#chapter fic
Text
Whispers of Rain
Chapter 11: Up like the moon and out like the hounds
Commissioned art by @kamonart
Thank you to @papaslittlesunshine for betaing and @midnight-moth for listening to my depraved raindrop thoughts, as always!
Story can be read below the cut or on Ao3
If you like it, I'd love a reblog or likes. Always appreciated!
Dew quickly vacated Eidolon’s lap, his lips still wet with their kiss and stood on shaky legs to turn around. He felt Eidolon reach out to steady him as he too stood, placing his hand on the small of his back. Dew relished the feeling of his calm nature as he looked at Rain.
Rain.
Rain with his little smile on his face, his eyebrows pinched together, tears in his eyes.
Rain.
Rain was trying to ignore the fact that Dew was just on someone else’s lap, kissing someone else. His heart broke at the sight of them. It was his job to reach out and steady Dew, his job to bring him comfort. He swallowed those feelings down as he took a step towards Dew. His hands reaching out in front of him asking, needing to feel him close.
Dew could feel the tremor run through Eidolon’s hand on his back, the small growl in his throat at seeing Rain approaching. He reached behind him and grabbed his hand in a small squeeze, before letting go and putting his feet in motion to bring him closer to Rain.
When they met in the middle of the room, they didn’t immediately touch, instead taking a moment to look at the other as tears streamed down their faces. Dew reached out first, putting his arms around Rain, bringing him flush to his body. Rain’s arms quickly went around his back with the intention of never letting him go again. Rain’s body was racked with sobs as held onto Dewdrop, his tears wet on Dew’s shoulders.
“I am so sorry,” Rain whispered quietly into his ear, a statement just for the two of them.
When Dew choked out and asked why, he continued, “I tried to be here sooner, I tried so hard, but they wouldn't let me, I thought about you everyday, everyday.”
Dew pulled back and looked into Rain’s eyes, the torture these months had wroth, evident on his face. He wondered what Rain had faced topside.
“I missed you so much, Otter.”
They collapsed against each other again, just breathing in the other's scent, listening to their heartbeats sync together once more.
Eidolon watched Rain and Dew, trying to not let his face show the disappointment of being interrupted and be happy for Dew, he knew how much he missed Rain. He could see why he loved him, not just his looks, he was beautiful like Dewdrop, but also he could see how much Rain loved Dew. His emotions were written all over his face. He wondered how they hid their feelings from Ifrit, anyone with eyes could see they were meant for eachother. Eidolon quietly grieved what he knew he wouldn’t have with Dew.
So invested in his thoughts on Rain and Dew he missed when the other ghoul made his way to his side, and was looking him up and down. He turned to address him, introducing himself, when the other ghoul quickly pulled him into a giant bear hug, crushing him to his chest.
“He-Hello?” He tried to squeak out between breaths he was able to take.
“Phantom, he told me he let you go back to our village, why are you still here?” Aether pulled away from the hug, grabbing Eidolon’s face in his hands, turning it every which way, looking for what? He didn’t know.
“You may have me confused with someone else.”
“Phantom, stop joking around.”
Eidolon pushed himself back from the ghoul, his hands on his chest, pushing him away from his body. “I don’t know who Phantom is, my name is Eidolon.”
Aether tried to grab his arm again to pull him closer to his body, but Eidolon was having none of that. He quickly moved to the other side of the tent, his fleeing body grabbing Dew’s attention as he moved.
“Eidolon?” Dew inquired as he moved out of Rain’s arms, but not letting his hand go, their fingers intertwined, smiling to himself when he felt the ring he gave Rain still on his fingers.
Aether moved to approach Eidolon once again, but was quickly shut off in his pursuit by Dew, who placed his hand not attached to Rain up to ward him off, before he moved to stand closer to Eidolon, dragging Rain along with him.
“What’s wrong?”
“He keeps calling me Phantom, I don’t know who he is, Dew.”
Dew quickly turned his head to look at Aether, and mouthed, Phantom, while Aether quickly nodded his head.
“How?” Dew knew Aether had a brother, knew his name was Phantom, but nothing beyond that. The way Aether talked about him he was a lot younger, Dew thought he was still a kit from how he was described.
“I haven’t seen him in so long, but it is him for sure. The fact that Ifrit is calling him Eidolon makes sense too, that is his given name, Phantom was just a nickname I called him.”
“Why don’t I remember you?” Eidolon asked from behind Dewdrop.
“I don’t know, love, but I promise you are him, you are my baby brother.”
Brother? Was this person the embodiment of the family he couldn’t remember? He looked nothing like himself, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
Dew saw that Eidolon was reeling from this information, he wanted to reach out and hold him close to tell him it would all be ok. Shower him in the same comfort he always provided for Dewdrop, but the grasp on his hand pulled him back from those feelings before he acted on them. He was torn between not wanting to hurt either of the ghouls next to him. He cared, loved them both. How did this get so messed up?
Rain spoke up from his side pressed up against Dew, “Maybe we should all introduce ourselves?”
“Yes! Eidolon, this is Rain,” motioning to his side, “And this is Aether, Aether, Rain, this is Eidolon.”
Rain offered his hand not attached to Dew to Eidolon, “Eidolon, nice to meet you.”
Eidolon took the offered hand, looking up into Rain’s eyes, the kind smile he offered, Eidolon couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at him. He could feel the warmth in Rain’s hand spread up his arm, taking the chill of the last few moments away. He wondered if it would be weird if he held his hand for awhile. Probably.
He silently turned from Rain to look back at Aether. So this was Aether, the one he was drawn to the story of with his quintessence, was it because he was family, was it because he had the same magic. Like he stated they looked nothing alike, Aether was taller, with a stocky build, his broad shoulders, leading to muscled arms and strong hands that were now gripping his. His hand encompassed Eidolon’s, it was so large, his hand disappeared inside of his much larger one. When he looked at his face, he could see he had similar eyes, if not Aether’s a little darker purple. His hair was lighter, almost more of a brown, as opposed to his own dark tresses. He had a small pensive smile on his lips, and Eidolon knew he just wanted to pull him back into his arms again. He offered a nod of his head and a smile back, which had to be enough for right now.
“How did you even get here?” Dew asked quietly, trying not to add more tension to this already tense moment.
“It is a very long story, which we probably should hold off on for right now and get you two out of here.”
Now that they had their initial meeting they all could recognize the dangerous situation they were in. Rain wouldn’t be able to stop the pounding “thump, thump” of his heart again until he had Dew away from Ifrit, he could see the toll these months had on him. Dew was terrified now that Rain was back in his arms, that Ifrit would finish the job he started and as much as he cherished having Rain there with him again, he wouldn’t be the one to cause his death. If Ifrit touched him, he’d have to go through Dew and they would depart this land together, when he looked at Eidolon, he had the same urge to protect him as well. This was going to get messy if he didn’t figure this out soon.
Aether handed them both cloaks to pull over their clothes, they were in a stark white to show they were part of the attendant staff. He had failed to see the ones that both Rain and Aether had on and pulled back off of their heads. They all quickly donned their cloaks and covered their heads, keeping their heads down, ready to move before Rain whispered to him.
“I am not letting you go again, stay close to me.”
Dew could hear the tremble in his words, he reached out one last time before they stepped out of the tent to grab his hand before pulling it up to his mouth and placing a kiss on his palm. He could hear Rain’s small sigh of happiness before he quieted it back down and left the tent first, Dew right on his heels with Eidolon right behind him and Aether bringing up the rear, surrounding the weaker two from months (or in Eidolon’s case, years) of torture.
As they made their way swiftly between the tents, Dew could hear the moaning from within, the cracks of whips as they sliced through the air, the grunts of pain that followed the snap as it hit flesh, over and over again. He had to remind himself that Rain was in front of him and that he had to stay strong and focused, not get distracted by the inflections of pain going on around him. He knew there were probably so many people in the same situation he was in, but his only job today was to make sure Rain and Eidolon made it out of this compound. Aether could handle himself, he was sure and Dew, himself, didn’t matter, they could kill him to make sure the other two got free. They would always sacrifice themselves for the other, if they could stop trying to not inflect unhappiness on the other, maybe they could then be truly happy and free.
For the most part everyone ignored the four figures moving silently through the grounds, as they got closer to the exit, security picked up a little though and they had to carefully plan their moves. The first checkpoint to exit had Rain offering papers to the guard, mumbling quietly that they were tasked with getting more wine from the local warehouse. Dew waited with baited breath as the guard checked the paperwork and looked them over before waving them through the gate. Dew let out his breath in a huge rush, as Rain chanced a quick look back at him from the front making sure he was ok. He just nodded and they continued.
The next two gates went much the same, they had one more gate to get through and get to the vehicle Rain and Aether had secreted away nearby. This gate would be the hardest. Rain and Aether were prepared for it, they knew from friends that the guards were all tasked with making sure both Dewdrop and Eidolon stayed on the grounds since they were out of Ifrit’s sight for most of the day. Anyone who was found to have let them past, would be dealt with. Swiftly and deadly, so it behooved them to do their job well, paying attention to the smallest detail.
When they approached the last guard, Rain again handed him the papers. The guard asking more indpeth questions than the prior three before asking Rain to remove his hood, which he did without hesitation. When he moved down the line to ask Dew to remove his hood and ask him some question, Rain quickly spoke up and said both him and the next person were mute and unable to answer, but he nodded at Dew and Eidolon to remove their hoods. Hesitantly Dew pulled his back, ready for the alarm to sound, but all the guard did was take a quick look before telling them they could pull their hoods back up. When he got to Aether, he saw he handed him back the papers and took a small envelope back from him at the exchange. He waved them through the gate, making eye contact with Rain and Aether once more before turning back to his task and nodding for the next group to approach.
As they moved through the fields in a light jog, rushing to get to the car, Rain took Dew’s hand in his pulling him along, telling him it wasn’t much further. When he stumbled, he put his arm around Dew’s waist to help him along. The further they ran, the more Dew could feel his energy depleting, it had been so long since he was able to move like this, it was to be expected. The third time he stumbled, Rain looked back at Aether, who came forward quickly, crouching in front of the duo and telling Dew to climb on. Dew looked at him increndulously, he was not going to let him carry him. When Aether asked if he would rather they get caught, then accept help, he shut his mouth and climbed on. Rain fell in step behind them, making sure Eidolon was ok as they continued their trek.
In about another mile they made it to the car, Aether letting Dew down and putting him in the back seat, Rain quickly took the seat beside him after helping Eidolon in the passenger seat as Aether took the wheel. The silence in the car was thick as the car was put in motion. After many minutes of tense quiet Dew could visibly see Rain and Aether calm down and relax. They must have been far enough away from immediate danger.
“Where are we going?” Dew asked from the backseat.
“Somewhere safe until we can secure passage back to the surface.”
Somewhere safe turned out to be a few hours away at a friends house, someone Rain knew from his village. Somewhere Ifrit wouldn’t think to look. The friend had many acres of land around a large lake, thick forrest surrounding them. Dew learned the friend wasn’t there and wasn’t expected back for a few days, giving them the privacy to regroup and reconnect. When Rain asked him where he wanted to sleep, Dew knew Rain was asking if he wanted him in the same room to sleep in. Eidolon was a room down, with Aether across the hall, Dew told Rain the first room was fine for them.
He could feel the bone deep tiredness that was rapidly making his way across his body, he knew that him and Rain had to talk, but they both knew that tonight was not the time for a conversation. Rain watched Dew as he pulled back the covers on his side of the bed before getting in. Dew had gone to the bathroom connected to the room to change out of his other clothes into an offered sleep pants and t-shirt. Opting not to let Rain see the bruises and bites on his body, he didn’t miss Rain’s eyes tracking him across the room. Rain followed his lead, changing in the bathroom before crawling under the covers next to Dew’s warm body, he didn’t know if he should reach out and hold him, if Dew would want that or not. He laid facing Dew watching his chest rise and fall, rather than looking at him in the face.
Timidly, he whispered out, “Can I hold you?”
He saw the flash of pain pass across Dew’s eyes before he nodded. Rain put his arm out along the pillow, showing Dew it was up to him what he allowed. Dew rolled over, his back facing Rain as he pushed his body into his side. Rain could feel his rapid heartbeat through his back, he ran his hand along his hair. He watched as Dew’s breathing got shallower and shallower, his heartbeat never slowing down though. Rain couldn’t sleep at first, he had the constant thought of, how much did Ifrit hurt him? How much did he break him? Will he ever be the same? Rain cried silent tears for what he knew him and Dew had already lost.
#rain ghoul#dewdrop ghoul#aether ghoul#phantom ghoul#Eidolon ghoul#raindrop#whispers of rain#chapter fic#ao3#rain ghost#dewdrop ghost#ghost band fanfic#ghost band#fan fiction#mina writes
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader
Table of Contents: Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)
Pairing: idol!Namjoon/f!Reader
Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured
Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?
Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), realistic depictions of cancer and cancer treatment; mention of unfeatured character death (previous to plot); emotional health growth and development; eventual smut; feelings and dealing with feelings (no, but seriously, so many feelings)
Author's Note: First and foremost - Blame Me chapter 1 will still be tentatively dropping by the end of the week. However, this just literally wrote itself last night after a couple of drinks and several streams of Lonely 💔. It was the thing that just poured out of me and could not be stopped. It's been simmering in the back of my brain for a while, and so, now that it's out here, I'm going to be posting it in tandem with Blame Me, probably on alternate weeks (if I can manage it, 😅). I want to give credit to those whose works I have read which have come to set the stage for my concept of the soulmate au, and who are far my betters in creative artistry: Matchy, author of balls-to-the-walls masterpiece Trip No Further, Fallencairns, author of lovely work of art Turbulence, and @teenagebountyhunter , to whom I dedicate this work 💜 the author of the ineffably beautiful Namjoon soulmate fic Bloom (RUN to read this immediately) - the inspiration for what is to humbly follow below. If you're checking this out, thanks a million for reading, and please don't be shy in offering feedback should you be so inclined! (Baby fic writer here, constructive criticism always welcome!)
Without further ado, chapter one is under the cut.
P.S. Tag list is open. If you want in, let me know. 😊
P.P.S. In case no one has told you today, you're loved and worthy of love. 🧜💜
“When your hands leap
towards mine, love,
what do they bring me in flight?
Why did they stop
at my lips, so suddenly,
why do I know them,
as if once before,
I have touched them,
as if, before being,
they traveled
my forehead, my waist?”
~ Pablo Neruda
Chapter 1: The Cure
Diana dipped another three fries in ketchup and popped them into her mouth.
"So, what do you need to talk about that has you desperate enough to buy me lunch?" She smiled smugly and sipped and her milkshake.
You hadn't touched the burger in front of you, even if you probably should be absolutely relishing in it, considering your future prospects. You picked up a sweet potato fry and stared at it absently.
"I found my soulmate," you stated flatly.
Diana's jaw dropped mid-chew, unpleasantly framing the masticated remains of a mouthful of turkey club.
"Wait, are you serious?" she pressed, round hazel eyes wide and unblinking.
You dipped the fry down into the little cup of ranch and swirled it around slowly.
"Actually, he found me. Well, his people found me," you continued.
"Huh? So is he some kind of a big deal - wait...they found you? What does that even mean? Wait, no - you have a soulmate?!"
You smiled ruefully. It was kind of nice to see someone else freaking out about it for a change. You had known your little sister would react strongly, which is why you had waited until now give her the news.
"Y/n, ANSWERS," Diana demanded leaning forward to flick your forehead.
"Ow!" you protested, rubbing the throbbing spot on your brow. "Keep your pants on, geez!"
You sighed. After having relayed this story to your mom, your doctor, a specialist, legal advisory, your best friend, your brother and his wife, and your very disappointed boss, you had gotten pretty good telling it. Yet, somehow, each time the burden of it's truth felt a little heavier. You ate the fry. It was pretty good. You wished it had sucked so it wouldn't be one more edible thing you missed the prospect of.
"So apparently, a couple of years ago a university in Switzerland found a way to match soulmates using DNA testing. Don't ask me about the exact science of it - I do not understand it. What I do know is that it's illegal to use this technology to locate your soulmate in the US."
"Why?" Diana had abandoned her food and was listening with rapt attention.
"Something about privacy rights. Though they've dealt with that issue in Switzerland - people interested in finding their soulmates join a biological registry. I'm sure our government is just waiting to find a way that big pharma can exploit it before they facilitate the process. Anyway, somehow, I ended up in a foreign registry. I guess there is a black market for soulmate data..."
"Oh my god, could I be on the black market?" Diana gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth.
"I guess anyone could, provided they've ever been treated at a hospital, or given blood, or anything of the sort...but calm down! It doesn't even matter unless you have a match, which is rare."
"So he found you on the black market?! That's so fucking sketchy, Y/n."
"It was his company, actually. I got a visit from representatives of an organization called Hybe. They are some kind of South Korean entertainment conglomerate. One of their employees, a musician, is dying of cancer. Seeing if he had a soulmate was a last-ditch effort to save his life. Now everything is banking on me and my cooperation."
You flicked your eyes up to your sister. Her expression had morphed into something far more somber.
"Heavy..." she whispered.
You nodded.
"What are you gonna do?"
You took a bite of your burger. She wasn't going to like your answer. Diana's face changed again, this time registering alarm and indignation.
"No," she murmured, "No, Y/n. You're just gonna do it, aren't you? You're gonna go be the fucking hero! You're going to traipse off to Korea and save his sketchy, ungrateful ass!"
She stood up, her chair screeching back over the concrete and drawing the attention of other diners on the patio. You glanced around apologetically.
"Diana, sit down! And how do you know if he's grateful or not?!" you hissed.
"No!" she countered defiantly, yanking her hand away from where you had reached for it. "You always do this! You never, ever think of yourself. And now you'll be gone forever...is this even safe?"
Tears had started to well up in her eyes, and the glances around you had turned into stares and whispers. You stood up and pulled her into a hug.
"Hey, hey, it's okay! Lets get out of here and I can answer all of your questions, alright?" She sniffled.
"Okay. But you're not leaving me." You smiled and huffed out a laugh pulling her toward the parking lot.
You had anticipated that Diana would disapprove of your decision, and it being as difficult a situation as it was, you had decided to make all the arrangements and choices necessary before telling her. She loved you so fiercely, she would have watched the world burn before letting you break a nail, if she could help it.
After your father's death nearly twenty years ago, you had become protector and provider to Diana and your younger brother Henry, three years her senior, in ways your sensitive and unworldly mother seemed unequipped to shoulder. If they had both not been so established and secure in the trajectory of their adult lives, you would have made it clear to Hybe that you regrettably had nonnegotiable responsibilities right where you were. But Henry was settled into a suburb with a lovely wife and year-old daughter, Diana was set to finish undergrad and head off to nursing school, and the deal with Hybe had actually allowed you to leverage for your Mom's retirement, so you were boarding a flight to Korea next week to take on a new set of cares and concerns.
You tossed your keys on the table on your way into your apartment and collapsed onto your comfy red couch. While Diana rooted around your fridge and loudly complained about the lack of hard seltzer, you sorted through the mail and made a mental note to add a forwarding address on a few of your accounts and subscriptions, including the one supplying you with Nightwing comics. You set the mail aside and took a moment to look around you.
You loved your little apartment. The kitchen was small, but the big window with the spider plant hanging in it made it one of your favorite rooms - the herb garden on the counter and the fully stocked bar above the fridge did nothing to make you like it any less. The earthy brown walls of the living space were littered with shelves full of candles and living plants and quirky curios, and in and amongst them hung framed watercolors of flowers and herbs that you had painted yourself. The record player sat at the ready in the corner by the wall dedicated almost exclusively to books and vinyl. There was a small tv over the stone-lined fireplace. Over your shoulder your soft, queen sized bed with sheer canopy cozily called your named from the single bedroom.
The whole place smelled like citrus and cinnamon. In every corner, there was you. It was going to be hard to leave the hobbit hole you had so lovingly curated for yourself over the last half-a-decade...especially since you wouldn't be going "there and back again", but just...there.
Diana plopped down next to you, breaking your reverie.
"So, you're NOT going, but tell me about the huge mistake you ALMOST made," Diana prompted as she side-eyed you, taking a sip of the wine she had poured herself.
You set the comic book you had been thumbing through aside and drew your knees up to your chest as you swiveled to face her impatient stare.
"Last week, a these three people showed up at my door, two men and a woman, and they said they were from a company called Hybe based in South Korea. One of their employees, a singer named Kim Namjoon, has stage 4 liver cancer. I guess they caught it pretty late in the game, so even the most aggressive treatments aren't doing much good. Back in April the doctor gave him two months to live."
"Damn," Diana interjected softly.
"Yeah, that's why all of this is happening so fast. He needs me as soon as I can get there."
"We need you, too," she whispered, reaching out to loop her finger into the top of your sock. You smiled affectionately.
"I know, Di, but you're a grown woman now and you can take care of yourself. You're going to have to and I know you can. Life really won't be that different - you'll be off to school in San Diego anyway! Most of our hangouts were going to be over Facetime...now you'll just have an excuse for a little international travel."
She heaved a stuttering sigh.
"Speaking of travel...Johnny broke up with me," she mumbled.
Your mouth hung open in shock.
"Oh my god, Di, I'm so sorry! Why didn't you tell me?"
She downed her remaining wine and stared into the empty glass, twirling it between her fingers.
"I was gonna, but when I told mom last week she said to wait to talk to you about it because you were dealing with something stressful. Now I know what she meant."
You shook your head.
"Ugh, Mom..."
Your sweet, nonconfrontational mother, while you loved her deeply, was a horrible communicator. Whenever she got involved things like this always ended up worse. You looked at your sister twiddling with her wine glass. She looked so small. And Diana, while she exuded many things, very rarely seemed diminutive. You grabbed her and pulled her to you, and she instantly snuggled into your chest.
"I'm sorry you've had to hold that in all this time," You said softly, stroking her hair, "You really could have told me. How are you doing? Was it bad?"
She shook her head against you.
"Nah, it wasn't so bad. He's going to travel before starting grad school and wants to 'sow some wild oats'," she answered, flashing air quotes.
You couldn't see her face, but the acerbic nature of her tone told you just exactly what she thought of that concept. You snickered. Atta' girl. You'd never liked that guy much, anyway.
"What an asshole," you remarked.
"Yeah, he better not hit me up in a couple of months when he's done fucking his way through Europe."
"Fuuuuuck that," you commiserated.
"Yeah, so I thought this summer would be our last hurrah. You know, no guys, just you and me...like old times" Diana mumbled in a voice that was all sulking and bottom lip.
"Ahhh," you said with a smile, "So that's why you are so disappointed. Well, we still have a few days - we can make the most of them!"
Diana lifted her head from your chest and glared up at you.
"Boys ruin everything!" She whined.
You smirked softly.
"Usually I would agree with you, but the one I'm leaving for seems kind of decent, actually."
Diana frowned.
"How do you know? Did he call you or something? Wait, you never finished telling me your story!"
You hummed in assent.
"I mean, there's not much more to tell. I agreed to move out there to bond with him and begin treatment. I signed a really basic contract that will be revised when he is well enough to think about the future - or in a year, whichever comes first. They were pretty quick to meet my terms, I guess they didn't really have much choice since I was the one holding the all the cards."
"What does any of that have to do with him being a good guy?"
"Oh," you blinked, "It doesn't. You see, when they met with me they talked a lot about him. It was almost like a job interview or something. They talked about his accomplishments, his net worth, the importance of his work, and his worthiness as a person. One of the guys was actually one of his bandmates, and he had come specifically as a character reference. They had initially wanted me to sign the contract right there and then - and let me tell you, that kid they brought with them almost convinced me with his giant puppy eyes alone - but in the end I had asked for forty-eight hours to consult legal advisory and think it over. The first thing I did when they left was look him up. You actually probably already know who he is - I think I might have been the only person in the world who didn't. Have you ever heard of BTS?"
Diana jumped back like she'd been stung, clutching her chest.
"Are you about to tell me that your soulmate is a member of the biggest band in the world?" she whispered, her eyes impossibly wide.
You smirked.
"Not just a member, Di...their leader." Diana shrieked, leaping up off the couch.
"RM??? Your soulmate is RM???"
Your sister stared at you, agape, while you threw your hands up in indignation.
"I was the only person!"
"Oh my god..." Diana staggered back, demeanor having deviated sharply from disapproval to elation, "My roommate is obsessed with them! She has all these posters - but her favorite, I'm sorry, her bias, is Suga...holy shit, I can't WAIT to tell her she's gonna-"
"Diana," you interrupted her firmly, and her eyes shot up to you.
"Yeah?"
"You can't tell anyone."
Her face fell as she leaned back against the wall beside the fireplace. Clearly this was going to be even more of an emotional roller-coaster for her than it was for you, you thought in amusement. Typical.
"Everyone who I tell has to sign a gag order. You included."
Diana slid down the wall into a slump and knocked her head back.
"This situation keeps harshing my vibes, dude," she whined.
"Well, I'm exceedingly sorry about your vibes, but I'm sure they'll recover," you rejoined sardonically.
"But woah, Y/n, your boyfriend is hot. And rich. And super famous. Your wedding is going to be fucking LIT..."
"Woah, Nellie!" You cut her off, waving your hands as if you usher her train of thought into the landing strip of sanity. "Slow. Down. Wedding?? What happened to 'sketchy, ungrateful ass'?! He is NOT my boyfriend. He's supposedly my soulmate. According to some Swiss pseudoscience. We haven't even bonded yet. And if we do in fact bond, that doesn't mean we're a couple."
Diana popped her head up and fixed you with the most incredulous of stares.
"Um, excuse me...soulmates have to touch each other to survive. And I heard that the soulmate connection is better than sex. You're telling me you have the opportunity, nay, the duty, to be up in the business of one of the sexiest men alive, and you're just gonna platonically kick it for the next seventy years?"
You rolled your eyes.
"I mean, if that's what he wants - if that's what I want. Soulmates doesn't automatically equate lovers. I've been reading about people's experiences and there are some soulmates who bond platonically. Some people are already with romantic partners when they meet. Some don't share a sexual orientation that makes them compatible as lovers..."
"Oh my god, Y/n, could you please not kill the sexy by going all nerd on this?" She asked you in exasperation as her finger swiped at her phone screen.
Suddenly she shoved the phone out toward you, while tapping frantically with a neon yellow acrylic nail on the image she had summoned. She was saying something humorous and complaintive but you weren't listening. You were looking at the man in the photo.
You hadn't seen this one in your superficial search-engine dives. It was a headshot. His hair was a light brown, full at the top and styled away from his face. His skin was darker than in many of the other images you had seen, emanating a beautiful golden glow. He was smiling just enough for his right dimple to softly grace his cheek. His features were strong, masculine, and incredibly handsome. All of that was already striking, but his eyes, oh, his eyes - they were staring directly at the camera, irises only half visible under his lidded gaze, warm and sincere, so incredibly intense.
The hair stood up on the back of your neck and your breath caught in your chest in spite of you. You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath. You needed to calm down. He was just a person. Good looking? Yes. Charismatic? Obviously. But you had a job to do, and no time to screw around with schoolgirl daydreams. He probably had a girlfriend. No, definitely, he definitely had one. And hey, he was just a person, like you. No need to be star struck.
Diana had been continuing her rant, completely unaware of being ignored, when she had let out a high pitched squeal of laughter.
"Oh my god...oh my god!" She shrieked.
"What?" You snapped, your hormone-wrestling train of thought cut off abruptly.
She stared at you, lips pressed together as if she was trying to contain more loud giggles.
"What??" You demanded impatiently, your limit for her antics very swiftly approaching.
"RM. K-pop superstar, probably one of the coolest people ever born, gets YOUR dorky ass as a soulmate, HAH!"
"Hey!" you deflated, unimpressed with what she considered to be so vastly comical.
"Oh that poor man!" she pushed dramatically, "That poor, poor man. You're the least graceful, geekiest person in the western hemisphere. What will you even talk about? Good thing you don't speak Korean, you'd probably bore him to death! Shit, at least you're pretty..."
You folded your arms over your chest defensively.
"Hilarious. But actually, he's fluent in English. And I read somewhere that he likes art..."
"Y/n, he's rich," she interrupted condescendingly, "All rich people like art. It's a huge flex to own an original. If I was a billionaire I'd 'like art' too. Oh my god, I just can't believe this is happening. Like he's crazy famous..."
"And very, very sick," you reminded her softly.
Her expression fell into something contrite.
"Oh, shit, I forgot," she murmured.
"I'm glad you're excited for me, Di. It really made me feel a lot better about the whole situation seeing you get some kind of joy out of it. But I can't stress enough that this isn't a fairytale. Who knows how he feels about resorting to this. I guarantee you this is as hard for him as it is for me."
Diana crossed over to the couch and skooched in next to you.
"All jokes aside, he's lucky to have you, Y/n. You love at a thousand percent. Even if you guys just end up being soul-buddies, or whatever, he hit the jackpot," she smiled at you, that sweet smile that made you rethink everything for one split second.
Now it was your turn to try to hold back tears.
"I'm gonna miss you," she murmured, "But I respect what you're doing."
"Now that he's famous?" You prodded with a teasing smile.
"Yeah, now that he's famous," she conceded.
You pulled her into a hug. The silence that hung around you was pregnant but comfortable. Diana finally broke it with a soft question.
"So you're really going to give your whole life away for a total stranger next week?" she whispered.
"Mmhm," you hummed somberly into her hair.
"Why you always gotta be like Dad?"
A familiar lump began to form in your throat, but you swallowed it back. You always did. And Diana fell asleep in your lap one last time. You stroked her hair as you thought back, rather emotionally exhausted, over your conversation. It seemed like people thought of the soulmate connection as some kind of miracle. You didn't believe in those. People made choices, and those choices governed reality. You had just made the biggest choice of your life, and if it was like any of the other roads you had taken, it would require much of you.
The following day was your last at work. Your coworkers had greeted you with pizza, cake, flowers, and hugs. It was touching to realize how much you would be missed. Your boss, Shauna, hovered as you gathered you belongings from your desk.
"Damn it to hell, I'm gonna miss you!" She mourned for the umpteenth time.
You smiled as you tucked your little philodendron into the box, placing it next to the canvas speckled with daisies that read "You Matter" in curly green letters.
"You have an amazing team here, you guys will do great," you insisted, patting her hand where she leaned on your desk.
"Um, a great team of people you trained!" she said, consoling herself with a swipe of frosting from what had once been a beautiful red velvet cake with white buttercream.
You leaned beside her on the desk, joining her in sadly picking at the dessert remains.
After you had graduated with your degree in social work, you had landed an internship in a program which Shauna was running. The two of you quickly discovered you had similar passions and community goals, and the following year had left the program to start Magnolia Village, a one-stop shop for women's services sadly unprecedented in your area. While the startup had been rough, your passionate duo had believed in the need and refused to say die, and from your mutual blood, sweat, and tears had blossomed a cornerstone of the local community. Over the years it had grown and extended its reach to thousands in need of support. Many of the staff were women who had first come through the door seeking services, and were now your partners in providing the aid they had found empowering in their hour of need.
You were immensely proud of what the two of you had built, but leaving the Village was bittersweet, as you were more confident than ever that it had grown into a well-oiled machine powered by lovely, capable people who could keep it going at full tilt without you.
"This place basically built itself, we just propped up the scaffolding," you remarked, glancing around the building fondly - what had once been a residential fixer-upper was now a cozy space of offices, a nurse's station, six emergency beds, sanitation services, and a food pantry
"Bitch, you know very well that I am the bulldozer and you are the heart and soul of this place. We are going to feel it when you leave. You better come back and visit us. Mirabell is going to do a good job filling your shoes, though. Watching her step up to the plate has been something else."
"It has," you nodded, "She's going to kick ass. You might just forget I was ever here by the end of next week."
Shauna turned uncharacteristically tearful eyes toward you.
"I will never forget you," she choked.
Then suddenly you were being crushed in a bear hug. You returned her embrace until you thought you might actually pass out from lack of oxygen.
"Okay, I love you, but I'm about to asphyxiate!" you wheezed, slapping her on the shoulder.
She let you go, but grabbed your arm and looked at you seriously.
"I want you to promise me one thing," she said, holding your gaze.
You cocked your head to the side. Shauna released your arm to clasp both your hands in hers.
"I want you to promise me that when you get to Korea, you find something that you're gonna do for yourself."
You started to respond but she stopped you.
"Something for yourself. It doesn't matter what it is, but it can't be for your soulmate, or your family, or anyone else however deserving...just you, okay?"
You looked at her quizzically.
"I do stuff for me..."
"Don't get swallowed up, baby girl. Find someone to ground you, to remind you that you're worth more than what you have to offer."
You scoffed.
"I'd like to see someone try and swallow me..."
"Y/n,"
"What?"
"Promise me."
"Okay," you nodded, "I promise."
Shauna squeezed your hands, then went back to chipping away at the mass of red crumbs and buttercream.
A little twinge of worry twisted in the pit of your stomach. You were strong. Resilient. No one could bounce back like you, could survive like you. People knew this - they had been telling you so since you were ten years old. So why was everyone acting like you were being cast out to sea without a life preserver?
You had spent the weekend with your family. Henry and Mercedes had even driven down, Elena in tow, to have one last Sunday dinner and see you off to the airport. Hugs and tears and small parting gifts had made leaving even harder than you had imagined.
When you finally boarded the plane your eyes were red and your head was throbbing. After the plane had gained enough altitude to allow you to unfasten your seat-belt, you had slipped into the restroom to rinse your face. You returned, plopping down next to the man who would accompany you during your first few days of transition.
"I'm getting booze when they wheel it by, Matt, so don't try to stop me," you huffed, gesticulating in mild threat with the book you had extracted from your carry-on at the suited figure sitting in the window seat.
The handsome older gentleman smiled, not lifting his eyes from the copy of the Korean Herald in his hands.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he responded, flipping a large, thin page.
Matt Anders had been many things to you in life. Before you were born, he had been your father's best friend. He had been the best man at your parent's wedding. He and his wife, Rebecca, had cared for you and your siblings during your mother's sanitarium stay. He had tutored you for the SAT score that had earned you a full ride to the university that had saddled you with a BS in social work and minor in English literature. Today, he was your attorney. Matt, who had an IQ of 146, had learned basic Korean so that he could translate for you and make sure that your interests were looked after as you settled in. Having him there made you feel one hundred percent more secure about the process. He, for instance, had been the one in negotiations to ask for the very cush business-class fight accommodations you were new settling into.
"Whatever you would do for him, you'll do for her. I want an equality of treatment clause added with no addendums."
You smiled to yourself as you remembered his exchange with the Hybe's representation. He had asked for things you would have never asked for yourself, and you felt better having access to them knowing that he felt you were deserving.
The flight attendant sweetly asked if you would require any refreshments. You asked for two whiskey and cokes, and handed one over to the man beside you. You took a long, refreshing sip.
"Damn it, I wish I had appreciated food more," you sighed, looking ruefully at your glass.
"What are you going to miss the most?" Matt asked before sampling his own beverage.
"Cheese. I can't believe I'm saying that, but in the end I just love cheese. And there are so many kinds I haven't tried. Do you know there's this Italian cheese that comes in the shape of a pear? It's super expensive because of the breed of cow the milk is sourced from. It's supposedly suuuuper creamy. But, hey, now I'll never know if it's as rich and complex as they say..."
You took another sip of your drink.
"Caciocavallo Podolico," Matt remarked casually, returning to his newspaper.
"Excuse me?"
"The cheese you described, it's called Caciocavallo Podolico," he reiterated.
"You know, I should be used to it now, but I'm not. Don't think I'll ever be. How on earth do you know this stuff?" you insisted incredulously.
"Read it once," he shrugged, "And it's actually pretty famous as far as cheeses go."
"Catch-a-vayo Picadillo..." you murmured.
"No," Matt interjected succinctly. "Anything you want to go over again? We have the time, Lord knows."
You sighed.
"Can't think of anything right now. What did you think of the list of questions I sent you?"
"Very good," he nodded, "I'll be adding a few of my own, that I think should come from me, if you don't mind."
You swirled the ice in your plastic cup.
"Of course not. Thanks again for coming with me, I'd be pretty lost without you."
Matt smiled at you again, reaching over to squeeze your arm.
"You'd do just fine. But you would be flying coach."
You smirked and cracked open your book. As you flipped to your marked page, a colorful, sturdy rectangle of paper fluttered to the ground at Matt's feet. He reached down and picked it up, regarding it with a curious eye before you could snatch it quickly away and tuck it back between the pages of My Antonia.
"New bookmark?" he queried.
"Something like that," you murmured.
You thought he might press you further about the Hangul characters he had surely noted on the back, but just then the captain's voice crackled over the intercom reiterating the weather conditions in Seoul and you took the opportunity to bury your nose back between the pages. You glanced clandestinely over at Matt, who had settled back into the Korean Herald, before pulling the little watercolor card from between the pages where it had been hurriedly concealed. Your eyes traced over the purple clematis trailing elegantly across the illustration as you wondered if 12 hours was, in fact, a millisecond or an eternity.
-End Ch. 1-
#kim namjoon#rm#bts#kim namjoon fanfic#bts fanfction#rm fanfic#namjoon fanfic#namjoon fic#soulmate au#strangers to lovers#namjoon x y/n#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#bts reader insert#reader insert#reader insert fanfiction#eventual smut#namjoon smut#chapter fic#eventual romance#slow burn
251 notes
·
View notes
Text
Solar Flare
Now a complete 92k word novel.
Continuity: IDW1
Rating: Teen
Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus, one-sided Starscream/Rodimus, Megatron & Starscream, background relationships
Major Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Starscream, Zeta Prime, Ratchet
Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of VIolence, Blood & Gore, Serious Injuries, Weddings, Suggestive Themes, Horror Elements (I.E. Horror of the Divine), Reincarnation, Ambiguous Relationships, One-Sided Relationships. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.
AU: Canon Divergence, Gods/goddesses, Early War
Summary: "To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one." In which Megatron makes a mistake by sparing Rodimus, the Prime of the Sun.
Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth
Note: inspired by this art piece on Tumblr.
1st chapter under cut; the full length is on AO3.
"To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one."
Megatron, at first, had been so sure of his words as he pointed at the red and yellow mech across the hall, bedecked in jewelry and silk.
The ornate metal doors that had blocked off the throne room laid crumpled on the polished marble floor under his feet, a testament to the temple’s weakness against real resistance.
In his initial planning, after storming the Temple of the Sun in Nyon, he had thought killing a false god would be the easy part. Especially since this Prime did not have a Lord Protector, no zealous paladin dedicated to defending his worthless spark, Megatron had assumed that there would simply be one less obstacle to his goal.
The defenses had been minimal. Pathetic guards ran screaming for their lives after the mundane frontal assault on the main reinforced doors. There had been no point in giving chase, so Megatron had ordered his soldiers to let them flee. Better to have terrified survivors tell the tale, whereas dead mechs couldn’t spread word of change.
If the other Primal temples were built like this one with pitiful security, their job would be a lot simpler. Megatron doubted that would be the case, but he had also doubted this push would have gone so smoothly.
Now he watched as Primal acolytes pulled on the Prime’s arms and hands, trying in vain to tug him to safety, wherever that might be found, far away from the armed intruders.
The Prime shook them off with an undignified curse before marching unhindered towards Megatron, whom he’d fixed with a glare. Not one of anger, no, one of being inconvenienced.
“What are you doing in my house? You’re freaking out my dudes!”
What.
Megatron wasn’t often taken aback, but it appeared today had yet more surprises in store for him than a suspiciously easy siege.
He had just blasted through reinforced doors with his mechs, neutralized several guards with nary a fatality, and kicked down the door to the sacred throne room where the Prime was expected to waste away his days in luxury and splendor. Yet this… this garish half-pint approached him, fine brocades and bangles swaying with the motion, with neither fear nor hesitation.
Megatron hadn’t been prepared for this.
He had been prepared for the pampered brat cowering on the beautiful, shining marble, begging for his miserable, privileged life. He had been prepared to mercilessly terminate that wastrel with a fusion cannon blast, right through the spark and through that stupid Matrix.
Just as soon as Megatron tired of the sniveling, of course.
Consternation on his face, he powered down his cannon with a soft whir as it was lowered to his side.
“Excuse me?”
The Prime planted his hands on his hips, the bejeweled and festooned fins of his spoiler tilted upward in bold defiance.
"You heard me, bolt brain."
Now that wasn't a very godly thing to say at all. What were they teaching these high-caste deadbeats these days? Insults like that were what Megatron would have expected from an overcharged cadet at a seedy spaceport, not the alleged reincarnation of Solus Prime.
For all the supposed elegance and grace of a Prime, especially the Prime of the Sun, this was a smart-mouthed little punk.
This wasn't remotely what had been expected.
Megatron scowled down at the mech who dared call himself a god.
With a wave of his arm, some of his lollygagging soldiers dispatched towards the back of the throne room to seize fleeing acolytes.
"Don't you realize what's happening here?" Megatron asked, staring right back into the defiant, burning blue gaze. "Are you really that brave or are you just foolish?"
"Oh, yeah, I know what's happening.”
Megatron sincerely doubted that, but better to hear what nonsense this unknowingly condemned moron could come up with. Maybe it would be amusing.
“You're being a total spike right now, bursting in unannounced and trashing my house like one of those medical academy parties they show on the holonet. Wreck your own house!"
Not nearly as amusing as Megatron had hoped.
What in the damned hell was this punk talking about?
No wonder this one had no Lord Protector. Who would tolerate this? Shooting him now would do the world a favor. Making a political statement at this point would be a bonus.
"Didn't your caretakers teach you any manners? Rude." Well, Terminus had tried but…. That was hardly the point. The sheer impertinence of this idiot who had no idea he was about to have a hole put through his spark at point-blank range by a fusion cannon.
"I'm about to kill you and you're upset by my lack of aristocratic manners?"
Manners hadn’t really mattered much where he came from, the predominantly manual-class and disposable-class underground city of Tarn, in the various mines where he’d labored in dangerous conditions for ages, or in the black-market pop-up gladiatorial arenas of Kaon. He had never had use for such niceties and this punk was upset that he wasn’t holding out his little finger while seizing the Primal temple.
Ridiculous.
What next? Did he expect Megatron to use a napkin when painting the floor with the Prime’s slowly dimming lifeblood?
Despite the situation and his rapidly approaching final moment, the Prime relaxed slightly, seeming to consider the contradiction now that it had been pointed out, rubbing his chin all the while.
"I suppose when you put it like that, but only a Prime can kill a Prime so like do whatever—Hey! Wait!"
The hand rubbing his chin abandoned its work to point squarely at Megatron's nose.
"I know you! You're that lunatic that got Kaon blown to slag!"
That was it; they were done here. He had tired of this highborn simpleton’s antics.
“Enough!” Megatron bellowed, smacking that accusing point away with the back of his hand. “I don’t have time for your inane blathering!”
“Hey, rude—“
“Seize him!”
Mechs surged forth, several making grabs for the Prime’s limbs.
The Prime struggled, swearing as he strove to free himself of unwelcome hands. He kicked and punched, denting plate. More than a few titanium teeth from Decepticon mouths pinged against the floor after being knocked out.
Flatline would be rather busy later patching up these morons, Megatron thought, intrigued by just how much of a fight this pampered fool was putting up.
The struggle went on until the soldiers managed to immobilize the Prime’s limbs, removing any space for him to get in another good swing.
"Might I suggest something?" A high-pitched voice piped up behind Megatron’s back, persuasively smooth with all the owner’s public speaking practice despite the underlying tinny screech.
"You may not, but you'll do it regardless of my permission, so out with it, Starscream. Let’s get your suggestion over with."
Starscream stalked closer and began to circle the restrained Prime, as though inspecting a new, expensive purchase. His thrusters clicked haughtily against the smooth floor with every step.
"Rather than immediately dispatch this 'god,' why not simply keep him prisoner?"
"What purpose would that possibly serve?" What a waste of precious fuel and man-hours that could be better allocated elsewhere. Why take on the unnecessary responsibility of babysitting?
"Well, would not a new mech simply be chosen as a puppet to take their place? A supposed reincarnation plucked from a hot spot like a shining miracle in the dark night. The Senate and their drooling lackeys will rally around the divine newspark, stir up the people's faith, and so on and so forth. Keep him alive and that little problem just solves itself, doesn't it?"
Starscream had always had an optic for political nuance, even if Megatron often discarded it in the name of idealogical stringency. He generally felt his time was better spent not playing those games. Direct action tended to suit his purposes far better.
“What of the Matrix?” Megatron asked, gesturing with his thumb at the Prime’s chest. Each Prime had one, bestowed upon them by the priesthood that served their predecessor. Relics passed down between supposed incarnations, a symbol of divinity. Turning that worthless relic into a profane trophy of scrap that would almost as profoundly undermine the blind faith of the populace as actually murdering one of their so-called “gods.”
Megatron tapped his finger against his chin in thought.
“Would not destroying the Matrix render the point moot?” A new god couldn’t be reformatted without it, right? At least, not as far as he knew. The whole thing was rustwash anyway, but that was the official narrative.
Starscream scoffed, waving a hand flippantly at the very idea as he continued to circle the immobilized Prime. His wings fluttered with interest, a behavior Megatron had seen his second-in -command perform on several occasions when he wanted something.
Something about this useless creature had caught Starscream’s attention. That would need to be ironed out later.
“Please. They probably keep a bunch of them in the basement or in a bunker somewhere or something. You break one, someone steals a backup and claims it’s the real thing, safely defended from our destructive irreverence. You get accused of having destroyed a fake one for publicity and the whole ‘message’ you want to send crumbles in shame. You know how it is with these ‘relics.’ A shanix a dozen. Best keep this one as ‘proof’ for now.”
A broad, knowing grin stretched across Starscream’s face, shining with implication.
“And, after all, you can only have the fun of killing him once.”
He hated that Starscream had a point—several, in fact. Telling the seeker so, however, would just cause more problems—the overinflated ego sort—down the line.
Megatron would settle for a simple acknowledgment as he leaned down to get a better look at this bedighted speedster.
The Prime was practically encrusted with jewels and precious metals in the form of ornate jewelry, brocaded mesh draped luxuriously over the fins of his spoiler. Feet planted firmly on the ground, the Prime glared defiantly back up at his captor. In any other situation, Megatron would have thought him a beauty to behold, but now the red mech was just a symbol of resources squandered on mere opulence.
The sight disgusted him or… it should have.
“Very well, Starscream.”
Megatron heaved a tired sigh.
“I haven’t decided what his fate will be just yet,” he said, straightening back up. “Lock him up somewhere. I don’t care where. It doesn’t matter. Just get him out of my sight.”
A few of his mechs hesitated, the ones holding the arms and shoulders of acolytes, as though they weren’t sure what to do with their prisoners. Megatron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stood back up. Did he have to spell out everything for these idiots?
“The cultists too! Just go!”
--
Finally.
The throne room was at peace without that Prime spitting and screaming, now that the brat had been hauled off somewhere in the temple complex, preferably kept under lock and guard.
With the quiet, Megatron could finally get a look around, take stock of the damage and what exactly they had just conquered. This place held many, many valuable resources that they could utilize, either directly or by fencing the goods. Furthermore, he’d gotten it all for the low price of a few explosives, a couple of boot-licking lives, and inadvertent custody a very rude little “god.”
He would figure out what to do with that brat later.
Megatron took a long and slow ventilation before approaching the now abandoned, golden throne at the far end of the room. It glittered in the warm yellow-orange light from the lamps. An impression of the sun was embossed into the high back of the throne and again, smaller, on the arms and seat. It was almost too small, hardly having room for the treads on his back. It was made for more regal frames than his own, intended for heavy industrial work below ground.
The soldiers that still lingered in the room, along with his few lieutenants that had accompanied him, watched in silence.
“We will reinforce the Temple of the Sun, make it an impregnable fortress,” he said, sitting and relaxing into the Primal throne. He supposedly “desecrated” it merely by touch, let alone smearing it with spilled energon and oil from fighting his way through the temple. A shame some of that shed fuel didn’t belong to the previous occupant of this glorified chair.
No matter. It belonged to him now.
From here, it was a short step to de facto controlling the city of Nyon and its weak council.
“With a little work, it’ll make a fine base.” The first, in fact, unless one counted the ruins of Kaon, the last city he and his forces held, he thought, caressing one of the cushioned arms of the throne. After Senate forces bombed the city from the surface of Cybertron, the revolutionaries were forced underground.
Megatron gestured for his lieutenants to approach.
Starscream strode forward, an impatient twitch to his wings and several complaints no doubt already at the tip of his tongue. He still looked smug from his earlier “victory” in changing Megatron’s plans. In stark contrast, Soundwave, ever the professional, simply walked and waited in inscrutable silence for his orders.
"Now, as you know, the Senate is de facto independent, even if they nominally operate under the First Prime in Iacon. They serve no gods but themselves,” Megatron began, “we need to work quickly to fortify our position here. We have some time because they need to calculate the political risk of assaulting Nyon."
They could make good use of this place if they were quick, before the Senate could retaliate for the revolutionaries’ transgressions against the gods. Nyon, however, had one beautiful advantage that Kaon did not: a Primal temple. Even they would hesitate to simply annihilate a sacred location, no matter who held it. Not because they believed, but because the face they would lose with the public would be incalculable.
Megatron smirked, getting comfortable in the stolen throne. Just sitting here was daring the Senate to do something self-destructive and drastic. It was perfect.
Starscream opened his mouth, probably to object, but before he could get words out, he was cut off by a finger pointed in his direction.
“Organize the fortification efforts and recall Shockwave to our new position. Soundwave—“ The blue mech straightened up further to show he was giving his leader his undivided attention. “Round up and contain the remainder of the priesthood. We’re moving in. Once you’ve done that, turn your attention to following the newsfeeds. I want to know the nanoklik Iacon thinks about making a move.”
With a nod, the Soundwave turned on his heel to carry out the command.
Now he just needed to figure out what to do with the blasted Prime of the Sun. Throttling him was unfortunately off the table, for today at least.
Starscream loudly cleared his vocalizer, apparently having something else to say before getting on with his duties.
“What is it now, Starscream?”
“Well, if I may, I have a potential solution to your little Prime problem,” he started, still beaming. It was as though he had guessed Megatron’s thoughts.
“One that could legitimize our position here.”
“I’m listening.” Begrudgingly, but he would hear Starscream out. Might as well.
Megatron narrowed his optics but said nothing as he leaned his face on a raised fist. The seeker took that as permission to continue, a slippery grin stretching across the smooth metal of his face.
“What do you think of the title of Lord Protector? ‘Lord Megatron’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Even Flowers Have Their Dangers
“Henderson! Why, pray tell, is your douchebag babysitter getting out of his douchemobile and coming this way?”
Fucking Harrington, man. Eddie felt conflicted every time the kids even said his name. His heartbeat always went a little haywire and he wasn’t sure if it was because his flight response always activated around the guy or because Harrington was so fucking hot it was unreal. Considering that Eddie had a type and that type was “dangerous and pretty,” it was probably both.
“Is he?” Dustin looks over his shoulder, grinning his goofy grin. “Hey Steve!” The kid’s hand lifts in a wave as Steve makes his way toward them.
“Henderson. Go get in the car with the other gremlins, I want to have a word with your dragon master.” Steve smiles fondly, nudging the kid toward his waiting car. Guy just screams preppy. Collar popped, jeans so damn tight that Eddie's getting a sympathy wedgie. No boxer line on his thigh which means that Harrington is a brief guy. Not that Eddie is thinking about his underwear, it’s just an observation.
“Dungeon Master, Steve. I swear you’re getting it wrong on purpose.” Dustin sighs, rolling his eyes but starts toward the car.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Steve calls back over his shoulder before turning to Eddie who hopes he wasn’t caught staring. His heartbeat does something funny before he gets a handle on himself and leans into his usual false bravado.
Swinging away from the auditorium door, Eddie throws his arms out in a full extension, lowering himself into a bow, “To what do I owe this illustrious visit, your royal highness?”
Harrington looks uncomfortable now, the ease that he’d approached with, gone, his shoulders hunched up, face looking pained as he tucks his hands into his pockets - well, he tries to - there’s not a lot of extra room in those 501s. “Cut it out. I just wanted to tell you not to leave the kids here alone if you guys get out early. Nothing that you have to do is important enough to leave them in the dark without protection.” His voice is clipped, jaw set, and Eddie realizes that he’s annoyed, maybe even angry.
What the fuck is that about? He’s all chummy when Henderson is watching but now that the kid’s gone, he’s slid back into asshole mode? Eddie knew it. He knew the kids couldn’t possibly be getting the real Steve Harrington if they actually thought he was a good guy. Wonder why he was putting on an act though - was he trying to get Nancy Wheeler back through her brother?
“Maybe I didn’t hear you right?” Eddie says with a hard edge, all flamboyance dropped. “You’re telling me? Not asking me?”
Fuck that. Who the fuck is this prep to tell him that he needs to watch over a bunch of high school kids? They’re like fourteen and fifteen. Eddie was selling drugs at fourteen, some kids have jobs, they walk home, not all of us were born with a silver spoon and a Bimmer - where the fuck does Harrington think they live that its too dangerous for three teenage boys to not stand outside for five minutes?
“Yeah.” He snaps, “I’m telling you. Don’t leave them outside without an adult.”
“Fuck you, Harrington. I’m not their babysitter. They were fine. If you’re that worried, you should be here earlier. I had shit to do.” He didn’t. Not really. He’d just had a shit day, shit week really, and wanted to go home to smoke a joint. He should have waited. He knew he should have but Harrington calling him out on it just pisses him off.
“Seriously, Munson?” Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “I knew you’d be a dick. You know their best friend is Will Byers, right?” Fuck. Eddie did not know that. Just that Mike’s best friend Will lived in California. Not that it was the Byers kid who went missing years ago. Damn. Eddie feels even worse now but fuck if he’s telling Harrington that. Steve’s voice softens though, “Just, please. If you know it’s gonna be an early night, let the kids know so they can radio me to be here earlier. I’m asking, okay?”
“Radio you? Like - you guys have walkie talkies or something?” Were they for real? What is this Cloak and Dagger?
Across the parking lot, Steve’s horn blares and they both look up to see Mike leaning over the driver seat to press on it.
“Keep your fucking shirt on!” Steve yells then grumbles under his breath, “Fucking Wheeler.”
Eddie should just agree and be done with it, he’s not gonna leave them alone after learning about Byers anyway but damn if Harrington and his pompous attitude don’t get under his skin. Instead, he says flippantly, “How ‘bout the King worries about his own court and leaves me the fuck out of it, yeah?”
He doesn’t wait around to see Steve’s reaction, just skips over to his van and climbs in. He’s got her started and is pulling out of the parking lot before he glances back at Harrington. It looks like Steve is already lecturing the kids about something. Eddie just shakes his head and drives off, leaving them to it.
As he’s pulling up to the trailer an hour later with a little more cash and a little less weed, Eddie almost expects to find a fancy rich boy car waiting for him. He doesn’t. He’s going to pretend that he’s disappointed about that because he wanted to argue with Harrington, not for any other reason.
What he does find though, is a big motherfucking dog. It’s just sitting next to the trailer steps and Eddie’s seen Cujo so fuck if he’s getting out of the safety of this metal box. Hell no. He can wait.
After five minutes of waiting, they’re still in a stand off and Eddie’s thinking about starting his van and just leaving to sleep some place else. What? He’s a coward and that dog in Cujo put him off petting dogs for weeks afterward. No way is he getting out, alone, in the fucking dark to that behemoth of a dog. No one would even come if he screamed. This is a trailer park, ignoring screams is part of the lease agreement.
Just as he puts his keys back into the ignition, the dog tilts his head to the side, tongue lolling out for a few breaths before it gets up and trots over to Eddie’s driver side door. This close, it’s not quite as big as he thought but it’s still the biggest dog he’s ever seen. Some kind of Husky mix or something. He doesn’t know shit about dogs but it looks like a really fluffy sled dog. Poofy tail and everything. It tilts it’s head again and Eddie rolls his window down slowly.
It’s ears perk up and it looks happy. Which is maybe a thing dogs do? He wouldn’t know, honestly. He’s never had a dog.
Eddie slides one hand out, curled into a fist because he doesn’t want to lose a finger to Cujo here. He needs those fingers for various reasons. Like guitar playing, dice rolling and other non sexual things.
The dog leans in, sniffs the hand, bumps it with his cold wet nose and then nuzzles it so Eddie’s knuckles graze into the soft gray fur on his forehead. Eddie’s barely breathing, his heart is racing and his legs are all clenched like he would run if he wasn’t sitting in his car. Extending his trembling fingers, he scratches the top of the dog’s head. The dog swear-to-god sighs.
“Hey there, big boy. Whatcha doing?” Eddie whispers softly, opening his door to step out. The dog shuffles back just enough for Eddie to slide out from behind the door. His fur is soft and silky between Eddie’s fingers. “Oh look at you, so pretty. You know you are, too, don’t you?” The dog seems to preen with the praise so Eddie lays it on thicker, “Yeah you do. What are you doing out here? No collar but you must belong to someone, you’re too pretty to be running wild in Hawkins.”
After a few more runs through the fur on his back, Eddie reaches back into the van, rolls the window back up and grabs his bag. He can’t stay out here all night so he heads toward the front door. The dog follows. “Uncle Wayne’s gonna kill me.” Eddie sighs, knowing he’s a sucker and he’s 100% going to let this dog into the trailer.
Keep Reading on AO3
143 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s officially fall 🍂🍁🌻
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Messages From the Formally Deceased
This was Beta read by my lovely platonic spouses @half-dead-ham and @bewitched-forest!!! This was suppose to be for Ship week but it got way out of hand! So enjoy some soulmates with multiverse shenanigans!
Ao3 link: Here Master List: Here
Summary: The Fenton children have always been different, even before the increased ecto-contamination and ghost hunting. Not that most would notice the ink on their skin that they couldn’t have drawn on themselves. They're kids, they get messy. By the time they got older all other factors in their lives overshadowed the messages exchanged in ink on their skin. After all who would notice a discussion on literature scribbled in two sets of script on Jasmine's arm, or the compliments tucked under drawings of constellations crawling across lanky limbs.
Chapter 1: How did we both become vigilantes‽‽
Danny has always loved the writing on his sister's skin. He would trace the curly letters next to his sister's chicken scratch handwriting when he was upset and his parents were too busy to comfort him. He didn't think he would get his own writing, or that's how Jazz explained it to him. She said that she had a soulmate and because no one else had one, she was a special case and it would be very rare that it would happen again.
Turns out Danny was special as well. On his 7th birthday his parents gave him markers but no coloring books to use them on. So like any kid who has older siblings would do, he copied Jazz and drew on his arm. He drew Saturn as he found the rings around the planet to be cool. He was outlining it in a dark blue when he noticed the shaky lettering. 'That's pretty' is now sprawled under his drawing. Danny couldn't barely contain himself as he grabbed the marker tighter and wrote 'Thank you' underneath the other's message. He spent the rest of the afternoon drawing on himself, covering his body in planets, stars and unsteady letters. By the time Jazz got home from her friend's house, his arms were covered completely and his legs were no better. He didn't give her time to scold him before showing her the writing on his skin.
"Jazz, look!! I'm special just like you!!" Danny shoved his arm into Jazz's hands. Her eyes widening as she takes in the drawings and childish handwriting. Slowly, a smile spreads across her face.
"It seems like you are! How about next time you borrow my markers? I'll even give you some of my old ones. It'll be easier to wash off." She leads Danny by the hand up the stairs.
"Okay! Can I get my own markers like yours, too?" Danny's excitement was infectious as he all but hopped behind Jazz into her room.
"I'll ask mom about it later, but I don't see why not," Jazz said while grabbing her spare set of markers and handing them to Danny. "Here they are. Please don't lose them, okay?"
"I'll be careful, promise!!" Danny takes them carefully, like they are the most precious thing in the world, and for him they are. He is finally special like Jazz! He has someone he can always talk to!
—---------
Danny was never without a marker or pen after that day. He often has several of both on his person and even more in his bag. There isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't fill his skin with stars for his soulmate. Over the years he's learned more about them, him.
They talk about everything and nothing, all around Danny's drawings. His soulmate's name is Tim and he loves taking pictures and solving puzzles. He can't draw to save his life but he's good at math. His city has real heroes and villains that fight each other. Danny thinks that's cool but still wishes that Tim would stop following around the vigilantes. He knows Tim can keep himself safe but he still worries. It's not like Tim would ever try to become a vigilante.
Danny really should have known Tim would prove him wrong. Danny was working on an essay in his room when, after not hearing from the other boy for 4 months, Tim's blocky handwriting slowly crawled across his arm. Each line being placed with increasing speed. This happens sometimes; the long gaps of replies followed with a reply written too fast, or a message that takes days to slowly show on his skin. Tim has a theory that time changes based on their universes shifting closer or farther from each other. Danny doesn't have time to think about theories or even a reply before his inner forearm is covered in Tim's handwriting.
'Danny you got to promise me not to be upset when time decides to work. You know how I was looking for Nightwing so he could come back and be Robin for Batman again. Well I found him and he said no, but I did convince him to help Batman again. Unfortunately that meant that he still needed a Robin. So, I may or may not have become a Robin…'
'Tim wtf, why are you like this,' If Danny could rip a hole into Tim's universe and shake some common sense into him, Danny would be doing that now.
'Because someone has to. I've gotten tons of training from Batman and he's not letting me out of sight when on patrol. I'll be fine,' Tim's reply was written at his normal speed. Time seems to be on their side for a little while.
'Okay, but if anything happens, write as soon as you can. I want to know that you're okay.'
'Of course! Even if I couldn't write to you myself I would make sure someone did!' Danny shook his head. Not like there was anything he could do about Tim. Maybe he should tell Jazz, but no. Jazz looked sad whenever he talked about the writing on his skin recently. He remembers her mumbling about goodbyes when he asked. He just doesn't know and really doesn't want to make her any more upset.
Danny does what he always does when Tim is considered, he draws galaxies on to his skin. He decides that his thigh would be the best canvas for the drawing of the Andromeda galaxy he has been planning. Essay completely forgotten for the stars he wants to show the other boy.
—--------
Danny was going to fight his arm. It wouldn’t stay tangible long enough for him to write a message to Tim. This sucks, he just wants to tell the other boy about him maybe also being a hero now, but his dumb powers will not work with him. He takes a deep breath and holds it. Letting it out slowly, using what Jazz taught him to calm down. Getting frustrated won’t help him.
Gods, he was tired. The fight with the lunch lady ghost was just the beginning of the hoard of spirits that would come through the portal. He started to skip classes and hasn’t gotten more than four hours of sleep since. Tonight was one of the rare nights that nothing came through. It would be perfect to write to Tim, If only his body got the memo.
The green marker dropped to his desk as intangibly flickers through both arms. Danny almost topples forward, but regains his arms in time to catch himself. Holding his position he waits for his powers to activate and… nothing happens. Relief washes over him, he can finally write to Tim! He’ll have to clean the marks left on his desk from this incident later, but that isn’t important.
‘I have good news and bad news. What do you want first?” Danny decided that it was best to start with this. It will be better than the info dump Tim did to him.
‘Let’s go with the good news first.’ Seeing Tim respond was calming for Danny. The other boy was there for him. He’d understand.
‘I can no longer make fun of you for being a teen hero.’
‘Danny!”
Tim definitely figured out that he was a hero from that. Well, time to rip off the Band-Aid. Danny takes a deep breath as he grips the marker more firmly. Writing as fast but neatly as he could. ‘Bad news, I may have died and come back to life leading to me becoming half ghost and my town’s hero.’
‘Danny what the FUCK‽‽ Are you okay now?’
‘Kinda… I spent the last hour fighting my arms trying to make them stay tangible enough to write to ya’
‘Dude, that doesn't sound okay. What exactly are you dealing with? I want to help.’ Danny can't help but melt a little at the words the other boy had written to him. Tim was so caring in his own way that the other boy rarely recognized. Gods, Danny might be a goner for the other boy if it wasn’t for the fact that he would never get to see him. He spent the rest of the night explaining to Tim about what happened to him and the powers he got because of it. Falling even more for the boy with a sharp mind and caring heart through it all, no matter how he denies it.
#dcxdp#tim drake#danny fenton#tim drake x danny fenton#Messages From the Formally Deceased#soulmates#chapter fic#Writing on the walls
147 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fundamental Differing
Masterlist
nav | playlist | main masterlist | pin board
summary: This is the sequel to New Kid, taking place in 1992, six years after you and Eddie graduate from Hawkins High. You’re the vocalist and songwriter for Death Dance Approximately, a punk band of femmes taking the scene by storm. Eddie and Corroded Coffin have blown up in the last few years, and are pretty much a household name. In the Spring, you’re given news of who you’re touring with this year: your ex boyfriend’s band. You haven’t seen Eddie since 1989, and seeing him in this environment has stirred up a lot of old feelings.
warnings/tags: rockstar!gn!afab!reader x rockstar!eddie munson, ANGST, adult themes (drugs, sex, and rock and roll baby) 18+ minors dni, smut will be tagged in each chapter. estranged lovers, mutual pining, mutual heartbreak. this work is in progress
disclaimer: you don’t need to have read NK to understand this one, but it would mean the world if you did! i do not give permission for my work to be posted on other sites. Please inform me if you see my writing posted anywhere besides my own blog (unless otherwise stated.) Reblog to support the author!
this fic is very lgbt coded in many aspects, reader is gender non conforming, has dated both men & women. i ask you be respectful of my choices, it’s fine to read even if you yourself aren’t lgbt, but don’t give my shit for making a character gay/gnc etc, just don’t read it if it’s not for you. thank you!🫶
taglist: keeping the taglist for NK, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed! @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @lilpotatobean2 @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc
Prologue
Chapter I: Everybody Get Together
Chapter II: Like A Lover, Not A Dancer
Chapter III: Bleed the Freak
Chapter IV: All The Love Gone Bad
Chapter V: Why Are You So Far Away?
Chapter VI: You’ll Take My Soul Away
Chapter VII: Soft But Estranged
Chapter VIII: It’s Enough To Startle Us
Chapter IX: In The Morning You’ll Be Gone
Chapter X: It’s All Hate And Money
Chapter XI: Consider This The Slip
Chapter XII: I’ll Call You Beautiful, If I Call At All
Chapter XIII: Home Again
Chapter XIV: Away to Nowhere Plains
Chapter XV: Oh, Sweet Oblivion
Chapter XVI: You’ll Cry But You’ll Never Fall
Chapter XVII: Something In The Way
Chapter XVIII: I Gave My Life Away
Chapter XIX: Time Marches On
Chapter XX: A Fine Line Between Hope and Despair
Chapter XXI: Baby, What Did You Expect?
Chapter XXII: Blood Sugar Sex Magik OUT NOW
#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things#stranger things 4#strangerthingscentral#fan fic#chapter fic#angst#smut#fluff#pining#mutual pining#estranged lovers#strangers to lovers to strangers to lovers#get on the taglist!#steve harrington#robin buckley#nancy wheeler#original characters#corroded coffin#90s au#au where eddie lives#au where vecna loses#willow writes sins
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
To Convince You That I Love You (A Kalluzeb Fic): Chapter 3
*sheepishly* okay so I just forgot to post this chapter, the whole thing is a prisoner of the Notes folder but it's done except for proofreading/polishing. I'm very glad somebody happened to like one of the previous chapters today because otherwise I may never have remembered! Anyway, here's the next installment, read on and enjoy!
Zeb continued to pace once they were back at base. Kallus went into surgery immediately, what else was Zeb supposed to do? Hera had to give the mission report to the rest of Yavin’s leading council, and Sabine had gone to the mess hall to get food, but Ezra and Kanan joined Zeb in his waiting.
He knew he should feel grateful that he wasn’t alone...instead, he was annoyed that they were able to sit on the floor and meditate while Kallus, for all they knew, was dying.
He was very tempted to kick the kid as he passed by.
After a while, even pacing wasn’t enough. “He’s driving me crazy,” he started. Kanan opened his eyes and leaned forwards a bit. Ezra tried to keep his meditation pose, but his head turned towards the sound of Zeb’s voice.
“It wasn’t like this before, was it?” Zeb didn’t wait for an answer. “He used to be sensible—well, as sensible as Kallus gets. A couple months ago something changed.”
“Maybe he’s taking his emotions onto the field,” Kanan suggested. Kallus didn’t usually; his ISB training was enough to keep him from letting his feelings get in the way.
Besides, what could possibly have happened that not one of the Spectres was aware of? Surely one of them would have noticed if Kallus was being targeted by one of the many Rebels who loathed ex-Imperials.
“Maybe he has something to protect he didn’t have before.” Sabine offered her opinion as she entered, arms full of food. She kicked Ezra (lucky girl) to get his attention and handed him a bowl of stew. However irritating Yavin’s humid weather was, there were a lot of substantial plants to make food with, and swamp creatures for those who didn’t mind a tougher cut of meat.
Ezra only inspected his stew for a moment, to make sure there were no visible scales, before digging in. Zeb felt torn between wanting to eat until he couldn’t breathe and having no appetite at all. What was with him? He wasn’t like this most of the time.
Sabine shoved a mug of cold juice into his hands. “Has he been seeing anyone?” she asked.
Zeb felt the cold from the drink spike up through his hands, into his arms, heading directly to his chest. Suddenly he didn’t care about eating, one way or the other—he wanted to throw things, to swear, to dig his claws into a thick tree. Of course that was it. The most ridiculous, preposterous, insane thing in the galaxy and he believed it instantly: he loved Kallus.
The idea of Kallus loving someone else, loving someone else so much he drove himself to the brink of death to protect them, was painful. Only unrequited love hurt that much.
Zeb finally stopped pacing. A different kind of dread had settled into him, and he deeply wished it hadn’t. He preferred worrying about Kallus’s life to worrying about his heart.
When the medic came and told them that Kallus was going to survive, Zeb couldn’t help going in to see for himself, his relief that Kallus was alright the only thing stronger than the new grief overtaking him. He felt an ache of longing for just an hour ago, when his protectiveness of Kallus hadn't felt like an intrusion into a part of Kallus's life where he wasn't welcome; where somebody else filled the role Zeb only now realized he wanted with his entire being to fill himself.
As he watched Kallus sleep the unnaturally deep sleep of the injured and drugged, Zeb could only stand helplessly by as his desire to safeguard Kallus wrestled with the sinking feeling that he was utterly out of place.
#kalluzeb#garazeb orrelios#zeb#alexsandr kallus#kanan jarrus#Ezra bridger#sabine wren#star wars#Star Wars rebels#fic#chapter fic#🌟here is a gold star for ur patience#martianbugsbunny writes fic
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Killing Me Softly (with his song): Chapter 1
Pairing: DiaLuci
Words: 5326
Chapters: 1/?
Summary:
Lucifer stopped dead in his tracks.
Something small seemed to be stuck to his rolled up sleeve. His eyes wandered down towards it and he picked it up with two fingers. Small and white as it was, Lucifer almost mistook it for a stray bit of paper. When he took a closer look, he realized his mistake.
It was a white rose petal. Lucifer blinked slowly, almost owlishly. The record he had put on resumed playing, the clicking of the needle setting down again echoing through his mind.
Lucifer develops Hanahaki Disease and is hellbent on keeping it a secret from Diavolo.
Lucifer was sitting at his desk, working relentlessly through a stack of seemingly never ending papers. There were complaints, letters, suggestions, applications and much more filed away, each sorted on a separate pile. The documents were ranging in levels of seriousness, going from confidential to downright stupid. A lot of them were a waste of his time, but they had to be worked through regardless.
All in all it was a suspiciously calm day at RAD, marked by nothing but paperwork and a lack of sleep on Lucifer’s part. After the last few days, chaotic as they had been, getting to sit at his desk felt like a blessing in disguise. There was still much work he had to catch up on, so in preparation, Lucifer had stocked up on coffee before even heading to his study. The pot was now standing next to him, already half-empty.
He was aware that today would be yet another sleepless night spent bent over his table with a cramped wrist and aching shoulders. Still, it had to be done, and working through the night would give him a head start he’d be unable to reach by working during the daytime when his brothers were up to no good.
As Diavolo's right hand man he couldn't allow himself to deliver anything less than perfect. After all, he had to ensure that nothing was standing in the way of Diavolo’s vision for the Devildom. Irritatingly enough, that included sorting through countless foolish applications in the middle of the night.
Nothing except for the quiet humming of a cursed record and the frantic scratching of pen on paper filled Lucifer's study as he worked through document after document. He only realized how much time had already passed when the morning light opened its eyes, blinking shily as the first rays started to peek through the curtains.
Although he was exhausted and overworked, Lucifer knew he had to keep going, knew he had to push himself further. He had started a war on less hours of sleep, so this should be nothing but a small feat.
Although he was aware of the heaviness of his eyelids and the way his body was practically buzzing with exhaustion, he shoved both aside for later consideration.
Lucifer let out a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose as he started to feel the first pangs of a headache coming in. He paid them no mind and took out another stack of papers, beginning to scan the writing. Although he was reading the words on the page, his brain refused to make sense of the letters. Annoyed, Lucifer tried to blink the blurriness out of his eyes, rubbing them when it did not help.
He needed sleep, desperately so, but that would mean having to fall behind on even more paperwork.
Diavolo was counting on him, even more so than usual. The Crown Prince of the Devildom was currently on a two-week trip to the neighbouring Kingdom to see its reigning Queen, Rose. For the time being he’d left the Devildom in Lucifer and Barbatos’ capable hands.
Although Lucifer felt honoured to be held in such high regards, the expectations weighed heavily on his shoulders. He finally lost the fight against the exhaustion when his eyelids fell shut and his body decided to follow gravity’s call. With a particularly painful thud his head hit the table and Lucifer felt more awake than ever before.
“Curses,” he mumbled as he rubbed the sore spot where his forehead had just hit the hard desk. He was quite certain that it would leave a considerably sized bump behind. Great, his brothers would most certainly have a field day with that.
Enough was enough. At this point even he had to admit temporary defeat.
Lucifer put down his pen and stood up slowly. Even though he was fairly used to being overworked, he felt worse for wear. There was a tickling in the back of his throat and a heaviness to his chest that were promising the onset of a cold, something he most certainly didn’t have the time for. Despite his state of denial, Lucifer's head was buzzing with what had finally turned into a full blown headache. Additionally, he had grown overtly aware of the soreness of his throat and the shortness of his breath.
Lucifer crossed the room to open a window. Wasn’t fresh air supposed to cure all ailments?
To no surprise, the warm morning breeze did little to lift his spirits. When a shiver ran through his body Lucifer’s throat cramped up and the urge to cough became too strong to withstand. Quickly, he lifted his elbow so he could cough into its crook.
This was not the time to get sick. He still had two stacks of paperwork to go through, several new announcements to prepare for and a couple of Mammon's most recent messes to deal with. Temporarily returning his credit card had been an obvious lapse in judgement.
Lucifer stopped dead in his tracks.
Something small seemed to be stuck to his rolled up sleeve. His eyes wandered down towards it and he picked it up with two fingers. Small and white as it was, Lucifer almost mistook it for a stray bit of paper. When he took a closer look, he realized his mistake.
It was a white rose petal.
Lucifer blinked slowly, almost owlishly. The record he had put on resumed playing, the clicking of the needle setting down again echoing through his mind. A minute passed.
Lucifer felt as if he was running through all stages of grief at once. This little petal, no matter how small and insignificant it looked at a first glance, had turned his world upside down in the span of mere seconds.
This was complicating things.
Outwardly, he still looked calm and unbothered. After all, he had perfected his poker face aeons ago. He knew better than to let it slip, even in the privacy of his own home. The walls had ears and even his brothers’ loyalties were wandering at best when they thought they could benefit from a situation.
With two fingers, he turned over the small flower petal he'd evidently just coughed up and took his time to inspect it thoroughly.
Realistically, he knew what this had to mean. The Devildom was home to various strange and inexplicable diseases, yet none came even remotely close to resembling this one. It was quite rare to find yourself coughing up flower petals after all. Lucifer knew with an impending sense of certainty that this had to be the first telltale sign of the Hanahaki Disease. It was a rare illness, often romanticised in literature, but in reality quite ruthless when it ran its course.
A sudden wave of anger ran from the sole of his feet up to his spine. Lucifer allowed his frustration to take over and in the blink of an eye, he swept the stacks of paper, bottles of ink and his mug off the table. The mug shattered upon impact, spilling coffee everywhere. It had been a gift from Diavolo. Lucifer found himself staring at it for a moment, his chest heaving from the effort before he knelt down, all that hot white anger gone in the blink of an eye. With shaking fingers, he began to pick up the mug’s broken remains. Just as he set the last broken piece aside, there was an unexpected sound that caught his attention. Quickly, he lifted his head.
There were steps outside the door, the movement quiet and careful, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the rustling of fabric someone clearly tried to suppress. There was no knock to be heard, yet the door was pushed open regardless. A blond head of hair came into view as Satan stuck his head around the corner and watched Lucifer with an intrigued look on his face. Most likely, the promise of witnessing his brother in an enraged state of mind had lured him in. His eyes trailed over the mess on the ground and he let out a low whistle.
“I think you dropped something there,” he said casually before nodding towards the mess that was Lucifer's study. Lucifer felt his patience thinning by the second.
“Satan,” he began slowly, each word carefully chosen. “If you believe that now is the time to test my patience, then you're terribly mistaken. You have three seconds, and if you still choose to continue standing there after, I swear to everything unholy.” He lifted his pointer in a threatening motion. “One.”
Satan crossed his arms. “And what will happen then?”
“Two.”
“Well clearly, you don't plan on making your threats reality. You're all bark no bite, how embarrassing.”
For a moment, Lucifer paused. Satan took another step into the room.
“Three.” Without hesitation, he chucked the heaviest Devildom encyclopaedia he could find at Satan's head. Satan managed to dodge just in time, letting out a surprised shout as he retreated three steps. The book hit the door and fell to the ground face-first.
“And they say I'm the one with the anger issues,“ he mumbled. He threw his big brother one last dirty look before booking it. Before he knew it, the door fell shut with a big slam.
Now that he was all by himself again, Lucifer let himself sink down into his chair.
For the first time in a long time he had to admit that he was in over his head.
“So how are things faring, is everything alright? Your brothers aren't causing you too much grief, right?“ Diavolo's cheery voice sounded through the speaker of Lucifer's phone, deep and familiar.
“Are you eating right and getting enough sleep? Your voice sounds different than usual, you're not coming down with a cold now, are you?“ he continued.
Diavolo's stream of sentences was neither uncommon nor strange. Lucifer sighed deeply. He had no issues keeping up with Diavolo's ramblings, after all he'd had years upon years to learn how to decipher them best, how to discern between what was important and what was mere smalltalk.
“Diavolo-“
“Hold that thought. You've been overworking yourself again, that's it, isn't it? That sounds very much like a thing you would do.“ For a moment Diavolo’s voice took on a softer tone. “Consider your own health and capabilities please. Nobody wishes to see you falter.”
Lucifer snorted. “Need I remind you that you were the one who let his work pile up in the first place, leaving me to clean up the mess you created? I will not allow myself to waste even a single second when we're this far behind on work,” he replied, massaging his temple with his free hand. “Barbatos and I carry all responsibilities while you're gone. The results I deliver shall be nothing less than perfection. Although your concern honours me, it is entirely misplaced. I can handle this just fine. There is no need to concern yourself with my capabilities.“
For a split second Lucifer's thoughts wandered and he found himself thinking about his ailment. The fact itself that he, Lucifer, had caught that wretched disease was akin to a spit in the face.
It was a widely known fact that Lucifer held an unwavering devotion to Diavolo. However, how deep this devotion truly ran was a secret he'd been hiding quite well for years now. Inappropriate feelings would only introduce unnecessary conflict to their relationship.
Just like that, Lucifer had vowed to never act upon these feelings. Carefully, he had held Diavolo at an arm's length only to get utterly betrayed by his own body and mind for it.
All of a sudden, Diavolo laughed heartily and Lucifer barely had the time to remove the phone from his ear to reduce the risk of suffering from eternal hearing loss.
There was a tickle in the back of his throat and he tried to clear it without drawing too much attention, hoping it'd be enough to force back the insolent little petal.
“If you overwork yourself, you'll get sick. I most certainly wouldn’t hesitate to tattle on you and send Yuuta or one of your brothers after you.” For a moment, he seemed to ponder over his own words. “Like a babysitter! I'd pay a fair amount of Grimm to see such a rare sight!” Diavolo exclaimed, once again lost in boisterous laughter.
“Cease this madness. I hardly need a babysitter.”
“An attendant, then?”
A rare smile ghosted over Lucifer's lips before he caught himself. He pinched the DDD between his chin and shoulder as he began working on a complaint one of the teachers had submitted about Asmodeus and that wretched sorcerer misusing empty classrooms for both illicit and explicit activities. He wasn't even surprised anymore, this was fairly typical for his often promiscuous brother. When it came to his siblings, he was by now fairly desensitised to their shenanigans. The sorcerer was nothing but an added bonus. An unwanted and particularly annoying one, but a bonus nonetheless.
“Is there anything else you might need from me?” Lucifer asked. Originally he had called to give a report on the happenings in the Devildom, but somehow he had been lured into multiple nonsensical discussions with Diavolo instead.
“Oh not really, I actually just wanted to hear your voice, Lucifer. It sounds even more charming through the speaker, than it does in real life, if I may say so myself.” Diavolo answered nonchalantly.
Lucifer rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort. Before he could reply, a wave of nausea ran through his body. He could feel a petal forcing its way up his throat. When he slapped his hand over his mouth and breathed out through his nose, his DDD dropped to the ground with a loud thud. The petals came out quickly and quite aggressively at that. Lucifer opened his fist just to be faced with 5 petals. It was sickening to watch how quickly the illness progressed. With a low growl he crushed the petals in his fist.
“Lucifer? What happened?” he could make out Diavolo's muted voice coming from the ongoing phone call.
Lucifer cursed inwardly. Angrily, he wiped his mouth and picked up the phone again.
It took him a moment to clear his throat with as much dignity as he could muster. “I have told you before, Diavolo, you needn't shower me with praise like that. It caught me by surprise.”
“If I remember correctly you told me that I shouldn't praise you excessively in public. You never said anything about me not praising you during our time off. After all, you are our brilliant morning star. I just couldn’t help it.” Diavolo replied smoothly. Lucifer wondered how he wasn’t embarrassed by any of the sugary words that had just left his lips.
“I don't remember having become yours,” he pushed back.
The vines infesting his lungs shifted slowly, a slithering sensation akin to a snake approaching its prey. Lucifer's chest swelled with nothing but want. He took the feeling right by the throat and crushed it.
On the other end of the call, he could hear Diavolo shuffling around.
“Are you certain that everything's alright? Somehow, you're acting differently today. If there's anything bothering you, just say the word. You know I'd go above and beyond for you,” Diavolo said. “You are my dearest friend and we've known each other for an eternity and longer,” he then added and Lucifer shuddered. “Allow me to look after you when it is needed.”
Lucifer did not know how such an offer could ever be acceptable. “I would appreciate it if we could switch topics now-,” he cleared his throat before he sighed. “Where were we?”
The broad smile on Diavolo's face was almost audible.
They kept talking until Lucifer had to get ready for a meeting at RAD.
“I shall see you soon then!” Diavolo exclaimed as Lucifer was standing in front of the mirror, busy straightening and adjusting his uniform.
“Of course. Certainly I can count on you not getting yourself in trouble while you're away? There are only a few days left and I fear I might start getting wrinkles if I have to deal with even more childish shenanigans.”
This got a chuckle out of Diavolo. “Don't fret. You would still be blindingly stunning even with wrinkles, there's nothing to worry about.” For a moment, Lucifer remained silent as he forced his heart to remain calm. “Ah, I can already imagine the expression you must be carrying right now. What I would give to be able to see it in person again. I can't wait to return home to you!” He sighed deeply. “But now, I shall take my leave and return to my duties for that to happen. Farewell, Lucifer!”
For a moment Lucifer found himself staring at the black screen of his DDD.
“What did he-?” The vines in his chest shifted once again and pulled him harshly to his knees, leaving him coughing and choking. A whole white rose fell to the ground with a wet splat. It was covered in blood and spit.
Lucifer stared at the bloody petals.
Diavolo must have meant that he couldn't wait to return to both Barbatos and him, to the Demon King's castle, to his home.
Lucifer shook his head as he picked up the offending flower. What an insult it was to both his devotion and his professionalism. Hanahaki Disease was for utter fools who went out of their way to fall in love with people that were way out of their league and unable to return those feelings, thus causing severe bodily harm. Lucifer had always considered them nothing more than idiotic fatalities. Now, he begrudgingly had to face his own arrogance and admit that he wasn't any better than those fools.
Despite everything, he was in love with Diavolo. Perhaps, that was even an understatement, regardless of whether he was willing to admit it or not. Lucifer had sworn his loyalty to him, had carried his devotion on his chest like a badge of honour ever since.
The thought of a life in which they were of equal standing, one where Lucifer would have the right to entertain carnal and romantic thoughts about Diavolo made him laugh out loud. It was a cold and harsh thing. The sound echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls.
Swiftly, Lucifer picked himself up again. He straightened the folds of his uniform and collected his thoughts. After all, he had a reputation to uphold. He was Lucifer the Morning Star, the Avatar of Pride, feared in all three realms alike.
He threw one last detached look at the blood-covered white rose. An image he had assumed long forgotten already forced its way past his memories before he could stop it. Lucifer, cowering on the ground, the remnants of his wings lying before him, so purely white yet still utterly wrecked, dipped in red where he had ripped them from the space between his shoulder blades and rib cage, not quite ready to grow into something else entirely just yet. His eyes, bloodshot as they were, were set on the ground, on that infertile, deadly soil. Then, a hand came into view. When he reached out and their palms connected, he felt a shock running through his body. Diavolo's hand had been sturdy and warm even back then.
He allowed himself a moment to collect himself, allowed himself a moment to let the most superficial part of his frustration simmer down before he made his way towards the door.
He stopped dead in his tracks. There was a rustling sound, like fabric in motion. Out of the corner of his eye, he heard hushed whispers and saw shadows dashing away from the door. Whoever it was, it was clear that they'd been watching him for a while. This was a fact he wouldn't let slide easily.
“Hold it right there or you shall be punished extensively,” Lucifer said slowly, his voice eerily calm. How much had they seen?
The sound of feet tapping stopped, so whoever had been eavesdropping seemed to have given up on trying to run away. “Reveal yourselves,” he demanded.
“We weren’t eavesdropping, I swear!” came a voice from the door. It was pearly like a wind chime, high in its tone and sweet with the way an apology laid on the tip of its tongue.
“Do you really think this is the time to be lying?” whispered a hushed voice back, just to get shushed by the other.
Lucifer growled. After a moment of silence, footsteps were heard and then, Asmodeus and Yuuta moved back into frame, looking fairly sorry. This was hardly a surprise. Lucifer had recognized Asmo’s voice straight away.
He stepped forward and grabbed both of them by their collars, one in each hand, yanking them back into the room and slamming the door shut behind them with his foot.
Asmodeus stumbled rather gracefully before quickly turning around. Although there was no harm done, Yuuta still caught him by the waist, making the demon giggle. “Why thank you, darling,” he murmured.
With crossed arms and furrowed brows Lucifer considered them. After all, his brother and housemate posed no threat to the Devildom, perhaps only to Lucifer's own state of mind.
“You insolent brats. Pray tell, what business do you two have to be intruding on mine? Asmodeus, have I not taught you better? And Yuuta, although I am aware you haven't had the privilege to spend your youth around the proper crowd, that doesn't excuse such invasive behaviours. Certainly, those pesky sorcerers haven't taught you to intrude on the privacy of others.”
Yuuta tilted his head. “Actually, they have,” he replied calmly. “On more than one occasion.”
Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment as he took a deep breath. “I will choose to ignore that statement. Did the two of you perhaps wish to get punished? I can surely think of at least a hundred torture methods to suit your tastes,“ he threatened, his voice low. “Unless you make haste and explain what you think you were doing.”
Without any hesitation Asmo moved closer to Lucifer and got up in his face, disregarding the casual invasion of privacy. He put one finger against his own lips and batted his lashes.
“Oh my darling older brother! Admit to it, you would rather punish someone else entirely.” “And who, pray tell, would that be?”
Asmo’s facial expression dropped, all pretence gone, and his voice took on a more sombre tone, suddenly so quiet it was almost imperceptible. He lowered his hand and carefully put it on his brother's shoulder.
“The person who is responsible.” Asmodeus took in a shuddery breath. “We really didn't mean to spy, we were just passing by.” His dainty hand pulled into a fist. “Lucifer, we saw everything. It's Hanahaki, isn't it? I never thought you would catch it, but…. it's not too late just yet, isn't it?”
When he received no answer, only Lucifer's tight lipped stare, he let out a breath of air and his behaviour changed at the drop of a hat. Perhaps he knew that if there was one thing Lucifer refused to accept, then that would be pity.
“Oh, how sad,“ he sighed as he waved his hand dramatically and turned back around to Yuuta, wrapping his arms around him tightly, quietly muttering into his shoulder. “I don't know what to do, won't you cheer me up, my handsome prince?“ Asmodeus hid his face in the human's shoulder, the tears threatening to spill betraying his little act.
Yuuta patted his back reassuringly. “It will be alright, Asmo, but now really isn't the time to-“
It was too little too late. Lucifer had already grabbed his brother by the collar, yanking him away from the human and shoving him roughly against the door.
Asmo yelped in surprise. “Hey! Not my beautiful face!“
“Cease your babbling and open your ears this once. This is none of your business Asmodeus,“ Lucifer whispered in his ear.
Yuuta had already gotten used to the unnecessary violence he often stumbled upon in the Devildom, so he raised an eyebrow at the oldest brother. He gathered himself before letting out a deep groan, running his hand over his face in exasperation.
“Why do you have to be like that?” he groaned. “Let go of him.”
“Perhaps you've forgotten that he is a demon. This hardly hurts him. I don't want to hear a single word from you, Yuuta. You aren't off the hook either.”
He then dropped Asmodeus and fixed the two of them with a glare. ”I'm letting you off scot-free this time. But believe me, you do not want to disrespect me like that again. I already have my mind set on several punishments for you two in case I see a repeat of tonight's actions.”
For a moment, they all were quiet.
Lucifer raised one eyebrow. “So? Are you at a loss for words? I'm waiting.”
Finally, Asmo looked up. There was an unmistakable look of concern tainting his delicate features. His big eyes were shiny with the threat of tears.
“I am sorry, but please listen to what I have to say. You don't even have to answer, please just listen.”
It was quiet except for the continuous ticking of a clock.
Yuuta felt the urgent need to dig a hole and just throw himself into it, or maybe morph into the wall and disappear completely.
“Very well. I'm only allowing this because you are my brother, Asmodeus. Do not disappoint me.”
“Lucifer I know you don't like to share your feelings with us, but please think about yourself for once!” He grabbed his brother's hands and pulled them close to his chest. Lucifer stiffened upon the touch, but still allowed it. “Talk to Lord Diavolo when he returns. I couldn't bear seeing you-” he swallowed deeply. “I couldn't bear seeing you die because you're too proud to open up and take a chance. I know the way love works best, if you ignore it it will turn around on you. Lord Diavolo surely wouldn't mind! It's clear to see how enamoured he is with you, his eyes have never strayed, not even once! The only demon he ever looks at is you. Suitors keep their distance from you because they see you as already spoken for.”
Lucifer did not ask how Asmodeus could be so certain about who was the source of his newfound ailment. He had an inkling he wouldn't like the answer waiting for him.
Asmo let go of Lucifer's hands and wrapped his hand around Yuuta’s arm instead. When Lucifer remained quiet, he only sighed. “Please consider it. Please say you will.”
“I do not make it a habit to promise things I have no power over. Now leave before I change my mind.”
Asmo pulled Yuuta closer to his side. “We’ll be off then,” he mumbled with a small voice.
With that, the two of them dashed out of the room, leaving Lucifer to his own devices again. Asmodeus looked over his shoulder before the door fell shut, his lips pressed tightly together.
For a moment, foolish as it was, Lucifer entertained the thought of Diavolo returning his feelings. He was quick to remind himself to snap out of it.
It was true that he was aware of how focused Lord Diavolo was on him, but it was nothing more than the sort of interest a child would have for their newest favourite toy. Ever since the day Lucifer had fallen, Diavolo had paid much more attention to him than to anybody else.
Still, it was different from what Asmodeus was trying to convince him of. The devotion Lucifer felt towards Diavolo wasn't one to be received in return.
To think that Asmodeus had been daring enough to call him out on it. Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows. How preposterous that his brother assumed Diavolo would ever devote himself to him so deeply.
Suddenly, he found himself reminded of the demon prince's intense eyes, his broad build and rich, tan skin. In the Devildom’s mellow darkness, he always shone the brightest.
For a moment he entertained an experimental string of thoughts, caught himself thinking of what it would be like to have Diavolo's strong hands on his shoulders, his waist, his neck, those luscious lips pressed upon his own in kind.
His body was quick to reprimand him as he was interrupted by the feeling of several petals forcing their way up his windpipe. Quickly, Lucifer grabbed the nearest trash can and coughed them out, the petals and his feelings along with them. There went his dignity.
As he stared at the petals, a laugh escaped his lips.
The great Lucifer, reduced to nothing but unwarranted feelings.
As soon as he was done, he picked up his tired bones, getting up to check himself in the mirror. The demon staring back at him was a familiar sight.
Miraculously, his uniform still looked pristine, no fold out of place. However his face was telling a different story. The bags under his eyes were pronounced and although the look in his eyes was as cold as usual, if one were to look closely enough it would be easy to see the emptiness hiding in plain sight.
Lucifer clicked his tongue. Anger was a hot thing, rising up in his chest and boiling over like a kettle filled with too much water. It was a sensation he was closely acquainted with. Before he could stop himself, his fist rushed forward, breaking through the smooth surface of the mirror. Hot blood was running down his knuckles onto the shards on the ground. The silence was interrupted by the quiet sound of his blood dripping onto the pristine tiles.
Lucifer felt sufficiently punished. Was he not a fool for overstepping his bounds, attempting to push his misplaced and disruptive feelings onto Diavolo?
Lucifer checked the time. A speck of blood had found its way onto his wristwatch. He wiped it off without comment.
Quietly, he bandaged his hand. As soon as he was done he grabbed his DDD and checked the time again. As Diavolo's right hand man and current representative, he had no business arriving late.
Asmodeus still held onto Yuuta's arm as they walked down the hallway. They hadn't said much since they'd escaped from Lucifer's room. They were both sufficiently shaken.
“So,” Yuuta started, glancing at Asmo as he broke the silence. “You were right after all. When you first told me something was wrong I thought you were full of shit. I mean it's Lucifer we're talking about here. His face always looks the same to me. That man has two expressions: mildly disappointed, which I’d say is his default, and angry. I really didn't think anything was wrong. But for him to catch Hanahaki...”
Asmo threw him an unhappy look, worrying his lip. “He's always been like this. His devotion to Lord Diavolo might as well be his downfall. He's so dedicated he sees himself as nothing but a tool. I think he believes that's what it takes to be respected. Back in the Celestial Realm, he was just the same.”
Yuuta allowed Asmo to hold onto his arm even more tightly. “So it's like that. Honestly, I can't say I'm all that surprised.”
Although his hands were shaking, Asmo’s grip was almost painful. “Why can't he just accept that there's nothing wrong with being completely enamoured with someone? Love is supposed to be something beautiful. Of course, it comes with its own kind of pain, but it shouldn't come with death.”
Yuuta ran his hand through his hair and sighed.
“There's gotta be something we can do.”
“He's not gonna like it if we meddle.”
“He’ll have to suit himself then.”
Chapter 2
#my writing#obey me#dialuci#hanahaki disease#angst#angst with a happy ending#diavolo#lucifer#diavolo x lucifer#lucifer x diavolo#MC is my OC#but he's just there ig#chapter fic#this is a rewrite!! if you've read this before no you haven't!!
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Whispers of Rain
Chapter 12: Just a Stoic Statue, Fit for Nobody
Thank you to @papaslittlesunshine for editing this and @midnight-moth for listening to my daily depraved thoughts. Also, thank you to @kamonart for the beautiful artwork for this story.
Fyi this chapter may hurt, but no major warnings.
Below the cut or AO3
Rain awoke in the very early morning hours, the darkness of outside just starting to be pushed away. He reached to curl around Dew, to pull him close and realized with a stabbing jolt to his being that Dew wasn’t next to him, the panic quick to overtake his thoughts. He rushed from the bed to Aether’s room, waking him and yelling that they needed to find him. They searched the house, before finding themselves outside Eidolon’s room, the door slightly cracked. They slowly opened the door to find both Dew and Eidolon fast asleep grasping each other in a tight embrace. Rain gasped quietly before he pulled back hurriedly from the room. Aether followed him silently, pulling the bedroom door shut firmly. He had seen Rain’s eyes when he turned from the room. The sorrow, the questions. His heart broke for what was in front of all of their faces.
“Rain, wait.” Aether quietly spoke. Rain stopped but didn’t turn. His shoulders hunched over, his arms around his middle, holding himself.
Aether quickly enveloped him from behind in a hug,holding him. “You need to give him time, we don’t know the extent of what they’ve been through, they have only had each other.” Rain nodded, but couldn’t contain the quiet cry bursting from his body.
“I just want to hold him, I want to take away the pain, I want to be the one he goes to.”
Nothing Aether could say would take away the pain, he knew that Dew just needed time though. Rain knew this too, but it still couldn’t stop his heart from breaking.
Dew had awoken in the middle of the night, curled into Rain’s arms. The dream he had just had broke him out of sound sleep, a sleep like he hadn’t had in many, many months. He was still in shock that he was here with Rain again, that it was his arms encircling his body. He watched Rain as he slept, breathing in and out slowly, his pouty lips wet with spit. In his sleep, his hair had fallen across face, Dew reached up to push it out of his face, gently moving it from in front of his eyes. His hand lingered in his hair as he tucked it behind Rain’s ear, marveling at the silkiness.
As he touched his hair lightly, Rain scrunched his nose before emitting a soft sigh and a smile graced his lips. He was beautiful, this perfect creature who somehow ended up in love with Dew. Dew had missed him so badly, when Ifrit had said he was dead, he had stupidly believed him. His world had shattered into multiple pieces, pieces he never thought he would be able to pick back up and put in anything resembling a shape. The only way he was functioning now was because of Eidolon. He had seen him through the dark, held his hand to the other side so that he could once again see Rain, be present and thankful for his love.
I don’t deserve him.
I don’t deserve either of them.
I am disgusting.
How can they say they love me?
Debilitating thoughts plagued his mind as he watched Rain sleep. The fear overtaking his insides so quickly it left him breathless. His mind seizing in pain, he pulled out of Rain’s grasp. He wasn’t worthy of his comfort.
Dew quietly padded from the bed towards the door, he needed to get out of this room before he woke him, before he lost his shit. He turned back towards Rain before he shut the door, the moonglow from outside played across his face, his hand reaching across the bed, searching for the man he used to know. That Dew didn’t exist here any longer.
Dew had planned to go downstairs to sit on the couch and await the dawn alone, but his plans changed when he heard a whimper from the bedroom next to them. He quickly made his way into Eidolon’’s room, opening the door to make sure he was ok. Their eyes met across the room, Neither able to sleep it seemed.
“You ok?” Dew asked quietly as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Eidolon to respond.
“I don’t know. You ok?”
“I don’t know.” Dew answered back the same words, the same meaning.
Eidolon pushed back the covers and reached for Dew, offering his hand to hold. Dew quickly took his hand in his, grasping it tightly. As Eidolon watched he saw the tremor take over Dew’s body, the tears streaming down his face. He quickly sat up and pulled Dew to him, his arms encircling his waist, bringing him closer.
“I don’t know if I can do this?” He said between broken sobs.
“Do what?” Eidolon asked, “You can do anything, you are the strongest person I have ever met.”
“I was ready for death, I was ready for it to be over, I knew what I was going to do last night, my only goal was to get you out of there before I ended it all.”
“Dew.”
“It was my only priority.” He held his head in his hand, the other gripping onto Eidolon as if he was his only anchor to this world. His breathing broken, the hitching in his voice carrying his sorrow and fear.
Eidolon pulled him closer,bringing him to sit on his lap, his chin hooked over his shoulder, brushing his hair from his face. Eidolon let him get it all out in the quiet morning hours, just whispering words of encouragement as he caressed his back and ran his hand through his hair. It took awhile but Dew slowly relaxed in his arms.
“I don’t deserve him,” he whispered quietly when the sobbing had stopped.
Eidolon’s heart broke for him, broke for himself, broke for Rain. He didn’t know what to say, he just held him tighter.
“I don’t deserve you, either.” Dew said it so quietly, Eidolon wasn’t sure he heard him right.
“Dew you deserve everything, you protected us, both of us. This wasn’t your fault what Ifrit did.”
Dew shook his head and looked at Eidolon, “Yes, it is. I loved him, why didn’t I see that he was this messed up? I am just as messed up as him for loving him, this is my fault.”
Eidolon knew he wasn’t going to get through to him, he was lost in his fear and memories of the last months. As they held each other, their pain mirroring the others, they slowly lost the battle against exhaustion and reclined further back on the bed until they were laying side by side, arms and legs entwined. Holding onto the other as if their lives depended on it.
Dew and Eidolon made their way downstairs the next morning, not saying anything. Dew knew Rain was probably up, and he knew if he had seen them together that he would have had a lot of questions. Questions Dew wasn’t sure if he was ready to answer.
Aether and Rain were sitting in the dining room, next to the kitchen, in silence, the looks on their faces looked like they had been having an in depth conversation. Did they stop because of Dew and Eidolon?
“Dew, Eidolon, coffee?” Aether asked as he saw them, he quickly rose from his seat across from Rain and moved towards the pot to pour for the two of them when they both nodded. Dew moved into Aether’s vacated seat, Eidolon sitting beside him. He looked up to see Rain already looking at him, his eyes haunted and blood shot. Yeah, Rain knew he had fallen asleep in Eidolon’s room. He quickly looked away to see Aether approach the table with two steaming cups and placed them in front of them before grabbing his and Rain’s to refill as well.
The silence around the table was uncomfortable, not how Rain nor Dew thought their reunion would be. All Rain wanted was Dew next to him, with his hand in his, they could face everything else as it came, together. It felt though that they were worlds apart though. Rain knew that Dew had been through alot and he had to give him time, his heart just grieved that he wasn’t the person Dew turned to. He silently wiped the tears forming in his eyes hopefully before anyone saw them.
Clearing his throat as he sat, Aether asked, “You both are probably hungry, what would you like, there is stuff here, but I can run out if I need to.”
Eidolon spoke up, he knew Dew was spiraling and he had seen the tears in Rain’s eyes, “Yes, it has been a day since either of us have eaten and I know Dew has lost weight here, so anything would be good.”
“Ok then, I can do that. Care to help me?” He asked Eidolon.
Eidolon looked at Dew before agreeing to assist, Dew nodded his head at him, indicating that he would be ok. He hated the idea of leaving Dew alone after last night, not alone but without him being there if he needed him again. He knew he had Rain, but he still wanted to be his friend.
In the kitchen, Aether was already pulling out all the ingredients to make breakfast. He couldn’t get over the fact that he was his brother. There was a small glimmer of hope in his chest that he would get to know him, or that whatever was wrong with his memory would fix itself so he could remember him, remember his family.
Aether could see Eidolon struggling with all of the stress of the situation, but he had to get him out of that room so that Dew and Rain could talk. He wished he could hold his baby brother and tell him he would take away all of the pain, all of the past memories with Ifrit, but he was terrified that gesture would be rejected. Instead, he handed Eidolon ingredients to start working with. They worked in relative silence for a while before Eidolon broke the silence.
“Do you think Dew is ok?” He asked tentatively.
“You care about him a lot, don’t you?” Aether mumbled quietly before adding, “He will be fine, I have never seen a stronger connection than what those two have, they just need a moment to talk.”
Eidolon twisted his hands, his nerves showing through his motions, “I just don’t want him to feel alone or like he has to save all of us.”
Aether turned to look at Eidolon, studying the set of his jaw, the slight wobble of his chin, his eyes glassy. He reached out to put a hand on Eidolon’s arm before saying, “You’ve got me, Eidolon. I promise I will do whatever I can to keep you safe, Dew can take a break from that position. It will give him and Rain time to reunite and you and I to get to know each other again.”
Still Eidolon looked through the door to the dining room, trying to make sure Dew was ok. He kept telling himself, don’t be selfish, Rain is his mate, he doesn’t want you, it doesn’t matter that you are in love with him.
Aether watched him as he kept looking back and forth, he knew as he watched, that Eidolon was in love with Dew. Oh, baby, Phantom,, he thought, I wish I could take that heartbreak from you.
“Would you like to get to know me?” Aether spoke up, pulling Eidolon’s attention back to him.
Eidolon didn’t respond at first as studied he Aether, trying to see if he was being sincere. He decided to take that first step though and silently nodded his head. They had all the time in the world and he looked forward to getting to know him and maybe to distract himself from his heart breaking.
*******************************************
When Rain and Dew were alone in the room the silence stretched even further. Neither knowing how or where to start. Finally Rain broke the silence.
“How did you sleep?” There was no bitterness in his words, only concern.
“I had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep so I got up and walked around for a while.” Not mentioning his trip into Eidolon’s room.
Rain’s eyes looked everywhere but at Dew as he responded, “You know you could have woken me, I want to be there for you when you're hurting.”
Dew couldn’t respond, he knew this, he knew he could wake Rain and he would do whatever was needed to make Dew happy, safe, loved. Dew was broken though, Rain didn’t need to know the extent of how much.
Rain made the first move, putting his hand on the table, open to see if Dew would hold it. Dew looked at it and a sob bubbled to the surface before he grabbed the lifeline Rain offered. They both cried as they held hands before Rain, whispered, “Come here.”
On shaky legs Dew moved to sit next to Rain, crashing into his side as he put his arm around Dew and held their bodies flush together. Dew continued to cry as Rain held him. Whispering in his ear, “I love you, Dewdrop, you don’t need to hide from me, I am here. Whatever you need, I am here, always.”
No more words were said, this wasn’t the time, they needed to have a conversation, but needed the time that having two other people in a room next to them didn’t afford. They clung to each other before they were interrupted by the others bringing in heaping platefuls of food to the table.
Plates were set in front of Rain and Dew filled to the brim with different choices of savory and sweet. The other two sat across from them as they dug into their food. Rain picked up his fork to eat while still keeping an arm around Dewdrop. When Dew made no move to eat and just pushed his plate away, Rain nudged his side and whispered that he had to eat something even if it was just a few bites. When he still didn’t eat, Rain didn’t push it further, he leaned down and kissed Dew’s forehead before continuing with his food.
Eidolon noticed the exchange and when Rain didn’t push he became irritated, Dew needed to eat, he knew it had been days since his last meal, his energy quickly depleting because of it. He wouldn’t let Dew give up.
“Dew, you have to eat.”
“I am not hungry, Eidolon.” He mumbled back.
“Dew it has been days since you have eaten anything.”
When he didn’t answer or move to his plate, Eidolon continued. “Dew, please, I won’t let you give up.”
Rain looked up at Eidolon, he wondered if anyone else heard the unspoken, “even if Rain will.” He knew that was where Eidolon was going with it, who did he think he was that he knew Dew better than him? Where did he get off?
“Dew-”
“Give it a rest, he said he wasn’t hungry.” Rain had it, couldn’t he just take care of Dew himself, just let him have some time.
“No, I won’t give it a rest, he needs to eat. Why aren’t you pushing it more? I thought you cared about him.”
WHAT? Rain quickly pushed his chair from the table, seething in anger, how dare he question how he felt about Dew, he didn’t know what they went through. He didn’t care if Eidolon had been there for Dew these past months, he was done with everyone else in their relationship. As the chair fell backwards on the floor, Rain was already on the other side of the table pulling Eidolon to his feet.
“How dare you! You may have been with him these past months, but I know Dewdrop. I know when to push, I know when to leave it until later, we are mated in all but the ceremony. He is exhausted, he hasn’t slept, he doesn’t eat well after a restless night.” He had grabbed onto the front of Eidolon’s shirt as he yelled in his face.
Eidolon didn’t back down though, “How dare I? Really? I know Dewdrop too, he is exhausted because he hasn’t eaten, do you even know what he has been through these past months. Do you? You may be practically mated, but you are an idiot if you think you should let this go.”
“Fuck you!”
They were at each other's throats before Dew could even get around the table between them, screaming at them to stop. They both looked down at Dew as he begged them to quit and pulled away from each other, mumbling a sorry to Dew. Not to each other.
“I will eat, Eidolon, just give me a minute.” Eidolon looked at Rain when Dew couldn’t see his face with a triumphant smirk. Dew continued, “Rain, Rain, it is ok, you are right, I don’t normally eat when I feel like this. For you, I will try though.”
Rain may have wanted to stick his tongue out at Eidolon, but he refrained.
“So, um, yeah, we need to decide when we should go back in town to go through the portal back to the abbey.” Aether interjected to bring noise to the quiet room, Dew picked at his food as both Eidolon and Rain watched him and each other. Aether knew that the two of them were going to have it out, he just didn’t necessarily think it was best to have that argument in front of Dew or before they went back topside.
“Ifrit isn’t going to stop, he is going to know I went to the surface.” Dew grimaced between bites.
“Yeah we are going to have to take care of him before we go too.” Aether replied.
“Take care of?” Eidolon asked, turning from Rain’s glare.
“Yes, Rain has to stop him, he is the only one that can due to the agreement we made coming here.”
“What? Absolutely not.” Dew now was the one shouting at the group.
“It is ok, Dew. I will be ok.” Rain tried to sooth.
“Rain, he is only going to be more vicious, we embarrassed him yesterday. He will be on a rampage and ready for the attack.” The tears had filled his eyes again as he begged. Why didn’t they all let him take care of Ifrit yesterday? Why?
“It is the only way, and Aether can go with me. We have a plan.”
They didn’t leave the house that day, eating, sleeping, trying to regain some strength. Rain longed for Dew to talk to him, but he wouldn’t push. The day turned into days. Every night, Rain would go to bed with Dew and in the morning he would still be entwined in Eidolon’s arm. It was slowly destroying him that Dew wouldn’t turn to him.
Rain came across Eidolon one of those mornings as he came out of the bedroom he knew Dew was for sure in, he couldn’t even look at Eidolon as he closed the door behind him.
Eidolon could hear his sigh as he went to pass him in the hall.
“What Rain?”
“Nothing, Eidolon.”
“No, Rain, I know your pissed he comes to me every night, but I won’t turn him away. You need to stop thinking of the Dew you used to know. Again you have no idea what he has been through, do you?” Eidolon was done, last night he pulled Dew to him as he sobbed, feeling unworthy of Rain’s love. “Do you know what Ifrit did to him? Do you have any idea? Cause I saw it all with my own eyes, and I am telling you I wouldn’t have survived it, I don’t know how he did. If it helps for me to hold him or offer him support, I will do, be whatever he needs.”
Rain met Eidolon’s eyes, he had a pretty good idea of what Dew had been through. He was told about the party and what happened with Dew up against the wall that his friends had seen. He just wanted to be the one he turned to, was that so wrong?
Eidolon crowded Rain to the wall with a growl when he didn’t respond. “Get your head out of your feelings, and be there for him.”
Rain watched as Eidolon walked off before he stepped back into his room, sliding to the floor, not knowing how to help Dew.
The next time it happened he awoke to Dew moving from the bed, darkness outside the window. “Please don’t go to him,” Rain begged in silent whispers to Dewdrop.
When Dew heard his plea, he turned to Rain. “Rain, I can’t…I can’t, you don’t know what Ifrit did.”
“Tell me Dew, let me be the one you turn to, I love you, I know you went through torture, but I want to be the one you need in the darkness of the night. Let me be the one,” he begged.
His eyes remained fixed on the sheets between them, the rumpled linen, Rain’s hand reaching towards him but afraid to touch, afraid to show him how much he needed him. The unanswered question of why did he go to Eidolon, when Rain was here, Rain was the one he vowed to love forever. Did they let Ifrit destroy what they had?
Dew pushed from his seated position in the bed, to stand. The noise that Rain emitted was filled with so much sorrow that again, Dew turned from him and was going to someone else. Dew didn’t leave though, he turned back around and grabbed Rain’s hand asking him, why? Why did it matter who got to hear what he went though, he didn’t want Rain to know.
Rain stared into his eyes, how could he ask that? Rain didn’t want to hear the horrible things Ifrit did, but he wanted to be there for Dew, anything for him, and if that meant hearing all the horrible things he would listen, he would comfort him.
“It will kill me, Dew, if you go to him.” He cried into the sheets, “ I am sorry, I shouldn’t put that on you.”
Dew crawled back into the bed to hold Rain this time, arms wrapped around him. He’d stay, he couldn’t do this to Rain. He didn’t want to but he was going to have to share with Rain what Ifrit did, that he wasn’t sure if Ifrit put a child in him.
He only hoped Rain could forgive him for what he allowed to happen.
#whispers of rain#chapter fic#rain ghoul#dewdrop ghoul#nameless ghouls#the band ghost#raindrop#fan fiction#ghost fan fiction#ghost band#mina writes#eidolon#phantom ghoul#aether ghoul
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
Curse of Strahd, Act I: Pt. 1, Ch. V -Shadow Of Barovia-
D&D Campaign Retelling
Part 1/?
Chapter 5/5
~5.1k words
Content Warnings: Curse of Strahd typical content, Read at own risk
Summary
Free of the deadman's path, the disparate travelers continue on across the misty lands into the shadow of a ruined village. Barovia. Civilization found, and hopefully answers, unknowing that their troubles have only just begun.
Read Previous Chapters also available on AO3
Emet stares at the empty ground where the corpse grew its roots the last they passed this tree. The dirt empty and undisturbed, yet the deadman gone. No footsteps scar the mud, no scrabbling prints of some beast come to claim its rotting meal. And yet the body is gone.
He checked for undeath. His god may have forsaken him, but the remnant of that divine power granted to him when he first took his oath never faded even after all that happened. He felt the power, sensed it in his veins like a presence. A doorway he can still open. One his god did not lock and one Emet would have tried to break down if he did. But he hadn’t needed to. When he called on that power, it answered. And that power sensed no undeath when he used it. The body should still be here.
Evrrot steps widely over the area to not sully any trail, his cognac eyes sharper than bourbon checking for any sign of what happened. Finding none he sinks an accusing glare into Emet.
“I thought you checked this shit.”
“I did.”
“Clearly not well enough.”
Emet’s lip curls in a half snarl and he turns back to the wagon path. The road stretching on, open now as freely as when they first walked it. No trick, no compulsion to continue circling the deadman’s path, no clawing thoughts at the edge of their minds, urging them to try again, try again. So why did the deadman obsessively run himself into exhaustion? Why continue clawing tallies into trees on a path that went nowhere when he must have crossed the wagon trail forty-three times? What made death by exhaustion a better choice than following this road? Or did the road not exist for him? The trail clearly started and ended where this group’s feet first set foot in the misty forest. Perhaps their arrival carved it into the land like a sign post, guiding them somewhere. Or perhaps it only exists for those it’s meant to exist. But then where else would the deadman have come from?
Roshan clears his throat though it doesn’t clear the tension in the air.
“I am not the smartest man, but surely the man could not have been this dumb,” Roshan says, confirming Emet’s own thoughts, “Forty-three times.”
“Unless something addled his mind.”
“Maybe he thought he had to,” Evie adds. She looks back at the road that started them on this path and then ahead to wherever it might lead. Glancing at the spot where the body once rotted, her eyes flicker to Emet a moment. She’s the one who knew how he checked, so what does it say to her that he failed? That he is a liar? Or his god?
“Maybe the flaming horseman chased him off the wagon road,” Roshan nods as though that is the only possible answer. He points down the wagon trail, “But this is our only path left now.”
Emet wishes he was wrong—certain the others feel the same way by Evie’s wary look down the road and Evrrot’s scowl—but that may have been the deadman’s wish and look where that got him. Perhaps wishes are dangerous things in this place.
Evie slips the compass from the pouch on her belt again, setting the bronze device in her palm and giving the needle a moment to settle. Her other hand twists the brooch about her neck, unconsciously mimicking the back and forth movement of the red needle still refusing to find North. Roshan twists his feather in a similar fashion, praying to it like a stick of incense and Emet finds himself absently checking the amber shard lashed to the back of his hand, seeking any guidance that led him this far. But the stone remains dark and empty and the compass needle never finds North. It no longer whirs violently beneath the glass at least.
Evrrot glares at them all.
“What do all of you have?” He narrows his eyes, “What are you playing with?”
Roshan looks up from his feather, “I told you. It is a blessing from my god.”
Evie quickly drops the brooch, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just my spell casting focus,” Emet lies, though only partially he supposes.
“Got any spells that can get rid of fog?” Evrrot asks sarcastically.
“Afraid not.”
Then what good are you, the tiefling’s expression seems to ask. Evrrot clearly doesn’t believe any of them and other than perhaps Roshan, Emet knows he and Evie are lying. They all saw each other get pulled into the mist by these trinkets. All except Evrrot who seems to have nothing as far as Emet can tell. So why did he follow?
The glares persist, each person daring the other to question their answers in silent challenge. But the standoff is quickly broken as Roshan starts trying to blow away the fog with his breath, the mist only swirling about lightly.
Evie smiles dangerously and points a finger at the charmer. Magic infuses her words as she whispers, “I can’t dispel the fog either, but does this make it creepier?”
Her tinted lips move, forming words without sound, her finger still pointed sharply at Evrrot like a dagger. Emet hears nothing, the magic of the message spell stealing away her words and giving them solely to Evrrot. The tiefling flinches suddenly. Emet almost laughs thinking the charmer has never been on the receiving end of a message spell when Evrrot grabs his head and winces painfully, roaring.
“What the hells?! Stop it!”
Evie’s eyes flash wide at the outburst, holding up her hands and ending the spells casting.
“Devil boy, what is the matter with you?” Roshan demands, sounding exactly like a father tired of his son’s dramatics.
“She’s casting spells!”
The initial concern on Evie’s face rolls away with her eyes as she gives Evrrot the ‘done with your shit’ expression of an older sibling realizing their kin reacted to a pat on the shoulder like it was a slap to the face, “It was a joke, man. Chill. No one’s ever been hurt by a message spell.”
“Jokes don’t hurt!”
“Hurt? I did the little sneaky message thing—”
“That wasn’t a little message,” Evrrot mocks, “That was the voice of the damned screaming in my head. I don’t know what you did, but stop casting spells on me.”
“Mate, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, I’m not very magical, I can send little messages and I can do this,” she lights up her armor again with the deep bluish light.
Evrrot stabs a finger, still rubbing his head, “Watch her.”
“My magic is very bad, basic at best!” Evie continues, snapping her fingers to summon a small burst of green flame. She double takes a glance at the flickering fires dancing atop her pinched fingertips like she’s never seen such a thing before. “And that’s green now for some reason—”
A dull whispering voice follows the flame, every ripple of the fire like a whisper from beyond. The green flames dance wildly along her chipped painted nails, more erratic than typical arcane flame. Evie stops talking, staring at the small magical fire with wide kohl painted eyes and a genuine expression of horror. Either this is new and she’s not lying or Emet has sorely misjudged who needs to be watched in this group.
“Okay that’s creepy.” Evie snuffs out the flame.
Roshan eyes her warily, “Did you kill someone in your past life?”
“No!”
“Then this place is haunted.”
Evrrot sweeps an angry finger across everyone again, backing up with his body lightly curled in a fighting stance, hand somehow always near a weapon at any given time with a well practiced ease, “We’ll all playing nice now, but I’m watching each of you. And if anyone stabs me in the back I will not hesitate.”
“Devil boy,” Roshan sighs, “Take the gnarled branch out of your ass. We have to be together for this, okay?”
Evrrot gives him a derisive snort and twists on his heel, the tiefling storming down the wagon road without another word.
“Follow me,” Roshan sighs, waving to Evie and Emet like a father herding his unruly children after one threw a tantrum.
“We’re all walking in the same direction!” Evrrot growls ahead, “We’re not all following you.”
“Okay, whatever you say, devil boy.”
Roshan grins mischievously before jogging ahead to catch up with Evrrot and irritate him further. Emet sighs and offers Evie a shrug that says, this is our life now, and follows. The half elf groans behind him. It’s a moment before he hears the sound of her heavy platform boots stomping reluctantly behind.
Emet tries not to look back at her. The whispers of her green flames echo dully in his memory, haunting soliloquies at the edge of his mind. They did sound like the dead. Voices distant and stolen away. Here, but leagues apart. The desperate cries of spirits screaming into your ears, yet the fathom between life and death dulls their screams to a barely heard whisper. Words shouted right into your ears, yet too distant to make out.
He wonders if they cling to her too or if her flames merely gave them voice.
The dark woods fall away like words at the end of a page. The tree line breaking apart and stopping with the sharpness that can only come at the edge of an axe. Nature halted by the hand of civilization. Beyond the edge, the lands arms open wide and stretch across a large sweep of grassy valley. Only a ribbon of river bisects the knolls, cutting through the fabric of the fields. Still gloomy and misty, the fog drifts as low as a blanket across the gentle hills. It pours out from gnarled forest behind them like river water over a dam, thinning to the swirling stream dancing over the whispering fields of tall grass. Above, roiling thunder clouds twist and boil the dark skies, choking out whatever sun must hang above into little more than thin grey light.
Sharp jagged mountains pierce their teeth into the skies beyond the shadow of the vale, evergreen trees spilling down the mountainsides and enclosing this valley between sharp stone and needled trees. Snowcaps bleach the jagged grey edges of the stone teeth towering imperiously over the land, the vale swallowed in the maw of some godsbeast.
And yet it is still a far more welcome sight than the forest behind.
Ahead, sickly yellow grasses and farmland sway in the ever shifting tides of mist and wind, wrapping around the sharp edges of some small settlement hunkered down in the trough of the valley. The pale river cuts past the settlement, the winter blue ribbon reflecting the roiling sky in its crystalline waters.
And looming high above the settlement, perched at the edge of a sheer mountain cliff, a dark twisted castle, all spires and stone spines sitting alone in silent oppressive watch. A stone beast haunting the cliff’s edge, the village below its hapless prey. A thread of lightning cuts across the dark skies in a flash, casting the keep in sharp shadow and violent light before a sudden swell of thick fog sweeps across the vale in a wave, concealing both castle and settlement from view.
But at least they know that it is there.
“That place looks pretty nice,” Roshan comments wryly.
Evrrot scoffs, “Yeah compared to here.”
Roshan claps his hands together, “We can all rest up and have a good night’s sleep. And then everyone will be less stressed.”
“Let’s hope it’s not one of those crazy villages where they believe the weather is controlled by sacrifice or some shit,” Evrrot mumbles. “You’d be the first to go.”
“Some gods do like you to sacrifice people, but that is a whole ‘nother thing.” Roshan waves everyone forward, “Come along.”
Emet barely cares where they are going at this point. His stomach stopped its complaining hours ago to settle into a disapproving dull ache and his leaden legs have resigned themselves to swinging forward with each step by momentum alone. It’s only when he stops that Emet feels like he could simply sink into the dirt and never move again. Better to keep trudging along until they find a real bed to rest, lest his body decide the ground is good enough after all.
He’s not sure how long the others have been on their feet, but more hours have passed since they left the deadman’s trail and he’s guessing they are nearing eight or more hours since the mist swept them into strange lands. He was ready to end the day back in the leaning Daggerford barn, now he is close to collapse.
The slate grey armor hanging from his shoulders felt like bars of iron back in Daggerford, now they sit like anvils after so many hours. The clothing beneath is soaked entirely between the rain and the sweat, and the black cloak draped over his shoulder hangs as heavy and damp as a wet blanket. If it wasn’t for the constant chill of this place freezing the sodden wear to his skin and the ever present sense of danger prickling at his frayed nerves, Emet would have started drifting off to sleep long ago whether he was on his feet or not.
Evie seems equally exhausted, her arms wrapped around herself and tugging at the short skirt beneath her armor as though she can stretch it out to keep the wind off her exposed legs. She chews at a lip piercing irritatedly, occasionally blowing a strand of fallen hair from her face with a huff.
Evrrot seems warm however, that charcoal scented leather long coat of his keeping his clothing suitably dry and warm in this winter breeze. Emet wonders absently if his infernal blood warms him as well or if that’s only a rumor. He’s known a few tiefling in his long life, but mostly as clients. Never well enough to venture such a question. And he certainly won’t ask this man lest he give him the fire he needs for warmth through irritation alone.
Misery keeps their company and exhaustion their silence. Only Roshan clings obnoxiously to every fragment of hope this gloomy place spits at them. Where the old man gets his vitality, Emet will never know. The old human looks as weathered as old leather draped in scratchy white cloth—now soaked—but somehow his every step bounces with a spring in it and that near constant smile of his curls up the edges of his salted beard as reliably as the sun rises each day.
Evrrot glares at the old man every few paces with the irritated hatred born from a day that’s gone on for too long and Evie lets slip a small smirk when she thinks no one is looking, but Emet finds his mind drifting to Azem. Roshan’s bouncing gate reminds Emet of the sun elf every time they had set out together on a journey. No matter how long the day or early the morning, Azem always finds a way to brighten it.
Sun elf and sun god, both so bright.
The muddy wagon path twists ahead of them, rolling across the grassy hills down into small valleys thick with puddles before rippling up again. The land folded and rippled like cloth. And all the while their sodden boots trudge it further still with the hope that the mist doesn’t completely swallow up the village ahead in more than sight. It already devoured their last one after all.
Evie nods toward something off the road, not daring to unwrap the warmth of her arms from around herself to point. “What’s that?”
All heads swing to where she stares off the trail into the strange mist and the veil of it thins briefly to see a dark weathered stone atop a small knoll.
“Maybe it is a mile marker,” Roshan’s voice betrays the tiredness he is hiding better than the rest, “I will go have a look.”
“I’ll join, shouldn’t be splitting up,” Emet says, not wanting to stand still.
Evie shakes her head, “Don’t worry about it, we should keep going.”
“It is barely 20ft feet away,” Roshan waves his hand at the stone definitely more than 20ft away, “We will be fine.”
“I’m getting bad vibes from this place, let’s not go and explore every weird, creepy thing we come across.”
“Yes, let’s definitely go and together.”
Evie frowns, “That’s not what I said.”
Roshan trudges off path, sweeping aside the tall grasses with Emet in tow. Neither Evie nor Evrrot follow.
Certainly isn’t a mile marker, Emet thinks as they get closer to the dark stone. The stone is slick with rain and soaked through, but rain-darkened words are carved into its rough surface in the common tongue—a good sign. Emet reads the epitaph chiseled into the gravestone. Rose and Thorn, and beneath the inscription the phrase, Lost to the world, Found in Judgement.
“This is a burial proverb of Kelemvor, yes? The God of Death in our Faerûn?” Roshan asks, kneeling beside the stone and brushing away the grasses already grown long around it. Emet notes the grave marker barely looks as though it has weathered a year. Roshan looks up expectantly at the tall moon elf, but Emet keeps his silence hoping the holy man will mistake it for ignorance and not familiarity.
The holy man shrugs, “I think it is.”
Before departing the holy man offers a brief blessing, his hand marking the symbol not of Kelemvor, but of Lathander. Emet doesn’t quite remember which domain that god embodies, he never was the most devout in his order. Maybe that’s why things ended up the way they did. But then again, Roshan seems to have an abundance of faith and he’s still here in this mess beside Emet. So maybe the answer is that none of the gods care.
Roshan slaps his knees as he stands, breaking Emet out of his thoughts, “All done, thank you for waiting. We should head back now.”
The two trudge back through thick grass and uneven ground to Evie and Evrrot, the half elf and tiefling watching them carefully and impatiently. Evrrot’s horns drip droplets of water past his shoulders, hair more slick than ever in the wet rain and wetter still for them having made him wait as the rain picks up a little heavier. Emet is half surprised the tiefling didn’t simply leave as he’s so fond of threatening at every occasion.
Evie just stares past them, out to the stone marker, her mohawk nearly flattened and drooping half way to her armored shoulders. She’d dug a ditch in the mud with her platform boots while waiting, chewing on her darkly tinted lips as though she half expected some terrible thing to burst out of the fog and snatch away Emet and Roshan on their way back. Not out of the realm of possibility, unfortunately.
“It was a just tombstone,” Roshan offers as Evie lifts her head expectantly.
“Ah yeah, nothing creepy about a random tombstone in the middle of nowhere,” she comments.
“You never know, this could have been their favorite hill.”
Evrrot uncrosses his arm, “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Follow me.”
“Of course, devil boy” Roshan grins, “We follow you.”
Devil and holy man walk side by side, already having forgotten Emet and Evie in their unspoken competition. Emet shakes his head and is about to follow when he realizes Evie doesn’t move. She stares off at that grave marker, arms crossed across the wet chainmail on her chest. She barely seems to realize half of them have left.
Evie takes a breath and steps forward, but not toward Emet. She determinedly marches for the gravestone alone. Emet nearly follows, wanting to keep anyone from being alone in this place, but something tells him to hold back.
Platform boots slipping in the thick wet grasses up the knoll’s side, Evie barely realizes she’s gone to the grave marker before she finds herself standing in front of it. It’s not like she wants to be here, just that…she needs to. Or that she should. She doesn’t know anymore.
Her eyes trail over the stone’s carving catching on the curl and slant of the ‘R’ in Rose and the sweeping ’T’ in Thorn with a prick of familiarity. She shakes her head and rereads the names and that small sense rewrites itself in her mind as coincidence. Found in Judgement. A familiar proverb from a familiar god. One she’s probably read or said a hundred different times in her twenty-something years.
A snake curls in her stomach reading it.
She never really knew how she felt about that phase. Evie knows it’s supposed to be a source of comfort, that the bad will get their due and the good will be absolved and find their eternities in their heavens. But at the same time, it feels like a watchful gaze. A reminder that everything you do, every mistake you make, and every person you disappoint becomes another tally in a book made to immortalize your every sin. A permanent record of every failure that you’ll carry forever…
Evie sighs and quickly makes the symbol of Kelemvor.
Duty fulfilled, she wraps her arms back around herself and trudges back through the mud to where that giant shadow waits for her. She narrows her eyes at him, giving him a look that asks Why are you still here, poncy idiot before angrily stomping past him. He keeps pace, not trailing behind as if he actually remembers she doesn’t want him behind her, and they hurry to catch up with the angry tiefling and the endless well of happiness irritating the ever living shit out of ‘devil boy.’ She almost wants to laugh seeing them both still vying to stay ahead of each other, but it catches in her throat and the sound is all too similar to a sob. She bites it back and keeps walking.
Emet keeps to Evie’s hurried pace, careful not to fall behind.
The ever present mist has thankfully not swept away the settlement like a vision, the tall shapes of stone and wood structures looming within the fog, slowly peeking out between the waves. Mud gives way to slick wet cobblestones beneath their feet and for the first time since the barn, Emet doesn’t feel like he’s in a dream.
Dwellings border either side of the main thoroughfare with windows as empty and dark as the dried broken sockets of a skull. No sound to cut the silence, no light to signal life. Emet has lived through conflicts before in the extraordinarily long life granted to those of elven blood, and the buildings here look like those who have suffered much and been afforded little in the aftermath. Crippled things, wood and stone scarred by blade or claw with glass long shattered and replaced by crooked planks of wood, all leaning against another as though the wall beside it is all that keeps it standing. Remove the one and all will crumble.
Only the flapping of wings fills the streets as a raven swoops toward them from across the way. The little bird settles, perching with a flutter of black feathers atop an errant railing. It fusses with its wings a moment, a curious shade of blue tipping its silken edges before folding them neatly behind its back. It stares at the group expectantly.
Evie’s eyes light up a moment when she sees it. The blue-tipped raven caws loudly and stomps its little feet before taking off, following the street toward what must be a town square up ahead. Beyond this lane, the buildings open up a bit more with what appears to be a statue of some kind at its center.
“I think it wants us to follow it,” Evie says.
Roshan squints after the raven as though seeking some sign, “It looks like a normal bird.”
“It cawed when it looked at me though. When you look at most birds, they just…” Evie flutters her hands, mimicking wings taking off.
Roshan gives Evie the same look the others have given him whenever he pulls out that feather of his to seek guidance. Seems the only one allowed to have signs from the gods is the holy man.
The raven perches on a signpost across the town square, too distant to read from here at the edge of the village. None seem eager to take the first step into unfamiliar territory—and ruined territory at that, the buildings abandoned and dark as far as they can tell. But they all know there is no where else to go.
“Should we be nice to anyone we come across?” Roshan asks.
“Don’t see why not. They’ve not done anything yet,” Emet’s eyes search the darkened windows, the quiet streets, “If they’re even here.”
Roshan studies the grim group. Weary from the days of travel, edges frayed and nerves short, they all wear a mask of misery. Were this a normal town with streets filled with souls, all would avoid them warily with the grim air about them.
“Maybe you should smile, Emet.”
The words slide between Emet’s ribs with a dagger’s edge and drift down his throat like poppy wine. Both numbing and warm and stealing away the pain long enough to feel the heat blood spilling over his ribs and mistake it for comfort. Memory is held in that painful warmth and he doesn’t hear Roshan’s voice, but Azemir’s. A faint smile, hollow and a ghost of what it once was answers and flickers across Emet’s face before the words turn sharp and he feels the dagger behind the wine. The pain of remembered words once spoken dearly by another soul awaiting his return.
The smiles fades as quickly as it appeared, yet none see the blood.
The holy man moves on, unknowing of the bittersweet blade he buried in Emet’s chest.
“And maybe you should be happy, Evrrot. Angry devils are usually a very bad thing. Evie, you are fine.”
“Do I not come off as a happy person,” Evrrot comments, face as grim as a gravestone.
“Do I not come off as a miserable person?” Evie asks, affronted.
Roshan grins, “No and no.”
“I’m very cheery,” Evrrot glowers.
“Maybe once you’ve had some food in your stomach.”
“That’s probably the first thing you’ve said that’s made any sense.” Evrrot throws caution to the wind once more and strolls down the street, “Let’s go find an inn and see if you’re right.”
Muddy cobblestones scrape beneath their boots, the sound as loud as horse hooves in this eerie silence. If this place is occupied, there should be at least one or two people in the streets, shouldn’t there? Someone fetching the days errands, or a merchant tending their harvest stand, a kid chasing a dog, anything. But no, hollow as a tomb and quiet as the crypt. Only the wind whispering through the broken glass windows gives voice to this dead village. The swift breeze creaks a few half broken signs with rusted wails.
As they near the square, a beam of light briefly breaks through the darkened clouds and casts a pillar of pale white glow upon the statue. Even freed from the prison of clouds, the sun’s light is choked and faded, sapped of all warmth as it falls upon the figure dominating the square. Carved of old stone, the armored man’s shoulders are chipped and cracked from disrepair, matching the destitution of the village it protects. He holds a blade triumphantly aloft in stark contrast to the loss echoed all around him, a heavily booted foot resting atop the severed head of another man. Fangs jut from the severed head’s mouth, the snarling lips curled back with its jaw hung open at a broken angle. A sign of protection for those who live here and a warning to those with ill intent, but one that rings hollow through the empty shell of ruins.
The metal of the weatherworn plaque at the base carries the green tinge of aged copper. Deep clawing gouges from some beast cut across the words hammered into the surface, but the name is still legible.
Ismark Antonavich the Great
Burgomaster of Barovia
Bane of Vampires
618-662 BC
BC? That’s not the common dating notation utilized in Faerûn or anywhere that Emet’s heard of. And Barovia is equally an unknown. Granted, the moon elf isn’t the most well traveled, or even the most well read despite his past, but one glance at the others tells him he is not the only one lost as to when or where any of this is.
Roshan is the first to voice their questions, “What is Barovia?”
“What is BC?” Evie asks.
“Oh, is that strange too? I don’t know the actual years, so I don’t know what it is supposed to be.”
Emet and Evie’s eyes settle on the holy man. Not knowing the day or maybe the month is understandable, but the year?
Evrrot remains fixated on the plaque, “Bane of Vampires…”
Roshan lifts a finger, grinning, “That word I do know.”
“Are there vampires here?” Evrrot wonders.
Emet tilts his head to the shrouded skies where the dim light of sun weakly pours through the heaviest of the storm. Its beam sallow and faint as though the skies themselves suffocate their star. Every day a slow and agonizing breath above the land, a single gasp above the night’s waters before it is dragged below each night into stillness.
“If there aren’t then there were,” he answers.
Evrrot joins him in squinting up at the skies, the thin beam snuffing out at last as a wave of thick clouds rolls overhead, “It’s certainly ideal if this is the weather every day.”
A shrill caw breaks their conversation, the blue-tipped raven shouting its displeasure at being ignored like a lordling demanding attention. The bird stomps its small feet with little clicking sounds as the talons dance along the top of a wooden post jutting out from the side of a building no more remarkable than any of the others. Though its build and size suggests it may indeed be an inn. A wooden sign hangs precariously from the post by a single chain—the other broken and clinking lightly in the wind—is painted with a once vibrantly green vine dripping in what may be blood or wine. The paint half chipped and cracked by the natural fissures in the wood still bears the name.
The Blood on the Vine Tavern.
“Hey, look at that.” Evrrot casts a hand toward the sign, “The raven led us to beer.”
Satisfied its message has been received, the regal raven quickly flutters off into the mist. If Emet were a faithful man, he’d call it a sign.
“Seems your prayers were answered,” Emet murmurs as the tiefling makes his way to the double doors.
NOTES
Thanks so much for reading Part 1! I'm going to be taking a brief hiatus to catch up on some writing and notes, but I will be back.
Part 2 will be available on April 23rd, hope to see you then
#vampire fiction#gothic fantasy#dark fantasy#dnd fiction#fantasy fiction#strahd von zarovich#d&d campaign#barovia#dnd fic#dnd campaign#dungeons and dragons#curse of strahd#dnd vampire#chapter fic#wip fic#unfinished fic#fiction writing#ravenloft#Tales Of No One
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reforged
Continuity: IDW1
Rating: Teen
Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus
Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Prowl, Mistress of Flame, Minimus Ambus, Ultra Magnus, Torchbearers, the Lost Light crew
Warnings: Suggestive themes, occasional depictions of trauma, alcohol & drug use, some gore, canon divergence and canon blending. Slow burn. Incredibly slow burn. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.
AO3 Summary: In which Rodimus is "mistaken" as the reincarnation of Solus Prime.
A 217k word fanfic novel with themes of romance, xenoreligion, reincarnation, the role of fate, and religious political conspiracies, Reforged expands on the moon colony of Caminus, its dominant culture, and what myth means to a recalcitrant "former" Prime on "vacation" to forestall fate, a condemned war criminal living on borrowed time, and an obsessed investigator fixated on discovering a dangerous hidden agenda.
First chapter under cut, AO3 has the rest. Also crossposted to DreamWidth.
The supposed “lap of honor,” to which Rodimus had “convinced” Prowl to reluctantly allow, was intended to be a sort of… last hurrah for the crew and the Lost Light itself before it would be decommissioned, Megatron would surrender to custody pending litigation, and everyone else would go their separate ways. A happy ending. For most involved anyway. In his own way, he saw impending judgment as his own happy ending. He was tired and ready to put the last of his unconquered demons to bed. The sense of finality was… comforting somehow.
Although, one last trip wouldn’t hurt. A chance to make a few more good memories with friends and colleagues who had made commanding—“co-commanding” his own thoughts interrupted.
Great. Now he was doing it too.
They all had made co-commanding this flying madhouse so fulfilling, a pack of wild misfits that fit in together. Various destinations were chosen for sightseeing, but one stuck out as particularly interesting, one they were rapidly approaching. Velocity and Nautica had suggested it, in fact, thinking the crew would enjoy seeing their homeworld. Funny, that they had submitted their suggestions separately but with almost identical wording. Rodimus had declared that the two were in “cahoots” before proudly stamping an approval on the destination without waiting for Megatron’s input.
The view from the bridge was rapidly filling with the image of a large, metallic moon. It twinkled in the combined light glinting off the metallic structures spider-webbing across the surface. The scene was backlit by the cool white dwarf sun of this system, and, of course, the moon’s host, a green-gold gas giant swirling with ancient storms. Crackles of lightning arced across the spiral vortices at the storms’ calm eyes. Spinning auroras flashed at the poles like a pair of glittering crowns. The moon was large enough to be a planet in its own right had it not been caught in the gravity well of the gas giant.
To think that this was home to entire culture… civilization of Cybertronians untouched by the war that had consumed their own motherland, the war he had started. Megatron hadn’t even needed to go to another universe to find them this time.
Despite having spent countless months staring out of this huge window into the universe, Megatron had rarely taken the opportunity to simply enjoy that view. There had always been more pressing matters to attend to. Now, however, seated comfortably in the captain’s chair, with only perfunctory duties remaining to him, he could relax and merely take it all in for the sheer pleasure of it. A rare luxury at any point in his long life. From the mines, to the extralegal arena, to what he had thought was championing the cause of the downtrodden. Time for recreation had been practically nonexistent.
Or… he would have allowed himself to absorb the picturesque scene, had he not caught sight of something ludicrously red flash and dash out of the corner of his left optic.
Ah.
Of course.
Rodimus was, unsurprisingly, excited to see this planet—moon. It was technically a moon. He could practically hear Ultra Magnus—Minimus—preparing a pedantic presentation, along with an introduction to local cultural mores, to ensure they were all prepared for their vacation. Yet Megatron still felt a strange, warm fondness at the thought of the predictable behavior, just as he felt it knowing that Rodimus was gleefully prancing about just outside of his vision like he did whenever something really caught his interest. For all of his nuisance, Megatron’s co-captain possessed a gift to summon joy and sunshine simply by being. It was… heartening to see him so happy, especially about the little things in life like a beautiful planet. Moon. Dammit.
“Alright, everybody! Welcome to Caminus! Former lost Cybertronian titan-based colony facing perpetual resource shortages, now founding member of self-styled Emperor Starscream’s book club for slimy politicians that calls itself the Council of Worlds.” There was a pause, like Rodimus had second thoughts about wording his supposedly inspiring sales pitch that way.
Megatron turned to look at him and, sure enough, the speedster was holding his chin in thought.
“Okay, so maybe that’s not the best way to sell it to Lost Light tourists. Let’s try that again.” He clapped his hands together as though he could erase his first not-quite-ready-for-a-brochure slogan.
Megatron rolled his eyes and heaved a tired, amused sigh. A regular occurrence on this silly ship, especially when both captains were in the same room for any length of time. Meanwhile Rodimus cleared his vocalizer with a cough before pointing proudly at the viewscreen, now showing a much closer image of the populated moon. Moon! Not planet.
“Take two! Welcome to Caminus! Home of Camiens, a funky fire religion, swords for days, avant-garde art, other super awesome stuff, and us for the next few days.”
Well, it was better, but still not good exactly…. Certainly a solid attempt, though “funky fire faith” would have been a more satisfying alliteration. It was good enough.
Something felt strange about Megatron’s face, he noticed as he sat there. Relaxed and pulled in an odd direction—Smiling? Why was he smiling? Giving his head a good shake, he forced a bemused expression to return, taking the smile’s place, while he watched Rodimus wrestle with remembering how to actually make port now that they had arrived.
“Slag, we still need landing permissions.” A golden palm slapped a handsome—this was an objective fact, not his personal opinion—white faceplate, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, in irritation at having forgotten something so basic. Sometimes Rodimus was too hard on himself. It was a trivial protocol matter after all and easy enough to forget in the excitement of a final trip.
Final. Hm.
Yet, of course, Rodimus would solve the issue on his own as he usually did these days, the brief moment of embarrassment quickly shoved under the proverbial rug. He could handle things like this without assistance. Megatron wasn’t quite sure why Rodimus insisted that he needed the old poet around to help.
“Crankcase, could you hail them, buddy?” See? Problem solved.
62 notes
·
View notes
Link
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Characters: William "Dex" Poindexter, Derek "Nursey" Nurse
Additional Tags: Monster!Dex, Monster!Nursey, References to Domestic Violence and Abuse, Violence, it is not graphically described on screen
Summary:
Will is ready to be assigned to a new kid to scare. He expects the challenge of a kid with a complicated family life and background.
He's not expecting the challenge of sharing a work space with Derek.
Also available on SquidgeWorldArchive
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Here it is, the first chapter of my Cadet Aruani story 🤗
#aruani#annie leonhart#armin arlert#armin x annie#aruannie#cadet aruani#there will be plant symbolism and map symbolism#so be prepared for that#chapter fic#my fic writing
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Summary:
Stiles has been turned into a cat. He is so very STILES still. It suits him so much he almost wants to stay like that. Well until he sees a red eyed wolf growling at him…in which case up a tree he goes.
Note: This fic was originally as a series but has been edited, lengthened and put into chapters. Enjoy!!
#sterek#stiles x derek#derek x stiles#teen wolf fanfiction#lu-pining for your purrr-fection#cat stiles stilinski#wolf derek hale#collars#magical stiles stilinski#shifters#full shift#dog puns#wolf puns#alpha derek hale#sassy stiles stilinski#chapter fic#magic
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fundamental Differing
Chapter XVI: You’ll Cry But You’ll Never Fall
nav | masterlist | playlist | pinboard | chapter XV | get on the taglist!
summary: The secret hometown Corroded Coffin / Death Dance Approximately show does not go as smoothly as any of you would like, and the memories of Hawkins infiltrate your memories again.
tags: ANGST (more than usual?), violence, swearing, excessive alcohol consumption, fighting/arguing, trauma talk, overall just a very sad chapter imo but i’m also very proud of it.
a/n: this is my lil honor to sinéad, my heart goes out to her family and i’m so very upset to hear of her passing. This chapter is also one of the heavier ones, please feel free to skip it or read it slowly if it feels like too much. thank you guys for your continued support as always. ALSO, im seeing a lot of blog name changes and deactivations, so please let me know if you aren’t getting notifications and want to! i’ll see to fixing the taglist for next time 🩷 Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!
—
October 1987
“Can I show you something?” Eddie stumbles into bed, his Warlock in his grip, a bowl of chips in the other hand.
“Of course, my love.” You pluck a chip from the bowl, shifting your body to face Eddie as he sits beside you. His fingers dance across the chords, and you sway as he begins to sing. When he finishes, you look at him in awe. “Is it done?”
He nods, eagerly. He’s been fighting with this song for almost a year, and you can tell he’s so proud of himself. It makes what you’re about to say that much more difficult. “May I?” You extend your hand, and he nods, handing you his guitar. You know the chords well enough by now to play it, and you start in with your eyes closed. “What if, instead of a major chord, you used a minor?” You play it again with your revision. “And what if, instead of Don’t let go, you could say don’t let go of me?” You sing the line for him, and watch as his face contorts, brows furrowing, lips pursed. You stop. “Or not, it’s beautiful regardless.” Suddenly, you’re embarrassed for even suggesting it.
“No, it’s not that. I’m just mad you made it so much better in two seconds.” He scoffs, and you can tell he’s upset.
“I didn’t mean to overstep, ali know this song has been kicking your ass, as just thought-“
“It’s fine, Y/n, really. Forget about it.” He takes his guitar from you, and leans it on his side table. Before you can say anything else, he’s turned the light off and pulled the covers up to his chin. no goodnight kiss, No I love yous exchanged.
-
Present Day
Eddie’s POV
He makes his way back to the dressing room, which is more of a closet behind the curtains of the small stage. He’s comfortably drunk, aching still with the words he’d overheard earlier as Sinéad O’Connor’s Drink Before The War floats through the speakers. You and Steve stand backstage, him adjusting your mike pack while you fiddle with your in-ear, the rest of your band tightening their instruments or twirling their drumsticks while you talk amongst yourselves. “Eddie!” You call, before he can open the door and slide by you, unnoticed. “C’mere a sec?”
Begrudgingly, he approaches you. You’re draped in a black skirt that sweeps the floor, and a black velvet tank top that shimmers when the light hits it. “Lilith had an idea, and I know this is so last minute, but what would you think about doing the song we wrote together? I know it’s probably too rusty for you, but I figure it could be a treat, for the little hometown show? It’s alright though, if you don’t wanna.” You shrug, but something in your eyes pleads with him.
“Sure, yeah.” He says coolly, confused by the question. Why would you want to, after what you’d said? “Where should we put it, in the set?”
“Was thinking, at the end of DDA’s, we have less time, but we have the room for it. D’you still know the chords?”
He fights off a humorless laugh. “‘Course I do. Just gimme the signal, and I’ll be right out. But we don’t have lyrics.” You nod, beaming, “Oh, but I do! I’ve been mulling them over, I hope that’s alright?”
The panic is palpable, he has no idea what he’s in for. “‘Course it is. See you out there.” He gives a curt nod before turning away, entering his dressing room without another word.
-
Your POV
“He’s being weird, right?” You turn to Steve, who’s just finished fluffing your hair out into the disheveled, rocker look you love.
“Of course he is, he’s Eddie. Now, get out there! They’re excited to have you back home.” He’s right, you can hear the restless crowd growing louder, more excited as your set time inches closer. “DDA! DDA!” The chant crescendos, and the house lights dim.
“Break a leg,” Steve plants a kiss on the crown of your head, and you wrap your arms around him. “and kick some ass.”
You turn to your band for the huddle, the pre show ritual, and let Sylvie lead the way to the stage. The crowd erupts as you take your marks, pressing out across a stage half the size of what you’ve grown used to this past month.
“HAWKINS, INDIANA!” You exclaim, drowned out by the audience as Lilith starts a drumroll. “We are Death Dance Approximately, from right down the street, are you ready to fucking PARTY?!” The response is a cacophony of screaming, just the way you like it.
“One, two, three, four,” Lilith taps her sticks together, and you jump into your first song. You open with Indiana, an ode to home, and you feel the weight float from your shoulders. The house is packed, and you recognize a face every few minutes, whether from school or just around town. Your friends are occupying a table on the side of the stage, and you can barely make out their faces. They dance and sing along though, and at some points you’re sure you hear Max’s whistle. It’s electric, rewarding to have people there for you, that know your songs, love your band. It reminds you why you started in the first place, despite the pain you’d endured on your way up.
-
“Thank you for coming out tonight, Hawkins! We have one more song for you before we introduce our friends in Corroded Coffin. This was a last minute decision, but before we play the song we know you’re all waiting for, could you please give a warm, freaky welcome to Coffin’s very own EDDIE MUNSON!” No amount of preparation prepares you for the screaming. The building must be shaking with the vibrations as Eddie saunters onto the stage, spotlight shining directly on him. His acoustic guitar is slung over his shoulder, and he wears a tattered DDA shirt and torn up black jeans, his converse laced tightly on his feet. He waves to the crowd, squinting into the bright stage lights. He wobbles slightly, and you know he’s drunk, but you have faith in his performance ability regardless.
“This song is one I wrote with Eddie years ago, and this is the first time we’re ever performing it. Please forgive us if it’s not so polished, but revel in the fact that you’re the first crowd that gets to hear it!” The audience responds with applause, and you glance at Eddie. His eyes are glued to the floor, not looking at you at all, so you turn back to Lilith who counts you off.
Eddie starts in with the opening melody, much softer than any song CC has put out, but still with the hard bite that persists within their catalog. You begin the ad libs, ones you love to play with live that can’t be recreated in the studio. The crowd sways with you, and glimmers from their lighters each the sky as you start the first verse.
“I’ve seen my share of gore and pain, enough to last my lifetime. / I wonder how you’re coping now that you’ve got that hurt inside. / I’d ask you how you’re doin’, but I know that you’d just lie, / and I’d bother you to open up, / if I thought it worth our time. / But you’ve been off drinkin’ down the hurt and pain we’d felt, / and I'm stuck circling the drain alone, keeling over as I melt.
Six years of shit, and dirt, and blood / caked under our fingernails, / and all I've got to show for it are these twisted, evil tales. / So all I ask is don’t let go, / don’t let go of me, / and all I want is for you to know / that you’re still the one for me.”
You don’t open your eyes the whole time, and you know you’re in for it when you do. You’re sure he’s caught on by now, the lyrics far from subtle, but still you can’t bring yourself to watch his reaction to them, instead focusing on your voice not breaking as he plucks the strings only three feet away. When the song ends, the crowd shrieks and it’s all you can hear. Eddie waves to the kids at the barricade, mouthing thank yous as they clap for him before approaching you. You entwine your fingers with his, swinging both your arms first into the air, then down to the floor as you both bow. He squeezes your hand before letting go, walking offstage without a word to the audience.
“Eddie Munson, everyone! I know you’re all very excited to see Corroded Coffin tonight, but we got one more song for ya, is that alright?” When the whooping fizzles out, Sylvie strums the opening to Pretty Boy, and it gets loud again. “This song is for, well, if you know you know. It’s called Pretty Boy!”
-
Eddie’s POV
He makes a beeline for the mini fridge, cracking open a beer before even saying a word to his bandmates. “You good?” Gareth raises an eyebrow, watching his bandmate down the bottle without a breath in between.
Eddie belches before snapping, “What makes you think I’m anything but perfectly fine?”
“Oh, just, everything.” He mumbles, but Eddie hears him anyway.
“What’s up with you, man? Aren’t you two on good terms now?” Jeff asks, plopping down on the arm of the sofa next to Eddie, who’s sprawled in the middle like an old rag doll.
“I have no idea. Thought we were, but I overheard them talking earlier and-“
Jeff interrupts, “Overheard? How much did you actually hear? Ever wonder if eavesdropping is maybe not the most reliable source of information?”
Eddie glares at his friend, who only rolls his eyes. “I know what I heard.”
“Whatever, man. We have a show to do, so get your shit together.” Jeff heaves himself off the couch again, and Gareth follows, clicking his drumsticks.
-
“Good evening, Hawkins! We are Corroded Coffin, and we’re here to fuck shut up!” Gareth shouts into his mic and is met with an eruption of screaming fans. Eddie feels the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream as he strums a chord, amping up the tension before the drummer counts them off. They break into the first song. His vision’s fuzzy, but he can still sense you, standing right up front, mouthing the words and nodding your head to the beat. He can’t let himself think too much about it, already distracted by your earlier conversation with your band. Because of him. You’re having nightmares again, unable to rest, because of him. The words play on a broken record, spinning out of control inside his brain, and he barely realizes he’s broken a string from strumming too hard.
When they end the song, a crew member cloaked in black rushes onstage to help him fix it while Eddie stands there, useless and shaking with a feeling he can’t place. Not exactly anger, nor anxiety, but a sinister lingering in his gut. The crew member leaves, Eddie’s string replaced, and Gareth waits for a cue to continue. “Apologies, my dear friends, for the technical difficulties. Thanks for coming out to see us on such short notice. This song is for anyone that’s ever felt like a freak in their own skin.” Eddie backs away from the mic as Jeff starts in on their next song, Eddie’s voice barely a part of him as he sings. His fingers are starting to bleed from playing so hard, something he hasn’t done since he started playing guitar more seriously.
Eddie fades in and out during the set, on autopilot, his usual lighthearted banter with the crowd now awkward and empty. He feels nothing when the lighters fly into the air during Wiped Clean, or even when he looks right at you when he sings Sweetheart. It feels like something in him has died, leaving a gaping wound. Being home was like ripping that wound right open.
-
Your POV
He’s looking right through me. There is absolutely no feeling behind Eddie’s performance tonight as he drags himself through the set. He’s usually bouncing off the walls, swinging his guitar around or sticking his tongue out while he shreds, but tonight he stands there, his head barely even nodding, let alone banging and thrashing like he usually does.
Around you, there’s a sense of panic. These people came for him, they know what he’s about, and this was likely the last thing they’d expected of a hometown show. Their dancing is tainted with confusion, worrying for the man on stage in front of you. You look to where your friends stand, cautiously swaying and nodding along to the music, glancing back to you every so often with a raised or furrowed brow. Dustin, though, meets your eyes and immediately starts pushing his way through the crowd.
“Move, please! Friend of the band coming through! Eddie Munson’s protege! Out of the way, holy shit!” He makes it to you relatively unfazed, and you grab his outstretched hand to pull him up to the barricade. “What the hell is going on?” Dustin shouts, and you shake your head.
“I have no idea, he’s been weird all day.”
“He drinking?”
“Dustin, he’s an adult!”
“That’s not what I mean! Is he, like, drinking drinking?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
He shoots you a baffled, disappointed look, and you get it. Loud and clear. This, whatever Eddie’s doing right now, is somehow related to you. “I am not responsible for his behavior!”
“No, of course not! But you might be able to explain it!”
You think, hard. You were fine this morning, waking up together, even being mistaken for reconciled lovers. “I really don’t know, Dustin!”
“Shit, okay. I’ll get back to you.” He turns around, about to disappear again, but you grab him. He meets your eyes, reading you in such a way that you probably won’t even have to ask him. But you do, for good measure.
“Make sure he’s okay, yeah?”
“Of course.” And you let him go. You turn back to the stage, where Eddie switches his beautiful electric guitar for his well worn acoustic. You feel a smile pull at your lips, knowing the acoustic rarely makes an appearance at regular Coffin shows.
“Hawkins, you’re so very special to me,” He starts, tuning his guitar as he slurs. Shit. “So I feel I should show you, just how special. We don’t usually do this, but because we’re home, I feel it’s only mandatory. I’m gonna play you guys a deep cut, one we never released and probably never will.” No. No fucking way. “Now, even the guys didn’t know I planned to do this, shit, even I didn’t til halfway through the set. That set sucked though, am I right? I mean, the guys were wonderful as always, but I was god awful, and for that I am truly sorry. It’s hard to put the energy into this town when it sucked the life out of me for so long. No offense, I do love that you’re all here.” Jeff and Gareth exchange looks of befuddlement. They have no idea what’s going on, but it’s starting to click in your head.
“This song is called Salt The Earth.” Your jaw drops to the floor. He’s never shown that song to anyone else, that you know of, because he hated it that much. It was a battle he’d been fighting since you’ve known him, one even you weren’t sure he’d win. But here it is, in the same town he’d written the song, giving it a live debut.
He plays to an almost silent, completely entranced room of people, staring straight ahead at the glowing exit signs, past you and all of his friends.
“Burnt the whole place down, demolished holy ground, packed your bags, didn’t look back, salted earth on your way out. / Fires bright, smoke in my eyes, I never even heard your goodbyes. / When you leave you’re supposed to salt the earth, you’re supposed to cut the rope. / But I'm still here, tied to this post, while you’re out somewhere laughing.”
There’s a bite, a sting behind your forehead, as the lyrics swim through your head. You haven’t heard the song in years, and it was barely passable as a song, but somehow, the lyrics are still there, stored in the depths of your memory, and only yours. As far as you can tell, scanning the faces of your friends and colleagues, you’re the only one that knows the words. Some of them have changed, he’s vastly developed as a songwriter in the last couple years, but it also gives you waves of nostalgia. To you, this song is an old friend, one constantly looping in the background of your life with Eddie. Selfishly, you wonder if your life with him, the ending of it especially, contributed to the song’s growth.
His voice is low, gravelly to match the somber tune. His eyes close as he further loses himself, wincing as he fingers the chords, breaking open fresh wounds on his fingers. Every so often, when you really let yourself watch Eddie perform, you’re hypnotized by his presence. You forget where you are, who you’re with, as everything falls away except for him, on display in front of you, for you, the only other person in the room.
The song comes to an end, Eddie practically playing himself out, still strumming as he leaves the stage. It takes a second, but the room eventually explodes with applause, chants of EDDIE! EDDIE! filling the club to its ceiling. After a good amount of teasing, the house lights dim again and the band take their spots once more, Eddie front and center with his Warlock strapped back in place.
“You didn’t think we were done yet, did ya, Hawkins?!” It’s as if he’s been struck with new life, rejuvenated after playing that song, defeating that looming enemy he’s had for so long. “We have one more song for you, and I know you know it. Thanks so much for comin’ out, tip your bartender!” They start in on The Crawl, the crowd going wild for one of their biggest songs. A pit opens in the middle, close to where you stand with your friends, and you feel at ease for the first time all night. Despite Eddie’s weird behavior, things have been going well. You desperately wish the other shoe would drop, but at the same time want for once for there not to be a second shoe. There’s always a second shoe.
-
Eddie’s POV
The tension still lingers in his shoulders, but he feels lighter. Salt The Earth had been a big, angry cloud threatening to rain down on him for years, and it’s like he’s finally watching the sky clear. Or, he would have been, if not for the much darker, much angrier cloud right behind it. This one holds what you’d said earlier, behind closed doors, and not for him to hear.
He stomps offstage, t shirt in one hand, guitar clutched in the other, avoiding eye contact with his friends and bandmates as he looks for solace: the bar. He’s already very, very drunk, and he knows it’s not smart, but it’s all he can think to do to drown his memory of earlier, and his shame about the way he’s reacting. What a Catch 22, to need to drink not to feel shame, and to feel shame for drinking.
“Hey, is he-?” Your voice floats into his ears, warm and concerned as you ask Steve where he is. “Never mind.” And suddenly, you’re next to him, leaning on the counter, not saying a word as he gulps down his whiskey. “Hey.”
He doesn’t look at you, barely even acknowledges your presence. He grunts, “Hmph.” in response.
“What’s going on?”
He won’t respond. He won’t open up to you again, he can tell it’s hurting you.
“Eddie, would you look at me, please?” He hears it, the slight crack, whether it’s from performing or from holding back tears he’s not sure, but it works in your favor.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” His words come out jumbled, slippery in his mouth against the liquor.
“There must be, if you’re drinking like this. What’s bothering you?” He chances a look at you, and wishes he hadn’t. You look up at him with concern, eyes darting back and forth between his, trying to read him, dig into him even deeper.
“Nothin’, just thirsty.” He won’t. He can’t tell you he heard you, it would only upset you, and it’s not fair that he’s heard you in the first place.
“Ed, you know you can tell me anything.”
“Ever think I don’t want to?” He snaps, and you jolt. He regrets it, it’s not your fault he feels this way, not on purpose, but he’s infuriated by your care for him.
“Okay,” you start, voice low, “you don’t have to. But I’m around, y’know, if you change your mind.” You almost place your hand on his shoulder, a gesture of consolation, but he leans away, and you tighten your lips to keep them from quivering. “See you later.” And you’re gone.
“Another round, barkeep.”
-
Your POV
“Well?” Steve meets you in front of the buses, overseeing the crew as they load the trailer. “How is he?”
You all but break down at the question. “I don’t know, I really don’t.” You don’t know why it hurts so much, he doesn’t owe you anything. “He won’t talk to me, but something is most definitely wrong. Whatever happened, I don’t have a single inkling of what it is.”
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Steve is gentle, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you let a single tear slide down your cheek.
“You’ve done so much for me already, this whole time. I can’t keep letting you fight my battles for me. I’ll figure this one out. On my own.” He nods, giving you a reassuring squeeze before letting you by, into the bus. You’re the first one in, the rest of your band enjoying their night with each other, and you’re in here sulking. “Fuck it.” You mumble, exiting the bus again. “Let’s go enjoy our night home, huh?” You wipe your face hurriedly, much to Steve’s confusion, but you don’t let him ask more questions. “C'mon! Let’s go dance and drink and be fuckin’ merry!”
He laughs, but it’s a nervous giggle. “Okay, okay! Don’t get all weird on me, though.”
“Please, Steve, you know I can’t promise that.”
-
The house music is blaring Soundgarden’s Jesus Christ Pose as lingering fans drink and dance, trying to catch glimpses of band members in the makeshift VIP sections. You catch your friends in the far corner, and they wave you over when they see you. “Thought you’d gone off with your boy!” Max teases as you sit next to her in the booth, and you try not to make your irritation known.
“He’s probably off somewhere, brooding.” Robin intercepts, a smirk on her face.
“That’s all he seems to do now. Any chance we’ll see him again before we leave?” Mike quips, and El giggles.
“And if we do? Chances are we’d say something to piss him off.” Lucas adds, slumping in his chair.
Dustin mumbles something only meant for you, but even you can’t hear him. “What was that?” When his eyes meet yours he looks away, and before you can ask again he’s sliding out of his seat, off into the darkness of the club. “What’s his deal?” You ask the group.
“Guess he’s not in the mood to rag on Eddie? Strange, he’s usually the one to start the rolling of the punches.” Lucas shrugs, and you sigh.
“Should I go apologize?”
Will shakes his head. “He’ll get over it, hang out with us!”
-
Eddie’s POV
“What the hell, man?” The voice next to him is unmistakable, even in his current state of intoxication. “Why are you hiding from everyone? We haven’t seen you in two years, more than that, and you’re avoiding us!” Dustin yanks the drink out of Eddie’s reach. “Fucking say something!”
Dustin’s anger startles him. “Whoa, big guy, hang on,”
“I have been hanging on, all week. You were fine, almost normal, and tonight you go on stage acting like a zombie, and you don’t come say hi to anyone after. I'm done waiting around for my friend to reappear. What is your damage?”
Eddie looks at Dustin, his sweet face and big eyes as he tries to keep his composure. “Look, man, it’s adult stuff, something you’re not gonna understand.”
“Would you drop that? I’m 20 years old, Eddie, as much as you don’t wanna admit it to yourself. Is it Y/n? Cmon, give me something to work with. Pretend we’re friends again.”
It takes a second, but Eddie catches the last part. “We are friends, Dustin, ‘course we are. I didn’t wanna burden you, or any of the guys with it. But I guess I owe you, y’know, for not giving up on me.”
Dustin crosses his arms. “Yeah, you do.”
“Alright, fine. Let’s go talk.” Eddie throws an arm around the boy, and they exit the club.
-
“What do you wanna know?” Eddie asks, a cigarette pressed between his lips.
“Everything. What happened with Y/n? Why’d you disappear? Why didn’t you call?” Eddie can tell Dustin’s trying to stay composed. He’s a strong kid, but this is even harder for him than the rest of the party. Eddie owes him an explanation, and they both know it.
“We broke up.” Eddie starts, and Dustin nods to keep him talking. “We broke up three years ago, and I hadn’t seen them in two.”
“At all?”
Eddie shakes his head. “I couldn’t, it was too hard. I left Hawkins after that, and couldn’t make myself come back. I couldn’t face you, the guys, or even Wayne, y’know? Everyone thinks…” He trails off. Everyone thinks it’s his fault. It is his fault.
“I don’t.” Dustin seems to read his mind. “Sure, you didn’t handle it correctly, you ran away from us. But it’s not your fault it happened.”
“Dude, I know you mean well, but it is. I let everything get to me. The fame, the break up, and you’re right, I did run away.”
“The fame would get to anyone, Eddie. And as for the break up, of course it would. I had never seen you like that before Y/n. You two were inseparable, infatuated with each other beyond belief, obviously you’re gonna hurt. But you had us, you could’ve talked to anyone, to me.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I should have.”
“Why’d they break up with you?”
Eddie gapes at him. “Why do you think they broke up with me?”
Dustin can’t help but snicker. “Sorry, dude, you’re not hiding it well. The avoidance, the brooding, the drinking. They’re hanging out inside with everyone right now, and you’ve been at the bar all night.” Eddie doesn’t say anything. He wants Dustin to keep talking, to be angry at him, he has every right to be. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something recent.” Eddie bows his head, kicks the gravel at his feet. “Something to do with Y/n?”
“They uh, they said something. To Steve, last night.”
“Oh, please, can you drop that? Steve and Y/n have never been anything but platonic, you know that.”
“No, nothing like that. They told him about a nightmare they had. Said it was my fault.”
“No.” Dustin says simply, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t. You sure that’s it? You heard them say that?”
“Well, no, but-“
“But nothing! You’re an idiot, Eddie.”
“Gee, thanks. I wasn’t already feeling horrible about myself or anything.”
Dustin groans. “You know eavesdropping gets you nowhere! For all you know, they were blaming you for a scuff on their boot.”
Eddie purses his lips. “I don’t really think that’s what it was.”
“It definitely wasn’t.” You stalk out of the shadows. “Dustin’s right, though, eavesdropping doesn’t get you anywhere. Well, except for when I do it.” You give him a sad smile, and he looks away. “Henderson, can I have a minute with our rockstar, please? The guys are on the other bus, if you wanna go raid the snack stash or something.”
Dustin nods, and turns back to Eddie. He wraps him in his arms, the first real hug he’s gotten since coming home. “Hear them out, okay? There’s an explanation for all of it.” Dustin pats Eddie on the back, then gives you a hug before disappearing into your bus.
Eddie can’t look at you, still basking in the post gig glow, cigarette dangling between your fingers. You walk closer, slowly as if not to scare him away. “I didn’t say anything like that.”
“Then what were you talking about?” He asks the ground.
“What did you hear?”
“‘All of this is because of him, as much as I hate admitting it. He’s the reason.’”
“Oh my god, you really are an idiot.”
“Right, I got that.”
“Eddie, I wasn’t talking about the nightmare. I told you, it happens when I come back here. It’s this place, feeding on whatever I’m already worried about. I was talking about my whole career. You’re the reason I’ve come this far, the reason I write what I do. I wasn’t blaming you for anything, I promise. Will you look at me, please?”
He does, finally. He looks into your pretty eyes, sparkling under the bright lights of the parking lot. Your cigarette hangs long forgotten in your hand, and you take another step towards him.
“You think you got here because of me?”
“I know I did. I couldn’t have done this without you, you have to know that. Deep in your soul, you know.”
He doesn’t, or at least he can’t admit it. What he does know is you don’t need him now. You’ve outgrown him, mastered your craft in such a way that doesn’t require his assistance anymore. And yet, you’re still there, waiting for him to come around, just like every other time. “I’m sorry. For this, for me. It wasn’t right of me to assume, to take something I only heard part of so personally.”
You shake your head. “No, it really wasn’t. Here I thought something real had happened. I thought I’d done something to hurt your feelings, with the way you’d been treating me. Avoiding me suddenly like I’d kicked your dog. Turns out, you’ll look for any small problem to excuse your behavior.” Your voice carrie’s a venom Eddie recognizes, each word stinging as it’s spit at him. “I’ll leave you alone. I get it. This is too hard for you, and I guess it’s not worth a fight.”
Before he can respond, you’re turning around, walking away again. “Wait! Please, wait.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to break, but he can’t help it. He can't watch you leave again.
You stop walking, but you don’t turn around. “What?” There’s no feeling in your voice, it’s cold.
“Are we okay?” He asks lamely.
You sigh. “We’re whatever you want, Eddie. Just like every other time.”
He’s dumbfounded as you walk away. You leave him there, alone, just like you’d found him six years ago.
-
Your POV
You can’t let yourself be proud. You know, deeply and surely, that you’d done nothing wrong. So why does it feel like you have? You’re in no mood to see your friends anymore, but it’s your last night in Hawkins before tour resumes, and you’re once again stuck with Eddie and his stupid face.
When you decide to make a beeline to the bar, you’re halted, colliding with a figure lurking behind the building. “Whoa, hey, sorry,” He stutters as you say, “You’re not supposed to be back here,” when he moves into the light. He’s older than you remember, more lines carved into the skin around his eyes and mouth, hair more white than gray, but it’s him. “Wayne, oh god, hi!” You squeak, and it takes him a second to recognize you.
“Y/n, wow. How are you, kiddo?” He cracks a smile, and your heart warms. He doesn’t hate you, even after everything.
“Oh, you know, same old.” He scoffs at your pathetic response, and you laugh too.
“Right, same old, touring the world and all.”
“Totally, just another day in paradise! Did you see the show?”
He nods, suddenly somber. “That’s why I’m back here. I don’t expect you’ve seen my boy?”
You frown at the question. “He hasn’t said hi?” Wayne shakes his head. “Yeah, he was just outside the bus, the big black one down there,” you point to where you’d come from. “Should still be there.”
“Thanks, love. How’s he, uh…” He trails off, realizing his question probably won’t have the best answer.
You give him one anyway. “He’s not good, Wayne. I don’t think he’s been good for awhile.”
He shakes his head sadly. “Haven’t heard from him in months, and after seeing that I had to find him.” His voice trembles, his fists clenching and flexing with each syllable. It scares you.
“Is this normal behavior with him?” You ask the question gently, trying to hide your nerves, and settle his.
“We talk once a week. Thought I’d give him some space when,” He pauses, meeting your eyes for the first time. They’re glassy, and it breaks your heart to see him so defeated. “I don’t know what you know. It’s not my business to tell, I’m sorry.”
You shake your head. “Don’t apologize. I’ll walk you over to him.” Forgetting your dramatic goodbye, you pivot to face the buses, down the road from where you’d bumped into Eddie’s uncle.
“How’s tour been, by the way?” He begins, turning his head to look at you again. “You guys are making something great. Both of you,” He nods his head in the general direction before them.
“It’s definitely been chaotic. We've never done anything this big, and to do it under these circumstances is,” You falter.
“A punch in the face?” He offers helpfully.
And you laugh. Despite it all, you belly laugh at the man’s words, and it feels good to talk to someone outside of everything. Selfishly, you hope Eddie isn’t there, maybe you could hang out with Wayne. Maybe get your questions answered, or at least some inside scoop on why Marie’s diner is now called The Wrench.
“Yeah, a huge punch in the fucking face.”
You make it to the bus, still not running and therefore not leaving this shit town any time soon. You knock three times quickly, three times slowly, and three times quickly again. The bus shakes, and the door flies open. You’re met with the silhouette of Eddie in his underwear, travel sized toothbrush shoved in his cheek, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “What the- Are you okay?!” Your last conversation forgotten, panic written on his face, Eddie switches the front light on. “Wayne?”
“Hey, boy.” Wayne’s voice is weathered, a calming wave over this terrible tension, a welcome distraction.
“Didn’t think you’d have heard about this.”
“You think I’m not cool enough? You shoulda seen me in college, son.” And Eddie laughs, for the first time all day, and you can’t help giggling too.
“I’ll leave you guys alone, it was so nice seeing you, Wayne.”
“You too, kid. Keep it up.”
You nod, holding out your hand for him to shake. Wayne swats it away, pulling you into a hug you return with fervor. “Thank you for everything.” You whisper, and you can feel him shake his head, but he doesn’t respond. He has no idea what he’s done for you in raising Eddie, letting you crash at the trailer on bad nights, and promising not to say anything when he’d caught you singing in the kitchen that one time he’d come home early. He’d treated you, and all of your friends, like his own. He’s your family.
-
You end up playing Bullshit with everyone on the ride back to Nancy’s.
“5” Dustin slaps a card down.
“BULLSHIT!” It’s unanimous.
It’s a five
“FUCK!” Cards are thrown, birds are flipped, and there’s a pink tint to it all. You’d give it all up for this moment, but you know it’s not forever. The kids will go back to school, they’ll graduate, they’ll do something important. You’ll go back on tour, bumping into Eddie in different cities, different countries, until you inevitably kill yourself with drugs or pyrotechnics, or sell out stadiums until you’re fifty, like The Rolling Stones.
“Alright, kiddos, we’ve arrived.” Steve shoves himself from the bench to open the door. Both buses are parked down the street from Nancy’s, halfway to Dustin’s to make the trek home easier for them. “See you soon.” Steve squeezes Dustin first, then the rest of his children one by one. Eddie peers cautiously out of the crack in his own bus door, and you catch his eye. You have a million questions for him, and not a single one you’ll be able to ask any time soon.
“Ed, at least come say goodbye.” Steve says it with humor, a lightness you couldn’t manage if you’d tried.
It does the trick, as it always does, and Eddie emerges from his shelter. He makes his rounds, saying goodbye to the kids, then turns to Steve to say something. You can’t make it out, but Steve responds with a nod, and brings Eddie into his chest for a hug. “Alright, we’ll pick you up in the morning, you gonna be ready to go?”
“I don’t need Mother Steve over my shoulder to make sure I’m ready to leave. Wayne will do it for you.” He pats Steve on the shoulder. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?” You join your friends in waving goodbye, despite the lingering heaviness in your chest. You’re worried about him, despite how many times you’ve told yourself he’s not your responsibility.
Eddie gets back into his bus, and it drives away, leaving the rest of you at the fork in the road. The kids take the left to Dustin’s, and you follow your friends and bandmates back to the Wheelers’. “I didn’t know Wayne still lived in Hawkins,” You start, hooking your arm through Steve’s. “I figured he would’ve left as soon as he could.”
Steve nods. “Guess it’s more difficult than that. But Eddie bought him a real nice plot of land on the far edge of town, and Wayne built the house.” Of course, Eddie bought Wayne a massive plot of land, that doesn’t surprise you at all. “What’s your deal? You haven’t visited the parents yet, everything okay?”
You shake your head. “They moved back to Boston after I graduated, they had no reason to stay, Dad quit his job because he missed the city so much. But they told me they’re coming to the show out there, so that’s keeping me going. It’s weird, being here now. Beyond you guys and the kids, this isn’t my home anymore.” You remember the day they told you they were leaving, and asked if you had wanted to come. By then, you and Eddie had already planned to move in together, but right now you were between jobs and Eddie had only just gotten signed. You’d moved into the trailer instead.
Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder. “You always have a home here, y’know. You can take the rockstar out of Hawkins, but you can’t take Hawkins out of the rockstar. Prime example just drove away.”
Your group reaches the front door, and you say your goodnights before dragging your tired body into the guest bed. Tonight, you sleep alone.
-
You’re back in the dark, this time going seemingly unnoticed as you watch the figures in front of you. You recognize Eddie instantly, even with his strange posture and soulless eyes. In front of him, the taller, lanky figure stalks around, surrounding Eddie with its massive arms and veiny body.
“You have succeeded in your mission, Eddie. You have eliminated the one thing holding you back. Whatever you do now, you do it without them.” The one supposed to be Eddie, he doesn’t say anything. He watches the figure as it moves, unfazed by the words it seems only to be thinking. The voice is disembodied, swimming through your ears, or living inside your mind, you’re not sure.
Before you can react, though, the limbs stretch, tangling themselves around to Eddie’s body. You can't move, can’t speak, only watch as the branches of its arms tighten around him, lifting him into the air before swiftly snapping his spine. The body falls to the ground with a thud, and you can’t scream, can’t cry, you can only watch the body of the boy you love bleed out in front of you, as it would have years ago if you hadn’t gotten there in time.
-
You’re woken up by Nancy barging through the guestroom door, panic on her face. “Hey, whoa, hey,” she hushes you, rubbing your back as you continue hyperventilating. “Another nightmare? Here, here’s some water.” She hands you the glass and you gulp, stopping only to gasp for air. “You wanna talk about it?”
You do, but you can’t bring yourself to start. The first thing out of your mouth is, “Where does Wayne live?”
“Wayne? Y/n, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, where does Wayne live?!” You try not to snap, but this anxiety inside you is not letting up. Nancy tells you the address and you barely register it, but you bolt out the bedroom door and down the stairs, slipping on a pair of abandoned sandals before throwing the front door open.
“It’s far, hold on a second, let me drive you.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” To your left, Mike’s bicycle lay against the side of the house, and you yank it towards you. “I’ll take his wrath for this, but I need to go now. I know you’re gonna try talking me out of it.” You throw your leg over the bike, amazed that it’s now too big for you considering you’d met Mike when he was several inches shorter than you.
“Okay, please be safe. Give me a call in the morning.” Nancy wraps her arms around you, and you lean your head on her shoulder. When she lets you go, you pedal away, only vaguely certain of the direction you’re going.
-
It takes you forty five minutes, but you find Wayne’s house. Out front, Eddie’s old, beaten box of a van sits on cinder blocks, and it makes your heart hurt. You shove that feeling aside like you do the bike, tossing it onto Wayne's front yard before sprinting to the door. It dawns on you, you have no idea what you’ll say, regardless of who opens the door, if anyone does. The light inside is on, and you think you hear music playing, so you say a quick prayer that you’re not disturbing anyone’s much needed rest.
You bang on the door before you can talk yourself out of it, and you don’t stop until it’s answered. When it swings back, Eddie basks in the glow of the porch light, draped in a torn tank top and plaid boxers, rubbing his eyes. “Y/n?”
You have to physically stop yourself from charging at him, throwing your arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. “God, I’m so sorry, did I wake you guys up?”
“No, you’re fine. I was just about to go to bed. You uh, wanna come in?” You nod sheepishly, and he moves to let you by, clicking the lock shut behind you. “Are you okay?”
You take in the living room before you, much bigger than the trailer you’re used to picturing Wayne in, but still very cozy. His mug collection is still on the wall, as well as pictures of him and Eddie, the Hellfire Club, and even a picture of you and Eddie from your senior year. It makes you smile to see you’re still part of the family. in Wayne’s eyes at least.
“Uh, well,”
“Right, stupid question. ‘Nother nightmare?”
You can't help it, you break. The tears fall from your face before you can make them stop, and your breath seems to leave your body. The sobs that erupt from your throat are strangled, broken noises, and you rush your hands to your eyes to cover them. You feel Eddie before you see him again, embracing you without a second thought, rubbing your back soothingly as he lets you cry. “We don’t have to talk about it. It was just a dream, you’re safe. I promise.”
You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest to suffocate the remainder of your sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Eddie. I couldn’t think of anything else, I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I woke Nancy up and I still couldn’t tell her. It was so dark, I was so scared you were,” You pull your face away to look at him. He’s tired, you can tell, soft eyes carrying bags of sleep beneath them that he’s more than ready to put down, but he’s here with you instead. “I can go. I know you probably don’t want me here, just give me a second. I just had to make sure you were okay.”
Eddie shakes his head, holding you still. “You’re not going anywhere tonight. It’s way too dark, and I don’t have a vehicle to bring you back. I didn’t come here to get away from you. I just wanted to be somewhere quieter for tonight. That’s all.” He pulls you back into him, seemingly more for himself than for you. “You’re alright. Let’s go upstairs. I’ll give you the tour tomorrow.”
Eddie holds his hand out, and instead you hook yourself around his arm like a child reunited with your parent, holding on for dear life so as not to get lost again. Eddie leads you up the stairs, and down the hall to what you can only assume is the guestroom. When he opens the door, though, it’s far too lived in. Eddie has clothes in the closet, shoes on the ground, and records on the shelf in the corner. “I keep a lot of my stuff here. Wayne won’t let me take it to LA, thinks it gives me a reason to visit more.”
“Does it?” You sniffle, finally relaxing.
He shrugs. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” He looks you up and down, taking in the clothes you’d ridden here in. “You need something to sleep in.” He turns to his dresser, pulling out an Iron Maiden shirt and another pair of boxer shorts. “It’s not much but,” He holds them out for you, and you take them gratefully. “I can uh,” You’re already changing before he can finish, and you don’t care one bit that he didn’t even bother turning around.
“Thank you.” It’s a whisper, full of shame. You didn’t want to disturb him, to interrupt his time away from everyone. You’d been selfish, biking your way here just to see him.
“You don’t have to thank me. Or be sorry, for that matter. Never.” He pulls the covers back and climbs into the big bed.
“I can sleep on the couch, I know you probably want to be alone.” Even though you don’t, you can’t be right now. You would, though, for him.
“Absolutely not. Get in. Please.” It’s not a question, but you nod, and climb into the bed beside him. Before you can move, Eddie drags you into him, his arms closing around your waist, head burying into your shoulder. Instantly, you’re calm. Eddie washes over you, and you’re overwhelmed by his warmth, his smell, his soft breath on your neck. I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe. You repeat it to yourself until you’re dozing off, and Eddie’s breath evens out. You fall asleep with him wrapped around you, and you don’t have another dream.
-
chapter XVII
taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @lilpotatobean2-deactivated20230 @poisonedluv @kellsck
#st#stranger things#strangerthingscentral#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#fluff#angst#enemies to lovers#estranged lovers#mutual pining#miscommunications#misunderstanding#90s au#au where eddie lives#best friend!steve#fd#new kid fic#stranger things fan fiction#chapter fic
40 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
karenplaysnancydrew
i gotta have some torque
cuddlypillow
smooth seas won't make good sailors
dragoneki
why don't you pretend we were just a dream
meadweos
love is the root of all.