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

[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 about his new gamble 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 Queen 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?” 

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?” 

Levi's eyes flicker back towards you. You're facing him, looking uncertainly at the tea.

“Yeah," he says. 

"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 the tea preparation, turning away from him. “I’m just being polite."

“Why? You never bothered before."

"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?”

You've turned back in his direction, and 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. One day in, and Levi's already screwing up with his words.

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

“Getting her beauty rest, huh?” Levi looks up; you're placing 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 muse, 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 take to 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. “A job?” 

“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's eyes narrow. “Anyway, you wanna join or what? 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 into 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, like a soft cloud fills the sky with shapes.

You're now 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, 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 said earlier. “That’s why I wear a hat.”

“I didn’t come to the surface to run away from the sun,” he 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, perchance?” 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. “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 time 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.”

At that, Levi does raise a brow. He finds your gaze already on him.

“The sights were... nice, of course,” you explain. “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…

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

“Oh... does it still hurt a lot?”

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

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

He nods.

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

Levi's eyes narrow. “You said that already.” You shoot him a lopsided smile. He sighs, shaking his head. “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.

At once, 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, shaking your head. "Should have known; you’re always so perceptive.”

“And you’re beating around the bush.”

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

At that, Levi has to frown. 

“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 moment, “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 suddenly a sense of dread forming in his pit of his stomach. “Is that why you’re here?” 

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 Levi 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.”

“Maybe. But it'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. “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. 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.

Levi takes it as his cue to drive his point home, “I only said what I said because a Scout’s life was a battlefield every day. But we’re not soldiers anymore.”

He sucks in a breath at those words; he realizes it’s the first time he acknowledges it out loud: We're not soldiers anymore. Levi'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, but when Levi finally manages to smooth over your words with his own, you stop fighting.

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.”

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

“You’re not. 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... 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 looks 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 Erwin's face. "He's 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.

[hiddenpen]

Our Lives - Chapter Two

Summary: They are finally outside. Anne is hiding something, and Tess is no fool. As they walk through the wet streets of a destroyed Boston, Anne and Joel find themselves surrounded by unwelcome memories.

Chapter One here!

The rain was relentless as the group carefully navigated the dark, wet streets. The curfew was over, and they had to move cautiously. Soldiers patrolled nearby, their flashlights slicing through the night, forcing them to duck into shadows. “The soldiers have multiplied, damn it” Tess muttered.

“Yeah…Not the perfect time for a stroll. Let’s go” Joel urged.

Ellie was caught in her thoughts, this was only the second time she’d been out after curfew, and the first time hadn’t gone so well. She tried to shake off the memory but ended up bumping into Anne’s backpack as she walked ahead of her.

“Sorry”, she whispered immediately. Anne, not smiling, replied, “Don't worry. Go ahead of me. I’ll take the rear”.

The sound of their footsteps was muffled by the relentless rain. They were already soaked, and the chill of the night wasn’t helping. As they turned the corner, Joel whispered, “Come on, kid”.

But Anne’s voice interrupted them, “Shit!”. Tess was the first to respond, “What?”

Anne realized she’d spoken a bit too loudly, “Nothing. Sorry, I just stepped into a puddle”.

Ellie chuckled, and Anne shot her a look, “somethin’ funny?”. Ellie quickly stopped smiling, “Sorry, sorry”.

Anne was beginning to understand Ellie a little. She was thinking about the absurdity of the situation they were in, she wasn’t sure she liked it. Well, definitely not. But she realized she missed working with Tess and – Joel.

Finally, they were indoors. Anne’s soaked boot was making a squeaking sound with every step, that echoed through the building. It was driving her insane. “For God’s sake, I’m going to lose my mind”, she muttered under her breath. Joel, the only one close enough to hear her, turned to look, amused by the situation, and gave her a brief smile. Reflexively, Anne smiled back, but Joel quickly turned away. This was going to be very difficult for him. He wasn’t ready, and she made everything feel so easy. But he couldn’t linger on the thought for long.

As they reached the end of the hallway, Anne broke the silence first, “We can go through the old post office,” she said in a hushed tone, glancing back at the group. “There’s a window there that points directly outside the QZ. Normally, it’s not lit up”.

Joel responded immediately, shaking his head. His voice leaving no room to debate, “No. It’s too dangerous”. Anne whipped around, her brows furrowing, “I took that way last week” she snapped, raising an eyebrow.

But Joel didn’t miss a beat, “Yeah, well, last week there weren’t this many soldiers out guarding the streets”.

Anne scoffed as she glared at him. The annoyance bubbling in her chest wasn’t just from him dismissing her idea - it was the way he always had an answer, always had to be right. She knew he might have a point but admitting it felt impossible.

“Well” she said, mocking him, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “we’ll just have to be extra careful, I guess”.

Her tone was provocative, and Joel caught it immediately. He opened his mouth to fire back, but Tess, who had been silent until now, raised a hand.

“Joel’s right”, she said with a resolute voice, “It’s too dangerous, and there are too many soldiers. We go down”.

Anne sighed dramatically, throwing her hands into the air, “Ah, figures. Double the heads and you get one giant void, I see”.

Tess smirked despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitching at the comment. Joel, however, simply sighed, refusing to rise to the bait. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, he had to admit - Anne had always been kind of funny, in her sharp, biting way. Not that he’d ever let her know that.

Tess turned to Anne, her smirk fading as her voice turned serious, “Listen, if we’re going to do this together, you’ve got to be less of a pain in the ass”.

Anne noticed Ellie shifting uncomfortably behind Tess, her eyes flicking between the adults as if trying to understand what all the arguing was about. Anne held back a retort, catching herself before she said something that would just escalate things further.

“Fine”, she muttered, exhaling through her nose, “Ladies first” she added sarcastically as she gestured to Tess and Ellie to go. Tess shook her head.

The group adjusted their positions, and Joel motioned for Ellie to stick close as they prepared to move. Anne trailed behind, keeping her thoughts to herself for now as they slipped further into the rainy night. The air in the basement was thick and suffocating. It was pitch black, save for the narrow beams of their flashlights cutting through the dark. The faint sound of dripping water echoed off the walls, and the unmistakable haze of spores hung heavy in the air.

“This wasn’t like this before” Tess muttered, her voice tense. She adjusted her flashlight, scanning the room ahead. “How long ago is before?” Anne asked, her tone sharp, suspicion creeping into her voice.

Tess hesitated, just for a second. “Not long” she said, but Anne caught the defensive edge, the subtle attempt to brush it off.

Anne shook her head, muttering under her breath as they moved further into the basement. Her flashlight skimmed across the walls and debris-strewn floor, each step feeling heavier than the last. As she approached a closed door, Anne reached out cautiously, gripping the handle. With a quiet creak, the door swung open, and her flashlight fell on something - or rather, someone.

“HELP ME”, the man croaked, his voice hoarse and desperate. He was pinned under a collapsed beam, his face pale and streaked with blood. Anne jumped back instinctively, her back slamming into Joel, who staggered and grunted in surprise.

“Jesus Christ!” Anne exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and irritation as she tried to recompose herself. She was quick to push off of Joel’s chest, putting as much distance between them as she could before stepping cautiously into the room.

Tess didn’t hesitate. She raised her pistol and fired. The gunshot cracked through the room, and Ellie jumped, a sharp “Fuck!” escaping her lips as she flinched. But the crack of the gunshot had echoed through the basement, an announcement of their presence. A chilling, guttural screech followed, sending a shiver down Anne’s spine.

Joel grunted, his tone clipped, “I don’t like it here, let’s move”, as he put his hand on Anne’s back subtly urging her forward. The room now was eerily silent except for the squelch of their boots on the damp floor. But soon enough, through the dim light, a movement - a shadow shifting unnaturally. Infected.

“Shit,” Tess muttered, gripping her gun tightly as they all instinctively took cover.

Joel and Anne ended up pressed against the same stretch of crumbling wall, crouched low and silent. The sound of shuffling feet and wet, rasping breaths drew closer.

Anne glanced at Joel, her lips curving into a faint smirk despite the danger, “So much for the safest route, huh?” she whispered, her voice dripping with mockery.

Joel rolled his eyes, letting out a quiet, exasperated sigh, “Never learned to let it go, did you?” he shot back, keeping his voice low.

Anne shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, her smirk widening just enough to needle him further before she slipped away, moving to a new position. Joel watched as she crept with surprising precision toward one of the infected. She moved like a shadow, her knife gleaming faintly in the dim light. In one swift motion, she took the creature down silently, her blade slicing through its neck.

Joel found himself holding his breath. There was something about the fluidity of her movements, the way her instincts kicked in, that made his heart race for a fleeting second. But he quickly shook the thought away, tightening his grip on his rifle and focusing back on the task at hand.

The infected’s body slumped to the ground, and the basement fell quiet once more. Anne glanced back at Joel before slipping into the shadows to regroup with Tess and Ellie. Joel exhaled quietly, his focus fully back on survival as they prepared to press forward.

They finally found the way out, stepping into the open air for the first time. The rain hadn’t stopped, leaving the world damp and shimmering under a faint sliver of moonlight. Ellie’s face lit up with awe, her eyes wide as she took in the expanse of the outside.

“Wow, I am actually outside,” she said with a smile, her voice too loud for comfort.

Tess’s reaction was immediate - she grabbed Ellie by her jacket and yanked her down. “Jesus, Ellie” she hissed, shooting a warning glance.

Joel sighed, running a hand over his face. He didn’t want to be here. Everything about this situation grated on him: the kid’s naivety, the constant tension, and most of all, Anne’s incessant presence. But there wasn’t time to dwell on it.

They were outside the city limits, yes, but they still had a long way to go to escape the controlled zone. Soldiers were patrolling nearby, their searchlights sweeping the streets. Joel moved ahead with purpose, his posture tense but calculated. He moved as if he knew every step by heart, weaving through the darkened alleys and debris with practiced precision.

Anne followed, her thoughts racing. How many times has he taken this route? How many times has he risked his life like this? A pang of something she refused to name tugged at her chest, but she pushed it away. They came across an old container, rusted and leaning precariously, but it provided a path forward. Joel gestured for everyone to move, stepping in first.

Suddenly, a soldier appeared from the shadows and struck Joel in the head with the butt of his rifle. He stumbled forward, clutching his head, and Tess was on the soldier in a heartbeat, grappling for his weapon. But he was quicker.

“Arms in the air!” the soldier barked, “don’t do anything stupid”, his voice sharp and unyielding as he stumbled back trying to regain composure. Anne froze, her hands lifting slowly, and Ellie followed suit, her expression tense. Joel, still reeling, glared at the soldier with gritted teeth.

Another soldier joined, “turn around. On your knees and put your hands on your head”, the four of them obeyed, everyone thinking of a way to get out of the situation. “You scan them. I’ll call it in”, said one of them, while the other took out the scanner and began to check them. Tess tried to intervene, her voice low and persuasive, “Listen, we can work something out. We can make it worth your while”.

“Shut up,” the soldier snapped, silencing her.

Anne’s heart pounded in her chest. The scanner moved closer to Ellie, who seemed to grow more restless by the second. Then, without warning, Ellie lunged. She drove her knife into the soldier’s knee, and he let out a howl of pain. The chaos erupted instantly - Joel tackled the injured soldier, wresting the rifle away and slamming him into the ground. Anne reacted on instinct, drawing her pistol and firing at the second soldier. The shot was precise, and he crumpled to the ground. Tess grabbed the fallen rifle and turned to cover their surroundings, her breath quick and shallow.

Joel stood, his eyes scanning the scene before landing on Ellie. “What the hell was that?” he growled, but his tone was more incredulous than angry. Ellie, still gripping her knife tightly, looked shaken, “I- he was going to- I thought we were just gonna hold them up or something”.

Tess picked up the device the soldiers had been using to scan for infection, her eyes narrowing as the light blinked a bright, damning red. She froze for a moment, staring at it before calling out, “Joel”

Joel turned, his brow furrowed as Tess held the device out toward him. “Look at this” she said, her voice sharp. Joel grabbed the scanner, his jaw tightening as he stared at the flashing light. His voice was cold when he spoke, “Marlene set us up?”

“No, no!” Ellie’s voice cut through the rain, urgent and pleading.

Joel looked at her, his anger boiling over, “Then why the hell are we smuggling an infected girl?!”.

Ellie stepped forward, her movements quick and desperate, “I’m not infected! I can explain!”.

“No? So was this lying?” growled Joel as he threw the scanner to Ellie. At the same time Tess drew her gun, and leveled it at Ellie, “You better explain fast,” she said, her voice a hard edge cutting through the chaos. As Anne saw Tess level her gun, she quickly smacked her arm down and positioned herself in front of Ellie, “are you serious?! Pointing a gun at a fucking kid?”, Tess didn’t answer, her expression showing a bit of embarassement.

Ellie held up her arm, taking advantage of the situation, shoving her sleeve back to reveal the faded scar of a bite mark, “Look at this!” she shouted.

Joel’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists, “I don’t care how you got infected”

“It’s three weeks old!” Ellie yelled back, her voice breaking, Tess intervened, pushing Anne away to directly look at Ellie, “No, everyone turns within two days so you stop bullshitting”, “I swear!” the kid screamed again.

Anne stood to the side, her heart pounding as she watched the scene unfold. Her mind raced. Should she intervene? Should she reveal that she already knew why they were smuggling the girl? No - both Joel and Tess were too angry. She felt a flicker of fear toward them - how far would they go? Still, something about the way Joel and Tess were cornering Ellie made her uneasy. Joel’s anger felt sharp and relentless, more than the situation demanded. Anne clenched her fists, feeling a surge of frustration rise in her chest, “Fuck-“ she muttered, Joel and Tess’s heads instantly turning to look at her with their brows furrowed, as she paced a few steps, running a hand through her hair like she was trying to grasp the right words.

“Look”, she began, her voice strained, “I know I should’ve said something sooner, but-”

The sound of gravel crunching under hurried boots interrupted her, and all three froze, instincts taking over as Joel reached for his weapon. “Shit”, he muttered under his breath before barking, “Run!”

Tess didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Ellie by the arm, pulling her forward. “Come on!” she urged.

Anne followed, her boots splashing through the growing puddles as the rain poured harder, obscuring the sounds of their footsteps and shouts. Joel was close behind, his gun ready as they disappeared into the night. The rain swallowed them and Anne hoped it would swallow her too.

The streets were a maze of tension, soldiers patrolling every corner, their flashlights slicing through the rain-soaked darkness. The group moved carefully, sticking to the shadows, waiting for the right moments to cross open spaces. Anne’s heart pounded with every step, her breath fogging up in the cold night air. Joel led them forward, his movements precise, while Tess kept Ellie close, her hand never far from her weapon.

Finally, they slipped past the last checkpoint, emerging into the unregulated expanse beyond the QZ’s controlled zone. The rain continued to pour, soaking them to the bone. As soon as they reached safety, they stopped to catch their breath under the cover of an abandoned overhang.

Tess crouched down in front of Ellie, her voice softer now, “Okay, let’s say we believe you. What was Marlene’s plan?”.

Anne stood to the side, her arms crossed as she watched the interaction. She was glad that nobody actually seemed to have noticed that she had something to say. Her thoughts wandered to Tess, noticing how her voice held an edge of care. Always ruthless, Anne thought, but there’s something softer there, too. She remembered how Tess used to check in on her during their smuggling runs, a rare kindness in a brutal world. She suspected that Tess’s motherly instinct had something to do with the kid she’d lost, but she never dared to bring it up.

Joel, however, broke the moment with a pointed sigh. “Really?” he said, looking at Tess with exasperation.

Anne’s eyes snapped to Joel, her irritation bubbling to the surface. She shot him a glare, one that practically screamed are you serious right now? Joel met her gaze, nodding slightly as if to say stay out of it. That only made her more annoyed, but she held her tongue.

Ellie, on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat. She began explaining Marlene’s plan: how her infection was supposed to be the key to a vaccine. Joel’s scoff cut through her words like a knife.

“Oh, we’ve heard that one before” he said with a bitter laugh, his sarcasm dripping.

Ellie threw him a sharp glance but ignored his remark, continuing, “The plan was to meet her team. They’re supposed to take me to - I don’t know, she said that they have their own little quarantine zone with…with doctors”.

Joel crossed his arms, shaking his head as if the words were poison, “Oh, right,” he muttered, his voice thick with disbelief.

That was it for Ellie. She stood up to confront him, her fists clenched at her sides, “I didn’t ask for this, man!”

Joel didn’t even hesitate, “Me neither,” he shot back, his tone cutting. He turned to Tess, his frustration boiling over, “Tess, what the hell are we doing here?”

Tess paused, her eyes flickering between Joel, Anne and Ellie, “What if it’s true?” she said finally, her voice steady, Joel threw his hands in the air, stepping back as if the situation were physically pushing him, “I can’t believe-” he began to say, but Tess confronted him, “What if? I mean we’ve come this far, let’s just finish it and collect the payment”.

Anne’s voice cut in before Joel could respond. “My payment too” she said, a sharp edge to her words. Tess just looked at her as to say I’ll deal with you later. And Anne decided to remain silent. She glanced at Joel, and for a brief moment, she thought she caught a flicker of something in his expression - sadness, maybe regret. She couldn’t tell. But what struck her most was the realization that Tess was the one in charge here, not him. That made her smirk to herself.

Now Joel was really angry, he took Tess by her shoulder, “do I need to remind you what is out there?”. She scoffed, pausing to look at Ellie and then back to Joel, “I get it. But we’re in this now and we are going to finish it”. Joel was surprised at Tess’s words, he didn’t really know what to say. Everything was beginning to be too much, “Why the hell do you believe-“ but he couldn’t finish his thought, “Stop being so goddamn stubborn” Anne interrupted, her voice rising just enough to silence him. “Let’s just go find somewhere to hide from this damn rain and we’ll talk about what to do”. Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked ahead, her boots splashing in the growing puddles.

Tess glanced at Joel, smirking faintly, “I actually agree,” she said, motioning for Ellie to follow Anne.

Joel stood there for a moment, his jaw tightening before he sighed heavily. “Fine” he muttered, trudging after them reluctantly.

The rain showed no mercy, drenching them to the core as they trudged forward for what felt like an eternity. When they finally stopped near an old building, Tess glanced back at the group, wiping her face with a tired hand. “Okay” she said with a sigh, “I would gladly stay here to dry up a bit”.

Joel exhaled sharply, a sound that almost seemed to echo her sentiment. He didn’t need to say it - his body language screamed how fed up he was. The mission, the rain, the people - everything grated on him. Still, even he couldn’t deny the exhaustion from being battered by the downpour. Without protest, he let Tess lead the way inside.

Anne lagged a few steps behind, muttering a relieved, “Yeah, fucking finally” as she shook the water from her jacket.

Joel’s eyes flicked to her, and suddenly, a memory hit him like the warmth of a fire on a cold night. He could see it vividly: Anne stomping around her cramped apartment in Boston, voice rising as she ranted about the rain. It had been one of those rare, fleeting moments where the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a little while.

“I mean, we got rid of capitalism, right?” she’d said, her tone full of mockery and frustration as she paced with her hands gesturing wildly. “With this fucking fungus thing, we could’ve just taken it easy, right? Noooooooo, nooooooo! In the fucking apocalypse, I still have to go to work—imagine saying something like that in an apocalypse, man! And I have to work while it’s fucking raining! I’m doomed to be a tired, working woman forever while I bet the stupid elite is hiding somewhere eating…fuckin’ steak soups or something!”

Joel remembered laughing so hard he’d barely been able to get a word in, “‘steak soups’?” he’d finally managed to say through his chuckles, “weren’t you a vegetarian before all this anyway?”.

That was when she’d stopped dead in her tracks, giving him what he was calling her “mental health prisoner face”, and then bolted after him. They’d ended up chasing each other around her tiny apartment, the air filled with the sound of her mock protests and his rare, deep laughter.

The memory softened him for just a moment, and Joel realized his lips were curling into an uncharacteristic smile. It faded quickly when he noticed his gaze lingering on Anne, who was now wringing out her damp sleeves.

Snapping himself out of it, Joel straightened and followed the others into the building without another word, not before taking another look at the destroyed city. The rain’s relentless pounding faded into the background as they stepped inside, leaving behind the memories for the cold reality of what lay ahead.

The group filed into the building, the muffled pounding of rain outside creating a backdrop of uneasy silence. Anne hung back slightly, glancing at Ellie as the teenager plopped onto the ground with an exaggerated huff.

“How are you holding up?” Anne asked, her voice neutral but not entirely unkind.

Ellie glanced up, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and defiance, “Could be better, but... I’m okay”.

Anne nodded. “Good. Now rest up a bit”.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by the sentiment, but didn’t comment. Tess, on the other hand, crossed her arms and studied Anne closely, suspicion flickering across her face. After a moment, she stepped closer. “Hey,” she said, her voice low but pointed, “You seem a bit too silent about this whole... situation.”

Anne stiffened, caught off guard, but quickly masked it with her usual indifference, “I’m rarely not calm”, she replied dryly, brushing past Tess.

Tess scoffed, her tone cutting, “Yeah, right”. She paused for a beat, her eyes narrowing. Joel spoke, his voice cutting through the tension, “Anne”. Her name startled her, and from the look on his face, it had surprised him, too. His tone was quieter than usual, almost soft. He sounded tired, “Just spit it out”.

She sighed heavily and turned to face him, already defeated, “What?”. Her voice was sharp, defensive, “I’m hiding nothing. I don’t know why you’re so paranoid”.

But even as she said it, Anne knew her tone betrayed her. Tess caught it too, her expression darkening. Joel, leaning against the wall and watching silently, picked up on it as well. That tone was all too familiar to him.

Tess stepped closer, her voice steady but icy, “Okay. Stop with the bullshit. What’s your deal with Marlene? Or... John’s, for all we know”.

Anne’s face tightened, and she sank to the floor with a heavy exhale, leaning her back against the wall. Her fingers raked through her damp hair as she avoided Tess’s gaze. She exhaled sharply, letting the fight drain out of her, “Alright,” she said at last, “Fine”.

“I had to deliver the kid with Marlene”.

Joel immediately straightened from his lean against the wall, his voice snapping like a whip, “Wait you knew about the immunity bullshit?”

Anne shot him an annoyed grin, the corner of her mouth twitching in disbelief, “Let. Me. Finish.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, “Well, you better”.

Anne held his gaze for a beat, her teeth clenching as she bit back the string of curses threatening to spill. Or what? she thought bitterly. What the fuck was he playing at? Some righteous crusader with the right to judge me? She swallowed the bitterness, inhaling deeply.

Leining against the wall, her voice leveling out as she began to explain, “John had a deal with Robert about the weapons. But it got messy fast. Robert had something else going on - something we didn’t know about at first. Turns out, he was dealing with the Fireflies. We didn’t even know where to start looking for one of them. John told me to ask...”, she hesitated, “...to ask Joel. But he eventually changed his mind”.

Of course John didn’t change his mind. But Anne couldn’t do it. She really couldn’t confront Joel, even after a year. Joel’s face twitched at that but stayed silent. He knew it wasn’t John’s idea to let it go, and the thought hurt him more than he realized.

Anne pressed on, “Then we got word from a soldier - dead Fireflies found just outside the city. We tracked them, eventually found Marlene, and struck a deal. Just me and her. I’d take Ellie to their camp, keep John and his men out of her way, and in return, I’d join the Fireflies and go back with the weapons. I needed Robert for leverage - or thought I did - until I heard someone else was on his trail. Not the Fireflies, this time. So I had to beat them - beat you - to him”, she gestured vaguely. “And then…well, you know the story. And here we are”.

Tess scoffed, shaking her head, “So much for being a prophet of morals, huh?”

Joel sighed heavily while Anne shifted uncomfortably, “For what it’s worth, I really didn’t know it was you”.

Tess raised an eyebrow, “Would that have changed anything?”. Anne hesitated before muttering, “Probably not”.

Joel’s sharp tone cut in, “Right”. Anne threw her hands up again, “Oh, come on! Don’t act like I stabbed you in the back or something”. Joel glared at her, “I just find it funny, is all. You had this whole peace narrative going on, and now it turns out you were the one screwing everyone over”.

Tess intervened, “Did you actually want to join the Fireflies? Or would you have turned your back on Marlene too?”. Anne sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead, “I-I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah, maybe”.

Joel felt something tighten in his chest at her words. He didn't really care about the deal or anything else. But would she really have left Boston? Had she ever planned to tell him? Would she have just disappeared again? The thought gnawed at him, an ache he didn’t want to acknowledge. It made him angry - angry at her, but mostly at himself for feeling this vulnerable. He shoved the thoughts away.

Anne crossed her arms, her voice quieter now, “I’m sorry. But you can’t really blame me. We haven’t been partners for a long time, and let’s be honest, you’d have done the same thing”.

Joel’s jaw clenched, her words ringing uncomfortably true. He wanted to argue, but he stayed silent. Because deep down, he knew she was right. Tess broke the silence, her voice calm for the first time, “I guess you’re right”. Her gaze swept between them, lingering on Joel before settling back on Anne, “Well, hope we’re all clear now. I think we could use some rest”.

Anne blinked, caught off guard. She’d expected Tess to argue, to push further, but the sudden shift threw her. For a moment, relief washed over her. Tess was actually letting it go. She wasn’t sure why, but she was grateful. And a little surprised. She hadn’t thought it would be this easy.

Still, her gaze flicked to Joel, gauging his reaction. His expression was almost defeated, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he leaned back against the wall. Anne found herself hoping he wasn’t mad at her. Not that she cared what he thought—not really. But the feeling lingered, stubborn and irritating, like a splinter she couldn’t shake.

Exhaling sharply, Anne stood up, brushing off her pants. Her eyes landed on Ellie, sitting alone at the table, nervously picking at her fingers. The girl looked frustrated, her jaw tight and her shoulders stiff. Anne hesitated, unsure what to do. She’d never been good with kids—they terrified her, honestly. Especially the ones on the brink of puberty. But something about Ellie’s slumped posture tugged at her. With a quiet sigh, she fished a small piece of licorice out of her pocket and walked over.

“Hey”, Anne approached her, her tone tentative, “You want something to eat?”. Ellie didn’t look up, her scowl deepening, “No”. Anne chewed the inside of her cheek, taken aback by the sharpness in her voice, “Okay... so, uh, you got something to eat?”. Ellie’s eyes flicked up, narrowing. Sarcasm dripped from her tone as she looked at the licorice, “Much better than that, yes”.

Anne blinked, momentarily at a loss. Her gaze darted to Tess, who raised an eyebrow as if to say, not gonna help you with this. Anne shook her head slightly and scoffed under her breath, muttering, “Okay then”. Turning on her heel, she walked away, stuffing the licorice back into her pocket.

Hours had passed. Ellie sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping her knife between her fingers with a practiced ease. Joel was seated across from her, his elbows resting on his knees, watching her. Tess was likely on the roof, keeping watch, and Anne was sprawled on an old, dusty sofa on the opposite side of the room. She had one leg slung over the armrest and her head tilted back, her eyes half-closed but still alert.

After a while, Joel broke the silence, nodding toward Ellie’s knife, “Nice knife”. Ellie glanced up briefly, “Thanks”. Joel tilted his head, “Where’d you learn to do that?”. Ellie’s lips curled into a smirk, “The circus”.

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly unimpressed, “Figures”.

Anne cracked an almost imperceptible smile.

Ellie, unfazed, shifted gears, “Where are you from?”

“Austin”, Joel answered after a beat, “It’s in Texas”. Ellie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I go to school”. Joel huffed but didn’t respond. Ellie pushed on, leaning forward with curiosity, “So, are you and Tess—”

“Pass”, Joel interrupted, his tone curt.

Anne, who had been quietly listening to their exchange, raised an eyebrow. Were they something? she wondered. But she quickly pushed the thought aside. It left a sour taste in her mouth, making her feel oddly possessive, and she didn’t like that. Joel could do whatever he wanted.

Ellie, oblivious to Anne’s internal musings, pressed on, “Okay, so how does the infection spread?”.

Joel leaned back, crossing his arms, “Oh, I thought you went to school”. Anne couldn’t help but smile faintly at his sarcasm. Ellie scowled, “It’s a really shitty one”.

Joel seemed ready to actually explain, but before he could, Tess’s voice cut through the room, firm and direct, “Alright. Finally the rain stopped. You ready to go?”. Everyone glanced toward the doorway where Tess had appeared, shotgun in hand. Joel gave a slight nod, and Ellie stood up, tucking her knife into her pocket.

Anne swung her legs off the couch and stood, brushing herself off, stealing a quick glance at Joel. He caught it but said nothing, turning toward the door with Ellie close behind him. And with that, they headed out.

They walked in relative silence for a while, boots crunching against the broken pavement. The city’s ruins loomed around them—twisted metal, shattered glass, and overgrown vines reclaiming what once was. Anne’s gaze wandered over the scene, catching glimpses of beauty amidst the destruction. Morning light filtered through the cracks in crumbling buildings, casting intricate shadows on the ground. There was something hauntingly sublime about it all, she thought, something that tugged at her chest.

Joel followed a few steps behind, his silence a wall that Anne could feel even without looking at him. She didn’t speak either, but their paces had gradually aligned. They were closer now, walking in parallel. Anne glanced at him from the corner of her eye and caught him looking, not at her, but at the ruins she’d been admiring. Something in his gaze mirrored her own awe. He sees it too, she realized.

Her mind drifted back to a memory, soft and golden.

It had been a simpler time—well, simpler for them, at least. She and Joel had been walking back to Boston after a routine job. It had been an easy mission, no hunters or Infected, just a quiet trek through the outskirts. They’d paused at the edge of a hill, catching their breath as the sun began to set. The sky blazed with fiery hues of orange and pink, and for a moment, everything had felt suspended in time.

Joel had sighed, breaking the silence, “It’s nice, huh?”

Anne had turned to him then, catching the way the light reflected off his face. It softened his features, made him look… handsome. She’d smiled despite herself.

“It’s so strange” she’d said.

“What is?”

“That no matter how much the world is ruined, it always finds a way to remind you it’s beautiful”

Joel had nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon, “That’s true”.

“Honestly, it’s infuriating”, she’d replied.

His lips had twitched into a faint smile, “I think it’s... uh... comforting more than infuriating”.

“How so?”

He’d paused, considering, “I don’t know. The world was shit even before all this. Maybe not as much of a life-or-death situation, at least for us living in a first-world country. But even back then, when things were bad, there was always... something. Like the color of the sky at six in the morning. I don’t know”

He’d laughed softly, a rare sound that had warmed her more than the fading sunlight, “I remember... there was always this squirrel outside our house. Probably lived in a tree nearby. We gave it a name—Sandy. Very predictable, I know. Sarah named it, not me”.

“Every morning, Sandy’d be outside our window” he said, his tone soft, “We’d throw nuts out there—pecans, mostly. Sarah thought she could domesticate him”. He gave a small, fond smile at the thought, “She was convinced Sandy was gonna end up sittin’ on her shoulder like some kinda pirate squirrel or somethin’”.

He paused, and his gaze grew distant, his voice quieter, “You know, I’ll admit… it’s gonna sound stupid, but one day, I had a real bad day. Everything felt like it was just… falling apart. Got home late, dead tired, and my mood was on the ground”.

Anne stayed silent, sensing this was more than just a story.

“And there it was”, Joel continued, his voice softer still, “That damn squirrel. Just sittin’ on the porch, starin’ at me like I owed it something. It didn’t run, didn’t flinch. Just... looked at me”.

Anne raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity tugging at her, “What’d you do?”

“Nothing. Just stood there, starin’ back. And I don’t know why, but somethin’ about it—being seen like that, by somethin’ so… detached, so simple—it made me feel a little better. Like the weight wasn’t all mine to carry anymore. Like it didn’t matter to that squirrel if I was fallin’ apart”.

He fell silent, the memory hanging between them like the ruins they were walking through. Then, with a self-deprecating chuckle, he added, “Well, sorry. That was a long explanation to say that this sunset’s... reassuring”.

Anne laughed, the sound light and warm, “No, I get it now. It’s a nice thought”. She remembered how badly she wanted to kiss him.

She bumped his arm gently, her smile playful but genuine, “Joel, the squirrel whisperer”.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Any classic sans x other AUs as long as it's not Swap

Any other AU is fine, explicit is fine, idc about the length, etc...

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Truth Be Told by A_Loser_I_Guess (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Ink wasn't one to be held up by emotions, despite what others think. He didn't have a soul, he went through his daily life with his vials. Until he met Error, at first when they fought Ink just wanted to get rid of this nuisance, but Error made Ink feel something. Something real, not authentic. So he wants Error, there is no substitute for how Error makes him feel. Although someone in the dark might also have their eyes on Error, the god of Negativity. Error has a bad feeling something is going to happen he won't like, but he doesn't know what So I posted this story on Wattpad so the first 11 chapters are already done and I finally got my Archive account today so I posted those today. I hope you enjoy the book!

Let's Try This Again by WrittenKinzy18 (Teen And Up, Complete)

Red has some major family issues, and the Classic Undertale becomes the target of Nightmare's latest schemes. Everyone gets dragged into it. Classic's real sick of his shit interfering with their family nights.

Healing a Broken Mind, Loving a Broken Soul by Crimsonmoongoddess87 (Mature, Complete)

Underfell is not known for its cuddly demeanor; the monsters there exert control through cruelty and In Edge's case, it's no different. After barely escaping with his life, Red ends up In Classic's AU where all he wants is peace and a place to hide for a few years until his brother calms down. Jumpy, terrified, and badly injured, Red decides the best he can hope is death by the elements. At least he wouldn't have to go back and face his brother's fury. Sans finds Red curled up under a dumpster bleeding and in need of help. But how can you help someone when cruelty is all they've ever known? How can you gain their trust when all they expect is pain and suffering? Sans is Determined to try.

Disconnected by necroeffect (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

A dirty glitch slips from Error's grasp, taking Classic Papyrus and leaving chaos in its wake. Sans accompanies Error in attempting to stop the anomaly before further damage is done, and to help save his brother. Error could salvage this mess. He had to. But he didn't realize he needed Sans to salvage him, and perhaps the other way around.

Fragmented by LoversInMidnight (Teen And Up, Complete)

Red only ever desired his brother's affection. All the years of being put down, mocked, even beaten up has left him in a tight spot. His mind is cluttered with doubts and dark thoughts. Even though he isn't alone, he feels so lost. With darkness creeping up on Red faster than anyone could have seen, will Sans be able to help the person he loves the most before it is too late? ~ Classic Sans X Underfell Sans (Red) ~

[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.

--

Prev | Next

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.

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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.

[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

[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.

[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.

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

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.