#Not quite falling back in love but something close to it

[vibrantdream]

Usually when people say they can hear colors, it's because they've eaten something they shouldn't have. There are the few who are gifted, of course, to experience a single sensation multiple ways, but I am not one of those people. And yet, the blue sky above me was positively singing. It was such a lovely, clear tone, unlike any instrument or human voice I'd heard before.

And it was utterly at odds with the sheer amount of pain I was in. My head hurt the most. It felt like my skull might rupture at any moment. To be honest, it felt like it already had.

Yes.

It wasn't a voice... or words, exactly. And yet, there was communication. Understanding. I vaguely remember a bright flash. Agony. Voices. Then...the sky was singing.

I tried to move, to push myself up.

NO! The something inside me screamed, like an electric shock through my body. I raged back against it, but it gave me no quarter. Then everything went dead silent. No sound of wind, of insects. The sky had stopped singing. I couldn't even hear the pounding in my head anymore. Hasa. Silence. It wanted me to be quiet. But I knew... I knew I had to do... something. I couldn't just lay there. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Sound was coming back now, but slowly, gradually. I still couldn't move. Not a muscle. Not an inch. All I could do was stare at the sky and listen. I didn't have to wait for very long.

"Miss? Miss! Are you alive? Miss!"

The voice was streaks of red and orange across my vision. I wanted to turn and look for the voice's source, but my other still fought me. Fortunately, the owner of the voice soon came to me. A young man, in plain clothes, looking bedraggled, to say the least. He was drenched with sweat and covered in dirt. He knelt over me with the most panicked expression I'd ever seen. His colors sounded frantic.

"Miss, are you still alive, miss?"

It took monumental effort just to blink twice in answer. The other didn't comment, but it did seem angry. Help. I tried to reassure it.

The young man scooped me gently off of the ground and carried me away from where I'd lain. With so many new sights, I had to close my eyes to quiet the cacophony. But I couldn't close my ears, and each new sound was a dazzling dance of color across a black background.

~~~~~~

"Thank you."

It was the first thing I was able to say to him after weeks of his diligent care. As with everything these days, the effort it took was enormous. Both syllables were meticulously formed, but my voice still sounded slurred, warped almost.

None of it mattered, because Everen's face lit up. "You're welcome! And you're speaking! Are you feeling better? Do you think you'll be ready for solids soon? My mother wants to bake you her famous cheesy sausage rolls, says they work miracles..."

He was always such a chatterbox. I tried to tell him to slow down, but what came out of my mouth was a jumbled mess of sounds.

No. The other insisted.

He frowned. "So you can't talk?"

Not yet, I wanted to say. I settled for shaking my head.

"But you do understand." He said.

I nodded.

"Okay." He said. "Okay. It's a start. It's progress."

~~~~~~

It was another few months before I could really move under my own power. My body was weak and slow to respond. I was clumsy, and Everen was attentive to helping me learn to move again.

I could sit up, at least, which was, admittedly, an improvement.

I also had to admit that Rani's cheesy sausage rolls were helping me regain my strength. Maybe they were miraculous.

Then one day, the routine changed.

There was a loud bang, then overlapping voices and noise in the next room. I couldn't quite distinguish what was being said--it's hard to focus when each individual word dances in one's vision and races across one's skin. I was getting used to my senses having permanent crossover, but I got overstimulated easily.

Move.

The other had never insisted I do anything before. It usually tried to stop me trying things.

MOVE!

I lurched out of the bed, falling to the floor, but the thud I made seemed to be drowned out by the noise in the next room. Everything hurt. I dragged myself across the ground to the door, pulling myself up on the door frame, before I pushed the door open. There were armored, uniformed men in the room, digging through storage, knocking things over. Rani and Everen were begging one, the leader, I assumed, to stop.

"You're behind on your payments." He said gruffly. "And the lord of the land wants his due."

"We'll have the money soon." Everen said. "The lambs will be ready for market in another month. We just need time!"

"No can do." Said the man. "Payment is due today. If you don't have the money, we'll have to take equivalent compensation."

"Stop." I whispered.

Everyone in the room froze.

The leader looked at me. "What have we here? Harboring fuguitives, Rani? The census says there are only two living in your house, ever since your husband--"

"She's not a fugitive!" Everen said. "Just badly wounded. She needed help. We never tried to deceive his lordship."

Some of the lower ranked thugs were coming toward me. I didn't want them touching me.

"Larfialt." We said together, and they flew into the opposite wall.

The leader drew his sword. "Attacking his lordship's men is a punishable offense, girl."

I leveled him with a glare. "Kavarsti," we said as one, and the man incinerated on the spot.

The thugs all looked between each other, then at me.

"Out." I said.

They ran.

Everen ran to me. "Denra, are you alright? You're bleeding."

"Help," was all I managed to say before everything went dark.

~~~~~~

I was back to not moving, it seemed, though I could still make small motions.

"Hasa," I said, pushing the barest amount of magic into the room. If this was about to become a screaming match, I didn't want my hosts to hear it.

Finally, I was ready to confront the other.

"Who are you?"

You. Said the other

"No," I said. "I'm me. Who are you?"

You. It insisted.

"You can't be me," I said. "You're a separate... thing."

Yours. It said after a long pause.

"What do you mean?" I asked

Images flashed before my eyes. A young lady with long dark hair staring back at me from a mirror; she wore the robes of an apprentice mage, and something shimmering and transparent seemed to hover around her. Energy swirling around my body in a multi-colored tornado. Bright pulses of magical ammunition shooting from a staff in my hand. The soft blue glow of healing magic as I tried to fix a nasty wound. That same healing magic tingling and painfully bright filling my whole head.

Yours. It said again.

"You're my magic." I said, shocked.

Yes.

"You saved me."

Not all. It said. Tried to patch. Tried to be.

"You wanted to fill in for everything that was too badly damaged."

Yes.

"Is that why you didn't want me to move? To speak?"

Yes. Body... Hard to control.

"I shouldn't have been able to cast those spells either, weak as I was."

You're me. We are close.

"We can't do that again. It could kill us."

Body is fragile.

"Yes. Especially now."

Get better. Fast.

"I have been trying."

Enemies. They look.

"I think we're safe for now. But if you want me to recover quickly, you need to let me make choices for the body. I won't over do it. I know this body better than you."

My magic receded from my immediate awareness at that, though I could feel it hovering. I closed my eyes. It was right about one thing: I'd need to recover quickly if I wanted to avoid my enemies. More importantly, I'd need my strength to protect Rani and Everen. They'd been so kind to me, and it was looking like I might bring trouble to their doorstep by accident. I needed to be ready in case that happened.

When a mage is badly injured, magic sometimes "fills in the gaps"—growing an arcane hand or leg. You suffered brain damage that would have killed most. Magic filled in your mind.

[castorizz]

... ❝ ACHILLES HEEL. ❞ ft. anaxa x reader

𝒾. ⠀IN WHICH : anaxa reflects upon how you have possibly managed to make him feel so weak.

꒰ contents ꒱ fluff? i guess. gn!reader. pathetically in love anaxa. wc : 1077

꒰ notes ꒱ this was written as a birthday present for the amazing @rainswept!! happy birthday again, ily and thank you for being my friend, & entertaining my insanity <33

Fragility, as it were, was not a foreign concept to Anaxagoras.

That isn’t to say that it was a welcomed feeling; quite the opposite. It had overstayed whatever brief welcome he’d permitted it, lingering in the furthest reaches of his consciousness for far longer than he would care to acknowledge. 

He didn’t acknowledge it at all, on his best days. On his best days, he would pay no attention; no mind to the stiffness and aches in his joints, no thought to the strain on his lungs. It was always there, the throbbing and stinging, somewhere on the outskirts of his focus, but never at the forefront of his mind. His day would pass with little fanfare, without the pervasive, permeating pain to distract him from his work.

There were times he couldn’t ignore it though, times that felt like his every step was barefoot over broken glass. The pain would seep into every part of him—from the back of his head, to the very tips of his fingers, lighting up every nerve ending. It was all he could do not to succumb to it, to grit his teeth and bear the agony without letting it cross his face. He couldn’t let it manifest into something physical. However weakened this body was, it was a burden that he was damned to carry on his own ailing shoulders.

Instead, he fell into his research, poring over every book and paper he could find. Each breakthrough and every development was a thrill, a fresh burst of adrenaline. With each new piece of evidence, the feeble, fragile grip he had on himself seemed to grow stronger, another ounce of control that he’d regained. It was almost intoxicating, the feeling of stepping back and seeing all the pieces fall into place. 

Weakened, he might be, but make no mistake: Anaxa was never weak. His strengths were only substituted, traded out for something more useful. It was an equivalent exchange; where his physical health declined, his mind would grow; exchanging fragility for fortitude, wellness for intuition.

And yet, despite his loathing of any implication of weakness, that was exactly what you seemed to be doing to him.

How else could he begin to explain the tightness in his chest when he thought about you, the steady ache that a mere mention of your name brought about? The way you smiled, the way you laughed, it made him sick to his stomach, in a sensation he couldn’t describe as pleasant, vexing, or somewhere in between. 

If it ended there, he might have even been able to ignore it, but he couldn’t. Not with the way you treated him, the way you sought him out with purpose, like his presence was a treat you were savouring each taste of.

Gentleness, in all its glory, was unfamiliar. A kind hand, a soft touch, Anaxa was unused to it all. That sort of care was reserved for those with people to care for them, loved ones and the like. It had been a long time since he had anyone willing to get so close to him; the last he could recall anything of the sort, it was his sister, wiping his tears with the edge of her shirt. Once he had lost her too, he had no one left, no one who would spare such tenderness for the likes of him.

But you touched him so easily, almost unconsciously, and it would almost undo him every single time. You were always so casual with it: an innocuous bump of your shoulders, or hands brushing against each other as you walked, or your ankle pressing against his underneath the desk. Maybe to some, it would be easily mistaken as an accident, but he doesn’t miss the sharp look in your eyes, the way you glance for a second too long to make sure he notices.

You’re doing it on purpose, and both of you knew it.

Anaxa was… perplexed, to say the least. And with perplexion, came the inevitable frustration that followed. If there was one thing he hated, it was not understanding, and as hard as he tried, he could never understand you, much less why you had such an effect on him. 

The what was obvious enough; somehow despite himself, he’d grown some sort of… attachment towards you, but the why was unknown. He never cared for romance, or anything of the sort, until you appeared in his life, and left a bizarre sort of affection in your wake. There was no rhyme or reason to the source of his feelings, and why you had triggered them; you were a mystery, and nothing he did could solve it. 

Yet somehow, the unsettlement didn’t stand in the way of a strange, oddly comfortable contentment that you brought into his life. Curiously, it didn’t negate or clash with the turmoil, merely… accompanied it. As if it brought the discordant melody of his thoughts into a sweet, harmonious symphony. He couldn’t place the feeling properly, only grasp at its edges, but trying to rationalize the conflict in his mind was set to drive him mad.

And Anaxa was no gambling man, but he would bet his life you knew.

“What’s with that weird look?” You prod at his arm, your small smile laced with a smirk. “Am I that distracting, huh? Go back to explaining your theory, I’m listening.”

If he was dealt any other set of circumstances, he would have picked up where his thoughts had trailed off in an instant, but you—you and that irritating, endearing look on your face distracted him enough to render him speechless. His mouth was dry, his eyes frozen on your lips. They watched every little movement, the slow, small tick upwards on the corner of your mouth. Amusement. You were enjoying this, weren’t you? 

“You’re incomprehensible,” He mutters, half to himself. 

“Am I?” You say, a note of challenge in your voice. “Wasn’t it you who said every question had its answer? Are you saying there’s something even you can’t understand?”

His eyes narrow, but he remains silent. You were right, of course. And so was he: every mystery in this world was just a truth he had not yet discovered, yourself included. You’re just another enigma for him to solve. 

“Of course not.” He clears his throat. “Let me continue.” 

You might weaken him, but Anaxa would be the one to figure you out—no matter how long it took. 

©castorizz 2025 : do not copy, translate, repost, redistribute, or use my work to train ai. reblogs are appreciated <33

[popcornpoppypop]

Butterfly

A/N: Well, The Pitt dragged my depressed ass back into fanfic writing and this weird, depressed, little guy has wedged himself into my brain and will not leave. Be gentle, it's been a while! I have a few stories with this OC, kind of a series but not really. Enjoy!

Summary: Callie is vet tech with a silly sense of humor. Jack Abbot was immediately obsessed. When she lands herself in The Pitt from a work injury, Jack falls apart.

Warnings: Blood, medical inaccuracies, mentions of death, facial trauma

Word Count: 3,295 (it took me and ran)

It was one of those moments  where everything had to line up perfectly to happen. The butterfly effect some call it. If Callie had stayed home like she wanted to that rainy Tuesday afternoon, she wouldn’t have gone to work and she wouldn’t have had to deal with the aggressive chihuahua and she wouldn’t have gotten bit and she wouldn’t have had to go to the ER and she wouldn’t have met Dr. Jack Abbot and she wouldn’t have flirted her ass off until his face turned beet red and they wouldn’t have gone out for coffee and they wouldn’t have slowly and completely fallen in love. She thinks about it a lot.

“So, what bit you?” Dr. Abbot asks as he pulls his gloves on with a snap.

“The most feared creature in all of veterinary medicine.” Callie sighed, mocking terror.

“What? A rottweiler? German Shepherd?” Jack looked at her with a flat expression.

“Chihuahua. Vicious little fuckers.” Callie snorted. Jack stared at her for a long beat before a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, one he was clearly trying to subdue.

“Never understood why anyone wanted one of those rats in their house anyway.” He said as he pulled the overhead light into position to examine the wound on her forearm.

“Sometimes they can be cute. But it is few and far between, at least when I see them.” Callie winced as Jack prodded at the wound.

“Well, he got you good. We’ll clean the wound out and give you some pain management, antibiotics. Can’t close it though. Dogs mouths are nasty things.”

“Like yours is better?”

“Excuse me?”

“It was a joke. I’m joking. You should give it a try.” Callie winked.  Jack stared again, almost frozen with what to do. He was not unfamiliar with being flirted with at work. Hell, Myrna said some pretty vulgar shit most days. This woman, she was something else. He couldn’t quite figure out why, besides the fact that she was stunning. But pretty people rarely interest him. 

“I, uh, will be back. With antiseptic.” He gave a curt nod, rolled his chair back so hard it flew into the wall when he stood up. He closed the curtain and stomped over to the nurses station.

“Dana you got a nurse free to clean out the wound in 7?”

“They are all taken for the next twenty-ish minutes, can send them that way when I have one.” She said, her readers falling down her nose. Jack fidgeted for a moment before growling as he ran his hands through his hair.

“What’s up your ass? They being that bad?” Dana smirked.

“No. No, that woman is just the kind of person to throw me off.”

“She was very pretty. Nice, too. But you’ve had prettier patients.” Dana looked him up and down, hands on her hips.

“No. No, I haven’t. She’s fucking silly.” Jack groaned, his frustration making his face flush.

“Silly? That’s what does it for you?” Dana didn’t try to hide the laugh.

“Fuck yeah it does. I’ll go clean it. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, send someone to rescue me.” He grabbed supplies and headed back to bed 7.

“No use, you’re already a goner!” Dana shouted, shaking her head.

Two years later, Callie was still making terrible jokes to make Jack laugh. Others would try to get him to laugh, telling the same jokes, but he wouldn’t flinch. They were only funny when she said them.

They would talk medicine with each other often, Jack was fascinated with the difference between Veterinary medicine and human medicine. Intrigued by the creativity of it. Callie was in awe of how fast emergency medical staff had to think and move, like a well-oiled machine.

Callie was a good technician. She had been doing the job in various forms since she was out of high school. She was efficient and quick. Most days she was quick. Most days she could read a dog or cat like a book. Knew when they were going to bite before they did. Today, she was not so quick. Today her reading was off. She was tired and she thought the cute golden retriever was nice and calm and would be fine to get subcutaneous fluids on her own. The needle went in and the dog turned and took a bite at her face. She fell backwards, the dog was pulled off by her coworker. She felt the warm blood trickling down her neck.

She was confused for a moment, there wasn’t pain. She felt fine, but when she put her hand on her cheek she felt the flesh missing and the blood, she saw the blood. But the pain wasn’t there. It made her panic. Did something happen to her brain? Next thing she knew, paramedics were in front of her asking questions.

“Just get her in the rig before she bleeds out!” one of her coworkers yelled.

“I want to go to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. My boyfriend works there, please.” Was the last thing she said before she was overwhelmed and passed out.

“We got a trauma coming in, ETA 7 minutes.” Dana called out.

“I swear, I’m never switching shifts with Collins again.” Jack groaned as he grabbed gloves from the wall dispenser.

“She is hard to say no to.” Robby laughed.

“What’s coming?” Langdon asked, practically drooling.

“Uh, looks like a dog bite to the face, female, mid-thirties.” She said looking up to meet Jack’s eyes.

“It’s not her. They would have called you, it’s not her.” Robby patted Jack’s shoulder, it didn’t stop the ice from flowing through his veins.

“Damn, that sucks. That’s why I tell my kids to keep their face away from the dog. You never know. The way some people just act like dogs are stuffed animals is crazy! Maybe she’ll learn her lesson.” Langdon prattled on.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jack growled. Langdon went white and took a few steps back. The paramedics came bursting in with their patient; blood covered the gurney.

“Female, mid-thirties, vet tech was performing treatments on a patient when it attacked. Bite to the face and neck, took some of her cheek with her. She lost consciousness not long after we got there. She requested to come here. Said her boyfriend works here.” The medic said. As Callie’s face came into his view, Jack felt his knees try and buckle.

“Fuck.” Was all he could get out.

“Jack you sit this out. We got her.” Robby pushed him out of the way as he and Langdon brought her into the trauma bay. Jack followed but stopped outside the door.

“Jack! Jack, oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Liz, one of Callie’s coworkers came running up and throwing her arms around him.

“I tried to call you and warn you, my phone wouldn’t get reception in the rig. They wouldn’t radio to let you know, they were kind of pricks honestly.” She rambled.

“Liz what the fuck happened?” Jack asked, his voice strained.

“we were so damn busy today, someone called out and corporate has us on quotas and if the clinic doesn’t make them it’s a whole thing. Anyway, she thought this dog was fine to give subq fluids to alone, she does it all the time. She was off today, kept saying she was tired. He just spun around and got her in the face. God, her cheek was on the floor. Her fucking cheek!” Liz said through tears. Jack put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“It’s okay, Liz. You got her here that’s what’s important. Dana? Can you put Liz in the family room? I’ll come by when I have information.” He promised as Dana walked her away.

She was so still as they worked on her. Her face, oozing blood onto the floor, it was thick as it had mixed with her saliva. He could see some of her teeth exposed through the wound. The tear at her neck was less extreme but too close to her carotid for his comfort. He wasn’t paying any attention to what they were saying or really what they were doing.

“You know they have her.” Dana put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t let anyone but Robby touch her. Robby and Princess.” He sniffed.

“She’s a tough girl.”

“She’s going to need reconstructive surgery.”

“She’s going to be okay.” Dana squeezed his arm. He stood, still as stone, his expression the same.

Robby came walking out, throwing his gloves in the trash.

“She’s stable, she lost a lot of blood, we gave about two units. Surgery is taking her from here. But she’s going to be okay, Jack.”

“Who’s on surgery today?” Jack didn’t dare take his eyes off Callie.

“Walsh is on trauma. Craig is on for plastics. I made sure they were bringing him in.”

“She was tired today. Liz said she kept saying she was tired.” Jack’s monotone voice made Dana wince.

“This was a freak thing. She didn’t cause anything.” Robby said.

“She was slow because she was tired because I asked her to stay up late with me. There was a stupid eclipse last night. Didn’t get to totality until 2am. She’s here because of me.” There was a slight quiver to his voice.

“No, Jack, don’t do that.” Dana grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to face her. They both know that he’s let her.

“As if she couldn’t look at the stupid fucking moon any other night.”

“Hey! This was not your fault. If it’s anyone’s it’s those damn corporations working them to the bone for fucking quotas! Hell, this is barely the dog's fault!” Dana said, trying to keep Jack’s feet on the ground.

Jack nodded, wanting to stop the talking. He wasn’t going to be convinced this wasn’t his fault.

When Callie was brought out of surgery, her face was bandaged with gauze. It had already started to swell and turn five different shades of purple and blue.  Jack felt a stab to the gut when he saw her. He could only imagine what the pain was like.

It was during the early hours of the next morning when she started to stir. Jack was sleeping in the most uncomfortable chair in the hospital, his hand firmly in hers. She groaned as she tried to open her eyes. Jack felt the slight movement of her hand and was immediately awake.

“Callie? Honey?” He smoothed the hair from her forehead.

“Jack?” She croaked.

“Hey, how are you feeling? How’s the pain?” He asked, searching her eyes for the truth, knowing she would say it wasn’t bad to spare anyone from going out of their way for her.

“It fucking hurts. My face is mincemeat.” She sighed. Jack nodded, hitting the call button and demanding she get more pain relief.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have made you stay up late. It wasn’t worth it.” He looked at the ground, ashamed.

“Hey, no. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t anyone. Just one of those things. I don’t regret it.” She tried her best to smile.

“I fucking do.”

“Naw. I got to see an eclipse, I got to see you being a big space nerd.” She squeezed his hand.

“I’m not a nerd.”

“Huge. Huge nerd. I like seeing you like that. Like…it’s what you were like before everything. A little glimpse at ‘Past Jack’. I love this Jack, but you keep that part locked up. I don’t need to question it, I understand. It’s nice when I get to see the whole picture. Besides, corporate is going to be giving me a big check when I blame this on them.” Callie huffed a laugh. Jack nodded looking at the ground, knowing her efforts to assuage his guilt were futile.

“They said it’ll be a few days until you can come home. They got you on some intense IV antibiotics.” He changed the subject away from himself.

“How bad is it?” Callie asked, her voice small. Jack hated it. She was never small. She was big and boisterous and loud and funny and all the things he wasn’t.

“They were able to graft the skin and close the wound.” Jack cleared his throat, he knew what she was really asking.

“Jack…what do I look like?” Her voice wavered.

“I honestly haven’t seen it fully since surgery. What I can see now, you’re swollen and bruised but still you.” He traced little anxious patterns on her hand.

“I want to see.” Callie straightened herself upright.

“I think you have a dressing change soon. But, usually we don’t recommend seeing this kind of thing until it’s more healed.”

“I want to see my face.” The tears were starting to sting her eyes as she fought them.

“Okay. Give me a second.” He grumbled as he got up and went to the nurse’s station.

“What can I do for you Dr.Abbot?” one of them asked, smile plastered on her face that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I know she doesn’t have a dressing change for a little bit, but she wants to see it.” He fiddled with a pen on the desk.

“Oh. Um, I can do the change in a bit, but we don’t let them see the damage for at least two days. It’s better once the swelling goes down.”

“I know that. I do. But, she’s set her mind.” “Dr. Abbot, it’s direct medical orders from Dr. Craig that she not see herself for two days, I can’t go against that.”

“Then get him on the phone!” Jack barked, startling the nurses.

“Jack?” Robby called from the end of the hallway, gift basket in hand, “hey man, let’s take a walk.” He pulled him down the hall.

“I’m not being stubborn. She wants to see, I told her why they don’t want to let her, she wants it. I’m going to get her what she wants!” Jack rubbed his hands down his face.

“I know you’re feeling guilty about this, but man, you know how these things go. You can’t be going above doctors heads.”

“Robby, she is going to have scars on her face for the rest of her life because of me. Everyone keeps saying it’s just a random turn of events. It’s bullshit you all are trying to get me to swallow, even her. If we had just gone to bed when we were supposed to none of this would have happened.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“if they had staffed them properly, if they didn’t have outrageous quotas to meet, if they had better equipment, better management none of this would have happened. It doesn’t always come back to you. Even if she had been wide awake and full of caffeine this still would have happened because of all the other shit.” Robby stopped at the end of the hallway.

“She said she’s going to make corporate pay.” Jack sighed.

“as she should.” Robby chuckled. “Look, you need to get your shit together right now. She is going to need you now more than ever. Her whole identity is going to be different. She isn’t going to feel like herself and she is probably going to feel like her appearance is going to drive you away. Show her that’s not true. I swear, if I hear you leave her, it won’t be just me coming for you.”

“I can’t live without her, Robby.” Jack bowed his head to hide the tears.

“I know, brother.” Robby wrapped an arm around him.

“Dr. Abbot?” The nurse cleared her throat. “yeah?”

“Dr. Craig said, and this is him I’m quoting, ‘if that stubborn ass thinks she can handle it he can do the dressing change.’ So, it’s up to you.” The nurse shrugged.

“Get me the dressing change supplies, please.”

“Jack,”

“Robby, she needs to see. We know that the healing process isn’t the same for everyone. I know her. She needs this.” Jack stomped back to the room. When he entered he could see the redness in her eyes, he kept it to himself.

“Robby’s here, is it ok for him to come in? He can help me with the dressing change.” Jack tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  She nodded, not trusting her voice.  Jack went and grabbed the supplies from the nurse and ushered Robby into the room.

“Hey kid, you scared the shit out of us.” He smiled.

“Gotta keep you on your toes. Must of have been a fun one for the med students.” Callie laughed.

“Oh Jack made sure they weren’t anywhere near you.” Robby laughed.

“I thought this was a teaching hospital? Surely this was good teaching case.” Callie shot Jack a look that could kill.

“Wasn’t going to risk it.” He stated.

“Anyway, everyone downstairs wanted you know they were thinking of you. All chipped in and got you this basket, not a healthy thing insight.” He said putting the basket on the nightstand next to her bed.

“That’s sweet. Thank you. I’m sorry he’s been extra grouchy. I’d keep the interns out of his way for a while.” Callie smiled.

“Way ahead of you.” Robby winked.

“We’re going to change the dressing now, it might sting a bit, you might feel it pull at the skin. Let me know if it’s too much.” Jack pulled his gloves on.

He gently unwrapped the gauze from Callie’s face. The cotton pads that stuck to her face gave some trouble, Callie winced as he pulled them off. The skin was sutured closed and was bruised and red. The sutures went from the bottom of her chin up to her cheekbone with a line going down her neck about three inches. Jack swallowed harder than he meant when he saw it. It looked so painful and dramatic. His chest tightened and he couldn’t speak without breaking.

Robby looked over at him, nudging him to say something, anything. When Jack didn’t move, he took the mirror and handed it to Callie. He held it down in her hands for a moment.

“Remember that the sutures need to be removed and the swelling and bruising will go down. It’s going to be very different.” Robby warned.

“I know.” Callie said.  She lifted the mirror with shaky hands and took in her reflection. She couldn’t stop the tears, she didn’t want to. They flowed silently down her face, stinging the sensitive skin.

“Dr. Craig did a great job. The Sutures are some of the best I’ve ever seen.” Robby told her, trying to give her some solace.

Jack started cleaning the wound, his eyes red. He focused on the medicine. Keeping it clean and dry. Wrapping it up with precision. He had no idea Robby had left until Callie had put a hand to his face, pulling him back to earth.

“I have to ask this question because it won’t stop banging around my brain. I know the answer, I just need to hear it. Will you still think I’m pretty with all of this?” Her voice cracked as she fought through the sobs.

Jack looked at her with shock and disbelief. How could she think he had nothing but devotion for her?

“I love you. I will always love you. You will always be the most stunning woman on the planet. This changes nothing, not for me. You have me, heart and soul. What’s left of them at any rate.” He pulled her in for a soft kiss, tender but delicate, afraid to hurt her further.

“I think that’s what the kids call a simp.” Callie giggled.

“Seriously? Now?”

“Gotta keep you from breaking down completely.” She smiled up at him.

“I love you.”

“Ditto”  

[andy-15-07]

Say Something

paring ✦ Ellie Williams x fem!reader

word count ✦ 1321 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

The snow hadn’t stopped falling for two days straight. A thick, muffled silence wrapped Jackson in a stillness that made everything feel fake, like time itself had frozen. Except for the hospital,where time pressed down like a boot on your chest.

Y/N sat on the edge of a stiff, metal chair in the corner of Ellie’s room. The walls were bare, the window fogged up. Her hands twisted in her lap. Ellie hadn’t said a word in two days. She just lay there, eyes fixed on a point somewhere past the ceiling, bandaged and bruised, her lip split from the fight that led them here, but her silence,that was what really hurt.

Joel was gone.

And Ellie was disappearing with him.

Y/N stood up and crossed the room, slow and careful. She didn’t want to startle her, didn’t want to push too hard. Ellie had always been stubborn,blunt and sarcastic and angry,but now, she was empty. Quiet. A shell.

“I brought you soup,” Y/N said, voice soft, trying. “It’s still warm. I, uh... I made it the way you like. Kinda. They didn’t have oregano, but,”

Ellie didn’t blink. Her eyes didn’t even flick toward the bowl Y/N placed on the bedside table.

Y/N exhaled. “You can’t just stop eating, El.”

No answer.

Y/N sat back down, closer now. She stared at Ellie’s profile, her pale skin, the cuts on her cheek that hadn’t fully healed yet. The bruises were yellowing. Her fingers twitched beneath the blanket like she wanted to curl them into fists and couldn’t quite make the effort.

“People are asking about you,” Y/N said, trying again. “Maria came by. Dina, too. Jesse offered to fix your guitar. Said he found strings.”

Still nothing. Not even a flinch.

“Ellie.”

Her name came out raw, cracked. “Please.”

Finally, Ellie blinked. Just once. Her gaze shifted, slowly, toward the window.

Y/N felt her heart leap,but Ellie didn’t look at her.

“You don’t get to shut down like this,” Y/N whispered. “You don’t get to leave me too.”

That got something. A flicker,barely noticeable,but Ellie’s jaw clenched. Her eyes closed for a second, like maybe if she shut them tight enough, she could shut everything out.

Y/N stood again. Paced now. The hospital room was too small. The air too cold.

“You know what he said to me?” she asked. “Before you came back from Salt Lake?”

Still silence.

“He told me to keep an eye on you,” Y/N went on. “Told me that you’re strong, but you hold everything in. That when it all goes to shit, you won’t talk to anyone. Not even him. So he asked me to be there for you. To stay. Because he knew,he knew,you’d do this.”

Ellie turned her head away.

“I am here, Ellie,” Y/N said, louder. Angrier. “I’m right fucking here. And I can’t help you if you won’t even look at me.”

“Then don’t.”

The words hit like a punch.

Y/N froze. It was the first thing Ellie had said in days.

“What?” she asked, quiet.

Ellie finally turned to face her. Her voice was hoarse, low, but it still cut. “You should go.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “No.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I don’t care,” Y/N snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t get to push me away and think I’ll just vanish.”

Ellie flinched. “Why not? Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else.”

Ellie looked at her. Really looked. And for a second, Y/N saw it,the heartbreak. The guilt. The fury.

“Joel’s dead,” Ellie said, flat.

“I know.”

“I watched it happen. I heard his ribs snap. I,” Her voice broke and she looked down. “I couldn’t stop it.”

Y/N moved fast, dropping to her knees beside the bed, hands reaching for Ellie’s.

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” Y/N said. “No one could have. It wasn’t your fault.”

Ellie shook her head, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. “I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve,should’ve protected him. I always told him I didn’t need him, but the truth is,he needed me. And I,”

“You loved him.”

Ellie looked at her again. Her eyes were glassy now. Red-rimmed.

“I said things to him,” she whispered. “Before... before we left Jackson last time. Things I didn’t mean.”

Y/N’s hand slid into Ellie’s. This time, she didn’t pull away.

“You had time to fix it,” Y/N said gently.

“Not enough.”

Ellie’s voice cracked. A tear slipped down her cheek and Y/N reached up, wiped it with her thumb.

“I can’t do this,” Ellie whispered. “I can’t feel this. It’s too much. It’s all too much.”

“I know,” Y/N said. “I know it is.”

Ellie’s breathing grew shallow, faster. “I wake up and I hear him calling me. Sometimes I think I see him. I go to say something and then I remember and it hits me all over again like it just fucking happened,”

Y/N pulled her into her arms. Ellie tensed for a second, fighting it, but then something gave, and she sank into Y/N’s chest, trembling.

“I feel like I’m going insane,” Ellie choked. “Like if I let go, if I start crying, I won’t stop.”

Y/N held her tighter. “Then I’ll hold you until you do.”

Ellie buried her face in Y/N’s shoulder and broke. No sobs,just sharp, quiet gasps. Silent grief that wracked her body. Her fingers dug into Y/N’s jacket, like she needed an anchor to keep from slipping under.

“You’re allowed to be hurt,” Y/N whispered into her hair. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

Ellie didn’t answer, but she didn’t push away either.

They stayed like that for a long time. The snow kept falling outside the window. The heater buzzed faintly. Ellie’s breath was warm against Y/N’s collarbone.

After a while, Ellie sat up. Her cheeks were blotchy, nose red, but her eyes looked a little clearer. Her voice, still hoarse, was softer now.

“Why are you still here?” she asked.

Y/N looked at her like it was obvious. “Because I love you.”

Ellie’s throat bobbed. She looked down at their hands.

“I’m not good for anyone,” she murmured. “I break things. I,I ruin everything I touch.”

Y/N leaned in, forehead resting against Ellie’s.

“You didn’t ruin him,” she said. “And you haven’t ruined me.”

Ellie blinked back another wave of tears.

“I feel so... empty without him,” she whispered. “Like part of me got torn out and nothing’s going to fill it.”

“Then let me help you carry what’s left,” Y/N said, voice shaking. “You don’t have to fix it right now. You just have to stay.”

Ellie pulled in a shaky breath. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Y/N said. “Me too.”

They sat in silence again. Not the cold silence from before, but something softer,wounded, but real. Y/N brushed Ellie’s messy hair back from her face and kissed her forehead.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Y/N said. “Just let me stay.”

Ellie nodded. Just once.

Y/N shifted to sit beside her on the bed, back against the wall. Ellie leaned into her slowly, like it hurt to trust her body again. Y/N wrapped her arm around her, drawing her close.

Minutes passed. The light outside grew darker, colder.

“Do you remember that joke Joel told?” Ellie said suddenly, voice small. “About the scarecrow?”

Y/N smiled faintly. “The one about being outstanding in his field?”

Ellie let out a short, fragile laugh. “God, it was so bad.”

“He thought it was comedy gold.”

They both went quiet again. Then Ellie whispered, “I miss his stupid voice.”

Y/N squeezed her hand. “Me too.”

Ellie laid her head on Y/N’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

“Will you stay tonight?”

“Always.”

Y/N listened to her breathing slowly even out. The worst of the storm howled beyond the walls of Jackson, but in that small hospital room, Ellie Miller finally let herself fall apart in someone’s arms.

And for the first time in days, she slept.

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙪𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚

summary: third times the charm, right?

characters: draco malfoy. reader. pansy parkinson. astoria greengrass.

warnings: none! just draco going through something

word count: 2.1k

a/n: lowkey thought of @draco-malfoys-lovergirl when writing this 🤭

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

They say the third person you fall for is the one who changes everything.

Not the first-the firestorm that teaches you how quickly love can burn when it isn’t real. Not the second-the echo that lingers, that teaches you the ache of almosts and not-quites. But the third-the one who arrives like a quiet revelation, like a match in a long-dark room.

Draco Malfoy never believed in that kind of magic.

Not the kind that softens the soul. Not the kind that comes wrapped in warm hands and shared secrets and laughter so deep it makes your chest ache. That sort of thing was for stories, for the weak, for those who hadn’t grown up beneath the crushing weight of legacy.

He was a Malfoy-heir to a crumbling name still wrapped in gold, born with silver in his veins and darkness stitched into every seam of his life.

Love? Love was a liability. Emotions were to be concealed. Affection was a weapon, a currency, a game.

That was what he’d been taught. That was what he knew.

Still… somewhere, deep in the hidden corners of his heart-the ones he’d buried beneath years of pressure and pride-he wanted it.

Not a relationship forged from status and expectation. Not someone who loved the idea of him more than the boy beneath the surface. But someone who saw him.

The boy who still woke in cold sweats. The boy who still saw his father’s disappointment reflected in every mirror. The boy who carried the guilt of choices made too young, and the fear that no matter how much he tried, he would never outrun the past.

Draco didn’t let himself linger in those thoughts for long. There was too much at stake. Too many eyes watching. Too many people waiting for him to fail.

So he buried the longing. He buried the softness. He smoothed back his hair, put on his smirk, and played the part expected of him.

And when the whispers began-about dating, about future matches, about alliances and marriages and building something worthy-he chose the one who made the most sense.

Not the one who saw him. Not the one who challenged him. Not the one who might love him.

He chose Pansy Parkinson.

-

Draco chose Pansy not because his heart fluttered in her presence, not because she made his world brighter or his thoughts softer-but because she made sense.

She was pure-blood royalty, as close to a perfect Slytherin as one could mold: sharp-tongued, calculating, and utterly devoted to the hierarchy that had raised them both. She wore ambition like a diamond necklace and adored Draco with a possessive kind of pride, like he was a prize she’d earned rather than a person she hoped to understand.

She was the obvious choice. And in their world, obvious often meant inevitable.

At first, it worked.

She was always by his side-on his arm during school events, curled next to him in the common room, her voice the first he heard in the morning and the last before he slept. She called him darling in public, traced her name next to his in notebooks, and clung to him like she was trying to stitch herself into his skin.

To everyone else, they were power incarnate. Cold, beautiful, untouchable.

But behind closed doors, Draco felt nothing.

She talked incessantly about other people-their grades, their families, their failures. She gossiped with venom and flattery in the same breath. And though she showered him with praise, it felt hollow-an echo, not a heartbeat. Her admiration was for the Malfoy name, for what he represented.

Never for him.

He tried to feel something for her. Truly, he did. There were nights he’d look at her across the firelight and try to conjure affection like a spell. But every time she leaned in, every time her lips brushed his, it felt like suffocation. Like expectation clothed in perfume and polish.

She never asked about his dreams. Never asked about the way his hands sometimes trembled or how his voice faltered when he spoke of the future.

She didn’t want the broken pieces. She wanted the statue. Smooth. Untouchable. Cold.

And Draco… he was tired of pretending he was made of marble.

The end came slowly, like frost creeping across a windowpane. He grew distant. She grew desperate. Her touches turned demanding, her voice sharp with suspicion.

“You’re distracted,” she accused one night, eyes narrowed like daggers. “Is there someone else?”

“No,” Draco replied coolly. “There’s just nothing here.”

Her face crumpled for a heartbeat, then hardened with fury. “You’ll regret this. I was the only one who ever wanted you.”

He almost laughed-how ironic, because that was exactly the problem. She didn’t want him. She wanted the perfect picture of who he was supposed to be. And he was starting to realize he’d never fit inside someone else’s frame again.

Their break-up became the talk of the common room, a whispered scandal carried on the backs of owls and broken hearts. But Draco felt nothing. Not relief. Not sadness. Only… emptiness.

The kind that made you question if maybe you were the problem after all.

He told himself it was better this way. He didn’t need love. He needed control. Focus. Legacy. Emotions were dangerous-they made you weak, vulnerable.

And Malfoys were never weak.

He buried the longing again, deeper this time. Smothered it beneath cynicism and perfectly tied ties. He let the world believe he was fine.

But part of him wondered, quietly, if maybe the rule was right.

Maybe the first love is supposed to hurt. Maybe it's supposed to show you what isn't right-so that, someday, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll recognize what is.

-

If Pansy had been fire-blazing and demanding-then Astoria was ice. Cold, calm, and composed in a way that unnerved Draco more than he cared to admit.

He hadn’t meant to fall into something with her. In truth, he wasn’t sure he ever did. Their relationship had begun as a series of polite conversations. Shared silences in the library. Nods of understanding in the corridors. She was elegant in that effortless way that came from old money and centuries of breeding. Regal without trying. Disarming in her quiet intellect.

Where Pansy had clung to him like armor, Astoria kept her distance. She never fussed over him in public, never called him by pet names, never demanded his time. She offered him something different-an illusion of peace. A reprieve from the noise.

For a time, that was enough.

He liked the way she didn’t ask too many questions. The way she didn’t expect him to bleed emotion into her hands. With Astoria, he could pretend. Pretend he was healing. Pretend he was growing. Pretend he was whole.

Their relationship was... civilized. Safe. Measured in coffee spoons and mutual silence.

She never tried to fix him. She simply existed beside him.

But love-real love-was never built on absence. And Draco began to realize that calm, while comforting, could also be cold.

There were moments he’d search her eyes for warmth, for something deeper. Moments when he ached to reach past the porcelain mask and ask, Do you feel this too? But Astoria was an enigma, and her heart was a locked room with no key in sight.

He respected her, admired her poise, even liked her in a distant, unreachable way. But he didn’t feel set alight by her presence. She didn’t make his world tilt or his blood rush. With her, everything felt like waiting. Like watching the rain through a window but never stepping outside.

And maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t want a relationship that felt like silence.

He wanted someone who’d make him feel again-fiercely, terribly, honestly. Someone who could look past the ghosts and shadows and call his soul back from wherever he’d buried it.

Their end wasn’t dramatic. There were no screaming matches, no accusations. Just two people who had never truly reached one another.

“I think we both knew this wasn’t forever,” she had said one evening, as they sat in a quiet corner of the manor garden.

Draco nodded. He felt it too. A gentle unraveling. A resignation.

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t broken. But he was starting to feel the wear of searching.

First, Pansy. Now Astoria.

Both pure-blooded. Both perfect on paper.

Both… not enough.

There was a rule he once scoffed at-a whisper passed through dormitories and tear-streaked pillowcases.

The third one is the one.

He almost laughed at the thought. If that were true, then the next girl would be the one who undid him. The one who slipped past his defenses, saw every scar, and didn’t flinch. The one who might finally bring him to life.

And that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

Because falling once had burned. Falling twice had frozen him. And a third fall?

It might just shatter him completely.

-

He hadn’t meant to notice you. Not really.

You weren’t the loudest in the room, nor the most cunning. You didn’t cling to power or posture the way others did in Slytherin's green-draped halls. But you were there-a quiet presence that somehow felt louder than the rest.

Where Pansy was fire and Astoria was ice, you were something entirely different.

You were the in-between. The kind of warmth that didn’t burn but lingered, soft and steady. The kind of voice that soothed instead of silenced. The kind of presence that felt like home.

It started with small things. The way you held the door a second longer for someone trailing behind. How your fingers lingered on your books, almost reverent, like knowledge was sacred. The way you’d smile at people-soft and genuine-even when they didn’t deserve it.

Draco noticed.

He noticed the way you sat with first-years when they looked scared. The way your eyes softened when someone shared something vulnerable. The way your laugh-quiet as it was-managed to settle something deep inside him. Something frayed. Something forgotten.

You didn’t look at him like he was a Malfoy.

You looked at him like he was just… Draco.

And that was more dangerous than anything.

He kept his distance at first, convincing himself it was just curiosity. A passing interest. You were a puzzle-a strange, steady force in a world full of noise. You didn’t flinch when he passed. Didn’t bat your lashes or try to win favor. If anything, you barely noticed him. And that made you even more intriguing.

Then one day, fate stepped in.

A shared detention, thanks to a charmed book gone rogue in the library. McGonagall’s punishment was fitting: clean the entire potions storeroom, shelves included, without magic.

You were already there when he arrived, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, determination written in the furrow of your brow. He’d expected complaint, attitude, maybe even tears.

What he got was laughter.

“I’ve always liked the way the ingredients smell,” you said, brushing dragon root dust off your hands. “Like something ancient. Powerful.”

Draco blinked. “You like cleaning potions jars?”

You looked over at him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, but I like the quiet. It's peaceful.”

It was the first real conversation you’d had, and it stuck with him long after the storeroom was spotless.

From then on, he found himself seeking you out-not in obvious ways, but enough. Sitting near you during study hours. Watching your reactions when someone told a joke. Listening to the way you spoke about magical theory like it was poetry.

You fascinated him.

Because you weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself. And somehow, that made you more powerful than any pure-blood name he’d ever known.

He tried to guard himself. He really did. He reminded himself of the rule-the one he’d once rolled his eyes at and now found himself circling like a storm: the third person you fall for is the one.

But this wasn’t love. Not yet.

It couldn’t be. Because love had rules. Love was dangerous. Love got you hurt.

And he was sure, absolutely sure, that whatever this was would fall apart just like the others had.

Except… it didn’t.

You didn’t demand him to change, but you made him want to. You didn’t fill silences with noise-you listened. Really listened. You didn’t treat him like a symbol, or a savior, or a project.

You just saw him.

The boy beneath the weight of his name. The one who still struggled. The one who still hoped.

And slowly, impossibly, he found himself unraveling in your hands.

Not all at once. But moment by moment. Look by look. Touch by hesitant, healing touch.

And maybe, just maybe… The third wasn’t the end. Maybe she was the beginning.

[kisshae]

            SLOW DIVE ♡ KIM CHAEWON

⸻ fruits of my labour, heart of my home.

you don’t remember when it started—only that it crept in like rain through the cracks. quiet, slow, patient. she looks at you like she’s waiting for something neither of you can say out loud.

&&르세라핌김채원` ୨ৎ 𝑓. reader✷6052WC𓂃𓈒 angst slight fluff non idol au ─── warnings kissing skinship internalized homophobia use of slurs (yes I can reclaim it.. I'm lesbian..)

the first time you see her, she’s standing at the edge of the field. the wind is strong that day—salt-heavy, sweeping over the stone walls and tugging at her dress like it’s trying to take her with it.

she doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch. her hands are tucked behind her back. her eyes fixed on something far off, maybe the sea. maybe nothing at all.

she doesn’t look at you. not then.

but something settled in your chest anyway. like a memory you haven’t lived yet.

jeju is quiet in the spring. the air smells like oranges and seawater, and the earth feels soft beneath your shoes. children run past you with bare feet and loud voices, but their joy never reaches this part of the village—this little pocket of silence where people know how to keep their heads down, to speak in half-whispers.

where girls like chaewon are expected to marry boys they barely know, and where love—if you dare call it that—has to live in glances and silences and nothing more.

later, you’ll wonder if she knew. if she felt it too.

even then.

you try to walk away before she does—before she might turn, before your eyes meet. but your foot clips the edge of something metal and forgotten.

a loud crash. a pail of water tips and spills onto the packed dirt, soaking your shoes. the water glides across the path in thin silver streaks before vanishing into the earth. you freeze. your breath catches. and then, you hear it—her steps. slow, certain.

panicked, you duck behind the nearest stone wall, the kind that lines every corner of the village. you crouch low, heart thudding too loudly in your ears, as if you're a child playing a game you forgot the rules to.

"hello?" her voice is soft, unsure. she's closer now. you can hear the metal scrape as she picks up the empty pail, the water long gone. "is someone there?"

you hold your breath. stones dig into your palms. the air is too still.

then, a shift. chaewon leans over the wall, fingers curled around the edge for balance. her eyes catch yours—wide, curious, not afraid. "...who are you?" there's no accusation in her tone. just surpris. maybe interest. "i've never seen you around before."

you stand too fast. dirt clings to your clothes, your pride even more. "it doesn't matter," you mutter, brushing at your pants like the gesture will erase everything. you turn from her before she can ask anything else and start down the narrow path that winds towards home. your steps are too quick, unsteady.

and then—

your foot catches on a loose rock, your body tilts forward, and before you can stop it, you're falling. the world tilts. your hand scrapes the ground, your cheek catches the edge of something sharp.

pain blooms. warm. thin.

you sit up, dazed. fingers pressed to your face. they come back red.

chaewon is there before you can move again. kneeling beside you. the pail still dangling from her hand. she sets it down and reaches out, her fingers just hovering—not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the question in them.

"you're bleeding," she says softly.

like it matters, like you matter.

you flinch at the sting before you even feel it.

her fingers are light, careful. she's holding a pale yellow handkerchief against your cheek, the cotton already streaked with blood. she presses it there, gently, like she's afraid you might break.

she's too close. you don't know where to look.

her eyes are brown—deep and sharp like wet bark after rain. and she smells like spring. like wildflowers and soap and something softer beneath it all. it's the kind of scent that makes your throat feel tight. make your heart twist with something you don't want to name.

this isn't how it's supposed to feel.

not with a girl.

not like this.

your fingers twitch against your pants. you're too close. too much. you want to pull away, but you can't move, not when her gaze is steady on you. and when she brushes the handkerchief against your cheek again, a soft, breathless motion that sends a shiver you can't stop, you feel heat rise in your chest.

you reach up without thinking. your hands wraps around her wrist—lightly, but firm enough to make her pause. "i'm fine," you say. your voice quiet, but it sounds too loud in the hush between you. "you don't have to.."

you don't finish.

chaewon doesn't move. her wrist rests in your grip, her eyes still on you. there's something unreadable there—not surprise, not concern, something else. something quieter.

"you're bleeding," she says again, like that's reason enough.

you release her wrist. she doesn't move away.

"if you don't clean it properly, it'll get infected," she adds after a moment. and then she stands, smooth and effortless, scooping the empty pail back up by its handle.

you open your mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to thank her—but she's already turning, walking back the way she came, steps steady along the dirt path. you sit there in the silence she leaves behind. the soft press of the handkerchief still clinging faintly to your cheek.

the wind brushes against you, light and cool. the sea murmurs below the hill, its voice distant and low. jeju always feels like it's holding its breath—half-asleep, half-listening.

you stare out across the rocks, your hands folded stiffly in your lap. there's nothing else to do. nothing to say. just the slow pulse of your heartbeat in your cheek and the warmth she left behind, lingering like the start of a fever you don't want to name.

you sit for a moment longer, hands still in your lap, the sea whispering just below the rocks. wind threads through your hair, pulling gently at the strands. the handkerchief lies on your knee, pale yellow streaked with red.

her red. your red.

you don't know what to make of it.

she said she'd be right back. she said it like a promise.

you could wait. you probably should.

but your chest feels too tight, like your ribs are curling inward. something hot and sick is blooming behind your throat. it's not the pain. not the sting on your cheek or the scrape on your palms.

it's the way she looked at you.

like she cared.

you shift forward slightly, hands brushing against your knees, and rise to your feet. your legs are a little unsteady, but you don't stop. you don't look back.

the handkerchief slips from your lap and flutters to the dirt. you don't pick it up. you leave it behind.

the path home winds between low stone walls and narrow fields, all quiet and wide in the late afternoon sun. you walk fast, head down, like the wind might carry you off if you don't stay grounded. you cheek throbs with each step.

you press your fingers there. the blood's dried now, tacky against your skin. you should have waited. it would've been smarter. easier.

but you couldn't.

you didn't know what you would've done if she came back and looked at you like that again. like she saw something you were trying so hard to hide.

like she knew.

your fingers curl into fists. you've never been good at letting people close. not like that. not when it starts to feel like something sharp. something dangerous. you reach the edge of the field before the houses start. the wind shifts. you can still smell the sea. and under that, almost like memory: wildflowers. soap. something soft and clean.

you breath in and it catches in your throat.

you keep walking.

it's been weeks since you last saw her.

you thought the feeling would fade—whatever it was that settled in your chest that day, heavy and unsure. it hasn't. not really.

you've kept busy. everyone does, this time of year. there's water to carry, baskets to weave, fires to keep burning. some days you help your grandmother wash the vegetables she brings back from the fields, bent over a wooden basin, hands cold and pruned from the water.

your hands are deep in the water, fingertips pale and pruned. the chill of the basin has long since sunk into your bones. cabbage leaves float like torn cloth, tugged gently by the current of your movements. you try not to let your thoughts drift. but they do.

they always do.

back to her.

your grandmother sits across from you, bent at the waist, pulling weeds from a basket of radishes. her movements are practiced, deliberate, but today there's a slight stiffness to them. a hesitation.

you watch her for a beat before asking, "grandma... do you know the girl who moved here a while ago?"

she doesn't look up. "what girl?"

"chaewon," you say, quietly, like the name might do something if you say it too loud. "I think that's her name."

another pause.

your grandmother's hands still just for a second. then, with a long exhale, she resumes peeling the radishes. "you'd do well to stay away from her," she says.

you blink. "why?"

"because she's one of those."

the words come sharp. clipped. and even though you don't know exactly what they mean, your shoulders tense anyway.

"one of what?"

"girls like that," she says. "quiet. strange. doesn't look boys in the eye. always off by herself. always watching." she doesn't say it with curiosity. it's not wonder or confusion in her voice—it's something colder. thinner. something you've only heard in whispers.

you don't speak. you let the silence press into the cracks.

your grandmother reaches for another radish, then adds, as if it's nothing: "a dyke, they say."

and the word drops like a stone in the basin. you flinch—not because you understand, not entirely. not yet. but because of how she says it. like it's a bruise. like it's a curse. you don't know what the word means in full. not in the way she wants you to understand it. not in the way that's meant to shame.

but it stays with you. it clings to your skin. it echoes somewhere behind your ribs, in that strange part of your chest that still remembers the way chaewon touched you—gently, like you were made of something soft.

and you think: she didn't feel dangerous. she didn't feel wrong.

she felt like spring.

like wildflowers and warm hands and something you didn't have a name for yet. your fingers sink deeper into the basin. your cheeks burn, and not just from the cold.

"don't talk to her again," your grandmother says, voice quiet now. final.

you nod. not because you agree.

but because you don't trust your voice to stay steady.

the basin ripples with your movement. one of the leaves slips beneath the surface and disappears. and all you can think about is how her hand had cupped your cheek. how she didn't flinch when she touched you.

the rest of the day moves like fog.

you help bring in the drying herbs. sweep the floor of the storehouse. tie bundles of rice straw with tired fingers. everything smells like sun and soil, but it all feels dull—like the air's gone too thick to breathe properly.

you don't say anything, not even when someone asks if you're feeling alright. you just nod. smile, even. but it doesn't quite reach.

you eat dinner in silence, the soup going cold in your bowl. your grandmother hums softly as she folds napkins beside you. it's like nothing happened. like those words didn't stick to the roof of your mouth like ash.

and when the stars come out and the air cools, you don't go to bed.

you walk.

the path by cliffs is quieter at night. the wind tastes like salt, and it pulls at your sleeves like it's known you've been keeping something in. the moon hangs heavy above the sea, stretched wide over the waves like a secret. and you keep walking, boots dragging along the dirt, heart pulling you toward something you won't name.

you don't mean to look for her.

you don't.

but you round the bend past the shrine tree, and there she is. far off. just a glimpse. like something the island's conjured up on its own.

chaewon.

she's by the water, standing barefoot on the rocks with her shoes tucked neatly beside her. her white skirt flutters with the breeze. her arms are loose at her sides, fingers brushing the air like she's feeling for something she can't see.

you freeze. your breath catches. you're too far to call out, and even if you weren't, you wouldn't know what to say. not after everything.

not after that word.

not after how your heart had twisted when she touched you.

so you just stand there.

watching her.

and you don’t understand why your chest aches the way it does. or why the sight of her—so still, so quiet, so there—makes your throat burn.

you should turn around. you know that.

but your feet don’t move.

she steps forward, just slightly, like she’s testing the tide with her toes. and for a second you wonder if she knows you're watching. if she can feel it. the way your gaze keeps catching on the curve of her spine, the way her shoulders rise and fall like she’s sighing through her whole body.

and you think: maybe she’s lonely too.

you should walk away. you know you should. your grandmother's voice still lingers like smoke in your lungs—don't talk to her again—sharp and bitter, something final tucked beneath her breath.

but chaewon turns around, when her eyes catch yours through the blue dusk, the whole island goes still. she raises her hand in a soft, slow wave. like it's the most natural thing in the world. like she knew you'd be here.

and for a moment, you hesitate. your feet rooted in place, heart tangled between guilt and want. the sea crashes behind her in a steady rhythm, and it sounds like it's calling you closer.

you take a step. then another.

and before you can think better of it, you're standing beside her, close enough to see the wind tugging at the loose strands of her hair, the curve of her cheek lit by moonlight.

she turns her head towards you. her expression is unreadable, soft around the edges. "didn't think anyone else came out here this late."

you swallow. "I was just...strolling."

she lifts a brow. "strolling?"

“mm.” you nod, eyes flicking out to the ocean—anywhere but her. “just needed some air.”

chaewon doesn’t say anything right away. she just tilts her head, studying you. and then— “you were watching me.”

you blink. “what—no, i wasn’t—”

“you were,” she says, voice light, almost amused. “i felt it. before i even saw you.”

heat crawls up the back of your neck, your hand already reaching to rub at the skin there like that’ll ground you somehow. “i wasn’t watching you,” you lie, and it’s a bad one. “i was watching the sea.”

chaewon hums. “must be a very captivating sea, then.”

you risk a glance at her. she’s not smiling exactly, but there’s a curve to her lips that feels dangerous anyway. the kind of look that makes your chest ache. the kind that unravels something slow and tender inside you.

“you always this jumpy?” she asks, gently nudging your elbow with hers.

“only when i’m being accused of stalking strangers by the ocean,” you mumble, which makes her laugh—soft and real and sudden.

you don’t know what to do with that sound. so you tuck your hands into your sleeves and look back out at the horizon, heart knocking against your ribs like it wants to escape.

chaewon lets the quiet settle again. the wind brushes past both of you, smelling like salt and memory. and even with the whole island between you and home, this moment feels closer than anything has in weeks.

finally, she says, “you left pretty fast last time.”

your breath hitches. “you were bleeding,” she adds, “and then you weren’t there.”

you don’t know what to say. you think of the way your fingers had curled around her wrist. the look on her face when you said you didn’t need help. how she’d come back for you and found nothing but an empty wall and a stain on a handkerchief.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, because it’s the only thing you can give.

she nods, slowly. “you don’t have to be.”

but you are. for running. for feeling. for wanting her in a world that told you not to.

she looks over at you again, and this time her gaze is softer. searching. “does your cheek still hurt?”

you touch the spot without thinking, fingers ghosting over the place where her hand had been. it’s healed, mostly. but it’s not the wound that aches anymore.

“no,” you say. “not really.”

and she just nods again, eyes drifting out to the water, like she’s letting you keep your quiet. like she already understands the parts of you that you’re too afraid to name.

the two of you fall quiet again. not the kind of silence that begs to be broken—but the kind that stretches. holds.

the sea roars below, steady and endless, but it fades beneath the thrum of your pulse, the heat of her shoulder a breath away from brushing yours. and when you glanced sideways, you catch the way the wind lifts a strand of her hair, sweeping it across her cheek.

without thinking, your hand twitches—like you might tuck it back for her.

you stop yourself. you dig your nails in your palms and look away. "this place feels different at night," you say, just to say something. anything. "lonelier."

chaewon hums beside you, like she knows what you mean. "sometimes I like the quiet," she says. "it makes things easier."

"easier?"

she nods, eyes still fixed on the dark line of the sea. "when it's quiet, people leave you alone. they stop asking things they don't really want the answers to."

you don't say anything to that. because you understand. you understand more than you want to.

"they talk about you, you know." you say before you can stop yourself. "the others."

chaewon doesn't flinch. her mouth just presses into a line. "I know."

you bite your lips, feeling suddenly cold despite the breeze. "they don't know anything."

she turns to you, really looks at you. "do you?"

the question stuns you. it's not accusatory—it's quiet, careful. like she's offering you a way out, if you want. but you don't take it. you can't.

"no," you say, voice soft. "I think I'm still trying to figure it out."

chaewon nods. doesn't push. just lifts her eyes back to the sea, the wind picking up around you both again. "I don't mind if you don't talk to me," she says after a beat. "if that's what they want. I won't take it personal."

your throat tightens. "but I want to."

the words fall before you can catch them, soft and breaking. and she turns to you again, slowly—like she's trying to see past everything you're not saying. you can't hold her gaze. not for long. but when she nudges your shoulder this time, it's gentler. like a promise.

"then stay." she says.

just that. simple.

you don't move. not yet. but your throat feels tight again, and your heart is stammering in your chest.

you clear your throat. "you—shouldn't say things like that."

chaewon lifts an eyebrow. "like what?"

"like that." you gesture vaguely, not trusting yourself to look at her. you turn your face toward the wind instead, hoping it might cool the heat rising under your skin. "people might get the wrong idea."

there's a pause. just for a second. then she exhales, a soft laugh tucked into it. "or maybe the right one," she murmurs.

you glance at her, startled. she's already walking, stepping towards the edge of the rocky shore. the water glints in the fading light—silver and deep and cold.

“what are you doing?” you ask, voice sharper than you mean it to be.

she glances over her shoulder, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “getting in.”

“it’s freezing. you’ll get sick.”

“so?” she wades in a little deeper, letting the water lap against her calves. “it’s only cold if you think about it.”

you scoff, but it’s half-hearted. “that’s not how it works.”

chaewon turns fully then, water swirling around her legs, hair dampened slightly by the mist. she smiles at you—something teasing and quiet and too beautiful for how your chest is aching.

“come on,” she says, holding a hand out toward you. “just for a minute.”

you shake your head. “i’m not like you.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you bite the inside of your cheek. everything. it means everything, and nothing you can say out loud.

instead, you just mutter, “i don’t belong here.”

chaewon doesn’t move. doesn’t drop her hand. “neither do i,” she says. “but that’s not always a bad thing.”

the wind gusts again, lifting your hair, tugging at your sleeves. her hand is still there. still waiting.

and for a moment, just a moment—you want to take it.

you almost do.

but then you think of your grandmother’s voice. the way she wouldn’t say the word but meant it all the same. she’s one of those.

you take a step back instead. not far, just enough.

chaewon doesn’t say anything this time. just drops her hand and turns back to the sea.

she doesn't wait for you to answer.

one moment, she's standing in the sea—water lapping around her knees, wind pulling at her shirt, eyes glinting in that almost-dusk-light—and the next, she's coming back around toward you, steps splashing and certain.

"what—chaewon," you start, already stepping back, "I said no—"

but she's grinning now, something wild and soft in the corners of her mouth. "come on," she says again, like she didn't hear you, or maybe just doesn't care. "just live a little."

"you're going to get me in trouble," you say, voice sharp but breathless.

"you're already in trouble," she replies, reaching for you.

you don't get the chance to step away. not really. she catches your wrist and tugs, and suddenly you're stumbling forward, feet slipping on wet rock, shoes half-sinking into the sand—everything off-balance and dizzy and real.

the water is cold, sharp as glass where it touches your skin, soaking through the hem of your pants as you wade in, but her hand is still wrapped around yours, grounding you, holding you steady.

you laugh. you don't mean to.

it's startled, breathless, the kind that bubbles out before you can stop it—and chaewon's smile breaks wide when she hears it.

"see?" she says, tugging you a little deeper. the water's at your thighs now, salt clinging to your skin. "not so bad."

"you're crazy.' you mutter, but it's without bite. you're still holding her hand.

chaewon shrugs, eyes catching yours again. "maybe."

the two of you just stand there for a moment—waves swaying around your legs, the sky going darker, the air thick with the smell of seaweed and something warmer beneath it. her fingers tighten slightly around yours, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you she's there.

you should let go. you know you should. but your hand doesn't move. and neither does hers.

"I haven't seen you around lately," she says, voice softer now.

"i've been busy."

"avoiding me?"

you look down. the water swirls around your knees. your shoes are ruined, and your heart is loud in your chest.

"no," you lie.

she hums. not like she believes you. but she doesn't push.

"you looked cold." she says instead, brushing a strand of hair from your face with her free hand. the touch is gentle, almost reverent. "now you're freezing."

"thanks to you."

"you needed it." chaewon's smile slips a little, turns quieter. "you're always so tense. like you're scared of yourself."

that makes you stiffen. your fingers twitch against hers—but you still don't pull away.

"you don't know anything about me."

"maybe not." she glances out toward the open water, where the waves curl soft against the rocks. "but you're still here."

your breath catches. because she's right.

you are.

standing in ankle-deep in cold sea foam with her hand in yours and your heart in your throat and nothing makes sense, not really—but it's the freest you've felt in a long time.

maybe ever.

chaewon doesn't say anything else. she just lets the silence hold. and even when you finally let your hand slip from hers, even when you turn toward the shore again, something lingers. salt, warmth, the ghost of her fingers brushing yours.

something you're still too afraid to name.

it's late afternoon, and the heat hasn't let up.

the sun hangs low but heavy, turning the air syrupy. the cicadas have been screaming for hours, and even the breeze has gone still. everything feels so slow, sweat-drenched, endless.

you and chaewon sit on the wooden steps just outside her house—shoulder-to-shoulder, legs side by side, your knees barely not touching. the popsicles drip down your fingers faster than you can eat them. hers is lime. yours is strawberry.

neither of you is really talking.

the cicadas fill the silence. so do the birds. so does your heartbeat.

your shirt clings to your back. the back of your neck is damp. you can feel the warmth of her thigh brushing yours every time she shifts, just slightly, like she's trying not to move too much. and still—still—you feel it.

chaewon brings her popsicle to her lips again, and when her tongue flicks against it, slow and absentminded, your throat goes dry. “hot,” she mutters eventually, licking a bead of melted juice off her wrist. “think i’m melting.”

you nod, eyes trained on the red stain creeping toward your own knuckles. “you get used to it,” you murmur. “summer’s worse.”

“i like summer.”

“why?”

she shrugs, that same easy kind of smile tugging at her mouth. “i like things that feel like they’ll never end.”

you glance at her then, and immediately wish you hadn’t. her skin glows under the sunlight—bronzed, freckled, a little dewy—and her eyes are on the sky now, squinting just slightly. like she’s not saying what she really means.

you swallow. your popsicle drips onto your skirt. you don't wipe it away.

"people talk too much in the summer," you say quietly. "they get restless. say things they shouldn't."

chaewon's gaze flicks to you, but she doesn't say anything right away. just lets the silence stretch again. lets it simmer. and when she finally speaks, it's barely a whisper.

"do you think they're right?" you don't ask who she means.

you already know.

you keep your eyes on the dirt path in front of you. you don't trust yourself to look at her. "I think people are scared of what they don't understand," you say. "and they call that wrong."

she hums. "what if it's not wrong?"

you don't answer. you can't.

not when the world feels like a burn on your tongue. not when your grandmother's voice still echoes in your ears. not when chaewon's arm is brushing yours and your whole body is humming with it.

you finish your popsicle. toss the stick into the bushes.

chaewon doesn't move.

"you're quiet again," she says after a while.

"I don't know what to say."

"you never do."

that should sting. but it doesn't. not coming from her. not when her voice is still soft. not when she's still sitting beside you like this—close enough to touch, close enough to ruin you. the cicadas scream louder. a bird calls out somewhere in the trees. and you wish, not for the first time, that you were someone braver.

you don’t realize how long it’s been since either of you spoke until chaewon shifts beside you, the wooden step creaking beneath her. you glance over, and her face is already turned toward you, eyes soft, unreadable.

her hand brushes against yours—the one you’d left resting behind you for balance. just a touch. barely there.

but it sends a pulse up your arm, hot and startling.

you go still. you can’t help it.

“can i…” her voice trails off before she finishes the question. but she doesn’t have to.

you know what she’s asking. she’s closer now. and it’s all over her face.

that question you’ve been too scared to ask yourself. that possibility you’ve buried, over and over again. and yet— here it is.

you stare at her. then, slowly—so slowly—you nod.

she doesn’t move right away. just looks at you like she’s waiting for the earth to split open beneath you both. when it doesn’t, she leans in. her hand grazes your cheek first—gentle, trembling—and then her lips are on yours.

it’s soft. almost too soft.

like she’s still afraid you’ll pull away. like she’s still afraid you’ll break.

you freeze—not because you don’t want it. not because it’s wrong. but because your body doesn’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness. not from a girl. not like this.

and still—

her lips taste like lime. like sugar. like summer, sweet and dizzying and too much all at once.

you feel the gloss she reapplied earlier, sticky-soft against your mouth. her hand is cradling the back of your neck now, steady, sure. like she’s trying to make it okay. like she wants this to be okay.

you don’t remember when you closed your eyes. you just know that, when the kiss deepens, you’re still there.

still kissing her back.

still chasing the warmth of her lips and the way she breathes into the space between you. still pretending—for just a second—that this could be simple.

when she finally pulls away, your heart’s still beating in your throat. chaewon doesn’t say anything. just rests her forehead against yours, breath caught in the space between you both.

you don’t say anything either. you can’t. because whatever just happened—it’s cracked something open. and you don’t know if you’re ready to look at it yet.

chaewon's breath hitches in her throat just before your lips meet again, and this—you're not scared. this time, you lean in fully, almost hungrily, drawn to her warmth like you've never been before. she tastes like lime again, but it's different now—deeper, softer. her fingers curl at the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if she's trying to hold you in this moment forever.

just as your lips press together, something sharp stabs through the air—footsteps. heavy. fast. angry.

chaewon tense, pulling back in an instant, her eyes wide, confused. and before you can even open your mouth to explain—your grandmother's there.

you freeze.

her gaze locks on you both, eyes hard and fierce like a storm waiting to break. the wind seems to stop, the world slowing down in that dreadful moment.

you don’t even have time to react before she’s storming toward you—her hands like iron on your arm, pulling you away from chaewon as though you were nothing more than a doll she was yanking around.

“what is this?” her voice is sharp, demanding. it’s not a question—it’s an accusation.

you stand frozen, caught between the warmth of chaewon’s touch and the suffocating grip of your grandmother’s. your throat goes dry. your pulse pounds in your ears. you feel your heartbeat in your fingertips and your knees. and you want to speak, to explain—but your voice feels locked in place.

chaewon’s face falls. you can’t look at her.

your grandmother pulls you further away, forcing you to walk backward. her grip on your arm doesn’t loosen, and every step feels like she’s dragging you away from something you can’t even name.

“answer me!” she snaps, her voice shaking with fury. “did she force you into this? did she make you—touch her like that? did she—”

“no,” you whisper, the word slipping out without thinking, like a lie that’s meant to numb you. “no… she didn’t.”

chaewon’s eyes are wide with hurt, confusion—betrayal. and you can’t stand it. you can’t stand it, but you keep nodding. keep lying.

no—she didn’t force me. but this is the lie that’ll keep us safe.

"you're not okay," your grandmother growls, her voice low and furious now. "she’s no good for you. you’re not to see her again. do you understand?"

chaewon’s lips part as if she wants to say something. but the words don’t come.

she doesn’t speak. she just watches you, standing behind the wooden gates of her house.

and it hurts. hurts in a way that makes you dizzy.

you want to look at her. you want to apologize. you want to scream that it’s not her fault. that she never did anything wrong. but instead, you keep your gaze fixed on the dirt path ahead, barely able to breathe through the lump in your throat.

“you’re not going back there,” your grandmother continues, her grip never once loosening. “not to that girl.”

you nod again. again. because that’s the only thing you can do.

chaewon doesn’t fight it. she doesn’t try to follow. she doesn’t call after you. but you can feel her eyes burning into your back as you’re pulled further down the path.

and you don’t know how to make sense of any of it.

the first snow falls quietly.

thin at first—just dust on the rooftops and the rocks—but it thickens as the wind picks up. the village is quiet now. quieter than usual. it's a kind of silence that makes every sound louder than it is. your boots crunch on the frozen dirt path as you walk, arms pulled close to your body, scarf pulled up to your nose. the cold stings at your cheeks. your breath fogs in front of you.

you hadn't meant to walk this way. you tell yourself that every time.

but your feet always know where to go. even after all these months.

chaewon’s house sits at the top of the hill still—except it isn’t hers anymore.

the gate is left open, swinging with the breeze. the windows are shuttered, the porch swept clean. nothing lingers of her. not the pale blue blanket she used to hang out to dry. not the little pots of wildflowers. not her laugh echoing off the stone.

just the house.

just the memory of her.

you stop at the gate, hands buried deep in your coat pockets. your eyes linger on the steps where you sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder. where she kissed you with lime on her lips. where you let her believe you didn’t want her at all.

you can still hear her voice sometimes. “then stay.” like it had been so simple. like the world would’ve let you.

the guilt twists somewhere low in your stomach, slow and familiar. it hasn’t gone away. it probably never will.

you don’t know where she went.

you’d heard whispers—that her family left for seoul. that they couldn’t stay here. not after everything. not after you.

your grandmother never spoke of her again. and you never asked. you don’t know what you would even say if you saw her again. sorry doesn’t feel like enough. it never did. you take a step back from the gate.

snow begins to collect in the creases of the stone wall beside you. this was the first place you saw her. the first place she looked at you like she knew.

and now it’s just empty.

your fingers curl into fists in your pockets. your breath hitches, just once. then you turn. you keep walking. you don’t look back. but god—you wish she hadn’t left.

you wish you had said something. anything. held her hand a little tighter. kissed her like you meant it. let yourself stay.

but you didn't. and now winter has taken her place. your footsteps fade into the snow, slow and steady. the cold bites at your skin, but you don't flinch. not this time. you keep walking, one foot after the other, like that will make you forget.

you never said goodbye. maybe that's why it still hurts.

maybe it always will.

[zepskies]

Okaaaay, time to dive back into one of my favorite series! 💛💛

Soldier Boy. Each memory that had come to you in the dead of night felt like a warning. A warning to watch out. A warning to keep your guard up. A warning to see the monster underneath the charming disguise. The gentle smile, the quiet manners, the warmth of his voice – it was all a façade. A beautiful, well-crafted mask. His kindness was a lie, and the nightmares were proof.

Oof, this is so scary but ingenious narratively. It's like her powers are coming back online subconsciously, giving her the Ghost of Christmas past, present, and future all in one. 😬 But the fact that it's all tied to Soldier Boy/Ben is really interesting as far as what her heart and powers may be trying to tell her...

And also the fact that she's seeing all the worst bits of Soldier Boy's life and his actions makes it that much more powerful that she falls in love with Ben anyway (the young version of him at least), and makes you hold out hope for the future version of him, if he can be redeemed. 🥲

You had to get the fuck out of here, or the mansion would become your goddamn tomb. Museum to mausoleum.

Again, freakin' loved this bit! 😭

You couldn’t escape. You couldn’t let him see. You had to play your part. You had to survive.

Your gaze dropped to his hands, large and mighty – the same hands that would be covered in so much blood in the future you weren’t sure he could ever wash it off.

See, the blood part should stop me, but now you have me thinking about his "large and mighty" hands 🤤

As you neared the steel mill, large clouds of black smoke billowed high into the sky. The ground around the factory was covered in soot and ash. In the distance, you could hear the whistling of trains, passing on the railroad tracks close by. The grit and grime of industrialism. [...] The only thing that came close to describing a place like this was Hell.

lol I still love this description so much! Really makes me feel like I'm there, inhaling smoke *cough cough* 😮‍💨

“Ben,” was all you said – a mindful warning. He lifted his hand but didn’t retrieve it to its entirety – hovering. Looming. “I’m just looking out for you. This place is a little dangerous for a woman. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.” “I’m fine,” you replied with a firm tone. “I’ll stay close.”

Aww I feel for both of them in moments like these. He's just trying to be a gentleman and watch out for her, but she's basically traumatized by his future self. 😭

The office stood in stark contrast to the steel mill itself and reminded you of a miniature version of the mansion’s study – a massive and antique mahogany desk taking over the entire space, leather chairs, and blueprints and photographs of the mill in its prime on the walls around you.

Aside from this lovely description of the office, I always love a mention of a mahogany desk. I feel like there's something they can (eventually) do to break that in 😏

“Yeah, uh, my father wants to get the government contract, but our competitors are making it tough,” Ben said.

Oooh something tells me he's going to get that government contract 🫢

“Alright, what’s the formula for profit?” you shot right back. Expectedly, Ben blinked at you quite cluelessly. “Can you do a production function?” Again, silence. “Do you know what marginal costs are? Economies of scale? The law of diminishing returns?” “Of course I know what it is,” he huffed with an arrogant role of his eyes.

ahahaa of course you do, sweetie. Real convincing 😆😆

Again, I love how you illustrate her intelligence in this chapter! From physics to economics to finance, this girl's a triple-quadruple threat of brilliance in a "man's world," but at least Ben begrudgingly admires her for it lol

Exhibit A:

And Ben? Ben just took it. Resigned. Knew he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do anything. Knew he needed you. Knew you held all the cards. Knew you had the leverage. And he? Well, he had nothing. Not really.

You loved teaching. This was what you were supposed to do: Teaching physics classes as a professor to college kids, who were not only smart enough to understand you but also deserved to learn.

Also again, I so love that she's a teacher!! 😍

Though I felt so sorry for Charlie in this chapter, the way Ben was so condescending and mean in his jealousy. 😭 Though this scene really highlights that this young Ben isn't just an "AU Dean," how he's sometimes characterized in fics in the '40s. He's not quite so good-hearted at his core and has had a lot of negative influence on his character by his father.

“I guess…” He contemplated for a moment, thought about his answer carefully. “For reminding you of him. Especially today.” You nodded, gifting him a small smile that he returned. “Thank you for helping me, you know? Was real nice of you. Even when you’ve been kind of a… dick about it.” He tossed you a small grin at the four-letter-word. You snorted a loud chuckle, your cheeks turning red. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I pretended all day I had a dick.” Ben’s grin widened, sharing your laugh. “Oh, I could feel that.” “Bet you did. It’s real big.” Your smirk was downright audacious. So much so, you could see his cheeks blushing.

LMFAO. I love her so much. 🤣🤣 But I'm so glad he apologized here. Just like the previous part of the scene highlighted how we potentially get from here to Soldier Boy, this showed the difference between who he is now and who he'll become. He's still capable of self-reflection, sympathy, caring, and a genuine apology. 💚

Maybe you should’ve listened to Butcher. Soldier Boy would probably forgive you for a simple attempt on his goddamn life before he’d fucking forgive you for this. Killing him seemed kinder in comparison. Nicer. Less fucking crazy.

hahaha reminds me of SB's quip for her to go ahead and try to kill him. 😂

“Tell me one thing,” you said, interrupting the comfortable silence between you two. “What would make you happy? I mean really happy. Forget about all the money and your father and everything else. What’s your happy place?”

Awww I love that she asks him this. 🥹 Though I have a feeling that he asks for hers first because he doesn't know his own answer just yet.

“I guess… Paris. I’d wanna live in Paris. Go roller skating in the Louvre at night. Boop Mona Lisa’s nose.”

ehehe I love this too! She's so cute here 😂 I hope she eventually gets to do this with Ben in the present/future, if/when they're able to make their relationship work by then 😬

“I guess I just found mine,” he said, the raspy voice only a quiet whisper.

God, I just can't stay mad at this guy 😭😭

“Ben, I–” You swallowed heavily, shaking your head. Looking at him would’ve only broken your resolve. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

nonononononoooooo!!! (But I understand her hesitation 😢)

But you were. You were fucking sorry. This should’ve never happened. This line should’ve never been crossed. You took it too fucking far. Not because you didn’t like him or shouldn’t like him, but because you fucking did. You did, you did, you did…

Oh Godddd you're giving me BMD flashbacks lolll. The reader there has a similar moment of "I should hate you so much but I don't [anymore]." 😭😭

“What happened to ‘Ben, I can’t’? You know, if you start begging, it’s gonna do even less to stop me, sweetheart,” he taunted you with a deep chuckle that you felt rumbling through his chest. “Ben, I’m serious…” “So am I.” He claimed your lips before you could argue further. Without hesitation. Without a second thought. Without regrets. He kissed you deeply. Not a brush. Not a test. Not a question. Only raw hunger.

Just amazing, Wayne!! My rom-com heart was singing 😍😍😍

I loved this entire scene so much! She so desperately doesn't want to give in, and you really feel that rawness from both of them, how much they want each other despite the fact that he still doesn't understand her, and she can't let him. But it really does feel like she's slipping past the point of no return now 😏

But I'm so glad he backed off immediately when she made a firm "no." Her warning is soooo valid, and the "What if you stayed?" is gonna haunt both of them, if in different ways and different times and places. 💔💔

But! I'm now even more excited (and scared 🥲) to see how you time warp her back into the future and deal with present-day Ben, and his dastardly plan...

Time After Time – Chapter 5

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language and canon-level violence, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, angst, sexism, smoking & drinking, jealousy, fluff, a steamy end

Word Count: 10.3k

Posted on Patreon March 28, 2025

A/N: Another monster of a chapter, but I love this one haha! Probably one of the steamiest first kisses I've ever written 🫠 PS: I'm still a little slow with everything. April sunk its teeth in me and refuses to let go 🙈 ✨ Chapter title comes from Casablanca (1942)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 5: We'll Always Have Paris

Your eyes snapped open, your entire body jolting awake as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on you. A violent gasp escaped your lips, your skin clammy, slick and sweat-drenched from head to curling toes.

Your pulse was a frantic beat in your throat, your heart thundering in your chest as your mind scrambled to catch up with the nightmare that still clawed at the edges of your consciousness.

The images were still all there – sharp and clear.

The hellish scenes of bloodshed – the brutality, the faces twisted in terror, the screams – felt like memories, raw and unrelenting. But they weren’t yours.

The bloodied and broken faces you’d witnessed were fragments, scattered pieces of time, fleeting and sharp. And they all had one thing in common:

Soldier Boy.

Each memory that had come to you in the dead of night felt like a warning. A warning to watch out. A warning to keep your guard up. A warning to see the monster underneath the charming disguise. The gentle smile, the quiet manners, the warmth of his voice – it was all a façade. A beautiful, well-crafted mask.

His kindness was a lie, and the nightmares were proof.

You flinched when the memory of Black Noir resurfaced in your mind. You couldn’t shake the images – the bones snapping with sickening cracks, the jagged screams, Soldier Boy’s cold and empty laughter. You could still hear the sizzling flesh and smell the melting skin when Soldier Boy burned half of Noir’s face off. The spray of blood and brain was so vivid, so hot, it blurred your vision. You felt the warmth of the blood on your skin as if it were your own two hands that had done the deed.

Then, there was Mindstorm and the sound of a skull cracking open as the shield hammered down – so sickeningly loud, it echoed in your bones. Soldier Boy’s body loomed like a shadow over the twisted limbs, no remorse or pity in his serpent green eyes, only cold, unyielding emptiness, stripped of all warmth and always waiting to strike anyone who dared to meet them.

And his proclaimed enemies weren’t the only ones. Men, women, children. The atrocities, the cruelty – acts too vile to speak of. And Soldier Boy didn’t care one bit about any of them, cold and impassive like it was just another casual affair.

It was always the same. He never hesitated.

The memories clung to you like chains. You were drowning in them. It was a kaleidoscope of horror that wove together a clear picture of the monster underneath the charm.

With shaking hands, you pushed your trembling body upright, gripping the bed like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. You had to remind yourself that it wasn’t you. Those weren’t your crimes, even though they felt like it, the nightmarish memories warping your perception.

How many had there been? How many more would there be?

Your gaze flicked to the door, your hair matted to your forehead. Dread filled the hollows of your heart at the thought of going downstairs. You couldn’t face him – not after everything you’d seen.

You had to get the fuck out of here, or the mansion would become your goddamn tomb.

Museum to mausoleum.

But what choice did you have? You’d already spent a week here and weren’t any closer to getting home. Instead, you’d gotten only closer to the enemy.

You couldn’t escape. You couldn’t let him see. You had to play your part. You had to survive.

On weak legs, you stumbled out of bed, washed the remnants of your dreams off your skin, and forced your feet to move downstairs.

Florence sent you straight to the sunroom to grab some coffee, not entertaining any other breakfast ideas of yours this morning. But you weren’t hungry anyways, your stomach still twisting into knots. The terror was seared into your mind.

“Hey.”

“Jesus fuck!” You flinched at the sound of his voice behind you, almost dropping the cup of brewing hot coffee in your grasp to the shining marble underneath your feet.

Ben chuckled warmly. “Well, good morning to you, too, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the haunting images from your mind. “Morning,” you muttered into your mug and swallowed a big gulp of coffee.

Ben’s brow knit, head tilting when he finally noticed the tension in your muscles. “You okay? You look-, uhm–” His hand reached for your shoulder in worry, but you pulled it back, bringing distance between you two.

“What happened to the no-touching rule?”

His hand dropped to his side, frown deepening. “Oh, uhm, I assumed we were past that since you–“

“Well, you know they say you shouldn’t assume things,” you cut in sharply.

“Did I-, uhm, do something to offend you?”

You scoffed internally. What didn’t he do?!

You glanced at Ben, seeing the confusion etched into the stern creases of his brow. Your gaze dropped to his hands, large and mighty – the same hands that would be covered in so much blood in the future you weren’t sure he could ever wash it off.

You still felt the sticky, scarlet wetness on yours. Could see the fear in their eyes. His victims.

“No, uhm, I’m fine,” you said, knowing you couldn’t blame the guy in front of you for something he hadn’t done yet. It didn’t mean you had to like him a lot, though, either. “It’s not you. Just didn’t sleep well. Bad dreams.”

“Plural, huh?”

“Yeah, plural,” you confirmed grimly. “Look, uhm, I think I’ll just go back upstairs. Not really hungry this morning.”

“Right…” Ben nodded and watched you head for the safety of your room. “Look, uhm, wait! Cindy?”

Right, that was you. Honestly, if you’d thought you’d be stuck here with him for this long, you would’ve thought of a better name.

Ben caught up with you in the hallway, and you could see in the determined gleam in his green eyes that he wouldn’t let this go – let you go. Of course. Why would he respect boundaries or personal space?

You didn’t say anything, only turned to face him and stared at him without trying to blink.

“I-, uh, I have to go into the office again today. Why don’t you come with me, huh?” he suggested. “You’ve already spent a week locked in here. Maybe you’re going a little stir-crazy.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. He honestly might have been onto something.

“I could show you around the factory. We could have lunch in town together after?”

Pondering his proposal, you crossed your arms and averted your eyes to your seesawing feet. You knew you couldn’t get plausibly out of this one without either offending him, causing more confusion, or making him question your entire existence even more.

“Sure,” you agreed after a beat. Maybe you’d find another kind stranger in town that you didn’t personally know in the future who could help you.

Maybe Hitler still had some space in his bunker for you.

“Okay, uhm, I’ll wait here for you while you get ready,” Ben told you.

“Great,” you replied wryly and headed for your room.

“Maybe opt for appropriate footwear today, sweetheart,” Ben joked – at least it was the attempt of one.

“Yeah, whatever you want,” came your deflated reply, accompanied by a deep sigh.

But you didn’t know Ben’s eyes stayed on you, on the way his shirt clung to your curves as you trudged up the stairs. You were still wearing it to sleep, had been the whole week, even when he was sure Ms. Vivian had given you plenty of other options.

And one thought stuck with him then: Maybe not all hope was lost.

As you neared the steel mill, large clouds of black smoke billowed high into the sky. The ground around the factory was covered in soot and ash. In the distance, you could hear the whistling of trains, passing on the railroad tracks close by.

The grit and grime of industrialism.

The air was thick with metal, oil, harmful fumes and chemicals as Ben led you inside the mill. PPE wasn’t a thing yet either, no masks or other protective gear for workers in place – unless you counted the leather gloves, hard hats, and steel-toed boots as an adequate safety measure against cancer.

The noise was deafening with the constant hammering of clanking steel and workmen shouting over the rumbling of enormous and intimidating machinery. The temperature on the factory floor was sweltering, especially when you passed a row of blast furnaces and molten steel pouring into molds.

The only thing that came close to describing a place like this was Hell.

And sure, a true and proper lady of the time would’ve been scared shitless here, but for you, a physicist and history buff, it was enthralling.

If the mansion was like the Museum of Natural History, the steel mill was its technical counterpart.

You’d been so in awe you hadn’t even noticed Ben had laid a palm between your shoulder blades, guiding you through the narrow paths. His protectiveness made your skin crawl.

“I will put you in the fucking ground. Understood?”

Soldier Boy’s threat to Black Noir rang in your ears. You stopped in your tracks, forcing him to find your eyes, and then gestured to the arm around you.

“Ben,” was all you said – a mindful warning.

He lifted his hand but didn’t retrieve it to its entirety – hovering. Looming. “I’m just looking out for you. This place is a little dangerous for a woman. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine,” you replied with a firm tone. “I’ll stay close.”

Ben accepted it with a nod, although you could tell by the clench of his jaw that he didn’t like it. You didn’t know exactly why he brought you here. Did he really just want you to get out of the house, impress you some more, or subtly scare you?

Frankly, you weren’t surprised you were channeling Black Noir’s memories, most of all. Being Soldier Boy’s newest victim of long-term abuse, you’d always related to the poor guy.

“You know how steel is made?” Ben asked you and flashed you a smile, cocky in nature.

Impressing you it was, then.

“Iron ore is molten in a blast furnace, which is then refined and poured into molds or rolled into sheets in the rolling mills,” you replied and tried to sound as casual as possible. Bored.

Good luck impressing me, fuckboi…

Ben blinked at you and shut up rather quickly afterward, ending the tour when you reached his father’s office upstairs, still offering a view of the factory floor below through a row of windows on one side.

The office stood in stark contrast to the steel mill itself and reminded you of a miniature version of the mansion’s study – a massive and antique mahogany desk taking over the entire space, leather chairs, and blueprints and photographs of the mill in its prime on the walls around you.

The room was a another symbol of authority and influence.

“So? What d’you think? Ever seen a place like this?” Ben asked as he sat down at his desk – or his father’s – while your eyes still curiously took in all the items in the room, trying to fit puzzle pieces together.

“Can’t say that I have,” you admitted, your gaze drifting out the window and to the hard working men below.

Before Ben could respond, the phone rang and demanded his attention. It didn’t take long for you to realize that on the other end of the line was his father.

“Look, I’m trying. They said–… Yes, sir. I apologize. I know it’s important. I–… Okay, yeah, I’ll try my best,” Ben said, barely getting a word in as far as you could tell.

The gritted smile he pressed onto his lips was painful enough for you to guess that his father’s answer had probably been something along the lines of “Your best isn’t fucking good enough, son.”

“Everything okay?” you checked when he hung up with a deflated sigh.

“Yeah, uh… Sorry you had to hear that,” he said with a clear of his throat and a smile that faltered before it reached his eyes.

“You guys need to increase production for the war, right?”

Your question took Ben by surprise, but mostly because he was constantly underestimating you – or any woman for that matter.

“Yeah, uh, my father wants to get the government contract, but our competitors are making it tough,” Ben said.

“What’s the problem?”

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you, sweetheart,” he brushed your question off with a condescending chuckle.

Internally, you cracked your knuckles. Nuh-uh. You wouldn’t let that fly.

“You’re not,” you replied, strolling closer to his desk, pointing a finger at the opened ledger in front of him. “Are those the production records? Can I see?”

“You can, but I don’t think you’ll be able to make much sense of them,” Ben said.

“Try me,” you challenged with a smirk and plopped down on the leather armchair opposite him.

Ben clicked his tongue, fingers briefly tapping on the mahogany before he passed the leather-bound ledger over to you. You felt his eyes burning holes into you as he watched you carefully go through it, page by page.

“Well,” you finally said after an eternity and put the ledger back down on the desk. “Short-term solution would be to optimize your production flow downstairs with a few simple adjustments – like rotating their shifts, upgrading machinery... Long-term, you’re facing increasing costs in both labor and raw materials, especially with upping production output. You should move quickly on capital. The war’s only gonna drive up inflation.”

Ben pursed his lips, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I-, uh, I’d already thought about all of that. Wasn’t sure it’d pay off, though.”

Your brow furrowed, somehow not quite believing him. “Well, did you calculate it?”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, just now… in my head.” You gave him a shrug of your shoulders.

“Right…” Ben nodded with a swipe of his tongue over his lips. “Well, so have I. Why don’t you show me on the chalkboard over there, and I can see if your results match mine, sweetheart.”

Your lips drew a smirk, folding your arms over your chest. “Did that little trick actually work for you in school?”

“No idea what you mean,” he tossed your way, smile full of false halos.

“Alright, what’s the formula for profit?” you shot right back. Expectedly, Ben blinked at you quite cluelessly. “Can you do a production function?” Again, silence. “Do you know what marginal costs are? Economies of scale? The law of diminishing returns?”

“Of course I know what it is,” he huffed with an arrogant role of his eyes.

“Really? What is it?” you returned wryly, causing him to stump and swallow. “‘Cause I don’t know myself. Would probably help if a man explained it to silly little me. Go on. Impress me. That’s what you want, right?”

Ben smacked his lips in clear defeat. “Fine, you win.”

“Alright,” you said and rose from your chair in triumph, strolling over to a chalkboard in the corner of the room. “Let’s start with the basics, shall we?”

Two hours in, you had kicked off your uncomfortable heels across the room. They flung right past Ben’s head in his palm, elbow resting on the arm of one of the leather chairs. He’d turned it to you as he lazily sat, bowed legs man-spread wide, watching the equations you’d drawn on the board.

But you didn’t know the jade green eyes were mostly fixed on the curve of your ass in that tight, maroon dress. On the zipper in the back of your neck he wanted to pull. On the hem of your skirt his fingers itched to hike up your thighs.

Only when you’d turn to face him every few minutes, would his gaze lift back to your drawings, your nonsensical scribbles, your sparkling eyes, pretending he wasn’t entirely distracted. Pretending he understood.

You could tell he didn’t entirely, though. But it didn’t matter.

“If you implement these changes, you could increase output by 36%, which is enough of the market share to beat out your competitors,” you explained. “You’re looking at an additional profit of roughly 3.5 million.”

“Hmm,” Ben hummed, satisfied. “Not bad for a year.”

“Oh, no, this is per month.”

“Per month?!”

“Yes, per month.” You grinned, smug and victorious, having him right where you wanted him – a ‘fuck you’ to the patriarchy. “Guess we’re even for the clothes, then.”

His tongue swept over his lips, eyes narrowed, head tilting a little more as he watched you closely. A smile rose. Intrigued. Amused. Maybe even a little affectionate.

“Guess we are, sweetheart.”

And you? Your little win made you fucking gloat – and spurred you on.

The two of you had one thing in common – a shared need not only to impress anyone who ever dared to wrong you, but to show you were better than them. Smarter. Capable.

Your parents had constantly underestimated you. Your teachers had. Vought had. Butcher had. And Soldier Boy had, too.

But when you’d hit, they’d never see it fucking coming.

You weren’t scared of Ben. Weren’t scared of this world or this time. Weren’t even scared of his father, because you knew, if push came to shove, you could get out. You could beat them. You could make them fear you.

In your own time, you were a supe among many. Here, right now, you were the only one.

Knowledge was fucking power, no matter what shape it came in.

“How old are those furnaces? They don’t seem very energy-efficient,” you noted, sauntering over to the row of windows, watching the men work down below on the factory floor.

They were hardened and worn. Their skin was dirtied with soot. Sweat beaded along their foreheads in rivulets under their hard hats and dripped down their cheeks and necks. Their muscles were strained with each hit of a hammer and each heave of a steel beam.

Those guys were, what Soldier Boy had coined, real men.

And you respected them for it. Unlike the spoiled brat behind you, who’d only scoffed in amusement and said, “Are you kidding?” when you’d asked him if he had ever worked on the factory floor before.

“Well, they’re not the newest, but they work fine,” Ben replied, scratching the nape of his neck.

“Well, you don’t have to get new ones, but you can upgrade them,” you remarked. “Your cooling off period is too long. If you better insulate the furnaces, they can retain heat longer. Might also wanna make sure ventilation and airflow is sufficient. This way, you can reduce downtime and produce more. Faster, too.”

“And how would I do that?”

Smacking your lips, you contemplated for a moment. You could explain it to him, but you knew he wouldn’t understand it. “You got a head engineer here?” Slowly, unsurely, doubtfully, he nodded. “Great. Can you get him for me, please?”

Ben leaned back in his chair, lips pursed, considering your request. Considering you.

Then, he nodded again and rose from his seat with a heavy sigh, trudging toward the door.

“Oh, and Ben?” His eyes met yours. You sent him a smile, smug and utterly pleased. Innocent. “Can you also grab some food, please? I’m starving. All this thinking is making me hungry, and I skipped breakfast this morning.”

He licked his lips, rolled the bottom one between his teeth, bit down a little too harshly, but in the end, he gave you a tight smile. “Sure thing.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You smirked broadly, knowing Ben was aware what you were doing, and if he’d been standing closer, you would’ve smacked his ass, too. Called him a “good little secretary.”

And Ben? Ben just took it. Resigned. Knew he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do anything. Knew he needed you. Knew you held all the cards. Knew you had the leverage. And he? Well, he had nothing. Not really.

Ben brought back food. Anything you could’ve possibly asked for. More even.

Crispy bacon and pancakes and waffles. Hash browns. Toast with melted butter, soaked right through the bread. Sausages. Scrambled eggs. A thermos of coffee. A whole apple pie, still warm.

How had he possibly acquired all of this in a span of thirty minutes? You had no fucking clue.

Apparently, money could buy anything, anywhere, at any point in time.

Ben also brought a guy named Fred, head engineer.

Both men then stared at you as you held a TED talk and scribbled drawings, formulas, and numbers onto the board. Ben sat in his previous seat in the leather armchair, posture unchanged. Fred was perched behind him, nodding along with a furrowed brow.

The nods told you he was agreeing with you. The creases told you he was pondering two questions: Who the fuck is this chick? and How the fuck does she know all this goddamn shit?

When you were done, Ben’s lips curled, glimpsing up at the older man behind his right shoulder. “You agreeing with this, Freddie?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Fred scratched his head as he narrowed his eyes at your equations, the hesitance in his voice not missed by you.

“Then why the fuck haven’t you suggested that yet? Isn’t that your fucking job?” Ben prompted, the sudden authority in his voice and the callous gleam in his eyes taking you by surprise.

So, there it was – that little piece of Soldier Boy you’d been missing. You’d known it was there all along. Dormant. Slumbering. But the beast had woken up.

It made sense. Here, in his father’s office, he had to pretend to be every bit the man he wasn’t.

“Well, uh, I didn’t–… I wouldn’t know how,” Fred stammered, scratching a hole into his head at that point.

It wasn’t entirely his fault. Some of the stuff you’d suggested wasn’t really common knowledge at that point in time. But you weren’t too shabby to Edison some historical dick. How many men had taken credit and downright stolen from women over the centuries?

Yes, that’s right. You were doing this for the matriarchy. Vive les femmes! or whatever…

“I can teach him,” you chimed in all too helpfully.

Sure, you had no personal beef with Fred. Your feud was with his boss, but you accepted the engineer as collateral damage.

“Heard that, Freddie? She can teach you.” Ben chuckled mockingly, but it wasn’t aimed at you. Fred got the full brunt of it. You, on the other hand, received a wink and a smirk as your reward.

By the end of the day, you found yourself in a cloud of nicotine as four men sat behind you – drank and smoked and listened to every word that left your lips.

Danny from accounting had joined to check your numbers. Then there was Charlie, the mill’s young boilermaker and technician, who seemed to be mostly there for moral support for Fred, but had quickly taking a liking to you and switched sides.

A part of you loved showing off to a group of men, who certainly didn’t believe you were smarter than them. Another part did it for revenge.

You loved teaching. This was what you were supposed to do: Teaching physics classes as a professor to college kids, who were not only smart enough to understand you but also deserved to learn.

And Soldier Boy had taken that all away from you and ruined it. Now, Ben had to pay for it.

“You need to line the interior with a thicker layer of refractories,” you explained, voice filled with an infectious enthusiasm you couldn’t hide. “Can I bum one? Thanks!” You snatched a freshly lit cigarette from Ben’s hand and took a long drag before turning back to the chalkboard, your fingers tracing the schematic of the furnace as the smoke enveloped you. “But you can’t just use any material. It has to be a blend of firebrick with a high alumina content. That’ll keep more heat contained within the furnace and reduce energy loss.”

“That’ll cut down on fuel costs for sure.” Fred nodded along again.

“I’ll have to run the numbers, but it seems like a smart investment,” Danny agreed.

Your lips twitched with a pleased smile. “If you insulate properly, you won’t lose as much heat, and the furnace can maintain higher temperatures with less fuel. More efficient operation, faster output. If you improve airflow as well, you’ll boost production speed even more. Means more orders completed in less time.”

Charlie, who’d been intensely hanging on your lips, stepped closer to the board – and you. “You’re saying if we change the ducting and get better air intake, the furnace will burn hotter with less coal? That’s brilliant.” He smiled brightly at you, eyes lit with genuine awe. “We’d see a reduction in downtime too, right? I mean, with the better airflow and more efficient heating, the furnace could cycle faster without cooling off too much between shifts.”

“Yeah, exactly! You’re on the right track here, Charlie,” you praised the young technician with a warm smile. In this particular class, Charlie surely was your gold-star student. “The higher temperatures will help reduce the slag buildup, meaning less time spent scraping and cleaning. You’d get more output with fewer interruptions.”

Charlie grinned, clearly happy to be on the same wavelength as you. “And with the better insulation, the furnace wouldn’t cool as fast between cycles, so we wouldn’t have to waste time waiting for it to heat back up. Hell, at this rate, we could almost run it continuously!”

“Now you’re thinking!” Your face lit up like the sun, beaming at your shared understanding. “If you integrate a few more temperature sensors, you could even automate parts of it. It’d save you on labor costs too.”

“That’s genius! You’re sure you’re not some kind of magician?” Charlie chuckled.

Your cheeks blushed furiously at the compliment. God, it felt good to be seen and understood. Heard. Respected. “You’ve got a great mind for this, Charlie.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Ms. Cindy, but I’d be happy to learn from you any day,” he replied with a charming laugh.

“Well, maybe we can talk more about advanced lessons after these furnaces are running at full capacity,” you said, too eager to teach more. Too delighted.

“Sure, I’d love to! Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee? Are you here tomorrow as well?” Charlie asked, causing you to suck in a sharp breath.

Uh-oh…

“Oh, uhm, I–“ Your eyes flicked to Ben for the first time in a while. You’d been too enthralled by your lesson, by your conversation with Charlie, to notice the shift in the air – the shift in Ben’s demeanor.

His jaw ticked like a bomb, the white-knuckle grip around his half-empty tumbler of whiskey too tight. The nails of his other hand clawed into the brown leather of the chair’s arm. His eyes had grown so dark, so sinister, so dangerous, all the green in them had been swallowed. And his teeth kept grinding and grinding and grinding…

Shit.

You knew that look. You’d never seen it on Ben before, but you’d surely seen it on Soldier Boy a thousand times.

The two thirds of the whiskey bottle he’d drunk throughout the afternoon worked like slow poison through his bloodstream, bringing it to a boiling point underneath his skin.

“Charlie,” Ben’s voice cut in sharply with a condescending chuckle.

He rose from his seat, sauntered over to the board – to you and Charlie – and pushed himself between you two like a barrier. Like that stupid wall Homelander had once proposed of erecting along America’s borders.

And this? Well, this was just as fucking stupid.

Ben patted Charlie’s shoulder roughly, and you were surprised the young man wasn’t coughing by the sheer force of it. And you knew, right at that moment, that Soldier Boy wouldn’t have hesitated to kill that guy. Humiliated him before beating him into the ground.

“It’s cute how you’re trying to play engineer, but maybe leave the real work to the experts, hm?” Ben continued with a sharpness that felt out of place, every syllable meant to mock and punch deep.

Charlie was caught off guard by the abrupt change in atmosphere and straightened up, his posture stiffening slightly. “I’m just trying to learn, sir. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Ben’s smile was cold as he took a step forward, closer to Charlie’s face. “Well, you’re not exactly the brightest tool in the shed, Charlie. I’m sure Ms. Cindy here has better things to do than waste her time on you. Don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Of course. I was just trying to do my job,” Charlie mumbled, casting his eyes downward.

“Ben,” your voice was soft, soothing, reassuring when it reached his ears. You tried your best to smooth out the tension and get the target off poor Charlie’s back. You didn’t want him to pay for your mistakes – and they were yours. You should’ve known better than to poke the bear in any timeline. “I’m sure Charlie didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just got good instincts for th–“

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” Ben hushed you, not letting you finish. He flashed you a quick smile, but his glare flickered right back to the young technician. “Just stick to what you know. No need to go beyond your station.”

Then, Ben’s hand curled around your waist, pushed you closer, squeezed, not giving a fuck about your rules. He took the cigarette you stole from him back, kept it between his lips like he was sucking your taste from it. Controlling. Possessive. His smirk turned smug, his eyes still fixed dangerously on Charlie.

“I’m just making sure everyone knows their place and isn’t overstepping any lines here.”

As much as you hated his hand on you, how his touch burned your blood and made your skin crawl, you knew you couldn’t slap it away or free yourself from his grasp – not if you wanted to keep poor Charlie alive. Because any rejection of yours would’ve caused the volcano to erupt. It would’ve embarrassed him, and you couldn’t do that – not in front of his employees. Not in his father’s office.

It wouldn’t have ended well for anyone.

“Alright, guys,” Ben’s deep voice cut through the friction with a clear of his throat. “Think we’ve done enough work for today. Let’s continue this tomorrow, huh?”

Fred and Danny nodded, both certainly eager to retreat before things could get any more awkward. Fred looked at Charlie, who was still quiet, his head lowered. It was clear he’d been caught in the crossfire, and Fred didn’t seem to be one to stir the pot any further either.

Ben shot a glance at Charlie one last time, the unspoken challenge between them palpable as the former’s lips curled into a smirk, ensuring Charlie knew exactly where you’d be tonight.

And you let him win, let him have this one, but it didn’t mean you’d actually fall into his bed. He’d be direly mistaken.

Charlie left without another word, without another glimpse at you, following the others. And as soon as that office door closed, you were ready to twist Ben’s arm back till it broke in two, but as if he sensed the looming threat, he dropped his hand from your body all on his own and took several steps back.

He fucking knew.

Your fiery glare tried to find him, burn him, but he avoided it almost skillfully.

“You know, Charlie was right about one thing,” Ben said, baritone voice cutting through the silence that consumed the office. It carried none of the tension you felt – as if nothing had happened. He slipped right back into the charming mask. “You are brilliant, sweetheart.”

“What the fuck was that?” you blew right through the smokescreen, not entertaining his deflection even for a second.

“Don’t get upset, sweetheart,” he said and itched for a roll of his eyes, but he finally met your gaze – unbothered and calm. “I thought I was doing you a favor. Or did you really wanna have coffee with that guy?” He snorted a chuckle of amusement, like the whole idea of you dating someone like Charlie was ridiculous.

“I could’ve handled that on my own.”

“I’m sure you could’ve.” Ben only smirked that same amused and condescending smile and held a glass of whiskey out to you.

This time, you accepted it and emptied the whole goddamn thing down your throat, ignoring the razor-sharp burn. Ben’s brows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t comment on it further.

“It’s my decision who I have coffee with, not yours,” you bit. “And an invitation for coffee doesn’t mean I’m gonna spread my legs either, by the way.”

That seemed to amuse him more, grin widening. “Oh, I know. Otherwise, I would’ve already seen it.” He chuckled and leaned against the edge of the sturdy desk, bringing his glass to his lips, watching you. “Let’s celebrate a little, huh? Let me take you out to dinner.”

“I’m not hungry. Thank you,” you snipped.

Ben clicked his tongue, head bobbing in thoughtful defeat. He grabbed the pack of smokes from the desk, shook one out, and stuck it between his lips. “Can I ask you something?” He glanced at you from his periphery, lighting his cigarette behind a palm. You gave him a lackluster shrug. “Why don’t you like me?”

The question took you aback. You didn’t think he’d ever ask you this openly, but maybe it was the alcohol that made him more daring, more reckless.

“Who says I don’t?” you brushed it off, walking closer to him. You snatched the cigarette from him and took another hit, trying not to cough out the stinging smoke in your lungs.

You weren’t a smoker. Not really. More of a casual “bum one from Frenchie in a club after several drinks” type. But cigarettes in 1942? They punch harder than a hit from a bong.

“You take my drinks, you take my smokes… You know, sometimes I wonder what else you’ll take.” Ben smirked cunningly and met your eyes when you passed the cigarette back to him.

Your lips twitched slightly. “Why? You still got your virginity?”

“Do you?” he shot back and held your gaze.

God, he was worse than the nicotine in your blood. Worse than any other vice you could’ve thought of.

“No.” You shook your head, a hint of a smile on your lips. A tease. A bait. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re not,” he said, mirroring your smile with mischief sparkling in the jade.

“You know, I wouldn’t have helped you today if I didn’t like you at least a little. I wouldn’t be here,” you remarked and settled down on the desk next to him, legs dangling over the edge. He quirked an eyebrow, almost scolding, half-amused.

People were so rigid and frigid back then. No sitting on desks. No fucking swearing. Undergarments.

Ben considered your words with a sip of whiskey and another drag of his smoke. “Then why?”

You cocked a brow and took the cigarette from him again. “Why what?”

“I could see it today,” he noted pensively. “You act different around me. Guarded. You weren’t guarded around Charlie.”

You inhaled more smoke into your lungs, letting it go with a slow exhale. “I told you this morning. It’s not personal.”

“Feels like it.”

You met his eyes, green, lost, hurt. “You remind me of someone.”

“And you don’t like him?”

“I hate him. Wish he was dead,” you replied, your gaze, much like your stance, unwavering.

Maybe Butcher was right. Maybe you should grab that golden, ornate letter opener from the mahogany desk next to you and end it all right here. Now.

How many lives would you save? None?

Because truth was, even if you killed Soldier Boy, before all the power and all the glory and all the bloodshed, Vought would just pick someone else. Maybe a bigger monster. Crueler, harsher, deadlier.

What would the future look like then? Would you find fifty Homelanders instead of the one? Would there even still be a world to come home to? Would you be the one that brought it to its knees?

Not Homelander. Not Soldier Boy. You.

Would you be the end?

It wasn’t an option now, was it? An option would be to get your ass over to Germany and nip it in the bud. Choke the living hell out of Frederik Vought before that Nazi piece of shit even had a chance to deflect to the Allied Forces.

Kill the monster who created the poison that ran through Soldier Boy’s veins. Through Homelander’s. Through yours.

But what would happen then? Would you still be here? Would you stop existing?

Dead end.

And what if you suddenly got your powers back but couldn’t return to the point of origin, to the point you’d screwed it all up? And you did screw it all up. Fucked up royally by just blinking at him for a nanosecond. You could prove it on the fucking board in black and chalk!

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

And what if you accidentally disappeared right this second? What then? A sneeze, a wheeze, and poof – gone with the wind again.

That Clash song came to mind. You’d seen them during their last tour. July 9, 1982 – Wembley Arena, London.

And it really all boiled down to this:

If you went, there’d be trouble. And if you stayed, it’d be double. So, really, what should you fucking do?

“I’m not him, though,” Ben broke the silence, ripped you from your endlessly looping mind. You were almost grateful for the interruption.

You knew you were slightly going crazy at this point. You had dug yourself deep into shit this time. There was no way out – none that you could see.

No decision right or wrong. It all just… existed. Parked in neutral. Just rolling, rolling, rolling…

You looked at Ben, really looked this time. And maybe he was right. Maybe you even liked the guy in front of you. Maybe you saw the potential. The softness. The kindness. It wasn’t all his fault. He’d been born and bred this way. Callous and cruel, seeing the world as his playground.

But maybe there was still something there, buried deep and chained. Something bigger and stronger than the poison, the greedy companies, and the timeline. Bigger than you and him. Something very human.

Cosmic.

“You were today,” you said quietly.

“Oh.” Ben paused, brow creasing as your words sunk in. “Did he hurt you? That guy?”

“Not in the way it matters,” you replied slowly, swallowing to loosen some of the tightness in your throat. Your fingers gripped the wooden edge of the desk. “Not enough to break.”

Ben looked at you for a long time then, trying to read you, trying to understand, trying to puzzle it all together. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

Your brows shot up in surprise. They always did whenever he uttered words of apology. “What exactly are you sorry for?”

“I guess…” He contemplated for a moment, thought about his answer carefully. “For reminding you of him. Especially today.” You nodded, gifting him a small smile that he returned. “Thank you for helping me, you know? Was real nice of you. Even when you’ve been kind of a… dick about it.” He tossed you a small grin at the four-letter-word.

You snorted a loud chuckle, your cheeks turning red. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I pretended all day I had a dick.”

Ben’s grin widened, sharing your laugh. “Oh, I could feel that.”

“Bet you did. It’s real big.” Your smirk was downright audacious. So much so, you could see his cheeks blushing.

Ben inhaled another drag of his cigarette. “I think Ms. Vivian was right. Maybe I should get Mrs. Helen for you,” he teased, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Oh, c’mon! You love when I talk like that.” You grinned cheekily.

His lips tugged at a smile as he met your eyes. “Yeah, I fucking might.”

“See? Feels fucking good, doesn’t it?”

“It fucking does.” Ben mirrored your grin, laughing. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Yeah, heard that one before,” you said, but your tone shifted with a sigh, remembering Florence’s words of warning and the fact that you were constantly lying to Ben. He didn’t know you. Not really. Not at all. “Can I ask you something?”

He chuckled softly. “Sure.”

“Why do you wanna be like your father? Is that what you really want? That life?”

Ben blinked at you, exhaling a deep breath as he put out his cigarette butt in the overflowing ashtray. You could tell at this point he was used to your questions, which seemed never all that easy to answer.

“What d’you mean?” He wasn’t offended but curious. Patient.

“I mean, look at it. Really look,” you told him with as much conviction as you could find. “Do you want a wife who’s just a former shadow of herself because you sucked all the joy of life out of her? Do you want your kids to be lonely, growing up in an big, empty house devoid of love?”

Ben tried to laugh it off. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think, sweetheart,” he huffed wryly and arched an eyebrow, scratching his throat. “It’s not like your life was any better. You’re even more alone than I am.”

You didn’t take offense to it. After all, from his perspective, he had a valid point.

“I’m not as alone as you think I am,” you said, smiling mischievously. “And I’m definitely happier than you.” You grinned then, causing his brow to raise almost challengingly. “I also don’t strive to be like either one of my parents.”

Ben thought for a moment. “So, what do you want then?”

“I don’t know.” You twitched your shoulders. “I don’t think I have to know. Not yet, anyways.”

Ben scoffed a chuckle. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Challengingly, you arched a brow. “I may not know what exactly I want, but I know what I don’t want. It’s elimination by exclusion. There are a lot of options, so deciding what you don’t want as you go along narrows it down to the choices you do want.”

Ben pursed his lips, nodding. “Guess that makes sense... in a way.”

“So, what about you? You wanna be like your dad?”

Ben looked at you for a beat, then softly, almost invisibly shook his head. “No... No, uhm, I don’t want that… I’d wanna be better.”

‘Cause I thought I could do it better than my father did…

Your heart did that little sting again when you thought about that night, something gnawing in the back of your mind. Had he always felt this way? Maybe if you gave him a little push now, he could–

No, no, no! Stop fucking with the goddamn timeline!

But maybe if you stayed, if you let yourself fall freely, if you stopped thinking about cosmic consequences, you could–

Nuh-uh! Stop! Dear fucking God, just stop!

You’d already done enough damage. You had to rein in your inner Puck before it could cause any more chaos.

And yet:

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You felt bad. Really, really bad. You felt bad and guilty and fucking awful. You were a fucking despicable human being. Soldier Boy had been right – you weren’t worthy of powers this big. Neither was he, but the cruelty matched.

And sure, he was a gross asshole, but not even he deserved what you were doing to him. Not that you were doing any of it on purpose. Did good intentions fucking count?

You’d told him to stop following you, and he hadn’t listen. You’d needed help, and he’d offered it kindly to you. And now?

Now, you were fucking screwed six ways to Sunday. Both of you were.

Because even if you fixed it, fixed everything you broke without leaving a single crack behind, you were still snooping through his life – uninvited. Because you knew – you fucking knew – he wouldn’t approve of this or like it, and he’d probably also kill you for it.

You would if someone were doing to you what you were doing to him.

Maybe you should’ve listened to Butcher. Soldier Boy would probably forgive you for a simple attempt on his goddamn life before he’d fucking forgive you for this. Killing him seemed kinder in comparison. Nicer. Less fucking crazy.

Musingly, Ben licked his lips. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “I never planned to be like him. I was gonna do it different, anyway. He’s not gonna be alive forever, you know?”

“You wanna hold out till he drops? You know, that might not happen till you’re sixty,” you noted. Not that age would matter to Soldier Boy, but Ben didn’t know that yet.

You knew. You knew everything, lying and pretending that you didn’t. But you did.

Why was that bothering you so much, though? Playing a role during your adventures through time had always been the trick of the trade.

“Well, I already enlisted. Might get some opportunities there,” Ben said, while you still tried to keep your spinning mind in orbit.

You swallowed thickly at his words. He surely will, you thought dryly.

“But you said you only did that for your dad as well,” you threw in and bit your tongue hard a second later.

Dear Lord! Stop fucking pushing! This is wrong! So, so wrong…

“Yeah, but aside from that, I don’t have that many options,” Ben remarked, and you took note of the strange self-consciousness in his voice. Like he knew deep down his father was right. Like he knew he was a disappointment. Like he knew he was fucking weak. “I flunked out of boarding school, so it’s either working for my father or–“

“Doing a job like Charlie’s?” you offered with a knowing smile.

“Yeah…” He nodded defeatedly.

“It’s not the worst, you know?”

He cocked a doubtful eyebrow. “What, having no money? Slightly disagree, sweetheart.”

“Happiness doesn’t come for free,” you pointed out. “Rich in spirit, poor in pocket.”

Amused, Ben snorted. “And you’d be fine with a man who has nothing to his name?”

“Yeah,” you said without a sliver of doubt or hesitation. “Not that my opinion matters here.” You shot him a warning look, but his lips only flashed an amused smile. “I didn’t grow up with a lot. Certainly don’t need a lot now. And besides, I can provide for myself, you know?”

“Oh, sure you can.” Ben chuckled teasingly.

Internally, you sighed at his comment, but you knew, to him, that statement must’ve sounded preposterous.

“I’m sorry, but did you shake 3.5 million out of your sleeve today or did I?” you challenged.

Ben’s lips formed a smile of acceptance. “Fair enough.” He scratched the nape of his neck, clearing his throat. “So, hypothetically, if you don’t need someone to take care of you, what kind of a man are you looking for?”

“Who says I’m looking?” You smirked a little, but Ben only indulged you with a raised brow. “Alright, let’s say hypothetically I’m looking…”

“Uh-huh, continue.” Ben grinned with triumphant mischief, making it a chore for your cheeks not to hurt from smiling so much yourself.

“I guess I’d just want someone good. Someone kind. Someone reliable. Honest,” you replied slowly and met his gaze. “Funny.” Your lips tugged at a grin. “Someone who’s gonna get into trouble with me. A partner in crime, you know?”

Ben laughed softly. “What, like a Clyde to your Bonnie?”

“Minus the murder, but yeah,” you confirmed, giggling, but you felt strongly to make that distinction, considering everything you knew about his future counterpart.

And then, your stomach churned and twisted this time instead of your heart. You were walking on thin ice, hearing the fucking cracks under your feet. Soon, you’d break through – not in a good way.

So, yes, maybe you liked him. Liked him more than you’d be ever willing to admit. But were you just supposed to ignore everything else? Everything you knew and everything that might come?

Were you a fool for thinking you could change destiny?

“Tell me one thing,” you said, interrupting the comfortable silence between you two. “What would make you happy? I mean really happy. Forget about all the money and your father and everything else. What’s your happy place?”

“Hmm,” Ben hummed, teeth chewing on the plush flesh of his lower lip. He found your eyes. “Tell me yours first.”

“Alright,” you accepted, knowing you’d pushed him enough for today, knowing you had to give, too. Knowing his vulnerability didn’t come without a price. You contemplated for a moment, exhaling a sigh. “I guess… Paris. I’d wanna live in Paris. Go roller skating in the Louvre at night. Boop Mona Lisa’s nose.”

Ben snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds a bit cockamamie.”

“Hey, you have your dreams, I have mine. And you’ll see. I’m gonna do it. I have more tricks up my sleeve than just math,” you retorted playfully, causing his smirk to deepen, but there was affection in every crease and crinkle on his face. “Before you mock, why don’t you just tell me yours, huh?”

Ben rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, green eyes flickering to you in his periphery, eventually landing on your lips. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I guess I just found mine,” he said, the raspy voice only a quiet whisper.

Time stood still for you then. You could see each inch he leaned closer in slow-motion while your heart pounded at double its speed. The wild beats rose to your throat, filled your ears.

The room started to spin, but you froze. Petrified, eager, aquiver.

He dipped his head lower. You didn’t move.

His breath fanned against your cheek. You didn’t move.

His nose ghosted along your skin. You didn’t move.

His gaze found yours. You didn’t break it.

He silently asked for permission. You swallowed, but you still didn’t move, didn’t look away.

Ben’s lips pressed against yours. Your heart exploded.

It was only a tentative brush at first, testing, testing, testing... It was light and soft and almost innocent, so innocent it stirred something deep within your soul. You let your eyes fall shut, instinctively leaning in.

Into him.

And that was it. That little movement of yours he’d been waiting for. Like it answered all the questions he could ever have about you. He exhaled, let go, too soft for a groan but close enough. Close enough to leave you wanting more. You could feel his fingers twitch for more too, even when they didn’t touch you.

Close enough.

It only took a fraction of a second to feel the shift – in the air between you, in your heart, in your bones, in the universe.

And your mind screamed to pull away.

You forced yourself to break the kiss, hands pushing lightly against his broad chest. Your heart hammered, your breaths shallow.

“Ben, I–” You swallowed heavily, shaking your head. Looking at him would’ve only broken your resolve. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

The words felt like painful little pricks on your tongue.

But you were. You were fucking sorry. This should’ve never happened. This line should’ve never been crossed. You took it too fucking far. Not because you didn’t like him or shouldn’t like him, but because you fucking did.

You did, you did, you did…

It wasn’t that you couldn’t do this. You could and you would. You so would. But you couldn’t fucking do this to him.

You liked him. Not because he was nice to you. Not because he was kind to you.

You liked him because you could understand him. Because he could understand you. Because he was like you. Because you both were shattered beyond mending.

Two souls undone beyond redemption. Frayed beyond the reach of time. Lost beyond the point of no return.

Ben didn’t move. Didn’t distance himself. Didn’t pull back. Didn’t do anything. But he was watching you. Watching every quiver in your bones, every shaky breath in your lungs, every doubt in your mind.

Ben stayed close. Closer. He leaned in just enough for you to feel his hot breath breeze along your skin. “Can’t or don’t want to?”

“Can’t.” Your voice was so quiet, so tame, so much lacking of any fight, you were surprised he heard it at all.

But he did.

His hand found the edge of the desk, and with one fluid motion, he turned and stood in front of you now, towering, tenacious, holding on. He reached out and gently took your small hand in his – warm, safe, reassuring.

There was a hint of a smile on his lips, triumphant, when you didn’t retreat. You let it happen. Let him pull you off the desk and toward him, flush against his body.

Ben’s hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing along your jawline before he lifted your gaze to him, forcing you to look at him. “Why?” He leaned in closer and closer still, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before you felt the tip of his nose brush along your skin just underneath it. “What’s stopping you?”

“Ben, I can’t,” you repeated, but it was so meek you knew it wouldn’t deter him in the slightest.

“Then why’s your heart racing, sweetheart?” He smirked victoriously against your skin, right behind your ear.

Slowly, he placed your hand he was still holding on his chest. You could feel his heart beating underneath your palm, steadfast and persistent. His now free fingers wandered, trailed with a featherlight weight up your arm, down your shoulder, lower still, sending shivers down your spine as they brushed each vertebra, down to your lower back and waist.

Then, they settled.

The hand still on your cheek slipped to your throat, thumb resting on your thundering pulse point. He forced your eyes back up, back to find his. The grip on your waist tightened, firm and dauntless. Then he pushed you closer, smooth and swift and suave.

And you still wanted to be closer. Closer, closer, closer.

Your breath hitched, and he smiled that lazy, winning smile again.

“‘Cause seems to me like you have a demand, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice dangerously low and hungry. His grin turned wolfish then. “And I could supply…”

“Is that all you retained from your microeconomics lesson?” you teased to pretend his actions didn’t affect you, but your voice came out too breathlessly. Too fucking weak to really make an impact.

“It’s the important part, isn’t it?” Ben chuckled and sent you a smug grin before taking both your hands and sliding them up his broad chest till they draped around his neck. “But you’re welcome to teach me more, sweetheart,” he whispered devilishly into your ear.

Two large hands then cupped your waist, hot and firm and deliberate, thumbs pressing into your lower ribs. And he pushed you closer again, this time not leaving so much as an inch of space between your bodies, so close your head became dizzy, not knowing where you ended and he began.

“Ben, I can’t,” you said, but the more you said those words, the more they lost their meaning.

“Why? Give me a good enough reason, and I’ll stop.”

His hands smoothed up your curves and grabbed hold of your face again. One hand brushed your hair back and settled on your throat, the fingertips of his other tracing along your jaw. And when his thumb only skimmed over the plush flesh of your bottom lip, your mouth almost parted and sucked it inside.

A smirk rose on his freckled face. He could fucking tell.

“You don’t even know me,” you said then, swallowing the thick lump in the back of your throat, but your heartbeat kept rising as his hands explored – unbothered.

“I know enough,” he countered with an amused smile.

A step forward pushed you back, feeling the edge of the desk press against your buttcheeks.

“You don’t even know my real name,” you admitted, but it didn’t have the effect you hoped it would. He didn’t stop. Not in the slightest.

Ben only snorted at your confession. “What? You don’t think I know?”

His lips then descended on your throat, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column. Your breathing quickened. He pushed you a little further till you had no choice but to slide back onto the smooth mahogany surface, and he slotted himself right between your legs when you did.

“Ben, I can’t,” you said it like a prayer that got lost in the vastness of heaven.

“Then why are you still holding onto me?” he quipped slyly, nudging your nose with the tip of his. Teasing. “You’re shaking, sweetheart. Am I making you nervous?”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into here,” you tried to warn him, pleading with him.

“Well, hopefully you,” he returned smugly. Amused. And his hands kept roaming.

“Ben, please…”

“What happened to ‘Ben, I can’t’? You know, if you start begging, it’s gonna do even less to stop me, sweetheart,” he taunted you with a deep chuckle that you felt rumbling through his chest.

“Ben, I’m serious…”

“So am I.”

He claimed your lips before you could argue further. Without hesitation. Without a second thought. Without regrets. He kissed you deeply. Not a brush. Not a test. Not a question.

Only raw hunger.

A gasp parted your lips enough for his tongue to slip inside, each stroke against yours like a sharp, fiery lightning bolt to your core. He explored your mouth with precision – fervently, ferociously, tenaciously.

Whiskey and nicotine invaded your taste, and you welcomed it all with a sigh.

“Ben, I can’t…” you tried once more, but your body betrayed you, your voice only a breathless whisper that fled into the void.

“Not good enough.” He crashed his lips harder against yours, sharp teeth dragging over your soft, pink bottom lip. Biting, teasing, convincing.

Your desperation reached a boiling point, chasing his lips, his taste, his touch with a fever you’d never felt before, igniting every sense you possessed.

And you let the flames consume your soul while your inner Puck cheered you on and demanded more.

“Ben, please…”

“Keep saying it exactly like that, sweetheart.” He smirked against your throat and sucked his mark into your pulse point.

You felt his palm clasp your knee, burning hot and firm against your taut skin. It hiked higher and higher on your thigh, past the hem, underneath the skirt of your dress.

“Bet you’ve been waiting for a big dick like mine, haven’t you?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!”

“Ben, stop. Please. Please stop…” Your hand landed atop of his on your thigh and kept it locked in place.

And Ben complied without question, his grip loosening under your palm before he retreated it entirely and placed it gently on your waist instead. He met your gaze with half-lidded eyes and ragged breaths.

“You okay?” he checked, leaning his forehead against yours, patiently caressing your cheeks.

“I can’t let myself do this. Not with you,” you said quietly, still catching your breath, still trying to ground your reeling mind. That seemed to finally catch his attention, pulling back slightly from your face with a furrowing brow.

“What d’you mean?” His voice was deeper than before, less soft, a trace of offense in his syllables because he couldn’t possibly understand.

“I mean, this could end badly. Really badly. For both of us,” you said, swallowing, but you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch when he palmed your cheek.

“You know, I don’t care about the skeletons in your closet. Don’t even give a shit if you left a trail of bodies behind you, sweetheart,” he said jokingly, unaware what impact those words had on you.

But what about his skeletons?

“No, I mean this is going to be a disaster. As in cosmic consequences bad. Apocalyptic catastrophe bad. Almost certainly might end the world bad,” you explained, almost desperate for him to understand you, desperate to tell him everything right now, the mill’s office morphing into your confession booth.

But Ben only snorted a small laugh, thumb stroking your cheekbone with an unwavering softness. “Aren’t you exaggerating a little, sweetheart?”

“I’m really not,” you stressed and looked deeply into his green eyes. “I-… I can’t stay. You know that, right?”

His brows quirked, but then he leaned in and brushed his lips softly against yours. “I’ll take my fucking chances.” He smirked daringly, then placed another kiss on that sweet spot behind your ear that made your heart melt. “Go out with me.”

“Ben–“

“Gimme a chance here, huh? All I need is one,” he said, his gaze imploring. So convincing, so certain. “Let me prove to you I can be the man you want.”

“Ben, that’s not–“

“Please.” Ben’s Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow, giving you an insecure little smile. “Come on, don’t make me beg more. It’s not really my strong suit.”

And then, as you stared at him and every good thing he was and every terrible thing he was going to be, the only option you hadn’t explored yet festered in your mind:

What if you stayed?

You nodded, hesitant and unnoticeable at first till it became vigorous and sure. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Ben’s smile widened, happier than you’d ever seen it.

“Yes.”

▶️ Chapter 6: I Don't Mind a Reasonable Amount of Trouble – MAY 2

What did you think of their first kiss? Would you want Ben to convince you like that? 😏❤️‍🔥 I also absolutely love the reader in this part. Show those dicks who's the smartest in the room, girl lmao

Coming Up:

You adjusted the collar of your coat against the chill, tucking your hands into the pockets. Ben, sensing the shiver that ran through you, pulled you a little closer, interlacing your fingers with his.

“How’d you like the movies?” he asked, smiling softly and giving a quick peck to your temple.

“I loved them! Can’t go wrong with Bogart and Fonda,” you replied with a smile that soon turned teasing. You playfully nudged his shoulder. “So, you scared yet I’m gonna pull a fast one on you like Barbara Stanwyck did to Henry Fonda?”

Ben laughed loudly, throwing his head back. “I don’t know. So far, you haven’t really been interested in my money, so I think I’m safe. ‘Sides, I’m not as easy as Fonda.”

“You sure about that? You do look a little naive and fresh-faced to me,” you quipped, grinning.

“Well, just so you know, if you’re really trying to con me… it’s working,” he joked and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling you into his arms with a fond smile and whispering a kiss onto your lips.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

[candiyaa]

𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔…

I JUST CAN'T STOP LOVING YOU...(even if I try to.)

Pairing : Kokushibo x gn! reader

CONTENT WARNING ❃ : Intimacy ; explicit words ; overall cuteness ; NSWF

Kokushibo was the best companion you could ever wish for , under his stoic mask and cold personality, indoors, he was the most loving person you had ever seen. You had the chance to witness things that none of the other fellow moons and Muzan even got to catch a glimpse of. Yet something was amiss.... the way he looks at you , the way his six spider-like eyes gently fall upon you at the slightest movements of yours. The way he held you like you were pure crystal, as if, if held too tight you could crumble under his palms. He had this way of making your heart beat. With him, life felt easy , secure , calm if not magical , his kisses like petals , his touch so tender yet firm and needy , that's all you could ever dream of and oh gosh his smile...but so then..why did he seem so against intimacy ? Or at least that's what you thought , you both had been seeing each other for quite the years already , so why is he so...reluctant abt it ? Perhaps unsure would be the word. He never said it out loud , but it showed subtly : whenever a body part of yours showed he'd be the first to notice ,no matter how small and cover it at the speed of light. He would always redirect conversations whenever the topic hints to explicit matters , he would deny you showering together repeating that you need your privacy and he shall give it to you , always finding excuses over excuses , but at what cost ? All you wanted was to pass the gap , to be closer both emotionally and physically to your forever lover , you wanted to feel that love , feel him pour his love in the closest way two persons could be , you wanted to hear him say sweet nothings as you two were beautifuly intertwined in each other presence and love. You wanted to touch , to feel , to try...You never straight out asked him for intimacy , perhaps you were unsure too , abt his reaction or thoughts about it , perhaps scared that all the love will go away Does he find it gross ? Perhaps demons don't engage in those activities ? Yet silly of you to never have tried to ask , not even once...until today :

It was a calm afternoon , both of you were in your quarters inside the Infinite Castle , though your chambers were quite isolated from the rest of the apartments , a secluded place of serenity and away from the cruel demon world that lurked in the shadows. Being human , Kokushibo protects you with every fiber of his being , meaning he doesn't want you to be any close to demon activities. But there you were , sharing the same bed , Kokushibo was reading next to you , his six ethereal eyes seeming to dance across the pages of whatever ancient book he was reading. You looked up at him , your mind still spiraling about his constant "denial" of intimacy. As your eyes locked. You didn't have to say anything , he knew , he knows , he sees it in your eyes , something is wrong. His eyes always did that thing , slowly squinting at you as if silently saying "What's wrong ?" , yet it was also his way of simply studying you , you were used to it by now.

"I'm okay..just thinking" , you replied knowing no matter how many words came out of your mouth , he always sees right through you.

"No. You're clearly not , you seem uneasy. What is it you're thinking about ?" , he says as his eyes peer into yours now. He scooted almost imperceptibly closer to you , his attention now solely on you.

Yet you remained silent. You were scared , unsure , overthinking , what if he never sees you the same way after asking what has been bothering you ? Seeing your panic , he didn't hesitate and immediately , gently placed you on his lap , holding you securely in his arms , gently rearranging himself for your comfort. He was gently patting your back , his eyes never leaving your face , your eyes to be more precised , eyes are the portal to the soul : this way he could know what were you truly thinking of and read through you. He started gently combing your hair , never once breaking eye contact still. A gentle kiss to your temple and here you were giving yourself out , the intensity of your emotions just made you blurt it out , no filter , no sugarcoating :

" W..WHY DON'T YOU WANT INTIMACY WITH ME HUH !!! Am I not desirable enough ? Do I..do I not please you enough ? Why..then why you-" No, he didn't cut you off , you cut yourself off , seeing his reaction. His hand gently caressing you back had already stopped moving long ago , his eyes were widened , his body stiff , his face like a deer caught in deer lights. A small tint of blush peppering his cheeks yet it disappeared the moment you spotted it. The scene was quite humoristic and you would probably be laughing your ass off if the situation wasn't that serious at the moment lol.

"Y..You want intimacy from me..?" , he was shocked by himself , shocked by this revelation and did he just..stutter ? His heart did like a whole 360 , if it wasn't for his image he wouldn't be fighting against his own body trying not to blush. He tried to process your words , but there he was just looking at you with widened eyes , oh dear how can a man be this clueless , were the hints not hinting enough ?

All you could do was shyly nod , you couldn't bring yourself to say another word. He was baffled , as if he had just heard the date of the end of the world. This state of shock lasted so long it felt like forever.

"I...w..why ?" he said while looking away , his eyes shyly darting to the side. Was the man in front of you really the Supreme Moon ? His shy side was more than endearing , you didn't see it often , but whenever it did happen it was the cutest thing ever.

"What do you mean..why ? I don't know why..I just..that's how it is okay ? Is it not what couples do ? Is it not another way to show..our love...?" That line hit him like a truck , of course it was , and he knew it. In fact he had always been wanting it , no craving it even , showering you with his love , being as close as possible , feel your skin close to his , he wanted it all , so why..?

"I..do too. Very much at that.." , he stopped himself realizing how needy his words sounded. He quickly looked back in your eyes before shyly looking away again as if intimidate by your gaze now , or perhaps embarrassed by his own whole love struck behavior. He sighed , resigned to be honest , eyes locked back on yours with a newfound determination in them :

""I love you , adore you even..I don't have the words to describe what I feel for you , it goes beyond words. he gently put his hands on your hips, stabilizing you and him , grounding himself in. You're more than desirable , more than beautiful. I apologize for my foolishness , for being scared , for not knowing how to communicate how much I wanted that..closeness..too. The truth is..I'm afraid , afraid of hurting you , not doing it right..not loving you right. Afraid of not being enough to please you. I just can't stop loving you , and the last thing I desire is for that love of mine to overwhelm you. So only if..only if it's not too late, may I..""

Your breath hitched , how cruel of him to not let you process his words first , how cruel of him to have that angel carved-like face , these earnest eyes that felt like the moon itself looking at you..no he didn't let you process it all , not before he finally asked :

"May I..make love to you , tonight ? Will you let me ? Will you let me love you properly ?" , his heart was beating so fast , his body stiff as if bracing himself for the most outrageous denial or any sign of repulse from you.

"You may..."

He gently lowered you down on the bed , both of your hearts beating uncontrollably , both unsure , yet both deeply in love with each other.

He climbed on top of you , careful not to crush you , but close enough your lips were centimeters away from each other. One kiss. Two kisses. A third one and here you were , your legs already curling around his sides which made his hips stutter for a moment as he just started almost imperceptibly grinding against you , slowly , gently but most of all with love. He poured all his love into those kisses , between each , there you were smiling to each other. Sometimes nervous laughs would slip in before making out again , it wasn't rough nor brutal , it was gentle , tentative and sensual.

The night had fallen already , the moon casting its glow through the window as if winking at this beautiful union. Candles were lighted , the atmosphere - romantic , the clothes - off already. It was the first time seeing each other bodies bare and your heart stuttered and his too. Your touches were tentative at first , muscles twitching at every touch, gentle caresses to ease both your hearts. He was really careful and attune to every of your facial expressions , at the smallest twitch of eyebrow he would stop all movements , silently ask for permission over and over again to make sure you were comfortable and enjoying it as much as he was.

"Beautiful...you're simply beautiful" he said in awe, his eyes seeming hypnotized by the sight before him. He was gentle with his caresses gently kissing your lips , your cheeks , your neck all while gently rubbing against you , careful not to go too fast too soon. He would gently caress your body at every shiver of yours , reassuring you that no matter how far you've gone , you can stop it all at any moment.

Then with a last gentle loving kiss, he discovered your world , careful not to shatter it. You gasped. He gasped. Both of you paused. Tears rolled down, but not from pain , but from joy , from reunion. The slight discomfort was there yes , but the love overpowered it all. You two looked like a silly mess , both crying at how pure and loving it felt , you exchanged kisses , pressed against each other. He whispered sweet nothings to you , his voice barely audible from that overwhelming yet beautiful love he felt for you at this moment. He held you securely in his arms and just when you gave him the green light , there he was gently thrusting into you , each thrusts with a bit more love every time. His sounds , your sounds , his love , your love , his body , yours...all of it were intertwined in that very moment and neither of you wished for it to stop.

"I can't get enough of you...I..I just can't stop loving you.."

The night is gonna be very long 👀...

Doma , that snitching b*tch , hum hm..well.. tattler that he is , told Muzan after overhearing by mistake the moans sounds that came out of that indeed secluded space of the Castle.. However, he's the one that got scolded and punished by Muzan for , I quote :

"So you come here in my sacred office , pestering me with foolish and unimportant matters ? Is that right ? "

-Muzan

⋆˚✿˖° Heyy there wow like just wow I didn't even know I was capable of writing things like that 😭😭 I did say in a previous post that I wouldn't do nswf yet I wanted to give it a try for you guys so I hope you guys liked it !! I tried to keep it as subtle as I could and not really get into deep details but I hope it was pleasant to read still ! And pleaseee I loveee y'all comments so don't be scared to comment your thoughts on it !! Also I'll say it again , not as an excuse ,but as for you guys to go easy on me lol english is not my first language so there might quite the mistakes in my posts and my way of phrasing things may be wrong too and I'm really REALLY sorry I try my best to correct them ! xoxo ⋆˚✿˖°

[damn-stark]

Chapter 10 Past the point of no return

Chapter 10 of Tragedy at the Miller’s

A/N- I really hope you guys like it! Thank you for tagging along and or coming back :) I love you all

Warning- fluff?, ANGST, VIOLENCE, DEATH, spoilers for season 2, Remember this is a rewrite not an AU, so the major stuff that happens in the show will happen here :)

Pairing- Joel Miller x daughter!reader (platonic of course :), OC x Fem!reader

Episode- 2x02

(If you want to be tagged let me know!)

————

*25 YEARS AGO*

Without waiting for an answer, the door creaks open, and in slips a tiny figure that casts a mighty shadow over the bed while the barely conscious man struggles to see through the darkness of his room.

“Daddy,” you whisper shakily and stay under the moonlight peeking through the window to avoid being taken by the monster lurking in the shadows. “I had a bad dream, can I sleep with you?”

There’s no use arguing or trying to reassure you, you would either crawl into his bed or go crawl into Sarah’s bed. No matter how many times he’s told you they’re only dreams, you still mistake them as real and you are a rather fearful child, so he just gives in.

“Quickly,” he mumbles and lays his head back on the bed. “Or the monster is gonna get ya.”

Your eyes widen and without needing to be told twice, you scurry over and hide under your dad's blankets.

“You didn’t close the door,” he grumbles with his eyes closed and you peek one eye out to look at the hall hiding the monster that visited your dreams.

“Daddy I dreamt a big moth came and picked us up to eat us,” you share and turn to solely look at him as if the barely visible sight of his face was your sole savior.

“I told you not to watch that movie with your sister,” he reminds you sternly before he can’t help himself; he spoils you by wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close so your face is against his chest, letting you find comfort in his slow beating heart.

“Now go to sleep. No moth monster is comin’ to eat us,” he assures you and with that alone, you let out a relieved breath and nuzzle yourself against him to use his beating heart as your lullaby and fall back asleep in his arms.

——

*NOW*

“Ah. Ah. Open your mouth Teddy,” you try to get your son to cooperate, but no matter how many funny faces you do he’s quite grumpy in the mornings so he’s hard to deal with.

“Mornin’ Sunny, Apollo, Teddy. Brother,” your uncle greets as he and his family walk over and join you around the table in the restaurant. “Why are you here so early I thought you’d be hungover”

“Ha,” you feign a laugh and keep trying to feed your son, but he keeps finding his wooden horse more interesting. “Dad said getting hungover is a sign of old age, me and Apollo are still young and thrivin’.” You say smugly and flash him a cocky smile but lose your smile all too quickly when your uncle steals a sausage off your plate—“That’s mine old man.”

“Not anymore,” he quips and takes a big bite from the sausage, making you roll your eyes and respond to his question instead. “We decided to grab breakfast here since you told us you wanted to have an early meeting, and since I have early patrol we thought why not,” you share as you watch Maria and Benji walk away to grab their hot breakfast plates. “And since we found my dad here, we decided to join him.”

You offer your uncle a genuine smile and focus back on trying to feed Teddy his blended fruit and cereal, but he keeps turning his head away.

“I’m about to head out,” your dad interjects as he drinks his last sips of coffee. “Is that something I should still do? Maybe I should stay here,” he suggests since they put the town on alert for a reason you have yet to know.

“No, I prefer you go to your patrol,” your uncle lets your dad know before he leans forward so everyone around the table will hear. “Last night Kylie and Max found a pile of dead infected near Seven Cabins. Wouldn’t have been a problem but turns out they were hiding 30 live ones underneath.”

Well, there’s the answer to your question and the foil to your plans.

“If that’s so maybe the patrol groups should be bigger,” Apollo suggests as you share a worried look. “Going out in pairs is perhaps too dangerous.”

Your uncle sighs and sits back with his arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, I thought about it, but the patrol groups will be avoiding the Seven Cabins area. Their routes shouldn’t be infested. It’s that growing storm that worries me.”

“Ellie is going to join me and Jesse,” you mention and put Teddy’s food down to pass your husband a reassuring look. “Three is better than two, plus if that storm gets any bigger then we know where to lay low until it passes or gets small again. Plus we need as many bodies here if anything does happen, and we can’t risk not going out either.”

“Sunny is right. The patrol groups will go out. Just take more precaution than usual,” your uncle interjects, making you reach over to give Apollo’s hand a gentle and assuring squeeze.

“Who’s staying with Teddy?” Your dad asks with concern. “When I come back I can still take him. Keep home where it’s safe, but what about now?”

“I changed my shift,” Apollo tells your dad. “I’ll have Teddy with me while she’s out on patrol. It’s better being safe than sorry.”

You nod in agreement and your dad sighs with relief before he parts his lips with the intention of saying something. Albeit before he can share what he wanted Jesse walks over and joins the table at the same time Maria and Benji return with their plates of food.

“Good morning everyone,” Jesse greets the group, earning warm smiles from everyone except your dad who just offers him a stiff wave.

“Mornin’ Jesse, ready to go?” You ask as you see he’s in his jacket and carrying his backpack of supplies already.

You have your stuff with you but your jacket is hanging on your chair and your backpack is by your feet.

“Almost, we’re just missing Ellie,” he says as he looks around the table. “Is she not here?”

Your dad shakes his head and responds for everyone. “No. I wanted her to come with me on patrol but I decided to let her sleep in instead.”

Your gaze lingers on your dad as you feel quite surprised that he’d want to take Ellie. It’s just he knows she’s trying to avoid him so he usually just rides with someone else. You have to wonder what made him so daring as to want to patrol with her.

“Oh, okay.” Jesse nods whilst your dad looks at the clock on the wall across from the table, and then gets up abruptly.

“I’m going to head out now. Be careful everyone.” He says simply and starts to walk around the table with the empty cup he’s going to discard on his way out.

“Be careful,” you tell him as you follow him with your eyes.

“You too,” he says back and caresses Teddy’s head as he passes by him. “Talk through the radio if you need help. We’ll try and get there as soon as possible.”

You nod in comprehension and before he walks away completely you face Teddy to address him. “Wave goodbye to your grandpa, Teddy. Say Bye-Bye,” you try to teach him while also slowly opening and closing your hand. “Bye-bye.”

“Bye, Teddy,” your dad stops to try and get a response.

Thankfully, your son raises one hand and mirrors your actions by opening and closing his hand.

“Bah,” he tries his best to say what you did, earning a grin from your dad and a laugh from everyone else.

“Good job buddy,” Apollo praises him.

“Bye Teddy,” your dad says one more time. “I’ll see ya later, cowboy.”

Teddy waves his hand wildly now that he started and doesn’t stop until he no longer sees your dad. After that, he drops his hand and pouts his bottom lip as his eyes fill with tears.

“It’s okay, look,” you try to distract him so he doesn’t cry for your dad by trying to offer him a small spoonful of food, but when he meets your eyes he keeps swerving every attempt, making you sigh and making Benji giggle as he watches every attempt with amusement.

“Still having a hard time,” Maria asks from across the table.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Mornings are still a fuss.” You say and put his food down to continue eating yours. All while Benji walks over and offers Teddy a spoonful of his soft food and actually gets Teddy to eat his food with glee.

“Of course,” you retort lightheartedly and scrunch your nose at your son.

Benji tries to offer him another spoonful of food but he’s stopped by his dad. “No more Benji, he has to eat his own food.”

Said boy walks back in defeat and plops himself back in his own seat, whilst Jesse takes your dad's seat while there’s still plenty of time left before you have to leave.

“What happened last night after I left?” Jesse asks, causing you and Apollo to share panicked and knowing looks.

You almost don’t want to share that Dina and Ellie kissed, but if you tell him that your dad shoved Seth, then you’ll have to tell him why he did. It’s just…it’s too complicated.

Why do they all have to kiss each other? It’s a good thing your friend group wasn’t so complicated.

“Well,” Apollo sighs as he finishes his breakfast and tries to get Teddy to eat in your stead. “There was quite a commotion actually.”

Jesse’s interest piques and Apollo leans in closer to share quieter since Seth is in the same room. “Ellie almost fought Seth, but ultimately got interrupted by Joel when he came in and shoved the old man to the floor.”

“No way,” Jesse gasps as he holds on to every word. “Why? What happened?”

Once again you and Apollo share a look before you interject this time. “Seth reacted badly to Ellie and…Dina kissing. I’m sorry Jesse.”

Said man seems to grow uninterested now and instead seems to be in his own mind for a moment.

“We shouldn’t gossip in public,” Maria warns the group of you, so you sit back and continue to eat your food while Apollo waits a moment.

“Are Dina and Ellie okay?” Jesse asks now with no sign of a grudge or anger, which you admire. You don’t think you would be as comfortable if you heard that one of your best friends kissed your ex, but that’s just you, so it’s a good thing that didn’t happen to you.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “Everyone is fine. Seth was just embarrassed. That’s all.”

Jesse hums.

“You should eat Jesse,” Maria tells him. “With this brewing storm, we don’t know if you’ll be out long. We’re hoping you won’t, but we never know. So eat and then if you could go get Ellie for me and tell her I need to talk to her before you leave, I would appreciate it.”

Without a fault Jesse nods and accepts Maria’s favor before he listens to her suggestion and goes to grab his breakfast, letting you comment on the messy relationship part.

“He’s a very good guy, I don’t think I could be so easily okay with my friend if they kissed my ex.”

“What did I just say,” Maria whispers her warning, but Apollo still chimes in nevertheless.

“Me neither.”

You look at him and find his gaze. “Oh?” You question teasingly with a questioning look.

“Oh.” He teases back before he leans in towards you. “It's a good thing we didn’t have to deal with that.”

You snicker. “You said it.”

He smiles with amusement and then strokes your chin, ending that conversation there since Jesse comes back and neither of you want to tease him. He’s too good for either of you to pick on him about that matter, so you let him be and instead focus on other unimportant matters that take up the time while you eat. Eventually, he leaves to do as Maria told him and you don’t waste a second of your time.

Breakfasts with your family aren’t uncommon but it’s the thought of mortal danger lurking nearby that makes you try and cherish this morning more than others, fearing in the back of your minds that it could be your last.

“You should take Hermes,” Apollo suggests, taking your attention away from an old couple carrying your son after they said he reminded them of their late son when he was a baby.

“With these infected under the snow she’ll sniff out any danger before you can be surprised by it,” Apollo adds, letting you know he hasn’t had a moment's peace since he was told the news and remembered you had to go out today.

“What about you and Teddy? You’ll need her with you too,” you argue softly, but he quickly rebuttals.

“I’d feel more comfortable if I knew she was with you and the others, so take her with you.”

Finding no stronger argument to use without ending up going back and forth, you offer your husband some peace of mind and give in. “Okay, I’ll take her…is that why you brought her with us?”

He chuckles softly and admits his intentions, making you smile with amusement before your attention drifts to the old couple as they hand you back your baby as your Uncle Tommy gets up on a sturdy chair to steal everyone’s attention and start the meeting.

“Now you're all probably wondering why we’re here after rumors have started spreading, so as to stop misinformation from spreading…yes, Kylie and Max ran into a group of infected that came out of a pile of their own dead and snow,” he pauses to let the people collect their thoughts amongst themselves.

Once the room silences again he continues. “We can’t be sure how many more there are, but we know we can’t ignore them. That’s why the town is on alert. Now, the most likely outcome is none of this is necessary, okay?”

You really hope so. You’ll have a knot in your stomach the entire time you’re out and unsure of your family’s well-being.

“You wanna remind me next week how I made y’all go through all this crap for no reason?” Your uncle continues to say. “Nothin’ will make me happier. But you know the drill. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. Now half y’all is hung over and want me to shut up. But, uh,” he pauses briefly as you and the crowd laugh in response to his remark.

“I’ma go through this anyway ‘cause it’s been a minute. If you see flares, if you hear bells, stop what you’re doin’. You follow the plan. What’s the plan? Vanessa, what’s the plan?” You catch him pick on someone in front of the crowd.

“We go to the forest?” The little girl answers cluelessly, making people laugh and your uncle smile.

“To the forest?” Your uncle retorts. “Do not go to the forest, sweetheart. Be such a bad idea. Now, young ones, old ones, right quick into basements and cellars. You lock the doors, you reinforce, shelter in place ‘til we tell you it’s safe to come out. Now for the rest of us, where do we go?”

“Up,” the crowd says altogether.

Your uncle nods. “Up, that’s right,” he agrees. “Rooftops, second floors. What do we bring?”

“Guns!”

“That means—”

Before you can finish hearing what your uncle is going to say your attention is stolen by the sound of Ellie’s voice. “You wanted to—“

Before she can finish albeit, you see that Maria cuts her off to shush her so she can listen to your uncle. You however, make it hard for Ellie since you lean forward with your child in arms and wave his little hand at her whilst you offer her a warm smile.

Ellie smiles and waves at Teddy, but when she meets your gaze her smile fades slightly and she offers you a greeting nod, letting you then continue listening to your uncle.

“….Keep ‘em on you. Safeties. Please. Somebody shot themselves in the leg last week.”

“Earl!” Apollo and the rest of the crowd reveal with teasing laughs.

“Alright,” your uncle nods with a smile. “Don’t be Earl. Now, bigger weapons,” he moves on. “Security team will handle those. For the rest of you, if there’s a breach…god forbid, stay off the Main Street. Last place you wanna be, trust me on that one.”

You sigh with worry and hold onto Theo just a little tighter.

“Any questions?” Your uncle asks the crowd and waits. When he sees and hears nothing he finally finishes the meeting. “Alright then. Get with your group leaders. Spread the word to your neighbors. Let’s get everyone in the loop.”

“Go hug daddy,” you hear Maria tell Benji, and as a result, he’s quick to slide off the bar table. “Tell him he did good.”

Once Benji passes by you you address Maria before she can take Ellie with her. “I’m leaving soon. I hope nothing bad happens but either way, take care.”

Maria nods in comprehension. “Keep your ear open for any updates and be careful.”

“Of course,” you assure her and offer her a smile before you look at your partners. “I’ll meet you guys outside.”

Ellie nods while Jesse offers you a verbal response. “Yep.”

Without another word you and Apollo start to head out, but before you can make it outside, as you’re in the middle of the restaurant you throw up your hand and blurt out. “Bye Uncle Tommy!”

“Bye Sunny! Take care ya hear?!” He yells back and you throw a thumbs up before you finally make it outside without any more interruptions, catching your dog Hermes walking over to join you after she patiently waited for you to come out again.

“Hey, girl,” you greet her and crouch to pet her head. “I hope you ate all your breakfast we’re going out today. How does that sound?”

Hermes lifts her ears and tilts her head before she walks around you to rub herself against you wanting to be pet.

“Well, only ‘cause you’re so cute,” you tell her and gently scratch her side for just a little bit because time is something you don’t have anymore.

“Here,” Apollo interjects as you’re standing back up and when you face him you see him holding onto his old Firefly pendant. “My dad found it the other day stashed away somewhere. I know you fidget when you get nervous, so another pendant to add to your chain,” he says and closes the small gap between you to hang the metal chain around your neck, causing an immediate awe-struck smile to appear on your lips.

“Are you sure it’s not so I have you around my neck,” you poke fun and lean your face closer to his while Teddy grabs the pendant and studies it with fascination.

“Well,” he scoffs lightheartedly. “That’s exactly it. Actually.”

You giggle and press a small peck on his lips before you just wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a tight embrace.

“Be careful please,” you whisper nervously now.

You had been nervous ever since you heard the news about the Town being on alert, but you’ve been trying to put on a brave face as you told yourself over and over again that nothing is going to happen. Yet now that you’re so close to leaving, you’re so scared that something will happen while you’re away.

“I will be,” Apollo assures you as he rests his chin on the top of your head and rubs your back. “We’ll be okay. Don’t worry too much about us.

You let out a shaky breath and hug him tighter.

“You be careful out there too,” he says against your head as he presses a kiss on it. “If things get bad here and there, don't rush home. Don’t risk your life. Put yourself first and once the storm has passed come home. Otherwise don’t risk it. You know I can protect Teddy and myself.”

You want to fight him because even now every muscle in your body wants you to risk your life to come to their side if anything bad does happen, but you need to believe that this town won’t crumble.

“We’ve been through hell, it’s not anything I’m not used to. And you…you’re the strongest person I know,” he speaks sweetly, and with every word a part of you feels relieved while another feels more worried—“We’ll see each other again.”

You pull away and he brings his hand down to cup your cheek and offer you a charming smile before he leans in and steals a short yet passionate kiss.

“I love you,” you tell him words you’ll never tire of repeating.

“I love you too,” he redirects without hesitation.

You take in his words and keep them close to your heart as a form of comfort when you’re out.

“I love you to my Theo,” you now direct at your son who's distracted by trying to eat your pendant and making noise with the chain. “You be good and brave, okay?” You ask rhetorically before you press him against you and snuggle him for a good and long moment until you see Ellie and Jesse coming your way.

“Apollo!” Ellie exclaims before she runs over. “You’re not joining us?” She asks simply because he’s lenient with her when they happen to go on patrols together. It can be a real pain in the ass, but it’s also sweet that she ended up liking him after she told you not to give up your freedom for a man.

“Not today,” he lets her down. “I will soon though. I’m missing the action.”

“Yeah, you are,” she laughs

“Ah yes the action that comes after not following rules,” you quip and put your hand up so Jesse can give you a high five.

“You know what? The last time you guys lost the game, so it sounds like you’re both just sore losers,” Ellie remarks smugly. “So I’m choosing not to listen.”

Apollo clicks his tongue and shrugs with the same air of smugness Ellie was imbued with.

“Whatever, let’s go now, shall we?”

“Please!” Jesse agrees and with that, you set off to the stables where your horses are already waiting all saddled and everything. The only thing that’s missing is you to climb on, but first, you hug Teddy one last time, and then you throw your arms around Apollo to breathe in his scent and appreciate his warmth as if you’ll be leaving for months when it’s only a couple hours out of the day.

“I love you. Take care, okay?” He repeats as he holds you just as tight.

“I love you. You take care too.”

You draw in a heavy breath and linger in his embrace for a moment longer until you force yourself away to hand Teddy to Apollo. Albeit rather than mounting the horse right away you hold Apollo's gaze for a second longer before you finally climb on your horse.

“You take care of them, Hermes,” Apollo orders your dog and she watches him seriously for a moment as if locking on to her task before she runs off and waits in front of the gates.

“Say bye to your mommy,” you hear Apollo tell Teddy, and when you look over you see him trying to get Teddy to wave. “Bye-bye Mommy!”

Teddy watches Apollo’s hand and then looks over at you on top of your horse and doesn’t do anything for a few seconds. Albeit before you can walk away he opens and closes his hand as he tries his best to offer you a goodbye. “Bah!”

You grin and wave at him. “Bye-bye, baby!”

He waves his hand frantically and shows off his bottom teeth with a smile, causing Apollo to smile in adoration, and letting that perfect and beautiful moment be the last image you choose to hang onto before you turn your horse and walk toward the gate.

No matter if Apollo’s worried face, and Teddy’s sad face as those gates open and welcome the sight of a dangerous horizon hurt your heart, you still cling to that perfect image of them.

“Bye,” you wave at them one last time and watch Apollo wave back before you draw in a deep breath and look ahead, noticing Hermes excitedly run past the gates first before Ellie and Jesse follow, leaving you behind to draw out a deep breath and then follow.

As to if that breath was relieving? It wasn’t. In fact that knot in your stomach grows in size as those gates close behind you, cutting off the connection to your family.

You know you won’t feel better until the town is no longer on alert, so until then you’ll live with that knot.

“Are we worrying about that?” You hear Ellie ask and when you follow her line of gaze, past Hermes is a dark storm in the distant mountains.

“Nah, it’ll just be up in the mountains,” Jesse offers Ellie some consolation.

“Fucking hope so,” Ellie retorts. “Ten seconds in, I already can’t feel my ass.”

“What ass?” You quip and slowly churn your head with a smirk, meeting her squinted gaze immediately before receiving the middle finger.

“That’s why she can’t feel it…because she’s got none,” Jesse joins, making you snort and making Ellie look offended.

“What? Why are you ganging up on me about my ass? And aren't you supposed to have a stick up your ass when we’re out here,” Ellie snaps at Jesse, so he slowly glances at her and shakes his head.

“I can take things lightly when my partners listen and follow the rules,” he counterattacks, making you only laugh harder.

“When my partners listen and follow the rules,” Ellie mocks him in a deep voice before she snaps her head toward you and points her finger at you. “Aren’t you supposed to be sulking?”

“Hey!” You and Jesse both remark in sync.

“Not cool,” Jesse interjects while your smile completely falls.

“Right,” Ellie sighs as she sees the error of her ways right off the bat. “Sorry. Sorry.”

You didn’t actually get offended by her comment but you still appreciate her apology.

“For whatever it is worth…I'm sure when we make it home, the town will just be more reinforced,” Ellie offers some consolation. “I’m sure only that storm will be the most of our worries.”

You look over at the storm and nod slowly. “Yeah, it’s just…the news has me all nervous. That’s all.” You say and lead the group into a silence that turns out to be quite the companion.

Having Hermes leading the patrol is of immense help, she is able to take some stress off all three of you since she has the advantage of smelling the infected before you can see them, but the further you walk the darker the sky is until thick grey and white clouds completely cover the sky. The howling winds turn from cold to icy, and the snow goes from graceful to feeling like it’s attacking you.

Even so, you keep going on and finally break the silence. “So…my dad wanted to take you with him on patrol,” you say loud enough so you can be heard over the wind and over your scarf masking your mouth and nose. “Why is that so? He’s been good at giving you your space when it comes to partnering up for patrols.”

You glance at Ellie and wait for her to respond or at least spare you a glance, but her eyes are locked ahead, and Jesse actually answers.

“Don’t, I tried. She says no one should worry about her and Joel.”

You nod slowly. “Oh! Okay…” You trail off and steal one last glance at her because you know you’ll get some kind of response later on when Jesse is not around. As to what you’ll talk about now?

You can’t mention her kiss with Dina with Jesse around, that’d be weird, but the silence will only have you thinking about this cold more than you already are, so you share something that comes to mind.

“Apollo and I decided last night that we want to try for a second baby.”

Jesse and Ellie glance at you and they both offer you a nod that says good for you but their smiles vary, whereas Jesse offers you a sweet and proud smile, Ellie offers you a small and tight-lipped awkward smile that you know is far from sarcastic and filled with genuine joy. It’s just awkward.

“We both want Teddy to at least have one sibling,” you add. “We both have siblings and we want Teddy to have that same connection too.”

“That’s good!” Jesse says. “I would have loved to have a brother. I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thank you, Jesse.”

“I’m sure you will get what you want,” Ellie offers her kind words. “But if you do have a second kid I think I’m going to start charging you for babysitting.”

“Ha!” You laugh mockingly.

“I mean Teddy loves me,” Ellie argues. “And I’m great. There’s no one better than me.”

You flash her a happy look but nothing else because then a voice breaks through your radios. “Cottonwood patrol…”

“Hold that thought,” you direct at Ellie before you pull your scarf off your face and look at Jesse. “You make any of that?”

Jesse shakes his head and chooses to talk through the walkie for the both of you. “What? Repeat.”

You bring your radio closer to your ear in hopes you can hear better this time.

“Cottonwood patrol, return to Jackson ASAP.”

You swallow thickly and thoughtfully glance down at your hand grabbing your reign while Jesse answers back. “Yeah, alright but I think we’re too far out to make it back.”

You then look back at the path you came from before looking at a different path and finally over at Hermes sticking closer by now.

“I know a spot, we can hole up there,” Jesse lets Amy know through the radio.

“Copy. Shelter in place until we contact you. Stay warm.”

“Yeah, you too, over!”

“What spot?!” Ellie asks after Jesse puts his radio away.

“This way!” He says without giving anything away and leads the group into a trot. Well just Ellie and his horse, you have your horse fall behind as you can’t help but think about one person out on patrol too through this terrible blizzard.

Your dad and Dina will most likely not try to go back to Jackson with the storm being this out of control, but there’s also hardly any places warm enough for them to stay at to wait out the storm, and only a few people know about Eugene’s 7/11 hideout.

If you guide them here it won’t take too long. You know your way around without fear of getting lost, and with the reports of an increase in infected around the area, it will be better to be in a bigger group and have more guns. Moreover, if something dangerous does wind up at Jackson then it will be better if you arrive together when you go back home, it’ll help with potential plans.

Plus it’s doubtful your dad's radio works so high up where they are which means they most likely didn’t get the news to go back home or find shelter…

You should go get them—no you will. It’s better to be together than apart, and it’s better to be at a lower altitude to catch any incoming news.

“Jesse! Ellie!” You call out for them over the wind before you make your horse run to fall at their side and gain their immediate attention—“I’m going to go get Dina and my dad to bring them down here! They’re still out there it's impossible to get any signal with this storm and them being higher up. Plus it’ll be safer in numbers just in case anything happens!”

Ellie’s eyebrows knit and Jesse doesn’t try to stop you, he just questions one thing. “Are you sure? It’s hell out here!”

You nod. “I know my way around and I have Hermes! We’ll be back quick!”

“I’m going!” Ellie exclaims and you quickly shake your head.

“No! Don’t leave Jesse alone! Stay! I’ll be okay! I’ll bring them over here!”

“Wait! Do you know where we’re going?!” She asks.

You nod. “Yes! Go! I’ll be right back!”

Ellie seems hesitant and like she wants to disobey, but Jesse agreeing seems to change her mind. “Okay! Be careful!”

“You too!” You say back and then look at your dog. “Hermes, follow me to Copper Mine, girl!!”

Said dog barks and quickly changes course along with you, not daring to miss a beat as she continues to navigate with you at a quicker speed. Almost becoming one as you travel through strong winds and over the growing blankets of snow. Except she has killer instincts you don't which keep her completely in tune with her surroundings in a way you never could.

It’s why you love having dogs. Like Austin, your previous dog that didn’t make it back home, Hermes is reliable and loyal, not daring to leave as it all may seem terrifying and you get further away from home.

You only hope you can lead her to your dad and Dina and not have a failed mission. What would you do then?

You’ll be stuck in the same dilemma you want to help your dad from…

No! You can’t think that way! You can’t get in your head in general, home will be there when you get back. Apollo and Theo will be safe, so will your uncle, Maria, and Benji, and this storm will pass.

Yes, that’s what you need to focus on.

You can’t let the knot in your stomach grow or it will consume you.

Thus with a deep breath and after tucking your flying pendant under your jacket you nudge your horse to run faster, resulting in almost catching up to Hermes, but not quite, and then not at all when she strains every muscle to sprint away.

“Hermes!” You yell out. “Wait!”

You lose sight of her, so you have your horse sprint after her.

The falling snow hides her tracks, making it difficult to follow her every step, but then through the wind, you hear her bark again and again, louder and louder until you find her after she’s come to a stop just at the foot of a hill and a mystery girl.

Yes, it’s no illusion, it’s a real girl. Not infected. A human girl standing on top of a dangerous field of dead infected like a freighted animal stuck on a frozen pond cautiously yearning for help, but waiting to see if you’re friend or foe.

“Hermes,” you whisper sharply and snap your eyes to your dog. “Quiet.”

Said dog immediately goes quiet and stays put, darting her eyes from the field of dead infected and to the girl you don’t hesitate helping. How could you when you see her stuck in such a dilemma?

“Slow,” you warn her and immediately offer her your hand to let her know you’re a friend. “Infected,” you warn her of what you heard just this morning. “Under there.” You point and move your other hand to grab your revolver. “Come slowly.”

The mystery girl's eyes fall to the ground to inspect the field of corpses for a moment too long.

“Hurry,” you press as quietly but as loud as you can be, making the girl's eyes finally fly to you before she does as you said, moving slowly towards you in hopes she didn’t already alert the infected of her presence.

“It’s ok,” you assure her. “I got your back.”

The girl watches where she steps and makes sure that something doesn’t pop out of the snow and takes her down with them, while also looking up at you in hopes you won't suddenly vanish like a dream and if she’s any closer.

Thankfully, she makes it more than halfway, but unluckily she was not undetected. From one moment to another, the ground beneath her begins to sink, causing Hermes to start barking, giving warning of the approaching infected and hurrying the mystery girl she found.

“Just run,” you bellow and wave her over before looking at the sinking field of snow and at the dead with horror. “Run Hermes. Ahead!”

Without being told where to go now, your dog doesn’t hesitate, she turns and sprints away, leaving you behind like you told her to so she can be ahead of the incoming herd, while the girl gets closer, but all too quickly like a breaking ice lake, the blanket of corpses completely breaks apart and outcome living infected.

“You’re gonna have to jump on! I got you!” You yell and hurry her up with more urgency until she finally reaches your horse and trusts you by giving you her hand and letting you help her as she jumps on.

Before you can check if she’s secure as the ground looks like a sea of infected, you urge your horse forward and she quickly breaks into a sprint after Hermes’ trail.

“There’s an old mining place up ahead!” You let the girl know louder than before because the sound of the infected grows louder than the howling wind as you hear what could be more than twenty of them rise from the ground and run after you ravenously.

Luckily, the mining place is close, you’re able to reach it rather quickly, but since you can't follow the path to the gate you end up approaching the wall and find Hermes too, but she’s smaller than a horse and she doesn’t wait. She goes ahead to try and find a way in without you, leaving you to try and navigate through the thick of the woods to reach the gate or find another way in.

You could’ve gone around but the herd of infected is coming at you too fast, they’ll cut you off way before you can even circle to the gate. Moreover, cutting the woods will slow you down and the infected will be able to surround you, so there’s no other choice. You have to climb up the wall, and luckily, you come across the wall with the fire escape.

“We’re going have to jump and climb over!” You let the girl know. “There’s no other way around unless we want to get surrounded by those infected! Do you understand?!”

You look back at the girl to get your answer some way or the other, but you see her looking back at the quickly approaching herd.

“Girl! Do you understand!”

The girl's eyes snap to you and with her lips slightly parted in disbelief she nods.

“Okay, now!” You order and swing your leg over to jump off. The girl quickly follows suit so you’re able to smack your horse's side—“Go girl! Run off!”

With fear and a task, your horse runs off through the forest, letting you lead the girl to the fire escape, and be the first to use the wall as an advantage to kick off the wall and gain momentum to jump and grab that last step. Thereafter, without looking back, but hearing the ravenous herd you quickly ascend the stairs in a panic. When you reach the top you finally let yourself peek down and other than seeing the girl climbing up fast, you also see the infected finally catch up and throw themselves against the wall in desperate attempts to reach you.

“Give me your hand!” You yell at the girl and throw your hand down.

The girl looks up to see where your hand is before she turns her head away from the falling snow hitting her face, and hops to be able to get ahold of your hand so you can help her up.

Albeit, when you’re pulling her up, suddenly you feel a tug, causing you to slip and causing the girl to sink towards that hungry herd.

“I can’t reach my gun! Get it off!” You exclaim and drag yourself back, but the force of the infected is strong and it manages to drag the girl down more, causing you to go forward as you refuse to let go. Which, you could've and you would have been able to escape, but even if you don’t know her, leaving her to die would weigh on your consciousness, so you keep pulling until finally she manages to get herself free and lets you pull her over the wall with ease.

When you land on the floor on the other side, you continue to run because you know that the herd will try to find a way in one way or another, and where you are now is a dead end.

“No use trying to find a way in through those buildings,” you tell the girl and continue to lead the way while stealing some glances at her. “Just follow me.”

The girl glances at the quiet buildings as she most likely doubts you, but she follows you around the corner regardless, and you come across a narrow path in between a wired fence and the side of a building.

It’s a real fucking ballsy risk going through that with the infected finding their way around, but fuck it you have no other choice, so you lead the charge without looking back even if you hear the approaching herd. You just make sure the girl is behind you and push your way through with your breaths growing heavy as your heart only seems to race faster. It was already pounding when you thought you were simply coming to find your dad, but now your chest hurts with how fast it’s running with fear, and determination not to die.

Moreover, that already overworking heart jumps when the infected find their way around and throw themselves against the fence, managing to bend it with the strength of their piling bodies, and forcing you on your hands and knees as the weak fence folds over you and the girl.

Now besides trying to outrun them, you’re forced to try and avoid their reaching hands trying to grab what they can. Which is hard to do when the fence is squeezing you further as they keep pushing and piling on.

It almost seems like they’re going to manage to grab you and the girl as the fence falls over you, but before any of them can manage to catch you, you make it across to the open space.

Yet when you shove yourself to your feet, suddenly something grabs a hold of the back of your jacket and yanks you back.

You scream out and reach for your gun, but when you face your attacker, you see your dad.

“Inside now!” He bellows.

You shake off your surprise and relief and argue. “No! Wait! A girl…” you trail off as the person you’re talking about finally makes it to the open space. However, after her is an infected that quickly tackles her to the ground when she tries to push herself to her feet, causing you to raise your gun to kill the runner, but your dad is quicker and beats you to it, letting the girl crawl back with shock.

“Give me your hand!” Your dad tells her as she keeps backing away from the infected. “Give me your hand!” He insists louder and manages to snap her out of whatever stupor she was stuck in.

“Can you run?” He asks the girl after he helps her up.

“Yeah,” the girl says between pants.

“Run! That way!” He exclaims and turns her around, making you finally turn to round another corner and run inside where you know he came from, and where you hope Dina is, but you don’t take your time to check. You wave the girl in and then after when your dad runs in and closes the door, you help him find something to barricade the door to hold back the infected for at least a few minutes.

“Joel?” You feel relief when you hear Dina from the ground. “Joel?!”

“Up here,” your dad says after the second call. “I’m comin’. I’m comin’.”

“This, this,” you say as you find a thick slab of wood.

“Apollo?!” You hear Dina shout your husband's name.

“No!” You correct her. “It’s me! It’s me!”

“I got it, I got it,” your dad says in a panic before adding something else. “Your horse and your dog are down there,” your dad assures you as he snatches the slab of wood from your hand, letting you then turn to do as he said.

However, first, you finally address the girl as you find her sitting against a pillar not far from the door.

“You good?” You ask her with genuine concern, noticing that she still looks frazzled, so you press again. “Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good!” She finally answers still between pants.

“Any bites?”

She shakes her head so you wave her over.

“Okay, good, come with us. We can help you.”

The girl doesn't move but the force against the door sounds louder so as your dad passes by he interjects with urgency. “Now!”

You reach over for the girl's arm and help her to her feet before you pull her with you as you run to the stairs.

“Hey, are you okay?” You hear your dad ask behind you after he fell behind on purpose. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no,” you assure him as you let the girl go as you descend to the second floor. “I’m okay. I’ll explain everythin’ later. Just know I’m here for you.”

Before he can answer Dina calls out your name with surprise even after you made yourself known.

“I’ll explain later,” you repeat yourself and muster a relieved smile when you see that Hermes and your horse managed to find their way around without getting hurt or caught by the infected.

“What do we do?” Dina asks your dad now as she hears the infected trying to get in.

“Good girls,” you praise your horse and Hermes as you reach them. “You did good.” You offer them a smile.

“We leave!” Your dad shouts without thinking too much about it.

“Back to Jackson?!” Dina quips as your dad reaches his horse. “It’s too far! We’ll freeze before we get halfway.”

“I’m aware,” your dad says as he mounts his horse.

“Where the fuck did they even come from?” Dina quips. “Where did you come from?” She directs at the girl now.

“The mountain,” the girl deadpans.

“I helped her,” you explain as you jump on your horse. “And the infected came from under the snow and a pile of their dead. What Max and Kylie said is true.”

Dina bats her lashes with shock before all your attention flies to the banging and shrieking that grows louder.

“Hermes,” you grab your dog's attention. “On girl.”

With some hesitation your dog backpedals before she hops on your lap, making your horse walk back as she’s caught off guard.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” you try to calm her down.

“Okay, guys,” Dina interjects, directing her comment at you and your dad. “If we stay here, we die. If we go out there, we die.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. I’m thinkin’!” Your dad snaps.

“Where were you?” Dina now directs at you.

“I was with Jesse and Ellie, but my plan to get you two to join us at the 7/11 won’t work now with the damn infected. They’ll swarm us there in seconds.”

“The lodge,” the girl cuts in, making you and Dina both look at her right away—“My friends are holed up in a lodge halfway up the mountain. Not far. If the infected are down here, maybe there aren’t any more up there.”

“Yes!” You agree right away. “We’ll be at an advantage in that lodge. That can work!”

Your dad's eyes linger on you before he looks back at the infected still trying to force themselves in, and then lastly he faces the girl with the plan. “Fuck it, it’s all we got. Are your friends armed?”

The girl nods. “Yeah.”

“Good. We're gonna need ‘em. Get on.”

The girl looks over at you and sees that you’re carrying your dog now so she has no choice but to ride with your dad.

Thus right in the nick of time as the infected finally barge in, the girl mounts the horse with your dad, letting you all depart and run back out to the cold with no other option. It’s either get chased through the storm or stay here and die.

Which doesn't sound good, both options are quite morbid, but you have a better chance at surviving running to that lodge. The high ground will let you get a view of every infected that will go after you which is something that wouldn’t even be possible if you met up with Ellie and Jesse.

It is true that perhaps the ammo won’t be enough, even if you join forces with the girl's friends, but when you're at that lodge you can ask for help from Jackson, or even Ellie and Jesse. You just need to make it there.

You cut through the storm as fast as your horses can take you. You avoid thinking of the worst, but when you steal a glimpse back, or when you focus on the sound of the infected, it sounds like more than you’ve ever faced before and your hope threatens to dwindle.

How is it even possible that so many have been hiding around Jackson? Has every patrol been for nothing? Was your plan to lead them away even going to work if you were able to go through with it?

What if they change their course to home?

But how would they, right? As long as you’re not leading them there they won’t think of running toward Jackson, right?

Right!

Right.

Right…

After a while of running, that intense and annoying sound of the infected no longer seems to infiltrate your ears. All you hear is that same howling of the wind, so you look back to try and see if you can still catch a glimpse, but the snow clouds your views, forcing you to only see screens of white.

It’s not until your dad brings everyone to a stop at an overlook near the lodge that you see that your fear has come true…

The gate blocking the dangers of the world from your home and your family is burning. That’s why…that’s why you stopped hearing the infected.

“What?” Dina gasps before she sees it too. The fire. “Oh god.”

“Daddy,” you whisper with concern and fear creeping up trying to poison your thoughts, but you don’t let yourself focus on it. You push it away and in doing so, as you’re lost in your mind you miss the way the girl's eyes bounce between you and your dad with surprise.

“They’ll be okay,” your dad quickly throws back at you to try and assure your already weeping heart—“but I have to go back.”

“We won’t make it,” Dina shouts what you know well enough.

“If I don’t make it, I don’t make it.”

“We have to go,” you support his decision as you think about your son Theo, your husband Apollo, and your Uncle and his family. “We have to help. They need us. Teddy—”

“No, you and Dina go to the lodge and get the reinforcements,” your dad barks back as he looks over at you to try and offer some consolation.

“We’re almost there!” The girl interrupts before anyone can make up their minds. “The lodge is just up ahead. It’s like a minute.”

You look at the girl and then look back at Jackson in the distance.

Maybe she’s right, but your family is there and you can’t see any waves of infected, which means they’re inside.

“But,” you protest and keep looking at the town imagining your family.

“We can help,” the girl keeps insisting. “We got blankets. Ammo! My friends can help you get back. We can fight.”

You look away from Jackson and meet her persistent gaze.

“You helped me,” she says as she sees the worry and distress written clearly on your face. “Let me help you. I owe you that.”

You hold her gaze for a moment and she nods to press what she said. Yet no matter how kind her words are she’s not the one who wins you over. It’s your dad.

“There’s no other choice. We need more guns if we want to go,” your dad tries his own way to reassure you as he makes up his mind. “Teddy and Apollo will be fine. You have to put yourself first in order to help them though.”

He’s right…thus you nod to let them know you finally agree.

“Fast!” Your dad exclaims and makes his horse break into a run to lead you and Dina to the lodge.

A great and deep concern still nags at your heart, but you choose to trust the girl.

You honestly didn’t expect anything in return for saving her, but you still appreciate her offer, and charge toward the lodge with that gesture warming a piece of your worried heart.

Eventually, when you reach the lodge the girl's friends are outside, seeming to have been guarding or looking for her, whatever it was, when they spot all the horses charging their way, they don’t greet you with guns.

Perhaps it was only because the girl is easy to spot riding with your dad, but either way, they help dismount your horses before the girl could even tell them.

The girl that helped you even pets Hermes when she jumps off you, further spreading that warmth in your heart.

“Inside!” You hear the girl say. “Inside!”

You watch the girl be led away by a tall guy and then catch the others tying the horses to the broken gate before you lastly notice your dad reach Dina’s side as she’s slumped over cradling her shivering body. Hence, you quickly run to her and mirror your dad's gesture by wrapping your arms around her as well to pass her as much warmth as you can offer.

“Inside Hermes. Quickly,” you order your dog and watch her quickly run off to get out of the cold. After that you turn to face Dina, seeing how much she’s suffering.

“Oh god Dina,” you gasp with worry and rub her arm harder to try and pass her more warmth.

“Are you okay?” Your dad asks you as he leans forward to try and study you.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I’m fine. Dina though,” you mention and let her go to slip your scarf off your neck and wrap it around her. “Just remember not to close your eyes okay?”

Dina nods almost weakly and you go back to hugging her.

Once you’re inside your dad takes his coat off and hangs it around Dina to try and get her warmer, whilst your bare neck that was already being pinched by the cold, stings less, but with your entire body suffering because of the chilling cold you hardly feel content. It’s only once you’re taken to a room upstairs with a burning chimney that the coldness trying to freeze your body begins to melt away.

If only you could say the same for Dina who finds no relief even inside. Not yet at least. Hermes on the other hand curls herself up in a spot in front of the fire.

“Stay by the fire I’m going to try and contact Jackson,” your dad directs at you as he departs your side to head to the big windows.

“Okay. If you can’t reach them try Ellie and Jesse. Maybe they can relay the message for you,” you let him know, making him peer over at you and offer you a comprehensive nod. After that, you then focus back on Dina to try and make her feel warmer.

“You’ll feel better soon,” you try to assure her as you grab her hands and rub them to pass her friction.

However, she then pulls away to try and take her coat off.

“No, no, no, uh let’s keep your coat on, alright?” You hear someone stop her before you can and when you look over you see that one of the girl's friends is no longer hiding under her hood, in fact, she looks familiar.

Have you seen her before?

“It’s okay,” the girl you don’t know if you remember tells Dina as she reaches her other side. “I think I see just a little frostbite on your wrist.”

You gasp and lean forward to probe. “Can you help her?”

The girl meets your gaze and her eyes linger on you before she quickly darts her eyes away and nods. “Yeah…it’s not too bad. I’m gonna take a look.”

You nod and loosen your grip around Dina’s arm to let the girl take her glove off.

“Easy,” the girl says as she reveals the large black and blue spot that had already spread on Dina’s wrist— “we’re gonna raise your body temperature up slowly, okay?”

“What’s the…who are you?” Dina asks shakily and when you look at her you see her eyes focused past the girl, so you follow her line of gaze and catch a backpack with a yellow patch that has a wolf and three words inscribed on it, ‘W.L.F’.

Wolf?

You recognize that insignia. It’s from Washington. A libertarian group near Seattle. Yeah. You heard about it when you were a Firefly because Marlene would talk about it—Or rave about it.

“Hang on. I gotta jump on this, or you’re gonna lose skin,” the girl doesn’t answer Dina as she continues to help her.

“Okay everybody grab blankets, ammo, whatever weapons you have. We’re headin’ out in three minutes,” your dad announces without discussing it with the others you don’t know.

“You’re all a long ways from Washington,” you break your silence and let Dina go to turn and face the room, seeing all eyes fall on you, and hearing a silence pass where the tall guy and a slightly shorter guy with dark hair pass each other looks. While a black girl next to your dad looks at you surprised.

“WLF,” you point to the backpack. “Washington Liberation Front.”

Again there’s more silence before the girl you came with nods and finally offers you something. “Yeah…you know them?” She asks with her eyebrows knitted together.

“Well,” you sigh. “I never met one, but I’ve heard about them. Yes, a long time ago.”

The girl swallows thickly and nods before she blinks rapidly and suddenly changes the subject. “Uh, sorry, I’m-I’m Abby. I didn’t have the chance to tell you.”

You offer her a half smile still full of sweetness.

“Nora,” she continues and points at the tall black girl next to your dad before she points at the guys by the entrance. “Manny, Owen, and Mel,” she lastly points at the girl tending to Dina, and again you can't remember where you know her from. It’s killing you now.

“Jackson,” your dad says through the radio as he turns away without caring about what was said. “Come in. Tommy, come in. Do you copy?”

“Her name's Dina,” Abby lets Mel know who she’s helping before she points at you and says your name which you didn’t give her, but Dina did say it so that’s where she got it from.

“Jackson, come in,” you hear your dad try again as he wanders away from his spot. “Jackson!”

“And he,” Abby continues. “Is Joel.”

“Hey, Jackson, do you copy?” You focus on your dad not giving up trying to contact home, missing the silence that passes after Abby shares all your names.

“Does anyone copy? Any patrols, anyone?”

It’s quiet from the other end and quiet where you are, so you just focus on the hope and desperation you feel to be answered by anyone at home so they can let you know if they’re all alive. It’s why you get surprised by the sudden arm that wraps around your throat and squeezes tightly as they also press the cold head of a gun against the side of your head, warning you to keep still and keep from fighting.

However, even then your focus firstly drives to Dina as you’re hit with concern, catching her also being held at gunpoint by the guy Manny. Nora is behind them and Mel is still by the fire, so it means you’re being held by Owen. You can feel him towering over you. Which leaves Abby still by the fire and your dad unaware.

Thus, you call out quickly as Hermes jumps from her spot and begins to bark viciously.

“Dad. Dad, Dad!”

Said man stops talking to the radio and snaps around seeing Dina be threatened first before his eyes land on you and widen before he tries to reach for his gun.

Albeit he immediately gets stopped. “No,” Nora warns and when your eyes drift over you see her pointing a rifle at your dad.

“The dog!” Abby sneers as Hermes goes wild, but doesn’t attack because you haven’t commanded her yet. If they were infected she would’ve already ended them, but since they’re living humans she waits for her signal.

“Tell it to go outside!” Abby orders. “Or I will shoot it.”

“Hermes,” you call out loudly and grab Owen‘s arm in an attempt to pull him off, but his grip is strong, so you don’t have a choice. “Outside. Go outside.”

Hermes doesn’t listen; she keeps barking as she backs away to try and be at your dad's side.

“Now!” Abby bellows.

“Hermes!” You yell. “Outside! Now!”

The dog goes quiet and then breaks into a run to leave the room, letting Abby approach the door to slam it shut before she returns.

“Don’t move,” Owen warns your dad.

“You’re holding the sole reason I’m not doing anything,” your dad snaps as Nora who shows off her bald head now walks to each one of you to take your weapons and your radio while still pointing her gun at your dad.

“We’re not gonna hurt them,” Abby tells your dad. “Not if you cooperate.”

You glance at her and then find your dad again, feeling nothing but confusion, fear, frustration, and betrayal.

“We’re just gonna put Dina to sleep for a while,” Abby adds. “Trust me it’s for the best…Do it.”

There’s a moment's hesitation before you hear Abby sneer. “If you don’t do it, I’m gonna smash her in the fuckin’ head.”

You begin to pant and try to remove Owen’s arm again, but he squeezes harder before he shifts just slightly.

“Abby, what about her?” He asks, making you look over and meet Abby’s gaze at the same time she looks over at you, catching at that moment, the rage you didn’t catch before.

“Keep holding her,” Abby tells Owen. “Keep her awake. The entire time.”

You swallow thickly out of nervousness and then let your eyes flicker back to your dad, seeing his own confusion and anger.

“You wanna rob us? Fine, take what you want,” your dad interjects as he keeps his hands up.

“Do we look like raiders to you?” Abby retorts as she takes her coat off.

“No,” your dad deadpans.

“What do we look like?”

Your dad's eyes bounce around the room before he faces Abby and gives her a response. “Military. Fireflies?”

And at the moment it hits you where you know Mel from. She stitched up your wound at the hospital. She’s the girl that was learning to be gentle. She…she’s doing this?

“Used to be,” Abby says with a quieter rage. “Haven’t you heard? There are no more Fireflies. They’re all gone.”

You continue to pant and look down as you begin to realize why they’re here.

They’re here for revenge because of what your dad did. Because of what he took from them. Hope.

“Okay,” you hear someone whisper before you hear Dina begin to squirm and argue.

“No, get—Get that shit away from me—”

You look over and see Mel with a syringe in her hand.

“What is that?” You cut in with concern. “What are you doing to her?”

Mel doesn’t look back; she just speaks forward as she grabs Dina’s hand and gets the syringe closer to her. “This is gonna put her to sleep. It’s going to put you to sleep for one hour. That is all, I promise. I promise,” she repeats and directs it at your dad first and then finally at you.

“I’ll be gentle,” she says at you, making your face contort with rage before you kick back and bite down on Owen’s arm, causing him to grunt and loosen his hold.

Thus thereafter, you shove him away without a plan, but you do quickly spot a shotgun by the chimney and try to lunge for it.

Albeit Abby lunges forward and swings her fist, but you manage to avoid her swing and counter back with a right hook that lands across her jaw. You then lunge for the gun, but you’re suddenly kicked at the side, making you yelp out before you’re kicked down.

“Stop!” You hear your dad bark, while Hermes begins to go crazy again outside the door this time—“Leave her. Just. Leave her.”

Someone grabs the back of your hood and yanks you back to pick you off the floor and press you against them before they wrap their arm around your throat again, squeezing so hard you can't breathe.

“Pull that shit again,” Abby hisses at you as she holds her offended area. “And I’ll fucking shoot her.”

You look over at the girl you failed to help and see that Manny presses the gun harder against Dina’s head.

“Understand? Nod if you understand.”

Owen’s grip loosens so you give her what she wants and nod, letting Mel finally poke Dina with the needle and inject her with whatever medicine she brought.

“No. No. No!” Dina protests, but it can’t be avoided anymore. She goes down, making Manny lay her on the ground.

“See?” Abby points out. “Breathing.”

You keep watching Dina until you’re able to make out her back rising and falling.

“That’s a nice scar you have on your right temple there,” Abby adds, picking your gaze off Dina to look back at her. “I'd say you’re about, what, six feet? In your 60s now? You actually are pretty handsome. Congrats on that.” She chuckles, whilst your face contorts with disgust and disbelief.

“I’m gonna give you one chance to tell the truth, Joel,” Abby keeps on going more seriously now. “If you do…let’s face it. We’ll all know. I’ll let them live.”

Your eyes widen and fly to your dad whilst he immediately finds you too.

“Wait, Abby, I thought—”

“Shut up!” She cuts Mel off angrily, causing Hermes to start scratching the door for a moment before she stops barking and you hear her run off.

“Where was the last place you saw the Fireflies?” Abby continues to address your dad, and with that question, your dad glances at Dina before once again meeting your gaze and giving Abby what she’s asking for.

“Salt Lake,” he says and looks at her.

“At least you’re honest,” she says as she steps back and then turns to approach the chimney.

“Wait,” you whisper as you see her grab the shotgun. “Wait. Wait. I saved your life,” your voice quivers as you’re unable to hold yourself strong like your dad.

“What life?” She counters and turns around to point the shotgun at your dad for a second before she hits the trigger, managing to hit your dad straight in the knee, and causing him to yell out and fall to the ground.

“NO!” You cry and pull away to try and immediately reach your dad, however, Owen only secures his hold and keeps you put.

“Please,” you beg with tears immediately falling from your eyes.

“Tourniquet him,” Abby says.

“Daddy,” you whimper.

“Mel, let’s just do what we came to do,” Owen’s words register behind you, but all you can focus on is your dad.

“Daddy,” you cry again, making him put his hand up to try and stop whatever you plan to do whilst Mel approaches your dad with her belt to do as Abby told her to do. Thus when she fastens the belt above your dad's wounded knee, he screams out, forcing you to quickly look away and try to cover your ears.

“Look at him,” you hear Abby spat before she walks over and grabs your chin, making your dad use his energy to sneer at her.

“Don’t…don’t touch…her.”

“I said look at him,” she threatens in a low voice, so with no other choice, you slowly raise your eyes off the floor and look over at your dad.

“It’s okay…it’s okay, baby. Just do as she says,” he whispers at you with every effort focused on looking assuring as he’s writhing with pain.

“You’re tough,” Abby speaks again as she slowly drops her hand from your chin in order to approach your dad and crouch before him.

“I guess you probably have to be, killing all those people. Do you know how many you killed that day? Did you count as you went, or…” she trails off and shakes her head. “I guess maybe it just didn’t matter? Eighteen soldiers. And one doctor. You remember that one. An unarmed doctor you shot in the head. Yeah.” She nods as she sees that your dad is recalling that day.

“That was my dad,” she reveals, making you gulp. “Guess you probably already figured. The nurses said you barely even looked at him when you pulled the trigger. And then, you just walked right past his body and out the door. But I looked at him.” She nods as you hear her voice break. “I saw him. I was 19.” She goes quiet and sighs as she looks away for a moment.

“And he’s sorry,” you interject for your dad with tears running down your cheeks. “He’s sorry. Just…please,” you sob. “Let him go. He won’t ever walk normally again. Please.”

Abby slowly looks back at you with a side eye before she pushes herself up and walks to you with her eyes red, brimming with tears, and filled with rageful grief

“You can beg all you want. Cry. Hope for things to change. I will let you do what I never got the chance to do. It doesn't matter. At the end, you'll know what it’s like to get your father ripped from you before you can even say goodbye,” she says without letting her tears fall and with every word feeling like a bullet to the flesh because deep down past the denial and diminishing hope, you know she means what she said.

“I’ve been in a militia for five years now,” she changes the subject and turns around to slowly return to your dad again. “Seattle. I’d warn you not to go there, but little chance of that. Anyway, our commander trained us to follow a code. We don’t kill people that can’t defend themselves.”

At that you feel the grip around you falter, but not enough to let you find a way out.

“And right now,” Abby whispers as she crouches again to trace your dad's scar with her thumb, making your stomach churn with rage and the same disgust as before.

“That’s you. But I am going to kill you. Because it doesn’t matter if you have a code like me, or you’re a lawless piece of shit like you,” her voice quivers now. “There are just some things…everyone agrees are just fucking wrong.”

She sobs and looks over her shoulder. Not to look at you but at something else. When you follow her line of gaze you see her looking at a bag of golf clubs.

“Please,” you plead again and hold on tighter to your captor's arm. “Please!”

Abby keeps her word though. Your begging falls on deaf ears as she approaches that bag.

“Dad,” you cry and he finally meets your gaze with a softness he didn’t show before in front of Abby, but he shows it now as you hold his gaze.

“It’s okay,” he lets you know, but not by his words, by his look alone and that makes you sob.

“You know, it’s funny,” Abby interjects. “I have waited so long—”

“Oh, just shut the fuck up and do it already!” Your dad cuts off yet another speech, so Abby doesn’t go on, she falls silent and a few seconds later she comes back into view with a golf club in hand.

“You,” she spats. “Stupid…old man.”

You begin to heave and feel your heart clench as she gets closer to your dad with the club.

“You don’t get to rush this,” she sneers before she then swings the golf club down on your dad's wounded knee, causing him to scream out, and making you scream out as if you had gotten too, but that’s it, it felt like she hit you too. She keeps going. She keeps hitting his knee and with every hit and every scream your dad lets out, you yell out feeling your heart jump and break with every single hit.

“Stop!” You bellow with thick tears running down your face. “Please god just stop!”

But no. She keeps going as if with every hit she’s letting out an ounce of rage and fulfilling a sick dream.

“Dad!” You sob and pull. You squirm, throw your arms back, but it’s a useless endeavor. All you can do is fall on your stomach at the same time your dad falls as he can’t withstand the pain a moment longer.

“Please,” you plead again and again, but she only acts out worse. Instead of his knee, she starts hitting his face with the bloody end of that club.

“Please!”

“Don’t,” your dad coughs and reaches out for you. “Don't look…baby.”

He wiggles his fingers to try and desperately reach you, staining them with his own pool of blood.

You reach out too with the same desperation, hoping, wishing with every fiber of your body that your desperation will let you do the impossible and let you reach him.

“Don’t you dare,” Abby barks back at you as she looks over with her face stained with your dad's blood. “Or I’ll kill the girl next.”

You have no reason to doubt her, so to save Dina’s life you keep your eyes open and watch her bring the club down so hard it snaps in half.

“Stop,” you keep begging. “Please…please.”

Even if she said what she said. Even if she never listens, you keep pleading as she now uses her fists to hit him over and over again.

Your voice eventually gives out before she does. Or you think it does, you don’t know. Besides, the pressure on your neck as they prevent each of your attempts to break free, you can’t feel a thing. You’ve gone numb, so you don’t know if they’re holding you down anymore. You just know a writhing pain as your dad slowly slips away as his face gets pampered with blood and almost becomes unrecognizable.

It’s almost like you’re dying with him without having anything done to you. You just can't stand it. The heartbreak, the horror, and the pain. You also break and slip into the darkness like him.

All you can do is keep your hand out in desperate attempts to reach him. Other than that you’re useless. Completely and pathetically useless.

You want her to stop, but you think she’ll go on forever. She won’t stop. Her rage won’t stop coming. She just keeps hitting him again and again. She keeps making you suffer an immeasurable amount of pain, making sure with each swing, and each dying groan that this day will forever live on in your memory.

She makes sure that even if you manage to live and make it past your grieving period, you’ll never be able to actually feel a true moment's peace.

Then again how is it possible you’ll live past today? You won’t. You’ll die here right after him, at his side, and…it’s okay because it will relieve you of your own pain.

You are ready to die at his side.

There even comes a moment. An interruption in the gruesome sound of Abby’s fist hitting your dad's disfigured face that a gunshot goes off in the room, so you close your eyes and without struggle or finding a way to dodge the end, you close your eyes.

Yet the bullet doesn’t hit you at all, so with the energy you can muster you look over and see Ellie.

It’s Ellie!

She falls on the ground beside you but doesn’t linger there, she immediately flies up and swings her arm back, slicing Manny’s cheek with her switchblade.

“Ah! Fuck!” Manny exclaims, whilst like a shot of adrenaline after seeing her and seeing all of Abby’s friends charge toward her, you come back to life and immediately push yourself to your feet, locking eyes on Nora approaching Ellie and tackling her.

Nora is unable to hold her balance, so she stumbles forward because of your sudden body weight, and hits her nose against the edge of the chimney, making her yelp. “Damn it! Fuck!”

You then quickly slither your hands down to her holster to try and reach for her gun, but before you know it she shoves you back and since you cling onto her you both stumble back. Albeit she quickly follows up by swinging her elbow and hitting you right in the throat, causing you to let go of her, and causing Ellie to cry out your name. All while you begin to grab at your throat and gasp frantically to try and breathe.

However, as you’re focused on your throat closing and the sharp pain that stabs it, you don’t notice Ellie already on the floor disarmed. The next thing you know is an arm locks around your throat and makes it harder to try and capture a breath. It’s why you fall back to the ground on your stomach with ease because you keep gasping.

“Stupid fucking bitch!” You hear the angry shouts of someone before the pressure on your back and the arm around your neck slips off and instead, heavy footsteps charge at someone.

“No!” You manage to hear someone shout before Ellie’s scream hits your ears, making you want to react with every fiber of your being, but only now can you remember to breathe even if it hurts your throat to do so.

“Joel!” Ellie cries out. “Joel! Joel!”

You flip your head to look over at Ellie and try to reach her as you also try to call out to her, but as you part your lips nothing comes out, besides the pain you feel stabbing your throat, you can’t muster a single word. A knee just proceeds to press on your back again, leaving you immobile.

“Joel, get up,” Ellie demands. “Joel, get up. Joel, fucking get up!” She bellows desperately before she then begins to whisper as she starts to crumble with the knowledge of what awaits your dad. “Joel, get up. Get up.”

You flip your head again and when you see your dad again still laying there without moving, another immense wave of immeasurable pain slams into you.

“End it,” you hear Owen snap from on top of you.

“Joel, get up. Please,” Ellie keeps insisting. “Please, get up. Get up. Fucking, get up!” She fights hard and this time your dad tries, he slowly tries to pick his head off the floor, but alas, he still can’t move.

“Get up. Get up,” Ellie pleads and you try to reach for him again, but he’s still far, and then Abby blocks every attempt as she walks in between you and your dad to pick up one half of her broken club.

“No,” you try to plead, but you can’t muster a word. The force of the word strains your throat, but you can’t say it. You can’t speak, you can only sob and slam your hand against the floor.

“No,” Ellie cries, using her voice for you and herself. “Please no,” she adds as Abby turns away. “Please. Please don’t.” She begins to sob as Abby faces your dad's body and starts to crouch by his side again.

“Please—please don’t,” Ellie keeps crying out words you can’t even whisper anymore. “Please don’t do it! Please!”

You start scratching the floor to try and drag yourself forward to try and stop Abby, but the force on top of you presses harder, holding you still and only making you claw your nails deeper into the floor as you don’t stop trying. You keep desperately trying to move forward as Abby raises the half of her club.

“Please don’t!” Ellie keeps begging. “Don’t! Please, don’t! Don’t!”

Yet no matter how much Ellie begs, no matter how hard you try or how hard you sob, Abby impales your dad's throat.

Now after all that torture, after all that unimaginable pain, after 29 years of knowing him, seeing the same sky and breathing the same air when you were together and apart, your dad is taken from you, so as his life is stolen from him, and as Ellie screams out in pain, the air from your very lungs is stolen from you.

The light that once shone so bright has gone off, and life itself feels like it was ripped out of you too.

Your beating heart of course contradicts that feeling, but there’s truly nothing. You feel nothing. Isn’t that what death is? An endless abyss of darkness? Nothing?

If only fate could have granted you such mercy, but you’re left there motionless, staring at your dad's lifeless body without drawing in a breath until Ellie’s words travel in your ears, reminding you there’s still someone you need to keep your heart pumping for.

“I’m gonna kill you!” Ellie bellows angrily, so you finally drag your eyes up, knowing there’s only one person she could be directing those angry words to; Abby.

“You’re gonna die!” Ellie keeps shouting as Abby herself walks away without a second thought. She merely glances at you and then leaves.

“You’re all gonna fucking die!” Ellie adds and then suddenly gasps. When you look over you see her wheezing and Manny walking away.

You try to say her name, but again you can't speak, so you reach out for her desperately as everyone around you moves about, telling you that no one is holding you back anymore. You’re free to move, so without caring that everyone is leaving, you immediately face your dad again, catching Manny mumbling at your dad's body in English and Spanish. “Fucking pendejo.”

Yet you don’t care for the insult, you push yourself to your knees and crawl to your dad as fast as you can. When you reach his side you sit up on your knees and wheeze as you try to sound out a word, but nothing comes out, so you raise your hand and reach for his cheek, but don’t touch his bloody cheek yet. You let your hand hover and lean in closer to try and speak again.

However, once again nothing comes out. You can’t talk. You can only feel a sharp pain burn you and throb each time you try again and again, leaving you so frustrated that you sob and hit your thighs as if saying ‘dad,’ over and over was going to raise him from the dead.

You hoped that the sound of your voice would wake him. He would always answer or acknowledge you in some way when you called out to him, so you try to muster, ‘Dad,’ but you can’t.

You can’t and he doesn’t rise, so you finally bring your hand down and touch his cheek which is still warm because of the blood still in his veins, causing you to keep hoping. Hence, you bring your hand down to grab the broken club and pull it out so it’s not hurting him anymore. You then grab his shoulder with both hands and shake him gently as you keep trying to get him to react.

Alas, he remains lifeless, so you turn him on his back and shake his chest. When you get nothing, your chest tightens and your heart pounds harder as the truth creeps forward, but even so, you remain defiant and close your eyes to lay your head on his chest to try and seek the comfort of his beating heart just like you would do when you were a little girl, or that time he was hurt, and when you made up and watched a movie on your bed.

You lay your head on his chest hoping you’ll hear his heart, but…you hear and feel nothing. He’s gone.

Your dad is…gone.

You’re not going home together. He’s…dead.

You had acknowledged that fact before. You stopped breathing and felt like the world stopped for you then, but you denied the truth and hoped that your attempts to wake him would work, but you fooled yourself and now you can’t change reality. He’s dead…and now that you’re bombarded with the truth as you can’t hear his heart, you clutch onto his chest and keep yourself pressed against him as your world shatters and the abyss returns.

You wished to slip away with him now. You want to leave this world with him, but fate continues to laugh in your face by keeping your heart pumping, so you keep hurting deeply, and wishing for it to end.

You’re actually so stuck in your own head and in your own pain, that you forget about Ellie. You don’t acknowledge her until after she’s dragged herself to your dad's side and interlaces her fingers with his before she also lays her head on his chest.

That’s the only ounce of comfort you feel, seeing her right by his other side, but no matter how relieved either of you feel that you’re alive, you still crave for nothing more than the sweet mercy of death to stop hurting.

Once again though, it doesn’t come, so you remain still, feeling your dad's body lose its warmth, and hearing each other's sobs and sounds of pain.

That pained filled silence remains so until the door opens. Albeit expecting it to be Abby and her friends back to leave no trace behind, you don’t react. You keep your head on your dad's chest and keep your arms wrapped around him.

“Oh god,” you hear a familiar deep voice gasp before their footsteps approach you and then call you out before they call out Ellie clinging onto your dad’s the other side

Unlike you though, Ellie gives them a sign of life by whispering their name with disbelief and sorrow. “Jesse.”

You don’t acknowledge him so he crouches to grab your arm and try to check on you, but as he pulls, you quickly pull away to keep hugging your dad.

“At least let me know you’re okay,” he says softly, but you ignore him and instead just tilt your head to point your eyes at Dina.

“Dina,” he calls quietly and parts away to rush to her side, letting you nuzzle your face against your dad as if waiting for your end to come.

And as you’re waiting, there's a faint bark from a dog coming from outside, making Jesse break the silence. “Someone’s coming.”

With Ellie unable to move, Dina only now regaining consciousness, and you refusing to move, Jesse slowly approaches the big window to check who’s approaching.

When he sees that it’s not a threat he leaves the room.

After a few minutes, multiple footsteps approach the door, but the first to barge in immediately barks twice before she runs at you and starts sniffing. Once she makes sure you’re alive Hermes lays down behind you and lays her head on top of you, trying her best to offer her comfort without needing to be told.

Seconds later the rest of the party walks into the room and there’s a chilling stillness amongst them that lasts until one pair of footsteps slowly drags themselves toward you. When they reach the piled bodies there's a loud and rumbling thud before you hear weeping as everyone else gets busy.

“Someone cover the body, Jesse help Dina, I’ll help Ellie,” you recognize Maria’s voice before there’s another nearby.

“Sunny?” You hear your uncle Tommy call and his voice hits your system like an electric shock, giving you the energy to slowly rise up and meet face to face, offering him some sense of relief to see that you’re still alive, but he can’t muster anymore. Not after what he walked into.

However, even so, it’s enough to let him know that the light that guides him through life isn't taken from him. You're here before him, and you try to call out to him, but you can only manage to part your lips and start sobbing again as you’re slammed with another wave of withering pain.

“Oh baby girl,” your Uncle Tommy cries as tears run down his dirty-covered face.

Now without trying to strain your throat a moment longer, you drag yourself to him just a bit to be able to throw your arms around him and hold each other as if you don’t want either person to slip away like the man you both loved. You then break down and let life move around you, not daring or having the will to move away.

Not until a sweet voice speaks to the both of you. “Let’s go home,” Maria says.

Your Uncle breaks away first, letting Maria help you up and wrap her arm around you. “Come on, baby,” she whispers.

You let her walk you away, but you look back, seeing people from Jackson carrying your father's covered body to bring him along, but not on horse like a part of you expects. He’s dragged behind you when you head home, a grim reminder that he’s gone.

Even then you keep looking back like Ellie, hoping for things to change or making sure he isn’t left behind, and each time you’re only hurt all over again.

What’s even worse is that when you get him you see that part of the gate has been torn down and bodies upon bodies of dead infected and dead townspeople welcome you into your hellish town, making you fear the worst about your family.

Yet you can’t communicate your fear and you can’t say you refuse to be tended to, so you have to rip away, causing Maria and your Uncle Tommy to call out after you, but you ignore them and run with Hermes toward home with your heart ready to give out if you come across the worst.

Luckily though, before you can make it far, there in between a street of disaster is Apollo. Hermes reaches him first with joy and he returns her joy before he looks over at you.

At first, his dirty face contorts with relief and joy, then he expresses concern when he at last notices the blood covering your face and body and the floods of tears that run down your cheeks as you slowly break completely.

It’s like you were holding out and now that you see the man you love you can’t hold yourself up anymore. Especially not when you run to him because when you meet halfway, you crumble, causing him to go down with you.

“Teddy is okay,” he offers you that reassurance. “We’re okay.”

You can’t talk, you can only cry your pain and hold onto him there in the middle of the corpse and blood-littered street lit by hellish firelight.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- 😁 sorry!

Tagged- @slut-f0r-u @star-wars-lover @maplecohen @givemylovetoall @itzagothamcitysiren @sammy-13 @beloved-reblogger @emiriia @rues-daya @sunfairyy @littleshadow17 @mcu-starwars @bigtuffswordboy @riaqiax @dheet @queenofthekill @joliettes @d4rno @hardbeingcasual @rana030 @pedropascalluvr41 @ahoyyharrington @beaniebeensbaby201 @maeneedsabreak @maelartasch @adristyles @daughterofthequeen @alastorhazbin @sunsumonner @khaylin27 @hypatia93 @hummusxx @v4mpyk1tten @1donoow @your-shifting-gurl @g4ns3y @izzzzy-the-amazing @aphr0d1teh @lovelyygirl8 @ivy-taylorsversion @mmkkzz @avitute @fuckmebobboys

[searchingforserendipity25]

thomas lawrence's bisexuality is not a secret, as such, not because he made any fuss about it to make a political point, and not because he broke his vows at any point.

but because, back in the late eighties, he was involved in a semi-infamous love triangle involving a forceful up-and-coming middle-aged professor of religious studies.

she; and her sad ancient foppish husband, who in his turn was a rather morose, more-or-less decent theologian of the late roman period.

their marriage was more of a polite convenient arrangement than anything else. the real surprise, at first, was that professor, let's call her profressor whatelet - that professor whatelet wasn't actually a raging lesbian.

many of the early rumors had it that she was a lesbian, and dating a pretty young woman with a taste for tweed suits; until it became clear that the pretty young thing with a taste for tweed suits she was found kissing in the library of the sorbonne after hours was not, in fact, a lesbian. he just had very long bangs.

but then, her boytoy was also her very gay husband's live-in secretary and research assistant. a real arthur-guinevere-lancelot triangulation, by all appearances:

but then, not quite.

there was a great deal of walking arm-in-arm and long debates and chivalrous opening of doors. there was hand-kissing. there were whispers about gold-digging, or worse, academic historical source digging. there were three chairs around a round table, at home and in restaurants and in the office.

this would have been fine enough, in its deeply hypocritical way, paris in the late eighties. a bourgeois academic couple, not unusual they'd have something on the side.

that the something on the side was shared between husband and wife was too salacious to prove. as he was playing the gallant towards both of them, it was not quite eminently clear which way the infidelity was happening.

and that was just what they liked. something to be said about being cleverer and more charming and more original than anyone else. most lovers feel like that. the whatelets had more cause for it than most.

alas, it so happens that this may-december threeway affair had its january-april fallout.

beyond closed door and closed windows, thing came to a head. after some intense intellectual debate and some intense intellectual threesomes, and a great deal of aquinas, and a great deal of st. paul's epistles, and some de beauvoir, the arrangement was found to be non-sustainable.

not least because dr. whatelet wanted to retire back to auvignon to be a beekeeper and try to win back his widowed first love, and professor whatelet was desperately bored of paris andwanted to apply to a senior position in stockolm.

also, their shared boytoy was having a spiritual epiphany no amount of unsacred kneeling could silence. there was that, too.

in conclusion:

professor and dr. whatelet got a divorce, a controversial uncatholic move that shook the foundations of their department.

it broke apart friendships. itlead to a number of low-simmering disputed coming to a head and several supposedly-unrelated resignations, and caused a domino effect of revealed scandals and anonymous letters-to-the-editor debacles.

a small but meaningful faction of the theological studies sphere was pulled through the who-kept-what-friends-and-what-grant nightmare. including a clever chessmaster that would one day become pope, who heard the confession of one:

thomas lawrence. young, successful and disillusioned manager of a london firm, his sabbatical to paris got him a reputation as a homewrecker.

he only barely shock it off by falling out of love with the whatelets, passionately in love with christ, quitting his soul-sucking job, joining a seminary, being extremely weird about chastity as both a theological ideal and a practical principle for nearly half a century, and outliving most anyone who ever heard about it.

except for the old pope, of course. his holiness was the one who celebrated the whatelets' purple marriage in the first place.

[madaboutmunson]

Circuits

For the dailydrabble prompt 'Static' by @strangerthingswritersguild

Ao3 Link

TW: Afterlife but not quite Characters: Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington Summary: Caught between life and death, Eddie must find a way to reconnect with the people who love him.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

That’s all that he can hear other than a low, constant hum in the background of something, but not quite anything.

For a moment, he can see nothing. Then he can see himself, asleep, lying down, hair splayed out on a clinically white pillow like a frizzy spider web.

But he’s not looking in a mirror. Can't be. His eyes are open, and his reflection's eyes are closed, in what looks like a peaceful slumber. But the world is desaturated and hued in blue.

He reaches out his hand to his mirror image, but something slows his arm, as if it were moving through pudding.

What the fuck?

But as he lays his hand down, it’s about to get weirder. His hand passes through something. It sends goosebumps straight up his arm. He turns to see the fluorescent light strip buzz and glow, and he realises he’s on the ceiling.

And in that realisation, it’s a challenge to stay on it. Soon gravity is very present, and he’s falling. He scrambles. Fear makes him close his eyes for the impending drop. I don’t want to fall. And he slows to a stop, inches from the ground.

He realises he’s in control. He jumps up and stays up. He floats down and spins around effortlessly. It’s fun, it’s a buzz, it’s magic.

It’s only when he slows down that he notices another glow. In the sleeping version of himself’s hand, it’s bright and pulsing, and up to that point, everything around his sleeping self has been a blur, until he focused on the glow.

Someone is holding his hand. Why would someone be holding his hand? He moves closer, and at first he isn’t sure, but as it comes into focus, he recognises the wrinkled, work-roughened fingers of his uncle, and as he makes the connection, he appears.

Worry is creasing his brow. Eyes and mouth downturned. He’s mumbling something.

“Eddie. Eddie, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” he replies with an eager smile.

But his uncle does not turn to him, his eyes fixed on his sleeping replica.

“Son, please, can you hear me?” His uncle says again, leaning closer to the bed.

“I can hear you! I can hear you. I’m right here!” Eddie feels frantic, and he’s not sure why. He’s waving his hands, but his uncle won’t look at him.

“Eddie, you gotta wake up.”

“I’m awake! I’m right fucking here!” Eddie yells, but all that happens is the substance around him ripples.

His stomach lurches like he’s going to throw up as another entity passes through him and sits down next to his uncle.

Eddie can’t see them, but his uncle turns to them.

“He’ll wake up. It just might take time, that’s all.” Comforts the faceless person.

His uncle slumps a little more but nods, “I just wanna get him out of this place. I should have made him move years ago. Hawkins is too small for him. He’s too different.” His uncle sniffs, doesn’t cry, but Eddie can feel his sorrow. “He’s not what they think. He’s good. Right to his bones. Just different is all. Just different.”

The figure next to his uncle moves. A hand comes into view, but he doesn’t recognise it. The rest stays a blur. It rests on his uncle's shoulder. A soft, barely-there glow where they touch.

“I can’t thank you enough for going back for him.” His uncle turns and looks at the blank figure next to him. “I didn’t even know you was friends. So much I didn’t know. Maybe I should have listened more.”

“No, no. Hey. Listen, he's gonna wake up. And we weren’t friends until Dustin told me about him. Don’t tell him I said this, but that little shit wouldn’t shut up about Eddie, so I kinda knew he wasn’t bad like people made out.”

“How’s that, then?”

“Because Dustin is friends with me and told Eddie all about me, too. Good things. I’m not what I seem either.”

Friends with Dustin. Not what they seem either.

Eddie starts to see the hand come into view, dirt-scuffed, scratched, and bruised. The cuff of a jacket.

“I asked them not to be heroes, but he couldn’t help himself. Sure gave us a little advantage, though, and tried to keep Dustin out of danger.”

Steve? 

Then he comes into view, fresh bandages and clean in places, grubby in others. His hand squeezes his uncle's shoulder. It glows a little brighter where they touch.

Wayne nods. “Sounds like my boy,” he says gruffly, sighs and turns back. The glow where he’s holding Eddie’s hand pulses. It's glowing so bright now, it’s almost blinding.

Eddie reaches for it. He and Wayne shudder at the same time, and he notices his hair floating off the pillow slightly. The thinning hair Wayne has on his head and forearms is doing the same.

“Good God!” Wayne gasps, but he doesn’t let go. He’s squeezing harder. “Eddie? Can you hear me?”

“I can! I can hear you!” Eddie yells at the top of his lungs, and this time Wayne looks right at him.

“Wayne? Did you hear something?” Steve asks in a whisper.

Wayne nods slowly. He gestures with his free hand at the static electricity causing his arm hairs to stand on end.

“That’s not possible. His body is here. He’s not in the Upside Down.” Steve mutters quietly, mostly to himself, trying to figure it out. Wayne only can assist Steve with an extra helping of confusion.

Eddie desperately crawls onto the bed of his sleeping self, “I’m right here!” He says it again.

“God, Steve, I can hear him clear as day,” Wayne says under his breath, trembling slightly, eyes occasionally flicking up to the doors of the ward.

Steve has his hand in his hair, wide-eyed, “I hear him too. Come on, think. You can hear Eddie. I could hear Dustin and then the others. Joyce could hear Will. Jonathan knew it was Joyce. Oh!” He exclaims before getting up and scrambling for his flashlight on his person and handing it to Wayne.

Steve, you clever son of a bitch!

Eddie passes his free hand through the torch, and it glows brightly. Wayne nearly drops it. But Steve wraps his hand around his uncle's, holding it tight. Where all their hands meet a bright, deep orange glow.

“It’s ok. It’s ok. He’s here. Holy shit.” Steve is half laughing, half in shock.

His hand grasps Eddie’s leg, and there it is again. That bright glow. Eddie leaves the torch and places his spectral hand where Steve’s is. His hair shoots up on end as he does a full-body shudder.

“That’s gotta be him,” Steve says, swallowing hard, “That electricity feels like him, doesn’t it?”

“I ain’t sure what you mean,” Wayne says, perplexed.

“Doesn’t matter. All that matters is he’s here. There or somewhere.”

Eddie crawls closer. His form was almost sitting in the unconscious version of himself.

“Wayne, look,” Steve said, pointing at something that Eddie can’t see, but he can hear it.

Beep. 

Beep.

Beep.

Somehow, Eddie knows what he has to do. He releases Steve’s hand. The famous hair falls back into place, but the glow where he touches him remains. He lies back into his real-world form, and suddenly his ears are assaulted with a cacophony of noise.

Beeping, shouting of his uncle, Steve yelling in the distance, trolleys being rushed in. He tries to open his eyes, but it’s too bright. All he can see is the ceiling.

He feels himself being picked up.

“No!” He yells as he can feel his hand slipping from his uncle's. “NO!” He screams until he feels a sharp pain in his neck, and it all fades to black.

He opens his eyes again. It's not easy. They are a little stuck together. A machine beeps steadily at his side, but there is no chaos this time, only a sudden feeling of warmth.

Someone is holding his hand.

“Uncle Wayne?” He slurs.

“No, but he’ll be back in a minute. So don’t freak out. It’s just me. I mean, uh, Steve. Remember me?” He speaks so softly and suddenly releases his hand, but Eddie grabs hold of it tightly.

He shifts his head to the side and opens his eyes as much as he can. “That was pretty smart of you.”

“Smart?” Steve asks, bewildered.

“The flashlight. You remembered the lights. They were all near lights. It’s the electricity. That’s how he could hear me. And he was touching me. It's like a circuit or something.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, “Yeah, like a circuit. With all the static. And the lights… Yeah. That’s how we knew you were there. Oh hey, he's here. Let me get out of the way.”

Steve smiles at him, and Eddie feels woozy as he squeezes his hand one more time.

“He’s just woken up again. I’ll give you some room, but I’ll be right outside.” 

“Thanks, son, I appreciate it.” Wayne’s low timbre rings out, and Eddie tries to turn towards it.

Wayne moves quickly to the seat nearest Eddie, “Hey, buddy. You doin’ ok? Need anything?” His voice is calm and sure, and it soothes Eddie's very soul.

Eddie just reaches for Wayne’s hand, and it’s quickly scooped up by his uncle.

“Now I don’t wanna be too dramatic, 'cause the nurses said it could upset you, but I sure am glad to see and hear ya.” Wayne smiles and blinks the tears from his eyes.

“Glad to see you too. Thank you for not giving up.” Eddie croaks out.

“I never would, son. Never would. Not gonna lie, though, that was some scary shit you pulled on us.”

Eddie chuckles dryly.

“Glad to see your sense of humour is intact.”

“Steve’s smarter than I thought.” Eddie grins.

“Yeah, well, who knew love really can cross barriers?”

“Love?” Eddie half raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, a connection across planes of existence? Or something like that. Dustin said. Why Joyce heard Will, how Jonathan knew it was his mom, how y’all heard Dustin, but Steve heard him first, heard him loudest until you all tuned in. Love and hope.” Wayne says with a fond crooked smile that makes Eddie's heart swell.

“I saw that. When you held my hand, it was glowing. I touched it, and it went all weird, like static.”

“You see, uh, any other glowing points whilst you was floatin’ around?” Wayne quizzes, clearing his throat.

“Yeah. Steve.” Eddie smiles, “Circuits”.

“Yeaaaah, circuits.” Wayne’s eyebrows raise, and he nods like Eddie is missing something.

“You know, son, when they all got out, when that other place was falling apart or something. That Harrington kid…went straight back in after ya. Miss Wheeler and Miss Buckley practically had to drag Dustin away. They said Steve didn’t even hesitate. He carried you out to a hospital, but they couldn’t tell me because of the government. But you know I couldn’t rest until I seen ya. I got nosy. Eventually, your friends convinced them to let me in.”

“Huh,” is all Eddie can manage, surprised into silence.

“I think we should invite him over for dinner when this is over. Maybe all your new and old friends, huh?”

Eddie nods and feels tiredness take hold of him.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

“You need a rest? I’m gonna be right here, ok?”

“Thanks. I promise to stay in my body this time.”

“You better!” Wayne chuckles.

“Love ya, ol’ timer.”

“Love ya, son.”

[babextoken]

Slow like Mold in the Vents in the Wall

✧・┈・chapter 1

pairing: vessel x fem!reader summary:  you're running from something (and your) and find yourself as the lone girl on staff at one of the few video rental stores left in the area. everyone sees you as good coworker, if not a bit of a wallflower, expect for one. Ves sees right through your mask. And you hate him for it. wc: 1.9k head's up: series, slowish burn, enemies to lovers, coworkers, plus size reader, nerd!vessel, rude!vessel, hitting on people at work, reader and ves are a bit unlikable, slightly jealous!vessel, gatekeeping, Taylor Swift slander (it was for the plot, I'm not interested in entertaining this), tragic reader backstory, idiots who aren't in love YET a/n: I am both terrified and excited to share this. it's a mix of requests, my own thoughts, and my own ways of working through things while keeping that boy in a situation ♡ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ Situation Enjoyers™: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga-sustenna @adenobabe  @jeriiicho @milk--bones  @myaudiocommentary  @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @killed-by-thegods @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi  @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder  @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @object-of-my-desire @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland @blvckmvgicwoman @canopies-of-gold-and-evergreen

recommended listening:

Vessel’s talking again. About nerd shit. Always with the nerd shit.

It started as a chat about video games. Sure, fine. Then it became video game soundtracks. Bit out there for some, ok. But then it veered to music. The question is posed, again, (because most zone out) about what kind of music Ves likes and makes on the side. But it only got worse. Everyone saw the change happen in slow motion; Vessel’s brows shot up, his dimples deepened, the normally soft spoken, stoic demeanor he had turned almost frantic. The music theory professor was in…and all because a sweet plump little thing beside him piped up saying, “An 11/8 time signature? That’s not even a real fraction!” 

Vessel didn’t know you yet. He saw you come in for your interview and onboarding but didn’t bother to approach you. Welcome you to the video store. At first he thinks you’re fucking with him. Busting his balls for the time signature thing, but you’re persistent. 

“No, seriously, how would that even sound? Come on, explain like we’re back in music class.”

The sheer glee radiating off this man could power a small country. He takes on a matter-of-fact but kind tone as he claps out the beats and explains what one could accomplish with such an interesting and complex and… It all fades out. You’re listening, yes, but you’re not retaining. The fact that you watched him go from a quiet participant in this little conversation you were cornered in to someone who was confident and expressive was, honestly, really hot. He’s tall enough that you have to lift your head a bit to look him in the eye, making you feel a bit like you’re being lectured. Guided. If the thought-police are real, they should put you away now because this is…really fucking hot. 

But Ves is none the wiser. He’s now moved on to name dropping bands that excel at weird time signatures and that even though math rock and progressive metal both utilize it they’re actually, in essence, quite different and that—

“You know, honestly,” you look around and whisper almost conspiratorially, “I don’t know any of the bands you just mentioned but—”

Vessel interrupts you, as nerdy boys on a roll are want to do. “Well, yes, that’s to be expected, but just because they—“

You raise your chin and your hand to stop him. “Hold on, I wasn’t done.” His face falls. Damnit. He’s done it again. He’s info-dumped too close to the sun to a new coworker, much less a GIRL. “I was going to say that maybe you could help me…expand my musical horizons,” you say with a tiny smirk. 

“Right! Right, yeah! Pull up your Spotify then and I’ll add some stuff for you.”

Years of being rejected allowed you to mask your disappointment. You shouldn’t be looking for a date at work and especially not at your brand new job. What you don’t realize is that Ves is masking, too. He won’t even give himself the chance to IMAGINE you’re dropping hints about a date. Instead of asking for clarification or, god forbid, explaining yourself further, you sheepishly take your phone out and let him start saving playlists and albums to your library. He hands your phone back, looking smug. 

“There we are…a much needed upgrade. Looks like you needed it…'This is Taylor Swift.’ Come now,” Vessel titters. “Listen to something that pushes the envelope.”

“Hah. Wow, alright.” You scoff with a humorless laugh. 

Oh. 

Cringe. 

Goddamnit. 

Vessel barely realizes now his sarcasm was NOT detected at all. He chuckles nervously and pats your shoulder. “Lighten up. Joking. I’m joking.”

“I actually meant we should spend some time together,” there’s a subtle emphasis on the phrase as your eyes roll back in exasperation, “and talk about it more. Get to know each other. Seems like we dodged a bullet then, hm?” 

Vessel stands there for a bit. Why did she want to wait until another time to talk about this?  Surely she’s just saying this because it’s like when you see an old friend and say “let’s get coffee” and then you never do and…wait. WAIT. “Do you…surely you don’t mean a…a date!” Vessel’s cheeks are stained maroon now from the sheer thought of a DATE. “This really did it for you? Hearing me drone on?”

Your face scrunches as if to say “dude, yes, obviously,” because to you it is obvious. Why not him? Yeah you just met him (and you’re at work. Please do not forget you’re at work) and he seemed fairly safe and nice, but maybe a bit of a gatekeeper-type? Or just a sarcastic jerk. All you know is that now you’re turned off a little. And Vessel’s just gawps at you. Thank god everyone else left to do closing duties when it was clear you two were having a one-on-one. No one needed to see you taking a joke too seriously and Vessel dropping the ball and probably missing out on one of those “for the plot” opportunities. It’s awkward now. Both of you had questionable dating history so no one really knows how to gracefully end the conversation (or have one, it seemed). And maybe you’ve got the right idea by just nodding and pursing your lips saying, “well…good talk,” and walking away to choose some tapes for your Staff Recommendations. 

Thus began the "Great Ignoring." It wasn’t to the point that you called in sick when you knew you were working with him, but you certainly felt a pit in your stomach. But you kept your head down and just worked. That’s why you were here. To start over. And do "The Work," as they say. 

It wasn’t like you wanted to be sent away last year when this big adventure started. Well, “sent away” was an overreaction (or at least that’s what you were told. Must be true then, yes?). You were “encouraged to seriously consider” taking time off and “enjoying a break.” And when paired with a queasy smile, it translated both literally and perfectly into “get yourself together, bitch, and do it far away. Come back when you’re normal.”

Fine. Like a child sent to her room, you huffed and pouted as you planned your mini vacation that instead turned into you completely upending your life a county over. No big deal! But beginnings are overrated. Finally getting some distance between a certain ex-boyfriend and a life you were comfortable with does not evoke feelings of “fresh starts.” It’s a death within and of itself. The physical move was easy. You didn’t own much. Such is the nature of breaking off an engagement that was over long before you even left. Long before the first emotional blow was struck. Family and friends offered more than you thought you deserved—money, secondhand furniture, food, the number of “a guy.” It was too much for you. The kindness didn’t cancel out any of the cruelty, and the small cruelties were magnified. 

Vessel gatekeeping “superior” music should have been the equivalent of a gnat in your general vicinity. You know it’s there, it’s not bothering you immediately, but when it does you can wave it off. No. For you it was worse. It was coming home knowing mom was mad at you. It was facing the tribunal. Or at least that’s how it felt. Normally he just ignored you, which gave you great comfort and dread. Comfort because “ok, he has no reason to bother me,” and dread because “ah shit the other shoe is about to drop and it’s gonna fucking suuuucckk.” 

“Hey are you listening?”

Fingers snapping drags you out of your haze. 

“Jesus. Come on, please tell me you actually sorted the new releases." Vessel, looking tired as usual, leans against the counter with his arms crossed and waits with bated breath for your answer. It was the dreaded closing shift with him. 

You return his tired gaze with a blank one, proffering your hand towards the fully stocked end cap boasting “New Releases? More like New Favourites!” 

The heaviest sigh comes out as he throws his head back, exposing his neck. You’d been here only a month but you were already keenly aware of Vessel’s body. You’d seen him do this multiple times a week. When a customer was difficult. When the regional manager had some asinine quota. When you…well…existed? But that got you acquainted with the delicate column of his throat. The strength of the sides sloping into his traps. Despite him icing you out, he was still hot.

“Yes, V. It’s stocked.”

“S’all you had to say. Taking my 15. Cheers.”

“Hey, on your way out can you take out th—“ but he’s already gone, “…trash?” You sigh heavily. “Fucker.” 

Not two minutes later, a lone guy comes in. He gives you a polite wave when you welcome him in, seems nice enough. Probably the kind of guy who knows exactly what he wants, he’ll pay, and that’s it. But he lingers for a bit at the Staff Recs with a big grin. He picks up one of yours, the third of a wacky but popular horror franchise. 

“This one yours?” He asks with a quirked up grin. 

You laugh softly and do a little bow. “That it is. And I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“Oh you shouldn’t.” He shakes the box as he refers to the movie saying, “this subverts tropes as much as it regurgitates. People should apologize for shitting on it!”

“Exxaaccccttttlllyyyy,” you exclaim. 

Finally. Someone who matches wits. You enjoy an animated conversation with about the franchise, the rumored reboots, other franchises…it’s refreshing. You barely realize Ves has come back from his break. He squeezes by you at the register mumbling, “lucky there isn’t a line right now.” But you ignore it. You have a handle on this. As you’re finally ringing up the guy, he mentions a series he thinks you might enjoy. And when you tell him you’d never heard about it before he gives you a smirk and leans forward as he takes his receipt.

“Maybe we should get together sometime…could get the box set. Takeaway even?” He winks. “Be seeing you.” He does a quick nod behind you, and you realize it was to Vessel, who was sulking in the corner of the little checkout boat.

“Oohhh let’s get together and talk about it…you’ll have to tell me all about it…I don’t know aaaannnnyythiing about anything,” he mocks. “You get off on that, don’t you?”

“What? Stimulating conversation about media? Yeah. It’s my kink.”

“Smart ass. No! Playing dumb.”

If looks could kill. But Vessel doesn’t care. He returns your icy gaze. “You’re just jealous.”

He scoffs and looks away, cheeks burning. “What’s there to be jealous of? You two aren’t actually going to meet up. Just like when you pulled that shit with me. Honestly…”

“Hah! No. You’re the one who fumbled that. You insulted my taste.”

“And you’re the one who took a joke wrong. And had the audacity to hit on me within your first two weeks here.” You swallow hard. He had a point. Here’s the other shoe dropping, but you weren’t going to run. Or fawn. 

“I deserve that. I’m sorry.” You nod and lower your eyes. 

“It’s…” Vessel seems shocked. Unbeknownst to you, Vessel has received maybe 3 genuine apologies in his whole life, each from family. “All’s forgiven.” 

A sheepish smile pulls at your lips.  “I’m going to take that trash out, yeah?” You say referring to the trash you had wanted him to take care of. He doesn’t protest and even thanks you. 

As you’re tossing the garbage in the alley, you realize immediately…you’re not alone. 

[bambi-kinos]

We all know and heard of John's jealousy and not wanting to share Paul and other friends of his. He even admit it and wrote songs, his closed onces seem also be a bit jealous of the John-Paul thing . But is it just me but Paul seem to not be a big fan of John's friends, co-artists even a bit of a battle with George.

What was it about John that made him so popular?

But can we also talk about Paul's jealousy a bit. And his possession from his side. He's jealousy of other artists that become popular seem to be there. George acted jealous too but this is Mclennon to me. It's seem like Paul nowadays seem to feel like he's got John back maybe after Get Back and Mccartney with Rick Rubin. I dunno what I wanted with this post.

Love your posts.

John was popular because he was handsome, clever, funny and talented. Paul knew that and hoarded those qualities because he's just a hoarder type. They were both unhappy about each other's relationships, it's just that their expressions were different as always. John overtly disliked anyone who got close to Paul and did his best to run them off, resenting the hell out of whoever chose to stick it out (Jane, Linda). Paul iced out John's friends and didn't try to get close to them because he correctly intuited they wanted to fight him for John's attention and he considered them beneath him (Stu, Pete).

Re: George, there was a bit of a custody battle between Paul and George. It started with the LSD since George and John dropped together when they first took it. George admired John and he wanted positive attention from the guy who took him under his wing. John and George's friendship is a little underrated, John let him tag along on his dates with Cynthia because he knew George was lonely. John respected George's musical tastes because they were different from his, George loved standards and showtunes IIRC.

George was also willing to stand up to John and hit back at him when John was being a pill which was the best way to get John's respect and affection. (Notably Cynthia being a loving and forgiving wife is what made John come to despise her, though I think he regretted that as the years went on.) George even collaborated with John on Revolver, much to Paul's consternation. From that angle you can see why George sided with John during the Klein dispute. He wanted to be John's best friend and his #1 and he never quite forgave Paul for his primacy in John's life. The co-artist credit thing with Paul was part of being kept "in his place" especially with regards to how it affected George's profit margins after he gave so much to the band, so that's another facet of George's resentment towards Paul.

Paul is certainly possessive of his relationship with John and his memories of him but I think that Paul has largely given up on managing anything else with regards to John. Who knows what he's waiting for but he's simply accepted that this is what John wanted. Paul is doing his part to salvage John's image by talking about the sweet Liverpool kid that he knew but otherwise he's just...leaving it be. I think he has something in store for us once Yoko kicks it but I actually don't know that he's trying to curate or whitewash anything. Maybe it's just a young man's game.

Paul largely gave up on being possessive of John once John made it clear he didn't love Paul anymore (regardless of what the actual truth was in John's heart.) He simply didn't have it in him to fight for John anymore when John hated him so much for trying so Paul decided it was time to let the pieces fall. And he's largely left them where they've fallen.

I think this is because Paul is guarding the real prize, which is his relationship with John, the truth of their future plans (whatever those were) and the image he has of John as a young man. Paul doesn't like the John that bitched about "pizza and fairytales" and would start World War 3 on the phone. That's the John that the public knows and fawned over and that's the John Lennon that Yoko wants to keep presented to the world. Paul is guarding the truth and after all this time seems to be fairly content with it.

Re: Get Back, I think that it healed something in Paul to see John's face without the haze of memories or colored by bias. Not only was he reminded that there were good times and remembered them from his perspective, he realized that a lot of John's bravado had been fakery and that he was still looking at Paul with affection, which Paul wasn't able to see when he was actively living through it and was preoccupied with Linda and finding a new manager for the band. He didn't strike me as possessive in McCartney 123, he actually looked a lot prouder of being a Beatle with John than he had in years.

[justapoet]

fear no more the lightning flash

The night is screaming at him. Buck's always been good at being loud enough to distract, bright enough to deflect, and if they notice the tired smile or the stiffness in his voice, they chalk it up to recovery. But they don't know about the dream. About that other life. They don’t know that every time Buck closes his eyes, he’s back in a world where Bobby was gone and Eddie never even existed in his life, and the 118 isn’t home, or family, or real. Or, After the lightning strike, the night is screaming at him, and Buck doesn't know in which reality to believe — the one where he was love, but wasn't himself, or the one where he loves, but isn't sure of who he is. Lightning never strikes twice, but Eddie will do everything to save Buck as many times as it takes.

read it on Ao3 | Chapter 1 of 2

fear no more the lightning flash

The night is screaming at him. 

There are very few cars racing the semaphores close to the loft, and there aren’t any reckless teenagers or drunk men grumbling their distaste for reality outside his window, but the night is screaming at him. The crickets, a rare occurrence, are loud and laughing; the silence, so damn familiar, is fucking hauling in his ears. 

Truly, Buck knows that the night can’t possibly scream at anyone. He learned it back in middle school that it’s all a big metaphor. Prosopopoeia, or personification, is when someone attributes human feelings or characteristics to something, either an object or a concept, he remembers someone trying to teach. A rather nice thing, really, to know and use and tell others about altogether with the other bunch of useless things he knows, but— 

But the night is screaming at him. And Buck can’t possibly be convinced it isn’t literal. He won’t. 

He’s lying in bed, and shivering. The duvet is under his frame, and he can’t move — he won’t move — to cover himself with it. It’s cold, he thinks, and he should do something to warm himself up; but he can’t. 

He won’t. 

Getting comfortable means he’d most likely — undoubtedly — fall asleep. 

And Buck couldn’t— no; he wouldn’t fall asleep. 

Because the night is screaming at him, and his head is throbbing, and his chest is aching. And falling asleep, at this point in life, in these circumstances, means surrendering. 

Buck’s been a hostage of his own head for too long to choose that, now. 

And it’s disconcerting, as much as everything else inside his head seems to be for weeks. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, and the night is screaming at him.

His fingers twitch against the sheets, seeking something — someone — that isn’t there. His breath catches in his throat like it’s afraid to leave him behind.

He stares at the ceiling, even though he can’t see anything in the dark, even though there wouldn’t be anything to see but plain white if he looked up with the lights on. The room is dark, but not empty. There’s a hum in the walls, low and electric, like the echo of a memory he hasn’t shaken loose, and it feels like every single one of those things take space around him.

Something inside him is waiting. Something inside him is wanting, and he isn’t quite sure what he expects from any of it.

Buck presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars bloom behind his eyelids, white and distorted and uncomfortable. He’s not crying, he’s not, but there’s a sharpness under his ribs that begs to be exhaled, and he doesn’t know how to let it go of the grasp around his chest, inside his blood, tied to his soul.

It was just a dream. That’s what he tries to keep telling himself — that it was just a dream, something his barely-alive mind conjured for reasons that even science isn’t so sure of. He was out of it, he was barely back alive, and it was just a dream. A delirium. Just a dream, and nothing more.

But the dream made sense, in a way, or it should have. The real world doesn’t make much sense, anymore, and Buck doesn’t know how to deal with it. With any of it. With nothing at all.

The dream was everything he had ever wanted. Everything he was supposed to want. His family loved him, his sister was safe, his brother was alive — and Buck knew about his existence. His parents were kind and loving, his life followed a non-dangerous path, no one died and he didn’t live to take up the space of a ghost he never knew of.

As the night screams at him, it feels like the dream is clawing its way back in, like maybe he never left it. Like maybe he died on that field after all, and this — this cold, screaming night — is just the in-between. Buck’s not so sure which reality is real anymore; and the worst part is not knowing which one hurts more inside his head, around his heart.

His phone buzzes once on the nightstand. A quiet vibration that jolts him like thunder.

Buck doesn’t look at it. He ignores it completely, because the night is screaming at him and he wants it to stop, and there’s too much noise inside his head and too many thoughts swirling around for him to even try and focus on whoever sent something.

Buck doesn’t want to move, but he doesn’t remember standing.

One moment, he’s a statue beneath the weight of insomnia, clawing his bedsheets and squirming around and trying to make the night stop so he can at least face his demons and his fears in silence. The next, his feet are bare against the cold floor, moving like they’ve made a decision he wasn’t part of, and he doesn’t look at anything remotely important in the dark.

He grabs a hoodie — the one Chim gifted him last Christmas, oversized and worn soft — and shrugs it on like armor. He takes his keys, but nothing else; he doesn’t want to belong in the real world where it’d be wise to take his phone and wallet with him, where it would be safest just in case. So, Buck takes his keys, puts the hood over his head and heads out of his apartment, thoughts loud and not a single thing he’s sure of.

He doesn’t have a plan, or any destination he’s trying to reach as he walks, each second faster and faster. He doesn’t want to think about where it could lead as he takes turns and crosses streets without looking to both sides before, and he trusts completely in motion.

The streets are quiet, oddly so, even if the night screams. Even LA sleeps sometimes, though not for long, he knows. The breeze cuts through him like glass, but Buck welcomes it, because it means that his skin and cells are working. It means he’s real. It means he’s awake.

He walks. Then marches. Then, before he can even understand what he’s doing, Buck runs.

Blocks blur into each other until the sky begins to pale — not quite morning, not quite night. Somewhere in between, like him. Still haunted, still hunting for something to hold, something to grasp, something that will tell him what is real and what he can trust and rest his peace or fear over.

Eventually, Buck finds himself at the gym, the one of a chain that is the furthest from his place. He sees it in the distance and doesn’t think much before heading towards the building, because it’s a way of giving his mind some silence — he has to focus on what he’s doing so he won’t get hurt, and there’s blaring music and other desperate, sleepy, sleep-deprived people that won’t ask questions or look in his direction. His muscles ache before he starts, like they know this isn’t about strength. It’s about control. It’s about pushing until he can’t think anymore.

He loads the weights higher than he should. He doesn’t warm up, he doesn’t stretch, and his muscles do have things to complain about. But Buck can’t find it in himself to care — he ignores the burn, the ache, the common-sense and the logic, and just lifts.

Again.

And again.

And again.

As if the burn in his arms could cauterize the ache in his chest, and as if punishing his body might silence the part of him that keeps screaming Eddie’s name into the silence of his dreams, keeps ringing Daniel’s voice in the echoing of the night, keeps making his parents’ smile ring loud in the back of his memory.

By the time the sun is fully up, sweat clings to him like guilt, and his breath is shallow in a way that reminds him — too much — of the ventilator. Of hospitals and near-deaths and other lives that he surely doesn’t want to think about.

Buck blinks that memory away, hard.

He catches his reflection in the mirror. The shadows under his eyes are warpaint, and his smile — the one he throws at the guy beside him like everything’s chill — feels like glass about to crack.

"Rough night?" the guy asks, nodding toward the weights.

Buck shrugs.

“Nah. Just needed to clear my head.”

He says it like it’s true.

He says it like the truth doesn’t scare him more than the lightning ever could.

[...]

The days scream at him, too.

Not as loudly as the nights, maybe, but just as relentless.

They scream in the way the sun hits too bright, too sharp through the kitchen window. In the way his coffee never tastes like it used to — too bitter, too hot, too wrong. In the weight of silence between calls from the team and texts he doesn’t always answer right away.

They scream in his routine, which he’s stitched together like a lifeline: gym, groceries, station, home. Repeat. No room for wandering thoughts. No space between breaths. Nothing that could give a chance for the paranoia and the fear and the absolute horror that his dreams and memory have become.

He’s functioning. That’s what Buck tells himself.

He’s fine.

No one asks more than once, and that’s both a curse and a relief. Buck's always been good at being loud enough to distract, bright enough to deflect, and if they notice the tired smile or the stiffness in his voice, they chalk it up to recovery. Who wouldn’t be shaken after a near-death experience?

After being dead, if he was to talk in literal terms.

But they don’t know about the dream.

They don’t know that every time Buck closes his eyes, he’s back in a world where Bobby was gone and Eddie never even existed in his life. In their life. And the 118 isn’t home, or family, or real. 

He doesn’t know how to mourn people who are alive and standing right next to him. He never learned how to mourn people at all — even the ghosts he wasn’t even aware he stood in the shadow of.

So instead, he scrubs dishes that are already clean, rearranges his bookshelf for the third time this week, exercises until his body aches more than his thoughts and smiles when someone walks into the room. He cracks jokes and prepares lunch and dinner and he talks about movies that he hasn’t really paid attention to.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

And if Buck repeats it long enough, then maybe his brain will convince itself that, yeah; that’s true. That’s what’s going on. That’s exactly how things are. Everything is fine, everyone is fine, and there’s nothing wrong with his head, with his heart, with his soul, with him.

Fine. It’s fine.

Today, he gets to the station early. Too early for his shift, even. The place is quiet except for the hum of the vending machine and the slow drip of the coffee maker, the working team out on a call and barely a soul walking the streets so early in the morning. Buck leans against the lockers, palms flat against the cold metal, and tells himself to breathe — to breathe, for God’s sake, because nothing happened and there’s nothing happening and it’s just another day at work.

Bobby arrives not long after. They exchange a few words and, despite the look on his face telling Buck that he knows something’s off, Bobby doesn’t push. He never does — not with Buck, and half of him is thankful for that, because he doesn’t think he can talk about it with Bobby without having a meltdown. Without wanting to make sure that he’s solid and alive and the Captain of the 118 with a beating, functioning, strong heart inside his chest. But his eyes linger, and Buck feels it. That steady, fatherly worry that sinks in deep.

It’s almost enough to make Buck say something.

Almost.

But then Eddie walks in — laughing at something Christopher texted him, hair still damp from a morning shower — and Buck’s throat closes around the truth like it’s a secret he’ll take to his grave, because Eddie’s there, and Bobby’s there, and Chim will get there soon, as well, probably having taken a ride with Hen (because that’s something they started to do after too many near-deaths).

And it seems stupid, to talk about the dream when he knows that they’re there, alive and well and almost late for work. It feels pathetic, to be so shaken up about something his mind created while he was out of it, and his heart was out of service. It sounds ridiculous even to his ears that his days are falling apart and crumbling down because of his idiotic brain and some traumas none of them have nothing to do with.

Eddie greets Buck with an easy smile and hugs Bobby briefly, because it seems to be a good day for him. Buck smiles back, the most convincing smile he manages to plaster on his face, and Eddie talks to him as if he believes it.

It aches. It burns, because Buck can’t shake the feeling that this is just another delusion created by his head and Eddie is not really there. He can’t shake the feeling that his own feelings are so loud and Eddie will hear them and decide that they aren’t worth managing.

And the thought of losing him now?

It’s too much.

So Buck grins. Tosses a joke and a cheeky comment in Eddie’s way and pretends his chest isn’t caving in, blowing up, falling apart.

The others filter in like clockwork — Hen with coffee, Chim with jokes (and having taken a ride with Hen, as predicted), Bobby already flipping through shift schedules and someone (perhaps Buck himself) asking what are the lunch options they’ll have and it’s not even eight o’clock.

The morning moves like it always does, too fast and too loud. Buck lets it wash over him, lets the noise and familiarity carry him. He sips his coffee, nods along, laughs when he should and smiles when someone makes eye contact. If he doesn’t think too hard, it almost feels normal.

Almost.

Hen and Chim are halfway through some ridiculous debate about something related to birds, pigeons or winged-creatures. It’s pathetic, really — the usual banter that comes and goes in the fire station and barbecues and anywhere they allow Hen and Chimney to have a conversation. It’s silly; a sibling-like discussion and the topic couldn’t be more ridiculous.

“I’m telling you,” Chim says, leaning against the counter with a coffee mug in hand. “Birds absolutely have dialects. There’s research on it.”

“Okay, but who’s out there studying pigeon linguistics?” Hen says, incredulous. “That’s not science, that’s a conspiracy theory with extra steps.”

Chimney scoffs.

“Oh, please. There’s always someone insane enough to study literally anything. Birds have dialects. And they communicate, Hen,” he argues.

Hen laughs.

“Don’t be mad just because the downtown pigeons don’t like you,” she smirks.

Chimney gasps.

“They pooped on me twice in one week. That’s targeted.”

“It’s karma.”

Bobby, who’s just walked in and is already regretting it, raises his hands in surrender. 

“I’m not getting involved, but if you’re right, those birds are running a full-blown revenge opera. And you probably deserved it,” he says, pointing a finger at Chimney. “No one else here is targeted by birds.”

“Eh,” Eddie steps in, making a contorted face. “Buck and I got chased by turkeys. Does that count?”

Hen snorted.

“You better be aware of your surroundings on Christmas, then, if Chimney’s right,” she said. “They might plan an ambush.”

“That is not what I’m saying!” Chimney said, exasperated.

“Sort of is,” Bobby says.

“It is,” Eddie agrees.

“Uh-hm,” Hen laughs.

Chimney, much like a child, gasps again in exasperation.

“You know what this is?” Chim says, waving a hand dramatically. “This whole conversation is chaos. Like… lightning striking a piñata during a birthday party. It makes no sense. You can’t plan for it.”

Hen snorts. 

“That’s not even a real expression.”

“It is now.”

Bobby chuckles, easing down at the edge of the table. 

“The expression is lightning in a bottle, Chimney,” he argues. “Something completely unpredictable. Definitely unstable. Like the two of you.”

Buck freezes.

It’s nothing.

It’s a saying.

It’s not even about him, and he wasn’t even in the conversation — whatever that was to begin with — and it’s just a damn saying.

But the words slam into him, cracking open something he’s spent days shoving down and locking tight.

Like lightning in a bottle.

It feels like the word itself has found a way inside Buck’s mind, heart and the very veins of his body. As if the letters and the phonetics were on a mission to tear apart each cell of his blood, each atom of his being — as if it was all a joke that he was supposed to laugh at because it was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous, because he was alive. He had survived. It hadn’t killed him.

It shouldn’t matter.

It’s just a word. A joke. A casual throwaway in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

But it does matter.

Because it doesn’t just remind him. It is him. It’s the moment when the sky opened and swallowed him whole. It’s the burn in his chest, the weightless freefall, the feeling of being yanked out of existence. It’s the sound that still lingers in the back of his mind, like a ghost echo, like thunder hiding behind every silence.

It’s the knowledge that for a few long seconds, he wasn’t here.

He wasn’t anywhere. In a world that wasn’t real, where he wasn’t himself and no one else was right.

And now— now he’s sitting at the table, safe and whole and breathing, and someone just made a joke with the word lightning in it like it doesn’t carry the weight of his soul. Because it shouldn’t. Because it’s just a word, just a bunch of letters put together to make some sense and produce a certain sound.

His laugh catches in his throat before it even escapes. He wonders if they notice the crack in his smile, the too-long pause.

The way his hand twitches against the wood grain of the table like it’s reaching for an anchor that isn’t there.

But it is there.

It’s in front of him, in the shape of Eddie’s gaze — suddenly sharper, quieter, knowing.

Buck wants to shake it off. Wants to brush it away, turn it into another joke, another laugh.

But he can feel it now, swelling like a tide inside him: the grief, the fear, the aftershock.

He thought he could bury it. Thought he had. But trauma has a way of seeping through the cracks, of bleeding out when you least expect it. And now it’s humming under his skin again, electric and unbearable.

It’s too much.

Too close.

Too real.

He wants to scream.

Or cry.

Or disappear entirely.

But instead, he just sits there, frozen in the middle of a moment that should’ve been easy. His breath stutters. Just slightly. Just enough that his vision narrows for a heartbeat. Buck blinks fast, swallows even faster, grips the coffee cup so hard his fingers ache.

And when he glances up, Eddie’s still looking at him.

Not looking — seeing.

Buck pastes a grin over the tremor in his chest and throws something back about pigeons and ducks and Chim’s clear paranoia related to anything that could possibly fly. The others laugh. The moment passes.

But Eddie’s gaze lingers for a second longer.

And Buck feels it.

Like Eddie heard the thunder inside him.

And Buck, very wisely, chooses to ignore it completely.

[...]

The days blur.

They stretch and bend, like time itself has forgotten how to move in a straight line. Buck wakes before the alarm most mornings, already wired, already buzzing with the kind of tension that feels like standing too close to a power line — not enough to kill, just enough to keep every hair on one’s body standing on end.

He gets up. He makes coffee. Showers with water that’s either too hot or too cold, never in between. Sometimes he eats breakfast, but mostly he doesn’t. Food feels like an afterthought lately — it’s too much effort, and it scratches his throat whenever he swallows, and Buck is so tired of the copper taste of blood in his tongue.

He goes for runs. Long ones, until his lungs burn and his legs ache and the world narrows down to the slap of his feet against pavement and the blood pounding in his ears. It's the only time his mind goes quiet — or at least quieter, just a buzzing thing in his ears. But the stillness never lasts. By the time he’s walking back to the loft, sweat-soaked and sore, it’s already creeping in again.

The doubt.

The noise.

The memory.

He survived. He’s fine. Everyone says so (the doctors, his friends, the other stations and other first responders who greet him as if he’s a legend of some sorts), and he insists on telling them such, as well. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

But there’s a part of him — deep and buried and howling — that isn’t convinced. That keeps insisting something’s wrong. Something shifted. Something stayed behind when the lightning struck.

Perhaps it was life itself.

But Buck can’t be sure of that, even.

At work, he’s efficient. Focused. Smiling. He throws himself into calls with reckless precision, much life he had always done, even if there’s a bit more desperation when he takes a second too long to respond to things falling in his direction or the fire getting just an inch too close to his gear. Muscle memory guides him, and maybe that’s a blessing — because if he stopped to think, even for a second, he might freeze. He might break.

He might let himself be a victim in need of rescue instead of the called-in rescuer.

At his house, everything is a bit worse. 

The loft echoes now. Everything’s too loud or too quiet, too crowded or too empty and nothing seems to be in the right place, even though he hadn't changed a single thing in months. 

Buck leaves the TV on just to fill the silence, lets the news cycle until the anchors blur into static. He reads half a paragraph of a book and stares at the same sentence for ten minutes, the letters waltzing around the page. He’ll shower again, just to have something to do. Water can’t drown a memory, but it’s still better than the air — which is thin, electric, stretched taut around him like a balloon about to pop.

The dreams are vivid and cruel. And the nights keep screaming at him.

Sometimes Buck wakes up in the middle of the night, hand pressed to his chest like he’s waiting for his heart to stop again.

Sometimes he doesn’t sleep at all.

And then, one morning — somewhere between the station and his third cup of coffee — his phone buzzes.

It’s nothing. A message. A ping. Ordinary.

But when he looks at it, the axis of his world tilts again.

It’s from Carla, and it shouldn’t be so surprising. They often text. Carla tells him news from Chris or a picture or even a recipe she tried and shared with Buck because she knows that he would love something else to cook — but he has been so distant from everything that it feels like a lifetime since he had spoken about anything consistent to anyone.

The text on his phone is just quite short. There’s only one information and a small request within:

Christopher had a nightmare. He asked if Buck was okay. Just thought you should know. Send him a message to prove my words? xx

Buck stares at the screen for a long time.

It’s a small thing. Just a message. Simple words. A simple thing that wasn’t at all uncommon — Buck’s already lost count of how many times he’s had to assure Christopher that he was okay, and how many times Christpher has assured him the same.

But the words still split him open.

Because he’s not okay. And Buck knows he’s not okay. And now there’s proof — undeniable and human — that his unraveling isn’t invisible after all. That someone sees it, even if it’s through the eyes of a kid who still believes he hung the moon for some reason, despite the nonchalant way of a teenager.

His hands tremble. Not from the coffee. Not from the memory. But from the sheer weight of being seen. Of being missed. Of being asked about.

read the rest on Ao3

[senjuushi]

hihi! im curious how a kind master being in a relationship w the gun boys would be like? are there any cute domestic things they do or want their master to do, what do they think about when master takes them out on dates and treats them like an s/o? for love1, like2, f, kirsch and mauser! thank you <3

Love1

The idea of a relationship catches Love1 entirely off guard. Not that he doesn't want it! It's just so far from anything he expected that he's left struggling to know how to react. Dates, gifts, and physical affection are all overwhelmingly affectionate— and the best thing Love1 can think to do is use his usual comedy to laugh off the almost painfully genuine feelings that come back to claw at his heart every time. Once you're treating him like a partner, Love1 gets quickly, pathetically attached. And while he's far from high-maintenance, the best way he knows to show affection is the same clingy, over-dramatic pestering usually directed at Like2.

Like2

In a romantic relationship, Like2 still approaches things transactionally. He feels safer with a familiar pattern to fall back on, so he offers himself at his cutest and best in exchange for being treated like your partner. The dates, gifts, and near-constant physical affection feel like more spoiling than he could ever deserve, but Like2 wants it so badly that he'll try to trust it anyway. He's a needy partner, always begging for shopping sprees and fancy dates, but that bratty attitude is softened by how he offers you his everything in return. He'll make himself as pretty and pleasing as possible, so you won't stop wanting him.

F

F has a very, very hard time comprehending that you want an actual relationship with him— not just exclusive rights to using him as your toy. He's a bit hopeful that it will be better for his Master to be the only one hurting and using him, but he still spends a long while constantly resorting to his usual flirting and masochistic advances. Even when he starts to realize you're serious, romance flusters him horribly. Dates and gifts and soft, non-sexual touch all feel disorientingly beyond the realm of things he could ever deserve. He likes it, though, so much that he's perpetually terrified of messing up the one nice relationship he's ever had.

Kirsch

As a partner, he's halfway between a spoiled sugar baby and a possessive little brat who will do anything to keep his place as your "favorite". Kirsch sees the relationship as more of a reward or privilege he's won than an equal partnership, and he's actively striving to make sure he'll keep earning it. He's not picky about things like gifts and dates— so long as you're paying attention to him, he's content to cuddle up to you and (somewhat smugly) gush about how grateful he is for Master's love. However, while he's not hard to please, he is viciously jealous of any other guns who seem like they might take his special relationship with you away.

Mauser

Even if you treat your relationship with Mauser like a romantic one, he... doesn't quite seem to get the message. In Mauser's mind, he's your bodyguard and tool before all else. If you call him your partner in a different way, he'll accept it unquestioningly, but it doesn't really change how he acts with you. Just being close makes him happy. Hold him in your lap whenever possible, give him orders directions to keep him busy, and praise him every time he does something that pleases you— Mauser is more than content with that. He struggles to see your relationship as anything resembling "equal", but he's happy just knowing that he's yours.

[quaddmgd]

Aya Rasberry

Alternative name: Aya Strife Home: Midgar (Sector 7) Age: 25 (Nibelheim Incident) / 30 (FF7) Height: 162 cm (5'4") Hair color: Brown (natural) / Light green (FF7) Eye color: Red Weapon: Crossbow Ultimate weapon: Breaking Point Active AUs: Claudia lives AU | Aerith lives AU

Aya is a former employee of Shinra Census Bureau. During one of her field assignments she meets Claudia Strife, who she quickly falls in love with. After surviving the Nibelheim Incident, she and Claudia go on a journey to find a place for themselves and build their life anew, eventually ending up settling down in a coastal town of Aquana.

As a member of the party, Aya is rather quiet, mostly fading into background during group conversations, more often seen to approach specific party members individually. In spite of her reserved personality, being fuelled by her sister’s ambitions and the need for revenge, she gets very vocal when it comes to any decision-making in the party and displays an exceptional proficiency and determination in combat.

Aya wields crossbows in battle and her Limit abilities use an enhanced barrier as a basis, with powerful offensive abilities to follow with following levels. She's the only party member gaining her limit breaks naturally after certain key story events; each being an upgrade of a previous one.

Early life

Aya is an older sister of Jessie Rasberry, born to her parents Rowan and his wife in [ μ ] – εγλ 1977.

Most of her adolescence Aya had spent on education, heavily encouraged by her parents to follow in her fathers footsteps and join Shinra.

During her high school years, she had quickly grown discontent with her parents ambitions and the influence they had on her choosing her life path. Encouraged by a friend of hers, she noticeably took up a hobby of match crossbow as her way to unwind and focus on something else. She ended up spending a significant amount of her free time at the range, developing her skills in shooting.

After starting college, she had to temporarily give up her hobby to focus on work to eventually afford her own place, ironically getting to spend much more time bonding with her sister after moving out.

Eventually, she had gotten her major and started her soul-killing job at Shinra as a junior enumerator.

Claudia

In [ v ] – εγλ 0002, during her first solo field assignment in Nibelheim, she had met Claudia Strife, ending up spending the night with her due to ongoing weather conditions. The pair had quickly fallen in love and started dating, prompting Aya to become a frequent visitor to Nibelheim.

Aya was present in Claudia's house during the Nibelheim Incident, barely making it out alive with her partner after a close call with Sephiroth.

For a while, the pair was stuck in Midgar, haunted by the flashbacks of that fateful night, trying to gather information about Claudia's son's whereabouts. Soon, they realized that they were running in circles and that the best they could do was to leave Midgar, settle down somewhere and recollect, before they could focus on finding Cloud.

The night in Nibelheim made it clear to Aya, that something had to change about her. She had to be able to defend herself and her loved ones so nothing like that could happen again. She called her sister to meet up, get her crossbow back from her parents, explain everything and say her goodbyes for the time being; understanding that, for the first time in her life, she took control of her life, whether it was by quitting the job and leaving Midgar, or making sure that she could take care of herself.

Aquana

On the road, the women had visited many places on their way west, meeting a few kind people, studying planetology and encountering a few monsters, slowly building back Aya's confidence in her shooting skills.

After having their enlightening experience in Cosmo Canyon, the pair went further south to avoid going in Nibelheim's direction, eventually ending up in Gongaga, which was suffering from high monster population at the time. After spending there a few days, Aya had a close call in the woods, remarkably eliminating three monsters by herself before anyone could come to her rescue.

Going further south, the pair had finally reached the coastal fishing town of Aquana. The women quickly learned that the town was suffering due to a monster nest appearing nearby and that a team of people was about to try their luck in taking it down. After giving it a thought, Aya decided to lend her hand in the operation, aware that she needed all the training she could get.

The operation ended in success, with Aya being commended for helping the town in spite of not having any stakes in it. Encouraged by the locals, Aya and Claudia decided to stay in Aquana, realizing that they had come to like the town. In return, as a token of gratitude, Aya received her iconic custom-made hunter gear.

Throughout their time in Aquana, the women settled down, opened their own business and got engaged. In the meantime, they had restarted their search for Cloud.

When their father had fallen into a coma, Jessie spent an extended time in Aquana with Aya, before the older sister decided to accompany her in Cosmo Canyon for the time of her planetology studies.

Final Fantasy VII

On their way to Cosmo Canyon, AVALANCHE made their stop in Aquana, only for Cloud to discover that his mom is alive and well. As sweet as their reunion was, it was clear that something wasn't right about Claudia's son, as he was misremembering many important details and events from his life shortly before the Nibelheim Incident. Still, the women were happy to see him alive and physically well, and for the time being that was all that mattered. They spent the rest of the day together, getting to know his friend group and being brought up to speed on the recent events.

To everyone's surprise, the atmosphere took a drastic turn as Tifa was telling Claudia about the events that took place in Midgar. Aya quickly deduced that the Jessie she was talking about was her very own sister; turning out to be just another casualty of Sector 7's plate falling, with their parents to presumably follow the suit. After learning the news, the woman lost it, leaving her house before Claudia and Tifa stormed out after her to try and comfort her.

Devastated by the death of one of the dearest people to her, partially blaming herself for not stopping her from endangering herself in any way, Aya recklessly decided to join the party, to her fiancée's dismay.

Her partner's pleas were ultimately for nothing, since in reality, Aya's mind was made up the moment she got some sleep and collected herself from the initial shock. She did everything to calm Claudia down, assuring her that they all would come back safely, adding that Cloud could use any help he could get, on top of another pair of eyes to keep him in check.

Feeling empty after her sister's death, Aya sets out with the rest of the party a few days later, motivated by the prospect of revenge on Sephiroth for what happened five years ago, sticking it up to Shinra for all she suffered and for Jessie, and most importantly, the will to keep her sister's dreams alive, essentially becoming her living legacy.

Some of the crucial points in Aya's development during her time as a party member include the visit to present-time Nibelheim, their night at Gold Saucer followed by Aerith's near-death experience and eventually Cloud falling into the lifestream.

Post-crisis, along with Claudia, Aya also plays a significant role in helping Aerith recover from the encounter in the Forgotten Capital.

Conclusion

This post is very far from exhaustive regarding details of Aya's actions and her motivation, to be honest. I'm in the middle of writing a document full of lore for her, spanning from her early childhood to post-crisis. It's already packed with details to read and includes much more detailed reasoning for certain aspects of her development through the years of her life.

Still, it feels like Aya went through such a journey since starting out as a reader insert to a one-shot, that she deserves another introductory post.

Not even a week ago, she didn't even have a maiden name, only to eventually end up as Claudia's wife and take her last name; let alone combat skills or any significant development arc, let alone the reason to join FF7's party. Now I'm starting to be really proud of what she has become <3

yeah i made up a town they could live in. but it sounds cool, right? besides, there's not many cool habitable places on gaia... and when there are they have a tendency to turn into lifestream craters or terrifying spins on company towns :'(