#it's about what that insurmountable monster is left to do about it

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Platonic Stobin Mind-Reading AU Part 2

Part 1

The house is quiet when Steve slips in. It always is, now.

He toes his shoes off, unable to bend over enough to untie the laces. His ribs protest the slight hunch of his shoulders, stomach roiling in queasy warning to not curl in further.

The house is quiet, but Steve can almost feel the warmth of an arm around his shoulders. And he doesn’t feel alone. He looks around the foyer, almost waiting for his parents, or hell, the ghost of Hopper to appear. Nothing does.

He’s leaving smatterings of blood and mud with every step, speckling the white carpet in signs of life as he flicks on every lightswitch on his way toward the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, staring up at the insurmountable obstacle to his bed. With a sigh, he turns his back on the climb and stumbles his way toward the couch in the living room, collapsing down into it. Blood is already smearing into the velvety green of its cushions. He ignores the little voice in his head that sounds alarmingly like his Mother, berating him for leaving so many signs of life in her pristine house for lifeless dolls.

Steve falls asleep, alone in his empty house. The comforting weight is still around his shoulders.

It’s still dark when he wakes up, gasping around a nightmare he doesn’t remember having. His stomach roils with fear, like he’s still down in the Russian bunker, begging to keep his fingernails attached to his body. There’s no more comforting weight across his shoulders. He still doesn’t feel alone.

Steve leans across the couch and vomits. There’s very little left in him, popcorn dissolved into green stomach acid. The carpet’s beginning to look like Christmas come early. If she comes back, his Mother will not be pleased.

He doesn’t get up to clean it, exhaustion hitting hard even as the fear persists. He falls back asleep, wakes up mid-nightmare to a pounding at the door.

He stares at the ceiling, stuck still half in nightmare with the pounding of demodog feet echoing through the bunker where Robin and Steve are still tied back to back, her head pressed to the back of his own, Dustin’s screams filling the air as Steve writhes desperately to free himself and protect the kid.

Someone is still pounding at his door. He stumbles off the couch, ribs screaming, head spinning, ears buzzing, eyes half closed against the light as he opens the door, unable to even see who’s in front of him.

“Dingus, where have you been?” they say. Steve forces his eyes open wider past the light and pulsing of his head, willing his swollen eyes to make out Robin’s face. “I’ve been knocking for like five minutes! I was starting to think you were dead! And I was getting so scared that you’d gone off in the woods to die. Cats do that, you know.”

Steve blinks at her, struggling to keep up with her tirade. “Huh?”

Robin rolls her eyes. She steps into the house, making to shove past him where he’s blocking her entry. “Oh just let me in, it’s so hot out–”

She stops talking when her elbow hits his forearm. Stops moving too. Steve stares past her into the empty driveway, wisps of her hair tickling his cheek.

There’s relief coursing through him, thoughts running through his mind that can’t be his own–Thank god he’s alright, I thought he died, what would I have done? Thank god–can’t believe I care about Steve the hair Harrington enough to show up at his house uninvited, what kind of bizarro world are we living in, this is weirder than that flesh monster I swear to god–

Steve stumbles back, spine connecting painfully with the doorknob as the door swings back loudly into the wall with the force of his weight. Robin’s looking at him, eyes wide. There’s a bruise blooming on her cheekbone. Even past the confusion, he’s overwhelmed with the relief that she’s here, standing in front of him, whole and alive.

She reaches her hand out slowly, like he’s a stray cat that could be spooked at any moment. Her fingers latch onto his forearm, curling around it tight enough that her fingers dig into his flesh.

–that supposed to be what a demodog looks like? Dustin was really underselling it, I think I’d take Russian’s any day, aww Dingus was worried about me, wait wait wait, how do I know that he, did he sleep in that stupid outfit? where are his parents? why can I see–

Steve wrenches his arm free, ignoring the stinging of Robin’s fingernails scraping across his flesh. They stare at each other. Steve can feel himself breathing too fast. Wisps of Robin’s hair are sticking to her forehead with sweat. The door is still open.

“Dingus?”

“Good thing you’ve gotta breathe or I don’t think I’d ever get a word in,” Steve says without thought.

Robin brings her hand up to her mouth, eyes widening impossibly further. “Were you thinking about the demodogs?”

“Were you thinking that us being friends is weirder than the mind flayer?”

Robin drops her hand and smiles. “We’re friends?” she asks, voice chipper. “Wait, no! What is going on!”

They stare at each other some more. Robin looks manic, like she’s trying to pop her eyes out of her skull with the force of her stare. Steve, without looking away, reaches behind himself for the knob still pressed into his spin and slowly closes the door.

“Did you have a nightmare last night and throw up?” Robin nods. “Did your Dad have his arm around your shoulders?” Nod. “Well, shit.”

He finally turns away, stumbling back to the couch and gently settling down, leaving enough room for Robin beside him.

They settle like two, hunched quotations, knees settled together, hair brushing with how closely they’re eying each other.

“Anything?” Robin asks.

Steve hums, squinting his eyes with the focus of his concentration. Her eyes are blue, unlined but all but the barest remnants of smudges from her usual make-up. She looks a wreck. He’s pretty sure he loves her.

Are you excited right now?” he asks because he feels it bubbling up his throat, like someone’s just barely holding back a deluge of words, and it’s not him.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes up toward her head. “How are you not?” she demands, pulling her hands away from her knees to gesticulate in the scant air separating their bodies. “This is like superpower territory, Steve! We can read minds!”

Steve swallows around the excitement, feels his own warmth curl up in his chest at her joy. “So far only each others.”

Robin jolts, hands coming to clutch at the fabric across her chest, fist tight. “Oh,” she breathes. “Is that what you’re feeling?”

There’s something else clogging up his throat now. Not words. Tears, maybe. Steve looks down at his own bloody hands, trying to make words where only feelings exist, then remembers he doesn’t have to. He reaches out, snatches her hand, and lets himself feel.

“Why are you picturing us making Thanksgiving dinner together?” she asks, laughing even as tears bubble out of her eyes. Always a sympathetic crier, his own begin to well.

“We’re like, stuck together now, right?” He lets go of her hand, gets rid of the distracting feedback loop of two minds thinking around each other. “That like makes us–family?”

Robin sobs and launches herself into his arms. Unfortunately, the pressure on his ribs is violent enough to almost make him vomit again. Maybe he makes a noise of pain, or maybe she gets some sense of the way his vision is whiting out from pain through his thoughts, but she scrabbles backwards instantly, hands shuffling her further and further away until her back hits the armrest at the other side of the couch.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I just got caught up in the moment, and forgot you’re totally fucked, and dingus! Shouldn’t you be in the hospital? Because all I saw there was a white light, and that doesn’t mean you’re dying, does it? Did I kill you?”

Steve laughs but it comes out more as a cough as agony falls back into the bearable threshold of pain. “I’m fine, Robin,” he says, eyes squeezed closed as he eases himself back into a fully seated position. “I got checked out in the ambulance, same as you.”

Robin, uncharacteristically, doesn’t respond. When Steve opens his eyes, all signs of tears are gone from her face, replaced with a look that clearly shows how done with his bullshit he feels. “And they told you that you were fine?” she demands.

“This all just needs to heal on its own,” he says, gesturing from his face down his torso.

Robin scoots back over to poke his cheek with her finger. He can hear her thinking about the likelihood of him being full of shit, the pros and cons of kidnapping him via her Dad’s SUV. Steve slaps her finger away, but whatever she must’ve gleaned from his own mind satisfied her enough that she doesn’t make a move toward the door or the phone.

She eyes him up and down, gaze traveling down his bloody form, to the splotches he’s left on the couch, and the slowly-developing stains on the carpet, grimacing in disgust.

“Okay, Dingus,” she says, clapping her hands sharply enough to make his ears ring. “Game plan time. You need a shower and a change of clothes pronto. Then–have you eaten?”

“I’ll be in trouble if I don’t clean this up.” He’s too worn out to even bother gesturing at the carnage surrounding them, much less bending around his ribs to scrub.

A furrow forms between Robin’s eyebrows as she contemplates him, mouth pursed like she’s trying to solve complex algebra. Or no, she’smart enough for that to be a breeze. So more like she’s trying to figure out how to scoop his brain out and blow on it until it works better.

“Where are your cleaning supplies?” she asks.

“Robin–”

“No. You’re hurt, and I’m fine. Go take a shower.” Like she can sense him looking, her hand jumps up to cover the singular bruise on her cheekbone. “It’s not the same. Where are the cleaning supplies?”

Her words are so harsh, that he speaks before thinking: “down the hallway in the closet.”

She jumps up, walking with her usual frenetic energy as Steve tries and fails to will himself to get up and stop her. It’s only a few moments after he hears the closet door click open that she shouts, “go shower!”

He goes.

Steve has to peel his uniform off. Mud and puke and blood have dried and merged to his skin. Scabs open where he pulls until he can leave the whole thing crumpled into the smallest ball he can manage in the trash can, salvaging only his nametag as a keepsake, wondering idly if Robin will switch him.

The shower hurts, but he feels divinely clean as he bends over just enough to shuffle into clean sweatpants and an old Hawkins swim team shirt from sophomore year, washed and worn enough to be soft against his skin. He doesn’t put products in his hair, doesn’t even brush it, all remaining energy used in stumbling down the stairs to stop Robin from overworking herself needlessly.

The air smells like a janitor’s closet, enough concoctions mixed together on his Mother’s carpet to wage chemical warfare. Robin’s on her hands and knees, scrubbing ferociously with a scrub brush at the grout between tiles at the entryway. Steve steps around the couch, peering down at the carpet, off-color with cleaner instead of his various bodily fluids. The couch is similarly immaculate, velvety cushions rubbed roughly against the grain from Robin’s ruthless cleaning.

“I threw away your shoes,” Robin calls as she gathers up the cleaning supplies surrounding her and stumbles her way back toward the closet. “There was a concerning amount of blood pooled in the soles, Dingus. Ain’t no way that was all coming out.”

Steve looks around at his clean living room again. All this work, and all he can feel from Robin is pleased satisfaction. Steve feels like he’s going to cry.

“I threw away my uniform.”

Robin laughs. “It’s not like we’re gonna need them anymore.”

Steve pulls the nametag out of his pocket. The stupid anchor is flecked with blood but otherwise it’s pristine. He holds it out to Robin when she troops back into the room.

“You can be me,” he says.

Her eyes light up as she takes it and immediately affixes it onto the front of her shirt. She shuffles back to the side of the couch where she’d tucked her backpack and riffles through it, murmuring quietly enough that he can’t quite make it out. She gives a cute little Ah-ha! When she finds whatever she’s looking for before skipping back over to him, grin crooked it’s so big.

“We can trade.” And there, tucked in her palm is her own, slightly charred name tag. She pins it to his shirt, pricking him with the pointy end before finally settling it in place. “You can be Robin, and I can be Steve!”

It settles easy around his shoulders, like he really can take a step back. Be someone else. Breathe. “I’m Robin,” he murmurs.

She smacks his chest over the nametag, gentle enough to barely hurt.

“Well Robin, what’s for lunch?”

They eat sandwiches in front of the TV. Robin complains about his movie collection, even as she jumps up and down excitedly and puts in Grease. It’s comfortable, easy to forget who’s dead, and who’s injured, and how fucked up their brains are now. It’s between The Breakfast Club and Fast Times that Robin gasps, sitting bolt upright and slapping his thigh.

“Truth serum, Steve! It was truth serum!”

“What was?”

“They wanted to open our minds!”

Steve, up until this point, had thought that was obvious, didn’t realize that for once she was trailing just a bit behind him in the obvious revelations category. “Yeah, and they did.” Robin’s nodding like she can’t stop. He puts his palm flat on her head and holds it still. “Opened them so wide we swallowed each others.”

Steve can’t tell who’s thinking it, but suddenly he's picturing two brains in horrible sailor outfits and terrible mouths that hit a little too close to the demogorgon. One’s mouth is open wide enough to eat the other whole. Then they’re laughing, uproariously, like they’re watching the same funny little show, like the television hasn’t turned to static in front of them.

“Now we can’t keep any of the truths from each other,” Robin says at the same time she’s thinking about that embarrassing crush she’d had on her seventh grade teacher.

In a bid to even the playing field, Steve thinks about little Sally Perkins who he’d liked so much in fourth grade that he’d smashed a grasshopper into her hair and had to miss out on the rest of recess. She’d never talked to him again.

Robin laughs but still shuffles away so his fingers aren’t touching her scalp anymore. Her thoughts flit away, but her hazy contentment lingers.

Steve gets up to switch out the movies, brain buzzing away. “Okay so I feel what you feel, right?” he asks, not waiting for a response. “And I can hear what you’re thinking when we touch.”

“You can hear it?”

Steve starts up the movie and sits back in his place on the couch. Robin looks horrified by this. “You can’t?”

“No!” she shouts, forgetting herself enough to smack her hand into his shoulder, jostling his numerous injuries. Robin grimaces, “Sorry, it’s just, you can just hear what I’m thinking? You can’t like, see anything?”

“You can see things?” Steven demands.

“Holy shit!” Robin bounces up on her knees and just keeps doing it, like a kid excited to open presents on Christmas. “Do you know what this means?”

Steve looks over at her, eyebrow furrowed. “That you’re a–girl?”

“No!” Robin stops bouncing. “I mean, yeah. But no, Steve. What the fuck?”

“I just mean that’s like the only difference between us, right? What else could it be?”

He can feel amusement bubbling up in her stomach, but Robin just stares at him, like she’s too stunned to laugh. “I just meant that some smarty pants scientist should like study us. Because like, we’re proof that some people think differently right? Me all in words and you all in these fancy schmancy pictures! That has nothing to do with our genders, Harrington. That shit’s made up!”

Steve doesn’t know how he feels about being studied by scientists. He’d heard about mini Byers time with those Upside Down quacks and wasn’t sure he was interested in his own stay. It would be nice to have someone who knew what they were doing to help them navigate whatever minefield they’d found themselves in but not at the cost of Robin’s safety. But if they just need a smarty pants who think they know everything then–”Henderson’s smart.”

“You want to call your children?” Robin asks, laughing.

“Think about it!” he replies, slapping the couch. “The lab people are all sketchy, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to be locked up without sunlight for the next hundred years.”

“Okay, yeah but–”

“Your parents aren’t in the know, and I’m practically an orphan. Hopper died.” Steve cuts out, choked up over the thought just like he had been in the mall parking lot when he’d first been told. Robin squeezes his calf. “That takes Joyce out of the running since she's grieving and shit. That just leaves the kids!”

“What about Nan–”

“Things are still kind of weird with Nancy and Jonathan, Rob!” he says, running his fingers through his hair and pulling sharp enough to burn. “If we have to, sure, call her, but I don’t know if this counts as the kind of life or death scenario I would do that in.”

Robin sighs, folding over until her head’s on his thigh, stomach pressed into his calves. “Can we call him tomorrow?” she asks, voice muffled by the cotton of his sweatpants. “My head’s killing me and that kid is so shrill.”

Steve runs his fingers through her hair, coming it back from her face. His fingers come in contact with her forehead long enough to get a quick burst of–feels nice, I wonder if this is why all the girls liked him, or if it was all those rumors I heard about his mouth, eww eww gross don’t think about–before her thoughts cut out. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.

They settle in to keep vegetating, Steve slumping further into the arm rest, Robin turning her head and wrapping her arms around his calf. The quiet lasts for ten more minutes before Steve just has to ask, “What do you mean gender is made up?”

Robin cackles.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Gorgon Chapter 5

Summary:  The village nearest the mountain by the sea has a generations-old tradition of offering sacrifices to the monster in the mountain to gain favor and keep its wrath away from the people.  Every person starting from the age of 15 has to take a turn in making the journey up the mountain to the mouth of the cave once a year to drop off the gifts…and it’s a journey that some never come back from.  Y/N took her turn when she was 15, and now the rotation has come back to her again.  If the gift isn’t given by the autumn solstice, there’s no telling what harm the creature will wreak onto the people.  With a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in her way, will she make it to save her and her people?  Can a monster have a heart?

Warnings:  language, violence, attempted sexual assault (not from Bucky), gore, eventual smut *monster!bucky barnes

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Bucky stayed with her from then on.  She had him help around the bakery, introducing him to her regular patrons as a friend who came to visit her.  He slept in her bed, and as close as they had become, and with how curious Bucky was to learn about his new body, they hadn’t done much more than kissing and touching.  She continued to teach him all about living a normal human life, as well as some more reading and writing lessons.  He was getting used to it quickly, and loved getting to be around people and talk to others.  Before they knew it another month had gone by and Master Stark approached Y/N one day in the bakery.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he greeted her.  “Do you need help getting anything together for your next sacrifice?”

Y/N’s eyes widened and Bucky stiffened behind her.  “Oh, um, no.  I think I’ve got everything I need.”

“When will you be leaving?” he asked, glancing at Bucky behind her, who was facing away and kneading dough.

“I…in a few days,” she said carefully.  “If I think of anything that I need assistance with I’ll let you know.”

“Wonderful,” Stark smiled widely at her.  “I’ll take a loaf while I’m here.”

Y/N nodded as she wrapped a loaf of bread for him.  He paid her and left shortly afterwards.  Y/N exhaled once the door closed behind him then turned to look at Bucky who was already looking at her.  “What do we do?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she shook her head.  “We could both go?”

“I don’t want to go back there,” Bucky shook his head frantically.  “I want to stay here with you.”

“I’m not saying you would stay there and not come back with me,” Y/N reassured him.  

Bucky sighed, looking out the window watching the people walk by.  “Why can’t we just tell the people what I am?” he asked.

Y/N frowned.  She didn’t know how the people would react if they found out that Bucky wasn’t just another man.  They seemed amenable to the fact that the monster in the mountain had saved her and had been kind to her, but that didn’t mean that finding out the monster could shapeshift and had been living among them for a month would be taken as lightly.  She sighed as she tried to think through the options.  “I’m afraid of their reactions,” she said.  “I don’t know how they will treat you if they find out.”

Bucky frowned as well and looked down at his feet.  “I could reveal myself,” he said.  “That way if they try to do anything I could get away more easily.”

Y/N’s frown deepened.  “But you’re not completely immortal now,” she said.  “What if they hurt you as a Gorgon?  Would you heal?”

Bucky stared at her.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know how any of this works now, with it being so long in this form.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her fingers rubbing her temples.  “I think…let me talk to someone,” she said, her eyes flying open as she thought of something.  She grabbed the key to the front door and locked it, putting up a sign saying they were closed before turning to him.  “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” he asked worriedly.

“I’ll be right back,” Y/N said, walking back to him and holding his face in her hands.  

Bucky sighed again but nodded before leaning down and kissing her.  Y/N kissed him back and smiled before heading out the back door.

***

Y/N really didn’t like coming to the Seers if she didn’t have to.  The way they spoke in riddles and rhymes always grated on her last nerve when all she wanted was a straight answer.  She knocked on the door to their shared home at the witchery and waited.  There was a scuffling sound and then the door swung open to reveal Wanda.  She smiled and hummed at Y/N before gesturing for her to come in.  Y/N thanked her and stepped inside.  The house was always littered with things that she couldn’t even name, jars filled with strange herbs, dead animals, bones, flowers and other plants hanging upside down from the ceiling, and symbols that had been carved into different doorways and along the walls.  Wanda led her over to the sitting room that was next to the kitchen, where Agatha and Pietro were mixing things together.

“Ah, Y/N,” Agatha called out.  “I was wondering when you would come.”

Y/N frowned at her.  “So you know why I’m here then?”

Pietro watched her speak then smirked.  “You brought peace.  He’s been living with you for weeks.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised at his words.  “What do you mean?”

Wanda started signing and Pietro watched her intently.  “You tamed the beast and brought us peace that was foretold.  If he stays, you’ll be happy til you’re old.”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  “Forgive my rudeness, but I’d love a clear answer.  If he reveals himself, will the people be kind?  Will they accept him?”

Pietro smiled.  “Change is hard, both for them and for him.  With love and kindness, acceptance will win.”

Y/N’s mouth tightened.  “Is that a roundabout way of saying yes?”  Agatha, Wanda and Pietro all nodded.  She nodded and hung her head.  “Then I’d like to call a village meeting.  Tonight.”

***

After going over the plan with Bucky, Y/N walked out of the bakery with him later that night.  The villagers filed into the village meeting room that had been built for everyone to be able to attend and know what was going on in the community.  Everyone took their seats and looked around curiously at each other, a thrum of whispers and mumblings echoing in the small space.  Master Stark stood at the head of the crowd with the Seers nearby.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said.  “Our sacrifice giver, Y/N, and the Seers called this meeting tonight.”  He gestured to them and sat down.

Y/N stood with Bucky at the front.  “You’ve all met Bucky,” she said.  Everyone nodded with smiles.  “He came about a month ago to visit me.  But he is not who I said he is,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, breathing deeply as her nerves fluttered.  “He is my dear friend.  And he is also…well…” she looked at him and Bucky nodded.  “He’d like to show you.”

Another chorus of whispers occurred as Bucky stepped forward.  He sighed heavily before bending over, then grunted as his body started to spasm.  The people all looked concerned, some starting to stand up until he wrenched back and screamed.  Y/N watched on in worry, but stayed back.  Bucky’s legs fuzed together, the scales popping up over his brow and down the long sprouting tail.  The second torso started to rip through his stomach, the second set of arms flailing through the skin.  It was horrific, and obviously painful as he tried not to yell and scream but couldn’t help himself, his face twisted in agony.  The villagers all let out sounds of shock and horror, many of them trying to make a run for the door but the Seers had already blocked it.  After what seemed like hours Bucky finally stilled, panting heavily, still doubled over on his four hands.  Y/N slowly approached him and touched his shoulder.  He looked up at her and she smiled at him as she wiped the tears and sweat from his face.  The villagers all sat watching in silence at their interaction.

Y/N looked back up at the people as she helped Bucky right himself.  “Bucky is a Gorgon.  The monster in the mountain.  But he is also kind, sweet, smart, loving, and honorable.  He saved me from the men who attacked me.  He cared for me when I was injured from that attack,” she said.  “We do not need to make sacrifices, but give kindness and acceptance.  He wants to stay here with me, with all of us, and live a human life.”

“And how do we know he won’t turn into this and hurt or kill us if someone wrongs him?” someone called out.

“Because the shapeshifting will only last for so long,” Y/N explained, holding Bucky’s arm next to her.  “At some point it will become difficult, if not impossible, and he will stay human.”

The villagers watched them both for a long few minutes.  Bucky looked at all of them warily, his eyes flicking from person to person.  They had all been incredibly nice to him over the past month, but now it all seemed unsettling and unknown.  A small girl, Cassie, who had taken a liking to Bucky as she came to the bakery for goodies, broke through the crowd.  Her mother, Maggie, tried to pull her back but she yanked her hand out of her grasp.  She walked up to the front and stepped in front of Bucky who loomed over her.  She looked at him curiously before reaching a hand out and touching part of his scaly body.  Bucky exhaled as she lifted her hands and made a grabbing gesture with her fingers for him to pick her up.  He glanced at Maggie who was watching in fear but then reached down and lifted her up, holding her gently against his chest.  Cassie put her hands on his face, touching the scales above his brow and into his hair, then his ears, his nose, his chin, then pulling at his lip to see his sharp teeth.  He playfully bit at her fingers and she giggled, making him smile.  

Maggie then slowly walked forward until she stood next to Y/N, watching Bucky with Cassie.  She slowly smiled and reached out for Cassie, Bucky handing her over carefully.  Maggie then held a hand out to Bucky, and he gladly took it.  She squeezed his fingers then dropped his hand and turned to the other people watching on in awe.  “I trust him,” she said.

“I trust him!” Cassie yelled, making Bucky smile wider.

Slowly, one by one, the rest of the villagers all walked closer to see Bucky and talk to him more in his true form.  The Seers were last as they were led forward by Pietro.  They each held a hand out and placed their hands on Bucky like they did Y/N all those months ago, with Agatha on top of his head and Wanda and Pietro on either side of his face.  All three of them had bright smiles as they felt him.  “With love and kindness, acceptance will win,” Agatha repeated the words from earlier.  

Bucky smiled back at them.  After all was said and done, everyone went back to their houses to retire for the evening.  The excitement of the night exhausted them all.  Bucky and Y/N headed back to her bakery.  Once they got inside Bucky hugged her tight.  “Thank you,” he said quietly into her hair.

“No need to thank me, my love,” Y/N said, kissing his chest.  “I’m sorry you had to shift again.  It looks like hell to go through.”

Bucky sighed as he released her and headed toward the back room.  “And I’m about to do it again,” he said.  Y/N followed him quickly as he settled his larger body in the middle of the room.  “As efficient as this is,” he gestured to his body, “I’ve grown fond of the legs.  And the cock,” he winked at her.

Y/N laughed as she sat next to him on the floor.  “As have I,” she winked back at him.  She held his hand and they sat in silence for a moment.  “Can I do anything to help you through it?” she asked, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb.

Bucky shook his head.  “Just…stay with me?”

Y/N nodded, turning her body and kissing him.  “Always.”

Bucky smiled at her and gestured for her to sit on the bed.  Y/N moved out of his way, and once she was settled he breathed heavily before grunting and bending over like he did before.  Y/N decided this shift was much worse as his body shook and the second set of arms and torso cracked and contracted back into his upper torso, the tail shrinking then splitting into legs, the ripping noise of skin and scale resounding in her head.  Bucky tried not to scream again, grunting and whimpering as he flinched and gritted his teeth through it.  Finally it stopped, leaving him a sweaty, shaking, naked mess on the floor.  Y/N immediately went to him, pulling him off the floor and to the bed where she held him against her chest, pushing his hair off his face as she wiped away the sweat.  “I’ve got you, husband.  It’s okay.”

Bucky shivered in her arms as he tried to relax.  They stayed like that until he finally stopped shaking and looked up at her.  “Thank you, wife,” he breathed, his voice slightly wobbling.

Y/N kissed his forehead.  He wrapped his arms around her waist as he rested his head on her breasts, snuggling his face close.  She giggled at his antics, still running her fingers through his hair.  His breathing became heavier and heavier until he began snoring.  Y/N covered them both with a blanket on her bed, letting him sleep off the strain of the day.  She silently thanked whatever powers or Gods that be that the people had been so understanding and accepting of him.  She was sure there was still going to be an adjustment period for everyone, but that this would be the beginning of a beautiful life she had been promised by the Seers.

*Drawings from TikTok @zesketches *info about Gorgons found @seananmcguire.com 

[grumpymirelurkqueen]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖘

Summary : You had been looking after this child's doll for weeks now. Brahms could no longer keep the budding attachment to you to himself. So with all his courage he meets you for real, but things don't turn out like they do in one of his mother's romance novels...

/!\ Warning /!\ : Angst, reader gn, implying that the reader himself has a mental illness, attempted runaway, brahms very angry we know what he's capable of, sad ending because i'm a monster ^w^

Sorry for the spelling mistakes, English is not my first language.

The anger of a man in love can be far more devastating than that of a man who is sad…

Seeing you constantly trying to get away from him, pushes him into those most devastating recesses of his brain. Poor man-child, hoping at last to find someone to share his day with, love and a semblance of company. But none of that happened with you, he wonders, even now.

It all started so well, you were following the rules and enjoying looking after this inanimate thing. Could that be the problem? Do you like inanimate things?

Brahms was there all the time looking at you through the walls, causing dust to fall behind him. Admiring your beauty as you took care of that doll, which he dreamt of burning in a rage. But he couldn't. It would cause too much trouble.

During the introductions with the doll, you didn't even find it strange, no nervous giggles or indiscreet questions. You took the situation as it was, strange but not insurmountable at first. Brahms waited a few weeks, looking at you through walls and floors, coveting more and more of that doll's space. Wanting your attention more than anyone else.

He has studied your reactions to the oddities of the house and has judged that you are adaptable enough to accept him. But Brahms knew very little about the outside world. How could he have predicted someone like you?

When he first came to you you thought you were hallucinating, you were both on your guard.

Brahms asks too much of you, your rebellious and free soul went out of the window the minute you accepted him as he is. You explained your point of view to him several times. But all he registered in his brain was the thin layer of abandonment you had planned. He got angry at you but also at the furniture. You've repeatedly broken furniture in the living room or in one of the bedrooms. To get rid of all this anger, he isolated himself, and for days you didn't see him. For your own good, I suppose….

Opposites don't always attract.

But one day your tolerance broke into a thousand pieces, like Brahms' patience. A heated argument broke out between the two of you. Neither of you wanted to get along. When you insinuated that you really wanted to leave, Brahms' brains snapped, and you never recognised him again.

In a whirlwind of pure anger, Brahms tried anything and everything to get you to stay: threats, physical altercation and even sex. But nothing could dissuade you from leaving this caged life.

When you left your shared room, Brahms pounced on you like a wolf ready to hunt its hare. It was the longest chase of your life. The last 15 minutes of your life were the longest.

In a last burst of hope, you decided to take your chances with the stairs. Your heart was pounding, but the adrenalin and fear were forcing you to fight to live. A few steps from you Brahms was there too, and he threw out his arm to grab you and cuddle you back to your senses. But instead he pushed you, missing a step. A shrill scream escaped you as you rolled down the stairs. Brahms had stopped to watch you fall. There was nothing he could do, his heart was hurting too much to stop your fall. He was finally able to move when your heavy body lay there at the bottom of the stairs.

A solitary tear rolled down your cheek, blood stains beautifully scattered across your screwdriver. And your empty eyes left no doubt as to your current state of consciousness. Your body lay there, on the dusty old carpet looking up at the lightless chandelier. Brahms couldn't believe that he'd just died. But wait, it wasn't him, it was you who wanted to leave. So this is the price you have to pay for wanting to leave him.

And we never saw the carpet in the Heelshire house again.

divider by @benkeibear and divider from top by me

I don't know how well it's written

[darkpoisonouslove]

Something You Can Do

Summary: Alicent goes to Helaena to tell her about Jaehaerys' funeral and try to comfort her as best as she can. A rewritten scene from 2x02 "Rhaenyra the Cruel" that pays more attention to the awful choice Helaena was subjected to and her feelings in the wake of her son's murder. The idea of rewriting scenes from the second season of HotD is a great way to engage with the show despite its flaws and I would like to thank @aegoncarney for creating this event. It got me to write my first HotD fanfiction! AO3

The eyes of the Red Keep are like knives in Alicent's back, in her ribcage, in her mind. She wants to turn to the seemingly empty hallways and scream, yell at them, demand their accountability. Always watching, at least a dozen pairs shadow her every movement now but where were they when her daughter had been all alone against the monsters in the night?

They are only here to confine her, stop her from going two steps back for every three steps forward like she's lost her mind. She has to leave herself to the motion of walking, keep her mind on other things to let her feet take her to the quarters where her daughter and granddaughter had been moved on their own.

The thought of what she'll see when she gets there only makes her slow down as she wrestles with the impulse to turn around and storm the Small Council again to countermand her father’s commands. But she can't run from this forever. She has to be there for her daughter, as close as Helaena will allow her.

She had been in shock last night, staying in Alicent's chamber. They'd hardly talked her into letting go of Jaehaera and she'd remained perched on Alicent's bed and watching over her the whole night. The alertness in her posture had been disturbing, her hands stroking Jaehaera despite the distant look in her eyes as if to make sure the girl was still there. Alicent had barely convinced her to lie down and rest her body at least if she refused sleep, gaze penetrating the space in front of her as if she could see something in the distance the rest of them were unaware of.

The knight in front of Helaena's door opens it for Alicent, a little too quickly as if he's ashamed of how little use there is for him, now. She thanks him regardless – for guarding her precious girl, for saving her from agonizing over whether to knock and startle Helaena or risk frightening her if she walked in without warning, and for the sake of announcing herself to her daughter. Maybe even for her own sake, to earn herself another second to steel her nerves and bear the sight of what had become of her sweet girl, all because of her.

Helaena is on her feet again, holding the bedpost for support. She has Jaehaerys' blanket in her hands, hugging it to her to feel any trace left of him – his scent or the warmth that is no longer there. Something leaves her throat but it is unintelligible.

Alicent's heart pounds in her ears frantically despite her resolve to listen in, to never let Helaena feel alone or unheard again. She tries to ask… something but the possibility that a sob would be the only response she gets is an insurmountable lump in her throat. Helaena has every reason to weep and never stop. Why should she herself be allowed anything different?

Helaena turns to her, head snapping in her direction so fast that Alicent almost gasps in fear that she's hurt herself. Her eyes are focused now, her gaze so intense as it lands on Alicent that she nearly collapses to her knees. Whatever her sweet girl is looking for, she will fail to provide.

"I had nothing to give," Helaena's voice is so hollow – as if she knows her mother won't have what she needs.

Alicent chokes down her own sobs but her words are still wet when they come out, bathed in the tears welling in her eyes, "No, you are so loving and warm. A great mother-"

Helaena goes on as if she did not speak, "I couldn't offer myself. They only wanted a son."

Alicent freezes. The blood drains from her; she can't breathe. Her arm only shoots out to brace her against the wall when her knees buckle.

"I only had a necklace they didn’t take." Helaena's fingers are bunching the blanket, digging into it in search for her baby, or at least for an answer to settle her heart and mind. "Did I have something else to give?"

She whips around, eyes running over the room.

"This was my son's," she holds up the blanket. She steps towards the table and picks up one of Jaehaerys' toys. "This was my son's. All of these. He had many things. Why did I not…?"

Her arms fall next to her body, limp, the blanket pooling in her feet. She looks up at Alicent, her lips trembling. "I must have had something to give. If I am the queen."

Alicent runs to her. The moment she opens her arms, Helaena collapses in them and they fall to the floor, the blanket barely softening the thud their bodies make against it. The toy in Helaena's hand clatters to the ground and her nails sink into Alicent’s shoulders like she'd slip away if she doesn't burrow herself under Alicent's skin. She is only grateful for that pain.

She tries stroking Helaena's hair and only continues when Helaena doesn't push her away. Though, she doesn't really seem to notice, still clutches at her and her breaths come in irregular gasps. Like she's stifling the cries before they can form in her body.

Alicent doesn't know what to say, how to encourage her to let it out. She wants to tell her she'll remain with her as long as Helaena needs her but Helaena speaks first.

"What else could I have done, mummy?"

Alicent's heart breaks. She bites herself to blood to keep from weeping; the tremors of her body are already shaking Helaena. That's all she can give her. Not an answer but her own pain reflected back at her.

She has to remind herself not to cling to Helaena like that's the only thing keeping her head above water. She's supposed to be the one consoling her baby.

She has nothing to give.

"I didn't see them," Helaena's voice is so thin, like she'll break under unbearable weight. "Just the rats. In every hallway, swarming together, with a big shadow behind them swallowing the light. They were coming for us and I couldn’t pick him up, my boy…" She buries her face in Alicent's neck. "They were running from it."

Alicent can't help the pangs of guilt cutting through the relief of having Helaena nestled into her neck, safely in her arms where nothing can take her away. It's a comfort only to her while her sweet girl is twisting her mind inside out, looking for a way out of a tragedy that's already happened, that none of them could have foreseen. She has to soothe her, has to find a way to lead her out of the maze Helaena is wandering in her own head.

"There is to be a funeral for Jaehaerys. We’ve been asked to… accompany the procession."

Helaena has gone still, stiff, in her arms. She has to tread very carefully.

"If we show we need them, the people will help us. With them on our side, it will be easier to defend ourselves. You can protect your girl."

Helaena pulls back to look at her and Alicent tries to find her own conviction. She'd do anything for her sweet girl but this doesn't feel right. She's not lying; they need the people. She still feels like retching just thinking of standing next to her daughter while her pain is paraded around.

Her sweet girl needs a second but understands. Her eyes search Alicent’s face and she feels like she's failing her. Tears have already started to blur her vision and she knows her jaw trembles; she doesn't even have the strength to clench it hard enough to stop that. How can she harden herself when Helaena is in her arms? Only gentleness should ever touch her girl.

Only when she sees her tears mirrored in Helaena's eyes as she nods, she knows her girl is braver than her.

Her heart jumps when Helaena leans into her again. She tucks her under her chin immediately and strokes her back.

She wants to say, "I'm sorry."

All she says is, "There is something you can do."

She's not sure if she's talking to Helaena or to herself.

She repeats herself over and over again.

Maybe at least one of them will believe it.

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Chapter 7: Exodus

Previous Chapter: Chapter 6 - Revelation

Summary: On the road to securing Eddie's freedom, you face insurmountable challenges and need to decide between love or your life.

Word Count: 15.8k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Original Character (Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Van Helsing Inspired, Kas!Eddie, Religious Themes, Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Fate vs. Free Will, Death and Injury, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Discussion of the Upside Down, Fluff, Supernatural Encounters, Gore, Body Horror, Angst, Monsterfucking, Monster Voyeurism, Disturbing Imagery, Allusion to Necrophilia (not Eddie), Brief Allusion to Suicide/Suicidal Ideation, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Note: Uhm...I don't know what to say about this chapter except I'm sorry. And I'm sorry. And I'll fix it, but maybe not for another few chapters. *looks at the masterlist* There's also only like...4 chapters left after this one. So...sorry :D

This series will not be for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“And in the end, we were all just humans, drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.”  - Christopher Poindexter, misattributed to F. Scott Fitzgerald

November 6, 1983

The days that followed--or weeks, thanks to the delay of time in the Upside Down--wavered between an endless dream and an endless nightmare.

It was a dream because...well, you had all the time in the world to spend together here.

You didn't limit yourselves to the confines of the secret little house in the outskirts of the mirrored Hawkins or the Creel house or the chapel. You went everywhere together, saw everything.

You listened to the tapes that Wayne had brought, told jokes and stories. Sometimes you'd just sit together in silence, basking in the simple truth of each other's presence; sometimes you'd have your own activities you'd engage in--books and comics and whatever--sometimes no activity at all.

Sometimes you'd just stare at each other.

You made each other laugh, made each other smile, made each other shout and holler over trivial debates just like you used to.

Eddie lavished you with a guitar performance almost every night, starting with a reenactment of the Most Metal Concert in the History of the World atop the partially ruined trailer in the Upside Down's Forest Hills.

You were enamored with the way his clawed and elongated fingers plucked masterfully at the strings of his Sweetheart, extra phalanges on his new hands making him so dextrous.

You'd always been a fan of his music, a fan of his love of music, and it made you utterly happy to see that it wasn't lost here. He was eager to show off the tricks that he had struggled to perform with his human hands--troublesome chords and rapid fingering on the fretboard that he often cursed about during band practice way back when--and he'd bask in your cheers and your awe. Then he would turn around and prove what else those fingers were good at.

Most of the time together was spent with him in his more familiar, comfortable, human form. His words, not yours; although you would argue that you didn't have a preference either way. But it was his body to choose.

Typically though, sex and feeding were done in his new form, so the two of you could be untethered and free.

Unafraid.

And you took advantage of that time to explore him. You were eager for the chance after your reunion, it seemed, and he always teased you but there was always more to learn. New places that he was ticklish, that he was vulnerable, that made him moan and chuckle and chitter.

He spoke to you in that infernal speech sometimes, unknown promises spoken low and deep in your ear, as he thrust and rubbed and brought you both close to pleasure. Some secret confession that he didn't want you to know outright, but knew you would still understand deep in your heart. In your soul.

He even took you flying a few times.

"You ass," you slapped at him teasingly when he offered the first time, after you'd moaned about the time it took crossing Hawkins to greet Wayne. "You let me walk all around all this time when you could have just flown me everywhere?"

His great, gruesome wings twitched and he smiled that unnaturally wide, unsettling, toothsome smile that you were growing quite fond of.

"Can't let my girl get too spoiled," he joked right back at you. "Besides, aren't angels supposed to fly?"

Fucker, you hissed under your breath, only for it to turn into a yelp as he scooped you off your feet and took to the air.

You’d never considered flying before in your life, ever. Never imagined it. At best, you’d wondered what it would be like to fall if you jumped from the SkyDeck of the Sears Tower or hurtled yourself over the edge of the Grand Canyon. Some flailing uncontrollable thing before you’d inevitably meet your demise in a splatter.

But never flying, never gliding.

It was glorious.

Wind in your face, Eddie’s arms securely around you, you could see for miles as he soared above Hawkins with great beats of his powerful wings.

A group of demobats fluttered into some sort of flock formation with him—it suddenly made sense why he’d looked like he yearned to join them on that first day—and he indulged them in some silly aerial play. Just some weaving and climbing and one drastic nosedive that had you giggling hysterically; the fluttering feeling in your stomach was better than a rollercoaster.

Once you were alone again, Eddie, mischief maker that he was, decided to drop you. Just once. He said he wanted to show you a trick—a barrel roll—and then once it was over, his strong arms pulled away.

Time slowed as you began your descent back to the earth, hands automatically reaching out to try and grab him.

But there was no panic surging through you.

In fact, you were flooded with a sense of peace.

You felt weightless.

And not just in the literal sense.

The world fell away. All of your troubles, the weight of responsibility, the curse…gone.

You enjoyed the free fall for a few brief moments, and Eddie let you have those moments, before he dove down to catch you with an exaggerated “whoops.” You laughed and teased him not to do it again as he tightened his arms around you and pressed apologetic kisses to your lips.

He promised he would never let you go again, crossed his heart and everything.

Still it didn’t stop him from making the joke every time you flew together after that. Feigning a drop so you would punish him with a slap or a punch and then he would pout and ask for a forgiving kiss.

Then it was back to the ground again to greet Wayne or for you to return back to Hawkins for more supplies or a shower.

Back to reality.

But for those brief and beautiful seconds there was nothing.

No worry, no obligation, no dread.

It was just you and Eddie. Reaching out to one another. Just a few metaphorical moments away from being together again. Free.

And it was the thing that drove you both to focus, to work harder.

Because you had a task to complete. A mission: You had to get Eddie home.

Fun and games and quality time aside, after the night in the chapel, you dedicated your time, effort, and power on solving this.

And not just yours; Eddie's too.

The need to fix this ignited a fire of determination within both of you.

Eddie was eager to use the abilities Vecna had unlocked within him for something positive, something useful--something good--instead of the meaningless death that simply came from remaining here and alive.

Instead of the chaos and destruction he had been forced to cause at the lich's whim.

"But you've already done something positive," you tried to lessen his guilt when he confessed the thought to you. "You helped defeat Vecna. You brought Max back to life. The brides and the others too. You survived. This will just be another tick on the list. You're good, Eddie. You are so, so good."

So most days were spent exploring the areas around the gates--exploring the gates themselves, much to your body's protest--testing your powers in this new world, this new earth, to see how much you and Eddie could or could not do.

Whether it was from the sheer amount of time spent here or because of Vecna's intervention, or the fact that Eddie had become something more than human now--something intrinsically entwined with the Upside Down--he seemed to have a much better handle on channeling his abilities here. But it was too unskilled, too raw, and too reliant on instinct and emotion. You'd watch him get riled up on purpose in order to open one of the gates wider or attempt to close them.

You didn't hesitate to guide him, teach him. And it opened up a world of possibilities on how to use that power.

Eddie was an excellent student.

He always had been, actually. Smart as a whip, able to pick things up easily. Even when you'd originally been with him in Hawkins, he'd always had the capability of passing his classes, he just...lacked the motivation and support. Or even interest in the subject matter.

Here, now, he was eager to learn and succeed.

Your original deal was in place, the one that you'd agreed on so long ago when you were determined to see him graduate. You would teach him something and he would get some reward in return; usually just a kiss, sometimes some kind of sexual favor, once he even begged you to join a small DnD one-shot with the brides.

That had been an experience, to say the least.

But before long he could do tremendous things. Cause the earth to shake on purpose, channel the lightning that was ever-present in the sky, commune with the world around him so that he might get a better understanding of what was expected of him and why it prevented him from leaving.

Eddie's growing mastery over his power also helped lessen some of the toll yours took on you.

You never seemed able to utilize your powers to their fullest potential in the Upside Down, and the few times you had returned to the real Hawkins, you felt the tangible difference. There was a surge of your connection with both Heaven and Earth that was simply absent when you were in the other realm. The rumble of the ground beneath your feet, the Earth's molten core, the tremor of the shifting atmosphere as it held the heavens so high up. It was a relief, a breath of fresh air.

Even then, sometimes it seemed like you could never catch your breath after you regained your connection. You were perpetually fatigued.

You ignorantly continued to chalk it up to the differences in worlds, the strain it took to cross through them, and simply sought out alternate practices to supplement as much as you could.

The conversation with Mary Victoria during your initial trip to Hawkins had brought superstition and magic to the forefront of your mind. Not the most conventional for a Knight of the Holy Order, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Prayers were spoken to various saints as you crushed dried flowers and herbs and beans from the little jars out of the trunk of your car and Claudia’s kitchen. Bread crumbs and heads of garlic. Salt and bone dust.

The simple acts conjured memories of sitting in the basement with Nonna, preparing for this feast day or that one. Old-world blessings to protect the house from wandering spirits and silly home remedies for illnesses rather than trips to the doctor. They felt like returning to a home you hadn't lived in for years. You could practically hear Nonna scolding you that they were not meant to be used for the things you were using them for.

But you had no other choice than to simply try, and the warm and welcoming feeling they gave you made you believe that they would help.

After some time, it had seemed like they worked in one way or another--a combination of all the superstitious higgledy piggledy alongside your waning powers. Light and darkness, holy and unholy, divine and archaic together--because Eddie was able to hold a hand through one of the Gates.

Just a hand.

Certainly not his whole body, not able to fully cross through the membrane of the fissure, but He no longer felt the invisible barrier, the uncontrollable lock on all of his limbs as he attempted to get near a gate.

It wasn't a solution, but it was something.

It was hope.

It made you both scream and laugh at the success, and you kissed and fucked and fed to celebrate this small triumph, until you realized you still had so much further to go.

So you kept going and going, kept pushing for the next milestone.

As much as you could, for as long as you both could.

Truly, the emphasis was on as long as you could, actually.

Because the longer you stayed in the Upside Down with Eddie and the more you pushed yourself, the more you felt the noticeable toll simply existing here took on you.

And the worse it got, the weaker you got.

Until one day you realized that you were dying.

You'd gotten good at lying over the years, good at hiding everything that was wrong with you. Both physical and emotional pain and turmoil.

Nonna had always been the one to see through it, but she was gone now. Jinette knew which buttons to push to get it to erupt out of you, and Gabriel...he just seemed to show up at the most inconvenient times.

But Eddie...Eddie might not have always known what was wrong--or that there even had been anything wrong--but knew how to soothe those hurts until you were ready to tell him. Even now, in this new body and this new world, with these new challenges, he was soft and attentive as he began to notice the changes in you.

The thing about you was that you were also good at lying to yourself.

It hadn't happened all at once, which made the lies easier to believe.

The tremor in your hands as you cast your power out into the world was shaken away. You stiffened your muscles until you were steady once again.

The weariness in your body was explained simply because you kept pushing harder and harder.

"You need a break," Eddie whispered into your skin as you struggled to rise for the "day," ready to face the next set of challenges.

"I need to get you out of here," you dismissed. His clawed hands flexed against your sides in a pseudo-caress. "I'll be fine. I'm just tired. I would kill for a coffee...or a sod though. A shower would be nice too, if there was running water."

"I'll be sure to work on that for the future," he snarked. "But seriously, we can take a day without trying to split the world in two. Just so you can get some more sleep."

"Do you need a break?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"But do you need one?"

"No."

"Then I'll be fine too," you shrugged him off.

You should have listened. Or at the very least, not been so quick to dismiss his worries.

It only got worse.

Little by little, you began to notice a great, gaping void forming deep within you; it grew every day, snuffing out the warm light inside of you, weakening you. You began to lose yourself, feel less like yourself. Not in speech or in action, just in being.

Suddenly everything took more effort, more willpower. Everything seemed especially straining and hopeless. Everything hurt.

The annoying, ever-present pinches whenever you crossed through the gates between the worlds were gone; instead there were deep, sharp slashes that cut through your mind and body and made you want to scream when you finally emerged from the other side.

You collapsed into Wayne's waiting arms once, late in October, after weeks had passed in the real world and months had passed in the Upside Down. And you sobbed as the realization that something was terribly wrong finally hit you, as the lie that you'd told yourself evaporated, as you finally recognized that the longer you stayed in the Upside Down, the faster you were fading.

"Don't tell him," you whispered into worn flannel as Wayne held you. "I'll fix it."

"What if you can't?"

"I...just don't tell him. Please."

You stretched your stay in the real Hawkins as long as you could before you knew Eddie would be too worried. A whole day instead of a few quick hours; it was time spent mostly with Wayne at Lover's Lake.

You told him everything that you'd been experiencing over breakfast, and he immediately suggested taking more time away from the Upside Down. You shot down that idea as quickly as possible; Eddie needed you, and moreover, you needed him.

In the end, he got you to promise that you'd make more trips back to Hawkins. Quick ones. Half days or supply runs. He insisted that Eddie would understand.

"There's something about that place," he muttered darkly into his mug. "I always thought so. It's why I go to see him as often as I do, so he doesn't forget himself like he did before..."

"Vecna isn't there anymore to brainwash him again," you reassured. "He's...he told me about everything he felt, everything he did. That...void is gone. The darkness is gone. He's Eddie again; I know it. We just need to get him home."

Wayne sighed and stretched a hand across the table to place over yours.

"He's been more himself than I've seen him in years honey, but that doesn't mean that'll always be the case. I don't want anything happening to him. Or to you. The two of you are all I have left."

You understood; he and Eddie were really all you had left too.

After breakfast, you spent time reconvening with nature, with the earth...maybe with God, you weren't sure. You certainly said a few prayers that hadn't left your lips in quite some time; you wondered if those prayers were so foreign coming from you that He would ignore them entirely.

Still, it didn't hurt to try.

Dinner was at the Harrington's with your friends.

You faked a smile as you told everyone the progress you'd made to fix Eddie and close the gates once and for all. It wasn't a lie, not really, but you still felt guilty at everyone's hopeful chatter and talk of rebuilding. Especially as both Wayne and Dustin's worried gazes were frozen on you.

"You sure everything's ok?" Dustin questioned as everyone settled down to eat, but you simply flicked the bill of his hat and tucked into your own food.

Mary Victoria was too busy making goo-goo eyes at Steve, and you took advantage of teasing her so that she didn’t get a chance to see that there was anything wrong with you. You wouldn’t be able to lie to her.

When the sun finally rose on that second day, you were refreshed and eager to get back to Eddie.

You felt a little better. Felt the edges of that void within you start to brighten again. It pained you to think that Wayne might be right, and that you needed to spend time away from the Upside Down to feel better, away from Eddie.

So it was easier to deny it. To pretend. To lie.

You already promised to visit more, what else could you do?

That thought was solidified as you and Wayne crossed the gate--biting back the stinging cutting pain in your body as you crawled through--to find Eddie's waiting figure.

"You really weren't kidding about the running water thing, were you?" he joked, arms wide open for you to join him.

If he sensed there was something wrong--something unspoken between you and Wayne--he certainly didn't show it. He simply held you tightly as you tucked yourself into his side, the only place you truly found strength and comfort.

You turned your face towards him to say some sort of reassuring joke, that as nice as a shower was you'd always return to him because his hugs were better, but that's when you saw the turmoil in his gaze. A roiling storm of unsettling worry in his dark, abyss-like eyes.

You immediately felt guilty.

You turned to Wayne and sent him a wide, pleading look to keep quiet; he nodded almost imperceptibly. Still, there was a sternness about him, a silent warning not to go too far.

But with Eddie beside you--your heart, your soul, your life--how could you promise that? You'd go as far as you needed to; you had to.

You had to push yourself, had to keep going, for him.

You hoped that would be enough.

Once during a mission--lifetimes ago, it seemed--a creature with some dark, predatory psychic ability was able to weed out the truth of your pain and grief and bring it to the surface. Nonna had just died and, combined with the pain of losing Eddie and fighting to get back to him in the afterlife, something inside of you had changed.

The creature preyed on those changes, that weakness.

Back then, it had only been the memory and promise of reuniting with Eddie that caused you to persevere. The temptation to give in had been so delicious. But you'd defeated that insidious creature and walked away with your life and mind...not quite normal...but intact.

Thanks to the unwavering power and strength of your love.

But it made you aware of what it felt like to be preyed upon and that’s what you felt now as you returned to The Upside Down.

The first order of business upon your return was blood.

A day in the real world for you was several days for Eddie, and with the Brides and the creatures of the Upside Down hunting less--or at least, with much less rampant destruction--you knew that he was hungry.

"Starving," he groaned.

He shed his human form once Wayne crossed back through the gate and now you were settled somewhere deep in the labyrinth of the Creel House with your horrifically beautiful boyfriend, situated in the cradle of his arms as he prepared to feed.

It was an intimate act, a very sensual one. At least, that's how you made it out to be now that all of the pretenses of normalcy had been removed. It was a precursor to an inexplicable connection--emotional, physical, sexual, even if sex wasn't always to follow--a foreplay of one sort or another, and you both basked in it.

Of course, foreplay with Eddie had always meant silliness, chatter, and giggling. It was no different now--he was still Eddie, after all--and it was especially evident that he needed the banter since you'd spent time away. He longed for companionship as he'd been left to his own devices for days, and you were happy to oblige.

"Did you watch any TV while you were there?" he muttered as he nosed down your jaw, sniffing the desired sustenance that pulsed beneath your skin. He plucked at the neck of your shirt with careful talons and nipped at you playfully. "Wayne break out the old Bonanza tapes?"

"Believe it or not, he had Hawaii Five-O going when we got back from dinner," you laughed.

"What episode?" His cold breath fanned across your neck.

"The one with the horse."

You went back and forth talking about the ups and downs of the episode. The highlights of Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams challenges with one foe or another, and the scoff of disbelief that so much drama could happen on such a small island.

Eddie even hummed the theme song as he ran his lips over your skin as soon as he'd had enough actual discussion of the topic.

What a sight you must have made.

The suspense was thick in the air as you waited for the inevitable bite; of course, he kissed your skin and muttered a cheeky relax-it's-just-a-pinch-sweetheart, before his fangs pierced the space between your neck and shoulder.

You both sighed in tandem, the world around you forgotten, as he took his first pull of blood. You felt the warm rivulets escape the wideness of his gaping mouth as he drank from you and in any other scenario you might have rolled your eyes at the fact that you'd need to clean up after his sloppy feeding habits. But being close like this, feeling his life force entwine with yours...it made you forget all of your troubles.

It was transcendent.

It was everything.

His touches and caresses, the gentle hums and hisses and clicks that came from deep within him. You laughed as you watched his wings flutter behind him and then he chuckled deeply in return.

You closed your eyes and let yourself savor the moment with him, committing all of the sounds and sensations to memory in case you needed it at the end of it all.

If you faded into death soon and had to cling on to one strand of light and love as you made your descent into hell for the eternal punishment that waited for you, you wanted it to be this moment here.

There was a sound--a snicker--and you stiffened suddenly. Eddie didn't notice. He continued the deep, satiating pulls from the bite, unaware of the intrusion, but you blinked your eyes open and met a cold, black gaze that was locked right on you.

There was a crooked, unsettling grin that grew on Fred's face as soon as you noticed him.

Taunting.

He stood at the threshold of the room you and Eddie had claimed as your own here at the Creel House, and he leaned slightly against the door. The door to your room that was most-certainly closed when Eddie had brought you here to feed. You watched, almost horrified, as Fred ran his hands along his body suggestively; it would have been comedic--his nerdy clothes caught on his claws, creating more holes in the sweater vest and chinos-- if it wasn't so sinister.

If you didn't feel some sense of fear grip you for the first time since before you'd realized who Kas had really been.

Eddie finally felt how still you'd become and pulled away abruptly, leaving droplets of blood along your shirt and down the front of himself messily. His expression went from worried to livid as he spotted Fred at the door.

In the blink of an eye you were bouncing on the bed and Eddie's towering form was at the door, holding Fred aloft by his throat as he hissed that infernal speech at him in some kind of admonishment. Some kind of warning.

It made your entire body erupt in goosebumps.

When all was said and done, and Eddie returned to your side muttering apologies--

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I was so caught up feeding. If I had known. Benson's always been a pervy little weirdo, and that's coming from me. Please, please, I'm sorry."

--you couldn't help but stare at the empty threshold of the room.

The door had been left open.

And Fred might have been gone, but you swore there was still a dark set of eyes watching you.

"Look at me please."

"I can't."

"I'm ok. I'm fine."

"It's a trick," you sniffed. "A lie. I saw you."

"Well look again and see that I'm ok." You felt him getting closer to you, his presence soft and calming. "Angel, please. Open your eyes."

You couldn't bear to see him broken and bloody again. Not after the countless times you had already witnessed him that way over the past few years. It was too much. You needed him to be whole, as whole as he could be given the circumstances; why couldn't he understand that?

His fingertips gently grazed your cheek and you didn't hesitate to lean into his touch.

"But I do understand," he whispered painfully, answering your silent question. "I...I felt the same way when I saw you broken sweetheart. I thought I was gonna lose you forever. That he was gonna take you away for good."

There was a pause.

"I guess he's doing this to me too though. I, uh, would call him a douchebag but that puts a whole new meaning to self hatred huh?"

You couldn't help but snort at the joke and you didn't need to see him to know that there was a smile growing on his face at the sound.

"Don't give up on me," he whispered. "Don't give up on any of us. I can't tell you how many times I've watched her just...fucking...badass her way out of some impossible situation. Worse situations than this. We'll be ok, I believe it."

You held back some choice words; she wasn't you...even if she was. You didn't have the courage she had, hadn't endured countless dangers. Her strength and yours, while similar, were born of different adversities.

Still it was nice to hear some optimism for once, to not have to be the source of it; Eddie had been a miserable piece of shit for a long time.

You slowly blinked your eyes open and he lifted your chin so you could look at him.

Skin pristine, eyes warm and sparkling. That stupid cute smile that you just wanted to kiss.

Not bloody. Not wounded. Whole.

"There," he sighed. "See? Everything is gonna be fi--"

He choked on a cough and frowned. His free hand rubbed at his chest for a second and he coughed again.

And again.

And again.

Until blood started seeping from his lips.

You shrugged his hand away and put as much distance between you as you could. You clamped your eyes back shut and covered your ears as he coughed and choked.

It felt cowardly, it felt wrong. But you were helpless.

You learned a long time ago that prayers were useless here, but you still whispered your pleas over and over, so someone could hear. So she might hear.

And ultimately you knew you couldn't do anything to save him.

Because you were his. And he was hers.

She was the only one who could fix this.

A couple of days passed after the incident with Fred before you crossed paths with any of the Brides again.

There was a different air surrounding them now, not just in relation to you, but Eddie as well, it seemed. They'd been stiff around him for a while, actually. It was just…tangibly worse now.

You didn't know when it started; they seemed fine after that spectacle you'd overheard of Eddie scolding them in the attic weeks ago.

In fact, you actually got to meet them, learn about them, and hear their stories firsthand. Hear about the things that made them easy prey to Vecna. And as...off putting and somewhat sinister as they still were, you found more similarities between them and Eddie--and yourself, to be honest--than differences.

You heard about their deaths at Vecna’s hands and their rebirth at Eddie’s. You got to see the relationships they all developed with him, and it warmed your heart to see them all—the kinds of kids who had written Eddie off when you’d first known—find common ground with him. In death and rebirth, they became more than a cheerleader and a basketball player, a nerd and a metalhead.

They were all traumatized kids who were offered some second chance at life. Maybe not quite a normal life, but a life. They deserved it.

But there was a turning point.

For all of them.

Even though Eddie said nothing about it, you noticed him start to keep them at arms length, especially as you started making progress on his abilities and the mission to get him back to Hawkins. You couldn't be sure if Fred was just more evidence that something had changed...or that it was directly caused by it.

There was that creeping Catholic guilt grabbing you by the throat at the thought. You had been gone from Hawkins for so long that you didn’t even exist to Eddie or the Brides upon their creation. Or the development of their bond through their shared suffering.

Had you been the cause of the rift between them?

It lingered in your mind as you went about your days in the Upside Down and as you made trips back to Hawkins to restore your strength.

You thought removing yourself from their realm, their home, however briefly, might make things better.

When were you going to learn that you were wrong about everything…

One day, on your return to the Upside Down--decidedly not escorted by Wayne, who was upset that you had yet to tell Eddie anything about your weakened state--Patrick had been waiting on the other side of the gate.

You were shocked to see him, and all of the divine sense inside of you screamed for you to go back, to scream for Eddie, to attack before he could.

To run.

But he was crying.

He looked more human than you had ever seen him before, sitting on some rocky outcropping, shoulders shaking with sobs. Those same shoulders that were draped with a tattered green letterman jacket.

His clawed hands clutched the lapels of it, pulling it tighter around him, wings folded into it so it would fit, and he stared up at the sky. As though it would give him some answer to whatever troubled him.

How many times had you been there?

You could clearly see the tar-like tears dripping down his cheeks as you got closer.

“Pat?” You called softly and he winced but didn’t acknowledge you. “Is everything ok?”

Lightning flashed overhead and he shuddered.

He didn’t respond to your question. Instead he asked, “do you think they’re alive?”

You paused a few feet from him.

Who? His family? He told you about them before, just like the others had. A mom and dad, a younger brother and sister. Twins. A picture-perfect life that would make anyone envious.

“Have you…never gone to find them?” You questioned. “In all the times you’ve been in Hawkins…”

“I never…never thought about it before,” he confessed. “When we’ve been back, all I’ve thought about was my hunger. Bringing back enough blood for Eddie. I k-killed people.”

He pulled the jacket tighter around him.

“He sent us to feed the other day and I thought about finding them. I went back to the house after I had my fill."

"Yeah?"

"But it was empty. Abandoned.” He closed his eyes, lines of pain suddenly etching across his face. "I found my jacket...right where I left it in the hall closet and I couldn't help myself. I took it. It was the only thing I needed, more than blood actually.

"But when I got back here, I started to wonder...if they were gone. Dead."

There was a beat, then he took a deep breath and opened his eyes to stare at you, fresh tears falling.

"B-because if they're alive...why would they leave it behind. If they knew I died...why would they leave me behind? If they're alive, do they even miss me?"

The pain in his voice--the stinging anger--made your heart ache and you couldn't help yourself. You crossed the distance and pressed a hand to his shoulder, and covered one of the hands on his jacket with the other.

As soon as your fingertips brushed against the jacket, you were overwhelmed by the memories woven into the jacket, intrinsic to its makeup just like every fiber and thread.

Getting the jacket for the first time when he made varsity, his father telling Patrick how proud he was of him, his little brother trying the jacket on in awe and vowing he'd have his own someday, rejoicing in a championship victory with his friends.

And as each memory--each emotion tied to it--hit you, you let it seep through your body and into his, along with an overarching sense of peace.

Even in your weakened state, this part of your power prevailed. You didn't need to destroy or defend if you could do this. If you could soothe the jagged parts of Patrick's heart and soul.

Soul.

The longer you stood there comforting him, the more you could feel it, and yes...jagged was the right word to use. Hurt, tired, broken. You knew you couldn't fix it, but maybe you could file away some of the sharp edges so he wouldn't get hurt when he looked for a little light in this ever-present dank darkness in the Upside Down.

Patrick's tears lessened until they stopped altogether. When you pulled your hands back you felt weak, but a good kind of weak, and he caught you as your footing faltered.

"The others...wouldn't understand," he said as he righted you. "Eddie, maybe but..."

"It's ok," you stopped him so he wouldn't feel obligated to explain, but your words fell short when he lifted a hand and clicked his claws against the chain of your necklace.

You could practically feel the words burn with holy power--as if to say "how could you have let yourself as close to a devilish being in a place like this"--as one sharp point rasped over the inscription.

Gratia. Charitas. Solamen.

"It told me that they hated me," he whispered. "He told me that they hated me too."

"...who?" you asked dumbly.

Patrick simply tapped the last word on the inscription and then his hand fell away. He looked you dead in the eye.

"I should have known better than to listen to those lies again."

You were left with more questions after the encounter, and you stayed in your head for most of the day upon your return to the Creel house.

You return that, unfortunately, didn't immediately bring about a reunion with Eddie.

You knew that he seemed to be the master of the Upside Down now in the void left after Vecna's death, but he likened it more like a Stewardship.

"Alright Denethor," you had teased him. "Does that mean this is Minas Tirith?”

But that meant he had other...situations to attend to, although you doubted Vecna had ever been as thorough in his stewardship of the dimension as Eddie was.

You'd been with him a few times and witnessed it yourself. An overrunning of vines and tentacles in the town center, enough that the Demogorgons could barely pass. He culled the overgrowth with several waves of his hands. Or a bloody fight amongst the nests of creatures that had overtaken the quarry. He told you it always turned bloody when the demodogs play turned a little too rough. Especially with a runt like Cerberus.

You had stayed high above as he handled the troublemakers and then soothed his worries later that evening when he felt he was too rough on his friends.

Whatever it was that he had to deal with now though was serious enough for him to miss your return. Which...was fine; you understood. But it left you with too much time on your hands. Time to roam and think and overthink.

You wandered about the Creel House aimlessly, getting lost in the long and winding halls as easily as you got lost in your thoughts. At some point, you had the bright idea to find Patrick again, to ask him some more questions, but he seemed to vanish once you were back.

You called his name as you wandered the empty house, and eventually found yourself outside.

Found yourself outside of the garage.

It was a dilapidated but expansive multi-car thing set far along the driveway at the back of the property, with an overgrowth of dead shrubs and a busted door. Although the house was massive--the entire dimension was massive--the Brides had made the garage a home for themselves and the other vampires to stay close to Eddie. A spot to congregate and rest. Clean themselves, talk. You really didn't know.

You'd asked Eddie about it once, when you found that the pillars at the front of the house were not their natural home, but instead a punishment. You ignored the sour feeling that put in your stomach, and instead reasoned that they must live somewhere if not there.

He explained their whereabouts, and then told you to stay as far away as you could.

For your safety, he said, even if he had basically promised you were safe in the Upside Down under his protection.

You knew you still had to tell him of your...affliction, but you were beginning to wonder just how safe you were.

You knew you should have heeded his warning, but if you wanted to find Patrick, this was surely the place for it.

You crossed the yard as carefully as you could and you debated calling out for Pat, like you had in the house. But something deep down inside you held your words back.

Hell, your innate sense of danger seemed to hold you back, phantom hands grabbing at you to stop you, your legs suddenly weighted like lead.

But you were too stubborn, too stupid.

You shook all of your instinct off and then made it to the door.

It was silly, your first thought as you glanced through the cracked wood was that the vampires truly looked like a clique, and Chrissy defaulted to the place of Queen Bee.

She hung from the rafters of the garage, a mirror image to how she had looked in the trailer oh-so-many weeks ago. When she...Eddie...she...you had been seduced and then brought here. Several vampires surrounded her: Heather first and foremost--as gruesome as she looked, Eddie had assured you none of them felt any pain, this was just their state of being here--then a short distance away...Bob Newby, the old RadioShack manager, and a handful of others whose names even Eddie didn't know.

He didn't speak Russian, he told you, as if that was some sort of explanation.

Further recessed back in the garage was Fred, alongside a woman named Janet, and a man named Tom. You'd found out, sometime ago, that they were Heather's parents. Although aside from one instance where Janet's long and probing tongue licked along Heather's face you couldn't say you saw any familial behaviors between them.

Your mind went to Barb when you first found out, who was more creature than person during the attack on the square, and you wondered if the three of them were in the same state. Many of the vampires seemed lost to the concept of humanity or consciousness, actually, with the Brides being the most whole of them all.

They all chattered and hissed and spoke in that dastardly infernal speech, voices and sounds overlapping and combining into some wicked white noise. And while there was some manifestation of your power that you'd used several times in your stint as a Knight, to understand devilish languages and the garbled speech of creatures of the dark, you didn't want to risk using your abilities on something so silly.

But something deep in the dark pit that was growing inside of you--a feeling that you suddenly feared--seemed to beg you to do it.

It tempted you to do it. Taunted you. Played tug of war with your head and your heart.

You debated for what felt like hours.

Do it. Don't do it. But you needed to know. But your whole point to come out here was for Patrick, and Patrick wasn't here.

You took a step back, ready to turn and head back into the house and wait for Patrick to reappear or Eddie to return.

And then there was a screech and you froze momentarily, then stepped back towards the crack in the door.

Chrissy was standing upright now, the only one speaking, her hands flailing wildly. All eyes were on her as she made some kind of rallying speech...or told a story.

All bets were off.

You muttered some arcane old latin phrase and her words suddenly became known to you. Not quite English as a sound that hit the ears, but understood deep in your being. At least...partially.

It was broken. Maybe because you were broken.

The master. Betrayal. Weakness. Blood.

Still, those words caused anger to bubble up inside of you; what did she mean about the master and betrayal? Eddie? Were they plotting to betray him? Vecna? Maybe she was telling some story about how Eddie had turned on him to defeat him.

God. Sins. The Devil.

Then there was annoyance, and you rolled your eyes; yeah, Chrissy had been some Churchy Sue when she was alive, wasn't she? Although, it was a little pot-meet-kettle when you considered your literal occupation was soldier of God.

Subdue. Slaughter. Feast.

The last few words were said to the resounding cheers of the others, their hissing and screeching and roaring. Chrissy laughed and then they all began to move, fast enough for you to lose focus of them, and notice what else was in the garage.

Bodies. Dozens of dead bodies, faces petrified in fear, throats slashed from claws and fangs. Just like the remains of the dead in Hawkins.

You were confused for a moment, as the vampires all began to feed on their plunder; you had...just been in Hawkins, there wasn't an attack, was there? These seemed...fresh. Too fresh.

You tried to make sense of it all as you witnessed their feeding, refusing to look away even though you winced at the cracking of bones and tried to ignore the wet sloshing sounds of flesh being torn and consumed.

The difference in time...and Eddie's promise that they wouldn't feed on any more blood than they needed...wouldn't kill more than they needed...and they'd never brought bodies back before...

But then your thoughts stopped as the scene turned into...something else. As their ashen desiccated flesh became slick and wet with blood and they used the high of the feed to chase a new high.

As the remnants of clothes were shed and they became a writhing mass of limbs as they fucked each other, fucked the bodies--their parts--and fed on both. A true spectacle of revelry and temptation and monstrous animalism.

Decadent and dastardly consumption.

And you couldn’t be sure—it could have been a trick of the light or your fickle imagination—but after a few seconds, a set of pitch black eyes settled on yours and you felt like all of the air was stolen from your lungs.

You were no longer worried about being careful or cautious. You didn't care about Patrick or the intentions of Chrissy and the others.

You turned on your heel and ran.

Eddie returned when you were fast asleep, but you didn't stay asleep for long. You were plagued with nightmares of everything you had been through, everything you had witnessed since you'd crossed back into Hawkins.

It was suffering and wailing and shame. Wings and claws and pain and death, bodies raining from the sky, all tinged with an ever-present red hue.

You woke up screaming in his arms, and you sobbed into his chest as he whispered words of comfort.

You refused to tell him what was wrong, you didn't even know yourself, but he knew that if it was enough to give you bad dreams, it had to be bad. He insisted that you didn't leave his side for a few days, and then scooped you up and flew you both to the hidden little house at the outskirts of the Upside Down.

While you appreciated the quality time spent with him, soft caresses and kisses in the safe confines of this pseudo-home, quiet time was the last thing you wanted.

Because you just spiraled deeper into your thoughts.

As shocking as the scene in the garage had been, you had seen worse. Of course you had. It didn't mean it was any less shocking. But just the spectacle of it brought up more questions, more...reflection of yourself and the time spent since you'd been back.

Back in Hawkins and back with Eddie.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong. You just...couldn't seem to pinpoint the how's and why's of how wrong everything was.

Especially with what was happening to you.

And you tried to ignore the one word that stood out in your mind: corruption.

The day you found out about your family's legacy--the day that would have been your first communion, had you been anyone else but you--your father had showed you a journal. One of his, one of many, filled with words and lessons and histories.

"It's the journey to goodness," he said. "The chance for salvation. It takes time and effort to fill the book."

Just as he was about to place it in your hands, he took a bottle of black ink from his bag--asshole too dramatic to use a BIC pen--and spilled it on the pages, ruining them. Covering all of his words in darkness. Effectively erasing them.

"And that," he said, dropping the book in your hands, splattering your skin and your pure white communion dress with the dark, wet ink. "That is how easy you destroy it."

You'd read one his journals right after your induction into the Order. The last few entries in the absolute last journal. And while you'd argue he was probably out of his mind to begin with, you saw how mad he'd become in those final days before he'd been killed. His tolerance for the dark and arcane had simply become too much until he could no longer withstand its attack on him.

All of his efforts were lost in one fell swoop; he went straight to Hell.

Except, reading through them all and seeing his descent proved that lesson--the very first lesson--wrong. You didn't lose the battle against the darkness all at once, you sunk into it. You were corrupted by it. Especially when you had no reason to go on, and nothing else to fight for.

Now, looking around the room, at the cozy little house and Eddie seated by the window, you decided that you had plenty to go on for. He had always been your driving force ever since you met him.

So why did it feel like you were sinking into the darkness like your father once had?

You just had to figure out what the fuck was going on first.

You huffed and settled into the mattress and stared at the ceiling so you could think.

Actually think; not overthink.

First something was up with Fred, then Patrick, and now Chrissy and all of the other vampires, it seemed. All different situations, but confusing nonetheless. Concerning. Sure they'd all been...dangerous before but this was...unexpected.

And then what Patrick said. It? He? Lies? What? Who? Which lies? You couldn't make heads or tails of it all; you could make some assumptions but...considering what you witnessed in the garage, what if it was a trap?

Or what if it was just a coincidence?

Or maybe something else you hadn't thought of yet.

There were no celestial bodies here; no sun or moon or stars. What if it was a full moon in Hawkins, and there was some indirect effect that caused some erratic behavior here? What if the Brides--all of the vampires--were all affected like werewolves? What if Eddie was? He seemed normal, as normal as he could be. Besides, he was already biting you enough as it was...

You chuckled involuntarily at the thought and Eddie looked over at you from where he sat strumming on his guitar.

"What's so funny?" he hummed, mouth quirked in a grin.

"You don't feel a sudden and extreme aversion to silver bullets or something, do you?" you asked cheekily and he scoffed.

In a blur the guitar was set aside and Eddie laid his body along yours, face tucked into your neck where he growled and bit you playfully as you squeaked in laughter.

All worries and weakness and woes were forgotten as he filled your heart and body with happiness and affection.

"I thought you liked having a vampire boyfriend," he teased when you wheezed for want of air. "Now you want a werewolf?"

"First off," you heaved, trying to catch your breath. "No. I was just thinking of something stupid, and second no. No penny for my thoughts either! I'm just overthinking things."

"As you usually do, even though I'm sure you told yourself you weren't gonna."

"Touche, asshole."

Eddie laughed wickedly.

"Third," you continued. "I thought we've been over the fact that you're not a vampire."

"Oh right, I'm the king of the vampires, actually," he flashed his fangs at you.

"You," you poked him in the chest. "Are a nerd, Mr. Kas the Bloody Handed."

"Hey no. No. Henderson gave me that name, actually," he reminded you. "You can't blame me for picking it."

"I can blame you for looping him into Hellfire."

"They were playing DnD before."

"Uh huh."

He blew a punishing raspberry onto your throat and you swatted at him as you screamed in faux outrage.

"Fine," he leaned back, straddling your hips, and straightened his posture proudly. "Henceforth, it shall be known that I, Edward J. Munson, am not a vampire."

He waited a moment then leant back down.

"This is where you give me a round of applause," he said in a stage whisper.

You rolled your eyes and clapped half-heartedly.

"I am not," he continued. "Kas the Bloody Handed, or the right hand of the Wicked Lich known as Vecna."

You clapped again.

"I'm not Eddie the Freak either."

"You're Eddie the Asshole," you cupped your hand around your mouth and made a soft boo.

He ignored you and continued.

"No, I am Eddie, Prince of Hell," he announced in a proud and grumbling tone and then held his fingers over his head as false horns and stuck his tongue out at you as he hissed.

It was a gesture he'd made tons of times during your relationship, and before and after too you were sure. Fuck, you'd even done it a few times, at his insistence and of your own volition.

But seeing him now, towering over you, with that wicked gesture, and his claws and those sharp fangs...you froze.

Maybe not in fear.

"And you," he finally leaned back down and grazed his lips over yours softly. "My beautiful angel, so good and righteous, perfect for me to corrupt."

Shit, yes actually, maybe in fear.

He pecked a kiss to your lips and then noticed how still you'd gotten.

"Sweetheart, you ok?" he asked, voice back to normal.

You might not have answered but no, you weren't.

You weren't ok. You couldn't be ok.

You'd just been thinking about Hell and your father and your punishment and your descent. You thought about corruption and...it was like he had pulled the word right from your mind, as though you had broadcasted it loud and clear right across the room.

You suddenly felt that pit inside of you grow wider, you felt yourself sink into it, you felt yourself get weaker. Here in the depths of the Upside Down, so far into nothingness that you didn't even know which direction to go to get back to Hawkins and the gates and salvation, even if you tried.

Eddie called your name and your eyes, that had been staring into nothingness, focused back on him.

You were breathing heavily, hyperventilating.

"Everything's ok," he tried with a weak smile, "it's ok, what happened? It was just a joke."

"It's not a joke!" you snapped at him, voice shrill and accusing. You swallowed hard and closed your eyes. You tried again, softer this time, "you can't joke about that, Eddie. Please. You...you can't."

"I...I didn't."

He sounded hurt, and you bit back the lick of anger that flared up at the thought that he would feel some kind of hurt when he said something so careless. You held back the wrath that seemed to come from that dark void inside of you because he...he didn't deserve it.

You took a few breaths and kept your eyes closed.

You were not a deep breaths kind of girl, you were not one who needed to calm yourself down, typically; your warrior's resolve usually kicked into gear by now, making all of those bad feelings stop, but it was nowhere to be found.

And that made you panic more.

So you thought of the rolling hills around weathertop and 4th of July fireworks and crispy McDonalds hash browns eaten on a rainy day and you thought of...of movies that you guys watched together, huddled together on the couch in the trailer.

You thought of a kiss on your forehead, then each of your eyes, then the tip of your nose, then your lips...

You thought of Eddie, your Eddie who was very much right in front of you, but in some ways...not.

"I wanna go home," you whimpered. No, you wailed. It was a painful, pitiful sound and you held your hands over your mouth as it escaped you. You sniffled. "I have to go home."

Eddie scoffed now, the pain even more evident. "Sweetheart, we are home."

"No," you shook your head and looked up at him. "Hawkins home. The trailer...Rick's...home."

"And what about me?"

"You'll come with me."

"How?" he barked in laughter. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of stuck here."

"Then I'll punch a hole through this fucking universe and haul you across singlehandedly," you said three your hands up defeatedly. "Eddie...I don’t…you asked the other day if I needed a break--"

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what is it?" he demanded. In a blink he was on his feet, towering over you even more. "What is this?"

You made the attempt to calm down, to catch your breath for a moment, but he snarled at you. A harsh and wicked sound and you pushed off the mattress and got to your feet.

"Something's wrong with me," you shouted at him. "I don't know if you noticed, I don't know how you didn't, why you wouldn't. But something is wrong and I feel...like if I stay in the Upside Down for much longer I'm going to lose myself Eddie. I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die," he waved a hand dismissively.

"You need to listen to me," you begged.

"You need to listen to me, you're safe here, I'll protect you."

"It's not about protection. It's not about you--"

"Oh the it's not you it's me deal?!"

"Listen Eddie," you stomped your foot petulantly. "Every day I'm here I get weaker, the more I use my power...I lose it. It's been feeling better whenever I get back to Hawkins, but I don't stay for long enough. You already know, I've told you...if I try to connect to the earth here, I feel like I'm trying to jump start a car with a potato instead of an electric current. I'm not meant to be in a place like this."

His eyes were wide and desperate, and you could see the gears turning as he considered your words.

"Why didn't you say something before?" He asked.

"We were making too much progress to get you out," you muttered. "I didn't want to ruin it with my bullshit."

"Dying isn't bullshit, sweetheart. I mean it is. Believe me. But not like that." He pulled you closer, into his arms. "You should have said something."

"I know," you nodded.

"I could have...I don't know what I could have done, but I would have tried."

"It's not too late," you whimpered into his shoulder. "We...maybe I just need a few days to get back to Hawkins and rest."

He got stiff.

"And then," you continued. "And then I can come back and we can--"

"A few days?" he interrupted you. "A...a few days here...or a few days there?"

You backed away from him and stared at the hurt that warped his face into a wicked and pathetic thing. Frustration and anger and confusion all carving lines into his forehead and around his mouth.

"Either," you answered him, and his frown got deeper. "Both. Eddie I'm not...leaving you but I need to leave."

There was a pleading tone in your voice, and you prayed--fuck, you were doing a lot of praying lately, and who damn well knew who heard them, but you still did it--he would understand.

Eddie had always been expressive; always wore his heart on his shoulder, never had a good poker face according to Wayne. The only time you really didn't know what he was thinking was when he was a DM, when he stepped into the role of ultimate control and mastery over his players.

You didn't know right from wrong, truth from lies, good from bad when you were in his domain, in his dungeon.

That was who stood before you now. No Eddie, no Kas, no human, no vampire.

Gone was your boyfriend, and in his place...the Dungeon Master.

"And I," he took a deep breath, "I need you to stay."

You waited until night time.

Or at least, you thought it was night.

Eddie wasn’t lying when he'd mentioned that time didn't exist here; day, night, summer, winter...there was no telling just when you were in the Upside Down.

But you used your best judgment.

You'd planned this for days upon your return from the little house to the mirrored Hawkins; well, plan was a relative term.

You waited for the right opportunity. Bided your time and stewed in your frustration. Especially when Eddie didn't give you a moment of peace alone.

And then when everything was perfect, you could make your escape.

It felt so wrong to think of it as escape. Because that felt like...like you thought Eddie was dangerous, or that you were betraying him. No, you were just...taking a trip. You'd be back once you were better. If anything, you could send Dustin or Wayne to explain. Someone who he would listen to, because he certainly stopped listening to you.

But if you were going to survive, if you were going to recover, you needed to get back to Hawkins.

And tonight was your chance.

It was a miracle in and of itself that Eddie was sound asleep beside you and the house around you silent and still. You peeled yourself from the thick comforter on the bed and then padded out of the room with the lightest footsteps.

You were careful to make as little noise as possible; no shoes, only socks, and you stepped carefully on the floorboards so one wouldn't squeak unexpectedly under your weight. You cast the tiniest bit of your power, what little of it that didn't make you feel like dying, outwards to communicate with the house. If you felt the slightest shift of the floorboards or the support beams or anything, you'd adjust your footing and continue onwards.

You felt a strange sense of nostalgia wash over you; growing up, you usually slept down in Nonna's flat, but some nights you'd be upstairs. Typically when your father was home, so you and your parents could pretend you were a family.

You'd always have nightmares on those nights.

So you'd sneak back down to Nonna's where most of your things were and the bed was more comfortable, but if you weren't careful enough on the back staircase, Nonna would hear. Nonna always heard. You'd open the door to her flat--god, you could hear the sound of the door squeaking now as you crept along the dusty halls of the Creel House--and find her at the kitchen table with milk warming on the stove and soft, soothing words.

You always felt bad for waking her, so you got good at being as quiet and careful as possible. Got good at opening the door silently. Until there came a day--the day you finally left--where she didn't even know you'd gone at all.

You purposely avoided thinking of what you'd do if Eddie woke up; you had a feeling it wouldn't be warm milk and comforting words.

It took until the third turn down an unfamiliar hallway and coming face to face with a staircase that went up instead of down that the dread hit you and the panic began to set in.

You'd been watching the landscape of the Creel House change for weeks now. Little by little the hallways twisted and rooms moved until they became something strange and unfamiliar. At first you believed that it was Eddie making the changes in his boredom; thinking back now, with your endeavors to strengthen his grasp on his abilities, when would he have had the chance? Unless he'd made it even more convoluted in the past few days to keep you in.

Surely the house hadn't made itself a twisted mass like this, could it?

Who else, if not Eddie, could have done this?

If you eliminated all logical solutions, whatever remained, however improbable, must have been true; thanks, Sherlock Holmes.

But why would the house itself do something like this?

To keep intruders out or to keep its residents in?

To keep Eddie in?

To keep you in?

You turned to glance over your shoulder and watched the now-familiar sight of the doors rattling and breathing, one after the other down the hall you'd just walked down, until it reached you and the door nearest you groaned a warning. You felt the vibrations penetrate your aura and shake you to the core.

Stay, it seemed to say with a prolonged creak of wood and metal.

Stay forever, it pleaded.

It commanded.

That broke you from your brief stupor and you turned back on your heel and continued onwards as quickly and as carefully as you could.

Well, you tried.

Your socks kept getting caught on nails that seemed to sprout unexpectedly from the floorboards, like the dastardly prickling weeds in a garden. You winced as a spur in the metal of the handrail cut into your skin as you shuffled down a flight of stairs. You tripped at the bottom of one set of stairs, when you were sure the next step would be flat floor, but in a blink you had several steps to go, so you faltered and fell.

The dull thud of your heels against the worn carpet runner when you landed and found your footing made your heart stop in your chest.

You cast your divine sense outwards now, wincing at the feeling akin to a pulled muscle that radiated throughout your body, and you waited, hoping...praying that you wouldn't sense anyone or anything stir at the noise.

Should it have been a surprise that your prayers went unanswered? You really needed to stop doing that if it was gonna come bite you in the ass so much.

You didn't see any of it, didn't hear any of it, but you sensed it.

Groans and muffled infernal speech and wings and chitters and teeth snapping. Things hit the side of the house and then crawled their way inwards.

But you didn't feel Eddie, not yet at least...

Not until there there was a single, earsplitting snarl that echoed from above and the walls practically shuddered around you, like a sinister laugh as the house gleefully anticipated your punishment.

You didn't give him a chance, didn't give any of it a chance. You dropped your shoes down to step into them and then you ran.

You were already on the ground floor of the house; you could make it to the gate if you hurried. You felt a lump in your throat as you heard thundering footsteps above and more screeching; you were grateful that, at the very least, the maze that the house had become would hinder your pursuers just like it had hindered you.

Down this hallway and that, through one room and then another, until you saw the cracked door with the stained glass rose hanging off of its hinges, and finally you were outside. You could see the flowing gate, you could practically taste freedom, healing light, Hawkins.

Home.

But then you watched in horror as the fissured ground surrounding the gate began to rumble and churn and seal itself.

If Eddie hadn't realized that you were gone before, by some slim chance...he knew now.

You dashed across the wicked altar and past the empty pillars as far forward as you could to get to a portion of the gate before Eddie sealed it. You threw a hand out towards it to try and solidly anchor one point along the seam to stop him, to give yourself a chance.

You stumbled to a halt, shoes sliding into the dirt as you felt the practically unstoppable force of his power crash into yours. It shook you to the core, made your entire being vibrate, your teeth clatter, the marrow of your bones quake.

You gritted your teeth and dug your feet in the ground as you held him back; it was a battle of wills, because at this point you knew he was stronger, but you were a stubborn piece of shit and you weren't going to give this up so easily.

"Eddie stop," you grunted, as though he could hear you. His will to shut the gate let up for a moment, and then slammed back into your will to stop him. "Stop this. You need to let me go!”

I can explain, you wanted to tell him. Just let me go and I'll explain everything. I don't want to go; I have to go.

Even unspoken, it seemed he could hear those thoughts, feel those thoughts.

His response? A desperate and resounding no.

Instead of all of his power being concentrated on the gate, you felt the ground beneath you begin to move. It rumbled and cracked, and you faltered in your footing as it tilted with a sudden shift. Your focus on the gate broke, and the glowing crack continued to seal itself.

You felt that wicked, wrathful feeling that you'd suppressed the past few days grow in your chest again. How dare he not listen, how dare he claim to love you and then refuse to listen. A watch as you faded before his eyes, watch as his creatures encroached on you, watch as you died...and did nothing about it because he didn't want to lose you. Even for a day.

"Well fuck you too then," you muttered and you pivoted on the uneven ground and started running again, away from the Creel House, away from the gate.

Into the woods.

You used that wrathful feeling to kickstart a spark of strength, the way you'd been teaching Eddie not to do over the past few weeks, and you used that strength to become faster, swifter, more agile. Your footing became sure as you dodged branches and hopped over the viney, tentacle-laden ground.

The Upside Down was still in Eddie's control, he could find where you were if he wanted to, but you weren't going to make it easy for him.

Snarls and screeches and howls began to sound around you, as the creatures of the Upside Down were called to action and you felt their dark presences begin to close the distance between you.

Bats overhead, demogorgons running, their footsteps almost in tandem with yours.

You vaguely wondered if the purpose of this swarm was to catch you or to kill you. Did they all know? Did Eddie? If the Brides had all begun to act more unpredictable and predatory, outside of Eddie's command, what about all of these beasts? Had they slipped from his control too? Were you in even more danger now?

Feral red lightning flashed ominously overhead as you crossed the protective cover of the forest and turned onto a long and broken road; in fact, the whole sky had seemed to turn a shocking crimson instead of the murky, misty grey-blue that it had been the entire time you'd been here.

Like an ominous warning that there'd be blood shed on this night, whether you liked it or not.

You dodged the hoard of beasts as much as you could along an open stretch of road like this; what small bit of telekinetic energy you had was used to distract those that got close enough, rather than attack. Tree branches falling, car horns going off. Still, several bats and one demodog got their attacks in.

Sharp claws and teeth scratched at you, one bat's tail sliced across your throat in a stinging blow but you conjured enough strength to whip it away and through the jagged broken windshield of a car on the side of the road.

You were thankful that you were so successful in your ability to dodge them and steer them away from your desired path, until you crossed back into the woods again. Then all bets seemed to be off.

Your powers began to fail, your strength suddenly gone. That rage inside of you started to fizzle out and you felt the fatigue of running take its toll on you. Muscles twinging, lungs straining, even more than they usually did. A cold sweat broke out on your brow and the back of your neck, but you kept pushing further and further.

There wasn't that much to go; you began to recognize the nearby roads just up ahead through the trees, although you didn't dare follow them. If only you could get to this dimension's facsimile of Rick's House, and the barren Lover's Lake, before Eddie caught up to you, you'd be safe.

But what had Dustin said weeks ago? Eddie was some master strategist, that's why Vecna relied on him to be his right hand.

So it shouldn't have been a shock when a large, winged figure dropped to the ground just a few yards ahead of you, taking down branches and leaves and vines on its descent. You let out a broken shriek and skidded to a halt.

Patrick stood to his full height, wings outstretched and flapping in warning, then took a step towards you. For a moment, you saw his expression soften, just the way it had when you'd found him at the gate the other day, before it hardened again.

"Sweetheart," he cooed at you. Eddie cooed at you. "Why are you running from me? Why are you running away?"

You panted and looked around; you could hear other sets of large wings flapping overhead and several sets of racing footsteps gaining ground behind you. You'd be surrounded if you didn't act soon.

Your mind raced as you tried to consider what you could use to your advantage here in this place that you had no advantage at all. You were weaponless, you were weak. If you tried to attack Patrick with what little of your power you had left, you'd be empty.

But what could you do...yeah you were a Knight, but your power was lost to you here. Heaven was lost to you here. You were only Human.

And that's when it hit you.

Eddie might have been the Dungeon Master and a master strategist but even a player could trick a DM. He had told you that himself. And although you had only played DND a handful of times, you had real world experience in battle and victory against a dark foe.

How many dastardly dark villains' grand plans had you foiled? How many other strategies had you subverted? How many times had you saved innocent lives with your light?

You were certainly holy, but when it came down to it, no holy power could save you or stop them. If God wanted something destroyed, He could have sent His angels, could have done the job Himself.

Only He didn't. He relied on Humans.

Cunning and crafty. Weak and imperfect.

Just like you.

And Eddie.

And, despite the transformation that came with his resurrection, Patrick.

He'd shown you how human he was the other day when he cried for his family.

"Why do you want to leave me?" You turned back to him just in time to see Patrick scream and lunge for you. You did the most instinctive thing you could: you held your hands out to stop him, you shielded yourself.

It wouldn't do much to stop him--as strong as he was and as weak as you were--but it bought you time to think, time to feel. Especially as everything slowed down around you. You didn't feel the ground or the sky or all of the tricks you'd tried to teach Eddie over the past few weeks. It was all incompatible to you.

No, you felt Patrick himself. Physically. As he inched closer, as his claws grazed your skin so he could grab you, you let yourself feel for all of the parts of him that were still human.

Because those parts were not of this world, they were of your world.

His skin, his muscles, his tears, his heart. His soul. You felt the little electric currents that made his synapses fire, made him move, made him feel. They were all of the things that you were made of too. So if you just gave a little, you could take a lot.

The moment his fangs pierced your flesh and slashed across your arm, you willingly let yourself go into shock. Let your body go cold, let your limbs lose all feeling, let your lungs deflate as you lost your breath.

Once you were well and truly vulnerable--once Patrick's hunger took control and he pulled a mouthful of your life force--you pushed all of it outwards and shocked him. Sent a pulse of panic and pain and numbness into him like a wave, until every part of him seized.

His eyes widened for a moment, and then they drooped. The dead weight of his unconscious form fell onto you, sending you crashing to the ground.

"Fuck," you hissed and tried to push him off of you as you regained the autonomic control of all your bodily functions.

Well, that wasn't what you wanted to happen, but in all honesty, you didn't know what to expect. Not for it to work as thoroughly as it had, at least.

"You know what, I didn't shit myself or have a heart attack," you sighed as you finally got free. "That should count for something."

The racing beat of footsteps were approaching, and the wings overhead much louder; you needed to move. But as you pushed yourself onto your hands and knees so you could stand, you came face to face with the wide, panting, petal-like mouth of a demodog.

You immediately flashed back to '84, to the tunnels, to Dart roaring in your face until Dustin subdued him. But there was no Dustin here, and this wasn't dart; this was one of Eddie's hoard of creatures--Vecna's army.

It was over.

You closed your eyes and waited for the attack, the roar. For the bite...but it never came.

The demodog whined and sniffed curiously, then closed its mouth to be more cone-like and nudged its head against yours. Your eyes shot open and you stared at it; it tilted its head to one side and then the other, then opened its mouth again to pant.

"What are you..." you muttered and it leant its head down to huff around your arms. You winced as you believed it to be looking for your wounded arm or any of the other cuts or scratches along your body, but instead it nudged its cone-like head against your hand. Over and over until you finally brought it up and rested it against the creature's head. "Cerberus."

As though you had the time to spare, you gave Eddie's little friend the pets it desired, and as you did, you felt a familiar sense of calm wash over you. A calm that you typically felt around Eddie.

Goodness, silliness, love and companionship. All of the things you associated with Eddie, poured into this...dog thing.

You worried, for a moment, that this was some kind of trap. That Eddie was luring you into a false sense of security until one of the other Brides could swoop in, but it never happened.

In fact, several twigs snapped in the forest around you, and Cerberus abandoned your comforting touch to growl at the potential threat.

It growled and roared and snapped its mouth as you got up and it backed against your leg once you were upright. It followed you, kept up with your pace--as fast as you could go--as you jogged through the trees and jumped over the tentacles on the ground.

Cerberus was even careful of his steps, and if you decided to weave and change direction, it would run ahead and wait for you if the coast was clear.

It was nice, you realized, not to be alone.

You didn't know whether to feel relief or dread when Rick's house, and the glowing gate the bisected Lover's Lake behind it, finally came into view. Because along the path to your escape, a veritable swarm of creatures roamed.

Demogorgons slowly slunk back and forth, bats flew overhead, a pack of demodogs--not the friendly kind like Cerberus seemed to be--paced back and forth around the house.

"Well," you sighed down to Cerberus. "What should we do?"

As though it would answer.

But Cerberus understood, at the very least, and if you had thought it had been very Eddie-like in its temperament and the feelings that surrounded it, the actions it took next were taken right from the Eddie Munson playbook.

Cerberus started growling and hissing and spitting, and the swarm of creatures all began to stir and look around.

"What the--"

It started taking a few steps away from you, growling as you made the attempt to follow which made you pause, and then it started running, right towards Rick's house, right towards the swarm. You could see your little friend roar and get the other creatures riled up, and just when you expected them to turn back on you, maybe attack, they began to follow it away from the house.

Away from the gate.

Away from you.

The demogorgons, the bats, the other demodogs were all hot on its heels, and you wondered briefly if it had enough consciousness and awareness to pretend, to divert their attention and offer a distraction. Or if it had sacrificed itself, if your scent or imprint on the beast had spurred the others to chase and attack it, knowing that it had allied itself with you.

And you got the flashes of Eddie's memory of luring the swarm of bats away from the trailer and Dustin so he and Hawkins could survive.

Eddie Munson and Cerberus were both heroes.

You said a quick prayer for safety--and maybe in apology for your little friend's sacrifice--but you didn't let the opening Cerberus gave you go to waste. You ran, first for the house, and then down the sloped backyard towards the lake.

A few stragglers that hadn't followed Cerberus were taken care of with various levels of difficulty. You were close enough to the gate that you could practically taste the power that Hawkins offered on the other side, so you drew what strength you could to burn through a bat that swooped down to bite into your limbs. Or deliver an uncharacteristically hard kick into the side of a pouncing demodog and send it soaring.

Each defensive move left you feeling a little more drained but hopeful, because you were almost there.

That hope was only amplified as you watched the gate begin to glow and gape, just a few yards in front of you. The maw opened wider and wider until an arm jutted out, then a head and torso.

Until Wayne Munson and his worn jacket and shotgun finally emerged from the hole.

"Wayne," you called to him, cried to him, desperately. "You're here. How...wh--"

"Honey, what the Hell--"

You pumped your legs faster until your body slammed into his and your arms wound around him.

"What the hell happened," he repeated, trying to push you away. "You're bleeding? And the sky..."

There wasn't time for an explanation, but someone somewhere seemed to be looking out for you if he was here.

You quickly questioned how he knew to come.

"It was the darnedest thing," he shook his head. "I was sound asleep and then there was this...scratching on the side of the house. Shook the foundation if you could believe it. Went outside, found the siding all torn up and thought it had to be...the bats or the demogorgons or something. Imagine my surprise..."

He backed away from you and tucked his hand into the front of his jacket, then quickly extracted a grumpy-looking lump of grey fur and whiskers.

"...when all I found was this little kitty sitting on the porch."

Something softened in both you and Lucy when you locked eyes, and she leaned her head into your touch as you went to scratch between her ears.

"You're a little troublemaker, huh Lou?" you asked as she purred. "First you chase after Fred and now you're waking Wayne up in the middle of the night?"

She stared at you with all-knowing eyes, as if to say you actually got yourself into these messes and I'm just here to help.

"Glad she did," Wayne scoffed. "I went over to the kitchen to see if I had any tuna and I saw the god damned gate glowing again. There was a bunch of smoke. Decided to come investigate and Lou here wouldn't leave me alone until I scooped her up and brought her with."

You were about to make a joke along the lines of curiosity killed the cat when large wings flapped overhead and you and Wayne turned to find that you weren't alone anymore.

First Fred made his descent, swooping low enough overhead that you and Wayne had to duck to avoid his claws.

Then Chrissy in an elegant flutter.

And finally, a vengeful-looking Heather appeared behind them, dislocated jaw practically detached altogether when she roared at you upon landing. Her long prehensile tongue flailed and she spat bile blood and spit across the distance.

"Dear Lord," Wayne dropped Lucy--whose hackles were immediately raised at the dangerous appearance of the three bat-creatures--softly to the ground so he could cock his shotgun and aim it at them.

"The Lord can't save you here Uncle Wayne," Chrissy taunted him and took a step closer, wings dragging along the dirt behind her lazily. Those weren't Eddie's words spoken through her; he wouldn't talk to his uncle like that. Hell, it didn't even sound like the Chrissy you had become familiar with; it was whatever had been in control in the garage. "I don't even think you can save yourself."

There was a thud and a shuffle behind you and you turned, now back to back with Wayne, to find three more vampires there. Ones you'd recognized from Chrissy's little orgy: Bob, Doris, and Janet in various stages of desiccation and decay.

For the first time all night, there wasn't just fight or flight. There was true fear.

Because you were surrounded.

You knew there were more vampires out there. If these six had gotten the jump on you, were the rest stealthily waiting for their opportunity to strike overhead. And moreover...where was Eddie?

Doris screeched impatiently in front of you and Lucy quickly shuffled at your feet so she could hiss in return. You tried to shush her, tried to lean down and pick her up to keep her safe but she batted at you too, and then turned back to the creatures.

"Hey now, let's take it easy," Wayne spoke softly. You felt him shift as he, presumably, lowered the shotgun. "I didn't come here to cause any trouble. Just came to see Eddie."

"Bit convenient," Fred chuckled sardonically. "You make your little visit on the same night she tried to run away."

"I don't think she was running away," Wayne responded. "She's due to come back any time now, aren't you honey. Get some supplies?" He didn't wait for you to speak before he continued his spieling. Trying to buy time, you hoped.

The banter went back and forth, but you focused on Lou and the threat in front of you and how you could possibly use the beings that surrounded you--earthly or infernal it didn't matter--to your advantage if anyone attacked.

Wayne asked where Eddie was, curious enough for the both of you. And a collective laughter shook all 6 vampires around you.

"He's a little busy, actually," Fred sneered. "Dealing with a traitor."

You clenched your jaw and fought through the tears that burned your eyes.

Did he mean Cerberus? Or was it all a ruse? Surely if Eddie wanted to stop you from leaving, he would come to get you himself. Deal with this himself. Instead of going to punish his friend for helping you. But if he trusted his creations to feed him your location...and they were out of his control...

"He'll be here soon enough," Chrissy hummed, sounding a little too sure of herself, like the cat that got the canary.

Wayne relaxed for a moment and scoffed kindheartedly, the way a neighbor would; you bit back whatever swear was at the tip of your tongue. The Munsons and their distractions.

"Say now, you're the Cunningham girl aren't you? Saw your mom at Bradley's the other day."

"That's not gonna help," you muttered over your shoulder.

"Can't hurt to try," he shrugged.

Yes, actually. It could.

You didn't know who made the first move; probably Heather if she thought Wayne was preoccupied with Fred and Chrissy. She thought, as though the distraction was anything other than a product of the hive mind. But someone made a move, which made Wayne raise the shotgun again and take a shot as quickly as he could.

There was a wet, popping sound and a roar, and then chaos followed.

It was a flurry of wings and teeth and infernal words. Lightning flashed in the sky overhead and the ground quaked around you, causing your footing to falter.

So you were right; the Upside Down itself was suddenly a player in the game.

Wayne reloaded the shotgun with rounds from his jacket pocket to take pot shots at whatever vampire he could.

Heather and Chrissy were quick to launch an aerial attack, much like they had in the square. They dodged Wayne's shots and dived to hide within the safety of the gates before emerging. Chrissy was slower-- Wayne's first shot having hit her--and used the apparent disadvantage to their benefit. Wayne kept trying to finish the job with her while Heather made diving attacks to swipe at you.

You tried pulling the same stunt that you'd done on Patrick to incapacitate both Bob and Doris. They had been unsuspecting in their power as they both seemed like candidates to be the weakest of the group, but given the amount of human parts that you could sense left in them--precious little compared to the others--you were glad to take care of them first. Doris practically melted when you sent the shockwave through her, energy pulled from all of the vampires collectively.

It took more to take Bob out, though. He resisted a few more moments and took several more steps. You cried out and fell to the ground as he slashed at you, claws gouging deep across your thorax, before he went down himself.

And somewhere in that mess, was Lucy.

Little Lucy. The sweet, grey, short-haired cat who you and Eddie had fed tuna to once upon a time and whose favor had been won, apparently, til the end of time. Who dodged the footsteps and claws and shots until she had the chance to swipe at assailants as an attack of her own.

Queen Lucy. Small but brave and mighty. Like her namesake Lucy Pevensie.

Who suddenly grew with each growl and hiss, whose claws dug deep into the ground, whose back seemed to grow sharp, long spines until she was large and imposing and terrifying to behold.

You watched her transformation in awe as your hand pressed against your wounds, and somewhere deep down inside you the words I told you so bubbled and threatened to burst from you.

Because you had told Eddie, once upon a time, that Lucy wasn't just a cat. No she was a great, fabled predator and protector.

Lucy was a Splintercat.

Her tiny meow was suddenly a thunderous roar, and she immediately went on the offensive. She pounced and clawed at the vampires as they tried to take to the air, batting them off course and shredding their wings. In some wild maneuver, she somehow impaled Fred along her spiney back and then scraped his barely-living carcass off on the trunk of a nearby tree, a possible feast once you won this fight.

If you could win this fight.

But you would not.

The rest of it was a blur. Literally.

You were on the ground, losing blood fast; you drew power from everything that you could around you to try and keep yourself stable but the radiating pain from Bob's attack only made the use of your abilities harder.

You watched helplessly as Lou chased and pounced after Janet, who had set her sights on your prone and rapidly-weakening form, and Heather decided it was the perfect chance to strike, with your protector distracted. Wayne, of course, offered some cover. He took one shot, then another to try and stop her.

Suddenly, a loud, demon-like screech rang across the barren lake as Eddie's large, infernal, monstrous form appeared. He dropped down on heavy feet and his eyes flashed dangerously as he surveyed the scene before him, softening only when he spotted you on the ground, wounded and, yeah you could admit, probably bleeding out.

You whispered his name pathetically as Lucy took a more protective position, placing herself between you, other vampires forgotten as a much more powerful adversary had arrived.

Eddie roared and screeched again, and everything stopped. Heather and Janet dropped and fell to the ground at his feet. Even Fred, with his mangled body, seemed to clasp his hands as he begged.

Chrissy, though, seemed to ignore his orders. Her sights were set on her prey and she would have her fill.

With the ear-splitting sound that echoed across the lake at Eddie's arrival, Wayne had dropped his shotgun to cover his ears. And the lack of defense was perfect for Chrissy's attack. She swooped down and grabbed him, then soared upwards; her clawed hands and feet pierced through his body as her fangs ripped deep into his throat and she quenched her thirst.

You screamed for him, and Eddie's eyes tore away from you and locked straight onto them.

He took to the skies to chase after Chrissy, and Lucy saw it as the perfect distraction to take advantage of. Her wide mouth--damn, she was a lot bigger up-close--scooped you up like a much smaller cat would the carcass of a bird or a rodent. She was as gentle as she could be but you still felt the prickles of her sharp teeth pierce through your clothes and skin.

And as she turned and bounded for the gate, you watched in horror as Eddie finally reached Chrissy and fought to subdue her.

In his rage, Eddie seemed to forget the most important thing.

In their tussle, Chrissy let Wayne go to protect herself from her master.

And you watched helplessly as Wayne fell, fell, fell.

It was a mess of slashes and claws and wings, flailing silhouettes against the carmine backdrop that was the sky.

Just like your nightmare.

The last thing you heard before it all went black, was the sickening crunch as Wayne's body hit the ground.

“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” - E. A. Bucchianeri

Next Chapter: Miserere Mei Coming Soon

[cogentranting]

Think back to the last group of more than 3 people (other than immediate family*) that you were around for at least a short length of time (could be a class, your job, hanging out with friends, standing in line at the bank. Anything).

While you were with that group of people some sort of unexpected disaster struck. You must navigate that disaster and societal collapse/post-apocalyptic environment left behind afterward. This group is now your survival group.

Would you and your group survive? (More clarifications beneath the poll)

*your group can include immediate family members, but it must be a situation with at least 3 non-family people.

-What kind of disaster? Doesn't matter, take your pick. The Walking Dead. Love and Monsters. The Road. The Day After Tomorrow. It could even be a stranded on a mysterious island scenario a la Lost. If it influences your decision tell me about in the reblogs.

-There are other survivors of this disaster around who may or may not be friendly, but their goals do not align with yours. You can head off on your own, but you cannot join a new group.

-Assume that any family or friends of yours who are not in your given group are out of reach-- you are insurmountably separated from them (by either death or circumstances) for the foreseeable future.

[christinesficrecs]

Helloo christine! happy holidays i love love love your blog it definitely is a blessing in my life. do u happen to know any good longish fics where stiles saves the hales from kate or even derek from paige’s death. Ive read Daybreak by obsidianquill and starcanopus and im dyyiiinggg i need more. Thanks in advance hope you have a great new year

Hey! Maybe these ones.

Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill | 70.3K | Mature

The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

Find A Way by LLN3dseestheLight | 25.1K | Mature

Kate Argent came back to Beacon Hills and slaughter the Pack. Only Stiles and Lydia survived for the moment but thanks to Peter Hale they have a way to change that...by doing something very stupid.

A Time Travel spell... If it works... And it does in a way... but it also sent them to another reality as well.

Play It Again by metisket | 63.2K

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself.

Spook: A Ghostly Love Story in Three Parts by zosofi | 38.1K

Derek is fifteen when he dies. He's been fifteen for six years when he meets Stiles. And then suddenly... suddenly things start looking up.

hope is the thing with feathers by ShanaStoryteller | 28.9K

Stiles is ten when he saves the Hales from their burning home and Derek from a wolfsbane bullet, and this establishes a pattern that seem to continue indefinitely.

Stiles plans are the worst (the best) by Dashar | 88.7K

Stiles world ended when his pack died. It didn’t exactly come as a surprise. He had been running with wolves for so long that within hunters and monsters it was just a matter of time. It was a surprise when the world ended too. And Stiles… Well, he had to do something about that.

When the Smoke Clears by Spikedluv | 15.7K

Beacon Hills is under attack from various supernatural creatures. Most of the town has been burned to the ground, and Stiles has lost everyone he loves. He attempts a time-travel spell even though Deaton has cautioned against it. In the past, he’ll need to save the Hale family so they can protect Beacon Hills. The only questions are, will he make it back in time, and will Talia Hale believe him?

Turn back time by A_pretty_good_pair | 49.7K

There's no one left. No one. Stiles decides in his grief to try and fix everything he did wrong the first time around. Will he be able to save everyone or will he relive the pain of losing them all once again?

One More Again by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere | 22.2K

When a strange man appears in the Hale Pack territory with an unusual proposition for Stiles and Lydia, Stiles is unable to resist going back in time to stop the Hale House fire.

Even after a few bumps in the road, Stiles finds himself in the past with one nearly-insurmountable goal - getting Talia Hale and the rest of her family to trust him with their lives.

Unfettered by Heizpilz | 70.4K

In the morning, Stiles simply doesn’t get up. What would be the point? Everything he cares about – everyone he cares about – is gone. Dead and buried, quite literally. True, there are some people left on the periphery of what was once his life, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck about them.

Now as Ever (All That Is and Has Been) by  venis_envy | 52.2K

Stiles can't remember what happened to rearrange the time-space continuum, or how he ended up being pulled into the past. All he knows is that he's there now, in 2003 Beacon Hills, with a teenage werewolf and a possibly-crazy veterinarian as his only allies.

[acorpsecalledcorva]

Definitely something that struck home for me about Sar and Ozturk s Theory of the Functional Dissociation of the Self is the idea of how a 'Sociological Self' develops in absence of it's connection to the 'Psychological Self'. In fact, my final year uni project was on this very subject (I just didn't realise it at the time) on how it relates to gender, i.e. I know what my gender identity is, but where did my definition of what that identity means come from? Why do some aspects of gender feel right to me and others feel wrong?

And this extends from a much more holistic sense of who the fuck is us? Who am I? Really? At my core, what is really there that is me? What of me is truly mine? Because I've never even felt like a real person, let alone a whole person. I'm a facsimile of a person. A simulacrum in the simulation that is the world I experience.

And discovering that I was a system didn't really help with that either, am I the sum of my parts? Am I a teenage girl and a child and a vampire and a wolf and a cat boy and a 16th century Norwegian witch and a dead girl from Belgium and a crow monster and my father and my mother and my ex fiancee and so many other unique and incompatible identities? I can't be. Because they're very much not me. In fact on a very fundamental level they must not be me, that's the whole purpose of their existence, to be not me.

The way that Sar and Ozturk phrase it is that, under the pressure of an environment filled with insurmountable stresses that can't be overcome, the 'psychological self' is buried and hidden away to protect it. The 'Sociological Self' must therefore not only develop without it, but make up for it's absence. By avoiding the internal, it must rely on the external to inform it. If the immediate external environment is too harsh, which, of course it is, then it must expand it's scope beyond to wider culture and failing that, the fictional (not that culture is anything more than the fictions we collectively tell ourselves but you know what I mean). Rejected by the host, the 'Psychological Self' attempts to reach out to the world by creating new 'Sociological Selves', using the vision of the world internalised by the host as templates on how and who to be.

And this is what "less than one personality" means to me. Not a broken plate that can be put back together, or a broken mirror where all the individual pieces are still mirrors, but the result of multiple attempts to create a cohesive sense of self without full access to the entirety of human experience. Some attempts are based on lies, others on guesses, and some may be partially correct but lack context or a place to be understood and fully realised.

I'm like those old medieval drawings of animals based on descriptions of animals but having never seen them before.

This. This is me. This is what I really am. I'm like if a person didn't know what a person was and tried to make more people.

Especially bottom right, that may as well be a fucking selfie of my subconscious.

And of course I know there's a me, somewhere inside, there's a me that is me, but I can't find it, it's hidden from me. I look and I feel where it must be, but I just cannot grasp what it is. Like I kinda understand now what my IFS therapist was talking about in reference to a "core self", I now know what is meant by that, and I also know why I feel so strongly that I don't have one. Like dark matter, I can theorise about the properties of the glue that holds my galaxy together, but I cannot for the life of me detect it, I cannot interact with it, it's completely invisible, totally outside of my reach, but it's there. But it's not a whole personality either, it's not even a part of my personality, I cannot just add it to my other parts because it's isolation has left it undeveloped. Imagine asking for a dozen cupcakes and getting 11 cupcakes and a pile of flour, sugar, and egg. It's not just a missing piece, it's not even a piece yet.

And it's this, this separation and underdevelopment of the 'Psychological Self' upheld by Dissociative barriers and absolute phobia of the internal that separates my experience as a DID system from other members of the wider plural including endogenic community. I'm not going to say that this is the defining DID experience, because it's not, but it's definitely why I fail to relate to a metric fuck ton of y'alls experiences and description of yourselves, just as so many of you may tell me that you don't relate to what I'm saying right now.

And it's of course worth mentioning that this is only one way of rationalising things. It's like the oceans, we draw lines and say "this is the Pacific and this is the Atlantic" and there's value in some contexts to divide them this way and compare the differences between them, or the different layers of the atmosphere saying "this is the stratosphere and this is the flanglesphere" but it's all water and it's all air. Which way we divide it and where we draw the lines is only as important as what we're trying to achieve by doing so and the purpose that it serves.

This framework helps me to conceptualise myself the best so far, if it helps you conceptualise yourself too then you can incorporate it, if it doesn't and you have a better one then you can use that. We're all just smudges in a left handed person's handwriting at the end of the day.

[lynettethemadscientist]

So. . . what is Fallout 4 about in your opinion?

(Asking this not angrily, but as someone who's genuinely curious about your thoughts on the game. I played it too and I love it. Nick Valentine my beloved!)

Thank you for asking!!

Fallout 4’s story is primarily about two things, both concerning how we cope with Suffering and Despair.

When you begin the game, you and your spouse are finally reunited after a long military deployment and you have a brand new baby (no more than a few months old). You’re on the cusp of a beautiful future together. All your dreams are finally coming true.

And then it’s all taken from you. In the worst possible way. Your spouse is executed in front of you. Your child is taken by people with unknown but undoubtedly horrific intentions. And when you wake up for the second time you have no idea how long he’s been in their possession.

When you find the last remnant of your past life (Codsworth), he informs you that everything you know and love has not just been destroyed, but is long forgotten.

You only have one thing left; one reason to keep going, so you pursue your only lead.

And there you find Preston Garvey. He tells you about people and places that mean nothing to you. And he burdens you with the responsibility of saving these people.

It feels almost cruel. The world has brutally taken everything from you and still it sees fit to task you with saving it.

You only say yes because your moral compass insists. You can’t just leave people to die. Not when you can do something about it.

But if you do ask Preston about his recent tragedy he’ll tell you:

“I had to put on a brave face as long as there were still people counting on me. That's the only reason I kept going.”

You don’t know it yet, but this foreshadows your future in the Commonwealth.

As you search for your son in a poisoned, decaying land full of giant monsters, you quickly realize there are two kinds of people: those who want to kill you, and those begging you to rescue them from certain death. Everywhere you turn there is desperation. And you grow more weary and more worried each time you steer away from your search to save a family pleading for your help.

And then you find Kellogg. However you feel about killing him, the answers you need are locked in his head, so you leap in. As you walk through his memories, to your dismay you find that his family was brutally taken from him in much the same way yours was. And that he chose to become the very same monster that created him.

And here we find the first thesis of the story: suffering is inevitable, and it will change you, but you are the one who decides whether your strife changes you into a better or worse person.

However the Sole Survivor chooses to respond (or not respond) to this is up to your character, but the message is clear.

For the purpose of truly realizing the second thesis, let’s say this moment was a wake-up call for your Sole. You grit your teeth and silently swear an oath to yourself that no matter what happens, you won’t end up like Kellogg. You won’t let your loss turn you into something evil.

But it’s hard to fight the despair creeping into your heart now that you know your son is already 10 years old. He’s been raised by the Institute. An organization that has thus far only seen fit to inflict harm on the Commonwealth for unknown reasons. You try to push the implications of this out of your mind as you now search for access to the organization that has haunted this land for over a century.

The burden of helping settlers only grows heavier as the seemingly insurmountable task of getting into the Institute looms over you.

And when you finally get inside, not even your most harrowing nightmares could have predicted what you find.

Your son is an old man. A callous and calculating old man. He bears features resembling that of you and your spouse, but the more he talks the more he seems like a cruel mockery of your once happy family.

Searching the Institute for answers only plunges the knife deeper. Every terminal, every overheard conversation only confirms the worst; that the squalor and desperation of the Commonwealth, the constant fear and instability, is all the intentional result of the Institute’s machinations. Your own son is the one who has been making life a living hell for all the people you've met and befriended on your way to rescuing him.

Devastating doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The one thing you had left, the one reason you endured for so long has not just been irrevocably taken from you, but has been twisted into something monstrously evil.

When you reach the surface again, you realize you have nothing left. Maybe you consider walking into the water and letting the rads take you. Or maybe putting the barrel of a gun in your mouth.

You wonder why you even survived this long. Why couldn’t you have just died in that cryopod? Or been another casualty of the wasteland? Why are you even still here?

But before you can finish the job you remember why. As much as you might want to, you can’t die yet. There are too many people depending on you now. And you’re the only one who can stop your son.

And here we find the second thesis of the story: having a purpose beyond oneself is the only way to endure impossible levels of suffering. Without a purpose, one succumbs to despair.

What was once a moral obligation has become your only reason to keep going. What was once a burden is now your lifeline.

And with that I think perhaps I should stop haha ^^; I’ve already waxed on for a lot longer than I intended and I feel bad that I made you wait so long for a response. I’ll keep going if anyone wants to hear the rest but I think I’ve about covered the core themes of the story and I fear I’ve already been too tedious about it

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Seven Snippets Seven People Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @tabswrites! :D

Here are some snippets from Totentanz:

1.

At first the in-between realm was peaceful. Diarnlan had a leisurely walk around the lake, pausing to take note of all the differences between this place and her realm. But this very quickly became boring. Now she found the drawbacks in being stuck here without Karandren. For want of anything better to do she began to build a snowman. She was in the middle of rolling a snowball into place when Karandren reappeared. He popped into existence right in front of her, tripped over his own feet, and fell on top of the snowball. Both of them were frozen in place for a minute. Diarnlan recovered first and scooped up another handful of snow. When Karandren finally clambered out of the ruined snowman he immediately got hit in the face by another snowball. "Well?" Diarnlan asked. "How did you die this time?" Karandren gave her the sort of look that suggested he had just seen things man was not meant to know. He didn't even seem bothered by the snow; at any rate he hadn't brushed it away yet. "Trees should not have teeth!"

2.

"Oh dear," Teivain-ríkhorn-hrair said. "Can you wait for a few minutes? I'm dealing with a spider infestation." With a shudder Diarnlan remembered the sort of spiders that lived in her teacher's realm. She turned the door-handle. It opened. She marched into the house, grabbed a mop that was propped against the wall, and went upstairs to help. Just as she'd thought. She found her teacher embroiled in a staring contest with a giant spider. When the spider tried to move, the mage waved her scythe threateningly. Diarnlan gave the spider the glare she'd perfected from lifetimes of dealing with Karandren. "Get out!" The spider shrank back. It turned and scurried out the window as if its life depended on it.

3.

The first thing Diarnlan saw when she opened her eyes was the frog-like skrýszel. She screamed bloody murder before she realised it was oddly white. The real monster had been grey. And it had shorter legs. And its shell came further over its head. She glared up at the snow sculpture. Beside it was another sculpture of a skrýszel. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a third. Diarnlan stood up and found herself in the middle of a tableau of snow skrýszels. There were twelve of them, including some she hadn't seen before. Bizarrely, all of them wore hats and scarves made out of snow. Only one person could be responsible for this. She turned and wasn't really surprised to find Karandren grinning at her from behind a sculpture of a tree with… was that a mouth? With teeth? "So," Karandren asked cheerfully, as if only talking about the weather, "how did you die this time?" Diarnlan broke off one of the snow-tentacles from one sculpture and threw it at him.

4.

Once upon a time Karandren had thought nothing could be more uncomfortable than waking up as a fourteen-year-old. He had been wrong. He had been amazingly, unbelievably wrong. Nothing could be more uncomfortable than waking up as a four-year-old and trying to adjust to a body that was tiny. Worst of all was how the rest of the world seemed enormous. Stairs he could easily climb as a teenager were now almost insurmountable obstacles. He stumbled out of bed and very slowly pulled on his warmest clothes. Then he made his way downstairs, pausing on every step to regain his balance. He scribbled a note and left it on the table. Unfortunately his body was still learning to write and refused to properly form letters. The finished note read, "am gOing tOOO See wOrLD! DOntwOrrY!" In addition to the irregular spaces and capitals, the letters ran into each other and wavered up and down the page. He could just imagine what Diarnlan would say if she saw the note. With a grimace he left it on the kitchen table.

5.

Diarnlan was still laughing. Karandren scowled. "Shut up!" he yelled in his now strangely high-pitched voice. To his horror he realised he only sounded like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Diarnlan certainly thought so too. She stopped laughing, but her grin was almost worse. In a disgustingly sugary tone -- and it was downright surreal hearing that coming from Diarnlan, the least sugary person he'd ever met -- she asked, "Aww, is the little baby upset?" Karandren kicked out at her ankle. He overbalanced and sat down abruptly. Diarnlan just laughed harder.

6.

Diarnlan would have continued on towards Grønager without stopping, but Karandren was having none of that. Being stuck in the body of a toddler had some benefits. He sat down on the pavement and began to cry at the top of his lungs. Diarnlan stared at him in a mixture of horror and disgust as a crowd of sympathetic old ladies rushed over to comfort him. "What's the matter, poor little dear?" one woman asked, patting his head in a way that infuriated him. "Have you hurt yourself?" "Did you fall?" Karandren pointed tearfully at Diarnlan. "My feet hurt and she won't let me rest!" At once Diarnlan found herself on the receiving end of many disapproving looks. There was much head-shaking and tut-tutting from the women. "You should be more considerate of your little brother," a woman told her sternly. "Let the poor child rest!" Diarnlan spluttered indignantly. Karandren dodged past the overly-sympathetic hands that kept patting his head and grabbed hold of her leg. "Please let's get ice cream," he pleaded, gazing up at her with tear-filled eyes. If looks could kill he would have been reduced to a pile of ash on the pavement. Unfortunately for Diarnlan, all of the old ladies immediately took Karandren's side. Unless she wanted to cause an even bigger scene, she had no choice but to give in.

7.

While she was busy Karandren had been practicing magic on a few bricks. He'd turned them into a chair, a table, and now he'd managed to turn them into two mattresses. Rather hard and lumpy mattresses, but better than sleeping on the floor. He presented them proudly to Diarnlan, and was pleased to see her grind her teeth at how he'd managed something she hadn't. She placed her mattress as far away from his as possible. Their coats made fairly good makeshift blankets. The lack of food was the only problem, but Karandren had often gone to sleep hungry while in Miavain. He curled up and went to sleep. In the middle of the night his magic wore off. The mattresses turned back into bricks. Diarnlan and Karandren got a very rude awakening when they found themselves lying on the floor. There was silence for a minute. Then, "Karandreeeeeeen!" Funny. He'd never heard Diarnlan sound so angry before. Not even when he killed her. "It was an accident," he said sleepily. "Can't be helped now." Diarnlan said nothing. Maybe she'd gone back to sleep. Then a bucket of icy water emptied itself over his head.

Tagging @winterandwords, @violetcancerian, @magic-is-something-we-create, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

[softquietsteadylove]

You gotta continue the Gladiator AU!! I'm dying to know what's gonna happen next!

Thena shot to her feet as her mother exited the private healing chambers reserved only for the most important of patients. "Is he...?"

Ajak placed a hand - properly scrubbed and rid of blood - on her daughter's shoulder. "He will live."

Thena rushed past her mother, regardless of royal manner and protocol. She crossed what felt like an insurmountable distance between the door to the room and the bed, nearly falling to her knees at the sight of Gilgamesh lying there, breathing.

He was breathing.

Ajak walked in again, following her daughter to deliver more news than simply that he was not deceased. "He is lucky--he's only alive because of how strong he is."

Thena's eyes were already swimming with tears, "oh, Gil."

Ajak kept quiet about the way Thena's hand ran over his cheek and forehead and into his hair. She sighed, "Thena."

"I told you," Thena whispered to him, all but ignoring her mother over her shoulder. "I told you not to fight that monster."

"Speaking of that monster," Ajak spoke just a little louder. She required Thena's attention. "Thena, we must speak with Eros."

Thena swiped at her eyes, taking up her typical stoic expression. "I have nothing to say to that man."

"Thena," Ajak repeated, although Thena went back to leaning over Gilgamesh, watching his take slow but deep breaths. They had sewn his wounds, treated his swelling as best they could. He looked somewhat like his usual self.

"Mother, please," Thena looked up at her, her hand clutching at Gilgamesh's. "What could I possibly have to say to him?"

"He is our guest," Ajak grumbled, just as regretful of that fact as Thena. "We must see him off, especially to tell him that you will not be leaving with him?"

Thena kept her eyes on their Champion of champions. "I knew he would win. But...but what he did for us... "

What he had done for her specifically, rather. What he had done as a humble Fighter in the name of Thena's life and freedom was unparalleled.

Ajak sighed deeply. "I know you do not want to speak with the prince. I do not want to either, Thena. But-"

"What if he wakes?" Thena cut her mother off, which was a punishable act for anyone else. "What if he wakes and he's alone? H-He won't know what happened. Last he woke and thought he lost he nearly leapt to his feet. If he does that this time he will-"

"Thena," Ajak gripped her shoulder, stilling her anxious child's unusually twisted tongue.

"I will not leave him, Mother."

Ajak looked at Thena, the determined line of her eyebrows and the set of her jaw. She looked down at her hand in Gilgamesh's, their fingers woven together like trees meeting over a walkway and reaching for each other's branches for support.

"I will commit no other treason in my life," Thena promised, turning around again now that her peace was said. She used her free hand to smooth over Gil's blankets. "If you allow me this one solace, I shall do anything you ask of me for the rest of my days."

What a steep price for such a small request.

Ajak regarded Thena, perched at the gladiator's side. It was different from even the last time she had found her so. And something she had seen only drops of before was now thundering in her ears. "I have no more asks to demand, I think now, my dear."

Thena regarded her mother as she stood at the head of the bed, also sparing their Champion a warm glance.

"The condition of his victory," Ajak elaborated, gesturing to the man unconsciously being showered with Thena's attentions. "It was not for your marriage to another party, but that the choice be left up to you. All my efforts to find you suitors these years will be no longer."

Thena visibly considered it just as the words were hitting the air.

"Have you?" Ajak prodded lightly, tilting her head to catch any shift in Thena's reaction as she looked at Gilgamesh again. "Thought about it?"

"No," she answered automatically. And in truth, she had never considered her own marriage in real terms--not until it became very, very real to her over the past weeks. She sighed, her shoulders sinking low, "no, I haven't."

Ajak caught the way Thena's other hand was also taken in by the siren call of Gil's hand lying on the bed. She could say whatever she liked, but her hands holding his the way she would treasure the gift of life itself said more than enough. "I will see off the prince."

Thena looked up at her, "truly?"

"Yes, you stay with Gilgamesh," Ajak conceded, with the same smile any mother got when allowing their child something out of sheer love of their happiness. "Like you say, we can't have him worsening his condition if he wakes alone."

"Thank you, Mother," Thena blinked, tears rising in her eyes again. She did not even wipe them away this time, blinking rapidly until the tears were caught in her eyelashes.

"Hm," Ajak hummed with an affectionate hand to Thena's shoulder on her way past. "Perhaps this is for the best. I will not have to endure him looking at you the way a teen looks at his first brothel."

Thena wasn't even listening.

Ajak sighed again. "Alert the guards when he wakes. They will fetch me."

"Yes," Thena mumbled, barely paying her mind as Gil's breath hitched in his sleep. She rose only to rub his chest and adjust his pillow, soothing his discomfort. "I shall."

Ajak smiled on her way to see off their most unwelcome guest. She would have to wait some time, she imagined, but she was quite sure that Thena's decision to marry would come sooner than she could have hoped.

[chaosthatsmellsgreen]

so here's the thing.

Swan Song is the perfect ending.

it's not a happy ending, it's not necessarily the ending i'd want for either Sam or Dean, but that's not what a good ending to a story is. not all stories have a happy ending. and Supernatural? it's a tragic story. it's a story of perservering in the face of insurmountable evil. it's a story about holding on for dear life, as long as you can. it's a story about making the right choice, even if it seems impossible - even it if doesn't make you happy.

i wouldn't want Sam to be locked up with Lucifer for the rest of eternity. i wouldn't want Dean to fail the one goal he'd had in life, to protect his little brother. but by looking at the narrative of the whole five seasons, it's the ending that makes sense, and while bittersweet, it completes both of their stories perfectly.

Sam had been infected by evil before he was even born. he'd made unforgivable mistakes, he'd been struggling to stay on the path of good his whole life. in the end, the one thing he had to do was to be able to do the right thing. as heart-breaking as that is, the right thing, for Sam, is to sacrifice himself to save the world. the tragedy of it, that all he wanted was an out of this life he'd grown up in, to be normal, to be safe. to get away from the monsters and the darkness inside him. throughout the five seasons, he'd been struggling to make the right choices, he's been trying to deny who and what he is. in season four, he makes the ultimate mistake - and season five, from start to finish is his redemption arc. he knows what he's done, and he genuinely doesn't try to excuse it. even in the last second, he considers himself less than the people he looks up to, less than Dean and Bobby, but he knows what the next right thing is. the only thing left to do. and in the end, he doesn't get to enjoy the normal life he'd wanted in the world he saved, because that's just not his story. what he does get to do is to do right by the world - and more importantly, right by his brother.

Dean on the other hand, had always been fast to sacrifice himself. he was happy with his life as a hunter - keep in mind, even though he starts questioning that through the seasons (same as Sam is questioning whether he could ever be normal), that's where Dean comes from, originally. he's a hunter, it's his job to save people, it's his job to take care of his family, his little brother. that's what he is, that's all he is. and you can see how much of a toll it takes on him. he gives up his life so that Sam can live, but he resents the universe for it. he resents Sam for making the wrong choices, but it's because he feels like it's his responsibility to fix them - but Sam has grown up. he has his own mind and Dean needs to understand, as he does in the very end, that he needs to let Sam be who he is. that this obsession with cleaning up his messes is ruining him, it's pushing him to do things he never would've done for anyone else. and in my opinion, he does the right thing, too. he lets Sam make his own call. he's there, he goes with him to see Lucifer, he goes to where the battle is going to go down, even if there is nothing he can do, just so he's there for Sam ("Well then I ain't gonna let him die alone."). he's not there to change anything. he's there to support his brother. and the thing is, Dean never even dared to want the apple pie life. he was a good little soldier for his dad, he looked after his little brother, he saved people and killed monsters - between all that, anything he might've wanted for himself was just... buried by all the noise.

but Sam knows what it's like to want that. and he wants it for Dean. Dean never let Sam do anything for him, because it wasn't Sam's job to look after Dean. and Sam, whose last act was going to be self-sacrifice, who knew he wasn't going to make it out, he made the last thing he'd ever do be, for once, to look after his big brother. to prevent him from going down a path that would lead to loneliness and madness and the end of the world, again

and after five seasons, after giving up on Sam, on family, on life, on happiness, on the world, Dean finally gives in and lets him. he chooses to honor Sam's wishes, and do the one thing his brother always wanted, the one thing he could never have, the one thing Dean has always been too selfless to even want for himself; he goes and lives a normal life.

i know the series goes on. despite not watching to the end, i know Dean ends up dying and Sam ends up living to an old age. i know they go back to not trusting each other, to recycling their five season long character arcs over and over until narrative cohesion is gone completely. i know there are traces of the Sam and Dean of what i consider to be peak Supernatural in the later series (S8 Sam is very on theme for his character, which is why it's my favourite season from late-Supernatural). but the thing is, Swan Song is the perfect ending. it ends a complete arc, it closes a cohesive story with complex characters, a strong thematic core about love and family and free will, and an - albeit tragic - ending.

there are a lot of posts and conversation around how rare it is to have shows and movie series with a planned story, a story that ends not when it is no longer profitable but when it's supposed to. and Supernatural was clearly supposed to end here. this is my example every time i have a conversation about shows that you shouldn't watch every season of. and like i said, there is a lot of good stuff after this. there is a lot to explore in the world of Supernatural. i personally enjoyed a lot of later episodes, loved season eight and absolutely. fucking. ADORED Fan Fiction (10x05). but i look at all of that as spin off. an alternative way for things to go after the real ending. i often have a loose relationship with canon, and such is the case here. i have my own headcanon about how i'd like to imagine things go after season 5, but that's irrelevant.

Swan Song is a wonderful episode. it rounds out the story, brings it to a bittersweet but complete point. our heroes have made their choices, and Chuck's ending narration says it all.

"So, what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this was a test... for Sam and Dean. And I think they did all right. Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well... isn't that kinda the whole point?"

THE END

[dapper-nahrwhale]

ive been thinking abt It and dndads (and stranger things kinda) for hours now its like. the monster has always been here and has shaped your life in ways you cant even perceive and you want to outgrow it but you cant and you never will. and the monster is a living breathing creature but it's also your parents and grandparents and it's also You and youre just continuing to act it out. nick leaves taylor like glenn (kind of) left him like bill left him and so on. eddie and bev marry people just like their parents. lark and sparrow literally have the doodler in their bloodstreams. augh

LITERALLY. it refuses to leave my head. The paralleling in these stories ahhg! Dndads and it (two of my favorite things in the world) hit the same thing!

Gawd just. Everything about these makes me go insane. The way the cycle repeats. You cant stop the monster that ruined your childhood from ruining your adulthood too. You are that monster. You cant move on past what happened when you were a kid. You the exact same kid you were when it happened except you're nothing like that kid at all. You can never change from the shit you went through and you'll never be that kid again. You became your parents without even realizing it.

Its about the generational trauma!

Also. Grant parallels Darryl by talking about things too much instead of too little. When he said the "we'll talk about it later" in the recent ep I lost it. The fact that they were all so irreversibly changed by that happened to them as kids that they cant change back to who they once were. He is not the boy you knew. I'm never over how they dealt with the consequences of episode 1 by grant becoming a fundamentally different and unrecognizable person to avoid that curse thing. Like that fucked up his whole shit forever man.

Lark and Sparrow are SO like henry whether they realize it or not. The Lark and bill denbrough parallels <3. They both feel insurmountable crushing guilt over something they think was entirely their fault. They were just kids. They make amends for this in the worst way possible. By trying (and failing) to kill the creature they're guilty for (insert obligatory fma03 ed and sloth reference). They let their guilt consume them. If they cant kill the horror they made whays the point of them living though it

I'm not assigning rigid roles to each character, just noticing the parallels. But I'd say the potential for sparrow and stan to be similar is so interesting. They both try as hard as they can to lead a normal regular life in spite of everything that's happened and yet they fail on that.

I realized immediately ep 1 that nick was like glenn and bill and ect ect with the not being there. But not by choice! But the cycle continues none the less! (I dont know if we'll be able to find nick and have him be reunited with the others in s2 or not. I think they all need to be there and alive to defeat the doodler, to end the eldritch horror that took their world. But if hes not there how do they kill it?)

The concept of nick needing an inhaler but never using it because he doesnt want to be lame in front of his dad vs eddie not needing one but continuing to use it because his mom says he needs it! (Smth smth the unconscious and conscious power their parents have on them smth smth)

Terry holding everyone together like mike is so chefs kiss yes! Terry and (maybe) ben being the most well adjusted of the groups. And well adjusted is very loosely said here because are any of them really? Terry being the researcher and the one to find the spells and the one to try so hard to save everyone he can (like mike).

Instead of just them forgetting the events like in it, they remember it all but the rest of the world forgot. How fucking lonley that must be either way.

Off topic but. One thing about it I adore is the 90s tv miniseries, where out takes place in the 60s in flashbacks and 80s/90s in present time and then in the new movies it take splace in the 80s and the present is the present! The exact 27 year gap between them is insane when you see the production for it had been in production hell since the 2000s!

I'm going to be thinking about these stories for the rest of my life I think...

Feeling the shrimp emotions about this rn.

[phantom-ellie]

The Man who has Never Felt Anything Chapter 3: A Hair’s Breadth from Life

Click here for CW/Full Chapter List

Sometimes my mouth is so dry, it's like I am on a baking pan, I am dough rising in the oven, I am the flour dusting the pan, turning brown and crispy, but it's extra seasoning, I suppose. Sometimes I am sand, on a sandy beach, fuck all I'd wanted was a vacation. Vacations are stressful. Who has ever had a proper, relaxing vacation?

I don't think I've ever been relaxed in my life. At least not sober.

Sometimes I feel like my head is made of smoke, and I keep my eyes closed because what if they glow? What if it's me, after all? What if I'm the monster?

But I think that's giving myself too much credit. Monsters go out with a bang, me with a whimper.

Sometimes I'm just staring out into the cabin from my bed, watching him watching me. Blackbeard, and he's the one with the head of smoke, spear pointed at my heart. What did I ever do to him? Probably nothing. That's probably why he wants me dead, because I've done nothing, not one thing my whole life. Except that one time, when I ran away. Blackbeard doesn't like cowards. Rich people. People who fall into traps. People who get stabbed.

And that's why he's glaring at me there, and yes, a head of smoke can look angry, thank you very much. Try making a head of smoke look gentle, kind, soft, like the hand I feel resting on my side. It's been caressing me up and down, like a mother for a sick child, and this I know must be the nightmare, the hallucination, because who would do that? To me?

Not Blackbeard. Because that's not what we do to pirates.

And, of course, even at running away I was useless. Didn't run very far at all. Because Mary has found me. And all she can talk about is the letter I left, as if it wasn't everything I could possibly give. I couldn't give her love, affection, a conversation. It was impossible, it was insurmountable. The letter was enough, should have been enough, and everything else I had. But she wanted my heart.

But deep down I've always known that I have no heart to give away. Not the love kind. I don't think I've ever felt it, not even once. Or if I did, it wasn't enough, it wasn't good. Maybe I'm allergic. Maybe there's a problem with digestion, maybe love enters me and slides right through and out like a thief in the night, and I've never noticed it. Not even once. That could be it. It would check out, I guess. If I were immune to love. If it's real, which I'm not sure about, I've never seen it.

And I'm really sorry to be ruining the overall vibe of this nightmare, you're scary Blackbeard, really, you are, terrifying, it's just that I've never really felt much. I'm good at panicking, that's a skill I've picked up, but fear is different. Fear is a reaction to potential loss. Losing something important, something valued.

I've never really been worried about losing something I value, because I've never had that in the first place.

And maybe admitting that is why Alma is here, and is angry with me, too. Because if I valued my children, I wouldn't have left. But I did.

Goodbye, children, you'll never see papa again.

I left them behind for my new family here, on the sea. But they didn't take to me either. I should have anticipated that.

Blackbeard is ready now. He's coming for me, here's here to grant me the liberty of death and justice for all I've hurt. And I'm scared, a little. I am. I think I feel some fear. Just a bit. I think I'm afraid of losing the future, the potential to fix what is wrong with me one day, the chance to find out if there's anyone who could love me after all. There are so many people I've never met. It could have been them. I don't want to lose it.

So that's why I scream when Blackbeard raises the spear and impales me in the stomach.

Chapter 4

[princepsoraya]

Name: Soraya Amaranthus Skeleton Name: The Crown Birthday/Age: April 20, 1982 / 40 years old Character Gender/Pronouns: cis female, she/her Sexuality: Demisexual Coven & Rank: Amaranthus Sovereign Occupation: Senator Positive Traits:  Dauntless, dependable, intuitive Negative Traits:  Stubborn, intimidating, unwavering Inspo: Gamora, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Sansa Stark

Connections | Vanity | Muse | Threads

Biography Trigger Warning: Death

TW: DEATH

Ruthless. That is what it took to be a ruler. When Soraya was born the pedestal she was required to stand was insurmountable. The Amaranthus line was born and remained a constant in the sands of time. Ancestral magic passed down from child to child, a continued lineage that refused to be broken. The selected few were chosen to lead, and those that were chosen were paired with those best suited for them through their own trials and tribulations. It bled into their rule. Joining the Amaranthus Coven was a meticulous one, and even being a child born with Amaranthus blood didn’t necessarily mean you were “one of them”. There was a process, a test in front of the family heads, the so-called proof that you had what it took to stand among the elite. 

Soraya’s training began the second she displayed even the slightest fraction of power when she was only days old. Cries that seemed to amplify, sound reaching a pitch that could shatter glass, power surging in and out around their neighborhood. While most parents would’ve been terrified, hers shed tears of joy. From then on, Soraya barely saw her parents--practically shoved into the hands of her grandmother and one of the oldest living relatives she had who still thrived on the Amaranthus traditions. 

Broken and mended, every second of every day was spent going over the history of the Amaranthus line; spent practicing magic, learning Latin, specifically learning how to defend and protect not only herself but others around her. At first, being the child she was, Soraya didn’t understand. A ‘crown’ so heavy, Soraya didn’t want it. She wanted a life of freedom, to spend it how she wished, love who she wished. But others her age were ruthless and cutthroat, survival of the fittest, so-called family that wouldn’t hesitate to do what it took in order to be the next in line for the throne. When she lost her first sparring match, Soraya realized then how much she did want it just like the rest of them. She wasn’t ready to be cast aside, wasn’t ready to give up what her family had worked so hard for her to achieve. 

It pleased her grandmother to hear. 

Brought to the deepest part of the woods, it was there her grandmother told her secrets the Amaranthus line could only dream of achieving. That survival meant dipping into what they were afraid of, allowing the light to be swallowed by the dark. And Soraya showed the promise of learning such dangerous magic. Treasonous words, but Soraya kept her secret out of both love and fear for the woman who’d all but raised her. In her heart, Soraya knew it was wrong--she’d been around long enough to know the cost of dark magic and practicing until it consumed you or you were executed. For the safety and protection of not only their coven but for all of Rome, her grandmother was insistent Soraya learn about dark magic. There were challengers that lurked in the shadows, whispers that were as seductive as mulled wine, envy that sat buried in the hearts of their future enemies. All it took was a little push. 

When the time came for the next leader, Soraya hadn’t planned on submitting herself for testing. Forced to, given her direct lineage to the Amaranthus line. By this point, Soraya still wasn’t convinced this was what she wanted. What happened next left Soraya stunned. An explosion, fire rampant, monsters summoned from the dark and charging into the crowds. Soraya stood confused, watched as one of her grandmother had taken the stand, the former leader lay there dead at her feet. The twisted sneer looking down on those beneath her was an expression Soraya had never seen. Evidently, her grandmother had been passed over from the position ages ago and had continued to be passed over, held the grudge deep within herself, waiting for the moment to strike.  Soraya knew the next move, and it broke her heart to be the one to challenge. The fight almost came at the cost of Soraya’s life, but she held, never once yielded, and the witnesses were the Coven she would then lead. 

It was that day Soraya swore to take in only the best, to take in only the strongest because they could not have weakness among their ranks and they could not endanger the empowered individuals who carried the most potential. The coven was the future of Rome, and if she was the only one destined to protect it by her rule, then so be it. She’s aware they may be those who were influenced by not only her grandmother’s words but the whispers in the shadows. But Soraya has already proven she has what it takes to be the one to stand against the dark. 

[empathenna]

Healing Blurb- Empathenna

Healing is very tumultuous, a lot of ups and downs, a lot of being fine and then exhausted. I’ve found the journey can be very disheartening for people who just want some hope. I can honestly say I’ve cried more in the last 6 months than I had for the last 6 years. Admittedly that's more than a little messed up, but so is everyone in one way or another. As I’m going through whatever entails “healing” I’ve started to see a lot of grief mixed in, and that’s what I’d like people to talk about. There are three things that jump out at me, and this post will eventually have a follow up, but for now…When we get locked in stress mode I think we cease to feel it all. A deep numbness creeps in and you become so used to the drone, the rhythm of everything, that you hardly notice yourself dying. Little by little, not even in chunks, that would hurt- be noticed. But instead it slowly eats away at the edges, breaking down your will- your identity. There’s nothing nice about waking up one day so exhausted that your very bones weigh tonnes. Nothing worse than not recognizing the person who is looking back at you in the mirror. It’s like one day something snaps in your head, the fog on your mind lifts and crystal clarity sets in. Stress seems to bend our realities, changing perceptions and creating convincing facades. We stop feeling it because to feel it all would be too much, to recognize it all would be an insurmountable challenge. It’s been at bay this long, push it, wake up and flip that switch day in and day out. Find a crutch, make it work, pretend it will work out down the road. But it isn’t even pretending because you truly believe it will work out. Getting caught in that cycle leads to burnout, depression, anxiety, you name it. If you are not happy, walk away. Don’t let that feeling creep up and overtake everything. You deserve more.  Maybe you don’t have an identity yet, you cannot find yourself within the walls you have built. The tight leash you have on yourself has choked out whoever you were before. That's fine, for now just walk away. Learn to sit with the monsters, sit with them and slowly let them go. Once you left, that’s it. You choose to start healing. The next large part of healing seems to be your safety, are you comfortable, can you relax. Would you cry here? Is the person nearby someone who you would trust to watch your dog? Alright, now just let your mind think about it, wander the paths it takes, don't linger too long. I recommend breathing on the counts of 6, and acknowledging thoughts and dismissing them, patiently and gently. Without that safety and comfort of knowing someone has your back, that this place is wholly separate from your trauma is very important. It will take time for your body to register that you are truly safe and drop the grip it has. Now the grief begins. Everyone gets there differently, there may be denial, anger, sadness, spite. But grief seems to always find its way in. As if you are mourning what could have been. Not necessarily what it could have been if it worked out. But what it could have been if you hadn’t. If you had chosen differently would you be better off? Farther along? What could you have achieved? I understand the pain, I understand the grief. How do you recover from losing something you didn’t even have to begin with?  You simply acknowledge them, and let them fade away. No matter how many tries it takes. There will be days where you don't have to acknowledge and send away. There will be others where grief and tragedy rears its ugly head and tries to swallow you whole. In the words of God, “Be still, and know that I am God,” (Psalm 46:10). It never leaves, truthfully. It’s never left me. I know that sounds disheartening. But I promise one day it will cease to overwhelm you, you will make room for it. Grow with it, in spite of it, whatever works for you. Its weight will become less and the feelings will fade.