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shmorp-mcdurgen · 8 months

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Home Sweet Home AU: Martyrdom

Thatcher gets a late night call from an unknown number, saying they have something they need to discuss.

TW: blood, mentions of/implied character death

Notes: around 3'800 words long, being the shortest HSH fic so far. I don't have much to add here, but hope you like it!

February 12th, 1995. 10:24 PM.

Thatcher was awoken that night by the sound of his cell phone ringing in his office.

He couldn’t recall falling asleep on his couch, lying on a pile of discarded papers and dirty clothes. If he had to guess, it was due to exhaustion and/or sleep deprivation, though he could barely remember anything aside from staring at the wall for an hour or so. He groggily sat up, holding his head and wincing when an all-too-familiar headache pounded in his skull. Everything felt sore, with his right shoulder feeling as if it was ripped out of socket again. He looked down at his shoulder, pulling away his shirt to see that his collar bone was still pressing against his skin awkwardly, causing a bump in his shoulder. He sighed, remembering the reason he no longer laid on his side as he tried to ignore the deep pain shooting from it.

Oh right. The phone.

Thatcher stood up, letting out a deep, somewhat annoyed groan as he made his way to his office, pushing open the door to see the phone on his desk. He stood still for a moment, pondering whether or not he should simply let it ring and go to voicemail. Despite his best efforts not to care, he sighed in defeat and answered the phone, expecting to hear the sound of one of his co-worker’s voice, telling him to come into the station for some late-night incident or something.

“Thatcher Davis, MCP—”

“I already know who you are.”

A familiar voice, though not one that felt necessarily comforting in that regard.

“Who is this?” Thatcher furrowed his brows, absentmindedly beginning to pace back and forth in his office.

“That doesn’t matter right now.” The man on the other end of the phone stated. “St. Gabriel’s Church, as soon as possible. I need to talk to you.”

Thatcher paused in place, staring at the floor before speaking quietly yet urgently. “…I won’t do that until you tell me who is speaking.”

Silence for a moment.

“You know me.” The man said. “You ruined my life.”

“…I d—”

“Meet me at the church, tonight.” The man commanded. “This is an urgent matter. I’ll be waiting in the west bell-tower.”

The caller hung up, leaving Thatcher in a confused haze as it attempted to figure out who it was, or why the voice was familiar. The man’s somewhat raspy, yet desperate-sounding voice resonated in his head, despite the concern and almost fear of taking the call. He stood in place, staring at his phone before flipping it shut and shoving it into his pants pocket. He took in a breath as he silently approached his desk, opening a drawer and seeing nothing but junk inside. He brushed it all away before he finally found what he was looking for; his pistol. He grabbed it, checking the magazine to see that it was loaded before looking back into the drawer and fishing out his gun holster. He threw the holster over his left shoulder before sliding his gun into it, deciding not to change into a better outfit aside from his worn jeans and faded, oversized shirt.

He walked back into his living room in silence, grabbing his grey, shabby trench coat before pulling it over his arms. He tried to ignore how it too was oversized, nor the fact that he had received it as a gift from a friend, despite it being a reminder of her every time he wears it. Perhaps it was a good thing to be reminded of her. He snapped out of his train of thought, realizing he stopped moving for a second before he finally walked into his kitchen, grabbing a pair of leather gloves to somewhat protect his thin hands from the cold. He let out a deep breath as he grabbed his keys and headed for the front door, pausing as he turned his head to look behind him. He looked towards the dining room table, one that had multiple chairs despite no one coming over. On it was nothing but a single police radio, resting in the middle of it. Thatcher stared at it for a moment, pondering whether he wanted to take it, just in case, before he decided against it. He shook his head, walking through the front door into the night, only hoping he wasn’t walking into another trap.

He at least had some comfort in knowing he had a weapon.

11:03 PM

Thatcher wished the radio in his car worked as he drove down the dark, damp road to the church. The sound of his barely functioning heater blowing through the vents was the only sound that even remotely replaced the music that would’ve been playing, though it wasn’t enough to drown out much of anything. Thatcher stared forward, seeing the snow-covered trees pass by on the sides of the road, along with the snow landing on his windshield. He glanced at his right hand, wishing he could just take a break and scratch where his prosthetic rubbed against his skin under his glove, though he decided that getting the call over with was better; at the very least it meant he could go to sleep earlier.

If he’d be able to go home at all.

After all, he was working off of the assumption that the man on the other end of the phone was a human; a real person that knew Thatcher in the past and genuinely wanted to talk about something important. Thatcher felt a sense of uncertainty wash over it as it turned down a gravel road, wondering if he was going to be lucky again and that if the man wasn’t who, or rather what, he claims to be, the gun pressed against its left set of ribs would be enough to scare it off. Though perhaps Thatcher was stupid to think it was capable of being lucky.

Thatcher slowed to a stop when it saw the tall steel gate that led into the church property, barely seeing the church behind it through the trees and snow. Light from the lamp-posts bled into the gravel lane as Thatcher exited its car, looking around before approaching the gate and pushing it open, happy to see it was unlocked. After he swung the gates to the side, hearing the shrill squeaking coming from its hinges, he jogged back to his car, hopping inside and slamming the door shut. He glanced into his rearview mirror, checking that his back seat was vacant before he drove through the gate, finally driving onto asphalt as he pulled into the large parking lot.

He parked in one of the spaces, seeing a short fence between him and the church in front of his car. He exited his car, locking it before shoving his keys in his pocket and staring up at the towering cathedral before him. It had two large wooden doors at its entrance, along with a giant circular, stained-glass window above it, with many smaller circles surrounding it. A large, metal cross was to the left side of the entrance, seemingly rusted despite the church still being active from what Thatcher remembered. He looked up towards the slanted roof, seeing two giant bell towers, with one to the right, and one to the left, reaching towards the pitch-black sky. Thatcher couldn’t help but notice the pit in his gut he felt looking up at the giant building; it almost felt like vertigo, despite not looking down. He shook his head, letting out a breath as he turned to the right, following the fence towards concrete staircase that led down to the entrance. As he walked, a figure stared at him from the west bell tower, watching him as Thatcher walked towards the entrance, pushing the heavy doors open and walking inside.

The first thing Thatcher noticed aside from the deafening silence was the vastness of the inside of the church. It had a domed roof, with painted patterns on the walls. He looked forward, his shoes clacking against the marble floors as he looked around. Lines of pews ran down both sides of him, all facing a stage to the front of the room, one with a large organ front and center.

“Hello?” Thatcher called, his voice echoing off of the tall walls. “Thatcher Davis, MCPD. You called me here?”

No answer aside from his own voice reflecting back at him. He looked to his left, seeing a few archways that led to other parts of the church, deciding it was the best place to start looking for a way into the west tower, like the man had said to meet him. He walked in between pews and walked through one of the archways, being met with a hall that led into a few smaller rooms. However, when he looked to the left, he saw a stairwell, one he presumed to lead into the tower. He paused, thinking of the inevitable pain his knees were going to feel before beginning to scale the stairs.

He walked, further and further up into the dimly lit tower as he pushed his trench coat to the side, exposing his holster and firearm in preparation in case something other than a human was up there. He could smell dust and an overall musty smell as he pushed open the small door above him that led into the belfry, poking his head into the room to see a small electric lantern in the corner, lighting up the room. Thatcher huffed, pushing the door to the side, letting it clatter off of the floor as he hoisted himself up into the room. The belfry was larger than he expected it would be, with one large, brass bell hanging in the middle of the room. He looked around, seeing a large, arched window in front of him, with the cool wind hitting his face as he approached it.

“You actually came.”

Thatcher turned around quickly, the voice startling him enough to instinctively hold his hand close to his firearm. He turned towards one of the corners, seeing a man leaned against the wall, holding his arms close to his torso, clearly cold despite wearing a thick, turtleneck sweater. Thatcher looked up at the man’s face, his intense stare and low brows feeling familiar, though it took a few moments for Thatcher’s mind to finally connect the dots.

Arthur.

“Mr. Heathcliff.” Thatcher stated, almost surprised to see the man after so long.

Arthur’s eyes had dark rings around him, and his blank, yet irritated stare didn’t wane. “Lieutenant.” He responded, as if saying the word was some sort of profanity.

“Why did you call me here?” Thatcher questioned as Arthur stepped away from the wall, approaching Thatcher yet keeping his distance.

“I needed to…talk about some things.” Arthur said. “With you.”

“How did you even get my number?”

“Asked around.”

Thatcher remained silent, not super confident that who he was looking at was human like it seemed.

“…It’s…quiet tonight, isn’t it?” Arthur stated, looking through the window, past the parking lot and towards the lights in the distance from the town.

“What are you even doing up here?” Thatcher questioned, standing beside Arthur as he stares at the priest with a look of mild annoyance.

“It has the best view.” Arthur stated simply. “I come up here to…get my mind off of things, y’know?”

Thatcher gazed out into the distance through the window; Arthur was right about the view being nice at least, though it was hard to make out anything outside of the light from the lamp-posts.

“Though tonight, I couldn’t help but think.” Arthur continued, turning to face Thatcher with the same, almost angry look in his eyes he’s had the entire time. “…It’s been…what, nearly 3 years now?”

“…Since what?”

“…Since Mark went missing.”

The mention of the Mark Heathcliff case sent a shock to Thatcher’s system, making him skip a breath. He couldn’t respond, with an all-too familiar feeling of dread and guilt beginning to creep up inside of him.

“I’ve…been thinking about it…nonstop lately.” Arthur explained. “And I just…is he…dead, or not?”

Thatcher remained silent, staring at Arthur with a tinge of sadness added to his tired stare.

“…Well?” Arthur appeared impatient. “Is he?”

“We did all we could.” Thatcher stated, trying to cover up the uncertainty in his voice. “We…never found anything.”

“…Of course.” Arthur said under his breath, barely audible enough for Thatcher to hear.

Thatcher felt the weight of the thick air of guilt and anger around him, with the silence making it feel heavier than ever. Arthur crossed his arms, looking through the window as he thought to himself.

“…God teaches to…forgive and forget.” Arthur said quietly. “To love thy neighbor…to forgive thine enemies.” Arthur turned towards Thatcher, his face barely lit by the light outside and the light from the lantern. “But for some reason I can’t bring myself to forgive you.”

“I’m not asking to be forgiven.” Thatcher responded plainly. “…I understand what—”

“No, you don’t.” Arthur glared at Thatcher, lowering his arms as he faced the lieutenant. “Do you know how much I’ve lost? Mark runs off, and because of that, I lose the only people in my life that matter.” Arthur paused, taking in a deep breath. “…Leah and Sarah moved to Bythorne recently, you know that? Left me here…to just…rot. To try and figure out how to…fix all this.”

“I tried to help you and your family the best I could,” Thatcher responded. “I’ve done all I possibly could to try and solve this case, but I’ve already told you, we found nothing.”

“Right.” Arthur nodded, though it didn’t feel genuine. “So you ignoring the many disappearances in this town and brushing everything under the rug is you giving your all?”

Thatcher couldn’t even get a word in as Arthur continued.

“I’ve tried to forget about this; to move on and just live my life the way the Lord above wants me to,” Arthur stepped towards Thatcher, who backed away a few steps. “But it keep coming back to me, ALL of this. I’m trying to keep up a sense that I’m alright even though everything in my life is falling apart, all because you couldn’t do your God damned job.”

“You don’t think I’ve given everything to solving this case?” Thatcher snapped back.

“You failed to find him, Davis.” Arthur accused. “You barely did anything to help aside from twiddle your thumbs and take some of Mark’s junk. At least the other cop tried to help Leah as she went through the worst event of her life; but what did you do?”

“Arthur, you don’t understa—”

“I’ve lost more than you could ever know due to your negligence,” Arthur interrupted, standing in front of the window, the light from outside hitting his back. “I lost Leah, and now I won’t even be able to see my own daughter grow up. All because you didn’t do anything to he—”

“Ruth is dead because of this case.”

Thatcher felt the words leave his mouth, his tone sour and hateful. Arthur appeared to pause for a moment, at least giving Thatcher time to speak. “At least…that’s what everyone else thinks. She…I lost her, and…I don’t know where she went. I tried my fucking hardest to fix things, but now only more people are gone because of it. Arthur, I know what it’s like to lose what’s closest to you because I’ve gone through the same thing.”

Silence fell between the two, leaving them to stare at each other in a hateful silence. At least, until Arthur started speaking again.

“…All I want is to have my family back, yet you won’t even help me with that.” Arthur continued. “If you find Mark…then maybe I’d be able to have it back—”

“You talk about Mark like he’s a burden.” Thatcher stated. “Like he’s just a prop that will fix everything in your life. Do you truly even care about him?”

Arthur stood in shocked silence, staring at Thatcher with an appalled stare for a tad too long for comfort.

“Do you?” Thatcher questioned. “Or did you just want to make another you.”

“I did.” Arthur claimed. “I…I did love him. He was my son; you think I didn’t love my own flesh and blood?”

“I never got the impression that you did.”

“God damn you, Davis.” Arthur said quietly. “I hope God will have mercy on your soul.”

“I’m not religious.”

“You bastard.” Arthur said, his tone hateful as he clenched his fists. “I’ve tried all I could, and I can only hope God will forgive me for having the hate I feel towards you. This town is in shambles because of you! All because you refuse to help those you claim to protect!”

Arthur stepped towards Thatcher, who stood his ground as he grew closer.

“If you won’t do anything, I will.” Arthur claimed. “And I know that God will reign by the end of this! I know that these ‘alternates’ will cower away from his light! And by the end you will be left alone, all because of your own mistakes!”

“Get away from me.” Thatcher growled as Arthur continued to step closer.

“By God, I’ll show everyone just how much of a coward you are!” Arthur yelled. “You failed to help the vulnerable, and now you will suffer the consequences of your actions!”

“Step BACK!” Thatcher shoved Arthur away with one of his arms before turning away. He went to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of a surprised yell behind him. He swung around, seeing that Arthur was gone, leaving only an empty, cold room behind. He heard screaming outside of the window, fading away for a second before he heard the sound of a sickening crack that sent a chill up Thatcher’s spine.

Its wide eyes stared at the open arched window in silence. Its face was a shade paler, with its eyes unblinking and its jaw slack. He couldn’t even believe just what happened, wondering if it was just a dream or nightmare. It went to fast for him to even process the events that transpired, with all that was left being a feeling of pure shock and a rapidly beating heart.

Thatcher couldn’t even bring himself to move as he stared at the open window, with the silence feeling all encompassing, choking out whatever words Thatcher could possibly say. He stumbled backwards, looking down to see the trapdoor leading into the stairwell before he silently, yet hesitantly, began stepping down the stairs, shutting the trapdoor above him.

As he frantically descended the stairwell, only one thought ran through his head, over and over like a skipping record: “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” He couldn’t even process what he was feeling as he entered the auditorium, running into the middle aisle before rushing towards the front doors. He froze when he reached them, staring at the wood before he pressed down his sudden pensiveness and pushed open the door.

He walked out of the church in silence, staring at the pavement, feeling as if he couldn’t even force himself to look to his right in fear of what he’d see when he did. It continued to stare at its feet before forcing itself to look up and forward, his eyes not blinking once despite the growing stinging feeling from the cold. He turned to his left, walking up the stairs to get to the parking lot, staring at the ground as he walked to his car. He unlocked the driver’s side door, opening it and stepping into his car as he silently stared at nothing in particular. He started the vehicle, finally looking out his windshield, staring towards the bottom of the west tower. He froze, staring at the crimson blood dripping onto the pure white snow from above. He quickly looked away, hands trembling as he grasped the steering wheel. He drove out of the parking lot the fastest he could. He knew the guilt of what happened was going to take hold of him later on, but at that moment, he thought of nothing more than going home and trying to grasp the situation.

All he knew was he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.

February 13th, 7:16 AM.

Thatcher blankly stared forward, his mouth covered by his hand as the light from the television reflected off of his wide open, bloodshot eyes. He sat in a dark living room, all the curtains pulled over the windows and the lights off. He watched, not blinking once as the news program played in front of his face.

“—Right now we are following the breaking news at the St. Gabriel’s church, where the priest of aforementioned church, Arthur Heathcliff was found dead on the property just this morning. Our reporters are at the scene now, with the most up-to-date news on the situation.”

The camera changed to shots of the church from a distance as another broadcaster spoke over the footage.

“We are currently at the St. Gabriel’s church, right on the border of Werksha and Mandela county, where a nearby home-owner reported that they heard screaming at around 11:45 last night. The scene is closed to the public until further notice, with the circumstances of the death remaining unkno—”

Click.

Thatcher shut off the Television, delving the room into near complete darkness. He stared at the black screen, his breath quiet and his mind blank. He was going to be called about this as soon as he went to work; he knew it. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch, instead hunching over and clasping his hair with his hands. He thought to himself, wondering how many more people were going to die due to his own mistakes; how many more people were going to suffer while he was on the force. The image of Arthur’s body, hanging from where it was impaled on a metal cross was burned in Thatcher’s mind, refusing to leave no matter how hard he tried to get it out. He hadn’t slept the previous night, remembering the hauntingly vacant stare and look of horror on the body’s face.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t handle being the cause of more and more pain and death. The next time he went to work would be his last. Thatcher was a coward, and now, he knew it, so the only option he felt would help people, was to quit. He was sorry; so deeply sorry for everything he did, and everything he failed to do. He just hoped the next lieutenant would be better than he was.

He was no lieutenant, just a scared boy with a gun.

How ironic.

#the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc home sweet home au #arthur heathcliff (tmc)#hsh thatcher #character death tw #blood tw #shmorp writes sometimes #Yippie!! Thatcher has a bad day the au!!!! /VVLH HJ #I feel like this fic speaks for itself so i'm not sure what else to add that won't hint at anything in it- /lh #So. read it. now /LHJ NF

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livingkore · 2 years

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The Perfect Girl (Part 7 -LAST PART)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

TW: drugs, mention of miscarriage (not reader’s though), gore-y scenes, curse words, silly grammar mistakes ‘cause English is not my first language.

Notes: I had so much fun writing this fic. I loved creating intimacy beyond romantic gestures. I loved every comment that I got and I’m so thankful if you got to this point.

I’ll take some days off to grieve this fic and I’ll return with more ST related content (probably more Eddie x reader). Also, I’ll upload it to AO3 soon and it’ll be slightly fixed.

. . .

Y/N covered her ears with the tips of her fingers.

She wondered if one of the reasons why Eddie was so loud when he spoke was because he was losing his hearing, being used to play next to his big amplifier all the time.

She didn't know what he was playing but, in her eyes, he looked like a force of nature. His eyes shone with euphoria as his fingers moved along the fretboard. His whole body danced along the rhythm in the roof of his trailer.

In that moment, Eddie Munson was the king of the underworld.

The cheerleader grinned in awe. There was something about just discovering his hidden musical talent that contrasted so much with the boys she knew in the basketball team -who would show off all the time -that hypnotized her to no end.

The electric guitar in his room had been so clean, that at some point she doubted if he could even play it.

Why did he never show her? Did he think she wouldn't like it?

"O-okay, that was phase two, Eddie. We gotta get moving!" She shouted over the music. "Now!"

The bats weren't visible in the dark, but after she turned off the amplifier, they could be heard at the distance.

The boy nodded and they quickly came down and got into the vehicule.

"That... was so metal!" Eddie screamed excitedly and out of breath. "Ozzy could never!"

"That was... that was so hot." Y/N gasped.

"You think so?" Eddie grinned. "I can --fuck."

Both Eddie and Y/N froze in place at hearing the bats scratching the door.

"Get ready." Y/N loudly whispered.

With one hand they held a spear Lucas, Erica and Dustin made; and with the other, their trash can shield.

The girl thought her heart would get out of her chest by the expectation. In any moment, the animals would break in and if they were one second too slow, they would get in trouble.

Eddie winced when the wooden door started to give up.

"Come on, motherfuckers!" He hyped himself up.

The door finally opened and they both let a war cry before they launched themself against the enemy.

After what seemed like an eternity of pushing the demobats away with their shields and stabbing them with the spears, the battle ended and the room got quiet except for their hard breaths.

It was then when Y/N felt a deep sharp pain on her left thigh that made her bit her lip and internally curse.

They both looked at each other with a relieved smiled and proceded to block the entrance with a metal roof sheet they took from their dimension.

Suddenly, more bats could be heard on the roof.

"Eddie," Y/N fearfully said looking at the ceiling. "You don't happen to have another way they could enter, right?"

"Shit!" Eddie cursed. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Just in time, he closed his bedroom door before another round of bats could break in, but it didn't look like they were going to be safe for long.

"Let's go!" The metalhead yelled and pointed to the rope of bed sheets that linked both dimensions.

The cheerleader put her shield aside and put the spear in her mouth ready to climb up to her world. She grabbed the rope and pushed herself upwards but moaned in pain when her left leg gave up.

"Come on, Y/N! Let's get the shit out of here!" Eddie said anxiously.

"I can't" she winced taking the spear out of her mouth.

"What do you mean you can't?" The boy yelled.

She showed him her wounded leg and the boy looked at her with a terrified expression.

"Fuck Y/N." He muttered in shock.

"I-It's no big deal, really."

But it was and they both knew it.

The bats were seconds away from destroying the door and they knew it.

"Fuck!" The metalhead screamed, his mind completely blank.

"What is it that you always say about running, Eddie?"

The boy quickly approached her and carried her on his arms before running out of the trailer.

"The bike!" She yelled.

With shaky hands, Eddie positioned the cheerleader on the top tube and got himself on the bike.

"I'm going to the Wheeler's!" he announced.

Y/N nodded with her jaw clenched and rested her head on the boy's shoulder, hugging him shakily. The bumps on the road made the wound sting even worse, but she held the spear tightly, trying to focus on anything else.

She watched as the trailer disappeared behind them as Eddie began having troubles breathing normally.

"Don't... look behind... while running!" He ordered.

The girl shook her head and closed her eyes, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. She hugged him strongly this time and inhaled his scent. He smelled like men’s deodorant vaguely mixed with sweat and cigarettes and it made her skin tense with goosebumps.

She opened her eyes and her heart broke in acknowledgement at seeing the bats in the distance getting closer.

They weren't going to make it.

"Eddie, they're getting close." she whispered in his ear.

"We- we're almost... there, sweetheart." He gasped but she put her free hand on his shoulder so she could stare at him.

"Eddie, stop. I'm getting off the bike."

"What?" he yelled.

"I'm slowing us down, they're gonna get us."

"You're -you're hurt."

"I can still run."

"I'm not leaving... you to die. I still...-- we--"

"And I'm not letting us die because of me and my stupid leg." They both shared a look before Eddie continued looking in front of him. "Look, go to the Wheeler's. I'm getting off and I'll take cover in the woods, okay? We're still close. We'll divide them, it'll be easier."

He groaned dramatically and put a foot on the ground, stopping the bike.

Y/N put a hand on his cheek and caressed it with her thumb, feeling the roughness of his stubble. Then she proceded to shyly place a kiss on his other cheek.

Eddie looked like he was going to explode, whether because riding the bike left him out of breath or because the idea of leaving Y/N to run with a wound on her thigh didn't seem the most brilliant one, even though she was right -or maybe because her touch burned within him in a way he couldn't get enough of.

If Eddie Munson could be described by one word, it would be impulsive. And Y/N recognized that look in his eyes. The look of wanting to throw it all away just to feel each other's lips.

Not so far away from where they were, the bats let a chilling sound, making the girl snap out of it.

"Don't look behind while running, right?" she said with a smile that tried to be encouraging and began racing towards the woods at her left.

The first meters were alright.

Y/N ran with her heart on her mouth, the wind against her face producing tears on her eyes. There was no place for tiredness nor pain, the only thing on her mind was the need to survive.

"THIS IS FOR YOU, CHRISSY!" She screamed at the top of her lungs to gain the attention of the bats.

Then she started to feel it, the adrenaline wearing off. The belief that she could succeed, breaking down to give place to the belief that it was indeed a suicidal mission.

She hissed in pain at her worsening limp. With each step, the girl felt like someone was stabbing her with a knife and rotating it inside her thigh.

But the woods were so close and she could see the first trees.

She gasped out of breath, it was a matter of seconds before she could reach them and the bats would crash against the branches.

She could make it. She didn't spend an important part of her life suffering in her cheerleading uniform just to get out of breath right now.

She could make it, because Chrissy didn't make it.

Except no extracurricular activity had prepared her for the stab of a demobat on her thigh.

She yelled mostly in disappointment when her leg gave out, making her fall and lose her grip on the spear that rolled out of her reach.

"Shit!" the cheerleader hissed. "Come on!"

She crawled on the ground, scratching her knees and elbows.

The pain was too much, so she finally desisted and turned to look at the sky.

The uncertainty, what a horrible place to rest, Y/N smiled bitterly.

She was almost in the trailer park, almost in the woods.

She almost kissed Eddie, almost finished high school.

Almost went on her first date, almost didn't find Chrissy's body.

Almost didn't make that terrible joke to her mother.

Almost didn't forget her handmade shield in Eddie's trailer.

She almost died.

She almost survived.

The sky almost looked lovely. If she squinted her eyes, the dust particles could look like snow.

Tears began streaming down her face.

Eddie would find her and she knew it would crush him. He would feel so guilty and she wouldn't be able to tell him that it was all her fault, not his.

Suddenly she heard her name being screamed. Confused, the girl sat down to see Eddie riding the bike towards her. Behind him, what it looked like a cloud was a mass of demobats in the distance.

Was that a metaphor for death? Maybe her mind went into denial and she was hallucinating.

"Y/N! Fuck, come on... We gotta move!" he yelled desperately.

The metalhead threw the bike aside and grabbed her, ready to carry her but she refused and stood up for herself, supporting her body on his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" She asked with terror on her voice.

"I'm not arguing right now, let's move." The boy carried her bridal style until they got in the woods.

"Okay, let me down." The girl said and the boy obeyed her.

"We're not safe. Where's your shield? Here take mine--" She denied it with her head and looked around anxiously.

"We can hide inside a tree hollow. I can walk if you help me." But just as she said that, she could hear the bats' wings hit some of the trees.

"EDDIE, WATCH OUT!" Y/N screamed and did the only thing her mind thought of.

She strongly bit her lip trying to ignore the pain and with all the strength she could muster, she threw all her weight on Eddie making him fall into the ground beneath her.

The boy threw his shield to the side in surprise and groaned in pain when his head hit the ground. His whole body tensed at the bats scratching his legs and arms. He let a terrible sob and hugged the girl firmly when he heard her scream as the bats scratched her back with its claws and tails.

He blandished the spear around in a chaotic motion, but it was useless. Y/N’s body blocked his view of what was happening.

Then it got really quiet. Only their gasps could be heard.

No more bats hurting them.

No more wings hitting the trees.

Fearfully, Eddie sat down and forced Y/N to do the same, making her moan in pain.

"Y/N, it's over." he whispered with his callused fingers caressing her cheek. "We did it."

"I-it hurts so much, Eddie." she sobbed.

"I know, sweetheart. But we'll be home in no time, I promise." He tried to get up but she refused to move.

"I- g-give me a minute, okay?" Her whole body trembled.

"Y/N?" Eddie asked with a worried frown on his face.

She hissed and grabbed the hand that caressed her cheek and guided it towards the side of her stomach, where a deep wound stained her clothes.

With his eyes wide open, the metalhead gulped half in denial, half in confusion.

"Just... give me --a minute." She closed her eyes but Eddie shook her softly.

"No, no, no." His tears mixed with hers on her cheeks. "Y/N wake up!"

"I'm here" she opened her eyes and tried to smile "I'm here, Eddie."

"Listen, we're getting up. We're returning back home, you hear me? Y/N, you hear me?"

"Mhm..."

"You can't... you can't leave me, sweetheart. We've got a date, I'm taking you -probably nowhere because the whole fucking town is looking for me. But it's gonna be me and you and some beers and we'll listen to Kiss Kiss Kiss me, twice, thrice! I don't care, please--" he sobbed.

"I don't... like beer." Y/N intertwined her fingers with his.

Eddie let a sound that seemed like a bitter laugh, mixed with a sob and scream of frustration.

"Then we'll go and drink some fucking milkshakes. I'll make them for you-- Y/N, Y/N don't close your eyes like that okay? You're creeping me out, here."

"You're --funny and... and-- I love you."

"Y/N?" Eddie shook her up again. "Y/N!"

That was the last thing she heard before it all faded away.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Y/N groaned in discomfort.

There was no way she got into Heaven because her body felt like a heavy corpse.

And there was no way she got into Hell because she could feel the warm sunlight against her skin.

She wasn't in Eddie's mattress either. This bed felt hard and new.

She opened her eyes.

Maybe she was in some sort of spiritual limbo that took the shape of a wooden room with a big window on the side.

Where was she?

Her heart suddenly dropped as her mind flooded with images of what had happened.

Was Vecna dead? Did they succeed? Was Max alright? Was Eddie alright?

She took a deep breath and pushed herself forwards trying to get up.

The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise when she noticed that her body didn't hurt all that much. She realized her whole torso was covered in bandages and so was her thigh.

She held into the wooden wall and took a step. Her head was spinning around and her leg didn't seem to have the same strength it used to when she was one of the top cheerleaders.

Little by little, she dragged her body out to what it looked like a living room.

There was a short woman with brown hair that paced around anxiously speaking to... the chief of police Jim Hopper? Wasn't he dead? Y/N could have sworn she read it on the newspapers.

They didn't seem to notice her, but she didn't care and slowly approached the man.

Both adults became still when the young girl put a hand on Hopper's arms, kind of hoping it would go through him like a ghost.

"H-hey... you're awake." The former chief of police raised his eyebrows confused.

"Am I... dead?" she mostly asked to herself.

"Oh, no, no. You're fine, you made it. You must be feeling quite tired." the woman said.

"Yeah, you're not dead. You're just high as hell, kid."

"Where are the others? What happened?"

"Why don't you sit down--" began the woman.

"No, tell me what happened. Who are you? Where is Vecna? Where is Eddie? Where am I?" Y/N demanded confused and the others shared a look that the cheerleader couldn't interpret.

"I'm Joyce, Will's mom." The girl stared at her in confusion. "Maybe, maybe you know my other son? Jonathan? Jonathan Byers?"

That name said nothing to Y/N.

"Right." Hopper said. "You don't have to worry, right now. Your friends are... hanging around somewhere, and your boyfriend is sleeping in the other room. You gave us a pretty rough night, huh?"

Y/N didn't wait for her mouth to say sorry. She clumsily limped to the bigger bedroom.

Eddie slept peacefully on the bed, fully dressed.

He didn't look like the king of the underworld but more like a boy who’ve spent all night awake just to fall asleep in the first place he could find.

The girl let a relieved sigh and slowly approached him. She sat down on the edge of the bed and began taking out his white sneakers like it was the most important task she got.

The boy groaned.

"Eddie?" she whispered nervously.

The metalhead suddenly opened his eyes.

"Y/N?" he stared at her in shock. "Holy shit, Y/N!"

He grinned and sat down and was about to embrace her but he remembered at the last second that her whole body was hurt, so he stopped with his hands in the air opening and closing them in excitement.

She grinned too. His mood was contagious, like always.

Y/N placed her hands on his cheeks and shyly leaned in.

The boy tensed when their lips touched but quickly melted into the feeling.

The cheerleader felt her whole body burning with desire. It was her turn to not know where to put her hands, the anxious thought that if she didn't touch him, she would simply collapse -flooded her mind.

Still, it wasn't a particularly intense kiss. It was full of relief and tenderness.

They were just happy to be alive.

It was a victory kiss.

Eddie intertwined his finger with hers and got apart.

"This was supposed to be romantic but I've just woken up!" he said out of breath. "I love you, Y/N. Oh my god, I fucking love you."

"I know, Eddie. I love you too--"

"No, you don't get it." the boy spoke with anxiety. "You were dying in my arms and I didn't get to say I love you back --and it was all my fault and--"

"Eddie, look at me I'm here." Y/N said with a firm tone. "It wasn't your fault--"

"Yes, it was. Are you kidding me? I should have never left you alone like that--"

"We would have died." she sighed. "Besides, I didn't want to miss our date."

"Don't do that ever again. In fact, let's not do that ever again. I fucking hate bats now."

"Fine by me."

"How are you feeling?" he studied her body with his gaze.

"I don't think I'll be able to be a cheerleader anymore after this and I'm afraid..." she smiled. "It's so silly, but I'm afraid you won't want me anymore because of that."

Eddie froze with his mouth wide open.

"Excuse me?" He scoffed and she tried to look anywhere else. "No, no, no, look at me. You think that --Did you also hit your head? Y/N, I -I could never -You think I care? I love you no matter what. I'm the freak who is searched for murder I--"

"You're not a freak, Eddie." she played with the hem of his shirt. "And even if you were, I think you're perfect just the way you are."

Eddie smiled lost for words.

"Speaking of which," she said suddenly frowning. "Hopper is still alive? He's like in the other room? Shouldn't you be hiding?"

"Nah, he's not chief anymore. Besides, -hell, I've just saved the world... kind of, actually not at all, but I tried, that must count for something."

"What do you mean?"

The metalhead had a nervous look and before he spoke, he thought about what he was about to say.

"We didn't win, Y/N. Vecna opened the last portal and now the whole town is one big gate, everyone is evacuating--"

"Wait, wait, wait. What? But that means ---oh my god, Max!" she sobbed.

"Actually, Max is fine--"

"What?"

"--I mean, well she's not exactly having fun... she's in a coma. The others went to visit her."

"Oh my god, what are we gonna do?"

"About what?"

"Now that there's a gate in town, I assume the cops are desperate to find you."

"Not really..." the boy looked around. "There's a lot of missing people, you know... presumably dead. Carver is one of them. Hopper's got some contacts. They said that they could make me disappear, fake my death or something like that. I could start a new life wherever I want. The others are going to California, it sounds nice.”

"Oh..."Y/N stood in silence processing all the information.

Jason was dead.

Jason was dead and so was Chrissy --and Jason was dead?

Did he think it was Eddie until the end?

She just spoke with him. Did he die angry?

And Eddie, he would have to start his life all over again? With a fake identity? What would he do? What would it mean to the both of them and what would that mean to Y/N?

It was a lot to take in.

"Look, I'm not even asking you to--"

"You don't want me to come?" Y/N barely said.

"W-what? Of course, I--- I can't ask you to leave everything for me."

"But would you?"

"What if you get tired of me? You find out that I'm not so cool and then what? I wouldn't be able to live knowing I robbed you of--"

"Would you, though?"

"Of course, I would!"

"Then I'm coming with you."

Eddie stared at her like she was an alien.

"I don't think you're list--" he began.

"No, I don't think you are." she interrupted her. "I'll have to leave town anyway. And I've seen you at your worst and I've seen you at your best and I could never get tired of you. I think saving my life from interdimensional bats was the coolest thing ever and I doubt anyone could ever top that. I've been with you when you were searched not only for one murder but for two! It'd never crossed my mind you were the killer of my friend. I've only accepted the date because I want to spend time with you but I actually think we are way past the getting-to-know-each-other stage."

Eddie didn't know where to look or how to hide his smile.

"I don't know..." he insisted. "The last time I agreed to one of your plans--"

"Oh, come on!"

"Fine. We're moving to California, then."

Y/N got up to go to the other side of the bed so she could lay down with her head on top of his chest.

She hissed in pain.

Whatever drug they put in her, it was wearing off.

Eddie kissed her forehead.

"I love you so much" Eddie muttered "but you kept waking up in pain and fever last night so just... let me... rest my eyes, a little bit."

"I'm sorry. I don't remember any of that."

"Hmm... 's okay." She moved around, thinking about getting up but she felt his hand firmly around her arm." Don't leave. We'll think about it all later, just stay right now."

"I'm not leaving you. Don't worry." She closed her eyes feeling Eddie's warmth and concentrating on his breathing.

He was right, they would have time to think about the future later.

Tags:

@preciousbabypeter

@thel0v3hashira143

@redgetawaycar

@lunnybunny12

@alysianc

@writers-hes

@daph-505

@a-avengerparker

@sashaphantomhive

#stranger things x reader #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson

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alastorslilghost · 3 months

Text

UNWANTED REUNION.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Alastor x ex wife reader.

๑ | synopsis : after the extermination a very unexpected thing happen, a dinner got redeemed. The higher angels had a meeting about this and decided to send st. Peter and Y/N to monitor the hotel. The place was nice, that is until she met the man he never ever wanted to cross paths again.

๑ | tw : swearing, angst, mentions of death.

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

After finding out that a sinner can get redeemed, Sera and the other angel immediately took an action by deciding sending you and st. Peter down there to monitor the hotel.. And maybe also help them.

You were unsure about this, of course you are. Hell is where you might be meeting your ex husband and you're not ready and you will never be.

Sera was also reluctant about this, but all of the angels already have voted leaving you no choice but to obey.

Preparing up for the night you stared at the opening portal in front of you as you took a very deep breath as you turned around to the seraphims.

" goodluck out there n/n! We'll be waiting for you! " Emily beamed as she brought you in for a hug.

You smiled at the little seraphim as you ruffled her hair earning a whine for the little gal, you turned to the elder seraphim only to see her with a slight frown.

You gave you an assuring smile as you opened your arms for her to get in. It took her a moment before finally bending down to you height and embracing your small figure.

" be safe out there.. And please come back in one peace. " the elder seraphim muttered beside your ear as her embrace tightened as she let go.

You smiled warmly at her you nodded.

" I'll be back in a month darlings. " you waved good bye to them as you followed Peter down there.

You spread your huge white wings wide as you dropped yourself in allowing the wind hit your face. Your nose scrunch up at the scent of blood and deaths, alcohol, particularly everything here.

Upon seeing the said hotel, you flapped your wings softening your land your huge wings closed elegantly on your back.

Your wings is actually way bigger than the other angels, almost bigger than sera's.

You looked hesitantly at Peter before finally walking in the entrance as you softly knock on the door.

A few seconds gone by, the door finally opened to reveal the princess of hell. Her mouth literally dropped at the sight of two angels in front of her doorstep as she rubbed her eyes thinking that she was hallucinating.

" what the fuck.. " she muttered under her breath, you winced at the strong language she throw.

" language, love. " you smiled down at her warmly.

" i- uhm! SORRY- OH MY SATAN- is this really happening right now?! W-WAIT! LET ME! LET ME JUST! " before you could ask her what was wrong, the door slammed close again leaving you and Peter dumbfounded.

You heard a few thrashing sound inside and Thurs here and there before the door finally opened once again with a now composed princess, but anxiousness still eats her eyes.

" hhhhiiii! I'm Charlie.. You might've heard me from the court and my visit in heavennn but- hi again! " she tightly smiled, trying her best to not cry right now from excitement.

" it's a pleasure to see you again Charlie darling, how do you do? " you bowed at the princess who practically begged you not to.

" ah! Please y-you don't have to bow! " she squeaked as she frankly wav her hands around as you raises you head.

When the girl finally calmed down, she step aside letting the both of you in. Once the all of you are in, you could see the hotel was... Something. Your eyes wandered more around the lounge when your eyes landed on a bar? Why is it like that- but whatever.

" welcome to the hazbin hotel! I hope you'd love your stay here! Even if it just a month- " she beamed and muttering the last part.

" this hotel surely does a lot of character in it! Isn't it y/n! " Peter who awkward jabbed her sides as the said angel gave the shorter male an awkward chuckle.

" indeed it is. " her eyes then darted to the side where all the other demon was, you recognize a few of them, which it was vaggie and then angel dust from the court.

You turned fully to the other demons as you gave them a polite bow.

" and you must be the staffs and residents? " you asked as a little Cyclops ran to your direction with her menacing smile.

" hi I'm nifty, I clean! " she smiled her body was vibrating in excitement?

You bent down to her height as you patted her head.

" it's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Nifty, I'm y/n. " you smiled as you leaned back again as the Cyclops ran around the lounge sweeping.

" so.. Whats an angel doin' here? " the spider demon- angel dust asked as he sucked a popsicle.

" wwwwweelll~ after the extermination something very unexpected happened! " Peter started.

" a sinner got redeemed after the extermination, I believe the sinner go by the name..sir pentious. " you continued, at the mention of the name, everyone apart from you and Peter shared a shocked look.

" .. He got redeemed? "

" it.. Worked? " the princess breath out before turning to her girlfriend as tears swelled up in her eye was she held her hand.

" vaggie! Did you hear that! It's worked! The hotel worked! Sir pentious is alive!! " she cried happily as she embraced vaggie.

You smiled at the residents reactions when you suddenly felt a dark aura illuminating around the room.

A white sound slowly appear and a soft jazz started to play.

" oh! What do we have here? " a static voice suddenly erupted behind you. You got a bad feeling about this.

" Charlie darling, you didn't tell me will be having such.. Unexpected visitors! " it spoke again as you slowly turned around to face the owner of the voice.

Once you fully turned around, you were met with a sight of a chest due to its height. You tilted your head up to see a grinning demon who resembled as a deer in front of you.

" but oh heavens where are my manners! " he chuckled as he held his chest as he bowed.

You recognized this voice.

You recognize this face.

Oh who the fuck you are kidding.

Even after the changes to his appearance, the radio voice he held. You know damn well under those deer appearance.

That this red Deer demon was the man who you shares your vows with, and so the man you shared your life with for years on your still alive, and also the only man who put an end to your life

You felt yourself got cold as you the smile on your face dropped, starung at him wide eyes.

" the names alastor darling, pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure! " he extended his hand for a hand shake, but instead of taking it, you stepped away.

St. Peter nervously held his hand for a handshake but the deer demons eyes was still on you. This is bad. Very, bad.

This man seemed to recognize you.

' No no no no no, he can't. This can't be. No.. '

Panick could be seen on your face which that made the deer demons grin widened.

As he placed his arms back behind him.

" well- helloooo.. Alastor, sir, my name is saint Peter! " he pointed at himself as he then scooted closer to you.

" and this gal beside me is— "

" y/n. " alastor continue. Your heart clenched at the sound of your name rolling to his tongue. It has been a very while ever since you heard your name coming from him, it felt so foreign hearing it again. Your heart pounded from your chest as cold sweats rolled down to your cheeks.

" oh- wow.. The both of you seemed to know each other.. Woooow great- that's uh- great? " st. Peter awkward coughed as Charlie jumped giddy.

" wow al! I didn't know you know someone from heaven! " Charlie beamed as alastor chuckled.

" well of course my dear, I happen to know this.. Darling angel back from my time in earth. " he grinned making you shudder. Anger, fear, happiness? Filled your heart as you step back away from him. His eyes never left yours.

" you see.. " alastor started as he took a step towards you. You step back. But before you could escape his presence, the man grabbed your waist and pulled you to me quite harshly that you slammed into his chest.

" this darling angel happens to be my wife! "

.....

" WHAT?! "

a sound of tea getting spit out and followed by choking erupted the room as you harshly pushed him away glaring at him.

" ex wife. " you growled at him.

" but mon chérie, I don't remember ending our marriage. " alastor cooed as he looked down at you.

" waitwaitwaitwaitwait HOLD THE FUCK UP?! " angel started.

" SO- YOU'RE TELLIN' US JUST NOW FOR AFTA' MONTHS OF US BEIN' HERE—"

" AND YOU'RE JUST TELLING US THAT YOU WERE MARRIED?! " vaggie continued with her arms in the air.

" aww! Vaggie! Alastor is married! Means he was in love after all!! " Charlie swooned.

" HA- didn't know smiled could pull someone as hot as this hot mama " angel leaned in from the couch as he gave you both a teasing smile.

You shuddered.

" no no, all of you got it all wrong. " you shook your head.

" what's the wrong chérie? You're clearly married to me just by looking at the ring that rest dazzlingly on your ring finger. " alastor grinned, you froze then looked at your ring finger where your wedding ring is. Oh damn you forgot that's still here-

You gritted your teeth before removing the ring from your finger catching everyone in the room in a state of confusion.

As soon as you got the ring off for you, you jabbed the ring into his chest with fury in your eyes.

" you are not my husband. " you growled as you dropped the ring in front of his after slamming it to his chest.

" you stopped being my husband just after you decided to put an end to my life. " you spat, venom laced your throat. But the deer demon knows well that you were deeply hurt of the thing he did.

" it's clear that you have broke our vows alastor. " you spat his name filled with hatred. Your aura got brighter as your wings was slightly open due to the fury you've been feeling. St. Peter watched you raged in shock, he have never seen you this angry before, pissed and annoyed, yes, but he have never seen you so.. Enraged.

" our marriage stopped as soon as you pierced that knife into me, without hesitation. " your breath ragged as your emotions eats yous more.

Alastor remained quiet, but his smile never left his face adding more fuel to your flames. But, his smile was strained and brows furrowed.

Finally realizing your emotions getting the best of you. You took a deep breath as you scoffed.

" I did truly love you. " you breath out.

" but that change just after you fucking killed me. " you glared at the man in front of you as you walked away. Not sure where to go, just anywhere where he isn't in the same room as you.

Alastor watched you retreating figure, his expression was dark. How dare you walked away from him? You? His darling doe? His obedient wife? How dare you. But, he can't help but feel a pang on his cold stoned heart just after the words you just throw at him.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel angst #angst #hazbin x reader #ˠ . ° . 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢! 𖤐

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cannibalsamruby · 2 years

Text

Header picture by @spnwithoutpeople.

I'm genderfluid, nonbinary, trans, bi, and I'm an INFJ. I'm an exvangelical, ex-Mormon, and now, an agnostic atheist whose drawn to looking at religious imagery, quotes, etc.

No preference on which pronoun, either one works.

Dni if you ship winc*st, any inc*st ships, or you're a terf.

In case anybody is interested:

My AO3, my Spotify, my Letterboxd, and my Discord

I'll probably be more quick to respond on here, but if you want a quicker response, I suggest contacting me via dm on Discord, where I'm more active as of lately.

My main side-blog and Succession blog: @kendall-roys-headphones

My Hannibal side-blog: @hannibals-theology

Due to my ADHD and my horrible memory, I tend to forget to tag sometimes. If anybody has asked me to put a tw tag on any content and I forget, I'm sorry, and I try my best to remember.

Anybody, whether it's through anon asks or dms, who I may have caused any harm to due to such mistakes, please let me know. I can't believe I forgot to add this sooner, but I'm trying to do better with tagging properly.

Unless I have a "dont rb" tagged on my posts, feel free to rb it. Typically I put an "okay to rb" on my posts despite this notice, since not everyone necessarily will see my blog where this notice is posted at.

#about me #updated bio #tw winc*st #tw winc*st mention #tw terf mention #dont rb

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genderfluid-red-paladin · 2 years

Text

Previous profile picture and header credit goes to @laufire

Bio

I'm an exvangelical, ex-Mormon, and now, an agnostic atheist whose drawn to looking at religious imagery, quotes, etc. No preference on which prounon, either one works.

Regarding Spn, I'm a Sam stan, Dean-coded, and very Dean critical, and regarding Succession, I'm a Roman-coded Kendall stan. This side-blog is a large mix of both, and a little bit of a lot of stuff.

My AO3, my Spotify, and my Letterboxd

I'll probably be more quick to respond on @adhdsamruby. Due to my Discord getting hacked awhile back, I've since got it back and it's set for deletion due to safety concerns.

Dni if you ship winc*st, any inc*st ships, or if you're a terf.

In case anybody is interested:

My main blog is @adhdsamruby.

My Hannibal side-blog is @hannibals-theology.

Due to my ADHD and my horrible memory, I tend to forget to tag sometimes. If anybody has asked me to put a tw tag on any content and I forget, I'm sorry, and I try my best to remember.

#about me #updated bio #tw winc*st #tw winc*st mention #tw terf mention #dont rb

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 78: Memories

(tw: mentions blood, mentions a child being attacked by a werewolf- nothing overtly graphic)

"Well," Jeremiah said conversationally to Draco one afternoon when they were covering the Emergency room at St. Mungos, "At least it's kind of quiet."

Draco clamped his hands over his ears, "AHH!" he shouted. "Why would you say that?!"

Jeremiah stared at him, looking quite perplexed, "Because it's true?" he asked.

"Well it won't be for long," Draco said, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling out his wand.

Sure enough, just as Jeremiah started to call him paranoid, the door flew open and in stumbled a woman whose arm had somehow managed to become attached to her head. "Help!" she shouted.

"That's for you," Draco said, nodding at Jeremiah.

A few moments later a man came in vomiting up slugs, Draco put him in a room and handed him a bucket. "You've just got to wait it out," he informed him before returning to see that their once empty waiting room had filled up. He cursed Jeremiah under his breath and started seeing patients.

He was in the middle of an intake for with a woman whose finger nails were growing nearly an inch a minute when the door opened and Harry Potter staggered through carrying a child, both of them covered in blood. "Help," Potter gasped, eyes glued to the boy in his arms who wasn't moving.

Draco was on his feet in an instant, "Move," he commanded the people milling about, using a shield charm to bump them out of his way. "This way," he told Potter, gesturing to the first room with an open door.

Potter hurried in and set the boy on the table and Draco vanished his clothes and began checking vitals.

"Tell me what happened."

(Read more below the cut)

"Fenrir," Potter said softly and a chill ran up Draco's spine, that word alone told him so much of what he needed to know. Potter's voice sounded distant, like he was in shock, which in fairness he probably was.

"Potter," he said firmly, trying to ground him with his voice, "I need you to try to focus, alright? It's important."

"Right," the other man said, shaking his head, "Yeah, sorry." He squared his shoulders, "We got a tip about where we could find him and we got sent on a raid. He was threatening the boy and when one of the other aurors made a move," he shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand. "I got to him and cast a stasis spell and brought him here."

"Right," Draco said, "Fenrir wasn't transformed, though."

"No," he said shaking his head, "Not a full moon."

"Sit down in that chair," he said, nodding to the one in the corner as he began to apply salves to the wounds.

"I'm fine-" Potter started.

"Sit down," Draco snapped. "Now." The last thing he needed was for Potter to pass out while he was working on healing the boy.

Potter obeyed, sitting in the chair with his head in his hands as Draco worked.

After twenty minutes Draco had done everything he could for the boy and he turned. "He's going to be alright," he said first and he saw Potter's shoulders sag in relief. "He's under a stasis charm right now as he continues healing but it's more for his comfort than anything."

Potter nodded, "Thank you, Malfoy," he said. "Err, Healer Malfoy, that it."

He gave a short nod, "Are there parents that we should be contacting?"

Potter shook his head before scrubbing his hands over his face, "He's been stealing orphans," he whispered and Draco's heart shattered at the way his voice broke. "Because the DMLE apparently cares less about them since the orphanages don't nag the way parents do."

He tried to suppress a shudder, he couldn't imagine how difficult this case must have been for the other man. "Come on," Draco said. "We're going to the next room over to get you checked out."

"I'm fine," he protested.

He looked him over, "Potter, your robes are soaked in blood and I am willing to bet my last galleon that at least some of it is yours."

"What if he-"

"I've got loads of spells on him that will alert us to any changes. I am very good at my job."

Potter opened, then closed his mouth, "I didn't mean to imply-"

"I'm not offended," Draco said, brushing his apology off, "I just want to be sure you're okay, too."

After a moment, Potter nodded and made his way out the door, stripping out of his robes as he entered. As Draco suspected, he was covered in gashes and bruises.

He fetched a calming drought from the cabinet as Potter hopped up onto the table, "Drink this first."

Obediently he opened the vial and swallowed the potion.

Draco started his examination, "Some of these deeper gashes are going to need to be sterilized with a wound cleaning potion," he said as he snapped on his gloves and summoned the potion. "It's going to sting a bit."

The other man merely nodded and sat quietly as he allowed Draco to tend to his wounds.

When he finished Draco said, "I'm disposing of your robes but I'll get you a set of medical scrubs that you can wear home, alright?"

"Thanks," Potter whispered.

"You," Draco started before breaking off. Potter didn't move a muscle and Draco forced himself to be brave, "You did a good job, Potter."

Potter's eyes snapped up to his at his words, "I'm not sure that you're right."

"Well luckily for you," he said, trying to keep his voice light and teasing, "I make it a practice to be right." He reached out and clasped Potter's arm, "You saved his life." He took a step back, "I'm going to go get those scrubs. I'll be back."

---------

Once Potter had gotten dressed, he asked to be allowed to wait for the boy to wake up. Draco agreed and then he basically put Potter out of his mind.

It might have been impressive that he'd managed to do such a thing under ordinary circumstances but under the current onslaught of idiots flooding through their doors it was all Draco could do to remain standing.

When the night coverage showed up, Draco found the time to follow up on the boy; he been moved up to a room in the main building like Draco had instructed.

He decided that one more follow up before he left for the night couldn't hurt. When he got to the room he was surprised to see that Potter was still here. "What are you doing here?" Draco asked.

Potter's head snapped around to look at him, "You said I could stay," he replied fiercely.

"It's been hours," Draco said. "Aren't you tired?"

The other man opened his mouth but Draco continued, "I know you are, don't lie to me."

"I can't just leave him," he whispered.

And standing there, Draco knew that there was nothing he could say to make the other man decide to leave. "Stand up."

"No," he said, stubbornly crossing his arms like a petulant toddler.

"Potter, stand up this instant or so help me Salazar, I will move you myself. I'm not making you leave."

With a grunt and a wince Potter stood and Draco transfigured the chair he'd been sitting on into a cot. "Get some sleep," Draco said. "I'll see you in the morning."

--------

And he had. Every day for two weeks. He'd started stopping by first thing before he clocked in, eating his lunch in that room, and stopping in before he went home each night.

Potter never seemed to leave. He set up a small desk that he sent letters from and he glared at the responses he received before penning another. Finally over lunch one day, Draco had to ask, “Who are you writing?”

The spoon on its way to his mouth froze and he returned it to his bowl, “various Ministry officials. We need better care for orphans.”

Draco hummed, “You seem especially qualified to tell them that.”

Harry nodded slowly, “yes. Those are memories that I prefer not to visit but I think that’s been selfish.”

“Perish the thought.” Potter started to roll his eyes but Draco continued, “I know it’s not a pleasant thought, Potter, but you are human. You’re allowed to want normal human things, like privacy.”

“Am I?” Potter asked sarcastically.

“You are, in fact.”

He rolled his eyes again and Draco was tempted to tell him they’d get stuck like that if he wasn’t careful, that’s what his mother always said, anyway. Potter plowed on, “So if I asked you for a normal human thing, like a date, for instance, that would be allowed.”

Draco’s heart fluttered to his throat but he shoved it back down, Potter was just testing him. “You’d have to ask me nicely.”

The other man huffed a laugh, “Draco, will you please go on a date with me?”

“Yes,” he replied because he’d be damned if he backed down first.

Potter blinked, “Really? Are you being serious?” He shook his head, “I can never tell with you.”

Draco lifted one shoulder, “are you?”

He nodded.

“How’s tonight?”

Potter glanced at the bed, “he’s not going to wake up tonight?”

“No,” he replied, his heart thundering against his ribs.

Potter grinned at him, the first real smile he’d seen him have in two weeks. “Then tonight sounds perfect.”

————

Day 77: Shoes | Day 79: Never

#drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #100 drabbles in 100 days #drarry #thanks for your love the past few days ❤️#I’m slowly starting to feel like a person again

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rip-a-dip-dip-you-potato-chip · 3 years

Text

Trade ya

based on this ask

TW//Slight violence and a mention of blood

Macaque slipped back into the theatre after his little chat with the Monkey Kid.

Boy howdy, that kid had some explaining to do, to his companions. If only he could stick around and watch that mess unfold. But he had to retrieve his lamp.

Honestly, that was easier than he thought it would be.

Wich was concerning.

As Macaque walked over to the stage he paused for a moment, where was (y/n) is all this?

The Monkey King was off doing his own thing for a while, and he'd assumed his kid would be hanging around Mk and his friends, yet the amber-furred monkey wasn't with them when they had entered the theatre.

Did Mk literally forget one of his friends? damn, he was starting to become like the Hero...

despite everything that's happened between them since the whole 'I stole the Monkey Kings powers from Mk and broke his trust leaving him emotionally distressed' thing, he actually wanted to get to know his kid(and maybe convince them to join him)the week of stalking wasn't enough for him to say the least.

Disregarding the thought (though not entirely) he make is way back to the remains of the lap.

And with a little magic it was good an new!

Fuck ya!

As he admirered his handy work for s little longer and sound of clapping caught is attention. Wiping his head around he saw the wired guy in a pin strip suit form the play, if Macaque remembered correctly this was the guy that game my the *Skeleton Key.

"My my, that was such a magnificent performance!"

"Ha, ya well it's over, t-this was the last show actually"

Oh he did not like this for a single second. His fur was standing on there ends screaming for him to just leave.

Just as Macaque was about to use the shadows to escape, in a flash of icy blue light the guy was now behind him, and the next thing he know he was being picked up by the neck and for some reason couldn't, fucking move.

What the actual hell is happening???

"Lady Bone Demon would like a word with you~"

In the blink of an eye, the scenery changed form the damaged auditorium he'd rented out to and underground cave with mechanical parts and machines everywhere.

Just one wif of the musty roten air and he knew he was in the Spider Queens lair. But it looked different then it had been that last time he was there.

Then again it's been centuries since he was last there.

He was shortly let go by the insane suite wareing guy and rubbed his neck where it had been grabbed. And just like that the guy disappeared, leaving the Lady Bone Demon in his stead.

"Why greetings Macaque, its beet long since we last spoke"

" not long enough if you ask me"

The white haired lady let out a hum of acknowledgement as she circled the monkey.

...

"Soo any particular reason why you got one of your brain dead servents to get me?" Macaque questioned, pulling back a bit not wanting to be in her immediate range.

Up purely tactical.

"Ah, well it's come to my attention that you poses something of grate use to me" her icy gaze fixed on the lamp.

"Ya not happening" Macaque said flatly, he went though a lot to get his hands on this thing and he wasn't going to part with it so easily. Besides what ever the Lady Bone Demon was planning, would spell doom for the world as they know it.

Macaque my be a bad guy in some sense, maby even be considered an antihero-that was just more of an ass on a good day- but he wasn't one for wold domination.

In the past he just wanted to wreck heaven with his dear beloved friend befor his change of heart, not enslave mankind. They just wanted to prove there worth nothing more. But this bitch, na she was jack shit crazy. It took the combined forces of Demons and celestials alike to seal her away, himself being one of said demons.

"Ohh what a shame, looks like I'll be keeping this little one then"

In a puff of smoke (y/n) collapses on the foor to her, there fur slightly matted with blood and a visible gash on the left eye.

Similar to where his was-

It wasn't deep and wouldn't cause damage, but it still needed treatment.

Holy hell is this where (y/n) was all this time?

Macaques mind was going a mile a minute but he kept his poker face.

"And I sould care about some random kid because?"

"Oh~ Don't play dumb with me, Six Eared Macaque. You know exactly who this little one is" she started using her powers for lift the amber-furred monkey off the ground there one good (color) eye glosed over and hazy.

"After all this is your child"

"Hate to brake it to ya, but I don't have a kid"

"My sources say other wise"

Several screens descended for the walls and around them, all flicked to like to reveal footage of Macaque during his little stalking mission when he first planed to steal the Monkey Kings powers and found out about his long lost kid, and then some other footage of his watching them from the shadows.

Oh, oh no.

"I had my suspension on the Luner New Years, but your reaction solidify's my assumption"

Wha- shit his poker face slipped! Shiiiit

"So I'll ask again, the lamp or your child- they won't die persay, but I think the underground market would pay a hefty sum for one of such unique lineage"

His heart was beating faster than he thought possible, wait why would it be doing that! He shouldn't care! Should he?

Glancing between the lamp and (y/n)'s beaten form Macaque made a decision he might soon come to regret.

(Y/n) was having a good evening, well that was until the Spider Queens minions jumped them while on there way to the theater to meet up with the others(minus Sandy, what he had cats to take care of!)

When the first woke up it was in a dingy cell. And the next thing they knew the Spider Queen tried to get information about the Monkey Kings whereabouts.

"Ya right like the peach loving old man tells me anything! So if you could kindly let me on my marry way that would be fantastic"

You realy needed to know when to such your mouth or just give total bullshit information because Queeni had gotten pissed, and tried to beat the information out of you.

The Lady Bone Demon had to pry the spider off you. Saying you still had a use befor you blacking out.

When they woke for a second time everything was hazy, and there was muffled talking almost like they where under water.

Water was nice, you should learn to swim! It seems like fun! Maby you could get Mk or Mai to teach you.

After all the Monkey King was a shitty swimmer- wait no he was crap as under water fights, but wouldn't that require swimming as well-

Uh oh, was you being moved? Nooo das no gooood stop!

Ughhh why won't the muffin voices stop! And why can't I feel my eye!

E-y-e

Y E S spelles yes

E Y E S spells eyes how did that one guy get that confused, and you is moving again ST 0 p

Wait this was more comfy than before, is that red? Oh my moons it is! It's so soft!

And soft it was and you drifted to a more comfortable rest this time.

The third and final time (y/n) woke, they weren't in a cell, or had a hazy mindset. Areas not that hazy, but this time it was more so due to medicine than pain.

In fact they lay on a plush mattress, with equally soft pillows and nice heavy blankets tossed other them.

As (y/n) sat up they winced in pain slightly.

Looking down they take notice of the bandages, and a slitting head- and there are bandages on your eye as well fucking perfect.

"Good to see your up" a voice greated. Wiping their head to the side, there stood Macaques with a slight concerned look on his face.

Wha- owowowowowowowow

Probably shouldn't be moving so fast as (y/n) winced in pain again.

As (y/n) tried to steady themselves again and think of a retort, and side of the bed diped and a hand was placed oh your forehead, whilst the other heaped your arm.

"What are you-" "checking to see if you're fever spiked " "I has a heaver?" "Fever, and yes it set is last night after a particularly nasty infection" "oh"

"Wait, why are you-"

"The Bone bitch had you, i-i couldn't just let her harm you any more than she already had"

"That's dumb, you're dumb"

Sigh

"Okay back to sleep with you"

"Where am I?" "One of my safe houses, now sleep"

Sleep but what if...

"I-its okay, it'll be okay I'll be here when you wake again"

(y/n) blinked at him.

"I promise" he said softly as he guided you back down to the pillow, he retucked you in and was about to leave when (y/n) caught his hand.

Well fuck

Uhhh, you know what he's had a long fucking day himself he needs some sleep too.

So discarding his scarf to the side, as well as some armor plating and his shoes, Macaque got into the bed himself and just used himself. As he made himself comfortable, back tuned away for his pup a single thought echoed in his head.

'Im a fucking dad now, geat'

*Skelton Keys are said to open any door, plus the cannon key had a skull on it so why not?

UwU Anon you have no idea what this means, you have water my crops cleared my skin and my mind is sane!

I was originally planing to have this thing where the spider queen captured the reader/oc and used the robo parasight to make them a follower, but this, this is so much better sksksksksksk

I did most of this on mobile and my auto correct is bitchy 🙃

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #six eared macaque #macaque #lego monkie kid au #monkie kid problem childern au #problem childern au #au #this is the really good angst #anon your brain is huge #rip a dip dip wrights

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spooderboyandtincan · 4 years

Text

Being a Dad

TW: Mentions of blood

“Tony, we need you for this mission. C’mon.”

Tony stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. “I’m not leaving my kid, Rogers.”

They both looked to Peter, who lay silent, a thick layer of bandages wrapping around his torso.

Steve sighed. “Tony, I know you don’t want to leave him, but he’s fine. He’s recovering.”

The inventor massaged his forehead, glancing around the dark room. “I can’t let him wake up alone.”

“He won’t be alone. The mission will be fast. Peter probably won’t even notice you’re gone.”

They both jumped as Sam burst into the room. “Are you guys coming? We need to go now.”

Tony hesitated. “FRI, if Peter wakes up, tell him I’m on a mission and I’ll be back soon. And tell him not to move around too much, and to call me if he needs help. Call me if he wakes up, too. Got it?”

“Overprotective, are we, boss?” the AI replied.

He smiled. “Always am.” The genius bent and kissed Peter’s cheek gently. “Stay safe for me buddy, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tony looked sadly at his kid’s closed eyes, then followed Steve out of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

~~~~~

The first thing Peter noticed was the empty space beside him. No familiar heartbeat, no breathing, no talking.

Where was Mr. Stark?

Tony was always there.

He groaned and blinked. “Mr. Stark?”

FRIDAY’s kind voice filled the room. “Tony is on a mission right now. He will be back soon. He requested I tell you not to move around, and to call him if you are in need of help.”

Peter nodded. “Is he okay?”

The AI hesitated. “My attempts to contact Mr. Stark have been unsuccessful.”

He froze. “What?”

“I’m sure boss would not want you to worry, Peter.”

“He-he hasn’t responded? What about the rest of the team?”

“No one has answered.”

Oh god, what if Mr. Stark was hurt, or captured, or-

No, he wouldn’t say it.

“I have to help him!” Peter shifted to the side of the bed and carefully stood up.

Bad idea.

His torso flashed with a hot pain and he doubled over. “O-ow.”

“Peter? Please sit down to avoid hurting yourself further,” FRIDAY said, urgency crossing her voice.

“N-no, FRI, I’m fine.” He breathed deeply. “See? I’m good.”

“Peter, moving any more would cause your stitches to come loose. Please sit down,” she insisted.

Peter winced and leaned heavily against the wall. “No, I- I gotta make sure they’re okay.” He stumbled to the hallway.

He needed to help Mr. Stark

The boy staggered down the hallway, the pain increasing. He could hear his stitches tearing, which was definitely not good.

He didn’t remember being in so much pain before.

Ugh, it was so hot

Wait, what was he doing? Where was Mr. Stark?

Oh right… Mr. Stark needed help

He needed to help him!

“Help who?” he mumbled aloud, sliding down the wall. “Help? Who’m I helpin’?”

He winced as a voice pierced his ears. “Peter, I have contacted Mr. Stark and emergency medical services, but my communication seems to be failing. Stay awake until help arrives, Peter.”

He blinked slowly.

There was a voice in the ceiling. So weird…

Was it Clint?

Wait… who was Clint?

The sky voice was still talking, but he didn’t really understand it.

Medical services. Mr. Stark. Stay awake.

What?

~~~~~

Tony had to keep himself from calling Peter every ten seconds, reminding himself that FRIDAY was there and would alert him if anything happened.

He had a deep feeling that something was wrong.

The genius hummed anxiously. The mission was relatively simple. Just a quick trip to a suspected HYDRA facility, then out again. No fighting.

“Cap? I’m gonna head out.”

“Tony- wait, you’re leaving?” Steve exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he replied, then blasted into the sky.

“FRIDAY, call Peter.”

“Of course, boss.” There was a pause, and then- “My attempts to contact Peter have failed. Would you like me to try again?”

Tony could feel his heart beating out of his chest. “That’s not possible.”

“My sy-sytems have been compromised, boss. I-I can’t-”

“FRI?”

Nothing.

The screen flickered. “Fuck,” he snapped, increasing speed as the back up power lit his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

God, he needed to get to Peter yesterday.

~~~~~

He landed on the compound roof, cracking the cement. Tony sprinted to the medbay, stopping only when he spotted Peter’s tiny body on the ground.

“Peter!” he screamed, falling to his knees and cupping his face in his hands. “Whoa- no, no no no, what happened?!”

Oh god, there was blood. Peter’s blood, Peter’s blood on his hands.

He pressed his fingers to his neck, where Peter’s pulse beat rapidly. “Oh, baby, oh my god. Wake up, kiddo. Wake up!”

Tony gently scooped Peter into his arms and rushed to the medbay. The lights flickered on, and he set his kid carefully on his bed, kissing his forehead. “I’ll be right back, baby. Hold on for me.”

He dashed to the cabinet, frantically searching for a needle and thread.

Tony hated himself for doing this. Hatred that burned and solidified permanently.

But he took the needle, his hands shaking, and stitched Peter’s wound back up.

It was something he would never, ever forgive himself for, leaving his kid alone, who got hurt because of him.

God, this was all his fault.

~~~~~

“Stark! What’s wrong?” Steve cried, his heart leaping as he spotted Tony, slumped over in a chair by Peter’s hospital bed, head in his hands.

Tony startled, jumping up to stand in front of his kid. “Oh. Steve, it’s you.”

They both pretended not to notice as he wiped tears from his face.

Tony Stark doesn’t cry.

“What happened? Is Peter okay?”

Tony sighed, scrubbing at his eyes. “He pulled a few stitches. He-he was up looking for me. God.”

Steve frowned. “Didn’t you tell FRIDAY to alert you if that happened? Is that why you left?”

The inventor bit his lip. “FRI- she was hacked.”

All his fault.

“What?! How? Did you fix it?” Steve said.

“Yes, I fixed it.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how, and I need to figure that out.”

Steve noticed the way he looked at Peter in worry and protectiveness.

“Look, Tony, we can get someone else from the team to track whoever did it. You can just focus on Peter, okay?”

Tony’s eyes gleamed with relief. “Thanks, Rogers.” He sat back down, grasping Peter’s hand and smoothing his hair back.

Cap nodded. It never failed to surprise him how much Tony loved this kid. How overprotective and worried he was all the time.

He spotted a few gray hairs in Tony’s normally black ones.

Ah, the perks of being a dad.

~~~~~

Tag List: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @bringitonvoldie @memilon @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @iron-loyalty @gralaca

If anyone wants to be added/ removed let me know!

~~~~~

/DO NOT TAG OR REBLOG AS ST*RKER/

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dreaming-of-the-end · 3 years

Text

When It Happens: Will x Nico

Summary: Every second is a beat, but Nico only feels the rhythms of death

A/N: Comments are better than dog ears inside out! yeah I did in fact write a solangelo death scene

TW: de/th, bl//d, um… gr/ef, fighting, st/bbing, wo/nds, tell me if I need to add more!

Taglist: @real-smooth @completekeefitztrash @sovereign-of-the-skittles @rune-and-rising @venecs @lavender-and-rainy-days @chasteliac @confuzzilinh @in-a-fever-dream @stardustanddaffodils @a-harmless-poison

If you want to be added to or removed from my taglist, just ask!

Will’s heart pounded in his chest as he ducked at the last second, letting the arrow fly past him, less than an inch from his neck. He swallowed hard.

He was a healer, not a fighter.

He wasn’t used to stabbing or disemboweling or setting people on fire. Even monsters.

And the screams around him from demigods (his friends) made him flinch every time, especially since he knew he couldn’t help them all.

But he could save a few, so the next time when a scream pierced the air, Will turned towards the sound.

A flash of black hair tumbled to the ground and Will almost screamed himself, before remembering that Nico was on another team. He wouldn't—couldn’t— be here. His eyes focused, and he caught the injured person’s face, one he didn’t recognize.

A girl; one of the Romans, judging by the armor. Will didn’t know why she wasn’t with her cohort, but he pushed his way to her side anyway.

He was exhausted, drained from the amount of magic he’d used (not to mention the constant terror that he would be stabbed), but he still laid his hands over the ugly wound on her shoulder. He concentrated, letting the healing magic flow through his arms into the demigod’s wound.

Will ignored the sounds of battle around him. All that mattered was the demigod in front of him, slowly stirring.

She took a breath, and Will allowed himself to sit back and push his blonde hair back from his eyes.

The sounds of battle focused again in his hearing, and he winced as clashing swords and the screams of pain grew louder. He didn’t have time to rest.

He pushed himself back to his feet, swaying slightly.

And turned around just to see the grinning face of a monster as it drove its spear into his stomach.

Will didn’t register the pain at first. He looked down and saw the spear sticking out of his stomach, but the first pain he felt was in his knees as they slammed into the ground, unable to hold him up any longer.

Then the spreading blood registered, and burning pain rammed through Will’s chest, tearing and fiery and agonizing.

His second to last thought was, Please don’t let me die on an ‘and then everything went black cliche’

Then he thought, Nico’s gonna kill me.

And then everything went black.

…

Beat

Snapshots in time, it almost felt like. As Nico whirled and sliced and let death take all of his enemies, all who dared face him.

There: a dracaena.

He sliced it in half.

A harpy, veering across the sky.

He vaporized it.

Beat

Nico felt it when it happened.

It was a tremor. An earthquake under his skin, shaking him to his very core.

Beat

It distracted him, and he almost allowed the monster he was fighting to chop off one of his arms in his careless pause.

He chopped it in half, and it crumbled in front of him.

Beat

Tears filled his eyes with the force of the feeling. The death that swamped his senses.

Nico was surrounded by death, especially with everyone dying around him (they always did) and he’d usually managed to ignore the waves of death around him.

But he could sense the life forces of his core friends. He was attuned to them; he’d made sure of it.

And only one would set him off like this.

Beat

Nico whirled, chopping the surrounding monsters in half with his sword, drinking in their life forces as they crumbled into dust.

The Stygian metal gleamed black as he started running, swiping the tears from his eyes.

He sliced through anything that got in his path, vision narrowed to tracking the life force flickering slowly ahead.

Far away. Too far.

Beat

The screams echoed around him, but Nico ignored them.

He was getting closer, and the death hadn’t fully descended yet.

He still had time to save him.

Beat

When Nico saw him lying on the ground with a spear sticking out of his stomach, he snapped fully.

Broke.

Beat

Nico screamed, his voice cracking as the life flickering softly in Will’s chest dimmed.

A shock wave blasted from his chest, shooting in a ring around him.

Every single monster disintegrated, and the demigods lowered their weapons in confusion as they beheld Nico, sliding through the dust and blood around him to collapse to his knees at Will’s side.

Beat

Will’s bright blue eyes were closed.

His shining blonde hair was limp and gray.

His breaths were weak.

And Nico could only watch (if only he was a healer instead of a killer, the son of light instead of darkness) as he lay at his feet.

Beat

Death lay ahead, and Nico could only cup Will’s cheeks with shaking hands, trying and failing to wipe away the dirt and blood.

Beat

Will’s life force flickered one last time.

And went out.

Beat

Nico felt it when it happened.

The sudden absence of light. The knowledge that darkness had overtaken the earth.

Overtaken him.

Beat

“Nico!” The words were screamed, crackling with grief. Nico recognized the voice.

His mouth formed the name, but his throat didn’t work as Hazel threw her arms around him.

He ignored her embrace, his eyes focused on Will’s body.

He was the master of death.

How could it betray him?

Beat

Nico focused, raising his arms above him as he drew on his power.

He was weak, but he clenched his fingers tightly, breath whooshing out of him as he panted for air.

And Will moved.

Beat

Hazel drew back, and Nico could feel her fear. But he could only see Will’s body as it rose, familiar blonde hair moving across the forehead.

But when he met the blue eyes, there was nothing there.

No sign of the son of Apollo that gleamed with light and laughter. That brightened Nico’s world and had kissed him in the woods.

Only dead, dull nothingness.

Bent to Nico’s will.

Brought back, but not truly.

Beat

“Nico, let him go,” Hazel whispered, her voice shaking. “He- he’s gone.”

But even though Will’s eyes were unrecognizable, Nico couldn’t let him go.

Not until Hazel slowly unclenched his hand, uncurling his fingers until they lay flat at his side. Until he let them fall.

Her fingers were warm against his cold skin.

Somehow, that was the only thought that made it through Nico’s head.

Her fingers were warm. He was cold.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

He let Will crumple back to the ground, his skin gray. His eyes closed one last time, and Nico felt the final blow.

Down below, someone new (someone important) had just stepped on Charon’s boat.

Beat

They rowed across the River Styx, and Nico closed his eyes.

Hazel’s hand laid across his shoulder, pulling him into her arms, and he knew she was feeling it too.

Beat

He passed under Cerberus. The judges paused, looking through his mind.

Beat

He was worthy.

Hades’ voice sounded in Nico’s head. It did that, whenever someone he knew died. But this time, Nico wanted to tear his hair off at his father’s words.

Beat

There was a new hero in Elysium.

#summer's writing #solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #pjo #death tw #angst #angst without a happy ending #percy jackson and the olympian #heroes of olympus #rrverse #riordanverse #rrv #blood tw #stabbing tw #pjo writing

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disasterfandoms · 3 years

Text

You Shouldn’t Be Alone || A Seal Team Story

(this is a horrible gif as this has nothing to do with Ray)

Summary: Amelia has a no good, terrible, very bad day; with heartbreaking results.

A/N: My brain wouldn’t shut up last night so it finished this story part of the story. This is a three parter, and it’s part of the ao3 series myself amd @bravo-four-seal-team created. This is set early season 1, before Clay joins the team. It’s mostly Naima, Amelia, and Ashley this chapter, with Trent coming in later.

TW: injuries, hospitals, mention of death, mention of people coding, mentions of health spiraling, implication of miscarriage, mention of grief, mention of pain meds

Taglist: @twentydavid @bravo-four-seal-team @a-kate3 @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @supervalcsi @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting @mrsmarvelous1995 @velvetcardiganbucky @itsonautopilot @pinkrockstar19 @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @abby-splace

Amelia was just so, so tired of today.

Everything that could go wrong, did. The morning started with a minor argument with Trent, nothing they couldn’t handle, but still annoying. Then, a rude stranger ran into her, causing their coffee to spill all over her scrubs, resulting in her having to change into surgery scrubs when she got to work.

Work was an absolute nightmare: back-to-back-to-back codes, rapids, anything that could go wrong did go wrong. She had a patient die, got another, then they died.

And now she’s a patient in the ER.

Every breath she took included a sharp pain from her broken ribs resisting. Her left arm is in a sling, broken collarbone, apparently; her body littered with massive bruising. Swollen lip, stitches on her right cheek. Massive black eyes, a broken nose that was corrected a few minutes ago. Grade I concussion, so while the best-case scenario, still annoying. Her throat was sore from the hands trying to end her; that’s going to bruise badly later, she noted. The bruises, scratches on her arms will heal; they might be the least irritating injuries she sustained today. Her sore back and bruised pelvis from being slammed against the wall may be the most annoying. Her legs are in surprisingly good shape, a dislocated knee being the only injury that’s worth noting. Nothing came as close as devastating as to why she was bleeding, though.

She shook her head, wincing as she did. She won’t go there; no one is to know about that one except for her, her medical team, and Trent. Fuck, Trent. He’s going to be devastated, or relieved; she honestly still can’t tell how he felt.

That injury in itself would garner a lot of pity. She despises pity. Everyone around her was trying to do it, though, from her nurse, Naima, to her coworkers who keep coming down to check on her. She appreciates the concern, she does, but she’s okay; it could have been a lot worse.

Needs a new chain for her locket, once again, stupidly annoying. It’s her comfort blanket; it lets her have what’s special to her near her heart at all times. Again, nothing that can’t be fixed, but also stupidly annoying.

Naima threw the curtain back, came into her space, and then closed them to give the two nurses some privacy.

“Dr. Mann would rather you stay overnight to make sure you’re stable, and that way Dr, Leigh can do the procedure in the morning.”

Amelia shook her head, then winced again. She really, really needs to stop doing that! “No way in hell, Naima. I’m fine; I just got a little banged up! And I’ll come back in the morning for the procedure.”

Naima sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. God, her friend was stubborn. “Who’ll drive you? That sling stops you from even considering driving yourself.”

“So, you mean to tell me that I can’t drive home?”

“Amelia Rose Carter! You know better than that. I’ll try to convince Mann to let you go, see if we can arrange a follow-up visit or something in the morning. I’ll call your emergency contact on file, see if they can come to pick you up.”

“No!” Amelia attempted to scream, but her voice still sounds strangled and barely came out above a whisper, “Please don’t call him. He doesn’t need to know, not yet.” Amelia, begging? This is something Naima hasn’t seen from the young nurse. She could swear she saw tears starting to form in the young woman’s eyes, whether from pain or the thoughts racing in her head.

Naima crossed her arms, walking over to lean on the stretcher beside Amelia. “Amelia, is your emergency contact someone you’re afraid of?”

Amelia would have smiled, laughed at the thought, even, had her lip not be swollen, and her throat didn’t feel like fire. “No, Naima. If you looked in my file, you’d see why. He’s just very protective of me, and while I love him more than I thought I could love anyone, his care will feel like suffocation. And now I sadly know what that feels like,” she paused and listened to Naima chuckle. The older nurse then apologized, but Amelia made a motion to stop that; she’s glad someone could laugh at her dark humor. “He’s going to be so pissed about in the morning, though. We were so close to telling everyone that we were-” she stopped, tears welling up in her blackened eyes again, but Naima got the point. She grabbed the battered woman’s uninjured hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

“Okay. So if not him, then who do you want to be called? I know you mentioned a brother?”

“Scott, yeah. He’s out in the field, I think. You wouldn’t want him here. He’d take one look at me and then want the name of the patient who did this and probably threatens to kill them.”

“Okay, so boyfriend and brother are off the list. Anyone else you can think of?”

“Boyfriend’s sister? I don’t know her that well, except for the times I helped take care of her last fall. She’d be able to drive me home, though, at the very least.”

“What’s her name, and do you have her number?”

“Ashley Sawyer, and her number is in my phone,” Amelia pulls up the number and continues to speak while Naima copies it down, “Be warned, she told me she doesn’t like hospitals. You may have to break HIPAA and mention my name for her to answer the second time.”

“Second time?”

“She’ll hang up once you get out that you’re a nurse at St. Samuel’s.” This made both women chuckle.

“Okay, I’ll go try her cell, just rest for a while, okay? Need some more pain meds before I leave?”

“You know I hate pain medicine, especially morphine. Makes my head fuzzy,” Amelia declined, she definitely didn’t need that if she had to go home to her apartment.

“Okay. I’m gonna go call her, okay?”

“Good luck.”

Little did Naima know, she was going to need it.

Getting back to the nurses’ station, she talked to the doctor, who agreed to discharge the stubborn nurse as long as Amelia came back to the ER if she was having any complications. While the Dr. worked on getting the discharge ready, Naima called the number she received and waited for a voice on the other end.

“What do you want?” The voice said snappily, clearly irritated by someone calling her.

“Ashley, this is Naima, I am a nurse at St. Samuel’s Ho-“

Click.

Naima sighed, preparing to call the number again. Amelia at least warned her of this happening. She picked up the phone, dialed the number, and waited for a response. This time, the number went straight to voicemail. “Ms. Sawyer, this is Naima, a nurse at St. Samuel’s Hospital. A significant other of a family member has asked that we call you to come to pick them up when they’re discharged. Please call back at this number, thank you.”

She hung up the phone and hoped that Ashley would hear the message before too long.

Within half an hour, the same phone rang again, Naima picked up the phone and answered, “St. Samuel’s ER this Naima speaking, how can I help you?”

“You called this number a half-hour ago?” “Is this Ms. Sawyer?” “Who else would it be?” “Ms. Sawyer, this is a hospital and this isn’t my personal phone here. I’m asking for clarification, as there are about 10 phone calls per hour on this phone alone.” “You called me for a reason, snap to it.” “Yes, your brother’s girlfriend, Amelia, has asked me to call on her behalf for you to come to pick her up upon discharge,” “Shit. Is she okay, and why me?” “She’s been injured fairly well, with several bruises, several broken bones, and a dislocated knee. The doctor asked she stay for tonight, but Ms. Carter is refusing. She requested you, claiming your brother would be ‘too suffocating’”

Naima heard the woman laugh on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing since it’s clear she’s banged up pretty well. Not wrong about Trent, though.”

Wait. No, that can’t be. Well, shit. Naima pieces together what she knows about her friend’s boyfriend. Oh, she’s so telling her husband about this.

“If you agree to pick her up and take her home, you can come at any time and I’ll come out to the waiting room and bring you back. I must warn you, though, she looks rough and shouldn’t be left alone tonight. She’ll probably ask you to take her apartment to leave her be. Don’t.”

“Shit, is it that bad?” “It’s not great. The concussion she sustained would be the main worry. That and god forbid she fell and no one was there to help her. She’ll need someone to bring her back in the morning, as well, and she’s incredibly stubborn about being able to drive herself,” “She got injured, and you all are going to make her come back to work the next day?” “What? No, ma’am, she has a procedure unrelated to her injury in the morning, and claims she’ll come in and do it outpatient instead of staying,” “She’s as stubborn as the rest of us, damn,” she paused, sighing into the phone, “I’ll be there in 30 minutes.”

“Okay. Let the front desk know to alert me when you’ve arrived and I’ll bring you to her. Thank you, Ms. Sawyer.”

Click.

Sighing, Naima went back to filling out the paperwork, figuring out how or when she’ll confront her friend about dating someone on her husband’s team. For now, she’ll finish the paperwork on another patient, waiting for Trent’s sister to arrive.

#naima perry #oc: amelia carter #oc: ashley sawyer #ao3 series #trent sawyer mentioned #full metal mentioned #seal team fic #will go to ao3 later

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flyingovertheandes · 4 years

Text

Eight Days | Chapter One: Stay | Frankie “Catfish” Morales x GenderNeutral!Reader

Reader remembers some of the most important days of her life have been spent by Frankie’s side.

TW: Drug Use, Cocaine, Angst, Hurt, Mentions of Alcohol, Unrequited Love (OR SO THEY THOUGHT), OH NO THERE’S ONLY ONE BED trope

Word Count: 1.8K

NOTE: Italics in this story signify memories, they are not in present time.

You were finally going home. It had only been days, but even hours away from Frankie made your chest feel tight, especially when you stopped to think about what he was going through.

“Frankie?” You already felt the tears well up in your eyes at the sight you’d come home to.

Frankie was leaned over the coffee table, white powder under him arranged into thin little lines.

You could see his face lose color the instant he saw you. He rushed from his seat to your side in an instant and tried to stop you from opening the door and walking back out.

“Baby, this isn’t what it looks like. I-” He tried.

“You what? You’ve been using again and you thought I wouldn’t find out? God, Frankie! How long has it been?”

He stayed silent.

“Frankie!” You shouted.

“A couple weeks! Okay? Just a couple weeks since I...” His voice was quiet.

“Just a couple weeks? And you never thought to come to me for help?” You cried.

“Baby, it’s not that easy.” He tried to tell you.

“Whatever, Frankie. I’m leaving.” You turned around to open the door but he held it shut.

“No! Please.. No. Don’t go. I need you, Y/N.” His voice broke.

“You had me, Frankie. That’s the worst part. You had me and now you don’t.” You wiped the tears from your eyes and tried to open the door, failing to overpower him.

“Stay, please. I’ll make it up to you.” He said, giving in and letting go of the door to hold your shoulders.

“Goodbye, Frankie.” You breathed before walking back out to your car, leaving him in the open doorway.

“Fuck!” You heard Frankie scream as he slammed the door shut.

You wouldn’t know it, but he punched a hole through the wall that night, flipped the coffee table, and got rid of anything he had left. Now that he had lost you, nothing made sense anymore. He couldn’t bear to be in your shared home knowing he hurt you.

You were at a stop light when you felt your eyes start to water. Frankie. He was your whole world. Even though you hadn’t been together from the start, he’d had your heart since the moment you met. It was only a matter of time until he found that out himself. It had all started on that trip Pope made you all take two winters ago.

You didn’t know why you had agreed to carpool with Frankie. You should have known his truck was never going to make the drive over the mountains and to the campsite where you and the guys were all planning to stay.

“Fuck!” Frankie groaned as he pulled over to the side of the road.

He jumped out of the truck and popped the hood, releasing a plume of smoke from underneath it. You jumped out behind him, eager to find a way to help.

“What’s wrong with it?” You asked, walking up to him delicately.

He was leaning over the engine, inspecting something closely with his phone flashlight.

“I think the oil’s leaking again. It’s happened before.” He sighed.

The sun was already setting over the horizon and the likelihood that anyone would be willing to come help was small.

“What should we do? I think I saw a motel a town or two back, at least it’s something. I don’t want to be stuck out here in the truck all night.” You hugged your arms close to your chest. It was a lot colder in the mountains than where you’d driven up from in the valley.

“Yeah, we could try that.” Frankie said while removing his flannel jacket.

You were confused until he passed it to you.

“What?” You asked him.

“Put it on. You’ll catch a cold out here!” He told you.

“Frankie… I could just go in the truck and grab my jacket. You didn’t need to.” You tried passing it back to him.

He shook his head.

You sighed before slipping into it. It was so warm and it felt like heaven. It even smelled like him too.

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

“No problem.” He smiled.

It was a while before you were able to get someone to stop and give you guys a ride to the nearest motel. By the time you made it there, the sun was long gone and the stars were now prominent in the sky. Your cell service had finally come back as well and you knew the guys were probably wondering where the hell you two were.

“You want to call Pope while I get us the rooms?” You asked Frankie.

“I don’t want you going in there alone! We’re in the middle of nowhere! I’m going with you.” He told you bravely.

You didn’t know it, but it broke his heart to heart you say rooms, plural. He didn’t want to be away from you.

You on the other hand, felt your heart flutter at his protectiveness. He’d always been like that around you, more than any of the other guys. You thought it was just because he saw you as a younger sister he needed to protect from anything and everything. But it was nothing like that.

The two of you walked inside the motel you’d been dropped off at and waited for someone to come to the desk. Frankie even got impatient and rang the little bell on the desk a time or two.

“Frankie! Stop it!” You laughed, smacking his hand away from the bell.

He jokingly smirked before laughing. He really just wanted to see you smile.

“Hello!” An older lady emerged from a back room. “How can I help you?”

Frankie took charge and explained that they needed two rooms for the night. It secretly killed him to say it.

“I’m sorry, sir. We only have one room available right now.” The lady apologized.

You spoke up then. “That’s fine! We’ll take it!” You smiled kindly.

Frankie felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

As the two of you walked into your room, Frankie felt his breath hitch in his throat. There was only one bed.

Sure, the two of you had fallen asleep on the couch at his house together a handful of times, but nothing had ever been like this. You had never shared a bed. Never been so close to each other for such a long period of time.

“Well…” You said. “You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Frankie felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“No! No way, Y/N. I’m not letting you sleep on some dirty motel floor. You take the bed, I’ll sleep over there.” He pointed to a small, worn down chair in the corner of the room.

“Frankie, don’t be insane. You’ve been driving all day, you need a good night’s rest.” You argued.

“So do you!” He ran his hand through his hair he’d just let out of his hat.

“I mean… I don’t mind sharing the bed, as long as you’re okay with it.” You admitted.

He tried to keep his face from lighting up.

“Of course I’m fine with it. We’ve been best friends for years… what’s sharing a bed?”

“Good.” You smiled before making your way into the bathroom to change into your pajamas.

Frankie took this chance to call Pope and tell him about the situation. He picked up almost immediately.

“Fish! Where the hell are you guys? We’ve been worried sick!” He could hear the guys partying in the background.

“We got stuck on St. Agnes, man! The truck died on us. We’re staying in a motel tonight, but we’ll try to be there by sun down tomorrow.” He told him.

“You and Y/N staying in a motel? You sharin’ a room?” Pope joked.

He stayed silent, trying to keep himself composed.

“No way! You are! Guys! Y/N and Fish are sharing a room!” He shouted to the group.

Frankie facepalmed as he heard the cheers.

They all knew how he felt. Hell, he’d been in love with her since she walked into his life seven years ago.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard you exiting the bathroom. He decided to end the phone call while he was still ahead.

“Alright, Pope. I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.” He told him.

Pope was still drunk and cheering on the other line, so Frankie just hung up before you could hear.

“What’d Pope say?” You asked him.

“Not much. They seem to have started the party without us.” He told you, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Damn.” You cursed.

“Luckily…” You started. “We can have a little party of our own.” You told him before walking over to your bag on the bedside table.

Frankie remained quiet, unsure of what to expect from you.

You turned around excitedly, holding a flask bigger than your hand.

All he could do was laugh.

“You brought Whiskey?” He asked.

“Of course! I was going to share it with everyone, but since they started without us… Fuck ‘em.” You took two long drinks.

Frankie fell back onto the bed, amused by your actions.

“Here!” You giggled, passing him the flask and flopping down next to him on the large bed.

He debated for a long second before taking a swig from the flask. He winced at the taste and you laughed.

“What?” He laughed as he rolled over to face you. Admire you.

“You hate Whiskey, but you always drink it for me.” You smiled.

Did he? If he did, he never realized.

“It’s not my favorite, but…” He went to admit something, but nothing came out.

“But? You just love me so much you’re willing to drink anything?” You joked.

If only you knew.

He fell silent. You both did.

You were convinced he’d fallen asleep. After all, you were both recovering from a long day of driving.

“Frankie?” You asked, your voice quiet.

“Y/N?” He responded, his eyes opening to meet yours.

“I think… I love you.” You whispered.

He thought he was dreaming.

“Y/N, you’re drunk.” He tried, though it broke his heart to say it out loud. But he was right, it never did take much for you to get drunk. Two or three shots and all you wanted was his attention.

“Frankie…” You tried again.

“C’mon, let’s try and sleep, okay?” He sat up and made his way over to the door, locking it and flipping the light switch.

You rolled over and got under the covers on the right side of the bed.

You knew Frankie always slept on the left.

The bed dipped as he climbed in next to you, two feet of space between them and their backs to each other.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He said, hoping you weren’t upset with him.

You pretended to already be asleep, carefully and quietly wiping the tears from your eyes.

PART TWO

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #catfish triple frontier #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #I LOVE THIS MAN

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s-oulpunk · 4 years

Text

Vendetta (2/3) - Stenbrough

Chapter Summary: Bill, true to his word, searches for Stan from the moment he wakes up to the moment he crawls, defeated, back into Robert’s truck. By that time, the sun has long since gone away, replaced by a watchful moon and a million tiny stars. Most nights, Bill thinks they’re beautiful. Patches of light in a world full of dark. But tonight they only fill him with an unfathomable amount of anger. How dare they return to this world looking exactly the same as the night before? Don’t they know what happened?

TW: Violence, Manipulation, Non-Con, Kidnapping, Self harm, Mentions of suicide, Mentions of rape

Read on AO3

Part Two:

The Disappearance Of Stanley Uris:

Robert’s prized possession is a tiny, portable camera he carries with him everywhere. Bill knows it all too well. It snaps photos on all of their little excursions. Sometimes it even comes out in those moments where Bill’s on his knees, Robert towering above him. He hears the quiet click and shame burns hot throughout his body.

But he never asks to see the photos. He’s never once asked to look through the camera roll. Why would he need to? There’s nothing there he wants to see.

But, as of currently, the camera isn’t being pointed at Bill. Instead it’s being pointed at Stan. Stan who is standing against the far wall, swaying slightly on his feet, with blood on his face and bruises on his neck.

Stan had gotten a surge of hope when the camera was first revealed, but Robert must have seen the glint in his eyes because he simply laughed and said, “Don’t get any ideas. No one sees this old thing but me.”

The idea of Robert saving this moment forever, the idea that he can go back and relive it whenever he wants, makes Stan’s veins turn to ice. Hasn’t he had enough? Isn’t it enough to make Stan’s skin turn purple and his eyes turn glassy? Why does he need to make it last?

The thought makes Stan’s lower lip tremble, but he quickly sucks it between his teeth, biting harshly, in a desperate attempt to keep it still. He’ll be damned if he lets Robert see him cry again.

“Deep in thought?” Robert coos. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

For a split second Stan can see the facade of the man Bill trusts so much. He can see why he puts his heart and soul in his hands. This man seems charming, caring even. Like a favorite uncle. The thought makes Stan sick.

It takes him a few minutes to get his voice to work. The first few tries, all that come out are rather pathetic little squeaks. Robert, who seems rather amused by this, snaps a few more photos.

“Bill,” Stan finally gets out. “What - What do you want with him?”

Robert sighs heavily and crosses the last few feet between them. Stan pathetically tries to push himself closer to the wall.

“Billy and I’s relationship is something you will simply never understand,” Robert says. “He’s special.”

“I know he’s special.” Stan spits the words out venomously. Even if he can’t look Robert in the eye, his words cut deep. He knows because a moment later he’s being smacked hard across the face. He doesn’t have time to recover before Robert’s grabbing his chin, forcefully turning his head until they’re nose to nose.

“Don’t ever speak to me like that again,” Robert snarls, teeth bared and spit flying. “You should be thanking me. I could’ve left you out for the wolves. I could’ve killed you. But did I? No. And this is the thanks I get?” He squeezes Stan’s face harder, pressing the inside of Stan’s cheeks up against his teeth. “Say it.”

“Wh-What?”

“Say thank you.” Stan shakes his head. Or, tries to shake his head. It’s hard with the vice-like grip holding him in place. “C’mon, Stanny, don’t be rude. Things won’t go well if you can’t behave.”

Stan isn’t sure what that means, but there’s no way to doubt that it’s a threat. And Stan doesn't think he’s in any position to be ignoring those right about now.

“Thank you,” he chokes out.

“Good boy,” Robert hums. He drops his hand, and graciously doesn’t say anything when Stan’s own hands come up to rub at his aching cheeks. “What you need to understand, Stanley, is that I know things about Billy that you never will.”

Stan nods mutely, as if he understands. He just has to be good. If he’s good then Robert will have no reason to hurt him. He doesn’t even flinch that much when Robert starts to twirl one of his curls between his finger.

“You’ve actually helped bring us so much closer,” Robert says.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Stan whispers. He keeps his eyes downcast. Speaking out of turn is enough of a risk, he doesn’t need to anger him further.

“Hurt him?” Robert balks, as if the statement is outrageous. As if he would never dream of such a thing. As if he doesn’t have Stan locked in his fucking basement. “I would never hurt him, Stanley. Billy’s become very special to me in the past few weeks.” He tuts quietly. “I can’t believe you would think so lowly of me.”

Stan has so many questions. They swirl around his head, each fighting to be more important than the one before. He half feels that if he doesn’t get an answer to each and every one right now he’ll implode. But one question was risky enough, so he takes to nodding quietly instead.

But that’s not enough for Robert, who tugs sharply on the curl he still has spun around his finger. Stan squeaks out a quiet, “Sorry,” which Robert seems to deem good enough because he lets the curl drop a moment later.

“I’m going out,” he says, as casually as if he’d just announced he was heading out to buy a new pint of milk.

“Alright,” Stan says, because what the fuck else does he say to that?

Robert stares at him, and Stan has the most awful feeling that he’s trying to decide whether or not his response was good enough. He seems to decide it is, though he still presses his thumb into a bruise blooming just under Stan’s right eye and chuckles lowly when Stan winces.

A moment later the door slams closed and Stan is, once again, alone. Except he doesn’t feel any sort of relief. He’s alone alone. The only person who knows where he is is Robert, and who the hell knows when he’ll be back.

For a single, alarming minute, Stan considers the fact that he might never be back. Stan might be left here to starve and rot. But that’s somehow worse than Robert coming back, so Stan pushes it to the back of his mind before he can panic too much.

He slides to the floor, allowing the far wall to support a majority of his body weight. The floor is filthy, but the impending threat of literal death is currently far too pressing for Stan to really be worried about that.

Because that’s what’s going to happen. There’s no way to escape it. Whether it’s today or tomorrow or next month, at some point Stanley Uris is going to die alone in a dark basement, far, far away from the comfort of his friends. They’ll probably never even know what happened to him. And that, somehow, is the scariest thought of all.

Bill, true to his word, searches for Stan from the moment he wakes up to the moment he crawls, defeated, back into Robert’s truck. By that time, the sun has long since gone away, replaced by a watchful moon and a million tiny stars. Most nights, Bill thinks they’re beautiful. Patches of light in a world full of dark. But tonight they only fill him with an unfathomable amount of anger. How dare they return to this world looking exactly the same as the night before? Don’t they know what happened?

If they had just waited a few more minutes, if Bill had just had a little bit longer, maybe he could have found something. Even if it was just a clue, he would be one step closer.

Except, he wouldn’t be. Because deep in his heart of hearts, Bill knows that no matter how much time he had, he never would have found anything.

He failed with Georgie, and he’s going to fail with Stanley.

A hand on his knee rips him out of his thoughts. He jumps in his seat, a soundless yelp struggling to escape his throat. But when he looks again, it’s just Robert.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find anything, Billy,” he says.

Bill shrugs, wordlessly. Because what would he say? Would he say that it’s okay? That they’ll find something eventually? Bill can’t keep lying to himself. It’s not okay, and he’s never going to find something. He just has to accept that.

“Hey,” Robert murmurs. “C’mon, talk to me.”

“Huh?” Bill’s gaze slowly moves, like a buffering computer, up from Robert’s hand on his knee, to his face.

“Are you alright?”

“I…” Bill’s eyes find the moon again. Distantly, he wonders if Stan, wherever he is, is looking at the moon as well. Is he thinking about him? Does he know how worried Bill is?

Bill can see him in his imagination, sitting on the rough ground as he stares up at the moon. Bill tries to focus on Stan’s surroundings, as if it will somehow lead him to the real life Stan. But they remain fuzzy, like a half-processed photograph.

“Billy!” Bill nearly leaps out of his seat at the booming voice, only Robert’s hand keeping him grounded. “You have been like this all fucking day! I do a nice thing for you - I go out of my way to help you - and this is the thanks I get?”

It’s the first time Robert’s really gotten angry with him, the first time Bill’s ever seen that fire in his eyes. It makes Bill’s skin crawl and heart hammer. Little alarms are sounding in his head. Each screaming: Danger! Danger! Danger! But he can’t move. All he can do is sit there and stare at Robert with comically large eyes, hoping and praying the anger doesn’t get any worse.

Flashes of the night before only add to the fear. Images of hands digging into his hips and his face shoved in a pillow echo through his brain. He can still feel the ache in his thighs, a constant reminder like a thumb pressing into a bruise.

“I - I’m - sss-suh-suh-”

Robert must sense the fear Bill feels, because he sighs deeply and moves the arm on Bill’s knee to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him tightly against him.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to get upset. I just worry about you.”

Bill nods, despite the anxiety still pooling in his stomach. He’s ready to leave it there, content with a silent agreement that yes, everything is okay now, but not talking had been exactly what had upset Robert. So Bill murmurs out a quiet, “I know. I’m suh-sorry.”

Robert hums quietly. “We’ll find him, I’m sure of it. He can’t be far.”

Bill traps his lower lip between his teeth, sinking them into the soft flesh until it’s red and bitten. There’s something else he has to say. Something else he has to tell Robert. Something that might change their entire search.

Robert brings him out of his thoughts with a soft chuckle, which is certainly better than the screaming he had been doing only a moment earlier. But the way he drags Bill’s lip away from his teeth with his thumb still makes the hair on the back of Bill’s neck stand on end.

“Thinking hard over there?” Robert says.

“Stan,” Bill says. He keeps his voice quiet, because without him here, Stan’s name feels precious. Something that could be tainted if he said it wrong. “I’m ww-wuh-worried about him.”

“I know-”

“No!” In a flash, Bill is sitting upright again. He fixes Robert with a steely stare. He doesn’t know. “I’m worried h-he did this to - to hh-huh-himself.” Upon Robert’s inquisitive stare, he continues, “Stan ww-wuh-was always - I dunno - ss-sad?” There’s more to it than that, there’s so much more. He wasn’t sad, he was never sad. But it’s complex. And sometimes sad is the only word people understand. “Rr-Ruh-Richie found him one time. In the bb-bb-buh-buh-bah - Fuck - It doesn’t matter! He - He hh-hurt himself, and we th-thought everything was buh-better now. But wh-wh-what if-” He cuts himself off with a sniffle, horrified to find his eyes shiny with tears again. Crying is starting to become a constant part of his day.

“Fuck,” Robert says. “Shit, kid, I’m so sorry.”

Bill shrugs. For a moment he considers telling him what happened the night before Stanley’s disappearance. He considers telling him how nice Stan’s curls felt in his hands. He considers telling him how soft his lips were. He considers telling him how Stan’s shy smile made his entire body feel like it was on fucking fire. Instead he settles for, “Stan was the best of us.”

Stan wakes up to the sound of heavy footsteps. Heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs, heading right towards the locked door only a few mere feet away.

He manages to scramble into a sitting position right as Robert throws the door open.

Robert regards him carefully, like one regards an animal in a zoo. Stan half has the urge to cover his face in his hands, just so he won’t have to see those ice cold eyes boring into his soul. But he knows better than to take his eyes off Robert.

In one hand, Robert’s holding a lantern. It’s dim and flickering, barely illuminates the room, but it’s better than the suffocating darkness Stan had been surrounded by only seconds ago. In his other hand, he’s got a paper bag. Stan hates to think about what might be in it, but he can’t stop his imagination from running wild. Various knives and torture devices, each one worse than the last, run through his mind. It drags a soft whimper from his lips, despite how hard he tries to stifle it.

Robert chuckles quietly, letting the door slam closed behind him.

“Miss me?” he asks. When Stan doesn’t reply, he tuts quietly. “Why is everyone ignoring me today?”

“Sorry,” Stan chokes out.

Robert hums softly to himself. “That’s a start.”

He sets the lamp and bag on the floor, and Stan can’t help but lean forward as Robert starts to rustle through the bag. He pulls out a hastily wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which he holds out to Stan as if he were a dog begging for a treat.

“You hungry?”

Stan doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to, Robert can see the way his eyes lock on the food. He can hear the way his stomach growls the moment the sandwich is out in the open.

“Yeah?”

Stan knows it’s a bad idea, he doesn’t know what the hell Robert did to that sandwich, but he nods anyway. It’s short and broken, but that’s all he needs.

Robert grins wolfishly as he puts the sandwich back in the bag. “You’re gonna need to work for it.”

Before Stan has a chance to wonder what the fuck that means, something is clattering to the ground right before his feet. It’s hard to recognize in the dim light, though that does nothing to ease Stan’s anxiety. He nudges it gently with his foot, as if to check it for explosives. Nothing happens but, again, this does not make him feel any better.

“Pick it up,” Robert urges. “It’s alright.”

Except it most definitely is not alright, because Stan recognizes it as soon he’s got his hands on it. An old razor blade, rusted and worn, rests between his fingers.

“I - I don’t - I don’t understand,” he says, feeling breathless. Like he just got all the wind punched out of him.

“Well you can’t expect me to do all the work!” Robert exclaims.

The longer Stan stares at the cool metal, the clearer the memory becomes. The slosh of the water. The red on his arms. The inhuman sobs Richie let out, glasses fogging up as he clutches Stan’s cold, unresponsive hand between his two warm ones.

“You want me...You want me to-” Stan can’t even finish the thought.

“Please don’t go,” Richie had begged, “Please don’t leave us.”

“Just a couple,” Robert says. He’s leaning against the wall. It’s infuriatingly casual and for a moment Stan wants to leap across the room and lodge the blade into his neck, right below his adam’s apple. Which is strange, because Stan’s never been a violent person.

“You don’t want me to - to kill myself?” Stan asks, feeling his mouth go dry.

Please don’t go.

“God, no,” Robert says, and he has the audacity to look offended. “We are nowhere near done, Stanley.”

Stan swallows thinkly. The blade is so small. It’s strange to think something so small could cause so much pain and fear.

“I’ve been clean for so long,” he says, more to himself than Robert.

Please don’t leave us.

“I can do it myself,” Robert says. “But it won’t be nearly as nice. I won’t be happy to have to do your job for you.”

Nice isn’t exactly a word Stan would associate with his current situation. But, nonetheless, having Robert slice up his arms does sound infinitely worse than doing it himself.

Stan holds out his arm, ignoring how Robert cranes his neck to get a better look, and prepares the blade against his skin. It makes little goosebumps prickle across his forearm.

He hasn’t done this in so long, and yet the first cut still feels as familiar as riding a bike. A very painful, very guilt-ridden bike.

He lets out a quiet hiss as blood dribbles down his arm. It lands in little splatters on the floor beneath him, and distantly he remembers he can’t even fucking clean it up afterwards.

As the second cut goes in, he’s transported back to a shiny clean bathroom with red-stained white tiles. He’s transported back to the stench of cleaning supplies as he scrubs relentlessly, ignoring how his arms sting with the effort. He’s transported back to too-tightly-wrapped bandages and too big sweatshirts.

The third cut goes in.

He’s vaguely aware he’s crying. He must be. What else would someone else do in this situation?

The fourth cut.

He can see Richie sitting next to him in a hospital room. He looks exhausted, but he still grins when he sees Stan open his eyes.

“Stan the man,” he says. “You’re alright.”

The fifth cut.

Richie’s not grinning anymore. Now his glasses are fogging up again, even if both of them valiantly ignore it.

“Promise me you won’t do it again,” he grits out. “Please. Promise me.”

That drags a sob out of Stan. Real life Stan, not hospital Stan. Hospital Stan smiles wetly, and promises to try. Real life Stan can’t keep a promise to save his life.

“Please.” Stan can barely see Robert through his blurred vision. It’s a miracle he’s able to get any words out at all. “Please, don’t - don’t make me d-do any - anymore.”

But Robert’s already fixated on the scene before him. Stan looks so small, huddled into himself as his own blood puddles around him.

“You want your prize, don’t you?” he says.

Stan wails brokenly. There’s so much blood on his arm. It’s practically gushing now, covering his skin in the sticky substance.

“No!” he sobs. “No, no, no, no!”

Robert sighs, like a mother watching her son throw a temper tantrum in a grocery store, as he crosses the room to kneel before Stan. Stan hiccups softly, and clutches the blade in his palm. If Robert can’t get to it, he can’t hurt him.

But it doesn’t matter, because Robert was never going for the blade. Instead he grips Stan’s arm in one, calloused hand and presses his thumb roughly against the cut closest to his wrist.

Stan screams. He screams so loud, he’s surprised no one hears him. But of course they don’t. No one’s ever going to hear him.

“Do you know why Billy was ignoring me?” Robert snarls, ignoring how Stan tries to twist his wrist away in favor of rubbing his thumb over the cut. “Because he was thinking about you. I thought if I eliminated the problem, if I took away all the factors, that he would realize his mistake. But you’re still managing to come between us.”

“Please,” Stan sobs. “Please stop. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Robert only grips his wrist harder, digging his fingers into the rest of the cuts.

“I know what you did,” he growls. Spit flies from his mouth, landing on Stan’s cheeks and mixing with the constant stream of tears. “I saw it. You put your hands all over him. You think he belongs to you, but he’s mine. Do you understand?”

“Let go of me!” Stan screams.

“I said do you understand?”

“Yes! Yes, I understand!”

Robert drops his arm, and Stan scrambles to cradle it gently against his chest. It pulsates angrily, the beginnings of bruises forming beneath the still steadily streaming blood.

Robert stands and for one glorious moment Stan thinks he’s leaving. But he returns a moment later, paper bag in hand.

It’s as if a switch has been flipped in his brain. He hands Stan the sandwich casually, like they’re old friends on a picnic. Then he pulls out a package of fresh bandages. Stan eyes them desperately, almost more desperately than he eyed the food.

“Give me your arm,” Robert commands. Stan whines. “Unless you want to bleed out.”

“I can do it,” Stan says weakly. “I’ve done it before.”

Robert chuckles, brushing Stan’s sweaty curls away from his eyes. “It’s cute you think you can call the shots. Give me your arm.”

Stan gives it to him. He watches him like a hawk but, true to his word, Robert cleans the blood off his arm and bandages it tightly. Although he does squeeze it afterwards, earning himself a yelp from Stan. Stan supposes he can’t handle doing even one nice thing without causing a little bit of pain. Not that any of this could be considered nice.

As soon as his arm is free, Stan pounces on the sandwich. It has to be disgusting, watching him eat. He tears into the food as quickly as he can, not caring if he gets peanut butter on his face or if he chews with his mouth open. But Robert doesn’t seem to care. He watches his every movement with the intensity of a lion stalking its prey.

“Good?” Robert says when Stan’s finished his meal. Stan nods. “Don’t forget your manners.”

“Thank you,” Stan whispers.

Robert stands. “Good boy.”

He ruffles Stan’s hair, much like one would to a family dog, before stalking through the door. It closes with a deafening slam, followed by an almost comically quiet click of a lock.

He leaves the lantern, which is a nice change of pace. Stan keeps expecting him to return any moment now and snatch it away, to take away his last shred of sanity. But he doesn’t.

Once his breathing evens out again, whether that be seconds or hours Stan isn’t sure, he slowly stands on shaky legs and begins to tip-toe around the room. There isn’t much to see. Gray walls. Gray floor. Gray ceiling.

The only other thing in the entire basement is a small cardboard box. For a while, Stan tries to ignore it. He doesn’t know what the hell could be in there. What if it’s disembodied limbs? What if it’s something worse?

But eventually his curiosity gets the best of him. Of course it does. What the fuck else does he have to do?

Fortunately, it turns out the box is not full of limbs. In fact, it’s shockingly normal. It’s full of clothes, stuffed animals, old cameras. The same stuff any sane person would put in their basement.

Against his better judgement, Stan shuffles through the contents. He passes an old jacket, a raggedy looking teddy bear, a T-Shirt with a massive hole under the armpit, and roughly a million cameras before he finds something of interest.

It’s a small turtle plushie, worn and droopy, but Stan can’t help but pull it close to his chest. Something about it is so familiar. He can almost see the life it had before it was shoved down here and forced to live out the rest of its life in the dark and the cold. He can almost see the face of a young toddler, gripping the turtle like it’s his lifeline, as he laughs wildly at something his big brother said.

Stan gasps sharply. Realization knots in his stomach and no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he knows exactly who the turtle belonged to even before he yanks a flash of yellow out from the bottom of the box. He fumbles with the raincoat until he finds the tag, and despite how he knows exactly who went missing in this coat, the lettering still punches a hole through his heart. Georgie Denbrough is scribbled in big, messy letters, and fuck if that doesn’t start the waterworks again.

Stan always liked Georgie. He was a sweet kid. He was always excited about something, talking faster than Stan could understand. Derry got so much quieter after he disappeared.

Staring at the blood-stained jacket, Stan feels sick. He wants to shove it back into the farthest corner of the box, he doesn’t want to think about it ever again.

But then he thinks about Bill. He had been completely shattered when Georgie failed to come back home that day. Stan had held him in his arms for hours as he cried, sobbing until he had no tears left.

And Bill’s done so much for Stan. He helped him change his bandages after the incident, not making any comments out of the ordinary the entire time. He never once thought less of Stan, never once thought of him as a coward, even when that was the only way Stan could see himself. He had always struggled to see the best parts of himself, but Bill made him feel special.

Bill’s always been there for Stan, so who is he if he doesn’t do this for Bill?

In truth, he doesn’t know if he’ll see him again, but someone needs to find out what happened to Georgie.

He goes through at least five cameras before he finds anything with Georgie. By the time he gets to it, he already feels like projectile vomiting. His head is stuffed full of various images of gore and violence, but he can’t stop now. He’s so close.

Georgie is the first photo on the fifth camera. It’s bad, but not murder bad, though Stan knows it will get there. Georgie’s standing against the wall. Blood’s spilling from a busted swollen lip, and bruises scatter his face. The worst are directly under his left eye, swelling enough that his eye is only half-open, and across his neck. It’s not unlike the photos Robert took of Stan merely a few days ago.

From there on out, they only get worse.

Stan can hear the phantom screams as he scrolls through the photos. Mangled limbs and a blood smeared face appear in every one, always with a matching set of tears.

But the last one is the worst. Georgie’s arm has been chopped clean off, and his eyes are distant and glassy. Stan has no doubt it was one of his last moments.

He clicks the camera off as quickly as he can. He’s seen enough. He’s seen more than enough.

He shoves everything back into the box, burying the cameras under piles of clothing. But he keeps the turtle. He holds it close to his chest and tries not to think about Georgie in this exact position.

In the month and a half since Stanley’s disappearance, things have not gotten better.

Bill still spends most of his time looking for him and Georgie, either with Robert or the Losers, but always with the same outcome. Nothing.

The clubhouse is especially lonely without him. It’s a place meant for all seven of them, and knowing that Stan’s out God knows where, doing God knows what, while the rest of them are safe inside only makes the guilt in Bill’s stomach grow. He should be out doing something. He should be helping. What’s he doing instead? Sitting alone as the rest of his friends murmur away, scribbling a story into a notebook that nobody will read.

He had thought this would make the Losers understand, that they would finally see Robert the way he saw him. But it only seemed to increase their hatred. Especially Richie’s.

“I bet Robert has something to do with this,” he seethes. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“Wh-Wh-What would Robert want with Stan?” Bill asks, trying to ignore the way the words prickle under his skin.

“How the fuck should I know? I don’t know how he thinks.”

“Robert d-duh-didn’t do anything with Ssss-Stuh-Stuh-Stan,” Bill says. “He’s been helping me look for huh-him.”

“Yeah, and guess what? You haven’t found anything.”

Bill’s head snaps up, eyes locking with Richie’s icy cold ones. This has been hard on all of them, but especially Richie. He had done a complete 180, going from the lighthearted, goofy one of the group, to their local conspiracy theorist. Their local angry conspiracy theorist. Because he’s pissed off all the time now, which Bill understands. Bill’s always understood anger, he’s understood it far too well. But Bill’s anger is all inside. It sits amongst his organs, slowly poisoning him from the inside out. Richie’s anger is all outward, directed towards anyone and anything that so much as breathes wrong.

“Statistically, a lot of murderers will come back to the scene of the crime afterwards,” Mike pipes up. “They like to help the police. It gives them a sense of accomplishment.”

“Gives them a god complex, more like,” Bev says, words slightly muffled around her cigarette.

“Rr-Ruh-Robert’s not a murderer, guys.”

“You don’t know that!” Eddie cries out.

“If he was a mmm-murderer, don’t you think he would’ve killed me bb-buh-by now?” Bill says.

Bev narrows her eyes at him. Bill doesn’t have to be a genius to know what she’s trying to say. Maybe Robert doesn’t want to kill him, maybe he wants him for something else.

But Bill shakes the idea from his head. It’s not like that. He does favors for Robert because they’re friends, because he helps him. Robert would never purposefully hurt him.

The statement derails Eddie, though, who just huffs quietly and shakes his head. He doesn’t like it, Bill knows he doesn’t like it, but he’s mulling it over in his brain. It’s silent for a while, as the group as a whole waits for Eddie’s final say.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs eventually, his quiet voice breaking the silence. “Maybe.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Richie snaps. “Just because he hasn’t killed you, doesn’t mean he hasn’t gotten his hands on someone else!” Bill watches with a silent glare, hoping his lack of response will be enough to let Richie know that he doesn’t want to play this game anymore. But it only seems to encourage Richie’s train of thought. “Maybe killing gets him off. Maybe you’re just not his type.”

“Rich,” Beverly whispers, tugging gently on the back of his shirt. He doesn’t take any notice.

“Ever think about that?” Richie’s eyes are fiery now. The ice has melted away, leaving only the burning hot rage that lives beneath it. “Ever think about how Stanley lived his last moments?”

“Sh-sh-shut up, Rich.”

“Probably begging for his life. Alone and scared, begging for it to be over.”

“Shut uh-up, Richie!”

“And I bet that got Robert real hot and heavy. So he fucked Stanley’s corpse, over and over again, using it like a fuck toy until it was oozing all sorts of disgusting liquids.”

“Shut up!”

Richie narrows his eyes. “You know he did the same to Geor-”

Bill flies to his feet, his notebook flinging itself from his hands. “Fuck you, Richie!” he screams, barely noticing Richie’s yelp when the notebook makes contact with his nose. “Fffff-Fuck you! You know that’s not true!”

“I don’t know anything!” Richie yells. He looks positively terrifying, blood dripping down his nose and onto his lips, filling his mouth and making him fumble with his words. His hands, which had been covering his swelling nose, are also smeared with blood. They shake as he points one accusingly at Bill. “But I know more than you do! You can’t even admit that ‘friend’ of yours has something fucking wrong with him!”

“He’s more of my friend than yuh-you are!”

That gives Richie pause, though he looks no less angry as he spits a mouthful of blood at Bill’s feet. “I’m sure you believe that.”

Bill closes the gap between them, and Richie tenses up, like he thinks Bill’s going to hit him. But Bill just shoulders his way past him, not looking back as he climbs his way up the ladder and storms back towards the direction of his house.

He’s barely made it a foot when someone else is suddenly walking by his side.

“I’m ff-fuh-fine, Bev,” he huffs.

“Yeah, you look real fine. What the fuck was that?”

“RR-Ruh-Richie started it!”

Beverly gapes at him. “Richie started it? How fucking old are you?”

Bill flushes, but refuses to give her the satisfaction of giving in. “It’s true.”

“You know what else is true? Richie’s hunch.”

“It is not-”

“It is, you know it is,” Bev hisses. “Maybe not word for word, but you know exactly what Robert’s doing with Stan. You know he’s doing the exact same thing he’s doing to you.”

“Robert doesn’t have Ss-Stan,” Bill says through gritted teeth. “He’s nuh-not a rapist. And he’s not a murderer.”

Bev fixes him with a harsh stare, one that makes him want to crawl inside his own skin and hide there for the rest of his days. “We both know at least one of those things isn’t true.”

“He’s not,” Bill says firmly. “He’s my-”

“He’s your friend, I know,” Bev says. Her patience is wearing thin, Bill knows it is. He can hear it in her voice. The way she raises her voice ever so slightly, the way her words strain to escape gritted teeth, make it explicitly clear what she’s thinking. “But we’re your friends too. Stan was - is - our friend. We miss him as much as you do.”

“You don’t gg-get it-”

“I get it, Bill,” Bev says. “You want him to be a good person. You want him to be good for you. But it’s fantasy, you have to face that!” Bill shakes his head, eyes screwed shut. “You’re hurting your friends! Your real friends!”

“Wh-What makes you better than Robert?” Bill seethes.

“Well, for starters, I didn’t fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight.”

Bill’s eyes drop down to his feet. “Maybe I jj-juh-just stubbed my toe.” Bev fixes him with a harsh stare. “Alright, fine. But it’s different!”

“It’s not normal!”

“Why?” Bill snarls. “Because we’re two guh-guys? What about Richie and Eddie? Are you gonna tell them-”

“You know that’s not the same,” Bev hisses, pointing an accusatory finger in Bill’s face. “Robert’s a million years old!”

“He understands me!”

“He understands how to manipulate you.”

Bill shakes his head, quickening his pace. “Fuck off, Bevvy.”

Robert’s apartment has become a place more requented than Bill’s own home. Because there isn’t an inch of space in his home that doesn’t shred his heart into tiny little pieces. He can’t look at Georgie’s bedroom door without feeling sick. He can’t even go in his own fucking room without thinking about the kiss he and Stan had shared. And his parents offer no comfort, choosing instead to busy themselves with housework and whatever else will numb their minds rather than checking in on their own goddamn son.

But Robert’s apartment doesn’t have any connections. Georgie was never here. Stan was never here.

So it’s become his new place of refuge. Which is why he’s currently standing in the kitchen, rambling about his shit show of a day, as he helps Robert make sandwiches for his upcoming road trip.

He’s moving nearly halfway across the country. Bill knows he should be happy for his friend, happy he’s getting out of his shit show of a town, but he can’t help but feel a spurt of jealousy. Why does he get to leave? Why is he allowed to escape?

“I can’t ss-stand it here any longer,” Bill’s saying, mindlessly rubbing perhaps too much peanut butter on his third sandwich. “This ff-fuh-fucking town. No one fucking cares about anything. Kids ddd-disappear left and right, and no one does ah-anything! Even my own friends, they’re all complacent. It’s just-” He groans loudly, and smashes the two bread slices together. They crumple under the force. “I’m sick of it.”

“They’ll come around,” Robert says.

“I just wish I lived somewhere normal,” Bill murmurs. “Somewhere where people don’t disappear into th-thin air every two seconds.”

Robert makes a sad noise in the back of his throat. He crosses the kitchen, only stopping once he’s situated directly behind Bill, hands rubbing gentle circles into his shoulders. “You sound stressed.”

“Yeah, well, things huh-haven’t exactly been great lately.”

“I’m sure I could help you with that.”

Bill’s knuckles go white around the countertop as Robert’s hands travel lower and lower until they’re resting just above the hem of Bill’s jeans.

“I - I don’t know,” Bill says. He can’t get the image of Bev out of his head. Surely if Robert listens to him, if he listens to what he wants, he can’t be a bad person. Right? “Nuh-Not now.”

“Why not?” Robert’s kissing down his neck now, stubble rubbing against the sensitive skin until it’s red and irritated.

“B-Because I - I’m - We’re in the kitchen,” Bill stutters out.

Robert chuckles. “That’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“But-”

“Billy.” He’s fiddling with the button of Bill’s jeans now. “C’mon, it’ll make you feel better. You know I would never hurt you.” Bill takes a deep breath through his nose. He nods. “Good. Now bend over.”

Hesitantly, Bill does as he’s told. The counter is cold against his cheek, and instantly he wants to stand upright again. But Robert’s got one hand on the small of his back, holding him firmly in place, and Bill knows he isn’t going anywhere for awhile.

Afterwards, Bill takes a shower. He sits through most of it, just letting the water wash over his aching limbs, watching as the sticky substance coating his thighs disappears down the drain. He sits there until the water runs cold, and then sits there some more. It’s not until Robert knocks on the door, asking if he’s okay, that Bill finally gets himself to move.

He throws on the same clothes he had been wearing before the shower. Robert had offered him a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but Bill leaves them lying in a crumpled pile on the floor.

Robert’s leaning against the door frame when he opens the door, a cheshire cat grin on his face. “If you wanted to go round two, you could’ve just said something.”

Bill’s cheeks light up, a bright cherry red. “I ww-wasn’t - That’s not what-”

“Relax, I’m just teasing you,” Robert says. Bill lets out a dry laugh, though it sounds far too forced to be considered genuine. “Hey, I was thinking while you were in the shower, and I had an idea.” Bill cocks his head curiously. “You should come with me.”

“I - What?”

“You could get away with it. You said so yourself, no one ever notices when kids disappear,” Robert says. “And you would be so much happier. This town is destroying you, I can see it in your eyes.”

It’s true, everything in this godforsaken town seems to be made specifically to hurt Bill. He hates every part of it with a burning intensity. But could he really leave? All his friends are here. Does he have it in him to abandon them? After all they’ve been through?

“I don’t know,” Bill murmurs.

Robert hums quietly. “Well, think about it. Are you staying over tonight?”

“I - I shouldn’t,” Bill says. “Mm-My parents, they’ll wonder where I am. But thank you.”

“Mhm, any time.”

Home is not, by any means, better.

Dinner is stiff and awkward. They have a fancy pasta dish his mother spent nearly half the day preparing, and don’t talk through any of it.

Afterwards, Bill cleans the dishes. His mother goes back to her room to fall into a dreamless slumber, while his father remains seated at the kitchen table, his old world war 2 book held firmly in his hands. It’s the only thing he’s read since Georgie disappeared. Bill suspects it’s some sort of weird coping mechanism, a way to face his anger without having to actually admit he has emotions.

“Bill,” he says, and it’s so sudden that Bill nearly drops the glass he’s washing. “Have you done your summer reading?”

No. “Ss-Suh-Some of it.”

His father glances at his over the top of his book, a single eyebrow raised. “School’s only a few weeks away.”

“I know,” Bill says. “I’ve jj-just been distracted.”

His father sighs heavily. “Bill, I know things have been hard for you since Georgie’s death. But we all need to move on.”

“Huh-He’s not dead, dad!” Bill insists. “We don’t know that! He could still be out there-”

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” his dad snaps. “Running around the woods instead of doing your homework?”

“Dad - It’s Georgie. He’s mm-muh-more important than homework.”

The book closes with a snap. It makes Bill flinch. He’s gone too far. He shouldn’t have said anything, he shouldn’t have fought back.

“Georgie is dead,” his dad says firmly. “It’s no use destroying your own life too.”

“Stan might nn-nuh-not be,” Bill says softly. “It hasn’t been nearly as long.”

His father furrows his eyebrows. “Stan? What about him?”

“He went missing, Dad,” Bill says. “Over a month ago.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. He was a good kid.”

Bill’s hands clench around the dish he’s currently trying to force into the drying rack. “Yeah. He is.”

He storms off without another word, ignoring his father’s sigh. Bill knows what he thinks. He knows he thinks he’s just being difficult. He knows he’ll never understand why Bill’s so torn up about it all.

His bed offers little comfort. It’s where he used to comfort Georgie after he had a particularly bad nightmare. It’s where he first kissed Stan. It’s where he’s cried himself to sleep, night after night.

Georgie always cried after nightmares. He would curl up in Bill’s arms and sob until he had used up all his energy and his tiny eight year old brain forced him back to sleep. Bill would stay awake the whole time, running a hand through his hair and quietly shushing him, whispering that everything would be okay.

There’s no one to hold Bill now.

The only person who’s been there to comfort him is about to leave forever.

Around two in the morning, Bill goes back downstairs.

Robert picks up the phone in a matter of seconds. “Hello?”

“When are you leaving? I ww-want to come with you.”

Across town, the rest of the Losers are piled into Richie’s bedroom. Now, the thing about Richie is that losing Stan had been almost as much of a slap in the face as it had been for Bill. Stan had been his closest friend since diapers, the first person outside of family he had truly felt a sense of love for.

Now he’s gone. Nothing more than a memory on a dusty “missing” sign. It infuriates him, which is why he’s dead set on proving Robert did it. He just needs answers. Something to put him at peace. Then he’ll be okay, he’s sure of it.

Currently he’s pacing back and forth, ignoring the exhausted stares of his friends.

“Bill’s become such an asshole ever since that guy showed up,” he hisses. “He would’ve never done this before.”

“Rich,” Mike groans, “We know your face hurts. But can we please go to bed?”

“No, no, no, it’s not about my face,” Richie says, waggling his finger in Mike’s general direction. “This is about everything.”

Ben, who is usually the first to fall asleep, blinks blurrily up at him. “Everything?”

“Yeah. Stan, Robert, my face-”

“We already said your face,” Mike mumbles sleepily.

“Well I never disagreed with you!” Richie snaps.

“Yes you did, you just did.”

“Babe,” Eddie pipes up, “Please just come to bed. Worrying isn’t gonna help anyone right now.”

In a flash, Richie’s sitting in front of his boyfriend’s place on the floor, legs crossed and hands gripping his ankles. “I have an idea.”

Eddie groans. “Oh God.”

“It’s a good one.”

“What is it?” Ben asks, because he’s sweet enough to entertain Richie’s ideas.

“We need to prove Robert guilty.”

Eddie buries his face in his pillow. “How? This isn’t a movie, Rich. Evidence isn’t gonna magically fall into our laps.”

“Yeah, I dunno, Rich,” Mike murmurs. “It sounds risky.”

“You haven’t even heard the plan yet!”

“Doesn’t matter, anything’s risky,” Mike says.

“I agree with Mike,” Ben says. “Sorry, Richie.”

“What - That’s not fair! I’m right! You know I’m right!”

“I agree with you, Rich.” Bev’s sitting up now, hair sleep mused and pajamas wrinkled. Richie thinks she looks like his hero. “Robert’s a monster, and no one else is gonna stop him.”

“I’m not saying you guys are wrong,” Mike says. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

“There has to be something,” Bev says. “We can’t lose hope. We’ve already lost Stan, if we don’t do something soon we’ll lose Bill too.”

Eddie frowns, hugging his arms tightly around himself. “Sometimes I worry we’re already too late.”

“We’re not,” Bev insists. “I promise we’re not. But we do need to act fast.”

Mike sighs, and in that instant Richie knows he’s won. “What do you think we should do?”

“I have a plan,” Richie says. “It’s not the best but…”

Bev grins at him, and even through the darkness, Richie can see it clear as day. “It’s something.”

Robert hadn’t been happy when he found out Stan looked through his box. But he let him keep the turtle, even if he made him beg for it. Stan thinks, even with the extra cuts and bruises he’d earned because of it, it was all worth it.

The basement is cold and empty, and sometimes weirdly wet. It’s nice to have something pure to hang onto, something full of hope and childhood innocence.

The turtle, which he has lovingly named after Georgie, is always tucked under his arms. The only times he’s been without it has been when Robert has physically wrenched it away. Tragically, this has become a fairly common occurrence. Stan knows that Robert likes to see the fear in his eyes when he’s parted from it, likes to see how he squirms and begs for it back. Because, as silly as it sounds, he needs that turtle. It’s the only thing that keeps him sane and, irrationally, he can’t help but think it keeps him safe as well.

Today, Robert lets him hold onto it as he hands him his daily sandwich.

“There’s something special about your meal today, Stanny,” Robert says. The nickname makes Stan shiver. He only calls him that when he’s in a good mood. Not that that means Robert is gonna hurt Stan any less. He’s just gonna do it with a smile on his face. “You want to know what it is?”

Stan shakes his head. He’s fucking starving, he needs to be able to eat this without finding out there’s fucking rat guts or whatever hidden between the bread. Robert answers anyway.

“Someone very special made it.”

Stan shakes his head again. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want-

“Aww, c’mon, Stanny. Billy worked so hard on them.”

And, somehow, that is so much worse than anything Stan could have imagined. “I don’t - I don’t understand. Bill knows I’m here?”

Robert lets out a loud boisterous laugh. “Absolutely not. You think Billy knows about any of this? No, I’ll have to build up to that. He wouldn’t understand quite yet.”

Stan stares down at the sandwich in his hands. He hasn’t had contact with any of his friends in what feels like years, even something as simple as a sandwich feels like a million dollars.

And it wasn’t just any of them who made it, it was Bill. Bill who would hold him when he was scared, and still hold him when he wasn’t. Bill who would let him curl into his side as he read his latest story, in that soft voice reserved only for Stan. Bill who accepted him graciously for who he was.

The same hands that drew him closer during his first kiss, were the hands that made this. It’s a horrible thought, that a memory he held onto so dearly could be tainted so quickly. But he supposes with Robert’s track record, he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Aww, don’t look so glum,” Robert coos. “You should be happy you even got one. The rest are all back at my house. But I figured this would make a good last meal.”

In a flash, Stan’s eyes are back on Robert. “Last - Last meal?”

Robert lets out a loud sigh, as if the topic actually pains him. As if anything could. “Well, you see, Stanny boy. Billy and I have decided to move away.”

“Bill and you?” Stan repeats, head starting to grow fuzzy.

“It’s a big step!” Robert grins. “But I think-” Robert stops dead, jaw hung open, as the sandwich connects with his face. Stan’s on his feet now, hands curled into fists by his side, one with nails biting into the soft flesh of his palm, the other clenching around Georgie the Turtle.

“Bill’s not your fucking boyfriend,” he spits. “And someday he’s gonna realize that. It doesn’t matter how brutally you kill me. Someday he’s gonna realize he deserves better, and then you’ll be alone again.”

Stan knows he’s fucked up. He can see it in Robert’s eyes, the way they darken until the whites of his eyes are almost invisible. Even with the strawberry jelly smeared across his face, he looks terrifying. But Stan can’t bring himself to care. He’s going to die anyway.

“Bill is going to be my good little fuck toy for as long as I want,” Robert snarls. He’s advancing on Stan. And Stan desperately wants to give in, wants to drop to his knees and beg for his life. But if there are his last moments, he’s not going to spend them at some old creep’s feet. “I will decide when we’re done. I will decide when I’m finished with him.”

“You can try to convince yourself as much as you like, but we both know Bill’s smarter than that. He’ll figure it out eventually.”

Robert chuckles lowly. “You haven’t seen how well he takes my cock. Haven’t seen how pretty he cries for me.” It isn’t necessarily true, Stan’s seen the photos, he’s heard the stories. It’s one of Robert’s favorite ways to make Stan squirm. But Robert’s much too angry to remember such details. “I know you wish it was you, Stanley. But we can’t all be that lucky. Billy’s mine. And he always will be.” Stan hisses as Robert grips a handful of his hair, yanking his head back until their eyes are forced to connect. “Do you understand?” Stan grits his teeth. He can’t give him the satisfaction. “I said do you understand?”

Stan spits a large glob of spit directly between Robert’s eyes. “Fuck you.”

Robert releases Stan’s curls in favor of wiping the spit off his face. “You’re a real menace, you know that? God, I can’t wait to get rid of you.” He rips Georige the Turtle out of Stan’s arms, earning himself a shriek in response. He only pulls it away further when Stan tries to lunge for it. “You know what Billy’s gonna do when we finally get to our new apartment? He’s gonna let me fuck him on every surface available. Again, and again, and again. That’s all he’ll ever do. This town put too much pressure on him, made him hurt. I’ll be there to soothe the pain away.”

Stan snarls. “You’re gonna fuck the saddness out of him?”

Despite the biting tone of his voice, Robert hums as if this is exactly what he means. “He’ll forget all about this place.”

Stan steels his gaze. “You’re a monster.”

Robert sinks the knife between his ribs not a second later.

#the losers club #stenbrough #bill denbrough #stanley uris #richie tozier #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak #ben hanscom #stenbrough fanfiction #stenbrough fanfic #IT fanfic #IT fanfiction #georgie denbrough

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thirdwars · 4 years

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the battle at diagon alley // dove longbottom.

Mentions/features: Longbottom family, Pippa Greengrass, Lucy Weasley, Lily Potter, Ronan Nott, Avalon Black, Roman Jugson, Susan Bones, Diomedes Avery. Triggers: violence, blood, murder. Genocide and fascism mentions.

To summarise: Dove arrived with her siblings, and they were wearing matching costumes ( greek mythology based ). She sees her father getting attacked, but because of the chaos that unfolds is unable to help but does know that Lydia helps him. Seeing Neville getting hurt makes her, well, even more ruthless, and Dove moves through the battle as a fury. She fights with Pippa who is helping Rahim, and knocks her off her feet and moves on. She also comes across Fiorella at a certain point, and the two fight side by side for a while. When she hears Lucy screaming while being hurt by Zelda, she and Lily and Ronan come to her rescue. Eventually, she and Avalon end up dueling Death Eaters together, and Dove ends up killing Roman Jugson to save Avalon’s life. After this, she gets corned by a number of Death Eaters, and Susan helps her out of that situation. She returns home post battle, where she finds no one, and then apparates to St Mungo’s where she finds the rest of her family. The day after the battle, she punches Diomedes in the nose and quits her job, which you can read about here.

THREAD 001: Pippa and Dove

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: She is wands and eyes blazing, moving through the battle as if she is a fury, thirsty for vengeance. In all truth, that is what she is. The image of her father, hurt, haunts her mind, and it feeds her anger, kindles her fire. Someone has to pay: for him, for her grandparents, for Harry, and for lack of one person to point a wand or finger to, she directs her fury to all Death Eaters. If they all want to look the same - masked, cloaked, anonymous - she will treat them all the same. When she sees a masked individual, unoccupied, she raises her wand, hardly thinking twice, "Diffindo!"

PIPPA GREENGRASS: There is so much happening. Everywhere she turns she is met with FLASHING LIGHTS and BLOOD. The air is filled with the scent of CANDYFLOSS and BURNING and she is sure this is what the END OF THE WORLD feels like. Pippa has to stop or her legs are going to give way, she’s not sure how much longer she can keep going, how much longer she can FIGHT. So she stops, just for a moment, just to catch her breath, and that’s when she hears it. She hears the spell before she sees it and her head swings round to see a FLASH OF SILVER making its way to her. ‘’deletrius!’’ She fires quickly, watching the spell disintegrate inches from her face. eyes search for the culprit. PIPPA DOESNT WANT TO HURT ANYONE, but it’s clear Dove wants to hurt her. ‘’Everte Statum!’’ She yells, hoping to knock the other backwards, if not just to escape the situation.

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: Dove doesn't listen to the voices behind the masks: they do not matter to her. Anyone who chooses – because to her, it is always a choice – to hide behind such a thing, is the same. An enemy: someone to be eliminated, if necessary. She's out for blood, and perhaps it's her confidence that keeps her from dodging the other's curse. As the impact of hit hits her, and she flies back – landing with a nasty crack – she takes a few seconds to get up, her eyes blazing more now that the other has gotten a curse in. "What, trying to get out of this, you little coward?" She's snarling, moving towards the other, feet hit-hit-hitting the ground as she casts two diffindo's after one another. She wants to draw the blood she's out for. Fury has a hold of her tongue. "Fight me, that's what you came here for, didn't you?

PIPPA GREENGRASS: Pippa watches Dove crawl back up with childlike fascination. There is so much anger behind the others eyes. She understands why, she does, and the empath in her bleeds for the Longbottom girl. A part of pippa wants to lower her wand and allow Dove to do what she pleases. To tear her open, to watch her bleed out. It would probably serve them both. But she doesn’t, she moves backwards, her arm moving quickly to block the spells, ‘’ I don’t want to fight you, Longbottom, because I don’t doubt that your duelling skills are far superior - Immobulus - to mine. Why don’t we call a truce on this duel before it gets out of hand?’’

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: She blocks the other's spell, her wand movements fluid, and as the other moves backwards, she steps forward. The others words prove what Dove thinks of the Death Eaters: that they're all either pathetic cowards willing to look away from harm, or those happily causing it. "Tough shit, 'cause I do want to fight you," she snarls. "Call a truce? Call a fucking truce?" For a moment, she forgets about curses and hexes, and lets out an incredulous laugh. "Look around you, you fucking idiot, does this look like a place to wave a white flag?" And then, her wand aims like a knife again, Dove casting stinging hex after stinging hex, relentless. "Things have already gotten out of hand, and you're to blame." Well, all Death Eaters, or maybe those at the top, but Dove thought that was all the same anyway.

PIPPA GREENGRASS: Pippa can't help but roll her eyes behind her mask at Dove’s words. She foolishly hoped she would be able to get through this battle unscathed but clearly the other seems intent on popping that bubble. As the elders words become nasty, Pippa feels her frustration grow. Over the last few months, she has been continuously mocked for her seemingly low IQ. It’s a touchy subject. ‘’ wanting to call a truce doesn’t make me a fucking idiot. I. am. not. an. Idiot.’’ Each word is punctured by the motions her arm makes to defect the string of hexes. She had to admit, Dove is a talented dueller. She wonders for a moment if they would have been put against each other had they been in the same year at school - FUCK. Always a mistake to let your mind wander, but she realises that a moment too late when she feels an invisible knife cut through the skin of her cheek. ‘’ fuck - protego!’’ It’s quick but too late. ‘’Expelliarmus!’’

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: genocide and fascism cw / She doesn't care if she hurts the other's feelings: she just wants to hurt them more. "You are, though! You are! You and your masked, cowardly friends decided to attack a fucking halloween festival, and you want to call a truce?" Her words are spat out, the violence she wants to commit on her tongue, too. "Maybe if you don't want to fight, don't be part of a genocidal band of fascists, it's really not that fucking complicated." In her black and white world, it's awfully simple, after all, and the fact that the Death Eaters hid behind masks made it all the more easier for Dove to see them all like the same. She deflects the disarming charm, which painfully reminds her of Harry, and she gets closer, closer, closer. "Fight me," she snarls, her wand aimed at the shorter Death Eater, flames curling at the tip. "Stop defending yourself and fight me, you fucking coward."

PIPPA GREENGRASS: blood tw / “to be fair, hosting a carnival in the middle of a war? What did you guys expect to happen? I’m not sure our side are the idiots in this particular situation. ’’ It’s snappy, she’s on the edge. She knows she’s wrong, of course, she does, but Dove's words cut deeper than the invisible knife. Pippa knows that she is a coward, she knows the doesn’t belong here, but she also knows she’s scared and she knows she’s being watched. So fine. If Dove wants her to fight, she will. But she won’t give in and cause the hurt the other craves. Standing straight, she fires several stinging hexes and a freezing spell for good measure. Nothing to cause any serious damage, just enough to hopefully get Dove off her back (it probably won’t.) she can feel the blood oozing from her cheek, leaking down and over chapped lips, the metallic taste filling her mouth as she tries to remain composed. She’s never been good with blood.

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: "What, you think the Order of the Phoenix wasted their precious time organising this? Any spare second we have left is mourning the people your kind has murdered. But sure, blame us for wanting some happiness amidst all the sheer terror you and your band of off-brand Death Eaters are spreaing." In all truth, Dove had thought the carnival a bad idea, and had not been in the mood. She had gone for her sisters, though, because she had to at least try to be a human being. She doesn't feel like one, though: she feels like a person assembled from fury and rage, bits of debris and fire. The leftovers of previous wars reunited. One of the stinging hexes hits her, and she winces, and then she's advancing, switching her wand to her non-wand arm. There's something poetic about hitting Death Eaters with muggle fighting, she thinks: let her dirty muddied blood move her. Her fist collapses against the mask, and it's less satisfying than hitting someone square in the nose, but she doesn't care. This Death Eater infuriates her, with their lack of fight, and she is in no way able to comprehend why they might be hesitant. She shakes her hand, relaxing her knuckles. "As if you guys need a carnival to kill. You need no reason, and it makes me sick."

THREAD 002: Pippa and Dove

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: She doesn't know if her father is okay, and it makes her want to scream. And she does. Curses and hexes leave her mouth in screams, and she is nothing but her fury. Eventually, she finds her sister, and it does nothing to still her rage: it just furthers it. "Fiorella," she says, halting a moment to look at her face. "Are you alright?" She doesn't mean in the all-encompassing sense, what she means is are you unhurt?, because no one is alright now, not emotionally at least. "Did you see what happened to dad? Stick with me." There's a raw desperation there, that shows the fear Dove feels beneath it all. "Okay?"

FIORELLA LONGBOTTOM: Fiorella has no idea what is going on, who's okay and who isn't. All she knows for certain is her father was somehow caught up in it all and all she needs is her family together. Her wand is drawn but she's still trembling slightly, only countercurses and defensive spells leaving her lips for the time being until she hears Dove's voice and stops entirely. She turns to face her sister complete, hair bouncing slightly from side to side as she shakes her head, focusing in only on what she had to say about their father. "Did you see him? Are you okay?"

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: She casts a protego charm after pulling Fiorella near a wall, hidden in the shadows for a bit. Dove has no interest in taking a break, but this deserves one. "He got - he'll be fine. He got hit by something, but he's gonna be fine, yeah?" It's not a promise she can make, but she'll carry the burden of being wrong if she has to. "I'm fine, I'm fine." She is, mostly. She feels like she's made for this, for this chaos unfurling in front of her, and it should concern her, but it doesn't just yet. "You're not hurt, are you?"

FIORELLA LONGBOTTOM: she pressed herself even closer to Dove's side, glancing out at the chaos around them before looking back towards her sister, feeling as though her heart dropped to her stomach. "What if he's not? What if they hurt him and he's not okay?" she looks up at her, taking a shaky breath. "I'm okay. Or I will be as long as everyone else is. I can't promise in that case I won't do anything stupid."

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: She can't think such things. If she starts to think about the possibility of her father being dead, she'll lose it, she's sure. "He'll be okay, Lydia took care of him, and Ginny. We can't do anything about it now, Fi," she says, stroking her sister's face for a moment. How strange, that she can still be soft despite it all. "Don't do anything stupid, okay? Leave that to your big sister."

FIORELLA LONGBOTTOM: She nodded silently, less out of assurance he would be okay, but a need for their family to come out of tonight unharmed. They all had to be okay, she couldn't handle any other alternative. "Lyd and Ginny will make sure he's fine. We're all fine, yeah?" She agreed softly, laughing despite everything coming down around them. "If I'm not allowed to do anything stupid you aren't either."

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: She nods at that. Any other time, she would have her bitterness seep through and say no, we won't be, because that is the truth. But now, she thinks Fi can use a white lie, a bit of faith. "We will be. It'll have to end, sometime, right?" Dove looks at Fiorella, a bit incredulous and amused too, despite it all. "I've never done anything stupid in my life, ever." She nudges her, and then looks over her shoulder at her protection charm. "Stick with me, okay?"

THREAD 003: Avalon and Dove

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: It's like fate, the way the two crash into each other. "Avalon," says Dove, her voice forceful. "Hurt?" That's all she says, the chaos surrounding them too much to catch up properly. Hex after curse leaves her wand, some of them darker magic than the other, as she ends up side-to-side with her friend, her roommate. Together, they could be invincible, she thinks, and a grin almost creeps on her lips as they seem to have the upper hand. "Let's get these fuckers together, yeah? Show 'em what we're fucking made of."

AVALON BLACK: in all of the chaos avalon was grateful to end up side by side with dove. "no, you?" she replied. when the attack started avalon hadn't wasted any time to start throwing hexes back at the masked cowards. avalon felt no shame in fighting dirty, she knew the death eater's didn't. her and dove made a good team, neither one of them holding back any punches. "fuck yeah."

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: "Unscathed." Physically, that is. She feels a boost of confidence from being with Avalon, the two of them so in tune, and she hardly needs to look at the other to know she's okay. Her wand moved in quick succession, dodging curses and sending new ones, ruthless in every sense of the word. She wants to hurt them, wants to damage them like they have damaged her and her family.

AVALON BLACK: avalon fought like she had something to prove. she wanted to make her parents, and her godfather proud. the three of them had dedicated their lives to fighting the evil that was the death eaters and avalon was ready to do the same. she felt like she could conquer the world with dove by her side. the quidditch player was smug as she continued to dodge curses. she sends them back just as quickly as they're sent at her. "on your left!" avalon yells to dove, over the noise as she spotted a wand pointed at her roommate.

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: Dove hasn't doubted herself most tonight - she, creature of confidence and fury - but with Avalon on her side she feel invincible. They are a machine, two pairs of eyes and two skilled wand arms dueling. Avalon's words register immediately and Dove turns, wand at the ready. A curse heads her way - she doesn't know what, but what does it matter? - and she deflects it, but only just. "Thanks," she yells back, her eyes focused on her new opponent, well aware that Avalon might've just saved her.

THREAD 004: Susan and Dove

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: Dove does not like to be helped, but as more masked figures than she can defend herself from corner her, she knows she need it. Fear climbs in her chest, wand lashing out to dodge curses and cast shields, but she's surrounded, being backed up to a storefront. She knows why, the way she stepped over the body of the Death Eater she killed still fresh in her memory. For a slight second, she allows her eyes to travel past the masked faces, her focus faltering. And then, she sees her - "Susan!" Her call is close to desperate, and she hears one of the masked figures chuckle, her fury building in her stomach once more. It's acidic, but she knows it's worth nothing if she is dead. A spell hits her, slicing at her leg and she curses, refocusing on those in front of her, not knowing for sure if Susan has heard her, but holding out hope as if it's all she has left.

SUSAN BONES: the screams and cries of battle play on loop in her head, even while moving through deserted parts of the neighborhood. she's trained for this before, when she was barely fifteen and now. she's seen war and felt war but not a battle, not yet. the small cuts on her face and the shaking of her entire body made the woman look victim like and did not show the amount of enemies she'd left behind, holding onto breaking skin or burnt pain. for a moment she swears her name echoes in the explosions, stopping mid breath, something familiar - it takes some seconds for the reality to set in, and when it does, she searches almost frantically for the source. holding onto the wall of the building she's hiding behind, voices get clearer, curses and pain get louder. one, two, three... off her want shoot spells in rapid succession, a couple wand repelling ones hit. "protego!" susan moves closer, eyes and wands partly focused on the new threat. with dove in the corner of her view, something scared grew in susan, something fiery. "i got you." her eyes stop on dove for just a moment, forcing a thin and beyond short lived smile on her lips before the woman turned around and with a pointed wand casted a non verbal expulso on the ground beneath two masked enemies between them, their bodies sent flying and slamming into the buildings around them. perhaps she could be ruthless after all

DOVE LONGBOTTOM: She's here she's here she's here. Dove has tasted death tonight, but not her own, and she is not planning on tasting that any time soon. She is a creature of fury, worth something only when her heart beats loudly. "Thank you," she says, her voice tense, her wand moving faster than her mind, spell after spell leaving her wand. She's glad for Susan, for her sheer talent with a wand, and she almost wants to pause to look at her. As the other casts an expulso and the bodies fly, Dove looks at her though, in awe, before returning to the job at hand. She stuns one of the Death Eaters, his body dropping ( she thinks of the masked man who had fallen, quite similarly, but in a more definitive way ), and feels relief, relief, relief spread through her and something like victory too. She's grinning, then, her fear replaced by adrenaline and glory, and perhaps that's not the wisest but Dove has never been wise to start with. "You're fucking amazing, Susan," she says inbetween spells, eyes flicking to her aunt as the two seem to gain the upper hand.

#* dove. ( fiorella. )#* dove. ( avalon. )#* dove. ( susan. )#* dove. ( pippa. )#* plotdrop. ( the battle. )#* dove. ( replies. )

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tonysrhodeys · 4 years

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home at last

tw: abuse (implied) tw: suicidal thoughts (mentioned once) tw: violence

Steve can admit that he was not supposed to be there.

Tony always made Steve notify him if he planned on coming over. It was a precaution Steve didn’t always understand, but he always respected it.

No, Steve was not meant to be there. At least not without warning Tony in advance that he would be coming. Steve had always respected that, he always did.

He really didn’t mean to show up unannounced. But earlier a gallery owner had approached him about one of the paintings, thanks fo his dedicated lecturer, and Steve could barely stop himself from doing cartwheels all the way to Tony’s house. He was beyond elated. All he wanted was to share the moment with Tony.

They had been dating for nine months. The day they met Steve had arrived early for his shift at the campus coffee shop. The sun was barely up and Steve ended up walking straight into a pillar when he heard a voice. The disheveled student begged him for coffee because his machine broke and he assured Steve that without his coffee he would surely combust. Apparently genius never slept. Steve was enchanted by Tony Stark the first time they met.

Steve impulsively asked him out on a date after watching him gulp down three cups of coffee in as many minutes and shove a doughnut in his mouth leaving his face an icing-covered mess. It was adorable and Steve instantly wanted to know everything about him. Tony was hyper and he was rambling on about a project he was working on and Steve just asked him. Tony grinned and said yes, he was very quick to say it and it made Steve’s heart skip a few beats.

They told each other that they loved each other a month in. It was premature and Steve was astounded when Tony returned it. He never thought he could be this lucky. They were in college and all their friends told them they were too young to know the love of their lives. But they couldn’t feel his rapid heartbeats, the way his stomach did somersaults or the way his mind always seemed to be consumed by Tony. That was why he had to come to Tony immediately.

He didn’t think as he rang the doorbell, shifting excitedly on his feet. He was ready to tell Jarvis about the news when he saw the doorknob turn. He abruptly closed his mouth as it opened.

“Rogers.” He always spoke so sternly. A permanent frown etched onto his face. His gaze narrowed disapprovingly at Steve’s appearance—paint-stained shorts, a tattered shirt and sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Mr Stark, sir. I apologize for showing up unannounced. Can I see Tony?” Steve pretended not to notice the way Howard guarded the entrance. He wasn’t the largest man, but his presence was always imposing.

“He’s busy. Another time.” His curt reply was quickly followed by an attempt to close the door. Steve stuck his hand out and pushed half of his body between the door and the frame.

“I know he’s here.” It wasn’t supposed to be intimidating. Steve wasn’t intimidating. He was muscular and tall, but Tony always went on about what a softie he was. Howard’s glare somehow managed to intensify but Steve’s grip on the door only strengthened, despite the chills running down his spine.

“Leave, now.” Steve flinched when Howard’s calloused hands wrapped themselves around his wrist in a bone-crushing grip. Steve looked down, only for a second, at his hands but he saw it.

The red that stained his nails and tried to hide underneath them. The bruising knuckles frantically cleaned leaving specks of red.

All reason vanished. Steve used his superior weight and pushed past Howard. He couldn’t even stop to enjoy the older man’s stumble and landing with a loud thud. He could barely manage a coherent thought. Tony’s room was a place he could never forget, even though this place was a labyrinth.

He burst into the room and his eyes immediately found Tony. A wave of pain washed over him as he took in the shaking ball he curled himself into in a corner of the room. His whimpers were barely audible but rang loudly in Steve’s ears—a sound he knew would haunt him for years to come. Steve spotted a few bruises on the back of his arms and saw the slight red that dotted and trailed down his face.

“Sweetheart...”

Steve would do anything to forget the way Tony flinched when he first heard the sound. Steve didn’t want to try and calculate how many times it had happened that the slightest sounds terrified him. Tony slowly looked up and his expression flitted from confusion to relief to horror.

“I never wanted you to see me like this.”

Steve could have never wanted to see him like that either. Tears stained his cheeks, but they couldn’t hide the pain inflicted on him there. His lips were cut and coated with blood. His nose looked broken. His eyes bore similar red marks, which would soon become black eyes. His cheeks were clearly battered. Steve wasn’t sure where the blood ended and Tony started.

Steve dropped to his knees and Tony turned his face away in shame. Steve gently, hesitantly took Tony’s hands in his. He half expected Tony to pull his hands away, but he squeezed Steve’s hands. It was almost as though he was making sure that Steve really was there. The defensive wounds on his arms were clear and Steve gritted his teeth.

“He only just started. He’ll be mad that you interrupted him.” Tony’s voice was small with fear but hopeless. He was warning Steve to leave but had resigned himself to the fact that his suffering would only continue.

“He will never touch you again,” Steve promised firmly with such conviction in his voice that Tony’s eyes found his for a mere second before he averted his gaze back to the floor.

Memories flashed through Steve’s mind. There were countless times when Tony had shown up with a certain bruise that he always attributed to falling (because he was clumsy and exhausted) or an incident in the workshop while he was building something. Sometimes when Steve hugged Tony, he would wince or hiss in pain as though his entire body hurt. Tony said he didn’t sleep well or his workouts were especially grueling. Steve believed him, he didn’t think Tony would lie.

Steve only wished Tony trusted him enough to tell him the truth. Steve would have protected him. The last thing he would feel was disgust or disappointment.

Howard’s footsteps were impossible to ignore. Steve’s breath lodged in his throat in trepidation and Tony’s grip tightened. Howard didn’t bother knocking. As soon as he entered, his presence seemed to fill every inch of the room. He was imposing. It was suffocating. Tony’s room was large but it was impossible to see or feel anything other than pure Howard (narcissism, cruelty, and manipulation which all seemed to be emitted from his cologne, perhaps it was natural). Steve wondered if his presence had always been this intrusive or whether the malicious glint in his eyes was the reason. Any other day Steve would be riddled with fear, but he still had Tony’s bloody hand in his.

“Step away from him and leave before you get hurt.” There was a steely edge to Howard’s voice and he walked so he stood directly above them to emphasize his power over them. Tony tried to make himself smaller and Steve’s stomach tightened.

Steve got to his feet and suddenly Howard didn’t seem so tall. Steve tried to ensure that his fear didn’t emanate from him the same way Howard’s arrogance did. He motioned for Tony to move further behind him.

“I’m not going to let you hurt him again. Let me take him and nobody gets hurt.” Steve could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth. He’d never threatened anybody before. He didn’t want to be violent. He didn’t want to actually make his words a reality and see what his hands could do.

“Rogers, this is family business. Leave.” Howard clenched his fists, but Steve only planted his feet firmer. Tony was his family, just as much as his mother and Bucky were. Steve would put his life on the line for his family, that would never change no matter how frightening Howard appeared.

Steve tried his best not shudder. As scared as he was (he had zero fighting experience. Could he even throw a punch?), his rage was stronger. Knowing what Howard had done to Tony filled him with a burning hatred.

“No.”

Howard chuckled, hollow and cruel before he swung. Steve was thrown off by the chuckle and Howard’s fist landed hard against his cheek. Steve stumbled backward, groaning as he felt the throbbing pain in his face. Tony cried out in protest and began to struggle and pull himself up to his feet. Steve placed a hand on the wall to regain his balance and saw Tony clutching his stomach in pain as he tried to stand up. The tug at his heart that he felt reminding him of why he was doing this.

Howard swung again, seething with rage. He missed. Steve felt as though he lost control of his own body. An out-of-body experience. He was not even sure if he could have stopped himself if he wanted to at that moment. He was merely an observer of his own body as he struck Howard down with a strength he never knew he possessed. Howard landed on the ground with a thud, clearly shocked by Steve acting out on his threats and it not being a bluff. Steve instantly got on top of Howard, trapping him underneath him. Completely at his mercy.

He punched. He punched. He punched. He began to lose count as he lost the sense of what he was doing. All he could see was red. His own hands. Howard’s face. The rage. All sounds became a faint buzzing around him as continued his merciless beating.

“Steve.”

It was barely audible. A strangled plea. But it was enough. It was Tony. His voice broke through the trance. His vision no longer tunneled as everything in his mind became focused on Tony. Steve’s hand stopped in mid-air, his teeth still bared. Howard continued to flail underneath him, desperately trying to use this moment to break free.

“It’s okay.”

Somehow that was all Steve needed. His chest was still heaving. His hair haphazard, clinging to the sweat on his forehead. His fist slowly lowered and his face stopped shaking as he could feel his anger simmering down. He stood up and didn’t bother to spare a glance at the pathetic shell of a man beneath him. All of his attention turned to Tony. Tony had somehow found the strength to stand up straight and Steve immediately took his hands in his.

“I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have asked more questions. I was so afraid of pushing too hard that I didn’t even press at all and allowed this to continue. You never deserved this. You deserved love that I should have shown you in better ways. And I am so sorry that you’ve had to see me this way. You probably think that I am a monster. I understand if you don’t trust me anymore. Just please know that I love you.” Tony was the one in pain, but Steve was the one who could feel the burn of tears.

“Hey hey hey. It’s okay. I trust you. You saved me. You saved me.” Tony clutched Steve’s face in his hands, forcing him to look into his deep, brown eyes.

Steve’s eyes made a promise to Tony that he vowed to never break for as long as Tony would have him: to never hurt him or let anybody else do so. Somehow even after everything Tony had been through, he believed Steve. He wholeheartedly believed him. Believed in him. Steve pressed his forehead against Tony’s and they became the only people in the world. They were both in a position neither even wanted to see each other in but still found that comfort in each other.

“We should leave,” Steve said with a newfound urgency. Tony grabbed his phone and wallet and slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders, allowing Steve to carry his weight. Every movement stung with Howard having attacked every part of him.

He stopped above Howard. Tony never thought he would ever see his father in such a vulnerable position. He had been completely knocked off the high horse he was always perched upon. And it felt good. He lost a fight. He could only manage to keep one eye open and the rest of his body was still lying in an uncomfortable position. He spat out blood and winced afterward clutching his ribs. He still managed to sneer at Tony in an attempt to intimidate him. Steve left them alone and Tony began laughing. A full guffaw.

“All those years of abuse, of pain, of sitting on the cold bathroom floor in the middle of the night with a knife pressed against my wrist. All those years of your constant berating and reminders that I was not good enough and that I actually deserved what you gave me every night. And well, I believed you. I stopped hating Mom for continuing to be a bystander and even began to believe that I should appreciate the lessons you were teaching me. That’s done now. I’m done. The part of my life that you hated the most saved me and now I can eradicate you from my life. You can’t hurt me anymore. You’ve always told me I was weak and you kept trying to instill that in me, to instill your convictions. But you made me stronger. I’m stronger because of you. I’m stronger because of Steve. I’m stronger.”

Tony whispered a cold goodbye, void of any remorse. He joined Steve by the staircase and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Tony tasted freedom, something completely foreign to him. The shackles that he had worn ever since he could remember were finally gone. He wondered what it would feel like to never feel that aching pain in his body again. What it would feel like to fall asleep and wake up in peace and security, feeling loved. A future he had forbidden himself from wanting was finally within his reach. He felt as though he was walking on air. Or perhaps walking into the sunset with his knight in shining armor?

Whatever it was, this indescribable feeling, Tony knew it was good. And that was all that really mattered.

#stevetony #stony fic #steve rogers #tony stark #college au #anti howard stark #protective steve rogers #tw: abuse #tw: suicidal thoughts #mine #i am clearly an angsty person #like wow #lexywrites

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