#i shit post to hide the pain up under from this chapter

[lunarmoves]

who i see, looking back at me (ch2)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, non-sexual intimacy, touch aversion, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, again taking creative liberties with his mom and siblings, tentative reconnecting :)

a/n: so this fic is now 4 chapters instead of 2. what happened, u ask? i have no idea. i blame sebastian. also, i made some minor edits to ch1- nothing too major, i just changed sebastian's age from 32 to 33 LOL. i found out pressure takes place in 2025 when he's 32, so i nudged it up a lil. not that telling u guys this makes a difference dsjfhj. i used the urbanshade wiki for a lot of his info btw. anyways, hope u guys enjoy, bon apple teeth!

word count: 11k+

masterlist | part one

ao3 link

In the following days, a storm swept its way down the coast, confining you to your cottage when you weren’t at work. 

You sat at the window in your living room overlooking the sea, watching the way rain drummed against the glass. You could hear the way the wind battered the walls of your cottage, a low whistling echoing from a window you likely didn’t close properly. The sky was swollen with dark, heavy clouds that lit up with the occasional fork of white lightning. The rumbles of thunder that followed were loud enough for you to feel in your chest, and you enjoyed sipping at a warm drink as you read a book in the evenings before bed. 

After watching the way the waves crashed viciously against the sand and rocks of the shore—following the push and pull of the storm—you wondered if you should be worried about possible flooding. You’d think you’d be used to it after living by the sea for so long. But no, the water was not agitated enough to reach your little cottage at the top of the cove, so you did not think too much about it.

What you did have to worry about, however, were leaks. 

“Ah, shit,” you hissed as you toed a bucket under a steadily dripping wet spot on your ceiling. You’d never had to deal with them before, but then again, the winds of this storm were certainly strong. They could’ve knocked something loose. Your cottage was old enough that you wouldn’t be surprised. 

“Least there aren’t too many,” Sebastian remarked as he stood next to another bucket. He stared up at the point of leakage, a drop falling every few seconds. “Either deal with them every storm or bust out some tools to fix them, shouldn’t be too difficult, even for you.” 

You hummed out something of an agreement, ignoring the little jab at the end. You’d never been the one to do the tinkering or fixing around the house, preferring to observe him instead as he worked. You had to learn things yourself, over the years. It didn’t make it any less painful.

(“Put that engineering degree to work,” you told him as you always did each and every time, then grinned when he gave you that same squinted glare. 

“Mechanical engineering is not equal to fixing a pipe,” he grumbled back at you, pointing the wrench in his hand in your direction as you hovered by the bathroom doorway. He lifted his head just enough from the cupboard of the sink to meet your gaze in the mirror in front of him. “Neither is hanging a painting on the wall. Or swapping out lightbulbs, for that matter.”

You just smiled at him, not bothering to hide the way your gaze trailed along the muscles of his back and shoulders—forming shadows along the black tank top he wore. He made a face at you that had you biting your tongue to hold back a laugh.

“It is to me,” you replied in amusement. His groan only made your lips stretch wider. “Chop chop, nerd.”)

You sighed, a weary thing that you felt deep in your chest, and frowned out at your living room with its couple of buckets collecting water. Sebastian lifted his palm just under the leak he stood by. You watched him for a moment before turning away as another drop fell towards his hand. 

It felt like ages before you finally found yourself waking up to a sliver of bright, warm sunshine through your curtained window. You could finally pack away the buckets scattered around your home, lazily eyeing the spots on the ceiling where the water had dripped through. You’d need to borrow a ladder from someone so you could inspect the roof. You would deal with that later, you decided.  

You opened your front door to breathe in the fresh air of a storm long gone—the earthy smell accompanied by a salty seabreeze that promised better days. Clear skies with feathery wisps of clouds accompanied you all the way to work, where you and your coworker made plans to reschedule that dinner you both had meant to grab before the storm reared its ugly head and sent everything awry. 

And once you got back home after a long shift, you took some time to pick your way down the shore to walk alongside the lazy ebbing of the tide. 

The storm had washed up quite a few things. Bits of driftwood and seaweed, mostly. But occasionally a glimmer of something shiny would catch your eye, buried partially within the sand. You ended up wandering around for a bit, digging up seashells or small rocks that caught the light in just the right way when you held them up in front of your face. 

Eventually, as the sun danced along the horizon and sent its golden light to caress the planes of the earth, you ended up on the dock. Your pockets clicked and clacked with your findings as you walked down its length, the wood only mildly damp now from the days of endless rainfall. The boards creaked under each of your steps, and when you finally stopped at the dock’s edge, you paused for a moment to peer down at it. 

It—looked utterly ruined. Splintered pieces of wood that still held on through the storm poked out along the damaged planks. You frowned as you squinted at it. The edge was broken in a way that alluded to three separate points of destruction—the wood cracked and jagged like the maw of a hungry beast. Your lips pursed. Damage from the storm, no doubt. Maybe the vicious waves. Either way, it looked like you couldn’t sit here anymore until it was flagged and repaired. A shame, really. You glanced around at the rest of the undamaged dock. 

You supposed you could simply… sit elsewhere upon it. But… You grimaced to yourself as you swept your gaze across the calm waters. No prickle of your skin. No teal glow. No familiar rasp of a voice that made something in your chest ache. That did not mean it would not happen again, however. You were wary. Your own home you could not escape from him, but the dock you certainly could.

Maybe you should spend your evenings somewhere else for a bit. 

And that was how you found yourself down in the cove in the days that followed. It was not a place you frequented as often as the dock when you just wanted to lounge around—you needed to scale quite a few rocks to make it to the little beach within it—but it was just as gorgeous. Calm. Quiet. You could sit on the sand and watch the tide rise lazily to brush against your feet. 

Here, you felt protected—the cove curving in such a way where you were surrounded on almost all sides by rock apart from the section of the sea in front of you. Not many people ventured over here, preferring to stick by the wider—more open—stretch of the beach. You didn’t mind. All the more peace for you. 

You were feeling reminiscent, one particular evening, and decided to bring out that ukulele you’d purchased so long ago. It mostly sat in a corner of your room, collecting dust. But occasionally, you felt the urge to strum a couple of chords in some resemblance of a song—as clumsy and out-of-tune as they were. 

You sat cross-legged in the cove, far enough from the water’s edge that it could not reach you for a couple of feet. The sun had long started its descent, making the water sparkle like gems were littered under its surface. A few seagulls cawed overhead, close enough that you occasionally glanced upwards to watch them circle about in the air. 

Ukulele balanced partially on your lap, you squinted down at the card that came with it that had the finger positions for some chords drawn out. The card rested on the sand in front of your shin, and you frowned at it as you strummed out a rough-sounding G-chord. 

“That’s not right,” you muttered to yourself as you adjusted your fingers on the fretboard. You gave another strum. It sounded clearer—if marginally. “There we go.” 

Now to switch to an F-chord. You repositioned your fingers and strummed again. Not bad. Definitely better sounding than your G, that was for sure. The pads of your fingers were starting to ache with how hard you pressed down onto the strings. Your wrist too, for that matter.

After learning a few more chords, you started to idly strum away, searching for a tune. A lot of songs could be played just by using the C-, G-, and F-chords, you noted. Between your mindless down and up motions along the strings, you caught a faint glimpse of an old song you used to hear in your youth. And so, you chased after it, murmuring the words under your breath.

“No, that’s not…” You trailed off as you switched between a G and C, fingers moving slowly. Ah, the order did not sound right to your ears. Maybe an F should follow the G instead. You gave it a try and scrunched your nose when it sounded odd again. “Ah… man.”

A voice suddenly spoke up from somewhere in front of you—low and musing. “Ukulele, huh? When’d you pick it up?”

A brief glance upwards revealed exactly who you’d expected, even as something sank to the soles of your feet. Sebastian lounged stomach-down in the low shallows of the water, head propped up atop his hands as he watched you with half-lidded, squinted eyes. Close, yet not too close that he reached the point where the water’s edge kissed the beach. 

The distance, however, was not your main focus. 

Behind his upper body, you could see the stretch of a long, thick tail as it trailed towards the sea. Massive, in its entirety, and resembling a snake of sorts. Its posterior side glistened with gray-blue scales that caught the light in a nearly mesmerizing way. There were these black straps that criss-crossed along his tail all the way up to the base of large, whale-like flukes that were arched out of the water. Why the straps were there, you did not know.

He was much larger than you’d thought he was.

You averted your gaze and looked back down at your instrument. Truly, you did not know why he looked so different out here. You didn’t like the way it made you feel. Were you losing your grip on him—his memory? The last fragments of him that you had? No. No. 

You didn’t like that at all. 

“Helloooo?” Sebastian called, voice pitching upwards. “I asked you a question. Gonna just leave me hanging here?”

You huffed through your nose. He should know this. “Not too long ago,” you told him anyway, squinting slightly at him. 

His eyes crinkled into upturned crescents at your response—short as it was. “There, was that so hard now?” His voice dripped with condescension. One of his ear fins gave a little flick. “So, have you realized that it’s actually me, yet?” 

You didn’t answer, turning your attention back to your ukulele.

He sighed like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. “That’s what I thought.” 

He was quiet as you spent some time strumming away. You were determined to figure out the right chords for this vague song, but you were severely lacking the knowledge of what they might be. You switched back to learning more finger positions from the chord card. Maybe it would fill in some gaps.

“Your thumb is too high on the neck,” Sebastian suddenly said after a while, earning him a quick glance from you. He pointed at your hand. “You’re gonna hurt your wrist like that, babe. It’s also restricting your movements. Lower it some more so that it’s not sticking above the fretboard.” He paused for a second, then added, “Also the strum zone is a little higher than that.” 

You mulled over his words for a bit, then adjusted your hold. Playing a few different chords, you realized that yes, it was easier to switch your finger positions now. Sounded much smoother as well. You hummed to yourself. 

“You really think if I wasn’t real that I’d be able to give you advice like that?” he asked pointedly, eyes falling into a half-lidded gaze. “Tell you shit you didn’t know about?” 

You pursed your lips. You… guessed so. But you had done some online research when you’d first bought the ukulele to learn more about it, being a novice and all. You were certain you’d read about correct positioning before—maybe you forgot but some level of your mind stored the information. You weren’t well versed in the workings of the human brain, particularly when it came to your… situation. You only offered Sebastian a shrug. He sighed deeply and grumbled something under his breath that you couldn’t quite make out. 

You went back to trying to figure out the song you’d distantly caught onto before. C-chord, followed by an E minor, G—wait no, an A minor actually—then an F. You were making some progress, as small as it was. 

The discordant notes from your ukulele mixed in with the steady swelling of the waves. Somewhere above, there was the caw of a seagull—sharp and piercing. Occasionally, there would be a small splash out in the distance, either from a fish jumping out of the water or a bird diving for a meal. You breathed in and—

Splat!

You made a surprised, strangled noise, something immensely cold and wet and slimy landing directly on your face. You couldn’t even really process what was happening before you felt it slide down and land on your lap. Your face scrunched up, disgusted, then you jumped slightly when laughter erupted from somewhere in front of you. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Sebastian wheezed, and your gaze shot towards him to see him practically curled up in a shaking ball. His tail slapped at the water, once, then twice when he rolled around to clutch at his stomach. “H-Holy shit that was funnier than I’d expected it to be oh my god your face! I think I’m gonna piss.” He lifted himself up just enough to look at you, then he burst out into cackles again. 

“Hwhuh?” you said, still stunned. He laughed even harder, and you took the time to look down at your lap at your assailant. You blinked at it and felt your lips pull back in some strange grimace. 

It was a wad of seaweed—fishy-smelling and gross and goddamnit it was soaking into your clothes and got all over your ukulele—

“Oh man, I missed doing that so much.” Sebastian wiped a tear from one of his teal eyes and grinned sharply at you. “Never change, babe. Never change.” 

You only made another sound, picking up the seaweed with one of your hands and flinging it off to the side. You could still feel the residue, well, everywhere. Coating your cheeks and your eyelids and your mouth. It was foul. You swiped your hand down your face in an attempt to get rid of it. You were not all too successful.

Sebastian chortled, then leaned back down with his head propped atop his palm, fixing you with a suddenly calculating stare. The tide swept up and around his body. “So? Would I have been able to do that if I wasn’t real, hm?” 

For a moment, you just watched him. His nonchalant pose. His gaze firmly trained on your own. The way his third arm did a little finger wave at you, a gold ring glinting on its fourth finger. You stared, and you stared. Then, you turned to look at the clump of seaweed. After a beat or two, you looked up at the inky sky—where those seagulls still circled overhead. Sebastian followed your gaze. 

He paused. 

“Wait. Don’t tell me”—he let out a laugh, incredulous, almost—“you think that was the birds?” 

A scoff escaped your lips. “What else would it be?” you grumbled, mostly to yourself. You needed a shower, and you needed it immediately. You stood up to dust the sand off your clothes with one hand, the other occupied with holding your poor ukulele.

“Babe,” he groaned, one of his hands raking down his face. His lips trembled, minute. “You’re gonna feel real stupid once you realize I’m actually here, you know.”

You only huffed and wiped at your face again, eye twitching ever so slightly.

And that was how the next few days went. 

He would show up whenever you were in the cove at night. Always making these remarks at you to get you to think that he wasn’t just some illusion you’d cooked up. Making you think that the splashes of water you felt on your legs or arms were from him and not the tide. When you moved back to the dock in an attempt to evade him, he followed you there too, and did the same thing again and again and again. 

And all the while, he looked as though he was battling something internally. What that was, you were uncertain. But it didn’t matter, did it? He was just an extension of your own thoughts, your own mind. 

Ignore, just ignore him like you always do, you told yourself repeatedly. He would eventually stop talking. He would eventually go away. But he never did. 

And one night you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Did you ever want to start a family?” he mused at you one evening in the cove, tail flicking idly behind him. You felt like you’d been doused in icy cold water as you stared down at the book in your lap. Eyes stuck on one word, but not truly seeing it. “We never really talked about it, did we?”

Your jaw tensed. No. No you didn’t.

“Ah, we were so young,” he continued in a quiet voice. “I’d say time has flown, but it didn’t. Not to me.” You did not need to look at him to know he was staring directly at you. The back of your neck prickled. “You’re what, thirty-four, now?” He chuckled. “You look just as I’d remembered.”

The way it was said—soft, tender, like an admission murmured in the darkness of night—added fuel to the way something wrenched itself fiercely in your gut. Paralyzed you on the ground. Your grip on your book tightened. Your gaze landed on your wedding ring, still bright and vivid even after all these years with the care you used to handle it.

It was quiet. 

“I’m sorry, you know?” A confession, whispered so gently you almost thought you didn’t hear it. “I’m sorry I was gone. Not that either of us could’ve done anything about it at this point. But I’m sorry I left you for so long, for what it’s worth. Maybe if I hadn’t been…” He trailed off, the implication of his words settling around your neck like a noose. “Well. I wonder sometimes about what could’ve been if all this shit didn’t happen.”

It was never ending, this pain. That you carried on a day-by-day basis, heavy like you wore chains around your ankles and wrists. Your heart. It would be easier to let yourself sink into the ocean, you think. Maybe it would be better than the endless hollowness you felt everywhere in your body. 

Sometimes it felt like time did not aid you in healing. You were unsure if it ever truly would.

“I thought about you every day,” he whispered, voice thick with emotions you could not bear to decipher. “Every. Single. Day.” 

Something deep inside you cracked like porcelain set too roughly atop a surface. You didn’t want to hear this, you didn’t want to hear this anymore.

“Stop— just stop,” you moaned out, wrenching your grip from your book so you could claw at your head. Your eyes squeezed shut. A dull ache throbbed beneath your fingers. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” he instead said firmly, low cadence to his tone. “I’m not gonna do that. Not now. You finally listening to me?” 

You shook your head and covered your face with your hands that shook like you were one step away from being unbalanced. This Sebastian was persistent and talkative in a way that your Sebastian in your cottage was not. 

And it hurt. More than anything in this world, it hurt. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you choked out, a fierce stinging making itself present behind your eyes. “I-I can’t. I can’t.” 

You thought about your cottage—that had seemed small, at first. But when you stood in the space of your living room and looked around at the vacant couch, listened to the eerie stillness that came with being alone, it was all too large just for you. 

Your heart ached.

“It’s not fair,” you sobbed, voice breaking on the tailend of your sentence. “It’s not fair. It hurts too much, I can’t— I can’t do this.” 

You were so, so tired. 

Of feeling this way. Of waking up to his face and falling asleep with it etched into your eyelids. Of going to work with him over your shoulder. Of finding no escape even in the one place you thought you would be at ease. It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

Sebastian was quiet as you sat there, attempting in vain to wipe away the wetness spilling across your cheeks. The chill of night was starting to set in. You could feel its cold hands snaking up your bare arms. You sniffed and scrubbed at your eyes. Distantly, there was a steady shifting sound. Sand being displaced. The drips and drops of water falling into a puddle.

There was a touch against your knee—featherlight and hesitant. 

You froze. And slowly, ever so slowly, you lowered your hands. 

A gray-blue hand—large enough to cover the entirety of your knee—brushed lightly against the thin material of your pants. The pads of its wet fingers traced a small circle around it, mindful of the sharp claws attached to its ends. You felt as though you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tear your gaze away from what you were seeing until the hand drew slightly away. 

You looked up through wet lashes to see Sebastian—closer to the point where his shadow covered the entirety of your body. His head was bent towards you, angler’s lure falling into the space between your faces. The twilight that painted the sky in fragile light made his eyes glow softly, lowered as they were to take in your expression. Searching, maybe, though for what you were uncertain. 

You swallowed, your gaze darting down to his curled hand, then back up at his unreadable face. A static encompassed your mind, leaving no room for coherent thought. 

He seemed to be waiting for something. But when you only stared wide-eyed at him, he eventually sighed. 

“It won’t be enough, I know,” he murmured, tail shifting somewhere behind him in the sand. “It will take the both of us. Here.” 

He extended his arm before you—bending it in a way where his forearm oriented itself horizontally in front of you. He nodded down at it. “Go on.” It did not take a genius to figure out what he wanted you to do.

Could you do it? You didn’t know. You didn’t even know if you wanted to, for that matter. But one glance up at Sebastian’s face revealed an expectant sort of look to it. Nervous, you might say. Even grim. It did not make you feel any better. If anything, it made your muddled mix of emotions and thoughts even more messed up. 

Time… Did you go through enough time? 

You stared down at his arm—that looked so real, in this instance. Attached to a body that you could not even fathom in your dreams. You closed your eyes for a moment and could almost feel that phantom touch against your knee. The wetness that seeped into your pants from it. Reopening your eyes, you trailed your gaze from the clenched fist of his thick fingers, to the sharp jut of his clothed elbow. The space between you and it. A grim sort of feeling was beginning to take root in your stomach.

Always at a distance. Never crossing a line. 

You took a deep breath. 

And then you reached out your hand. 

Your fingers sank into the wet material of his jacket. You inhaled sharply through your nose and found you could not pull yourself away for the life of you.

“…What?” you murmured, lightly brushing over his arm. Over and over and over again. Soggy and stiff and so utterly there. You were trapped in a free fall, plummeting down to the earth. “What? No. No, no, no no no.” 

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” he asked, an unsteady frown overtaking his lips. His voice lowered, barely above a whisper. “I’m right here.” 

“No,” was all you could choke out, fingers still feeling at his jacket. Slowly making their way to his elbow, then up his upper arm. Your lips trembled. “No. You—“ 

Your gaze shot up to his face and suddenly all you could see was him. Honeyed skin and blue eyes and rough scar across his nose. Looking at you so sadly, you almost felt your heart break all over again. An urge, so immense and paralyzing, swept its way throughout the entirety of your body and sank deeply into your very soul. It was all you could do to willingly follow it. You reached up towards his face, stomach twinging, and—

And he flinched away. 

“No!” Sebastian suddenly snapped, teeth bared in a sharp snarl. 

Your heart skipped a beat. Your entire body jerked back in surprise, your hands retreating towards your chest. He softened almost immediately. A pained grimace overtook his features, and he let out another long sigh. 

“I just… Not yet,” he mumbled, shifting away from you so he could wrap his arms around his torso. His gaze lowered to the sand. “Not yet.” 

Wide-eyed, you stared at him. You took him in—really took him in. Ear fins that flicked and twitched at the sides of his head. Gray-blue scales that were soaked in the dewy light of the rising moon. Massive tail supporting an equally massive torso. Three arms that tightened and gripped at the folds of his jacket.

This was him. This was really, really him.

And you could not comprehend it. 

“I-I—” you stammered, pushing yourself up to your feet. You felt unsteady. Your chest hurt. It was like you couldn’t even think properly with how your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. You clutched at your book as though it was your only lifeline. Maybe it was, at this moment. You took a shaky step back, sand crunching under your shoes. “I need… I need a moment.”

Just to yourself. Just to breathe and process. 

The waves ebbed back and forth beyond the cove—the only sound for a few terse minutes.

“It’s okay,” Sebastian told you gently, though he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. His lips pressed together as his head turned away to look out at the sea. “I can wait.” 

The next day passed by in a thick haze. 

You’d gone to bed feeling completely and utterly spent. Your dreams were filled with muddled images of teal eyes and sharp teeth, this accompanying sense of dread so deep that you woke up still feeling its stifling presence. It felt like you constantly had something pressing down onto your chest. You pulled yourself out of bed and stood in front of the mirror in your bathroom, frowning at your reflection as you rubbed idly at your sternum. 

Behind you, reflected in the glass, was your Sebastian. He didn’t say a word. Just stood there and smiled. You lowered your gaze down to your sink and felt your frown deepen. 

You went through work feeling oddly detached from your body, your mind swirling constantly with thoughts of the previous evening. If you stared down at your hand—the one you’d used to caress his arm—you could almost feel the sensation of his jacket against your fingertips. The coldness. The wetness. The realness. 

God, the realness. You had to cover your face with a hand so you could giggle hysterically into your palm. He was right. You felt stupid. But beyond that, it felt like you were still trapped in some kind of fog. Maybe you’d finally lost it after all this time. 

But no, no, this was real. This was happening. You’d felt it yourself. 

…Didn’t you want this? Didn’t you spend countless nights thinking about him? How much you missed him. How you would give anything for him to come back to you. The things you would do. The things you would say. It had all evaporated into thin air—was replaced with this hollow feeling that you could not decipher for the life of you. 

You’d wanted him back, right? 

Your Sebastian, with his— his… 

Something in your stomach writhed endlessly. 

“Hellooo? You still there?” a voice asked in your ear. 

You blinked back to awareness, your phone clutched in your hand. The breakroom of your workplace was empty apart from you sitting at its little table. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, sorry. Zoned out a bit. What were you saying?”

There was a small pause. Then, “Are you… okay?” Isidora asked hesitantly. You could practically hear the frown in her voice. “It’s just… You seem out of it.”

You rubbed a hand across your face. Truthfully, no, but you weren’t about to tell her that. “I’m fine. Work’s just been… work. You know how it is.” 

She made a small noise in understanding. “Oh boy, yeah I get it. Just last week I had a 10-hour shift. I swear, some of my coworkers are so incompetent.” She huffed, then her voice softened. “Well, if you’re sure you’re okay, I won’t press you about it. Just make sure you’re getting enough sleep, yeah?”

You blew a raspberry at her, your voice taking on a slightly teasing lilt. “What are you, my mom? I’ll be fine.” You paused for a moment, then added, “Speaking of, how’s Maria?” 

“She’s fine. Recently took up knitting actually,” Isidora told you. “I think she’s working on a blanket right now. She tried beanies first, but they didn’t turn out all too well.” She snickered.

“Never thought I’d see the day where she’d take up knitting,” you mused.

“I know right? She used to say she’d never get into any ‘old lady hobbies’ and now look at her!” 

“She’s not working full-time anymore, right? She’s probably bored.” 

“Oh for sure, especially with Lucas not home to cause trouble.”

“Yeah? When’s his spring break?” you asked, glancing over to the wall in the breakroom that had a small calendar hung up on it. It was nearing March.

“Not until next month. We still have some peace and quiet. A little too much, if you ask me.” She sighed, then her voice brightened. “Oh! Actually, Mama and I started going through some old albums the other day. Hang on, there were some pics I wanted to send you...” 

You hummed. “She did make a hobby out of album making a while ago, didn’t she?” You thought back to that album of family photos Sebastian kept in his desk—that you ultimately ended up returning. You frowned to yourself.

“Yeah, holy shit you should’ve seen the number of boxes we sorted through,” Isidora said, her voice slightly fainter like she’d removed her phone from her ear. There were a few tapping sounds. “It was nice seeing all our baby pictures. I almost forgot Lucas used to look so cute when he was a toddler.” 

You snorted, then removed your phone from your ear when it gave a little buzz of an incoming message. You clicked on the notification banner from Isidora. 

Instantly, you could feel the smile fade from your lips.

The first picture was of Sebastian—chubby-faced and missing one of his front teeth as he grinned up at the camera. He was kneeling on a wooden floor as he petted the back of a fluffy, brown cat. There was a bandaid across the bridge of his nose where you knew a rough scar would form, but it didn’t obscure the way his eyes crinkled in delight. 

(Teal eyes. Fingers like knives.)

The second picture was of you, Sebastian, and his siblings right before you went out Trick or Treating one year. You remembered this. Isidora spent so long trying to help Lucas with his Bumblebee costume—it came with so many different parts. You could barely see the peek of Lucas’ blue eyes past the yellow helmet. Isidora herself dressed up as the girl from The Ring, her long, black hair framing her face in shadows as she stared monotonously forward. 

Your gaze lingered on Sebastian, his teeth bared at the camera to show off the two fangs he bought for cheap at a store. Fake blood ran down his chin from the corners of his mouth. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, where you were posing like you were about to bite into his neck. Both of you had black makeup smudged around your eyes and long, flowing capes that you remembered had been a pain to deal with as they dragged along the ground outside. 

(Teal eyes. Fingers like knives. Body covered in scales.)

The last picture—

You felt your mouth turn dry like cotton had just been forced into your throat. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

The last picture was of you and him. Dancing in the middle of a small wedding hall. The photographer had caught you mid-laugh. What Sebastian had told you, you didn’t remember now. But you lingered on the way he smiled down at you, cheek dimpling slightly. The warmth of his gaze. The familiar crinkle of his eyes. The way your hands were intertwined tightly together, gold bands glinting on each of your fingers.  

(Teal eyes. Fingers like knives. Body covered in scales. Pungent smell of—)

All of them were taken in a way where it was clear they were pictures of the pictures already printed out in their designated albums. God, you had no idea Maria had kept some of these. You could feel a cold sort of feeling spreading throughout your body, numbing everything it came in touch with. 

There was a reason why you didn’t keep the pictures you’d had back at your apartment. 

And that reason was currently swimming around in the depths of the ocean instead of the bottom of a casket like you’d originally thought. 

“I thought you’d want to see them, it’s been so long since”—Isidora’s voice broke off and she cleared her throat—“well, y’know.”

You didn’t even know what to say. “I— yeah.” You blinked, once, then twice. Forcing back the stinging you felt at the corners of your eyes. “Thanks.” 

He’s alive, you wanted to tell her. He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive and he’s here and he’s so much different than you or I could have ever possibly imagined.

But… you couldn’t say all that. Not when everything was still so disconcerting for you. Not when you were still struggling to come to terms with it yourself. Not when you knew she would never believe you.

“We still have some more albums to go through. I’ll send you more pictures if I come across them!” Isidora said eagerly. “It’s just… nice to have them, y’know?”

“Yeah,” you forced out, even as it felt like someone had grabbed a fistful of your insides and ruthlessly twisted. “It… It really is.” 

That same evening you found yourself pacing relentlessly in your living room.

You could see Sebastian from the corner of your eye as he sat on your couch, his head moving side to side as he followed your movements. 

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet at that rate,” he told you, idly tugging at the cartilage piercing on his upper ear. “Relax.” 

You ignored him. 

Glancing out the front window, you could see the sun’s last vestiges of light disappear under the horizon, making way for a cool, dark night. You couldn’t see a wink of moonlight anywhere. Either a cloud was blocking it or it was a new moon, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter though. Your insides felt like you’d swallowed a jar of jittering bees. 

You were procrastinating, you knew. But part of you reasoned it was better to go under the cover of an almost vantablack night, the stars your only light. Your gaze darted to Sebastian, one of his feet jiggling slightly from where it was crossed over his knee. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth and turned back to stare out at the black, rolling sea. 

Every time you closed your eyes you could see his face—inhuman and unfamiliar. 

Did you want him back like this? 

Something had happened to him. Something bad. The way he drew away from you was telling—the way he couldn’t quite look you in the eye. You wanted to ask him what happened, how he ended up like… like that. But you were scared of what his response would be. 

All this time, he had been alive, somewhere, and you were none the wiser. You were none the wiser. It was as heartbreaking as it was utterly devastating. 

You sighed and scrubbed your hands along your face. This wasn’t about you. This was about him—likely waiting for you by the shore. It was time to get a move on. 

You patted yourself down and did a final sweep of your living room to make sure you’d packed everything neatly away. Then, you slipped out the front door, the moon finally making its presence known as the clouds parted overhead. Slowly, you made your way to the cove, carefully picking down a few steep rocks until your shoes came into contact with sand. There was a slight chill to the air as you trudged over to your usual spot and stood there, staring out at the sea. 

You did not need to wait long. 

“You’re here later than normal,” a smooth voice called out pointedly once his head broke through the waves. He swam closer leisurely—the teal glow of his eyes bouncing off the water in front of him—then lounged on his stomach a short distance away. Eyes fell into a half-lidded look. “Was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show up.”

You shifted on your feet, looking away from him to stare at the ground. “No I… I was just waiting for it to get darker.”

Sebastian hummed like he didn’t quite believe you. “Right. Well?” He seemed to brace himself. “I’m sure you have… questions.” 

You did. You really, really did—brimming as they were on the tip of your tongue. But you swallowed them down, just for a moment. 

“I do,” you told him, “but…” You hesitated. 

He picked up on it right away, drawling out a “Buuut?” 

You fidgeted with your fingers, rotating your ring around. “Do you… want to come in? First?” 

There was a pregnant pause. You grimaced to yourself. 

“You mean…?” His head flicked up towards the top of the cove, where your cottage stood idly waiting. The lights were still on inside, making the windows glow a warm, welcoming orange. 

You nodded, then flapped your hands around nervously when his expression flattened out—unreadable. “Ah, I mean— I just thought it might be better? Than being out here, you know? But— But if you don’t wanna, we can stay outside, I don’t mi—“ 

He cut across your fumbling words. “Yeah, we can go. I just…” He trailed off, avoiding your gaze. “Didn’t expect you to offer, really.”

There was… honestly a lot to unpack there. But you could do that later. 

“Alright, c’mon.” You lingered in place for a moment, then turned on your heel to make your way back over to the edge of the cove. You glanced over your shoulder when there was the sound of rushing water—thousands of droplets trailing down Sebastian’s torso as he lifted himself up from the tide and slid his way towards you. 

It was… oddly captivating, watching him move. The anterior side of his body did not have scales like you’d assumed—there were scutes, instead, that helped him move easily across the sand. The thick muscles of his tail undulated side to side, displacing sand to leave a trail. You watched as the grains were pushed out of the way. The water that fell from his body and darkened the ground. 

Shaking your head slightly, you turned to the rocks to begin your steady ascent. 

The quiet of the climb was interrupted only by the occasional sound of waves forming and collapsing in the distance. You swept your gaze around the bit of the shore and dock you could see just in case there was anyone wandering about for a late night stroll. Luckily there wasn’t, but even if there was, you didn’t think they would be able to make out anything in the dark. 

If you strained your ears hard enough, you could hear the steady slithering of Sebastian’s body as he followed somewhere behind you. It made the hairs on your arms stand up straight, the piercing feeling of being watched weighing heavily on your form. You peeked at him from time to time, watching the way he slipped easily over rock and grass. His long, thick tail extended far behind him and blended into the navy-blue shadows.

You… didn’t have much to say. Neither did he, apparently. But that was okay.

You shuffled up the last bit of the climb and rolled your shoulders once your feet found flat earth. Grass tickled at the exposed parts of your ankles as you tread over to your cottage to wait by the door. You couldn’t rid yourself of the prickling along your body. 

He took his time to meet you there. You had a feeling that he could be much faster if he wanted. 

He came to a stop by your side, his eyes slightly squinted as his tail pushed himself up much higher over you. And the two of you stood there for a moment. You, looking up at him. Him, looking down at you. 

Neither of you said a word. Waiting for the other, you realized. 

You cleared your throat, eyeing his taller—wider—form, then the front door’s frame. You… believed he would fit. Probably. You set your hand on the doorknob. 

“Well,” you said in what you hoped was a casual manner, cracking the door open so that the inside light could spill forth across the shadowed ground. “Here’s home.” 

You stepped inside, your body cutting through the light to cast a long shadow behind you. Sebastian hummed, and you looked at him to see he was lingering just out of reach of the light. Your head tilted at him.

“Mind turning the lights off?” he asked, grimacing slightly once the words left his mouth. 

Oh. You paused and turned his request over in your head. You supposed you never did see him in broad daylight—it was always during the evening, when the sun had already turned in for the night. 

You nodded and shucked your shoes off to the side before walking over to the wall that had your living room light switch on it. You flipped it off, darkness immediately dousing everything within its vicinity. You blinked, waiting for your eyesight to adjust. Moonlight through your open-curtained windows allowed you to just barely make out Sebastian’s form as he slowly moved his head and torso through the doorway. His teal eyes pierced through the shadows to land on you.

He shifted a little. “Wanna see a cool trick?” 

“...Sure?” Confusion lined your voice. 

The shadow of one of his arms reached up to pull on something and before you knew it, a warm, golden glow washed gently along the walls and floor of your cottage. You squinted slightly at the angler’s lure that curved down from the top of his head, breathtakingly luminescent. Hypnotizing, almost. Your stomach churned.

“S’better on my eyes than regular bulbs,” he explained in your silence, shifting further into the living room. “Easier to handle than the artificial light or whatever. Though darkness is, mh, ideal.” 

Ah. “That makes sense.” You watched as his head turned this way and that while he took everything in. Your couch. Your sparse decorations. The small coffee table with books stacked atop it. The fluffy carpet on the floor. It made you feel awfully self-conscious. You rubbed your upper arm. 

Exhaling lightly, you stepped back towards the front door once the last bit of his tail slipped inside and closed it gently. And once you turned around, you spent a moment to just… take everything in. 

It felt like there wasn’t enough space to hold all of him, curled up as he was in your living room. His long, serpentine tail wrapped around your couch so that the wide flukes at its end rested heavily near your coffee table. And even then, he was still coiled in a way where his tail supported him up, his head nearly brushing the wood of your ceiling where he was tucked in a corner of the room. 

A little too large. A little too out of place.

How in the world were you supposed to deal with this? How in the world was any of this real? You were still having difficulty wrapping your head around it.

Sebastian hummed, two of his hands clasping at each other while the third reached out to run its fingers across one of the cushions on your couch. “Cozy.” His gaze landed on you. “How long have you been out here for?” 

You shrugged as you shuffled closer, stopping right by the curve of his tail. You stared vacantly down at it. “A while,” you told him. “After everything happened.” 

“Not a fan of the city anymore, hm?”

You slowly shook your head. “No. It was just… too much.” 

He nodded, a motion that made his lure bob slightly in place. The reach of it caused the room to be partially bathed in both light and shadow that shifted with even the smallest of movements. But you could still see the sopping wetness of his jacket. The way his waterlogged scarf hung heavily from around his neck, and his hair was plastered to the sides of his face. You frowned. 

“Do you want a change of clothes or something?” you asked him, the words leaving your mouth before you could really process them. Your gaze trailed along his tail. Even the straps attached to it were still wet. That couldn’t be comfortable for him. Right? “Maybe a towel?” 

He waved you off lazily with his third arm. You followed the gesture with your eyes, latched onto the bandages wrapped around his forearm. Those were wet as well. “Nah. I’m fine. Don’t you worry your sweet little head about me.” 

Your frown deepened. It felt like all you could do was worry, now. 

You fixed him with a stare. “Sebastian, you’re sopping wet. At least dry off. Or let me toss your clothes into the wash.” You pondered it for a moment. “Actually that might be better.” You’d only ever seen him in those clothes, after all—even if most of the time you’d thought he was well, not real. 

He only grinned mischievously down at you, mouth full of sharp teeth that made something in your stomach lurch. “Already trying to get me out of my clothes?” he purred, eyes lowering into low crescents. “You rascal. Take a guy out to dinner first.” 

You squinted at him. There was an air of forcefulness to his words that you were only just able to pick up on. Bravado. A facade. He was deflecting. And you were not about to be fooled by it. 

“You’re making my floor wet,” you said flatly. His smile twitched slightly at the corners. “I’ll go see what I have. Though I don’t think there’s anything that’ll fit you, really.” You eyed his upper torso. “I think I have a large blanket, that might work.”

“I really must decline,” he said cooly, but you were already gone—stepping around his tail to head over to your bedroom. He called out your name in exasperation. “Are you listening to me? I said I’m fine.” 

“Right, right,” you replied idly, opening your bedroom door so you could shuffle over to your closet in the dark. There were various linens stacked up on a shelf, and you pulled out a towel and a decently-sized blanket that you used occasionally when it was chillier. This would have to do. The thought saddened you. 

Bundling them up in your arms, you shut the door with your heel and turned to make your way back to the living room. 

Sebastian loomed in the doorway, the light from his lure gently lighting up the corners of your room. One of his hands braced against the top of the frame as he peered at you. “Awfully persistent, aren’t you?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Come now,” you said as you approached him. He moved out of the way so you could step through the frame and look up at him. “Surely you don’t want to keep those on?” You held up the towel. “Here.”

“I assure you, I am more than a little used to some wet clothes,” he drawled as he reached out to carefully take it from your grasp. In his hold, it looked much smaller. He clutched it in a fist.

“Well, you don’t have to be”—you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder in the general direction of where your washer and dryer were tucked away—“It wouldn’t take too lon—” 

He growled—a sound that made your hairs stand straight up on your nape. The room darkened fractionally. “I said no.” Eyes narrowing, he set you with a firm look. “You’ll quit asking if you know what’s good for you.” 

There was a moment where you just watched him. Observed him, your eyes flicking over his face. The hair partially shielding his eyes. The way his lips pressed together in a thin line. This was not a battle you would win. And that was okay. Baby steps. 

You took a deep breath. And then you exhaled it all out. 

“Okay, okay,” you relented softly, averting your gaze to walk over to your couch. You dumped the blanket over it, then sat down wearily. “You win, for now. I don’t suppose you happen to have anything else to wear?” It was futile to ask, but you had to anyway. 

“This was what I was given,” he said dryly, shifting on his tail so that he sat coiled upon it somewhere in front of you. He fidgeted with the towel. “You learn to make do.” 

And wasn’t that a sobering thought. 

You bit at your bottom lip, your fingers wringing together as you watched him use the towel to carefully dry his hair. You burned and burned with the number of questions that lingered bitterly on your tongue. You swallowed, and one of his ear fins twitched slightly.

Quietly, you asked, “What… happened?” 

He stilled, staring down at the towel gripped between his fingers. And after what felt like a long, long time, he sighed. 

“Better get comfortable,” he mumbled wearily and closed his eyes for a brief moment. “It’s a long story.” 

You were woefully unprepared for a single thing that left his mouth. 

A fake execution report. An experiment to give humans gills. Being trapped in an underwater facility for years. It all sounded like something straight out of fiction. You were beyond stupefied. In hindsight, thinking he was a hallucination wasn’t even the worst of it all, but it certainly didn’t make it easier to get rid of your own struggles with him actually being here right now. Part of you wondered if he was lying to you to avoid talking about something unfathomably worse—if such a thing even existed.

But he wasn’t. You saw it in the way his jaw tensed from time to time. The way he flexed his fingers and his tone changed into something much cooler. And even if what he was saying didn’t sound possible… it made sense. It made sense. 

You didn’t know what to do with all of it. Didn’t know how to react, really. There was this gnawing pit in your chest that worsened with every word that left his mouth. You… couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had gone through. And even then, there were things he certainly wasn’t telling you. Call it intuition but… you could sense it. He didn’t tell you everything. And you were not sure how to feel about that. Still… 

All this time… All this time. 

And you’d been none the wiser.

“So how did you… escape?” you asked as you rubbed your fingers into your temples to stave off a growing headache. 

Sebastian grinned, a sharp thing that showed the dark gums of his teeth. “They let their guard down.” The grin turned into more of a baring of teeth. “I stole a keycard, caused a sitewide lockdown. Liaised with one of Urbanshade’s competitors and they got me out in exchange for selling them data.” 

You blinked at him. There it was again, that feeling that he was purposely leaving out details. You didn’t call him out on it. “And then you came… here?” 

He made a noise, his shoulders shrugging. “Sure.”

“How did you even find—?” 

He cut you off with a snort. “The power of corporations, babe. It was easy for them to find your location. Made my life easier when it turned out you were living on the coast now, too.”

You weren’t even going to deliberate that too deeply. “They just let you come here?” you asked dubiously. 

“Mmmmyep.” He scratched slightly at the side of his face. “Don’t be mistaken, I’m still in contact with them. For ah, other business purposes.” 

“Other business purposes,” you repeated warily.

Sebastian gave you a close-mouthed smile, his eyes crinkling shut. “Don’t you worry about it.”

Right, this again. It felt like you’d just aged fifty years in one sitting. You sighed and leaned back into the couch, your arms crossing over your chest. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you wrestled internally with all that you had learned. A weight had been placed upon your shoulders. But you knew it was nothing compared to the one he carried on his own. You frowned, pinching at the bridge of your nose. 

You felt sick. So, utterly, sick.

Sebastian was quiet now that he’d said his piece. He wrung the towel still in his hands together as he glanced around your cottage again. Eyes jumping from one thing to the other, though you had no idea what he was searching for specifically. Eventually, though, he spoke once more. 

“...You never remarried.” It was said more as a statement than a question, like he knew even before saying it. You supposed if he’d been watching you all this time, it would have become apparent that you lived by yourself. You watched him carefully. 

“No,” you replied simply. You showed him the ring still on your finger, the gold glinting up at him. “See?” 

His gaze flicked down to look at your hand. His head tilted slightly, the light on his lure brightening minutely.

“Aww,” he cooed, “I knew you were still madly in love with me.” 

You gave him a look—stricken as you were by his words. “Of course,” you said quietly, looking off to the side. “Always.” 

He seemed to sober up at your words. He cleared his throat and looked away. But you still continued to gaze at him, your eyes flicking down to his third arm where you could see that glint of a band around his fourth finger. You hesitated, then steeled yourself for what you were about to ask of him. 

“Sebastian,” you murmured. His ear fin flicked, but he didn’t meet your gaze. “Give me your hand.” Then, after a pause, you added, “Please.”

You think the request caught him off guard, just a little. He opened his mouth, but before a single word could escape, he glanced at your face and closed it abruptly. You wondered what he saw there. You waited as he seemed to mull your request over in his head. Then, he shifted closer to the couch—his larger body looming over your own and painting you in gentle, soothing light. 

You reached out a hand, patient. He eyed it, then slowly, so slowly, he extended one of his arms. 

You shook your head. “No, not that one.” You pointed to his third arm. “That one.”

He seemed taken aback. “You…” he trailed off, then shook his head with a sigh. “Alright.” 

He lifted his arm up and reached towards you. Leaning forward, you met him halfway. But before you could touch him, you flicked your gaze up to his face. He watched you. Quiet. Intent. Not a single breath being taken between the two of you.

Your hands grasped at his own. Real, real, real, real. It was… strange. Different. You couldn’t help the way your insides writhed and writhed and writhed. Inhuman. Unfamiliar. His hand, even one that was starkly smaller than his other two, was so much larger than yours, now. Thicker. Colder. Harder. It felt like he had a shell of some sort encasing his fingers. And the tips of them were sharp like the end of a blade—carefully curled away from you as they were. You held onto one of his fingers and pondered upon the distinctness. Lost yourself in the feeling. His finger twitched under your grip. 

(“Hey.” Sebastian nudged you with his foot, forcing you to tear your gaze away from your notes to raise an eyebrow at him. He was sitting on the other side of the couch, his back pressed against its arm. “Let me see your hand for a sec?”

“What for?” you asked warily, yet still extended your hand out to him. He gave you a small grin, then took your palm with a contemplative hum. 

His free hand went up to his chin in thought as he twisted your own this way and that. “Ah. Just as I thought.” 

“What?” you pressed him, not liking the glint in his blue eyes. 

“You’re missing something,” he told you. “Something so important that I fear you might die if you don’t get it soon. Shit’s fatal, you know.” 

You lowered your eyelids at him, not believing him for a second. “And that is?” 

Sebastian hummed, nodding slightly to himself, before he laced your fingers together. Your palms pressed against one another, the sensation of warm skin encompassing your own. “There. You’re cured. You're welcome, by the way.” 

You puffed out a laugh and tried to fruitlessly yank your hand away. His grip tightened. “Sebastian, how are we going to get any work done like this, huh?” 

“Not my problem. I can work just fine with one hand.” He wiggled the fingers of his free hand at you, the black polish on his nails slightly chipped at the tips. 

You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him. “Your hand’s all sweaty.” 

“Rude. My hands aren’t sweaty, yours are.” 

You gave him the stink eye. “No you.” 

He mirrored your expression back at you. “Alright, get over here you little—” With a swift yank, he tugged you over to him. Yelping, you felt yourself get dragged across the couch until you found yourself trapped within his arms. They tightened around your body, and for extra measure, you felt one of his legs hook around the back of your own. 

You gave a halfhearted wiggle, your cheek pressed against his chest. “This doesn’t help either of our productivities.” Your voice was muffled a bit. If you inhaled even just a little bit, you could smell his musk covered by the sweet scent of cinnamon. “You stink.”

He tightened his hold. You could feel his head lower to rest atop your own. “Think about what you’ve done and maybe I’ll let you go,” he murmured into your ear. You could practically hear the devious grin in his voice.

You only sighed in resignation and hid your smile in his shirt.)

You shook your head slightly, pushing down the ugly feelings crawling up your throat. Focus on the here and now. Peering closely at his fourth finger, you observed the gold band. 

“That’s—a big ring,” you said slowly, squinting at it. There was no way that was the same one you both had exchanged at your wedding. It was much bigger, for one. And simpler. “What happened to the one I gave you?” 

“Broke,” he replied with a forced casualness that you could smell from a mile away. His tail shifted behind him.

You raised an eyebrow. “Broke?” 

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Y’know, when the whole”—he gestured to his body loosely with a hand, making it seem like it wasn’t as big of a deal—“happened.” 

“I see.” You cocked your head, running your thumb over the large ring. Once, then twice, then thrice. “So you found a new one?”

He grumbled something low under his breath. You glanced up at him to find him pressing the towel into the lower part of his face, not quite able to look at you anymore. “Yeah,” he begrudgingly admitted. There was a warmth in your stomach, somewhere, fed by the rosiness that you could see on his cheeks. You willed the feeling to chase away all the others that simmered under your skin. 

You gave him a small, teasing smile. “Hmm. I knew you were still madly in love with me.” 

He sniffed and tugged his hand away from your grip—incensed now that you threw his own words back at him. You let him go willingly, your smile turning into a grin. Your hands tingled in the aftermath of holding his own. “Shuddup, weirdo.”

You chuckled and spent a quiet, peaceful moment just sitting together in your cottage. Listening to the vague ticking of the clock that rested somewhere on a wall. You breathed in, then out, willing your mind to cease its incessant buzzing.

“...What now?” you quietly asked, your question lingering in the finite space of your living room. 

Sebastian only watched you, his eyes a gentle glow. “I don’t know.”

You exhaled through your nose and glanced outside at the darkened sky. You could feel a specific kind of fatigue itching at your eyes. It was late, and the events of this evening had been so utterly exhausting. Still were, honestly. Rubbing a hand down your face, you stood up and stretched out your arms. 

“It’s getting late,” you said, rolling your shoulders. “I need to sleep, I have work in the morning.” 

He blinked, seeming to startle out of thought, and flicked his eyes over your face. His lips pursed. “Right, yeah,” he grumbled, shifting as he straightened up and turned towards your front door. “I’ll get outta your hair then—”

Instantly, your heart leapt up in your chest. You stopped him with a gentle touch on his arm. He jerked slightly before he turned to give you a questioning look. Pulling away, you held your hands in front of your sternum. “You’re leaving?” You did not want to admit to the vulnerability that coated your voice. 

“...Duh?” He hesitated. “Don’t you… want me to?” 

“Not at all,” you told him, stepping back to give him some space. “You can stay.” Then, timidly, you added, “For as long as you want.” You… thought it was a given that he could. 

Sebastian stared. He stared and he stared and he stared until finally he slouched forward and released a long, long breath. “...Thanks.” One of his hands scrubbed at his face. He looked so tired. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Make yourself comfortable.” You gestured at the living room, the blanket still piled upon your couch. “I’ll grab you a pillow, one sec.” You took a step back towards your room, then paused and turned back around. “Oh, I can take the towel too.” 

He didn’t seem much for conversation anymore. He only nodded and handed back the towel to you, damp as it was from mopping up the water from his body. You could feel his eyes on you as you scurried back into your bedroom to sling the towel into your laundry hamper and grab an extra pillow from your bed. 

“Here you are,” you said as you reentered the living room and tossed the pillow in his direction. You hoped it didn’t have any of your hair on it. He grabbed it out of the air with one hand, something contemplative to his gaze. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’re hungry. I think I have leftovers.” You shifted, pointing your thumb behind you at your bedroom. Was this okay? “I’ll… just be in there if you need me.” 

And there it was again. That look on his face like he was battling something mentally. Like there was something just barely on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say. He held onto himself, hands gripping at the folds of his jacket. Gazing at you so— so….

You hesitated, wondering if this was the right thing to do. You both were not the same as you’d been all those years ago. It made the air thick with something that went unacknowledged.

You broke the silence with a gentle clear of your throat. Baby steps, you reminded yourself. “Well… good night.” “...Good night,” he whispered, still watching you with this look in his eyes as you stepped into your room and finally closed your bedroom door with a quiet click.

part three

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 2

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Descriptions of the Rumbling (WC: 7k)

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-

It’s past curfew when you catch a glimpse of Levi on the rooftop of the infirmary. He's been coming up here this past week, though this is the first time you approach him.

“You gonna tell anyone?” Levi asks. He’s playing with a small pocket knife, twirling it in his hand.

You consider his question. No doubt Erwin would want to know that his new gamble is sneaking away from the barracks every evening. Then again, knowing Erwin, he might already know and chooses to just let it slide anyway.

You lean your weight over the edge of the window sill, gazing at the way moonlight crowns Levi's hair. “Are you going to hurt anyone with that knife?”

Levi's eyes twinkle in the night. “What, just because I’m from the Underground means I’m gonna stab someone?”

“Actually,” you say carefully, “I was more worried about you hurting yourself.”

His eyes lose their fire; he focuses back on his knife. “I won’t.”

.

.

.

Freedom—it is the ability to glimpse at endless blue skies; it is horse riding until dusk; it is choices and opinions and being able to voice them.

These days, Levi takes it for granted, his freedom. He’s an ungrateful asshole like that.

If the people from his childhood would hear him now, they would spit in his face. Try to beat him to a pulp. Here he is, lacking gratitude, when some poor lowlife was born and died in that shit hole that was the Underground.

Levi hears that the Underground doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve told him that the Rumbling caused earthquakes to fracture the ground, that much of the subterranean city has been buried under. There were some casualties, of course, but the worst could be avoided since Historia had ordered a gradual evacuation years prior.

Levi wonders if the people now discovering life above ground still have violence in their blood the way he once did when he first saw the sun.

“Levi, where is your secret tea stash?”

Your question muffles over the sound of the kettle groaning awake on the gas stove, blending with the sound of waves crashing outside. It tears him right out of his thoughts and away from the headline he'd been reading: 'More than 75% of refugees in Marley now rehoused, much work still remains in the mental aftermath of the war'.

Levi has been up for several hours now, breakfast long since consumed. You, on the other hand, just got up, the whisks of sleep still present in your cadence, in the corners of your eyes. An anomaly to be sure—Levi remembers you being an early riser, but he supposes that habits, just like people, change.

“Why would I have a secret tea stash?” he counters.

You yawn, a hand covering your mouth. “Well... you always had a secret tea stash, didn't you?”

“To hide from cadets and their grubby fingers. I’m all alone here.”

“Mm," you shrug, words a little slurred, "you could still want to hide a thing or two from me.”

“Then I wouldn’t tell ya where it was, would I?” Levi leans one elbow over the kitchen table, chin lazily resting on the center of his palm. His index finally pokes out to give directions. “S’on the left side, second cupboard.”

Your gaze follows his directive, only to look at him with a slightly more straight posture. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” You stick your tongue out, like a damn child. “Words. They help.”

Levi refrains from rolling his eyes. He watches you open the cupboard, grabbing the tin of loose tea leaves.

On the chair next to him, Scout is curled up and fast asleep. The kitten's muzzle scrunches as she dreams.

“Are you sure I'm allowed to drink this?” he hears you ask.

Levi's eyes flicker back towards you. “Yeah."

"But isn't this special? Isn't this tea from Paradis?"

It is tea from Paradis, courtesy of Armin. It's one of Levi's last boxes, in fact. He knows he'll eventually run out of it, and while he supposes he could ask for more of it, he thinks his taste buds will just need to adapt to something else. That's just the way life goes.

"You know," he mutters, "if you’re gonna be like this about every little thing around the house, it's gonna get tiring real fast.”

You focus on preparing the tea. “I’m just being polite."

“Why? You never bothered before."

A grimace splits across your face. "Ouch. Harsh.”

"S'not," Levi mumbles, running a hand through his hair. It’s freshly washed, still a bit damp. "I mean, no need to act all fake and shit."

"Okay... but this isn't like life in the Survey Corps. This is your house."

His house. Levi doesn't know if he should be more possessive about these things, the way he's seen some townspeople be with their possessions, but Levi's just never been one to care about these things. He never has.

Levi flips his newspaper to the next page. "So long as you keep the place clean, I don’t care about the rest."

“You don’t care?”

His eyes meet yours. There's a spark in your gaze.

Oh you’re taunting him.

Levi crosses his arms over his chest. "Drill this into your head, Adler: anything that’s mine is yours, so just treat this place as such.”

That seems to shut you right up. You blink with a dumbfounded expression, apparently startled by his (accidental, Levi swears it was accidental) turn of phrasing. It’s soon replaced by words uttered beneath your breath, words Levi doesn’t quite grasp because his own ears are whistling. He returns his attention back to the newspaper, attempting to shrug off the weight of the innuendo.

Anything that’s mine is yours. What a stupid thing to say. That almost sounded like a confession or some shit. 

For the next minute, Levi tries his damn best to focus on his newspaper.

“Getting her beauty rest, huh?”

You've placed two cups of tea on the table, one pushed towards him, along with a plate for the infusers. You're eying Scout.

“She seems glued to your side,” you add, sitting down.

“Kittens sleep a lot,” Levi supplies lamely.

“In any case, it’s cute to see the two of you together.”

Levi turns the handle of his cup to his left side. “Please.”

“Can you imagine what everyone would say? The fearless Captain Levi, succumbing to a cat—”

"Quit talking and just drink your tea, would you?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “Aye, aye, captain."

For a moment, silence does fall, and his peripheral catches your chest rising and falling, something oddly quaint and peaceful about witnessing your breathing. You’re staring outside the window, looking at the view of the sea glimmering in the distance. He follows your line of sight, noting that there’s a buildup of crusted salt around the windows; Levi should really clean it off before summer ends.

“Hey, so,” you interrupt after a while, “I was thinking of going to the market today. Get a few things. Maybe find a job.”

Levi locks eyes with you. You’re holding onto your cup with two hands.

“A job?” Levi asks.

“Mm. Yeah. Something that makes sense for me...”

You want to get back to the medical field, already? You just got here.

“Why the hurry?"

“Well…" you say, "I don’t want to leech off you forever—”

“You're not.”

“Still, it'd be good for me, right?” You shoot a bright smile—something too bright about it. Levi eyes narrow. “Anyway, you wanna join or what?” Your eyes crinkle with softness. “You know... I’d love to meet all the nosy people you’ve told me about.”

Levi purses his lips, feeling as though you glossed over that subject much too quickly. A part of him wants to nudge you a bit, though his usual habit to just let you be kicks in. Whatever you're hiding, you have your reasons.

Levi considers your proposal. He knows it would be better if he didn’t join, seeing how damn foolish he’s already acting around you. He should try to set clear boundaries with you.

And yet—

“Sure,” comes out of him all the same.

Well, so much for that, anyway.

.

.

.

“You flew.”

You stand there, staring at the sight of the man as he finishes his round of training.

Levi shoots you a look, grappling with the hand grips. “I’m just using the ODM gear correctly.”

You take a step towards him. “No, but you’re amazing. You must know that, right? I’m not a soldier, but… I know talent when I see it.”

He gives you an odd look then, and before you have a chance to say anything else, propels himself in the air and disappears in the shadows of the forest.

.

.

.

At the market, Levi follows you around like a brooding shadow.

He’s in his wheelchair today. Behind him, you’re pushing him and asking questions about the scenery and the people and all sorts of trivial things.

(“Look, look there, all these teas. Have you tried any of them?”

“Some.”)

(“I'm gonna buy some flowers to plant in the gardens. Is that alright?”

“Do what you want.”)

(“Is the sea always as pretty?”

“Yeah. Sometimes, there's shit that gets carried in.”

"How poetic.")

(“Look, Levi! A car.”

“It looks dangerous.”

“I think I’d like to try driving. Get over my fear, you know?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Hey, give me some credit! S’not so different from riding a horse, right?”

“You’ve got a few screws loose up there, you know that?”)

Well, Levi was never great at talking. Not that you seem to mind; you’ve always liked to ask him questions and fill in the blanks when needed. Most of the time, it’s the silence that sits comfortably between the two of you that Levi appreciates so much anyway. It just is, filling the space between the two of you like a soft cloud fills the sky with shapes.

You're moving next to him, calmly taking in the sight of the buzzing market. It's a little too busy for Levi's liking, but the sight of you distracts him: you’re wearing a sunhat with ribbons today, coupled with your cotton overalls. Levi’s never seen you wear a hat like this one before, but he thinks it suits you.

“You should protect your skin from the sun,” you’d said earlier. “That’s why I wear a hat.”

“I didn’t come to the surface to run away from the sun,” he’d grumbled back, even if he did notice how warm summers in Marley truly are (and yes, he’d gotten sunburned on several occasions, and also yes, his injured eye stings every time the sun shines too brightly... but, still, Levi wouldn’t budge).

“Good morning, dear boy! What a surprise to see you here!” someone says, tearing Levi out of the thoughts. Attached to that booming voice is none other than Levi's boss, Adam Jakowski.

Originally an Eldian from Marley, Mr Jakowski was one of the first residents that settled here in Mare. He quickly opened his carpentry shop, and when Levi moved in, he found a job there.

Today, however, Mr Jakowski isn't here for any carpentry-related trades. Every week-end, the man likes to come here and share the goods his wife makes.

"What brings you here?" Mr Jakowski asks.

“I was dragged out, believe it or not,” Levi answers, head bobbing towards you.

Next to him, he hears you snort.

“And who might this pretty young lady be? Are you the missus Ackerman, per chance?” Mr Jakowski asks, his tone carrying a curiosity only people genuinely interested in others are capable of mustering.

Levi feels his cheeks burn at the idea, but you just chuckle, swatting a hand in the air to dispel the notion. “No such thing, sir. But I am new to town and it pleases me all the same to make your acquaintance. Miss Adler, charmed to meet you.”

Levi’s thin brows knit together. It’s the first time he hears you introduce yourself without your profession tied in.

Miss Adler. Not Dr Adler.

Strange.

“Well met, Miss Adler… Well met, indeed! Ah, it is a pleasure to see new faces in Mare, especially a lovely one such as yours. Will you be staying here for a while?”

“Mm. Who knows?” You smile. “I can’t quite say yet, to tell the truth.”

Levi’s throat suddenly feels a little thick.

“Anyway, what are you selling here, sir?” you ask, peering over the stall of the merchant, gazing at all the products and zeroing on a particular one: a red paste.

“The one you're eying is a paste from the eastern part of Marley, ma'am. It’s made with paprika and bell-peppers, you see. Great for inflammations and stomach issues,” the old man explains. He makes you smell it, then turns around to sprinkle it onto something. “You can coat it like so,” he raises a piece of bread that he smears with the red paste, “or add it to your cooking.”

He hands you the toast.

You bite into it, chewing for several moments as you raise a hand over your mouth. “Walls! It does have such a particular taste. It’s the aftertaste, right? Spicy.”

Your eyes wander to meet Levi’s, and you raise the bread slightly in his direction as if to inquire if he wants to taste it as well. Levi shakes his head, and you shoot him a smile, gulping down the rest of the food.

Levi crosses his arms over his chest, drumming his left index in a series of five taps over his forearm—tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Next to him, he hears the way you engage in easy conversation, talking about the weather, how the region has adjusted to the influx of settlers, how you're looking for a job and how, yes, you’d love to meet his wife and daughter!

The rest flies over his head. Instead, Levi looks up at your sunhat again, admiring the way it hugs the shape of your skull, the way the ribbons flow gently with the breeze.

Levi wonders if he could buy you a hat. Or sew you a new ribbon. Would you accept his gifts?

At last, you seem convinced of the product and order three jars. This is the moment when Levi comes back to his senses, seeing you rummage through your pockets to find coins to pay for your purchase.

No such luck.

Levi beats you to it, slinging out the leather pouch his first squad gifted him many years ago, placing the change in Mr Jakowski's hands.

You blink, mouth parted, but Levi just plops the jars he receives into your bag, wheeling himself back.

He hears you fumble your goodbyes to Mr Jakowski, thanking him for his help, and at once, your voice is in his ears.

“Levi, why did you just pay?” you ask, tone bewildered.

“Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”

“I’m not." You stop in front of him, all stern-looking, hands on your hips. "You didn’t have to do that.”

Levi raises a defiant brow. “But I did, and it’s done.”

“Don’t make it sound so simple. You’re already letting me stay in your house for free. I intend to pay my dues, you know. I have money.”

“I'm sure you do.”

“You—”

“Complain again and I won’t let you pay for a damn thing.”

You close your mouth, glaring at him.

Levi swears he hears something along the lines of ‘I’ll just sneak it back into your pockets later’ whispered under your breath, but when he narrows his eyes in your direction, you feign a look of innocence.

After purchasing everything you wanted to purchase—a book on art, flower beds for the garden—you finally settle in a cozy little café on the town’s square. You order some pastries, while Levi takes his usual tea, the closest thing that resembles the tea from back home. You watch people from everywhere bustle by, while Levi sips on his drink.

“Hey, look!” you point out suddenly. “I’ve never seen those birds before.”

You've pointed to a flock of birds of all colors, no larger than a fist. They’re hopping on the ground, scavenging for food. You get up, asking for some seeds from a waiter to feed them.

“Why did they migrate to this part of the world?” you wonder as you lay out food for them.

Levi doesn’t know what to say. He stares at the birds, nibbling the seeds, admiring the way their feathers seem foreign in this strange land.

Maybe, Levi thinks to himself, just like all the rest of this town, the birds were looking for a new home.

.

.

.

“You know, you should try to teach them.”

Levi’s bored expression swerves in your direction. You’re back to leaning on the window sill, while he sits on the rooftop. A routine, these last weeks.

“What?” Levi mutters.

“Your combat skills. I saw you at training again. I’ve never seen anything quite like the way you handle yourself. You should teach the other cadets.”

His eyes narrow. “And why would I do that?”

“You’ve been out there, right? Seen what the titans are like? You could save their lives.”

.

.

.

The square of Mare is quiet at this time of the evening. A half-moon hangs lazily over the black sky, casting its silver glow over Mare.

You’ve both been drinking. Cheap, bubbly, acidic. Cremant, a drink native to Marley. It was given to you by a shopkeeper when you picked up bread earlier—all it took was seeing you by his side and hearing you were new in town. The woman practically threw the bottle at you, offering it as a welcome gift. You tried to refuse, many times over, but the woman wouldn't take no for an answer (“We need young blood around, so anythin’ to convince younglings like yourself to settle down!”).

Now, here you are, finishing the bottle together in a park. Levi sits with you on a bench, his wheelchair tucked behind it.

Silence.

Levi thinks there’s something on your mind. You’ve never been easy to read; you’ve got a tendency to hide and scheme, to play it off like it’s no big deal, but it’s always your lips that give you away. You bite them when you’re worried, you pout when you’re deep in thoughts.

“Hey.” Levi raises your attention, only to find gentle eagerness on your face. It makes him frown for some reason. “Say something.”

You seem a little taken aback by his directive. It’s rare for Levi to actually seek conversation after all, much less to be the one initiating it.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask.

Levi shrugs. “I don’t know, just anything.”

“Like… what?”

Levi mulls it over. If it were him, he’d hate to be put on the spot and asked outright what to say. So he decides to try a tactic he’s seen you use on others—starting with something light before finding the right angle to tackle the actual subject.

“What was your favorite sight?” he inquires. “On your travels.”

“My… favorite sight?”

Levi gives you a look that makes it clear he’s not gonna repeat himself.

“The sea, of course.” You raise your feet on the bench, hugging your knees as you stare off pensively. “It’s funny, really. With every nation we visited, we saw mountains, deserts and forests… but I kept coming back to the sea.”

Levi remembers the first he saw the sea. The water, glimmering like thousands of silver gems. The blue sky, coming to meet its shine. The 104th brats, with awestruck wonder. Hange and their brazen curiosity.

And you, the way you’d looked at him…

If ever there was a moment of peace during Levi’s years as a soldier, it was those blissful hours spent by the sea. It felt like the world had grown so big, and that there was only wonder to be discovered.

Of course, reality had caught up.

“I’m glad you’ve picked a place like this one to settle down,” you say. "It kind of feels like a homecoming, you know?"

"Yeah."

“The stars are so bright out here.”

Levi follows your line of sight.

This past year, Levi has rediscovered an admiration for stars. Back inside the Walls, they reminded him of Isabel and Furlan, of his dreams from another life. This past year, they’ve started making him think of you, too.

All because of one of your letters: 'Levi, do you ever think about the fact that, despite the distance that separates us, every night, when we look at the sky, we see the same stars?'

“What else,” he finds himself asking, “what else do you have to say about your travels?”

“Hmm… what do you want to know exactly? I wrote so much in my letters, I’d have thought you’d be tired of hearing about that topic.”

“Yeah, but you only described random shit. What was it like?”

What was it like without me?

That thought hangs on his tongue, begs for relief, but Levi bites it down. It’s not right for him to ask; it's none of his business.

And yet, your answer still takes him by surprise, “It was… hard.”

To that, Levi does raise a brow, looking at you.

He finds your gaze already on him.

“The sights were... nice, of course,” you continue. “I got to witness all manners of landscapes. Those were the photographs I sent you in my letters. But then, well, the rest came.”

You swallow loudly. Levi finds his heart squeezing, though he doesn’t fully understand why.

“Seeing the aftermath of the Rumbling…” Your lower lip quivers as the volume of your tone decreases. “It was horrifying. The emptiness was the worst. It’s not like murdering someone in cold blood, see. There, you have to deal with bodies. But, what Eren did…”

You shudder. Levi thinks you’re trying to even out your breathing, and a part of him wants to reach out to you and squeeze your hand. And yet, he knows there’s nothing he can do to really alleviate those images flashing in your brain. That nothing he does can make it right again, that the pain you feel is the cost both of you need to bear for the rest of your lives.

“After that, I went with Armin because I knew he would need help, because I always believed in diplomacy… because I still believe in it. Even now," you say. "But many nations hate the Eldians from Paradis. They hate us and maybe they have every right to hate us.”

You stop talking and close your eyes. For a while, the lull in conversation allows Levi to stare at you unabashedly, to commit your features to memory.

“Why did you never say any of this in your letters?” he asks mid-silence.

“I guess it felt easier not to mention it. I don’t know. I wanted you to hear hopeful things in my letters.”

“I’ve seen how shitty the world can be.”

“I know, but that’s exactly why.” Your eyes somehow find his own again. “That’s why I didn’t want you to know it’s still the same out there.”

It makes Levi’s blood rush, like he was some breakable thing that needed to be protected.

“You don’t need to coddle me.”

And yet, you don’t even seem to notice the snap in his tone, your crossed arms tightening around your knees.

“I know, Levi,” you whisper. “But that doesn’t mean that my pain is your burden to bear.”

Seeing your deflated expression, dipped chin resting over your knees as you lose yourself to your thoughts, Levi’s defense mechanism fizzles away.

That’s the thing about you.

No matter how harshly he reacts, you never seem to rise to the same level as him, the way others did in the military, and it might be why Levi always found it easier to stay by your side.

“You dumbass,” he says with a sigh. Despite telling himself to hone it back, Levi can’t help but raise a hand to the back of your skull, ruffling your head gently—the only comfort he knows how to hand out right now. “Of course that’s my burden.”

The knot in your throat bobs. “Levi, you don’t—”

“Don’t give me that.” He pauses, the words heavy on his tongue. “Even I no longer have the rank to prove it… what does it matter? Nothing’s changed.”

Your voice comes out grated. “Nothing’s changed?”

Levi hesitates. So much hangs on this question. Of course, things have changed.

And yet…

He retreats his hand, patting his stiff leg. “Some things did.”

“Does it still hurt a lot?”

“Some days more than others. The doctor has helped.”

“I’m glad... I'm so glad. Are you still seeing him every other week?”

He nods.

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

His eyes narrow. “You said that already.” You shoot him a lopsided smile. He sighs. “Anyway, you gonna tell me why you stopped calling yourself a doctor?”

Different degrees of surprise flash across your face. Your eyes are wide as saucers, while your mouth stays slightly open.

Levi waits. And waits.

“Hey, you’re not trying to catch flies, are you?” he says, lifting a finger to poke at your chin.

His physical reminder seems to bring you back to the present.

A pout forms on your lips. “How did you know I no longer want to be a doctor?”

Levi shrugs with one arm, pressing his back against the bench. “I guessed, and you just confirmed it.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice so quickly." You let out a wry snort. "Should have known; you’re always so perceptive.”

“And you’re beating around the bush.”

You hum. “Indeed, I am. It’s just… I’m scared of your judgment.”

Levi frowns.

“Don’t give me that look, Levi Ackerman. Your judgment, yes. You’re a very scary man, just not for all the reasons people think you are.”

In the distance, the sound of seagulls drifts from the skies.

“When I asked you if I could come here…” you say after a pause, “I kept on thinking to myself: What will Levi think of me?” You raise one hand to your face, glancing at the scar that runs from your index to the lower part of your palm—a memento left by the Yaegerists. “What will he think of this hand?”

Levi stays silent.

Your smile turns bitter. “You always said my hands were made for healing. But after everything that happened, everything we did, they’re not anymore. They can’t be.”

“Hey—”

“—and the question kept playing in a loop in my head. Will Levi think I’m a coward? Will he think less of me for giving up on this? Is he gonna be done with me?”

Levi ignores all the ways you seem to include him in your insecurities and focuses on one thing only: “You’re a lot of things but a coward isn’t one of them.”

You shake your head. “But I am a coward. I don’t have it in me to heal people, not like that anymore.”

Levi doesn’t know why, but there’s a sense of dread forming in his pit of his stomach.

“Is that why you’re here?” he asks.

Your eyes fire back on him. “No, I didn’t come here to escape, or as a last resort.” You glance away. “But I do feel… lost.”

That makes him backtrack. You? Lost? The doctor who blazed through the Survey Corps’ ranks, making her demands known to the Interior and Erwin like it was no big deal, who pushed for changes to save soldiers' lives?

That doesn’t align with the person he knows.

“I don’t think it’s right anymore, the path I chose.” Your tone is suddenly more frail, more vulnerable. “The first three years after the Rumbling, it felt like the right thing to do, giving my skills in helping others but now… Now I feel like a fraud. To arrive here, I had to end lives.”

Levi’s throat is heavy. “We all did.”

You ignore his words. “The attack in Trost, the one in Liberio, and so many others…. I killed people there. I did. And I remember your words, Levi, about it being us or them but I… now, whenever I look at my hands, all I see is the stain of blood. After all of that, I just don’t think I’m fit to call myself a doctor anymore.”

“You shouldn’t regret the past.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Is that why you’re now calling yourself Miss Adler?”

You nod.

Levi purses his lips. He cannot understand your perspective, not truly, because his own moral compass has never been set right. To him, killing was always about survival and there was never good or bad. There simply was the act and the aftermath. There was the fact that he needed to keep on pushing, for humanity.

Despite this, Levi wants to understand. He wants to tell you that your hands did heal, that they continue to heal in invisible ways.

He wants to tell you that however you want to become want, it’s all fine to him.

“Then start over,” he declares, throwing an arm to the back of the bench.

“Yeah.” You snort, fiddling with a loose strand of fabric of your overalls. “It’s not that easy, starting over, is it?”

“Never said it was.” Levi would know. It’s not like he’s here to preach the moral high ground—he’s lost, much more lost than you are. “But if you want to, you’re the only one that can make it happen.”

“Yeah, I know.” You raise a hand to press against your right eye. Levi has the strange urge to tuck it away, to take it in between his own, but he holds himself back. “It’s just… hard. You know, when we were fighting titans, then humans, then nations… I just never considered who I would be after all of it. And when I found myself trying, I found I wasn’t the person I once was, that I couldn’t do what I would have done any more. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“Old me would have kept on going. Old me would have continued to heal people and traveled and helped Armin with peace negotiations. And I tried. Walls, I tried, Levi. But at the end of the day, I just find myself… tired. I’m just so tired.”

Something heavy fills Levi’s chest. He understands, to a degree, what you’re going through. He knew his role was over the moment that the fighting stopped, but for you, the war hasn’t stopped raging—conflicted on where your place should be.

“Sorry," you say, "I know I’m wallowing here, that I’m throwing my own pity party. But, shit, it’s hard, you know?”

“Yeah.” Levi hardens his expression. “But it’s fine, to wallow. No one expects you not to have setbacks.”

“You don’t mean that. Weren’t you always telling soldiers not to linger and look back? Besides, I don’t get to say any of this in front of you. Not with everything you went through.”

Levi’s jaw clenches. “Hey. It’s not a competition.”

This time, he reaches for your hand and unclasps it, noticing you digging your nails into your skin. He forces you to squeeze his hand instead—only, now, you treat him with such care, not even applying pressure.

He continues, “I only said what I said because a Scout’s life was a battlefield every day. But we’re not soldiers anymore.”

Levi sucks in a breath at those words; it’s the first time he acknowledges it out loud: We're not soldiers anymore. He’s a hypocrite, saying these things, when he himself hasn’t let go completely. And yet, for your sake, he wants to pretend—he wants to pretend that there’s a way out for the both of you.

“So I’ve told you, the offer still stands," he adds. "You can stay here for as long as you want."

“Careful what you promise, Levi." You snort. "I’m going to be a real burden to you.”

“Only when you don’t clean.”

Your weak snicker turns into laughter. It might be the most enchanting of sounds Levi’s heard in a long while.

Levi lets go of your hand, despite the fact that he wishes he could hold on, but he tells himself that friends don’t hold each other’s hands for prolonged moments. And that's what the two of you are. Friends.

“You know, when it came down to it… after months of introspection,” you say, voice soft, “all I knew is that I wanted to be near you.”

Oh.

“I stayed away for a year, thinking I could prove to myself, to you, that I wasn’t the needy person I once was," you say. "That I could, I don’t know, manage on my own. But all I got was… how much I missed you.”

Levi thinks his breathing might have stopped entirely.

“Levi, you’re… you’re important to me. You know that, right?” Your eyes find his own, glimmering under the moonlight. “I think… I just don’t want to not have you in my life anymore. Is that a strange thing to say?”

Levi is speechless. He stares at your lips, how plump and lovely they seem, glistening with moisture. He feels sweat on his back—damn this hellish warm weather—and he thinks perhaps he should act.

He forces his mouth open but instead of words—

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

An explosion blasts in his ears.

Levi screws his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact. There’s screams echoing in the back of his skull, bullets ricocheting against concrete. He smells the charred scent of bodies, sweet and off-putting.

But the fighting never comes. When he evens out his breathing, leaning his weight onto the bench, he notices—

You’re on the floor.

Your hands are covering your ears, your lower lip wobbling. You’re muttering things under your breath, things Levi can’t recognize, but there’s tears brimming the corner of your eyes, and Levi realizes then what happened.

You’re hyperventilating.

At once, Levi is by your side, bending down. The action causes his legs to scream in pain, but he promptly ignores it. He sees you and only you.

You, on the other hand, are unable to look at him; you whimper erratically.

Levi can deduce the source of your panic, because he’s had his own moments like this. It’s the way certain noises, smells, and others pull him back into the past. It must be the same for you.

“Hey,” Levi’s voice comes low and clear, trying to muster it all for you, “take a deep breath. It's not guns. Just fireworks some teenagers are toying with.”

But you seem unable to follow his advice, shaken as you are. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears clumping, streaming thick down the valleys of your cheeks. He sees your fingers pull at the strands of your hair.

Before he can think about it, his arms reach out of you, looping around the small of your back, where he draws you in. He presses you firmly against him. At first, you attempt to fight him back, muttering “no, no, no,” beneath your breath, scratching him, but when Levi finally manages to smooth over your words with his own, you accept the embrace.

Your head slumps down into the crest of his shoulder, like you were just a ragdoll gone limp. Levi tries to ignore the way his worry doubles down.

“Adler, listen to my voice,” he urges, trying to use things that have helped him during his worst panic attacks, during his worst episodes. Of course, Levi never allowed anyone to see him like this, but if he had, he thinks this would have helped. “Your ear’s pressed against my heart right now. Do you hear my heartbeat?”

“Y-yeah,” you answer, voice barely a raw whisper. The sound is enough to shatter something in Levi. It’s so small, so fragile.

“Focus on it," he says. "Focus on me speaking. Pretend that it’s the only sound in the world.”

You seem to attempt to laugh, but it comes across as another nervous sob, hiccups strangling your words. “S-someone thinks h-ighly of his v-voice.”

Levi just clicks his tongue, tightening his hold on you.

Your hands interweave with the collar of his shirt, and you bury your face deeper into his neck. It takes several moments, but he feels the tension in your spine untangle, vertebrate by vertebrate.

“Steady,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. “You’re alright.”

Your warm lips, drenched with tears, move against his neck. “I just can’t do it, ‘Vi… I just can’t.”

“You can.”

“I’m fucking stuck and I feel so guilty there’s always noises in my brain…” A sob cracks out of you. “I’m so fucking lost.”

“But you’re not alone.”

Your knuckles tighten, but your breath falters.

“You’re not alone,” Levi repeats. His three-fingered hand weaves through the hair at the back of your skull, mingling between your locks. He’s reminded of another time, long ago, when he did this after Nanaba died. “Even if you feel lost right now, you’re not alone.”

“I just—I don’t want to be a bother. I don't want to overstay my w-welcome.”

“You’re not.” His hands have fallen onto your ribcage, slotting over every bone like they were made to belong there all along. “You can stay as long as you want.” Until you grow tired of me. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You’re still hiccuping for air as you draw away from him. You seem to be searching for something, dazed and blurry.

“Y-you don’t mind?” you ask.

"Have I ever said something I didn't mean?"

"I guess not."

For a while, neither Levi nor you say anything else. He watches as your eyes cast down, eyelashes still full of tears. Your breath is back to being steady, though no less frail.

Eventually, your digits settle over his forearms, looking back at him with puffy eyes.

He offers you his clean handkerchief from his breast pocket. 

You take it with a crooked smile, staring down at the white cloth. “Thank you, Levi. I mean it.”

Levi looks away; he doesn't think he's done much.

“Walls.” You hiccup, lifting the handkerchief to your eyes. “I’ve made a scene, haven’t I? It’s the alcohol, I s-swear. I barely d-drink these days.”

“You were always a lightweight.”

“Pff, don’t remind me.”

“Well, judging by the brats walking towards us," he says, looking over your shoulders, "they’ve come to apologize.”

Sure enough, moments later, as you help Levi up and you both sit back down on the bench, three snotty kids approach the scene with a look of apology plastered on their faces.

One of them, a boy with vibrant ginger hair, takes the lead. “Ma’am… are you alright?”

You sniffle, eyes still red. “Fine—”

“She’s not fine, brat,” Levi interjects. “Don’t light this shit up in public.”

The boy grimaces with the kind of juvenile innocence only kids can muster.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say, giving Levi a look. “But hey, do try to be careful, ‘kay? Don’t light up things like this all on your own. Fireworks are dangerous, not to mention they’re scary when they’re up so close.”

“I... I won't do it no more, ma’am…" the boy says. "I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s alright. You couldn’t have known.”

The boy nods before finally fleeting up and meeting Levi's glare. The child instantly cowers back.

“Mistakes happen," Levi grumbles with a softer tone. "Just be more careful.”

“Y-yeah, mister. Won’t happen again.”

"Good."

.

.

.

Erwin finds you in the stables one day. “Levi is integrating with the squad.”

You stop cleaning your horse, raising a brow at the man. “Is he now?”

“Mm." There's wistful amusement on the Erwin's face. "He's started giving advice to his comrades.”

"Is that right?"

That night, when you greet Levi on the rooftop of the infirmary, you don't say a thing about this exchange, but you'll smile just a bit brighter at him anyway. 

.

.

.

Levi comes back from his evening shower to find something waiting for him in his bedroom. A piece of paper, carefully folded in three, is placed on his cabinet. Next to it is a medium-sized, black pouch.

Levi first unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find that it’s a letter and that it’s from you.

Levi, You’ll excuse me for coming in without asking, but you insinuated I should make myself comfortable, so… Here I am. You know, if you're going to let me pay for things, then it’s decided: I’m going to bribe you with new tea! No, you can’t fight me on that. As you know, I’m a force of nature—unstoppable. Here’s a new blend for you. I know for certain you haven’t tried this one because it’s straight from my travels. I don’t know why I waited a week to give it to you, but I hope you like it. Your amazing new roomie,- A.

Levi’s lips twitch. He can just picture you scribbling those words in your room, a grin on your face, waiting for him to take a shower just so you can place this handout in secret.

He briefly puts the letter back down, moving to open the gift. The black pouch hides a tea tin of simple design, with an etiquette that’s handwritten. White pu-erh tea. He slowly unscrews the sealed top, bringing it close to his nose to inhale its potent fragrant. Tea aromas, rich in citrus, fill his brain with a lovely buzzing effect. It smells nice, unlike anything he’s encountered before and Levi thinks its taste will be to his liking—that you picked it knowing it would.

His eyes stray back to the letter, picking it back up. He loves the way you write his name, the way you loop the letters together. It's elegant.

With his heart just a bit lighter than usual, Levi adds your letter to the chest under his bed, filled with the rest of your correspondence.

-

A/N: Thanks for reading! I was really touched by all the engagement the first chapter got, truly, so thank you for that. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and hey, if you have a minute, I'd love to hear your thoughts in any shape or form! Take care <3

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

[joelmillers-whore]

The Only Thing I Did Right

summary: after a patrol gone wrong, joel races to get you back to jackson. while the doctor tries to save you, he wrestles with the guilt of letting you down.

pairing: joel miller x reader 

word count: 2.6K

series or one-shot

warnings: mature, language, joel x female!reader, no mention of Y/N, canon timeline (sort of), jackson era, post-outbreak, soft joel, hurt/comfort, minor descriptions of blood, joel thinking everything is his fault, tommy is there briefly, mentions of drinking and/or alcohol dependence, happy ending don’t worry, angst if you squint

A/N: i meant for this to be a short drabble because my creativity has been waning lately and i’m a little burned out to be honest, but i got carried away, but what else is new. anywho, enjoy this lil fic. let me know if ya’ll would like to see another part of this or maybe an interconnected one-shot series, i would be down. i really enjoyed writing this. also, i am still trying to power through this sickness i have suddenly, and i don’t think i’ll be able to post hard light chapter two this week.

I've Got Nothing Left To Hide

“Where’s it hurt?”, Joel asked, in a low, almost inaudible voice. He tried to keep his tone calm, trying to keep you calm, but his mind was flustered, and he was on edge, and he was pretty sure that you could see right through his charade. 

He swallowed thickly, past a lump that was stuck in his throat. His eyes darted all over you, tracking every movement, every laboured breath, and wince.

It had been decades since he had felt like this; the constricting of his chest, the shallow and unsure breaths that he was letting out, and the staggering way his heart clenched, a silent prayer on his lips, asking any God who would listen to spare you. 

It all felt so overwhelming and a little too familiar. Images of Sarah flashed through his mind, dredging up demons and emotions he had thought he had left in the past.

He had never been so afraid of losing someone he loved, not since Sarah, but here he was now, feeling like he was about to collapse at any minute, terrified of making the wrong move and losing you.

He swallowed again, harsher as he concentrated on his breathing. 

He hadn’t let his mind drift to thoughts of his daughter in a long time, his chest burning in that familiar way each time that he did, squeezing to the point of pain.

He let an idle hand drift to his chest, right above his heart, and gripped it, trying to will it subconsciously to slow down. But it was no use. 

There were very few things in the world that made Joel feel as if the ground was collapsing underneath him, and thinking of Sarah was definitely one of them.

Whenever he found himself thinking of her, thinking of how he couldn’t save her, the breath from his lungs evaporated, and guilt slammed into him with enough force to destabilize him.

But seeing you like this, the woman that he had promised Tommy that he would watch over and protect, writhe in pain as blood pooled under your shirt, that was another thing that he couldn’t bear to witness. 

You looked so helpless, lying in his arms, looking up at him with droopy lids, a faraway look in your eyes.

He cursed under his breath, knowing that you were injured because of him, because of his carelessness.

You were going to be another person he couldn’t protect and he didn’t know how much more of that he could take. 

“‘M fine”, you said, weakly, your breath coming out in stunted gasps. 

Joel shook his head, tempered anger coursing through his veins, “Don’t pull that brave shit with me”, he bit out, harsher than he intended. He gripped you tighter in his arms, holding onto you for dear life. “I know it hurts, so just tell me”. 

He watched as tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, you tried to blink them but the motion only made them fall, coating your cheeks.

Joel lifted a hand, wiping them away. He hated to see you cry, he couldn’t stand it, it broke his heart.

He left his thumb on the apple of your cheek, thinking that maybe the sensation would bring you some comfort, thinking that maybe it would bring him some comfort. 

“Am I going to die, Joel?”, you asked, a slight tremble in your voice. 

Joel shook his head, adamantly, “Not if I can help it”. 

You faded in and out of consciousness as Joel debated his next move, trying to figure out how he was going to get you back to Jackson.

He clutched the hem of your shirt, the material sticking to your stomach as he peeled it from you.

He visibly cringed as he eyed your wound, the punctured flesh dispelling crimson red at a rapid and borderline concerning rate. 

He couldn’t wait around any longer, couldn’t wait for the next round of patrol to find them, if they even came out this far. So, he took matters into his own hands, his muted internal clock ticking down the more he looked at you pale in his arms.

He scooped up your limb body, pressing you flush to his body, determination and adrenaline pumping through him, the driving force propelling him into action.

There was only one thought in his head; get you back to Jackson, by whatever means. 

As he stepped out of the small cabin, Joel noticed that the sun was slowly starting to dip beneath the horizon, the pop of blistering orange making him anxious.

Night would come quicker than either of you wanted and then the real challenge would begin, trying to navigate through the dense forest and get back to the community in the dark.

You were trembling in his arms, shaking so violently, from either the bitter cold or the loss of blood, that he thought that he was the one who was hurting you. 

“Can you ride?”, he asked, urgency in his voice. 

“Dunno”. 

Joel couldn't risk injuring you further, but he also couldn’t waste any more time, so he made an executive decision. He had been making a lot of those on your behalf today, and his most recent had gotten you in this position in the first place, it was his fault.

If anything happened to you, he wouldn’t ever forgive himself. 

He placed you tentatively on the ground, his arm sneaking around your waist to stabilize you as he untied his horse from the post. 

“Alright”, he bent slightly, grabbing your foot and placing it in his hand, “Nice ‘n easy now”. 

He could see the strain on your face, the pellets of sweat sticking to your hairline as you used as much strength as you could, hoisting yourself up and onto the horse. You’d let out a strangled groan as you got situated.

Once he knew that you were on, he hopped up, grabbing the reins and digging his heels into Shimmer’s body, spurring her into a run, his motivation to get back to Jackson making his heart race. 

The only solace that Joel took from not being able to see you from the position he was in, was that he could feel you gripping him from behind, your arms latching around his waist, your cheek flush with his back.

He could feel your chest rising and falling against him and his pulse softened, knowing that you were still fighting, still holding on for him. 

He had pushed Shimmer to her limits, getting you both back to Jackson in record time. The sequence of events that followed had been a blur to him.

The gates had opened immediately, the guards recognizing him even in the dusk.

He remembered screaming his throat raw, begging someone for help as he carried you into town and to the doctor.

He’d watched on, helplessly, as they quickly began working on you. Blood and cloth blurred his vision, making his stomach twist with queasiness.

He had to leave the room, too overcome with emotion and nausea to be of any help to you. 

When he stepped outside of the small makeshift clinic, the frigid air pierced his lungs, drawing out a long and aching breath, striking him so sharply that he stumbled forward.

He had gripped a wooden post for support, digging his palms into it for purchase, closing his eyes.

He tried to get a handle on his breathing, but it was no use. He felt the bile creeping higher in his throat, until he couldn’t hold back anymore.

It poured out of him, leaving his mouth dry and his head spinning. It was a visceral reaction, his worry over you, over what he had let happen. 

He cursed Tommy for entrusting him with you, something so precious. He knew things could have turned out worse, and he was glad that they hadn’t been, but he couldn’t get over how bad they were right now.

How shaken to his core he was that he had allowed this to happen at all.

Joel couldn’t stand to be there anymore, just on the other side of the door that led to you, powerless while the doctor patched you up. So, he did the one thing he had always been good at, he left. 

Snow crunched underneath his boots, growing louder in his ears as he walked away from the clinic. He thought that a drink might help calm his nerves.

A part of his brain wanted to forget that this day had ever happened, and another part told him that no amount of alcohol would repair the guilt that was nestled snuggly in his gut. But he could try. 

Joel didn’t know how long he had been at the Tipsy Bison, he had lost track of time after the third or fourth whiskey. He blew out a shaky breath, letting a hand drift over his haggard features.

He had been running on adrenaline the whole day and now he was crashing, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones.

But he couldn’t rest, he didn’t deserve to, not when he didn’t know if you had made it or not. 

A jolt of horror shot through his body, making his stomach twist in knots. What if you hadn’t made it? He licked his dry lips, closing his eyes as he felt a prick form behind his eyes. 

Joel was startled by a firm hand on his shoulder. He twisted slightly to see who it was, his face dropping further when he saw that it was Tommy.

He didn’t have to look at his brother for long to get a read on his expression. What he was thinking.

He was pissed and rightfully so. He had failed you and now he was waiting for Tommy to lay into him, chastise him for being so fucking stupid. 

“She’s askin’ for ya”, Tommy said, keeping his voice soft. 

Joel turned around in his seat fully to look at Tommy, surprised that he had gotten to his feet so fast. He snorted out a laugh, seeing the fucking relief that was surely on Joel’s face.

Tommy clapped his shoulder again, almost to stabilize him. Joel couldn’t look his brother in the eye, guilt bubbling and breaking the surface, making his skin sting. 

“‘M sorry”, he mumbled, “I should’ve been there, I should’ve gotten to her quicker, I shoulda done something”. 

Tommy shook his head, “You couldn’t’ve known that would happen, Joel. So stop blaming yourself”. 

Joel scratched at his facial hair, running his hand along his jaw, pondering Tommy’s words. 

He continued, “You protected her with your life, brother. I couldn’t ask for more than that”. 

Joel felt emotion clog his throat. Tommy wasn’t angry with him like he suspected he would be, he was grateful even. Something unfamiliar unfurled in his stomach, something that felt like acceptance. 

A long beat stretched between them, “Go see her”, Tommy finally said, a smile pulling at his lips. 

He led Joel out of the bar, leading him back to the clinic to go see you. Tommy stopped short of the door, motioning for him to continue without him. Joel nodded curtly, slipping past and entering the small, single-room cabin. 

Tentatively, Joel inched closer to the bed that you were in, walking on the balls of his feet, uncertain if you were awake or not. You were lying down, stretched out with your back to him, He sat on the edge of the bed, seeing you turn toward him, a grin on your face as you looked at him. Joel’s face heated under your gaze.

He didn’t deserve that smile, he thought, but he would take it anyway, if you were willing to give it to a man like him. He reached out, stroking your face softly with the back of his fingers. 

“Hey, darlin’, how ya feelin’?”, his voice was throaty, raw. 

His heart hammered below the surface as your eyes locked with his, pining him to where he sat. He didn’t want to breathe too loudly or make any sudden movements, too afraid that he would break the spell. 

“Better now”, you croaked. 

Everything collapsed at once inside of him; his resolve, his strength, his pride. He couldn’t fight it any longer, how fucking happy he was that you were still here, still with him. 

“What’re you smiling at, hm?”, you asked, arching a brow. 

Joel shook his head, his explanation dying on his tongue. He had never been one to lose his words but right now, being so close to you, he wasn’t sure he knew how to speak anymore.

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back to the moment. Your hand was freezing as it touched his skin but he didn’t mind. 

His smile disappeared as your eyes scanned his face, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry—”, he started, but you shook your head. 

“It was my fault, Joel. Don’t you dare apologize for my fucking mistake. I won’t hear it”, you said, your tone firm. 

Joel wanted to argue, to tell you that it was his fault but he didn’t have the heart, not when you were only just beginning to heal up, still looking weak and pale.

He could wait for another day to have it out with you. He just nodded instead, and you hummed, content with him seemingly letting it go for now. 

Your hand was still on his wrist and he felt a strange sense of calm. 

“Come ‘er”, you whispered, tugging on his wrist lightly. 

He wasn’t sure what was happening until your lips were on his, soft, pliant, and full. The kiss was sweet but it only lasted a minute. He pulled back, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Thank you”, you said, eyes shining as the light hit them, making them more beautiful than he thought was possible. 

He nodded quickly, head still spinning from kissing you. It had been a thank-you kiss and he shouldn’t think more of it.

But goddamn it, he wanted more. He wasn’t mad or upset that you had kissed him, honestly, he had been meaning to do it for months now.

If a kiss filled with gratitude for saving your life was all that he could get, he would accept that, he didn’t want to push his luck. 

You noticed the uneasy look on his face, shifting in the bed and using your dwindling strength to sit up.

Now you were the one with creased brows, your eyes darting over his face, trying to find your answer. Realization struck your features. 

“If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, Joel. I just didn’t know how else to say it”. 

Joel felt like a jackass, that wasn’t what he meant at all. 

“That’s not— that’s not it, darlin’. I just didn’t think you’d want to kiss an old man like me”. 

His chuckle was thick with depreciation, but you just shook your head, eyes gleaming with something he didn’t recognize. You chewed your lower lip and Joel couldn’t help but stare. 

“I’ve been meaning to do that for a while actually”, you admitted. 

Joel’s head snapped up, searching your eyes. You were sincere and he knew it. That was the confirmation that he needed, the hope that lit a flame in his chest. You wanted him too. 

A deep chortle escaped Joel’s throat, his face neutral as he leaned in closer to yours. “Then I guess we better make up for lost time then”. 

Joel pressed his lips into yours, moulding to the shape of them as he gripped your face in his large hands, letting a groan slip into your mouth. You pulled back with a giggle, fisting the hair at the base of his head.

Your smile was a thousand watts and Joel couldn’t look away. His grip on your face tightened a little more, making sure that this was really happening to him. 

He couldn’t believe it but he dove back in regardless, wanting to soak in as much of your love and light that you were willing to give to him.

[zoropookie]

WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE (WYWDFL) — THREE

YOU couldn't be having a worse halloween night. choose your fate with your fellow readers and see if it gets better!

chapter two — chapter four

soulmate!wanderer x gn!reader

I need to run, like yesterday.

That was the only thought that multiplied in your mind, similar to a bird attempting to flock to their kin yet again. Your thought immediately shredded into tiny ribboned fabric and sawdust, scrambled and incoherent to you, no matter how much you attempted to find it.

Those footsteps were coming for you, no matter how close, no matter how far. Over something you thought you'd only see on TV, at that. Didn't even think murder was real until now. Your heart remained in your throat...until your fight or flight propelled you.

Your chest ached in uncertainty, not being able to breath as deeply as you needed to, too afraid of being caught, but not afraid enough to spot your next opening. Or to be more accurate, the opening in the bushes and greenery that lead back to your (probably compromised) apartment.

Who the fuck's idea was this to even "check out what was going on"? Oh...wait.

You propelled yourself off the wall to give yourself a boost in your sprint towards the bushes. Adrenaline took your body and shot within your veins like a bullet, legs stretching distances you didn't even think you could do before. The air of the night was thick to you, every sound was amplified in your ears— the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of the nearby city, and the brutal pounding of your own heartbeat urging you to just run.

Branches and thorns scraped against your skin as you dove into the nature, dense foliage closing around your costume like protective cocoon and also shredding some of the fabric that you wore. Making a swift turn, you ducked your whole body beneath the low rising canopy of the trees, loose material making small rips with each movement as some of the branches even scraped your face.. You couldn't mind it; you didn't dare stop.

Making a swift turn, you ducked your whole body beneath the low rising canopy of the trees.

Finally breaking out of the trees, the glare of the saturated orange street light broke your vision and you managed to find yourself staggering after the panic. You sucked in deep and uneven breaths, each one feeling like fire in your lungs. You wheezed, the pavement under your feet was a stark contrast to the pinching and piercing of the environment.

You held onto the light pole of the lamp post for dear life, trying to keep yourself on your feet. "Oooh," You groaned, wincing. "Shit..." You hissed in pain.

Glancing back, your heart moved with an uneven rhythm, urging you to keep moving. The quietness stretched far, which make you uneasy. It was dead quiet in the little suburban street stretching ahead, eerily still, the only sound was your manual breathing as you turned your head to look back.

Maybe he didn't see you after all?

You took this opportunity to remove all of the accessories that weren't completely ripped off your body, groaning at the dull ache that already surrounded your ankles from the stupid plastic/foam leggings you decided to wear with the costume as a joke. Wasn't very funny anymore, was it? The edges completely stabbed into your ankles when you were running, causing an open wound you had no choice but to limp on.

Starting your travels back home again, you walked, or rather limped across the parking lot of this permanently closed restaurant you used to go to all the time with Yoimiya. The breeze picked up rapidly, an icy whisper dragging against your bare skin in its undertones and leaving you chills on your body.

Sure enough, there that guy was. Stood directly under the street light, his cap still pulled down to hide his eyes and the cast of the light of an ominous shadow around him. He stood dead still. Watching you.

You were mortified, looking in disbelief as you stiffened. You didn't even know what to say, or respond with, other than scrambling back and hoping he got the hint that you didn't want issues.

He took long strikes, making your efforts useless. He gave a small and halfhearted laugh at your rigidness. "Relax," His voice smooth and light, void of burden as though he didn't just murk a guy X Games mode and you didn't just watch him. "I won't hurt you."

"You won't?" You said skeptically, a lot louder, and a lot more dull than anticipated. "Uh...could have had me fooled, mister...killer, psycho killer sir. Hey, we can always call truce, ya know? I know a few criminals myself, and uh...know what, let's just grab a bite to eat or something! My tr..eat!"

As he was still approaching you, and you were spluttering every single thought you had in mind to keep you at bay while treading back in a struggle, the breath that you just caught was knocked out of you like the wind. You stumbled back, falling straight on your ass just as he stalked towards you.

"Hm." He was practically stood over her, smiling at the sheer terror on your face. "You're so tense...so weak. I could snap your neck if I really wanted to."

"You...you definitely could, yeah!" You laughed nervously, a frown immediately lodging itself back onto your face after a moment. "Are you..?"

This close, you could see the drips and smears of blood that laced his hands and the side of his face. It made your stomach churn...and then you saw a mark on that same crimson hand.

A familiar mark? You would have elaborated further on that thought if the man didn't continue, "No." His lip twisted a little more. "I just thought of something a lot more fun."

"Like...bouncy-house fun, right?" You stammered. "Like...clown at a birthday party fun? Not my kind of fun, but still...pretty fun!"

"Sure." His voice remained silky, but a lot more sultry than you expected. It was like everything he did was something that he actually really got off to! "Eager to find out already?"

Oh my fucking god, you're in the presence of a necrophiliac, aren't you.

[dairy-farmer]

Good Morning (time neutral)! This going to be a long one because there's quite a bit of backstory involved~❤️

Sooooo, there's a fic called Hasn't This Kid Ever Heard of Stranger Danger? (https://archiveofourown.org/works/41872041/chapters/105073314) that I really like: Very long story somewhat short, Jason's death and return happens on a much more compressed time scale so that he gets back to Gotham to start Hooding it up when Tim is still a younger side of 13. As part of his information gathering, Jason basically hides out and watches from a tree on the Drake property as Tim returns home every night: he does not like what he sees.

See, because of a combination of 'I can't get close to this kid, I can't take the pain of losing Jason someone again', Bruce generally still lashing out in grief, and Tim's debilitating self-esteem issues (thanks Jack and Janet 😠), Tim is not (at least obviously/observably) close with Waynes outside of being Robin. Because of this, Tim absolutely refuses to stay in the Manor no matter how injured he is, because of a combination of fear of slashing out but also of overstaying his welcome and being driven off to be alone again. So Jason basically sees Tim coming home alone after patrol every night, almost always with injuries of varying degrees - arm wrapped up tight in a bandage, bruises and stuff, limping, ect. And Jason starts to stop being mad at Tim and becomes even more furious with Bruce and the rest of them.

(In this time, Tim has noticed someone watching him from the tree -and doesn't say anything to Bruce because he's worried about being a bother- and has taken to leaving packaged food and bottled water under the tree; basically like they're a feral cat he's trying to befriend.)

After a couple months of this, Tim has a really bad day and finally stands under the tree to invite Jason down/into his house, letting Jason know that Tim has figured out who he is ("Red Hood? Jason?... Robin?"😿), at which point Jason immediately adopts/becomes a big brother to Tim. (There's also Jason reconciling with the family, Tim getting very injured because of his parents doing stupid shit, and lots of therapy for everyone). Great Story!

But to my point: there is a scene fairly early, after Jason has basically started living with Tim as his big brother but during which time Dick and Bruce have no idea about any of this, where Jason rescues the three of them from the mission gone wrong. But see, since this is before any therapy, Jason and Tim are fairly codependent and close. Jason pulls a whole "Back away from the Baby Bird" thing with the bad guys before shooting them. During the exchange, one of the bad guys notices the possessive edge with which Jason refers to Tim/Robin and makes a comment suggesting Jason is in a naughty relationship with Robin. Obviously Jason kills them immediately after that, and checks on an injured Tim first, calling him Baby Bird and petting his hair and checking for concussion.

(It's a great scene: Bruce is out of commission and Dick is pretty heavily concussed, but Dick is worried the bad guys are right and that the Red Hood is going to kidnap Tim and do terrible things to him - if he hasn't already! Dick tasers Jason, it's a whole thing.)

SO... To the actual prompt/idea: The Wayne's/other people think Jason is taking advantage of/trying to groom Tim.

Setup: Firstly, in the fic Jason 18(ish) and Tim is 13. So that's messed with some numbers and the timeline! Let's forget the accelerated timeline of Jason's death and recovery and let's say Jason died at 14, spent 6 months dead, 6 months and 2 years catatonic, one and a half(ish) years post pit with the league, in 6 months causing trouble and stalking Tim. The whole Tim intervention thing happens when Tim is 10 instead of 12, and Tim spends the first one to two years training and only going out on patrol very very occasionally: enough that people know there is still a Robin, but Tim only really became an act of patrol member around the time Jason showed up in the city. Now, dear Dairy, you may ask why have I messed with the timeline in such a way? Because this way I can say that mentally Jason is only about 16, instead of around 19: 5 years may have passed since his death, but only two of those were when Jason was conscious and mentally growing.

Second, the bad guys were right; Jason is in a relationship with Tim.

Tim is so sweet and gentle and desperate for attention, and is there for the perfect Target for an evil groomer to take advantage of. But in this case, it's Jason! Jason was Robin and would never do something like that! So now Jason is spending time with him and caring about him and in general just acknowledging that he exists. And Jason absolutely loathes adults who prey on children, to a murderous degree. But, because he is mentally 16 and Tim is 13, he doesn't see his love and attraction to Tim as a problem: 16-year-olds and 13 year old date all the time!

Just imagine the drama! The Wayans finally acknowledge, after the horrible incident with the mission gone wrong and Red Hood saving them, that they do in fact love Tim and see him as part of the family. And! Jason is alive! Bruce and Dick and Alfred are so happy, their family is back together and has even grown a bit with the addition of Tim: Jason and Tim might be clingy and physically affectionate, but that's fine! They're both traumatized and leave each other as brothers!

... Until Dick walks in on them in the library making out: Tim sitting on Jason's lap, legs on either side of his, so small that even in this position Jason has to lean down to kiss him. Dick might have even found it.. sweet or cute?... If it wasn't a 19-year-old making out with a 13-year-old baby!!! Oh shit, oh shit! The goons in the warehouse were right! Dick's little brother back from the dead was molesting his new younger brother 😱! The fact that Jason is his brother and he loves them is the only reason that Dick doesn't straight up attack him, instead just storming in to yank Tim off his lap and start screaming and yelling.

All the noise brings Bruce and Alfred running, and they walk in on Dick squeezing and trapping Tim in his arms while screaming at Jason with angry, hurt, and scared tears in his eyes. The two eldest men managed to calm the situation down and ask what happened. Dick explains what he walked in on, and of course Bruce and Alfred are horrified! Except... Jason and Tim, well obviously alarmed at everyone's actions, also look... confused.

Bruce insists that Jason and Tim explain their side of the situation -maybe it's just a huge misunderstanding? Well, it turns out that it kind of is; Jason only views himself as being 3 years older and more mature than Tim, since he spent three of the last 5 years dead and/or catatonic. Hell, because Jason died so young, he never even really had a girlfriend or boyfriend! He's basically as inexperienced as Tim. So really it's a perfectly normal relationship without a huge power gap that just so happens to look like a huge 19 year old man molesting a barely teen.

Bruce, Dick, and Alfred just being so stressed because while legally Jason is committing a crime by being with Tim, for anyone with all of the information there is nothing wrong going on.

Also, I picture cis-male Tim in this like in the inspiring story, but honestly it doesn't matter if he's cis or trans. (But I do really like the image of the size difference - Jason with a massive grown man cock, rubbing against Tim's little, barely pubescent one. Jason being able to take Tim's entire cock - and maybe his balls- into his mouth with no effort, and Tim being so embarrassed and self-conscious about the fact that he can barely fit the head of Jason's in his mouth. Of course, once Tim is fully grown it will all have even out; Jason will actually have to pay attention to blow Tim and Tim will be able to fit more than half of Jason's cock in his mouth.)

ethically dubious jaytim relationship yes!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️ they're so happy and content and feel safe with one another. jason losing years to the whole debacle means that his physical age doesn't match his mental age and so of course he feels attracted to tim because jason was still a teenager as well! and tim is in such a precarious place and has never had the devoted love and attention of another person and while he doesn't consciously realize it, the fact that jason is so much older is a plus because it fills that need in tim's brain to be protected and loved by an older male.

it being such an uncomfy situation for bruce and dick and alfred who see them together and can't help but just FEEL its wrong. even though they know the circumstances are unique they can't help but tense up whenever jason and tim are around others- they've warned the two to keep their relationship quiet and under wraps because of the tricky situation and how it all looks. tim and jason are so innocent with their relationship but that doesn't mean the three of them aren't pacing back and forth the first time they have sex. little 13 year old tim is having sex with a near 20 year old under their roof and they're letting it happen, they're actively encouraging it by providing them with condoms and a room to fuck in-

just the complex mind fuckyness of it all ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[raidtheradio]

Hard Morning

Summary: You help Arthur through a particularly hard morning.

Notes: I just wanted to write something short and simple hehe, I have this other series I really gotta work on I posted like one chapter then disappeared for a month. Anyway, I haven't edited this since it's midnight and I'm high I might edit it later though who knows.

Read it on AO3!

Arthur Morgan is dying, his sickly dry heaving reminds you every day. ‘Black Lung’ Micah calls him. The cruel nickname creates a devastating image in your head when you hear him heave.

He struggles through daily life, he helps you girls with camp chores that are normally left to the women and Mr. Pearson. Karen is often too drunk to walk, and Abigail struggles worrying about her husband in prison. With two people out of condition, the workload had been overwhelming for you and your partners in crime. You tell Arthur every day not to worry, that he should just rest and focus on getting better. He never listens, he’s always up. Chopping wood, feeding horses, repairing travel-worn carriages. Between the scores that Dutch always assigns him to, he somehow manages to bring home dinner for the camp. It’s not always enough, but it keeps you and the gang going. You remember a time when you woke up before the rest of your little family. You were still in your undergarments, and working to restart the fire so you could make a large pot of coffee. That was when you heard the too familiar sound of dry heaving. Micah's nickname echoed in your head as you rushed to the source. Arthur was sitting on the log used to chop wood, the axe in his hand was forgotten and a half-chopped log was on its side in the grass. You weren’t good with people, quiet and reserved. Your flawed social skills became prominent when you saw your dear friend struggle with something as simple as breathing. You stood there and stared, slack-jawed. This man could survive on a can of beans for a whole day, you’ve seen him tear through drunken men with his bare knuckles.  A whole tank reduced to a man. You could practically see his black lungs struggle to bring oxygen to his body. With every heave, you could hear the fluid filling his chest. You had no words for the dying man, so you placed your hand on his back. You began with light circular motions, not wanting to take his concentration away from breathing. When he finally began to stabilize you increased pressure. Your stomach was filled with cement, your brows upturned. 

“I’m sorry.” He heaves, and your chest begins to hurt as well. He shouldn’t feel the need to hide his pain the way he does. He was always around to lend people a shoulder to cry on. 

“Take your time friend.” You respond. He draws in air through his nose, and exhales through his mouth. He’d finally caught his breath, you pulled your hand away as he began to stand.

“That was bad.” Stupid, but you had nothing else to say. 

“I’m ok, thank you.” He bends down to grab the axe and log. You grab his hand, he stops and looks at you.

“There’s no need Mr. Morgan, there's plenty of wood already.” You start to lead him, and like a poorly trained horse he hesitantly follows. You set him down on a nearby chair and he watches as you start the fire. You’ve done this many times before, being the early bird in the camp. You shove scraps of dead leaves and twigs in the center of the little tiipii and before you could even ask, Arthur holds his lighter out to you. You didn’t know how he managed to get his hands on such a nice one, gold with antler engravings, but you didn’t  ask as he didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. Soon the fire was blazing, and coffee was brewed. You settled yourself beside him and handed him his own cup. He took it, his large hands looking out of place as he grips the small handle. You take a sip and look out to the forest. 

“Everythings just gone to shit.” Arthur is never really one to complain. Actually that’s a lie. You remember giggling many times when you’d catch him swearing under his breath over something stupid Sean did. Aw, Sean. You missed the poor bastard.

“You’re right.” You look him in the eye. He looked as if he’s aged ten years in the past two weeks. His once bright blue eyes faded, his mouth downturned into a heartbreaking frown. “But we have coffee, and this nice view.” You gesture to the woods around you both, and you thank God for his beautiful work. Even if his world is cruel, he sure knew how to landscape. Arthur doesn’t even chuckle, his mouth cemented into his frown. You take his hand and rub your thumb over his bruised knuckles. You have nothing else to say, and neither does he. He sips his coffee while the first sounds of life come from Dutch's tent. Well, let the day begin.

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 16: The Bounty Hunter

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Six months later...

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, ANGST, I'm sorry, yearning, there is the squeakiest blink-and-you-miss-it mention of Reader with someone else (so brief, so squeaky), brief blood/gore, canon characters present (Greef gets the briefest mention - rest in power, Carl), Reader uses her Force powers.

A/N: Here. We. Go. Moving into the endgame. Hang with me. All the love.

--

SIX MONTHS LATER

Smoke from more than two dozen water pipes wafts at every corner of the buzzy cantina. A sad jizz band drones away in a neglected corner, barely a stage to crowd in on. Every figure in the place sits with the assured air of the heavily armed and capable.

The doorway is darkened briefly by a lone figure entering the place, strolling down thrumming aisles of chatter and hustle. Mutual shoulder nudges and open stares follow the shadow passing over tables and booths. Whispers of ‘that who I think it is?’ and ‘yes, so shut up’ carry on the hazy air. Ignoring it all, the presence comes to a stop in front of the honch of the Guild. Three complete tracking fobs are tossed on the table. 

Leaf Goghal looks up.

‘That was quick,’ he slurs, he peers at the stony visage by his booth. ‘Queenie here ready for more?’

Only your eyes can be seen under the shadow of the hood pulled far forward. Anger and impatience radiate out.

Leaf tuts, leans back.

‘You know, pace like this and folks here will start to resent your pretty little presence.’ He waves for a droid tender to come near. ‘Why not sit a bit, have a beverage? Take in the ambiance?’

A hand raised, a gesture at the fobs, and he drops the entreaty immediately.

‘Fine, here,’ he smirks, tossing a mess of credits to you. ‘And here.’ A puck is placed more gently at your hand, glowing with dim eminence. ‘A good one, I guarantee. Real piece of shit too. You enjoy those ones don’t you? Like to make it rough? Take it, and consider a drink with me next time, hm?’

You just scoop the lot into a hand and head for the bar. Putting your back to the sleazy honch, you motion for a drink. It’s slid to you without pause.

Staring into the foamy, spongy liquid of your cup, you focus on channelling your rage and boredom into the space where the crushing loneliness is trying to win ground. It’s been a battle for months. Once fear and guilt were coaxed down into a simmer, you’d noticed your heartbreak fresh and blistering. It was close to unbearable. It almost drowned you. But a primordial will to live still festered hot along with the pain, so you decided to do your best to hide from it.

How better to hide from all that than to seek out violence. 

So here you were, in the Guild. The place you were sure was as far out of the way as it was possible to be. It had changed a lot since Greef Karga was in charge. Less principled, more brutal. And it suited your needs. That sludge Leaf knew your one condition on hire, fade quadrant jobs only. Fortunately, there was plenty of work out there.

But grief, and guilt, and heartbreak, have their ways of catching you.

You’ve not gotten through half your drink, but you slam it onto the bar, grab your fresh puck and stalk out of the cantina. 

Leaf wasn’t kidding when he said this quarry was a piece of shit. A courier. Of what and who varied considerably, but always for the unsavoury and reprehensible. A long charge sheet of assault came along with the job – a lot of bartenders, some security personnel, and even an escort or two.

Your blood boils as you drop into the cockpit of your ride and dump a couple credits by your pilot’s knee, where they’re crouched low ratcheting an access panel closed.

‘Well fuck you very much,’ Gaius mutters, picking up the coin. ‘That it?’

‘That’s it,’ you say, leaning over the control panel and slotting the puck into place. ‘Next job’ll settle me up though.’

‘Right.’ You move past each other as you take the passenger seat and they drop into the pilot’s chair. Gaius plugs in the nav to the planet where your bounty was most likely enterprising himself with a labour trafficking ring. You sit back, grit teeth and flex knuckles.

The trip is silent, as it always is. The pilot speaks up only as you stand and ready to leave. They reach around and brush a hand against one of yours.

‘Hey, careful out there?’ Gaius says.

You step away from the touch and climb out into the suffocating urban air.

Gaius was an alright pilot who’d come along just when you needed them, still not confident in your own abilities to fly a craft without killing yourself. Quick and savvy, they’d helped you out of a tight spot. You weren’t planning on forming a partnership with anyone, but getting a hole blown in their old ship wasn’t planned either. It was gracious of them to continue to ferry you back and forth on jobs while you paid back on the damage. 

You’d taken a tumble in bed with them exactly once, so consumed by loneliness and touch-starvation to the point that it physically hurt. You’d hoped it would help. Hoped, maybe, that it would take your mind off the cold, hollow ache in your chest for a little while. Let you stop thinking about it if for only a few moments. But it didn’t. The only feeling that leaked in afterwards was remorse.

You’d decided that once this job was done, you’d hand over whatever remained on the bill and break it off.

You don’t think they’ve realised that yet, though.

Cringing at the thought of that conversation, you push it aside and duck into the seedy dive frequented by your favoured informant.

‘God fucking dammit,’ you mutter, kicking the gory little stubs aside and tucking away your tracking fob. ‘Better hope a few missing fingers don’t dock the reward on your scummy ass.’

Your quarry is slumped against a bloodied bench, wrists finally restrained. He glares at his right hand as blood continues to seep from where three of his fingers used to be.

‘More’s the pity for you,’ he spits.

It had been a brutal fight. Maybe you’d made it that way, but he’d landed one too many fists into your ribs when you’d taken the upper hand by slamming his own onto the table and your knife down along with it. When you’d twisted the hand up behind his back and made a real show of preparing to take the remaining forefinger and thumb, he’d angrily yielded.

‘Yeah,’ you tap at the cuff on your wrist to let Gaius know you’re on your way and make an ‘up you get’ gesture at the bounty.

He gets a look like he’s calculating an out, so you just unsheathe your blade again. Hold it lazily at your side.

You look up to the ceiling of his dingy hideout, thoughtful. ‘On second thought,’ you say. ‘I could probably afford a whole hand.’ Stare back down at him. He pales at that and grunts in furious resignation, lurching to unsteady feet.

Marching him through the back alleys, he speaks up.

‘You know, I think I’ve heard of you,’ he says.

You roll your eyes. ‘Less chat, please.’

‘Mm, so polite,’ he sniggers. Why do they always do this when the fight is over? So ready to run you through, then all they wanna do is talk.

‘Heard you took in the Daly crew,’ he throws over his shoulder.

‘Shut up.’

‘Is it true? All six of them?’ He whistles low. ‘Where’d a girlie like you get bounty huntin’ skills like that?’

‘Shut up.' You give him a hard kick in the ass. He stumbles forward with a cry. As he flails to not fall on his face, something drops from his coat pocket. It’s a compact datapad that lights up on impact with the ground. You’re about to stomp on it maliciously when a fragment of data on the screen catches your eye.

You bend to pick it up as he rights himself with a pained hiss. He watches you study the screen, its illumination highlighting the colour draining from your face.

‘Hey, uh,’ he hedges. ‘You can take that you know? Big job, huge. One I’ll never finish… now, and,’ a chuckle, ‘I get it, work doesn’t pay like it used to. But that… that’ll make you rich.’

A long, heavy pause. Your eyes stay locked on the screen, a thumb moves to scroll through it.

‘I can get you started?’ he tries again. ‘If you hold off on turning me in? Skills like yours, contacts like mine… We--’

You don’t look at him as you pocket the device, take a small dart revolver from your holster and twirl it to the heaviest tranq you have. His ‘huh’ is brief as he thuds to the ground.

You sigh, annoyed and uneasy. Punching at your comms, you mutter, ‘Gaius, can you get out here and help me, got a dragger … What--? … Yes you can have a higher cut, hells.'

You get back to the Guild’s quarters and do the whole song and dance with Leaf again. 

Settled up, you retake your usual place at the bar. A drink appears by your elbow, but you ignore it. Instead, you pull out the datapad and stare at the detailed ship manifests and inventory supply runs for an imp battle fleet.

This can’t be what I think it is.

You’d marked rumours. Knew something was rising. Felt despair and fear. Tried to send hidden comms but probably into nothing but ether – useless and untrustworthy that you were.

As if the universe had it in for you, the alert sensor on your cuff pings to life. You stare at it in shock, not wanting to believe what you’re seeing. But the hum in your wrist is echoed beside you and the barfly there is glaring at the same alert. The whole place is alight with the sound of alarms and buzzing as every bounty hunter in the establishment moves to their feet. You and your neighbours turn to a booming laugh.

Leaf Goghal, despite being what seemed to be mostly gone not long ago, is standing atop his booth table with the holo alert waving above his head.

‘We have been contracted!’ He bellows. ‘The job of our lives! Join the vaunted efforts of this war campaign and be crowned in glory and riches. The Guild will be made elite!’

A general confusion and nervous excitement vibrates within the crowd.

Leaf leaps from the table, seems to stalk expressly toward you.

‘We will follow the imperial militia into war. They will grant us everything – riches, power, resources – we would scourge this galaxy. Be unstoppable. Untameable.’

Your heart is pounding. Hands ice cold. Here it is.

‘We’re going to war against Mandalore!’

Every creature in the bar hollers and cheers.

Fierce and riled up warriors gather themselves into formation, oddly formal for their ragtag demeanour. But bloodlust was rising, and they all wanted the fastest route into a battle frenzy as was possible.

Sparks of panic shoot up and down your body as Leaf Goghal stands before you. He leans into your ear, treating it to his hot, stale breath.

‘Now, Queenie,’ he mutters. ‘No one here knows your little secret. No one but me. I was happy to take you in with such strong credentials. And I remind you now that you have made your choice.’

He clicks his teeth together in menace. You cringe.

‘You will not be leaving my side, do you understand? I want you in my sights until we’re on a frigate to the rendezvous. No mischief; no reneging on your pledge to me. Remember, they aren’t your people. To them you are apostate, outsider, enemy. Am I wrong?’

He isn’t.

You shake your head slightly, taking the chance to step back to glare at him.

‘No,’ you grit out.

He claps. 

‘Excellent,’ and he gestures to his side, you fall in. He rounds on the crowd. ‘Guild! We go!’

Marching past bay after bay of spacecraft, a tempest rages inside you. There’s no point trying. You have to try something. Where would you even begin? Anywhere, anywhere but here. It’s hopeless. You have to try. You could die. So? There’s nothing you can do. You’ll probably die anyway.

But then you pass a hangar with a tiny, ancient T-Wing sitting across the way. It makes your stomach lurch. Its silhouette is so like that of the Razor Crest that all the months of trying to ignore your yearning and sadness slip away in a torrent. 

It’s your heart that decides it, in the end.

Without breaking stride, you plant your right foot and raise the left to slam into the back of the knee Leaf has extended in his gait. He hollers and goes down, it’s an old injury he punishes anyone for even mentioning. At the same time, you’re punching the door controls to pull up the crisis module, so that it slams shut and engages a hard lock. 

Every person, being and creature in the hallway freezes, unsure of what just happened. But Leaf pushes to his feet and shrieks, ‘get her!’, pointing to the door’s window where you’re on the other side, sprinting toward the ship.

‘Get this fucking thing open, and get that little shit back here!’  

You hear his profanity-laced orders become fuzzy, blood rushing in your ears. You vault into the little craft with a speed that unsettles you and start jamming at the keypad, bringing the instruments out of standby. It roars to life.

‘C’mon, baby,’ you encourage the controls. To yourself, ‘C’mon, just like he showed you.’

The craft swings wildly and strafes toward the hangar opening. You hurl hard on stall just as it aligns with the exit and then throw the throttle with your whole weight. Forced back into your seat, you give a yelp of fear as the crystalline black rushes toward you.

The second the g-forces let you, you’re leaning over the nav screen and punching in the only code you’d come to know by heart – the system containing Navarro. Thinking the odds of surviving your first solo hyperspace jump are slim and frightening, you close your eyes and heave on the lever. 

A few moments of uncertain wincing before you open your eyes and see dazzling light sailing past.

You push your head back into the pilot seat and contemplate your next move.

It had been a difficult and terrifying decision to head to Mandalore, where you knew the risk of being shot out of orbit without pause was great. But you’d survived hyperspace and you’d survived Greef Karga’s passive aggressive rejection of your plea for help. So you thought, why not dive further into the pit of the mess you’d made?

It takes a while. You have to make several stops for fuel and supplies, trekking the galaxy toward the distant and mysterious system, hoping on hope that your memory of the path there was sound. Your tiny little craft manages to stealth by a couple of terrifying imperial ships, so you’re pretty sure you’re going the right way. You just hope you’re not taking too long.

Despite everything, you actually feel good and in control for the first time in an age. Oddly enough, the journey keeps you calm. 

Bo-Katan Kryze accepting your transmission and permitting you to land, on the other hand, begins a war within you between soaring hope and abject terror, twisting up your guts and setting your lungs on fire. Piloting your craft to a pad where it is dwarfed many times over by towering war ships, you let the current of your decisions and actions will you forward. 

An escort eventually leads into a wide open room, with long tables and a hearth burning blue flame.

It’s a modest throne she occupies, a wide bench with little adornment. The truly staggering feature is the tall casting of an ancient looking megalith that rises behind her into the vaulted ceiling. You think Din had told you about something like it once, but in this moment there’s too much already crashing through you to recall.

You try to focus on the brittle and impatient look the woman in front of you channels into your very soul. But really all that’s going on in your head is an endless loop of Is he here? Is he nearby? Will I see him? Is he here?

You glance around the room at your company, flicking from one helmed figure to another. None are familiar. All stand with a watchful edge and some kind of weapon at the ready.

The escort that had marched with you comes to a stop and peels away, leaving you standing alone save but one Mandalorian that keeps a laser rifle at your back. Of course you’d left all weapons back at your little ship, but they seem aware you could still be a hand-to-hand threat anyway. Perhaps Din had warned them.

Bo-Katan leans forward and cocks her head.

‘He isn’t here,’ she says, voice ringing in the vast space. Gods, she just knew that would be the exact thing to say to make your insides crumble and your heart falter. Batting back tears, you run your tongue over teeth and lips, take a breath and look at her head on.

‘Will you tell me where he is?’

She smirks, ‘His Covert, the Covert of the Watch, continues to be among several groups covering our system’s perimeter. Why?’ 

‘I need to warn him. To warn you, all of you.’ 

The leader of a planet, a whole world, stands suddenly. The room rustles with many armoured individuals shifting to high alert. After a moment, she takes a step, then another.

She marches toward you with menace in every footfall. Halts just flush of you and leans into your ear.

‘That’s where your loyalty is?’ she says. ‘To him?’

You just steel yourself and nod.

‘You hurt him,’ she whispers, voice tight. ‘A lot.’

‘I know,’ you say, not moving another muscle. ‘I know that, I-- I just want to do right by him, by your people.’

She leans back and glares at you. ‘What if he does not want to see you at all, ever again?’

You stare at her.

‘I’ll accept that. I will. So long as he, as they, as you, hear what I have to say. And let me help.’ You lean in to whisper your entreaty, your message, your intentions. She listens, lets you trail off before stepping back and locking eyes with you.

She studies you, pierces you with her keen and discerning gaze. You feel as if you are being drilled apart, bit by bit. 

‘I cannot tell you where he is,’ she intones to the rest of the room. ‘His Covert is in a system where Comms are difficult to maintain; they compose a forward party to incur the initial salvos, feeding us the intelligence we need to prepare.’

Her eyes settle back on you for a split second. You mouth a silent, tiny ‘thank you’ that she nods at slightly while turning away.

‘I am sorry I cannot help you,’ she says while marching back to her station.

It wasn’t much to go on, but there was an ionised cluster in the next sector over where frequencies were distorted and would corrode over distance. It also happened to be smack in the middle of the trajectory of the imps’ leading regiment. And it was also possible for a sufficiently small spacecraft to make discreet jumps back to Mandalore to share updates without detection.

It wasn’t much to go on. But Bo-Katan had given you what she could.

You pilot your battered T-Wing into the field.

Okay, now or never.

You push the autopilot into staying power and lean back in your chair. With an iron will, you let your mind clear, ferrying thoughts to the side and opening a way to that thing you fear to touch. It waits for you, doesn’t approach or call, just holds. You grit your teeth and reach for it.

The moment you accept the feeling into yourself, it unfurls and coils around your consciousness, hugging at the edges of your mind’s eye. As it does, you fill your thoughts with the image of two sweet glistening eyes blinking at you slowly, of big twitching ears flapping in the rush of a speeder, and of a happy, babbling maw munching on whatever tasty treat is within reach. You conjure the feeling of a small, clawed hand gripping your own, just grasping onto a single finger in comfort. And you listen hard for the sound of Grogu’s exclamations of delight and curiosity, summoning his essence toward you.

‘C’mon, baby. C’mere. I miss you so much.’

A hot sweat erupts across your brow and neck. Tears break free. All form a salty river down to dampen your collar, shuddering above your chest heaving with effort.

‘Please,’ you weep. ‘Please.’

You’re ready to give up. You were a fool. Not strong enough for this; who were you kidding. Then, a soft, featherlight, curious strand of tender embrace reaches back to you. You let it nuzzle the tip of your nose, leaning into the feeling.

It lasts a second, then drains away and the cold hard cockpit rushes back into focus. Without pause you punch in the string of coordinates foremost in your mind’s eye. You give yourself a moment to close your eyes again and breathe, then you throw the lever.

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No such thing in-universe as a 'T-Wing' as far as I'm aware. But I for one think it makes a cool as hell 'lil spacecraft. Name suggestions welcome. And I had no idea what to choose as the gif for this one, so imagine that tiny speck is Reader crossing the galaxy to get back to Din... 💔

Until next time!

[emcscared-whumps]

SHIFTING PHASES - Part 1

[PREVIEW] Chapter 7: No Wish Without a Price

Shifting Phases Masterpost

Here's the next chapter! This is the last chapter I will be previewing for a while, but, since I don't post as I write, I wanted to give you guys something a little more to chew on, you deserve it for being so patient with me :)

Big shoutout once more to @whump-cravings for beta'ing this chapter <3<3 Thons feedback has helped me improve my writing out of sight, thankyou <3<3<3

Previous

CONTENT and WARNINGS: Beating, blackmail, bullying (school bully, but they're out of school), drowning (attempted, but is a big focus), emotional whump/angst, guns, mer whumpee, transformation, vague threat of sexual assault (not explicitly said, but still definitely happens). All characters present are 18 or over. wc: ~4.8k

Pete's Perspective

He’d really fucked up, back under the whitebeam.

For weeks now, Pete had been pushing Burton’s limits, intentionally or not, whether by hiding money, lashing out to escape a particularly painful hold, or something else. Burton’s patience had been thinning already; he’d barely needed one more reason to corner Pete somewhere far from help.

Pete had given him three.

And Burton’s reprimand under the whitebeam was the final straw.

“L-Liz, ye s-ssshould go,” Pete stammered, shoulders pinching high as his heart began to race. He couldn’t drag her into his problems again; he couldn’t bear the thought of another friend getting hurt because of him. He swallowed as Burton smirked and stepped close, and shivered when a hand snaked around his shoulder. Tension lined every muscle. With his eyes, he begged Liz to listen, please; it’d be so much worse for them both if she fought.

She didn’t even acknowledge him.

“You should listen to your silly little boyfriend, Dovey,” Burton smiled. “This isn’t your business.”

“If ye think I’m dumb enough ta just leave Pete alone with you sacks of shit, ye’re dead wrong,” Liz said, stance firming up.

“Liz, d—don’t—” Pete started, but was cut off by a sudden, painful pressure ensnaring his neck. Burton’s large hand had wrapped around the edge of Pete’s scarf and yanked back, leashing him with the knitted fabric. A couple of sharp, experimental tugs forced Pete’s hands to his neck, as if by testing the hold, Burton dared him to resist.

“Go,” Burton said darkly.

“Make me,” Liz snarled.

Burton let out a low growl and shoved Pete into the group. The eager, grasping hands of one were quick to snatch the scarf and reapply the pressure while the others grabbed his arms and shoulders, wrestling him firmly into their hold. Pete coughed weakly as the fabric pulled tighter still. Through wet eyes, he watched Burton prowl over to Liz and rasped thinly, “D-don’t—Liz—” Every movement, every syllable hurt. How could fabric so soft be so unyielding? His fingers dug in against his neck as he tried to give himself the barest room to breathe. “Don’t, hhhk, don’t f-fight…! ‘S’not wor—th… it!

…I’m not worth it…

“Listen to him cry!” one mocked.

Another laughed, “Wah, wah, p-p-p-p-please! Lizzy, come s-s-s-save me, I’m sc-c-c-c-cared!”

This was funny to them.

Burton towered over Liz. “Last chance, Millen,” he said, “Leave.”

But still, she did not back down.

Inwardly, Pete cursed her fearlessness; the two of them were badly outnumbered—this was hardly the time to fight, but she couldn’t see that, or the yellow and black handgun that appeared at her temple. Pete opened his mouth to cry a warning, but his scarf cinched too tight to speak, making him squirm despite the pain. Colette’s thumb hovered over the safety.

Pete jerked, panic and dread shooting through him. He tried again to wriggle free. Don’t hurt her!

Liz froze, but flashed her teeth in a wicked grin. “Too chicken ta fight me fer real, Colette?” she said, turning slowly to face the hunter’s handgun, and the young lady behind it. “And what are ye gonna do with darts that don’t work on humans?”

“Oh, these ain’t darts, Dovey.”

The strength drained from Pete’s legs and the gang easily forced him to his knees with a hand on his head. Blood roared in his ears, yet colour drained from his cheeks. The missing bullets, the small, dark object that Colette had snuck from Miss Moore’s bag... He should’ve said something. Mentally, he kicked himself, stupid. STUPID. His cowardice was going to kill them both! The scarf grew tighter still; he had to fight to make his voice form anything more than pathetic, gurgling whines. “Liz pl-pl’sse, d-don’t—Liz—don’t r-res-ssist…!” ‘S’not worth—“ he choked. He couldn’t breathe. “Le’go…!” he gasped.

Liz’s expression darkened.

Oh Powers, no, no—!

In a split second, Liz slapped the barrel of the gun away, launched her fist toward Colette’s chin in a vicious uppercut, and howled, “Let him GO!”

Colette gave an enraged shriek as the two tussled. Liz’s fists flew, catching her face and stomach while Colette’s rings grazed Liz’s cheek as her hand flew to her hair with lightning speed. Liz nearly screamed when Colette yanked her head back, nearly tearing out her fiery red curls. Above them, the gun’s muzzle swayed aloft, bobbing almost forgotten above their heads.

Liz fought hard, catching Colette’s wrist in a vice grip. Her arm shook with the effort of keeping her opponent in place, but she staunchly resisted every plot to gain the upper hand, and snarled through gritted teeth when her hair pulled tight.

They staggered further from the fountain, but Burton, in his pursuit of a front-row seat, stepped into Pete’s line of view. The girls yelled, but he couldn’t see what triggered furious caterwauling.

Boots slid over stone, fabric suddenly shifted, and—

CRACK!

The muzzle flash was as blinding as the shouts and resounding shot were deafening. Amidst the chaos, the boys’ hold on Pete slackened, allowing him to drag in a desperate breath and wail, “LIZ!”

His stomach lurched; from the corner of his eye, he saw Burton move in—towards Liz, who laid on the ground below Colette.

Nothing the boys could do would stop Pete from struggling. Fuelled by terrified fury, he writhed and kicked against their hold, and through the bruising pain, wrenched his scarf from their hands. The release was sudden, but he had no time to stop; one final buck let him bury his elbow into someone’s ribs and launch himself away, toppling another to the ground. With his full weight behind him, he sent a clumsy punch flying into Burton’s face. Hot pain bloomed across his knuckles.

The punch connected with a muted crack, jerking Burton’s head to the side. Pete drew back his shaking hand, cradling it as it throbbed.

A hush fell over both sides.

Burton slowly turned on Pete, wiping his jaw and working it slowly. He eyed the dark smear on his hand before lifting his wrathful gaze to Pete, baring his teeth like a hound denied its fun far too many times; and, like the prey it hunted, Pete shrunk back with eyes as wide as saucers.

“B—B—Burto—” he began to plead.

Burton stormed forward, seizing Pete’s arm in a bruising grip and wrestled him back into the gang’s hold, heedless of Pete’s frantic thrashing and yelling. A stray backwards kick caught one of his assailants in the leg, throwing him off balance. As he fell, his sudden weight almost pulled him free, but one wobbly kick could never have been enough.

A fist slammed into Pete’s gut, leaving him coughing and choking against the spasms of his diaphragm. Not a second later, his arms were again pinned tightly behind his back. Between wheezing pants, Pete let out a whine at the sudden, painful strain on his shoulders.

Liz growled again, spitting and cussing up at Colette who stood triumphantly over her, “I’ll make ye sorry,” she seethed, “I’ll fuckin’ kill all ye useless wank stains. Ye’re dirt, Burton.”

Pete gasped with relief. It was like a massive weight had lifted off his chest, and he could finally breathe again; Liz was okay, she was alive.

It didn’t last long though. Anxiety quickly resumed its grip on his heart when his eyes found the gun still strained down at Liz.

“Try it, bitch,” Colette sneered, victory turning her voice smarmy. She flicked off the safety the second Liz twitched to strike. “Ah-uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Dovey.”

Liz bared her teeth in a snarl, but laid still. “Ye’re a fuckin’ coward, Colette,” she spat, “ye’re pissweak, ye’re nothin’, that’s why ye need the gun. Can’t beat me on yer own. How does it feel provin’ that I’m better than you even when ye win, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Colette snapped and spat on Liz, “slag.”

Liz’s features twisted with disgust, but before she could retaliate, Colette yanked her up by the arm and half-dragged her back along the path. Liz yelled as she went, but Pete couldn’t discern the words over his heaving breaths and roaring blood in his ears. He just hoped she had enough sense to stay away—the guilt of getting her caught up tonight weighed on him enough.

…And, after this… he would want to stagger home and tend his wounds alone.

Once they were gone, Burton seized Pete’s throat with one hand and buried his other in his wiry auburn hair. “Since when did you have a death-wish, Spencer?” he said, fury melting into sadistic triumph. In the dim light, his eyes glittered with the obvious glee of Pete’s thundering pulse beneath his palm. “You know what happens when you resist.”

“Y—d-don’t—ye w-wouldn’t—! Pl—please, don’t!” Pete choked out.

Burton smiled. “You can let go now,” he said to the boys holding him, “I think he got all uppity because his girlfriend was involved; he knows better than to make things worse.”

“Hey, what’re’ye talkin’ about, Burton? What’d’ye mean?” asked one, though he and his friend did as they were told and released Pete’s arms, leaving him to stumble forward toward Burton.

In less than a second, the bastard had a cruel grip on his shirt and wrist. “Let’s just say I know a dirty, little, secret,” he replied, shifting his weight, forcing Pete to move with him… back toward the fountain.

Pete’s pulse quickened, his stomach dropped, and his blood turned to ice. He shook his head. He had to run, had to get away as quickly as he could—but he’d never be strong or fast enough to escape, if he was even able to stand by the time Burton was done. But, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t actually—! It’d be too far; Pete would die! Surely he knew that!

“It really would be a shame if your silly little friends were to find out,” he said, digging his nails into the fresh burns on Pete’s palm, drawing a choked yelp. “Oh, but I wonder what your mummy would think. Are you scared she won’t love you anymore, Petey?”

Pete squirmed against his grip, holding back panicked tears and biting out, “No! Sh-she would—she would!”

“I’m not so sure about that, Petey, and I don’t think you are either,” he purred before leaning close and whispering in to his ear, “looney.”

She would! She—she has to—she’s my ma!

“She could never love a worm like you.”

Tears streamed down Pete’s cheeks. “Ye’re wrong!” he cried, and surged forward, slamming his head into Burton’s with a sickening crack.

Burton howled and grabbed Pete’s neck again, squeezing tight and moving his other hand to his hair. Pete screamed and choked, clawing at his neck with blunt nails and stumbled back with a sudden push. Suddenly, he was moving, going down, down—

A blinding lightning bolt of pain seared across his vision.

Pete cried out, writhing on the ground, kicking at Burton’s legs, anything to make him let go. His head throbbed with sharp, stabbing pain.

“Oh, does that hurt, worm?”

Pete’s lips parted, but little more than a squeak escaped. Yes! Yes! So much—let go—!

“Stop struggling and I’ll let go,” Burton said.

It took every ounce of strength in Pete to stop fighting the agonising, choking pressure at his neck, but when he did, Burton kept his word and let up, though still kept him pinned to cold stone with a knee at his chest. “That’s better isn’t it,” Burton said. “You’re starting to remember your place, Spencer.”

“Woah… he’s just… laying there. What the fuck Burton,” breathed one of the boys who now stood behind him. “How do you get him to do that?”

Burton merely smiled down at Pete, who gulped, ducking his chin.

The other said, “I bet he’d let you do anything,” and made a crude, terrifying gesture.

Pete tensed and his eyes grew wide, but he didn’t dare twitch with Burton atop him to feel the slightest hint of resistance. Burton didn’t move either. Their eyes met only briefly, though it felt far longer than the fleeting second it was. Pete expected to find cruel hunger in those earthy depths. Instead, there was an odd, unreadable expression that cast his features further into shadow.

Pete swallowed.

Burton’s eyes moved to the side to catch his other friend in his peripheral, face twisting as if he’d tasted something foul.

Before he knew it, Pete was being dragged upright by the hair. Each yank drew another pathetic yelp, but he dared not resist, not even when the tension tore small wounds in his scalp. “No,” Burton said flatly. “He’ll listen to this.” With his full weight behind him, Burton violently shoved Pete’s head down to the water’s rippling surface.

A short scream forced itself from Pete’s chest. He managed to catch himself on the cold, stone edge with a strained grunt, but Burton did not let up. He pressed his head down further until he was so close, he could smell the faint, crisp scent of water, could feel the coolness radiating from it. Pete was in no position to fight, but still he resisted, gulping down air, holding his position with all his strength despite the terror that lit his nerves on fire and threatened to send him down. He shook under the strain. Burton could easily force Pete’s head into the water, but didn’t, toying with him; and he was entirely at Burton’s mercy.

“No—nonono, n-no, don’t,” Pete stammered, eyes wide.

“What’s the matter, Pete, afraid of a little water?”

Pete couldn’t think. With his mind frozen by panic, he could only utter a single, frightened plea; “Burton, d-don’t, p-please—”

“You should’ve thought about that before you humiliated me in front of everyone and jeopardised my school record,” Burton said with a growl, and plunged Pete into the icy water below.

Horror and adrenaline shot through Pete’s body, shocked by the cold. He didn’t even have the chance to scream; instead, he was forced to clamp his mouth shut and expel the water before it rushed down his throat from a reflexive breath in. Pete fought again—he had to get out—but Burton’s hold stayed firm.

In that position, bent over the fountain with the bastard pressing his head and shoulders down, it was impossible to get back up. His muscles burnt with the strain of resistance. He needed air. How long could he hold out for? He’d lose everything if he gave in now.

Without warning, Burton jerked Pete’s head, tearing loose more auburn strands.

His lungs burnt. It took everything in him not to breathe, the water beckoning him with its cool, relieving caress, but the precious few seconds he had left were running out. Darkness crept across his vision.

Burton… let me up, please…

He did not.

He’ll let me up… right…? Powers, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t let me die, would he…?

Pete would be as good as dead if Burton held him down too long, he had to know that. He had to. Even though Pete was fairly sure Burton didn’t have it in him to kill, a spark of doubt flickered in his mind; just how valuable was his punching bag?

His consciousness was slipping.

After what felt like an eternity, wind finally hit Pete’s face, turning the chilly water clinging to his skin bitingly cold. He hung limply from Burton’s tearing hold, mouth gaping desperately, trying vainly to swallow down as much air as he could. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Burton watching him, with glittering eyes and parted, upturned lips. Pete couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t make a single sound, he couldn’t breathe—

Pete tried harder still to drag in breaths, but his lungs remained stubbornly sealed, instead forcing air through the set of gills that flared beneath his scarf. It was enough to delay the darkness that threatened to swallow him, but not to relieve the burn of his muscles. Pete blinked hard and gasped again, a wet, horribly choked sound. His lungs loosened the tiniest fraction for a split second, allowing a minute wisp of fresh air past before closing again. Tears streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from the water dripping down his face that he blindly mopped up with his sleeves. Thankfully, only the tips of his hair were soaked.

“Aw, what’s wrong, runt?” Burton sneered.

Between his body’s weak attempts at coughing and his instinctual fight for air, “C—C—” were the only sounds Pete could manage.

“Can’t speak either?” Burton jeered, encouraging the others to join his fun.

Finally, the last of his strength ebbed, and he faltered, stumbling in Burton’s grip, teeth bared in a grimace at the tear of more hair. His world tilted and faded. Dimly, Pete heard the muted laughter and shouts from around him, but they drifted further away every second. He could barely hear Burton speak; “I can fix that for ya,” he said, spinning Pete to face him. Despite how distant he sounded, the steam of his breath rolled against Pete’s face.

Pete folded when a fist sunk brutally into his stomach. All at  once, he wanted to cough, retch, and try again to gasp for air. He found himself on his hands and knees with his head resting on the cold stone. More tears streamed down his face, this time, from the violent coughing that gripped his chest between the ragged, wheezing breaths that signalled his body’s switch to air.

Pain blossomed where the punch connected.

It hurt. He’d probably find a dark welt later. His limbs were weak, his stomach churned, and he shook so badly he almost crumpled the rest of the way down, but the immense relief of the cool air he gulped down outweighed it all. Thank the Powers, he thought over and over, thank the Powers, thankyou.

The respite was short-lived.

More pain exploded across Pete’s cheek, swiftly followed by the dull crack of his head colliding with the fountain’s ornate stone wall behind him and the dull thud of his body hitting the ground. Pete groaned. Everywhere ached and throbbed.

Burton kneeled in front of him, dragging his head up once more to take in the sorry sight before him, to relish the power he held so tightly in his fist. He hissed, “Don’t ever cross me again.”

Pete made a choked sound, unable to control his trembling. He couldn’t stand bending to Burton’s every whim, allowing himself to be beaten and robbed at every turn without so much as a word of protest. Shame heated his cheeks, but what more could he do when this was the furthest fighting would take him? There was nothing he could do, not when he stood to lose so much more than his dignity and lunch credits. “Y—yes, yes Burt-t—Burton,” he wheezed, voice breaking into coughs.

“Good lad,” Burton said, carelessly releasing Pete’s head to roughly pat his cheek before standing, “Let’s go. I think he’s learnt his lesson.”

It was over. It was over.

The notion repeated in Pete’s mind while his body sagged with relief and exhaustion, still heaving, drinking down the air with ragged pants as if he’d been starved for a lifetime. He was thankful that Burton hadn’t taken it as far as he could’ve; it would’ve been so easy—just a couple more seconds was all it would’ve taken. Though the fountain’s cool wall at his side steadied him as he regained his breath, his heart skipped beats at the thought, sending a weakening queasiness through him. Footsteps crunched along the frosty grass, continuing until they clacked unmistakable along the cobblestone surrounding the fountain.

Burton yelled, “Enough! I said enough! Don’t you dare, you stupid pricks’ll drown ‘im!” but the footsteps continued, their owners cooing.

Pete tried to stand, to crack open his eyes to see his assailants and run the other way, but the sudden, intense light of the moon blinded him to all but hazy silhouettes. They grabbed him easily, mocking Burton, “Only a pussy would walk away now, Burton, you’re not chicken, are you? The bitch is so easy to push around! But if you insist, we’ll have a turn with ‘im.”

Every vein in Pete’s body iced over. Their turn.

Before he knew it, Pete was yelping in protest as the boys ripped off his scarf with bruising force and dropped it to the ground to be trampled and forgotten. “No—Help!” he cried, “Burton!”

“Aw,” said one, “Pete doesn’t want his poor scarf ruined!”

Burton yelled again, but no help came.

Once again, Pete was plunged into the frigid waters far deeper than Burton had ever forced him. Credits gleamed on the bottom, their rectangular faces glimmering with reflected moonlight broken only by the waves of Pete’s struggles. Two of them, no doubt, belonged to him and Liz. They were beautiful, like the quiet moment they shared before… this. If not for the hands buried painfully in his hair, or the danger of the position he was in, Pete could easily have felt at peace among the silvery wishes.

It took even less time for his lungs to scream for air, for him to start struggling ever more desperately; he couldn’t withstand this again, but he could only scrabble uselessly against their hold. They yanked his head back up, holding him up for a second before thrusting him back down.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t take that precious chance, that invaluable sliver of time to steal a breath and save himself. Their hands were so close—how could they miss the glaring difference between him and them? Someone cussed when Pete struggled again, clumsily kicking his leg out behind him. As punishment, they shook him. Pete’s lungs burned. He needed to breathe; it took all his strength to hold the little air he had left. His gills ached, begging to take over and keep him alive, but he couldn’t let that happen; he couldn’t give in, he couldn’t. If he failed, he’d die. Pete placed his hand on the bottom and pushed hard.

Another violent jolt shook Pete’s world, sending the last of his breath bubbling to the surface, torn from his grasp. With empty lungs and exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs, his assailant’s weight pressed his chest further into the hard rim of the fountain, though the pain seemed far away. His eyes drooped. Darkness crept from the corners of his vision. Pete’s struggles died down further, but none of Burton’s gang seemed to notice until Pete’s hand slipped with another jerk, sinking him.

Pete had no choice but to surrender.

Cold, relieving, terrifying water rushed down his jaw to his gills, and he opened his mouth to greet it. Greedily, he gulped it down, gills flaring with each deep, shaky gasp, and as he did, the sensation of impending change flooded every corner of his body.

I’m goin’ ta die.

Slowly, Pete’s features began to change. The tips of his ears grew pointed, poking above the water to meet icy air, and the webbing between his fingers grew further and further. Under his sleeves, fins began to protrude from his skin and press against the fabric of his shirt, and scales slowly emerged to cover the skin of his hands and forearms, but still, the cruel hands of the humans held him down. How long would it take for them to notice the strength drain from him? His legs buckled from under him, too weak to take his weight. Unease permeated the atmosphere above him, punctuated by the loosening and changing grip.

It took multiple of Burton’s gang to haul Pete from the water by the scruff of his coat. They expected him to move, to keep struggling, but Pete hung limp in their grasp, too exhausted to do more than curb the loll of his head and weakly gasp for air.

“What the fuck? Is he dead?!” one exclaimed. “He wasn’t under long enough!”

“Oh my Powers,” said another, “look.”

Pete shuddered when fingers brushed his gills. Tears streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from the water that ran down from his hair. At the base of his spine, a thick tail pushed itself out over the waistband of his jeans, and his legs were more than halfway fins. There was no way out.

“Shit,” Burton breathed.

When Pete opened his mouth to beg for mercy, all that came out was a bout of hoarse coughs and horribly choked gasps for air. He brought a scaled, webbed hand to the wrist of whoever was closer, but his grip was too weak to pull them off. Instead, they yelped, and Pete felt himself drop. It took a moment for his mind to register the sudden, splitting pain at his forehead, and the warmth dripping from his hairline to his brow from where he slammed against stone. Everything spun. His whole head ached, his ears rang, and he could barely make his eyes focus on the figure that lingered while the others fled, leaving him to finish shifting on the ground. Pete could barely see his silhouette, but the voice, unusually perturbed, belonged to Burton, who swore again at the way Pete’s long, pointed ears drooped, and a weak, gurgling whine caught in his throat after another bout of wheezing coughs. He too turned and fled, discarding Pete as if he were a broken toy.

Pete was so weak. Along his still-growing tail, glimmering, snow white scales surfaced, mottled by an orange hue identical to the colour of the fins that grew from the small of his back and tip of his tail… and the ones where his legs used to be.

He couldn’t move.

Small sobs built in Pete’s chest. Blindly, he turned his head, searching for his satchel. He needed the small towel he kept inside it, but like this, he couldn’t see more than a foot ahead. The cobblestone was chilly beneath his hands as he groped along it, hoping, praying to the Powers that his hand would brush against it, but it never did. He cried. His world still spun, and his head throbbed harder still; it felt warm. Pete didn’t realise he’d fallen back to the stone again, he just hurt. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even tell which way was up. For a while, Pete laid there, trying and failing to control the overwhelmed tempo of his ragged breaths and stifle his anguished sobs until the mist that seeped through the shadows finally crawled across the open ground, obscuring all but the closest objects.

Where was Liz? She was there earlier. She’d been hurt. Pete tried again to get up, only for the slipperiness of his scales to yank his hand from under him, sending him crashing back down. He heaved another sob, curling his arms around his head, bracing himself against the sharp ache that lanced through his skull. The lone gunshot echoed in his mind in time with each throb, over and over, tormenting him—he needed to get up and find her, help her, make sure she was safe, but he was too weak, too useless to be anything but a burden. He couldn’t remember when the shot rang out, if it was before or after she was dragged away.

He was so tired. The uncertainty weighed heavily on his soul.

How long he spent splayed out on the cobbled surround, propped awkwardly against the wall of the fountain shivering, he couldn’t be sure, but it was long enough for him to wonder if there was any real reason for him to try to get up anymore when all he did was hurt people. As the haze that blanketed his mind grew thicker, his consciousness drifted, he found himself hoping above everything else that Liz was okay. She had to be okay. She always was.

…Where was she…?

“Liz…?” Pete whimpered, but there was no reply.

Pete needed something too, he had somewhere to be, but the thought, as easily as it came, slipped from his mind. He was so, so tired. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he’d remember… Maybe he’d wake up in his bed warm and safe and not hurting, and this was all a dream.

Where was he…?

A long sigh escaped his cold, battered body, eyes finally drooping shut. Several pairs of booted footsteps jogged over frozen grass.

Previous

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[aldi-spice]

So, I finished the first few chapters of my Eiland fic. For now, it's more of a novelization of the events with some backstory for the mysterious farmer, but once I'm done with the tutorial mode (whenever Eiland is mentioned), I'll start writing some cute ideas I might have (hopefully by then I'll have some good ones).

Anyways, here's chapter 1 and 2 (which I'll also post on AO3)

Chapter 1

The rain was pouring as I stumbled through the streets after another unsuccessful venture into the outskirts of the town, known for its filth and grime, the only thing worthwhile over there was the nice stack of coins, waiting on my guild master's desk. The smell of wet soil and other unidentified substances hit my nostrils as I ran past the now empty streets, no one would be outside in this weather, which made it all the more convenient to sneak into dark alleys and poke my little head through unsupervised windows and “borrowing” whatever my sticky hands could reach. Sure, it was dirty money, but it was money nonetheless, and life in the capital was far from easy.

And it seems like my luck just ran out, as I ran aimlessly around, looking for a place to hide from the angry butcher whose wife woke up screaming bloody murder as my hand unfortunately landed right on her face while I was looking for some easy loot. How could I have known their bed is right under the window? That was fully their own fault for keeping it wide open during a storm, and she didn’t have to scream so loud, it’s not like I was trying to harm this poor pregnant woman taking a midday nap. But now was not the time to argue with an angry man who had more experience skillfully taking apart cows and pigs than I could ever imagine, and his knife collection was also something to consider when trying to have a civil discussion. I ran and ran, tripping over my own two feet as I made a sharp turn and ran straight into what looked like an old and run down tavern, making an abrupt halt as I ran straight into another drunk patron. No time for apologies, I could feel the butcher's angry stare scan the tavern. I ducked quickly, crawling on muddy, slippery floors in between drunken feet. I feel a few of them kick me and trip, I feel a sharp pain in my left hand and notice a long, red streak running down the palm of my hand. Great, must have cut it on a nail or something, as if I needed tetanus on top of all my other problems. I crawl for what feels like an eternity, finally I see the crowd thin out, and I can feel a breeze of fresh air hit me in the face, with new-found energy I manage to sneak out the back, finally able to catch my breath for the first time in what feels like forever. I sigh.

As my eyes scan the dimly lit, stormy sky, I quickly remember why I was here in the first place. In a panic, I grab the satchel attached to my belt, feeling for its contents, and I find nothing. Empty, and sporting a big hole.

“Shit!”, I spat out. It must have ripped on the dodgy tavern floor. Too dangerous to go back inside however, I’ve already suspicious from barging in like I was trying to escape a crazed murderer, which isn't far from the truth, but I’m not exactly the victim in this situation. Besides, the bar is way too crowded to start looking for a few loose coins now. I sighed again.

My eyes begin to burn as I hold back tears that threaten to spill at any moment. The boss will be furious if I come back empty-handed, just remembering what happened to a few of my friends sends a shiver down my spine. As I try to collect myself, I look at my surroundings, dirty, rundown houses, everywhere I look. My breath hitches and I start to sweat again as I realize what just had happened. I’m stealing from these people.

A sudden feeling of disgust overtakes me, and my bloodied hand clutches my stomach as I hunch over and empty my breakfast on the cobblestone pavement. The burning sensation in my throat is only overshadowed by the ache in my chest, realizing what I’ve been doing all these years in the guild. I start heaving again, remembering how many of those households must have suffered hardships because of my actions. I knew it was wrong deep down, but seeing a poor pregnant woman scream in terror made me realize just how wrong my actions were.

Having managed to mostly calm down, I wipe my mouth with my healthy hand, not wanting to risk another infection, and wipe the remnants of my breakfast on my mud-covered pants. This has to end now, I think to myself, and I pick myself up again, a little wobbly on my feet from all the running I’ve been doing today. The rain is still drumming on my head, hardly covered by a dirty and soaked hood.

I take a step and feel something soft and squishy by my feet. It doesn’t feel like the usual mud and waste, intrigued, I look down.

“Looking for adventures to move to Mistria!”

“Mistria?”, I think out loud. I’ve never heard of that town before, but starting life anew far away from the capital sounds very tempting. The advert is soaked in dirty water and barely legible, but the promise of free farm land and a town where no one knows my name is more than enough to make up my mind. I grab the already disintegrating flyer and head to my small rental, right above a pub.

My feet start to ache again when I reach the steps to my small home, but now is not the time to rest, I have to get out of this town, I have to pack my things and head to the adventures guild and volunteer before anyone else can. I need this more than anyone, it’s not safe here for me anymore. I pack hastily whatever my hands can reach. Grabbing a handful of warm winter clothes and a straw hat from my near empty closet, I stuff them all in an almost never used backpack, finally its time to shine, I think to myself.

Again, I sigh. Just like that, my life is about to change forever. I lay out the soggy flyer on my table, attempting to decipher whatever is written on it.

“... Capable adventurer… farmland…”, I read out loud, it’s not like anyone can hear me talk to myself anyway, the patrons downstairs are too busy getting drunk on cheap booze to care, I can hear them shout and laugh loudly. I roll my eyes and grind my teeth, how did I manage to tolerate this for so long? Now is not the time to reflect on the past, however, I'm leaving this place for the better. I sling the backpack over my shoulder and almost come flying down the stairs, with the advert clung tightly against my chest, I hastily make my way to the adventures guild to start my new life. Finally, things are finally looking up.

I’m moving to Mistria.

—

Chapter 2

I’m exhausted from the journey, my feet ache for a rest and my mouth feels drier than the desert, but I must persist, wouldn't want to disappoint my new landlord on the first day, would I, now? I drag my feet along the dirt path, towards a sign pointing west at Mistria.

Finally, I see a clearing in the distance, and with a new pep in my step, I start trotting towards the light, the sky finally being visible through the leaves, and I realize how late it has gotten already. I hope my landlord will be understanding of my tardiness, it’s not easy finding a small town in the middle of nowhere.

My walking speed picks up again as I see a figure in the distance. I stop just on the other side of the river, double-checking if my directions were correct, just as the mystery man approaches me.

“Hello there!”, I hear a deep voice coming from his direction. I look over to see him leaning against a lamppost, he looks up and our eyes meet. He’s rather tall and wears a dark cloak, a fellow adventurer maybe? Before I have time to respond, he’s already jumping on the broken bridge separating the two of us with ease.

“Didn’t expect to see anyone else out this way.”, he said to me, finally standing directly in front of me.

“The roads have been a real mess since the earthquake.”, he informs me. That would explain the broken bridge. I simply nod at his statement. He proceeds to introduce himself.

His name is Balor, he’s a traveling merchant, running his shop in this city. Not an adventurer, then, even though he looks like he knows how to pick a lock or two. But let’s not get too hasty on the judgment, yet, I barely know the person, and it seems he’s asked me a question.

“You’re here at Lady Adeline’s request? She mentioned someone had taken her up on her offer.”, he smirked, noticing my absent-minded state. I shake myself out of my thoughts in an attempt to save face.

“She said she was looking for a capable adventurer!”, I said, hoping he could help me find this lady Adeline he mentioned. Was she going to be my new landlady?

“We sure could use one!”, he said with a smile, as he suggested bringing me to my new farmland. I quickly agreed, not fond of the idea of getting lost again, after all the trouble I went through just having to find my way here.

“Let’s go.”, he said and hopped on a big fallen slab of stone, which I can only presume to be the remains of this broken bridge. He mentioned an earthquake before, could this have been the act of the earthquake? I’m pulled out of my thoughts when he calls for me from the other side, beckoning me to follow suit, and for some reason, I trust him and jump over the gaps, while almost slipping and tumbling backwards into the water, however. He didn’t notice, good. He exhaled sharply after making it to the other side.

“We should be able to make it before it gets dark. Come on, we’ll head straight to your new farmstead!” he said, looking at me, expecting me to follow. He’s already started walking ahead, when I had to jog after him to keep up. Does he not realize I’ve been traveling all day and might need a breather? “Bastard.”, I thought, shooting an evil glance in his direction, and he was none the wiser. Finally, I reached another, this time intact, bridge and shortly after I saw a field, overrun with trees, weeds and rocks. In a poor attempt to hide my disappointment, I direct my attention to the cottage, at least I get a roof over my head. I hear Balor speak up again.

“Lord Eiland, look who I found out at the edge of the forest!”, he said excitedly, as if he just found a rare treasure in the depths of the mines. My eyes scan the darkness, looking for the new face whose name I now also need to memorize.

“Ah, the new farmer, I presume!”, he came running over, seemingly equally excited as Barol, but his enthusiasm seemed more innocent in nature. His pale pink hair and gold-laced clothes looked completely out of place, he must not be familiar with farming wearing pastel colors. Then, it struck me, Balor did just call him “Lord Eiland”... These aren’t landlords but lord lords, royal, monarchs, rich and probably ignorant to the real world. As he proceeds to greet me and formally introduce himself, I swallow hard. I had no intention of meeting Lords and Ladies today, I barely know what the protocol is, shifting uncomfortably, he notices my uncertainty and speaks up again.

“So, what do you think? Nice, isn’t it? You’re right outside of town, great soil for farming.”

I silently follow him to the small cottage, illuminated by a small lantern. It looks cozy, I think to myself. I nod in agreement.

Looking closer at the cottage, the walls are made of rustic looking bricks, logs on the side and a small planter in front of the window. It’s not bad, considering I'm getting this for free, I can’t help but smile, I feel serene, finally. I feel like I can relax. No more thieving and scamming unsuspecting victims out of their hard-earned money, I can start over again.

I can feel Eiland glancing at me, I must look insane, staring at this run down shed like it’s heaven sent. The lights inside the house are on, and I can see the shadow of a figure move inside. Might that be this Lady Adeline that Balor mentioned before?

“Let’s go inside, shall we?”, a sudden voice said, I've been completely absorbed in my own thoughts I forgot he was here. Eiland smiles at me and I return the polite gesture in turn. I let him take the lead and follow him inside.

“Ah-”, is all he says. There’s a woman standing in the middle of the barely furnished room, a bed to my right with no bedding, a rug to my left… it will do, I tell myself.

“Just a minute!”, the woman said, blushing. It seems we caught her in the middle of something. Before either of us gets the chance to say something, she pushes us out the door, and we’re left outside in the quiet, cold embrace of the night. That went well, I cuss quietly under my breath. Eiland must have noticed it, to my annoyance, and tries to settle my nerves.

“It, er, appears we’re not quite ready for you.”, he said apologetically. He looks at me sheepishly, and I feel immediately regret my little outburst. His face is flushed in a light pink, only illuminated by the old lantern nearby and the small amount of light flowing through the tiny window from the inside of the cottage. I gulp down my pride and apologize quietly.

“Should we go in and help?”, I said, trying to ease the tension I created.

“No need!”, the woman said, as she darted outside to shut the idea down before it could get in motion. She disappeared as soon as she appeared, and was inside again.

We look at each other befuddled, he chuckles awkwardly, and we settle into another round of uncomfortable silence.

Finally, after what felt like and eternity, the woman steps outside again to address the both of us.

“You must be the new farmer! I’m Adeline, thank you so much for answering my request!”, she said, slightly out of breath and a little to fast, it’s clear she’s been working hard on something inside the cottage. I just nod and smile at her, worried I'll let my bad mood show again, I press my lips together into a thin smile. She beams at me, everyone seems particularly excited about my arrival, I wonder why?

“My brother and I are so excited to have a real adventurer here to help the town”, she said, smiling brightly at me. Her enthusiasm is contagions and I can’t help my smile back at her, she seems to down to earth, not what I expected a Lady of this town to act like. She seems so down to earth. Curious. In the capital, everyone always shunned the monarchy, but they don’t seem like bad people.

“Why don’t you come inside?”, she said, not waiting for a response and heading back inside again. Eiland and I followed her and I now got a better look at the cozy inside.

It’s a lot cleaner than it was just a few minutes ago, she must have dusted and swept the floor in record time, it’s almost impressive. The bed, now adorned with a fluffy green and yellow quilt, has been moved to the other side of the room, it looks old and heavy, making me wonder how strong she really was. After taking the interior in, she welcomed me to my new home.

Eiland proudly showed off sparse furniture of the cottage, and Adeline gives me a bowl of vegetable soup as a welcoming gift before they both bid farewell and leave me up to my own devices.

As soon as they’re both out of earshot, and we'll past the premises of my farm, I finally let out a heavy sigh. This journey has been a long one, but I'm finally here, in a new town away from the loud street vendors and the annoying drunken patrons partying until the sun rises again, hardly able to get any shut-eye in the meantime. I let my backpack fall on the hardwood floor and throw myself into the feathery pillows of the bed, burying my face in the freshly washed linen. Fancy, I think to myself smiling, as my eyes feel heavy, and I drift into a deep slumber for the first time in what feels like forever.

[briefunknownnerd]

Thank you all so much for the love and support on the prologue of my story!!

The first chapter is posted on my Ao3, so I thought I’d post it here too to get a bit of traction :)

Let me know if the link doesn’t work!

Thank you so much. I love you all

Ems <3

Simon was used to the dark. He embraced it, the familiar shadows that seemed to follow him wherever he went. And that was how he found himself on the roof of the barracks, a cigarette balanced delicately between his gloved fingers. The base was quiet, most of its attendants sleeping save for the measly patrols that didn’t give two shits about anything. To be fair, it was almost three in the morning. Simon knew if he was on night shift he wouldn’t care either- because he had been on night shift for a long, long time before being promoted.

It was fucking freezing outside, but that didn’t stop the wraith. He took in a long drag, watching the moon and the twinkling stars. Maybe the cigarette smoke would finally kill him, he thought. He always figured suffocation or lung cancer would be a painful death but drowning, he heard, was something more peaceful. Maybe it was the same? His thumb fingers the small round cog on the lighter, making lame sparks which, besides the glowing red tip of his cigarette, was the only light up on the roof.

The smoke blew out in a white puff from his mouth and nose, the wind dissolving it as soon as it exited him. His blond hair ruffled, and Simon tugged his hood on, drawing the hoodie strings just a little tighter. He knew he looked like a proper idiot, but fuck it, his ears were cold and he was all alone.

As he gazed back out, wondering what might have been all the way out at the end of the universe- if there was an end- a shooting star arced across the vast night sky. Simon had half of a mind to make a wish. But, wishes were for children, he decided, and his childhood had ended at the ripe age of eight.

Taking another puff, he reached the end of his cigarette, and stubbed it out on the concrete ledge in front of him. It went out easily, a small hiss escaping the cancer stick. Another shooting star appeared, and he rolled his eyes.

“Must be a fuckin’ meteor shower or something,” he grumbled. “Stupid fucking stars.” He turned on his heel, pushing the roof access door open. He silently slunk down the stairs, keeping to the shadows. His safe places.

He got back to his room in the barracks after sneaking around empty, eerie hallways that were lit with blinding fluorescents where even he couldn’t find a hiding spot.

His room was decorated painfully plain, with only a pair of black curtains hanging above the only window in the small space. Simon locked the door and kicked off his combat boots, sighing with delight. He pulled his socks off, and tossed them in the direction of his closet- he would pick them up in the morning.

Simon made his way to the en suite bathroom he had- the perks of being a Lieutenant- and turned the shower on to scalding hot. Once steam started to billow out of the showerhead only when he stripped, not bothering to inspect himself in the mirror.

He knew what he looked like, and he frankly didn’t care.

Simon groaned as the hot water washes over his sore muscles, head tilting back to embrace the warmth.

He stood there for a few minutes, letting himself slowly relax under the water. And in those moments, the world faded away to nothing.

It was him, in perfect solitude. No missions, no expectations, and no rookies to train. No fighting, no war, no guns. No monsters, or hybrids, or humans. No angels, or anything else he didn’t understand. Just him and his thoughts, and the occasional tune he would hum quietly.

Simon washed his hair, and his body, washed and shaved his face, and sat in peace and quiet for a little longer until the water started to run cold.

And once it did, he shut the water off and stepped out onto the bath rug that had his feet imprinted on it from using it so many times.

He took the towel and dried his hair off first. Then, his body. Once he was done he wrapped the towel around his waist and took two quick steps to the vanity. He took a baby wipe- he couldn't stand thinking of buying himself makeup wipes- and removed the rest of the eye black that his face wash had missed.

He brushed his teeth and ran his fingers through his hair in a lame attempt to tame it, before rinsing his mouth out with mouthwash. After he spit, he went out to his room to dress for bed: only underwear and basketball shorts for him. Simon threw his towel back into the bathroom; it could be used for another time or two before he would need to wash it.

He collapsed into bed with a sigh and his bed creaked loudly, plugged his phone in and double-checked to make sure his alarm was set for the next day.

He laid on his back, eyes closed as he tried to fall asleep. But the moon seemed to race past in the night sky, and before he knew it, the sun had come up.

Simon turned his alarm off before it even had the chance to go off. Groaning, he got out of bed, and stumbled into his bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair. He dressed, and went to one of the rec rooms to grab a cup of tea. His teammates were waiting for him. Gaz, the harpy-shifter, Soap, the werewolf, and Price, the dragon-shifter.

“Morning,” Price said, clearing his throat as he sipped his coffee. Ghost merely gave him a grunt in acknowledgement, going to the sink so he could put water in the kettle to boil. Grabbing a mug, Simon plunked a tea bag into it, and waited. God, he hated mornings. Everything was too bright, too sunny, too… cheerful. He watched as his teammates conversed, chuckling as they talked about the events of yesterday, and what the day might bring.

Simon poured the now boiling water into his mug, watching as the small plastic-y bag turned the water brown with its contents.

For a split second, he wished he was normal like them.

Dunking his bag in the water a few more times, he blew on the scalding hot water, and took a small sip. He snapped himself back into reality knowing that never, at least not in his lifetime, that he would ever be considered normal. Accepting it, he leaned back against the counter and joined the conversation- only adding bits and pieces here and there- about what training they were going to do with the new recruits.

[analoceits]

mushroom rings & faery things chapter 1: loyalty

A03 link

note:

thanks to ChaosIsMyName on A03 for reading this over!! theyre the fucking best and yall should read their shit.

also uhh. felt fair to warn that i do NOT pull any punches on my body horror. its brief and skippable but i do get pretty intense when i do go with it soo, yeah. as well this is probably one of the darkest and messiest chapters in this whole fic, and the full promise of older brother remus wont come in till later [like chapter 3] so yeah 3 it will happen eventually but right now everyones too messy to be sweet. you can see the seeds of it start to grow tho!!

tags:

Disabled Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Fae, Body Horror, (for like 1 or 2 paragraphs but yknow), Fae Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Light Sides As Family (Sanders Sides), Found Family, Things look Worse Than They are, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders has a Cane, Remus Typical Gore Discussion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Discussions of Death/Grief, no one dies tho,

-

I’m so sorry,

I know you don’t want me to do this, but I know I need too. I can’t go another day not sure if Roman will live or die, and I doubt you guys can either. No matter what you say, I’m indebted to you. It’s time I pay that back. Go to the edge of the woods, my gift will wait there.

With endless loyalty, Virgil.

Virgil pocketed the note in silence. It was the last of many ugly, emotional, gut-wrenching drafts and the only one he could imagine having them read. The only one he had managed to write without crying. With it completed, he had nothing left to do here.

He took one last look at his room from the bed. It didn’t look familiar; he had cleaned up most of his things so they wouldn’t have too while grieving. Still, there were some marks of himself that he couldn’t hide under the bed. 

A scuff in the tile from his boots, old purple sheets torn where he pulled on them too hard, a single blind tied to the rest with green string where he broke it. Family carved into a bed post. Despite his best efforts, there was proof he had lived.

With that bittersweet thought, he pulled himself up off the bed and steadied himself with his cane. He smiled just barely, slowly making his way down the stairs and around the hall. As soon as he was off the stairs, his eyes locked on the front door, but he silently shook his head.

There was one stop before he had to leave.

It took care to ease the bedroom door open silently, but as soon as he did he was at Roman’s bedside. He couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted with guilt at the sight - white bandages wrapping around his stomach where a red sash should be. The only red left was that pouring out of his guts, now.

Between bouts of crying and frantically checking his bandages, Logan had called it a godly miracle he survived. That was, of course, right before Patton physically dragged him to bed for his own sake, but it still held some weight. Their luck couldn’t last them forever, though. 

His eyes darted down to his cane when the thought hit him. The cane was a gift from Roman, one he had carved for hours on hours with painstaking care after Virgil started to complain of his pain. The one with from your family carved under the handle in gentle letters. Virgil had to hold back tears of joy when he first used it.

It was the last gift Roman was able to give him, a gift to make sure he wasn’t in pain. Even with the cane, he couldn't help Patton forage, or Logan shop, or Roman hunt. The thought sent a strange spiraling guilt through Virgil, but it didn’t matter.

It didn’t, because he knew he could fix it anyway. No matter how high the price may be.

He slipped the note out of his pocket. It was so small in his hand, but it must’ve weighed ten thousand pounds with how hard it was to hold. He tucked it in between Roman’s fingers with painstaking care. It was the only spot he could think to leave it.

Sparing one last glance to Roman’s limp form, he turned his back on the bed. The satchel felt practically weightless when he pulled it over his shoulder - if you could even call it that. It was tiny, only enough to fill a small cup of milk and a tiny jar of honey. That was all he needed.

Right as he went to stand up, a sharp whimper sounded from behind him. He glanced back to Roman, twisting and turning fitfully in his bed between little cries. Right, nightmares. They had only gotten worse since his accident, Logan had mentioned.

He hesitated before turning around, but he knew he didn’t have the guts to leave him like that. He was loyal to him. His hands were practically shaking as he nervously brushed the hair out of Roman’s face and shushed him, “shh, it’s ok.. there you go, there you go bud. You ain’t got anything to fear, Ro.”

Slowly, Roman stopped his twisting and turning, quieting down. Still, there was the slightest furrow to his brow and Virgil couldn’t help the fond way he sighed. He leaned down over him, brushing a finger over his brow as he kissed his forehead.

As soon as he drew back up, there was a hand softly grasping at his wrist, and it took all his willpower to pull out of the grip. “I know,” he said as he fit the sheets back over Roman, “I don’t want me to leave either.”

It wasn’t hard to open the house door silently and it wasn’t hard to pace down the stone path without his boots or cane making a noise. No, that wasn’t hard, he had practiced. It was hard to not look back. It was so hard, to swallow his guilt and grief and not look at those unlit windows. 

He kept walking anyway.

Their house was near the edge of the woods, so he knew it wasn’t going to be a very long walk. Still, his entire body ached and he stumbled down the path as it turned from stone to gravel, then to dirt, then to overgrown grass. Brambles thickened on either side of the trail.

Finally, he reached the edge of the woods, and it was just as great and imposing as he remembered. Dark, thick leaves hung overhead and any trace of moonlight would be gone as soon as he passed under those trees. He knew he wouldn’t need the light, the path painstakingly memorized but the darkness felt endless nonetheless. 

With one deep breath he pushed between the leaves and made his way onto a deer path carved in the grass. There was just the barest shine from moonlight that managed to worm its way between leaves, and he thanked the heavens for that.

Every passing step through, though, had the moon’s light fading until pure black clawed at the edges of his vision and he could barely see his own boots. The old growth of the forest thickened around him as he went on.

He kicked through undergrowth and slapped at brambles with the edge of his cane. Thick brambles and thorns caught on the edges of his pants, as if the forest itself was pleading with him to head back, but he simply kicked through and continued. No matter what anyone said, he had a duty.

The walk was an hour at most, but it felt like ages. Every step he took he wanted nothing more to turn around and bolt home, but he was not a coward. He was loyal to a default; he would not give up when he was needed. Even if he couldn’t think to call himself a good person, he payed his debts.

Even with the misery, he had a slight bit of company. The sounds of nature churred around him; a breaking stick and then the delighted chirp of grasshoppers, a shrill whistle cry of a bird and then a distant splash from a pond out of his view. The closer he got to his destination, the louder and more frequent the noises became; an accompanying orchestra. He didn’t know if it was a hopeful heroic swell or a tragic one.

Finally, the woods started to clear around him; giving up on fighting him. Slowly, at first, brambles let up and the barest glint of moonlight shone through the trees, and then all at once as the last bit of undergrowth caught on his boots and he stumbled into the clearing.

It was uncomfortably beautiful. The full moon was bright, shining and hearty (he was sure it had been a half-moon when he had entered, but he didn’t think that mattered where he was.) The stars glittered above head along with it and it felt like they were winking down at him for some inside joke he was now in on.

The main thing that caught his eye, however, was the ring of mushrooms. They were stark, bright red and it briefly reminded his of Roman’s garish sash - then it reminded him of his blood, and his heart sank. It was fine, he told himself, he was making it up now.

He took a few paces ahead and then dropped to his knees right in front of the faery ring, carefully and slowly removing the pack from his shoulder and unloading the contents. Milk, honey, and a bowl. Perfect.

A strange sense of calm came over him as he placed the bowl in the farthest point of the ring. It was a painful, aching calm; like he was planning his own funeral. A singular mourner holding vigil for his own life, a living corpse. It was grim, but more than fitting.

The milk and honey smelled disgustingly sweet as he poured them both into the bowl, even if his hands were shaking. The moon and the stars glowed overhead like lanterns - no, eyes, eyes burning into the back of his skull. They waited to see what he would do next; lions waiting to pounce on him.

As soon as the contents were poured out, he lifted himself up with cane and took a step into the circle. His body rocked with invisible force until he dropped and was kneeling, hands desperately wrapped around the still up-right cane like in prayer. It wasn’t really that funny to him, but he didn’t try to move.

Instead, he bowed his head, terror suddenly pounding through his ribs and lungs like a horribly off tune song. Grief ran through jaw and throat, wrapping around it like a snake and making it hard to breath. Grief for himself and grief for growing old with them. Even if he knew he needed to do this, he missed home.

Still, through the aching pain, a deep, indescribable burning set ablaze in his finger tips and deep in his chest, and every spot where Roman’s nimble fingers would cart through his hair when he needed it. He thought that warmth might be called loyalty.

“I have an offering,” his voice was more hoarse than he had expected, but it was good enough. For a brief, but completely nauseating moment, nothing happened. The stars continued to blink above and moonlight danced in his vision.

Then blood welled through the grass, and the earth became an open wound. Dirt pushed itself apart and away, grass seeming to sway to avoid what was crawling out of the earth. Blood and sap, wood and flesh arose all at once in a spiraling tower of something, something that should not exist. Skin knit over pulsating, ugly flesh and a pair of eyes stared at him for something that was supposed to be a face.

Finally, something human like was formed. Human-like, because those few seconds taught Virgil that whatever fae were, they were not human. It stared down at him, a strange blank curiosity on its features. 

As he stared back at it, something suddenly clicked in his brain and he was sure he was going to be sick. He wanted to be wrong, but the only question left was a simple one. Why the hell was Roman here?

No; it wasn’t exactly Roman, but at the same time.. it could only be him. It was a strange, gross sight. The same dorky smile that showed just one too many teeth, but the teeth were as sharp as blades. The same striking green eyes, but an odd cold rested behind them.

The figure - person - fae, fae, had scars littering up and down his skin and ungodly green eyes and a wide smile. Passion and adventure and want burned behind his eyes but it was wrong, scarily feral, scarily.. animal. 

At a closer look, he was far too old as well. A decade older than Roman, at least. Age weighed on his face in the form of crows feet and a thick mustache, the same color as his hair. It was as dark as Romans, to be sure, but colder - without the red tinting it warm.

Was this.. some fucked up joke? Was this a near death hallucination? Or maybe, maybe this was the first form of torture planned for him, a reminder of why he was here. Either way, the sight made it hard to breath.

The fae spoke first, “I’m Remus, your local fae prince.” With the word Remus sickness and the cold scent of pinewood rushed through Virgil so hard he leered. The prince of the fae, the actual fucking fae, just gave him his name. Freely, just as that.

Virgil realized what it was a second later - a show of power. A quiet, but impactful way to remind Virgil that no matter what information he had, no matter how hard he fought, he was powerless here. It made his heart sink.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispered and in the same breath he cringed from his own words. Right, no thanking them. How had he forgotten? “I’m here to offer myself to you, on one condition.” It felt incomprehensibly stupid to speak of conditions when he was on his knees.

“I love conditions!” The too-shrill voice practically squawked out, leaning one elbow on Virgil’s cane nonchalantly. “What do you want, little stormcloud?” He grinned down at Virgil, clearly awaiting his response with delight.

“.. I have a friend,” Virgil carefully avoided his name, “he is gravely injured and, though stable, will not survive winter like this. I have another friend - he is trying to make a remedy. Theres one last ingredient he needs, a flower - oleander.”

Remus gave him a look, a single eyebrow raised at him. “Stormy - can I call you stormy? - Cool, thanks. Oleanders a poison, at least to you little.. flesh beasts. I don’t think your thinking of the right flower. It’d be cool to poison him and all, but y'know - doublechecking.”

Virgil thought over the words for a second, because he knew it couldn’t be a lie - even though that was exactly what his knee-jerk reaction wanted to say. After a second, he forced, “no offense, but I trust his medical knowledge more than yours.”

“Well, if you insist,” Remus shrugged then grinned, “still, that’s all you ask for your life!? Most ask for more than that. Money, power, fame, love - and lust~, of course,” the creature wiggled his eyebrows and Virgil bit back the urge to gag. “You can ask for more, you know. A lifes worth more than a flower.”

Virgil looked up, mildly stunned by what he heard. Was Remus.. trying to help him? The thought sent a feeling of vertigo through him, but he hesitantly spoke, hand picking each word that slipped out of his mouth, “there won’t be any extra.. stipulations because of this, will there?”

“Nah! I’m just bored, you see, and I love doing those little tasks for you mortals. They always go through the same cycles. First their filled with delight and shock at their new gifts, then grief and disgust as they ask why their daughter, or lover, or brother has went.” Remus turned his head back and practically cackled through out.

“.. Alright,” Virgil knew the fae couldn’t lie, and he couldn’t find much of a loophole in the words, no matter how.. depressing. “Some money to be comfortable for the following years, good fertile land to plant on, and a hunters blessing. For my family, please.” Virgil stared down for a reason he himself didn’t quiet understand.

Remus looked down at him with a strange expression. It took Virgil a moment to process it as curiosity, but before he could comprehend that, the fae spoke. “Man, you’re weirdly humble. Don’t even want any good shit! Or just, well, shit. Do you know how many farmers have asked for good manure?” He turned his head back and laughed, before looking back down, “well, they don’t usually offer their life for it.”

Virgil turned his gaze to the side. The words weirdly burnt at his chest. It was the reminder, he realized. He wanted to go home so fucking bad. The rough dirt made his knees ache and his hands blistered against the wood he held so tight and he wanted nothing more than to step out of the mushrooms, come home, and hug his family so close he didn’t have words for it.

“Will you stop mocking me?” Virgil hissed through his teeth, fear burning in his heart at every word that slipped out of his mouth without his permission, “I just want to get sacrificied in fucking peace before I spend the rest of eternity dancing as my skin burns off and muscles rot away, and- and-” suddenly, it was hard to breath. His lungs felt tiny and air was too large to choke down.

The fae thing gave him a strange look from where he hovered over Virgil, watching him have a panic attack like he was a mildly interesting rock. After a weird long moment of that, he spoke with delight, “wow are you killing yourself by self-suffocation!? That’s so cool!” 

That startled a laugh out of Virgil’s chest, then a few awkward coughs as his body readjusted to breathing again. He stared up at Remus awkwardly. “Nobody’s had a panic attack while sacrificing themselves to you before me?” He choked out.

Remus propped his hands up on his hips. “Not until you, stormy! You’re the first,” he said without a single sense of the weight of the words. For a fae, creature known for their odd but strict manners, he was wildly impolite.

Virgil couldn’t help but cringe with it, then awkwardly bark out a few laughs. “I can’t even kill myself right, can I?” He didn’t realize what he was saying until the words came out of his mouth, and then he closed said mouth tight.

The fae was giving him another one of those peculiar looks again before continuing to speak. “Man, is this meant to be your suicide? You’re like, really bad at that then because I have no plans to kill you!” The grin was strangely warm, now.

“Look, I- I’m gonna be basically dead by the end of this anyway. No old life to get back to,” he sighed quietly, before asking, like a slight plea, “can we get this over with, now? I don’t wanna spend longer here.”

The smile dripped off Remus’s face and Virgil felt oddly guilty. “Well, if you’re so impatient, then lets get this over with, stormcloud. You know what to do to stop it. Just give me your name.” The weight of the phrase was more than ever.

Suddenly, hearing the words - Virgil realized how badly he didn’t want to get it over with. Like a desperate idiot avoiding the death he handed himself, he stalled. “What, you don’t want this to end? You having fun chit-chatting here?” He said easy as you please, tilting his head to the side. The false confidence was familiar.

That startled a laugh out of Remus, who cackled so loud and shrill that Virgil could hear the birds flee. “Wow, seems like our little stormy has himself a sharp tongue. Wonder how long that will last you.”

“Long as it takes for you to get tired of me and cut it off,” Virgil hissed through his teeth, a sly grin on his face. It felt as natural as breathing, and just as fulfilling as it. Something that he knew from memory.

He realized the memory was of Roman.

Remus didn’t notice his realization of course and continued without a single hitch, “I wonder if it will be like a lizard tail, still wriggling and writhing after I cut it out of your wordy little mouth! I mean, I’m sure I can make that happen.”

Virgil faked a gag and turned his gaze up to Remus again, “you’re real disgusting y’know, for being a fae, a creature of manners and politeness, you’re real gross. How do you even get away with your wordy little mouth?” Virgil asked, half teasing and half genuine.

“Well, manners are oh so subjective,” Remus grinned, seemingly preening with delight at this fact, “and so, with just a little bit of squirming around through loopholes and the like - you really can get away with most things.” His satisfied grin seemed to light up the clearing.

Or maybe that was the sunrise, peaking over the horizon like an unwelcome guest. Remus turned his head back to stare at it. “Oops! Looks like your time is up, my dearest storm. No more stalling~.” He turned back to Virgil. “May I have your name?”

The words carried the weight of ten thousand stones.

Virgil knew what to do though, and he spoke his name, tearing it out of his throat and soul as the sun rose along with bile in his throat and as the moon fell along with his bloody heart. He whispered the first two words that would be in his obituary, “Virgilius Sentinel.”

A coldness wrapped around him, tight and binding. It was like a promise; a cruel, sickening promise, the type that edged on threat. His body shook, lungs wheezing through breaths that couldn’t make it all the way into him. 

Even though he could still see Remus above him, staring down at him with that cruel grin and hands on his hips, he could feel his hands on his face, holding him still. They were as cold as he imagined, but not as painful.

Despite the terror, breaths slowly became easier as his body became more used to the feeling, the control, the vulnerability of it all. He adjusted to it, the world spinning around him as he learned to breath with smaller lungs. Maybe, this wouldn’t be as painful as he worried.

Right as he adjusted, though, there was a sudden burning in his chest and around his lungs. It was the kindest fire and the sweetest pain, and his lungs were aching as if he had managed to breath too much. It felt familiar; it felt like being held by warm and gentle hands. The fire chased off the cold.

As suddenly as the flame overtook him, it drew back. The feeling of being held turned to the feeling of being dropped, and the cold leapt back in as soon as the warmth left him. He shook just a little with the nauseating feelings. No matter the attempt at a fight, it was too weak.

Still, it left a small thought: something else had its own claim on him, separate from Remus’s. He silently reeled from that, but before he could think too hard he heard that barking shrilling laugh again and the world fell from under his feet.

[fennasinbog]

One Who Travels Like a Lover | Steddie Big Bang Snippet :)

hey everyone! I've been writing a fic for the @steddiebang. It will begin posting on ao3 on October 1st, but I wanted to share a bit of the first chapter ahead of the release! I'm honored to be working on this project with @anarmel, an amazing artist who's creating some beautiful art to go along with the fic. I can't believe this is finally happening! peep a chapter one + art snippet under the cut... in the words of my poor beta:

Chapter One: The Frozen Cemetery

EDDIE

He wakes with a start – a heavy weight across his chest and the remnants of panic in his throat. The fear consolidates as a choked gasp, an impulse to sit up and run. The thing on his lap seems unmovable. He leans up to inspect it more closely, confused, and comes face to face with a goopy, horrifying heap of demogorgon. He holds back a surprised whine, painful where it rattles through his lungs; drops back, stills, tries not to breathe. Does what he always does in the face of danger: plays dead and hides.

Except.

Except, it isn’t what he does anymore, is it? He did cross an interdimensional gate – walked straight into hell out of his own volition – and stayed even as the bats closed in. He had fought even as it became clear the battle could not be won. Earned his laurels, if you will. Died, perhaps, in Dustin’s desperate, trembling arms. Shit.

The creature remains quiet, unmoving. Eddie holds his breath and slowly examines its body, looking for a sign of threat. There are no tensed muscles, no biting teeth or grasping claws. It’s unnaturally inert, Eddie thinks, death-like — and only then he realizes it is not breathing. An encounter with a demogorgon corpse sounds slightly more appealing than dealing with its living counterpart would be, and that is what Eddie focuses on as he wriggles his way out from underneath it. It takes a while, partially because he keeps feeling sick as he pushes gangly demogorgon limbs away and mainly because the effort pulls at the tender scar tissue that seems to cover half of his body. He frees his last foot, and lies back on the floor for a second, exhausted and shivering, before standing up.

It’s cold as balls, colder than Eddie ever remembers the Upside Down being. There is, however, Upside Down ash floating in the air, like glitter suspended in a lava lamp. He looks up to the sky, a murky mass of gray clouds, half-lit, like the sun is frozen in a permanent state of dusk. Grey meets gray in the horizon, where the clouds turn into fog and obscure the top of a barren mountain. A mountain range, more like, as it stretches around Eddie in every single direction. He is in a valley, it seems, treeless and dead, nothing but rock mountain at his back, and a downward slope ahead. A slope filled with demogorgon remains, by the looks of it. An ash particle caresses his cheek and melts. He catches one with his hand and watches it dissolve. Snow. Snow and ash. Eddie remembers some of Dustin’s tales about the Russians, how they took Harrington and Buckley, and wonders if he’s been taken too. Taken all the way to Russia? He shivers. It truly is awfully cold and dark, and he might not be alone, not when he has woken in this unknown place, surrounded by a wasteland of demo-carcasses. The sun doesn’t look like it will fully set, but night might be coming and he doesn’t want to risk spending it out in the open. He needs to move, find cover.

A quick review of his various pockets turns out a miscellaneous collection of lighters, pens, gum and store receipts. He has a flask of whiskey, but no water or real food, and only a hunting knife for protection. Worst case scenario, he thinks bitterly, he could chuck a ballpoint pen at a demobat and hope for the best. He peeks at his stomach, reluctant, as if knowing the state of it will suddenly make the wounds and scars real, and flinches at the sight of it – marred, dirty, torn up. It looks bad – bad enough that he should be dead, either from blood loss or an infection. It doesn’t hurt. He can’t believe he hasn’t died already.

Water, his brain supplies, voice sounding eerily close to his father’s. A ghost of the past, perhaps, but a ghost in the right nonetheless. He needs to find water – to clean himself, to drink. Water and shelter. He sighs, lowers the hem of his t-shirt over his mangled torso, and tightens his grip around the knife. Down into the vale of shadows it is.

–

People knew of Edward Munson Sr. They knew he moved to the outskirts of Indianapolis with nothing but a dream and a young bride. They’ve heard that he lost her years later to a cancer they could neither prevent nor afford to treat. They imagine him jaded, angry – and then use that anger to explain the felonies and imprisonment. Which, Eddie thinks, is not entirely inaccurate. His father had been angry. And jaded. He would be too, he thinks, if he had found his mom and then lost her. Edward Munson the Felon, that’s what his dad is, a cautionary tale to those thinking of making their way out of Hawkins to pursue a better life. He had wanted and he had failed, and look where that had got him. It made all the cowards feel better about their conformity – made them feel comfortable hating people who, like Eddie, still hoped to make it out of their silly little town.

Eddie ponders this as he makes his descent towards the center of the valley, zigzagging along the way so his unstable limbs won’t accidentally send him rolling down the hill. He’s thinking of his dad because, although nobody knows, he was one of those people who knew an ungodly amount of stuff about the mountain. The mountain, the wars, useless historical factoids. When things were good, Edward had sat Eddie next to him on the sofa and spoken over documentary narrators to tell him about survival in the wilderness. Eddie back then had been bored, sometimes, and he definitely hadn’t known to appreciate those rare moments of peace and companionship. He had sat through plane models lectures or rambling bivouac building rants, and ignored them. It broke his heart a little, in hindsight, realizing that his dad and him had been similar in that regard – so taken by random mundanities and so eager to share their passion for them with anyone who would listen. His dad had not been a good dad, not like Wayne is, but Eddie had also, perhaps, not been a good son.

It is his dad’s advice that guides his movements now, slow and steady, as he treks downwards and reaches a small gathering of trees. Trees often mean water, he knows, but also, with any luck, animals or insects. He hypes himself up with a muttered chant of “insects are metal, eating insects is metal” and approaches the forest, knife held up at the ready. Most trunks are burnt, which isn’t good news, and the ground is razed and covered in pebbles. There’s moisture, though – frost covering the leaves of a very-much-alive fern. He runs his fingers over it, gathers the frozen droplets and allows them to melt on the palm of his hand. The ground is wet. Eddie continues to walk through the ferns. He stops a few paces ahead, coming face to face with a small, frozen stream. The clouds continue to roll overhead. The night-dusk isn’t getting any darker. Eddie heaves a deep sigh and drops to the floor. He pulls out the flask, going over the order of operations:

A sip of whiskey for encouragement.

Ice from the stream to clean the wound.

The rest of the whiskey to disinfect it.

The flask and a fire to boil ice into drinking water.

His head pounds a little as he tries to puzzle the steps together, an underlying headache that might be both dehydration and exhaustion.

Sleep.

And then, sometime in the morning – or the night, or whenever he woke up – find food. How long has it been since he last ate? He’s not hungry, he doesn't think, but, then again, he’s nothing but a blur of fear and pain.

Clean. Drink. Sleep. Find food.

The list isn’t long but it seems daunting nonetheless. Nancy Wheeler would’ve managed something better – more detailed plans and a more masterful execution. He wheezes. Pushes his headband back. It reminds him of Wayne and the way he would, on occasion, pat his head. “Oftentimes, boy, doing your best is good enough,” he would say.

He takes a deep breath and does his best.

–

Eddie wakes to darkness, again. The embers beside him are still warm, but he’s cold, still. He checks his surroundings first, restless, but there’s no movement. His wounds, the second object of his attention, are clean, or as clean as he’s been able to get them. Some of them were already closed, some of them tender – hundreds of unattractive gouges and bites connecting like spider-webbing tendrils. His skin is blackened in some spots, burnt-toast-like, but it no longer looks like the worst parts of a butcher shop back room. The thirst is gone, he’s happy to notice, but the hunger has doubled in his sleep. There’s a half-sharpened stick by his boot, the last of his efforts before his tiredness claimed him, so Eddie makes quick work of carving it into a spike with his hunting knife. He pauses when he’s done, looking around before he stands. He tests out the weight of his newly-acquired, pointy spear by shifting it back and forth between his hands. He has a hunting knife and a hunting spear, which means he’s only missing some prey. Poetic really, when the hunted becomes the hunter.

He steps on the coals, choking them off until they stop smoking, and sets off through the ferns and rocks. He could’ve kept the fire for cooking, he thinks as he pushes forward past a particularly large plant, stick aloft, but then, perhaps, something could have found and cooked him. Not that there seems to be anything around. Not one meager creature. Zero. Zilch, not one single miserable-

Something brushes past Eddie’s legs. He yelps, tightens his grip on the stick until it turns white-knuckled, twists around in a panic and stabs at a… large rodent? The mousy animal manages to avoid his spear and takes off through the scrub. Eddie blinks as it fades into the distance, heart hammering in his throat, before his instincts kick in and he starts running after the thing. Whatever it might be, this could be it. This might be the one source of food he finds – the one animal that he can eat that won’t try to eat him back. He jumps over a tree root, swerves right after his prey, half-runs-half-slides down brash rocks and dirt trails. They abandon the forest, rush past it and further down the valley. Eddie’s feet skid on rounded pebbles but he continues on – on until he’s sweating, until his stomach feels like it might rip open anew, until he sees the mouse-capybara-squirrel start to dig into the ground ahead and he plants his feet. Throws the spear, as if fancying himself a javelin thrower. And he might as well be because he strikes true and the animal falls dead. Eddie walks up to it on trembling limbs, heaving from the exertion, and stares at the dead creature unseeing. It’s not like anything he’s seen before, not with its thick legs and large snout. It looks like a mutant rat, and wasn’t that a thing that had happened once? Dirt-eating mutant rats?

He sits in front of it, spent, and promptly realizes he’s never– He’s never had to prepare an animal for cooking before. Does he- Is he supposed to skin it? He shudders at the thought. Pushes it away. He removes the spear and grabs the cat-sized mouse. Rat. Rodent. Decides to look for flat ground and start another fire, which is a thing he can do. He walks around an impressively large mound of spiky rocks and freezes. Drops the mouse-cat in awe.

The valley ends ahead, not even 100 yards away, and at the bottom is the icy expanse of a frozen lake. It spans the sight, the opposite coast blurry in the distance, and Eddie’s dumbly reminded of Steve Harrington diving into lover’s lake. It is most definitely not Lover’s Lake, he doesn’t think, but the chance of it – of the underwater gate in its center, of the kids on the other side of it – makes his heartbeat quicken. He has to force himself to slow down and pick up the rodent, to remain vigilant as he walks closer to the shore. There are demogorgon carcasses on the beach, flaccid and motionless like stranded jellyfishes, and he toes at a couple of them to ensure they’re dead.

They are.

Comforted by his apparent loneliness, Eddie sets up the fire, trying to remind himself that he won’t be able to cook on the ice. That the lake is large, and the trek to its center seems long. That he needs to eat. He’s distracted as he walks through the motions, distracted as he prepares the rodent and sets it over the flame. The numbness is welcome, and the hope thrilling, and he wipes the blood off his hands without realizing, lost in the overwhelming nature of it all.

–

He leaves this fire burning when he’s done, aware that it might betray his position but hoping it will guide his way back from the indistinct flatness of the ice plain, if need be. He walks carefully but with purpose, occasionally slipping on the icy surface. It’s a slow process.

The wind is awful out on the open, finding every exposed inch of his skin and whipping at it relentlessly. Eddie thinks that he might never forget the chill and burn of it against his hands. That he might never feel his hands again.

Time warps as he walks – it could have been ten minutes or ten hours by the time he spies something in the distance. There’s a boulder breaking through the ice. He will climb it, he decides, use it as a vantage point. The rock is rough under his fingers as he pulls himself up. He tucks both his hands into his armpits right after reaching the top. He scans his surroundings, comes to learn that the lake continues on farther than he thought, its length broken up by a large hill in its center and smattered with tiny rock boulders here and there. Eddie tilts his head, amused by the fact that the mountain in the center looks like nothing and everything at once. It could be just rock, but also the silhouette of a sleeping woman or a huge hibernating lizard. The thought is funny, briefly, but quickly turns terrifying when the ground under his feet starts vibrating and shifts. Eddie drops to a crouch, eyes wide with fear as he tracks the movement, the way it fades into the ice, the way it creaks and cracks like a joint being popped. The ice doesn’t break, not when it runs several feet deep, like the lake might be frozen all the way through. The tremor stops, ground shifting under him again. Eddie stays still, horrified, mind fleeting through the possibilities. Perhaps he stands on a dormant volcano. Perhaps it was just a mild earthquake. He waits a couple minutes before moving and is just about to descend from the boulder when it moves again and sends him careening down. He hits the ground painfully, rolls onto his back, breathing hard and ragged. The rock keeps moving, he registers. It happens over and over again: the bone-chilling creaks of movement and the temporary bouts of stillness. It is only when he attempts to regulate his own breathing that it clicks – the boulder breathes.

He stands in a rush, still a bit dizzy, hip bone sore where it crashed against the ice. He looks around wildly, watches as the rocks in the distance, the few of them piercing the ice nearby, shiver sporadically. Holy shit. They are alive. They breath in synch, impossibly slow. Eddie is out of his mind with fear, half-sure he is making it up. He stretches a hand to touch the rough, crab shell-like, surface of the rock and feels the hum of a tired heartbeat underneath it. He removes his hand, finds it slimy from touching the living rock. Goopy. Demo-creature goopy. The world around him quietens, dampened, as he stares at his hand in confusion. Glances at the rock and at his fingers once again. He feels his pulse in his temple, hears it within his ears like an amplifier has been plugged into his brain. It cannot be.

He twists to look at the large mountain growing in the center of the lake and he doesn’t have to search hard at all before it takes the shape of what it actually is. Gangly, gigantic limbs. A head like a flame. A mountain-sized creature out of both his worst nightmares and the kids’ unlikely but obviously true retellings: the mind flayer.

[aftgficrec]

Anonymous asked: Do you have any recommendations for any new twinyard bonding fics, with or without Nicky. Or even any with Nicky and one twin?

NB: original ask here in new twinyards bonding post

We’ve got a trove of Nicky and the twins for you, including a WIP age reversal fic where college-aged Andrew and Aaron raise young Nicky. It is ‘Home’ by allfortheBoyds. -A

previous recs: Nicky & the twins

Nicky bonding with both or one twin here

Nicky’s relationship with the twins here

new canon compliant bonding: Aaron & Andrew & Nicky here

‘Travelers’ series Part 4 here

‘My brother under the sun’ here

‘Abject apathy,’ ‘Oh Brother Of Mine,’ ‘Atrophy,’ and ‘Promises Kept’ here 

‘Aaron Minyard Ficlets’ and ‘Frazzled Bird’ (completed) here

‘a working thing’ and ‘AFTG/TFC minifics…nicky's pills’ here

‘Step Up/Dance AU’ here

‘This is our beginning’ here

‘We're the giggle at a funeral’ here

‘This is After’ and ‘innocence died screaming’ here

‘Direct Lines to The Heart’ here

‘get what you give’ here 

‘Microsleep’ here

‘Odd Eye’ here

‘You know I don't care’ here

‘on the taste of home (let it go down easy)’ here

‘Paper Cut Hearts’ here 

‘I Found Love Where It Wasn’t Supposed to Be’ here

Nicky & Aaron

‘Aaron loses his shit’ here

‘Aaron figuring out that he’s asexual…’ here

‘Misunderstandings’ here

‘Wear it on your finger’ here

‘aaron minyard + memories of nicky’ here

‘skeletons in the water’ here

‘Five Times Aaron’s Soul Tried to Find a Home…’ here

Nicky & Andrew

Nicky and Andrew’s relationship here

‘maybe we could’ here

‘Something Good’ here

‘Enough’ here

‘The One Where Andrew Tries to Kill Nicky’ here

‘Affection can be shown in so many ways,’ ‘It's a Home,’ and ‘The World on Mute’ here 

‘I am not a library’ here

‘Truth Time’ here 

‘Nicky sees Andrew dance’ here

‘Treacherous’ and ‘Andrew Minyard...does not have a crush’ here

‘Mixed Tape,’ ‘Nicky goes to the bank,’ ‘before nicky goes back to germany,’ ‘Andrew kept Nicky close,’ and ‘Andrew appreciates Nicky’s selflessness’ here

‘Just closed eyes with nothing behind’ here

‘everything has changed’ here 

‘That One Time Andrew Made Nicky Glad…’ and ‘Nicky & Andrew prompt’ here

‘don't look away’ here 

‘hiding out at the winter formal’ here

‘white soap’ and ‘Bloom Where You're Planted’ here

‘losing battle’ and ‘married to my enemy’ series here

‘haven't got a clue’ and ‘Congrats on the sex’ here

‘The Morning AUs Chapter 25: Conversion Camp AU’ here

you may also like

‘Way Down We Go’ here

‘TFC High School AU’ series here

‘Take This Heart (Put Yourself In It)’ here

‘two peas (in a pandemonium)’ here

‘Foxes and Fruitcake’ here

‘I learned from my pain’ here 

‘Andrew seems to be developing separation anxiety’ here

‘another turning point…’ here

‘The Before and After’ here

Nicky & the twins

The Cousins series by onedayanauthor [Rated G/T/M, 22318 Words, 5 complete works, Updated April 2023]

Part 1: A Place of Your Own (G, 5098 Words) Nicky had only had custody of the twins for a week and a half, and he was already entirely exhausted and overwhelmed. 

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced drug use

Part 2: Food Anxieties (G, 2760 Words) Nicky takes Andrew and Aaron to get fast food right after they move into the Columbia house. Andrew has some lingering food anxiety due to previous foster families withholding food or being stingy with food.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced child neglect, tw: food insecurity

Part 3: Making Ends Meet (M, 3583 Words) Aaron asks Nicky how they were able to afford the Columbia house and is surprised by Nicky's answer.

Part 4: Actions Speak Louder (G, 8769 Words) Nicky gets the twins to agree to go to a Christmas festival, but will the twins actually show up?

Part 5: Bonding Moment 2.0 (T, 2108 Words) Turns out Nicky is actually RIPPED and Aaron is just finding out.

NB: Part 2 of this series focuses on Nicky & Andrew and parts 3 and 5 focus on Nicky & Aaron

Why do we break the ones already broken? by KweenKevin [Not Rated, 845 Words, Complete, 2018]

Part 5 of Does that make me crazy? 

A Nicky Hemmick character study.

tw: homophobia, tw: conversion therapy, tw: religious trauma

Better Weather by PluckyYoungMan [Not Rated, 24656 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2022]

A series of oneshots based upon Tilda putting Aaron and Andrew in the foster system, but not ending up taking Aaron back. After her passing Nicky learns of their existence, and elects to take them in when they’re almost thirteen. Nicky is in way over his head with the twins varied and often conflicting issues. Ultimately this is a story about family, and about healing, but it is a long and often painful road along the way.

tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: body horror, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: homophobia, tw: religious trauma, tw: self harm, tw: manic episode, tw: disordered eating, tw: drugs, tw: alcohol, tw: violence

this is a big world by PoolToast22 [Rated G, 2212 Words, Complete, 2022]

the one where Andrew tells Aaron about his and Neil's relationship

i don't need this city (i could leave in a heartbeat) by crazy_stupid_potato [Rated T, 3285 Words, Complete, 2023]

Andrew has a bad time and decides to run away. But what he didn't think he'd discover is that: sometimes there are good police officers, and that Nicky fucking adores him.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

Home by allfortheBoyds [Rated T, 14316 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2023]

Nicky is younger, his parents still suck and Aaron and Andrew make sure he has a home

tw: child abuse, tw: homophobia, tw: religious trauma, tw: conversion therapy, tw: confinement, tw: disordered eating, tw: bullying

Wherever you go, I‘ll be there beside you (‘Cause you are my brother) by allfortheBoyds [Rated G, 2031 Words, Complete, 2023]

Nicky becomes a father, the twins are there to support him

Little Secrets by nerdzeword [Rated T, 3696 Words, Complete, 2019]

Part 2 of Little Miracles series, part 1 here

Nicky had spent his entire life hiding who he was. You would think it would be easier to finally tell people.

Heimkehr means Homecoming series by This_Witch_Writes [Rated T/M, Collection with 3 complete works, Updated Dec 2022, Locked]

Part 3 here 

Part 1: But Cass, she could've been [T, 31241 Words] Cass discovers Drake's true nature with the next foster child she takes in, a year after Andrew was adopted by Tilda Minyard. Disgusted and heart-broken, Cass travels to South Carolina.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: vomit, tw: violence, tw: homophobia, tw: assault

Part 2: A little closer to home [M, 48508 Words] Cass came back for Andrew after Nicky took custody of him and Aaron once she learned to truth about Drake. She settled in Columbia to be close to them and 18 months later the family has reached some kind of balance. And then Kevin Day shows up at the Foxes hotel room after the Winter Exy Banquet with a ruined hand and a wild story. No hope of a quiet year really.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: torture, tw: blood/gore, tw: homophobia, tw: assault, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nonconsensual drug use

Some would sing and some would scream by Helpneedmorefanfics [Rated E, 14168 Words, Complete, 2021]

"Alright. Luther got out of prison, along with everyone else involved in Andrew's previous cases," Nicky says and Kevin sucks in a sharp breath and grabs at the other's arm, horrified. Nicky nods gravely, eyes serious and steady. "I'm going to go kill them all."

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: murder, tw: arson

A first by LetThemCuddle [Rated G, 3930 Words, Complete, 2023]

Nicky comes down with a mild flu. It's not a big deal. The twins are suffering from unwanted emotions.

All I want for Christmas (is some peace) by sapphosgaycousin [Not Rated, 2214 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange 2022]

Nicky just wanted to have a cozy christmas, but there is no such thing when you're parenting your cousins.

The Highs and Lows of Pre-med Majors by Harmonique [Rated G, 4575 Words, Complete, 2023]

Part 4 of AFTG whump, part 2 here

Sometimes, Aaron was questioning himself on the stupidity of his decision about being a premed student and an athlete. He couldn’t remember the last time he had more than four hours of sleep, and he still was behind classes. Thankfully, he wasn't a student-athlete... wait

tw: vomit

Nicky & Aaron

The Foxes: Finals Edition by LetThemCuddle [Rated G, 1747 Words, Complete, 2022]

Nicky and Aaron make a deal. Aaron will nap when Nicky demands it, and Nicky promises to wake Aaron up at the exact time he wants.

Aaron & Nicky hcs by @foxes-evermore [Tumblr, 2016]

Nicky & Andrew

I'm Proud of You by kevindaysleftpinkytoe [Not Rated, 1860 Words, Complete, 2023]

Andrew is tired tonight.

tw: self harm, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: negative self image, tw: depression, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: panic attacks

Andrew thinks he is unlovable hc by @knox-knocks [Tumblr, 2021]

Andrew, Nicky, and hugs meta by @i-did [Tumblr, 2021]

Nicky meta by @sinistercacophony [Tumblr, 2021]

Not a sociopath by @i-want-delfeur [Tumblr Fic, 2018]

I have about 4,000 questions about Nicky and Andrew’s relationship meta by @sirencalll [Tumblr, 2016]

Art

Happy Twinyard day art by @jegulus4life

Nicky’s instagram: Lake with ducks art by @/lis_photoart on instagram

Nicky as their best mum = a threat art by @/joonaxrt on instagram

[freakingxloser]

Control - Three

Stu Macher x F!OC

(Gif is obviously not mine)

part one part two

warnings: gore, graphically described murder, murder, blood, violence, death, obsessive behavior, nudity, slight smut, somewhat somnophilia, groping, drugging, stalking, possible grammar mistakes since English is not authors native language.

A/N: Hey! I'm bad at posting lmao, I tried my best to finish this chapter as soon as possible! I hope you enjoy it so far.

@autumnnightbreeze I promised to tag you, so there you go haha.

Stu rushed into their house and grabbed everything he needed. Including a knife, the voice changer, his mask, the Ghostface robe and a pair of leather gloves. Within minutes he was back at Derek's house. He was lurking outside the windows watching the situation inside. It was a little after three in the morning and everyone had already left his party. Derek looked like he was still lively, cleaning up the mess his friends had made by himself. When Stu was satisfied that Derek was indeed alone, he stepped inside. He moved with quick, loud steps. Surely his mere presence would come as a surprise to Derek, there was no need to make a fuss about it.

Derek heard footsteps coming and turned in the direction of the sound. He flinched a little when he saw a figure dressed entirely in a black robe. He didn't make a big deal of it, this costume had been popular among the students after Casey and Steve's deaths. "Fuck, you got me. I almost shit myself." Derek chuckled and continued to clean up. Stu pushed into him, knocking him to the floor. He pulled out his knife and held it to Derek's chest. This was already making him a little uneasy, you could see in his eyes that he had gotten scared. "Alright, alright, fun's over. Put it away." Derek stammered out. 

Stu chuckled under his mask before putting the voice changer in front of it. "The fun is just beginning, Derek." He said with a subsequent lunatic laugh. Derek crawled on the ground away from him, but Stu still had the upper hand. Even though Derek was circulating better, he was too scared to use his strength. "Getting girls drunk just to get laid, really? I thought your looks were enough." Stu chuckled while Derek thought about what he'd done wrong. He just wanted to have fun with a girl he liked. "And the meaning of the word 'no' doesn't mean anything to you either. You really are just a hollow head." Stu shook his head. That's when it dawned on Derek, this was about Sarah. 

"I wanted...I just wanted her..." He stammered out, horrified. Stu could make perfect sense of what Derek was trying to tell him. The fact that he even admitted it made him even more angry. He plunged the knife into his chest and pulled it towards his ribs. Just lightly in the skin, not wanting to disembowel him...yet. Derek couldn't muster anything but grunts of pain.

"Just what? Just to fuck her? So your friends can pat you on the back? You just stepped a little too far into my territory. That's not very nice of you." Stu said with a mocking tone. He then backed away from him. He wanted to be a little polite and not ruin the beautiful white carpet Derek was lying on. "Get up you hollowhead." He ordered him. Derek stood up quickly, looking in horror at his torn shirt, blood rapidly flowing from his chest. "You have a chance to escape. Hurry up." Stu kept talking through the voice changer. 

Stu was hoping Derek would make it a little more fun for him. As he had hoped Derek ran out of the house, but there weren't many houses around, the nearest one was about two hundred yards away. He didn't have that much time to ring the neighbors, so he headed into the woods, hoping for a chance to hide. Stu ran after him, even though he wasn't a keen sportsman, his long legs helped him to catch up.It wasn't long before Stu knocked Derek to the ground again.  He landed hard on the dirt and Stu stabbed him several times, but in such a way that Derek was still able to perceive his surroundings. Naturally Derek begged for mercy, he wanted to live. That only made Stu more motivated. He also wanted this fool to know who he was dealing with. With one hand, he dug into Derek's wound below his ribs, and with the other, he removed his mask. His expression was insane. He looked like a typical psychopath, his manic smile was terrifying. 

"You'll never touch what's mine again." Stu snickered and put on his mask. Derek didn't have the strength to say anything, he was in so much pain. Mostly he was confused, Stu never seemed like the type to kill his classmates. Of course, he didn't have much time to think. Stu moved the knife under his rib cage and stabbed into the soft spot again, making a long slash across Derek's stomach. Finally, he rolled up his sleeve and plunged his hand into his rib cage, searching for the heart. When he felt it, he ripped it out. He stabbed the heart several times with the knife and dropped it into Derek's gutted abdomen among the other organs just floating around.

After the murder was done, he took a few polaroid photos to show Billy then walked happily home. He washed off the blood that stained his robe, mask and hands. Then he went to bed and fell asleep, feeling that his little princess was all his. 

.

.

.

The news that Derek was dead spread quickly since someone found him during their morning jog through the forest. Sarah was completely devastated when Tatum called her in the morning to share the news. Tatum did not leave out the gruesome details, which made Sarah even more disturbed. Since she was highly educated in criminology and was interested in that kind of stuff, his death just screamed that the act was clearly personal. The group set a meeting in a forest sitting on the other side of the murder scene. They always met there on weekends if their parents were home and so they didn't have a chance to meet at one of their homes.

The girls and Randy felt a little uneasy, realizing they could be a victim too since they were at the party. Billy and Stu were completely unfazed for obvious reasons. „Dewey said that the killer ripped his heart out and threw it to his gutted stomach. That is just nasty.“ Tatum explained the details to the rest of the group so they have the freshest news. „And he said that we all will be interrogated since we were at the party.“ She mentioned. 

„Why would they interrogate us? We didn’t kill him.“ Sidney was confused, so was Randy. 

Sarah shook her head and deeply sighed. „It’s clear that the act was personal, maybe someone held a grudge towards him.“ She stopped for a second, then her eyes went wide, she looked individually at everyone. „Maybe it was about the match! The opposing team didn't like the Ravens' win, so they went after the captain himself.“ In her mind this was the best way to explain it. This would make perfect sense to her. Billy nodded his head and snapped his finger. She was completely wrong, but this would be the best explanation for the public. 

„We should tell the police just that.“ Billy had to make his agreement vocal. Since this could be the best possible way to make them out of suspicion, saving Stuart's ass. Randy was still thinking, he thought there must be something more, who would take a lost match that seriously?

He leaned closer to them. „Then explain the heart, genius.“ He scoffed.

Sarah had an explanation for that too. „Some of us take a lost game very seriously, some may take it too far. It can lead to humiliation by the coach, your classmates and so far I know…the team did not make it to the upper league thanks to their loss in this game. Could break someone's heart…As I said, it makes complete sense.“ She explained to him. This was a perfect theory Stu wanted to stick up to. She was intelligent, yet clueless. But he wanted it to stay this way, his sweet girl did not know he actually killed a man for her. 

„Yeah, explain that, dumbass.“ Stu joined the conversation. It seemed like everyone except Randy were on the same boat. But Randy had to admit that her theory was pretty good, definitely a probable scenario. They stopped thinking about it, since they all “believed“ in the same theory, there was no chance of guessing the killer since they did not know the opposing team. It was hard for the girls to believe that someone is killing the teenagers in Woodsboro again. As if Casey and Steve weren’t enough. 

.

.

.

And again the school canceled every single game for at least two weeks. The boys lacrosse team was devastated as well from the news, couldn’t believe their captain and a friend was now dead. Some of the girls were crying, probably because they already lost too many people in such a short time. Stu was happy and satisfied with his work. Especially after the murder he was checking on Sarah a lot, observing her reactions. Of course she felt upset. One night he tried to make up with her and in the morning he was found dead, thankfully for Stu, she did not connect his murder to her. She wasn’t crying for him, but she seemed a bit touched, after all, she knew him, it was pretty understandable. 

That’s why Stu decided to visit her tonight again. She will have different stuff to think about than Derek's death. He already knew her routine, knowing that her parents are gonna go to sleep around ten, Sarah will make her tea and read a book, as usual. And since her parents' bedroom is on the other side of their mansion, there was no chance of them hearing him. As usual, Sarah was feeling dirty after her lacrosse practice, so while she was in the shower, he put some sleeping pills in her tea. This time Stu wanted an even better experience, so he put 4 pills there since he read somewhere that five and more could lead to overdose. All he had to do was wait till Sarah fell asleep. 

It took her like thirty minutes till she completely fell asleep. As the last time, Stu sneaked into her room. He took off his gloves to touch her face, caressing her cheek. Stu took his sweet time to admire her beauty, just respectfully watching, thinking he is truly romantic at this moment, the thought this is actually creepy and he is about to basically use her afterwards did not cross his mind. He thought this is absolutely okay, even though he knew she wouldn’t find this as romantic and arousing as he did. 

Once he was done being sweet, he started to unbutton her sleepwear. The fact she slept just in some blouse and panties made things much easier for him. Once he got rid of all the buttons and exposed her upper body completely, he leaned closer to her breasts, gently grabbing one of them and started massaging it. Of course Stu had to check her face occasionally, making sure she’s not waking up. Since the last time he got a bit bolder, being more sure he can take things further. So he took off his mask as well, putting it aside and going straight for her nipple. His tongue was making circles around it before he gently bit into her nipple. And since the only reaction he got was a sharp exhale from her mouth he could continue, gently sucking on her nipple while playing around with the other breast in his hand. 

Stu’s hand slid down to his own body, unbuckling his belt and setting his cock free from the tight jeans. His actions and arousal from the thought of her made him painfully hard. He observed the lower part of her body before spreading her legs and putting the panties on a side. He started gently rubbing her clit with his thumb to release some of her wetness. Stu knew he wanted to wait with actually fucking her, but it was so hard for him to control his urges and desires. While gently working on her down there, he received some feedback in soft muffled moans under your breath. Amazed with how the human body works, even while Sarah was asleep, she was still able to react to his actions, how sweet. 

After a while, she was wet enough for him. He teased her clit with his tip for longer than the last time, just for pure joy and getting those sweet noises out of her. He grinded against her with his cock, imagining how it would feel to be inside her, but all he could do so far was to imagine. Since he felt braver than the last time, he leaned over her, sucking on her nipples again while grinding against her wet core. It didn’t take him long to cum, after all, he waited for a few days till he had a chance to go visit her again. This time he was more polite and at least came on the bed sheets. 

Stu put on his pants and mask again, quickly put her clothes back in place and with a quick peck on her temple as the last time. „Thanks, pretty girl. Soon, I will be able to fuck you properly.“ He chuckled to himself before leaving her room by the window. Stuart was clearly very happy with their act and definitely not in the right place of mind, since he forgot his leather gloves on her bed…

[magicalqueennightmare]

Sins & Amends Chapter 52

Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)

This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond

This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions

This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me.

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Tragedy strikes your family yet again

The next morning you had just finished getting dressed and walked into the living room moments before Karen knocked on your door. She'd come by to wait for Sarah to come get Adi so you could head in to work. You opened the door on the way by "Good morning Karen" you greeted and she smiled "Good morning. How was yesterday?" you handed her your phone while you finished gathering everything you needed "Flip through the photos"

 She was still smiling when you walked back into the room and held your phone back out to you "Got to say the three of you look just so right together in that photo" you shrugged one shoulder trying to hide the smile that had worked it's way onto your face  "I'll get off around ten possibly eleven so I'll see you in the morning? Shit I told Billy he could come by your place for dinner and so he could see Adi is that ok?"

She nodded "Of course. He's welcome any time" you let the smile that had been trying to slip onto your face "Good oh and make sure you tell Frank that Billy is coming to walk me home so he doesn't have to worry"

You had turned to grab your jacket when Karen muttered "Oh empty apartment. Adi at my place" you felt the tips of your ears turn red before saying "Get your mind out the gutter Page" "Hell why not? You both love each other and want to be together!" She laughed and you shook your head.

"Were you always like this or did I corrupt you?"

"Honestly? I'd say about sixty forty" she replied and you raised an eyebrow "In which direction?" She held up the coffee she'd bought you and said "I'll tell you come tomorrow morning" you took the coffee from her with a playful glare then smiled "Have a good day at work Miss Page and kiss Adi for me when she wakes up" "Will do and you have a good day too" 

Around lunch time you were helping Grant and Jason roll up hoses and heard Jessie greeting Adi and Sarah. You stood up right before Adi launched herself into your arms laughing. "Hey babygirl. What are you and aunt Sarah up to?"

Sarah walked in behind her carrying a few takeout bags "The guys are stuck in a planning meeting so Billy called to see if we wanted to deliver your lunch" your eyes widened at the amount of food "He sent enough for the entire house" she looked over it then said "I think that was kind of his point" you waved Jessie over "Wanna take this inside? Apparently Billy bought everyone lunch" 

You turned back to Adi "Wanna say hey to everyone while you're here?" She nodded so you carried her inside and held the door open for Sarah to follow you both in.

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

Once lunch was over you carried Adi back out to the van and strapped her in "Now be good for aunt Sarah. Daddy's going to come eat dinner with you, uncle Frank and aunt Karen then I'll see you in the morning ok?" She nodded "Ok. Love you mommy" "Love you more lil bit" you told her then kissed her forehead.

You walked back into the bays about the time a call rang out for an ambulance to respond to an elderly woman having chest pains. Alice sighed "At least they waited until Adi left right?"

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

While you were doing inventory of the rig and Alice was finishing up any reports you got a text from Billy "When are you getting off love?" So you texted back "About twenty minutes" you hadn't even laid the phone down when it went off again "I'll be waiting right outside" you smiled and texted back "Just come in! Everyone knows you"

A few minutes later you heard Ash holler "Y/N Billy's here!" You peeked out the back door of the ambulance and smiled when you saw him talking to Jason and Hunter. He caught your eye and winked before turning his attention back to them.

By the time you were through with inventory Billy was standing at the back of the ambulance when you climbed out and narrowly avoided running right into his chest "Shit. I'm sorry Billy" you said as he reached out to steady you "It's ok sweetheart" he had that damn smirk and you couldn't help but feel your heart speed up just slightly when you met his eyes "Um I've gotta tell Ash and Riley a few things then I'll grab my stuff and we can go" "Take your time" he replied and you had to talk yourself out of kissing him while you stood in the middle of the bay surrounded by your co-workers.

"Are you sure I can't drop you two off?" Alice offered and you shook your head before checking the time "Didn't Kenzie get off an hour ago? And she's waiting on you?" "In a warm office building" Alice responded with a laugh but you shook your head "We'll be fine"

Billy smiled and said "Yeah thanks for the offer Alice..by the way do you like your car? We're going in a couple days to get Y/N one finally" Alice cut her eyes at you with a mischievous grin then said "Yes I do actually. Although I think a four door option is better for a family car" 

You stuck your tongue out at her just in enough time for Billy to see. He looked between you and her for a moment clearly wondering what he'd missed before shaking his head "Nope. I know by now not to ask" then reached out for your bag "Want me to carry that?" You let him take it then both of you wished Alice a good night before she climbed into her car to leave and both of you started walking in the direction of your apartment.

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

 You didn't realize how close you were walking to Billy until your hand brushed his. You remembered Karen's words from earlier in the day so you laced your fingers with his which caused a pleased smile to appear on his face before he gave your hand a light squeeze.

You weren't far from your apartment when he stopped suddenly so you turned to face him "Billy? Something wrong?" He shook his head then used your intertwined hands to pull you flush against him "I haven't got to kiss you all day and it's really bothering me" 

You leaned in to meet his lips halfway but froze right before you touched when you heard someone call your name. Billy turned to look but your entire body had tensed at the voice even before you spotted Alex Moore walking up the sidewalk towards you.

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

"Alex" your voice was barely above a whisper. Mahoney was supposed to tell you if he got out. Frank was going to kill him this time. Hell Dinah and Sam were gonna kill Mahoney. "Y/N who is he?" Billy whispered, moving to block your body with his own. 

"He attacked me and Alice right after I came off of maternity leave" you answered, eyes never leaving Alex. "You took years of my life bitch" Alex nearly growled then the next few seconds happened in a blur. You didn't even see the gun when Alex pointed it towards you but Billy saw the flash of metal and reacted by shoving you backwards and rushing Alex before the shot ever rang out.

You barely had time to register what happened next. The scent of gunpowder and the metallic scent of blood clung to your nose and throat. Billy had tackled Alex to the ground and they were struggling over the gun. Another shot rang out right before Billy managed to pull a knife from somewhere and plunge it into Alex's neck.

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The sounds of the shots drew the attention of a bouncer and a few patrons from a bar on the corner who quickly ran out to see what was happening. "Call the cops!" You hollered as Billy got to his feet. He was supporting his weight against the wall as he scanned you for any visible injuries "Are you ok Y/N?" You nodded and he half smiled before his legs went out from under him.

You caught him and helped him ease down to the sidewalk. You pulled your hand back and realized it was bloody so you tore his shirt open to see a gunshot directly in the center of his stomach. Blood was gushing out the wound. "Oh god" you couldn't even allow yourself the panic you felt "GET ME A GOD DAMN AMBULANCE HERE TOO AND ONE OF YOU COME HELP ME" you screamed at the men who were simply standing around.

The bouncer threw the phone to one of the other men then came to your side "What do you need?" You jerked your head back towards where your bag had fell "Get my med bag" you looked down at Billy whose dark eyes had never left yours "Hey stay with me Billy ok? Just keep those eyes open for me" 

He nodded then winced "Fuck I forgot how bad getting shot hurts" by that time the bouncer had gotten your bag so you were grabbing everything you needed out of it and checking for an exit wound.

When you didn't find one you knew the bullet was still inside so you had to keep him as still as possible to minimize the damage. "Yeah so I've been told" you felt your voice tremble as you spoke. Your hands were moving simply from years of training. It was muscle memory more than anything at that point because you felt like your world was falling apart.

Billy's hand came up to brush your hair out your face weakly and you could feel the warm smear of blood his fingers had left behind "God I don't want to miss any more with you and Adi" you had to grab the bouncers hands to use to hold pressure once you'd packed the wound because your hands were shaking too bad "do it like this and do not fucking move" you ordered and he nodded.

You slid up to Billy's head to check his pulse and felt it getting weaker by the second. "Billy you're not gonna miss anything with us. She needs you. Baby I need you. I love you, please just stay with me until the ambulance gets here"

A weak version of that damn smile that always made you stumble your words slipped onto his face "Did you just say you love me?" You nodded and felt tears slipping down your face "Yes Billy I fucking love you soo much" his eyes tried to close so you shook him "God dammit stay with me Billy. Do it for me. Do it for Adi. Just keep your fucking eyes open" 

He opened his eyes partly then said "Baby you know I'd do anything for you two" "Then fucking stay alive. Be here with us. Marry me. Be there the day our daughter graduates high school, when she gets married. You're the only man I've ever loved and I want to spend the rest of my life with you so please just hold on..listen to my voice please" he laughed weakly and you felt your heart stop when some blood came out his mouth "Did you just propose to me?" 

"Yes I did so now you got to stay here. You've got me and Adi to fight for. We need you" he smiled and said "Can you kiss me?" You leaned down to place a gentle kiss to his lips and saw your tears mixing with his own "I love you Y/N. You and Adi are the best thing that's ever happened to me"

His pulse started slowing and his eyes fluttered shut. "BILLY? BILLY?" you moved your hand down to his chest and shook him harshly when he didn't react you felt and couldn't find his pulse. "No..not after everything. I'm not losing you" you choked out, moving to start compressions and begging anyone listening to not take him from you and Adi. 

You were on the verge of breaking from the mere thought of losing him when you heard the ambulance pull up "Y/N?" You recognized Riley's voice and hollered "BILLY'S BEEN SHOT. HE'S LOST A LOT OF BLOOD AND I JUST LOST HIS PULSE"

@intothesoul

@weallhaveadestiny

[littlesapphicraccoonguy]

‼️Spoilers for the second to last chapter of Tails Noir(even though literally nonebof you guys know what it is) ‼️

Also possible TW for mild body horror? Idk

Also TW for me being late to this trend because Im STUPID 😔

Guys im so funny. Right. Im so funny.

Also those weren’t Larry’s(the one in the scarf) exact words in the game but I know what he wanted to say, I can see right through his attempts to hide the fact that he’s still in love with his best friend, but it takes one to know one, Larry 🙄

And for the people who follow me who don’t understand the context, I highly doubt y’all will play the game and I did put a spoiler warning so incoming big ass paragraph about like 1/5th of the plot of Tails Noir:

Okay so basically, Howard(the one I draw all the time/the red one) got infected by this alien symbiote venom kinda thing called the Artifact while he was snooping around in Science City(a made up city in Vancouver) for a reason I might explain in a different post. But he got infected by it and passed out in an alley after accidentally killing someone with the weird ass Artifact thing, and his best friend/former roommate from college, Larry, found him and dragged him back to his tent under a bridge(because he’s homeless) and there were a bunch of other homeless people living there too as a community. And so Howard told Larry about how he got infected by the Artifact and shit, and Larry wanted him to stay under the bridge with him and the rest of the community for his safety and he was also genuinely trying to help him with his pain and stress. But around this part of the game, Howard keeps talking about trying to find Renee(who’s kind of like his investigative partner in the game but he’s also kind of like her sidekick too lmao. Also she’s the one I drew in green) and Larry was willing to help him find her since he was worried about her, but he feels like Howard cares about Renee more than he cares about him(Larry) who he’s known for ten years while Howard has only known Renee for a few days. And Larry is more upset about that fact because it’s not the first time Howard has essentially chosen a girl over him, the last time ended up with Howard kicking Larry out of their home and the two of them eventually losing contact. So that’s what this stupid ass two panel comic(?) is referring to. It’s a lot more emotional in the game.