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five-and-dimes · 4 months

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Mountain Sound

Hob and Dream are a rare werewolf/vampire couple. Some people take offense to that. Luckily, some people are idiots.

AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hob would be more embarrassed by his capture if he wasn’t so used to his own clumsiness.

There’s also the worry-induced rage taking up most of his emotional space, so there’s not a lot of room for embarrassment.

“If you let me go, I might consider showing some mercy,” he growled lowly.

What had started as a peaceful evening with his husband had turned into a coordinated attack against the both of them. Dream had been relaxed for once in his life, his pale, bony body draped over Hob’s lap, one hand idly playing with the thick hair on Hob’s arms, occasionally reaching up to the bit of hair peeking over the neckline of Hob’s shirt. In return Hob rubbed one of his thumbs in soothing circles against the sharp jut of Dream’s hip, smiling when Dream lovingly pressed his own fingers against Hob’s softer, more abundant body.

They had been so blissfully content that neither of them were prepared when the door to their small home had been shattered. They lived deep, deep in the forest, occasionally traveling to the closest town, which was close enough for a vampire and werewolf to get to comfortably, mostly for Hob to socialize and keep up with news of the surrounding kingdoms, but distant and inconvenient for any humans to get to them in return. As such, they had, apparently, made the mistake of letting their guard down.

Because as they both leapt up, what they were faced with was not human hunters, but rather a pack of werewolves. Using the element of surprise fully to their advantage, Hob barely had a chance to react before he was grabbed and dragged outside by three pairs of clawed, furry hands.

If that had been all, they probably would have been okay. But Hob and Dream were not exactly known for their good luck. Dream had immediately followed outside, snarling, and as soon as he was past the threshold of their home, the vampires had pounced.

It didn’t make sense, the two groups seemingly working together. Hob and Dream had been infamous for their coupling, whispers and rumors among humans and supernatural alike about the werewolf and the vampire who ran away together. It was why they kept to themselves, traveling far from their homelands and settling in this remote mountain forest.

Hob had opened his mouth to scream- in shock, in fear, in pure burning rage- but before he could make a sound, he was dragged in front of a young woman, a long trench coat and belt filled with an assortment of artifacts and supernatural protections. She crushed something in her hand, and suddenly Hob’s eyes grew heavy and his body slumped.

The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was Dream collapsing from a similar spell.

Which brought him to this moment. Standing in the center of a large cage in the middle of a vast cavern, surrounded by close to a dozen werewolves.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making threats,” the leader smirked. They are tall, imposing, standing with obvious authority. Short, curly blonde hair frames a sharp face that betrays nothing but absolute control. Hob would think nothing of them, assume they were just a random werewolf who saw a target and went for it, if it weren’t for their apparel. The leather outfit is dark and iridescent like an oil slick, and strapped across their back, dried and hardened and the same colors as their armor, was a single black wing. Even as isolated as they were, it was impossible not to hear the tales of the werewolf who ripped the very wings off a mighty dragon, turning one into their armor and the other into a shield, worn as a blatant symbol of power.

Everyone knew the tale of Lucifer.

“Those bars are pure silver,” they continued, “courtesy of our hired associate here,” They gestured to the woman who had knocked Hob out, who he now recognized as human.

Hob blinked at the words, glancing at the cage around him slowly.

(A little ways away, Johanna Constanine watches with equal curiosity.)

He kept his face carefully blank as he asked, “What do you want, Lucifer? You don’t seem the type to work with vampires.”

“I do find it distasteful,” they drawled, “but it is a necessary means if the end is to rid the world of something far more grotesque.”

“What are you talking about?” Hob furrowed his brow.

“They’re talking about you and that bloodsucker!” another woman snarled, stepping up from behind Lucifer.

Lucifer raised a hand. “Stand down, Mazikeen. Perhaps he can be reasoned with.”

(Johanna looks between the restless pack of werewolves and the man in the cage, frowning in confusion.)

The rage had taken a back seat to Hob’s pure confusion. “I repeat- what the Hell are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows about you and that corpse you keep in your bed,” Lucifer sneered. “How you abandoned your pack in order to lay with your natural enemy. Disgusting and unnatural,” They stepped forward, looking down their nose and circling Hob’s cage like the predator they are. “It is tempting to kill you just to rid the world of your deviancy. Even now you reek of vampire, your own scent just a whisper.” They curled their lips in blatant disgust. “But,” they smoothed their expression deliberately, “I’ve decided to give you the chance to see the error of your ways.”

Hob followed them with his gaze, lips pursed together when they stopped in front of him.

“Join us,” they declared. “Be part of a pack once more, run beneath the moon with your true family.”

Lucifer is clearly trying to look welcoming and generous. But there is no hiding the hunger in their eyes, the way their claws extend as they spread their arms in invitation, snow white fur growing on their hands and the sides of their face.

Hob stays silent, clenching his jaw.

At his silence, Lucifer’s face drops into a scowl. “Your so-called lover is being offered a similar deal,” they spit out. “Do you truly believe he will not betray you? Sell you out like the soulless husk he is? How often does he drain you in the night?” They screech, stepping closer in their rage and disgust. “He is an abomination. An empty shell that should have been sent to Hell ages ago. You are a fool, a disgrace to all werewolves for letting him taint you!”

By the end they are yelling, snarling, their face sharpening and limbs lengthening as their rage and revulsion pulsed through them.

There is a beat of silence. And then, Hob simply can’t keep his jaw clenched any longer.

And he bursts out laughing.

~~~~

Meanwhile….

~~~~

Dream awoke in a dark, frigid room. Deep gray stones surrounded him, a few wall torches flickering throughout the room. There is one large window behind him, covered by a thick black sheet, preventing even the slightest outside light from entering. Despite its barrenness, Dream knows this is not just any room. He is clearly in a castle dungeon.

His suspicion is confirmed when he looks up and sees the group of vampires surrounding him. Most are in dark, flowing robes, but there is a man in the back, striking for his pure white suit amongst the shadows, arms crossed and leaning against the wall looking amused, but not trying to call attention to himself. The vampire in front, however, is clearly trying to make an impression. He is dressed in his finest, tailored suit, ruffled silk shirt, and a red velvet single-shoulder cape to ensure that no one mistakes him for anything other than the leader. He grips an ornate cane in his hand, and he looks down at Dream with contempt.

It’s the cane that lets him know he has been taken by Roderick Burgess and his coven.

“I see the spell has worn off,” he drawls. “So good to finally meet you.”

Dream goes to stand but stops suddenly when he realizes he is naked. He crouches, and his head whips up to glare at the head vampire.

“Ah, yes,” he waves a hand dismissively, “afraid we had to burn your clothing. They reeked of that monstrosity.” He sneers. “I can still smell it on you now. To lay with a dog so long it buries your own scent.” He shook his head as his lips curled. “Disgusting.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dream’s muscles coiled as he prepared to leap, but he freezes when Burgess laughs coldly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He flicks his cane to gesture to the circle around Dream. He sees he is in the center of a ring of flowers, long green stems with orbs of tiny lavender-colored flowers at the end, a few roots and bulbs ripped up among them. Beyond the first circle is a mote dug into the floor, the water flowing sluggishly and unnaturally.

Dream tilted his head in confusion.

“Garlic flowers,” Burgess grins maliciously, “and a moat of holy water. My familiar isn’t completely useless,” he mutters, glancing at a figure behind him, his hood down so he can’t hide the way he ducks his head in shame. The man in white snorted with cruel laughter.

Everyone knew of Roderick’s youngest son, whom he refused to turn into a vampire until he could “prove himself”.

Not many people pitied vampires. Most people pitied Alex Burgess.

Dream is not most people.

“You’re not going anywhere unless we allow it,” Burgess continues.

In front of him, Dream remains silent, crouched and waiting with a blank face.

“What’s the matter? Wolf got your tongue?” Burgess sneers. “To lay with a beast, a mere animal. I should turn you to dust just to teach everyone else a lesson,” he hisses.

He steps forward. “But I know you could be great. There is power in you, I can feel it! You belong with your own kind, to be a part of a coven as is intended. No vampire should sink as low as you have,” he looks down his nose, pure judgment in his eyes, “but perhaps you can be saved. By us.” He spreads his arms out wide as he grinned maliciously. “Here, in the darkness.”

Dream is silent still, and it does not take long to break Roderick’s patience.

He lowered his arms, scowling. “You have nothing to say? No gratitude for my offer?” He stalked forward, getting as close to the circle as he dared and slamming his cane against the ground, “Speak to me!”

The man in white steps forward lazily, eyes roaming over Dream, “Maybe he can’t. Maybe all he can do is howl now,” he taunted.

“You are a disgrace! A waste of our gift of life after death!” Burgess ignored the other vampire, raging at the silent figure. “Do you think he will do the same for you? Do you think that stupid animal won’t betray you for his own kind? Just to roll in the dirt with the other dogs? You are a fool, and I should leave you here with the window open so you burn with the sunrise!”

His words echo in the chamber, his face twisted in righteous fury, panting and with hands shaking so hard at his side that his cane rattles against the stone floor.

And then Dream smiles.

~~~~

Lucifer looks torn between confusion and indignity as Hob laughs himself hoarse in front of them. Hob wipes nonexistent tears from his face, mostly doing the motion to piss Lucifer off even more.

Johanna takes a step back.

“Oh, dear,” Hob says cheerfully, “I’ve heard this speech before, but never received it myself. How charming. To know that even the great Lucifer, morningstar, dragon slayer, is prone to the dangers of gossip.”

He steps forward casually, closer to the walls of the cage.

And then Hob wraps both hands around the silver bars, and nothing happens.

~~~~

Still smiling, still looking straight into Burgess’ eyes, Dream reaches out and takes a flower into the palm of his hand.

~~~

Johanna bolts out the door as the cave suddenly fills with terrified and confused growls, the pack behind Lucifer retreating as far as they can away from Hob. Even Mazikeen takes a step back. Lucifer is not so much still as they are frozen in place by shock.

“You see, the thing about rumors is…” Hob leans forward, pressing his face against the bars as if sharing a secret. And when a smile stretches across his face, Lucifer sees his teeth lengthen.

Not all his teeth, though.

Just two.

“…sometimes the details get mixed up.”

~~~~

The cloaked vampires gasp in shock, and the man in white looks far less cocky as Dream crushed the flower in his hand.

His clawed hand.

Burgess stares in wide eyed horror as Dream stands slowly, pitch black fur sprouts along his spine, his forearms, his legs. His face turns sharp and angular, bones cracking and reshaping even as he steps forward to walk through the moat.

~~~~

Before any of the pack could break through their shock, Hob pulled at the bars in his hands, easily ripping them off and tossing them to the side as he stepped through the gap.

Then he lunges.

~~~~

Dream steps out of the more in his full werewolf form. Long and still bony, his muscles strong but slim and compact, his messy fur the deepest black. He is not a wolf of brute strength, as they are known for. Dream is made for speed.

So Burgess doesn’t have time to react before Dream is sinking his teeth in his neck.

~~~~

Hob has never understood why no one else, vampire or werewolf, seems to see the poetry in their being able to hurt one another. Humans need tricks and magic to do anything to them, but vampires and werewolves only need their own teeth.

Dream has never hurt Hob, and Hob has never hurt Dream. It’s trust, and respect, and love.

They’ve both been far more hurt by their own kind.

~~~~

It is no trouble for Dream to bite through the bone of Burgess’ neck. It only takes one more bite to have his head rolling on the floor.

Dream kicks it into the mote of holy water, and it sizzles behind him as he turns his attention to the rest of the coven.

~~~~

It is only Mazikeen’s devotion that saves Lucifer.

She tackles Hob mid-lunge, throwing him off course but not knocking him down. They both scramble, Mazikeen half transformed and Hob holding her at arms length to keep her gnashing teeth away. He cannot get his own teeth into her without risking her getting a hold on him as well, and the rest of the pack won’t be just standing in shock for long.

It is a quick maneuver to get behind her, one hand twisting her arm behind her back while the other clutches a fistful of the fur at the back of her neck. Then he shoved her forward to press her face against the bars of the silver cage they had made for him.

Mazikeen does not howl, she screams as Hob holds her against the silver, one side of her face burning and smoking.

Hob hears movement behind him and releases Mazikeen as he leaps out of the way, narrowly avoiding an attack from Lucifer. The rest of the coven seems hesitant to join the fray so close to the mass of silver.

Lucifer is strong- they earned their titles fairly, and Hob thinks on a different day the outcome may not have been so favorable. But the fact is, all these werewolves came here prepared to kill another werewolf. They are not prepared for a vampire. And them being caught off guard gives Hob the same upper hand it gave them earlier.

When Hob pins Lucifer to the floor by their neck, face inches away from the floor of the silver cage, Hob snarls. Whatever amusement he may have had at the beginning has been lost to the rage of an old wound reopened.

“You’re all the same,” he hissed, letting venom drip down his fangs to drip threateningly onto Lucifer’s armor. “You’re all the same, and you don’t even realize it. Always spewing the same prejudice and hatred based on absolutely nothing. Your pack is exactly the same as my old coven.”

Here he leans down, tightening his grip as he lowers his voice. “I want you to remember that. Remember that you acted just like a vampire. Remember that no matter how highly you think of yourself, you are just like them.”

He stands then, rising smoothly to his feet as Lucifer coughs to get their breath back. Turning, he moves to leave. He has no interest in a slaughter right now. He just wants to find Dream.

The rest of the pack give him space, staring in awe and horror, too taken aback to do anything more than watch him walk away.

“One day…”

Lucifer’s voice makes him pause. He looks over his shoulder to see they have moved Mazikeen to lay her head in their lap, hand carefully cupping the unburned side of her face.

“One day,” they promise coldly, “we will destroy you.”

Hob just smirked and nodded.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.”

And with that, he disappeared from the cave, sprinting through the forest to find his lover.

~~~~

The coven panics at the sight of their dead leader, the one who turned them. And now they find themselves locked in a room with a werewolf, with weapons nearby that will hurt them but not Dream.

The man in white curses, but pulls himself together to sprint for the window. He tears the sheet down, revealing a still dark night sky, and then punches through the glass.

Dream is right behind him, faster than most werewolves but still slower than a vampire, but catching up as the glass is broken. The man in white sneers, frustrated, and immediately bursts into a swarm of bats.

Most werewolves fear a vampire’s swarm. Too many teeth to keep track of.

But Dream is not most werewolves, and as the swarm begins to pour out of the window, he leaps into the mass of screeching wings and brings his jaws down around whatever he can reach.

There are only two bats in his mouth, but all of them are screaming, pain making the swarm clumsier as they fly out into the night, uncoordinated and staggering.

(When the vampire known only as The Corinthian reforms himself later, it will be without his eyes. He will cry tears of blood and the closest town will wake to the sounds of him screaming in the dead of a night he can no longer see.)

The rest of the coven, when Dream comes for them, follow their comrade’s lead and scatter into bats, keeping high and flying desperately through the open window. Dream snarls, whipping his head around to the only figure remaining.

“P-please,” Alex Burgess stutters, “I didn’t want to help him. I would have let you out if I could!”

Dream stalked forward. “Coward,” he backed Alex into a corner, “What would you have done to me, if you were promised the power your father held?”

“I-… you don’t understand,” he swallowed.

“Perhaps,” Dream rumbled, “but if I cannot understand why you would do the things you have. I will take comfort in it. I will take comfort in not being like you.”

He turned to leave, and Alex crumpled to the ground, knowing intrinsically that he had not been worth the trouble of being turned by his father and now he wasn’t worth being turned by this werewolf. He wasn’t even worth the trouble to kill.

Alex will have nightmares of this night for the rest of his life. Dream doesn’t care.

He gallops through the forest to find Hob.

~~~~

Hob and Dream were both already alone when they met.

When Hob let himself be turned, all he thought about was Eleanor. Of being able to live forever by her side, the mark of her teeth forever on his neck because she chose him, fell in love with him as much as he with her, enough to give him immortality.

He didn’t consider her family- her coven- and their disapproval.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they had disapproved of his relationship with Eleanor, if it had been born of protectiveness of some kind. But no. They just didn’t like Hob.

Didn’t like his thick, hair covered body that did not fit in their antique porcelain aesthetic. Didn’t like how easily he laughed, how casually he dressed, how much he enjoyed his undead life, how his only complaint was missing the sunshine.

To be fair, Hob didn’t like them much either. He hated their dank, cold castle and their insistence on constant formality. He dreamed of building a cabin near a lake, where he and Eleanor could be free to live as they wanted, without constantly having to keep their posture perfect.

Then Eleanor died, killed by hunters on one of her nightly trips into the town to search for orphans.

(“I wouldn’t turn them until they were an adult,” she promised Hob, her eyes wide and pleading for him to understand, “I won’t turn them at all if they don’t want to be! But… but a child of our own, to raise…” She took Hob’s hand and leaned her forehead against his, her words infinitely quiet with no chance of being overheard, “Not a coven. A family.”)

Without her, there was no reason for him to stay.

Hob learned very quickly that Eleanor’s family was not unique in their views. Every vampire he came across curled their lips at his rugged appearance, his extroverted nature, everything about his personality and looks seemed to offend them personally.

“Whoever turned you was cruel to do so while you look like this,” one vampire had told him, oblivious to their own cruelty. “You could shave the hair at least. It won’t grow back.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hob had excused himself quickly from the interaction. They were just strangers who met on the road, he had no obligation to stay and be talked down to and insulted like that.

Eleanor had liked the way he looked.

Hob liked the way he looked.

(In the privacy of his own mind, he was grateful for his lack of reflection.)

Then he ran into Dream. Literally.

Neither were paying attention, just sprinting through the woods trying to outrun their own demons, they didn't notice each other’s presence until they were crashing together, tumbling across the forest floor and felling several trees in the process.

When they untangled and got their bearings, they both spent a long moment simply staring.

Hob thought he’d run into another vampire at first, because the stranger looked like every vampire’s ideal he’d had pressed on him for centuries now. Slim and as pale as snow, pitch black hair artfully wild, wearing black head to toe, including a long black coat that he held wrapped around himself. His clothes were a little beat up and worn, but it didn’t make him look any less poised and elegant, and his eyes were a stunning icy blue as they stared back at Hob. He was gorgeous, and if this was what a vampire was supposed to look like, Hob understood he had no hope of ever measuring up.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a vampire.

Dream had been wandering for a long time before he met Hob. He’d been alone even longer.

Even coming from a large, familial pack, Dream had always been isolated. He was the runt and they all knew it. Even his youngest sister, still a pup, was growing stronger than Dream ever had. Not brawny and strong like a werewolf was supposed to be, he was skinny, frail, weak, as much of his family liked to remind him. He wasn’t loud or rowdy, had no desire to wrestle and play fight with his siblings. He preferred to extend his claws and carve pictures and stories into the dirt of stones. Sometimes his older sister would indulge him and sit while he told her elaborate tales to go with his engravings. But inevitably she would be pulled away.

It was one night, when the pack was cuddled together in their den and Desire kicked him out of the pile again (literally, kicking at his ribs and back until he retreated from his family’s warmth) claiming as always that Dream was too bony and cold to sleep beside, that he decided to leave.

He spent much of the night just watching them. He curled up against the wall and took in the sight of his pack piled together, safe and warm and not missing him at all. It did not matter that Dream was cold. It did not matter that he was lonely, and hurt, and unloved. None of it mattered.

So it certainly wouldn’t matter if he left.

He ran as far and as fast and as long as he could. From night, through the morning and the high peak of the sun, only collapsing in a heap of sweat soaked fur once the sun had fallen once more.

At first, he traveled often in his full werewolf form, both for speed and as a precaution as he moved along the edges of the territories of different packs. Each time, a wolf would come to meet him, to ensure he was just passing by, and each time he was met with disdain.

“Are you sure you’re not a wererat?” a bulking werewolf had laughed at him, “You look like you belong down in the sewers.”

Dream began taking longer paths to avoid other werewolves. He began to only shift at night, and then only when he was forced to on the full moon. It did not matter that it slowed his travel. It did not matter that he felt vulnerable, and exposed, and that some nights his heart ached to curl up as a wolf and tuck his nose beneath his tail and pretend he was warm. It didn’t matter that he felt equally hideous in his human form.

None of it mattered.

So he was running on two legs when he collided with Hob.

They were staring at each other, and the man in front of him must have been the most gorgeous werewolf he’d ever seen. Even unshifted he was covered in a glorious pelt of body hair that Dream wanted desperately to run his fingers through. He was broad, heavyset, clearly strong but with a layer of padding that made him look soft and welcoming, especially coupled with wide brown eyes. He was everything a werewolf was supposed to be and everything that Dream would never, ever be.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a werewolf.

“Uh, hi,” Hob spoke first, his voice breathless with something like wonder. “Um, shit, sorry for bowling you over like that, here,” he scrambled to his feet and held a hand out, “I’m Hob.”

At first, all Dream could do was move his gaze from his hand to his face and back again. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and allowed the stranger to help him to his feet.

(Dream had always been shunned for the coldness of his body. But holding this undead hand now, there was none of the jarring heat, none of the pulling away and complaining about his temperature.)

(Hob did not mind, because Hob was cold too.)

(They both kept their hands together for a little longer than needed.)

“I. Am Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a moment when they finally dropped their hands that they each remembered that werewolves and vampires were meant to be enemies.

Both of them looked at each other, and quietly acknowledged to themselves that they had been hurt far worse by their own kind than the other’s.

They ended up talking through the night. Carefully casual at first, before slowly opening up their wounds to each other, to see the ways they matched. When sunrise approached and Hob needed to find shelter, Dream shyly invited him back to the cave he had been staying in.

“Where are you going?” Hob asked softly, facing Dream where they were laying next to each other on a pile of deer pelts.

“Away,” Dream whispered, on his back and staring at the ceiling with a painfully blank gaze. “Far away. Away from everyone and everything. Where no one will have to look at me again.”

Hob swallowed thickly. It’s been less than one day, and his heart shatters in fear of losing this man. The first person who understands him. Who sees him. Hob thinks he is seeing his reflection for the first time in centuries.

So he summoned his courage and placed his hand over Dream’s, “Maybe I’ll come with you.” Dream turned to look at him, wary and disbelieving, and Hob smiled. “I like looking at you.”

In the morning, they picked a direction and started running. And they did it again the next day, and the next. Dream was skittish, and Hob was loud. Dream narrowed his eyes in suspicion whenever Hob showed him an ounce of kindness, and Hob laughed and waved away any of Dream’s attempts to show him kindness in return. Neither of them knew what they were doing.

“Who would want an eternity of this?”

Dream said it softly, mostly to himself, but Hob couldn’t not hear it. Couldn’t not hear the weight of the exhaustion in his voice. They were sitting side by side in front of the fire Dream had built, the cave sheltering them from the worst of the heavy rainfall. The weather might have saved them, though. No matter how heated their individual run-ins with others of their kind might have been before, it was nothing compared to being seen together. Something about it seemed to make werewolves and vampires alike fly into some sort of confused, offended rage.

But they always got away, and today the cover of rain washed away their tracks and scents, and in the morning they would take the harder mountain trail to avoid any more incidents. They sat in front of the fire, and as they always did after a chase, Dream sat in silence, lost in his own head, while Hob desperately distracted himself by rambling stories from his life, before, during, and after Eleanor.

This was the first time Dream had ever interrupted him.

And Hob… didn’t have an answer. He supposed he could say ‘me’ but they both knew that wasn’t what Dream was looking for right now. It isn’t what Dream is looking for every day that he wakes up and starts running. Werewolves can live for close to a millennia, and Dream was barely older than Hob. He was so young. He has so much time.

They both do.

So Hob did the same thing he did on the day they met. He reached out, and he took Dream’s hand.

“You could find out?”

Dream turned to look at him, not with suspicion, or distrust, but a disbelief that came from awe. And Hob thought maybe this was enough. Even if they never stopped running, at least they’d run together.

The seasons passed. Once a month Dream disappeared in the night, as close to begging as he could get for Hob not to look for him, promising he’d be back in the morning. Hob hated it, hated thinking of him out there all alone, with a howl that sounded like crying. But when he came back, worn down and shaky, he allowed Hob to hold him. After some time, he allowed him to kiss him, too.

“I want to see,” Hob whispered against his mouth. They had found a place. A clearing at the base of a mountain, far from cities and towns, no known vampires or werewolf territories, and Hob and Dream have been chopping wood all day.

They are going to build a home together.

Everything they’ve shared, all the past wounds pulled apart for the other to see, but here Dream hesitated. “I do not… look like other werewolves,” he whispered.

“Neither of us look how we’re ‘supposed to’,” Hob reminded him, “And we don’t care, remember?”

But Dream shook his head, glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes that did nothing to conceal his fear. “I am ugly,” he admitted, ashamed.

Hob kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, pulling him into his arms, “I don’t care. It’s you, and I love you. I want to love all of you.”

They waited until the next sundown, leaving their shelter and standing before each other. Hob held Dream’s hands as long as he could, until Dream pulled away, taking a few steps back as he allowed himself to shift. Hob watched his lover transform under the night sky, limbs contorting and elongating, black fur covering him, long in some places and shorter in others, wild like a hyena, eyes with a white shine to them, clawed fingers digging into the ground as he crouched down onto all fours.

When Dream raised his head, he still looked scared, his tail curling under his legs as he braced himself for whatever Hob’s reaction could possibly be. So Hob approached slowly, and hoped his face shone with at least half the love he felt right now. Kneeling in front of him, Hob raised both hands carefully and cupped Dream’s muzzle in his palms, letting his fingers run through the soft fur at the sides of his face.

“My Dream,” he breathed out, leaning forward to kiss between his eyes, “You’re beautiful.”

Dream’s lips curled, not quite a snarl. A disagreement.

“You are,” Hob insisted, kissing all over his face now, reaching down to take those long claws into his hands and press kisses to the sharp, furred knuckles, “You’re stunning. You’re perfect,” Hob rested their foreheads together, “I love every part of you.”

He pushed Dream gently onto his back on the grass and his form shifted under Hob’s hands. His more human face showed blatant terror, disbelief, defiance, his form constantly shifting between different ratios of wolf and man, as though he would eventually find the form that Hob did not love. Hob kissed every shuddering stretch of skin, every cracking bone, pet over him steadily even when his skin went from smooth to furred and back again. He took Dream in hand and kissed his neck and rut against him desperately and finally, finally, Dream settled. A bit wolf, a bit human, but all Dream, and he reached for Hob just as desperately, both of them pressing together as though they could become one. They were both wanted, and loved, and it was more than enough.

And it is more than enough now, years and years later, when the rumors have spread and the home they built has been attacked, and Hob and Dream burst through the forest and crash into each other's arms with as much force as they day they met, rolling through the dirt and holding each other close as they tumble.

“Dream, Dream, are you alright, are you hurt?”

He is still in his full wolf form, so he shakes his head where it is pressed against Hob’s shoulder. He lifts his eyes just enough to send a look that Hob understands effortlessly, “I’m fine, I’m fine, Love,” he reassures, feeling himself melt into the ground in relief that they are both safe and together again.

Eventually, Hob stands, and he offers Dream a hand. Dream takes it, and rises unsteadily to his feet, leaning against Hob for balance. His voice is gravelly as he speaks without shifting, “No… clothes…”

Hob feels a flare of fury, but tucks it away for later. Instead, he shrugs out of his outer shirt, which is just long enough on Dream for him to feel at least a little less vulnerable. He feels even better when, as soon as he is in his human form, Hob sweeps him into a bridal carry, grinning and kissing him one last time before speeding back to their home, making it back just before sunrise. It is bittersweet to see the place they built with the door kicked down and the living room in disarray from the scuffle, but it’s still their home. At least for tonight.

“Perhaps it’s time we moved deeper into the mountains. Maybe settle at a higher elevation,” Hob suggests that night, when they are barricaded in their room, Dream wrapped in a robe and buried beneath their blankets as Hob holds him close.

Dream frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, “But you like being close to the town.”

Hob shrugged, winding his arms over Dream’s shoulders. “Maybe, but I like you much more,” he grinned when Dream blushed, “And it’s not like it’d be too much trouble for me to travel down every now and then. I’ll just take longer visits farther apart. I’ll go on days when you need some solitude.”

Dream blinked at him slowly, and Hob found it so sweet and so heartbreaking how, even after all these years, Dream still had to hold back tears when Hob was kind to him.

“You truly are perfect,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Hob’s, “and I love you so.”

“I think you’re the perfect one,” Hob smiled, “and I love you too.”

Tomorrow they will begin their move, and build a new home more prepared for the people who won’t accept them. And they’ll do it together.

And that’s more than enough.

#the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #werewolf/vampire au #planning on drawing some of these guys soon :3

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theaveragepsychoticbitch · 10 months

Note

Hey there!! Could I request some sfw + nsfw hcs of Poseidon , Buddha , and Nikola Tesla with a cat hybrid! Reader?💕

I've been wanting to do another hybrid readerrr😭thanks for the request <3 I'm not sure if I'm characterizing Mr Kola right, but there's a first for everything! I'll make the SFW and NSFW versions separate, so send another ask just to bookmark it would you?♡

Poseidon, Buddha, Tesla x Cat Hybrid!Reader || SFW || Headcanons || Warnings: Ur, none!

Poseidon♡

The king of the seas is ironically, a cat guy. When he sees you sleeping, tail tucked comfortably into your side with your ears twitching occasionally, a strange feeling comes over him.

You were definitely lesser, and he definitely despises you along with everyone else but... he supposes you may sleep in his private suite.

He somehow doesn't hear you when you point out that you didn't ask to sleep there in the first place.

Rubs your ears subconsciously. They're like a stress reliever for him, and dealing with other gods caused him great amounts of stress. He's embarrassed by it (though he'd die before admitting it) and so whenever he catches himself reaching for you, he has the audacity to get mad at you, and send you away.

Quickly calls for your return though. Which he also is embarrassed by.

Loves when you purr in your sleep. Late at night with nothing and no one to see how his face relaxes as the vibrations hit his chest. One large hand adoringly placed atop your head, he hasn't slept this well in eons.

Buddha ♥︎

His initial impression of you was unhinged; he'd caught you in some sort of... hiss-off with an actual cat. It was far too interesting a sight for him to simply ignore it. So he sat there, for ten good minutes, until you finally emerged victor! He jumped and cheered right along with you, scaring you shitless.

He once managed to spook you and watched as jumped far above his head, shredding the wall as you embedded your claws in it.

Your canines are a strange source of serotonin for him. Sharp as a lion's and strong as one too, you've bit the shit out of him a few times while he was admiring them- only a few weren't on purpose.

Once said "Why do they call them canines when you're a cat? Shouldnt they be felines?"

You bit him for that too.

Nikola Tesla ¤

He wants to figure out how you work. So, so bad.

He entered your life by grabbing you none to gently by the tail, hoping to gain insight from your reaction. While he did gain said insight, he also gained four new scratches on his face.

Pestered you for a long time with questions, none of which you answered. Eventually, advice from Buddha led him to setting up a nice dinner for the two of you- him, with a steak, and you, with a variety of fish and cat treats.

You appreciate the thought... you guess.

Always touching and poking you. He doesn't even realize how odly intimate he gets; holding your hand and playing with your fingers is just him studying how your claws extend. Trailing his fingers down your back is him trying trying to figure out if your tail connects to your spine or your ass. Massaging your ears? Ur, well... he hasn't come up with scientific reasoning for that yet, but he will!

(His excuse is that purring has been proved relaxing for humans, and wants to see if it still works with you. Doesn't know he could have asked Poseidon 🤦🏾‍♀️👀)

Adores when you loaf on him, or "bake bread". He finds the semi-human equivalent of these cat behaviors to be extraordinary, and asks you dozens of "why?" And "how?" questions. When he asks too many, you stop, and don't continue until he promises to be quiet.

--------

A/N: I'm literally a comedic genius guys. Not proofread!

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok x reader #poseidon snv #poseidon x reader #ror poseidon #buddha ror #buddha x reader #buddha snv #nikola tesla #nikola tesla x reader #Nikola tesla ror #nikola tesla snv

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fioreofthemarch · 10 months

Text

repast

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link/Zelda Words: 880 [✨read the oneshot's two companion pieces: yearnings and kin]

The first thing Link began to wonder about the Light Dragon – once his tears for her ran dry and his grief made room for a growing curiosity – was whether she ever got hungry.

In her previous life, she’d had a utilitarian relationship with food. Link had cooked all manner of dishes for her, and each one she would eat in a straight-forward, disciplined manner, dutifully setting about tidying up once she was done. If he asked what her favourite meal was, she’d say, ‘All of them!’

Now, it was possible that dragons didn’t need to eat. Immortality, its terribleness aside, probably had benefits like that. The question was, would they want to?

Link hadn’t paid the Light Dragon much mind during his travels. Dragons seemed to be ten a rupee these days, arising out of chasms, swimming over villages, winding through canyons and so on. Now that he had learned who the Light Dragon really was – telling himself he’d known for a long time to muffle the anguished guilt he felt at not having known right away – he had begun to track her movements. Occasionally, she would break her kingdom-spanning flight path to spend a few hours circling the skyward Temple of Time. It was there that he waited for her now.

“Zelda, I’ve come to make your favourite,” he called up to the Light Dragon from the roof of the temple, unsure if she’d heard. Undeterred, he set up a cookpot and began, sauteeing a dozen apples in a hefty amount of goat butter – this being the only meal Zelda had ever requested of him, maybe two winters ago on a freezing evening camped somewhere in Hebra. She’d said if she had one wish, it’d be a hot buttered apple, and with pride Link had made that wish come true.

At first, the Light Dragon didn’t seem to notice him. He considered hitting her with an apple-fused arrow to get her attention, but was worried he’d discover, in retaliation, that dragons had a taste for humans. Over the course of an hour however, she circled lower and lower towards the temple and the cookpot, until she gently touched down, her body wound around the outer perimeter of the roof. She rested her head by the cookpot, a huge bright eye fixed directly on Link. He froze, unsure if she was really in there, and also what the proper etiquette would be when dining with a dragon. As if in answer, she sniffed at the pot of apples. Taking one in hand, Link offered it slowly out to her; she sniffed it again and opened her mouth just enough for him to push the apple between her teeth. In astonishment Link watched as the otherworldly creature munched carefully on the apple and opened her toothy jaws for a second.

Half a dozen more he fed her this way and each one she ate faster, opening her mouth wider to demand more. By now the supply of savoury-sweet apples was running low. “I’ve only got a couple left, Zelda, but I can come back—”

Chomp! The Light Dragon snapped its jaws down around the cook pot, sending apples flying in all directions. Link reached up and grabbed the edge of the pot, trying to yank it free. “Stop! You can’t eat this! Let go!”

Then he was falling, relinquished from the Light Dragon’s teeth when she roared, and he landed on the gravel just before the cookpot landed on him. He cried out in pain, and in response the Light Dragon recoiled, drawing up into herself, the roof shingles crunching under her claws.

Dusting himself off, Link set about collecting the apples, finding them flung across the roof and soiled with gravel. With a sigh, he prepared to throw them into the cooking fire when, at his side, something soft nudged his arm. The Light Dragon, or Zelda, or whatever mix of the two she was, tapped him with the very tip of her snout, having crept back towards him. In Link’s hand was the final apple, mostly intact. The Light Dragon nudged him again, making a low rumbling noise, barely more than a whine.

“It’s okay, apology accepted,” Link said. “Glad you still like my cooking, old girl.”

Then, the idea coming upon him with a laugh, Link threw the apple as high as he could. There was a tornado of rushing air and dust as the Light Dragon soared upwards, unwrapping herself from temple and launching herself in pursuit of the apple, which she caught with a swift snap of her jaws. Her prize seized, she descended again to fly past Link, so fast he could barely touch her, before rising into the sky and out of reach. Her way of saying thank you, he supposed.

Later on, returning to the surface and Demon King-shaped task at hand, Link would horde apples by the dozen and spend even his last rupee on goat butter whenever he stopped by a town. From then, he knew that if his grief struck stronger than he could handle, he could return to the Temple of Time with as many apples as he could carry, and dine with Zelda again - just like they once had, in times gone by.

#zelink #totk #tears of the kingdom #link #zelda #light dragon #totk spoilers #this came to me basically in a dream and would not let go until I got it out of my system #my writing #i truly had no clue what to call this I dont do oneshots LOL #marble skies

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 1 month

Text

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun

Contento warning: violencia and blood and mild cannibalismo

Distant search horns shook Danny's ear fins, but he kept his eyes on the sun over the horizon, where mountain peeks emerged. He had to move quickly. Danny thrust forth with all his fins and gripped the still, small body in his arms. Stupid rich kids and their stupid ignorance about Amity Island. Danny cut through the water, and didn't bother to slow down upon reaching the shore. Crashing and tumbling through the sand, Danny recovered in seconds, and sat up in his arms. The kid's shirt gave way to Danny's claws, and he pressed his palms upon the kid's chest, and pumped like his life depended on it.

This innocent kid's life did.

He, Sam and Tucker had trained for hours on mannequins and real people out in the field, but who knows how long Damian had been underwater, how long he had been calling for help. Salty seawater gurgled out of the kid's mouth, but no more movement was to be found. Danny pressed his lips upon Damian's and exhaled. He pressed down on Damian's chest with just enough strength to avoid cracking every rib. Kiss of life. Press. Press. Kiss of life.

Most people would've been woken up by now. The crashing waves and wind over the lifeless body roared like a death toll. Six months as Phantom, dozens of attacks, and Danny was able to save everyone, everyone. He had to.

His arms, trained and honed from hundreds of hours in the water, burned as if stabbed by hot knives. His body was beginning to dry off, pearlescent white scales fading into pink skin. Glasslike flesh filling and hiding away internal organs and bones. Fins receding into bone. Tail snapping into and bones resetting. A human teenage boy kneeled over a child, tears rolling down his eyes. Why wasn't it working?

A rib cracked thunderous, and Danny hesitated for a brief second, but Damian stirred not. Danny continued. He could barely see his own arms, couldn't tell if the rhythm was even right. Despite arms growing wearier and wearier, strained and more strained. How could he ever look anyone in the face again, knowing Damian was right here, right now, and yet-

crack, another rib broke. He had to keep going. So many people were counting on him, even if they didn't know it. From Sam's parent's gossip, this kid apparently had a dozen and a half siblings, and a father who'd already lost his own parents.

Danny collapsed on the sand, naked and shivering. His fingertips felt numb. His toes felt numb. His body felt numb and his heart felt like it was harpooned and his brain was erratically screaming into the walls of his skull. There was no denying, no more.

Even if- Even if he could magically restart Damian's heart, and get his lungs pumping again, there was no human on earth who would not suffer irrevocable brain damage. The kid would be a vegetable for his entire life.

Not like it matters.

Danny wrenched a sob. He grabbed a handful of sand and throw it into the ocean. He slammed his fit into a rock and didn't even care when it came back bloody.

How could he return to Amity now? And tell Bruce Wayne to his face what he let happen.

Danny fell to the sand, numb again. It was his death, his drowning. He vowed it would be the last one, the last in Amity, and now...

And now...

Danny shot up. He leaned over Damian's corpse. Lightning fired off in his mind, and new anxiety gripped him, but above all, hope.

"I'm sorry." He said.

Danny dipped his hand into a tide pool, letting scales and webbing over take it. He opened his claws, and and sank them into damian's arm. Blood seeped out and coated the white scales. Twisting the claws he carved out a chunk of human flesh, and brought it to his mouth. Danny swallowed it in one gulp.

Next, he brought the claws to his own shoulders. In as swift a motion and much shriller a pained scream, strings of fresh siren meat were produced.

"Please forgive me." Danny prayed, to whatever unfeeling god was listening. He opened Damian's move, and shoved the bloody strips down the hatch.

The effect was instantaneous. Danny had to work quickly. Painful memories tied up in a cave resurface. The urge to push them down was ignored; now they had to be studied. He tore off the remainder of Damian's clothing, and carried him closer to the water line. Green scales emerged from Damian's belly like blades unearthed from a long-forgotten battle. Danny sank his claws into the gaps of Damian's ribs and tore long gashes in them. The scales climbed up Damian's chest. Danny rolled the child's body on its side as they swept over his back. Bones cracked and snapped and broke, as spikes pushed out from underneath his spinal column, slimy thin webbing already connecting them.

Beneath, Damian's toes elongated as if stretched by a black hole. Bones shattered into dust underneath, all to be more malleable for the final product. The skin wasn't much better off either. As it stretched to its paper-thin limits and tore, more and more scales came forth to cover the damage.

Danny felt green in the gills. He couldn't bear the strain of those memories, and erupted with bile, hunched over. He couldn't bare to spectate as Damian twisted and bended like putty anymore. He'd already failed and violated the kid enough.

Danny dived into the water. The least he could do was make sure he didn't wake up hungry.

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tainted-liquor · 8 months

Text

'Miss Me?⋆｡°✩

E42!Prowler Morales x ProwlerFan!BlackFem!Reader Ingredients: Sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of salt Tws: Cussing, brief abandonment, n thas it W/C: 2.4k A/N: GWENPOOL CODED READER RAAAAAAAAGHHHH

Something was wrong.

really wrong.

for the past 2 years, you’ve been following in the footsteps of New York's infamous “prowler”. He served as a symbol of fear and terror in the eyes of the public, murdering dozens and destroying whatever he could get his hands on. But to those who paid any actual attention, it was clear that there was a specific pattern to his actions that never really harmed the innocent. He took down massive corporations and spilled the blood of corrupt figures who profited off of New York's state of constant chaos and poverty. You loved to watch him run just above your reach, dodging and weaving between buildings as he chased after something like prey.

So what did you do? You decided to grow your own identity when you were 15, making your robotic pink and white suit within the cold walls of your school's long abandoned attic. You began imitating the Prowler, managing to make quite a bit of noise in terms of your presence as a ‘new villain’ within Brooklyn. Your ultimate goal was to make as much noise and garner as much attention as your beloved ‘hero’ to grab his attention. So when you were fighting off a group of businessmen in the back alley of a dark building, you stopped everything when you saw the familiar suit drop down from above and join your fight.

He said nothing, fighting in absolute silence as he helped you destabilize the last of the people you were currently combating. He gave them a rather lethal-sounding kick to the head, making sure they were all out before looking up at you and turning his head to the side. You struggled to keep your composure as the white slits on his mask narrowed and he walked closer to you, circling you slowly as he examined your shiny suit. “Oh my gosh-! Hi! This is crazy I literally love you!” You exclaimed, your voice sounding like a staticky and distorted radio. He finally looked back at your face after analyzing your suit.

“Are those my claws?” He asked, grabbing your wrist and examining the refined metal claws on your hands that were definitely inspired by him. “Yes! My gear is totally inspired by you!” You cheered, eagerly rocking your arms back and forth to refrain from trying to hug him. He hummed briefly before walking away to wherever it was he was going, disappearing without a trace. You didn’t wanna be annoying, so you waved bye watching as he seemingly jumped up a building and quickly disappeared into the shadows. You thought that would be the last interaction you’d have with him as you sped home with a smile on your face, praying to whatever god was listening that you’d be able to talk to him next time.

And DAMN, were them gods listening.

You began to see him pop up slightly more on your missions, watching as he silently helped you with your tasks, gave your suit a good look, and then left again. This became a routine for about 3 months, watching him come and go like a thief in the night. You always said your brief hello, hey, or hi to always get an upward nod or a small thumbs up. But that never stopped you from fangirling when you got home or complimenting his skills or suit. You were currently brutalizing and abusing some CEO of a big corp, kicking and kneeing him in the stomach for info regarding the exploitation of his employees when you felt a familiar presence behind you.

“Hey! Here to help me again?” You asked, throwing a sharp punch to the man’s skull before dropping him on the floor. You turn around to face the Prowler immediately, tiny hearts popping up on your holographic mask that indicate your joy as he only shakes his head. “I need you on a mission with me” he mutters, attaching a small disk-looking circle to the side of your helmet. “Wait wait really! YES! LETS FUCKING GO! Okay okay, wait.” You exclaimed, turning back to face the man you left on the floor and tying him up with a spare electrical cord you found. “Okay let’s go! I’m so excited!” You exclaim, wrapping your arms tightly around the taller boy's torso automatically.

Of course, Miles wasn’t really big on physical touch. But he let you hang around for about 3 seconds before prying you off with a tiny smile. “Aight that’s enough, c’mon. Your suit got boosters?” He asked as he prepared to dart forward out of a window. “Yours has boosters? Is that how jump so high?” You asked, earning a small sigh of irritation from Miles. He backed out of the window, swung you over his shoulder, and held on to your back tightly to make sure you wouldn't slip and splat on the concrete below. You let out a small yelp of fear as he darted out the window at seemingly impossible speeds, wind whistling in your ears as Miles's voice rang clearly through your helmet.

"The disk I put on your mask will let you hear me when I'm gone. Vice versa. I need you to knock out anyone in the control room n turn off the cameras while I reach the person we're looking for. I'll come get you when I'm done. DON'T leave the room" he instructed as you tried your best not to audibly swoon over his unfiltered voice. His tone was smooth and silky like honey, his accent sticking to his words like glue as he firmly told you exactly what to do when you arrived at your destination. Your stomach pooled with butterflies as you responded with a small "got it. By the way, your voice is really cute." There was a small huff and a low chuckle before Miles gently patted your back with his cold claw, muttering a small "thank you" that went straight through your eardrums and right to your rapidly increasing heartbeat.

And ever since that mission, you grew closer and closer. He cleaned up after all your crimes, picking up and destroying any clues you'd left behind, and keeping some as keepsakes. He'd never tell you that though, finding himself fidgeting with your purple heart-shaped sunglasses he found cleaning up another one of your messy missions. Nine months later and there you were sitting on top of a skyscraper, knees swinging back and forth childishly as you admired the lights that looked like fireflies from up so high. "Hola, Mamita. You shouldn't sit on the ledge like that. Don't know what I'd do if my favorite sidekick fell to her death" He taunted as he sat next to you, gently pulling you closer to him. "Harr-de-harr. I'm not your sidekick. You can be my crime husband though!" you exclaimed, turning your head to look at Miles as you bonked your mask with his.

He giggled at your statement, sounding genuinely joyful and flattered for a change before turning to face you again. "Yeah, aight. Fuck a crime wife, you just my wife," he stated, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and swinging your knee over his. You were thankful that he couldn't see your face, otherwise, he would've seen how your jaw dropped as you leaned your head against his shoulder. He took off one of the heavy-duty purple straps attached to his suit, gently clipping it onto your pretty pink tactile belt. He scooped you up without so much as a word, safely hauling the both of you down from the top of the skyscraper and placing you safely on your feet. "Aight, I gotta go Mamas. Keep that f'me, yeah?" He called as he quickly disappeared into the shadows again.

But that was the last time you saw him.

You carried on with your missions like usual, going 5 in a row without seeing your 'husband' or him saying some random shit in your ear. There was no "keep safe. Cops are on you" or him scolding you for being 'irresponsible' regarding your share of crime. You began to get worried, risking your life by going out fully suited when you had no reason to be, running and jumping around Brooklyn in search of your Prowler while his name slowly faded from the news. You even began to think that he got himself killed fucking around with the wrong target one day. You were scared, and you missed your 'man'.

For two whole years, you went to school every morning wondering when you'd see your beloved Prowler again. The anonymous boy you'd once fangirl over like some sick and twisted Justin Beiber suddenly faded from the face of the earth. You spoke in your mask now and again, attempting to get some type of response as you grieved the sudden disappearance of your first love. You continued as a nameless vigilante, earning a massive amount of fame and even 'replacing' the Prowler as his name withered from headlines. You quickly grew stronger, learning to clean up your mess, and became more violent when it came to dealing with criminals and small-time offenders.

The days melted together as you lost track of time, drowning yourself in your academic career and constant suit updates to take your mind off the pain in your heart. You practically sped down the highway with your newly installed 'Wheels' to your wide, chunky, metal boots. Your Purple strap flailed in the air as you darted off after an all-black tinted car, containing what was supposed to be your final victim with your identity as the infamous 'Pink Prowler'. You blasted forward with your boosters, digging a claw into the back of the black trunk and clawing your way up the car, breaking the glass windshield and pulling out a rather young-looking white guy. The car crashed abruptly, allowing you to leap to the side and get a look at the guy you were about to ask a couple of questions before you robbed him of his life.

There was a sudden static noise filling your helmet, groaning in irritation as you put your foot on the man's chest and fidgeted with the side of your mask. There was a loud thud, and the car burst into flames as a figure stood behind you…but you weren't really afraid as you slowly turned around to face the new stranger. And there he was, only taller and with longer braids as those familiar white eyes stared down at you. You quickly stomped down on the man's chest, hearing a sickening crunch and a blood-curdling scream as you turned to face your 'husband'. Everything rushed back to you like runoff as you took in his form, obsessing over every new muscle and scar as he slowly relaxed as soon as he saw you and your…new suit.

Despite the overwhelming joy and love you felt for the boy in front of you, rage built in your body as you attempted to throw punches at him, with Miles grabbing your metal-clad hands like it was nothing. "Where have you BEEN? I fucking missed you, I thought you died or some shit!" You shouted, attempting to wiggle your wrists out of his hold as he gave you a slight 'sympathetic' nod. He clicked his tongue at you disapprovingly, inching closer towards you as he pulled you into a tight hug. Part of you swore you could feel the regret pooling from his aura, but that was quickly disregarded when you heard him sigh deeply as he rested his chin on your head. "Lo siento, mi muñequita…I never meant to leave you," he muttered, patting the small of your back, allowing you to berate him as much as you wanted for abandoning you.

"I know, I know. Pero ahora esto aqui. Te extrañé, Mamita" He cooed as he gently rocked you back and forth, paying no attention to the man struggling to breathe in the grass. "That's definitely not something I taught you," He murmured, turning his head towards the stranger coughing and wheezing due to his broken ribs. "I saw you on the news every day, Muñequita. 'M sorry for disappearing on you, they was on my ass with a watch party for a couple of years. Wanna know why? Cuz I cleaned up one of YOUR messes" he sniggered, picking you up and resting you over his shoulder as he threw the man in a nearby river. You relaxed in his hold, quickly gasping when you realized that he had murdered your only source of intel. "I was supposed to question that motherfucker, puto!"

"You finally learn Spanish and it's to cuss me out? I thought you loved me…" He joked, giving you a firm squeeze to the small sliver of flesh visible on your suit, located right on your left thigh. You huffed, much to his amusement as he began walking back in the direction of the city. "I'm still mad that you left me like that. How do you abandon your work wife?" You asked, rolling your eyes underneath your mask as you struggled to keep up the 'annoyed' act. You knew you couldn't stay mad at him, and you had a feeling he knew it too. "For the last time, you're not my work-wife. You're just my wife" he stated.

You giggled quietly as you began kicking your feet back and forth slightly. "You don't even mean that for real" you muttered as you mindlessly played with his braids. Miles chuckled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as he adjusted his arm over your back. "Oye, detente antes de que te haga. Solo di que me extrañaste" He sniggered. "In English, please?" You whined as you attempted to grab Miles's hand.

"Missed me?" He asked as he flipped you around so you could see in front of you. "Maybe…" You whispered. Miles gave a low hum, nodding his head when he got the answer he was looking for. There were about five minutes of comfortable silence as you heard his footsteps against the coarse gravel, finally feeling at peace now that you had your husband back from wherever he was. You giggled to yourself, earning a small "Hmm?" from Miles as you thought of a potentially dumb question.

"You should propose to me"

"You want me to propose to you? Aight, I gotchu mamas. Ima get you a real pretty purple ring, okay? But you gon have to fix that suit, I can't tell I inspired it no more. Need these niggas to know you my wife and sidekick"

"boy bye."

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles #e42 miles #E42 Miles x Black!Reader #prowler miles #miles morales prowler #earth 42 prowler #prowler x reader #the prowler #into the spider verse #atsv prowler

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evandarya · 7 months

Text

The Vampire and the Bat

The Vampire!Jason AU that has been living in my head rent free for the past six months.

___

The thing is, Jason wasn't stupid. He was always top of his class. Well, within the top five, at least. Or, he was back when he still went to school. Even now, he's been on the streets for two, almost three years and he's been smart enough not to join any of the gangs who would use him for his strength and leave him to take the fall, or be picked up by the Clans who would make him into a Thrall, a mindless ghoul to do their bidding, and he's avoided CPS. He was smart enough to not get hooked on drops, pops, angel blood, or any of the other street drugs that steal away your life.

The point is, Jason is smart. But he's also hungry, and a hungry vampire is a desperate vampire. Desperate people tend to do some pretty stupid things.

Which would explain his current predicament: staring up at Batman, the most prolific vampire hunter on the East Coast, tire iron clutched in one hand and three out of four Batmobile tires stashed two alleys over and the fourth most of the way off.

For a long moment nothing happened. Jason stared up at the blank white lenses. Neither of them blinked. Jason wasn't sure either of them were breathing. Batman was between him and the mouth of the alley, but there was a fire escape at the other end. If he was quick enough…

Batman moved, a gloved hand reached out to grab him. Jason swung the tire iron with all his strength. It made contact with the man's armor, sending jarring vibrations up his arms. Batman grunted and Jason dropped the tire iron and took off, jumping off the wall in order to make it to the ladder. His fingers had just brushed a rung when something snagged his foot and pulled him down. Thick arms wrapped around his torso and held him against a broad chest.

That's when he smelled it.

Blood.

Human and fresh, barely a half hour old.

The world became sharper, brighter. His focus narrowed in on the source of blood. It was so close.

Batman had blood on his gloves, bright red against the silver clawed tips.

Jason screamed and started kicking and pushing at Batman's arms. He had to get away. In a lucky move, Jason's head caught Batman in the lip and the man dropped him in surprise. He scrambled away and pressed his back into the wall, his hands covering his mouth and nose.

"You're hungry." Batman said it like it was a matter of fact. Jason shook his head. He was. He was starving! But he wouldn't lose control. He had seen what happened to vampires who lost control. They were put down like rabid dogs. That wouldn't be him. But Batman was tugging off his gloves, removing his gauntlets. Exposing the tender vulnerable flesh to the open air. The veins shone blue under the thin skin. The wrist was one of the few places a fledgeling could feed from before their adult fangs came in. Saliva flooded his mouth, its numbing effect making his tongue tingle. His baby fangs descended, sharp enough to break skin but not long enough or strong enough to hold prey.

Batman was holding out his hand, wrist up. It was a trap. No one offered up their blood to a clanless Dhampir. Not for free. The man was saying something, Jason could see his mouth moving, but he couldn't hear him over the too-old blood roaring through his ears. He shook his head and Batman pulled back. Jason was smart enough not to hope the man would just leave.

Sure enough, Batman only sat back on his heels. With a flick of a wrist a dark bat-shaped blade appeared in the man's still gloved hand. A Batarang. He had found dozens of them over the city, and they fetched a decent price at the pawn shops. What was he going to do with it? Jason had read books where thieves had fingers cut off, or were scarred for each infraction. If Batman wanted to hurt him he was too young and weak to do much more than kick and scream.

But Batman didn't lunge for him, or grab his arm at all. Instead he held the Batarang to his bare wrist and —

The scent of fresh blood assaulted his senses immediately. It permeated the air, so thick he could almost see it. He could hear Batman's heart beating, steady like an execution drum. The man held his hand out again, precious drops of ruby red rolling down to his fingers, dripping onto the concrete.

Jason snarled, growling and hissing at the temptation in front of him. He would not drink it. He may be a tire thief but he wasn't a blood thief! With a burst of energy Jason leapt out of his crouch and used Batman's outstretched arm as a springboard. He launched himself halfway up the rusty fire escape. He had to get to the roof, get somewhere safe. Away from people. Away from Batman.

#batman #jason todd #bruce wayne #vampires #vampire #jason todd is a vampire #vampire au #blood #blood mentioned

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abitohoney · 1 year

Text

A Shimmer in the Night

Chapter 1 of 5 - Taking Matters Into Your Own Hands AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5

Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Tags: Sevika/Reader, Enforcer!Reader, Werewolf!Sevika, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Smut, Light Dom/sub, Dom!Sevika Sub!Reader, Begging, Praise Kink, Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Strap-Ons, Rough Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Aftercare, Soft Sevika, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Vaginal Fingering, Choking, A/B/O Dynamics, Marking, Rutting, Heat, Werewolf Sex, Knotting, Breeding, Minor Character Death

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: A series of mysterious, violent murders has taken both Piltover and the Undercity by storm. As a relatively new enforcer, you're bound and determined to solve this before any more innocent lives can be taken. Nothing prepares you, though, for the discovery you make when you take matters into your own hands. Nor are you prepared for the involvement of Silco's enigmatic right hand woman.

AN: This is already complete on AO3. Just bringing it to Tumblr now. Tags are for the entire fic, not necessarily the individual chapters.

You stand in the office of your superior, along with half a dozen other enforcers, listening as the Piltover sheriff provides a brief on the latest findings regarding a series of mysteries murders.

For several consecutive months now, there has been a seemingly random night in which dozens of citizens of both Piltover and the Undercity had fallen victim to these brutal, animalistic killings. It appeared the killer, or killers, worked indiscriminately, targeting man, woman, or child, rich or poor, several of your fellow enforcers included. The only commonality being how mangled the bodies were left. With sharp, claw-like tears in both clothing and skin, and canine, fang-like bite marks and gouges in the flesh. Traces of purple-tinged saliva found near the puncture sites.

"With body count up to several dozens and quickly rising, we need to act fast to locate and seize the culprit or culprits," Marcus explains, and you struggle to keep your mouth shut and let him finish, knowing you have useful information to share. "Considering the sheer amount of deaths, and the short time between several of the reported discoveries, I suspect we are dealing with multiple assailants," he continues, and you're visibly, anxiously shifting from foot to foot now. He takes notice, eyes flitting to your dancing feet, but he seems to ignore it as he blathers on. "We have yet to determine a pattern beyond what seems to be a once a month occurrence. Calendar date and day of the week have thus far been random-"

Marcus stops abruptly, turning to you with blatant annoyance across his face. "Is there something you'd like to share with us?" He bites out through clenched teeth.

"Sir, if I may," you start, taking several steps forward to the front of the desk, across from where he sits in his chair. The look he gives you says you may not, that he was being sarcastic, but you ignore out and press on. "I believe there is in fact a predictable pattern, a very obvious one actually," you pause, though only briefly when you catch his eye twitch at your last remark. Probably not the best choice of words to use with your superior, especially given you’ve only been an enforcer for less than a year now, but he really is only superior by rank, certainly not by intelligence. "Do you have a calendar?" You question, gaze dropping to his desk where you spot a small calendar facing him. Without waiting for his reply or permission, you reach across and grab it, setting it flat so both of you could view it as you quickly flip back through the pages. "Last attack happened here," you state, finger pointing first to the date, then slipping down to the lunar phase for that day, a full moon. "Prior to that…" you start, flipping back nearly thirty pages before poking at another full moon, "...here." Without removing your eyes from the calendar, you turn back yet another thirty, this time without speaking, simply pointing to the phase of the moon.

Finally lifting your gaze to take in the sheriff's expression, you find him staring down at the latest page, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed.

"I can keep going, sir," you add.

He rubs his temple between thumb and forefinger, and you're certain he's going to try to argue when he opens his mouth to speak. Not giving him a chance, you cut him off, "And tomorrow is the next full moon." Flipping all the pages back in one swipe to the current day, you pull back slightly, pressing your palms against the edge of the desk and allow him to reluctantly turn the page to the following day himself.

"And that's not all I've noticed," you continue, running entirely on adrenaline and ignoring how Marcus won't even lift his head to acknowledge you as you speak, clearly in denial of the knowledge you've obtained on your own accord. "The traces of purple saliva we've found on the victims has a muted luminescence very similar to that of the shimmer that floods the Undercity. I believe whoever, or whatever, is responsible has been under the effects of some variant of shimmer. We should start by investigating the possible sources of this shimmer, and set a curfew for tomorrow, before dusk."

Standing fully now, you anxiously wait for Marcus to speak, unknowingly tapping your foot in the otherwise quiet room. Unable to see your fellow enforcers standing behind you, it's still very apparent by their silence that they are in shock and likely just as anxious as you, though for entirely different reasons.

"So, let's pretend your moon theory holds water. You expect me to, in the span of less than a day, tell not just the entire population of Piltover, but also the Undercity, the people who despise us, that we are enforcing a curfew… on Progress Day? And then top it off by sticking our nose in the business, the main source of income, of the Undercity?" He asks, speaking in a slow, measured tone.

Shit. Tomorrow is Progress Day. You hadn't even thought about that, but it really doesn't matter. Something has to be done before more lives are lost.

"Yes," you reply simply.

His narrowed eyes meet yours and you already know what he's going to say. Fists balling at your sides, you fight the urge to cut him off again as he speaks.

"You're clearly not in your right mind. Probably overworked. Take tomorrow off." He says with finality, one that you ignore.

"Sir, we can't just sit and let this happen again," you start, throwing your hands in the air dramatically.

"We are not going to just sit and let anything happen. We have a plan-"

"A plan?!" You scoff, "You mean that bullshit of sending more enforcers out to slaughter?"

"That's enough!" Marcus hollers, slamming his fist down on the desk. "You are dismissed and relieved of this team!"

Mouth agape, you stare dumbfounded at the sheriff.

Did he really just kick you off this case?

"Fucking unbelievable!" You shout, spinning on your heel and storming towards the door, pushing your way between two of your stunned coworkers. Just as you're about to shut the door behind you, you hear Marcus fire one last shot in your direction.

"Make that a week. Without pay."

Worthless prick.

Lying in your bed that night, you glare up at the ceiling unable to sleep with the rage that's currently burning a hole in your chest. That stupid man was too blinded by his own damn pride to see the obvious. And that stupidity was going to cost more innocent lives tomorrow night. Well, not if you have anything to say about it. He may have relieved you of your duties for the next week and kicked you off the case, but you could do your own investigative work tomorrow. Maybe even convince some to stay indoors come sundown. The money doesn't even matter. You just want to put an end to the senseless killings.

Sighing heavily, you roll onto your side, closing your eyes as you try to formulate a plan. You'd heard the name of the supposed criminal kingpin running the shimmer business. Silco. He's an obvious start. All you can do is hope he'll be willing enough to hear you out. To share any information he may have regarding an errant form of shimmer. Mind racing, it doesn't take long for exhaustion to set in, and your thoughts drift and fade into nothing as sleep finally takes you.

The following morning you're up bright and early, uniform on despite being relieved of your duties for the next week. Your plan, to claim you'd been sent by Marcus to investigate the Undercity, will be much more convincing if you are dressed as an enforcer. Successfully sneaking past several of your colleagues unnoticed, you make your way to the lift that will take you to the lowest level of the Undercity, a place you'd only visited once before along with Marcus and several other new recruits. It isn't until the rickety cage reaches the very bottom of its run that the weight of what you're about to do hits you hard. Just as hard as the Undercity smog that invades your lungs the moment you step out. Reality rears its ugly head; you're about to traipse right up to the criminal kingpin Silco under false pretense and inquire about a rather deadly set of events. That is, assuming you can even convince him to grant you audience.

Thankfully your memory serves you well and you're able to locate The Last Drop rather easily. Seems most of the Undercity dwellers are still asleep, only encountering a few threatening looking characters in the shadows of adjacent alleyways. Either your uniform or your hand hovering over the pistol at your side is enough to keep them at bay. The large neon eye of Zaun over the entrance, even when not lit, stands out amongst the considerably smaller, more drab buildings along the outskirts of the lanes. It's rather intimidating, probably intentionally so, and you start to second guess your plan the moment you push one of the large doors open.

There are several shady looking citizens within, all of whose attention is immediately drawn to you as you step inside. Clearing your throat, you attempt to stand tall and hold an air of authority, despite feeling like the only prey in a room full of hungry predators.

"I'm here to speak with Silco on behalf of Marcus," you announce to no one in particular. Two of what you're now assuming to be Silco's goons exchange glances before looking to something at your right. Following their gaze you find two rather large and intimidating looking bald men standing with their arms crossed at the bottom of a set of stairs leading to a balcony. One of them nods towards the stairs, and you take that as an invitation to follow.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you offer a nod to the other man, who makes no move to allow you room to pass, forcing you to turn sideways to avoid contact as you slip by. Swallowing hard, you focus on your breathing to calm your nerves as you follow a few steps behind the first man.

"Wait here," he grunts as the two of you come before a large door near the end of the balcony. As instructed, you stand near the railing while he knocks. You hear a muffled drawl, "Come in," from the other side of the door and try to catch a glimpse as the man steps inside, but his large frame eats up almost the entirety of the doorway before he's inside and closing the door behind him. You try to listen in on the short conversation, but become distracted when you catch several of the goons below are still watching you intently. The realization that you may be in over your head hits you, but it's too late now.

The door swings open again, startling you and you spin to find the large man standing just outside, waiting for you to enter the room.

"Thank you," you somehow manage without your voice cracking. He, unsurprisingly, says nothing and you walk past and into what you immediately identify as an office given the large wooden desk situated at the back center of the room, just beneath an ornate green window set within an intricate iron design. The door clicks shut behind you and you're grateful that whoever sits in the tall-back chair behind the desk is turned toward the window because you visibly jump.

Something moves to your left, just within your periphery as you step further into the room. It's only when you turn towards it that you realize there is another person in the room, and you're awestruck by the sight. There, sitting with thick thighs spread on a dark red settee, is a beast of a woman. She's leaning back, one dark-skinned arm, including a bicep that looked as if it could tear through the leather shoulder and arm guard covering it, draped along the backrest. Her other arm is oddly covered by a dark red cloak that hangs only over her left side. A cigarillo rests in the corner of her mouth, dark lips curled around it in an unabashed smirk. Your eyes meet hers, stormy gray and full of mirth, apparently amused by how jumpy you are. She's just as intimidating, if not more so, than the two large men guarding the stairs. But she's also incredibly attractive-

"So the good sheriff sent you, a fresh faced enforcer, all the way down here by yourself to speak with me?"

The low measured tone of the man at the desk pulls you from your thoughts, your attention returning to the desk to find he's now turned to face you. And you are definitely alone in a room with two very scary individuals. Silco, you presume, though a stark difference in both size and skin tone compared to the woman, is terrifying all the same. He's lean, almost frail, with ghostly pale skin. What has you frozen and unknowingly holding your breath is his frightening left eye. It's a fiery orange set within a black abyss. Almost the entirety of the left side of his face is horribly scarred, but as you force yourself to look at his good eye, both out of fear and respect, you found that teal orb to be just as intimidating in that you're certain he can see into your soul with the way it burns through you.

“Uhm- yes, he did,” you reply, taking a few steps closer in an attempt to keep the heated gaze of the woman out of your periphery and from distracting you any further. “As you may already be aware, Marcus is leading an investigation into the mysterious murders that have been plaguing your city as well as our own. Something we recently observed was that many of the victims seem to have traces of what appears to be shimmer along the gashes and soaked into their clothing. As the main distributor of shimmer, we’re wondering if there is any information you may have to share that might aid in the investigation.”

Silco’s brow, the one not affected by whatever had scarred the other half of his face, raises ever-so slightly. “Are you- excuse me- is the good sheriff implying that I have something to do with this?” He questions, tone measured and his teal eye calculating.

You’re certain he’s merely attempting to intimidate you, but you remain unaffected. Or at least play it off that way, but it’s impossible to deny the amount of tension filling the room between all three current occupants, including the woman whose gaze is literally raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

“No sir, you misunderstand me. I’m certain you’d like to know who or what is killing your citizens just as much as we do. We’re simply wondering if perhaps you could give us the names of some of your secondary distributors or material suppliers that could possibly be misusing or marketing tainted shimmer. We’re working with very little information here, so anything that comes to mind could help us solve this and prevent further deaths.”

Regarding you for a moment, Silco seems almost bored, and suspiciously so given how dire the circumstances are for his people. This ought to concern him and drive him to seek assistance, even if it’s from topsiders.

“Nothing comes to mind, but I’ll be sure to contact Marcus should something arise. Please let him know that the Undercity appreciates his dedication to our well-being and safety,” he replies dryly and with finality as he picks up several papers from his desk.

“Silco, sir, please, there must be something you can share. A name. There’s a definitive pattern of these killings occurring on nights of a full moon and tonight will be another full moon. If we don’t act quickly-” Your plea for his cooperation is promptly ignored and sharply cut off by Silco’s low voice, which you note now carries a hint of irritation.

“Sevika, if you would be so kind as to show our guest out.” His gaze drops to the papers in his hand. End of discussion.

Tempted to press him further, your words falter the moment you hear the floorboards creak and catch sight of the woman, Sevika, rising to her feet. Not wishing to wait for his obvious right-hand to physically remove you from the premise, you release a frustrated breath and turn on your heels, marching out into the hallway.

Heavy footfalls follow not far behind you, and as you reach the stairs you lose your cool.

“You don’t need to walk me to the door. I’m well aware of where it is,” you snap without looking back. You hear the deep, snide chuckle behind you before Sevika replies.

“Boss’ orders.” Her voice is as deep as her laugh, and just as thick with arrogance.

Biting your tongue, you hold back the snarky remark that threatens to spill out. It won’t help the situation, and there’s no denying this woman could take you out with little to no effort if she felt compelled to.

The large goons at the bottom of the stairs step aside for the two of you to pass and you ignore the heated stares from the remainder of the bar’s occupants, heading straight for the large set of doors that lead to the streets. Sevika is still trailing not far behind you, and it only proves to further test your patience. With the door in arms reach, you just need to get out and cool off. You wrap your fingers around the large handle and pull the door open only to find it forced shut as a much larger hand lands just above your own. Clenching your teeth, you ignore the way the large bicep at the side of your head flexes as Sevika invades your space, and focus instead on formulating something to say that won't end with you unconscious on the floor of this filthy bar. Whatever remark you have ready dies behind your parted lips when you feel something heavy and sharp on your shoulder, just under the arm currently preventing you from leaving.

Your eyes drop to the offending object to find a series of sharp, deadly looking silver-tipped nails attached to intricate brass hinged fingers. Each one curls and digs into your shoulder, piercing your uniform just enough for you to sense the cold metal points against your otherwise fury-heated flesh. You're forced to turn to face Sevika by those claws and your eyes follow them in a mixture of awe, wonder and fear as they drop to her left side and disappear beneath the dark red cloak.

"Listen here, sweetheart,” she sneers, and you’re not sure you appreciate the tone she’s taking with you, nor the seemingly condescending pet name. You raise your eyes to meet her steely gaze, and it takes you tilting your head back enough to crane your neck given how impossibly tall she is. “You and I both know Marcus wouldn’t send a rookie to question Silco."

Setting your jaw straight you attempt to hold your head high and remain cool as she towers over you in a clear attempt to prove dominance and induce fear.

“You don’t know that and frankly it doesn’t matter given the situation we’re in,” you grit out, fists clenching at your sides. Her eyes drop momentarily, apparently taking notice of that before raising again to meet your gaze. The nasty grin that tugs at her dark lips pulls higher and she takes a small step closer until your chests nearly touch, caging you in further between her massive body and the door behind you. You realize that she must have ditched her cigarillo at some point and something catches your attention in your periphery. Letting your eyes flit to her left cheek for a moment, you’re surprised to find a series of scars scattered like blue lightning, running from just beneath her eye, clear down her thick neck and under the soft leather choker that’s wrapped around it. Her gruff voice draws your attention back to her stormy eyes.

"I suggest you keep your nose out of the situation , unless you're looking to get hurt." With her proximity you can feel her warm breath fan across your face, filling the air around you with the smell of cigars and whiskey.

"Is that a threat?" you ask, indignation written plain as day on your face and you begin to question that initial physical attraction that hit you when you’d first laid eyes on her in Silco’s office. This brute and her boss are clearly in cahoots with whatever, or whoever, is behind these murders. Either that or they themselves are directly responsible, and given that terrifying looking claw of a left hand she had, the latter seems most plausible.

"No, sweetheart,” she replies, her voice dropping impossibly lower and you swear you catch a flash of purple behind those gray eyes before she lowers her head. “That's a promise," she rasps a mere hairsbreadth from your ear. The tiny hairs at the back of your neck rise again and a shiver runs mercilessly down your spine. Something about the way she spoke those words felt like more than the threat you want to believe is all she intended. And as she stands back to her full height, you find yourself ensnared by the way her thick lips curl into a wide, feral grin, revealing two white rows of teeth that you’re certain each include a pair of excessively sharp canines.

That's… different .

It isn’t until she steps away, the heat that had been radiating from her body disappearing along with her, that you are suddenly aware of just how excruciatingly hot your body had become. The cool air of the bar rushes over the small amount of exposed skin from around your uniform, sending yet another, much more visible chill, through your body.

Sevika’s dark, short chuckle rumbles from her chest and fills the otherwise silent room, bouncing off the walls and singing in your blood-pulsing ears. To say you're pissed is an understatement. It isn’t until you hear another snicker, one that certainly isn’t hers given how distinct hers is, that you recall the two of you are not alone. Clearing your throat, you attempt to straighten yourself up, because apparently at some point your body had gone limp and you were held up only by your back slumped against the door. Unable to clear your head enough to form any sort of retort or even a farewell, you silently turn, open the door and slip out into the smog-filled streets as quickly, albeit pridefully, as possible.

For the entirety of your return topside, you try to convince yourself that the only thing grating your nerves is anger, frustration and maybe a bit of fear, nothing else. That initial… allure or whatever it was you felt when you looked at that woman, is gone. She's bad news.

You spend the next several hours at a desk in your small bedroom pouring over the past several months of reports, of which you admittedly obtained copies illegally a few nights back when Marcus refused to let you review them on your own. It seems glaringly obvious that shimmer is somehow involved. Nearly every report, out of some hundreds of them, indicate the presence of the neon purple substance on or around the victim. And after the morning’s questioning with Silco and his- enigmatic second in command, your suspicions only grew. The two of them screamed shady business, and of course Silco was already widely known for such, but whatever this was didn’t seem business related, at least not something an industrialist should be interested in.

Reading a particularly detailed report on one of the latest victims, you come across the descriptions of the gashes found on various parts of the body. They were reported to be animal-like, as if the flesh was ripped by large claws. And chunks missing, torn by large, sharp canines. Your mind flashes back to your encounter with Sevika, that brief moment where you swore her eyes glowed purple, the flash of sharp, oddly long canines, those metal claws she hid beneath her cloak and to top it all off, the obvious threat she gave you. It all absolutely reeked of foul play.

Not one to admit defeat so easily, you opt to take a trip to the Undercity again later to question some of the locals. With a new lead, you focus your interrogations on Silco, or more specifically Sevika. Does she frequently mingle with other individuals? Based on the sheer amount of killings, she can’t possibly be doing this alone. Has she ever just up and disappeared the night of a full moon? What about any of Silco’s other subordinates? Do any of them have animalistic augmentations or body modifications?

Needless to say, you’re no luckier than you were talking directly to Silco. It would seem that either the Undercity inhabitants are just naturally uncooperative, or probably more-so they have an extreme dislike for topsiders, enforcers in particular. This also, unfortunately, makes them less perceptive to your suggestions that they all stay in that night. Your explanation that the killings coincide with a full moon either fall on deaf ears or earn you condescending laughter and snide remarks.

Just hours before dusk you’re back to your desk, slumped over in your chair. Out of leads and out of time.

Fit with your enforcer issued pistol and a rifle you’ve only ever used for target practice, you stuff your camera into a small pack attached to the belt at your waist. Unsuccessful in obtaining enough information to put a complete stop to the murders, you’ve opted to do the next best thing. Arm yourself to take out the culprit, or culprits, and maybe save a few lives. Or at the very least capture some pictures that could aid in solving the mystery before another attack a month from now. Ditching your enforcer uniform to a) avoid being caught in it while off duty and b) don something more practical than the standard issue dress, you opt for simple fitted jeans, ribbed tank top, black jacket and some sturdy ankle high boots.

Glancing out your window situated over the desk in your bedroom you can already see the full moon starting to poke out from behind the clouds in the nearly dark sky. You need to move fast. The area you plan to scope out, a heavily forested area with a winding walking path, is a far trek from your home. That particular area seemed to have the highest frequency of incidences in Piltover, so you’re hopeful that you’ll find something there.

Heading out, you’re disappointed, but not surprised considering it’s Progress Day, to find there are still a large sum of people wandering all throughout Piltover. Many of them are drunk, which you’re certain will make them easy targets, especially when they do finally decide to head home late in the night, likely alone and unarmed. Even many of your fellow enforcers are out enjoying themselves rather than holding posts and staying vigilant.

It makes your stomach churn and your vision blur with red at the thought of how Marcus simply chose to take no action, just like Silco. That odd little similarity hits you and you pause just outside the edge of the entrance to the forest.

Is that just a coincidence?

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the single lamp along the walking path that winds in and out of the woods begins to flicker. Gaze drawn upward to the flashing yellow, you catch sight of the full moon as it disappears behind the clouds just as the bulb in the lamp finally dies out, leaving you in complete darkness.

Not wanting to give away your presence by pulling out a flashlight, you push forward nearly blind, stepping between the tall evergreen trees and further into the darkness. The cloud above passes quickly, providing you with just the faintest glow from where the moonlight sneaks through the tiny gaps between the tree tops. Treading slowly, carefully, you attempt to move as quietly as possible. Once you reach the edge of a small clearing where you can see the edge of the walking path poking through, you find a relatively flat spot behind a large trunk and drop to kneel on one knee. With your rifle resting on your back, strap over your shoulder, your hand rests over the pistol on the opposite side of your pouch. All that’s left to do is sit and wait.

You’re not sure how long you’re waiting there, but it’s definitely long enough for your nerves to settle and for the sweet siren’s call of sleep to reach your mind and body. Eyes and body heavy, you shift to sit on your haunches, leaning your shoulder against the massive trunk. It’s eerily quiet tonight. No animal seems to be awake, not even the insects. The only sounds your ears can pick up on are the occasional rustle of leaves when a gentle breeze passes through or your own breathing when it’s otherwise calm.

Another cloud passes overhead, evident by how that tiny bit of moonlight you’re relying on suddenly disappears. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear something heavy was taped to your eyelids with how difficult it became to keep them open. Maybe you needed to move to a different spot, another one along the path. Your lids droop and you catch a glimpse of moonlight. Willing your eyes open again, you try to consider your options. Your vision goes black again as you start to nod off. When your head starts to slip along the rough bark of the tree, your eyes shoot back open again. The clearing is fairly well illuminated again, clouds apparently passed. Just as your eyes are about to fall shut yet again, your ears pick up on something.

A rush of adrenaline has you wide awake as you hear the sound of crunching leaves and twigs just past the clearing. Somebody, or something, is moving just out of sight. Careful not to make a sound yourself, you push back up onto both knees, then raise one to place your foot on the ground in the event you need to run. It could just be an animal. Or it could just be someone taking a late night walk. But your hand hovers over your pistol regardless.

Something starts to step into the clearing, into the moonlight, and your heartrate kicks up a notch. Whatever it is, it’s large enough to be human, but definitely on all fours like an animal. Holding your breath you watch wide eyed as it steps fully into view. It’s covered completely by dark, matted fur, with a large snout. It’s reminiscent of a wolf, but far too large and the rear legs are oddly similar to that of a biped.

The hand at your side trembles and a lump forms in your throat. You’re certain this had to be one of the things that has been terrorizing both Piltover and the Undercity. A breeze sweeps in from behind you and towards the beast. It raises its snout, sniffing at the air and you realize too late that it’s just picked up on your scent. You’re frozen with fear when Its head slowly turns in your direction and its glowing, purple eyes meet your own. Large rows of teeth, including two pairs of deadly sharp canines, glisten in the moonlight as its face contorts into a snarl.

Shit.

Pulling your pistol from its sheath, you take aim just as the beast lurches toward you. You pull the trigger and at a mere twenty or so feet from your target you manage to hit its front right shoulder. The howl of pain that rips from its throat is unlike any animal you’ve ever heard, and to your terror the beast is quick to return to pursuing you.

Fuck.

Firing again, you manage to hit the other shoulder and this time you spring to your feet, ready to flee. Another yelp echoes through the forest, but it still moves forward, quickly closing the distance.

A third shot behind your back as you begin running with limited vision through the dark forest. Eyes focused on the ground before you, you don’t watch for the hit, but you hear another howl and know it at least landed, but the heavy patter of large paws crushing the foliage behind you indicates it still wasn’t enough to take it out.

Heart hammering in your chest, you fire several more rounds blindly behind your back, apparently missing as there are no more cries of pain, just a series of terrifying snarls and growls that are gaining fast.

With your mind racing in panic, you lose track of how many bullets you fire, and to your absolute dread you find the gun now empty. Stomach churning you attempt to pull your rifle off your back. It’s not suitable for close quarters like this, but you are literally out of options. Before you can manage to get the damn safety off it you lose your footing, tripping on a large tree root that you couldn’t see.

A startled yelp tears from your open mouth as you find yourself falling face first to the ground. The side of your head hits something hard and unforgiving and for a fraction of a second you see white behind your lids. Attempting to scramble to your feet, pure adrenaline is the only thing powering you as your lungs burn and your head spins. Then something slices across your back, shearing right through your jacket and top, tearing flesh like it's made of nothing more than wet tissue paper.

The shriek of pain that rips from your throat echoes through your ringing ears. Collapsing to the ground again, your hands reach blindly for the rifle you’d dropped during your fall. Tears fill your eyes and the dark objects that surround you spin and careen, making your stomach lurch.

Somehow, miraculously, you manage to find your gun. Grabbing it by the barrel with one hand, you roll onto your opposite side, swinging as hard as you can towards the beast now crawling over your feet. The butt of it lands hard against the jaw of the snarling animal from where it towers over your legs. Saliva and blood fly from its mouth, but it quickly recovers. Watching in complete shock, your heart plummets to your stomach as it rises, crouching on hind legs that are certainly not like any animal, nor human, you've ever seen. Pushing yourself up into a sitting position, you struggle to right your rifle. The beast raises a front paw that looks far more like a hand, only with razor sharp claws, and swings faster than your dizzy mind can process, but you feel and hear the gun leave your hands and scatter some distance to your side. Frozen in terror and without any other defense, all you can do is close your eyes when that giant paw pulls back for another swipe, and await what you hope will be a deadly blow so as to end this quickly.

A sudden growl followed by a pained, animalistic yelp hits your ears and your eyes fly open just in time to see a second, larger beast just inches from your feet. Its attention, thankfully, is not on you, rather it appears to be snarling at the first which is now several feet away and limping in a defensive arch around you and its attacker. Leaning back on your palms, you attempt to scoot further away from what is certain to be a brutal fight between these two creatures. Vision blurring and body aching, you're only able to get far enough to lean your left shoulder against the base of a tree, careful to avoid the gaping gashes that spread clear from your right shoulder down to just above the left side of your waist. A sudden sharp throb at the side of your head has you touching it gingerly. It's wet, with blood no doubt, right where you'd hit it when you fell. You're most likely concussed, yet another mark against you on this cursed night.

As the second beast circles around the first, you catch a glimpse of something odd in the small beam of moonlight that filters through the treetops. The front left leg, or as you're starting to consider it- arm- is neither human nor animal. Not flesh or organic by any means. It's… metal . Clear from the hand-like fingers to the shoulder, it's entirely metal, reflecting in the light of the moon.

What the hell have you uncovered?

Unable to tear your eyes away, you watch in awe and horror as this larger beast lunges at the first. Between your fading consciousness and their gruesome fight moving further into the shadows of the trees, you're unable to make out which one is winning. Not that it matters. You're dead either way. But you can certainly hear that one is fairing far better than the other. Though both are clearly the same type of creature, you can pick up on obvious differences in their snarls, growls and whines. It all seems to happen so fast, but your fear leaves you unable to grasp time. Not long after the battle disappears further into the trees and completely out of your sight, you hear a final animalistic cry of pain and then everything goes eerily silent. It isn't until that moment that you realize your breathing has become dangerously shallow. You're barely holding onto consciousness, and as you watch only one beast emerge, it starts slipping faster.

Head falling limp against the side of the tree you're barely leaning against, your glazed over eyes struggle to track the slow, stalking movements of the victor. Moonlight streams first across its left hand, which reflects back. It's the second beast. It steps closer still, revealing bared teeth dripping with saliva and blood. Body so completely numb, you can't even feel fear anymore and your eyelids become unbearably heavy.

You blink.

It's at your feet, sharp canines ready to bite.

You blink again.

It's over your legs, its deep growl reverberating through your entire body.

One final blink.

All your clouded vision can make out is the terrifying glow of two purple eyes mere inches from your face, but you feel the wet, warm sensation spill down the front of your neck and beneath your shirt as that mixture of blood and saliva drips from the beast's mouth. Just before your lids drop, you swear you catch those eyes turning gray for just a second as the moonlight disappears behind the clouds.

Unable to open your eyes, your ears ring with the pained howl that erupts from the creature and somehow dissolves into a human's- a woman's- deep pained groan that grows quieter and quieter, until everything fades to black.

next chapter >

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #fanfic #honey writes

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maryannecrimsworth · 1 year

Text

YES YES YES THANK YOU

Pairing: Tyler Galpin x Fem! Reader

Warnings: violence; mention of past trauma; fluff ending actually(I guess)

I'm here

GIF por yolantisr

Laurel Gates came back.

Laurel Gates wanted revenge.

Laurel Gates needed the Hyde.

Laurel Gates seized Tyler.

Tyler.

His name came to your mind as soon as you saw the students evacuating the school. No one asked anything: no one could question or disobey a siren, but you already knew. You knew what was happening. And you ran as fast as you could after him.

The monster — the Hyde — was three times as big as you, with wide eyes, long claws and sharp teeth that could rip anyone apart — that have already ripped someone apart. You saw when it slaughtered the homeless man in the ruin of an ancient pilgrim house.

You heard screams and saw flashes of light in the middle of the woods: you followed, driven only by fear and instinct. You saw the monster ripping the man's chest open — howling as if the violence gave it pleasure, and then you saw Tyler. Painting, sobbing, trembling in the dark, covered in blood.

You were only a few feets away from him: you were frozen in the shadows, watching its attacks, controlling your breathing so you wouldn’t become a victim too. But your feet moved once you recognized the figure crawling in the woods, in complete despair, looking around: terrified at what he had done. The branches cracked under your steps, but Tyler didn't hear you. His eyes were on the bleeding, dead man in front of him, and his own heartbeat made him deaf. The blood was spreading all over the broken floor, almost reaching his toes.

You did not think. You grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, out of the abandoned house, far away from the man he had just killed. You were not afraid — you were disgusted. And you didn't have the stomach to see Tyler walking on blood.

"What I—" He painted, his eyes still on the dead figure at distance. "What happened?"

"Fuck off, Galpin." You turned him around, forcing him to look at you. "I'm taking you to the police."

"What have I done?" There were tears in his eyes. "Who did I hurt?"

He was trembling, shivering under your hands. Guilty, vulnerable, confused. Like he had no idea.

He had no idea.

"Honey!" You heard a sweet voice coming from the dark. Tyler's eyes widened right away. "Where are you, honey? Mama's here."

You stepped back. The voice felt familiar but the fear you felt was completely new. Your stomach churned as every fiber of your being felt about to snap: he wasn't alone, you weren't alone. You were now a witness to what he had done.

And witnesses were always killed.

"Don't let her get me." He whispered suddenly, grabbing your wrist. His skin was wet and warm, soaked in blood. "Please."

Please.

Would a monster say "please"?

Would a monster need help to escape?

You did not think — again.

You simply held his hand and ran.

And now you are running again. Not from Tyler’s master, but to him — to the Hyde. To Tyler.

To calm him down, to prevent him from hurting someone — to prevent him from hurting himself.

The look he had on his face that night — when he understood why you were looking at him like that, when he realized what he had done, it was wretched. Desolate. And you knew what he was thinking — what he was planning to do after you covered him with your coat. You've seen that look before: the one who seeks for a closure of the unbearable pain — and you wouldn’t let him. You would not let him do it, you would help him through this — you promised him.

It was the only way to stop his crying, and the only option you had. Again, you did not think — you did it You had to. Just like now, when he was in front of you.

Dozens of branches and leaves flew through the air as the monster was being crushed: the werewolf jumped over him, its claws ripping its face. They were fighting: Tyler and Enid. Only God knows why and for how long: you could smell the blood and feel the chunks of trees under your feet — all caused by them.

Then the Hyde kicked the she-wolf away. He fought and jumped back, retreating as Enid's growls got louder. Tyler was bleeding, far more wounded than the werewolf, and Enid wasn't showing any sign that she's going to back off. Not until the danger is gone.

Not until Hyde stopped.

You knew what to do — in an impulse, you sprinted towards the two beasts, standing between recklessly them, their claws stopping inches from your body. Enid winched when she recognized you, but you did not see the way her ears dropped and her teeth stopped showing; your eyes were on Tyler. And his eyes were on you too.

"Hey, Big Guy." Your voice was low. Your hands waved in the air slowly, but you were not trembling. You were not afraid. "Focus on me, 'kay?" Branches broke behind you: Enid was stepping back as Hyde's claws were finally lowered. "I'm here." You whispered, your hands reaching the thick, unhuman skin. You felt a drop of blood trickle down to your hand. The Hyde started to tremble. "I'm here." You repeated, not looking away from the figure that was now transforming.

The scene was grotesque, violent, with his limbs snapping and blood covering his skin as Tyler came back to you. For you.

The Galpin boy fell to the ground, exhausted and hurted, without any strength. He was barely awake by the time you knelt and hugged him, doing the best you could to keep him up.

"Open your eyes." You cleaned his face with your sleeve, wiping his eyes as deep cuts covered his features. "Look at me."

"Y/N…" He grunted, pain fulfilling his voice. "Y/N, you…"

"Tell me what you remember."

"Laurel's gone." He choked, a hard cough breaking out his lungs, shaking his whole body. You held him tighter and waited for him to regain his breath. While remaining in silence, you noticed: you were trembling too, and tears were about to fall from your eyes. Part of you was afraid of his next words. Part of your heart was aching due to him. "She's gone, after Wednesday." He stopped and took a deep breath. "There's a boat."

You moved back instantly — you couldn't help it. You fell backwards, staying by his side as he tried to sit up. Your hands were now sunk into the soil, so as your feet, but he went on:

"It's our chance."

"It's our chance." You repeated with a gasp.

Tyler smiled when he noticed the look in your eyes. The same look you had when he sat with you at the Weathervane; the same look you had when he gave you one of his home-made cookies; the look you had when his dog welcomed you every time you arrived at his house — the look you gave him when you first got into his room. You mocked him about how messy and boyish it was, so "normie" for him. The look you gave him when he transformed back, aching, covered in blood, sobbing, and when you argued so hard when he cried, saying he wasn't an monster. Not to you.

He would never be a mosnter to you, as long as you looked at him like this. This wasn't a look of love — like Laurel's — it was serene and gleamed, brave and fond. Intense, yet soft.

It was something he had never had — he had never seen in anyone but you.

And it helped him to breathe everytime — it helped him to try again. To live one more day.

And now Tyler could live one more day — countless more days — with you. Only you and that doting look of yours.

You held his hand firmly and helped him to stand up.

"Let's go."

#tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x you #wednesday addams #tyler galpin #wednesday fanfic #tyler galpin x fem!reader

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 10 months

Text

Stay Pt. 4

Series Summary: Y/N knows what she's doing is wrong, but she doesn't want to let it go.

Chapter Warnings/Explicit 18+: Show level violence. Brief angst.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 2,430

A/N: This is the fourth part to my Stay series. It is a completed five part series. One part will be released every day. Hope you enjoy!

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89

Five weeks later:

“Okay, enjoy your stay.” Y/N said with a smile as she handed the room keys to the harried parents trying to wrangle their three kids into the King Suite they’d booked.

As the noisy family tromped away, loaded down with luggage, a tall, slim man approached the desk and smiled at her. His eyes were very dark brown, nearly black, and he was missing two teeth on the top and one on the bottom, which made him look a little like a jack-o-lantern.

He gave her the heebie-jeebies.

But she pushed aside the feeling, telling herself she was being mean about his appearance. So she smiled back.

“How can I help you?”

“I was hoping you had a room available for the night. I’m afraid my trip is taking longer than I expected, and I’d like to get a good night’s sleep before continuing on.”

For some reason she couldn’t explain, Y/N lied. “No, I’m so sorry, sir, we’re all booked up tonight.”

Just then her manager, Maureen, came up behind her. “Y/N, that can’t be right.” She punched a few keys on the computer, and then pointed to it. “See, there are nearly a dozen single rooms still available.”

Maureen gave Y/N an annoyed look that told her to do her job better, and Y/N just nodded. “Oh, yes, I see that now. I missed them.” She looked at the guest and gave an apologetic smile. “End of a long shift, I guess. I’ll book you in, how will you be paying for the room?”

The last hour of her shift went by without incident and she’d nearly forgotten about her creepy guest as she clocked out and headed to her car in the parking lot. It was a breezy evening, and the sun was long gone, so Y/N pulled her scarf a little tighter as she approached her car. Then she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she knew it had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

She whirled around quickly just in time to dodge out of the way, as the jack-o'-lantern man lunged at her. She screamed loudly, and ran in the opposite direction since he now blocked her path to her car. But as though he could fly, he suddenly landed right in front of her, reaching for her again. This time he managed to latch onto her forearm.

When she looked down at his grasp, she couldn't understand what she was seeing. The man's skinny hand had turned into talons, and they glowed bright orange. She screamed in pain as the fiery claws burned her.

Seconds later, she felt herself lifting off the ground as the man did indeed turn and begin to fly away with her.

She knew she must be in a nightmare, and she kept screaming, hoping to wake herself up.

Before she was more than six feet off the ground she heard the man, who was clearly not a man, screech out an unholy sound as he dropped her to the ground, and continued to try and fly away.

From her crumpled place on the ground, Y/N looked up at him and saw an arrow protruding from his side and before she could blink a second one pierced through his heart from behind.

With another ear splitting screech he fell back down to earth and then was silent. Everything was silent, eerily silent. And out of the inky black shadows surrounding her, Dean walked towards her.

He got down on his haunches next to her, and his face looked angry as he grabbed her by the upper arms.

"Did he hurt you?" His voice was rough and deep. She just stared at him, unable to understand how he’d invaded her nightmare.

“Y/N!” He yelled, giving her a little shake. When she still didn’t say anything, or even blink, he moved his gaze over her body and saw the burn on her arm. “Son of a bitch.” He said almost under his breath.

He looked into her eyes, and his expression softened. “Y/N? Okay, baby, can you stand?” Without waiting for her answer, he shifted to run his big hands over her legs, likely checking for breaks. When he got to her ankle, he pressed gently and she cried out in pain. He hissed through his teeth.

“Okay, it’s okay, honey, just a bad sprain, I think.”

The pain seemed to clear the fog she’d been moving around in, and reality began to set in. The jack-o’-lantern man could fly, and he burned her with scorching talons, and Dean shot him with a silver arrow.

That was the reality. She began to shake.

Suddenly Dean’s partner showed up, a long bow in his hand that was identical to the one Dean had fired. “I got the other one, he didn’t manage to…” He trailed off as he came upon the two of them.

“Y/N?” He gave her a once over. “Are you hurt?”

Dean nodded. “He burned her arm, and she sprained her ankle when he dropped her.” Dean picked up his bow from the ground beside him and passed it to his partner.

Sam, she thought, his partner’s name is Sam.

“Here,” Dean told Sam, “take the bows, and get rid of his body. I gotta…” He nodded towards her.

Sam gave him a pitying look before smiling kindly at her. “Yeah, okay.” He responded, moving forward to deal with the body of the flying, jack-o’-lantern, bird man. Surrealty was beginning to set in again for Y/N, and the world dimmed around the edges.

I might pass out.

Suddenly Dean bent forward to scoop her up and walk her away from where Sam was dealing with her would-be abductor. It suddenly occurred to her that she’d forgotten something, and she looked up into Dean’s face. He glanced down at her, and she shook her head.

“I didn’t say thank you.”

Dean frowned. “Thank you for what?”

“You saved me. He was taking me away, I couldn’t fight him.” She began rambling, barely pausing for breath. “He burned my arm. But I think you were right, my fear helped me. I was creeped out by him right away, so I was a bit on alert and then I got a scared feeling in the parking lot and it let me run away from him for a second. If he’d taken me sooner, you might have gotten there too late, he might have been too far away for you to reach with the arrow. Why did you shoot him with an arrow? Do the FBI use arrows now? That doesn’t seem practical.”

Dean let her ramble unbroken until they reached his beautiful black Impala. Then he set her carefully on the hood, and lifted a finger to her lips. “It's okay, sweetheart, I’ll explain everything, but just for now, concentrate on breathing in and out, okay?”

He breathed deeply with her once or twice and then patted her uninjured arm. “Good, keep doing that. I’ll be right back.”

Panic flared in her eyes and she grabbed onto his hand. “No, stay.” He kept her hand in his and leaned close to press a kiss against her lips, and then to her knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere far, sweetheart, just the trunk.” He nodded to the back of the car. “First aid kit.”

He squeezed her hand and then put it back in her lap. “Just keep breathing.”

He went to the trunk and was back almost immediately with a big metal box. He pulled out a tube of smelly ointment and rubbed it carefully onto the burn. It began to ease the pain immediately, as he wrapped a gauze bandage around it. Next he probed her ankle with gentle fingers, before cracking a cold pack and holding it in place over the swollen joint with another expertly tied bandage.

Finally he was done tending to her wounds, and he put the first aid kit away and came back to sit beside her on the hood. They were quiet for a few minutes before Y/N stated the one fact she’d figured out so far.

“You’re not an FBI agent, are you?” She turned to look at him, and he turned his face up to the sky, contemplating the stars for a moment before he shook his head.

“No.”

“Then, who are you?”

He licked his lips and turned his gaze back on her. “I’m a hunter.”

For the next half hour Dean talked, laying the truth out in front of her like an offering. He explained that the thing chasing her had been a dragon. The murders at the hotel that they’d come to investigate originally were committed by other dragons from the same lair. He and Sam (his brother, not his partner) thought that these dragons were returning to their old haunt in order to draw them out, so the monsters could exact revenge on the hunters for their slain brethren.

“But thankfully we took them both out.” He finished and silence reigned for a minute. Clearly uncomfortable with the charged silence, Dean began talking again.

“The, uh, arrows are made out of an old sword that used to actually be stuck in a rock. Like the, uh, old King Arthur stories. You know?” When Y/N didn’t respond, he continued. “I actually had to pull it out of the stone. Well, I guess technically I blew the stone up, and I broke the sword. But then we melted it down and turned it into arrows. Easier to hit those suckers when they try to fly away.”

He was quiet a few seconds before he jumped down off the hood to stand in front of her. He caught her eye and his expression was pleading. “Y/N say something, or I’m gonna just keep rambling like an idiot, and nobody wants that.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how to start, what to say. This is really what you do? You lied to me. You’re not an FBI agent. So, that time we were together and you seemed troubled, and I asked you what was wrong, and you said you were working on a tough case - that was a lie. Or every time you had to go because you were urgently needed on a case, those…those were just lies too.”

Dean was shaking his head. “No, not exactly. I mean, no I’m not an FBI agent, but I was telling you the truth when I said I had a case. It’s just…it was a case of monsters not maniacs.”

Y/N looked at him for a moment before shrugging. “You know, it really doesn’t matter anyway. You stopped talking to me, remember? You haven’t answered my texts in weeks.”

Dean looked down at the ground. “Y/N…I…”

But Y/N cut him off. “No, it’s fine. Thank you for saving my life. You obviously don’t owe me anything after that, not even an explanation.”

She tried to scoot past him so she could get down off the hood, but he kept her in place, grabbing her hips in his big hands and pushing himself between her legs. The position was a little too intimate for her to maintain her composure, and her eyes darted down to his mouth and she licked her lips.

“But I want to explain.” Dean’s voice was low and slightly ragged, and she was glad that she was affecting him too.

His right hand moved from gripping her hip to cupping her cheek. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much.” His breath was warm against her lips as he hovered over them. “Missed this too.”

Then he was kissing her and she wanted to weep with how badly she wanted him, how much she’d missed him too. She was living on her own for the first time since college and it felt amazing, she felt finally free, felt as though her life could really start.

But through all the incredible changes, her mind had thought of him, missed him, and her heart had been shattered that as soon as she was free, he’d wanted nothing to do with her. That still broken heart pulled her away from his mouth and made her push on his biceps.

“Dean, let me go. I can’t do this anymore. I just…let me down.” But he wouldn’t budge. “Dean.” She said, trying to sound forceful.

“As long as you were married I could tell myself we didn’t have a future.”

She froze at his words and then scowled at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Dean closed his eyes. “My life is…hard. It’s dangerous and…and we lose people. All the time.” He opened his eyes to stare into her, and she could see the depth of pain that those losses had caused. “I was terrified to bring you into that, and I didn’t want to have to tell you that monsters were real. But as long as you were married, I could convince myself that none of that mattered, because despite what I might want, you weren’t available. You couldn’t belong to me.”

His smile was full of pain. “So, when you told me you were free, that you could, in theory anyway, be mine…I don’t know, I panicked. Because now the only thing keeping us apart was me and my fucked up life.”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat as he continued. “But these last weeks without you have been torture. I think about you constantly, talk about you constantly. I’m driving Sam nuts. He’s told me a hundred times to just call you. And I’ve wanted to, so much.”

He shook his head. “But…well, the truth is I don’t deserve you.” He shrugged. “But the reality is, I need you in my life. And I know I have no right to ask you, but…” He took a deep breath. “...stay?” His thumb traced her bottom lip. “Please stay with me.”

The pieces of her broken heart mended together as she wrapped her arms around his neck and beamed up at him. “Dean, you helped me remember who I am, showed me I deserved more than mere tolerance in a relationship. You saved me…even before you saved me.”

She smiled, teary eyed. “So, I’ll stay if you stay.”

Dean’s grin was full of relief and mischief and his bright, green gaze was full of love. “Just try to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

NEW TAGS 2:

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester angst #tw: cheating

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dollfxcx · 11 months

Note

hey!! could I ask for a pennywise smut where he just... fucks reader's mouth? and moving them around like a ragdoll and shit? (only if you're comfortable with that!!!)

[this was honestly so fun to write (him moving me around like a fucking toy is my biggest dream so I was happy to fulfill your wishes🙌🏻). I used she/her pronouns only once (literally), I hope it's okay, if not lemme know and I'll fix it right away<3]

TW: nsfw, emotional manipulation, food gore (? does that even exist), hate sex.

context: reader tried to leave neibolt house dozens of times yet she always comes back. yet this time penny's a little pissed at how long it took you. oh shucks what is he gon do😔🤭

word count: (1.7k +)

The house no longer looks like the one you left a few months ago. It's ruined, decadent, dead. It slopes perilously to one side and the once gleaming wood is now rotten and dusty. The lawn around has no longer been taken care of, tall blades of grass reach about a meter in height, yet they are not of a beautiful bright green, but yellow and dry, with curled and sharp edges. There is no trace of the hammock, as well as the small vases of flowers that used to rest on the balconies next to the main door. You place the heavy backpack on the ground, in front of the entrance, and take out the set of house keys. You try to insert them in the lock, but the door is already open. It invites you in, subtly, as if it wants you there. You place your hand on the handle, a shaking grip just begging you to step back and run. Yet you don't, perhaps stupidly, you keep your feet firmly on the ground. You lower the doorknob, the palm of your hand wet from the raindrops that were resting there, and you enter the house. Against all odds, everything is as you left it, in total contrast to the conditions outside. Everything is almost too tidy, to be honest.

"Is that you, Y/n, darling?" Your heart begins to beat almost spasmodically when you hear his voice, it seems like a gentle singsong that caresses your ear, sweet and familiar timbre. It comes from the kitchen, so you walk towards it, almost stealthily. He's facing the counter, tinkering with a steaming baking tray, but when he turns around, he is exactly as your best memories depict him, no claws or abominable razor-sharp teeth, just his sweet painted nose and buck teeth peeking through his full lips. Your legs feel feeble when he turns to look at you, sky blue eyes you've dreamed of seeing again for too long and an almost feline smile on your face.

"I made you lasagna." he points out to you as he places two plates on the dining table, his hands, beautifully gloved, comically undoing his apron. With still a shroud of suspicion, you sit down at the table, watching his every move. Pennywise grabs the baking tray where the lasagna should be, but, for a second, you can swear you saw something else altogether, something mushy, something throbbing. Something red, slimy. Alive. You blink and everything is as before, the lasagna gives off a hot and inviting steam and Pennywise looks happier than when you set foot in the house. He sits across from you and serves you a piece of lunch, a watchful and expectant gaze as he watches the movement of your fork as it approaches your lips. And when the first bite tickles your taste buds, you feel like puking, the rotting taste of raw

(human)

meat coating your tongue. You jump up, not even noticing the slight smile on his lips, and run to the bathroom.

***

"Doll, is everything okay?" You hear him speaking through the thick bathroom door, but you can't take your eyes off the mirror, your reflection, your (blood) red-stained lips, a metallic taste on them. You turn on the tap grudgingly and moisten the towel to clean yourself, but when you're about to bring it to your face, the stain is gone in the blink of an eye. Pennywise knocks on the door again, an insistence typical of him and, with an exasperated snort, you open it, the vision that appears in front of you makes your legs feel weak. His chest rises and falls slowly, straining the fabric of the silk grey costume he's wearing, a tuft of ginger hair dangles merrily in front of his eyes, very cheekily, full and plump lips slightly parted, and he's handsome as hell.

(The eyes cannot see what the heart sees

The mind cannot know what the heart knows

The ears cannot hear what the heart hears

The hands cannot give what the heart gives

There's a storm coming

There's a storm coming, feel the electricity

There is a storm coming to my city

It brings novelty, it brings novelty)

One of his hands gently grips your hair, tilting your head back so his lips, warm and slightly moist, like wax, can rest on the skin of your throat, the other grips your side, fingertips digging into your flesh.

"What took you so long?" he hums, sucking at the skin of your neck, tugging at your hair harshly for more access. You recoil from the jerk against the wall, one of his knees makes room between your legs for you to grind against it, his breath tickling the shell of your ear in a soothing tone.

"But you're back now, yes! Beautiful, beautiful

(fear)

Y/n, she always comes back to me, mh?" Pennywise bites your earlobe, his finger caresses your collarbone with butterfly-like lightness. You melt at his words and sigh, trying to convince yourself that this is the real him, that everything that has happened in the previous months has been all imagination, that maybe you are just schizophrenic, or that you dreamed it all up.

(And my mind is split inside one body)

His lips barely touch yours, you feel a slight smirk on your skin.

“You could be so good for me…” he comments, as if he's sorry that, until now, you haven't been able to be like that, yet. His hands move to your shoulders, yanking you down harshly, and it should hurt to land so hard on the floor, but you can't even feel it, too focused on his eyes gleaming golden when they meet yours. He gently takes your chin between his fingers, stroking your lips with his thumb, a little smile peers down at you.

"Can you be good for me now? You can give ol' Pennywise a reason why he should keep you, yes?" You don't quite understand why he said keep you, but you honestly don't care right now, you can only nod slightly under his light caresses. He hums appreciatively and spreads his legs slightly as his hand reluctantly leaves your face to fly to the hem of his pantaloons.

(Life is much broader than a definition

And everyone's waiting for something to happen

That will remove the veil of dust from reality)

You don't realize you breathe a sigh of relief when, pants around his ankles, his cock is freed from the garment's grip. The last time you dealt with it, you didn't get a chance to see it, it all happened too fast and the way you felt it inside you didn't seem human at all. What you are facing now, indeed, isn't human in the slightest, it's hard and it wriggles with tentacle-like enthusiasm, tip flushed and somehow already wet, eager. One of his hands is on his hip, the other is leaning against the wall behind you for support.

"Come on" he smiles, accommodating, reassuring, so loving you can't help but obey. You part your lips, palm open to grab his cock and lift it slightly, tongue flattened to caress the entire length. You hear him hissing above you, his hand moves from the wall to run through your hair, pulling it lightly, as if he's trying to hold back.

(And everything we know is not true

The origins are lost in the void of time

But everything is preserved in the depths)

You take it in your mouth slowly, without going too deep, teasing the tip to make soft pleased moans come out of his mouth. The taste is unexpectedly sweet, like

(rotten meat)

cotton candy, so you suck on it harder, tongue concentrated in passing through each slick crease to savor the sweetness of its pre-cum. He moans softly, you look up to see how his eyes have rolled into his skull in pleasure, slightly parted lips quivering, Adam's apple rising and falling as he swallows, a slight streak of drool dripping from his corner of the mouth.

"Yeah, like that..." he murmurs softly, his hand pressing against the back of your neck to push himself deeper. The feeling of gagging that starts building up in your throat can't be helped, even if you try to back away there's the wall behind you, so, with tears starting to sting your eyes, you allow him to fuck your mouth, his cock so deep that your nose presses, at one point, against his crotch. His movements go from rhythmic to spasmodic, carelessly thrusting in your mouth like an rabid animal and while it's not entirely pleasant, you hope it doesn't end. May this be what awaits you tomorrow too. And the next day. And the one after that. Pennywise cums in your mouth with an intensity you didn't expect, but his hand doesn't release from your hair, preventing you from moving, as if not even a drop could be wasted.

"Swallow." he orders hoarsely, voice not his

(I have found memories that are not mine

I have only one name but at least a hundred identities)

but you do it anyway, as it's the only solution for you to be able to breathe normally again. You hear him giggling almost maniacally, but it doesn't last long because then he lowers himself to your height, stroking the skin of your cheek with

(hunger)

sweetness, a lopsided smile on his lips.

"Bet you liked it, huh? Sooooo greedy, my Y/n." he takes your chin between his fingers again, this time squeezing harder than before, with less care, the tip of his tongue, which for a moment seems you strangely pointed, emerges between his lips when he moistens them in anticipation.

"You're gonna try to be loyal to me, yeah? You can do it, doll. I will give you all that you need, just say you'll serve me. Say you will sell your soul to me and I won't leave you alone... Do you like the idea? Yes?" he gets up, tugging his pants up and leaving you on the floor like a wet and used rag. Without even giving you time to speak. The both of you already know what your answer would have been. You realize only now that, since when have you set foot in the house, you still haven't said a single word to him.

—

feedbacks always appreciated

[requests open for headcanons too!!]

#it 2017 #pennywise #pennywise the clown #pennywise x reader #it (stephen king)#pennywise headcanon #fanfiction #fanfic #pennywise x you #it fanfiction #pennywise the dancing clown #it movie #clownlove #it fandom #ao3feed

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obae-me · 9 months

Text

Tainted Reflections- CH 15

Start This Story From The Beginning!

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Misery Craves Company

Warning: This chapter contains Blood, Gore, Violence, Burning, Overall Disturbing Imagery.

As Always, Read Safely!

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Bodies. A seemingly endless amount. A torrent of grinding teeth and claws. The screeching roared down on them like a waterfall. Glowing eyes of different sizes and colors stared down at them, so many they dotted the darkness with their own galaxy. Spit and blood dripped onto their cheeks from the feral mass. Close. Closer still.

A snap. Sparks formed between the fingertips. Azure lightning bolted upwards, illuminating the area for a split second. A snapshot of horns and teeth. However many they originally imagined, there were more. Much more. The air clapped with thunder, the echo rolling around the stone walls. Deafening. Debilitating. Those closest to the initial blast exploded. Eviscerated from sheer power alone. The flash tore through the wall, cutting through demons, metal, and brick like butter. Yet, in total, it had struck only a tiny portion of the storm. Not enough. For every one destroyed, a dozen more would be there to take their place.

Wind whipped. Harsh gales spun around them in circles. The deadly forms were thrown off course, smacking against the enclosure with a lethal crack. But the hurricane wasn’t finished. The draft began to condense, taking shape. Gossamer crows with shining yellow eyes swirled protectively. With a single synchronized cry, they were sent spiraling upwards. Pulled off of walls, pecked from their places, torn to shreds, plenty of the hive was obliterated in seconds. Corpses fell to their place at the bottom of the pit, but there were still so many alive in comparison. Not enough. The army plummeted towards them.

A single breath. A flame in the palm of an open hand. Tossed into the air with a flick of a wrist. As soon as it struck a figure, the victim was instantly incinerated. Not even enough time to scream. Engorged, the fire grew bigger, consuming more, feasting on the souls of the damned. It spread, the inferno blazing. Blinding. Ash began to drift down in sheets. However, a few more resilient demons held together with nothing but bones and an unrelenting homicidal soul managed to come through, even if they were half melted. Quantity verses quality. Not enough. Something snuffed out the firewall.

Mammon was caught first. A demon who had been resorted to a chest, head, and one arm snagged his shoulder with a grasp of nothing but bone. Before Greed could do anything about it, Lucifer destroyed it, grabbing the demon by the back of the head and tearing it off his brother.

And then the rest came.

A flood of snarls and slashes. Cocooned, it was difficult to see where the others were. Every so often one could catch a glimpse of blue or yellow. But aside from that, they were all lost in the sea of flesh and bone. The demons were weak, that much was apparent. There were just so many. Staving off every single attack took every bit of concentration, trying to keep from getting pulled down in the current. However, if this was all they needed to worry about, soon they’d reach the end. Three of the most powerful demons in the Devildom could manage a simple army like this on their own.

Something in the air shifted.

Diavolo threw several bodies off of him. Taking the face of one enemy in his hands, he used the limp body to bat several others away from him. “Lucifer!” No answer. “Mammon!” The same. Although, to be honest, the prince could hardly hear his own shouting. Everything was drowned out by hundreds, perhaps thousands of angry voices. Most of which were incomprehensible howls of corrupt devils who had lost most of their senses eons ago. Although those who had clung to whatever sliver of wit that remained were squalling his name. Diavolo, Diavolo, Diavolo. A hum- a chant- from the mob who wanted nothing more than to see him dead. Or worse. Definitely worse.

Something smelled like sulfur.

Every attack was feeble, paltry at best. Against royal blood, none of these prisoners stood a chance. But still, if Diavolo lost his focus for even one moment, a grip at his ankles or his wings would push him back downwards. At this point, he had no idea where he was in comparison to the others. Was he close to the bottom? Had he only moved a few inches? Not even he could fully tell. The only thing he knew right now was that the rabble was beginning to bother him. Did he go full out and destroy the rest? Would his companions get caught up in it? Lucifer might be able to take a hit from him, but would Mammon? Too risky.

Something in the distance began to hum.

At this point, a bit of guilt began to root at the back of Diavolo’s mind. He’d dragged Lucifer and Mammon in with him, demanded it of them even. Had he made a mistake? Mammon was already a bit injured. Would they get hurt further? If something happened to the second eldest brother of the Sins, would the others ever forgive him? Would Lucifer forgive him? Your choices bring nothing but misery. A hushed whisper seemed to slip past the barbaric wailing and into his ears. Diavolo had nearly forgotten… Pain and suffering follows in your wake. It’s in your blood. You’re destined to create torment. The prison was a force to be reckoned with as well. Failure of a demon. Failure of a prince! Concentration lost for just a moment. A cluster of limbs latched onto his wings. A choked out gasp of shock bubbled in his throat as he fell. The weight sent him spiraling downwards for a moment. Flames sprouted from his pores, licking across his skin. Those touching him were soon turned to dust. A pant. A small bead of sweat running down his forehead. This was getting out of hand.

Apparently he was not the only one thinking such things. A little further below him, light began to pour out in all directions. Between the shadows, Lucifer stood out in the darkness. Bright. Shining. Steadfast. Like always. A beacon for him to turn to. A four-pointed glare. A morning-star.

Diavolo allowed himself to lower further down the chamber, diving to Pride’s side. “You’re okay,” the prince sighed a bit, allowing himself to smile even as he noticed blood running down Lucifer’s cheek.

“Get below me.” An order most would not have the audacity to even think much less say. Only three people could get away with such things. Barbatos, Lucifer, and more recently, MC. From the look on his face, Diavolo knew there was no reason trying to argue, especially not during battle. The prince hovered a little bit below his right-hand-man, his closest companion. Back to back, spines pressed up against one another, they tackled the cluster.

It wasn’t long before the third member of their party noticed the light. However, he was much further below, more off to the side, fighting to push upwards. Mammon was holding his own, but gashes and tears were clear on his body. Lucifer noticed these details, his eyes flicking between Diavolo, his brother, and the seemingly endless amount of enemies. Pride looked distressed.

“I’ve got him!” The prince broke away. A few weights crashed into his back as he swooped down. Diavolo shook them off, refusing to be swept away so easily. A ripple of flame spread out from his sides, culling the herd enough to dip down to the right. His hand grasped Mammon’s wrist, refusing to let him drown in this mess. A large hand dusted the demons off Greed’s body as if they were simple insects. “I got you,” he shouted, wings spread wide enough to shield Mammon enough to breathe. “We’re almost through.”

A pulling sensation. A vacuum created on the upper end of the chamber. The mob got pulled away, thinning. In the distance, there were twisted screams of anguish. Diavolo felt his breath torn from him. The space around him grew sweltering, buzzing, that same scent of sulfur so strong, his nose felt like bleeding. He suddenly had the sense that something far above him knew exactly where he was…

“Diavolo!”

The air stopped churning just a moment before the world went silent. Then a deafening thrum droned through the prison, sounding as if the depths of the universe had just been torn open just to bellow. Heat. Light. Experiencing every sensation at once so much so that it felt like white nothingness. There was no pain. Just this immense pressure, the faint observation that he was being crushed. Then as soon as the world began to rebuild itself around him, he blinked away the spots in his vision. Sound trickled back in slowly, giving way to a ringing in his ears. After far too long, his body jump-started, gasping for air and coughing out the ash and blood in his lungs. The stench of sulfur faded, the only scent remaining the nauseating and overwhelming aroma of death and decay.

He had fallen all the way to the bottom of the pit, where the corpses of all the enemies rested. A few still twitched, desperate to not let their light die out. But it seemed to be the end to all of them. No more rained down from above. And yet, Diavolo had the sensation that the fight was far from over.

Rolling over onto his stomach, it took him a second to find the strength to push himself onto his feet. This feeling of weakness… of disorientation, it was foreign. Perhaps he’d become complacent in his strength. He’d only felt something similar once. A long time ago, right after he’d made Lucifer and his brothers the new council. An icy-hot pain that had left faint branching scars over his chest. When he’d almost been killed by the old council. The markings of Revenge.

But there was no pain this time.

This world, this pocket dimension- whatever it was- contained many surprises inside. Most of them, as you had experienced thus far, were surprises better left hidden. Clearly this place had been abandoned. Better to leave sleeping dogs lie as the saying goes. Or in this case, terrifying biological and magical weapons of warfare. However, perhaps the biggest shocker of all was how eager and quick you were to strip yourself nearly bare in this frigid hidden bunker in this worse-than-hellscape. Holding the clothes you’d peeled off the mannequin in front of you, you had to wonder if it would fit properly. Although, it didn’t matter to you much if it was too snug or too loose. All that mattered was if it was warm. Warm enough to keep you from freezing out there. Warm enough to be able to not feel like a burden to the twins. Warm enough to get out of here.

Settling the dagger and worn-and torn-clothes on the desk, you began to tug the pants over your legs. The specific outfit you had picked out of the array of armor seemed the comfiest of the bunch or at least the easiest to get into. Too many of these sets contained metal plates or chain-mail or far too many fastenings and leather straps. This arrangement was as simple as you could get. Black pants created with a heavy, denim-like fabric. A single strap attached to an empty sheath tightened around your thigh with a simple silver buckle. A new home for your dagger. A deep green tunic was tugged over your head, a small ivy pattern embroidered around the collar. Dark brown boots laced up to your knees. The leather they were made of was almost splotchy, stained around the toes. You ignored that detail. Better for your sanity that way. There was also a matching leather chest-plate, one that wrapped your torso, stopping just above your midriff. It would be difficult to put it on yourself. The others could help with that later. A simple pouch rested against your hip with a new belt around your waist. But best of all- the article that stood out the most to you- was a charcoal-colored cloak. Tight woolen threads were woven together, created to be draped over the head and arms, pinned together by your left shoulder by a large circular brooch.

Thank the realms. It was sturdy. Insulating. Mobile. In addition to all that, there seemed to be some sort of magic knitted and stitched into every inch of fabric. For, as you slowly discovered, the outfit shifted to fit your body perfectly. It was as if Singrid knew someone would be by eventually. Perhaps she had expected someone to pick up the mantle someday. Another scorned human pushed too far, stumbling down here to find anything to keep them and their vendetta alive. A pretty apt description for you right now. Although, as much as you wanted Iktio dead, you wanted your precious Sins alive more. Hopefully such an attachment to the damned wouldn’t have the famous demon-hunter cursing you from whatever plot of dirt served as her grave.

With another passing glance at the weapons around you, you nodded your head. You’d be back. If miracles still existed, the weapons themselves wouldn’t be hexed. If you, Beel, and Belphie could get geared up… But, speaking of those two, you should return with food. Until you all were ready to leave the house, there was no sense arming yourself up to the teeth just yet.

Grabbing the dagger off the table and putting it into it’s new sheath by your leg, you walked out of the hidden room. It was easy work pulling the matching blade from the wall. With the ‘key’ removed, the stones glowed one more, shuddering as it swung shut, seemingly sealing. Looking down at your palm, you wondered what you should do with the second dagger. Take it with you, or leave it here in the unfortunate event that someone else gets trapped here? Squeezing the hilt tightly, you made your decision. Take it with you. Make it so no one else would need it. You also didn’t want to leave the opportunity for Ikito to find this place. Sure he was a demon, but who knew what he was capable of?

It tucked away nicely for now between your body and the belt around your waist. Then you quickly got to work grabbing whatever food would fit into your arms. Racing up the steps- careful to avoid the one you’d slipped on before- you fled from the cellar. As your head poked out from the entrance, you spotted Beel pacing nervously just a few feet away from the doors. His head perked up as he caught you in the corner of his eyes. In just three long strides, he was right in front of you, carefully helping you out with his arms at your sides. You could tell from the way his mouth moved, that he was about to express his worry. But then, as he took in your new attire and your armfuls of food, he simply smiled.

“This is great!” He exclaimed, looking almost normal with the way his eyes shined and his stomach growled. For once, though, he ignored his own hunger, sharing some of the load as he took various ingredients from you.

“More than great! We’re going to be okay!” Although as you said that, something in the back of your mind psychically slapped you. Don’t jinx it. Shaking your head a little, you returned Beel’s grin. “There’s more down there!” In a rather rushed and excited tone, you explained everything you had seen past the steps. Although, the more you went on to explain the weapons room, the more the smile on your companion’s face fell.

Taking the last of the food from you, he stared past your shoulder, back at the doorway. “Are you sure it’s safe to be wearing that?”

No. Was anything completely safe in this place? You weren’t even sure that this home was as safe as you were considering it to be. However, standing out here in the snow, you didn’t feel that deathly chill nipping at your fingertips. Your steps felt stronger, more assured. “Like I said, Beel. I think this place is meant as a trap for demons, not humans. The clothes are fine.” A doubtful moan left the base of Beel’s throat, but aside from that there was no protest. It’s not like you could blame him. These were threads of a demon-hunter. “Go take those inside the house. I’ll bring up more!” Without waiting for his go-ahead, you sprinted back down to the cellar, repeating the motions from before and frantically plucking anything you could, balancing some extra jars under your chin.

Struggling to get back into the house, you managed to twist the knob with two fingers, swinging the door open with the tip of your foot. Frantic footsteps could be heard coming in your direction. Gluttony snatched everything he could out of your grasp, shutting the door behind you. “MC…” Your name was muttered softly, dripping with concern. “Don’t take on so much.” Hypocrisy aside, you nodded, lowering the hood to the cloak as you practically pranced into the kitchen.

God might’ve abandoned this place, but Manna came graced to you under the guise of potatoes. Hunger overcame you like a savage plague, gnawing at your innards. You hardly remembered stepping closer to the table, a random vegetable in your hand that you were seconds away from sinking your teeth into. But Beel was faster, grabbing your wrist and prying the food from your hands. “What—“

“I’m sorry… I know… I know how hungry you are,” Beel apologized, looking truly torn up about this. “But I need to check it first. Please… to make sure you’re safe, let me check this all first.”

Jaw still slightly open, you actually looked at him with a bit of frustration before it fizzled out of you. Malnourishment pounded in the back of your head, but despite the pain, you agreed. How silly would it be for you to suddenly choke on poison? A tragic and ungraceful end, much like Snow White, except for instead of an apple, it was a dirty tuber. Beel pulled back one of the kitchen chairs for you to sit in. After you’d settled down, he began to use his culinary and olfactory demonic superpowers to good use. Although even among demons, his talent was rather extraordinary. Smelling for rot or mold or toxins. He’d pick something up, spend a few minutes being completely thorough in his findings, and then set it back down. Eventually he came across an orange, peeling off the wax shell meant to serve as extra preservation. Citrus flooded your nose. Your mouth actually watered at the scent, watching Beel strip the fruit before peeling it apart. A sniff, and then it was actually handed to you.

“I think it should be fine, but still—“ His words wavered as you began to shove the sweet slices between your lips, the nectar glistening as it threatened to slip down your chin. A swift flick of the tongue prevented that. It was magnificent, like you’d never eaten anything else like it in your lifetime. Is this what Beel felt at all times? Is it why he enjoyed food so much? Even now, as satisfying as it was, you felt your body screaming for more. As you ate, a bit more color returned to his face, as if your sustenance was sustaining him by proxy. He began to peel another orange for you. This time, despite the survival instincts telling you to devour it whole, you split it in half for him, holding it out in an almost pleading manner. Seeing Gluttony go without eating was all too painful to bear. He hesitated for a moment, but then gladly took it, grabbing another chair and bringing it closer to you. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking a seat, his knees touching yours. Slowly, he ate a slice. Success. You had eaten, Beel had eaten, and there was still plenty to go. “I think all this would make a nice stew. Or maybe a stir fry.”

“I don’t care what we do, just throw everything into a pot and I’ll eat it at this point.”

At that, the demon even chuckled a bit, a deep bubbly one that remained contained behind his lips as he chewed. “I’ll chop the vegetables?”

“I’ll boil some water I guess,” you said with half a shrug. “Plenty of snow outside to take from. I could probably use some to clean Belphie’s wounds too.” Silence filled the air. “He’ll be okay.” Although you knew you were trying to convince yourself just as much as him. Finishing your orange, you stood, a hand on his shoulder. “He just needs to sleep a little, and he’ll be just fine.” Please be fine, Belphie, you thought to yourself. With a knowing glance between the two of you, you broke off to accomplish your own tasks.

Old house meant old cookware. Cast iron pans and pots, Dutch ovens. Sturdy. Heavy. Very quickly you realized you had picked the wrong job. You lugged a pot outside, sighing a bit as you nestled it into a little mound of snow. A wooden ladle clinked inside. You squatted down a bit, beginning to use the spoon to shovel the frozen powdered-water into the pot. It was mindless work, but you were pretty glad to be doing something. Focus helped keep the thoughts away. Labor worked away the jittery anxiousness. Soon the pot was full. With a grunt, you lifted the whole thing, heading back towards the door.

A faint screech sounded off in the distance. An inhumane one that had steadily become more familiar to you the longer you stayed here. It echoed through the trees, making it all the way to your ears. When it did, the sound twisted, rasping, calling out your name. Beel had said they were little more than weapons. They should not have had any other goal aside from destroying demons. That being said, the cry that disturbed your ears and the fallen snow had a note of desperation in it.

It was alive. And it was angry.

But for now, it sounded distant. Hopefully it would stay that way. For now, you’d push it aside. Food and water were more important. Beel and Belphie were more important. You rushed inside the house a little quicker this time. Passing by Beel to head to the fireplace, you caught a glimpse of his face. He had heard it too.

Pain. There was no pain. A good thing. Yet a bad thing. There should be pain. Which meant—

“Oi!” A crack of a shout echoed through the chamber. Diavolo looked up and then over to see Mammon scrambling over a pile of bodies like it was simply rubble, tripping over crooked fingers and stubbed horns. Greed found solid ground, his shoes making crisp sloshing noises as he marched over the lake of blood. The prince had hoped a massacre like this wouldn’t occur, but… Mammon grabbed the thin golden chains that draped over Diavolo’s waist, tugging them, angry and desperate. “What happened?”

Despite the last several minutes being a complete blur, Diavolo had an inkling as to the event that had just taken place. A blast, a shadow, a familiar frame wrapped around his own, no pain. And the longer he thought about it, the easier it was to connect the dots between the blank spaces. Please, fates, tell him he was wrong. “I…” Hesitation is ill begotten of royalty, but in this moment, Diavolo couldn’t find the words. New plans, the next steps, things he normally knew how to think up in a heartbeat, they were gone. The only thing that flooded his addled brain was panic. If he was right—

“Diavolo!” Mammon screamed, the tail-end of his cry cutting out, his voice on his last legs. “Where’s…Lucifer?…”

The glow of the Morningstar was nowhere to be seen.

They needed to find him. Now. “He has to be around here somewhere,” he answered, a breathless pant to his words. Although, as he dashed off for the search, his eyes worked on scanning for not just one, but two people in particular.

Flipped, now at the top of the prison once more, Diavolo traversed through the dips of the vaulted ceiling that now served as the floor. Mammon searched the various bodies that lay clustered across the expanse, making sure not to stray too far from the prince. As they turned over corpses and dug out demons, they both shared the same bittersweet hope that one of them would be Lucifer. Just as long as he was alright… The space wasn’t too large, about the size of one of the castle’s grand ballrooms. However, in this manner, in the aftermath of a battlefield, it seemed endlessly vast. Not to mention, the prison was still working on breaking down his mind, attacking the weakest parts of his psyche and hoping he would turn as mad as the rest of these prisoners. He felt as if he was going in circles… You’re nothing without the people around you. But you could have everything, be the most respected ruler in the Devildom. You could have everything you wanted… if you would just…

“Lucifer!” The name bounced off the walls and snapped Diavolo out of his daze. Mammon grunted as he pushed a few deceased away, taking a set of ankles in his hands and pulling his brother free. “I found him!” Heart filled with sudden relief, Diavolo took a step forward.

A flash in the corner of his eye. A few seconds. A swirl of wind behind him as he scooped Mammon and Lucifer into his arms and managed to drag them a stone’s toss away. That same booming rumble shook them to their core as a line of light scored across where they had just been. Whatever had been caught up in the magic was dissolved. Diavolo raised himself from the ground, tensing his jaw to get rid of the ringing in his ears. Another flash, faster this time. Diavolo cursed as he dove forward once more. A searing pain. The prince gasped a little as the light flashed just above them, grazing the back of his leg. His skin burned, but was still intact. The blast had been weaker this time.

Before another attack, Diavolo wrapped each of his arms around the Sin’s waists, flying up quickly before diving down back to the floor, running, throwing random up random flames and unused bodies in the air with a gust from his wings. After several methods of distraction, Diavolo forced everyone behind the cover of an arch, hunkering down amongst some of the remains of the dead. Hopefully that would buy them some time. “Are you—“ He whispered, turning his head towards Lucifer. A jolt of panic suddenly ran down his spine.

Lucifer looked the worse for wear. It was hard to tell if he was even conscious. Eyelids hardly opened before they twitched shut again. Blood ran from somewhere under his matted black hair and from his nose. Breathing was shallow, little more than a gentle wheeze. One of his beautiful wings was crooked, feathers singed, falling off in bloody clusters. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The front of his body, from his neck down to his waist was… disfigured…defiled…devastated. Clothes that were burned away completely only clung to the back of him from weakened tatters around his shoulders. Skin had fried away, showing lower tissue and filaments of muscle. Although, even now, Lucifer’s body was hard at work trying to put itself right. Flashes of pale magical light sparked under the nerves and through the veins. He was patching himself up as best as he could, even if he was unresponsive. It was a terrible sight, but as much as Diavolo felt like crying, he knew Lucifer would be okay. Pride couldn’t be killed so easily. But this meant he was in a state of vulnerability… He could scarcely move now, much less fight.

They had to get him out of here.

Mammon’s eyes wavered, glistening with tears he refused to spill as he held onto his brother’s shoulders. “Hey… get up, won’t ya?” His voice cracked a little too loudly.

The air was sucked from the room again, a hum building up quickly. “Move!” Diavolo demanded, giving Greed a push as he held Lucifer up off the ground with both his arms. They both jolted forward as fast as they could. Once more, magic blazed behind them, a single heartbeat away from sweeping them up into it’s destructive force. A few rapid vibrations rippled through the air. “Keep running!” Four shots in succession. One hit the wall behind them. One nearly hit Mammon’s wings, but missed. One struck Diavolo’s foot. One struck Lucifer’s leg as it jutted out from Diavolo’s hold. It burnt a hole in Lucifer’s clothes and left a mark, but not one nearly as bad as the first time.

They weren’t desperate shots either. Diavolo could tell. They were deliberate, each and every one. Not full misses by any means. They told Diavolo that Mammon could hardly escape the shots and with Lucifer in this state…he was dead weight. Something told the prince that the next blasts wouldn’t be so generous. They had to get out of here.

Running for their next cover, Diavolo tried peering through the darkness. Through the shadows, one particular patch seemed darker than the rest. The hallway. If they got up there, it was a straight shot to the doorway. A straight shot. The fact settled into Diavolo’s stomach with a biting coldness. There would be no cover in that hallway. There wouldn’t be enough time to fly down there and open the door without getting engulfed in the spell of destruction. Not unless Diavolo took it head on. They knew that. The guilt in Diavolo’s soul nearly consumed him. This whole thing…was a clever trap. And he led everyone straight to it.

Humming. Charging. The next blow was building up. This next one would be deadly. Catching Mammon by the back of his jacket, he tugged him into a seating position behind a mound of ash and bone. He handed Lucifer over to his brother.

“What?…” Mammon wondered, a familiar flicker of realization in his eyes. Always cleverer than he let on.

“I’m heading to the door. It’ll take some time to open, so I need you to wait till it’s ready before you and Lucifer escape.” His head craned around the barrier, trying to see if he could tell exactly where the attacker was.

“Just me and Luci?” He gritted his teeth a bit, adjusting his hold on the limp Pride. “No way! He’ll kill me if he finds out I left you alone! You’re the prince!”

“I know.” Diavolo looked up at the swirling darkness of the prison, watching blood drip down the curved inner walls. “If I try to leave on my own, Beleth will kill you two without a second thought. If I let you two leave…” Well, he wasn’t quite sure what the end result would be. Would he die? Would his plans and his kingdom fall to ruin? Would there be outrage? Joy? Who would run the kingdom without royal blood? You’re making a mistake, the temptations of a demon seeped into his brain. Let them die for you and survive. Or, would he win this fight and escape? Was this a test? To see if he was strong enough to be prince? Beleth had always been the paragon of pure strength. Always believed that the powerful were the only ones worthy to rule. And once Diavolo took over, they believed him weak. That the humans were weak. That the angels were weak. And so trying to befriend them was a sign of fragility. If Diavolo could defeat Calamity itself… “I’ll lead this next blast and run to the door. If I’m right, Beleth will charge up another one for me. After that second shot, the door should be open, so take Lucifer and get out of here.”

“But—“

“That’s an order.” Diavolo’s authoritative voice stunned Mammon into silence. There were more words he wanted to say. Things he wanted to share should they be his last message… but he couldn’t think like that. There was always hope to be had, that’s what he always talked about. Countless times had people called him too positive, too naïve. But he had to be optimistic. He had to believe he was strong enough for this. He had to trust he was meant to rule. Time was running out. And so, giving the two brothers one last look, he smiled. “Take care of Lucifer for me,” he uttered, before dashing out from behind the barrier, his eyebrows furrowing, anger filling the base of his throat with fire as he screamed, “Beleth!”

The burst fired, heat instantly evaporating the sweat off his skin just by being close to it. Luckily, Diavolo had adjusted himself enough to the pattern of the signs by now. He dodged it completely, lifting himself up into the air as soon as the magic shot off. The light was blinding, the sound drowning out everything with it's resounding pulse, but the prince soared over everything, his wings tucking in closer to his sides as he shot straight through to the hallway. The magical flames tried to ignite themselves in his presence, but the sheer force of his body wheeling past them snuffed them out.

The door. Just up ahead, the stone slightly outlined through the fog. The magic of whatever twisted the prison didn’t affect it apparently. The walls around him seemed distorted, a twirling tunnel, spinning around his body until the world felt right-side up again. Diavolo landed before the stone door, the click of his feet summoning the pillar from the ground. Slow. It was so slow. Raising dramatically from the floor, each passing second felt like agony. Footsteps echoed far off behind him. His palm on the slab of stone as it reached his waist. The smell of sulfur, the hum and heat so overwhelming, his vision swayed. His wrist restrained like before. No getting out of it now. With a sharp pain, his blood was drained from him. The prison was satisfied with his sacrifice, but Beleth was not. The doors creaked. Escape just mere feet from him. A single ray of moonlight touched his face.

Then that’s when he felt the pain.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beel #obey me diavolo #tw blood #tw violence #tw burning #tw gore #tainted reflections

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melanieathene · 7 months

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Suptober 2023 Day 7 - Black Cat

You might think life as a witch's familiar is an easy one. A roof over my head, a place to sleep and a belly full of food in exchange for helping focus their power. Oh, and maybe the sacrifice of a claw clipping. Or a tuft of hair. Or a few drops of blood. Even a pulled whisker or two – ouch! That one hurts.

But it's not all lazing in the sunlight and yowling at the moon. There's a lot less to purr about than you might think. And what's a feline to do if hunters come after your witch and slay her? Well, it's back to the streets with you then – and if being a black cat labels you as being bad luck, well, that's too bad for you.

Not that my witch-bitch didn't deserve to die. She was evil personified. She hurt a lot of people – innocent people – and she cast a lot of malevolent spells. So it was inevitable that hunters would eventually find and end her.

But not before she had time to cast one final spell...

A curse. A love curse at that. Honestly, was that the best she could do? I can think of a dozen better options, but I guessed she panicked.

I will spare you a list of the ingredients that went into the spell. They make me queasy, and I'm not the picky type. Suffice to say, it was a noxious brew. The tall hunter who came up behind my mistress (and killed her), avoided being enchanted. But the other two – the pretty one (according to her) and the angel – caught the worst of it right in the (excuse the expression) puss.

There was a moment, a brief moment, when I thought the spell wasn't going to work. But then they started making goo-goo eyes at each other. Handsome's hands reached out to grab the angel and pull him in close. I found it hard to tell if they were kissing or trying to devour each other.

The tall hunter figured it out before I did. He muttered something that sounded like, “finally!” followed by, “I'll just wait outside.”

He ran from the room as if Satan himself was on his heels. I sat and watched the increasingly enthusiastic lovers for a while, but their x-rated antics soon became more than I could bear. I joined the tall hunter outside, where he leaned against a sleek beauty as black as my fur.

“Hello, kitty,” he said as I sauntered over, and he squatted down to pet me. I allowed it. A good decision. His clever fingers found all the places I most like being stroked.

Moans and the sound of furniture crashing to the floor echoed from within the cottage.

“How long do you think they'll be?”

I purred in reply as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

I wish I could have told him the spell typically only lasts an hour. Unless the victims happen to be secretly in love. The effects never totally go away in that case.

But I'm a cat and I can't talk. And I had new accommodations to locate. Something different this time, hopefully. A nice little family. A warm place by the fire. A bowl of milk now and then...

No more damned witches for me!

#Suptober #suptober23 #suptober23 day 7 #destiel #spn #supernatural #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Sam Winchester

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brokeitwiththepowerofmathamatics · 3 months

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Fanfic - I see what you'll become

(ao3 here) (ff.net here)

This was written for @valentines-core-exchange. I've been wanting to write a story like this for a while, though I'll admit this is outside my comfort zone. I've never written a story like this before, but I definitely had fun writing it.

Written for @pennerjones (who for some reason tumblr will not let me @)

Most thought Clockwork had always existed, he was the Lord of Time after all. It made sense. Clockwork was content to let people think that. But Clockwork didn't always exist, there was someone before that.

Cassius flew through the forests. The scouts were wrong. The enemy had encroached so much farther than they had thought. A dozen ghosts, infected and corrupted by the Avatar of Malice, were chasing him through the woods. Cassius was fifteen minutes out from any of the outposts that Dark had set up to watch for the encroachment, but hopefully he could make it.

The internal clock in his head told him he only had a minute till he was caught.

Above the treetops, enraged spirits let out screeches as they clawed at each other. Too filled with hate to even recognize that they were clawing at who should be their allies. Behind him, the Infested scrambled along the ground, their arms and bodies distorting as they all tried to chase him down while also trying to tear into each other.

Even though they recognized Cassius as something they wanted to destroy, it only marked him as slightly above each other.

Cassius felt something grab his cloak. The cloak was of a good make, it held firm even as it forced Cassius to stop suddenly. Cassius cried out as his body impacted against the ground, and for a brief moment, he saw the infinite green of the realm of the dead above him.

Before the Infested blocked his view.

“No! No! No!” Cassius shouted. He swung his staff around trying to beat off the infested. Their bodies had been so infected, that the ectoplasm had turned red, and hardened their skin. Each movement they made was enunciated with a cracking sound that rang sharp, and their clawed fingers tore apart Cassius’s armored clothes, making short work of the token protections he wore.

But there was one part of Cassius that was not even protected by those.

Cassius saw the hands above his face, glowing red eyes forming in their palms as they searched to try and find a weak point so they could tear him apart. The same way they once had been.

It happened so quickly, Cassius hadn’t had time to recognize what was going to happen.

He only felt it.

He let out a guttural scream that tore his throat as the hands reached into his face, tearing chunks out of it. The first Infested had struck quickly, shoving its fingers deep through one of his eyes. But it wasn’t the only one, and they all wanted the pleasure of tearing him apart to themselves. The next infested tore into Cassius’s face, trying to pull away the first so it could have the release of destroying something. Its claws didn’t sink in as deep, but in a wider area.

Then a third followed suit, digging into the cracks the others left behind.

Cassius didn’t so much fight back as thrash about in pain. He screamed and screamed. “Help me!” He cried out, futilely. “Please someone!”

A roar shook the ground and rattled the trees. The infested recognized a threat to their existence, and hesitated. A moment later the ground next to Cassius cracked, as mace crashed through the piled up Infested. Their armored hides did nothing to stop them from being smashed into pieces.

Cassius was ripped off the ground as one hand cradled him to an armored chest. His savior roared and screamed, with enough anger in him to match those contorted by the Avatar of Malice itself. He was pressed further into the arms of the one who saved him, as they swung their weapon about.

This continued for a minute and fifteen seconds, before there was the sound of spears piercing the ground, and everything went still. Cassius was shifted, finally able to look up. “Dark?” He whispered.

“I have you,” Dark said, cradling Cassius in his arms. “I have you. You’re safe now.”

“Dark, they… they tore into me,” Cassius cried, “I’m… I’m going to-”

“No, you’re not,” Dark cut him off. “That is an order, you will not be corrupted. Understand?” Dark twisted and started marching through the woods. “Fetch the healers! All of them! The Frozen Tribes want to swear allegiance? Fine! They can prove their worth by saving this man!”

Dark pulled Cassius in closer to his chest. Even though they were all dead, Cassius could still feel a rise and fall of his king’s chest through the armor he wore. Dark’s steps grew faster and faster as Cassius tried his hardest to keep his eyes open.

Or rather, his remaining eye.

It was futile, darkness had taken him over before the warrior gave up on walking and began to fly.

***

When Cassius came to, it took him three and a half seconds before he recognized where he was. The stone arched ceilings weren’t something he often looked at, usually in this room he watched his king. However, the crimson banners gave him a clue to where he was.

Cassius sat up, causing a cry of shouts to begin to ring out. He was helped up to a sitting position by a large furred man. “Careful,” he said, a low baritone voice echoing out in a calming manner, “Do you know where we are?”

“Dark’s keep,” Cassius said, tearing his eye away from the man. “How did I get here? We were on the outskirts of the kingdom.”

“Ghosts are creatures of emotion, when we want something, when we desire it. We can do much more than we’d expect. The king was quite insistent.”

Cassius tried to see the throne, but he was surrounded by too many healers. He turned toward the one who was helping him. “I’m afraid I don't recognize you… but your form looks familiar.”

“Yes, I am from the Far Frozen, I am one of the many yetis who have come to rally against the Avatar.” The yeti reached over and a piece of ice materialized in his hand. “You may call me Frostbite.”

“Frostbite, thank you.” The yeti hummed as he pressed the ice against Cassius’s head. Cassius let out a gasp as the chill, greater than even death, sunk into him. Pain he hadn't even recognized began to fade as the ice pressed against wounds. Cassius took another breath before he tried to speak again.

He didn't get a chance to, instead a bellowing cry of “Enough!” rang out. The entire throne room grew quiet as the sea of healers began to part. Cassius turned to look and saw Dark trying to push his way through, too impatient to wait for the healers to move. There must have been at least two dozen of them surrounding his bed.

Dark forced his way through. And Cassius gasped as he saw him. A feeling of relief washed over him, as he realized that, yes, he did survive, and he got to see Dark again. He tried to memorize the sight of Dark approaching him. After four seconds, Dark had made his way through and knelt down next to Cassius’s sick bed. “Cassius, my Cassius, you’ve awakened.”

Cassius had to turn more, further than he would have had to before the loss of his eye. He looked down at his hand which was encased by the much larger Dark’s. Cassius felt his chest twitch as he mentally caught up with what was happening.

“Dark…” he whispered. He smiled at his lord and met his gaze. Dark’s lips thinned as two eyes met one. “Dark, I believe you’ve missed several meetings.”

A laugh burst out of Dark's mouth, curving his lips into a smile. “I think I have bigger concerns than a few unimportant meetings.”

Cassius huffed. “Dark, unless I’m wrong, I've been unconscious for 13 days and 7 hours. Which means that you should be meeting with Lord Nocturn-”

Dark squeezed Cassius’s hand possessively. “Cassius, I’ve told you not to call any other Lord or King by their title. You serve me, not any other Lord.”

“Lord Nocturn- and his army of dreamers. They are just as needed to fight this threat as any.”

Dark scoffed. “And what point is there of any of that if the ones I care about are left by the wayside.”

Cassius couldn’t think of anything to say to that. So, he didn’t. Instead, he simply decided to continue staring into Dark’s eyes and squeeze back with a smile on his face..

There was a clearing of a throat, and the two of them looked up at Frostbite. “I hate to interrupt, but there is something important we need to address.” He turned toward Cassius and fixed him with a look. “This treatment was very experimental, and it won’t be without consequences.” His face fell. “I would hope it’s already obvious, but your form has been damaged. Permanently.” Dark raised a hand to turn Cassius’s face toward him. Cassius watched through one eye as Dark’s eyes roamed over his bandages and his lips turned into a frown.

Frostbite’s stern look turned soft and he gave them both a smile. “But, other than the loss of your eye, you should fully recover. The rest is up to you, and bed rest.”

Dark stood. Cassius turned to listen to his announcement, the others in the throne room hadn’t quite caught the way his stance widened, or the set of his shoulders before he gave a demand. “The healer has spoken, Cassius needs rest. Everyone, unless you are a healer, a messenger, or one of the ancient lords, get out.”

Cassius raised his hand and grabbed Dark’s. “Dark, I can sleep in our chambers.”

Dark’s hand squeezed, practically crushing it. Dark’s eyes snapped to Cassius. “No.” The statement was final. There was enough force behind it that Cassius was reminded just why everyone was flocking under his banner. “I nearly lost you. Once in that forest, and once under the doctors’ hands. You’ll stay right here in front of me, where I can see you.”

Cassius felt his mouth dry as Dark continued to focus on him. “As you wish…”

Heavy footfalls approached the two of them, and Dark turned to face him. He addressed the knight that approached them, “What is it?”

“My Lord, what of the captured Infested?”

Cassius blinked. “Captured? We took some of them prisoner?”

Dark didn’t turn, but answered him. “Yes, the healers had said it would help them figure out how to cure you.” He turned toward the knight and waved his hand. “We have no need for them anymore. Bring them to the dungeons.”

Cassius sat forward. “Could they be cured?” He hadn’t intended to shout, but many of those who hadn’t yet left turned to face him.

Dark turned and looked at him, his eyebrows raised. Even the knight seemed surprised Cassius had asked. “Well,” Frostbite began, “It’s not impossible. It’d be much more difficult, you only had a small infestation of malice, and those ones are completely taken over.” Frostbite raised a hand and pointed to a corner of the room. Now that the hall was clearing, Cassius could see the cage holding them.

It wasn’t as large as he would have expected, in fact, it was quite small, it would take Pariah two steps to cross the short side, and three to cross the longer, and it wouldn’t even have reached up to his shoulders.

But the unique thing about it, were the spikes that were pointed inward. Even in the dark of the throne room, he could see them glowing. Not quite the same dark green that permeated the ghost zone, but bright and sharp. Just looking at it made a chill run through the entirety of Cassius’s body that Cassius would never forget.

It was the chill he felt as he lay dying.

“It’d be a long shot,” Frostbite continued, ignorant of Cassius’s discomfort, “but we could theoretically cure them.”

Cassius barked out a laugh. “That’d be great! We might be able to save them!” He turned toward Frostbite. “I doubt we’d be able to reunite them with anyone, but… at least they’d have a chance?” He turned back Dark. “It’d be nice to do something good after all this.”

Dark hummed thoughtfully, and reached over and ran his thumb along Cassius’s jaw. “It would, wouldn't it?” He turned back toward the knight. “Still though, they can’t stay in the throne room. Bring them to the dungeon.”

The knight bowed and turned to follow orders. Dark turned and walked up the steps to the throne. He glanced at Cassius, and raised his fist. The bed Cassius was sitting on began to shake, and Frostbite shouted, before Cassius was raised up, and a horde of skeletons carried Cassius up to Dark’s side.

Dark reached over and placed his hand on Cassius’s shoulder.

“Now then, who needs to be heard first?”

***

The next several hours were a long slog of conversations, the longest of which was a very long conversation between Dark and one of Nocturn’s messengers. With that one, Cassius had to get involved quite often to calm Dark down, as Nocturn had demanded an apology and if there was one thing Dark gave out, it was not apologies.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the dead did not need rest. Physically at least, so 53 hours later, Dark had managed to answer everyone who had come to him.

The moment the last messenger had been dealt with, Dark called in for Frostbite.

“What do you need of me?” Frostbite asked as he approached the throne. He gave Cassius a soft smile before turning back to Dark and turning serious again.

“I want you to check on Cassius’s health.”

Cassius rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, my lord.”

Frostbite scoffed. “Between the three of us, who’s the one with any medical training?” He asked, before bending over Cassius’s bed. His large frame covered all of Cassius’s remaining vision. “Dark is doing the right thing. He’s being cautious.”

This time Dark scoffed. “Cautious? No. I’m being proactive. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this war, it’s that victory favors action.”

“War? Is that what we’re calling it?” Frostbite voiced sadly. “I thought it was a fight for survival before the Infinite Realms are cleared out for the next age.”

“Exactly, a fight I intend to win.”

Cassius felt something touch his face and he jerked. Frostbite leaned back at the same time that Dark’s head snapped in their direction. “Sorry,” Cassius said, shaking his head, “That… surprised me.”

Frostbite shook his head. “No, that was my fault, I should have announced what I was doing. I’m taking off the bandage around the remains of your eye.”

Dark’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Are there options?”

Frostbite paused as he unwound the bandages, just for a quarter of a second. He continued unwinding the bandages. “Options? To fix the eye? His form is damaged, it is not an easy thing to fix.”

Frostbite bit his lip as the wraps came off. “Well, you certainly are a tough one. This is much better than I had even hoped. I’m going to touch your face here to inspect the scar here.”

Cassius glanced at Dark and uttered quietly. “Well, my lord gave me an order to recover from this.”

Frostbite chuckled. “Well, that would do it…” Cassius sat still as Frostbite poked and prodded. He leaned back and shook his hands and dusted them off, clouds of snow drifted off of them with each movement. “Just to confirm, you two know nothing about necromantic medicine?”

Cassius shook his head as Dark leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “The only information I have on the subject is about how to destroy.”

Frostbite nodded. “Humor me, tell me what you do know.”

“Unlike our mortal forms, our forms are not a physical construct. I could flay the skin off any ghost and they’d be able to recover eventually. But, if I strike with enough intent, when I want to crush and kill, their forms can be broken. That being said,” He glanced at Cassius for a brief moment before looking back at Frostbite, “We still feel like we use our senses. We don’t truly have a form, but we think we do, so we do. So if one were to do enough damage to a ghost to the point that they feel like they have been torn to shreds, and keep them there in a period of time, they’ll be destroyed even without the intent.”

Frostbite nodded. “Excellent, that’s a perfect spot to start.” Frostbite put a hand to his chin and stroked his fur (or perhaps that was his beard? It was a bit long compared to the other Yetis). “The term infested for these wasn’t chosen randomly, they quite literally have a piece of the Avatar of Malice shoved into their forms. And even the Avatar of Malice’s most passive intents are enough to overwhelm most ghosts.”

Frostbite began to pace in front of them. “The operation we did was to excise that infection out of you, but to put it frankly, we had to remove the concept of an eye out of Cassius’s form.”

Dark leaned back, surprise quietly clearly written on his face. “That’s something that can be done?”

Frostbite smiled. “We are the best healers for a reason.” The smile quickly turned into a frown again. “But to that point, Cassius’s form subconsciously feels that he should not have an eye so therefore he doesn’t. I was fearing that there’d be more damage done to his form, but we were cleaner than even I expected, the excess damage is minimal.”

Cassius began to reach up to touch his own face, but Dark’s hand shot out and stopped him. Cassius looked down at Dark’s hand, before reaching up with his other hand and gently prying it off his wrist. “May I see?”

Frostbite nodded and held out a hand. Ice formed in hand taking the shape of a hand mirror. He handed it over to Cassius. He held it up and looked at his reflection in the perfect ice.

Cassius felt his throat seize as he looked at the wound. There was no weeping ectoplasm, or anything of the sort that would indicate this was an injury, but he could see into part of his face. It was like someone had sliced out a chunk of his head, like one would slice open a cake. He could see a static barrier of ectoplasm that acted like a facsimile of skin, but it glowed brightly as compared to the rest of his pale skin.

“Oh…”

“So, options.” Dark demanded.

Frostbite huffed. “Well, going back to your comments about intent. It’s theoretically possible, but-”

“But what?” Dark interrupted. “What would I need to get you?”

Frostbite huffed. “I was getting to that. What we would need is to fill Cassius’s form with something. We removed the concept of an eye from Cassius, so we’d need to put it back in.” Frostbite waved his hand about in the air, “It’s not like we can just create such a thing. Much like to forge a sword, you need to find the ore first before forming the blade, we’d need to find the material to create that concept. That material is a concept, a part of someone’s identity.” Frostbite sighed and ran a hand over his head. “So, in order to fix Cassius’s eye, we’d have to rip it out of someone else.”

“I can have my army go out and capture a thousand ghosts.” Dark dismissed with no hesitation, “Finding someone to take it from is a trivial task.”

Frostbite’s jaw dropped, as Cassius turned. “No, that’s not… I don’t want anyone else harmed for my sake.”

“If it’s for you, I’d send my army into the Avatar of Malice’s clutches myself.”

“Regardless,” Frostbite said, a bit of panic leaking into his voice. “Even then, it’s not so simple.” Frostbite held out his arms as if to try and get Dark’s attention on him, though nothing would tear it away from Cassius. “If it were a simple matter of a transplant from one host, willing or otherwise, to another, that’d be one thing.”

Frostbite lowered his head to look up at Dark and took a step closer. “There’s also the fact we are splitting someone’s soul. That isn’t something to be considered done trivially. If the donor is too weak, it’d be overwhelmed by Cassius’s own will and it’d be like we did nothing. Too strong, and it’d overwhelm him and change him permanently. It’d have to be of equal power to him… or back to the concept of intents, be given willingly.” Dark’s eyes narrowed and Frostbite reiterated. “If it was given willingly, if the donor was stronger and had the intent of giving Cassius his eye, then it’d take with minimal damage.”

Dark let out a hum. “I see… that makes sense.” Dark sighed. “Is there anything else of note that you’d like to share?”

“No, I think that covers it.”

“Then you are free to go.” Cassius cleared his throat and Dark grimaced. “Thank you for your time.”

“My pleasure.” Frostbite said bowing.

As Frostbite left, Cassius turned to look at Dark. Dark’s eyes never left Frostbite’s back before he exited the door and stayed fixed on the exit as it closed. Cassius reached over and grabbed Dark’s hand. Carefully, he removed the gauntlet off of it as Dark watched his fingers entranced. Once the metal was gone, he linked his fingers with Dark’s.

“Does it bother you?” Cassius asked. “My appearance now?”

“You being hurt bothers me, not your appearance.” Dark clarified. “You could look like the good doctor for all that it matters to me, but I don’t like seeing you wounded.” His lips tightened and he swallowed. Cassius could hear it clearly in the silence of the throne room. “It does bother me, it reminds me that I nearly lost you. That I let you go on your own into a land my scouts said was safe, and that I had stayed behind and nearly got you killed.”

“You did nothing of the sort. It was my decision to be alone for a bit.”

“And it was my decision to not send any soldiers with you. I should have known better.” Dark sighed and stood up, not letting go of Cassius’s hand but turning just the same to face him. He sat down on the bed and scooped up Cassius into his arms and sat him on his lap. “I nearly lost you, and I was playing king.”

Cassius leaned into Dark, but pressed gently against his chest. “I may need to remind you, the doctor said I should rest.”

Cassius could feel Dark’s face shift into a smile against the top of his head. “That’s why we are here on your bed. Besides, he also said you’re recovering well.”

“I suppose that he did.”

***

It was 26 hours later when Nocturn arrived. It was herald by the endless green void darkening to the point that even the oldest ghosts remaining remembered the night sky from their lives. Some marveled at the change, the Infinite Realms were not known for change after all, but most grew restless as the entire realm began to accommodate the Lord of Dreams.

It took another hour and a half for the Ancient to arrive. The doors burst open and a dark mist spilled out. Some of Nocturn’s sleepwalkers marched in, their sackcloth forms forming a corridor. They knelt down as Nocturn entered.

To say he walked in wouldn’t be quite right, the Lord of Dream’s form was more like a mass of darkness than anything else. He slid into the room, ducking his head underneath the doorframe and then stretching up to the full height of the room.

The darkness spread to the foot of the throne, a few torches keeping the dark at bay. Nocturn stopped just outside the light. “So, you are the one called Dark.” Nocturn looked him up and down. “I am not impressed.”

Dark scoffed. “Considering how few can destroy the Infested, you should be. If we counted how many warriors outside of your army can defeat them, we’d still have a hand left.”

This time Nocturn scoffed and bent down, “Yes, let’s ignore the greatest defenders of the Infinite Realms. Are we ignoring the Ancients who survived the last Calling as well?”

“The point is that if we hope to survive this, we should be working together. Or are the stories of the fallen ancients just that?”

Nocturn stood back up. “No. No they are not.” Nocturn looked around the room, at all the ghosts that had fled to Dark’s banner. “Even if I dislike it, this is beyond any of us. If we wish to survive, we’ll all need to work together.” Nocturn turned toward Dark and pointed his finger at him, “Make no mistake, I have heard stories of you, Dark. Stories that I hope are just stories. Stories of how you treat your men, stories of how you treat your allies, stories of-”

“He’s not like that.” Cassius interrupted. “Yes, he can be terrifying, but he’s been keeping us all safe.”

Nocturn turned toward Cassius, then glanced at the bed he was resting on. His gaze shifted towards Dark, before he looked back at Cassius . “Forgive me if I don’t find your words convincing.”

Before Cassius could say anything more. Dark spoke up. “I don’t care if you like me. I’m not here because I was liked, I am here because I am strong.”

“Not strong enough,” Nocturn said, folding his arms. “You speak of strength, but your strength only extends as far as your arm. Unlike me. If it were not for Helios telling me to visit you, you’d be beneath my notice.”

Cassius could see Dark’s jaw work as he bit his tongue. Cassius knew that Dark had much to say about that, but none of them should have been antagonizing each other. Cassius knew Dark though, and knew exactly how to keep him from snapping back. “Helios? I don’t know this name, though it feels familiar.”

Dark’s jaw loosened immediately and turned to Cassius. “Another Ancient,” he began explaining, to ensure that Cassius never felt lost in his presence. “Nocturn is the Lord of Dreams, Helios is the Lord of Vision. He sees much. If he is forcing us to work together, then it is the best chance we have.” Dark huffed through his nose and turned back to Nocturn, “If you have a suggestion, I’m all ears.”

Nocturn laughed. “If you could, oh mighty king, you’d have an army to match mine. No, your royal army doesn’t carry your strength.”

Dark stayed quiet for a moment. “Explain that.”

Nocturn looked down at Dark, confusion spreading across his face. “Explain what, it’s a simple concept.”

“What does kingship have to do with the armies?”

Nocturn frowned, and for two and a quarter seconds, Cassius thought he wouldn’t answer. Then Nocturn reached into the darkness swirling about his feet. “Simply put,” he said, drawing out a sleepwalker from the mists. “This soldier here, carries my intent. He is my hand, carrying out my will. You don’t have enough intent to have your troops carry it.”

Dark leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “So… if I were a king, my troops would all be able to fight the Infested?”

Nocturn froze. “If you were a king?”

“I am not a king, I am just a warrior who others have been following. This castle wasn’t made for me, it was where I found a handful of fearful ghosts hiding from the Infested. It suits our purposes as a lair, but I have never called myself a king. It is others who call me king.”

Nocturn shrunk down so that he wasn’t towering over Dark. “And how many of those are also capable of fighting the Infested?”

Dark glanced at Cassius, and Cassius refused to meet his eyes. There was a reason he was injured. He was not suited for battle. He hated that, he wanted to stand with Dark as an equal, but what could a ghost who had a knowledge of time do?

“Of those that go into battle? All of them.” Dark stated.

“Exactly… as a king, as a ruler, they carry your intent. If you intend to destroy the Infested then they can too.”

Dark stood up. “Frostbite,” he demanded.

Immediately the Yeti made his way to the front of the crowd that was gathering around the edges of the room. “Yes?”

“I have another task for your craftsmen. I apparently find myself in need of a crown.”

“We’ll have it ready soon. Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s of utmost importance. If we can go from 5 warriors capable of fighting the Infested to a thousand, we will have a chance.” Frostbite bowed before turning and running out the door.

“Another order?” Cassius asked, “What was the first?”

“Nothing of importance. Just a token for myself, a promise to never let you get hurt again.” Dark said, turning to Cassius. He placed his hand on Cassius’s head before moving to cup his cheek.

Nocturn grumbled. “Cute, but we still have matters to discuss.”

“Vortex.”

“He won’t listen to you.”

“Will he listen to you?”

“It’s possible, but unlikely. He’s…”

“Volatile?”

“I was deciding on stubborn, but yes, that as well.”

“I might have a plan, though I’d like to know what someone who fought with him in the past would think of it before deciding on any decisions.”

“What plan could possibly force him into the fight?”

“The yeti’s have a metal, it causes a feeling of fear in those who are in close proximity-”

Nocturn rolled his eyes. “You seek to use that on Vortex? Each of the Ancients can resist such paltry-”

“I don’t intend on using it on Vortex, I intend on using it on the Avatar of Malice.”

Every single ghost in the room, including Cassius turned toward Dark with various levels of incredulity on their faces. “Dark,” Cassius began, “How could that possibly work?”

Dark smiled. “I have fought many of the Infested, and I know one thing. They still have fear. The Avatars of Malice will tremble as I crush them beneath my heel. I have reason to believe that the Avatar of Malice does as well. Aren’t some expressions of malice born of fear?”

Dark stood up. “Additionally, a Calling happens in a place of calm, yes?” When Nocturn didn’t correct him he continued. “If we scatter the spaces where the calling can occur, we can shift it. Pushing it to the nearest stable realm.”

The room was silent as everyone processed the plan. Nocturn never broke eye contact with Dark for thirteen seconds, “You wish to force the Calling to happen in Vortex’s realm.”

Dark nodded. “He will fight, whether he wishes it or not.”

“I don’t know if you’re insane, foolish, or both. This idea could only come from a madman…” Nocturn paused as he thought a bit more. “But it could work.”

***

After that proclamation, the castle broke into a flurry of activity as orders began to be given. Nocturn’s sleepwalkers weren’t the talkative type, but they were quite efficient as messengers carrying written orders to and from the castle. Even better, they didn’t feel fear, so they were quite helpful in moving in spreading the metal that the yeti’s were providing.

Cassius was taken away from the throne room and brought back to his bed at Frostbite’s insistence. Dark practically threw a fit over it, but Frostbite pointed out the fastest Cassius had healed was when Cassius was sleeping and at peace as compared to the last several days of being in the throne room. Convinced of its importance, Dark carried Cassius to their chambers himself.

Cassius threw himself in his bed – big enough for both him and Dark to have plenty of room in – curled under the blankets, and slept for 16 hours straight.

He would have slept longer, but he was awoken by a knock at his door. It would not have been Dark, as Dark would have just entered their chambers. Cassius thought about ignoring it, before there was a second knock.

“Come in,” Cassius called out, not getting out from under the blankets. The door creaked open and heavy footfalls echoed in the chamber.

“Comfortable, are we?” Frostbite chuckled, standing somewhat near the bed.

“Very,” Cassius stated. “And though I am dead, I feel quite warm under here.”

“Unfortunately, I’m going to ask you to scoot over this way and come out from underneath. I am not going to sit on Dark’s bed to get close enough to check your wounds again. I fear our king would splatter me against the walls if I were to be in the same bed as you.”

“He would not, he is a just man.”

“Hmm…” Frostbite hummed.

The sound dragged Cassius out of the bed. “Do you not believe so?” He demanded.

“He is protective of you, very much so. I think when you’re involved, reason flees him, as it does anyone in love.” Cassius felt himself blush at that. He knew Dark loved him, but Dark would never say such a thing outright. “But also, he is a warrior first, and a king second. Even though many called him a king, he refused to accept that title.”

Cassius nodded and sighed. “He called what he was doing playing king quite often. He’s probably quite unhappy to actually have that title.”

“Yes, well, that’s why Dark is having me check on you. He wants you by his side at the coronation.”

“That’s already happening?” Cassius asked, scooting over to the edge of the bed. “It was only twenty hours ago that he gave that order.”

Frostbite nodded, a grim expression on his face as he knelt down. “I’m going to be touching your face here,” he warned. “But yes, apparently after I left to come here, Helios appeared to my tribe. He told them that a crown was needed, and gave them the orders to forge it. I have yet to see the crown myself, but…”

The fact that Frostbite trailed off while inspecting Cassius made him nervous. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine. The rest has done wonders. I think at this point you’re as healed as you can be.” Frostbite said standing up. “I hear the crown was made to Helio’s specifications. It’s not just a crown, but an artifact.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t know what the importance of that is.”

“An artifact is… it’s something that brings out more potential. For example, there’s a gem somewhere in the infinite realms that can alter something else’s form at will. It can make someone’s intent so strong that nothing can stand against it.”

Cassius narrowed his eye at Frostbite. “You did not mention that before when Dark was asking about ways to heal me.”

Frostbite gave a quick nod. “I would have if it was within reach, but it fell through a portal into one of the living realms. It’s out of the reach of any ghost. Even if one were to escape into the living realm to find it, there’s no telling if they made their way into the living realm before or after it, and then it’d be nearly impossible to find their way back, and for all we know, they’d wind up before even the very first Calling, or after this one.”

“So quite impossible.”

“Indeed.” Frostbite took a step back from Cassius and looked him over. “You’re handling this much better than I’d have ever expected. Most would be quite bothered by any damage to their form, let alone as much as you have received.”

Cassius chuckled and indicated his good side. “Well, as you can see, I am lucky to have a spare.”

The door opened again, the wood crashing against the stone and making both occupants of the room jump as Dark strolled in. “Are you well?” He asked.

“I am, thank you.” Dark reached out and took Cassius’s hand. Cassius was brought to his feet and then pulled next to Dark’s side. “Frostbite just gave me a clean bill of health.”

“As clean as it can be, at least.”

“Then let’s not delay any longer,” Dark said, scooping up Cassius.

Cassius pushed on Dark’s chest. “Did you not hear the man? I’m healthy, I don’t need to be carried everywhere!”

Dark laughed. “Need to, no, but I do want to.”

“I’d like some dignity, thank you very much!” Cassius protested, though he did stop fighting to be carried.

“Cassius,” Frostbite interrupted, “I’ll have you know that most of the keep is more terrified of you than Dark. No one truly fears a chained beast, they fear the one who can release it.”

Cassius sighed. “I guess there is no getting out of this is there?” He groaned, placing his head against Dark’s chest. Though he could feel Dark breathing, there was no heartbeat.

None of them had one anymore.

“No, there is not.” Dark chuckled carrying Cassius. Though eventually he did put him down, once they could hear the sounds of a horde of warriors.

Dark held Cassius’s hands in his. “Cassius, I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

“I want you to be the one to crown me. I had no interest in being a king, I was content to battle through all the Infinite Realms before you came into my life. I think it’s fair to have you place the crown on my head.”

“I already told you, I’ll do anything you ask. You don’t need to explain it to me.” Cassius chuckled. “Where is it?”

Another yeti walked forward, holding black box. The box was much smaller than Cassius would have expected. Cassius moved to take the box when the yeti opened it.

Cassius froze as he stared at the crown. Immediately, he knew that there was something to Frostbite’s claims of this being an artifact. A feeling of unease swelled up in his chest as he looked at the unassuming metal.

It was simple, just a golden crown with a few gems inlaid in it.

But as Cassius’s fingers touched it, he knew that this was nothing but simple. This was it, the way for them to survive the Calling. To actually make this a war, not just a desperate fight to survive another day.

“Cassius?” Dark asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Cassius grabbed the crown and looked at Dark. “We will survive this.”

Dark smiled. “When this is over, you’ll need a crown yourself. I believe as a king it is within my right to declare anyone married.”

Cassius froze at that and his eyes widened. Cassius had been content to never put a name to what they had. It was just what it was. Yes, he wanted more, but he was content. There was so much going on that thinking of the future felt like a fool’s task. But… he dreamed.

Dark leaned down and placed a kiss to his lips before Dark turned and walked out onto a balcony. “Denizens of the Infinite Realms!” He shouted, raising his voice so that it could be heard.

Frostbite pushed on Cassius’s shoulder. “Come on now, you can come to grips with the fact you're apparently now betrothed to one of the most important ghosts besides the ancients later. For now, you have a job to do.”

Cassisu stumbled out onto the balcony, and realized that Dark’s statement before that he had a thousand troops was underselling it. He did not just stand above a thousand men. The green of the Infinite Realms sky was blocked by so many bodies, and the ground beneath them was similarly hidden by all the troops.

Dark turned toward Cassius and knelt down, snapping Cassius out of his stupor at the sight. He went to place the crown on top of Dark’s head.

He hadn’t had the time to realize that this crown was tiny compared to Dark, before it stopped in place slipping out of his fingers. The moment his hands came away from the crown, it lit on fire, and the air shifted.

There was a weight to it now, like a pressure waiting for something to just snap. When Dark rose, the already tall ghost felt larger. His presence was unmistakable and impossible to ignore. Dark turned towards the army and threw his fist out in the air. “Now go! Destroy the Infested! Let not a single one claim another! This is my first order as the King of All Ghosts!”

His order was met with screams and cheers and every ghost started flying off to do what he ordered. Dark turned and marched back into the castle. They hadn’t gotten far when Nocturn stepped out from the darkness behind the curtain. “King of All Ghosts, quite the title you’ve claimed for yourself.”

“It's far too late to come up with another one,” Dark snipped. “You had plenty of chances to suggest a better one.”

“Hardly, between the moment you decided to become a king and you receiving the crown, we had much more to discuss than titles or speeches.”

A knight marched into the room, “My Lord! You’re needed in the throne room at once!” Dark turned to say something, possibly to demand who thought he could give him demands, when the knight continued. “Helios is here!”

Dark glanced at Nocturn for just a second before they set off, leaving Cassius and Frostbite to chase them. They made their way into the throne room to find the Ancient of Vision standing there. Cassius couldn’t see his face due the high collar around his neck until the Ancient turned to face them. A golden halo floated behind his head giving the inside of his collar a golden glow, and he stared at them with three eyes.

“Dark, Nocturn, it is good you are here.” He brushed the grey cloak that covered most of his form before he held up a hand in Cassius’s direction. There was an eye on his palm that looked over Cassius’s shoulder. “Frostbite, you are taller in person. And Clockwork…”

“Who?” Cassius asked, looking behind them to see who he was referring to, but there was no one.

“Ah, sorry, I forgot, my vision of you is a bit… scattered. A side effect of how time affects you. We have not met quite yet, but I know you quite well.”

Dark stepped between Cassius and Helios. “Helios…” There was a coldness to his tone that Cassius couldn’t quite place, but he recognized the way Dark stood in front of him. Cassius placed a hand gently on his back, letting Dark know that he was there with him.

Helios turned. “Greetings, King of All Ghosts.”

Dark folded his arms. “From my understanding, it is your idea that I take this title.”

Helio’s head tilted slightly and his eyes roved over him as if he were observing Dark. “It wasn’t my idea, though I was involved in it.” Cassius felt Dark’s shoulders tense the way they always did when he was unsure. Helio’s head titled the other way and he continued to explain. “I see all; things that will happen, things that are happening, and things that have happened. It was already set in the timeline that I’d help you.”

“Do we survive this?” Nocturn demanded. Dark’s head snapped towards Nocturn sharply, which made Cassius jump at the sudden movement. His hand pulled away from Dark for a moment. Dark whirled and swept his arms around Cassius before looking back at the two ancients.

Helios didn’t answer at first. “I… believe you do.” He said quietly.

“Believe?” Dark snapped. “Didn’t you just say you see what will happen?”

“I do, up to a point.” Helios turned toward Dark, a frown marring his features. “I see things that will happen, up until my destruction.”

“Oh…” Cassius was unsure of who spoke, it could have been Nocturn, whose shoulders slumped, it could have been Frostbite who was covering his expression with a large meaty paw, or it could have been himself.

But it never could have been Dark.

“So you’re just giving up?” Dark growled, his hand slid from one of Cassius’s shoulders to the other across his back as he stepped forward. “You’re just going to-”

“If you think I am merely lying down and dying like a dog, you can bite your tongue,” Helios interrupted, his tone dropping with his face. “I am doing what I can to ensure things move along the path it is supposed to.”

“If it weren’t for you and the other ancients’ existence, ghosts would say that we’re intended to be wiped out.”

“We’ve survived a Calling before, and you will do so again…” Helios trailed off before turning to Nocturn. “Though, Nocturn, I’d ask a favor of you. If you would be so kind as to send a message to Undergrowth. He will listen to your message.”

“I’ll… send one of my sleepwalkers immediately.” Nocturn began, his tone soft like a dream. “Are you-”

“I’m alright,” Helios interrupted again. “I’ve known this would happen since I gathered strength to fight the previous avatar.” He let out a slow breath. “I think we all have much to talk about.”

“Would one day be acceptable?” Nocturn asked. “If you don’t expect to survive this then…”

Dark nodded. “I think that should be expected,” he turned toward Cassius. “I have some things I need to get in order as well.”

Helios nodded. “As expected, come Nocturn… And Frostbite? If you’d join us?”

“Me?” Frostbite’s eyes widened in shock as he pointed toward himself. “You wish for me to join you?”

Helios nodded. “I think we have much to discuss as well, as two ancients to a future one.”

Frostbite started moving forward, though his face didn’t change its expression. But, Cassius hadn’t had time to react to that. Instead, Dark pulled him along the halls towards their chambers. When Dark closed the doors behind them, he breathed deeply.

Cassius put his hands on Dark’s back. “You wished to talk.”

Dark straightened and turned around, taking Cassius’s hands in his. “Yes… It’s…” he stopped and steeled his expression. “What kind of crown do you want?”

Cassius laughed. “Is that what you wanted to ask? Really?” Cassius tilted his head and gave Dark his biggest smile. “You know, you never let me answer the question you were asking.”

“Does it need to be?” Dark asked.

Cassius looked down at the ground. “No… I think… I think we both knew this was where we were going, but I thought you were content to leave it be and just let everyone make their assumptions.”

Dark pulled Cassius into his chest. “No, I never intended to leave it. I found you, and I intend to keep you, forever. Death can’t take us apart.”

Cassius squeezed Dark tightly, tighter than Dark was holding onto him. “No, no it can’t.”

***

Twenty three hours later, Cassius was back in the throne room, though now he no longer rested on a bed and instead stood at Dark’s right side. Helios and Nocturn were standing in a corner, partially hidden by the shadowy mists that followed Nocturn everywhere.

Dark had just sent away another messenger – one with good news that Dark’s army was now truly making headway into the calm areas of the Infinite Realms – when a yeti walked into the throne room.

Cassius frowned as he observed his approach. Even without announcing his presence, people gave him distance. He stopped some distance away before opening the box. “Your…” the yeti glanced at Cassius before looking back down at the box, “... ring… sire.” Dark waved him forward and the yeti approached the throne. Dark reached into the box and pulled out the ring.

It was all Cassius could do to not step back away from it.

When the crown was given to him, the feeling of awe was overwhelming, but it wasn’t truly fear that he felt looking at it. But this? The band was solid green, with a gleaming skull on the top. While the skull was a bit morbid – though not unusual in the realm of the dead – that wasn’t the problem.

There were two red gemstones inlaid in the eyes that made the wound on Cassius’s face itch. It was a deep crimson. They seemed to glimmer in the light, but then Cassius realized that it wasn’t the flickering fires from the crown that were causing this, but a facet of the gems themselves.

“Dark…” Cassius began, as he tried to find a way to explain to him that he felt this was a bad idea.

Dark took the ring and slipped it on his own finger. He did not take off his gauntlets to do so, the ring was sized for him to wear it on top of his armor. When it settled into place, everyone jumped as the flames from his crown intensified.

Then he stood, his eyes’ gaze burning. “The Avatar of Malice wishes to inflict us with rage. I’ll admit, it succeeded. So, let’s show it what rage means. Malice only knows anger, it doesn’t know loss, it doesn’t know desperation. I want everyone to go out and make it understand.”

The throne room exploded into a flurry of activity again. Cassius looked out across the throne room as everyone began running around, though he could see that Helios and Nocturn weren’t moving at all. Cassius turned toward Dark and reach over to get his attention, “Dark-”

The moment his hand touched Dark, he whirled to look at him. A snarl was on his face and his eyes were full of hate. Cassius took a step back as the sudden stranger appeared in front of him. Dark realized it was Cassius trying to get his attention and schooled his features. He gave Cassius a soft smile and reached over to touch his face.

With the hand wearing that ring.

Cassius flinched as the hand approached, as he felt a shiver of something run though him. He gasped and took a step back. Dark gaped at Cassius before his hand dropped to his side. “What is it?” Cassius shook his head. “Can’t you feel it, Dark? There’s something wrong with that ring.” Dark looked at the ring on his finger. “I… what is that? That’s not just a normal ring. Even now I feel…” Cassius paused as he tried to describe what he felt. He felt agitated, like there was too much noise around, or that he was waiting on something that should have been completed a while ago. “...angry,” he finally landed on.

Dark clenched his fist. “I am aware, but I won’t turn my back on this.” He held up his hand next to his face. “This ring is a reminder to myself. To make sure that I never let what happened to you happen again. You are mine, and I will never let anyone hurt you.”

“Dark… I’m worried that that will hurt you.”

“It’s not up for discussion,” Dark said tersely. He took a deep breath and looked at Cassius. “Speaking of…” he turned and barked, “Frostbite!”

Frostbite pushed his way through the crowd, running up to them. “Here!”

“What you said before, about one with a powerful intent and willingness? Would I suffice?”

Cassius frowned as he tried to think about what he was referring to. Frostbite got it first. “Sire… are you sure?”

“I now have twenty thousand men under my banner and more are flocking to it by the day. My intent to crush the Avatar of Malice is strong enough that each and every one of them is capable of destroying his Infested. I think it’s fair to say I have strength to spare.”

It finally clicked for Cassius. “Wait, Dark, are you giving up your eye? I don’t need it! What good is giving me an eye? I’m not a warrior and-”

“You are mine, and I refuse to leave you imperfect,” Dark said curtly, before turning back to Frostbite. “Well?”

“You certainly have the power for it, and you quite obviously are willing.”

“Then we shall start this tonight.”

“Dark! I don’t want-”

Dark turned toward Cassius. “Cassius… Helios called you Clockwork…” Frostbite froze as Cassius’s brow furrowed. “He called you something else… you’ll change.” Dark sighed, and turned back to Frostbite. “Frostbite, you said that taking something from a more powerful ghost would possibly change Cassius permanently, correct?”

Frostbite stared at Dark for a moment before he slowly nodded. “Yes, that would be the outcome if you were to try and steal a piece of a greater ghost.”

Dark turned back to Cassius. “I don’t want you to change. I want you to remain as you are, but if you must change, I want it to be because of me. Is that acceptable? I ask this of you…”

Cassius felt his throat tighten, even as his words from earlier echoed from his mouth. “I’ve told you before, I’ll do anything you ask…”

***

Cassius watched himself as he stumbled through the encampment. A handful of ghosts sharing the light of a fire with their backs turned toward it. Each of them watching the woods for signs of Infested. A ticking feeling in the back of Cassius’s head told him this was one year, three months, twelve days, and six hours from where he should be.

The first time he met Dark.

There were twelve warriors, Dark among them. At this time, he wasn’t the great lord that he was now. He was just one face amongst many. There were five others, Cassius was one of them. The five were scurrying about the camp like rats, trying to put together and repair weapons and armor for the fighters. It was a hopeless task, one couldn’t forge a blade without aid, but the five did what they could.

Cassius was stumbling amongst them. Unlike the others, he had a perfect understanding of how long they all had waited, and each second felt like another gamble. Cassius ran toward Dark, though he hadn’t known his name at the time.

“Sir!” Cassius shouted, as he approached.

“Silence! Or do you want the Infested to find us?”

“Your weapon…” Cassius said, handing it over.

Dark had taken the weapon, and then looked back at Cassius. His eyes widened as he took in his appearance. Cassius laughed as he watched himself flounder under Dark’s gaze. “What’s your name?” Dark asked.

“Cassius, sir.”

“You’ll take care of my weapons from now on,” Dark demanded.

Cassius looked down at the weapon. “But… what if I didn’t do a good job?”

There was a screech from outside the camp, and Dark pushed Cassius back, taking the mace in both hands. A pile of Infested pulled themselves along the ground, rapidly approaching. Dark heaved his mace high up into the air before bringing it down on top of it before, smashing it into pieces with one fell swoop.

Dark inspected his mace before turning. “You’ll take care of my weapons from now on.”

“A-as you wish…”

***

Cassius gasped as he woke up. Seeing out of both eyes again. Frostbite was leaning over him. “Cassius, Cassius can you hear me?”

“I-I I can,” Cassius blinked. The Frostbite he knew was no longer there. His fur was longer, and his arm was gone, replaced by a structure of ice. Another blink, and Frostbite was helping him up. “What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s… Dark is way stronger than we thought. Your forms are merging, your own essence and purpose are growing stronger.”

Cassius processed that information as he looked up at Frostbite. “We’re merging?”

Frostbite blinked and pulled back. “Yes, I was just about to explain that.”

Cassius put a hand on his chest, and he could feel… something. Something inside of him, it seemed like sand falling, with each grain hitting the bottom with enough force to shake the universe.

“Cassius, Cassius can you hear me?” Cassius blinked and looked up, Frostbite was leaning over him.

“I can.” Cassius stated, letting Frostbite pull him up. “I’m merging with Dark?”

Frostbite blinked and looked at the other yetis in the room. “Yes, that’s what we think is going on… how did you know?”

“You told me, just a moment ago I-”

“Cassius, Cassius can you hear me?” Cassius’s eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly. “Whoa, careful! You just got done, there was a-”

“I’m changing. Merging with Pariah…”

Frostbite frowned. “Who’s Pariah?”

Cassius blinked, that name… it felt so familiar and yet, he didn’t know it. It rolled off the tongue like he had used it for a millenia. “I… I don’t know.”

“Cassius, Cassius-”

“Stop!” Cassius opened his eyes to see Helios pushing Frostbite away. “You can’t help here anymore, go calm Dark down.” Helios looked down at Cassius and turned his head to face him. “You’re observing too much. Focus, you must silence the rest. There is the present, that is it. Think of this moment right now, don’t try to remember.”

Cassius nodded. “This moment…” he breathed.

“What are you feeling? Tell me.”

“The table beneath me, it’s cold and solid. Your hands, I can feel the eyes in your palms searching…”

“Good, good, try not to-”

***

Cassius watched himself as he entered the tent, four months after Cassius had met Dark. It had taken a bit of convincing with the others of this unmerry band that bringing such a large tent was worth it, but the twenty warriors in the group found it useful.

Though, of the original twelve, only four remained.

The eight in the tent looked up to see Cassius enter. One of them, one that made even Dark look small, towered over Cassius. “This is not a place for the likes of you.”

“I-it’s soon for a change in the watch,” Cassius said, trying to step away from the larger ghost. “The others said that last time the change was late and they had to stay longer than they should.”

The giant stepped toward Cassius and brought up his club. “Who are you to-”

“Enough.” Dark’s voice echoed in the tent. It was loud enough that Cassius could feel his chest rattle. Everyone turned to look at Dark as he came around. “Changing the shifts is important. We all find it tiresome, and a tired guard is a dead one. We’ll go change the shift now.” Dark grabbed the ghost that threatened Cassius and pushed him out the tent. He turned and smiled at Cassius. “Thank you, Cassius…”

***

“Focus on the now!” Helios ordered. “Stop looking in the past, you’re needed here, and now.” Helios pulled Cassius up and held his hands up, the eyes in his hands staring into Cassius’s. “You shouldn’t look back there yet.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you won’t like what you see.”

“What would I-?”

***

Cassius hadn’t been here before. In fact, he couldn’t place this moment. Oh he knew exactly when it was, it was four months and two days after he met Dark. He was floating next to the giant ghost from before.

The ghost was looking out into the infinite void, searching for any sign of the Infested. He huffed. “Nothing,” he muttered to himself. “I suppose that’s good but…”

Cassius turned, knowing that something important was going to happen in a few seconds from now. Dark came out of the woods, his mace held tight in his grip. Stealthy he was not, and his footfalls rang out.

The giant turned. “Dark, has it been that long? I thought I had another hour or two before the shift change.”

Dark didn’t say anything, instead he approached. The warrior knew something was wrong and brought his club around, but then Dark smashed right through it, breaking it into splinters. The giant didn't have a chance to react before Dark smashed his legs with enough intent to destroy them, and the man screamed. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“You raise a hand against my Cassius,” Dark explained simply, as if one were explaining that water was wet. Before he brought the mace down and crushed his chest. Cassius floated there transfixed as Dark smashed him over and over again, until there was nothing left but a wet smear of ectoplasm on the ground, before that too disappeared.

***

“You knew?” Cassius asked, looking into Helios’s eyes.

“I see all, Clockwork.”

“I’m not Clockwork.”

“You will be.”

***

Cassius didn’t recognize where he was, though he knew the time. It was four hundred and thirty two years after the Calling, but not truely. Something about what he was seeing was off. He could tell it was off, but he wasn’t sure he could describe how.

It felt like he was watching something, but his head was skewed to the side, or like he was hearing something that wasn’t there. It was all off and made his eyes water.

Despite the strangeness, Cassius knew what he was seeing. It was a timeline that could happen, but wouldn’t.

The green sky of the Infinite Realms was blotted out. Not like Nocturn’s darkness, where the realm was listening and bending to a being of great power. This was smoke from a thousand forges. Cassius stood in the middle of an encampment, he couldn’t see where the encampment ended and the ground had been trampled till the ground was as hard as any stone.

Warriors, wearing armor in Dark’s colors, were carrying a ghost. Cassius couldn’t tell anything about the ghost, not because he couldn’t see it, but because its form was so weak. The poor thing had been beaten down so much that it no longer looked like it had once been a person, but instead was a shapeless ball.

Cassius intended to follow them, to see where they were taking it, but then it faded away entirely into a mist. The two warriors looked at each other and then shrugged, going on about their day as if what had just happened wasn’t a great tragedy. The encampment continued doing what it was doing.

Preparing for the next invasion.

***

Cassius shook his head and pressed his hand over his new eye. “I will survive the Calling?”

Each of Helios’s eyes blinked and he leaned back a bit. “I had guessed, but I wasn’t sure. I can’t see beyond my own destruction.” Cassius started pulling his hand away, but Helios reached out and put it back. “No, keep it covered for now. Seeing out that eye is what’s causing your vision to run amok.”

Cassius glared at Helios with his own eye. “Couldn’t you have started with that?”

Helios smiled sadly. “No, and for once. I know why. You did need to see what you have.”

The door burst open and Dark entered the room. A bandage wrapped around his head, wet with ectoplasm that dripped down his face. “How is he?” He shouted, making the entire castle shake.

Cassius turned and felt an infinite number of responses pour out of his mouth with each having an infinite number of consequences attached to them, not just for this moment, for thousands of years afterwards. Some resulted in the destruction of everyone in the room, and some resulted in them failing to survive the Calling.

But Cassius knew Dark.

“It seems there was a minor problem, Dark, but nothing we should be upset about,” Cassius began as Dark marched over to him. “You were too powerful, and as such, I am much stronger now too.”

Dark knelt down next to Cassius’s bedside. “How?”

“Dark, you are the strongest ghost in all of our histories, and now, I have a part of you inside me. We should have seen that this could have consequences.”

At those words, Dark whirled toward Helios. “You… you should have warned that this would have happened!”

Helios tilted his head. “This is how things are meant to be, but… even if I could have changed it, I wouldn’t have. Cassius must be by your side in order for us to survive the Calling.”

Dark raised his fist, and Cassius could see the multitude of consequences echo out across eternity, and he brought them all to a close by simply standing up. Dark whirled around. “Cassius, you should rest!”

Cassius pulled his hand away from Dark’s eye in his head. “I’m fine, I can already see how-” then he glanced at the ring on Dark’s finger.

***

This wasn’t long ago. It was after Cassius had woken up after Frostbite had removed the infestation from him. Frostbite and Dark were standing outside the hall so they could talk without bothering Cassius as he rested. A knight went up to Dark, “My lord, what should we do with the Infested in the dungeons? Containing them is an arduous task…”

Frostbite hummed. “Well, like Cassius suggested, we could try to cure them. If we could we-”

Dark cut him off with a simple, “No.”

“No?” Frostbite repeated.

“No, even if you were to pull them back, how much of them would there be? They wouldn’t be of much use, partial pieces of weaker ghosts. No, they have no value cured.” Dark straightened his back and he looked down at Frostbite. “I want them destroyed, crushed into tiny pieces so that they’d never harm anyone again, but you, yeti, I hear that your kind have many skilled craftsmen. I want you to take those pieces and forge them into a ring for me.”

“A ring?”

“Yes, one that can fit over my armor. So that I can always look at it and remember what I let happen to my Cassius.”

“That… can be arranged.” Frostbite began hesitantly.

“See that it does.”

***

“-how i will recover…” Cassius got out, schooling his features. He wasn’t well practiced in it, and he thought for sure Dark would notice that something was wrong.

But Dark thought he knew him. He believed that Cassius would never lie to him. Sixteen hours ago, that would have been the truth, but now…

Cassius looked at Helios behind Dark, a grim frown on his face.

No, it still was the truth. Cassius would never lie to Dark.

Clockwork however, would.

Clockwork reached up and stroked Dark’s face. “I’ll be okay, Dark. I promise you.” Dark leaned into his touch. “Your Cassius is as fine as he can be. But… I’ll need some time. Your power is… much. I don’t understand how your form can contain it all. I need to rest, to let it settle within me.”

Dark smiled. “I got used to it.” He kissed Clockwork’s palm before pulling his wrist away. He picked him up and began to carry him. “You’ll be more comfortable in our bed instead of this cold room.”

“Thank you, Dark.”

***

Clockwork awoke to something entering his room. It was not through a door or window, but instead very fabric of the realm beneath them shifted. He sat up and looked at the glowing blue ring of light in front of him.

And out came himself.

“I forgot I used to look like that… it has been ages.” Clockwork took his appearance in. He still wore his favorite cloak that was a gift from Dark, and he could see a scar down his face where Dark’s eye had been implanted. But just when he thought he could recognize himself in the version in front of him, he shifted. Turning from a young man to one that looked older than any ghost he had seen in the zone.

“How long has it been?”

“Long enough for us to get a handle on all our powers,” his future self frowned. The long beard covering up much of his face vanished as he turned into a child. “Forgive me, but until we have them under control, we need to be careful. I’m sure you’ve already felt the reach of our actions.”

Clockwork bit his lip for a moment, but unlike before he couldn’t see the infinite possibilities of every action he could take. “Yes, I could, but I can’t right now.”

“You could say this event is scripted,” his future self began. “I am controlling the outcome of these events. Helios can see the past, present and future, but he doesn’t see all the twists and turns it can take. We can guide it like a river.”

“That sounds impossible. Changing the course of a river?”

“Oh, it wasn’t in your time, but eventually, yes it is.” His future self turned back into a young man again after that statement. “But that’s not the purpose of my visit. For a being that controls time, we have very little of it. And you need to have a grasp of some of them before the Calling.”

“Is that… transformation part of them?”

“A sacrifice to use some of our powers, but I won’t tell you about them yet.” He looked morose for a moment before turning to him, “You’ll want to discover them after…” He sighed and held out his hand. “Come, I’ll show you what we can do.”

***

Dark walked into the room five hours later. He froze at the door frame as he looked at Clockwork. “Cassius?”

Clockwork put his staff down on the ground. “Ah, Dark, right on time.” He gave him a smile as he pulled his cloak about his shoulders. “I’m glad you kept my cloak. I’ve missed it since I got injured.”

Dark closed the door behind him. “Yes, well, it was one of my first gifts to you. There was no way I was going to let anyone else touch it.”

“I’m surprised it survived the Infested.”

“I had it repaired, it had been torn to shreds.” Clockwork walked across the room and pulled Dark down into a kiss. Dark’s lips curled into a smile underneath Cassius’s. “Well, it seems that this was very much a good thing in the end. You’re taking what you want, I like that.”

Clockwork stepped back and looked up at Dark, trying to ensure he memorized his face. “Yes, well, I can understand you a lot more now.” Dark was now sporting an eyepatch instead of bandages, but it seemed that the damage to his form was minimal. Clockwork supposed that Frostbite was overzealous with him, and was much more careful with Dark.

Dark’s face fell. “Speaking of… there was a reason I was checking on you.”

“The Calling is soon, isn’t it?”

“We might have a week. The plan seems to be working, the calling is happening in Vortex’s realm.”

“Then you should hurry.”

Dark twitched under Clockwork’s hands. “Helios… made it sound like you’d fight with me…” There was a soft undercurrent of disappointment in that statement, though it was also cloaked in relief. Dark might have enjoyed the idea of Cassius being behind him in battle, but he’d prefer to keep Cassius in the castle, safe and unblemished.

Clockwork smiled from ear to ear to hide the frown that wanted to form. “Oh, I will, but…” He reached over and touched the top of his staff. “Time out…”

Dark looked about as the world shifted around them. “Is this a power of yours?”

“I can stop time for a while…”

Dark laughed. “In that case… Maybe I can take some time before we leave for the battle?”

“I believe you just read our future.”

***

Three hours later, Dark had left the castle with his army. But Clockwork didn’t leave quite yet, instead, he went down underneath the castle. He never went here before, he never had a need to. The dungeons were not a place he was ever brought to, Dark wouldn’t have let him.

After what he had seen, he knew why Dark kept him from here.

It was also a good spot for those who didn’t want Dark to find them to talk.

He opened the door to the dungeons. The hinges of the door creaked as it slowly opened. He walked down deeper into the dungeon where there was a room meant for the guards to get some time away from the prisoners between shifts. As he approached the door opened, revealing Helios.

“Welcome,” Helios greeted.

Clockwork didn’t acknowledge him as he entered, but he took a place along the wall with the other five members in the room. “Him?” Nocturn spat, “Dark’s little pet?”

“Cassius died on that table,” Clockwork interjected. He turned toward Frostbite. “No fault of your own, but the one who woke up was not him.” Cassius turned to face all the occupants of the room. “Call me Clockwork.”

A mass of vines and leaves rose up from under the table. “And just who are you?”

“I was, as Nocturn put it, Dark’s pet. He kept his nature secret from me, but he gave me his eye, and with it, a chunk of his power,” Clockwork’s hands tightened around his staff. “Like Helios, I was able to see the past, and I can see what will become of us under Dark’s rule.”

Helios turned. “Oh? I can only see what will happen. Not other possibilities. What did you see?”

Clockwork looked up at the ceiling. “Dark will not stop once the Calling is ended. He will start to expand his realm. Conquering along the ghost zone. Thousands… millions of ghosts will be fed into his war machine. Those who can’t fight will be forced to work and those that can’t work will be destroyed. Dark will not stop until he is destroyed but…” He shook his head and looked at Frostbite. “The ring that was made, it was made out of those that he had destroyed. He’ll feed off every single destroyed ghost. He’ll grow too powerful for anything to stop him.”

“I… I can confirm what he’s saying. We didn’t know what was being forged until it was. There’s intent behind forging an artifact… and it was forged with pieces of the Avatar of Malice.”

“How could you be so foolish?” A four armed woman in armor cried out. “Frostbite, you’ve seen what my box is meant to contain! It’s meant to stop things like this!”

“I wasn’t there Pandora. If I had known what was going to be forged, I would have stopped it.” He sighed. “The intent was to forge something that could hold Malice back. But… it was corrupted in the process.”

“And you still gave it to him?”

Frostbite threw his hands up in the air. “I wasn’t informed! The carrier brought the ring directly to Dark, his favored knight intercepted him and brought him straight to Dark.”

Clockwork turned toward her. “What’s done is done, we shouldn’t be fighting amongst ourselves. It’s good to meet you, Pandora. This would not be possible without you.”

Pandora opened and closed her mouth a few times. “I see. I think I can see why you say that you are like Helios then.”

Nocturn looked between them. “What makes her so special?”

Pandora straightened to her full height, the top of her helmet scraping the top of the room. “I am the guardian of what’s known as Pandora’s Box. I created it to try and seal as much evil in the Infinite Realms as I could.”

“If anyone can seal Dark, she can.” Frostbite vouched. “I’ve inspected the box myself with the ghost that apprenticed me. It’s a fine artifact.” Frostbite’s face fell, “If there’s any ghost here that should have doubt cast upon them, it’s me. I am just a healer. I am a warrior too, yes, but I don’t have the strength to be compared to one who controls nature, or one who commands an army.”

Helios shook his head. “You’ll have a very important task to do when the battle comes. You’ll be ready for it when it comes.” Clockwork nodded in response, though it didn’t seem to comfort Frostbite any.

“We don’t have much time,” Nocturn said, his presence looming over the others. “We’ll have to get Pandora’s sarcophagus to the site of the battle. Our best chance of stopping Dark will be right after the Calling… if we win. Are we all in agreement?”

“We will…” Clockwork stated. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “And yes, we are…”

“Good,” Nocturn said. He pulled himself away from the wall and made for the door, “Then let’s declare him a Pariah and get on with it.”

***

Clockwork approached Dark, and stood next to him. “You’re staying this far back?” He asked as he looked over the expanse in front of them. Here, in this part of the Infinite Realms, land was scarce. In front of them nearly as far as the eye could see there were storm clouds, swirling about with a calm spot in the center. The army float in the space around them, but they stayed far enough away that Dark and Clockwork had some privacy.

Dark turned toward him and raised the eyebrow over his missing eye. “I thought you said you can now see the future?” The question was laced with concern, and Dark reached over and pushed off Clockwork’s hood to see him better.

Clockwork smiled. “I can, but while Helios sees one possibility, I see many.” He leaned into Dark’s side. “I can see many choices that you could have made, I don’t just see one… path… I see thousands. I’m still experiencing this moment with you.”

Dark let out a hum and reached up and grabbed Clockwork’s shoulder. “I’m glad. Part of me hated the idea of you being like Helios and doing whatever he wanted because he believes that’s how it’s supposed to be…”

“The other part?”

Dark smiled and squeezed Clockwork tighter. “Part of me hoped you were, because it meant that you were meant to be here.”

“What’s better? To force someone to do something? Or to have it be given willingly?”

“Hmm… a good question,” Dark said. Clockwork raised an eyebrow as Dark didn’t answer. Dark pointed ahead, at the center of the storm. “To answer your earlier statement, the Calling is going to happen in the center of Vortex’s storm. Any closer though, I’ll be within his realm.”

“And… you care what he thinks?” Clockwork asked.

The incredulity in his voice must have been apparent because Dark laughed. “No, no I do not, however,” the smile slipped off his face and was replaced with a sneer. “Vortex refused to come to help, even Nocturn came, and though Undergrowth never spoke with me, my troops told me of the Infested he fed to his plants.

“No, I’m not waiting here because I am afraid of Vortex, I want the Avatar of Malice to attack him before we go in for the kill.”

Clockwork was saved from having to respond, when the realm shook. Not physically, but every ghost could feel something inside them quiver. A wave passed through them, shaking them to their very soul. Some of Dark’s army immediately turned tail and fled.

“Tch,” Dark spat, “I’ll track them down and deal with them later.” He held up a hand and shouted, “Hold!” The order echoed down the line as his commanders repeated his order to their own men. Then he turned towards Clockwork, “It’s almost time,” he said, leaving a kiss on his cheek.

Dark started marching forwards and stopped next to one of his knights. “My lord?” The knight asked, looking down from his horse. “Is there something you need?”

“You’ve served me well, and so, I have a gift for you… and a task.” Dark reached down to his hip and pulled a sword out of its scabbard. The ghosts nearby all took a step away instinctively, before turning to look to see what made them so uncomfortable. Dark handed the glowing green sword to the knight. “Take this blade, it’s forged from the same metal we used to push the Calling here. It’s pure, stronger than any other weapon in the army. Go behind the troops, and if any turn and flee, cut them down. Strike fear into them.”

“Understood, my king,” the knight said, taking the blade before turning his steed around and flying overhead.

Clockwork approached Dark. “Was that necessary?”

“The cowards in this army need to know that fleeing the battle won’t save them.” Dark didn’t explain more, instead looking up as the realm began to change color.

The green skies began to change, they began to darken before turning to a deep crimson. In the center of the storm, the space between began to distort. Wisps of something that looked liquid in nature began to flood out, seemingly out of nowhere as something pushed through.

“Hold!” Dark shouted one more time. A few ghosts turned and began to run, the unlucky ones were caught by Dark’s knight, who flew across the sky and cut down any ghost that he caught. They weren’t cut in two, but instead they screamed before vanishing.

That stopped the tide of fleeing ghosts.

The waters continued to pour into space, slowly beginning to fill an invisible vessel. Eventually, a giant red orb floated in the center of Vortex’s realm, and then the water shot out in ribbons snaking their way into the clouds around it.

The storm instantly came alive with lightning and a furious roar echoed out.

“Hold!” Dark shouted one more time, as bolts of lightning shot from the storm. They impacted against the surface of the sphere before spreading across the surface. It seemed to have done nothing.

But every single ghost felt it, as a spike of rage rose in their hearts. Even Clockwork was not immune, he had to stop himself from raising his fist against the closest ghost near him.

“Charge!” Dark screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. He had totally forgotten that he wished to wait till Vortex was hurt, now he only cared about destroying the thing that was making him angry. This time the order was not echoed, as every ghost broke their formations intent on riding forth and sinking their blades into the avatar in front of them.

The hordes of ghosts flew forward, weapons drawn. Glitters of green speckled the sky in front of Clockwork as they drew their weapons designed to strike fear into the Avatar of malice.

Dark turned toward Clockwork, “Cassius, come!” he shouted before taking off. Clockwork chased after him following behind. It did not take long to cross the distance, but by the time they arrived the troops had already made it.

And thousands had fallen.

The Avatar of Malice didn’t kill. It inflicted those it struck with the water gushing out of it with a Malady of rage. One Infested could turn another.

One became two, two became four, doubling over and over again as the enraged army sought only to try and kill the Avatar of Malice, choosing destruction over their own safety. The safest ones were surprisingly those closest to the avatar itself. Instead of choosing to attack their neighbor, the new Infested kept their focus on what they already hated and tried to tear into the Avatar of Malice instead. They’d splatter themselves against its side trying to tear into it, swiping and slashing the entire time they were absorbed into it.

Then the sky darkened even further, Nocturn’s sleepwalkers charged in themselves, picking up the weapons dropped by Dark’s falling army.

Clockwork and Dark were handling themselves. Clockwork could not stop the avatar entirely, even when he brought time to a standstill the avatar could still move. But he didn’t need to just stop time. Dark and Clockwork dodged around the ribbons that sought them out, their own time slowed down. What seemed like what couldn’t be dodged was instead moving slower than a leisurely walk.

Not just for them though, it was them and every ghost in a hundred meter radius around Clockwork.

“My Lord, our weapons have no effect!”

“Don’t be daft!” Dark shouted back as he continued to hack and slash at the parts attacking him. “You can feel the thing twitch with every blow!”

Someone else down the line shouted back, “But how do we kill this?”

“We don’t!” Dark answered. “This thing was never alive and can’t die. It can only be made so uncomfortable that it determines that it doesn’t want to be here anymore.” Dark grabbed a weapon out of another ghost’s hands and then began stabbing with a weapon in both hands. “So get back to work!”

True to Dark’s words, Clockwork could feel something in him shiver with each and every strike someone made against the surface or the water’s gushing out from it. Though both he and Dark knew it wouldn’t be enough on its own.

Clockwork reached across time, and pulled every ghost he could down a hundred meters, as something sailed through the air above them. A giant bolt, five meters across the shaft, stuck out from the Avatar of Malice.

Pandora’s weapons were a sight to behold.

More bolts began to fly through the air, and this time the avatar reacted. The whips of water that had been corrupting the armor flipped through the air attempting to knock the ballista bolts off course. It succeeded with some, others were stopped as they impacted against trees that sprung out of thin air.

First one struck true, then another. Over and over again until fifteen bolts stuck out from the surface of the Avatar of Malice. Suddenly every ghost fell, as the rage and anger they had been feeling suddenly left their bodies. Some ended on the spot, vanishing into thin air, along with every Infested that had been attacking everything in sight.

The parts of the Avatar that had come through into the Infinite Realms began to fade, losing their cohesion and turning into what looked like a vapor before disappearing entirely. Dark scoffed. “Someday, I’ll find a way to hunt that thing down and end it for good.” He turned and looked over the remains of his army. “It came and slaughtered all my men. I’ll have a chunk of its hide for that.”

Thunder boomed, and Dark brought his weapon up to block a bolt of lightning that was coming for him. He was thrown back several feet as a voice screamed, “DARK!” Clockwork looked up to see Vortex flying at them. “You brought this into my realm?”

“He wants to challenge me? Fine. I wasn’t quite done fighting today.” Dark yelled back as he threw himself towards Vortex. The two met for a moment, Vortex’s hands pushing against Dark as Dark tried to bring his weapon around.

Then Nocturne’s sleepwalkers attacked.

Dark changed targets, striking a sleepwalker in the head and instantly killing it. He frowned for a second, as he wondered why it was there. Then, the others started pouring in. Dark out a scream of rage as he realized that both Nocturn and Vortex were attacking him.

Dark started swinging wildly, crushing each and every sleepwalker that approached. Vortex, even though he didn’t know why Nocturn was joining him, gave the sleepwalkers space so they could surround Dark.

The sleepwalkers were many, but each one was fragile. Dark eventually let out a scream and swung his mace in a wide arc, sending off a wave of ectoplasm that killed many of the sleepwalkers.

“What’s the meaning of this, Nocturn?” Dark shouted.

Nocturn didn’t answer, instead he sent another wave of sleepwalkers at Dark. More rose up to form a wall between Dark and the other ancients, their sole purpose to hide the approach of Pandora and Frostbite, holding a sarcophagus between them.

“He’s distracted, go,” Nocturn ordered. The two of them split, Pandora taking the bottom half while Frostbite took the lid. Nocturn glanced at Clockwork, “Any chance you’re going to help out.”

Clockwork bit his lip as a million possibilities unfolded in front of him, but only a handful had the outcome he wanted. “I’ll only have a moment.” He explained, “Each one of us except for Frostbite is too powerful for me to stop fully. If he realizes I’m betraying him too early, he’ll grow stronger.”

“Likely,” Nocturn spat, but didn’t force the issue. Instead choosing to focus his attention on controlling his forces.

Then Undergrowth struck, his vines snaked through in between the sleepwalkers and wrapped around Dark’s limbs. Immediately Pandora and Frostbite began to close in, moving as fast as they could with the intent of sealing Dark inside the coffin. They weren’t fast enough, Dark roared in rage and with all his strength broke one of the binds holding him. With one arm, he stopped Frostbite’s in his place. “So you all are betraying me? Fine!” A flame enveloped him, burning away Undergrowth’s vines and burning Frostbite. “I’ll destroy you all!”

And he ripped Frostbite's arm from its socket.

Frostbite screamed in pain, as another complication came in. “Sire!” His favored knight shouted, coming in fast with the intent of stabbing Pandora in the back.

And then Helios was in front of him.

The blade pierced right through Helio’s center, and Helios screamed. Though he didn’t disappear. He curled around the blade grabbing onto the knight’s arm. When it seemed he couldn’t scream any louder, his back began to bubble.

It was like he turned into sea foam. Dozens of forms flew out of him, each wearing his robes, as his form shrunk in size. Eventually, they stopped, when there was nothing left of the original form of Helios.

The knight looked up at the things that had circled around him, each one staring at him with a single unblinking eye. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted.

“Now!” Clockwork shouted, and all the ghosts turned to look at him. Dark back at Clockwork, a snarl on his face before he realized what he was looking at. Clockwork reached across time and dragged it to a stop around Dark. “Time out!”

Dark had an intent powerful enough to fight back against the Avatar of Malice, he was capable of powering through Clockwork’s power. Slowly, he continued to move. The snarl on his face slowly fell off it, replaced with confusion. He knew he was looking at Clockwork, but he didn’t know what the significance of that meant.

Then his jaw slackened, as he realized that it wasn’t just the ancients that betrayed him.

But, his Cassius did as well.

Frostbite slammed the lid into place, shutting Dark within. The sarcophagus glowed, as it began to try to work its powers on Dark, but the lid shook as Dark pounded against the inside. It was well made and thick, the walls able to stand up to Dark’s strength.

But Clockwork could still hear inside. “Cassius! Cassius, why?”

Pandora reached around, jammed a key into the lid and twisted. Their forms shook as the artifact began to work, and they all winced as a blinding light came off of it. But two seconds later, the area was still once again.

“Why have you done this?” The knight shouted, turning his blade toward them. “I’ll have your-”

He cried out in pain as a shadowy hand reached out and grabbed his head. “Let’s have you sleep for a while, shall we?” Nocturn mocked. Immediately the knight’s eyes closed, but Nocturn wasn’t done. Slowly the knight's form began to change, until all that was left was a gourd.

Nocturn raised an eyebrow. “This… is what he wishes to dream about?” He chuckled as he grabbed the sword. He raised it high and then stabbed it through the vegetable.

“There was no need to kill him,” Pandora spat.

“I didn’t, but do you have a sheath for this blade? It was meant to inflict fear into the Avatar of Malice and instead this Pariah had his man turn it on his own troops. I don’t have a desire to leave it out.”

Clockwork glared at Nocturn. “He has a name.”

“Not to me he doesn’t.”

Frostbite groaned and everyone turned to him. Pandora reached over and picked him up. “Frostbite! Are you okay?”

Frostbite looked around, looking down at his missing arm and the ectoplasm smeared across the front of the coffin, before turning and looking at each of the ancients. Eventually his gaze landed on Clockwork. He smiled, “I’ll live, fortunately I’ve been given a spare. I’ll be able to continue my work despite this.” His smile fell. “What about you?”

Clockwork could have answered truthfully. “I’m fine. In some ways, I’ve had more time to process this than the rest of you.” Frostbite’s lips flattened into a frown. Clockwork shrugged. “I can see into the future, and I can see into the past. I didn’t just learn my powers in a day, I had to learn how to unfreeze time again before I could continue moving through it.”

“I see…” Frostbite said quietly.

Undergrowth spoke up, “What do we do with this now?”

Vortex spat on it. “I say we destroy it.”

“No,” Pandora shot down, “destroying it would just let Dark out again.”

“I know where to put it,” Clockwork interjected.

Nocturn laughed, and it was all Clockwork could do to not punch him. “Leave Pariah with you? His little pet.”

Clockwork glared at Nocturn. “Pandora,” he said, “You made this, could any one of us destroy it individually?”

Pandora hummed for a moment, “Well, Undergrowth or Vortex probably could. And I, as the creator, would know how to take it apart. I don’t know about… them.” She admitted glancing up at their observers.

“We have no interest, nor ability, to damage that thing. We are here to observe. Nothing more.”

Clockwork didn’t take his eyes off Nocturn. “What about you two?” he asked, addressing Undergrowth and Vortex. “Do either of you want to release him?”

“No,” Undergrowth growled.

“Maybe a little,” Vortex admitted. Nocturn snapped his gaze to him and he huffed. “Fine, fine!”

“I’ll hide the sarcophagus, Nocturn, you take the key. None of us will have the ability to open it on our own that way. Will that make you happy, Nocturn?”

“Nothing will,” Nocturn admitted. He snatched the key out of Pandora’s hand. “But I’m done with this.” Nocturn seemed to fold in on himself before disappearing a buff of black smoke.

Pandora looked down at Frostbite. “I’ll bring him to his people so they can heal him. Or… heal him as much as they can.”

“That… would very much be appreciated.”

“Good good!” Vortex shouted, “Get outta my realm! All ya!”

Clockwork grabbed the sarcophagus and picked it up. He maneuvered it under an arm and brought his staff around. “Time out,” he said, leaving the two ancients in place. It wouldn’t be long before they broke out of his power, but by then he’d be long gone.

Clockwork dragged the coffin into Dark’s keep, bringing it down into the dungeons. He’d take it to the throne room later but for now…

Cassius wept.

#danny phantom #dp fic #clockwork #Pariah Dark #Dark Ages (ship)#Valentine's Core Exchange 2024 #hazafic

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luimagines · 1 year

Note

Evil thought.

Reader was Warriors' childhood best friend he grew up with. They both joined the military together and he had a crush on him. Captain never got his chance to admit those feelings as when Cia casted her spell which pulled in the other eras...Reader was caught in the blast. No one knew where they went and a body was never found.

Cue to present Warriors as he travels with the Chain. They were currently in Wild's era near the Zora Domain. Lately there been reports of a strange creature that attacks any monster they see and brutally injures travellers if threatened. Sidon asks the Chain to check it out as the last sighting was where the nearby Lynel dwells.

It doesn't take to long to find this creature for a loud monstrous roar and the tell tale signs of someone fighting a Lynel (i.e elemental flying arrows from skywards than just the liontaur roaring). The sight the Chain would come upon is brutal.

Dozens of slain monsters, every one with black blood strewn about and amidst it all is a black blood Lynel limping away in fear. The beast doesn't get far as the monster is hurled off the mountain by a 21 ft tall giant wearing strange armor. And Warriors is frozen still.

It isn't because of the giant's razor sharp fangs jutting out like curved tusks, blood red scaled arms nor mace like tail, not the pale spikes jutting out their back, shoulders and thighs all stained in black blood. The reason is because despite all these frightening features, the giant was Reader. His friend who gone missing since the War of Eras.

In truth, Reader wasn't dead but instead warped into a very dangerous dimension similar to Nevada from Krinkels' Madness Combat series. A maddening modern era apocalypse where the sky is red as blood with the rules to survive being adapt or die and kill or be killed.

It was there they became a MAG, a giant supersoldier know for their intense ferocity against opponents, ability to shrug off immense pain and for a select few like Reader even regenerate lost limbs fairly quickly. That 'strange armor' being custom modern military grade tactical gear as their weapon of choice is a huge battle axe.

Reader spots them and the Chain (except Wars) prepare themselves for a difficult fight. No one expected for the giant's fury to immediately dissipate as they see Wars and speak.

Reader: L-link? Is that really you?

Warriors: I should be asking you that. *tearing up*

Man is about to cry as everyone is very confused. Wars knows this berserker? What the heck is going? The Captain gets a reunion hug. MAG!Reader has a great handle on their strength so they can hug without hurting anybody although they still have to be careful with their sharp claws.

Warrior steps forward slowly, as if any wrong move would break the image in front of him.

"Captain?" Wild keeps an arrow in his grip, just in case.

Warrior gulps and reaches a hand out. "I thought.... we all thought you were dead... What... what happened to you?"

Wind and Time shift a little uneasy in their spots. Wind is the one to step forward and grab onto Warrior, just in case. "Is it... them?"

"Is it?" Time asks for clarification.

Legend shoots his arm up. "Can we know who them is?"

Warrior touches their outer shell. "My best friend."

#pinky replies #monster! reader #MAG! reader #anon stories #seems long enough to fit that tag

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aloneinthehellfire · 2 years

Text

Chapter 6: Monsters and Rumours

Raining Hellfire Series | Season One

Word Count: 5,899 words

Warnings: swearing, flashbacks to past trauma, mentions of blood, being attacked, traumatic experience, taking pain medication, slurs, mentions of sex, bullying, public fight, just angst.

[A/N: There's quite a lot happening in this, sorry if its ridiculously long I just wanted to tell as much of the story as I could]

Monsters and Rumours

Nancy!!

Y/n!!

You could hear Jonathan calling out. Nancy’s screams for him were echoing through the air.

And you were stuck behind a tree… with the creature breathing heavily on the other side.

When Nancy had stepped on the twig and caught the attention of the monster, she ran. Away from the danger. And deep down, you were relieved. But now the creature was stalking, looking for prey. And you knew why it didn’t follow her.

You shifted your leg quietly, holding down a wince. Whatever had dragged you in here earlier had left a nasty claw mark on your leg. And it just started bleeding.

Nancy’s voice rang out, louder this time, as she desperately tried to find Jonathan. You wished you could tell her that he wasn’t here. At least, not in the same dimension as you.

Nancy’s scream caught the creature’s attention and it ran off, searching for her.

“Shit.” You breathed as you stood, your leg was bleeding more now. You quickly undid your scarf and wrapped it the best you could around your leg, tying it tightly. You just needed it to stop the bleeding enough for you to find Nancy and get out of here.

“Jonathan!”

You followed her voice through the woods, hearing Jonathan’s echo every now and then.

The adrenaline was keeping you from keeling over from the pain, letting your legs take you as quickly as you could. The sounds that the creature was making only made you run faster.

You heard a gasp and turned your head, seeing Nancy run behind a tree with the creature stalking behind it. That was just you a few minutes ago.

Y/n! Nancy! Follow my voice!

You noticed light shining through the bottom of the tree just next to the one Nancy currently used as a shield. If she moved, it would definitely catch her. She turned her head when she noticed you, her eyes wide. You glanced between her and the creature. You took a deep breath and slowly raised your bat, nodding at her.

She shook her head aggressively, figuring out your plan. You only pointed to the gate. When she went to argue again, you let out a scream.

“Hey!” You yelled, it’s attention snapping towards you. Your mouth went dry. The creature roared, it’s face opening like a flower that held dozens of rows of teeth, blood still dripping from it’s earlier meal.

“Let’s fucking do this.” You said and you charged towards it, giving Nancy the distraction she needed to run toward the gate and try to crawl through.

Just as the creature swiped at you with its claw, you ducked, swinging your bat to hit it squarely in the legs and it toppled over, rolling in the leaves. You hid behind a tree and you heard it roar again. The gate was so close in front of you. You could still see the light coming through.

But Nancy was still trying to make her way through. The light was dimming.

It was starting to close.

You had a limited time frame to get both Nancy and yourself through before it closed for good.

You grabbed a clump of twigs from the ground and launched them in the opposite direction from the gate. The action caused the creature to lunge away from you and you ran to Nancy, pushing her through. You could hear Jonathan’s voice clearly on the other side, helping. You’d be hopeful if you also didn’t hear the growl growing closer behind you. With one last shove, Nancy was back on the other side.

You sighed in relief and began crawling your way through too. You reached your arm out and felt hands pulling you through. Your head made it through the clearing and you could see Nancy’s panicked face staring at you. Jonathan looked terrified and confused as he planted his foot on the side of the tree and pulled harder. You were almost there when a tight claw gripped around your bleeding leg and you screamed.

It started pulling you in the opposite direction and you felt like you were being torn in half. The pain was searing through your body. You used your other leg to kick at the monster’s arm and prayed that it would avoid it’s deadly face. With one last shove, the creature let go and you practically flew out of the tree, landing on Jonathan.

You scrambled away while Nancy clung onto Jonathan in fear. You watched the gate seal up slowly, bark replacing the vines.

Like it was never there.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Nancy’s voice was quiet. It was the first thing she’d said since you all made your way back to the Wheeler’s.

“I…” You couldn’t find an excuse not to.

When you had showered away the dirt and grime, everything came crashing down on you all at once. You winced against the tiles as the water had hit your leg. One single cut down your calf. It wasn’t very deep, thankfully. Your thick jeans had stopped it from digging in further.

You had wrapped it using the first aid kit Mrs Wheeler had shown you after the fight, careful not to use too much of the antiseptic just in case they checked that sort of thing.

You had been attacked. Dragged through the gate like it was nothing. But you weren’t dead. You were grateful, of course. But confused. Why didn’t it kill you when it had grabbed you the first time?

And after all of the chaos and terror… you just wanted to be alone. To curl up in your bed and cry. Let it all out.

“I just can’t.” Your voice was barely a whisper. It wasn’t a good excuse but Nancy nodded nonetheless. She was too tired to fight with you.

“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked as you passed him in the hallway. He had quietly grabbed a cardigan and was on his way to comfort Nancy.

“Just… take care of her?” You didn’t want to answer the question. Not today. He quietly nodded and gave you a quick hug which you gladly accepted.

You made your way out of the house, closing the front door softly. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and walked down the path, clutching your dirty bat. You needed to wash it and place it back in the house before your uncle noticed.

As you walked, you breathed a sigh of relief. You couldn’t believe you made it out of there alive.

“No more scary stuff tonight.” You promised yourself, muttering under your breath.

Then something landed next you and you almost screamed.

In fact, you did scream. But it was muffled by the hand clamped around your mouth and they tried to quieten you.

“Y/n! Shh! It’s me! Steve!” He said in hushed tones, causing you to relax in his arms.

“What the fuck Harrington?” You pushed away from him, whispering angrily through tears you didn’t even know were there. You had every right to be terrified after tonight.

“Sorry I-” His face dropped when he saw you, “Are you okay?” He reached a hand out to you but you moved it away.

“No! I’m not okay!” Your hands were shaking so you dropped the bat on the floor and ran your hands through your wet hair. “You just scared the shit out of me! What are you doing here?”

“To talk to Nancy… look, you’re not fine. What happened?” He took a step closer and you reacted, stepping away. It was like an awkward dance between you two.

“Nancy doesn’t want to talk right now.” You said, picking up your bat and marching to your house. He followed.

“Why?” He grabbed your arm and spun you around, looking at the bat. He snatched it away from you and inspected it. “What the hell happened?”

“I dropped it.” You yanked it back, continuing your path onto the porch.

“Nancy was meant to call me!”

“Look, I’m sorry to tell you but that has nothing to do with me!” You tried opening the door but it was locked. Shit, you thought, I must have left my keys.

“Just tell me what you were doing tonight! And why the hell was Byers in my girlfriend’s bedroom?!”

“Shut up!” You finally broke, stepping towards him and standing face to face, “Whatever you think is going on, you’re wrong. You don’t know anything about what’s going on. And you don’t deserve to know! I am tired, and I’m scared and I just want to go to my bed and cry. Okay? Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted?”

Your eyes stung as a tear escaped. Steve just stood there, searching your eyes, not knowing what to do.

“Y/n. Trying to take what isn’t yours again?” Carol’s voice rang out and you could hear Tommy’s obnoxious laugh with her. You glanced to your left to see Steve’s car still running in the middle of the road, Tommy and Carol currently occupying it.

“You should really get back to your friends.” You spat unkindly as the front door swung open, your uncle stood on the other side.

“What’s going on here?” He asked. He finally saw your state and his face hardened. He turned to Steve, taking a step forward. “I think it’s time you leave.”

Steve looked to you but you were already making your way inside. He let out a frustrated sigh and left. You could hear the car drive away.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” Your uncle said softly, eyeing the bat in your hand.

“I need sleep.” You continued past him, finding your room and shutting the door. You were too tired to feel guilty right now.

You curled up on your bed, pulling the covers around you and closing your eyes just as the tears came pouring through.

You knew this year was going to be different. You just didn’t know how painful it would be.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Images of the monster flashed in your mind every time you closed your eyes. The throbbing pain in your leg didn’t provide much comfort either.

After hiding the ruined jeans under your bed, you pulled out another pair, careful to not put much pressure on your wound. As much as you wanted to hide under your covers, you had a lot to do.

Before you had made your way home, Nancy and Jonathan already made plans to grab supplies so you could somehow trap the monster and kill it for good. You knew there would never be such thing as a peaceful night until you completed your mission.

You had told them you’d meet them outside the cinema. First, you wanted to check in with the Party and see if they found anything. After what you experienced last night, you hoped they didn’t.

Walking to the bathroom, you poked your head through your uncle’s open bedroom door, finding it deserted. At least it meant that you had a few more hours before you had to explain last night’s events. You tried not to remember the way you treated Steve. Yes, you weren’t exactly a fan of him. But he looked genuinely heartbroken. And that made you feel awful.

The pills you were looking for were in the back of the mirror cabinet. Your aunt took them when she was ill and your uncle seems to have forgotten to throw them out. They weren’t harmful as long as you didn’t take too many. They were simple painkillers. And the sensation in your leg was begging for them.

Slamming the cabinet shut, you made your way out of the house, making sure to stop and grab the bat again; you assumed Nancy still had your other one. You had asked them to get a box of nails, the plan for your ultimate weapon laid out in your mind.

“Y/n!” Dustin called as you shut the door and grabbed your bike. When you had seen that they were riding theirs, you planned to join them. Hopefully the pills had kicked in.

“Where we going?” You asked, not taking any arguments.

“The Sinclair’s.” Mike groaned, mounting his bike.

“Why-”

“No time for questions. Just come on.” Dustin interrupted as he started pedalling.

“It’s too early for this.” You mumbled and you followed them, wincing as your leg strained from the pressure.

The ride over was quick. The painkillers finally taking effect as you dumped your bikes on the lawn and rang the front door. It opened and revealed an irritated Lucas.

“What do you want?” He spat to the boys, sighing, “Oh. Hey, Y/n.”

“Hey, Luke.” You smiled, waving.

He gave you a small smile then turned back to his friends. “If you think bringing Y/n here will convince me to apologise then-”

Mike sighed as Dustin hit him. “I drew first blood, so…”

He held his hand out and you widened your eyes in amusement. You had no idea what was going on but clearly they handled arguments well.

“Just… get in here.” Lucas shook his head, widening the entrance and stepping back. Mike and Dustin quickly walked in and you followed after.

You were led to the living room where Mike stood with his hands nervously stuffed in his pockets, Dustin pursing his lips in the quiet.

“Nice house.” You filled the silence, taking in the room around you.

“I’m glad you think so.” Lucas smiled weirdly, going to lean his arm but finding there was only empty space there. Dustin pulled a face at him.

“Stop flirting with someone clearly out of your league and just wrap this up, okay?” Dustin sighed, a palm on his face in frustration.

Lucas chose to ignore his comment and started pacing with his arms folded, thinking. You decided to sit down, lifting the weight off your leg for the time being. You figured this was going to take a while.

“Okay. I’ll shake.” Lucas finally said, snapping you awake as you seemingly began nodding off.

Mike held his hand out quickly.

“On one condition.” Lucas continued, arms still tucked away, “We forget the weirdo and go straight to the gate.”

“Then the deal’s off.” Mike was defensive.

“Fine!”

“No, no, not fine!” Dustin intervened, frustrated. You looked at them all, eyebrows furrowed.

“I feel like I’ve missed something…” You said to no one in particular.

“Guys, seriously? Do you even remember what happened on the Bloodstone Pass?” Dustin said, serious-faced.

“Oh my god, what happened?” You asked, intrigued. You were 90% sure that it was the drugs talking.

Lucas and Mike looked at you in confusion. Okay, maybe 96% sure.

“We couldn’t agree on what path to take, so we split up the Party” Dustin sighed, “and those trolls took us out one by one.”

“No.” You were way too engrossed in this.

“And it all went to shit. And we were all disabled!” Dustin flung his arms out dramatically and you shook your head in disgust at what happened. You were 100% sure the pills did a little more than you intended them to.

“So we stick together, no matter what!”

“Yeah, I agree. But this is the Party, right here in this room.” Lucas stated. You were a little honoured that they thought of you as part of their Party.

“El is one of us now.” Mike attempted.

“Um, no, she's not. Not even close! Never will be. She's a liar, a traitor-”

“She was just trying to keep us safe! She didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Wait, what?” You looked between them, settling on Lucas since you knew he’d tell you the truth, “What happened?”

“His crazy girlfriend attacked me!” Lucas cried, pointing at Mike. You just raised your eyebrow at him. “Okay, but she did. She used her powers and threw me into a bus.”

“It was an accident!” Mike told you, pleading with his eyes.

“An accident?” Lucas scoffed.

“Hey!” You brought their focus back to you, “Whatever happened, I’m sure El didn’t mean to.” Lucas tried to object but you just raised your hand, silencing him, “I’m not saying that what she did was okay. It’s not and trust me, if she ever did that to me I’d be pretty pissed too. But El obviously saw you two fighting and tried to stop it. It had to have been an accident.”

“All right, accident or not…” Dustin spoke, “Admit it, it was a little awesome.”

His comment caught you by surprise and you laughed, apologising when Lucas shot you a glare.

“Awesome?” Lucas exclaimed.

“Yeah, she threw you in the air with her mind!”

“I could have been killed!”

“Which is exactly why we need her. She's a weapon! Do you seriously wanna fight the Demogorgon with your wrist rocket? That's like R2-D2 going to fight Darth Vader.”

“Woah, stop.” You said, standing up. “Firstly, El is not a toy, okay? She’s still human… I think. Secondly, I will not take any R2-D2 slander here and- wait. Did you say Demogorgon?”

“Yeah, it’s this monster from-” Dustin tried to explain but you cut him off.

“D&D, yeah, Eddie told me.”

Queen of the Demogorgons he had called you. It was an innocent nickname until the events of last night unfolded. At least you had a name for it now.

“Who’s Eddie?” Dustin looked taken-aback. “Is that a boy?”

“Uh…” You seriously didn’t want to have this conversation now. Neither did Mike apparently.

“The fact is we’re no use to Will if we’re dead!” He yelled, shutting you both up.

“If you two wanna waste your time looking for a traitor, go ahead, 'cause I'm not spending my time on her anymore. No way!” Lucas looked at the boys, shaking his head, “I’m going to the gate. I’m gonna find Will.”

He shoved past them, leaving the three of you behind.

“That went well.” You commented, earning glares. You glanced at the clock. “So… have fun with that. I’m gonna-”

“You’re leaving us on our own again? What happened to the Party stays together?” Dustin protested, blocking the entrance.

“Up until a few minutes ago, I didn’t even realise I was a part of this Party. It was kinda sweet actually…” You added, smiling to yourself.

“Of course you are! You’re cool! And really helpful to us now we know you’re a genius.”

“Can’t believe you only want me for my brains.” You shook your head sarcastically. “Look, I wish I could help you find El but I have important stuff to sort out. Upside Down kinda stuff.”

“Did you find the gate?” Mike spoke up, walking into your view.

“Uh, no.” You lied. You knew that as soon as you told them, they’d be running towards it. Yes, it had sealed up but you didn’t know if it was something that would reopen anytime soon.

“You’re lying.” Dustin stepped closer, peering into your eyes like they would tell him the truth.

“I…”

“We don’t have time for this.” Mike sighed, pushing past Dustin and leaving. Dustin looked between you two and finally sighed, defeated.

“Come here.” Was all he said as he followed Mike outside. He marched to his bike and picked up his bag, pulling out his walkie talkie.

“Just in case we need you. Or you need us?” Dustin offered the radio to you and you accepted, smiling.

“I’ll tell you everything once I’ve completed what I need to do.” You nodded at him and ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, yeah.” He said as he and Mike rode off, leaving you stood with the chunky black radio in your hand.

You stuffed it into your bag and grabbed your bike, heading for the cinema.

The last time you were at the cinema was at the end of your freshman year at Hawkins.

It was a place you would always meet up with your friend. When you had moved, you assumed you’d be lonely. But, with luck, you met someone that shared the same humour as you, someone that let you be yourself. The cinema held memories of running through the exit door to catch a movie you didn’t pay for and, eventually, running back through that exit when one of the workers had caught you both.

But those memories were slowly fading. And soon they would be replaced with nightmares from what was to come, tainting the innocence of the cinema. And your friend, who you trusted more than the world, was going to ruin it for you.

Because he chose Tommy and Carol.

“Can’t wait to see the show!” A voice shouted out as you rode past a blue car. You thought nothing of it, pedalling past a few businesses before turning the corner.

You noticed Jonathan’s car outside of a store. Assuming they were still inside, you pedalled on, sticking to the plan of meeting at the cinema.

Weaving your way through the streets, you turned a familiar corner to the Hawk cinema.

“Didn’t know you and Nancy were stars!” A voice laughed as he drove by. You recognised him, Reed something, and you stopped in confusion. That was the second time that had happened.

You spun your head around to the cinema situated on the other side of the street and your heart dropped. There were two movies on show. Movies that had been added to with spray paint. One side read ‘All The Right Moves starring Nancy The Slut Wheeler’.

Your breath hitched as you moved to the next section. ‘Risky Business starring Y/n The Whore since ‘81.’.

You dropped your bike, not caring where it landed. You didn’t even have to think twice about who could have done that. It wasn’t a nickname you haven’t heard before.

You headed straight to the alley where you and Steve used to hang out. You figured he’d be there too considering that he may have a heart attack if he wasn’t constantly attached to the hip of his ‘friends’.

“Here’s the original leading lady!” Carol’s shrill voice echoed as Tommy spray painted the side of the building.

The four of them spun around to you, smirking. Tommy laughed and continued with his art, clearly amused. Carol stepped forward.

“Hurry up and get your tickets!” She laughed.

You weren’t thinking at all. All you saw was pure rage as you lifted your hand and struck her across the cheek as hard as you could.

She looked at you in shock, turning to the others before looking back at you and erupting into laughter. You changed tactics and brought your focus to Steve. He was laughing but he clearly didn’t find any of this funny.

“Why?” Was all you said to him. For a moment you saw his face change, almost guilty. And then it was gone in an instant.

“I don’t like to be played around with.” He shrugged, face hardened.

“So you spray that on a billboard for everyone to see?” You could barely see him now as your tears began blocking your vision.

“Hey, I didn’t do it.” He took his hands out of his pocket and raised them without showing any emotion whatsoever. “I don’t even know why you’re up there.”

“Oh… she knows what she did.” Carol lowered her voice to a growl, walking towards you. Steve looked between you both, confused. You knew exactly what she was accusing you for.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You spat through cloudy eyes.

“No, what is wrong with you? Hm?” She took another step closer and you could see the red pigmenting her cheek, “Couldn’t have my boyfriend so you had to take someone else’s?”

“I never wanted your fucking boyfriend, Carol!” You almost screamed in her face.

Another step forward and you could practically feel her breath.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you fucked him!” She shouted at you, spit hitting your face in spite.

“What?” Steve’s voice spoke up through the silence.

“Maybe you should have better control of him.” You whispered to her. She curled her fist until something behind you caught her attention.

“Aw, hey there, princess!” She chuckled as you turned around. Nancy.

“Uh-oh! She looks upset. We appear to be having that effect these days.” Tommy laughed, turning back around from his graffiti dedicated to Jonathan Byers.

Nancy’s face said everything you needed to know so you stepped aside. She walked right up to Steve and slapped him, hard and fast, causing amused reactions from his friends.

“And that effect!” Tommy laughed again, leaning against the wall.

“What is wrong with you?” Nancy asked furiously.

“What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?” Steve countered, towering over her, “I was worried about you. I can't believe that I was actually worried about you.”

“What are you talking about?” She shook her head and finally caught your eyes, reacting to the mess you obviously looked right now.

“He thinks you cheated on him.” You said, glaring at Steve.

“I wouldn’t lie if I were you.” Carol approached her, “You don't want to be known as the lying slut now, do you?”

“Speak of the devil.” Tommy commented, jumping down from wall. Jonathan joined the group after following Nancy through the alley. Tommy gave him a wave. “Hi.”

“You came by last night?” Nancy realised, “Look, I don't know what you think you saw, but it wasn't like that.”

“What, you just let him into your room to... study?” Steve scoffed. You shook your head in silence. How were you possibly going to intervene this conversation?

“Or for another pervy photo session?” Tommy joked, an arm around his girlfriend.

“We were just-”

“You were just what?” Steve interrupted, walking towards her. “Finish that sentence.”

Nancy stayed silent.

“Finish the sentence.”

Nancy looked at you, not knowing how to respond. You sighed. She was relying on you to help her out. She didn’t know it would be at your own expense.

“Go to hell, Nancy.”

“Back off, Harrington.” You found the courage to speak. You saw a breath of relief leave Nancy’s body as she stepped back.

“Don’t even start with me, Y/n.” Steve glared at you. “I thought finding out that Nancy was fucking that pervert would be the most surprising part of my day.”

“What?” The word slipped out of Nancy’s mouth. She hadn’t seen the other ‘movie’.

“And I thought you couldn’t get any shittier. But here we are.” You shrugged.

“Did you know about that?” Steve pointed to you, asking Nancy. She shook her head in confusion.

“Let’s just say that you aren’t the first slut to tarnish our group.” Carol scowled. “I never thought Y/n The Whore since ‘81 would be such a big influence.”

“Shut up.” You said. You tried to sound confident but your voice betrayed you.

“Come on, guys, let’s just leave.” Jonathan pulled Nancy away. He was the only other person you had told what happened between you and Tommy. He could see how upset you were.

“You know what, Byers? I'm actually kind of impressed. I always took you for a queer, but I guess you're just a little screw-up like your father.” Steve followed you all, shoving Jonathan.

“Ignore him.” You said, basically pleading.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, that house is full of screw-ups. You know, I guess I shouldn't really be surprised. A bunch of screw-ups in your family.”

Jonathan stopped moving. The look written on his face was something you hadn’t seen before.

“Jonathan, leave it.” Nancy tried.

“I mean, your mom... I'm not even surprised what happened to your brother.”

“Steve, shut up!” Nancy yelled, but she was ignored.

“I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you, but the Byers, their family, it's a disgrace to the entire-”

Jonathan turned, swinging his arm, fist clenched. He perfectly aimed it at Steve’s nose. The contact would have broken it for sure if you hadn’t intercepted it, catching it with your hands and pushing him away.

“It’s not worth it.” You looked in his eyes and saw him lower his arm, taking your advice.

“Woah, I guess you really get it with all the ladies, huh?” Steve continued, causing an eruption of laughter from the three behind him.

“Steve, stop. You’ve hurt us enough, just fuck off.” You say, trying to pull Jonathan away.

“Whores don’t get a say in the matter.”

That was all Steve said when Jonathan turned again, swinging his fist and punching him before you could even react. Steve hit the wall, bracing himself.

“Fuck.” You whispered.

Steve whipped his head around and launched himself at Jonathan, tackling him onto the ground.

“Stop! Steve! Knock it off, you guys!”

“Get off of him, seriously!”

“Kick his ass, man!”

All the chants were drowning out when you heard a set of high-pitched sirens travel through the wind. Your body reacted before your mind could and you sprinted down the alley, away from the fight. You wanted to stay and help Jonathan, you wanted to comfort Nancy. But all your body was screaming at you to do was run.

If you were caught by the cops in a fight, you were done for.

You ran through a few streets, ignoring the glances from strangers. You kept running until you found another alleyway and finally stopped, leaning against the wall and sliding down. The tears came rushing out as soon as you hit the floor. You were too tired to even try to stop them.

Everything was crumbling around you. You could never escape the suffering. From your past, to literal supernatural creatures, you couldn’t hide away. You couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You were done being angry. You were done being sad. You were just done.

“Y/n?”

You wiped your tears with your jacket sleeve, turning your head away from the silhouette.

“Go away.” You spoke, voiced laced with bitterness.

“I would but I really don’t want to.”

You slowly adjusted your head, getting a better view of the person. You already knew who it was, the voice had been replaying in your brain ever since you first met him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, keeping your focus on the dirty ground in front of you.

“I saw everything. I… I wanted to…” He trailed off. Instead of speaking, he crouched down in front of you and carefully cupped your face in his hands, wiping away a stray tear. In doing so, he forced you to look at him and your heart swelled from the contact. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to looking at Eddie’s face.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You confessed, your eyes threatening another flood.

“Hey. Nothing is wrong with you.” He kept his focus on your face, “This is all them. Those assholes, not you.”

You wish you could just tell him everything. Your past, the Upside Down, the nightmares you can’t quite explain anymore. But if you did, he would be in danger. And that was the last thing you’d ever want for him.

“How much did you hear?” You asked, willing the tears to retreat.

“More than I expected.” He admitted, shrugging, “Carol has this annoying screechy voice thing going for her.”

“That she does.” You let out a sad laugh. He eventually removed his hands from your cheeks, allowing you to rest your head on the wall behind you. But he didn’t move.

“I get why she’s upset, kind of, but I didn’t think it was ‘spray-paint it in giant letters’ worthy.”

“Oh god, you saw that too?” You covered your face in embarrassment.

“It’s not exactly hard, it’s big enough for the whole town to see-” He stopped when he saw the startled look on your face, “Not that they have. I… I was just, uh, exaggerating. You know, now I think about it, it wasn’t that big, I bet no one-”

“Eddie.” You interrupted, attempting a smile. “It’s fine. I would expect nothing less than for a whole town to hate me.” You chuckled sadly. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I don’t hate you.” He said, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think I could ever hate you, Y/n.”

“Why?” You said it with so much disbelief that Eddie took your hand, forcing you to listen.

“Because whatever the hell happened in your past doesn’t matter. You are funny, and smart, and like, the coolest chick I know.” You gave out a small laugh at his words, “Seriously. I… I really hate Hawkins. I’ve wanted nothing more than to get out of this hell-hold but… but I met you. And-and now I couldn’t imagine leaving now I know that you exist.”

You didn’t even realise you were holding your breath. Your mind was racing at thousands of miles per hour but at the same time, it’s like your brain just stopped and you didn’t know what to do. Eddie’s face was slowly faltering the longer you took to react, thinking that he messed up somehow.

“I…” Your words failed you. You had so many things to say but you couldn’t find a way to string them into a sentence.

Instead, you held your hands out and grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss. After all, actions speak louder than words.

He was taken by surprise at first, his lips crashing into yours. Then he relaxed, pulling you closer to him. His hand was gently placed on the back of your head as you kissed. Every nerve in your body was set alight and your mind was finally clear. He was your home.

“Y/n! Come in Y/n! Red alert! I repeat, red alert!”

The voice was muffled in your backpack but loud enough for the kiss to break, your heart wrenching as you pulled away. You sent Eddie and apologetic look and opened your bag, pulling out the radio as static noise filled the air.

“Wouldn’t be us if we didn’t get interrupted.” Eddie chuckled, disappointment in his voice.

“I’m sorry. It’s these kids I look after.” You gave a brief explanation, sighing. Of all the times they needed you, this had to be the worst.

“They’re chasing us! Y/n! They’re gonna-” The static noise drowned out whatever Dustin was trying to tell you. You froze before snapping into action.

“Dustin?” You spoke into the black box. “Dustin?!”

No answer. You looked at Eddie who was staring at the radio with his eyebrows furrowed.

“I…”

“Go.” He nodded before flashing you a grin.

You leaned towards him, giving him one last kiss.

“Thank you.” You whispered, grabbing your bag with the radio still in your hand. Your ran out of the alley, sprinting towards the cinema.

You found your bike in the middle of the paved street. Rifling through your bag, you grabbed some tape you had shoved in your bag from your Design Tech sessions. You hastily taped the radio to the front of your recovered bike so you could reply if they tried to contact you again. Usually you would celebrate the fact that it hadn’t been stolen but the adrenaline coursing through your veins was yelling at you to find the kids. Something was chasing them and the only thoughts flowing through your mind led you to every worst scenario.

If you lost them, you’d never forgive yourself.

Chapter 7: Department Of Energy ->

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