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sezja · 2 years

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Aethersup, part 7

Previously: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The days that follow are the happiest of Sanson’s life. It is a blessing, he thinks, as those days slip by, that he knows them for the joy they are - and that he knows them to be temporary, and can cherish each moment as it passes, committing it to memory.

Each day begins in Guydelot’s bed - his own has gone woefully unslept-in for nearly two weeks. Sanson wakes early, the better to admire Guydelot as he sleeps; he cannot recall ever seeing someone so peaceful, at least not while under his care. A bard to the core, Guydelot’s fingers move as he sleeps, plucking melodies from his dreams… though the man swears he’s a novice, with scarcely two moons’ training under his mentor, he plays the harp as though he’d been born to it. Sanson lies beside him, content to watch him dream, wondering what songs he dreams of… and wondering, yes, if Guydelot dreams of him.

Before the bard wakes, Sanson always slips away, preparing him something to eat when he wakes. His strength is returning by leaps and bounds these days, aided by steady meals and daily walks - aye, Sanson can’t deny their walks to and from the greenhouse, every day now, have played their part in replenishing the bard’s aether.

And after Guydelot’s breakfast, they set off on that very walk.

Guydelot no longer needs to lean on Sanson’s shoulder to steady himself, but they often walk with their arms tucked around one another, regardless. They’ve not had a repeat of the first day’s… heated diversion, for which Sanson cannot readily say if he is relieved or disappointed. No, they make their way in easy conversation to the greenhouse which has become their peculiar sanctuary, and there…

And there, Guydelot plays his songs, both old and new, both his own and those he has composed.

Time seems to slow there, Sanson feels, as though the bells themselves feel compelled to slow and listen a while. And he allows it to slow; allows himself to forget, for a time, that their time together is limited - that he has only a few precious days left of this. Guydelot has brought a flash of brightness and song into his life, the likes of which he is never likely to see again; if he can but etch this into his memory, if he can but crystalize each song into his mind… then perhaps it will be as though Guydelot never left, in the dark future that awaits after the bard leaves. Perhaps the day will come when he may close his eyes here, in the greenhouse, and remember when… when he was loved.

“You seem a little lost in thought,” Guydelot comments, taking a seat on the greenhouse step beside him. “I won’t say my feelings’re hurt or anything, but you hardly seemed like you were paying attention-”

Sanson makes himself laugh, quietly. “I was listening, I assure you.” How could I not be? “It was only…” Only that they have so little time remaining, just under two weeks. And that time will fly past, as well, just as these weeks have, and then Sanson must send Guydelot away. But Guydelot never wants to hear of his leaving, never wants to speak of the inevitability of it; he only insists he will return… or, more impossibly, that he’ll simply take Sanson away from this place with him, as though he could ever live among mortals! As though the world beyond these walls could ever stomach a voidsent monster walking among them! Guydelot speaks of it sometimes, when they lie in bed at night - of reintroducing Sanson to his lost family again, of introducing him to his mentor, Jehantel.

He has not spoken of his… his meeting with Jehantel; of the guilt which gnaws at him. He should; he knows he should - how can he carry on this doomed romance with Guydelot, knowing he nearly killed the man the bard speaks of so fondly? He means to, always means to, but the moment never feels right… or is that cowardice? Selfishness? Clinging to these bright, lovely moments, not wishing to see them tarnished by the anger he knows he deserves… and does it matter, he guiltily asks himself, if he never reveals the truth, when Guydelot won’t recall loving him after Sanson sends him through the barrier?

When Jehantel tells the man what happened, of the creature which attacked him in the night, Guydelot will hate the unknown assailant, with none of his own memories left to complicate matters.

Perhaps that’s for the best…?

“Sanson?”

He blinks, returning to the present, grounded once more in the here and now. He peers up at the bard, his own heart aching at the concern in the man’s eyes. Let me have this, he thinks, swallowing. For just a while longer, let me have him. “Forgive me. I’m easily distracted today, it seems - I didn’t sleep well last night.”

This earns him a grin. “Aye, well, that might be my fault.”

“I should say so.”

Guydelot laughs, rubbing a hand down Sanson’s back, comforting in its simplicity, and Sanson leans into him, content to be comforted. He allows his eyes to close. He is weary, and not from lack of sleep alone. The hunger for aether has returned, a dull ache that never wanes… though he has not yet spoken of it with Guydelot, wishing to prolong these idyllic days as long as he may. This prickle of hunger is nothing compared to the pangs he endures when going moons without a victim - this he can endure; this he does endure, drawing what little aether he may from their near-nightly lovemaking… however mortifying it may be that he can draw aether from it, he doesn’t shy away from it.

Gods, as though he could ever shy away from it. What he will do without it, once Guydelot is gone, Sanson doesn’t want to fathom.

“You’re cold,” Guydelot observes, winding an arm around Sanson to pull him closer. Sanson hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t open his eyes; it’s too pleasant here. He could nod off here, secure in the curve of Guydelot’s arm. A moment passes, and then Guydelot asks, “Sanson, do you need aether? That’s why you feel cold, ain’t it?”

Sanson opens his eyes, his heart twisting. “I’m quite alright, I assure you-”

“Aye, but we both know you’ll go too long without it, don’t we?” Guydelot’s arm tightens around him. “Tonight, then. Right?”

He considers refusing - after all, Guydelot cannot force him to take his aether! - but good sense prevails; after all, what is he keeping Guydelot here for, if not to feed on him? If he’s not going to do that much, he might as well set the bard free now, and be done with it. Sanson sighs, shaking his head in defeat. “Aye. Tonight.”

“It’s not so bad, really.” He speaks more gently now, resting his cheek against the top of Sanson’s head, in a way that has quickly come to be familiar. “And I’ve bounced right back from the last time, eh? And you shouldn’t need my blood on top of it this time - unless you’ve got some other reckless plan in mind for once I’m out cold, this time.”

Despite himself, Sanson chuckles. “No… no. I mean to stay put and behave myself, you have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to-”

A great cacophony arises from outside of the greenhouse’s glass walls, however, cutting the bard off mid-sentence. They both shoot to their feet, watching in confusion as winged beasts scatter overhead, stirring up the spore-laden air, while other beasts race past in the direction the flying creatures came from… as though scenting fresh prey for the first time in an age. Sanson’s heart pounds, fear rising in a white panic. If something has entered Amdapor, it can only mean that the elementals have given their blessing and allowed someone to pass through their barrier. And if that is true, then…

Then surely they can only be here in search of him.

It can be no coincidence that this attack comes so soon after his own disastrous trek beyond the barrier.

Bewildered, Guydelot watches the chaos unfold outside. “What do you reckon that’s about?”

“We have to go,” he hears himself say, grabbing for the bard’s hand, tugging him back toward the hallway. “Quickly!”

No plan, no plan at all. He leads Guydelot in blind terror down the hallway - at least he need not serve as the bard’s eyes; as promised, he has lit several more of the torches, enough to light the way. Fear chills him. He will die today. He is sure of it; more sure of his own death than the ground beneath his feet. These strangers, whoever they may be, have surely come to find Guydelot, and in finding him, they will by rights slay his kidnapper; they will not trouble to arrest a voidsent, no matter how mortal he may look! The question is where to meet his death, and how gracefully to meet it, and how to ensure Guydelot’s safety in the thick of it all.

I’ll not put up a fight, he tells himself, sick at heart. Come what may. I have invited this death with my very existence; I have justified it by attacking Jehantel. I have justified it by abducting Guydelot. I am guilty of any crime of which they may accuse me - I can only accept my sentence with dignity.

“Where are we going?” Guydelot tries to stop, but Sanson hauls him onward, for once not scrupling to use his superior strength against the bard. “Sanson! What’s the bloody plan!? You can’t just-”

“They have come to rescue you, I am sure of it.”

Guydelot snorts. “Me? Why me? They didn’t bother coming after any of the others, and I ain’t exactly popular-”

Damn it all. “Your mentor, Jehantel, saw me flee toward Amdapor.”

That gives Guydelot pause, and Sanson feels him nearly trip. “Jehantel? You didn’t tell me he spotted you!”

“He’d collected your belongings. I found your harp with him.”

A sharp intake of breath behind him, as Guydelot’s quick mind assembles the pieces, joining the points at last. “Those arrows… hells, I thought I recognized them.”

“They were his.” Sanson stops. Let it out, then; let the whole thing shatter. If he’s to die soon anyway, it scarcely matters if he dies loathed and lonely… and perhaps Guydelot’s hatred will make him less likely to interfere when the inevitable comes. He makes himself look Guydelot in the eye, forces himself to speak clearly. “I attacked him,” Sanson says, letting the words fall heavily in the silence. “He found me stealing the harp, and I attempted to kill him. I meant to kill him. He fired on me as I fled.”

A fit of emotions cross the bard’s face - shock, anger, sorrow, confusion, many more Sanson can’t name; for a moment, he half-expects the man to strike him. He schools himself, tightens his reflexes; if Guydelot means to lash out, he will not stop him!

“Hells,” the bard says at last, rubbing his face. “And you’ve just… damn it all, you’ve just been sitting on that for nigh on two weeks, then? Every time we talked, every time we-” He takes a deep breath. “And the whole time, you’ve just been gnawing on, ‘I tried to kill your mentor?’ You never thought to tell me about it?!”

“You could flee now,” Sanson says, struck by inspiration. “The cellar is right there. The passage is near the back, past the empty storerooms. You’ll not miss it; it’s the largest door there.”

This earns him a blank stare. “What-”

“I’ve no doubt Jehantel is among those heading here now to destroy me,” he says, an odd calm creeping over him now, as the despair sets in. It is comforting, after all, to have nothing left to lose. “And I don’t mean to fight back; never fear. But if you leave now, and pass through the barrier, you’ll have no memory of…” Us. “Of all of this, of all I’ve done. It will be as though none of it ever happened. I cannot return to you the time I have stolen, but I can take from you the memory of it, and perhaps the… the pain of it, the shame.” He takes a deep breath. “And when you return to your life, Jehantel will assure you that it is for the best that you remember nothing of your ordeal, but that you may be comforted by the knowledge that no one else will suffer as you have.”

Guydelot sits through this speech, looking faintly shell-shocked; what he processes of it, Sanson cannot guess. He tries not to guess. Numbness will be his best armor now; he must face the end with resolve, and he cannot do that if his heart is still yearning for the moment only minutes ago, when he’d still been tucked against Guydelot’s side - when Guydelot had been worried for him, scolding him for not taking aether when he needed it. A moment in a quiet greenhouse, at the end of the best days of Sanson’s life.

Lock that away, he orders himself, taking a step away from Guydelot, then another. Lock it all away. If he could only be the heartless monster his attackers believe him to be, then…

“Are you- are you out of your godsdamned mind?”

Sanson stops, puzzled. “No.”

Guydelot stalks after him, closing the short distance. “You think I’m just gonna leave you here to be killed?”

“Did-” His throat tightens, threatening his hard-won composure. “Did you wish to witness it, then? Forgive me. I’d not thought-”

He is interrupted by a loud crunch from the direction of the atrium - the sound of a battering ram striking the ancient door, the weathered wood creaking under the strain. It will not withstand more than another blow or two, he knows, and then his assailants will be here. He could hide, he supposes; he knows this place in all its sprawling glory better than any stranger; he could lead them on a merry chase that will last the rest of the day or more… but why bother, when he has already made up his mind? He takes a deep breath, draws himself up, and begins to walk in the direction of the atrium, preparing for his own execution.

“Sanson,” Guydelot says, though Sanson barely hears him over the noise in his own head. “Sanson! Come with me down the bloody passage, then, and we’ll… we’ll think of something-”

“I have to greet my guests,” he says, with as much dignity as he can manage. “Don’t you hear them knocking?”

“Listen, let-” Guydelot grabs his arm, turning him around. “Let me talk to him, will you? The old man’ll listen to me; he’ll hear me out, at least. Give me the chance to talk him down, let him see that I’m alright, and he’ll-”

Baffled, thunderstruck, Sanson whispers, “Why… why would you do that?”

The bard opens his mouth to answer, but the sound of the ancient wood splintering and shattering swallows his words. Voices, angry and indistinct, rise from the direction of the atrium - Sanson hears the sound of orders being barked, footsteps fanning out. The attack has begun. The moment is approaching.

And Guydelot shoves him aside, heading toward the atrium with determined strides, calling out Jehantel’s name as he goes - leaving Sanson to drift in his wake, lost and confused.

Guydelot emerges from the hallway, stepping carefully over several splinters from the door. The battering ram itself - seemingly improvised from materials scavenged from Amdapor itself, judging by the thick coat of mold - lies harmlessly in the ruined doorway, and already spores drift in through the entrance; whatever negotiations he means to attempt, best he get them over with quickly. At the bard’s signal, Sanson hangs back; he is curious, in spite of everything, in spite of himself, to see what it is Guydelot means to attempt.

“Jehantel!”

The wizened old bard himself hurries back down the stairwell he’d begun to ascend, tears standing in his eyes. The others move quickly out of his way, including several men in yellow overcoats; the Order of the Twin Adder mobilized for this?

“Guydelot,” the older bard says, clasping Guydelot’s shoulders in relief. “Thank the Twelve! Are you well? You look as though you’ve been ill-”

“That’s a… that’s a lengthy tale, that is,” Guydelot replies, clearing his throat. “And I’ll tell it to you from the start later on, I promise. But first, there’s someone I’ve been wanting you to meet. Someone I reckon you already know.”

And he beckons toward the hallway.

Sanson takes a step back, abruptly terrified, startled out of his stoicism. This is Guydelot’s plan? To simply… introduce him, as though these people haven’t come here to kill him!

He runs. Unthinking, uncaring, he runs, letting his fear take hold.

Guydelot’s voice rings out behind him, but he is beyond caring; his steps carry him into the cellar - surely Guydelot won’t guess to follow him there, not when the other hallways are long and far-reaching, not when any one of them would be a better escape route. Or perhaps he’ll suspect Sanson means to flee all the way back to the greenhouse that has been their safe haven for this past week, home to all their foolish romantic daydreams, now lost. Sanson himself has no clear destination in mind, no plan, no strategy, only blind terror.

Perhaps here in the darkness of the cellars he might reclaim some shred of his composure, and once more prepare himself to meet his death with dignity.

He stands a moment, panting - not from exertion, but from fear - as he tries to plan his next move. His thoughts are scattered. Guydelot. Why…? Had Guydelot hoped to hand him over to be executed, then, to claim some manner of credit for the vampire’s capture? To redeem himself in the eyes of his cohorts? Or had… had he hoped to present Sanson as a friend, somehow washing away his own abduction, the attack on Jehantel, and all else besides?

Footsteps. Guydelot’s voice.

How did he think to follow me here? It doesn’t matter. Sanson turns, runs, a cornered rabbit with nowhere to flee.

The passage at the end of the hall looms. He wrenches the doors open, hurls himself into the darkness.

Why are you running? There is no sense in it. All that waits at the end of the passage is the barrier, and he won’t be saved by luring his pursuit through it; they may forget why they passed into Amdapor, but Jehantel won’t forget being attacked, nor will he forget that Guydelot was taken. He, if no other, will remember who Sanson is, and why he must be slain. There is no salvation waiting for the vampire here. He runs only because some primal desire to live outweighs his knowledge of the necessity of his own death.

He comes to a stop before the barrier - it glitters only faintly in the darkness, a warning too subtle to halt an invading army, but one he knows all too well. It isn’t his own point of entry; he has long since found other ways into the city itself - he has never been brave enough to attempt to cross the barrier himself; would it recognize him as a citizen of Amdapor, living there as long as he has, or would it burn away his memories of the many years he’s spent here, feeding off of the aether of unfortunate mortals?

And would it be such a loss, if it did?

“Sanson!” Guydelot. “Hells, you run fast.”

“For all the good it’s done.” He sighs, turning to face his fate at last… and surprised to find that of the many strangers who’d burst into his home, only Jehantel has accompanied Guydelot, looking scarcely winded by the chase.

No, not only Jehantel - coming shortly behind the two elezen is a shorter boy… no, a Padjal; Sanson observes the horns on the newcomer’s head, and enough of his memory remains to supply him with that much. A Padjal. Well, yes, one of their kind would have been necessary to cozen the elementals into allowing mortals past the barrier, Sanson realizes, though he’d not anticipated one of them being bold enough to venture deep into Amdapor.

“Be cautious,” the Padjal says, with a thoughtful frown, peering past Sanson. “A powerful enchantment is at work here. I will work to dispel it, but be cautious.”

“Aye, it’s a barrier. Sanson told me all about it. Never mind.” Guydelot waves it off, stepping quickly between Sanson and the others. “Listen-”

“That is the creature who attacked me,” Jehantel confirms, his brows furrowing. “And who abducted you, I imagine.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It is a voidsent,” the Padjal says, folding his arms in his sleeves. “As you suspected, Jehantel.”

Guydelot speaks louder. “And as I was saying, it’s complicated, Brother E-Sumi. Because he used to be a hyur.”

They cannot spare me, Sanson thinks, closing his eyes. They don’t dare. To spare me is to allow a voidsent to continue feeding on the people of the Twelveswood, and this, they cannot permit.

“This here’s Sanson Smyth,” Guydelot continues, winding an arm around Sanson’s shoulders. “Kidnapped himself, as it happens, and turned into a vampire. But he’s harmless. Basically harmless,” he adds, with a hasty glance at Jehantel.

The older bard is unconvinced. “Guydelot, it attacked me-”

“And fled!” Guydelot speaks over his mentor, triumphant. “He ran off, didn’t he? I’ve felt his strength myself, old man, and if he wanted you dead, I reckon you’d be dead. He ran off, and kept running even when you put an arrow or three in him. He’s not some deadly predator, Jehantel; hells, I have to bully the bastard into taking my aether, and it’s the whole reason he even brought me here!”

Guydelot has forgiven him, Sanson realizes, belatedly. Guydelot has forgiven him for attacking his mentor, and has understood - when Sanson himself scarcely understood it! - the importance of his retreat. And for a moment, everything in the world seems to right itself; some painful knot in Sanson’s chest unbinds, and he can breathe again. For a moment, at least, he may once again find comfort here in the safe haven of Guydelot’s arm, tucked against his side.

For the first time, something thaws in the aged bard’s eyes as he gazes at Sanson, warring with his fury. “...Aye, you fled,” he acknowledges. “When I asked about Guydelot. ‘Twas Guydelot’s name which recalled to you your humanity, was it not?”

“I…” He finds his voice, relieved to hear it emerge without wavering. “I don’t know what came over me. I meant only to reclaim Guydelot’s harp, never to harm anyone.” He hesitates, but it must be said. “I… I am sorry, sir. If it is any consolation, your arrows were very nearly the end of me that night.”

“A persuasive apology.” Jehantel peers down at the Padjal. “But is it genuine, or merely the work of a convincing voidsent…?”

“He’s more than just a voidsent!” Guydelot’s voice carries a note of desperation now. Sanson finds it difficult to be afraid, knowing he’s still secure in the bard’s affection; he may die now, he thinks, clinging to that knowledge to bear him comfortably into death. But Guydelot is stubborn, of course. “He’s a victim too, damn it all; you can’t just…”

“What we cannot allow is a voidsent feeding upon the aether of the Twelveswood,” E-Sumi says, his quiet voice cutting through Guydelot’s. “His strength will only grow will time, and with it, his need for aether.”

Sanson closes his eyes and bows his head, waiting for the final condemnation.

“You can’t mean to just kill him!” Guydelot cries, pulling Sanson close, enveloping the vampire safely in his arms. “There’s got to be another way, some way to-”

“Guydelot.” He wraps his own arms around the bard, holding him close, one last time. One last time, before he lets his own life go, and lets this Seedseer do what must be done, for the good of the Twelveswood. “Let me go.”

He gently pries Guydelot’s arms from around him, ignoring the bard’s protests, and then - before he has time to regret it, before he has time to stop himself -

He shoves Guydelot through the barrier.

The shock of it hits him like falling into ice water - steals his breath, makes his mind go numb.

Thoughts scatter, dissipating in his mind like smoke, blown away by the wind.

He staggers, hits the ground, falls on his back.

Winded.

A stone tunnel, stone walls, dark. Something in his mind says out, leave the tunnel.

But there are voices,

Voices he knows,

From the other direction.

He sits up. Strange, how foggy his mind feels; can’t recall how he got here. He blinks, blinks again, until the world swims into muddy focus - it’s dark here. Tunnel. Right. Should’ve brought a torch.

But that’s Jehantel, there, and… hells, is that Brother E-Sumi-Yan? What has he been getting up to? The Seedseer is holding Jehantel back from hurrying toward Guydelot… and a faint telltale shimmer in the air suggests there’s magicks at work, something the bard probably oughtn’t have stumbled into. Something he wouldn’t normally have stumbled into, he’s pretty sure; being observant is one of his better qualities.

There’s someone else, too, someone he doesn’t recognize - a man on his knees, looking as though he dropped there, gazing after Guydelot as though he’s lost something tremendously important.

I know you, he thinks, staring back. I know you…

“As I was going to say,” Brother E-Sumi says, with a wealth of patience that is nevertheless wearing remarkably thin, “the question we must ask, then, is how much of the mortal soul remains, and whether enough remains to be separated from the voidsent.”

The stranger buries his face in his hands, making a quiet, pained sound that pulls at Guydelot’s heart.

“Is such a thing possible?” Jehantel asks, distracted from Guydelot by the question. “I’d long believed a voidsent created in such a manner consumed the soul entire… though I confess, I know little of these arcane matters.”

They speak, but Guydelot has stopped listening; his attention has been wholly claimed by the stranger, seemingly trapped in a hell of his own making. The bard scoots himself toward the man, not yet trusting himself to stand, the way his head’s spinning. He’s wary of the barrier, but hells, he already fell through it once, evidently. It didn’t kill him. He figures it’s not likely to kill him this time, either. Gently, carefully, he reaches through the sparkling space, drawing the stranger’s hands from his face.

Tear-reddened blue eyes stare back at him, drowning in agony.

He knows those eyes.

The fog clears, and he remembers.

Sanson.

“Guydelot.”

“Hey, you,” he replies.

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #my writing #aethersup #TOMORROW: the epilogue

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jq37 · 3 days

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I've largely been thrilled with the amount of sister content for Adaine and Aelwyn in Junior Year considering that Aelwyn's main arc was more or less completed last season and she could have easily been benched like so many other NPCs were this season. The only thing I was hoping would come into play but didn't was the Nemesis Ward. Even if it never comes up though, I still love it so much as a point of characterization for her. That action says so much about who she is as a person. That she would take a piece of magic specifically intended for evil and make it good in the same way that her protective magic which should have been good was twisted to be used for evil the first 18 years of her life? Mwah. Chef's kiss.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #aelwyn abernant #adaine abernant #there are obv other things bc if I had it my way aelwyn would be in every episode lol #but yeah this is the top of my list of things set up this season without serious payoff that I'm like aww #but c'est la vie #or rather c'est la D&D lol #it be like that that's what fic is for #If it never comes up #(and the finale is tomorrow so there's no reason it should except maybe as a bit in the epilogue or crazy hail mary)#I might post my non-canon compliant Nemesis Ward fictlet #we shall see #and game time decision: gonna recap both parts of the finale together #I didn't have much commentary that wasn't covered by asks

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aroaceofthesea · 7 months

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#i know technically tomorrow theres an update #but thats an epilogue so it doesnt rlly count #aaaa i am weeping once again who do i do this to myself #now i will listen to re:dracula and cry some more bye #dracula daily #dracula #re: dracula #mine

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ddarker-dreams · 5 months

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n darling hurting blade's feelings as she should .

#i just need to edit the epilogue now since it isn't super long #i'm hoping to publish it either tomorrow or on sunday!!!!!!#i really enjoyed getting back into this universe...#yan blade scratches a unique itch #he's just Kinda There. Chilling. compared to other yans at least #until he perceives a threat (real or otherwise)#and then he's frothing at the mouth #love that for him.#nexus #previews

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mamamittens · 1 year

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Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 13)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew (Ft. Others) & Reader Insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior and a wide variety of burn related injuries, as well as drowning. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary.

This is the end of things. All that's left is the epilogue. Your choices have consequences, I've only seen them through.

Word Count: 2,325

Marco chatted with an older gentleman about the local weather, meandering his way to any strange arrivals at the island. While he didn’t see Teach, it was possible he was hiding out at an inn until Marco left.

He found himself constantly pissed and surprised at how damn clever Teach was.

Several times they managed to just barely miss him out at sea. If Marco didn’t know any better, he’d assume that someone was telling Teach exactly when it was time to leave. But that window of time had been shrinking for the past month. Where once they missed him by a week it was now a matter of hours. And Marco could feel how close they were.

“Yeah, this weather really brings out weird people, doesn’t it… Say, have you seen any shady characters around lately?” Marco asked, refraining from fiddling with his buttoned-up shirt. Not exactly subtle to question the locals with a massive Jolly Roger staring at them.

Marco didn’t even get an answer being the sound of a distant explosion reached his ear. He sighed, fully expecting to see fire on the horizon from whatever shit Ace had gotten himself into now.

First Smoker and now this?

His eyes rolled over the sea and widened with shock.

A column of fire and smoke violently erupted into the sky in the direction of the other island he’d sent Ace to investigate—wrongly assuming that he’d find less trouble with a smaller island.

Marco was airborne in an instant, speeding over the land and sea as he rushed to find out what was going on.

The minutes ticked by as his lungs filled with sea salt from diving to gain speed before gaining altitude to do it all over again. Getting faster and faster with each repetition. Boats blinking by as he crossed the expanse.

Damn near half the island was on fire in some way or another. Demolished buildings and rocks littering the sea in debris fields as people fled quickly.

Marco banked sharply, ice in his heart as he spotted the marine vessel moored nearby.

He found Ace on the other side of the island facing fucking ADMIRAL AKAINU of all fucking marines. Your familiar shape pinned to the admiral’s chest. Teach dead—where the fuck did his head go?!—just behind you both.

Marco was fit to sweep down and toss Ace into the ocean his own damn self when the young man threw a fiery punch at the admiral. Only to find that it was himself that was burned.

The literal worst case scenario matchup for Ace and you were right in the middle of it.

Marco wanted to rescue you both—he really did—but clearly Akainu wasn’t planning on killing you. The crazy bastard even shielding you from excessive blows.

At the very least, he could plan to steal you back later. But Ace was certainly not getting such consideration. Akainu planned to kill him. If it was just Ace he had to worry about, he’d go down right now and take Akainu head on with no problem—okay, a bit of a problem, he’s not an Admiral for nothing. But at any moment The Mad Dog could turn on you and Marco had no idea if your devil fruit combined with his would help. Hell, if Akainu had just slung you over his shoulder, Marco could probably pick you up with a small distraction.

But there was no way Akainu wouldn’t notice him aiming right for his chest.

And Marco—much as he ached to admit it—only had one solid plan of action.

Retreat.

Marco tilted his wings and prepared to dive at Ace. Hold onto the stubborn bastard and take them both far away.

The marines would fuck up eventually and you’d be right back where you belong. Even if ‘fucking up’ was just not having a full escort to Marineford as Marco stashed Ace somewhere he couldn’t blast his way into a fight he can’t win.

A massive ball of lava arched into the sky, the heat searing as it passed him by barely an inch. His body beneath the phoenix fire burning bright to heal the damage before it cauterized completely. Leaving a deep ache in his wing that promised to take him down if he lost his head again.

Marco reared back, soaring higher to avoid a repeat. To get a moment to think since clearly Akainu wasn’t entertaining a retreat either.

Fuck!

He had to get Ace. Fast.

--*--

You remember the first time you really understood what your devil fruit was. There weren’t any other users near you when you first ate it, so it took some time before the effects became clear.

A man came to the island. Ostensibly a traveling stage magician. He was good at crafting a compelling stage presence, but the entire time you watched him, you got this strange feeling. Like a faded memory recalled through scent. A series of seemingly unrelated images and sensations undeniably connected to one person. A vague emotion. All of it strung together like pearls. An odd sense of creeping exhaustion seeping into your skin.

Cut grass and mint. Woven daisy chains tangled in your hair during summer. Spring rain and dewdrops on misty mornings. Softer than buttercup petals and flashy like daffodils after winter.

You watched as he offered his beautiful volunteer ‘assistant’ a playing card. Flicking his wrist to then ‘magically’ present a white rose that blossomed in his hand.

The drain went from a dripping tap to a river.

The rose grew, vines wrapping around his arm with thorns and blooms sprouting until he and his unfortunate volunteer was consumed by a rose bush.

They were fine, but more than a little cut up from the thorns.

Teach’s devil fruit was like a forest gone silent and dark. Shadows in thick water dragging your feet as you walked. Breath fogging the air as the atmosphere pressed down on you. Threatening to swallow you whole if you tripped. It felt like a graveyard emptied of it’s dead and leaving you alone with ghosts. The threat of a knife still sheathed in a sleeve.

Ace’s fruit felt like a campfire at night. Consuming your view with flying embers, reaching high into the sky. Warm laughter and cinnamon smoke curling around a hearth fire wreath. Blazing with conviction so bright it dimmed the stars. Surrounding you in excess.

Marco’s fruit was like a firework. A cry shooting through the air in triumph as the atmosphere burned with it’s brilliance. The flash of the sunset and sunrise just as it slips past the edge of the horizon. Flooding your senses with thick incense as birdsong echoed. Bitter medicine and tangy sweets on your tongue.

Whitebeard’s fruit was something a little different. A tremble in your bones. Strength and uncertainty held in the same hand. The ground beneath your feet shifting on a level you could only just barely sense. Heavy bass that thrums in your heart. The short hairs on the back of your neck tingling. Senses reaching for a source with no name. An echo of something much larger than yourself.

Held in place, frozen with your heart stuttering in fear, you bathed in the feeling of Admiral Akainu’s devil fruit. Exhaustion burning away to ash as horror bled from your lungs.

Hot and cracked, uncompromisingly deadly around you. Fire pouring like thick liquid from the earth. Consuming everything in it’s path as it simply oozed forward. Belches of toxic gas as magma was ejected in thick clumps from broken rubble. Life smoldering in it’s presence before being smothered under it’s weight. Move or be moved. It smells like death and cinders as burning ash coats your lungs and skin.

You reflexively tried to curl your hand into a fist and your muscles spasmed, nerves screaming at the abuse so soon after your shoulder had been set.

Panicked, you looked at Ace, aware that your new ability would be useless if you couldn’t even hold it for a second. He would have to get close to deal damage and in that timeframe, he’d be close enough for Admiral Akainu to kill him with ease. But Ace didn’t seem to know that, his lips twisted into a snarl as he locked eyes with Admiral Akainu. Fire sparking in his hands as he clenched his fists, scorching the earth around his feet in a burst of heat.

He screamed, damn near feral as he charged forward with his arm reared back.

Ace’s fist was stopped by Admiral Akainu’s hand, a blast of heat ringing out like a shockwave. Admiral barely let his raised hand drip with magma before Ace shot back with a startled hiss, eyes wide in shock.

“Your devil fruit is beneath mine in power level, Fire Fist. And that’s before my partner got involved.” Admiral Akainu declared with a slight, smug grin.

But Ace wasn’t about to back down. Spinning on his heel as he launched a fireball at Admiral Akainu. Aside from turning to shield you from the direct path, it flew harmlessly past him.

Attack after attack was simply batted away or ignored completely. Like the Admiral was taunting Ace.

Playing with his food until he got bored.

A flicker of blue and gold in the sky drew your attention and Admiral Akainu’s.

You nearly sighed in relief at the magnificent sight of Marco preparing to dive.

Good!

T-This was good!

He could take Ace and get out of here!

Admiral Akainu threw back his fist and hurled a mass of molten lava into the sky, nearly clipping Marco. The pirate instantly scrambling to gain altitude to protect against another attack.

While you wholeheartedly believed that Marco could face Admiral Akainu, it would be a massive risk with Ace and yourself so close to the crossfire. And Ace would never leave him behind. And if you overtly tried to assist, there was every chance the marine would simply break your neck for being a traitor.

Maybe with luck, you could have ‘dialed down’ Admiral Akainu’s devil fruit to allow Marco and Ace to flee—assuming Ace even let it happen to begin with. But your damaged hands couldn’t handle the tensed position right now without flinching and breaking the bloody scabs. You weren’t sure you could repeat the feat for an appreciable amount of time either. They’d need more than a second to get the hell out, after all.

You had no doubt Akainu would explode if he realized you were helping your friends escape.

Your thoughts screeched to a halt.

Explode.

You looked around you at the devastation. Every jeer and blow Akainu delt shook the ground and brought hot magma to the surface as he wound himself up. Losing his shit as Ace refused to falter and Marco kept trying to rescue him without getting hit—he’d heal from that, right? Could he? You weren’t sure and the thought that Marco could actually get hurt scared you—

You squeezed your eyes tight. Let the world fall away as you imagined that dial again. The dizzying heat around you fading to a buzzing pressure.

The needle bouncing in and out of the red with every attack.

If you could turn it to zero, totally cutting off the power of his devil fruit, then what would happen if you pushed it the other way?

The image of a volcano came to mind. Violently exploding as plumes of gas and smoke ejected into the atmosphere.

Akainu was already capable of such things.

Just like that magician could already create bushes from a single flower.

Ace needed to get distance. Marco needed a distraction. It wasn’t going to be fun. It certainly wasn’t going to be very safe. But it would double perfectly as both an escape for your friends and an alibi for assisting them.

A sudden, explosive volcanic eruption seemed like exactly what you needed.

You wrapped your less injured arm around Akainu, placing your bloody hand on his back as he made a soft noise of surprise. You looked up at Marco, your eyes connecting as he seemed to suddenly start to dive down instinctively.

You mouthed one word.

Run.

“Dial up: Overclock!” You pushed against the connection between your fruits, the air sucked out from your lungs.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Akainu was frozen, staring down at you with an expression bordering on awe. Heat rising between you as suddenly, the ground buckled.

Falling and then heaving up.

Ace screamed your name in horror.

Marco crying out with a sound more avian than man.

You didn’t realize the volcano would be underneath you.

Magma rushed up like a geyser, slamming Akainu and yourself into the air as though Whitebeard himself punched up beneath your feet. It happened so fast you don’t even recall the moment after.

Just thick, black smoke rushing around you until you cleared the top of the billowing cloud, almost floating for a moment. Skin scalded and cracked, bleeding from any number of burns you didn’t even have time to feel.

Akainu no longer in sight.

Then the ground rushed towards you, yanking your innards first as you screamed. Barely having time to hope you didn’t hit land before you realized you’d been ejected at an angle, skin seared and the air cutting past you as the sea rose to meet you instead.

The you hit the water as though it was made of bricks, knocking out the air from your entire body as you gasped, sinking beneath the waves motionlessly. Salt burned your wounds and eyes and lungs. Limbs frozen for any number of reasons—take your pick really—as you sank beneath the waves.

With no idea if your plan worked, you could only watch as darkness consumed you. Your heart burning as you choked on seawater.

This wasn’t how you wanted to be free.

#one piece yandere #yandere whitebeard crew #yandere akainu #yandere ace #yandere marco #oh sweet child of mine #reader insert #is it me?#Am I the drama?#reader experiences the power of friendship #but was it enough?#welp!#See ya'll tomorrow for at least the first part of the epilogue!

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moonsun2010 · 2 years

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It's finally over.

Other portraits:

#my art #dracula #dracula daily #cw violence #cw death #cw gore #in a way? im not sure what a knife to the throat and chest are #but WOO BOY ITS ENDED. DRACULAS FINALLY BEEN VANQUISHED #almost anticlimatic how fast the final fight went down but jon has insane strength to just haul the box like that #i can imagine the scene just full of action amd flashing knives all fighting for their lives and others lives #draculas growing smile as the sun goes down and theway mina says she though she saw him smile at his death ;;-;; 10/10 good job stoker #so many feelings but dont go yet! theres still tomorrows epilogue

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levwrites · 9 months

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Deadly Haven (part 4)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

An injured, hunted hero hides in his former lover's safehouse to catch a breath. Unfortunately, his presence is soon noticed by said ex-lover.

"What are you doing?" A quiet question, helpless.

Hero shouldn't show vulnerability, he knows. But he needs Villain to get to the torture. He can't take much more of this.

Instead, Villain just keeps caressing him. "Give it a few days, and the world will stop looking for you," they say instead of answering properly. "I'll make sure they'll think you dead."

"But I won't be." A tense statement. Not a question. A few days is nothing. He's seen Villain torture people for months.

No longer than that. They always break.

Another gentle caress. "Of course not."

"Of course not." Hero echoes them, voice almost empty of feeling. The gentle caresses make everything taste bitter, hit harder. Now he understands. Villain truly is an artist.

Villain smiles, satisfied. "You've run away from me for long enough. You were good, I couldn't find you anywhere no matter how hard I looked."

Hero smiles, a faint little thing. Just the shadow of the smiles Villain must remember. "It's not the first time I've done something like this." Been a spy. Betrayed people. Had to run.

"You managed to escape me." Villain sounds... almost proud. "That's a first." They have always loved a good hunt, after all. "But eventually, you came to me." A smile. Hero has missed that smile so much.

He sighs, bone-tired. "I had nowhere else to go." Echoing words he's said to them before.

And we've come full circle. Bitterly amused.

Villain seems to echo his thoughts. "You've come to me once before." He cups Hero's cheek. "Said those exact words."

"The situation was different." Hero's jaw clenches. He's not going to lean into the touch. He is not.

"Do you even remember it? You were almost delirious when I found you."

"I remember enough." The touch, he remembers that. He won't ever forget it.

"Good. Then you know." Their thumb moves across Hero's cheekbone, just below his eye. It doesn't press down, doesn't try to scratch. For now, Villain seems satisfied with the caresses.

Hero's face softens slightly for a moment before going back to neutrality. Gentle touches are hard to resist. He hasn't felt them in so long. Was always awed that Villain of all people would gift them to him.

"Know what?" Careful, cautious.

"That you're mine."

"I wanted to live. Both times." Hero's lips twist. "My mistake." He should have read the situation better. Shouldn't have tried to convince himself of something that wasn't real.

And now he gets to live, alright.

Villain frowns at him. "I'm not going to kill you, Hero."

"I know." By now Hero's teeth almost bared in frustration, but there's nothing he can do. He's restrained, and still on Villain's lap.

And now there's a hint of frustration in Villain's eyes, too. "Why do you keep running?" they ask, a cold bite around the words. "Isn't it enough? Years. Aren't you tired of running from me?"

"Of course I am!" Hero clenches his teeth. "But I won't let you keep me. I refuse." Seething. Final.

Villain keeps talking like being tortured by him will bring him some great relief. Have they gone insane? Do they think love has made Hero insane?

"You refuse?"

Hero tenses slightly at the anger in their voice.

"You refuse, Hero?" Villain asks again, as if they cannot wrap their head around that. "You are mine."

He narrows his eyes at them. "You can't expect me to be happy about this." His voice is tight with anger and pain, but he cannot look away from their eyes. "Just accept what's to come."

Villain's beloved eyes narrow. "If you could, you would run again. No hesitation." It's not a question.

"I don't understand what you want from me!" The frustration finally explodes in Hero's voice, even as his eyes remain almost pleading. "Why are you angry of all things? What, am I not reacting the way you thought I would?" He shakes his head, forceful. "I gave you something that was not mine to give." A flicker of regret taints his words. "I was loyal to someone else. And so I had to betray you, in the end. I brought this on myself, I know."

By the end of it, he feels an eerie calm descend on his mind. "You have every right to seek your revenge," he murmurs, knowing he deserves it. That has never stopped him from running away from it. "But you can't expect me to just face it head-on."

He hesitates, biting his lip.

"I did love you." Soft. Pained. "I'm sorry I deceived you."

Epilogue

#lev writes #villain #hero #heroes and villains #hero x villain #my writing #writers on tumblr #story #betrayal #lovers to enemies #enemies to lovers #I meant to finish this with today's post #but it ran away from me #epilogue tomorrow #or later today if you want it

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wispscribbles · 8 months

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*whispers* hey gang. i finished writing ‘no rest for the wicked’. will post it one of the next days after reading it through <3

#i just know I’m gonna stress about posting it lol #but it’s fine it’s cute #chapter 12 + epilogue are 15k words #never again will i post a multichaptered fic before it is completely finished first #but nrftw rly means a lot to me #feel like I’ve improved my writing a bit while working on it #but I’m rambling and should sleep #tomorrow i Will READ and polish the mess I’ve written #and hopefully the ppl who’ve enjoyed this fic so far will find the ending satisfying #ok good night done rambling now

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optiwashere · 6 months

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OK so...

General thoughts on the epilogue on a kneejerk reaction: extremely good, satisfying fanservice. Basically everything I could have ever wanted. The game leaves obvious openings for all sorts of adventures, romances, and friendships, and that is one of the reasons I loved the game.

It's not exactly brimming with any subtext that I've found other than the things you can find in the dialogue.

Also! Fic ideas spawned from the epilogue:

I'm absolutely continuing Blades in the Night because of the "fending off Sharran assassins" line. Like, it's right there. They did it. Girlies fuckin' and fightin' was already real in my heart. Gotta get her to her happy ending away from all the pain.

Shadowheart/Asheera visiting all these people again to see what they're up to??? Hello? To Alfira/Lakrissa's house we go!

Since Minthara can exist in Asheera's playthrough now, I would have to rewrite It Is the Wound She Gave Me and Like I Am Safe Again to make it work. On one hand, I can see her forgiving Minthara in a vacuum of the playthrough but she would never, ever personally forgive Minthara for what she did to Shadowheart in that fic. MANY thoughts. It's complicated.

Absolutely need to write the "scatter copper coins on the bed and play make-believe" scene that Shadowheart teased about. Like, come on!!!

#bg3 epilogue spoilers #my fic #MANY IDEAS AND AN OVERACTIVE BRAIN #oh god I have things to do tomorrow don't I? EUGH

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eskawrites · 8 months

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oh hi, can i interest you in the penultimate chapter of you're not much, goodness knows

Robin wants to give her space. She wants to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness. She wants to wrap her arms around Nancy and tell her she’ll cradle all her sharp little pieces if she ever feels like shattering for a while. But she doesn’t know how to do that—any of it—so she sits beside Nancy, and she ignores when Steve or Dustin or Erica tell her she needs rest so her ribs can heal, and she watches the side of Nancy’s face instead of looking at Karen lying in her bed. And she pretends like she’s strong enough to hold on, for just a little while longer.

#karen gets vecna'd au #ronance fic #ronance #stranger things fic #penultimate chapter!#the last full chapter tbh #there's a lil epilogue and that'll be up tomorrow probably #you know the drill: bad day at work = posting fic to make myself feel better lmao

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artiststarme · 1 year

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What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 19

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Well guys, this is the last story part! Just the epilogue left now and I have ideas lol. I plan on posting it sometime tomorrow if my shift gets slow. Thank you to everyone that has stuck around for all of these parts. Let me know what you guys think in the comments!

Part 20

~*~*~*~

The Party was having a great time regaling each other with their own stories. Steve spoke of Chicago and serving the caffeine-addled fiends of the coffee shop. Eddie captivated their attention with tales of concerts of up-and-coming metal bands and towering buildings. Meanwhile, the kids entertained the older boys with stories of pool outings and ideas for DnD. Nancy and Johnathan were in their own world, chatting about college or whatever they talked about. Through it all, Hopper and Joyce watched all of the kids talking and having fun with each other.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and even though they were having a fabulous time at the impromptu gathering at the Byers’, the older teens had to get back to the trailer to go to bed. They had to hit the road back to Chicago early the next morning. Steve had already taken a couple of days off from work and he was expected to be back at the coffee shop for a midday shift the next day.

Steve made a move to stand and awkwardly clapped his hands together. “Hey everyone, we have to head out. We have to be on the road early tomorrow.”

The joyful expressions on everyone’s faces vanished in an instant. They had just gotten Steve back, they didn’t want to lose him again. Their own self-pity and morose feelings were ignored however in the face of making Steve feel happy and secure in his decision to move. Every member of the Party stamped a mournful smile on their face and reminded themselves that this was the best option for Steve as they said their goodbyes.

Hopper started off the first of their farewells with a warm hug and a threat, “if you don’t call me as soon as you get back to Chicago, I will personally hunt you down and kick your ass, kid. Don’t go AWOL again.”

He turned to Eddie and glared as harshly as he could, “if I hear about you hurting Steve even a little bit, I’ll finish what the Upside Down started. Do not test me, Munson. I have nothing to lose.”

Eddie paled slightly and his mouth dropped open. He was both impressed at the Chief’s threat and also offended at the notion that there could be some world in which he’d hurt Steve. “Um, excuse you…”

“Hey, let the boys be happy!” Joyce defended him and slugged Hopper in the arm. She enveloped both Eddie and Steve in a hug and whispered into their ears, “Ignore him. You’re both always welcome here. You boys better stay in touch, you hear me?”

They both nodded at her and returned her hug, Steve pressing a small kiss to the top of the short woman’s head. She was a better mother to him in the past three years than his own mother had been his entire life and he would miss being able to see her at the drop of a hat. Next, the kids enveloped him and Eddie in a suffocating group hug, all muttering over one another about how they’d miss them and would be visiting them soon in the city, how if they didn’t stay in touch they’d hunt them down and make them regret it.

Dustin, in particular, was upset at their move to Chicago. He held onto them the longest and they could feel tears soaking into their shirts. Steve hugged him especially close and said softly, “Hey man, we’re not going far. We gave you our number and you can call whenever you want. And if you ever need us, we’re just a couple hours drive away.”

“What if you guys forget about me?” Dustin whispered brokenly.

Eddie grasped the back of his neck and looked him directly in the eye, “Henderson, you’re our little brother. We’re never going to forget you or any of the other kids. We went through something… um, really fucking traumatic together so you’re stuck with us for life.”

Dustin nodded and with another hug to him and Steve and a brief fist-bump to Robin, Dustin joined the other kids back at the table. He still had tears dripping down his face and a permanent pout to boot but he knew there was nothing else he could do to keep them here. He was losing his older friends in the same way that lost his dad but hopefully they would keep their promise to call. He just had to trust them when they said that he was the little brother they would never forget.

~*~*~*~

When they arrived back at the trailer, Robin claimed the couch for the night while Wayne was on his night shift at the plant. Steve and Eddie tiredly made their way to Eddie’s bedroom for some much needed sleep. They hardly had the energy to undress before they both crawled underneath the covers.

“Big day tomorrow, Stevie,” Eddie muttered, yawning between his words. “You excited?”

Steve thought for a moment. He was finally doing something with his life and he was doing it for himself. Him, his boyfriend that he loved, and his best friend were moving to the city together and were moving on with their lives in a way he never thought he would. And he was putting himself first for once and was making a move that would make him happy, even while the kids might not feel the same.

“Yeah Eds, I’m really excited. I can’t wait to go around and show Robin the city. We can take her to the Lincoln Park Zoo and take her to that bookstore that has the gay books! Do you think she’ll like it?” He asked Eddie excitedly.

“I think she’ll love it, babe,” Eddie yawned again and pecked him softly on the lips. “Goodnight Stevie, I love you.”

“Love you too, babe. Goodnight,” Steve told him. Then, they both fell asleep, eager for the next day to arrive.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Steve, Eddie, and Robin rushed around the trailer at the asscrack of dawn flinging random objects into their bags and getting ready for the day. Steve took a shower with Eddie ‘to save water’ while Robin got dressed in Eddie’s room and Wayne made them a small breakfast with coffee.

Saying goodbye to Uncle Wayne was obviously the hardest part of leaving for Eddie. The man had taken him in when he needed him without so much as a blink of hesitation. But he knew after so long of a time taking care of Eddie and relinquishing space in his own home for him, Wayne would be pleased to have his peace back. Eddie gave him a long hug and almost came to tears when Wayne gruffly mentioned visiting him in Chicago and always wanting to see Wrigley field for himself. But, he managed to choke back the tears and vowed to have him to their new apartment as soon as he could.

After a small squabble of who got to ride with Steve and who had to drive the van (it was a short argument since Robin was still a new driver and was anxious when it came to driving on the freeway), the trio said their last goodbyes and made their way to the Beemer and Eddie’s van. Then, they were off.

When Steve drove past the Leaving Hawkins sign months ago, he thought no one would care enough to notice his absence. But now, as he passed the sign with Robin in the passenger seat and Eddie tailgating him in his van, he could feel how loved he truly was. They were starting a new chapter, away from the other members of their family, but they were moving on together. And that’s all Steve had ever truly wanted. They may come back to visit their family here but their home has changed. It wasn’t the town of Hawkins with its bad memories and even worse people. Their home was with each other, wherever they ended up.

Updated Taglist: @nickavalens @conversesweetheart @themostunoriginalpersonever @swimmingbirdrunningrock @eddiethegreatteddybear @harrumphingtons @call-me-big-eyes @moonshadows-13 @glittergluekintsugi @cpidcupk @doubleb11 @mentalcyborg @amoris-no-smut-allowed @purple-lemonade @labels-are-for-the-weak @thebrazilianatheist @rajumat @livelaughlexa @5ammi90 @colorful565 @marvelousforlife @chaoticcoffeequeen @gregre369 @suddenlyinlove @thegreatmistake @stillfullofshit @nburkhardt @batxsignalsx @newunknowns @thosemessyvibes @tailsfromthecrypt @luciana-rowan @bird-with-pencils @adaed5 @lolawon @flustratedcas @iwillfindmyneverland @messrs-weasley @skoomy-doompy

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#Joyce tells hopper off later for threatening Steve and Eddie #his heart is in a good place #Steve actually forgets to call him when he gets back to Chicago so Eddie has to #Hopper is unimpressed and grumbles at him until Steve comes to the phone #the epilogue is out tomorrow sometime hopefully #thanks for reading my first fic! I hope you guys liked it #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #steddie #fanfic #mike wheeler #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #stanger things #chief jim hopper #joyce byers

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