#they sort of had the tops of the buildings peeking out of the ground

[thelittlestspider]

i had a weird dream i was in a town where all the homes and businesses were underground.

[keldabekush]

It's Stone's turn at the deskwork tonight and he's a little bit glad about it. His feet hurt and he's sick of the way everything echos in the senate building - the ceilings are so high. He's loosening the fastening clip on his left boot under the desk and marking a file for review with his free hand when Marshal Commander Fox keys open the door.

Stone bashes his shoulder against the desk in his hurry to sit up straight. Fox is already strolling up to the desk and Stone has no time to say anything before he perches himself on the corner and pulls out a crinkly little package.

"Good evening Stone. Do you want a banana chip?"

"I...yeah?"

"Oh i wasn't talking to you. I was talking to her." Fox says, without pausing his careful scrutiny of the bag of dried banana chips

Stone says nothing, because he's confused and he doesn't want Marshal Commander Fox to know that he's confused him. He tries to subtly look behind him in case there is a "her" somehow peering through the window behind him, despite it being hundreds of feet above ground level.

He doesn't manage it before Fox holds out a banana chip to the wad of fabric that's been sitting on the corner of the shared desk since Stone sat down.

Stone is about to turn a devastating raised eyebrow in Commander Fox's direction when the little pile of fabric begins to move, and as he watches on in complete uncomprehension, a teeny tiny little pink hand reaches out and plants itself on the plastic desk top, and then a second, and whatever is in the fabric bag does a luxurious stretch.

Stone is holding his breath for some reason.

A little triangular head with quivering whiskers peeks out, and Commander Fox makes a noise Stone has never heard him make before, like a happy hum or a sort of short laugh.

The thing in the bag slips out into the open to take the banana chip from between his fingers - its a small rodent with four little paws and round ears, with a tidy coat of white and dark brown that makes it looks like it's wearing a little brown jacket with a hood. It eats neatly, holding the banana chip with both of its little pink hands and tucked into a tidy little crouch.

Stone remembers he's not breathed for a minute and does that while Marshal Commander Fox extends the smallest finger on his right hand and brushes the fur behind the thing's ears very gently.

"Sir." He says firmly.

"Stone." He doesnt look at him so Stone can't deploy The Eyebrow, so instead Stone makes his tone as flat as he can.

"Marshal Commander Fox, Sir. What is happening right now. This right here." Stone gestures to encircle the entire tiny scene, "what is this. Explain. Please."

The little creature is leaving tiny banana crumbs beside the Visit Coruscant! keyring Thorn kept on the desk.

"Commander Stone, this is Stone. She's our guest. Would you actually like a banana chip? They're pretty good."

Stone takes one from the bag Fox is holding out to him because its the easiest response. Its crunchy. It is pretty good, actually.

"Hullo, Stone." He says. He's probably asleep at the desk and he'll wake up and tell Thorn about this funny dream.

"She's here because its warmer in the office during the day and she was sounding a bit wheezy. And she likes sleeping when theres company around. Has she been sneezing?"

"No." He answers.

"Ah good. That's better isn't it, little'un?"

He's talking to the animal like it's a first cycle cadet.

"Do you want to hold her?"

What? Oh, that was aimed at him. Stone stares at the thing while Fox picks out another banana chip. It had finished the first treat and was washing its face and whiskers with its tiny paws.

"Sure."

Fox scoops it up like a handful of pudding and drops it into the crook of Stone's arm, and hands it another banana chip. It sits there, vibrating quietly and enjoying its treat while it leaves little banana crumbs on his elbow.

Stone extends the smallest finger of his free hand and smooths the fur between it’s ears. He looks up only after Commander Fox lowers the datapad that had been on the desk and grins at the holo image he's taken. He tucks it under his arm.

"No." Says Stone.

"Yes." Says Fox, plucking the fabric bag off the desk and arranging it into a nest in his palm. He holds out his free hand and makes a "give it here" motion, so Stone carefully transfers the tiny thing to his hand with the same tenderness he would show a live grenade. Fox attempts to tuck it into the nest, but it climbs up his cuirass to nestle up beside his neck instead and he just makes that weird noise again.

"Bye, Stone."

"Goodbye, Commander. Goodbye, Stone."

And like that the door closes behind them and Stone is alone in the office again, one boot unbuckled and the smell of banana in the air.

He wipes the crumbs off the desk and gets back to his forms.

[danisbrainrot]

Happy birthday, I hope you're having the best birthday, also i hope you a healthy and happy life 💛🎂

Also thank you for writing my requests, it's  literally so sweet of you 💜

And since I'm Johanna mason obsessed I thought

Reader is disappearing into the woods for long hours, then comes back home exhausted. Johanna is getting worried and curious about what reader is doing. Usually, reader would love Johanna to go with her on her walks in the woods, but not this time.

Reader is actually building a tree perch or tree deck (I don't know what it's called, but it looks like the pictures), as a surprise for Johanna's birthday. On Johanna's birthday, reader decorated it with flower bouquets, lanterns, and candles, making it look like a fairy tale setting, with a smile picnic if that makes any sense

Ps: English isn't my first language so sorry if anything don't make sense

johanna mason x reader no because being obsessed with johanna mason is so real. also thank you so much <333, i needed to pump out a johanna fic for my birthday so i'm glad you asked for this one!! as always, i love your prompts they're so imaginative! johanna might be *slightly* ooc.

"i'm just going for a walk," you call out, letting the door slam behind you. johanna peeked her head out from the kitchen, but saw you were gone and shrugged. she felt a little hurt because usually, you would go for walks with her but she brushed it off and went about her morning routine.

when this habit continued for a couple of weeks, she began to grow upset. you'd walk out the door, planting a kiss on her cheek and waving goodbye and she'd be alone again; moping around the house, she would grumble angrily to herself about how she was going to confront you. then when you return home, cheery and embracing, her face would lighten up and she’d ignore how she was feeling.

then, the hours grew longer and you weren’t returning quite as happily. you made sure to hug her, or kiss her, but your mood was dampened and you were beyond exhausted. johanna began worrying something really bad was wrong; the situation left her conflicted. did she stop you from going out so you wouldn’t be tired? or let you do what you wanted? the idea of losing you scared her immensely, that she sent finnick a letter asking him for help. he came a week later with annie and their son, saying that he would stay until after her birthday party, and help her sort out the problem. the second you were left alone with him, however, you managed to convince him to disappear with you as well.

johanna had never been more concerned. what were you two hiding from her? were you cheating on her with finnick? she shook her head, refusing to let her mind wander down that path. you would never do that to her—could never do that to her. so she’d end up playing with finnick’s son and talk to annie all day until everyone else showed up. katniss and peeta—along with haymitch—rocked up the day before johanna’s birthday, eager to help. while katniss and haymitch gave awful advice (johanna didn’t want to snap at you and demand you tell her what happened), peeta encouraged her to wait a little longer; she wondered if you’d told him something, and now she was nervous about what she was supposedly waiting for.

it wasn’t until you finally disappeared in the early morning of her birthday that she cracked. she followed you, while you crept down the dimly lit trail. you occasionally placed a candle on the ground and lit it, before continuing on your way. it was a little while before you finally stopped in front of a large tree, with a gorgeous wooden deck. she hides behind a tree as you climb up the ladder and began setting up the blanket, placing the food on top and adding a few finishing touches to give it the rustic vibe johanna loved so much.

“you can come up now!” you announce, watching johanna peer out from behind the tree, as she hesitantly approached the ladder. she looks up at you, signalling for her to join you, before swiftly scaling the ladder and kissing you once you’re reunited at the top. “happy birthday, johanna,” you whisper against her lips.

she smiles, her blush prominent now as she realises how embarrassing it was to suspect something was wrong with you, when in reality you’d been working on this for her birthday. “thank you,” she replies, pulling away and sitting down properly. she takes one of the sandwiches you’d prepared and munches down on it. “did you build this all by yourself?”

“i had a little help,” you confess, shrugging your shoulders and plucking a bunch of grapes—before throwing them in your mouth one by one. she can’t contain her snort, rolling her eyes playfully. “the best thing about sharing friends with you, is that they wanted to help me build and prevent you from seeing it prematurely. it was a good idea throwing a party and inviting them all, otherwise i’d never have gotten this done in time.”

johanna smirks, shaking her head, “that explains a few things,” placing her head in your lap as you softly stroke her hair.

“happy birthday, my love,” you whisper, kissing the top of her forehead.

she smiled up at you, “it is when you're here.”

[aces-parrows]

safe in his arms | renjun

pairing: cg!renjun x neu!reader word count: 1k genre: angst to fluff, oneshot warnings: not proofread, sfw age regression contains descriptions of abandonment/trauma, nightmares, and panic attacks summary: you wake up from a nightmare and renjun is there to comfort you after as you begin to regress. credit: divider + support banner

the morning sunlight barely peeks through the curtains and blinds, your young eyes having not yet adjusted to the light after being deep in dream land. once your eyes adjusted, you looked around to notice how dark it was. assuming you woke up before your parents had, you carefully climb out of bed to wake them up and request breakfast, your stomach growling, begging for food to be provided.

upon entering their room, you do not find your parents in their bed. you checked the bathroom, the kitchen, even the backyard. nothing. you couldn't find them anywhere in your dark, seemingly abandoned house. where could they have gone?

the anxiety building inside you tightened your chest, making it difficult for you to breathe, as if someone had grabbed your body was attempting to crush it. you wanted your parents, but you could not find them anywhere in your home. it was as if they no longer existed, leaving you to fend for yourself.

you look at the photographs on the living room wall, noticing the changes in them. all the ones of you or that had included you were gone. either replaced with another photo or you simply were no longer there.

tears blurred your vision as you ran around the house one more time, checking every nook and cranny for your parents. they couldn't have left you alone, right? they wouldn't just erase you from there life, right? you called out for them, hoping they would answer. you screamed for them.

"mom!! dad!!" you continued to cry throughout the house, into empty rooms, out windows, anywhere you could in the hopes of finding them or figuring out where they went. you even entered the scary basement you were always terrified of entering without someone besides you.

SLAM!

you were now trapped in the basement, the door locked. you tugged on the handle, pushed on the door, but your child body couldn't get it to budge. you were surrounded by darkness. you screamed for your parents, your voice going from screams mumbles, despite your attempts to scream for help. and then something covered your face, cutting off your access to the air. you were frozen, unable to move or scream as you began gasping for air you just couldn't inhale. it felt you were struggling for a while before everything went quiet and black.

and then your eyes shot open. it took you a few moments to process that you had a nightmare and the whole thing hadn't actually happened. however, even the fact it was all a cruel trick played by your subconscious, that didn't calm your breathing. as you rapidly brought air in and out of your lungs, you could sort of process the bed besides you shifting as your boyfriend, renjun, had woken up.

"hey, are you okay?" he asked, putting a gentle hand on your arm.

through tears, you shook your head as you could only sob, words unable to leave your mouth in this moment. renjun carefully sat up and helped guide you into his arms, where he held you. his hand gently went under your shirt, rubbing your bare back in an attempt to ground you back to reality.

"take deep breaths, love. in for four, out for four." renjun spoke softly before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

after a couple minutes, he noticed you began to calm down. a couple more kisses to the top of your head, some deep breaths, and comforting back rubs, you were now only silently crying. renjun was aware of the fact you typically regressed after these sort of nightmares, so he gently whispered "it's okay, little one. i'm right here, nothing can hurt you now."

renjun continued to hold you close, his soothing presence sending you deeper into your regression and easing your distress. he rocked you gently, quietly humming a lullaby in the hopes of comforting you enough that you felt you could safely fall back asleep. he reached over to grab your favorite stuffed animal from your side of the bed, handing it to you so you could hug it for further comfort.

"how about some warm milk and a story?" he suggested, knowing little things such as that would provide further comfort for you.

you softly nodded your head, sniffling as you held your comfort object close. renjun carefully got up off the bed before he lifted you up with him. he carried you to the kitchen, carefully setting you on the floor as he prepared some warm milk for you. once it was done, he gave it to you in your favorite cup, watching as you drank it carefully, keeping your stuffed animal hugged in your arms.

after your cup was empty, he carefully carried you back to the bedroom. he sat you on the bed, wrapped you and your stuffed animal in your favorite blanket, and went to find a book to read. he came back with "how do dinosaurs say goodnight?" smiling when he saw how excited you got seeing the book. he sat besides you and opened it up, allowing you to see all the illustrations that accompanied the story.

his soothing voice read the silly tale of how dinosaurs say goodnight, your little giggles at their silly shenanigans bringing a smile to his face as he continued to read.

by the time he finished the book, he noticed you were not only calmer, but happier than when you first woke up. after planting a gentle kiss to your cheek, he asked if you were doing better.

"much better!" you responded happily, "thank you."

"always, little one, you know i'll always be here to protect you," renjun reassured. "now how about we get you back to bed? i'll say with you until you fall asleep."

the blanket was carefully laid on top of you after you laid down and were in a comfortable position. he kissed your forehead, then your stuffed animal's forehead. he laid down besides you, carefully wrapping his protective arms around you, gently petting your hair as you slipped back into a deep sleep, hoping that this time, your dreams are more happy and comforting, allowing you to have a restful sleep for the rest of the evening.

[leggerefiore]

Pft! Imagine coming home to Cyrus and Cyllene, and they’re just standing on top of the furniture. At first you think they’re playing “The Floor Is Lava”, but then you see a bug skitter across the room. Once it’s been relocated outside the house, you have a little girl and a grown man clinging to you.

The home was quiet. You would say too quiet, but Cyrus and Cyllene were not exactly the most talkative and noisy sort of people. You really thought little of it. Though, the lack of any sound was concerning. Had they gone out? It was unlikely, but not impossible. You opened the door and peered into the living room from the entryway. Cyrus sitting on the back of the couch was the first thing you saw. Then, Cyllene standing on the coffee table.

What… what were they doing? It was really odd to see them doing those things like that. The floor is lava? Well, it was not impossible that Cyllene had decided to play it. You really did not expect Cyrus to go along with her, but Cyllene could convince him to do just about anything. But… their faces. Both of them, despite their usual stoicism, looked panicked and afraid. You stepped inside carefully.

Then, you saw it.

A Wurmple crawled around the floor in confusion. You held back laughter at the way Cyrus's face intensified when the bug-type approached the couch and peeked up. When it dared to start climbing, he seemed to fight back an urge to scream. You finally intervened and picked up the poor worm pokemon and took it outside from the veranda. It seemed to quickly figure out how to crawl down the building and free itself from its urban prison.

You turned back in to see the two finally getting down from their elevated grounds. Cyllene scrambled towards you fast and buried her face into your leg, trembling a little. You patted her back lightly and sighed. Her fear of bugs was seemingly inherited from her father. Cyrus also approached you and glanced out the veranda door nervously. He then turned and lightly embraced you, too. You wanted to laugh.

“Cyrus, where's Weavile?” you questioned.

“My pokeballs were in the bedroom when that vile thing entered our home,” he answered. Cyllene nodded to support his words.

You sighed.

Your two entomophobes.

[keets-writing-corner]

I read the lucilith thing you wrote. Holy shit. It took all day, and there's only two fucking chapters but it took all day.

I've never read anything that felt so "canon," that's the only way i can put it. It felt just like it was written into the script of a far away season in the actual show.

You're insane at writing bro. I don't rlly know much abt you but I was able to find this blog and I js wanted to let you know (hope you find this ig) how fucking good that story is.

Can't wait for chapter 3.

If I had time to draw rn I'd be drawing a huge bearhug to the anon symbol, maybe later today tho?👀

[obligatory link to fic if any followers of mine have missed it]

Anon this is THE BEST start to my day! WTF THANK YOU SO SO MUCH! It warms my heart that people like you are enjoying my writing so much!

Yeah I... have a bad habit of making projects way to big for my own good. I JUST HAVE SO MANY IDEAS DAMMIT in the past I've solved that issue by going, "this fic can only have x amount of chapters" and that's worked. This time I told myself only 5, and my brain just went "but no word limit right?" and now it's starting to look like each chapter is going to be 20-30k words 💀 and each one is taking me about a month to complete... I actually started writing chapter 1 end of january, start of february and I only posted it end of february. Chapter 2 similar thing... BUT so many people are really enjoying it! So it's worth it right?

hey

hey

you

come closer

you want a sneak peek of 3? This is about a page into the start

__________

High pitched ringing was all Lilith could perceive at first. Eventually, as time passed, she became aware of more things. The air smelled foul. She was laying atop something soft, but underneath the soft layer was the hardest rock she’d ever felt. As far as sounds, it seemed like there was a faint rumbling in the distance, but nothing extravagant. 

Blearily, she managed to open her eyes. 

Lilith was face to face with Lucifer who seemed to be unconscious, just as she had been moments ago. The soft layer she was on was his wing, with another one lying limp on top of her. 

She sat up slowly, groaning. Her body ached and her joints felt sore. The wings that were on top of her, slid off. 

There was something grey drifting down from the sky, and apparently, she and Lucifer had been laying there long enough that a thin layer of it had started to build up on them. Well, mostly Lucifer. Up until now, she had been safely shielded by his wings. 

Lilith gave him a nudge, “Lu, wake up,” she told him before moving to stand herself. 

The sky was a deep blood red. Any clouds that formed were either grey or black. The ground too, the harsh rocky terrain she and Lucifer were on was also a dark grey. It was now that she realized, she and Lucifer were dead center in a crater of sorts. 

That’s when the previous events all rushed back to her. Heaven attacked them and cast them down into, what was it the elders called it? Hell? Lucifer desperately shielded and protected her from the vicious onslaught and then from the impact of the fall itself. 

Now with the full context, Lilith rushed back to Lucifer who still remained on the ground, “Lu?!” Lilith pushed back the wings that were covering his body, and unveiled multiple wounds from heaven’s attack. The blood had long since dried, and Lilith realized she too was covered in Lucifer’s blood. His wings were also covered in his blood as heaven viciously skewered them to prevent him from flying back out. His once flowing robes were all but tatters barely clinging to his form.

Panic now fully setting in as she realized he looked even worse than when he had fallen from heaven and wasn’t even stirring, not even a little. She couldn’t even hear him breathe raspy breaths like he had last time.

“Lu! Say something!” Lilith immediately cradled him. 

His head immediately rolled back limply as she pulled him to her. Lilith needed to readjust her grip on him in order for his head to lean against her torso gently. 

He had protected her… From everything. But the final blow had been the fall. If what little Lilith had experienced from the fall due to his protection had been enough to temporarily knock her unconscious and make her sore then… What must it have felt like to take the full brunt of it?? 

Tears began to build up in her eyes as she recalled him assuring her that she’d be okay. He had been unable to stop the crash, so he did everything he could to make sure she was going to be safe. Suddenly, it made sense why he had repositioned himself underneath her, to cushion her fall with his own body. 

“Lu?!” she called again, “Lucifer!” 

He remained still and unresponsive. 

Lilith’s breath hitched in her throat. He couldn’t be- he wouldn’t- this couldn’t have… killed him??? 

Lilith pulled him tighter to her, choking back tears and shook with rage against heaven. Why push her and him into that crevice?? All this because he wanted to help her and Eve but that was against the rules apparently?? Weren’t they supposed to be good?! Weren’t they supposed to be kind?! And what could she have done while the elders attacked? She had been powerless to help! Worse… They used her to lure him into the hole. As Lilith held him and choked back sobs, it occurred to her that he still felt warm. 

The faintest, slightest bit of hope fluttered in her, and she pulled away to get a better look at Lucifer. He still was completely still, and unresponsive but… maybe…

Lilith leaned her ear against his chest, hoping for what seemed to be the impossible. 

Faintly. 

Very

very 

faintly 

She could hear it. A heartbeat. Even fainter, she could hear a weak rattling breath from deep in his chest. 

He was alive…

He was still alive!

Lilith pulled him into a hug, cupping the back of his head and holding him tightly. Her tears now weren’t from grief but relief. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered to him, “It’s going to be okay…”

__________

anyways, this was an absolutely LOVELY start to my day ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ would love to talk to people about it if they want

thank you so much for coming to find me and leaving me this lovely comment!

[clowningaroundmars]

previously:

It seemed like that was yet another constant through time and space; in every universe Miles Morales is in, he was always going to be annoyingly stubborn. And annoyingly self-sacrificing, too.

She relented. Leap of faith, after all.

“If you’re sure… then stick by me, and we’ll do it,” Gwen reassured him, hoping her smile under her mask was readable in any way at all.

They exchanged glances one more time, and then braced themselves for the inevitable.

well. things certainly ramp up quite a bit here in this installment. hope y'all are enjoying the show so far bc it sure does get interesting here for our fave teen vigilantes!

mind the warnings on part 1 here, for surrreee! enjoy :)

<< part 3 of 4 >>

To say that they fought like hell would be an understatement.

And to say that they ran like hell would also be an understatement as well.

That henchman down in the basement level of the compound wasn’t lying when he told the Doctor that he had the entire building on lockdown.

Even the scarce amount of still-working scientists left on the upper floors had all evacuated and now every single exit was sealed tight with emergency locks, metal panels blocking all windows.

They clawed, kicked, slipped, slid, punched and flipped their way past several armored goons, the computer tower on 42's back earning a bullet and a few scratches in the process. He tried keeping the minions away with powerful Muay Thai kicks to protect it as best he could.

It weighs him down only a little bit. Gwen kept looking over her shoulder to check on him every other second or so, but he seemed to be managing just fine with the tower on his back anyhow.

Once the two vigilantes were finally able to break away from the initial fight with what seemed like the entirety of Upstate New York’s small private army, they skittered and bolted through the high-tech facility at top speed, ducking and dodging various bullets and objects that flew through the air in their direction.

“So, uh--” Gwen panted, shooting a few webs behind her to trap some henchmen giving chase, “what was that escape plan you had in mind earlier? Could really use it right about now!”

42 slides onto his knee right underneath a table in an open-floor break room and then kicks it in order to provide cover from the rest of the hail of bullets.

Gwen leaps right over to join him, webbing up a microwave she snags off of a counter to use as a heavy projectile.

“Buy me a couple of seconds! I need to check my maps again,” 42 shouts over the sound of bullets firing and shouting, minding his back and trying his best to protect the computer as it still downloads the information he needs.

“Okay, but no promises!” Gwen replies, heaving the microwave over her shoulder and swinging it like a mace over her head.

Gwen manages to send the appliance sailing into a few henchmen, which probably knocks one out onto the ground, but she dived back behind their makeshift cover too quickly to see it.

The men start shouting loudly again, so maybe it did do some damage after all!

“... Do me a favor real quick,” 42 then says from his position on the ground, leaning on an elbow, “what color’s the wire on my pack right now?”

“Uhhh, your wire?” Gwen says quickly, still breathing hard. “The one connected to the computer? Oh, that’s… it’s not glowing anymore!”

42 bobs his head as he still works on his mask, giving it taps on the side every now and then. “Perfect, it’s done. Get this thing off of me, then! Let’s destroy it!”

Gwen laughs. “I’ve got a better idea!”

She rips her webs off of 42’s pack, separating the heavy computer tower from it and hoisting it up over her shoulder. She takes a peek over the edge of the table and promptly ducks back down to dodge another bullet.

One of the henchmen spots her with something hoisted over an arm and shouts at his peers to get out of the way.

Gwen then springs up while they’re sort of distracted, heaves the big bulky thing behind her and then she lets it swing. With the help of her super-strength, the tower sails through the air like a grenade, heading straight for a couple of goons still taking cover behind their own upturned table.

Everyone’s eyes follow it, as it seems to fly over in slow motion, heading straight for one henchman’s shocked face… when all of a sudden--

A long dark tentacle shoots out from a room off to the side and intercepts the machine, metal coming into contact with metal ringing loudly into the air and officially signaling the end of the fight between the henchmen and the vigilantes.

The computer hangs in the air in its grasp for a moment before the villain pulls it inside and promptly glides out of the room on his other tentacles.

It was of course, none other than the ever-so-charming Doctor Octopus himself.

The bullets stopped flying and most of the henchmen were already incapacitated anyways, so the silence that fell over the area wasn’t unexpected, but still very unsettling nonetheless.

“It seems my incompetent staff here hasn’t quite given you both the warm welcome that you deserve,” he announces, commanding voice echoing menacingly through the room, “a shame, really. Allow me,”

Yikes on bikes, Gwen thought, biting her lip.

He wasn’t adorned in his smart little suit that he was wearing earlier down in the compound’s basement level earlier… he was fully suited up in armor now, face partially obscured by a pair of high-tech goggles that featured two other lenses on the sides. Those smaller lenses constantly clicked and whirred, which intrigued Gwen.

42, on the other hand, didn’t seem so impressed. He jumped up suddenly from his cover as the Doctor advanced on them and extended a gauntlet out, letting several small purple sparks shoot out from the knuckles.

They looked an awful lot like the purple sparky-things he used to destroy the camera that watched over Gwen in her storage-room-slash-prison.

She picked up the table they used for cover and tossed it towards the Octopus while he was still slightly distracted from attempting to dodge them.

As expected, his tentacles took care of these pesky little distractions for him. In one graceful movement, he destroyed the table and rendered it into smithereens, the wood scattering everywhere below his feet.

“Time to go!” 42 shouts as he scrambles away from the menacing appendages striking out at them like cobras.

Gwen agrees, hot on his heels.

Geez, this sure was a lot like her encounter with earth-1610’s Dr. Octavius, down to the evil tentacle-chasing down a narrow hallway and all! Good times.

But now wasn’t the time for fond reminiscing, especially given that this particular variant of the Octopus was more than likely out for blood thanks to the two teens’ earlier escapades. They destroyed the Doc’s super collider and stole hundreds of his files straight out of his labs… they were cooked if he ever got a single tentacle on them!

They skid down halls and narrowly avoid becoming minced meat via tentacle-butchering by using their cunning and tossing any object they can get their hands on at the villain. Their every attempt is thwarted, exasperating them both.

"Get back here, you two! You won't escape!" The Doctor bellows behind them, and Gwen swears she can feel his hot breath down her neck at some points.

They leap and duck away from striking tentacles, jump off of walls to get a head start around corners, crash through walls of glass in sleek office spaces. Papers and tech fly everywhere.

“Miles--!” Gwen calls out when the two teens' momentum end up with them throwing themselves onto some railing on a mezzanine overlooking the main entrance lobby.

The lobby was huge, spacious, and obnoxiously pretentious. Big dark stone pillars stood thick and tall, holding up a vaulted ceiling that seemed to reach up into the sky. The receptionist’s area sat at the very center, round desks interconnected to form a big circle filled with computers, files, and the like.

The vigilantes looked down in dismay at the giant double-doors and the windows leading to their freedom, all sealed with the same metallic plating found in Gwen's prison-room. Which means it was also most likely held shut by whatever power source this building used. Shit, shit, shit!

Doc Ock was quickly covering ground, only a bit disgruntled from the narrow halls that slightly impeded his movement, and rapidly gaining on them.

The two looked at each other with wide eyes for a split second before swiftly turning around, sitting on the railing and then throwing themselves heels-over-head on the way down.

Gwen was thinking maybe they could hide for a split second if she stuck to the underside of the flooring and confused the Octopus long enough to web up that node on his back and attempt to rip it out, before she yelped in shock at metal claws gripping her ankle not even halfway down and yanking her back up with vicious force.

"Whooooaaa!" Gwen's voice echoes throughout the giant room.

“Gwen!!!” 42 yells, now on the floor and skidding to a stop. He whirls around in time to see Doc Ock gracefully climb down from the mezzanine as well, tossing his friend between two tentacles like she was a plush doll.

He holds both of her wrists in one vice grip, grinning like a madman in her face as she struggles against his technology, thrashing this way and that.

“Now, now. Where are you both off to in such a hurry? I told you I’d be giving you a proper welcome into the facility, and that’s just what I intend to do… after you two do me a solid, that is.”

“Screw you, Octavius! Let my friend go!” 42 roars, his mask seemingly projecting his voice much louder than it actually was. “I’ve got this whole place rigged with explosives and they’re ready to blow at any moment now!”

It's a bluff, but Gwen prays to the universe that the Doctor buys it.

Doc Ock feigns shock. “My goodness! What a couple of rowdy young kids you are! I think someone ought to teach you two some… manners,” he growls, advancing quickly in 42’s direction and keeping a tight grip on Gwen’s arms.

“Prowler, listen to me... just go!” Gwen pleads with 42, swinging and kicking uselessly in the air as Doc Ock parries 42’s own blows with his other tentacles.

“Not happening!” 42 grunts. He narrowly dodges a knife-like tentacle strike to his head.

It was no use. The two were already locked in a battle to the death, and there was nothing that she could say to possibly change their minds.

They waltzed around the area until they found themselves in the middle of the lobby, still exchanging blows.

“Well, isn’t this precious! How sweet,” the Doctor comments snidely. He swings Gwen up into the air and slams her down onto a desk, splintering it into pieces and making her shout in pain. “The girl doesn’t want to leave the boy, the boy doesn’t want to leave the girl…” He pins her down with a tentacle around her neck.

“Gross,” Gwen mutters, still working at using her strength to free herself from the Doctor’s vice-like grip, wood splinters digging into her back.

“It’s all so sentimental, it could make me weep! How about this,” he shoots out a tentacle and wraps it around 42’s torso suddenly, trapping his arms by his sides and bringing everyone closer together. “I’ll make you both a deal; you hand me my data and agree to be my useful test subjects. You’ll both be kept alive as long as you obey my every whim! Or I’ll kill you both! How’s that sound?”

42 scoffs, still struggling against his restraints. “Sounds terrible. How about you let us go and we kick your ass instead?”

The Doctor lets out a loud, long laugh. “My dear boy, that sounds even worse!”

Gwen takes the opportunity of the small distraction to hook her legs onto the tentacle steadily planning to choke the life out of her, and hangs on for dear life. The Doctor feels her using his own appendage as leverage, and whips back around to her.

“What in the world do you think you’re d-- AGH!”

She remembers what her friend Hobie Brown taught her during a riot in his dimension.

The anarchists and Hobie's own little Spider Band drove a group of cops away from a squatter's village somewhere in Southwark once on Earth-138 before, and when she was apprehended by one of the big oafs, she was quickly taught how to use an arm bar to effectively escape his grasp and continue the fight.

She attempts it here and with a bit more concentrated strength...

Success!

Gwen manages to pry the evil tentacle off of her neck and begins to tie it into knots as it flails around, taking her on a joyride of a lifetime.

She blocks strikes from the arm, as if trying to wrangle an aggravated cobra in mid-air, grabbing its snapping claw and holding on.

42 also took a page out of her playbook and quickly seized his opportunity; he managed to shoot out another one of the zappy-rockets he keeps in his gauntlets, hitting Doc Ock’s evil face and getting the villain to drop him due to the electrical shocks.

“Do that again, man! But aim at his arms next time!” Gwen calls over to 42, who’s now quickly weaving and dodging the vengeful tentacles all trying to get back at him.

They snap, gnash, and 42 even swears they hiss at him at some point while he waits for his gauntlets to cool down, buying him some time. He makes attempts at grabbing them back when he can and attempting to crush them between his claws, blocking them most other times.

The sounds of metal striking against metal ring out throughout the spacious lobby area once more.

Gwen is still stuck on the bucking bronco that is Doc Ock’s upper right tentacle and not showing any signs of letting go. She manages to finally connect her feet to a stone pillar as the Doc passes it trying to chase down his escaped captor.

She sticks to it and uses that as an opportunity to yank at Doc Ock’s tentacle with all of her might in the other direction and send the Doctor flying along with it.

“Aaagh!!” He shouts. The man is slammed onto the ground hard and rolls several feet away, moaning in pain.

Gwen looks at the severed tentacle in her grasp, now laying limp like a sad, wet noodle. She hadn't realized she even used so much of her strength to rip it out of his node like that. She drops down from the pillar and tosses the hated thing aside.

42 comes up to her, panting, nodding at her in approval.

“Goddamn, Gwendy. Nice one!” He remarks, bumping her on the shoulder before engaging something on his gauntlets that caused every nook and cranny of it to glow a bright purple. “I’m ending this now, we’ve been in here for far too long!”

He then crouches down, steadying himself. Gwen follows his lead, also equally tired and definitely just as over it as he is.

They both take a running leap into the air, 42 flying forward with his claws extended like he usually did, Gwen leaping into the air with both of her wrists extended in front of her, ready to finally let the last of her web fluid hold down the Octopus for as long as they needed to ensure their eventual escape.

They were so close to descending on the mad doctor and finishing this fight for good, or at least incapacitating him for the time being when…

42 suddenly yelped in pain and immediately crumpled onto the ground, his body skidding a little ways away from Doctor Octopus.

He didn’t get back up.

Gwen was bewildered. “Mi-- Prowler?! Oh, god!”

She recovered quickly and shot a web out to the ceiling instead, narrowly avoiding a vengeful tentacle swiping through the air at her violently. She noticed blood on one of his tentacles, the same one he used to lash out at 42!

Damn it all to hell!

Gwen swings around a pillar to put some distance between herself and her foe, but hated being out of sight to keep an eye on her friend. She opted to stick onto the side of one of these huge pillars and assess the situation from there.

The Doctor pushes himself off the ground and slowly rises to stand. He wears an evil grimace on his aging face, clutching his head. He takes his goggles off of his face and tosses them to the side, rage blazing away in the pupils of his eyes which was visible even from where Gwen was perched.

“No more games,” the Doctor grits out, gathering up his strength to pick up 42’s unconscious body up off of the ground and shake him around like a ragdoll. “You want him alive? You come to me instead. Let's see if you can manage to do that!”

And just like that, the Doctor uses his remaining tentacles to climb back up the mezzanine from the floor below and disappears around a corner, carrying a limp Prowler along with him.

Gwen panics.

“No!!” She shouts, pushing herself off the pillar and using her webs to rocket towards the entrance that Doc Ock just disappeared into.

The only things on her mind were friend, hurt, could die, have to keep up!

Every nerve inside of her body was lit up to a thousand degrees, her only focus being 42 and nothing else. It could very well have been a trap that she was falling into at that moment, but she really couldn’t have cared less.

The only things flashing through her mind as she gave chase down the long, winding corridors of the facility in her attempt to keep up with the monster kidnapping her friend were the memories of her own late best friend, Peter Parker of Earth-65.

The events of that fateful night in her school continued to pump away in her mind just as the blood pumped through her veins while she made her way back into the maze of the back halls.

Gotta take down that lizard, she remembered thinking before swinging down onto the scene to save her classmates.

She remembered every single blow she dealt to what she thought was a villain, but really turned out to be her bestest friend in the world whose science experiment had gone horribly awry.

She remembered his beat up face. She remembered…

She remembered...

She skidded around a corner and promptly halted. The sheer horror alone over what she saw smacked her like a wall of bricks.

Here, they had accessed a hallway which had a door at the end. Gwen saw the telltale sign plastered onto it: it was the door that led to the roof.

The Doctor was angrily wrenching it open with his tentacles to get past the emergency locks. If he got to the roof with her friend… there was no telling what he would do to the kid if she didn’t reach them in time…

And she just couldn’t let that happen!

Instead of following the be-tentacled evil-doer on his heels, Gwen decided to make a huge gamble and escape through a sealed window instead. From there, she could use the tiny bit of web fluid she still had in her web shooters and get to the roof faster than him.

Taking a breath, she spun on her heels and dived into the nearest room. She threw herself onto a panel, fingers digging into the scarce space between the edges and the window seals, summoning her massive strength yet again to accomplish the one feat she needed to right now.

She prayed to every single deity that ever existed out there...

And they answered.

The metal sheet was nothing more than that-- a sheet. It immediately buckled under her hands and crumpled like aluminum, and she tore it right off of its frame, green electricity fizzling and popping out from above.

She threw herself out of the window, crashing shoulder-first into the glass.

Glass shards flew everywhere, sparkling like stars in the night sky as she fell, turning in what seemed like slow-motion in the air to aim herself correctly.

She extended her arms out, took aim… and shot the very last bit of web fluid that she had in her shooters to connect to the edge of the roof.

Thanking every single god out there that ever existed, Gwen flew up to the ledge and sprinted over to the roof access door as quickly as her aching legs could manage.

The door was suddenly torn open by big menacing mechanical tentacles and out came Doc Ock and Miles-42, followed by a few of the Doctor’s own private little goon squad behind him shortly after.

Gwen realized with a start that she was standing on a helipad on top of the huge building, and that the Doctor most likely intended to lead the both of them up here to access his getaway vehicle easier.

But whatever his plan was for the teens, Gwen didn’t intend to let anyone get away now. Bruised, battered, bleeding, sweaty, tired... and with zero web fluid to her name, she still had a lot of fight left in her.

A lot.

“Doc Ock! Put him down!” She roars into the night air, the scene illuminated only by the glow of the full moon hanging overhead. Her breath clouds in front of her.

The Doctor sneers at her, and his henchmen promptly train their guns onto her. “Like there’s a chance in hell! You two have beaten my men unconscious, bombed my greatest creation yet, destroyed one of my beloved appendages, and trashed my most productive facility in the entirety of the New York state! You? I'll kill you just like I should have the second I found you! And then I'll end your little boyfriend's life, too.”

“Not my boyfriend!” Gwen throws back as she breaks into a run, dodging and weaving bullets shot at her and somersaulting over to them to put the remaining backup out of commission.

She fights them all viciously, much in the same way 42 did whenever it came time to exchange blows.

Despite the chaos of the fight, she never took an eye off of her new friend.

“How dare you ugly buffoons-- the nerve of you all-- kidnapping my friend-- after you guys kidnapped me!” She complained through gritted teeth, letting her anger and frustration out on these bumbling idiots with every punch thrown and every kick delivered.

She held nothing back, even snatching a gun out of a henchman’s hands at one point, snapping it in half and whipping him unconscious with the remaining pieces.

“I am so! Over! This!” She shouted, now dodging the snapping and hissing tentacles of their evil boss.

“Stop now and we can perhaps-- urgh! Perhaps we can come to an agreement!” The Doctor grunts, still daring to trade blows with her as she advances on him, the white lenses of her mask now glowing eerily with rage.

“I don’t want an agreement, you idiot, I want my friend back!”

“Ah!” Doc Ock backs up a bit nervously, heading directly for the roof’s edge. “Well… why didn’t you just say so? I’m sure we can come to an arrangement of some kind, perhaps…” he glances over his shoulder, now that he and his hostage are dangerously close to the edge, “perhaps you can even… get him yourself!”

Here, the Doctor leaps over to the side, narrowly avoiding a fist to the jaw and tossing 42’s still unconscious body into the air… letting him tumble right over the ledge.

"Catch!" He announces brazenly.

42 falls down...

down...

down.

Gwen watches in horror.

[saradika]

— WASTELAND, BABY

iii. the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on

[masterlist] | [part ii]

boba fett x f!reader

rated E - 3.4k

tags: fallout au, post-apocalyptic, canon-typical themes, mentions of blood/violence/death, mentions of anxiety and grounding

a/n: if you missed it, @blackmonitor shared an amazing image of Boba in his armor - please check it out! 💖

While a new acquaintance helps you get acclimated to your life in Mos Espa, you can’t help but ask some question about Boba.

A deal is discussed behind you, as you look out through the dusty, arched windows. Watching the marketplace below, the stalls set up - trying to see what sort of things are sold in this day and age.

The range is impressive - cuts of meat, racks of clothes in varying stages of disrepair. Weapons, drinks, and you even think you see a stall selling boxes of pre-War food - but you can't imagine it could possibly be good anymore.

Fennec catches you off guard - sliding up silently, bumping your elbow. Gesturing you to follow, through one of the open wings off to the side, then down the set of stairs at the end. The hallway is lined with closed doors, crates stacked in piles in the spaces between them.

She opens the third door on the left side, the door creaking as her shoulder shoves against it. Moving a toppled-over chair out of the way, sending up a swirl of dust.

Slowly, you follow her inside.

It's small - someone's old office. A floor of cracked tile, covered with part of a ripped carpet.

The chair bumps against an old filing cabinet, a desk with two missing legs sitting in the middle of the room. Her hands brace on her hips as she scans the room, as she clicks her tongue.

"You can stay here, until something better comes along. I'll see if I can find someone to help you clear it out."

You're looking out the window - two narrow, tall rectangles. The glass is mostly intact, cracks spider-webbing from the top. Looking out onto the lower levels of the building, giving you peeks of the stalls through the curving row of tall stone pillars.

"Thank you," You're glancing over your shoulder, "I can handle all of that, I don't want to bother anyone."

She shrugs, "I'll still send them. You'll need a bed, at least. Maybe a little more, if we have it to spare."

The kindness is more than you're expecting.

The relief of a solid room - where the floor doesn't look down into the room below it, where you're protected from the winds. But there's something that sits heavy in your stomach, a worry that you haven't been able to shake since you've arrived.

You take a breath, and then you say it.

"I don't have any money."

The look she gives you is one she must give often. Exasperated, her hands dropping from her hips as she heads towards the door.

Pausing, fingers resting on the knob, "We know. There's a lot I can't get to during the day. It will be hard work... but if you help me out, the room is yours. Does that work for you?"

You're nodding, a little too eagerly, "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

She snorts, but then the look softens. Growing a little more serious, as her head tilts, "Pretty manners won't stop a bullet, bluebird. Stay sharp, got it? Even here."

Pausing, until you nod. Telling you she'll send someone down in a while, and to meet her on the steps in the morning. Leaving you alone in the small room to think about all that's happened.

You're in the middle of sorting through the room when there's a knock at your door, the sound of a boot hitting the solid wood.

Examining a few found trinkets - anything valuable long since stripped away. A row of empty bottles line the top of the filing cabinet, and there's a shelf that had been knocked off the wall, but was still in good condition.

The sound makes your stomach flip, wondering if Fennec had come back - she had made it sound like it might be hours until she could find someone to spare. Something you had understood, and had been more than content to keep yourself busy until then.

A small part of you begins to think it might be him again - changing his mind about letting you stay. Worry twisting inside you as you stand, hesitating.

It comes again, and you finally crack the door open.

It's not him, but it's close - dressed so similarly to the armor you had seen him fit into place, up in that open chamber. Face covered with a shining silver helmet, just barely visible over the bulk he holds in his arms.

"Oh shit, sorry," You scramble to pull the door open wide enough for him to fit through.

"Where would you like these?" He asks, as if you're back in your old apartment, as if he's delivering something precious, expensive.

In a way, you suppose he is. Things seem to have more value now than ever.

You huff a laugh, gesturing to the empty center of the room, "Anywhere you'd like."

The gifts he brings are are generous, as well.

Not a full bed, but salvaged cushions from couch, a thin mat to rest on top. Tucked in the corner, it would more than suffice for now - you won't miss the rusted springs that dug into your back at the Farmhouse.

A cardboard box balanced on top yields a pile of supplies. What looked like dingy, handmade soap, a thin blanket, an empty canteen.

But the best of all - clothes - threadbare and of all sizes, but they were clean and you were eager to shed yourself from the Vault suit and ragged duster.

Taking what he had said to heart - not wanting to stand out any more than you needed. Even if it would feel a little sad to do so, you've gotten used to wearing it.

Shedding it is taking another step away from those you loved, even though they were only a half-days walk away. The separation would make it feel longer.

There's a bathroom across the hall - the bare bulb flickering as the door shuts behind you. Two bathroom stalls, one with a door broken and swinging on its hinge, but both functional. A dirty shower stall tucked off to the side.

Giving you a couple moments to yourself as you change - piecing together something from the box. Stained olive-green trousers, tucked into the boots you already wear. A light undershirt - the rotting jacket you took off the Raider traded for a soft, faded denim one.

No need to advertise that you don't know what you're doing here. Blending in will be your best shot.

With the new clothes on, you don't feel any different, but when you glance in the cracked mirror, there's a weight and weariness you seem to wear, held in your curve of shoulders, in your eyes.

But it's still you, and you'll keep going.

You've made it this far, after all.

When you leave, the man is in the middle of pushing the broken desk out the door. Together, you move it out into the hallway, clearing the room of a few more broken chairs - leaving you with one sturdy one, and an end table that only wobbles a little.

He's interesting, this man.

Doesn't say a lot, but helps willingly. Gently directing when the desk had gotten jammed as you tried to pivot around the corner. But your curious acknowledgement turns into genuine affection when he says the magic words.

"Are you hungry?

He makes a sound at the way your head whips towards him - a low, buzzing hum that could pass as a laugh.

"Come on, then."

Fennec's gaze fires towards him as she enters the room, as accurate as a shot from her rifle. Boba can feel the weight of it settle over him, even as he crouches to scrub the dirt from his Power Armor.

Caked on from where it had mixed with the blood, when he had wrenched the jacket off the fallen Raider.

"Since when is the great Daimyo so benevolent?" Her voice cuts across the room, as he dips his cloth into the murky water again, "Or, so hasty?"

He doesn't respond. A perfunctory title, to try to dig under his skin - but it’s not her best attempt.

She leans against the wall, forcing herself into his line of sight - an arched eyebrow as she waits.

Finally, he answers, "I think you should know that my generosity is not unheard of."

Fennec ignores his pointed dig.

"I ran into Din, on my way to the storehouse. Must have been, what - fifteen minutes after I left you?" There's a lilt to her voice that almost disguises her intrigue, if only he did not know her so well.

"He was around, and I was saving you time."

"Mm, I'm sure that's exactly what you were doing." She hums, "Was clearing out our supplies a favor, as well? Save us some time tidying up?"

He sighs then, a tired, heavy thing.

Slinging the towel over his shoulder, as he pushes himself to his feet - until her face has to tilt up to meet his gaze.

"I instructed him to bring enough to make her comfortable.” His arms cross over his chest, mirroring hers, “Do you regret our agreement? You did not seem so adverse before."

“Not at all," Fennec’s small smirk widens, "She seems eager to please."

He tries not to think more deeply about her wording. To find a different meaning, woven in. Eyes dropping again, as he begins on the thigh plates. Where streaked and muddy shades of red fade to worn green with each careful swipe.

"Then I don't see what the issue is."

“There’s no issue.” Her toe digs into the cracked stone, pressing against a broken edge, "Just a curiosity, with your sudden faith of this new investment. I didn’t think a set of pretty eyes would be enough to make you drop your guard.”

It's been close to a week since he's been gone, hours since he's eaten. Something he can endure, though it makes her needling more difficult to bear.

“I haven’t.” His eyes grow hard - pointedly focusing on the insult, "She's not like us.”

An understatement, to be certain. He learned out to sniff out danger decades ago - to smell the scent of boiling blood and anticipate the sharp bite of violence.

A pause, as he lets the edge grow dull, "We both know what it's like to start over. If I can aid with that, I will. For anyone in Mos Espa.”

Fennec's smirk fades, because she does know - has done it, time and time again.

"And if it's truly the investment that concerns you, then run her ragged.” Boba suggests, “I care not."

The look she shoots him tells him it's not, but his face stays impassive, making no indication that he reads her deeper meaning. That she’s really wondering if it’s safe to keep her so close - what they know so little.

If he’s already gone soft, for this new stray.

He hasn’t.

The latter is also none of her business.

There’s a twist of her heel as the silence lingers, as she leaves him alone with his thoughts.

With this safe place to stay, Boba tells himself that his mind would not be a place that she would occupy as well.

He'd done what he needed to do.

And that was that.

Your quest for food turns into a small tour of the marketplace, the rings of stalls layering like ripples in a pond. Giving you a closer look at some of the places you had seen earlier, though before long it almost seems like too much - the voices of people selling their wares layering with the chatter of conversation.

A hand nudges at your elbow, as you find yourself stuck in the middle of an aisle. Overwhelmed and overstimulated after the months of solitude, still trying to come to terms with the state of the world.

The gesture is solid but kindly-intended - guiding you down one of the aisles, the next layer a little less populated.

There's the crackle of his helmet, as he guides you to a crate that bumps up against a stall, where a tall droid is dispensing brightly-colored drinks, "Stay here."

Your eyes track him, as he leaves - he's easy to follow, everyone gives him a wide berth.

Occasionally there's the glare of the sun against his helmet as he turns back your way. You're not sure if it's to check that you're there, or that you're being left alone. Most likely, both.

He barters with a woman in a stall, rows of dried meats and fruits in stacks between them. Fishing around in the pouches on his belt, exchanging something from within for a small, wrapped package. Moving onto the next - further away, but you can still just see the gleam of his armor.

Gradually, the pounding of your heart slows. Eyes closing as you try to remind yourself that you are safe now. That yes, this is a lot but you've endured everything until now, and you can endure this, too.

Grounding yourself with things you can see. The dried paint that makes up the dripping words of a sign, Mos Espa Mercantile, mentally tracing the letters. Breathing in with one swoop of your eyes, out with the other.

Moving onto bright colors in the crowd.

A figure with a long, tattered crimson coat - pale frills at his chest and wrists. Your gaze sliding further away, to another flash of red. To a man with grey hair and a silver arm, a red shirt and a scarf around his neck. Just able to make out the curl of his smile as he leans against a counter, a slim hip cocked.

Finally, on the figure in silver armor again - heading back your way. A bag hanging from the crook in his arm, carrying a tin bowl with his gloved hand.

"You okay?" He asks, offering you the bowl, which you take eagerly.

It holds a thick broth, the smell making your mouth water. Warming your throat and insides as you slurp it down, unable to help the small groan of appreciation.

Managing a thank you from behind your hand as he passes over the end of a loaf of bread - using it as a makeshift spoon for the chunks of vegetables.

You feel better, with food in your stomach.

The anxiety continues to ebb, your breath slowing until you're feeling like yourself, again. He stands guard in front of you, fielding a few curious eyes with the nod of his head.

Through the swirl of people, few stop by to talk to him - calling him "Mando", or "the Mandalorian" - treating him with the same sort of respect you had seen with Boba, though tempered.

"Thank you. I haven't eaten anything warm in forever," You sigh, the bowl warming your hands as your back rests against the solid wall of the stall, "What was it?"

"You're from the Vaults, right?" Mando asks, as you nod. He huffs a sound, the laugh a low sound, "Then you might not want to know."

That makes you smile and together, you return the bowl - going back to your slow wandering.

The time had given you a chance to acclimate, aided by the berth people give you, with him following at your shoulder. It brings back some of your curiosity, trying to remember the paths you had taken - wondering about this armored man, as well.

"So, do you owe Fennec a lot of favors? I mean, having to babysit me like this," You joke, a small smile sent his way. It didn't take much to tell he had a reputation - was important, in some way.

Guilt tinging your words with self-deprecation at feeling so helpless, again.

"Fennec?" He asks, the name pitching up - you take it for confusion, "She pointed me towards supplies. Boba had already asked me to bring you anything you might need. He found you, right?"

"Yes." You admit, as you slowly pass the stalls, moving into a more residential area. The buildings set close - most boarded up, though there's flickers of life inside, "He saved me from some Raiders. Things... would not have gone well for me if he hadn't."

"He has a habit of appearing when needed."

The Mandalorian acknowledges, "For better, or worse."

His gloved hand comes out to touch your arm, halting you as two young boys rush out from an alley, crossing your path.

The sudden movement startles you, the tightness in your chest ebbing as there's a shout of laughter - a sun-bleached ball cutched in their hand.

Just kids, having fun. Like before.

"Do you know him well?" You can't resist asking.

"We have spent some time together. He helped me, when he didn't have to." The Mandalorian tells you.

Filling you in on how there had been a miscommunication. How a stand-off with Boba had turned into him protecting his Foundling, when trouble had arisen.

How he had helped him get him back after he had been taken - even though Boba had barely known him. Staying until the Child was brought somewhere safe - where he resides, now.

It's hard to process - thrown into a story that you only know pieces of, told by someone who doesn't delve into details.

But there's pieces there that stand out.

That this Mandalorian has someone he cares for.

That Boba had helped him, unbidden.

He continues, telling you how he had returned the support when Boba had asked for his help, "We fought side-by-side for this city, some time ago."

The words spill eagerly from your lips, "What happened?"

There's silence, and you wonder if he heard - and if he did, if your question was too personal. Or maybe, and you're getting this is the case, maybe he's thoughtful with his words, thinking things through before answering.

"There was a warlord here, before. Boba removed him, and took over."

You have an idea of what removed means, your stomach twisting.

"It wasn't an easy transition. He had disrupted several moving parts, and there was a power struggle. The city went to war with a rival faction, but we saw it through to the end."

"Did he deserve it?" You ask, "The warlord. Was he that terrible?"

For some reason, that's where your attention had become fixed. The catalyst to everything else that had happened after.

A war - you can't help but wonder if things had been better before, or now.

"Does it matter?" The Mandalorian asks. Another long pause, "I understand it was... personal."

Parts of the area become more familiar - the edge of the marketplace was coming back into view - the tall, brick dome appearing on the other side of the apartment buildings.

You don't think you'll get anything else out of him, and part of you doesn't want to know. But there's one last question - one that will set your mind at ease.

"Do you trust him?"

The Mandalorian doesn't hesitate, this time.

"Yes." He tells you, "I do."

Your legs ache as you follow him up the steps, to the wide set of double-doors. Back where you began, a sort of lightness in your chest in spite of all that has happened.

The Mandalorian pauses, his helmet tipping in your direction - a crackle of breath as he thinks about what to say. Hip cocked as he stands on the last step, shifting his weight as hands brace on hips.

"I spent a long time by myself. Years." He finally says, the words so low in the loud space that you almost miss them, "I've found a place, here. Perhaps you will, as well."

He leaves you then, with your bags of food - and your head a swirl of thoughts. Still lost in them as you tug open the door, slipping inside.

The room has filled out, close groupings of people clustered throughout the space. You make for the hallway, but you’re unable to help looking at the dais. What you see makes your steps slow, as you all but stumble.

Fennec had fit the space with her attitude, her energy.

But Boba - the space seems to have been made for him. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the seat, a curl of his forearm across the arched back, a tilt to his head. A helmet set off to the side, the light glittering off the dark visor.

No. Not just a seat.

A throne.

For some reason, there’s a thrill in your belly. A small spark that warms you from the inside - flaring to life when his eyes shift in your direction.

Where you’re caught staring.

The heat rises from your stomach to your chest - up to your cheeks. You remember your feet, making them move.

Taking you back to your room.

Where you finally feel like you can breathe.

The evening spent carefully arranging the space. Fixing the shelf so it hangs again, your treasures lined up against the wall.

Until the sky turns to pink, then orange, then an inky indigo. The blanket wrapped around you as you sit on your bed, back against the wall.

A soft glow of a lantern warming the room, as you leaf through your books before the day ends.

Whenever you had read your stories, you never put a face to the characters. They had always been hazy - the idea of a person. Because that was better than reality, of any person you knew, or could imagine.

But now, as you lose yourself in the beautiful, winding words - you can’t help but picture a man with a powerful build.

And a set of kind, brown eyes.

thank you for reading! 💚 part iv will be out thursday, the 22nd! and if you’d like to get tagged, please fill out the series taglist here!

(0-pressure tags 💕: @spaceydragons, @luladoll, @obiknights, @wingofshadow, @bobathirstaccount, @reluctant-mandalore, @ohheyitsokay , @floral-force , @valentine-tx , @dreamlandcreations, @vellichormybeloved, @writeforfandoms, @winchestershiresauce, @monada43, @rescuethewretched , @thegalaxys-edge, @honeydjarin, @ri-a-rose, @ray-rook, @dukeoftheblackstar)

[orgasming-caterpillar]

DOYH Chapter 20 

Ranveer's POV 

Ranveer was going to be sick. What the fuck had this day been? Not only had he surprised himself with his lack of restraint, it hadn't even earned the satisfaction from Raghav that he had expected. 

He couldn't believe he wanted to confess today.

He couldn't bring himself to do it the entire day, thumb frozen just centimeters away from the dial button. He couldn't do it in the car, when Raghav himself was mere inches away from him. He couldn't do it after beating someone up for Raghav. And now they were backstage in the auditorium and a dozen hands were on him adjusting his hair, his makeup, his clothes, and he thought— might as well go through with the competition first. 

It had all happened too fast. One moment, Raghav's hand was on his thigh, he was nipping at his bottom lip as he tried to concentrate on the road. He thought Raghav might want to talk, sort some shit out but the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak a person threw themselves in front of the car. 

The moment Ayush slammed his fist on the car window Ranveer's vision went red. He didn't remember getting out of the car, didn't remember beating Ayush up, but he did remember that when he told Raghav how long he had wished to do that, Raghav didn't smile. 

Nor was Raghav smiling now, as he stood behind Ranveer waiting for him to get his hair done. 

Ranveer tried not to look at him. Lord knows what would happen if he let his gaze linger a bit too long. Raghav was wearing a silk maroon top of the same design as Ranveer's kurta, with a neckline stooping too low on his chest to leave any coherent thoughts in Ranveer's head. 

Raghav walked out of the room to peek at the stage, and Ranveer followed soon after. 

Lights were off. Tension was high. And only one man in the spotlight was speaking over the audience's polite claps. 

Ranveer's heart shuddered in his chest as he realized who the man was. 

He still looked the same as ever, though better groomed. There was a gray streak in his black hair that Ranveer didn't remember being there. His posture was the same, and so was his voice. 

Laxman Bhargav. One of the judges for the competition, and Ranveer's father.

There was a distant hum building inside him, growing louder with each clap from the audience, with each syllable coming out of his estranged father's mouth. It came to a point Ranveer couldn't hear anything besides the hum. And in the silence, in his chest, a pressure made its presence known like some vengeful ghost. It filled his chest, filled his eyes and filled his world, making it difficult to breathe or see. 

How could he have not expected this? Of course the college was going to invite a world known dancer for the competition, they did so every year. 

He wanted to march over and make his fists sing. He wanted to run away and be done with this awful day. He wanted to scream at his father. He wanted to cry to his mother. He wanted to hide his sister. He wanted to do all of this at once, and restraining those urges was making him shake, concerning everybody in the backstage. 

He could feel people eyeing him strangely. Fuck that. He couldn't give less of a shit. The thought of dancing in front of that monster made him queasy. 

So he won't. 

•••

“You have to!”

Raghav was banging on the door. Relentlessly. 

For fuck’s sake. Let him breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. In. IN. IN. IN.

He couldn't.

“DARWAZA KHOL RANVEER!”

As he did, a very rattled Raghav took him in and started a new chant of curses. He wanted to say he’s not helping, but he was too busy trying to get air in his lungs.

“Okay, shit fuck what do i do what do i do you’re clearly having a panic attack.” He looked around the cramped changing room. “Okay shit listen,” he took Ranveer by his shoulders and got into his face, “you know that grounding technique where you use your senses? We’re going to do that. Tell me the five things you can see right now.” He wanted to snap at him that he can barely discern one leg from another but he focused on Raghav’s face, then his own reflection in the full length mirror, warm coloured and textured tiles on the floor, door of the stalls and the toilets insides. “Okay good, now four things you can feel.” Raghav’s hands on his shoulders, cold floor, wall on his back, Raghav’s breath on his face. “Done? Three sounds you can hear.” Raghav’s voice, his own heart beating out of his chest, and the sickly sweet voice of his own father. 

His father was here. 

Raghav's voice was getting distant. He could no longer hear it over the beating of his own heart. 

"RANVEER!" 

His vision swam. He let Raghav pull him into a chair. His temples throbbed with pain every time he thought of his father's sickly sweet voice. 

Raghav cupped his face, making him look up into his pleading brown eyes. "What happened!?"

Ranveer swatted his hands away. His words were a sneer, "That's my fucking father, Raghav. Laxman Bhargav is my father."

Even saying the name had shame crawling in his gut. This was why his father had wanted to speak to him. He must have seen Ranveer's name in the contestants' profile. He-

His thoughts were interrupted by Raghav's hands on the back of his head, pulling him in. Before he knew it, the side of his face was pressed against the bare skin of Raghav's chest. The comforting weight of Raghav's hand was on his back and on the back of his head. 

When he inhaled, he could smell the soft floral scent of Raghav's perfume, the freshly washed fabric of his top and beneath it, a warmth that was simply Raghav. Ranveer closed his eyes.

His panic seemed muted as he placed his hands on Raghav's sides, like the memory of hunger after you're full. Then why was his heart still racing? Or rather, was it the rampant beating of his own heart that was howling in his ears or was it Raghav's? 

Dimly, he registered that this was very possibly the closest he would ever get to having Raghav in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Raghav."

A knock on the door snapped them both out of their daze.

Ranveer quickly stood up and began fixing his hair in the mirror. He couldn't bring himself to meet Raghav's gaze, even in the mirror. It didn't help that Raghav was staring at Ranveer's reflection so intently.

"Sorry for what?"

"Nothing," Ranveer replied a moment too soon. 

"Ranveer." The chill in his voice sent a tremor through Ranveer's limbs. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing, you should probably get the door-"

"You know who's at the door. They're calling us outside. What were you going to say?"

Ranveer turned around, a dark indifference in his eyes that marked the absence of whatever affection Raghav thought might have been in the air. "Open the door, Raghav. It's our performance."

Raghav was rooted in his place. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his expression was a hundred different emotions. "Will you dance?" was all he asked. Though Ranveer wondered there were many other questions he wanted the answers to.

"Yes," he answered, to all of them. 

[bumblesimagines]

Under The Moonlight

Part 11

Request: Yes or No

~~~

Novgorod was what he expected and more. A fairly sized city protected by tall stone walls. Surrounding the exterior of the city sat ships on sleds, collecting snow as they waited to be used. (Y/N) noticed the tall buildings peeking out from beyond the walls with domes resting on top. Such an odd shape for a roof. Within the city were many merchants and traders, calling out offers and the services they provided.

(Y/N) stopped briefly, watching two men ride past him on a sled pulled by a bulky horse. Harald chuckled and patted his back before approaching one of the sellers and offering his silver ring in return for three bowls of broth. (Y/N) took the small wooden bowl into his hands and brought it to his face, letting the steam warm his face before he drank and chewed on the chunks of meat floating in the broth. 

"What are they doing?" Leif asked and (Y/N) turned to look at him, following his line of sight toward two men in front of an old wooden building. One of the men sat on the snowy ground, slumped over and looking half-dead. The other man stumbled about before leaning back against the building and sliding down to the ground, head limply going from side to side. 

"Opium," Harald answered, pitifully looking at the men and shaking his head. "They say its smoke enters your body and steals your soul." 

"Why would they do it?"

"To escape this Earth. To talk to the dead." Harald shrugged lightly, finishing his broth and using his sleeve to wipe the snow and remains off his lips. (Y/N) hummed lightly, drinking the last of his broth and turning around at the sound of loud cheering coming from a large perched tent behind them. Harald grinned widely and nodded toward it, eagerly walking forward. The brothers followed him inside and (Y/N) took note of the multiple shirtless sweaty men of varying ages hanging about. Many with bruises. Wooden beams for lanterns and seating areas had been built within the tent. Toward the back of the tent, perched on a wooden stage of sorts, sat a middle-aged man drinking from his goblet. In the middle was an open area where two men connected at the wrist by rope swung at each other, blood dripping down their skin and bruises littering their bodies. Some men walked around the seating areas with bowls, taking coins from the spectators. 

"That's him," Harald whispered to them, motioning to the middle-aged man (Y/N) had noticed minutes prior. Harald walked along the sidelines as the fight ended with one of the men roaring in victory. Before Harald could get to his uncle, two guards stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Frowning at them, Harald scoffed. "Let me by. I'm Prince Harald Sigurdsson. I'm here to see my uncle!" The guards refused to budge, even shoving Harald back when he got too close. 

A gong sounded off and (Y/N) looked back at the middle, noticing two new shirtless men fighting each other. Suddenly, Harald handed Leif his sword and rushed forward, kicking the man holding the other down. The second man scrambled to his feet and stood up, only for Harald to whirl around and punch him. Turning to face his surprised uncle, Harald spoke despite being swarmed by guards, "What this fight needs is a Viking named Prince Harald Sigurdsson of Norway, great-grandson of Harald Finehair and blood relative of the esteemed Yaroslav the Wise!"

"Stop!" Yaroslav ordered, standing from his seat. He stopped and squinted down at Harald, hooking his fingers into the belt around his waist and raising a brow. "Harald?"

Shoving away the guards, Harald panted and greeted him. "Uncle."

"Look at you... What has brought you to Novgorod?" Yaroslav questioned curiously, eyeing the worn clothes on his body. Harald looked far from princely with his long snow-covered beard and messy hair. Unlike his nephew, Yaroslav appeared well-put together. He wore black clothes with gold designs embroidered on them. He had short curly black hair that swooped delicately over his forehead and a neatly trimmed beard. From everything Harald had told them, Yaroslav was a reasonable and hospitable man.

"It's a long story, Uncle. One told better over food and drink." Harald responded and a large smirk spread across Yaroslav's face.

Everything afterward passed by in a blur. They were taken to the finest inn in the city and given rooms where they bathed and changed into fresh clothes before being taken to a brightly lit room. Many colors covered the walls and the fabrics the people wore were eye-catching. (Y/N) supposed when one lived in a barren land, it was only natural to want to stand out. They sat at a long table with other guests, though Harald sat near his uncle. They were served a lot of food and given wine to drink. Harald spoke with his uncle and another man while Leif listened in on their conversation and (Y/N) occupied himself with the food.

"Greenlanders!" Yaroslav called out to them and (Y/N) paused mid-chew, turning his head toward the ruler. Yarslav grinned at them. (Y/N) wondered if everyone related to Harald was so friendly. "They have language at the edge of the world, don't they?"

"Last time I was there," Leif responded as chatter at the table ceased and eyes turned to look at them curiously. (Y/N) swallowed down his food and licked his lips, glancing at Harald. The prince smiled at him encouragingly.

"And tell us, what is it like to live so removed from civilization?" 

"Greenland is quiet," Leif answered again and shrugged lightly. Yaroslav stared at him, slowly nodding as his gaze flickered between the brothers and then to Harald. Not a good enough reply to quench the ruler's curiosity. 

"Quiet, and...?"

"Gives you time to think about things. At night, we would watch the norðurljós. Colors of all the heavens would light up the sky." Leif smiled, looking across the table at his brother, gaze turning fond as he spoke. The woman beside Leif watched him with a warm smile. "We heard stories when we were younger that they were the reflections of the Valkyries' armor. (Y/N)'s mother had a different story, though. When the moon is low, and the sea is sleeping, you can hear the songr of the hvlar swimming at the bottom of the ocean. And then, all at once, they explode from the darkness. Mouths open wide enough to swallow ships." (Y/N) smiled. He could still remember when his mother sat them outside to watch the dancing lights in the sky while she told them the story.

"I hated Greenland when I lived there," Leif confessed with a grimace, gaze falling onto the table. "Now I miss it. I miss the people I knew there." 

"I understand that," Yaroslav said with a hint of longing in his voice. Reaching for his cup, he lifted it in the air and smiled widely. "Welcome to Novgorod, where, unfortunately, quiet does not exist." Laughter scattered across the table and the guests raised their cups in turn. (Y/N) sipped on his wine and returned to his food, finishing his plate, and then hearing Yaroslav raise his voice at Harald.

"I cannot risk upsetting him or his crazy father just so that you can fight for something you never had!" He shouted and Harald looked away from him with a frown, leaning back in his seat as silence fell over the table again. Never taking his green eyes off Harald, Yaroslav continued more calmly. "As I see it, beloved nephew, you have two options: return to Kattegat and swear fealty to Olaf-"

"No."

"-Or do what Vikings have always done. Reivent yourself." His words made Harald's brows furrow but an interest blossomed in his eyes. 

Once Yaroslav finished eating, the dinner was considered finally over and most quests excused themselves to their lodgings. (Y/N) bid his brother goodnight and headed to his own lodgings, looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed that wouldn't make his muscles ache. Pushing open the door and stepping inside, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised when he noticed Harald sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms on his knees. With his gaze on the floor, (Y/N) couldn't get a clear view of his face. (Y/N) closed the door and stepped further into the room, slipping his dagger off his waist and setting it down on a chair before walking closer to Harald. He gently began running his fingers through Harald's soft locks, feeling Harald nuzzle against him and sigh heavily.

"My uncle is well within his rights to refuse me in favor of Canute. He claims the southern river trade route is blocked by a group of brutal nomadics called Pechenegs. Trade is what keeps Novgorod flourishing. He cannot risk going to war with Canute and losing his northern trade." Harald explained quietly, arms slowly slithering around (Y/N). 

"What will you do then? Reinvent yourself?" 

"Yes." Harald tilted his head upward, pressing his chin against (Y/N)'s stomach. Chuckling when (Y/N) gave him a puzzled look, he explained. "I cannot keep expecting others to help me. I need to work for it. I just need to find something that will sell for a good price."

"And what will you do then?"

"I will gather an army and take Norway," Harald answered confidently and (Y/N) hummed softly, tucking a brown strand behind Harald's ear. Harald smiled lovingly, leaning into (Y/N)'s hand and pressing a fluttery kiss to his wrist. (Y/N) shifted slightly, pressing the front of his feet to his ankles and carefully slipping out of his boots. 

"I hope you have a proper plan this time, Harald. We do not need a repeat of Kattegat." (Y/N) murmured, shedding the first layer of clothes and stepping around the bed. Laying down, he moved under the many warm blankets and snuggled into the pillow, watching Harald take his boots off and get comfortable. 

"I know, my love." Harald reached out and tugged him closer, rubbing his hands against the fabric of (Y/N)'s tunic. 

"Harald, we should talk about what I said back in-"

"We've had a long day, love," Harald interrupted quietly, kissing his forehead and pulling him further against his chest. Resting his chin on top of his head, Harald stared forward at the dim lantern keeping the room lit as his mind desperately tried to scrub away the words that made his heart ache. He'd found a love that made him stronger. He couldn't lose that. Not after the betrayals from Canute and his own brother. "Get some rest."

                    ➸        ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸

Stepping out into the cold, (Y/N) felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. For a split second, he could see the icy ocean in the distance and hear the roaring wind slipping between the sparse trees near their home. But those visions were replaced by bustling crowds and the sound of chatter. With a sigh, (Y/N) headed down a staircase, easily finding Harald amongst the crowd. He spoke with a man selling all sorts of furs. (Y/N)'s brows furrowed at the sight. 

"Sleep well?" His brother asked as he approached, voice gruff and slightly shakey. His head turned back in the direction of the old building where opium was given, gaze lingering on it for far longer than (Y/N)'s liking. Taking Leif's arm gently, he pulled Leif's attention off the building and onto him but Leif averted his eyes upon seeing the frown on (Y/N)'s face.

"Leif-"

"What is Harald up to?" Leif cleared his throat, tugging his arm free and quickening his pace to greet the prince. (Y/N)'s frown only deepened and he followed after him, eyeing the furs bundled up and scattered across the tables. Harald grinned widely when he spotted them, stepping away from the seller and extending his arms to either side of him.

"I have a new plan!" He declared, slinging his arms around their shoulders and bringing them closer to the tables. "I must fund my own army since Yaroslav will not back one for me. I intend to buy as many furs as possible here and sell them in Constantinople."

"And how do you plan to get there?" Leif questioned, looking at his brother and quirking a brow in question. (Y/N) only shrugged in response.

"I will worry about that detail tomorrow, my friend." Harald chuckled rather sheepishly, tightening his hold on the brothers again and dragging them away from the table and toward the large fighting ring tent. (Y/N) grimaced, hearing an eruption of cheers slip out from the tent. "Today, we must make money doing what we're good at." 

Just like the prior day, the tent had been packed with both spectators and fighters. The fighters all dressed similarly. They wore no armor and carried no weapons. The only article of clothing on them were loose pants, leaving the rest of their body exposed to their opponents. A quick way of painting one's body in purple and green. The next fighter had been the victorious one from the day before. He was a tall dark-skinned man with short dark hair braided back tightly against his skull. When he turned slightly under the lantern light, (Y/N) spotted the scars littering his body. He carried an air of confidence, searching the crowd for any fighter bold enough to step up to the challenge as another man, his partner most likely, stepped forward.

"Who wants to bet against Kaysan, the great African warrior?" His partner called out, cackling when no one stepped forward. Shorter than Kaysan and less muscled, the man had fair skin and big brown eyes filled with arrogance. His hair had been cut short and trimmed even shorter on the sides. He seemed particularly proud of Kaysan, exchanging smirks with him when the other fighters looked away. "No one wants to bet against Kaysan?"

When no fighters stepped up, the man looked toward one of his own, motioning for him to step forward. "Maybe some of you will bet against Kaysan now!"

"I'll bet against both of them!" (Y/N) blinked, head snapping in Harald's direction. The prince stepped forward, turning sideways to point back at Leif. (Y/N) scoffed softly. "Two against two."

"Harald," Leif called quietly, lightly shaking his head and glancing around as the crowd grew louder and tossed their coins into the bowls the collectors carried. 

"Come on," Harald breathed, walking toward them and clapping his hands over Leif's arms. "We need the money."

"You need the money." Leif chided and frowned. 

"We're not gonna fight for the entertainment of these people, Harald." (Y/N) told him, gaze hardening. Harald looked at him, taking in the disappointment on his face. Pursing his lips, Harald nodded and sighed, looking back toward the three men. 

"I have a better idea!" Harald called and approached Kaysan's partner, smirking at him. "If this man accepts my bet of 100 hryvnya, I'll fight against both of his fighters." Harald looked back at the brothers, meeting (Y/N)'s eyes. His lover shook his head at him but Harald ignored it, giving him a small smile instead and looking back at the man. Kaysan chuckled softly under his breath as Harald and his partner shook hands. Harald walked off to get dressed and Kaysan powdered his hands, rubbing them together and walking by the two brothers. 

"Don't worry," He smirked lazily. "I'll try not to kill your brother."

"I can't promise he'll return the favor," Leif murmured and Kaysan chuckled before strolling back toward the center. (Y/N) folded his arms over his chest, feeling every muscle in his body tense. The crowd shouted Kaysan's name and poured more coin into the bowls. If Kaysan had so many fans, it meant he fought pretty often. And won. Harald's carelessness would get him killed, (Y/N) just knew it would.

Harald returned and powdered his hands, looking at the brothers with a confident smile. When the gong sounded off, he reared up his fists and charged first, punching the second fighter in his stomach and then connecting his fist to Kaysan's jaw. Kaysan stumbled back from the hit and Harald turned, swinging at the second fighter who blocked most of his hits. Grabbing the man by the arms, Harald turned and threw him to the ground, causing Kaysan to trip over him. Taking advantage of the moment, Harald kicked Kaysan in the face and stepped back, waiting for the men to get back onto their feet. 

Kaysan stood first, snarling as he swung at Harald. Harald dodged and blocked, landing a hit on Kaysan's side before pressing his forearm to Kaysan's chest and pushing him back against a support beam. Kaysan swung at Harald's stomach and Harald grunted, baring his teeth and punching Kaysan's cheek. He turned in time to see the other fighter close to him and ducked before the punch could land. Harald grabbed the man's leg and tossed himself onto the ground, rolling over and forcing the man to fall back. As he moved to stand, Kaysan charged, kneeing him in the stomach. Harald fell back, grunting softly and quickly moving onto his hands and knees. Kaysan grabbed his long hair and pulled him up onto his feet, grasping the sides of Harald's face and bringing his head down while also bringing his own knee up. (Y/N) grimaced when Kaysan's knee connected to Harald's face. 

Breaking free of Kaysan's grip, Harald dodged the punches thrown by both fighters and caught Kaysan's forearm, tossing his leg up and nearly hitting Kaysan in the groin. He punched Kaysan's face again but before he could turn, the other fighter, wrapped his arms around his waist and heaved him up, tossing him down on the ground. The weight of Harald forced the fighter to fall as well and the two men took big gulps of air as they recovered from the fall. Once orientated again, Harald moved forward and got on top of the fighter but the fighter quickly rolled over, shoving Harald off of him and right next to Kaysan. Harald tried scrambling back but Kaysan loomed over him, large hands reaching for Harald's throat. (Y/N) wrapped his fingers around his necklace and winced, almost looking away when Harald was picked up by the throat and tossed back down on the ground. With that, the gong rang again, signaling the first round was over. Leif reached back, taking the cup of water someone offered him for Harald.

Harald staggered onto his feet, drenched in sweat. His hair stuck to his face and trickled down from his lips. Harald walked toward the brothers, panting heavily and chuckling breathlessly. "See what you're missing?" Harald laughed, taking the cup and drinking.

"You're gonna get yourself killed." (Y/N) muttered, running his thumb back and forth over the bones and listening to the hollers from the crowd. He didn't miss the way one spectator shouted for Harald's death.

Tugging at his own necklace, Harald's grin widened. "I've got my lucky charm." He reminded him, chugging back more of the water and cringing at the taste of metallic. Leif eyed the other two fighters as they drank and gathered themselves again.

"Watch the left of the big one. He's slow to defend." Leif quietly told him and Harald hummed, handing back the cup and taking in a big gulp of air before turning around and walking back toward the center. 

Once the gong sounded off, Kaysan attacked first and Harald dodged his first punch, only for Kaysan to throw another punch at him with his other arm and hit the side of his face. Harald notably staggered more, the exhaustion of the first match beginning to take hold. Luckily, Harald recovered quickly and dodged the next punch, rearing up and repeatedly punching Kaysan in the face before shoving him back to have some space when he backhanded the other fighter. He turned back to Kaysan and attempted to throw another punch but Kaysan blocked it and shot his arm forward, grabbing Harald by the throat again and sneering down at him. The other fighter came up behind Harald, repeating his move of wrapping his arms around him and tossing him to the ground, only this time he landed on Harald. With the man on his back, Harald elbowed his side only to get kicked down by Kaysan. The other fighter moved fully onto Harald's back and slipped his arm around Harald's neck, forcing his face up for Kaysan to kick. But Harald used his weight to push back against the fighter on him, rolling over and causing Kaysan to miss. Before he could land some hits on the smaller fighter, Kaysan kicked his side again, hitting him hard enough to force him away and onto his back. 

As Kaysan approached, Harald threw a punch at his groin and Kaysan instantly leaned over in pain, giving Harald a clear opportunity to punch his square on the nose. Kaysan fell back from the force and Harald rolled onto his belly but before he could get up the other fighter crawled toward him and grabbed his ankle. Harald easily kicked his face and got up, letting the two men gather themselves and stand. The other fighter moved first, stumbling forward with a bleeding nose. Harald wrapped his arm around the man and used it to hold himself up and kick Kaysan in the stomach with both feet. With his arms still around the fighter, he used his weight to turn and slam the man onto the ground. Getting on top of him, Harald punched him again and again until there was a sickening crack and Harald got off the heaving man. 

With his fighters losing, Kaysan's partner looked at his last fighter and motioned for him to get into the fight. (Y/N) glanced toward the man at the gong but he remained still, even as the new fighter grabbed Harald from behind and tossed him toward a support beam. With the fight turning into three vs one, Leif shed his coat as Kaysan got on top of Harald. Harald raised his arms up to block Kaysan's repetitive punches while the new fighter checked on the other man.

"Fuck!" (Y/N) hissed when Leif charged, tackling Kaysan off bloody and bruised Harald. He got a punch in before standing to face the third fighter and grabbing his arms. Leif shoved him back against a support beam, taking the side of his face and slamming it against the beam again. When the man fell to the floor, Leif wrapped his arms around his neck and rolled onto the floor so the man was on top of him. Wrapping his legs around the man's body, he squeezed his forearm around the man's neck, and then seemingly out of instinct, he snapped it. Kaysan and his partner quickly fled the tent, whether out of fear or not wanting to pay, (Y/N) couldn't tell nor force himself to care. Harald scrambled onto his feet and pulled Leif up.

"We won, Leif!" Harald laughed, holding Leif by the shoulders and lightly shaking him. Leif panted, breath going in and out in short bursts. His widened eyes stared down at the dead man at his feet and (Y/N) picked up Leif's coats, approaching them and handing them off. Leif slipped them on and quickly walked away, looking disoriented and panicked.

"(Y/N)-" Harald began, reaching out toward him but (Y/N) ripped his arm away when Harald's fingers grazed it. One would've thought Harald had burned him. Harald's throat tightened when (Y/N) didn't even look back at him as he walked away from him and exited the tent.

(Y/N) caught up to his brother, his heart cracking when Leif flinched. "Come, Leif." (Y/N) whispered, rubbing his hands against Leif's arms and guiding him back toward the inn. Leif's breathing slowly returned to normal but his gaze remained distant. Guilt clouded his eyes. (Y/N) headed toward Leif's room, opening the door and closing it behind them. 

"I... I killed a man." Leif breathed out, slumping down on his bed and burying his face in his hands.

"You saved Harald's life." (Y/N) pointed out softly, taking a seat beside his brother and rubbing circles along his back. But they both knew it hadn't been the act itself that had shaken Leif. It'd been the way he lost control of himself, just like their father did. For a man who spent most of his adulthood hoping to prove he wasn't like his father, flipping the switch so easily meant everything he worked toward was a mere mask. It meant a day would come when he'd fully lose himself to blind rage and bloodlust. 

Inhaling deeply, Leif pulled his hands away from his face and (Y/N) noticed the unshed tears in his eyes. "I did not need to kill him... it-it just happened so quickly-"

"I know, Leif." (Y/N) cooed, wrapping his arms around Leif's shoulders and pulling him close. Placing a hand on the side of Leif's face, (Y/N) kissed the top of his head and murmured soft comforts into his ear. He sat still on the bed, allowing his brother to weep for as long as he wanted. For months, Leif had been swallowing his grief and letting it eat him up inside. (Y/N) waited until Leif grew tired before letting him have a moment alone. 

Stepping out of Leif's room and heading toward his own, (Y/N) heard the distant clap of thunder. When he entered his room, he spotted Harald sitting on one of the chairs and tending to the countless bruises and cuts on his body. Harald gently dabbed at his skin with a piece of wet cloth, wiping away the dust and blood on his body. (Y/N) stared at him. No part of him wanted to help Harald with his injuries. 

"A friend of my uncle's has given us two thousand hryvnya to get him to Constantinople. I've already bought the furs. All we must do now is-"

"Leif killed a man for you... and you're talking about furs?" (Y/N) remained rooted in his spot by the door, watching Harald pause his movements and look up at him. Harald swallowed, squeezing blood and water from the cloth before setting it on the table and standing up. 

"I understand you're upset-"

"Upset? I'm exhausted, Harald. I've been away from home for almost a year, I've been forced into two wars, and my brother isn't well. You... You are so..." (Y/N) pressed his quivering lips together, tearing his eyes away from Harald and shakily exhaling. The disappointment and sadness washed away, becoming muddled with anger and exhaustion. A small chuckle escaped him. "You and your brother are the same, Harald. All you desire is power. You've spent your whole life wanting a throne that was never yours."

Clenching his jaw, Harald spoke, "My great-grandfather was Harald Finehair. My family has sat on the throne for many years. Olaf promised the throne would pass to me and it has been given to a boy instead. The throne belongs to my family, (Y/N). It does not belong to the son of an oathbreaker."

"It belongs to your family, yes. But not you. You were born too late. You never had a claim to it." (Y/N)'s tone turned icy and filled with irritation, teeth grinding together as his eyes shot back to look Harald in the face. The prince stared at him, disbelief settling on his face. "The throne would've been yours long ago if you had a proper claim."

"Not true."

"You think all this has happened for no reason? Canute's betrayal? Olaf's betrayal? Why else would the Gods stop you from sitting the throne? You were never meant to be king, Harald!" (Y/N) snapped abruptly and Harald flinched slightly, lips parting. His eyes flickered between (Y/N), his hands growing clammy and his throat tightened. Harald shook his head repetitively, collecting his shirt and coats. His gaze remained downcast when he walked forward, arm brushing against (Y/N)'s as he walked past him. The door slammed loudly behind him, nearly rattling the walls. (Y/N) felt himself deflate, staggering forward toward his bed and collapsing onto it. Curling into himself, he stared at the fireplace, listening to the fire crackle and the thunder grow closer. Pain and guilt flooded his veins like a wave. But he couldn't deny the trickle of relief.

[munsonmuses]

Painful Apparitions

Part two of Spritual Reserves

Spiritual Reserves Masterlist

Synopsis: With realizing you’re essentially being haunted by Eddie, you have to tell everyone who was there, everyone who knows. They might believe you, and be able to help you.

Themes: the paranormal, a ghostly Eddie, grief, angst, LONGING~

Warnings: ghostly boyfriend, swearing, awkward Steven romance shenanigans with a random background character (it helps with world building apparently), Dustin’s crying due to your words. How rude of you.

Word Count: 3.25k

AN: I know I KNOW. Chapter two in under 24 hours? Yes! Because I’ll be popping out the first five chapters that I have done within the week, then going to an upload schedule. This will be a 20-30 part series.

You swallowed down the violent lump in your throat, the pain and distress was unimaginable. You’d never felt so hurt, so confused, so angry at the world. Taking steps back as your hands moved to tangle up in your hair, tugging at the strands in desperation for some sort of logical response.

“No, no. No.” You planted your feet firmly as you scowled. “This isn’t real. Whatever fucking trick this is, it’s not funny. It’s not fair. You’re already using him against me. Like with Max.” You spoke out to nobody in particular as you tried to keep your cries contained. Convinced this was some deranged, mind bending form of deceit from the hands of Vecna himself. Some deranged illusion to break your spirits and weaken your resolve.

Your self turmoil was entirely disrupted by a knock on your window, taking a few deep breaths before padding over. Peeking through the curtains to the faces of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson. The two waving lightly at you.

‘Okay no, no way they’re here if this is the upside down. I’m not seeing things. This is real. They can help me.’ You thought to yourself.

Dustin knocked again to stir you from your thoughts, earning a pursed lipped smile from you as you went to let them in the front door. Stopping, and ripping the piece Eddie had written on, folding it up and shoving it into your small purse. Walking clean past Eddie.

Eddie who was doing his best not to s scream, to grab you by the shoulders and shake you around till he thought you would vomit. To latch onto you so hard he nearly suffocated you. An animalistic desperation in his soul as he followed you down the hall and to the living room. Watching the light spill in through the front door.

You stepped out of the way to let them in. Steve lightly clapping you on the shoulder before letting Dustin barrel over. The young boy latching onto you as you just rubbed his back, smushing his curls down and kissing the top of his head. A natural closeness that had always been there, being amplified by a shared loss. A soft exhale you’d been holding in making itself known.

“Hey…we uh, we know it’s probably getting annoying, but we wanted to ask if you wanted to volunteer today? I think it would be a good way to get out of the house. Please.” Steve mumbled as he fiddled with the edges of his denim jacket, Dustin looking at you with a profound despair. He needed you, you understood that. A connection within the distraction.

You were going to bring up the notepad, you were gonna tell them about Eddie. Bring that to light…but that felt so selfish. Carefully swallowing your refusal before sighing. “Okay I’ll be there…I’ll go with you. Just let me get dressed.” You relented as the two sat on the couch to wait for you.

Heading back to the room, you went to your closet. The soft shuffling of paper behind you made your skin prickle as you pulled out a t-shirt and some well loved jeans. Working on dressing yourself. Sliding the faded grey shirt on and smoothing out the fabric. It fit just right, smelled like Eddie. Tucking the fabric into your jeans before hearing the notepad hit the ground with a soft ‘fwomp’.

You turned around, going to grab it and seeing more chicken scratch.

‘Tell them I’m here. I’m right here. It’s a serious situation. I need help.’ Was written as you scowled lightly, going to answer. Who would’ve imagined that your first conversation with your boyfriend again would be done through aggressive, argumentative writing.

“Edward Munson we have to approach this slowly. If I start talking about you being a ghost they’re going to cart me off to some hospital…I’ll do it today. Just be patient.” You warned as you ripped out the secondary piece of paper, shoved it in your purse, then slammed the notebook back down. Getting on some Reebok’s and standing, heading back out to the little duo that was planted on the couch.

“Okay let’s go…come on…” you insisted as you walked out with them, pulling the door shut behind you and twisting the lock with a firm thud. Slowly retracting your keys out of hesitance, not having wanted too think too hard about it all, still balancing the idea of turning tail and sprinting back inside thinking of how easy it would be to avoid that damned gym. Before you could change your mind, you felt Steve take the keys from between your fingers and shove them in his jean pocket. Taking your wrist and walking you to his sedan, following after him.

As you all piled into the car, Eddie followed. Tentatively stepping into the vehicle with a slight struggle. Having essentially climbed over Dustin as he sat in the cushy leather seat. It wasn’t like he was bothering anyone.

“You can help Dustin at the blanket, clothing and food handout center. It’s small, menial, won’t take a lot of thought.” Steve insisted as you pursed your lips.

“And why can’t I help you?” you asked, Steve opening his mouth to respond, before being cut off by Dustin.

“My cousin is there helping him out, and he’s all over her. I think Steve’s natural instinct is to throw himself at women. I just wish I wasn’t related to this one, and it’s gross how she just falls into him. The world is ending and your rampant, young adult hormones are still rendering you weak to the idea of sucking face.” He muttered out.

“I am not all over Ginerva, she’s just sweet and helping out. We’re just bonding over our shared love for serving the community.” Steve defended, earning a soft laugh from you. It was nice to hear their banter. It felt kind of normal, reminded you of nights where Steve would drive you both home from hellfire practice if Eddie was busy. The two mocking one another, talking about menial problems, and Dustin gloating about his easy success in the romance department, and how Steve kept running into brick walls of rejection. Enough joy to choose to join in on the banter.

“I dunno Steven, you’ve always kinda had a thing for her, she was your partner in home ec-…” you quipped, waggling your eyebrows as Steve shoved you against the door, earning a laugh from you. “That’s enough out of you both, you chased Eddie around for a year before saying something more than hello to him-“ Steve reminded as you hummed. The sense of normalcy was nice, though the quip about Eddie did make you a bit sad, of course you missed him. But it was nice to reminisce…though you didn’t need to miss him, he wasn’t gone. Not like you’d thought at least.

The rest of the drive was relatively quiet, the school taking an extra fifteen minutes to get to with the cracks throughout town, destroying city infrastructure alongside lives, and the natural sense of normalcy most Hawkins residents had. The smell of sulfur just the new normal as Steve rounded into the parking lot, getting situated and ushering everyone out of the car and into the gym. Eddie clamoring behind and sticking to your side. Refusing to spend a second apart, you were the only person who knew he was here.

Following Dustin, you got to work. Carefully handing out pb and j’s, along with ham and cheese sandwiches. Earning scattered ‘thanks’ and ‘appreciate it’ like sentiments. Just silently nodding. Continuing along before stopping at a small group of cots smushed together. Sat atop them were Jeff Morgan, Grant Richards, and Gareth Emerson. The members of Corroded Coffin that you’d come to know pretty well, thought they were more friends by association more than anything. Quietly, you set the sandwiches beside them as they spoke, seeking to have disturbed their conversation as they stopped to look at you. A distant, wistful gaze shared amongst the three, then looking beside you, assessing the newly empty space.

“Hi…” you greeted timidly, struggling to maintain eye contact with the three.

Gareth opened his mouth, unsticking his dry tongue from the roof of his mouth and stopping. Letting out a shuddering breath, he was trying so hard to keep his composure. Having lost his best friend wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. He only got out the beginning of a hello before delving into soft, broken cries. Holding tight to the fabric of his sweat pants as he tried to compose himself.

Carefully, you sat beside him, rubbing his shoulder amicably as he looked at you, a deranged sadness within them.

“Are you okay?” He sniffled out at you as you frowned softly, slowly swallowing back your thoughts. He was crying over someone you’d recently learned was not dead, just technically not alive either.

“Yeah, I’m seeing a therapist, she’s great…and I’ve got a support system. I’m getting back to eating, and I’m gonna be okay…” you lamented before quietly thinking. “He talked about you guys all the time…”

This earned the attention of all three of them.

“And he always had something great to say. You guys can come by later, if you want, and we can talk about it.” You insisted softly, patting Grant on the knee as he put one hand on top of yours. A silent connection. They were holding on to you as much as you were to them. Nothing brings people closer than the looming threat of death, huh?

You felt terrible for not being able to tell them, but how would you explain it. ‘Hey guys? There’s this thing called the upside down, that stole the Byers kid two years ago, and now it’s gotten bigger. It killed Patrick, Chrissy, Fred and almost Max. It’s where Eddie died, being eaten alive by bats, and now I’m finding out he might not actually be dead.’ You’d sound insane. You went to get up, being stopped by the grasp on your hand.

“Is what’s out there, what caused Hawkins to crack, the thing that…y’know?” Gareth asked as he furrowed his brow, and you solemnly nodded. Technically it wasn’t a lie, Eddie’s death was coinciding with the Upside Down leaking into Hawkins. Being let go, you walked around handing out the last few sandwiches. Completely unaware of Eddie stood by Corroded Coffin.

His big, brown, cow-like eyes refused to leave them, a heartbreak shredding him down to nothing. These were his friends, they were his brothers in arms essentially. They were mourning him and he couldn’t process that thought, because he wasn’t even gone. He tried to get their attention, pulling at his hair. “Jesus H. Christ-“ he hissed under his breath before roughly smacking Gareth’s hand. The sandwich falling out of the younger boys hands into his lap.

‘Holy shit-‘ Eddie thought, connecting that intense emotion could result in physical contact with living beings and their belongings to a much more intense degree. Completely forgoing the distraught Gareth who was wiping sticky peach jam off of his pants. Going back to following you around, finding you talking to Robin and Steve at the clothing donation table.

Stepping beside you, he eavesdrops shamelessly, not like anybody could stop him.

“So we’re gonna hang out at the woodland property that Hopper has after our shift. Since the Byers family and company are back, we want to talk recon to the best of our ability. See if we can figure out how to stop this from getting worst, and finding a solution.” Robin explained, biting into a purely peanut butter sandwich as she chewed. “If you wanna come-“ she added through a mouthful of sticky and dry bread.

“Uh, sure. Yeah I’ll go. I’ve got new information anyways and I think anyone involved should know.” You insisted calmly as Steve and Robin looked between one another, choosing not to pry for information till they were in the private safety of the woods.

“Okay uh, we finish up in about twenty minutes. We’ve been working longer shifts, but there’s not much to do today.” Steve insisted ad you nodded, going to finish up some work with the general population. Twenty minutes ultimately flying by.

As the four of you went to leave, a nagging glance grasped your attention as you turned. The rest of the small band staring at you, and you’d tell them with time. It would just take a bit of…creative interpretation.

Heading to the car, you carefully climbed into the backseat, the middle seat dipping a bit before you got in, earning a quizzical noise to leave your mouth. Closing the door and being joined by Dustin who quietly fiddled with his fingers.

“How’s your ankle?” You questioned as he quietly hummed in response, looking up.

“It’s uh, it’s painful but it’ll be fine. We’ve dealt with worse. Remember when we cut into El’s leg? I bet that hurt more.” He lamented with a soft grin, the boys eyes laced with a sad desperation as you took his hand gently. Squeezing it in solidarity as you silently kept each other grounded on the hour long ride out to the woods. Recognizing the sight of the small home and the figures of Will Byers, Jonathan Byers, and El. Carefully stepping out of the car once in park and jogging over.

“Hi…” El greeted quietly, staring at you silently afterwards as you just gave Will and Jonathan casual hugs. Something quick and amicable as they led the four of you inside. Everyone else scattered about inside.

Mike and a man with long hair were sat on the ground, carefully playing cards with one another. Nancy was sat on the small couch, joined by Jonathan soon after. Will going to sit on one side of Mike, and El sitting beside the king haired man. Dustin heading to the kitchen to grab some water as Robin and Steve went to sit on the coffee table. The missing space where Lucas would be was understandable, he spent nearly all this time at the hospital from what you had heard. Your observance was disturbed by the creaking of the floorboards beside you, nobody there, but the wood lightly bending with the weight of someone else. Pursing your lips before going to join everyone else.

“So, he’s weak. Really weak, but he’s going to get stronger. He’s going to heal, and he’s going to come back. Now he can come up to Hawkins. Shred us of our humanity and…and destroy everything we love.” Will murmured as he stopped, looking beside you quizzically, before frowning. He thought he’d heard something, but he could definitely feel something.

“We need to figure out what this means for us, and how we can protect everyone in this stupid town.” Steve insisted softly as he hummed. “But before that, I wanna do a check in with everyone.” He lamented. “I’ll start. I um, my parents are still out of town, they’re not coming back anytime soon. But they’ve made sure to transfer money into my bank account, and I’m staying here. I told them I should.” He said softly, looking around the circle.

Everyone went along, giving their own little renditions on how they were coping, till they got to you. You had to tell them, to explain how Eddie was still here. Praying they’d hear you out.

“I haven’t been great, but Wayne and I are there for each other. I got set up with a therapist, which I’m not thrilled about. But um, I got some weird news today. I’ve been journaling, they say it helps with processing trauma? I dunno but, that’s not really the point. I set my notepad down today, and it had a message on it. It freaked me out because I didn’t write it? You know? It said something like ‘I’m not dead I’m here’ or whatever. Then when you guys came over, it said ‘tell them I’m here’ and, it was in Eddie’s handwriting? I’ve not uh, I’ve not been involved with the upside down as long as you guys? But are ghosts possible, or communicating between the Upside Down and here?” You asked softly as the eyes on you shared a mix of emotions, open mouthed stares.

You assessed fear, confusion, pity, disbelief…and rage. Dustin’s eyes filled with an unattractive hate as he stared at you.

“That’s not funny-“ Dustin muttered as you shook your head, carefully opening up your purse and unfolding the papers, setting them on the floor as everyone took turns reading it.

“I’m not joking Henderson.” You insisted.

Once he had the papers, he swallowed before balling them up. A hate growing ever stronger as tears pooled. “You’re a fucking asshole. If you’re coping with humor? Fine. Do it somewhere else, but that’s not cool with me. He was my best friend. I watched him bleed out and I couldn’t do anything about it.” He seethed, tears rolling down his full cheeks as you frowned deeply. “I’m not coping! Well I AM coping but not like this!” You retorted hatefully as you watched him.

“No. Fuck you, you weren’t there! You were up here, and you didn’t see it. You didn’t hear his screams or watch him die.” Dustin spat as he stood, throwing the wadded up papers at you and storming to the bathroom. Slamming the door shut behind him as you frowned. Holding the papers snugly in your hands and looking amongst everyone.

“You guys believe me, right?” You questioned, the silence you received deafening before Will slowly nodded. “I believe you…” he whispered as you looked at him.

“I uh, something came in with you. I could feel it. It’s a person for sure, and they don’t seem angry you know, and uh…and I dunno, I just know. I have a connection.” He muttered as everyone looked at him, then back at you.

“But are you sure it’s Eddie? It could be something else.” Steve asked as you growled in frustration. “I’m sure it’s Eddie. I know it’s Eddie.” You insisted.

Dustin peered out of the bathroom at hearing Will, now silently listening in as he sniffled and wiped his eyes. “Prove it. What’s um…what’s something only Eddie would know? Or like, have him do something.” He demanded as you frowned.

“I don’t think I can make him, but if he wants to…” you insisted as you uncrumbled the paper and smoothed it out. Setting it on the coffee table and Dustin brought over a pen from a mug on the kitchen counter. Slamming it down beside it. Now we wait.

Eddie was swelling with rage at all the yelling, people’s anger only fueling his own as he stormed over to the table and picked up the pen. The room going dead quiet as he wrote quickly, fervently.

‘Yes it’s me. Only I know when you fought with Suzie, and she wasn’t talking to you, and you cried so hard you got sick. I’m not fucking dead, I don’t think? I’m like some fucked up ghost.’ He wrote out, slamming the pen down. Watching as Dustin walked over.

“Holy fucking shit…what the shit, what the SHIT!?” Dustin hissed as he held his head, backing up and holding tight. “This isn’t fucking, you…Eddie?” He muttered as he looked around. “Nobody has ever survived the upside down. This is like some Return of the Living Dead shit. Is his body alive? Did we leave him?!” Dustin panicked as Steve worked on calming him down.

“Maybe…his body is still alive?” El whispered, everyone looking at her. “We can put our consciousness there, whenever Vecna takes us, and keeps our bodies here…what if it’s the same as that?” She murmured as everyone quietly sat back down to listen. Contemplating the situations, and the options.

“So uh…new plan…save Munson.” Steve murmured.

Taglist: @munson-blurbs

[stories-of-the-multiverse]

(( Starter for @remnantsouls ))

The past week had been an... emotional rollercoaster, to say the least...

But she couldn't focus on that. They had to know. Both that Charlie was right, and that Sir Pentious was okay. They've waited long enough!

Hood pulled further over her head, Emily peeked out of the emissary.

Immediately she was hit with a strong smell of... Goodness, she didn't even know what it was. Just that it was unpleasant.

Focus.

... She saw a bustle, but no one seemed close to the building, nor paying attention.

Uneasily, she slipped out the doors and moved to disappear in the nearest crowd, hoping and praying she was discreet.

The first chance she got, she scurried into the nearest alleyways, which thankfully was unoccupied for the moment.

Alright, she needed to figure out where to go, where the hotel was. Preferably with as few people knowing of her as possible. Getting higher ground might be a good place to start. She scanned the building tops around her before lifting her cape, just enough for her wings to come out. Then, she flew up and stepped onto a building top, allowing her cape to fall back down over her back.

Alright, Hazbin Hotel, Hazbin Hotel, Hazb-

She paused when, put in the distance, she spotted a... very familiar looking structure. A glass dome, populated by all sorts of flora. Although, instead of the pristine heavenly plant life she was used to, they were almost wild, contained only within the dome.

Forgetting her previous goals, Emily made a beeline for it, unbothered by the possibility of being caught flying to her destination.

She had to know. She had to know if this was really- It... It can't be a coincidence-

She touched down at the door.

Up close... just felt even more nostalgic...

One hand hurriedly wiped at her eyes as the other knocked on the door.

[badmusejail]

(@shatteredwastes)

Gaster had to admit that the area Papyrus chose was nice.

He wondered if Papyrus actually put some level of thought into it, or if it was simply random choice based on the proximity to a forest.

It was calm and quiet, distant enough from the nearby village that there was only an occasional holler on the wind when the inhabitants got a bit too wound up. It happened sometimes, being off on your own.

The ground was mostly flat save for the occasional knot of a long gone tree, or miscellaneous rocks that had lodged themselves into the dirt. It was unclear how fertile the land was, but they could always try to plant a garden. A few discrete trees provided shade during the most brutal time of day, before clumping together to make the outskirts of the forest.

Ebott was nearby enough to be an ominous shadow on the horizon, but far enough that it was unlikely any of the inner inhabitants would bother them, save for the visits from Gaster's children.

He wondered if the basic markings Papyrus had set for the foundation would be large enough for Lily...

The village too was nice; and diverse. It had originally startled Gaster to see humans among the inhabitants... but it was fine; certainly no one would cause trouble. After all, the village had a relaxed and carefree atmosphere; they must have integrated in well.

Rabbit monsters seemed common, which Gaster found odd; he thought the vast majority of them resided in Snowdin. Canines and Felines seemed common as well, along with the occasional reptile or monster that defied easy comparison. Winged monsters, on the other hand, seemed less common. Gaster supposed they tended to prefer heights.

Children, even, ran about; particularly a trio of small rabbits carrying on, chasing each other around, adults simply shaking their heads at the nonsense.

The center of the village was marked by a massive fountain, what was likely the most elaborate construct in the area. The base had to be over fifty feet in diameter, with a second level nearly three-quarters as large, and the top an intricate flower (or something, Gaster genuinely didn't know what it was meant to be) blasting the water upwards. He would guess it to reach twenty feet at its peek.

It was unclear what sort of powerful magic powered the fountain, but the water was perfectly clear, and the villagers seemed to use it as both a communal bath and drinking hole.

With the fountain as the literal and metaphorical center of the place, everything else seemed to be structured around it, creating circular paths of buildings and houses. Of course, given the popularity of the fountain, businesses and merchants flocked to the area, causing the surrounding area to double as the primary shopping center.

Gaster wondered if there was some sort of enchantment that preventing the spray of the water from getting on everything.

Although there was some organization centered around that centerpiece, no two buildings were exactly the same, each one tailored to the individual monster's needs. Some were taller, some were shorter; some tucked underground. Some were constructed of stone, others of wood; even some other strange materials or construct.

Unlike the strange, awe-inspiring architecture of the mountain itself, most of the buildings here were simple, constructed as the needs came. They weren't amazing, but they were functional; cozy and homely.

It had everything that was needed for a simple and comfortable life; plenty of options for food; friendly inhabitants that seemed to look out for each other.

Gaster thought he could call it home.

He wondered if Lily would feel the same.

[worrywrite]

The Baroness's Hound

The Baron's mansion is teeming with movement. There will be a ball in six hours. Nobility from across the country will be arriving. But there is a problem. The baroness's prized terrier is nowhere to be found. The little pup is her most significant conversation piece, if the creature isn't around the baroness has absolutely nothing to start a conversation with and nothing to soothe her anxiety.

This is your problem because the baron heard that you were the best tracker in the region and he promised to pay you more than you' get from trapping a thousand stoats and beavers or from the meat of a hundred cleanly shot prized bucks. It was enough money that you could replace your entire toolset with top of the line gear and still have enough for your needs for the rest of the year at least. So, of course you took the job.

The baroness described the terrier in great detail upon arrival. You were incredibly reluctant to see her, but she was already in her dressing room and would remain there until shortly before the ball. It takes some hours for a woman if her stature to get dressed, though by the time you arrived it seemed as though she already had. Perhaps it really only took hours to coat her entire body in what you guessed was silver dust and powdered rose and all sorts of other concoctions. But if that were the case she wouldn't have already been wearing at least two full layers.

Regardless. You knew the dog already. There were many portraits that included it on your way through the mansion. But now that you stood back at the top of the grand spiral staircase in the center of the building, you aren't sure where to start. To make matters worse, the entire mansion is teeming with wait staff and caterers and maids and butlers and the last minute semester headed for his lordships chambers and the exceptionally late chimney sweep headed for the ballroom. The poor sap was already trailing soot across the floor and the maid sweeping up behind him indicates that you're not likely to spot anything inside. You're sure the mud you tracked in earlier is already gone, and that wasn't even through a main walkway.

You peek through a door that opens into a servants corridor, but as soon as you open it a chauffeur pushes past you to the main entrance. The foot traffic among these corridors will be even worse. You will find no tracks, no scents, and certainly no terrier among these corridors. The entirety of the mansions staff has already been told to keep an eye out for the beast.

That leaves the kennel, which is the first place everyone would have looked; the grounds, which would take hours to search; and the ballroom, which would be largely inaccessible until just prior to the ball itself.

The kennel was clean. Far cleaner than it had any right to be. According to the master of hounds, of which there were plenty more of in the kennel, the baroness cares a great deal for the beasts and had the hole building deep cleaned once or twice a month. The last one had been that morning. The terrier has not been with her when the cleaning was ordered.

It had rained two days ago, so much of the ground was still soft. Searching the grounds would only require a small perimeter check. Or so you had thought. What had initially been a relief had become a nightmare. The hounds had, apparently, been let out the day before for a hunt. Prints indicating as much were scattered quite all over the property. Some of them were larger than expected, but you had also seen quite a variety of hunting dogs in the kennel and so it stood to reason that these were from the larger breeds. What you did not find, of course, were any prints of a size appropriate for the lapdog in question. Not even past any of the high traffic areas where the prints could have been obscured.

After a few hours of searching the grounds and with night fast approaching, you are left with no other likely option than the ballroom. The moon is already visible in the sky, a little earlier than normal, by the time you make it back inside. No guests have arrived just yet. But the doors to the ballroom are all the way open.

No one lies within. The ballroom is set. Much of the staff have moved to different tasks. The main entry seems to be of the utmost concern.

You do not notice, at first, the bundle by the chimney--the tools hall arrayed as though they mid use. The staff that had been in here until recently certainly did no notice. But the smell in the room draws your eyes in the direction of the chimney. You can smell sugar from cakes and other pastries. But you also smell something bloody. There are no meats on the trays of food that you can see. You can hear a drip inexplicably over the din of cleaning outside the ballroom. A splat as something collides with the hearthstones.

There is a miniscule puddle of dark liquid. Red and black. Blood and soot. It draws your attention immediately and you hand goes for your dagger. But as you back away from the grand fireplace, you notice the footprints. Normal boot prints to and from the tools. And something much larger coming out and halfway to the tools. Skid marks of dragged sooty boots. Claw marks, bipedal, in the stones as whatever it was pulled against the struggling chimney sweep.

You see two red coals in the dark recesses of the fireplace, too high up to be coals and too low to be wafting embers. Too steady to be anything other than eyes trained on your body. You freeze. The humanoid silhouette of soot is barely visible against the dirty stones behind it. Were there a candelabra close to the fireplace it might look like a shadow cast from a terrible beast. But this was a terrible beast in its own right. Ivory fangs stained red accompany a feral growl.

You have found the baroness's lapdog. The hound after her own cursed heart. The companion on her monthly hunts.

Silver may have hid her from moonlight, but the cleaned upper reaches of the fire flu did not so shelter the cursed hound.

The baroness must have already known it would come to this. You had seen a beast in the woods the night before. The muddy tracks around the mansion had told you it had been there. All traces of the arrow you had wounded it with had been cleaned from the kennel after the first night of the full moon. And now her loyal hound would destroy the last of the evidence against her.

[dujour13]

"stolen kisses while hiding away from a crowd" !

@dmagedgoods You asked for the same prompt within an hour of each other. Great minds. This one kept me up a couple nights but here it is at last. The Andoren rebels’ story is largely plagiarized from The Tale of Two Cities so credit to Dickens.

“…and they said if the Queen-Regent found out, they’d get a thrashing, but I told them ‘It’ll be fine,’ and that night I threw pebbles at their window a little after midnight and down they came. I can tell you, that was definitely not the first time those two had climbed out of the window.”

“I’m not in the least surprised,” Daeran grinned.

“Anyway, we got over the wall and thought we were free, but we took two steps and standing right there was the Interior Minister, out walking his horrible little dog. For a second we thought it was all up, but I said ‘Why don’t you join us?’ and he seemed happy enough. So we headed down to the river, all four of us and the dog, and had a fine time.

“Such a fine time that when we headed back it seemed a shame to say goodnight already, so I invited them all to the wing where my delegation were staying—I had my guitar and a bottle; they could sneak back later.

“Thank Desna we were being sneaky. It was quiet enough that I heard the whispering and noticed the window was open. I peeked in, and right there in the Ambassador’s chambers there were two shadowy figures with glinting knives.

“So in a panic I escorted the princesses back while the minister and his dog raised the alarm. By the time I headed back to our wing, the whole place was in an uproar, but I was out in the garden all by myself, and that was when something strange happened.

“The two assassins were slinking past behind a hedge, and I could have sworn one looked right at me—and didn’t see me. I had gone invisible. Back then I didn’t even know that spell. It just happened, out of the blue.

“Lucky too, because I had the letters they were looking for in my pocket.”

“Wait—you went skinny dipping with those letters in your pocket? You just left them on the ground by the river?” Seelah stared at him over the lip of her mug with an incredulous grin.

“I thought it was safer to keep them on me. More or less. Turned out I was right.”

“Sounds like you’re no stranger to divine interventions, my friend. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.”

“Anyway, the assassins escaped, but no one was killed at least. We were all questioned, and when the Interior Minister and I both claimed we just happened to be out for a midnight stroll, people put two and two together and even though it was the furthest thing from my mind—I was in a relationship and he definitely wasn’t my type anyway—I didn’t disabuse them of the notion because the poor princesses looked so frightened they’d be caught."

“He didn’t disabuse them of the notion either, I gather,” said Daeran, smirking.

Siavash winced. “I don’t know if it was for the princesses’ honor or the notch in his belt. Ugh.”

“Audacious. I think I like the fellow.”

On his left, Lann knocked back a deep draught of lukewarm Mendevian beer and let out a great sigh of satisfaction.

Siavash grimaced. “Sometimes I envy you, Lann.”

“Yeah, all kids ought to be sent to Neather camp, teach ‘em how to appreciate the good things. Builds character.”

“Deadens the palate,” said Daeran. “Not unlike this swill, as a matter of fact. What will you have instead, Intrepid Iconoclast?”

“Wine this time—please.”

“Excellent. Pitaxian? Chelish?”

“Only from the homeland.”

“Pah, Andorens are too sweet for my taste. Common. Lack that certain je ne sais quoi of nobility.”

“Medevians are sour,” Siavash retorted. “And there’s this sort of scum that floats to the top.”

“Touché. Fye.”

Amazing how the barkeep was attuned to the tiniest wag of a finger from certain clients, even when the Half Measure was bursting. He was off his bar perch and at the Count’s elbow in an instant. “Your Grace.”

“What do you have in Andorens? And don’t you dare say Sauerton. If you possess even one bottle of that appalling sin against all things pleasant I shall never set foot in your establishment again.”

“Of course not.” Fye looked slightly nervous. There was unfortunately a market for such things in the Fifth Crusade. “We have a selection of Côtes d’Andoshen, a Darkmoon Valley ‘08 I believe, and a nice, floral white from Steyr.”

Daeran looked aghast.

“We’ll have the Darkmoon. The Count’s tab.”

Daeran shook his head. “Very well. I shall partake, but only to toast our miraculous victory.”

“More like our miraculous rescue,” snorted Lann into his mug.

Siavash shrugged. “We did exterminate the Ivory Sanctum’s bug infestation. That’s something.”

When the wine arrived they passed a glass down the table to Sosiel, whose patience and magnanimity were being put to the test by a very chatty tiefling. It was a welcome distraction. He swirled the glass and held it up to the light. “They say you leave your heart at home, but this is like a taste of it. My thanks, Count.”

Across the table from him, Woljif watched him drink with a calculating look. How many of those would it take to get a big guy like Sosiel sloshed enough to start gambling? Nenio probably knew. But she looked busy trying to convince Arueshalae to kiss her on different body parts and he was going nowhere near that. Back to the task at hand.

“…That’s just it. Supply and demand. You gotta hold back, get people salivatin’. Only the Knight-Commander himself has one on his wall. To get one you gotta be cream duh—”

“Crême de la crême,” Sosiel said patiently.

“Yeah, that. And what you do is make secret deals with ‘em. Tell ‘em, you’re the only one I’m sellin’ to, ‘cause you’re such an esteemed and refined collector, so don’t tell anybody. Pretty soon they’ll be beatin’ a path to your door, throwin’ money at you.”

“Woljif that’s not the point of—”

He was rescued when Siavash jumped up with his guitar, the Andoren wine having put a nostalgic gleam in his eye, and leapt up to perch next to Fye on the bar.

A hush fell over the crowded tavern.

It was an Andoren ballad set in the People’s Revolt, about the rebels Danton and Griffith, rivals for the same woman’s love yet bound by friendship. When Danton was captured and imprisoned by the Chelaxians, Griffith drugged him, exchanged their clothes, and went to the gibbet in his stead. Danton lived to lead a decisive uprising in Augustana, married the woman, and lived happily ever after in the peace and prosperity of the new Republic.

The legend is told though the ash has grown cold Of two men who were bonded by duty Of Griffith it’s said, in Pharasma’s cold bed, His head bought our freedom, but dearly

As he sang, Woljif had to exert all his self-control to look nonchalant. He coiled his tail around his chair to keep it from betraying him. Now and then he would forget himself and have to snap his mouth shut. He was pretty sure Sosiel was laughing at him.

Siavash brought the song to a close to a wild and drunken round of applause.

“Oh what rot,” Daeran said, clapping nonetheless. “I much prefer the one about the barmaid.”

“You would,” said Seelah, brushing a tear from her eye and applauding loudly. “Friendship, self-sacrifice, bittersweet endings—that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

And suddenly in the midst of the clamor, their gaze met across the tavern: Siavash’s laughing hazel eyes and Woljif’s, golden and enthralled. The look closed the distance between them and pulled a veil over the cheering crowd so that for a dizzying instant they were alone. A bolt like lightning passed through that gaze.

Siavash handed his guitar to Fye. “Guard this with your life. Just need to—go...”

Fye held the holy relic in his lap and watched him head for the front door. “The privy’s in the ba—”

But he was already gone.

When Sosiel turned back around, Woljif too had vanished. This pleased him for three reasons: because watching the tiefling’s face during the performance was watching the gentle hand of his goddess Herself; because his ears needed a break from the chatter; and because the Count was looking flushed and waving exaggeratedly and might be up for cards, and it was impossible to play with Woljif around.

Outside in the cool night air, they darted for cover. Woljif knew the spot: down a side street and into a narrow alley between two shops.

Siavash was pushed up against the wall by Woljif’s tense, whiplike body. He gasped.

Their lips met hungrily. Then there was nothing but the taste of wine and whatever honeyed herbal infusion Woljif had been drinking, the salt and sweet tang of each other’s mouths, tongues searching, the sharp intake of breath as Siavash pulled his hips in. Neither said a word. Their bodies entwined, surrendering to one another completely in their stolen little corner of the night.

[theriverspath]

The Song of the Supreme Archangel: Chapter 1

Rated Teen. Written for a daily prompt challenge on Sendarya's discord server. Prompt: "Loud, so everyone can hear" from The way you said "I love you."

All was chaos. Bits of rock and rubble revolved within a gray-white void. The sounds of swords in conflict, animalistic screeches and yowls, and the whoosh of flames echoed among the debris. The battlefield had erupted into war, and both sides were hard at work. There was no up or down, nor left or right in this space. The beings that battled each other did not constrain their efforts to the laws of the physical world. The only constant, fixed point was a single building. On it, gold lettering above a red door read "A. Z. FELL AND Co."

The door opened. In it stood the Supreme Archangel of Heaven. He placidly surveyed the mayhem, as if uninterested in the general proceedings. His immaculately groomed appearance indicated his lack of direct involvement in the fighting. A waistcoat the color of molten sunlight peeked out from a crisp white suit. A gold chain slung below his colorless bowtie. It matched the one that ran across the buttoned front of the waistcoat to disappear beneath the suit’s jacket. He already wore one fawn-colored leather glove. As he slipped on the other, it covered a gold signet ring. A tan coat was draped across his shoulders, the sleeves hanging empty. A broach in the shape of a single wing decorated the left lapel. The coat’s popped collar emphasized his round face. A single, thin line of gold paint ran from the apex of his widow’s peak to just above his star-pupiled, violet eyes. Wherever he turned his head, a nimbus of radiant glory highlighted his short, platinum curls from behind.

Eventually, he seemed to spot what he was looking for. His white leather shoes made no sound as he stepped out of the shop and onto some sort of invisible, arbitrary ground plane. Approaching him out of the surrounding fray was his oldest enemy.

Four muscular, scantily-clad demons each balanced on their shoulder one of the corner poles to an uncovered platform. A fifth demon walked in front, setting the pace. Upon the platform, towering above the litter carriers, was a throne. The ebony frame was intricately carved to mimic flame. A blackened rams’ skull added height and majesty to the top. Blood red velvet cushions gave it a luxurious drama. Draped across the seat as if his body no longer cared to conform to the expectations of bones, sat Crowley.

When the litter reached Aziraphale, the demons stopped. The four that held the throne slowly lowered to one knee. The fifth stepped to the front of the platform. They also dropped themself to a knee, then held up a hand. With a fluid movement, Crowley stood from the throne. He took the offered hand, then stepped a bare, scaled foot down onto the sturdy thigh of the demon before him. Another step down, and he was on the same invisible ground as Aziraphale. The litter bearers all stood in unison, and took several steps back, leaving the two alone. As they retreated, the Supreme Archangel eyed the goat skull that decorated the chair. There was a tinge of sadness in his voice when he spoke.

“So, this is what you’ve become. A Prince of Hell.”

-------

Read the entire work on AO3.

Battlefield inspired by unused concept art for season 2.

Aziraphale’s outfit inspired by this fanart by @gingerhaole.

Crowley’s outfit inspired by my desire to put Crowley in a slinky dress.