#cw: major character death referenced

[not-krys]

[Repost] Old - Abby & Theo

Part of this set of WIP Wednesdays!

A bittersweet one today. I had originally wanted to use this theme way back when I was first writing Abby and Theo's Fictober 2021 fic 'I've Waited For This', which would have featured Abby and Vincent as a lot older but chickened out and wrote something a little more lighthearted instead.

This time, feeling braver, I did explore the a lot older theme with Abby and Theo in this one, but with a sad tinge running throughout.

Raw, unedited writing down below. Heavily referenced major character death.

-----

Theo sat by Abby's side, her small hands covered in wrinkles and a little stiff, holding a long paintbrush. Theo, still as youthful as when she had met him, untouched by two hundred years, brown hair and blue eyes unchanged by time, watched patiently as her hand moved, graceful in memory but a little clumsy now with age.

"Just a little more," Abby said, her voice cracking.

"Take your time," Theo said gently, far more kind than he had sounded in her youth.

Silence overtook the two of them, sunlight peeking through the nearby window. Where she needed it, Theo held up her elbow, keeping her arm steady.

"…Talk about him, Theo." Abby asked, squinting her eyes. "Please…"

"Hondje… Are you sure?"

"A happy memory… for me, please?"

Theo closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh.

"Back when we used to live in le Comte's mansion, he often painted outdoors. He loved being in the sun. He… sometimes I thought he was the sun."

"When you came around…" Theo continued, "Well, he was happier. More than I had ever seen him. He shined brighter than before. Blindingly so some days. I was a little jealous… Very jealous, actually. How this scared little pup that came out of nowhere had managed to capture my broer so completely so quickly… Maybe it's not what you want to hear, but any truly happy memory I have of him, you're in it too."

Theo touched her elbow again.

"Remember when I came to the house the first time? Because your auntie had sent those pictures of his paintings?"

"Yes," Abby said, "I showed you all those pictures of Vincent and me… of the children… of his life ever since we left."

"You showed me that he had lived a good life and that's something I can't thank you enough for. I had failed in that regard, even in our second lives."

"Your wish allowed us to meet, Theo, so… don't sell yourself so short. My happiness… was thanks to you, after all."

"Hondje…"

"A-anyway… you were talking about how he loved painting outdoors?"

"Yeah, he'd taken you with him. By all accounts, it should have been sunny all day. But, there was a pop up shower."

"Ah, yes. He wanted to teach me about nature painting. But then it started raining suddenly."

"It was a little late in the day, so I was just getting back from selling some of his work. I got caught up in it too. Soaked to the bone."

"So were we. We had to pack up in a hurry, the paint hadn't even dried properly, both of canvases getting smeared together with the rain water. I was so upset because I was so proud of it and thought I had ruined it."

"Broer just smiled, I remember." Theo said, "and told me that they were twin paintings now. Sebas even came by to tell us about how in the future, there was this movement in art where you don't really paint forms like normal. Sometimes, people would splash paint onto canvases without rhyme or reason. Abstract painting, he called it. I wouldn't have believed him if I hadn't lived through it myself."

Abby smiled a little.

"Vincent held onto those paintings for a while. I was a little embarrassed on how long he held onto them, messed up as they were."

"From what I remember, Comte had them put up in the parlor after you two left."

"That's even more embarrassing!"

"Even had them framed."

Abby lowered her elbow, setting her brush down.

"Thank you, Theo. For cheering me up. For staying and putting up with me."

"You'd be lonely if I didn't, and Broer hated leaving you alone for long."

"…I miss him. So much."

Theo reached up to her cheek, wiping away the falling tear with his thumb.

"Just remember that you had a hand in making his life as good as it could have been. Now I'm making sure yours is just as good in his honor. So, no more tears. You have a portrait to finish, after all."

Abby took a breath and nodded, looking at Theo, determined.

"R-right."

They both turned back to the canvas, the image reflected in their eyes of a younger Vincent, smiling as both of them had remembered.

[highcaliberstupidity]

Whumptober Day 8 Outnumbered Rating Mature CW's/Tag's Implied/referenced character death, Rudy escaping during the Shadow betrayal Characters Rodolfo Parra Summary

It was unsettling, reminded him far too much of the cartel doctrines that lured in young men and women every day.

Ask anyone, and they'll always tell you the same thing. If push comes to shove, their always prepared for the worst. 

And for many, that may be true. 

It certainly is for Rodolfo. 

Growing up in Las Almas, knowing what he knows, and doing what he does, has made him a paranoid man by nature. 

The S.A.S operatives had come highly recommended by an old friend of Alejandro's, so extending trust to them had been… tough, but not impossible. At least with Soap, he could see the man's eyes, could see the truth in them. 

With Ghost he didn't have that same security, but Laswell swore by them, and Alejandro swore by Laswell. 

So Rudy gave them the benefit of the doubt. 

Shadow Company, however, did not get the same kindness. They were not friends of Laswell's, they were simply Americans who hadn't liked the way things were run back home, and had decided to rebel and make their own special little unit. 

It was unsettling, reminded him far too much of the cartel doctrines that lured in young men and women every day. 

So he let Alejandro make nice, let him befriend and smile and laugh with Graves and his pack of strays while he watched. He knew this was Ale's way of feeling them out, knew to trust him. 

You didn't become a Coronel for being stupid, after all. 

But in the end, he thinks they both fell for Graves' slippery smile and sugar-coated words. Because even he hadn't expected this. He knew they were hiding something, but was content to let them wrangle their terrorist and leave Las Almas to deal with its own neverending problem. 

He doesn't expect to have their very base ripped out from underneath them the moment Graves has them separated .

But here he is, wrenching a blade free from the Shadow that had tried to put one between his ribs. His movements are sluggish as he rights himself, trembling as adrenaline fights the drugs they must have spiked their food with. 

He doesn't have long, he'll be lucky if he escapes. 

The first bullet rings out, the rifles report cracking in the crisp evening air as shadows pour out of the main compound, launching themselves into the few Vaqueros that had yet to make it to the mess. 

He hears screams and shouts in American for his men to surrender, to drop their weapons, and kneel. 

He digs into the dead Shadows Tac vest as his men answer by opening fire. 

His head bows in a silent prayer of his mother tongue for their sacrifice. 

Three pockets in and he finds two stimulant shots, and without any preamble, jabs one into his denim-clad thigh, clenches his teeth against the burn. His heart rate skyrockets, and for a moment he hazes out, lurching unsteadily before everything comes back in sharp, aggressive focus.

He has to escape, has to get word to anyone. 

He's not stupid enough to think that he can do this on his own. 

He ignores the wet heat of tears on his skin as the gunfire below fades off, as American voices shout orders. 

The radio next to him lights up, someone demanding a sitrep. And Rodolfo runs.

[heybluez]

if i didn't know better, i'd think you were still around

little angsty disaster twins snippet i posted on ao3 a while ago. thought it might be cool to post it here too! cw for major character implied/ referenced death. enjoy!

-----

He walked past his room again.

At this point, it was starting to become an exercise in futility. It was like a data point to be measured, a new tally to be marked down, how many times could he walk past his room in a day under the guise of doing literally anything else. Checking the kitchen to see if they needed more eggs. Ducking into the dojo to see if Raph had let up on his everlasting training routine since he had last checked on him, seeing if Mikey needed more salve for his aching arms. Walking behind dad’s recliner to see if he had moved an inch, at all, or if he was still stuck watching the same stupid infomercial reruns in lieu of getting up and helping mend the chaotic, broken stasis that his sons were stuck in.

It had been almost five months. Four months and sixteen days, if you wanted to be perfectly exact, but man, who was really counting?

(He was. Donnie was.)

It was, truthfully, stasis. The time had passed, but nobody acknowledged it, not really. It was still August fifth. Maybe it would always be August fifth. It felt that way. Sure, they moved around it, this gaping hole of just, loss, the grief in its totality, like it didn’t exist, but the proof of it persisted every time Donnie walked past his room, and he wasn’t there.

Leo was supposed to be in his room.

Leo was supposed to be in his room so that when Donnie walked in after fruitless efforts of getting a specific line of Python to code, a blanket would be lifted so Donnie could crawl in and commiserate in Leo’s insomniatic company. Leo was supposed to be in his room so that Donnie could bring in two sugar free Redbulls and turn on a Five Nights at Freddy’s video essay, staying up until four in the morning discussing with Leo which game contributed the most lore to the series. Leo was supposed to be in his room so that Donnie knew exactly where to find him when he got a text from Leo that he was heading topside for a slushie run and wanted Donnie to come with him. Leo was supposed to be in his room so that Donnie could come bug him to share his Switch so they could play Mario Kart.

Leo was supposed to be in his room.

And all Donnie could do was walk by, adding more tallies to the count for every time he did, wishing he could push past this inane thing, this fear, of walking into Leo’s room, and having to face the total eclipse of acceptance that his room would always be empty.

It had been almost five months.

He wondered if Leo had ever taken the mug he had been drinking his peppermint tea in back to the kitchen, the tea he had made the night before the world ended, or if it was just collecting dust now on his nightstand. He wondered if Leo had taped up the left corner of his Jupiter Jim poster that had fallen down, or if it was still hanging off the wall, doomed to be stuck that way for the rest of time. He wondered if he had remembered to plug in his laptop, or if it was still sitting on his bed where it would remain forever paused on whatever movie he had turned on to help him fall asleep.

Donnie could try to rationalize to himself all he wanted that he walked past Leo’s door everyday to check on the state of the lair. To check on the state of his family, as they too tried to process their grief. He could give himself a million reasons as to why it wouldn’t be alright for him to finally just walk into Leo’s room, a room that was now made to hold his memory, a mortuary for the people who loved him, love him, so much. In truth, he was scared to see the same stasis that he saw in Raph, saw in Mikey, saw in his dad. Their life was an ellipsis, waiting for the resolving sentence that was Leonardo to make them truly whole. If he walked into Leo’s room, if he finally let himself be brave, the pause button he had placed on his own life would start playing again, and the feeble control he so painstakingly allowed himself in his grief would finally be unraveled.

The feeble, tiniest hope still left in him that when he walked past Leo’s door, maybe he might hear the shitty eighties glam rock Leo so loved to dance to, or a Ghibli movie he had watched a million times, or hell, maybe even Leo’s voice and his wonderful, dazzling laugh as he talked to someone on the phone.

He still had this small hope inside him that perhaps Leo wasn’t truly gone, just somewhere far away where Donnie couldn’t quite reach him, and any minute he might portal back into his room where Donnie could find him again. That seeing the portal close, the portal that painted the early morning New York City sky in so many beautiful shades of brilliant colors, had just been a terrible dream. And he would wake up any minute now, and the one color the sky couldn’t take away from him, his most favorite shade of blue, would be waiting for him like he always was.

But the dream didn’t pass. It never did.

Donnie felt like insanity personified, and maybe he was. Doing the same thing over and over, hoping, wishing, praying for a different result.

One more time. Just once more.

He walked past his room.

[steddiemicrofic]

Steddie Microfic July 8th-14th Masterlist

The first one of many by @fuctacles | Rated G | no cw | tags: ren-faire, pre-relationship, transfem stevie, smitten eddie

adding one more by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

thoughts on an unjust detention by @loveinhawkins | Rated G | cw: implied/referenced homophobia | tags: missing scene, post season 2, pre season 3

untitled by @estrellami-1 | Rated T | no cw

A one-time thing by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated E | cw: alcohol and drug abuse | tags: car sex, rough sex, fuck buddies, pre-season 4

One Last Breath by @stranger-stardustt | Rated T | cw: main character death | tags: angst, unhappy ending

Day One (Of The Rest Of Your Life) by @yesdangerpls | Rated G | cw: prison | tags: established relationship, future fic, Eddie went to prison after Vecna

last one by @worldswcollide | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

Illusory Courage by @tinytalkingtina | Rated T | cw: dead chrissy cunningham, brief description of vecna'd body | tags: fantasy dnd au, tiefling steve harrington, anti-tiefling racism, steve harrington has bad parents, half-eld eddie munson, pre-steddie, past chrissy cunningham/eddie munson, first meetings

Time Marches On by @marvel-ous-m | Rated T | cw: major character death | tags: established steddie

Take a Chance, Roll the Dice by @adverbally | Rated T | no cw | tags: established relationship, Dungeons & Dragons

gatekeeping. by @thefreakandthehair | Rated G | no cw | tags: established/married steddie, future fic, successful corroded coffin, rockstar eddie, charmingly bitchy steve

mommy's girl by @katyawriteswhump | Rated M | no cw | tags: trans-fem stevie harrington, no upside down au, angst and feels, platonic stobin, steve has an awesome mom and not-so-awesome dad

[misanthropologymajor]

abstract (psychopomp)

spartan warrior ghost x plus size keres (f) reader

keres: female personified spirits of violent death, depicted as dark-winged women, swooping down upon the battlefield to claim the souls of the fallen

cw: abstract depictions of violence, casualties of war, major character death, descriptions of the afterlife, soulmates, referenced patricide, referenced attempted filicide and uxoricide

wc: 1.5 k

ghost felt a presence whenever he saw the light flicker from another man's eye. from behind him, the sun was always blotted by unseen wings. once the men in front of him breathe their last, the feeling departs.

only price seemed half as aware of the presences that filled each battlefield, feeling it swoop down to claim the souls of the fallen. but price didn't feel the presence outside of combat, not like ghost did.

some nights ghost could almost feel gentle claws caress his cheek, broad wings blocking the moon from his eyes. as he looked at his reflection in the pond, framed by yellow and white flowers, he could catch miniscule glimpses of a winged silhouette behind him. if he were a different man, he would almost say that it was with him more than it wasn't. he supposed it made sense that a dark force would follow him, a man who had skirted death more times than he could count.

he took more comfort than any warrior should from the presence of the darkness that took other men.

following each battle, her form became clearer and clearer. he would wake to see massive, raven-like wings fluttering past his window. sometimes, in his reflection, the previous winged silhouette was briefly replaced by the full, fleshy frame of a woman. her draped grey dress was covered in light armor, molded to the plush of her body. rare, strange nights had him feel the soft, clawed hands working the tension from his strained muscles.

ghost had gone days without feeling the presence. it should not have bothered him, especially not as he guarded boarding for the warship bound from ionia to knidos. once boarding was complete, the small number of hoplites, of typically land-bound soldiers, took up guard positions around the oarsmen.

most of the trip back to sparta was uneventful. her presence was very rarely felt, and unable to be seen without reflective surfaces. maybe he should have been more alarmed that morning, when he woke up to see her shrouded, translucent form before him. gentle claws moved the hair from his eyes before she fizzled away before him.

something heavy hung in the air as ghost settled into his guard position. the oarsmen near him, chatty young men, had long gotten over their fear of his imposing figure. this morning, even gaz and soap felt the burden in the air. the oarsmen were the first to notice the incoming cause of dread: achaemenian ships in the distance, at least as many as were in this fleet.

in the hours it took to meet the other fleet, ghost thought of several things: the general was a prideful fool, he had never seen the presence as clearly as he had that morning, and her presence often meant that death was in the air.

by the time the other ships were captured, ghost had accepted that he would not live to see the sunset. he wondered not how he would die, but if she would take his hand and lead him to the meadows of asphodel or the deep abyss of tartarus, if she would take him to be judged, if she would judge him.

the fool in command sealed the fates of every man on board the remaining ships when he declared that a retreat was not the spartan way. the achaemenians vastly outnumbered the thinned remains of the fleet, and naval warfare did not allow for the efficiency of defense that ghost was used to.

his final moments were not what he had expected. ghost always expected to die at the end of another man's blade. he never expected to be speared on a piece of shrapnel, never expected to plunge into the deep cold water in his last moments. after the slap of surface tension, ghost only felt the burn of salty water in his lungs before the world faded from him.

simon was pulled, weightless, from his body. he felt none of the pain that came with years of intense training, felt none of the burn that filled his last memory. all he felt was the gentle, clawed squeeze of a hand around his shoulder.

the world breezed past him as he was flown far from the sea that had stolen his last breath. the movement only slowed as they approached the shores of a vast, grey river, with a single boat.

once he was on the shore, the presence released her grip on him. he glanced at the choppy waters of the river before him.

"my warrior, do you know where you are? do you know why i'm here."

with a nod, simon answered. "you take the dead from battle, yea? that general got us all killed for 'is damn ego."

the presence clasped her hand on his chin and pulled his gaze to her face, opaque and soft. he felt his own hand reach to cup her cheek. "my ghost, i'm sorry i couldn't keep you safe."

"'s not your fault, why would you be sorry?"

her eyes welled with tears, feathery wings fluffing up. "the moirai deprived you of a chance to live a full life because i was selfish and impatient. it's all my fault.

"you and i, my warrior, were built of one soul. four arms and four legs, like the humans, pulled apart by zeus. the moirai put you in harms way because i spent too much time with you." she sobbed. " atropos and lachesis took you from your life because i failed in my duty."

"why d'you think that's your fault? i'm a spartan, i was never gonna live that long." his free hand cupped her empty cheek. "half the time i only fought to catch a glimpse of you, love" he laid a soft kiss on the corner of her lip before pulling himself back.

as he pulled back, he saw a tear roll down the plump of her cheek. "you deserve better than a bitter old crow who ferries the souls of warriors to hades. you deserve better than the fate my sisters wove for you," second and third tears rolled to meet the first before being brushed away by his calloused hand.

"every minute of my life was waiting for you, love. i'd never regret my fate." he pulled her close and pressed her soft form to his hard chest.

when he pulled away, he saw hesitance on her face. "my warrior, you still must be judged. there's nothing i can do if the lords of judgement order you to drink from the lethe and walk the fields of asphodel for eternity. they take no influence from my mother or sisters, just dispense whatever they deem fair. i can't even wait with you."

he pulled away to clasp her hands within his and her wings involuntarily flitted. "i would face an eternity of damnation for the glimpses i got of you while i was alive, 's all worth it. take me to this judgement."

a deep frown creased the flawless face of his presence, his soulmate. she adjusted her hand in his to firm her grip before she began the walk to a crowded dock. at the edge, having slipped through the throngs of shades, she clenched her jaw and extended her wings. after triple-checking her grip on simon, she took off toward the distant light of hades.

the flight was once again breathtaking, the speed beyond anything simon could have dreamed of in life. within what felt like moments, they were at the columnar entrance of a great hall, devoid of color and life.

"lords of crete, lord of aegina, i present, for your judgement, the ghost of sparta." turning on her heels, she flew quickly from the hall of judgement. an onyx feather landed at simon's feet

the three judges sat at separate podiums, each pallid and devoid of the flushed complexion of flowing blood. unseen servants ushered simon onto the complex mosaic at the focal point of the podiums.

"so this is the spartan who sent so many to us, a prolific killer. have you any defense?" the left-most figure jeered down to simon.

"i only did my duty as a spartan, as a warrior."

"most of the time, yes, but let us not forget the crime of patricide," the right-most figure, red-tinted and angry looking, sneered down.

the middle figure responded, "minos, brother, patricide is permissible in prevention of filicide and uxoricide. you mustn't let your own death get the best of you again."

simon stood in silence as the dim figures argued back and forth, waiting with bated breath to hear his fate. following several minutes of debate, he felt three pairs of eyes weigh heavily on his form.

"your service to your people and honorable death have granted you a home in the elysian isles, despite your less than stellar history of crimes against your father."

simon felt compelled to bow before being pulled by unseen winds out of the hall. the winds guided him to a large, extravagant home, suited perfectly to his tastes.

on the kline couch, sat his angel of death, waiting to pull him into her arms.

[edupunkn00b]

Final three chapters are coming this week!!

French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 2: Sir Henri Juriste

Prev - Sir Henri Juriste - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ] Rated: T - WC: 2071 - CW: mild swearing

4 June 1789

Prince Roman slapped away the hand of the fourth courtier who attempted to straighten his brilliant red sash. "It's fine , leave it!" he snapped. Immediately, he lowered his head, eyes closed. "I apologize," his voice had softened with a resigned sigh. "I did not intend to lose my temper. I… I wish to be left to my own preparations, please."

The courtier’s eyes darted toward Remus and he nodded then waved gently to dismiss them all. The younger prince’s behavior was unusual, the shock painted on the dresser’s face said he'd clearly expected more trouble from Remus than from the younger—and more proper—brother.

Seemingly mindless of his silk and velvet overcoat, Remus draped himself over Roman's dressing table. "Something troubling you, little brother?"

Scowling, Roman crossed his arms and glared at him as he delicately perched on a stool. "We are in our majority. They needn't continue to treat us like children who cannot even dress themselves."

Remus blinked placidly at his brother, then looked down to fiddle with the dozens of tiny buttons that lined his fitted waistcoat. "I'm surprised, Ro… Aren't you the one always impressing upon me the importance of appearances when presenting at court?" He smirked, re-buttoning the top three buttons of his waistcoat and intentionally skipping one, leaving the top askew and a small but glaring ripple at his sternum.

Almost automatically, Roman reached to correct the error and Remus laughed. Roman's scowl deepened. "Fine, you've made your point." 

After allowing his brother to fix his buttons, he sat up straight and clapped his shoulder. "But that's not it, brother dear, is it?" They each chuckled at the old false term of endearment they would use when pretending not to fight in front of their father or the rest of the court. "Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?"

Roman stood facing the large, four paneled mirror next to his table. An extravagance like this was traditionally reserved for the first born, but Remus would barely look at the thing and instead would permit the dressers to ensure he was properly attired and then never gave his appearance another thought. Roman, however, would check and recheck his clothing, his wig, his face, always seeking to maintain perfection.

He frowned at his reflection. "Everything's about to change," he finally whispered, pressing his bright gold and red sash flat against his chest. Scoffing, he turned to face his brother. "Once we step through those doors, it will be official. You are the crown prince and I'm… I'm the next king's younger brother. Father used to tell me it didn't matter who was eldest by minutes. He never made me feel inferior to you in any way.” He smiled at Remus' frown. "And neither have you."

Roman let out a low sigh. "But out there… Now… now it's going to matter." He looked toward the hall and the gilded double doors that would ultimately lead them to their new ballroom. "Everyone I used to consider a friend is now…" He peered up at his brother. "Now all they'll want is to curry favor with the next King."

"Ro, if they're like that, then to hell with them." Roman's eyes widened at his brother's language and he blushed under his face powder. “Besides, Father’s not dead yet,” he smirked at Roman’s sharp glare. “We’re all thinking it.”

“I know… and I feel loathsome even thinking this way, but… You know it’s true.”

Remus frowned, tilting his head back against the mirror in such a way he'd make the wigmaker cry if she saw him. He straightened and met his brother's eyes. "Let's show them, then." He grinned wickedly and pulled off his green sash. Then he took off his heavy signet ring and handed both to Roman. "I have an idea."

~~~

As the brothers waited for the court trumpets and the opening of the doors to announce their arrival, Remus assured Roman that his clothes draped perfectly over his body, triple checking his seams were straight, his wig perfectly balanced. With more patience than the rest of the court had come to expect from the typically more volatile brother, Remus permitted Roman to do the same, smoothing down his sash and even darkening the stain on his lips and cheeks. “You never put on enough rouge,” he admonished under his breath as Remus laughed.

In honor of the occasion, they’d added extra green and red accents to each of their ordinary court ball attire, matching the tiles and bunting in the ballroom. “Good luck, Dauphin,” Remus murmured near Roman’s ear as the fanfare began and the guards moved to the doors.

“Likewise, your Royal Highness,” Roman replied with an indulgent tilt of his head. “Just don’t fidget.” Remus laughed just as the doors opened, then quickly stifled his outburst and shook himself with a little twitch. He looked out at the guests as they stood squinting at him and his brother, the lights behind them making it impossible for the gathered throng to see their features, while they could see everyone clearly. Madam Ivre had already drunk too much and was swaying slightly, completely out of rhythm with the music. Vicomte Lannes had apparently been mid-rant, one hand raised in the air, face fully flushed beneath his powder and rouge.

Near the staircase was the usual collection of courtesans and palace scandalmongers and Remus’ eyes nearly darted away. Until he saw him.

He stood in the center of the staircase, one foot still on the final step. Unlike most guests, he appeared unfazed by their steepness or the shorter height of each step. Remus smirked. That had been his idea for preventing their guests from becoming overly comfortable in the princes’ space. Instead, the man stood with shoulders back, chin up, and an expression on his face that suggested the princes were lucky he had deigned to attend.

The man wore gold-threaded black breeches and a matching cloak over creamy, butter yellow tights. The silk shoes were last year’s style but the smooth material glimmered  from across the dance floor. Scandalously, he even sported a bit of skin peeking out from the ruffles in his shirt, a subversion of the more constrained style usually favored at court.

His face was done up perfectly, with none of the cakiness so often seen in guests looking to impress and his eyebrows were left a rich, warm brown. Remus’ hands jerked with the sudden impulse to rush over and rip off his wig just to see and feel the locks hidden underneath. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the man’s eyes were trained in his direction, only relaxing when he reminded himself that everyone was looking in their direction.

Roman shifted slightly next to him and they called out together, “Isn’t this meant to be a celebration?” The court musicians began the twins' latest composition and Remus smiled. With a gentleman such as that at court, it was indeed a celebration. He had to meet him. Remus glanced at his brother, whose attention had already been stolen by the Vicomte du some shit, so Remus slipped through the crowd, smiling politely at the various guests’ greetings and, more than once, gently pairing more exuberant attendees together with a grin and a wink.

As he approached the mysterious guest—how did he not know who this was?—uncommon nerves twisted his gut. Of course Roman was the more sociable of the two at these sorts of events, managing to greet everyone and to come away with most of their names, connections that he added to the little red book he wore on a chain under his blouse. But Remus wasn’t completely useless at parties, and usually managed to meet and, again, more than once, enjoy the company of a few of the least sycophantic guests.

This man, though. No, Remus was certain he would have remembered seeing this man before. He approached and stood next to him, silently surveying the rest of the guests with him for a moment. Remus watched him out of the corner of his eye, his smile growing when the only outward sign of nerves he could spot was a tiny flush near the edge of his collar before his makeup began, and one short tug at each glove.

“Your Royal Highness,” he murmured, bowing slowly at the waist. Remus tilted his head in acknowledgement and pretended to return his attention to the rest of the dance floor. He couldn’t resist leaving the man to stew a bit before he asked him a question, implicitly granting him permission to speak further. Standing so close, Remus spotted his jaw tighten in irritation for a microsecond. He’s got a fire in him. I like it. There would be little bowing and scraping from this one.

Remus waited long enough that his own hands started to sweat. “I don’t recall ever seeing you at court before.” 

The man raised an eyebrow—one lovely, perfectly curved eyebrow—and smiled. “No, Your Royal Highness, you wouldn’t’ve. I’ve been away in the colonies. I returned last month.”

Accepting a drink from one of the server’s trays—a cute little thing with baby blue eyes and an awestruck face—Remus frowned. “Dreadful business in Pondichérry.”

The man wasn’t quite able to keep the surprise from his voice. “You are aware of the latest uprising?” He nodded to the server as he took a glass. “I would imagine affairs of state at that level were beneath the prince.”

Remus chuckled low in his throat, a sound of genuine pleasure. “Was that sarcasm?” He stepped closer, unwilling to hide his smile. “I could have your head for that.”

The man took a slow sip of his drink and Remus caught a small tremor in the man’s hand. “Yes, you could.” When he finally spoke again, his voice was steady. “But you won't.”

Head thrown back in laughter, Remus nodded. “You’re quite right about that.” He eyed the man, then finished his drink. Another server was by his side with a tray to take his empty glass before he'd swallowed. “You were there, saw it all with your own eyes,” Remus lowered his voice and spoke close to the man’s ear. “Do you think it hypocritical of the King to so ruthlessly crush a revolution clearly inspired by the American revolt he famously supported?” He enjoyed the momentary tremor in the man’s lips, their perfect rouge only accentuated by the little twitch that soon curled into a small smile.

“That's hardly court orthodoxy, I’m sure,” he replied, eyes wide beneath raised eyebrows. But he wasn't looking around them as though watchful for eavesdroppers. Instead, he openly appraised Remus’ face and the prince felt his own cheeks warm under the attention.

Minister Breteuil would certainly lecture him for hours if he’d heard what he'd said. It was hardly the court orthodoxy, and for anyone other than the Dauphin, the Crown Prince, it flirted with treason, and he could imagine the displeased scowls of the King's advisors—and half the court. But this fine gentleman… Remus’s mouth slowly stretched into a smile. This gentleman seemed almost pleased by the controversy.

“I do not believe you’ve introduced yourself yet,” Remus prompted, silently laughing at the aggrieved expression his lack of manners would have elicited from his brother had he heard.

To his credit, the man didn’t actually choke on his drink, but the tiny line of natural skin near his collar turned bright pink. None of it showed on the rest of his face, though. His makeup was heavier than it looked from a distance, and had been skillfully applied. Remus ran a hand over the red silk of his borrowed sash and suddenly worried whether his own makeup was still even.

“Of course, Your Royal Highness," the man spoke, his voice deep and smooth and showing no sign of the fading blush at the edge of his collar. "I am Sir Henri Juriste. He suddenly bowed deeply, as though remembering something. “It is an honor to meet you, Prince Roman.” His eyes lingered on Remus’ for a breath longer than court etiquette would deem proper.

Remus inclined his head with a smile as a new piece began. “It is a prince’s prerogative to dance with whomever he pleases.” He offered his hand, eyebrow raised. “And it would please me to dance with you, Sir Henri.”

Colorized versions of a public domain painting, Louis, Dauphin of France  by Maurice Quentin de La Tour, 1745, depicting the Crown Prince Remus Capetian (in green) and his younger twin brother, Prince Roman Capetian (in red).

[greetingfromthedead]

Tempest Wind Masterlist

Through a destined meeting, Vash found you, a lost soul much like himself, under the weirdest of circumstances, and he made a promise to follow you across any desert. That turns out to lead both of you down a path of self-discovery, love, and hurt. Vash's unlucky shadow drives the two of you from one crisis to the next, but there's nothing you can't overcome together.

Tempest Wind is a 18+ Vash x F!Reader fic with some spice, some gore, a bit of action and a lot of fluff, for added flavor there's angst too ofc.

The rating of 18+ comes mainly from the occasional dark themes and not so much of the smuttiness (as those parts are labeled and can be skipped without it really affecting the story).

NB: The content is mostly Trimax canon-typical violence/gore/themes, but I give warnings and summaries for the heavier chapters and smut so you can skip them if you want!

Tags/CW below the cut!

Tags/CW: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Action, Adventure, Slow Burn, Hurt, Emotional Baggage, Reader-Insert, badass female character, Eventual Smut, Healing, Immortality, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Implied/Referenced suicide, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, powers, Mentions of impregnation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Experimentation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Canon-Typical Violence, Gun Violence, Blood and Violence, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Established Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Tragedy, Protectiveness, Pre-Canon, Canon Universe, Injury, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, Tenderness, Illnesses, Scars, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Caretaking, During Canon, Creature Vash, Angel Vash, Body Horror, Body Worship, i'm shit at tagging, idk what im doing

COMPLETED: 84 Chapters / 165k words

C1: In Death

C2: Tracking Through the Desert

C3: Acts of Kindness

C4: Night Watch

C5: Birdbrain

C6: A Heavy Heart

C7: Midnight Run

C8: Odd Job

C9: A Wild Beast

C10: Wounds

C11: Laundry Day

C12: Language of Flowers

C13: Unlocked Horrors

C14: Sweet as Sugar

C15: Resemblance of Normality

C16: Taking Out the Trash

C17: Unfamiliar Experiences

C18: Moving On

C19: A Gut Feeling

C20: Gods and Angels

C21: Perfect Morning

C22: Renewed Conviction

C23: Dusty Memory

C24: Unexpected Visitors

C25: Guardian Angel

C26: Calamity J

C27: Playing Doctor

C28: Otherworldly Lullaby

C29: Patchwork

C30: Burn

C31: Towards New Horizons

C32: Stormy Emotions

C33: Tempest

C34: Desert Night

C35: Mayfly of Love

C36: Sign of Appreciation

C37: Plotting

C38: Execution

C39: Hands

C40: Storm Clouds

C41: Truth Unfurled

C42: Ray of Hope

C43: Lucky

C44: Sandstorm

C45: Back in a Lab

C46: Signals

C47: Glimpse of the Past

C48: Nature of Your Being

C49: Irises

C50: Frozen Dream

C51: Spring

C52: Worship

C53: Breakfast

C54: Experimented

C55: United Again

C56: Rest of Eternity

C57: Subject 0325

C58: Project HUMAN

C59: Comfort in Knowledge

C60: First Day of the Future

C61: Puzzle Pieces

C62: Day and Night

C63: Daylight Robbery

C64: Journey to December

C65: Snatchers

C66: Last Calm Breaths

C67: Dark Underworld

C68: Rescue Mission

C69: A Bloody Demon

C70: Time Catches Up

C71: Blame

C72: On to the Next Crisis

C73: Last Night

C74: Goodbye

C75: Fragments

C76: Talk of Love and Peace

C77: Uncanny Valley

C78: Lover's Face

C79: Ghost of You

C80: Happy Birthday

C81: A Paradise for You and Me

C82: Breaking of a Will

C83: Life and Death

C84: Epilogue

Demo Chapters modified into oneshots:

Womanizer - confined spaces affects Vash in a strange way and he has turned on his charm to try and seduce you.

Perfect Morning - domestic fluff, intimacy, mild smuttiness, shy Vash

Festivities - delusional bliss on an unfamiliar planet with weird traditions, ice skating and sweet Vash

Happy Birthday - You find yourself on a furry side quest and it turns into a very special birthday celebration that Vash puts on for you.

Mayfly of Love - Vash is tormented by a nightmare of losing you and his guilt for causing the Great Fall.

Starlight Dancing - Contains some minor spoilers for the main series. You've been spending a lot of time with Luida in her lab and Vash has felt left out because of it. To make up for it, you spend a magical evening in the biodome.

🔞 Burn - basically smuttiness with little actual plot

🔞 Desire - no plot, just porn. Often the quiet and shy ones surprise you...

🔞 Worship - Worshiping each other's bodies (Vash more so), just soft intimacy

You can also read it on other platforms: AO3! Wattpad! Quotev!

Check out my other stuff: MASTERLIST.

[blaisenova]

what's up gamers, sorry for disappearing for a while there. life's been kicking my ass lately LMAO

to all the people who've sent in requests, i'm working on them!! as for why they're taking so long, see above.

been writing some stuff on and off for a bit, and i'm sure my fellow writers know how it is. when inspiration for something hits, you just kinda shit it out and then move on. i try to put a little more effort into my requests LOL. but i love killer and i also love hurting him, so this is what came out of that. yippee!!

this one goes out to all the people with complicated romantic lives!!!!!!! i see you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so, take this piece of shit to tide you over. thank you guys for your patience <3

content is below the cut due to length and sensitive subjects. as always, it can be found on ao3 in the reblogs if that's your cup of tea.

cw/tw: major character death (offscreen, but a main point), implied/referenced toxic relationship, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, an all around shitty situationship

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grains of dust fell between his fingers and into his joints, making them crackle when he gripped the faded red scarf in his hands. It was so like when his brother had died, and there was something poetic about that thought, and that poetry was the highest insult the multiverse could have asked him to endure. Nevertheless, there was a distinct lack of snow, and, though his surroundings were deeply familiar – the cool toned darkness of the castle’s atmosphere, broken only by the warm, orange glow of the castle’s mounted lanterns – they would never be as familiar as limbo.

Dust piled beneath his knees, scraping against the bone and leaving it raw, but all Killer could do was press his forehead into the pile before him and hold his breath to prevent it from dispelling; to be as close as possible without disturbing the remains.

When a voice rang out from the shadows, he didn’t startle; its presence had been imminent from the start. It held the same chilled, deep tones of the castle, broken only by the warm dredges of poorly concealed laughter behind its words. Despite himself, Killer found that the tension in his bones melted away at the sound.

“So, you finally killed him.”

It wasn’t a question. There was no surprise.

Voice hoarse, Killer laughed, and the dust darted away from his breath and stuck to the liquid determination that marred his cheeks. “He was hurting me.”

Beside him, someone knelt. Fingers, dark with viscous negativity, ran through the particles and pressed it together testingly. The other hummed, then shook the dust from his hands, as if it were something dirty. Killer shouldn’t have felt so offended at the thought.

“Well, obviously,” Nightmare responded, voice flat with disinterest. “It’s about time that you did something about it.”

Clutching the scarf to his chest, Killer’s soul wobbled unsteadily, and he wheezed. “Do you think– Will– He’ll… He’ll be better when he comes back, right?”

At that, came Nightmare’s laughter – warm, comforting, and Killer hated himself at the feeling – and a hand came to rest against his back. Fingers danced what might have been soothing circles over the fabric of his jacket, coaxing out small noises of misery that Killer hadn’t realised he was holding back. “He’s not like you, Killer,” Nightmare hummed. “He won’t come back.”

At that, came Killer’s laughter – warm, comforting, and Killer hated himself at the feeling – and he curled further into the dust as it continued to try and run away. “Oh,” he breathed. Then, again, “oh. That’s– That’s not what I wanted.”

There was a beat of silence, and Killer breathed in the judgement in the lack of words. “Then,” Nightmare finally drawled, steady in a way Killer could not be, “what did you want?”

A sound was pulled from his chest at the question, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I just wanted it to stop hurting,” he hissed. “I… I didn’t want to lose him forever.”

With another hum, Nightmare’s fingers pressed more firmly into Killer’s back, drawing him out of wheezing breaths he hadn’t realised he’d been taking. “Why not, if he was hurting you?”

“Because I loved him,” Killer spat; immediately; bitterly. Then, through a lump in his throat, “love. Because I love him.”

For a moment, Nightmare’s steady ministrations faltered, as if the admission surprised him, though Killer was certain he must have known; must have felt it even through every other emotion that had led them here. Just as soon as he began to miss the touch, though, they started up again, and, once more, he choked on a sob as his soul spasmed against his chest. Each breath was suffocating and filled with dust, coating his bones from the inside out and sticking to him in a way that made him feel sick.

“I didn’t want this,” Killer repeated, like a plea. “What did I do wrong?”

It ran deeper than a slash across the chest and bones crumbling between his fingers, blood painting his sweater bright red. It must have. It must have been more than the final blow.

“I– I fucked up somehow,” he wheezed. “If I just knew how, I… I could have done better. Should have done better. Then, maybe…”

“There’s no point in trying to fix it now,” Nightmare chided, with a subtle gentleness that Killer might not have recognised if not for the tenderness of the hand that pressed between his shoulder blades reassuringly. “You’re agonising over your relationship with a corpse. It cannot hear your apologies.” A beat. “Although, perhaps, it wouldn’t matter even if it could.”

Sockets squeezing shut, Killer bit back a wail. His knuckles ached from the force with which he clung to the scarf, and the soreness extended to his chest, right where his soul sat. “I hurt him,” he said. “He’s gone.” 

All at once, he sat up, and Nightmare’s hand darted away in surprise, cyan socket wide. Dust speckled the dark streaks across Killer’s cheeks and clung to the bone where he’d feverishly pressed his skull against the pile, as if it might feel his touch and spring back to life. Dull, pale eyelights trembled in his sockets, and the expression of pity before him was blurry and unclear, though, something about that was a mercy. 

At the thought, Killer scrubbed at his sockets furiously, trying to deny himself the grace he didn’t deserve. The moment his vision cleared, however, it was blurred again by tears. Idly, he found himself thankful for the threadbare cloth in his hands, without which his fingers would have found their way to his soul and tried to pry the feelings out themselves; another mercy he refused to indulge.

“He’s gone,” Killer repeated. “I was in love with him. And, now, he’s gone, and it’s my fault. I hurt him.”

Through fuzzy vision, Killer watched Nightmare bare his teeth; it could have been a snarl, or maybe a grimace. “You’ll live.”

“I don’t want to live,” he wailed, unable to stop himself. He blinked, and tar-like tears smeared down his cheeks. They dropped down to his chin, then fell into his lap, and a choked sound of anguish left him as he realised the scarf was stained with them. The damage was done, though, and he sobbed louder as he pressed the cloth to his face. His words were muffled through the barrier, “I loved him. I loved him. Why did I hurt him? Why did he hurt me?”

“The multiverse is cruel,” Nightmare said, “and we are but inhabitants of it, carefully crafted to perpetuate its cruelty. You asked too much when you sought out happiness.”

“Then,” he breathed, pulling himself together long enough to speak, “what was I supposed to do?”

“You shouldn’t have fallen in love,” came the answer, simply. “Certainly, not you. Certainly, not with someone like him.”

His breath faltered once more, and something giddy made his soul tremble. A soft rattling emanated throughout his bones, nausea making some deep, magic based part of him broil and burn. He made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and held the scarf over his eyes as if going blind to the situation would make it disappear. “Maybe I deserve everything he ever did.”

With a huff that might have been laughter, Nightmare hummed, “Maybe you do.” He gestured to the messy pile of dust – the thin fabric of the scarf easily showing the shifting shadows – and Killer shuddered at the reminder. “And, maybe he did, too.”

At the notion, Killer’s shoulders sagged, and, tiredly, he shook his head. “Not him,” he whispered, reverent. “Never him.”

Again, came that laugh, and there was something frustrated in its bitter tones. “Oh, what a pedestal you’ve placed him on,” he drawled.

“Why don’t you care?” Killer spat, and anger sparked alongside despair like a match to gasoline. All of the exhaustion from before was driven away, and fevered fury took its place. His soul spasmed painfully as he finally yanked the scarf back down to face reality head on, staring Nightmare in the eye with a strange sort of determination to condemn himself. “He was yours, just as I am. Why don’t you care that he’s gone? Why don’t you care what I did to him?”

Refusing the vitriol that he’d been met with, Nightmare’s tone remained carefully even. “And, forget what he did to you?” His head tilted to the side curiously, and he regarded Killer’s crime with indifference. “You’re hardly being fair. It’s not as if you haven’t killed others for much less. It’s not as if he’s not just as replaceable as you.”

Tiredness returned, like a weight in his bones or a fist around his soul, making him wilt. Unconsciously, he leaned towards his king, and Nightmare mercifully closed the distance between them, allowing Killer’s skull to rest against his shoulder. Shame burned alongside misery as he found miniscule comfort in the familiar worthlessness. “No. He was different. He tried,” he mumbled. Then, insistently, “He tried, and he loved me. Who else has ever done that? For me? I don’t deserve it.”

“And, yet, it wasn’t enough,” Nightmare replied, and Killer couldn’t help but cringe at the callousness.

“Well, it should have been,” he persisted. “It should have been enough for me.”

“And, yet,” he repeated, “it wasn’t.”

Scoffing, Killer shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest. He hoped that he looked as small as he felt. “Gee, thanks, Nightmare,” he murmured. “Like I wasn’t already feeling like a piece of shit.” Then, with another scoff and marked bitterness, “I mean– Shit, it’s not even like I was asking for very much, right? Or– Or, I was, I guess, but it shouldn’t be so hard… right? How many people are there in the multiverse that have perfectly healthy relationships? Where they feel like people? Why not me?”

He ran a hand over his skull with an exasperated laugh, pressing his forehead against his knees. “I mean, I know why not. I’m not a person, but is it so much to ask that someone pretends? That… That I don’t fuck everything up without even trying? That I don’t deserve to be hurt?” he hissed, sharply. “That I don’t earn mistreatment simply by being?”

Thick, black rivulets of determination fell from his sockets, and Killer raised his head once more, meeting the chilling cyan of Nightmare’s gaze and feeling an awful lot like he was asking for answers he didn’t really want. “He was trying, Night. I know he was. I saw it,” he insisted, though his words grew soft as his shoulders slumped forward again. “What does it say about me that even when someone is trying not to hurt me, I make them do it anyway? Without even meaning to?” 

He cringed, the tips of his fingers pressing into his bone with a satisfying sting. “And, then, I hurt them back. God, like I don’t deserve it when they do it, right? Like– Like they did?” His gaze went back to the pile of dust. “Like he did? I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t, but I did it anyway, knowing it would hurt, because I’m so selfish that I wanted it to stop hurting me. Like it would ever stop hurting, even if he was gone.”

Finally, Killer fell silent, with a shrug that he could only hope would communicate everything he could no longer force past the lump in his throat and the way his soul wobbled painfully in front of his chest, fighting to make him feel all of the emotions he’d crushed down and bottled up for so long. His sockets burned unpleasantly, but he didn’t dare blink, afraid that the motion would start up a sickening sort of sobbing that he wouldn’t be able to stop until he passed out or died. An unfitting way to go for someone like him; it would hurt, but not enough; never enough, when wallowing in his own self-pity.

When he looked up, he was met with the scrutinising glare of Nightmare’s eyelight, and he felt himself unconsciously straighten, as if that would make him appear any less pathetic.

“Do you know what I think?” Nightmare began, haltingly. “I think… you’re reading too much into the actions of someone who was just as broken as you. Regardless of his intentions, he hurt you, and, now, you’ve hurt him. And, the worst part?” he hummed, almost pleasantly. “It was entirely inevitable. You shouldn’t have fallen in love, Killer.”

Not trusting himself enough to speak, all he could do was nod.

“Pick up the dust of your ruined relationship,” Nightmare continued, and he gently knocked Killer’s skull away from his shoulder as he urged him towards the scattered pile. “Store it away somewhere that you won’t forget; close to your heart, but not in it. Then, move on. There’s nothing more you can do now but that.”

Shaking eyelights, darting from the dust to the tattered scarf gripped between his fingers, stared down at the macabre display of an end that was, in many ways, poetry; poetry of insult. He swallowed his agony. “Will that make it stop hurting?”

Without looking up, Killer could feel the way that Nightmare regarded him, somewhere between disdain and pity. “No,” he said. “But, it’s a start.”

Another dust filled urn on the mantel, each gathering a thin layer of grime that dulls the shine of their golden casket with time. This one would remain golden for a while, like the last, marred by nothing but fingerprints from when he would take it from its place and hold it in his arms. But, eventually, it, too, would lose its beckoning lustre, and its tarnish would mean healing.

Another dust filled urn on the mantel, and here’s to many more.

[nekrosdolly]

rotted

a month after the s.t.a.r.s incident and wesker's timely disappearance leaves you by yourself on the fateful day of the raccoon city incident.

cw; graphic depictions of gore and eating flesh, zombies (obviously), body horror, gun violence (referenced and actual), major character death (you're already dead).

a/n; you're married to wesker, this follows the canon timeline.

october 1st, 1998. the day of the sterilization of raccoon city. your last day alive.

alive as can be, that is.

your flesh rots off your body. the t-virus runs rampant in your veins, leaving you brainless and very, very contagious. your bite is a mark of death on the living. and yet as fast as they run, you catch up.

you rip flesh from bone, unable to register the screams of the living. nothing in your body functions properly anymore.

and it's all his fault. your beloved's fault. he released the virus in the arklay mountains, but he had no clue you'd be among the first to get infected. when discovered, you got locked in your apartment with the doors and windows boarded up.

he finds out too late- a last minute trip to raccoon city to get you out before they sterilize the entirety of arklay county. you're already dead. he's been so irresponsible with you. you lie on your side on the cold linoleum floor of your kitchen, blood draining from you to form a large dark puddle.

minutes. he has minutes with your corpse before you begin to twitch and convulse with the false hope of life. he doesn't know what to do. he can't just put you down- that's not right. you're not some animal- some thing to discard like trash. he can't-

your corpse emits a low groan. your irises are drained of all color as you sit up, bullet holes in your chest from someone trying to defend themself. their corpse lies not far from yours, partially eaten. blood slathered on your lips from their wounds, their gun still in their hand.

"dove," he starts, voice quiet and unwavering. nothing feels quite real for albert in the moment. the smell of death is everywhere, the theme itself overwhelming in your tiny apartment. he looks around your ruined apartment- blood on the walls, obvious signs of struggle that came from you, then your victim.

his sense of urgency returns. he has to leave unless he wants to die here, alongside you- which he only considers for a moment. he rushes to your room, relieved to find it mostly intact and finds a tote bag you kept around, though it mostly went unused. an afterthought, like you were. he grabs your perfume, the bottle half empty and somewhat old, and places it in the tote bag amongst other things that might contain traces of your dna- your hairbrush, your toothbrush, even dirty clothes from your hamper. he's trying to get keepsakes, to contain his memories of you in items you once owned. the last item he takes from your room is a framed photo of you two together.

he doesn't bother using the front entrance. you've likely gotten up and started to wander around, hungry for flesh to feed on, and he refuses to be a snack for the undead even if it is you. as he climbs onto the fire escape, ripping the wooden boards out of the way, your corpse pushes the door to your room open.

"a…l…" you groan. he can't take this. seeing you mangled and rotted, your lips practically melting off of your face. reluctantly, he takes out his gun and checks the chamber. he turns the safety off and cocks the gun before shooting you squarely in the head, grey matter splatting on the hallway wall behind you. you stumble back and go stiff when you really, actually die.

your little life, gone. the fires of the city burn hot and albert really, really doesn't want to leave you here again. how could he do that to you the first time? you were supposed to be the love of his life. he takes a final glance around your room from the fire escape, your wedding band glimmering on the nightstand.

he curses himself as he hurries back inside to grab it, sparing you another wistful glance as he slips it in his pocket and finally leaves your apartment for good.

luckily for him, he makes it out before the sterilization bomb ever hits. he has the next eleven years planned out perfectly in his mind and the absence of you has already started to wear at him.

he goes to rockfort island for the t-veronica virus and brings your things with him. everywhere he goes, so does your stuff. truthfully, before running into chris and claire, he had been moping. grieving. he slept with a shirt of yours pressed to his nose, your wedding ring on a chain around his neck. he keeps your toothbrush beside his. to say he missed you, and still does, is an understatement.

he should have died with you.

[baldurs-writers-3]

Angst: A BG3 Rec List

This week, we have Angst!  Check under the cut for 12 fics that include a lot of that oh so tasty pain (both emotional and physical!), and as always, comment and kudos if you like them!

The lick of poison by astarionfreak (4994,Explicit) Warnings: Sex pollen, fuck or die, dubious consent, forced orgasm Pairings: Astarion/Naenia (Fem!Tav)

This is a sex pollen/fuck or die fic. Naenia is the only one affected. Astarion has some complex feelings about consent. It's set in Act 1 in the Underdark.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Daisies On My Nightstand by Thedrowlock on AO3 and bhaalbabebardlock on tumblr (158000,Explicit) Warnings: PLEASE be mindful of all tags and chapter notes especially as you progress through the story. This fic takes a hard, hard dive into dead dove territory at chapter sixty and stays there (the angst stays too). This is an ongoing, updates almost daily longfic. Part one is almost complete. Pairings: Named Dark Urge (Ilara)/Astarion; Ilara/Gortash, Ilara/Shadowheart, Ilara & Raphael, Ilara/A!Astarion

The story of a Bhaal-spawn who only ever wanted her freedom, and how far she'll go to find it.

Reccer says: I liked it!

In Another Life (I Found You) by grovyrosegirl (74380,Mature) Warnings: Violence, Death, Grief, Kidnapping, Emotional/Psychological Abuse Pairings: Gale/Tav

Five years after the Netherbrain’s defeat, Gale and Connie (Tav)’s happy married life is interrupted when Connie is suddenly kidnapped by a mysterious intruder. This intruder turns out to be another Gale, from a world where he claimed the Crown of Karsus.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Deo volente by cyranonic (33529,Mature) Warnings: astarion's past is mentioned, so i guess TW: Astarion :( Pairings: Astarion/Gale

Astarion is having a shitty time post game, miserable without the sun. Gale is having a miserable time as well. Watch them drag each other down even worse!

Reccer says: a darker look than many fics at what could occur after the game is over, with some characters feeling abandoned. Super well written in general, great Astarion voice.

Oathbreaker by Mellybaggins (173240,Explicit) Warnings: Major character death, rape/non-con, religious trauma, some dead dove content Pairings: Tav/Astarion, Tav/Halsin, Tav/OC

A longfic about an oathbreaker paladin navigating the events of the game, and working through her own memories of why she broke her oath.

Reccer says: It seems like a standard Tav fic at first, but takes a sharp turn into OC territory when Raphael messes with her memories.

jackrabbit by tomorrowsrain (15589,Teen) Warnings: past abuse (really, CW: Astarion :( ) Pairings: Astarion & Karlach, Astarion & Wyll

Astarion wakes up on the beach in the sun and realizes he has a chance at becoming a person again. Maybe.

Reccer says: Seriously one of the best examinations of Astarion's transformation during the game from the start of act 1 to mid act 2 that is out there. A treasure to read.

You'll hate me (make love) by astarionfreak (5305,Explicit) Warnings: Character About to Die, Smut, Sad and Sweet, Angst, Bittersweet Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Ascended Astarion pretends to be his spawn self as Tav's dying wish and they fuck on his grave.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Diary of a Dark Consort by NottaBear (8,619 and growing ,Mature) Warnings: Implied/Referenced sexual assault, emotional manipulation Pairings: Named Tav/Ascended Astarion

A found diary style story following the life of a Vampire Lords consort.

Reccer says: I liked it!

i still want to live by fetch_me_penguins (7750,Explicit) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Jaheira, Tav & Jaheira

An angsty take on the premise of Cazador kidnapping Tav to replace the spawn she killed on the Ascension ritual and to teach Astarion a lesson on obedience.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Ruin. by Thedrowlock (3859,Explicit) Warnings: Major character death, smut Pairings: Astarion/f! reader

It's been five years since you left The Vampire Ascendant and everything he offered you, but now you're back to handle him. Why is that so hard?

Reccer says: I liked it!

Stolen Futures by onlymine139 (2530,General) Warnings: Major character death Pairings: Gale/Tav

Gale and Tav journey to Waterdeep to start their new life together, only to be interrupted by a devastating realization.

Reccer says: Just some good old fashioned heartbreak.

when the work needs doing, she will see it done by vampireposter (7940,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: The Dark Urge & Jaheira

A small neglected and abused child attempts to assassinate Jaheira, so she adopts her about it

Reccer says:

The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! 

Next week, we’ll be back with Fluff Fics!

[batrogers]

My AO3 Contents Masterpost

So I've been having some frustrations finding old fiction on my AO3, so after cleaning up my That Broken Promise masterpost I thought... I could do one for all my Zelda stuff, right?

Right.

......

This is really long (like, ~100 things) I'm so sorry. ETA: Pending me figuring out if I can get it to let me update this LOLSOB

Fics below are organized into: Long fics General Zelda Short fics PWP Art Other Zelda AUs

See the above That Broken Promise masterpost for my own AU fics.

Some notes on my writing:

I am a multi-shipper, and I write for multiple AUs, multiple games, and sometimes write mutually exclusive pieces to explores different ways the same scenario can go.

Unless things specifically say they're related to each other (and sometimes even when they do) there may be obvious or not-so-obvious contradictions in things like age, gender, body types, race, and relationships. While the broad strokes of world-building are usually the same or similar, and if not specified you can pick your favourite, I do not hold continuity to be the most important feature in what is, at the end of the day, a long-running series of one-shots.

While I will aim to make broad statements on content warnings and rating per fic below, please know that my works will run the gamut from G-rated fluff to E-rated graphic sex, death, and violence. Sometimes all in the same story.

While there is a PWP category, stories that have more plot than sex will be filed elsewhere.

MY LONG FICS:

BLUE GEM EARRINGS, (unfinished) novelization of Ocarina of Time adult era, after answering how does seven years lost make one ready to wield a sword? What if it was seven years lived in another time? Rated M, 38K. Complete up to the end of Water Temple.

THE PRINCE OF HYRULE, a “first Calamity” fic, mostly written pre-TOTK coming out with some minor trailer/game details. MCD/Graphic violence tragedy. Zelda does not know she's Zelda (trans), and Link does not know he's Link (human Zonai.) M-rated, 38K words.

IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH, a standalone Link’s Meet horror fic set in Breath of the Wild. (Temporary) Major Character Death and Graphic violence, and did I mention this was horror? E-rated, 55K words.

A CANDLE IN THE DARKNESS, Ravio’s POV of Link Between Worlds, why he left and how he took care of Link. Graphic violence, and brief references to past dubcon Ravio/Yuga. Rated M, 18K words.

JUST BREATHE, a (very old) novelization of Breath of the Wild, based off my second playthrough of the game. CW for graphic violence, temporary character death and implied/referenced past sexual abuse. Rated M, 148K words.

Related to Just Breathe, are two works:

FIVE THINGS NEVER REMEMBERED, rated M for mature themes, implied non-con, and death aftercare.

TO THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, rated M for graphic violence and implied MCD: the story of the last four pictures of the memories.

GENERAL ZELDA: (in roughly timeline order)

[Note: some of these are listed elsewhere as That Broken Promise backstory fics, but the ones included here do not require familiarity with the AU to understand.]

MY DAUGHTER WILL NEED A SWORD, pre-Skyward Sword era. Fierce Deity/Hylia, human!Fierce Deity fic. Rated M for sex, graphic violence, and MCD.

WHERE DEMONS HAVE GONE BEFORE, post-Skyward Sword ZeLink, rated M for graphic injury and fade-to-black sex.

RAGE AGAINST THAT DYING LIGHT, post-Ocarina of Time. Implied past GanLink, renewed Civil War. Rated E for war crimes, graphic violence and MCD.

SECOND CHANCES, crackship Wind Waker Ganondorf/Fierce Deity. Rated M for near-drowning, discussion of past trauma, and consensual sex.

THOUGH THERE BE FURY ON THE WAVES, post-Phantom Hourglass/post-Wind Waker fic with CD-i Easter Eggs. Rated E for graphic violence towards a minor, among other things.

IN THE HAND OF FATE, Twilight Princess puppet Zelda fight. Rated E for graphic violence (including mouth trauma) and temporary character death.

FIVE TIMES LINK HURT HIMSELF (AND WHEN HE STOPPED) Four Swords Adventures. Rated M for interpersonal violence and mature themes.

REFLECTIONS OF AN UNFAMILIAR FACE, Hyrule Warriors, Link finds Ravio. Rated T for mature themes, and implied dubcon/noncon.

CIGAR, Hyrule Warriors, Spirit Tracks-as-Toon Link, Link shipping. First kiss fic, rated M for making out and smoking.

IN ACCORDANCE WITH ORDERS, Hyrule Warriors, abusive Lana and Spirit-Tracks-as-Toon Link, Linkshipping. Rated M for abusive relationship dynamics, discussion of dubious consent, and attempted murder.

MINE. Hyrule Warriors Link was given a “gift” by Lana early in the war, to make him more of the Hero everyone expected him to be but now that it’s over he wants things back the way they were. Rated M for discussion of past abuse, flashbacks, and body/gender dysphoria.

KISS ON THE CHEEK, rated M

TWO PATHS DIVERGE, Post-Link to the Past, pre-Oracles, Link finished his adventure and never wanted to hold a sword again. He married, and had children, and then the Gods laid down another blow. Rated T for dark, mature themes.

SUSHI, rated M

A NEW AGE, post-Zelda I/pre-Zelda II. Link discovers the blood curse, and finally reaches out to Zelda for help. Rated M for graphic violence and mature themes.

THE LOST LITTLE BIRD, Age of Calamity sword pull, rewritten to answer why Link didn't have the sword already. Rated T for mature themes and moderate violence.

DESERVED, post-BOTW Link confronts Zelda about things she won’t tell him about his past. Who decides what he deserves to know or not?

WANTS AND NEEDS, post-TOTK. Link loses his arm to complications after rescuing Zelda and has to cope. Rated M for graphic injury and PTSD. Technically incomplete but works for now as standalone.

TAXATION IN HYRULE, Exactly what it says on the tin kind of meta analysis. Rated G.

SHORT FICTION: (in roughly timeline order)

SHE OFFERED A CHOICE (about Farore & the Fierce Deity)

SHEPHERD'S PIE (OoT MaLink)

WAGES OF WAR (Post-OoT Link & the Gerudo)

SCOLD'S BRIDLE (FSA Vio Link)

YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO GET HURT (FSA, Shadow/Vio)

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS (HW Link & Sheik)

WHO HURT YOU (HW Toon Link & Link)

A NEW FRIEND (BOTW Link & Guardian concept art)

BOTTOMLESS SWAMP (BOTW Link & Malice damage)

FLINCH (BOTW Zelda & Link)

WATCHFUL NIGHTS (LU Time & Legend)

GORE SNIPS (Collected M & E rated short violence)

FLUFF DUMP (Collected G-M rated short fiction)

PWP & NON-CON: (in roughly timeline order)

THE DEMON KING, Skyward Sword era Fierce Deity. Demise/Fierce Deity, sensual graphic violence.

ISLE OF SONGS, Link/Ghirahim non-con, Ghirahim discovers what best makes LInk squirm.

A DRINK OF THE FORBIDDEN CUP, Twilight Princess ZeLink, graphic consensual BDSM violence and sex.

ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, Hyrule Warriors. Cia/Link & Lana/Link non-con, restraint and coercion.

SILENT GUARDIANS, Hyrule Warriors. Volga/Link bad idea sex, with a hurt/comfort ending.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST, Hyrule Warriors. Zelda/Link consensual sex

MOUTHFUL OF FLESH, Hyrule Warriors era Yuga gets his hands on Spirit Tracks-as-Toon Link and has some fun. Non-con, gags, paralysis, and blood play.

DEFY AND DEFINE THE DARKNESS, Yuga/Ravio, dubcon turned noncon, torture.

LOCK PICKS, mid-Link Between Worlds. Ravio & Link, and implied dubcon Ravio/Yuga, non-con body modification and chastity play.

TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME, Bozai/Link non-con/graphic violence, implied temporary character death.

WAIT FOR ME TO COME AROUND AGAIN, Calamity/Zelda MCD non-con. BOTW bad ending.

SAW THE GOLD RETURN TO RUST, Zelda/Link & Calamity horrors, non-con/graphic violence and temporary character death. Post-BOTW, pre-TOTK.

MURDER WITH BENEFITS, bad ending post-TOTK, Demon King Ganondorf/Fierce Deity, graphic violence and dubcon sex.

SON OF THE DESERT WINDS, TOTK Ganondorf/Rauru, political dubcon turned noncon with eye scream body horror.

PRIVATE COMFORTS, Serial Numbers Filed Off Link/Link porn. Consensual sex.

ART:

WAGES OF WAR, rated E for violence, post-Ocarina of Time torture

BUT NOT LIKE THIS, rated E, comic of “Rage Against That Dying Light”

LAST NIGHT, rated E for non-con, Yuga/Ravio

OBEDIENCE, rated M for BDSM, Hilda/Ravio

JUST A GAME, rated E for violence, artwork for “Having Fun Yet?” by @triforce-of-mischief

WELCOME HOME, rated E for sex, BOTW GanLink

LINKED UNIVERSE FICS: @linkeduniverse

SHINING EYES, in which Time is possessed and the Chain must get him freed and hope the cure for what ails them isn’t worse than the illness. Rated T for moderate violence.

BREAKING THE FAITH: Time handles being back among the Gerudo, even in someone else’s world, poorly. Rated M for attempted murder and mature themes.

RAVIOLI INTERRUPTED, in which Ravio sends the Chain on to the city so he can have some alone time with his lover. Rated M for sensuality.

THE DOLLMAKER: What kind of person makes the dolls that so often saved Hyrule’s life? What would she be like? Rated M for graphic violence and temporary character death. Leads into a series all its own, ALL THE LITTLE DOLLS.

YOU'RE NOT ALONE, Wind wakes up bleeding and has to ask Hyrule what’s wrong. Rated G, talk of menstruation.

SKIN & GOLD, in which Time must save Legend from Gerudo slavers and try not to lose his composure in the face of Twinrova being... kind? Rated T for mature themes.

BROWSING AMONG THE LILIES, Time returns home and Malon does her best to comfort him. Rated E for consensual sex.

MAKE IT STOP, Ravio comes to see his lover after Warriors writes to tell him he is very unwell. Rated G.

DON'T TOUCH MY BROTHER, In Wild’s era, Hyrule catches someone talking to his brother in an unpleasant way. Rated T for brief violence and sexual harassment.

KNOWING ONLY MAKES IT HARDER, Warriors pushed himself to exhaustion until Sky drugged him to spare him further injury, but he does not take being tricked well at all. Time talks him down. Rated G

THROUGH THE VALLEY, in which the Chain winds up somewhere nearly pitch black where Wild’s Slate says they’re in the Gerudo Desert but they very much are NOT. Rated E for graphic violence and temporary character death.

IN THE DARK, POV swap of Through the Valley into Warriors POV. Rated M for graphic violence and temporary character death.

DO YOU TRUST ME, in which Legend gets pollen in his mouth from a strange plant in a strange, dark realm in Wild’s world and has a bad trip. Rated G. This fic got art from @kikker-oma during Fan Joy July!

CARMELIZE. Twilight never really wondered why Warriors watched him cook before. He honestly barely noticed he did it at all, until suddenly he moved to leave. Rated G.

SEARED AND TURNED, Warriors has a nightmare, but he doesn’t want to bother anyone with the details. Rated T, for graphic nightmare imagery.

UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, Malon writes Time with a question about how her beloved husband, who most definitely cannot get her pregnant, did so anyways. She has her suspicions. Rated M for sensual descriptions in epistolary fic.

TOO MANY QUESTIONS, Wind is curious and Hyrule’s happy to answer his questions, but some things are too specific to brush off as unimportant how he came to that conclusion. Rated M for frank discussion of sex acts.

LINK HEART-EATER. Hyrule got a nickname long before he was in the Chain, and before he ever killed Ganon in fact. It’s the kind that can come back to bite you. Rated E for graphic violence.

THINGS BEST LEFT UNSAID, in which Time, Warriors & Twilight get drunk and complain about politics and home and things some of the others never thought they’d hear. Rated T for mature themes.

LANGUAGE BARRIERS, AND OTHER THINGS. Warriors finally notices something odd about how Twilight’s Zelda speaks of him. Rated G.

MERMAID LAKE, Ravio comes to visit the Chain, and Warriors tells him Legend went off to the lake to blow off steam. Ravio knows exactly what that means. Rated M for sex.

FIRST, YOU MUST FORGIVE YOURSELF, Sky is having a hard time after being kidnapped and tortured, and Time tries to talk him down. Rated M for discussion of sexual violence.

SCOURING LIGHT, rated T

THE UNSPOKEN PAST, rated T

WIND AND RAIN, rated G

HOW DIFFICULT TO SAY, rated M

CLOSET DOORS, rated T

ALL THE HARM I'VE EVER DONE, rated M

ZELDA'S LULLABY, rated E

BAIT & SWITCH, rated T

ZARVASACE'S DARK CHAIN FICS: zarvasace

WRAPPED AROUND MY FINGERS LIKE A PROMISE, Warriors' Shadow loses a fight with Dark Sky, and has an unpleasant time recovering from burst eardrums and blindness. Rated M for graphic threats of violence.

THE TRUTH IS DROWNED, Twilight receives a letter asking for his help finding a missing member of their Shadows, and he's never been good at refusing to help kids... No matter how much Wind and his Shadow would both protest the word. Rated M for mature themes, graphic injury, and torture.

LINKED UNIVERSE x THAT BROKEN PROMISE FICS: @thatbrokenpromise

LARKS STILL BRAVELY SINGING, aka LU Time meets TBP Kokiri and things explode. Rated T for attempted murder.

GOLDEN BROTHERS, aka TBP Kokiri has to gree LU Legend from Gerudo slavers, then reaches out to LU Time for even a chance at revence. Rated T for mature themes.

NEAR MISS, aka Cia tries to fuck with the Chain & the TBP Gang at the same time, and TBP Prince is having none of her shit. Rated T for moderate violence; sequel to "I Know What Will Happen" and prequel to "At What Cost?" by @triforce-of-mischief

WIND GETS "THE TALK," where TBP Far and LU Hyrule discover the boy has questions and they are both very sure he needs to know these answers. Rated M for frank discussion of sexual topics.

RECALLED AU FICS: @recalled11

SEE SKY RUN, Creatures in the sky knock him off his loftwing and keep him down, on unsafe ground that has no mercy for old injuries or new. Rated M for near-death, graphic violence.

IF IT CAN DIE, I CAN KILL IT, Legend hates lightning, and if there’s a monster setting it off he’s going to make it pay for that. Rated T for moderate violence.

MANGLED WILD, Down in the Depths, Wild, Captain, and Sky come across a Frox and Wild forgot just how fast they can move. Rated E for graphic violence and near-death. @l3ominor did a comic of this as well!

SNAKE BITE, Legend comes up from a cave with a dead snake, and nobody’s sure if its poisonous or not. Rated T for near-death.

NOT MY PROBLEM. Legend wanders the Great Plateau, to be anywhere but near the damn gloom hands the others are handling, and finds a cave. He’s not the first of their group in there. Rated G.

KICK THE DOG, rated E

AGELESS SOUL AU FANWORKS: @ageless-soul-au

BE STILL, Wild knows their boyfriend doesn't take injury well. Rated E for graphic violence. (Has art!)

TWO OF SIX, Hyrule, Warriors, and Legend meet the Dollmaker. She’s very happy to see them, even though she’s already got company – but Hyrule is always her favourite guest. Rated M for off-screen temporary character death and coercion.

INTO THE DEEP, The Chain is in their distant past, before First was ever even alive to find answers. Unfortunately, someone else is already there too. Rated M for graphic injury and temporary character death.

[laughroditee]

Survivor's Prayer

Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley Summary: Simon during The Cliff Scene™. CW: canonical major character death, implied/referenced major character death, grief Word Count: 100 The prompt for this 100-word drabble challenge (organized by @farahfriday) is excerpted from "Summer Song," a poem by George Barker: "Great summer sun, great summer sun, Turn back to the never-never Cloud-cuckoo, happy, far-off land Where all the love is true love, and True love goes on for ever."

The orange sun blazed in the sky, painting the world with fiery hues as it sank below the sea, extinguished. 

Simon’s grip on the urn was tight, but it felt like he wasn't holding anything at all.

Not even a heartbeat.

He longed to feel the heat of the Sun on his face, to bask in his warmth, like in those days of neverending summer.

But he couldn't. The Sun set, and his world grew dark.

He gripped the urn again, the grave chill making him shiver.

Shine your light on me again, bright Sun, and burn me to ash.

[edupunkn00b]

(excited, happy, dance) Final three chapters are coming this week!

French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 1: The Crown Prince Remus Capetian

The Crown Prince Remus Capetian - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ] Rated: T - WC: 2695 - CW: gun mention

I’ll never be your king I’ll never be your king No, I’ll never be your (Off with his head!) - King by Foreign Figures

Colorized version of a public domain painting, Fighting at the Hotel de Ville, 28th July 1830 by Jean Victor Schnetz.

Summer, 1830, Café Procope

A young man slouched over the bar looked up and tapped his empty glass against the worn surface. “One more, one more… s’il vous plait, garçon… ah—” the bartender turned around, the scattered grey in his curly blonde hair and the crows feet lining the edges of bright blue eyes now evident even to the drunk patron. He stumbled over his apology. "Pardonne moi, Monsieur… S’il vous plaît," He held up one finger and looked beseechingly at the aproned man through his over-long bangs, even his slurred words unable to hide the charm behind his crooked smile. "One more drink before I go.”

The bartender smiled but shook his head and instead set down a steaming cup of coffee as he cleared away the empty tumbler. “You are drunk, Monsieur Gamin.”

“I… non …” he shook his head and stood. The pistol haphazardly tucked into the back of his belt clattered to the floor.

A large hand gripped his shoulder as he stooped to retrieve it. “Friend,” the low volume didn’t match the gruffness in his voice. “Come, sit with me. We will have coffee together. You haven't lived until you've tasted Le Fiston's brew.” As the drunken man reached for the gun, the other snatched it up, checked the chamber and emptied the bullets into his palm. He quickly pocketed them.

“Give me back my gun! I have business with—” The young man straightened and was faced with the top button of the much taller man’s waistcoat. He looked up and a pair of kind eyes looked down at him, a smile almost hidden behind a scruffy mustache and beard.

“One coffee with me, and listen to my story. Then, I will give you back your gun.” He offered his hand to shake. A small gold ring glinted on his hand, polished sufficiently to gleam in the low light of the pub. “Do we have an agreement?”

The young man stared at his outstretched hand for a long while. The other was at least a foot taller, with broad shoulders and the thick build and crooked nose of someone who may have once been a fighter. Or a soldier. “Entendu.” He frowned when the taller man pocketed his pistol and gestured toward a small table in a quiet corner of the pub. He eyed the man who held his gun, then the bartender who somehow managed to look even stronger, if softer on the edges. He sat down at the table and the other man sat across from him, smirking behind his beard.

“Le Fiston called you Gamin?”

He nodded but the other man just held his glare. “Call me Virgil,” he finally mumbled.

“Virgil! Come to lead us through hell into our salvation at last?" With closer observation, the bearded man appeared equally far from sobriety. "Too bad Dante died years ago." Virgil frowned and glanced toward the bartender, trying to catch his eye, but his back was turned, hands busy clanking cups and pots together over a tiny wood stove behind the bar. The rich scent of steamed milk wafted through the small pub. "But that does not explain to what business you are so urgently headed that you require a loaded sidearm.” The bearded man leaned heavily over the table and peered closely at him. It was too dim to clearly discern the color of his eyes, but they were dark and heavy with the weight of experience. "Where are you taking that gun?"

“I don’t believe our agreement including telling you anything about my business, Monsieur.”

The bearded man smiled, nodding at the bartender as he set down two heavy mugs of coffee, a pitcher of milk and a tiny bowl of sugar. “Thank you, Fiston.” He offered the milk and sugar to Virgil, but he declined, taking a healthy chug of the hot coffee. The other man took his time adding milk and sugar, slowly stirring as he looked down into his cup. Virgil fidgeted, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket and eyeing the door. 

Finally he scowled up at the man. His grizzled beard and mustache made his expression difficult to read. “You still have not told me your name,” he snipped.

“That’s right.” He didn't look up. “I haven't.” He stirred his coffee, then delicately tapped his spoon against the lip of the cup before setting it down on the saucer. He took a sip, then quietly set the cup back in its place. “Tell me, Virgil… What do you know of the fall of the house of Capetian?”

~~~

6 June 1789

A stilted string melody echoed out from the ballroom, bouncing around the stuffy marble vestibule, assaulting Janus’ ears before he had even finished walking past the palace guards and set a toe on the grand staircase. Rumor had it the twin Capetian princes had personally designed the ballroom entry with a steep, rickety set of stairs leading to the entrance, forcing guests to huff their way up, gripping the thin railing and dampening their silk gowns with sweat. Then, trembling with anxiety and exertion from their climb, they were left on full display as they teetered down the wide, curved steps that led to the red and green marble dance floor below.

He swore under his breath. It was an effective way to remind their guests just who ran the show, and, indeed, the country. 

Luckily, Logan’s research had prepared him for the twin’s sadistic design. His friend's research had prepared him for a great deal of this evening’s festivities. From the moment Janus had slunk into the seat opposite Logan’s at the Café de Foy, brandishing the invitation stolen from one Vicomte du Quille, Janus and Logan had worked meticulously at their scheme. If they had any hope of supporting the movement’s efforts to metaphorically breach the castle and finally bring the King and his sons to justice, they would need information and contacts to gather influence in the court, and, by extension, the ministers who enacted the King's policies.

“Look what I have, my dear Logan,” Janus had murmured as he slid the sealed scroll across the table. Logan adjusted his eyeglasses and glanced over the top of his book, frowning. His eyes widened and he put down the book without marking the page when he spotted the Capetian royal seal impressed into a swirling blend of green and red wax.

He took the scroll and turned it around in his hands before he peeled back the edge to examine the handwriting at the top of the letter. “Where did you get this, ami?”

Janus grinned and leaned back in his seat, gesturing to a server for a cup of coffee. He folded his hands together at the edge of the table, elegantly resting his glove-covered wrists and hummed. “Do you really want to know?” he asked, raising one eyebrow at the one-time parish priest. 

Logan narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Likely not,” he finally said. He leaned across the table, the scroll in his open palms. “Shall we open it or is it more useful with the seal intact?”

“Oh, we’ll want to open this one,” Janus assured him, nodding a thanks to the waiter and taking cautious a sip of his coffee.  The server was new, and his shaking hands as he’d set down the delicate cup had led Janus to believe the brew would be substandard—and that the little towheaded server, nervously tugging at his sky blue tunic knew it. To his surprise, the coffee was good. Quite good. He sent another smile at the young man and raised his cup. The server practically melted in relief, grinning back with more joy than Janus thought possible for anyone who lived outside of the palace at Versailles.

“His name’s Patton,” Logan explained, chuckling at Janus’ smirk. “Yes, like the dough.” Janus shook his head at his friend. For someone who appeared to pay more attention to politics and treatises than his fellow human beings, he never failed to ask someone their name. Nor did he ever forget it. “He’s quite skilled with the coffee.” They both turned at the rolling clang of a copper mug on the stone floor, Patton scrambling after it, red-faced and muttering apologies to the surrounding patrons. “Clumsy, perhaps, but he makes a great cup,” he added, taking another appreciative sip of his own. “And he keeps his eyes and ears open.”

Janus sipped at his coffee, watching the new server—Patton, he reminded himself—bounce around the room, refilling cups and chatting up the patrons. He could see why Rémy had decided to keep him on despite repeatedly losing half the cups he touched in a battle against gravity. Logan tapped Janus' forearm with the still sealed scroll and grinned. “Shall we open it together?”

Attention pulled back to his current company, Janus smiled and gestured magnanimously. “I already know what’s in it. Please, you go ahead.”

Grinning at Janus with thin eyes as though he wasn’t sure whether to be excited or suspicious, Logan carefully broke the seal. Using a pocket knife, he pried away each side of the hardened wax and pressed them back together. By design, each impression of King Louis’ seal left one or another distortion or imperfection in the wax. It was intended to make it impossible to accurately counterfeit the delicate fleur du lis pattern around the edges. Logan had been working for years to collect enough of the rare samples to account for this and had nearly finished his own copy. This impression had been completed quickly, with minimal warping on the outer edge. It might be enough to perfect his own seal.

Logan unrolled the letter and laid it flat on the table, quickly reading the ornate calligraphy before he grinned up at his friend. “It appears you are invited to the princes’ birthday party.”

Over near endless cups of fresh coffee and a bit of cheese and a heel of bread, courtesy of either Rémy’s generosity or Patton’s doe eyes, they hatched their plan. Janus would need proper attire, a ride to take him the fourteen mile journey to the palace at Versailles, and a great deal of etiquette training.

“I am deeply offended!” Janus’ jaw fell open just enough that someone who didn’t know him well might have missed his tiny smirk. “I’m not the same little street urchin you took in—”

“I didn't 'take you in.' You broke into my home and tried to steal the silver teapot from my hearth.”

“And yes, you were kind enough—"

Logan continued as though Janus hadn’t spoken, but his smile grew marginally warmer. “However, you failed to notice the still glowing embers in the fire and didn’t account for the temperature of the teapot or the near-boiling water within. Your scream was so loud, I had to convince the neighbors the midwife had brought in one of her patients.”

Following the script of their at least twice-weekly argument, Janus harrumphed, flicking back his hair, revealing some of his scars from that night. Logan took another sip of his coffee, a quiet smile playing on his lips as he waited for Janus to match his grin. Once he had, he bowed his head and waved a hand over the table between them. “I am merely suggesting a few tips on what to expect.”

“Oh, what to expect where?” Patton asked as he suddenly appeared at Logan's side, refilling their cups with an excited grin. “Nice…” he said, reading over Logan’s shoulder. “The party’s in the grand ballroom. They finished it just in—”

“You can read?” Janus interrupted.

“You’ve been to the palace?” Logan asked, patting the empty seat next to him. They were the only patrons left in the café. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen themselves out and it likely wouldn’t be the last. “What else can you tell us?”

After plying the young server with a few cups of weak hot chocolate mixed with coffee, Patton had provided Logan and Janus a great deal of inside information on the castle. He was the one who had told them how to distinguish the otherwise identical princes, the Crown Prince’s tics being the primary tool. The younger prince’s penchant for red was another.

“Do you think perhaps he is sending a quiet signal to the Third Estate?” Logan leaned forward in his seat, piercing the bubbly little server with his eyes.

Janus sucked his teeth, crossing his arms with a sour expression. “I doubt any of those inbred royals could even count to three, let alone pay the slightest bit of attention to the nuances of the Third Estate.”

Patton had winced and took a long draw on his hot chocolate. Logan had quietly refilled his mug from the pot on the table and leaned in. “The Princes don’t know about the symbols of the Third Estate’s revolt," the server began. "I overheard their advisors—they talk around us as though we’re furniture—and they agreed it was best to limit what the princes knew.” He lowered his voice. “Apparently, the King is afraid the princes might be sympathetic to the cause.” Logan seemed to consider that and scratched a few notes in the margins of a bit of parchment already covered, front and back, in his meticulous writing.

Over the coming days as they’d prepared for the evening, Logan had cast a wide net for more information. In dribs and drabs, they'd built a picture of life at the palace, at least everything Janus was likely to encounter. One of Logan’s former parishioners had apprenticed with the palace architect before a fall from a ladder left him with only partial sight in one eye and a heavy limp. He’d been more than willing to share all he knew of the design of the staircases, as well as the trick hallway that led from the kitchens to the Crown Prince’s private library.

Armed with this information, Logan had then insisted on trial runs on the Sacré-Cœur Basilica steps, with Janus repeatedly jogging up and down, first in his everyday cotton and wool, then later, in the heavy silk brocade breeches and cloak they’d bribed a laundress to hold back for ‘mending.’ 

So when the night of the twin’s birthday celebration had finally arrived, he was prepared. Janus lifted his chin and walked with strong, confident steps down the stairs, his muscle memory kicking in after the hours—and hours—of drills his exacting partner in arms had insisted on, and he stepped onto the dance floor poised, smiling in a perfect imitation of noblesse oblige.

The long staircase with its nonstandard rise in each step and the death-defying lack of handrails typically forced most guests to focus on each mincing footfall, breathlessly concentrating on not tripping over their silk heeled shoes or draped skirts. Janus, however, knew what to expect and had used the time to survey the guests already in attendance. He spotted Lady Poisson, Marquis de Fleur, and even Minister Brienne mingling about, ignoring the servants and anyone else they deemed lower than themselves.

With a smirk, Janus noted how the hem of Lady Poisson’s gown dragged, as well as Brienne’s slight limp and marred velvet breeches, both, no doubt victims of the twin princes' dreaded staircases.

A fanfare rang out and the ceiling-high double doors opposite the steps opened with a flourish and the light of several dozen lanterns poured into the comparatively dark ballroom. Two figures of identical height and silhouette appeared, framed by the bright, flickering glow. Backlit, it was nearly impossible to distinguish between them and only a slight twitchiness in one brother’s movements served as a clue that he might be the elder brother, the Dauphin, the legal heir to the throne.

Their voices rang out in unrehearsed unison. “Isn’t this meant to be a celebration?” The court’s musicians took their cue and launched into a raucous new tune, the guests quickly pairing and tripling up on the dance floor, moving to the music in ways that would make Bishop Jeanne blush at confession this Sunday.

The Princes had arrived.

---

Author's Note: I included this on the Masterpost, but I wanted to send out an extra shoutout:

[rheian]

dividers © || header by me || total fics : 27

The man, the myth, the devil himself! sorz I haven't been posting much (and by that, i mean by a whole ass semester) school has been kicking my butt.

the first few fics in this rec list are pretty heavy. if you aren't in the mood for that, skip to "Maybe Redemption is Stories to Tell" !! anyways, have some of my favorite fics about this guy.

nothing's a gift by eluvion (T, 7k words, completed)

summary: The Sokovia Accords pass. From a corner of New York, Matt watches history repeat itself.

cw: referenced suicide and child abuse, ableism, american militarism, dehumanization, police brutality, american politics in general, anti-sokovia accords || ok, kinda controversial fic due to the nature of the sokovia accords BUT please do read it! It is an actual experience. You can absolutely tell that the writer spent a LOT of time on this fic and is wonderfully researched.

all the glory when you ran outside by whitchry9 (T, 10k words, completed)

summary: When Matt is thirteen years old, he breaks his leg. Turns out it's cancer. (Radioactive materials can have that effect.)

cw: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!!!, underage kissing || i was so absolutely heartbroken. What the fuck.

Little devil by Timpaxew (G, 13k words, completed)

summary: Tony’s counting his blessings, because honestly this could have been worse. Babysitting a de-aged eleven year old vigilante may be a lot harder than he’d thought it be, but at least Peter’s here to help. And at least no one else was turned into children. Baby daredevil was a lot less cute than Tony would have thought. This whole child solider thing was more depressing, than anything. Tony was going to kill this stick guy.

cw: child soldiers, everything that comes with matt murdock’s backstory

small potatoes by deniigiq (NR, 1.9k words, completed)

summary: The road between ten and fifteen had been a slow descent into bad and then worse. (Matt had a hard time in foster-care. It affects the way he relates to Peter.)

cw: child abuse, suicidal thoughts, suicide || “i’m i’m crying fuck” me too past me. me too.

To Know Him by withthekeyisking (M, 19k words, completed)

summary: Recently orphaned, Matthew Murdock is in high demand. And this time, Stick isn't the one to find him.

cw: brainwashing, emotional manipulation, rape, child soldiers, child abuse, typical warnings for the red room, hydra, and wilson fisk || one of my all time fav fics about matt!! do note that it has an open ending.

The Devil You Know by IsisKitsune (T, 44k words, completed)

summary: ... is better than the one that doesn't know you. Matt woke up in an unknown place. He couldn't remember going to sleep. Had, in fact, remembered being unable to sleep and just heading for the chapel to pray, hoping to wear himself out and calm his Always overactive mind... How did he get here?

cw: past child abuse, child soldiers, ableism, captivity

Of Monstrous Shape by Rosalui (M, 10k words, completed)

summary: “Put me in the ring,” Matt said. His glasses were cracked like a spider’s web, and in the shifting shadows it looked as if he were raising hackles in disgust. “The House doesn’t profit from quick deaths,” said the jailor.

cw: ableism, human trafficking || “Involuntary Battle to the Death”

what's past is prologue by avocadodreamin (NR, 12k words, completed)

summary: In which the past may have made Matt Murdock the man he is today, but that doesn't mean Foggy has to be happy about it. (Or, five times Foggy hated Matt's childhood.)

cw: past child abuse and just in general stick.

Veneration by WerewolvesAreReal (T, 19k words, completed)

summary: Matt has a strange talent for attracting beautiful, intelligent women. Sometimes, though, he indulges in another type - older men, gruff men, men who insult him and tear him down. Foggy doesn't understand... until he meets Stick. 5+1

cw: ableism, sexual abuse, child abuse, domestic violence, age gap, attempted rape/non-con || uhm.

everything we hear, everything we see by Katbelle (T, 5k words, completed)

summary: Matt gets hit with an honest-to-God real truth serum. The consequences are much less fun than pop culture has led Foggy to believe. "I don't hate you, Matt." Matt blinks. "Oh." He blinks again, and his eyes go almost comically wide in surprise. "You're not lying anymore. Foggy, you're not lying, did you know that?"

cw: referenced rape and child abuse, non-con drug use, referenced underage sex (that was non consexual)

nothing he can't endure by Katbelle (T, 21k words, completed)

summary: Matt and Foggy deal with the aftermath of Matt's Veritaserum-induced word-vomit — or don't deal, as the case may be. Foggy launches a revenge plan against Stick with the help of his weird neighbour. Interesting family connections are made and discovered. In the meantime, Matt and Foggy deal with some of their other problems, or at least try to. (SEQUEL TO EVERYTHING WE HEAR, EVERYTHING WE SEE)

cw: referenced child abuse, rape/non-con, and underage sex (that was noncon)

Learn to Live With the Unimaginable by prettybirdy979 (T, 22k words, completed)

summary: He's just supposed to be helping Red and his friend for this one thing. Only here because their interests align and Red's not willing to place the lives of children over his morals. Course that all flies out the window when Red ends up getting himself - and his friend Elektra - turned into kids. And not just any kind of kids. Oh no. That would be too easy. Red and Elektra would have to be child soldiers, who somehow choose to trust Frank. Because of course nothing in Frank's life is simple anymore.

cw: child soldiers, childhood trauma, canon-typical violence, canonical child and character death

~

Maybe Redemption is Stories to Tell by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee (T, 25k words, completed)

summary: In which Matt Murdock copes with Asgardians, little sisters, and nosy superheroes. Also known as 'why you should never let Loki crash on your couch' Featuring an excess of Asgardians, more paper cranes, New York City, shenanigans, 80s movies, hot cocoa and feelings. Not necessarily in that order.

cw: – || okay, confession: i put this fic here due to a VERY specific scene that is in my brain 24/7. BUT! I recommend reading the entire series.

Living Life in the Shadow of a Goodbye by prettybirdy979 (NR, 1.8k words, completed)

summary: Just because they fought together, doesn't mean Luke knows that much about Matthew Murdock, recently 'resurrected' blind ninja (okay they rescued him from a bunch of nuns but seriously, the man should've died).

So when he, somehow, gets roped into helping Matt train Danny to learn to pay attention to his surroundings well... it might be a chance to get to know the guy. A bit.

Plus he gets to throw things at Danny. Always a plus.

cw: –

Through the Internet's Eyes by AsperJasper (T, 3k words, completed)

summary: It's the age of the internet, and Matt Murdock really thought nobody would ever connect any of his dots? Fat chance.

cw: – || just another social media fic.

Avengers v. Ableism by whitchry9 (T, 2k words, completed)

summary: The Avengers are surprisingly good allies, as Matt finds out on a number of occasions where other people are dicks.

cw: ableism

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost (But Matt's Not Wandering; He's Just Lost) by prettybirdy979 (T, 2k words, completed)

summary: Matt has a super important meeting in Sta-no, Avenger Tower that he's running late for. But finding it in Tony Stark's futuristic nightmare of a non-ADA compliant building might be a problem. (Aka Matt Murdock vs Tony Stark's building and high tech security. Here's a hint- the security loses)

cw: –

Strike the Harp by prettybirdy979 (T, 20k words, completed)

summary: Matt's been invited to Foggy's for Christmas, his first ever magical one (his Dad didn't do big displays of magic and well, nuns and magic don't really mix). He's excited; it's going to be amazing. There's just one problem... Foggy may have implied to his family that Matt had no magic. Oops?

cw: – || two words. magik murdock. that’s all thank you

Small Comforts by kfantastique (T, 6k words, completed)

summary: Matt is finally allowing himself some physical comfort from his friends and Foggy is so relieved. The friends are confused that Daredevil apparently likes cuddling?? Foggy thinks it's hilarious and adorable but he been knew.

cw: some drinking and non-consensual drug use 

Don't Worry Bro, We Got This by QueenofLit (G, 1k words, completed)

summary: After having teamed up so often with the Avengers, Matt knew it was going to come out eventually. He just hadn't quite expected this kind of reaction. Okay, no, he had actually expected the disbelief and accusations. How the Avengers reacted to that, however, was... weird. People mad at him? Usual. People defending him? Definitely weird.

cw: ableism

Ifs, Ands, and Butts by whitchry9 (T, 7k words, completed)

summary: Wherein Steve recognizes Matt Murdock as Daredevil on the basis of The Booty. He just doesn't know how to bring up the topic.

cw: –

Words on a Page by AsperJasper (G, 1k words, completed)

summary: A few times over the years when Matt wrote things down and other people had to read it.

cw: –

Not Your Damsel by whitchry9 (G, 6k words, completed)

summary: Matt is getting really sick of being rescued by the Avengers. What's he's even more sick of is needing to be rescued.

cw: –

Almonds by Anonymous (M, 1.9k words, completed)

summary: The story inspires Karen to ask, “Alright, what’s one food you will never, ever eat again?” She thought it would be fun. And it is. It’s fun when she shares the story of the time she bit into a raspberry and heard something crunch, spitting out a mangled ladybug, and ever since then she refuses to eat raspberries or anything raspberry flavoured.

It’s fun when Foggy tells the story of when he was a teenager and he ate way too much kugel too quickly after breaking his Yom Kippur fast and threw up in the shul bathroom, and now eating kugel reminds him of that experience.

“Almonds,” says Matt, “Because of the time Stick poisoned me.” Like he’s discussing the weather. Like that’s a normal fucking thing to say. It’s not fun, then. Nothing has ever been less fun.

cw: past child abuse and sexual abuse, poisoning

deserve to take up space by whitchry9 (T, 2k words, completed)

summary: “You know. The autism. He's autistic, right?” Foggy has no clue what Karen is talking about. "Those are all… just Matt things." Unless they're not just Matt things.

cw: –

penny for your thoughts by deniigiq (NR, 7k words, completed)

summary: Foggy broke them up by vociferously admiring the progress Karen was making on her vomiting gourd. They all rallied around this artistic monument for a bit. May decided that everyone needed to drink hot cider and Matt waited, kindly and politely, until everyone was holding a drink and nervously giggling about the silliness that was The Conjuring. “You wanna hear something actually scary?” he prompted to sudden silence. (Matt opens up a bit to tell Team Red and friends a ghost story.)

cw: –

The Curiosity Game by ArtemisRayne (T, 14k words, completed)

summary: Clint Barton knows that boredom is dangerous; it tends to lead to him doing stupid things. Stupid things like making bets with Tony Stark about which one of them can find and befriend the Daredevil of Hell's Kitchen first. Yet another "Daredevil Meets the Avengers" fic.

cw: –

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Thirty-Six: Epilogue

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Thank you to everyone who has come along on Lydia's journey with me. Looking back on all the late nights and hours upon hours I poured into this makes me emotional. Thank you for every single note. They all mean the world to me. The fact that people were interested enough in my work to interact with it is still mind-blowing to me. Writing this healed something in me, and I hope, if you needed it, that it healed something in you too. Just because this story is over doesn't mean I'm done writing with these two. I have more planned for them.

I’ve had several people tell me they cried after reading this so maybe have a box of tissues nearby idk.

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

Legolas & Lord of the Rings (c) J.R.R. Tolkien, Sleeping Beauty (c) Disney

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, mention of nightmares, mention of past rape, mentions of major character death (Glenn, Eric, Carl), mention of panic attacks, vomiting, there’s a dead body and a decapitated head in this one, mention of: scars, grief, blood, gun violence, maybe a little gore

Word count: 10k

Life in Alexandria was going pretty smoothly. We'd become friendly with some of the surrounding communities—Hilltop and the Kingdom, primarily—and our own community continued to grow stronger. Our food supply was steady, weapons were on hand, and more people had joined us. We were successfully preparing for the coming winter months, where getting food from the garden wouldn't be possible. I made new friends and became closer with the ones I had before. And I had the most handsome man on the planet all to myself.

Eventually, I had my first nightmare-free night of sleep.

I woke up the following morning feeling more rested than I had in a long time. I rolled over to see that Daryl was already awake, and he immediately told me I'd slept through the night without stirring even once. It came out almost like word vomit, like it was an exciting secret that he couldn't hold in anymore. He scooped me up in his arms and held me tight, telling me over and over again how damn proud of me he was. I cried a lot of happy tears.

Mine and Daryl's relationship continued to blossom. We spent a lot of time together, practically joined at the hip, as Aaron had put it. Wherever one of us was, you could typically find the other close by. It was a dream to come home to him each night and cozy up before falling asleep. I woke up every morning somehow more in love with him than I was the day before. I'd even written hypothetical wedding vows. I hoped to be able to read them one day, whether that was at the end of an aisle in front of our friends and family or across from each other alone at the kitchen island. And I learned that all of those Rick-ordered runs we went on back before officially getting together were orchestrated by Daryl, hence why I never heard about them from the mouth of our fearless cowboy leader. He had gone to Rick shortly after I arrived and asked if he could take me on a couple of runs under the guise of "she's a doctor, she knows what medical supplies to look for." And it snowballed from there.

I still worried about him every time he went out on the road for more than a day, maybe even more so now, but I knew he'd always come back. Daryl was tough, and the life he'd lived prior to the apocalypse had prepared him for it. If anyone was going to be the last man standing, it was him.

Our relationship wasn't perfect, of course. No one's was. We had our arguments, just like any other couple, but we prioritized never going to bed angry and staying up as late as we needed to to work it out. Sometimes we'd need space, but we'd always come together after and talk through things.

That took some getting used to for Daryl. Given the environment he grew up in, where people got in each other's faces and screamed until their throats were raw, I understood that he was used to handling conflict very differently than I was. It took a lot of practice and a lot of patience on my part, but over time, we cultivated an open line of communication, and it was a beautiful thing. It allowed us to become closer and get to know each other even better.

One aspect of becoming closer was continuing to learn new things about each other. The most surprising thing I learned about Daryl was that he was a virgin.

Part of my healing journey was getting comfortable discussing sex again. I was talking about my history before the world fell, sharing past experiences and being candid about how many partners I'd had, some of the things I was into, etc. When I asked Daryl about his, he danced around the question, dodging it every time I tried to circle back. Someone as gorgeous as he was had to have been very sexually experienced, I thought, so I didn't understand why he wouldn't even just share how many partners he'd had. Eventually, he came clean, saying he was worried I might think he wouldn't be able to satisfy me if I knew how inexperienced he was. Not only was he a virgin, but it had been quite a long time since he kissed someone before me.

"So when you said it'd been a while since you kissed someone..."

"Had a first kiss when I's a kid, if ya could even call it that. Was worried what ya might think if I told ya earlier."

Like any of that would change how I felt about him.

After lots of time working through my shit, a lot of talking, and a lot of tears, I was able to...give him what I never thought I could.

It was a long, slow process, and there were times when I didn't think I would get there. I beat myself up a lot, especially if we started and had to stop. I wanted so badly to experience him in that way, but my body and mind wouldn't allow it. I felt like a broken toy that would never work again, and I hated myself for robbing him of that level of intimacy and pleasure. Regardless of how frustrated I was with myself about it, Daryl was nothing but a saint. He never made a big deal out of it, never made me feel anything less than safe and cared for. He told me again and again not to push myself "just so's he could get his rocks off." Anything I needed, he was on it, never putting up a fight or making me think, even for a second, that I was burdensome in any way. He didn't care about having to wait or stop. All that mattered to him was that I was alright. His support was one of the main reasons I was able to make it through my healing journey in the first place.

Daryl even developed a plan for when I would get triggered. If I needed to stop mid-act, he'd ask if I wanted to climb under the covers or get dressed first, then ask if I wanted to cuddle or take a minute alone. If I wanted to get dressed first, he'd step out and give me space to do so. If I wanted to cuddle, he'd climb into bed with me and wrap us up in the covers, pulling me as close to him as physically possible. He'd either rub my back or massage my scalp, all the while reminding me that I was safe, he was there, and there was nothing to be afraid of. Since I found his voice so comforting, sometimes he'd tell me a story or bring up one of his favorite memories with me, anything to keep himself talking. If I was so overwhelmed that I wasn't sure what I wanted, he'd get me my blanket and some water, leave for a couple of minutes, then come back and check in with me again. He hadn't needed to step out and come back more than once a session, but I knew he would do it as many times as I needed.

It was a journey for him too. Everything we tried was a first for him, and I got to teach him how to do it all. And he learned quickly. One of the perks of teaching him was not having to work against some silly notions planted in his head by other men who thought they knew what women liked. Learn what women like from a woman, what a novel concept. It was beautiful to bond with him like that, to get to learn each other's bodies in the most intimate way and experience each other at our most vulnerable.

The first time we made it all the way through, I cried afterward. Not because I was triggered or anything bad happened, but because I was so proud of myself and, truthfully, just how amazing it was. Poor Daryl thought he'd done something wrong, only reassured once I was giggling and kissing him all over his face.

Unfortunately, life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows forever.

When the Saviors came, we lost a lot of good people...including Glenn. Maggie's cries haunted my dreams for weeks after, her screams permeating my most peaceful moments. My heart ached for her. I couldn't even begin to fathom the pain she was experiencing.

As we all waited with bated breath in those dark, eerie woods, the man called Negan snapped at one of the men on the sidelines, gesturing for him to hand something to him. The man stepped away and came back, handing something off to Negan. Negan held the thing up, asking "which one of us creatives was responsible for this little art piece." Upon seeing what he was holding, I involuntarily began vomiting, doubling over and spitting out chunks, some of it catching in my hair.

It was a head. Adam's head, with the vibrator still in his eye socket and his flesh so decayed, his jaw was almost falling off. Turns out Adam had been a Savior.

Negan took my reaction as confirmation that I was the responsible party, a sick smirk stretching across his lips as he snapped at another few men to bring out something else. "You do this too?" he asked as two men brought out Adam's body, the sleeves of his shirt and the majority of his pants cut off to expose his surgical scars. I continued to vomit, absolutely humiliated, both from having to see Adam's body again and from everyone having to see the word ‘rapist’ carved into his forehead and knowing I was the one that put it there.

He approached me, lifting my chin with the cap of his bat to look him in the eyes. He was...impressed. Really impressed. He saw what I could do, and he wanted me to join them. I would never join him, and despite him asking me to, I think he knew that. I was lucky my face didn't become closely acquainted with Lucille.

After Daryl punched Negan in the face and Glenn was killed, he was taken and thrown into their van. I screamed as I watched him get pulled away, falling forward as my body gave out and landing in my own vomit. My chest was on fire, and my eyes were so clouded with tears that everything in front of me was a blur. Had my body not felt gelatinous, I would've leaped off the ground and punched Negan myself.

"Thanks for getting rid of this one," Negan said, tossing the head behind him blindly somewhere in the dark.

After Daryl was abducted, I was a complete wreck, hardly able to eat or sleep, terrified that I would never see him again. I slept on the couch, as looking at the empty space in our bed next to me was too much to bear. Maggie and I spent a lot of time together, leaning on each other for support during our time of grief. There was one afternoon when I cracked a joke, not thinking I would get any type of reaction, but it pulled a small smile from her, and that warmed my heart to see.

When Daryl and I were reunited, we clung to each other and cried, afraid that if we let go, the other would slip away again. That was the first time I'd ever seen Daryl cry. It broke me to see him crumble like that, knowing how much pain he was in. I wanted Negan to pay, not only for the trauma he and his men had inflicted on my little Georgia peach, but for ripping my friend from this world in such a violent manner, and in front of his wife no less. I wanted Negan to suffer.

The Scavengers were a force to be reckoned with. Rick convinced their leader, Jadis, to ally with us to fight the Saviors, but they eventually went behind our backs and ratted us out to Negan and his men. We allied with the nearby communities, Oceanside being the most recent addition, and even some former Saviors, to form The Militia, joining forces with only one thing in mind—destroy the Saviors.

There was an all-out war, and with war comes blood. Lots of blood. Lots of lives lost, lots of damage done. Alexandria would have to be rebuilt, but our people were strong and I knew, ultimately, we would be ok.

Eric's death shattered Aaron. He'd caught a bullet and eventually succumbed to his injury. and poor Aaron had to come across him as a walker. I knew that pain all too well, and I tried my best to be there for him as much as I could. My friends were being taken out one-by-one. It wasn't fair.

Carl's death was another moment that tore everyone to shreds. He'd hidden his bite until he couldn't hide it anymore, and knowing that another precious, kind soul was taken from us was heartbreaking, though heartbreaking didn't seem like a strong enough word. Carl had written letters to some people before his death, and I was one of the lucky individuals who received one. He thanked me for everything I'd done, all the time I spent answering his questions, and for caring for his sister and making sure she was healthy. I added the letter to the collection at the back of my notebook, and Daryl held me while I cried hysterically all night.

Being a trauma surgeon, I'd treated many of the types of injuries people were dealing with. I beat myself up whenever we lost someone in a way that I could've prevented. Daryl always assured me it wasn't my fault, telling me not to blame myself for not being able to save everyone. I was only one person, I couldn't do it all.

And then, there was Rick's disappearance.

The silence that followed the bridge explosion was almost more deafening than the explosion itself. Michonne's screams and everyone's crying still haunt me, and it makes me emotional if I think about it for too long. We explored the area around the bridge, expecting to find his body, whether whole or in pieces, or maybe some of his belongings, but we didn't find anything. There was no sign that he had been there. I don't know how he could've made it out of there alive, but that was the only explanation.

After he went missing, Daryl made it his mission to find him. He tried to convince me to stay behind, wanting me to be safe by staying within the walls, but I wasn't going to let him look for his best friend by himself. Plus, Rick had become like a father figure to me. If he was out there, I wanted to help find him.

Six years. A total of six years we spent looking for him and found...nothing. The one thing we did find was Dog, a friendly German Shepard who joined us on our journey. He was a wonderful companion, making me smile whenever things seemed hopeless. Sometimes, when Daryl would actually sleep, which wasn't often as he preferred to stay awake to keep me safe, I'd sit and talk to Dog. I'd vent my frustrations and ask for advice, even though I knew he couldn't answer. Having a dog around was wonderful. However, he wasn't the only dog we acquired.

While out on the road, we came across a sweet little French bulldog. She was black as night with a small white patch on her chest. She was digging through a pile of something, probably scrounging for food. Upon hearing us, she poked his head up, intrigued when she laid eyes on Dog. Daryl held him back as he began barking at the bulldog, trying to calm him down as he only continued to get more excited. I knelt down, and she came bounding over to me, the tags on her collar jingling as she laid on her back and rolled around, demanding belly rubs. I flipped the top tag over, and my face lit up when I read her name.

"Daryl...her name's Delilah."

"Ain't that your childhood dog's name?"

"Yes! It's a sign, we have to keep her."

"Thought ya didn't believe in none o' that."

"Normally I don't. C'mon Daryl, please? Look at that face. How can you say no to that sweet little face?"

"Ya talkin' 'bout yours or hers?"

He was hesitant at first, as having one dog had proven to be a lot, but he had a hard time saying no to me. The way she and Dog were bonding so effortlessly, and how happy she was already making me in just the few minutes since finding her, he couldn't strip that joy away from me. So Delilah joined us, bringing our family to a total of four.

Amongst all the death, we were gifted with new life. Maggie had her baby, naming him Hershel Jr, after her father. He looked so much like his dad. It was like having a little piece of Glenn back with us. Michonne also gave birth to a little boy, giving Judith another brother and naming him RJ, Rick Grimes Jr. Aaron took on the task of caring for a baby girl named Gracie, treating her as if she were his own. Even Rosita had a baby, and precious Socorro joined the family as well. More kids that I got to be an auntie to. I had no complaints about that.

After returning to Alexandria, we discovered Negan had been captured, living in that tiny little cell I'd woken up in all those years ago. Good. Let the man rot in there for all I cared. Judith convinced Michonne to search for Rick, and she and RJ were put in mine & Daryl's care. They'd both grown so much in the time we'd spent away, and it was a pleasure to get to know these blossoming humans. There were curious things, Judith especially. She asked a lot of questions, and her curiosity knew no bounds. She asked medical questions, asked about my life before this, and even about my family.

"I know my mom's gonna find my dad. I hope you find your dad too," she'd told me.

One of my favorite memories was from an afternoon I spent with her and RJ. RJ was playing with some of the other kids, running around and playing tag or God knows what, and Judith wanted to stay on the sidelines with me while I picked flowers. I was surprised, as she was a feisty little thing and wasn't afraid to get down and dirty playing games with the boys. I learned later that she had an ulterior motive.

All these years later, everyone still only knew me as Vec or Vector, and Daryl still called me Vec in front of others. But there were a few nights where she overheard Daryl call me by my name, and being the speculative kid she was, she had to know why.

"Why does Daryl call you Lydia?" she asked, twirling one of the small flowers in her fingers.

"Because that's my name," I explained. She peered up at me from under the brim of her father's hat, and I could practically see the smoke pouring from her ears as the gears of her inquisitive mind shifted around.

"Why does everyone else call you Vec?" I looked up for a moment to make sure RJ was still in my line of sight before bringing my gaze back to hers.

"That's the nickname I like to go by," I answered. I could feel the series of questions that were coming.

"Why does he get to call you by your name?" she inquired, a hint of jealousy in her voice. I sighed and half-jokingly rolled my eyes. Kids sure ask a lot of questions, don't they?

"Because I love him." I could feel my cheeks turning a faint pink. Even after years of being with him, I still gushed and blushed when talking about him.

"Don't you love me too?" She hung her head slightly, sadness beginning to slip into her voice.

I laughed softly under my breath and squatted down to her level, picking a flower and handing it to her. "Of course I do, my angel. But there's different types of love." I picked a flower for myself, stroking the soft petals. "I love you the way your parents do, the way Maggie loves Herschel Jr. & Aaron loves Gracie. I love Daryl the way your parents love each other."

Her face lit up, and there was a curiosity in her eye. "How did you meet him?"

"Well, my dear," I said, sitting down next to her and crossing my legs, "you were just a wee baby when I showed up at Alexandria for the first time..."

The Whisperers might've been the most terrifying. "Skin jobs," as some had taken to calling them. They showed up around the time we returned to Alexandria, wearing walker skin and creeping around with the nasty things. Their horde was insane. They'd gathered thousands of walkers, keeping them on standby like some sick weapon. They terrorized us, one of them infiltrating our community and poisoning our water supply. Daryl took on a leadership role in Rick's absence. I was proud of him for stepping up and bringing people back together after Rick's disappearance tore everyone apart.

The war with the Whisperers was long and catastrophic. We lost Hilltop and the Kingdom, and ultimately, Alexandria. We would rebuild, just like we always did, but I would be lying if I said I didn't miss the peaceful days we had back when I first arrived there. Negan was even let out of his cell to infiltrate the Whisperers and take them down from the inside. I hated Negan, but he was a charismatic guy, I had to give him that. I could see why people might like him despite everything he'd done & everything, and everyone, his previous group had taken from us. And he was incredibly manipulative, so he was able to get close to them easily enough. The one good thing Negan did was kill Alpha, bringing her head to Carol once the task was completed. Alpha's daughter, Lydia, joined us, helping to take down her mother's horde once and for all.

It took a while for Lydia to get comfortable around everyone. She was most comfortable around Daryl, as they had similar childhoods & he could understand what she'd gone through in a way the rest of us couldn't. She didn't talk to me much at first, avoiding me as much as possible and hardly looking at me. I assumed she didn't like me, but when I told Daryl that, he laughed.

"She thinks you're super cool," he told me, "talks 'bout wantin' to be a badass like ya."

I racked my brain for ideas and came to the conclusion that finding a way to relate to Lydia, even a little, might help her. I didn't tell her exactly what happened to me before arriving at Alexandria, but I did explain that it was something awful. I assured her I wasn't perfect, I had my flaws and my history, but that didn't make me any less of a badass. I had one other idea up my sleeve that might make her smile and help her bring out the badass I knew she had lying within herself.

"Can I tell you a secret? You have to promise not to tell anyone."

"Umm, ok. I promise."

"My name's Lydia too."

Then, there was our arrival at the Commonwealth.

It was strange being back in my home state after so many years. We were interrogated by different people, asking about our history, where we came from, what we did before the outbreak, etc. Eventually, Daryl and I were pulled into an office together where we met the infamous Lance Hornsby.

Lance was the Deputy Governor, second-in-command to Pamela Milton. He was a charismatic guy, and for the most part, people seemed to like him. He had a sense of ambition about him, and he seemed to want the best for the Commonwealth and everyone in it, but I wasn't buying it. Something about him made my stomach queasy, but I couldn't put my finger on it. He gave me uncanny valley vibes.

"One of you is a doctor?" he asked. I hesitantly raised my hand and bit my lip, like there was somehow a correct answer and I was worried about getting it wrong, despite the fact that I was the doctor in the room. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"I'm a trauma surgeon," I replied, lowering my hand and steadying my voice to appear more confident than I was feeling, "amputations, bullet wounds, skin grafts, I've done it all."

Lance laughed. "What are you, 35? You're a little young to be a surgeon, aren't you?"

"That's flattering, but I'm 42. Smart of you to guess younger," I chuckled, "I had almost completed my residency when the world went to shit. I was a couple of months from board certification. You met Aaron, right? The guy with the fake foot and arm?" He nodded. "I did both of those with no medical equipment."

"She's done a hell of a lot more than just that," Daryl interjected.

"Get Tomi in here," Lance ordered, waving to a man by the door, "now!"

A few minutes later, another man was brought in, who I guessed was Tomi. He was wearing plain clothes, but given that it was so important he be retrieved, he had to be a fellow doctor, I presumed. My presumptions were quickly confirmed.

"Dr. Okumura, this woman is claiming to be a surgeon," Lance explained, gesturing to me, "test her."

"Test her?" he inquired, "ok, umm...Dr. Okumura, fellow surgeon. Thoracic. What kind of surgeon are you?"

"Well first, hi. I go by Vec," I introduced, offering him a handshake, to which he reciprocated, "would you prefer I call you Dr. Okumura, or is Tomi ok?"

"For a fellow doctor, Tomi's fine," he replied, a small smile crossing his face.

"Trauma surgery. Was almost finished with my residency at Johns Hopkins ER before all this."

He turned to Lance, seemingly impressed by my credentials. "Lance, that alone is amazing. She got into Johns—"

"I said test her," Lance demanded. Tomi rolled his eyes and sighed, turning back to me.

"You have a patient that shows up on your table. Bullet wound to the abdomen. How do you proceed?"

"Well, what's their history? Is the patient diabetic?" I wondered.

"Why does that matter?" Lance butt in, his impatience becoming ever present in his voice.

"It matters," I corrected. I held my hand up in his direction and closed it, indicating for him to shut his mouth. "Their sugar levels would need to be checked first to ensure they aren't hyper- or hypoglycemic. That would also need to be monitored throughout surgery. And they might need to take antibiotics for longer as they're at a higher risk of infection."

"She's right," Tomi confirmed, "as much of the patient's history as possible needs to be reviewed first before deciding how to proceed." I looked over Tomi's shoulder at Lance, who was pouting in his chair with his arms crossed. I raised my eyebrow and smirked at him.

"So when do I start?"

Everyone was assigned their jobs based on what they did prior to the outbreak. Daryl didn't have much in the way of a career prior to the world falling, but given his combat and survival skills, he was recruited to join the Commonwealth Army. Seeing as doctors were in high demand, I was quickly employed at the hospital, and we were given a cushier apartment. I could tell Daryl was already feeling out of place in such a, what he would deem, 'classy' environment.

"Hey," I assured, "you belong here. You deserve this. Just as much as anyone else."

"All I know's I belong wherever you are," he replied.

We settled into our new home and got the kids set up in school. I was excited that they were getting the opportunity to receive an education, something that I was sure would never be a possibility for them. I got to wear cute little sundresses nearly every day, a simple pleasure that I was grateful to partake in once again. And let's be real, Daryl enjoyed it as well. Many of our friends also made a home in the Commonwealth. It existed in its own bubble, like a little slice of the world that hadn't gone to complete shit. I got to wake up next to Daryl every morning, knowing that he, the kids, and our friends were safe. And after everything we'd been through, that was more than I could ever ask for.

*Third person perspective*

The autumn sun beamed down through the clouds, casting a beautiful glow on the red, orange, and yellow leaves that decorated the surrounding trees. There was a chill in the air, but given that he was always warm, Daryl wasn't concerned about being cold. As a gentle breeze came through, he looked at one of the trees, a small smile breaking out on his lips as he watched the branches sway to and fro. Lydia may have been his ray of sunshine, but this weather reminded him of her most. She's often talked about missing being able to go apple picking, spend an afternoon in a pumpkin patch, and drink warm cider by a campfire. "The most basic bitch thing about me," she would joke, but Daryl never thought it was silly. Lydia found joy in the small pleasures of life, and it was one of his favorite things about her.

Daryl was in his first week of basic training, preparing to join the Commonwealth Army. Not that he needed any training, though. His life out on the road, both pre- and post-apocalypse, had given him all the skills he needed to be successful in his duties. Today, they were out in an abandoned, desolate corner of the Commonwealth, filled with empty, run-down apartment buildings crawling with walkers. They were going to be teaming up and tackling the empty buildings with a single weapon like some sick obstacle course, the walkers being the obstacles.

A man in white armor approached him, giving him a wave before removing his helmet. He set it on the ground next to him, shaking out his hair. He looked familiar, but Daryl knew he'd never seen this man before. Still, there was something about him that he couldn't put his finger on. When he introduced himself, that was when it clicked.

"'Sup man?" he greeted, extending his hand to Daryl, "the name's Jay. Jay Vector."

Daryl froze. There was only one Jay Vector he knew of. This couldn't have been him, could it? But he kind of looked like her...it had to be him.

"Ya got a sister?" Daryl asked, the shock preventing him from returning the handshake. Jay looked stunned and coughed repeatedly, clearing his throat after having choked on his saliva.

"...yeah," he answered cautiously, like he was trying not to get his hopes up, "well, I did. Did you know her?"

"I know her," Daryl corrected. Jay's eyes looked like they were about to burst out of his skull, and he picked his jaw up off the ground. Tears were already beginning to well up in his eyes.

"Know her? Is she here? I—is she alive?" he asked, his voice beginning to quiver. His emotions were fluctuating between the relief that could come from hearing she was safe and alive and preparing for the heartbreak of hearing that she was dead.

"Wait—," Daryl instructed. Before he could finish, Jay took off running for the city center, the sound of his feet pounding the sidewalk drowning out the groans from the walkers in the abandoned buildings.

"Vector!" Mercer called out, but that didn't slow Jay down for even a second.

"I said wait!" Daryl shouted.

"I can't!" Jay shouted over his shoulder, raising his volume the further away he got, "our dad's here! I have to go get him!"

Not only was her brother alive, but her father was too. Lydia was about to be on cloud nine.

"Dixon!" Mercer yelled as Daryl took off toward home. Since he was still in basic training, he knew this stunt could get him in trouble, but he didn't care. At that moment, his only priority was to get to Lydia as fast as possible, to tell her that her family, whom she thought had been dead all this time, was alive.

*end of third-person, back to Lydia's POV*

Today was a day off for me, so I'd taken the opportunity to do some cleaning around the apartment and run some errands. Daryl was at basic training, and Judith and RJ had been asking for days now for a sleepover at Uncle Aaron's, so they were with him for the evening, which gave me the opportunity to work uninterrupted. I loved having them around, but I also needed my alone time now and then.

After returning from the grocery store, I took Dog and Delilah out for their afternoon walk. It was wonderful to have some semblance of a normal routine again after so many years of unpredictability and being out on the road. Being able to regularly go to work, go to the store, see friends, and come home to the love of my life and the kids and our dogs...after everything fell, I never thought I would live life like this again.

We returned from our afternoon walk, and I unclipped them from their leashes. They immediately ran to their respective water bowls, which Judith had decorated to have their names on them. As I hung their leashes by the front door, the sound of the lock clicking caught me by surprise, and in came Daryl, a subtle sheen of sweat on his face and lightly panting as he tried to catch his breath.

"Hey baby," I cooed, pulling him toward me by the collar of his shirt and kissing his jawline, "you're back early."

'Baby' had become a special pet name for us. We only used it in two contexts: one, to indicate to the other that we were in the mood. And two, in bed. Outside of that, Daryl preferred being called 'my little Georgia peach' or 'my love,' and I liked being called 'sunshine' and 'buttercup.' But in a sexual context, 'baby' just rolled off the tongue so naturally. Plus, there was something sexy about having a pet name reserved for the bedroom.

"Later." He picked me up by the waist and set me down in the hallway, eliciting a small, surprised yelp from me. "Someone ya gotta see first."

"What do you mean? The hospital didn't call," I asked as he locked the door behind us. He began ushering me down the hall, an urgency in his step that I'd only seen in true emergency situations. Which of course, admittedly, had me worried.

"Ain't a medical emergency," he said.

"Then where are we going?" I asked, nearly tripping over my feet as we began descending the stairs.

He ignored my question and coaxed me down the steps and out the front door of our building onto the busy street. It was the middle of the day, and everyone was hustling and bustling about, going to and coming from work and gathering their kids from school. The farther we got from our building, the less familiar everything became. I'd hardly had any time to explore all the nooks and crannies of the Commonwealth, so I didn't have a clue as to where we were going.

"Daryl, you're worrying me." I gently tugged on his shirt sleeve to get him to stop, and he turned and looked at me. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

He took my arm and pulled me to the side of the walking path, taking us around the corner of the nearest building so we were secluded in its shadow. Whatever he was going to respond with, he wanted privacy for. Whether it was for the nature of the topic or my potential reaction, I wasn't sure.

"I think ya brother's alive."

The ringing in my ears began before my brain fully processed what he said. My heart rate was escalating quickly, and my skyrocketing blood pressure caused my head to spin. I was almost certain I would pass out. My knees caved in, and I would've collapsed had Daryl not already had his arms around my waist to catch me.

Guess the privacy was for my reaction.

"My what?" My voice was shaking, and tears were already beginning to well up in my eyes and pour over onto my face. I was certain I must've misheard him. "A—a—are you sure?"

"Any other Jay Vector's ya know?" he asked as he helped me steady myself back on my feet. He wiped a few tears off my cheeks and kissed my forehead. "C'mon."

We went back to the walking path, his hand on my lower back as he guided me through the crowded street. I had no idea where to go, but had my legs not felt like jelly, I would've taken off running.

We ended up in a desolate area of the community filled with abandoned buildings, their windows broken open and doors pulled off their hinges. Vines crept up the sides of some of the brick structures, creating beautiful patterns as they worked up and around the textured surface, and the overgrown grass tickled my ankles.

There was a crowd of people up ahead, most of them dressed in casual clothes like Daryl. There were a couple of people in white armor and one man in bright orange armor, who I guessed was the one in charge. I figured this must've been where Daryl was doing his basic training, and everyone, minus those in armor, were his fellow recruits. As we made our way toward the group, some of them turned to us, ignoring the orders of the man in the orange armor. One particularly tall man in white armor caught my attention, and his familiar features immediately sent comfort washing over me. My sharp inhale caught in my throat. and my eyes quickly welled up with tears and clouded my vision. Daryl was right.

There he was, my big brother, in the flesh. Despite seeing him with my own eyes, I almost couldn't believe it.

He was in his mid-40s now, and his usual dark hair had taken on a salt & pepper appearance as he aged. He'd grown a beard, which had the same salt & pepper look as his hair, and he looked well-fed, well-rested, and happy. He clearly had been here for some time. He towered over nearly everyone in the group, aside from the man in the orange armor. Jay was the tallest in our family, even outgrowing his twin. No one knew where his gigantic stature came from.

And next to him was our dad.

He had gone fully gray, the wrinkles on his face telling a story of someone who'd been to hell and back. He was in his mid-60s, but he didn't look frail or fragile by any means. He'd been able to take care of himself. My father wasn't often a man who cried. Not because he thought it wasn't masculine to do so, it just wasn't how he processed his emotions. But upon laying eyes on me, he burst into tears.

I sprinted for them, first nearly tripping over my own feet, then some sidewalk cracks and God knows what else. At the speed I was moving, I was sure I had started floating, no longer feeling my feet as they pounded the sidewalk. I didn't care if I face-planted and ate shit in front of all of these strangers. My brother was alive. My dad was alive. I had already grieved them both years ago, accepted the fact that they were both dead, or if they weren't dead, that I would never see either of them again. But here they were, safe and sound and alive.

"Jay!" I cried out, tears flying off my face as I ran and soaking my hair, "Dad!" Jay ran toward me, arms open and ready to catch me like he'd always done growing up.

I nearly toppled him to the ground as I ran straight into his arms, squeezing him tighter than I ever thought I'd be capable of. Overwhelmed by the familiar comfort of his hug, my legs gave out, and we both fell to the ground. We buried our faces in each other's shoulders and sobbed openly. The cries that came out of me were almost heart-wrenching, but they were cries of joy. Of happiness. Of relief.

"You're alive," Jay whispered, unable to speak louder without his voice breaking, "I can't believe my baby sister's alive."

Another person came and knelt next to us, wrapping their arms around us both. "Lydia, sweetheart," the voice said, "we've missed you." I knew that deep, soothing voice to be that of my dad's, and hearing that nickname he'd only ever used just for me sent me careening into more fits of sobs.

I released one of my arms from around Jay and wrapped it around my father, bringing him in for a group hug. "I thought you were dead," I sobbed, "I thought you were both dead."

In the time we sat there, huddled in a group hug and sobbing into each other, the world outside of us didn't exist. All that existed was our familial bond, the love we had for each other, and the grief that was washing away being replaced with relief and joy and excitement. Years ago, I had accepted that I would never see them again, but that didn't mean I ever lost hope that maybe, just maybe, we would cross paths again. And damn, I was grateful I never gave up that hope.

Jay was the first to pick his head up, wiping tears off his cheeks. He got onto his knees and helped our dad to his feet before doing the same. I followed suit, slowly rising to my feet and steadying myself on my dad's shoulder. The adrenaline pumping through my system was beginning to wear off, and my muscles felt like jelly.

"When did you get here?" Jay asked, rubbing his eyes with his fists, "where have you been?"

I ran my hands through my hair and cleared my throat. "I only got here recently. I was in Virginia for a long time. I wandered around looking for this safe zone and eventually found it. I was hoping maybe I'd find you there, Jay, if you had come out to Maryland looking for me."

"Did you have people with you?" he asked.

"I found...some of the best people I've ever met," I explained, "a lot of them are here now or in other nearby communities." I dropped my eyes to the ground and smiled. "I don't know if I would've made it this long without them."

"Leave it to you to find the best of the best, even in a fallen world," my dad complimented, laughing softly under his breath. He had always admired my ability to surround myself with good people, regardless of the circumstances I found them in.

"Dad, how did you even get back? What happened up there?" I asked. He wiped a tear from my cheek, then his own.

"When we didn't hear anything from our command station for several hours, we knew something was wrong. We reached out again and again and got nothing. It took a lot of effort and thinking on our feet, but we were able to land successfully back in Florida. By that point, everything had fallen, and we had no idea what was going on." He patted Jay on the back. "I was hunkered down at the base with my crew until Jay showed up."

"God, that's scary. I'm so sorry." I couldn't help but think back to the story Rick had told me, how he woke from being in a coma after everything fell & trying to find help in an empty hospital. Being up in space, having no communication with anyone down on Earth, all while knowing something seriously wrong had to be happening...I couldn't imagine the fear he'd experienced.

"We've been here at the Commonwealth since its formation," Jay cut in, "I went to Florida, hoping I could find him, then we made our way back home, hoping we'd find you and Eli."

Upon mentioning home, my father's face lit up, looking hopeful. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me gently. "Eli! What about Eli, is he with you?"

The smile on my face quickly dropped, overtaken by a somber expression. I locked eyes with my father and shook my head, my heart breaking at having to crush his hope and deliver the news that Eli didn't make it.

"No," I choked out, reaching into my jacket pocket, "he, uh...he never made it out of the house that day." I turned my gaze to Jay, my eyes clouded with tears. "I went home to look for you both. He'd...already succumbed to a bite when I found him." I decided to spare them the details of the axe in his shoulder and me having to finish him off.

I pulled a folded-up piece of paper from my pocket, handing it to Jay. "He wrote this before he died. Guess now we can say we fulfilled his last wish." The end of my sentence came out through broken sobs, the words barely coherent. They read over Eli's note, the one I'd kept in the back of my notebook all these years and had recently started carrying on my person.

Jay, Dad, Lydia,

Do what you need to stay alive

Find each other

I love you

Eli

The paper shook in Jay's hands as they scanned over Eli's last words, tears falling from their faces and soaking the letter. My father buried his face in his hands, taking a few deep, shaky breaths. He had a brief moment of hope that his youngest son was alive, and it was crushing to have to destroy that hope. Jay folded the note and handed it back to me.

"I had a feeling he was gone," Jay sighed before a small smile broke out on his face, "y'know, twin telepathy and all that." Jay was the master of comedic relief in tense moments in our family.

I looked back over my shoulder and waved for Daryl to come over. He hadn't moved an inch from his spot, giving me space to reunite with my family, waiting for me to give him permission to join us. He came over, approaching slowly, and stood beside me, placing a hand on my lower back. Daryl was clingy with me, but it wasn't just because of how much he loved me and loved touching me—it was also a comfort thing for him, a grounding activity that helped him when he was feeling hesitant, overwhelmed, or anxious.

"Two of my children are alive," my dad cried, his voice trembling still as he tried to regain his composure. He wrapped one arm around Jay's back and the other one around my shoulders. "In this world, that's more than I could ever ask for." Jay was the first of them to acknowledge Daryl's presence.

"Hey Lydia?" he asked, using his head to gesture to Daryl, "how do you know this guy?"

When Daryl told me Jay was alive, I hadn't even thought about how I would introduce him to my brother. We hadn't gotten married, as up until arriving at the Commonwealth, marriage wasn't a thing, not in the way it used to be at least. There was never a need to refer to each other with titles, as we normally spent our time around people who knew we were together, so introductions weren't necessary. Anytime they were, Daryl had only ever referred to me as his woman, and his introduction of me didn't require any introductions of him on my part. But now it was necessary, and I had to make a split-second decision.

"This is Daryl," I introduced, "he's my—"

"I'm her husband," Daryl interjected.

My what?

I bit the inside of my lower lip to keep my jaw from unhinging onto the ground. I blinked repeatedly, hoping it would stop my eyes from bugging out of my skull. Both my brother and father's faces lit up, and Jay looked like he was about to start jumping for joy.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," I said, gently nudging Daryl with my elbow and smiling to conceal the utter shock coursing through me.

"Oh sweetheart," my dad gushed, bringing me in for another hug. He tilted his head up and spoke to Daryl as he hugged me. "It's wonderful to meet you, Daryl. Thank you for caring for my daughter."

"The honor's all mine, Mr. Vector," he replied.

"Please, call me John. Mr.—"

"Mr. Vector was my father," I mocked in a deep voice. He laughed and playfully elbowed my arm. That was the response my dad always gave any time someone called him Mr. Vector. If I had a dollar for every time I'd heard him say it, I could pay off my, now non-existent, medical school debt.

"How did you two meet?" Jay asked. He was giving Daryl a look-over with his eyes, scanning over him from head to toe. While he was happy for me, I could already feel the protective big-brother energy radiating off of him.

"I cut a guy's foot off," I replied. Daryl chuckled softly under his breath, and Jay and my father each cocked an eyebrow at me. I realized I sounded a little too elated for what I was talking about. "Not Daryl's foot. My friend Aaron's. He got bit. I didn't do it for no reason." I rested my head on Daryl's shoulder and smiled big, reflecting on the happy memories of my early days at Alexandria. "Aaron and Daryl lived in the same community. That's how we met."

"Daryl, do you mind if I take a moment with my daughter?" my father asked, and Daryl shook his head. My dad coaxed me a few steps away, just out of earshot of the others. I knew exactly what was coming.

There was a series of questions my father had made a habit of asking my siblings and me when we started dating someone knew. He started doing it with Preston when he got his first girlfriend in middle school, and it'd been a staple since. He looked at me and smiled, knowing full well that I knew exactly what he was going to ask & there was no need to preface anything.

"Does he treat you well?"

"The best any man ever has."

"Does he make you happy?"

"More than I thought I ever could be."

"Is he good to other people?"

"Yes, unless they don't deserve it."

"I can't wait to get to know him," he replied as we stepped back to join Jay and Daryl. That was the response we always hoped to receive from Dad after he asked his questions. It was his way of giving his blessing, and even as a grown, hyper-independent woman, the little girl in me was still pleased to have my father's approval.

"You two are very similar," I said to Jay, "you're gonna be calling him your new best friend in no time."

"Aww hell yeah!" Jay beamed, holding his hand up for a high-five, which Daryl reciprocated.

"Well, we need to get together. Got a whole decade of life we need to catch up on. Are you two free for dinner tonight?" my dad asked.

"What do you think, Daryl? Can we do tonight?" I inquired, "the kids will be with Aaron." I was immediately kicking myself for my wording choice, my cheeks turning beet red and nearly stumbling over my words as I tried to correct where I imagine their trains of thought were going. "They're not our kids. Well kind of. Not biologically. I didn't birth them."

"Tonight works," Daryl confirmed.

"I can tell you about the girl I'm seeing," Jay said confidently, running a hand through his hair.

"Jay William Vector," I gasped, placing a hand over my chest to feign shock, "a girl?"

"I know, a girl that's into me. Crazy, right?" he laughed, "her name's Rosie. I know you'll love her."

"Dixon! Vector!" the man in the orange armor bellowed.

"Surprised Mercer ain't said shit 'til now," Daryl commented. Ah, so this is the infamous Mercer, I thought.

"Should get back." Jay pulled me in for another hug, this one tighter than the last. "I missed you so much. I'm so glad one of my siblings is alive."

"I missed you too," I echoed.

"I should get back too," my dad said, "I've been helping the science teachers with their curriculums. You should see how the kids' faces light up when I tell them I've been to space."

I chuckled and pulled my father in for another hug. "We'll see you tonight. I can't wait to hear all about it."

"I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, dad."

"I look forward to getting to know you, Daryl." My dad extended his hand to Daryl for a handshake, which Daryl reciprocated. "My daughter's always been a great judge of character. If she chose you, you must be a good one." With a nod, my dad was off, headed back to his scholarly duties.

"Hey, guys! I have a brother-in-law!" Jay called out as he ran back to the group. He was the goofball of the family, the class clown if you will, and oh, how I'd missed having that energy around.

Once they were both out of earshot, I turned to Daryl, locking eyes with him and folding my arms across my chest. "My husband, huh? When were you planning on telling me this?"

"We'll talk when I get back," he replied, his fingers tracing down my arm to my hand and taking it in his. I could sense he was feeling a bit anxious. I'm sure meeting my family impromptu like that was a little overwhelming, so I didn't press the issue further.

"Well don't be too long now, handsome," I said, giving him a flirtatious smirk and gently squeezing his hand, "your wife's gonna be waiting for you."

Once I was home, I tossed my jacket onto the back of the nearest chair and went to the bathroom. I took my glasses off and set them on the bathroom counter, rubbing my eyes with my fists. I splashed some water on my face and used my dress to clean my glasses before putting them back on. I ran my hands through my hair, fluffing it and brushing the flyaways back in their place.

"Maybe I'm gonna get to read those wedding vows after all," I said to myself.

Daryl returned sometime later, immediately greeted by Dog and Delilah. They bounded over to him, Dog jumping onto his hind legs and Delilah dancing around his feet. He scratched behind Dog's ears as he licked his face. Delilah sat on Daryl's foot, a little habit she had picked up whenever she wanted someone's attention. She'd pop a squat on their foot and stay there until she received the attention she was looking for. He coaxed Dog back on all fours and knelt down to give Delilah some pets. She rolled over onto her back, demanding belly rubs, which were her favorite. I chuckled softly as I watched him play with her, thinking back to how hesitant he was for us to take her on when we first found her. Now, they were the best of friends. After a minute, she rolled over, walking away now that she was satisfied.

"Hey handsome," I greeted, leaning back against the wall and crossing my arms over my chest, "did you get in trouble with your commander?"

"He cooled off once he realized what was happening. Jay didn't get in trouble neither," he replied. He came over to me and closed the space between us, pressing his body to mine and kissing me with such fervor that you'd think we were reuniting after several years rather than just a couple of hours.

"So, that talk we need to have...you've never called yourself my husband before." His hands wandered down my back and around to my hips, his thumbs drawing circles on my hip bones over my dress. I was already beginning to turn red. Even after all these years, Daryl still managed to make me blush the same way he did over a decade ago.

"Once my job got settled, wanted to ask you proper," he explained, kissing my cheek and then my jawline, "save up to get ya a ring 'n whatnot. Ya deserve it." My heart was singing so loud, I was certain Daryl could hear it.

"My love, you could've asked me to marry you with a twig fashioned into a ring and I would've said yes," I smiled, snaking my arms around his neck.

"Get to call ya my wife...kinda hot." One hand remained on my hip, the other traveling down and into the slit of my dress to caress my thigh. He continued to plant sweet, sultry kisses on my jawline before working down my neck, and had Daryl's body weight not been holding me to the wall, I would've crumbled. The man knew my weaknesses.

"Should I start going by Dr. Dixon now?" I asked, biting my lip to contain my fits of giggles.

"Dr....Lydia...Rae...Dixon," he said between planting soft, open-mouthed kisses on my neck, "has a nice ring to it, don't ya think baby?"

"Yeah," I gushed, "I like it." He abruptly stopped the series of kisses and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me and coaxing me to wrap my legs around him. I ran my fingers up into his hair and buried my face in the crook of his neck. "Daryl, where are we going?"

Like I didn't know the answer.

"Gotta consummate the marriage, right? Ain't that how it works?" he teased.

I leaned back and looked deep into his eyes, my signature big, silly grin spreading from ear to ear. I continued to twirl his chocolate locks in my fingers, playing with them as he carried me to our bedroom.

Way back when everything first went to shit, I thought I would be lucky to find a community of half-decent people. Hell, I thought I'd be lucky to just survive. But I did find a community, one made of the best people I could've asked for to go through this hell with. The best of the best, of course, was the man in front of me holding me around his waist. I wasn't looking for romance after the world fell. Truthfully, I'd given up on that being a possibility. Given all the shit I'd dealt with before walking through the gates of Alexandria for the first time, I was hesitant to even consider it. But then Daryl came into the picture, and everything changed. He'd sat with me while I cried, comforted me after my nightmares, listened to me yap on about the same things over and over again, and was beyond patient with me on all fronts. He'd been there through it all. He'd loved me through it all. I'd found myself again, and in that journey, I found Daryl as well.

"I love you."

"I love ya too."

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley

[steddieholidaydrabbles]

Week 1 Masterlist

Week one is done and you guys have been doing an incredible job! Whether you pre-wrote and scheduled posts or have been writing every single day, you deserve a hug and forehead kiss!

Please check below for the full masterlist of week one. Check the tags on them (especially for Came Back Wrong day, that was a heck of a round of submissions) and don't forget to support writers and artists by reblogging their work!

DAY 1 - OPEN MIC NIGHT

a bit of tear inducing nerd music by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: modern au, fluff, lotr references, steve harrington can sing, smitten!eddie munson, nerd!steve harrington

your heart sings to mine by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: alcohol, implied/referenced recreational drug use | tags: mutual pining, idiots to lovers, love confessions in the rain

You Say Bark, I Say Bite by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: language, smoking | tags: pre-s4, pre-steddie, platonic stobin, corroden coffin

checking it twice by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: coffee shop au, modern setting, established relationship

Untitled by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: open mic, karaoke, queer bar, holiday season, Christmas

A song for the night by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | no cw | tags: pre-steddie

I want you to want me by @sidekick-hero | Rated T | no cw | tags: exes, open but hopeful ending

open mic by @yellowsweater-bluevest (art)

DAY 2 - CAME BACK WRONG

beautiful in all its wrongness by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | cw: kas!eddie, angst, self-sacrificing steve | tags: one-sided crush (or is it?)

hide away by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: mentions of blood, canon-typical violence | tags: vampire eddie munson, emotional reunion, soul bond

sometimes dead is better by @thisapplepielife | Rated M | cw: canon death, monster!eddie, body horror | tags: horror, hurt/no comfort, dark, pet sematary vibes, dead dove:do no eat, post-s4, steve pov

Untitled by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: steve harrington has bad parents, found family, christmas cards, holiday cards, return to sender

In the ruins by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | cw: apocalypse, off-screen character death, imprisonment, body horror, blood and gore, hurt/no comfort, starvation, vampirism | tags: darkfic, came back wrong, vecna won, unreliable narrator

Break it first by just-my-latest-hyperfixation with art by @house-of-the-moving-image | Rated M | cw: mind-control, brainwashing, possessive behavior, referenced character death, aftermath of trauma, aftermath of injury, kidnapping | tags: kas!eddie munson, dark eddie munson

a small surprise by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | cw: steve has bad parents, diet culture | tags: de-aged steve harrington

peppermint chocolate by @cranberrymoons | Rated M | no cw | tags: vampire eddie, morning fluff, established relationship

disoriented and afraid by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | cw: major character death, vampire eddie, dark, dead dove: do not eat | tags: post-s4

ruins of a future once held sure by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | cw: major injury | tags: hurt eddie munson, angst, grief, injury recovery, hopeful ending, pre-steddie, post-vecna

let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one by @sidekick-hero | Rated T | no cw | tags: fluff, first kiss, kas!eddie

his lips still blue by @klausinamarink | Rated T | cw: hypothermia, supposed character death | tags: established relationship, supernatural/horror vibes

DAY 3 - MUTUAL PINING

Pining for the Fjords by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | no cw | tags: matchmaker robin, monty python references, getting together, kissing, bisexual steve harrington, eddie munson lives

if you call me back by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | cw: angst with a happy ending, mention of being drunk | tags: mutual pining, long distance friends, friends to lovers

Loving from afar by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | no cw | tags: mutual pining, pre-steddie

Obviously by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: brief period-typical internalized homophobia | tags: dual pov, post-season 4, idiots in love, just make a move already, platonic stobin, eddie and gareth are best friends

Take my hand (we'll make it, i swear) by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation with art by @house-of-the-moving-image | Rated G | cw: steve getting vecna'd, some violent imagery | tags: idiots in love, fluff and angst

speak a little louder by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: fluff, flirting, nerds in a basement

Stolen Pine by @redlegumes | Rated E | no cw | tags: idiots in love, pining, christmas tree without glasses, light theft

DAY 4 - MEET CUTE AT WORK

stumbling into you by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: sexual innuendo, semi-public handsy making out | tags: making out, getting together, rock star eddie munson, modern au

Art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Punch me out by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated E | cw: Blowjobs, dirty talk, slight degradation kink | tags: no UD au, company christmas party, bathroom sex

Get a Grip on Yourself, Munson by @lingeringmirth | Rated T | no cw | tags: transfem stevie harrington, trasnmasc eddie munson, dad eddie munson, everyone's bi, fluff, flirting

Baby, You Can Drive My Car by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | cw: weed, language | tags: mechanic!eddie, business guy!steve, fluffy meet cute

Cats know best by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | cw: mention of animal injury and amputation | tags: pre-steddie

hey sweetheart by @cranberrymoons | Rated E | no cw | tags: modern au, line cook eddie, waiter steve, hooking up

There can only be one Santa driving a DeLorean by @redlegumes | Rated T | no cw | tags: mechanic au, matching sweaters, bad flirting

Love Over Box Labels by @klausinamarink | Rated G | no cw | tags: modern au, no Upside Down, the romanticisms of working at warehouses

DAY 5 - FREE SPACE (DOMESTIC FLUFF)

never take it for granted, this domestic bliss by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: domestic fluff, singing, baking

won't ever learn by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | no cw | tags: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, steddie dads

The biggest, brightest, gaudiest display in all of Indiana by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated G | cw: one slight mention of PTSD | tags: Post-Vecna, everybody lives, pining, steve harrington has a crush on eddie munson, christmas

A Solid Plan by @thisapplepielife | Rated E | cw: sexual content | tags: established relationship, teamwork makes the dream work, if you build it: he will come, idiots in love, silly sex mishaps, first apartment, flat pack furniture

the scrooge who stole christmas by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw

Breakfast in bed by @atimeofyourlife | Rated G | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

DAY 6 - COOKING TOGETHER

powdered sugar nose by steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: food as a way to flirt, allusions to sex, fade to black sex | tags: established relationship, fluff, subtle praise kink

Art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Hungry for you by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | cw: sexually explicit language | tags: No UD AU, modern au, record shop owner!eddie, restaurant owner!steve, sexual tension, top steve, bottom eddie

Mixing it up (Moving us on) by @katyawriteswhump | Rated T | cw: alcohol and drug use, implied chronic pain/illness, angst | tags: fluff

Catch Fire by @thisapplepielife | Rated M | no cw | tags: established relationship, idiots in love, first home, cooking mishaps

Life lesson: Never share a kitchen. by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | cw: angst, ambiguous ending

have a cup(cake) of cheer by @cranberrymoons | Rated T | no cw | tags: future fic, rockstar eddie, teacher steve, evil pta moms

Tradition by @maxinemaxmayfield | Rated T | no cw | tags: first kiss, post-s4, getting together, friends to lovers

and they dance by @lingeringmirth | Rated G | no cw | tags: domestic fluff, established steddie

Crepes and Cake Batter by @klausinamarink | Rated G | cw: post-domestic argument | tags: stress baking, hurt/comfort, sad steve

DAY 7 - HANUKKAH

the fifth night by steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | no cw | tags: non-practicing jewish eddie, getting together, first kiss, flirting

You Know Why by @thisapplepielife | Rated T | no cw | tags: canon divergence post-s4, eddie munson lives, gift giving, mutual attraction, flirting and wooing

Kindling the light by @atimeofyourlife | Rated T | no cw | tags: jewish steve harrington