#and not only that but before meeting the other survivors she was his only light in this fucked up bullshit and she probably knew that

[arolesbianism]

Let it not be forgotten how much I love Abby. She is the character of all time. 2 me. It's me and my needlessly in depth Abby hcs against the world

[dixons-sunshine]

you most definitely can decline if you have too much on your plate/you don’t want to, but could i request platonic dad!daryl and daughter!reader? where they get separated when the prison falls (reader was on her own and then met with the group at terminus). After the events at Terminus they finally get a chance to hug and spend time together and reader is crying and ranting about how she was so scared and she wishes she could be strong like Daryl, and Daryl lets her in on his own worries and comforts her? i was thinking reader is like early teens (14-15)

again feel free to decline if you want! 🧡

His Little Girl—Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: After Terminus, you finally reunited with your father. While he was busy bandaging your arm after an injury you sustained, you let all your emotions out. Daryl, in a rare moment, shared his own feelings with you.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Post Terminus.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of near death experiences.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/n: Had to throw in a little bit of overprotective Dad!Daryl at the end. I hope you like this!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

You winced in pain when your father poured alcohol over your open wound. Your hand instinctively jerked back, the long gash on your arm burning with the fire of a thousand suns. You scrunched your face in pain, closing your eyes against the pain.

“M'sorry, Bean,” Daryl apologized, pulling the bottle away and placing it on the ground. He reached into his bag and grabbed a bandage he had managed to find in some abandoned house, and he started wrapping it around the gnarly wound. “Jus' try and hold still, alrigh'? This'll be over sooner if ya do.”

“Okay,” you whispered, opening your eyes and looking at your father's face. His face betrayed no emotions; he simply focused on bandaging your arm, his usual stoic expression on his face. He showed no ounce of fear, nothing to show that he thought he was going to die. That made you kind of envious. “How do you do it?”

Daryl halted his movements with the bandage, his blue eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. “M'guessin' yer not talkin' 'bout bandagin' someone's arm, are ya?”

You shook your head. “No, I'm not,” you replied in a broken whisper.

“Talk to me, Bean,” Daryl urged you, slowly resuming with the task of bandaging your arm. “Wha's on yer mind?”

You stayed silent for a moment, your eyes straying to the rest of the group. The only thing you could see in the dark was the light that the campfire emitted. The group was seated around the fire, a couple of them laying down to catch some sleep while a couple of others stayed up, mindlessly staring into the fire while others were keeping a cautious eyes on the tree line, trying to see if walkers or the survivors of Terminus were going to attack.

Shifting your attention back to your father, you swallowed deeply, trying to will the lump in your throat to go away. “How are you so brave?”

Daryl frowned in confusion. “Wha'?”

“How are you so brave?” you repeated, diverting your eyes to the ground. “You're not afraid of anything. You weren't scared when the camp at the quarry got overrun. You weren't scared at the CDC. When the farm fell, and then the prison, Terminus... You weren't scared at all. I was. I still am. When the prison fell, I escaped with someone, but he didn't make it long. The walkers got to him. Then I was alone, and I was so scared. I thought I was gonna die out there, alone, without knowing whether or not everyone was alive or not. Then I saw the Terminus maps, and I managed to find my way there, but everything quickly went to crap. I got thrown into that train cart, and I thought I was gonna be killed, but there you were. You were alive and you all had a plan to get out. It was a close call, and I almost got killed, but we got out. Through all of that, you weren't scared. You're so brave, and I'm not. I'm not.”

Daryl tightened the bandage around your arm before he withdrew his hands. He stayed silent for a few moments before he sighed, shaking his head.

“Ya ain't got no idea how wrong ya are,” he started, chuckling slightly at the way you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion—a trait you had inherited from him. “Bean, I was real fuckin' scared. All those times ya mentioned, I was terrified. I jus' put on a brave face fer ya 'cause I know ya needed me to be. When I saw the walkers back at the quarry camp, and I couldn't find ya immediately, I thought the walkers got ya. At the CDC, when tha' asshole wouldn't unlock the door, I thought we were gon' get blown up. I thought tha' my twelve year old lil' girl was gon' die, and there wasn't anythin' I could do to stop it. With the farm and now the prison, I thought ya didn't make it out. I spent the whole time wonderin' if ya were alive. I thought—I thought tha' ya were dead. I was so scared, Bean. I ain't ever been as scared like I was when the prison fell. I felt broken, empty. And then I found ya, but those psychopaths almost killed ya in front of me. I jus'... I can't lose ya. Yer my baby girl, even if yer already fourteen years old. I'd rather die than lose ya again.”

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, sniffling as Daryl wrapped his arms around you tightly. He pressed a kiss to your temple and slightly rocked you from side to side, just like he used to do when you were younger and had just woken up from a nightmare. Being in your father's embrace made you feel safe, like nothing could ever hurt you again. You wished you could always feel that way.

“I love you, Dad,” you whispered softly.

“Love ya too, Bean. More than ya know.” Daryl soon pulled back from the hug and gave you a small smile, and nudged his head in the direction of the campfire. “C'mon, let's head back. Ya need somethin' to eat.”

You nodded and got up, following behind your father as you walked back to the rest of the group. You settled down beside Carl while Daryl sat down next to Rick.

Carl sent you a small smile, nervously fiddling with his hands. “Hey, Y/n. How's your arm?”

You smiled at him and shrugged. “I'll live. I've had worse.”

“Yeah, and yet you're still alive,” Carl replied, still nervously fidgeting with his hands. “You're a badass.”

“Thanks, Carl,” you thanked him. Noticing his fidgeting, but mistaking his nerves for coldness, you grabbed one of his hands and held it in your own. “Here, let me warm your hands for you. My hands are like a furnace.”

You missed the way Carl ducked his head, a blush spreading across his face but he smiled in silent glee. “Yeah, okay.”

As you and Carl silently conversed to yourselves, with Carl staring at you in awe, Daryl watched the two of you closely. His glare rested on his best friend's son and the way he held your hand, and Daryl couldn't help the surge of overprotectiveness that flooded his body. He visibly stiffened, catching Rick's attention.

Rick followed his line of sight and chuckled at what he saw. “Look at that. Young love, huh?”

Daryl glared at Rick. “Yer son better keep his hands off'a her. They're too young to be thinkin'a tha'.”

“Do what you want, Daryl, but if they wanna be together, they're gonna find a way, despite your rules.”

Well, Daryl thought, then he'd just have to bestow the fear of god into the young boy, and make sure that if he ever hurt you, his little girl, walkers would be the least of his problems.

[shadow-fell]

On Moonrise Towers, the Thorm Family, and the Shadow Curse

Once another compilation so that I don't need to go constantly digging for things. A general timeline of events:

Reithwin town founded by the Thorm family

Moonrise Towers constructed

Melodia Thorm dies

Isobel Thorm dies

Ketheric turns to Shar

Gauntlet of Shar constructed/rebuilt; Reithwin turns to Sharran worship

Nightsong is captured by Ketheric and Balthazar

Flaming Fist sends Art Cullagh to investigate Ketheric

Harpers, Druids, and Flaming Fist team up to fight Ketheric

Mason who built Moonrise Towers + the Gauntlet of Shar makes a deal with Raphael; Yurgir kills all the Sharrans in the Gauntlet/Grymforge save one

Ketheric is killed, Shadow Curse released

Survivors of the battle flee

Ketheric resurrects, turns to Myrkul

Gortash and the Dark Urge bring Ketheric in on the Absolute plan

Ketheric resurrects Isobel (maybe before ^ but probably after)

Isobel flees to the Last Light Inn

Now, expanding on the details, sources, and adding some firmer dates? that's all going below the cut.

Construction of Moonrise Towers

The first, and as far as I know only reference to Moonrise Towers outside of BG3 is in the Code of the Harpers, where it is described as the base of the Crescent Coat, officer of the High Heralds (a group spinning out of the Harpers, referenced by Halsin in game), in 1368.

So, we know when it must be established by - but how much earlier can we go? Pretty far given that the Thorms are elven/half-elven.

Our best boundary is that we know Balduran visited Moonrise Towers before becoming an Illithid. His initial departure from Baldur's Gate and shipwreck happened around 1050 DR, at 300 years before BG1/2, so he has to come to Moonrise Towers sometime after that. FR Wiki states this is ~1150 or later, but I don't know where they're getting that from? I think that's a reasonable timeframe, though.

We know the same architect built Moonrise as the Gauntlet of Shar (from talking to him in the House of Hope), but there's no record of what race he was (only meeting him as a skeleton), and if an elf could easily still be working a few centuries after the construction.

Ketheric is a half-elf for sure, though, but he is an old one. How old exactly is hard to say. 3rd edition gave "old" at 93, with a maximum age of 130-190, while 5e just says "often exceeding 180 years". If we take that he looks the way he did in ~1370 as his death, that places his birth at a minimum of ~1170, but probably later, and the construction of Moonrise Towers ~1200 at the earliest, which is maybe a bit long for Balduran but not unreasonably so.

The other thing of note is that Moonrise Towers has a 'sister' in the Sunrise Spire, a Lathanderian Monastery destroyed in 1177 during a territorial war. Combined with the (undated) fall of Rosymorn Monastery, there is perhaps something interesting about the regional shift from Lathander to Selune, and the construction happening after the destruction further supports a date around ~1200.

Personally, I'd want to push things earlier rather than later - it wouldn't be difficult to say that Ketheric is more elven than human, pushing his age a bit further out, so somewhere between 1180-1200 fits the sweet spot. But really, all we have for sure is "before 1368"

Melodia and the Thorm Family

Melodia Thorm is a human worshipper of Selune, who married Ketheric Thorm and converted him to her worship. They had a daughter, Isobel, who was young when Melodia died (or, at least, Melodia still called her their little girl).

Ketheric is a half-elf; every other member of the Thorm family is an elf - Malus, Gerringothe, and Thisobald all have the longer ears (although the hood makes this less clear on Thisobald).

Malus refers to (presumably) Ketheric as his nephew, making him the only certain branch of the family tree. Gerringothe, we have no idea where she fits in, although as a full elf, we can assume no one is Ketheric's siblings, only parents/aunts/uncles/cousins/more distant relatives.

Thisobald...is complicated. He calls Ketheric father, however, the phrasing is ambiguous (capitalized in a religious sense) in addition to the lack of reference to him in accounts of Melodia/Isobel, and the fact he appears to be fully elven. The two possibilities is that Thisobald and Isobel are half-siblings, with Thisobald's other parent being a full elf, and this being the source of disconnect between him and Ketheric, or that Father is not literal and he is related to Ketheric another way.

We know that Malus Thorm was alive in 986, where he recorded battle casualties from a Dark Justiciar/Selunite/Druid conflict. Given that only the Dark Justiciars are named, it seems likely he was a Sharran at that time. If we take the date as legitimate and not referring to the 1370s conflict, then at least Malus worshipped Shar before Reithwin turned to Selunite worship.

Gauntlet of Shar

Around 800 years before Ketheric Thorm's turn, Grymforge was a city of Shar worshippers. He attempted to revitalize it - creating or rebuilding the Gauntlet of Shar in the process.

And, yes, these two are connected - you can see the entrance to the Gauntlet from one of the points in the lava and through the hall where Nere is trapped. There is a further section not accessible seen from where the Mimic fight is, mainly what appear to be another set of docks.

While we're told the Mason constructed the Gauntlet, given that Shadowheart has heard legends of it, the more likely option seems to be it was rebuilt, since it's quite a large place to construct in only a handful of years. Especially if Malus was a Sharran in 986, it would explain the presence of Shar worshippers before Ketheric's turn.

So, we have the initial Dark Justiciar trials around 600 DR, followed by a decline (with the Gauntlet perhaps lasting past the fall of the city, hidden under Reithwin) enough to establish a myth that can then be built on in the 1370s.

Death of Isobel

How Isobel died is an unresolved plot point, revolving around cut content, so it's hard to call anything "canonical" but the two potential paths are as follows:

In the earliest version, she was killed by Halsin, during a meeting between her (and other Reithwin locals) and the druids, before Shar's influence (and the song of the Nightsong, potentially) drove them mad, and Halsin stabbed Isobel with Sorrow, leaving it cursed). This sparked the conflict between Ketheric and the Druid-Harper alliance.

In a later version, Balthazar killed her, framing Aylin for the deed, which led to Ketheric capturing her and trapping her in the Gauntlet of Shar. Isobel was tethered to Ketheric, and needed to be separated before he was killed

Either way, Isobel has no memory of her death upon being resurrected a century later. It happened probably ~1370, triggering the conflict. While it may have happened earlier (with Ketheric keeping his Shar worship hidden) probably not earlier than 1368.

Conflict with the Harpers

Alright, so this is where we get back into figuring out hard dates. Generally, this happened a century ago - so ~1392, but any time something is that round I always assume it's off.

Again, we know things are business as usual around 1368 because of the Heralds; this means that while Ketheric may have turned to Shar, it wasn't public. However, we do have some dates related to the conflict.

The Harpers try and fail to surrender in a letter by Khelben Arunsun - he's expelled from the Harpers in 1371, founding a splinter group, and dies in 1374. That makes 1369-1370 the most likely timing.

However, the records from Moonhaven and from the Emerald Grove push it to being a later date. Uktar 1371 is the date that the Apothecary and Apprentice arrive from Thay, the start of the Apprentice's journal, which ends with the Dark Justiciars killing him. Toth's logbook is the Apothecary's account, and has a raid in late Uktar and in Nightal; this may be the same year, but more likely later. We know there was at least one failed raid on Moonhaven before it fell completely.

Uktar 1371 we also get the Logbook from the Emerald Grove - they're dealing with far more minor problems and presumably aren't yet at war with the Dark Justiciars, which further supports the idea that the raids on Moonhaven happen in 1372 or 1373.

To account for Khelben's presence, we could assume the failed surrender is from an initial conflict in 1369-1370, that ended with the Harpers retreating, but more likely, the threat Ketheric Thorm posed was enough that the Harpers and Moonstars (Khelben's splinter group) were in alliance - after all, it wasn't a clean split and there was still a great deal of overlap, and he's still the Blackstaff.

The details of the conflict are largely uncertain. We know the Dark Justiciars destroyed Moonhaven, and presumably some other villages, and that the shadow curse claimed the region around Moonrise Towers and Reithwin.

However, we do know how it ended. The Mason made a deal with Raphael to destroy the Dark Justiciar army, which brought Yurgir to the Gauntlet, where he killed all but one (hiding as a swarm of rats). While we only see Yurgir's impact in Grymforge and the Gauntlet, presumably Raphael helped with defeating the entire army.

How Ketheric died and came to be buried in the mausoleum is unclear, but in the final moments of the battle, he cursed the lands around Moonrise Towers with the Shadow Curse, killing many of the Harpers and Druid, and lasting for well over a century, until he came to be resurrected in the name of Myrkul.

My Proposed Timeline

You've read the evidence above. This is therefore a mix of canon, reasonably makes sense in canon, and completely made up headcanon

1492 - Balthazar resurrects Isobel; she flees to the Last Light Inn

???? - Balthazar resurrects Ketheric, he becomes Myrkul's chosen

1373 - Yurgir kills Dark Justiciar Army; Ketheric dies and the Shadow Curse falls

1372 - Dark Justiciars spread out and attack local villages, destroying Moonhaven. The Emerald Grove, Harpers, Moonstars, and Flaming Fist ally together

1370 - The Nightsong is captured, used as the final test for the new Dark Justiciar army Ketheric builds

1369 - Isobel killed by [Halsin/Balthazar/???]. Ketheric completes turn to Shar, forces Reithwin to convert, has the mason begin reconstructing Grymforge

1350 - Melodia dies. Ketheric's faith begins to waver.

1340 - Isobel born

1325 - Melodia and Ketheric marry

1300 - Melodia born.

1200s - Moonrise Towers constructed; Reithwin slowly builds up prominence as a trade stop amon

1170s - Ketheric Thorm born.

1150s-1250s - young Halsin grows up in the lands around Reithwin, where he befriends Thaniel.

980s - Dark Justiciar/Druid/Harper conflict, Malus Thorm attending. Sharrans in the region go further into hiding; Reithwin is known as a Selunite enclave.

600s - Grymforge is a thriving Sharran city. Dark Justiciar trials are held within the Gauntlet of Shar.

[starrydixon]

Faint

*Requested from this ask :)*

Era: Farm  Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: None-Specified Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: mild language, brief descriptions of fainting and dehydration, fluff!!

Summary: After pushing yourself a little too hard in the hot Georgia sun, you find yourself losing consciousness. Luckily, Daryl’s right there to help you out. 

It was hot—probably one of the hottest days since the apocalypse started. The blaring sun was not holding back, as there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky to block the assaulting rays from your skin for even a few seconds. The Georgia humidity also wasn’t helping; it made the air you breathed feel denser and like there wasn’t much oxygen to inhale. Sweat collected across your hairline, around your neck, and dripped down your spine. The clothes you were wearing stuck to your body like another layer of skin, and you were sure there were patches of sweat staining your shirt. Before the outbreak happened, you would have been embarrassed by it, but there were more important things to be worried about nowadays instead of people seeing you sweat.

With most of the group out of commission or being assigned to do something else, it was only you and Daryl looking for Sophia today. Daryl was heading towards the creek, seeing what he could find at the only landmark the little girl had to go by, while you searched in the opposite direction; just in case she had wandered out further than anticipated.

The water in your canteen had run out hours ago. You knew you should have gone back to the farm to refill from one of the wells, but finding Sophia was more important than relieving your dry throat. You hadn’t realized just how draining the sun was on your body until you noticed that your once stealthy footsteps had turned heavy and noisy. That should have been your other sign to go back to the farm, but you still pushed on. When your vision began to go out of focus not even twenty minutes later, you knew you were treading dangerously on succumbing to heat stroke. As much as you wanted to keep looking for Sophia, up until the hot sun began to set over the horizon, you knew you wouldn’t be very useful if you were delirious and or unconscious. 

As the blue sky began to tint with light shades of oranges and pinks, Daryl had assumed you had already made it back to the farm when he reentered the property. The hunter was perceptive; keeping to himself most days and observing the people around him. He instantly felt the lack of your presence around camp when he returned from his search. Maybe it was because you were the only person within the small group of survivors that he was immediately drawn to when he and his brother first showed up to the camp at the Quarry. You had always been genuinely nice to him, and didn’t treat him like the outsider he felt and knew that he was. So your absence was significant to him.

With Sophia still missing, and presumably lost in the vast forest that surrounded the immediate area, Daryl couldn’t help but fear that you were now lost too. Of course he hoped you were only taking so long to return because you had found Sophia, or at least found a warm trail of her, but his anxiety was getting the best of him. He couldn’t take that chance; having another person lost on his account. The archer didn’t hesitate to go back out there, find your tracks, and make sure that you were okay. 

Just as he was beginning to cross the field of overgrown grass and weeds, Daryl was met with the welcomed sight of you emerging from the tree line of the woods. He didn’t know if he was projecting his fears with Sophia on you, or if it was something else, but he was relieved to see you back in one piece with his own eyes. Daryl hadn’t broken stride, planning to meet you halfway and converse about any evidence you may have found during your search. The closer he got, the clearer your weary body language and sweat sheened face became. 

“Y/N?” Daryl called out to you, cupping a hand next to his mouth in an attempt to magnify the sound of his voice. When the only response he got from you was witnessing your body drop to the ground, his once relaxed strides quickly turned into a full on run.

Internal alarms that Daryl didn’t know he possessed began to go off, causing his heart to race and his breathing to become labored. Daryl kept calling out to you as he made his way over to you, hoping that your face would miraculously pop up from the overgrown foliage and reassure him that you were fine and had just tripped over an upturned pile of dirt. When that didn’t happen, curse words rooted from fear flew out his mouth. 

Daryl had no idea what to do when he finally reached you. Kneeling down beside you, his hands hovered around the frame of your face and sides of your head. He was worried that his touch, no matter how gentle he tried to be, would somehow hurt you. .

“Hey-hey.” The archer’s voice was soft, but still held that distinctive gravely undertone as he watched your facial expressions begin to stir. Daryl’s breath quickened and his ears had a deafening ring in them due to the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The second you opened your eyes, just a crack, you instantly squeezed them shut again. A distressed groan sounded from under your breath as the near blinding brightness and nauseating dizziness stung your sensitive eyes. If it weren’t for Daryl’s voice sounding so close, yet so distant, you probably would have panicked at how disoriented you felt.

“Easy now…” Daryl trailed off cautiously as you began to sit up. His hands hovered around your frame, spotting you in case you fell down again.

“Don’t…don’t take me to Hershel.” You informed the archer as you blinked your vision back into focus. Your muscles still felt heavy and weak, and you were sure you’d fall over again soon as it was becoming difficult to keep yourself upright. 

“Just—help me to some shade.”

Daryl was hesitant about following your wishes, as he thought you should be seen by someone who had a medical background. You noticed his hesitation, and shot him a heated warning look with whatever energy you had left to spare. With a shake of his head and a light scoff escaping past his lips, Daryl helped you to your feet and led you over to the closest tree; which was one of the many peach trees residing around the Greene’s farm. 

“Water…please.” Your voice was breathy and weak as you slumped back against the sturdy tree trunk. If your body wasn’t so exerted of energy, you would have found the rigged wood that dug into your back uncomfortable.

“Right—water.” Daryl patted his body, searching for the canteen he often carried on his person. When one of his hands bumped into the container, the archer clumsily removed the strap from off his shoulder and practically shoved the canteen in your face due to his hasted mindset. 

A thank you barely made it out of your mouth before you eagerly drank the refreshing water. You knew you would need more than a half-full canteen worth of water to hydrate your body again, but just the mere feel of the cool liquid filing your dry mouth and going down your scratchy throat was replenishing enough. 

“You seem awfully calm for someone who just passed out.” The archer’s distinctive southern drawl seemed even more prominent when he spoke. Carefully, Daryl sat down beside you under the tree that was providing your hot skin with cooling shade. 

For a moment, you could only shrug your shoulders dismissively in response as you let your head fall back against the tree trunk. The golden hue of the sunset caused the overgrown grassland in front of you to seem like it was glowing. It was a peaceful view, and you couldn’t help but allow its peace to calm you for a few moments. 

“If I wasn’t aware of why I fainted, I definitely wouldn’t be this level-headed.” Your voice was slow, but composed and lucid. It made Daryl’s looming anxiety settle and his protective guard to slightly drop. “I ran out of water hours ago…I just wanted to keep looking for Sophia.”

For a fleeting second, Daryl felt a surge of warmth spread over the expanse of his chest. You didn’t have to explain yourself further; he understood where you were coming from completely and was perplexedly endeared that you were just as committed to finding Sophia as he was. Carefully, Daryl glanced over at you, and felt an electric shock shoot up his spine when he saw your tired eyes and half smile aimed at him. The brightness radiating off of your face practically blinded him, and he had to avert his gaze so he wouldn’t risk having you see the dust of pink he was sure was beginning to cover his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, Daryl only hummed vaguely in response before standing up and brush his hands over his pants to remove some of the dirt that stuck to the worn denim. Squinting through the setting sunlight, the archer took a few steps back and examined the peaches that hung from the branches. Since the peaches hung a few feet too high for Daryl to reach, he knew he'd have to poke the branch until the stem of the fruit broke free from the branch.

“I’d watch your head if I were you.” Daryl warned while raising his crossbow and nudging the branch. 

Placing both arms over your head, you subconsciously winced as you anticipated the feeling of raining fruit falling on you at any moment. The last thing you needed was a head injury on top of your mild heat stroke. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” You expressed endearingly as a weak smile uplifted the corners of your mouth. The archer just shrugged indifferently.

“Ya gotta eat somethin’... these things got lots of vitamins and minerals or whatever and that’ll help ya feel better.” Daryl explained while gesturing to the few peaches that were now cradled in his arms. 

As Daryl kneeled down beside you again and offered you the ripest peach in the bunch, he felt his heart skip a beat when his gaze caught your genuine smile. After making sure to thank the archer once again, you quickly brushed your fingers against the peach to remove any lingering dirt and bit into the sweet and juicy fruit. A comfortable silence fell over you and Daryl as you both enjoyed the delectable snack.

Daryl wasn’t the type of person who normally pried into other people’s business. His rule of thumb was that if something wanted to be said or talked about, it would be eventually at the person's own discretion. This time, however, your health was more important than his comfortability and he was curious as to why you didn’t want to be checked on and cared for with medicine. 

“Is there uh—a reason why ya don wanna see Hershel? He could help ya feel better faster.” Daryl threw the near bare peach pit a few feet in front of him, and watched the pit become hidden within the overgrown foliage of the farmland. 

“Oh…I just don’t want to be more of a burden, you know?”

You too had finished your peach, and threw the pit in the same direction Daryl had. Your’s didn’t land as far as Daryl’s did, and you were going to blame your dehydrated body for your lack of strength instead of your lack of muscles. Wiping your hands of the sticky peach juice on your jeans, you brought the canteen to your lips and drank the remaining liquid. Although your eyes remained on the field in front of you, you could see Daryl’s attention turn to you from the corner of your eye, and feel his curious gaze flit over the side of your face. 

“Should take the medical care while we still got it.” Daryl reasserted while resting his arm on top of his bent knee. 

“I want us all to stay here longer…and if asking for help diminishes that chance, then I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Daryl couldn’t help but admire your selflessness. He wasn’t sure how many other people in the broken group of survivors would also make that kind of stance. To visually show that he was done pushing his own concern onto you, the archer raised his hands in faux surrender. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the small glimpse of charisma from the usually guarded man. 

After a few beats of silence had passed, you found yourself chuckling quietly again and rubbing a distressed hand over your face. “Maybe eating those peaches without asking already ruined our chance.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Daryl compromised with a suggestively raised eyebrow. You couldn’t help but belly laugh with as much strength you could muster while lightly nudging the archer’s arm with your elbow. Daryl couldn’t help but find your laugh contagious and quietly chuckle along.

“Can I get ya some more water?” Daryl asked once the laughter had settled between you two. With his hand, he motioned towards the empty canteen sitting in between your legs. 

“That would be great, actually. Thanks.” 

“Might be more comfortable restin’ in your tent, too.” Daryl suggested lightly as he stood up from the ground. In an attempt to seem less pestering, he shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“Probably…but I think if I even try to stand up right now, I’d go cross eyed and pass out again.” Despite how serious you were, there was a teasing lilt in your voice to delude the concern. 

Your lightheartedness didn’t seem to have any affect on Daryl, as he stared down at you with a wary look in his eyes. “Right…” Daryl’s drawl was heavy when he spoke, and he shifted uneasily on his feet as those panic-induced alarms began to go off again. 

“I’m fine, seriously. I just need to drink a shit ton of water...and maybe eat another peach” You reassured him encouragingly while handing the canteen to Daryl. The archer just hummed, unconvinced, and snatched the container from you. 

“Don’t pass out while I’m gone…I’ll be pissed if ya do.” Daryl warned while pointing an accusing finger at you. 

“Aren’t you always?” One of your eyebrows rose in speculation as a sly smile formed on your lips. 

Daryl scoffed and took a few steps away from you. He could feel heat begin to flush the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he blurted out his rather flirtatious thoughts without thinking. 

“Nah—not around you…you’re just different I guess.”

Instead of the blaring sun and borderline heatstroke heating up your face, it was Daryl’s alluring comment. All you could do was shake your head dismissively and try (but fail miserably) to conceal the flustered smile that contorted the shape of your lips. A lopsided smile formed on Daryl’s lips as he slowly retreated from you; all the while rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. 

As you watched Daryl jog across the field to the nearest watering well, a wave of invigorating energy coursed through you. You thought only shade and replenishing water could cure your drained and dehydrated body, but it turns out a rugged archer whose strong facade was slowly crumbling to reveal the man he truly was, was just as healing.

-

-

A/N: I just started my twd rewatch, and just had to write something with early season Daryl! Also, I’m so sorry this is out a little later than anticipated! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I hope you all enjoyed reading! <3

[kybercrystals94]

Barrier

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 6 - Prompt: Not Realizing They're Injured / "It's not my blood."

Rated: T | Words: 729

CW: Blood (in case the prompt didn't give it away)...nothing too graphic, but just wanted to mention it!

Hunter is thrown when another explosion detonates, hitting a wall with enough force it drives the breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping through his respirator. Debris clatters like hail against his plastoid armor. He isn’t surprised everything hurts, head ringing from the impact, but he pushes himself up even before the reverberation of the blast settles, the ground trembling under his boots as he stumbles forward to the first citizen he sees. 

The woman is leaning forward, gripping her ankle with both hands, voice sobbing in a language Hunter doesn’t understand. He kneels down in front of her. “We’ll get you out of here,” he tells her. 

The woman’s wild eyed gaze traverses Hunter’s dirty armor, and she shakes her head, continuing to speak frantically in her native tongue. He doesn’t have time for arguing, the transport will be back soon for survivors, and she is only one of many. He scoops her up in his arms in a bridal cary, careful to avoid jostling her injured ankle. She pushes against his breastplate, continuing to speak the same words over and over again. 

“I don’t understand,” Hunter tells her. His head is still ringing, dull pounding pain throbbing throughout his skull. Distantly, he wonders if he has a concussion. 

The woman points to her own abdomen, and Hunter looks down. Blood blooms across her torn blouse. How did he not see that before? He nods at her, trying to communicate that he understands that she is injured. The rendezvous isn’t far, and Hunter moves as fast as he dares. Tech is there, tending the wounded as they arrive. He will know what to do. 

Tech meets him when he arrives. “What are her injuries?” he asks, motioning for Hunter to lay the woman down by a tree where several other civilians are already situated. 

“Abdomen wound, seems like it’s bleeding heavily,” Hunter tells him. “But she was holding her ankle when I found her. I don’t think she can walk on her own.” 

Tech nods, already reaching for a fresh roll of gauze from his med pack. 

Hunter draws back from the woman, moving to stand again when she catches his arm in both hands. She speaks frantically, this time looking at Tech. 

Tech looks at Hunter, his eyes wide behind his goggles. 

“What is she saying?” Hunter asks.

“She says that it isn’t her blood,” Tech says, tone too even to be truly calm. “It is yours.” 

“I’m not…” Hunter begins, but Tech points to Hunter’s own midsection. Hunter looks down and sees it. Shrapnel, dark and ominous, protrudes from his armor. He didn’t even notice, felt nothing but the pain in his head, the ache in his muscles. But now, his skin feels like fire and the warmth of blood pooling under his armor, soaking into his blacks. His head goes light, vision spotting with dark splotches under his visor. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his vision, but when he opens them again, he is on the Marauder, the sound of Wrecker snoring in the bunk above him, the dim lighting of night cycle glowing around him. 

“Thanks for your help with the evacuation,” Crosshair says from the crash sheet, “Couldn’t have done it without you. Oh, wait, we did.” 

“Please don’t antagonize the wounded,” Tech chides, and he appears in Hunter’s eyeline, hovering over him. “How do you feel?” 

Hunter groans. “Not great.” 

“To be expected,” Tech agrees. “Alami said that she tried to warn you before you picked her up.” 

“A language barrier is no excuse,” Crosshair admonishes. 

“It is actually a quite reasonable excuse,” Tech tells him guilelessly. A pause. “You were being sardonic.”  

Crosshair chuckles. 

Hunter suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. He knows it will only aggravate his lingering headache. 

“The mission was a success?” he asks.

Tech hums, checking the bandages wrapped around Hunter’s midsection. “Of course it was. It turned out Alami is the village’s doctor. She was able to take over my duties, and I was able to assist with yours. If you had to rescue one last individual before becoming incapacitated, you chose the right one.” 

Hunter sighs, exhaustion tugging at his consciousness enticingly. He wants to ask more, to hear everything that happened…but he knows his brothers will tell him everything he wants to know when he wakes again. 

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[honeycombclaire]

You know what I need? I need the Marvel time-travel trope, but everyone goes back to the 40s.

(I say everyone, I mean the Avengers pre-Infinity War.)

Because everyone says Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are men out of time (and they’re not technically wrong). But I want to see the Avengers (sans Steve and Bucky) getting sent back in time by some wizard or a freak Asgardian lightning storm or something, and poof, they’re back in the 40s, right smack in the middle of the war.

I want the Avengers to witness what life was like during the war, hiding in bomb shelters and seeing the after effects of the world crawling out of the Great Depression and hurtling into the second World War in twenty years.

Life when Steve really was the weirdest thing science ever created. When he was desperately needed and internationally adored. Because all of the Avengers have PTSD, but Steve and Bucky went through World War II and got spit back out into the 20th and 21st centuries, and that’s a whole different category of PTSD and trauma.

I want the Avengers to actually meet the survivors of Azzano, when Steve marched into the massive Nazi base and saved hundreds of soldiers, part because he could and part because he was desperate to save his best friend, and didn’t think twice about it.

I want the Avengers to see Steve and Bucky thrive. I want them to witness Steve and Bucky with the Howling Commandos. Steve’s first team. I want them to see how Steve and Bucky lived, what life was like, because it was drastically different than the modern world.

I want the Avengers to witness firsthand life on a military base. I want Tony to have to look his father in the eye and pretend he doesn’t know who he is, but get to see all the good his father did because all he remembers is his father being an asshole. How much Steve really did care about Howard (and that Bucky did, too, because Howard made weapons to keep Steve safe).

I want Natasha to see that just because she’s an assassin doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, because there were hundreds of military assassins and spies during the war that did bad things to get information.

I want them to hear about the Tesseract and learn that sometimes Steve’s intelligence should be taken seriously, because he has experience and knowledge that none of the other Avengers will ever have. (“You should have left it in the water.” “This is the guy my dad never shut up about?”)

I want them to see how much Steve loved Peggy, how she and Bucky were the only ones who saw him for who he really was, and realize how awful it must have been for him to come back and work for the organization she created after his death and have to live without her.

I want them to hide and watch as Past Steve screams as Past Bucky falls from the train. I want them to see Past Steve realize he can’t get drunk, and the only way he can cope is to kill the Red Skull and end HYDRA. To avenge his friend. I want them to realize that not only did Past Steve crash the plane for nothing, but that Steve knows, has to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life.

I want them to listen with Peggy as Past Steve realizes he’s going to have to crash the plane. I want them to hear the slight tremble in Past Steve’s voice as he talks about dancing with Peggy, believing he’ll never get the chance, and that he’s going to die alone in the freezing cold ocean. I want them to not get the change to promise him that he’ll survive. I want them to hear the sudden static that cuts off Past Steve’s voice, and the heavy silence that comes after it.

I want them to see the world mourn for Captain America, who died just months before the war ended.

And then I want them to come back to the 21st century and see. I want them to see the way Steve’s eyes linger on pictures of Peggy and Howard, see the rows of records from the 30s and 40s in a whole new light, see rows of 30s-style clothes in his closet that he hardly ever wears because a lot of people will make jabs about it, see the way he always keeps Bucky in his sight, hugs him just a little bit tighter than he hugs everyone else.

I want them to see the bags under his and Bucky’s eyes when they have nightmares. I want Sam to quietly show them Steve’s list, and see that every line on every page is filled because he missed so much. I want them to find two more little books filled up just as much. I want them to realize how lost Steve still is despite how much he’s adapted.

I want them to see the subtle military training still ingrained in Steve’s bones, because any and every war was horrible, but World War II was something else entirely, and so was desperation that existed within the soldiers and the people. I want them to see Steve’s recklessness of jumping out of planes without a parachute, the way his eyes always scan the area when he enters a room, watching ever little detail and listening for any sound that might indicate danger. How he is always, always, on alert, even when he seems relaxed.

I want them to understand why Steve was so against the Sokovia Accords. It wasn’t because he wanted the power to do what he thought was best; it was because he was afraid of the consequences of having too many restrictions. Because even with international laws and the damn Geneva Convention, the Nazis still destroyed half the world, and decades later Nazi HYDRA was still carrying out their mission that Steve sacrificed his life for. Steve was a human experiment. The Serum was a biochemical weapon. The military broke the rules to protect the greater good, and Steve knew that. The war would have gone very differently without him.

Whether he was right or wrong about the Accords, after what Steve experienced, I want the Avengers finally understand where he was coming from. Why he was so afraid of strict regulations.

I want Tony to finally fully understand the significance of Steve giving up his shield in Siberia.

Why he was so determined to protect Bucky from the world. Not just because he was his best friend, or because it was the right thing to do. But also because Bucky was the only thing Steve physically had left of his life before the crash, save for his dog tags, and he was scared of what that would mean if Steve lost him.

Steve Rogers has so much trauma that Marvel completely ignored. They focused on Tony’s and Bucky’s and Natasha’s trauma; and that’s great, that’s important; but so much of Steve’s moral character doesn’t get explained because it gets glossed over with the excuse that he’s “Mr Good and Righteous.” And that’s true, but that’s just scratching the surface.

He’s Mr. Good and Righteous for a reason, and it doesn’t get talked about enough.

[fishermanshook]

HELLO :33 could i request some hurt/comfort w norton or edgar?? maybe their so get's badly injured in a match like dying at their feet and stuff and when they come back their partner comforts them?? ;^;

of course annon! enjoy <3

Meet Me Here Again (prospector x gn!reader x painter , separate)

INTRO

You really must've done something to piss Geisha off, as she usually isn't one to put Survivors in situations like this. But none the less, she's left you to bleed out on the ground of Leo's Memory, where the cold has numbed your fingers and turned your lips blue.

But Geisha can't help but secretly writhe in the way your body crawls towards her, leaving a bread crumb trail of your blood as you plead desperately to just be chaired already.

The match leaves your body bloodied and bruised and will definitely haunt your dreams from here on out. But have no fear, your boyfriend is here and will help nurse you back from just one of your many traumatizing matches.

The Prospector

Norton doesn't learn of the events that took place until the next morning, when he's noticed you've skipped breakfast and only finds out now. Last night's match ended horribly, as evident by the cuts and bruises that have decorated themselves across your body. The Prospector almost drops your breakfast as you explain the situation to him with tears streaming down your face. The man swears to stay by your side as he helps you recover. Unfortunately, the world still moves, and he's forced to complete his daily match(es) before he can return to your side.

Norton hates having to see you in pain let only hearing you moan in agony. Norton's already had to change your sheets twice because your cuts kept bleeding through the bandages— and oh god he just hates seeing you like this. The Prospectors pissed that Geisha left you in a state like that, as bleeding out is a serious deal and shouldn't be taken lightly. But at last, Hunters will be Hunters. He can only hope that you heal up quickly as he spoon feeds you a second serving of soup.

The Painter

Edgar finds out earlier than Norton, having gone to your room after he finished his last match. All he wanted to do was cuddle a little with his s/o before falling asleep, but it seemed the manor had other plans for him. After opening the door, he's greeted with sniffling and immediately knows something's wrong. Turning on the light, he rushes over to you and bombards you with questions as to what happened. Gently lifting up the covers answers all his questions, as he's met with countless scars and bruises across your body. He thinks he might cry just seeing you like this. The Painter slowly lowers himself into your bed and wraps his arms around you in an attempt to comfort you.

The Painter brings his painting supplies over to your room, as he's in it almost half the time. He's inside your room even more now that you're hurt. You wonder how Edgar still finds inspiration to paint in your room, he just says you are his inspiration. Wherever you are, his heart can't help but follow. You think it's true, as he seems to paint even more when you're with him. So despite you being bed bound, he'll stay by your side.

note: i didn't think art block would kick me in the a this badly, sorry this is so short :(

(2023)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[saintmagx]

✨ Cruel Summer ✨

pairing: Solo Sikoa x reader, Jey Uso x reader (briefly)

AN: Literally making this for myself, so if I do ever end up publishing - enjoy I guess? 🤪

w/c: 1198

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity(if you squint), jealous Jey, toxic behaviour, bad/embarrassing writing ⚠️

doesn’t follow a specific timeline however it is more recent, total divas making a return.

✨ I love you ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard - he looks up grinning like the devil ✨

• ❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

“I dunno Trin, the thought of being recorded for 12 hours of the day, like, I enjoy my privacy”.

“Think about it as an opportunity, having the fans see a different side of you. Showing them how hard you work your ass off.”

Trinity is my best friend, she helped me out so much when I joined the WWE 6 years ago. She and her husband Jon took me into their family and helped me adapt into the crazy world of being a WWE superstar.

“Just think about it is all I’m saying. It’ll be fun” trin says nudging me.

Ever since I moved here, we have had a weekly tradition of Wednesday Girls Night, its just snacks, Chinese takeout, and movies, it’s just time for us to catch up and wind down from the gruelling travel schedule.

Right on queue at exactly 11:30pm Jon walks in the door.

“Times up ladies” he says, which is swiftly followed by two pillows being thrown at his head.

“Come on uce, you know better than to interrupt gIrLs NiGhT”

The couch beside me dipped and once again I felt the heat from the body of Josh Fatu, my one weakness. His hand falls to his side and creeps closer to me caressing the side of my bare thigh. You see what people don’t know is Josh and I have an ‘agreement’ - no feelings, just sex and friendship, and it was going great until it wasn’t, feeling were caught, specifically by me and I’m stuck between a rock and hard place as I’m falling hard for him, but I cant let this agreement end because I would rather have him this way than not have him at all.

“Spoke with Joe today, Hunter is bringing him up to the main roster, can’t wait to have my other younger brother fighting by my side”. A third pillow is thrown at Jon from the direction of Josh.

“We are twins, and you are only older by 8 minutes”.

Never a dull moment where the Fatu boys are concerned.

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First day of filming (TD Interview Segment)

Okay, so lets start with a basic intro okay? Ready, go!

The room falls silent the light shines bright on me, I have at least 6 pair of eyes on me, goading me into starting. Gosh why did I sign up to do this!!!

Hi there, my names yn, I am currently on the Smackdown roster and I am the current WWE Women’s Champion.

I’ve been with the WWE for 6 years now and I wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for my adoptive sister Trinity, she took me under her wing and I’ve been there ever since. As you guys know – and if you didn't know, the accent should be a huge giveaway, I’m originally from the United Kingdom, I came to the states with a dream in hand and no one there to help me through this bumpy ride. I can never repay her or Jon for the way they have accepted and welcomed me into their little dynamic. Although, travelling the world with Jon and Josh is hard work, they boys are chaotic, I don't know how Trin managed to do it herself for so long!

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Friday Night Smackdown, Atlanta Georgia, 8 weeks before Survivor Series

Walking into the arena for Smackdown I get a message from Hunter asking to meet him in his office. A mixture of anxiety and curiosity fill in the pit of my stomach. In his office I’m met with the familiar faces of Jon, Josh, and Joseph, smiling I look over to Hunter who invites me to sit.

“I got your message, what’s up?

“We have been toying with the idea of a cross brand rivalry - for Survivor Series. Now that Joe has come up to the main roster, we think the Usos and Solo v The Judgement Day would pique interest from the WWE universe.”

“So why am I here?”

“Demi is the Women’s World Champion and part of Judgment Day; it would only seem right that she faces the Women’s Champion”.

Without hesitation I accept. Hunter debriefs us on how it’s going to play out over the next few weeks. We will have to be on both RAW and Smackdown over the next few weeks, so looks like it will be me and the brothers travelling together since Trin is exclusive to Smackdown!

Gorilla, few hours later (TD segment)

Tonight, I have a singles match, however Demi has to interfere and cost me the match – thus starting our road to Survivor Series.

I see Hunter in his usual place over at the screens with his headset on talking to Randy Orton, Randy spots me and immediately comes over to me.

“There’s my favourite girl.”

“I wouldn’t let your wife hear you say that Randy”.

Randy Orton, he is exactly how you would imagine him to be, a cocky little shit, flirtatious as hell, a menace but he has a heart of gold. Many nights we would hit the gym together and training with him before his injury really improved my in-ring ability. He is another one I would call my family away from family.

A familiar scent fills my nostrils, Josh. He stands next to me wrapping his arm around me pulling me closer, as if to stake his claim in me.

“I’ve been looking for you, come on let’s go”.

I smile apologetically at Randy, he just waves me off laughing, as much as I say people don’t know anything about me and Josh, it’s not to say there isn’t rumours flying around, people have their own take on it, and that’s okay, we just laugh it off.

Trin and Jon (TD Interview segment)

“You see yn and josh think they are so slick hiding their little late-night rendezvous” says Jon

Trin sighing, “I just wish they would bang their heads together and realise they are meant to be. Think of the double dates we could finally have Jon.”

Jon’s laugh fills the small interview room, “yeah it would be sweet, and yn is already like family, it would be an easy transition.”

Away from the cameras

“What were you talking to Randy about?” Josh quizzes

“Nothing, you came in and ushered me away before I could say anything.”

“Good, I don’t like it when you get attention from other guys, just me, okay?”

“I think you’ll find Josh that I can speak to who I like”. I say frustrated with his behaviour.

You see as much as I love Josh, this, this right here the way he wants to have his cake and eat it too drives me insane. I so much as look at another guy and he is right there to remind me I’m his, yet he can look at and speak to as many girls and I can’t say shit.

“I’ve got a match to get to, I’ll see you later J.”

“Goodluck out there baby girl, not that you need it.” Before he can come any closer to me, I slip out the room and let my frustrated sigh out. How much longer am I going to keep torturing myself.  

  • ❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

[ludinusdaleth]

this is something ive had brewing in my mind for a while, but now that this aeor arc seems concluded, im really thinking on ludinus & other calamity survivors, and the idea of no perfect victim & moving forward.

ludinus & leylas are about the same age, have lived the same years. when we meet leylas, she is sending her soldiers to war in large part because she has seen the cycles of exandria unfold so consistently she cannot imagine peace until she defeats her enemy (quana still prays for it, and unity among everyone. but she holds her tongue). ludinus, on the opposite side of the mountains, knows the cycles too. and he thinks he must wage them to break them. leylas worships the luxon to free herself from the gods. ludinus despises the luxon for being seen as a god at all, that leylas as a survivor would dare worship it. both see the exact same thing but in opposite ways. but leylas gives a small smile of surprise when the m9 stop the war of ash & light. she is surprised, but happy to be wrong, in this one moment; her faith in these non dynasty folk paid off. all ludinus, one who hates cycles seeing a cycle caught short, sees, is a loss at taking more beacons, at destroying the "religious drivel" of the luxons religion. at least he can get to work on the big picture, the cycle he actually cares about, over any he enforces.

devexian & alyxian awaken the same year, devexian by the m9, in the ruins of his (and ludinus's) home. he can only laugh dryly at its fate, say it is a cruel joke of history. he picks up the pieces, tries to bring his people back to life. he wants them to start anew. he wants them to let go. if ludinus cant escape the day the city fell then it seems devexian wants nothing more than to leave it for tomorrow. alyxian has been caught in the hell of being a demigod of divinity & ruidis left to rot in half death. (depending on your netherdeep ending) he awakens to a new dawn, suddenly ancient & old in body, but.... free. freed by your party. he was torn asunder by avandra/correlon/sehanine & predathos within him, their powers festering in him as gruumsh destroyed him - and still he tries to be kind, and have faith, even if he is not the warrior he was, even if everything he ever knew was destroyed. he can see society flourish again, even after his & gruumsh's battle destroyed half of marquet. ludinus has seen society rebuild its entire course of time - and all he sees is a world never as brilliant as what it was before.

all of these calamity survivors are completely fucked. leylas is paranoid, losing her mind from living too long, and still haunted by lolth. quana is resigned to stay at her lovers side even as madness takes her when all she wants is unity with others. devexian is clearly so unwilling to face history repeating he wont tell other aeormatons their heritage. alyxian is broken & battered after an eon of nonstop torture.

but they had help from others, from kind souls, who reached a hand out. and they took that kindness and internalized it. and they have vowed to help their people any way they can. to spread that glimmer of hope. to rebuild.

ludinus hasnt. and i think there is deep tragedy in that. i dont know if he has much hope, ironically, beyond raging cleansing fire. in that broad big picture it is both incredibly real & also heartbreaking when recovery falls through the cracks so badly. to have so little of a support group of survivors around you that you smack the hand of those who came out of it differently, and not have known others who could show you it was okay to move on. you hurt other survivors in your refusal to breathe, and live too large to see the others choosing a small destiny. it is unfair to him to had to have suffered and unfair to inflict that on calamity survivors again for your own agenda.

i fixate on him not disagreeing with the bells finding a third option. deep down, he wants to have that hope the others share so fucking bad. we'll see if he ever finds it.

[jelzorz]

194.

So much of it happens in a blur. Opeli only remembers bits and pieces of how it started to begin with before the softer parts of her brain shut down to let her do what she needed to do. She remembers an explosion, the air filled with fire and smoke, a crumbling tower and Soren beside her, ushering her towards the nearest exit, his words in her ear—stay low, keep going, go, go, go—and then there was light, and screaming, and chaos, and the rest had simply happened, because there was no time to think about it and too many people to save. There were the guards, the civilians, the dragon circling in the air; the order to evacuate and then Soren leaving her in the stairwell with Hat trembling in her palm; more fire, more smoke, a spell? And now—

The magic that protected them from the fires is starting to wear off now. Most people look like themselves again which is a relief, but it gives Opeli a chance to survey the survivors better too. Raids and wars and attacks are brutal and terrifying in the moment, but the aftermath is almost always worse—and this is the worst is has ever been. The injuries look worse on flesh and blood; broken limbs and crushed legs and burns are so much more visceral now that she can see them, now that they're able to set them and bind them and dress them with gauze. Doctors are in short supply out here, so she and the other clerics have been helping with first aid as much as they can. It's not enough. There are still people who will not see the morning. There will be more rites to give before the sun sets again.

This is why she seeks Soren out, she thinks. He's seen it all. He knows how blood looks on his hands. He knows how to handle all this.

She finds him helping to settle a couple of kids. They are fine, thank the Five Sisters, and their parents are fine, just scared and a little hungry, and he is offering them his rations when she gets to him. They hurry away as she approaches, their smiles shy but grateful, but when Soren gets up, he looks just as wary as she.

"That was very kind," she says quietly.

He shrugs. "They need it more than me. Is everything okay?"

"They could be better." Opeli presses her lips together as she studies him, swallowing the emotion that rises when she remembers he is injured too. The gash on his forehead has dried, matting the hair just above his brow, and she almost can't tell if the marks on his face are made of bruises or soot.

She is so tired of blood. So sick of how red it is, how sticky it feels on her fingers. She likes it even less on him.

“You need that looked at,” she says at last, nodding at his forehead.

He waves her off. “It’s just a scratch. The other clerics have their hands full. I’ll be fine.”

Opeli sets her jaw. “My hands are free. I’ll take care of it.”

“Opeli, seriously, it’s okay—”

“I owe you.” It slips out before she means it to. She knows he doesn't want to feel like his bravery has to be repaid. It's his job to protect his people, just as it is hers—but she thinks of the window in the tower, the dragon in the sky, the glow of an inferno and of the heat of dragonfire as it blew the glass inward, right where she would have been standing if he hadn't—

"You don't owe me anything."

"You saved my life," she points out. Twice today, she thinks, when he tackled her out of the way of Sol Regem's attack, and then she was in the crowd by the bridge, trapped by the fires after he left her with Hat to speak to his father. There was a third time too, when Viren crowned himself King and would have branded her and Corvus traitors to the realm. "Let me stitch you up. It's the least I can do."

"Opeli—"

"Soren." She gives him a look, stern, unyielding, the same kind she uses at meetings when someone won't agree to doing something reasonable. "I wouldn't be here to offer if it wasn't for you. Let me help."

He chuckles, then relents. "Fine," he mumbles after a moment. "Let's get it over with."

x

They find a quieter spot, a little away from the crowd but still close enough to keep watch over them in case something else happens. Opeli picks up a first aid kit from one of the younger clerics as they pass, one whose hands are shaking with the shock and exhaustion of treating so many wounded. She is not the only one: Opeli has already ordered two others to go to bed and leave their kits with soldiers or civilian volunteers. One of the guards threw up when Opeli reset someone's dislocated shoulder. Another had her head in her hands and jumped at every sudden noise.

The cracks are starting to show in everyone, and it's not just because of the trauma caused by a dragon attacking the castle. They are all simply exhausted, and the work does not seem to stop. The soldiers keep watch in shifts but then have to assist the civilians with tents, with food, with moving the injured and the dead.

But Soren is steady. His resolve keeps her hands from shaking, even as he winces while she drags thread through his skin. The stitches are not as neat as they would have been this morning, but the gash is clean and closed, and he's not bleeding anymore.

Opeli clicks her tongue at her work, wishing it was better, wishing she could do more, but he catches her hand as she frets over it, the warmth of his fingers like an anchor to this, to now.

"You don't owe me," he says again.

"I owe you three times over," she says. "Three times now, I—"

"You don't," he insists. "It's my job."

"It's your job to keep Ezran safe. Keeping me alive is certainly not—"

"Do not finish that sentence."

"I only—"

"Opeli." His fingers tighten. Opeli's breath catches in her throat. "It's my job to protect my friends," he says. "My family. I've lost enough. Don't act like I can afford to lose more."

There's a pause. Opeli looks away, and then, to her horror, she starts to cry.

Soren stares at her but his grip is firm, even as she hiccoughs and hides her tears in the recesses of her hood. It's all so much. Too much. The smoke and the fire and loss of life; the windows exploding inwards, the wound on his forehead, the castle crumbling to the ground. And now this too? "Thank you," she murmurs.

"Opeli, come on, you don't even owe me that."

"Not for that. For—" Opeli sniffles. "For considering me your friend. I'm honoured."

He almost laughs at her, his fingers tightening that little bit more, a man clinging to what little he has left. "You're pretty well family now," he says quietly. "Don't thank me," he says again. "Just don't die or leave or whatever else. I don't think I can—" He swallows. "Just stick around and we'll call it even. Okay?"

Opeli twitches her lips despite herself. "I can do my best."

[paperbackribs]

Witch Steve

(working title)

next: Chapter 2: The Aftermath

So 👉👈 You were all so encouraging that I was inspired to write 14 chapters of Witch Steve. This will eventually be going up on Ao3, but while I'm finishing it up and re-editing I'll post the start of it all on Tumblr. Chapter content: steddie to come, platonic stobin, ~2K words.

Edit/Update: This is a 15 chapter fic. Ao3 here.

Chapter 1 The Sacrifice

Robin fiddles with the vodka bottle full of gasoline in her hands, “…in the face of the world ending, the stakes of my love life feel spectacularly low.”

She sighs, stuffing one of their rags into the mouth of the clear glass and completing their next Molotov cocktail. Steve watches the resignation on her face and thinks that if anyone deserves to have a moment of love and joy in the face of the world ending, it’s Robin.

It’s all of them, he reflects, looking out onto the grassy clearing.

The forest of trees behind Lucas and Erica reminds him of where they will be taking their battle to shortly. Vecna waiting in the Upside Down like a venomous spider in his web. Manipulating the troubled emotions and frightening visions of his victims, ready to break them in more than one way for his selfish desires.

Exuberant laughter draws his eyes over Nancy tailoring her weapon to Dustin as he dodges Eddie’s outstretched hands. Fondness rises within Steve like the warmth of rising bread. The fading sun frames the two boys as Eddie speaks earnestly into Dustin’s grinning face, the bond between them obvious even from here.

“Maybe it’s not the time for romance,” he admits, pensive as he watches Eddie tackle Dustin to the ground with a cackle. “But isn't love the most important thing when it is the end of the world.”

Robin knocks her knees amicably against his and he knows that this is her way of saying she loves him. He smiles back at her; he loves her too. He says it silently because he does, more than he can say at this moment. The words heavy and stuck at the back of his throat.

He wishes she could have had her moment with Vickie before they face the coming danger. The fragility of their situation leaves him with a disturbing feeling of unease churning in his gut.

It’s the fear of losing Robin that further feeds into Steve’s increasing sense of foreboding, making his teeth clench and nails dig into his palms. He has to Know, Steve decides; he needs to make sure there is hope for a later where love and romance can be indulged.

In the heart of the quiet afternoon, Steve allows the sounds of the boys roughhousing and Erica’s sharp, but not unkind, words to become muffled. While he relaxes his fists and Robin fades from his sight, Steve unfurls his uncanny gift to see into the murky depths of their futures. He hears a soft, haunting melody reaching out to him through the ethereal and a glimmering sheen covers his vision.

Like a weaver of fate, he gently unravels the white threads of destiny that intertwine around the lives of those he cherishes. Even Eddie, new to the party but just as entrenched in their fight, running scared; yet Steve thinks, just as courageously meeting the more experienced members toe to toe.

And it is only Eddie’s fate that gleams a terrible ox-blood red, a twisted tapestry of the future revealing a grim reality. Steve’s unease deepens as he Sees two roads diverging before Eddie, each leading to vastly different destinies.

One road, he is unsurprised to find, is golden bright and brilliant, full of joy, love, and friendship. This Eddie would be the guiding light for those he loves and who will love him just as fiercely as he holds them to his heart.

Steve swallows over the hard knot in his throat at the thought of all the beauty that is stolen if Eddie loses that path: because the other is shrouded in a terrible darkness.

If Eddie chooses this road, a jagged tear will be torn through the tapestry of too many lives. An unravelling thread that leads to the frayed fabric of its survivors in a way that Steve thinks the self-deprecating Eddie would never suspect.

Aside from family, only one other person knows Steve’s truth. Keeps his secret close to her breast, alongside twin confessions on a bathroom floor. Robin haltingly refusing Steve’s advances to favour Tammy Thompson and Steve blurting out that he comes from a long line of Witches. Taught at his nana’s knee and made to understand that this is something just as private to him as Robin understands her sexuality to be to her.

He watches Dustin’s wide smile, still innocent amongst a grim collection of dark moments, and Knows that this will be a turning point for his young friend. One in which Dustin lives a life spirited and mirthful or another irrecoverable scarred and linked to a critical event of grief and regret. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine and he decides he can’t stand idly by, watching as Eddie teeters on the precipice of these two divergent paths.

Drawing from long lessons of heritage and the power he and his kind hold, Steve decides on a potent action that will allow him to weave a new pattern.

---

Scarlet lightning roars in the darkness behind Eddie and Dustin as the boys wait for Steve, Robin and Nancy to depart and attack Vecna. The trailer behind the boys is tightly wrapped in the sinister vines of the Upside Down and the smell of sulphur rains down with the grey ash that coats the world in a bitter blanket. Steve watches the ghostly flakes drift onto the cloud of Eddie’s bound-back hair, and he knows that this is the moment that he readied for.

Steve reaches out to Eddie with his uncanny gift — a glass sphere, like a marble, is cradled innocently at the centre of his hand. It is as big as an apricot pit and strangely swirls with warm browns and flecks of gold, like the gentle play of sunlight flickering through to a forest floor. Steve holds his open palm out to Eddie, his hazel eyes filled with a heartfelt entreaty.

"Eddie," he asks softly, "take the marble and swallow it. Please, trust me."

Even in the short time that Steve has known Eddie, he gets that the other guy isn’t known for his impulse control. Despite this, he’s still somewhat surprised when Eddie, with no hesitation, takes the marble and swallows it down. Doe-eyed pools of warm brown look up at him through dark bangs.

“I do,” Eddie shrugs with a mysterious smile.

“What was that” Dustin shrieks, the faux military tags he had insisted on wearing jingling in agitation.

Robin stays silent behind him; Steve knows she’s holding her questions for later, having cottoned onto that he was up to something mystical when he’d hidden in the RV for a while. Only clasping his arm briefly in support when he had walked past, sweating and still pale.

Nancy though is just as surprised as Dustin and looks on at them suspiciously.

Eddie knocks an arm lightly into Dustin’s side, “I don’t know, but it tastes like hot chocolate. Warm,” he chuckles softly, “even comforting.” He turns questioning eyes back to Steve, “but, yeah, what was that?”

Steve feels how tight his smile is. “A little insurance.”

He talks to both of them, trying to instil them to obey by the force of his words alone. Knows that Dustin can be a stubborn little shit. “Just… if this goes south, I mean, at all. You abort.” But his focus turns, inevitably, to Eddie. “Don’t be a hero, man. Okay?”

A flash of emotion crosses Eddie’s face too quickly for Steve to understand before he slings an arm around Dustin’s skinny shoulders. “Of course, look at us. We are not heroes.” Under his hoodie and headband, Dustin grimaces in agreement.

The deep feeling of foreboding in his gut is untouched by their reassurance, but Steve doesn’t bother to unravel his Sight again. He’s done what he can and now he follows the girls to battle Vecna and maybe free them all from this nightmare once and for damn good.

As they travel through the dark forest, neither girl notices the small glowing pulse that Steve presses to each of them. The marks fade softly before the other can notice it. Transported by a light brush over Nancy’s tight shoulders and a firm squeeze of Robin’s sweaty hand in his.

The attack against Vecna is fierce but the three of them have never struck more certain or true. Steve with his axe, Robin and her cocktails, and Nancy with the shorn-off shotgun. Their attacks land every time and between their physical assault and Max’s diversion, something must go right because the world shudders once, then twice, but stays steady before Vecna screams harshly and his pale, grotesque body falls broken to floor. His web of terror finally shattered.

The rest of the decrepit house, vines and all, quickly catch from the blazing gasoline and the three stumble after each other, racing to the still-rancid outdoor air. But it’s air free of Vecna and that makes it all the sweeter.

With a whoop, Robin jumps into Steve’s waiting arms and breathlessly he swings her in joy. Resting his forehead on hers, he knows she can see every nuance of his relief, sensing him finally releasing the suffocating fear of the Upside Down. “This is it, Robin. I can feel it.” Steve exclaims.

Robin’s blue eyes, which sometimes can be so cynical for a person this young, gleam in belief. Belief in Steve and that he can See the truth of it all. She wraps her hands around his shoulders and is shaking in a combination of comfort and ebbing adrenalin. “Thank god,” she breathes.

“Let’s hope so,” Nancy interrupts. But she’s looking on at them with a small smile.

Steve knows it will take a long time for her to believe that it is true. And she doesn’t have the benefit of Steve’s Knowing as they do. But she’ll get there, he thinks. Much like it will take them all time to heal, they will. And the kids will bounce back, he thinks with faith. They’ve been made to be too resilient for children their age but he’s grateful for it, nonetheless.

It’s at the thought of Dustin that Steve remembers Eddie and those two paths he had seen; he urges the girls on, back to the uncanny version of the trailer park. Impatience sparking through to his fingertips.

They’ve not quite reached it yet when Steve hears the haunting cries of anguish that echo through the empty forest and roads of the Upside Down.

Dustin is hunched over the still-warm but devastatingly motionless body of his beloved Dungeon Master and friend. Bright red blood spills everywhere, coating Dustin's hands and across his face where he has smeared a hand over his cheeks. Eyes filled with tears and pain, Dustin looks up at Steve and cries out that the older boy had tried to save him.

“He said he didn’t run, Steve. But he did. He did. He ran to the demo-bats and they— they—"

Dustin starts hiccupping between tears and short, frantic breaths. He grabs at Eddie’s camouflage jacket, shaking the body as if it will jolt the older boy awake.

“Eddie!” Dustin cries. His voice, often bigger and louder than his short body would seem, breaks through the empty quiet of the Upside Down. No more swarming bats or jagged bolts of red lightning to distract from the palpable sense of grief saturating into their tired bodies. The only cruel answer is the flakes of ash gathering over Eddie’s unresponsive body like this terrible world is already trying to bury him away.

Steve’s heart is breaking, he feels the crack of it cleanly through his chest and in the thickening at the back of his throat and burning behind his eyes. But he is not powerless; this is exactly what he prepared for.

With a firm, yet gentle hand, Steve unlocks Dustin’s stiff fingers and shifts him into Nancy’s waiting embrace. She tries to turn him in her arms, but Dustin refuses to look away.

Nancy must think that Steve is going to quietly close the lids over Eddie’s blank eyes, which should be bright and expressive; eyes that were full of mischief just hours ago. Or that Steve will try to pick up the body and take it back with them, impossible as it seems in the moment, to think of carrying a heavy and limp weight vertically and against gravity where climbing through the Upside Down gates, with only their own bodies to support them, had been hard enough.

He’s not going to do any of those things, Steve thinks fiercely. He won’t need to.

With an unwavering determination, Steve drops to his knees and pushes his left hand down, through and deep into the realm of the mystical, until he finds an answering beat, a corresponding warmth. He pulls, straining with every ounce of physical and spiritual strength he possesses. A pearlescent light suddenly pushes out from Steve's link to Eddie, it pours unendingly into the dark landscape before pulsing sharply. The ethereal cuts precisely through the unclean atmosphere before rapidly shrinking back into the connection between the two boys.

Steve's own spirit is being drained, a live wire shooting up his arm and threading through every vein of his body in a white, blinding heat. But Steve knows that it is in this critical moment where he could lose his own body and soul, where the world hangs in the balance between life and death, that something miraculous can happen.

And it does.

Eddie draws a shuddering breath and his eyelids flutter open. His chest starts to rise even as his gaze looks unsteadily out into the living world once more.

“Steve?” he whispers hoarsely.

“I’ve got you, Eddie,” Steve murmurs, checking that the wounds are healing under the slick blood. His left arm is numb, but he uses the shaking right to examine Eddie’s torso where jagged gashes are rapidly closing over.

“It’s all right, we’ll get you help, you’re gonna be okay."

“No, Steve, your eyes…” Eddie lifts a shaking finger to touch Steve’s face, leaving a red fingerprint behind to mark Steve with the very essence of his mortal life.

Steve knows what he must see since this has worked. Because reality is not the same as when Eddie had closed his eyes for seemingly the last time. As Eddie returned from the brink of death, Steve now sees the world through one rich hazel eye, while the other will remain forever white and sightless, an eerie testament to the price paid to mend the shattered threads of destiny.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed let me know too. :) If I've missed you, definitely let me know because it's an accident!

@a-gae-af-racoon

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@aly-reads-alot

@bookworm0690

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination

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@hallucinatedjosten

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@spectrum-spectre

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

[findmeinasunshower]

"𝑨𝒍𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏": 𝑱𝒐𝒆𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

word-count: 2.2k

summary: Eight weeks after arriving in Jackson, Ellie drags Joel to the Tipsy Bison, where he meets you :) soft get-together fic because joel deserves some happy fluff, dammit

warnings: none :)

“Joel, right?”

The man in question finds himself ducking slightly at the sound of an unfamiliar voice saying his name. He'd managed to avoid The Tipsy Bison for eight weeks after he and Ellie settled in Jackson—his reputation as Tommy’s brother precedes him around town, and to be honest...he hasn’t been inclined to make small talk for years.

So Joel isn’t exactly welcoming when he glances up at the bartender who spoke to him. You smirk, unperturbed by his scowl, and raise your eyebrows in a gentle prompt for him to answer. Joel clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“Hm. Maria’s description was spot on.”

Your smile widens at your quip, and it’s Joel’s eyebrows that raise this time. He can’t remember the last time anyone besides Ellie ribbed him without having an ulterior motive. A joking smile spreads across your pretty face, lit by the warm lights of the bar, and something in Joel relaxes a little at the sight.

His mouth responds before he can stop himself: “And what exactly did Maria have to say?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“Tall, dark, and broody,” you respond simply, eyes trailing down his shoulders and to the bar. You lean down to place your freshly-shined glass underneath the counter, and Joel finds himself tracking your movements. “'Clint Eastwood come to life.' Figured you’d sit at the corner of the bar to avoid the crowd, but that you’d also pick a seat that can see the entire room.

"Plus, I figured I wouldn’t see you in here until Ellie dragged you.” You flick your gaze pointedly to something behind him—Ellie, he takes. “I recognized you as soon as you sat down,” you tease.

He leans back with a hum, impressed and, admittedly, intrigued. Three years ago, he would’ve felt threatened by the way you managed to take him apart so completely before you even spoke a word to him. Now, he’s just stunned that anyone cares enough about him to do that sort of analysis. “Anything else?” he asks dryly.

You smirk and begin shining a new glass. “Tommy’s the only other person in this town who orders Tito’s straight. You Texas boys are all the same.” Joel nods and chuckles internally.

“In some ways,” he agrees. He takes a moment to swirl the aforementioned drink in his glass before he lifts his gaze back to yours. “You know Ellie?”

“She just might be the most entertaining person I’ve ever met," you deadpan, and Joel finds himself huffing a small laugh at that.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“How would you put it?” you ask, and the hardened survivor finds himself stumbling slightly under the sincerity of your gaze.

One of the first things he learns about you is that you can’t hide a damn thing on your face. Your question is an honest one; you genuinely want to know how he, a man you just met and have heard who-knows-what about, feels. And while something about your sincerity makes him uncomfortable, he feels himself opening his mouth to respond. He wants to delve into this conversation with you, any conversation with you. He wants to flirt with you a little bit more.

Just as he begins to stumble toward an answer, a familiar gangly form shoves itself onto the barstool next to his. “Hey, (y/n)!” Ellie greets you brightly.

“’sup, kiddo?” You greet her so casually, Joel can tell you and the girl are already well into being friends. He regains his composure as you finally begin cleaning the glass in your hands. “Staying out of trouble?” you ask.

“Yup.”

“—Nope,” Joel interjects.

You smile at the way Ellie and Joel glare at each other, him with an exasperated sigh and Ellie an incredulous scowl. “I’ve been good!” she insists.

“Just because you haven’t been caught don't mean you’ve been good,” Joel growls.

You find yourself laughing out loud at that as you set the newly-shined glass back on the rack. “Now I’m really curious.”

“Don’t be,” Joel grumbles.

“What’s taking you so long?” Ellie asks Joel, happy to change the subject. “Tommy’s been waiting for his drink.”

“His complainin’ is exactly why I’m still over here. Just...” Joel sighs. “Gimme a sec.”

Ellie rolls her eyes and snags the lemonade you proffered her off of the bar, along with Tommy’s own glass of Tito’s. “Nope, let’s go. Maria’s orders.”

Joel sighs deeply at that. “Alright, alright.”

“Later, (y/n)!”

“Bye, Ellie.”

Joel groans and pushes off of the barstool and to his feet, eyes on his drink, as for some reason he finds himself unable to meet your eye again. “It was—” He clears his throat before continuing: “It was nice to meet you.”

The smile you offer him when he looks back up is endearing in its honesty, and Joel finds himself thinking about it when he closes his eyes that night.

~*~

The second time Joel winds up in the Tipsy Bison, it’s the absolute last place he wants to be.

He, Tommy, and a few other guards on the night shift successfully prevented a rather large raid in the early hours of the morning. The raiders had scouted the city and discovered what they thought was a skeleton shift in the patrol…not knowing that Joel is basically a one-man army.

So, he was dragged to The Tipsy Bison to celebrate. And now, he’s looking at you from across the bar as you catch his eye and hold up a rocks glass in silent question. Joel shakes his head and fights a small smile.

He had seen you around town a few times since the night you met. You greeted him with a friendly wave each time, sometimes even a conversation. But you always left him with a look that lingered just a little bit too long not to be some sort of hint.

Joel’s lip twitches when you duck back down beneath the bar, only to pop up cutely with a pint glass and an innocent tilt of your head. Joel glances down at Tommy and Maria, still deep in conversation with a woman he can’t remember the name of, before shaking his head at you again.

You nod dramatically and start to reach for a margarita glass on the top shelf, and suddenly Joel is covering his incoming laughter with a fake coughing fit.

Tommy gives him a strange look. "You alright there brother?" he asks, and Joel swallows when his younger brother’s gaze flicks to you briefly.

“Yeah, just...” Joel rubs the back of his neck and sighs in defeat. “I’ll be by the bar.” He ignores Tommy’s not-so-subtle whistle as he shoulders his way through the crowd. It ain’t his fault he’s rusty, who cares if he’s being obvious or not?

When he arrives at your little corner, you’ve set out a martini glass, a pint, and a rocks glass. “So, which is it?” you ask, blinking up at him expectantly.

“How about two of your specialty and ten minutes of your time?”

You lean back slightly in surprise, heat rushing to your face at the intensity of Joel’s gaze—He decides to catch you off guard more often if you look this adorable when he does. But, despite the heat in your cheeks, you’re quick to recover. You smile at him as you pull out two clean glasses and set them on the bar top. “Are you flirting with me, Joel Miller?”

He nods slowly. “If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than all right,” you mumble shyly.

Joel crosses his arms and shifts his weight, satisfied and inexplicably warmed by your answer. “Alright then.”

You join Joel on the other side of the bar for the rest of the night, thankful that your coworkers were more than happy to cover for you. The dimly lit corner might as well be its own little world with how intently the two of you focus on each other, knee to knee as you talk. When it comes time to close, you lean over and kiss his cheek underneath that flickering overhead light, before leaving to help your coworkers close up.

Joel can smell cherries in the air as you walk away.

~*~

A week later, Joel can’t take the lingering looks anymore.

You smile up at him so sweetly when he approaches you at the bar with Tommy at his back. His brother claps his shoulder before peeling off to speak with someone else, and Joel silently thanks him for the privacy. He allows himself to melt a little at the sight of you now that Tommy isn’t around to see him, and he’s nearly distracted enough that he doesn’t hear you speak:

“What’ll it be tonight, Joel? Everything’s on the house, considering you cleared a basement full of clickers—”

“How about some hot cider at mine?” Joel interrupts. Your mouth forms an o-shape at the abrupt question, and he backtracks when your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Not to—I mean, if—I just—”

“I think I’d like that, Texas.”

Joel blinks. He looks down at the bar. Settles himself. Looks back up at you. You're unable to move beneath his gaze, eyes reflecting gold under the lights of the bar, like a midwestern summer sunset. “Would you like to go on a date with me, (y/n)?” Joel asks, calmly and slowly.

“Really?” you ask. “I just, uh,” you trail off, carefully folding away the cloth you were holding. “If I’m being honest, I thought I was imagining—”

“—You got an active imagination,” Joel agrees, leaning across the bar toward you. You gasp slightly at his sudden closeness, inhaling the smell of pine and the sweet lemon tang of saddle cleaner as Joel tilts forward and into your space. “But you ain’t imaginin’ this,” he finishes.

You smile and lean back slightly so you’re looking down your nose at him playfully. “...Alright, then.”

~*~

Joel offers his arm to you for the walk to his house, and you don’t hesitate to accept. He likes the feel of you pressed against him, shamelessly using his broad frame to block the harsh winter wind. He likes how much more bashful your smile is now that you’re on the same side of the bar. He likes the way your breath hitches slightly when he drops a hand to your waist to guide you over a particularly icy patch.

He likes you.

When the two of you finally settle in front of his roaring fireplace, hot mugs of cider in hand, Joel is unable to look away. You tell him about how you ended up in Jackson not long before he did. A month after you arrived, Maria dragged you to the Tipsy Bison and forced you to learn to bartend, fed up with your inability to socialize on your own. You like people but have never been one to actively seek out crowds. You’d rather get your hands dirty in the greenhouses or help out in the clinic, and let that be the extent of your social life.

You’re vibrant in the way you talk about your life and the people and things in it and, for the first time in a long time, Joel is actively interested in learning about another person. When he asks how you met Ellie, you outright laugh before even starting the story, and Joel finds himself chuckling along with you. You and Ellie bonded over training Buckley to do the most inane things, pissing off Tommy to no end that the sweet old dog could never learn normal tricks.

It feels too soon that you insist you should be heading home. Joel walks you as far as the edge of his porch because you insist he not brave the bitter winter wind for you again when his house is so warm right now. A light breeze buffets you both as you step outside, sending the windchimes above his door into a happy little dance. His hair is tossed into messy curls when you turn to face him, and you long to sink your fingers into it.

You’re just opening your mouth to say good night when Joel takes one last, hopeful step toward you. “Can I kiss you?”

You sag in relief and grab the collar of his flannel to pull him closer, running your thumbs over the worn lapels. You roll up onto your toes, nose bumping his as you whisper: “Please.”

His lips are chapped from the wind when they meet yours, but you sigh against him anyway, pressing your fingertips into the soft edge of his beard. Joel hums and circles his arms around you, pulling you so close that you’re practically able to feel the heat of his hands through your thick winter coat. You gasp when he tugs you up onto your toes, sealing his mouth to yours anew.

Joel’s arms are the only reason you’re still standing when he pulls away and presses his nose to your temple, breathing you in. “Are you sure I can’t walk you home?” he murmurs.

You sigh and press a kiss to his jaw. “If you did, I don’t think I’d let you leave.”

Joel’s chest rumbles against yours when he laughs, and you immediately become addicted to the sensation. “That’s alright,” he murmurs, and your breath stutters as he drags his lips down your cheek to hover over your mouth. “I don’t want to rush.”

“I don’t either.” You pull back just enough to look him in the eye and run your hands down his broad shoulders. “But keep kissing me like that, and I’m going to get impatient.”

Joel’s warm breath ghosts across your face as he chuckles, and you find yourself smiling along with him. “Alright, then.”

You sigh when his lips meet yours in another warm press. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

[milkywayes]

dreamt a cipher

a shepard/garrus post-destroy ending longfic.

[AO3 link]

I’ve debated a while about when to start posting this. Now it’s the new year, and I’ve been working on Cipher for over a year and a half, and I’ve waited long enough to start sharing it with you all. I’ve decided it’s finally time to start uploading while I work on the final chapters.

I started writing this before I ever drew a single piece of fanart for Mass Effect. It’s all the things that were bouncing around in my head after choosing the destroy ending with a mostly-paragon Shepard—consequence and responsibility and self-recrimination; her relationship with Garrus and with herself; their ties to each other and how much weight they can bear; their differing perspectives and how they slot together—all that fun stuff—compressed into a story, a place, a narrative. 

I believe in the power of love, and I promise a happy ending. They’ve just been taking the long way to get there. Feel free to yell at me in the meantime.

A huge thank you to @callista-curations for her meticulous and invaluable beta work, and to @that-wildwolf and @gammaraydeath for being the best hypemen I could ask for!

A more detailed list of warnings can be found on AO3.

I've posted the full cover art here.

────

Summary:

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Rating: M (subject to change) Important Tags: post-destroy ending - angst with a happy ending - slow burn (of sorts) - arguing - reconciliation - survivor guilt - minor original characters Her own personal Noverian peak. That’s what it was supposed to be. Nothing but the discovery: no distractions, no comfort, no windows looking out—no familiar faces. But it's starting to look like her winning streak might have ended in that pile of Citadel rubble, if it ever extended that far to begin with. ──── “How does the Earth idiom go? No use beating a dead—” A long-suffering sigh. “What was it again?” “A dead horse. And yet, you’re here. Beating it.” Pot, kettle. She wishes he’d just fucking say it.

-> AO3.

Read the start of Chapter 1: Constant Velocity under the cut!

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The overhead lights flicker as they always do when the data screens are up and running. It’s not something one gets used to, even so. It stings at her ocular nerves—or something like that, anyway, somewhere along the delicate wires that extend from her eyeballs into her brain—but her focus on the data doesn’t waver.

“In that case,” says Shepard, squinting against the ache, “what we need is salvage from a relay outside the immediate burst zone. Four jumps away. Five, if possible. There’s no point to any of this if we can’t scrape together a control group.”

She glances back at Elsawy, who so far hasn’t made it more than a meter into the room. She nods without looking up from her omni-tool; orange shimmers off her shiny, black hair, giving her the uncomfortable air of a Cerberus operative. Not the worst comparison, except that Miranda would waste no time letting her know if her logic took a faulty turn somewhere. Elsawy’s just as likely to agree now and write a message detailing all her crap conclusions later.

Leaning her hip against the conference table, Shepard shifts her weight off her left leg, bites down on the sigh that almost manages to slip out. Once in the clear, she grouses, “Where the hell is Meyer? He’s the one that called this meeting.”

As it is, it’s three people in attendance and she’s the only one talking. She could’ve achieved the same results with a voice call from her quarters, where she could elevate her leg in peace and without witnesses. In the dark.

“Lab Two,” answers Elsawy, finally ripping her attention off the omni-screen and gracing Shepard with a second of eye contact. Maybe in another life she could appreciate the effort—Jesus, as if she hasn’t had her fill of lives already. “We’re close to a breakthrough on the initial output patterns. Sorry. He’s been feeding his data to me.”

“Right.” She blinks once, twice, in time with the flickering. It doesn’t help; it never does. “I’ll swing by later, then. Anything else he asked you to relay?” 

“Just that, Commander.” Elsawy is mumbling just enough that her voice has to compete with the drone of the air vents. The translator takes a second to filter out and amplify it. The result is less than perfect: “More salvage—” bzzrt—“bigger picture, you got it.” She narrows her eyes, and Shepard raises a brow. “Left leg or—” bzz!—“left hip?”

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

“Commander.”

“It’s nothing relevant,” she says pleasantly, forcing herself to stand up straight again. There’s a brief tremor shaking up her hamstrings; she waves a hand to distract from it. In the frenzy of the lights, the movement looks jerky, nervous. She soldiers on. “Old field injury. Unrelated. Anything can set it off.”

Funny, kind of, since it’s that very leg that ends in the most perfect, cooperative example of a foot she’s ever had the pleasure of treading on. It’s cloned; a replacement. Not the only one either. They should’ve just done away with the whole limb, but she hadn’t been consulted. Same with her trick shoulder. Not even Cerberus had managed to get that one back on the straight and narrow.

“I’d rather you bring it up with the doctor,” replies Elsawy. This is, apparently, what it takes for her to finally speak at a reasonable volume. “If we manage to fill even one of the data gaps…”

“I know,” she says. “I know, and I’m telling you, it’s unrelated.”

-> continue reading on AO3

[callsigns-haze]

Pretty like a crime

Chapter 13

Pairing: Agent Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Singlemom! Agent Y/n 'Cobra' Y/l/n

Summary: Cobra is finally back on the agency and is finally back in the job. With Kai at home she has to jumble being a mother and a agent. She's sent to her first U.C mission but never thought that she would meet a blonde, green eyed Texan...

Warning: Mentions of gun use, ptsd, mentions of death, mentions of shooting, flirting, mentions of abuse, description of dead body, death, blood, undercover work, alcohol use, smut, kissing

Prologue/ Part 1/ Part 2/Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10/ Part 11/ Part 12

As Bradley entered the floor of your and Jake shared apartment, he slowly and calmly walked over to your door. He stands on the pretty and neat welcome mat, knocking on the door but it opens himself with a creek. It was like one of those murder horror movies when a victim enters a haunted house.

He quickly calls out for you and pushes the door open to find broken glass, shattered mirrors and vases and a lot all over the place. With this he took off in, pulling out his gun and scanning the area as he entered. This was like another crime scene, just without all the tape and flashing lights but the splashes of blood and bloody handprints coated the hall. He looks around more, entering the living room to see more of a mess and a puddle of blood. From behind the couch it was as if he couldn't believe his eyes, there was a fallen body with a hand sticking out. It was Cobra.

He rushes as fast as he could over to you, dropping his gun as he plants himself beside you. He sees that you've got a strike to the head and suffered from a big fall. He slips his arms beneath you and lifts your body. "Shit Cobra! Please wake up!'

Before he could do anything he felt a vicious pain to the back of his head and he began to fall backwards. The world went dark as he passed out.

------

As Bradley began to gain back consciousness, his head hurt him more than life could tell. His head was throbbing, ears were ringing and eyes were blurred from whatever possible.

He tried to move forward but it became clear that he was tied with restraint to a chair, he could recognise he was tied by heavy metal chains to a possible pole.

He was becoming more conscious with every second. Sounds finally became familiar, he could finally make out words and accents. He could make out that a woman and man were in a tense conversation. Their voices seemed familiar but he couldn't make them out just yet.

His eyes only slowly began functioning and as they did his gaze fell upon Jake and Cobra in front of him with weapons pointed at him.

"Long nap you took there, Rooster." Jake's face was coated with a non human, not the one that you'd see him have in the bar at darts or pool games. This was a smirk of a psychopath.

"You were-" Bradley couldn't even finish the sentence as he looks upon you as you tilt your head to the side. You're eyes hawk him, your lips tightly shut only opening at these words, "Well Bradshaw, you wouldn't fall for such trap without proper bait, huh?"

Trap. This was all a trap. To Bradley this all didn't add up but for you and Jake this was a mischievous plan that was founded just as you turned fifteen. Once your fifteenth birthday occured, you were drawn into a missionary project for the mission force. Code X4z6, it was a plan to finally free all members of the old labour mission force but living up to one codex, no witnesses, no survivors.

You were introduced to this project as you turned fifteen and the other young person tested in these actions was Jake. The two of you were forced to train together and get your brains working rather the same way. You two where thought to stratergise together, shoot together and even murder together.

You were put to a test of eliminating one of the biggest threats to this plan. The Chevaliers. The Chevaliers where a style of mafia family that lived in France, and they were a rather huge threat. This plan could tople because of them so it was your and the original 1986 mission team to think of a plan.

They came up with a plan for you to casually meet one of the Chevaliers sons and gain his trust but you gained more than just that, you gained his heart. You made him fall head over heals for you and he would never know that this was some sick manipulation.

The idea was to kill off all the Chevaliers but for them to get you into the true circle of trust, it would've taken years so the best you could do is marry the closest son, Matthew. The plan that Jake came up with is to keep discreet, make the marriage longer than expected and then slither in and chose violence and venom but you are beaten to death.

Emma, well Olivia was seeking revenge and was on a elimination track to murder the family and you were on her side, and well it killed off the main Chevalier.

But truly you never loved Matthew, you fell head over heals for Jake and you only ever loved him. You married Jake illegally and went to him every weekend to talk out the plan and how everything was progressing and that's when the two of you made love.

Matthew never knew about Kai and good, Kai was Jake's son. He had Jake's features and eyes and he himself knew that Jake was his real daddy but just preferred to call him Jakey. Like I was saying this was all a stage act.

Olivia managed to kill Joris and paralyzed Etienne meaning he seemed revenge kidnapping her daughter. She asked you for help and you did because after all for years you planned to kill him. You helped her and after all she did bring a mess and Etienne died by getting shot by his own son Alexandre. Matthew got arrested and Romain just never figured himself out. You heard that Alexandre got back with Olivia but you never truly cared.

Once you came here you were legally divorced from Matthew and could spend your days with the husband you loved, the father of your baby, Jake. He treated you like a queen throughout your whole pregnancy. He pampered you, helped you with everything and was always there. But then he got called down to a mission where he first met the dagger squad during your eight month of pregnancy.

You were scared because you had to give birth to your son alone. Whenever you mention Matthew you always said that indeed he did met Kai because it was his son and raised him but if anyone checked, Matt was at prison at the time so it was all a act again.

And in a quite similar way you explained this to Bradley. He was shocked. The two of you were together all along, married and had a child. Kai was actually Jake's son. "But the dagg-"

Once again cut off. The daggers was an accidental add in. First of all it was never supposed to happen but the elimination plan had to include them since they started working with Bradley and Jake. It was going quite well actually, this plan was never meant to start until Bob got questionary. He asked you about your years outside the mission force and the team you were involved in because it wasn't in any files. When you hesitated to answer, he kept pushing. He had to be eliminated.

You told this to Jake and he took care of it the same night. It was supposed to look like a simple but insolvable murder. So, as Bob was taking out the trash that evening, Jake sneaked up behind him with a napkin full of illegal substances and choked him with them. The fumes are so toxic they can kill, and that's what they did. Well you can put it that Bob was taking the trash out but at the end of the day he was getting taken out in a black bag.

Phoenix was a difficult one. She became accusing and jumpy, too cautious. The day of her shooting, you played the main game. As you were running, you shot a figure, never a specified opposition. And if people around were paying close detail, you had two guns on you that night, the gun you shot her with was an illegal gun and put in the other pocket so when they collected weapons you gave them it from the other pocket so that it wouldn't be recorded.

Payback and Fanboy were the simplest kill, all Jake did was rig their car. All he had to do was switch some cables and parts up so that when the keys were twisted in the ignition, it would literally ignite. And the only thing you got to say is, it worked.

Javy was a difficult murder, maybe since he was a close friend or maybe that the plan was as stupidly hard as impossible to think off. Jake set up a whole deal about killing your ex, well what was meant to be a fight at the start and tagged Javy along with Justin. Earlier Jake set up a automatic machine gun that would set off more than a hundred bullets when the time was right on the clock.

"YOU GUYS ARE MURDERS!" Bradley screaming and trashed in the chains, jumping up and down in his chair but that didn't bring him anywhere, except pain due to the metal.

"We have our reasons!" Jake shouted at him, almost as if he was desperate. He was desperate for some sympathy and understanding but why.

You and Jake did have reasons. You needed Kai to not get involved. A deal that the two of you made is that once these days pass and all evidence is gone, you all disappear and the positive side of that is to raise your son in a world without terrors and murders.  

Remember the gun, the gun your father gave you once he died, well funny story. Your mother was a quite difficult person, and technically this is where things got difficult. Sarah and Tom never had kids, they only took you in. They weren't capable of having kids together, and they met your mother. A tiny bit younger woman who wanted kids.

The three of them made an agreement behind her husband back that her and Tom would sleep together until they had a child and once pregnant that your mother would tell your believed father she was pregnant with his child.

They paid her a lot and each weekend she'd take you out to see them, this was their way of having their own daughter but that stopped. Once your mother died the agreement was forgotten about due to your fake father not knowing that you weren't your kid.

Tom and Sarah missed you and wanted their child back so they called a few of their men and one thing lead to another and they had you again but little did they know your father gave you that gun.

Your father served as a henchman in a sort of way. Back in 1986 he did the dirty work and he had to commit an agent murder, the murder of Goose. That gun was used exactly to kill him and was searched for. And yet a little girl was hiding it years after under some bathroom tiles.

"You see, Bradshaw, we really wish you didn't have to be dragged into this but you're a relation to the 86's and history has to repeat." The words of history repeating struck the brunette, brown eyed man. He looked like he was about to throw up, cry, scream and wail but he just sat there and said. "You killed my father."

"Not us, but the older generation."

Bradley sat there in full shock but didn't understand any of this situation, he finally looked up and stared at the two of you, "Why are you telling me all of this?"

Honestly this seemed weird. Something from a kids show kinda style, you know. The one where the evil villain kidnapped the good and trauma dumps their whole life before trying to kill the good but the hero interrupts just as the elimination process is about to begin.

"Well it be sad if we didn't tell anyone about our marvellous plan we had before you all effected die."

Bradley understood that he was next. He tried to break out from the chains again. Once more jumping up and down in exhaustion. He looked at them in tears in his eyes but Jake couldn't bare it he walked over to you and said, "I can't. Not him, please not me."

"I'll do it, you go to the private jet with Kai and Alfie, I'll meet you there."

He nods and looks at his friend for the last time. I'm all his days he never thought that life would make him to do this. All his life he was the man that made the world burst up in flames and burn to ground but yet alone the flames never hurt you, they never did.

He left and it was just you and Bradley in the room. You stare at him and lift up the gun your father gave you. This was the gun your  fake father used to murder Goose in the exact same situation and here you were going to do that to his son.

You lifted the gun and walked closer. Each step you got closer and closer, you and Bradley never dropped eye contact. You stopped once the gun collided with his chest and you leaned down to kiss his scared and bruised lips, lightly and delicately, "I never meant for this to happen but you understand, it's crazy what you'd do for love." You prep yourself back up and close your eyes pulling the trigger.

You have destroyed the whole world, each step you made you haunted humanity more but once Bradley's heart stopped you thought how Jake always said, he even said it today, that you were the heart beat he never knew he had.

And with that my dear ladies and gentlemen. We've just learned how a 'man' tried to manipulate our little Cobra all her life. He got her stuck in a marriage and a family that everyone would die for. But she didn't die for them. From the age of fifteen she has been plotting her revenge.

She pulled the marriage, the elegance, the act of carrying from the age of eighteen to the age of twenty five. It may have taken her a while but she got back. She avenged her mother, and her do once called 'father,' and got revenge by sticking her teeth in so deep that all that filled the streams of blood was a venom. A venom of revenge.

You've avenged and you have schemed. You tricked the world for your whole life's existence. You have become the MAN. You reached your goal and left no survivors.

Ladies and gentlemen, this was no revenge but simply... A favour. But the real question I'd be asking is... who'll follow in her steps.

To end this series I see how cruelly a friendship would end. In every heroic movie, the hero would sacrifice their friends to save the world, break friendship and lives to save humanity. A villain would destroy the world, ruin it into dust and murder anyone on their way to protect their friends, neither Jake or Cobra knew what role they were playing.

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[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 10 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You come upon your first settlement, the small trading post lending itself to the rugged natures of the people who gather there.

Author’s Notes: Sorry for the delay, needed a break from this one for a hot minute to keep the ideas flowing. Also there is a gunfight in this chapter. Chapter ten of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Ten: Bison Coats and Molly Mules

Word count: 3936

You were dreaming of the wolves. Even in sleep, you could feel your body tense, hear the soft exhale of shuddering fear. It was like being half-awake, buried beneath sleep just enough to hold you under its thumb. Aware but not.

You could feel the edges of a scream coming and subconsciously held it. Your horse, eyes wide. A wolf leapt, and you jerked hard, hard enough to wake the man at your back.

“Hey.” You felt a hand at your shoulder shaking you awake. But it still took a moment to open your eyes, to convince yourself of consciousness.

“Wake up.”

You did so, eyes finding the side of the tent before you. No wolves. No death at the door.

You turned over onto your back, taking in a long breath.

“You good?”

You looked over at Arthur. He was closer than usual, and you were reminded of the night prior when his arms had held you close, tucked against him. You quickly looked away, glad he was at least an arm’s length away now. You didn’t know what you would have said to him if he weren’t.

You nodded to give him some sort of response. Then stretched, trying to rid your brain of its addling dream.

“Same dream as before?”

You met Arthur’s gaze with an empty stare of your own. He seemed to get the message, not pushing you to talk at least. But looking at him made you realize he still had blood on his skin. It had been hard to see in the dim light of night. Or, more likely, you had been too riddled with distraction to notice yesterday. Making up your mind, wanting to be the helpful one for once, you sat up and crawled out of the tent.

You were met with a nearly blinding blanket of snow, the sun rising and warming you. It was a shimmering day, beautiful enough to give you pause. You looked over at Arthur’s mare and felt your contentment stagger, trying not to dwell on the fact that she was alone. With a sigh, you made for her.

Once you had gotten hold of what you needed from Arthur’s saddle bag, giving Boadicea a good scratch and a treat in the mean time, you reentered the tent. Arthur was laid back, stretched out with an arm behind his head, eyes closed.

“Wake up sunshine,” you said, kicking his boots.

“I’m awake,” he grumbled.

You sat cross legged beside him. “Good. Because this’ll sure wake you up if you aren’t already.”

His eyes shot open and he looked to the cloth in your hands, his lack of understanding crossing his face.

“Sit up,” you told him.

He let out a groan to shake off any remaining sleep then did as you asked.

“What’s that?” He nodded his head at the cloth in your hands.

“Hold still.” You brought the damp cloth to his face, meaning to clean the remaining blood off for him. Only he jerked back before you could.

“What’re you doing?”

“Helping,” you said, reaching out again.

He hesitantly let you this time, though he winced when the cloth met his face. Likely from the ice cold water you had used to soak it.

You began wiping the blood away, not meeting his eye as he looked at you suspiciously. You didn’t say a word, knowing he would no matter if you did or not.

“This kindness, it’s…unsettling. Should I be worried?”

You shrugged. But it felt good to be the one doing something for him, not the other way around.

Once you’d cleaned him up, taking the time to get what you could out of his hair and beard, you sat back and looked at him.

“That’s better.”

His eyes snagged in your hair, and you realized why when he said gently, “I’m sorry about your horse.” The horsehair.

You shook your head, looking down, folding the cloth up to have something to do with your hands. It was a strange feeling that ran through you at those words. Almost like the guilt had reached you, but the grief had not. Unbelieving that it had happened at all. As if the loss of your parents was too much, your brain not having the capacity for more.

“Me too,” was all you could muster.

Arthur let out a long breath, the noise saying what you both felt better than any words could. It was a shame what had happened. No animal deserved that.

“Can we get going soon?” you asked, avoidant. Not wanting to dwell on the hair braided into your own.

“Sure.” But he didn’t make a move to get up. Just watched you.

You didn’t know why, and you caught his eye a moment before getting up yourself, a little shaken by it.

When you were on your feet and halfway out of the tent, his voice stopped you.

“Thank you.”

It took you a second to realize why he had said it, the cloth in your hand cold against your fingers as if in reminder. For a fleeting moment, you had thought of last night. Of letting him hold you. You shook the memory away and went on, going about the usual way of packing up, leaving, filing your thoughts away so that they wouldn’t take hold before you could stop them.

~

The first settlement made its appearance that day, squatty and bare. It was midday when you and Arthur rode into town, the sun high and hot enough to melt the snow, making it run off the nearby roofs in an almighty race to the ground.

Town was a stretch for this place. It was ten or twelve buildings, a few trader stalls. Not much else. But it was hope enough that you were headed in the right direction. And what better time to come across a place like this than when you had lost nearly every one of your belongings?

You wrapped your arms tighter around Arthur when a few of the townsfolk eyed you. Suddenly, wolves seemed trivial. It was mankind you needed to fear. Your life had been nearly absent of people up to this point, and now that you were surrounded by them, you felt no different than a wild animal caught surrounded. Unbelonging.

As if Arthur sensed this, he distracted you. “What all you need? I’ll stop and see about another horse if they have one to spare.”

“A coat,” you replied. A bed and a meal couldn’t hurt either, but you didn’t much take to the idea of staying here longer than necessary.

Arthur shot you a look over his shoulder.

“What? You have a big coat.”

“And all the money,” he said, turning forward again with a smirk.

“I’ll pay you back.” Though you weren’t sure how you would.

He sighed long and loud. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Forget I said it then. You asked.”

He chuckled but said no more.

He pulled off next to one of the trader stalls and dismounted. “Stay here.” Arthur met your eye to make his seriousness known, and you were again troubled by the many eyes of the townspeople you could feel following you. You moved up into the saddle and took the reins for good measure.

You watched as Arthur made way to the trader stall and struck up a conversation. The trader looked to be an old man, older than he likely was due to the dirt caking his skin. His croaking voice reached you, but you couldn’t make out a word of it. Arthur seemed to understand him though, as he was soon pointing at a particularly harry skin behind the man’s head, hung up on a makeshift rafter. The trader nodded and spoke again, not unlike a frog in the way he forced his voice out. Then Arthur was turning, making for you.

He reached Boadicea and began digging through his saddle bags. He pulled out a rolled-up wolf pelt, the sight of it surprising you. You hadn’t even thought to skin the wolves, use the pelts to trade. Your father would have berated you for that, calling it wasteful not to.

Arthur rounded his horse and pulled another out of the other saddle bag, then returned to the trader, handing them over. The trader took them without a fuss before pulling down the garment you were just now realizing was a coat. Arthur walked back over with it in hand, tossing it up to you as you moved back out of the saddle to let him up.

“How’s that for a coat?”

Truth be told, it stunk. The bison hair was shaggy and unkempt, the inside of the coat made a little hastily, but you had no doubt it would keep you warm.

When Arthur settled in the saddle and got Boadicea back out in the street, you had already pulled it on. It was roomy, made for a bigger man than you, but you were grateful nonetheless.

“Thank you.”

It was the second time the phrase passed between you. And just like before, it remained unanswered.

Toward the southern edge of town, a man had erected a corral of sorts to pen in livestock. Livestock, not horses, as there were all manner of beast in there. Donkeys and mules and even an ox. There was one draft horse that you could see, but judging by the way he looked older than the dirt showing through the snow-packed ground, you were suddenly interested in owning a mule.

“Wait here,” Arthur said, swinging over the saddle and tossing you the reins.

“Can’t I pick one out?”

He looked ready to argue, but when he turned and met your eye, he stopped. He considered you a moment, either thinking you pitiful enough in your too-big coat or sorry enough from already having lost a horse that he relented with a groan. “Come on then.”

You kicked the mare on closer then dismounted, holding her reins as you looked over the various head of long-eared, soft-eyed mules.

Arthur went over to speak to the man at the gate, and you didn’t follow, deciding which mount looked to be young enough and calm enough for a rider. Most were likely just pack mules, not used to carrying a rider. They were an adaptable breed, but that didn’t mean one wouldn’t buck you off into the dirt if it got the chance.

You were eyeing two in particular, a tall seal brown and a barrel-round gray, when Arthur waved you over.

“Pick one out you like. This feller’s willing to make a deal.” You saw a gleam in Arthur’s eye you didn’t understand but handed him the reins anyway, making for the corral.

You stepped inside and moved over to the two mules you had been eyeing before, all of them in a big bunch, swishing tails and knocking off flies from their long, twitching ears.

The gray was nearer, and you made for him first. It took some maneuvering to get to him, but when you did, the way he turned his ears back and swung his head away from you was enough to prove the last thing on his mind was work. So you let him be and made for the taller brown mule instead.

Upon reaching her, she pushed her nose into your hand, curious. You let her nuzzle you a little before stroking her long face, scratching her ears. She let you, her eyes going half closed. In terms of mounts, you could do worse.

“How about this one?” you called out.

Arthur looked to the corral owner in question. After some back and forth, money exchanged hands. She was yours.

“How’s that, girl? Come on. You’re coming with me.”

You slipped the makeshift reins over her head—what they all wore, little more than rope—and led her out.

Arthur was asking after a saddle when you passed through the gate.

“What do you know, I sell those too,” the man replied.

You had to stifle a laugh when Arthur leaned in close, muttering sarcasm. “What do you know?”

Within the next twenty minutes and after knowing you owed Arthur for how much he had just forked over (or gotten “cheated out of” as he put it), you had a saddled, bridled mule.

It was now time for the true test—riding her out of here.

Arthur mounted his mare and looked down at you with amusement, crossing his arms over the saddle horn.

“Well go on then. Let’s see if you picked a good one.”

You shot him a look then stepped into the stirrup before you could think better of it, before you could think of what falling for the second time would do to you. But to your delight, the mule just stood there, patiently waiting on you. You swung onto her without a fuss. When you put your heels to her, she jerked a little in surprise, then slowed. You tried again, and she moved out. No problem.

Your smile took over your whole face. She had definitely been ridden before.

“I was expecting a little more of a fight,” Arthur said with a tinge of disappointment, his mare falling into step beside you.

Catching the stares of more than a few onlookers, you tensed. “Seems you weren’t the only one.”

While passing a nearby outpost, a man on its back porch called out to you. “Such a pretty lady with such an ugly ass!” A few of his fellow porch dwellers laughed.

You weren’t sure if he meant Arthur or the mule, but neither was good. Neither fared well with Arthur’s temper you had only seen once before. But return it did, in full force.

“You best be quiet, buddy,” Arthur responded, the words laced with malice.

The man guffawed. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll put a bullet in you,” Arthur said simply, cutting you off and moving his horse over so that he was closer to the threat, landing you on the outside.

You didn’t even have time to be afraid before you noticed Arthur’s gun in his hand. You hadn’t even seen him draw it.

The man glared at him, all amusement gone. And the moment sat on that glare—you, praying no one shot for fear of your new mount parting ways with you, and Arthur, just daring the man to make a move.

Finally, the man spit in the melting snow at Boadicea’s feet but said no more. He didn’t look away though, staring a hole into Arthur’s head as good as a bullet.

Arthur turned to go but left his gun in his hand. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice.

You were both setting a trotting pace out of town when you turned back, looking for the same man. He was gone, and somehow that was worse. It settled like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach, not knowing where he went.

Arthur saw you turned, watching, and whistled to get your attention. “Eyes on the road.”

You looked to him, then to the road, and knew why he’d said it. Nearly every pair of eyes was on you. On the gun still in Arthur’s hand.

When you skirted the edge of town, taking a small ridge upward and farther east, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You felt more than saw Arthur’s gaze turn in your direction.

“What’re you going to name her?”

Another distraction. But you smiled at the irony as you patted the animal’s neck, thinking that he still didn’t even know your name.

“I don’t know yet.”

Before he could respond, a voice rang out above you both, making you stop.

“Best hold it there, you two.”

Your eyes landed on the very man you had been so nervous to lose sight of. Him and four others, all mounted, all armed, all sitting at the highest point of the ridge out of town. They must have galloped up here, circled around to beat you.

“What you want?” Arthur asked with more annoyance than anything. How could he not be overcome with fear? You certainly were—you were outnumbered, had the low ground. And three of the men, including the one who had spoken, were looking at you like you were a prize to be won, a toy to be broken.

“I want that pretty little lady on the mule, since you don’t seem to know how to show any respect.”

Although obvious he was speaking to Arthur, his eyes never left you as he said it. Your blood ran cold.

“Not gonna happen, I’m afraid,” Arthur said, so nonchalant you almost took your eyes off the man to look at him.

The man chuckled. “And you’re gonna stop me, are you?”

“I will if I have to. But, best not let things get ugly. You be on your way and we’ll be on ours.”

Was he insane? How would that kind of talk earn anything but violence?

As if thinking the word drew it out of the men, the one who had spoken moved in a flash, aiming his rifle. You ducked and kicked your mule, spinning her around when the inevitable report of a gun rang loud, echoing and repeating, echoing and repeating. The noise stopped before you could get so much as a few feet out of the line of fire, your mule panicked below you. Terrified of what you would find had become of Arthur, you waited with hands uselessly covering your head, waiting on them to drag you off the mule.

“Let’s go. Quick,” you heard, and the familiarity in the voice made you balk. You turned to find Arthur motioning to you, already turned onto the snow-covered path out of the valley. He was whole. He was alive. And the five men…

“How did you-”

“We got bigger problems,�� Arthur said, turning back to look at the town below. You followed his gaze to see much more unwanted attention. The whole town’s attention. A few men were already mounting up with guns drawn, in defense of their own.

“Shit,” you said and, praying your mule was a fast one, kicked her hard and were galloping up the slope in a moment’s breath, snow flying with the way her feet struck the earth. You took her around the five men that lay dead on the ground, trying not to trample them. “You killed them!” you said uselessly.

Ahead were their respective horses, running wild at their fright over the gunfight.

“No shit,” Arthur yelled, his horse pulling ahead of yours with ease. “Come catch one of these horses. They’re faster-”

“No time!” you interrupted, though that wasn’t the real reason. Your mule hadn’t stepped a toe out of line of where you’d asked her to go. So you pushed her hard, galloping away from your pursuers into the flattening countryside, hot on Arthur’s tail.

It took entirely too long to reach the safety of a spance of trees, a few shots ringing out behind you just before you did. Arthur shouted, “On me! We’ll lose ‘em down here!” and you didn’t bother turning to see how close your pursuers had gotten. You could hear the distant hoofbeats. A cacophony of them.

Arthur shot through the woods on his mare like water down a hill, and it took all you had to keep up. Your mule placed her feet well, but she was bulky and slower.

“Quick!” Arthur said, and turned a sharp left behind a huge rock face that hid him and his horse from view. You followed, nearly overcome with relief when you saw how the rock turned inward on itself. It was a small overhang, almost like the mouth of a cave—the perfect hiding spot.

You followed his lead and jumped off your mule, leading her as far inside as she could go. She was breathing heavy beside Boadicea but otherwise stood firm. You felt so much pride for her you nearly choked on it.

Arthur threw you his reins and peeked around the rock face, the sound of distant riders still approaching. But the sound was farther off to the right, likely not heading in the right direction. Could you have gotten so lucky?

You put your hands on your knees and sucked in breaths, trusting Arthur to warn you if you needed to run again.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, coming back over to stand beside you.

Finally, the weight of what just happened bore down on you. It was too much. It was all too much. The fall, the men in the woods, the wolves, and now this.

You fell to your knees, using every ounce of strength you had left just to breathe.

“It’ll be all right,” Arthur said lowly. “We’ll get out of here soon enough, leave that shithole of a town behind us.”

“We almost died two days ago,” you said, voice small. “Now this.”

That must have struck a chord with Arthur, as he didn’t immediately answer like he always did.

Then, serious for once, “I know.” He looked back out toward the sound of hoofbeats, their growing distance reassuring. “I know.”

The pair of you waited for what had to be an hour. The closest anyone ever got was a distant shout away, though they eventually either gave up or went into hiding themselves to try to draw you out. Arthur banked on the former.

“Let’s go,” he finally whispered, testing the waters by leading Boadicea out, her hooves clacking against the rock. You followed behind, waiting for the inevitable sound of a horse, of a shout, of another gunshot. Anything. But it never came. And once mounted, the farther you and Arthur rode, the more that weight on your chest eased. The sun was setting, and you were getting farther from danger’s reach with every step. Soon it would be night, and you could ride through the darkness until no one from that town had any chance of finding you.

A few more hours had the trees thinning further. You were getting nearer to the prairie lands of Nebraska. Arthur had slowed his horse to a walk a while back, and now he was checking over his weapons as he rode. You eyed him, still wondering how he had killed five men without a scratch. There was no doubt in your mind he was a dead shot with that revolver. But, you figured, outlaws had to be. At least the living ones did. It still befuddled you that he was an outlaw, as good as he had been to you. His protectiveness over you was no small thing, and all you could think was that you were grateful, immensely, that if you were forced to live without your parents, you had at least been granted this man in their stead. You would have wound up dead otherwise. Three or four times over now.

When Arthur pushed on well past sunset, you settled in for the night on top of your molly, reeling. The life you were leading was different than any you could ever have dreamed. It scared you, it wore you down, but it was something to reflect on. It only leant to that story you would get to tell your parents someday, if you ever found your way back to them. You had a feeling you were heading in the right direction.

Stiff and scarred and terrified still, you rode on. That was all you could do. It was all this life had left to offer.

_________

Chapter eleven is here.

tag list: @tommys0not0beloved @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445

[misanthropologymajor]

to boldly go...

this is so based on my current tng watch and crippling addiction to cod fanfic of all things

Science Officer!f! Reader x Bridge Crew! 141

Star Trek: TNG AU (pt. 1?)

Human! Price- Captain of the Enterprise 

Human!Gaz- helmsman/operations officer (liutenant)

Klingon!Ghost- security-officer-turned-first-officer (lieutenant commander)

Betazoid!Soap- new security officer (lieutenant)

Half Vulcan!Reader- sciences officer (lieutenant junior-grade), [giving them various nicknames because (y/n) feels clunky]

wc: 4k

warnings: rearrangement of rank (Starfleet doesn't have enlisted officers & the equivalent ranks would not be bridge officers), reader is the youngest but the other ages aren't mentioned, abduction, Ghost was raised by humans in a Worf-analogue-situation, (Ghost's parents were killed in a Romulan attack), slowburn, no smut, written before i started playing mwii

Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds; to seek out new life and new civilizations; to boldly go where no one has gone before!

As the turbo-lift doors opened, the familiar sounds of the Bridge Crew's squabbles filled the ears of the newest Chief Science Officer.

"Cap', 're you sure that MacTavish can actually read the Ferengi from this distance? I wouldn't put it past 'im to just wanna stir sumthin' up."

"Ghost, ye know damn well I wouldn' lie abou' somethin' like that."

Quietly walking to her station behind the caption's chair, the half-Vulcan began scanning the readings of the Ferengi ship. The Ferengi ship was peculiarly small and old-fashioned- at least a century old.

"Gaz, can you take us closer? One third Impulse, please." At Gaz's affirmation, Captain Price stood from his chair and walked towards the monitor at the front of the bridge. "Junior-grade, how many life signs can you read."

She startled, looking up from the inlaid monitor. "Only two, sir. It's a small ship, though there should be room for around thirty crew." Her gaze followed Price's to the front monitor, where she saw the short loop of Ferengi video broadcast. Both Ferengi men's large ears and prominent brow ridges glistened with sweat.

Gaz looked up from his controls. "Captain, the broadcast isn't coming from this ship."

"The distress beacon is, though. And the ship is definitely Ferengi." Ghost looked over Soap's shoulder to the security console.

"Price, be careful. We're getting close to the neutral zone." Gaz indicated to his monitor.

Price returned to the captain's seat, centered in the bridge. "Soap, keep scanning for other vessels. Ghost, hail the Ferengi ship."

"Price, they aren't receiving our hailing frequencies."

"Is anyone else thinking of Earthen anglerfish right about now?" the half-Vulcan mumbled. Then, louder- "They're down to just one life sign, Captain Price."

"They don' have shields up, Cap'n," Soap called from the security station. "I don't feel anything from the ship, either."

“Ghost, prepare an away team and get some protective gear. We’ll keep track and be ready to beam you back, but we need to know what’s happenin’ with that ship.”

“Gaz an’ the kid with me. Go get a compact medikit in case there’re any survivors, an' Gaz can tell us why it may 'ave stopped.”

As Gaz stood from his chair, the science officer rushed towards the turbo-lift, heading briskly down to the medbay. Swiftly getting the required supplies, she headed towards the transporter room, meeting with Gaz and Ghost.

"Three to beam to the co-ords Soap sent down." Ghost led the trio to the transporter bay, phaser in hand.

As they faded into shimmering white light, all three prepared themselves for the unknown of a seemingly empty Ferengi shuttle on the border of the Neutral Zone.

Following the briefest moment, they came back into awareness. Ghost was the first to reach full cognizance, the other two shortly following. The most immediately apparent thing was that the ship had not been abandoned by normal means. The cockpit was in disarray, and a trail of a mixture of unknown substances ended abruptly in the doorway.

At Ghost's indication of safety, the Vulcan activated the scientific tricorder to scan the trail. As the analysis loaded, she noted from the corner of their eye that both Gaz and Ghost tensed. Ghost's mask made the sudden lack of motion vividly unsettling. The tricorder loaded with a small chirp, indicating the presence of Ferengi and Romulan DNA. Abruptly, the shuttle lit up.

The ship began moving closer to the Neutral Zone. Soap's voice echoed from their communicators, "Wha' the hell are ye doin'? The Neutral Zone is right fuckin' there!"

"We're not trying to, Soap. I'm looking at the controls now." Gaz rushed to the lit-up console.

"Ghost, there's evidence Romulans here. We should get out of here, sir."

As the First Officer acknowledged the Science Officer, more words echoed from their communicator badges.

"Transport to away team, we've lost your location. There's some sort of interference." Tensions became palpable as the situation quickly devolved. Gaz frantically tried to turn the ship back towards the Enterprise. Ghost and the scientist worked on figuring out what left a Ferengi shuttle lost at the edge of the Neutral Zone.

Price's voice echoed through the ship, "Hold on, Away Team, reeling you in with our tractor beam." The ship jolted with the connection of the tractor beam, easing back towards Federation Territory.

Gaz began hitting the console, clearly frustrated by the lack of response from the equipment. "Ghost an' Cap, this shuttle isn't bein' controlled by this panel. This has gotta be a trap."

As two Humans, a Betazoid, a Klingon, and a half-Vulcan attempted to return the away team to the Enterprise, they were faced with a Romulan Warbird removing its cloaking device directly next to the Ferengi shuttle.

The Ferengi Shuttle was swiftly drawn in by the Warbird's tractor beam, half the distance from and twice the size of the Enterprise.

The science officer tapped the communicator on: "Sirs, this is not standard Romulan battle practices. Deception, yes, but blatant disregard for the Algeron Treaty? In just about two hundred years of conflict, they've never done anything like this."

"When did you become an expert on Romulan politics, Junior-grade?"

"Not the time, Garrick," Ghost aimed his phaser at the door between the away team and the interior of the Romulan ship. The other two quickly followed suit.

As the interior of the Ferengi ship dimmed, the shuttle bay door of the Romulan Warbird opened up. The ship slowed into the bay, and the environmental system hissed. Gaz was the first to feel it, and Ghost was the last.

As Ghost fought to keep his eyes open, he heard the half-Vulcan mutter about "anesthizine."

Gaz woke in a cell, his phaser and communicator on the manned desk beyond the forcefields. A few cells across the circular brig, he could see the Ferengi from the broadcast in a shared cell, and to their right was Ghost. "Ghost, can you hear me? Are you able to see any way out?"

"Damn Romulans cuffed me an' took my fuckin' mask. The door out of the cells is to your left, the kid's to your right."

"I can hear you, Ghost," she frowned. "They have our comms and phasers, and there's no way they've kept us in Federation Territory. Cap's gonna need to get approval from Admiral Laswell to follow us."

"Soap won't like that," Gaz said, standing from the cot to get a better view of the space. "Junior-grade, you said this wasn't normal for Romulans. Do you think we're working with an extremist group?"

"Definitely. I was awake when they were cuffing Ghost. They weren't in standard issue Romulan Star Empire Uniforms, and there's some wacky mods to this Warbird."

Ghost cut in, "At least they wan' us alive. We'd be long gone if they didn't think we could do sumthin' for 'em."

"'Specially with their views on Klingons and Vulcans. Nasty blokes."

"Thanks for reminding us, Gaz." She pressed her hand to the force field, searching for the weak point she knew wasn't there. As they searched, the brig doors opened with a hiss.

Three Romulans walked in, bearing phaser rifles. The centered one spoke: "I had hoped the Federation would be stupid enough to send a ship into our territory. Imagine my delight when that little ship sends me some a Klivan, a Hevam, and a Yyiyao wrapped in a nice little bow." (Romulan derogatory terms for Klingon, Human, Vulcan)

"Oh, what a shock: the Rihansu is racist. Where the hell are we?" (Vulcan [and Romulan] for Romulan)

"Hold your tongue, Yyiyao. I haven't killed you yet, but my mercy has limits. You don't even know why you're here yet!"

"Who the hell are you?" Ghost stood up abruptly, startling the non-speaking Romulans.

"Now, the Klivan is asking the right question! Who am I? And why would I capture two Feh'rengsu, a Kilvan, a Hevam, and a Yyiyao?

They call me Commander Makarov, and I will free my people from the barriers of the Neutral Zone and the Federation altogether."

"And you think that will happen by kidnapping a First Officer, Flight Control Officer, and a Science Officer?" Gaz sat on the cot in the corner.

"I'm not that foolish. You're nothing more than bait, tempting your precious Federation into breaking its own rules."

"You can't seriously think our Captain is stupid enough to follow us withou' givin' proper notice?" Ghost questioned.

"Oh, Klivan. He's already following us," Makarov grinned.

"I still don't get why you're tellin' us this." Gaz laid further into the cot.

"Either he's gloating or he's trying to get something out of us, be that intel or our charming personalities." The half-Vulcan wrung her hands, silently pleading for the Enterprise to be careful and give the correct notice.

The Ferengi began tittering with each other, briefly pulling the attention from the Starfleet officers.

"You three were victims of circumstance. But these two-" Makarov sneered. "These two will not try to swindle the sword of the Romulan Empire again."

Makarov's men turned off the barrier to the Ferengi cell. Each grabbed one Ferengi man and dragged them out of the brig. Makarov left the brig, questions hanging in the air.

"What a total dick."

"Thought you were supposed to be too logical for needless profanity."

"My Vulcan father lost the debate that determined what planet I was raised on. Before the Acadamy, I went to an Earthen public school, Gaz."

"Fuckin' hell you two, not the time," Ghost chastised. "Gotta work out what that bastard wants from us."

"Could be they want to kickstart a war against the Federation, relations have been easing in the past few-" Gaz cut himself off as the doors opened.

Makarov stepped through into the brig. "How lucky was I to have Captain Jonathan Price's crew, led by the Ghost, stumble on the ship I hadn't gotten around to destroying yet."

"What've the Captain or I got to do with you?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember us, Klivan! Not after our grand impact on your childhood."

Ghost closed his eyes and took a deep breath, setting his jaw.

"Now you remember me. I'll fill your underlings in. I was just an Uhlan, aboard the Perseus. A Klingon traitor sent us the codes to Khitomer's security system. Your Ghost was the only survivor."

Ghost's history was not frequently discussed on the ship, but his presence as a Klingon in Starfleet command made it clear that his life was full of unusual circumstances.

"And on top of that, your Captain is the one who convinced my previous Commander, that ryakna, to abandon the honor of our great Empire."

"The Cap's peace negotiations under Laswell? Not letting another Federation ship blow you all up for your secret base in the Neutral Zone? That's what this is about?" Gaz looked incredulous.

"He should have defended the great Romulan Empire! Why should we listen to rules set by your Federation." Makarov sneered. "The might of our great fleet could have destroyed all the Federation sent after us."

As Makarov continued on about the power of the Romulan Empire, the science officer tuned out. She focused instead on attempting to work out a method for contacting Captain Price from what was likely at least an astronomical unit away. She'd already ruled out the possibility of accessing their communicator unit, cobbling a communicator out of their tricorder, and breaching access on the communicator of the Warbird.

"But what sweet revenge, taking the sole Klivan survivor and two other crew from that peacenik, your Captain Price. How poetic that you will start the empirical expansion my people have been deprived of. I will return for you when your Federation breaks their own rules."

As Makarov left the brig, a quiet tension fell over the officers.

Gaz was the first to break the silence. "Do you think the Cap would be mad enough to follow after without getting Laswell up to speed?"

"Will the Romulan contacts deem this an acceptable reaction from Price in the case that he is this mad?" They buried their face in their hands.

"It doesn't matter what Price does, so long as we get the fuck off this damn ship."

"Ghost, what he said about your parents-"

"Doesn't matter."

"I know it doesn't, but I just want you to know you're allowed to be angry about this even if you don't remember it."

"Interesting take, coming from the Vulcan," Gaz interrupted.

"Half Vulcan. Born and raised on Earth."

"Neither of you are helpin'. Migh' as well just wait for Price 'f you're gonna keep gettin' distracted." Ghost pressed his hands against the force field of his cell. As each officer sought out their cells' unlikely flaws, they listened for any sounds around them.

After what could have been anywhere between ten minutes and an hour of searching, a set of footsteps approached them.

"Your Captain has demanded proof of life from us. Your scientist is coming with me." A Romulan with a jagged scar running down his face entered the brig. He approached the center cell and bound their hands, escorting them out of the brig.

The half-Vulcan yanked her arm from the Romulan's hold. "I can walk myself." She then ignored Gaz's protests, hoping that they were unnecessary.

Following a long walk, she was escorted onto a dark bridge. The Enterprise Bridge was displayed on the large monitor in front of the room. Price was in his Captain's chair, Soap above and behind him at the security panel. Both sets of eyes gently lightened at their Junior-grade, visibly unharmed and still slightly fighting their escort.

"See, Captain, unharmed. The other two are in the same condition, but I couldn't just release all of them, you see." Makarov brushed his hand across her face, earning three sets of glares.

"Lieutenant, are you, Gaz, and Ghost okay?" Price ignored Makarov's assurance.

Before she could begin her sentence, Makarov grasped her by her chin. As she wrenched herself from his hands, he spoke. "You've seen she's alive. My patience wears thin."

Even with the distance, she could see Soap's knuckles grip his console. "We're not followin' ye into the fuckin' Neutral Zone without word from her. S'bad enough ye didn' let our First Officer up."

"When I got grabbed to come up, Gaz and Ghost were okay. I wouldn't trust-" Makarov's hand clamped over her mouth, cutting her off. She had to fight the urge to bite the bastard.

"I didn't bring her up here to give away all of my surprises. Return her to the brig." Makarov looked over his shoulder to the scarred Romulan, who had brought her up.

She fought damn near the entire way back down, leading to another Romulan joining her escort. While she knew it would be fruitless, doing nothing felt more wrong. She felt like she'd wasted any opportunity to formulate a plan with the Captain, and hadn't fought against their captor enough to be respectable. Would Soap judge her, or, worse, would Price?

She shook the thought from her mind just as she returned to the brig. They moved her to the cell previously occupied by the Ferengi, where she was now unable to see Ghost and considerably farther from Gaz. They left her hands bound, and one sat at the guard station.

Unwilling to risk giving intel to the guard, all three sat in relative silence once she confirmed that Price had been in contact.

Gaz was humming an old Earthen song she couldn't quite place. Every so often, she would sigh dramatically. Ghost was the only one to remain entirely silent.

After about an hour, the guard received three trays at the door and delivered one to each occupied cell. Each tray contained an unappetizing green biscuit and a small cup of a grey drink. She and Gaz each took a half-hearted bite; Ghost refused to even look at the tray.

The half-Vulcan stood from the tray without taking a second bite. Instead, she chose to lay in the cot and nap—what was the worst that could happen?

It seemed that the worst that could happen was the ship going into a red alert, their guard leaving them trapped as he went to a battle station. The emergency lights flashed, and she could understand almost every other word of a Romulan emergency alert.

The alert seemed to indicate that they were under attack not by the Federation but by another Romulan vessel. She rubbed her bleary eyes and stood up.

"Just our luck— someone's attacking, and it's not Price." She smacked at the force field holding her in the cell. She could hear Ghost attacking his barrier as well and could see Gaz beginning to do the same.

"How do you know it's not Cap?" Gaz paused his attack.

"The emergency alert specified something about a T'liss, a bird-of-prey. They'd have said ih'calear if they'd translated the Enterprise's class."

"Since when do you know Romulan?" Ghost's voice echoed from the cell to her right.

"It's really not too far of a leap from Vuhlkansu, Commander. I took a couple classes in it at the Academy."

The alarm continued to go off, and the half-Vulcan did her best not to fret. From the size difference alone, a bird-of-prey against a warbird shouldn't have even been a blip in the radar. She strained to hear about a d'deridex, another warbird, but the alert kept repeating that the combat was against a T'liss class vessel.

What would a separate Romulan general do if one found them in this brig? Would they seek to continue the relative peace with the Federation by releasing them back to the Enterprise, or would they decide that the three weren't worth their lives and kill them, or worse, send them to a Romulan prison?

"Junior-grade, I can feel you worrying through the damn wall. Price or Laswell'll come, stop your fuckin' panickin'." She snapped out of her anxious spiral, mumbling a bit of gratitude to her commanding officer.

It took nearly an hour before the alert stopped its loop. It took a further forty minutes for anyone to check the brig. None of them expected the familiar Romulan to be the one to walk through the door, followed by their previous guard.

"Nikolai, you were the bird-of-prey?" Gaz beamed. The negotiations between Nikolai, Price, and Laswell predated the half-Vulcan's time as a bridge officer, but she had seen him on the screen, briefly, as she'd taken some data from the bridge.

"Best ship I could get with little notice from Laswell. Heard my old sublieutenant was causing issues."

"Thought you'd finally gotten out of military work, Nik. How'd you get even a lil' thing like that?"

"I have friends everywhere, Ghost."

The scarred guard reluctantly opened each cell door and unbound the wrists of the Klingon and the half-Vulcan. Ghost didn't respond, but she rubbed her wrists before introducing herself to Nikolai. Ghost grabbed all of the confiscated equipment, taking it for his crew.

"Good to meet you. Let's get you all back to the Enterprise, where you belong." He escorted the trio to the vehicle bay, where a bird-of-prey waited. Nikolai took control of the ship and navigated it towards the Federation edge of the Neutral Zone.

"Why would Makarov release us to you?" The half-Vulcan couldn't keep from questioning.

"The daeus would never have approved of Makarov's methods. The only way his plan worked was if it flew under the radar that he had blatantly disregarded the treaty in a way that was so obvious to the Federation." Ghost cut in for Nikolai.

"Basically. Definitely helped that after I retired from military, I started working for a Senator who wants peace with your Federation."

The return to the border of the Neutral Zone felt much shorter despite taking nearly twice the time. They flew with easy conversations with Nikolai, who admonished any crew who even thought about engaging in distasteful behavior towards their guests.

As they neared the Enterprise, Gaz couldn't convince Nikolai to come aboard and visit with Price. While Ghost stayed out of the enticement, the science officer leaned on and encouraged Gaz.

"We've done enough stretching of Algeron Treaty. Your Enterprise nearly got a light-year in to the Neutral Zone before getting the sense to contact me."

The trio gave Nikolai their fond farewells, and Soap came over their communicators to organize their transport onto the Enterprise. After they shimmered onto the transporter pad, Soap and Price ushered all three to the medical bay.

After being medically cleared and cleaning up, the bridge crew sat down for dinner in the Captain's quarters. Price had yet to emerge with his contribution to the otherwise replicated meal.

"How did you know to get Nikolai involved?" Gaz sat across from Soap.

"Mate, d'you ken that Vulcans are telepathically inclined? Our scientist thought so loudly abou' Makarov's plan that I could hear it from the Enterprise. Turned our ass around and Laswell got in contact with Nik." Soap leaned to his left and ruffled her hair.

Pointed ears warming, she pushed Soap's hand away. "MacTavish, maybe you've just got massive range on your crazy Betazoid telepathy."

Soap persisted, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Hen, I'd have heard the Lt. or Gaz if it was just that. You were loud an' clear from a light year away."

Price's door opened to the Captain, holding three bottles of wine. "I thought we all deserved somethin' a little stronger than synthehol after the shit we dealt with."

Ghost nodded from his position across from the half-Vulcan as Price took his seat between them at the head of the table. Price opened the wines, handing them out to each officer to fill their cup with their selected beverage.

The bridge crew ate with light chatter, deliberately avoiding the topic of the overly-Empirical Commander. There would be plenty of time to discuss the ambitious Romulan in the coming days.

The half-Vulcan struggled to ignore the touchy nature of the Betazoid to her left and the Captain's comforting touches on her hand. She focused on her meal and the First Officer across from her, not wanting the Betazoid to sense her flushed discomfort.

Ghost had never fully removed his mask in front of her before. She tried not to think about how ruggedly attractive he was, letting loose with his friends and her. Was she a friend now? Her line of thinking left her confused and slightly flustered, though she hoped it indicated that he at least thought of her as a friend. "Junior-grade, you've picked your drink up and sat it back down without taking a sip three times now. You can relax, luvvie."

Never in a million years would she have anticipated the First Officer using a pet name for her. She could have sworn her pointed ears were so warm that they were steaming, a flush spreading across her entire head. She choked on the sip she took to hide her embarrassment.

Soap patted her back to help her cough as Gaz gently admonished Ghost. "Our girl doesn't need that shit from you, Ghost." Ghost just laughed, seemingly in on the joke.

A stern "Boys!" from Price seemed to end the joke that the half-Vulcan was trapped outside of. The other three sat up straighter for the briefest of moments, playing into a joke.

After a more collective evening of conversation, the bridge crew each returned to their quarters. The half-Vulcan donned her sleep clothes and lay in bed, questioning the day's events. Her thoughts drifted between her Romulan abduction, the unaccounted-for Ferengi, and the dinner—what had Price meant when he called her "their girl?"

As the day drifted out, she imagined what strange new worlds they may encounter the next day.

Star Trek Guide (probably a little inaccurate, there's so much star trek in the world):

Klingons: humanoid warrior species with pronounced forehead ridges that go to about the coronal suture of the human skull. they often have long dark hair and distinctive facial hair- in essentially perpetual conflict with Romulans for the majority of the 23rd and 24th centuries

Betazoids: humanoid species with no physical differences from humans except for pure black irises. they have telepathy in both concrete thoughts and emotions

Vulcans: humanoid species that pride themselves on logic above all else. Many are capable of a form of telepathy known as a mind meld, which is part of the intimate life of Vulcans. They are closely related to Romulans. Both Vulcans and Romulans have upturned eyebrows and pointed ears. prior to 370 AD, Vulcans were very warlike. A philosopher at the time led the transformation of society from violence to logic (Spock is a notable half-human-half-Vulcan)

Romulans: humanoid species that prioritizes conquest, in conflict with the Federation and Klingons. as Vulcan evolved from violence to peace, some dissented and left the planet to settle on the other two planets in that star system. Romulans were born from the dissenting Vulcans and indigenous populations of the settled planets. Some Romulans also have brow ridges in a "V" on their foreheads, although others are indistinguishable from Vulcans.

Ferengi: humanoid species that prioritizes profit above all else, and are notorious for their misogyny.. typically hairless, with large skulls, disproportionately large ears and brow ridges, orange skin, blue fingernails, and sharp teeth. (yk what no matter how accurately you describe the Ferengi, it's difficult to picture them without a picture)