#they had gotten scraped out of the ground and destroyed

[threepandas]

Your Biggest Fan: Villian/Yandere Izuku

You Ruined His Plan.

No one was supposed to CARE. They NEVER care. NEVER ask questions. They look, at the red shoes, the note, then shrug it all off. Just another statistic. One more gone, of an already "dying breed".

The Quirkless had been a "dying breed" for a while now.

He bet they didn't even know where that phase came from. It was WAR propaganda. Quirkless population numbers were supposed to level out a decade ago, according to estimates. But noooo! They kept DROPPING!

Dropping, Dropping, DROPPING!

Like notebooks and little boys off roof tops.

No Heroes coming to save them. Smiles for everyone ELSE. Just burns and bad grades they didn't earn, ruined lunches and funeral flowers on desks. Kicking and kicking and PUNCHS until they break! Until they fight back. Until THEY are the problem. THEY are the monsters!

Dreams destroyed and online friends who go silent.

Funerals. Mothers who cry but don't protect you.

ANGER and where are the HEROES?

Here... apparently.

She is... she is standing HERE. Arms crossed. Mouth in a furious line as she listens to the principal spew his excuses. She does not look like she believes a single one. Does not look sympathetic or dismissive in the least.

The disgusting trash around her isn't used to it. Are slowly beginning to sweat. Panic. It is beginning to dawn on them... that there could be CONSEQUENCES for their actions. Their criminal neglect and cruel allowances.

She looks disgusted. Furious. And... when she glances at the supposed last words of Hanako-chan? Utterly heartbroken. She stands, feet planted, shoulders back, as she argues and pulls rank. Threatening to ARREST even the police officers THEMSELVES unless they DO THEIR JOBS.

As is her RIGHT. Because this is not JUSTICE. Nor Vengance. But can bring, at least, closure to the soul of a little girl wronged. Prevent others from harm. And she stands as a shield against that harm. It is her JOB, her DUTY, and so help her, if she must hunt each and every one of them down and HAND DELIVER them to a cell? She WILL.

She stands there, in the cold afternoon light, like...

Like A Hero!

He has to slap both his hands over his mouth. To stop his dreadful muttering habit from escaping again. He... he hasn't found anything INTERESTING enough to mutter about in so LONG. Gotten out of the habit of controlling it. His control is shot. And... and OH~!

Ever since Kacc-... Since All Mi... THEM. He hasn't... hasn't BELIEVED in Heros like he used too. He WANTED too! He did! But...? It was like it just... died inside him. Slowly. Painfully. Screaming.

It HURT.

It hurt so, so much. Everything was angry and grey and TERRIBLE. B...But? But! BUT NOW? It's like a giddy spark of light has struck a match inside the empty cavern inside him, lighting up the massive caves where his belief once lived. I..It's so small and fragile. So WARM.

He scrambles back. Hands pressed to his mouth, eyes shut tight, uncaring of the rough brick he's pressed too as he slides to the wet ground. It scrapes him up. But what's a few more scrapes amongst the rest? He's always hurt. It's his life. It's ALL their lives.

He breathes. Savors the fragile warmth in his chest.

"Hey, are you okay?" That voice. No, no it can't be... his eyes shoot open. Startled he looks up. Directly... into... a.. mask.. "You're looking pretty banged up. My Quirk doesn't have many medical uses, so unless you think you've cracked a bone or something, I hope you're good with band-aids. Fair warning though. All the Froppy one's are already gone. Kid's LOVE frogs."

It IS. His Hero. THE Hero. She must have finished up. Noticed him somehow. Sloppy...

Ah!

Already kneeling, she gently takes his hand. Is already pulling out a medical kit from her thigh pouch. He spots "good job!" Stickers and a few lollipops. He... he has QUESTIONS. For the first time in YEARS. Who is she? What school did she go too? What Quirk does she have? Where does she work out off?

Why did she CARE?

Is it a one off? Would she care AGAIN? Her hands are firm but gentle. She keeps him "distracted". Asking him inane questions to take his mind off his pain. Kind. So KIND~! He manages to get her Hero name before she goes. Sends her off with a smile that hurts his face. Reminds him how many years it's BEEN since he's truely grinned.

He races home. Fingers flying on his phone. His lieutenant can deal with Hanako. Get her settled with her new family. He... he NEEDS too... TOO-!

He SLAMS his shoebox of an apartment open, ignoring the bellowed demands and insults of the filth that live around him. It's only muscle memory that has him locking the dozen locks behind him, to keep out the scum that would attempt to prey upon him.

He... he NEEDS-!

Where?!

There!!!

His "work" laptop. So bleeding edge I-island will be cursing their own bigotry for centuries. If only out of GREED. They don't know what they've lost by turning down those engineers and applicants. But Izuku does. He collects them ALL.

And now it pays off once again.

It take less then a moment. Easier then breathing. And he has EVERYTHING.

Her arrests records. Her case load. Her school records and medical files. Social media. Current audio book. Hero ranking, media presence, the chatter about Her online. EVERYTHING.

It's... it's beautiful.

A "troublemaker" who wouldn't shut up about the injustice she saw around her. Wouldn't stand for it. Got into fights to protect the weak and defenseless. Helped where she could. It put her on the wrong side of the narrative. When she wouldn't shut up about how everything WASN'T fine and what those in power were doing was WRONG.

She was a child, they were not. She HAD the option to shut up and pick her own future over the well being of those around her.

She chose to be a HERO instead.

Like... Like HIM. She was robbed of her DREAM. Of going to UA. The future she wanted, she fought for, needed like AIR.

But... but Aaah~♡ she was so COOL! Didn't give up! She sued. Made a RACKET. And when it got her record wiped but not her chance to enter any Japanese Hero school reinstated? She took the winnings from her lawsuit, her parents reluctant consent, and WENT ABROAD.

Came BACK with a hero license that the Japanese government had to recognize as per international accords. Let her take the final test HERE.

They BURIED her in the rankings. Must HATE her. A real hero, come to SHAME THEM for all they've become~♡ Or, well, HE thinks she will. How can she NOT? When she is so much BETTER?

He needs everything. Bedspread, pillows, posters, sweaters, slippers, MERCH! There's not enough. He should commission some. Where are his notebooks? Ah, no. He needs a NEW one! A better notebook! Oh! Oh! He could COMMISSION a notebook! Oh that's PERFECT!

He may have just met her today?

But he can already TELL~ He's gonna be her NUMBER 1 fan!

[dawn-moths]

Wriothesley x Female Reader

word count: 1,200+

18+ content! minors dni! smut, dubcon, minimal/no prep, rough sex, sub/dom dynamics.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

In the soft, yellow dimness that floods the room of his office, Wriothesley lets out a hiss through clenched teeth. His hips are pressed into yours, sharp hipbones pinning you against the surface of his desk, every slip of paperwork and sharp-nibbed pen swept away and sent clattering to the floor in his haste to get you exactly where he wanted you.

You let out a soft mewl as his teeth scrape across the rise of your throat, tracing down to one of your collar bones and landing at your shoulder as his grip around your wrists tightens to keep both your hands pinned above your head.

The Warden lets out a cold chuckle, nakedly amused by your struggle as you feebly attempt to break free of his hold. “Ah-ah,” he chides, flexing his grip around your wrists hard enough to bruise the flesh and grind the bones, earning a whimper and a wince from you as you go still beneath him. “I thought we agreed you’d take your punishment without a fight?”

He raises his head, looks you in the eyes, that glacier’s stare of his sending a shiver down your spine, the scar curved beneath his right eye shining faintly as it catches the artificial glow of dim light through the damp, industrial dark. He presses his clothed cock, which has become painfully hard, firmer against your sensitive core, skirt bunched around your waist, leaving only a thin layer of soaked lace between you and so much pleasure.

Shamelessly, as if testing him, you attempt to grind harder against the bulge in his trousers, chasing friction as you whine out a pitiful little, “C’mon… You know that’s not fair…”

Wriothesley smirks, swishes some of that tousled dark hair from his eyes. “Given your offense,” he says, “I’d say this is far more generous than you deserve, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to protest— to tell him that the only reason you’d snuck into his office (broken into, more like, given you’d had to pick three sets of locks along the way) was to win a bet and most definitely not to procure your release forms three months early despite already having your sentence reduced on grounds of good behavior, impatient to step out into the sun again after so much time spent underground. But you suppose you’d gotten a little too cocky. And, besides, you really should’ve known better.

Thievery had been what had gotten you sentenced to two years in the Fortress of Meropide in the first place.

“But I’ll cut you a deal…” the Warden offered, his lips pressed close to your ear, cool breath wafting across your neck, the chill a welcome reprieve from so much heat that had been building between your two bodies as he teased you to damn near torturous lengths. “You just admit what we both know is the truth, and maybe I’ll let you off easy, hm?” You exhaled a shuddering breath, feeling the burden of forbidden desire hazing through your brain, making it hard to think. “So what’ll it be?” He asked, each syllable of his ultimatum laced with condescending manipulation.

You knew, both from first hand experience and the warnings you’d heard passed around by others, that the Warden was particularly fond of playing these kind of mind games.

The best thing to do, especially in your case, was to just count your losses and admit defeat.

“Alright…” you sighed. “Fine. I was breaking in to steal my release papers and forge your signature to get out early. There. You happy now?”

To answer your question, Wriothesley grinded down, mean and harsh against you, eliciting a needy moan from your throat, destroying any and all of your prior obstinance as arousal coursed thick and pleading through your core.

“Gotta admit,” he said, his voice a little more strained than before as he tried to subdue his own desires, “you’re pretty brazen to think you’d get away with it.”

In truth, you didn’t think you’d get away with it. A piece of you had secretly hoped he’d find you. Had secretly hoped he’d back you into a corner and pin you against a wall or a table or a bed like he was doing right now.

But you couldn’t tell him that.

What fun would that be?

“But a deal’s a deal,” he concludes, easing off of you only enough to undo his belt, silver buckle clacking against itself and serving as the bell to toll your fate. He pulls his aching cock free, the sight of its blushing red tip causing your next breath to catch. He’s bigger than you were prepared for, and you shudder at the thought of it bullying its way inside you.

Wriothesley slightly cocks his head to one side and inquires through a crooked smile, a dangerous flash of teeth, “Though, you don’t really want to be let off easy, do you?”

You still beneath him, eyes widening a fraction as you try and subdue the thick swallow that threatens to bob in your throat, exposing your fear.

Cracking a nervous grin, your voice only trembles a little bit as you reply in what would’ve been a smooth coo, if not for the runaway pulse hammering beneath your ribs, “Knew all along, did ya? Well… I guess I have to work on my acting skills then.”

Wriothesley slips two thick, calloused fingers in through the side of your panties and tugs the slick fabric aside. His touch makes your body jolt, your blood humming with trepidation.

“Nah…” he breathes against your neck, leaning in close again to keep your view of what he has planned for you blocked, trapping you in even more suspense and keeping you at his mercy, just where he likes you. “Your act was actually half decent…”

He waits until you exhale your next breath, then buries himself inside of you down to the hilt in one quick, sharp thrust, punching what air remained from your lungs before a startled gasp clipped off onto a yelp punctuates the quiet room.

It takes a moment for him to regain his composure, though feels a sick sense of pride when he pulls back to take a good look at you, admiring how small and helpless you are under his control.

Finally, he speaks again, and when he does it’s a teasing statement of, “Next time though, let me in on it beforehand so I can make sure and let the guards who patrol this area take an early lunch break.” He lets go of your wrists, allows you to grip both his biceps in your trembling little hands, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. “Wouldn’t want anyone to start a rumor I give special treatment to my favorites…”

He covers your mouth with one hand, muffling your next moan as he begins to move, slow and savoring. Sadistic in the way he’s spurred on by the mist of tears welling in your eyes, your tight little hole struggling to accommodate the sudden fullness his cock provides, the sting of the stretch making you fear you’ll end up being split in two by the time this is over.

But it doesn’t matter how rough he wants to be. You’ll take what he gives you and be grateful for it.

And, who knows, maybe, when the time comes, the Warden won’t want to let you out early on good behavior after all.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[lifblogs]

Poison

AI-less Whumptober: Day 1 Drugging | Sick | Poisoned @ailesswhumptober

Fandom: Good Omens Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2224 Summary: Michael blames Crowley for Aziraphale ruling Heaven, and they decide to poison him. In his agony, the only person Crowley can call out to is Aziraphale. WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence READ ON AO3

Crowley pitifully dragged himself forward, gritty cement from the alley rubbing into his skin, his clothes. He didn’t much care for the coarse scraping, but it was almost nothing compared to the Hell he was in. Was the ground shaking? The sky falling?

His wings were burning off his back. He was sure of it. Could smell them crisping, feathers that were already black somehow even more so now falling around him. Ruined.

The pain. His world was on fire, his blood coursing with hot, burning poison. He could barely see as it was, the poison reaching into the blood vessels in his eyes, which had all burst. Tears streamed from his eyes. Tears! Such a human thing.

And all the while he didn’t even know where he was trying to crawl to as his body burned.

Would he be discorporated or destroyed? If he didn’t know any better he’d think Michael had gotten him with a drop of holy water.

He could hear their words in his ears, their hatred dripping into him even without the aid of that wicked ring: So you thought you could be clever? You thought you could let Aziraphale rule without any consequences? My dear Crowley, you’ve ruined it.

It. Heaven. The world he loved so much. All because he walked out that door, all because he let Aziraphale do what he wanted. And why wouldn’t he? There was nothing left to do.

But, oh, of course this was his fault. Wasn’t everything?

His burning brain briefly wondered, Maybe I should’ve been a better kisser.

His heart ached like a fist clamped around it, something even worse than the poison. No, no, no, no, no!

Crowley tried laughing at it, but he choked, an acrid taste deep in him alighting on his withering tongue.

“MICHAEL!” he screamed.

All seemed to go black for a second, but it wasn’t a blessing (oh, a blessing). It was more like he was separated from his body and then was forced to return to it. Forced to return to the ruin brought upon him by Michael the archangel.

They’d cornered him, cursed him; Crowley, the betrayer of angels, of God. His “stupid angel” was doing it all wrong, and things needed to get back on track so they could have their war.

War. Oh, what a funny thing. Michael existed not for God, but for war.

They’d jabbed him in the neck with a gold ring, a sharp end protruding from it, and then he had collapsed, everything in his existence changing in that one moment.

This was all his fault. That was the accusation, at least.

But no matter what he’d done Aziraphale didn’t want him, didn’t want to be a them, an us. Not on Crowley’s terms. Not in any way that was safe. And now, here he lay, a fallen angel, a fallen demon, burning away into smoke.

Aziraphale. Have to get to Aziraphale.

It was all him. All about him.

“Help—” Crowley choked out, ruining smoke issuing forth from his mouth; past chapped, peeling lips. Lips that had failed.

This set him in a coughing fit that was surely supposed to be the end of him. Each inhale brought nothing but death. No air, not for him. Nothing so sweet as air.

In a way, he didn’t need it, but he was tied to this body. It was him.

For a moment he imagined Aziraphale—his attachment to his own body—and imagined it being destroyed like this.

The thought broke his heart, even as it passed into shadows and smoke.

Wait…

Was this Michael’s plan?

Was Michael going to attack Aziraphale next? Or was it just that he was the demon, he was the bad guy. Got to smite them, right? Can’t have the bad guys running amok.

Crowley forgot where he was, what he was supposed to be doing. Time passed, surely, but he was hardly aware of it. Then a thought came across to him.

Aziraphale.

Help.

Right! Right, that’s what he was supposed to be doing.

But how? How?

Just stop burning. As easy as that. Just stop.

And Crowley tried, tried to tell himself he wasn’t burning, but he was! He was!

And Heaven was too far away. And could he even get in the entrance? He’d sink into the water surely, be dragged down to Hell. Maybe the elevator. But he’d only entered it once before with Muriel. On his own he didn’t stand a chance.

Bees.

Something about bees.

Crowley rolled onto his back, panting, gagging, and tried to call out for Aziraphale.

He couldn’t breathe. Oh, Satan, he couldn’t breathe.

With enough coughing whatever was in his burning lungs came up in his mouth, and he didn’t want to even explore what that was, what it could be.

Maybe it’s—

No, no, no!

If he thought about it he’d throw up. His stomach was already dying anyway, so maybe it was just—

Hot saliva crowded Crowley’s mouth and he tried to roll onto his side, but next thing he knew he was retching and choking.

Burning. Everything was burning. Maybe hotter than the fires of Hell. Fires they’d tried to kill Aziraphale with.

No, no.

In trouble.

Aziraphale was in trouble.

Had to be. What else would be going on?

“Azira—” Crowley tried to get out before becoming a choking, gagging mess again.

Aziraphale.

How to get to him?

Maybe he can come to me.

Yes, that’s what had to happen. There was no other way.

Crowley tried to look inward, to feel what was left of himself amongst this burning, poisoned ruin. And there, he found something. Not a light, or a soul, but something. He tried to look into that something he found, to find the parts of Crowley that were Aziraphale: the memories, the emotions, even the tiny gestures.

Images flashed in his mind’s eye.

Aziraphale smiling at him. Aziraphale saying smitten, looking at him with such an intensity that Crowley hadn’t noticed at the time. Aziraphale telling him to dance. You go too fast for me, Crowley.

He did his best to project those feelings and memories outwards, to picture the whole Earth, spinning and hurtling about through space, to picture the curtain drawing back on this realm, looking behind and finding Heaven. Crowley wasn’t sure he’d be able to actually find or sense Aziraphale this way, but he did what he could. He called out to him. And then he sent his pain, a black, writhing thing that was powerful enough to encompass the whole world. Pain so brilliant and ruining that Crowley wished for a drop of holy water, wished for someone’s mercy. But there was no mercy, not in this universe, or the next, or even the one after that.

Crowley started to realize how alone he was.

He didn’t have his car with him, his plants.

Didn’t have his angel.

He was just a demon in a filthy alley, sick and poisoned into wishing for nothingness.

Aziraphale.

“Crowley?”

He had to have imagined that. The word sounded garbled as it was with poisoned, scorching blood coming out of his ears, smoking against his skin, against the ground, his hair.

He cried, and tried to scream.

Alone. He was alone.

That voice wasn’t real.

“Crowley? Oh, good Lord!”

Hands were on him, and he tried shooting upwards, to fight, to push away.

“No… Michael…” he got out.

“I’m not Michael. It’s me. Aziraphale.”

Crowley could barely see through the damage to his eyes, the blood pouring forth. He thought he could make out white hair.

“Fake,” he coughed out, and then collapsed into tender arms.

“What’s happened to you?”

Crowley couldn’t answer. There wasn’t enough left working in his body to do so. He shuddered where he lay against Aziraphale’s chest, smearing his clothes with blood and the ash of his ruined feathers.

There was a hand on his chest. Was it glowing?

It was probing around, looking for something. And all the while he heard a familiar voice fretting away.

Crowley wanted to sink into that voice, sink into the body he was held against, not be himself any longer. It was too much. It was all too much.

“Good Lord, they’ve poisoned you with sulfur.”

Ah, that made sense.

Sulfur. The irony. Yet another trapping of what made him a demon, and now it was in his blood, destroying all in its path.

“I am permitted as many miracles as I like, and I think this calls for one.”

Crowley wanted to scream at him to get on with it. He clutched at Aziraphale with shaking, swollen fingers. They were surely discolored, all kinds of black and purple.

A feeling of emptiness whooshed through him, and next thing he knew the pain began to leave. It didn’t leave slowly, but in great waves that receded from a shore. And these were waves that never crashed back down, waves of an ocean that disappeared entirely.

He could see again, could hear again. And while he didn’t need to, he could breathe again.

Crowley gasped, awash in the feeling of being okay (how am I possibly okay?).

“Oh, Aziraphale,” he cried, throwing himself against the angel, and never wanting to let go, hoping that he wouldn’t let go.

He was shaking; and crying; and he didn’t even know why when being alive was, for the moment, bearable again.

“Crowley, I felt you calling for me, and I came as soon as I could. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Then the anger came, anger that had been simmering for weeks, waiting for a time to rise and boil, to have prey it could pounce on.

The prey was here.

Before Crowley knew it he was drawing back from Aziraphale and had to physically restrain himself from hitting him by grabbing his own wrist.

“You idiot!” he screamed in his face.

Aziraphale dropped him. He didn’t land quite on the cement, and was in fact draped across one of Aziraphale’s legs.

“What?”

“You! You’re such an idiot! Didn’t I tell you they were toxic? Why did you want to work for them? Why?”

“Not for them,” Aziraphale clarified. “They work for me.”

Crowley rose, assessed his missing feathers, his bloodied hair and clothes. He was sticky with what had previously been his fiery blood. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

Facing Aziraphale again, he cried, “If that were true this never would have happened. Michael wouldn’t have hurt me. And if they’re doing this to me, then what”—at this point he grabbed him, pulled him to his feet and slammed him against a brick wall hard enough that it cracked and dust scattered—”do you think they’re going to do to you?”

“C-Crowley, I didn’t mean— They will be dealt with.”

“Sure. And what are you going to do all-mighty Aziraphale?” he taunted. “Give them a slap on the wrist? Or why don’t you just say fuck it and erase their name from the Book of Life?”

“You know I can’t—”

“To Hell with what you can and can’t do! Look at me! Look at me!” He took in Aziraphale’s horrified gaze, and yet it still wasn’t enough. How could it be enough when this had happened, when Crowley was sure he’d never sleep just so he could avoid the nightmares? He had to clean parts of his lungs off of himself and Aziraphale was surely going to go right back to Heaven with a skip and a hop and make sure things were all tickety-boo again. “You think whatever you do will be enough? You think you can stop whatever they have planned? I’m collateral to your stupid plans, your stupid want to rule.”

“Not to rule, to fix things! To make them better.”

“Look what better did to me.”

Crowley felt a sound of disgust rise in his throat, akin to the need to spit. He shook his head, mouth set in a firm grimace, and pushed away from Aziraphale. He turned away. Betrayed. Defeated. Alone.

“Go back to Heaven, angel.”

“Crowley, I—”

Crowley whirled on him. “Leave me alone!”

Aziraphale’s eyes shone with unshed tears. And knowing him they wouldn’t fall. Yet another thing to break Crowley’s heart.

His face was set in a look of helpless distress, perhaps of guilt, but his angel couldn’t do anything so un-angelic as to apologize.

He swallowed roughly.

“But, Crowley, you’ll be all alone. You were hurt. Let’s—”

Crowley turned away from him. Somehow he clawed words out through his gritted teeth, scraping them up from the remains of his respiratory system, “If you don’t leave right now I am going to do something very, very stupid.”

What that stupid thing was, he didn’t know. Perhaps exploding on the spot.

Aziraphale’s silence settled into the spaces between his heartbeats.

Finally: “As you wish.”

And then Crowley was alone. All alone, and covered in the gore of his poisoning, of Aziraphale’s failure to fix Heaven. Of his own failure.

He sat down in the alley, and he thought perhaps a few days had passed before he had it in him to get back up again. When he did, Crowley made for the Bentley. He had to get away. Just away. And yet, nowhere would be far enough.

[originemesis]

@deathinfeathers from xxx

Rattling the serrated blade inside the freshly formed slit, as if in a ravenous attempt to crack open a stubborn oyster and get at the succulent meat beyond the shell like a starved sea otter. Only does she falter when the inbuilt audio system, which had provided the back-up beats to many a jam session, proceeds to spit the snarling din of disordered files in her face. Amidst the clamor of fractured sound-bytes her vocals stand out starkly...this absolute freak must've cracked the internal storage unit. What a sicko. The blood seethes in her veins, at the thought of some desperate posturer nosing through Adam's private data. "RAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHH BLEED, YOU FILTH!!!" Reeling her head back in preparation to butt the knife through every layer of glass, flesh and bone separating it from the off switch nestled somewhere inside the dome, but she is stopped short. A squawk tears itself free of her lungs when the demon whips his upper body backwards, slinging her up and over his head like a raging bull. She lands with a thud atop the counter, pinning an awkwardly folded wing between her back and the blackwood, which results in a disconcerting crack of a sound, stemming from somewhere within the feathered appendage. Ouch! If she is at all deterred it is only for the moment it takes her to get her bearings and evade being gored by those Dagger-esque horns. She'd left the knife lodged in the display, so she's quick to swing an arm behind the bar and make a grab for the first object she can find, which happens to be a bucket full of ice. Not exactly an ideal weapon but she slams that shit, full force, over the back of his head never the less, scattering the cubes and frigid water all across the floor. An opportunity to take him down to the ground if she can get him to slip in the mess she'd just made, she draws her knees in close to her chest, grasping the counter's edge for extra leverage, and bunny kicks him in the side with all the staggering power of a roided up kangaroo.

The fact that she was trying to screw the knife's edge past the punctured glass shell and into his skull was not lost on the first man who became very distinctly aware of the scrape of metal against the flesh beneath the hardy helmet's shell. What exactly did an exorcist have to gain from coming down outside of extermination and tearing his head off? There was no telling...no telling what heaven had gotten up to in his absence. Surely they all thought him dead or else Lute and the others...they would have come back for him, right? But here was one of his own flock determined to dive a blade between his eyes. Which begged the question...did they know all along? That he was down here? And was this their confirmation that he was not only worth coming back for, but better off wiped clean of their record before he could cause too many issues to divine reputation down in hell?

Such thoughts are enough in the ways of fuel to fire him up into a raging display worthy of cracking the delicate intricacies of a monochrome-feathered wing trapped under his downward thrashes as he behaved more like a bull in a china shop than an angel with clipped wings at the bar. He would have kept jackhammering his horns down upon her too until he'd smashed her to a gorey pulp on the counter if it wasn't for how viciously she connected the bucket to the back of his helmet, leaving an additional ringing inside his skull as he snarled and staggered back a stunned step from his attempted brutalization. The ice caught suddenly underfoot causes him to slip just a jerk of a step, but he catches the side of the counter with a harsh grip of talons that scratch the black wooded surface. It's a short lived folly though when a well-timed kick slams into his flank and knocks him back a few sliding feet that might have destroyed the wall behind them with his momentum and launch speed had he not curled over to dig vicious nails into the floor, thus coming to a scraping stop on all fours like the animal she seemed to think she was butchering.

"All right-...I'm fucking DONE with this!" The rumble of a growl in his chest turned snarl helped him straighten back up as well as a burst of light in front of his chest that helped lay the image of a golden axe strapped across his chest in its usual position for every band session he'd issue to his flock in the past. With the currents of the chords, he was able to control the movements of his girls at times when they needed a slight nudging back into place to keep their formation more fuck-shit-up friendly, and he was absolutely prepared to correct this one's before she got too ahead of herself thinking she could waltz up and leave with his head in one soundless transaction. Without missing a beat of his own, he slammed the start of a particularly booming riff aimed at knocking the wind into her wings hard enough to send her backwards again if she wasn't careful about keeping those sails of the shoulder tucked against his perfect disaster of a storm.

"COME AND GET ME THEN, YOU STUPID BITCH-" He demanded, striking down upon the strings with the radiant light of his resolve much less bright than usual- but still a force of bass to be reckoned with when cranked up enough and aimed.

"HERE I AM!!"

[melishade]

So, Shocky sent a message to Megs through a neutral ship. Whats the message then ? Try persuading Megs to betray OP ? Or else

Previous Episode of the Dark Timeline

Oh, if only it were that easy. (TW Blood, TW Gore. TW Body Horror)

See, since Shockwave's ship was destroyed, he doesn't know if Optimus or Gabi are alive or not. He knows their bodies weren't in the crash, but the Predacon can't track how far they've gotten on foot. He doesn't know about the rescue. So Shockwave will no doubt be falling a little bit behind in some of his experiments.

But not to worry. He contacted Megatron and asked to meet with him personally. Before Megatron could even say no, Shockwave opened groundbridge right outside of the neutral ship, giving a clear indicator that Megatron does not have a say in this. Unless, Megatron wants Shockwave to unleash a ground attack. Wheeljack quickly tunes into Megatron's comm. link so they can hear what's going on, and well...it's not pretty:

Megatron stepped out of the groundbridge, only to find himself in an underground cavern of some kind. He could hear moaning, scraping, growling, but couldn't see anything yet. Megatron willed himself to walk forward, his servo itching towards the hilt at his side. As he followed the path that he could see, he recognized that the walls were dug out, uneven, and carved from rock.

The former warlord remembered Gabi's description of the mountain with the flat top, and realized that he must be inside the mountain. Megatron jolted a little when he felt a familiar pulse deep within his chest. It was dark energon. He knew this well. Megatron felt his body instinctually grow tense as the pulse was immediately followed by growling, and loud shrilled cries. Megatron let the dark energon in his spark guide him down the carved out halls towards the source. On his way there, he saw multiple cages, jammed to the brim with pure titans infected with energon. They continued to growl and snap their jaws as he passed them by, but the former warlord ignored them as he continued to walk forward. Megatron only took a moment of pause when he recognized Willy's face in one of the cages. His face had contorted into one of agony, and Megatron could feel his spark waiver at seeing the Tybur this way. But Megatron had no choice but to shove those feelings down and proceed forward.

Megatron heard the cries grow louder and continues to push forward. He found the source and light, coming from a room on his right. He entered, and froze at the sight of of a pure titan, writhing in agony. The veins were purple, a clear sign of dark energon within the body. It crawled and yelled, digging its fingers in the ground. Megatron took notice of Shockwave watching the monstrosity struggle in agony, taking note of the effects of the dark energon serum quietly.

Megatron quickly regained his composure and took a step forward. "You've certainly made yourself comfortable."

Shockwave paused and turned his optic towards him. He raised his canon arm and blasted the pure titan in the nape of the neck, causing it to evaporate in front of the both of them. "I suppose I have. One of the benefits of experimenting on the power of the titans is that they don't tend to leave a mess. It saves me time when setting up my next theory."

Megatron felt the pulse weaken in his chest, but it did not go away. Shockwave walked over to his monitor and opened up his files and data points. "This world is truly fascinating, and more valuable than what Earth had to offer. Their crowning achievements were nuclear weapons and a primitive data networks that could have easily been replicated by the most basic methods of Cybertronian science. These humans have somehow managed to unlock the ability of regeneration and arguably immortality. The method is quite unsanitary it its own right, but this power had dominated this world for over 2,000 years."

Shockwave finally faced Megatron. "This world is far more valuable than what Earth could dream of. We should have tried to conquer this world instead of Earth. It would have been the more logical choice."

"Shockwave, I am not interested in hearing about your ramblings." Megatron nearly snapped.

Shockwave merely raised his servo from the console. "A few kilocycles ago, you would have been grateful that I was tampering with creation. But I suppose your new standing with Optimus Prime had lead you to consider otherwise. I find it illogical that you would trust him again after all this time."

Megatron didn't know what to make of that last sentence. He wasn't sure of how mush Shockwave knew, and whether or not he was aware that Optimus and Gabi had survived their escape attempt.

"Even so, my innate desire for social interaction is the only reason why I wished to discuss with you my findings," Shockwave continued, "You were once invested in my work, and Terran does not possess the proper abilities to communicate."

"Terran?" Megatron raised an eyebrow at that. Megatron heard a loud screech behind him and pulled out his sword. He pivoted and got into a fighting stance, seeing the Predacon leering over him and charging up a fireball in seething fury.

"Terran, stand down," Shockwave ordered calmly, "Megatron is a guest for the time being. There is no need to fight."

Megatron felt his digits twitch around his sword while the Predacon continue growling.

"Terran," Shockwave spoke more firmly.

This time, the Predacon obeyed, letting the fire return to his chest. The beast still glared at Megatron, crawling towards Shockwave and immediately standing behind him. Megatron could only watch in disbelief as Shockwave scratched the Predacon on the head in order to ease it.

"You named your little pet," Megatron sneered.

"A Cybertronian made from organic materials on an organic world," Shockwave explained his reasoning, "It deserves a name of its own, especially since it cannot do so itself. The titan serum has given my creation the ability of regeneration, but it cannot transform into a bipedal mode. A disadvantage of this serum. However, Terran still display the same intelligence as Predaking. So do not mistake it for a mindless beast like Starscream did."

Megatron slowly stood up once he saw that the Predacon, Terran, had calmed down. However, he still refused to let go of the sword in his servo.

"It would be illogical for me to fight you," Shockwave reasoned, "You were always the more skilled fighter."

"I don't trust your beast," Megatron stated.

Terran growled at that, but Shockwave raised a servo in warning.

"I do not possess the same fighting capabilities as you, and my Predacon is in a cramped environment to properly subdue you," Shockwave explained, "You have the current advantage."

"Perhaps, but I know better than to take your word on that," Megatron declared.

Shockwave said nothing to that. He grabbed a metal stool and sat it next to a table before sitting on the furniture. "The Megatron I knew would not have acted this paranoid."

"Being possessed by the god of destruction changes one's attitude," Megatron snapped, "Now what did you call this meeting for?"

Shockwave said nothing, but Megatron could tell that the scientist was not pleased. Shockwave grabbed a datapad of the table and pressed something, turning on an overhead light. "A trade."

Megatron turned his attention to the light, appalled and repulsed at the sight. Porco Galliard was lying unconscious in his glass prison in a dark pool of blood. Some of his hair had fallen out. His veins were a dark purple, that same dark matter dripped from his mouth. He was merely teetering on the brink of life and death.

"I have done all I can with this one," Shockwave explained, "And after an incident with my ship, I had lost a spare Warrior Cadet to transfer the powers over to a healthy host."

"Why not transfer the power over to the pure titans you have at your disposal?" Megatron demanded.

"This is still war," Shockwave answered with ease, "I need a tactical advantage if I want to continue my experimentations without any interruptions."

"Fine, Shockwave. Suppose I entertain your little idea." Megatron crossed his arms, "What could you want from us to trade?"

Shockwave turned to Megatron and tilted his helm. "Zeke Jaeger."

Megatron was shocked at the answer, and he could hear yelling on the other end of his comm., but he chose to ignore it. "The Beast Titan? Do you really think I would just hand him over to you, knowing what you would do with that kind of power?"

"Zeke Jaeger is the most logical for this trade," Shockwave reasoned, "Asking for Eren Jaeger or Historia Reiss would have resulted in more active resistance. And based on Eren Jaeger mannerisms, he is far too irrational to deal with. I do not want that impeding my progress."

"So I hand over someone of royal blood to you." Megatron nearly laughed as soon as the words left his mouth.

“I suppose since we used to be affiliated with one another, it would be logical to try and come to an agreement without violence,” Shockwave reasoned, “I do not wish to waste resources on a ground attack after all.”

Megatron's grip on his sword tightened.

"Besides, I do not need Zeke Jaeger to control the pure titans at my disposal." Shockwave picked up the datapad from the table, "I have pre-recorded all screams he had made during Marleyan experiments and battles, and I could command the pure titans at my disposal with ease."

As proof of such a power, Shockwave pressed an audio recording of the scream, and the pure titans began to howl violently. There screams echoing through the mountain; it almost made Megatron drop his sword.

“I do not need Zeke Jaeger to command my army,” Shockwave declared, “I only wish to test the limits of a Titan shifter with royal blood. I would have liked to test the powers of the Founding Titan itself, but based on how long its been since I’ve been on this world, and you have been aware of my existence, you and the island do not want to test that power yourself. A waste of resources in my opinion.”

“Yet you approach me to ask for such a request that I could very easily say no to,” Megatron said.

“A fair retort," Shockwave admitted, "It would be unwise to hand over the piece of unlocking the full potential of the Founding Titan's Power. But based on the fact that Colossal Titans have not trampled this world, you have either neglected to use that power, or...are afraid to over what might happen."

“Even so, I know better than to just hand him over to you,” Megatron declared, “Especially willingly. You’ll see it as an excuse to try and gather more of the titan shifters.”

“So you would trust a human who betrayed his creators to survive?” Shockwave challenged.

Megatron didn’t reply to that, allowing Shockwave to continue. “Zeke Jaeger is anything but trustworthy. He is deceitful and conniving. Even though he betrayed his own creation for Marley, he was willing to align himself with Paradis to get closer to the Founding Titan. And just as you have said from what I’ve observed through Optimus’ memories, he neglected to tell you about my very existence. I had also discovered that he had been tampering with resources taken to Paradis, most likely with his spinal fluid. He had full intentions of taking control of the island. The longer he remains on that island, the more likely he is a danger to…everyone.”

Megatron grimaced and Shockwave extended his servo to Megatron. “I would be more than capable of controlling Zeke Jaeger, and prevent him from using his power on anyone else.”

Megatron wanted to retort. He wanted to say he would just use Zeke to get more power, but Shockwave already proved that he didn’t need Zeke Jaeger physically to control the titans. “And what happens if I refuse to hand him over to you?”

Shockwave’s servo curled into a fist. “Then I will take him by force. No matter who stands in my way.”

Megatron nearly sneered, but paused when he felt the dark energon pulse in his spark. He glanced over at Porco, who was now visibly conscious. His eyes were practically covered in purple, purple tears pooled from his eyes. He weakly pressed his hand against the glass, staining it with his blood. Megatron almost purged his insides when Porco’s mouth began to move.

“…h-…help….please….please…”

“Shockwave,” Megatron growled in warning.

"Accept my proposal. Hand Zeke Jaeger over to me, and I will leave the island alone for the time being," Shockwave declared as he grabbed his datapad, "Refuse, and I will tear the island apart until Zeke Jaeger is in my possession."

Shockwave pressed something on the datapad, and the groundbridge opened directly behind Megatron. "You have a week to come to a decision."

Megatron grimaced in anger, doing everything in his power to hide his fear. The Predacon noticed Megatron's anger and growled at him and crawled forward in front of the former warlord. Megatron was forced to take steps back through the groundbridge, the Predacon blocking his way. Megatron felt the dark energon scream at him as Porco weakly banged on the glass, his face full of terror.

"Don't...don't leave...," Porco wept, "Please."

The sound of the groundbridge overtook his audio receptors as he was almost through.

"Don't!" Porco's cries grew louder.

Megatron grit his denta as the Predacon's glowed from the fire crawling up its neck.

"DON'T LEAVE ME!" Megatron's optics snapped open at that, knowing for a fact that Porco did not say those words out loud. Megatron stumbled back through the groundbridge and landed on the grass. Megatron could only stare in horror as the groundbridge closed in front of him. He could feel everyone swarming him, asking him questions, demanding what the hell he saw. But Megatron no longer felt the dark energon in his spark pulse. It was practically cut off in an instant. Primus. PRIMUS!

"Megatron!" Megatron snapped out of his shocked state to see Optimus grabbing him by his shoulders and forcing him to look him dead in the optics, "What else did you see?"

"We have...a problem," Megatron finally spoke.

(You know, I take a look at this timeline and think 'How much more fucked up can I make this?' And then I reply to myself: 'Yes'.)

[dragonmasterhiccup]

(Not me making a Spotify playlist for this specific scenario 🫣)

Shaking her head, Freya picked up from his statement: "Yeah, kind of like you did. Now look where we are." She continued to rub Blaze's head, silently comforting him while he huddled close to her. As she began to lead him on the opposite end of the cave to sit down, Freya shrieked at a spiderweb that hung "dangerously " close to her face from a rock above her. She frantically waved her arms, scattering it far away from her as possible as she hugged Blaze.

"I'm dreaming, yeah, this is all just a nightmare that I'm gonna wake up from.." She muttered to herself, wearily sitting down on the cold floor. "It's like being around you automatically allows bad things to happen." Freya accusingly glanced at Hiccup, scooting even closer to her dragon for more warmth.

"I think I'd rather be stuck in this place with Snotl-" She screamed when she managed to glimpse at a spider that had crawled next to her; she assumed it was from the spiderweb she had just destroyed. Hearing her shout, Blaze quickly lifted his head to see what was wrong before noticing the spider and immediately crushed it underneath his paw, looking to her for her approval.

Freya steadied her breathing, weakly patting the sand wraith as she gave him a nod. "Thank you, Blaze..." She briefly turned to give Hiccup her attention. "So, who's gonna start a fire first? Cause I don't plan on freezing to death, I'm not so sure about you though." She hugged her bag closer to her, seeking for another ounce of relief from the cold.

She scoffed, going to untie her hair that was half up, quietly muttering to herself, "Now Ayla is gonna be super worried about me.. and I'm stuck in a cave with.. spiders, it's cold, and this storm isn't going away.." She furiously threw the tie that was originally holding some of her hair up, running her hands through the tangled black tresses. Freya didn't like having her hair down completely, not even mentioning having it down in front of someone else, but she threw that out of the window as she bitterly leaned against Blaze, annoyed that it still wasn't at its best.

Hiccup just shook his head, working on removing the wet pieces of his armor, setting them to the side.

He did get startled from her shriek, dropping a piece of his leather armor to the ground and was almost to his feet, until he realized there was no threat at all.

Letting out a breath, he got back to work.

Hearing her, he cut her a glare. "I believe you're mistaken. What's the common variable here? It certainly isn't me. Sure, I've gotten into some scrapes, but I've never been as infuriated as I am with you. I've even been in the company of a couple of enemies who tried to kill me on more than a few occasions!"

When she screamed at the spider, Hiccup shook his head, rolling his eyes. She sure likes to talk big, but it didn't seem like she could back up those sharp words of hers.

"Yeah, freezing to death is high on my list," he remarked sarcastically, dropping the final piece of his soaked armor. His green tunic was mostly dry, just wet near his elbows. "Don't get yourself in an even worse mood, I'll build the fire."

Making his way around the cave, he gathered the leaves and sticks that blew in, setting them in a pile towards the mouth of the cave, knowing the smoke would find its way to the open air. Finding some stones, he lined the kindling with them before setting the branches and loose wood in place.

Taking a step back, he turned to Toothless. "Hey, bud, wanna light this for me?"

The Night Fury charged a small plasma blast, instantly lighting the campfire.

"Thanks, Toothless." Turning back to Freya, hands spread out he asked, "There, happy now?"

Truth be told, he was getting cold as well. Well, colder, he was usually on the chilly side most days. Running a hand through his wet hair, he sat himself back down, leaning on Toothless' side, grateful for the dragons warmth and the warmth of the fire in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around his torso, feeling a little exposed without his armor, and very aware of how thin he was compared to other vikings. Part of why he wore his armor so much was because it gave him a little more bulk, made him look less... whatever he was.

"As soon as the storm passes, we can get back to Berk. I'm sure it won't last long, it looked to be moving fast."

Lightning illuminated the cave for a moment, with a large clap of thunder following closely behind.

"... probably."

[saccharinexvenom]

" this is who we are ; a product of war . "

; pinterest | wanted dynamics | wanted connections ;

aesthetics.

drowning your struggles in whiskey bubbles. scraped knees and bleeding knuckles. the distant sound of combat. the feeling of rot: slowly destroying you from the inside. the death of a hero. the endless need to find salvation.

basics.

full name. zephyr danvers nicknames. zeph, phyr gender. male pronouns. he/him sexuality. find out age. thirty-two date birth. 1st november zodiac sign. scorpio traits. assertive, acrimonious current location. new york city occupation. getaway driver for the society, mechanic

appearance.

face claim. aaron taylor johnson voice claim. garrett hedlund in mojave height. 6'1 piercings. hoop & stud in his left lobe tattoos. quite an extensive amount, mostly done before jail ; some done within other distinguishing features. he has scars from road rash on his right shoulder blade, a scar from a knife just on his lower stomach on the left side ; a couple more scars from being a reckless teen ; scar from where he'd been shot in the army style. it depends. while he's on a job, he's either dressed up in all black or a costume to fit in ( i.e. security guard, chauffer, etc. ) ; if he's not on a job, he's more casual, more relaxed with what he wears

biography.

you had come into this world silent. the doctors had feared for the worst. but one smack, and you had released all that anger already etched upon your lungs. you had been born of it. and you had been born into it. the very epitome of the word.

many had always made the claim. ' oh, i wish i had been born in a small town '. but none had ever known the true struggles of it. of everyone knowing your name. of everyone knowing your mama and your daddy. how the population of those around your age had been so slim, that you had been bused to the next nearest town. to a school that everyone knew everyone. and secrets were the quickest thing to hit the salons and barbershops. there had been nothing for you. but oh, how you had tried to fight against that implication.

wires had always been so easy to cross. a pair of pliers in your back pocket, and you could gain access to any car that sat within your field of vision. barely big enough to see over the steering wheel. it hadn't mattered when you went tearing down a dusty street. when you'd crashed through the jenkins' farm fence and nearly tore through their entire livestock. trouble had been your middle name, but what had they expected for you to do ? there hadn't even been a mall, let alone a strip mall in your town.

there had been nothing for you. no college scholarship. no community college where you could get something, anything that may have propelled you into a better future. so you had settled. for the only type of life a guy like you could have been given. the army. your daddy had done it. and so had his daddy. and all the men that had seemingly come before you. their medals and flags still covered the mantle in your family home.

discipline had been what you needed. so said your teachers, the ladies down at the hair salon ; hell, even the mailman had quipped it when you'd decided to steal his truck. and the army had done just that. taught you what you should have learned from an early age. for a spell. before you'd found yourself within the ring. as blood dripped from your knuckles. from the cut above your eye. from the split lip, the blood spat onto the ground between you and your opponent. the army had a strict ' no brawling ' policy. and yet, you found yourself within one nearly every night. because what else were you to do when the war had only ever been in your bones.

honorably discharged ; that's what the papers read when the bullet had torn through your abdomen. you had nearly died for your country and what had that gotten you ? a set of papers that meant nothing and the right to say that you'd fought. that you'd been ' one of the good ol' boys '. there had been no future within the army beyond that. no future anywhere, given that you had no college degree. no official skills that would see you through the workforce. and so, you'd done what you had always been good at: stealing.

there had been money in cars. from the suburban mom car to the wicked little sportscar. anything that ran and anything that had good bones could be hotwired. and taken to the nearest chop shop for some extra dollars in your pocket. the business had been good. but it could have been better. and oh, how the fucked up man in the sky had decided to answer your prayers. when one aspen lynch came into your life. smart, captivating ; and just what you had needed all along.

bonnie and clyde. clyde and bonnie. so many others had claimed that story to fit them. to be exactly as they had been. but none others could ever truly claim it. not as you and her had been. she the brains, you the brawn. no bank, jewelry store or the like could stand in your way. you had the manpower. the brute strength from all those years within the military. you had the training. the sharp eye and the willpower to pull the trigger when necessary. none had been able to get in your way. and you had been willing to do the unthinkable for her. for your love. until the unthinkable had landed you in handcuffs.

twenty five years to life had been on the docket. the courts screaming for life, for the death penalty. but the evidence had been circumstantial at best. and you had some big shot lawyer on your side. some asshole that had wanted to use your story to make a name for himself. ' look at me, i'm the guy that got zephyr danvers off death row. the notorious new age clyde barrow. ' what a crock of shit, but you had sat by while the man had spewed legal bullshit to the jury. something about small town kid. something about army veteran. shot in the line of duty, served his country and the people that now decided his fate. it was all so fucking good. and it had taken everything in you to not smirk. to not look over at the prosecution and see in their eyes that you were about to escape death. again.

after days of evidence and witnesses. after days of deliberation. the gavel had been struck. no death penalty, but you had been sentenced to far too many years behind bars. a mild sentence. but the gratification came in the knowledge that the courts had only been able to get you. that she had been able to walk away from it all. to see and taste the freedom that would not be yours. or so you had thought. for surely the courts would have found a way to keep you behind bars. that life as you had known it would be broken down to the small box that would be your new home.

yet, new evidence had come to light. and good behavior had found you once more within a deliberation room. sat before a deciding panel on whether you should see the light of day once more. stipulations had been made, of the possibility of your freedom. something about how you would never be given a license. something about how you would be marked as a felon for the entirety of your life. that last one had been spoken with a sneer from some uptight bitch. but you had only sat in silence, looked on as if you reeked of being the man that begged for forgiveness.

you had barely been out before the wires had been crossed. before you had sat within the driver seat of some fancy fucking car. and before you had found yourself on the radar of the society. who had seen your skills behind the wheel. had watched the ease in which you maneuvered the car away from those flashing blue and red lights. it had been an offer you really hadn't been able to refuse. given your record, given what the public knew all too well about you. the society had been willing to offer you something good, something discreet. and you had sworn your life to them, much the same as you had done when you'd been eighteen years old.

[primordialgod]

across the multiverse (. . .again)

TLDR: She goes to countless versions of 14th century Earth to heal all the sick people and stop the plagues, famines, wars, and various other calamities. January 1st 2016 to March 31st 2016 on our Earth.

Setting: her home in Pskov. 2016.

She stood in front of her mirror. A dusting of freckles covered her clean olive-toned skin. Her black hair --- currently in an intricately braided bun --- was hidden underneath her wimple and veil. She wore a dark blue bliaut with a deep green stomacher and a black double wrap belt. The bottom had been adjusted a little so the fabric wouldn't drag on the ground. Even her underclothes --- a thin linen shift --- and shoes belonged to the same time period and place as the bliaut.

She looked exactly like she'd stepped out of another time. Her entire outfit was from an alternate 12th century France. She adjusted the strap of her baldric. Her hellforged sword was safe in the scabbard strapped to her back.

She slowly took a deep breath. Was she really going to do this again? Was she really going to spend centuries doing nothing but stopping the plague?

Someone has to do it. Why not me? With that thought, she vanished.

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

1st time.

The darkness seemed almost alive. It pulsed and shivered and thrummed around her, caressed her and wrapped around her. Frostbite bloomed where the cold, sharp darkness brushed against her. The blackness was so absolute that even she couldn't see in it.

She heard the whispers of unseen monsters --- dark spirits of some sort --- and felt their claws stroke her back. She felt their cold lips and sharp teeth scrape against skin, felt them draw blood.

Enough of this.

She ignited into a bright, blazing light. Pure, holy, brilliant light and fire radiated from her and burned away the darkness. Her light and flames swept over the entire world, purifying and healing everything and everyone.

She looked up in time to see wisps of darkness dissipating in a cloudless blue sky.

2nd time.

It had taken her a few minutes to heal everyone in the world and stop both the plague and famine. In this universe, nothing supernatural had caused either one of the calamities so she didn't have to hunt down any world-destroying monster. After she'd fixed everything, she'd decided to stick around for a few days and simply wander around.

On her fifth day, she ran into a vampire.

She stared at the vampire, a former Crusader named Robert, and sighed. He thought of himself as some servant of the Devil. He thought it was his purpose to kill and torture and torment humanity. She'd gotten sick of that kind of attitude many years ago. She'd met plenty of other vampires like him and they all said the same things.

She wasn't going to bother trying to talk to him. She knew his entire life story and quite literally saw into his mind and soul. He didn't want to change and nothing she said or did would could help him. In many cases, she tried to help vampires in situations like his. But there was no helping him. He genuinely enjoyed doing horrible, disgusting things to people. His soul was ugly and she knew better than anyone that it was actually very difficult to get a truly ugly soul.

Flames ignited all over her body. She smirked when he flinched. He staggered back. Fear filled his eyes and his heart beat faster.

For a supposed servant of the Devil, she thought he was rather cowardly.

3rd time.

The tree was so massive and majestic that it made all other trees in the world look like toothpicks. It was thick enough for thousands of people to potentially build tree houses in its branches. It was so tall that it would take months to climb it and reach its top, so tall that even the biggest skyscraper looked small next to it.

Black corruption spread over the tree like an infection, like creeping rot and decay. The tree was silver and bright --- it quite literally glowed --- but the strange infection was slowly killing it, slowly consuming it. Fallen blackened leaves already littered the ground.

The massive tree was the literal Heart of the World. Without it, the world would slowly wither and die. She couldn't recall seeing something like this on any other version of Earth she'd visited; that didn't mean they weren't there, it only meant that this was the first time she'd come across one. Maybe she had seen something like this before but just couldn't remember at the moment. She'd seen many, many things in her life. She didn't remember every moment of her life and at some point even the important and significant events became blurry.

She had already stopped both the plague and famine on this Earth. All she had to do now was heal the Great Tree.

She pressed her palms against the tree. It was freezing to the touch, cold enough to cause frostbite. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sent her energy inside the tree to heal and purify it.

4th time.

She appeared in the midst of panic and chaos. She appeared when the world was ending. Actually, truly ending. It wasn't just plague and famine that had stricken this version of Earth. In this world, the miasma was real. In this world, vampires and werewolves didn't hide from humanity and instead hunted people out in the open. In this world, the sky rained fire and all the water turned to blood.

Fire rained from a black sky. Ash covered the streets. Screams filled the air as people ran past her. She leapt into the air to avoid getting knocked over. Those who saw her screamed and some even fainted. But that didn't matter. She had to focus, she had to tune everything out, she had to fix this.

She rose higher and higher into the air until she couldn't hear the screams anymore. The fire struck her but didn't burn her. She closed her eyes, mentally reached out and grasped in the invisible and intangible threads of reality, and started rearranging and reweaving them.

The sky stopped raining fire. The blood transformed into clean water. The earth itself was cleansed and purified. The miasma was burned away. Every sick and injured person suddenly found themselves healthy and whole again.

In several minutes she had saved the entire world.

5th time.

She had never grown to enjoy humidity, especially if it was paired with intense heat. She liked hot, dry summers. She liked the heat of the desert. The summers in the Mediterranean and Mesopotamia were great. The summers in jungles and rain forests? Horrible.

She wasn't in a rain forest now but the humidity seemed to be just as intense. It was the middle of summer and the sun's heat was searing. She wasn't sure where she was, exactly, and wasn't planning on staying long enough to find out.

She didn't want to see or smell the rotting corpses. She didn't want to see people burying dead bodies. She didn't want to see crying, scared, desperate people. She didn't think she could bear it without falling apart herself as well.

She would heal all the sick people here and then leave.

100th time.

She stood beneath a dark gray-blue sky covered in snow-heavy clouds. Fat flakes of snow rained down from the sky. It wasn't windy, thankfully, so it wasn't as cold as it could have been. Ice covered the bare black branches of the trees surrounding her. She heard the distant sounds of a stag's heartbeat, she heard foxes burrowing in the snow, she heard birds singing.

She had already stopped both the plague and the famine a few hours ago. Every sick person had been healed, everyone's fields and gardens had suddenly bloomed with hardy fruits and vegetables that somehow grew even in winter, every disease-spreading insect had died.

500th time.

A dry, hot wind blew through her clothes. She blinked in the bright sunlight and adjusted her wimple. Tall grasses spread out before her in every direction. She was in the steppes but that still didn't narrow it down too much. Grasslands weren't exactly rare.

Wherever she was, it was far from anyone else. There were no people here, not even nomads; there was no sign of any human habitation. She half-expected to stumble across bones but she didn't. There weren't any buried corpses here, no plague victims, no dead people at all.

Since she'd already stopped both the famine and plague on this Earth, she decided to stay a while and simply look around. At the landscape, at the people, at the towns and villages. . .

She glamoured herself invisible and took to the air.

1,000th time.

After she stopped the plague and famine, she decided to stay her for a while and simply live like everyone else for a while. She spoke with people and spent time with them. She helped make food and drank the wine. She danced with people in the streets, thanked God for saving them all from the plague, bought all sorts of things from many shops and merchants all over Eurasia. Clothes and shoes, silk and cotton and linen, jewels and furs and spices, perfumes and weapons. She bought various scrolls and books, all of which cost quite a bit of money but of course she could still easily afford it all.

She gave away coins and clothes to anyone she came across. She blessed people and granted them good luck. She went from place to place and stayed the night with many different families. Each family she visited found themselves with a heavy sack of coins; fine clothes made of silk and satin, termeh and taffeta; foods they had never seen before such as potatoes and tomatoes and corn. She had simply created it all for them by converting her energy into matter.

5,000th time.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd let herself sleep. For many days, all she did was this: appear on a version of Earth stricken with plague and famine; end both the plague and the famine by rearranging the threads of reality and reweaving the invisible tapestry; staying just long enough to make sure it all worked out well then moving on to the next version of 14th century Earth. Sometimes that involved staying for a few hours, occasionally several days.

She drank from the flask filled with a strange liquid that helped her stay awake. She didn't know what it was but it was far better than coffee and any energy drink merged into one. It tasted bitter and was hard to swallow but it was worth it since it gave her the energy she needed to keep going. She'd recently gotten it from a royal demon who for some reason pitied her and decided that, if she was going to push herself past her limits, she might as well have something that would keep her energized and alert. She shouldn't drink too often, of course. Even the demon wasn't sure what the side effects would be.

10,000th time.

She slept in the loft. Unlike many times before, this time it wasn't in an empty house. She stayed with a man and a woman who had lost their children, siblings, and parents to the plague. She'd told them that she was traveling to relatives who lived in the countryside and that the rest of her family was dead. They hadn't asked any other questions after that, though from their thoughts she knew they'd wanted to.

She stayed in Orvieto for a short time. Then she left and visited other parts of Europe and even went to Central Asia. She never stayed in one place for too long, only one week at most.

25,000th time.

Fire and hot blood rained from a black sky. A dark mist --- the miasma --- covered the land and permeated the air. Spirits soared through the air, some high in the sky and others down below; they all recognized her as a greater monster and avoided her even if they didn't know what she was. Perhaps that was exactly why they avoided her, because they had never seen anything like her before.

Her entire body ached. Even her lungs burned when she breathed in the noxious corrupted air. Frostbite and mottled bruises spread across her skin. Damned frostbite. It was the corrupted air and smog, something about it caused the frostbite and bruises.

Hot blood and ash covered her skin, her hair, her clothes. Hysteria and panic and fear crawled at the edges of her mind. She had been in situations like this many times before but had never managed to get used to it all. She had never grown numb to the apocalyptic horror. She didn't want to become numb to it either. Fear and hysteria was bad but numbness and apathy was far worse.

She stood in the ruins of a burned town. No one was outside. No one was running, not anymore. Corpses littered the street. Some had died from plague, others had from the miasma or fire, and some had been torn apart by the monsters roaming the world. The survivors of the carnage and destruction had all gone into hiding; some into their homes' cellars, others in the church's crypt. Vampires and werewolves had gone into hiding as well; most of them weren't immune to fire after all.

Far worse creatures than any blood-drinker or flesh-eater stalked the streets now. Some of them were demons from hell. Some of them were far worse, creatures that even demons wouldn't want to encounter. Nothing like her, no --- she was far, far worse than anything out there --- but. . .still terrible, still dreadful.

Most people would not want to meet the monsters that struck fear into demons from hell. She was not most people. Demons feared her too. And soon, so would the monsters who had brought the apocalypse.

She would stop all this first --- stop the fire, stop the miasma, stop the plague. She would save the world and humanity. And then she would find them. She would hunt down and kill whoever was responsible for this. None of this was normal or natural. Someone had caused all this and she had to stop them.

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

It was evening when she found them in the grove. No clouds covered the sky. Not even the wind blew; it was still, like a held breath, like the moment before catastrophe. It was so silent she heard her own heart beating.

It was all a bit strange, if she thought about it. One might have expected for a battle against ancient evil entities to occur at night. But if she ever enjoyed anything, it was the unexpected. She liked both being the unexpected thing herself and encountering them.

She stared at the two monsters --- Umaril and Celemaril. They weren't biological or physical entities; they had no organs, no blood, no bones. They couldn't die or be killed in the way mortal bodies could. They couldn't be harmed or killed by conventional means but then again, she didn't rely on the usual methods anyway. They were ancient, older than even the angels, but she was older than even them.

They were mirrors of each other --- both tall, slim, and sharp-featured, with bright silver eyes and long white hair. They both wore long white robes trimmed in gold. Bright golden-white flames shrouded their bodies. Not normal earthly fire. Spiritual fire that no regular water could extinguish.

She summoned her own holy fire, bright blue and holy and hotter than any other fire. She could have converted her energy into holy water and used it to extinguish their strange fire, yes, but she had always preferred to fight fire with fire. This time literally.

"What are you?" Umaril asked.

"Why did you do it?" Celemaril asked.

"I could ask you the same things," she said. "But you know what? I think I'd prefer to kill you."

Celemaril smiled, showing sharp teeth, and stepped closer. "Many have tried. They have all failed. What makes you think you'll be the one to succeed?"

"Because I'm a stubborn bitch with holy fire," she snapped. "And I have faced worse horrors than you."

A brief moment passed. She stared at them, and they stared at her. Then a raging inferno surrounded her and she shot toward them like a blazing comet. Her fire was holy and pure and nothing like earthly fire. Her fire would defeat them. And then she would throw them out of the universe.

50,000th time.

The moon here was a pale gold. The year was 1365, the plague had come in 1364, and here the miasma really had been the cause of the disease. Wild dogs and cats and rats roamed the streets of Florence. The smell of old rot and decaying corpses and diseased blood filled the air. She heard people's prayers in her mind and felt echoes of their feelings as if they were her own. They begged God to save them, prayed to the angels and saints, some even begged Death itself to end their pain. Waves of fear and despair and pain washed over her.

Tears burned her eyes. She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. It would take only several minutes for her to save everyone. Several minutes to heal the sick and burn away every disease on the planet. Several minutes to save the lives of several hundred million people and change the earth and its future history forever.

100,000th time.

The year was 1370; the plague and other horrors had come in 1360 and killed most of humanity during the next 10 years. Now there were less than 15 million people left in the world. She had come here too late to prevent the apocalypse but perhaps she could still save humanity and the world while there was still something left to save.

She stood in the streets of Paris --- a nearly empty Paris, with only 100 people left living --- and wondered what monster had decided to bring the apocalypse to this world. Because it had to have been a monster. Something like this couldn't have been natural.

A dark, corrupting, strange miasma enshrouded the entire planet. Semi-sentient darkness covered the world. Fires burned throughout the lands, unnatural fires that water couldn't put out. Semi-sentient plants overtook towns and cities and fed on both people and animals. Monsters roamed the land and devoured anyone they came across. Entities that fed off fear and life-force trapped people in horrifying pocket dimensions. The world was full of endless horrors. It was a miracle there were still people left living.

She mentally reached out and grasped the threads. She would stop this. She had to stop this.

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

The first thing she saw upon stopping the apocalypse was this: a star-filled sky with a bright blue full moon.

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

Mottled bruise-like patches covered both Norion and Konahrik's pale grayish-green skin. Blood covered their sharp teeth and claws. Their pitch-black eyes seemed a little too big for their faces. They wore dark teal robes that rippled and billowed in the wind.

"Why did you do this?" she demanded. Flames engulfed her body. Bright light radiated from her.

Her holy light burned them. She watched as their skin slowly blackened and black blood dripped from their eyes.

"To recreate the world," Norion said in a voice like wind blowing through dead branches.

"For a new era," Konahrik said in a voice like shattered glass.

"I've heard that before," she said. "You're all the same, you know that? Everyone who wants to kill humanity or destroy the planet. You're all the same and you're all boring. You're evil and evil is boring."

Before they could respond, she tore open a dimensional rift and threw them out of the universe.

200,000th time.

She gazed up at the dark red moon. The sky was a pinkish-gold slashed through with red streaks. She stood in a massive flower field, far from any town or city. Hyacinths and bluebells and foxgloves surrounded her. She breathed in the sweet scents and closed her eyes, letting herself relax.

For a long moment, she simply stood and enjoyed the moment of peace and calm. She listened to the distance calls of birds. She listened to the wind blowing. She listened to her own heart beat.

She had already healed the world and all of humanity an hour ago. No monster had caused the plague and famine in this world. No miasma or comets or wrathful god. The cause hadn't been anything strange or supernatural.

She lay down on her back and opened her eyes. She watched as the sky slowly darkened as the sun set. The stars slowly came into view, thousands of stars that lit up the sky.

She fell asleep below a starlit sky.

300,000th time.

She gazed up at the bright silver moon. Shades of green and blue slashed through the teal sky. She stood in a field of tall sweet-smelling flowers. She saw nothing else in the distance, no trees or buildings or anything else other than more and more flowers. No wind blew. No birds sang. It was completely calm and quiet.

She stared at the slowly changing sky, at the stars that slowly became visible. Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her face. She lay down in the field and let herself cry.

400,000th time.

Golden sunlight shone from a cloudless clear sky. She stood in a meadow of wildflowers. Birds sang in the distance, an entire chorus of them. It was a peaceful spring day. A calm, quiet, peaceful spring day. . .

It was appalling for the sun to shine among so much pain and death and disease. It was like the world was mocking everyone.

She stared straight ahead at the strange creature responsible for the plague and famine she had recently ended. His name was Anumaril and he was ancient, even older than the stars and the angels. She didn't know what he was. But that didn't matter. She wasn't planning on getting to know him.

Anumaril was tall, standing at over 6'5''. His skin was a pale grayish-blue, as if he was a frozen corpse. His straight hair, the color of rich loamy soil, reached his waist. Moss and lichen covered his large black antlers. His eyes had no visible pupil or sclera; dark green eyes flecked with silver and gold. He wore tattered and torn white robes but no shoes. A strange dark miasma surrounded him like a cloud, like corrupted mist.

"Who are you?" He spoke in a clear, smooth, pleasant voice. He stepped closer to her. The smell of loamy soil and the sea came with him. "In all my time, I have never encountered a creature like you. What are you? I am among the oldest beings in this universe and I have never encountered anything like you."

"Someone who hates people like you," she said before tearing open a rift and throwing him out of the universe.

500,000th time.

She was exhausted. She had run out of her elixir a long time ago. The elixir had helped her stay awake. It had been far better than any coffee and energy drink combined. It had let her stay awake and alert and energized for months. It let her go for months without sleeping. The side effects, sadly, were devastating. Headaches and dizziness and bleeding from her eyes and nose she could deal with and ignore. Vivid hallucinations and delusions and paranoia, however, left her feverish and bedridden for several days. Extreme exhaustion and a deep ache settled in her muscles and bones.

She was in a dead noble family's castle. The bed she lay in was soft and clean, probably stuffed with swan feathers. Bright warm sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows. Most people didn't have glass windows, let alone those made of stained glass; most people relied on shutters. Their castle had stained glass windows, walls covered in frescos depicting scenes of paradise, mosaics covering the floors depicting strange plants and mythical creatures. Many royals, nobles, and other rich people had painted walls so that was nothing unusual. Their clothes were strange; a century or two out of date. She put them in her bag to take with her.

Almost everyone had died in this town. She heard the ones who survived --- the ones she'd healed --- celebrating outside. No one came to the castle; no one visited any dead person's home, not now at least. They would eventually but not now.

She pulled the fur-lined wool blankets over herself and closed her eyes. She would stay here for a while. A few months, maybe. She needed to get more elixir anyway and for that she needed to talk to a demon.

She fell asleep to the sounds of birds singing and people laughing. She had good, peaceful dreams for the first time in a very long time.

600,000th time.

Something had drained the life from this planet. Everything was wilted. Everything was ash and dust. The trees, the grass, the crops. All of it shriveled and dead. None of it was natural --- she felt the wrongness of it all, the strange corruption, the taint that had spread throughout the world.

Very few people were still alive on the planet. Only five million people survived, out of an initial population of 750 million.

She stood in the ruins of a destroyed town. Charred buildings and shattered stones lay all around her. The corpses of burned and broken humans lay scattered throughout the area. Embers still burned in the ruins. The corpses were still hot from the flames; the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

Ash and snow fell from a dark sky heavy with dark blue-grey-purple clouds. No birds flew through the sky. No animals lurked in the ruins or surrounding forest. Not even the wind blew. It was silent as death.

She didn't know who or what caused all this. But she had a feeling that she'd attract their attention after she fixed all this. After she stopped all the horror and death. After she ended the plague and famine and unusual weather. After she healed everyone and restored the planet. After she healed and purified the world.

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

She waited for an hour. No one came. And so she spent days trying to find whoever did this. Days searching for any clues, days hunting the monster responsible for so much death and destruction.

She searched and searched but she couldn't find them. Whoever did this, they had either moved on right before she'd arrived on the planet or. . .

Or someone else had killed them before she could. She hoped it was the second option. If they were still alive, if they were out there wrecking entire planets. . . The thought of them killing so many people made her sick and angry, made her heart race in her chest, made her shake from horror and rage.

She had to stop them. She would stop them. Someday, somehow, she would find them and stop them.

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

She traveled to world after world throughout that universe. She had to find the person responsible for bringing the apocalypse. The monster was infamous throughout the universe and many worlds had heard of him. She searched through a world of vast evergreen trees and mountains and snow. She searched through a world filled with islands that floated in the sky and an endless ocean filled with many strange creatures. She searched through a world full of vast deserts and sand dunes and ancient ruins and clear bright skies. She searched through a world full of glittering cities and vast crystalline structures rising from the ground. She searched through a world trapped in eternal twilight and walked through cold deserts of black sands under a starlit sky. She searched through a world full of vast strange jungles that was trapped in eternal summer. All those worlds were thriving and peaceful and full of life.

The monster had not come to any of those worlds. She had to stop him before he did.

It took her many years but eventually she found him. Siltharis the Star Eater. The Life Stealer. The Worldbreaker. The Destroyer. That wasn't what she called him. That was what the people who'd heard of him and what he'd done called him. He had literally devoured stars, had somehow absorbed them into himself. He had absorbed the life from several thousands planets, leaving them withered and devoid of all living things. He had even shattered several dozen planets. He was horrifyingly powerful and though many had tried to stop him, they had all failed.

He constantly shifted and changed forms. He lacked a physical, biological body and was a purely spiritual being. His spiritual form resembled swirling mist and smoke --- red and gold and orange, the colors of a sunset.

His appearance constantly shifted and changed, features bleeding away and blending together like ink spreading through water.

At the moment, he had an androgynous form. He was tall with a lean body, large amber eyes with black sclera, and long dark brown hair that seemed to ripple as if underwater. He wore burgundy-and-violet robes. Mist and light bled from his manifested physical body.

He tilted his head as he looked her over. "Who and what are you? Why have you been hunting me for so long?"

"Why do you think? You've brought death and destruction to countless worlds. Someone has to stop you."

He laughed, the sound like a crow's cawing. Suddenly he was only inches from her. He grasped her face with his talons. She shivered; he was cold enough to cause frostbite. "And you think that person is you, my sweet monster? Do you truly believe you have the power to kill me? I am older than fear. I am older than life. I am older than the stars and the planets."

She kept her face expressionless. "No. I know I can't kill you. But I don't need to kill to stop you. I just need to do this."

Then she tore open a dimensional rift and threw him out of the universe. The rift instantly sealed shut the moment after he vanished. Being thrown out of the universe was essentially more or less the same as being thrown into hell. The absence of God would destroy him and drive him insane but it still wouldn't erase him from existence. His physical form would instantly be destroyed on an atomic level --- he was literally outside of spacetime now after all --- but he still wouldn't die. He would be in his spiritual state forever, constantly drowning in agony and insanity.

She felt no sympathy for him. He had killed countless people and caused horrific suffering on an astronomical scale. He had drained the life from hundreds of worlds. He deserved to suffer.

700,000th time.

Bright sunlight shone from a cloudless sky upon the carpet of flowers below. A light breeze blew through the tall sweet-smelling flowers. It was a warm, quiet, calm summer day. She hated days like that in times of horrors. It always felt like the world was mocking everyone. Death and disease and suffering shouldn't exist amongst warmth and sunshine and so many flowers.

She gazed out at the town below the hill. Smoke rose from the burned buildings. There was no one left alive in the town. Even from here, she could tell that everyone was dead.

She vanished from her place on the hill and reappeared in the town.

The entire town had been burned to the ground. Charred corpses littered the streets. The smell of burnt meat and rotting bodies mingled with the scents of blood and puss.

She closed her eyes and reached for the threads. The year was 1360 here, the plague hadn't come in the 1340s but instead in the 1359. Over 15 million people had already died but many more would die if she didn't stop it.

In several minutes, she finished reweaving the tapestry and saved the lives of over 500 million people across Eurasia and Africa.

800,000th time.

Ash and dust covered the streets and homes. Snow fell from a cloud-heavy sky. She stood in the ruins of a destroyed Italian town. She didn't know what its name was. Everyone here was dead, even the animals. It wasn't just the plague and famine and natural disasters that had struck the world.

It was a monster. She closed her eyes and mentally grasped the threads. Almost everyone had died but she would still save the remaining people.

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

She searched world after world. Whoever had ruined the Earth had ruined many other planets as well. She passed through dozens of worlds devoid of any life, filled with ruins and ashes and charred bones. She passed through thriving, peaceful worlds that had avoided the monster's wrath. She traveled and searched those worlds for years, helping out with whatever problems the worlds faced, but her ultimate goal of finding the monster remained.

Years passed. Finally, after years of searching, she found him. Varonmil, also known as the Dread Lord, the Undead Sorcerer, the Scarred Corrupter. He was horrifyingly ancient and extremely powerful. No one knew where he had truly come from or the true extent of his powers. He had brought suffering and destruction to many worlds. He had bent and twisted the laws of life and death. He had caused so much pain and suffering, so much death and destruction, had committed so many atrocities on such horrific scales that it left her in shock.

Varonmil was 8 ft fall, gaunt and skeletal and seemingly half-starved. He wore rich, dark silk robes that draped to the ground. Smoke and shadows rippled from him and surround him. He had pale, sallow, ashen skin covered in old half-faded scars. White antlers covered in moss and lichen grew from his head. His curly black hair hung down to his back. His face looked half-rotted, adorned with precious metals and jewels --- they were literally embedded into his skin. He had cloudy white eyes, slits instead of a nose, thin black lips, and sharp iron teeth. Blood dripped from his sharp iron claws.

"Who are you? What are you?" His voice was startling and unexpected --- clear, smooth, and bright. Like wind chimes in a summer breeze. It contrasted harshly with his appearance. She noticed his fangs, his sharp black teeth.

"You know, I keep expecting one of you world-destroying monsters to impress me. You keep failing. Causing destruction and suffering is boring. You're boring."

She tore open a rift and threw him out of the universe before he could respond.

900,000th time.

Her heart ached so much that she couldn't sleep. She could only lay in bed and cry. She couldn't fight past the overwhelming grief and guilt and pain, the overwhelming terror and horror and absolute dread. It felt as if someone had torn her heart out and stomped on it. If she felt this horrible, then she imagined it was far worse for everyone else. Everyone else had a soul; everyone else experienced emotions on a far deeper level than she did. Only her body felt things, her "soul" did not.

She couldn't stop. There was so much death and suffering across the worlds. She had to stop it all, she had to save everyone she could. She had long since lost track of the number of times she'd done this. She knew it was somewhere in the thousands --- hundreds of thousands. Perhaps over a million at this point.

The year was 1360. The plague had started in the ear 1356 on this Earth. Four years, and over that time 50 million people had died all over the world. Not just from the plague but from famine and brutal winters as well. She had stopped it all. She had healed the sick and restored the earth.

1,000,000th time.

She drank a large mouthful of elixir from her silver flask. The elixir gave her the energy she needed to keep going without sleep for a long time. It was far better than any coffee and energy drink combined. It let her go months upon months without sleep but unfortunately the side effects were harsh and brutal. There was no telling when exactly her body would start showing signs of the ill effects either. They usually began with hallucinations, headaches, dizziness, and nosebleeds though and so far she was avoiding those things. Eventually, she would crash and burn but not now. Not for a long time.

She spent little time in the places she visited. She stayed long enough to fix the problems and make sure everything turned out okay. A week at most. Then she left that version of Earth for the next. She visited thousands of Earths and in all of them the causes of the plague had been easy to fix. Germs and fleas and rats in most of them. Miasma and comets and the conjuncture of the plants in some. She could never do anything about the alignment of the planets but she could easily burn away the miasma. In rare cases, monsters had caused the calamities. She threw them out of the universe whenever she found them.

1,500,000th time.

She spent many years ridding the worlds of plagues and famines and wars. She never stayed for long, not like she used to do before; she only stayed long enough to rest before moving on. No monster had caused the diseases or disasters in the past several thousand worlds she had visited. It had all been natural occurrences and bad luck.

She lost track the number of Earths she visited. She lost track the number of years she had spent doing this. She drank her elixir to keep herself awake far longer than her body naturally should have stayed awake. She rarely let herself rest and sleep. Whenever she did, it was because the side effects were starting to get to her and she felt like she was about to collapse. Whenever she did stop somewhere to rest, it was only until she recovered.

2,000,000th time.

She stood in a field of ash and dust. Snow fell from a black sky. There was no life in this world. Everyone and everything was dead. The people had been reduced to ash and dust and shards of bone. The world's towns and cities lay in ruins.

She stared at Cimeliarch. At the monster who had destroyed all life on this Earth. He was incredibly ancient, older than the angels, one of the oldest beings in this universe. His body shone with a bright fiery light but it wasn't holy. He was so tall he towered over her. He was gaunt and pale-skinned, as if he had never been in sunlight before. His long fiery red hair hung down his back in wild tangles. His eyes resembled ashes burning with embers. He wore tattered and torn black robes that looked to be at least a few centuries old.

He had drained the life from this world. He had killed everyone and everything. Even she couldn't do anything to improve the situation, simply because there was nothing left to save.

But she could avenge them. She could avenge humanity and the animals and the planet itself. She could avenge all the worlds he had ruined and destroyed. It wouldn't bring anyone back or reverse what he had done. But it would prevent him from causing any more death and destruction.

Her body burst into bright blue flames. Holy, pure flames far hotter than any earthly flames. She flung her hands out, sending a shower of fire at him.

He tried to protect himself --- a golden-white energy barrier formed around him --- but her fire burned through his shield. Her flames burned his body to nothing and severely damaged his spiritual form.

Before he could flee or attempt to fight back, she tore open a rift and threw him out of the universe.

3,000,000th time.

She had long ago lost count the number of times she'd done this. She had stopped keeping track of time. It didn't truly matter anyway. Old age wasn't going to kill her.

She lay on the rooftop of an abandoned house and stared at the starlit sky. A sheet of shining silver stars covered the sky, far more stars than she was used to seeing. Most places had less stars. There were two moons here: one silver, the other gold.

It was a warm, peaceful summer night. She hadn't slept in a long time. She closed her eyes and slowly breathed in the smell of grass and hay and wildflowers. Everything was fine now. She had healed everyone in the world and stopped the plague several minutes ago.

She fell asleep in the silent night under a sea of stars.

4,000,000th time.

She hovered several hundred feet in the air. Her body shone with the light of a thousand suns, a holy light that healed and purified all it touched. Bright blue flames shrouded her body, holy and pure spiritual flames that were far hotter and stronger than any earthly fire.

Miraak hovered in the air a hundred feet away from her. The appearance and form he'd chosen to take wasn't what he had been born with. He lacked a physical form in his true state. He could manifest a false body for himself but it wasn't him; destroying his body would not be enough to kill him. Nothing could truly kill him.

Right now, his form was tall and androgynous. He had olive-toned skin and large golden eyes. He had sharp pure white teeth and visible fangs. His long dark auburn hair hung down his back in waves. He wore pure white robes that rippled in the wind.

He was older than fear, older than the stars, older than the angels but she was far older than even him. She had come first, she was the true origin of all, she had existed even before the multiverse.

And now she would throw him out of this universe, something that could be considered a fate worse than death.

5,000,000th time.

Nothing strange had caused the plague in the last several thousand Earths she'd visited. Nothing unusual. It had all been a result of fleas, germs, and bad luck, which made it very easy for her to fix everything. Healing countless sick people en masse and killing all the disease-spreading germs was very easy and only took a few minutes.

Hunting down literal monsters, however, could take her anywhere from a few days to months to even years. It depended on the monster.

She currently sat in a tavern, enjoying a cup of mulled wine and letting herself relax. A pleasant warmth had spread through her. She felt calm and at peace, even happy.

Only a few hours ago, everyone in the town had been sick and dying. Everyone had been praying and begging God to save them. She was surrounded by people who had all miraculously woken up healthy and believed God had saved them from their suffering. She wasn't going to correct them.

6,000,000th time.

It was relatively rare for monsters to be the cause of the world's calamities. In all her time doing this, she had only run into several thousand of them. That may have seemed like a lot but she had done this millions of times now.

She had stopped the plagues and famines and wars. She killed all disease-spreading insects and the disease-causing germs. She had healed all the sick people and buried all the corpses deep into the earth.

It had taken him two hours to find her. Oremus, the old monster responsible for all the calamities on this Earth. He looked much the same as many other monsters she'd encountered over the years. He wore tattered and torn black robes that looked at least three or four centuries old. He was tall, lithe, and muscled but not heavily so. Old burn scars and mottled patches of bruise-like markings covered his pale white skin. His long, straight, silvery-white hair blew in the wind. He had dark maroon eyes with no visible sclera or pupil. Blood coated his razor-sharp teeth and long fangs; blood dripped from his long, razor-sharp iron claws. Really, all these monsters were starting to look the same to her.

She hovered several hundred feet in the air. The wind tore at her hair and dark blue robes. Bright sunlight shone from a cloudless clear sky. It was a hot and dry summer day.

He hovered a hundred feet across from her. She didn't know what he was but that didn't matter much to her. Monster, god, demon --- those labels were all meaningless in the end. He was some kind of spirit powerful enough to manifest his own physical form and singlehandedly destroy entire worlds, that was all she knew for certain and all that she needed to know.

Her body ignited into brilliant bright blue flames before she shot at him like a blazing comet. She would burn him and throw him out of the universe.

7,000,000th time.

Setting: late 13th century, County of Champagne, Northeastern France

She had thought she'd arrived in time to prevent all the calamities. She had thought she would have been able to enjoy her time here and take part in the Champagne fair. And for several days, she had done just that.

She hadn't expected anything like this to happen. She stared at the sky in horror. This was not the first apocalyptic event she had personally witnessed but she had never grown used to them.

She watched as the sun slowly dimmed before turning black. Day turned to night in mere moments. The sun was still there, it still existed, it just. . .changed.

All the stars went out a moment later. As if something extinguished them. They simple blinked out of existence.

People screamed in terror and scattered. Some dropped whatever they were holding and didn't bother to pick it back up. They crashed into one another in the dark in their desperate attempts to run to safety. Overwhelming terror and horror pulsed from everyone. People ran into the closest buildings and bolted their doors.

She remained where she was and stared at the sky. She half-expected the white full moon to vanish too but that wasn't what happened. Crimson bled into the moon and the world was cast in the color of blood.

Isn't this a little dramatic? What's the point of all this? Who are you? She sent out her thoughts to whoever might be listening.

She waited for ten minutes, and when no one answered she let out a long breath. Fine. Guess I'll have to come to you.

It was better for everyone to stay inside while she searched for the monster. She would fix all this after she found them. She didn't want to leave all of humanity in fear and let them think the world was ending. But if there was more than one monster out there, if there were many monsters out there, people would perhaps be safer if they stayed locked away in their homes. Hopefully.

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

One hour later, she stood in the nave of Sainte Chapelle. Reddish light streamed through the stained glass windows. No candles had been lit inside the church. The smell of old incense still hung in the air. She wore the same dark blue robes she'd been wearing for years. They were tattered and torn now but still presentable. She was a bit too thin and pale but she still looked healthy. The monster standing before her, though, looked like he had come straight from hell.

His name was Rathanael. He was so tall he towered over her. His body was gaunt and sharp-featured but not skeletal. His skin was blackened and charred and covered in embers. His feathery black wings --- burned and singed just like his body --- were so massive they cast shadows. How had he been burned? Normal fire couldn't harm him, surely. She wondered if he'd gotten in a fight with an angel. She hoped that's what it was; she hoped an angel had tried to kill him. Black blood dripped from his wounds. It smelled bitter and rancid. He had large pitch-black eyes that seemed a little too big for his face. He had slits where his nose should have been. Red blood --- human blood --- covered his sharp iron fangs. Blood dripped from his long iron claws.

"I'd ask why you did this but after all this time all of you are starting to sound the same," she said, slowly approaching him. She held her hellforged sword. The black blade glinted in the crimson moonlight.

Our planet has long since stopped being capable of sustaining us. We travel the cosmos in search of new life. We feed off the life force of all living things. Animals and plants and the planet itself. His mental voice sounded like a chorus of echoing agonized screams. Any normal person who heard his voice in their mind would have been driven insane. What are you? We have never seen something like you. You are the first being we have encountered that we cannot feed from.

"So there are others here too?" She tightened her grip on her sword's hilt. Only a short distance separated them now. She could lunge and impale him very easily. She ignored his question.

Yes. Six others are on this planet. More are currently on other planets. There are a thousand of us throughout this universe.

"Fine. Then I'll find them and stop them too. And then I will find your planet and destroy it. I won't let you destroy any more worlds." The distance between them became shorter as she neared him. She would stop Rathanael. And then she would hunt down and stop every single other monster too.

It has been countless years. Millions of years. You will never find it. Even we do not know where it is. It has been so long that it's likely ash and dust by now.

She snarled. The air around her crackled with energy. She trembled from rage and hatred. "I will find all of you and stop you. I don't care how long it takes me. I'll stop all of you. I'll find your home planet. And I'll shatter it."

She lunged and stabbed him. Her sword pierced right through the place where his heart should have been. Black blood gushed out in a thick river. The blood spilled onto the church floor. The blood soaked into her clothes and covered her skin. Her skin burned from the contact with the vile black blood but she ignored the pain.

A strange expression crossed his face. As if he couldn't quite believe what just happened.

She pulled her sword out of him --- stabbing him, even with a hellforged sword, wasn't enough to kill him. Then she tore open a dimensional rift and tossed the monster out of the universe.

"I'll fix this soon. I'll stop it all. I'll put an end to the horrors and bring peace," she promised to herself, to humanity, to the world. "But first I have to find the other monsters."

8,000,000th time.

She lay in bed in a dead noble's castle. Mosaics covered the floors. Tapestries covered the walls, depicting the saints' miracles. Incense smoke filled the air. Warm sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows. She stared at the ceiling and listened to the birds chirping outside. It was a bright summer day, everyone was healthy, and she was ready to sleep for at least an entire day.

She had no dreams when she slept. No nightmares. No visions. No memories of the horrors she'd witnessed.

She stayed on that Earth for two months.

9,000,000th time.

She stood beneath a white-grey sky. Snow and ice fell in a heavy shower. Her dark blue robes billowed in the wind. The flakes of ice stung the exposed skin of her face. She stared straight ahead at the creature only ten feet away from her.

The monster Sarathiel hovered three feet above the ground. A dark miasma surrounded him. He shone with a bright unholy light. He had pale white skin --- skin white as the moon --- covered in black veins resembling a spider's web. He was 10ft tall, gaunt and skeletal, and had three pairs of vast feathery black wings that unfolded behind him. A pair of massive lichen-covered antlers grew from his bald head. Black blood trickled from his solid white eyes --- murky, milky, moon-white eyes. He wore torn and tattered pale gray robes that looked to be a few centuries old.

"You monsters are all the same. You look the same. You act the same. You do the same things. You are all evil and you all bore me. None of you are even slightly interesting or impressive."

He smiled ominously --- revealing sharp black teeth --- and said something in a language she didn't understand. His voice was a discordant chorus of madness and darkness. Chaos and death and blood. It would have driven her insane if she had been human. His voice itself would have driven her to suicide.

She tore open a dimensional rift and tossed him out of the universe.

10,000,000th time.

She gazed up at the aurora shifting and blazing in the clear night sky. A cold wind whipped at her clothes and hair. She inhaled the cold air and flexed her numb fingers. She enjoyed the feeling of the cold air as it moved through her lungs. It was refreshing after being in so many worlds amidst sweltering summers.

It had taken her two minutes to reweave the threads. Two minutes. tears stung her eyes. It was horrifying and appalling. She had singlehandedly saved the lives of 300 million people in such a short amount of time. Not for the first time, she found herself thinking that no single person should have that much power.

11,000,000th time.

The year was 1250. Snow fell in a light drizzle from a dark grey sky. A fierce cold wind blew against the buildings and rattled the houses' shutters. She lay in bed under a fur-lined blanket in the home of a dead noble family. A lit masonry stove provided more than enough heat to keep the house warm.

She was the only living person here, some large town in France. Everyone in this town had died from blood fever. She stared up at the ceiling, half-asleep and delirious from fever and exhaustion. She'd drunk the bottle of mulled wine she'd found in the cellar and took some opium to help her sleep. Unfortunately the drugs couldn't keep her nightmares away. She'd awoken shaking and sweating and exhausted.

12,000,000th time.

The year was 1220.

She stared at Sallos. He wasn't her version of Sallos but he was still remarkably similar. She sat across from him in the tavern, sipping her mead. "You're a lot like him. He also thinks I should. . .stop doing this." She missed Sallos a lot; she missed him so intensely her heart hurt. Talking to this world's version of him was painful because he was just so much like her world's Sallos.

His hair shifted from fiery red to midnight black. He reached out and placed his hand over hers. "Please, Alyona. You've done enough. You've done more than enough. You have singlehandedly saved the collective lives of trillions of people across millions of universes. You have stopped creatures that seek to destroy entire worlds. Please, my shining nightingale, I beg you to stop. Enjoy your life. Do things that bring you joy. Do things that make you happy and bring you peace."

She flinched. That was the nickname her world's Sallos had for her. It was strange hearing it from him. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. ". . .I do enjoy doing this. I feel guilty when I'm not doing this. There's so much pain and suffering out there. There are so many horrors. I have to---" Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes burned with tears. She blinked and the tears streamed down her cheeks. Her heart pounded. "I can't stop. I have to keep going. I have to save as many people as I can."

He didn't say anything for several minutes. "Six months. Stay here and enjoy your time for six months, at least. That's not a long time. Please do this for me."

She drained her cup of mead. She stared at him for a long, long moment. Then she nodded. "For you, I'll do it."

13,000,000th time.

The year was 1200.

She stood alone in the town square. Everyone had hidden inside and bolted their doors. Several dead bodies lay scattered in the streets, people who hadn't managed to make it inside in time. She heard people crying and praying. She sensed their terror and despair. Everyone thought the world was ending. They were right but she was here to stop it. She would save the world.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Cold blood, ash, and hail rained from the sky. The wind blew so hard it tore off pieces from buildings. She ignored the sting of ice striking her and instead closed her eyes before mentally reaching out.

She had arrived here just in time to prevent everything from getting worse. The world population was over 500 million. This strange storm had killed "only" 2 million people so far. She would stop it before more people could die.

14,000,000th time.

The year was 1220.

It was evening when she arrived. A procession of people holding lit candles and desperately praying walked through the streets. All of them were crying, terrified, and hopeless. Most were sick and barely managed to walk. They all begged for someone to save them; they all begged for the pain and fear to end. They prayed to God, to the saints, to the angels. Some even prayed to other gods. They were heading to the large cathedral, hoping its sacred ground would grant them protection against the horrors. She knew their thoughts and feelings, even felt echoes of what they did as if they were her own feelings.

Plague, blood fever, famine and strange weather had stricken the entire world. Dark spirits attacked people, inflicting frostbite or burns or blight. Revenants, vampires, and other monsters tore people apart, drank their blood and ate their hearts. Hail and ash and blood raining from the sky in some parts of the world. Poisonous and venomous animals raining from the sky in different parts of the world. Some people reported seeing massive meteor showers and the moon turning red. Others said the sun turned black.

Tears streamed down her eyes. This was why she couldn't stop. Something horrible and apocalyptic was always happening somewhere. She couldn't stop. She couldn't rest. She had to keep going until she couldn't go on anymore. She had to keep going until someone killed her, and so far no one had succeeded.

She mentally reached out and grasped the threads of reality. In several minutes, she granted their prayers and saved them from their suffering.

15,000,000th time.

The year was 1200.

An unnatural darkness had blanketed the world. It pulsed and shivered around her, cold as ice and stealing her warmth. It seemed almost alive. Vampires and similar creatures stalked the darkness and killed anyone they found. There was no need for them to hide now after all. Many of them slaughtered and butchered humans without a second thought.

Vampires going on killing rampages and semi-sentient darkness was honestly mild compared to what she was used to dealing with. She straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and unleashed her power.

She flew high into the air. Her body burst into bright white shining light, a thousand times brighter than the sun but without the harmful effects. Her light burned away the darkness and instantly turned all the vampires back human. Her light healed all the sick and injured people. Her light healed and purified all it touched.

She let her light pour out of her for an hour. Just to make sure it did wash over everything. Considering the speed of light, she probably shouldn't have maintained it for as long as she did but since the light wasn't harmful, she didn't see the problem.

She let her light slowly dim and flicker out before she landed on the ground. No one had come outside yet. She looked up to see a clear blue sky. It was morning and she had saved the world.

16,000.000th time.

The year was 1200. On this Earth, this was the time of another crusade. Stopping it hadn't taken long. All she did was simply make everyone change their minds and make them decide to stop. She did the same thing to the Mongolian armies too: she made them change their minds and decide that they should all just go home. The famine, plague, and blood fever had all began in the year 1190 and spread throughout all of Eurasia and Africa but she easily stopped it and improved conditions. A massive asteroid was heading toward Earth but she shattered it into millions of pieces and they burned up in the atmosphere. A total of 50 million people had died over the course of ten years as a result of the wars, famine, and diseases but if she hadn't done anything far more people would have died.

She lay in bed in the house of a dead noble family somewhere in the Holy Roman Empire. It was a large and sturdy manor that had been built in the year 1150. Snow fell in a gentle shower outside and pale sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows. Most people had shutters instead of windows, unless they were rich.

She heard the distant sounds of people talking and the daily activities of town life. She had been here for a few weeks at this point. She had talked to people and enjoyed her time here. It was peaceful and joyful and almost everyone was happy.

Everyone was talking about the same thing: the sudden end of the plague and blood fever and miraculous recoveries of all the sick people. Many people thought God had answered their prayers and saved them. They were wrong but she didn't correct them.

17,000,000th time.

She appeared in the year 1330. It was early spring, the grass was green, and flowering trees dotted the landscape. She stood on a windswept hill overlooking an Italian town. Even from this distance, she could sense everyone's fear and panic. Everyone had hidden in their homes and prayed for the horrors to end. The same thing was happening all over the world. Not just in Eurasia. The entire planet was experiencing the exact same phenomena.

Poisonous and venomous creatures rained from the sky. It rained frogs, lizards, snakes, and scorpions. She'd seen this happen many times before. After this, there would be thunder and lightening and a massive hailstorm. And after that, blood and fire. How long any of the storms lasted varied. On some versions of Earth, it was three days. On others, five days, On a few, a week. Rarely, they lasted two weeks or more.

She would stop the current horrors and prevent either of the other two from happening.

18,000,000th time.

The year was 1025.

Large pieces of hail ranging from the size of her fist to the size of her head rained from the sky. The air smelled of ozone. Lightning flashed, and a moment later, thunder rumbled.

She stood in the deserted streets of a Greek town. Everyone had locked themselves away in their homes but that couldn't fully protect them. The hail hit so hard it broke through many rooftops.

She reached out with her mind and grasped the threads. All over the world, many people had died due to the rain of poisonous and venomous animals but she would prevent anyone else from dying.

19,000,000th time.

The year was 1315. She stood in the ruined streets of Rome, mentally shielding herself from the flames and hot blood raining from the sky. There was so much blood and ash in the streets it went up to her knees. Charred, mutilated corpses floated in the tainted blood. The smell was so horrible it made bile rise in her throat.

In some parts of the world, it rained various poisonous and venomous creatures. In other parts, it rained large chunks of hail and snow. And in other parts, it rained fire and ash and blood.

Two weeks had already passed by the time she appeared. Millions of people had already died. She couldn't bring them back to life but she could prevent the deaths of millions more and stop the horrors from getting even worse.

She closed her eyes and mentally reached for the threads.

20,000,000th time.

The year was 1285. She appeared when the world was ending.

Semi-sentient strange darkness had engulfed the whole world. The darkness fed off people's pain, fear, and despair. It infected everyone with strange diseases she'd never seen before. It trapped them in a constant state of agonizing pain, terror, and sickness. It was tortuing everyone in the whole world.

Ash, blood, and shards of glass rained from the sky. All the water of the world, all the lakes and rivers and the entire ocean, had turned to blood.

The most horrifying part of all this was the silence. One would expect screams to fill the air but it was completely quiet. The darkness had trapped everyone in a state of delirious fear. They were trapped in their nightmares and hallucinations. They were so lost in pain and fear that they couldn't even scream.

She closed her eyes and mentally reached for the threads. In two minutes, she was finished. She stopped the end of the world, restored the planet to perfect condition, healed all the sick and injured people, and threw the strange entity out of the universe. 700 million people all over the world --- everyone in the entire world --- had been sick with various terrible diseases and trapped in horrific fear and pain.

And it had taken her only two minutes to stop it all.

30,000,000th time.

She had healed everyone all over the world. She had stopped the plague and famine and the natural disasters. She had stopped the wars and massacres.

Now she lay on the rooftop of an abandoned house and gazed up at the starlit night sky. The smell of hay and wildflowers filled the air. Less than an hour ago all 250,000 people in the city had been on the verge of death. But she had saved them. She had quickly and easily healed them all. She had incinerated the corpses lying in the streets and then transformed the ashes into water. She had made everyone's gardens bloom with fruits and vegetables in a matter of minutes.

For the first time in a long time, she let herself enjoy her time here. She spent three months on this version of 14th century Earth. She traveled from town to village to city, from one country to the next. She either stayed in an abandoned house or spent a brief time with any family who'd have her.

It was a calm and peaceful time.

40,000,000th time.

The world had been frozen in ice and snow. Frost giants and winter fey roamed the world and killed any living thing they came across. Vampires slaughtered entire owns and villages. Many people died from plague and famine but far more only froze to death.

She stood on a hilltop overlooking a city in France. A large cathedral pierced the sky, visible even from this distance. The stained-glass windows glittered in the pale sunlight shining through the clouds.

Sunlight was very rare these days.

She took a deep breath of frigid air, straightened her spine, and closed her eyes before reaching out and mentally grasping the threads of reality.

In less than five minutes, she stopped the winter and brought forth spring. She healed all the sick and dying people, killed all the germs and fleas, made the crops rapidly grow, sent all the frost giants and winter fey back to their own planes, and turned all the vampires back human.

She opened her eyes to a clear blue sky.

50,000,000th time.

Light filtered through the stained-glass windows. She stared up at the mosaic painted on the ceiling --- the saints and angels in heaven. Braziers burned with sweet-smelling incense throughout the castle. Outside, the birds chirped and the wind gently blew through the trees.

She was in an old, abandoned castle somewhere in the countryside of France. Aside from the birds and herself, there was no other living being nearby.

Nothing unusual had caused the plague or famine on this version of Earth. No monster or miasma or angry old god. It had been very easy and simple to fix all the problems of this planet. All she had to do was reweave the threads of reality. It had taken her a very short time --- 90 seconds.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the sweet-smelling air. It had been a long time since she'd let herself sleep. Her muscles ached and her eyes felt heavy. Her heart wasn't beating the way a healthy heart should. Her body wouldn't stop trembling and it was getting difficult to focus. Praying she wouldn't have any nightmares, she forced all thoughts from her mind and focused on breathing in and out.

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

Setting: Pskov. March 31st 2016.

She stepped through the dimensional rift and into her room. The rift instantly sealed shut. Her room was exactly as she'd left it. Her bed was still unmade, books and scrolls still lay scattered across her table and on the floor, her enchanted trunk was still pressed against the foot of her bed. Dust motes floated through the air. Golden sunlight streamed through the windows. She blinked and realized it was dawn.

She stared at herself in her full-length mirror. She was wearing a dark blue half-cloak, a green tunic, and grey trousers. Flowers were woven into her unbound black hair. She wore her old bag with the strap over one shoulder and across her body. She held a large loaf of warm black bread in her arms. She looked happy and healthy. It had been centuries since she had last been here and yet she still looked exactly the same as before. Perhaps she was thinner and her hair was longer but other than that nothing had changed.

She opened her bag and peered inside --- it was larger on the inside than the outside, so it was filled with many different things she'd gathered over her centuries of travels. Food and spices and bottles of wine, clothes and shoes and jewelry, books and codices and manuscripts. She quickly stored everything in her trunk --- also bigger on the inside than the outside --- and tossed her now empty bag on her bed.

"You're back."

She turned to see Sallos standing in her doorway.

He smiled at her. "How long was it this time? Three thousand years? Four thousand, perhaps?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Four thousand seems reasonable but I didn't really keep track. The last time it was. . ." She frowned in thought. "Ah. . .two thousand years, I think. This time it was far more than that. Feels like it, anyway."

"Will you do this every year?" Will you do this until you die?

"Maybe." She answered both his spoken and unspoken question. She tore off a piece of bread and went over to him. "Want some bread fresh from 14th century Florence?"

He laughed lightly. He took it from her and ate it in one bite. He had no need to eat or drink but enjoyed doing it sometimes anyway. "Oh, it's been so long since I've had real bread."

"I brought more stuff back. Food, alcohol, tea, spices, clothes. . . Maybe we can get everyone together and have a party. In that bluebell woodland in Britain, you know the one. The one with the will-o'-wisps. We can dance under the moon to the sound of faerie music."

He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the top of her head. "Yes, that sounds doable. I'll sent out the invitations."

[a-drop-of-nightshade]

He just felt the need to give her that hug, those words, that moment of praise after all these years she must have been trapped here. Hearing her call out he span and waved to her before nearly tripping and laughing before he focused and headed off. Whilst Izzy avoided the cultists he made sure he got spotted, after all the that was the plan.

It was easy to keep out the reach and range of the cultists and their stasis and telekinesis modules, he knew they didn’t want to risk shooting and damaging him but he made sure to keep moving and an ear out for the guns distinctive sounds. He could easily out run them, but he had to preserve his energy for the real challenge… the Necro’s. But before long he had lead them all to the very centre of the sprawl, he knew this was the point where everything met because he had spotted the plans and Izzy had shown him the maps so he knew where to run.

He ran ahead and hid behind one of the crates in the middle of the room, he breathed deeply to catch his breath as he primed the bomb as instructed, he glanced at the hallucination trying to goad and question him, “if you want answers you best send your fucking worse because gods you are pathetic for a so called pinnacle being. You must be one pathetic hivemind if you can’t even catch one human.” He mocked it, and he saw how it ruled, he felt it in his head and he just grinned before his attentions returned to the cultists who now were beginning to surround him.

It was time, so he did what he had too and armed the bomb before throwing it up in the air as high as he could and clapped his ands over his ears gritting his teeth just in time as the sound bomb went off. Even with his ears covered it threw him hard, the noise ripping through his head and ears, he listened to people scream and drop covering their ears and he heard it. He felt it. Gods you could feel them coming, the ground shaking the thunderous roses and screeches as he looked at the fading hallucination, “I’m right here bitch, come and get me if you can!” It was the last thing he said as the Necro’s burst in, the horde converging in, the noises were deafening but he didn’t stop, he did what he did best. And now, now he ran.

He sprinted forwards barely until time to avoid a tripod crashing down where he had been moments before, he leapt to avoid a lurker beneath him and then hit the ground running ducking under a slasher before it took his head. He heard them shriek, he heard brutes roaring and yet he dared not look back, he dared not risk one misstep as he just ran down the planned halls. His heart was pounding, his chest heaving his feet hiding the floor hard and as fast as he could go. His muscles burned and he could hear them behind him but still he did not falter, out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment he saw a ship outside and hoped to the gods it was Izzy.

However his luck wasn’t good, things were not perfect and perhaps he antagonised the hivemind too far because it had planned and Runner barely hit the deck and skidded in time to avoid the lunging brute that nearly grabbed him from ahead. “Oh shit!” He gasped scrambling to his feet he took off down the hall, but he heard it, he heard the ship leaving whet was it leaving? What had gotten in that ship? But he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t! He ran for his life and span to slam the shutter to the dock, buying himself a few seconds to run up to the pad.

He didn’t know much but he figured it out slamming a few keys he got the channel open, “BITCH WHAT THE FUCK?!” He yelled, the sounds of banging and scraping, roaring and shrieking filling the comms, “Get your arse back here and meet me— OH FUCK!” He yelled as the vent over head shattered and to his horror a tentacle slammed down at him destroying the terminal. So he had no choice, he was off again. He just hoped Izzy had got the message, he hoped whatever had gotten in that ship was dead, but now he threw himself to the side to avoid a leaped and then the shutter was torn down and he had no choice but to run.

He didn’t know how he was so lucky to be able to get out the side door, but he did just barely, ducking through grasping at him of all different types. He just didn’t think about it and he sprinted down the hall, this was bad, whatever distance he had was near gone, they were a hairbreadth behind him, they swiped at his back they thundered down the hall and he barely made the corner before something huge crashed into the wall behind him. Only one thing went through his head, to run. He had to run. Run run run run r u n.

“STOP!” The yell came from behind him as he sprinted down the hall, “GET HIM BEFORE HE ESCAPES!” The man barely threw himself behind the pillar to avoid the blasts of stasis hitting him, he gasped and pushed off the wall sprinting off down another hall he heard them chasing after him. He could only think to do one thing and and he snatched up a metal pole from the ground before he skidded to a stop and smashed open a vent, he took a deep breath and then yelled into it “DINNER TIME!”

He didn’t stick around because it took mere seconds for the roar into the vents to attract a lot of attention, he ran for his life and skidded around to see a person in a suit, a suit covered in symbols he gasped and ran forwards grabbing her hand, “not that way run!” He hissed yanking her after him as he bolted away form where the men chasing him started screaming because they were being attacked by the mass of attention he had drawn to cover his ass.

( @a-drop-of-nightshade )

Izzy had been preparing to assault the group of unitologists for weeks now. She'd had to collect supplies and weapons to try and overpower them. But eventually she figured she was ready. Packing up she made the long trek from her safe house across the area. Focused hard on her quest she didn't stop for anything. But as she grew closer she could hear yelling which didn't bode well. Had they turned on each other? Did the necros find them first?

She didn't get a chance to find out as someone ran around the corner and grabbed her hand. On instinct she turned and ran with him. Keeping up with him easily she booked it away from the complex. The sounds of the necros and the fighting grew distant and she eventually started giving him directions to a safe place. "Two lefts an a right! Then skid undah the gate ta be home free."

[the-queer-musketeers]

a moment of silence for the mushrooms killed while I raked leaves today

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Not Quite Dead

Ship: Eddie x fem!reader

Summary: You find yourself alone in Hawkins, a town ripped to shambles despite the sacrifices made to save it. Is it better or worse that Eddie doesn't live to see it? He'll tell you himself.

Word Count: 6,085

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of Eddie's fate s4e9, not-quite-flashbacks, a tiny bit of a plot, implied (years previous) sex

Notes: This story takes place after season 4. Reader is Eddie's longtime girlfriend.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Maybe it was best he had no gravestone. The whole town would deface it if he had one. You could see it in your head: tiny little carrots like the ones your English teachers used to mark your papers with, except the carrot would change the name engraved to Eddie 'the freak' Munson. Or maybe they'd just spray paint over his name, or even try to scrape it off, and just write 'the freak' in its place. Or 'murderer' or 'cult leader' or whatever insane shit they thought he was. There would be pentagrams, disgusting graffiti, everything that shouldn't be on his grave—but already decorated his missing posters—would find a home there.

So maybe it was better that there was nothing to commemorate him. But it hurt, just a little bit, to see graves for Chrissy, for Fred, for Patrick—but nothing for the hero of Hawkins.

Not that it meant much to be the hero of Hawkins. There was a line at a constant stand-still leading out of the town, most people desperate to get out of it. Those that stayed lived in fear and muttered about how the Devil had finally come to drag Hawkins to Hell. The ground was still broken and sunk in from the ruptures that had healed only slightly—just enough to no longer be glowing scars in the ground leading directly into what really was Hell.

Everyone was speculating what the cave-ins were. Some people said it was from an earthquake, and that was the most popular theory. Some said it was the result of Satanic activity, and those were the people that defaced Eddie's posters. Some said it wasn't quite Satanic, but definitely paranormal.

You knew what it was. You couldn't talk about it. Not because you alone knew what it was—your friends, the kids who had gravitated toward Eddie and the recent Hawkins graduates who hadn't actually gotten a graduation, knew what had happened. They knew what the ruptures were. They had been trying to get you to join in on their conversations and talk to them about the ruptures, what you had seen in the Upside Down.

But you couldn't talk about it. They knew why. It had taken you almost two months before you could even say your boyfriend's name or look at his destroyed missing posters.

Normally, you told your friends everything, especially Robin, who had been the first person to accept that you and Eddie were a thing. She had been your closest confidant since middle school, when you saw Eddie play for the first time and had an instant crush on him. But you couldn't even talk to her these days. You couldn't tell her that you still woke up in a cold sweat, that you still needed to listen to the tapes of unfinished Corroded Coffin songs that were mostly just Eddie's voice just to get to sleep, that you would zone out only to realize you were crying seemingly over nothing, that you had gone to the store to pick up more of Eddie's cologne because you'd been wearing it and had used it all up already, that you took a shower every time you woke up from an accidental nap because it still felt like you were covered in blood, that you slept in his leather jacket even though it was way too hot for that, that you wore the ring he'd frantically pressed into your hand as his breathing faltered on your necklace, that you refused to delete any of the numerous voicemails on the phone in your room because they were all of Eddie calling you with something for a campaign in his head he wanted to run by you.

And you definitely couldn't tell her that none of these little reminders actually helped, because, at the end of the day, you still had to go to sleep alone after six years of having him just an arm's length away. And there was nothing worse than realizing, every time you turned around to tell Eddie something, that he wasn't there, and that he wasn't ever going to be there again.

You hated Jason. You blamed him for dragging Eddie into this mess. But you understood him now. If you hadn't known about Vecna and the Upside Down, you would have been more than happy to blame someone for Eddie's death, just like he had blamed Eddie for Chrissy.

You had tried so hard not to get Eddie dragged into your life. You'd gotten sucked in when you found Nancy crying in the bathroom after Barb went missing, and your life had gotten a lot more complicated after that. Eddie had always had enough enough on his plate as it was. You never wanted to make it worse.

But then Chrissy—

"Y/N? You okay?" Robin snapped her fingers in front of your face. She looked worried, and you had a feeling she'd been trying to get your attention for a long time. Steve and Nancy, sitting on a picnic blanket with the boys, Max, and Eleven just a few feet away, looked over at you, terrified. Dustin seemed to be the only one who knew exactly why you'd been in your head instead of in the park.

"Huh?"

"You zoned out again," she said, sitting down beside you. "At first I thought it was just because Steve's yapping about girls again, but, uh, then I realized..." She wiped her finger underneath your eyes, and you felt the tear smudge across your cheek. You flinched away violently. Robin went pale. "Oh, God, he used to— Oh, Y/N, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize—"

You took a shaky breath and swiped your knuckles under your eyes. "It...it's fine. I just...sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, that was totally my fault, I should have realized—"

"No, please. It's fine." You sniffed, breathing out through your mouth. "I'm fine. I just...need a minute."

You got up quickly, your head reeling instantly, and you stumbled toward the public bathroom just feet away. You balled your hands into fists. You went to open the door and something slammed into your arm. You screamed upon recognizing what it was—a bat.

You stumbled backward away from it, your throat tightening and every muscle seizing up. It wasn't a demobat, sure, but it was still a bat. All it took was one glance at its mouth and you could hear Eddie's heavy panting, feel his blood, see the tears on his face, feel his rapidly fading heartbeat beneath your fingers, hear him crying but trying to hide it from Dustin.

The bat chirruped squeakily, hopping toward you on the ground. One of its wings was a bit mangled and bloody, dragging awkwardly behind the rest of its body.

You whimpered, stepping around the bat. "I'm sorry, little guy, but I just really don't like you. Robin says you have...rabies. Or—or something."

No, that was definitely not why you didn't like bats, but you didn't need to explain to the broken creature—or to anyone else, for that matter, including yourself—that you didn't like them because they'd torn your boyfriend apart.

With a quiet whimper, you slammed the door of the bathroom shut behind you. A small thump echoed against the door. You had a feeling it was the bat.

You locked yourself in one of the bathroom stalls and put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your tears, just in case Robin or Nancy came to check on you.

~❊~

That night, you stared at your empty bed. You touched the pillow made out of the red and black flannel Eddie had loved to wear when it was cold out. Wayne had given it to you almost immediately after Dustin had told him about Eddie.

"This is...this is yours now," Wayne had said, holding it out to you. You'd tried to protest that no, he should keep it as a memento, but Wayne was having none of it. "He would have wanted you to have it, Y/N. I...I'm sure he told you often, but you were his world. He'd want you to have something of his."

And you did, you really did. You wore the flannel around everywhere, to anything, anywhere, at any time, before it became too much of a memory. Any time you caught a glimpse of it or put it on, you remembered the time he wrapped you up in it after getting caught in the rain, or the time he used it as a pillow for your head when you got busy in his van, or the time he wrapped it around his waist when it got unexpectedly warm. So you cut it up and made it into a pillow case, because that was a little more bearable.

You hugged the pillow to your chest as you lay in the darkness of your room. It still smelled a little bit like him, even after being washed quite a few times. And even after being cried on many, many times.

Tonight was going to be one of those nights, a night where you were crying even before you fell asleep and woke up in the morning, you could just tell.

Head buried into the flannel pillow, you almost didn't hear it. The small thump on your window. But after a few seconds of silence, it registered in the back of your head that that was not normal. The last time you'd heard that sound was when Eddie knocked before crawling through your window at night, some three years ago, before your parents gave up because you loved the metalhead, try as they might try to get you to fall for the jock.

You rolled out of bed and flicked on the light, pushing up the window and shoving your head out into the night.

Nothing.

A chirrup.

You looked down and squeaked.

There it was again, the bat with the mangled wing, resting on the slanted shingles of your roof—one of them out of place from the time Eddie had given you a heart attack by slipping on it. You frowned at the bat, a little less terrified of it than the first time you'd seen it. "How did you get up here, little thing?" Your room was on the third floor of your house, but it seemed impossible that the tiny thing could fly up there with a broken wing.

Ignoring Robin's small voice in your head saying it probably—no, definitely—had rabies and was following you, you reached out a hand and stroked the top of its head. To your surprise, it made a very human-like coo.

"Oh, you just want love, don't you?" You sighed as you took in its wing. "And maybe some help. Look, little one, I'm sorry, but I can't help you. You terrify me." Because you killed my boyfriend, even though you didn't actually kill my boyfriend, and neither did your actual species, but tomato, tomato. "Maybe one day I'll be able to tell you why."

You shut the window and curled yourself around your pillow once more, reaching a hand up to the necklace you refused to take off—the one with Eddie's ring on it. You held the ring tightly in your hand, and it was still there when you jolted awake in the morning, covered in sweat and panicking just like always.

But before you took your usual shower, you glanced out the window.

The bat was gone.

~❊~

"I think I'm going insane."

You sat with Dustin on a park bench, by the edge of the graying field. The disease—or whatever it was, but the townspeople called it a disease—was spreading further and further out each day, but you still hadn't figured out exactly what it was. Nancy was sure it had something to do with the vision Vecna had shown you, but you didn't have the mental or emotional strength to help them figure it out.

You'd seen the bat several more times—at the record store where you worked, at the autobody shop Eddie used to work at, at your front door, on your car, on the sidewalk, through your bathroom window, and several more times by your bedroom window. You didn't know what the others would do if you told them you were seeing the same bat everywhere (Robin might tell you to get checked for rabies), but you trusted Dustin to take you seriously and...and not tell you that you were crazy.

"Why?"

"Because there's a bat with a mangled wing that's following me everywhere."

Dustin frowned. "Go on."

You explained, in detail, every time you had seen the bat. As usual, Dustin put it all together in record time.

"And you think that you're hallucinating the bat...because it's always showing up when you're thinking about...Eddie?"

You nodded. "And more than that—there's something special about each of those places. That sidewalk? Not a random sidewalk! Outside the restaurant Eddie took me to on our first date six years ago. Bedroom window? He always crawled through to come see me! My front door? Whenever I was upset, he'd surprise me with a big bouquet of flowers outside on my front step."

Dustin frowned. "There's...something special about Eddie and your...bathroom...window?"

You blushed. "It's not what you're thinking, I swear, he accidentally broke it once."

"He what?"

"He was waving around an old stick and it broke and flew through the bathroom window. It's nothing creepy, I swear."

Dustin raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure your parents loved him?"

"Eh." You sighed, putting your head in your hands. "I don't know, Dustin. It's just... I feel like I'm losing my mind. Hallucinating. I just don't know why it would be a bat, of all things! I mean...they...or something like them, really..." You put your head in your hands. "Why would I see a bat everywhere that means something to the two of us?"

"He liked bats," Dustin remembered. "In fact, he liked them so much he had a tattoo of them. Maybe that's why?"

"I mean, that would make sense if the demobats hadn't—"

"I know," he sighed. "But now you can't think of the tattoo, you just think of—"

"Blood," you said bluntly. "His blood. His death. Yeah."

"Has anyone else seen the bat?"

"No."

Dustin was silent for a moment, then said, "Alright, fine. Take me somewhere that meant a lot to both of you, another one of those special places, and if you see him, maybe it's a hallucination. But if we both see him, it's not. Then we'll figure out what it is after that."

You thought for a moment, then dragged Dustin to his feet. "I know exactly the place."

~❊~

It took some bribing, but you got the bartender of the bar the boys loved playing at to take you around back to the dressing rooms. You refused to tell Dustin why it was special, other than that the band played here all the time, but you were pretty sure from his expression he figured it out as soon as your eyes darted to the desk and you turned red. You remembered bursting through that door and seeing Eddie perched on the desk, swinging his legs like a little kid because the show had gone so well, and—

"Oh, no," Dustin groaned, jolting you out of your reverie, "don't tell me that you two actually—"

"Fine, I won't tell you."

"You know, saying that is almost worse."

"Oh, shut up, Dustin. We were together for six years, there's not a chance in hell that we didn't—"

"But in a dressing room? A public dressing room?"

"The door was locked!" you said defensively. "Although he did get quite loud that night."

"NOPE, no more!" Dustin said, clamping his hands to his ears. "Alright, fine. It's special. Gross, but special. Why here?"

You flopped into the chair at the desk, remembering Eddie's feet kicked up on it while the two of you kissed and giggled, his back to the mirror. "Two years in, Eddie and the band had a gig and he finally let me, y'know, get on my knees for him, so to speak. It was the second time we ever did anything, so, you know. Special."

Dustin was making a face.

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up, we were sixteen and horny."

He sighed, sitting down on the small couch, the only other piece of furniture in the room. "I'm actually not all that surprised. Seems like Eddie."

You smiled to yourself. "Yeah. Seems like Eddie."

Dustin folded his hands together. "I miss him, too, you know. I miss him being dramatic and standing on tables. I miss the voices he used to do during campaigns. I miss play fighting with him."

You hugged yourself, letting your leg swing. "Yeah... I miss his voicemails, because he'd called me while I was at work when he had an idea. I miss listening to him sing on stage. I miss just hanging out in his room while he wrote songs and I studied. Shit, I even miss watching him get frustrated when he was trying to learn a song on the guitar and it wasn't coming to him. You should have seen him trying to learn Master of Puppets. He was nonstop playing that guitar. I swear he didn't sleep for a week just so he could get it down. I used to tease him he was trying to pick up girls."

"He didn't want other girls," Dustin said, picking up on that old insecurity that used to bubble up all the time. "He wanted you."

"That's why it was teasing, Dusty. There was a time when I was afraid of that, but that was never his fault. If Eddie was one thing, he was loyal to a fault."

Dustin sat in silence, clearly working up the courage to say something. You waited, letting him find the words. Eddie had always done the same thing when he wanted to talk about something that meant a lot to him. No wonder the two of them had clicked so quickly.

"If I could go back to that moment," Dustin said, voice almost imperceptible, "when he decided to draw them away, when he cut the sheet and just—just ran... Y/N, I would. I would go back, and I would change everything. I'd make him go first. I'd...I'd do what he did instead, just to make sure he got back to you."

You looked up, your heart breaking at the absolute sorrow and anger in his voice. "Dustin..."

"If I could have died in his place, I would do it." He was shaking with his fierce determination. "Y/N, I swear it."

You got off the desk. "Dustin, hon, no. Please, no. I don't...I don't wish you had died instead. I wish none of you had to die. I wish Max wasn't blind, I wish Eddie wasn't gone, I wish none of this had ever happened. I wouldn't trade you, any of you, just to get Eddie back because he would have hated that more than anything and because you are my friends."

"But one of us would hurt less than Eddie," Dustin mumbled.

"Dustin," you said, because you could think of nothing else to say. You pulled him into a hug.

And then there was a chirrup in your ear.

You screamed, lurching back, automatically swatting at your shoulder. The little bat fell onto the couch beside Dustin and he squeaked at you, almost accusatory.

"Oh, don't start with me, you scared the life out of me!" you snapped at it, then frowned. "Dustin, did I just argue with the imaginary bat in my head?"

Dustin was staring at the bat. "Yes—you argued with it, no—it's not in your head. I can see it." He stood up slowly. "I thought you said it had a mangled wing?"

You peered at it. "I think it's healing. Look, it's still dragging behind the rest of it, but it's not bloody anymore."

The bat chirruped again, inching closer to you. You slowly extended a hand, the bat's head following your movements. You gave its head a little pet with your forefinger. It sniffed you before chirruping again.

"It looks like a Mariana fruit bat, but this the wrong area for it," Dustin said from behind you. The bat's attention swiveled to him. "Hi, little guy. Where'd you come from? I don't think you got here all the way from Guam. Especially not as a baby."

"Is it a baby?"

"Look at the size of it! It's tiny, there's no way it's not a baby."

For some reason, the bat didn't seem to like being called tiny. It clicked rather angrily at Dustin before flying awkwardly out the window, open just a crack.

"What the hell?" Dustin muttered.

"Well, now you've met the bat," you sighed. "I wonder if I should name it."

"Don't name it! Robin'll think it gave you rabies."

"That's why Robin doesn't get to know about the bat."

"You haven't told her?"

"What would I do that for?! Just go up to her and say, Hello, Robin, I've been adopted by a bat, the same creature you're deathly afraid of because it has rabies! That'll go over swell, I'm sure."

Dustin rolled his eyes. "No need to be dramatic. It's not like the bat's done anything to you. Yet."

"Yet being the word Robin would pick up on. Look, for now, let's just keep it between us. Figure out why the bat likes me. Then go from there. If it's something to do with Vecna, then we'll tell them."

"And if not?"

"I'm sure it'll go away when it's fully healed. That's gotta be why it's following me. It's injured and not thinking straight."

~❊~

Storms had become even more and more recent in Hawkins. The weather was reflecting the foul of mood of the townspeople—or perhaps of Vecna, if Eleven was right. You were almost entirely certain she was.

But you couldn't put your finger on why Vecna hadn't attacked yet. Why would he let his displeasure show through the torrential showers that were ripping shingles off of Hawkins rather than just come through to kill everyone off himself?

You were debating exactly that as you sat through another storm of hurricane strength, staring out the window and waiting for it to be over. Sometimes the storms were only a few seconds long, but this one felt like it was going to last for days.

You sighed and rolled off your bed, flopping on the floor beside your collection of cassette tapes. There had to be twenty Corroded Coffin tapes in there, but you were looking for one specific one. It wasn't quite a Corroded Coffin tape, really, because Eddie never let the band see this one—this one was just for you, songs he'd written when you couldn't look over his shoulder to see the words.

It took a little bit to find the tape, but once you did, you felt immeasurable relief. You played the tape and cracked open your window enough to smell the rain, leaning your back against your bed and closing your eyes.

Eddie's voice flooded your ears as he started the little speech he'd written for the first song. He'd written one for each song, explaining why he'd written it and when or something special about it. He'd been adorably embarrassed when he handed it to you, blushing profusely and apologizing about how stuttery he was when he'd recorded it and how his voice was a little shaky and how they weren't exactly what he wanted them to sound because he didn't have the band to do the background music. But you'd loved them all.

"Hi, sweetheart. Happy seventeenth birthday. Belated, sorry, but I, uh...I couldn't get all these perfect in time, so... So I waited. Um. They're still not as perfect as I'd like them to be, but, uh. But you deserved your birthday gift before you thought I'd forgotten about you. Uh. Yeah. So. Ah, jeez, I didn't think an introduction would be this hard. Maybe I should have had a script," his recorded voice said with that little breathy laugh you'd always loved. "Um. Anyway. This...this first one. I wrote it a while ago, actually, for you. Like a long while ago. Like when I first realized I liked you a while ago. Probably before you knew I existed. I'm talking middle school early— Maybe I should stop talking about how long ago I wrote it. Um. Sorry. Rambling. Uhhh...it's about how I felt that first time I saw you. A little cliché, yeah, but, um...every word's true. Every word, sweetheart. I really did fall in love with you at first sight. I mean, how could I not, when you looked over at me and smiled like that, that shy smile with your tongue poking out between your teeth and bottom lip. I love that smile. So, um. So I called it 'Shy Smile.' The song. This song. So, um. Here goes nothing, I guess."

And, oh, could that boy sing. Corroded Coffin might have been a heavy metal band, but Eddie could certainly manage the soft songs just as artfully. He had the perfect voice for it, a gentle croon that had sometimes lulled you to sleep.

You remembered very clearly Eddie singing the songs he wrote for you and smoothing his hand over your hair to get you to sleep when you were stressed or upset. And it had always worked.

Recorded Eddie hummed through his guitar solo and your chest tightened. You drew your legs up, settling your head on them. "Oh, Eddie, you have no idea how much I need you."

And then, a few songs later, he was crooning about how much he loved you, promising never to leave you, telling you he'd always be by your side.

The tears came suddenly and didn't stop. Your body shook violently as you sobbed, his name somewhere in between the sniffles and cries. You dragged the flannel pillow off the bed and wrapped your body around it, burying yourself in his familiar, if faint, scent.

It took Eddie's voice in another song's introduction to ground you again. "Okay, baby, I've got a happier one for you. Well. Not that they've been sad, really, just...this one's less sappy. Even though I know you're a sap, and I'm a sap, and we're just two hopeless romantics." God, you could hear his smile. "This one's about that day we spent at Lover's Lake. That was...such an—an awesome day. And I promise it's not about the sex in the van, I want you to be able to listen to this with your parents around." A beat, which you managed a shaky laugh during. "Not sure if you can now, now that I've...that I've said that. Well, just let me know, I'll make you another tape without the introductions if I gotta. And don't you say it's too much work, because I'll do anything for my girl. Got that? Anything. Okay. Here we go, I called this one 'Lake Swimming.'"

You wiped your eyes. "It's okay. You're okay. You've still got him like this. And that's all you can have now."

In the midst of the softness of Eddie's acoustic guitar, you heard it. The chirruping. Your head snapped toward the window, and there was the little bat, clinging to the window and trying desperately to squeeze through the tiny crack.

You lurched to your feet. "Oh, you poor thing! Out in that storm all by yourself. And so little!" It squeaked. "Oh, right. You don't like being called little. What's that about?" You pushed up the window, cupping the bat in your hands. "Oh, oh no, you're shivering!" You closed the window with your elbow, cuddling the bat close to your chest. "Robin would so kill me for this."

The bat chirruped.

"What is it? Do you want to be put down?"

The bat sniffed your hands and attached itself to your shirt, crawling up you until it had reached your shoulder. It perched there.

"Um. Okay, then," you said, sitting back down carefully. "I wonder if you're hungry..." Well, you had some fruit in the fridge, and a fruit bat would certainly eat that, right? "Can I put you down so you don't freak out my parents?" You gently plucked the bat from your shoulder, nestling him on the flannel pillow. "Um. Stay. I'll be right back."

You hurried downstairs, grabbing the container of fruit from your fridge with a flippant excuse that you were just a little hungry. The bat was sitting exactly where you left it when you returned and offered it a piece of fruit.

It crawled into your hand and munched down on the fruit. You sat back on the floor, turning the volume on Eddie's tape up a bit more. "I hope you don't mind my boyfriend's music, my friend. It's quite good, if I say so myself, and I don't think I'm just biased. He's really good." You sat in silence, propping your head up on one of your knees again. "I miss him."

The bat looked at you curiously. You put it and the fruit on your floor, reaching for a framed photograph of yourself and Eddie instead, with his arms slung around you from behind and a smile on his face as you kissed his cheek. You vision blurred as you lifted the photo to your lips and kissed it gently.

"I'd give anything," you said to the bat, staring fixedly at Eddie's happy face, "just to see him again, just for a few minutes. Just to...to get a better goodbye. To kiss him goodbye and hold him and make it as peaceful as possible. To tell him it would be alright. To tell him I love him. To tell him that I miss him. No. No, I wouldn't tell him I miss him, because then that would make him feel guilty, and how can you feel guilty about dying? I mean...it's not his fault." You wiped your eyes. "I'd just...I'd want to make him feel better. Peaceful. I don't...I wish he hadn't gone out the way he did, y'know? In pain. Crying. Knowing what was coming. Having to say goodbye to—to Dustin." You laughed shakily. "Oh, God, Eddie. I'm going insane. I'm talking about you to a bat." You looked down at your feet. "A bat that's now missing in my house. Or maybe he was never there in the first place and I'm just crazy."

"You're not crazy," said his smooth voice, and your head whipped toward the cassette player. Since when was the quality so good? A small chuckle from behind you. You froze. "Wrong way, sweetheart." And two fingers, one marked by a tan line where a ring would have been, slipped under your jaw, turning your head slowly.

His eyes—his sweet, pretty eyes—stared you full in the face. Your eyes took him in, noticing the scars on his face and his hips. You studied him, drinking in every hollow in his gaunt body. But you knew those tattoos. You knew those eyes. You knew that voice.

You blinked rapidly, subtly pinching your arm. He laughing, covering your hand with his own.

"You're naked, Eddie," you said, and you realized seconds after they came out that they were not the words you wanted to be saying. You clapped your hands over your mouth, face heating.

Eddie shrugged. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"Eddie, you're..."

"Nope. I'm not."

"Eddie, I was there, I saw you die in Dustin's arms!"

"Nope," he said again, and you could finally hear how tired and haggard he sounded it. "Unfortunately not."

"Unfortunately?!"

He shrugged. "I think being dead would be better than my fate." He pointed to the fruit left on the floor. "That's the first I've eaten in almost three months."

"You— The fruit? You were the bat?!"

He nodded.

"Right, okay, mister, what the fuck?"

He sighed. "So no loving and tearful greeting for the not-dead boyfriend?"

"Eddie. Talk to me. And then maybe I'll cry over you. But I want answers first."

Eddie leaned against you, cuddling his body closer to yours. Automatically, you reached an arm around his shoulders. He made a chirruping sound similar to the sound of the bat he'd been only minutes before. "Truth is, I don't have a lot of answers. All I know is that I died in the Upside Down, then woke up here as a bat. And then I tried to not be a bat, of course, but that didn't help. I just broke my wing. Not sure if that means my arm was broken or...something. I'm sure that'll be an awkward doctor's visit in the future. Point is, once I figured out I couldn't...change form or whatever you wanna call it, I tried to find you, but it's all different when you're a bat. I had to pick up your scent, but I couldn't."

"So that day at the park, by the bathrooms—"

"I'd finally caught sight of you. After that, I figured I should try and stay close. I thought maybe you'd figure out it was me somehow, if I was obvious enough."

"Which is why you always found me at our special places."

Eddie sighed his relief into your shoulder. "Exactly." He wrapped his arms around your waist. "Oh, sweetheart."

You brushed a hand over his hair, your shocked brain not quite realizing that he was really there but already falling back into the routine of your relationship. "So how'd you get human again?"

"Dunno. I think you made me cry and it made me feel human enough to be around you, talking about me and listening to my music." He looked into your eyes. "I do feel guilty. About not being able to tell you sooner that I was still kicking. I...I know it was hard for me, but...I was kind of scatterbrained. I couldn't quite process being alone. But you... You had everything to deal with, all those emotions."

"We'll talk this out in the morning."

"Why not now?"

"Because you're shivering against me. You were a soaked bat about three minutes ago, and now you're a very naked boy again. Let's get you warmed up, okay? I'll run the shower."

Eddie whimpered with relief at your words, clinging to you as you helped him to stand up on wobbly legs. You helped him into your bathroom and shower, joining him to make sure he wouldn't fall on his own. He clung to your arm as the two of you attempted to get him warm and clean.

"Your clothes are soaked now," he mumbled, but still pulled you into a tight hug against his chest.

"I don't really care," you whispered. "I'm holding you again."

When you shut the shower off, you made Eddie sit on the floor as you fetched him clothes.

It wasn't until you'd gathered clothes—all of them his, some of them (like the shirt) given to you by Wayne, but most of them (like the pants and boxers and socks) were from Eddie leaving them behind at your house for the nights he snuck in through your window—that it truly hit you that he was back.

He wasn't just back, he was alive.

Your Eddie.

Alive. Safe. In your bathroom. Home where he belonged.

You dropped the clothes as you fell to the floor, sobbing with relief. Eddie came running into your room, kneeling beside you.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong, what happened? What can I do? Is it me?"

You pulled him closer to you, burying your head into his neck. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong, Eddie, everything's perfect. Back to the way it should be. You're here."

He wrapped his arms tightly around you. "I'm here," he promised. "I've got you."

You cupped his face in your hands, kissing him softly. He whimpered against your mouth, missing you as much as you missed him. You pressed your forehead to his as he scooped you up and laid you gently on your bed. He pulled away from you, picking up his clothes and pulling them on. He laid beside you, pulling you back into his arms.

"Don't you ever make me think you're dead again, Eddie Munson, you hear?"

He kissed you again, arms sliding around your back. "Loud and clear, sweetheart."

"Good," you whispered into his mouth, "my little bat."

Eddie smiled against your lips. "Not little."

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Eddie Munson

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the E.M. taglist!} @ohatropa @lilylilyyyyyy

[statticscribbles]

Doodle

Summary: Newt/Reader; Soulmate AU,whatever you write/draw on your skin appears on your soulmates

All throughout school you’d catch doodles and scribbles on your arms; occasionally the faint sketch of some creature but mostly small flowers or magically drawn birds. You’d never figured out who it was during your time at hogwarts; but when you started working in the ministry; the drawings became a comfort, you often wonder if they play a role in your decision to work in the Magical Creature’s department. You don’t usually respond to the drawings, they either appear in places you can’t easily reach due to your clothes covering them; or you’re working on gathering information and trying your best to do research about the creatures everyone wants to destroy. You hate how wrong that feels and you take more comfort in the drawings of the creatures as if they’re being studied, not hunted; soon lists were added; odd ingredients or items. It was a silly habit but you found yourself buying the plants that were most commonly listed as well as keeping a small hoard of galleons for whatever kept stealing your soulmates. You’d never actually talked to him; but one day after he angrily scraped three underlines under ‘liquid seaweed’ did you draw a small frowning niffler next to it; you added a speech bubble and the words “that stung” colouring in the tears. The reaction was immediate; swirls and flowers and branches suddenly heated your skin, magically drawn on. It sunk in your soulmate never realized you’d returned the doodles; just that they had forgotten how much they’d drawn on themselves.

I’ve never thought I would have a soulmate all my time at ----------- I couldn’t ever remember seeing drawings. You frown and the gap in the sentence; you knew locations and names wouldn’t go through. You draw the niffler again; sitting on your wrist and adding a speech bubble filled with magic hearts I always thought you were too busy with whatever you do.

Research. He responds and draws a heart around the niffler.

You like nifflers? You ask and he draws another bunch of hearts before adding. They're cute but they steal everything shiny he adds a frown and you cross over it grinning as you draw yet another niffler holding a heart. They just want love is all; and all your shinies. You look up jumping when you see Thesues Scamander standing in front of your desk looking unimpressed.

“Sorry sir; what can I do for you?”

“I need the report from the incident with the grindylows from the other day. Murklow said that it could be a cover for a Grindelwald meeting.” You nod pulling your sleeve down and waving your wand to pull the report he’s asking for.

“Here you are sir; anything else?”

“Were you talking to your soulmate?” You flush a little at his question, nodding.

“Well if he likes nifflers as much as you; ask about other creatures?”

“Oh that’s a good idea sir!” You grin and he smiles softly.

“Call me Theseus, Y/N.” You nod, waiting until Theseus leaves and then scribbling on your arm a question that your soulmate leaves blank for two hours. Do you like magical creatures or are you like most others? You’re not sure what you’re expecting but you receive a paragraph along your thigh with only a few of the words blanked. You read through all of it twice grinning at how passionately he talks about how misunderstood most creatures are. You draw a niffler offering a heart out and then ask Have you read Fantastic beasts and where to find them? It just came out; I love it. You grin to yourself when a string of hearts answers your question. What do you think of the author? You chew your lip jumping when your boss calls you for a new case. You scowl at the information; most of the department still believed in the older information of most of the magical creatures. The new case was investigating a group of knarls that were nearing a muggle area. You spend the rest of the day gathering as much information about the area the knarls were last seen and what you’ll need to capture and relocate them.

Sorry work got busy; I love the author, he seems so kind and wonderful. You offer frowning when there’s no reply.

“Y/N!” You turn when you hear your name called and are surprised to see Thesues walking over.

“Yes?”

“You’re working on that Knarl case right?” You nod letting Theseus update you on the whereabouts, apparently the knarls were only in the muggle area because there’s a Jarvey that took over there home.

“A Jarvey.” You scowl sighing.

“Thank you Theseus; this makes dealing with it a lot easier; at least I can sort of talk to the Jarvey.” You roll your eyes and he grins.

“You off home now?”

“No; I’m off to go see if I can find the Jarvey; or the Knarls.”

“You think you can talk to them?”

“The Knarls yes; the Jarvey, hopefully.” You wave goodbye to Theseus as you take the floo network home.

Do you know about Jarvey’s? I have to deal with one soon. You wait for a reply as you pack a bag; drumming your fingers as you get no response before you apparate to the area that the report said they were in.

To catch one? You nod before writing yes. All you get is a half sketch half doodle of a niffler, with a heart and it making what you assume is a thumbs up gesture.

You groan waking up after having spent most of the night trying to convince the Jarvey to leave the Knarls alone and find a better home. You’d been called a bitch and vermin about fifty times before you’d gone to speak to the Knarls; the Jarvey had been offended enough to counter offer your idea of leaving the Knarls home to find a new one for himself. That was after he’d angrily scraped at your arm; almost tearing through the doodled nifflers.

You managed to agree to rehome the Knarls away from the muggle area; and even offered the Jarvey some moles you’d managed to gather before you’d gone to meet them. You’d gotten as close to a thank you as possible from a Jarvey and he even offered to come with you to the ministry to explain what you’d agreed with. You’d assured him while you appreciated it; you didn’t like the idea of him being captured. He’d then drawn a crude sort of star on your palm with a black marker he’d found and you’d returned to the ministry with the Knarls in a cat carrier with blankets charmed to stay warm.

“Good morning Y/N.” Thesues grins and you nod yawning.

“Late night?”

“Yeah; but I got the knarls.”

“You got the knarls?” He looks down to the case and you grin.

“And the jarvey?”

“He’s enjoying his new home and the snack I brought him.”

“You fed the Jarvey? And talked to it?”

“I mean I don’t know how much of a conversation it was; I was explaining everything going on and he kept calling me a bitch.” You shrug setting the knarls; which continue to sleep under your desk as you start to work up the report.

Did it go okay? You grin at your soulmates question, drawing a crude doodle of the knarls in the carrier. We all survived. Minus my pride. You don’t look at the response for a while finishing up the report and waiting till lunch to find your supervisor to ask about relocating the knarls.

The jarvey decided to knock me down a peg. Beside the explanation you doodle the jarvey with an angry face and a little speech bubble with the words bitch and vermin in it. The only response is a frowning face.

Since you know so much about magical creatures; where's the safest place for me to bring the knarls? You chew your lip hoping that wherever he describes won’t be blanked out. Suitcase. Or a large field with plenty of hedgerows; anywhere a hedgehog would live. You nod drawing a circle and question marks around the word suitcase.

“Y/N where are you off to?” You hold up the case, the knarls chattering at you and you frown.

“I’m sorry guys; I just have to have a quick chat and we can get you a nice big field and some new worm hunting grounds.” They chitter again and you sigh.

“I’m heading to drop the knarls off to a much better home.”

“Your soulmate give you advice?” Theseus grins as he walks up spotting the carrier in your hands.

“Apparently I need a suitcase.” You laugh showing Thesues the writing on your arm. He nods glancing from the knarls to your arm and back to you. He doesn’t say anymore simply turning away back towards his department. You shrug and leave the ministry building to apparate to one of your favourite spots in the countryside. You glance to the abandoned cottage before nuding the door open and opening the carrier to let the knarls wander out.

“There we are. Is this an okay spot?” You hum as the knarls seem to vanish. You make a note to check back on them in the coming weeks. You know you still have time for lunch but you decide to return back to the ministry to avoid rushing and being able to have a cup of tea in peace. You’re sitting in the lobby people watching when you can see a figure stagger out from the floo network and almost tackle Theseus to the ground. You try not to laugh when Theseus grins hugging the figure as the figure seems to hang limply in his grip for a moment before his head swivels looking around.

“It’s lunch right now.” You can hear Thesues’ voice and you note how the man next to him wilts. You try your best not to laugh at them returning to your tea before you can feel eyes on you. You don’t say anything feeling the faint scratch of a pen on your arm. Turn around and wave. You roll your eyes turning and waving. The man next to Theseus stares at the ground while Thesues moves towards you.

“Y/N. How’s lunch going?”

“You lost your friend.”

“My brother actually, Newt; come over here and say hello to Y/N she works in the department for magical creatures.”

“Oh; hello.” He walks slowly over extending his hand and you catch a familiar black star shape on his palm.

“Your soulmate?” You question and he nods.

“No clue what they mean by the star; but it’s nice to finally talk to them.” He grins slightly and you laugh a little nodding.

“What about you?” Thesues comments and you look down to your palm at the star shape.

“The Jarvey I talked to earlier. He decided it was a parting gift.” Newt steps closer to examine it; his fingers brushing over your palm; barely touching it.

“Is this the same jarvey that called you a bitch and vermin? I might have to have a word with him.” He mumbles and you try your best not to give anything away with how Newt keeps side glancing to Theseus.

“I was wondering; since you’re the expert here; I dropped the knarls off to a new area; and I don’t know if it’s a proper place for them..” You trail off and can see Thesues roll his eyes.

“You two enjoy your talk about knarls; remember lunch is over in twenty minutes.” Thesues reminds you and you nod waiting as he leaves before you look up at Newt.

“Hey.” He grins watching as you press your palms together to match the stars up.

“Your drawings are much better than my doodles of a niffler.”

“I thought they were very true to reality.”

“Is this why you mentioned a suitcase.”

“Yes; did it help you catch on?” he tilts his head and you gasp. He grins as Pickett pokes his head out.

“Not now Pickett.” Your hand drifts upwards and Pickett’s hands reach towards you and climbs on your hand.

“Oh. Hello there sweetheart. Aren’t you just the most impressive bowtruckle I’ve ever seen.” Pickett taps his little hands on your figner nails and Newt sighs.

“His ego is big enough; please don’t lie to him.”

“It’s the truth. No harm in reminding him. He really is incredible though. His leaves are a beautiful green shade.” You grin and Pickett taps faster on your hand before scurrying towards your shoulder as Newt reaches for him.

“Pickett no!” he scolds trying to grasp at the bowtruckle as he hunkers down  on your shoulder.

“Newt it’s alright; I can show you where the knarls are anyways.” He looks towards the clock and you catch your supervisor's attention.

“Yes Y/N.”

“I dropped the knarls off sir; is there anything else?”

“Oh good; we have two new cases one involving; what else were you going to ask.”

“Well sir; I’ve just found my soulmate and I was hoping-“

“Go home! Talk with each other. For Merlins sake Y/N; you have enough vacation days regardless of  the soul week you get to spend off. Go on.” He nods and you grin.

“Thank you.” You grin and Newt waves to him, you laugh a little when he falters and glaces to both of you.

“Theseus is going to kill me.” He grins and you quirk an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yes; I was just talking about how I finally realized I do have a soulmate and he all but demanded to see what we’d written. He lost it when he saw the writing; I guess I know why. He recognised your handwriting.” You smile at him nodding to the Floo network.

“Here; hold my hand.” Your hand twines with his as you step into the floo-place and close your eyes speaking the area of the countryside.

“Here we are.” You grin and Newt looks around.

“This seems perfect for knarls.” You grin back at him.

“Now may I show you the first option?”

“The suitcase?” You look confused and he grins holding his hand out. You close your eyes; you’re not sure why but Newt grins.

“Okay open!” you spot his face; halfway obscured by a young Occamy curling around his neck.

Support My Writing?

[itllsetyoufree]

“Does this help?” + kara being injured

All things considered, Lena’s Saturday has been startlingly unremarkable so far. The sun is shining, she’d had her usual cup of yogurt with sliced bananas for breakfast, she hasn’t gotten a single off-hours weekend call from work, and she’d even had time to read the Cooking section in the National City Tribune. The biggest thing on her calendar for the day is her weekly movie night with Kara, which she’d been quietly looking forward to since Kara had left her apartment after their movie night the week before.

There was a time in Lena’s life where the easy, almost leisurely flow of her day would have been alarmingly, disarmingly suspect. But with no attempts on her life and L-Corp running smoothly for the last year or so, Lena’s life has settled into something more… quiet. 

And on any other day, it might have continued that way. 

Because noxious gas-breathing, nine-legged alien dragons aren’t typically her problem.

She gets the notification on her phone, of course:

Emergency Alert: Rogue Alien Attacking National City Waterfront— alien is violent and unrestrained, exhales unidentified purple gas. Residents urged to remain indoors and to close all windows.

Lena sighs, rolling her neck to the side and grabbing her phone as she lifts herself off her couch to close her balcony door. Despite having a near-panoramic view of the water, Lena’s apartment is on the other side of town from the docks, but she winds her way around her apartment anyway and closes all of her windows just in case. She’s just shutting the last one when she fires off a text to Kara, telling her to stay inside and to not come over until the alien is taken care of, and don’t even think about going down to the docks to report on it, Kara, I know CatCo doesn’t have gas masks on hand.

She gets a single thumbs up in response, an unusually terse reply from Kara, who never sends one text message when three will do, but Lena doesn’t think much of it and just settles back down on the couch to flip on the news. 

She watches live as the alien positively obliterates several of National City’s piers with three of its arms. The video feed shows people diving out of the way as wet, splintered wood flies in every direction. The esplanade is littered with debris as the alien rears up again, swinging its tail against the surface of the bay and spraying rolling waves of water onto the shore. 

Lena blows out a heavy breath as she watches the destruction unfold before reaching out for her phone again. She’s just hitting send on an email to Jess, telling her to donate funds to the city to rebuild the docks, when the unmitigated panic on screen abruptly stops. 

She sits up straight on the couch as she watches the dragon puff out a billowing cloud of purple smoke. It unfurls along the embankment and the remaining parts of the boardwalk, and slowly engulfs the small crowd of people fleeing the waterfront and the remaining stragglers on the shoreline.

Lena watches, mouth parting in shock, as they all stop running en masse and slow to a halt. The newsfeed goes silent as the crowd stops screaming, even the newscaster losing his breath as everyone stands still, lolling around on their feet as if held up by rubber and not muscle, before they all calmly sink down to the ground and lay down. 

The sweeping shot of everyone resting on the ground seems to spur the news anchor back to life, and he resumes narrating wildly, jabbering and speculating like an auctioneer calling the Superbowl. 

The dragon stops destroying more of the docks to huff out another cloud of smoke at a helicopter nearby. Lena sucks in a breath as the helicopter wobbles in the air over the people on the ground, but it just floats softly down, landing gentle as a feather on the nearest open patch of grass. Lena pinches her eyebrows together, bewildered, but before she can think too much on it, there’s a red and blue streak zooming into the frame. 

Supergirl pulls up behind the dragon, and Lena only has a second to admire the sun glinting off her hair before Supergirl grabs the alien by one of its legs and flings it out toward the sea. 

From there it’s a whirlwind. Supergirl and the alien lunge and splash and swing at each other at a dizzying speed, spinning in the air and dragging each other under the water. The camera holds steady on them for several minutes until one final breathtaking moment. Both Supergirl and the alien breach out of the water and whirl to face one another. Supergirl’s eyes glow for a split second before her heat vision activates and scorches across the dragon’s abdomen. It crashes back to the water with a roar, but just before it sinks beneath the surface, it huffs out one final breath of smoke. 

It catches Supergirl visibly off-guard as she recovers from the fight, gasping for air just as it engulfs her. The newscaster goes silent once more, watching as Supergirl seems to go loose mid-air. She sways a little, drifting in the wind, a glassy, confused look on her face. Lena’s reaching for her phone, ready to call Alex to see if she can help, when Supergirl shakes her head and starts to fly, slowly and unsteadily, away from the scene. 

The newscaster and Lena heave a simultaneous sigh of relief, and Lena lets her phone drop back down to the couch. The news switches back to coverage of the dazed, lethargic people on the shore who seem confused but otherwise unharmed. Lena’s just relaxing back into the cushions, half a mind to open her windows back up to let in the breeze, when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. 

She turns, watching as Supergirl floats shakily toward her balcony. 

When Supergirl lands, it’s with none of the elegance or athleticism Lena’s come to associate with her. There’s no graceful descent, no landing delicately on one pointed foot or shooting down from the sky to stop on a dime just before she hits the ground. Supergirl drifts closer and closer to her building, one foot outstretched as she reaches Lena’s balcony, but her foot catches on the top of the railing, and she topples over it, hands splayed out to catch herself. She spills over the banister and lands on her chest, legs arching up behind her and feet still hooked over the railing. She looks up at Lena through the glass window, eyes half glazed over and unfocused as her cape slides up the slope of her back to pool at the back of her neck. 

The sight of her, glassy and dazed and draped over her railing like a wet towel spurs Lena into action. She throws the balcony door open and rushes over, dropping to her knees and reaching out to run her hands down the length of Supergirl’s arms, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head to either side to look for bruises. 

“Supergirl! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Come, let’s get you to the DEO.” 

“Hi.” 

Lena stills, pausing her frantic checking of Supergirl’s pulse to actually take stock of the situation. 

Supergirl, seemingly unconcerned by her chin pressing into the concrete or being curled backwards over herself, blinks up at Lena. She looks untroubled, calm, her hair and suit still damp from the water but otherwise right as rain, but the expression on her face is… vacant. Her eyes are glossy, just slightly unfocused, mouth parted as she looks up at Lena. She looks open, unguarded, and completely unaware, and Lena recalibrates. 

“Supergirl, do you know where you are?”

“Your balcony.”

“And do you know who I am?”

“Lena.”

“Does anything hurt?”

“No.” 

“Can you untangle your feet so we can get you up?”

“Oh,” Supergirl remarks, like she hadn’t noticed her feet weren’t under her. She tries to twist around to look over her back at her feet, and she shuffles a little, unhooking the toes of her boots and falling fully onto the stone floor. 

Lena tsks and instinctually reaches out again, grabbing hold of Supergirl’s shoulders and helping her move until she’s sitting upright, propped against the balcony railing. Supergirl leans back against it, blinking slowly and looking blankly around, and Lena finds herself itching for the phone she left in the living room but unwilling to leave the woman in front of her while she’s so vulnerable. 

It isn’t like she hasn’t dealt with an incapacitated Supergirl before. Lena’s saved Supergirl from more than a handful of scrapes in the past couple years, but never like this, never while she was conscious, never while she seemed loopy and almost childlike. It’s easier to maintain her focus, Lena realizes, easier to put the worry aside and work on a fix when Supergirl is in grave danger, in desperate need of help. 

This, with her awake and seemingly fine but so disoriented is throwing Lena off guard. Normal citizens shouldn’t see their city’s hero downed and unconscious, but they shouldn’t see her like this either, unfocused and confused, almost as if she’d been drugged. It’s unsettling, deeply uncomfortable in a way Lena can’t put her finger on, and she can’t help but feel both protective and out of her element at the same time.

“Okay,” Lena says, keeping her voice soft and caring. “How about we get you over to the DEO so they can check you out?”

“No, thanks,” comes the quiet reply. “I’ll stay here.”

It’s Lena’s turn to blink confusedly back at Supergirl, but the woman is looking elsewhere. The soft breeze that’s been blowing all day blows an errant leaf off of one of Lena’s plants and into Supergirl’s lap, and Lena watches, latent sense of panic beginning to grow in her stomach, as Supergirl picks up the leaf and twirls it between her fingers.

“I really think we should get you over to the DEO. You seem a little… off,” Lena says, careful to phrase it as gently as she can to not cause any alarm. “What if I just have Director Danvers come here by herself?” Lena asks, half unsure why she’s humoring Supergirl before she realizes that Supergirl has probably never gone anywhere she didn’t want to go— on account of being strong enough to lift a space station. 

“No,” Supergirl responds again, simply, not rudely, “she’s not invited.”

Lena narrows her eyes at that, trying to sort out what kind of laughing gas this dragon has breathed out. 

“I think I’m in charge of that,” Lena retorts, but she sighs, because Supergirl just looks up at her and smiles dopily. 

“Okay,” Lena tries again. “Will you at least stand up and come inside? I can do some research on how to get these side effects to go away.” 

Supergirl acquiesces this time, or at least Lena thinks she does until Supergirl turns away from the open door to her living room. 

“I’ll stay out here,” she says, words slurring a little as she points to one of Lena’s deck chairs. “Need a little sun.” 

She sways on the spot, as if momentarily suspended by the breeze, before stumbling over to Lena’s deck chair and collapsing onto it. She trips on one of the legs and the chair breaks under her weight, but she doesn’t seem to notice, letting her eyes drift shut and tilting her chin up toward the sun. A small smile crosses her face as the sun warms her, and Lena finds herself unable to hold back a small smile of her own. 

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” Lena says, already planning out her research on alien dragons and a call to Alex in her head. “Then I’m making the call.” 

“Uh uh,” Supergirl hums, eyes still closed, and Lena raises both eyebrows. “Is’fine, Lena. Don’t call. Wanted to come here.”

The longer sentences are starting to ease Lena’s mind, but Supergirl’s response rattles around in her brain and she can’t help but ask.

“Supergirl?”

Supergirl just hums back at her again.

“Why’d you come here instead of going to the DEO?”

“Didn’t want to miss movie night,” she says, calmly while she exhales, like Lena had asked her what day it is and she’d said, ‘Saturday.’

Lena freezes. The pit of panic in her stomach drops out and her whole body clenches at the loss. She stands frozen, staring at the figure laying prone, sprawled out on her deck chair. Lena’s heart pounds. She feels the rapid thudding in her chest, hears it reverberate in her ears. She takes it in, the red boots and skirt, the blue suit, the cape, the blonde hair. 

Her eyes map the features on Supergirl’s face, and she realizes with some modicum of horror how familiar those features are. The point of her chin, the slope of her cheekbones, the nick of the scar above her eyebrow, the slightly upturned, charming pull of her mouth. It’s all— 

“Lena?” those eyebrows scrunch together and it comes out as a whine, and Lena is overcome. 

The panic disappears, instantly replaced by a tidal wave of worry, of affection, of bewilderment, confusion, and a little hurt.

“I’m here,” is what she blurts out in response, dropping onto the adjacent chair and wrapping her hand around Supergirl’s— Kara’s?— wrist, gentle, caring. “Hey, hey, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mhmm” Supergirl hums again, twisting her wrist to take hold of Lena’s hand. “Better already. Just need a nap and then we can watch a movie, okay?” Her voice is light and airy, and the smile droops off her face as she begins to fall asleep, but Lena can’t let her go, can’t be left alone with her racing mind. She needs to know, needs to be sure, and with a pounding heart, she presses on.

“Have—” Lena starts. Her voice cracks and she clears her throat and tries again, wiping the hand not enclosed in Supergirl’s tiredly across her brow. “Have you thought about what movie you want to see?”

“Which Star Wars are we up to?” Supergirl mumbles, half-asleep, and Lena feels her whole body clench with the confirmation as she sweeps her eyes up and down the figure in front of her with renewed worry, checking for injuries she knows aren’t there, because it’s Kara, it’s Kara, it’s Kara.

“Episode Six,” she whispers, tightening her hand around Kara’s. 

“That one. ‘S a good one.” Kara breathes back. 

Kara shifts on the chair a little bit, and small as the movement is, Lena thinks it looks the tiniest more purposeful, the tiniest bit less loose and floppy, and Lena feels her shoulders relax with it. It shifts something in her, the worry beginning to melt into a tender form of annoyance and she decides to push a little more. 

“Are you hungry?”

“Mm,” Kara hums, smiling again. Lena narrows her eyes at her. 

“Do you want Big Belly Burger for dinner like last time?”

“Mhmm yeah,” Kara murmurs, “and those fries that I like.”

Lena smirks, raising an eyebrow, but Kara is completely unaware. Lena squeezes her hand and stands. “I’ll order the food, and you can nap until it gets here, okay?”

“Mhmm thanks, Lena.”

“You’re welcome, Kara,” she says pointedly, but Kara doesn’t notice. Lena watches her smile in her half-asleep doze, her hand twitching a little until the smile droops off her face and she falls asleep just like that. Lena stands there, gaping at her for a moment, then makes her way inside.

Twenty minutes later, after a text to Alex and enough time spent slowing her racing heart, enough time spent with the news to know that the gas wears off on its own, eventually, she hears a sigh and a creak from outside. Supergirl— Kara, god, it’s Kara— is stretching on the deck chair, which appears to be hanging on for dear life, and Lena lifts herself off the couch, grabbing the bag next to her and making her way back outside.

She sets a glass of water down on the drinks table next to Kara’s head, watching as she shifts in the sun but doesn’t open her eyes. 

“How are you feeling, Supergirl?”

“Mhmm, good, sleepy,” Kara yawns.

“They pulled that dragon out of the bay,” Lena says casually, crossing her arms. “You did a great job. No one’s hurt. The effects of the gas seem to subside on their own.”

“Good,” Kara murmurs, tilting her head up into the sun again. “That’s good.” 

“The food’s here too,” Lena informs her, unable to hold back a smirk. “I got us a couple shakes as well.”

“Thanks,” Kara sighs happily. You’re the best.”

“But Kara?”

“Mmph?”

“You have to change out of your suit first. Wouldn’t want to get any residual alien goop on my couch.”

It’s exactly as satisfying as she thought it would be. Kara’s loose, floppy posture stiffens as her spine snaps straight, her eyes flying open as the chair finally gives out from under her. Lena watches the wheels turn once Kara hits the ground, sees Kara’s eyes bug out when they make eye contact. Kara’s flick down to look at her suit, then back up to Lena. 

Lena twists her wrist, letting the paper bag swing out toward Kara. 

“Your fries?”

[midnightreid]

NEEDY | SPENCER REID

Summary: After a long case, Spencer wakes up feeling needy, and who are you to deny your boy some affection?

Prompt: “Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?”

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (no pronouns used though!)

Word count: 1.4k Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Sub! Spencer, swearing, dom! reader, fingering, cum eating, thigh fucking, pet names, nipple play (fem receiving), g/n pronouns for the reader!

A/N: Praying that this post works since Tumblr keeps deciding to destroy my other fics. Also, yes, if you recognise this piece I'm just cross-posting it onto this new blog from willowrose99 because this is now a dedicated NSFW Criminal Minds blog. So, if you're looking for more NSFW content, then this is the place to follow!

PLEASE REBLOG FOR MORE NSFW SPENCER REID FICS!

Anyone that was close to Spencer knew that the young man needed a lot of attention, a lot of affection and a lot of love. They knew the life he’d already lived was brutal to him, his ability to trust was lacking and his skill at showing others how much they meant to him was often overlooked and misunderstood.

But when you were there, when you took him in your arms and held him, ran your fingers through his hair and let him lean against your chest into the early hours of the morning, he knew that you understood what he needed, what he wanted. And you, well, you weren’t even going to hesitate about giving it to him.

Sometimes Spencer was controlled, knowing what he wanted and how to get it, but on mornings like this one, when he’d just gotten back from a case a couple hours ago that seemed to rip his heart apart and then stitch it back together, the both of you knew that he needed to be taken care of. So, when he rutted up against you, pressed his groin into yours as you laid tangled in the sheets, you knew exactly what was about to happen.

He was already so wound up, hands gripping your hips tight to move against you quickly, not caring that he already looked a mess or that you weren’t responding to his touch, he just wanted something, anything. Yet when he looked up at you from where he laid against your chest, with big wide brown eyes that shone and his bottom lip between his teeth, you couldn’t hold back then.

“Mmm, has my baby woken up wanting something?” He nods vigorously, rutting against you and letting out a moan when you bucked your hips up to meet his, jolting him and pressing further into him. “Do you want me to help you get what you want, baby boy? C’mon, I know you can use your words, Spencer.” He ground out a whimper at the sound of his name, and let his head drop into the crook of your collar bone, lips leaving wet sloppy kisses against your skin as your hand carded through his hair, tugging slightly on the chestnut strands.

“Please, Y/N, fuck.” He huffed against your body, and for a moment he squirmed when you brushed your fingertips over the skin of his back, feeling his muscles flex as he moved above you, pace becoming faster.

“Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?” He moans again, louder this time as your nails scrape at his back and chest, and as you push against his torso, he sits up so that he’s straddling you. His face is red, hair falling over his eyes, and his eyes are gazing at you with his signature puppy look the both of you know you can’t refuse. But this morning, you decide you need some satisfaction as well, and when you smile up at him with that devilish smile that grips at his heart and makes his eyes widen and mouth drop open, he knows instantly that you’re going to make him work for it. “Fine, Spencer. If you want to come, then you’ve gotta make me come first, sweetheart.” He whines loudly then, nearly wanting to beg you to change your mind, to let him come first, but when you stare back at him with a look so firm and unwavering, he knows you’re not going to change your mind.

Spencer had always been good with his hands, a fact that didn’t often escape those that came in contact with him. His penmanship was delicate, his fingers long and careful, so when he went to reach underneath your underwear, you knew what he was about to do. But it still had you arching your back like always when he brushed a fingertip over your clit.

The both of you knew that neither of you would last long, you hadn’t been together in over a week because of work and with the way that Spencer was currently sliding his fingers in between your folds to gather your wetness, the both of you could feel the desperation seeping out of each other. You didn’t expect him to taste you though, to bring his fingers up into his mouth, sucking them in until his eyes were rolling back at the taste and his fingers came back clean. That nearly had you coming undone right then. But then he really had you going when he eased a finger into you, tight and hot and oh so comforting to the young man that was still grinding himself against your thigh.

“God Spencer, fuck that feels so good.” Encouraged by your words, he thrust them in faster, watching with pure delight on his face as you rocked up to meet him, chest heaving and mouth hanging open as pleasure racked your body, and for a moment, as he added another finger and crooked them up to hit your sweet spot, he thought he had you, thought he had the upper hand. Until your shirt rode up and he could get a look at you palming your breasts. That’s when he really lost it.

Somehow, as the man took one of your nipples between his lips and started to suck, he still kept up the speed of his thrusts, matching them with how his hips rotated and he pushed his hard-on against your thigh. You couldn’t make a noise then, lost for words as he ground down on your, tongue laving over your breasts as you let your hands fall to his hair and tug hard. He moaned low and loud against your chest, but for the moment all you could do was curse and whine, feeling his fingers pushing you quickly to the edge. And suddenly you were diving off it, pulling him into a kiss as he felt you gush around his fingers, so damn hot against his skin.

“Fuck, oh shit, Spencer…” Your words trailed off as he reattached his lips to yours, grinding against you again with a renewed vigour knowing he’d done the one thing you had asked of him. “There we go, that’s it, baby boy. You gonna come against my thigh, yeah?” He nodded his head, hands grabbing for your breasts, for anything to hold onto as his cock bobbed and you watched, hunger in your eyes. “Then come on baby, I wanna see you come without my hand even touching you.” He groaned loudly again, but continued on with his movements, knowing that even though he desperately wanted you to touch his aching cock, wrap your hand around him and jerk him until completion, getting to come was enough of a reward.

And suddenly it was happening. Suddenly he was coming over your thigh and hip, watching as his cum spurted out and onto your hot skin that seemed to shine in front of him. He kept rutting over you until he was finished, wanting it to last as long as it could until finally, his body was going limp over yours and you took it upon yourself to catch the man, bring him in against your chest and run your hands soothingly over his back and through his hair.

“There we go, Spencer. God, you were so good, so good for me sweetheart.” He was melting into your embrace, kissing over your warm skin, and humming thank you’s quietly. And you gave him as much love back, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he calmed down, reaching over to the tissue box so you could wipe his cum off your skin before taking him back into your arms and pulling a blanket over the both of you. “I love you; you know that right, Spence?”

“I know, Y/N. I know. And I love you too, thank you for taking care of me when I needed it. He’s half falling asleep against you, but you don’t mind, knowing that the weekend was free and you had all the time in the world to rest. And as he lets out a content sigh and snuggles closer to you as you press a delicate kiss to his lips, you utter out the words he’s been waiting to hear.

“I’ll take care of you every day, Spencer, I’m never not going to take care of you, my love.”

Spencer might be insecure sometimes, would rather hide away in the shadows than draw attention to himself, but when the two of you are together, when he’s wrapped up in your arms and you’re giving him all the love you can, he knows that this is what he deserves, that this is what he needs and what he loves. He loves you, you love him, and that’s perfect for the both of you.

PLEASE REBLOG FOR MORE NSFW SPENCER REID FICS!

MESSAGE OR COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO NSFW SPENCER TAGLIST!

Tagged: @wasteland-bvby @reidemandweep @reidology @cacoetheswriting @madswonders @spookydrreid @peachpitfics @spencersmagic @reidsconverse @thank-the-lord @tobias-hankel @makaylajadewrites @rigatonireid @altsvu @b-a-utiful @mikewizkalifa @reidingmelodies @spenxerslut @spencers-renaissance @dralexreid @averyhotchner @bvttercupbby @lumoshotch @spencersawkward @spareau @moderatelydelusional @spencerreid9

[anon-e-miss]

White Lies

“Uhn,” Prowl grunted as his face was pressed into the rock. There was no sound on the empty highway except for the filthy, wet clangs of the Decepticon’s array when it struck the Autobot’s aft.

Strong servos with clawed digits reached under his hood and squeezed Prowl’s wells. They expertly pinched and rolled Prowl’s nozzles as the tactician moaned under the assault. He should have known it was a trap. The sighting had not been Casseticons but well disguised drones, a lure to draw Prowl out as he drove his patrol. Meister groaned against Prowl’s doorwings, gleeful lust poured from his field as he pulled his spike from Prowl’s fluttering valve with a loud squelch before driving it back into the depths of Prowl’s frame.

It had been a long time since the Decepticon had caught him, less because Prowl had been wise to his tricks and more because the work of an officer largely kept Prowl on the Arc and away from Meister’s games. Too long, maybe because Prowl had never been so easily bested, maybe Prowl had gotten too comfortable. His own claws scraped against the dirt as Meister released his wells and seized his hips as he reared up. He rode Prowl’s aft with a cocky smirk, making a show of how deep his spike could drive. It felt bigger, longer than it had in the past but it had been a long time since the Decepticon had gotten Prowl under his claws.

“Cum for me, Copbot,” Meister ordered. He punched his spike deep as he pulled Prowl’s aft back, forcing a cry from the Autobot’s vocalizer. “I know y’re holdin’ back.”

Prowl ultimately could not help but obey, not with the way the Decepticon’s girth filled him so well. It was not even that Meister’s spike was obscenely large but the Decepticon new how to use every micrometer of spike to better destroy his prey. The tactician’s wells bounced against his open hood as the Decepticon operative rutted against his aft. His whole frame trembled as he overloaded and as his valve contracted around the saboteur’s spike, Prowl felt the Decepticon’s transfluids fill his gestational tank. Prowl’s faceplates flushed a darker scarlet.

How was Prowl going to explain the scuffs? Though Meister stripping off his armour would have been Prowl’s undoing, all the paint transfers, all the dirt, would be hard to explain. Meister had him on his back down, legs hooked under his arms as he sank his spike into Prowl’s throbbing core. Prowl clawed at the ground as he was fragged across the ground, the paint on his doorwings flaking off against abrasive stones. Meister leaned forward and squeezed one of Prowl’s wells under his hood as he ground their arrays together. Prowl squeaked and mewled as his node was crushed between them. His optics rolled back in his helm as he overloaded again.

“That’s it,” Meister groaned. “Ain’t so stoic wit my cock in ya, are ya HotCop? Y’re so sweet cooin’ for me.”

“Slagtard,” Prowl growled, voice too high to be threatening as the Decepticon did not relent and drove him towards overload once more.

“Think I can’t feel how much you love it?” Meister asked, pressing deep, holding himself there as he smirked down at Prowl. “Ya can’t help milkin’ my spike. If I didn’t know better, I’d think ya wanted a Con bastard in yer belly.”

Meister only laughed when Prowl sputtered. He pinned Prowl on his back as he braced himself on the tips of his peds as he thrust into Prowl’s drooling centre. It was unfair what an affect the Decepticon had on Prowl, how much better he was with his spike than anybot Prowl had ever had. If even a modicum of Meister’s arrogance had been misplaced, Prowl might have been able to resist. But Meister was well deserving of his arrogance and he stole squeals of shocked ecstasy from Prowl as he pressed him into the ground and drilled his spike so relentlessly deep.

“That’s how ya fuck the police,” Meister said as he brushed a bead of drool from Prowl’s chin. The SIC was exhausted and achy from overuse. It did not seem like the joors… hours of interface had put a tent in the Decepticons energy reserves, despite the fact that he had done all of the work. Prowl glared at him. “Better drag yerself up ‘n get back to base. Y’re patrol’s endin’ soon.”

The damnable Decepticon left Prowl lying in the dirt. It took a bream before Prowl could gather himself up, to wipe the mess of fluids from his plating. He would blame the scratches on the dirt and the dirt on some offroading, if anyone noticed to ask. Though his valve was throbbing, bruised and tender from the rough frag, Prowl forced his legs together and transformed. Even in his altmode, Prowl’s armour felt tight. It would not be so much longer now before he would be unable to transform. Still, Prowl was not prepared yet to consider the ramifications.

Teletraan 1 approved Prowl’s entrance into the Arc. He did not drive past a single spark as he made his way into the Autobot’s base. Taking advantage, Prowl made his way to the washracks and locked the door. Whoever had used the shower last liked tepid solvent, Prowl liked it molten hot. After adjusting the temperature, Prowl stepped under the spray and began to scrub his plating. Even as his armour washed clean, Prowl could still feel sand itching his protoform and he stripped off his armour to better access the stray dirt. His legs felt week as Prowl cupped his lower belly as it had rounded out with the enormity of Meister’s spend. He ran his servo up as that bulge melted to the greater swell of his forge as it jutted so far now that it was free of his constricting armour.

He should not have been so far along but the radiation of the Earth’s sun was different than that of the star Cybertron had orbited and where Prowl’s belly should have been mostly flat at this stage, he looked like he was close to term. Maybe he was. Prowl shook his helm in stubborn denial. He needed time yet to come up with an explanation, an excuse. There was no way he could tell Optimus Prime he had been sparked up by the most infamous Decepticon under Megatron’s command and there was no departed lover he might pin it on. Unless, he lied, though Prowl was not especially adept at lying. If he kept the information vague… maybe…  what other choice did he have?

[moriiartist]

s

scar.......mr capitalist man

-👑

‧₊ THEY SAY THE BEST THINGS ARE FREE

PAIRING: C!GoodTimesWithScar x GN!Reader

 SYNOPSIS: (Modern AU) You’re an up-and-coming designer, he’s a billionaire playboy with a taste for expensive clothing. Could I make it any more obvious?

WARNINGS: Fluff and angst (with a happy ending), self-doubt, very mild language

A/N: You can have a little capitalism, as a treat. I may have, perhaps, gone a little overboard with this fic. Also, fun fact- I listened to Money by That Poppy and Malibu 1992 by COIN on loop while writing this. The vibes? Immaculate. 

You considered money a... funny thing. The wealthy seemed to only get wealthier, while the poor, poorer.

To you, It was a virus, wrapping thick green roots all over people’s lives and digging in until there was nothing else left for it to take. Once a person had gotten a taste of wealth, of abundance, it was impossible for them to go back. Impossible for them to stop themselves from digging deeper and deeper into a pit of debt and desperation as they chased that ‘big break’, that pipe dream of having everything they could ever possibly want.

You had watched your parents be destroyed by it, sacrificing their dreams to take care of you. You had watched them give up so many things for you, working from sunup to sundown to scrape together enough finances to get you through school and into a prestigious design college.

You loved them all the more for doing so, you really did, but because of it, you found yourself slightly resentful of the people born into luxury. The people who didn’t have to choose between good housing or a good education. Of course, you couldn’t blame them for existing, exactly, but the constant interaction you had with them certainly didn’t help.

As one of the highest-marking graduates from your college, you were immediately hired by Gorgeous Inc., a custom clothing company whose services were among the best in the business. Their clientele list was a constantly rotating roster of celebrities, millionaires, and influencers that had all collectively decided to throw their money at an outfit they would wear only once.

The first few months on the job had been hell if you were being honest. You had started out as an assistant to one of the top clothiers, shuttling fitting supplies to and from appointments and trying not to piss off any of the customers too much. 

Despite your best efforts, even when you weren’t the one saddled with the undivided attention of whatever trophy wife had booked a session that day, you still had to deal with plenty of tantrums. It seemed like none of these people had ever been taught how to behave when things didn’t go their way, even going so far as to smash the beautiful (and expensive) champagne glasses the company had custom-made on the ground in a fit of rage. So, yeah, your opinion had some real-world experience to back it up- especially when you considered that that wasn’t even the worst you had seen. 

Eventually, you managed to work your way up the company hierarchy. You had never cared much for office politics and hadn’t done nearly as much kissing up to your bosses as some of your colleagues, but when clients started to become more and more interested in your work specifically- well, it was in Gorgeous Inc.’s best interest to promote you.

Of course, with your promotion to managing long-term customers, it was inevitable that you would run into him. Scar Goodtimes, the CEO of ConCorp Enterprises. 

Known for his love of couture clothing, and his even greater love for his cat Jellie, Scar was one of the most prominent figures in the upper circle- part of a highly exclusive group of the egregiously rich known as ‘the Hermits’. (Everyone wanted to be a member, nobody could afford it)

With fame comes plenty of gossip. You’d heard plenty of things about him in passing, but the thing that stuck out the most in your head was his status as the upper echelon’s ‘most eligible bachelor’. Despite his great fortune, the man had never married- stringing his starry-eyed admirers along with as much effort as batting an eye.

You weren’t about to lie and say you weren’t slightly apprehensive when his secretary had reached out to schedule an appointment with you. After all, if the people you had to deal with so far were merely ants compared to him, you could only assume that his behavior would be much worse. 

With every scrap of professionalism you had left in your body, you made the promise to yourself that you would give him nothing- no reason to possibly blow up on you. You were going to be the best Prime-damned consultant he had ever met.

Naturally, your whole plan fell apart as soon as you set foot into the room you had booked for your first meeting. As with all of Gorgeous Inc.’s fitting rooms, the decoration was opulent, yet tasteful. Your shoes sank into the plush carpet as you approached the sitting area near the center of the space, several soft-looking armchairs arranged in a staggered circle around a mahogany table.

You were early, as you always were, taking the extra time to set up for Scar’s- Mojang above, you still couldn’t quite believe you were fitting him- appointment. With an ease that only came from months of practice, you laid out the binder filled with fabric swatches and clothing designs that you never seemed to part with. The object was barely even able to close with how many ideas you had managed to stuff in it, and it was a miracle that it hadn’t exploded and sent paper flying everywhere already.

You jolted when the door opened, recovering almost immediately and turning with a polite smile towards the person who sauntered in. Your customer-service façade faltered as your eyes met his, every thought fleeing from your head as your breath hitched in your throat. 

Oh no, he’s hot. 

You had always been skeptical of how much the billionaire’s looks had been played up, but meeting him face-to-face wiped any and all doubt from your mind. His eyes, a stunning shade of green that reminded you of emeralds or lush rainforest foliage, glittered with an almost curious gleam as they pinned you in place. With inhumanly soft-looking hair and the barest hint of stubble brushed along his jaw, he radiated a confidence that sucked the air out of the room.

What parts of your brain were still functioning had the good grace to remember to shake his hand as he offered it to you, desperately scrambling to regain your composure. You were somewhat successful, gaining enough conscientiousness to introduce yourself with a pleasant incline of your chin.

“I’ll be excited to see what wardrobe we can come up for you,” you said, keeping your tone even and polite to disguise any residual panic that might slip in. You had to physically stop yourself from tensing as he chuckled, breaking eye contact with you for the first time since he entered to glance around the room.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?”

It was easier to ignore Scar’s… intense… presence when you were able to slip into the grove of your work, your smile becoming more and more genuine as you went through the design process. You were pleasantly surprised by just how knowledgeable the brunette was when it came to fabrics and composition, able to release some of the tension in your body when you realized that you wouldn’t have to talk him down from any impossible requests.

Of course, all of that stress came piling back on your shoulders the minute you had to take his measurements. You had never really thought about just how much you had to touch people in your line of work, but now you were painfully aware of every centimeter of your body that touched his, warmth leeching through the layers of his suit into the air between you.

Your hands were steady as they wound the tape measure around Scar’s torso, but internally you were freaking out. Every time you had to lean into his personal space, you were praying that he couldn’t feel how hard your heart was beating from the proximity. 

It certainly didn’t help that his eyes seemed to be boring holes into your back as you moved around, tracking you as a predator would prey. It was so disquieting, in fact, that you tripped on the coffee table and went tumbling into his chest. Scar’s hands flew to your waist, steadying you as you regained your balance. You took a moment to process what had just happened, your mind blue-screening, oblivious to the way the billionaire’s hands curled into the material of your shirt.

“I am so sorry, sir,” you rushed out, stepping out of his hold and smoothing over the black turtleneck you wore as part of your uniform. He let go slowly, almost reluctantly, a strange expression flashing across his face before it smoothed back into neutrality. “It was an accident- I didn’t mean to crash into you like that.”

Scar waved you off, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that only added to the embarrassed flush that was working its way onto your face. “It’s fine, really. We all make mistakes.”

You finished what was left of the session in a rush, the feeling of eyes on you only adding to your haste to get out the door. You were certain that you would be fired as his consultant, what with all the mistakes you had made, but after a full day of nerve-wracking radio silence, you finally received a message:

‘When can you schedule another meeting?’

So, from then onwards you were subjected to a series of events that made you question your own reality. You were hired on as Scar’s permanent liaison to the company, working with him on any and all of the clothing pieces he commissioned and seeing them through every step of production. It was quite the step up for you- under normal circumstances, it would take people in your position several more years to directly work under someone as influential as the CEO.

Meetings with Scar were surprisingly… pleasant, almost. The man was infinitely patient where others were not, and knowledgeable about your line of work, so the weirdness of his behavior wasn’t necessarily in regards to that. No, it was completely different from anything you had experienced before.

Scar was polite, far more polite than any other person of his status you had ever met. He insisted on opening the door for you wherever you went, waving your protests that it was supposed to be your job to do that for him off with a wink and a grin. On more than one occasion he arranged for food to be brought in for the both of you while you did your work, warmth spreading through your body whenever your hands accidentally brushed while looking through papers.

The man also happened to have very little concept of ‘appropriate spending’. As you had learned through articles and your own time with him, Scar had inherited Concorp from his uncle, and had enjoyed money and power throughout his entire life. Things that seemed egregiously expensive to you, he would buy without a second thought.

One day, without any prompting or warning, he presented you with a pair of brand new fabric shears because ‘it looked like the old ones were getting a little dull’. They were quite obviously hand-crafted, with glossy silver blades and a handle carved with a design like clouds.

“S-sir!” you squeaked, your feet rooted to the floor. You were unable to get your body to do something, anything, other to stare slack-jawed at the gift in the brunette’s hands with a mixture of trepidation and awe. “I can’t possibly accept something like that!”

Scar chuckled, a fond smile dimpling his cheeks as he shoved the box into your awaiting hands. “You’re too sweet, sugar. I’ve already bought ‘em, and it would be a real waste if you didn’t use them. What would I do with something like these?”

He waved his arms around emphatically, earning a small giggle from you. “I would have no clue what to do with them at all! It’s better for both of us, really.”

You sighed in defeat, pointedly ignoring the triumphant expression on the billionaire’s face as you tucked the box carefully beside your other supplies. “I guess you’re right, sir. Thank you.”

“Hey- haven’t I told you a million times before to just call me by my name? ‘Sir’ makes me sound... old.”

“Sure it does, sir.”

“Hey!”

You found yourself looking forwards to your meetings with the man, your professional smile slowly turning more real as he cracked joke after joke. It was hard for you to justify the excitement you felt as the appointments drew ever nearer as enthusiasm for a new project, sometimes even cutting short previous appointments to spend just a few more minutes in his enthralling presence.

The man was like a star, effortlessly pulling you and so many others into his orbit with every smile, every little moment that he looked at you like you were somebody worth listening to. It was so, stupid. So, so stupid of you to allow yourself to drop that shield of professionalism that had protected you time and time again. To let yourself befriend the man. To believe that he cared about you at all.

You had seen his type before. A rich man charming his way into someone’s life with lavish presents and pretty words, only to discard them like a child would a toy. A rich man blowing into your life in a whirlwind of laughter and light touches, only to storm out just as quickly. A heartbreak waiting to happen.

Despite how much it hurt, many nights spent biting back tears all over him, it was best for you to take a step back. Distance yourself a little. Rebuild the heavy brick walls around yourself that he had managed to charm his way past, and keep him out for good this time.

Bit by bit, you started to pull away from him. Your meetings which were once filled with amicable and easy-flowing conversation had shifted in tone dramatically. Your replies to anything he said or asked were polite, yes, but clipped, nipping any possible small talk in the bud. You fully resigned yourself to the role of ‘distant but helpful assistant’, shoving the parts of you that had laughed at his jokes into the deepest recesses of your mind. 

You weren’t here to play, anymore- not when you had wasted so much time pining over a man who could never love you like you wanted him to.

It was clear that Scar noticed the absence of your comforting presence by his side, a hollow space where you once stood. You caught the glances he sent your way when you weren’t looking, an expression that looked suspiciously like hurt flickering through his eyes (although you knew better than to believe that he could possibly be worried about you).

It shouldn’t have been as big a surprise as it was when the presents started rolling in in earnest. 

It seemed like every other day a new package or trinket was innocently sitting on your desk whenever you arrived at work, always accompanied with a small note from the billionaire who (most likely) had no idea about the butterflies that spawned in your stomach just from seeing him, hearing his voice. You had saved every single one, ignoring the pang in your heart whenever you caught a glimpse of his chicken-scratch handwriting out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey.”

You jolted in your seat, a nauseating mix of butterflies and dread stirring in your stomach. That voice- a light timbre that you equally adored and feared- could only belong to one person, the last person you wanted to see right now. You twisted around to see Scar leaning against the doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of a pair of maroon corduroy pants that you had designed. “Um, hi?”

He shot you a grin (your heart skipping a beat), tilting his head to the side in a dog-like, but still so distinctly Scar, manner before stepping into your office. He rounded your desk, planting his arms against the smooth wood and staring down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes- fern green seeming to see straight into your soul. You hesitantly folded your hands in your lap, praying to Prime above that he couldn’t see the tremor in them, and arranged your features into the most neutral look you could. “Can I... help you?”

He blinked as if snapping out of some sort of trance, and shook his head to reorder his thoughts. “Yes, actually. Did you- did you like the glasses I sent you?”

Oh, the glasses. You had mentioned off-handedly one day that you were having problems with the sun getting in your eyes when you were driving, an annual issue that came with Daylight Savings. You should have known by now not to give the man any ideas, because barely twenty-four hours later and a brand new pair of Iskallium Premier sunglasses was waiting for you on your desk. Iskallium Premier, as in the number one couture glasses brand in Java.

You bit your lip, only just missing how Scar’s eyes flickered down to your mouth, and repressed the urge to slam your head against your office furniture.

“Yes, actually. I, uh, I appreciate the gesture, but…” you sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You did not want to do this confrontation. “I can’t take this.”

“Nonsense,” Scar said, mercifully leaning out of your space. “I ordered it directly from Iskall himself, just for you.”

Prime above, sometimes you forgot this man was just as, if not more, stubborn than you when he wanted to be. Unfortunately for him, this was not an argument he was going to win.

“No, sir- I genuinely cannot accept this. I know you mean the best, but you should just give these to one of your other employees. Not me.”

For the first time since you’d met him, Scar looked genuinely lost, brow furrowed and lips parted in surprise as he stared, wide-eyed, down at you. Despite your inner turmoil, your face was a mask of ice and marble as you met his gaze. You were not budging.

Scar shut his jaw with an audible ‘click’ after a moment of tense silence, still not breaking eye contact with you as he took a step back from the desk, furthering the distance between the both of you.

“Are you sure?” he said, searching your expression for any hesitation, but coming up empty. You fisted your hands, straightening your spine as much as you could to meet him head-on.

“Of course, sir.”

He exhaled slowly, face closing in a way that felt almost disappointed as he pulled away. Saying his goodbyes, the brunette took one more look over his shoulder before sweeping out of the room.

You locked your office the minute the sound of his footsteps faded away, curling up into a ball against the door and sobbing. You felt like glass, splintering into a million tiny fragments that could never be repaired. You felt like you were drowning, unable to breathe under the weight of your own emotions.

You had pushed Scar away to keep yourself from getting hurt, but every day you were with him but not with him, you were bleeding out from where you carved your heart out and handed it to him. 

You called in sick after you managed to drag yourself home, clutching your phone in shaky fingers from where you were huddled under your blankets. You could only hope you had hidden the sound of your sniffles well enough- Mojang knows how fast gossip spreads through the corporate chain. At least you wouldn’t have to contact Scar (you refused to acknowledge how you almost started to cry just thinking about him)- your boss would do that for you. 

The next few hours were spent wallowing in your own despair, eating straight from the ice cream carton, and watching whatever cheap rom-com movies you could find on television. Oh, if only your parents could see their pride and joy now- reduced to a teary, sensitive mess, all because you fell in love with a man who had never known a second of your struggles.

You fell asleep to the quiet murmur of the TV speakers, surrounded by tissues and an empty box of chocolates you had bought for yourself after valentine’s day.

The second day wasn’t any better than the first. You barely managed to force yourself into the shower before you collapsed back into bed, staring up at the ceiling. Now that you had no more tears left to cry, you were just… numb. Your chest ached, a hollowness that threatened to consume you radiating through your body.

You could only blink as knocking rang through your apartment, lazily flopping the arm you had thrown over your eyes to the side to stare blankly at the door. You were roused from your lethargy when whoever outside knocked again, this time with so much force they were practically banging on the cheap wood.

Calling out for them to ‘Give you a second’, you shuffled over and swung open the door to come face-to-face with sharp green eyes, soft brown hair, and a face lined with worry.

Oh.

Oh no.

“S-Sir?” you said, suddenly very conscious of just how much of a mess you were. Your eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red, a clear sign that you had been crying, and the oversized shirt you had been wearing as pajamas was rumpled and covered in tear stains.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and you suddenly noticed just how out of breath he was- as if he has run a marathon before he stopped at your apartment. His chest was heaving under the silk button-down shirt he wore, his normal suit jacket tucked under one arm and his hair sticking out at all angles. Your fingers twitched. You wanted to touch it.

Instinctively, you stepped to the side, allowing what could arguably be the source of all your problems to enter your home without any fuss. You played with your hands, self-conscious as Scar took in your living space for the first time.

Your apartment was small, with plain cream walls and slightly ratty carpeting. You had tried your best to brighten up the space with colorful window curtains and a few pieces of art you had gotten on sale, but it was hard to look past the cracking in the plaster ceiling, or the way floorboards creaked with every step.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted, unable to stew in silence as he inspected the room any longer. Scar jumped, unprepared for the sudden disturbance of his thoughts, but shook the surprise off in record time. He spun on his heel, crossing the space between you and gently grasping your upper arms. Your breath hitched as his face drew inches from your own, the brunette’s eyes burning into your own.

“I was worried,” he murmured, voice cracking slightly. “They told me you were sick, and you weren’t answering your phone when I texted or called, and-” he cut himself off, turning his face away with a sharp exhale.

Your gaze wandered to where your phone was splayed across the couch, and you winced. You had been too distraught to consider charging it, and it was clear that it had died right before Scar tried to contact you.

Scar looked back up at you, something so vulnerable in his eyes that it threatened to make your throat close up. “I asked around and they told me you were crying, and when I look at you I can see that it’s true. What happened, sweetheart? Who hurt you?”

He was so genuine, so sweet in tone and touch, that it shattered what little self-control you had regained.

“Why do you care, Scar?” you cried, wrenching your arms out of his grip as fresh tears dripped down your face. The billionaire’s face went slack, shock spreading across his features as you curled into yourself. “Why do you care? I’m your assistant, for Mojang’s sake! You don’t have to worry about me- I’m just another person on your payroll.”

Scar’s face crumpled. “I care,” he said, stepping forwards to cup your face in his hands. “Because I am in love with you.”

You stopped breathing.

“What?”

“I am in love with you,” Scar repeated, thumb swiping at your cheek in a gentle motion. “Prime- I think I always have been. When I first saw you, I could hardly take my eyes off of you. I knew that you would be someone I would want to cherish for the rest of my life.”

You screwed your eyes shut, allowing yourself to be tucked into his arms. Squeezing your arms shut, you finally allowed yourself to admit what had been tearing you up inside all along: “You asked me who hurt me. It was you.”

The arms encircling you tightened, the man holding you releasing a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “Is that what-? I- oh gods. I’m so sorry, love. I never meant- I didn’t want-”

You tightened the grip you had on his shirt, effectively shutting Scar up as you pulled him as close as you could possibly get. “It’s okay now. You’re here, and that’s all that really matters.”

You could figure everything- the forced distance, your tangled feelings, your guilt- out later. For now, you were content to hold one another as you finally released every single emotion you had bottled up over the months you had broken your hearts over one another. 

You would be okay, because, in a world where money rules all, you gave your hearts away free of charge.