#listen. a bit of gore is NOT. dead dove

[deadduvznap]

cannibalism anon again… imagine Miguel starting with just little bites during sex and then when he realizes you like it he keeps going but the bites slowly turn to him basically tearing chunks from you/eating you but not enough to kill you just a little snack :D! and god the aftercare?! I’m normal. I can’t even make a coherent thought

ik its jusy barely on the border of DD but. the normies are cunts.

BRO PLS OKAY he just does little bites not hard at all maybe just like teeth prints snd maybe a bit of skin breakage bcs yknow non retractable fsngs right and at some point you notice him trying not to bitr you so hard but ur like nah babe bite harder hes like holy shit and at some point hes so far gone from getting railed he doesnt realize that hes bit clean through some of your bicep. he prob only notices when he doesnt feel himself biting anymore and his mouth starts to get covered in blood and hes just like ah shock shit and he tries to get you to stop cus hes still worried abt you yk snf ur like nah mf i may not be able to hold up one arm but im gonna fuck you harder snf guess what while hee chewing on that chunk of arm thats prob the hardest hes cum bcs ???? i said so. after that first time my guy bites off so much skin that ur still lucky to have any in the first place. its the spider healing thats keeping you alive i swear and okay listen. the aftercare. while ur cleaning him (out) up hes patching up the bites :(

[nexysworld]

Summary: Leon Kennedy is your new neighbor, and seemingly a great guy; handsome, funny, sweet, mysterious. It doesn't take long until you're falling for him hard and fast. But things take a turn after the death of someone close to you. Strange events keep happening around you, leaving you in a whirlwind of confusion. Desperate for a sense of normalcy, you rely heavily on Leon. He plays his part well, always being there for you, always being your safe space. There's only one problem, unbeknownst to you, his obsession towards you is growing and as it does, so too does the measures he'll take to watch over you, and more importantly make you his.

Pairing: Yandere!Leon x Fem!Reader

Tags: NSFW, Dead Dove, Dubcon, Kidnapping, Stalking, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Pet Names, violence, gore, MDNI, masturbation, murder, slow burn.

Read on AO3 || Ask Box Open || Masterlist

You had lived in this apartment since the day you moved out of your parent’s house. It was small, only a single bedroom located in a rougher part of the city. While the appliances hadn’t been updated since the 90’s and the place looked like a disaster, you did your best to make the beat down apartment your own. A few fresh coats of paint on the yellowed walls and some throw rugs to cover the stained and now flattened shag rug and boom — not too shabby. 

It was home. 

Living in such a rundown building meant that the turnover rate for neighbors was quite high, people always coming and going. None really caught your attention except for the few long-term tenants that seemed to have no intention of leaving. So of course when a new person moved in on the other side of Mrs. Wilson, the sweet elderly woman who shared the apartment next door, you paid no mind. 

In fact, it wasn’t until several weeks later that you had even seen who the new neighbor was. Returning from work, you watched Tina, the girl from 202 painfully trying to hit on – what you could only describe as – an absolute tank of a man. 

Sandy blonde hair was slicked back out of his face revealing a handsome mesh of chiseled and soft features. He had clearly been accosted on his way back from exercising, clad in black basketball shorts and a sweat-soaked gray t-shirt, sleeves straining against his massive biceps. His earbuds were tossed over his shoulder as he talked to the girl, music still playing quietly through them. Turning to the wall of shared mailboxes, you tried your best to not stare or eavesdrop, but damn was it hard. As you opened the small metal door, you couldn’t keep your eyes from darting back to him. 

‘I thought guys like him only existed in magazines.’ You thought to yourself, collecting the mail – even taking an extra moment to slowly sort through it where you were, buying more time to be nosy. It was obvious he was not into her at all. 

“Soooo Leon..” Tina said awkwardly, twirling her finger through her choppy red hair, the metal bracelets on her wrist clanging together with each movement, bubble gum gnashing between her pearly whites.  “You listen to music while you work out?” “Uhh…yeah, sometimes.” He said almost flatly, scratching a spot on his slightly cleft chin. 

“Oh that’s cool. What uh, what do you usually listen to?” She bit her red coated lip, and batted her lashes, it didn’t seem to garner any additional interest from the man.  

“Rock music, I guess.” Another flat response, his jaw clenching ever so slightly before he resumed his neutral look. 

“I like rock music. Uh…” You watched as she fumbled to try to come up with anything else to add, tapping her heeled boot against the floor. 

“Look, it was real nice talking to you, but I have to go.” He said flashing a small smile before popping his earbuds back in and running up the stairs, not giving the girl a chance to respond.

‘Ouch, that was awkward. But damn even his voice is attractive.’ Stopping yourself from giggling, you collected the few pieces of non junk mail and made your way back to your apartment. There was the smallest amount of guilt bouncing at the back of your mind, knowing you shouldn’t be ogling men like that while having a boyfriend. ‘It’s not like I did anything. I didn’t even speak to the guy.’ 

About a week after that, you had your first real run-in with Leon. Heading out to work you saw Mrs. Wilson’s door ajar — definitely unusual as she didn’t tend to get many visitors besides yourself. Concerned for her, you poked your head through the opening. The familiar smell of mint and warm bread hit your senses, but you didn’t hear a thing. 

Sliding inside you quietly poked around as you made your way to the back of the apartment, keeping an eye out in case anything nefarious was afoot. Much to your relief, the hall opened up into the living room at the back where you saw Mrs. Wilson. Next to her was another figure you hadn’t expected. 

Leon was standing with one arm above his head, unscrewing the blackened lightbulb from the socket before replacing it with the fresh one he had in his other hand. Workout attire replaced with a pair of worn blue jeans and a long sleeve black shirt. “Oh thank you.” Mrs. Wilson said with her signature wrinkly smile. “You’re so kind to do this for me. I hate having to bug the sweet girl next door all the time, but you know the lights in this place tend to blow every time there’s a storm and I can’t get up on the chairs like I used to.” “No worries ma’am.” He said with a far brighter smile than he’d worn during his interaction with Tina. His hair was no longer slicked back either, instead it framed his face, soft and fluffy, accentuating his cheekbones. You couldn’t help but notice the tiny gap his shirt left while his arm was raised, just the smallest peek of a dusty blonde happy trail and the faintest hint of hard muscle. “Looks like you have a visitor.” 

Leon turned his attention to you with a small nod before he flipped the switch on the wall to test the new light. It lit up, further illuminating the area with a soft yellow glow. “S-sorry.” You snapped out of it, raising your eyes to meet his. “I saw the door was open and I just wanted to make sure Grams was okay.”

“You’re always such a Darling.” The elderly woman said with a toothless grin aimed in your direction. There was a homeliness about the old woman that made you feel warm.  “Mr. Kennedy here is such a sweet boy. Have you met him yet? He moved in next door a while ago and offered to help me with a few things.” “I told you Mrs. Wilson, call me Leon.” He said as he tossed the broken lightbulb into the small pink trash can by the kitchen counter. “And I don’t believe we have met. Nice to meet you. The name’s Leon, well I guess you already knew that. Leon Kennedy.” He added his last name, reaching out a hand to you. 

“Nice to meet you too Leon. I’m glad to hear Grams has someone else to help take care of her. I live next door, in 306.” You couldn’t lie, your heart melted a little. ‘Handsome and kind? This guy must be a unicorn.’ You whisked the thought away again, the picture of your own boyfriend flashing behind your eyes again. 

The vintage clock hung against the floral wallpaper cuckoo’d and chimed, indicating the top of the hour. “Oh shit—“

“Language!” Mrs. Wilson chimed. “You know it’s unbecoming of a lady to—“

“I meant, shoot. Sorry Grams. I’m just running late for work.” You wrapped an arm around her in a quick side hug. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to run.” Waving to Leon, you made a beeline for the door. 

“Well Ms. 306, I guess I’ll be seeing you around.” He shouted after you. 

“You too Mr. 302!” 

Ever since, Leon became a regular in your routine. Short conversations in the hallway that always left you with butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t help the way your muscles in your face stretched into a permanent grin that you couldn’t stave off for the life in you. How a man managed to be so stoic and corny at the same time you’d never know. 

You ran errands for Mrs. Wilson together too, taking his Jeep out into the city. He would leave the top down and take the long way. Your hair would whip your face as you both sang along — poorly — to some dad rock mixtape Leon had. It seemed so fitting that he’d have an out of date tape player in his car, something so indescribably Leon. 

He really seemed like a great guy and you were enamored to say the least — though you tried desperately not to be. ‘It’s just a harmless crush.’ You told yourself. ‘He’s not into you anyway. Leon’s just a nice guy, worlds out of your league.’ 

~~~~~

Cool air bit at your cheeks and nose while you leaned against the brick wall of the building. Derek was abysmally late, you had the feeling he was upset at you for some reason but unable to fathom why. Hoping that it wasn’t the reason for his current absence, you checked your phone again.

Still nothing. A sigh escaped your lips as you readjusted your jacket.

“Everything alright?” The voice was immediately recognizable and your face lit up into a smile before you even looked over at him. 

“Hey Leon. Yeah everything’s fine, I’m just waiting on Derek.” You couldn’t be certain but you swore there was the slightest change in his expression, facial muscles contracting tightly before settling back into the lax warm look you were used to. “Oh. You know it’s not nice to keep a lady waiting.” Leaning against the wall next to you, he tilted his back to look up at the sky. He was wearing his brown bomber jacket that you found so attractive on him. A small part of you wondered how it would feel to wear it yourself, if it would smell like him. The other part of you was curious how a guy could afford such a nice brand name jacket, but lived in a place like this. 

“Yeah well… I think he’s mad at me actually.” You moved some dirt back and forth with your foot. “Why’s that?” A thick blonde brow was raised with interest as he tilted his head to look down at you. The dull light of the street lamp lit up half his face, casting hard shadows on the other, it accentuated each of his features in a way that made you never want to stop looking. 

“Wish I knew.” A dry laugh escaped your lips. As the wind picked up again, dust kicked up from the ground, blowing towards you along with some plant debris. You covered your face with the oversized jacket sleeve for a moment to protect your face. 

You heard Leon chuckle. “Looks like you picked up a straggler.” He brought his hand up to your head, just above your ear and gently removed a small weed stem that had made its home in your hair. 

“Thank you, I would’ve looked silly walking around like that.” 

He lingered close to you for a moment, flicking the stem away before he brought his hand back to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Mhm, can’t have that.” 

The moment felt intimate, and your heart beat out of time for a moment. You wanted to return the gesture, to say something, to do anything, but your brain was frazzled for a moment by the electric feel of his touch. 

“Ahem.” Your head snapped in the other direction to see your boyfriend standing there leaning against his car, not having heard him drive by or even exit the vehicle. 

“Have a good night Leon.” Quickly, you jerked away from his touch and ran over to your boyfriend, who had already started walking around to get back in the driver’s side of his car. Slipping into the passenger seat, you tried to lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek, but he turned his head enough to dodge it. Shrinking back, you buckled up and rested your head against the window, looking out as the city blurred past. ‘Guess he is mad at me.’

You attempted to fumble through some radio stations, but Derek made it clear he didn’t appreciate it, reaching over and turning it off entirely after the third one. The forty minute ride felt like hours as the rest passed by in total silence. 

His mood didn’t seem to improve at the movie theater either. Each little gesture of affection you attempted was immediately spurned. Every part of him radiated with negativity — and the thought of dinner afterwards made your stomach churn. A movie was a distraction and there was no requirement to talk, but sitting across from someone dead silent, that would be harder to deal with. The uncomfortableness of the situation caused your focus to drift again, only tuning in when a jumpscare appeared – unfortunately he left you to reel in your chair alone during those parts too. The movie ended, indicated by the overhead lights that suddenly appeared and the credits rolling on the screen.  Derek was halfway out the door before you even finished grabbing your bag. 

You had to run after him across the tacky carpeted floor of the theater and out intl the parking lot. “Why are you acting like this?” You pleaded, grabbing his hand before he could reach the car. 

“Acting like what?” He asked coldly. 

“Like this.” You gestured broadly towards him. “You’ve been cold to me the whole evening. Well actually more than just this evening.” 

“Really? I honestly didn’t think you’d notice.”  

“What does that even mean?” 

“You know exactly what it means!” He finally shouted. He brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep breath trying to calm himself. Of course the two of you had fought before, but he’d never acted like this. It didn’t help that you had no idea what he was even talking about. “You’ve been pulling away from me for weeks now. You’ve been distant, canceling plans to ‘run errands’. When we are together all you ever do is talk about that stupid neighbor of yours — and then tonight, I catch him nearly eye fucking you right out in the open. You certainly didn’t seem to be bothered by it.” 

“Derek….that’s not true. I — Leon’s just a friend, my neighbor I swear.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“What?”

“Are. You. Sleeping. With. Him?” He brought his eyes back up to meet yours, the look of hurt on his face made your stomach twist and heart ache. 

“No! What? No, I wouldn't do that to you.” You assured, stepping towards him. “Come on, please don’t be like this. I’m sorry if it seems that way, I don’t realize I’m talking about him so much. I’d never —“

“Save it.” He said, pushing you away from him again. “I don’t believe you. I don’t even know why I came out here tonight.” 

“Der—“

“I said save it!” He snapped. 

“This isn’t fair!” You shouted in return. “Why drag me out here on this whole date if you were this upset? You could’ve brought it up this whole time”

“I did. I told you over a week ago I was sick of hearing about him. I asked you to stop seeing so much of him, you told me no.”

“Leon’s a friend, I’m not going to ruin my friendship with him because you’re being psycho and jealous.”

“I’m a psycho because I don’t like that my own girlfriend spends all her time with some guy that looks like he stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad? How about the fact you don’t even seem to care that I’m hurt I thought I’d have been more important — you know what? Forget this. Forget it.” He turned to walk around to the driver’s side of the car. “I’m over this. You want him? Have him. I’m not chasing you. I thought you were my future wife, I thought we’d have the picket fence, kids, all of it. But now I get how you feel about everything.”

He slammed the car door shut, started the engine, and began backing out of the spot. You banged on the window to get his attention. “What are you doing? You’re seriously just going to leave me here?”

“Call your boyfriend to come get you.” He sneered through the window before blasting off and out of the parking lot.

You were stunned, unable to move as you watched the car disappear. ‘He can’t be serious right now? He’ll be back right?’ Pulling your phone out of your pocket you checked the time, 10pm. Wanting to hide your shame from the few people staring at you, and deciding he just needed a little while to cool down, you sat on the sidewalk in front of the theater, hidden by a bush that extended out. 

15 minutes passed. Nothing. 

Dialing the familiar number it rang a few times before going to voicemail. You tried again, this time it went straight to voicemail. 

10 more minutes passed and you tried to text him.

20 more minutes, still no response or call back. 

The wind was picking up again, making it chilly even under your jacket, which you’d brought down over your knees to try and keep in more warmth. This part of the city you weren’t familiar with, and weren’t sure it was worth the risk of trying to walk home. Given the situation, calling Leon was the last thing you wanted to do, especially since he was probably asleep by now — not that it was his job to really come save you anyway. 

Opening the Uber app on your phone, you put in the respective addresses. “$30? Not including a tip? Fuck.” You bit your lip in frustration. Technically you had enough, but it was the last of what was left in your account after bills.

Tapping your fingers along the cement, you shivered as a particular gust of wind leaked air into your jacket from the opening underneath. ‘Even if I did call Leon and he wasn’t mad I woke him up, that’s still a drive away. An Uber would be faster…but I do need groceries to sustain life.’

“This sucks.” You said out loud to yourself, burying your face into your knees, you had no clue what you were going to do and were running out of time to decide. By this time, the parking lot had emptied entirely, theater closing for the night. ‘Fuck it. I’ll just call and if he doesn’t answer I’ll order the stupid Uber.’ 

Opening his contact, the picture of him you’d taken at the park came up. Blonde hair pushed back and messy, one sea blue eye opened staring at your phone’s camera while the other was closed in a wink. You’d even convinced him to throw up a peace sign – it was so silly and so very Leon. Sighing, you began the call, letting the phone ring.

As it rang over and over again, you could swear you heard a familiar tune in the distance. It was very quiet, like someone was playing the radio several blocks over, but it tickled your ears all the same. You ended the call the moment it went to his voicemail, as you did you swore the song had ended too. ‘Weird, I must be hallucinating. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top, abandoned and crazy.’ You let out a dry laugh at the thought. 

Luckily after a moment, the phone buzzed in your hand, heart fluttering a little when you saw his name pop up on your screen. “Hey.” You said softly. 

“Hey there.” He replied, his voice sounding groggy. 

“Sorry to uhm….sorry if I woke you up.”

“S’not a problem. Everything ok?” 

“Well I uh….” 

“What’s wrong?” His voice sounding more alert now, you heard some shifting on the other end of the line. 

“Derek kind of ditched me at the theater. I’m a little stranded —“

“Need me to come get you?” 

“If you don’t mind. But if you’re asleep —“

“No, it's fine. I’d rather make sure you’re okay anyway. Where are you at?”

“The theater up by main, across from the big shopping center.”

“I’ll be there in 15, ok?”

“15, are you sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be? This a test?” There was a small chortle from his end. “Well it’s just that the apartment is nearly 40 minutes away? I hope you’re not planning on driving like a maniac.” There was a long moment of silence on the other end, so long it began to make you feel anxious. “Hey Leon, you still there?” 

It was still another few seconds before his voice could be heard again. “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry about that. I actually crashed at a friend's house after you left, so I’m nearby.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

The wait for him to show up felt like an eternity, you watched each and every minute tick by on your phone, both giddy and nervous with anticipation. When his Jeep came to a stop in front of you, you bolted up with a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He replied with the same grin he always greeted you with. His hair was a little messy and he looked tired, making the guilt bubble up in your stomach more. “So….you gonna get in or?” 

“Oh yeah.” Letting out a nervous laugh, you ran around to the passenger seat before hopping in. He had the heater on, not that it was doing much with the open top, but you appreciated every time the warmth hit your legs. 

“So what exactly happened? If you don’t mind me asking.” He leaned back more comfortably in his seat, driving with one hand as the other rested on the door.

“We just got into a fight….” You fidgeted with your phone as you gave him a glance in return. “He seems to think I’ve been cheating on him…or at least that I like someone else. I tried to tell him it wasn’t true, but you know…

“So he abandoned you? Just like that?” He asked bewildered. 

“Yeah I guess he did…” 

“That’s pretty shitty of him. I mean what if something happened to you?”

“Yeah it was… I don’t know…” You trailed off, not wanting to talk about it further, just dredging up those bad feelings. Instead, you opted to change the subject entirely. “Hey you know what’s weird?”

“No, what?”

“That one Nickelback song you like so much…you play it almost every time we’re in the Jeep together.”

“Oh, Far Away? Sure, what about it?”

“Well…as I was calling you, I swore I heard it. Was so weird, like a scene from a movie or something — maybe it was a sign that you’d come get me. Or I had a psychotic break and imagined the whole thing. Could be either one.”

“Yeah?” He asked with a chuckle. “I don’t know about the universe, but I am always here if you need me – even if you’ve lost your mind.” He tilted his head and gave a nonchalant shrug.

“Thanks Lee…” The rest of the ride home went smoothly — things falling back into place like they always did. Blasting music obnoxiously loud for the hour, singing along. He even stopped to get you milkshakes on the way back, despite your insistence that you were fine. In his defense, the logic of ‘no one can be upset with a milkshake’ made a lot of sense. 

As the vehicle rolled in front of the building, he leaned over, swiping his thumb across the side of your mouth. “Had something there.” His tongue darted out, lapping the sticky white substance off of the digit.

“Oh.” The simple touch had that electric feeling sparking throughout your veins again. “Thank you….and thanks again for the ride.”

“No problem.” 

Not knowing what else to say, you nodded and scurried from the vehicle back inside the building. He didn’t follow immediately behind you, having to properly park, which left you relieved. 

The entire evening was a whirlwind of emotions and that last little interaction had your entire brain scrambling inside your skull. All you wanted was for the night to be over with, forgotten as you drifted to unconsciousness. 

You took a quick shower before changing into your pajamas and all but flopping into the comfortable fortress of your bed. 

Curling up into the soft bedding, you expected sleep to come over you quickly — but you were wrong. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could picture was that pink tongue darting out to lap up the milkshake from his thumb. His smile, his eyes on you. It made you shudder and clamp your legs together, heat rushing between them. You squirmed around tossing and turning, trying to get your mind to relax and to stave off the arousal that was hindering your sleep.

Nothing you did was working, finally deciding to just give in, sinking your hand down between your legs. ‘Just so I can sleep…’ 

Hand tracing gently along your slit through your panties, you spread your legs farther to give yourself more access. Closing your eyes you could vividly see his face between your legs, tongue out lapping at your panties the way he’d done to the ice cream. 

A soft moan escaped your lips as you applied more pressure, rubbing the slick soaked fabric against your aching bud of pleasure. “Mmm Leon…” The comforter was slowly becoming suffocating, too hot. You tossed it off of yourself to the other side of the mattress, letting yourself feel the cool air as it rushed against your skin – nipples sensitive to the temperature change. 

You brought your left hand up under the silken sleep shirt, circling one hard bud with a finger before pinching it lightly. The fingers of your right hand teasingly walked themselves up to the hem of the fabric, dipping inside the band to properly travel down. Air escaped your mouth once direct contact was made to your throbbing clit. “Leon…so good…” 

In your little vision the man had moved to hook your legs over his shoulders to gain a better angle - the real you bucking your hips up against your fingers, desperate to add to the vision. “So good to me Lee….always so good to me….fuck…” 

Your fingers slid up and down against yourself, left hand abandoning your breast to travel it’s way downward as well, two fingers slipping themselves within your soaking hole – desperately needing to clench around more than the nothingness you were left with. “So close….gonna…” The words caught in your throat as the pressure finally released itself, tingling warmth spreading from your core throughout your body. It was quick and rough, far from the best you’d ever had but it was exactly what you needed. 

The illusion finally cracked and you were left with sore arms, staring up at the ceiling – momentarily sated and relieved, again hoping sleep would take you quickly. 

A/N: If this looks familiar, it's a total rewrite/reboot of my yandere!leon series. This original series was inspired by @explorevenus' Something Permanent series. Other inspirations include @gigabyte-flare, @lipglossanon, and @girldungeon's works. Special shoutout to @elfven-blog and her superior pinterest skills for the aesthetic pics used in the banner.

Next Chapter

[explorevenus]

something permanent ♡ yandere!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors pls dni i will scream

this is a dark fic for a multitude of reasons. if any of the following bothers/triggers you, do not read: yandere!leon, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, corruption/training, forced daddy kink, noncon, forced breeding, body horror, gore, & blood

in other words-- DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT.

ahem. now that that’s over.

word count - 4.4k

description - nothing in leon’s life was ever permanent and his life circumstances made sure of that. over the years he was beaten down from a bright-eyed rookie police officer to a weary and angry shell of his former self. when a chance meeting brought you into his life, he knew what he had to do. he knew you had to be something permanent.

tags/warnings - yandere!leon, dark!leon, leon being patronizing and condescending and sickly sweet, fem/afab!reader, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, corruption/training, forced daddy kink, pet names (doll, sweetheart, princess, baby, puppy, etc.), noncon, forced breeding, housewife kink, body horror (spoiler alert he rips your IUD out with his bare hands), slight gore, blood, noncon, stockholm syndrome if u squint, dollification if u squint, descriptions of vomiting, no use of (Y/N)

a/n - ok i genuinely don’t know if anyone even wants this but i personally find it egregious how little yandere!leon content exists out there in this world because listen. i know a lot of people consider leon submissive and breedable but personally i believe this broken angry man just wants a sweet little thing to dote on and take care of to make him forget about the horrors of his life and he will stop at nothing to make that happen ♡ anyways. enjoy. and if it’s not ur cup of tea idc keep scrolling :^)

p.s. this is obviously a very canon-deviant, borderline crack fic so it’s not really established which leon this is outside of referring to the events of re2 being a long time ago, so go wild with your interpretation of that to read this as whichever leon is ur favorite ♡ i personally like to imagine post-re4 or infinite darkness leon !! ;w;

read part 2 here !! ♡

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ♡

-venus ♡

You were slow to wake, which wasn't particularly unusual... as of late, but your body felt so heavy, like your muscles had dissolved into mush overnight. Consciousness gradually took its hold of you, and as it did, you began to realize that something seemed off. Different. Wrong, even. You peeked your eyes open, vision blurry with sleep, but you could see you were beneath your pink comforter, a plush of yours held closely to your chest, all normal so far...

But your walls aren't navy blue, they're white... They're supposed to be white--

You jolted wide awake, panic coursing through your weak body as you struggled to even sit up. That's when you noticed an unfamiliar, muscular arm draped over your waist, and that dialed up your anxiety about tenfold. It was hard to move, but you were able to turn your head enough to catch a look at the man it belonged to.

Strong, blond, maybe a bit tired in the eyes... maybe a bit familiar looking... but you were crying now, blurring your sight all over again.

"Shh, shh... you're okay, sweetheart, you're safe now," He hushed, holding you closely to him as you struggled. Smooching the top of your head, he spoke into your messy hair, "I've got you. I've got you, princess."

But... how? The last thing you remembered was tucking into your own bed, in your own apartment, and falling asleep there, how could you have possibly wound up in a stranger's bed with zero recollection of ever leaving yours? Your head spun as you tried and failed to fend off the unwanted affection with weak arms. His hold on you didn't dare budge as he continued to coo softly into your ear, to reassure you that you were safe, that he wouldn't let anyone, or anything, hurt you.

The anxiety stewing within you finally reached a tipping point, twisting your stomach into tight knots, and that's when you spoke your first words since you'd awoken. "I-I'm gonna throw up," You wept, clawing weakly at the covers and, well, at him, for freedom. 

Thankfully he was quick to act, scooping you into his arms as he sat up and rose from the bed, carrying you to the adjoined bathroom. When he turned the light on, you managed to get a better look at his face as you passed by the mirror, and it took you a second to recognize him, partly due to your state of delirium, but primarily because you only knew him very vaguely. You had only met him once at work many months ago, when he'd sparked up a conversation with you as you made him his coffee. After that, he became a regular at the café you worked at-- you remembered his name was Leon.

So why were you waking up in his bed, with your belongings lying around like you'd lived here the whole time?

Your knees hit the tile and you began retching immediately, flinching as he reached forward to collect your hair away from your face. Puking on an empty stomach is never a fun time, but your nerves were alight with panic and every time you reminded yourself of your predicament, a new wave of nausea would crash over you. He rubbed your back sweetly, but it didn't help.

Once the vomiting eventually subsided, an awful, hollow pain took place of it. Your thoughts were running at a thousand miles per hour. You didn't have the time to acknowledge it, let alone nurse it, outside of clutching your shirt at the waist. 

"Let me get you some water, babe," Leon said as he hesitantly stood from your side, eyeing you worriedly like you'd just fall to pieces if he let you out of his sight. "You poor thing..."

But all you could think about was getting out of here. "N-No, no, what time is it? I have to get to work--"

"I don't think so, sweetheart," He interrupted. "You're sick, you should be in bed."

"I'm fine," Much to the protest of your jellied legs, you pushed yourself up from the floor and fought through the head rush in an attempt to slip past him, but he simply caught you at the waist and brought you to a halt. Your ears were ringing, the room spinning around you, and you still weren't sure how to interpret what was even going on here. "L-Let go of me!" You cried out.

He simply hushed you, holding you tightly to his chest and petting your hair as you writhed, failing miserably to get him off of you. "Don't worry about work, okay? Just rest up and get better. I'll call them for you."

Your stomach sank even further-- what the fuck is happening right now? 

Despite your thrashing he managed to lead you back to the bed as gently as one would fine china, scooping you up into his arms so he could lay you down exactly where you'd awoken earlier. Your chest heaved with sobs as you shrank into yourself in an effort to get away from him.

His eyes left you for just a moment as he reached for the covers, no doubt to tuck you in-- in a split second decision, you seized that time to scramble out of his bed and break for the door. Sadly, as perhaps you should have seen coming, he was more than strong and fast enough to catch up to you, even caught off guard. As soon as your shaking hand made contact with the cool metal doorknob, he halted you where you stood with a bruising grip on your bicep.

You cried out, trying in vain to peel yourself away from him, but it was no use.

"Come on, silly baby, you heard me," He tsked, dragging you back toward the bed. "No need to be running off anywhere, especially on a sour stomach."

"P-Please--" You gasped through tears.

"I'm sorry, little one, but that's final," Leon hummed with a patronizing but oddly sweet tone. It was as if he were scolding a temperamental child.

He basically wrestled you back into the bed, enveloping you tightly in his arms as he laid down beside you. You struggled against his grasp, but again, it was absolutely no use. He simply pet your hair and pressed soft kisses along your cheek and jaw, attempting to soothe you with restraint and unwanted affection. 

You sucked in a labored breath, hiccupping, "Don't do this to me, please don't do this to me... I-I just wa-wanna go home, jus' wanna go h-home... Leon please--"

"Shh... oh, good heavens. You are home, princess," He mused, brushing away a stream of your hot tears with his thumb. "You'll see. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Nothing in Leon's life was ever permanent.

All he'd ever wanted was the American dream, to serve his community and meet a pretty girl to share his life with, to settle down in a big house with a fenced yard and two or three little Kennedys running around, maybe a dog. What he wouldn't give to come home at the end of a long day to his beautiful wife, belly swollen with his children, preparing dinner in the kitchen while the existing little ones play with their toys in the other room.

He would enter, slipping off his shoes with a relaxed sigh and a "Honey, I'm home!" to which the aforementioned little ones would rush to the door to hug him at his knees. He'd put one up on his shoulders while the other tugged at his hand, turning into the kitchen to give his beautiful wife a kiss. She would ask of his day and he would say it was good, but better now that he's home with her. With his free hand he would cradle her belly and ask "What's for dinner, you two?" to which she would reply "Your favorite," and as he smiled and thanked her with a kiss he would be silently plotting to thank her properly after the kids are asleep by fucking her full of his cum.

That was all he'd ever wanted. But, day after day after god forsaken day, the chance grew slimmer and slimmer until it had shriveled into something molecular. He didn't even get through his first day at the police station before everything went to shit.

Because of this, Leon began to lose himself over the years. He was no longer the bright-eyed rookie officer looking forward to his even brighter future. He was a broken man, worn down to the bone by years of death, plague, losing everyone he'd ever loved in one way or another-- Leon couldn't take the loss anymore. He wanted-- no, needed-- something permanent, something to give him even the slightest taste of that dream he once had.

When he met you, it wasn't even a question anymore. He knew you were the one. One way or another, he would have you.

He couldn't court you in the traditional way, of course-- it was too dangerous for you to be seen with him. After all, everything he'd ever touched had a way of turning to shit. So, it began with following you home after work so he'd know where you lived. Soon after that he would let himself in when you weren't home-- you weren't smart enough not to keep your key under the mat, furthering how sure he felt that you needed him to take care of you-- he would take little things of yours home with him just to have your scent around.

At first it was just little things like near-empty bottles of shampoo and stray pairs of panties from your laundry basket. Then it was sweaters from your closet, chewed gum and used flossers from your trash can. He'd pay close attention to your grocery lists and what you kept in your pantry so he'd know what kind of food you liked. 

When you did come home, he would sneak out quietly and watch you through your windows, familiarizing himself with your routine. The first thing you'd do when you came home from a long day of work was kick off your heels and change into something comfortable to do your yoga. After a while, you'd pull yourself up from the pink mat and cook dinner. After you'd eat, you'd relax with a book or a video game for a bit before taking a shower and changing into pajamas. Then, you'd brew yourself a mug of tea and retire to the bedroom for the evening where you'd watch documentaries or put on white noise until you eventually fell asleep.

At 7:00 a.m., you'd wake up in the morning and do it all over again.

All he could think about was what he'd do when he finally had you all to himself. Under his roof, you would never have to work another day in your life. Gone would be the days of pouring coffee and baking pastries for random idiots who treated you like shit. All you would ever have to worry about is being pampered, having your entire day to yourself, waiting for him to come home, spending all the money on his credit cards.

And carrying his children, of course.

So, as he held you tightly in his arms while you sobbed and begged to go back to that tiny apartment, all he could think about now was how to fix this. How to convince you he really loved you, how to make you feel truly at home.

The first few weeks were hard for him. Really, really hard.

You were refusing to eat, laying wide awake at night, swinging rapidly between sobbing, screaming and complete apathy. Sometimes he would come into the bedroom and catch you fiddling with the window, or attempting to circumvent the lock on the door by stuffing the mechanism with tissue. You would hit him, kick at him and spit in his face, even as you grew weaker and weaker with malnourishment, not that you really stood a chance before that anyway.

Still, it was hard to watch you shrink in your clothes. It was hard to see your cheeks hollowing by the day. It was hard to hold back your brittle hair while you'd vomit from the nerves, still trying to fight him off of you. It was hard to watch your body tense every time he entered the room.

Just when he'd began to lose hope, he discovered a neat little tool to help you behave. In some countries it was called "devil's breath." The slightest bit of powder could be sprinkled into your water, or over your food, or even into your clothes-- it absorbs through the skin-- and within minutes it would render you quite pliable. Leon didn't want to drug you, of course-- he liked you better when you were lucid-- but it certainly felt like a good place to start, a helpful tool to train you.

When he'd give you a dose, you would let him coddle you without incident. You would lay limp on his chest while he played with your hair and felt your soft skin beneath your shirt. You would allow him to spoon food or tip water into your mouth. You would let him dress you up like his perfect little dolly. You would blush and whimper and whine, and more importantly, not fight him, while he fucked you full of his cum, just like his dream.

There was just one problem-- after about two months of trying daily, it would seem his seed wasn't taking.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the sound of Leon's footsteps nearing the bedroom door grew louder. You glanced over at the clock-- it was 6:15. He was off work for the evening and you knew what that meant.

The lock clicked quietly before the door creaked open, revealing your captor.

"Honey, I'm home!" He smiled excitedly, approaching the bed with a glass of water in hand.

You knew it was for you. You knew he had done something to it. You also knew you didn't intend to drink it.

"W-Welcome home, daddy," You said in a near whisper, forcing a half-smile. While you had definitely lost the majority of the fight in you, that didn't mean it didn't nauseate you to comply with his wishes. "Did you have a good day?"

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he offered you the glass of water while he replied as he always did, "My day was fine, but it's so much better now that I'm home with you, princess."

You smiled at him like it was the first time he'd ever said it, taking the glass with a shaking hand. You stared at it for a moment before mustering up the courage to say, "D-Daddy, I don't want the medicine anymore. I don't think I need it, and it doesn't make me feel good."

"You don't want your medicine anymore, baby?" He asked, tipping your chin up to look at him. You shook your head, rounding your eyes to convince him that much more. "Well, alright, but you have to promise to behave for me."

Now you were nodding, a little bit too eagerly. It was sort of humiliating. "I promise, daddy, I'll behave! I don't want the medicine anymore. I promise I'll be good."

With a proud grin he took the glass from your hand and set it on the nightstand, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "That's what I like to hear, babydoll. You know, good little girls get rewarded..." His large hand spread over your thigh, inching up toward the hem of your baggy shirt.

You stiffened, but didn't push him away. He smirked, dipping his head down to kiss at your neck, large hand sliding up your shirt until he nudged it up enough to pull it off. You were bare for him now, save for panties, and given your experience with him you knew it wouldn't be long until those were discarded somewhere across the room. With a gentle hand at your shoulder he pushed you onto your back, your legs hanging off the side of the bed, and you were curious where he was going with that until he sank to his knees in front of you and began pulling your panties down.

Your eyes screwed shut, thankful that he couldn't see your face as he spread your thighs and greeted your cunt with a slow lick up the length of you. You gripped the sheets with white knuckles, pretty much holding your breath to keep yourself from kicking him away from you. His fingertips buried into the plush skin of your thighs to hold you apart as he began to eat you out more passionately, suckling your clit up into his mouth and lapping at your hole like he was starving.

If there was one thing you would give him credit for, it would be his skilled tongue. Perhaps he was crazy and obsessed, but he certainly knew how to translate that obsession into something that benefitted you both. You wouldn't have succumbed to it so willingly if he weren't at least good at it.

Still, it was hard to feel any enthusiasm. His attention might have felt good physically, but it certainly didn't feel good mentally. 

You flinched when you felt a fingertip prodding at your cunt. He pulled away just far enough to tsk, "Relax and let me make you feel good, puppy. You said you would behave for me."

"Y-Yes, daddy," You muttered, continuing to clutch the sheets as you tried to control your breathing.

His thick index finger sank into you down to the knuckle, almost immediately curling up to brush against the spongy spot within you that made you see stars. As much as you tried to fight it you gasped, quickly bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, but the sound you'd made hadn't slipped past Leon. You felt him smirk against your skin as he pressed sloppy kisses to your thigh, reaching up with his free hand to force yours away from your face.

"Don't be shy, princess," He spoke against the inside of your thigh, trailing kisses up to your clit. "I want to hear just how good it feels."

You whimpered, hips squirming into his affection, and he chuckled approvingly, bringing his mouth back to you fully to continue eating you out while he fucked his finger into you. Soon after his index finger was joined by his middle, and you keened as he reached more deeply into you than he possibly ever had.

He pumped his fingers in and out for a moment, alternating between lapping at your cunt and kissing your thighs, and just as the coil inside began to tighten he suddenly... stopped?

You waited for a second, catching your breath, expecting him to continue any minute. But he didn't. Instead, he took on a tone that froze your blood as he asked, "Sweetheart, what is this?"

Then, you felt a sharp tug at your insides that made you yelp.

"Leon!" You shouted at him in a break of character, attempting to scoot away from him, but he grabbed your hips to still you. "That hurt!"

Another tug. You cried out, trying as you might to snap your thighs shut and push him away, but he wasn't budging.

"You never told me you had an IUD."

"Well, I do, so stop yanking on it! It hurts--"

The next words out of his mouth truly fucking broke you.

"That just won't do. It's no wonder you're not pregnant yet."

You sat up immediately. "Pregnant?"

He ignored you, tugging at it again. You screamed.

"L-Leon, don't! I can get it taken out by a doctor, I swear, I'll get it taken out!"

He shook his head. "And wait even longer to knock you up, pretty girl? Not happening. It's coming out now."

You screamed again, thrashing in his hold. He withdrew from inside you for just a moment, pinning you to the bed by your hip while he reached for your panties on the floor and shoved them into your mouth to silence you.

"There, there, angel. It'll be over before you know it, like ripping off a band-aid," He hummed, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you screeched through the cotton. "I'm gonna give you my babies, I promise. Gonna make you a mommy, and we’ll be so happy."

Before you could properly react he forced his fingers back inside you, yanking at the device until you felt a sickening tear and the unmistakable heat of blood rushing out of you. You curled into yourself, wailing, gasping for breath through the panties in your mouth as he withdrew his blood-soaked fingers, holding up the gory IUD in the light.

"There you are, princess. All better," He smiled contently, discarding the device on the bedside table. "You did so good. You were so brave for me."

You were bawling, shrieking through your gag as your vision blurred into white. Leon kissed up your thighs before standing to unbuckle his belt, and he didn't get much further than that before the panic and agonizing pain got to you and you lost consciousness.

You woke up the next morning with your thighs sore and sticky with blood. You lifted the comforter to see a deep red pool seeping out from between your legs, and the more you started to wake up, the more aware you became of the pain. You were cramping terribly, sweating buckets, your ears were ringing and you felt weak. Leon had left for work already, so it was up to you to get yourself to the bathroom.

Your entire body was trembling as you stumbled out of the bed, dripping blood in a trail behind you as you dragged yourself to the bathroom and crawled into the bathtub. You peeled off your pajama shorts and panties, watching in horror as a mixture of thick blood and cum spilled out of you and ran slowly toward the drain. Once again, you began to cry. Obviously he'd had his way with you after you passed out, buckets of blood be damned.

Even with your foggy, staticky brain, you couldn't stop thinking. Thinking about the fact that he had no intention of taking you to a hospital, so there was really no telling what might happen with your profusely painful and bleeding sex. Thinking about how fucking screwed you were now without your IUD, your best defense against falling pregnant with your captor's child. Thinking about the fact that if he wouldn't even take you to a doctor for this, he must be expecting a home birth if you were to become pregnant, which you doubted he was qualified to handle and therefore had a very good chance to result in your slow, painful death.

You couldn't stand the shivering anymore, so you filled the bathtub with hot water. It felt nice, though it was rather gross that the water was stained a glassy rose color with your own blood, not that you really had the strength to care in the moment.

In fact, you didn't have much strength at all. It wasn't long before you found yourself losing consciousness once again.

"Fuck, princess, can you hear me?"

You were trying to open your eyes, to twitch a finger, anything, but it was so hard.

"Shit. Stay right here, babydoll, I'm gonna get you some help, okay? I promise. I never meant to hurt you... shit...”

You heard some shuffling, pacing and possibly Leon talking to himself in the other room. You figured he was trying to decide whether or not to take you to a hospital. Part of you hoped he would and the other part of you hoped he would just let you die there. More than anything, you just wished you would have let him drug you in the first place so maybe you wouldn't be in this level of pain.

After what could have very well been 20 seconds or 20 minutes, Leon kneeled beside the tub and draped a cold washcloth over your forehead, reaching into the bloodied water to pull the drain. With what little control you had over your own movement you managed to crack your eyes open, which seemed to please him.

"Oh thank god... thank god, baby. I almost thought I lost you there," He huffed, voice shaking. "Listen to me closely, princess. Stay with me. I'm going to take you to a doctor but you have to be a good girl, okay? You have to be good for me and go along with what I say, even if it isn't true. I'm just doing what's best for you so you can get all better, okay?"

You nodded weakly. You weren't in any position to put up a fight, and all you really wanted was an end to the pain. Besides, he couldn't supervise you constantly at the hospital. There had to be at least some opportunity to tell someone what he'd done to you.

He somehow managed to dress you in some comfortable clothes of his, a soft black t-shirt that hung halfway down your thighs and a pair of black shorts with some little socks of yours to protect your feet. Then, he carried you princess-style out to the car where he bundled you up in the passenger seat and buckled you in.

As he pulled hurriedly out of the driveway, he made a phone call to someone.

"Hey, it's me... I need the best people we have in the infirmary, stat. I'm on my way now," He spoke sternly into the phone, white knuckling the wheel. "I'm fine, it's not for me, it's my girlfriend. It's a long story that I'll tell you when I get there, but she's bleeding pretty bad. I found her unconscious when I came home... I appreciate it, thanks. See you in 10."

Leon reached over the center console to squeeze your thigh in reassurance.

"You're gonna be just fine, princess. I'm gonna make sure they make you all better, okay?"

Your stomach sank. He obviously wasn't taking you to a hospital. From the sounds of it he was taking you somewhere he had a good amount of leverage, somewhere everyone knew him, held him in high regard and wouldn't dare challenge his word, let alone take yours over his. You slumped to the side, resting your head on the cool window with a quiet bonk. Leon was quick to ask if you were okay but you couldn't muster up a response. Your ears began ringing again and the world around you collapsed into tunnel vision.

part 2 !!

[theharrowing]

An Ghealach

Field Linguist Jimin Park travels to a remote island called An Ghealach off the coast of Ireland to research and document an endangered language, just in time for the community’s Beltane festivities. What he encounters is both horrifying and mesmerizing beyond his wildest dreams.

🌑 Jimin x Female Reader 🌒 word count: 9k 🌓 speculative horror, gore, major character death, dub con, smut, nsfw, 21+ 🌔 warnings: 🕊 dead dove! creepy folk horror themes (shapeshifting, human sacrifice), unable to tell dreams from reality, gore (mention of entrails, mention of bleeding someone dry, cutting palm and drinking/smearing blood), dubious consent (use of magic to put into a trance & coerce), angst, infidelity (mention of an engagement), smut (voyeurism & exhibitionism, oral & vaginal sex, a bit of ass eating, rough sex, holding of throat, blood licking, a little biting, forest sex, a need to be cum inside of), nickname "pet", major character cloning & off-screen death. 🌕 note: hello, and welcome to my fun little Beltane horror fic! appearance of reader in this fic shifts, and is therefore described. sometimes she has pale skin, other times dark, purposefully left vague aside from hair and occasionally eye detail. this story is a bit rushed because of yoongi concert week and final exams happening in the same month; i had a lot of ideas, but the time just kept creeping up and up and up, and here we are, at the end of May!

🌖 i also made a lot of shit up in terms of the magic, left a lot of shit vague, and did not worry much about whether things make any sense, so...go into this with a grain of salt; this is not meant to reflect any real Beltane rites or rituals, even if certain things (like the maypole) sound familiar. it is also not meant to depict a real place or a real dialect of a language. the Gaelic words are meant to feel wrong and strange because this place is wrong and strange. (a friend of mine who is Irish & a linguist helped me with the words; i promise you, the intent is to feel wrong.) enjoy!

🌗 mc goes by the name Rí; Jimin's pov appears in italic paragraphs

🌘 written for A Spring Offering Collab! check out the other works! 🌑 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 🌒posted may. 2023 | read on ao3

Cross his heart, hope to die Hang his entrails, bleed him dry

He is Here. He is here. Heard, have you? He is here.

The women of the island chirp and coo at one another, heads tilted inward, as if sharing a profound secret. Their voices are low but lilted with excitement, and the language in which they whisper is old – nearly extinct. 

Your footfalls crunch through grass that has hardly seen rain – unseasonably dry, despite the air holding onto a thick, shrouding dampness. Soon, the sun will stay risen for more than eight hours, and, if this summer is bountiful, the clouds will open up and shower your island with abundance. 

Seen the man, have you? They whisper, unused to men from outside the confines of the island; unused to skin darker than porcelain. No outsider has stepped foot permanently on this land since your father had, all those years ago; only mysterious strangers who last as long as the holiday allows. 

Strange, his name is. They whisper. And the sun, his skin shines with deep hints of its rays. 

"Girls," you call in a tongue that whisps through your lips, wind fluttering between delicate petals, ancient. "Our manners, let us not forget."

"Our manners, Rí," the women respond in a chorus, pulling their expressions straight, only to begin giggling the moment they think you are no longer listening. 

Bright orange hair falls in tight curls to your shoulders, which are exposed to the sunlight. You wear a white long-sleeve chemise that rests mid-bicep and is tied loosely in the front over perky cleavage. Your emerald green bodice sits under-breast and opens to a long emerald skirt that falls to your bare feet over a hoop skirt made of layers of cloth. 

Your girls are dressed much more simply in white chemise dresses and underpants. Some wear modest green or burgundy bodice dresses, and some wear plain white or black cloth shoes. 

The propellers on the white aquatic plane whirr as you approach, and you hear two male voices speaking loudly over its engine. One man, dressed head-to-toe in a white pilot uniform, docks with the help of four of your women, and he exits the small aircraft. 

After a pause, another man appears wearing a tan blazer over a white tee that is tucked into fitted blue jeans, with a black leather belt and black boots. Around his neck, a white kerchief is tied, and his hair is coiffed delicately off his forehead, casting a beautiful wave of silvery-blond that hardly blows in the winds coming from the sea. He looks as if he is dressed for a weekend getaway to somewhere far more exotic than here, and you find it absolutely adorable. He is more petit than you anticipated – average height and slender – but what stands out the most is the man's face. 

Even from this distance, the man is breathtaking. His full lips pout as he straightens himself out, and he seems surprised and apologetic when the girls begin to assist with his things, pulling suitcases from the plane. 

At his shocked expression and attempts to communicate with precious creatures who do not speak a common tongue, you make your way forward, holding your many skirts in hand so your feet do not trip. As soon as you approach and begin to shout to the girls to be careful, the man's eyes lift, lips part, and you watch the moment he notices you, deeply breathing in and holding it while you speak. 

"Girls, girls," you call in the ancient tongue, "handle gently."

As his things are brought to the pier, the man begins to organize them. Everything is on wheels, and he must deem a certain suitcase more important than the others, taking it by its extending handle and dragging it to dry land first. There is a short set of steps between the path and the pier, and you walk down and reach a hand out to offer help. 

"Thank you," the man mutters, seemingly uncertain whether you are one of the many who do not speak English. 

"You must be Jimin Park," you say, reaching for the handle and watching as recognition and relief paint his pretty features. 

Up close, Jimin is a thing out of fairytales. Wide, dark eyes glance curiously at the landscape, and each curve of his face is soft and delicate, despite his profile being sharp lines. An anomaly of beauty, carved with careful hands. 

Jimin guesses at your name and you nod, flashing a sweet, welcoming smile – you had been the one corresponding with him before his arrival. He must relax, because as you begin to tug for his suitcase to lift it up the three short wooden steps, his hold loosens, and he eventually allows you to take it, only letting his gaze linger a moment before he turns to grab more of his things. 

You help him with his belongings – four black cases in total – and each of you take two to wheel down the dirt path past the open field, along the edge of the woods that peeks out into the village, to the inn that sits ahead, to the left. Although your home is in the woods, you have prepared a room in the inn, sharing a wall with Jimin.

The village is quaint. There are a few homes at the far end of the walk, along a stretch of foothills. A town hall rests between the homes and the inn, and there is a small store room holding onto all imported wares, farmed goods, and hunted items. To the right is all forest until the cliffs open up to the vast ocean, and on the other side of the wood, village elders live out their days, never minding what you and girls do on this side, so long as their bellies stay full and hearths stay ablaze. 

"Have you lived here your entire life?" Jimin asks slowly, annunciating each word with precision. There is a hint of his own accent giving the English a very pretty lilt. 

"Nearly," you respond, eyes slowly wandering from the inn, sweeping the small hints of village that come into view, landing on the forest. "My parents arrived when I was little, but my mother was born here. The island is in my blood."

"And you are the only person here who speaks English?" Jimin asks, voice a bit shaky and hesitant.

As you turn to gauge his expression, you find hints of anxiety. You wonder if Jimin is not the kind of person who likes to seek the help of others; if, perhaps, you will have to be assertive in offering assistance with everything he may need. 

"I am," you respond with a smile, "which means you and I are going to become quite well acquainted, Jimin Park."

Over dinner on the first night, Jimin opens up about growing up in South Korea and attending university both at home, and in the United States. As girls come to fill your plates with more cured meats, he notices that they call you Rí. 

Jimin is an inquisitive fellow, whose pretty dark eyes are wide and curious – and somewhat glossy after two cups of honey wine – and you smile with feigned shyness, nodding your head demurely when he asks you about the nickname. 

"It means king," you tell him with a grin.

"Ah," Jimin responds with a growing smile of his own. "So are you their king?"

With a chuckle, you shrug and say, "I suppose I am. We have elders but they live on another part of the island. I'm the one who takes care of the girls."

"And the hunting and farming?" Jimin asks. 

"Much of our bounty is from the autumn equinox," you admit shyly, vaguely. "We had an abundant winter."

"Wow," Jimin responds curiously. "Good weather last year?"

It was luck that two cops came snooping around the island just before Samhain; their blood was the perfect offering to the old gods. With their entrails strung up, dangling from the trees, and slowly drip-draining into the grass below, the skies shined favorably through the cold season, and wild animals practically skittered and galloped happily into your traps. 

"Yes," you respond simply, smiling fondly at the memory of the two transmuted squirrels who were sent home in the men's stead with nothing to report on but normal goings-on, on the island. 

Magic of that caliber works best on the holidays, when the passages are open and the power from the other side covers your island like a rich fog, sparking it to life with intrinsic energy. A shame you used that power to create two men of the law, but the last thing your little homestead needs is more blue-capped guards snooping around for their missing men. 

With the perfect specimen for this year's festival sitting beside you, your excitement shimmers, vibrating under your skin and making the air around you feel charged. You had hoped that, being as young as he is, you would be sent someone without a spouse, making it easier to fall under your spell – buying you a little time before having to clone the poor guy and send him back. 

A shame that this season's sacrifice not only comes with a gold engagement band around his finger, but is so dreadfully pretty that you almost lament the thought of watching the light drain from his eyes. 

But the land is hungry, and feed, she must.

“Cross his heart, hope to die. Hang his entrails…will he have pretty entrails, do you think?” you sing-song, lifting a handsome red squirrel in both hands, holding it eye-level to inspect. It had come to your window at the stroke of midnight, cheery and pliant. 

An offering from the land. 

A host. 

“What a shame I can’t just keep him for myself,” you muse, considering the fact that you were able to transmute two men before. “Perhaps I will have to make a second clone, this time. Can you bring me a friend?”

The sound of thumping is what wakes Jimin up. At first, he thinks it may be a tree branch tap, tap, tapping against the window. But as sleep falls away to wakefulness, he realizes the sound must be coming from the other side of the wall. 

Your wall.

Falling asleep was difficult, in the first place. Something about the island, and especially the inn, feels incredibly ominous, like there is a presence looming just out of the peripheral, never fully seen. And the scent that you carry – spiced cloves and fresh bouquet of wildflowers – lingered in the air, filling his head with thoughts of you. 

Now, as he blinks through the darkness, he wonders if he had slept a wink, at all. 

Jimin rolls over, attempting to ignore the sounds in favor of getting more sleep, noticing in his brief moment of wakefulness that it is still pitch black outside. But then he hears it…humming…low and inviting, causing all the little hairs on his arms to stand at attention. 

Somewhat mindlessly, Jimin pushes the thick quilted blanket away and climbs out of bed, heavy-lidded and barely aware of his surroundings in the mostly-empty room. Golden lantern light glows in through the window, allowing him to see ahead of him just enough to make a clear path toward the sound.

In his dreamy haze, Jimin imagines voices whispering – beckoning him forward. Come to me, they say, tangling and slipping over one another, mostly incomprehensible flits of lips, teeth, and tongue, spoken too softly to truly be fully heard. 

Jimin places his hands against the wall, presses his ear against the wood, and listens. The humming continues, muffled delicately by the layers that separate it from him. Is it Rí, he wonders.

As he continues to listen, his eyelids flutter closed. The thumping sound is rhythmic and soft, and the humming has shifted into something more sensual. Moaning, perhaps? Whimpering, even? He feels entranced by it and presses harder against the wall, feeling the cool wood against his cheek gradually heat, until his breath huffs out sticky-warm against it.

Come to me, Jimin, he is certain he hears in a voice that can only be yours. Don't be shy.

He feels drunk and loose-limbed, rubbery and pliant, and he sways his hips to the inviting song, dragging his blunt fingernails over the wall. The humming – the moaning – it intensifies, drawing his breath ragged, forcing small sounds of his own to come falling past his lips. His body feels electric – charged with a current that runs ultraviolet through his bloodstream, desperate for more, picking up hints of spiced clove and musky floral notes.

With a crescendo of whimpers, the thumping quickens and abruptly ends, and Jimin gasps, waking from his stupor, stumbling listlessly from the wall and wiping drool from his face. His head feels hazy as he blinks and turns, taking in the dark room and wondering what kind of dream he was just having. 

In the quietude of the night, he stands still and listens. Had he imagined hearing something before? Was it all a dream? Only the scent of the trees below his cracked-open window fills the space, but he inhales deeply in search of something more. 

Silence settles, heavy but somehow light, and he sighs, runs a hand through his damp silver-blond hair, and returns to the bed, trying his best to ignore the ache in his pants – hard and neglected. 

"Not tonight," he whispers, scolding himself. Not over the thought of you. Not when he has someone waiting for him back home. 

"Sleep well?" you ask at the sight of Jimin exiting the inn. 

He wears a black tee tucked into black fitted jeans, with his black belt and shiny black leather boots, and you smile to yourself, both over the simplicity of it all, and from how much he stands out in a place like this. 

Although denim is not frowned upon in the village, and is worn often by the elders on the other side of the island, the girls love to dress up in renaissance-reminiscent clothing and make believe that every day is a fairytale. After all, on An Ghealach, it can be. 

You are modestly outfitted in a white chemise dress that is cinched at the waist, with an undershirt to hold your breasts in place, and simple cloth white shoes. Your straight, black hair falls waist-length, braided intricately away from your face, letting the sun hit your deep-golden skin. 

"I slept alright," he responds, voice rough from disuse. 

Jimin smiles softly, and you check for any glimmer that he has noticed the shifting of your appearance, of the outside of the inn, of the stone path that stretches around the forest edge. When Jimin smiles and asks if there is anything he can do to help set up for Beltane, seemingly unaware, you nod and lead the way. 

"All there is to do today is prepare the land, which the girls have under control," you inform. "We can discuss phonemes in the meantime, if you have your equipment handy.”

With a wide smile, Jimin pulls a small recording device and notebook from his back pocket and holds them up. "Always prepared."

You chuckle and mutter, "Perfect," continuing along the path to the field where the girls are cutting the grass with old, metal devices on wheels, and gathering all the prettiest weeds and wildflowers to fashion into crowns.

Jimin makes good company, curious and open-minded without asking too much. You can see in the way he watches the girls that there is so much he would like to know – can read each question that flits over his eyes, only to be blinked away. Where did they come from? Why do none of them speak English? Where are the men? These are questions that just hang for brief seconds at the tip of his tongue but that he never works up the courage to ask.

Perhaps he knows it is best not to know. Perhaps some part of him is aware of the horrors that might lurk behind the corner of posing one question too many. 

The two of you spend the day discussing vowels, consonants, and syntax. His grasp on modern dialects of Irish Gaelic is enough that he instantly begins to draw similarities between those and the older language spoken on the island.

And as the sun moves from burning hot overhead to sinking beneath the horizon, moving your studies into the inn's tavern, you find yourself scooting close on the bench while offering more honey wine to your eager, beautiful guest. 

Jimin has never sleepwalked before. In fact, he tends to lay so still that often, his neck and limbs are sore the next morning, popping as he stretches in an attempt to get the blood flowing adequately. 

So when he opens his eyes to find himself standing barefoot in the woods, hands outstretched toward the trunk of a tree, he yelps and jumps backward, nearly fumbling to his butt. 

“What the fuck,” Jimin mutters to himself as he glances around, eyes becoming more alert. 

The woods are nearly pitch dark, save for the bright glow of the waxing gibbous moon shining through the trees. What luck, he thinks, that the clouds are scarce tonight. 

Although there is no foreseeable path, the ground appears mostly clear of thick brush. Jimin turns and makes his way out, careful not to step too hard, gently shuffling his bare feet outward with each step, avoiding sticks and rocks as best as he can. 

Fear simmers just below Jimin’s skin. He attempts not to spiral, telling himself that he could not have possibly walked far. His blue flannel pajamas are warm, but thin enough that the chilly night air would likely have woken him quickly. And so, onward he presses. 

A flickering yellow flame glows through trees ahead, just to the left, and Jimin lets out a deep sigh of relief as he changes course. Although he is pleased to be making his way back to civilization, his new worry is being disruptive as he walks back through the old, creaky inn. He does not want to disturb Rí, who he imagines must be asleep at this hour. 

Despite the island being mostly covered in dense forest, the night is surprisingly quiet. Eerily so. Even in the daytime, insects and rodents are lively to the point of seeming cacophonous. How is it possible for everything to be so…still?

The sound of a particularly loud stick snapping – not underfoot but ahead – has Jimin tensing and freezing with fear. He holds his breath while his shoulders raise to his ears, trying his hardest not to be detected, until smoked clove hits his senses, and—

“Jimin!” you call softly, certain that his fear has spiked nearby, radiating like heavy, bright fumes between the birch trees. 

And then you hear it, a soft, delicate voice, calling a tentative, “Rí?”  

Ah, so the pretty thing is just ahead, and your plan to at least get him into the woods has worked without a hitch. You wonder what it was that snapped him out of his trance too soon. Next time, you think to yourself. You still have one more night to get him into the passage of his own volition. 

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, feigning worry and exasperation. 

“Ah—“ Jimin begins, voice sounding somewhat closer. “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Is that something you do often?” you ask, holding the lamp higher. 

Jimin’s pretty face comes into view, peeking from between a thin birch that separates you, and you smile wide and welcome, taking in the blend of fear and affection that wafts from his pores and surrounds you. 

“No,” he responds softly, eyes wide and curious. “Never.”

“Strange,” you mutter, momentarily stuck in time and space from him standing so close to someone so dreadfully beautiful. 

“Yeah,” he says soft as a whisper, blinking heavily before standing straight and rounding the tree. 

You also straighten out and take two steps backward to give him room. When Jimin appears before you, your eyes drop to his bare feet, and you frown, making a mental note for the next time. 

With skin shades darker and hair shorter than earlier, you wonder if Jimin catches onto the new appearance. But his face gives nothing away. So the spell is just as strong, even if he broke the call of the other side just before entering the passage. Interesting. 

“How did you find me out here?” Jimin asks as you turn and lead the way back to the inn, searching the shifted dirt path for a believable excuse. 

You slowly lead the way toward the inn, and Jimin quickly falls into step beside you. When you walked outside to follow your guest just moments ago, you had left doors open and lights on intentionally, and you raise a hand to point in the general direction of the building. 

“I came out of my room and your bedroom door was wide open," you say. "The front door, as well. So I grabbed a lantern and ran outside; I figured you could not have gone too far.”

“Oh,” he responds, already sounding ashamed even from one syllable. “I’m so sorry.”

With an insistent shake of your head, you say, “Not at all. I am just glad I found you.”

“What if an animal, or—“ Jimin begins, but you cut him off. 

“There is nothing on this island that we fear. Closed doors are only such to keep the cool air out where it belongs. In the temperate months, doors and windows are left wide open.”

You are the witch of the wood, after all. Nothing that lives and breathes on this isle exhibits an ounce of free will if you wish it otherwise. Which reminds you… Slowly, you will the creatures of the night to stir – a scurry here and a dance of wings there – gentle enough to keep Jimin from noticing. 

Except he does notice. You can practically feel each hair on his body stand at attention the moment a squirrel is heard clawing up a tree, and you take a step just a little too far to the right, bumping into him softly with the hope of providing a bit of a distraction. 

"S-sorry," Jimin mutters, rubbing his hands on his blue pajamas. He seems nervous. Cute. 

"Lost my balance," you respond, shaking your head with a gentle chuckle. "It is past bedtime, I am afraid."

"Sorry again for the trouble," Jimin says as you reach the inn, passing through the threshold and stopping just at the foot of the stairs. 

You turn to Jimin and give a soft, sympathetic gaze. 

"It is no trouble at all," you mutter sweetly, smile saccharine. "I'm just glad I was able to find you."

Jimin hums, nods, and says, "It won't happen again," with a light bow of his head, then makes his way up the stairs, dirt-dusted feet falling quietly on each step until he is down the hallway, past your room, and closing his door softly behind him. 

The look of wonderment on Jimin's face really is something. As you walk through the small town, past the stretch of woods in which you found him last night, he keeps turning his gaze back to the trees. Is he wondering what it is he was doing there when he woke up from sleepwalking? Is he curious what drew him to that spot? 

You watch his micro-expressions as his brows knit and he wets his lower lip with just the tip of his tongue. He had been mid-sentence before, trailing off the moment you approached the spot through which he emerged. 

Jimin's gaze drifts to you, and he seems shy suddenly, cracking a soft smile while blush rises to his cheeks. Once you pass the wooded area and come up to the opening of the field, he seems a little more present. 

"Sorry," he mutters, and you continue to study him, noticing how his shyness seems to steadily build the more you watch him. 

"Has something caught your eye?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder toward the line of trees. 

A dark mist pulsates between the slender, white and brown trunks and branches, beckoning with tendrils that billow out and evaporate – yearning for the pretty man with the soft smile. Soon, you want to tell it. Be patient. 

"Ah," Jimin mutters, scratching the back of his head with his face scrunched as if searching for a memory. "I guess I feel a little strange about sleepwalking last night. How did I end up in the woods, of all places?"

You hum in understanding and say, "The wood calls to us all, I suppose."

Without giving Jimin much time to dwell on your words, you hold out your hand and point him to where, in the center of the open field, some of the girls are setting up a maypole, and others are building a tall triangle of logs in the center of a stone circle. 

Jimin takes out his small recording device and field notebook, and you begin to describe the scene before you in a mix of English and the ancient tongue, carrying your studies through the evening and into the early night.

In the woods again. 

Jimin stares down at his hands covered in dirt and wonders how he has managed to sleepwalk two nights in a row. He stands with his shoulders slumped forward, bent slightly at the knee with an arm outstretched as if he was reaching for something before waking up. In front of him is the u-shaped opening between two thick tree trunks. Or is it the same tree? Jimin cannot quite tell – too difficult to parse in the dark – and he tucks the information away to ask Rí about later.

He would be freaked out, only the smell of the wood – rich, earthy, and damp, with the sweet, musky smell of blooming flowers – feels calming now that he is confident that he can find his way back. He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to wipe his hands on his pajama pants.

The walk back to the inn is short, and although there is no path where he is, a golden lantern glow flickering past the thin birch trunks guides him. As twigs snap underfoot, he notes that he took the time to put his sneakers on before sleepwalking, relieved to not be barefoot again.

Jimin thinks he can hear faint sounds of voices – whispering, or, perhaps, chattering. Maybe singing. The island inhabitants certainly are an interesting bunch. He supposes that being far from modern civilization and with minimal technology would make people behave a little strangely. With Rí being the exception. 

Something about you seems…different. And not just because of your appearance. There is an aura about you that feels almost otherworldly. Perhaps in the way you carry yourself. Jimin finds himself intrigued by you...he wants to know more…

"Right there," you sigh in a tongue as rich and ancient as the soil, tilting your head back to reveal more of your neck, switching to English. "Feels so good, little pet. Don't stop." 

His kisses are tentative and shaky, but he grips onto your hips with purpose, pressing his chest firmly against your back to hold you steady. Golden lantern light flickers through the curtains, one long, bright glow of a lamp that hangs just below your window, signaling that your friend is awake and that he has not entered the passage. 

The woods are calm tonight, seeing Jimin swiftly return to tilled earth without interference. It is only a matter of time before he breaks through the forest edge, and you huff impatiently. Tomorrow is your last shot; you will need to beckon him with a blood ritual. 

You reach for the ties on your chemise and begin to pull them open, but your pet takes over, raising his hands to deftly do the work while his lips and teeth drag over your neck, sending a small but steady tingle of arousal through you as the sticky-sweet huffs of breath warm your skin. With the top undone, his hands freeze in place, and you yank the fabric open, exposing your breasts as they fall past the thin white material. 

"Touch me," you sigh, needy. "Touch me the way he desires to."

On your command, his hands cup your breasts eagerly, fondling your nipples until the skin is pebbled and sensitive, making you hiss with pleasure. Your dress falls down one shoulder and he sinks his teeth gently into the skin, sending a flow of electricity through your body, exiting in the form of a moan. 

You tremble and tilt your head further to the side, giving his mouth more room to explore while his hands fall lower, attempting to gently lift the cotton layers of skirt and farthingale hoops before impatiently taking handfuls of the garments and shoving them up, over your hips.

Clear of the woods, Jimin moseys along the path, in no rush to return to his room, enjoying the crisp but warm night air. Something about tonight feels ominous, and he tips his head toward the sky, noticing a bright moon shining back. Is it full, he wonders. It must be, given the way it glows past the thin sheets of cloud, illuminating his path even more so than the lantern light that hangs from the inn. 

As he approaches the inn, Jimin glances up, noticing light coming from one of the windows on the second floor. He wonders if it is the room you stay in, and what you might be doing awake at this hour.

Gravel and dirt crunch underfoot, quiet and calming as he walks down the path. Shadows seem to dance over the window above, and Jimin finds himself gazing upward. Briefly, he thinks he sees the appearance of palms pressing into the window, halting his steps. But the glass is frosted, and he cannot clearly see through. 

Shame travels up Jimin's neck as he gets his bearings, realizing he had been trying to peer through someone's window. He shakes his head and takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air as he presses forward. 

Voices continue to chatter and sing, but Jimin does not see where they are coming from. Rather, the sounds seem to be lifting and floating with the wind, settling around him on all sides only to slip away into the night. Despite feeling fully awake mere moments ago, shivering against a chilly gust that blows his hair into his eyes, there is a heavy sense of drowsiness that begins to tug at him, pulling him forward, as if willing his feet to take each new step, craving his bed. 

The man behind you grips your hips tightly, then sinks to his knees, sliding his hands down to your ass as he lowers. He grabs firmly and spreads you, causing you to fumble forward and place both hands against the glass. Below, Jimin glances upward, attention caught by the movement. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this – breasts exposed and mouth parted with surprise. 

Perhaps it is the way eagerness and curiosity emit from Jimin, or how your own excitement from being touched has mewls and gasps falling from your lips, but the man digs his tongue eagerly into your ass, slurping and sucking over your hole, sending a steady wave pleasure and arousal coursing through you. 

"That's it, pet," you whimper, nails scraping down the glass as you get your bearings. "Don't stop."

The man attempts to bend you further, tongue trailing down to your cunt, in search of your clit, but bending more would be too precarious, especially with the layers of material gathered, making it tough to move. He shuffles back instead and takes you by the hips to spin you roughly, causing you to yelp as you attempt to get your bearings and not fall over. 

When you look down at the man – the imposter that was spawned from the flesh and blood of a mature red squirrel, crafted perfectly to look just like him – you gasp. 

His plump lips are slick, glistening, and soft, reddened by the dim lamplight, and his short, silver-blond hair is a mess as he stares up with an eagerness that has you burning with desire. Ordinarily, you keep the clone for a bit; play with them a little until you have to wash their memories of you and send them home. But staring down at an imitation of Jimin just makes you want him – the real deal. 

“Please,” you mutter, breathy and aroused. “Don’t hold back.”

The imposture rakes his blunt fingernails up your thighs, sending a shiver through you that escapes with a gasp, and he leans forward, eagerly lapping over your cunt with his tongue. It feels charged and galvanic – a hum that vibrates in your bloodstream on a low but steady frequency. 

As your head lolls back you hear a gentle footfall on the bottom step. 

Jimin finds it odd that your light is on at this hour. He hopes that somehow his absence from the inn has not awakened you again, and he does his best to tiptoe up to the landing. 

It is soft, but he hears what sounds like a moan coming from your room, and he freezes, foot suspended in air just before your doorway, which is cracked open two enticing inches. A sliver of golden light casts a streak against the otherwise dark hallway, and Jimin feels a pull to it, eager to have just a tiny peek.

A whimper of the words please don't stop has the hairs on his arms standing tall. 

Come to me, Jimin, he thinks he hears the voice say lowly, inside his head. Don't be shy.

Jimin wills his feet to move – exerts all the force he can muster into taking three more steps ahead. And then he stops in the light that shines from within, and he looks.

Surely, he must be dreaming. There is no other way to explain how he is standing in the doorway to your room, watching as a man who has his exact same hair and body type devours you. Your legs are spread, one ankle over his shoulder, toes outstretched as you hold him close, and your bare breasts heave as you pant softly and beg him not to stop. 

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to watch. As your fingernails dig into the wooden edge of whatever the look-alike has you pressed against, you unravel from his mouth. His sounds are lewd and wet, slurping and humming in a low tenor that Jimin recognizes as his own, and arousal stirs between Jimin's legs. He grants himself permission to touch, just this once, gently grasping onto his erection and squeezing it over his pants. 

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to whimper from the warmth of his palm, eyelids flitting from pleasure as he listens to the man who looks just like him eat you out. He wonders what you must taste like – wonders if you would let him crawl in there on his hands and knees and try for himself. 

The man stands, turns his head slightly to the side, and wipes his hand over his mouth, leaving a trail of slick behind. The jaw, the nose, the shape of the brow – he is a spitting image of Jimin. How Jimin is in two places at once, he does not know, but he keeps his eye on the man who undresses in a flash, displaying his own tattoos exactly where he remembers them, flexing familiar taut muscle that he has spent years building and maintaining. 

When you wrap your leg around his hip and pull him close, your eyes find Jimin, gazing over his look-alike's shoulder, and he gasps, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. You shift before his eyes, hair turning black and then orange and then blonde, and he begins to question how you are supposed to look; he cannot remember your hair, nor eyes, nor skin, but nothing he sees now feels incorrect. 

"That's it, Jimin," you moan, eyes trained on him, looking over the look-alike's shoulder, and causing his aching cock to twitch in his pants. "Don't stop."

Jimin squeezes his eyes closed tight, and when he wakes up suddenly in his bed, he gasps for air, covered in sweat. The heat from what he presumes had to be a dream covers him like a blanket, and he cannot stop himself from relieving the ache between his legs. 

Guilt and shame do nothing to stave off just how hard he cums thinking about you. 

"Just this once," he tells himself, whispered softly like a prayer. "Just this once."

Today, you have returned to the long, orange curls, with piercing green eyes. Shadow and light morph your skin tone with each passing step, as the full strength of the island's magic fills you from the crown of your head to the tips of your fingers and toes. When Whitman waxed poetic about the body electric, could this have been his meaning? Certainly not. 

Beltane begins today. 

Around the maypole, you and Jimin will dance, with a belly full of cured meats and a heady concoction of honey wine laced with blood and a generous dash of magic. But first, you must greet your sleepy guest, and you tiptoe to his bedroom door dressed only in a thin, white chemise dress with light blue embroidered hems, and rap your knuckles three times against the stained wood. 

"Just a moment," Jimin mutters from the other side, sounding sleep deprived. 

What must he have dreamt about after stumbling like a lust-sick zombie back to his bed to the sight and sound of his clone fucking you breathless? Did he come to in a cold sweat, gasping for air? Did he touch himself thinking of you?

When Jimin opens his door, he is dressed in a loose-fitting white cotton shirt hanging over matching cotton pants. Along each hem is an embroidered design of light blue rounded flourishes that match those on your dress, and on his feet are plain white shoes. You offered the clothing to him last night, to be worn for today's festivities, and you are pleased to find him outfitted in the attire. 

His silver-blond hair is somewhat disheveled, and he has a hint of bags under his pretty, deep brown eyes. As he takes in your appearance, his petal-soft lips part, and you watch as his eyes linger here and there, as if tracing the faint outline of a memory, for split, fleeting moments. 

"Good morning, sunshine," you tease, adding, "May the fires of Beltane light your path," with a gentle bow of your head. 

When you glance up once more, Jimin is still staring, curious eyes glowing with a new spark that seems entranced and somewhat foggy. Here but also not. You allow him to stare until he begins to blink and shake his head, and then he smiles softly and returns your greeting with a hint of blush darkening his cheeks. 

"Merry Beltane, Rí," he says with a slight bow to his head. "May the fires of Beltane light your path."

At the breakfast table, down in the decorated inn tavern, Jimin laments having no pockets for his recorder and field notebook. "What if there are things I want to make note of?" he pouts so cutely beside you. 

"Today is a day for celebration," you insist, dropping a generous serving of spiced honey into his tea and scraping the wooden spoon against the porcelain just enough to make Jimin stir where he sits. 

"For celebration," he responds in a tired, malleable haze.

Lust and curiosity pour from Jimin, covering him in a rich cloud. Each time you speak, his body shifts ever so slightly closer, gaze lingering on your lips and throat, flitting down to your breasts. Shameless, the way he does not seem to care that you take notice.

"My dear, did you sleep poorly last night?" you ask, trying not to tease, pretending not to notice the way his cheeks darken further and he heavy-blinks again and again.

"I had a dream I woke up in the woods again," Jimin responds, slowly reaching for his tea and raising it to his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes in the sweetened chamomile and spice. "And then…you were there."

"In the woods?" you ask, tilting your head with feigned curiosity. 

Jimin shakes his head. "In the inn. Your door was cracked open and I walked by. I saw you—"

Pulled from his trance just enough to mind his tongue, Jimin cracks a soft smile and lets out a breathy chuckle. 

"My dreams have never quite been so lucid before," he continues after a quiet moment. 

You hum in response and mutter, "Perhaps the magic of the wood is calling to you."

Jimin nods, slow and shallow movements, brows knitting a hair before he concedes to the notion. "Perhaps."

Jimin certainly is an eager man. 

Eager to drink from the wineskins and learn all the steps to the harvest dance and dangle colorful ribbons from nearby trees. Eager to join the girls around the maypole and cast his wishes and fears and desires into the tall bonfire which licks at the stars above. 

At nightfall, under the glow of the full moon, you slice open the palm of your hand with a stone dagger and allow droplets of blood to fall into his cup of magic-imbued wine. Jimin sits unaware, eyes glazed over as he watches nude bodies jump over the dying fire. You lick over your wound, tasting brassy warmth, and pass him his cup, which he grabs automatically to sip from. 

"Enjoying yourself?" you ask, leaning close. 

Jimin hums in response, downs his cup, and turns to you with wide, ever-eager eyes, hair sticking out on the sides from beneath a daisy crown. 

"What have you done to me?" he mutters after a long moment, and you giggle in reply.

"What do you mean?" you ask, watching as his eyes travel to your lips and back up.

"I feel…" he begins, eyes widening as he gazes at the celebratory scene before him, then back at you again. "I don't know. High?" 

Jimin searches your features, which shift in the flickering flame light, and he shakes his head lightly. "How do I feel so high?"

"Blood ritual," you respond with a grin, noticing as Jimin's face and scent alternate between fear, acceptance, and confusion – unsure where to land. 

"Blood ritual?" he asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy.

With a nod, you lift your hand and begin to stand from the wooden bench, beckoning Jimin to follow you with your index finger. Blood trickles down from your palm to your wrist, tickling the skin. 

"Your hand," Jimin mutters as he stands in a rush, stepping forward to inspect your wound. 

"Follow me," you sing-song, taking large strides into the wood as the dripping red begins to stain your sleeve. 

"Rí," Jimin mutters sadly, following dutifully with his eyes trained to your wrist, reaching out with limbs that are just slightly too slow to grasp. "you're hurt."

As your footfalls snap twigs and the world around you darkens under the cover of trees and long rainbow ribbons, you press yourself against a thick trunk and reach your uninjured hand out to grab onto Jimin's wrist and pull him close. 

"Rí," Jimin pouts, "I can't—"

With a whispered, "Shh," you reach up and smear your spilled blood over Jimin's lips and chin, pulling a surprised gasp from his lungs. 

"You're mine now," you say, and Jimin nods as he lunges forward, slotting a knee between your thighs as his hands lift to your chin to draw you close. 

Jimin's lips are pillow-soft and tangy-sweet with blood and wine mingling deliciously. He moans as you open your mouth for him, and he eagerly licks inside, tasting and taking like a man starved. 

Blood smears across his neck and into his hair as you pull him close, and he gasps and moans between your lips as his hands begin to untie your modest cloth dress and push it down past your arms, past your hips, to the forest floor. 

"Need you," Jimin growls as his fingertips press harshly into hips and, waist and he lifts one of your legs to rest over his hip. 

He shoves his pants down and in one swift movement, spears you on his hard cock, stretching you with a pleasure-pain that has you sobbing into the night. Jimin fucks you in a rough tangle of balanced limbs, skin slapping desperately against skin, and you clench around him, working yourself up as pleasure unfurls in rich tendrils through your bloodstream. 

Once he cums inside you, there will be no going back. He will belong to you – to the land – and the passage to the other side will open up and swallow him whole.

But his hips still before he reaches his orgasm, and he pulls out and drops to his knees, making you whimper in confusion before clawing at the tree for stability from pleasure the moment he tastes you. Your eager pet was good at mimicking just how greedy and talented Jimin's mouth is, but pales in comparison to the real thing. Jimin hums and moans as his tongue laps at your cunt, devouring you while his fingertips sink into your soft flesh. 

How can you sacrifice something so remarkable? Will the lands forgive you if you keep this one, just this once?

Pleasure builds and breaks suddenly, and you cum on Jimin's tongue, gasping and sobbing into the cool night air as the trees flutter and rejoice all around you. The air is effervescent, filled with power, engulfing and billowing around you, reaching its greedy fingers for your sacrifice as you ride your high, trembling on his soft, kiss-swollen lips.

When Jimin stands, covered in a pink smear of blood and your slick release, he yanks his borrowed white shirt over his head and throws it to the ground. You pull him into a kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth until only faint traces of your essence remain.  

"Please," you whine as you spin and grip onto the tree, rubbing your ass against his throbbing cock. "Please, Jimin."

Never have you needed to be filled with the seed of a sacrifice so badly; never has the oxygen coursing through your bloodstream shimmered opalescent for someone like it does tonight.

Jimin lines himself up with your entrance and wraps one hand around your throat, sinking himself in slowly while manicured fingernails dig into your hip. The pleasure is white-hot intense, quaking through you as you tilt your hips backward, desperate to feel full.

"So tight," he groans as he pulls out and snaps his hips forward. "Been wanting you so bad."

You moan as Jimin slowly pulls out and roughly thrusts in, asking, "Yeah?" when you find that no other words are able to form.

"Feels like I'm going fucking crazy," Jimin groans, slowly pulling back and roughly snapping forward, back and forward, back and forward. "These woods…the blood…what are you doing to me?"

Before you can respond, Jimin's grip on your throat tightens, and he fucks you at a rough, quick pace, forcing air to punch from your lungs as arousal and pleasure ebb and ebb endlessly. 

You scratch at the tree, ripping away chunks of bark while you lean your head against your wrists and try not to collapse under the treacherous, horrifying weight of euphoria as Jimin thrusts hard and deep, filling the night with the sounds of skin against skin and feral, animalistic grunts. 

The hand on your hip reaches down between your legs, and as the pads of Jimin's fingers swirl deliciously over your clit, he growls, "Cum for me" into your ear. 

Your walls pulsate and squeeze, and you follow his command, building and building your pleasure until you can no longer hold back, allowing the floodgates to burst as you cum once more. 

"Fuck, that's it," Jimin moans with a drag of his lips and teeth over your shoulder and neck. "Feels so good. So fucking good. I'm so close."

"Cum inside me," you beg, desperate, squeezing around him with every last ounce of willpower you have.

As if having a sudden moment of clarity pulling him from your spell, Jimin quietly mutters, "Wait…I can't," against your shoulder, dropping his hand from around your throat. 

"You must," you beg, petulance rising as Jimin's hips begin to slow and his whimpers die. 

"What are we…" Jimin mutters softly, "I shouldn't be doing this."

With an exasperated huff, you pull away from Jimin, letting his cock slide out, then spin, resting your back against the tree once more. Jimin's eyes are wide and afraid as he takes you in, and he begins to glance around as if searching for a way out. 

You reach the hand that remains covered in blood and drag it over one of your shoulders, scraping tiny pieces of tree bark against your skin as you tilt your head and say, "Have a taste."

Drawn by the scent of your blood, still under its spell, Jimin leans in close and drags his lips over your skin, chest lightly grazing over your hard nipples, and he hums as it fully takes over his senses once more. Jimin's fingers grip roughly at your hips, and you lift your leg, wrapping it around his hips and pulling him forward as you reach for his hard, slick cock and guide it back inside you. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close while you adjust once more to the stretch – your pussy feeling used and sore. Jimin licks over your skin and begins to move his hips, and when he straightens out and fixes you with his dark gaze, he appears equal parts entranced with bliss, and afraid. 

Jimin's eyes are somewhat absent of their full glaze when he thrusts forward, and you watch as slivers of doubt cast over his features. Although your magic is strong, the will of a man can be difficult to break, even on a holiday such as this, when the ritual is strongest. 

But as you squeeze around him and let your scent of spiced clove and musky wildflowers fill the air, Jimin's pupils blow wide, and he leans forward, dragging his lips and teeth once more over your bloodstained skin.

As he sets a steady pace and chases his high, Jimin begins to suck and nip at your skin, huffing moans and groans while holding your ass firmly in two hands. Your body is tired and sore, back scratched, and hair matted from rough tree bark, but the pleasure overpowers, building like the clouds of an impending storm, thick and foreboding. 

Cross his heart…

"Close," Jimin whimpers, and you tighten your leg around him, keeping him from pulling out as his hips thrust and quake unevenly.

"Come for me, Jimin," you command, sinking your fingernails into his shoulder while your other hand tugs at his soft, silvery hair and holds him close. 

Hope to die…

Jimin mouths at your shoulder and neck, digging nails into your hips so hard you wonder if the skin might break. And then, with a desperate, almost pained groan, Jimin's hips still and then shake, and he fills you with his release. 

Tendrils of fog wrap around each of Jimin's limbs, dancing over his throat, as the passage opens up and begins to swallow the two of you whole. Once he is on the other side, he can be prepared for sacrifice, and in the light of the morning sun, this land can drink of his blood. 

Hang his entrails…

"Good boy," you mutter softly, as Jimin's teeth clamp down weakly, and he sobs through his orgasm, pressing his body into you as it convulses and quakes. "You've done so well."

"What—" Jimin mutters into your skin, then moans deeply as his cock continues to pulse and drain. "I can't s-s-stop."

"Shhh," you whisper softly, stroking blood-slicked silver-blond hair and pulling him close. 

Jimin shivers as the smoke dissipates, skin sweat-sheened and shining in the bright moonlight, and you run your palms up and down his back. His body begins to give out, and he leans his weight into you, dropping slowly to the ground. Around you, the voices of the others – the inhabitants of this side – whisper, sing, and chant. As you assist Jimin to lay on the forest floor, exhausted from his journey to the other side, you kneel and then drape yourself over his chest, playing softly with his hair as you fall fast asleep. 

Bleed him dry…

Dawn breaks as you stand tippy-toe, dangling dripping tissue and sinew from branch to low branch like a holiday garland. 

"Pretty entrails, indeed," you beam as you take a step back, covered in dripping blood, to admire your work. 

"Merry Beltane, Rí," Jimin's rich tenor greets you, just before two strong, warm arms wrap around your bare waist and pull you into a back-hug, skin against skin.

"Merry Beltane, pretty," you respond, turning your head to the side just enough to greet him with a soft, chaste kiss. 

Upstairs, in the inn, a copy of the man sleeps soundly. Today is his last day on the island before his research is concluded, and you pull your nude, love-struck Jimin past the edge of the forest, where you will leave him with one last kiss before shifting the wood to appear normal and free of bloodied guts. 

You bow your head to the land and thank it for the bountiful summer you will undoubtedly receive, then turn your head to the rising sun, and beg it with eyes closed to allow you to be greedy and keep a pet, just this once. At least until the long days shift to long nights, and, on the precipice of Lughnasadh or Samhain, a new eager stranger comes along. 

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[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Chapter 6: Revelation

Previous Chapter: Chapter 5 - Via Domus

Summary: More secrets are revealed to you as your reunion with Eddie comes to a close, and in their wake, a covenant is made between the two of you.

Word Count: 18.2k

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, Mentions of Major Character Deaths, Discussion of the Upside Down, Supernatural Encounters, Gore, Body Horror, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Monsterfucking, Slight Pain/Discomfort/Injury due to Monsterfucking (short lived), Unprotected PinV Sex (he's undead it doesn't matter), Oral Sex (M Receiving), Bloodletting, Defiling of Religious Grounds/Paraphernalia, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Note: On March 27th 1986, Eddie Munson was left to his fate in the Upside Down and a year ago today I began this journey with Hell, the story of how he was left to his fate under Vecna's control. Now here we are, finally able to "see" what he became. The man turned monster finally revealed in his entirety. And all the...trouble that entails for him and his love, the Knight. Thank you to everyone who has read this series so far, who has listened to me rant and rave, who has stuck with me for this long. I love and cherish you. This one--hell, the whole story actually--is for you.

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 I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”  - Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

November 6, 1983 October 15, 1987

It was dark and, although it wasn’t a place you would choose to rest, there you lay.

It was a welcome rest. All rest was welcome when you hadn’t had any for an eternity.

Countless days and nights you’d spent trying so hard to save him. Save yourself. Where did it get you?

Back into the darkness once again.

Fate was cruel.

And you were lost.

“Sweetheart?”

You could hear his voice faintly, and tears involuntarily escaped the corners of your eyes; he never called you sweetheart anymore.

"Angel, come on," he cooed softly, closer now, and closer still the longer it took. "Time to make the donuts, open your eyes for me. Please."

You took a rattling breath and you trembled all the while, as the fear that your mind, or maybe even this place, might be playing tricks on you became overwhelming.

Hands grabbed for you reverently--hands, not claws--and pulled you over and up, til you were sitting, and then a solid form slid behind you. The gentle soul let you rest back against them, and then caressed you.

You whimpered as those hands and fingers paid special attention to the most wounded parts of you, as they willed some kind of healing, and made you whole again.

You felt it slowly fill you. The light. So soft and pure.

It was something that you'd long since resigned to losing someday, your light, but here it was again. Not yours but made to be yours, because he was yours. Just like you were his. The light, given freely, returned all of the pieces of you that were missing, bit by bit.

The piece that had vanished from your sternum, the gaping hole that was taken from your side, the jagged incisions at every joint. They were filled and sealed and suddenly you were like new again.

Your eyes shot open, and you released a startled gasp as your lungs were allowed a full breath for the first time in ages.

And just like an infant experiencing the overwhelming majesty of the world for the first time, you sobbed.

"Shhhh," Eddie whispered into your ear. His nose and lips gently brushed the shell of it, and he left a kiss there when you finally relaxed against him. "I've got you. It's alright, it's gonna be ok. I’m here. I've got you."

November 6, 1983

“…and there’s this ice cream cake called Viennetta.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“It is! It’s…vanilla and chocolate and the ice cream does this swirl thing.” You waved your hands for dramatic effect. “It’s delicious. Nonna got to try it before she passed. Said it was better than tiramisu.”

“Fuck, I miss ice cream.” Eddie groaned and tilted his head back.

It wasn’t said in a bitter way, more for dramatic effect.

You'd been shut away in the secret little house in the Upside Down for a few days now; making love, talking, and eating the little snacks that Wayne had brought Eddie previously. When he’d gone to bring you more sustenance from the kitchen after that first night of sex and reconnection, you’d asked him if he could eat normal food. He explained that he had never thought to try. All he craved was blood. But it was the idea of food that he missed more than anything. The variety. The choice.

You'd squirrel that thought away for later.

For now, the two of you lavished in the comfort of each other and you regaled Eddie with the less-adventurous aspects of your life--and he his--that you'd both missed out on.

Topics jumped back and forth between lazy kisses and frantic fucking, sometimes even right in between, interrupting your most intimate moments. It felt reminiscent of those early days together, where you couldn't get enough of each other and couldn't get enough of talking to one another.

Especially when it came to the things in life that passed him by while he was stuck in this infernal dimension.

People and events.

"This...nuclear reactor almost exploded."

"What the fuck? Like Ten Mile Island?"

"Worse."

"How much worse?"

"Like the Vatican almost wanted to send the Knights in to investigate."

"Damn."

Food and music.

"Van Halen is back together."

"Oh shit, they are?"

"Yeah."

"Soon as I'm out of here, I'm challenging Eddie Van Halen to a guitar duel."

"They have a new lead singer though. I think you'd hate them less now to be honest."

"Fuck David Lee Roth. Remember when I got you to admit you had a crush on him?"

"I was coerced. It was said under duress."

"If I had your phone number when I found out that they had broken up, I would have called you and laughed right in your fucking face, sweetheart."

Television and movies.

"There's a new James Bond movie coming out," you broke a heated kiss and pushed yourself to sit upright on Eddie's hips, groaning at the change in angle as you sunk further down onto his cock. He stretched his neck and then grabbed at your hands to kiss your knuckles as you took the lead in both the pace and the conversation. "And a new James Bond."

"No more...what's-his-face?" he asked, panting. "Roger Moore."

"No, Timothy Dalton," you said, looking at his face expectantly for some type of reaction. You rolled your hips into his roughly, almost as punishment, when you got no response other than pleasure. "You remember, the guy from Flash Gordon? You made me watch that movie a hundred times. Prince Barin? What about Jane Eyre?"

He stilled beneath you, brow furrowed in concentration.

"You made me watch that one a hundred times."

"No, there were just a hundred episodes. Remember I said you would make a good Rochester? And you said it was because you were..."

Eddie grabbed your hips and canted up into you, a feral grin on his lips now, fangs glinting in the low light.

"Because I'm handsome and mysterious," he recalled. "And a desirable bachelor."

"And I said no," you collapsed back against him again, lips brushing against his. "It was because your name is Edward."

You reconnected for a bruising kiss before he got the upper hand once again and got you beneath him.

It didn't matter what or when, every moment and every word was of the utmost importance; the actions that they were preceded or punctuated by simply added to the depth of your reunion.

In those private little moments, between silly banter and declarations of your devotion to one another, you promised never to be apart again.

"Once we get you out of here," you said, words hushed against his cold skin. "We can go to concerts and see movies, drive anywhere you want. Get the hell out of Hawkins and never look back."

"Once I get out of here," he parroted as he broke away from his intense feeding. "We'll go everywhere and do everything. Start a new band together or just find a place with a nice couch to sit and never leave. I never want to let you go."

"All I want," you and Eddie echoed to one another over and over, "is to be with you forever."

It took three days before the two of you emerged from the peaceful solitude of Eddie's childhood home.

The watch on your wrist beeped at some supposed midnight every night signaling the end of another day, and Wayne's visit was soon upon you. You figured, instead of just asking for Wayne to fetch your bag, you'd just return to Hawkins with him and get it yourself. Maybe some books you'd abandoned in the trunk of your car too.

Then you could really get to work remedying this whole situation, and getting Eddie home.

Eddie was loath to let you go, though; he watched as you got dressed in your ripped and stained clothes, arms crossed behind his head comfortably while enticing temptations leached from his lips.

"I can just go," he offered. "Wayne'll have fresh food for you and then you don't need to leave until three days after that. How does that sound? Stay with me just a little longer."

"Eddie," you groaned. "I've already been gone long enough. As nice as that sounds, I'm sure your friends--hell, my friend--is wondering where I've disappeared to. They've found my car by now too."

"I can send Chrissy or Fred to tell them you're ok."

"That'll go over well," you rolled your eyes.

You shrugged your jacket on and in a blink, he was standing before you, still naked, eyes wide.

"Jesus," you jumped, startled.

"Guess again," he teased tensely.

"You're...fast," you squinted your eyes at him, motioning between him and the mattress.

"I have a few tricks that I take advantage of when I'm in the mood for them. Some things Vecna showed me; y'ain't seen nothing yet sweetheart."

You hummed a noncommittal response and just stared at him, let your eyes rove over his form once again, taking in as much detail as you could before you left him.

"Pretty sure I'm seeing a lot of you, actually," you told him, voice laden with appreciation for the sight before you.

You reached out and ran a finger over one of the seams along his skin, around his wrist; so much time over the past few days had been spent reacquainting yourselves, and you wondered if you spontaneously lost your sight, would you recognize him by touch alone?

So much time had been spent with the phantom presence of him around over the years, though, that it really didn't matter either way; your soul would sing simply by having him nearby.

"Alright," you sighed lamentingly. "Put some clothes on Romeo. Time for me to go back to Verona."

Another blink and he was on you. His hands cupped your face, fingers splayed across your cheeks and jaw, edging the exposed bite wounds.

"Promise me," he muttered and leaned closer so your noses brushed and breaths mingled. "Promise me you'll be back."

"I promise," you agreed.

"Tomorrow."

"Yes."

"When the watch beeps at midnight again, I need you back here," he pleaded. He pressed the lightest kiss to your lips. "Please don't leave me here."

"I won't," you said with finality, as you looked into his eyes with the fire of promise and determination. "Nothing could keep me away."

Satisfied, he moved in a blur, and then stood before you again, fully dressed in a new pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He shrugged his jacket back on and then gestured for you to take the lead.

The walk back into the Upside Down's version of Hawkins seemed quicker this time. Probably because the two of you actually talked, a continuation of the conversations you'd started over the past few days.

Eddie was more eager to show you the sights around Hawkins again, less fond memories and more "could have beens" that turned into "will be one days."

"Some days."

It filled you with hope.

You were also much more comfortable with the creatures that roamed around. The bats overhead and a herd of demogorgons that ran alongside you at one point; they largely ignored you and so you ignored them too.

A curious little demodog approached you though; well, it approached Eddie, jumping and whining to get his attention. He let go of your hand and knelt down to give it a few pets, and then even took your hand so it could sniff and receive a pet from you on its slimy head, which it eagerly accepted. The creature was much friendlier than the demodogs you'd encountered previously, and you wondered if it was Eddie's influence that affected it, much like Dustin and his pal Dart.

You weren't nearly as hesitant as you had been with the bats; you trusted Eddie, which meant you had to trust them too. And he was just as gentle with the demodog as he had been with any of the cats or critters around Forest Hills, like Lucy and her kittens.

"Cerberus," he grinned proudly as he introduced his friend. "Not the first of his name, unfortunately, but a loyal friend nonetheless."

Once Cerberus was on his way, you both continued.

"Wish there was a faster way to get around here," you commented about halfway through the journey, feet starting to ache in your sneakers. "Do any of these cars work?"

"I, uh, never tried them," he admitted. The corner of his mouth twitched as he fought a smile. "I honestly get around quick enough."

"Uh huh," you rolled your eyes. "Mr. Speedster here. Who runs faster, you or The Flash?"

"I'm more partial to the Reverse Flash, actually," he reminded you.

"Nerd."

Before long, you arrived at the dry waste that was this world's Lover's Lake and stared at the glowing, smoking fissure that originated at the center and ran towards the center of town.

"Where'd all the water go?" you wondered aloud.

"I dunno, the lake was dry when Nancy and the Wonder Twins and I crossed over way back when," Eddie sighed. He got that sly look on his face again. "I could try to open the gate a little wider. See if I can drain the real Lover's Lake?"

"Don't you dare," you backhanded him across the arm, but he pulled you into his embrace.

"Just say the word and I'll do it."

"No!"

"I'll give you anything you want."

"Stop."

"What is it you want, Mary?" he quoted, taking on Jimmy Stewart's vocal cadence. "What do you want? How about the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down."

"I hate you."

"You love me," he grinned proudly and then kissed you again.

It felt like a kiss of finality, a goodbye kiss, like the one you shared when you left Hawkins; it was bittersweet and left a painful ache in your chest, even though you knew you'd be back in a day. Eddie must have felt the same though, because when you pulled away and looked into his eyes, you found they were wet with tears, just like they had been then too. He blinked and one lone tear--made of thick blood instead of water--rolled down his cheek. You reached up to wipe it away, and he grasped your wrist so he could kiss the droplet.

"And I love you," he whispered against the pad of your thumb. "Love you so much I'd give you the moon."

"I'll take it."

"Well look at that," a groan of a familiar voice interrupted the sweet moment, and you both turned to find Wayne pulling himself through the gate at the shore of the lake. You quickly rushed forward to help him to his feet, as he stumbled and wheezed and coughed. "Fancy seeing you here honey. Guess the cat's out of the bag."

"No thanks to you," you ribbed him good-naturedly.

"You figured it out on your own, otherwise you wouldn't be here," he teased and then looked past you to Eddie. "Good to see you kid."

"Hey Wayne," he greeted his uncle.

"Looking more like yourself," Wayne nodded appreciatively.

"Feeling more like myself."

"Hmmm," Wayne clapped a hand on your shoulder and then winked at you. "Wonder why. Makes me feel almost silly that I'd had the brilliant idea to bring some of Rick's old tapes over today."

"C'mon, you know I'll take whatever music I can get my hands on. Everything here is pretty much covered in gunk anyway."

You watched their interaction fondly as they bickered back and forth like they always had. Eddie clapped a hand on Wayne’s shoulder and made him laugh, and Wayne cupped the side of Eddie’s head affectionately, the closest they would get to a hug for now.

Eventually, Wayne hefted the backpack from his shoulder and unpacked all sorts of items for Eddie: clothes, food--more of Eddie's favorites--tapes, and a new book.

Suddenly what he said back at Rick's the other day made a lot more sense.

"Shit, what's a guitar gonna do, or snacks, or...or a t-shirt? When he's stuck in Hell?"

He hadn't been talking about what he'd done when Eddie was wanted for murder and was then believed to be dead; he was talking about this right here. A futile effort to bring Eddie comfort while he was stuck in the Upside Down.

That sinking feeling that you had felt when he'd said that to you was back, worse now knowing that it wasn't just grief he'd experienced, but the constant reminder of his failure to run with Eddie while he could.

You found yourself even more determined to fix this; not just for Eddie, or for you. But for Wayne too.

October 16, 1987

It had taken a little time.

A little elbow grease, a little prayer, a lot of Wayne's mechanical knowledge and jumper cables, but before long you were back in the driver's seat of the Marquis, headed for the Harringtons.

Driving through town had a different weight to it now. There was no insidious evil lurking beyond sight and understanding, it was just Eddie.

Yes, there were still many obstacles to face before things were made right again. But it wouldn't be such an impossible, herculean task anymore to fix things, would it?

But people still died. There were still dark creatures roaming about. Eddie was stuck in the Upside Down and had still resurrected any number of people, which was a big deal in and of itself.

And you were still burdened by your family's curse.

"Right," you muttered to yourself. "All of that. Fuck."

What you wouldn't give to return to the bliss of Eddie's arms right now instead of face that ever-growing list.

"One thing at a time." You nodded and tried to keep your eyes on the prize. "First let everyone know you're alive, then figure out how to get Eddie out of there. The rest will follow."

If only things could be that easy.

You almost--and quite literally--ran into Steve's maroon BMW at some point on your drive. Tires screeched, curses shouted, and then you followed the gang back home. Dustin and Robin bickered in the back seat of Steve's car and you watched their animated expressions, arms flailing as they did. It warmed your heart, made you realize how much you had come to care for them and miss them, even in a few short days.

You beamed brightly as one specific scathing remark from Dustin made Steve turn around in the driver's seat to give a warning glare.

By the time you parked behind Steve at the Harrington's, Dustin had bolted out of the car to greet you and, in a full 180 from his behavior in the car, essentially tackled you in a hug.

"You made it back," he sounded relieved, "We were getting worried."

"First off," you scoffed and flicked the bill of his hat. "I wouldn't expect any less, you little worry wort, especially after three whole days. And second, mister, you have some explaining to do."

“Three day—wait,” he stumbled over his words. “Me? I have some explaining to do? Why? What’d I do?”

He twitched and shifted nervously, then his eyes roamed over you, really taking in the beaten, bruised, and bitten nature of your appearance. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something when a car door slammed heavily and another voice chimed into the conversation.

“Actually, I think it’s you that owes us an explanation,” Nancy announced, arms quick to cross over her chest. You could feel the ire come off her in waves. “Did you think Claudia was gonna keep Billy a secret from everyone else just because you decided to stay with Wayne Munson instead of here?”

Maybe it was the reunion with Eddie that made you more patient. Forgiving. You already gave Nancy the grace that she, understandably, didn't seem to have for anyone else outside of her inner circle, and you thought, once again, about how much the two of you were more alike than different.

Maybe in a different world, you might have been friends.

Instead here, she very much felt the need to be your enemy.

Because the entire world was her enemy thanks to the shitty hand it dealt her.

You could be whatever she needed you to be until she saw that you were not against her, the way she believed you were.

"It's good to see you too Nancy," you deadpanned. "I didn't think it was going to hide the truth from everyone if I left."

"So you just wanted to leave the others to the consequences of your decisions rather than face them yourself," she accused.

"No I thought it would be easier if you all didn't see my face every day, especially with how royally I was fucking everything up," you told her. "See? I can admit when I fuck things up. This isn't the first time. It happens a lot actually."

Her face crumpled in a scowl.

"I know it isn't a surprise," you continued. "Because you seem to think I'm the one who continues to bring misfortune to Hawkins but we both know that it's been here regardless of my presence or not. Just like Kas would still be around whether or not I was. Isn't that right?

"Or should I say Eddie would still be around?"

Steve, Robin, and Dustin stared at you with wide eyes, but Nancy smirked and threw her hands out with a sarcastic laugh.

"Thank God, now we don't have to keep that secret anymore."

"I don't know why you thought it would be ok to keep it a secret in the first place," you shook your head. "As if I wasn't going to find out at some point."

"It was me," Dustin insisted, stepping between you and Nancy with his hands out to placate you both, as though you were about to lunge for her or something. Or maybe Nancy was going to lunge for you.

Whatever foresight he had, it was unnecessary.

As was the ashamed look on his face.

"I didn't want you to know what he's become," he explained. His voice was low and he refused to meet your gaze. "I didn't want you to know--"

"He didn't want you to know Eddie's an evil monster," Nancy chimed in. Steve and Robin both shouted her name in shock. "Am I wrong? Look at everything he's done? Done to Hawkins? Done to us."

"He helped us!" Dustin argued. "Helped us defeat Vecna."

"And look how many people died Dustin! How many people he killed?He's a monster! Don't tell me you'd rather have him back. Don't tell me you never thought that he should have just stayed dead in the Upside Down, instead coming back to kill everyone we love."

"Hey!" You shouted at her now. You stomped your foot, hard, against the concrete driveway and drove enough of your power into the ground to cause it to shake. The reverberations threw Nancy off-balance for a moment, and she fell against the car for support. "That's enough! Don't be an asshole!"

"Yeah," Dustin nodded his agreement with a glance back at you, before he turned back to Nancy to restart his own onslaught.

"You either," you pushed his shoulder to get him to stop. "Fuck, we're not gonna fix this if we're too busy arguing with one another."

"Fix this?" Nancy scoffed. "You think you can fix this? Fix Hawkins? What's next? Can you time travel? Go back to 1955? Kill Henry before he can become Vecna? What else? Can you bring back the dead?"

"I can, actually," you said, a shocked silence falling over the driveway. "Maybe not in the way you think. Maybe not everyone. But Eddie brought the dead back, didn't he? Brought Max back. Eleven did too. So is it really a stretch to believe I might be able to.

"I can't bring back all of your loved ones, but maybe I can help fix this. Put this town right. Close those gates for good. Help you get closure. Move on with your lives, instead of being under this constant...shitstorm of death and destruction."

Nancy recovered from her shock and took a few calming breaths.

"And what does that all entail?" she asked. "You gonna bring Eddie back to this world too? Fix him? Does he get a clean slate? A fresh start? In spite of everything?"

"Not in spite of it," you told her. "Because of it. Everyone gets a fresh start. A second chance."

"Forgive me if I find that a little too good to be true."

She turned on her heel and stormed into the house with Robin hot on her heels.

You let out a relieved breath and relaxed your posture.

"I'm running out of these motivational speeches," you said aloud.

"You're really good at them," Steve offered as he joined you and Dustin. "Better than I am."

"I usually just tell people to run and they listen."

"You're really good at that too," Dustin added. You put your hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"You could have just told me about Eddie," you said to him gently. "Honestly, I think it probably would have worked out a lot better if you did."

"I didn't...I didn't want to hurt you," he sighed.

"First of all," you let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Clearly I needed help figuring it out. And second, I hurt myself more by trying to fight an invisible enemy than if I just knew he was Kas. I could have started fixing it from the get."

"Can you fix him?" he asked hopefully. "Get him out of the Upside Down?"

"I can try." You jumped at the sound of Eddie's watch beeping on your wrist. You looked down at it and frowned; the display read midnight...but it was the middle of the afternoon. Weird. You pressed the button to silence the alarm. "I just need to get back."

"You, uh," Steve pointed at his neck. "You've gotta fix yourself first. Need a little first aid there bud?" You had half a mind to flip him off.

"Yeah, Jesus," Dustin reached up and pulled at the collar of your jacket to reveal your bite wounds; he blanched at the sight of them. "Did...did Eddie do that?"

"Uh," you nudged his hand away. "No comment. But yes, uh, maybe some first aid. And some dinner. Then I can head back to Wayne's for a good night's sleep. But uh...a good shower and some disinfectant cream would be great."

The three of you headed inside.

"We just set up a makeshift infirmary yesterday, actually. Pretty well-stocked and everything," Dustin announced matter-of-factly.

"Oh yeah? What for?" Both boys stopped in their tracks and you felt the guilt oozing from them. You shot them with what you were sure was a withering stare. "What's the infirmary for, guys?"

"What do you mean you got struck by lightning?"

"I got struck by lightning," Mary Victoria shrugged from her place in bed.

She was propped by many pillows, had a stack of comic books beside her--courtesy of Dustin--and was scribbling in a fuzzy purple diary when you walked into the room the two of you had been staying in. She looked relieved to see you for a literal second until she saw the worried look on your face, and then immediately devolved into making excuses and saying she looked worse than she felt.

But truly, she did look terrible.

Her neck and the visible part of her right arm were bandaged up, eyes concerningly bloodshot, and the ends of her hair singed.

You offered to heal her one moment--and she denied you, claiming she'd have a cool scar to show off and guilt people with--and then demanded the story the next.

The story, unfortunately, seemed unbelievable.

"I pissed God off, and he smited me," was her explanation. Simple as that.

Great.

"That's not a thing," you scoffed.

"Are you sure about that?" Mare narrowed her eyes at you in suspicion.

"Alright, it sort of is, but," you sighed. "It's not God. It's usually some...I don't know...other being of higher power. Angels...Jesus Mare, you're a nun. Sodom and Gomorrah. You should know this."

"I never claimed to be a good nun," she shrugged then winced. "You know this."

You reached across to take her hand and you willed a sense of soothing from your body into hers; not enough to heal her wounds, but to give her some relief.

"So...an angel smited me then," she shrugged again, easily this time.

You snorted for a second thinking of Gabriel, bored of watching your eternal struggle and smiting Mary Victoria for fun just to spice things up a little bit. He didn't have that much of a sense of humor though.

“I’m gonna bank on it being coincidental; what did you even do to incur some holy wrath?”

“Called Him an asshole.”

“You’re fine. I do that all the time.”

“You’re also doomed to Hell. So I don’t think smiting is gonna do much to change you.”

She closed her eyes and leant back against the pillows.

"There's something else," she announced.

"Ok..."

“I know I’m already here and it’s already too late, but what if I don’t want to be a Knight?”

“Then you don’t have to be,” you told her immediately with a gentle smile.

She popped one eye open and then frowned.

“Seriously?” She asked incredulously. “Just like that?”

“I mean, you didn't take an oath or anything, and yeah you're here. It's not like I can send you home so we need to see this through but," you tilted your head back and forth. "You're allowed to choose. Everyone is allowed to choose what it is they want. All of the Knights made a choice, even me."

"But I think this is why I got struck by lightning. Because I changed my mind. I chose to come with you, I left everything behind, and I still chose to change my mind."

You opened your mouth to speak, to refute her belief and spout something that she'd already heard from you a hundred times--how fate was stupid and God didn't have some master plan--when Eddie's watch beeped and interrupted that train of thought.

You glanced down at it and pressed the button to silence it.

Midnight again.

There was a split second where you thought it was funny; either time was moving slower, or the watch was moving faster. But that led you to another thought, more relevant to the conversation at hand.

You sighed and let it roll around in your head for a moment, let it marinate, before you spewed some bullshit on your friend.

"I'm gonna say something a little hypocritical," you offered. "And you can take it any way you want. What if...what if the lightning wasn't a punishment. It seems like a punishment, that's how you're choosing to believe it. But what if it was a sign that you're making the right choice by deciding you don't want this life."

"That's kind of a funny way for the universe to tell me I'm doing the right thing."

You looked back down at the watch.

"I guess it's all just a matter of perspective."

You left Mare to her thoughts as you went to shower, tend to your wounds, and change your clothes. You took your time with it too, hot water be damned; you deserved the time to yourself, to take care of yourself.

The sustained damage and grime of several days in the Upside Down made the shirt and jeans unsalvageable; however, the sentimental side of you couldn't bear to part with your jacket. You hand washed it in the sink, wrung out as much of the dirt and sweat and blood and muck as you could, and laid it over a chair in the dining room to dry as you shared a hearty meal with Dustin and Steve.

They waited to eat with you, instead of the other inhabitants of the house, who--as Nancy had revealed--all knew of the situation with Billy and were less than pleased with your involvement or your return.

So the boys spared you another bombardment of questions and accusations, and chose to eat with you instead.

It was...normal.

Or as close to normal as you were gonna get.

And it was nice.

"You need a break," Dustin said as he scooped now-cold mashed potatoes into his mouth. "We all do, honestly."

"Mmm, I don't think my boss is gonna let me have that," you snorted a laugh. "But it's a nice thought."

Conversation flowed easily, and of course strayed to Billy, who you learned was doing alright, but was still tied up in the garage for the time being.

"News travels fast through the Hawkins grapevine," Steve said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "But, uh, now Max knows he's here."

"And she wants to come and talk to him," Dustin added.

"So, you should let her," you suggested.

"I thought we already established that wasn't going to happen," Steve argued.

"Hey," you held your hands up defensively. "You brought it up. All I know is, something is going on with Billy...some side effect of his resurrection. Maybe even his death. Maybe seeing Max...talking to her will help him work through it."

"I brought it up so you could ask Eddie to undo whatever the fuck it was he did to bring Billy back in the first place."

"Uh huh." You pursed your lips and dragged your fork lazily across your plate. "I'll add it to my to-do list."

"I'm surprised that you hadn't asked him about Billy already."

"You know, my boyfriend who I haven't seen in 3 years, who I thought was dead for the last year and a half...asking him about Billy Hargrove wasn't a top priority."

Steve groaned and made a gagging noise. Dustin turned in his chair and wrapped his arms around himself as he made kissy noises to mock you and Eddie making out.

You laughed and thought of the many times Gareth or Mickey would do the same things--any of the guys really--when you tagged along with Eddie during their hangouts or band practices.

You missed the feeling of belonging, of having these pseudo younger brothers. And you knew Eddie must be missing them as well, Dustin especially.

You had half a mind to ask them where the Corroded Coffin boys had disappeared to, if they knew Mickey or Jack's families, if they were still in town--

Beep beep. Beep beep.

"What's that?" Dustin asked as you groaned and hit the button to silence the alarm. "S'that Eddie's watch?"

Midnight again.

"Yeah he gave it to me to...I dunno, prove this point that he only sent the creatures to feed every third day," you shook your head and then did some mental math. "So I guess they should have hunted yesterday. Right? Sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth. But the watch keeps saying it's midnight. I don't know. I think coming through the gate fucked it up and now it runs fast. It's the nineteenth and the watch says it's the twenty-first."

"Today's not the nineteenth," Dustin frowned. "It's the sixteenth."

"No it isn't. It's the nineteenth, I was in the Upside Down for three days. Maybe four?"

"That's why you said three days earlier?"

"Why else would I say three days if I wasn't gone for three days?"

"You were gone for a day," Steve explained. "Barely a day. You left last night before it started raining."

"No I didn't, I--" Your words fell short when Dustin shoved his own wrist in your face, and you looked at the flashing digitized date and time.

"You know," he swallowed thickly. "Way back when, we figured out that time is stuck in the Upside Down. Like, it's perpetually stuck on the day Will first disappeared. November 6th, 1983. And for a little while, before Vecna came back, we thought that we could...restart the timeline or something. Save all of our friends who died. If only we could...I dunno, access the past."

"I've seen a lot of shit," you muttered. "But time travel definitely isn't one of them."

"Obviously, it didn't work," Steve deadpanned.

"No shit!"

"But maybe," Dustin continued over your and Steve's quick bickering. "Maybe it didn't work because time isn't really stuck in the Upside Down. Vecna manipulated the Upside Down. Will did too--"

"And Eddie," you cut in. "He...he created a house from his memories. From when his mom was still alive."

"So the Hawkins in the Upside Down is stuck in the past, but time is actually moving faster."

You could feel the electric buzz as the three of you considered the implications of it all.

Time moved faster, which meant Eddie might not have just been stuck in the Upside Down for a year and a half...but years. Your heart ached at the thought of him there, alone except for the creatures and Vecna. Years. Maybe decades.

And you...you'd only been there a few days, sure. It felt real. The hours, the days...they had felt real. You slept, you got hungry, you ate. But in this world it was only one.

You looked at Eddie's watch again, and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

The watch had beeped three times. Signaled midnight three times.

"Fuck!" You bolted to your feet and grabbed the still-damp jacket from the chair beside you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"What? What's going on?" Steve shouted.

"I need to go," was your only explanation. You briefly considered grabbing extra supplies--food and first aid--you thought of the books in your trunk, and your bag full of clothes. But it didn't matter in the end. You threw the jacket on and ran for the door. "I need to go. Don't wait up...I'll be fine just...fuck, I need to go!"

You were not precious about getting in the car or backing out of the driveway, and you might have even clipped the Harrington's mailbox as you threw the car into drive to race to the nearest gate.

It didn't matter, nothing mattered except for getting back to the Upside Down.

Because you had told Eddie you'd be back tomorrow. You'd promised him.

But to Eddie, you'd already broken your promise.

To him, it had already been three more days without you.

November 6, 1983

Crossing from the Upside Down into the real Hawkins with Wayne had been difficult.

He'd warned you about what to expect before he led you through the gate back home, and he was right, it had been strange. It felt like a weight was slowly lifted off your shoulders, but something invisible pinched at the backs of your arms and legs all the while, trying and failing to get you to stay.

It was worse crossing back through, though.

That heaviness settled back onto you, heavier than the load you already carried, with your bag laden with books and weapons that you'd taken from the car; the weight of an entire dimension and all of the beings that resided within ripped through the membranous barrier and settled onto you and into you as you forced yourself through to the other side.

No wonder Wayne had struggled to stand when he had crossed through earlier in the day.

The toll you needed to pay to enter this world was almost too much to bear.

Still, you made it through, wearily.

Your body ached, your half-healed wounds throbbed, and something deep down inside of you felt almost...abyss-like. Suddenly a little emptier than it had been just minutes before.

But you made it.

Thanks to a bit of foresight, you crossed through the gate at the Creel House, figuring it would be your best bet to find Eddie right away.

The towering pillars--now empty of their inhabitants--the mangled silhouette of the house behind it, and the swarm of bats that circled overhead made you a little nervous, though.

Not from fear, necessarily, but worry and doubt.

Maybe Eddie thought you'd cross back at Lover's Lake and was there instead; there was no reason for him to expect that you'd cross through here, especially since you had departed with Wayne. That would be a trek to walk all the way to Lover's Lake, and you knew you wouldn't be lucky enough to find a bicycle or something. And you might have been on this side of the time warp, but that didn't mean time was on your side.

The bats, surprisingly, gave you hope.

If they were here...did that mean that Eddie was nearby? You had seen how fond he was of them, and vice versa. Maybe he was just inside? Or, if anything, were they flying overhead looking for you?

There was only one way to find out, and you were motivated by a singular focus.

A singular thought that was riddled with guilt.

It. Had. Been. Days.

You dropped your backpack and shook off the heavy, weary weakness that the Upside Down had imparted upon you and began the trek into the house to see if you could find Eddie.

You retraced the steps that you'd taken during your initial descent through the Creel house the other day, trying to ignore the frightening flashes of movement that occurred in your peripheral vision.

You knew they wouldn't hurt you, so you couldn't get distracted; you were on a mission.

Distraction, however, was inevitable; you found that, although the path you had taken still remained, the vastness of the maze of rooms had only grown. Grown in size and in scale. In how convoluted the entire house seemed to be, like something out of a horror movie.

Or maybe something out of the Munsters, really, because as unsettling as it all was, there was an air of...humor to it all.

And that brand of humor screamed of Eddie Munson.

Sure there was a living room and dining room--several of them now, actually--and each one was more elongated and warped than the last, like reflections in a house of mirrors. Funhouse mirrors. You passed a bedroom where the bed floated from the floor and then settled on the ceiling. And beside it was a room with a closed door that seemed to expand and contract as though it was a living, breathing creature.

Had he done all of this to the Creel house in boredom? Morphed it into something comical and new as he waited for your return.

What was not comical, though, were the sounds. An unsettling ambience of hissing and grumbling and groaning that only got louder and clearer as you ascended levels and hopped across the cavernous breaks in the stairs.

It was promising at first, then concerning, as the sounds morphed and seemed to sound like words.

They weren't any words you could understand or fathom; you were pretty well-versed with languages--if not through speech, through recognition, at the very least--and this didn't sound human. They were words in some infernal devilish language made to accommodate many teeth and tongues and mouths that stretched wider than a human's could.

Some language that originated here in the Upside Down. Made of chittering and clicking and screeching.

You finally reached the landing at the bottom of the steps that led to the attic, and you tip-toed over the vine-laden floor, only to halt in your tracks by a sudden cacophony of roar and screams.

A shadow suddenly flooded the wall that followed up the steps, and you watched as the contrasting darkness and light fluttered like a wing, then stretched into a clawed hand whose nail scratched along the length of the banister. You could see the sharpness of that claw with such clarity that you were almost shocked that the wallpaper didn't split as it moved.

Finally, the shadow turned into the silhouette of an elongated figure.

"Do you see what happens," came a muffled voice above. "Do you see what happens when you fail me?"

You frowned; the voice sounded familiar.

Eddie?

"How have we failed?" Another voice this time, easier to identify: Patrick.

"She's out there, and you've yet to find her."

Guilt crept in again; were they talking about you?

You could have gone up there, could have made your presence known but you were curious--

Alright, you were nosy.

--but in your curiosity, you were frozen in place.

"She isn't out there." There was a broken, slurred quality to this speech, but you could still tell it belonged to Fred. “You’d know. We would all know.”

"She's lost."

"She left you," Chrissy hissed, her voice having the most clarity of all three brides. "You're just in denial Eddie."

There was that roar again, and you startled at the sound, but Chrissy's simpering whimper cut through the roar, and it stopped abruptly.

"Don't fear me," Eddie sighed. "Everybody else fears me...please I need the three of you on my side."

"We are on your side," Chrissy continued with bittersweetness. "The only ones. You made us, you healed us. We'll always be on your side. But your little knight...left you here. Again."

"She's lost," Eddie repeated insistently.

"She left you all alone to bask in your loneliness. Tricked you into thinking you were alone without her, when you have us Eddie. Left you here with nothing but the smell of her on your skin. You stink of her."

"Then it should be easier for you to find her," Eddie shouted, rage returning.

The shadow moved from the wall and the infernal speech began anew, with the screams and screeches quick to follow.

Until, Eddie's voice boomed with finality.

"You will go out there and find her! And you won't rest until she's back here. Nothing is as important as bringing her back to me."

"Nothing," Patrick groaned. "Do we mean nothing to you?"

"Are you really such a heartless creature?" Chrissy questioned.

"Yes," Eddie hissed.

The ceiling shook above you as a booted foot stomped overhead.

"I have no heart. Without her."

Stomp.

"I feel no love without her."

Stomp.

"I feel no joy." Stomp. "No sorrow." Stomp. "I am hollow. And I will live here--be stuck here--forever."

The roar emanated again, loud enough where you had to cover your ears. When it was over, there was a flurry of wings as, you could only assume, the brides took flight through the cavernous hole in the attic.

You broke from your reverie, and took a step forward; your sneaker-covered foot caused the floor to creak.

You winced and froze again as the shuffling overhead stopped.

The infernal speech sounded once. Then again. Then the stomping crossed the attic towards the stairs and you swallowed your hesitation to speak.

"Eddie?" you called out. "That you? Are you up there?"

"Sweetheart?" he responded, relief obvious in his muffled voice. "You're back."

You took another step upwards.

"I am. I'm sorry, I didn't realize--"

"Stop!" He shouted. "What are you doing? Stay there."

"Why?"

"Don't. Move." He groaned.

The sounds that followed were sickening.

Crunching and stretching and clicking; you could hear him groan for a moment before an agony-filled cry echoed through the stairwell and caused goosebumps to erupt along your skin.

Whatever hesitation you had was gone; it vanished as soon as you believed Eddie to be in pain. In danger.

You took the steps two at a time until you found yourself just feet away from Eddie's heaving, hunched form, teetering near the cracked precipice in the floor that split the attic in two. You crossed the distance and knelt beside him; your hand found his shaking shoulder and you pulled him into you, away from the dangerous edge.

"What happened?" you questioned frantically. "What was all that; what's wrong?"

"How much did you hear?" he ignored you to ask instead, voice weak and dry.

"Does it matter? What is this? What happened?"

"Nothing happened," he breathed out. "The others...I'd sent them out to find you, I thought--"

"I'm here." You interrupted him. You snaked your hand around to cup his cheek and lifted his head so he could look at you. His eyes were blood-red and shined with a wet glassiness. "There's just...there was a misunderstanding, but I'm here now."

"Don't go," he muttered desperately, turning his face into your touch.

"I won't."

"You were gone for so long. You promised. Don't leave me again."

"Eddie I promise--and this time I swear I will keep it--I'll never leave you again."

November 6, 1983

You woke the next morning--or at least, you thought it was morning; it was never actually daytime in the Upside Down, it seemed--alone.

Eddie had broken the news that the two of you needed to stay at the Creel House for the night, and despite your hesitations, you were also tired enough that you couldn't object. Any bed seemed appealing enough, after several days of little to no sleep. Even if it wasn't that makeshift bed in his childhood home, that cozy safe haven he'd made, it was alright as long as he was there.

But you'd spent the evening talking, discussing the time warp between the Upside Down and the real Hawkins.

Eddie had a hard time understanding at first, and he confessed that his feelings were affected by the belief that you'd either gotten lost or hurt or abandoned him again. But after a stretch of pensive silence where he squeezed you tightly and ran his nose along your hairline, he admitted that it made sense.

"I used to think time didn't exist here," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "First it was...the endless suffering and torture Vecna put me through to make me into this. And then it was endless waiting. It felt like an eternity."

Your throat tightened at the thought that it felt like an eternity because it probably was.

"I guess that just means," you spoke in a hushed and hopeful tone. "That just means we have more time to figure out how to get you out of here. More time together before I need to go back."

And that sent him into a panic, because you'd just promised him that you'd stay.

His hands clutched you tighter, tips of his clawed fingers biting through your clothes and the slightest bit into your skin. He pressed his body further into yours, as if you meld the two of you together.

It took a lot of soothing, a lot of explaining, to remind him once again that you had very human needs. Like food, and sleep, and hygiene.

"There's not exactly running water here Eddie," you joked and he huffed stubbornly. You let your eyes roam about his skin, somehow not covered in grime like the rest of the dimension. "I don't know how you keep so clean."

"I could show you," he teased seductively, lips brushing against yours.

It was obvious he was trying to change the subject, trying to make you forget the idea of leaving him. And you let him, let him kiss away his worries and yours.

Lying awake now, though, you considered what the consequences would be if you simply stayed.

You observed your body, really honed in on your sense of self. That heaviness that had settled on you upon entering the Upside Down hadn't faded yet; in fact, you'd felt it when you'd woken up the first time, but had simply attributed it to the Brides' attack on you.

Would you get used to it over time? Had Eddie gotten used to it? He seemed comfortable in his skin, in this realm; there was no heaviness about him. Had whatever...transformation he'd undergone at the hands of Vecna contributed?

There was just something about him though that seemed extreme; he'd always had very volatile emotions--normal for a young adult, just like you--now it seemed he teetered back and forth even more than you were used to. Happy and affectionate one moment, distant and miserable the next, and sometimes...there was nothing at all.

What had he said to the brides? He was hollow?

You certainly felt a little bit of that hollowness, but then again...you had for quite some time now. Since you had left him in '85. And it hadn't gone away until the moment you were reunited.

Maybe it was just the connection you had, your reliance on each other and your love for one another, that made it feel this way.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and you startled, then quickly relaxed as Eddie crept inside; the hollowness in your chest suddenly seemed a little lessened thanks to his presence.

Yes. That's what it was; what it had to be.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty," he whispered as he shut the door behind him.

"Gross," you whined with a giggle. "When did you become such a romantic?"

"Excuse me, I've always been romantic," he said, hand flying over his heart with mock insult. "You, my love, have never even gotten me a Valentine's Day gift."

"We've never spent a Valentine's Day together dingus." You stuck your tongue out at him.

He hemmed and hawed for a minute and then his figure blurred across the room as he closed the distance and jumped onto the bed, smothering you in kisses and raspberries and little affectionate nips. You squealed and tried to bat him away, with no real force or effort, until he cupped your face and gifted you with the sweetest kiss filled with as much loving reverence as he could.

Your heart soared and that hollowness faded more and more with every second. Faded, but didn't disappear altogether.

And you realized it wouldn't be gone until you made this all better; until you could really be together.

In the real world and not this...purgatory.

"Speaking of conformist, capitalist holidays only meant to sell cards and candy--" Eddie broke the kiss and you flicked his ear.

"I have to have a lecture now? Instead of more kisses?" you scoffed.

"Yes, because you said it's October. And we might not have had a Valentine's Day together, but we've definitely celebrated Sweetest Day together."

"Is that even a thing?" you narrowed your eyes at him. "Sounds like something you made up."

"No," he shook his head back and forth. "I promise. We have had a Sweetest Day together. Remember I told you about the Sadie Hawkins dance at the middle school once upon a time? It was on Sweetest Day."

"Uh," you tried to recall him saying something about it at any point in your relationship. "No."

"I tried to butter up Principal Coleman to get Corroded Coffin to play at the dance?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"And he said no."

"That sounds familiar."

"But then we spent the day together anyway and I got you McDonalds breakfast? Angel, come on."

"You got me McDonalds breakfast a lot of times," you giggled. "Get to the point!"

"I'm trying to ask my girlfriend out on a date," he rolled his eyes at you. "But she is the least romantic person on the face of the earth, if not in all of time itself."

You ignored his dramatic insults and instead fawned over the sweet gesture with some confusion.

"A date? Eddie...what date? We're in the Upside Down. We gonna go out to the quarry and makeout? I'm sure there are cars parked up there, even frozen in time like this, if we wanted to fuck in the backseat."

He froze for a second and looked a little embarrassed, and if not for the low light of the room and the deathly pallor of his skin, you were sure he'd be turning red.

"I, uh," he coughed and tried to recollect himself. "No, not the quarry. Something better. Something perfect just for you, specifically."

"Do I need to wear a dress?"

"Do you have a dress?"

"No."

"Good, neither do I," he laughed. "And I don't have a tux either. So jeans and t-shirts it is."

"Uh, Eddie..."

"Hey listen..."

"...when you said romantic date..."

"...hear me out..."

"A church wasn't the first thing that came to mind," you finished and stared up at the steepled structure before you.

You pointedly avoided anything religious when you lived in Hawkins; Eddie had asked you about it when he'd first seen your cross necklace. You had told him you wouldn't be caught dead in a church, and at that time, it had been true. Because of that, the two of you had mocked Hawkins Presbyterian Church with its pristine white exterior, and its attendees with their John Winthrop-inspired holier-than-thou exceptionalism.

This church, though, was certainly not like that. And although your faith was still shaky at best, begrudging at worst, you felt more at ease here.

Maybe it was the fact that you were in the Upside Down, and maybe because it was clearly a Catholic Church and the stained glass window felt familiar. But aside from the window that reflected all manner of colors at the distant lightning, it was unassuming. Quiet and square and austere, with dull brown bricks that made up the small chapel's exterior, and a steepled bell tower that didn't even look like it had a bell.

Much like you did with Nancy, you felt some kind of kinship to this forgotten little building.

Still, it wasn't your ideal location for a date.

"I knew about this place before I even met you," Eddie explained. "Out past the plant, been abandoned for years. Mickey and Jack and I used to come and throw rocks at the windows. Even broke in once to see if there was anything cool inside."

"Seriously?" you laughed at him. "Yeah, no wonder people thought you worshiped Satan."

"No one ever knew," he held his hands out innocently. "Not even Wayne. And we didn't even steal anything. But uh, I dunno...after you left...I even thought about coming here to pray once. Not even to pray for you to come back. Thought about your grandma all of a sudden one day; drove out here. Couldn't find it in me to get out of the van."

"Maybe that was around the time she actually got sick," you wondered aloud.

"Like I had some psychic powers or something, even before all of this?" he gestured to himself with a laugh. "Hey, stranger things have happened."

He cleared his throat and led you inside.

Although didn't look much better inside--peeling plaster, overturned pews, and the chains to hang a cross over the altar but no cross itself--the interior at least didn't seem to be touched by the vines and tentacles and muck that covered the rest of the Upside Down.

"Maybe God does exist after all," Eddie laughed as he walked backwards down the aisle, responding to your observation almost like he read your mind. "Or maybe Vecna was just afraid of churches or something; places of worship like this...are generally left alone."

"I'm sure religious trauma isn't that far of a stretch to assume with Vecna," you agreed. "My power is a little strained in the Upside Down though; makes me think if...I dunno...there even are any higher powers here."

"I'm sure there's gotta be something out there. Like the Force in Star Wars."

You snorted and shook your head as you followed him.

Contrary to your previous statement about your abilities, you didn't hesitate to ignite the remnants of candles in the votive racks beside the altar. You conjured the warm, ever-present burn of the core of the earth and the wicks lit aflame, bathing the chapel in a warm, illuminating glow.

It was with this new light that you noticed the blanket and pillows that had been set up in front of the altar table, along with a pile of snacks and a puzzle.

A perfect little date, just like you used to have camped out in the living room of the trailer.

You felt your own loving glow emanate from within, as you were filled with adoration for Eddie. That he would try to bring you some normalcy, even if your lives were anything but normal.

"I found a World's Best Boyfriend mug when I was exploring once," he said matter-of-factly after you voiced your gratitude for the setup. "There's not much to do here when we aren't actively feeding or fighting. But, uh, you can give it to me as a gift if you want; I'll even act surprised."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind," you promised him, and then settled on the blanket.

Eddie started organizing the pieces of the puzzle as you dug through the snacks--more of Eddie's favorites, courtesy of Wayne: slice soda, Hostess pudding pies, cool ranch Doritos and...

"Wha--" you hesitated at the items hidden at the bottom of the pile. "Ok, I know we're in a church but all joke's aside, seriously?"

You picked up the bottle of sacramental wine and package of communion wafers.

"I found them while I was setting up," he shrugged and laughed. "Saw the crosses on the packages, thought it would be a good pun. I'll even try them if you want, food aversion be damned."

"I doubt they're any good."

You were about to set them aside so you could open a can of soda, but then a wicked little thought wormed its way into your head. You bit your lip to keep yourself from giggling, but Eddie was quick to notice.

"What? What's that look?"

"Nothing," you tilted your head to the side and contemplated telling him. "It's nothing just...I don't know if I ever told you...probably not but...I've never had communion before."

You explained the principle to him, the way you were denied your own First Communion in favor of the revelation of your family's curse, how you still would take your Nonna up whenever you'd go to mass with her...but were never even offered the absolution for yourself. Even by the priests who didn't know who and what you were, as though there was a stain on your soul that they could simply tell would never be washed away by a simple mouthful of bread and wine.

"To quote my mom, that's a bunch of horseshit," Eddie laughed. "Everyone deserves to be forgiven. You're telling me Loudmouth Linda who curses at the waitress at lunch after church on Sunday's deserves it more than you who's literally fighting evil every day? Baby, if you don't open that pack of crackers and eat one right now I'm gonna have to hand feed one to you."

"Well," you hummed, "this is supposed to be a romantic date. Ed--Eddie I was kidding."

He snatched the packet of wafers from you and sliced it open with his claws without hesitation; he brought the package up to his nose to sniff it and then plucked one wafer out and held it in front of his eyes.

"It looks plain," he noted.

"It's supposed to be plain."

"And it smells stale."

You took the package from him and sniffed gently for yourself.

"Yeah," you agreed. "That's what they smell like."

"Then I don't know what all the commotion is about," he announced dismissively. "I mean...damn I thought it was pretty metal, actually. Everyone going someplace every Sunday to eat someone's flesh and drink someone's blood in a ritual. But it's just...this."

You couldn't help but laugh at him.

He cleared his throat and knelt before you; he held one hand over your head and spoke your name aloud. He projected his voice and it echoed throughout the chapel, the deep reverberation penetrated deep into your bones.

"Eddie," you muttered. "What are you doing?"

"I'm forgiving you," he spoke normally for a second.

"You...you can't," you laughed in disbelief.

"Who said?"

"Uh, I don't know," you scoffed. "Only every priest, bishop, cardinal, pope everyone in my family has ever met. We have to earn our own forgiveness. End this curse ourselves. And it's gonna end with me, one way or another."

"Well, I think that's bullshit because it sounds like no one has ever tried." He closed his eyes and held his hand out again.

"It's not even gonna do anything," you argued. "The wafer is symbolic."

"I'm channeling my holy energy sweetheart. I can't hear you."

"Alright," you waved dismissively. "Whatever, go ahead and try."

He hummed deeply and recited the monks' chant from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, complete with smacking the top of your head with the palm of his hand. He even had the audacity to shush you as you giggled.

But the longer it went, the more he waved his hands and whispered blessings from this book and that movie, the more you felt...something.

Something inside of you stirred, felt different, lighter. Even the weight of the Upside Down wasn't as prominent. And you knew, logically, that nothing had changed in you, that the curse would still be there after whatever-this-was was over.

But in the moment, you couldn't help but close your eyes and bask in the feeling, especially as you started to feel the sting of tears in your eyes.

"Alright sweetheart," Eddie whispered after a few more moments. "Open the hatch."

You snorted and opened your mouth, hands coming together in prayer almost instinctively; he laid the wafer on your tongue and then cupped your face in his hands.

"There," he whispered and pressed the lightest kiss to your forehead. "You're forgiven."

You choked a sob and opened your eyes to look at him, tears immediately running down your cheeks and over his fingers.

"God," you sobbed and laughed simultaneously. "Fuck."

"I'm not God, I'm Eddie." He shot you his idiotic, crooked grin and then thumbed over your cheeks. "You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok. Sit down now, before you ruin our date even more," you hiccuped.

You silently wiped the tears away and tore into the snacks, joking that the junk food tasted a lot better than the wafer did. Eddie hesitantly put a wafer of his own into his mouth and then immediately stuck his tongue out and scraped the remnants of it away.

"God, I really can't eat real food, can I?" he lamented once he'd spat out the taste of it enough times.

"I think it just tastes like that," you offered as a consolation.

"Expectation almost never meets reality, I guess. You should try the wine too; prove that grape soda is better. Or maybe don't, that way I don't have to miss it that much."

You laughed and swatted at him, and then got an idea.

"Hang on," you got to your feet and held your hands out to stop him from following you. "Hang on, don't go anywhere, keep working on the puzzle, I'll be right back."

You skipped back past the altar to the little rectory hallway that led to the sacristy. The door was already cracked open and although it was mostly barren, there was a small pile of cloth that must have been vestments, and...

"Bingo," you muttered and crossed the room to grab your prize. You blew dust off of them and then turned back the way you came.

"You know," you exclaimed when you arrived back in the chapel. "When I say you're an idiot, you really are an idiot, Eddie Munson."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," he responded. "But what did I do to earn such an honorific?"

"You come to a church in the middle of the Upside Down, you set up a picnic for us, you even find holy bread and wine for me. And you don't even bring us the proper drinking vessels."

You held out two golden chalices, ornately etched with crosses and flowers and vines.

"You know," you dropped to your knees and placed them on the blanket. "You and I spent an entire weekend way back when making chalices for Hellfire club; I'm honestly surprised if you went pillaging for goods for this picnic, you didn't immediately cream your little nerd pants at the sight of these. Something might actually be wrong with you."

"Excuse me, I was only trying to find the best things for you, your highness." He did an exaggerated bow as he sat. "Wasn't thinking of finding any treasure for myself. But now that you mention it, these could be an awesome addition to the Hellfire repertoire. If only I..."

He trailed off and cleared his throat as you opened the bottle of wine and began to fill one of the chalices for yourself.

"If only what?" you asked. He shrugged dismissively and refused to meet your gaze. "What? If only you get to play with the guys again? You will. I'm getting you out of here. Or I'll die trying."

"Don't say that," he hissed, head snapping back towards you. "Don't."

"Then don't be such a negative Nancy," you said, intentionally thinking of your would-be-nemesis back in Hawkins.

"It's more than just getting out of here, alright? I've done things. Terrible things, actually, speaking of Nancy.

"You know I killed her boyfriend? Jonathan Byers. He was the first one. The worst one. But Vecna wanted me to send a message, so it had to be him. I killed her dad too. And this kid Lucas' dad. Both of them in one swift slash."

He jutted his arm out, hand curled in a claw, talons razor-sharp and glinting as they cut through the air. His eyes were wild, pupils blown, mouth wide open in a hiss, fangs extended.

Then there was a beat and he seemed to realize himself; he drew his arm back against his chest and cradled one hand in the other. He clicked his claws against one another pathetically and then sighed.

"I killed Mickey," he murmured, voice so low you could barely hear. "I killed Rick. Watched the life leave their eyes. And I think...I know...I enjoyed it."

The chapel was silent after those words, save for the roar of lightning outside, and your heavy, pensive breaths.

Your heart ached. Ached for Mickey and Rick, but more for Eddie.

You knew that feeling. Knew that guilt. It was an old friend.

You looked down at the chalice filled with wine, and then at the other one, which you were about to fill despite Eddie's lack of need for food and drink.

And you were struck with an idea.

You set the bottle aside and scooted closer to him, you took one of his hands in yours and ignored his questions as you leant down and kissed his palm and each of the pads of his fingers.

You then maneuvered his hand so his clawed thumb pressed into the meat of your palm, and then dragged it deep through the middle of it. You created a cut deep and long, despite Eddie's protests, and then let the blood drip down into the empty chalice.

"What are you doing?" he snapped at you. "What is this?"

"You forgave me," you answered, voice heavy with determination. "And now I'm forgiving you."

"Sweetheart, you don't have to--"

"Don't have to do this?" you repeated your own words from earlier. "This isn't going to work? Eddie...just...if I'm not doing this for you then I'm doing this for myself."

He looked like he was about to argue again, but you weren't going to let him.

"You never know," you quickly stopped him. "This could get us a step closer to getting you out of here."

He closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth, and motioned for you to continue.

You didn't have as much theatricality as Eddie had before. You simply let the chalice fill to an acceptable amount of blood, and then grabbed it with both hands and held it slightly raised before you.

"This is my blood," you recited words that you'd heard thousands of times. You looked at Eddie and shared a shaky smile as your eyes locked together. "The blood of a new and everlasting covenant. It has been shed for you, Eddie, so that your sins may be forgiven. Now and forever."

You lowered the chalice and tried to pass it over to him, but he backed away quickly. Quicker than the eye could see.

He was suddenly across the room, pacing with his head in his hands, shaking.

"What is it?" You watched as he muttered to himself and shook his head. "Eddie, what?"

"I don't deserve this," he said. "I don't deserve...your forgiveness."

"Yes you do. You said it yourself, what makes you any less deserving of forgiveness than...I don't know...than me, than Nancy Wheeler, than anyone?"

"Because I'm a liar!" He turned back to you and shouted. "I'm a liar, I'm a coward, and I'm a monster."

"Don't say that."

"I am."

"You're not! You're my boyfriend. You're Eddie Munson. You're...the silliest, stupidest, bravest boy I know. You take care of everyone you love, much more than you think to take care of yourself, and you...you were lost. And all of those things that you did...you did them when you were lost. So you deserve a chance to make it alright. You deserve forgiveness."

"I'm not talking about what I did when Vecna was still alive," Eddie told you through gritted teeth. "I'm talking about now. I'm a coward now. I'm a liar now. I'm a monster now."

"Eddie..."

"And you'll never know how much I don't deserve this," he waved at the altar, at the chalice, at you. "Until I show you what's become of me. Who I am now. What I am now."

You were stunned silent as he shed his jacket, as he kicked off his boots, as he took several breaths.

And then he screamed.

You tried to get to your feet, tried to get to him, but the sight before you prevented you from moving at all.

His clothes ripped first, then his skin; they stretched until they couldn't stretch any more. The seams of his shirt, of his jeans--the seams that you'd traced along his limbs--all split as his body bulged and stretched in an utterly inhuman way.

But where his clothes shredded and tore gave way to thread, his skin just made room for more skin, more bones.

His legs elongated, raised him higher off the ground, and his feet practically uncurled to become longer, more dexterous, with claws of their own that could slash and grab like his hands.

And speaking of his hands and his arms, they were next; you felt sick to your stomach as you listened to his bones snap into pieces, as he groaned with each snap. But they were quick to shift into new places, and soon he stretched to find comfort in this new, elongated wingspan that matched his towering height; he flexed his fingers, now sporting longer, knife-like claws, and extra phalanges that could bend in any direction he chose.

On and on it went, as his shoulders got wider and broader, as his torso stretched and rippled, as his neck became unfathomably long.

He threw his head back and the seams of that scarred Glasgow smile ripped open anew, dripping blood down his cheeks and throat. The unsettling smile he now sported wasn't complete though, not until rows and rows of fangs--not just the two sets you'd seen and grown used to as they smiled and bit into you--grew and settled along his jaw. Razor sharp, glinting in the firelight, promising to bring about a creature's demise if they weren't careful.

And finally, just when you thought it was all over, the skin along his abdomen rippled. You had thought there was something wrong there, when you'd run your hands along his ribcage over the past few days as you'd held each other in bed.

There was something wrong. Something terribly, horribly wrong.

Eddie fell to his knees, and his talons anchored into the stone floor of the chapel as he hunched over. The scars you had felt along his back split, and from them grew two massive, bat-like wings, unfurling from where they'd been tucked away in the cavity of his body. They were made of bones and muscle and a thin, veiny, membranous skin that you could practically see the light of the votives through.

Eddie twitched on the ground and the wings flexed and flapped; the droplets of blood that had coated the wings sprayed around the chapel; onto the altar and the pews, dousing a few of the candles with a steamy hiss, even pelting your skin, causing you to flinch.

At the end of it all, when this metamorphosis was complete, and something new had emerged from the body that had once belonged to Eddie Munson, he rose.

With a great wide mouth and clawed hands raised to the heavens, the creature roared.

It was an ear-splitting sound, bellowing and shrieking all at once.

And then it turned to you.

He turned to you.

Eddie turned to you.

Because you might have made the mistake of thinking him a creature once, but you vowed never again.

All of the thoughts that had halted as you watched the spectacle with unblinking eyes suddenly flooded your brain. All manner of logic and emotion, fighting and contradicting one another, as you struggled to reconcile what you had seen, what you had felt, and what you knew all into one truth.

How many things had you faced like this before, with too many teeth and claws that slashed and tore? How many countless names of creatures had you memorized over the years, not just of being a knight, but of being alive? You could name them all now, if you dared, but no name would ever match up to what was on display before your very eyes. Nothing like this.

But what was this?

This...it...he...was your boyfriend. The love of your life.

He wasn't just what he was once or had ever been; this was what had become of him, what had been done to him in the name of evil. This was the result of his trauma, but also his survival. And because of that, or maybe in spite of that, he wasn't inherently evil himself.

Contrary to your instincts--contrary to what had been taught to you all your life, all you had ever faced or ever known--you knew he was good. In fact, good was all you ever knew him to be, even during the brief stint where you believed there was a Kas, a dastardly nemesis who'd vowed to kill you.

This image certainly could conjure that belief...but it simply...didn't.

You thought back to something that you had told Mary Victoria. That Eddie was good, but you didn't know if he was good enough for Heaven.

Heaven, though, was not just a place for good people. It was a place for forgiveness, a place of peace. And didn't Eddie, by the grace of all the atrocities that he had been a part of, that had been imparted onto him, also deserve that peace? Deserve that forgiveness.

You stood on shaky legs, chalice still held in your wounded hand, and approached him.

His shoulders heaved with labored breaths as he watched you, and he flinched as you got close enough.

"Please," he growled, and you recognized the muffled quality of his voice from the previous night, talking to the Brides, and you realized that he had to talk through the mouthful of his teeth. It was different, but still his voice. "Please I don't want to hurt you.

"You won't," you assured him, shifting to try to meet his gaze; you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye at this new height. "I trust you. I believe in you."

"I'm a monster. I told you."

"No...you're..." You paused and let your eyes roam over him again, closer this time, and you were able to see the small details now, illuminated by the candlelight. The throbbing of veins, the texture of his skin, the ripple of muscles, yes...but also the soft curl of his hair, his musicians fingers--even with the claws--and the bulbous tip of his nose.

He was still Eddie.

And Eddie Munson was many things.

But not a monster, not a creature, not a beast. No.

You reached out to grab one of his hands and you wrapped his elongated fingers around the rounded bowl of the chalice.

His red scleras shined wet with tears and he took the chalice from you fully; he raised it to his mouth, then tipped his head back, and drank your blood in one exaggerated swallow.

Was this what happened when someone looked upon the true form of a God? Were they fully unprepared for the sight before them? Was that the true test, to see something so unfathomable and horrific and still find it...

"Beautiful," you muttered. "God...Eddie, you're beautiful."

He was quick to grab you, quick to haul you into his arms and run the edges of his claws along your face and down your neck reverently; he made quick work of your clothes, ripping the seams of them like his transformation had ripped the seams of his. With you, however, there was surgical precision.

He was almost too gentle in this new form, not wanting to hurt you, but you'd welcome the hurt, crave it, if it meant you could be one with him quicker. You desired it now, desired him, all of him, every part of this new version that he had revealed to you.

How many times, before the Upside Down, before Vecna, had he been ridiculed and mocked because of his appearance? Because he seemed rude or dangerous or rowdy...evil. But those closest to him--the people he belonged to, that belonged to him--always saw the true him. Recognized it, celebrated it.

Now, it was only amplified; the startling appearance, the danger, the fearful exterior. But it was still Eddie.

How could you not embrace him entirely? Want to bask in him? Consume all of him? You'd changed entirely in his eyes--maybe not in appearance, but in fundamental definition--and his want for you never faltered.

It was still Eddie, and he was yours.

And you were still you, and you were his.

Body and soul.

You swatted his hand away from you so you could touch him for yourself, so you could explore and caress him, kiss him.

You were hesitant at first, running your fingers gently along his lips, then further back along the cavernous maw that had been revealed.

"It hurts you," you noted; not a question, an observation. "To do this...it hurts you."

"It's easier to hide it," he tried to make the excuse. "They don't look at me like I'm...a monster when I still look like Eddie Munson."

"You still look like Eddie Munson, though," you tilted your head to the side in quiet contemplation. "Same eyes, same hair, same dumb jokes...just a little more..."

"Metal?"

"Bitey."

You touched the tip of one of his fangs with a finger and watched how easily it punctured your skin as a droplet of blood pooled there. The corners of his eyes crinkled, the apples of his cheeks round and pleasant; he nipped at your fingers gently, playfully as his shoulders shook and there was a hissing, chittering sound that rattled inside of his chest along with a deepened chuckle. You listened in awe, and basked in the sound of his new laughter.

When you couldn't hold yourself back anymore, you leaned forward and pecked a kiss to the bow of his upper lip. He huffed and you kissed it again, and again, until he shifted his jaw and was able to kiss you back properly.

It was a strange sensation, feeling the contrasting plush of his lips and the unforgiving hardness of his fangs just below; strange to navigate, actually, but it made for an interesting time. Just when you thought there couldn't be many more new or first experiences together, this change presented so many possibilities.

Possibilities that you both seemed eager to discover.

The kissing was something mastered quickly, which was relieving as you seemed to always want your lips on him, or his on you. His teeth nipped and cut when the excitement overwhelmed you both, but it wouldn't matter really. You'd heal, just like all of the other bites and wounds he had inflicted on you in the past few days slowly healed. Eddie was incredibly apologetic though.

That was where his tongue came into play.

At first you thought he licked the cut that had carved your bottom lip to lap up the bit of blood that pooled there, and you had half a mind to offer your neck to him to feed, or your wrist or some other part of you. But soon it became soothing, and you almost craved the calming back and forth over the stinging wound, as you stared up into the deep, warm, blood-and-chocolate abyss of his eyes.

But he didn't stop at your lip.

You offered for him to feed from you, as you had intended, and he had laid you down on the altar in order to do so comfortably. Comfort was not the word that you would use, though; the sensation of more fangs piercing your throat was almost troubling, and the pain was borderline unbearable, but you resolved to soldier through it for him.

Anything for him.

His tongue made itself known once again, and your eyes, that you had shut to keep stinging tears at bay, shot open as you tried to fathom the sensations you felt.

His teeth had punctured your skin, and he drew mouthful after mouthful of your blood, but then there was his tongue, snaking over the bite wounds as well, pressed against his teeth from the inside of his mouth...and then the outside.

"Eddie!" you exclaimed in shock, and with a wet squelch, he pulled away from you and you saw it.

Long and wet, patchwork and mottled, his tongue was elongated and lolling out of his mouth; it began to retract, back into his mouth, and his throat seemed to bulge with it.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to scare you."

And you should have been scared; instinct told you to feel fear. Especially because the image he presented right in this very moment--the combination of the teeth and tongue and his wings extended behind him--conjured thoughts of the manananggal.

The creature that killed your father.

"I'm not afraid," you told him truthfully.

You weren't.

There was that dark little whisper inside of you again, only this time, it basked in some invisible triumph over your father. He had faced countless dark creatures and failed. Perished. And here you were, despite everything you had been through because of him...facing the dark and dangerous thing Eddie had become and still seeing the good, the light, the love in him.

You and Eddie were basking in something greater than the light of "God's forgiveness," you were basking in the light of each other. A forgiveness you crafted together.

You reached out to Eddie to bring him to you again, so you could soothe the worry that he'd scared you; however, he took the gesture to mean something else.

He lowered himself to you again, rubbed his nose along yours gently, only this time, he allowed his tongue to snake back out. You watched, entranced, and allowed yourself the moment to get lost in the feel of it, lapping at the still-weeping bite on your neck, then down the valley of your breasts, the soft slope of your stomach, right down to the core of you.

You gasped and Eddie's cold breath fanned across your face as he huffed in triumph.

You let him play with you for a moment, tease your clit, your weeping slit, but just as he was about to breach your entrance, you stopped him.

His tongue retracted as he pulled back, and his brow furrowed in concern.

"You don't want that?" he teased. "Don't want me to eat your pussy; you always want that, sweetheart. Fuck, I always want that."

"I want to take care of you," you confessed with wide-eyed wonder as you trailed a finger along his arm. "I want to learn everything I can about you, want to explore every inch of you."

Like a great adventurer exploring a new and unknown world.

His eyes shifted back and forth between yours--nervously and full of uncertainty--and then he melded your lips together again, a desperate kind of gratitude emanating from him through the kiss.

You switched places then.

Him laying comfortably on the altar, propped by the pillows he had brought for your comfort.

But not before you got a full glimpse of him.

Tattered clothes shed, he stood there for your pleasurable observation, proud and preening and practically purring as you circled him like the predator he was meant to be.

You found that all the bleeding wounds that had split open during his transformation had healed now. And the scars, the seams of him that you attended to over the past few days and had been susceptible and weak before, were now strong; yes still scars, but mountains along the topographical map that made up his skin. And where the scars were mountains, the visible veins were rivers.

You stood on your tip toes to kiss along his spine, and that was when you found his wings to be especially sensitive. They fluttered at your touch, and he chittered and shook again, spoke your name with a delicious groan.

Amused, you tried the move again, but he seemed to have enough. He flapped his wings in several great beats, the power of which carried him forward, toes just grazing the stone floor. He turned as he settled into the little love nest on the altar to give you some faux withered stare, and that's when you got to see the effects of your attention.

His cock stood proudly against his belly.

And as arousing as it was to know that he was hard for you, because of you, the mood was effectively ruined momentarily as you snorted, all sense of seduction gone.

"What?" Eddie chuckled along with you, clearly happy to see you smile. "What is it?"

You shook your head and stalked forward, finding the perfect seat upon his thighs as he leant back into the pillows.

"All of these...upgrades," you tsked. "And Vecna didn't touch your dick."

The chapel suddenly filled with laughter as the two of you shared in the absurdity of the moment.

"Can't mess with perfection sweetheart," Eddie winked at you, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Did you tell him that?" you teased. "Was that a formal request?"

"If I'm being honest, I don't even think he had a dick."

"Seriously?"

"He walked around naked. Never saw one."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"Maybe that's why you're stuck here. You're not adhering to the uniform requirements of King of the Upside Down."

"Castration?" he asked.

"Nudity," you clarified.

"Is that a formal request from you now?" He licked along the seam of his lips and then grinned that unsettling, feral grin. "Because I can make it happen just for you, angel."

"I know you're joking but you forgot one thing," you leaned closer to him, stretching so your lips could brush his. "I like your cock."

You suddenly rivaled Eddie for speed as you denied him a kiss and shifted further down his body to take the head of his cock in your mouth, fingers squeezing the length of him, making him choke on the sudden and unexpected pleasure. The noises that he made as you devoured him were sinful, feral, guttural though, and you couldn't help but feel an arrogant sense of pride about it.

Great strategist that he was, he should have known better when it came to your escapades. Your seductress tricks, as he’d called them once.

You closed your eyes and savored the taste of him. The taste of his skin and sweat, remnants of whatever detergent or cologne that clung to his clothes...but conspicuously no musky taste of sex.

You considered, once again, the cleanliness of his body.

And the lack of water in the Upside Down.

And then that impossible tongue.

You hummed as you released him and then kissed down the side of his shaft so you could glance up at his face; he usually liked to watch but his eyes were wrenched shut, nose scrunched, as he panted. A clicking purr roiled somewhere deep in his chest.

"Naughty boy," you hummed and his eyes shot open. "Licking yourself clean like a cat."

You emphasized your accusation by running your tongue, flat, up his length. Then you flicked at the head once, twice, three times until he had the good sense to look bashful.

"W-what else w-was I supposed to do sweetheart?" That naive schoolboy routine wouldn't work on you. No silly crooked smiles while he sported so many razor-sharp fangs.

No puppy eyes, no innocent act.

Especially not when waves of guilt and desire emanated from him implicitly.

He knew exactly what he was and what he did.

Perv.

You snorted at him but went back to sucking the head of his cock; then, ready to make him beg, your teeth scraped ever so tantalizingly until his breath hitched. You let up to lave at him to relieve the slight sting...

"That's enough of that," Eddie hissed at you and pried you up and away from his cock, despite your whining protest.

You were underneath him before you knew it, and his teeth were buried in your shoulder, pad of his thumb working at your clit to pull an orgasm from you at the same rate that he pulled your life's essence from the bite.

The mixture of pleasure and pain boiled in your veins as you climbed higher and higher and you were sure that Eddie could taste it on you, because every hitch in your breath, every moan, was parroted right back at you from him.

A hiccup matched with a huff.

A soft yes followed by a delicious snarl.

And the moan that ripped from your throat as you came was answered with a roar as he released you from the bite and stretched to his full height, head tossed back towards the heavens, announcing his victory to whatever demon or deity dared to listen.

Your euphoria was short-lived though, as he positioned himself at your entrance and drove into you. He grabbed you and hunched over to press his forehead against yours and began thrusting wildly.

It was sweet for a moment.

But you weren't ready.

You weren't ready for his trusts, the raw power that he possessed in this body that he couldn't seem to control after his frenzied feeding, or the way he pistoned into you so roughly that your hips knocked yours in a way that would bruise.

You weren't ready for his talons to puncture your skin and the flesh of your torso, digging painfully deep into you, tearing through muscle and sinew and organs in an otherwise-devastating way.

You weren't ready for your own blood to drip from his fangs onto your own lips and into your mouth as you opened it in pain and shock.

You weren't ready and neither, it seemed, was Eddie.

It only took seconds of the rough uncontrolled fucking before instinct kicked in and you shouted. Your hands grabbed him and your body channeled the surrounding flames of the half-dead votives to burn deep into his skin and the meat of his shoulders.

He pulled out and away from you with a cry that echoed yours; his wings propelled him backwards and across the chapel instantly, where he crashed into the pews and crushed them.

There was a beat of tense silence, as you collected yourselves, and then you stared at each other in shock.

"What was that?" you asked in tandem.

You wrenched your eyes shut even further, brow furrowed in concentration, and dug deep to try and channel the healing energies within. The flesh of your sides and your palm began to knit back together, any bruising and internal injury healed instantaneously, and the bleeding of the bites sluggishly stopped.

But the bite wounds themselves remained, just as all of the bites you'd endured remained; healing at a glacial pace. And that worried you more than any of the injuries you'd sustained, or how they came about.

You took a few deep breaths and returned to the present, opening your eyes to find Eddie's concerned and guilt-ridden face before you. You startled, and so did he, but you shushed him as the apologies fell from his lips and bloody tears began to leak from his eyes.

"Sweetheart, please," he stammered. "I'm sorry, I didn't...I didn't know, I didn't realize."

"It's...it's ok," you nodded.

"It isn't," he shook his head. "I hurt you. I'm a beast, I'm a monster." His clawed hands came up and his fingers buried into his hair.

"Stop," you shushed him and grabbed his wrists to try and get him to let go. "Stop it. You're not."

"I am."

"You didn't know," you told him.

"I knew I could hurt you if I wasn't careful and I did it anyway."

"And I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm made of tougher stuff. And you stopped; I was hurt and you stopped. A monster wouldn't stop when they hurt someone."

His chest heaved but he nodded and let you pull his hands away and into yours, held tenderly between you.

"You drank my blood Eddie," you reminded him. "Blood shed for the forgiveness of your sins. Now and forever. It'll be ok. We'll be ok."

Your gaze shifted from his eyes to his shoulders then, to the shape of your hands burned onto his skin.

"Besides I hurt you too," you muttered with a tense smile. "So I guess we're even here. Does it hurt?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"They'll heal; it doesn't matter."

"Do you know how to heal yourself?" you asked. "Or does it just happen?"

Eddie was silent.

"Let me heal you then," you told him softly. "It'll go much faster."

You held his clawed hands tightly in your smaller ones and instructed him to close his eyes. You felt a brief and sudden doubt; he wasn't human anymore, not entirely, would it be any different?

What if it didn't work?

If you were going to fix this momentary hiccup, if you were going to fix all of him, you at least needed to try.

"Do you feel me?" you asked him. "Do you...feel my presence here?"

"I do," he nodded, and then his mouth quirked in a smile. "Your light."

"Good," you nodded and shifted closer. You closed your eyes and reached out to feel him too. "Do you feel us together?"

"Hmmm, yeah."

"That means you can feel yourself. Shut up, I can hear you laughing."

"Means I'm not upset anymore," he argued.

He had a point, still you weren't going to let it go.

"When you resurrected..." you hesitated.

"My brides."

"I'm not calling them that." you scoffed. "When you resurrected Max...what did you feel? Did you feel her light? And yours?"

"I did." He snorted. "It was silly. I imagined a pitcher pouring into a cup."

"That's a good way to think about it," you encouraged him. "Healing is such...a special act of goodness, act of light and love. When you...resurrect someone, you take part of yourself and you use it to spark the light in them. It's like...jumpstarting your car though. All the parts need to work right if you're gonna bring someone back. Their body. Their soul. Otherwise...otherwise it's like they're driving around without a windshield."

"Like the Marquis."

"Focus Eddie."

"Sorry."

"To heal someone, like I'm about to do to you though...it's easier...and it isn't. You just...shine your light on them. It fills them, warms them. You share a part of yourself with them, like sharing a blanket. There's a hole in them--"

"I think there's a few holes."

"Alright you're fine then." You tried to pull away from him but he gripped your hands tighter and pulled you closer again, practically onto his lap. "You gonna interrupt me again?"

"No, I promise."

You loosened one hand from his grasp and, on instinct, laid it over the burned handprint on his shoulder.

"When you're hurt, there's a hole that needs to be patched up. And your body can heal in time, but sometimes it's easier for someone to pour their light into you."

Just like you had with Mary Victoria the previous day, you willed the light inside to stir, to pour into Eddie, and to heal the burns. You opened your eyes and released his shoulder, and the burn was gone, the skin pristine, save for the scars that had already been there.

"There," you announced with a smile. Eddie opened his eyes and stared at you. "How does it feel?"

He inhaled deeply.

"You..." his eyebrows knit together. "You feel...I still feel you."

"I'm sure. It'll linger for a while."

"But I feel that way whenever I'm with you," he continued. "I think I've always felt that way with you, even when you weren't next to me, when you left...when I was still alive. When I was still me. And when you...when you left the other day and you went back to Hawkins...I needed you...I was desperate for you."

"I thought you said I've always been there with you," you reminded him.

"This is different," he whispered as softly as he could, and it came out as a rasp. "I need you more than anything now. I feel like I'm empty. And I need you to fill me back up."

Your breath hitched as you thought about the weight of the Upside Down and the hollow feeling; was that what he felt too? And you lessened that feeling for him, just as he had done for you?

Yes. That must be it.

"I need you too Eddie," you agreed. "In whatever way, shape, or form I can get you. Man...or monster, I need you."

He leaned closer, pulled you closer too, pulled you to straddle his lap. He watched you, you assumed, to see if you would flinch or push him away. But you never pushed him away.

You let him take your lips with his, let him kiss you, let his claws rasp along your skin again, trace along the very spots that he had pierced. You let him maneuver you, drag your center along his length to get you both ready for this connection once again.

This union.

This promise.

Just like the promises you had made since he returned to you; like the promises you made since the moment you met.

He broke your kiss and looked to you for reassurance, for consent, before he pulled you onto him, before you moaned in tandem at the feeling of being joined together once again.

If there was something about Eddie, he was a quick study; the things that had hindered you just moments ago--the sharpness of his claws, the untethered power of his body, the strength of his wings--suddenly became tantamount to your fucking.

He anchored those claws deep into the sturdy softness of your thighs, no vital organs at risk; his long arms wrapped around you so you'd feel safe in his embrace despite the ever-present sting as he maneuvered you up and down his shaft at a steady pace.

When he grew bold, he used those wings to propel you both forward, back to the altar, to cradle you in the soft safety of the nested blanket and pillows. He used the strength that this body belied to drive himself home within you over and over, twisted and contorted his body to bring you to the height of your pleasure repeatedly.

All the while he vowed to give you his sweet devotion.

Words spoken in hushed tones and then desperate shouts and then world-altering roars as his teeth snapped just inches from your face.

But there was no danger, no fear, no doubt.

Only love and worship and reverence and awe.

And then the moment came where you and Eddie reached the peak of your bliss, and your bodies ceased to exist. The moment where, in one instance he stilled deep within you and you clenched around him, and then next your beings melted together in a whining, chittering, quivering mess of light and being and consciousness.

When you returned to the universe, renewed once again by the presence of one another, Eddie fed from you again, from your wrist this time. He didn't even have to ask; you hues knew. You sensed that need within him, a hunger you wished to satiate, and you urged him to take what he needed.

It was the gentlest that he had ever bitten you; you barely felt a thing. Until he pulled away and you saw the matching, gaping, red wounds of your wrist and his mouth.

You pulled him to lay against you, and you carded your fingers through his hair as he thanked you repeatedly, whispered and kissed his gratitude against the skin of your chest.

You realized, as sleep began to overcome you, that something was different now, and you wondered if you had even descended from the height of your climax yet. Or if you were still there in the afterglow.

And if you were, was Eddie still with you?

Then you had another thought.

Was this what being normal felt like? Was this the outcome of his forgiveness? Had he really broken the curse?

You closed your eyes and figured that you might never know, might never make it to Heaven.

But this moment here, with Eddie, was the closest you would ever get.

And it would be enough.

It was a dance.

Quite literally.

A dance with Eddie. Just you and him in this place deep and dark and hidden from the rest of the world.

Well alright, that was not quite the truth, not when there were thousands of glowing eyes and glinting claws and mouths dripping with hunger along the perimeter of the room. But it might as well be just the two of you; your love was enough to protect you. They didn't dare cross the veil of security while his hand held yours and you circled one another.

No music could be heard, no rhythm to speak of.

Just you and him. Jumping and head banging and twirling. He spun you, dipped you. Made a joke for you to dip him too, which caused you both to tumble to the ground in a fit of laughter.

Unadulterated joy.

You felt whole. Healed. Complete.

And you knew he felt the same.

This was where you belonged. Together.

"Let's try a waltz," he suggested.

"I don't know how to waltz, how do you know how to waltz," you laughed.

"PE, obviously. I can square dance too; you wanna do that instead?"

"No, no, show me how to waltz, Mr. Rochester."

"Gladly, my beloved Jane."

He did some wild and intricate bow, over exaggerated in the way only he could, and all the while you appreciate the sight. Full of life and energy and love, and it glowed from within him, practically illuminating the room.

He took your hand in his, grabbed your waist with the other, and led you with gentle instruction and encouragement. Once you had the steps down, he urged you to move, to spin, to traverse around the room, practically flaunting your invulnerability to the monsters that lay in wait on the outskirts.

Your combined laughter overwhelmed the clicking and hissing from beyond the dark veil.

"Alright, let's try this," Eddie instructed you with a chuckle. "I'm gonna dip you again."

"Oh Jesus ok, I'm not ready for that I don't think," you tried to dissuade him.

"You can't do any worse than Jeff did. Come on."

Unfortunately you did, your combined momentum from a spin was too much, and as Eddie went to dip you, you both fell in a soft pile of limbs and giggles and love. You rested your head back against the cold ground as Eddie rolled to the side, and when you opened your eyes you saw it.

A grand mirror, the frame of which was a dull and tarnished gold and layered in vines and slimey excrement. The edges of the reflective glass were scratched, but in the center, there you were.

The laughter and joy died in your throat as you stared at yourself, alone.

No monsters, surely, but no Eddie either.

You felt a familiar panic settle within you as your eyes darted back and forth around the reflection. A familiar hopelessness. And dread filled you because you knew, instinctually, that Eddie was still behind you...but was he?

"Sweetheart what's wrong?" Eddie questioned softly.

What if you turned around and you were alone again?

Lost again?

"Talk to me." You felt his hand on your shoulder, saw the indent of his touch in the reflection...but didn't see him. "What's going on?"

You wrenched your eyes shut as he fully grasped you by the shoulders and hovered over you.

"C'mon baby please," he sounded desperate. "What's wrong? Nothing's gonna happen. It'll be ok. I promised you, I'm here, it's gonna be alright. Trust me. Have faith in me."

Faith.

Was this a test of your faith? A test full of temptation? You taking the place of Orpheus as you sought safety in this underworld? And Eddie your Eurydice, continued existence hinging on that fragile string of faith?

But you knew deep in your heart, if you didn't have faith in anything else, you could have faith in him.

You slowly opened your eyes.

And witnessed a terrible sight.

Eddie, your Eddie, your soul and your salvation.

Broken.

Bleeding gashes on both sides of his neck, a slash on his wrist, a tear in the side of his shirt revealing a terrible wound, and lips that bubbled with blood.

"There you go," he muttered as though nothing was wrong. As though there were no droplets spattering onto your face as he spoke. "There's my girl."

You screamed.

"But if you bite and devour one another, watch out, or you will be consumed by one another.” - Galatians 5:1

Next Chapter: Chapter 7 - Exodus

[rainbowsillz]

˗ˏˋ I'm Etihw from Thailand, nice to meet you! This account will brainrot yandere fics and I make reader inserts. ´ˎ˗

My other writing side acc is @mewpangxin . . ! Anyway, my pronouns are she/her if you're wondering about it.

About me. | Tag system. | mutuals + anons (tba).

WALKING THROUGH THE FIELDS OF ROSES, you stumbled upon an unfamiliar venue, you ought to be careful, gorgeous.

The Red Queen doesn't take kindly for a guest showing up uninvited after all, I hope you brought a letter to his party, yes?

⤷ Shh, listen closely.. the monarch.. he is observing you.

♝•°•═════ஓ๑【 ♛ 】๑ஓ═════•°•♝

-> Masterlist for Twisted Wonderland. <-

✦ — The Doll Maker || TWST HC. — ✦

Yan! Overblot Riddle X GN! Reader.

Yan! Overblot Malleus X GN! Reader.

“That guy is my pookie, so stop touching him—!” - Pairings: Multiple Characters X GN! Reader.

Rollo Flamme. | Character interaction | Genre: Fluff?

Floyd Leech. | Character interaction | Genre: Fluff?

TWST SQUAD BEING A FATHER + WITH A BABY.

✦ — THEM WITH AN AFFECTIONATE S/O.✦ —

“ Dating? As if they would let this continue on.. ”

Their voicelines about you.

Mysterious disappearance 🦢✨

Azul Ashengrotto. | Interaction | Genre: Dark?

How they react with someone mocking you.

How they react with a marriage proposal.

The dorm leaders x GN! Reader that plays with their hair • (Multiple Characters).

♝•°•═════ஓ๑【 ♛ 】๑ஓ═════•°•♝

X. Masterlist for Kimetsu No Yaiba. X

𖤐 A MODERN READER THAT CAN'T TALK IN JAPANESE 𖤐 (FT. Yandere Douma X GN! Reader).

♝•°•═════ஓ๑【 ♛ 】๑ஓ═════•°•♝

BYI AND FOLLOW ME; ˖✶

I don't write explicit smut or nsfw. Not that that I don't wish to, it's due to my lack of inability.

Asking to be moots are alright through DMs. Or in my inboxes, don't worry about it.

I do not support any fandom drama, this will be sfw and where you can be cozy and warm :)

I love ocs and yume inserts, so you can share.

♝•°•═════ஓ๑【 ♛ 】๑ஓ═════•°•♝

★⋆RULES ★⋆

I will not accept anything about gore, incest, pedophilia, vore, age play, and etc.

I don't romanticize yandere irl, it's for fictions so if anyone do it, please contact a therapist because that's not normal and it's not alright.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat is a big nope because I'm admittedly not that dark T-T of a person.

I don't do requests currently 🩷 Okay I lied, I can haha but only for characters that I'm familiar with- most dorm leaders are fine for me.

Please don't send anon hate or mean things.

Genres which I do? Yandere, fluff, mature, a bit spice? Oh, maybe crack.. and that's about it.

Readers are gender neutral, however if it's for male and female readers, I'll tag on for such.

I will reblog dark contents, so be careful.

 Character x Character and Character x OC? I have no problems to chat about them except if it's incest (Naur —that's a no.) but I doubt my characterization on them will be decent.

There are characters that I don't write for, NRC staff + teachers, Ortho and RSA students.

Sebek, Jack and Silver probably not yet too.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

© I don't agree if anyone is going to repost, translate or modify my fics without permission.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

[pastaxandria]

"I'm Sending A Raven" (Matt Murdock x Reader fic, Heavy Angst 🌧️): Chapter 2

The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its shelves: I'm Sending A Raven: Chapter Two

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

“You will bite your tongue, boy, before I remove it,” Ciro said softly, his voice dangerously quiet and sharp as the edge of a knife. He’d gone still, facing away from Matt as if he couldn’t bear to look at him. “You will not speak as if she will not be found. As if she will not survive. You allow your pain to weaken you. You think you are the only one—” “You wanna know what I think?” Matt asked Ciro, his voice deceptively light as he paused there in the middle of the living area. Rain lashed against the windows, bits of hail lending a sharp bite to the sound. He cocked his head. “I think that every day, for the past four months, I get to wake up and wonder how many times they’ll turn her collar on today. Because that’s the only time I can feel her, the only time I can connect with her. When she’s being tortured.”

Wordcount: 7,187

Warnings for this chapter (here we go): blood, canon-typical gore, torture, dehumanization, depression, treating humans like animals, lil bit of ableism, sensory deprivation, attempted brainwashing, and beginnings of a mind break. I'm tagging this Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. You do NOT need to read this to understand anything in TRT (and I've even altered small details so I don't give anything away, and so that those who don't want to read won't miss anything), so if dark is not your thing, you can pass on it.

Read me on Ao3 if you're looking for part two of Pasta's Train to Pain Town

Recommended listening: Far From Home (The Raven) by Sam Tinnesz

matt is not having a good time

[stangeranfanficion]

Omg a tf2 oc?!?

Because of the recent TF2 oc polls. I wanted to introduce the oc I had for quite a bit.

Meet Mathilda Vogel! Mad Veterinarian of Medic's past.

Info under the cut!

If you want her website here it is also!

Name: Mathilda Vogel (previously Herrmann)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Age: late 40s-early 50s

Universe: Team Fortress 2

Career: Veterinarian and part-time mad scientist

Family: Medic/Ludwig Herrmann (Ex co-worker and Ex husband), Muschi (Pet cat)

Personality: On the outside she appears cold and stern but gets a lot more wild and free when she's happy / doing her “personal projects”. Usually has poor people skills with appearing standoffish. When she's happy, she gets really frenzied and excited, info dumping all about herself and her “pets”. She loves animals and cares for them deeply. She even helped install a device in Medic’s doves, so they could survive greater blood lost. The greatest flaws for her is having trouble finding her own self-worth and mainly needing to be more open to others. She's also very, very petty.

Background: Moving from Germany from when she was a late teen, Mathilda always had a fascination with the world of nature around her. Owning many animals in her lifetime and spending her free time at zoos, she seemed to always surround herself with animals more than her fellow human. Because of this, she seemed more distance from others, causing her to delve into her studies even more. Medic and Mathilda both met at a collage overseas, with them both connecting over their personal projects and their share interests over the macabre. Over time, they grew closer and closer, with her getting him a steady supply of animal organs and him getting her new tools and organs from the human body to study. Once collage finished up, both of them got married and settled down in the countryside in England. Both happy with stealing birds from a prime minister and adopting a wild cat. People called them inseparable until Medic left for America for the Gravel Wars.

Design inspirations: Mainly her main ideas come from Medic due to being closely related to Medic. Though, her outside design ideas are museum collections on nature/animals. Mainly muted colors are used for her. Ideally, oranges and off whites. Very autumn and fall vibes. Aesthetic ideas can be found here⇾ (TW DEAD ANIMALS, no gore but taxidermy and bones) click here!

Outfit design: She doesn’t have a base outfit design. More so switching outfits on the occasion than really sticking to one. Main themes in outfits are mainly overcoats and under the knee dresses. She not really the type for pants, so she's mainly changes into shorter dresses when she's at home. Also note, while it isn’t needed, she more so works better with a hat in her hair than without one. Outfit design ideas can be found here ⇾ click here!

*note the second design on top is a older design from when she was a fem fortress but not really oc. Thats outfit is more so saved for ideas like that.

Playlist?: Here! ⇾ Click Here! Its not really what she listens to but more so what I think about when I write her.

Where is she from?: She is from my fanfiction called Zoophobia! Link is clickable to take you to the fanfic!

I don't really expect her to win, but i hope people get to know who she is. :)

[prpfs]

hi, im cee (26) and im looking for a long term 1x1 rp partner! i have a specific plot idea or two in mind that i've been really wanting to do, so id love to find a partner for it! 🐈‍⬛

the main plot ive wanted to do is royalty omegaverse. your character has taken over my char's kingdom in war, and claimed the prince as a war prize. he is, however, a rather pitiful and traumatised man, making it rather difficult to be mean to him as one might plan to be. this plot can also work with your char being a prince, and the leader giving my char to yours as a husband. i'm open to swapping some details around, as long as the "my char is a war prize" jist stays.

my idea with this story would be more of a romance story, hurt and comfort, healing from past traumas, that sort of thing. id also love political drama, troubles within your character's kingdom that these two have to sort out - or anything with a lot of drama, angst, and high stress emotions, really. i'd especially love if this was set in omegaverse reversal, where alphas are lower class and omegas are upper class. ive been wanting to play with that dynamic.

(im also fine with it if you want to be mean to him, or even something like they go from enemies to lovers!! im really open honestly)

the oc i plan to use is an alpha catboy. he's got a nice face and is quite anxious. he has a defined personality, appearance, and backstory that i'll ramble about in DMs. i also have a lot of side characters from his past that can be relevant. overall i love to rp as men with problems, and exploring deep emotions and stressful situations for characters.

i mostly play domtop, with occasional subtop. i dont like pure smut rps, but i dont want to only fade to black - please be ok with writing scenes or ftb if scenes are frequent.

MUST HAVE: MxM, shipping, at least a bit of fantasy, dead dove themes, semi-lit to lit length, 3rd person

LIKES: multiple threads, modern fantasy, humanoid creatures, magic and wizards, slice of life with lots of drama, angst, hurt/comfort, texting rp on the side for when we're low energy 👀

WON'T DO: incest or 🍪 (not even in backstory please), animal/child torture, FxF, space setting, robots, IRL faceclaims

note that if something isnt listed as a "won't do", im open to discussion! i probably just dont have a strong feeling about it.

PLEASE BE OK WITH: suicide/self-harm (usually just idealisation and desire; sometimes failed attempts), depression and self loathing, sexual assault (usually between npc and my char, and usually nothing on screen), and gore and graphic depictions of injury or misery.

additionally, this rp will require you to be into things like worldbuilding, playing npcs, and being willing to toss in villain characters. i can and will do all of this too (prepare for me to come up with questions about your kingdom that you'd never expect), but you also have to put this stuff in.

in a partner, im looking for someone who can do daily or semi-daily replies (and tell me if things will slow down!). i also prefer a lot of ooc communication and chatter! i like to hang out and talk about the rp, our characters, or even just things im up to. i also love coming up with AUs and side stories and the like, and would love if you were open to listening to my ideas or even sharing your own.

please do not interact if you ghost. if you want to drop, i want you to at least send a goodbye before you leave so i know it happened. i'll leave an rp if you dont post for like, a week without any ooc word

thank you for reading, and please like this post or dm me if you would like to rp together!

like or dm

[nexysworld]

Guardian Angel 🖤 Part 4.3 🖤

Read on AO3 - Requests are Open - Masterlist

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | 4.1| 4.2

A/N: Thanks for the support and patience for this chapter. Tumblr wouldn't actually let me post it in one or even 2 parts no matter how I tried to split it, so it's split into three parts (though you can read it as one chapter on AO3.)

Chapter Summary: In a an attempt to get reader to open up to him, he starts giving in to a change of scenery and other requests for her. Leon even allows her a special friend before he leaves on a work mission, leaving the reader home alone for the first time.

🖤Pairing: Yandere!Leon/Fem!Reader 

🖤Tags (not all apply to all chapters): NSFW, Masturbation, Dubcon, Sex, Gaslighting, canon typical horror and gore descriptions, probably eventual kidnapping or kidnapping like behavior, use of pet names like bunny. Leon induces some PTSD like flashbacks on purpose, general things of that nature. Unwanted creampie, etc. Probably treat as dead dove. Inappropriate use of animal collar. Threats of animal abuse (though none occurs and it's not descriptive.)

The first day was easy for you. Being alone definitely felt strange, being alone with essentially free roam of the house was even more strange, but with Lucipurr running around with you, it didn’t feel as lonely as you thought, the little cat brought such an indescribable joy to you. 

You listened to music while you paced back and forth, watched TV, more pacing. At one point it even started to rain, so you took a seat by a window and read for a while. It was peaceful. Actually peaceful, you didn’t let your mind wander beyond the moment. So many bad things had happened, you just wanted to focus on the good for now while you could, and having Lucip around to take care of instantly brightened any even remotely soured mood you had. Besides, he needed you, you couldn’t lose it while he depended on you. The second day had been a bit harder. You hadn’t particularly liked waking up without the smell of food or Leon’s kisses. And if you thought about that further you felt conflicted about even feeling that way, especially with everything – no –  you immediately stopped that thought. N o bad thoughts. No bad thoughts . Luckily for you the cat had got your attention, meowing at you incessantly to remind you that it was breakfast time. 

The evening had been even harder. The scratching of the tree branches outside, the pitter-pattering of the rain on the roof, just the general creakiness of the old house had you on edge. While you trusted that no living thing would enter without Leon’s permission, that didn’t exclude the supernatural. You felt silly for even entertaining that idea, but it was hard not to when you were entirely alone. You swore the red eyed man was back, not fully, but  there was always something flashing in your peripheral vision freaking you out. It helped even less when the attic door had creaked open. 

It’s not that you hadn’t been curious, but, you felt you knew enough about Leon to know that he would know if you went up there. How would he know? You didn’t know. What you did know was that he would know. You didn’t want to know what the consequences of that would be. So, you closed the door and went back to bed, making sure the light was left on and Lucip was with you. 

Day three was the worst overall. Leon should be home that evening if his timeline was right, but you were bored by now, especially having no one to talk to, and were obscenely sick of cereal, sandwiches, and cold meatloaf. Movies couldn’t hold your attention, nor could reading. You opted to instead play some music out loud as you danced around the large house, sometimes picking up Lucip and swinging him around gently, before hugging him close to you.  

The music cheered you up a little, but that was short lived when your heart nearly came out of your mouth from the size of the spider you saw on the wall. “Lucip no!” You shouted when the cat had darted after it, chasing it up the stairs. You were frozen, especially when you heard a door upstairs creaking open. You’d prayed and prayed that it was the bedroom door, but it was never that squeaky, and besides it was already open. Through wobbly legs you made your way upstairs, a shoe in hand in case you needed to help Lucip fend off any more undesirables. Much to your dismay, the attic door was open and Lucip was nowhere to be found - no doubt having followed the 8 legged thing up there. You attempted to get the cat to come down through any means that didn’t involve going inside. “Here kitty kitty. Pspspsps” You tried at the doorway. No luck . Shaking the food bowl. Nothing . Treats? No . What were you supposed to do now?  Could you just wait until Leon got home? But how mad would Leon even be if he knew the cat had gone up there, would he take him from you? No! The very thought of losing what felt like your only friend, losing something that relied on you, you couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t fail him like that. You just couldn’t, he was the ony ray of hope. A resounding crashing sound came from the room. Shit . If something important was up there…maybe you could pose it to Leon that you just wanted to keep the stuff safe from the cat? You’d been so behaved lately maybe you could beg for forgiveness and he’d be lenient with you?  

Another crash came while you were pondering what to do. Shit . Shit . Maybe Leon was right, he’d given you too much freedom and now you were getting way ahead of yourself, but you could only think of the small feline you needed to protect. 

~♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡🖤♡~Leon was at a red light that was taking an eternity to turn green, he’d have blown through it but he knew it was a camera-light. He was so anxious to get home, get back to you. Watching you dance around the house and play with the cat had him in a really good mood. He had full plans to wrap you in his arms, make a nice hot dinner – probably lecture you about those over-sized bites – and reward you for being so good while he was gone.

With the light still yet to change, he opted to pull his phone out and check on you one more time. When he watched you calling the cat from the attic his blood ran cold – the second your form disappeared behind the door, his foot hit the gas maxing out his speedometer to get home as quickly as he could.

Despite him driving like a maniac, he felt like he wasn’t going fast enough, time had slowed down for him. Even when he brought the Jeep to a skidded stop outside, his legs felt heavy as he fumbled the key to get inside and up the stairs, boots thumping loudly with each step.

The door was still ajar, and you weren’t in any of the visibly open rooms. “Hey Bunny, I’m back.” He did his best to mask anything that might scare you. “I’m coming into the attic, it’s okay. I’m not mad.”

As he came up the stairs, he dodge a heavy book that was thrown at his head. He sighed, this is exactly what he expected would happen. And there you were surrounded by computer monitors, some were playing back tapes from the security footage he’d take at your old apartment.

In your hand you were gripping a manila folder with giant red print on it “SHULTZ CLASSIFIED.” In your other hand he watched in horror as you held a sharp piece of broken glass, your hand was shaking while it bled.

“I’m not fucking crazy! You made me think I was crazy, but I’m not crazy! Derek was real. He was my boyfriend, and he was real . You’ve been stalking me for over a year, you sick freak!”

“C’mon baby, lets talk ok? There’s no reason to be so upset.” Leon put one hand out like he was walking towards a cornered animal. He was assessing things as he went, trying to determine the best course of action. He might be able to use the collar, but he was concerned you’d hurt yourself more falling into the broken glass on the floor. His best bet was to get over there and disarm you, but he had to tread carefully, not wanting to push you over the edge before he could.

“Take me home.”

“Bunny, you are home.”

“Please, Leon, please take me back home to my real home. I miss my friends and family, I’m sure they miss me too. I know I’m not crazy now, so…”

“Bunny –” He took a slow step closer.

“If you don’t I’ll kill myself. I will, right now.”

“Let’s not talk like that, alright? You’re not being rational right now.” He took another slow step forward, hands still raised. In a sign of a truce, he unbuckled his knife and tossed it to the side, along with his guns and even the remote to the shock collar. “See honey? I don’t want to hurt you, it’s okay.”

Quick contemplation crossed your face. “Let’s go together then. Please…please I can introduce you as my boyfriend. They’d love you, really. I won’t tell them about this or anything I swear.”

Poor Bunny, negotiating isn’t going to work, it’s cute you tried though. Leon nodded anyway, taking another baby step closer. He just needed you to let down your guard for a moment, just a brief moment. “If that’s what you really want, we can probably work something out, ok? But you won’t be going anywhere if you hurt yourself. Do you want your family to know you killed yourself?”

The second you lowered the glass just slightly away from your neck, Leon took his move, grabbing your wrist so tightly you were forced to drop the glass. “See? It’s ok.”

“Please…please Leon I just want to go home. I just want to see them. I’m not crazy. I won’t report you or say anything. I can go back to work, we can go back to being neighbors.”

He brought his free hand up to cup your face. “Oh poor Bunny. You don’t understand, you don’t exist anymore.”

“What?”

“You heard me, baby. You don’t exist. You don’t have any friends or family. You’re not even a ghost - you simply don’t exist outside of this property.“

“No..no way–”

“Yes way baby. You should know, you’re the one who ran ragged trying to find a single person who remembered –I won't even dignify his name — did you really think I wasn’t going to do the same to you? Though honestly this is for your own protection”

“My friends and family, they don’t know who I am anymore?”

“No. They don’t know you, they’ve never heard of you, they’ve never met you.. Let me be doubly clear, you don’t exist to anyone outside of me and the cat.” Leon was treading carefully now, this wasn’t the outcome he expected. He’d have to think about how he wanted to proceed long term now that you knew some of what happened. For right now though you were scared and bleeding. He decided to continue to act with caution, but not without regaining some control, especially when that look of terror appeared in your eyes upon Lucipurr bolting out of the room. It was clear that it occurred to you the cat was all you now had besides Leon.

“Hey, shhhh. You know what? Like I said, I’m not even mad alright? I’m not mad. You were so good the whole time I was gone. I know you only came up here because of the cat. That’s my fault for leaving the door unlocked.” He tugged the classified folder from your hand, setting it down on the desk next to them. “No time out, no punishment. Just come with me, let’s get you cleaned up.”

When you didn’t move he pulled you into a tight hug changing strategies. “You don’t want to leave Lucip all alone do you?” He felt you shake your head against him. “Good. And you don’t want Lucipurr to have to die because you can’t behave, right?” You froze. That’s exactly what he wanted.

“Bunny, I asked you a question. You wouldn’t want the cat to die because of you, would you?”

“N-no.”

“Good, then I urge you to think about what might happen to Lucipurr if you decide to pull something like this again, it would really be sad if he had to die because you weren’t around anymore to take care of him.” Despite the open threat, he opted to rub your back still coaxing you to follow him out of the room. “Good girl. See? I told you, I’m not mad, don’t be scared. We’re just going to get you cleaned up. Shhhh.” He led you gently out of the attic and down to the bathroom, all the while thinking about his next steps.

[voltstone]

scav·eng·er | TWDG Retelling | 1

"But we don't eat monsters." "Yeah, but if we could, we probably would..."

At least, that's what Clementine tells him. Because AJ doesn't need to know how warm the fresh ones are on the tongue, nor how decayed flesh claws on the way down.

[The times she scavenged, the times her secret was caught, and the one bite that started it all.]

— — —

Basically I took my creative liberties and ran with them. Head-first. Into…whatever this is. (Based off of the most out of pocket dialogue prompt, which this post is about.) I will blast through all the seasons, so. A full retelling! :D With cannibalism! And gore! And Clementine is not a-okay!! >:D

However, I did decide that I will have to break it apart for pacing, and stuff. But I will post the story in-full as well if people want to read it that way when I'm 100% done. This is the first part of…I dunno yet. But each part will effectively go through each season, or however I think to do it.

Now this is mature, and I did tag it dead dove. Because. Cannibalism, technically. And like. Violence. And stuff. But genuinely though, it is written to be unhinged. Lol.

Anyway. Hope you enjoy!

:)

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

THE BITE

she did not ask for this. it hurts.

[2,721] [Apr.25.2024] — — —

"The first thing that changes, sweetie, is the smell of them."

.

"It will only take a couple hours. They'll all … start smelling sweet, more like a citrus."

.

Clementine whimpers. She holds her hand tightly around her arm, up towards her shoulder where he wrangled the dress. Her throat's raw. She's swirling over the conversations Lee had with her, after her hair was grabbed, and he had to explain why the St. John brother horrified her the way he did. The other one. With shadows around his eyes, and a smile that always twitched around her.

Amongst that, Lee admitted why he killed him the way he did—pitchfork at hand.

He horrified him too.

.

She decides though, as she scrambles away from this man, that it isn't the same.

The man is good with his words, for one, and there's a…sincerity to him. A genuine one, but there's something to his face that Clementine never could've seen through the radio.

He's tall. Gangly.

And in his face, there's something not quite right. It's not the blood—her blood—he wipes from his mouth by a gentle hand. It lies beneath that.

.

Insanity.

.

"It hurts, I know. That's what my daughter said too. And that's what I felt when Tess bit me."

.

This is insanity.

It doesn't matter how well he preens it, this is insanity, and he just… He just—

He. Bit. Clementine.

Didn't look happy about it, and he still doesn't. But he just. He bit her, and hard, like he meant it anyway. He continues look at her like he means it, right with all the ramblings about his family, and how nice they are, and how she'd fit right in. At least, after he gets a proper brush for her. Her hair's quite a bit different from his daughter's.

. "I don't really understand what it is either, or what does it. "I just know…, biting you, you can be a part of my family this way."

.

"You've already met my wife… You can join my daughter in the backseat. You just have to keep quiet, and she won't do anything to you."

.

She doesn't really listen to what he says. There's too much of the day's horror racing through her body.

It's the bafflement, however, that strikes her mute.

Because this man bit her, and it isn't something Clementine can just wrest from herself. It spins and twirls until she feels an unease build, and she's about to vomit, her heart's thrashing beneath her palm…

She can't. She's barely eaten enough to force the urge.

.

It's dark in the bathroom. He's tall. Looming over her. 

And.

And Clementine's been bit. He stares at her as though it means the same as every other bite, yet it doesn't, because he's not dead. 

.

She knows how long his teeth are.

They sank far too deep for any genuine, sincere man in his right mind.

.

"She won't do anything."

.

Clementine hides in the bathtub for the longest while. Ducks right into it, the moment he shuts the door, and she hears him string the handle, then tie it to the closet across from her.

Every now and then, she dozes. Not because she wants to. She's desperate to stay awake. Yet Clementine is small, and she's tired, and there's no fighting this. It's an exhaustion she never could have fathomed. There's strange nightmares she can't quite place, and they rattle her back where her eyes fly open, the ceramic's cold, she doesn't want to sleep. There is nothing to see in them, those nightmares. Just a desolation, and a twisted ache down her throat. She smells gore in them. Can almost feel the blood and bone bathe down her skin, then crack in her hands.

The meat… There's meat.

In her mouth.

And she chews. And Clementine swallows.

.

She doesn't understand.

.

There is one nightmare she sees. It knocks her head into the ceramic tub by the time she wakes again.

.

A farm. Dairy. Except there's only slaughter. There's butcher across tile. The barn's locker rots.

Clementine never ate there. Never the meat. Not a bite.

Lee saved her back then. He did.

.

Lee saved her. He'll save her.

Again, and again.

.

He begins to be what she stirs to.

Her sweat's cold. The world blurs when the tears come.

Before Clementine is lost to nightmare for another time.

.

Then...

She snaps upright. Finds herself clambering from the bathtub and to the door. Her head is a smog, but she… Clementine can hear them both. Her voice rattles from her. She doesn't quite hear what she says— All she knows is Lee. At least, she thinks. Hopes so.

.

A citrus bleeds from the door, and to her nose.

.

It's likely the man's. He is bit, and his eyes are not quite as…human as he tells himself.

He's just…not dead, exactly.

Not truly alive either. His gaunt complexion tells her so, and the weary treble in his voice. Or he's always just been like that. Sickly looking, if not just plain unnerving.

Clementine can't really tell. It's hard to piece together a person like him, amidst the self-hatred. A loathing, if anything.

Because she fell for it. Fell for his words, the promise for her family. Even though…, Clementine knew, in the back of her mind, it's too good to be true. A random voice on the radio, how could he have known her and her parents? And Savannah? And Lee, and Macon, and everything between?

.

Simply put…

That random voice knows, because she told him herself.

Told him everything.

.

The fight for the world's clarity stands no better with her at the door. She sags against the wall. Her arm pangs. The bathroom is…cold, beneath her feet.

Frigid, even, the more the stupid girl's remorse blisters her.

This is what desperation has brought. It opened its mouth for her. His long teeth. And she stared. Looked at this gifted horse in the mouth; discovered a reason to run.

.

"Yeah. I'm not some cannibal, Lee."

.

Lee… So he has come to save her.

She knew he would. Clementine just knew he would.

It's enough to spark urgency. She stands.

.

"Some killer out in the woods. Some v-villain…"

.

That man is a liar, though. Lee is here, but the man is a liar.

Unless…, what he's done really wasn't murder, nor a kidnapping.

.

"I'm just a … dad."

.

Perhaps. Maybe that is right.

.

Still however. Clementine decides then and there to creep from the bathroom.

She makes sure to keep her sleeve down, and her dress over her shoulder. Because she isn't bitten. Not really.

.

The same way that man didn't murder.

.

"Have you ever hurt somebody you care about?" "My wife."

.

Clementine tries the handle first. It twists, yet the string holds it firm.

She almost weeps. Or she does, and her head is too numb to know.

The bathroom is all the more darker, and her exhaustion grows all the more heavy.

.

"I hurt her a long time ago. "In a lot of ways…"

.

Lee sounds… He sounds weaker than he did last night.

Exhaustion slinks from his mouth. It worms the same in her ears—the same as her own. There's a wavering, and then a husk. Like there's not enough life to draw from. And it says something—says a lot, actually—how much stronger the man with his treble is in his words. He's steady. He carries an unruly intention.

And Lee…, he sounds tired. And bleak. Mostly bleak. Doesn't talk much.

Clementine doesn't want to believe the strained breaths cleaving the room is him.

.

"I hurt her so bad."

.

"I hurt her so bad."

.

The man's wife has her head in his bowling bag.

She rolls in it. Smudges the tearstreaks left behind.

.

"I hurt her so bad."

.

Clementine flares the last of her strength. She swallows down the last of the dairy farm as it twitches for another nightmare.

She clasps the handle. Twists it, and tests the string. She doesn't want to get caught. Noise is her bane, and she knows the man has an ear for her.

.

"Do I look like a monster to you?"

.

She has to bide her time. It's daunting.

However, Clementine listens for the moment where he's engrossed, and the man is sunk back into his writhing sanity. He likes to ramble. Did it a lot that day, and he even did it routinely on the radio. On and on and on about his wife, and his kids.

Family.

It's always family with him. Family, and being a father, a husband, and having his nice daughter.

.

"She's already a part of my family now… "There's no reason for you to have come, Lee."

.

"I smell it on you. You're not going to last."

.

There he goes again.

Clementine pulls the door just enough for the string to strain, and for her to untangle its knot. It snaps back for the open closet.

The man talks to his wife again. He stares into his bowling bag, and she knows the wife's head to roll again.

She meets Lee by his eyes. He's… He's missing an arm, and he looks ghastly. Drained too. Yet, he has enough strength to nod for the side-dresser, and when her eyes follow, there glints a cleaver.

.

"Hey, honey. I think this is all going to work out."

.

It's tight in her hand.

The dairy farm ravages to the blood she ignores down its blade. Clementine hears the groaning instead. The wife. Can almost make out the nonsense the man pulls a few words from.

.

"I'm glad too. "I wish you wouldn't have had to get this bad, but it's all over hon. Isn't it?"

.

"I hate seeing you like this. I just miss your smile, honey."

.

Her strides to him are careful. Clementine keeps herself far from his eye, his peripheral. Lee tenses, though in his face, there's a quiet resolution. His eyes dart between the man, then her.

Clementine raises the cleaver. Moonlight darts along the wall when she does. Her hands tremble; the moonlight does too. She can't help it.

.

"I miss you so much, Tess. You're gonna like Clementine a lot, though. She's not Lizzy, but she's sweet. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."

.

Clementine sinks the cleaver deep. Thinks of it as a bite for a bite.

.

The man lunges away from her, and he reaches for the blade plunged into his shoulder.

Lee hurls his weight across the table, and knocks into the man. The fight is blurring. Clementine strafes, feels her heart soar when Lee buckles him into the wall.

Before he curls. The fight is too much for him. The man is strong in his intentions.

His hands are around Lee's neck. The gun is heavy in her hands. She trembles again. Aims. The world is whirling, except for Lee, and for the man, and the bullet she punctures through his crown.

.

She—

Clementine just shot him.

Just shot the man.

He's dead.

.

Bafflement finds her again. Locks her there, in place. Trembling. Air doesn't come easy. Her heart does well to scald her, and it's restless.

It names itself shock, however. She's not inclined to argue.

There's a look in Lee's eyes. Gratitude, but the shock as well. It rattles them both.

.

She cries. He consoles. But air doesn't come easy, nor do the words to her mind.

When he dawns her back her Dad's hat, however… The world doesn't cage her anymore.

It's not as cold.

It's still a desolate shade of moonlight.

.

A walker stands at the door. The citrus is pungent in the room. There were traces before.

With the dead looming in the doorway, however, it swamps her now.

And the gore Lee lathers down her clothes makes it worse. A thousand times worse. Because the citrus is like… It's like the oranges she plucked from at a fieldtrip's orchard. It's sweet. She can't tell if she's about to vomit or not. She sweats. It's cold again. Lee mistakes both for terror. Or, it's that she's the one mistaken, and this isn't anything beyond a break in sanity.

.

Her parents are dead.

They have been.

.

She sees them, when Lee guides her into the dead's orchard.

.

"The first thing that changes, sweetie, is the smell of them."

.

"The second thing…"

.

The second thing… There's a second thing. It rattles somewhere. She can only see the red jacket he held for her. The same she refused before.

The same that… The same that Lee—

Lee's falling.

.

His voice trails after him. He stumbles too, the more she whimpers and pulls at his shoulder. He isn't limp. He is not awake.

But he does move. Her arm throbs, Clementine trips over herself, and Lee is staggering after her. With a haze in his eyes. He shoulders into anything and everything.

The dead don't mind. Not really.

.

They don't mind him. Nor her.

.

Clementine's left to pull him into a store. She finds a string. Reaches for it.

The gate it guides slams to the floor once gravity has its say.

They are alone, her and Lee. Secure. There is no leaving… Which frightens him. More than the St. John brother ever did.

.

Clementine knows he's bit before he says it.

.

It's the sweet citrus.

The same that washes off the walkers, it leaks from Lee in steady waves.

.

It just breaks her heart, knowing that… That he really is a-about to— To die.

.

There's no time to tell him about her bite. She wouldn't have had the heart to regardless, nor the mind.

So she clings to his words. Nods to Lee, when he tells her to keep moving.

.

Lee doesn't have to tell her what to do next. Clementine knows.

So when he runs out of energy, and time, and mind…

She just knows.

.

"I'll miss you."

.

The gun is the heaviest when she raises it to his head.

. . .

SOMETHING WAS VERY WRONG

. . .

There is no fever. She doesn't understand, because it is not a fever, it's this brisk chill across her body, beneath the morning sun.

Maybe it's from lingering beside Lee's body for longer than she should have. Or, it's from stalking in the shadows where the walkers couldn't quite reach.

Yet, no. Those were the quiet lies she told herself, before reality wormed its way the moment she found them. Or, when they found her—none of them can decide. The more they hug her, the more Omid squeezes her shoulder and Christa holds her from her from the weary ground, the more Clementine realizes this for what it is:

The bite.

And it's rough against cotton. Cold too, like the deep inhale before something really, really bad happens, and now her body teems of it, and her head swims to every sharp clap of gunfire. Her eyes too, because the world warbles whenever Clementine passes wherever the sun is strongest.

This is the same cold which agonized her body in the Marsh House. In the bath, then in the room—with Lee's rattled breaths, and the walker splayed beside them both. It's the cold she fought against. Fell asleep to. Would awake to.

It feels like her body has been disturbed. As though…she herself, to her core, hasn't grasped what hit her.

Except that it has a name, and its name is dread.

.

It takes months for the hunger to set in.

[Next] AO3 | FF | Wattpad

— — —

As much as I enjoy writing stories for the sake of catharsis, I do enjoy being unhinged and writing this kind of thing too. Cuz it can be fun. Once you get past the concerning things. Again, I am breaking it up for pacing's sake, so shorter chapters. My little writer gut tells me shorter chapters good, actually. For this. So the TBC will have a link to the next post once I'm done.

Hope you enjoyed so far! :)

[gingerbreadmonsters]

bury the hatchet

or: ugh, i’ve got a splitting headache...

gn!reader, big big warnings for violence and blood, some good old-fashioned high society murder to take with tea. one final stab of horror to close out this year’s spooky season!! i… don’t really know how to preface this - something happened in the angst channel, and i guess this is what you get?? you can blame the brilliant, gorgeous minds of the wonderful @sri-rachaa ​ and @zozo-01 ​ for our concept today, which i absolutely did not go completely overboard with. <333 william living up to his reputation in 1700 words or less.

very very big trigger warnings attached to this one: blood, heavy gore, death and dead bodies, graphic descriptions of murder and violence, mutilation, fatal injury. PLEASE don’t feel like you have to read this one, and i strongly encourage you to stop reading at any point if you feel uncomfortable. consider yourself adequately warned.

this fic contains graphic content that may not be suitable or appropriate for readers under the age of 18. reader discretion is heavily advised. dead dove: do not eat. minors dni. thank you. 

It takes surprisingly little force to smash a vampire’s skull, when you really think about it.

(Obviously, not for a human, but that’s not really the matter at hand here.)

For example, you could use a weapon - some kind of blunt instrument to really build up some momentum. A bat, or a club, or a stave of some sort. Perhaps something sharper, like a knife or a machete. Something heavier, like an axe or a mace? For a proper shatter, you need something with a bit of weight to it. Or, if you’re in the mood for something a touch more classic, you could always just use your hands. There’s very little you can’t do if you have enough strength.

If there’s one thing that William Solaire does not lack, it’s strength.

He doesn’t remember this particular troublemaker’s name - he must be from one of those god-awful clans that insists on elbowing their way into the social season, despite their eldest ones only being a century old at most. The whole pack of them love parading around like their little name means something, throwing their weight around like children and with the fashion sense to match. Really, does nobody have any taste any more? You’d think being made immortal would give you a reason to look after your reputation - you’ll be holding onto it for a very long time, after all. Unless maybe they want to be known as the spoilt brats of polite vampiric society, in which case they’re doing an excellent job. Honestly. It’s abhorrent. They disgrace the good name of the Old Blood.

Something else they’re determined to disgrace, it seems, is him.

Mumbling, chattering, snickering around the table when they think he’s not listening. Failed impressions in terrible French accents. One of the younger ones - she can’t be more than five or ten years turned, at most - eyes the chain of his pocket watch disdainfully, turning to her companion to mutter disparagingly about overdone aesthetics and a lack of originality. Please. He was there when the pocket watch was invented. If anyone should be concerned about a tired, washed-up design aesthetic, it should be that other couple from this clan of fools standing just behind her. Apparently, they didn’t get the memo that the Summit is formal wear only - he may be old, but that doesn’t mean he can’t spot 100% polyester from a mile away.

Unfortunately, their crimes aren’t limited to the world of fashion. Really, you’d be surprised just how clumsy vampires can be. A glass of blood that just so happens to tip all down the front of Alexis’ dress. What a horrible accident. A carelessly-swung handbag that almost knocks Vincent down the stairs in the foyer. A shocking mistake. It’s all something of a farce, if he’s honest. Pantomime villains, or not even that - a whole clan of half-baked sidekicks, tripping over themselves to trip him up, thinking they’re bigger and badder than they actually are.

(The most amusing thing is that they think they’re winning, the poor dears. If he were feeling slightly more generous, he might even take pity on them. It’s a cutthroat sort of world here at the top - there’s no need to fake it when you’re already the real deal, and glass beads will never pass for diamonds.)

It’s clear that they don’t know who he is. Their first mistake, really. These things can be confusing, but if you’re really so brainless as to not recognise William Solaire on sight, then why are you even here? He and his children aren’t exactly unknown in these circles. There are only a precious few vampiric bloodlines still in existence that are older than his, and the reasons why aren’t exactly secret. Vincent alone is certainly no blushing flower when it comes to these sorts of things, and you’re saying that you’ve never heard of Alexis Solaire? Difficult to believe. Any vampire worth their salt knows the infamous princess of the Solaire Clan, one way or another. Famous faces turn heads for all sorts of reasons, and some families are just more famous than others.

The pointing and laughing is almost entertaining, at least for a short while. It’s like they don’t know any better. Perhaps they don’t. These young ones never seem to want to listen, and surely it falls to their elders to teach them a lesson, doesn’t it? Or, at least, it would if the elders of this array of nuisances had any brains to share amongst themselves. Young and arrogant and foolish, drunk on pretend power and heady on real blood. Fangs on full display, yet somehow all bark and no bite. The display grows tiresome very quickly. Play bloodthirsty-vampire games, win bloodthirsty-vampire prizes. Spoilt children need to learn how to grow up, and fast.

“He’s not even from one of the important clans here. Do they just give out invites to random vamps on the street or something? Apparently, the other two are his kids, but I have no idea who they’re meant to be.”

How fortunate, then, that William Solaire is so very old. There are so many things he can teach them. But where should he start?

Perhaps with a little lesson in vampiric biology.

Some unempowered humans believe that a stake through the heart can kill a vampire. They’re entirely correct. Vampires are not so different to ordinary humans, despite what one might think. It depends, of course, on the specific nature of the injury itself, and the strength of the vampire in question, but for the most part the myth is true. How many people do you know, biologically immortal or otherwise, who have come back from having their heart crushed into pulp? The answer is probably not many. If you stake a vampire through the heart, they are almost always sure to die.

This is something that a little clan of idiots learns very quickly, as they loiter in the foyer, kicking up an ungodly racket and taking up twice as much space as they really ought to. They also learn that an elaborately decorated, evening-appropriate cane is a very good substitute for a stake, when you’re in a pinch.

The Old Bloods know what’s going on. Nobody makes any move to stop him.

The silence is immediate. He pulls it free, that slick, delicious sound echoing through the entryway as blood spatters the delicately-gilded wallpaper, and the limp body falls to the floor from where it was pinned to the plaster. From clear across the hall, too. That really had been an excellent shot. A champagne glass smashes in terrified fingers, a dropped phone clatters against the tile, the beginnings of a horrified scream quickly stifled by a slightly more sensible hand. Deer in the headlights, the lot of them. If you’re going to do it, you may as well do it properly, and you should always make sure the job is finished.

His glove and about a inch or two of his sleeve are wet with blood as he reaches inside, turning the syrupy mess of what used to be a vampiric heart over in his hand. It pulses just a little, tiny involuntary twitches while it cools, but it’s not worth saving - delicately, he drops it back into the cracked mess of the body cavity with a sticky slap, letting the strings and pipes and cords settle as he takes in the scene in front of him. Poor, frightened children. Some try to fight back, to protest, to taunt him. Make him out to be a madman, or perhaps a maniac. Some try to run, but there’s nowhere to go. Honestly, don’t they see it? The writing on the wall is a familiar shade of red, and an upstart clan of brainless bloodsuckers isn’t going to make it out unscathed.

It takes surprisingly little force to break the skull of a vampire. That much, we’ve already established. The difficult part is getting them to stay still long enough to let you.

Perhaps just one more. To make an example. Vincent, bless him, always seems to know exactly what he’s thinking - before anyone can blink, another troublemaker is held captive at his feet, face crushed into the unyielding floor and arms locked immobile behind him. A familiar polyester tie clashes with the muted, tasteful colour of the tile. You cannot bargain with what you do not understand. There is no mercy for those who break the rules, else we all find out if you really are as brainless as you appear. Some things are best seen with your own eyes, and the inside of the human body is not exactly an unfamiliar thing for an audience like this.

Nobody disrespects the name of the clan. Isn’t that what family’s for? William Solaire has taught his young ones well. The wet crunch as a perfectly polished high heel splits a vampiric skull in half, and a young man rolls his eyes as his sister laughs, silently bemoaning the juice and slush and bone fragments that now stain his shirt. It all comes out in the wash. Well, at least we know there was certainly a brain in there somewhere. What a pity it was never used.

The show is magnificent - the other guests gradually wander back to their business, in quiet admiration, as the bodies are discreetly removed by a handful of unobtrusive staff. Oh, he couldn’t be prouder. His wonderful, darling daughter, and his incredible, precious son. No father could ask for more.

(Funnily enough, the guest list is considerably shorter the next time this particular event is held. How curious.)

It seems the lesson sticks. It’s so lovely when things work out the way you want them to, and William has never been afraid of getting his hands dirty when he needs to. Sometimes, reminders are a necessary evil.

The Solaire Clan is old for a reason. After all, vampires have always known to fear the sun. The clan that bears its name ought not to disgrace its reputation.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[hd-fan-fair]

FIC: IT IS NOT A HOUSE

Title: it is not a house Creator: Anonymous Prompt: #30 Food Theme: People eating house Travel Theme: Arctic Rating: Explicit Warnings/Content Notes: Psychological Horror, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Blood and Gore, Mostly Implied Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Getting Back Together, Doomed Relationship, Breaking Up & Making Up, Porn with Feelings, Nightmares, Trapped, Isolation, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Power Dynamics, Light Dom/sub, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Sharing a Bed, Draco Malfoy In Love, POV Draco Malfoy Summary: There are many stories that can happen in a forgotten house, in the middle of the Arctic. Heart-warming tales about human connection and finding the essence of the self. Epic love stories. Warnings about the hubris of human explorations. This is both none of the above and a bit of all. This is a horror story. Word Count: 43,390 Creator’s Notes: There is every haunted house story, of course, but one poem in particular that not only haunted me since i heard it, but also graciously provided me with a few titles: Ash, by Tracy K. Smith. As ever, thanks to the amazing mods for organising this fest. it is extremely dear to me. thank you, as well, for your continued flexibility with deadlines. Thanks to my friend C, for listening or at least not protesting, to my incoherent ramblings. thanks to A, for not only beta reading but also encouraging and improving (it's much worse now, she's amazing). ( it is not a house )

[mxmoth]

#24 Letting out their anger in front of them

The trials of the last few weeks seemed at once leagues away while still remaining squarely on her shoulders. Simply staying upright and pressing onward had become a battle of its own, and no matter how much she felt as though she would collapse under the immense weight of it all, there were still things that needed to be done before she could allow herself to crumble. But the road home was not so long and, soon, she would be able to set everything aside for a while and exist in the stillness she had been so desperately searching for.

There were ways into the village without being noticed. Though the most practical entrances were heavily guarded, someone with the proper knowledge and skills could bypass them entirely. Eventually, she would have to deal with the consequences of returning a... what? A war hero? The thought was too surreal for her mind to accept. But if she could put that off for just one night, she was sure she would be able to face the inevitability with grace tomorrow.

Difficult as it had been to find a single piece of solace in the midst of chaos, a plague of misfortune she'd started to think was centered on her, she managed to navigate through the village without anyone noticing her. Up from the beach, away from the most closely packed houses to a single-story home on the southeastern side of the village. Gentle grey smoke curled from the chimney and an orange glow poured from the open windows. There was no feeling, no sense in the world that felt more like home to her.

Dove didn't bother to knock, she just let herself in through the side door and dropped her boots and bag on the floor. By the time she reached the main room, she'd undone the buckles on her armor, the snug steel hanging loose against her back and chest, the padding and tunic beneath starting to finally unstick from her skin. Her movements stilled as an older man sitting by the hearth turned and looked up at her, an expression of wariness shifting swiftly into a smile. It felt like it had been years since she'd last seen him, though it had only been a few months. But the enormity of everything that had happened since drove a sharp wedge in time and made the span seem so much wider.

He didn't say anything, nor did she, he just rose from his chair and closed the distance between them. In a few moments, her armor had been abandoned on the table, and the padding beneath it on the floor. She still felt like her skin was caked in gore and grief, but there would be time to deal with that later; for now, she just wanted the quiet understanding and safety he offered. And when she asked for a few moments alone, he didn't have to ask why or press her to unravel herself in front of him. He just nodded and dropped a kiss to her forehead before letting her vanish into the bedroom.

Everything was a surprise with the Torrens, which meant nothing was a surprise with them. But he'd expected to see her sooner or later once they'd been called back to the village with news that the war was over. He'd just thought it would take her longer to get there; that she'd come with her friends and make a bit of a show of it. This quiet arrival in the dead of night raised a knot of concern within him, as did the eerie silence that followed the latch of a closed door. He knew her too well and for too long to feel anything other than worry. So he paced outside the bedroom, listening for the slightest sound, and when none came he knew that there had to be a reason for it. Had it not been for that silence, he might have eventually been able to convince himself to give her space. But she'd come here instead of going to her grandmother's house and he couldn't ignore that; nor could he ignore the way his instincts prickled sharper the longer he stood there and waited.

Finally, though his hesitance still sparred against a needle of foreboding, he reached out and tried the handle on the door. It wasn't locked, which was all the answer he needed. He pushed onward into the darkness of the room beyond, and in the moment that he stopped to let his eyes adjust, felt the electric pulse of magic that enveloped the space. It was one mystery solved when he reached out and let his fingers graze the barrier, and another when he popped that bubble and heard the wracking sobs it had concealed.

He didn't need light to guide him, then; his instincts led him to where she'd collapsed a few feet inside the door. She may have tried to reach the bed, or the chair in the corner, but she hadn't made it that far. It didn't matter. He dropped to his knees next to her and gathered her in against his chest, giving her a solid place to lean, if nothing else. The dam might have broken, but her body was still braced against an invisible threat. Drawn up, tense, grasping for anything that might give her a breath of stability.

As she registered his presence, her hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers flexing in an attempt not to gouge her nails into his skin. That didn't matter either. He just pulled her in tighter and forced a ripple of magic across his own skin, a precaution he wouldn't have even bothered with if he hadn't known that she would feel badly about wounding him later.

The brief pain of her nails sinking into his skin was nothing compared to the screams, or the breathless sobs left behind when they ebbed. He was wise enough to know that it wasn't just grief, that the pain fell from many branches. The pain of betrayal, of death, of fear, of a hundred tiny barbs nestled under her skin that continued to draw blood long after the vine that laid them was gone. He heard her rage and her helplessness where they collided and knew there was nothing more he could do than simply cradle her head against his shoulder until she had purged it all.

It was no brief process either. There were lulls, quiet moments when she fought to catch her breath and bleed the tension from her muscles, only to be pulled under again by another riptide of emotion. Over and over. But as long as he was there, he wouldn't let her drown in it. If the only thing he could do was hold on, then he'd do it as long as it took.

There was no way to tell how long it had been when she finally eased back, turning to rest her back against his chest, her head still lulled softly against his shoulder. She'd burned through everything inside herself and, though the pyre might not have been fully extinguished yet, she was too exhausted to do anything more about it. He wiped her cheeks and brushed her hair back from her face, silent and cautious of doing anything that might break the stillness. If this was the place she'd been trying to find, he didn't want to force her out of it; not even to move somewhere more comfortable than the middle of the floor. She would move when she was ready to, and he was comfortable letting her take the lead and tell him what she needed.

[luminnara]

God Damn, Shit Sucking Vampires | Poly lost boys x oc CH 9

(oops no gif because the ones i want won’t upload right now)

Just as a reminder, lost boys requests are OPEN!

Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Tags:  @americancowgirl19 @ilikechocolatemilkh

Warnings: Blood, gore, vampire things

Hearing a strange voice in her head nearly drove Vera into a panic. When she realized she was hearing Max, she nearly flew into a second panic, the sire’s strong, firm voice only reassuring her that all of her fears were correct and he wasn’t going to like her very much. 

As she walked along the beach, bare toes sinking into the sand, Dwayne at her side, Vera briefly wondered how hard it would be to kill Max if it came down to a struggle. Did she have a chance against him? Maybe, if she stooped low enough to cry for her own sire, he would come and take care of it—

“Hey, chill out,” Dwayne said, stopping and turning towards her slightly. “What’s wrong?”

She realized she had halted and was simply standing there, staring at nothing as her mind raced. He could probably feel how freaked out she was getting, and as she looked at him, she found a gentle, understanding expression on his face. 

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low and rumbly and comforting. 

He opened his arms in invitation and she dove right in, moving quickly and desperately enough that she knocked him right onto his ass. He landed in the sand with a laugh, situating the two of them so that she could sit in his lap and they could face the dark, never ending ocean. 

“Did Max freak you out?” Dwayne asked as Vera tucked her head under his chin. 

“...a little.” 

“Why?”

She sighed. Something about Dwayne made her feel so safe that she was actually considering talking with him about things she hadn’t even told David yet. “Because I’m not used to this. I’m used to vampires who want me out of their territory the second I even get close, and I can’t really blame them.”

“This is your territory, too.” He said. “You’re the one who’ll be kicking people out of it now.”

“I don’t think Max is going to like me.” She grumbled. 

“Why not?”

She was quiet for a moment, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. “Because he’ll see me as a threat.”

“Max isn’t like that.”

“You’re just saying that now because he’s your sire.”

“No, I’m saying it because I mean it.” Dwayne rested his cheek on the top of her head, his hand absentmindedly rubbing circles on her back. “Max wants a family. Now you’re part of that family.”

He sounded so sure of his own words that Vera was actually feeling inclined to believe him for a moment. “Parents don’t tend to like me.”

“Anyone who can handle having Paul in their pack can handle you.”

She scoffed. “He isn’t that bad.”

“Maybe to you.” Dwayne chuckled. He tightened his arms around her when he realized that his jokes weren’t very reassuring. “Max is a good man. A good sire.”

“Why?” Vera asked. “What does he do that makes you like him so much?”

“Well,” Dwayne situated them a bit better, getting more comfortable. “He’s fair. He acts stern, but...he sees himself as our father.”

“Don’t they always?” Vera grumbled. 

“He calls David his prodigal son, but he always wanted a whole family. He ended up with the four of us.”

“So, what? He plucked you all up out of the gutter and that makes him a good guy?”

“Why are you so determined to hate him?”

“I’m not!” she protested. “I’m just...wary.”

“Max gave us new lives.” Dwayne sighed. “He found us back in San Francisco after we got ourselves in some trouble with another vampire.”

Vera had to snort in amusement at that. “Seriously? Who’d you pick a fight with? Dracula?”

“Well…”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He flashed her a smile. “How were we supposed to know who he was?”

“Humans really have no self preservation instincts, do they?”

“Apparently not.” Dwayne chuckled, squeezing her. 

“How long ago was it?”

“1906, same year as that big earthquake. Tore the whole city apart...it was the perfect time for four vampires to start learning how to survive, with all that chaos. People were dead, more were missing...nobody noticed a few more disappearing here and there.”

“Is that why Max and, uh...Vlad were there?” Vera asked. 

“I imagine.” Dwayne shrugged. “We resisted at first. David was especially pissed off.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Vera laughed quietly. 

“But...we took to the lifestyle pretty quickly.”

“And that���s that?” Vera asked. 

“That’s that.” he shrugged. “Max wants to be a father figure. He turned David because he wanted a son, and he taught him everything he knew. Then, he decided David needed companions, and he happened to find me not long after. Then the others. Max isn’t a bad guy, Vera. You’ll see.”

“That’s what everybody says about their own sire.” she said, looking out at the black waves as they crashed against the sand just a few feet in front of her. “Everyone wants to talk their sires up, because without them, we’re nothing. Just because your own sire is nice to you doesn’t mean he’ll be nice to me.”

“What’s so bad about your own that you think ours is so awful?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, Vera’s mouth pressing into a thin line. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Dwayne opened his eyes, rubbing his cheek over the top of her head affectionately. 

“I’m not.”

“I know that you are, though.”

Vera let out a frustrated noise, then heaved a sigh. Maybe talking about this could be good for her. Maybe verbalizing thoughts and fears that she’d been living with for centuries could finally help her get over them...and if anyone was a good listener, it would be Dwayne. 

“Okay, fine.” she said. “What’s so bad about my sire? Everything. Everything is what’s bad about him, literally.”

“Where’s he from?” Dwayne asked. 

“The old country. Like...the old old country.”

“Why are you so reluctant to talk about him?” Dwayne’s voice was low and gentle, barely audible over the sound of the waves. 

“Because he’s got a reputation.” she fiddled with the hem of her shorts. “Most older vampires know of him. You guys might not, and if we had a different situation, I’d say it should stay that way.”

“That serious, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“Hmm.” Dwayne’s chest rumbled. “The others should hear about this, too.”

“Yeah, they should.” she sighed again, her voice small. She felt small in general, all curled up in Dwayne’s lap like that. Small and helpless. She wasn’t, though, and she didn’t want them to think that she was. So she cleared her throat, trying to muster as much confidence as she could, ignoring the mild twisting in her gut. “I’ll tell you guys everything tomorrow night.”

Dwayne made a small, impatient sound. 

“Max will want to hear, too.”

“That’s a good point,” he admitted. “You know, I still need to hunt for you…”

Vera perked up slightly. The thought of food made the tight feeling in her chest loosen up slightly, and she looked at Dwayne eagerly. “Yes, please.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around her as he stood and set her back on her feet. “Then let’s go find some snacks, Princess.”

-0-

“You know, we don’t have to do this. We could just go back to the cave--”

“What happened to that tough attitude you had a few days ago?” David raised an eyebrow, looking amused as he pulled Vera off the back of his bike.

“I’m still tough,” she growled, knowing that he could very easily feel how nervous she was. 

“Come on, babe,” Paul parked his bike next to David’s and bounded over to her. “You’ll be fine.”

“We’d never let anything happen to ya,” Marko said, following Paul. 

Vera knew he was telling the truth, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She had barely slept the entire day, waking up restless and on edge as soon as the sun disappeared, and it had taken a good deal of coaxing from David to even get her to leave the roost. They took Star and Laddie to the boardwalk, dropped them off with some cash, and then headed off to Max’s house.

David told Vera along the way that Star and Laddie weren’t allowed to know where Max lived. They really weren’t allowed to know anything about him in general, in order to protect him, so when the pack walked up to the front gate of their sire’s home, it was only the four boys who accompanied Vera. She didn’t mind; having Star around would have only put her more on edge, probably, and she had been glad to leave the halfling behind. 

As she faced the gated bridge that led to Max’s completely normal-looking, Californian home, Vera did everything she could to act confident. She squared her shoulders, held her chin up, and pretended that she had nothing to worry about...but the boys could see right through the facade, and as they joined her, they all fell into a little formation. In moments, Vera was surrounded by them, David offering his arm while the others stepped into their spots behind. It made her feel better, knowing that they were all there to protect her...but at the same time, she still wished they were all out wandering the boardwalk. 

“So brave,” David sneered as she took his arm. 

“Shut up.” she growled, vaguely aware of Dwayne’s hand on her lower back. 

“Relax,” Marko purred. 

“Don’t you dare tell me to relax, Marko, I swear—“

The barking of a rapidly approaching dog interrupted her, the sound of paws thumping rhythmically against the wooden walkway drawing her attention away from the boys. A big white hellhound was barreling towards the gate, all teeth and rage, and although it looked like it wanted to tear her limbs off, the sight of such a beast made Vera temporarily forget why she was so anxious. Even as it barked and snarled and threw itself against the gate, she thought that it was absolutely adorable.

“Oh, look at you!” She squealed as the boys all jumped back. When she took a step forward, David tried to yank her towards him, but she slipped away easily, too focused on this hellhound to care. 

“You’re such a big handsome boy,” she said, in a voice that made Paul jealous. 

“No fair,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “Why’s the dumb dog get all that?”

Marko glanced at the taller blond nervously. “Don’t call him dumb, you remember what happened last time?”

Paul groaned, rolling his eyes at the memory of nearly losing a hand. 

The dog stopped barking as Vera approached, falling silent as it sniffed the air around her. The vicious look on its face was gone, replaced by curiosity, and when Vera ignored David’s irritated warnings and reached over the gate to pet it, the animal whined. 

“You must be Thorn,” Vera cooed, scratching behind its ears. “What a big, brave, hell-y hellhound you are, yes you are!”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Paul said as he watched. 

“What?” Vera asked, looking over her shoulder at him. 

“Thorn doesn’t like any of us.” Marko huffed. “Why’s he like you so much?”

“Well...he can probably smell my sire on me,” Vera said. “Might remind him of home. Hellhounds usually like me because of that.”

“...Home?” Paul asked. 

“I’ll tell you later.”

“But I wanna know now!” he whined.

Thorn growled at him. 

“Thorn!” a male voice called from the other end of the little bridge. 

Vera immediately stiffened. The front door of the house had opened, and in it stood a man, wearing a very stylish suit and horn rimmed glasses. Thorn heeded his master’s call, giving Paul one last woof before trotting back towards Max. His departure freed the front gate, and David brushed past Vera to open it, taking her hand and leading the gang across the walkway. 

“Boys,” Max greeted as they approached him. He offered David a stern smile, one which David didn’t return, and when Max’s eyes fell upon Vera all tucked up against his side, his eyes narrowed slightly. “And you must be Vera.”

She didn’t like that he knew her name. It was inevitable that he’d find out what it was, but still...she kept clinging to the hope that maybe, he wouldn’t learn too much about her. The boys seemed so convinced that Max was just an annoying father, but as Vera took him in, she could see that behind the trendy, 80s-dad facade, there was an old, powerful vampire, and those were the kind she didn’t get along with very well. 

“Well, come in, everyone, before dinner gets cold. I made sure to get all your favorites, boys.” Max stepped to the side, inviting them over the threshold in a very courteous way, one that suggested he had nothing to fear from the boys or Vera.

“You shouldn’t have,” David sneered sarcastically as he walked in. 

“Would it kill you to be nice?” Vera hissed. 

He rolled his eyes.

Max noticed the exchange with a bemused expression on his face. “Go on in and sit down. The table’s already set.”

The house was nice. It wasn’t incredibly extravagant, by any means, but it was perfectly well decorated, modern art that Vera didn’t quite know how to appreciate hanging on the walls. Everything was clean and organized, not a speck of dust in sight, as opposed to the state of decay the boys kept their lair in. Max seemed to enjoy playing the role of a video store owner, and his home reflected that; if anyone came to visit, they wouldn’t see a single item out of place, nor would they have any reason to be suspicious of him. There were no torture devices, no loose vials of blood sitting around, no skulls or human skin nailed up. It looked so...normal. 

Vera almost stopped to wonder why exactly she was so nervous...and then she heard the whimpering.

“Geez, Max,” Paul remarked as they rounded the corner and entered the dining room, “you really shouldn’t have.”

“Well, fresh caught is always the best,” Max said. “Don’t you agree?”

“Hell yeah,” Marko growled, lips pulled back in a grin. 

The dining room table was covered in an array of meats, from a suckling pig in the center to a rack of ribs at the end. Six chairs surrounded the feast, plates and cutlery set out at each spot, with big glass goblets already half full of blood ready and waiting. Next to each chair stood a human, frozen due to both fear and Max’s vampire magic, a couple of them shaking and considerably more conscious than the others. 

Max walked to his place at the head of the table, Thorn at his side as he took his seat. David sat at the far end, facing him, his eyes dark and hungry as he held himself back. Dwayne sat at David’s left side, Vera at his right, while Paul and Marko took the remaining two chairs and tried not to completely lose their minds. They were shaking almost as much as the humans were, Paul looking at his blood donor eagerly while Marko held a little sneer on his face that suggested he was about ten seconds from ripping his apart.

“Dig in, everyone,” Max said, taking his cloth napkin and tucking it into his shirt collar. “But please try not to make a mess. There’s more than enough here for each of you.”

David immediately grabbed the arm of his meal, sinking his fangs in and taking a drink while Max preferred to drain his into the goblet he had set out for himself. Vera could only watch, stunned, as the carnage began, and before long, she was joining in. The human Max had caught for her was a middle aged clergyman, and she had to tear through his holy sleeve to get to his flesh. 

She didn’t mind, though; she very rarely ever got to eat members of the clergy. They were generally too much work to hunt down, and since she had an aversion to churches, well...like most vampires, she tended to leave them alone. It was hard to nab them without making a spectacle and letting the entire town know that something was amiss. So, all things considered, a little bit of extra work involving a mouthful of fabric was worth it. This was like a special treat for her, and she couldn’t help but drain him all in one go, still holding on even after he had collapsed in a bloodless heap on the floor. 

When she looked up, she realized that Max was watching her. 

“So,” he said, speaking over the hellish sounds of the others slurping up their meals, “I believe some congratulations are in order. Welcome to the family, Vera.”

She swallowed her last mouthful of blood and looked at him. “Uh...thanks. I-I mean, thank you.”

Max picked up his silverware, cutting a slice of ham for himself. “Where are you from, Vera?”

“I wander,” she said, following suit and stabbing her fork into a raw steak. 

“I’ve surmised that much,” Max chuckled good-naturedly. “I meant where are you from originally.”

“...oh.” She cleared her throat somewhat awkwardly. “Italy.”

“Italy!” Max exclaimed. “Such a lovely region. I haven’t visited The Mediterranean since I left the old country myself. If I didn’t have the shop here, perhaps I’d take a trip...have you been back recently?”

“No,” she crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to act like she wasn’t fidgeting. She took a bite of her steak, focusing on the blood as it trickled down her throat. 

Max reached for his goblet, raising the blood to his lips and taking a drink. “And your sire, is he still in Europe?”

Vera almost choked on her food. 

By this point, the boys were all watching. Paul was licking blood off his lips while Marko still had his dinner’s forearm in his mouth, but David and Dwayne were both focused solely on the conversation at hand, their eyes narrowed slightly as they listened. 

When she realized that everyone was waiting, Vera coughed into her fist, clearing her throat. “Y-yes, he is.”

Max’s eyes darkened, despite the smile on his face. “You know you need to tell me about him, Vera.”

“There’s not much to tell,” she lied, turning back to her steak. “Just an ancient vampire, out there in the old country. Not very exciting.”

“Exciting or not, I’d still prefer to know who he is.” Max said. 

She shrugged, reaching for her glass to take a nervous drink. “I doubt you’d know him.”

“When you drink that blood, you’ll be joining our family.”

She froze, hand on the stem of the glass.

“I’m sure your sire will be able to feel it. I’d hate to be rude and not even know his name in the event he visits one day.”

Vera stared at the blood—Max’s blood—as her fingers tightened around the stem. “You don’t want him to visit.”

“Oh?” Max asked, appearing as relaxed as ever. “Why not?”

“Because of who he is.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “And what he can do.”

Dwayne and David glanced at each other. 

When Max spoke again, his voice was softer, gentler than before. “What is your sire’s name, Vera?”

With a great deal of effort, she opened her eyes again, still staring into the blood rather than at any of them. 

“Asmodeus.” She said. “My sire is Asmodeus.”

[lepusrufus]

Can we PLEASE get some more hcs on serial killer a?

Oh gosh I'm REALLY trying to not give any major spoilers here because I'm seriously considering trying to write this after Iron bars and its sequels are done/if a miracle happens and I have ungodly amounts of free time. But here goes some non spoilery and out of context stuff:

Caitlyn is still Sheriff and Vi is still her partner (except now they're literal partners in crime)

Now who's gonna suspect THAT

Actually I'm still debating whether to set it in a modern au or still in Piltover, but leaning a lot more towards Piltover

It's like vigilante stuff... but turn it up to a thousand

Caitlyn is scary good at hiding bodies and loves to judge other criminals for being sloppy and unoriginal and not resourceful

And Vi is just as whipped as ever and loves listening to her, occasionally adding in her own commentary

There's a criminal (HAH) lack of Caitlyn using her guns but what can I say our gal is too smart to go with something so obvious

Vi's guns however are more than put to good use

They may or may not have used Jayce’s forge to get rid of bits and pieces, but he was none the wiser

Does something count as dead dove do not eat if it gets feaky with the gore and not the smut... asking for a friend

Vi has glasses. Bc I want to and nobody can stop me

Yeah I know it's not a lot but I can't go and spoil the whole plot I'm sorryyy tho low-key kinda hesitant to write this cause like... some of the ideas are so oddly specific and I swear I'm not a criminal I'm just a nerd whose brain literally does not shut up lol