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dilucids · 3 years

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSacrificial duties, Mondstadt ver.

would they sacrifice you or mondstadt?

includes: jean, lisa, kaeya, diluc, amber, albedo and venti.

( i'm too socially inept to request for someone to do this so i took matters into my own hands. )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 JEAN GUNNHILDR ━━ DANDELION KNIGHT 〕

━━ is this even a debate? jean would sacrifice you to save mondstadt.

━━ the question would tear her apart though, she'd spend so much time trying to find another way to save both her city and you that she'd neglect her health ( basic needs, like eating, sleeping )

━━ if it were a person or god who was demanding these terms, she'd try to negotiate anything to save both, even her own life, though if you were willing, she'd hesitantly ( literally beg you to not go through it and reassure she'll find another way ) let you go.

━━ no matter what she chooses, she'll still feel incompetent in the end, as if she isn't good enough to be the acting grandmaster and would probably overwork herself to try and focus on something.

"I'll do it," Jean looks back at you, horror flashing through her eyes though you didn't falter, still staring the entity in her eyes. The wind picks up as if feeling the ameno swordswoman's vivid emotions, she shakes her head, taking small steps towards you as she reaches out for your hand. You cringe when she fell to her knees, "no no no, please, you don't have to do this."

You don't look at her, knowing it would only make things worse for the both of you, you didn't want her to be the last thing you saw nor did you want your face to plague her dreams like a ghost. "I care about Mondstadt too, Jean." You hope she understands that you were also doing this for your city and doesn't blame herself, "it's my duty."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 LISA MINCI ━━ WITCH OF PURPLE ROSE 〕

━━ lisa is a bit more of a wild card.

━━ lisa only oversees the library of mondstadt but it's really unclear the extent of her care for the city itself.

━━ it's impossible for one to say if she would hold a lover priority over a city due to lack of background so that's why she's more of a wild card right now, because i could see her potentially doing either.

━━ though i'm leaning a little towards sacrificing you because of her closeness with jean and her involvement in the knights of farvonius, she knows it would be morally wrong to sacrifice an entire city for one person, lover or not.

"It's okay," you reassure her, smile still gracing your face albeit the heavyweight pressure of death for your city digging it's claws into your shoulders. "I'm sorry," she apologises for the nth time and you can do no more than squeeze her hand in affirmation, knowing a hug would be too much for the both of you right now.

You feel her fingers slip through yours and your hand is embraced by the winds of Mondstadt, a sudden change from the electricity that plagued her fingertips and passed onto yours. You take a shaky breath and leave her behind you, her eyes watching your back along the way until you were nothing more than a dot in the horizon━━ ready to become a star in the sky.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 KAEYA ALBERICH ━━ FROSTWIND SWORDSMAN 〕

━━ another wildcard!

━━ unlike lisa, however, i'm leaning towards sacrificing monstadt.

━━ even with all his background knowledge, kaeya is still a character that holds a lot of secrets and it's canon that he's a mysterious figure, cavalry captain or not.

━━ don't get your hopes up though, because he still may sacrifice you ( after a talk with jean or diluc/j )

━━ kaeya lets anything happen as long as it falls into place of how he has expected to end, he really doesn't know what to do when an unknown entity shows up and demands the price of you for his city or vice versa.

━━ really hard to get a grasp on him.

━━ i could see him spending one last day with you after deciding he was going to give you up ( you obviously knew of this ) but after 24 hours with you, away from mondstadt, he might realise that, even if he regrets it for the rest of his life, he'll never be able to give you up.

━━ alternatively, if he didn't open up to you about this or went to jean or diluc, they would convince him to "do what's right" and give you up.

"No. I'm not doing it," his tone differed from the norm━━ he was never like this, not even on official knights' business. His eyes unnervingly determined, tone you were unable to refute, and words that scared you. "Kaeya, you have to," your fingers place themselves over his, which were barely touching your cheeks.

"I'm not doing it," he reaffirms, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself out of all people. "I'm━━ I'm not losing you to some city. I can rebuild a city, we can find a city elsewhere," he states, eyebrows furrowed and not taking a single breath between his words. You pry his fingers away from your cheek, holding them over your lap. "Kaeya, this isn't just 'some city', it's the city you love. The city we love." You coax, finally getting him to look into your eyes. "You're the person I love." He says, exasperated.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 DILUC RAGNVINDR ━━ DARKNIGHT HERO 〕

━━ hate to be the bearer of bad news,, and as biased as i am to this man, he would give you up.

━━ wouldn't open up to anyone about it, he'll just drive himself insane pondering both options.

━━ and although it would literally make him insane even thinking about losing someone precious to him ( again ) but his loyalty lies within the city of freedom and the city alone.

━━ even after the dispute with the knights of farvonius ( in the webtoon ), he still remains as the protector of mondstadt and i don't think nor am i able to see it will ever change.

━━ unlike kaeya though, i don't think he'll be able to see you at all once he decides to sacrifice you, he'll just be reminded that he'll never be able to see you again and the terrible decision that he's going to go through with.

━━ will also throw himself into extensive work to get you off his mind afterwards.

"You okay there?" Your eyebrows furrow, leaning against the open door of Diluc's office, seeing his hair tied back into a bun, hands in his face as he gazed deeply at his wooden desk. His head flies up at the sound of your voice, clearing his throat, "when did you get here?"

You shrug, taking steps towards him as he leans back into his chair, "being a hero taking a toll on you?" You tease him, taking a seat on his desk next to him and placing your feet on the chair, leaning forward to cup his cheek. He turns away. You're no stranger to his austere ways so you merely lean back, balancing yourself with your hands against his desk, telling him about your day.

"━━and then he wrapped it up and sent it to me, which was awfully disturbing might I add."

"I'm sorry," your eyebrow quirks when he suddenly cuts into your storytelling. You push yourself forward, reaching out for him and redirecting his gaze ( which hadn't looked in your direction even once ) onto you. "What's wrong my dear?" He only grimaces at the nickname━━ wincing almost and still refused to look at you, gaze cast upon the floor behind his bangs. You couldn't even see his eyes.

"Your guilty act is making me ponder if you've had previous relations with someone else, Master Diluc," you frown a little, using your other hand to force him to peer at you. He leans forward, placing his forehead on yours and whispers, "never."

"I just wanted to apologise for the future," you smile a little and place a kiss on his forehead. "I will always forgive you."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 ALBEDO ━━ THE CHALK PRINCE 〕

━━ albedo's original creator hails from khaeri'ah and venti, archon of mondstadt, was one of the original seven who aided in the destruction of khaeri'ah; is that enough reason to destroy it for a lover? no.

━━ would he still do it? yes, yes, yes.

━━ we all know he considers himself a threat to mondstadt but i don't think he would've ever thought this was why he was a threat, to hold an entire city in his palms and be able to destroy it with a single word was quite a terrifying thought.

━━ it wouldn't stop him though, i really don't think albedo holds any sentimental attachment to mondstadt, he only works and lives there as of right now but he's currently heeding his creater's words and pursuing the truth of the world.

━━ he might grimace over losing a few people that he holds dear and end up rethinking his decision but in the end, will choose you.

━━ another reason i think he would destroy mondstadt is that, once albedo discovers something or the feeling of enlightenment that comes with studying something new disperses, he is quick to stop studying that and abandon it due to the "bittersweet truth" hitting him so if he grew tired of mondstadt,,,,,, rip to jean 🙏

Your eyes flicker from the sight of his back to the unknown entity, hovering just above the floor, her eyes uninterested in you as she gazed into Albedo's eyes, maybe trying to read his expressionless face. "Have you made a choice, Kreideprinz?"

Nothing is said. Nothing from Albedo nor you, you didn't seem to have a part in this private conversation but you also seemed to be an integral part of it due to the way Albedo kept looking back at you, squeezing your hand as if to remind himself that you existed. "I'm choosing them."

She peers at you now, her eyes boring into yours as she scans you for something, "are you sure about this decision?"

For some odd reason, you're not offended by her words, maybe because she didn't sound like she meant it in a rude way ( it also seemed out of her standoffish character ) but was genuine in her curiosity if Albedo would go back on his words. He squeezes your hand again, rubbing circles on the back of your hand━━ something he did to calm you but it seemed that this action was to ground him instead.

"Yes, I am."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 AMBER ━━ OUTRIDER 〕

━━ YOU.

━━ in the most heart breaking – heart warming way ever, she'd give you up.

━━ notice how more than half of these mondstadt fuckers would give you up? yeah 🙄

━━ on a serious note, a lot of them have devoted themselves fully to protecting the city and i don't see any one of them being able to give the command to destory the city, even if their s/o was being held with a knife to their throat right infront of them and amber is the very same.

━━ even though we don't know to much about her, she is seen as a perfect example of justice by kaeya, and is extremely devoted to her work, she's just below diluc and jean in the most to least likely to sacrifice you in my opinion. it's simply overlooked due to her lack of presence in the game.

━━ i think her compassionate and kind side will make it harder for her to come to a decision because she doesn't want to have to lose one thing to keep another but in the end, she will give you up.

Amber seemed extremely distressed, immediately running into Jean's office once arriving back at the Knight's base after finishing her usual trek of Mondstadt's surroundings. You had attempted to call out her as she ran through the halls but she didn't even look your way, which was peculiar to you but you could only guess something dangerous must've happened due to her eagerness of reaching Jean's office, slamming the door wide open.

You quirk an eyebrow and Kaeya, stood beside you, whistled briskly, hands on his hip. "Someone's in a hurry," you roll your eyes at his comment and simply grab his arm, dragging him over to Jean's office, "just shut up and come."

The minute you knock and open the door however, the room is quiet. Jean sat on her chair, elbows placed on the table and concern burrowed deeply within her furrowed eyebrows and Amber, who was shaking her leg up and down in anxiety, fiddling with her nails.

Kaeya seems a little amused by the situation, unlike you, who was extremely concerned by the little actions of anxieties Amber was exhibiting, striding over to her side in an instant. Placing your hand on her shoulder, she leans into you almost instantly and begins quietly sniffling into your shirt.

You mouth to Jean that you're taking her out and Jean nods, thanking you with a small smile on her face. You guide Amber into a quiet room in the headquarters, letting her silently cry as you attempt to soothe her. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head, only repeating a small, "I'm sorry."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ〔 VENTI ━━ WINDBORNE BARD 〕

━━ venti is characterised as a free spirit, like the freedom that the city of mondstadt represents, he carries that within him but at the end of the day, he is still mondstadt's archon.

━━ so we all saw this coming but you 👫

━━ i don't really think there's a lot to explain, he's their archon and even if he loses everyone he's ever loved, his priority is mondstadt.

━━ he'll probably take you on that ride on dvalin he's been promising you for the past year with no explanation.

━━ you'll ask him why he's dragged you from work and he'll just say he's feeling nice or that the winds are good for a ride right now.

━━ you'll stare at him with that, 'don't–you–control–the–winds?' look and he'll wink at you, telling you to stop staring at him or he'll blush.

━━ will completely come undone when he seed you happily laughing on dvalin's back, arms spread open as your laugh echoes into the wind.

Your excited whooping is all he hears, previous nervousness abandoned with his hands placed on your waist as Dvalin pierced up above the clouds; the ground nothing more than a fleeting dream to you both. It's such a shame that young, immature Dendro Archon got his hands on you first, gifting you his gift of Earth's nature━━ if not for the God of Wisdom, Venti would've gifted you heaven's winds if he knew how simply being in the sky made you so ecstatic.

The adrenaline finally dies down when Dvalin arrives just above the clouds, wings creating new and dispersing the old. You lean into Venti who takes this as an invitation to push himself further into your side and begin playing with your fingers, allowing you time to simply relish in the situation. "You're awfully quiet today," you muse, staring at Venti with a small smile.

He hums, "it's quiet up here," in nothing less of a whisper. You nod along with his words, fighting the urge to jump into the clouds, knowing you'll pass right through them. Venti sinks into you further somehow, like you were a passing cloud; his shoulder pressed into the crack of your arm and torso, head leaning on your shoulder. "You'll be okay Venti," and you embrace him.

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin oneshot #genshin lisa #genshin jean #genshin kaeya #genshin amber #genshin albedo #genshin diluc #genshin venti #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader

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gtanddragons · 3 years

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Try Again?

Hey all, finally have some G/t writing to present for the first time in a long while. ^^ Based on this post from @miniature-knight because it’s been living in my head rent-free for a long while now and I’ve been on a D/anganr/onpa kick lately. Also giant!Hajime content is VERY good.

Content warnings: Brief descriptions of blood and surgery, mild swearing, major spoilers for DR2, and minor spoilers for DR3 (Despair Arc)

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[ Connection to server lost. Try again?]

[ Stabilizer_01: Offline ]

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[ WA7RNiN6: #%^R01 ]

[ … ]

[ …? ]

—

He wakes up very suddenly, an involuntary cry of pain tearing its way from his throat.

It hurts. Everything hurts. His body aches and protests with every tiny movement he makes, and his brain feels as though it’s threatening to crack right out of his skull. It hurts and his mouth and throat are dry— so dry— and there’s dust everywhere, even coughing hurts, there’s screaming—

…

(…Screaming?)

Hajime finally cracks his eyes open, wincing at how crusty they feel— like he’d been asleep for a long, long time, but… he’s sitting upright, isn’t he? When had he sat up? When had he gone to sleep, for that matter…?

As he begins to reorient himself, so too does his vision. It takes a frustratingly long time, but when everything begins to come back together into a single, clear image—

“H… huh?” He croaks, barely noticing the rasp in his voice in favor of trying to make sense of literally anything before his eyes.

There’s rubble everywhere, surrounding him on all sides and tumbling off of him with every little movement. But more importantly— he can see people running in the distance, far below. All of them are wearing white and black uniforms. It’s familiar… but he’s not quite sure why.

He’s also not sure why he reaches his hand out. Maybe it’s out of shock, maybe it’s instinct.

But what he doesn’t anticipate is actually touching one of the fleeing bodies, feeling his fingers brush against warmth.

He freezes. The student— the tiny student— is screaming. He didn’t mean to knock them over with that careless little touch but now they’re crying and screaming and—

Hajime’s breaths quicken as he recoils, pulling back his hand as though he’d been burned. He frantically looks at the fleeing students, the rubble, the buildings around him— the buildings that all seem to match him in height.

(They’re not… they’re not small. I-I’m…)

He lifts his arms, wincing as more rubble tumbles off his body and smashes to the ground below. He’s gripping his head in his hands, he can’t breathe, he’s breathing too fast and his vision is blurring and everything hurts and he’s terrified and where is he and—?!

[ …Why are you so upset? ]

Hajime tenses up, lifting his head at the sound of a voice.

“Wh-what—?”

[ Why are you scared? They cannot hurt you like this. ]

His gaze darts to the ground, but most of the students nearby had already run away, including the one he’d accidentally knocked over. This voice was… close, but not. Familiar, but not. He knows he heard it, but… he felt it, too.

“Who… who’s there? Where are you?”

[ They cannot hurt us when we are like this. ]

In the back of his head, he has the inexplicable feeling of… something foreign. A sense of self-satisfaction, but one that isn’t his own.

“You’re… in my head…?” Hajime whispers, gripping his shoulders in a desperate hug. “G-get… get out of my head! What are you?!”

A sense of miffed confusion is prodding at his consciousness now. He shifts uncomfortably, wincing at the feeling of invisible fingers poring through his brain.

[ You are not… satisfied? You were crying out for help, so I offered my assistance. ]

Hajime opens his mouth to protest, but images and feelings are suddenly flashing through his mind, not of his own control.

His body, flailing, gloved hands pinning him down. His throat, hoarse from screaming. Fear. Desperation. Pain, as a needle is forcefully poked into his arm.

A starched white bed. Restraints. Seeing an operating knife plunging into his body. He doesn’t know if he’s begging out loud or if it’s just in his head.

The voice. It’s there, too, and he can feel it pulsing at the back of his head. It doesn’t come in the form of words, but in the form of an invisible hand, reaching out. Feelings of reassurance. A silent offer.

It’s one he takes. He’s grabbing onto the hand with everything he’s got, like a drowning man.

And then… nothing.

He’s snapped out of those memories as quickly as he’d been submerged in them, the… thing in his head pushing them aside. Like putting files back into a cabinet.

[ We are free now. ]

Hajime doesn’t respond. His head is swimming, distress and confusion crashing over his thoughts like tidal waves. His memory feels… hazy. Incomplete. But he remembers trusting the Hope’s Peak research team… he thinks. It was supposed to be a series of ‘small tests’. When had it escalated that far?

Why is there something else in his head? Why and how did he get like this? He’s surrounded by rubble and a collapsed building— the same one he’d been interviewed in.

The same one he’d been experimented on in the basement.

He can’t help it. His body is starting to shudder with sobs, confused and aching and distraught. The voice doesn’t pipe up this time, but he can feel its presence lingering, uncertain.

He covers his face with dirty, dust-covered hands. It’s hardly a comfort.

(What… do I do now? I don’t know, I… am I… stuck like this forever—?)

“Hajimeeee!”

He flinches at the sudden shout, close in range yet… distant. He peeks between trembling fingers, his gaze traveling to the ground—

And then he freezes.

Hazy memories are becoming more and more vivid. Even at this distance, that voice is so familiar— that hoodie, that hair— he’s seen them plenty of times before. Thought about them even more so.

“Ch… Chiaki…?” he croaks, his eyes widening.

Unlike the hundreds of students before her, she was running towards him. She halts only once she’s gotten as close as she can get to his leg, the rest of her path blocked off by debris.

She rests her hands on her knees and leans over— even from this height, Hajime can tell that she’s panting.

“H-Hajime… so this… this is where you’ve been!”

His other thoughts are overshadowed by a surge of relief at her familiar (and very much welcome) presence… and a crushing sense of guilt. Had she been waiting for him this whole time…? How long had it even been since he agreed to participate in the Hope Cultivation Project?

He finds himself reaching out for her, the ache in his heart getting stronger— but then he tenses up, his hand stopping only a few feet away from her small frame.

[ Why are you afraid? She cannot hurt you. ]

(Shut up.)

His thoughts drift to earlier. How he had accidentally knocked over that poor student with a simple nudge of his fingertips. How they had screamed in terror and ran—

His hand reflexively twitches, a slight tremble shivering through his arm.

[ …You’re afraid of hurting her? How peculiar. ]

(Shut. Up.)

However, even though he was frozen with indecision, Chiaki had other plans.

Hajime inhales sharply as he feels a little pressure against the tip of his finger, startled as he glances back down and sees the girl grabbing onto his finger without a shred of hesitation.

“Hey, Hajime. It’s going to be okay. …I think.”

His lower lip trembles, even as he lets out a weak attempt at a laugh. “That… doesn’t sound very reassuring, when you say it like that, you know.”

“Got you smiling though, right?”

He sniffles, letting out a soft chuckle. “Y-yeah, fine. Guilty.”

[ What is… this feeling we’re experiencing? ]

Hajime’s shoulders tense up at the sudden reminder that he’s not exactly alone in his thoughts. He huffs quietly, shooting a scowl at nothing in particular.

(Didn’t I already tell you to be quiet?)

[ Yes. But I am curious. It feels very… warm. You care a lot for this human, correct? ]

(...Yes. Now shh. Go away. Something.)

[ I cannot ‘go away’, much as I would prefer being my own separate entity, Hajime. ]

(Really.)

[ Perhaps you should have taken into consideration the future ramifications of allowing yourself to be subjected to human experimentation. ]

(I wasn’t signing myself up for that to get an obnoxious backseat driver, you know!)

“...jime? Ah… Earth to Hajime…?”

He pauses in his bristling to look back down at Chiaki, who is looking up at him with a rather concerned look on her face.

“...You’re acting strange.”

Hajime clears his throat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“...S-sorry. It’s just, uh. Been a lot to process, and… uh…”

He trails off as his fingertips trace up the back of his neck. His hair feels… longer than it did, but on a more concerning note… he can feel a raised, bumpy line going from the back of his neck all the way up to the back of his head. Stitches.

Hajime glances down at his hand worriedly as he pulls it away from the back of his neck. Unfortunately, it came back wet with splotches of blood, like he’d suspected. It was no surprise that he’d torn at least a few of them in the… chaos? He’s still not sure what had happened while he’d been unconscious, but judging from the destruction around him… his escape from the facility below the building couldn’t have been very peaceful.

“...It’s been a lot,” he concludes awkwardly.

“I can kinda tell, yeah.” Chiaki pauses, a mournful, distant look entering her gaze. “I was… really worried. That you might not come back.”

He glances away at that. He’d known he’d be leaving Chiaki for a while, but he hadn’t expected… whatever they had tried doing to him.

(And if that process hadn’t been interrupted… would I even have been able to come back to her at all?)

[ Doubtful. As far as I can assess, your memories and consciousness would have been stifled entirely, leaving me a clean slate for a host body. ]

(It was… it was a rhetorical question.)

[ Ah. ]

That being said, Hajime can’t help a heavy gulp and a shiver at the voice’s interruption before he turns to look at Chiaki again.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I never-- I never thought it would turn out like this,” he offers weakly. Feeling somewhat emboldened by Chiaki’s continued safety despite being so close to him, he shifts his hand a bit so that he’s delicately ‘holding’ her hands between his forefinger and thumb.

Chiaki hums softly, smiling faintly at the warmth encompassing her hands all the way up to her mid-forearms. It’s… disconcerting, to say the least-- she’d be lying if her instincts weren’t a bit freaked out at having her arms held like those of a figurine, or a doll-- but when she looks up at his face, she’s smiling even more warmly than before.

“Just don’t do something like that ever again, ‘kay?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

She takes a moment just to bask in his presence before her smile returns to a more neutral expression. Then, she pops her lip awkwardly.

“...So I’d really like to know what happened. If and when you’re comfortable sharing, yeah? But, uh. Right now, we might… need to get out of here.”

Hajime’s head perks up at the distant sound of approaching sirens, his eyes shooting open wide.

“Oh no.”

[ Don’t worry. We can take them. ]

“That’s not the--!” Hajime catches himself mid-tirade, instead lifting his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Chiaki, you need to get out of here. I can’t let you get caught up in whatever is going to happen next.”

(That’s not the point. I’m not getting myself into more trouble-- I already have enough of that as is.)

[ ...So you do not wish to be this size, then? Even though it will keep you safe from any number of this city’s local law enforcement, and with my assistance, I believe the national guard as well-- ]

(No, I don’t want to be a giant freak, thank you very much.)

[ Mmm. What a boring answer… but, very well. Focus on settling your breathing-- and try not to panic too much. ]

(Wait, why would I--?)

Hajime sucks in one last breath before he suddenly can’t. He can see himself moving, see himself blinking, but he’s not controlling any of it. He’s formless, drifting endlessly, gasping for air to fill nonexistent lungs.

“A-ah--! Wh-what-- what the fuck did you do to me?!”

He can see his fingers releasing their hold on Chiaki, can see her gasping down below as he-- his body-- moves to stand upright, a shower of rubble clattering to the ground in his wake.

“No! Chiaki--!”

[ Shh. I’ve already calculated the amount of debris and where it’s falling-- none of it will fall anywhere near her. And I am merely borrowing your body for a minute while I resolve this matter. ]

“Borrowing--?! Are you kidding me, this is my body!”

[ You need to settle down. You’re interrupting my focus. ]

“No, I’m not just gonna ‘settle down’! Give me back my body, or I’ll--!”

It’s all too sudden, the shift from drifting formlessly through the void into something… a little more corporeal. He still can’t control his body, but in the surrounding darkness… he looks down. He can look down, at slightly-translucent, softly-glowing arms and legs.

This is… better, at least. It’s not his own body, but it’s better than… the nothingness.

And then he looks up.

He suddenly regrets his previous thought.

Looming over him, for lack of better words, is a giant shadow. It would almost look human, if not for the vast expanse of flowing, pitch-black hair that eventually trails off into the nothingness, or the piercing, glowing-red gaze peering down at him like he’s a mere insect.

[ You’ll… what? Tear your brain back open to get me out? Really now. ]

Hajime flounders desperately in an attempt to scoot backwards, but he doesn’t move an inch. He’s stuck floating in the same spot as impossibly-large hands come at him from both sides-- and proceed to cup around his ‘body’. Whatever form of gravity this place has suddenly comes into effect, his softly-glowing form tumbling into the palms of the shadow’s hands.

He lets out a terrified gasp as he’s lifted higher, to about the same level as those emotionless eyes.

For a moment, they both remain in silence. The shadow cocks its head, ever-so-slightly-- as though it were curious about its catch.

[ As I’ve already said, this is far from an ideal situation for you and me both. However, if there were a way to split our consciousnesses into separate entities, I would already be pursuing that course of action. As it stands, we are stuck together for the time being. ]

He flinches as its fingers move around him, thumbs moving closer and closer until they’re…

...Stroking him. Running over his back and head, impossibly gentle for such a massive creature.

[ Just know that I do not intend to harm you, Hajime Hinata, nor do I seek full control over your body. You will have it back once I am finished-- it would get boring very quickly if I held the reins for too long. For now, I just need you to calm yourself-- it’ll be irritating attempting to focus while also having to quell your struggling. ]

Seemingly involuntarily, Hajime finds himself letting out a long sigh, tenseness beginning to melt away from his ‘body’ and his actual, physical body at the same time. The shadow continues to carefully rub at him, massaging his shoulders and back-- it’s distracting enough that he can almost avoid looking at the unchanging, ominous eyes staring down at him, and enough that he almost doesn’t recognize how his physical body is changing.

The buildings around him are shifting, seemingly getting taller and taller with every breath. The process starts speeding up until, in a matter of seconds, they’re all looming over his body-- and Chiaki comes up to his chin instead of barely reaching his ankle.

And just like that, Hajime is gasping and coughing and swaying on wobbly knees, disoriented by suddenly regaining control of his lungs-- and the rest of his body-- once more. He nearly flinches at the sudden sensation of touch, as Chiaki’s hands quickly grab onto his shoulders to keep him from toppling over.

“I’m… Hajime, you’re really going to have to tell me what they did to you when we get out of here.”

He clears his throat in embarrassment and stands up straighter as he gets used to the feeling of his own body again, though he doesn’t exactly protest against letting Chiaki continue to support him.

“...Yeah, I’ll… I’ll try. It’s kind of a blur…”

(...Why didn’t you do that sooner?)

[ For protection, mostly, on the off chance that the facility staff attempted to incapacitate us.

...That and it was rather enlightening to watch you and the girl attempting to get around the mental and physical barriers of your stature to display affection towards one another. ]

(Are you fucking kidding me.)

[ No. Also, please bathe at your earliest convenience. I regret that my brief experience with the sense of smell was fouled by your own body odor and the dirt clinging to your skin. ]

(Shut up. For the love of everything holy, shut up.)

[ I do not carry any particular fondness for any objects deemed by many cultures as ‘holy’-- ]

Hajime groans in exasperation, choosing to focus instead on Chiaki and being led away from the remains of the building behind them.

It… feels good just being near her again. Knowing he has a friend close by is comforting in and of itself-- probably his only friend at Hope’s Peak Academy, for that matter. One he’d come close to never seeing again, if he hadn’t been given a second chance.

“...So what’s going on with your eyes?”

He blinks, confused, before glancing over at her. “What do you mean?”

“One of them is red. And when you went back to normal, both of them were red. That’s not normal… I think.”

He freezes up momentarily at that-- and then he lets out another exasperated sigh before continuing to walk.

“It’s… a long story.”

(...But at least I’m still here to tell it.)

#geez it's been ages since I've posted my writing huh #also as you can probably tell I just got into DR and I am. lost in the sauce #so expect more soon! (hopefully)#gtronpa #astral makes stuff #giant/tiny #the writing corner #fandom g/t

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sparkandwolf · 3 years

Note

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep - sterek

One Day He Won’t Be (read on ao3)

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale Rating: General Summary: He was sick and tired of seeing Stiles hurt. He had picked up after Scott’s recklessness, Lydia’s calls of the dead, and Chris’ too eager attacks more times than he would have ever liked. And Stiles - fragile, human Stiles - seemed to always find his way to the middle. Stiles wouldn’t even let Derek use his ‘werewolf healing powers’ on him no matter how many times Derek advised him that wasn’t an actual ability he had.

(Derek left off the part where he would do anything in his power to make sure Stiles was never hurt again when he responded.)

Derek laid Stiles’ still body in the center of his bed, letting his weak neck fall onto the pillow as his arms spread across the sheets. Stiles looked beautiful, as he always did, even with the darkening bruise next to his mouth and the bandaged claw marks on his shoulders. It took almost everything in Derek to resist running his thumb over the discoloration if only to finally feel the softness he had longed after for so long.

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought and reached for the washcloth resting in a bowl full of warm, soapy water beside the bed. It was a wooden bowl with a fox carved into the side that Stiles had bought him a few months prior. Stiles had said it was to remind Derek that every wolf had a fox and Derek still wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Inside of the container, Derek had stored everything he could possibly need to dress a human’s inevitable injuries. It was practically his Stiles Emergency Kit and he hated every time he had to use it.

It was more often than not as of late that Derek was filling the bowl with disinfectant and holding bandages and cloths underneath his arm while his teeth bore down on plastic-wrapped painkillers. He was sick and tired of seeing Stiles hurt. He had picked up after Scott’s recklessness, Lydia’s calls of the dead, and Chris’ too eager attacks more times than he would have ever liked. And Stiles - fragile, human Stiles - seemed to always find his way to the middle. Stiles wouldn’t even let Derek use his ‘werewolf healing powers’ on him no matter how many times Derek advised him that wasn’t an actual ability he had.

(Derek left off the part where he would do anything in his power to make sure Stiles was never hurt again when he responded.)

Stiles looked peaceful any time Derek broke out the first aid kit, as if happy he had someone to take care of him. If it made Derek’s heart swell, no one had to know. Stiles would sit patiently, making lewd comments about their proximity or complimenting Derek’s ability to remain calm around the sight of blood.

“It took me at least four ER visits to stop fainting at the sight of my own blood,” Stiles had said as if it was entirely in the norm for a child to visit the hospital that many times. Derek had always noted as such but Stiles would brush him off with a simple, “I was Mischief incarnate, Sourwolf, what can I say?”

(Derek started calling him Mischief after that and Stiles never told him to stop.)

He hadn’t looked as peaceful at that moment and it took everything Derek had in him to stop his body from trembling. He grabbed the cloth with the steadiest hand he could and wiped away the blood drying on his temple and on his cheek. He was afraid to scrub too hard in fear of waking the fatigued boy or hurting him when Stiles couldn’t even begin to make a sarcastic remark about liking it rough. Derek squeezed his eyes shut as he rested a hand on Stiles’ neck and pulled as much of the pain away from him as he could. Even when it became too much for Derek to bear, he had known there was more buried underneath judging by the discomfort braided into Stiles’ usually soft features.

“Why does this keep happening?” Derek mumbled as he tossed the blood-ridden rag into the bowl a bit harsher than he intended. It slid across the tabletop, stopping just on the edge as if hoping not to wake Stiles either.

Stiles groaned in his sleep and even in a state of unconsciousness, it was as if he was hiding the hurt that must have been enveloping his entire body. Derek had seen it happen and was powerless to stop it. As if catapulted into a vivid nightmare, Derek saw the rogue wolf’s claws embedded in Stiles’ shoulder, his other hand punching Stiles’ jaw with the loudest crack Derek had ever heard. It reverberated through the loft and straight through Derek’s spine like lightning.

It was only when the wolf was sure Stiles couldn’t fight back any longer that he tossed Stiles’ limp body aside without a care in the world - as if he wasn’t throwing Derek’s entire reason for living away like garbage. Stiles slammed into the wall, only Peter’s quick reactions slowing him enough that it didn’t kill him. Derek made a mental note to thank Peter and then decided to cross it off of his list. Peter had done more damage to Stiles than most so it was his turn to save the boy’s life, Derek thought bitterly.

The door opening snapped him back into reality. He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, him gazing down at Stiles as if he was the most precious entity in the universe, but he was sure it was an inappropriate amount judging by the sympathetic look he received from Isaac.

“Is he--” Derek’s glare must have given away his answer to whatever ridiculous question Isaac was about to ask and the beta nodded and sighed as he leaned against the doorway. “Scott was asking,” Isaac responded as if it made any difference. Scott was the reason Stiles was in that position - half-dead and unconscious on Derek’s bed - so he hadn’t deserved to know if Stiles was okay.

“You can tell Scott that--” Derek sucked in a breath as Stiles winced beside him, gasping as if the pain was finally too much as he reached out toward Derek. He gripped Derek’s shirt, tugging him closer as his eyes squeezed shut, only open enough for tears to slip through. Derek shushed him softly and stroked a delicate hand over Stiles’ head, careful to avoid any of his injuries.

When he calmed, Isaac whispered, “He’s going to be okay.” The words sounded so sure, Derek almost believed him. He pulled more pain from Stiles’ tense form again before he glanced over at Isaac and shook his head.

“One day he won’t be,” Derek spat. He knew it was harsh and that Isaac didn’t deserve to have his anger taken out on him as he was so used to, but he couldn’t help himself. All he cared about was that once again, Stiles was broken, and one day Derek might not be able to fix him.

Isaac left quickly after as if he realized that nothing he could say would ease the sting in Derek’s heart or change the sequence of the night’s events so that Stiles made it out of the loft uninjured. Derek would apologize to him later when he was sure Stiles was going to be okay.

He considered his words when Stiles finally relaxed under his gentle coaxing. One day he won’t be. They repeated like a mantra in his head, a cacophony of Derek’s worst fears and anxieties circling around his mind until there was nothing there but terror.

Stiles once asked him what his worst fear was. Stiles said that his was losing his family to the crazy life Derek had always felt responsible for pulling Stiles into. Stiles had tried for so long to keep his dad away from the supernatural world they lived in and it had eventually been too much to hide. Derek would never tell Stiles how much relief he had sensed once the Sheriff was let into it all, though.

It was obvious to Stiles that wasn’t a fear Derek could have anymore and the boy had never been one to deny the obvious. Derek couldn’t help but laugh as Stiles stumbled over his words when he asked the question and he appreciated that Stiles smelled of guilt when he finally finished his stuttering.

Derek hadn’t thought much about his worst fear before then. It used to be losing his family, but then it happened. All at once and then slowly when Laura was murdered and Peter went insane. Sure, he still had Peter, but they both knew it wasn’t the same. He had always known his fears were entirely encompassed in one word; loss. He had never wanted to lose another person in his life and wasn’t sure if he could bear it if he did.

But he had lost Boyd and he had lost Erica and he was still whole. He had gained Cora in the mess of it all, but somewhere along the way, he had realized he could handle losing her. He had made it through the loss of his entire pack twice and he wasn’t sure he could fear anything else anymore.

No, that wasn’t quite true.

He peered down at Stiles’ calm face scraped and covered in bruises and the realization hit him like a goddamn truck.

“I couldn’t handle losing you.”

Once the dam was open, it was as if he couldn’t control the words that flooded from his mouth.

“You were the first person to remind me of my power - the first person to remind me that I was worth anything at all. Even when no one else trusted me, you went against the people you fear losing the most to let me in. You showed me that I didn’t have to be--”

Derek’s breath caught in his throat and he stared down at the unconscious form in front of him. He hadn’t noticed the hot tears on his cheeks until they darkened the material of Stiles’ torn shirt.

“--I don’t have to be defined by what I went through. You understand me better than my family ever did, better than my pack ever could. I can’t handle the fact you’re lying in my bed and even though you’re recovering, my biggest fear is that one day you won’t. One day, you won’t be fine. You’ll be broken in a way I can’t fix. You’ll be gone from my life in a way that I will never recover from.”

Derek let out a dark chuckle as his grip tightened in Stiles’ shirt, covering the emotions he rarely let slip. He realized that Stiles had been the only member of his pack to see him cry. He had kept their late-night talks - when Derek would sneak into Stiles’ room just to let himself feel for a moment before leaving with a newfound sense of peace - entirely to himself even if his family or best friend questioned him on it. When Boyd was killed, Stiles was by his side, hiding Derek’s vulnerability from anyone who could take advantage of it.

“Somehow you became the only person in the world who knows me inside and out and Stiles-” Derek breathed his name as if it was the most important sound in the world, “-my only fear in this life is losing you.”

The immense relief that washed over Derek as he sobbed into Stiles’ steadily rising and falling chest was almost too much for him to manage. As much as he had tried to tell himself that the reason he had to go through everything his life had thrown at him was so that he could live on fearlessly, he had known it couldn’t possibly be true. No one was fearless in their world - especially in a world where there was so much unknown - and Derek could never have been the exception to that rule.

But he looked up at Stiles and wished that he could be. He didn’t want to be afraid of losing Stiles because it seemed as though all of his fears always came true. That night was one step closer to him having to find something else to be afraid of after that fear came true and he knew he wouldn’t survive even a day without Stiles in his life. Every time he restocked the wooden bowl was a reminder of the eventuality of him not needing it anymore. Every time he washed his sheets of Stiles’ blood was one step closer to no longer smelling Stiles’ scent littering the air of his bedroom - of every molecule of air he breathed.

“You wait until I’m unconscious for a confession like that?” A whispered voice strained from above him. Derek shot up, his hands wiping away the tracks of tears that he couldn’t seem to stop from falling. Derek opened his mouth to argue - to somehow backtrack all of the truth he had admitted without his consent - but Stiles stupidly tried to sit up and groaned in discomfort as Derek pushed him back down.

“I won’t talk if you promise not to move,” Derek pleaded as he cupped Stiles’ warming cheek in his hand. Stiles lifted his arm but before Derek’s glare could deter him, he wrapped his fingers around Derek’s wrist softly and leaned into his touch.

“I think I deserve a chance to respond, don’t I?” Stiles asked and who was Derek to deny him? “You can sit there and deny everything you just said, but I won’t sit here and accept your lies - and yes, I know that’s what you’re going to do,” Stiles said, still straining to find his voice as he cleared his throat. “You wanna know what my last thought was before that werewolf knocked me unconscious?” Derek didn’t, but he stayed silent anyway. “I thought, ‘shit, who’s gonna tell Derek this isn’t his fault?’”

“Stiles--”

“No, you don’t get to say all that romantic shit when you think I’m unconscious and not let me get a word in,” Stiles stated, his gaze hot on Derek’s. “You might fear losing me, Derek, but you know what I’m most afraid of?”

Derek wasn’t going to say anything, but Stiles urged him with that raise of eyebrows that always got Derek talking and he whispered, “What?”

“I’m afraid that you are never going to believe a single word I’ve said to you in the last few months. I’m afraid that everything I’ve tried to pound into that thick skull of yours has barely made it past the surface and somehow, you’re going to blame yourself for the bad things that are - let’s face it - just inevitable at this point.”

“They’re not--”

“I’m lying in blood-soaked sheets and I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out from the pain in a few minutes, so don’t you dare argue with me.”

Derek didn’t. He handed a glass of water and the strongest pain killers he could convince Melissa to prescribe to him over to Stiles and held his head up as he swallowed instead.

“You deserve good in the world, Derek, and from what I’ve been told, I’m pretty damn good. So I’m gonna tell you what you’re not going to do,” Stiles paused for a beat as if waiting for Derek’s argument, but he was done fighting. “One, you’re not going to leave the second I pass out and instead, you’re going to slide into bed next to me so you stop hunching over like you’re in Notre Dame. Two, you’re not going to blame yourself every time I get hurt and instead, you’re going to figure out how to equip me to handle the next bigger, badder evil we’re faced with.”

“Anything else?” Derek asked because Stiles could ask him not to breathe and he would make sure his lungs stopped working.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered and his breath ghosted across Derek’s face reminding him just how close they were, “you’re not going to kiss me right now.”

Derek froze and furrowed his eyebrows, hoping his disdain and confusion was clear on his face. Stiles laughed but it sounded broken and Derek suddenly remembered how much pain Stiles was probably in. He cursed to himself as he backed away, but Stiles reached out to him and yelped at the movement.

“Instead,” Stiles said as he pulled at Derek’s shirt, “instead, you’re going to wait until all I can feel is you. I can’t associate pain with kissing you, Derek, I already associate it with everything else.” Derek nodded and after a brief moment of quiet, he pressed his lips gently to Stiles’ bruised forehead, letting them linger there until a soft sigh left Stiles’ mouth.

Derek laid down next to Stiles, careful not to rustle him too much as they settled together. He peered over at the boy next to him and felt himself smile for the first time in what felt like hours - it probably was - when Stiles smiled back at him.

“In case it wasn’t clear, I’m afraid of losing you, too,” Stiles said as his eyes slipped closed.

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.”

― Rabindranath Tagore

#sterek #sterek fic #stiles stilinski #derek hale #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #my writing #prompts #sorry this is a bajillion years late!#but i hope the words make up for it 🥺

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens - “Risks and Consequences” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Crowley surprises Aziraphale with a surprise skating excursion on Christmas night during a suspicious snowstorm. (1436 words)

Read on AO3.

“You do enjoy shoving me headfirst out of my comfort zones. Don’t you, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, warily watching his husband strap a stiff black boot to his foot.

“Poppycock,” Crowley grumbles, struggling to unknot long laces he accidentally macramed while attempting to navigate the rows of eyelets and hooks. “Consider this an adventure.”

“This is certifiable! You do know that?”

“How? You’re an angel! What on Earth could happen to you?”

“A great many things, I imagine,” Aziraphale replies. It’s a thin response. Crowley can tell Aziraphale has a thought, a vivid one, of something plausible.

Something that has him concerned.

Crowley stops messing with the skate and looks into Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale's gaze ducks and dodges, bouncing from his hands to his knees to other random things inside the confines of Crowley’s Bentley. But Aziraphale can’t avoid Crowley’s gaze, nor Crowley himself, for too long. “Sometimes, I feel as if, one of these days, I’m going to snap my fingers, and nothing will happen. Heaven will have found a way to make me mortal or …”

“Or abandoned you altogether?”

Aziraphale nods sadly. “Yes.”

“I get those thoughts, too, sometimes,” Crowley admits, going back to fixing his angel’s skate. “Too often, really. Which probably explains why you use your magic so rarely, and I use mine all the time.”

“You’re always double-checking."

“And you’d rather not know.”

“Losing my powers wouldn’t be the worst part. Inconvenient, yes, but not terrible. Abandoned by Heaven …” Aziraphale's words drift off, but their meaning lingers, clinging to Crowley's heart and building like the snow outside their windows.

Crowley winks at his husband, trying to get him to smile, to laugh, to roll his eyes and groan Oh Lord! “It’s not so bad ..."

“... once you get used to it. So you keep telling me,” Aziraphale teases, gifting his husband with the tiniest of grins, gone all too swiftly. “Are you truly afraid of being abandoned by Hell?”

"Ngk ..." Crowley’s shoulders bounce a shrug back and forth as he thinks over his answer “... nah. Not really. They've already tried to exterminate me once, haven't they? It’s the consequences that come with it that would really suck: being mortal, having no powers, growing old …” Crowley’s eyes meet Aziraphale’s - melancholy blue eyes exposing those same fears, a subject his angel hasn’t felt comfortable bringing up before tonight. He still doesn’t seem comfortable with it, tight-lipped as an oyster. “But let’s not talk about that now,” Crowley suggests. “Tonight is for having ridiculous amounts of fun. Stirring up a little mayhem.”

“We’re going to get into trouble,” Aziraphale laments. “With the humans, I mean.”

“Nonsense. They'll never even know we were here."

“There are security cameras everywhere!”

“When was the last time you got caught doing anything on CCTV? It would be all over the Internet if you had! I'll fix it. You'll see.”

“By wasting another miracle? Or do you have a small army of rodents positioned on light poles, waiting to do your bidding?”

“Besides,” Crowley continues, overlooking the jab at what was one of his more masterfully executed, if not elaborate, schemes, “I’m not sure this is actually illegal. As long as we abide by all traffic laws and posted speed limits.”

“Where did you even get this idea?”

“From YouTube. The youths do it - barrel down frozen roads wearing bicycle helmets and hockey skates.”

"You're getting your evil ideas from children?" Aziraphale tuts. “Aren’t you supposed to be the bad influence? Not the other way around?”

“No shame in finding inspiration outside your own head.”

“Yes, well, I hope you skate better than you drive.”

“Oi! I am an excellent driver!”

“I know two rabbits and a squirrel who might disagree with you.”

“That wasn’t my fault! You’d think they’d know to get the Hell outta the way of a moving vehicle!”

“Speaking of which, we’re going to get hit by a car.”

“What car?” Crowley stops fiddling with Aziraphale’s skate to wipe down a fogged window and take a look around. Beneath the glow of the street lamps, he sees nothing but snow - a veil of flakes wafting down from the sky, pushed into swirls by the frigid wind. “No one’s out here! It’s three in the bloody morning after one of the worst storms London has had in years! You’d have to be insane to be outside!”

“My thoughts exactly,” Aziraphale mutters. “Bit early for a storm like this though, isn’t it?”

“Uh … maybe,” Crowley says, abruptly returning to his task.

“London isn’t due for snow until January.”

“Is that so? Strange.”

Aziraphale's brow furrows as he watches his husband focus intensely on basically nothing. “Crowley …”

“Wot?”

“Are you responsible for this?”

"Wot would make you think that?"

"Crowley. Look at me."

Crowley's head slowly lifts, eyes aimed everywhere but Aziraphale's face. At one point, he even closes them, assuming that, behind his dark lenses, Aziraphale won't notice.

But Aziraphale does notice. Even if Crowley were speaking to him from a completely different room, Aziraphale would notice.

Because, for a demon, Crowley happens to be an atrocious liar.

“It’s Christmas night!" Crowley pleads, unable to hold back any longer. "The perfect time for a lock-yourself-indoors-and-get-sloshed sort of snowstorm, a'right?"

“So why are we not inside getting sloshed then?”

“Because this is something I’ve wanted to do for a while! And I was gettin' tired of waiting for Mother Nature to accommodate. Plus, with climate change and global warming, nothing's guaranteed, is it?” Crowley moves on from Aziraphale's right foot and begins sliding his reluctant left foot into its skate. “Live a little!”

“I aim to live a lot, which specifically requires avoiding activities such as this." Aziraphale pauses his complaining to watch Crowley work, beyond curious what was going on inside his husband's demonic mind when he hatched this plan. "So," he says, working through the mystery out loud, "you conjured up a snowstorm, froze the streets, are in the process of strapping these awful contraptions to my feet ... would you like to tell me why?”

"Do I have to?"

"It would be nice."

"I'm a demon. I'm not nice."

"Crowley ..."

“Alright! It's because I wanted us to be together like this."

"Like what?"

Crowley sighs. "Like humans. And do the stupidly wonderful things humans do when they’re in love: take moonlit strolls, hold hands, kiss in the rain, all that sappy shite. Humans go skating at Christmas! It's, like, number three on their list of Yuletide activities. It's almost a requirement! Even if they can't stand steady in regular shoes, they go skating. And they cling to one another, and they laugh, and they kiss, and I … I didn't want to take the chance that if I waited, I might miss ..."

Nothing's guaranteed, Aziraphale thinks as he watches Crowley sink in on himself, head bowed over Aziraphale's feet, curling as if he wants to disappear. And Aziraphale begins to understand.

Crowley has been a ball of anxious energy for as long as Aziraphale can remember. Aziraphale doesn't blame him. Crowley has been tiptoeing through minefields since the beginning - making innocent mistakes and paying huge prices for them. As supernatural entities, it's easy to get lulled into the false sense of security that nothing bad can happen to you.

But that's not true.

Not at all true.

Because even a demon and an angel with magical powers aren't anywhere near the top of the food chain.

Crowley destroying Ligur with Holy Water proved that.

So did his belief that Aziraphale had been extinguished by Hellfire.

The fact that he hadn't been didn't prove Crowley wrong.

Hellfire would most definitely annihilate his angel from the face of the planet.

Crowley and Aziraphale helped save Earth for humanity, but every day, the humans work harder and harder towards their own destruction.

Nothing's guaranteed.

Not for anyone.

"If you don’t want to go skating, that’s fine. I know it’s risky. Probably the last way in the world you’d want to discorporate."

"I can think of worse ways," Aziraphale says with a chuckle.

"We can go back to your bookshop, make hot cocoa, listen to your gramophone or ... or something.”

“The biggest risk I’ve taken is sitting right here with me. And that’s worked out so far. For 6000 years, as a matter of fact. I don’t mind taking another one. Just … try not to let me fall.”

“Just hold on tight.” Crowley scoots down the bench towards his husband and wraps his arms around him. “I promise I won’t let you fall.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #Crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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trout-scout · 2 years

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ohhhohoh... 1 and 16 for Ms. Donna Beneviento :>c and 21 for an OC of yours! wild card! your choice who it is!

DONNA :') who is both my wife and a character i identify strongly with. therapists please evaluate.

1- Favourites thing(s) about this character?

Back in May 2021, someone (i think trevor henderson) posted a screenshot of her 3d model from the model viewer on Twitter and I didn't even know anything about the game at the time and I was like.....oh......that's gonna live in my mind for the next fifty years. I love her design. Obviously, since i dress up as her, huehuehue. It combines some of my absolute favorite aesthetic elements: strong silhouette, Victorian mourningwear, death imagery, Japanese theater kuroko, and high strangeness. It tells you so much about her & Angie without any words needing to be said. Which, essentially, none are.

I also love what one can glean about her from walking through her house, which, may I add, is house goals. yes even the basement (especially the basement). The little ornaments, the crafting supplies, the two teacups in the reading nook, the mixture of cozy turn of the century elegant homeyness with a folksy twist & this kind of painful, quiet loneliness, this intense aura of dread. The whole time one is there, despite their nice surroundings, you feel this sucking black pit down at the bottom of your stomach and you know terrible things happened here.

A lot of the reason I identify so strongly with her is this sense of hiddenness, this repression, this covering-up.

a lot of folks say the house B section is boring to replay but I don't find that the case at all. The atmosphere is too strong for it to be boring even when I know the puzzles.

and i love that she's pretty and fashion goals shhhhh

16- What do you think would improve this character? Like, character-arc wise?

Honestly...I have no idea. Part of the impact of her segment is that she both is and isn't present, and that it is relatively brief. If it was longer, would it lose some of its power? I have a lot of thoughts about a potential backstory and what she does all day, and the precise nature of her powers/the Angie situation, but...

I don't know, I was about to say that maybe if the hallucinations were more bizarre and vivid, but seeing as the leadup to the baby is one of the scariest things I have ever experienced in my life (I think I yelled NO, NO, NO the first AND second times playing that) I can't really suggest anything better! Maybe a weirder boss fight? idk game mechanics w/e

Okay, self-indulgent answer is "entire game where you play as Donna during a normal day and you must navigate her self-induced nightmare visions where her entire tragic, traumatic backstory is revealed via allegorical hallucinations...while picking flowers", but that's just my fic Burial. shameless plug.

21- Wild card! Talk about anything to do with this character! Anything at all!

So in 2015 a friend and I started writing this astronomically stupid story entitled White House Black Market after the business casual clothing chain, which was intentionally a kind of mash up of X-Files, Gossip Girl, and the film Jupiter Ascending (later also a lot of other things, but that was the OG pitch). It involved a disgraced journalist uncovering a conspiracy regarding the president of the USA selling genetically modified human test subjects to an incredibly bisexual and hot alien king so he could save his people from a plague.

And then it spiraled out into this wild epic story involving ancient progenitor aliens, dead cosmic god-entities, the galactic government getting corrupted by the aforementioned president, archaeology, extradimensional travel, and secrets. And this one assassin character who was shamelessly based on Garak from DS9 and this art I once saw of General Hux from Star Wars as a sniper. His name was Janus Sicarius. And all this to say is I really miss writing this guy because he had the most heartbreaking backstory and worldview and I'm forever chasing that high with creating character backstories. none quite hit the same.

anyway.

#whbm is one of those things i will likely never finish but lives rent free in my mind yknowhatm'sayin

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bitterlikesweets · 3 years

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There’s No Lying About Love

This is a sidlink fic but there’s also a bit of one-sided zelink

It’s around 2000 words

Link doesn’t know how to tell Zelda that there is someone else that he needs to go back to.

He doesn’t know how to admit it, when she’s battered and bruised, looking at him with green eyes so full of affection that he can’t hope to match it. He averts his gaze uneasily, fidgeting with a large silver band attached to his belt--a bracelet that just so happens to belong to a certain prince that he would love to teleport back to as soon as possible.

“Do you remember me?” Zelda asks, and Link bites his tongue because those green eyes narrow as she continues to gaze at him, and they’re gentle and close and unfamiliar.

How is he supposed to tell her? How is he supposed to explain things to her when she’s looking at him like nothing’s changed? Everything has changed for Link. He’s known her as nothing more than a disembodied voice and few scattered memories that barely feel real for months now. He vaguely recalled a few moments here and there from his past life, but they don’t feel like his memories. He saw himself, but it felt like he was witnessing a different person. That stoic and proper knight did not feel like the current Link, the Link who ran around half naked in the woods, swinging tree branches at anything that so much as looked in his direction. The personal knight of Zelda feels so different from the young man who spends his free time climbing mountains and eating mushrooms he finds off the ground.

Those one hundred years turned Link into a different man, but Zelda is the same as she ever was, and the guilt rocks him until he’s unsteady on his feet. When he stumbles away from her, she reaches out to help him, and she smiles as if she knows how he’s feeling, but she doesn’t. He clutches Sidon’s bracelet, hanging low by his waist, and it calms him until he sees Zelda’s eyes follow the movement of his hands.

“Ah,” she says softly. Her gaze lowers, and he suddenly realizes that she is shaking, her eyes barely able to stay open, and his own selfishness pools heavily in his stomach. He feels sick. He’s been thinking nothing but himself, and Zelda is barely hanging on. How has he not thought to let her rest now that the battle is over?

He supposes part of him has thought of her as similar to the goddess whose power she wields, after knowing her as nothing more than that voice, as a far off entity that had been doing the impossible for a century. It’s strange to see her and think of her as a person, a person who is likely exhausted and clearly staring at Link like a maiden in love, even in her tired state.

“My sheikah slate,” she mumbles, her eyelids fluttering. “Perhaps we can…”

She falls forward, and Link is barely quick enough to catch her, and that’s when he realizes that she was never gazing at Sidon’s bracelet in the first place. He shifts to pull her up onto his back, and she feels impossibly light. He wonders when she’s last eaten as he absentmindedly sets his destination on the sheikah slate, and it’s only as the blue light swirls around him that he realizes that in his panic, he’s sent them straight to Zora’s domain.

When her arms flop limply over her shoulders, and he moves her higher on his back so that her bare feet don’t dip in the water surrounding the shrine in the Domain, Link realizes that he’s tired too. His muscles ache and his clothes are torn, and he wants nothing more than to feel Sidon’s cool fingers on his cheeks, the remedy that has healed his mind as many times as Mipha’s powers healed his body. Perhaps that was why he traveled there instead of his home in Hateno; a part of him was searching for the remedy he always used after a tough battle.

But he can’t help but think it was awful timing for him to fall back on his habits. As much as he loves Sidon’s touch, Sidon’s smile, the Zora prince’s presence will do nothing to lessen the guilt currently gnawing at Link’s insides.

As Link slowly makes his way up the steps, the princess on his back, he spies Sidon standing in front of Mipha’s statue in the courtyard, and Link can’t help but silently curse his awful luck. Sidon sees Link immediately, yellow eyes growing wide and then even wider upon noticing who Link carries on his back. Link is sure that Sidon was probably too young when they knew each other to truly recognize her, but Sidon was the one who saw Link off when he marched off to fight Calamity Ganon. Sidon knew enough about the situation to guess.

Or maybe Sidon did recognize her. Maybe a sense of familiarity washed over the prince, from seeing this woman from his childhood again. Maybe Sidon remembered her more than Link did, even with what little memories Link had left still vivid in his mind.

The thought makes the heavy feeling in Link’s stomach burn.

When he sees Link sway, Sidon rushes over, hands outstretched to help Link, as always, but Link pulls back just before they can touch, not sure if he could handle both Sidon and Zelda at once, even with the princess unconscious. Sidon steps back, yellow eyes staring inquisitively down at Link, but Link averts his gaze, instead focusing his gaze on the floor.

“Are you alright, love?”

Link flinches at the name but nods, and with his gaze still stubbornly glued to floor, he misses Sidon’s frown. When the prince speaks again, his voice is softer, more hesitant.

“Is the princess alright?”

Link nods again, shifting her slightly higher on his back.

"I can arrange a bed for her. I'm sure you're tired too."

Link nods again, and when a few of the Zora come to take her away, she clings to Link, small hands balled up in the blue fabric of his dirty Hylian tunic. Link frowns slightly, leaning his head back to look at her, nudging her head with his in the process. She’s still knocked out, but she nuzzles into his touch and Link stiffens, the now familiar feeling of guilt only worsening when he turns and sees Sidon frowning down at him, his hands clasped behind his back.

It’s moments like these when he wishes words came easily to him, but as always, they don’t. So he hangs his head and pries Zelda’s hands off, refusing to watch as the Zora gently whisk her away into the night.

The lack of her physical weight does nothing to lighten Link’s terrible mood and increasing fatigue. He thinks about going to her, waking her up, just to get the likely devastating conversation over with. He thinks of her, waking alone some time tomorrow, wondering why the knight she seems to love so much is not by her side. He thinks of having to tell her that he can’t be by her side, not like she wants him too.

And the heavy liquid guilt in his stomach sways and rocks him because he thinks of how everyone she ever knew and loved is now gone—except for Link, but in a way, he’s gone too.

Link wants to vomit. He physically sways, and Sidon’s large hands come to hold him up by the elbows and Link’s head spins because Hylia, he loves Sidon, and he loves the prince’s smile and the way those hands always treat him like a treasure, like something precious, but at the moment, even that gentle affection feels like it’s too much. Because he’s something precious to too many people, and he looks up to push Sidon back and his eyes lock on Mipha’s statue—

A garbled noise crawls out of his throat—a whimper combined with a shout of distress, a noise that a wounded animal might make. And Sidon smiles down at him. His red hands slide from Link’s elbows to his shoulders. He squeezes, and Link sags beneath the tension.

“You worry too much, beloved,” Sidon says, and his voice is soft, only for Link to hear.

Link’s eyebrows pull sharply downwards as he frowns because clearly he hasn’t worried enough--if he’d thought more about it, he would’ve been more prepared for this. He would have had a speech or a letter ready or something. He would’ve noticed the signs from those brief memories and not been so caught off guard by the look in Zelda’s eyes while they were both at the edge of their sanity, the last of Calamity Ganon’s energy still fading in the air behind them.

“I worried similarly to you,” Sidon said, “at first. After all, my sister was as fond of you as I am.”

Link shrinks beneath Sidon’s gaze, a frown pulling at his lips. Link thought about it back then too. When he met her spirit in the Divine Beasts, his cheek warmed and he spluttered like a fish out of water because Mipha gauged his feelings for Sidon with little more than a glance. It was easier with Mipha, because she knew without him saying.

And because she could not hope for a future between the two of them, but Link often tries not to think of it that way.

“I wondered,” Sidon continued, gently guiding Link to stand in front of Mipha’s statue, “if she would ever forgive me for such a thing. She loved you deeply, and I…”

Sidon’s hands tighten on Link’s shoulders.

“I wasn’t sure what I owed to her, and if that outweighed what I wanted for myself. I’m sure it is harder on you, knowing that you are all the princess has.”

Link’s hands clench into fists at his sides.

“Link,” Sidon says, and his voice is a whisper again, “I love you. And if, someday far in the future, you found someone you loved much more than me, someone who made you happy, I would understand. I would let you go.”

Sidon spins Link around so that they are facing each other, and Link has no idea when Sidon began to kneel, but they are suddenly eye to eye. Sidon slowly reaches for him, cradling Link’s face in his hands.

“And if the princess truly loves you—and if I make you happy—then she, too, will understand.”

Link is still uneasy, but the painful, heavy guilt in his gut abates a bit. He relaxes just enough to lean into Sidon’s touch, to weakly smile back when Sidon flashes him a sharp-toothed grin. He places his hand’s over Sidon’s as the prince continues to cradle his face, humming slightly in appreciation, and Sidon’s grin grows even brighter. When the nervousness and panic begins to slowly fade, Link realizes just how tired he is. He feels the ache in all his muscles from the long fight, from staying up multiple nights throughout that grueling battle. He sags forward and Sidon catches him with a laugh.

“I think that’s enough being Hero of Hyrule for a little while,” Sidon says. “Time to take a break. Be Link for a few days.”

Link wearily shakes his head with a grumble, even as he burrows into the prince’s arms. He thinks of all the things he should do—people he should inform of Calamity Ganon’s demise. He wants to sweep the areas most prone to monsters, and there’s no telling what he will have to do with Zelda to help her rebuild the kingdom.

“The world can wait a few days,” Sidon says firmly. “It waited a hundred years with a great beast fighting for its destruction; it will survive for at least a few days more.”

Link grumbles dissent again, even as Sidon slowly but surely pulls him to the bedroom to rest.

“Alright then. Sir Hero, think of the lover you’ve been neglecting. Surely, spending time with me is part of your many duties?”

Link’s next grunt sounds like a reluctant form of agreement and Sidon grins brightly, sweeping Link off of his feet and cradling the little Hylian close to his chest. Link manages a playful punch to Sidon’s chest before his eyes lip shut, sleep turning his mind into a dizzy haze.

Just before he drifts off, he hears Sidon speak up, but he’s too out of it to truly take in the words.

“Princess Zelda! How long have you been awake?”

“Oh, well… Just long enough, I suppose.”

Link hears a sniffle. Then Sidon’s voice, full of sympathy.

“Your highness…”

“Just… Take care of him, will you?”

“...Of course. You have my word.”

The real world is lost to Link after that, but he dreams a wonderfully pleasant dream. He stands beside Sidon, their hands linked together. And they look up at the sky together. The goddess Hylia looks down upon them, but her face is strangely familiar. Bright green eyes regard the couple fondly, and when she smiles down at Link, he grins brightly up at her in return.

#sidlink #fanfiction

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arcane-aspirations · 3 years

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The Frustration of the Experienced or, When Nothing is New* Anymore

I’ve recently picked back up attempting an active practice of daemianism. This form of daemianism is inspired by the animal-formed, corporeal representation of human souls in Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series (best known book is The Golden Compass). I first read the series in 2005 or 2006 or so, and I am very sure I imagined what it would be like to have my soul beside me as an animal then. That’s the sort of person I was then - to imagine and bring forth what I experienced in stories that inspired me to my daily life - and indeed, hope to regain a powerful sense of being again.

I first encountered others who were daemians on the internet a few years later. I didn’t remain an active member, but I found The Daemon Page Forum and was fascinated with this community that developed detailed profiles for what sort of person would have what species as their daemons. It was like personality typing, with varying levels of commitment to an imaginary friend or what I would now recognize as a thoughtform.

Let me come back to that. “What I would now recognize.”

Over the years, although I didn’t post on TDF, I would check back every few months as I remembered daemianism and read over various species’ profiles that interested me. I have always been fairly obsessed with representing myself; I never felt like I had to explore or understand myself though - that felt intrinsic and obvious.

Though I always found it deeply frustrating that often the most common “default” characters and teams were the ones I related to the most, genuinely. I considered myself for a wolf-formed daemian for a very long time. That was also an issue for me being Gryffindor, an Autobot, Thunderclan... My archetype gravitated towards that that was popular, which often was annoying in that many who claimed the popular affiliation with something were frequently the ones just claiming an affiliation with the fandom or the popularity, rather than the soul behind it.

I digress. Mostly. That context of something being popular affecting my relationship with the thing itself isn’t completely irrelevant.

I would say the most important and active time in my beinng a daemian was a rough patch in my life around 2015 into 2016. I was lonely and had became my own worst enemy too, given that a precious friend turned enemy makes for the worst sort. The comfort of my daemon, this entity which was supposed to represent the real, true self, was incredibly valuable. Setting aside the slight reprieve it gave from ‘being alone’ - although of course, it was still unforgettable to me that, my daemon being me and all interactions coming from and only being perceptible by me, I was still alone - the sense that I valued, saw, and still was myself at a time where I had very much lost all of that elsewhere was invaluable for getting through that.

My daemon had a name, mostly, and a gender, mostly, and a few forms that were right, mostly. He didn’t do much but provide imagined cuddles from an animal companion friend - I really remember something I did regularly where I’d imagine leaning our foreheads together - but I remember feeling at least sometimes happy and content as a result of the whole thing. But he wasn’t quite what people on TDF would’ve called a daemon.

Firstly, as much as I liked the idea of having an animal to identify my persona, my self, by, I didn’t like the idea of “settling” in one form. “Settling” indicated being an adult in Phillip Pullman’s series, which I have always reviled becoming and now being. That is, perhaps, a story for another time. Beyond that, it felt limiting - let’s put a pin in that one, too, though only for later in this post.

Secondly, my daemon occasionally wasn’t an animalic shape. In one vivid memory, I danced in my aunt’s kitchen when I was home alone one evening with my daemon in the form of N Harmonia from Pokemon. Is N Harmonia even someone I think is close in personality to myself, and thereby a fitting depiction of myself? Not at all, although I do think we’d be excellent friends.

Thirdly - here’s the woo warning for folks who’ve missed that my blog is witchy - I started having the sense that my daemon wasn’t “just” this thoughtform expression of my soul. I remember feeling like having this thoughtform that was me projected was sort of this... shell of my own self, that then this entity from very far away - in space, in time, from another life, who knows, it’s complicated, I never even felt comfortable saying whether it was real or not - I felt very connected to because we were of similar soul energy could inhabit. That was very much not related to daemianism. A pin here for later in post, too.

I don’t totally remember why my focus on daemianism waned for a bit after that. Things didn’t really get better for me, but my fixations do tend to move around. It may well just be that I got better enough to start playing video games again, and was checked out from my surroundings where a daemon would be projected to remind me where he was. Or it might have just started bothering me too much that he wasn’t “real” in so far as he couldn’t/didn’t exist outside what I projected.

It bothers me that I have to create and maintain so much of the things that bring value to my life myself. It’s exhausting. And those things don’t feel as real as things that exist independent of me and my influence. There’s power in “I invented that” and there’s a kind of resignation about one’s world in “I had to invent that, because it wasn’t there but I wanted so very much for it to be”.

And while there’s others out there, obviously, doing this whole daemianism thing, was that what I was doing anyway? Clearly I was taking it my own direction... or at least, combining it with other non-daemianism things that made it distinctly not quite exactly daemianism.

So while I’ve off and on projected my daemon back into the space around me - that’s the term for imagining and “seeing in your mind’s eye” your daemon existing in and interacting with your environment around you - since then, I haven’t done nearly as much.

I’m picking it back up recently and finding it rather difficult.

Some of the things I established as fitting and suitable back then, while still suitable and true in some lights, are hidden under a complicated tangle of things that don’t make them untrue but certainly obscure or make the way to the situations and perspectives where that truth is apparent difficult. There are roads I don’t walk anymore, even though those roads and how I’d walk them are still important to me. There are many roads I walk now that ...could? should? be acknowledged now that mean nothing to me but resentment that they’re where I walk. I still feel I am the same person I was; I just feel like I never get the same sorts of opportunities to be myself.

So the forms’ fittingness to my personality feel a bit tangled in the context of my life I can’t control, where embracing that tangle feels like a near final step of losing myself. The name is roughly the same; I want a name that feels right and conveys something, and anyone who’s ever named anything to convey a meaning probably has experienced that problem.

And I can’t focus on forms suiting myself entirely, because I’m still bothered by knowledge of how a form is perceived popularly - or because of an animal’s popularity. That in and of itself feels like misrepresentation or miscommunication; I’m not able to communicate why I really feel that is right because there’s an assumption it’s what I chose consciously or unconsciously because it was popular; I’m not able to communicate through that sense of the popular thing that I feel incredibly different and disconnected from others; I’m not able to communicate what I’m saying because the most accurate denotative and personal connotative vocabulary I can find to communicate is full of connotations I don’t mean to others.

Let’s not even start with pronouns, alright?

But I think something in particular that’s frustrating is that daemianism is not the only thing on my mind when I think:

1. representation of the self

2. a form to indicate the self on an entity with malleable form

3. thoughtforms

4. animal representations of the self

I neither want to compartmentalize nor combine daemianism & daemons with witchcraft/paganism familiars/fetches, my polymorphic shapeshifter Otherkinity, souls, thoughtforms, and entities I may or may not share some kind of special soul-energy-woo bond with.

I don’t want to separate what has a resonance - except that resonance, frustratingly, sometimes shifts.

I don’t want to combine what could be varied and interesting, because now any community or representation of that thing is no longer what I am doing or can speak about and find any sense of connection through - or worse, what I am now taken to be misrepresenting or ill-informed about.

And this is the frustration of the experienced, visible here but far from exclusive to daemianism, spirit work, et al in my life: what I know I cannot but help connect to what else I know.

Connecting what I know to what I know alters forever what I do and feel about what I know and what I learn next. I have opinions and feelings about so many things, and everything I encounter is layered upon my opinions and feelings about it all.

And I feel like that connection isolates me from ever being able to appreciate and participate in something new and fresh.

It isolates me from being able to connect to the experiences of someone else who doesn’t have the connections and syncretic perceptions that I do.

I never wish to be someone I’m not, but I frequently wish to be less experienced than I am.

*I don’t think ‘new’ is the word I wanted here, but I couldn’t find it. After the post, I feel fine recording that what I wanted to reflect was not just that something was new and exciting, but also that something was able to be fresh and untainted; able to be its own thing viewed on its own terms without being conflated, connected, or tied to anything else.

#daemianism #experiences recounted

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milkywinnie · 4 years

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"𝐈𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧" || PRINCE ZUKO

𝟎𝟎. 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 (2,579 Words)

"You know, I live with many regrets, but the biggest things I regret at this moment was not bringing a jacket..."

You huffed, shivering from the cool breeze that swept past in your direction. Shakily, you rubbed your hands together, and lifted them next to each other to ignite a small flame from within your palms.

'It's so cold that I have to spare my breaths.' You sighed, spreading out the map down on the wooden surface. "I need to find a village soon. My food supply is running low." Ever since you had escaped from the Fire Nation and its kingdom, times have never been harder, especially knowing that you're constantly on the run.

The water currents shifted and swayed in a variety of directions, signaling the upcoming of a dangerous storm. "Oh no...! This can't be any good." You clenched your fists, discarding of the flames rising upon your palms, and rushed to find a secure shore to rest upon.

The tides raised chaotically as you let out a muffled scream as the waves crashed against the frail boat. With haste, you tucked the letter securely into your bag, before you felt your body being submerged into the icy waters below you. 'I can't go out like this...! I have to find the Avatar!'

But the air escaping from your lungs refused your desire to call for help. Desperately, you clung onto a scrap from the broken boat. "Someone, please..." You coughed out, your consciousness slipping from your being, feeling your body become lethargic, and your mind hazy and clouded.

In the distance, figures approached you, but they were too late - you had passed out.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you woke up, you realized that you were in an area unfamiliar of your own. "W-Where the hell am I...?" You murmured softly, lifting yourself from upon the firm polar bear skin you were snuggling upon. All you could actually recognize was the throbbing headache that was pounding against your head.

"Hey, I think she's waking up!" A feminine voice exclaimed, causing you to rise from your dazed state. "Who's there?" You stated in a demanding tone as you scrambled from the floor to get into your fighting stance. "O-Oh, don't worry! I'm not a threat to you!"

You skeptically glanced over at the pretty, young girl in front of you. Her long, deep brown hair that was braided into a singular braid. Her sapphire-colored eyes shined brightly - maybe out of fear or bewilderment from your actions.

Her custom tribal clothing let alone made you immediately aware of the fact she was from the Water Tribe, and knowing your directions, most likely from the southern district.

"My name is Katara, and I come in peace. My brother and I found you washed upon a glacier." She introduced herself, extending a hand out in your direction. Relaxing your posture, you shook her extended hand. "Thank you for rescuing, I'm in your gratitude." You thanked her, before pulling your hand away.

"I'm sorry, but where is my bag? I must continue my venture as quickly as possible." You wondered, looking aimlessly in multiple directions in search of you beaten and probably soaked luggage, much like your cloak.

"Oh, everything was soaked to the bone in that bag, so my tribe took the custody into warming it up." Katara explained, placing a bowl of soup down on the low tea table in front of you. "I'm sorry, but I must be on my way! I have to meet up with the Avatar!" You instantly froze at her statement.

"The Avatar?!" You yelled, rushing up to her to clutch her shoulders tightly. Katara, obviously, flinched from your sudden burst of energy, but she nodded nonetheless. "Yes... His name is Aang, and he brought us back here while we were trying to reach out to you."

You were completely stunned with the news that you had received. "T-This is amazing! I'm actually speechless!" You gasped in amazement as you giddily embraced the younger girl into a hug. "Yeah, I definitely agree!" She beamed, hugging you back. Now that you've realized that your hunt was over, you felt a little more at ease.

"Wow, Katara, real professional, and you say I couldn't snuggle up with her while trying to warm her up." A make voice whined with disbelief. "And I'm going to assume that he's the brother you speak of, right?" The both of you giggled, pulling away from the rather warm hug.

"Hey, the name's Sokka, gorgeous." "And I'm not interested, lover boy." You hummed, winking playfully at the boy in front of you. His brown hair was shaved amongst most of its perimeter, leaving him with a parting on the top of his hair, which was formed into a bun. The boy, most likely the same age as you, eyes burned in your direction, mentally plotting as to what to do next.

He wore a familiar uniform, much like Katara's, but with his own weaponry slung around him. "But now..." Sokka began, before aiming his dagger, which was constructed into the form of a boomerang, pointing directly at you.

"What are you doing within this region?" He sneered shakily, but his voice demanded answers. You chuckled at his brute approach, watching how Katara attempted to calm her elder brother down. "Me? I'm just a mere traveler who sought to travel the world..."

The lies slipped past your lips with ease as you faked a wry smile. "It was so frightening on my own, and I appreciate such kind, humble citizens like yourself saving me." Sokka and Katara exchanged glances between themselves, watching their facial expressions shift into ones that displayed guilt.

"It's no problem, miss, really." Katara comforted, patting your shoulder gently. Sokka released a stream of incoherent words muffled under his breath in defeat.

"Fine, she can stay a little while longer, but by sunrise she must go." Sokka declared, looking over at you. you could feel his distraught, suspicious demeanor still wavering from off of him, but for now, you knew that you were in the clear.

"Great! Now you can stay, and even meet the Avatar!" Katara grinned happily, pulling you along outside of the tent. You squinted from the harsh sunlight that was being emitted, and reflecting from the pale white snow. Looking further, you noticed several little children and adults in awe, watching an entity fly throughout the cool winds.

You couldn't believe it, you were in amazement to the sight you were viewing. There he was, flying his in the bright blue sky. "Amazing..." Was the only word you could muster as you watched what took sight from above. Well, it was amazing up until the point where the poor boy crashed into the watchtower.

"My watchtower!" Sokka cried out, rushing to the pile of rubbish that as left behind for him. "That was amazing!" Katara gushed before rushing to Aang's side to help him up. "Definitely, I dare say that I am impressed." You smiled, clapping your hands together. Though the Avatar was much younger than you thought, it he was intriguing.

As Sokka was digging through the broken watchtower, Aang released a powerful gust of wind, causing snow to topple down upon him. You tried to muffle your giggle by covering your hand over your mouth.

"Great. You're an airbender, Katara's a waterbender, together you can just waste time all day long." Sokka taunted, patting the snow from off from his body. 'A waterbender, huh? Duly noted.' Your [e/c] eyes glanced over at the pair of teens conversing happily about their abilities, knowing that you couldn't put your input of your firebender powers.

'People fear others from the Fire Nation, they hate them...'

Sokka noticed your discomfort, and decided to approach you. "Hey, it's okay to be uncomfortable around benders. They're overrated, anyway." Sokka blushed slightly from your little laugh, watching as you shuffled closer next to him.

The invite to converse with another was refreshing, along with Sokka's vivid personality. Despite his misogynistic conceptions, you could tell that he was genuine with his passions., and you liked that especially about him.

"Hey, I've gotta go train my men, but you're allowed to observe, if a girl like yourself is into that type of thing."

You had to scoff at Sokka's comment. "Although I'd love to show you off at your little lesson, out of gratitude, I'll watch."

Sitting on the frozen water, you watched as Sokka assembled the team together with haste. While he was getting everything together, you quickly looked around for your bag, and an escape route, if things went in the wrong direction for you.

You were astonished to see a flying bison that was sleeping on the floor across from you. Its arrow symbols that trailed up and down its body made it easy to realize that it was Aang's, but then again, only the Airbenders wielded such useful and kind creatures.

'Maybe the flying bison wouldn't mind helping me...' You pondered, also mentally noting to grab your bag as well. Hopefully, no one bothered to look through it, or else you'd be given away.

"Now men, it's important that you show no fear when you face a Firebender. In the Water Tribe, we fight to the last man standing. For without courage, how can we call ourselves men?" You quickly realized that Sokka's training has begun, and decided to pay a bit more attention to him.

Not to mention that his "men", were a group of little toddlers who clearly didn't want to be here, especially one kid, who was desperately trying to go to the restroom. "I gotta pee!" He cried out, trying to hold his bladder best that the poor boy could.

"Just let the boy go, Sokka." You intervened, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. Though Sokka was ready to protest, you asked, "Actually, who else needs to go on a potty trip?" Every other kid raises their hands, and Sokka sighs at the sight.

You send them off to the bathroom, watching as Sokka slaps his forehead in embarrassment and disgust of his mini crew mates. "It's okay, Sokka. They're just little kids, after all."

After Sokka's failed lesson, Katara approached the two of you. "Have you seen Aang? Gran Gran said he disappeared over an hour ago." Katara's voice wavered, concerned for the younger boy as she looked around for him.

"No, I haven't seen him around, but I'm sure he's fine, Katara." As if on cue, Aang exits the bathroom with a childish grin. "Wow! Everything freezes in there!" The children laughed at his statement as Sokka becomes upset from the constant interruptions.

"Ugh! Katara, get him out of here. This lesson is for warriors only." Sokka grunted, making a shooing motion towards Aang. You barely managed to suppress a laugh. "I think your lesson is gonna be cut short, Sokka." You mentioned, directing your eyes over to the children playing around the bison.

"Haha, yeah!" Aang nodded, noticing your presence. "Hey, you're the girl Appa and I saved!" He grinned, making his way over to where you and Katara stood. "Appa?" You raised a brow at the unfamiliar name.

"Yeah! Appa's my flying bison, and I'm Aang!" He introduced himself, smiling proudly. A slight smile crossed your face as you waved politely.

"Nice to meet you, Aang. My name is-"

"Stop! Stop it right now!" Sokka yelled, finally done with putting up with all the chaos going on around him. "What's wrong with you? We don't have time for fun and games with a war going on." He seethed, pointing his finger directly into Aang's chest.

"What war? What are you talking about?" Aang stopped playing around at the mention of a war. He was so stunned at the fact that the world he used to know was changing all around him in an instance, and that scared him.

Though the feeling wasn't as severe as it were have been for you, knowing that your father had left for the war, and knowing that he would never return back home was always a sad thought. Knowing this, your mother was forced into careers that wasn't a pleasant lifestyle, but was something that she could provide for you.

"You're kidding, right?" Sokka's jaw dropped in surprise, unable to believe that Aang was unaware of the constant war that was occurring for over one-hundred years. "Something's not right here..." You murmured softly to yourself, mentally connecting the dots as to why Aang didn't know everything that had transpired.

You were about to investigate deeper with Aang, but he was gone with the wind, along with Katara following after him. "Now that there's no more distractions, care to observe in peace?" Sokka flirtatiously wiggled his eyebrows as you rolled your eyes in amusement. "Sure, after I find my bag. I have a change of clothes in there." You motioned to your beaten up satchel.

"Fine, go look through your purse, I'll start again with my men."

"Sure, ponytail, but you'll be upset when I won't see what's going on."

And you wished you were out there when a sudden strike was laid upon the once peaceful village, and the heat of the attack made it all to familiar as to the enemies that were fighting.

"The Fire Nation..." You growled in disgust, quickly changing into your other outfit that covered more of your [s/t] skin, and covered your hair. You reached through your bag, grabbing your silver-trimmed fan with thin blades that structured the weapon.

You rushed out of the tent to see a large, metal ship heading in the direction of the village, already see part of the once frozen grounds melted with ease. "Oh no, they've already started attacking." You muttered, running up to where Sokka was tightly wielding his weapon, his hand shaking out of either fear or anger.

"You told them about us being here!" Sokka yelled, jabbing his pointer finger in my direction. "Maybe you just infiltrated our home, so that they could take over!" "And why the hell would I do that when I'm on the run from them!?" You shot back, aiming your weapon into his chest.

"Well, because we don't even know a lot of information about you like your name?!" Sokka defended his case, crossing his arms in protest. "Well, I tried to tell it to Aang, but you interrupted our conversation, dumba-"

"What the heck is going on here?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[NOTE]: Thank you all for reading my Zuko x Reader Story! The purpose of this story was not only to relive one of my first childhood crushes, but to allow everyone who is new to this community to experience a proper fanfic that follows the plot of the story, and still with a hint of romance with our best boy, since I am aware that there is not many! Please know that this story will be a slow burn, and will have some moments of smut, so be aware!

Any who, please make sure to like, comment, and share this story to others who may enjoy it as well! Much love, and I hope to see you all in the next chapter, lovelies!

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fishoutofcamelot · 4 years

Note

I saw your r recent contribution to the post about hard vs soft magic systems and I agree wholeheartedly. You also mentioned having a bunch of worldbuilding and stuff about the magic system, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to share some?

(For reference, this is the post in question)

Certainly! While the worldbuilding/magicbuilding hellscape i was describing in the notes is actually in regards to an original-content wip I've been working on, i also have a LOT of headcanons regarding the BBCM magic system too! (Do not ask about my wip's magic system, because i won't be able to shut up about it)

WARNING: long post ahead and mobile won't let me include a cutoff/read-more line. If you're not interested, get ready to scroll down like your life depends on it (and it does).

So! First things first. Here's what we know about the BBCM magic system:

Magic requires spells, most of the time. This seems like a no-brainer, but still an important distinction. There are a lot of magic systems that don't require vocalized spells - Avatar: the Last Airbender, Fullmetal Alchemist, and Ninjago, to name a few. Spells are rather common for wizard/witch/medieval fantasies, and are typically used to control and channel the intent of the magic. This suggests that the magic of BBCM is some kind of force or energy that needs spoken commands to control.

Spells are repurposed words from Old English, aka the language of the Old Religion. (Let's ignore the obvious anachronistic nightmare of the fact that Old English is exactly the same language they would've been speaking in this time period.)

The use of a spell causes someone's eyes to flare gold, plus that fancy wooshing sound effect that Arthur miraculously never hears. This suggests that magic somehow changes your physiology, although it could be also just be a side effect of channeling.

However, magic doesn't always require a spell. Though never fully explained, it appears to be something only innate magic users are capable of - Merlin, Morgana, Mordred. It is something less controllable than spellwork, typically governed by moments of strong emotion rather than logical intent.

The show consistently flip-flops between the idea that magic is something you're born with, and that Merlin is rare for being born with magic. It's never clarified just how someone acquires magic. Gaius asks Merlin where he studied, suggesting that it's something you can learn, while Balinor claims that you either have it or you don't. Though not confirmed fact, i suspect it's similar to how it works in the show Supernatural. There, some witches are natural-born, while others are taught (and some get their powers from spooky demon deals).

It has a life-for-a-life policy. Basically like the Law of Equivalent Exchange from Fullmetal Alchemist, a life cannot be created without another one being sacrificed first. This rule only canonically applies to creating life/the Cup of Life, and any other possible applications aren't addressed.

This rule apparently doesn't apply to animals, as Merlin brought a dog statue to life without killing anyone (that we know of), and Valiant's shield had three live snakes in it. However, it's possible that lives were taken as payment in the process of animation without Merlin's knowledge, but it never happens on screen so we don't know. So either a) animals don't have souls to exchange in the life-for-a-life policy, b) they do but it happens off-screen, or c) those animated animals aren't actually alive.

The Cup of Life infuriates me from a magicbuilding perspective. Ignoring the obvious question of how it came into the druids' possession, its existence isn't clearly defined. Does it require the fancy rain ritual that Nimueh gave it, or was she just extra? Why does drinking from it give you life, while bleeding into it makes you undead and also mindlessly obedient to the sorcerer who made you as such? Were there life-for-a-life consequences for creating an immortal army? Wtf happened on the Isle of the Blessed to allow Merlin to "master life and death", and what does that even mean? All valid questions that never get answered.

Spells sometimes need need a 'source'. Think the staff from "The Tears of Uther Pendragon" and Morgana from "The Fires of Idirsholas." It is unclear what makes these spells different/special.

There is a power hierarchy. Some spells are too powerful for some practitioners to cast, although the reason for this is unclear. Does it drain you of energy/life force? Do you exhaust/overwork your magic muscles? Do you get a little pop-up that says 404 Magic Not Found? Unclear.

Magic is something that can be trained and improved. For example, Morgana gradually became more powerful over time. Merlin naturally had a lot of power straight off the jump and just had to discipline it, but he's a ~special~ case so he doesn't count.

There are some subsets of magic that are definitively born traits. Morgana is a Seer, possessing this capability even before her magic manifested. Likewise, Merlin is a dragonlord, which he inherited from Balinor. Although Balinor did mention that it wasn't a sure thing he would have the ability until he faced a dragon, so there may be some variation in whether or not someone lucks out in the Magic Gene Pool. This may suggest that natural-born magic is hereditary, as both Morgana and her sister Morgause had it. Vivienne and Gorlois both probably didn't have it, otherwise you'd hear Uther bellyaching about it, which raises the question of where they got it? A grandparent, perhaps? Maybe they both carried a recessive magic gene or something...

Unless you're Merlin, magic can be taken away by the Gean Canagh. It's not explained how this is possible, though, as it's never explained how you acquire magic in the first place. But Merlin never lost his magic because he's "magic itself" which if you ask me is just a deus ex machina wrapped inside a headache wrapped inside a heaping load of chosen one bullcrap. But it's canonical lore, so we have to consider it.

Despite my previous complaints, i actually find the idea of Merlin being "magic itself" rather intriguing. Is he a creature of magic, like a dragon or a questing beast? Is his body made of magic, like how a statue might be made of clay? Does it run through his veins like blood? If this is the case, then why didn't he suffer more severe ramifications for losing his magic? Why didn't it kill him? How did it restrict his magic in the first place? Placebo effect? The fanon explanation is that he's "the living embodiment of magic" but that makes my bullcrap richter scale shoot off the charts because that makes NO sense whatsoever. "Son of the earth, sea, and sky?" What does that MEAN?

There is a vivid link between magic and the Old Religion, which has its own beliefs and rituals and deities. Primarily, the Triple Goddess. The Triple Goddess is actually an existing deity in Neopaganism and Wicca. This also suggests the existence of the Horned God, another entity from neopagan lore and her masculine consort/counterpart, but that is never confirmed.

WHO. OR. WHAT. IS. THE. FREAKING. DOCHRAID. She's described as a creature of magic, which suggests that humans/humanoids can be creatures of magic, fueling my theory that 'Emrys' isn't human.

Destiny exists. It is unclear who creates/writes destiny, who controls it, who or what is privy to knowing about it, and what that means for the concept of free will.

The crystal cave is a thing, i guess. It's the heart of magic, is haunted by Taliesin, and is filled with prophetic crystals. I actually skipped the episodes that involve this stuff because i disliked them, so i don't know much about the Crystal Cave. Apparently ghosts can manifest there tho???

The veil is a thing too. It is unclear how some spirits can retain their human figure and mentality, like Balinor and Uther, but others become dorocha. I imagine its also like Supernatural - being a ghost for long enough will drive you insane, and though it takes a while all spirits eventually turn into dorocha.

Creatures of magic exist. These are normal creatures who have magic imbued into them somehow.

Okay, i think that's everything we know. It seems like a lot, but keep in mind that all of those rules are VERY nebulous. But that at least gives us a jumping-off point!

So here's my working theory/headcanon.

Magic comes from a connection to the spiritual energies of the Triple Goddess. Kinda like a third eye, and for the sake of simplicity that's what we'll call it. The druids have adapted a way of life that revolves around faith and magic, likely in an attempt to cultivate and one day attain this Third Eye. Like Gaius, who trained with the High Priestesses, you can study and practice and discipline yourself into acquiring it.

Magic is a cosmic force owned by the Triple Goddess, accessible to anyone with the Third Eye link. Imagine the Triple Goddess as a milkshake and the so-called Third Eye as a straw. The studying and training that people dedicate their whole lives to is basically just looking for/building a straw.

However, some people are just naturally born with a straw in hand, but require practice and study to be able to properly use it. Or like Morgana, it takes a few years for them to even find it/activate it.

Spellcasting is essentially just sucking through the straw, and the vocalized spells gives that Magic Milkshake some purpose/intent/shape.

The bigger the spell, the more Magic Milkshake is required. Some people have bigger/wider straws than others, so magic comes easier for them. But with enough training and practice anyone can widen their straw/strengthen their straw-sucking muscles to cast with the big leagues.

The Gean Canagh devours your straw/Third Eye. Perhaps you have to rebuild a new spiritual connection from scratch, or perhaps it permanently severs any and all connection to the Triple Goddess. Like getting excommunicated from the Church, only worse.

The Crystal Cave was/is the Triple Goddess's home, but she's out of town on a business trip atm so she left the spirit of her most loyal follower, Taliesin, to look after the place. It's super powerful and has all those cool crystals because it's hella steeped in her magic juices.

While most magic users get a standard-issue straw, others get Fancy Premium Membership Straws. Normal joe shmoes like Gilli have plastic straws, while a Seer like Morgana has a metal one or something (can you tell this metaphor is starting to get out of hand?). Those Premium Straws are only hereditary in nature. So there's a Seer Straw, or a Dragonlord Straw, or a Disir Straw, but it's also not a sure thing you'll even inherit it at all. It's all luck of the straw draw.

Creatures of magic aren't just animals that possess straws, though. They've been made/produced using magic rituals and processes and spells. Like Nimueh's afanc, nathairs, wraiths, shades, etc. So probably like a thousand years ago, some especially powerful shmuck came by and invented dragons. Which leads me to an important question: WHO THE HELL THOUGHT THE DOCHRAID WAS A GOOD IDEA.

Im reluctant to say these creatures were invented by the Triple Goddess, though, for reasons I'll get to in a moment.

So this still leaves the whole Cup of Life, life-for-a-life policy thing to be explained. I do believe that the policy is universally applicable to the creation of souls, and i do believe that animals have souls too. But individuals get their souls exchanged for those of equal value. So every soul has a certain weight to it, and you need to exchange souls of equal weight to create one. So when Merlin brought the dog to life, some random dog somewhere dropped dead against his knowledge.

Creating undead armies involves killing them and then resurrecting them. That's what 'undead' means. Zombies. So yes, to raise an immortal zombie army, Morgause's spell probably caused a bunch of people around the world to mysteriously drop dead.

Which leaves two last things to explain: destiny and Merlin.

Destiny is, i think, a combined effort between human choice and supernatural predeterminism. That is, for the most part humans make their own choices, but there are occasions where the Triple Goddess has to step in and do some course correction. Uther starting the Purge was free will, but Arthur and Merlin's destiny was an act of divine damage control. The Triple Goddess sets destiny into motion and informs a chosen few about it.

Okay SO. That leaves Merlin. And this is the bit im kinda excited about.

The Triple Goddess is a reservoir of power, a cosmic force of spiritual energy intrinsicallu linked to the fabric of the universe. People can spiritually reach out and tune into/channel her supernatural frequencies. But as a milkshake cannot suck itself through a straw, the Triple Goddess likewise cannot cast a spell. She can influence destiny, but she can't physically cast any magic on her own. That's why she didn't create the creatures of magic.

So a few years ago, Uther hecked up big time. And people of magic, the Triple Goddess's followers and acolytes and straw connections, were dying in droves. I can imagine that all those Third Eye tethers snapping en masse was painful for her to go through. She relies on the tethers to remain connected to the real world, and if all the tethers snap then she will be cut off from Earth altogether. And Earth requires magic to continue existing/thriving, so that's kind of a no-no.

So, the Triple Goddess knew that the only way to save the world was through divine intervention. Thus began the destiny of the Once and Future King and Emrys. She knew humanity is bigoted so there was bound to eventually be a repeat of Uther, so she made OaFK resurrectable, so they could keep him on the bench in case anyone ever needs him again.

Where does Merlin/Emrys fall into things?

Well. The Triple Goddess knew that saving her people and the world would require an immense magical undertaking, something no ordinary magic user would be able to pull off. But she has the power, if only she could use it. But a human can. So the Triple Goddess decided to be reborn into the body of a dragonlord's son. Merlin. Emrys. Magic itself.

Of course, this whole Being Born As A Human Thing is tricky, and as anyone familiar with reincarnation knows, you don't usually recall your past lives. So she became Merlin, unaware that he was ever the Triple Goddess. (Although she did add a clause saying she'd be destined to remember her past life eventually, which got hecked up for reasons ill explain later)

That's why so many creatures of magic/magic users recognize Merlin by his presence, why thr druids carry such reverence for him. Whereas the sidhe and other individuals don't recognize him, because they are blinded by heresy. They may have a spiritual connection to the Triple Goddess, but do not use her magic as she intended, and she's too busy wearing jaunty scarves to excommunicate them herself.

Why get the Once and Future King involved when she could just save everyone herself? Well, the Triple Goddess prefers to let the humans keep their agency and save themselves, and would rather remain in the role of protector/helper. Its just her nature.

But if that's the case, then why did Arthur's destiny fail? It's simple: Kilgharrah.

Remember what i said about the Horned God, counterpart to the Triple Goddess? Yeah, that's Kilgharrah. Like the Triple Goddess, he's another power reservoir, but he's jealous because people worship her and not him. He is against everything she does and actively seeks the destruction of the Triple Goddess's magic/influence for Jealous Evil Reasons. To stop him, the Triple Goddess enlisted some of her followers to bind him into the body of a dragon (perhaps this is how dragons were created) so he would never be able to do that. Years later, the Purge happened and "Kilgharrah" got locked away, further cut off from his power.

When Merlin walked in, unaware that he used to be the Triple Goddess, Kilgharrah seized his chance at revenge and manipulated Merlin into setting him free. Then, once free, he decided to lay claim to the power vacuum left by the Triple Goddess's quasi-absence. He began controlling destiny in whatever limited capacities he could, using magic of his own to permanently bury Merlin's knowledge of his past life. Then he ensured that Arthur would die and the Triple Goddess's magic would never return. But since he doesn't have FULL control over destiny (his powers are still limited by his dragon form, after all), he couldn't rewrite the bit where Arthur gets benched in Avalon. He's probably conspiring with the sidhe to ensure Arthur stays trapped there forever, or else he would've come back a long time ago.

As for how the Gean Canagh took Merlin's magic...well, yes, it devoured his Third Eye straw, but those are created by a strong spiritual connection to the Triple Goddess. And since he's literally the big TG himself, all he had to do was find himself again (by returning to his old home, the Crystal Cave) to recreate a new one.

Over the last 1500 years, Kilgharrah/the Horned God has been steadily accruing followers and worshippers in the hopes that one will become strong enough to release TG's bonds on him. Then he can kill her once and for all and claim full dominion over the universe, with the sidhe to support him.

I imagine that's how Arthur's resurrection would happen - Arthur and the rest of the dead Round Table are in Avalon when they learn about the treachery and plot to kill Merlin/take over the world, and spend the next few hundred years fighting their way out of Avalon.

Okay, I think that just about covers it. God, that was long. Any questions?

#i should probably write a fic for this huh #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #bbcm #ask #magicbuilding #fish post

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chloelucia13 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 13: The Gate

Pairing: none for the moment (currently Jonathan Byers x Platonic!Henderson!reader)

Prompt: You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: You were stuck on the bench, and after deciding to try and do something to help Will, you had secretly wished that you had stayed at home. But at least people say dumb things when they’re dying, and other people say even dumber things when the person they love is dying.

Warnings: ANGST TO THE MAX, maybe like a hint of fluff, language, some vivid descriptions of gore, violence, just get ready to sob

Word Count: 9323 (holy SHIT)

A/N: And season 2 has come to a close in the saddest fucking way possible (just read it and you’ll see). I highly advise grabbing some tissues for this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy! As always, the taglist is open!

Tags: @just-my-fandom, @nightbu-g

Mike immediately ran forward, taking Eleven into his arms and pulling her into a tight hug.

“I never gave up on you,” Mike told her, pulling away to look at her. “I called you every night. Every night, for-”

“353 days,” she completed his sentence. “I heard.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were there? That you were okay?”

“Because I didn’t let her,” Hopper spoke up, stepping forward. Mike stepped away, and Hopper took Mike’s spot in front of El. “The hell is this? Where you been?”

“Where have you been?” Mike repeated as Hopper pulled El into a hug. “You’ve been hiding her.” He grew angry, shoving Hopper. “You’ve been hiding her this whole time!” he shouted.

“Hey!” Hopper shouted back. “Let’s talk. Alone.”

Hopper took Mike into Joyce’s room, leaving everyone in the living room to digest what just happened.

You stepped forward, setting your machete on the floor before stepping over to El, who seemed to be distressed. You could hear Mike and Hopper shouting from the other room as you rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, okay?” you told her. “You haven’t really learned it yet, but men get angry really easily. Don’t worry about them.” She nodded slowly and you pulled her into a hug. “It’s good to see you, sweetie. I’m glad you’re okay. And I kinda dig the outfit.”

She smiled at you as you stepped away from her, allowing Dustin and Lucas to give her a hug. “We missed you,” Lucas spoke as the three of them hugged.

“I missed you, too,” she whispered.

“We talked about you pretty much every day,” Dustin told her as they pulled away from the hug.

She looked between the two boys before stopping at Dustin, reaching forward. “Teeth,” she stated, touching his mouth.

“What?”

“You have teeth.”

Dustin grinned at Lucas. “Oh. You like these pearls?” He chuckled before making a purring-type noise, making El look at him confusedly.

“Eleven?” Max spoke up, stepping forward between the two boys. “Hey. Um, I’m Max.” She held out her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Eleven stared at her for a few moments, blinking, before brushing past her and rushing over to Joyce, who immediately pulled her into a hug. They spoke for a few moments before Joyce led her into Will’s room.

“Don’t take it personally, Max,” you told her, stepping over to her. “Eleven doesn’t really know how to... socialize.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Eleven leading Joyce into the kitchen, stopping at the kitchen table.

“You opened this gate before, right?” Joyce asked Eleven, pointing to the scribbled letters on the back of the notepad.

“Yes,” El answered gravely.

The group began walking towards the kitchen, listening in on the conversation.

“Do you think if we got you back there, that you could close it?” Joyce voiced with urgency and a hint of hope.

El looked over at Joyce before staring off for a moment. “Yes.”

***

“It’s not like it was before,” Hopper explained with a sigh, trying to shut down the idea of having El close the gate. “It’s grown. A lot. I mean, that’s considering we can get in there. The place is crawling with those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin corrected, turning to Hopper.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, uh, demo-dogs. Like demogorgon and dog. You put them together, it sounds pretty badass-”

“How is this important right now?”

“It’s not. I’m sorry.” Dustin closed his mouth and turned around as quick as he did before.

“I can do it,” Eleven broke in, looking over at Hopper.

“You’re not hearing me-” Hopper began.

“I am hearing you. I can do it.”

“Even if El can, there’s still another problem,” Mike argued. “If the brain dies, the body dies.”

“I thought that was the whole point,” Max said.

“It is, but if we’re really right about this... I mean, if El closes the gate and kills the Mind Flayer’s army.”

“Will’s a part of that army,” Lucas connected.

“Closing the gate will kill him,” Mike concluded.

Everyone was silent for a moment, letting Mike’s words sink in.

“But those creatures,” you began, thinking through your words, “they’re individual parts of the Mind Flayer. Will is just a vessel for the Mind Flayer. His life isn’t dependent of the Mind Flayer. So, if we kill off the Mind Flayer, I don’t think it will kill Will. It’ll just kill off the part of the Mind Flayer that’s inside of him.”

“I mean, I guess,” Mike sighed. “But do you think it’s safe to risk it?”

Silently, you shook your head, slouching slightly.

Joyce rose to her feet from her seat, walking from the kitchen and into Will’s room. Everyone followed behind her, like a silent parade of worry and fear.

You felt your stomach churn when you saw Will laying still in his bed, his skin damp with sweat despite the harsh chill of the room.

“He likes it cold,” Joyce spoke.

“What?” Hopper answered, looking at her confusedly.

“It’s what Will kept saying to me. He likes it cold.” She moved to the open window, yanking it closed. “We keep giving it what it wants.”

“If this is a virus, and Will’s the host, then...” Nancy said, looking down at Will.

“Then we need to make the host inhabitable,” Jonathan completed her thought.

“So if he likes it cold-”

“Then we need to burn it out of him,” Joyce concluded.

“We have to do it somewhere he doesn’t know this time,” Mike informed, trying to avoid what happened the last time.

“Yeah, somewhere far away,” Dustin agreed.

Hopper stepped forward from his spot against the wall. “I know a place,” he claimed as he wrapped the comforter on the bed around Will’s body, scooping him up into his arms. “Come on.”

Joyce and Jonathan followed behind Hopper as he rattled off directions, carrying Will out to Joyce’s car.

“We’ll need to find heaters, radiators, anything that would heat up a room,” Nancy instructed.

“There’s probably something in that pile of stuff we pulled out of the shed,” you told her.

She nodded, and the two of you hurried out into the backyard, Steve following close behind. Steve shone his flashlight on the pile of trash, the three of you quickly starting to search through it.

“You guys should go with him,” Steve spoke up, pulling a radiator out of the pile.

“What?” Nancy voiced, shining her flashlight on the pile as you rifled through it.

“With Jonathan.”

“No, I’m not just gonna leave Mike.”

“Or Dustin,” you added.

“No one’s leaving anyone,” Steve corrected. “I may be a shitty boyfriend, but turns out I’m a pretty damn good babysitter.”

“No, you’re not taking my title of babysitter.” You stood up straight. “I’m staying here. Nancy, you should go with Jonathan.”

Nancy looked between you and Steve. “Are... Are you guys-”

“No!” You and Steve shouted simultaneously.

She sighed, looking down. “But Y/N, you and Jonathan-”

“Trust me, Nancy. He likes you a lot more than he could ever like me. It’s okay.”

She turned to look at Steve. “Steve...”

“It’s okay, Nance. It’s okay.”

She stood there silently, tears welling in her eyes. “Go, Nance,” you told her, patting her shoulder. “He needs you. We’re gonna be with the kids.”

You gathered the few heating materials you could find and carried them over to Jonathan’s car, blinking away the tears in your eyes. You set them in the backseat of the car before closing the door and walking up on the porch. Nancy climbed into the passenger seat and you gave them both a small wave before they drove away.

***

You had been sitting on the couch since everyone but the party and Steve had left, staring off into space and letting yourself wallow in your own pity.

“Alright, I think it should fit now,” Dustin announced, his voice startling you back to the present.

With a huff, you pushed yourself to your feet and walked over to the kitchen, letting out a sigh of frustration when you saw the mess on the floor Dustin had made. Behind him Steve stood with the demo-dog in his arms, which was wrapped in a blanket.

“Is this really necessary?” Steve grumbled.

“Yes, it is, okay? This is a ground-breaking scientific discovery. We can’t just bury it like some common mammal, okay? It’s not a dog.”

“No, it’s a creature from the upside down. And I don’t know if you remember this, but we could be killed if we even talk about this to anybody,” you reminded Dustin, pointing to the limp creature.

“They’ll never know. Everyone who works there is probably dead now anyway.”

“It’s the government, Dustin! It’s not like it’s a singular entity!”

“Alright, alright,” Steve spoke up. “We’ll just keep this in the fridge until we know what to do with it. Sound good?”

You nodded silently. “Fine. But you’re buying the Byers’ a new fridge.” You turned to Dustin. “And you’re explaining this to Joyce.”

Steve stepped forward and began to try and shove the creature into the fridge, only to smack its head against the side of it. “Christ, help me out here!”

“What am I supposed to do!” Dustin argued.

“Get the door, man!”

Steve wedged the creature into the fridge, all while grumbling profanities, and Dustin closed the fridge door behind it.

From the other room, you could hear Lucas and Mike bickering, but you were too focused on the creature in the fridge to decipher exactly what it was about.

“Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. Alright?” Steve broke in, stepping into the living room.

“Okay, first of all, this isn’t some stupid sports game,” Mike snapped. “And second, we’re not even in the game. We’re on the bench.”

Steve stammered for a response, feeling defeated by Mike’s argument. “So my point is...” He stopped, searching for the words to say. “Right, yeah, we’re on the bench. So, uh, there’s nothing we can do.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Dustin claimed. “I mean, these demo-dogs, they have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away.”

“If we get their attention...” Lucas voiced.

“Maybe we can draw them away from the lab,” Max finished his thought.

“Clear a path to the gate,” Mike concluded.

“Yeah, and then we all die,” Steve countered, shutting the conversation down immediately.

“That’s one point of view,” Dustin hummed.

“No, that’s not a point of view man. That’s a fact.”

“I got it!” Mike exclaimed hurrying out of the room and into the kitchen, kneeling down in front of a certain point on the map of tunnels. “This is where the chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel. So...” He pushed himself to his feet, running over to another spot on the map. “Here. Right here. This is like a hub. So you got all the tunnels feeding in here. Maybe if we set this on fire-”

“Oh yeah. That’s a no,” Steve attempted to shut down.

“The mind flayer would call away his army,” Dustin continued.

“They’d all come to stop us,” Lucas added.

“We circle back to the exit!” Mike joined in.

“Guys-” Steve warned.

“By the time they realize we’re gone,” Mike ignored Steve.

“El would be at the gate!” Max finished.

“Hey, hey hey!” Steve shouted, clapping his hands. “This is not happening.”

“But-” Mike whined.

“No, no, no, no, no. No but’s. I promised I’d keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what I plan on. We’re staying here. On the bench. And we’re waiting on the starting team to do their job. Y/N, help me out here.” He turned to look at you.

You shrugged, pursing your lips. “I mean...” you sighed. “Maybe it would work?”

Steve scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

“This isn’t a sports game, Steve. This is someone’s life, someone who I care a lot about. I don’t think I can just sit on the sidelines and wait.”

Just as Steve was about to argue, the sound of a loud engine revving echoed from the silent night outside. Max got up and ran over to the windows to investigate, everyone else following behind her.

“It’s my brother,” she announced. “He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

You wrung your hands together nervously. “Okay, you guys get out of sight. Steve and I will try and talk to him,” you instructed before you and Steve hurried onto the front porch, closing the door behind you.

The car lurched to a stop and Billy got out of the car, a cigarette between his lips. “Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” he shouted from his car, smoke falling from his mouth like a dragon.

“Yeah, it’s me don’t cream your pants,” Steve huffed, his hands on his hips.

“And who’s that little lady who’s with you? That your new girlfriend, buddy?”

“No!” you and Steve shouted simultaneously.

“Why does everyone think that?” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

Steve just shook his head, walking over to Billy as Billy shucked his jacket off. “What are you doing here, amigo?” Billy questioned.

“I could ask you the same question. Amigo,” Steve scoffed.

“Looking for my stepsister. A little birdie told me she was here.”

“Huh. That’s weird. I don’t know her.”

“Small. Redhead. A bit of a bitch.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry, buddy.”

Billy pulled the cigarette out from between his lips. “You know, I don’t know, this... This whole situation, Harrington. I don’t know. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Oh yeah. Why’s that?”

“My 13-year-old sister goes missing all day. And then I find her with you in a stranger’s house. And you lie to me about it.”

Steve chuckled. “Man, we’re you dropped too much on your head as a child, or what? I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said. She’s not here.”

“Then who is that?” Billy pointed to the window, and you all turned to see all of the kids’ heads peeking through the window.

“Oh shit,” Steve sighed. “Listen-”

Billy grabbed the Steve’s jacket before shoving him to the ground. “I told you to plant your feet.”

Steve groaned out in pain, and Billy kicked him in the stomach before stomping past him and up the porch.

“I’d advise you to back up, and go the fuck home,” you hissed, squaring your shoulders as he stepped up onto the porch.

“Aw, that’s cute. Now if you wouldn’t mind scooching over, that’d be real great,” Billy hummed, his eyes dead as he bent down to your level.

“Go fuck yourself.” You picked up your foot and kicked him in the knee, making him stagger for a moment.

“You’re a feisty bitch, aren’t ya?” He stood up straight and grabbed your shoulder, squeezing it tightly before shoving you to the side, pushing you away from the door. You fell onto your hip, letting out a hiss of pain as he stomped through the front door. It slammed shut a moment later, and you scrambled to your feet.

You pushed the door back open, seeing that Billy had already backed all the kids into a corner. “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max,” Billy hissed.

“Billy, go away,” Max begged.

“You disobeyed me. And you know what happens when you disobey me.”

“Billy-”

“I break things.” Billy turned to Lucas and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, backing him up into the kitchen and shoving him up against a cabinet as everyone shouted at him to stop.

Billy got in Lucas’ face, hissing something you couldn’t quite make out, and a moment later, Lucas shoved his knee into Billy’s groin, making Billy stumble back in pain.

“So dead Sinclair! You’re dead,” Billy growled.

Steve popped up behind him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around. “No, you are,” Steve huffed before swinging his fist, having it connect with Billy’s nose.

“So you’re abusive and racist, huh, Billy?” you hissed, stepping forward so you were next to Steve.

Billy stood up straight, laughing maniacally. “Oh sweetheart, I already knew you had some fire in you. But it looks like Steve actually has some fire in him after all! I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve that everyone’s been telling me so much about.”

“I mean, we could, but I think all that hair muffles your hearing a little bit, bud,” you growled.

Steve held his hand out, signaling you to stop, before he gently shoved Billy back. “Get out,” Steve stated simply.

Billy stared at him for a moment before swinging a punch, which you and Steve effectively dodged. Steve swung and landed another one on the left side of Billy’s face. You stepped forward and elbowed him right in the ribs, making him hunch forward. Steve landed a few more punches as you stayed back and guarded the kids.

Billy was backed up against the sink, and he grabbed a plate and broke it over Steve’s head, making Steve stagger. You immediately hurried forward to try and block Steve, only for BIlly to shove you to the side and land a punch to Steve’s face.

Billy stomped forward and held Steve up by his jacket. “No one tells me what to do!” Billy shouted in Steve’s face before colliding his forehead with Steve’s, sending him flying.

You ran up and hopped onto Billy’s back, wrapping your arm around his neck in a chokehold as you tried to yank him back. With your other hand, you pulled at his hair with all your might. Billy surged forward, flinging you off his back and sending you tumbling to the ground.

You laid there limply and watched as Billy knelt over Steve’s body and mercilessly landed punch after punch to Steve’s face. From your peripheral, you watched Max approach him, a syringe in her hand. She stabbed the needle into Billy’s neck and injected him with the tranquilizer that was in it.

Billy froze, the syringe sticking out of his neck as he registered what had happened. He stumbled to his feet and turned to face Max, a look of shock on his face. He yanked the syringe from his neck, looking between it and Max. “The hell is this?” he slurred. “You little shit, what did you do?” He swayed for a few moments before falling back onto the floor.

Max grabbed Steve’s bat from the floor and held it over her head. “From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?” she growled.

“Screw you,” he mumbled.

Max swung the bat down, landing it in a space on the floor just between his legs. She ripped it from the floor and held it above her head once more. “Say you understand! Say it! Say it!”

“I understand.”

“What?”

“I understand.” He finally succumbed to the drug, and Max stepped forward to grab the keys from Billy’s pocket.

Dustin immediately rushed over to you, helping you to your feet. “Do you think you can drive?” he asked.

You scoffed. “I can barely drive normally. There’s no way. I can barely see anything. I think I have a concussion.”

“I can drive,” Max announced.

“Alright,” you mumbled, too tired and out of it to argue. You followed her into the car, sitting down in the back as all the boys attempted to carry Steve’s limp body.

*** You were all nearly to the hole when you heard Dustin talking beside you. “Is he awake?” you grumbled, lifting your head from the car window.

“What’s going on?” Steve grumbled. “Oh my god!”

“Just relax, she’s driven before,” Dustin reassured Steve, trying to keep him calm.

“Yeah, in a parking lot,” Mike argued.

“That counts!” Lucas defended.

“They were gonna leave you behind,” Dustin continued.

“Oh my god!” Steve shouted again.

“I promised that you’d be cool, okay?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” Steve cried out as Max picked up speed. “oh my god. No! Whoa! Stop the car! Slow down!”

“I told you he’d freak out!” Mike shouted.

“Stop the car!”

“Everybody shut up! I’m trying to focus!” Max chided.

“Shhh! My head hurts and you’re all being too loud!” you whined, clutching your head.

“Oh wait, that’s Mount Sinai! Make a left!” Lucas instructed.

“What?” Max voiced, beginning to panic.

“Make a left!”

Max immediately jerked the wheel, taking out a mailbox as she swerved slightly before turning sharply into a field. She sped quickly through the field before screeching to a hard stop right in front of the hole. “I told you, zoomer,” Max hummed before parking the car and hopping out.

You all filed out of the car and headed to the trunk, pulling out the supplies the boys had packed away before you left the house. You all quickly slipped on your goggles and bandanas before grabbing your gear.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Steve voiced, trying to find his footing as Mike rushed past him. “What, are you deaf? Hello?” Steve looked around at everyone else who was already suited up. “We are not going down there right now. I made myself clear.” Steve turned to you. “Hey, there’s no chance we are going to that hole, alright? This ends right now!” Steve grabbed Dustin’s bag from his hands and threw it to the ground.

“Steve, you’re upset, I get it,” Dustin soothed. “But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance. Now, I know that you promised Nance that you would keep us safe, so keep us safe.” Dustin grabbed Steve’s backpack from the trunk and handed it to him.

You grabbed your machete and patted Steve shoulder. “So suit up, loverboy,” you hummed, brushing past him.

He sighed before reluctantly taking the backpack and putting on the mask and goggles Dustin had brought for him.

Once he was ready, he stepped in front of the group and stared down the hole, letting out another sigh before helping everyone down into the hole. He hopped down afterwards, pausing for a moment to take in the new atmosphere.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out after a moment.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s this way,” Mike instructed, referring to the quick makeshift map he had copied from Will’s drawings.

“You’re pretty sure, or you’re certain?” Dustin urged, looking in the same direction Mike was facing.

“I’m 100% sure. Just follow me and you’ll know.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey. I don’t think so,” Steve argued, stopping Mike in his tracks.

“What?” Mike huffed.

“Any of you little shits die down here, I’m getting the blame. Got it, dipshit?”

“Steve,” you scolded, arching a brow at him.

“Sorry.” He let out a breath. “From now on, I’m leading the way. Come on, let’s go.” He began marching forward, trying to get this done as quick as possible.

It had only been about 20 minutes or so when the strange ashy substance in the air grew thicker, acting as a fog of sorts..

“God,” Lucas stated incredulously.

“What is this place?” Max pondered, slowing her pace to look around.

“Guys, come on. Keep moving,” Steve commanded.

Everyone continued trudging forward, but froze in fear when they heard a shriek coming from a few feet behind them. “Shit!”

You all hurried back, seeing Dustin stumbling around blindly and screaming for help.

“What happened?” You urged, falling to your knees in front of him.

“It’s in my mouth! Some got in my mouth! Shit!” he screeched, pulling his bandana down from around his face and spitting on the ground. A few moments later, after effectively expelling all the spit in his mouth, he took a deep breath and looked up at everyone. “I’m okay.”

“Jesus Christ,” You grumbled, pushing him by his forehead before you got to your feet.

After Dustin got to his feet, Steve continued marching forward. “Y/N, you’re manning the rear from now on!” he shouted from his position at the front.

“Yes sir,” you grumbled with an eye roll before stepping to the back of the line.

***

“Alright, Wheeler,” Steve announced after another few minutes of walking. “I think we found your hub.

You all stepped closer, closing the line up into a small cluster so you could all observe the large clearing Steve was referring to.

“Drench it,” Mike instructed, and everyone immediately got to work spraying weed killer, kerosene, gasoline, and any other flammable substance on the large clearing filled with strange-looking vines.

You all had made quick work of covering the surface area of the clearing, making the entire area reek of chemicals.

The six of you were backed a few feet into the tunnel you came from, with Steve sitting in the front, his lighter in his hand. “I am in such deep shit,” he sighed before flicking the lighter on and tossing in into the pit, watching as it instantaneously burst into flames.

“Okay we gotta go before the demo-dogs get here,” you instructed, pushing yourself to your feet and quickly ushering everyone past you before taking your spot at the end of the line. Everyone’s pace quickened into a run as you tried to get out of the tunnels as fast as possible.

You had only made it a few hundred yards into the tunnels, however, when Mike stumbled and fell to the ground. You reached your hand down to help him up, only to see the vines quickly moving and snaking around his ankles. “Shit, shit,” you whispered, moving to try and pry them off him. “Guys! Guys, get back here!”

Everyone came running back, quickly working to help Mike get out. Steve raised his bat above his head and swung down in an attempt to crush the vines that held Mike captive, only for them to flinch and continue.

You shooed Steve out of the way and swung your machete down, severing the vines and watching them fall limply off Mike’s ankles. Dustin and Lucas quickly pulled him up and you all turned to hurry off.

You let out a sigh of relief and moved to follow behind them, only to feel a tight grip on your ankles. Panic rose in your throat as you felt them tug, yanking you to the ground. You fell hard on your back, all the air leaving your lungs as your body thumped silently to the ground. Through blurred vision, you watched the group walk forward, not realizing that anything was wrong. Your eyes flickered down to your ankles, now trapped in two snaking vines that began slithering up your body.

Bile rose in your throat and you kicked with all your might, only to have one vine snake around your waist and arms, holding you down. Another vine wormed around your throat and contracted, cutting off your air supply. Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to breathe, to move, to speak. You watched as one last vine slipped under your goggles and handkerchief, exposing you to the toxic environment. Your vision slowly began to fade, all of your senses quickly diminishing as you felt your body slip away from consciousness.

Then you heard the stampede.

Demo-dogs trampled over your near-lifeless body, clawing at your clothes and skin as they went. Blood began to well from the cuts, letting out a silent scream when one clawed straight down from your forehead to your cheek and sliced your eye.

Blood flooded into your eyes and your nose and your mouth as everything slowly fell dark and silent.

***

Steve hoisted the last boy up before he tugged himself out of the hole, letting out a tired huff as he landed on the soft earth. His eyes searched around the group, doing a mental count.

And then another one.

“Guys?” he voiced, body filling with worry. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s right-” Dustin began, turning around only to see that you weren’t standing behind him. “Shit.”

Everyone’s eyes grew wide and Steve immediately sat up, adrenaline already coursing through his veins. “Okay, when was the last time we saw her?”

“At those vines,” Mike said, his voice wavering with fear. “Oh my god.”

Steve looked down into the hole before looking back at the group. “You guys stay here. I’m gonna go find her.”

He tugged the handkerchief over his mouth before diving back into the hole and sprinting down the tunnel.

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you?!” His heart was pounding in his chest as his mind raced with all the possible scenarios that could’ve happened, all of the things that could’ve happened to you.

Then he heard the soft whimpers.

He froze for a moment, listening. Then he ran faster than he ever had before, faster than when he was being chased by the demogorgon, faster than he thought possible.

“S-Steve,” you choked out, voice strained and shaky. You had only woken up moments before, the grip on your neck now gone.

“Oh my god.” His stomach twisted at the sight of you when your body came into view.

Every inch of your body was covered in cuts, blood, bruises, and vines. Your hair was matted and coated in a thick layer of dirt and gore, your eyes drooping so low he couldn’t tell if they were open or not.

He knelt down beside you and grabbed your machete that was lying just out of your reach, immediately slicing through the vines that kept you pinned to the ground. The moment you were free of your restraints, he scooped you up into his arms with the gentle touch that he would use to hold a baby, minding your wounds. “You’re okay, Y/N. It’s okay.”

“Hurts,” you cried. “I can’t see.”

“I know. We’re gonna get you to a hospital. You’ll be okay.”

“D… Don’t let Dustin s-see me. Please.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

After a minute, which felt like hours to you, you arrived at the opening. “Dustin…”

“I know.” He looked up, seeing the clear starry sky. “Hey Dustin, I need you to close your eyes, bud.”

“Wait, why? Is Y/N okay?” Dustin shouted back leaning over to peek into the hole.

Steve immediately stepped back, hiding your body from view. “Please, dude. Just for now.”

Dustin, noting Steve’s panicked tone, nodded and stepped back, covering his eyes with his hands. “Okay, they’re closed.”

“Okay, guys, I need you to help me get Y/N up and out.”

The two boys and Max peeked their heads in, their stomachs lurching at the sight of you. “Holy shit,” Lucas whispered. Immediately, they all reached down and pulled you up as Steve lifted you. They dragged you away from the hole and fell back, panic in their eyes. “What do we do?”

“We get her to a hospital.” Once Steve got his footing, he scooped you back up and carried you out of the pit. “Can someone radio Jonathan and Nancy and Joyce?”

“It’s in the car,” Max admitted, voice shaking with fear. “Okay, we need to go. Try to get ahold of them.”

As the group stepped towards the car, the headlights began to shine brightly, blinding them for a few moments from the sheer power of it. “Eleven,” Mike whispered. “She did it.”

Once the lights faded, Max hurried to the car and hopped in the driver’s seat, starting the car and speeding off once everyone was inside and you were safely situated.

Mike grabbed the radio from off the seat and began to search for Hopper’s radio at once, trying to recall the channel Hopper had told Jonathan earlier. Once the radio stopped buzzing with static and was now filled with silence, he pressed the button and began to shout for Jonathan. “Jonathan, this is Mike, do you copy?”

“Mike?” Jonathan’s voice came through the machine after a few moments of silence, his voice crackly and tinny.

“There’s an emergency. Y/N, she…” Mike cleared his throat, images of your torn up body flashing through his mind. “She’s not doing good. We’re on our way to the hospital right now.”

“W-What happened? What do you mean she’s not doing good?”

“She got hurt. Really bad. Just… Just come to the hospital as soon as you can.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

***

As soon as Max pulled up to the hospital, the flash of Jonathan’s headlights shone into the car. He sprinted out of the car before it was even parked correctly, leaving the keys in the ignition.

He could get a new car. Buy a new battery. He couldn’t get you back if he lost you.

“Jonathan,” Steve said, noting his presence with a breath of relief. “I’m gonna get the kids inside. Can you get Y/N?”

Jonathan nodded, feeling as if his mind and heart were detached from his body, running further and further apart with each moment.

Once he made sure the kids were inside, he yanked the front passenger seat down to get to you.

At that moment, his body, heart, and mind collided, bringing him to the shocking present. The feeling could be compared to being dunked in ice water, every part of your body and soul being forced into fight-or-flight mode while you still hadn’t comprehended what was happening.

“J…” you muttered, eyes fluttering open to search for him.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. You’re okay,” he whispered, gently scooping you up and getting you out of the car.

“H-hurts.”

“I know. Don’t speak, it’ll make you weaker.”

The moment your body was fully exposed to the cruel and unforgiving fluorescent lights of the hospital, he felt as if he was going to faint.

Your blood had already began to congeal, caking onto your skin and making your clothes cling to your body. Your right eye had a large gash through it, your eyeball scratched and possibly split. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he choked out, walking through the doors of the hospital. He knew he should’ve been looking ahead, searching for a nurse or doctor to help you, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of yours. “I’m sorry.”

With every last bit of energy that you had left in you, you reached up and cupped his cheek, cracking a small smile. “It’ll be okay, Johnny Boy.” A harsh cough ripped through your body, making blood trickle down your lips. “I...I love you.”

With that, you were taken from his arms and placed on a gurney, whisked away from him, leaving him to drown in his own thoughts.

***

“She’s awake,” the doctor announced the moment she stepped into the waiting room, effectively drawing everyone’s attention.

“Can we see her?” Mike asked, eyes pleading.

“Only one at a time, but yes.”

Everyone looked to Dustin. “She’s your sister, you should probably see her first,” Max explained, nudging his shoulder.

Dustin nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath before following the doctor into your room. “Be fairly quiet, she may have a slight migraine from the blood loss.” With that, the doctor left the room.

“Hey Dusty,” you choked out, voice hoarse and crackly.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he spoke, a scared smile on his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm, high right now. Probably feel like shit later. They gave me a ton of painkillers.” You tried to flash him a small smile, but winced from the pain that shot through your face when you did so. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “I-I’m okay now. I was kinda scared.”

“I’m sorry. I-I should’ve called for help before it got too bad. I just… Thought I could handle it.”

“It’s not your fault.”You nodded. “How are we gonna explain this to mom?” you joked after a moment of silence.

“We’ll say you got taken and they had some dogs attack you.”

“How long have you been thinking that through?”

“Ever since we got here.”

You let out a chuckle, shifting slightly with a small wince. “So, have they told you guys what all is wrong with me, or are they just waiting for me to find out myself?”

“Well, they said that you have a bruised windpipe, a few broken ribs, a concussion, your eye got cut, and there were a lot of cuts on your body.”

“God, they really did a number on me, huh?”

He nodded, letting out a small chuckle. You couldn’t tell if it was real or if it was just to comfort you, but it calmed you down nonetheless. “The doctors said that you get to come home once you’re stable. They said in about 2 days, if everything goes okay.”

“I’m excited to be home. Gonna eat all the rest of your Halloween candy.” A cough rattled your body, causing you to shiver for a moment afterwards from the feeling of your organs seizing up. A small dribble of blood dripped down your lips, but you quickly wiped it away before he could see.

“Everyone’s excited for you to be home. They’re all outside waiting for you.”

“Really? Why aren’t they in here?”

“The doctor said only one person could come in at a time.”

“Fuck what the doctors say. Tell them to come in here. I wanna see them.”

Dustin flashed a genuine smile this time, running out of the room to grab everybody.

***

Jonathan thought that the most heartbreaking thing he would experience was him losing his little brother, knowing there was virtually nothing he could do to help him.

But when he saw you laying in that hospital bed, half of your body covered in bandages with wires sticking out of your body, he knew that that sight was an extremely close second.

A wide smile spread over your face when you saw everyone flood into the room. “Hi guys,” you rasped.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” Nancy whispered, tears springing to her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

You shook your head slightly. “I’m okay. I-It doesn’t matter.” You searched around the room. “Where’s Will? Is he okay?”

"He’s resting at home,” Mike explained. “He’s okay.”

Questions and concerns were voiced by every person, all eyes on you as you consoled them and reassured them that you were fine. The doctor came in about 15 minutes later, instructing that everyone leave so you could get some rest. Everyone did as they were told, stepping out of the room to give you space.

Well, almost everyone.

Jonathan stood in the corner of the room and waited until the room was cleared out to sit down in the hard plastic seat next to your bed, remorseful eyes trained on your face.

“So, are you an exception to the doctor’s orders, now?” you teased, reaching out and giving his shoulder a weak squeeze.

“I-I’ll leave if you want,” he said, sitting up slightly, ready to leave at any moment.

You shook your head. “No, stay. I missed you.”

He let a small smile crack on his face, his hand slipping into yours with a cautious touch. “I missed you too.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

“Jonathan, like I told everyone else, I’m fine. It doesn’t matter.” You squeezed his hand, wincing slightly at the tug on your broken skin when you did so. “You basically witnessed your brother get exorcised. I… I wouldn’t be okay if I saw that.”

He let out a sigh. “I’m not okay, but I will be. He’s okay now, that’s all that matters.” He squeezed your hand in return, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. “Besides, that’s not really what’s on my mind.”

You tilted your head, confusion furrowing your brows and scrunching your nose slightly. “What’s on your mind, Johnny Boy?”

Another sigh, followed by him shifting in his chair. “Do you remember anything when you got to the hospital?”

You shook your head. “No. I-It’s all kinda fuzzy. I guess blood loss and oxygen deprivation does that to you.” You let out a small chuckle, silencing when you noticed the distressed look on his face. “Why?”

“Steve…” He bit down on his lip, thinking of what to say. “Steve told me to bring you in while he took care of the kids.” You stayed silent, allowing him to continue. “When I carried you in, you…” He brushed a hand through his hair. “You told me you loved me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes growing wide for a split second. “Well, I do love you, Jonathan. You’re the best friend I could ever ask for. Even after this week.”

“And I’m really sorry about that. Truly. I… Doing that to you is one of my biggest regrets.” He let out a sigh, eyes darting back and forth as if he was reading from an imaginary script. “But you... You said it like-” A frustrated huff. “Like you loved me, romantically.”

Your lips pursed, silent as you searched for a response. “Like I said, I was on the brink of death.” A shrug. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. You’re with Nancy.”

“But it does matter!”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t, Jonathan. You’ll learn this eventually, but what I feel doesn’t matter on the grand scale of things.”

“It does to me.”

“Why are you so hung up on this? I was almost dead! Forgive me if I say some stupid shit!”

“Because I love you too!”

You closed your eyes, taking a few deep breaths before letting out a small chuckle. “Jonathan, th-this isn’t funny.”

“You’re right. It’s not funny. I love you, and I’m serious.”

“If you do love me, like you say you do, then you wouldn’t have pined after Nancy so much. Maybe you do love me, but definitely not as much as you love Nancy-”

“Y/N-”

“It’s okay, Jonathan. Like I said, what I feel doesn’t matter.” You squeezed his hand once more, feeling tears spring to your eyes. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

“But I’m not happy if you’re not happy.”

“But I just said that I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“Well, I’m not fucking happy-”

“But you are, Jonathan. You seek out happiness, and you found it with Nancy.”

“But I found it with you too.”

“But who did you choose in the end?”

Silence.

“Exactly.”

He shook his head, letting out a scoff. “Don’t just ‘exactly’ me.”

“What do you want me to say? That you should break up with Nancy and be with me?”

“Yes!”

“Then you really don’t know me at all, do you?”

He clenched his jaw, fingers of his free hand curled into a fist. With a puff of air through his nose, he pushed himself onto his feet and leaned over you, pressing a gentle but firm kiss to your lips. Your eyes widened in shock, but you couldn’t force yourself to pull away.

He broke the kiss a moment later, squeezing his eyes shut and letting go of your hand. “Just give me some time, please?” he whispered, taking a few steps towards the door.

“Don’t I always, Byers?” you choked out, feeling a tear slip down your cheek.

***

Dustin had stepped through the doors with a big smile on his face and even bigger hair. You leaned over and waved at Steve in his car before stepping over to your brother, pulling him into a side hug and hovering your hand over his head. “Hey, don’t mess up the hair! It took me like 30 minutes!” he squealed, prompting a laugh from you.

“God, you’re getting more and more like Steve every day,” you teased, giving his shoulder a squeeze before letting him go and going back over to Nancy behind the punch bowl.

With a sigh, you leaned down and rested your elbows against the table, keeping your face cast downwards to avoid scaring the kids too much.

No matter how many times you had begged your Principal, the PTA manager, even the teachers setting up the dance to dismiss you from your chaperone responsibilities due to your injuries, they denied because “it was your choice to volunteer in the first place” and “maybe you can scare the kids straight.” Yeah, just wonderful.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Nancy told you once again, nudging your shoulder before pouring a glass of punch for a kid.

“Yeah, this gigantic gash on my face sure does go well with my hair and makeup,” you huffed snarkily, waiting until the kid had walked away to sit up straight and turn to face her. “Besides, you don’t have to reassure me all the time. I know I look scary. It’s fine. I’m accepting it.”

She let out a sigh and shook her head. “You’re so stubborn, you know that? Can’t you just accept a compliment?”

“I don’t accept things that aren’t true.”

“Hmm?” She voiced, turning to you. Of course she wasn’t listening to you. Why would she when she had someone else she could pay attention to.

You shook your head, pursing your lips as you stared into the punch bowl. “You know you don’t have to hang out with me the whole time.”

“Y/N-”

“Go. Hang out with Jonathan. I really don’t care. Besides, I don’t think serving punch requires two people, anyways.”

She was silent for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Positive, Nance. Go have fun. One of us needs to have some.”

She left your side the second the last word left your mouth, immediately hurrying over to hang out with Jonathan. You blew out a long breath through your slightly open lips, eyes glancing over the crowd of middle schoolers before returning to the punch bowl, staring at it as if it held all the secrets you needed.

The song changed and you listened to the shuffling of feet along the gym floor as everyone searched for someone to dance for, or they were retreating into a corner to avoid confrontation at all costs. You drummed your fingers along the table and chewed on your lower lip, finally sitting up straight and staring into the crowd directly. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips when you saw that Will and Lucas were already swept off into the crowd. You knew Mike was waiting for El, so you didn’t worry about him. Dustin, however, was a different story.

You watched as he stepped into a crowd of girls, only for them to ignore him, and then laugh at his attempt to woo them. A small pit of dread settled in the pit of your stomach, but you watched as he pushed on. Only to be rejected again. He then retreated over to the bleachers, his gaze focused on the ground.

You searched the crowd and, after deciding that no one would come over to the punch table for a while, headed over to Dustin. “I guess this isn’t either of our nights, huh?” you voiced, plopping down next to him. With a sigh, you reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing slightly. “Don’t take it personally, Dusty. Middle school girls are assholes.”

“You weren’t,” he huffed, still staring at the floor. “And El and Max aren’t.”

“Popular middle school girls are assholes.” you nudged his shoulder. “You’ll find someone, I know you will. You just have to give it some time. You’re gonna be like the new Steve when you get to high school. You’re gonna get all the girls.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” You two sat in silence for a moment before he spoke.

“Why aren’t you talking to Jonathan?”

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head slightly. “What do you mean? We-we always talk.”

“Will said you’ve been avoiding Jonathan. Besides, it’s pretty obvious, Y/N.”

“I’ve just been busy.”

“Manning the punch bowl while Nancy talks to him?”

“They’re dating now. It’s fine.”

“Well you don’t look like you’re fine with it.”

“Do you have to be right all the time?”

“It’s a curse.”

You let out a chuckle before sighing, eyes glancing up at the couple for a moment before going to the floor. “There’s just not a point in trying anymore. They’re happy. I can’t compete with Nancy. It’s better to just… Let it go.”

Another pause. “Jonathan really likes you, you know.”

You shook your head. “He may have used to. Any feelings he has for me are strictly platoni-”

“Everyone saw him kiss you at the hospital.”

His words made you choke on your spit, your heart nearly stopping right there. “... Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Well not everyone. But the party saw it. And mom. And Joyce. And Hopper. And Steve.”

“Oh my god.” You buried your face in your hands. “You couldn’t have told me then? Or at least at a time other than now?” Your toe nervously tapped against the wooden floor. Then, in a small voice, you asked, “... Did Nancy see?”

“Not that I know of. I think she was getting snacks at the vending machine.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Then another silence.

You didn’t even notice the sound of approaching footsteps as you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts, your heart nearly stopping once more when you saw Nancy’s shoes come into view. “Hey Dustin,” her voice rang clearly.

Dustin looked up, offering her a shy smile. “Hey.”

“Wanna dance?”

“What?”

Nancy reached her hand out. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Dustin took her hand with hesitance, glancing over at you. You gave him a nod and a big smile, letting go of his other hand to let him go with her. “Like I said, Dustin. Ladies man,” you teased.

He gave you a big smile in return and rose to his feet, letting Nancy lead him to the dance floor. Nancy turned to glance back at you, and you mouthed a ‘thank you’ to her. She nodded and flashed you a smile of her own before disappearing into the crowd of people.

As soon as the two of them were out of eyesight, you slouched back down in your seat, smoothing your hands over the tulle of your dress. You let your eyes flutter closed as you listened to the music, trying to keep yourself in the present to avoid your emotions from going haywire. That was a bad idea, however, as the moment you closed your eyes, you saw flashes of that horrid night in the tunnels. Your eyes snapped back open a moment later, and a heavy sigh fell from your lips.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Jonathan standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and a sheepish look on his face.

“Hey,” you hummed, mirroring his sheepish look. He sat down next to you, his arms unfolding so he could clasp his hands together and rest them in his lap. “You look nice. You should wear suits more.”

He scoffed, playfully nudging his shoulder with yours.

“What, I’m serious! You look nice!” You turned to face him, letting a smile grow on your lips.

“You look nice, too. Seriously.”

You let out a sigh. “You don’t have to say that, you know.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“But I’m not lying.”

You chewed on your lower lip, your smile almost completely faded away. “Did Nancy send you over here?”

“Why would you think she did that?”

You shrugged. “Pity? That’s one of her strong suits.”

“What if I told you that I came over here because I wanted to? Because I missed you and I wanted to see you?”

“Then I’d say that you’re lying.” You held back another sigh, staring him straight in the eye. “Jonathan, you really don’t need to baby me or pity me. I already get enough of that from everyone else.”

“I’m treating you like a normal human being, not pitying you-”

“But I’m not a normal fucking human! Look at me! I look like a fucking monster!”

He let out a huff and unfurled one of your hands that was tightly gripping the fabric of your dress. He rose to his feet and grabbed your now-unfurled hand, pulling you to your feet as well. “Come on.”

“Jonathan-”

“No, no whining. Come on.” He led you past the crowd and past the bleachers, over to the exit. He pushed past the doors and walked down the hallway, stopping in front of the stairs.

“What are we doing? We can’t leave the gym-”

“Y/N, just be quiet for once. Okay?”

You nodded, watching him as he pulled a tape from out of his pocket. He let go of your hand and stepped behind you, placing the tape into the tape deck of the stereo you had failed to notice. There was a small gap of static as the tape wound before the familiar notes of “Melt with You” by Modern English began to play.

A smile graced your lips once again, eyes twinkling with joy and appreciation. He stepped back over to you, taking both of your hands into his. “Is… Is this okay?”

You let out a chuckle, nodding immediately. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” You slowly slipped your hands away from his so you could snake your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. His hands wound around your waist a moment later, his head resting against your shoulder.

“Anything for you.”

You sniffled slightly, leaning your head against his chest as you two slowly began to sway along to the music.

The song stood out to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. “I didn’t know you could stomach putting this song on a mixtape,” you teased.

Then it hit you.

“Isn’t this song also on your mixtape for Nancy? That ‘For Her’ mixtape?” You pulled your head away from his chest to look up at him.

He sighed. “Y/N, that mixtape wasn’t for her. It never was. I… Hold on.” He stepped away from you and crouched down by the stereo , grabbing the plastic casette case. He traced his fingers over the words on the index card that was taped to the inside for a moment before getting back up and handing it to you. “Read the songs.”

“I-I don’t know how this proves-”

“Just read them. Please.”

You sighed, but obliged. “One, ‘Melt With You’ by Modern English-”

“The song you’d play in my car on a loop when it first came out.”

You pursed your lips slightly before continuing. “Two, ‘Love Will Tear us Apart’ by Joy Division.”

“Your favorite song off of their album.”

“Three, ‘This Must be the Place’ by Talking Heads.”

“The song you said reminded you of us. That as long as we’re together, everything is okay.”

You skimmed over the rest of the song list. “So all these songs make you think of me?”

He chuckled. “Well, everything makes me think of you. But these songs are yours. It’s your playlist.” He stepped forward, taking your hand in his. “Everything I do is for you. I guess it just took me a while to realize it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked down at the ground to avoid his gaze. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just... I wanted you to know.”

You nodded slowly, lifting your gaze to meet his. A small smile rested on your face and you squeezed his hand before wrapping your free arm around him. “I do really love you. And I know that it’s too late, but I just don’t think I can keep it in anymore.”

He nodded, slowly beginning to sway to the music once again. “We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

77 notes · View notes

threeletterslife · 3 years

Text

Appetence

→ [1/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: Seokjin frowns, though you have an elated smile plastered on your face. For some reason, he doesn't like this Jimin. But you seem to love him a lot—enough to marry him—so Seokjin lets it slide. Still, he can't shake off that strange feeling that you're just like him, deep inside. Lonely.

→ pairing/rating: seokjin x reader | PG

→ genre: 98% mellow angst, 2% fluff | ghost!au

→ warnings: death, mentions of bruises and blood and physical abuse

→ wordcount: 3.4k

→ a/n: this is the poor baby cat that i’ll be referring to in the story 🥺my heart hurts every time i look at this

It's lonely to be dead.

The last thing Seokjin remembers before he projected out of his body was his doctor telling his brother that he wasn't going to make it. Ironic. Seokjin died before the doctor even finished his sentence.

He was confused at first, wondering why on earth he was still on the wretched planet. But after a while, he accepted his new see-through body. It's pretty cool to walk through walls, he supposes.

But now he has nothing to do. At first, Seokjin had wandered around his brother's house, but after a while, he realized that his presence made his brother shiver and teeth chatter violently. Apparently, turning into an invisible entity turns you cold. So for the good of his own brother's health, Seokjin leaves.

There's a large red maple tree that sits on an empty hill just a few miles away from his home. It becomes Seokjin's new home. Because he doesn't feel, he spends the winters, autumn, springs and summers there, leaning against the broad trunk of the tree and watching the grass sway in the breeze. When it snows, he always reaches out to catch a snowflake even though he knows it'll fall right through him. It's habitual. What he used to do when he was alive.

Autumn is the prettiest season for the red maple tree. The shaped leaves are colored a vivid red and boast a satisfying crunch when some little children flock around to play with their toys. But whenever Seokjin tries to play with them, the children shiver and run away. So now, when people visit the red maple tree, Seokjin hides.

He doesn't like it when they shiver like they're cold. Seokjin used to be a very warm person when he was alive. People wouldn't flock around him per se (he was a little shy), but the people who did know him loved him. Though he admits it's nice to be alone sometimes, Seokjin misses people. He misses having someone to talk to.

There's a stray cat that likes to slink around the red maple tree from time to time. It's a Persian with taupe colored fur. Except the fur gets darker and darker every time Seokjin sees the cat. He's starting to think the original fur color must've been white, but over time (and with the absence of an owner), the cat must've accumulated a lot of dirt on its fur.

Seokjin creatively names him Cat.

Cat is the only thing that seems to acknowledge Seokjin's presence in the world anymore. He likes to meow in a nice greeting and sit next to the ghost nearly every day. Though Cat doesn't talk, his companionship means the world to Seokjin. It makes Seokjin wish he could do more than stare lovingly at the cat. Maybe buy some food for it—Cat's abnormally skinny and there are patches of fur missing on his once-white coat. He wonders if it is bullied by the domestic cats around town. Sometimes the poor feline sneaks by Seokjin with some blood on its matted fur, but when Seokjin worriedly tries to get a closer look, Cat hisses. And he doesn't show up at the red maple tree until the day after a hard rain. When Cat comes back, there is no longer blood caked on his fur—only the remnants of a few scratches and bite marks.

Sadly—or maybe even fortunately—Cat is Seokjin's only friend now.

Until the day you come up the hill.

You've wrapped yourself up in a rather tattered shawl to defeat the cold autumn winds. Seokjin's never seen you before and you seem quite frail, but he thinks you look beautiful nonetheless. It's because you're smiling. And Seokjin doesn't know the reason but he doesn't need to know to see you be happy.

He hasn't felt happy in a very long time. It's always nice to see someone else be happy for him.

Seokjin watches as you sit down alone against the red maple tree and shiver. Self-conscious, he moves back from you.

If you're cold, you don't really show it. You continue smiling as you look up at the brilliant scarlet leaves of the maple tree.

"Beautiful tree..." Seokjin hears you mutter.

Your voice is beautiful. Sweet, light and brisk like the morning breeze. Seokjin's entranced by you immediately, but it hurts to know that you'll never be able to see him.

You sit against the tree for what seems like hours, just staring at the sky and humming little songs to yourself. Seokjin finds you lovely. Your company makes him feel less lonely, though you don't know you're keeping someone company, of course.

When Cat slinks by to rub adoringly against Seokjin's leg, you spot him too.

"Oh, a cat!"

Cat freezes and looks you up and down with scrutiny. He is on the verge of a very threatening hiss when you speak first.

"Aw, come on... I won't hurt you," you whisper, holding out your hand for the cat. "I don't have any food today... But maybe I can bring you some canned fish tomorrow...?"

Tomorrow? The sound of you coming back the next day is music to Seokjin's ears.

Cat seems to like you too. He slinks over to you and rubs against your legs. You giggle, reaching to softly pet his head. "I'm going to name you Minnie." Cat—now named Minnie—purrs. Seokjin has to admit that the name is way better than the one he had originally given the cat. "It's after my dear boyfriend," you laugh quietly. "But he doesn't really like animals, I don't think. He doesn't really like nature, either." You shrug, wrapping the shawl around your body once more. "But I do."

Minnie leans into your hand when you pet his head, making you giggle. "You're a stray cat, aren't you? I wish I could take you home..."

The cat purrs assertively as if saying, 'But this is my home.' Seokjin smiles. And he grins when you say:

"Oh, you live on this hill?"

It's as if you can understand Minnie.

"It's a good place to live," you smile. "I love the tree. Don't you?" Minnie purrs in agreement. He crawls onto your lap and decides he wants to rest there for hours. You let him stay.

Seokjin wishes he could hold Minnie too. But he feels just as content watching you do it for him.

When the ghost accidentally gets too close to you, you shiver, white air escaping from your mouth as you breathe out. But unlike normal people, you laugh. "It's like the wind's trying to talk to me!" you tell Minnie. "And it's friendly too. I can tell."

You reach out your hand, unknowingly going right through Seokjin's body. He smiles, shifting back so that your hand is touching his. There. Much better.

"People say this place is inhabited by demons," you whisper, pulling back your hand to pet Minnie when he begins to whine like a petulant child. "They say the tree creaks at weird hours of the day. And there's always this strange coldness that crawls up your spine. But this place is so... warm."

You look out to the sky where the sun's beginning to set. "I figure I'll get a lot of privacy around here, right?"

"...Right..." Seokjin laughs but he knows you can't hear him.

Minnie purrs in agreement.

Staring lovingly at the cat, you sigh. "I need to get home, Minnie... Jimin'll worry..." The cat jumps off your lap and looks behind his body to stare at you. "Don't give me that look," you giggle. "I said I'll come back tomorrow! And with food! Maybe the friendly spirits around here will be waiting for me too!"

And with that, you walk away from the hill, stopping along the way to look for four-leaf clovers. Seokjin watches you leave with a smile on his face.

For all of autumn, you come to the red maple hill every day. During the winter, when it's colder, you skip some days to 'replenish your warmth,' as you put it. Seokjin just counts the minutes until he can see you again.

But when the aroma of the blossoming petals filters the warm breeze, Seokjin realizes it's already spring. You visit more often now.

Minnie isn't as skinny as before—Seokjin would even go as far as to call the cat plump, but Minnie doesn't like to be subjected under such a word. But the best part of you strolling up to the red maple tree is not the food you bring Minnie (although the cat appreciates it). It is the stories you tell. The stories that you think no one but the cat listens to.

But Seokjin's there.

"Minnie," you sigh, sitting down as you hand the cat an opened can of sardines. You giggle as the cat immediately dips his head into his meal. "I had the best day today!"

Seokjin curiously peers from behind the tree.

"Oh! The spirit's here!" you exclaim, clapping your hands together.

You must've been born with a sixth sense. Over the months of which you spent your time on the little hill by yourself, you've somehow figured out that the tree was not haunted by demons but wandered by a single spirit. A spirit you've deemed as friendly from early on. But you only acknowledge his presence, never speaking to him. Seokjin doesn't mind. Acknowledgment is enough.

Tugging your shawl over your shoulders like always, you peer up at the crimson leaves of the maple tree that are just beginning to unfurl from their buds. "Jimin suggested we get married!"

Minnie ignores you but Seokjin claps politely. "Congratulations!" he tells you. But, of course, you can't hear him.

You stifle a laugh when you see that Minnie isn't reacting to your good news whatsoever. "Minnie," you urge, "I'm gonna get married!" Placing a hand on your stomach, you smile giddily. "And we're gonna be parents!"

That must be why you're getting married so quickly and quite frankly out of nowhere. You hardly talk about your boyfriend, now fiancé, and when you do, it's often with a sad look on your face.

"The wedding's gonna be really small, but it's a wedding nonetheless!" you say. "Jimin doesn't want anything too special. I just want something that's memorable..."

Seokjin notices that there's nothing on your ring finger though. As if sensing his thoughts you sigh. "Jimin says wedding rings are a social construct. They're expensive and useless."

Minnie stops his vigorous eating to stare at you. It's like he's telling you, 'That's utter bullshit!'

You giggle. "I mean... I guess I always wanted to seal off my engagement with a pretty ring, but I'm already lucky enough to have found a man who loves me..." you trail off, shaking your head. "Let's talk about something else," you tell the cat abruptly. "I'm going to tell you about the time I nearly drowned in the river trying to fish out Jimin's shoe. Don't ask how it got there."

Seokjin frowns, though you have an elated smile plastered on your face. For some reason, he doesn't like this Jimin. But you seem to love him a lot—enough to marry him—so Seokjin lets it slide.

Still, he can't shake off that strange feeling that you're just like him, deep inside.

Lonely.

When the sun begins to beat down on everyone and everything, the red maple tree becomes a refuge. It signals that summer has arrived. To battle the intense heat, you like to bring pretty patterned fans to fan yourself while wearing your rather thick shawl.

It seems as if you don't like to take it off.

Maybe it's a token. A story that you will tell one day.

You bring refrigerated water for Minnie, sipping cool lemonade yourself as you tell the cat summer love stories. Minnie doesn't mind the romance too much; in fact, he doesn't care. Seokjin does, however.

He thinks you make up lovely stories.

"Summer's going to love it up here," you smile, petting Minnie's head as the cat purrs in agreement. "Do you think Jimin will let me name the child Summer regardless of the gender?"

Minnie chirrups almost as if he's laughing at you. Which, you kind of deserve. You're not even showing yet, but you're already dead-set on naming the child Summer.

"I just love summer so much!" you defend yourself. You give the cat a dirty look. "I bet you do too, Minnie. You just don't wanna admit it."

Minnie lets out a little trill as if to say 'Don't judge me, woman.'

You laugh. "Okay, okay. I won't push it." Letting out a short sigh, you begin to fan yourself with your hands. "It's a bit warm today, isn't it, Minnie?"

Seokjin watches as the cat playfully tugs at your shawl.

"Should I take this off?"

Seokjin cocks his head.

Minnie meows and it's enough for you to giggle. "All right. I'm usually insecure about this. So you better not judge, okay? I trust you." The cat softly purrs, encouraging you further.

"All right..."

With that, you carefully and slowly take your shawl off, placing it on the grass next to you. You're wearing a summer dress that exposes your smooth skin to be sun-kissed, but Seokjin gasps when he notices purplish, hideous bruises across your shoulders and back.

Minnie yowls at you, standing up and staring worriedly at the welts on your body.

"I-I'm okay," you say hastily. "I promise."

"Oh..." Seokjin breathes. "I'm so sorry..." He wants to ask if Jimin did this to you. He wants you to know that you're safe with him. That he'll solace you and treat you the way you should be treated. But alas, you cannot hear him.

"They'll go away soon," you assure the cat.

Seokjin wonders if they'll be back... If the abuse you're facing at home will ever stop.

As the months pass, the more sickly you seem. You're starting to lose kilograms of weight, your face shrinking and looking more like a skull than anything else. If you were frail before, you were even more feeble now.

There are days you completely forget to come to the red maple tree and Seokjin has to take care of Minnie on his own. Other times, when you do come, you can't stay for long, making some dumb excuse that Jimin wants you back home early.

You always clutch your shawl tightly against your body no matter the weather.

On the days that you do come, you lean against the red maple tree and smile as you read from a book of poems while petting an occupied Minnie scarfing down cat food.

Seokjin notices something off about you these days. You smile, but it doesn't make your eyes sparkle like before.

Then, for a week, you don't come back to the hill. Seokjin waits for you every day. But you're nowhere to be seen. He even contemplates going to the village to find you, but it occurs to him that maybe you want privacy. Maybe you just want to stay home... You've been months pregnant now, anyways.

But when you finally show your face at the red maple tree, you look desolate. You've lost even more weight than before, and you even carry a blood-spotted handkerchief in your hands. Minnie softly meows to welcome you. But as soon as you see the cat, you smile through the tears welling up in your eyes.

"I lost Summer," you whisper, collapsing on your knees.

Seokjin wonders why you refuse to cry here.

"This is supposed to be my happy place," you sigh, caressing the verdant grass with your shaking hands. "I don't want to come here and be a stormy rain cloud now, do I?"

Minnie purrs, nudging his head against your lap. You giggle, but it turns into a violent coughing fit. You have to block your mouth with your handkerchief. When you're done, a new bloody splotch is added onto the once white cloth.

The cat looks at you worriedly.

"Oh..." Seokjin whispers, wanting to reach out and caress you. He wants to tell you that it's going to be okay. That he's sorry you lost your baby. And that he wants you to get better from whatever illness that's plaguing you.

"I-I... don't... I don't know if I can come here anymore..." you say hesitantly. "I'm... I'm not allowed to be outside..."

Minnie yowls.

"I know... I'm sorry, Minnie..." you apologize. "I'm going to get better though. I'll keep you company when I'm healthy. I promise."

Seokjin looks at your dull eyes and sickly features. It reminds him of how he had looked before he was forced to become a lonely creature on the planet. He yearns for you to get better. To enjoy the playful life that you deserve. Maybe you'll leave that Jimin and find a better man who won't restrict your adventurous side.

He wishes more than anything for you to be happy.

Likewise, in your head, you wish more than anything for you to seek happiness.

Then, you are gone. Just like that.

For months.

Every day, Seokjin wonders where you are. Maybe you've finally gotten better and the bruises on your body are healed and you no longer cough up blood. Maybe you've moved away from the madness. Maybe you've called off your engagement with Jimin...

Minnie stays by Seokjin's side, awaiting your supposed return. Neither of them gives up on you.

And one day, when the sun is beginning to rise from its nighttime slumber and is bringing home another autumn morning, Seokjin sees you.

You walk steadily, smiling.

Though you look ghastly, your skin shimmers in the morning light as you gently hum a familiar song. Minnie rushes out to greet you while Seokjin hides behind the red maple tree.

There is something about you... that seems different today.

"Minnie!" you laugh. That's when you catch sight of a shimmering man behind the tree. "Hello?" you call out.

Seokjin holds his breath—though it won't kill him again. Impossible. You can see him.

"H-Hello," he stutters.

You walk forward, towards the man as if you are in a trance. "I'm Y/N," you offer him an amicable smile.

Seokjin watches as you study his face, your own lips stretching wide as you greet him cordially. Y/N... The name sits comfortably in his head.

"Y/N..." Your name falls off his lips so naturally. You smile at him, nodding. "W-Well, I-I... I'm Seokjin..." he manages to say.

You haven't gained back your lost weight and your cheeks look even more hollowed out than before. But there's a sparkling glint in your eyes that you used to have.

Before he can even stop himself, Seokjin holds out his hand, making his palm face you. You giggle, placing the palm of your own hand against his.

Seokjin can't seem to breathe.

Your hand would've slot perfectly in his if he grasped it. But he can't bring himself to. The two of you stay with your palms touching and staring at each other's faces in silence.

It's then when Seokjin realizes you've become just like him.

If he had moved his hand just a little more forward, it would've gone right through yours. Seokjin doesn't know if you know yet... He can only hope that he doesn't have to break it upon you.

Your face is relaxed and your lips are parted just slightly. Then Seokjin notices the tears dripping down your face. When they hit the ground, they disappear. You don't seem to notice.

Seokjin bites his lip, wondering if he should say something—if he should welcome you to a new kind of life.

But you shake your head, smiling. "I apologize," you manage to speak. "I... don't know what's come over me."

"It's quite all right," Seokjin says. He means it. He'll cherish every second every moment he'll spend with you now. His heart is still but he can physically feel it beating loudly in his chest. He'll make sure the two of you are never lonely again.

You laugh politely. "Thank you..." you breathe. "I just..." You trail off, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. "You just seem so familiar."

—masterpost

—masterlist

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pandoraborn · 3 years

Text

Throw me to the Ground (and watch me fly)

Chapter Three (AO3 Link.) Word Count: 2709 words Characters: Schlatt, Dream Content: attempted manipulation, jealousy

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The office is unusually quiet this time of night. Normally, Niki or Quackity would be hovering nearby, but evidence shows they’d left early, probably due to the random announcement Schlatt had made, concerning Tommy. He’d been so sure of himself in the initial moment, and after Tommy left, Schlatt had promptly announced it to the entire white house staff. The majority of them had seemed pretty stoked, especially considering Tommy already had experience with leadership and power; it was natural he’d be the perfect fit.

However, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Schlatt isn’t so sure of himself. Tommy hadn’t seemed as excited as everyone else, and he can’t figure out why. It hadn’t been until he’d agreed to take on the role of vice president that his wings lifted up off the ground, and he’d seemed happy. There had been something off about the teen this time, and Schlatt feels like he’d been played.

It has to be Wilbur’s fault.

No, he’s not going to start thinking like that. Wilbur had never lied to him, Wilbur had never once led him astray. The man was always honest with his words and intentions, and if he had wanted Tommy to be vice president the whole time, he’d have made that perfectly clear. Schlatt has to admit that this had been entirely his idea. It doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.

Who would be? He’d appointed a sixteen year old to be vice president of an entire country. It doesn’t matter if Tommy had helped create and build it, he’s still a teenager and should be treated as such. Schlatt wonders if it’s too late to take it all back, to find someone else who’s older. Then again, Tommy does have the most experience out of everyone who works under him. Tommy would know best how things are run, or supposed to be.

There’s also the question of whether or not Tommy can follow orders. The teen is known to be very stubborn, with an inability to listen very well. Would the new president have his hands full? He hopes not. Tommy is the younger brother of his closest friend, Schlatt has to put trust in the entire family as a whole. They would never betray him. Tommy would never betray him.

He hopes.

Coming back to reality has Schlatt realizing he’s still sitting in his office. He’s still behind his desk, staring at the dark oak, the computer that’s shut off, and the mess of papers scattered around the edge of his desk. Had his office been like this when the others were here, or had he messed it up somewhere in between then and now? He had been jovial when Wilbur and Tommy had been here, sitting on his desk and creating a mess. He barely remembers the meeting though, but that logic does make the most sense.

With a sigh, Schlatt leans forward, reaching out to grab at the mess in some hurried attempt to organize it. He wants to get home and relax. Being here in just making him think strange things, like feeling resentment toward a kid. There’s a mess of papers that still need to be sorted too, like documenting the new addition to leadership.

That alone is going to be another several signatures and faxes for official purposes. Tommy’s going to need a letterhead of his own. Fuck.

“Knock knock?”

The voice is not what he had expected to hear, and it comes with a slight reverb. Schlatt jumps out of his chair, glaring at his door frame. He’d expected Quackity or Wilbur to come back, so to see Dream standing there is different. Dream has no business being in the white house. Schlatt narrows his eyes, but beckons him into the office anyway. If Dream’s there, it’s bound to be something important.

“It’s after hours, Dream. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” The mask on Dream’s face is the only emotion being shown. The rest of him is nothing but a sea of green, with only the vaguest of silhouettes to show he has some shape to him. Schlatt finds himself wondering what Dream even is, if not human. Angel? The wings on Dream’s back would indicate as much. The faceless, endless green would also indicate as much.

“Schlatt, I came because I had a feeling you needed some help.”

“No thank you.” He offers a smile as he stacks papers. Maybe the paperwork can wait until tomorrow. He’s itching to go home at this point. “I’m a very busy man.”

“Oh, don’t worry! I didn’t come to take over your job. I wanted to bring up a few concerns I had.” Dream walks further into the office, pressing his hands to the desk. The more Schlatt looks at him now, the more he can see a humanoid figure. He can see a faint outline of a face underneath the mask, too. There’s an urge to ask what creature Dream is, but Schlatt bites his tongue. That would probably be a rude question to ask in the first place.

“What concerns?” He asks. “I wasn’t aware that I needed help from someone like you.”

“Everyone always needs me for something.” Dream pushes the mask up, showing his mouth. There’s a grin on his face that doesn’t exactly give off a friendly aura. “It’s why I’m here, Schlatt. I’m always needed, whether or not people realize it.”

Sitting back down, Schlatt gestures for the sofa. “Alright Dream, if you’re so smart, then enlighten me. What could I possibly need any help with?”

“Tommy, of course.” Dream takes the silent offer and perches himself in the middle of the couch. He spreads his wings out, overtaking the length on either side of him. Feather flutter to the floor, as if Dream had detached them himself. Shades of black, white and green feathers fall all over the place, almost like they’re taunting him for his lack of wings. Schlatt can’t help but stare at them. He continues to stare until Dream clears his throat, causing his gaze to snap back to the entity.

“Tommy,” Dream repeats. “You appointed him vice president earlier today, if I’m not mistaken. You’re having doubts about the position because of his age. There’s more to it than that though, isn’t there?”

The blood drains out of his face. How does Dream know about that? He’s sure Dream hadn’t been in the office when he told Tommy, unless Dream has the ability to turn invisible. That thought is unlikely.

“How...how do you know that? I barely even told the rest of the white house staff.” Schlatt’s gripping his desk now, refusing to look in Dream’s direction. His mind is racing, trying to come up with every likely scenario possible. More than that, it’s the thought that Dream had just hinted he knows there’s more to the situation. He knows Schlatt is doubting himself. How does he know that?

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Dream says softly. “Nothing has to make sense for it to exist. Life itself doesn’t make sense. Why else would a sixteen year old help build an entire nation?” He tilts his head to the side. When Schlatt looks at him this time, there’s no trace of humanity in him. He’s back to being a vivid, bright shade of green that’s almost blinding. The wings seem to be glowing as well. Dream is painful to look at. Yet, he’s radiating a sympathetic aura that Schlatt almost finds comfort in. Someone who understands him…

Wait. Dream is speaking about sense while not making any himself. He shouldn’t be listening to the words coming out of the entity’s mouth.

“What are you doing, Dream?” Schlatt asks. “You can’t come in here and start acting like you know what I’m thinking. I trust Wilbur, and I trust Tommy. Furthermore, you can’t possibly know things unless you were actually here.”

“But I was here, and I do know things.” Dream folds his wings around himself, once again drawing his gaze. “I see the way you’re staring at my wings, Mr. President. I’ve seen the way you stare at their wings too. Anyone with half a brain cell can tell you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” The reply is immediate, terse and overly defensive. He winces at his tone, trying to backpedal. “I’m not exactly fully human myself, you know.” A grin is forced onto his face as he turns his head to the side. “See these horns? I’m also a hybrid. I have nothing to be jealous of, especially not wings.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious.” Dream’s mask seems to smile wider. “Everyone can see you’re a goat hybrid, it’s not exactly a secret. I wouldn’t mind being a goat hybrid, the horns are pretty cool.”

“I guess.” Schlatt’s already done with this conversation. If kept up, they’d go around in circles with this pointless small talk.

“You want wings though, don’t you? It’s why you’ve always kept Wilbur close. You’re clearly hoping to gain something out of the friendship. So I’ve come to offer that to you.”

“That’s not true.” Schlatt abruptly gets to his feet. He’s done with this conversation, and he’s tired of Dream poking holes in his life. It’s decidedly not fun having some godlike entity poking at his vulnerability, pretending to know and understand him. He especially doesn’t like the insinuation that he’s using Wilbur.

Whatever spell Dream is attempting to weave is shattered the second he’s on his feet. “Wilbur’s been a great friend to me, his family’s wonderful. They’re great people, very law-abiding and upstanding. I’m not going to let anyone talk me out of my decisions.”

“If you say so.” Dream stretches out his wings again, mirroring Schlatt. He’s on his feet, and there’s that faint outline of a human face beneath the mask. Schlatt can see freckles. “It’s clear you don’t trust Tommy though.”

“I trust him just fine,” Schlatt snaps. “I think it’s time you leave.” He waves toward the door. “He’s already had a hand in running this country, I know he’ll continue to uphold it to my liking.”

“Yeah, but he said ‘maintain its dignity.’ It’s like he doesn’t trust you, Schlatt. You’re smart enough to see right through him.” Dream lets out a giggle as he moves toward the door, wings fluttering. Dream is still taunting him, and feathers are still floating around. Schlatt has a vision of himself burning every last feather left on his floor.

“I’m busy,” he says instead. “I have a lot of work to complete before I go home, and you’re just taking up time with random bullshit that’s not even true.”

“Oh, of course, of curse.” Dream nods. “Because you don’t wear your emotions on your sleeve, and you don’t get moody whenever someone calls you out on your own bullshit. You’re the president, Mr. Schlatt, you definitely know what’s best for this country.”

“I was elected, wasn’t I?” Again, he waves toward the door. “It was a fair election, and even Wilbur conceded. I’m the one in charge. Don’t come into my office and start trying to dictate things to me. You’re not even a citizen.”

“No, but considering this country is in the middle of my land, I think I have a right to express my concerns. I was under the impression you shared them. I’ll admit I was wrong though, once you admit that maybe, just maybe, I know you better than you think I do.”

Schlatt shakes his head. “You don’t know me at all if you think anything about what you said is true.”

“So why constantly stare at their wings? Or mine, for that matter? It’s like you’re hypnotized. I know that look, I’ve seen it before. It’s envy to an unhealthy degree.”

“Because they’re pretty, duh.” Schlatt rolls his eyes. “The only thing you might be right about is the fact that Tommy’s young.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that part.” The mask seems to grow even wider. If Schlatt squints, he thinks he can see teeth in that poorly drawn smile. It’s downright terrifying, and the implications that Dream has more power than anyone knows is even more so. “You said that, not me. I just said to you that he might be a problem.”

“He’s sixteen years old. Anyone with, what was it you said? Half a brain cell- would be concerned about his leadership skills.” Schlatt is no longer feeling so tired. Adrenaline is pumping through his body, making him feel on edge. Something about Dream’s presence is unsettling, and Schlatt wants to put as much distance between them as possible. “This is my country, and I get to make the final decisions.”

“But it’s not really your country though, is it?” Dream’s hovering in the door frame now, as if that too is framing his silhouette. Everything about him seems to be glowing, and Schlatt once again is staring. This time, with disgust rather than awe. “You appointed the person who found it as vice president. I mean, I didn’t come here to tell you what to do or how to run things. Yeah, it’s your country, but you just ensured that Tommy’s always going to have a say in how things are done. I’m not sure you’re not his puppet anymore.”

“Get out,” Schlatt snarls. “I’m busy, and you’re just throwing random shit out there and hoping to get under my skin. I’m not falling for it, alright? You’re not even supposed to be here. You’re not part of the cabinet, you’re trespassing and it’s after hours. Don’t make me page security.”

“What security?” Dream laughs. “Alright, I’m going. Just remember though, Tommy never lost power. You might be president, but he still has a lot of power and ability to sway people. Where he’s concerned, I’d watch your back.”

“Goodbye, Dream.” Schlatt marches around the desk and slams the door shut. He can hear Dream laughing as he leaves the floor, before the sound abruptly stops. It’s hard to tell if Dream had just left the building or vanished into thin air. He doesn’t even know if Dream can do that.

He goes back to his desk and stares at the mess of papers. He hadn’t made much headway in cleaning up his office, but now he’s especially not feeling it. He thinks back to Dream’s wings and how bright they were.

Why can’t he get them out of his head?

Why can’t he get Tommy’s wings out of his head?

The doubts he’d had earlier come back full swing. He’s not sure Tommy is a good fit for the position of vice president, and previous experience no longer matters. Still, the decision is made, it’d be shitty of him to go back on his word just because of some stupid green entity that likes to play around with words. Schlatt just has to trust in himself. Plus, the other employers will help keep Tommy in line, no doubt.

He’s the president, he’s not going to let anyone forget that. He’s the one in charge, and Schlatt is going to remain in charge. This is his country, the people wanted him in charge.

No idiot with wings, no matter who they are, is going to take that from him. He can instate Wilbur as part of the cabinet and it doesn’t prove anything other than Schlatt deciding who rules with him.

He mutters to himself angrily as he finally cleans up the paperwork. He’ll sort it all out later, when Tommy starts his first day. They’ll work on the letterhead, on the signatures and policies and everything Tommy might need to know, and it’ll be fine.

When finished, he shuts off the lights and heads out, turning back only once to glance at the dark building behind him. By this point the sun had long since set. Streetlamps are the only source of light as he wanders down the path. Hardly anyone is out at this time, most citizens either heading to their homes or enjoying a night on the town.

As for him? He goes home. He has a busy career ahead of him and he’s going to take any downtime he can.

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