#tw for bloodloss

[pinkpintolesbean]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Locked Tomb Series | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus Characters: Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav, Ortus Nigenad Additional Tags: tw suicidal ideation, TW self-harm, tw accidental suicide attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, delirious kissing, ortus being a good older brother trope, and malewife, harrow's loopy from blood loss, tw tourniquet, gideon plays nurse, Griddlehark, touch and go for a minute, But all's well that ends well, gideon being the hero she is, tw ortus nigenad's poetry, tw child abuse, Healing, Crying, reassurance, tw blood, TW Dissociation, high from pain, please don't read if you're struggling right now, wait until the last chapter, take care of your mental health, YOU ARE SO LOVED 

Summary:

You are loved. More than you could ever know.

@sneakylittlenun

Her conscious mind meandered without direction, latching on to any sensation or visual as a guidepost—a dinghy seeking out a lighthouse in a blustering storm. Oddly enough, out of the sea of self-flagellating images, she clung to the buoy of Gideon Nav’s horrified expression: the way her aureate eyes had roved over Harrow’s skin like she were a wax doll—something just left of human. Harrow recalled how she had thrown her robe over herself in a hurry and screamed at Nav to beat it before she summoned the Marshal. And, rightly fearing a well-deserved beating by Crux for daring to encroach upon the Reverend Daughter’s private quarters, she had cleared out like a fugitive caught stealing rations. The Marshal had come running at the shrill sound of Harrow’s initial cry, but to her ill-deserved credit, she hadn’t ratted out the slovenly vestal that day. Somehow, she just didn’t have the heart.

…Perhaps that wasn’t so surprising.

[silverskye13]

I vaguely remember something about Helsknight going to confessions? I’m interested as to why and what he confesses to :3

Hi, this has been in my inbox for a hot minute, but it got me thinking, and I kept thinking so. Have a snippet.

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Please read the tags for the TW list!

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The Confession room for the followers of the Saint of Blood and Steel was exactly the same room they trained and dueled in. The only difference was, at a certain time of day, on two specific days of the week, there was a little white sign on the doors that said "Confession Open." There was almost always a line. Only one person was allowed in the confessional at a time. There was no law or order or rule that dictated everyone wait in silence, but there was something particularly embarrassing humbling about standing in a line of armed and armored knights, all waiting patiently for god to slap them on the wrist.

The door opened. A knight exited with her head held high, though Helsknight noticed she clutched her arm a little too close to her body. She walked past the line down the hall, to the little room on the left where the pleasant and somewhat dissonant smell of baked goods warmed the air. The line shuffled forward a step.

The wait was long, and awkward, occasionally broken by stilted small talk, and the lethal sounds of mail and blade, and the scuffing of boots. Helsknight had gotten into the habit of bringing something to read while he waited. It gave him a good excuse not to make prolonged eye-contact with anyone, and he had grown bored of making shapes out of the mosaic tiles ages ago. He could only look at the same repeating pattern so many times before he realized they all looked vaguely like a dog lifting a leg to pee, and thinking about bodily functions while waiting in a long line was a great way to convince himself to leave the line. Then the chances of him getting home in a timely manner after his confession [or really going to confession at all] dropped exponentially.

The door opened. A young knight limped two steps down the hall before a priest, waiting at a nearby bench for expressly this purpose, dashed over and put the knight's arm around his shoulders. The knight muttered a wincing thanks, and together they limped down the hall to that same, sweet-smelling room. As soon as they turned the corner out of the main hall, the knight let out a loud curse, and there was the heavy sound of someone collapsing into a convenient chair. The line shuffled forward a step.

A twitchy squire standing in line in front of Helsknight stared at the door wide-eyed, and then forward to the confessional sign, which they regarded with the same blatant fear as someone confronting their own noose. Helsknight looked down at the little book he was holding, sighed, and decided to show a little mercy. He was at confession, after all.

"The Saint isn't cruel," Helsknight told them softly, and just the sound of his voice startled them nearly out of their boots. "Whatever your penance is, it will never be beyond your means."

The squire flashed him what was probably supposed to be a nervous smile, but which looked a lot more like a grimace. "What if I've fucked up really badly?"

Someone in the line coughed inconspicuously. Someone else cleared their throat. Helsknight fixed the young squire with a measuring gaze, and came to the conclusion this nervy kid had probably never "fucked up really badly" a day in their life. Though he supposed he'd been wrong before.

"You could start your penance early," Helsknight said, reigning in his sarcasm as much as physically possible, "by maybe not swearing in church."

The inconspicuous cougher down the line let out a much more conspicuous snort. The squire clapped their hands over their mouth and stared up at him in horror. Helsknight sighed and pinched the space between his eyes.

"Swearing isn't against our tenets."

The hallway murmured into a soft chorus of "Amens" and "Praise the gods" and one particularly ambitious "thank fuck." A few of the knights signed various salutes and benedictions to the Saint. The squire visibly relaxed.

"It's respectful not to," Helsknight continued after the murmured din died down. "Show the Saint your contrition by respecting Their home. Is your sword sharp?"

The squire seemed a bit taken aback by this sudden change in conversation topic. They unsheathed their sword a bit, showing a dull iron blade. "Uhm... it could stand to be sharper."

"You bring your kit with you?"

The squire sighed and rolled their eyes, more from disappointment at a new chore than any real defiance. They unsheathed their sword, dropped a large messenger bag off their shoulder, and started rifling through their things. The air was soon filled with the sound of whetstone on blade. Someone behind Helsknight tapped him on the shoulder. She pointed to the squire, then to Helsknight, and offered an approving thumbs-up. Good job on distracting the scared kid. Helsknight shrugged and held out his book, flashing the title in her direction. Everyone needs a distraction in this stupid line. She rolled her eyes, tell me about it, and moved her cloak to the side, showing off a little satchel with what looked to be art supplies. Helsknight smirked.

The door opened. A knight came striding out, running a stressed hand through his hair. He started to walk past the little door at the end of the hall, but a priest came dashing out to stop him before he could make it too far. They whispered amongst each other for a moment, heads bowed close together to keep their conversation private. The priest looped a consoling arm around the knight's shoulder, and together they walked slowly into the little room. The line shuffled forward a step.

No one ever stayed inside the confessional for long. Fifteen minutes, twenty. Once or twice someone dipped closer to a half hour. Then the door would open, and the line would shuffle. Helsknight had made it through about a chapter and a half of his book [an epic poem about the deeds of one of the Saint's paladins. He brought it to keep himself in a "contrite mood", whatever the hels that was] when finally it was the squire's turn to step inside. They bundled up their gear, offered Helsknight their bravest grimace-that-was-probably-a-smile, and walked inside.

The knight behind him asked politely, "Is that your squire?"

"No."

"Ah. Just being nice then?"

Helsknight offered an indifferent shrug. "It's everyone's first confession once."

She turned this somewhat nonsensical statement over for a moment, shrugged her agreement, and went back to sketching.

Time passed. The squire exited the doors with a relieved look on their face, though they clutched their right hand beneath their arm as though afraid to look at it. Helsknight sighed, closed his book, and stepped inside. The door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The room wasn't so much dark as it was simply not as bright as the hallway outside. Beside the door was a small table, and Helsknight turned and made use of it, setting down his book, then unbuttoning his tabard. He knew whoever was taking his confession today would be nearby, ready to help him doff any armor, but he wore mail today specifically so he could slip it on and off, without having to worry about all the buckles and clips that came with chest plates and grieves. When he'd relieved himself of everything he wore or carried, besides his leggings and his unsheathed sword, he walked towards the center of the fighting ring.

A knight in full plate stood in the ring's center, a great sword planted tip-down into the dirt between their feet. The sword was simple steel, as was the armor. No enchantment or ornamentation decorated the surface. There was no plume on the closed helm. They were the image of the Saint, an unremarkable warrior, all silent strength.

Helsknight knelt at their feet, laying his sword gently between them. He sighed out a long breath.

"I come to the Saint to be shriven," Helsknight said as deferentially as he could, in the face of an often repeated task. "By Their steel, and by my blood."

The confessor nodded. "Speak your confession, brother."

Helsknight winced, and barely stifled a groan. "It's always you, isn't it, Blade?"

The confessor let out a heavy sigh. "Come on man, this is supposed to be anonymous."

"Not my fault you talk like that."

"Heh? Talk like what?"

"Exactly."

The two fell into awkward silence, Helsknight probably much more awkward than Blade. He took a bracing breath.

"I... Come to confess the sin of Wrath."

There was a long pause.

"Again."

"This is normally where I ask what you did, and why," Blade said witheringly, "but it was plastered all over the broadsheets this morning."

Helsknight pinched the space between his eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better, I gotta agree with the West Side Tabloid. He had it coming." Blade said, leaning a little too nonchalantly on his greatsword. "You don't just call someone a coward like that. It's violence theater. If you bring real honor into it, you're begging for trouble."

"I... Agree."

"So, you lashed out in anger and got blood all over the nice Colosseum sand." Blade continued. "You lost your temper, but you were defending your honor. And I wouldn't even call it all that cruel. It's not like you tortured him or anything."

"Am I being pardoned?"

"Depends," Blade said, in a casual tone that suddenly didn't seem wholly his own. "Where else have you vented your Wrath, brother?"

Helsknight licked his teeth, as though he expected them to taste like blood. "I... attacked a thief today. He stole from me, and I was in my right to defend that."

"But you harmed him past self defense," Blade prompted, when the silence stretched long.

"If he hadn't escaped me, I would have." Helsknight paused, and added. "I had wanted to."

"Wanting isn't the same as doing," Blade offered charitably.

"I would not have stopped myself."

"Has Wrath consumed your life in any other ways, brother?"

"My hermit."

Blade nodded solemnly.

"We fought recently. I won. It was unprovoked. I was having a bad morning, and I needed -- I wanted to take it out on him. So I did."

"Have you asked forgiveness from the people you've harmed, in your sin of Wrath, brother?"

"No."

"Have you attempted any restitution?"

"No."

Very suddenly, the greatsword in Blade's hand was sheathed in red. It was light, bright and scouring, and it filled the air with the taste of blood. Even knowing it would happen, Helsknight flinched at the sight of it. His hair stood on end, and the air seemed charged, like the breath before a lightning strike. The Saint, alive and present, glimpsed for a moment through Blade. The confessor-turned-paladin tilted his head back slightly, and Helsknight knew if his face weren't covered in the helm, his eyes would be red, brimming with bloody tears.

In a voice that was Blade's, and something past him, empowered by faith, brutal and scouring, the Saint said, "Stand, and pick up your sword."

Helsknight did as he was bidden. His heart fluttered a little too fast in his chest, and while his hands did not shake, they felt near to it, unsteady. Helsknight was one of the best fighters to have ever crossed the Saint of Blood and Steel's threshold. If he were simply fighting Blade, there was a decent chance he'd win, though Blade had been his match many times before.

He was not only fighting Blade, though.

"As a knight of the Saint's order," Blade and the glimpse of the Saint beneath said, "you swore to uphold Their tenets, even in the face of great adversity. By raising your sword, not in Their wrath, but your own, you break that tenet."

Blade let out a breath, like someone barely keeping their head above water. Helsknight wondered if that was what being a paladin in the service of a Saint felt like: held under water, drowning under divine will.

"Yet Their order teaches that even the Saint is fallible, and once, Their will was driven, not by divine purpose, but by reckless bloodshed. As They were once challenged, now They challenge you. Do you accept?"

Helsknight didn't have to accept. This part had been emphasized a lot when he joined and took his first confession. Anyone was allowed to deny the Saint's trial and simply accept their penance. The penance wouldn't change. There was no incentive for, or against, besides maybe his own personal need to prove he really was in the wrong. Maybe it was pride made him accept every time. Maybe it was spite. Or, maybe, it was simply the need to punish himself for the lack of control he felt.

Solemnly, Helsknight nodded.

"Then Pick Up Your Sword, and Smite Me."

That was all the warning Helsknight was given. Blade, or the Saint, or the Saint's Will, or all three together, lunged.

It did not take long. By the third swing, Helsknight's blade was sent crashing from his hand, though he met the Saint's blade with all the strength and mastery he could muster. Losing to the Saint was an indescribable thing. It wasn't like losing a match in the Colosseum, or like losing a duel against Blade when they sparred. It was like an ant scratching at the heels of a giant, a kitten swatted aside by the massive claws of a dragon. If he swung his sword at a wall, at least there was the smallest chance the stone would chip. There was no chance in this. There was only the token effort of the attempt, one clash, then two, then three, and then his sword was gone from his hand. Blade slammed a palm into his chest, and Helsknight was on his back, gasping for breath, having crumpled so quickly he hardly had time to register he was watching the ceiling.

"By the divine right of contest, brother, Their will is done," Blade, The Saint, both and neither, said. Helsknight laid on his back and waited, catching his breath. "Hold out your sword hand."

A jolt of fear lanced through Helsknight then. He hated, he feared, hand wounds. It was an odd folly of his that he'd never been able to shake. Blade knew it. The Saint probably knew it. It felt unfair to punish him with it, or cruel.

Helsknight closed his eyes, and he stared down the scared little squire in his head.

[The Saint isn't cruel. Whatever your penance is, it won't be beyond your means.]

And then, for good measure, as he offered his right hand forward, [you deserve this.]

The cut was quick and clean. The blade was supernaturally sharp. The wound took time to hurt. Still, Helsknight's head spun. His breath came too quickly in his chest. Blade had to repeat himself twice when he asked for Helsknight's other hand. Then his vision tilted more, stars blooming in burst around his peripherals, edged in black.

When he found himself again, Blade had carried him to the table and rested him there, and stood bandaging his hands. His own hands were shaking, every shudder sending a jolt through Helsknight's arm. Helsknight turned this observation over distantly, curious in the way of the desperate, clinging to small details to better make sense of the world. Blade didn't normally shake when they did these sessions. Maybe he, too, had objected to wounding Helsknight's hands.

"Sorry... About that," Blade stammered hoarsely. "It's... You haven't made restitution. And it's a problem you keep having."

Helsknight didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

"It's not bad," Blade said, trying to reassure both of them. "No muscles or tendons or anything. It was just a lot of blood."

"Yes," Helsknight said airily, still a little too unrecovered to explain the blood hadn't been the problem. Not really. Not that it needed explaining.

"Go see the priests down the hall," Blade informed him needlessly. "You need stitches, especially near the veins on your wrists. They need to heal naturally. Over time, as penance for your Wrath. You may lessen your time through acts of service to the church, if you so choose."

Helsknight nodded.

"Do you need help walking?"

Helsknight blinked slowly, his sluggish, shocked mind slowly crawling to life.

"Helsknight," Blade said, putting a still-gauntleted hand against his face. The cold metal felt good against his feverish skin. "Are you hearing me?"

"I hear you," Helsknight said, ashamed of how weak and small his voice sounded. "I need help with my mail.'

"Maybe we should make sure you can walk first?"

"Every other knight walks into this room and back out again fine," Helsknight said, his pride slowly crawling to life in his chest. "I just... I just need some help."

Blade, as much as a man obscured by a full suit of armor could, looked relieved. He nodded, and after a few moments of coddling, they managed to get Helsknight on his feet and dressed again. He squared his shoulders and walked with purposeness down the hall, his vision only swimming a little. The spiteful little animal in him wanted to keep walking until he was home, and he almost did. But a priest ducked her head out the door of the room at the end of the hall, and fixed him up in a concerned stare, and Helsknight, tired in body and soul, followed her inside.

The little room held tables and chairs, and a counter brimming with freshly made breads and rolls. Sweet things, prepared in advance of confession for those who might've lost too much blood, or for those who needed something soft and warm to take the edge off their penance. Helsknight allowed himself to be guided to a seat. The priest who had pulled him in checked over the hasty bandages, let out a disapproving tsk! and began organizing some supplies. She was joined by two other priests who began quietly discussing the best way to go about his stitches. Someone put a slice of some freshly baked something-or-other in front of him, and Helsknight ate it with the mechanical necessity of someone who recognizes a chore that needs doing.

Months later, Helsknight and Tanguish sat at a fountain outside the First Church of Hels, their breakfasts in their laps. Helsknight ran a thumb self-consciously along the odd, thin, centipede-like scar that danced from the center of his palm down his forearm. Tanguish must have noticed, because he asked, "How did you get that one?"

Helsknight turned his wrist so Tanguish could get a better look. "Lost my temper at something."

Tanguish ran a gentle finger across the misshapen skin, his touch cool and soothing. "It looks like it hurt."

Helsknight shrugged. "Not as bad as you'd think. It hurt more when they took the stitches out. S'why it looks like that."

Tanguish yanked his hand away like the scar had come alive and bitten him. "Why didn't you just drink a health potion?"

Helsknight chose his words carefully. "I needed to remember it."

Tanguish grimaced and allowed, "You... are very scary when you lose your temper." He reached out a hand to run his fingers tentatively along the scar again, as though he could somehow heal the long-passed harm. "You've gotten a lot better though."

Helsknight shrugged.

They returned to their prospective breakfasts, Helsknight eating with much less enthusiasm than his companion. He wished Tanguish didn't have such a preference for baked goods and sweet foods. They reminded him too much of that long hallway, and that door at the end of it -- and how long it'd been since he last stood there and waited to meet his Saint. Helsknight resolved to visit again when he got the chance. Just as soon as he ordered his list of sins. He remembered when he fought the Demon, sighed, and quietly put Wrath in its place at the top of the list.

[whump-about-it]

Last Hope

@whumpril Day 10: Adrenaline

CW: Probable misuse of medication (not for plot purposes, but because I'm not a medical professional and am basically making this up), criminal Whumpee, blood loss, fear of death.

Nothing had gone as planned. Whumpee was supposed to get into the compound, download the virus, and get back out. It wasn't supposed to take more than an hour. They weren't supposed to run into anyone. Least of all Whumper. Now Whumpee was bleeding uncontrollably from a knife wound in their chest, and running blindly through the labyrinthian facility trying to escape Whumper and find some kind of exit.

Thank God Caretaker had insisted on coming along. Whumpee had argued that this was a one man job, and they could drive their own getaway car. But Caretaker was a worrier, and apparently a vindicated one now. Whumpee could only hope they would get back to them to hear Caretaker tell them that themselves.

Struggling to stay focused as they ran through the building, trying to remember where they had gotten in from, Whumpee turned down a dark hallway lined with doors. Whumpee hadn't remembered being in this area of the building before, but with Whumper at their heels they could barely complain about the ample hiding places it provided and stumbled forward, one hand staunching their bleeding as best they could and the other grabbing at doorknobs, hoping against hope that one of them would swing open. Finally, at the end of the hall, one of them did with such a loud screech it made Whumpee's blood run cold even as the slipped in and locked the door behind them.

The dark room beyond seemed to be some sort of chemical lab. The walls were lined with counter spaces topped with severely sterile looking machines and locked cabinets. A part of Whumpee's mind drifted towards the idea that there was probably something valuable to steal in the room, before a sudden thunder clap of pain radiated from their chest through the rest of their body so intense that their knees gave out underneath them and they fell to the floor muffling a cry.

It had vaguely occurred to Whumpee before that the only reason they had gotten as far as they had as of yet was because of the adrenaline pumping through their body and numbing the pain and panic coursing through them. It seemed to have been starting to ware off now though and the room swam in front of Whumpee as they rolled onto their back and grasped the bloody hole in their chest with both hands. The contact elicited a disgusting squelching noise and another thunder bolt of pain that made Whumpee's eye site go grey momentarily.

Concentrate! They ordered themselves, their eyes sweeping around the room dizzyingly. There was a window at the far end of the lab. Whumpee couldn't tell if it opened or not, but they could at least be able us it their barings as to where Caretaker might have stationed themselves if they could get to it. That would be no use though if they bleed to death before they got out of the compound, which was a dangerously real possibility right now, so Whumpee continued to scan the room until their eyes finally landed a large metal box screwed to an adjacent wall with FIRST AID written across it in large red letters.

Whumpee pulled themselves into a sitting position and the world wavered in front of them. They could feel the little blood they had left in their body rushing away from their head and heart and towards the open would between their upper ribs. A nauseating feeling washed over them and Whumpee had to fight the urge to pass out. They knew they wouldn't wake up again if they did. This also served to confirm that there was no way Whumpee was going to be able to stand in their current condition. So once they'd gotten their senses back Whumpee resolved to start scooting across the floor on their butt, holding their gushing wound with both hands and fighting for consciousness the whole time.

When Whumpee was halfway to the first aid kit however, they suddenly became aware of the sound of heavy footsteps rapidly becoming louder. They froze and pressed themselves up against the nearest cabinet, holding their breathe as they listened to Whumper's familiar footsteps run down the hall past the room they were in, then back a few seconds later, disappearing back the way they'd come and back into the depths of the compound. Whumpee gasped for air as they heard Whumper's footsteps disapear. There was was a sudden rush in their heartrate that didn't seem so dizzying, and a shock of renewed adrenaline ran through them that they used to leverage themselves to their knees to quickly crawl the rest of the way to the first aid kit.

The adrenaline had run out by the time they got there, and Whumpee teetered on the edge of consciousness as they pulled the first aid kit from it's box on the wall and flung it open. Breathing was getting so painful that Whumpee was beginning to wonder if the knife had punctured their lung after all.

Hang in there, they told themselves. You just need to stuff the wound. Whumpee collapsed against another set of cabinets. Most of their energy spent, and ran a bloody hand over the supplies in the kit, feeling rather than seeing for the packets of gauze. Instead their hands ran over something plastic and cylindrical. Hovering over it out of exhaustion more than curiosity, Whumpee quickly realized what they were feeling. It was an EpiPen.

It took Whumpee several seconds to figure out why their slowing heart leapt with joy at the feeling of the medical device under their finger tips. They didn't have any allergies, and though they'd been trained in how to use an EpiPen, they'd never had need to before.

Epinephrine. Adrenaline. Their mind sluggishly eked out the thought, followed by a half forgotten memory of Caretaker explaining to them how adrenaline worked by constricting blood vessels.

It was a terrible idea. Part of Whumpee knew that. But they were desperate, and probably not thinking straight. And they knew that if they didn't stop the bleeding somehow they were going to be dead soon anyway.

Slowly Whumpee's fingers closed around the EpiPen and they dragged it out of the first aid kit and towards their body. It took them several tries before they managed to get the safety cap off, but once they did they held it up with a shaking hand and hovered over a space just above their wound. They knew that when being used for it's intended purpose, you where supposed to stab the patient in a larger muscle. But when used for bleeding Whumpee considered that they wanted it as close to the veins they were trying to target as possible. Whumpee sucked in what they hoped wouldn't be their final breathe and bit the inside of their cheeks to gag their own scream then drove the pen into their muscle with all their remaining strength, pressing the button at the opposite end before the pain could paralyze them.

Please let this work. Whumpee prayed to any God that might be listening. This is my last hope. Please let this work.

Authors Note: I just want to reiterate that I am not a medical professional and am nearly 100% certain that Epipens can not actually be used to stop bleeding. Please don't try to use them for anything other than their intended purpose.

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Monster

Julius in action, he's actually sweet when he's not murderous and vengeful (and by sweet i mean,,, see for yourself idk)

masterlist

TW: (not deadly) vampire attack in detail, blood drinking, head trauma, bit of gore, vampire whumper, human whumpee

The attacker came out of nowhere, knocking her off balance with incomprehensible force and they collided with the ground almost immediately.

"Shh, hey now" he pulled away just as fast as he attacked, she tried to catch the precious breath that had been forced out of her, but no matter how eagerly she tried, the oxygen she so desperately needed didn't seem to reach the bottom of her lungs. She felt like a fish pulled out of the ocean.

She could see his fangs, she saw the glistening saliva pull strings between the monster's lips.

She was distantly aware of her head bleeding, having been bashed into the wall, maybe the ground? She was flattened against some surface, that was certain.

"You'll make yourself pass out" he frowned, as if her reaction was disproportionate and unreasonable "I'm gonna let you go, you know" he added, like it was something trivial. From her point of view, being completely immobilized by the monster, with his deadly sharp fangs mere inches away from her skin, meant certain death.

She tried to scream, when she finally found it in herself to take a deeper breath, but he silenced her with one hand on an instant, continuing to shush her.

She was now certain they were lying on the ground. The initial confusion that followed her head being bashed into the ground started to fade, clearing her senses.

He seemed to observe her. With his fangs in plain sight, his attempt at soothing her did nothing. She could feel her heart bang against her ribs, as if it was trying to break free from its cage. She was sure he felt it as well, even through all their clothes.

"Let's make a deal" he breathed, he was so close to her, his teeth almost grazed her chin when he leaned in even more, whispering to her ear "I'm hungry, I'm going to have my fill. You stay still, and it won't hurt. Okay?" she nodded panicked as she was she could grasp the horrible reality of the situation.

The monster was going to rip her throat open and there was nothing to be done about it.

His hand left her mouth with a swift movement, viciously grabbing her hair and yanking her head to the side to bite down.

She opened her mouth, and yet again there was no sound coming out. No calling for help, not even a pained gasp.

She already forgot about his deal, as the first specks of pain processed in her wild rabbit brain as she started to struggle against his hold with little success.

As the monster relaxed, gulping down mouthfuls of blood, his body weighed her down like stone. The small movement she managed only ripped her skin farther, his jaw clamped down on her neck like a wolf feasting on a deer. It really only hurt when she moved so she gave up. She stilled to the best of her ability, though her hands still shook under him instinctively pushing the predator away.

She felt his tongue in the wound, he explored it with sloppy wet movements reaching every corner of it, even the tears she made trying to get away.

When he pulled away, she still saw the redness coating his mouth and teeth, which he quickly licked away, leaving absolutely no trace that the encounter ever happened. He sat up, still straddling her as he looked down, with his head cocked to the side, observing every move she made.

"I'll call an ambulance for you, you made a mess trying to fight me off" he patted down her sides, as he looked for her phone that he was sure she had in one of the pockets of her coat "I would've been fine just puncturing your skin, and moving on, you basically tore your neck in half" he traced the edges of the wound, that was already quickly repairing itself with the help of the vampire's venom, but not quick enough. She whined a broken and breathy sound, which he chuckled at. Her eyes widened in fear, as she came to the realisation that her vocal cords were torn as well in the ordeal. She tried her best to make a sound, any sound really, but her attempts proved to be futile, only earning her some more condescending shushes.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1170

Anon asked: 

Can we get a whumpee realising they are dead? If not all good! (Love your writing by the way, it's all so cool)

Sure (and thank you!) 

From the perspective of them pre-death:

As their blood drips from their body/the explosions close in. They’re happy. 

The caretaker is begging them - telling them it’s going to be okay. And they know; the pain will be over. 

They feel guilty too, and sad and angry... maybe they won - maybe they lost. Either way, it’s time to go. 

From the perspective of them post-death:

Their body feels different. Lighter. Colder. 

The pain is gone. 

Maybe they feel more powerful/stronger than ever. Maybe they feel weaker than they’ve ever been. 

Who’s waiting for them? Or has their consciousness been reanimated? (depending on the setting.)

They know they’re dead, because they’re covered in too much blood to have been healthy, but the wound is gone. 

Are they in a different world/plane now? 

Who is with them?

[hillscapecity]

You're Pretty~💕

Whumpee’s lost a lot of blood....as gently as possible Caretaker eases Whumpee to the floor and leans them against the wall. “Y-You're going to be ok Whumpee, just hang in there!” Caretaker said with a voice laced in worry as they put  more pressure on the wound. Whumpee sharply hissed through their gritted teeth as caretaker began to clean them up. Whumpee gazed up at them with glassy eyes but…..they had a big dopey grin on their face? Caretaker was caught off guard when whumpee suddenly cupped their cheek. “💕You're really pretty~💕” Whumpee giggled. Caretaker clasped the hand on their cheek, tears began to track down their cheeks. They tried to stay strong but they couldn't stand seeing Whumpee like this. “Wa’s wron-” Whumpee writhed as a sudden intense wave of pain radiated through their body “Whumpee!!”  “Hckk….” Whumpee croaked. This time when Whumpee gazed back at Caretaker their expression was empty and pained, eyes fully glossed over. Oh whumpee…  Caretaker thought sadly   “shhhhh” they cupped Whumpee’s cheek and gently stroked it. “I'm almost done love” they cooed while beginning to unravel the roll of soft bandages in their hands.

[zeroisenough]

How much blood do i need to lose to start feeling cold? Asking for a friend ✨️

Im not pro anything, just sharing my thoughts! Please dont report me! I need a place to vent:(

[notquitecanon]

Foolishly Admirable (pt 2) // Astarion x Reader

Summary: The morning after the Gur incident, you and Astarion both have a lot of questions about what things mean for the two of you. Not that either of you are willing to ask them out loud. So, in each of your own convoluted ways, you try your best to figure it out.

Read Part One Here!

TW: canon typical injury, biting, bloodloss, talks of lying and manipulation (if your romancing and reading Astarion fanfic you should be prepared for that anyway), unresolved issues and feelings, these idiots won't communicate (and yes it is driving everyone else in camp insane)

Astarion woke from his trance the following morning feeling better than he had in…. well, ever. Though still chilled, his hands weren’t quite as cold as usual and even the peaks of his cheeks felt warm. So well fed that he idly wondered if he would see a slight pink to his cheeks- if he were able to see his reflection, that was. The previous nights events had been reduced to nothing but a grisly stained hole in his favorite (only shirt) and the slightest mark on his chest that seemed to be fading with each passing. Healed, well fed, and… something that felt dangerously close to happy. 

He stayed very still, the only movement the craning of his neck over to look at you, still sleeping soundly where you’d given out- curled up under the blankets and cloaks Astarion had draped over you, burrowed into the pile of pillows that he kept in his tent. In sleep, you looked more peaceful than Astarion saw you during waking hours, a brief intermission from your foolishly admirable determination to singlehandedly save every poor, unfortunate soul on the Sword Coast. Of course, he realized, he shouldn’t complain. Astarion himself had been one of said poor souls you’d devoted yourself to, if the previous night’s actions were any indication. 

As if visual proof of this thought, despite being a lump in a pile of blankets, cloaks, and pillows, one of your hands had reached out to him in the night. As you had slept, you’d mostly kept to your side and Astarion to his, but over the course of hours, unbeknownst to either of you, you had wiggled a singled hand across the gap. Astarion’s red eyes stared at your fingers, not quite touching him, but instead firmly knotted into the loose fabric of his sleeve closest to you. As if you could keep him from being taken in the night. You held onto his fabric much like someone might hold someone’s hands, the soft worn fabric tangled between your fingers to keep you tethered to the elf. The thought flitted across his mind, he didn’t particularly mind the idea of being tethered to you. He pointedly ignored the thought, moving his gaze to your face, the only other part of you to be seen. 

Unlike him, you bore the physical weight of last night. You skin’s pallor was paler than usual, not much color to your cheeks but plenty of purple shadows under your eyes. The potions might have closed your wounds and steadied your heart, but no potion could put the blood back into your veins. Peeking out from under the blanket, the smallest glimpse of your neck, littered with faint scars from the deepest of his bites. Though only hours old the potions had made them look like you’d always had them. Under your darker than usual eyelids, your eyes moved along with whatever dream you were having. He’d seen the effects of his near nightly feedings, how you bared the much less severe blood loss. But this was another beast, Astarion doubted you’d be able to think clearly, much less wield a sword. After the previous night, you’d need as much rest as you could get, there would be no traveling or adventuring that day.  

The longer his gaze lingered on the evidence of your altruism, the more his undead heart clenched in his chest. First, you went off and tried to get yourself killed in his place. Secondly, you so diligently worried over him, all that saccharine care projected onto him. Then, you willingly let- practically begged- Astarion nearly kill you just to heal himself. Bleeding yourself dry for someone who would always want more. Really, weren’t you smarter than this? How far would you go for him? How far would he let you? Was it concern for you clenching his jaw or was it guilt? Instead of analyzing these complicated emotions, he allowed this slip into familiar (safe) annoyance. 

Truly, how was he going to gain lasting protection if you went off and got yourself killed? That was a safer thought in more familiar territory. Astarion could push this thought to the forefront, make himself believe that was still his only priority. 

Still, it was driving him mad, He thought to himself, watching your eyes move under closed lids, He was a master manipulator to be sure, but not even he was this talented, to draw such a force of nature into his atmosphere. Was this even something he could have achieved? What did it mean if you’d done it of your own accord? 

Gently, utilizing all his stealth and sleight of hand, he used a feathered touch to remove your grip from his shirt and then sneak out of the tent. He informed the early risers of camp (Wyll, Gale, Lae’zel) what you had done after they stared at him as if he was a ghost (wrong flavor of undead), and further explained the need for a day of rest. The rogue, with varying degrees of snark, cut off any protests before returning to the tent with an assortment of supplies. 

—

It had been ages since you woke up naturally, since you were allowed to let you're body decide when you were rested. Which would make you think that your body would be grateful after such a treat. Nevertheless, when you woke up, everything was sore- your muscles, your head, your neck- hells your neck-, and even your heart seemed to feel sore.  You felt cold and yet you were also sweating under the pile of blankets nestled around you. Your throat and mouth were dry, and your stomach was clenching around nothing. With a groan, you looked around the tent, trying to ignore how your vision was dizzy and spinning. 

The burgundy canvas was practically glowing with the sunlight outside,  and to your surprise, you found Astarion sitting up in the adjacent corner. He’d pulled the stool inside, long legs crossed gracefully in front of him as he pulled a needle and thread diligently through his white shirt, "Oh, so you’re not dead over there. That’s a relief, how awkward it would have been to tell Gale I killed you… again."

His voice was dripping in teasing, but there was a twinge of forced casualness. Your brows ruffled, first you squinted at the shirt he was wearing- a plain red shirt with the laces loose at the chest, you had nicked it in the Grove- before flitting your eyes down to your hand that you were sure was grasped around his sleeve only to find a handkerchief wadded in your grip. Damn sneaky vampire, how hadn’t that woken you?

Astarion didn’t need to pause his stitch to spare you a glance, rolling his eyes before lifting a single, perfect eyebrow at your expression, "Stop pouting, darling, I had to leave to get you something to eat, since you so generously provided such a feast last night."  

"‘m not pouting." You tried arguing but your voice was hoarse, barely audible. Astarion rolled his eyes again, using the sewing needle to point next to you at the carafe of water. It was surely room temperature if not a little warm, but it looked heavenly. Slowly, you sat up, using one arm to brace yourself and the other to pick up the pitcher, aiming for the same silver chalice from the previous night. 

You really hoped Astarion had become suddenly engrossed in his sewing instead of watching how you shook like a leaf as you tried to pour. You had never considered yourself frail, but after the previous night even the slight effort of pouring a glass of water brought an uncomfortable burn to the muscles up your arm and across your shoulders. The glass was half full with a puddle around it when a pale hand swooped in over yours, steadying you and taking most of the weight. Of course not, damn vampire. 

You were first glaring your own useless hands for your weakness, then his for noticing, before moving up to glare at his face, only to find him already staring down at you. His gaze wasn’t soft, it was actually particularly intense with a emotion that you couldn’t quite place, but it made your protest die on your tongue. 

"Let me, love." Despite his intense expression, his words were a soft demand, and he didn’t wait for your cooperation. Instead, leaning ever so slightly over you as he poured the water and then presented the chalice to you. You let one hand wrap around the chalice though the vampire took it upon himself to balance it with a touch to your wrist, with his close proximity you had bigger concerns than water, no matter how scratchy your own throat was. As you carefully lowered the chalice to the ground, you kept your stare level on his. Astarion’s eyes kept their intensity, but it was the curiosity in them that kept him still. 

With your other shaking hand, you carefully pushed past the laces of his shirt. Astarion tensed but didn’t stop you, and you froze for just a moment before trying to steady your hand. Dropping your gaze to the spot where hours ago a stake had protruded, you focussed much of your energy into keeping your touch light, barely a whisper as your hand dipped under the red linen.  A ghost of a touch, first at his heart which caused some of the tension to leave the vampire’s shoulders, slid then a couple of inches to the right. Only hours ago, you’d whispered apologies as you pulled wood splinters out of a hole in this very spot. Now, you felt nothing but the slightest indent in it’s place.  Was he still here because he needed more? Was he hurting? Somewhere between a whine and a whimper, you tried to pull yourself up, craning your head over to bare your neck to him, unknowingly baring the scars as well. 

A breath, almost a laugh if it didn’t sound so melancholy, fanned over the exposed skin, along with Astarion’s own cold fingers tracing the past bites. His other hand steadied you at your ribs. You’d never known Astarion to be this quiet and it was beginning to unnerve you as the vampire took another look pause to analyze you. As he scrutinized you, the fingers at your neck brushed up to your jawline, then your cheek, and finally your eyelashes. Another sigh, as if he hadn’t figured out the answers before pulling the caressing hand away though he took great care to keep holding you steady as he leaned away. Finally, his voice broke the silence.

 "No, no more of that for now, little love." 

Your eyebrows furrowed as he turned away from you. He didn’t want your blood? It felt childish to feel rejected, and yet the sting was still there. And that name: little love. You were hesitant to call it a term of endearment, that sounded too real. You might be too proud to mention it out loud, but you could recognize how you preened when he called you darling or pet or dear, the way it made your heart lift and stomach flutter. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, but this nickname. You knew, instinctively, this one was different. It had only been said in the most tender- vulnerable- of moments. And both of these things happening at the same time made your head spin more than it already was. As you lifted your head back up, slowly to try to ignore the way your brain seemed to rattle around in your skull, you tried to hide your confusion.

 In an impressive show of dexterity, a dagger turned an apple into bite size cubes in record time, finding their way onto a bronze plate that you weren’t sure where he found, accompanied by cheese, grapes, bread, and honey. You watched the vampire carefully, brows furrowing in confusion. Sure, Astarion was nicer to you than the others, but you were sure his shows of affection were limited to snarky teasing,  stealing things, vulgar comments, moments of passion, and watching your back in a fight. Which were all perfectly fine with you, hells, they were the a large part of the reasons you were so enamored with him. But this? The way he was caring for you? Seemed more like your motive than his, not very roguish.  Did he want something? Surely, he’d figured out you’d give him just about anything he asked of you. He was smarter than this. But when you offered, he’d declined… Yet, it was still nice it it’s own way, to have someone care for you the way you cared for others. 

"What?" This time his voice was shorter, more in line with his usual sass. Astarion, after pushing the plate towards you, truly noticed your staring. Not the gaze of relief from last night, but this time a confused, analyzing look yet still gracious. It unnerved him then just as much as it had the night prior, like you saw all of him and still chose to be kind. Of course, he told himself, that couldn’t be it. Had he done something wrong? 

Staring for another moment, you wondered if you should tell him, let him know what you were thinking. But his eyes had lost some of that intensity, carrying some kind of sad hopefulness and nervous uncertainty. If you told him would it shatter the moment? Was it selfish to enjoy the tenderness? Would the reality of your emotions scare him off? 

In the height of the prior night’s emotions, you’d compared yourself to a rabbit, latching on to the snake for fear of the serpent starving. Though, in the past you’d been told or made to feel like your love was stifling, constricting. Were you truly the rabbit in the metaphor? If you were, were you letting yourself be consumed for his sake or yours? Were you actually on the verge of choking him?

So, you shook your head, lifting some of the fruit to your lips, "Nothing, Astarion, thank you." 

"You’re ever so welcome, darling. After such a feast, stealing some fruit and honey was the least I could do." Astarion gave you one of those coy grins he was known for before returning to his stool, and picking his sewing back up. As he resumed his little project, you ate the little feast slowly, eyes unfocused as they half paid attention to the repetitive moment of Astarion’s stitching. You idly wondered how long he’d known to sew, if it was a hobby or a necessity. Outside the tent, you could see people moving about camp, hear chatter and commotion. Your eyebrows furrowed once again, starting to remember everything that needed to get done. 

"I’ll eat and then we must get a jump on the day, there’s too much to get done." You decided, shaking yourself out of your reverie. Wyll’s father, the gith’yanki that were surely hunting you, Karlach’s engine, the impending shadow-curse. It didn’t matter how tired you were, you’d just have to push past the dizziness and light headedness. The party couldn’t waste another day just for you too rest. The vampire tied off another stitch, examining his handiwork as one of his perfect brows raised. 

"Must we? Not much to jump on considering it’s nearly midday, give or take." Astarion didn’t seemed concerned in the least about the time-sensitive nature of… well, everything that was going on. Your stomach dropped, not comforted by his nonchalance in the slightest. Midday?!

"Astarion, why the hells didn’t you wake me?" The sudden sharpness in your voice made your head echo and your chest rattle as you stared wide eyed, eyebrows knitting so far up your forehead they might knock you over. 

"Really? You were sleeping like the dead- believe me I would know- and if Lae’zel sharpening that godsdamned sword again didn’t wake you who was I to try?" Just as with your numerous quests, Astarion didn’t seem to mind your outburst as he sat down his mending. Until you began to gather yourself up, swaying as you reached for one of your boots. It was then that his lackadaisical teasing turned to a stern glare even though he kept his words light, "Now, now, darling, surely you you don’t plan to rush off to battle without fully breaking your fast- oh, or maybe you were just wanting me to feed it to you? Shall I, dear?" 

Your eyes widened, quickly looking away from his mischievous smirk, and had you had enough blood in you at the time, it would have all rushed up your neck to your cheeks. But you didn’t, so you instead cleared your throat, "But-" 

"But you need to eat after all that blood loss. So, finish the food and then we’ll think about whatever trouble you’ll land us in today. Besides, I thought you’d be rather insistent. Some of the others are scouting the road ahead as well as tying up some loose ends," He interjected, eyes almost challenging you to argue more. You swore he enjoyed arguing, but you knew it was often more trouble that it was worth, often resulting in twisted words, flushed cheeks, and moments of passion quickly followed by the realization that you’d lost the argument. Like a scolded child, you continued to work at the plate, dipping the apples in the honey and eating them on the bread, (totally not) pouting as you watched your companions go about their tasks outside. Just as he had last night, he smirked at your obedience, teasing you further, "Good girl." 

You didn’t even have the energy to flush. When you were about half way through the plate, even the half meal in your stomach was enough to sate you, enough so that you felt the exhaustion return. You kept telling yourself to focus, finish the plate and go about the rest of the day- if you were diligent, you could still get something done, help someone. But, even lifting the little bites of cheese to your mouth was proving tiresome, and the sun was warming the tent in such a encompassing way… maybe you could just rest your eyes...  Your eyes drooped and you hadn’t noticed that you’d stopped moving, closing your eyes let your mind slow for a moment which was nicer than you cared to admit. Astarion, however, did notice. He watched carefully, then saw the way your head dropped an inch, quite literally nodding off. He saw the way one of your hands went limp, almost knocking over the chalice of water. Hurriedly, he snatched the dish from you before gently pushing you back against the pillows. Your only protest was a whine before you relaxed once more. 

"Looks like our discussion will have to wait. But we will be having a discussion."  

— 

The next time you woke, you felt better. Less hollow, the tinges of magic vibrating in your bones. Shadowheart or Halsin must have visited. This time, it was easier to sit up and the tent didn’t seem to spin as you looked around. Your eyes first landed on the shirt Astarion had mended, spread out to dry over the stool he’d been sitting on and now a rich, pitch black. As you rubbed at your face, you giggled softly.

"Look at you, looking more like your bright eyed, hopelessly naive self every hour." Astarion’s voice chided as he ducked into the tent, glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. He kneeled beside you, gracefully reclining into a sitting position without spilling so much of a drop.  

“Thanks… I think.” You hummed, finding a replenished cup of water next to you to gulp down. Astarion watched you as carefully as he earlier, like you might blow away in the wind or spontaneously dissolve into dust. His eyes narrowed on your neck and again on your heart. 

You frowned, something was clearly bothering him? But what? Your tadpole wiggled temptingly behind your eye, a reminder that you possessed the power to know him. You suppressed the desire, knowing that a brief uninvited glimpse was likely to lock you out forever. Instead, you returned his stare trying to decipher whatever his deeper meaning was based off his body language. 

He had turned down your blood. Surely he wasn’t still hurting, the wound was barely a scar after all the magic and blood that had been poured into him. Was he upset that you’d killed the Gur hunter before he’d had the chance? Had you overstepped or overwhelmed in your efforts to save him? 

“You’re very welcome, darling, after all, only one of us can pull of the corpse-like look. And since I do it so effortlessly, my dear...” As if he could sense your thoughts narrowing into his own, he deflected with his usual level of snark and sarcasm, filling the chalice for you again, “I’m afraid you’ll have to refrain from going off and getting yourself killed, or worse laying down to die in my tent. What would the others think?” 

What were you supposed to do? Wait for the poison to keep him down long enough that he starved? Sit idly by while was suffered? Let the Gur stake him without so much as a protest?  Simply hope that the antidotes and magic might catch up before it was too late? 

“Astarion-“ You began with his name because you honestly didn’t know where else to start. The tone of your voice was the same way one would say sorry, an apology, which only made Astarion tense further. The elf wrinkled his straight nose, his eyebrows crinkling as you slowly got to your knees so you could look him in the eyes. His face slightly turned, chin dipping as he tried to predict what you do next. Aside from your affinity for foolishly admirable acts of altruism, you’d been proving hard to predict as of late. Making himself harder to predict. 

Despite his tension, you hazarded a movement towards him. Your hand once again grazed the laces of the red wayfarer shirt he was wearing, waiting briefly. If he so much as breathed to suddenly, you’d retract your touch. But he didn’t, staying perfectly still as you once more slid under the shirt, again pausing over his unbeating heart and back to the even less prominent scar on his chest. Still healing, closer and closer to as if the last night hadn’t even happened.

And just like he had earlier, his own deft fingers feathered over your neck, where the bite marks were fading much slower than his own scars.

“Don’t even think about offering another nibble right now, my dear.” He muttered, voice somehow soft and dangerous all at once, scarlet eyes pausing at your own before roving down your face, across your cheeks where color was beginning to return, then across your jaw, like he was still searching for that explanation before slowly lifting back to your eyes. The open palm over the stake wound closed into a fist, knuckled resting softly against the scar as your eyes lowered to his chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion, and if anyone asked thats what you’d blame it on, you blinked a couple time to assuage the sting in them, lip wobbling. 

“I’m sorry-“  

This time, at your outward display of emotion, Astarion did flinch away. Not far, but just enough that your hand fell back onto your thigh. Your teeth toyed with the inside of your cheek, as you searched for the right words, “I should have- maybe I could have- Astarion, I promised you I’d watch your back and you- I let-” 

“Stop that.” It was a clipped order, but his voice didn’t sound cold. Confused, definitely, a touch irritated. Maybe a hint of something else that you might be able to place if your mind was clearer. 

“What?” Your voice was confused as well, a touch airy as the dizziness started to seep back into your bones. You pulled your eyes back up to his, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. You didn’t mean to fall back onto your backside, but it happened anyway, contributing to how small you felt in front of him, “But-“ 

“Quit being so kind. It makes me want to be nice back. Infectious, and quite frankly: disturbing.” It was a compliment but he said it like the deepest insult. His face grimly serious. You shook your head a bit in disbelief, instantly regretting it when it made your brain swim around in your skull. The tadpole didn’t like the tumultuous turn of emotions either, squirming in time with the dizzy spell, “No use in dying for me-

As if he could sense your mounting protest or maybe corrected his own line of thought for his own sake, “- quite yet, we still have a cult to overthrow and what not."

You lifted your hand to point at him again, but found your hand was shaking again. The lingering boost from the magic was waning.  You ran a hand over your face both to steady yourself and to hid your face for a moment. No longer under your scrutiny, Astarion’s mind reeled. He needed to get things back under control, quickly, to stick to his original plan. He’d started straying and look where it had gotten him: a stake to the heart,  you were crying, and his favorite shirt was ruined. 

From behind your hands, your voice was muffled, clearly trying to force something of a casual joke. Things had gotten too intense too fast, which had always seemed to be the case between the two of you, “Can’t overthrow a cult without a Rogue. No one else can pick a lock worth a damn.” 

Astarion would have laughed at the truthful joke, but he was stuck amongst warring thoughts. Best to stick to what he knew, seduction and manipulation. Tell himself he that was why he was doing doing what came next. No other reason. Other reasons were dangerous, and quite possibly all too real. 

The vampire reached behind him, into the pouch of things he’d nicked from Wyll earlier, producing a potion of greater healing, easily holding it and flicking the lid off with one hand. He offered it to you once, pressing the glass to your knee only for you to nudge it away stubbornly. You could tell what it was from the overly sweet aroma, and you had no interest in being nursed anymore. Apparently being cared for.. It made things too complicated. 

"You’re pouting again, darling, would you look at me?” He forced the sincere softness out of his tone before he even got to the pet name, replacing it with the more familiar, safer feeling suave charm he was accustomed to. You slowly pulled your hands away from your face, eyeing him with a bleary, cautious gaze. Like you were the one who’d done something terrible.

Gods, you really made this too easy. Astarion ignored the tone of his thought, instead focussing on the words. Easy, this was easy, it was instinctive as he forced a smirk, maintaining eye contact as he took a long pull from the potion bottle, but he didn’t swallow. Instead, his free hand laced into one of yours, ignoring the wetness left behind by the tears you didn’t want him to see. Using the tether, he pulled himself over you. Just as he had been the night before, he leaned over you as he gently pushed you back against the pillows once more. His cold, straight nose prodded once against your neck, along his own fang marks. Instinctively, you rolled your neck to the side, but Astarion’s face chased your own. 

The rapid change in mood didn’t help your dizziness at all, but the way Astarion’s nose then grazed your jaw before his forehead pressed against yours was enough to take your fuzzy mind off things. Your eyes fluttered closed, both preening under his touch and to more easily ignore the way your vision was twisting with how fast your heart was beating. Blood loss and desire fought a dangerous battle in your heart and mind.  His chest vibrated in a chuckle as you leaned into the palm that had come up to cup your cheek, his other hand now at your hip to keep you flat so he could stay centered over you. He didn’t want to waste a drop. 

Astarion’s lips met yours just as they had a dozen times since that first night in the clearing. It was intoxicating...dizzying, more so than the blood loss. To keep yourself from swaying too far, you threw one lazy arm around his shoulders. Not that he’d let you get too far. First, as usual, he tasted like the deepest red wines he liked along with something metalic you didn’t try to think too hard about. It was when the sweet taste you’d refused hit your tongue that you suddenly understood his plan. You hummed a slight growl at the trickery, though you really shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a rogue after all. 

The elf’s fingers at your hip dug in as he clenched, the kiss becoming harder as your mouth filled with the elixir. The palm at your cheek didn’t quite hurt, but was enough to keep to still for him. Not that you were trying too hard to truly get away. His sent of rosemary, bergamot, and ever present blood was surrounding you. Frankly, you were right were you wanted to be. 

Finally, when your lungs were burning in need for oxygen and Astarion had no potion left for you, he pulled back just enough to mutter against your cheek, “Come now, be a good girl and swallow for me. You know how I abhor waste.”  

Your eyes shot open as you reflexively swallowed before you could sputter the brew out, and you had no doubt that the potion was immediately put to use in the form of a warm flush up your neck. 

Astarion was smirking smugly at you, though the look in his eyes wasn’t smug but not something you could decipher either. 

“Fine, now you can consider us even, little lo-“ He stopped to clear his throat, “Pet.” 

---

I've been working on this for a month and it is not good™️ but I can't seem to make it flow right so you're getting it unedited laugh out loud

[eldritch-spouse]

I bet Kalymir has wet dreams about the indomitable human spirit; he knows the chance of him meeting a human like that is slim to none. 

But I know his dirty little human fucker ass can't help but fantasize about a prisoner bitting off their leg to squeeze out of their chains and brutally stab him with whatever is sharp enough or try to strangle him to death with their own chains. Maybe he imagines being in the arena and seeing a half-burned human missing both legs and an arm crawl towards them with their weapon clutched in their remaining hand. Or he's on a trip to the surface and is terrorizing a human settlement; he has been chasing one human for a while, and they end up in the human's house. One of their arms was torn off in their chase, and their missing an eyeball from a swipe he landed on their face, yet they still stand at the kitchen doorway, dazed from bloodloss and holding up a kitchen knife, unwilling to go down without a fight.

When I saw this trending on my fyp, I thought I had found Kaly's porn stash for a sec ngl.

TW: Gore; Death.

That's the best kind of hunt, isn't it?

Kalymir won't lie, he LOVES opponents who don't back down even at the last second. Those are the ones worthy of being hunted, of his attention.

There's something magical about such a feeble and tiny species trying ever so pointlessly to survive, to wriggle and squirm and shriek at death's doors. It's exhilarating, to sense the fear almost overcoming their courage while they try to dangle some sad excuse of a weapon in his direction.

Kalymir fucking adores raiding the more remote locations on Earth. The humans who live comfortable, posh and soft lives don't ever last long, they cower and beg for mercy, beg for deals, and while it's fun to mow them down or make them perform like dancing monkeys- The ones who are forced to fend for themselves often, or who need a certain level of resourcefulness to keep up with life are the best.

Because they're the ones that will face Kalymir with a flayed open arm and a leg twisted in too many directions, with a dislodged jaw and an eye out of its socket. They don't let themselves process the bodily trauma they've endured, they just try to growl at him with a pitchfork in their good hand.

And Kalymir performs the ultimate mockery.

Pushing his loin cloth aside, he fists one hand around his twitching cock and bends down to clamp his gruesome teeth around the rusty pitchfork, deforming the pointed ends while he gets off to the frightened bewilderment on your bloodied face.

Then, he knocks you down, watches you struggle to get back up like a sadistic house cat swiping a bug around, your screams of horrid pain like the moans of a whore in heat for him.

He's going to squeeze every bit of fight you have out.

And maybe, just maybe, when you can't even crook a finger anymore, Kalymir will land a scalding load on your face and tell you that you'll be joining him in Wrath- Where you'll be healed to tip top shape, and continue to struggle for your life, much to his heated amusement.

[ohdeerfully]

hii! i just read everything you've posted and am obsessed. can you possibly write an alastor x fallen angel!reader? i would just love to see the interactions! -🐈‍⬛ anon

HIII 🐈‍⬛ im sorry this took one hundred thousand days to write. but at least its fairly long!!!!!! 4k words

honestly i cant imagine alastor warming up to an angel very quickly, like he would probably haaate reader for a long time before being like "actually u know what <3"

though that being said this can definitely be read as a platonic story since theres no romance (though maybe ill write a romantic fallen!reader someday)

anyway hope u enjoy!! mwah!

Welcome to Hell

alastor x reader TW: heavy descriptions of gore WITH the reader, reader is heavily wounded, alastors a dick, cursing obviously, thats it i think join my discord!

PLS READ: im putting the story immediately under a read more because it jumps really quickly into gore, so if ur uncomfy with that please dont read on!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

“Hey, bitch,” A dangerously whispered voice spoke in your ear after you shooed away a small demon, sending all the warning bells in your body ringing. You stood and braced yourself to run, but—

The sensation of bone and arteries being savagely torn from your shoulder blades sent flaming, white hot pain through your body, setting every nerve ablaze and prompting a scream of agony through your lips. Your throat quickly became sore with the intensity of your cries as you crumpled over yourself, tightening your arms around yourself in a useless attempt at comforting the pain away.

Knife-like sensations rolled through your body, leaving you struggling to catch your breath and see through tears. You lifted your gaze from your trembling, bloody-gold hand onto the two who stood above you, one looking down with a twisted smirk and the other a disgusted sneer. The man still held your ripped wings between his claws. You could barely hear the ambience of terrified screaming that surrounded you through the heartbeat in your ears.

“Angels like you sicken me,” Lute said, chin tilted up in superiority. “You don’t even deserve that title.” She brought a foot up and then down onto your shoulder, shoving you onto your chest. The movement made you scream as another flash of pain ignited in your back. You balled your hands into fists, pulling them against your chest as you pressed your forehead against the hot ground, trying to catch your breath once again.

You sat, hunched, for what felt like hours. Maybe it was hours, as when you finally came to your senses the atmosphere was eerily silent. Adam and Lute were long gone. You only heard the faint noise of cannibalistic demons tearing apart bodies, and the occasional rustle of trash or paper being thrown in the wind across a deserted street. The recognition made you sit up—oh, shit, too fast. Your vision practically vanished as your head became light. You tried to catch yourself with your hands before you fell backwards, but considering the nature of your wound; ripped flesh directly over your shoulder blades… your elbows buckled at the intense sting.

I’m so fucking stupid, you cursed yourself as you contemplated your situation, deciding that it would be better to not try to stand up and walk around right now. Honestly, you’d be surprised if bloodloss didn’t kill you, considering the glistening puddle that had formed around you. You had managed to slowly scoot into a somewhat secluded corner and rested your head against the brick wall. Uncomfortable, but all things considered… it might as well be a five star hotel bed to you. Your eyes shut.

“Come on—...never know-”

“If you think— unpredictable—”

The two things you noticed when you came to were a broken conversation and an uncomfortable prickling sensation on your skin. You struggled to crack open your eyes, dried blood nearly pasting your left eye together. When you finally managed, you still had trouble focusing.

Two blurry, tall demons stood in front of you. Despite the fact they were demons, it felt considerably less imposing than the two that were in front of you earlier that day—was it still the same day? Still, you were on high alert and grabbed for where you thought you had left your weapon. You palmed at empty concrete. You cursed both at the lack of your tool for self defense and at the fact the two noticed you were now conscious.

“I do hope you don’t mind,” An amused bark of laughter erupted from the taller of the two, which forced your gaze back towards them. “We confiscated your little prong for our safety.” You blinked rapidly, squinting slightly till you could finally focus your eyes and actually get a good look at them. Surely enough, your trusty spear was held tightly between red claws.

To your right was an oddly friendly looking girl with blond hair and the reddest cheeks you had ever seen, who stood with a slight bend at the hip and hands on her knees as she peered down at you. Her brows were turned up and furrowed with what you guessed was worry, although the thought was shocking considering… the circumstances, you mused gravely when another rush of throbbing pain coursed through your body, reminding you of the giant wound on your back. You hadn’t noticed yourself wince, but the woman in front of you did, what with the way her hand shot forward as if wanting to help you. She paused, unsure.

You turned your head to the voice, taking in the demon next to her. He was just a bit taller, and incredibly… red. Red coat, red hair, red eyes… a little excessive, maybe—though, it didn’t really matter what you thought of his fashion choices, because the overwhelming and ominous feeling of dread ensnared your thoughts. He bent at the hip in a similar manner to the girl next to him, though the movement seemed somehow much less natural. The ever-present radio noise in the air increased in volume as his face inched closer. Meeting his gaze seemed to cause your mind to fill with a buzzing emptiness, prickling your entire being and causing your skin to tickle with goosebumps. Although you’ve never met him before, you knew by aura alone the power he held, especially over you in this situation. It was frankly obvious that he knew, too, for he stood with practiced leisure, leaning his weight onto his cane with one hand as he fidgeted curiously with your spear in the other. You immediately switched your gaze towards the friendlier of the two, who still seemed to be fighting a mental war, her still outstretched hand twitching as she considered her next move.

With a brief, sideways look towards her companion, she smiled gently and outstretched her hand in your direction. You eyed it suspiciously, gaze flicking between her and her hand. She had to have ulterior motives, right? Maybe she was just leading you somewhere where you could be finished off. Or something. Adam always insisted that the demons were far to “fucking stupid” to know how to hurt, let alone kill an angel, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t resort to various strange experiments and tests. They were demons, after all. In Hell.

Though, you had to admit to yourself with a sigh, at this point, I’m not any different than them. You figured “fallen angel” could even be a worse title than demon, because how horrible of a being do you have to be to fall from holy stature? Was saving the life of a demon, a child, at that, so evil?

It wasn’t worth thinking about, you decided. You were here. In Hell. Fuck.

You raised an embarrassingly trembling hand and cautiously received her own, and fought yourself to keep from ripping away as her slender fingers wrapped over yours. You were watching her movements sharply, nearly flinching when her black manicured nails glinted as they caught a light. Even still, her expression regarded you with so much undeserved compassion, a softness in the subtle curve of her eye, that you let your shoulders relax. She pulled you gingerly to your feet, and caught you against her steady shoulder when you nearly fell.

“I’m Charlie, by the way,” She said. Although she seemed hesitant earlier, every minute that passed seemed to confirm some unknown idea in her head as she slowly grew more vibrant and excited. Even still, she remained otherwise calm and gentle, her body holding strong to support nearly your full weight. She shot a look at the other demon.

“Oh! I apologize for my manners,” You weren’t even lookin at him—his voice alone sent a weird feeling down your back. You turned to look. “Alastor! A pleasure to meet you my dear, quite a pleasure!”

You finally turned to look, and noticed he didn’t hold his hand out, but rather the blunt end of your spear. When you reached to grab it, maybe to yank it away from him—not that you had any intention of fighting back at this point—you found that he still held a vice-like grip to it. When your fingers closed around the stick, he merely shook it, as if the weapon was an extension of his own hand. You weren’t really sure whether or not to take it as an insult.

Charlie seemed indifferent to Alastor’s antics, and you started a bit when she seemed unable to control herself any longer, and began blabbering about some hotel and some plan she had. She spoke with such a furious speed that you wondered if anybody could decode her words. She paused, suddenly, to take in a long breath, but the other demon interrupted her before she could begin again.

“Charlie, while I love watching you try so desperately, I’m not sure beings of their ilk are fit for your idea.”

Ilk? Sure, you understood him holding caution to your presence, considering you were an angel, but come on! Circumstances have changed for you! You opened your mouth, planning to make some retort (that you had not yet planned out) but Charlie quickly beat you to it.

“No! Alastor, come on, I know they’re… was one of them, but that gives them all the more reason to want to follow my plan… right..?” She looked down at you, where you still leaned heavily on her shoulder as the three of you slowly walked down the street. You honestly weren’t sure what they were talking about—you barely managed to catch a single word she rattled about earlier. You gave a weak shrug and a nod, just to be agreeable.

Alastor only gave a dismissive ‘hmm’ in return, and picked up his pace to walk in front of Charlie and you. In fact, he kept his pace and just continued walking away, down the sidewalk, around a corner, and gone. Personally, you didn’t mind. The air was noticeably lighter without his presence.

Charlie sighed in defeat, but didn’t mention it. She seemed accustomed to his behavior. You silently expressed your sorrows for her; even if he was nicer than he appeared, which you doubted heavily, he was likely still an exhausting guy to be around. 

The walk was long and unbearably painful for you, each labored step sending pulses of sore pain through your body, and your back occasionally exploding in needles that would halt you in your tracks. Charlie was incredibly patient, and you couldn’t even begin to word how thankful you were for her. Being one of two demons you had encountered since falling, you began wondering what else was in store for you down here for what you assumed may be the rest of your eternity.

You didn’t have long to ponder, as it seemed enough time passed since the extermination for demons to start their usual routines. And man, what routines they had. If you weren’t in imminent danger, you would find the scene almost comically chaotic. There were projectiles smashing through windows, sending shards everywhere, and fires erupting from said windows. Your eye caught the glinting of weapons in the hands of various demons, which some were… actively using to stab another demon. And, of course, when bodies fell there were at least two pit-eyed cannibalistic creatures that would descend on the corpse like starved dogs. You clung close to Charlie, who seemed unnervingly calm in the situation. Surprisingly, even with the lack of a weapon or any means of self-defense, nothing came at you.

Seeming to sense your unease, she looked at you with a calming smile. “Charming, huh?” She joked lightly. She grimaced slightly at the sound of a scream being cut short by a loud bang. “It’s not usually… this bad. They’re just worked up after extermination. That’s when the crazies hit.”

Yeah, you silently mocked. Yeah, starting fires and murdering people is being ‘worked up.’ Cool. You only nodded in response, not really finding anything nice to say. And, honestly, anything you said would probably seem hypocritical given the fact you were an exterminator mere hours ago. Luckily for you, she seemed content enough at that. She started to talk again about where she was taking you, a bit slower this time, obviously half focused on keeping you supported.

“So, my Hotel kind of just started, and Alastor is in the process of making a commercial to get some attention. I think he said it would be done today.”

You nodded wordlessly. Part of you felt a little guilty, not having much to say despite Charlie’s efforts to welcome you and take care of you, especially compared to her constant rambling. She didn’t seem to notice, though.

She re-explained her whole idea, undeniably proud of her plan. Sinners working on themselves to get redeemed? To leave Hell and climb those glittering steps to Heaven?

Absolutely unheard of.

Maybe it was your internal biases talking, but you could not imagine the possibility. If it was possible, why hadn’t somebody showed up at the gates from Hell before? You held back a roll of your eyes, feigning support and interest to the best of your ability.

After an achingly long journey, you finally reached the stone path that led to a rather plain, but tall building. It looked sleek and well built, but you couldn’t help but notice the tacky blinking lightbulbs that formed arrow shapes towards the entrance and the huge, spelled out name of the hotel. 

Hazbin Hotel.

You stifled a laugh as you looked up at the signage.

“Well! We’re here!” Charlie announced, brandishing her arm forward and sweeping it in a ‘viola’ motion. Your eyes traveled over the expanse of the property, noticing how many windows lined every wall. Were there that many demons here?

You were answered nearly immediately when Charlie opened the door to the hotel and you found yourself in a nearly empty lobby. It was kind of sad, honestly. There was a cat-like bartender and a long-limbed pink demon splayed across the couch, but other than that…

The demon next to you scratched the back of her head, and gave you a light smile. She jerked her head towards the door as if inviting you, but to be fair you didn’t really have any choice but to go wherever she led you.

“Ooh, fresh meat,” The pink-ish demon with a striped top shot upright, eyeing you wryly with a cocked brow. He stood and took long strides forward, one pair of arms on his hips and the other crossed under his rather… voluptuous chest. 

“Eyes up here, toots,” He snapped a finger, but when you met his eyes you could tell he was all jokes. You gave him a tight smile in response.

You heard the sound of quick steps and an already aggravated looking face appeared from the upper level, quickly descending the steps. You felt an ice-cold feeling of familiarity when you saw a gray-skinned, white haired angel—or, well, fallen angel at this point—stop in front of you. She apparently felt a similar feeling, though her response was much more rapidly aggressive. With a narrowed eye and tense shoulders, she manifested an angelic spear and held it at the ready. You tried to remove yourself from Charlie’s hold, desperate to be able to defend yourself even in your sorry state, but her protective grip held you fast against herself. You struggled only for a moment, but the exhaustion coursing through every vein stopped you. Man was she strong.

“What is someone like them doing here,” The other questioned in a hiss, her lips curled in a sneer. She eyed you up and down suspiciously, likely analyzing your capacity of harming anybody in the room. Admittedly you couldn’t blame her caution. 

When your lips parted, planning to shoot an accusatory in retort, the tip of her spear shot to your lips, effectively shutting you up. There was a look in her eye, behind the rage and caution, that you somehow recognized as a silent plea. A plea for what? To stay quiet? Not state the obvious recognition you two shared? Did the others somehow not know she was an angel? Whatever it was, you obliged and swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Vaggie, please,” Charlie spoke in a tumble, rushing her free hand to press the point of ‘Vaggie’s weapon away from your face. “She’s practically one of us now. Don’t go threatening my new guests every time they walk through the door! We can’t scare them away…”

“Angels aren’t guests Charlie,” Vaggie’s voice seemed strained as she held pinched fingers on the bridge of her nose. “We literally just had an extermination.”

“I know,” Charlie pressed, the tone of her voice conveying some sort of desperate ‘just go with it and calm down.’ “But… obviously she was an outcast, unwanted by Heaven. Just like us, right?” 

You furrowed your brows and looked at her through the corner of your eye, but decided not to fight for your dignity. She wasn’t even wrong.

Vaggie seemed easily defeated by Charlie’s words, yielding quickly to her words and putting her spear away. You briefly wondered where your own was. Charlie gave Vaggie a thankful smile, a light kiss on the cheek—to which the angel blushed—and led you carefully into a nearby room. 

It seemed to be some type of medical room, and Charlie quickly got to work dragging a warm rag over the dried blood that left streaks down your skin. You grabbed her wrist, and she looked up at you, a little confused.

“I can wash myself, I’m not that useless,” You argued, using your other hand to pull at the rag.

“But, you can barely—” 

“Charlie,” You said, more stern than you meant to, which you immediately regretted after the taken aback expression on her face. Considering you barely spoke a word since meeting her, it was no wonder she seemed surprised at your sudden brash tone. You tried to speak more gently. “Please, just let me wash myself off. I’ll need your help dressing my wounds, anyway, it’s the least I could do.”

She pondered for a moment, but nodded, smiled, and left you to it. She left the room with a quick ‘call me when you’re’ done, closing the door with a gentle click. You sighed, finally enjoying a moment of privacy. You looked at yourself in the mirror, a sick feeling churning in your stomach.

It was still you, staring back, but it somehow at the same time wasn’t. Golden streaks tainted your gray skin, crusts of blood still grabbing at the corners of your eye and matting your hair. You briefly brushed a hand through the strands, but promptly gave up after your fingers caught on multiple knots. You’d have to wash it out.

For now you focused on just wiping the blood and grime off of your skin, especially around the wounds. You were incredibly tender when you reached your back, elbow bent awkwardly over your face as you tried to reach the marred flesh. You tried positioning your arm under your armpit, hoping for a better angle, but it was still no use. Even when you managed to get close to the wound, every touch sent stinging pain down your back. On top of all that, you could barely see where you were dragging the damp cloth, neck struggling to crane enough to look in the mirror.

The door opened suddenly, and with it a sense of impending doom and static sensations encased you. You froze, eyes darting towards the entrance. Even though you knew exactly who would stand there, you still couldn’t help the sick surprise that twisted your gut.

Alastor stood in the entrance, eyes half open and brows raised as he examined you bent in so many awkward ways. 

“How’s our new vulture doing,” He asked suddenly, eyes lighting up in an overly cheerful manner. He entered the room without much invitation, circling you. You felt like prey being stalked and toyed with by a wolf. Your eyes diligently followed until he took up a spot behind you. “Charlie got caught up in something, so she asked me to help you.”

You watched him in the mirror as he looked down at the torn flesh of your back, his long, clawed finger tapping at his chin while his other hand thrummed against the head of his cane.

“A ghastly sight you are,” He commented, meeting your gaze in the mirror. His hand pointed down at your back. “That wound of yours is rather unpleasant, too.”

You frowned and opened your mouth to shoot something back, though you didn’t know if you wanted to throw curses or insults back at him. Any words you may have said died on your tongue as the look in his eyes darkened, and his smile curled impossibly higher, more sinister. 

He leaned down, positioning his head just next to yours, still meeting your eyes in the mirror. Every inch of proximity caused the prickling on your skin to increase, and the static in your ears to grow louder.

“Let’s patch you up, then!” He straightened himself out, walking towards a cabinet and quickly grabbing various tools from different shelves. “While I’m not in the business of playing doctor to someone like you, I can’t deny the Princess.” His voice seemed all too cheery for the rude words he spoke, and that smile on his face never faltered. You briefly thought about him referring to Charlie as “princess,” but quickly dismissed it. You’d think about it later—right now, you had to be ready to make a run for it in case that feeling of doom that loomed over you came to fruition.

Alastor approached you again with a small tray of medical supplies, and pulled thin gloves over his hands with a brief snap, saying something about the importance of being sanitary, but part of you wondered if he was just making more jabs at you regarding his disdain for angels.

Surprisingly he seemed to know what he was doing, working quickly with different types of wipes and stitches and gauze. He was being rougher than likely necessary, pretending to accidentally poke a claw into your open wound and pressing his tools far too firm against your sore skin. You bore it with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of putting you through a miserably painful half hour. 

After it was finally over you drew out a long sigh and watched as he discarded the gloves and washed his hands. And washed his hands. And washed his hands. And… still he’s washing his hands. You began to wish you counted the seconds.

He turned to you after finally finishing up, shaking water off his hands. He didn’t seem to recognize that he was flicking droplets directly on you. If you weren’t in such a weak state and absolutely terrified of him, you probably would’ve made some effort to stop him, but now… you opted to let him get away with it. For now.

“Now, if that’s all…” He turned, waving a hand at you dismissively. “I’d prefer you keep out of my business from here on.”

No fucking problem, you agreed to yourself. He didn’t even have to ask. You couldn’t imagine bearing to be around him unless absolutely necessary. Though, in an effort to maintain pleasantries…

“Thanks, though,” You called, not trying to hide the hint of dislike in your tone. Your words made him stop, hand just barely hovering over the knob to the door. After a brief moment, his head turned slightly, just enough for him to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

Although it was brief, you saw a glint of what you assumed was malice in his eye as his lips twitched and curled, momentarily revealing the black of his gums. His face quickly returned to his regular facade of cheer. He opened the door, not saying anything in return, and quickly took his leave, slamming the door behind him.

You drug your hands down your eyes, looking at yourself once again in the mirror. Cleaner now, but still rough. You thought deeply about what your future here would be like, especially around Alastor. If he was truly Charlie’s right-hand-man, you doubted avoiding him would be easy, despite how desperately you wanted to.

Yeah. This is Hell.

[yellowcry]

Another idea that was discussed in comment chat with I and @miracles-and-butterflies

But your sister is strong and rapid, she's able to clean bare rocks

She's the family's protector after all, right?

TW: Major character injury, Blood

Luisa stepped back, trying to spot her small sister on the roof. The cracks ran up the tower, chips of stone fell into the patio as Mirabel desperately tried to reach the burning down candle.

It didn't look good at all! Luisa's muscles tensed. Ready to get up, run and help with whatever needed. As Mirabel stayed under the weight of building that was about to crash.

No, Luisa wouldn't just let it be! She's the family's protector after all, right?

As Mirabel slipped down the broken staircase, Luisa rushed inside. For a moment her eyes fliskered at the falling down rubbles. Right at her hunched sister. Mirabel looked so small under the shadow of a giant house breaking to dust. There was no chance Mirabel would ever manage to gef out in time, even if she was bigger. The position was awful. But Luisa was big enough to yank her out of the death's nasty claws.

Without a second thought, Luisa grabbed Mirabel, tossing her several metres away from the center of destruction. Teenager winced, panting under the pressure. Good enough, she wouldn't be hurt there. Mirabel stared at Luisa with wide open eyes, her voice broke into scream.

The realization that Luisa didn't have her gift anymore hit her just a second too late. Not enough for her face to even change in realisation. She couldn't break the stone against her skin anymore. It clammed her arm into the ground. The weight slashed her skin open, cutting off the blood vessels. Sending her off to the ground, pinned with an abnormal weight. When the house kept pushing down just next to her, the sound slammed in her ears like the broken bones. It cut her skin deeper and deeper, like an axe chopping the wood, showing inner layers.

Her breathing grew short, unable to hold with the agony as the bone was crushed under the weight, snapped like a twig. Blood sinked out, stuck between the weight and ground, covering the grayish stone. Elbow pushed out of it's socket. Her wrist twitched, the big finger was smashed with the palm. The limb became wet with blood, watering the rock above it. Not like Luisa could actually feel it. Not with the amount of agony she was in. When a part of her body was slammed like a bug. The stone kept pushing, mending skin from both sides together. And then uniting it with the cold ground beneath it.

—

It all happened too fast for Julieta to proceed. She thought having one child inside a breaking house was bad enough. But when Luisa broke inside, practically throwing Mirabel away a second before she would've been dead she didn't know what to do.

Of course, Luisa, protective as ever would be the one to try and save her sister. And then she was in the epicenter instead. Not managing to get away justa second before her arm was thrown to the ground. In a split second, a giant weight lied on her middle daughter's limb.

"Luisa? Mirabel?" Julieta rushed inside the moment it was over, leaving only white drywall dust on them. Mirabel pushed herself up, bruised, but relatively okay, at least compared to her sister.

Julieta's blood ran cold, her heart dropped. What was left of Luisa's arm was covered in blood, like a cream for a cake. The rest was ripped clean off her body, buried under Casita. If Luisa was just five centimeters closer, it wouldn't be her arm only.

She dropped on her knees by her daughter, pressing on arteria to stop the bloodloss. Luisa flinched, weak from the pain and lack of blood. Not exactly conclusious, but responsive at least

"I need you to stay awake, can you dp this fpr me?" Julieta begged, taking her child's face with her free hand for a moment.

Mirabel wailed just by her side. "I didn't mean, please, Luisa, what do I do?" She yelled, trembling from panic.

"Mija, can you get some clean cloth? We need to cover the wound." Julieta had to stay in enough mental strength to act correctly.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

In Your Dreams, Whatever They Be - Part 2

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader (she/her)

WC: 11,789

TW: allusions to death, death, guns, knives, weaponry, kissing, making out, teen angst, stressful situations, demo bats? blood, crying, so much crying, nightmares, allusions to mature content, comas, really anything in Stranger Things is in here because I followed the last two episodes pretty closely.

A/N: Part 2 baby!!! I hope yall really like it. I had to cut some things out because I realized that if I wanted to sleep and be okay with this as my final draft, then things that the reader isn't a part of. doesn't really get told in this fic. (angsty, with some fluff at the end for your troubles of making it through the angst.)

Part One !

You had cried on and off for almost three hours. It wasn’t on purpose, truly, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Once you had managed to move enough, Steve helped you through the gate, before diving through on his own. The entire group was crowding around you trying to see if you were okay, but they just made it worse. 

Max watched from the side. Eventually, she had enough and screamed at all of them to back off. She took your hand and brought you into what you assumed to be Max’s room, holding out a hand to stop Steve from following the both of you in there. 

“I’ll come get you in a minute, Harrington.” She grumbled before shutting the door behind her. 

Everyone tried to crowd around the door, attempting to listen in on what the two girls had to say to one another. No one felt comfortable leaving the only two people to have been cursed, alone, but it’s not like they had a choice. 

The second the door was shut, Max was on you—arms wrapped snugly around your waist, face buried into your chest, tears quietly streaming out of her eyes. She had lost Billy, and then  she had almost lost you. Your tears started up again just at the thought. 

You eventually had made her sit down on the ground with you, your leg was bugging you and if you stood for much longer, you might have collapsed anyways. 

“What did you see?” she whispered, after the two of you sat together, holding one another. “Did you see Billy?” 

You nodded and bit your lip, letting out a shaky breath. “Yea. I watched it happen. Again. He made me watch as he killed him. ” 

Max just closed her eyes and held onto you tighter. You kissed her head and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere Max. I’m right here, alive.” 

She just shook her head, and after a moment, she peered up at you, eyes brimmed with tears. “They don’t…” She huffed. “They don’t get it. They don’t know.” 

You knew her pain. You knew that Steve was going to ask you about it. You knew he was going to try and comfort you. And you knew he just wouldn’t be able to. “I know.” 

You cracked a small, sardonic smile. “Well now we have another trauma in common. I’m sure your mother would love to have me back as your babysitter.” 

Max let out a little laugh, which was heard through the door. Everyone eavesdropping relaxed a little bit, knowing you two were comforting one another, but they still felt uneasy knowing that your leg needed to be looked at, and Max shouldn’t be without her headphones for too long. 

“You should yell at everyone for trying to listen in to our conversation.” You whispered, kissing her head one more time. 

Max smiled again but shook her head. “I want another minute of quiet.” She whispered, holding you tighter than before. You ran your hand over her back, letting her relax for the first time in days, with no one staring at her every move. You started to hum a little bit of Running Up That Hill to her, causing her to smile. 

After about seven and a half minutes of being kept out of the room you and Max were in, Steve was losing his mind again. He couldn’t see you and for all he knew the both of you were dead in the other room. Steve was also ignoring the amount of bloodloss that he had, choosing to focus more on the fact that you still being able to walk was a fucking miracle. If the bats had bitten off just about any more of your flesh, they would have hit vital nerves, causing permanent damage. 

“Dude. You need to relax. She’s fine Steve. I know you’re all freaked out and whatever, but she’s with Max right now, and Max deserves this break.” Robin piped up, watching him wear a hole into the carpet. 

“She needs to rest Robi–”

“We all need to rest Steve.” Nancy snapped before closing her eyes and exhaling. “Sorry. I’m sorry. But you panicking during the one moment when we actually can just breathe is going to make things worse.” 

She got up, and walked to the front end of the trailer, near the kitchenette and couch.

Dustin and Lucas turned to Steve. “What’s her problem?” 

“Mind your own business Dustin.” Eddie murmured, watching as Nancy watched Steve who was watching the door, who kept looking at Robin for reassurance while Robin was trying to keep an eye on the kids while also trying to keep Steve from freaking out over a closed door. Eddie had decided it was exhausting, and also walked towards the kitchen, trying to find some food to cook up for the gaggle of people in Max’s trailer.

Just as Steve was about to break down the door to Max’s bedroom, Max opened it, staring him down. “Come here Harrington.” 

He scoffed at Max and leaned in when she motioned too. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him right up to her face. “Don’t make her talk about what she saw for the next hour Harrington or I will skin you alive. And don’t do anything gross on my bed either. Got it?” 

Steve almost believed her. “Ye-Yeah Red. I got it, Geez.” 

She nodded and let go of his shirt, stepping to the side. “You may enter.”

Steve looked at Max before walking into the room. Max closed the door behind him, allowing the two of you to have some much deserved privacy for the first time since you had danced together in his backyard. 

You were sitting down on Max's bed, on top of the covers, and smiled at him.“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite Doctor.”

Steve didn’t even respond to you. He just walked right up to you, and pulled you into a hug. Somehow, after almost paralyzing your leg, vomiting in the Upside Down, and being possessed by Vecna, you were now comforting a second person; if it was anyone else, you would have minded. But this was Steve, your Steve. His head was buried into your neck as he let out a sob, and you immediately pulled him as tightly as you could against your body. 

“Oh Stevie.” Mumbling into his hair, tears in your own eyes. 

“Fuck. I l-lost you. You–you–you were floating and I–” another sound passed through his lips. You could feel his tears run down your neck. “I thought—”

“But you didn’t lose me.” You cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest of his thoughts. 

Desperate to be closer to you, Steve pulled away slightly before coming back in and pressing his lips to yours. There was so much behind it, more than words could have ever described, and you kissed him back. The relief that flooded through his system, as you kissed back, as you pulled him impossibly closer with the vest. His hands were on your cheeks, trying to combine your body with his, intertwining the both of you for the rest of time. The need to feel every part of his body fueled you, as you deepened the kiss, biting his bottom lip, making a pretty sigh leave his pretty lips. Steve used one of his hands to snake around your back and push you into him. 

It was intense. 

You could feel yourself becoming dizzy from the lack of oxygen but you didn’t care. You wanted Steve’s hands on your body, you wanted to feel him on you, in you, around you. You needed to feel that he was as real just as badly as he needed to feel you. 

He pulled away slightly, your lips chasing his, both chests heaving. 

“Steve.” You silently whine, kissing him again, trying to get what you want. 

He kissed you back, ready to lean you back and fuck you right here.

But as he placed his hands on your waist, and pulled you against him, lips on your neck, your jaw, your leg hit against the frame of Max’s bedside table and you immediately pulled away and swore profusely into Steve’s shoulder, effectively ruining the moment, and shattering the reality that everything was fine. 

“Shit shit shit.” Steve pulled away, not fully sure what happened, but when he heard your muffled cries in his shoulder, he started to panic even more. “Baby what happened?” 

You just tried to calm your breathing down, choking down the rest of the tears threatening to find their way out. “I-I hit my leg on something.” 

Steve pulled away completely, and you let out a sound of resentment, along with some tears when he did. The loss of contact made everything ten times worse. 

“I need to get you all bandaged up, pretty girl.” He whispered, placing his hand on your other, healthier, not torn apart by demon bats, thigh. 

“It’s gonna fucking hurt Stevie. Can;t I just die from a blood infection instead?” You tried joking but it fell flat since the thought of you dying made him freeze up. “Sorry, bad timing, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s, It’s okay.” He whispered, watching as your chest rose and fell, reminding himself that he just kissed you, he felt your breath, you were alive. 

“Let's get this over with.” You muttered, grabbing one of the bottles off of Max’s night stand that Eddie had so kindly provided you with, taking a hefty swig of it before handing it to Steve. 

______________________________________________________

You had fallen asleep from exhaustion about five minutes after Steve had finished fixing you up, which was probably for the best since Steve just laid with you, holding you in his arms, and eventually getting about an hour’s worth of rest that he also deserved. 

But sleep was not a luxury you both could afford. Eventually Max was sent in, having drawn the short stick and now being forced to wake up the two worst people on the planet to wake up. She had tried whispering, and then tried speaking to you both, but Steve had just rolled over, managing to cover your ears in the process, subconsciously protecting you from the world of the awake. 

Finally, she shook Steve, who sat right up, almost whacking Max in the process. 

“What.” He grumbled, noticing how you groaned, stirring slightly at the lack of contact from Steve. 

“We have to figure out a plan.” Max sent him the most apologetic look she could, because she didn’t want to wake either of you up.

“Come’ere.” He wrapped an arm around Max, giving her a quick hug. She was a bit shocked at first, but didn’t pull away, not ready to admit she liked the comfort.” 

You had opened your eyes, seeing your two favorite people sharing a moment, and decided that it was your time to shine. “You trying to steal my girl Harringon.” You yawned out, stretching your arms in the process. 

Max laughed slightly, while Steve sent you a faux glare. 

“We’ll be ready in five Max, thank you.” You sent her a soft smile, eyeing her up and down quickly to make sure she was still okay, before the girl left the room, closing the door behind her.

“She has a lot of trust, believing that you won't just immediately fall back asleep.” Steve smirked as you closed your eyes again, head back on the pillow. 

“I’ll be so ready in five minutes, just you wait.” You mumbled, already half asleep. Steve placed a soft kiss on your lips, and you hummed in response. 

“Baby you have to get up. We have to talk about…” 

Your eyes shot open, his words bringing back everything Vecna had shown you. It would have impressed Steve how fast your walls went up, in a matter of seconds, if it didn’t concern him so much. 

“Okay.” You shepherd, sitting up on the bed. Steve had offered his hand, and gently helped you off the bed, very mindful of your leg. He helped you limp out of the bedroom, and onto the couch where everyone was waiting for you both. 

“Five minutes on the dot.” Eddie raised his eyebrows, all of them watching you and Steve, very aware of the injuries you both were sustaining. 

“I’m punctual Munson. Regardless of apocalypse scenarios.” You winked at him, as Steve took his place next to you on the couch, hand on your good thigh, not as interested in the harmless banter between you both. 

“I’m sorry, before we begin, when the fuck did that happen?” Dustin interrupted you before you could even open your mouth, staring at Steve’s hand on your thigh. “Did you even ask if you could officially date our favorite babysitter Steve?” 

Steve was actually slightly offended by that one. “I’m sorry Henderon, I don't remember asking you permission for my love life to continue, and second of all, I better be your favorite fucking babysitter after everything you’ve put me through.” 

Everyone could sense the thinly veiled threat, not one hundred percent sure Steve was joking, but you just rolled your eyes. “About a year Henderson. Is that all?” 

Dustin scrunched his eyes together, “He actually worked up the courage to a–”

It was your turn to interrupt Dustin. “No. I did. Any more questions or can we start the thing that made you wake me up.” 

Dustin made a face before looking over at Steve, slightly proud of him. 

“Let’s talk about it.” Nancy’s voice cut through the silence, looking at you. 

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky sigh before closing your eyes, Steve squeezing your thigh. “He-uh, showed me things that haven't happened yet. The most awful things.” 

You paused before continuing. “I saw a dark cloud spreading over Hawkins, downtown on fire, dead soldiers, and this giant creature with a gaping mouth, and this creature wasn't alone, there were so many monsters. An army. And they were coming into hawkins, into our neighborhoods, our homes, and then, he showed me my mom, holly, mike, and they, they were all…”

“–Okay but, he’s just trying to scare you, right, I mean, it’s not real.” Steve tried to interject, trying to make it better. 

You shook your head. “Not yet. But there, there was something else. He showed me gates, four gates, spreading across hawkins, and these gates, they looked like the ones outside of Eddie's trailer, but they didn’t stop growing. This wasn't the Upside Down Hawkins, this was our Hawkins, our home.” 

“Four chimes.” Max spoke up. “Vecna’s clock. It always chimes four times. Four exactly.”

“I heard them too.” You nodded.

“He’s been telling us his plan this whole time.” Max looked over at Lucas, terrified. 

“Four kills. Four gates. End of the world.” Lucas looked back at Max, equally scared.

“If that’s true, he’s only one kill away.” Dustin looked between you and Max, trying not to break. 

“Oh Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.” Eddie just placed his hands in his face. 

“Try them again, try them again.” Nancy spoke up, looking over at Max, hoping to god the other half of their group would finally be by the phone. 

Max tried the phone, waiting, hoping, but the busy signal beeped and Max hung up the phone.

“Anything?” Dustin asked, staring at the phone. 

“No. Rang a few times and went to a busy signal.”

“Maybe you punched it in wrong–Try again.”  Steve leaned forward, placing his hands near his mouth. 

“I didn’t punch it in wrong.”

“Well, I don’t know.” Steve bickered back at Max.

“Dude, I think she knows how to use a phone.” Dustin rolled his eyes at Steve. 

“I’m just saying she could’ve typed it wrong.”. 

“Steve. Not helpful.” You hit his arm lightly, signaling him to cut it out. 

Max tried the number again before hanging up after a couple of rings. “Same shit.” 

“How is that possible?” Lucas just stared at the phone

“I told you, Joyce has this telemarketer job. Always on the phone. Mike wont stop whining about it..” Dustin sighed, starting to pace again. 

“Okay yeah. But this phone’s been busy for, what, three days now? That’s not Joyce. No way, something’s wrong.” Max looked at you, trying to get some support. 

“She’s right. It can’t be just coincidence, it can’t be.” And you gave it to her, agreeing. 

“Whatever's happening in Lenora is connected to all of this. I’m sure of it.” Nancy nodded at both you and Max.  “But Venca can’t hurt them, not if he’s dead.” 

She looked over at you, and you ran a hair through your hair, sighing, prepping for the argument that you were about to start. “Nance is right. We have to go back in there, back to the Upside Down.”

“Woah, No, no, no, no, no.” Steve stood up between you and Nancy, looking between the both of you. 

Eddie just kept repeating “Nope.” Over and over again. 

“No no, let's think this through–” Steve tried to reason with the both of you.

“What is there to think through!” Nancy argued back at him. 

Steve gestured to you. “We barely made it out of there in one piece.” Which caused a flicker of anger to pass across your face. 

“Yeah because we weren’t prepared.” You fully stood up, crossing your arms at Steve. 

“But this time, we will be. We’ll get weapons and protection.” Nancy huffed indignantly. “We’ll go through the gate, we’ll find his layer, and we’ll kill him.”

Steve didn’t know what was happening but he did not enjoy both you and Nancy teaming up against him at this moment. Eddie was just shaking his head over and over and over. “Or he’ll kill us.”

“The only reason Y/N survived is because he wanted her to. He’s not scared of us.” Steve shot back. 

“And for good reason.” Robin finally spoke, standing up. “We were wrong about Vecna. Henry. One–sorry, what are we calling him now?” Her panic was taking over. 

Both Dustin and Lucas said One, while Erica said Vecna, while you and Nancy said Henry, all at the same time, completely overwhelming Robin, and being so helpful too. 

“Right. We’ve learned something new about Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One. He’s a number, like Eleven. Only a sick, evil, male, child-murdering version of her with really bad skin–But my-my-my-my point is, he’s super powerful. He could turn us inside out with the snap of his fingers. It’s not a fair fight.” She took a deep breath in. 

“So then why fight fair?” Dustin piped up, “You’re right. He’s like Eleven, and that gives us an upper hand. We know Eleven’s strengths. And weaknesses.” 

Erica scoffed. “weaknesses? “

Dustin smiled slightly. “When El remote travels, she goes into this trance-like state. I would bet the same is true with Vecna.” 

“That would explain what he was doing in that attic.” Lucas’s eyes got wide with recognition. 

“Exactly!” Dustin nodded before looking back at Steve. “When he’s attacking his next victim, I’ll bet you he’s back in that attic, physical body defenseless.” 

“Defenseless? Yeah?” Steve scoffed, jaw tight, gesturing to his neck. “What about the army of bats.” It came out a little harsher than intended but both he and his girlfriend were down about a pound of flesh each. 

“True. We’ll have to find a way past them.” Dustin considered. “Distract them somehow.” 

“And uh, how do we do that, exactly?” Eddie looked over at Dustin, going to stand up but sitting right back down since Dustin just barreled through.  

“No idea.” Dustin shrugged, and Steve scoffed. “But once they’re gone, he doesn’t stand a chance. It’ll be like slaying sleeping Dracula in his coffin.” 

“That all sounds good in theory.” Robin looked over at Dustin. “But there is no pattern to Vecna’s killings. I mean at least not one that I can decipher. We don’t know when he’s going to attack next. We don���t know who’s he’s going to attack n–”

“Yeah. We do.” Max cut her off, looking at you. Everyone turned to look towards her. “I can still feel him. I’m still..marked. Cursed. I ditch Kate Bush, I draw his focus back to me.” 

“Max–You can’t.” Lucas looked over at her. “He’ll kill you.” 

“I survived before. I can survive again.” She closed her eyes. “I just need to keep him busy long enough so that you guys can get into that attic–and then you can…chop his head off. Stab him in the heart. Blow him up with some explosive Dustin cooks up. I honestly don’t care how you put this asshole in his grave. Just…whatever is it…whatever you do…try not to miss.” 

You all just stood there, looking around at one another, but Steve just looked at Max. She had become his little sister, mostly due to you, but it didn’t matter since he cared for her so deeply, but when he looked back at you, you both could see the resolve of Max, tears in both your eyes. 

______________________________________________________

“Check this out.” Eddie dropped a book on the table and pointed to an ad. “

The War Zone.” It was an image of a pioneer, surrounded by American flags and AR-15s, with name “War Zone” completely predicting the font and design of a certain film coming out on May 16th, 1986, you could predict one Steve Harrington absolutely falling in love with and wanting to be the two Romantic leads for Halloween. (but I digress). 

“I’ve been there once.” Eddie continued, looking up at all of you. “It’s huge. They’ve got everything you need for, uh, well uh, killing things basically.”

“Do you think fake Rambo has enough guns there?” Robin scoffed. “Is that a grenade? I mean, how is any of this legal?” 

“Well lucky for us, it is, so.” Eddie gave her his signature sardonic smile. “Thi-

This place is just far enough outside of Hawkins, as long as we steer clear of main roads, we oughta be able to avoid cops, and uh, angry hicks.”

“If we’re trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn’t go to some store called The War Zone.” 

Dustin nodded at her but Nancy spoke first. “Normally I’d agree, but we need the weapons. So, I think it’s worth the risk.” 

“Me too.” You agreed. 

“Yeah but is it worth the time?” Lucas looked over at Dustin, who nodded. 

“It would take all day to bike there and back.” 

“Who said anything about bikes Henderson?” Eddie smiled again. 

“What, you’ve got some car we don’t know about?” Steve looked quickly at you before looking back at Eddie. Eddie stood up in his face, smiling cheekily. 

“It’s not exactly a car Steve. And it’s not exactly mine, but uh, it’ll do.” You all looked at him, while he looked at Max. “Hey, Red, uh, you got a ski mask or a bandanna or something like that?” 

Max went to shake her head before her eyebrows raised. 

______________________________________________________

You could now add and then cross “stealing an RV” off of your proverbial bucket list. Eddie had snuck around the trailer park in Max’s old halloween mask, looking like a fucking idiot, and had managed to sneak all of you into this random couples trailer. Eddie had slid himself through the window, sneaking up to the front of the trailer and locking the door, effectively closing off the couple sitting outside from their home. Steve had hopped through next, helping everybody jump into the RV. 

Eddie started pulling wires, and cutting them, getting ready to hotwire the RV to start. Steve had come up and peered over Eddie's Shoulder. 

“Where’d you learn how to do this?” Steve furrowed his brows while Eddie kept focus. 

“Well while the other dads were teaching their kids how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hot-wire.” Steve was honestly in awe as Eddie continued to work his magic. “Now I swore to myself that I wouldn’t wind up like he did, but now, I’m wanted for murder, and soon, grand theft auto. So, uh, I’m really living up to the Munson name.” You were in the back making sure everyone got through the window and staying down, but watching the two of them. You slowly made your way up to the front, listening to their conversation, when Robin brushed past you. 

Eddie was sparking the wires together, hoping to ignite the engine. Steve was actually quite impressed with Eddie, looking back at Robin when she came over his shoulder. 

“Uh, Eddie.” Robin interrupted. “I’m not sure I love the idea of you driving.” 

“Oh I’m just starting the sucker.” Eddie gave Steve the biggest smile. “Harrington’s got her, dontcha big boy.” 

Robin rolled her eyes, as Steve gave him an extremely confused look, but was interrupted by the start of the engine. CCR’s Up Around the Bend started playing as the RV rumbled to life. You heard the couple outside screaming as they realized what was about to happen. They were banging on the door, while all three of the idiots up front just stared at them.

“MOVE.” You yelled at the statues before they all started to scramble. Eddie smiled at Steve before dashing into the back with Robin while Steve clambered into the driver’s seat just mumbling shit over and over again. 

“It’s just a car.” He reassured himself before yelling at everyone in the back. “Everybody hang onto something.” 

Everyone in the back was freaking out, grabbing pillows to brace for impact, grabbing onto the cushions or the couch, or even the ground. 

“Dive Steve DRIVE.” Dustin let out a guttural scream as Steve hit the gas, pulling away from the site, and out of the trailer park. “Shit they look pissed.” Dustin looked over at Robin. 

“I mean it’s not everyday you lose your house and your car in one fell swoop.” 

“Hold on, HOLD ON!” Steve spun the wheel, barreling onto the road, screeching into the distance.  ______________________________________________________

You were sitting in the middle of the RV with Dustin and Eddie, the two of them having a conversation while you eavesdropped on Nancy and Steve. 

“How's it handle?” She asked, looking ahead at the road. 

“Not half bad.” Steve smiled at her slightly. “Considering that this is a house.” 

Nancy let out a small laugh, looking over at Steve slightly. 

“Y-Yeah, it’s silly but I…I’ve actually, uh, well I’d always had this dream that like I’d have this really…really big family.”  Nancy looked over at Steve as he continued. “I’m talking like a full brood of Harringtons. Like five, six kids.”  

You had smiled slightly, picking out some remnants of dirt. You couldn’t help it. Sure, maybe you didn’t want a full brood of Harringtons, five or six was a bit excessive, but maybe just even the thought of kids sounded nice with Steve. 

“Six?” Nancy laughed slightly. 

“Yeah six little Nuggets. Three girls, three boys.” Now that made you wanna burst out laughing. Clearly he had been hanging around Robin too much, and you would absolutely be giving him shit for it later. 

He laughed at himself for a second, eyes on the road. “And…And every summer, I’d figured all of us Harringtons, we would pack into something like this and just.” He looked into the rearview mirror, meeting your gaze and smiling softly, speaking right to you. “Just, see the country. You know, the Rockies, Grand Canyon, maybe Yellowstone. End up in some beachside town in California. Spend a week parked in the sand. Learn how to surf, or something.”

Nancy had kept her smile, but her eyes lost the shine they once carried. He was looking at you, not her. And it hurt because she knew it was over anyways, but some part of her always held Steve so closely–first love will do that to someone. She watched as he looked at you, adoringly. 

Steve had looked back to the road, breaking eye contact after you had sent him a wink, slight blush on his cheeks. He seemed so confident in the idea. So confident in himself and in you, and Nancy couldn’t help but be happy for the both of you, regardless of how much it hurt to watch the door she thought might always be open become locked. 

“That sounds nice.” She said softly, continuing to look at him. Steve looked over at her, before back in the mirror. “Yeah?”

You nodded at him, while Nancy responded, “Yeah..”

She quickly cleared her throat. “Well, um, except for the six-kid part.” And you could agree with her on that. “That sounds like a total nightmare.”

“If only I had some practice.” He jested, waving his hand in the direction of the hooligans, plus you, he was driving around. 

Nancy nodded, conceding. “Alright, fair. That’s fair.” The two of them shared a small smile before settling into a soft silence. Lucas had also been watching the whole thing, and turned around, going to sit in the back with Max. You followed his figure back, before turning and looking towards Steve, who’s eyes had already been watching you periodically when he wasn’t looking at the road, causing you to feel a semblance of happiness as you tried to ignore all of the visions of death and destruction that rang through your head.  ______________________________________________________

You felt so out of place in War Zone, but Steve managed to fit right in with his denim outfit, and lack of shoes. You all were assigned a couple of necessities to grab so you could be in and out as efficiently as possible. But as you walked into the store, it was filled to the brim. 

“So much for avoiding angry hicks.” Robin looked at Nancy. 

“Let’s be…fast.” Nancy agreed, before you all split up. 

You had gone to the gun counter with Nancy, the both of you being the best with guns, which honestly made Steve question himself when he thought about it a little too hard. Nancy was holding one in her hand while you were still browsing, not wanting her to be alone in a store like this, her feeling the exact same way. 

She looked up at the guy at the counter. “How much is this?” 

The guy pulled out a box of bullets for her, “$120.99, but I’ll throw in 20 rounds of buckshot for ya.” You and Nancy nodded at each other, muttering something about needing more than that, when your body froze. 

“Hey, can I see this pretty .357 please?” 

“Nance…” You whispered, and the two of you slowly looked over at Jason Carver, before slowly turning away. But it didn’t matter.

Jason smirked over at the both of you, an air of disbelief in his voice as he held the magnum in his hand. “Nancy Wheeler and Y/N Y/L/N? Wouldn’t expect to find you two here.” 

You slowly turned towards him, tight smiles on your lips.  “Yeah well, it’s just, scary times .” Nancy answered for you both. 

“I’m, I’m sorry about Chrissy.” You said, moving slightly closer to him, and Jason’s face flashed with pain, with hurt. He nodded, placing the gun down. “Want my advice?” 

You and Nancy looked at each other before giving him a slight nod. As he slowly walked towards you, Nancy placed herself in front of you, not because you couldn’t protect yourself, because she knew you were about to do the same. . 

“Shotguns are not good for much of anything past killing small birds.” He got real close to you both. “I mean, they got power, sure, but not much range. And that’s just gonna force you into close-range combat.” 

You could feel Nancy tense up as he continued to get closer, and you were sure she felt you tense up too. His eyes flickered back and forth between the two of you, ultimately landing on Nancy, like a predator deciding which kill to make first. You took a step back, hand trained on the knife you had placed on the counter a moment earlier. 

“Then someone can just grab the barrel like this.” His hand came up quickly, and pulled the barrel away from Nancy. “And redirect it.” 

“Well you look nervous.” His hand tugging on the barrel. 

“Well like I said. Scary times.” 

“Now your brother. He, uh–He here with you by chance?” 

Nancy’s face flashed something quickly across it. “Mike?”

Jason nodded, eyes grilling into her. “Mike.” 

Nancy shook her head slightly, staring him down. “No.”

“I only ask because he’s…he’s in Hellfire isn’t he?” 

You looked over and saw Erica, her eyes wide and panicked. You motioned with your hand, below your waist, for her to move away, quickly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Jason scoffed. “What about his friends? They here with you?” He pulled the gun closer to him, struggling to gain some sort of control over Nancy. 

“Would you let go.” she threatened slightly, trying not to cause a scene, while your hand had already curved around the knife, ready to cause that exact scene. “Let. Go.” 

______________________________________________________

Steve eventually pulled the RV over into a field in the middle of nowhere. After your daring escape from The War Zone (insert patriotic sounds), you all needed silence, and a place to start bringing your plan into action. 

Eddie and Dustin were hammering nails through trash can lids, while Max held down the shotgun so that Nancy could saw off the edge. 

You were by the RV, decked out in a clean pair of jeans, a tank top, and a flannel, ready for battle. You had located a couple of walkmans in the RV and was rifling through the cassettes, hoping to find an extra for Max, just in case, and maybe even one for yourself. You looked up as Dustin and Eddie started wrestling around, smiling at the hint of normalcy, before turning to look at the Sinclairs, watching them trying to make spears. 

You were right next to Steve and Robin as they were making Molotov cocktails. You had known Robin for a while, having been friends with her back in elementary school, but drifting apart when she went into band. By the time you kind of reconnected in high school, you weren’t super close again, until you both got drugged and slapped around by a couple of Russian hunks a million miles below the Starcourt Mall. 

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” Steve held the funnel up for her to pour some gasoline into the bottle. 

“What doesn't make sense.” You responded having shifted closer to them. 

“That was Dan Shelter. He graduated two years ago.” 

Robin was focusing spectacularly on not spilling any gas, but responded anyway. “So?”

“So he’s in college, which means he was visiting on Spring break.” You both looked at him, curious as to where he was going with this. “Fast Times was returned, like, I don’t know, a week ago? Right? Unless she’s got some horndog brother we don’t know about. Which is possible. Or she’s just like, really into Judge Reinhold–.” 

“Steve.”

“Nah–What.”

“I don't care. And I don’t understand why you do either with everything that’s going on. Honestly, this feels like the perfect time for that little pull of the rug because in the face of the world ending, the stakes of my love life feel spectacularly low. ” Robin huffed out, trying to get him to listen.

“Yeah. I mean, I get you there, but I still have hope.” Steve sighed.

“You better have a fantastic explanation for that response, Harrington.” You looked up at him, eyes narrowed. 

He blushed a little bit and shot you an apologetic look, but you just winked at him, knowing what he was referring to. 

“Not everything has a happy-ending.” Robin sighed, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah, yeah, believe me, I know.” You grumbled at her, digging through a new bin of cassette. 

“I’m not talking about my failed love life, I-I just, I have this terrible, gnawing feeling that it might not work out for us this time.” She put the gas down and looked between the two of you. 

“You think we shouldn’t be doing this?” Steve picked up a new bottle.  

“I think we're mad fools, the lot of us, but if we don't stop him, who will. We have to try, right? “

“To killing Vecna” Steve held out his bottle. 

“Slash Henry.” Robin responded. 

“Slash One.” You sighed, hearing them clink, and get back to work.

The Rv hummed beneath you, all of you silent. The radio was playing Journey’s “Separate Ways”, which kept the silence at bay. The tension between all of you was palpable, since you all knew how poorly this might end. 

Steve looked over at you, before pulling up to the Creel House. He leaned over and kissed you softly, which made you squeeze his hand. You weren’t happy about this plan at all, but you’d rather part things on a positive note just in case… You, Max, Erica, and Lucas hopped out of the RV, and towards the house, while the other’s pulled away. 

There had been an extensive fight before you all convened to go over the plan again. 

“You’re fucking batshit if you think I’m letting you go back into the Upside Down.” 

“Oh ha ha did you think of that pun yourself Steve? Since when do you dictate exactly what I do and don’t do?” 

You could be so aggravating sometimes. Steve fucking adored how headstrong and independent you were. But boy did it bite him in the ass when you were doing the same thing he was doing to you. 

“I’m not the only one who was being eaten alive Steve.” You gestured to his abdomen, trying not to let the memory cloud your judgment

“I-I know. Okay? I know. But if something were to happen to you down there, again?” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t get your screaming out of my head.” He whispered. 

“And you think I can? Do you know what it was like the moment you were pulled under the water? The moment I entered the Upside Down and saw you get strangled but some fucking demonic bats?” 

Steve pinched his brow, and paced around. The both of you had enough sense to move the conversation into the woods, far away enough so that your raised voices were barely heard, but your bodies still seen.  

“Steve, I can’t just let you go down there without me again.” 

“I know. I know. But I can still walk.” It came out a bit more harshly than  he intended but his point was clear. 

“Oh my bad. Next time I almost get paralyzed from trying to fucking save your life, I’ll think twice about it. Fucking asshole.” You turned and stormed into the woods, needing some air to try and clear your head. Clearly Steve did not get the message that you want to be alone, or he just ignored it and followed you. 

“Hey. Hey! Y/N.” He caught your wrist, making you turn around and glare at him, pulling it out of his grasp. 

“Leave me alone Steve.” 

“No, listen, baby–”

“Don’t fucking baby me right now. You’re not telling me the whole truth, and I don’t want to listen to half-assed explanations. I’ve followed through on better communication so now it’s your turn.” 

“If you died in front of me, I’d want to—....” He took a breath. “I don’t want you to go down there because if you got hurt again, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. And if you d-died? If Vecna or Henry or whatever the fuck his name is, is able to-to-to take you instead of Max’s bait? I canno–I will not let that happen. I don’t want you, either of you, to die tonight. But if you’re together, I feel better knowing that you two can be there for each other, and protect one another.”

“But that is not your call to make Steve.” Your eyes had softened, and so had your tone, but you weren’t about to completely give up. “It feels like you don’t consider how I feel about this. Because if you got hurt, or-or worse? Down there? You think I wouldn’t feel the exact same way.” 

“I’m sor–” 

“Let me finish Steve.”

He just closed his mouth, hands on hips. 

“Do you know what it’s like to date someone who undervalues their life so much that they are first in line the second danger comes up?” Steve had never really thought about it before, but you just continued on. “How about dating someone who, at the drop of a hat, would exchange his life for any one of their friends if they were in danger. You are so fucking careless with your life Steve because all you do is care about other people, never yourself.” Tears were threatening to spill but you refused to cry again, all you had done for the past couple days was cry–cry at Vecna’s visions, cry in pain from your wound, cry at almost losing Steve.

“Can’t you be selfish for one fucking second, just for me?” 

Steve walked over and wrapped you in a hug, and you immediately clung to him, tears streaming down your face. The two of you stayed like that for a minute, before Steve slowly started to sway you both back and forth. 

“What are you doing Steve?” You gumbled and he brought one of his hands up to your cheeks. 

“How does it go? Stars shining right above you…Night breezes like to whisper, I love you.” 

You shook your head, laughing slightly, before resting your forehead on his. “I’d say it’s close enough, but Vecna might have some choice words.” 

“Knowing you are with Max, and not in the Upside Down fighting those stupid fucking bats, or Vecna–Knowing that I’m putting Rob, and Nance, and Eddie and D-Dustin in potentially a lot more danger, by asking you this, is one of the most selfish things I could ever ask from you.” He whispered, he opened his eyes and stared into yours. “Please.”

How the fuck were you supposed to not concede to that. But you knew he was telling you the whole truth, all of it. You kissed him softly, letting yourself get one more, selfishly good, memory into your bones. 

So when the RV drove off, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, thinking about the way his lips fit over yours, and the way that through some misfortunate aligning of the stars, you might never be able to kiss him again. But you weren’t going to let that take over your mind right now. You had more important things. 

The four of you stood, staring at the Creel House, each with a lantern in hand, before walking up, and through the door. 

The sun had gone down, and the house was probably ten degrees cooler than the outside air, which was saying something considering it was fucking freezing outside. You all had headed inside, taking off their shoes to try and make as little noise possible. In fact, you couldn’t hear each other walking around, but you always knew where Max was because of the soft vocals of Kate Bush. You had stayed on the first floor, with Erica, wandering around, hoping to get one of your friends on the other side to make your lights flicker, so you knew it was go time. Lucas was weaving through the second floor, looking around for anything really. 

But when Erica waved her hand over at you, when her lantern grew excessively bright, you stayed with the lantern, while she had run up the stairs to get the other two.

As Max got closer, her lantern grew brighter, confirming what everyone was suspecting. Erica quickly wrote out Phase One?, and held it out to you to confirm that it was time. You looked at Lucas and Max before nodding at Erica. 

She ran out the door, and towards the remains of a playground, climbing up into what once was a rocket’s shell. 

But what you all failed to miss was the man walking his dog, that saw the glowing coming from the Creel House, and the scared child, running for her life. 

Back in the house, Max and Lucas were sitting on the second floor, next to the glowing lantern, her music thrumming faintly. 

You were across the hall, in what was probably the Creel’s library, searching through books, listening to your own music. Since you had found four more walkmans, and three of them  worked, everyone at the Creel House, including Erica, was locked and loaded, fresh batteries and all, with either their favorite song, or one they could consider a favorite. It was your precaution against one of them breaking, or if Vecna had decided to pick you instead of Max. 

As your fingers ghosted over the books, your head started to hurt again, causing you to immediately place your headphones on, so grateful for the fact that the trailer you stole must have had a hippie daughter with the same taste in music that you did. The soft lull of the guitar started to play as you tried to find a book to steal while you waited. You almost bumped into a chair, but in doing so found one of the mother’s picture books. You dusted the cover off slightly, smiling when you realized it was their wedding album. You slowly turned through the pages, admiring the long train, and the even longer veil. But they looked so happy, so warm. You almost, almost, started to let your mind wander when Lucas came into the room, alerting you silently that Phase Two was starting. You placed the album down, pushed off your headphones, and followed him to the stairs, where Max was putting on her shoes. You all stood, staring at the thrumming lantern, before Max quickly turned to look at Lucas, a moment of fear and doubt crossing her face. But Lucas nodded at her, putting on a brave face for the both of you. 

She took a couple of breaths, before taking off her head phones, and turning off Kate Bush. The house was completely, and utterly silent. Max started yelling.

“Hey!”

Nothing.

“Asshole!”

More silence. 

“I’m here. No more music. No more games.” 

Max looked over at you panicking because it wasn’t working. 

“Do you hear me??” 

You just stared at the light. 

“What are you waiting for, huh? Come on. Do you want me or not?” 

Just then, the lantern started to buzz, and fade. Max looked panicked before her lantern started to buzz. 

Vecna was moving. 

You grabbed the lantern where Vecna was, and then moved towards Max, all of you slowly moving up the stairs, and following him to the attic. Once you had all made it near the altar, the light just stood still. 

“What are you waiting for, asshole? Hmm? I’m right here. I’m right here!”

You moved closer to Max, putting your hands on hers. 

“I know you can hear me.” Max continued. “I know you can read my thoughts. Even the worst ones. Maybe mostly the worst ones.” 

Max took off her headphones and placed the walkman on the box next to her. You immediately pulled yours off, and swapped the tapes, discarding your tape on the box next to Max’s walkman, ready to place the music on her ears the second she started to float. 

“I thought about what you said.” She whispered. “About how I wanted my brother to die. 

I thought that you were just trying to upset me, to anger me, but you weren't, were you.. You were just telling the truth. Billy he, he made my life a living hell. Every chance he got ... .So sometimes, when I would lie in bed at night, hope, pray, I would pray that something would happen to him. Something awful. I knew that he drove too fast, so I would imagine him crashing, dying in that stupid car….I just–I wanted him out of my life, forever. I wanted him to disappear. The day that he died, I think that’s why I just stood there, watched. Not because IO was scared, weak, but because I didn’t know if he deserved to be saved. And I've tried to forgive myself. I’ve tried. But. I can’t. I can’t. So now. Now when…I lie in bed at night. I pray that something will happen to me. That something terrible will happen to me. So that’s why I’m here. Because, I just want you to take me away, and I want you. To make me disappear.”

“Is that all true? You wanted Billy to die.” You asked her, chest heaving slightly. 

“Why are you talking?” Max looked up at you. “You ever have thoughts like that about me?” 

“What?” You took a step back. “Max, how could you ask me that?”

“Normal people don’t fantasize about killing people, Y/N.” Lucas turned to look at the both of you. “You realize that right?”

“Lucas, stop.” You took another step backwards. 

“I thought she was getting better, but she’s not, is she? You lied to me about her.” Lucas took a step towards you, and you took a step away.

“You’re sick!”

“Lucas, you don’t mean that.” Your voice wavered. 

“Maybe it’s good he takes her. Maybe it’s for the best. She was willing to let someone she claimed to be her little sister die in front of her.” 

“Max, please.” Your eyes started to water, as you tried to keep moving back. 

“In fact, I’m glad it’s going to be you and not her.” He snapped his neck towards you, glaring. 

“You will be the chosen one. The fourth. The final Sacrifice.” Max’s voice became more and more distorted. “It was always you, Y/N. I’ve always wanted you. Because it’s going to be you, that breaks the world.” 

Max was desperately waving her hand in front of your face, screaming your name–this was not part of the plan. It was supposed to be her, not you. She couldn’t lose someone else. 

“Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear me? Please.” Lucas was calling out to you, searching your face for any sign or acknowledgement, but you just stood there, still, eye’s blank. 

“Y/N, where are you going? Don’t be scared.” 

You kept backing up, chest heaving. “Stay away from me.” 

“Y/N. I thought you said you were ready.” Max was cornering you in. “Ready to Disappear”

“I Said STAY AWAY.” You grabbed one of the jars next to you and based Lucas on the head, and ran past him.

Lucas had run downstairs to signal to Erica that you were possessed, but all he could do was just signal that someone was being possessed by Vecna. Regardless, Phase Three was about to commence. 

You had run down the stairs of the Creel house, and opened the front door, only to be met with it being completely boarded up. 

“Where are you going, Y/N.” Vecna appeared at the top of the stairs., causing all of the lights in the house to flicker. You bolted into the next room , trying to escape the inevitable. You pulled open another door, only to be met by more wood. “Fuck fuck fuck.” You muttered, trying to pull the boards off of the frame. When that didn;t work, you ran to another door, and then another after that, determined to not give up. You opened another door, which had another door behind it. It was the locker room door at the pool. Billy slammed on the door, screaming at you. “You bitch, let me out of here.” He kept pounding on the door. “OPEN. THE. DOOR.”

You stared at it, terrified, before turning and running the other way, watching the doorway you entered from was covered in boards. You heard Billy shatter the glass, screaming at you, making you run as fast as your leg would let you, ignoring the shot of pain every time you used that leg. You ran straight into another boarded up door frame, turning and facing Billy as he slammed against the door, over and over again, screaming about how he was going to kill you. 

You closed your eyes, trying to block out Billy’s screams. Max, on the RV, had told Lucas that he only hides in the dark places, the bad memories, so you tried, so hard, to find your happiest memory. Billy’s attempts were becoming more and more successful, as you pictured your moments. It flickered through summers when you were younger, lips sweet and fingers sticky. You felt the wind in your hair when you were in middle school, going to the drive in with your parents and Robin. You saw Steve. His smile. That stupid, gorgeous head of hair. His hands on your waist. Lips on your neck. Flickers of Steve’s patio crept into your mind. Billy was screaming louder. His attempts were getting better. Steve’s eyes the first time you told him you loved him. His hands on your back, in your hair. You watched as you danced with him, singing to him. He held you so close, looked at you with so much love. You kissed him. You felt his lips on yours. You heard Billy break through the door. 

But when your eyes shot open, you were in Steve’s backyard, pool empty, patio door open, but no Steve. It was silent. There were no birds in the background, no wind through the trees, just the sound of your breath. “Holy shit…it worked.” You smiled a bit, looking around in disbelief. 

You opened one of the bins on the patio that Mrs. Harrington had insisted it was practical, and grabbed one of the towels, leaning it across the back of the lounge chair, and sitting on it. Humming to yourself, keeping your hopes up. 

But as soon as you let your guard down, the umbrella covering two of the chairs started to drip blood. At first it was just one or two drops, but it suddenly became more and more, until the ground was covered in blood, and you were standing with your back to the house. 

The radio the Harrington’s kept on in the kitchen switched on.

“But in your dreams whatever they be…” Ella Fitzgerald’s voice lilted throughout the yard, filling up the space. You slowly walked over to the roos, watching all around you, paranoid. You looked behind you, as watched as the rose bushes started to wilt and down, dropping decrepit flowers around the base of it. The grass was turning into a nasty shade of yellow, dying slowly. 

“No No no.” You whispered, watching as the paint started to peel off of the porch, off of the siding of the house. 

Louie Armstrong’s voice continued the song, haunting your mind as everything around you started to die. 

You watched as ash started to fill the air, floating by you just like it did in the Upside Down. Red thunder boomed in the distance, clouds slowly appearing over your memory. You watched the red lighting strike over and over again. 

Max and Lucas kept peering out, looking for Erica. 

“Why is this taking so long?” Lucas muttered, flashing the flashlight again.  

Just then, Lucas and Max heard the front door slam shut, the two of them looking at each other, eyes wide. 

“Shit.” Max whispered as Jason Fucking Carver walked into the attic, eyes wide at your form, just sitting on the ground. 

“Jason?” Lucas called out. “You can’t be here right now man.” 

“The hell have you done?” 

“Jason. You need to leave.” Max took a step forward. 

“Is this what you did to Chrissy?” He knelt down next to your form.

“Just listen to us Jason–”

“Hey. Can you hear me?” He got closer to you, eyes wide as you rocked back and forth, eyes moving frantically underneath your eyelids. 

“Jason, you need to go.” They both tried to get him to listen. 

“Hey man. Don’t touch her. I’m not messing around.” 

Lucas walked forward, “Please, Please just leav–”

“Hey hey Hey HEY.” Jason stood up, pointing a gun between Max and Lucas. “Back up. Bakc. Up. Both of you. Not another step.”

“W-w-we don’t, we don’t–dont have to do this.” Lucas whispered. “We don’t have to do this man.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Jason looked at you and then back at the two kids. “Is there anyone else in the house?” 

“No. No.” Max answered for them both. 

“Put down the flashlight Sinclair. And turn around.” Jason started waving the gun around slightly as Lucas slowly turned around placing the flashlight on the floor. “Empty your pockets.”

“We don’t ha–” 

“Empty. You. Pockets.” Jason sneered at both of them. 

Lucas and Max both pulled out the insides of their pockets. Max had a few bits of crumpled paper from when she got nervous, and Lucas had nothing. 

“Now this is what’s gonna happen.” Jason quickly glanced over his shoulder. “I’m gonna back away to the top of the stairs there. Then I’ll watch as you wake her up from whatever the hell this is.” 

Lucas and Max looked at one another. “We can’t.” Max pleaded with Jason. 

“Jason, if we wake her too soon, we all die.”

“No.” He whispered. “You don’t wake her up right now Sinclair, You both die.” He turned off the safety, hands still shaking.

Stars shining bright above you. Night Breezes seem to whisper I love you. 

You had slammed the patio door shut, and knocked the umbrella into the pool. You had opened the shed and pulled out a couple of the old clubs Mr. Harrington had royally fucked up, ready to use your All-Star Skills again. 

You looked over at the woods, and right where the gate used to be, was the door to the Creel House. Your grip tightened on the club. 

“You can’t hide from me Y/N.” 

You closed your eyes and pictured Max–braiding her hair, taking her and El shopping, painting their nails. 

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” 

You saw flashes of nights with Nancy and Robin, girls nights with booze and magazines and drunken secrets. You saw hanging out with Jonathan, enjoying the silence of a park, reading together. Flashes of nights where Steve let you all pile into his house, games, movies, safety, happiness.

“You think I don’t see everything?” 

Suddenly your mind was filled with Eddie, being chased by bats, leading them away from the camper, Dustin screaming in the distance. 

“You thought you could trick me.” 

The gun being pointed at Lucas and Max, Jason screaming at the both of them. 

“You thought your friends could stop me.” 

Steve, Nancy, and Robin attacking the vines in the house, but slowly being overcome– choked by vines, squeezing them tighter and tighter. Their screams fill your ears. 

“I see them.” 

Flashes of demogorgons attacking Dustin. 

“I see your friends.” 

Jason yelling at Max and Lucas. Erica being tackled.

“Just as clearly.” 

Steve being shoved to the wall, the vines choking him, taking his breath away. 

“As I.” 

Dustin’s screams for Eddie. 

“See you.” 

Flashes of the bats biting your leg, pain shooting through it. 

“I can feel them.” 

Robin slowly loses her breath, frantically searching for Steve and Nancy to save her. 

“I can feel them.” 

Nancy’s mouth being covered by the vines, her screams being muffled. 

“I can feel them dying.” 

Steve screams, gasping for air, but it’s not coming. The vines pull tighter and tighter as you watch him suffocate to death. 

Your eyes fly open as the first chime of the clock strikes, chest heaving. 

“It’s time, Y/N.” 

You back away slightly and look around, seeing the death, the gray, the decay. Ella Fitzgerald still singing away in the background, but her voice was distorted, as if it was a different memory. 

“It’s time Y/N.” 

You turned around right as Vecna lifted his hand, throwing you against the wall of the house, as you cried out in pain, as he slowly stalked towards you. 

“You are brave, Y/N.” 

You were panting, tears streaming down your face. 

“Much braver than Billy.” 

You tensed up, glaring at Vecna.

“But in the end, you are weak, and fragile, just like him.” 

You were struggling against him with everything you had left. 

“Like all the rest of them. And you will break.” 

Vecna reached his claw up and over your face, but right as he went to dig his claws into your skin, he was thrown across the patio, and you collapsed on the floor.  As you looked up, you could see her–El. She slowly turned him so he was floating, facing her. 

“You,” he growled at her.

But El only gave him a small smirk with a “Hi.” before launching him across the room.

You started to stand up, with El running over to you and hugging you tightly. “Are you okay?” 

“Huh.” You stood there, not believing your eyes. 

“Are you okay?” She asked again, pulling away slightly. 

“Y-Yeah El, I’m okay.” You pinched her cheek a bit, poked her shoulders. “Are you-Are you real?” 

El took your hand into hers. “I’m real.” 

“How.” You were starting to breathe at a regular rate, still not quite believing your eyes. 

“I piggybacked from a pizza dough freezer.” 

“What?” 

“I–” She was cut off by the sound of wood creaking, of Vecna rising. He stood up, glaring at El and cracking his neck. 

“Stay back.” El warned. 

They stood across from one another, glaring. 

“If you touch her again.” El snarled. “I will kill you, again.” 

“Is that what you did?” He hissed back. “Did you kill me? I am so glad you are here, Eleven. This is going to be beautiful. So. Beautiful. And it’s all thanks to you.” ______________________________________________________

Your eyes fluttered open as Vecna approached you. 

“Don’t be afraid.” 

You were sobbing, struggling against the vines.

“Try and stay very still.”

His claw lifted up over your face.

“It will all be over soon.” 

El screamed your name, struggling against the vines, 

Slowly, your body floated up to the sky, Jason had stopped punching Lucas and scrambled away. Max was screaming your name, trying to find where you had carelessly thrown your tape. Your body convulsed, eyes and palms towards the sky. She found it on the altar and tried to place it in the walkman, hands shaking. 

Your body convulsed. Max turned the volume all the way up and unplugged the headphones, trying desperately to get you to hear the song. 

Lucas caught a glimpse of your body and started to punch Jason repeatedly, blow after blow, causing him to collapse on the floor.  

Just he stuck his claws into your skull, you heard El screaming. You heard the soft lull of the guitar, screaming as you tried to kick Vecna away. And then it was black. 

Your body fell to the floor, landing next to Max who frantically scrambled over to you, holding your body. You gasped, breathing in the air of the Creel house. 

“Y/N! It’s me. I’ve got you.”  

Erica ran up the stairs, screaming your names. 

“We need a doctor,” Lucas was sobbing, trying to get you to focus on something. “Call an ambulance, hurry, call an ambulance.” 

Max was rocking you back and forth, trying to calm you down, but sobbing nonetheless. 

“M-Max?” You looked up at her, touching her face. You felt like your whole body was on fire, as if the vines had left welts in their place. You leg was numb from all the pain, but you hadn’t realized that one of your wrists was shattered, and so was one of your ankles, 

“I-I’m okay.” You hiccuped, trying not to cry in front of the two teens holding you. Even when you were potentially dying in front of them, all you truly cared about was protecting them. Max just sobbed into your hair, holding you tightly against her chest. 

Your eyes were fluttering closed. “No no no, Y/N, stay with me. Please.” Lucas started pleading with you, alerting Max that you were starting to drift away. 

“I-I don’t…I don’t wanna go.” You started crying, not being able to stay awake fully. 

“No please, I got you.” Max was begging you. She kept trying to get you to keep your eyes open, while Lucas did the same. 

“Erica Help!” He screamed out, watching as your body started to lose tension, becoming less and less alive in Max’s arms. 

“Y/n, Y/n? No no no no No! Stay with me. Come on, please. Please stay with me, Please.” 

And that was all you heard as you drifted away, unable to hear them pleading anymore, enjoying the silence, the rest, the warmth of closing your eyes, and not being afraid.  ______________________________________________________

One week later, you slowly blinked your eyes open, not used to the bright lights, a deep contrast to the sleep you’ve been in. You heard someone off in the corner, breathing, you knew they were there. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t. 

You tried to move your hand next, squeezing it, not realizing you were squeezing somebody’s hand. You vaguely heard your name before trying again. You heard yells and commotion above you, but were put back to sleep when the doctors told Steve they had to take the Catheter out of your mouth so you would be able to eat and speak properly. 

Steve didn’t like the idea of you going back to sleep, but he couldn’t argue with the doctors, so he let them, sitting back down by your side, watching, waiting for you to hopefully wake up in the hour they had promised. So when you squeezed his hand, eyes already looking at him, Steve almost broke down right then and there.

“Oh thank god.” He whispered, kissing your hand, ready to climb onto the bed and never let you go. 

“Hey champ.” You mumbled, yawning and rolling your neck slightly. 

Steve’s jaw dropped, and if you hadn’t been in a coma for a week, he would have actually been pissed. “I’ll be sure to include that the first thing you said, after waking up, ws Hey Champ.” 

You shrugged, yawning again, but squeezing his hand. “Felt appropriate since you look like shit.” 

“I’ll have to find a mirror.” 

“You take that back right now Steve Harrington.” You mumbled, going to cross your arms but flinching. “What…” You looked down at your other arm, noticing the casted tightly wrapped around it. 

“O-Oh.” you whispered, everything flooding back to you in an instant. Tears welling in your eyes. “Oh. Oh my god.”

The monitor started to beep quicker, as your whole body experienced the pain from before all over again, you were sobbing, shaking your head, not understanding why you could move your leg and arm. It was overwhelming. 

Steve had quickly gotten up and sat on the gurney, pulling you into his arms, being extremely mindful of your injuries. 

“You’re okay baby, everything is okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.” He whispered into your hair, cradling you, just grateful for the contact. 

A nurse had come to check in on you since your heart rate had almost doubled, but she saw it slowly declining again as Steve held you, deciding to leave the both of you alone. 

“W-What happened is everyone…” 

Steve pulled you in tighter. “It’s a lot, sweetheart. A lot has happened. And I’ll tell you all about it, I swear on my life, but first, you need to just relax okay?” 

You nodded, pulling away slightly, tears still slowly tracking down your cheeks. “Is it rude of me to use the fact that I almost died to ask you to kiss me.”

Steve tensed up at your wording, and you examined his face. “How long.” you asked softly, watching as his eyelashes fluttered closed. He had new bruises around his neck, and some around the edge of his face. 

“A whole…” He exhaled slowly. “A whole minute.” 

You kissed his cheek, letting your lips linger. “But that wasn;t your fault.” 

Steve hated that you could see right through him , know his guilt, know his pain, like you were watching it on a billboard. 

“I should have just listened t–” 

“No. None of that. We’re not playing the blame game. I am sitting right here. I am okay. That is more than I could have asked for coming out of that. I watched as he–you were…” 

Steve’s eyes widened, realizing that he didn’t know what Vecna had shown you. 

“I’m okay.” He whispered back. You let your eyes rake over his body, doing your own inventory of things to check up on. 

He was wearing your favorite pair of his jeans, with a blue crewneck that had a couple of buttons up at the top that were unbuttoned. “I love when you wear this outfit Steve. It brings out your eyes.” 

He looked at you. “And there they are,” you said softly, wiping away a tear off of his cheek.

“I should be comforting you.” He laughed, trying to turn away from you. 

“And you will be. I can guarantee it. But I just want to make sure you’re okay before I completely devolve for the next couple of hours.” You were only half joking, and Steve knew that too. 

You leaned forward, eyes fluttering shut, and your lips touched his. He placed an arm around you, as if you were going to shatter at any more contact. He sighed, feeling your breath as you kissed. 

Eventually, you pulled away and rested your forehead on his. “So give it to me straight Doc.” You whispered. “How bad is it out there.” 

Steve almost let out a giggle. “It’s so bad. Like comically, super villain bad.” 

“Is everyone okay?” 

Steve shook his head. “Can we just sit here? I just want to have you for myself for a while.”  he whispered. “I wanna be selfish.” 

You nodded, kissing his cheek one more time before resting your head in the crook of his neck, hugging him tightly, and promising to not let go for a long, long time.

As he held you, you started to sing quietly, enjoying the feeling of your arms in his. Your happiest memory, recreating it whenever you can. His warmth permeating your skin, his lips on your forehead, the pretty sigh that left his lips when you started singing. 

“But in your dreams, whatever they be, Dream a Little Dream of Me.” 

[mysticstarlightduck]

Villain Crimes Tag!

Let's go with the main villains from What Lurks In The Hollow for this one. Again: given that this is a post about very, very bad people (after all they are the villains of this WIP) it will contain TWs for some pretty nasty things.

Rules: List all the real-world crimes your villains are guilty of committing!

Mayor Samuel Whitaker

Serial Killings/Multiple First Degree Murders (most of the victims were minors, ages 5-17, but some adults as well)

Demonic Rituals + Ritualistic Sacrifices of Human Beings

Ritualistic Torture, most notably the torture of a 15-year-old (Jace Donovan, Savvanah Hahn's stepbrother who went missing kidnapped by a "mysterious psycho" was actually held captive by the Mayor himself, and only died 6 days later to bloodloss + ritualistic stabbings, his body was never recovered)

Multiple accounts of kidnapping

Abuse of Power, Corruption

Fraud/Embezzlement

Sending his henchmen to vandalize and damage property belonging anyone who stands in his way

Racketeering

Insider Trading

Forgery

Environmental Vandalism

False Imprisonment

Harassment/Having his henchmen stalk his "rivals"

Blackmail and Threats

Brainwashing and Cult Activity

Using Dark Magic to maintain influence over an entire town, gain longevity and make people adore him through the power of his venomous words

Bribing and Lobbying

Assault & Battery

Stalking Minors

Mrs. Adelaide Draycott

Harassment of a Sexual Nature

Attempted Sexual Exploitation (At multiple points in the story Mrs Draycott tries to get Dylan, 23M, to sleep with her or "fall in love" with her by using blackmail and trying to corner him into situations where he wouldn't have a choice. Luckily he manages to avoid all her attempts.)

Persistent Stalking

Breaking and Entering

Defamation/Slander/Libel

Emotional Manipulation (Gaslighting/Blackmailing/Threatening)

Indecent Contact/Unwanted Touching

Damaging of Property

Intimidation of a Minor (Mrs Draycott often implies to Amy, Dylan's 16-year-old sister, that Dylan is gonna get hurt if he keeps being "stubborn" and that he is already an outcast to the town so no one would care if something happened to him or Amy herself)

False Accusations/False Complaints/Perjury

Sheriff Isaac Clarke

First Degree Murder, covered up

Abuse of Power (as a police officer)

Excessive Use of Force/Police Brutality

False Arrest

Intimidation/Blackmail

Criminal Conspiracy/Colluding with Criminals

Obstruction of Justice/Aiding and Abetting (covering up the literal serial killer crimes of the Mayor in exchange for a hefty paycheck)

Threats of Violence

Misuse of Surveillance

Wrongful Seizure of Property

Fabricating Evidence (against someone completely innocent)

False Search Warrants/Invasion of Property

Fraudulent Reports

Manslaughter/Second Degree Murder

Attempted Murder (of multiple people, including minors)

Extortion

Torture (disguised as interrogation)

Soliciting Bribes

Aiding in Racketeering

Branden Heddam

Extreme Child Abuse & Child Neglect

Child Endangerment

Abandonment of Parental Responsibilities

Threats of Extreme Violence/Threats of Death

Psychological/Emotional Abuse

Attempted Kidnapping of a Minor (While Zach, his stepson, is on-the-run from him and hiding at Amy & Dylan's place, Branden and his biker gang attempt to kidnap him)

Multiple Accounts of Assault & Battery

Attempt to Contribute to Minor Delinquency

Terrorizing

Aggravated Assault/Battery of a Man in front of his ward + Intentional Psychological Trauma

Theft/Burglary/Robbery/Mugging

Gang Activities + Gang Involved Violence

Drug Dealing

Bearing Illegal Weapons

Illegal Hunting/Poaching

Environmental Damage

Reckless/Drunk Driving

Cathleen "Cath" Edwards

Economic Duress

Blackmail/Emotional Manipulation

Attempted Title Deed Forgery

Rent Gouging/Unlawful Rent Increases

Loan Sharking

Illegal Fees and Charges

Stalking

Predatory Lending

Debt Bondage

Coercive Collection Practices

Conspiracy to Commit Murder/Conspiracy to Commit Kidnapping

Racketeering

Sabotage

Blackmail of a Minor

Disturbing the Peace

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @wyked-ao3, @topazadine @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@the-golden-comet

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid @thecomfywriter

@thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @amaiguri

@cherrychiplip @thecomfywriter @thelovelymachinery @bookwormclover

@differentnighttale, @leahnardo-da-veggie

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Bite me!

inspired by this prompt

Force of nature - masterlist

TW: vampire whumper, human whumpee, vampire attack, blood drinking (duh)

"Try to fucking bite me! See where it gets you!" Carter spat at the vampire glaring at her from her doorstep. It was the same one that showed up at the restaurant just a few days prior, the same one that wrecked her celebration months ago. Julius, was it? His name didn't matter, he was no more than a leech in her mind, something dangerous she had to kill.

They were the same hight, Carter knew looks can be deceiving, but she found him to be skinny and probably young if he dares show up at around hunters repeatedly. Now there was noone around to not cause a scene in front of, for her to be blackmailed with. She decided he was going to die.

She realised her mistake when the creature stepped over the threshold and pushed her up against the wall with the intensity of a car crash. He might look scrawny, but that's a sign of weakness in a human, never a monster like him.

"Where do you think it gets me?" he asked, his tone even, unbothered by her squirming against his hold that just wouldn't budge "Because I think it gets me fed, I want to hear your theory, though"

He leaned back just enough for her feet to touch the ground again, and put an inch of distance between them.

His expression was empty, like a statue, not a single muscle moved in the undead face, when they were this close to her she understood what frozen in time meant. The modern tone of voice and fashionable clothes could have been put on one of the sculptures in a nearby park and it would've had the same effect, not quite right, she knew him for what he was. A monster.

"I think it gets you killed. Fucking leech" she finally pulled a stake out from the contraption strapped to her thigh and angled it up to press into the creature's abdomen pointing towards his heart.

For the first time since he appeared on her doorstep his lips pulled into a smile, it didn't reach his eyes nor did it seem genuine.

"Try that and see where it gets you" he mocked, and grabbed onto a stake pushing it harder between his own ribs.

She tried to press on the dull end of the stake, to inch it into the creature's skin, which once was broken wouldn't stop the wood to pierce through his heart. It didn't move, however much force she applied, and how desperate she got. She had no momentum and barely any space to gain some advance.

"You've done this before, at least twice" he looked her up and down, taking in her struggle, still completely unphased by it "You've hit me in the spine and my companion in the heart. Finish it" he demanded and wrapped his hand around hers over the stake.

Carter came to her senses, and changed tactics. She had to get as far from the creature as fast as humanly possible. The bones in her hands ground against the stake in his grasp and she was still backed into the corner of her own hallway.

"Let go and I will" she seethed, this time trying to maneuver herself to the side. He matched the movement easily, as if he knew where she would try and step next.

"You let go of the stake and I'll consider it" Carter glared at him. She wasn't about to give up on the one thing on hand that apparently threatened the vampire. He should have been threatened by her very presence, instead of bargaining for her to drop the weapon.

The creature was either young and stupid or Carter's moments were numbered. She didn't consider the second option closely enough. She dropped the stake and he finally let go of her hands.

"What now?" she asked condescendingly, as if they were at an impasse, surely he'd keep his word. If he was young he could only be a few years older than herself, he ought to be willing to be reasoned with.

"I think I'll try now" he closed the distance between them again and wrenched Carter's head to the side to access her neck and but down.

She tried to scream but the sound was cut short as he but down harder. She clawed uselessly at his shoulders and arms, as if she could find some leverage to push him off. There was none.

The creature lapped at her neck in a rhythmical pattern matching the way her heart beat. Her vision started swimming and her stomach sank in her abdomen, she felt dizzying bouts of nausea overtake and shake her body.

"I was right" he pulled away. Licking his lips obscenely cleaning the blood off them leaving a trail of saliva glisten over them. The same substance she was sure covered her skin from chin to shoulder, burning as it closed the gaping wound.

She gasped for air, shaken to the core, she tried to process what happened. She was alive. The vampire took her blood, but didn't kill her.

"What-" she wheezed, catching a normal breath seemed like an impossible task at the moment. She couldn't stop thinking about her blood coursing in the dead body of the monster keeping it alive.

He shrugged and stepped away, watching her crumble on the floor.

"By the time I get back, get those nasty stakes out of my sight" and with that he disappeared into the night.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

SICKTEMBER PROMPTS 2023 :)

So I was thinking Im going to kind of do sicktember? like Im only going to use some prompts (the ones i like) which i showed below. I will maybe write a fic for each of them, but no promises. And there not going to be posted in order (cuz It depends on what im motivated to write and when).

1. Hopelessly bad at self-care (WANDANAT x R)

TW: fever, Flu, non-sexual nudity, implied sexual joke (just one), slight angst, traumatic past (mentioned)

4. Hiding an Illness (WANDANAT x R)

TW: Blood, fainting, bloodloss, stitches, getting shot, injury, hiding injuries (duh), slight angst (kinda)

6. Sick and Iniured (WANDA x R)

TW: broken bone (mentioned), fever, Flu, injury, vomiting, non-sexual nudity

8. Persistent Fever

11. Beginner's Guide to Faking Sick (WANDANAT x R)

TW: vomiting, slight angst, migraine, non-sexual nudity, fever

13. Anxious Stomach (WANDANAT x R)

TW: vomiting

15. Sick in an Inconvenient Place (WANDNAT x R)

TW: vomiting, exhaustion, talks of medication, anxiety, secrets, slight angst

16. Consulting the Internet/Web MD

19. Curled Up With a Pet

20. Cramping Pain (WANDNAT x R)

TW: pain medicine, blood, period, cramps, bleeding on the bed, non-sexual nudity, Reader has their clothes removed (not in a bad way though don’t worry … you’ll see), hiding injuries / sickness, slight angst,

23. Coughing Fit

24. "Did you just sneeze?"

25. Confused/Disoriented

27. Uncooperative Patient

28. "I should have stayed home" (WANDANAT x R)

TW: exhaustion, talks of medication, fever, secrets, blood / nosebleed, cold, fainting, stitches, injury, swearing, fighting

29. Side Effects/Adverse Reaction (WANDANAT x R)

TW: Vomiting, surgery, medicine, getting shot

BTW Bold + underline = finished and linked :)

[marvellousimagines]

TW: Implied torture, blood and bloodloss, Cazador being Cazador

You tensed as the door to your cell opened, but let out a sigh of relief when you saw the familiar white curls of a particular elf vampire spawn.

“Astarion!” you called his name in surprise and relief, though not so loud as to draw attention. “You found me.”

“Of course I did, my dear,” Astarion replied. “Unfortunately, it took a lot out of me to just get here. Would you mind if I had just a little bit of your blood, help me get an edge over Cazador for our escape?”

Something didn’t seem quite right. Astarion seemed off, but that may have just been from hunger. This was the first time he’s directly asked for some of your blood since that first night when you woke up with him hovering over you. It had to be bad if he was asking again.

“Yes, of course,” you reply, tilting your head in invitation, the scars from Astarion’s previous bites on full display.

Astarion smirked, coming in close and biting down. You felt the usual pain, then numbness, as Astarion began to suck your blood.

He didn’t stop when he normally would.

“Astarion?” You prompted, giving him a nudge. You felt your extremities go numb, your vision tunneling. “Astarion, that’s too much!” You tried to push him off but the blood loss had you weakened. You blinked heavily, struggling to stay conscious and alert.

You heard a chuckle from Astarion, but it was not his voice. As he pulled away, the illusion magic faded, revealing Cazador in Astarion’s place.

“You are quite the willing morsel. I just had to see for myself how quickly you bare your neck for a bite,” Cazador taunted, running a finger down your throat. You were too numb, feeling too hazy to do much of anything except stare at your captor in fear.

At some point, Cazador had left. You weren’t sure how much time had passed as you drifted in and out of sleep.

By the time you recovered enough from the vampire lord draining your blood to just feel the usual post-bite wooziness, muffled sounds off in the distance caught your attention. You couldn't be sure, but it sounded like a fight, you swore you heard shouting and the sound of metal clashing.

After the sounds faded, your cell door opened and again Astarion stepped through. You flinched away, unsure if this was another trick.

“Hey, Y/N, darling, it’s just me,” Astarion said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Is… is it really you, Astarion?” you asked, afraid now of Cazador taking advantage of your trusting nature again.

A familiar, warm voice outside the cell behind Astarion answered for him. “Who else would it be, Soldier?” Karlach asked, and you flinched as you thought of the answer.

Astarion looked at you with sympathetic understanding, your reaction apparently telling him everything. You felt the familiar squirming of the tadpole that signaled a link to another and opened your mind to it. Flashes of panic, worry, as Astarion realized who took you from camp. His determination to get you back eclipsing the fear he felt marching right up to Cazador’s door. The blood of the vampire lord as Astarion stabbed into him while your other companions watched his back. Then finally, you as seen through his eyes, relief that you’re okay.

As you came back to your own mind, you saw anger on Astarion’s face, though not pointed at you. You were sure that, through the tadpole bond, he had seen Cazador's trick of using his image to lull you into a false sense of security. “Cazador’s dead now. We’re safe from him.” He held out his hand.

You took his hand and pulled yourself up. Your vision tunneled slightly at the sudden shift of position and you swayed a bit. However, you let yourself fall forward slightly, wrapping your arms around Astarion’s shoulders in a hug and burying your face in his chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling, now let’s get you out of here,” Astarion said gently. Once it was clear you couldn’t make it out under your own power, Astarion carefully lifted you into his arms to carry you out of Cazador's dungeon.