#fic: smuggler bar

[marscardigan]

begin again

joel miller x reader

summary: after ten years, you see joel again.

word count: 16k

warnings: blood, typical tlou canon violence, mentions of death and description of gore-ish wounds

longest fic i've ever writeen! enjoy!

Present day (spring 2035)

It was another typical Tuesday for Joel at Jackson. After his mission to patrol the woods that surrounded the little city, he came back to his home, and prepared something easy to eat with Ellie.

After that, he rested for a bit in his couch, always falling asleep for twenty or thirty minutes. When it was already dark, he went to the local bar to finish the day with a good beer. Maria, his brother's wife, sat down by his side.

"Hey, Joel" The named one turned his gaze to her, leaning his back to the wall. "Are you free tomorrow morning?"

"I wanted to fix the bathroom door" that" he shrugged, "but apart from that, I guess I'm free"

"Great, because Rick rescued a group of three women this afternoon. There is one of them that volunteered for patrol, and if you could go with her to train her a bit, although she is great with the shotgun" She laughed. "That chick almost blows Tommy's head". Joel drank the rest of the beer. "Alright, tell her to be at the stable at 7"

May 2024

The air smelled like summer. You loved summer, because the infected were easier to kill with the strong heat. And also because that allowed you to have some free time from the fireflies.

You joined them five summers ago, when they found you almost dead, with a bullet dangerously close to your chest. They saved you, and you owed them. So here you were. Cleaning the zone from clickers and infected. Since the apocalypse started, you were grateful for your capabilities with the shotgun, thanks to your grandfather and his love for hunting. Thanks to that and your surprising survival skills, you were one of the fireflies best huntress; which meant you worked a lot, but also gained some free time for yourself.

You were sat on the rooftop of a building, killing some time with some old book you have just stolen, when you saw two people running through the perimeter. When you were about to shoot, your walkie sounded. It was Marlene, warning you not to kill them. You scoffed, asking who they were, and she evaded the question. Without feeling satisfied, you grabbed your shotgun and followed them.

Those fuckers were good at running, because after an hour, you lost them. It wasn't until a big arm grabbed you by the neck and put a knife - too close to your liking -, that you guessed they found out.

"Oh my god" The woman smiled, murmuring your name as if it was a foreign myth. "Glad to finally meet you, you are quite de legend around here" She got closer to you, "Joel, you can let her go"

"That won't be necessary" you hissed, taking advantage of their realization to kick him right between his legs. The male fell to his knees. You grabbed back your shotgun, pointing right between her eyebrows.

"My name is Tess, and this man is Joel" She raised her arms, getting back, but without showing a single sign of panic in her gaze. "We won't hurt you if you don't hurt us"

"You can't hurt me if I open your head" You answered, with your finger caressing the trigger.

"We were looking for you, for god's sake" Joel now said annoyed, still on the ground. "Marlene told us where you were. We know her."

"Why would she-"

"Your debt with the fireflies is done" Tess cut you off. "We were here to get you out of the quarantine zone. If you want, of course"

"Or you can stay here and still kiss Marlene's ass"

"Oh, you don't want to mess with me, big boy" You laughed, looking back at Tess. “Your boyfriend should keep his mouth shut, doll.”

"He ain’t my boyfriend" Tess admitted, sighing. "We also came to make you a job offer"

You bit your lip, then lowering your arm. "Keep talking"

"We work as smugglers, and we heard how good you are with your job" Tess grabbed Joel's hand, helping him get up. "If everything we heard about you and that shotgun of yours is true, we would like you to join us"

"You pay good?" You asked. "We pay great, and our job would suit your potential." The brunette nodded. "So, what you say?"

You didn't have much of a choice. You wanted so bad to get out of here. Also, you have done smuggling for free, so what's better than getting paid for doing things you were the best at?

"I'm in"

Present day

It was uncharacteristically cold today. Joel woke up before his alarm went off, taking advantage of these ten minutes to prepare a sandwich for his patrol today. It wasn’t rare that citizens of Jackson found stray people and opened their gates to them.

He got dressed and started his way to the stables, not without before leaving a note to Ellie about him leaving for the morning.

When he arrived, he started to get his horse ready, petting shimmer for a bit. Once he finished, he waited, sitting down in a chair. Then it was seven. He light up a cigarette. Then it was seven fifteen, seven twenty… And when the clock hanged on the stable wall marked seven thirty, Joel was exasperated.

Before he could leave, Maria appeared on his eyesight.

“Sorry, Joel, she had some issues with her prosthetic leg” She then announced: “She’s ready now.”

Joel’s brows furrowed. Then you appeared on his eyesight. His gaze softened, but just for a moment, before getting his guard back up.

“Hey, big boy”

October 2024

“You missed today” A voice behind you said. “You never miss.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know it was Joel talking. You were tired and the last thing you wanted was to talk to him.

“Why? Why did you miss?”

You shrugged. “I suppose you’ll never know.”

The room fell silent again. You started to appreciate the silence after all the loudness that entered to your life for the past months.

“You knew that woman” Joel then said. You didn’t notice when he got closer to your figure. “Am I right?”

You were still quiet, focusing your eyes to the book.

“I thought I knew her” You didn’t know why you were telling him that, you just wanted him to go away. Youb corrected yourself. “She looked like someone I knew”

Joel sat down right next to you, still keeping a distance. He didn’t insist about it. He just fell quiet.

“Doesn’t it happen to you?” You break the silence. “Thinking someone you knew fell sick. Or killing people you knew without being aware of it because of some fucking fungus”

“I think about it all the time” He then said. His voice seemed soft, weak even. “You lost someone because of it?”

“I lost everyone” You laughed at the irony. “But, uhm…” Tears threatened to come out of your eyes. “Five years ago, I lost my sister. And it was my fault.”

“Got infected?” Joel asked. You nodded slowly with your head. “She begged me to kill her, to end her pain. I guess I couldn’t do it.” You shrugged, trying - and failing - to act indifferent about it. “So when I see an infected that looks at least a bit like her, I get scared. It doesn't happen often, and I know it’s not scientifically possible for an infected to keep-”

“I understand.”

You closed your mouth shut. It was your turn to get quiet. “I lost my daughter because of it. I understand”

His words made you realize lots of things, the most important one, how similar you two were. Tried to act out as dangerous and powerful, when on the inside you were just two lost and broken people, who didn’t want nor care to be fixed.

That night, something clicked between you and Joel.

Present day

Joel stood static on his position. It couldn’t be possibly you. He had to be dreaming. He had to.

“I see you two know each other” Maria chirped. “I have work to do. Don’t mess this up.”

The woman disappeared, leaving the two of you alone.

You ignored his burning gaze towards you and jumped to the horse. “Come on.” Joel tried to ignore all the thoughts that were evading his head, and started riding his horse. Once the gates of Jackson closed, he positioned the animal right next to yours.

“How did you find me?” He asked, taking advantage to see your face. You had a long scar that went all through your right cheek. And he also looked at your missing leg, now replaced with a prosthetic metal one.

“You know I am very good at my job” You simply answered. When you looked at him, the male felt cold. “Where’s Tess?”. He took a minute before answering. “She didn’t make it”

You felt bad. Although you shouldn’t, you did. Maybe it was because a tiny piece of your heart still belonged to them. Even after everything.

“Sorry” You mumbled. “Infected?”

“Uh-huh” Joel looked at your leg. “How did you make it?”

You ignored him, riding your horse faster.

February 2025

The glass snapped with the pass of your boots. You were all bloody - thank god it wasn’t yours - and you were also exhausted. Joel followed you close.

You two had a mission around Boston, and Tess couldn’t come with you, she got shot and lost a dangerous amount of blood. “Fuck” He mumbled. “We shouldn’t have accepted it until Tess recovered.”

“Oh shut up you pussy, we can handle this just fine” Your voice said the opposite, but Joel didn’t seem to notice.

All of a sudden, a window broke right on top of you. An infected grabbed you by the shoulders, her mouth too close to your neck. Before you could even process what was happening, Joel drove the bat into the infected’s head. You moved the now corpse to the floor, standing up. “Thank you for that” You laughed. “Lord, you scared me” He said at the same time.

You grabbed your shotgun and smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, yet his lips curled the tiniest bit upwards. You tried to remember every inch of his face. After all of these months together, you started to not dislike Joel and Tess' company, even you dared to say enyoing.

It was usual to start your routine wrapped in cold sheets, only Joel's body keeping you warm. Though you must admit it was nice to lay your trust on him and allow yourself some calm in your life, your job didn't make things easier. With your strong character and Joel's stubborness, you usually ended up fighting, a lot. It wasn't a relashionship what you both had, but for you, it felt like something much more important. You let him inside your head and your heart. You told eachother every fear, every dream, every thought that occupied your minds. Your connection with him was something built with time, patience and trust.

WIth everything you learned since you were with them, there was one thing you yearned for, and yet it was something that seemed imposible. Stability. Stability and a calm life was everything you wanted. It was pretty hard to find, knowing your head had a price in half of the states. But at some misions, like the one you were right now with him, you decided to be selfilsh for a while. You decided to priorize what your heart longed for, not what your head ordered.

So here you were. With one of your legs tangled in Joel's hip. Inside a house that wasn't even yours. Both of you only wearing underwear, your mind focusing on the light sound of the rain from the outside and Joel's calm breaths. "We should get going" Joel whispered, plastering soft kisses in your forehead. "Tess must be waiting for us tonight"

"We already finished the mission, Joel. I can assure you before the sun is down we will be with Tess again. And please, don't name another woman's name after we fucked. It doesn't feel right." Joel chuckled, getting up from the bed. "Sure thing. come on, let's go."

Once you both got dressed and grabbed your guns, you went back to the road. The soft rain turned out to be a pretty loud storm, banning you and Joel's chance to go back as fast as you would've wanted.

It turned out to be a longer journey back home than you anticipated. And by the time you entered the building where youb three were staying, you and Joel shared a worried glance. A clicker sound.

Without further explanation, you reloaded the shotgun and runned to the third floor, where Tess was supposed to be. With every step you took, the woman's shouts became more louder. You killed two runners, who heard your fast footsteps. You didn't hear - or at least denied - Joel's screams to stop and get behind him. You could only hear Tess cries. When you killed two more clickers, you started to think this was serious. Joel screamed your name again.

"Get behind me! For the love of god get the fuck behind me!"

"There's too many!" You shouted back, throwing your shotgun to the floor once it ran away from bullets, and decided to stick with a metal bat instead. "Go get Tess!" The bat found an infected head, knocking it out at the instant. "I'll cover you! NOW!"

Joel failed to look you in the eye. He just nodded to himslef, trying not to think about everything that was happening right now, and just followed your orders. He grabbed Tess as carefully as he could and started running towards the exit, you following behind.

After that, everything happened in less that a minute. Your bat ended up blending with an infected's open head, leaving you unarmed and scared. You still hitted as hard as your could the other infected bodies that seemed every second harder to get rid off. And by the time Joel was on the third floor again, almost leaving the building, a clicker jumped on your back. Tess was the first to notice.

"Joel get back! Get back! She needs you!"

Joel denied, not stopping nor looking back, where you were shouting for help. "We need to leave"

"No! Joel!"

You never seen a clicker so close. You never noticed how behind the fungus, you could still see a human face. You could see the pain the man was in. And stil, with both of your arms holding his cheeks and shoving him as hard as you could, it wasn't enough. You were going to die. You used your last string of strenght to look back. Joel and Tess were gone. They left you. He left you.

The fatigue turned to anger, and the anger turned to rage. Thanks to that rage, you succeded to grab a brick at splash it into the clicker's head, allowing you to catch a breath and try to escape. You thought you made it when a high-pitch scream left your throat. You felt how every tooth burned the flesh of your leg. Your vision was blurry from the inevitable tears that ecaped from your eyes. Taking advantage of how the clicker was eating your muscle, you ripped the clicker's head apart, killing him in the act, leaving you in silence. God, how you appreciated silence. The only sound that was audible were your soft cries. You laid down the cold floor and kept crying. You were going to die. With all the stimoulation that ran through your veins, you didn't hear how at the end of the hall, Joel had come back to you. But when he saw your leg, and your weak figure, he knew you wouldn't last much. He now understood, better than ever, your story with your sister. That night, Joel decided to be selfish. He decided not killing you, even if that meant you would turn into a montser.

He never told Tess the truth, thinking it would be easier for both of them to believe you died that day. A couple of minutes later, when you were alone again, you crawled to a now dead clicker, and removed the knife from its neck. You cut your own leg and with Joel's jacket you stop - or at least tried to stop - the hemorriage.

The next thing you saw was darkness.

Present day

The sun started to hide behind the mountains and the air started to grow colder. You spent all day at patrol with Joel. Even though you haven't talked much, he knew why you were here. At least, that¡s what he thought.

"Come on" He stopped his horse, not daring to lock gazes with you for more than mere seconds. "I know why you're here."

"Oh, you do?" You mocked him, turning your horse around and getting closer to him. "Then why am I here, handsome?"

"To end me" His voice was nothing more than a mere whisper. "I left you, and now you'll get your revenge"

"You're right as always" You smiled at him. "Well, at least on the abadnonement thing. That was rough, even for you, asshole. But I'm not here to kill you. I don't blame you for what happened."

"When I found out you had been staying at Jackson for two years. I got jealous. You got what I wanted. A calm life." You shrugged. "I came here to have that, even if it means seeing you everyday, I just want some peace. I had enough violence."

Joel went quiet. Until his voice cracked. "Maybe we could begin again."

To begin again. To be gifted with another chance. To welcome him in your life again. Your voice sounded soft and yet cold when you murmured. "Yeah, maybe we could."

[justagalwhowrites]

Master List

Cover by the AMAZING @murder-wife

What I've been working on lately. All works are 18+, minors DNI

Now accepting requests :)

A note on tipping (AKA please read before you tip!)

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Oneshots/Requests

Joyeux Noël - A Lavender AU Christmas Story

Bane of My Existence (QZ Smuggler!Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Undone (Dom!Joel Miller x Sub!Female Reader)

Take Care (Dom!Joel Miller x Sub!Female Reader)

Just to be Sure (Husband!Joel x Wife!Reader)

Homecoming (DBF!Joel x Female Reader)

Lavender No Outbreak AU Masterlist

Sick Leave (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Date Night (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Girl Dad (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Long Day (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender AU)

Long Distance (DBF!Joel Miller x Female Reader from Homecoming)

Pick Me (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Proof of Life (Darkish!Joel Miller x Female Reader, QZ era)

The Watch (Joel Miller x Female Reader, QZ era)

Fucksgiving 2K23: Gray Sweatpants

Game Time - A New in Town College Football One Shot

Wonderland - A Lavender No Outbreak AU One Shot

What Was Lost... - A Lavender One Shot set between chapters 8 and 9

...Can Be Found - A Lavender One Shot set between chapters 47 and 48

Expecting - A Lavender Drabble set between chapters 48 and 49

Undone - No Outbreak AU Joel Miller x Female Reader

Curse and Comfort - A Jackson!Joel Period One Shot

Yearling

After years of surviving in the wilds of Wyoming after the cordyceps outbreak, you find yourself in Jackson. It's a town filled with friendly faces and the kind of world you hardly remember, let alone can connect with or understand. But one man - Joel Miller, another loner, like you - makes you think that trying to find your place in society again might be worth it.

A slow burn friends-to-lovers fan fic.

Masterlist

Yearling No Outbreak AU

Bambi and Joel find each other in every timeline.

Masterlist

The Savage and the Sanctuary

After the death of his daughter, Joel Miller fell apart. But when searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and within his own rage doesn't fix it, he resigns himself to working for his brother in private security. It's a job that starts him down the path to stability and a semblance of a life, even if it's not one he particularly wants. At least it does until you show up.

The biggest movie star in the world with your newly adopted niece in tow, you throw everything about Joel's life into flux. Is he capable of letting himself feel something again while protecting the only things left in the world that matter?

Masterlist

Halcyon

When your life falls apart, you find yourself back in your hometown of Austin, Texas for the first time in more than a decade. Eager to make your own way after a rough divorce, you reconnect with your high school best friend Joel Miller - a man you never thought would be in your life again.

Things have changed since your falling out just before you left for college but friendship with Joel comes easy. His life isn't in any better shape than your own and the two of you make a vow to get your acts together - personal, professional and romantic - in the span of a year. But will your burgeoning connection make it so you can figure everything out or will your history together get in the way?

Masterlist

Stranger in a bar

You meet a stranger in a bar, one who is fun and sexy and makes you wonder if the single life is all it's cracked up to be. But there's one big problem: you probably shouldn't be fucking your dad's best friend.

Masterlist

Run Rabbit

It was just over a year after the world ended that you were captured by Joel and Tommy Miller. They’re harsh, they’re cold and they’re killers. But, as a nurse, you’re a valuable person to have around and they’re not the worst thing wandering the wasteland that was the United States. And there might be more to these men than meets the eye.

Masterlist

Holly Jolly

Joel Miller has never been a fan of Christmas. It's stressful, it's expensive and it's depressing. But a chance meeting in line to take his five-year-old daughter to see Santa might just change that.

Masterlist

New in Town

When you move to Austin for work, your best friend Sarah recommends that you hang out with her dad, Joel, to get to know the area. Sarah just never mentioned the fact that her dad is just your type.

Masterlist

Haunted House - A Halloween one shot

Manic Monday - A New in Town Drabble

Lavender

An age-gap grumpy/sunshine friends-to-lovers (and eventually friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers) fanfic that starts pre-outbreak. Will be long running and updated regularly and run through the outbreak and at least season one of TLOU.

Lavender Masterlist

Lavender No Outbreak AU Masterlist

My casting of the OCs

Found Family - Fan Art

Joel & Doc - Fan Art

Family Portrait

Joel - Fan Art

The Mandalorian x Female Reader

Excerpts and previews of Beskar Doll (found in total on AO3), an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn fic.

Tumblr Chapter Master List

Buycika - a Beskar Doll Drabble

Growing - A Beskar Doll Drabble

Overcome - Din Djarin x Female Reader

For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

Featuring Joel Miller, Oberyn Martell, Din Djarin

[fallingrealms16]

CAITVI FIC REC LIST PART 2 (???) <3333

MUAHAHAHAHA I’m baaaaaack ;)

Gonna keep this personal note quick:

Here is the wonderful part 2 out of Violyn fanfics, only the best of the best that I have read! Lots of stories + another note at the end, make sure you read that to not miss any upcoming content <3

Reminder‼️ pretty please read all the tags on each fic before reading as I am not responsible for any emotional trauma you may experience ^3^ (more notes at the bottom ty, ily <3)

NOW let’s get cracka lackin🤚🏼

While you’re down there, being a doll by Greed

4.8K Words // 1 Chapter // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

“But I don’t need to be there to know that your panties are soaked right now," Vi said, her voice sending a thrill down Caitlyn's spine. "Go ahead, tell me I'm right."

You’re Mine Now by YourSinfulScribe

10K Words // 4 Chapters // COMPLETED?

//EXPLICIT//

Vi is an astute and expert smuggler, and although she has not had the best of luck lately, she has always known how to make good decisions that have helped her survive.

However, ignoring rumors and advice, she enters a mansion that, although it seems ordinary at first glance, hides something that Vi could never have imagined.

Vampire Cait x Human Vi

Coming home to you by mkhhhx

20K Words // 1 Chapter // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

“You are not taking good enough care of yourself,” Caitlyn starts, looking towards the fountain. She’s lost weight and her cheeks are hollowed, the knuckles of her hand too pronounced into Vi’s grasp. “I need you now, more than ever, Violet.”

“You have me,” Vi says, as a matter of fact. As if she has anyone else to live for, to give her loyalty to. “In any way you’d want me.”

this one is so broken and tentative it actually ruined me btw. Literally as I type this shite I’ve also got it open on my computer STILL reading because it’s that good—I didn’t have to finish it to recommend it

When It Rains, It Pours by SarcastCity

22K Words // 4 Chapters // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT// SarcastCity on X

Caitlyn's shower breaks, and Vi's the sexy plumber who comes out to fix the problem.

Place Your Bets by ChemistryGod

25K Words // 6 Chapter // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Vi's an up-and-coming pro-boxer. Her first match is against former heavyweight world-champion Sevika. Vi needs the money to move up the social ladder, and with her pro-status comes better training. Caitlyn is new in town and they hit it off at a lesbian bar. Vi, however, never could have guessed that their jobs would put their newfound relationship in a tight spot.

Nothing Personal, It’s Just Business by second_hand_feels

28K Words // 5 Chapters // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

“Not gonna lie,” the smooth voice announces down the alleyway, “whatever you’re doing, it looks hot as hell.”

Caitlyn just freezes, taking a moment to assess the situation. Gaze flicking up to the voice, it’s the woman, one of Demarco’s enforcers, standing at the mouth of the alleyway and fuck.

Fuck for so many reasons. Notably, she can’t be fucking this up this quick, but also, fuck, she’s just so hot.

Catvi Undercover Cop/Mafia AU

P.S. extra bonus one shot fix it fic recommendation <3

Sweet, like a cupcake by aniyahsheree

2.7K Words // 1 Chapter // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Vi pulled back slightly, her lips quirked into a playful grin. "Told you," she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from Caitlyn's face, "you're sweet—like a cupcake"

Next one will be slightly longer fics…like 28K words+ ✅ but jumps to more than 55K words+ very quickly!

Pretty plsssss send in recs too! I’m always looking for stuff to read and also recommend for others so if you know of a good fic send it in <33

MUAHAHA OKAY NOW IM DONE ‼️

[the-californicationist]

Welcome to the Masterlist!

Challenge details here.

Remember to check out these amazing fics and leave a comment with your character guesses! You can also show these authors some love with a cheeky reblog. 🩷

Mud Bath by @staytrueblue — As your recruits play a game of football in the mud, you get tackled by an unknown soldier who turns out to be an old friend...

The Perfect Soldier by @eternallyelvish — You’re working as a casting director, scouring gyms for talent, until you find the most perfect soldier for the leading role…

Linen and Lace by @indigosunsetao3 — A little sexy dinner, a little dirty talk; who is this mystery hunk?!

Spare Smoke by @fallenneziah — After a little taunting from your handsome companion about your smoking habit, things heat up inside your cabin...

Crossing Lines by @ebodebo — You're in a secret relationship with your brother's best friend...

Details by @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries — The recruits are underestimating your mystery man, but they really shouldn't...

Sunset, Sunrise by @agentmarvel — There are many things in his life that he regrets, but he rues none so much as the day he ended things with you.

Behind Velvet by @arthursleftarmpit — A handsome stranger flirts with you at the ball in this Regency AU. Who could it be?

Sandalwood and Smoke by @live-love-be-unique — Your man blindfolds you and proceeds to tease you within an inch of your life, just how you like it.

Ensnared by @bzurk — After stumbling into a jungle trap, your fellow soldier helps you down... but not after having a laugh at your expense!

Failsafe by @deadbranch — You wake up after a night at the bar tangled in the sheets with a captivating stranger...

Tartan Negroni by @ilragnotessitore — You share delicious drinks with a handsome stranger, then you share a little more...

Blindsided by @villainofmyownstory — You can't get over the breakup and the fact that you were left alone. You keep coming to the place where you last saw him. To, perhaps, finally get some kind of answer. Some solace.

Good Night, Little Soldier by @cerise-on-top — Your mystery man is kidnapped and things have taken an unchangeable turn, but he dreams of you in his final moments.

Homecoming by @indigosunsetao3 — When your man gets home from work, he greets you in the most delightful way possible…

Under the Stars by @kyletogaz — Just a late night talk with the love of your life.

Hospital Food by @sageyxbabey — Your ex-husband (the biological father of your daughter) shows up when said daughter is admitted to hospital. Your current partner (and your daughter) put him in his place.

Foster Fail by @dozeydaisy — You try to convince your man to let you adopt a new furry friend.

By Midnight by @vilixxr — His Royal Highness sneaks into your bed at night for some fiery affection in this medieval AU...

Cloudless Sky by @cadotoast — Your crush confesses his love to you as you lay dying in his arms. If only it wasn't too late... [TW: Angsty!]

Valentines by @xxshadowbabexx — You get the best Valentine’s Day gift from your man…

Blend In by @lisenberry — You're going undercover with the 141, but which one is it?

Wake Up by @guy-writes — Your man is missing you, but as he cuddles you in bed, he realizes something's gone wrong. [TW: Angsty]

Red Card by @glitterypirateduck — You and the hot ref go at it at your nephew's soccer game.

Smuggle and Secure by @crashtestbunny — You're a smuggler, a courier for hire, that works on moving many questionable items into even more questionable hands. Except the current package seems to have attracted the attention of international security.

Welcome Mountain by @jeffersonismywintersoldier — You run into a gorgeous man at the gym, and he comments on your recent transition in the most flirtatious way.

Déjame cuidar de ti, amor by @pricesugarwife — You come home from work drained, but your lover knows just how to fill you back up. [Escribe en Español]

My Neighbor by @lovifie — You bump into your neighbor in the elevator, and then you spend all of your time together until suddenly, he disappears...

A Quiet (K)night by @random-thot-generator — You have a mysterious protector on your evening commute.

A Helping Hand by @stellewriites — In class, you get stumped by a word puzzle, but the handsome man behind you helps you out.

put your ear to my heart by @last-starry-sky — A monster lives in these woods, good thing you’ve got him to protect you…

Thanks so much to everyone who is participating! I'm glad you could feel inspired.

Much love!! -- Cali ✌️🩷

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 23}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller X Smuggler! Reader

Summary: You can only hope to catch up with Joel and Ellie before it's too late, the warning words of your cousins on your mind as you encounter a group of people at the campus yourself. Your trio is reunited in the worst of circumstances, altering the very perception Ellie has of the world.

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: minor character death, canon typical violence, canon typical language, cursing, insult, sexual content, non con, allusions to non con sexual advances, mentions of nausea but no vomiting, fighting, blood, reader gets injured, ellie gets injured, joel gets injured, guns, gun violence, creepy david gets his own warning, religious imagery, allusions to cannibalism, end of the world politics, end of the world rhetoric, allusions to pedophilia and grooming (bc of david), please let me know if i missed any!

A/N: well hello there, this was unexpected but procrastinating packing has led me here and who am i to argue? i hope this isn't too heavy of a chapter, but it sets up the remainder of the fic and we will see the end of it within 5-7 chapters. i've missed this little trio and their dynamic, even if it seems like i've wronged them in this latest installment

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

You groaned out, your entire chest aching and sore. Sunlight too bright on your eyes and causing the throbbing in your head to amp up a notch. It felt like you had fallen or been thrown around. Entire body blooming with sensitive spots tender to pressure.

“Fuck.”

The ground was cold beneath you, hard and solid. Wind howled faintly but you had to be inside because you couldn’t feel it jostling your body. When you moved to push yourself up, your arms flexed against something tight around them. Blinking your eyes open, the only thing you could see was a barred fence and the brick wall behind it. There was a buzzing sound that seemed to consume the air around you, not helping the throbbing in your head.

You blinked a few times, coming back into your body and the buzzing sound suddenly shifted into a familiar voice.

“Bean, please wake up. You need to wake up, they’ll be back any minute.” It was Ellie, her voice a little raspy and her words far too fast to process as you shifted into a seated position. Your hands were bound around the wrists, rope tight and knotted around them. It wasn’t an official knot, but just a tangled mess of tied off twists that had been pulled on so much the fibers dug into your skin.

“What happened…?” Your head rolls on your shoulders, feeling out the kinks and knots in your muscles that would take years to work out. Fuck, you were getting old. But the clatter of something Ellie was doing had you up on your feet in a heartbeat, eyes wide and searching. She had been trying to use a bucket to get up into the window, to see out of it where it was high on the brick wall that backed up your separate cells. It had fallen with her weight on top of it, too much for how empty it was, the side of it dented in and she was standing beside it with a sheepish grimace.

“They attacked us, they hurt Joel. I-I-I tried to remember what you taught me about stitching but I couldn’t focus and they got cut one of our bags, the stuff you packed up fell out when I was trying to get us away.”

“Who…who attacked you?” You brought your tied hands up to your mouth and dug them into the rope, it tasted of dirt but you tried not to think of what else could be soaked into the fabric as you tore into it as best you could.

“Some guy named David, he found me when I was hunting. Joel needed something to eat, he’s not….Bean, he doesn’t look good.” You looked up through your hunched over position to see the shine of her eyes, the way she was trying to keep everything in check. But she was so young, kidnapped, stolen away from the one person who she had left in the world while you….while you had just gone off on your own.

Guilt flared and burned hot in your body, making you feel shameful and like you had caused all of this to happen. She seemed to sense it.

“They would’ve attacked either way, back at the school campus. They had been looking for people, they go there a lot, at least that’s what it seemed like.”

“You said you had to stitch him up, how bad was it? All I saw was a bat on broken in half.”

“You were there?”

“I was tracing your last known steps, I- I ran into my family and they told me they had been here but that it wasn’t…it wasn’t what it was promised to be. I’ll explain later. Ellie, tell me that they haven’t touched you, please.”

“No one’s…touched me, well they did when they tried to corner me and when they carried me here. But that David guy gives me the creeps.”

The way she was speaking, you weren’t sure she was understanding what you were saying. Which was both comforting that it was such an unfathomable thought in her mind, no real weight to the phrase of the words. But it was also damning in the way she really had no idea what you were talking about, her innocence and gullibility on the matter something you thought telling of her age and life thus far. But she had to know, she needed to be aware of the way people would take everything from one another, even if it would be a hard conversation to have, a hard pane of glass to shatter in her perception of the world she was now in the midst of outside the QZ walls.

“Don’t let him get you alone, you hear me? Do not let him touch you. He is a bad, terrible man. He’s a fucking-“

Ellie said your real name, the one printed neatly on your old license she had been so fascinated with.

“I think Joel is dying. I…I tried to trade with David, for some medicine, but when his guy came back with it they cornered me and said they were looking for the man who killed someone from their group back on the campus, that he had been traveling with a girl. They knew it was me, that it was us. He’s…Joel… he’s- he won’t wake up. I tried to do it how your showed me and I didn’t know where to put the medicine but I tried, he…he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“You’re okay, Ellie, I promise. You did,” You walk up to the fence separating you from each other, sticking your fingers through the gaps to get her to grasp as your hands. You were thankful she wasn’t tied up as you were but it also made your heart weary because it meant that this David was still trying to keep her guard down. “Everything you could. That medicine, even if it was put in the wrong spot, is what saved his life, he’s not waking up because it’s strong, it was penicillin, yeah?”

“Y-yeah. I think that’s what they called it.”

“That’s perfect, Ellie. That’s exactly what he needed. It’s a strong one, it’s in his system and he’s going to be okay. You stitched him up, you can lord that over him if you want once he’s better. Everything is going…everything it going to be okay.”

You could tell she wasn’t completely believing of your words but she was taking them, her furrowed brow relaxed just a bit and her fingers tangled with your own. She rested her forehead, swollen with a gash across the left side against the fence and you mimicked her.

“I was so scared.” She admitted on a quiet breath.

“I know, baby, but it’s okay. You did it, you got through the scary moment. Now all that’s left is to get out of here and back to Joel. He’s hidden somewhere, yeah? You made sure he was safe and inside somewhere?”

“Yeah, yes, he’s,” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know how far it is, but he’s in a house, I dragged him to the basement and made sure he had all the sleeping bags and blankets on him, he…he looked so helpless. Bean, he looked-“

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I promise you, it’s all gonna be okay. He’s strong, he can-“

“He’s so stupid! You both are! None of this would have happened if you two hadn’t fought and just- we would’ve been together and those guys wouldn’t have gotten us if you two had fought them off!”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry. We- we didn’t, we…needed some space. Joel, he-“

“He’s a fucking baby! He’s…he’s dying and he…he won’t even get to see you one last time.”

“Hey!” You couldn’t help the sharp tone nor the volume of your shout. “Ellie, you look at me and you listen.”

She does, her eyes wide and shining as she takes in the sight of you tied up and confined just like she is.

The situation is anything but ideal, it’s heartbreaking and too heavy on your shoulders. But at least you were with her now, she had help now. She wasn’t alone.

“Joel is not going to die. You got him the medicine he needed. It takes time. You and I are going to get out of this situation, we will. And then we will find him. We are going to be okay, it was a lesson that needed to be learned and it will stick. You need to understand that things happen for a reason. This is one of those times and no one is at fault.”

She nods, once and then again before she’s moving about her enclosure and explaining to you the ways she’s tried to find weaknesses in it. No screws were loose, no bars were rusted or weak. The window was too high, the fence too strong. You’re watching her as you tear at the rope once again with your teeth, the sound of it tearing quiet and rattling through you each time a thread snapped.

Ellie’s body is suddenly flying to the chain link barrier that separates you, her breathing harsh.

“Ear.”

“Ear?”

“On the floor, by the drain.”

“What- oh.” You feel your stomach lurch when you spot it, the cut off cartilage laying beside a drain surrounded by thick drops of dried blood.

“They-“

“They’re monsters.”

The door was opening before you could say anything else. The evidence of how these people lived, of how David provided for his people telling you how depraved and desperate they were. How he chose to feed his people when there was ample woods and forest to hunt in just beyond the cluster of buildings they reside in, the houses only a short trek nearby they could scavenge in.

He wasn’t what you pictured, but he was exuding predatory energy as he approached the chain link fencing of the enclosure. Rather thin and with waning fair hair, he knelt down to slide a tray adorned with a bowl of something far too bright red, a spoon, and a mug of water. You sincerely hope Ellie hadn’t taken anything offered to her, not putting it past the man to drug her. But she remains as close to you as she can get, hand reaching for yours through the fence.

“I don’t have enough for you both. But I assume you wouldn’t care for anything I offered.” David aims at you, eyes trained on the way Ellie is clinging to you as best she can. How she’s still as a statue and her own eyes are trained on the food given to her.

You don’t say anything, unsure of what you would even if your voice came back to you. The rope still wrapped but no longer knotted around your wrists allows you to feel powerful if only a little.

Ellie looks from the food finally, toward the ear and David follows her gaze as he remains kneeled on the ground. He seems almost remorseful at the discovery you two had made in his absence and you wonder if his people knew the truth about the food they were consuming. A part of you hoped they had no clue, even if it meant David felt no fear or shame about manipulating those who willingly followed him to the very edge of humanity.

“For what it’s worth, this is just deer meat. I swear.” He tries to hide his monstrosity, to no avail. You wouldn’t believe him even if you didn’t know him, even if you were starving.

“You’re going to chop me up into little pieces. Both of us.”

“I’d rather not,” He keeps her gaze, not even bothering to acknowledge your presence in the face of Ellie’s fear. He’s feeding off it, reveling in the way she’s speaking willingly for what you believe the first time since he turned on her in the woods and she ran from him. “Please, just tell me your name.”

“If you wanna judge me-“

“Judge you?” She’s shouting, her voice harsh as she lets go of your hand and storms up to the door of her enclosure, far too close to the man for your comfort. But she kicks at the tray, sending it flying across the floor and knocking into the large butchers block atop a storage table cemented into the ground, the too red meat splashes color onto the dull tile. “You’re eating people, you sick fuck!”

David is surging up, though every move he’s making is calculated. He doesn’t look shocked or surprised, not taken aback by the words or actions of Ellie as she turns her back on him and corners herself as far away from the door as possible.

“Yes. There are only a few of us that know.” “But I would’ve told you.”

He’s watching you now, just past her. Calculating as he takes in the way your body is practically shaking as instincts warn you to get as far away from this man and this place as possible.

“I would’ve told you and your mother. Sooner or later. I guess sooner, to help tide you into our group.”

“You’re an animal.”

“Well, yes, we all are. That’s sorta the point.” David agrees, not wanting to dispute her, trying to earn her favor by being frank.

“It was a last resort. You think it doesn’t shame me? But what was I supposed to do?”

“I would not let these people starve. These people who put their lives in my hands, who e-expect me to keep them safe, who love me?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Ellie replies quickly, her emotions beginning to get the better of her. But you meet the man’s gaze and sneer opening at him.

“There are woods just beyond here, houses and neighborhoods to scavenge. You have men, could they not provide in a better way? No, I suppose not, because you’re weak. Helpless in the face of the world, of the way things are. You’d rather tear people down and prey on them instead of think critically, you’re nothing but a weak leader, guiding your people to their death.”

“Starvation would’ve only set in sooner if I were to concentrate efforts on such fruitless endeavors. I don’t think you believe it would’ve been better. I don’t think your friend would either.” He’s moving, mirroring Ellie’s pacing as he looks down at the food she’s wasted. “Didn’t he take another man’s life to save yours?”

“He was defending himself.”

“He was defending you.” He meets her steps as she stops, standing right in front of her with nothing but the bars and air separating them, and you feel every muscle in your body tense. “But you knew that.”

“You see a lot. So do I. And you know what I see when I look at you? Me.” His smile is small but he truly believes the words he’s spouting, the intent behind them clear. He means to take her under his wing, to mold her into a reflection of himself. Manipulate her into an image of his likeness. “You remind me of me. You’re a natural leader, you’re smart…loyal.”

“Violent.” He concludes, seeing the was she’s trembling with emotion.  

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“But I do. If I let you out of that cage right now, put that knife of yours in your hand, you’d stick me in a second. And you wouldn’t look to the woman behind you, you would do it without a thought. You have a violent heart. And I should know.” He stalks closer, his steps quiet and measured. “I’ve always had a violent heart. And I struggled with it for a long time.”

Your blood runs cold, the words flowing from the man chilling your very soul. He was depraved, he was sick as he tried to appeal to Ellie, to connect with her. His words revealing in more ways than he realized, than Ellie was able to read. You were sure she had no clue what he was doing, not exactly. Not aware of the way he was seeking her out and it made your heart ache even more so as you watched it happen in real time, the dance he orchestrates to get those he’s interested in to see him, to hear him. To fall in line and dance with him.

“But then the world ended and I was shown the truth.”

“Right…by God.” Ellie dubiously connects the dots of the man’s speech. But he’s not making much sense to her, you can tell. The message is loud and clear to you. He’s been inspired, taken the world as it fell and turned it into his own playground of sorts. You’ve encountered men like him before, set to play God and manipulate the conditions around them to their favor. The shepherd to lead sheep blindly as they need something to cling to. Something to believe in. But he’s a false prophet, one that is selfish and wasteful, no skills of his own to fall on so he uses those around him to his advantage, to propel himself into the next day, time and time again.

“No. By cordyceps.” He sounds reverent, praising and preaching the very thing that eradicated humanity in droves. Sounding so much like those that used to deliver sermons and dictate what sins the people before him had committed, promising them salvation when he was the one to damn them in the first place with perceived power he did not truly possess. “What does cordyceps do? Is it evil? No. It’s fruitful. It multiplies. It feeds and protects its children, and it secures its future with violence, if it must. It loves.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you can handle it. The way the others can’t.” He stalks even closer. More measured steps, as calculated at his words. “They need God. They need heaven. They need…they need a father. You don’t.”

The room is silent, his focus not leaving her even as you shift on your aching feet.

“You don’t. You’re beyond that.” He repeats, appealing to her. Admonishing her with praise and tenacity for being ‘better’ than those he believes he needs to look out for and is responsible for. “I’m a shepherd surrounded by sheep, and all I want…is an equal. A friend.”

“What about my friend?” Ellie demands, Joel on her mind as the man in front of her displays the complete opposite of everything he stands for. It makes her wish for him to be here, to be better, to beat the threat into submission as it closes in on her. But he’s not here, it’s just her and him. You are too trapped to help in your own cell.

“Like I said, loyal. I can tell the others to stop looking for him. They’ll spare him.”

“Really? They’ll just let him go?” She’s matching his steps now and your stomach plummets.

“Yes. If he leaves us in peace, they will just let him go. The woman behind you too, should she leave peacefully as well. They do what I tell them to do. They follow me.”

“And they would follow us. Lord knows I could use the help. I- Look what’s happened.” He reaches out and places a hand on the bars of the door, causing you to step forward as far as you can into the fence that separates you from Ellie. The target the man has set his sights on. “Think of what we could do together, as strong as we are. We’d make this place perfect. We’d grow, spread out. And we’d do whatever we needed for our people.”

Ellie’s reaching to touch a hand of her own to his and you feel something in you snap, you didn’t know what she was thinking, what she was doing and it was heartbreaking to see her move toward the man manipulating her. Playing her, dancing so eloquently around her and ensnaring her in his orbit. If only she would fucking look back at you over her shoulder. His hand moves to rest over hers and you feel the cold touch of his fingers as if he had touched you instead of her. The chilling skin of someone who had done this before, who was doing it again. Heeding the example of the very thing that had ruined the world as if it was something to admire. “Imagine the life we could give them. Imagine the life we could build.”

“Oh.” Her voice is so small, so quiet. And you feel acid bubble and rise to your throat as she brings her other hand to rest over his, cradling his hand almost.

And then her shoulders tense and she’s snapping his fingers, the loud cracking of bone filling the air as the man wails out, crumbles at the assault.

Ellie makes a grab for the keys hanging from his belt, but he snatches the front of her sweater and pulls her harshly into the bars. Her head collides with one and she’s reeling back before he has the chance to tighten his grip on her again, tearing out of it.

“You little cunt.” He swears, cradling his wounded hand tight to his chest. Anger colors him, shakes him to his core as he realizes the task he set for himself won’t be as easy as he anticipated. “Let’s see what I go tell the others now.”

“Ellie.”

“What?” Turning, he seems taken aback by the quiet admittance from the young girl. As if he isn’t quite sure he heard her correctly or he could believe that she chose now of all times to answer his questions.

“Tell them that Ellie is the little girl- who broke your fucking finger!” She shouts so loudly that she shakes with it, the words nearly growled out.

“How did you put it? Hmm? ‘Tiny little pieces’?” He taunts, though you can see the fear shift into a twisted sense of admiration. Frustration at being bested turning into confidence in her skills and the desire to best her glimmering in his eye before he turns away completely.

As soon as the door slams behind him and the lock clicks, she’s rushing across her enclosed space and reaching for you. She’s hiccupping and coughing as blood drips down her nose and busted lip, smearing it all over your own sweater as you try to hold her to you as best you could through the divide.

The door opens once again, some time later but it’s not David that enters. It’s two men with a third behind them. The lock of your cell clicks loudly as they open in and step inside, two of them while the third remains by the door.

The two men who were approaching you with a needle had you standing so fast your knees cracked. In her own cage, Ellie flew up to stand from her own crouch as close as she could get to you. She watched as you stood as straight at you could, to make yourself look as tall as possible and she mirrored it. The two men worked together to lock the slim opening behind them, keys going into a front pocket. There was rope in one of their hands, the other with the needle.

“We got you cornered, don’t know why David was insistent on locking you up, you’re no bigger than the girl. Look about as frail as her too.”

“Pretty little thing, aren’t ya? Wouldn’t mind giving you the promise of safety here if it meant-“

“Enough, do not taunt her. She’s liable to be just as violent as the man.”

David appeared in the doorway of the space, watching with a newly bandaged hand. You couldn’t help the feeling of pride that swelled in your middle at that. Ellie had done good, even if it had been hard to watch. Hard to watch and hear as he propositioned her. You had been in too much pain to do much about it, but it had allowed you to see what he was truly wanting with the young girl you considered family. The same he had wanted from your younger cousin. He was a sick, twisted man. Vile in the worst way one could be.

“You think I’m trapped in here with you?” You clicked your tongue at them, bringing your arms up to fend them off should they take one step closer to you, revealing that you had gotten out of your bindings. Your smile was wicked as you stared at them both, daring them to close the gap. “You’re trapped in here with me.”

You tried to focus on the man helping David drag the young girl from her own cage and the two coming at you, but it was all chaos. Loud, screaming, threatening and chilling chaos. They lunged at you, throwing the blanket they had in their grip over you and then you found yourself being hauled up by your thrashing hands and feet, each man holding tight to your body as they carried you out of the room.

As you’re being carried out, you hear another man and David’s voice speaking. Ellie is furious, her rage and desperation coming into play as you disappear and she’s left along with the man whose set his intentions on her. You try to scream, to tell her to run, to hurt, to kill and David’s laugh is the last thing you hear before gravity shifts and you’re in a new room separate from them.

There was a table, and a few chairs, that much was all you knew as your back was slammed onto a hard surface. The feeling of your pants being tugged at striking a primal fear deep inside your chest. It’s useless, your hands are bound once again between two larger ones, and the blanket over your form prohibits you from fighting back as well as you want to. The knife that you feel cutting at the fabric of your jeans tearing into your skin around your thighs and you try to scream and snarl as you rock yourself back and forth between the two men. You manage to kick the one with the knife at the end of the table and you head him land hard on the ground, the blade clattering to the floor.

Surging up, you spin and kick at the other man, tearing the blanket from over your head and diving off the table to grab at the fallen weapon. It’s your machete and you smile, tasting blood from the scuffle as you take in the small room you had been dragged to. The man you kicked had fallen harshly enough to open the back of his head and he lay motionless on the ground, a chair thrown from his body careening through the air.

The second man is reaching for you, grabbing at your hair and pulling you to him. The needle that had been in his grip in the other room plunges into your arm and a scream bubbles up. The blade in your hand is cutting you lose, thick strands of your hair flying up into the air as you fall to the ground from the force of being freed. He’s hissing, the blade having caught along his fingers. You try to get back up on your feet just in time to see him reaching for something hidden in the waistband of his pants

You’re lunging at him with the blade gripped tight in your hand. His stomach bleeds where you cut him and he moves his hands over the seeping wound with a strangled sound of protest. Its deep, his widened eyes meeting yours just before he collapses.

Rushing, you stormed into the room you had been taken from to see Ellie grabbing hold of a knife and slashing the man who had taken a step back from where she was laid out on a table much like you had been. Thankfully all of her clothes were in place and she seemed relatively unharmed. Blood sprayed into the air and David seemed to be shocked by her violence, stunned into silence for a moment long enough to allow the young girl to scramble off the butcher’s block and through the door.

David doesn’t even glance at you as he chases after her, the door locking behind him as your body slams into it. He smiles something vile and sickly sweet before he’s off after her, disappearing from view.

A few moments later, the smell of smoke and fire waft down the hall. Your efforts intensify, the need to find Ellie consuming you. Your mind focused on her and only her even as the skin of your thighs sting and bleed. The hair that had fallen loose tangles and swings with your efforts to break the door down, the wood of it getting too hot to slam your fists into or jostle the doorknob. Huffing a breath, you look around the room but there’s nothing to use to knock it loose.

As carefully as you can, you grip the top of the handle of the machete and slam the butt of it down on the doorknob. Once and then again, the splintering of wood loud even as the crackling of flames becomes obvious as the door pops open. It’s all smoke and darkness as you shuffle through the room in the crouch. The sound of flames licking at the support beams of thick wood loud, the taste and smell of smoke tickling your lungs when you finally see a figure downed on the ground.

Heart beating harshly, you approach it with your weapon held in front, but it’s not Ellie needing to be saved. It’s David. And he’s dead. His face bloody and broke, his body limp and immobile.

Ellie is no where to be seen and the room’s heat tries to take you for a second victim.

You collided with something hard and solid as you tear out of the building, the force of it knocking you down to the ground. The impact of your body sending snow flying up, blood smearing the ground in a bright display. You shouted as you fell, terror being the only thing that could be heard in your wordless exclamation. You spun from your side quickly, neck hurting from moving so fast, only to see two more men around you, just as shocked where they had been knocked down at the impact. They didn’t have any weapons but that didn’t matter. Everyone and anyone in this whole god damn place was a threat.

A stab of worry has you gasping for air as you quickly righted yourself, hoping Ellie had gotten out of here without running into anyone else. You had no idea what had happened between the time she had escaped and you had managed to do the same. The building you had burst from was crackling behind you, flames rising high despite the freezing temperatures. But the mangled body of David was the only clue as to what had happened. You spotted a third figure approaching in the distance, though it was moving fairly slowly toward you.

With a loud shriek you lunged at the man still on the ground, the other struggling to right himself where he had fallen over his own feet. The machete in your grip came to catch the man before you across his front, his shouts and pleas falling on deaf ears as you could feel your whole-body struggle against the drugs still pumping through your veins, your mind focused on one thing: survival. The squelching sound of you cutting into his throat had the other man struggling to get on his feet stumble in shock at the brutality.

“What the fuck!” His shout was loud, his eyes wide as he watched you murder his companion. All they had done was come out see what the roaring of the fire had been, you had flown from the building as they talked over what could’ve happened.

You round on him, eyes wild as he just shouted at you, trying to get away from you as quickly as he could. The snow was falling so heavily, the denseness of it already built up on the ground tripping him up on his injured ankles. He turned back to look at you over his shoulder, freezing as he saw the figure closing in behind you. You turn slightly as well to see how much distance there was between you and both men. You sprinted forward toward the one trying to get away, him being the closer of the two. He shouts as he throws his entire body to run into you, knocking over your smaller frame, hands scrabbling for the blade in your hands. It was knocked away as your back hit the ground, the man falling over you. He righted himself, legs on either side of you and your mind went white in rage.

“Not again!” You shriek, bringing your knees up to knock into him, kicking with all your might. Your hands grappling for a grip on his arms, you managed to land a few hits and used his moment of stillness to push up. You slammed his back on the ground hard as you flipped over, the pain immobilizing him just enough for you to do so. You realized you were screaming as your clenched fists landed hit after hit to his face, his neck, his chest. Blood was flying off your knuckles to splatter in the snow, on your face, your hands covered in the thick red liquid. You were sure it was just another layer to the grime and dried blood that had already covered your entire body and form. When the man went still below you, you crawled to where the machete had fallen in the scuffle. You brought it up to cover your front as you turned on your back, the figure too close for you to risk scrambling back up. Your chest heaving, your clothes were ripped, you were covered in blood and your eyes were wild as they connected with a pair of brown ones above you.

The figure pauses, hands coming up in front of them, but you weren’t taking anymore chances. The figure didn’t make another move toward you, but you weren’t seeing anything other than a threat. Your mind blurring the figure in front of you into every man that had every tried to touch you, into every man that had. You got your feet up under you and pushed yourself to stand, machete coming up and swiping as you try to put more distance between you and the tall figure. They hiss as the sharp edge of the blade catches one of their raised forearms.

“You’re not gonna fuckin’ touch me!” You holler, voice hoarse and so unlike your own. It’s tone low, it was terrifying, it was a touch desperate, and it was exactly how you were afraid of being heard. But it was harsh, tone hard and serious. You couldn’t stop the words from tearing through your throat, nearly growled out. “Your fuckin’ friends are dead and I’ll kill you too!”

You sway on your feet, the drugs in your system still fighting to overpower you. Your hair wild and loose, the choppy strands evidence of where you had cut it to try and free yourself earlier. The move had only saved you minutes of agony, years of growth erased in one swift motion. Your shoulders ached as you kept the blade up between you and the figure. They hadn’t moved, hands still held up in front of them and that’s when you realized they were talking to you. That you were still making guttural sounds deep in your raw throat. Warnings aimed at them to not get closer to you, that you would kill them just as swiftly as you had the others who opposed your escape. The hesitant voice cutting through the haze of your mind. Your eyes focused, the figure coming into view. It was Joel. But it had registered a second too late, you had already lunged at them, blade swinging.

He grunts as the blade makes contact with his shoulder. You had tried to stop the momentum, but you had swung so hard that between him not moving to save himself and you realizing it was him too late, the blade still cut into him. It wasn’t deadly, as it would’ve been, but it wasn’t a shallow hit either. He’s missing his jacket, the remaining layers of his clothes took most of the damage, but he would need stitches. The blade is still gripped tight in your hands, but it was lowered now, shaking. He looks from the new wound to you, his hands wanting to grasp at it but not doing so out of fear of triggering another swing. His eyes are pleading, he’s desperate for you to see that it’s him, not someone who was trying to harm you

“It’s me, it’s Joel.” He didn’t dare say you were okay. He knows you aren’t. He knows Ellie wasn’t from the way she had been screaming much the same way when he had found her. Her fear had been heartbreaking, it had hurt beyond words to see her, to hear the sheer terror in her voice as she had hit and fought against him before she realized who he was. Yours was shattering, you were covered in more blood, and from the looks of it a lot of it was yours. Not the way he envisioned seeing you again after going about your separate ways. His eyes lingered on the rips in your pants, blood coating your thighs underneath.

“J-Joel?” You repeated, as if it was a foreign name, as if he wasn’t real. He hadn’t been, during the entire ordeal. Ellie telling you what had happened, the way she had tried to help him, you had compartmentalized his death already. Knowing the odds of fighting off a wound like that, dirty stitches made with a rusted needle, infection quick to set in even in far better circumstances. It had been logical, the only outcome for such a medical condition in this time with no aid, no sterile environment.

You were still heaving, trying to regain your breath, the drugs in your system making it hard to do so. You swayed again but didn’t release your tight grip on your weapon, on your salvation. You startled so badly you swung out as the building on fire lost part of its roof to a cave in. Joel stepped back quickly at the motion, not wanting another harsh cut. That machete was dangerous on its own, but in your hands, it was an extension of yourself, lethal, not to be taken lightly.

“Joel?” Your voice sounded clearer, the height of your emotions calming slightly. You shook your head, not believing it, your emotions and the drugs blurring your vision of the only man you trusted.

“It’s me, I promise.” He dared to step toward you, reaching out to you slowly. You seemed to be frozen, eyes fixated on him. He was squarely in front of you now, his hands coming out to grasp over yours on the handle of the machete. He gently pried it from you, you still beneath him. The second it was out of your hands, he moved to place it in his bag, sealing it away. When he turned back to face you, you threw yourself at him, burying your face in his chest. He could feel your body convulse with harsh sobs, the sounds of you trying to suck in oxygen hiccupped by shuddering cries. Your fingers were digging into his arms so tightly that it hurt but he didn’t dare say anything, he just slowly brought his arms around your back.

“We need to move before the rest of the town comes out.” He spoke lowly, not wanting to spook you into throwing punches. He had seen you pummel that man’s face to nothing, and it scared him you could do the same to him in a blind panic. You just nodded, not moving, body shivering against him as he tried to console you. He didn’t think he would ever be able to, not with this, not with what his brain was telling him had happened here in this nightmare of a town. He tried to take a step, but you didn’t budge, hands tightening on him. “Darlin’, we gotta move.”

“I can’t f-feel my legs. They drugged me and I think it’s kicking in.” You looked up at him, eyes shiny with tears. You looked so defeated and he was scared you were going to look like that for the rest of your life. He couldn’t see any part of the woman you were before this in your face, in your eyes. He hadn’t seen any of who Ellie had been before either and his heart hurt in his chest. He pulled away from you and moved to scoop you up bridal style, but you weakly pushed at him. “No, you’re gonna hurt yourself, p-pull your stitches.”

You shift on your feet, leaning heavily into his left side.

“I got Ellie safe in the brush, I didn’t want to leave her, but she said they still had you locked up.” He didn’t dare say locked up in a cage, the feeling of those words settling heavily in him. They had locked you and Ellie up like animals, like things to be used at their convenience. The fire spread to the surrounding buildings, the freezing air offering no relief for the town. “She told me to save you, that they-“

“They’re dead.” The parody of a conversation from long ago in the darkness of a small forest clearing not lost on either of you.

“I know, darlin’. But we gotta go. Now.” He watches as splotches of color began to pepper the snow, people emerging from the buildings. People he didn’t have the energy to kill now that he had you in his arms and Ellie was waiting for them to retrieve her. As you hastily distanced yourself from the burning town, you felt Joel lean into you as much as you were leaning into him. Two broken and beaten people trying to offer whatever solace as you retrieved Ellie. She was smothered between you both, shielding her from the world as you moved further, further, further away. The snow was blinding as it whipped around your little trio but you didn’t look back. None of you did.

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taglist: @furiousmushroom @sawymredfox @ayamenimthiriel @bookloverkat @rosaaeles @littlemisspascal @oscarissac2099 @ghostwritesthings @76bookworm76 @elli3williams @sarap-77 @christinamadsen @vivian-pascal @dugiioh

[ferg0s]

Hi? Hello! Hear me out on this Aomine fic....Just a thought that's been bugging my mind lately.

Police Officer!Aomine who's the ace of the Police department— arrests a member of a notorious mafia organization (reader) who is actually a secret FBI Agent going undercover in the Mafia to take down the whole organization. It'd just be fun, you can choose not to write it or take the request. Option is all yours! 🥹🫶

I didn’t read the member of a notorious mafia part 🧍🏽‍♀️

“Better luck next time, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he clicks the cuffs in place. You try to struggle, but it’s useless when your hands are behind your back and your bend over on the hood of an undercover police car. You should have known - the other girls told you this was a hot spot for cops, undercover and in uniform. But you had finally gotten a lead - and you knew that he liked to frequent this block. The lead to the head hanchos behind Tokyos biggest cocaine smugglers. The Yakuza.

“Listen - you need to let me-“ “Save it, sweetheart. Cry all you want in the holding cell-“ he said, grabbed the chain linking your cuffs together and yanking you up. Your wrists burned from the metal digging into your skin and to your bones. You wanted to cuss him out, scream and kick him. You hated the TPD, Tokyo Police Department, they seemed to have the most inflated ego out of any department you had the displeasure of meeting.

Maybe going undercover as a prostitue wasn’t the brightest of ideas, especially since the TPD had announced they would be cracking down on that stuff in the red light district. But this was your only way to potentially getting close to the Yakuza. Usually you were pretty good at identifying cops, having worked next to them for a while now - smug, a little jittery and eager to get you in. Usually people would try to smooth talk you into getting in their car - to which they got pepper sprayed and arrested for soliciting, your buddies coming in and arresting them and you going back to the streets if they were the wrong person. But him? Smooth talker. The way he carried himself - you trusted your gut a majority of the time, and it had never let you down, until now it seemed.

“Listen to me-“ you try to wiggle out of his grip. But the heels you wore gave you little to no stability. “I’m Dec-“ “You’re a talker, huh?” He said as he opened the back of his car, wasting no time in shoving you into it. You land on the leather seats with a thump - groaning at the pain. You try to sit up as he walks around and sits in the drivers seat. Once fully positioned up, you waste no time.

“IMDETECTIVE(L/N)WITHTHEKYOTODEPARTMENT-“ you yell at him through the metal bars of the cop car. He chuckles, turning back to you. “And I’m Micheal Jackson - funny how that works huh?”

He had seen his fair share of excuses - but this was new.

“Call your chief and ask him about me-“ you groan.

He wanted to humour you, embarrass you for being to adamant on a lie - but the earful he got from his chief had him uncuffing you in no time. “Sorry-“ he said, but you would tell he wasn’t. “Stupid of you to get into a cop car-“ he scoffed, taking off your cuffs and putting them back in his pocket. You rub your wrists as you look at him. “You’re a damn good undercover cop-“ you mumble. He grips his steering wheel and taps his fingers against it. He looked over at you, noticing your outfit. The skimpy short skirt, the mesh top with the Neon bra poking through. The messy and ripped fish nets with the platform hells. The messy makeup and hair added onto it. You looked like the girls that would do it for a pack of coke, so he had to give you credit for believability.

“So… what now?” He asked.

“Find a donut shop and leave me the fuck alone-“ you groan, fixing your hair and opening the door, making sure to slam the door as hard as you can when you left.

He knew he couldn’t just leave. The Kyoto Department had been hunting the Yakuza for got knows how long, they were often clowned on the fact that it seemed like they were chasing ghosts. But their operations tended to be small busts of local money laundering schemes and gambling rings. He knew this was something bigger - something more classified. He had been patrolling the streets for a week now, mostly busting illegal escorts and drunk men. He needed something more… he knew the department already saw him as an A-1 Cop, but a bust like this would have his name going down in history…

~

“Oi-“

You turn your heard at the sound of a whistle. It had been a few days and you were still on the streets trying to look for a lead. So far no yakuza. And the only ones that did some around were low level thugs who were barely connected. Lackies.

You turn your head to the direction of the noise, eyes widening when you see the cop from days prior walking over to you. You were ready to confront him until you saw he was with something. A part of you wanted to drop the act and yell at him, but something in your gut told you to wait.

“Ain’t she a beauty?” He scoffed to the other man as they approached you. They both stood infront of you, the cop from before putting his arms over your shoulder and pulling you in. “I’m telling you- she’s into that weird stuff.” He told the other man. You looked over at the other man, feeling his eyes strip you naked as he looked at you. “You always did have a type-“ the man scoffed.

Was that an insult or compliment?

“Whatdaya say?” The cop asked. “You think Haizaki would like her?”

Haizaki. The man you were looking for. The man you’d been prowling the streets in search of for over 3 weeks now…

You notice the cop glance at you, a stumble indicatation that he was on your side. You straighten up. “This will cost you - you know,” you coo, leaning more into the cop. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” the cop cooed back as he pulled you in closer, staring at you. You swore you felt his hand graze over your ass. The cop turned back to the guy. “Cmon - first rounds on me-“

“I dunno-“ “Still nervous as ever, huh? What? Scared your oni-chan will get mad at you-“ the cop teased. “He’s not - whatever. Fine.” The other man sighed. He rubbed his hand over his face and turned away, as if contemplating the thought. “Fine - he’s been in a bad mood anyways. With the fed-“ he cut himself off. “With everything going on. He could use some stress relief, beats talking it out on me.”

“Perfect,” the cop next to you smiled.

“But if anything happens it’s all on you, Daiki!”

Daiki. At least you had a name to the face now.

~~~~~~

Part 2?

[darth-mortem]

Here is my new SoapGhost+AleRudy fic.

Ghost and Soap are on leave in Mexico, and on the last day, Alejandro gives Simon some advice that leads to an unexpected result. 1735 words.

The hot Mexican sun began to sink towards the sunset, painting the endless sky in hundreds of shades of red and orange. It was still light, but garlands of multi-colored lanterns were already lit above the tables and the bar outside. There was nothing but desert and hills around, but Ghost, who sat at the counter with Alejandro, knew that Monterey was somewhere to the south and the US border to the north. This complex was about halfway between them: an indoor restaurant, an outdoor bar with music to dance to, a truck stop, and a small motel. Truckers, bikers, and tourists traveling to Mexico by car, as well as smugglers and bandits stopped here for to rest. The the latter, however, were especially quiet today because Los Vaqueros, led by their commander, Colonel Alejandro Vargas, as well as two members of TF 141—Lieutenant Riley and Sergeant MacTavish—were resting here. 

You can keep reading here or on Ao3

“It’s good that you came to us on leave.” Alejandro said, taking his glass of whiskey.

“Yeah.” Ghost answered, smoking his cigarette. “Thank you for inviting us. And for this party.”

“It was Rudy’s idea.” The colonel smiled a little crookedly. “Like you, I’m not too fond of it all, but it doesn’t hurt for the boys to have a little fun.”

“Looks like they’re really having fun.” The lieutenant said, glancing at the dance floor.

Several Vaqueros crowded around Rudy and Johnny, who were dancing to some Mexican song. They were holding beer bottles and laughing merrily as they moved quickly and rhythmically, one opposite the other. Ghost involuntarily stared at how easy and casual Soap was dancing. The lieutenant didn’t know if Johnny learned it somewhere or if it was a natural ability, but it was impossible not to admire the way he moved his hips. Rodolfo, however, was no worse, and two sergeants seem to be having a dance battle to the whistles and cheers of the Vaqueros. If someone were to look at Riley and Vargas sitting behind the counter now, they couldn’t help but notice how identical their gazes were, directed at the dancers. They were full of tenderness, warmth, and love that were not characteristic of these tough and harsh warriors.

Alejandro twirled in his fingers the wedding ring that hung on a chain around his neck, along with his dog tags. Simon smiled quietly, shaking the glass in his hand in time with the music.

“Hey, Lt.!” Johnny turned and waved at Ghost, then went back to dancing.

Simon’s smile grew wider; then he suddenly sighed and sipped his whiskey. Alejandro looked at him with a slight frown and asked:

“What’s wrong, hermano*?”

Ghost didn’t answer immediately. He looked at Johnny and Rudy, sighed again, and reached into his jeans pocket, touching something that was lying there.

“I wanted to propose to him while on this leave.” He said it quietly. “But somehow there was no right moment, you know.”

The colonel raised his eyebrow in surprise, not imagining that Riley could be so indecisive. However, then he remembered how he hesitated himself, how he waited for the best moment, and how, as a result, everything turned out completely differently than he had planned. He began to talk about how any moment was right for soldiers like them because their lives were unpredictable and could end at any second. Ghost listened to him, but then the shouts and laughter from the side of the dance floor grew louder, and they both turned their gazes there again.

The music changed, and Soap, cheered by the delighted audience, jumped onto the table. Smoothly swaying his hips, he slowly took off his T-shirt and started twirling it over his head. Rodolfo stared at Johnny for a few seconds. Then he joined and started to move in time with Soap, undoing the buttons on his cowboy shirt.

Alejandro put down his glass and stood up, frowning. Ghost followed his example. They looked at each other and made a determined move to the dance floor to stop their partners, who had crossed all boundaries of decency. At least, the colonel thought that was what they were going for, but the lieutenant had other plans. He walked slowly, clutching the object in his pocket with his fingers, and meanwhile, Alejandro was already at the table, extending his hand to Rudy.

“Hey, cowboy,” he said, smiling, “why don’t you come with me?”

“So, Ale?” Fired up by the dance, Rodolfo, in his unbuttoned shirt, laughed merrily and took the colonel’s hand extended to him. “Do you have a stallion that I need to ride?”

The Vaqueros let out a restrained chuckle, enjoying the sight. Alejandro’s gaze became absolutely mad, and Rudy finally jumped off the table, holding onto his hand. Whispering something in the colonel’s ear, the Vaqueros sergeant dragged him to the motel to the applause of their soldiers. Ghost noticed the same chain with dog tags and a wedding ring as Alejandro’s around Rudy’s neck.

“And what aboot ye, Lt.?” Soap’s voice snapped Ghost out of his thoughts, and he looked at his sergeant, who continued. “Dae ye want a private dance tae?”

He smiled and tossed his T-shirt into Simon’s hands; the Vaqueros exchanged glances, anticipating the show to continue.

“Actually, I want something else.” Ghost said. “I want you to marry me, Johnny.”

There was silence after these words. Everyone held their breath, and Lieutenant Riley pulled out a wedding ring from his pocket and handed it to Sergeant MacTavish.

Johnny, half-naked and standing on the table, suddenly felt awkward. He had imagined this moment many times, but he was sure that Simon wasn’t ready for such a serious step. And so, it turned out that the lieutenant wasn’t just ready but also completely disregarded the situation and the audience.

“Is that... a proposal?” Soap asked quietly, and a blush covered his cheeks.

“Negative.” Ghost answered firmly. “It’s an order!”

“Well… So aye, sir!”

Johnny reached out, and Simon put the ring on his finger before lifting him off the table, grabbing him by the waist, and kissing him passionately to the whistles and cheers of the Vaqueros. 

The party continued, but without Ghost and Soap. They went to their room, which was next door to Alejandro and Rudy’s, to celebrate their engagement, just the two of them. They took a bottle of whiskey but didn’t even touch it; as soon as the door closed behind them, Johnny pressed his whole body against Simon, kissed him again, and pulled him into bed.

It was dawning when Soap finally fell asleep. Tired and happy, he lay naked with his arms and legs spread out so he occupied almost the entire wide double bed. Ghost could move him and lie down too, but instead he covered Johnny with a thin blanket and leaned down, kissing his temple. Then he pulled on his jeans and balaclava and left the room, clutching his cigarettes.

It was very quiet around: the music wasn’t playing, the bar and dance floor were empty. The dawn sun painted the sky a soft pink in the east, while it was still dark above the lieutenant’s head. He lit his cigarette, took a long drag with pleasure, and, unusually for him, a warm and joyful smile appeared on his lips.

Not so long ago, Ghost thought that he would never be able to feel happy again. The terrible trials that befell him didn’t let him go even in his sleep, and he learned to live with them until a ray of sunshine called Johnny MacTavish appeared in his gloomy life. His warmth and irresistible cheerfulness melted the ice that bound Lieutenant Riley’s wounded heart; now he could feel joy, smile, and love again.

The door’s creak and footsteps distracted Ghost from his thoughts. He tensed, but immediately relaxed again when Alejandro sat next to him on the stairs and also lit a cigarette.

“Can’t sleep?” The colonel asked.

“Yeah, something like that.” Ghost smirked, glancing at Alejandro slyly. “I followed your advice.”

“What advice?” Alejandro raised his eyebrow.

“I proposed to Johnny.” The lieutenant said. “Didn’t wait any longer. And he said ‘yes’.”

“You what?” The colonel stared at Ghost, forgetting about the cigarette in his fingers. “When?!”

Riley briefly told when and how everything happened, and Alejandro laughed. Then he stopped abruptly, looked at the lieutenant again, and shook his head.

“What?” Ghost asked. “You said that every moment is good for this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but not this moment!” Alejandro exclaimed. “Not the moment when your boyfriend is dancing striptease on the fucking table! However, never mind. ‘m happy for you, hermano!”

“Thank you.” The lieutenant nodded and stood up. “See you later.”

Alejandro waved and lit another cigarette.

Ghost quietly returned to the room. It was hot here despite the open window, and Johnny managed to throw off the covers. Looking at him tenderly, the lieutenant took off his boots and jeans, adjusted his balaclava, and lay down. Soap didn’t wake up but stirred, clinging to Ghost and wrapping his arms and legs around him. It was even hotter that way, but Simon knew it was impossible to push Johnny away, and he didn’t really want to. Smiling, he kissed the sergeant’s sweaty temple through his balaclava and closed his eyes.

Rodolfo hadn’t been sleeping so soundly, so when Alejandro entered the room, he opened his eyes and lifted himself up on his elbows.

“Where have you been?” He asked, yawning.

“Smoked.” Alejandro answered and smiled. “I met Ghost and he told me that he proposed to Soap when we went away. Can you imagine it?”

Rudy opened his mouth, really trying to imagine, then laughed, shaking his head.

“I’d like to see how they’ll tell their children about it, if they ever have them.” He said it cheerfully and continued, trying to copy Sergeant MacTavish’s Scottish accent. “Well, yer dad proposed tae me while I was standing half-naked oan th’ table where I’d been dancing after drinking tequila ‘n’ beer.”

“That sounds terrible.” Alejandro laughed, taking off his clothes.

He lay down, hugging Rudy, who rested his head on the colonel’s shoulder, fingers fumbling for the wedding ring on the chain around his neck.

“Te amo mi corazón.**” Alejandro whispered. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Rodolfo smiled happily, closing his eyes, and they quickly fell asleep to rest before returning to their hard but much-needed work. 

*Hermano (Spanish) – brother

**Te amo mi corazón (Spanish) – I love you, my heart

[tennessoui]

hi kit i swear to god someone sent in 35 from the prompt list for 'one of them is trying to get the other off of drugs' but someone must have deleted the ask from your ask box.

oh no! who could have done such a thing. after i already wrote 3k for this prompt and everything!

(but in seriousness i KNOW someone sent me that prompt i just can't find it rn!!! but i enjoyed writing this so much it really literally could be the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic......we'll see)

(also this is what i wrote for the same prompt from a few years ago)

35. one of them is trying to get the other off of drugs

(3k) (warning: non con drugging/attempted date rape drugs used -not by main characters)

Obi-Wan’s got a heavy mind most days. Heavy heart too, but it’s been a while since he checked in with that part of himself. Mind’s easier.

Right now, he’s mostly annoyed at the cantina crowd, but that’s a most days thing too. After all, the cantina’s in the middle of the spaceport, best watering hole around. Only watering hole around, really, and it gets him all sorts of people walking through his doors.

Some days, he really wishes Linell’s hadn’t closed, mostly so he could send the roughest looking folk that way instead. He doesn’t care much if smugglers decide to get wasted at a bar before hopping in the cockpit of their ships, but he doesn’t necessarily want it to happen at his cantina.

Mostly because when smugglers get drunk, they get rowdy. They get dangerous. They get handsy.

And Obi-Wan’s not under any sort of illusion here, he knows what sort of cantina he runs, knows the crowd it attracts, knows no one’s ever gonna bring their youngling past the doors—knows that no Jedi is ever going to stop in for a drink. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to allow for that sort of ruckus. The Temple raised him better than that, for whatever that’s worth. They instilled a pretty solid understanding of morality in him at a young age; then the AgriCorps gave him an appreciation of organization and tidiness that even after two decades away from it all, he hasn’t managed to shake.

It makes for bad business anyway, to allow the rougher-looking crowd to linger in the back corner, swat at the passing serving girl, call out harassments to other customers. And perhaps this wasn’t the life Obi-Wan thought he’d have, but it’s the life he does have. And he’s in no mood for his cantina to go under as well because of morons like Chak Tuuel getting too drunk and causing a scene.

It was easier four years ago, Obi-Wan has to admit. It was easier to keep a tight hold on his cantina when he could openly use the Force to pull patrons off of each other, push one back to his chair and spirit the other to the far side of the room. It was easier when all it took to convince a pirate that he’d be better switching to water was a well-placed Force command.

But the rise of the Empire saw the criminalization of Force users, even ones who can’t be called Jedi, like Obi-Wan.

It’s been bad for business, the Empire has. That’s the only thing Obi-Wan cares about, the only reason he has to hold such hatred in his heart for the emperor. It has nothing to do with the massacre of the Jedi, the fall of the Temple. It’s because it’s bad for business. That’s all.

Now he has to be ten times more discerning about who he lets into his cantina because he has to actually reason with them now. On more than one occasion in the past four years, since the Fall of the Temple, he’s chopped off a patron’s hand. Arm. Whatever. 

That’s also bad for business in general, though it’s not as if he can actually get into much trouble for it, considering he owns this cantina. And it’s the Outer Rim. Anything goes.

His eyes survey the cantina as his hands busy themselves making a drink for a rather quiet patron at the bar. Most likely a businessman of some sort, given how often Obi-Wan’s seen him come in and out.

It’s rather late in the night, as much as there is a night at the spaceport. The cantina’s full of the usual sorts, and the place is loud. There’s a group of five men in the back, dressed like smugglers. Obi-Wan has been watering down their drinks for the last two rounds, but they’ve yet to notice. Their eyes are ravenous as they look around them. Most of them are big, all are human. There’s one small one amongst the pack, and it’s him that Obi-Wan’s eyes stick to.

There’s something about him. Maybe it’s the way he holds himself, tense and with his shoulder hunched. Maybe it’s because of how smaller he is than the companions he’s chosen. Maybe it’s because he’s so pretty.

Even from all the way across the cantina, Obi-Wan knows the boy is pretty, can see his pale pink lips and dark golden curly hair. He doesn’t look like the sort of person who tends towards the crowds of pirates and smugglers that populate the back corners of Obi-Wan’s cantina. He looks out of place, misplaced. 

Sith’s hells, Obi-Wan probably looks more like a smuggler than this boy. Even the scar across his face, through his eyebrow and trailing down his cheek does little to make the boy look dangerous. Even his outfit—a black cloak on top of other, darker clothes—cannot make him look as dangerous as the men around him.

But they had come in as a pack, the boy in the middle of them. It had been the boy who had talked with the serving girl, Challa, who sat them. It had been him who’d ordered the first round of drinks.

The Force is screaming, a loud reverberation of a warning filling up his head and making the beginnings of his headache twenty times worse.

If someone dies tonight in Obi-Wan’s cantina, Obi-Wan is going to make Challa fill out the flimsiwork. It would be what she deserves for allowing this crowd in.

A moment before Obi-Wan looks away, the boy looks up from his drink and catches him staring. His face freezes as it is, held tight as he looks at Obi-Wan looking at him. For a strange moment, it looks like his eyes flash gold before they fall away, attention grabbed by the kid next to him.

Obi-Wan’s own attention is claimed a moment later.

“Whatcha looking at, boss?” the second bartender on shift asks, resting their arms on the counter beside him. “You look mighty disgruntled.”

“So you thought adding yourself to the situation would help,” he says automatically, caustically as he turns away from the group to stare at his employee. “Naturally.” “Naturally,” Saak agrees with a pointy smile. “I’m a saint.”

“Hm,” Obi-Wan says, even though he quite likes working with the twi’lek. These days, Obi-Wan keeps much close to his chest—especially his affection.

“That’s not an answer to my question,” Saak points out, looking back out at the cantina. “Who’s caught your eye? Because me and the crew in the back have a bet going about if you’re ever going to take someone home.” “I don’t mix business and pleasure,” Obi-Wan says, eyes staying resolutely away from the boy’s table.

“See, that’s part of the bet,” Saak says, easy as anything. “We don’t think you have pleasure.”

Obi-Wan frowns and turns to look at them fully. “What.”

Saak shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile once, and I’ve worked here for three years. You don’t come out with us after work, you throw out every comm sequence customers leave you-–and trust me, I know there’s been a lot, you never mention anyone at home. In your personal life.”

“I enjoy a healthy amount of privacy,” Obi-Wan snaps, clenching his fists tight on the towel between his hands before he carefully tosses his irritation into the Force.

He understands almost immediately that his anger isn’t even at Saak for prying or at his employees for gossiping.

It’s because he knows Saak is right. Not about—well, not about abstaining from sex, as Obi-Wan gets a rather sizable amount of sex at any given time. But about the distance. The lack of pleasure. Even the sex doesn’t light him up the way it did when he was seventeen, fresh from leaving the Agricorps and setting out across the stars. A consequence of age probably.

“Hey,” Saak’s tone changes, turning from cajoling employee into something much more concerned. “That table in the back, look—I don’t think that guy is doing alright.”

Obi-Wan snaps out of his thoughts instantly and looks at where Saak’s gesturing.

He knows before he even sees them that it’s that Force forsaken table in the back.

And Saak’s right, shit.

The boy Obi-Wan had been staring at looks—looks rough suddenly. His head is reclining back onto the body of the man beside him, eyes half-lidded. He’s flushed a flattering red, lips parted and stained an even darker color.

He could just be feeling the effects of the alcohol he’s been consuming for the past hour now, but it’s the way his companions look at him that has Obi-Wan rounding the bar and crossing the cantina. They look hungry. Eager. Anticipatory.

In the Force, the boy’s muted presence has become fuzzy. Muted.

Of course the moment Obi-Wan turns his gaze away from the group, they drug the boy. It suddenly seems so inevitable that it’s almost funny. Of course this was going to happen. 

“What did you give him,” he demands as he reaches the table. The anger licking at his chest is new. Useful. Righteous. 

One of the smugglers, the one next to the boy, tosses him a sleazy grin, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “No need to kick us out, mister,” he says. “We were just leaving.”

“Yes, you were,” Obi-Wan nods sharply. “Without him.”

The smuggler’s grin slides off his face. “He came with us.”

“You drugged him!” 

The boy in question looks up at Obi-Wan as much as he can with his eyes half-way to shut. “Oh,” he says. “That’s what it is.”

His voice is slow and deep. A byproduct of the drug?

He blinks at him in syrupy slowness, and his eyes are tawny. Why had Obi-Wan thought they were blue from across the cantina? They shine golden now.

Something about his eyes, his face, the way he’s looking at Obi-Wan makes his thin sense of control snap. “You will leave now,” he commands, Force reverberating through the words, so strong that the smugglers stand to attention immediately, repeating the order mindlessly. 

Even the boy struggles to obey, pushing up on his feet in drunken surety. 

“Not you,” Obi-Wan snaps. The boy sits back down like his strings have been cut, a sigh of relief at the release.

It’s entirely too orgasmic to be appropriate. 

And the way the boy looks up at him is entirely too trusting for someone who’s just been drugged by his companions. 

“I hope you have another form of transportation off here,” Obi-Wan says with a sigh. “I imagine you will not want to travel with them tomorrow.” “I’ll kill ‘em,” the boy mumbles, letting his head fall back.

“Sure, kid,” Obi-Wan tells him. He looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone kill a man, but he’s also not entirely sure the boy would appreciate him pointing that out. He looks like a kid who’s decided to try and play outlaw.

This is what happens to kids who try to play outlaw, he thinks dispassionately.

“Not a kid,” the kid says.

“Sure, kid.” He’ll need water. Obi-Wan grabs at his chin and forces his eyes up. His pupils are so dilated it’s hard to even see what color his irises are. Paired with the flushed cheeks, the poor coordination, and the slurred but cohesive speech, Obi-Wan’s pretty sure he knows what sort of spice they used on the poor kid. 

And the comedown is legendary for how rough it is.

Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to sigh. It’s even harder to resist the urge to scream.

He hates the men who laced the boy’s drink. He hates Challa for letting the group of men into his cantina, thereby making this his problem. He hates Vynny for crashing his speeder and forcing Obi-Wan to cover his shift while he recuperates from the loss of both legs.

And he hates the fucking ghost of the Jedi Order for instilling in him the importance of doing the right thing.

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, unable to stop himself from sighing.

The boy blinks at him. “If you touch me, I’ll kill you too,” he warns, but his eyes are still much too trusting. “Slowly.” “Noted,” Obi-Wan snaps, reaching down to fish the boy out of the booth. “And when you’re sober again, you’re going to be paying for the entire tab you and your lot racked up.”

The boy pouts, even as he allows Obi-Wan to drag him to his feet. “What if I let you touch me instead?” “I don’t want to touch you,” Obi-Wan says. “I want the credits.” The boy giggles and presses his face against his neck. Obi-Wan waves to Saak behind the bar, gesturing to the boy and then to the doors, trying to convey I’m going home to take care of this absolute youngling because I am a better person than you and you need to take care of my cantina and lock up behind you and no, this does not count as taking a customer home with me.

Saak gives him two thumbs up, so Obi-Wan is hoping that means the message has been received. It had better be received.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asks as he navigates out of the cantina. Thank the Force, his own cruiser is close. The boy is heavier and bigger than he’d looked amongst the rest of his group. Firmer and more weighted with muscle. And Obi-Wan is no waif, but he doesn’t care to lug around a man who is actually, well. Taller than him.

“Vader,” the boy mumbles, nuzzling into Obi-Wan’s touch. “Why do you feel so good?”

“It’s the spice they gave you,” Obi-Wan mutters. “Makes touch feel good, makes you…want.”

“Oh,” Vader says, rubbing his face against Obi-Wan’s neck like a cat. “I don’t want it.” “Me neither, kid,” he assures him, propping him up against the side of his ship so he can unlock it and key in the code to have the ramp descend.

“Good,” Vader says. “Keep touching me.”

Obi-Wan bites his lip so he doesn’t tell the kid that he doesn’t take commands, not even from imperious little boys who sound as if they’re very used to being obeyed.

It adds more evidence to his theory that Vader is some spoiled rich kid looking to rebel.

“What were you even doing with them?” He mutters as he drops Vader into the seldom-used co-pilot seat of his ship. “Not the sort you’d want to hang around with, are they?” “Bellion,” Vader replies loosely, waving a weak hand. “As’ —assign—assignm’nt.”

It takes through takeoff for Obi-Wan to realize what he’s said. “The Rebellion? You were on an assignment for the rebellion?” Vader makes a noise and turns his head to look at him, eyes almost shut. “Bellion,” he agrees, before promptly passing out.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan says.

Of course he knew that there was a rebellion against the empire, that they were building in both power and numbers as the years grew. He’d even flirted with the notion of joining it himself, but he’d always stepped back. The rebellion was too close to the Jedi. And the Jedi had made it clear that they did not want him.

Why would the rebellion be any different?

When he’s entered hyperspace, he looks over at the boy who has turned his head away from him, exposing the long lines of his neck.

He really is quite beautiful, for better or for worse.

The boy shifts, restless. He pushes himself further into the seat, leaning back and spreading his legs. Obi-Wan would wonder what he’s dreaming about, but before he can, the boy’s cloak shifts.

And there, on his hip. The handle of a lightsaber.

Obi-Wan is moving before he can help it, stepping over to Vader’s side of the ship quietly, eyes glued to the ‘saber.

It’s been so long since he’s seen one. He never got to hold his own. Never made one himself.

But here is one now, on Vader’s hip. Vader is a Jedi. A Jedi! 

It is part greed, part agony, and part disbelief that makes Obi-Wan reach his hand out and carefully detach the blade from Vader’s belt.

The boy does not even notice, except to push his hip up further at the ghost of Obi-Wan’s touch.

It’s a heavy weight in Obi-Wan’s hand, and he takes a moment to just—look at it. It’s darker than he would have crafted his own, sturdier and longer too, as if Vader wields it with two hands. He probably does—Obi-Wan still remembers his forms, remembers each stance down to the footwork. Vader has the body to be a formidable Djem’So user. Or Atari. Obi-Wan had favored the latter when he was an Initiate. 

Vader is a Jedi. Perhaps—perhaps in the morning, after the spice is out of his system, he can tell Obi-Wan about the Temple in its final days. Surely he was not there, Obi-Wan doesn’t know how anyone could have survived the massacre, but he must know. He does not truly look so young that he would have been an Initiate. He must have been a Knight.

Perhaps Obi-Wan will tell him about being raised there. He can share in his pain, if only a little bit. After all, Obi-Wan spent thirteen years of his life at the Temple. The Jedi will always hold a part of his heart. He has never before wanted to admit that, but now—Vader is a Jedi. He would understand. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry as he drops his gaze back to the saber.

He wants suddenly, terribly, to flick it on. To hear the buzz of the ions of the blade. To see the color of Vader’s kyber crystal. He wants to take pleasure from the sight of it, the enduring symbol of it, of the Order.

He knows he should not. He knows he has no right to it. If he were meant to hold a lightsaber, his life would have worked out in thirteen thousand different ways. 

But—Vader is asleep.

And no one would have to know.

If just for a second, Obi-Wan allowed himself to give into his want.

He flicks it on and then almost drops it from the sheer surprise he feels as it powers to life in his hands.  Because the blade is not green. It isn’t blue. It isn’t even purple, like he remembers Master Windu’s being.

It is a sickly looking red.

It is not a blade of a Jedi.

Obi-Wan flicks it off and tucks it back onto Vader's belt. Then he sits down in the pilot's chair once more, head spinning and heart racing.

And he directs the ship to drop out of hyperspace to his homeplanet anyway because---well. What else can he do? He'd promised to take the boy home and see him off the spice.

The fact that the boy is---is a Sith does not change anything. It cannot.

[bumblepony]

Fic Rec Friday Monday

I missed this on Friday and there were so many good fic's last week I needed to highlight them.

rewrite (an ending or two) - Deleted and alternate scenes from a safe place to land, a hopeful stranger, kiss from the lips of a monster, and/or October/November: Interlude by my fantastic friend @two-birds-alone-together.

Parallel Lines - A sequel to the lovely Snowqueen of Texas by @hypnotisedfireflies about our favorite repressed smugglers, Tess/Joel, in a modern setting with no outbreak.

the sun’s probably shining in wyoming - Mature - Tess lives. She and Joel build a life in Jackson. A day in each season over the course of a year. This fic is written by none other than @march-flowerr for GTHB (Good Things Happen Bingo), and it has all the things you could possibly hope for in a fic: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut, found family.

corals and kings - Ellie, Joel, and a collection of important late night sleepovers. Set in the in-between of Part 1 and Part 2. Ellie's dealing with her feelings about Joel's lie and what they mean to each other. It's beautiful, and it's written by my first Tumblr bestie, @ciaconnaa.

Eat Your Young - Joel stumbles into Ellie five years earlier while he's still a hunter with Tommy. It changes everything, and nothing, about their story. This exciting concept fic is ongoing and has me in a chokehold, written by blue_calico on AO3.

Dinosaur - Joel and Ellie deal with some stupid cold temperatures and assorted shenanigans (the not-fun kind) in and around the town of…Dinosaur, CO. Their adventures have continued on from Dinosaur and it's only gotten better and worse. Seriously love this fic written by @femmefacetious here on Tumblr.

Of Artists and Architects - Mature - A Cordyceps-Free Tessjoel AU Tess and Joel meet at the bar, where she bartends part-time while teaching art at a local college. Fun shenanigans ensue, with lots of angst, found family, smut, and fluff. I love this version of Joel/Tess, and every time @oliviassunrise updates, it has me running.

[ekrochford]

Maul x femreader NSFW self-insert fanfic (part 1/10)

[First off, I'll admit right here and now that this might be the most vile thing I've ever written, so under 18 gotta git. I know you lied on you birth year. Second, I'm a slightly-feral Maul girlie, and there just aren't enough good smutty fics out there for my boy, so I had to write one. Third, this takes place in an AU that is almost indistinguishable from the cannon universe but for the fact that Maul owns a tooth brush, because damn that mouth ain't right.]

Part 1

"Well... We are talking about sex, aren't we?"

You sit there, frozen as if he's pulled a blaster on you. In some ways, it would be simpler if he had—at least then you would know for sure whether your heart was punching up your throat out of fear or expectant thrill. 

But things couldn't be so simple, and he's still seated next to you, leaned back in his chair. He's let slip a tiny curl of a smile, pleased with himself to catch you off guard. He sure picked his opening perfectly. You really thought you were going to have more time to bat your options back and forth. 

Two hours ago...

You're tucked into a tiny sliver of wall on a stiff wooden chair, which is grinding your spine into a barb-wire coil. It's still afternoon and the only light apart from the primary array over the bar is the glaring white sunlight edging through the small, deep windows. It leaves the sandstone walls and ceiling in cool shadow. There's a glass of murky something on the stamp-size table in front of you, and your dusty travelling pack is huddled against your feet. You have the strap hooked around your ankle. This cantina has the look of a place where lots of things go missing. 

The atmosphere is a bit tense, a bit hushed. You're looking at the hooded stranger at the bar—stars, everyone is looking at the hooded stranger at the bar. His black cloak can only hide so much, and from your spot on the wall you saw his face clearly when he walked in and took a seat. 

The Ithorian barkeep passes him a clay tankard. He reaches up for his hood, and there's a shared intake of breath across the room—yourself included—as he pulls it down to his shoulders to reveal a tattooed, horned skull.

Everyone in the dim-lit cantina hastily busies themselves in their own drinks and card games, diving back into conversation and making a point to appear occupied. 

You have no one to talk to, but your eyes study the water rings left on the dusty tabletop as you rotate your untouched glass back and forth. You catch yourself looking up at him, then wrestle your gaze away. You've travelled a bit with the University, but you've never seen a Zabrak up close. The ones who leave Dathomir tend to work as laborers...or as criminals. 

The Zabrak males you've seen working in docks and shipyards or hanging about in the shady, seedy ends of spaceport towns all have a similar look: angry and harried, like many underprivileged species in the Republic. And even though they all have a smattering of cranial horns, you've only ever seen Zabrak skin in yellow-greens and earth-oranges.  

This one is no dock worker or even a smuggler; all the low-lifes in this cantina know hired muscle when they see it, and you do too. Dressed in head-to-toe black, his cloak, his tunic, even his boots are too clean and too nice for grunt work. Cartel muscle, maybe. 

And his skin under the black tattoos is screaming red; you didn't know Zabrak could be that red—not orange, not brown. Red.

You look up again, and terror zips through every nerve. He's looking right back, and you find yourself staring into baleful yellow eyes 

You snap your attention back to your glass. Everything about him is alarming. But somehow the yellow of his irises only makes him seem more dangerous still—like a loth-wolf or some other predator. 

Out of your periphery, you see that he's turned away to the bar again. Your chest unlocks and the breath you were holding wheezes out. 

And then, your stubborn eyes carry themselves right back over to him, just asking for trouble. The silty water in your glass just isn't as interesting. 

Cut it out. You're on your own here for several more days until the rest of the expedition arrives from the Core. Excited to begin and much closer—already being in the Anakis system—you rushed here to Tatooine as soon as your professor's holocomm disconnected. Study the ruins? Excavation in Tatooine's Dune Sea? You've been waiting for this kind of field work since you were a freshman. Starting a site from the ground up. First boots on the sand.

If you get murdered in a cantina by a Hutt mercenary (or worse, another syndicate elbowing into Hutt territory), it's really going to put the wet towel on your archeological career. 

You look up. Again, his eyes are fixed on yours. 

Dammit. But...I wonder if he's spent much time with the Nightsisters. Curiosity is poking around the edges of your anxiety. Dathomir was a staunchly matriarchal world; the females ruled from hidden cave cities, where they performed Force magick and trained to be fearsome warriors. The clan Nightbrothers were exiled to live in surface villages. He probably hadn't seen much of the infamous Dathomir witches.

Rumor has it that the Nightsisters have little contact with the men of their planet. When they needed one, the Sister in question would simply go to their village and select one that met her requirements...

Your throat feels a little dry, but not quite dry enough to take a sip from the only-somewhat-clear water in your glass. Mindlessly, you look up again. This time, he's turned in his chair, watching you from across the cantina floor. 

Dammit.

The table is much too small to climb under, even if you could afford to show so much cowardice to a crowd like this. At least it's become much easier to keep your eyes on the tabletop. 

At the blurry edge of your vision, you see him stand up from the bar. Uh-oh. 

He's leaving. He's leaving. Please be leaving. 

He's moving towards your table. Definitely not leaving. Anxiety is bunching into something more solid in the pit of your stomach. Here you are, alone in the least-dangerous cantina in Mos Eisley, with no one to help if there's trouble. If you were a little bolder, you could just look him in the eye and...and... The thought of looking in those yellow wolf eyes and telling him to get lost seems impossible. 

Across the table, your field of vision is blocked by black—black cloak, black pants, black tunic belted by a wide black belt buckled in silver. Black gloves, even. He stops so close, you can smell the exhaust on his clothes; he must ride a speederbike, or some other open vehicle. 

"Excuse me."

Well, it wasn't a war cry. Stop being such a child. You creak your neck upwards until finally, at the top of all the monochrome black, his red and tattooed face comes into sight. 

If anything, he looks puzzled. 

Say something! Say something! 

"Hello." Not that.

"Hello," he repeats back at you with a frown. He folds his hands behind his back; the motion has the well-worn smoothness of habit. "I noticed you watching me from the bar. Who are you?"

In a heartbeat, you feel your fear twist into embarrassment. You stammer your name, then, "I'm a researcher with the Lina Soh University of Coruscant—here for-for the ruins, out in the Dune Sea. To study them. I'm so sorry—I don't—usually stare like that, it was very rude, I didn't mean to offend you..."

His yellow eyes have been moving between your face, your untouched water, your tunic—with the University signet and the crest of the Galactic Histories department stitched on the breast—to your travel pack tucked between your feet. The confusion is gone; now he looks...amused. 

"Of course you are. I apologize for the intrusion. I thought you were someone else."

"No problem," you answer quickly. As soon as it started, the conversation is over. He turns away, presumably to return to his place at the bar. You should feel relief; oddly, you're a little disappointed to see him go. 

Maybe he heard your thoughts, because he pauses and looks back. His yellow eyes meet yours, then land on the glass sweating moisture in a puddle on the grimy tabletop. His mouth twists in distaste. 

"You weren't going to drink that, were you?"

You sigh and shake your head. "I don't think I can bring myself to."

"Good. Unless you're more Yinchorri than you look, it'll probably slough off half your stomach lining. They have their own bootleg water harvester in the back; I doubt it meets guild standard." 

Humor, even desert-dry humor, was not what you were expecting. It's welcome, and your shoulders uncoil a notch. "Well, I have to say I'm rather attached to my stomach lining. I'm not prepared to give it up, just yet."

He gives you a nod and a lip-twitch of a smile, then he's moving back to his seat across the cantina. You look down at the miniature table practically sitting on your knees and shrug. What the hell. 

"Hey, bartender." You're up at the bar, dropping your pack back between your feet. You wave at the Ithorian and push the still-full water glass in his direction. "What have you got without alcohol?" 

There were other openings at the worn old bartop, other places you could have elbowed in. But you take one of the wide-open seats next to the Zabrak, and he doesn't object. At your question, the barkeep gestures irritably. Even through the voice modulator it has a greasy sneer.

"Ya lookin' for a bar or a lemonade stand? Whaddya doin' here if ya ain't lookin' to drink?"

"This doesn't have much alcohol in it." Your new friend lifts his tankard with one hand, leaning his chin on his other fist and his elbow on the counter. "Even a human metabolism shouldn't find it too strong."

"I'll have whatever he's having." 

The Ithorian swipes your water glass and plunks away, muttering through the voicebox around his throat. You watch him lift the cap of the water jug, pour the contents back in, and put the glass straight back on the shelf with a mix-matched collection of dubiously clean tankards and mugs. Next to you, the Zabrak doesn't comment, but you see his mouth flatten in a grimace. He eyes his own tankard doubtfully, but takes another drink anyway. 

"Here I thought heavy metal was the worst thing I could end up drinking," you murmur. 

The bartender brings you a mug of something caramel-brown and cold. You take a small sip; just under your nose, it has a sharp spicy smell. It almost tastes like tea, mellow and woodsy with only a hint of alcohol. 

"What is this?" You mutter to your neighbor.

"No idea." He takes another sip from his own tankard. "I asked for something without alcohol, and this is what he brought."

You think about that. You've never heard of syndicate or cartel muscle that didn't drink. Much more common to hear of ones that didn't breathe (at least not anymore) but as long as they were still kicking, thugs and booze went hand in hand. 

He doesn't seem to mind your company, in any case. "Travelling alone?" 

Should you lie? Maybe. You think of him coming across the floor at you, stopping over your table like a storm cloud... "I'm here with my colleagues." Half a lie. "I'm just waiting for them to catch up."

He nods. "You don't look like the sort of woman who would be travelling alone in the Outer Rim for pleasure."

Your skin prickles a little at the way he says that word. Pleasure. But he seems to be examining the collection of bottles against the wall, and you brush it off. "Definitely not."

"You're not going to wrap your bag's strap around your ankle again?" If you didn't already have a taste of his dry humor, you would have missed his smirk. You snort, even as your foot curls protectively around your pack. 

"I figure no one's likely to come close enough to you to steal my bag."

He doesn't answer that, but he's hiding a smile behind his tankard as he goes for another gulp. "I would think a single scholar like yourself would prefer to stay in the privacy of her room while she waited for her party."

You shrug. "To be honest, I'm waiting for a room to open upstairs. The Weequay in the front said she was waiting on last night's tenant to get out, and once it's open I can move in."

"Ah, I see."

You realize that he slyly gave you the opportunity to deny being single, which you of course didn't notice—being that you are. You take another cautious sip, rolling it across your tongue. There is alcohol there, you're sure, but it's almost a suggestion rather than a fact. Your friend notices. 

"You're wise to be cautious."

You smile wryly. "I'm alive because I'm cautious. It isn't my first trip to the Outer Rim." 

He gives a single chuckle. "And yet, here you are. Chatting with the low-life that all the other low-lifes are frightened of. Strange choice."

You shrug again. "The other low-lifes make their living by robbing people like me. You look like you make a living on bigger fish. I don't think the sum total of everything I possess on my person is worth your trouble."

He nods, seeing your logic. "So by making friends with the scariest person in the room, you can avoid having to deal with the variety of small fish." He doesn't laugh, but you can hear it in his voice—he likes the way you think. 

The two of you sit in pleasant silence for a time, while the clinks and mutterings of the cantina fill in the space. You can still detect a hint of the exhaust smell you picked up earlier, mixed with a bit of sweat and underneath it the familiar scent of male skin. You swipe at your nose briefly; you spent too much time smelling old jars and crumbling stone at your previous site trying to tell resin from rosemary. Your olfactory nerve is still pulling overtime. 

"So," you start brightly, ignoring the impulse to lean closer. "You ever been to the Star Temples on Dathomir?"

The next two hours passed in conversation as the light from Tatooine's dual suns shifted from one flat horizon to the other. No one attempted to steal your bag, and in fact the other customers of the cantina appeared to relax, seeing the Zabrak's attention absorbed elsewhere. 

"I can't believe it's true." You sit there, stunned, and shake your head. "I thought the gender separation was exaggerated."

"No, no. I wasn't raised in a Nightbrother village, but I assure you, it's very true. The other Dathomir witch clans are much different—the Nightsisters are the most—ah—sensational, so they receive the most attention from galactic rumor mills. But they really do keep a...population...of Zabrak males. They live rather primatively. No space-capable vehicles, little modern technology."

"They're captives there."

Your companion shrugs. "They don't know any better, and even if they did, most are too prideful to be candid. Some are removed as children. Others escape to other settlements on Dathomir or find passage offworld. But really, is it worse than other Outer Rim planets? Or the lower levels of Coruscant? There's a slave market right here in Mos Eisley—the Republic doesn't care."

You finish your third mug. You doubt you've drunk an entire shot's worth of alcohol and you don't feel its effects; maybe you'll notice when it's time to try and walk. "Slavery is bad enough, but...what you're describing...the men of those villages are just...” Breeding stock. "What kind of quality of life can they have?"

Can he read your mind? He pauses for a long time with a small smile on his lips while you wonder if you want to bring the subject of breeding into the conversation. 

"It's even more hazardous than you think," he says at last. "Many die in the selection process alone." At your look of shock, he goes on, "I nearly forgot to bring that up. Yes, Nightsisters frequently hold a series of...trials, I suppose. Fights to the death are common, and other tests that are quite lethal if you fail."

"That's big risk to be...well, enslaved."

"From what I understand, some are simply required to participate. Others, I suppose, actually fight to be chosen."

You scoff. "Oh yes, I'm sure it's worth it."

"Perhaps it is. The alternative is living the rest of your life barely seeing a woman." 

"I'm sure that's their biggest concern."

His smile is coy. "Well... We are talking about sex, aren't we?"

Your eyes cut to his before you can stop them, and you see in an instant that he's thinking exactly what you suspect. You realize that you have to decide much sooner than you expected where you want this encounter to go. He's turned in his chair to face you, and his knee is resting against your thigh. You can hardly think with him so close, so physically present. It has been some months since you were with a man, after all.

"The sex drive in most species is so strong," he continues. He doesn't try to touch you, beyond his knee resting against your leg. "It can seem like the most important thing in the galaxy, at times. Strong enough, even, to forget one's circumstances."

Before you can stop yourself, you roll your bottom lip under. His eyes haven't left yours for nearly a minute straight; he's waiting for an answer, but you're having trouble conjuring up anything witty. You're having trouble coming up with anything but monosyllables. He's such a smooth talker, and you aren't used to being tongue-tied like this. 

"What's your name?" you ask finally. 

"Maul."

You realize that you've been leaning just a little towards him. But then, he's done the same. Just a single degree, as if a spark of magnetic charge were tugging between the two of you. 

"If this barroom has gotten too crowded," he begins slowly, "you could wait with me, in my room upstairs."

You feel your pulse break into a sweating trot. All at once, half of your brain shouts enthusiastic agreement... while the other half remembers a bizarre story from a college acquaintance that Zabrak have barbed phalluses. That can't be true. If it is, you have an awkward conversation waiting upstairs in his room. 

You almost lose rein of a hysterical giggle at the thought. If you were having trouble gathering up the words before, now it's nearly impossible. So you give up on eloquence and instead drop your hand to rest on his thigh—just near the knee, not too obscene for out in public. He's corded muscle under your hand; you can feel his quadriceps tense at your touch. You had his undivided attention before. Now he's staring at you like the rest of the cantina, the rest of Tatooine and the Outer Rim as a whole, have disappeared. 

"Let me leave a message up at the front," you purr with a smile. "In case my group gets here as asks for me."

Maul nods and returns the smile. "I'll wait upstairs for you. Room 6."

You squeeze the muscles of his thigh, then swing off the barstool to your feet. As you feared, you find yourself a bit lightheaded, but it's not the stingy alcohol content. You leave a few credits next to your empty mug and pick up your travel pack. 

"See you upstairs," you tell him. He doesn't answer; the look he gives you is answer enough. His stare is like electricity down your back as you leave the barroom and approach the counter where the Weequay is now dozing. 

"Excuse me?"

Behind the counter, the Weequay hostess jumps and nearly tumbles to the floor. "What—oh, yes, what? What do you need?" She lurches to her feet, blinking sleep out of her eyes. 

"Can I leave a message up here? I'm expecting to meet up with other University researchers. They may ask for me if they can't find me." If I've been murdered or kidnapped by some stranger in a Mos Eisley cantina, you add to yourself. It wasn't realistic to dismiss the possibility off hand, and you wanted him to know that someone would come looking for you. But at the thought of following Maul up to his private room, you’re not feeling your usual suspicious self. He was dangerous—anyone with eyeballs could see that—but as before with the barroom thieves, you feel that you are outside the range of people who had to worry. 

Besides. What was the point of keeping yourself in one piece with caution and prudence if it robbed you of adventure?

“You were waitin’ on the room, right?”

“Oh—yes, is it ready?”

In answer, the hostess hands you a key disc with a ‘4’ scratched into the metal. She waves you in the direction of the upper floor.

You record the message for Professor Taq Norr, and leave it in the Weequay hostess' care. The stairs are around the corner; you hope Maul is already there. Time to go find out how accurate the rumor mill is. 

[dameronswife]

Summary: Poe makes a trip to Nar Shadda to recruit Nim to the Resistance Word Count: 1,085 Warnings: none apply, except maybe some suggestiveness (flirting and also nar shaddaa is like that) 🫶💜 just finally got a proper fic written out for my new self insert!

~⟡⟡⟡~

Nar Shaddaa was a migraine waiting to happen as far as Poe was concerned; the Smuggler’s Moon was a sprawling city blitzed out with more neon advertisements than Hosnian Prime or Coruscant could dream of, except what Nar Shaddaa had to offer was usually more lewd, evidenced by the third suggestive outline of a Twi’lek woman swaying her hips tantalizingly that he passed.

He really couldn’t believe that this was where Nim Antilles had settled down.

Except, as he shouldered into the cantina Snap said she frequented most, he could believe it. A long time ago, before he ever deserted the navy, Nim had admitted she didn’t just want to live a life as a stunt pilot or a racer, but Poe had seen a thirst for adventure in her eyes that he was all too familiar with, too.

And when you were a pilot, there were only so many legitimate career paths you could make. 

Sneaking into Hutt territory — as little sway as they held nowadays — wasn’t high on the Resistance’s priority list, but when Leia assigned him to go looking for Skywalker, Poe had thought back to the youngest Antilles child. Who better to help find a lost Jedi, than another lost Jedi?

Nim was in the very back of the cantina, pressed up against a back nook like her life depended on it, a bright pink drink in front of her. It didn’t look like she’d touched it at all, so as Poe dropped down in the seat in front of her, he snagged the drink and took a sip, appreciating the brief start of her body before she relaxed slightly at the realization of who he was.

“So,” Poe began, apropos of nothing, “swoop racing, huh?”

The lights of the cantina reflected and bounced off Nim’s dark brown eyes as they narrowed at him, clearly anticipating him to point out the self hypocrisy, but when Poe didn’t say anything further, she leaned forward in her seat. “It pays the bills,” Nim replied guardedly. Poe doubted it paid for much of anything, expensive as Nar Shaddaa could be, especially if you didn’t want to find yourself entangled with any of its numerous gangs. Then, continuing in a mimicry of his tone, “So, the Resistance, huh?”

“Snap comm you before I got here?”

She rolled her eyes. “I keep tabs on my family, and keeping tabs on Snap Wexley usually involves keeping tabs on you. Not that you’re doing a very good job of staying anonymous.” Nim leaned forward abruptly, eyes glittering with curiosity and glee. “You know, you’ve got a reputation on this planet.”

Oh boy. Poe took another much needed sip of his stolen drink. “Yeah?”

“Something about taking down a criminal syndicate at the age of seventeen?” Nim asked. And it didn’t hurt, her bringing it up, because she asked it in a way that made Poe feel like they were sharing an inside joke. It helped that she then smiled and added, “You know most people were just doing their studies at seventeen.”

“You weren’t.” She graduated earlier than most, before throwing herself at the New Republic Flight Academy.

“Neither were you, evidently,” Nim retorted, swiping the glass from his hand with a look of annoyance. “So why are you here, Poe Dameron?”

Poe settled back against his seat. “The Resistance.”

Nim’s face screwed up quizzically. “Organa could’ve sent Snap to ask me to join. Why send you?”

“My pretty face?”

“Poe.”

He held his hands up in supplication. “Okay, okay -” pausing, Poe glanced around. The din of the bar would cover the sound of their conversation, but he still felt uncomfortably exposed. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Leia assigned me to a top secret mission.”

“So you came to Nar Shaddaa full of classified information?”

“I came to you full of classified information,” Poe corrected. “‘Cause I think you could help me, and Leia agrees.”

Nim appraised him for a minute. “You don’t mean with my skills as a pilot.”

Poe smiled apologetically. “Afraid not.”

She huffed a sigh and slumped backwards. “You do remember I have had next to no training, right? I’ve read the texts Luke gave me, but I’m not a Jedi. If you need someone to swing a lightsaber, it’s not going to be me.”

“I don’t need someone to swing a lightsaber,” Poe assured her. “I just need someone who understands the Jedi - and understands Luke.”

Nim lifted her gaze back up to him, the puzzle pieces falling together. “Poe, reading a handful of his Jedi texts doesn’t make me an expert on Luke Skywalker. If you want an expert on Luke Skywalker, look for that friend of Snap’s — Jessika. She’s got a special interest in the guy. Or ask my dad, he fought in a war with Luke. What value am I to the Resistance, or for the search for Skywalker?”

Poe went quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his tone was quiet but serious. “Everyone has value. Even if you don’t see it or even if you don’t believe me. And I know you Nim, I know you’re someone who doesn’t like turning her back on people in need.” He gave a little shrug. “I think we need you, so I came to ask.”

Her face softened. “That was a very nonanswer,” she said, but there was no acidity behind it.

Poe smiled. “But it was the truth.”

“Leia could’ve sent Snap to say all of that.”

“Like I said. Pretty face.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot more than a pretty face.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “When are you heading out?”

“A couple days,” Poe answered. “I figured I’d give you time to think on it.”

Nim’s lips quirked up into a smile, the edges of it cutting into her soft cheeks. “Not gonna apply the pressure to get me to join?”

“What use is that?” Poe asked genuinely.

She shrugged. “It’s how most things work here.”

“Well…it’s not how I operate. And it isn’t how the Resistance operates either.”

Nim rolled her glass between her hands, eyes flitting up past Poe and to the rest of the cantina behind them. Even from across the table, Poe could hear how loudly she was thinking — considering, analyzing. And his heart leapt when he saw resolve bloom behind her eyes. She drained her glass, and sat it down on the table. “Hope you have room for two in your X-Wing, flyboy.”

Poe grinned. “You know it.”

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February 2024 Master List

Huzzah! I wrote 29 things for Fluffy February (ok, 28 things plus one very fluffy chapter for my bigger fluffy fan fic).

Highlights: I developed my canon for both Lenn Teraan and Cole Cantarus. I wrote another Akaavi/Mako piece (someone needs to write them an epic Carbonite Years fic). I posted my most explicit work so far (is that a low light?). Dr. Oggurobb has decided to weigh in a lot lately.

I'll post the round up list, and then reblog with the AO3 link.

Snow -- 10 ATC - the smuggler crew lands on Alderaan

Eavesdrop -- 22 ATC -- Someone is spying in the cantina.

Entertain -- 21 ATC -- Theron and Eva do an intel drop at a casino.

Learn -- 10 ATC -- Eva learns how to dance from Lenn Teraan.

Planet -- 29 ATC (chronologically "now" in canon) -- Eva buys a planet. Because.

Fire -- 36 ATC -- Eva, Theron, and the big family on Odessen roast marshmallows.

Recovery -- 24 ATC -- Eva recovers from the Nathema Conspiracy. Risha makes sure of it. CW for untended anorexia.

Smile --over the years -- Theron's teeth may not be real, but his smiles are.

Storm -- 5 ATC -- Eva meets her first magnetic storm.

Care -- 21/22 ATC -- After Theron is injured, Eva makes sure he gets the care he needs.

Quest -- 39 ATC -- Theron and his band of adventurers... need to go to bed.

Discipline -- 40 BTC -- the Grand Admiral headcanon/backstory that's been rattling around.

Splurge -- 25 ATC -- Eva buys Theron a gift that isn't exactly what he wanted.

Free space! I added to Elysium, for a little while.

Craft -- Carbonite Years -- Akaavi knits something for Mako for the first time; in terms of the relationship, that's a big deal.

Spontaneous --- Theron and Eva rope Lana into one of their schemes.

Pleasure -- 22 ATC -- Eva speculates on some of the alternative universes in which she met Theron differently.

Pain -- sometime between 25 ATC and 29 ATC -- Bit of a kinky piece wherein Theron has his old scars replaced by Eva. This is Explicit for sexual activity, biting, bruising, and blood.

Shadow -- the legend of the Voidhound, from a child's perspective.

Partners -- 21 ATC -- A Theron/Eva heist fic, with their radio comms as cover

Reward -- 40 ATC -- Dr. Oggurobb finally retires... or so he thinks, thanks to Bowdaar.

Sacrifice -- 29 ATC (between patches 7.2 and 7.3) -- Theron sacrifices one of the few things to survive from his childhood. Eva is a pregnant person in this fic, so CW for that.

Dance - Eva dances with Jace Malcom. This is a continuation of an eventual post-Nathema fic about a party.

Apology -- 28 ATC (Between Elom and 7.3) -- Theron liberates Arcann from his job at a fast food join in Dromund Kaas by punching him in the face. No, I will not elaborate (I will totally elaborate).

Kiss -- 21 ATC -- Theron thinks about the his views on good morning kisses in the early days after Eva's return.

Rain -- 21 ATC -- Theron finds Eva out in the rain after Koth is worried about her. It's not as bad as it looks.

Protect -- 14 ATC -- Dr. Oggurobb meets the Voidhound on Makeb.

Shy -- 13 ATC -- Cole Cantarus becomes friends with benefits with Eva (she pays at the bar).

Fresh -- anytime after 23 ATC -- C2-N2 tries to start spring cleaning on Virtue's Thief. "Tries" is the operative word here.

Taglist

@fluffyfebruary, @ayresis, @starlightcleric, @ermingarden, @blueburds-but-swtor, @vihola, @commanderlurker, @sarpndo, @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond, @vexa-legacy, @grandninjamasterren

[stylesispunk]

THE GREAT WAR | LAST CHAPTER |

"I vowed I would always be yours, cause we survived the Great War

I would always be yours, cause we survived the Great War"

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 | masterlist

series summary: "After things fell apart it seemed that Joel and you were falling into pieces. Is it the end of all the endings? How long will it take to mend a broken heart"

word count: 4,2k>

warnings: angst, fluff too much fluff, established relationship, age gap (Reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), child loss, anger, some tension.

A/N: This is it. The last chapter is here, and I honestly didn't like how this chapter turned out, but I really wanted to give this ending. I really was so excited about writing this story and I had some kind of fun doing it. Thanks to all who read it and those who always commented, liked, etc. I hope you like it, and I see you soon (in a few days) with a different fic.

The days had settled into a comfortable rhythm, as if the cosmos had felt the need for some peace and quiet after the storm. Rhia's mornings began with the glorious light coming through the window casting an inviting glow across the room. As she stretched and prepared for the day ahead, her thoughts frequently went to the changes that had occurred in her life.

During this week, Joel's presence in her life had become more consistent. They weren't back together yet, but they were working on trust. The scars from earlier events in their lives remained, but they were gradually healing.

Later that morning, Rhia found herself in Jackson's bar, helping Maria and Tommy with party preparations for an upcoming celebration in Jackson. The community was getting together to celebrate a new year since it was founded, and the atmosphere was electric. 

Rhia, Maria, and Tommy worked together to decorate the space and arrange food. The atmosphere was welcoming, their talk lightened the task, and Rhia found herself opening up about all kinds of things again.

“Joel said things are improving between you and him,” Tommy said as he winked one of his eyes.

That comment caught Rhia off guard. Her cheeks flushed as she chuckled. “He’s right, things are better” she admitted.

Tommy grinned mischievously, giving her a knowing look. " You know, I haven’t seen my brother this happy since…” 

"Since before the world ended," Rhia finished for him, her smile both wistful and understanding. 

Tommy nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, but the world began for him again the day he met you."

Rhia's cheeks turned even rosier at Tommy's words. His sincerity touched her soul, and she found herself at a loss of words.

He smiled warmly. “We’re all grateful to have you back in our lives.” She said “And our baby too.” 

Maria nodded as she chuckled. A smile graced Rhia’s lips, and she found herself at a loss for a moment.

“I shouldn’t have said that, sorry”, Tommy apologized. 

He was met with a gentle smile from Rhia. She appreciated his understanding. “It’s okay, Tommy. I’ve come to terms with it, it’s part of our story now.”

Maria chimed in; her voice filled with warmth. “And we’re here to support you both.”

As they went about their business, they felt a sense of camaraderie and purpose. The decorations were hung, the food was served, and the bar was converted into a lively and pleasant environment.

As the night enveloped Jackson, the party buzzed with energy. People were laughing, dancing, and sharing. Rhia found herself leaning against a wall, her eyes scanning the room. She felt a gentle tap on her and turned to find Joel beside her. 

"Having a good time?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

Rhia nodded with a smile on her lips. "I am, indeed. Thank you so much, Joel."

Joel's smile widened, and his eyes were filled with love for Rhia. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Do you remember," Joel began contemplatively, "when we were at the QZ, in that filthy old apartment?”

 Rhia smiled, “And you and Tess were smugglers?" Her eyes twinkled with delight at the memory. 

Joel nodded, a wistful grin on his lips. "We had to survive somehow," he said after a brief glance at her. "I think I liked you back then," he blurted.  

Rhia's heart skipped a beat as he admitted it, and the rest of the world appeared to melt away as her attention was drawn to Joel.

"I liked you, too, Joel," she said softly. "You and Tess, both"

He chuckled as their gazes locked. "I liked you in a different way."

"You had a crush on me?" she asked, laughing.

Joel's face relaxed. "I suppose I did."

Rhia's face softened, and her heart warmed as he confessed his past feelings.

As a slow song began to play, Joel extended his hand toward Rhia, his eyes holding a mix of vulnerability and hope. "Would you like to dance?" he asked, his voice soft.

Rhia's heart skipped a beat at his invitation. She looked up at him, a warm smile gracing her lips. "I'd love to," she replied. “But what about your leg? Is it better? 

Joel’s smile was tender, his fingers tenderly fixing their hold on her hand. “My leg’s doing better, thanks to you,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. “And I wouldn’t miss a chance to dance with you” 

Taking his hand, she allowed herself to be led by Joel to the dance floor. They moved together, their bodies swaying to the soft melody of the music playing. At that moment, everything around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their own world. 

Rhia's head rested against Joel's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.

"The first time I kissed you, we were in that old rusty apartment", Joel mused, his voice a low murmur.

Rhia nodded; a soft laugh escaped her lips. "Oh, you mean that time you stole a kiss and then acted like it was no big deal?"

A ghost of a smile curved Joel's lips. "Yeah. It was a big deal.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Joel asked once he entered the room and saw Rhia sitting on the floor, lost in her thoughts. 

“Why would you care, Joel?” She answered, her voice tinged with frustration.

Joel approached her slowly, his footsteps echoing in the small, dimly lit room. He knelt beside her.

“Rhia,” he said softly, “Come on, show me those pretty eyes of yours.” 

Rhia chuckled at his request and looked up to face Joel, but the air felt different this time. When Rhia's eyes met Joel's, she felt her air stolen from her lungs. Their faces were so close, and the air between them was charged with unspoken words. His hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her cheeks as if she was the most delicate flower in the garden.

Rhia's heart pounded in her chest as she felt the warmth of Joel's breath against her lips. In that fragile moment, the cruel dark world outside ceased to exist, to become lighter, and Joel leaned in, capturing Rhia's lips in a soft, stolen kiss. It was a gentle, lingering connection, a moment of vulnerability for him and her. 

When they pulled away, their breaths were caught in their throats, and their eyes widened at the realization they had crossed the line of friendship.

That kiss changed their relationship forever. 

Back in the present, they continued dancing, their movements a silent conversation that spoke volumes. The memory of that stolen kiss seemed to bridge the gap between their past and their current life. 

Joel's hold on her tightened ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Should I steal a kiss again?”

A playful glint danced in Rhia's eyes as she looked up at him without saying a word. 

Joel's lips curved into a mischievous smile. Without another word, he leaned in, but before they could reach other lips, an angry scream broke their little bubble. 

Ellie and Dinna were cornered and on display by one of the men at the party and everyone was watching.

Joel's grip on Rhia loosened as they both focused their attention on the commotion. Joel’s brow furrowed, evidently displeased with the interruption. Rhia's protective instincts flared as she locked her gaze on the man who cornered Ellie and Dinna, her voice firm when she addressed him.

"What's going on?" Rhia's tone was angry and authoritative. She gave Ellie and Dina a quick glance, her expression demanding an answer.

The man was surprised by Rhia's demeanor and cleared his throat, his demeanor turning to one of shame. "I… I saw these two young ladies kissing," he murmured, lowering his sight to the ground.

Rhia's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the unexpected revelation. The anger that had initially fueled her reaction was now replaced by surprise. She exchanged a puzzled look with Joel before returning her gaze to Ellie and Dina. Their faces were flushed with humiliation, and Ellie's big eyes were closed as if closing them would spare her from this embarrassment.

"And you had to announce it to everyone like that?" Joel inquired, clearly enraged with the man.

Ellie was clearly embarrassed to be in the spotlight like this, so she fled from the bar before the heated discussion could continue.

Rhia and Joel exchanged a concerned look before silently agreeing to follow Ellie. They crept out of the pub, their steps soft as they pursued her. As they walked towards their house, the night air felt cool against their skin.

They found Ellie sitting on her bed, her back hunched and her head buried in her hands. Rhia's heart broke for her as she felt the tightness in her shoulders. Rhia and Joel approached gently, taking seats on each side of Ellie, giving her room while also letting her know they were there for her.

After a few moments of silence, Ellie's voice burst through, unsteady and frustrated. "I can't believe he just... made it sound like there was something to be ashamed of." She raised her head, her eyes red and wet as she met Rhia's and then Joel's gaze.

Joel put his hand on Ellie's back, his voice gentle but firm, and said, "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Ellie." Rhia nodded. "Joel's right, Ellie," Rhia said. "There's nothing wrong about who you are and who you love. And you have both of us to back you up." She gave Ellie a tiny, genuine smile, and appreciated the trust they shared. "In this day and age," she said, glancing over Ellie's shoulder at Joel, "if you really care about someone, you don't want to miss a beat."

Ellie expressed her gratitude. "Thanks, guys. I appreciate it." Then she turned to Joel with a smirk. "Now, old man, mind if I borrow Rhia for a bit?"

Joel chuckled warmly. "She's all yours. I'll give you some privacy."

With a reassuring pat on Ellie's shoulder, Joel left the room, allowing Ellie and Rhia to have their moment alone.

Once they were alone, Ellie let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping with relief. "Thanks for being here, Rhia. You and Joel are my family.”

With that, they sat together talking about feelings. They shared their fears, hopes, and dreams, forging a stronger bond of trust and understanding between them.

“Is she sleeping already”? Joel asked once Rhia entered the bedroom.

“Knocked out” she replied with a smile. 

Joel's expression softened at her offer, gratitude and warmth were evident in his eyes. He took a step closer to her, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. “Good, so I think I should go now.” 

"Joel, you don't have to go," Rhia said softly, 

He sighed, his eyes searching hers for something she couldn't quite decipher. "Damn, I want to stay here, angel. But I also don't want to complicate-"

Before giving Joel a chance to finish his sentence, she closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. Her actions were a silent plea, a way of telling him that they could move forward.  

Joel melted into the kiss, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer. 

When they pulled back, Joel’s gaze held Rhia’s, he let out a small chuckle. “So, are you sure she is sleeping?

“Oh no, no with her in the house” Her voice held a hint of amusement, knowing Joel’s intentions. 

Joel chuckled softly, his fingers gently tracing along her cheek. "I want to love you," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers.

Rhia's heart fluttered at his words, and she found herself leaning into his touch. Her fingers lightly rested against his chest as she met his gaze. "Is that a yes?"

Joel pulled back and his expression softened and nodded. 

Rhia’s eyes sparkled with humor and she leaned to press her lips on his again. This time, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and they slowly made their way to bed. Their kiss depended, carrying with it a thousand promises of love. Meanwhile, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only their shared warmth hanging in the air. 

A FEW MONTHS LATER

Rhia and Joel were finally back together. They were thick as thieves, and their trust blossomed again. It all started with small steps. Joel showered her with the love she deserved, words of comfort, a bouquet of flowers every day of the week when he returned from patrol and a thousand more small gestures that conveyed all the unspoken words he wanted to say. 

Rhia gave him a new chance because she thought he deserved it.

"I got you a present," he announced as he entered the house. 

"A present?" Rhia inquired.

"Turn around and close your eyes," he said quietly.

Rhia did as Joel instructed, and he went forward to place a small necklace around her neck. Rhia opened her eyes to see what it was.

It was a flower,

A daisy.

Her eyes welled up with tears as she saw the little flower hanging from her neck.

Rhia returned her gaze to Joel, her eyes glistening with emotion. 

She touched the daisy pendant gently, a small, overwhelmed smile on her lips. "Joel, it's beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude.

Joel's smile widened, and he stepped closer to her, his hand caressing her cheek. "Our baby will be there with you," he said softly, as he touched her chest over the necklace.

She nodded, her heart swelling with love for this man and who he had proven himself to be worthy of a second chance. "I know," she replied, her voice quivering with emotion.

One morning, Rhia woke up with an uneasy feeling. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something felt different in her. Nevertheless, she went about her usual routine, trying to shake off the odd feeling, but it persisted throughout the morning. 

Maria noticed something was bothering Rhia as she helped her in the bar. She was observant of her friend’s changes, the occasional dizziness, and the constant sigh that escaped Rhia’s lips.

Maria finally stopped doing her task and turned to Rhia with a concerned expression. "Rhia, is something bothering you?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

Rhia looked up, a small smile attempting to mask her worries. "Nothing’s wrong.”

“Did Joel do something?” she asked again, but all she got was a low “no” from Rhia.

Maria raised an eyebrow, not convinced by Rhia’s response. “There must be something wrong because you’re acting all weird.”

Rhia hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering away from Maria’s.

“I’ve been feeling the same things I felt when…”

Maria's comforting hand was on Rhia's shoulder. "When…?”

Rhia took a deep breath, her eyes searching Maria’s face for some kind of desperate help. “When…- I think I’m pregnant.”

Maria's eyes widened in surprise, and then a warm smile spread across her face. "Oh, Rhia. That's wonderful news!"

“No, it’s not.” Rhia protested, her tone brittle, “No after what happened to my baby before. And in this world, it’s just stupid to even think about it” Tears welled up in Rhia's eyes, and she looked at Maria with sadness in her eyes. "I just... I don't want to go through that pain again," she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose myself or Joel all over again.”

Maria’s expression softened at her friend’s concern, "Look, we have to be sure first". Maria said softly. “Then, you can think about it or tell Joel.”

Rhia nodded and leaned on Maria's shoulder, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty this possible pregnancy meant for her and Joel, but with Maria’s support, the weight on Rhia’s shoulders felt lighter.

A few days later, after an old test confirmed the truth, Rhia found herself standing in front of her and Joel’s bedroom door. Her heart raced with fear. She took a deep breath and entered the room where Joel was already in bed.

The soft glow of the lamp illuminating the room created a sense of tranquility. 

Joel's gaze snapped at Rhia and a soft expression took over his face. "Hey," he greeted, his voice warm and inviting. "Where have you been?

Rhia smiled back, though her uneasiness was still visible in her eyes. She shut the door behind her and moved closer to the bed. "I wanted to talk to you about something," she continued, her voice filled with trepidation.

Rhia sat down, her fingers slightly fidgeting in her lap. She inhaled deeply, summoning her courage. "Joel, do you know how we've been working through everything that's happened between us and trying to move forward?"

He softened his expression as he reached out to hold her hand in his. "Yeah."

Her gaze was fixed on him. "Well, during this time, something... happened"

Joel's uneasiness grew as he retained her gaze. "Rhia, you're beginning to concern me-

"I'm pregnant." She confessed, letting out a long sigh.

"Angel, are you sure?" he asked, his voice a little softer this time.

Rhia nodded; her gaze fixed on his. Joel's forehead wrinkled as he attempted to assimilate the news.

"An old test and the same symptoms I had before." His grip on her hand tightened a little more, his gaze falling to their linked fingers. "Rhia," he said, his voice tinged with sorrow. "I... I'm going to need a moment to process this."

Rhia's heart sank at his response, a knot of worry forming in her stomach. That’s it, she thought, all the progress we have made thrown away. 

 Her thoughts were racing, but she merely nodded at him. "Of course, Joel. Take your time”

Joel eventually turned to her after what it felt like an eternity, his expression a mix of all the emotions. "Rhia, you know... what happened before, with our baby..." His voice was heavy with concern. 

Rhia's heart ached as she noticed the anguish in his eyes. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I understand, Joel. And I understand if this news brings back painful emotions."

Joel pondered his thoughts. He didn't feel the need to be angry with Rhia like he had in the prior time. When he warned her, she was irresponsible to even consider having a kid while they were trying to take Ellie to the fireflies.  

"It's not that I'm not happy," he said softly, looking at their intertwined hands,   "but it's just... it's complicated." 

The answer broke Rhia's heart. She carefully got out of bed, intending to go downstairs and ponder about what to do, when Joel reached out and gently grabbed her wrist.

Joel leaned up and carefully brushed a piece of hair behind her ear before cupping her checks. He gazed at her; his gaze drawn to hers. "I will never leave you alone."

A soft smile graced Rhia’s lips, and Joel leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a soft and lingering kiss. It was a promise for her, a reassurance that he was there for her. 

When their lips finally parted, he held her face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing against her cheek, whispering sweet things to her. 

Joel lay back down, pulling her into his arms. As he spooned her close, he caressed her belly carefully, he wanted to protect her and the baby from the world outside. 

“We should tell Ellie tomorrow”, she whispered, feeling safe in his arms. 

“She will be over the moon” he answered, softly.

hand rested on top of Joel's, their fingers entwining over her slightly growing belly.

A few days had passed since Rhia delivered the news to Joel and Ellie, and the last was effectively over the moon. Ellie's excitement was contagious, and she couldn't help but gush about becoming a big sister. 

and Joel hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. There was a difference this time. They weren’t running, they weren’t in the unknown and worried about surviving another day in the dark solitude of the world outside the walls of Jackson. This time, Rhia could be safe and sound and he could shower her with love and protection. This time, building a family didn’t sound like a crazy idea. 

When night enveloped the community and the warmth of midsummer days lingered in the air. The moon hung high in the clear sky, casting a gentle glow over the houses of Jackson. 

Rhia and Joel sat together on the porch of their house; their hands entwined as they looked out into the quiet night. The distant sounds of laughter from the people walking by provided a comforting atmosphere. 

Rhia and Joel allowed a peaceful silence to settle between them. Rhia leaned her head on Joel's shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. It was moments like these that allowed them to simply be a couple. Even when the news of the baby was still causing a certain uneasiness in the air.

Joel realized he had to prove himself. He had to prove to his partner that he would be there for her.

“Rhia” Joel began, breaking the silence. 

Rhia looked her eyes at his “Yes?”

He took a deep breath “I know in this world, this thing I’m about to do doesn't hold the same weight as it used to. But you mean everything to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, protecting you, loving you, and being there for you and for our child.”

Joel dug into his pocket and pulled out a little, improvised ring he'd fashioned from a scrap of wire he'd acquired while being on patrol. It was rough and out of the ordinary, yet it had its own beauty.

Rhia's eyes widened in surprise and a hint of disbelief, but a warm smile tugged at her lips.

"Angel," he said again, his voice steady and soft, "will you marry me?"

Rhia's eyes welled up with tears. "Yes," she muttered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes."

Joel's face lit up with a smile as he put the improvised ring onto Rhia's finger. It wasn’t a fancy proposal like in the old days, but it was ideal for them, a final testament to their love.

Rhia smiled as she met his gaze and leaned in to kiss him. Their kiss held their compromise in a soft and warm feeling. 

As they pulled away, Joel's eyes sparkled with happiness, and he whispered against her lips “I love you, angel. You’re the best thing this world gave to me” 

Rhia's heart swelled with love. "I love you too, Joel.”

Several months had passed since the night on the porch when Joel proposed to Rhia. During that time, their story continued to be written, their trust was rebuilt from the pieces and their love blossomed. 

And the day had come. Rhia gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Ambar, a name that meant “The sky” was a tribute to the loved ones they had lost, the people both of them loved that were watching from above. Sarah, Tess, and Daisy. 

Joel couldn’t believe he was a father again, that he was taking care of a precious little baby all over again. A contrast to the life he had known before, a life that was him and Sarah against the world. But this time, he wasn’t alone anymore. No longer were he and his daughter by themselves. This time, it was him, their little baby, Ellie, and the woman he loved together as a family. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over their little corner of the world, Rhia and Joel found themselves sitting on their porch once like they always do during the evening. The stars began to twinkle in the sky, and Ambar slept in her crib inside. 

In the silence of that tender moment, with the soft breeze caressing their faces, they knew that their story was far from over. There were pages to be written yet, but they also knew that danger was far from being over. 

As they looked out at the night sky, Joel’s chuckle broke the silence.

Rhia looked down at him. “What?”

“I was thinking about us” he simply said, yet his voice was soft.

“What about us?” Rhia’s curiosity creeped out; her eyes fixed on his gorgeous profile in the dim evening light.

Joel turned to her, his eyes meeting hers with a tender gaze. "From a world where it was just me and Sarah, to now, a family of our own." He said, “Thank you for loving me, Angel.”

Rhia's heart exploded with love as she leaned in to kiss him, their lips met in a lingering and sweet kiss, holding all the promises they had made each other since the day they met. From the day they met, when they were younger, to the day their scars still hurt from when they pushed each other apart and finally found their way to each other again. 

So, in that sweet moment beneath the starry sky, they found solace in their shared love and the family they had formed. Their story was still being written, but they were ready to tackle any challenge that came their way; They had each other's backs, after all. They were going to survive any war.

a/n: The last paragraph is cheesy af. Reblogs and comments are appreciated 💌 if you have any question, asks are always open

tag: @joeldjarin

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 21

The Emotion and the Response

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: language; blood and injury; a panic attack; sensuality.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: A reunion.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

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Between the emotion and the response falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

The coordinates Gregor sent dropped Cerra quite literally in the middle of nowhere, parsecs away from the nearest star system, inhabited or otherwise. As the shuttle shifted into realspace, she saw the reason he’d chosen this place. Instead of the black emptiness of space she expected, the Archeon Nebula stretched out before her: a luminous, golden cloud of gas and cosmic dust. It was an incredible view, but that wasn’t why the commando had sent her there.

The electromagnetic radiation of the nebula interfered with long-range communications, including any signals from tracking beacons that she might have missed on the shuttle. Short-range comms would still work if she boosted the signal as high as it would go, but she was invisible to the Empire and everyone else in the galaxy so long as she stayed put. 

She navigated away from the hyperspace lane and powered down all systems except life support and comms to avoid detection by passing vessels, then she increased the range and sensitivity of the shuttle’s proximity sensor to maximum. With the tiniest shred of luck, the next ship that arrived would be Gregor, not smugglers, pirates, or worse. Of course, her luck hadn’t been particularly stellar lately.

While she waited, she raided the shuttle’s supply cabinet and was disgusted to find that it didn’t even have a basic medkit. Supply officer on that Venator ought to be busted down to private, she fumed with a disgruntled, unintelligible mutter.

On the plus side, there were a few expired ration bars, which she ate, because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meal, and a few bottles of water, which she drank, because she had no idea how long she’d be waiting for Gregor. That karking mudscuffer Yularen had split her lip badly when he hit her, and she winced as she chewed the desiccated rations, hoping that she wouldn’t reopen the wound.

She stripped off the plastoid TK armor and the compression bodysuit and headed to the refresher. The shuttle didn’t have a shower—not even a sonic—but she scrubbed off as much of Daivik’s dried blood as she could in the tiny sink, washing until the red swirls that circled the drain disappeared and the water ran clear. 

The familiar harsh, medicinal scent of the soap stung her nose and transported her instantly to her time in the GAR, filling her with an odd sense of nostalgia. She examined the swelling bruise on her shoulder where Daivik had struck her. It hurt like a sonofabitch. She rolled her shoulder gingerly, testing her range of motion. It wasn’t terrible, but she wouldn’t exactly call it great, either. She’d had worse injuries, but that didn’t make her current ones any more fun.

Should’ve killed that scughole before he beat the shit out of me, she mused. I’ll have to remember that next time I get my ass captured. 

She sighed and stepped back into the compression suit, and then headed to the cockpit, where she curled up in the pilot’s seat to wait, stretching and shifting in the cramped seat to try to get more comfortable. Her eyes felt gritty and dry. Her body ached. Without the sublight engine running, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the life support system and the faint clangs of the ship itself as it drifted in the emptiness. The displays and buttons of the ship’s navigation panel were barely bright enough to see anything, but nebula cast a faint glow through the viewport, subtly illuminating the cockpit in soft, golden light. 

She gazed out the viewport as her eyes grew heavy. There was something strangely comforting about the nebula—knowing that it continued to create new stars even as others flickered and died throughout the galaxy. The darkness hadn’t won. Not yet. There was still light. There was still hope. And even the stars that died continued to shine long after they’d burnt out.

Her head throbbed, and her lids drifted closed, only for a moment. Just a few seconds, really. No more than that. She needed to stay awake while she waited for Gregor. She… She needed…

She slept.

She had no idea how long she’d been out when she jerked awake, startled into consciousness by the blaring proximity alert. She cursed silently as she lunged forward and toggled the switch so the alarm would stop screeching. The comms crackled to life.

“Code tango-two-one-eight. Watchman to Scrapper, I’ve reached the rendezvous coordinates. What’s your status?”

Cerra’s heart lurched at the sound of Gregor’s voice.

“All good here, Watchman,” she replied. “Send me a ping, and I’ll dock with your ship.”

“Copy that. See you soon.”

Within minutes, she docked with the freighter, and before she boarded, she programmed the shuttle’s hyperdrive to overload. She hurried across to the freighter and sealed the hatch, signaling Gregor to release the docking clamps. By the time she made it to the cockpit, they were already at a safe distance from the shuttle, and within seconds, a blinding flash confirmed the shuttle was destroyed.

Gregor sprang out of his seat and rushed toward Cerra. His eyes widened when he saw her bruised, bloodied face, and he pulled her into a crushing embrace. Cerra let out a tiny whimper of pain, and he loosened his grip immediately.

“Are you all right?” he asked, checking her frantically for injuries.

“I’m all right, Gregor,” she said as relief flooded her. She was safe. She was home. “There was no medkit on the shuttle, otherwise I would have taken care of it already.”

He pushed her gently into the copilot’s chair and reached across her to grab the small emergency medkit they kept in the cockpit. He knelt between her knees as he pulled out a tube of bacta, biting down on the finger of his glove and yanking it off with his teeth. As he leaned close to dab the gel on the bruises and lacerations that marred her face, his dark eyes filled with such distress that her heart twisted inside her to see it. His touch was incredibly gentle, and Cerra took a moment to simply enjoy the way his skin felt against her, his fingers were warm and comforting in contrast to the cold bacta.

“Is there more under the suit?” he asked.

She nodded and reached for the autofastener, but Gregor found it first and tugged it down, careful not to pinch her skin as he unzipped the tight-fitting garment. As he slid the pressure suit cautiously down over her shoulders to puddle around her waist, his breath caught when he saw the extent of the bruises that mottled her skin.

“Those fucking bastards,” he growled. “I’ll kill them.”

“Sorry, buddy, I beat you to it,” she said with a pained smile.

He grunted. “As long as they’re dead.”

He smoothed the bacta onto her shoulder with the lightest touches, easing her bra strap out of the way as he worked. The soft, warm glow of the nebula caught on the planes of his face, throwing the angles and lines into stark relief. He knelt so close to her that she could see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the subtle pulse in his neck with each heartbeat. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, at once so familiar and so unique, and a memory flashed in her mind: strong arms wrapped securely around her; a thick, solid thigh slotted between her legs; the firm press of a body against her hip as she drifted on the edge of consciousness.

“Gregor?” she whispered, then swallowed thickly.

“Hm?” He raised his eyes to hers inquisitively, and he was so close that she could see the golden flecks in his irises.

“I don’t want to fight any more,” she said. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

His eyes softened. “I know you didn’t.”

He was so, so close. Her gaze drifted down to his mouth, and when she looked back up, he was staring at hers, too. His hand stilled and rested against her shoulder, and she knew he could feel the way her breathing became rapid and shallow. Almost without realizing she was moving, she raised her hand to his face and traced her thumb across the chiseled line of his cheekbone. How had she never noticed how sharp it was? Maker, he was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him, like staring directly into a star. No wonder she’d spent the last several months avoiding looking too closely. She trailed her fingertips along his jawline, feeling the scratch of his stubble, and he leaned imperceptibly closer. 

He looked so much like Fives, and yet so different at the same time. When did his face become so incredibly important to her? When had his voice become as vital as the air that she breathed? When had he gone from being her dearest friend to being the one person in the galaxy that she could not imagine living without?

She brushed the pad of her thumb over his lips, and his eyes drifted closed.

“Cerra,” he whispered, and his warm breath washed across her skin, sending prickles of awareness through her body. “Don’t do this.”

She froze, and hurt flashed through her, worse than anything Yularen and his thugs could ever inflict. She withdrew her hand immediately and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She was such a fool.

“S—sorry,” she stammered. “I shouldn’t have—I’m so sorry.”

Gregor pulled his hand away from her shoulder, and she steeled herself for his rejection, swallowing down the tightness in her throat. But instead of moving away, he cupped her chin softly and turned her head to face him.

“Don’t do it unless you mean it,” he said.

Her eyes darted to his, and she saw the truth there, written plainly as it always had been, if only she hadn’t been too stubborn to read it. Something deep inside her chest snapped, and she pitched forward, closing the short distance between them as their lips collided. Pain lanced through her bruised mouth, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she couldn’t exist for another second without kissing Gregor. She needed him more than her next breath, more than the blood coursing through her veins, more than life itself.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, sliding her whole body forward in the seat. Her thighs pressed open to accommodate him, and it seemed the most natural thing in the galaxy to wrap her legs around his body. She flattened her hands against his back, then dragged them up his shoulders, up his neck, to caress the velvety shorn hair at the base of his skull, and then further, to tangle her fingers in the longer curls at the crown of his head.

His tongue slid against hers, and he let out a short, urgent sound and clutched her body tightly against himself. He tasted like everything she had ever wanted. His hands roamed across the bare skin of her back, one of them settling low to press her hips closer, and the other gliding up to clasp the back of her neck. He pinned her against his body as his lips moved away from hers and he began to work his way down her jaw and neck. 

She dropped her head back, her body lighting with arousal beneath his lovely, talented mouth. The light abrasion of his stubble made a delicious contrast with the soft, gentle warmth of his lips and tongue. He reached a particularly sensitive spot at the base of her throat, and she gasped, unconsciously grinding her hips against him. He rewarded her by sinking his teeth lightly into her skin, raking them across her until she writhed and moaned, clutching his head closely to herself.

The moment felt surreal, as though her brain couldn’t quite process what was happening. She’d spent so long denying the truth that it felt as though her entire universe had been inverted—and yet at the same time, the touch of his lips, the grip of his hands, the press of his body against hers seemed so incredibly right that she could no longer imagine going without them.

“Shit,” he said suddenly, breaking away from her.

“What?” she asked, dazed.

“You’re bleeding.”

Startled, she raised a hand to her chin and was horrified to feel a slick of blood on her skin. “Kriff!”

Gregor extracted a square of gauze from the medkit and pressed it against her lip, holding it gently but firmly in place until the bleeding stopped. While he waited, he dropped tiny, feather-light kisses across her face, over and over, until she began to giggle.

“Stop smiling,” he said sternly, kissing the tip of her nose. “You’re going to make your lip start bleeding again.”

“Then stop being so perfect,” she retorted.

He paused to consider. “Best I can offer is ten percent off.”

“Well, that hardly seems like a bargain at all,” she said.

“Take it or leave it.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, and she caught her breath.

“I love you,” she blurted.

His eyes widened with shock.

“I mean—” she stammered, panic threading in her voice. “I—I mean—”

She laughed nervously, and then the laughter turned to shallow, gasping breaths as the edges of her vision began to darken and black spots swam before her eyes. Her lungs heaved, but there seemed to be no oxygen in the cockpit. She scrambled backward in her chair, trying to put some distance between herself and Gregor.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Gregor said. “All the way out, come on, Cerra. You know what to do. Breathe all the way out. One, two, three, four, five. Now breathe in through your nose, sweetheart. One, two, three, four, five.”

He held her hands in his warm, reassuring grasp, and as she brought her breathing back under control, she suddenly remembered what he’d told her that awful night at 79’s. 

“Easy, love. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

---

A/N: I know nebulae don't cast light like that IRL, but this is Star Wars, where they totally do! If you want to see the nebula in question, check out Rebels Season 3 Episode 18, "Secret Cargo."

---

Next chapter

[grapenehifics]

WIP Wednesday (2/3)

This WIP Wednesday is a continuation of the excerpt I shared last week (after a bunch of text about the next fic I'm posting, a GFFA canon-divergent disaster trio story called Pick Up the Pieces).

Last week, we found seventeen-year-old Anakin on a mission to Takodana going undercover as a (not very talented) gambler and card-player. Read more after the cut:

“Hey, boy!” someone called, and it took Anakin a second to realize it was the Ugnaught he’d been playing cards with, and that they were calling to him. (Anakin had chosen not to give his name, real or otherwise, on this little excursion, and no one he was playing with had turned out to be the type to care. They hadn’t given their names, either.) “Next round’s starting. We dealing you in or out?”

Anakin did some quick math in his head. “Yeah, all right,” he decided, and took his seat again. He wasn’t surprised they wanted to play with him, what with the way he’d been losing. He was an easy mark, and he knew it.

His reputation held all through the first hand, in which he was, yet again, the first to bow out. Pazaak was a game that required winning three hands to take the match, however, so the Besalisk dealt him back in for the second.

Only, his four hands were sweaty (Obi-Wan said this happened to Besalisk a lot, especially on warm planets, because their ancestral world of Ojom was an ice planet, and their species had started migrating throughout the galaxy relatively recently and hadn’t developed biological adaptations for warmer weather yet) and the cards slipped and about half the deck fell to the floor.

“Whoops,” Anakin said, and he and the Besalisk both bent down to collect them. “Let me help you, there, buddy.”

“I got it,” the Besalisk growled, and Anakin sat up, hands raised in surrender.

“Hey, all right, no harm intended,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready. I just feel a hot streak coming on, is all.”

The Ugnaught and the Trandoshan across from him at the table both laughed (well, the Trandoshan made a sound like air escaping from a punctured balloon, anyway). Anakin just smiled back placidly.

“No, really,” he continued, as the Besalisk re-shuffled the cards and started to deal. “I’ve got a really good feeling about this one.”

“Sure,” the Trandoshan lisped. She wore a badge pinned to her bandoleer that identified her as part of the Bounty Hunters Guild.

Anakin did, in fact, win that hand, the first he’d won in almost an hour. Then he immediately lost the next one, thereby erasing his lead, because now all but the Ugnaught had won a hand apiece. They played again, and Anakin got twenty exactly on his first hand.

“Read ‘em and weep!” he gloated, spreading his cards out in front of him. The Trandoshan hissed at him. The Ugnaught swore in Ugnese. The Besalisk tried to look at Anakin’s cards again, but Anakin quickly put his hand over his side deck. “Uh-uh,” he taunted. “No cheating!”

“I’m going to go get a drink,” the Trandoshan growled, and pushed her chair back from the table.

“Get me one too,” the Besalisk said, and tossed the Trandoshan a credit chip, which she caught as she stalked off toward the bar.

“This is fun!” Anakin said, crossing his arms behind his head and tipping his chair back onto just the back two legs. He ruffled his ponytail with his hand. There wasn’t a lot he could do to hide his Padawan haircut, but he’d wrapped his braid around the band that held his hair back and tucked the end underneath, so at least that was off his neck and a little less conspicuous. Plus he’d traded his usual Jedi robes for a dark pants-and-vest combo that looked a little more smuggler-y (or at least he hoped it did). He carried a blaster without any ammo in it, and before choosing a card table he’d purposefully spilled some ale on himself, both to make his clothes look a little more lived in and so that he’d smell like he’d been drinking alcohol without having to actually have any. “I think I get why you fellows like this game so much,” he continued, because his companions very much looked like they wanted him to stop talking. “I’m really glad you all taught it to me. Hey, how about this. Now that we’re friends and all. If I win this match, next round is on me, all right? Just, uh, don’t go too overboard,” he chuckled. “I am still down quite a bit to all three of you…”

He cut himself off when the Trandoshan sat down heavily, ale slopping over the rim of the glasses she’d carried over from the bar.

“…but I think my luck might be about to change,” Anakin finished.

The next game, unlike previous one, was a real nail-biter. Anakin got to start, because he’d won the last hand, but they had to go twice around the table, and the tension ratcheted with each card-flip. By the third time the draw came around to Anakin, he was ready to make his move. “Plus one,” he said, taking the top card off his side deck and ignoring the communal deck in the middle of the table.

“You cheated,” said the Besalisk.

“No I didn’t,” Anakin said. “It was right there the whole time. I was saving it for when I really needed it. And right now, I need it.”

“It wasn’t there earlier.”

“He’s hustling,” accused the Ugnaught. “I think you do know how to play this game!”

“And how would you know that,” Anakin shouted, suddenly exploding both in anger and out of his seat. He stood on his chair and whirled to face the Besalisk. “Unless you’ve been cheating, and looking at my cards!”

[dustdeepsea]

i am here to ask about performance review! :)

7. What inspired the idea for the plot?

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

26. Wild Card! I'll tell you a fun fact about this fic!

Thank you for asking!! I have so many complicated feelings about this fic.

7. What inspired the idea for the plot?

I love writing for NPCs in this world. I've progressed to obsessing over ones that have roughly five lines total. This was a drabble, written on my phone over a few days, that got entirely out of hand.

Zarys is a fairly young woman in charge of a nasty group of smugglers and triad members. Rugan recruited her, but she quickly outpaced him through the ranks. During Act 1, he gives out the password to their hideout, and she threatens to cut his tongue out for it. I initially read it as mostly bluster.

However, there is also a possible outcome of the Missing Shipment quest where she offers the party a chance to align with the Zhentarim by killing a tied-up and tortured Rugan, if he gives up the chest. At this point, Olly has already been killed by her for forgetting the first rule of Fight Club the Zhentarim. Yikes.

I read her as a bright, ambitious person elevated too early to middle management to properly cope, grappling with their own insecurities. I was interested in exploring her motivations and how she navigates power dynamics (spoilers: poorly). I wanted her to read as fairly sympathetic but still awful.

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

(I'm interpreting this as: what are you most proud of slipping into this fic as a writer?)

As Oscar Wilde said, “Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.”

What Zarys considers "sweet nothings" are Rugan simply stoking her ambition.

26. Wild Card! I'll tell you a fun fact about this fic!

This was never a story meant to titillate or get the reader off. (Probably why the positive reactions are so low a ha ha). Then again, neither are most of my fics. How do you write sex that isn't meant to be particularly sexy?

Kissing is taken off the table early. Rugan speaks fairly little during the act itself, and he has his hand over Zarys' mouth over most of it.

I considered putting in more dirty talk (size difference, etc), but I didn’t want him to praise her or compliment her physical appearance. But he isn't a complete asshole, so he is actually concerned about almost suffocating her. (Again, a very low bar, kids.) Removing it also makes the whole act read as more sloppy, quick, and desperate, and allows us to focus more on Zarys' inner thoughts.

She likes him, in her own twisted way. She won't ever sleep with him and let him get under her skin like that again. And when the time comes, it's kinder that she ends his life than someone from Darkhold.