”

This time, you roll your eyes, “What do you think of Edward?”

Bella’s face immediately flushes a deep crimson, and that’s enough of an answer for you. Your grin turns teasing as you jostle her lightly.

“You like him, don’t you?”

She scoffs, “As if.”

But her eyes look everywhere but at you.

“You’re horrible at lying, Bells,” you giggle.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“Well, it’s just- that’s just totally insane. Edward? No, he’s like so…weird and bipolar.”

“And cute,” you chime, earning a glare from the younger Swan.

“Shut up.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“I don’t like Edward.”

“Okaaay~”

You hop to your feet and Bella barely catches herself on the bed, casting you a not too fierce glare.

“Seriously, (Y/n).”

“No, I totally believe you, Bella,” you sing as you glide to the door.

“I don’t like him.”

“Me neither.”

“(Y/n).”

You pause at the doorway, looking back at her with a wolfish grin.

“Bella.”

She’s somehow even more red, practically fuming.

“He doesn’t even like me! You saw how he acted today.” Her face falls at the memory, and you can’t help but shake your head.

To think, even after an argument, you can still have moments like this.

This is worth fighting for.

“Just give it time, Bella.” She looks up at you, and you can see in her eyes, the desperate wish for answers, answers you can’t share. Yet. “He was a jerk today, and trust me, he’ll get a whoopin’ for it, but I stand by what I said. Edward is a good guy. He just…well, he’s got a villain complex, let’s put it that way.”

The brunette snorts, a slight smile disrupting her usual cloudy expression. Good, you think proudly. Your pretty sister shouldn’t look so down, especially over a dumb vampire who doesn’t know how to handle girls, at all.

“Are you off to give him a ‘whoopin’?” Bella asks, putting the word in air quotes.

“Something like that,” you muse, slipping past the doorway. You stop just past it, thinking for just a moment before you flip back again, clinging to the frame as you lean in, “I know you’re not going to stop looking Bella, but will you please keep what happened quiet? Can you trust me on that at least?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she reassures you, and that’s enough.

You nod, “Thanks Tinkerbell.”

“(Y/n), I swear-”

“Bye!”

You’re almost down the stairs, laughing like a maniac, by the time she comes chasing after you. Even before you were a vampire, she never could match up to you in a race.

“I’ll tell Edward you said hi!” You call as you reach the door.

“Don’t you dare!”

You slam it shut behind you, taking off towards your car. Bella flings it back open, but doesn’t break past the threshold, merely glaring at you from the house. You flash her a blinding grin as you pull out of the driveway, fingers wiggling in a little wave.

Your cheeks might split from how wide you’re grinning as you race down the roads of Forks to the Cullen’s house.

Who knew things could be like this again. You never hoped in your wildest dreams that you could have this back once you changed. And now that you know it’s there, it’s possible, you can’t just let it go. No matter the storms, no matter the arguments, this is worth protecting.

Hopefully you can convince the others of it as well.

---

I love writing the sister dynamic. I don't have sisters, so I don't know if it's accurate, but this is what I'd hope my sister and I would be like.

I hope I'm balancing it all well, and I hope you guys enjoyed this part!

Part 3

[aliveinacoffin]

Deja ya de llorar

Shoto x GN! Reader

You've had a very bad day, and you're very tired, and you have a very cute husband.

little angst/very comfort, mostly fluff ^*^

The front door swung open harshly before it was more gently clicked into place. The decoration hung on the outside knocking back in protest.

You violently kicked your shoes off, not bothering to put them neatly back in their place in the shoe cubby that rested against the wall. Trying to get on with the settling down process, you went through the motions of hanging up your jacket, not noticing that you missed your mark and instead, it fell miserably to the floor.

"I'm hooome." You sighed, barely loud enough to be heard from the front door to the kitchen. You then limply tripped over the side, flopping down hard on the couch, squishing your face on the plush cushions.

There was silence in the house, no sounds of music or the TV playing. Most notably, no sound of your husband. Usually, he was out in the dining room doing papers or just otherwise bumbling around the house. Sometimes he'd meal prep or work out or even just be doing some D.I.Y project. But today, there seemed to be an absence of him. Which, wasn't a big deal, both of you were heroes, having met each other in class 1-A. Ever since you two had just been inseparable, clung together like magnets. Still, he made no mention that he would be working late.

You sighed and flipped over to your back, and took your phone out of your pocket. Lazily, you dialed his work phone and waited for him to pick up.

"This is Icy-Hot. I'm not available right now, reach either my assistant, partner, or me at a later time. I apologize for the inconvenience." The familiar one-toned voice you had gotten used to bleated back to you, and the phone beeped to leave a message. You made a confused noise before moving over to his personal phone number, the one that not many people had.

Just as the call was going to send you to voice mail, he picked up. "Hello? Is everything alright?" Shoto's voice called out to you, concern lacing his voice.

"No," You sighed, exhaustion taking over you slowly, unable for you to fight it much longer, "You weren't home and I was just making sure you were alive."

He chuckled, "Well I am don't worry. I'm on my way home soon, just another big battle in Tokyo, and you know how traffic can be." He sounded happy and content, and jealousy filled you at his ease.

"I hope it went well, and I'm glad you're safe. I love you, get home soon."

"It did, I'll tell you more at home. I love you, I'll see you soon."

The call disconnected, leaving the house in silence again. Suddenly, without even prompt or major reason, tilled filled your eyes and you were left breathless.

You were so tired, your body and mind so worn down that everything was moving too fast for you to keep up. Your eyes stung all the time, and your joints ached, body screaming in protest for running on fumes for so long.

You also had so many hard cases this month, a tsunami had hit the east, and because of the shortest of pros, you had been sent down there to mitigate the damage. The things you saw only added to the pile of horrors that kept you up at night. Lost little girls, old men torn apart, and young men crying in the middle of the street would haunt you for years to come. The paperwork and reconstruction that took weeks to finish, on top of commission work and public work, you were left beaten and bruised.

You cried yourself to sleep on the couch, too tired to change out of your civilian clothes or even move yourself to a comfortable position to find even a restful sleep.

___________________________________________

When you woke up, crusty, thirsty, and hungry, you found yourself in your shared room. Pictures of you and Shoto decorated the space, along with your different families and friends. Books, papers, and other small trinkets littered the room. When you came home after being away from a work trip, it always made your heart warm and fuzzy at your cozy living space, knowing you shared it with the person you loved the most.

You heard soft music from the downstairs, and slowly you drifted out of your bedroom. (You were also pleasantly surprised to find yourself in soft pjs.) Peeking out, a smiled crawled on your face at the sight you were blessed with.

Shoto, still in his hero outfit, was swaying softly to a soft song that you recognized, Hijo del corazón. While doing so he was making your favorite comfort meal. Both of you always had each other's comfort meals prepped and ready to go in case the others needed it.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" You said sleepily, hooded bagged eyes looking at him with ease.

Shoto turned to you, jumping a little in surprise before he completely melted under your gaze.

"Yeah, you tell me every day you love me, plus, I get a daily reminder you do every time I wash my hands." He tapped to the ring on his finger, the pale moon gem that was the centerpiece. The weight of your sun ring reminded you of both your vows, in sickness and in health.

"True, but I super love you." You walked closer to him, nuzzling against him while he kept busy.

"I love you, hard day?" He asked, and even though his eyes were on the food, you knew you had his full undivided attention.

"Hard month more like it. I'm just glad we're almost done though." You sighed, dragging your feet to grab a glass of water. Your heart filled with warmth when you saw your respective bachelor party cups.

"I'm glad, I miss you at home." Shoto said almost pouting.

"Just a little bit more recon, and a smidge more paperwork and I'm back to a normal work schedule. What about you though?" You asked, eyeing him up and down with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" He turned to you, looking at you with his own raised eyebrows while he carried the food to the table.

"You're still in your hero suit, you didn't change back at the agency." You said that the answer was the simplest thing in the work. In truth, it kinda was.

"Oh," He looked down at himself, embracement suddenly flooding his cheeks. "I was just in such a rush to get home, I guess I didn't change." He started to eat with you.

"Why the rush? I'll always make it home." Or try to, at least.

"I missed you, plus, I have a surprise." Shoto suddenly got up, walking over to the kitchen to grab a fancy-looking velvet box.

"Sho' I don't mean to break your heart, but we've already gotten married." You laughed quietly at your own joke, turning in your spot to follow him.

"No not that. I know you don't really like jewelry, but I saw it and I just had to give it to you." He had you the box gently, placing it in your awaiting hands.

You looked at him before tenderly peeling open the box, and a gasp escaped your lips when you saw what was inside.

It was a beautiful golden heart-shaped locket. The design it had was stunning, on the front was an open sort of caged design, and you could see the inside of the locket through it. Around the mini heart-shaped window was a winged sort of design with small bridges on the side. On the back were two interlocked hearts surrounded by leaves and little tiny snowflakes.

When you peeled it open, it was your guy's wedding pictures. But it wasn't one where either of you were fake smiling. Instead, it was you ugly laughing with your eyes closed and leaning toward Shoto. While he had the widest grin ever looking at you so tenderly it made tears spring to your eyes.

"Oh Sho', it's beautiful. Thank you so much, I love it." You stood up to bring him into a tight hug. He hugged you twice as hard, resting his head on your shoulder.

"Of course, I hoped you'd like it." He whispered.

"I love it, thank you so much for being here for me." You sighed into his arms, the warm embrace he protected you into would always bring you inner peace.

God you loved this man, and you knew he loved you ten times as much.

[writer-of-the-lamb]

I have another scenario for you, this time it's more angsty and serious. I've seen through the game the Bishops even after they came back to life still don't show any show of regret about the lamb kind genocide. There's not a moment when I don't think how angry Lamb would be to have the same murderers of his kind still acting like when they were Gods and having no amount of shame of what they have done. Under their eyes Lamb would show his darkest face of the lamb who lost everything. The Bishops would see the most powerful God that has existed while Narinder sees a little lamb in grief.

thank u so much for this! i adore the idea AHH

the softness in narinder after that kibd of realisation

"little lamb in grief" :(

adore it!

also merry christmas! hope you like this.

----

The firelit cult site was silent. Not a single star in the sky dared to look upon the scene before them. Roars and smashes came from inside the church, the followers unable to leave their shelters, as commanded by the lamb hours ago.

He had come from a crusade, carrying with him the material to create a statue of victory - all of the bishops had been slaughtered. However instead of a usual celebration, the lamb was eerily quiet, commanding everyone to a sleep through a ritual he promised was "for the best."

Narinder anxiously paced outside the church. The bleats from inside did not feel joyous as they usually were when the lamb happily cried to show him his latest accomplishment.

This was different. This was violent.

The cries were dark. Enraged, strong, broken.

The warm glow of red magic would flash and flicker through the double doors, causing Narinder to wince every time he turned.

He had not seen his siblings since he'd been chained and banished. Resentment was there, of course...but he had grown curious as to why they were not recruited like many other heretics the lamb had dealt with.

Narinder had nothing in his heart for them. Whether murdered or harvested, he could not care less, but alike a cat, he wondered and pried into whatever he could to discover the bishops' fate.

So here he was, listening to an outburst reminding him of the rage he had felt above after being outcast.

Narinder squeezed his eyes shut as the earth vibrated, taking a few steps closer to the door. He pressed his outstretched palm into the wood, followed by his forehead.

"Lamb." he called softly in a deep rumble.

The cries halted with heaving breaths. "What." came a low hiss from inside.

"Your temper is becoming foolish."

The doors flung open, jerking Narinder back onto the grass.

Before him, bathed in ruby light, was no lamb he had known before. Eyes red and weeping, fleece mangled with blood and rage, figure taller than his.

And behind him was a massacre.

Leshy, pinned behind camellia vine, coughed up the petals in a choked cry, whereas a dark puddle of water held Kallamar's unconscious figure. Heket, he recognised, her throat wounds stretched open to a new degree. Shamura was there too, their own web caught around their neck in what looked like an attempt at hanging.

All of them, seemingly alive, stared at Narinder with a horror and pleading gaze.

The lamb, eyes gleaming, calmed his breath. "What do you want." he demanded.

Narinder looked up at him through his brow. "You are angry." he said simply.

"He is no lamb I have known." Leshy spat, calling hoarsely.

"Because I am the only one who fought." The lamb replied, turning to him. He raised his hand, a flurry of black ichor following his palm. "And all of them will be set free when you are struck into the ground and mud from whence you ca-"

"Lamb." Narinder walked forward, ignoring Leshy's begging whimpers. "I understand." he said, eyebrows knitted in emotion foreign to him.

The lamb's gaze hardened, the ichor still swarming his arm. "You could not understand. You ordered this on me. Their souls went to you."

Narinder clenched his jaw, straining his eyes to avoid looking at the terrifyingly large amount of power inching toward him.

"Then why not kill him too." Shamura spat, coughing against the webbing. "You have had your fun with us. He was the one being fuelled by your cursed brethren."

The lamb flicked his hand, sending the ichor splattering onto Shamura, who hacked and coughed against it.

Leshy whimpered again, struggling against the vines of his own flower.

"I know why he won't kill him." came a shaking voice from Kallamar, shoving his head from the puddle he lay in. "We're immortal." he hissed. "Narinder can't die like the rest of the sheep you cared for."

Narinder's eyes flicked to the lamb's, heart sinking slowly. He touched his paw to the fleece, earning a flinch from the lamb.

"Lamb," he said again, looking into the furious red eyes, "A God can defeat everything but the past. No anger will win. Believe me, I know." he added, the bishops' eyes staring daggers to him.

"You are insane! He is no God, no lamb, that is a devil. A monster. A creature of the depths and darkne-" "HE IS A LAMB." Narinder bellowed, silencing Shamura and the others. The lamb turned to him, his eyes loosing their glow.

"He is a lamb. Like you are a spider, you a toad, you a worm and you a squid. He is not only a lamb, he is the lamb. The last." Narinder's eyes narrowed. "There is a knowing rage within oneself when your kind is erased. Why I am not punished, I do not know. But you have hurt him more than I."

Shamura growled against the webs, seething. "You are soft and weak. Predator turned prey."

The lamb stepped in front of Narinder. "Like I as prey turned predator." he whispered. "I have mercy for every follower I find, for they have never killed for evils. Righteousness some, defence some, but never evil, unlike you with my kind."

"Oh, but you are the embodiment of it, lamb. You are the evil. And we are the fear. They will soon be, too." They muttered, nodding to the church doors.

The lamb's breathing picked up once more.

Narinder clasped the lamb's hand in his own. "Leave. Leave and go to the pond, I will finish them."

The lamb's eyes softened. "For evil?" he asked, voice pained.

"No," Narinder looked deep into his eyes. "For justice. For you."

"Why?"

"I do not like to see you grieving." he whispered softly. "Whatever justice I may bring, I will try to. An apology for my own wrongdoing."

Shamura hissed, cursing at them to no avail. The lamb's body became engulfed in red magic, shrinking to his normal height, his eyes the same innocent black.

He clung to Narinder's robes, shaking.

"Do it." he begged, eyes shut.

[gingertumericlemon]

When Last We Met

@pearlypairings sent along a sweet little prompt for "crashing the party" and here we are. A stupid little bonbon for the Hellcheer crowd❤️

The captain’s quarters looked empty but by now she knew that meant nothing. Instead of rushing inside, she took her time to peer intently around the room.

The walls were lined with hide-bound books and maps to skies she did not recognize. The few spaces on the shelves not packed with texts showcased arcane curios and dazzling artifacts–few she recognized; but their intricacy and value was apparent to even those who had not traversed the Holy Seas and the Nine and Twenty sky channels besides. In stark contrast to these trophies of taste and sophistication were the instruments of murder mounted on the wall–blades and rifles frugal in design, the easier for claiming lives. Their simplicity spoke of their danger. Her starry, lavender gaze landed on the bay window framed by cobalt velvet curtains behind the wide desk (strewn about with telescopes and astrolabes and a cinnabar opium pipe) through which nothing but clouds could be seen. If she looked through, she’d see nothing but clouds until the faintest smudge of earth some 15,000 feet below. A beautiful emerald-green bird with elegant curling tailfeathers sat contentedly on a perch beside the desk, looking at her with a curious expression. Beneath her feet was a persistent but not unpleasant hum–the tell-tale sign of the pumping pistons and firing steam engines which kept this magnificent, mysterious vessel afloat above the unwitting citizens of Faerun. 

Cosette raised her wrist to her flushed lips and whispered into the little topaz token embossed with her party’s totem. “The coast is clear.” Then she tugged her blouse up. It somehow kept riding down beneath her corset. 

Luthandriel entered first, his radiant broadsword at attention as he scanned his flank for more pirates beyond those they’d already left gutted in the galley. Dumas followed, his halfling form obscured at first to Cosette by a massive globe depicting a far-off celestial landscape. He whistled in admiration as he absently strummed his zither, trailing silver sparks of enchanted music behind him. “Good taste for a barbarian,” he muttered as he pocketed an hourglass of fine dwarvish make. My’thias came last, his massive golden wings barely squeezing through the door such that he had to kind of half turn-out and scooch sideways to fit.  He wiped pirate blood from his snout with a scaly claw. “Is it here? The codex?”

The Beggar’s Mercy spread out and began to search. All except Cosette who was made to stand by the door and keep watch because she. Well. Because they all told her she was the best at it, she guessed!

She shrugged her shoulders (pale, shimmering like quartz in the light) and sighed. Somehow the top of her bodice had gotten all pulled down again amongst the hooks and stays of her corset which was brocade and the color of a new dawn. You could almost see her nipples for um Tyr’s sake! She turned her gaze downward for just a moment to adjust herself and froze. There was something cool and violent positioned at the nape of her neck. 

“You would do well,” a voice like charred and honeyed meat dripping with fat murmured into her ear, “To leave your garments as I fancy them.” 

She did not move. There was the subtle but unmistakable click of a flintlock pistol. “Should have been more thorough in your search, pet,” the voice continued. A hand–huge and calloused and covered in rings–seized her by the waist….

Weakly, Cosette bleated, “Um, guys….” Luthandriel, Dumas, and My’thias turned and groaned. 

“Did you investigate the room?” Dumas didn’t sound angry. Just deflated. Cosette blushed. “I did, I mean–I thought I did–”

My’thias flapped his wings in draconian agitation. “Passive perception isn’t the same thing, we TOLD YOU–” but Luthandriel cut him off. “The lady is new to our land and new to our laws,” he said in a lofty voice. “You would do well to extend her grace and courtesy.”

Against her neck, Cosette could feel the captain smirk. She squirmed in his incredible mighty  powerful grip but no matter how hard she fought she couldn’t break free! “Your paladin speaks sense. I’d pay him mind. Now. Let us be reasonable. We’re all men of business here.”

“You’re no businessman! You’re a murderous sky-pirate!!!!” Cosette thought that sounded pretty good!!! 

Into his fist My’thias could be heard to mutter, “Sky-pirates aren’t even high fantasy, they’re steampunk,” and dodged a caltrop aimed at his eye by the captain in return for his insolence. 

“All men have their price. What’s a pretty rogue like this trade for on terra firma these days?” The captain punctuated his query with a hot swipe of his tongue along the side of Cosette’s face. She liquidated and swooned in his grasp. The party stared in flat-eyed disbelief.

Luthandriel whispered, “Nasty.” 

Then the halfling, the paladin, and the dragonguy thing went into a huddle. 

As they conferred, the captain rumbled in her ear, “Love the corset.” Cosette frowned. “I messed up the–the spying.” He laughed and rubbed his–no she wasn’t gonna say that part!!!!!!!–himself against her. “Little one, that’s half the fun.” 

The huddle ended and Dumas stepped forward. He had an unconcerned expression on his face, like, he was actually pretending to clean his fingernails!!! 

“What use have we for such a silly rogue? She brings us nothing but misery and ill-fortune. Take her. Have your way with her. All we ask is safe passage from your quarters and use of a lifeboat.”

Cosette gasped. “You…you little WORMS!!!” She stamped her foot! What the FUCK! She’d barely even gotten to DO ANYTHING! 

The captain threw his head back and laughed, drawing Cosette ever closer against him. Her nipples were basically entirely exposed at this point, like there was some force outside her control drawing them out as if with a magnet. “I have her already within my power, halfling! You presume you have leverage? You’re lucky I don’t slit her throat where she stands.” Which, like–no. But also, like—hmmm! 

Dumas sighed. “I thought you might say that. To sweeten the deal, we’ll throw in this.” He reached into the pocket where he’d stashed the stolen hourglass except now it looked like a freaking enormous diamond which twinkled and shone just like that one in The Rescuers! Cosette gasped. There was a pause. She could feel the captain settle and consider as he stared at the diamond. She wriggled a little against him, just once, just in case he like. Forgot his hostage!! Or something! 

The captain tilted his head which she knew because the plume from  his hat tickled her face. “That’s a fine stone, halfling. What’s to stop me from taking it from your cold fingers right now?”

Dumas tried to stand a little taller. “It’s four against one, Dreadnought.” Cosette felt a pink sweet thing uncurl in her chest at being included as one of the four. She should have known! Good old Dumas! The captain made a faux-thoughtful noise. “You’re right. Seems hardly fair.” And he snapped his fingers and three sky-pirates rushed into the room!

Foul and heartless they were, these pirates, with not one wink of compassion gleaming in their dull and greedy eyes. These were no mercenaries, who might be bargained with for a higher salary. These were bloodthirsty men, hardly men at all, expelled from the earth’s warm soil to the cold and bitter reaches of the heavens to better indulge their lawless appetites for treasure, ale, flesh, and murder! Their leader of sorts headed up the pack with a cutlass in his hand–in his horrible grin, the party could glimpse he had razors for teeth (ew!) which flashed with malice in the candlelight of the quarters. His companions each boasted pistols which they aimed at the party. 

The Beggar’s Mercy sort of jockeyed for position amongst themselves, and Cosette took advantage of the distraction to wrest herself free from the pirate captain’s grip! Yeah!!! She heard him grunt once in surprise and maybe something else, oh my GOSH ANYWAY she was free. Then she reached to her belt (oooh it was pale deerskin from a market in Neverwinter and studded with silver coins from her finest heists!) and withdrew Shiver by her ebony handle. She steadied her hand and remembered her extremely tragical backstory in the dew-drenched woods of Collum’s Close. Then she took aim and threw Shiver directly into the heart of the farthest pirate! It was a deadeye hit! Her best shot ever!!!! Luthandriel and Dumas cheered. The pirate made a noise like “AURGH!” (everybody always kind of sounded the same when they died…..) and slumped to the floor. Viscous black blood began to drain from his lifeless body. 

Dumas’s eyes went wide with glee. “Does that mean he’s–”

“He’s not undead,” the captain interrupted. Cosette could see his face now and it was VERY handsome :)  “For the last time. These are not fucking undead pirates. Black blood is just cool.” 

Dumas played a pissy little riff on his zither and pouted. “I think undead pirates are pretty cool too but what do I know….”

“She doesn’t have a bonus action,” My’thias said.

Everybody was like, um. 

“She used her whole–”

Dreadnought popped one fearsome eyebrow. My’thias went sort of pale around the edges of his scales and corrected herself.

“She used all her strength to escape from you. She can’t–it doesn’t seem NARRATIVELY PLAUSIBLE–” and here Captain Dreadnaught nodded like you may proceed, “That she could do both things at once.”

The dead pirate’s head lifted off the ground by a half-inch, with one eye cautiously open. The other two lackeys exchanged a look. 

Cosette knew who she was attacking the next chance she got. 

Sheepishly, Shiver withdrew herself from the chest of the pirate with a noise like schlorp, shook off the black blood like a wet dog, and floated back to Cosette’s hand. The rent flesh and shattered bone at the center of the no-longer-dead pirate’s chest knit themselves neatly back together and he scrambled to his feet. Cosette caught Dreadnought’s black and wild eyes and mouthed sorry. 

“Nothing to apologize for,” the emerald-colored bird squawked from the perch. 

“Happens all the time,” flapped an ancient open caster’s tome with dry pages.

“It’s called a learning curve!!!” Three pewter goblets with lids of horn chorused from the captain’s shelves. 

“ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!” My’thias snarled. Smoke poured from his nostrils and tongues of flame flickered along the edge of his snout. “GIVE US THE CODEX OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!”

Dreadnought laughed. “You know, our galley’s amateur theatrical society is looking for someone to play Faithful Madeline in MY WANDR’ING TIEFLING’S HEART. If you’re auditioning.” 

“Oi’m playin’ Sweet William,” offered the pirate with razors for teeth. 

More smoke–dark and sulfurous–leaked into the room. “I GROW WEARY OF YOUR GAMES!” My’thias’s snarl grew to a full-throated roar. His scales began to glow white-gold. “I CAST–”

“Do not even THINK ABOUT IT–” Luthandriel shouted at the same time that Dumas groaned, “Are you fucking kidding me dude–!!” but all this was drowned out by My’thias’s screech of, “FIREBALL!!!!!”

In the split-second before the explosion, Cosette saw the faintest glimmer of a smirk pass over Dreadnought’s face. He made a complicated little sigil with his fingers. She braced for her own incineration, but instead there was an enormous shattering of glass and a feeling like whiplash as suddenly she was jerked towards the bay window at the end of the quarters, which was no longer a bay window at all but a massive, gaping hole in the ship’s side. There was a horrible roaring, whooshing noise, loud enough to deafen all other sounds. Then a terrible pounding in her ears as she desperately clung to a chair which luckily seemed to be bolted to the floor. The air was freezing and wild, yanking her without mercy towards the yawning chasm of clouds. She tried to breathe but could not–the air was sucked from her lungs by the change in pressure. Her yards of lilac hair were ripped from their extremely adorable braided buns festooned with ribbons and charms, and now whipped painfully behind her as she clung with a weakening grip to the armrest. She turned towards Dreadnought, silently pleading, her lips were turning blue–!! 

And suddenly she fell to the floor. It was still. It was warm. Strong hands, calloused hands, drew her up gently from the ground. “Steady there, little one,” Dreadnought murmured. “Take your time. Find your breath.” She looked up into his eyes and felt her heart shimmer. He had a scar running from his right eyelid to his Cupid’s bow. Oh wow. Like. Haha! WOW! He held her aloft as she breathed for a moment. 

Then she looked down. Her tits were completely out. 

The captain shrugged. “Call it my savior’s fee.” The beautiful bird had somehow found sanctuary too. It was perched on his shoulder. “SAVIOR’S FEE, SQUAWK!” it echoed. It did not sound very much like a bird at all, actually. 

WHATEVER. She looked over her shoulder and saw there was a thick veil of golden mist sealing her, the captain, and the rest of the ship from the charred ruin which was once his quarters. There was no sign of Dumas–he must have been instantly sucked into the sky. Poor dear Dumas! He never was very strong. Luthandriel was holding on with what little constitution he had left to another bolted-down chair, as My’thias twisted his claws into the splintering wood for grip. “THIS IS PUNITIVE!” he screamed, but it was muffled as if shouted through a thick sweater. “YOU ARE RAILROADING–”

A ballast beam ripped from the side of the ship and hit him in the face. 

“But Captain Dreadnought, what of all your fine treasures?” Cosette trembled as the beast advanced hungrily upon her.

“IF YOU SAY SHE’S ALL THE TREASURE YOU NEED I’LL–”

BONK. Another beam.  

“You heard the dragonguy thing,” Dreadnought pushed a lavender curl behind one of her lovely, slender, pointed ears which had two diamond earrings and a couple really sweet silver hoops pierced through it too! “The time has come for me to claim my bounty.” When he kissed her he tasted like caramel rum. (This part was private too but when he pressed her body to his her nipples rubbed against the rough flax of his unlaced shirt and it was like ooooooh it was so NICE!!!!!) 

Just before My’thias lost his hold entirely and vanished into the void, Captain Dreadnought broke away from Cosette’s warm and tender (aw!) embrace. “By the way, lads,” he mentioned. “The bird was the codex.”

“AWK! I contain the key to all mythologies!” the bird said. “Ok, that’s pretty cool–” Luthandriel tried to add but was lost to the sky. “I HATE STEAMPUNK, I HATE IT SO MUCH!!!” My’thias screamed, but then he was lost to the sky too.

“Now, little one,” the captain whispered in Cosette’s ear. “Have you ever heard of an acrobatics check?”

“Oh my GOD–I mean TYR–” Cosette tried to roll her eyes but then he was kissing her once again so she had to check if she got a bonus on splits or anything like that. 

It turns out she did and everybody except them got mad about it!!!

[midnightanxietytm]

Cover old scars (NSFW)

a/n: There we go! More lambteeth to feed the soul. Also, this one is part of Lameniel lore. Didn't review this in the slightest, sorry for any mistakes in advance

Summary: A late-night date ;)

Warning: Smut, biting and scratching, mentions of cannibalism, gets a little angsty in the end.

Cover old scars

Give me new ones to match 

It's not often that they can have such private moments.

The fox often sees the Lamb running around, always working for their flock, and they have very little time to indulge him. It doesn’t really bother him, he’s patient, used to the shadows, but he still relishes having the little lamb in his arms on nights like this one.

Laying in the grass of a clearing, the bodies of heretics around them and dried blood on both their lips made for a perfect date night for them. The Fox listens as the Lamb recounts their day, scraping his claws against their freshly-sheared hips.

“...And they said the base was an eyesore! So rude!” They exclaim in exasperation, making the fox chuckle.

“From what I’ve seen, your lands are quite nice… You should eat them as punishment.” He says playfully.

“That’s your solution for everything!” Says the Lamb with a giggle and a playful eye roll, as they turn on his lap to face him.

“Like you don’t want to.” He retorts, nuzzling the side of their neck, above the jingling bell around it. “Devotion makes them so tasty…” He mutters.

The lamb hums softly. “True, but for me it’s an indulgence, not sustenance. I don’t even need to eat anymore!”

“Ah yes, the parells of a godly vessel…” He scoffs, thuggin at the collar on his lover’s neck. “To be rid of mortal needs, at the expense of your joy for having them fulfilled.” He stares at the neckpiece as if it has personally offended him, if only the lamb didn’t cherish it, he would have thorn the dreadful thing with his own teeth, like he had their flesh. 

The vessel allows the silence to last a minute, then says; “It’s not so bad…” They slide their hands over the fox’s shoulders slowly. “I don’t need to sleep, so as long as my flock is resting, I can stay with you…” They press their bodies closer, lips almost touching. “We can indulge now, can’t we? In gluttony, lust, both?”

The Fox smiles and kisses his lamb as he undoes the clasp that holds the dreadful bell, then moves to clamp his teeth around their neck, the scarred skin gives in under his fangs, and he’s determined to bite there until the marks stay and cover the past one, until he can pretend he’s the one who owns the little lamb in his arms.

He deserves them doesn’t he? He’s the one who fed them in their times of need, the one who pleasured them, the one who eased their worries. The one below might be the one who receives the sacrifices in the temples, but he was the one Lamb looked for when they peered into the darkness, the one whose merciless teeth the lamb threw their devoted followers, only to watch him indulge in their flesh.

And now he’s the one pushing the Lamb to admit their most carnal desires, as he pushes them back onto the grass and pushes their legs open and presses their bodies together. He’s the one who hears the little bleat they let out at the contact. “Bite me again…” They ask, and he obliges, sweet ichor spilling between his fangs; he's covering scars of pain with pleasure, daring to cover the claim of a god with his own.

He pushes himself inside the lamb, sinking slowly, inebriated by their taste, by their tight body around him, by their bleats and moans.

The One Who Waits might have the Lamb’s soul, soon even their body, but the Fox was the first to have their flesh, the first to have their pleasure. That he was sure.

He gets violent in his thrusts, but everything between him and the lamb is a little violent; he bites and tears, they do it back, and demand more, insatiable in love as they were in vengeance.

And the Fox gives more, takes more, pauses to put them on all fours, like the beasts they both are, and he takes again. The Lamb’s arms shake beneath them, and they relish in each thrust, not bothering to hold back their desperate moans.

The Fox is merciless in his thrusts and the Lamb moves their trembling hips to meet them halfway, he sinks his claws on their thighs and scratches, his teeth on the back of their neck, right on top of their decapitation scar, and licks their blood like is the sweetest of liquors. “Sweet little lamb…” He rasps near their ear, sounding breathless. “So sweet for me, so greedy, taking all I can give.” The Lamb bleats, their arms give out from under them and the Fox claws at their chest, holding them up against his own, thrusting up into them. Their orgasm rips through them, head falling back against the Fox’s shoulder as they gasp and shake.

The fox doesn’t still, however, and it nearly drives the Lamb mad as they whimper from the overstimulation, but they still take it, as they had taken each of the Fox's bargains before, until he reaches his own orgasm and finally stills himself, breathing heavily.

Both sit still for a long moment, The Fox retracts his claws and tenderly wipes the Lamb’s blood off their chest, licking it off his hand. Their wounds as scratches are already fading when he lays their limp body back on the soft grass, and he watches in dread as his claim disappears from their skin, leaving only the claim of The one Who Waits. “Little lamb.” he whispers with a grin; “Only mine in lust, never in soul.” He takes the discarded neckpiece from the ground, and clasps it back around their neck.

“The fates have spoken, and it was against us…” Answers the vessel. “But we still meet in gluttony and in lust, it shall be enough for now.” They raise a hand to caress his maw tenderly. “Our time ends when the sun comes, but the moon alway rises again.”

“So it does…” He takes their hand and leaves a parting bite on their wrist. “And when you seek the darkness, I’ll be there…” He whispers and disappears into the shadows.

The Lamb sits up when their lover leaves, their body no longer tired, and they place the crown back on their head, their fleece on their back and their deity on their mind, before leaving the clearing behind.

a/n: Normal people: In sickness and in health

Lambteeth: in cannibalism and in fucks :)

maybe that's why Lammy breaks up with him... or not

[thatcerealkiller]

“Violent yes, more violent.”

Astarion, allusion to M!Tav

Words: 950

Summary: A quick night hunt shortly after Astarion’s vampirism has been revealed. Mostly just a quick character bit.

CW: Animal death, mild gore, brief mentioning of sexual servitude & torture.

And the sky was made of amethyst

And all the stars were just like little fish

You should learn when to go

You should learn how to say no

- Violet, Hole

Astarion is tracking prey in the dead of night. He has caught the scent of a cervid, robust and virile, a stag. No one will think twice if they hear its dying bleat echo from the woods. They know what he is and their steadfast leader had even granted him the privilege of a bite. He can still feel the warmth of his blood on his tongue, flavored sweet and savory like a caramelized meat with a garnish of magic. Unforgettable, a vampire spawn’s first kiss. Now Astarion has a taste for the blood of thinking creatures and no beast he catches tonight will compare.

The rules have been broken. Cazador’s rules are no more.

Fuck him.

But he must feed. Astarion stalks closer to his prey, footfalls like a ghost on the forest floor. He remembers stalking the darkest alleys like this, the night when he was abducted by the ship. He was trailing a young man, all swagger and rakish charm but Astarion knew better. He knew this man slept on cold cobblestone when no duke or dame had hired his services for the night. His kind were not in short supply in the city. Astarion felt for him. He imagined that young man on his knees made to lick and suck every lady and gentleman on the guest list. Would he have preferred they trade places? Either way he would not be missed when he didn’t return from Szarr Palace.

Fuck him.

The stag pauses in a small clearing with ears erect. It knows it’s not alone. It raises its head against the moonlight showing off antlers full of sharp bony points. It won’t go down without a fight, but fights only come when a predator has managed to close the distance. This predator will not have the chance to come near it.

The pale elf readies his blades. The creature’s detected him but that’s never stopped him before. He is fast, strong, his senses heightened because he’s no mortal man of a hunter. He too is a beast. Astarion emerges from the dark in a dash towards the stag but his attack is cut terribly short. A gray wolf equally shrouded by shadows lunges at him. Not at the stag. At him. Its teeth snap at his neck.

“Shit!”

Astarion swings both daggers out just in time. They slash at the wolf’s pelt causing shallow cuts. The wolf lands on its feet and growls, it did not expect the pale elf to fight back. In the moonlight Astarion can see how small and wretched the wolf is despite its daring ferocity. It didn’t stand a chance against a full grown stag though if wolves could speak common it would tell him he didn’t stand a chance either.

“You robbed me,” he hisses at the wolf, the stag long hoofed away. “It was mine.”

The wolf offers only a snarl in return.

The vampire spawn snarls back, fangs bared and eyes seeing red. He throws himself at the beast blades first.

You took it from me.

The wolf is not afraid. It has no mate. It has no pack. It lives in a solitude that’s not its fault but it is its responsibility and it must fight or starve. It meets its silver white haired combatant head on.

You took everything.

They fall to the ground in a flurry of teeth and claws. Biting. Slashing. He and Petras tumbled a few times just like this. Leon too, much to their master’s annoyance and Godey’s elation. Violent yes, more violent, their torturer would utter, near lustful. Once, when the fighting had become too disruptive, their master chose to punish them by chaining his dear sons together and making them watch each other take turns being sadistically degraded. Did they learn their lesson then? Barely. There were no winners.

Astarion will not lose today. He will not be punished and shamed. He parries the bite, he blocks the slash. He is stronger than this sad little wolf and he is free. The pale elf stained in red plunges his dagger deep into the beast’s heart then drags the blade down to tear open its chest. The wolf yelps sharply and backs away, still able to stand on all fours with a dagger embedded in it. Not for long. The beast looks at him, seething.

Go on then.

It gnashes its teeth and foams, daring Astarion to strike the killing blow even as its body bleeds out on the forest floor. It will not die as a wounded dog. It’s the master of its own fate.

The vampire regards the wolf with disdain. He raises his second dagger and drives it into the animal’s skull, through the eye socket and into the brain. It’s not a thinking creature and yet he could see the hatred in its gaze. For what? For doing what’s in his nature? He is starved too, starved of rich abundant blood, starved of flourishing life, starved of the stag’s vigor and freedom to walk tall, starved of the chance to take from it what he couldn’t have.

Fuck him.

Astarion pulls the dagger from its chest and stabs the wolf again. The now dead wolf that feels no pain. Nothing can feel Astarion’s pain. He clenches the hilt tightly and grits his teeth. He is in control now. He is free. If the stag could only see him now. He closes his eyes and cries out, just once, before falling to his knees to feed.