#i spent two days without taking them and i was feeling suicidal for the first time since i started then

[mossy-petrichor]

Does anyone else's ADHD meds (stimulants) make their suicidal thoughts vanish?? It's SUCH a clear thing it drives me insane because I've never seen anyone talk about this??

[someonexsomeone]

Suneater

Title: Suneater

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 8.4k (...oh)

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin Pureblood np!reader

Summary: Sirius has another best friend, and James just can't figure out what to do about it.

Warnings: angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of traditional values and arranged marriages

Authors Note: so uh...i did not expect this to be this long, and also not at all what I thought this would be. originally inspired by Leanna Firestone's song Suneater, this was supposed to be a happier fic, but i couldn't stop thinking about the line "But I am just the one who swallowed the moon // The only light that I have's just a reflection of you" so the original fic was a black cat x golden retriever and then somehow...this? please let me know what you think!

if you or anyone you know needs help, please call 988 (USA) or contact your local hotline. You are loved, you are needed.

Companion piece: Stardrinker

James was completely stumped. As a distinctly Light family, the Potters didn’t have much reason to attend Dark Pureblood gatherings, let alone interact with them beyond the odd time here and there, but he knows of your family, in the same way he knew of the Black’s - speculation, word of mouth, gossip. Neither he nor his family have any personal memories of you, and it seemed like no one else he knew was friends with you. You were a complete mystery to everyone…but his best friend.

When they first started Hogwarts, Sirius made it clear his stance on Slytherin families - keep as far away from them as possible, prank from a distance, target the ones he knew had evil in their hearts. James was more than pleased to go along with this. After all, a whole pool of targets just for the taking, and he didn’t have to feel guilty at all? It seemed so easy. 

Sirius was ruthless with his attacks, cackling with glee as he sent stinging hexes in their direction or watching with mirth as they got caught in a trap. But when James launched a dungbomb in your direction, singeing your hair into an uneven mess, Sirius dropped everything to rush over, apology already tumbling out of his mouth despite the fury on your face. He even escorted you to the Matron, and looked incredibly guilty as the two of you walked back into the Great Hall sporting a new hairdo and fear on your faces. You returned to not speaking to each other, just as you always had, but Sirius seemed to glance over at the Slytherin table a little more frequently. Since then, none of the Marauders dared to prank near you, but with the rest of the house being easy pickings, James didn’t spare you another thought.

Then, summer before Fifth year happened. It was going to be their year, full of new pranks, new status, and, even better, a new plan to help Moony with his…time of the month. Sirius, as usual, spent the beginning of summer at the Pottery, spending hours at a time trying to find their animagus form, and, eventually, trying to change species. His parents were good at giving them space to play to their heart's content, and it warmed James’s heart to see them dote on Sirius just as much as they did as him. Especially as June faded into July, and Sirius’ dread to return home increased with every passing day.

Halfway through their break, at the height of the Dark Wanker Gatherings, the very color name Sirius gave the period of summer when the Dark Pureblood’s season of parties came to a head (as the heir to the Noble House of Black, Sirius was expected to attend the biggest ones, meaning James hardly got to see him until the start of the school year), Sirius all but disappeared. The house was far too quiet without him, and his letters were sparse of details, worrying James despite the countless summers they had gone through this previously. Despite Peter and Remus’s best attempts, James just wasn’t the same without his best friend around. Their friendly games of Quidditch lacked the usual competitiveness, their conversations quickly devolved into pooling the little information Sirius gave each of them, and there were only so many Sugar Quills one could eat before their stomach turned in on itself in worry. It was why James was always the first to arrive at the Platform at the start of the year, determined to figure out what happened to his best friend, even though Sirius always managed to change the subject without giving any answers. 

So, color him surprised when, instead of rushing onto the train and locating his friends like usual, Sirius lingered after saying goodbye to his parents, the very people he never wanted to be near. When you and your family stepped through, Sirius’s eyes lit up. He made a beeline to you as soon as you finished your goodbye’s, pulling you to a secluded corner, only barely visible from where James was practically hanging out of the compartment window to see. The two of you whispered to one another before you hugged, then parted ways.

And ever since then, Sirius was always looking out for you. Instead of the tense silence you usually kept, James watched as your face lit up (no smile, that was far too obvious, but your eyes seemed to sparkle whenever they landed on him), stepping away from your usual posse of stuck up Purebloods to speak to Sirius. They seemed just as flabbergasted, until it started to happen so frequently they did nothing but offer a silent sneer, knowing better than to wait for you to finish your conversation. But James remained, always standing just close enough to catch snippets, but never the whole story. Instead of sulking in his room or yelling at whoever dared to disturb him on bad days, Sirius disappeared completely, only to be spotted with you within the hour, a more relaxed look on his face. He never missed a full moon, at least he kept that promise to his friends, but you were always one of the first visitors they had in the morning, leaving a get well soon treat for Sirius to eat as soon as he woke up. 

All this to say, it wasn’t as if you and Sirius were attached at the hip, but it was hard not to notice the seemingly new affection you had for one another, and the change of priority, leaving James to seek you out in order to find his friend on more than one occasion.

Neither Remus nor Peter knew anything about what caused this shift in your friendship, but all it took was a little comment from Peter (“Maybe…maybe they’re together together.” followed by a scandalized look from Remus), to send them into a spiral. 

“Sirius? Keeping a secret from us? Especially one as big as a…No! No way!” James refuted, pout evident on his face.

Because there was absolutely no way Sirius was going to keep something like this to himself. James was the first to know about Sirius’ first kiss, his first make out, his first shag! He was there when Sirius confessed to his first girlfriend, then his first boyfriend, then his first…partner? James forgot the name but either way! He was there! And now…what? Sirius was too ashamed to admit he was dating a Slytherin? Surely he knew there was no way. And, if he was dating, then there was no way he would pick a Slytherin unless they had something really special about them.

Despite Remus and Peter’s fervent arguments against it, James swore himself to a new goal - Mission Impossible: Figure Out Why Sirius Thinks a Slytherin Is Better Choice Than Literally Anyone Else in the School; I Mean Come On There Are Three Other Houses-- (“That’s far too long a name anyway!” Remus shouted indignantly).

He was already spending time lingering when you and Sirius chatted in the halls, so he tried to join in, actually listen instead of grumbling to himself about how long it was taking. You gave him an incredulous look the first time he did it, scampering away much too quickly for Sirius’s liking, if his saddened face was anything to go by. His second and third attempts were met with the same response, so James dropped his attempt, too soft to continue if Sirius was gonna keep giving him that kicked puppy look.

Then, he tried to join you and Sirius for your study sessions, figuring, what could go wrong? The library was a quiet place, and there wasn’t an easy escape if he positioned himself correctly, and you were very dedicated to keeping Sirius’s grades up (from what he’d been told anyway, this was, after all, the first time he ever willingly wanted to spend time with you). Sirius was hesitant to allow him to come when he asked, so he decided to drop by unannounced instead. Sirius’s welcoming smile was more than enough to override your glare, though it was clear this interruption was less than welcome, as no more work got done, and the boys were kicked out almost immediately. You were clear in your instruction to Sirius, whispered quietly but not quiet enough, that James was not welcome if he was going to be so noisy.

So, sneaking had become his last resort. It was hard, what with his friend group practically spending every minute together, but despite Remus’s warning, James scurried off whenever Sirius did. It took several weeks, and several pathetic attempts before James was finally able to catch you and Sirius alone. He didn’t think he was above snooping, especially with all the attempts recently, but there was a tiny bit of guilt that underlined his successful movements as he snuck down the hall, hidden from yours and Sirius’ watchful eyes, all thanks to his Invisibility Cloak. Sirius had that look about him, whipping his head back and forth, something he always did with James when he set up a prank without anyone noticing. 

Something big was happening, and it had to be discussed without any prying eyes.

“Sirius, it’s alright,” you spoke lowly, so much so that James had to get a little too close for comfort to hear you. Sirius’ head perked up at the somewhat loud swish of the cloak, but when he didn’t see anything, he turned back to you, pushing you into an alcove of the hallway.

“Alright?! Are you mad?” Though he still had a grip on your arm, James could tell it was gentle, so lightly that you easily could have pulled away at any time. And, to his surprise, you didn’t, instead laying your hand on his with a gentleness he’d never seen from you before.

“This was something we always knew was going to happen,” you squeezed his hand, face stoney, “it was only a matter of time--”

“They’re selling you off like cattle! They don’t care about your life!”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” To this, your face darkened.

“I am not like you, Sirius.” This was the Slytherin attitude James was used to. Poisonous words spouting from your mouth, eyes narrowed to a glare. You didn’t have to push Sirius’s hand away, your now icy stare was enough to have him pull away first. “You and your precious friends can galavant around and do whatever you please, no matter the consequences, but the moment I show weakness, or displeasure towards my family, I will have no one. My friends--”

“Are no real friends if all it takes is standing up for yourself to have them disappear!”

“They know better than anyone that we don’t have any other choice--”

“So, what? You’ll marry the old coot and be the perfect little house--”

“And what would you suggest I do?” Sirius opened and closed his mouth several times, fury on his face, unwilling to admit that maybe you were right. In a house where betraying those thought to be your friends is commonplace, what option did you have? If James was right in following along, though it was incredibly hard with how quickly the two of you whispered, if you rejected this marriage arrangement, your parents would undoubtedly kick you out. With the friends he’s seen you with, there was no chance any of them would reach out in good will, especially since you’d have lost all the power via your family name. 

There had never been a Slytherin in his life that he felt empathy towards, but this…this was something even he could not see a way out of.

“Surely leaving your family to be free is better than being locked in a gilded cage,” Sirius finally settled on.

“Freedom always comes with a cost, and this one is far too great.” Sirius’s eyes lowered to a glare.

“So that’s it.” 

Oh no. James could feel the anger radiating from his friend, the same anger that has landed him more than a few detentions over the years. This was the anger that led to the initial discovery of Moony’s condition, the screaming match that had Sirius follow Remus into the woods. This was the anger that almost broke their friendship in third year, and the anger that nearly got him expelled for attacking another student. 

This was the anger that made Sirius reckless. 

“You give everything up and stay that obedient Pureblood you’ve always been, and be miserable forever. Well, I can’t watch you do that. I can’t watch you stoop so low, so pathetic,” --James nearly reached out, desperate to stop Sirius from saying anything more to destroy what you two had-- “and try to kill yourself again.” 

Too late. The most emotion he had ever seen from you flicker across your face, hurt turned to anger turned to resentment in one fluid motion. Sirius, as angry as he was, seemed to notice as well, snapping his mouth shut as soon as the words left his mouth. Almost as if an invisible wall appeared between you, you both stepped back, as far as the small alcove allowed.

“Yes, you’re right. How pathetic of me.” You bowed lowly, despite Sirius’s efforts to stop you. “I’ll take my leave then, so your virtue won’t be sullied by the likes of me. Regards to the most Noble and Ancient House of Black.”

James turned on his heel, too embarrassed in his attempts to snoop to watch any further. Sirius chased you down in the opposite direction, calling your name until his echoes finally stopped. When James returned, it only took a look to stop any questions from his other dormmates. Sirius’s late return, the lethal combination of sadness and anger that had him lashing out at anything he could see, was answer enough.

James tried to keep the facade of innocence for the rest of the term, thanking Merlin that it was just a short month away. It was far easier than he hoped, with everyone immersed with their OWLs, but it didn’t do much to stop the guilt of having witnessed such a private and personal conversation. Sirius continued to look for you whenever he could, desperate to catch your eye, but you were just as stubborn as his friend was it seemed; even though James caught you several times watching Sirius when no one else was looking. 

Sirius spent the beginning of summer with him as normal, riding on their brooms and keeping their minds as far away from the drama waiting back at Hogwarts. James tried a couple times to ask about you, but Sirius would clam up immediately, snapping at him or immediately changing the subject. By the time the Dark Wanker Gatherings started up again, Sirius seemed to have calmed down some, resigning his anger into a facade of apathy, the kind James seriously disliked. He only hoped your absence wouldn’t make his disappearing act worse.

Then, in the middle of summer, you appeared. 

Or rather, you and Sirius appeared, Flooing into his home in the middle of dinner, fancy clothing covered in blood. Your face was panicked, strained against the weight of his friend, who seemed too out of it to stand properly. His Mother screamed at the intrusion, and both James and his father rushed over to take the weight off of you. It seemed all Pureblood customs flew out the window with the desperate need to help Sirius, as you immediately barked orders to take him to the nearest bathroom with a bathtub. Once situated, you started peeling away Sirius’s clothes, revealing the various cuts across his body.

“Hey! What are you--” But you simply silenced him with a wave of your hand, pushing him out of the room and slamming the door in his face. “What the fu--”

“James!” Euphemia’s glare was enough to have him shutting up. “Why don’t you two go back down and finish dinner. Polly spent a lot of time making it.”

“But Sirius--”

“Is obviously in capable hands.” His Father patted a heavy hand on his shoulder, leading him away without another word. Before they made it back down stairs, James caught the gentle knock she rapped on the bathroom door (of her own house!), quietly entering with a, “Is there anything I can get you, dear?”

“A house elf, the one you trust the most. And my apologies for…” your voice faded as they returned to the dining room.

Sirius was up by the time he woke the following morning. James tried several times to see Sirius throughout the night, but you were as strict as you were terrifying, guarding the room like a loyal watchdog until James was too tired to try again. And here you were again, dressed in borrowed clothes and carefully stroking Sirius’s long hair into a complicated braid, pulling strands away from his face so it wouldn’t fall into the bowl of soup he was nursing. Sirius’s face lit up when he saw James enter the room, clambering to get up. His own injuries stopping him from getting far, wincing and slumping back into his chair.

“You can’t move too quickly,” you chastised quietly, trying off the end of his hair. The easy way Sirius let you touch him, to have his guard down completely, caused a shift in James. A Slytherin providing comfort? It was unheard of to him. But here it was, right in front of him, an easy relationship that existed out of two people caring deeply for one another. 

Just like his parents. 

James felt a pang of jealousy go through him.

“Sorry, Prongs. Gotta listen to the Medi—,” Sirius stopped, grimaced as you pulled lightly on his hair. “What? I wouldn’t want anyone else helping me back to health.”

“And now that you are back to being your annoying self, I must be off.” Sirius tried to stand, but your gentle hand was enough to have him stop. “Rest. And thank you, for everything.” 

As Sirius was out of commission, James was the one to walk you to the Floo, taking his parent’s robe from you at your thanks. You straightened out your hair as best as possible, fixing small details of your outfit to hide what you had been up all night, as James wrung his hands, debating whether he should say anything at all. When you reached for the Floo powder, he finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he managed. Your hand paused midair, but it was the only indication you gave to show you were listening. “Thank you for bringing him here. We’ll take good care of him.”

“He’s too proud to ask for help,” you said in response. “But he’s lucky to have someone like you in his life.”

“And like you.” To this, you scoffed, finally turning to look at him.

“I seem to only bring him trouble.”

“He does that fine on his own.” The small uptick of your lips was easy confirmation to your agreement. “But seriously. I’ve never seen him so happy to talk to someone before, and he talks to a lot of people.” When you didn’t say anything, James flushed. “I mean--”

“I’m lucky to have whatever part he’s willing to give me.” And with a flourish, you disappeared into the fireplace.

James never did find out what happened that caused Sirius’s injuries that summer. After a lengthy conversation (the lengthy conversation in question - Sirius: “I pissed my family off and now I’ve been disowned.”, James: “Oh, perfect. I’ve always wanted you as a brother.”), Sirius was unofficially officially adopted into his family. His parents took Sirius to St.Mungos a couple times to make sure everything was okay, but otherwise, the rest of summer was spent just as blissfully enjoyable as the beginning. Only this time, James didn’t have to worry about Sirius having to return to his awful family every night. They stayed up until the sun began to rise, sneaking into each other's room to spend the night, terrorizing the neighborhood with their loud voices until the sun rose. 

And, you were there. Not directly, not with the new disgraced title Sirius proudly bore, but in letters and conversation. Sirius now spoke freely and openly about you, how you had always been there to help him with his horrible upbringing, the way you always seemed to know what to do to help. Sirius admitted to getting into that final fight for you, for your honor, but didn’t elaborate any further. He spent many mornings at James’s desk writing to you, updating you on the new freedom he had, and making sure you were alright. That he’d be there in the drop of a hat if you needed him. 

Now that James was included in the conversation, willingly and welcomed this time, he was able to see how witty you were, how you weren’t just the Pureblood Slytherin he thought you were, but a genuinely good person for Sirius to be influenced by. You easily scolded him when needed, and praised him without letting his ego inflate too largely. Though you were only there in writing, it was easy to see the easy affection Sirius had for you, and vice versa. And, with James being let in somewhat on the secret friendship you shared, how deep it actually was, almost all the tension released from between the three of you. He even got to apologize for butting in so often last year, to which you waved him off with a promise not to do it again.

So, when sixth year started, and he got to see you for the first time in person since that fateful morning, it was like he’d never seen you before. And, all the better, it seemed you were determined to talk to Sirius, even if it meant you got some nasty glares from your housemates. James liked that about you.

So, he made the effort. When you or Sirius walked up to one another, James stayed close, engaging in conversation. Though you looked shocked, Sirius always gave him a broad smile, the prospect of two special people in his life becoming friends made him giddier than James ever thought possible. And Sirius was very open about that fact, throwing his arms around you and James mid conversation to squish you into a group hug. It didn’t take much to get the rest of his friends involved.

Your study sessions now involved all the Marauders, Remus sending you a thankful smile whenever you managed to calm the rowdiest of them down, comparing notes for class. Peter trailed after you happily, using you as a type of shield from the rest of the Slytherins when you walked together to class. You joined them on Hogsmeade trips, a quiet companion as they carried you from place to place. You never questioned what got them in so much trouble they ended up in the hospital wing once a month, but you did start to bring all of them a little treat for them to wake up to. Sirius started joking about you replacing him in the Marauders, to which you answered with a smack to the back of the head.

And James? Well James seemed to seek you out more and more without realizing it. If Sirius sat on your right, he would take your left. When needing a partner for class, he and Sirius would fight for the honor of being your partner, despite the fact that you already began working with someone else. He looked for you in the Slytherin crowd during quidditch matches, easily spotting you as the only person not booing at their victories. You and he would walk to class together, then hang out alone before the others joined. Your one on one time only increased as you got closer. You stayed up late to help him with classwork he struggled with, patient as ever, even if you did take every opportunity to poke fun at him with that deviously dry wit. You even helped Sirius with a joint gift, a box the size of his hand that would fit anything inside it and could only be opened by him. It was the first time he hugged you without Sirius’s intervention.

“Woah, woah, woah! Back it up!” Sirius said in his best imitation of an angry tone, but his smile was too contagious.

Yes, you butt heads. James’ lackadaisical attitude got on your nerves, sometimes done on purpose because James just loved to get a rise out of you, and your uptight scholarly nature often rivaled Remus, but at the end of the day, it was clear that there was a deep respect for one another, something that blossomed without either of you knowing. James would steal food from your plate without asking, loudly teasing you when you reprimanded him, but he would always replace it with some of your favorites, an unspoken apology. You would call him names (dimwit, airhead, and bludger brain to name a few), but you were always there for him at the end of the day, quietly praising his ingenuity, genuinely asking his opinion on matters.

It was why the guilt of the knowledge of your arranged marriage was starting to eat at him, a secret you didn’t know he knew. It was especially bad on days when that dreaded silver envelope arrived, since you frequently sought out Sirius. He recognized the crest on the back, an old and very Pureblood house, that no doubt had to belong to your fiance. You would crush the letter in your grip after skimming it, catching Sirius’ eye from across the room. No words needed to be said for him to stand, meeting you at the entrance hall. It was rare to see either of you for several hours after that. It was routine at that point.

But today was different. Sirius was in an early morning detention, cleaning McGonagall’s classroom after a series of pranks rendered the board useless, and you were nearly hyperventilating as the silver envelope fell into your lap. James only noticed because you were out of your seat faster than he’d ever seen you move, eyes glistening. He was following behind you before he realized what he was doing.

“Wait!” Your head whipped around at his voice, wiping your wet cheeks in an attempt to hide any evidence of your sadness. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Sirius?”

“He’s in detention--what’s wrong?”

“It’s…” A group of giggling second years passed by, watching their interaction with interest. You instantly clammed up, face slacking into apathy. ”It’s nothing.”

James shook his head before tugging you down the hall. Despite your protests, he led you to one of the many secret passages, pulling you until you were in an unused hallway, rows and rows of empty classrooms creating the perfect hiding place. He didn’t speak until the two of you were in one, locking the door firmly behind him, and covering it with an anti-eavesdropping charm.

“What’s wrong?” Without a word, you held the letter out to him.

My Darling Angel, it read, handwriting barely legible with how shaky it was. Do not fret any longer, for your Father and I have finally come to an agreement. Though your price was a hefty one, I have been assured you are well worth it. In merely a years time---

“You’re getting married?” In a year's time, the summer of your Seventh Year, you were going to be a bride. James’s stomach twisted into knots. Tears piled up to the edges of your lash line.

“I spoke to my Father every summer, showing him my grades and my prospects, anything I could to have him increase his greed for more. I thought if I could keep going, just for a little longer, he would become so unreasonable, no one would want to pay my dowry. After all, why would they?” You sniffed, then furiously rubbed at your face, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I am no one special. Surely there are better prospects--”

“Woah, hey!” Your hands were moving too fast, too erratically, for his liking. As gently as he could, remembering the way Sirius acted, he pulled your hands away from your face. Rubbed raw with nail marks, you didn’t even seem to realize you were hurting yourself. 

“James,” his name was said in such sorrow, his very being rattled in sympathy, “what am I going to do?”

So he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled you close, cradling you to his body. You seemed to freeze at the contact. This wasn’t the friendly hug from his birthday, or the forced contact Sirius often made you do. This was something more.

“We’ll think of something,” he promised into your hair. With the gentle grip he had you in, it was easy to pull back and gaze upon the sincerity on his face. He gave you a small, crooked smile. “We won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

So, for the first time, you latched onto James, holding him tight enough to hurt, and wailed into his chest, mourning the life you tried so hard to protect.

For a moment, James allowed himself to be a little greedy, keeping you close enough to let your smell flood his senses. He allowed his hands to roam your back, feeling, as if for the first time, the way your clothes felt against your body, the heat of your being. He allowed himself to enjoy how you felt against him, how for once, instead of the proud Slytherin you always portrayed yourself to be, you allowed him to take care of you instead of the other way around. You seemed to fit perfectly in his arms, and, as ashamed as he was to think it, there was a part of him that loved how you trusted him to show this vulnerable part of yourself. You only ever show it to…

Then, with startling clarity, James realized he was holding you, Sirius’s person, in his arms, in a locked classroom, hidden away from the rest of the school. That same school who watched you run out of the hall with James following close behind. Those second years watched him pull you away! 

Before he could do something stupid, probably throw himself away from you, you pulled away first. Or, really, you yanked yourself away, wand raised with a Tempus spell showing the two of you were about to be very late to your first lesson.

“Thank you, James,” you whispered without looking at him, before you bolted to the door. His heart fluttered--

Oh, crap.

“I need to talk to you.” Sirius shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was at James’s sudden appearance, pulling him away from Marlene and Dorcas. The two, used to the strange way the Marauders always seemed to find one another, turned back to their conversation without another glance. James hauled Sirius up to their dorm by his collar. He had been looking all day for Sirius, with little success. It was just his luck that today, of all days, was filled with classes neither shared, and Sirius had to use his lunch hour to finish McGonagall’s room. And now, when Remus and Peter were meeting up with you to study for your Arithmancy exam, it was probably the best time he’d get. 

And there was just one thing Sirius needed to confess to, before James exploded.

“I know your secret. So please just admit it so I can tell you how bad of a friend I am.”

“Woah, woah woah. What?” When Sirius met James’s serious expression, his face turned from jovial to terrified. “...what?”

“I know, okay?” Sirius opened and closed his mouth, and if it was any other conversation, James would have poked fun at him for looking like a fish.

“You…know?” James nodded once firmly. Sirius swore, slumping down onto the nearest bed. “We were so careful!” At this, James raised a brow.

“You weren’t careful at all! Everyone knows!” Sirius paled.

“...everyone?”

“Well, everyone that knows you.” James eyed Sirius’ expression. With a shuddering breath, Sirius dragged a hand down his face. “You seem surprised.”

“Yeah, a little,” Sirius laughed, but it was far too breathy to be sincere. “I’ve only just convinced…Was I so obvious?”

“You always look for each other. And, even though it started off rough, you’ve gotten really close recently.” He clapped a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. The approval, how easy James gave it, had Sirius’ whole body relax, practically curling into himself. “You deserve each other.”

“Tell him for me, won’t you?” Sirius rolled his eyes, far more playful than he had been. “I’ve only been telling him every day for the last year. I mean, I know Moony’s dense, but I didn’t think it’d take this much convincing.”

“...what?”

“You know him as well as I do, mate. He doesn’t handle affection well. Especially mine.” Sirius laughed, this time much more heartily, his shoulders bouncing. James’ hand fell to his side, but Sirius hardly noticed, practically bouncing from giddiness. “Wow, it feels great to say it out loud.”

James continued to stare at him, mouth agape.

“Now that you know, this is perfect!” He jumped up, excess energy pushing him to his desk, rummaging through the pile of papers before pulling one out. “I’ve got so many plans! I’m thinking next full moon, I'll sneak into his hospital bed, bring some strawberries and chocolate, you know, romance stuff. I’ve been planning for months the best way to do it, but you know Moony. Be nice to him and he clams up, so I’ve been thinking--”

When Sirius turned around, James was slumped where Sirius had just been, the only difference being James’ shocked face to Sirius’ dread.

“What?” Sirius laughed. “Didn’t think I’d have a plan? I’m going all the way with this!”

“You--Moony? But I thought…--” Now it was Sirius’ turn to be confused.

“Why do you look like that?”

“You like Moony?!” Sirius dropped the piece of paper, his dread returning.

“You didn’t--” He coughed, like the words were strangling him. “You didn’t know?”

“No!!” James jumped up. “Since when have you liked…?”

“Oh,” SIrius scratched the back of his head, hair falling out of the messy braid that had your signature all over it. “When you said you knew my secret, I thought--” He suddenly narrowed his eyes, and James grew meek, chest and cheeks flushing red. “What secret did you think I had?”

So, what originally was a conversation James was severely dreading, turned into the most honest conversation they’d had in a while. James bared his heart to his best friend, explaining the guilt that had been eating at him since his birthday, worried he was a horrible friend. How he had only fallen for you harder as you hung out more, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, but didn’t want to do anything to upset either you or Sirius by stepping over boundaries. How he was there for you when you heard confirmation of your upcoming marriage (Sirius looked angrier than he had in a while when James revealed that small development), and it only solidified what he already suspected, and how your tears felt like burning lava on his skin.

Sirius, in turn, explained how he and Moony had gotten closer now that Sirius knew you had other people looking after you, namely the other Marauders. His new free time was spent with Moony, who didn’t think anything of it, until their playful wrestling got out of hand and Sirius kissed him. James vaguely remembered Remus acting strange, but attributed it to the upcoming moon, one where he was much more affectionate towards Sirius than his usual transformations. He talked about the way he had been trying to convince Remus ever since that day that his feelings were real, that it wasn’t just a spur of the moment mistake, but a budding of affection ever since Sirius was freed of his family's clutches.

So, when they finally calmed themselves down, after a massive cry fest that ended in them hugging, promising not to ever keep secrets ever again, and a series of firing each other up, they rushed to the very object of their affections.

“Moony!” Sirius practically tackled Remus as he and Peter walked down the hall, hands stained in ink and stomachs rumbling. Remus stood no chance against the delighted dog, books flying from his hands as he landed on the floor, wind knocked out of him.

“Wh--” But Sirius had already crawled atop him, mouth pushed resolutely against his. Remus struggled only for a moment, before returning the kiss desperately, hands clutching anything he could reach, settling on Sirius’ back and hair.

“Great Merlin!” Peter exclaimed, nearly tripping over his feet to get away from the two heavily making out on the floor. James let out a laugh, rushing over to help his…unoccupied…friend. “But he-- and Sirius--”

“Well, there goes all those plans.” James joked. Sirius and Remus finally pulled away after another moment of kissing, both panting, but faces alight in pure happiness as they gazed at each other. “Okay, Loverboys, no public displays of affection while we’re around, okay? At least until we’re used to it.”

“Prongs…,” Remus whined miserably, face flushing a brilliant red, only disrupted by the white of his facial scars. Sirius grinned wolfishly, pressing a loud, wet kiss in the space between Remus’ shoulder and collar, doing nothing to help. “Padfoot!”

Peter was still staring at them, mouth agape, even as the two stood.

“Where’s—“ James started, looking around. It was strange to not see you with the other Marauders, especially since you should have been with them for the last hour or so to study.

“Huh??” Peter shook his head violently, finally having the decency to wipe away his shock. When he noticed James’ wandering eyes, he clarified. “Oh uh, Astronomy Tower, I think? Needed space to think or something?”

“But I thought you guys were studying--”

“Never showed.” Remus’ nonchalance was not eagerly received. James whipped his head to Sirius, who was already looking worried. You hadn’t shown up? But that’s hours where you’re unaccounted for!

“James!” Sirius’ panic was clear. In an instant, the day James eavesdropped came rushing back, a stone forming in his stomach. “It’s high enough—“

“I’m on it!” Later, James would deal with the consequences of the unneeded explanation. Later, he would address the confused looks on Remus and Peter’s faces, address the shock on Sirius’ for not needing an explanation. Later, he would beg and plead on his knees for Sirius to forgive him for spying on a private conversation, and staying long past knowing it was wrong. Later. It would happen later. Now, he needed to see you.

He’d never run faster in his life, using every shortcut he could think of to make it to the Astronomy Tower in record time. He took the stairs two at a time, practically launching himself onto the platform at the top, breath coming out in hot pants. 

“James?” There you were. His knees nearly gave out in relief (though climbing stairs that fast may have had something to do with it), especially since it didn’t look like you had a scratch on you.

“Oh, thank Merlin. You’re alright!” You only looked at him, rising slightly from where you were leaning over the railing to stare out into the horizon. The sun was going to set soon, causing the glow to illuminate your silhouette, your expression hard to see.

“Of course I’m alright.” James tried to catch his breath quickly, before walking over to you. As he got closer, your features slowly became clearer. There was no evidence of your earlier conversation (how had it only been that morning that you cried into his chest??), and it didn’t look like you had been crying again. He didn’t know whether to be relieved you seemed okay, or worried that you might be bottling your emotions.  “What are you talking about?”

“Sirius said…” The rest of the words died in his throat. You cocked your head. He guiltily looked at you, then the railing. When you didn’t react, he continued, ”He may have mentioned…”

“Oh.” In an instant, you understood, eyes falling into a glare, no doubt upset at having your privacy violated. “I’m not so fragile as to need a bodyguard to care for me all the time.”

“It’s okay if you do.” You rolled your eyes, turning back to look out over the trees. James copied you, resting his elbows on the bar, but angled his body so his sole attention was on the side of your face.

“That’s a sure fire way to get yourself killed in my world,” you grumbled.

“Well in mine,” he cut in, before you could add on, “if a friend is in trouble, you do whatever you can to help them.”

“Even if they don’t need it?”

“Everyone needs help.” He could see the tail end of your eye roll. “But you do it even if they don’t want it.”

With his breathing returning to normal, the space between you fell quiet. When it was clear you weren’t planning to speak anytime soon, he refocused his attention on the skyline, watching as the sky slowly became more and more orange, the sun nearly hiding behind the mountains. It was cooling down, but with summer nearly there, it created the perfect balmy weather to cause mischief late at night. In the distance, he could hear the faint hooting of an owl, from the forest or the school’s owlery, he wasn't sure, and the faint rustling of leaves. It was peaceful up here.

“Did he tell you?” Your voice startled him out of his thoughts, his body jerking.

“What?” If you felt him move, you didn’t show it.

“Sirius. Did he tell you what happened?”

“Not in so many words,” James said, purposefully vague. He felt bad being deceitful, but he had no idea how to explain his predicament, not when you were wringing your hands together like that, body hunching in on itself, like it was trying to hide how vulnerable you were. And, when you took a deep breath, James understood then that you were about to tell him something important, something life changing.

“He was always there. The Ancient and Noble House of Black always needed to be seen, especially at those parties, but I never really interacted with him. Too famous to be seen speaking to my family, or too busy playing the role of a Pureblood Heir to step away from his parents.” You sighed, crossing your arms, leaning your hip against the railing to look at James. His eyes were wide with innocent curiosity. “Sirius was the one who found me on the verge of jumping off the balcony that summer night.”

“Merlin--” He couldn’t believe how nonchalantly you were acting, as if you hadn’t just revealed your most vulnerable moment to him. You plowed on before he could do something embarrassing, like care for you.

“I had just met my soon to be fiance, all leering and wandering hands, and it was too much. The idea of being sold off like cattle, to be a possession instead of my own person, I always knew that’s where my life would end up but…”

It came as no surprise to you that when you started talking, the story seemed to tumble out without you wanting the full truth to be revealed. It came to him suddenly, the realization that this was probably the first time you ever said it out loud, the only person you probably ever felt close enough to tell, Sirius, being there that night meant he already knew everything from his perspective. The hurt in your voice, the emotion you usually kept locked away behind that Slytherin facade, on full display, made it impossible not to react, even though there was a very Sirius-like voice telling him to let you come to him. He couldn’t stop himself, though, when he reached out when you told him about how you screamed that night, brandishing your wand, even as the old coot laughed. He watched as you described the moment they left, your parents doing nothing but laughing along with your dear fiance, leaving you with nothing but the night air, you climbed up, the least graceful thing you had done in who knows however many years, and tipped forward. His hand latched onto yours, the same way he would have that night if he was there.

He tried not to react as you explained how Sirius’ hands clasped around your legs before you could fall, using his momentum to pull you back onto him and the solid ground. You told him how your arms scraped painfully against the stone balcony, but Sirius’ body took most of the brunt of your fall. You could barely hear what Sirius had said at the time over the ringing in your ears, too shocked at the fact that you were alive, that you didn’t fall, didn’t crash into the floor below like you so wanted, too overwhelmed to hear him yelling at you. 

James did the only thing he could and held your hand tighter, keeping you with him, instead of getting swept up in the memory.

He could hear how you tried to keep your voice as even as possible as you spoke, not daring to show any more emotion than you had to, but James could tell. He couldn’t stop his face from contorting in disgust as you described the way your fiance spoke. He felt his eyes widened as you spoke about standing on the edge of the balcony, staring at the sky and not daring to look down. He nearly wept as you described Sirius’ warm embrace, the only thing that kept you grounded at the time. And when you finished, telling him you had to return to normal the following day, hiding what almost happened, he pulled you into his warm hug before he could stop himself.

“James, it’s alright,” you reassured, patting his back as if he was the one who just bared his heart and past, soothing him as best you could.

“It’s not alright!” Though his words were firm, they were not unkind. He pulled away, bringing your hand to his chest, willing you to feel the way it was thumping wildly. “You--you…!”

“It’s all in the past now.”

“The thought that I might never have met you…” He felt you starting to shake, eye swimming with doubt and hesitance.

“...what?”

“You mean so much to me.” His words rattled you, he could tell, but it was nothing compared to the pure determination in his face, not a hint of regret or ulterior motive to be seen. He meant every word. He had to show you he meant every word.

“You hardly know me--”

“Don’t do that,” he begged, his voice coming out weaker than he intended, but there was no way he would be harsh to you now, not after you bared your soul, not while you try to return to that apathetic life you had adapted to for survival over the years. Not if he could help it. “I know you know I’m being sincere. And you know I know you far better than you wish.”

“...what do you want me to say?”

“Say you’ll marry me.”

“What?!” He pulled your hand closer, keeping you as close as you’d allow.

“Not now. Not in five years, not even in ten, not if you don’t want to. But be with me, in any way you’re willing.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“If this is some cheap Gryffindor chivalry--”

“Not this. Not with you.” He pulled you closer, willing himself not to get his hopes up as you allowed yourself to be pulled a breath away. “I like you. I like you so much I feel my heart beat faster than any Quidditch game would ever make it feel, like it’ll pop out of my chest and flutter around telling everyone who’ll listen how much it feels for you.” You flush at his blatant confession. “I hate your fiance with every fiber of my being for ever making you feel like you don’t have a choice. For making you feel so trapped that you would rather…die,” —his tongue tripped over the word, too overcome with the implication to say it without flinching— “than go through with your marriage.”

“James…”

“It’s not the way I wanted to confess,” he joked sheepishly, before morphing his expression into the most earnest he could will it. “My heart is yours, in any way you want it.”

“I don’t…--”

“I’m offering myself to you,” he clarified earnestly, even as your expression faltered. He lowered his eyes to look at your clasped hands. “Use me however you like. I know Pureblood customs, and this is the way you can get out of it. Marry me, and do whatever you like. Move across the world, or stay by my side. Godric, we could even marry now and divorce immediately if you want!” He met your eyes again. “I just want you to be happy.” 

The silence continued to stretch and stretch. In the last few months of teasing, it was rare you didn’t have some sort of quip to put James back in his place, but now, it seems you didn’t have a single word to say.

He knew it was stupid, the way he said it. But, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Asking you for something simple like puppy love wasn’t going to cut it, not when your very freedom was on the line. As much as James could see himself loving you (he wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t already), you didn’t have the luxury of time, not the kind that James wanted to worship you, to prove his earnest feelings the way he knew his parents had, the way Sirius planned to show Remus. But the one thing he could do was make a promise to himself that you would never have to feel stuck again. 

The longer the silence lasted, the more James felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. 

“I’ve just made a fool of myself, haven't I? I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying, and Sirius always said I needed to work on my impulse--”

His knees almost gave out from under him, your clasped hands the only thing keeping him from doing so.

Your lips were softer than he imagined.

______________________________________________________________

masterlist  l hogwarts masterlist

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 7 "The Iceberg"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

A/N: I had to use my entire brain cell to write this one 🧠 Hope you're ready for some ✨LORE✨

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Giedi Prime, Day 1, later

This shouldn't feel so awkward.

Two hours after her arrival, Feyd and her are still in her room, seated on the couch. The cushions are wrapped in squeaky leather and her gown is too tight at the waist. She yearns for trousers and a shirt but doesn't dare open her coffer and change into her old sleeper clothes, because should she ask Feyd to turn around? Or simply undress?

The room with its black within black interior strangely reminds her of an insect burrow, molded out of plastic.

They've had a meal delivered to them half an hour ago by female helpers (slaves) without a personality and the empty plates are stacked on the coffee table. It had been nice while they were eating, giving them both something to do with no pressure to think of topics.

What would she even ask him? So, what was it like growing up on this planet I've never heard about? What do you even do here and please tell me anything about your culture, because I have no idea?

What would he even ask her? So, what was it like on old Earth, your old home that's lost forever? What kind of horrible war was that that made you flee to space and how exactly did you end up with the Bene Gesserit and survive for 24,000 years?

It's astounding how they've spent half a year together in their dreams and loved each other, yet managed to avoid anything that might give away their identity, hiding dirty secrets from each other.

Whenever she looks at him, new heat rises to her chest and her heart hammers like crazy. It obscenely feels like meeting your long distance boyfriend in person for the first time and the person you've known so well is suddenly a familiar stranger.

Every once in a while, Feyd takes a deep breath, head twitching forwards to close the distance between them and kiss her on her sweet lips, but the longer he waits, the greater the force that holds him back. She seems different, frightened and overwhelmed and like half of her mind is someplace else when he should be the center of her attention right now.

Every once in a while, she glances at Feyd's hands longingly, imagining to just reach out and hold them, but the longer she waits, the more difficult it becomes. He seems different, reserved and anxious, like he's weighing every word and action ten times before executing it.

There is also, naturally, a bed in her room and its mere presence has been making her flustered and nervous. They've both been looking at it in secret this entire afternoon and pointedly acting like it isn't there, pretending not to think about how they've already touched and explored each other everywhere. And yet they haven't. Not really.

She takes a deep breath, striking up a conversation. "What was that creature in the corner of the audience chamber?"

"Oh. That was my uncle's pet." Feyd's tone is apologetic. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Did it scare you? It's not dangerous."

"Didn't you say you… Killed it?"

"That's a longer story, I'm afraid." A muscle in Feyd's jaw twitches with a thousand thoughts and stories untold.

"But you did kill a pet of your uncle?" Horrified, she thinks, what if we did not actually have the same dreams? What if this reality is not quite like it should be?

But Feyd calms that worry quickly. "Oh yes, I did. More than once." 

Shouldn't he have said 'more than one'? 

"That's the joy of having a genetically engineered pet," he says without a trace of joy.

"Is that what Tleilaxu-fashioned means?"

"Yes." Feyd tilts his head curiously. "Aren't you horrified at all?"

"We did have a fair bit of genetic engineering at home, though that's not exactly my field of expertise." She briefly looks over her shoulder to where her cryo pod lies. The rectangle of sun has moved a fair bit. "But I've never seen anything like that creature."

The fact that Old Earth was capable of biological engineering is astounding to Feyd, but she keeps looking so longingly at the bulky, coffin-shaped thing and he fails not to become jealous of the inanimate object.

"What's up with that thing?" Feyd finally asks, finding a bit of his bravery and scooting closer to her. Her head snaps back to him, finding him less far away than he was before and her gaze drops to his lips and the tempting curve of his cupid's bow. Her breath hitches.

"It's just…" She takes an even deeper breath, perhaps her deepest one yet. Feyd watches her mouth as she speaks. "Would you help me with something?"

"Of course," he frowns. "Anything."

She hesitates for a moment and then bravely slips her fingers into his hand. "Are you… as afraid of technology as everyone here?"

"No," Feyd declares immediately, despite not being sure if that is actually the truth. But he wants to be his woman's confidant, more than anything.

"Okay, then…" She stands and tugs on his hand. Feyd follows her obediently towards the vessel which had preserved her for 24,000 years and released her unharmed. She kneels down in front of it and so does Feyd, warily. The stiff military uniform he still wears is uncomfortable at the knees.

She prompts: "Could you please shave my hair just over the ear right here? I'd do it myself but it's a tricky spot. I can't see it properly. Just a small stripe." She indicates with her fingers over her right ear. Feyd had expected many things, but not this. She bends to her little coffer and unclasps it. "There should be a multi-tool with a blade somewhere in here- Oh!"

Feyd has whipped his kukri from the holster under his jacket, presenting it with the sharp tip pointing upwards. One pale, blue eye regards her proudly from behind the curved blade that had been polished and whetted in the morning.

"That w-works too." She offers the side of her head to him, trembling when long fingers brush tenderly over her scalp, sectioning the area she had asked him to shave. He finds the hair in that area to be shorter than the remaining hair.

Her Feyd will be careful and not cut her. She suppresses the shiver that runs down her spine and into her core, nervous like it's the first time he's touching her. Silver glints at the corner of her eye and the whirring sound of strands being cut so close to her ear is momentarily louder than her heartbeat. Severed hair pelts softly on her shoulder.

Meanwhile, she deftly twists the cuboid capsule attached to her necklace and a tiny mechanism sussurates. The capsule comes apart and reveals a slim, shiny plate.

"What's that?" Feyd murmurs, brushing the pad of his thumb softly across a tiny slit he's found beneath the millimeter of hair that's still left.

"My port."

Jittery, she brings her hand up, shooing Feyd's away so she can trace the slit. Feyd notices her undone capsule pendant and the tiny rectangle in her hand.

"And what's that?"

"My chip. I had to take it out for the cryogenic sleep." She frowns, fingering around the area some more. "The port is overgrown. We had to have it sealed to protect the electronics."

"Are you a computer?"

She bursts out laughing so brightly that Feyd can't help but grin and his cheeks do the thing that they haven't done in so long.

"Oh dear, no! Where and when I'm from, everyone had one of these. You're technically only half a human without it. I've felt so naked…" She looks at him earnestly. "Could you cut it open for me, please?"

Feyd nods slowly, lifting the blade. The invitation to cut her elicits a twitch of his groins. He hasn't felt anything like his in so long, no enticing spark, not even when he tried to touch himself... His woman trusts him, so he will trust her chip.

She flinches when the blade tip comes close. "A-Are you sure you don't want to have the multi-tool for that?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Feyd moves closer, nose only centimeters away from her head. The pointy tip of his kukri tickles her scalp. "You need to keep still."

"I know, I'm just- Agh!" She flinches again.

"I haven't even cut you yet." He tries once more.

"Ouch! I'm sorry, I can't control it." Feyd nearly cuts where he isn't supposed to cut.

"Stop jerking around, my darling!" He determinedly reaches around her head with his free hand, stabilizing her and utilizing the fact that she's momentarily dumbstruck by the nickname, finally uttered in reality. She hisses when the blade precisely penetrates her scalp, just one millimeter deep. The skin is thin and bleeds only a little. Feyd is tempted to rasp his tongue over the cut and suckle her blood off the electronics inside, but he withdraws.

"And this is… safe?"

"Yes, don't worry. Most people don't remove their chips for several years, so the port has to be cut open when they need a replacement." 

Her face is so full of elation when she lifts the chip and slots it into the port that Feyd can't help but hold his breath, excited with her. His hand slides around her back, coming to rest on the crook of her arm. He scans her for change, unsure what to expect. Perhaps the soul of a machine flickering to life in her eyes, but she remains entirely the same.

Only her face brightens like she's seen paradise.

A virtual interface flickers into existence in front of her eyes, looking at the cryo pod. The world used to be so full of these interfaces, but now she looks into an electronic void that makes her feel lonely and empty. It's just her and the pod. The only surviving  human and piece of technology from Earth.

"What, what is it?" Feyd urges, scanning her face alertly.

"I used to communicate with the world with this," she murmurs. "Now there is… Nothing. I can only communicate with my sarcophagus."

"So, it's a transmitter?"

"It's a transmitter and so much more. With a  little bit of fiddling, perhaps I could link myself up to your satellites someday. This chip used to give me access to everything. Communication, information, entertainment, data processing, calculations. It's all virtually displayed in front of my own eyes. I can read, watch films, work... It has an in-built hard-drive, so not all is lost, at least." A piece of home. 

"So, you're no computer, but that chip is?"

She weighs her words, head swaying left and right. "It is a small computer, if you will, but it has nothing on the processing power of-"

"That's heresy," Feyd hisses, moving right in front of her face. She notices the tight set of his jaws but also the glint of temptation in his eyes, scanning her like she's a sweet poison apple.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"I won't. It'll be our secret. I swear it on my honor." She knows so many secrets of his, he will keep all of hers in a silver cage in his chest, twice locked. Feyd reaches for her face, softly grazing his fingertips against her jaw, but her gaze is faraway, drifting downwards diagonally.

The messages folder in the lower right corner of the interface taunts her with the promise of memories. Messages received from friends and family, the echo of her old life. Suffocating sorrow threatens to overwhelm her when she realizes this folder will never blink again with new messages and the contacts of loved ones in there are nothing but husks of the past.

"What do you see there?"

"Nothing," she replies earnestly. "Just memories."

"Look at me…" She follows the prompt of his soft voice. "What does it say when you look at me?"

"Hmm." Shyly, she focuses her attention on Feyd's face, lifting her hand and splaying her fingers across his soft cheek. Immediately, his lids drop halfway and she feels the weight of his head against her hand, relaxed. "First of all, nothing, because you don't have a chip." The tip of her index finger rubs over the smooth skin above his ear.

With the electric current of a thought skipping across neurons, she selects an application from the vast array. "But it has a tool that allows me to scan the environment. It's helpful for identifying flora and fauna."

"So, what sort of fauna am I?" Feyd mumbles, cheek still against her palm. A half-transparent box flickers to life in the virtual space above his head. 

"Human," she declares and smiles. "See, no fucking Bene Gesserit torture test required to find that out."

That causes Feyd to stir and he snatches her wrist with one hand and cups her face with the other, pulling their foreheads close. "They tested you?!"

"You know about the tests? Are they… A common thing?" Her heart pounds loudly in her chest.

"I don't know how common. But they tested me too, last week. Said I couldn't have you unless I passed the test." 

For a brief moment she catches herself wishing Feyd had plunged his daunting blade into the Bene Gesserit sister after the test. Feyd seems quite content with the vitriolic expression in her eyes, exhaling softly against her mouth, lashes half-lowered. His heart pounds quickly and he wonders if this is the right time to sleep with his woman and cover every inch of her body with himself, explore her real flesh until every square inch of her is covered with his handprints.

"Why are we sitting on the floor in front of this pod, my darling?"

"Because now that I've got my chip, I can finally get my things."

Feyd regrets that he said anything, because now she pulls away, attention diverted to the metal behemoth of a coffin. "What about your-?" He points towards the small coffer.

"Only odds and ends in there. My old cryo suit, the multi tool, couple of necessities the sisterhood gave to me. You know, a toothbrush and such," she rambles while establishing the personal area network between herself and the sarcophagus. The batteries have been holding up well for 24,000 years in space. She must have grazed the gravitational periphery of multiple suns which have fed energy into the cryo pod's solar panels. The pod was at 20% when she exited it on Wallach IX, puking and shivering after being woken. In Giedi Prime's unforgiving sun, it has already climbed up to 50% within a few hours.

The tethering is complete and the CryoSysTM system (evil tongues will say it pronounces like crisis) immediately recognizes her chip and her as the occupant of this pod and a rank 3 member of the International Spacing Cooperation of Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia, America and Luna, short ISCO.

On the virtual interface, she enters the passcode which she remembers by heart and completes the triplicate identification process by pressing her thumb on one of the four, small scanner panels.

Welcome, Astronaut M2-84.

Feyd flinches when the sarcophagus buzzes to life with a heavy, electronic sound and a segment in its lower half clicks open along what he had thought welt joints so far.

The relic reaches into cargo compartment 2 which had obediently opened upon her command. Feyd squints his eyes, frowning at the strange item she removes. A fuzzy thing with plump arms and legs which she squeezes against her chest. 

Is it delusional to think it still smells of home? But somehow it does and she can't help the tears that burn in her eyes.

"What is that?" Feyd tries to pry the thing out of her arms, but she fiercely resists.

"That's mine!" She flinches away, then adds more softly: "That's my stuffed animal."

"Oh. Ah. What can it do?"

"Nothing." She looks up with surprise and Feyd's eyes widen a smidge. "Have you never had one?"

Feyd thinks: Maybe. But he says: "This must be something we don't have anymore… nowadays."

"Hmmph." She highly doubts that. But she can imagine a childhood on this planet must be extremely different. "Well, it's mine and it's very personal to me, so please don't do anything that would damage it or I'll never forgive you."

"Okay!" Feyd reassures her quickly, taken aback. Her voice sounds so tearful all of a sudden and it puzzles him that one can be so attached to an object. It almost makes him jealous. Not directly of the stuffed animal, but of the fact that there was happiness in her old home. Happiness acquired through soft and useless things. How badly he wants that. But he doesn't even dare request a softer blanket for his room. Perhaps if she asked for him, he could have one…

Feyd will not touch the stuffed animal, even though it looks very soft. He touches his woman's back instead, sliding his arm around her so she leans against his side.

"Thank God I placed him in the high-security compartment." She looks at the fuzzy thing. "And my diary. The Bene Gesserit put my pod through its paces, but couldn't get past the outer shell." She taps the slit above her ear. 

If Feyd had such emotional objects, he'd keep them in the high-security compartment as well. Which is why the security for the palace has been doubled and the guards for this corridor alone tripled since her arrival.

"So, what would you have done if the witches had found and touched your little… friend there?" He grins, face conspiratorially close to hers, hoping to see maybe a sliver of that pretty violence again.

"That's not the problem," she shakes her head, squishing the plushie in her hands. Her heart pitter-patters from the closeness of Feyd's mouth near her cheek.

"Obviously, I don't only keep useless items in here." The look she gives him then is sly and Feyd's hairless brows shoot up. "I stopped asking for my necklace when I realized that computers are… Demonized. These pods were meant to preserve my people on our way from Earth deeper into the solar system, letting us sleep in a frozen slumber to skip the time. But each pod is also a fully equipped emergency capsule with all the necessities one might need as a stranded astronaut on a foreign world."

"Astronaut," he repeats the word uttered in a foreign language which sounds ancient to him. "How many like you were there?"

"We were twelve ships, 100 sleeping astronauts aboard each, all headed  to new worlds. Mine was the Magellan II, headed to Mars. Do your aircrafts have names?" Feyd shakes his head. "Ah, well. Traditions do change within 24,000 years I suppose."

"So, you left Earth to colonize the solar system, is that what you were trying to tell me on our last night?"

"That's right." She shivers at the memory. Her family and colleagues hadn't understood why she was crying so hard the whole morning before climbing into her sarcophagus to sleep. "I wasn't sure if I could dream in cryo sleep. The journey to Mars would have taken three years." Pleadingly, she turns to Feyd, startled by his proximity. "And how could I have told you I was leaving when you were doomed to die on earth? The program was scorned by the public, they said we're worse than terrorists."

So, she did leave him deliberately, Feyd notes almost matter-of-factly. But he isn't hurt, because her departure is the cause for his woman being here and he can convince her of his love every day for the rest of their lives, so that if the opportunity arises to leave him again, she will choose to stay with him.

A suspicious thought overcomes her. "I dreamed of you the months leading up to our departure. When did you dream of us?" He looks exactly like in the dreams, only a bit more tense around the edges. And no scar on his neck.

"The dreams stopped two years ago. And until one week ago, I had no idea if I'd ever see you again." He exhales deeply, eyes flitting across her face.

A frown spreads across her forehead. "Two years ago, the Bene Gesserit thawed me after receiving my cryo pod from the Guild. So, you've been dreaming while I was… asleep."

How odd. The timing seems to make little sense.

Feyd can see it in her eyes, how intrigued she is, already trying to understand and unravel the mysteries like back then. But Feyd has bigger concerns and looks only at her lips.

"And why are you here with me now, and not on Mars, 24000 years ago?"

"That's what I've been dying to find out."

Again, she pulls away from him before he can kiss her and Feyd silently curses himself. A muscle across his jaw tenses. It bugs him that he can't see what she can see, makes him feel excluded. Her eyes dart about, then squint as if she's reading. Feyd manages to keep quiet for a minute.

"What?" He eventually snaps, staring at her from the side.

"Well…" Her voice sounds small and disappointed. "It's what I expected. An emergency protocol released my pod after critical hull damage." 

Pensively, she kneads her own palms, staring at the virtual interface. Perhaps the others are still out there. Perhaps by some miracle they have survived the cryogenic sleep for much longer than what should be possible as well, and the folder in the corner of her interface will someday blink again.

The truth is, death has most certainly found everyone she's loved, embraced them with silent arms in their sarcophagi, cells turned to ice and withered away in the cold, endless night of the universe. A lonely and peaceful death, much more peaceful than the life that awaits her.

It was the program she was a part of that sparked the human advance into the universe. And she lives to see its terrible fruit.

"Why were you on that pod?" Feyd murmurs from the side. "What made you so special?"

Finally, she turns her head to face him again. "Because I helped build them."

"You?" A subtle frown crinkles the milky skin between his brows.

"Oh, yes. Where I'm from, women aren't just slaves. I'm a trained engineer."

And as the smart ship grew In stature, grace, and hue, In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too. - The Convergence of the Twain by Thomas Hardy

A/N: Yes, hello, I'd like to have one helping of Neuralink meets Cyberpunk 2077. To everyone who's not a trained engineer, myself included: We've got this! And also: Who is the ship and who is the iceberg here? 🤭

TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @charmingballoon,

@minedofmoria, @flower-frog, @welliah, @coastalcowgirl35, @sebastianswallows

Do let me know if you'd like me to tag you for this series or for Feyd fics in general 🫶

[heartpascal]

the sun was collapsing

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: joel thought you moving to a college halfway across the country would be the worst thing to happen to his family

▹— a/n: first off. yes this is me projecting. second, this is a miller!kid fic HOWEVER. it is not specified whether reader is adopted or biological etc + there is no reference to looks/resemblance! edit upon finishing: this took a slightly different direction than i originally meant but erm. yeah. let me know if y’all want any more of this!

▹— warnings: reference to a suicide attempt / suicidal thoughts and feelings — it’s the last section of the fic, and if you wish to avoid it stop reading at “You knew that you would never get used to the sound of a gun being fired.”, i will also put *** at the start of it (joel’s, but still, be cautious), negative feelings about going to college, miller!reader (adopted/bio unspecified), regretting leaving home, outbreak day, angst!!, brief use of they/them pronouns

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop (pedro)

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

There had been a pit festering in the depths of your chest since the moment you had finished all of your exams. One which, no matter how many reassurances were provided, refused to go away, refused to allow you a moment of peace, of rest.

Strangely, it had only gotten worse the moment you had received your results, since you had received your acceptance letter, since your place at the college of your dreams was confirmed. As if all your hard work finally paying off was a bad thing, something to dread.

At first, you blamed it on the way Sarah had cried and held on to you for the way your chest caved in on itself. It felt reasonable to assume that your little sister could be the reason for such overwhelming trepidation about your impending departure. After all, you had always worried about her, had always looked out for her as best as you could, especially with everything that had happened with her mother.

When that didn’t explain away the uneasiness in your chest cavity, you shifted the blame to your father. Your dad, who you had looked after for what felt like the entirety of your life, who you had looked to in the best and worst times of your life. The very man who did his best to quell his own fear and worry about your move, just to reassure you, to encourage you.

Joel Miller was a self-made man, who raised two kids, a brother, and a business all in one short lifetime. He was a man who had struggled at practically every turn, and if this college was what would make you happy, was what would give you the head start that he had never received, he would welcome it.

You knew, really, that he would be fine. Your dad had raised you just fine, and he could handle your little sister without you, you were sure. For a brief moment, you had blamed that on the sense of foreboding within you; the idea that they didn’t need you. It didn’t take long for you to realise that they did, and that they would be glad to have you from miles away, rather than not at all.

So, you were at a loss.

It should have been an exciting time, something that you were looking forward to, rather than dreading. This was the start of the rest of your life, the reward for all of your hours spent working for the grades you had received, for the anxiety and stress of school. It was supposed to be a good thing. You couldn’t understand why your chest didn’t seem to get that memo.

The feeling persisted the entirety of the time that led up to your move, outlasting each brief flash of any other emotion. It continued the whole roadtrip up to the college, across multiple state borders, despite the multitude of karaoke covers that Sarah initiated.

Even when Joel and Tommy were taking your boxes up to your dorm room, you could feel it. Hell, when Sarah helped you start unpacking said boxes, it continued.

It was only when you were waving the three of them off, tears blurring the shrinking truck, that you realised just what was responsible for the feeling that had been bugging you for months.

You didn’t want to leave home.

Moreover, you didn’t want to grow up. You didn’t want to be alone.

The realisation was almost enough for you to call your dad, to beg him to come back, to pick you up and return you back home. Almost. Instead, you found yourself walking numbly back up to your dorm room, taking more than one wrong turn in the hallways which bled into one, and sitting down on the mattress which wasn’t your own.

For the next week, you breezed by, drifting along your timetable in some kind of half-there state. It was like you couldn’t fully comprehend that you were on your own.

You phoned Sarah on the fifth day, twisting the wire around your fingertip nervously, as if your little sister would ever ignore your calls. She answered on the second ring — unsurprisingly, given that was about how long it always took for her to answer the phone — and she greeted you with the most joyful call of your name you’d heard for a while.

“Sarah,” You responded fondly, tears immediately welling up in your eyes as you listened to her barrage of questions about your first week at college. “Slow down, Sarah, slow down!” You interrupted when her questions became intelligible over the spotty phone line.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sarah said, not sounding sorry at all. “I miss you. I wanna know everything.” She finished, which you already knew she would. Sarah was a lot like you in that way, curious and determined. You knew she was already thinking of what college she wanted to go to, and just how to get there. If she wasn’t swept up by playing soccer, neglecting her studies, that was.

Regardless, you smiled, just glad to hear her voice. “I know, I miss you, too. Is dad home yet?” You asked, unsurprised by her responding no, considering Joel Miller was renowned for his inability to stay on time, his tendency to overwork himself unrelenting. “Okay, well, you’ll tell him everything, right?”

“‘Course I will,” Sarah responded, sounding thrilled to get to relay such interesting information. She’d no doubt be sharing it with Tommy, first thing in the morning, too. “Now tell me!”

“Okay, okay.” You laughed, before telling her as much as you could about what you recalled of your experience so far. Some of it was embellished, of course, mostly for Sarah’s benefit, though also slightly for your father’s. You already knew he’d be worrying himself sick over you.

That phone call was the only time the pit in your chest lessened, the whole time you’d been at college. As if the smallest dose of home was having a real effect. It only made you miss the house back in Texas all the more.

You felt worse afterwards, somehow. As if the call had been a harsh and unneeded reminder of the distance between you and your family. It had barely been over a week by now since you had left home, and you worried that you would never get used to being so far away. How could it possibly get better? How could you ever settle in when the people you love were so far?

The days afterwards were spent mulling over all of your life choices, spending your time soaking in all the regrets you were beginning to have. Why did you work so hard to get into this college? You were miserable. Not to mention all of the experiences you had missed out on in your determination to get here.

Luckily for you, you finally made your first friend.

He had sat next to you in one of your classes, and finally, after three classes of sitting in silence, the two of you had struck up a conversation.

Strangely enough, the two of you bonded over missing home. He was all the way from Nevada, and shared your debilitating homesickness. He talked a lot about his mother, and his older sister, and it was nice to have somebody to share that with.

Things were starting to look up. Life was a lot easier when you had a friend to share it with.

But all the talking about feeling homesick didn’t actually get rid of the feeling. Your heart practically ached each time you went home to your dorm room, where you were alone, where there was no little sister to come and bug you about dinner, or about dad getting home.

You called again, on the three week mark.

Much to your annoyance and happiness, your uncle Tommy answered the phone.

“Hey, uncle Tommy. How’re you doing?” You asked, the smile obvious in your voice. Even to your ears, it was the happiest you’d sounded since speaking to Sarah, a little over two weeks prior.

“Well, if it ain’t our little ol’ Nerd Miller.” Tommy greeted over the phone, that familiar teasing tone making you roll your eyes. “I’m doin’ mighty fine, kiddo. How’re you gettin’ on?” He asked, tone taking on a more soft note, which had your chest aching all over again.

Still, you shook your head and tried your best to seem as happy as possible, for his sake. “Oh, you know, just learning the ways of the world, n’ all. Where’s dad?” You questioned, not wanting to be rude, but also desperate to speak to the man who had raised you, and who had also missed your calls since you’d been gone.

“He’s out buyin’ some last minute supplies for tomorrow’s job. Keeping himself busy, I’d say.” Tommy replied, before you heard him calling out Sarah’s name, away from the phone. “Hang on, now, Sarah wants to speak to you.”

You wait, listening to the shuffling of the phone switching hands from across the country, endeared by your sister scolding your uncle for taking so long to tell her it was you. They argued for a moment longer, their joking tones familiar, but sounding vaguely different from across the phone line.

Finally, Sarah greeted you. “Hey, little sister! How are you getting on, over there? Tommy causing you trouble?” You asked in return, hearing him yell, some distance away, straining to be heard across the phone. It sent you and Sarah into giggles, and she had to take a breath before she could respond.

“As always. So, have you been to any parties, yet?” She asked, always insisting that you were the Miller child who caused the most trouble. You vaguely heard Tommy yell out a ‘sure hope not’ over the phone. Sarah shushed him, eagerly awaiting your answer.

“No, Sarah, no partying for me! I’ve gotta work hard, make this whole trip worth it.” You said, and though your tone was teasing, your words were feeling more true by the second. You had seen plenty of fliers advertising parties all across campus, even been handed a few as you exited classrooms, but you were uninterested. Your new friend had suggested you go to one, just yesterday evening, but you had declined. You were pretty sure that underaged drinking wasn’t the right way to cure your homesickness.

“You’re so boring. Dad’ll be thrilled.” Sarah laughed, the sound crackling over the line, and you smiled. There was no doubt in your mind that Joel would be relieved about your lacking party life, as much as he said he encouraged you getting out and living. Hell, the whole reason he hadn’t called you was so that you didn’t feel suffocated by him, so that you could live your life without feeling pressure from your old man. “Made any new friends?”

You hesitated, for some reason. “Uh, yeah! There’s this guy in my—”

“A guy?” Sarah interrupted, immediately. And there it was! The very reason for your hesitation. You heard a struggle over the phone, and Sarah was sounding more amused as time passed. “What’s his name? Are you dating?”

“Okay, enough of that!” Tommy said, and there was more shuffling as he presumably snatched the phone off of Sarah. You could hear her complaining through breaks in her laughter, but Tommy was refusing to hand back the phone. “Your old man does not need this one passin’ along details of your dating life, kiddo.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “There is no dating life, uncle Tommy. He’s just my friend.” You responded, though your uncle sounded unconvinced. “Anyway, enough about him. About dad’s birthday, next week—”

It was Tommy who cut you off this time, shifting the phone in his hand. “Woah! Don’t you go worrying about that, now. Me and Sarah have got it covered, don’t we, kiddo?” You heard Sarah yelling agreements, though you doubted she even knew what you were talking about.

“Actually, I was thinking about coming home for it. Surprising dad, you know.” You admitted, mostly in hopes that your uncle would help you plot the journey. And he was slightly better at keeping secrets than Sarah was.

“Oh, you just worry about yourself, up there. We’ll look after your old man! You gotta get out there, live your life!” Tommy responded, dismissing your idea immediately, even though he knew his older brother would have secretly loved the surprise. But it had only been a few weeks since you’d left, and if Tommy was honest, he wasn’t sure you’d go back if you came home so soon.

You frowned at his response, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “You mean to tell me that you and Sarah are gonna manage the birthday breakfast, presents and cake? No way dad’ll remember any of it!” You said. For the longest time, you had been the one taking care of that sort of thing. Joel was always much too busy taking care of you and Sarah as well as overworking himself at his day job to sort out his own birthday celebrations.

Sure, Sarah was old enough by now to do this sort of thing, but it was something that you did. Since you were— what? Eleven? You had been the one to do it. Each year, you made Joel’s birthday cake, and either bought his presents or sent Tommy and Sarah out for them. Would they manage it without you? Did you even want them to?

It was the one day of the year where nothing else came first. Not schoolwork, homework, studying, work, not anything. You always made sure that this day was free, no exceptions. What would you do with it now?

“I think we can manage, right, Sarah?” Tommy said, teasingly, clearly not quite realising the significance of the day for you. Joel was your dad, in all the ways that mattered. He did everything for you! Hell, he even moved you halfway across the country, just because you thought it was what you wanted. This was the one day of the year where you got to return that. Where you got to show just how thankful you are for him, even if he did annoy the hell out of you whenever the chance arose. His birthday was the one day where you could get away with buying him gifts, and Tommy wanted you to… what? Stay this far? Be uninvolved?

“Tommy, I—… I always help with dad’s birthday. That doesn’t need to change now.” You murmured into the phone, suddenly feeling left out. It wasn’t a feeling you enjoyed whatsoever, and especially when it involved such an important day.

Tommy tutted, the sound just about crackling through the receiver, and you could picture him shaking his head, all the way back in Texas. “You gotta live your own life now, kid. Can’t be worryin’ about us little people back here. It’s high time you started puttin’ yourself first. Don’t worry about Joel’s birthday,” Tommy said, softer then, less mocking. “Me and Sarah’ve got it, alright?”

With a frown, you responded. “Alright.”

“Alrighty, now we better get goin’, your dad’ll have a fit if I make Sarah late again.” Tommy told you, and you nodded, before cringing and realising he couldn’t see that.

The three of you said your goodbyes, with Tommy putting the phone down soon after, cutting off his yells to Sarah about getting her shoes on. In the silence that followed after, you couldn’t help but feel more upset than before the call. Logically, you knew your family missed you. You knew that they couldn’t wait for you to be home at Thanksgiving, and you knew that they looked forward to your phone calls home just as much as you did. But it was hard. Brief phone calls with them just weren’t enough, and just showed that life was going on for them as normal, whilst you felt stuck.

You also knew that they were trying to give you your independence, that they were trying to let you live your life. Especially Joel. But you were finding, more and more, that you didn’t want this much independence. You wanted your dad to be overbearing and overly interested in your life, because he just wanted to be involved. You wanted your uncle to drive you to and from school, to sneak you a bottle of beer at family barbecues. You wanted to walk your little sister around town, because she was too nervous to go herself.

Everybody you had known back home had always told you that you’d be just fine at college. They had always told you that you were independent enough as it was, that you were practically an adult already, and that it’d be almost no different to home. For whatever reason, you felt guilty to think that they were wrong about you. You needed your family. You couldn’t do everything on your own, it was too much. It was too hard. It was too… lonely.

Where was your support system? Where were the three overbearing family members that would crowd you when you were upset, until you finally felt better? Who would you turn to when you needed a lift all the way across town? Who would you persuade to watch shitty DVDs from the Adler’s with you? Who would save Sarah from the Adler’s clutches?

As awful as you felt about it, you couldn’t help but want your family to feel as incapable without you as you did without them. You didn’t want them to manage without you. You wanted them to tell you to come home.

Part of you was just hoping that they weren’t doing it because they knew you were looking for the excuse to come home. Because they knew that if they asked, you’d come. Without question. Without even a moment of hesitation.

Your phone rang again, and you jumped up to answer it, hoping your dad was finally home, finally ringing you back. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Your newest and only friend greeted, the sound of a party muffling his voice. You sighed, hand over the end of the phone in hopes he wouldn’t hear it and misread your disappointment. “You sure you don’t wanna come to this thing? It’s a lot of fun!”

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was the morning of your dad’s birthday, and you had barely slept a wink, despite having a class relatively early this very morning. It had been a night full of tossing and turning, full of regrets and ideas about going home at 2AM. In the end, your exhaustion let you sleep when it was nearing 6AM, and your alarm woke you up not long later.

You’d barely managed to refrain from micro-managing Sarah and Tommy, all the way from across the country. Instead, you’d let yourself believe that they’d be able to remember everything, despite your anxiety telling you otherwise. You felt awful enough about not being there for Joel’s birthday, the last thing you needed was to feel guilty about him not getting a good birthday, too.

Not that you thought that Sarah or Tommy would allow that, of course. But Tommy was almost as forgetful as Joel was, and it wasn’t like Sarah could borrow Tommy’s truck like you had, last year. She wasn’t even old enough to drive yet! Surely it wasn’t unreasonable for you to worry, right?

You held off from calling home until it was nearing the time they would be leaving for school and work respectively, in hopes of not making the three of them late. You knew that you’d have to leave for your own class soon enough, but it felt wrong to start the day without speaking to your dad. Hell, your sad breakfast of toast had already started the day off on a pretty low note.

The phone rang for an uncomfortably long time, and you were reaching out to hang up when somebody finally answered. No greeting came immediately, just shuffling over the line, alongside some distant yelling. Finally, Tommy said, “Hello?”

“Hey, uncle Tommy. Everything alright over there?” You asked, brows creased as you listened to the commotion going on within the house, audible even over the crackly phone line. It seemed that the day was not starting off as smoothly as it usually did, no doubt due to your own dad and his persistent snoozing of his alarm.

Tommy yelled something away from the phone before finally responding to your question. “All good on our front, kiddo. How’re you doin’?” He asked, though you didn’t miss how distracted he sounded as he asked.

“Um, fine, I guess. Is dad there?”

“Huh? Oh, hang on.” Tommy replied, before you heard the clunk of him placing the phone down on the wooden table it sat on. There were some crackles that you think were his boots against the floor as he walked away, and you distantly heard him yelling for your dad. “Joel, your kid is on the phone!”

It’s awkward — the waiting, that is. The second hand on your watch ticking away until the minute hand moves, and still, there’s only faint rustling on the other end of the phone. Finally, after almost three full minutes, somebody picks up the phone.

Sarah said your name cheerfully, and you smiled tightly, despite yourself. “Hey, Sarah. How’s it been, sorting dad’s birthday?”

“Oh, not so bad. Made him eggs this morning, because he forgot the pancake mix yesterday. And he’s picking up the cake later! But don’t worry! I’ve got his present sorted.” She rambled, barely pausing to take a breath between sentences. You can imagine that she’d been stressed, trying to sort everything. It’s not as easy when you’re young, and you know that from experience.

“I don’t doubt you for a second. Where is dad?” You replied, eyebrows creased as you waited for her response.

“He’s running late, as always.” Sarah answered, and you could picture her rolling her eyes. She was punctual by nature, and definitely didn’t get that from Joel. He was always too late.

“I’m here, I’m here.” You heard faintly, the words muffled across the line. “You, go get in the truck. We’re late! Hey, kiddo.” Joel said, talking to Sarah before finally addressing you on the phone.

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but we really are running late. I’ll call you once I’m home, alright?” Joel told you, sounding apologetic and frustrated. He probably missed you — and your annual birthday breakfast — just as much as you missed him.

“Okay. Happy birthday, dad.” You responded, feeling increasingly down. You should’ve never listened to Tommy. Joel’s birthday would no doubt be a disaster without you. And you already knew he was going to forget to pick up his birthday cake before returning home from work. It was the whole reason you always baked him one before he got home.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Joel said, a faint smile audible in his voice. He hung up a moment later, already shouting to Tommy and Sarah before the call was cut off. You frowned at the phone in your hand, your eyebrows furrowed as you thought of your family back home. Moving away truly wasn’t a good idea, was it?

That was what your thoughts were stuck on, for the rest of the day. Even as you proceeded to go to classes and see your few friends as normal, you couldn’t help but feel that pit in your chest getting worse, like you really were making a mistake. It was suffocating, and it felt never ending.

When you finally got back to your dorm room — much to your friend’s dismay, after having left them in the library to do an essay alone — you waited by the phone for your dad to call you back.

But when the phone finally did ring, it wasn’t your dad on the other end. Sarah greeted you the moment you answered, sounding relatively tired. She started telling you about her day, and about how Joel still wasn’t home, despite it nearing the late evening. She also told you about having to go to the Adler’s house, and helping Mrs. Adler bake disgusting cookies, followed by how creepy her mother was. Sarah had always found the old woman to be creepy, with her motionless state and blank expression, but in her words, the old woman seemed even more creepy than usual.

You rejoiced with her when she told you the title of the shitty DVD she’d borrowed from their extensive collection, though. It was one of your favourite things about your dad’s birthday traditions, even though the movie was almost always awful.

The call didn’t last long, because Sarah wanted to get her homework done before the weekend started, so you let her go, and sat in your quiet dorm room, once more. It was lonely, more than anything, and even though you often just sat alone in your bedroom at home, it was different. There was no option of going downstairs to see your dad, or crossing the hall to see your sister.

Eventually, you fell asleep, the dim lighting of your room alongside your poor night of sleep prior meaning that you couldn’t wait for Joel to call any longer.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The first thing you think when you wake up to a world of chaos, is that you never got to speak to your dad last night.

Even as the world rages on around you, people going insane, reports of an outbreak, shots fired on the streets, you can only think of your family, who feel as if they’re half the world away. How are you going to get to them? Are they okay? Are they alive? What was the last thing you said to them? Did you tell them you love them?

It’s a quick downward spiral, one which you’re only pulled out of when your friend appears in your vision, gripping your arm with relief that is practically palpable in the air around you. He’s covered in sweat and dirt, and you think there’s blood staining his sleeve. Still, it’s a relief to see him, to see a familiar face as the sky turns dark and chaos rages on.

He’s pulling you down the street in the next moment, past the site of a car wreck, with three, four— five cars practically piled on top of one another, one of which is already ablaze. There’s glass and blood and bodies everywhere you look, and it’s a feat that you don’t throw up.

“Robbie, what’s happening? Do you know what’s happening?” You asked desperately, straining to be heard over the sound of people screaming and crying around you.

“I—I don’t know. We need to get out of here, it’s… it’s bad. It’s really, really bad.” Robbie answered, his voice shaking even more than it had when he’d been talking of home, missing his family. You imagine he missed them far more in this moment, just like you did. He didn’t look back at you, but he did lower his hand to your own, rather than gripping your wrist. You squeezed his fingers, breathing through the growing pit in your chest, through the weight settling in your throat.

You’re not sure how long the two of you walk, but by the time you paused, the sun was rising. Half of you is convinced that you’re in some kind of delusional state, delirious enough from your lack of sleep that this is some sort of illusion that your brain is creating. The other half of you, however, knows better. It’s the part of you that keeps that pit in your chest empty, that keeps it all consuming. It’s the part that knows something is very, very wrong.

You kept wondering how this happened. How did the world turn to chaos in a matter of days? Hours? Sure, you’d caught glimpses of news reports following what doctors believed to be some kind of virus outbreak, but that didn’t prepare you for this. It hadn’t seemed so serious yesterday.

Between lapses of silence on your trek with Robbie, he’d told you everything he knew. He told you about how he tried to call his family, about how all the phone lines were down. He told you about his roommate, who had tried to attack him the moment he exited his room. It was only thanks to a few passersby that Robbie had been able to barricade his roommate in their shared dorm.

It was a mass outbreak, it seemed, and clearly, the government had no idea how to handle it. The entirety of the state was in disarray, and there had been orders to shoot civilians on sight. Both of you were terrified of coming across anybody, whether they were Infected or just hostile, neither of you wanted to die. All you wanted was to see your family again.

You knew you never should have come to this college.

Neither you nor Robbie had brought it up, but there was an unspoken question about where you were going to go. Where could possibly be safe? How were you going to get to your families? The two of you lived in opposite directions, so what were you going to do? Split up and try to get back to your home states alone? There was no way to even tell what you were going to find, if you even made it that far. Would your family be there? Would they have left? What if they tried to come to you? What if they were already gone?

There was no way to communicate with either of your families, and the uncertainty was wearing you both down. What if you got to them, and you infected them, somehow? How did you even know if you were Infected? Was there warning signs before you turned violent?

You didn’t know what to do, and it was making you even more anxious. You wanted, more than anything in the world, to be with your dad. A part of you just knew that Joel Miller would know exactly what to do. He would know how to keep you safe. It was the only thing that was giving you any semblance of comfort, the knowing that Joel would look after himself, Tommy and Sarah. All you had to do was find him, and everything would be okay. It had to be.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was nearing a month since Outbreak Day, as so many had taken to calling it, and everything still felt surreal. You and Robbie had stayed together, and had come across a group of three others who had some supplies. One of them, Benny, was an ex-military man, and coincidentally, he had known your uncle, back in the day. It seemed like too much of a sore subject to ask how, so you refrained. You hoped, however, that if you could manage to find somebody who knew your uncle in the midst of an apocalypse, you’d be able to find him. And with him, would, of course, be your dad and sister. They would have stuck together, you were certain.

Regardless, Benny was keeping you safe. You felt far more comfortable with him than you did the others with him, given he knew your family. There was something reassuring about it.

The five of you were travelling together, avoiding populated areas and sticking to forests and fields to travel when you could. It seemed to be the best way to avoid those who were infected, as many of them were clustered in cities and neighbourhoods. There was more than one time, though, that you came across camps which had been ravaged by the infection. Benny had shot someone on one of these occasions, when she had broke from the tree line and approached you at a run, sobbing through breaths.

You had been terrified at the time — horrified, really, but when you got closer, passing her body, you saw the infection crawling up veins, sprouting from her skin. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the sound of gunfire.

All the work you had put in to get into that stupid college seemed trivial, now. If you thought too long about it, you were almost certain that you would go insane. It didn’t matter how much you regretted all of your past decisions, it would never change where you were. It would never change the fact that you had no idea if your family were okay.

There was no doubt in your mind that you would’ve never survived if it hadn’t have been for Benny. He was strict with you, stopping you from eating anything that could’ve infected you, because he was certain that the mass outbreak must involve some kind of infection in the food supply. He kept you alert at all times, and refused to let you lag behind the rest of them. He kept you alive.

That fact became all the more clear when you when he woke you up, a hand pressed over your mouth. Instinctively, you had panicked, eyes wide and your limbs flailing until you realised who it was, and when he pressed a finger to his lips, you had nodded. You trusted Benny, for whatever reason, he seemed to care about keeping you safe. But Benny had a certain look in his eye that you didn’t like, the furrow of his brow had seemed deeper than usual.

When he pointed towards Robbie, you could see why.

He laid on top of a blanket you had found, his head turned towards you, eyes closed as if he was asleep. But his fingers were twitching, and there was a sheen of sweat across his brow. His skin looked dull, and when you squinted at him, you barely stopped the gasp from escaping your throat. Instead, it had gotten stuck, and you couldn’t breathe as you stared at the Infection raised upon Robbie’s veins.

You had looked towards Benny, and he shook his head. You knew what that meant.

The four of you tried to leave in silence, but Robbie had woken up anyway. He squinted over at you, calling your name in a slurred voice, and his eyes had looked all wrong. Against your better judgement, you turned back towards him, Benny’s hand on your shoulder. “Where’re you goin’?” Robbie slurred out, his voice failing halfway through his words, and he had stumbled to his feet. You had taken a step back at his approach, and he noticed. He looked down at his hands, brows furrowed, eyes taking in the way his fingers had twitched, and he shook his head. “No. No, no, no, no, no!” He had yelled, stumbling around before he had turned back to the four of you. “This ca—can’t be happening.”

“Robbie, I’m—I’m sorry.” You had answered, voice cracking over the words, as you stared at the boy who would never make it home to his family. You had wondered if you would meet the same fate.

“C’mon, kid,” Benny murmured, eyes stony as he had stared at Robbie, his shoulders tense and his hand had hovered over the gun at his hip. “We need to go.” He had said, hand firm at your shoulder as he turned you away from the first friend you had made at the college you’d dreamed of. How had this dream turn into such a nightmare? “Robbie… don’t make me do it. We need to go our separate ways.” Benny had yelled at Robbie, when he had tried to approach the moment your back was turned.

“I’m not infected!” Robbie shouted back, though his twitching limbs and the way he seemed to lack control of his body said otherwise. His eyes were bloodshot, red around the edges, and you had known what was going to happen next. It didn’t make it any easier.

You didn’t look back after the shot went off, after there was a distinctive thud behind you. You knew that you would never get used to the sound of a gun being fired.

∘₊✧───── ─────*───── ─────✧₊∘

***

Joel Miller tried to kill himself.

He doesn’t know how to respond to the fact that he failed. If he’s honest, he doesn’t really know how to respond to anything. He’s not even sure that anything that’s going on is real. How can it be? How can there be zombies in the world? How can his daughter be dead? How can he have no way of knowing if you’re alive?

It’s all been blurry, after Sarah. Joel spends more than a minute thinking about the fact that there’s an after her. She was meant to outlive him — you both were. And here he is, very much alive, while his daughter is dead, and you may be, too.

The world is turning around him and Joel just can’t get his bearings, can’t get past the pain at his temple, the sound of gunshots. How could he live through a bullet to the skull, when his daughter is dead? How could his daughter be dead?

He’s vaguely aware of Tommy at his side. Joel is vaguely aware of everything, really. He can hear all of the screaming, the crying, the questions, but he isn’t really listening. He isn’t really listening to Tommy begging him for something or other, either. And if he had any capacity to feel anything, Joel thinks he might feel bad for ignoring his younger brother, the man who had relied on Joel his whole life, but he just can’t.

All Joel can do is close his eyes, and watch his daughter die in his arms all over again.

All he can do is hear the sound of the severed phone line upon trying to call you. All he can do is think about how scared you must have been, alone in an unfamiliar state, with no way to get home. All Joel can do is revel in all the ways he failed his children.

What does Tommy expect from him? How could Joel possibly go on when he has just lost the most important people in his life? The only people who mattered? Of course, Joel loves his little brother, and he would do almost anything for him, but this? This is asking too much of him. Expecting him to live when his daughter is… when you could be… It’s all too much.

“Joel,” Tommy says, his voice quiet in the raging chaos behind the curtain around them, and he stares at his older brother as if he’s a stranger. The bandage across his head makes him look weird, and the despondent look in his eyes is one that Tommy doesn’t recognise. “Joel.” He says more urgently, grasping onto his brother’s shoulders, seemingly trying to shake him back to reality. “We have to keep going.”

But Tommy’s urgency means nothing to Joel, who can barely see his brother with the way his eyesight is blurring.

Tommy continues nonetheless, grasping Joel’s shoulders more roughly, unable to rid the image of Joel pulling the trigger from his mind. This was his older brother, the man who had almost raised him, who had protected him at every turn. To see that man so… hopeless, so done with the world, it was jarring, even more so than the apocalypse.

“You can’t give up on me, Joel, we gotta go find them.” Tommy says, getting louder and more desperate as the time passes and Joel continues to look dazed and far away. This seems to catch his attention the slightest bit, and when Tommy says your name, Joel’s eyes clear up slightly. “They need us, okay? They need you.”

It might be true, Joel considers. But he’s not sure what he would do if they found you anything other than healthy and well. If you’re dead, too, then that cements Joel’s failure, ensures his passage to join you.

“Okay,” Joel murmurs instead of voicing anything else, realising through the muddle of his thoughts that if you were alive, he needed to find you. “Alright, Tommy, I’m… I’m here.”

[honeytama]

Make Your Move - Chapter 2

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Matt Dierkes

Fic Masterlist

A/N: If you left a comment on Ch. 1, I love you so much <3 If you’d like to join the tag list, lmk!

Fic Summary: Having known Matt for a year already, he knows your talents and hires you as his assistant for Bad Omens' upcoming tour. You’ve had a crush on Matt, your friend, and now boss. However, his good friend and your celebrity crush, Noah, takes a liking to you the second you step through the door. What happens when your feelings develop? What happens when they find out? You only hope your heart doesn’t break trying to care for two others.

Content and Warnings for Ch. 2: Fluff, some smut 18+, stress/anxiety, alcohol, masturbation, praise kink, close proximity

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @flowery-mess @abiomens @exitwoundsx @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @narcissisticbehavior81 @xxkittenkissesxx @rain-down-on-me @doomhands-jr @justdamnpeachy (For tags that aren't working, I’ll try to put you in my replies)

The bus traveled for a day before it ended up at the tour’s first venue at dawn. The first bus sleep went smoother than expected as the morning wore you out.

You spent the extra travel time getting more familiar with the boys; chatting with them on the leather couches about their favorite music, hobbies, and their favorite foods. This was important as you were in charge of doing food runs and taking orders for dinners every show night.

The times you weren’t laughing it up with them or hanging out with Matt. You sat by the bus windows to focus on your many hobbies: crocheting, drawing, reading books, listening to music, and making playlists. It was surreal to watch the world whizz by as you sat alone in peace.

Although, you couldn’t help but feel an ache in your stomach thinking about your first show as assistant tour manager.

Matt was your friend, but now that you worked for him you felt as if you couldn’t talk to him about your anxiety about the first show.

For now, you brush those thoughts off your shoulders as you step off the bus into the alley behind the venue.

—

Nevertheless, the next sixteen hours gave you a headache. The guys helped you and the crew unload the trailers and help set up the stage for sound check by noon.

Matt set up the sound booth on his own in front of house, while you helped instruct the crew on how to set up the show production: confetti cannons, pyro, lighting, and video walls.

The guys did their sound check as you ran out to grab a small dinner for everyone. It was the easiest part of the day because they decided they wanted nuggets and fries.

By 6 pm, fans were entering the venue and patiently waiting for the opening band to perform.

Before and throughout the opener’s set, you were consistently running errands and making sure everything was set up perfectly for all the guys. However, every time you would try to catch Matt to ask him for help, he’d brush you off and say, “I know you’ve got this on your own. Don’t sweat it.”

Every. Time.

You loved him, but boy, was he going to hear it from you tonight.

How could he do this? The first night, even? You thought, angrily.

Luckily, the opener’s set went without a hitch and you felt somewhat proud.

Yet, the most unfortunate part of the night is the beginning of Bad Omens’ set. Being a fan for years, you had waited so long to watch them live, and you thought tonight would be even more special knowing how you affected their production. But, by the time the boys began Artificial Suicide, you feel a pain in your temple and a blanket of exhaustion drape over your body.

Side stage, you frown and make your way to the Bad Omens green room. You allow your body to rest and collapse onto the brown leather couch. The urge to allow your tears to fall and scream into the pillow is severe, but you hold it back.

I’ll get to see them tomorrow, you repeatedly think like a mantra as you close your eyes and fall asleep.

—

“Y/N?” Your name sounds like a whisper in your dream.

“Y/N, wake up, it’s time to go,” Noah says softly.

Your eyes slowly open. He stands beside the couch and your lying body with a folded towel and clothes in his hands. His hair is wet with sweat and his chest glistening in his black tank.

“Oh, my God. Noah,” you frown, “I’m so sorry.” You sit up and rub your eyes.

“What for?” he asks, concerned.

“I missed your set! It’s the first show and I missed it,” you cry out with your hands covering your face.

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay. You’ll get to see us tomorrow,” Noah says soothingly.

“I would’ve taken a nap too, Y/N, today felt so long,” Jolly says from behind him.

“See? No worries. Did you get some good rest at least?” Noah asks genuinely.

“Yeah, I think I feel better,” you stand up and stretch your back.

“Well, that’s good,” he smiles, “because we’re going to have a little post-first show celebration if you’re interested?”

Your heart flutters at his invitation. “That sounds nice. I’m down.”

“It won’t be much, but we want to wind down before going to bed,” he explains. “We’re all going to go get showered and meet you on the bus in fifteen, sounds good?”

“Yeah, I might as well change into my pajamas while you guys are cleaning up,” you suggest.

Noah nods and you follow them out of the room to walk towards the back door of the venue. It’s dark out now and you can see some fans still trickling out of the venue as you walk to the bus.

Once inside, you run into Matt getting undressed to his underwear. You knew he never liked sleeping with clothes on, but the sight still made your thighs clench.

“Matt, can we talk?” You ask cautiously.

“Hey, sleepy,” Matt teases. “Could we in the morning? I’m drained,” he climbs into his bunk.

“Sure,” you yield. “Goodnight, Matt.”

“Night night,” he says, closing the curtain.

Tonight felt like such a bummer, but you wouldn't let it keep you down. In the small pile of clothes in your bunk, you choose a cute pair of pajamas to wear for the impromptu “celebration”. There are cute, sexy clothes even, that you brought just in case, but Noah didn't seem to care that you wanted to feel more comfortable this evening. You felt confident there would be at least one night on tour that you could whip out the mini skirt, but tonight isn't it.

Once dressed, you waited at the dining table at the front of the bus to scroll through your phone. Your leg bounced up and down as you considered opening Twitter to read the responses from fans for tonight’s show. Nonetheless, you thought it best to wait until the morning after talking with Matt.

“Who’s ready to drink?” Folio sings as the bus door is pulled open.

You laugh as he realizes only you and a sleeping Dierkes are aboard.

“They’re still showering?” He asks you, whining.

“I’m down to do a shot with you,” you suggest. “I need it after today.”

“I’m not a big fan of shots, but let’s do it,” he shrugs.

Folio walks over to the cabinet above the sink and grabs the bottle of Tito’s. The fridge below him is opened afterward and he pulls out a can of Sprite and a beer.

“So, how are we celebrating tonight?” You ask as he gets comfortable in the seat across from you.

“Literally just chatting and drinks,” he shrugs, smiling. “We’re pretty lame. None of us are really party guys, but I like to get down from time to time,” he pops open the bottle of Tito’s and pours shots into plastic cups for you and himself. He cracks open a can of Sprite, too. “You wanna share?”

“Sure,” you giggle. You take your cup in hand as you hear the latch of the door click open.

Jolly and Nick enter with their hair wrapped up in towels and Noah has his towel draped over his shoulder.

“Folio,” you say, raising your cup to his eye level, “Arriba.”

“Arriba?” he repeats, holding up his cup.

“Abajo,” you bring the cup to the table with a soft thud.

“Abajo,” he follows suit.

“Al centro,” you say, putting the cup in the middle of the table to encourage him to cheers you.

“Al centro,” he cheers you with a toothy smile.

“Pa' dentro!” You throw your cup back and gulp down the vodka with your eyes shut tight. Before Folio realizes, you grab the can of Sprite to chase down the bitter taste in your mouth.

“Pa' dentro!” He downs his shot and smacks the table with his fist. “Hey, give me that shit!” Folio sputters reaching for the can.

You throw your head back and laugh as Folio gulps down half the can of Sprite before you.

“You two having fun?” Jolly smiles while taking his hair down from the towel.

“So much fun,” Folio coughs. “You want one?” He raises the Tito’s bottle to Jolly.

“I’ll stick with the beer,” Jolly replies before heading toward the bus restroom.

“Same,” Nick adds and takes a seat across from Folio on the opposite wall of the bus on the long, black couch.

Noah, who’s now wearing Bad Omens joggers and an oversized white t-shirt, takes a seat next to Nick.

“Are those your pajamas, Noah? Those pants look so comfy,” you gush.

“Actually,” he laughs, “I usually just sleep in my underwear.” His cheeks turn the familiar shade of pink you witnessed just days before. “But for this tour, I thought I should cover up to show some respect to you as our guest,” he smiles.

“Oh! I don’t mind—,” you start, but you cut off when you see Folio and Nick’s lips turn up into shit-eating grins. “I mean,” you begin again, “Matt always sleeps naked when he sleeps over at my place, so I know, you know…” You wave your hands around the front of your shorts.

“She wants you to take your pants off, Noah,” Nick says, bluntly.

“Nick,” Noah and you groan before making eye contact, luckily you both can laugh it off.

Folio passes out beer to Nick, and to Jolly when he returns. You spend the next hour talking and laughing together while drinking, but Noah chooses to stay sober. You have about two and a half shots total— the other half of your shot being downed by Folio for you.

Through the hour, you couldn’t help but notice Noah talking with his hands and then brushing through his drying hair. His smile, which made you watch his lips when he talked, and his laugh, which sounded like a song. Every moment you spent around him, you grew more infatuated.

Nick checks the time, “I think it’s time for me to head to bed.”

“Yeah,” Jolly said, standing from his seat. “Folio, you coming?”

“Sure, I'll hit the hay,” he says. “Goodnight you two.” The three men follow each other to their bunks and head to sleep.

You twiddle your thumbs as you’re left alone with Noah at the front of the bus.

“You're not tired?” He asks you.

“I just took a two-hour-long nap,” you laugh, slightly embarrassed.

“Makes sense,” he shrugs.

“You?” You ask back.

“My adrenaline from the show makes it hard to sleep sometimes,” he responds. “I’ll go to sleep when you do.”

“Nice,” you reply and the conversation trails off again.

Noah clears his throat, “The show was great, by the way.”

You look up to meet his eyes, “It was?”

“Everything went off without a hitch. I don’t mean to do it, but I checked Twitter after my shower. Everyone gave us high praise. I just wish you could’ve seen it yourself,” he smiles.

“I didn’t even know you still had the app downloaded,” you say, surprised.

“I rarely do it,” Noah says. “I just thought you would want to know. I checked for you.”

“Thanks,” you smile and absentmindedly kick your legs. “It’s crazy being on this bus with you guys, by the way,” you admit. “I feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure it’s real.”

“Trust me, it’s real,” he laughs. “You deserve to be here. Matt, me and you, we made this thing happen,” he opens his arms to the air.

“I hope it’s not weird for you that I’m a fan,” you say cautiously.

“No, I think it makes things interesting,” he smirks.

You nearly choke and your face burns at his remark. “You know what? I think I’m ready for bed,” you sell it with a fake yawn and stand from the couch.

“Of course,” he gets up and suddenly you're standing right in front of him. Noah stands nearly a foot taller than you and he looks down at you with darkness in his eyes.

You give him a sheepish smile and turn to walk to the bunks.

You feel Noah’s warmth as he follows closely behind. His eyes feel like lasers on your legs as you climb up to your bunk.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Noah says softly.

“Goodnight, Noah,” you give him one final smile before quickly closing your bunk’s curtain.

How the fuck were you supposed to last a month around him? You think, shutting your eyes.

—

The next morning, Folio and you eat cereal across one another at the dining table. You had a restful night's sleep as the bus stayed stagnant to play a second show at the same venue from the night before.

“Mornin’, Folio,” you hear Matt’s voice come up from the bunk section of the bus. He walks up to you ready for the day in a new set of clothes and his charming Bad Omens baseball cap, as usual. “Y/N, can we talk?” he asks, cautiously, just like you asked last night.

You swallow your pride in wanting to respond like a brat and just nod.

Matt has you follow him outside to the side of the bus. “Will you go on a walk with me?”

You nod again and walk beside him around the perimeter of the venue.

“So, for starters, Y/N, I’m sorry,” he says.

“Matt,” you try to interrupt.

“Genuinely, you don’t deserve to be treated like I did to you yesterday,” he continues with a hand on his chest. “I was an asshole and I left you hanging on your first day on the job,” he admits.

“Thank you for saying sorry,” you say quietly.

“I think I had a bit of nerves for the first show but, that doesn't matter,” he admits. “If it's any consolation, I meant what I said. ‘I know you've got this on your own.’ I believe in you and you did it like I knew you would. You helped put on a banger of a show last night,” he shrugs his shoulders.

You laugh softly, amused by his rare moment of openness. “You’re such a sweetie,” you teasingly pull at his shirt.

“Blegh, yeah, yeah,” he shoves your hand away. “So, today, I was thinking I could help you throughout all your tasks today. I’ll be by your side the entire time. I’ll even go with you to pick up dinner,” he assures. “Then later tonight, for Bad Omens’ set, come and hang out with me in the sound deck?”

“Oh!” Your cheeks flush. “Thank you, I would love that,” you smile.

“Great,” he breathes out and his shoulders relax. “Let’s get today started.”

–

Matt stuck to his promise and this evening felt so much more nice. He took a Lyft with you to pick up Mexican food and just followed you around to all the different tasks you needed to get done before Bad Omen’s set. You felt like a badass stomping around the venue with him by your side. Both of you with walkie-talkies on your hips and facilitating the crew.

When he wasn't looking, you’d smile up at him and imagine a life where you two were doing this together, always. You daydreamed about being another power couple in the metalcore music industry.

Fifteen minutes before Bad Omens’ set, you stepped into the fenced-off section of the sound deck. You watch as he finalizes his setup as you sit in the fold-out chair he set up just for you.

“Now, we wait,” he says, sitting next to you.

“Matt, would it be unprofessional if I just screamed all the words to their songs?” You ask him, holding in your excitement.

“As your friend, I will silently judge you,” he laughs. “As your boss… just don't scream in my ear, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod vigorously.

The two of you chat until Matt gives the signal for you to stand. You fight the urge to bounce on your toes during the intro to Artificial Suicide, but it happens anyway.

Once the song starts, the crowd fades away, leaving just you and the music.

You jump, sing, and dance throughout the show while also sneaking glances over at Matt working. If there was one other person to run through the setlist as much as Noah and Matt, it was you. Matt times the pyrotechnic and CO2 cannon cues perfectly; the same cues you noted for him during rehearsals. The confetti cannons went off on time and you watched as other fans grabbed at the air for a souvenir. Lastly, the lighting and video looked spectacular; you held your hands to your chest in awe at some moments, and at other times you could feel tears well up in your eyes.

Then, there was Noah. His performance is unmatched. Goosebumps raised on your arms and neck when he screamed, gave clean vocals, and pretty much everything else he did. You couldn’t help but blush watching him flex his biceps with a mic in his hand once he was down to his tank top.

As you reach the end of their last song, Dethrone, Matt turns to try to say something to you.

“I can't hear you,” you yell over the music.

He tries to repeat himself, but gives up and steps into your space. With his chest right up against your shoulder, he leans in close to your ear, and says, “Look how fucking good you did. I’m so proud of you.”

“What?” You say, not that you couldn’t hear him, rather he shocked you dumb. A lightning bolt formed in your stomach and shot straight in between your thighs.

Matt brushes your hair and tucks it behind your ear, “I’m so glad you're here as my assistant. You’re doing so well for me.”

—

Later that night, you lie awake, tossing and turning in bed thinking about Matt’s words.

“Look how fucking good you did.”

“You’re doing so well for me.”

Even though Matt made it his life’s purpose to make you squirm with his constant flirtations, you doubted him to know that these words would affect you in this way.

Fuck Matt. Fuck him for praising me after he was a jerk for a day. Fuck him for making me squirm under his touch. Fuck his no masturbation bus rule, you think.

I want to fuck him.

Frustrated, you pull your sleep shorts to your ankles, careful not to mess with the curtain separating you from Noah’s bunk.

With one hand, your fingers rub your clit in circles over your panties, while your other hand squeezes your breast.

You softly close your eyes, and touch yourself to your imagination:

“My good little assistant,” Matt cooes. “When are you going to let me use your toys on you? I know they’re in your bag.”

Your fingers clasp your nipples roughly while you adjust your other hand to move your panties to the side. You gather your arousal and trace rings around your pussy in relief.

“Matt,” a familiar voice overtakes your imagination. “You meant us, right?” Noah comes into view.

“Noah,” you silently moan. Why’d he have to make things so complicated? You think.

“Complicated?” He scoffs. “I’m just here to make things interesting,” Noah says darkly, taking the palm vibrator from Matt and buzzing it on. He brings it to your clit as Matt presses the head of your dildo into your needy hole.

On accident, you let out a squeak, and your hand shoots from your breast to your mouth to cover it. Scared of them hearing you, you resistantly remove your fingers from yourself and pull your shorts back on.

You roll your eyes, frustrated still, and flip onto your side to try to sleep, hoping the Sandman will at least grant you a wet dream tonight.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me

Spawn! Astarion x F! Ghost Reader

Chapter One: Music, Regrets, and Party Tricks

 Synopsis: (3 months post Netherbrain) You ask Astarion to take you to see a violinist in a park and end up having a heart to heart. You begin to have very peopley feelings towards Astarion. Someone from Astarion's past makes an unwelcome fourth appearance and you help Astarion get revenge.

CW: Mentions of SA (Astarion), violence, revenge, brief mentions of suicidal ideation, a tad bit fluffy

Note: The first couple chapters will have time skips because it is meant to set up the main plot- more chaos is on it's way!

Disclaimer- I put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. Birdie is a stock image. I will not describe the readers body in detail- she is just merely on the banner for ✨drama✨. I believe the picture of Astarion is from @cheekylittlepupp . And then the symbol of Orcus in the back is a free image off the internet.

Prologue : Chapter Two: AO3

You wait anxiously by the door as Astarion takes his sweet time bathing in the other room. You have both been staying in a room in Elfsong Tavern since the Netherbrain was defeated about 3 months ago.

  You and Astarion usually spend your days in Szarr palace looking for any information on Sunwalking. You’ve found lots of promising leads, but they are all very very far away- the first lead is in some mountain in Amn and you’re excited to see more of the world.

 Tonight is your last night in Baldur’s Gate for a while and you had overheard some tavern goers talking about a Violinist playing in the park tonight. You had felt your entire body perk up at the idea. 

 The only obstacle was getting Astarion to take you. 

  The man pretty much abandons you at nighttime- leaving you alone and lonely. He used to pet you to sleep every night, talk with you and laugh with his companions, and then he lost his ability to walk in the sun. 

 Recently Astarion has been falling into some habits that haven’t been great for his mental health. He’s usually picking you up for a hug after some terrible tryst he had and pretends to joke about the whole thing like it was just a bad fuck, but you knew better.

 You could see the regret in his eyes and the worthless feeling in his soul. It broke your heart to see him go from being on top of the world to rock bottom again. The one time you tried to talk about it with him- he disappeared for a day and you were sure he had abandoned you. 

  Astarion eventually came back and he had actually spent the entire day with you. It was in silence and with many tears, but eventually he told you that he had been pressured into having sex and he felt pathetic. You reassured him a thousand times he’s not and he began bringing them to your room instead so if they are a problem- you would be the solution. You have sent many people screaming out the door with claw marks across their scalps- you even lost a claw in someone’s head! 

 “I can defend myself, Darling,” Astarion said as he cleaned up the mess your broken claw left on your paw, “you don’t need to be my Cat in Shining Armor.” 

 “I know, but isn’t this just so much more entertaining for both of us?”

 Astarion smiled widely, “that is a very good point.” 

  He began spending more time with you at night, but there are still days where he falls into his old habits and is sucked in by his despair. 

 You are really hoping today isn’t one of those days because you really want to go listen to the Violinist. 

 You jolt to life when the door creaks open and Astarion walks out without a shirt while toweling off his hair. He freezes instantly when he sees you sitting there with wide eyes and limbs ready to pounce. 

 “Uh oh, what did I do now?” 

 “It’s about what you are going to do.” 

  Astarion raises an eyebrow at you and you jump up onto the empty desk next to the door so you feel slightly more equal and powerful in the situation.

 “I want to go to the park tonight,” you say, “there is going to be a violinist playing and I want to hear them.” 

 “Oh, so you just need me to leave the window open tonight?” 

  You blink a few times and try to fight the hurt that flits in your chest. Yes, you could go alone and just do that, but you were kind of hoping you could go together as friends and have a normal time together again like you used to. 

 “I was actually hoping you might come with me?” 

   Astarion looks at you like you’ve grown a third head.

 “It’s our last night in Baldur’s Gate and you want me to go with you to listen to a violinist in the park?” 

  His voice is on the border of amusement and irritation. Your heart cracks ever so slightly more. 

 “Yes,” you squeak.

  “That’s ridiculous, Darling,” Astarion says with a dismissive wave, “I would much rather spend my last night in Baldur’s Gate indulging in sinful activities- not some violin concert.” 

 You don’t know why you even try to push it.

 “It shouldn’t be all night,” you say quickly, “you could easil-“

 “No offense,” he interrupts you, “but I would rather spend my night with a person and not my cat.” 

  That shatters something so deep within you that you don’t even know what to do with yourself. You are possessing a cat, but you are still a person and your feelings matter to you. 

  You’ve been nothing but respectful of Astarion and his feelings. You’ve been there for him because that’s what friends do. Obviously- you aren’t his friend, you are just ‘his cat’.

 You aren’t his cat though. You would be able to survive just fine on your own- you will go back to gardening and befowling Donella’s home.

 “I am NOT YOUR CAT!” You scream at the top of your lungs- Astarion takes a step back in surprise, “I am a person! A person with feelings! I am a person first, ghost second, and then cat third! 

“And you know what!? Enjoy your sins and your adventure to find some stupid solution for the sun- I’m done!” 

 You bound out the window in two quick leaps and you can hear Astarion calling from the dark of the room. The fading sunlight warms your fur and is an unwelcome reminder of the wretched form you threw yourself into. You’ve really come to feel terrible for cats- everyone thinks they can just pick you up Willy Nilly or disrespect you as they please. A few children have learned the hard way that you are not to be fucked with.

  Your trek to the park is easy and you get there just in time. Couples stroll around the park and the violinist is tuning up his violin. The moment is so peaceful, but the excitement you had felt previously had disappeared. 

  A couple laughs and another gives each other a lingering kiss. Others are laughing with each other and holding hands. They all look ridiculously in love and so happy- it makes your body hurt and your stomach turn.

  You never had the opportunity to have a partner (which is a sore spot for you) and the moment the violinist strikes the first note of one of your favorite love songs- you find yourself miserably wandering to the only place you could think of, the Rothwell Crypt. 

 You slide through the grates with ease and you jump up onto your mother’s coffin with your head on your paws. Tears fall out of your eyes- a new quirk you didn’t know you could do. 

 You sniff the air tepidly and a choked sob escapes your mouth. Not a single trace of her perfume is around- not that you expected it to be, but you had so hoped. 

  She would have gone with you- cat, person, or ghost. She used to love taking you to see violinists in the park as a child and she would tell you grand love stories that you hoped to one day experience. 

 The worst part? Your mother is long gone. You are no longer the happy-go-lucky 10 year old with the spontaneous, enthusiastic mother who had a sense of adventure. She will never cheer you on at a street corner ever again and you will never smile brightly at her when she put a gold piece in your case- it always made others feel like they should do it too. Your life was happy and warm.

 Now? You are a ghost doomed to be trapped in this form until it dies and then what? Will you even be able to move on? You couldn’t last time so why would it be any different now? It all makes you so angry you could tear your fur out.

 You will never see a violinist with her again. You will never know what it means to truly love someone and to be loved in return. You will never be able to play the Violin again all because Donella thought you were ‘promising’.

  If you hadn’t died, would you have been one of those violinists in the park? Would your parents be there cheering you on? Would you have had full blooded siblings? Gotten married? Become famous? 

 The thoughts cause you to cry harder and you decide you are going to take control of your own fate for once- you will lay here until you eventually starve to death. That seems like a full proof solution. 

  You hear the gate to the crypt open, but you don’t bother to look. Whoever it is better put you out of your misery sooner rather than later. 

 “Gods below, you are much faster than I thought you were,” Astarion exclaims as he practically clammers down the stairs, “come on- that violinist of yours is still playing and - what’s wrong?” 

 “Go away,” you say weakly.

 “But your violinis-“

 “I don’t care anymore.” 

   You expect him to yell at you and to be angry, but instead he walks over and kneels down until he’s at eye level with you.

 “I’m sorry, Darling,” Astarion pleads, “you’re right- you are a per-“ 

 “No,” you choke, “I don’t want your apology. You’re right. I’m just a cat now. So please, leave me alone.” 

 “No.” 

  You finally take the opportunity to look at him and your own misery fades a little when you see his own tear stained face. You both just stare at each other like you so frequently do when you are at a verbal crossroads. 

  Astarion gets up and you expect him to leave, but instead, you are being swung up into his arms and marched out of the crypt. 

  You don’t bother to protest- what does it matter? You’re a lower class citizen in this social situation. Quite literally too- no one will open a bank account for a cat. You and Astarion tried one time and the banker looked like she was going to call the City Watch to detain a lunatic. 

  The last place you expected Astarion to take you was the park. He finds a bench as close to the violinist as he can and puts your defeated form down on the bench. Astarion begins to hesitantly pet you and you can’t help but lean in a bit- your sadness still a weight in your heart. 

 Astarion comments on the music and asks if you have ever played it before. At first your answers are plain and generic, but he somehow pulls the old part of you out from deep within your soul.

  You chatter about what you would do differently, why certain songs aren’t frequently played, etc, etc. and it actually seemed like Astarion was enjoying himself for once.

    The music floats through the air and your heart soars as you hear another song you were extremely familiar with- ‘Meleth’. It’s a slightly darker love song and not one that is popularly played in places where there are a multitude of settled down couples.

  The song itself is about the pining a man has for a woman who is out of his reach at every turn. She isn’t trying to elude him, but the circumstances are just never right. Then, one day, he gets the courage to tell her and she’s been in love with him the entire time as well. It ends with the two of them together- the notes brighter as they flit through the night air. 

  “I always liked that song,” Astarion says absentmindedly. 

 “It’s a pretty one,” you agree, “I wouldn’t personally play this song for the environment, but no one seems too perturbed.” 

  Astarion looks around and notices the couples all enjoying each other’s company. 

 “I guess I didn’t notice.”

 “Really?” You say in surprise, “it’s the first thing I noticed.” 

 “Is that why you didn’t stay?” 

  You freeze and you know for a fact your heart stopped momentarily.

  It’s a fair question to ask, but you try to avoid talking about… you. You will tell him you were just so disgusted by all the love in the air- a lie is better than the truth and he doesn’t need to worry about this. 

 Except, when you finally make eye contact with him, his eyes are soft and inviting. Astarion seems genuinely invested in what you have to say. The look is sweet and it causes a warm feeling to glow in your chest. Maybe it would be safe to divulge this information. 

 “It was,” you say with a sigh, “I dedicated basically my entire life to the violin. It’s insane- looking back on it now. 

“I died never knowing what it felt like to have my hand held or to be kissed. I didn’t even have the chance to fall in love because I didn’t bother to think about it! I was rarely pursued by anyone because I had my head in my music sheets and never made the time to talk to anyone outside of my parents. 

“All of that hard work was gone in less than two minutes and the last thing I remember thinking about was how devastated I was to lose my first consistent gig- as if that was the most important thing I was losing at the time. It’s- it’s dumb that I lost my future because Donella thought I was ‘promising’ and had some sick idea in her head that she would mentor me. Her and her ego- she just had to try to create a fucking vampire spawn with little to no knowledge on the topic. 

“She wanted to mentor young women and try to prove to the higher ups that women were just as capable as men- which is something I strongly believed in! I was all for destroying the patriarchy! Hells- I would have been happy to just have her as a mentor, she was very well known for being a woman of poise, but no! Turns out, Donella was a gods damn Vampire Lord. She wanted a spawn and instead she damned me to a horribly lonely and sad existence in that fucking PALACE! 

“I wish I had been a cat while she was still alive. I would absolutely piss on her head and destroy her curtains. I wonder if pee is considered running water- that would have been very entertaining.” 

 You leer at the tower standing tall in the distance. At least you can destroy the curtains and piss on her grave. Astarion is laughing at your last sentence, but his eyes also tell a different story. He looks sad for you- heartbroken even. 

  Neither one of you speaks for the rest of the violinist’s concert. You’ve watched Astarion’s gears crank away in his head for at least a good hour now and they are still going as the two of you head back to Elfsong Tavern. There is practically smoke pouring out of his ears by the time he sets you down on the bed and lays in his usual spot on the bed. 

  You want to ask him what he is thinking about, but you are also afraid to ask and have it be something dismissive so instead you curl up in your usual spot at the top right of the bed, up against the wall like you so adore. Your fluffy pillow is still waiting for you like it had been before you stomped off and you definitely note the closed windows. 

 “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

 “For?” 

 “For forgetting that you were also very much a prisoner there,” Astarion says quietly, “and for not treating you like my equal. I haven’t been a very good companion lately and I’ve…. Admittedly been trying to push you away. I suppose I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want that until you leaped out of the window- which by the way- you could have died so please just ask me to open the door if you intend on storming off next time, Darling.”

 You roll your eyes.

 “I landed on my paws!”

 “You seem to forget the several thousand other times where you have belly flopped into those rose bushes or onto the cobblestone,” Astarion says through narrowed eyes and pouty lips, “you were terrible to live with when your ribs were broken- you sounded like you were about to keel over at a moments notice.”

 “You seem awful hyperfixated on me dying,” you say slowly, “I’ve died before- it’s not like it’s that scary. Well it is, but I would be fine. I would just be… quieter!” 

  Astarion looks at you and his mouth drops into a frown while he shakes his head.

 “I need you,” Astarion says quietly, “more than I care to admit. I enjoy your company- you make me happy and I would even say you are my friend. I don’t want you to ‘just be in the background’ of my life ever again.”

  You’re stunned by his words and he is actively avoiding eye contact with you. He must have fed recently because a nice rosy blush crawls up his neck and paints his cheeks. 

  You’re grateful cats can’t blush because you would be a sputtering mess- you would get red as a tomato when you were embarrassed. 

 You’re his friend! You are really his friend! 

 “I need you too,” you say brightly, “I’m very little, terrible at hunting, and prone to injury, but I also very much enjoy your company too. I share the same sentiment, if that helps. I prefer being on the forefront of your life.” 

 Astarion looks both relieved and elated at the same time. He picks you up into a hug that you gladly sink into. This feels like three months ago and you silently curse your cat body for purring in delight.

  That warm feeling in your chest is back again and you can’t help but feel intoxicated by the way he smells, how beautiful he is, and how complex his mind is. You really do lov-

 Oh no. Those thoughts need to be put away- not that you would know anyway. Love? Naw. That’s impossible. Your heart can’t possibly be so stupid as to fall in love with a man who will only ever see you as his friend trapped in a cat. Your situation doesn’t necessarily scream romance.

  Except it does make sense because it does break your heart to know he’s off with other people and you will never be able to be one of those people. 

 Well, you’d prefer to be a lot more to him than those people, but that’s not in the cards for you. Being a cat is okay- you get all the love in the world from him, even if it’s not the love you would prefer. 

  You push the thought away and reground yourself by listening to the phantom heartbeat that rings through his chest. He must have fed very recently. 

   You remain there for a while until a loud knock on the door gets both of your attention. 

 “Astarion? Are you in there?” A woman with a high pitched, sickly sweet voice calls out, “are we still going to have a drink together?”

  You and Astarion both look at each other then back to the door. She knocks again and calls out louder. You blink at him a few times and he very awkwardly puts you down before giving you a, “Gods, help me please” face, motions for you to hide, and he opens the door. You turn invisible instead- you may need to commit some major inconveniences and you enjoy using the little bits of magic that are accessible to you. Being a cat with ghost powers is pretty freaking phenomenal if you do say so yourself. 

 “Astarion!” 

  The Tiefling woman is very very pretty, but something is off about her and you don’t like it. She smells wrong and from the way Astarion’s posture changes- it’s obvious that your suspicions are correct and something is off. 

“I apologize, um,” Astarion pauses. 

  By the Gods he doesn’t even remember her name. 

 “Morgana,” she says with a slightly annoyed tone,” it’s okay though, you can make it up to me by buying me a drink.” 

  Astarion agrees to this nonsense and follows her down to the bar. It makes you bristle- something really isn’t right so that must be why the door is cracked ever so slightly. 

  You quietly squeeze through the door and stay close to the wall as you watch Astarion and the mysterious woman walk down the steps. You catch Astarion looking behind him at the door with worry. Your heart once again catches in your chest and is filled with that stupid, unfair glow. 

FOCUS BIRDIE!

 You shake your head and rake your own paw over your ear as if to chastise yourself. You put your adorable pink nose in the air and take a big whiff- the putrid odor from the woman is coming from a room down the hall and the closer you get to it, the worse it becomes. The scent has an underlying metallic smell so you are almost positive something is wrong with her blood. 

  You peek under the doorway and use Misty Steps to enter the room- you immediately throw up upon entering. 

  The room is scattered with papers and it looks borderline manic. There is a dead woman laying out on the bed and all of her blood is completely drained. It’s the same woman that Astarion had left with except she smells normal enough. 

  You reluctantly hop up on the bed- finding, to your horror, that the woman has multiple stab wounds in the chest and her eyes are wide in horror. It takes every last bit of your strength to swallow the nausea that threatens to consume you as you cast Speak with the Dead. She regards you, but she’s not nearly as lifeless as you thought she would be. 

  In fact, she screams, “ARAJ NO!” the moment she reanimates which causes you to leap at least 10 feet in the air with your tail puffed up. You clench your teeth and take a deep breath through your mouth before talking- you don’t want to begin cussing the corpse out. That is not a good way to start an interrogation. 

  “Why did you say, ‘Araj, no’?” You ask sheepishly.

   You know Araj- she’s the person you lost a claw to. She had come to your room in the middle of the day and demanded he bite her. She would not stop asking and wouldn’t take no for an answer until you forced her to accept it. 

  “Araj… paralyze… force herself… Astarion.” 

  Oh that woman is dead.

  “Why!?” 

 “Anything… to be… bitten.” 

  You are sprinting towards the door and smack into it from going too fast. You pop back up, your head now throbbing, and use misty steps once again to exit the room. Turning the corner, you see Tavern goers begin to aww at you, but you hiss loudly and scare them off.

  This feels even worse than Cazador for some reason. At least you knew the bastard was a sadistic, evil man, but Araj just seemed like a minor inconvenience. Now she’s a really big inconvenience. 

  You spot them quickly in a secluded corner of the bar and weave through the tavern goers. You can sense Astarion’s anxiety, but you hear him talking as if he has not a single care in the world. She flirts with him, but he deflects it which seems to upset her- you’d be upset too if your piss poor plan was going to the grave. 

  Adrenaline fills your body as you get closer and see the little paralytic bottle peeking out of her pocket. You race forward and skid to a halt underneath the table. Neither one of them has seemed to notice your appearance so you go straight for the bottle in question. 

 “Has anyone ever told you how incredibly handsome you are?” Araj says, “you look like you have walked out of a poem.” 

  Disgusting.

  “I have heard that before, yes.”

 HA! Take that lady! He could not be more interested and her plan really won’t work if he isn’t interested and her bottle of paralytic disappears.

  You put your teeth around the neck of the bottle and slowly pull it out of her pocket. Your teeth are able to get a solid grip in the cork, but it definitely has some residual paralysis potion on it because your body begins to tingle painfully. However, you continue with your mission and you are able to get the bottle out of her pocket; Only for it to crash to the floor when you drop like a dead weight. One thing is for sure- that’s a hell of a paralytic. 

  The sound gets both Araj’s and Astarion’s attention- Astarion is quickly picking you up off the ground.

 “What’s happening?” He asks you in his panic, “are you hurt? Are you dying? What-“ 

  You see how panicked Araj is as she looks from you to the broken bottle on the floor. Astarion is so distracted with you that he doesn’t see her frantic mind trying to piece together a reason for this to be happening. At least she’s smart enough to realize saying, “I made that paralytic to roofie you so I could force you to drink my blood and it looks like your cat ruined my plan” would not end well for her.

 “Oh your poor kitty must have found someone’s bottle of paralytic,” Araj says while feigning innocence, “I have an antidote I can give her- do you want to continue this upstairs.”

  Astarion nods, but mostly because he just wants you to be okay. You are infuriated right now- this woman is taking advantage of the fact that you can’t talk and you doubt she has an antidote. She’s probably going to poison you and then attempt to assault Astarion. 

  She parts ways with you both so that she can grab the antidote. You want to scream- Astarion needs to follow her and see the nightmare that has been created. However, he brings you into your shared room and begins digging through his pack. A sigh of relief leaves his mouth when he finds an antidote bottle. 

 “I don’t trust that woman,” he grumbles, “and I have a feeling you found a lot in your investigation.” 

  You gladly drink the entire bottle as fast as possible before popping up and looking Astarion dead in the eyes with your tail puffy and tall.

 “Thatsarajandsheisgoingtotrytoforceherselfonyou,” you shout all too fast. 

  Astarion looks positively perplexed, “I’m sorry Darling, but I think I may have misheard you- Araj is a Drow woman and this woman is a tiefling.”

 “YES but she killed her friend or assistant- the details are fuzzy, but I cast Speak with the Dead and Araj was going to give you the paralytic so she could force you to bite her,” you pause for a moment, “which now that I think about it- probably isn’t possible for her to do.”

   Astarion appears to go through the five stages of grief almost instantaneously while he thinks. You wonder what’s going on in that beautiful head of his. Is he sad that she isn’t really the person she was pretending to be? Your heart hurts at the thought and you once again bat yourself over the ear- earning a weird look from Astarion before he goes back to contemplating.

  The shit eating grin that threatens to break his face throws out your non-feline and non-ghost thoughts.

 “It appears we have a problem on our hands,” Astarion says with a mischievous grin, “whatever should we do? We don’t want such filth contaminating our space!”

You nod in agreement, flicking your tail back and forth. You think hard and long about the best course of action. There has to be at least a billion things you could- WAIT!

                    *************************************

  You and Astarion snicker as he sets up Godey’s destroyed bones next to Araj who he had put in the cuffs hanging from the wall. She’s fast asleep- Astarion had asked her to go on a walk with him and then casted sleep on her when he was just outside Szarr palace. You served as the distraction so she couldn’t counter it by popping out of the corner and scaring the woman out of her illusion. The look on Araj’s face was priceless when she realized Astarion knew exactly who she was prior to the big reveal. 

  The last part of your masterful plan wasn’t your idea, but Astarion insisted. He dragged Cazador’s disgusting, rotting corpse up from the dungeons and sat it up in a coffin. He had opened the man’s eyes (how they are still intact is beyond you) and maneuvered him so that it looks like Cazador is staring at Araj. 

  A stirring from behind you causes Astarion to pick you up before casting invisibility. You are going to do a quick body jump- as much as it horrifies you. 

  Possessing a dead, rotting person is absolutely disgusting- you think you’ll stick to being a cat until you can find another solution. However, Astarion promised you that he would take you to the beach when you reach Amn and let you teach him how to read music in return for your discomfort. 

  Cazador’s rotting limbs move uncomfortably and Araj begins to scream in terror as you descend upon her. 

 She did say she would do anything to be bitten.

*********************************************************

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @spacebarbarianweird

[r1poutmygvtz]

longgg ramble/vent/whatever's on my mind, idk man i'm tired and should probably schedule another therapy appointment soon

also this is kinda just all over the place, idk my thoughts are kinda scattered rn for some reason

(tws: mental health talk, sh, suicide attempts, od mention, ed, body issues, weed + alcohol talk, medicine misuse, childhood abuse, pet + family death mentions, possibly more idk if i missed one lmk and i'll tag it and put it up here)

my mental health right now is so fragile i don't understand, like obviously i know i'm depressed, i've been diagnosed for nearly two years now but i should've been much earlier, maybe that's why it got so bad, i don't even remember why i was diagnosed tbh, i think it was my first time back after like a year and a half maybe two years of not being in therapy and obviously a lot of shit happened, in that time that i went without therapy i tried to kms three times, had an alcoholic phase, and got addicted to weed

it was also sometime around my birthday i believe, which would make sense on why i got diagnosed, im always super depressed around my birthday, i mean i was expelled on my 13th, my great grandma died the day after my 14th and the day after that i tried to kms and that was the most traumatizing one and it took me over 2 years to be able to take the meds that i od'd on again without freaking out, i was literally so high i can't even remember my 15th, 4 days before my 16th i graduated (horrible for me, i had a panic attack everyday leading up to it for like 2 weeks straight) and 2 days after that my cat that i had since my 12th birthday died, so there's literally nothing enjoyable about my birthday and it feels more like a curse than anything

anyways, i've been the same since i was like 8 or 9, i was depressed and dreamt/wished i would die or get seriously hurt, maybe i just wanted my dad to care about me for once or maybe i did really just want to die, im not sure, i can't really remember my childhood, my therapist says i most likely have ptsd from the abuse which would explain the memory gaps and dpdr (depersonalization & derealization for those that don't know, the derealization is confirmed by my therapist btw just not the depersonalization but that's probably only because i didn't bring that up)

i think the most fucked up part is the fact it took me 16 years to find out the abuse was also physical, i spent the entire time before that thinking it was only verbal towards me and my siblings but i guess not, also apparently all the times me and my sister went to my neighbors/aunts house was because we were hiding from my dad, i thought we just went over to watch cartoons because we didn't have them at home, idk it was just weird for me to find out 7 years after it stopped, it doesn't really bother me all that much tbh my dad was already dead to me and i've been mostly no contact with him for almost 3 years now

also speaking of me as a kid, that's when a lot of my problems started, i was 9 almost 10 for the dpdr and 8 or 9 when i started hating my body, sh came in later tho i was like 10 or 11 when that started, i actually remember being like 9 and writing down everything i ate on a piece of paper, and when i was 10 i kept a notebook full of what i weighed in the morning and night and would see the difference in it, i also vividly remember asking my mom how many calories were in something from mcdonald's and she told me i was too young to be asking that so i just kinda stopped after that which obviously ended up coming back, i mean just look at my account

anyways yea i just hate how back and forth my mental health is, one day i could be doing great and think i'm amazing and unbelievably pretty and smart and ill try to better myself by getting sober and staying clean, then the next day i'll hate myself and consider going back to taking my meds throughout the day just so i was loopy and hardly able to process anything

tbh i do miss it a lot, i started back when i was heavily addicted to weed and would take my meds when i couldn't smoke, actually i used to take melatonin a bunch throughout the day so i could just pass out if anything happened that i didn't want to deal with (literally anything at all tbf) but that started to not work as well as i wanted so i turned to my meds, i'd take my nightly dose (50mg instead of the 20mg i was supposed to take) at like noon and would be loopy until it was time to actually take it, i didn't do it much tbh, my sisters bf caught on after the third or fourth time because i had just met his family for the first time that day and their dog tried to bite my face apparently and i didn't even react (didn't even realize it happened tbh) and he asked what was up with me and i told him bc i've known him forever, anyways yea he yelled at me to knock it off and went on about how it's gonna kill me if i kept doing it, so i did it like once after that and it's been months since i've done it again

it's kinda funny tho, those meds actually could've killed me regardless, i was supposed to take them three times a day but only really did once at school and i still got a bunch of the more serious side effects because i wasn't supposed to smoke while taking them but obv i did bc i was addicted, like breathing was hard, i nearly fainted all the time, my appetite was nonexistent, my heart was starting to mess up, like i literally thought i had a heart attack one day because the side effects were that bad and my mom and sister started looking up symptoms of POTS because that's what the side effects looked like, anyways i got taken off those months ago but i still have them somewhere and i'm fighting the urge to find and take them just so i have no appetite and so i'll sleep through the day

i think that's really all idk, there's more i was gonna say but i can't really remember plus this is already super long jfc, i don't expect anyone to actually read this, i just wanted it off my chest and i don't really trust talking to many people about this kinda stuff

[thetriumphantpanda]

Ghost Of You | J. Miller (Chapter Five)

Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.

Pairing / Joel Miller x Widow F!Reader

Word Count / 3.7k

Warnings / FLUFF. ACTUAL FLUFF AND SOME HAPPINESS. Talking about suicide, mourning and descriptions of grief and depression. And a little surprise right at the end that I will not spoil for y'all.

Authors Note / Okay. I LOVE THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH. I have to admit when I wrote it I actually made myself cry and that's no word of a lie. I am having so much fun fleshing this story out and I hope that the slow burn isn't too slow for y'all but I promise these two are moving in the direction we want them to move in - I PROMISE YOU. If you enjoy this then I would LOVE to hear from you - Comments, reblogs and asks genuinely make my day.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

A week later, your garden is abuzz with life. Tommy has dragged the kettle grill from his garden into your own and is currently trying to get the coals to light, Joel is standing over his shoulder trying to get him to listen to what he thinks will work. You giggle to yourself when Tommy follows Joel’s instructions, and the flames catch. Younger brother yet again bested by his older brother’s knowledge. 

Maria is stepping out of the kitchen with plates and cutlery, placing them on the table, where Ellie is sat curled on the chair with her nose in a book. She’d come to the library on Monday and switched Artemis Fowl for the Chronicles of Narnia, another good choice in your opinion, and she’d spent most of the last thirty minutes with her nose stuck in the book. 

“Here you go, honey,” Maria pushes a glass of blackberry wine into your hand, “Shane sent us a bloody crate of this stuff, he’s made so much this year.” 

You clink your glass with her own and take a sip, letting the sweet liquid fall down your throat. You have to admit it was getting better with every year. The first year Shane had proudly debuted his wine it was way too sour, everyone apart from Tommy had been too polite to tell him so. The next year, it had been drowned in enough sugar to give anyone diabetes, but now he was getting the hang of it, and with the sun starting to lower in the sky and all your favourite people, apart from one, around you, you had to admit you thought you were happy. 

You’d spent all day cooking side dishes that you’d saved up your ration cards for. Potato salad, a slapdash attempt at Greek salad, just without feta and balsamic vinegar, you’d even made a fresh loaf of bread. Maria and Tommy had brought meat to grill – there were steaks from the last lot of cows to have been slaughtered, chicken that Maria had skewered with peppers, and even burgers and sausages. Your luck to have found this place never failed to amaze you. You could convince yourself all this was back on the street you’d lived at in California before outbreak day. Ellie had even attempted to make a pie as dessert. She’d lifted the cloth covering the pastry when she’d knocked on the door, Joel in tow. 

“It’s apple, because I remember you saying that was your favourite,” You’d smiled and pulled her into a quick hug, “Joel insisted on a whole pastry lid though, something about it being better than the lattice.” 

You’d looked him in the eye, “Well, Joel is outnumbered here, but we’ll let him off for tonight.” 

He’d dipped to kiss your cheek as he’d walked in through the threshold, passing a bottle of whiskey to you, “If you set that in the freezer it’ll be nice and chilled for something to drink after dinner.” 

Once the flames have died down and the coals are embers, you watch Tommy set the chicken skewers on the grill. You head inside and pull your sides out of the fridge, cutting slices of bread. There’s a tiny amount of butter left which you also pull out, setting everything on the table outside, watching as Ellie’s eyes bulge at foods she’d never experienced before. You smirk at her, whispering that she’s welcome to try anything she wants but to make sure Joel doesn’t catch her, sure that he’ll chide her for her manners. 

You go back inside and pull another plate out for Tommy to set the cooked meat on and fill two tumblers of whiskey for the two of them, setting them on the empty plate to take them down to the men. 

“It never fails to amaze me how much cooking on fire takes you men back to the dark ages.” You joke, holding the plate out for Joel to take a glass, which he does gladly, neither him nor Tommy enjoying Shane’s homebrewed beer much by the looks of it.

You hand Tommy the plate once he’s taken his own glass, “Didn’t Sarah always used to say the same thing?” Tommy asked, Joel nods in agreement, “Somethin’ about being cavemen.” 

You laugh and leave them to it, heading back to the table where Maria and Ellie are talking together. As you sit down you can tell that Ellie is attempting (and failing) to get Maria to let her try her wine. 

“You don’t want this, trust me,” You smirk, sitting down on the chair next to her, “I’ve been drinking my entire life and it’s already going to my head.” 

You make polite conversation around the table for a little while until Tommy is walking towards you with a plate full of grilled meat. He sets it down before he sits down next to his wife, Joel taking the other unoccupied chair opposite you. Within moments, plates are full and you’re all eating in silence. 

Joel watches you intently as you cut a slice of steak. He watches as your eyes close and your head tilts back a little until a little groan falls from your mouth. He can’t stop his brain from thinking how much he’d like to be the one making your eyes close and your head tilt back like that. God, he really was getting old if a singular glass of whiskey had him thinking like this. He drags his gaze from you back to his own plate of food, so you don’t catch the darkening of his eyes. 

“Tommy, Jesus Christ, I haven’t had steak like this in so long.” You’re praising his brother, breaking off a slice of bread to dip into the dripping that’s come from the resting steak. 

Everyone is silent as you make your way through the rest of the meal. Once you’ve all eaten your fill there’s less left that you thought there would be, everyone obviously making the most of the rare luxury of meat. 

Ellie insists that although you’re all fit to burst, you have to try a slice of apple pie and you’re thankful you did. She’d done an absolutely fantastic job of it on her own and you couldn’t help the swell of your heart as she’d grinned when you told her it was just as good as the one you’d made together, backed up by everyone else around the table. 

Maria and Ellie do the dishes together, packaging up leftovers for everyone to take home with them for the next day as Joel and Tommy start a small fire on the grass of your garden in a small drum that you don’t dare ask where he got it from. You tell Ellie about your days camping with your dad, toasting marshmallows and getting sticky when you tried to pull it off the toasting stick. 

You drink whiskey for the first time in ages as you swap stories across the fire and you can’t help but smile. You love this little bunch of people, the five of them, sat around, keeping you company, making everything seem just that little bit easier. 

You glance to your left a little while later, Ellie is asleep, resting her head on her hand. The conversation has lulled a little, Maria and Tommy are holding each other’s hands, glancing at Ellie too. 

“I think I’m ready to call it a night,” Maria speaks, “We’ll take Ellie back to yours Joel, you stay here and finish your drink.” 

He’s just poured himself another glass of whiskey from the bottle and is cradling it in his impossibly large hands. He nods, gently waking Ellie to tell her that Maria and Tommy will walk her home and he’ll be back soon once he finishes his drink. She doesn’t argue, standing up with a yawn. 

“Thanks for today,” She says to you, bending down to your chair to give you a quick hug, “I’m glad you liked the pie.” 

You smile at her and say that you hope you’ll see her soon, bidding her a goodnight. She gives Joel a hug too, telling him not to stay out too late because he’s an old man. He snorts but agrees he won’t stay long. 

Maria and Tommy also give you a hug, insisting that you stay put instead of standing. And then they’re all gone and it’s just you and Joel sat around the fire. It’s quiet, the silent never uncomfortable between the two of you. 

“Can I ask a question?” You ask quietly, once the silence becomes too much, looking down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. 

The fire is warm, even if its flames have died down. It’s casting a gentle orange glow across Joel’s features which makes him look soft, even more welcoming than normal. 

“Of course you can.” He replies, sipping his own drink. 

“How long did it take for you to feel okay again?” You can’t look him in the eye, can’t look at him altogether, it’s a personal question, one you never thought you’d feel okay asking, but the wine and whiskey have made you brave, “You know, after Sarah?” 

He’s silent for a long time. Long enough that you wonder if you’ve upset him. You’re about to open your mouth to apologise for overstepping a line when he speaks, “It wasn’t time that did it,” He answers, thinking back to the last time he’d said those words, it’s still true, “It’s more about what I found that made it easier.” 

You’re running a finger around the rim of your glass trying to distract yourself but you can feel his eyes on you, “It never goes away, not really,” He sighs, “Not to make you feel even worse about things, but it shrinks a little, until you can remember all the good things about that person, instead of how much it hurts that you don’t have them anymore.” 

“What was it like for you?” You look at him now and fuck he’s pretty. No amount of grief would deny the way your stomach flipped when you see him in this moment. The flickering orange light of the flame illuminating the shadows of his face, his eyes are darker than normal, and you think you might just drown yourself in them if you look any longer, “What was your grief like?” You look away, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. 

You watch as he leans his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his fingers on his mouth as if he’s contemplating what to say to you, “I couldn’t see the point of life without her anymore,” He speaks softly, “Sarah was gone, the world was gone, so what was I still doin’ here, you know?” You nod, because you do know. You know all too well. “In those first few days after I tried to kill myself,” You let in a sharp inhale of breath, which he doesn’t acknowledge, “I was ready, I wasn’t scared, but I flinched, and for twenty years I always wondered why. Why did I flinch when I pulled that trigger?” He’s silent again for a while and you want to reach out and offer your hand to him, but again, you don’t, you keep it in your own lap, “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that it won’t always break your heart, but I think you already know that,” You nod in agreement as you close your eyes, “You’ve just gotta find the next thing worth livin’ for.” 

You want to tell him you’re sorry, but when had that ever helped you? No amount of sorry from anyone was going to bring your respective people back. You’d always thought that saying sorry was a cop out anyway. Something someone said when they didn’t know what else to say, so you didn’t. 

“You know, it never even crossed my mind.” You muse, mostly to yourself than anything else. 

“What didn’t?”

“Killing myself,” You reply almost immediately, “I think now that it would have been the easiest thing, I could have been with him, I wouldn’t have been here to listen to everyone gossip about me, I wouldn’t have spent a year of my life practically locked in my house, but it never once crossed my mind.” 

“You wanna know what I think?” He asks, watching you as you nod, “I think that’s because deep down you knew you’d be okay, whether you realized it or not,” He’s reaching for the nearly empty bottle of whiskey to top his glass up, “I know it hurts, sweet pea, trust me, but you’ll know what love is again someday.” 

It’s such a striking thing for him to say that it catches you completely off guard. Outside of the handful of times this evening that you’ve caught yourself thinking of how utterly beautiful a man Joel Miller is, you’ve never thought about finding someone else. Mark was meant to be your one and only, you’ve vowed to each other that was the case, signed your names on a piece of paper to the same effect. ‘Til death us do part. It’s silly but when you’d uttered those words to Mark, you’d always imagined dying together. Old age, hands held, drifting off together. In reality it hadn’t been old age, but you’d held hands, right until the bitter end, but then you were left here, all alone, and he was gone. 

“You know those romantic movies we used to watch before?” 

“You used to watch.” He interrupts, a small smile on his face. 

“Alright, those romantic movies I used to watch,” You let out a little giggle, “Whenever someone died before their time, they would inevitably get just the right amount of time to tell the person they loved that they wanted to move on?” Joel nods that he knows what you’re talking about, “I guess I’ve always thought I needed his permission, not really just to find someone else, but to move on and live my life again.” 

“Did you need his permission for much when he was around?” He asks. 

You shake your head, “He was always so laid back, even when we were on our own out of the quarantine zones, we were a team, but we understood each other, understood what we both needed, so no, not really.” 

Joel speaks without a pause, “Then you just need to ask yourself for permission then.” 

Silence falls between you both again. You’re staring at the flames in front of you and draining your glass of whiskey. It was never your favourite, you didn’t like the way it burnt on your tongue or the feeling of it settling in your stomach, but like anything in this world, it was the case of any port in a storm. Joel follows suit and drains the last of his drink. 

“I should really be gettin’ back,” He speaks softly, “But thank you, for today, it’s been one of the nicest days I can remember.” 

You both stand up, Joel taking the empty glasses and you taking hold of the whiskey bottle with the last bit of amber liquid in the bottom. He walks in front, stopping to drop the glasses in the sink which you insist you’ll wash up yourself. You set the whiskey bottle on the side and follow him to the front door. 

He pauses before he can turn the handle and open the door and you wonder what’s going on. Joel is the kind of man who is always sure of his actions, never falters, but his hand is outstretched and he’s not moving. You’re leant against the wall on one shoulder at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the top floor of your house when he turns back around to you. 

“I think he’d want you to be happy, sweet pea,” He breathes, “You have too much love in here to not give it to anyone else.” His fingertips are brushing the space between your breasts where your heart is, and you wonder when he got so fucking close to you.

You look up and he’s looming over you, those beautiful brown eyes looking directly through yours and into your soul. His hands are cupping your cheeks. Those rough and calloused palms are warm against your skin which had cooled in the evening air. You can’t quite believe it but you’re tilting your face up towards him and he’s leaning his down towards yours and before you know it, his lips are pressed to yours so softly you might cry. You can sense his hesitation but as your eyes flutter closed, you’re pushing yourself onto your toes to press your lips more firmly to his. 

And then it all comes crashing over you. The moment you close your eyes, it’s not Joel’s face in your mind, it’s Mark’s. It’s his hands cupping your face, they were softer than Joel’s. It was hit scent you could remember through your nostrils, not the smoke and musk you could smell of Joel. Your hands are fisting the lapels of his jacket as you pull away, pulling in a sigh as he rests his forehead against yours before pulling himself away. He’s still close enough that your hands are still on his jacket, but he’s dropped his hands from his face. 

“I’m sorry, Joel,” You whisper, shaking your head, “I can’t.” Is what you murmur. 

He drops his head and steps back from you, making your hands drop from his jacket, he’s turning on his heel and heading to the door with a mumbled apology. 

“Joel!” You call out before he has chance to shut the door behind him, he turns and faces you, “I’m not saying never,” You confess, “Just not right now.” 

You watch as a flash of hope appears on his face and he’s giving you that signature lop-sided smile, “I’ll wait, sweet pea.” And then he’s gone. 

*

It’s late and Joel can’t sleep. He’s been tossing and turning since he got into bed an hour ago, replaying the events of the evening in his mind. He’s trying to blame his irrational choice to kiss you on the whiskey, but he knows it isn’t true. Every day he’s seen you since you sat down and ate strawberry pie together, he’s wanted to kiss you. Wanted to kiss the sadness and the grief out of your body and put you back together again. It had nothing to do with the whiskey and everything to do with you. 

The way you’d asked him about his own grief, so quiet and unsure as to whether you were overstepping a line. The way you’d listened to him talk about wanting to end everything but didn’t offer an apology or the look in your eyes that told him you felt sorry for him. The way that every time he spoke to you, you opened up a little bit more, let him in a little more. Hell, even the way you’d winced at every mouthful of whiskey. It was all you. And it had been a dumb fucking decision. 

He could hear the break in your voice as you’d told him you couldn’t, like you were afraid of letting him down. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d said, ‘Just not right now’ and his stupid smile at your words. He didn’t want to push your boundaries this much, didn’t want you to think you owed him anything. He just wanted to make you less miserable. 

He runs a hand over his face and grumbles to himself. He knows sleep won’t find him now. His head won’t shut up and all he really wants to do is run to your front step and tell you he’s sorry, that you don’t have to make him feel better by telling him to wait if you don’t mean it. He’ll never forget the spark of electricity down his spine when your lips touched him, or how he craved to push his whole body against yours when your hands had pulled at the lapel of his jacket, but he doesn’t need you to feel like you must want him back. 

If only he knew that you were led in your own bed, a few streets over, in a similar state of insomnia. Led in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing that Mark’s face hadn’t been at the forefront of your mind when you’d closed your eyes. That’s what does it, what fills your body with panic. That you wished for the first time that you didn’t think about him. You’d wanted it to be all Joel, consumed by him, you didn’t want Mark’s face in the back of your mind. 

Tears roll down your cheeks and onto your pillow. Your brain is telling you that soon enough he won’t be there. You keep wishing he wasn’t, and he won’t be, you’ll forget about him, forget the shape of his body against yours, the sound of his voice in your ear, and surely that’s not right. Surely you should always want to remember him. Your first love, your first everything, really. 

Joel was a good man. One of the best you’d ever had the pleasure of knowing, and he didn’t deserve someone who wasn’t able to give their all, someone who would always close their eyes and see their dead husband. You couldn’t make him wait for you, but could you let him go? Could you let Joel go? The man who had fixed your rotted porch step just because he didn’t want you to hurt yourself. The man who didn’t push you for insight into your grief, just stood there and let you be, letting you share when you were ready. The man who had been through the same kind of loss as you and had been walking around for the last twenty years knowing he failed at ending it all. 

You run a hand over your face and decide that no, you couldn’t let him walk away, but you weren’t quite ready to let someone in like that. You needed to speak to him, to lay all your cards on the table for once, and that scared the shit out of you. It was time to put your big girl pants on and face the music. 

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[gabessquishytum]

tw suicide mentioned

So Hob doesn’t understand why people don’t love live, he feels like one of the only people who actually has a will to live. so of course he decides to work for a suicide hotline. And things are going good, he’s helping people. and then M calls. “I see no reason left to live,”

“oh um, hello…”

“you have two minutes to convince me otherwise”

“woah woah woah, where are you?” Hob asked feeling frantic. the stranger on the other end of the line sighs, “on the ledge of my building why else would I be calling you?”

Hob is about to dial 911, “could I pursued you to get off the ledge and back into your house?”

the stranger sighs, and hob hears some shuffling and then a door clicking closed. ok good, not in imminent danger.

“you said you wanted reasons to live yes?”

“Indeed, I do not understand why someone would want an eternity of this,” the stranger grumbled.

“I want to live to be a hundred! I’d say that’s pretty close to eternity as for reasons to live Have you considered…chimneys?”

“excuse me?”

“chimneys are fantastic you know, we wouldn’t have had that seen from Mary poppins and handkerchiefs! Where would we be without hankies? I’m sure in a lot grosser society,”

the stranger sighs, “something from this century Mr…”

“Hob, Hob Gadling, now let’s see was ac this century?”

“no”

“how about iPhones?”

“I will not live for an iPhone,”

“what about love?” Shit, he crossed a line.

“she left me… took our son too”

“oh…”

They spent the next hour talking Hob talked about his dead wife and being a single father while the stranger gave the first letter of his name. Fair trade.

M hung up feeling a little more optimistic and Hob gave himself a pat on the back for a good job.

“Hob could you come here?” Ronnie wasn’t the chatty type so hob assumed something was very wrong.

“hey Ronnie, what’s up?”

“well um there’s a man whose been calling everyday and he’s been asking for you specifically…” Ronnie blushed.

“Can you transfer the call to my phone?”

Ronnie obliged.

Hob picked up the phone preparing for the worst. “is this…Hob Gadling?”

it was M! Hob was mortified.

“M what are you doing calling everyday, is something wrong?”

“no, I’m fine, I feel better than I have in a long time. I was trying to reach you to say thank you and to…chat”

hob sighed, “M I’ve got a job,”

he heard a defeated whimper on the other end.

“Alright alright I’ll give, listen I’m not supposed to do this get out a pen and paper cause I won’t say it twice.”

and hob gave M his personal phone number.

and suddenly Morpheus and Hob had something new to live for, love.

-🦎

Ohhh boy yeah I can totally see this playing out! I'm definitely super fascinated by the idea of Hob working/volunteering on a crisis hotline. Especially when he's kind of at the opposite end of the spectrum. I do think he'd be genuinely interested in why people experience such drastically different views on life. Maybe he'd hope that his own outlook on life could be helpful. He knows that he's lucky - it's time to give back to the community and appreciate exactly how lucky he is to have good mental health.

M is the person who really teaches Hob about what its like to struggle. But still, he hopes that he might have made a difference. Maybe it was dumb to talk about chimneys and love, but it did get M to open up! Hob has so many hopes for the man, and he's secretly thrilled that he actually gets an update that M is feeling hopeful too! It's against all the rules, but talking to M - Morpheus - every day... Hob feels like it's doing both of them good. Morpheus is in therapy, he's feeling more confident, he sees a little more brightness in the world. In turn, Hob feels a greater understanding of himself and his own life. Hes a better person, now. And he feels a love for Morpheus which is growing every day.

It's slow, and steady, and there are bumps in the road. Morpheus’s mental health comes above all else for Hob, and he's keen to make sure that his lover takes care of himself. Even if that means taking breaks from their relationship. Hob knows that as long as his Morpheus is alive and well, he'll be happy. And if they keep on working together, step by step, there's a bright future for both of them.

And maybe one day it'll be Morpheus working at the crisis hotline right alongside Hob, telling everyone exactly why life is worth living.

[in3rci4]

• A THOUGHT ABOUT THE BLAKE FAMILY •

Author's note : I'm slowly coming back to The Black Phone fandom , and here's a little theory of mine of the story behind the Blake's family , I'll gave the nickname of " Dahlia " the mother because of the flower , they never said her name so don't take it as the official name or the one I'm calling her , warning , this headcanons might be long and out of pocket . Probably there's spelling mistakes , and there's angst too so suicide , violence , mental , physical illness , etc would be also mentioned.

What's the backstory of the Blake kids parents ?

I believe Terrance had it tough on his youth , a housewife mother that came from the country side by his arranged and much older husband that yes , was hard working , but he was an asshole with his family . Terrance would be scolded by his mother for standing up for her when her husband used her as a punch bag , he would be sent regulary to detention for his smart mouth and would often get into fights for the same reason or to defend someone else when the fight was unfair on his eyes . Once his poor sick mother died and he had to stay alone with his dad , he spent more time on the streets as a rebellious teenager , drinking and having fun with his same out cast friends . Once he got his first job , he saved enough money to leave his house and have a new life , much calmer and stable life .

Dahlia was the daughter of a homeless woman that was often seeing near the local church asking for money or food , people said she was kind , but she was ... touched . If she wasn't asking anything , she was seen talking to the air , sometimes calmly , sometimes angry , in the worst cases scared , running away from the unknown , and those were the times people would avoid her to all costs . Nobody knows exactly who's the father of Dahlia , or if she was consented at all , but one day the woman started to have a pregnant bumb on her belly , and then after 9 months , she disappeared and left her baby on the church's door the exact hour they opened it . The nuns took her to the orphanage along with the other children , and a lot of times the couples that came looking for a child to take care of wanted to adopt her , but they never actually did it , not even once . Dahlia was a sensitive and quiet child , and the other kids loved to bother her , often ending in crying or silent regret for not being more vocal about her dislikes . Her friends ? Only imaginary.... Or well , that's what everyone thought . With time as she grew up the nuns called a doctor on her because she insisted a little way too much that she saw these invisible people , everyone believing a mental illness was starting to form in her . Pills , injections , holy water , praying , it didn't stop until her late teens when she just accepted not being adopt at all and her " friends " didn't exist , just focusing on her grades , so they disappeared , just like her dreams . Outside , the world showed her another way to live without feeling fear or shame for who she was , the 60's being her wild card to meet people that was all about magic , pacifism and freedom , feeling finally understood and free to live her life how she wanted .

One night without moon in a secluded bar the two met , in Terrance eyes , she was the most beautiful woman in the entire place , standing on a corner looking at some random painting hanging on the wall , he got close to her , and starting to have a small conversation that soon got bigger .

He never felt like this with someone before , or thought someone could be this beautiful .

Between laughs and smiles , they got separated in the morning and forgot to ask each other's names or phone numbers , but destiny had another surprise for them . They bumped into each other while walking on the street weeks later and started to talk and laugh once again , but they both made sure to stay in contact and meet a next time . They were different yet had a lot of things in common , and the things they didn't share to like , they would be open try them out if the had the opportunity to see the other smile .

1 year going steady was enough for the young couple and they got married with some other guests on their wedding , Terrance was already saving money to buy himself a house , and so he did to start living their own american dream .

Without warning , Terrance got fired from his job , and Dahlia's work as a cleaner wasn't enough to maintain the house , and he didn't want his wife to have that weight on her shoulders , so when a friend of his recommend him to go and try in the Rocky Flats nuclear plant , he didn't thought twice in signing in . It was a demanding job , but at least he had one instead of nothing . Terrance was lucky he would say , a lot of his co workers say they felt weakness in their bodies , see their skin become more reddish than normal , loose almost all the hair on their bodies or have random bleedings in their nose or mouth from time to time , in the worst cases a huge pain in muscles or eyes . He listened , but he wasn't scared , no , as long as you did everything carefully, the radiation won't catch you , right ?

Dahlia happily announced him that she was pregnant and he was ecstatic about it , it was like the energy boost that he needed to continue . Terrance didn't told Dahlia anything about it , how could he ? She was carrying a baby and dealing with all the stress and sickness that a pregnancy comes with , she didn't need to know the sudden deafening headaches that he suffered , he needed to be strong for her , for them , and if his pain had to be sucked up in silence , then so be it .

1965 , their baby boy Finney was born , he was the most well behaved baby in the mother - baby unit by the nurses words , they would compliment Dahlia for such adorable and healthy little gentleman and she would smile proud of doing such a good job with her kid . When Terrance was finally allowed to go inside the room , his eyes couldn't believe he was now the father of such fragile child , he was hesitant to carry him on his arms, afraid to hurt him accidentally, but his wife assured him that it was fine , and so she gently put Finn closer to his chest , and he swears that for one instant when he looked down and smiled with blurry eyes , his little baby boy smiled back to him .

A few years later , when Finney was a curious and talkative toddler , Dahlia got pregnant once again with their second child , his father happy to hear that they will have their second baby on the way , and their older brother Finney even more , totally ready to have little sibling to play with . Their little little Gwendolyn was the princess of the house , she would be spoiled with all her mother's kisses , her brother hugs and her dad's cuddling .

They were a happy family , a good , healthy and happy family .

But then Dahlia started to notice little Finney talking by himself ,and if she asked who he was talking to , he would always answer that with a friend , and at first , like once the nuns did , she dismissed it as imaginary friends , and that's it . When Gwenny got old enough speak , she would sometimes run towards her mom scared of nightmares that she had , and that's what they look like , only nightmares . They seemed weird , but not enough to panic .

The panic began when Gwenny had way too specific dreams about people in danger and Finney started to touch things or go to to places that he knew he shouldn't go , but he would do it anyway because " the voices told him to " . She took them to the doctor , but they didn't find any wrongness in the children . She started to have anxiety towards what this could possibly mean , or how could she make her stop , but Dahlia didn't even know how she got over it in the past in the first place .

This continue for a long time until it stopped , and when their mother would ask them about their dreams or " friends " they would answer confused that it was fine , as if they didn't remember what they been through before . Dahlia confused yet relieved she let it go , and never told Terrance anything about it .

Little by little , her own dreams and "imagination" started to come back to her , sometimes a whisper behind her neck , weird dreams that felt too real , an undistinguishable silhouette on the dark , a person that would speak or be seen by her and then all the sudden disappear like air or magic . She tried to ignore it , Dahlia tried hard to live her normal life and focus on her family and job .

But then the encounters got more and more frequent , people would ask her who she was talking to as they didn't saw anyone near her , she would find out that her dreams had something to do with people on television or the missing posters , and when spirits recognized her as a their only way to speak with the living world , they got more persistent and multiply as well .

When Dahlia couldn't ignore them anymore , she tried to help them in her own way , maybe telling them a direction , talk with a family member of theirs to give them a message , visit places that they used to go , take a special object for them , etc . And it worked at first .

She sometimes would apologize to those poor ghosts that would find out their lover got married once again , that their family moved to another town , that their loved pet died , that she couldn't just go and find their bodies , and some would forgive her ,

Some wouldn't .

The haunting dreams would make her wake up with guilt and regret , but all she needed is to watch her children faces in the morning and Dahlia would remember once again why's she's doing what she's doing . Terrance noticed his wife more anxious and nervous , but she would tell him it that she was fine , and she would come up with a simple excuse that would let her husband skeptical , but he had his own headaches to deal with , so he would let it slide .

One benevolent spirit told her to search protection for her and her kids , because their special gift might attract evil forces towards them . Dahlia tried to ask them for more information , but they disappeared . And she didn't know where to start searching that so called protection for her family .

She went to the church , but the holy water and prayers would only make her dreams go away , not the ghosts . She went to a gypsy woman that had spirtual knowledge , those rocks and incenses cleared all the ghosts from her sight , but her dreams would start to be more and more gruesome than before . Nothing was working , and she gave up .

And when she gave up , the evil spirits entered on the game .

These poltergeists would show her the crimes they committed in life , these poltergeists would scare her in her job , in her house and in Dahlia's dreams as well , the worst ones would be terrifyingly close to her kids or throw things at her when she ignore them or tried to go somewhere else .

Dahlia couldn't hide her fear anymore , her kids started to ask their mom if she was ok , her coworkers recommend her to take a break and try to get some sleep , but Terrance didn't believe Dahlia's excuses anymore , but it wasn't like she wanted to tell him what was going on .

He then decided to go to her orphanage and ask the nuns what they knew about her , and they told Terrance about her " mental illness / schizophrenia " when she was a child and teenager there in the orphanage , reason why the adults never wanted to adopt her .

He came back home late thanks to the long driving to that old creepy place , but Terrance could never imagined that when he came back home , he would find his wife , the love of his life , holding a knife against the air as she screams prayers like a maniac , while his kids were in a corner scared and crying from fear of the situation .

Terrance runs towards her and takes the knife out of her hands while he hugs to calm her down , in Dahlia's eyes , she sees how the evil phantom comes closer to her children , so in fear she takes back again her knife in her hands and runs towards her children . Confused they run away from her , as she tries to stab the soul of the one that's hunting her , but they dissolve like magic , and Dahlia realizes Terrance look of disappointment and her babies look of fear in their eyes .

Dahlia cries , cries and drops the knife , tired , frustrated , confused , scared , without a clue of what to do or how to stop all of this . Terrance tells the kids to go to bed as he gets closer to his wife to hug her back once again , she hugs him back tightly desperate from any comfort and warmth of her lover . The married couple goes to bed as they cuddle after so long without doing it, because the next morning , the physiatrists knocked at their door , so they could gently ask Mrs Dahlia Blake to start a treatment in their establishment .

The woman started to yell at his husband because how betrayed she felt , after he told her he believed what she says , after promising to stay by her side forever . This didn't stay unnoticed by the specialists as they tried to calm her down , but Dahlia couldn't go to mental hospital , she couldn't take pills and receive injections that she doesn't need to stay docile , not again , so she refuses , she expressed her anger by yelling at them to get out of her house . They went outside yes , but came back with syringes filled with haloperidol so they could take her away .

Her last words :

" No , please , stop ! Terrance please believe me ! Please don't let them hurt the kids ! Protect them fr- ...."

The drug that they gave her made her lost the little control she was trying so hard to keep , so when she goes to sleep , the evil in the night possesses her body to walk towards the 2d floor window , as they let her body falls she wakes up , only to die seconds later on the cold floor of the hospital's yard

Without the opportunity to do anything , without the opportunity to say goodbye or see one last time her family .

But if the other life exists , she will be always watching over them , waiting for her turn to be listened .

Ps : I would like to know if you share this idea or not guys , I want to see your opinions !

[somebluemelodies]

since we're probably finally gonna be seeing spiderbit back together in a couple days, here's my personal take on their reunion :> just to be safe: tw for talk/implications of suicidal thoughts (under the cut)

They stay there for God only knows how long, holding on as tight as they can, in fear of what could happen if they let go.

(It could all change in the blink of an eye. Heaven forbid.)

They’d started their embrace standing, but it was short-lived, the weight of everything crashing down on them as their legs gave out, water building behind their eyes.

For now, it’s finally over. For now, it’s finally just them. And that’s enough.

It’s Roier who finally moves first, lifting his head from Cellbit’s shoulder but not pulling back far enough to leave his husband’s arms. No, he’s not ready for that yet.

He holds Cellbit’s face in his hands, brows furrowed as he stares him down. “What the fuck happened?”

“I didn’t—” the investigator pauses, seeming to rethink his words— “I chose to stay there.”

(He can never lie to the spider-hybrid, in any capacity.)

Roier’s brows furrow even more, if possible. “¿Qué—? Hijo de puta, what were you thinking?”

Cellbit glances away from him, eyes flickering down. He looks… guilty. Conflicted. “I… I saw Richas die in front of me. At least, I thought I did. And honestly?” He swallowed. “I wanted it to be over after that. I didn’t care anymore. As long as you made it. And you did. That was the only thing that mattered to me.”

Roier purses his lips, chest heavy. He understands, in a morbid truth - he really does. He thinks of how he felt immediately after Bobby died and the days that followed. The hours spent in the damn pool, hoping, praying for a way out. Falling from the heights of his castle without a care. The pain that still plagues him.

(He understands better than anyone else.)

But it was Cellbit who started to make him feel alive again. Cellbit who made his world even just a little brighter, even with the storm clouds of his own past.

And he’ll be damned if he loses him, too.

(They’re together. For better or for worse.)

There’s a question on the tip of his tongue. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to stay?

(He feels like, deep down, he already knows at least a small semblance of the investigator’s answer. And it makes him upset. For Cellbit.)

(Why does this happen to any of them?)

But Roier doesn’t even have to ask. He knows Cellbit knows, somehow, by the way his husband studies his expression.

(They’ve become eerily good at reading each other. That’s just how they work now. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

The thoughts come pouring out of Cellbit before he can really stop them; the same ones he’d relayed to Baghera. “I knew you would've stayed if I told you. And I didn't want you to do that. I didn’t want to take the chance of you around me when I was… like that. And this isn’t much better. I’m still—” he recoils, retracting his arms from Roier, who nearly grabs for his hands at the loss of contact. “You deserve better than this, guapito; you deserve to be free, not stuck there on that fucking island, stuck with me— you’d be happier without me.”

“¿Qué?”

(Roier feels like someone just submerged him under icy water.)

“I thought you’d be happier without me. I didn’t think you could be happy around me like this. I still don’t— I—”

Cellbit is interrupted by a sudden hand against the back of his neck, pulling him forward as lips crash against his, and he’s nearly overwhelmed by all the emotions behind it, intertwining with his own.

But he kisses back immediately, melting right into it; of course he does. He knows he can talk all he wants about not wanting Roier to be around, but what he wants and what he needs are two separate things.

They're breathless when they pull apart, and Roier's hands settle on Cellbit's shoulders. “You’re an idiot, Cellbo, you know that? So brilliant, yet so stupid sometimes."

He breathes in, out, catching his breath and trying to gather the right words. “I spent so long looking for you. Hours and hours, every single day, trying to find some sign of you. Anything.

Why? Because I was fucking miserable, man! I felt like shit without you! I missed you, I missed you so much.” His voice falters slightly.

“But—”

“Pinche pendejo—” Roier hisses under his breath— “I don’t care what you think I deserve. I want you. Always. We stick together, no? Not because we're stuck and we have to, but because we want to, no?"

Cellbit nods slowly after a moment, remaining quiet. "Exactamente." The spider-hybrid reaches up, cradling his husband's face in his hands and catching a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "I will always help you, no exceptions. Remember? Always here, for anything you may need."

The investigator falls into his arms, muttering tearful apologies, and they're right back to clutching each other tightly, securely.

(They're both crying, now. The tears stream freely, knowing they can be. Together.)

(It's not okay right now, but maybe in time, it will be.)

"Desculpa—" Cellbit chokes out— "te amo..."

They hold on tighter still. Roier's voice is muffled slightly, but Cellbit can make out the words as clear as day as the piece he's been desperately missing for weeks slides back into place.

"You and I against the world, gatinho."

And so it'll be.

[heartbreakincident]

28 or 40 for the whump prompt?

(prompt from here)

28. “I won’t leave.” / 40. “You have shit timing, you know that?”

(cw for vague references to a past attempted suicide)

ocs: keres, rene (original). 707 words.

Some days are better than others. The thing about trying and then failing is that all the feelings that made him try in the first place didn't exactly go away. They just... got more complicated.

In certain ways, it's easier now. Rene can take a backseat and let Keres pilot their body around, let them get a hand on the wheel and do the menial work of stretching, showering, feeding them. The self-maintenance tasks that Rene couldn't bring himself to do for them when he was feeling like this.

Keres has long since forgotten how to be chatty out loud, so their little basement apartment is eerily quiet. They've spent too much time dead and then too much time locked in the back of Rene's head, before the two of them learned how to be an us instead of a you and me, so they forget that they can talk whenever they want. With a mouth and lips and tongue and teeth. Instead, they nudge the little blob inside their head that is Rene right now, and feed him sensations to try to coax him out of the empty, disembodied void he's trying to lose himself in.

They don't get it. When they had their own body, before they'd died, they'd had a brain that functioned the way brains are supposed to. They'd only struggled with tasks that were actually difficult, and they'd worried about things more or less the right amount. Even still, now that they shared a body, they didn't get the full force of Rene's moods. Didn't understand why just the thought of existing was so overwhelming.

They definitely didn't understand how Rene could remember the way the water had felt in his lungs and wish he'd never been pulled out.

"You have shit timing, you know that?" Rene says, in that strange way that they talk to each other in their head. It was like forming a really clear thought, enunciating syllables in his brain without ever opening his mouth. It had to be on purpose, more intentional than physically speaking, or the words just came out jumbled in their shared space. "I was so close."

Keres froze, fingers loosely clutching the spoon they'd been using to stir their lunch with. "I don't regret it," they reply, words slow. They had a little lisp when they spoke with their mouth, a slight slurring to their speech. The remnants of some sort of physical thing that they used to have but didn't anymore. "We'd be dead otherwise."

"If I could give you my body I would. You'd make better use of it." And then Rene could sleep. Let the sentinels devour his soul and disappear into that nothingness that he thinks he might have spotted somewhere at the bottom of the river.

"Our body," they correct reflexively. "It wouldn't be the same if it was mine."

"You'd be able to do whatever you wanted with it," Rene offers. "If I left, you could quit my job and disappear. Start over as whoever you want to be." He doesn't know how realistic it is for him to actually leave them with it—Keres was stuck fast, and the two of them were so woven together at this point that it was hard to remember the time before. But it was sort of nice to imagine the possibility that he could just... drift off, and leave Keres with the parting gift of the life they'd desperately wanted.

"True. But it'd be lonely. And it wouldn't be ours." They adjust the heat on the stove and resume their stirring, drawing a few idle circles in the bottom of the saucepan. "I prefer it this way."

It was hard for Rene to argue with them when they said stuff like that. Because underneath the words, he could hear what Keres really meant: that he'd be missed. That Keres wouldn't be the same person if Rene wasn't around. That he'd be killing more than just himself, even if he was leaving a healthy body behind.

"I won't leave," Rene promises. "As long as you don't."

Keres laughed, a soft thing under their breath, hesitant because they're still out of practice. "You make it very easy to say yes, sometimes."

[thevegandarkelf]

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

Masterlist

AO3 link

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

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

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

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

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

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

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

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

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

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

Word count: 10k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, there was Rick's disappearance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ya talkin' 'bout yours or hers?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Umm, ok. I promise."

"My name's Lydia too."

Then, there was our arrival at the Commonwealth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So when do I start?"

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

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

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

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

*Third person perspective*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I said wait!" Daryl shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think ya brother's alive."

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

Guess the privacy was for my reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And next to him was our dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jay, Dad, Lydia,

Do what you need to stay alive

Find each other

I love you

Eli

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm her husband," Daryl interjected.

My what?

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

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

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

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

"Please, call me John. Mr.—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Does he treat you well?"

"The best any man ever has."

"Does he make you happy?"

"More than I thought I ever could be."

"Is he good to other people?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tonight works," Daryl confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I missed you too," I echoed.

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

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

"I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, dad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like I didn't know the answer.

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

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

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

"I love you."

"I love ya too."

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley

Divider found on Google via searching for stock images

[pinguphd]

Soldier of Heaven Chapter 1

I spent like 3 days editing this, but at least I finally have chapter one of my fem!Shep/Kaidan fic. Taking place after the events of ME3, we're going to explore just what happened to our dear Commander Amira Shepard and her love, Kaidan Alenko. I would like to thank @the-californicationist for putting up with my rambling, and especially @tealenko for helping me work out some of the ideas I had. Wouldn't have done it without you two, this goes out to you!

Each chapter, including the name of the fic itself, is named after a song. I will update the playlist with each chapter so you can listen along with me. Enjoy!

“I won't be coming home

I won't be going anywhere

I will guard this post forever

Here on the alpine slope, where I did my final stand, I shall remain

Among the ice and snow that binds me to this mountain”

Soldier of Heaven-Sabaton

It took close to two months in the aftermath of the Reaper War for things to return to any semblance of normalcy.  While the makeshift hospitals were still full, they did not seem so utterly overwhelmed as when the Catalyst was fired, finally eradicating the Reaper threat and ending the horrid cycle.  Much of humanity’s home was destroyed, yet the overall mood in London was one of optimism or cautious enthusiasm at the society they are rebuilding. 

Amira Shepherd, the famed Savior of the Citadel, first human Spectre and one of the best biotics the galaxy has ever seen was one of the people still in hospital.  The doctors and nurses had no idea who she was, and Amira wanted to keep it that way.  Best they could figure was she was probably an Alliance soldier, but it was hard to be certain when she would not speak to any of them.  The combination of watching a man she considered to be a father figure to her-Admiral Anderson die right in front of her, the comedown from the six months that she had spent going from here to kingdom come gathering everything she possibly could to ensure the continued survival of everyone in the Milky Way, and, perhaps most heartbreakingly, saying her final goodbyes to her beloved Kaidan took its toll on her.

Having survived 3 different suicide missions, curing the genophage and watching Mordin die, saving Kaidan on Virmire, even her fraught reunion with him on Horizon was distressing.  She has seen enough trauma, heartbreak, and death to last her many lifetimes (quite literally, in her case). She could still recall every second of her final moments with him.  Helping him up after being fired upon with that beam, even forcing him onto the Normandy even as he begged her not to make him go and his anguish as she left him was the worst of all of it.  She loved him so deeply she made him go, although it broke her heart to do so.

That did not make the aftermath any easier.  After she had fired the Catalyst, she had very little recollection of what it was like in the midst of all that rubble.  Her armor was in pieces and near nonexistent and the burns and injuries she had, she almost couldn’t feel.  All she could remember was the feeling deep within her that she had to get back to him, no matter what.  Despite the risks to what she knew had to be incredibly fragile health, she did her best to keep a biotic field about her in the hope search and rescue would find her.  Dead or alive, she owed it to Kaidan to know how she ended.  Not another Alchera, not on her watch.

From what she had been told by the medical staff, she was in the smoldering rubble for around 3 days.  By the time she was found she was incredibly weak and in what she could only imagine was a rough state.  Bad enough to the point where the staff at the hospital, full to the brim with Alliance doctors, nurses and support staff had no idea she was Commander Shepard.  This fact suited her just fine.  

For some unknown reason they were keeping her there, so in a show of defiance, she kept her damn mouth shut.  She filled her time not in PT with a sketchbook and canvas a well meaning woman visiting her friend at work gave her.  It’s not right dear, you being here all alone. She was one of the only people in the few months she had been in hospital who was not interested in making her talk.  I understand dear if you don’t want to say anything she said to her on her first visit.  She enjoyed the companionship anyway.  

This sweet older woman was completely and utterly empathetic, expecting nothing in return.  Selfless too, visiting her.  She seemed to have a way with, what did Kaidan call them? “Old soldiers.” Huh.  Guess those words ring truer than she thought.  When the woman, Elizabeth, she eventually learned was her name, had come to visit, she always had a mug of tea and biscuits with her, armed to the teeth with even more art supplies for her.  

Elizabeth would sit with her in her room, chattering away about everything and nothing at all.  She heard stories of her kids and grandkids, all gone now.  She heard about her troubles finding ingredients for the teas and biscuits she brought with her on her daily visits.  More than once the doctors, nurses, therapists and technicians chided her for being rude in not talking to her friend who was so kind in visiting someone she had never met before.  Elizabeth came to her defense more than once, shutting that attitude towards her with a fury only known to a mama bear protecting her cubs.  

It was on one of these visits, Elizabeth chatting away while Amira worked on a scene of her and Kaidan’s last goodbye, that Elizabeth had said something particularly interesting.  “Apparently some Admiral is even in the area today.  Think he might be visiting some of the Alliance folk.”  Hearing this, Amira felt the blood in her veins run cold.  Beyond hope she prayed it both was and was not Admiral Hackett.  Desperate for word of her crew on the SR-2, she studiously focused her attention back on the pad in her lap, whilst Elizabeth prattled on and left her to get lost in her thoughts.  It was something she did a lot since she was found.

Okay, she was lying to herself.  She knew full well why they were keeping her there.  The combination of how heavy she used her biotics in her final moments before she made it to the Citadel, the injuries she sustained, and lying half dead (well, mostly dead if she was being honest with herself) using the very last of her reserves to emit a strong enough blue glow to be found had completely destroyed her implant.  The cybernetics and nanites Cerberus had given her had protected much of her fragile state and had served to speed up the healing process.  

In order to distract herself from the train of thought that thinking of Cerberus always led her down (the awful reunion with Kaidan on Horizon, almost losing Garrus on Omega, the suicide mission that was the Omega 4 relay…) she instead forced herself to use her famed laser focus on running down the list of why she had not been identified, her pencil stilling against the pad of paper in front of her.  Feeling a sense of calm overcome her after Elizabeth’s seemingly innocent remark at the visiting Alliance brass, she ran through the logistics she knew by heart.  

During and after any skirmish, battle or war, communications were in some form of disarray.  In this case, they were all but destroyed.  To that end, she knew connections to Alliance systems in particular were nonexistent.

When they had to replace her L3 implant with a highly experimental L5 type model similar to what she retrieved from Grissom knowing that the logistics of obtaining a safe and extraordinarily well tested L3 implant like what she had previously (she groaned internally at that, it would be her third damn implant) it was so badly damaged they couldn’t easily trace it back to the Alliance database, if they had the access at all.

With so few resources, they did not have a chance to thoroughly scan her like they would have done pre-war.

Over half of Earth’s population was dead, and with medical staff on or near the front lines their numbers had been particularly affected. With so few staff, and an extraordinary number of patients to tend to, she was able to stay safely under the radar.

Those who needed tending to number in the many thousands.  As fond as the medical field and Alliance tended to be of rules and protocol, the ability to follow such things went out the window in wartime, which she knew very well.

She thought of these 5 things, over and over, during the course of her visit with her friend.  It distracted her and calmed her nerves.  Anxieties she had become all too familiar with since Alchera reared their ugly head once more, however, when she heard a flutter of activity outside the small room she had been given.  She looked towards the door, with a mix of fear and well-disguised terror in her eyes in contrast to the awe Elizabeth had held in hers.  Elizabeth’s heart softened when she looked upon Amira, the older woman coming up to her to place a weathered hand on her bare shoulders.

Listening to the conversation in the hall with her well-practiced hearing, she heard a very familiar voice talking with the nurse that was particularly horrid to her over the course of her stay.  Prone to letting her mind wander since the war's end, she thought of all the ways this woman had tried to goad her into talking.  Attempts at withholding food, being more aggressive in the treatments she was giving, waking her at odd hours or abruptly, the list goes on.  She guessed that was part of why Elizabeth had visited her so often, after the first time she witnessed “the wicked harpy” draw blood with a rather vicious looking needle that left a pretty purple bruise at her elbow.

“Oh, how did you enjoy your visit sir?  We have had a great many Alliance soldiers grace our halls.  I myself have taken care of many of them.” She could hear their muffled footsteps walking away from the corner of the hospital. Elizabeth had given her shoulder a gentle squeeze, rolling her eyes. If by “care” she means acting like a wicked harpy armed with a syringe full of medi-gel, then by all means, she took great care of you dear. The two people in the corridor were unfortunately not far enough away, because the Alliance Admiral had heard some of their words and turned back around, heading right toward the door.  To her.

“Oh no sir, you wouldn’t want to go in there.  This silly woman doesn’t bother to talk to anyone.  No one knows her name and no one comes to visit either so clearly whoever she had in her life either is dead or she was so miserable to them like she is to us they just don’t care.”  She giggled a bit at that, letting just enough of her facade crack that the man's steps came to an abrupt halt and turned about face towards her.  Coming close enough to the windowed door, Amira’s eyes widened.  She knew that silhouette anywhere.

With a stern voice, he addressed Harpy.  “With all due respect ma’am, you were fully apprised of the reason for my visit today.  I did not put up with your company for the last hour for nothing.  I did not stand next to you blabbering about your skills as I visited my men and women, many of whom were under my command or under the command of a good friend who is also missing.  If there is a soldier in there under MY command, I will see her.”  Despite the stuttered protests of Harpy, trying to recover her “reputation”, he swiftly held out a hand to push open the door. 

Amira froze and dropped her pencil.  Clearly startled, Elizabeth raised her stature and wrapped both hands around her shoulders, standing protectively over her adopted charge.  “And just who in the hell are you?  Barging in here like a raging krogan like that, have you no manners man?”  Amira placed a hand over hers and shrugged them off, standing up.  The man’s eyes widened.  Yes, they knew each other very well.

“Commander Shepard?”

[fanaticsnail]

Did I ever talked about ALL (until now) Rex crew? I think I only said about Rosa, so here goes a little resume (yeee, most of them don't have names yet, it’s one of the last things I do when thinking about a new OC)

WE HAVE:

- A man in his 50s – the navigator – is a senior pirate who has been part of multiple crews and has always found trouble due to his gambling problem. He started handling the money and was good at it until he spent all of the crew's berries in a casino (and still owed the owner). That day, Rex prohibited him from even LOOKING at the vault where they keep their berries. But very quickly, they discovered that all of them sucked at managing money in general, so the position was returned to him under some conditions (*cough cough* threats) and with a hawk eye from her and her first mate. He’s the father of the group – literally –, as he is married and has two sons whom he loves very deeply, giving him a paternal side. He cares about all of them as if they were his children, gives the best hugs, good advice, bad examples (do what he says and not what he does). He sees the potential in all of them and with the Raven Pirates, he wants to become a better person and turn the world a little nicer for his kids to live in. Make them proud. 

- An ex-Celestial Dragon in his 20s (a little more, a little less) who gave up his privilege and comfort to follow his captain and learn more about the real world. Sometimes he forgets he’s not in Mary Geoise anymore and can be kinda arrogant, narcissistic, and an asshole, but he’s trying to get better! Baby steps. The man is also brutally honest and has problems controlling his tongue, but he is very loyal and protective – especially with Rex – with whom he has formed a special bond when they were kids. Slowly, he starts being more caring with his crew and cares for them like family, showing his love for their company not with words, but with actions. He likes hugs more than his pride allows him to admit and is very attentive, enjoying the act of caring. Due to his knowledge of medicine, in addition to being the shooter of the Raven Pirates, he also works as the nurse, assisting the crew's doctor when needed.

- A girl in her 17 (all ages are pre-time skip), an ex-spy for the World Government. She was part of a currently discontinued project in which orphaned children were used to spy and obtain information without arousing great suspicion. But children grow up and when she turned 15, she was sent (without her knowledge) on a suicide mission. She survived but was not left without after-effects from the huge explosion she caused, having lost much of her hearing capacity and suffering painful injuries. Despite officially only occupying the position of cook on the crew, the girl does a lot. She is the master of disguises, knows how to cook, sew, do makeup, knows a lot about explosives, and is amazing with her nunchucks. Every day they discover something new about the girl. In personality, she is full of energy, a gremlin, disturbing everyone with her crazy ideas and jokes, but everyone likes how much she brings life to the team. She has very questionable taste in “cute” stuff, but she is sweet, very concerned, anxious, and helpful. She still has to deal with a lot of obstacles, especially emotional ones, but the other Raven Pirates will always support her.

I didn't notice it was so much until a finished, im sorry T-T but thats it (a l cut a lot off to make it shorter, a swear)

I had to take a moment to not fall in love with the navigator / treasurer. He seems problematic. I'm gonna blorbo him.

And an ex-celestial dragon??!! My heart is not going to handle this crew, I can feel it. Just like my beloved Rosinante.

Little gremlin child seems like so much fun. Making bombs, causing chaos, little revolutionary if there ever was one.

I love this crew!!! Rex and Rosa have their work cut out for them!!

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - Part 5

Summary: Freya, Halsin, and Shadowheart explore the Gauntlet of Shar. Freya and Halsin have a bit of a heart to heart where Freya reassures him that he doesn’t have to drop everything to help her when she’s hurt. They share feelings about their anxieties around the gauntlet and the upcoming battle with Ketheric. Also, Nightsong scene. I hope I did it justice, it’s my favorite in the whole game.

Cw: blood, stitches, scars. Massive Act 2 spoilers

Freya and Shadowheart bickered incessantly through their exploration of Shar’s Gauntlet. They had battled the orthon and the necromancer hiding in its depths well enough, and Freya reluctantly allowed the cleric to take the trials while she, Halsin, and Minthara searched for the relic that Ketheric Thorm kept hidden there.

They were so close now, they’d meant to march on Moonrise that day but the battles they faced in the gauntlet took more time than they’d expected to spend down here. Halsin knew they would need to make camp, everyone would need to be at their full strength to take on Ketheric. The necromancer, in particular, had taken his toll on Freya. She limped slightly as she led their party to the large elevator that had materialized with the umbral gems they’d acquired.

“Wait,” Shadowheart said. Freya tossed her head back and groaned, the last of her patience with the Sharran long gone.

“What now?” Freya all but growled.

“There’s something I need to find down here first. A weapon,” Shadowheart answered.

“On my oath, Sharran, if you mean to sacrifice my life down here for your wicked fucking goddess I will tear you limb from limb,” Freya threatened the cleric with enough venom to fell a horse. “Regardless, we’re all exhausted. We can finish here tomorrow. Let’s get back to the others, I need a drink.”

————

Gale had been instructed to deliver a bottle of Cormyrean brandy as a gift to Freya by Quartermaster Talli. The merchant must’ve deduced that it was her favorite. Halsin had never known her to accept a gift without so much as a single protest, but she simply snatched the bottle and nodded to the wizard in thanks as he finished cooking their dinner. She uncorked the bottle and took a long swig as she limped to her tent. He unbuckled his leather bracers while he sat on a log near the fire and rested his elbows on his knees.

He wanted to follow her, to make her let him heal that damned leg, but he didn’t want to break the trust she’d placed in him by invading her private moments. So he sat. He took the plate that Gale offered to him and ate his dinner in silence while the wizard sat next to him. Karlach bounded over to the fire with Wyll following closely behind her, the warlock and his former quarry were near inseparable as their journey went on. Lae’zel and Minthara stood near the githyanki’s tent. The two women were sharpening their blades and polishing their armor, taking small bites as they worked. Astarion joined Halsin and Gale on the log. Gale offered the vampire his wrist as wildlife in these lands would do him more harm than good. Shadowheart was lost in prayer outside her own tent.

The wizard was the one to break the comfortable silence. “She’s in a mood today, isn’t she?” He jerked his chin toward Freya’s tent.

Halsin nodded. “She’s a Selûnite who spent the day in a Sharran temple, who has little patience and a short temper on her best days. That, and we thought we’d be going back to Moonrise today. I’d be more concerned if she was in a good mood.” Gale chuckled and Astarion scoffed in agreement.

The vampire broke away from the wizard��s wrist. “I’m surprised you survived the day with those three, Halsin. Well done,” he commented sarcastically, as was his way. Halsin only laughed, he knew that if it had come to a brawl between any of those women, any attempts on his part to break them up would’ve been tantamount to suicide.

He glanced back to Freya’s tent, and found himself wondering if he should take her any food. She had done the same for him on many nights when he was sulking in his remote corner of the camp. She had to be starving, they hadn’t stopped to eat since breakfast and he knew they had a big day ahead of them once the dawn broke. Gale chuckled again and clapped Halsin on the knee as he rose to make another plate. “You’ve got it so bad, my friend. Go talk to her.” The wizard shook his head as he handed the plate to Halsin.

The wood elf reluctantly took it and carried it to where Freya made her camp. He stood at the closed entrance and cleared his throat. “Freya?” he asked, and heard only an “ow, fuck” in response, so he stuck his head in.

She had discarded her armor and was wearing a sleeveless shirt with loose cotton shorts that revealed the gash in her thigh, crossing over the old scar. She took another swig of her brandy and splashed the contents of another less valuable bottle of alcohol over her wound. She held a needle and thread in one hand and, to no surprise on Halsin’s part, was stitching her own flesh back together. Blue light radiated from her other palm as she used what was left of her oathbound healing magic to aid the process. She flicked her eyes up to Halsin as he entered the tent and set her dinner on the small, unoccupied table near her bedroll. He knelt in front of her and watched her work for a moment.

“Don’t,” she said. She made another stitch with skilled, nimble hands that had clearly done this several times before.

“I could’ve taken care of that, you know,” he answered. He didn’t dare comment on the fact that she would have another scar. I wear my scars with honor, she had said once. Indeed, she had plenty. The one across the bridge of her nose, the punctures on her shoulder where the wraith had grabbed her while she defended his portal, claw marks running down her other calf. He sensed each had a story, just as the one across his own forehead did.

“I know. I don’t care. You don’t have to heal me every time I get nicked in combat, if you did you’d be glued to my hip and that would just be annoying for the both of us.” Halsin disagreed with her statement, he kept finding excuses to be close to her every chance he got. “Honestly, Halsin, I’m fine. I don’t need you to rush to my aid every time I’m hurt. Two hundred years I’ve survived, and I intend to live at least two hundred more.”

She finished her stitching and reached over to grab a clean strip of linen from her bag to wrap her muscled thigh. Every movement was practiced and deliberate, a soldier patching herself up to get back in battle. She used the ground as leverage to push herself up and test her weight on the injured leg, bouncing lightly on that foot. She seemed to be satisfied enough, so she sat back down and pulled one knee to her chest as she extended her injured leg in front of her.

“How is your mind?” He asked the question on a whisper. “Today can’t have been easy for you.”

She breathed deep before answering. “I’m sure Selûne’s Chosen would be a fine trophy for Shar, unfortunately for her I think Shadowheart still has time to turn from her path of darkness to one of light. She’s still very young, and there’s something more to her. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Do you think she will try to sacrifice you?” Halsin’s blood ran cold at the thought. He knew if it came to it, Freya would prevail, but she cared so deeply for each of her friends that the death of one of them, even in self defense, would haunt her for the rest of her long life.

“I think if she was going to, she would have done it when she realized where we were. I think there’s more to this than what we can see, and I have to trust that the Moonmaiden guides my way.” She finished her brandy and leaned back against her pack. “Enough about me, how do you feel?” Her eyes never left his as she leveled her question, perhaps trying to see into his very soul.

He had no wish to burden her further. To heap his troubles on top of her own. She, quite literally, took the fate of the world onto her own shoulders without a single complaint while a parasite threatened to strip her of mind and soul at any moment. As soon as their mysterious artifact faltered in its protection, she would be gone. They both knew that, and she soldiered on regardless.

Yet, Halsin knew that he could not ask her to trust him with her burdens without offering that same trust in kind. “I feel…hopeful,” he whispered. “More than I have in a hundred years.” She hummed her agreement. “If only I had met you sooner, my friend. I also feel afraid. We have been given the best chance anyone has had to rid this land of its curse, to set nature to rights and watch the healing unfold. If we fail, I dare say there is no one who will be able to take our place.” Her blue eyes welled with unshed tears at his words, for she knew them to be true. If they failed, the curse would live on despite all they’d done here. For Halsin, he would never restore the balance of nature. For Freya, justice would go unserved.

“Do you think we can win this?” A sliver of doubt crept into her voice as the question softly escaped her lips.

“I…I will not lie to you, Freya, I do not know. Ketheric is a formidable foe.” Her eyes slid shut as a tear slid down her cheek at his confession. He reached over and brushed it away with his thumb. “You, though, you might be even more formidable than he is. I am not a betting man, but if I was, I’d gamble on you.” He hooked his finger under her chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead, closing his eyes against his own tears before he moved to leave.

Freya caught his wrist before he could go. “Stay,” she whispered, the word a prayer on her breath.

How could he deny her?

He removed his leather armor and lay shirtless beside her. She rested her head over his chest and he pulled her closer until she was nearly on top of him. He wrapped both arms around her slender frame and held her tight until they both slipped into trance, never once letting go of the warrior woman who now guarded his beating heart.

————

Halsin stood in the pool before Shar’s statue with Shadowheart and Freya, the former knelt in prayer, the latter watching the cleric with her sword drawn. The tension between the Selûnite and the Sharran had grown palpable, Halsin almost thought that he could touch it if he reached out. Shadowheart wielded a new spear, the Spear of Night, she had called it, and it set the paladin on edge.

Shadowheart stood. “I’m ready,” she stated as she stepped into the pool. Tendrils of darkness crept up his legs, like phantom arms pulling him under. They crawled up his chest, his shoulders, his head, ever hungry, and yanked him down until all he saw was black.

————

Halsin woke with a start in a horrifyingly familiar landscape. Coughing, he clutched his chest and looked to Freya, who was on her hands and knees, eyes wide as she took in the broken rock and violet atmosphere.

The Shadowfell. Shar’s domain.

“Fuck.” Freya bit out the word like she’d been struck. Any average Selûnite would be in mortal peril in the Shadowfell, but Freya was Selûne’s Chosen. Fear and worry clawed its way into his chest at the realization.

The party stood, and Halsin noticed that he felt lighter, his bones no longer tethered to the earth. Freya stepped forward, her body practically vibrating, and jumped from one rock to the next before Halsin could stop her.

“Blessed Nightsinger, witness my adoration,” Shadowheart prayed as they followed the paladin. Undead Dark Justiciars lined the path before them, but made no move on the Selûnite as she descended.

“Descend to her,” they whispered in unison. Freya never faltered in her steps in front of him. “Look upon her.”

“See my actions, Lady Shar, hear my words of faith.”

“Kill her.”

“Lady Shar’s will shall be done, as sure as night will fall.”

They reached a large platform, where a tall woman with yellow hair stood, shackled by magic fists glowing green. As Halsin leapt closer, he noticed the cracks in her skin, glowing gold under the dirt and grime.

An aasimar.

Freya and Shadowheart bounded onto the platform, the former angling herself between the caged woman and her Sharran friend.

“You,” the caged woman seethed, pointing a finger at Shadowheart. “You, who have come to seek the praise of her wicked goddess. You, who have come to drive a dagger through my heart.” She stormed towards Shadowheart, blue mage hands restraining her as she did.

“Not a dagger, a spear. My Lady Shar’s spear!” Shadowheart turned on Freya, anger and hatred and desperation etched into her expression. “Her fate is mine to seal, let me handle this!”

Freya raised her sword, the point of the blade inches from her friend’s chin. A tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, “Strike me down if you must, but I cannot let you do this.”

“The fate you seal is your own,” the larger woman said. “To be a Dark Justiciar is to turn your heart from everything but loss. You will know no love, no joy, only servitude. Until, of course, your mistress inevitably discards you. And there is much she does not tell you - a terrible blood price that may extend beyond my own death.”

Shadowheart bristled as she stared down Freya’s blade. The paladin looked over her shoulder at the caged woman, and something like recognition flashed across her features. Halsin didn’t dare breathe as Freya lowered her sword and stepped to stand beside him. He had no idea what she was doing, but she took his hand in hers and gripped it like a lifeline. “Trust her,” Freya murmured under her breath to him.

“Well, well, well,” the stranger said. “What’s that I sense? A spear intended for my heart. Empowered by your goddess, aye. Empowered to kill the child of a god,” she yelled. “Do you know what I am, little assassin? For I know you - a lost child, frightened by wolves in the dark.”

“What did you say?” Shadowheart’s voice softened, green eyes growing wide.

“Much has been promised to you, hasn’t it? But what has been taken from you? What do you know of your own heart - your own life? I sense more in you than you know.” The woman straightened, and Freya was taut as a bowstring next to Halsin. Her eyes were trained on the exchange happening before them, her other hand gripping the hilt of her sword so hard he thought she’d burst her gauntlet. She whispered prayers to her goddess under her breath, as if Selûne could hear her in her sister’s domain.

Shadowheart was never meant to sacrifice Freya at all, he realized. It was this woman, bound by a necromancer’s magic, whose death was somehow more important to Shar than her twin’s Chosen.

“Whatever you think you know of me won’t matter, once I become who I’m meant to be,” Shadowheart said with wavering conviction.

“She knows something about you, Shadowheart,” Freya said. “Don’t you at least want to hear her out?”

The mysterious wound on Shadowheart’s hand flashed amethyst as she pulled the spear from her back. Freya stiffened, her sword raising once more, as she took a small step forward.

Shadowheart hesitated. She stared at her goddess’s spear in her grasp. The cleric raised her weapon, and Freya released Halsin’s hand to jump in front of the aasimar.

Shadowheart threw her arm back and cast the Spear of Night into the Shadowfell.

Freya’s breath came in hard pants as her sword clattered to the ground. Her relief came off of her in waves, fresh tears springing to her sapphire eyes. She put her hands on Shadowheart’s shoulders as the cleric realized what she had done.

“I can’t believe I did that…Lady Shar will disown me…what will happen to me now…?”

“Now what will happen. What will you do?” The taller woman said behind them. “Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed.” She knelt as Shadowheart stumbled forward to her, Freya stepping to the side. “Lay a hand on me in friendship, not-quite-Sharran, and I will fight the battle that has been waiting for me this last century. Then, oh then, we will have much to discuss.” She bowed her head, and Shadowheart considered her for a long moment before placing her wounded hand on the woman’s shoulder.

The mage hands caging her vanished, and she dropped both hands to the ground.

She pounded her fist into the ground. “Our Lady of Silver, hear me.” Her fist pounded once more, free from her shackles, holy fury lacing every word.

By Silvanus.

“She Who Guides, the Moonmaiden Selûne.”

Freya dropped to her knees.

“Mother of the so-called Nightsong, the Nightsong is no more!” Her eyes glowed pure silver as she stood, her Selûnite armor materializing over her battered rags. Her suit was an exact match to Freya’s own. A great golden sword floated down to her outstretched hand, and she swung it in a wide arc as white wings appeared from her back.

The relic Ketheric was after wasn’t a relic after all, but a person. Selûne’s own daughter supplied his immortality. Now that she was free, not only would he finally be vulnerable, but they had made a powerful ally in this war. Halsin could only stare in awe as her boots touched ground once more.

“You have given me a great gift, little warrior,” the Nightsong said to Shadowheart. “Don’t you find it oh so curious that you would spurn your Dark Lady? Perhaps you feel a stirring of the truth already”

Freya rose to her feet, collecting her sword. “And you, my mother’s Chosen. You did well to follow her guidance. I look forward to seeing what you can do.” Freya dipped her chin in a nod at the aasimar’s words.

“But that will come later. There is a battle yet to be fought. You have done what we feared was impossible, you have released me from a century of sorrow. Your power is great, so to must be your weapon. The Moonmaiden will provide. Thus I have said, thus will it be so.” A golden glaive appeared in Shadowheart’s hand, replacing the Spear of Night.

Freya retook her place at Halsin’s side, divine purpose igniting her confidence in their cause anew. He squeezed her arm, sharing in her newfound hope. She was radiant in her anticipation of the coming battle, blue eyes bright and wild and excited. She smiled up at him and Halsin’s heart nearly stopped. She was breathtaking.

“Are you ready?” Selûne’s daughter asked them.

“Ready for what?” It was Shadowheart who answered, still so unsure of herself after defying her patron deity.

The Nightsong’s expression hardened in determination and the promise of righteous vengeance as she readied to launch into the sky.

“To kill Ketheric Thorm.”