#or at least such a large city like boston would be like that

[esmeralda-juniper]

the more i play the first game the more i'm over 4's over reliance on the whole 50's retrofuturism being shoved down my throat

[arcanefox207]

The Wolf You Feed (Part 1)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 8k

Part 1 / ? (Ongoing Series)

Summary: Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Warnings: No Outbreak, AU but with TLoU characters, Large age gap (Reader is 29. Joel is 50). This chapter includes smut with fingering and cum eating. Dominant Joel. Eventual Angst. Drinking Alcohol. Pet names but no use of Y/N. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. 

Chapter Excerpt: He presses a gentle kiss behind your ear and another one drags to your jawline and to the soft meat of your neck. His coarse beard scrapes against your skin and makes you shudder. You press your ass into him and feel him hard against your lower back. He responds by pressing into you firmly and brings his mouth to your ear. 

“You feel what you do to me, beautiful girl?” He asks with his low, gravely voice and presses another kiss into you. His heat is searing into you.

A/N: Please hang in there. This chapter has a lot of setup and is a bit of a slow burn. Its also my first fic and I am pouring my heart and soul into it.

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N

“Remember, if you need anything you can ask Joel. He knows his way around the house” your mother reminds you. 

“Thanks, I will be fine but I’ll keep that in mind.” You appease her but have no intention of bothering her neighbor.

“Love you, honey. Talk later!”

“Bye mom. Love you.” You end the call and slump back against the couch. This was going to be your home for the next few months. Your parents had gone south to avoid the brutal New England winter and had offered their summer vacation home in Kineo to you in the interim. No rent and plenty of free time to figure out what to do with your life next. All you had to do was pay the utilities and keep an eye on things.

The offer was genuine but also came from a place of concern. You had spent the last few years living a more-or-less nomadic life and poorly indulging your dreams of adventure. Your bachelors degree in Liberal Arts proving to be as useless as everyone told you it would be. It got you jobs easy enough but nothing that felt like a long term career. It all felt directionless but you also had been hell bent on proving everyone else wrong and keeping up the appearance that you were doing just fine. 

Your past relationships were nothing too exciting either. Months of casually dating someone and it not really going anywhere or random hookups that you regretted the next day. One or two guys you were getting serious with but ultimately scared you off when they started talking about a family in their big picture. You were starting to get cynical about any compatible prospects.

You are only 29 and wonder if a midlife crisis before your 30’s is normal. At least, that is what it felt like was happening. You had been treading water for too long and felt like you were too tired to keep swimming.

Your mother finally wore you down enough when your lease was up at your Boston apartment and you had no real obligations. You hated your current job, your roommates were little more than acquaintances and the busy city life scene was starting to lose its charm especially when it was astronomically expensive to live there. It was getting harder to say no so you agreed to her offer. 

You had to admit living in the country sounded like a nice change. You had a few months to figure stuff out and the thought of something new was exciting to you. Even if it meant continuing to endure the bitter winter, you had a chance to start fresh somewhere new. Something different. 

You didn’t grow up here and spent most of your life living in suburban homes with slightly warmer climates. Your parents had bought a small one bedroom vacation home in a sleepy New England town that they mostly only enjoyed in the prime summer months. The home sat mostly vacant otherwise. They would rent it out for weeks at a time but in the winter months no one from away wanted to go there. Too far from ski resorts and civilization to be of interest to a casual vacationer. It had a lake that drew much attention from outsiders only when it wasn’t frozen. The town was reduced to just the year-round locals in the coldest months.

Your new residence was outside the main populous of Kineo and nearby the lake. In fact, you could see the lake peeking through the thick pine trees out the front window if you looked hard enough. 

The closest and only neighbor in sight was the handyman your parents raved about across the street. He kept an eye on the place while they were away. You had never interacted with him on your occasional summer visits, but knew he had been kind to your folks and heard about him often enough. You occasionally saw him out in his yard from afar and he would give a lazy wave to your parents in passing. You never really got a good look at him up close but from what you could see he looked rugged and fit and always wore jeans and work boots. He had a modest waterfront cabin across the street and seemed to keep to himself.

You had arrived just a few days ago and already had a job lined up at the local coffee shop, Grind. You were getting your caffeine fix and saw a help wanted sign in their window and you had no trouble securing the job when you chatted with the owner. She hired you on the spot and seemed desperate but grateful that you actually had enthusiasm for coffee and knew your Americanos from your Lattes. Grind Coffee House was on the main drag along with some other quaint shops. It was charming enough and an easy 10 minute drive from your house. The pay was pitiful but would be enough to get by. Things seemed to be lining up perfectly.

You went to bed early that night and felt optimistic that this was going to be good for you. This was going to be the reset that you craved. A new adventure. It was like nothing you had experienced before and maybe that was exactly what you needed.

–

Shit. Your first day working at Grind and you can’t even get the car to start. 

It was freezing cold. The kind of cold that hurts when it touches your exposed skin. You turn the key in the ignition again and the engine makes a pathetic attempt to turn over. Nothing. Fuck. 

You turn the key again. Nothing. Fuck fuck fuck. You pull out your phone and realize you have no idea what to do other than call your new boss and make a horrible first impression. No, that wasn’t going to do. You look in the rearview mirror and see across the street that lights are on at your neighbors house, despite the early hour. As quickly as the thought crosses your mind you push it away. No. No way were you going to bother him at this hour. You hadn’t even officially met the guy yet.

You pull up Google on your phone and scan the first few results for “car won’t start” and narrow it down to engine troubles or dead battery. Either outcome is something you are not equipped to handle. 

A few moments pass and you reluctantly weigh the options. Would a garage even be open this early? How long would that take to get someone out there? You were wasting time and had to do something. You curse to yourself and go back inside the house.

You walk over to the fridge where a note is hanging front and center “Joel Miller” with a phone number neatly printed. Your mothers careful handwriting to contact the poor neighbor that she probably harasses all the time. You sigh and open your phone to dial the number.

It rings a few times, and then you hear a gravelly voice that catches you off guard. 

“Hello?” A deep and thick, unfamiliar accent answers. Not what you were expecting. 

“Hi, Mr. Miller.” a long pause and you stumble over your words. “I uh, I’m sorry to call you so early. I'm Rick and Linda’s daughter.” and mumble your name. Another pause. 

“Ah, right. Whatcha need, kid?” He asks with little expression in his tone. You can’t tell if he is annoyed or just sounded that way. 

“My car won’t start and I–” you pause, not too sure how to ask for help from a stranger. “I don’t know what to do...” Your voice trails off with uncertainty on how to ask for help or what you are even expecting. 

You hear a long exhale on the other end, like he is letting all the air out of his lungs while he is thinking on it. 

“Dead battery most likely… on a day like this. I’ll be right over.” He hangs up the phone before you can say another word and instead say thank you out loud to yourself and let your voice trail off. You instantly regret making the call.

You zip up your coat, pull your knit hat snug over your ears and head back outside when you see a black Ford pickup truck ease into your driveway. A tall man wearing a brown suede jacket approaches. The morning light is faint but you can make out that he is much older and has some silver streaking his hair and beard. He looks weathered and rugged but also has a warmness about him that is hard to reconcile with his rough exterior.     

“Joel Miller, I presume?” you nervously laugh and awkwardly introduce yourself for the second time. You attempt to be extra friendly and maybe penetrate his bristly wall. It seems to help when he notices you are a young woman and not some bratty teenager that your parents probably made you out to be. He takes a step forward and reaches a hand out towards you, nodding. He firmly shakes your hand and you are taken aback by how his grasp seems to engulf you.

“Pleasure to meet you, darling.” His voice is smooth and polite and has the tiniest hint of playfulness in his tone. You can’t place his accent, but you know it isn’t from around here and only someone from away would say ‘Darling’ so casually to a stranger. 

His dark brown eyes hold your gaze for a moment and he has the faintest smirk as he subtly scans your body. It sends goosebumps down your spine. You are grateful that you made an extra effort to look cute for your first day of work. You realize your hands are still embraced and nervously laugh as you pull away. He gets right down to business, but not before stealing another peek of your body when he thinks you aren’t looking.  

“Lets see what we got here.'' He climbs into the driver's seat and in no time confirms it's the battery when he hears your car's engine protest. He walks over to his tailgate and brings back some jumper cables. 

You stand there with your arms wrapped around your body trying to hold in as much warmth as possible. Your bare hands clenched in a fist and tucked in as far as they could in your jacket sleeve to shelter from the cold. Your teeth chattering as you try to stand out of the way but want to be nearby too. At least give the illusion you can be helpful if he needs something. You regret your first meeting being a clueless damsel in distress, but maybe he liked that sort of thing. His tune did seem to change once he saw you. 

Joel returns and leans over the edge of the seat leaving the door wide open, his large palm dragging up slowly from the floor to the steering column, searching for the hood release. His finger catches on the button and he pops the hood. It’s hard not to stare at him while he slides his expert hands with reckless abandon.

His eyes find yours and the corner of his mouth raises slightly. You question if you are mistaking his caught you watching me look for more than what it was. He seems to enjoy you watching him work. He steps away from the seat and pulls a pair of work gloves from his back pocket as he works to connect your car to his truck with the jumper cables. He starts his truck back up and approaches you. Your breath and his making little frozen clouds as you exhale. 

“You can sit in my truck if you want, it’s plenty warm in there.” He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “This will just be a minute.” You thank him and take him up on his offer and climb into his passenger seat. He has a classical rock station playing on the radio. A thermos sitting in the center console. You glance in the back seat and see some neatly organized tools and miscellaneous junk on the floor. It smells metallic and leathery. 

You outstretch your hands to the vents that are pouring warm air into the cabin and relish the heat.  

A few moments pass and you don’t see much of what’s going on with the hood of the truck blocking your view. You doom scroll on Instagram to keep yourself busy but your mind keeps thinking about Joel. You were in no way prepared for your neighbor to be so fucking handsome. It felt absurd to be so turned on by him.

He’s too old. You tell yourself. Don’t even think about it. 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the hood slams shut and Joel opens the driver's door. He reaches his arm out to grab his thermos while he climbs into the seat with a groan. The door shuts hard behind him and a blast of cold air invades your space briefly.  

“Damn cold one today” He says it with a huff as more of an observation than a complaint. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks over to you. You nod in agreement and find yourself caught up in what to say to him. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them in his backseat. He rests his arm along the back of the seat and it is nearly touching your shoulder. The way his body takes up the space makes you feel small and helpless. Then, you remember you are small and helpless compared to him. He doesn’t feel threatening towards you but you certainly does give off the aura that he could be intense in the right circumstance. You find that undeniably attractive.

“Your folks called me last week. Told me you were gonna be staying here a while.” His eyes are back focused on you. “Meant to come over this weekend and introduce myself.” he seems a little nervous and takes another sip of his coffee. “Didn’t wanna bother you, though.” 

You feel a small smile start to grow on your face. The thought that he shared the same reservations brought comfort. Joel rests his thermos between his legs while still holding it with one hand. He looks like he is hesitating to say something but does it anyway. He looks over at you with tender eyes, 

“Didn’t expect.. You know...” He makes an unreadable expression as he is searching for the words and scans your body up and down. “Someone like you.” You were not entirely sure what he meant by that, but his smoldered stare on your body made you feel hot inside and your cheeks flush. He looked at you with intrigue and it made you feel good. It made you feel wanted. It had been too long since you felt that way.  

In fact, it has been too long since you had any sort of relationship. Even a casual lay.  

“You really saved my ass this morning. Thank you.” You pause and feel yourself giving a sultry gaze back at him. “I owe you one.” Joel makes a no big deal gesture with his hand and a cocky smile as he chews the inside of his cheek. In that brief moment you feel something between the two of you. The desire to flirt; tempt a man with at least 20 years on you. An unexpected but undeniable magnetic pull. A curiosity to learn what lies beneath. A forbidden fruit that is ripe and beckoning for you to take a bite. Something different. Something exciting. Something you know you should stifle before it even begins.  

His eyes reflect the same sentiment but also harbor concern and restraint. It’s a bad idea. The brief silence between you looms loudly. The elephant in the room. 

“Where ya’ off to so early anyways?” he asks, eager to change the subject. He takes another sip of his coffee while you reply.

“Oh, first day working at Grind. You know it?” Joel's demeanor changes in a subtle way that you may not have seen if you weren’t so focused on trying to read him.  

“Oh. Yeah..” he chides and looks down, pensive in thought as he brings his hand to the back of his neck and rakes it through his hair. “I know the place.” He glances back up and avoids eye contact. The bite in his voice does not go unnoticed, but you don’t pry. 

An uncomfortable subject; noted.   

“Better coffee than this I reckon” he says as he places his thermos back in the center console. He attempts to lighten the tone and then glances at his watch.

“I gotta get to work, sweetheart. Keep your car runnin’ for a bit and you should be all set. Probably get that battery replaced.” His tone is more serious now, more business-like. You realize you had been waiting in his truck longer than necessary. You really have to get to work anyways. 

You thank him again and return to your car. He waits for you to get in and raises his fingers off his steering wheel in a lazy wave to signal he was leaving. He backs out of your driveway and heads down the road towards town.

You take a deep breath and adjust the knobs in your car. Joel had put everything on high heat and full blast for you and your car was now unbearably toasty. You tune your radio and ease into the road and on your way to work. 

All the while your mind can’t stop thinking about your charming, handyman neighbor. 

So that's Joel Miller. You smile to yourself and faintly feel butterflies in your stomach. Anxious thoughts that excite and frighten you.  

–

It took Marlene all of five minutes to become your new work bestie. She was efficient and smart and knew her way around the place. She was the only one working when you arrived and despite the line of customers she was friendly and teased you for arriving late on your first day. 

Marlene had great rapport with everyone. It was apparent that the customers were all regulars and she wasted no time introducing you to them. She had a somewhat forward style but it was well received because she knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t waste time being flowery and over the top. It reminded you of the brashness of Boston.

After the morning rush things were relatively calm. You had time to chat and get to know her a little more while she was showing you the ropes. It wasn’t complicated and you were a quick study.

By mid afternoon it was time to close up shop. The hours were a perk. You were scheduled to work weekdays from open till close and would have to occasionally help out on Saturdays. Marlene worked the same shift and the weekends were mostly covered by high schoolers. 

It was just after 2 o’clock when the owner, Tess, stopped by. 

“How did it go?” she asks you both as she takes a seat and rests her bag on the counter. Marlene had no intention of telling her you were late and talked you up, pleased with your presence. Tess had a few other properties she owned so her time at the coffee shop was only as needed and Marlene you learnt was more or less the one who ran things day to day. 

You recap the day and thank her again for the job. You did genuinely enjoy the work. It was easy. Simple and straightforward. You got to know lots of town folk and everyone was curious and interested in meeting the new girl in town.

Tess seemed pleased enough and was quick to head out. She was friendly but brief and gave the impression she had other responsibilities that demanded her attention. She joins you behind the counter briefly and pours herself a black hot coffee in a to-go cup. Another perk of the job was indulging in all the free coffee. 

“Let me know if you guys need anything!” She says energetically as she collects her bag and heads out the door. She flips the sign to “closed” as she leaves. 

“Tess is cool. She doesn’t interfere too much and we only see her a few times a week, if that.” You nod to acknowledge Marlene. “Lets finish cleaning up and get out of here.”

It was nice leaving with the sun bright and warm. Winter meant shorter days, so getting out of work with a few hours of daylight felt luxurious. The bitter cold from the morning had made its departure. 

You had been so focused with work it wasn’t until you got back to your car that you allowed yourself to think about Joel again. You know you shouldn’t but can’t help feeling turned on at the thought of him. He was handsome in that brooding, mysterious way and he emanated competence. It was refreshing and welcomed. 

You decided to send him a text message. You had his number in your recent contacts after all and you were curious if he would play along. You were certain that there was something sparked between the two of you, but unsure if he would act on it. Unsure if there were too many obstacles between you.

You keep it simple and friendly.   

You: Thanks again for your help! 

Your car starts up with no issue and you head home. When you arrive you glance down to your phone to see a simple reply. 

Joel: Anytime

It was brief but you couldn’t help but read it with that low, southern drawl. His voice was so distinct. Polite but stern. You add him as a contact in your phone and wonder if he did the same. 

You take a shower, make some dinner and get comfortable in your bed. It’s early and you watch some TV when you hear your phone chime. You glance at your phone and see Joel Miller has you on his mind as he revives the conversation with you. 

Joel: So how did it go? 

You smile and recount this feeling like you were a teenager talking to your crush. You want to gush about your first day but you play it cool and brief. 

You: Went good, I think I’ll like it there

A few minutes pass. Against your better judgment you start to go into details but delete it before you hit send. You recalled his strange reaction earlier when you brought up Grind. This man has you second guessing yourself and you don’t want to blow it before it even begins. He replies instead before you elaborate.

Joel: Glad to hear. Thought you would. 

You: I’m exhausted though, getting to bed

You decide to be playful and see how he reacts. 

You: Goodnight, Mr. Miller.  

Joel: Just Joel. 

Joel: Goodnight darling

Darling. Even if it was just a typical Southern phrase it made you wild. It was uncommon to hear in the north and felt so endearing and warm. The knots in your stomach return as you struggle to fall asleep. Your mind is too excited to see where things go from here. You knew he was interested in you enough to keep talking. It would have been easy for him to end the conversation there and keep things formal and neighborly. 

Your mind wanders thinking about how truly handsome he is. How badly you want his manly, rough hands on your body. How his voice makes you melt. How his domineering  presence makes you tingle in your core. You feel yourself starting to get wet just at the thought of his body and what you wanted to do to it. What you wanted him to do to you. Sinful thoughts.

You slide your hand between your legs and feel yourself already wet and wanting. Your delicate fingers tease circles over your clit and it doesn’t take long before you get off. You feel ashamed to be lusting over an old man you barely know, but nevertheless wish it was Joel’s rough hands on you.   

You wonder if he is doing the same thing and sharing the same thoughts about you.

–

A few uneventful days go by and now it’s Friday. You haven’t seen much of Joel other than his truck occasionally driving off, but he had been stuck on your mind all week. Lonely nights accompanied by dirty thoughts of Joel that only fueled your yearning to get closer to him. Your inhibitions regarding age and disapproval of your parents were blinded by your building desire. It still weighed on you though. Your parents would be appalled and probably disown you if they knew. It would just be another tick on the disappointment list.   

Work is busy and the day flies by. Just a few hours to go. You are taking a break, sitting at one of the tables by the front window and snacking on a blueberry scone. You reason with yourself that tonight is as good as any to try to make something happen. 

You: You doing anything tonight?

An agonizing hour passes and no reply. Your message is on read. Marlene takes notice of your change in demeanor. When things finally slow down and its just the two of you waiting around to close up she presses you.

“So.. whats going on? You look distant.” 

“Just trying to… make friends here.” You pause. “A friend in particular.” Your voice trails off. Marlene catches on quick and she had suspected you were starting to fall for someone. 

“Anyone I know?” Marlene knows everyone. You don’t want her judgment on the matter so you keep it vague.

“My neighbor. He doesn’t seem the type to come to a place like this though.” Your phone chimes and you try to play down your excitement as you look down and see it’s from Joel. You can barely contain a smile. 

Joel: Just got done a job. No plans

Marlene searches your face and rolls her eyes.  

“Just go over then. Easy enough.” she was right. 

“Yeah, I think I will.” 

The rest of the shift goes by quickly and you are both out the door by 3 o’clock.

You sit in your car and decide to just call him already. You were craving to hear his voice again and you wanted to put him on the spot. He answers quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Joel. I still owe you, you know for helping me out earlier.” Joel sighs in defeat. 

“I see you aint lettin’ that go. What did ya have in mind?” 

“Can I come over tonight? I’ll bring over drinks.” Your offer was more forward than you intended, but you went with it.

“Yeah, ok. Sounds good.” He pauses and has a counter offer for you. “Come over for dinner first?” You melt at the thought and realize you haven’t responded and there is a silence while you are getting lost in your thoughts. “Grilling steaks. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You can feel your smile spilling into the phone. That sounds more than good. It sounds really fucking good.  

“Alright. Come over ‘round 7.” 

“Ok. See you tonight.” You end the call and take a deep breath. Your heart is beating out of your chest in excitement. 

–

Getting ready for the night you attempted a relaxed look. You wanted to look nice, but approachable. You had some worn jeans that tucked neatly into your Bean boots. A button down flannel that you left undone over an intentionally low cut, fitted shirt. It accented your chest just right. You wore your hair down and went light on the makeup. You threw on a light leather jacket and grabbed the six pack of beer as you head across the street. 

Joel opens the door and leans in the doorframe with a casual figure, taking you in while he bites his lip,

“Evening' sweetheart” He steps back and holds the door open for you and gestures to come in. He was definitely a gentleman. You normally are not a fan of the pet names, but he worked them into his vocabulary so smoothly it was welcomed. 

You step inside and turn around, holding up the six pack of beer.

“Sam Adams. That ok?” He shuts the door and nods in approval. “Figured I’d bring some Boston culture over.” You step further inside. His kitchen is just off the main entrance and has an island with some bar stools at it. You make your way over and take a seat and rest the case on the countertop. 

Your eyes scan the room. His kitchen is tidy, save the spot where he prepped the steaks. You see an empty whiskey glass. Evidence that he had at least one stiff drink before you came over. You panic a little and regret not doing the same.  

“That where you lived before this?” He interrupts your thought as he stands across you at the island. His crossed forearms holding him up as he leans towards you with intrigue. He is dressed plainly in a pair of worn jeans and a plain navy blue t-shirt that hugs his arms just right. His biceps bulge as he is leaning forward and your mind is now preoccupied with just how broad his shoulders are. You almost forgot he asked you a question.

“Yeah, for a few years anyways.” You briefly recount, distracted when Joel takes a beer bottle from the case and effortlessly pops the cap with his large, calloused hands. A satisfying hiss escapes the bottle followed by a clink as the cap falls to the countertop. He slides it over to you and repeats the motion again for himself.

“Oh, wow.” you say out loud, without realizing it. Joel has that cocky side smirk again, well aware of his impressive party trick. He holds the bottle up and towards you and you do the same, clanking bottle necks together and taking a sip. Your eyes are locked on each other for a moment; trying to read each other's intentions.  

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna put the steaks on.” he gestures his head to the back door that leads onto the deck. He grabs his suede jacket off the back of a chair and walks towards the back entrance. You trail behind and this was the first time you really noticed just how beautiful his home was. 

His open living room and kitchen had a vaulted ceiling with massive windows lining the whole back side of the cabin. It faced the lake and you could imagine how serene it would be to watch the sunrise. The cedar walls and flooring made it feel cozy and inviting. There was a large wood stove in the center of the living room and an open loft above the back of the living room. The deck seemed to wrap along a good part of the home. 

“Your home is beautiful.” It had looked so much more discrete from the road; tucked behind some pines and a long driveway. The backyard was a short distance to the lake and sloped slightly down to a dock. Joel probably had a boat parked there in the summer. The cabin was perched perfectly with a breathtaking view; isolated and private from the world.

“Thank you. I built it myself. Me and my brother Tommy.” 

“Thats… impressive.” 

“Eh, just comes with being a contractor. Made more sense to build my own place the way I wanted.” There it was again, that feeling in your core that excites you. Joel likes to be in control, and he has the skill set to back it up making it all the more alluring. 

Its a cool night, but not uncomfortably cold to be outside for a few minutes with a jacket. In fact, you are grateful to have the crisp air to help ground you and calm you down. It was embarrassing how easily Joel could work you up. You lean over the railing and gaze out over the lake while he tends to the grill for a moment and then joins you at the railing.

“I spent a few years there myself. Boston.” This was news to you, but you were still curious about his Southern accent. 

“And… before?” 

“Texas.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Most my life.” You smile and give a slight laugh. 

“Well, that certainly explains things. You don’t exactly sound like a New Englander” you tease him. Joel laughs and looks a little distant. Something you have come to realize about Joel is that he has a lot on his mind he doesn’t say out loud. His mysterious demeanor was something you found as attractive as it was frustrating. 

“You like it here so far?” He asks.

“I do. Its simple and peaceful. Life is easy here.” you realize while saying this out loud that you mean it. You really are enjoying your time in Kineo more than you ever had expected. “And… my neighbor isn’t so bad.” You tease. Joel rolls his eyes and returns to the grill, pulling the steaks off.

“Mine is a pain in the ass.” He jokes as he closes the grill. He wasn’t wrong. You were persistent if anything. 

–

Dinner is laid back and enjoyable. He has a small dining room table but you choose to sit next to each other at the island drinking your Sam Adams and enjoying your ribeye steaks. Joel cooked them to perfection. You stay seated long after you are done eating, getting carried away with conversation. Your bodies are facing each other and knees knocking into his as you get animated with your storytelling. 

Joel mostly listens while you ramble on. The more you drink the lower your inhibitions get. You are a lightweight to begin with and it doesn’t take much. You don’t even notice that he isn’t really listening to you anymore. His focus has left your well intended words and shifted to your body. He’s looking at your low-cut shirt teasing him. The way you brush your hair out of your face when you laugh. How your neck looks so inviting when you tilt your head back to take a sip of beer, You don’t register that he is eyeing you crudely like you are a piece of meat. That he is fighting every urge inside him to just lose himself with you. 

He inches his hand along the countertop closer to yours until he is grazing your wrist with a light touch and dragging his fingers back across yours. It sends a shiver through your body as you become aware how he is looking at you and how painfully reserved his touch is. It is polite but intrusive. He watches how it makes you feel. How you start to come undone. 

Your pent up feelings are starting to overwhelm you and you excuse yourself reluctantly. Your heart starts to race and you wonder if he can hear it beating. 

You get up and bring your plate over to the sink to wash it. It is a distraction more than anything while you gather yourself. Joel watches you from behind for a moment. You can feel his gaze burning into you and brace yourself against the counter. You like the way it feels. The way he makes you feel wanted. 

That loud silence returns. The air in the room feels heavy. He joins you at the sink and you can feel his heat envelop you as he approaches you from behind. His broad body boxes you in and makes you feel small and vulnerable. 

Joel takes his hands and dances his fingers down your arms lightly. His touch starts a fire inside you and you crave a heavier hold. You need him like you need air in your lungs. He presses a gentle kiss behind your ear and another one drags to your jawline and to the soft meat of your neck. His coarse beard scrapes against your skin and makes you shudder. You press your ass into him and feel him hard against your lower back. He responds by pressing into you firmly and brings his mouth to your ear. 

“You feel what you do to me, beautiful girl?” He asks with his low, gravely voice and presses another kiss into you. His heat is searing into you. 

He agonizingly slides his hands down to your hips and turns you to face him. He pushes your body gently against the countertop and moves one of his hands up to caress your face. He presses his hips into you and holds your chin gently between his thumb and finger. He stares down at you with a thirst in his eyes. He narrows his focus to try to get a reading on you. Your mouths are just inches apart. There is a hunger he is resisting but the wolf inside is slowly starting to win over reason. 

“I want this, Joel.” You stare up at him and make sure he can see the desire in your eyes and that you are serious. You want to remove any hesitations he has on your account. You try to rock your hips into him but he has you pinned. He can feel your needy attempt.  

“We shouldn’t…” Joel pleads, but his words are empty and not speaking the same language as his body. 

Your age, your parents, your unfamiliarity with one another all should be reason enough to quelch this flame, but it just makes you want it that much more. He has wanted you since he first laid eyes on you that morning he came to your rescue. He wants to be respectful but fails, instead teasing you with how much he wants you. The hesitance is an illusion that he has kept up until that moment. Your body is trapped against his and he is looking at you like you are prey in his clutches. You had suspected and even hoped that Joel was a dominant lover with how confident he carried himself.   

You seize the opportunity to show him just what he is doing to you. 

You push your tongue into him and taste him; sweet and malty. His warm and wet mouth is inviting and intense. All reluctancy fades away as he gives in to you and takes control with his tongue. You can feel his cock is hard and straining against his jeans as he rocks into you. Your arms hang around his neck and tangle into his hair as you grind against each other. The friction of both your bodies sending each other into a frenzy.

He drags his mouth away, biting at your lower lip as he moves along your jawline to the soft skin at your neck. You stretch your head back giving him full access to your bare neck as he nips at you hungrily. His scruffy beard rubs roughly against your supple skin and feels so good. One hand roams up your shirt while his mouth traces lower and lower down to your collarbone. He thumbs and circles over your nipple. He can feel it harden through your bra and engulfs your breast with his large hand. His touch is brazen but you welcome it. You can feel just how badly he wants to devour you and it makes you moan.   

He slides his expert hand from your breast and drags it down to your jeans. He unbuttons them hastily with force and works his hand slowly inside. Your underwear is already wet from your arousal. He pulls his mouth away from you and has a devilish grin as he grabs at your pussy and narrows his eyes on you.

“You’re so wet for me.” He says breathlessly with anticipation while he has you in his grasp. 

He slides his hand inside your waistband and teases your clit as his hand slides against you. You want to reply to him but your words are trapped beneath the moans caught in your throat. He brings a finger to your opening and slowly pushes the tip inside you. The pressure from his large, calloused fingers makes you buck into him. He rubs his thumb over your clit as he slowly teases your entrance with his finger. He takes it slow and when he thinks you are ready he slips another one inside.

You can feel your walls clench around his obscenely thick fingers and he pushes deeper. Twisting and playing at your entrance and thrusting in. Your hips writhe in his grasp. While one hand is busy with your cunt the other has an iron grip on the back of your neck. His mouth messily returns to the soft skin above your collarbone and into the crook of your neck. You are completely at his mercy and can’t imagine any other place you’d want to be. 

You are so tight but he stretches you open artfully. Moans escape your lips as you gasp when his fingers dip further into you, reaching that perfect part deep inside. 

“Come for me.” He pants into you with a snarl as you convulse on him.  

He doesn’t let up and fucks you relentlessly with his fingers until you are coming and moaning his name. Incoherent expletives escape you while you soak him.   

You ride the wave of pleasure for as long as you can. It has been too long since you had fucked around with someone. However, no one had ever so masterfully gotten you off with just their fingers. The way he handled your body and worshiped you with his mouth was intoxicating. 

As you come down from your high he slides his wet fingers from inside you and pulls his mouth away with a final ravenous kiss on your swollen lips. He places a kiss on top of your head and pulls you in close for an embrace. The hard protrusion against your body makes itself painfully known.   

Joel presses his forehead against yours as he works to unzip his jeans and free himself. His fingers are wet with your slick. He smirks at you as his hand glides over his swollen cock and rubs your wetness all over his length. His breathing shallows as he strokes himself with one hand and braces his body on the countertop with the other. His swollen head grazes your belly with each thrust into his fist. 

You watch him wantonly as he palms himself with more vigor. Joel’s cock is thick and intimidating, but you crave it in the worst way. It is by far the largest you have ever seen. It glistens in your slick and the precum that was beading at the head. A desire builds inside you and you yearn for more of Joel. Want him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt.  

“Let me, please?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper. His hand slows and comes to a stop. He stretches out his arms to hold him up against the counter as he hovers above you and lets you take over. 

You reach out and grab on to him. You marvel at its size and how weighty it feels in your hands as you start to rub them up and down. His skin is hot and velvety smooth and pulled tightly. Your pace is much slower but more precise. You feel the veins bulge under your grasp as your fingers glide up and down his length.  

A moan hitches in his throat as you rub your thumb over his sensitive tip. You do it again and again. Teasing Joel Miller feels dangerous. You can feel how ragged he is and how close he is to coming. You want to make him come undone.  

“God, damn it.” Joel grunts under his breath. He peels back your hand and painfully pulls it off of him. His cock twitches at the loss of your touch. He stands up straight and towers over you as you shrink back.  

“Get on your knees.” He commands with his hand firmly on your wrist as he pulls your face closer to his. It sends a shiver through your body and you oblige. Any warmth in his eyes has been lost and he is staring at you; dark and menacing. He throws your wrist away and grips his hand along the side of your neck. His touch is rough and urgent. His fingers snake around to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer to him while you drop down. They twist into your hair and he has a hold on the back of your head. It doesn’t hurt, but his grasp is firm and might if you tried to fight it.  

He takes his cock back in his grasp with his other hand and pumps it. His movements are jerky and his breathing is labored. You can tell he is so close. He roughly pulls your head back by your hair to look up at him.

“You gonna’ finish what you started?” he asks with darkened eyes. “Then open up.” He commands you through clenched teeth. 

You respond with an uncontainable smirk. You part your mouth slowly and let your tongue hang out, never taking your eyes off his. You sit back onto your knees so that you are slightly under him and wait patiently. He widens his stance. His hand slides to the top of your head and tangles in your hair. You can feel him slowly starting to lose control and come undone before you while he strokes himself. You brace yourself, hooking your fingers into the back of his thighs and clawing at his jeans. You can smell his sex and feel his heat but he holds you just out of reach and makes you wait while your thirst grows. 

Finally he taps the head of his weighty cock against your tongue and you lick at his slit, sending him over the edge. He groans as his thick spend coats your tongue and drips messily onto your chin. You close your mouth around him as he begins to stall out and swallow, pulling the final drops of cum from him while you choke his cock with your mouth. 

“Good girl.” He rasps at you. “So fucking good.” His grip on you loosens and he tenderly drags his hand along your jawline. You relax your mouth and let him slide himself out. He groans when your tongue licks the underside of him as he pulls out. 

He thumbs over some of his mess that falls out of your mouth and curls his thumb over your bottom lip. You lick him clean and he moves to hold your face in his hands while you look up at him.

“My good girl.” His words shoot straight to your core and make you weak. He brushes your hair behind your ear and helps you up. He places another kiss on your head and wraps his arms around you. His hot and heavy body feels so good against yours. You tilt your head up and press your mouth into him one more time.

“Are we even now?” you joke. Joel smiles. Everything about him feels warmer. He peels himself away from you and steps back, leaning against the island. You adjust your clothes and zip yourself back up while he does the same.

“Actually… think I might owe you now.” Joel says with a playful tone. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and shakes his head at you like he can’t believe his predicament. You like the idea of Joel owing you. 

–

You don’t spend the night. He offers to walk you home but you opt to go alone. It felt good to get some fresh air, to clear your head and recap the night. You also wanted to leave him wanting more.

You weren’t sure what would come from this situation with Joel, but you knew you barely scratched the surface with him. He was rough around the edges but you liked that about him. You liked that a lot. 

END CHAPTER

(Part 2!)

A/N: More to come! Undecided how many chapters but I have quite a bit mapped out. Please be kind. This is my first fic and it is nerve wrecking to post! If you loved it, PLEASE let me know. I'd love to know your thoughts so far! What did you like? What do you want more of? How much angst can your heart take? I aim to test it in future chapters. Comments/Reblogs are appreciated so much. Thank you all

Also special thanks to @magpiepills for the lovely cover photo (and her mood board inspirations she helped with along the way!) and to both her and @legendary-pink-dot for reading my first draft and giving their feedback AND courage to post this.

If you wish to know when I post the next chapter, please follow @ArcaneFoxFics and turn on notifications!

If you are here for my gifs only and are like WTF I dont want to see this mature content... you can follow me over at @ArcaneFoxGifs which will ONLY be reposts of my gif sets.

Love to my friends who give me the courage and support to do all the things @magpiepillsjunior @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo

[peachhcs]

a fic or blurb of ryan’s farewell party for will pls?!

charm bracelet

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

samy heads to boston after ryan begs her to fly out for will’s farewell party in hopes of reconciling things between the ex-couple (writing grace and samy’s dynamic was actually so fun because i’ve never wrote them before)

2.1k words

i got so carried away with this it wasn’t gonna be this long but it turned into a whole fic. the ending of this is a bit interpret how you want, but in my mind it’s them not completely ignoring one another, but they aren’t gonna talk it out for a long while. p.s. the baby grace and will photo i found is actually adorable!

au masterlist

"please come?" ryan begged over the phone while samy sat at her desk pondering the offer he'd been trying to convince her of for the last twenty minutes. "if not for will, then for us? don't know when we'll see you if you aren't coming out to boston as often anymore," the brunette continued making samy feel even worse.

"hey, i'll still come to boston. i didn't just go for will, you know," the girl rolled her eyes slightly.

"then come out to see us. you don't even have to see will if you don't want. there will be enough people that you'll probably be able to avoid him," ryan kept persisting because 1. he knew samy still cared deep down and 2. she was their friends too and he knew the guys really wanted to see her again before school started back up.

"you're so annoying," she teased a bit making them both laugh. "i'll think about it, okay? i might have to be back at school, but i'll see."

"promise?"

"i promise," samy nodded and the two ended the call. when her phone found its place back on her desk, samy knew damn well already that she was completely free that weekend. she just didn't know if she could stomach potentially seeing will.

—

two weeks later, samy and her mom were on a plane to boston for the party. ellen was still very close to colleen and after being there for will his entire life, she wasn't missing this despite everything that's happened.

gabe and ryan drove into the city the day before to catch up with samy themselves. will didn't have much idea that the hughes were in town and probably wouldn't find out until tomorrow at the party.

"hey, hughesy," ryan greeted with a large smile. his arms quickly slid around the girl's frame in a tight hug before letting gabe take his turn.

"hi, it's good to see you guys again," samy grinned widely. she really did miss seeing them. it'd been since worlds that they were all together like this.

"i'm glad you came out. i didn't think you would," gabe admitted as the three sat at a small table waiting for the waiter to take their orders.

"i didn't think i was coming either, but i wanted to see you guys before school started and we'd get too caught up in everything," the brunette explained which made them smile.

"i can't believe school's gonna start again. feels like it just ended," gabe chuckled.

"don't remind me," ryan groaned earning more laughs from the other two.

the three quickly filled each other in on the things they missed. it felt like old times when everyone was in michigan together spending weekends sitting on a floor going back and forth with stupid little games. all of that felt like such simpler times because no feelings were involved. at least not any known feelings.

things settled a bit as samy and the boys ate their sandwiches they ordered and the topic shifted to one samy knew was gonna come up eventually.

"i don't know if i've said this to you, but will's a real idiot," gabe said quietly.

samy's jaw clenched a bit, "yeah, he is."

"have you..talked to him at all?" ryan wondered and the girl instantly shook her head.

"no and i don't really want to. i don't even know what i'd say to him or what he could say that would make me forgive him. he threw it all away and that really fucking hurts," samy admitted truthfully.

"right and you have every right to not wanna talk to him. he was an asshole for not trying to talk things out with you," gabe nodded in agreement.

"can i just say one thing though? i'm no way trying to defend anything that he said or did, but you gotta remember how will is with this kind of stuff sometimes. he says the wrong things when he's thinking something else. you guys were best friends above everything. you know him better than any of us probably. you really want to leave things on this note?" ryan said softly.

samy's gaze flicked away from the boys knowing ryan did have a small point in the back of her mind, but she wasn't ready to admit that. things were confusing and hard.

being back in boston had this pull on her. everything she's ever known came from michigan and boston—will being one of those things. he hurt her so badly, yet a really, really small part of her wanted to reach out.

"it doesn't matter anymore, ry. he meant what he said and even if he didn't wanna say it, he still did. i was basically worthless to him," samy couldn't though. her head overruled her heart knowing she needed to stand her ground because there was nothing more she could say to him.

—

will's entire house was packed with people. room to room, wall to wall, lawn to lawn—there were people everywhere. ryan wasn't wrong that samy could lose herself pretty easily into the crowd.

she hung outside a lot because out there she could escape anywhere if she saw will whereas inside could end up trapping her if she wasn't careful. she happily caught up with drew, aram, vote, and cutter who greeted her with bright smiles.

the idea of even being in the same proximity as will sent goosebumps down the girl's arms. her eyes were constantly flicking around as if she would see him turn some corner and make eye contact.

somehow, she managed to find a corner where it wasn't too crowded by the lawn chairs. the youngest hughes sat out on them just people watching when familiar locks of blonde hair started coming her way. for a moment, samy tensed, wondering how grace took the news about their breakup because she hadn't exactly talked to the oldest smith sibling since it happened.

"hey, samy," the older girl greeted warmly.

"hi, gracie," samy smiled, relaxing a bit when she saw the girl's smile.

"i'm happy to see you. it's been awhile," grace found a seat beside her for a moment while the brunette nodded a bit.

"yeah, it has," her gaze flicked away because they both knew why it had been awhile since they saw one another. grace didn't make a huge appearance at the family vacation a few months ago since she was busy apartment hunting and even then, her and samy didn't talk much because they never got to catch one another at the right time.

"this might be a stupid question, but..how are you?" the older girl wondered gently.

"i'm..i'm okay. hanging in there, i guess," samy nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.

"i'm sorry i haven't talked to you since..i don't want you to think i hate you or anything. last month was super busy and you looked busy and i didn't know if it was too soon to ask about everything.." grace trailed off a bit when she realized she was rambling. samy quickly shook her head.

"don't worry about it. i was worried you hated me," a small laugh sounded from the soccer players lips.

"oh my god no! i don't. i promise. i actually..am mad at will for how all of this happened. i..i was shocked when you left and i found will out there..i'm sorry. i..i wish i had an answer for my brother's reason, but i don't. i..i don't know why he broke up with you," grace frowned deeply.

"i left in such a mess, i'm sorry again. everything happened way too fast," samy shook her head.

"have you talked to him since.."

"ry and gabe asked me that yesterday and i said no. i mean, i have nothing to say to him, so why would i, you know?" the brunette shrugged.

"right, of course. mom told him this morning you and your mom were coming. that went over..interesting to say the least," grace tapped her finger against her cup.

"i've been avoiding him, i guess. i'm not sure i can really stomach seeing him, but..i don't know. felt like i owed it to him to be here at least? and the other guys too. don't know when i'll see them again. this whole thing feels like it screwed up everything with everyone," samy laughed dryly.

"i get it. i'm glad you did come. i saw your mom earlier, it was good to see her. even if will won't admit it, i know he's glad you're at least here too. one last hurrah before we move him out to california," grace said.

samy thought back to all the times will would talk about his move to cali whenever it happened. he'd always say how she'd fly out with him to help him decorate his apartment when the time came. plus, all the times will told her how he couldn't wait until they could live together so long distance would be over, yet he'd wait forever for her.

god, what happened to that will?

"you're thinking," the blonde pointed out, snapping samy back into reality.

while will knew her insanely well, so did grace. the two girls did grow up alongside one another even though there was a three year age gap. grace was the older sister samy never had as a little girl and she still was, so of course the older girl knew when samy was lost in thought.

"yeah, sorry," the younger girl shook her head.

"penny for your thoughts?" the expression made samy smile because will said the same thing.

"just how will always talked about me being there with him when he moved to california and how he couldn't wait until i was done with school to move out there with him. i wonder where that will went who was so ambitious about us and saying he would wait forever for me," the younger girl smiled sadly.

a little sigh escaped grace's lips hearing samy sound so heartbroken still. "i wish i knew what was running through his mind. i didn't even know he was considering it. it shocked the hell out of all of us. he's in there still somewhere, i know it and i know you don't wanna hear that, but i gotta believe it. i have never seen my brother like someone as much as he likes you, it confuses me how he just threw it all away like that," the blonde shook her head.

"you and me both," samy frowned this time.

"i think you just gotta give it time because damn, all of us believed you guys were it for each other. you'll find your way back, i think you two just need some space. will needs to settle in california and play a few games with the sharks and then i'm sure he'll come around. i don't believe this is the true end for you guys," grace said firmly.

the youngest hughes wanted to believe her so badly, but she just couldn't.

"maybe. it's hard to say though," samy said instead of being a complete pessimist about it.

the party ended a few hours later with samy successfully avoiding any contact with will. she didn't even see him which was surprising because she knew he was making his rounds.

her and her mom drove back to the hotel in silence just unwinding from the long day and talking to everyone they saw.

samy was brushing her teeth when her mom stuck her head in. the younger girl raised her eyebrow in confusion.

"i have a gift from you from someone i spoke to today," ellen said vaguely. the brunette raised her eyebrow.

"who?"

mrs. hughes didn't say anything while she just placed the envelope into samy's hand. the girl saw her name scribbled across the top in handwriting that she quickly recognized as will's. samy's gaze snapped to her mom's.

"i told him he's gonna do great in san jose," ellen said because she knew her daughter knew who that envelope was from.

the older woman slipped out of the bathroom leaving samy with the gift in her hand. she should've thrown it away, but curiosity got the better of her and she carefully ripped it open.

there wasn't any note or card, only a small charm of a shark.

her eyes danced to the charm bracelet sitting on her wrist that held her most precious charms.

will knew everything about her charm bracelet because he supplied most of the charms on the chain.

she remembered seeing the shark charm in some little gift shop with will many months ago, quickly mumbling something about how adorable it was and would fit the aesthetic for will's soon to be san jose career.

she had no idea will went back to buy it for her.

samy even wondered how long he's had it for.

without a word, samy clipped it onto the chain, adding one more pretty charm to her bracelet and a tiny smile painted her lips.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Popstar Protection Program

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x singer!fem!reader

Summary: As a young popstar performing in LA for the first time, you don't expect to need police protection. A very reluctant and grumpy sergeant keeps you safe and gives you inspiration.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff, vague mention of heavier topics (nothing specific)

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (from such a good episode, too)

Los Angeles can be scary. The aerial shots in movies and TV shows make it look inviting, and the focus on the glamorous aspects tends to hide the dangerous underbelly of the City of Angels. Even scarier, you think, is walking through Los Angeles when a large percentage of the population knows your name.

When you started singing, you never expected to become a “star” or be on the covers of magazines, and you absolutely never thought you’d be playing a sold-out show in Staples Center. While you should be focused on practicing and ensuring the show goes well, you can’t think of anything else except the incident in the airport when you landed.

✯✯ 2 Hours Ago ✯✯

Getting off the plane in LAX, you first notice the lack of fresh air. After playing on the East Coast and opening in smaller venues in towns on the other side of the country, you expected this to be similar. Los Angeles is nothing like Charlotte, Boston, or even Nashville. Taking a deep breath, you grow excited to see Staples Center and all the other sights of Los Angeles.

But you don’t even exit the airport before your hopes and plans are shattered. A large crowd of paparazzi are blocking the area outside your gate. You try to navigate through them with your head down, but one of them knocks his camera into your arm, tilting you off balance and making pain radiate down to your wrist.

“Alright, back up! LAPD, move back!” somebody yells on the other side of the crowd.

Slowly, you notice that no one is pressing up against you now, and when you see a man in a police uniform, you release a shaky sigh.

“Thank you,” you say.

He says your name, glancing over your shoulder. “Where’s your protection detail?”

“My what?”

“Oh boy. I think you should probably come with me; there’s some people that can keep this from happening again.”

“Why- why did it happen?”

“Paparazzi are practically vultures. They get paid by the picture to take advantage of people, invade their personal lives, and the closer the better. My guess would be one of the smaller papers or magazines heard you were coming and wanted to get a feature out before your show.”

“So, where are we going?”

“LAPD. Mid-Wilshire station is your best bet to get good cops and stay far enough from the center to avoid the cameras that seem to live there.”

“And then what?”

✯✯ Present ✯✯

“Absolutely not!”

Sitting outside an office with glass walls, you try not to look over as you eavesdrop. Your arm has been iced and wrapped, but the pain is now the least of your concerns. Three groups of officers entered the room after the cop who saved you explained the situation to the watch commander. At least one of them seems opposed to being your protection detail for a few days.

“We’re cops, not bodyguards! There are dozens of places in this city that cater to people like her!”

“Um, excuse me,” you interject, knocking on the open door. “I’m sorry to have caused all the upset, but I will find another way. Thanks for your time.”

Sergeant Grey says your name, gesturing for you to stay. “We’re going to take care of you. It’s your first time performing here and after your less-than-ideal welcome, you deserve someone to show you that LA isn’t all bad.”

“It’s not all good either though,” one of the officers adds.

“I don’t…” you begin.

“Why does this require three teams?” Bradford asks. You recognize his voice as the one that was wholly against the idea a moment ago.

“Bradford, this is your assignment. If you have a problem with it, take it up with IA,” Grey answers.

Bradford’s jaw clenches harshly, and his eyes flit to you before shaking his head and looking away.

“This is your protection team until after your show,” Grey explains, “Harper and Thorsen, Nolan and Juarez, Chen, and Bradford works with Metro so he knows this city inside and out.”

You nod along with the names, and a few of them offer their first names as well. After introducing yourself to the five officers who seem to care, you’re directed to an unmarked SUV.

“Aaron and I will be your mobile detail. You don’t go anywhere unless we take you there. Nolan and Juarez are more peripheral, unseen, protection. Lucy will stay with you as close to 24/7 as possible, and Bradford- well, Bradford’s here,” Nyla explains.

Chuckling, you thank her for the clear explanation and climb into the passenger seat after Aaron opens the door for you.

“I love your music, by the way,” he whispers.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that, and all that you’re doing for me,” you reply.

Aaron nods, closing the door and climbing into the backseat behind you. Your hotel reservation has been changed, booked under someone else’s name, and located farther from Staples Center. Watching the streets of Los Angeles from a police car window is, at the least, safer than the alternative, but it’s certainly nothing special.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Any idea as to why Bradford hates me without meeting me?” you ask Lucy.

“Tim is grumpy. He’s protective and loyal but he’s- he’s like a dog that wasn’t socialized enough as a puppy. Vicious until he gets to know you and then he’s the best friend you could ever ask for,” she answers, holding up one of your dresses.

“You’d look great in that color,” you muse. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Bradford wants to get to know me.”

“You think so? About the color? Because I need a new dress,” she replies.

“Take that one. Get it altered or just use the fabric, whatever you want.”

“Thank you!” As she hugs you, she lowers her voice to add, “You’re also young and beautiful and famous… Tim doesn’t always deal well with people who are different than him.”

You nod, but you don’t believe her. You’ll only be with Tim Bradford for a few days anyway. It shouldn’t bother you… but it does.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We’re changing things around,” Nyla announces as she enters your room. “Lobby’s swarming with paps, but there’s also a crowd of men screaming your name.”

“So, what are you doing?” you ask.

“Bradford is taking point. He’s got some big plan that, and I quote, ‘no will catch on to.’ I won’t repeat the rest of it for your sake, though.”

“Grey is making him do it?” you guess.

Nyla hums, neither a yes nor no, but you know the answer. When he barges in a moment later, you stop talking, preferring not to give him another reason to hate you.

“Get your stuff, we’re leaving,” he demands.

You nod, walking into the suite's bedroom to gather your things. Part of you wants to know what Nyla and Bradford will say behind your back, but you’re also terrified that Nyla is just better about hiding her true feelings.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is your problem?” Aaron demands. “She’s in danger and you’re not helping any!”

“This isn’t the job I signed up for. I am a Metro Sergeant but I’m stuck on- on princess protection duty! She’s just a kid who sings,” Tim answers.

“It’s about her age then,” Nyla repeats.

“No! Well, yes, but she- what makes her special enough for a team like this? Why does she get a real protection detail?”

“Tim,” Lucy says quietly. “Have you listened to her music?”

“Why would I?”

“Her specific genre, what she sings about has made a lot of people angry,” Aaron explains. “Those paparazzi weren’t there for a ‘Taylor Swift is in LA’; they were looking for a much bigger story.”

“Spit it out, Thorsen.”

“Plenty of people have reason to try to kill her.”

Tim falls silent, looking at Nyla. She tilts her head in a ‘we can’t prove it but it’s probably true’ gesture. He looks back toward the bedroom.

“Look, I’m doing my job. I’ll be civil and that is it,” Tim concedes.

“That’s all we’re asking,” Lucy replies. “We’ll be in the neighborhood. Nothing can happen to her with our protection, right?”

“Right,” Aaron and Nyla answer, looking at Tim.

“Right. Because it is our job, nothing more.”

You come out with your single suitcase, waiting until Tim takes it from you to speak. Thanking him softly, you listen to his quick explanation that you’ll be staying with him rather than Lucy, and the rest of the team will be patrolling nearby in case of an emergency.

“You’ll be fine,” Lucy promises. “And thank you again for the dress. I can’t imagine how much that cost and I can’t thank you enough.”

Tim’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Wondering why someone in your position would be willing to give away an expensive dress days before a concert confuses him. Tim reminds himself that he can’t start caring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim’s house is incredibly comfortable. You can tell that he doesn’t want you here, and when he disappears into a back room with his phone and earbuds, you assume it’s his way of getting as much space as he can. Pulling your songwriting journal from your bag, you start writing, disappearing into the emotions and the story you want to share. Time falls away when you’re writing, and you don’t hear Tim reemerge or walk to the doorway before you.

Tim clears his throat, and you look up from your place on the floor. You look small and as young as you are, sitting on the carpet and leaning against the bed with a journal in your lap. Tim has something to say but nearly forgets what it is when you look up at him through your lashes.

“I will admit that I judged you prematurely, and I’m sorry,” he begins.

“It’s okay,” you offer.

“No, just, let me finish. Please?” You nod, and Tim continues, “I thought you were just an entitled kid who found a way to convince the cop from the airport that you needed special attention. Craved it, whatever. And you’re just, you’re young and famous and that confuses me. I don’t know what life is like for you, I can’t relate to any part of that fame.”

“I can’t relate to your life either, but I didn’t shut you out because of that,” you whisper.

Tim licks his lips before speaking again. “I’m sorry. Aaron told me that you sing about- that you- uh-“

“Write songs for people who will never relate to the love songs or the ‘thank God for my parents’… who will never relate to a song on the Billboard 100 or feel protected by a song? Yeah.”

“And I diminished that. I listened to your last album-“

“That’s what you were doing back there?”

“Don’t- don’t laugh at me,” Tim replies, finally smiling. “It was really good. And I truly am sorry.”

“Consider it forgotten.”

You raise your hand, and Tim chuckles as he shakes it. He sees the nearly full page of your notebook and leans down. You slam it closed, and he shakes his head at your sudden movement.

“They’re private until they’re available on iTunes and all major streaming platforms.”

“Got it,” he replies, mock-saluting. “And, just so you know, I needed songs like this as a kid. Still do, so thank you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the next 48 hours, Tim ebbs and flows. One moment, he’ll talk to you for an hour straight, but by that afternoon, he won’t even look in your direction. It’s dizzying, and you don’t realize how much you’re thinking about it, about him, until you reach the last page of your notebook.

“Ready for the show?” Lucy asks, dressed in an event security uniform.

Shrugging, you run your finger over the edge of your journal.

“Songs?”

Lucy sits beside you, offering a hand. You lay your hand over hers, taking a deep breath.

“I thought I was making progress with Tim. He apologized and he was being nice to me and then it all stopped. Like we backslid. And, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Sounds like you don’t want to,” Lucy says softly. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

“I can’t.”

“Then maybe you should sing to him.”

Laughing, you argue, “That would be even worse.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is humming while he and Aaron stand outside your dressing room door. 

“You listened to her music,” Aaron accuses, placing the song.

“Yeah. Even apologized,” Tim answers.

“You haven’t talked to her at all today. Did something- oh my- did you kiss her?”

“What? No, I didn’t kiss her, and keep your voice down! I had to pull back.”

“Why?”

Tim doesn’t answer but glances over his shoulder to your door.

“You like her.”

“No- maybe.”

“You need to tell her. We don’t know when or if she’s leaving.”

“That’s why I can’t tell her. If she’s leaving tomorrow there is no point, and if she doesn’t know, telling her could influence her decision.”

“What about the effects of not telling her?”

✯✯✯✯✯

You open the door suddenly, and Tim and Aaron turn toward you quickly.

“Whoa!” Aaron exclaims.

“You look beautiful,” Tim says, sending you a small smile.

“Thank you. All of you, for everything these last few days.”

“Break a leg,” Lucy says, waving as you walk toward the stage entrance.

“Everybody in position? This job isn’t over yet,” Tim radios.

✯✯✯✯✯

You notice Tim standing in the wings during your second song. As if your energy has been zapped from you, you fight not to collapse. Tim’s eyes narrow as he watches you.

“Instrumental,” you tell your bassist, who communicates it to the rest of the band.

Rushing toward Tim, his eyes search your face. His hands raise to your sides as he waits for you to speak.

“I-“ you stop, turning off your microphone. “I thought something was happening.”

“When?”

“No. Between us. I thought maybe there could be something there but then you stopped talking to me. What happened?”

“You’re supposed to be singing right now.”

“I have a journal full of songs about you, Tim!” you exclaim. “I can’t come out here and sing without knowing if those ideas have a chance of coming to life!”

“You wrote songs about me?”

“Tim,” you beg. “Just answer the question.”

“Nothing happened. We’re too different and I didn’t want to push too hard.”

“Who gets to decide if we’re too different? Because I disagree.”

“Don’t tell me you have a song about it, I’ve heard that one.”

You sigh, beginning to accept that Tim is skirting around a rejection.

“You can do better,” Tim says quietly. “No point in me showing you how I feel when you could have any man you wanted.”

“I don’t want any other man!” you yell over the music.

Tim’s eyes widen, and his hand leaps to your waist to your mic pack, turning it off and tugging your microphone down.

“Thorsen, your badge is mine,” he grumbles.

Tossing the microphone onto a nearby chair, Tim raises his hands to cup your face.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure since you said you didn’t want to deal with me.”

“That’s- I don’t think I put it like that.”

“No, you said you were a cop not a bodyguard. But I think you’re a pretty good bodyguard too.”

“I tried not to,” Tim admits. “Tried not to feel this way, I mean. But every time I see you, it’s like I see another part of you. You’re beautiful, and your music is beautiful, and I’m sorry for pushing you away and being-“

“Worthy of a breakup song?”

Tim sighs, leaning toward you. “You need to finish your concert.”

“Promise to be here when I’m done?”

“I promise.”

You grab your microphone, hooking it on quickly before waving at Tim and returning to the stage.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Aaron,” Tim radios, “Did you turn her mic back on?”

“Those things are tricky,” Aaron replies.

“Then maybe you should go talk to the tech department and stay out of my sight.”

“Yes, sir.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The lights dim, and as the crowd applauds, you run to Tim, crashing into him as you hug him tightly. His arms wrap around your waist, smiling as he congratulates you for your first sold-out show.

“You’ll come to the next one?” you ask.

“Only if you sing one of those songs you wrote about me.”

“I’ll sing them all. Even if you’re the only one in the audience.”

Tim cups your cheek, pressing his palm against your cheek as he pulls you in. His kiss is the opposite of earlier; a look that sucked the energy from you has become a kiss that breathes life and love into your very being. You pull back before leaning against Tim and can’t hear anything except your shared heartbeat.

“I think they’re calling for you,” Tim whispers.

The muddled yells of “Encore! Encore!” greet you, but you’re warm and happy in Tim’s arms.

“I don’t want you in my audience,” you correct. “I want you at my side.”

“Then I should be easy to find. Knock ‘em dead. Again.”

Tim kisses you again, and you credit that as the reason your encore was better than your performance (LA Times’ words, not yours).

[probablyasocialecologist]

Thousands have hit the streets in NYC, Los Angeles, Washington DC, and dozens of other cities. A DC protest organized by Jewish activist groups drew thousands, and hundreds were later arrested, including two dozen Rabbis. An estimated 25,000 people showed up to a rally in Chicago. These events show no signs of stopping, with many more planned across the coming days. These actions have gone beyond marches, with protesters showing up at the offices and homes of politicians demanding a ceasefire. Six activists were arrested at a pro-Palestine rally outside the Boston office of Senator Elizabeth Warren (D-MA). A large crowd demonstrated outside the Brooklyn home of Senator Chuck Schumer (D-NY). Jewish protesters showed up outside the Brentwood house of VP Kamala Harris. IfNotNow members have held sit-ins at the DC offices of Schumer, Senator Bernie Sanders (I-VT), Rep. Hakeem Jeffries (D-NY), and Rep. Katherine Clark (D-MA). Former staffers for Warren, Sanders, and Senator John Fetterman have publicly urged the lawmakers to back a ceasefire. On October 25, tens of thousands of students across more than 100 North American campuses united in a walkout to demand an immediate ceasefire, an end to unconditional support for Israel, and university divestment from the corporations funding the occupation of Palestine. On the night of October 27 Jewish activists shut down Grand Central Station, leading to the arrest of over 300 people. “This is bigger than we’ve ever seen,” US Campaign for Palestinian Rights (USCPR) Executive Director Ahmad Abuznaid told Mondoweiss. “This is the result of decades of work that we’ve put into this movement, and I think some of it is connected to the [George Floyd protests of 2020]. There was so much racial, social justice, anti-war building in that moment.

[...]

“The man broke my heart,” Palestinian-American comedian Maysoon Zayid told Politico on October 23, “I never in my life thought the empathizer-in-chief would sound the way he did. The Palestinians were given no humanity. Joe Biden should spend every breath he has condemning Israel’s genocide with the same zeal he condemned Hamas’ massacre of civilians, that same zeal. And we get nothing. 1,000 children are dead, and we get nothing.” “It’s really crazy to me that the Democratic party destroyed 20-years of worth of good will with Muslims and Arabs in just 2 weeks, losing an entire generation that was raised in the progressive coalition, possibly forever,” tweeted author and activist Eman Abdelhadi. “The rapidity of it, the finality–it’s astonishing.” “While Republican disregard for Muslim and Arab lives is clearly on display, some Muslim and Arab Americans also feel like the Democratic Party largely takes their vote for granted, though Democrats’ policies never reflect as much,” writes Dana El Kurd in The Nation. “One Arab American friend expressed to me that, at least under Republican administrations, ‘Arabs could find allies’ in their opposition.”

[wyn-n-tonic]

That's A Real Fucking Legacy: The Lips I Used to Call Home

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/former Tommy Miller x f!reader Word Count: 1392 Warnings: I don't think there are any (let me know if I'm wrong). Author's Note: Title longer than a Fall Out Boy song.

That's A Real Fucking Legacy Masterlist

Calling Boston to Wyoming a quick shot straight through would be laughable. It would’ve been laughable in the before but it is definitely laughable now.

But to do this with a baby?

It’s not just laughable, it’s a goddamn death wish. 

The only way she’s calmest is wrapped up against her daddy’s chest, his large arms folded over her small body. It leaves him unable to do much else but it’s also the only way his own fear leaves his eyes.

There’s luck in the Fireflies, though.

Safe house to safe house, vehicle to vehicle. There’s no thick, rotten scent of the infected near until somewhere in Kansas City. 

He feels useless, like he’s unable to protect the baby or you or anybody else. But despite stewing about sitting in the safe house with you and the baby, he does express happiness over the first alone time you’ve shared in about three weeks. 

“You should be sleeping, sweetheart,” he says, his voice laced through with a tone that says it’s not a suggestion. “You need your strength.” 

The season is giving over from late summer to early fall, every day changing hour by hour with the walking and the driving. It was easy in the QZ, year by year. You knew what to expect, how to rest your body—you could seek rest for your body when you needed. 

You need it so much more every day with the way the weather and the travel is going after your body followed by the stress of it all; the complex emotions this entire ordeal is brought on.

This was never a hope in your mind; leaving, going. Your eyes rolled every time Tommy talked about leaving the QZ, it was the subject of so many fights. He believed there was better and you only believed there was death beyond the walls of FEDRA protection. The longer time stretched on after he left, the more steadfast that belief came to the point that you shook with sobs and fear every time Joel made his trips across to trade.

“I'm fine, really.” 

The bed beneath you isn’t what you’d call comfortable, not in the before times at least and definitely not in comparison to the worn in lump you were used to back in Boston. You’ve been laying together since the moment you settled into the safe house, everybody else going out to clear paths for the trucks to get through.

Baby babbles through sleep in her father’s arms beside you, not once have you called her by the name you ended up giving her. Not since he showed up. And the belief that beyond the walls means death is so hardwired into your body and brain that you can’t find it in you to sleep. That’s why he’s talking about your strength, sneaks you bits of his own rations. 

You’re still breastfeeding, as well. When you can, anyway. It’s been harder on the road and the lack of any real privacy isn’t helping. No matter how he tries to shield your body, the awareness that there’s not just eyes but Tommy’s eyes is enough to run every part of you dry and cold even if it’s getting hotter and more humid with every day you pass into the south.

“You look like shit, sweetheart,” he whispers across the small space between your bodies. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re afraid to sleep.” 

“Yeah,” you tell him, eyes darting down to your daughter between you. “I am.” 

“I’m right here,” he says, hand smoothing down the hair at the crown of your head. “It’s okay, please rest.” 

They’re gone when you wake.

It's just you in a cold and empty bed, a threadbare excuse for a blanket draped over your sleeping body along with his jacket. Alarm bells go off in your brain and then you hear the voices in the next room.

Joel’s.

Baby’s.

Tommy’s. 

Nobody else, just them.

“She has your dimples.” Tommy.

There’s a small laugh and then Joel says he’s glad she got them on both sides, not just the one. 

Tommy’s voice is tired, weather worn and rough from strain. Not how he sounded this morning when he left.

There’s a hunger in your stomach, growing and aching loud but it stops with every word spoken between the men you love that filters through the thin walls and half cracked door.

“How is she really?” Tommy asks. “Joel, I still love her—“

“How? How can you still love her when you left her alone for so long?” 

“How could I ask either of you to come with me if I didn’t?”

There’s an annoyed kind of grumble that could only belong to Joel and then silence that stretches on just long enough to make you think there’s space to move forward into the conversation but then it breaks. 

“I wouldn’t say that she’s good, Tommy.” You can hear the way his leg bounces to entertain the baby. “None of us are good anymore but, my God, she’s fucking amazing.”

“Yeah?”

Joel clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Do you love her?” The younger man asks. 

A beat.

Another. 

Two more.

“I feel a whole lot more for that woman than just love, Tommy,” he finally says. “I know you’re hurting but you have to understand that I—we thought that you were dead. She hurt for a long time and I watched her do that and I did my best to be there for her but—“ Baby babbles to interrupt him and you can practically see the smile in the laughter that follows. 

Those feelings, the existence of them, aren’t new to you. Still, every time he insinuates their existence your head gets light—fuzzy and warm.

“But what, Joel?” Tommy prompts him. “I’m trying to understand this, because I want to not hurt and I want to look at this little girl and not want to cry.”

“Yeah.” A chair creaks and you assume somebody sat forward or back. “I want to look at her and not want to cry, too, but I felt that with Sarah—I feel that with you, Tommy, you might as well have been my first kid sometimes. It wasn’t just me that was there for her through all that hurt over those years, she was there for me and refused to let me pull away. Being with her is the closest I feel to who I was before, I need you to understand that.” 

“That's how she made me feel, too,” Tommy responds. “But I don’t know if I’ll ever really understand.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Joel concedes. “Hell, that’s more than fair, you’re probably really sick of us asking you to understand. Can I have Baby back now?”

Confusion floods through you, you were certain the calm, happy babbles were because she was tucked into her daddy’s arm; bouncing on her daddy’s leg.

“Does she have a name?” Tommy asks. “Or have you just been calling her Baby this whole time? I know you’re afraid to get attached, Joel, but—“

“We named her Thomasin,” Joel says, that stern, warning shot in his tone again. Begging his brother to understand this, that this was the honor you could give his memory—that you named what was born out of grief and love for him after him. “We call her Thomi for short but we’ve been thinking about changing it. We figured it would make you uncomfortable.” 

“No,” Tommy answers. “No, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.” 

Hunger grows loud again but so, too, does the blood rush of his words up your neck, into your cheeks and between your ears. For all the tears and all the yelling and the hurt of fresh cuts on closed wounds his arrival brought back into your life, those are the words of the man you once loved. It has been weeks and he is holding her, speaking about her—about you—so gently. Despite saying he doesn’t understand, it’s there in his voice and lacing through every one of his words and it grows stronger each day closer to Jackson.

“I promised her that I’d come back for her, give her a safer and happier life that she deserves,” Tommy starts again. “I’m heartbroken that it won’t be with me, Joel, but I am glad it’s with you.” 

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 7

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter 7: 'Slipped'

Juliet had forgotten what it felt like to walk in the forest, under a blanket of trees so thick that daylight could only be found creeping through the gaps in their branches. She closed her eyes when the light hit her, caressing her face and warming her skin in a soft, dewy glow. Joel walked a few steps ahead of her, twigs crunching under his muddy boots as he marched up the continuous incline of the worn path they followed. 

Days had passed since their run in with the clickers in the Boston museum. It had taken them a whole other day to get out of the city after they came across a large hoard of infected stumbling through the streets, there must have been at least a hundred of them. Joel decided they would seek shelter in an old doctor's office for the night while they planned an alternate route out. So they sat, under the orange glow of Joel’s oil lamp and ate their rations on the dusty floor littered with old newspapers. 

After their ‘meal’, Joel cleaned and changed the bandage of Juliet’s shoulder wounds, muttering something about not wanting to miss out on her promise of supplies if she died of an infection. Juliet sat in complete silence while Joel wiped a cloth drenched in whiskey over her shoulder, soaking up the blood pooled around the exit wounds. The whiskey smelled like him. His movements were clinical but careful, his touch tender as he rebandaged her shoulder. It was strange to see his rough hands, marked with calluses and scars, engaged in an act of such gentleness.

His performance was not to be mistaken for kindness, of course. Joel was very clear, with the speed in which he moved away from her after he had finished, that he was only protecting a worthwhile investment. 

Joel’s coldness remained after days of travelling together, his scowl never letting up. He communicated with Juliet almost entirely with nods, grunts or gestures with his hands. Which was demonstrated when he turned to meet Juliet’s eyes and signalled to pause in the clearing between a few trees. Juliet looked up at the space between the branches and noticed that the sun was nearing the middle of the sky, almost mid-day, it appeared Joel was stopping for a quick ‘lunch’. Food was scarce, they had combined their separate stashes the previous night and found that there were only enough bite size pieces of jerky to last another day. Juliet was not overly worried by their draining supply though, as Joel informed her last night that they were headed towards some friends of his who would provide them with food and ammo for the rest of their journey. 

Juliet had stiffened at the mention of Joel’s friends, although that was not the word he had used. Joel referred to them as his partners, meaning people he frequently smuggled with, Juliet assumed. She was uncomfortable with the thought of other people trespassing on the budding camaraderie she was developing with Joel.

Juliet worried that he would change his mind, join another group, and leave her to cross the country alone. She didn’t like to be dependent on others, usually wearing her solitude and independence as a badge of honour, but Juliet couldn’t deny that she needed Joel for this journey.

She didn’t know the route, she didn’t know the best roads to avoid major cities or how to hide from groups of infected - that wasn’t her main concern when she made the same journey only three years prior.

Being a young woman living in a post-apocalyptic world was a death sentence, she needed someone to watch her back whether she liked it or not. Juliet knew all about the kinds of sick men who lurked around every dark corner of America’s deserted landscape. A shudder ran through her at the thought.

Joel stood next to her, his backpack on the ground next to his feet, his back pressed against the trunk of the tree they both stood under. Juliet copied his movements as he tore a bit of jerky with his teeth and swallowed. The jerky was tough, it tasted like burnt rubber, smelled like it too. Juliet didn’t care, she was so hungry she devoured it in seconds. She took a swig of her water, cleared her throat, then decided to test Joel’s capacity for conversation.

“So, how long till we reach these ‘friends’ of yours?” she asked in the most nonchalant tone she could muster, staring down at her feet to enhance her act. 

Although her eyes were pointed downward, she could feel the burning weight of Joel’s stare simmering on the side of her face. She didn’t dare lift her head as she waited for him to respond. 

“About five hours if we keep the pace up,” he answered as he crumpled the paper his jerky was stored in and stashed it back in the pocket of his backpack. Then he swung it over his shoulder and adjusted the strap. 

Juliet nodded as she did the same. “Cool,” she replied, deciding to leave the conversation there for now. Juliet was becoming more familiar with the timescale of Joel’s irritation. 

They continued their hike, Juliet matching Joel’s speed as much as she could. Her thighs were screaming in pain but it was nothing compared to the ache of her shoulder.

She was worried the wound was becoming infected, the pain shouldn’t be increasing as the days went by, should it? 

Joel had stitched the exit wounds closed the night she was shot, when she was thankfully heavily unconscious. However, his supplies, found in the decrepit ruins of the store, were obviously not as sanitary as they should have been and Juliet was becoming more and more anxious of her continuous waves of dizziness and hot flashes.

An infection was the worst case scenario. Antibiotics were like gold dust in today’s world and she no longer lived in the QZ where she could bribe or blackmail the medic workers for a few pills. No, in the outside world, infection meant almost certain death. Alarm pounded through her. Her death would mean Ethan would never be saved. Her death would mean Joel would never receive the remaining supplies he needed to reach his brother. 

The burden of Juliet’s survival was overwhelming.  

Juliet knew the best medicine for this situation was denial, so she burrowed the possibility of her impending death in a tight corner in the back of her mind and focused on Joel’s back as they made their way through the forest.

…………………………………………………………

They were about fifteen minutes out from Joel’s ‘friends’ place, their steps slowing as they neared their destination. Juliet was becoming increasingly anxious, she didn’t know anything about these people, didn’t know their intentions. To make matters worse, the pain in her shoulder had started to flash down her arm to her fingers. Juliet was sweating profusely and struggled to hide her panting from Joel’s questioning stares. 

“What are their names?” Juliet asked, her voice a low croak. 

Joel shot her a quick glance, his eyebrows furrowed at her dishevelled appearance. “Bill and Frank,” he replied. 

“How did you meet them?” she pried, desperate to take her mind off the pain ricocheting around her body. 

“Long story,” he said after a pause. 

“Right,” Juliet whispered, it was futile trying to use Joel as a distraction. 

They stayed silent again until they finally approached a tall metal fence expanding the perimeter of a massive property. Juliet could make out a row of large houses lining both sides of a street covered with fallen leaves. What was this place? 

Joel’s already stiff body language had turned glacial as he approached the fence and typed in a quick four digit code. The door to the fence made a sharp buzzing noise before the lock popped open. Juliet glanced up at Joel, attempting to gauge his reaction and waiting to follow his lead but he stood entirely still, the now familiar veil of Joel’s survival instincts falling over his features. 

Something was off. 

Joel looked down at Juliet and caught her already staring up at him. He blinked and turned away, facing towards the small town, then he nodded and walked forward, holding the gate open for Juliet to pass through. His eyes said trust me as she passed. So she did. 

They walked at a slow pace along the street. Juliet twitched to pull out her gun but she trusted that Joel knew what he was doing. She was confused, though. She knew that only two men were living here but it still felt too quiet. The stillness in the air was a crushing pressure that wrapped around the both of them. Joel kept walking until he abruptly stopped in front of a beautifully preserved two story house, the paint looked fairly new, the blend of blues and white creating a soft contrast against the dark brown of the door and window sills. It was magnificent, she was amazed that someone had put so much time and effort into maintaining its beauty. That was why she was so surprised when she noticed the overgrown garden and the dead plants lining the entryway onto the property. Why would someone put so much care into the maintenance of the house but forget to water the plants? 

Juliet was startled from her thoughts when Joel slipped his gun from his back pocket and clicked the safety off. The usually quiet sound echoed around them in the silent street. Juliet looked to Joel with questions in her eyes which he answered with a low “Stay here” then he started to stride down the path to the front door. Juliet’s mouth dropped open slightly, astounded that Joel would ask her to wait behind. She rolled her eyes, took her gun out and followed after him. 

They met at the front door, Joel let out a quiet but weighted sigh when he turned to find her standing next to him, then he reached out and turned the handle to the front door. They both raised their guns as they stepped through the doorway, Joel immediately moving forward to sweep the bottom floor as Juliet waited by the entryway to the dining room. There was a folded piece of paper lying on the dark wood of the extravagant dining table, along with two sets of cutlery and decaying bits of food left in ceramic bowls. Juliet froze, her mind travelling back to only days ago when she found a similar piece of paper lying on her own dining table. She swallowed and called for Joel.  

He rounded the corner immediately, his eyes wide and jaw tense when he saw the paper Juliet pointed to. As he walked closer to it, Juliet noticed car keys sitting beside it on the table. Joel picked them up before opening the letter. Juliet was unsure what to do while Joel read the words written on the yellowing paper, she wanted to give him privacy but she was also desperate to know what had happened and what this would mean for their situation. She jumped when Joel suddenly dropped the paper on the table, pocketed the car keys and marched out the front door, letting it slam behind him. Juliet flinched at the sound. 

She stepped forward and set her gun on the table, then tentatively picked up the letter, anxious to read the words which had caused such a reaction in Joel. She understood, though, when she read the first few sentences and knew that his friends were dead. 

What confused her was the mention of a woman’s name she hadn’t heard Joel mention before: Tess. Juliet swallowed when she realised the implication of Bill’s words. 

‘I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep Tess safe.’ 

She must have been close to Joel, close enough to both have a friendship with these men. Juliet couldn’t remember any mention of a Tess in the Boston QZ or a mention of Joel even having a partner. How long were they together for? 

Juliet released a long, slow breath before she slumped into the dining chair at the head of the table. She thought about going after Joel but she didn’t know him well enough to comfort him or to predict his reaction to finding out that his friends had died. Juliet decided the safest thing to do, to avoid Joel’s potential wrath, was to sit quietly and rest her eyes. She was exhausted from the hike and the pulsating pain entirely covering the side of her body where the bullet wound resided. It was only seconds after she had closed her eyes when she felt a black numbness crash over her mind.

………………………………………………..

The feel of a burning hot hand pressed against her forehead woke her up, the world was foggy and Juliet’s eyes struggled to focus. 

“Fuck, you’re burnin’ up,” a voice cursed. Nausea gripped her now, a gag rising in her throat as the hands that belonged to the rough voice tipped her forward, slid his arms under her and lifted her into the air. She was floating for only a second before she was placed on a cushioned surface that felt so comfortable Juliet wanted to drift off again. 

“Hey ” the voice barked, a hand now tapping her cheek. “Stay awake.”

Juliet wanted to follow his instructions, she really did, but she was just so tired and so cold and the hand that touched her cheek was so warm. She pressed her face against it, a moan slipping from her lips. Instantly the hand pulled back and a low groan rang out in the blackness behind her eyelids. 

“Shit,” the voice said. “I’ll be back in a second, don’t you dare fall asleep again.”

“Okay,” Juliet whispered as she urged the darkness to descend upon her again. 

………………………………………………

She woke to solid arms lifting her body up in a seated position, careful to avoid her injured shoulder. Juliet opened her eyes with a sudden wince, where was her t-shirt? She was on a couch in only her bra, the wound on her shoulder now leaking blood and other fluids onto the strap.

“What? -” Juliet muttered and her head rolled to the side before it was caught by a rough hand. 

“Shh” a sharp voice cut her off. “Open your mouth, now,” it commanded. 

Juliet blinked a few times, her eyesight finally focusing, and the blurry form crouched in front of her became clearer.

Joel.

One hand cradled the back of Juliet’s head as the other held a large white pill against her mouth, urging her to part her lips. Joel’s face was so close, his pupils so dilated that his eyes looked almost entirely black. Juliet licked her lips then allowed them to fall open. Joel instantly dropped the pill on her tongue then reached for a glass of water which he helped her take a sip of before he gently held her mouth closed as she swallowed the tablet. 

Juliet gasped as it slid down her throat, her eyes falling closed, and this time, Joel let them. His grip was firm but careful as he helped her lie flat on the couch again before he let go and moved to sit on the coffee table beside her. 

Juliet’s eyelids fluttered open and her head rolled to the side as she watched Joel wipe a hand over his face and sigh. Her mind was so fuzzy, she couldn’t tell where they were or what time it was, but one thought pressed against her consciousness, keeping her awake…

“Joel?” she breathed, her voice a whisper.

“Who’s Tess?”

[devox2564]

In Your Heart

Jake Kizka x fem reader

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), first date fluff, corny as fuck Christmas references

Author’s Note: This chapter was very lightly edited, so please excuse any grammatical errors or less than stellar word choices, I reallly wanted to get this chapter out for you all.

Chapter Eight: Needy

The set itself has already improved tenfold since that first show in Nashville. Each song is tighter and perfected. Your technique has never been better. Watching the guys perform is like watching an animal evolve in real time, each show exhilarating but unique from the last.

Things with Jake have lulled into a sort of familiarity that is a little too close to be just friendly. Stolen kisses in tucked away corners and nights spent in deep conversation. He knows more about you than anyone alive on this planet. It's vulnerability in a way that you aren't quite comfortable with yet.

Currently, you're sitting in a hotel room all to yourself. Thank god they booked you all individually instead of doubled up. You loved your bandmates like sisters at this point but... some privacy is much appreciated. Grey sweatpants hang off your hips and your hair hangs in tendrils around your face. The Boston skyline is already twinkling in the purple of sunset. It's nearing Christmas and you see lights scattered far below illuminating the snow dusted streets.

Your phone rings. You answer without looking, knowing that it's Jake.

"Hello?" You answer.

"Hello dahhhling" his English drawl greets you.

"What's up?" You ask him chuckling a bit.

"Would you be able to pencil me in tonight? Sayy, 7:00? Drinks?"

"Are you.. the Jacob Thomas Kizka finally asking me out?" You prod him.

"Indeed madam" he replies seriously.

"Let me get dressed. I'll meet you in the lobby." You say and hang up on him before he can reply.

Shit. You have nothing to wear on a date. You pick through your suitcase and land on a pair of straight jeans and an oversized crewneck, praying he hasn't made any sort of fancy reservation.

The elevator ride down gives you a full view of the atrium of the hotel. Tall ceilings are strung with twinkling lights and Christmas trees litter the large room where people meander about. You spot him near the doors waiting. His long hair is pulled up into a messy knot at the back of his head, just brushing the collar of a dark brown leather jacket. He spots you and waves as you descend the last few floors and disappear from view.

He pulls you into a hug as soon as you reach him. "I missed you." He says squeezing you tight around your shoulders and lifting your toes off the ground.

"You saw me less than an hour ago on the bus." You say, your airway constricted.

"An hour too long in my opinion." He puts you down.

You laugh before asking "So where are we going?"

"You'll see. Come on." and he slips his hand in yours leading you outside.

It's very cold outside and you silently thank yourself for packing a decent jacket at least. The snow is falling lazily now, and the wind has slacked just enough to allow you some peace as you walk. Jake leads you down a few blocks and into a different hotel lobby and a different elevator. You ride up for what seems like an eternity. He's still holding your hand and tucks it into his coat pocket running his thumb soothingly up and down your pointer finger. Even in the cold this casual touch tingles more than usual, your body responding to an affection it has sorely missed.

You finally step off of the elevator and into a large room with walls of glass. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the view. You can see the whole skyline of the city from up here. Even better than the view from your hotel room. You glance over at him and he's grinning smugly as if he knew this place would be impressive to you.

You roll your eyes inwardly. He does know you very well then. You are in awe. Music plays softly, and dim lights sparkle and bounce off of the windows. He leads you to a deep sofa near the edge of the room and deposits you there. "Wait here I'll go and get us drinks."

After a few moments he returns and the two of you curl up and sip for a moment. Conversation is just as easy as it always is. The two of you spend quite a bit of time discussing the tour so far: your favorite cities, the best crowds, nicest hotels, and so on. After all the topics relating to shows and performances are expended, you sit for a while in comfortable silence admiring the city from your perch. His brown eyes shine in the lights of the skyline. "You know, I'm kicking myself for not agreeing to go out when you first asked me." You admit to him a bit unwillingly.

"Oh I knew you would be." He grins. "But I won't hold that against you."

"Oh well thank you so much Jacob" you really roll your eyes at him now.

"I'm kicking myself for not asking you out the second I knew that creep had blown his shot with you. If that makes you feel any better." He casually reaches out and intertwines his fingers with yours on the back of the couch.

"It does thanks." The mention of David in the moment doesn't even phase you.

"You know, I've never been with someone I had a real friendship with first?" You offer up.

"Yeah?" He replies.

"It was always right down to business. I've not gotten the chance to really know someone the way I know you. Not before things get serious at least." He's silent and you continue. "It feels... strange to for this to be so natural to me."

"Strange in a good way I hope." His smile is soft now, less goofy than before.

"In a very good way."

"I'm glad we've gotten to be friends. You help keep my head on straight. You steady me and knock me off kilter all at once." He's looking out at the sky while he speaks. "I was worried for a while that I'd never be able to move on, you know? Get on with my life."

"That's why I was so worried about this becoming more for us. I was afraid we'd fuck it up and I'd lose you altogether."

He seems amused at this comment, like it'd never even crossed his mind that this progression could complicate things.

"Do you want to know when I knew this was going to be something?" He asks

"Hmmm..." you think "it has to be the vomiting on your shoes thing. One of the highlights of our friendship for sure."

He laughs "Nope."

"Ok so what then? I don't know how I could top that for you." You joke, sliding your shoes off and swinging your legs up and across his lap to face him.

"That night I sliced my hand open in the kitchen." He admits still laughing.

"You're kidding." You giggle in reply.

"I'm definitely not. Watching you bandage me up, make fun of me for hating blood. We'd spent weeks scraping each other off the floor and then it just hit me all of a sudden." He pauses "I just felt something shift and from then on it was just different for me. I wanted to grab you and kiss you right then."

"Buttt you didn't." You couldn't damper your smile even if you'd wanted to.

"And then I heard you playing the piano the next morning. I really knew it was over for me then." He unlaces his fingers and reaches out to brush your cheek with his thumb.

You lean into his hand involuntarily. His calloused fingers burning against your still cool skin. He's studying your face like it's the first and last time he'll ever see it. That's how he's always looked at you, you realize.

"That was the first night I noticed things felt different between us. I didn't want to admit it to myself. But turns out I was right." You smirk. Leave it to you to interrupt a tender moment with gloating, but he doesn't seem to care.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, comfortable in the dimly lit space. The noise from the bar comes into the foreground.

"Is this Last Christmas?" You ask straining to hear the music.

"I think so." He says also listening.

"This is my favorite Christmas song." You admit to him with a laugh. "It's so fucking cheesy I know."

He tries to hold back his snort, but it comes anyways and he's full on laughing. You push his shoulder and he raises his hands up in mock defeat.

"Hey, as far as Christmas music goes, I suppose Wham! is an acceptable choice." He wipes at his eyes.

He moves your legs from his lap and braces his hands on his knees to stand from his seat. Turning around, he stretches out a hand to you. "Dance with me?"

"You're serious?" you ask him with a raise of your eyebrow.

"If it's your favorite, then I guess it's my favorite now too." He's being sincere now.

Looking around and deciding the bar is empty enough to avoid any embarrassment, you stand up and take his hand. In a second you're  chest to chest swaying in time to George Michael's cheesy poppy voice.

You rest your head on his shoulder and drink the feel of him in. Warm, comforting, like home. Eyes closed, you listen to the music. It's impossible to peel the smile away from your lips. Your arms are draped around his shoulders like you're back at a middle school dance. His hands travel down to rest in the small of your back. This movement sends small tingles up your spine. You turn your head and gently brush your lips against his cheek, lingering there in the dim light.

"Hey." Jake says as the song ends and you pull away to look at him.

"Hey." You say back, looking into his eyes.

"Do you want to get out of here?" He asks, his hands still firm on your back.

You crane your head and kiss him in reply. Sweet and deep, but also with just a bit of urgency. A promise of things to come.

"Alright, let's go." He says, his eyes a little darker than you saw them last. He leads you away and into the elevator.

.....

Back at the hotel, he pushes the button for the elevator. "The top floor? We're all on 7."

"Just shush." He says smiling down at you mischievously

"You know better than anyone that that's physically impossible for me." You side eye him. "And anyway-"

Your lips are against his in a flash. It's like a dam inside him has finally broken and he's kissing you like the world has ended. You melt into his arms, no resistance left inside you. His tongue just brushes your bottom lip as the elevator slows and prepares to stop. He pulls away.

"The next time you want me to shut up, that'll do. Much less annoying." You say staring into his eyes, damning the elevator.

"Come on." He replies and grabs your hand.

Jake leads you down the hallway and slides a key card out of his pocket. In a flash, a door is open and you're standing in a hotel room much larger and prettier than yours. There's a king sized bed centered against the wall overlooking the entire city. Art covers the walls and a large white bathtub is snuggled in the corner next to a master bathroom with walls of glass. A true penthouse view, not dissimilar from the one at the bar. You glance to your left and spot a huge bouquet of white roses.

"What is all this Jake?" You're a little bit stunned.

He shuts the door and spins you around to face him. "Well, I figured if I was going to romance you I ought to do it right."

Jake's hands are on your hips and his eyes are dark and heavy lidded. You can't find the words to reply, letting the silence fill with the sound of your breathing. You reach up and slowly pull his hair down out of its tie, running your fingers through it and resting your hand at the nape of his neck. The other hand caresses his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone and traveling all the way down to gently brush his lower lip. His breath hitches a bit. That's all you need.

Your lips find his again. This kiss is again different than the others. This one tests nothing, asks no questions, and needs no confirmation. It's hot and heavy with a need you've been denying each other for months. The two of you are entwined, a whirl of hands and lips and tongues. Your thighs hit the edge of the mattress, but you have no recognition of moving closer to it. Jake lowers you down onto the bed, settling overtop of you. Pulling away for a moment, he takes a long deep breath. His eyes rake up and down your still clothed form. You smile at him, letting out a breathy laugh.

He catches your lips in another deep kiss and allows his hands to roam up and down your body. His fingertips leave no skin untouched. Your neck, your face, your shoulders, before he creeps up the hem of your shirt and caresses the warm skin of your stomach. Up up up, cupping your breast in his hand. The nipple pebbles in response through the thin fabric of your bra, begging to be touched. You feel his full weight against you and urge your hips up to meet him.

"This has got to go." His voice is low and husky as he tugs your shirt up and you quickly pull it off, tossing it aside. You allow your bra to join it on the floor without hesitation.

He drinks you in, your breasts heaving with the effort of your breath. Your nipples hard and alert. Clear evidence of your arousal. You can feel as he looks at you that the warmth and wetness between your legs is growing by the second. The anticipation. The waiting, the wanting, the needing.

Faces only inches apart, he tears his gaze from your body to your face. There is clear desperation swimming in his expression. "I need you." He says.

"I need you." Your reply breathily.

His eyes grow dark, pupils blown, “Say it again.”

His order throws you off and you hesitate.

“Say it. Again.” He repeats, lifting your chin with his index finger.

“I need you Jake.” Your voice is a whisper.

Still fully clothed, he pulls away. Deftly, his hands work the buttons of your jeans and you're nearly bare save for your underwear.

"Your turn." you gesture a hand at him, regaining some of your composure before he can move closer again. The corners of his mouth creep up into a grin. Before you can protest, his lips are exploring your body. He does however, make the effort to remove his jacket and shirt, tossing them haphazardly across the room.

"Look, you're already wet for me." He teases, gently brushing his fingers against the thin cotton between your thighs just as his mouth closes around your nipple. His tongue flicks, and you gasp which seems to amuse him.

"You know," he says, pausing to trail lips and tongue down the flat of your stomach "I've been dreaming," over the curve of your hip "of tasting you" the tops of your thighs "for months."

You look down at him kneeling at the edge of the bed. He holds your eyes as he kisses the creamy soft skin of your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to the apex. He allows his nose to brush the fabric of your panties and you feel your clit already begging for a release. This is absolutely torturous.

You’re barely aware of the sensation of the cotton fabric sliding down your legs, or the soft trace of his fingertips on your ankles. Not until his mouth fully closes around you do you come back into your body and the fullness of sensation. Your back arches and he presses you down into the bed with one hand while his tongue dances circles around your clit, working you into a frenzy.

Another order rings out suddenly, his lips momentarily abandoning you, your cunt begging for release. “Look at me.”

You obey, desperate for him to continue.

“I want to see you cum. See it in those beautiful eyes alright?” It’s more of an order than a question. You’re more than happy to oblige. Maybe the only instance since you’ve known him that you let yourself concede.

His fingers curl into you, invited in gladly. His eyes never leave yours as his tongue resumes its previous endeavor. You feel the warmth of your impending orgasm rising from your belly and spreading out into your limbs. His fingertips brush that sweet secret spot inside and linger there, moving faster and faster in time with his tongue.

“Jake, Jake, please..” your voice is strangled as you struggle to look at him, resisting the urge to throw your head back as the feeling surges toward you. His eyes remain, dark and deep and endlessly staring into you.

You know you can’t hold on any longer. “Please, oh god, oh god, yes, yes, yes..”

You unravel on his lips, his tongue flicking and lapping as his fingers fuck you, hitting just the right spot to blur your vision and set you on fire. You cry out into the night as you ride the waves of this most intense pleasure.

“Mmm good girl.” He says, relieving his tongue but allowing his fingers to continue. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself oh so sweet on his lips.

“Who knew you could follow orders so well?” He says.

“Only for you Jakey.” You reply as playfully as you can muster through your gasping breaths.

He smirks, curling his fingers inside you just to watch your back arch.

“So meann.” You whine when he returns to his slow steady rhythm.

He chuckles deep in his chest and pecks your lips “I’ll show you mean if you want baby. It could be a very long night for you.”

You do not reply, but hope to yourself that it is a long night. A very, very long night indeed.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Longest chapter so far guys. And our first real taste of spice. Thought it might be fun to make their first date a little Christmas Special while I was at it. Don’t worry though, this particular interaction isn’t over. I just wanted to make sure you had something good to chew on before the holiday. ;)

-E

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 • 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥. 𝐀𝐬 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧. 

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐨, 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐍𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃.  𝐀𝐍 • 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚  𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 ��𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 :𝟎

✰ 𝙄𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙓 (𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚) (𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙢.𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙤)

♪ ♫ 𝙋𝙀𝘿𝙍𝙊 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩)

        「 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐲: 𝐑𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 」                        

Dear Joel…

I don’t think you’ll ever read this. That’s why I’m doing it. But if you are, it’s because you’re alive, something happened to me or both. I just want to pretend you’ll know this. All those little things I never told you. Because if you die, I don’t know what I’m doing. And if for some reason I end up dead, and you live, I want you to know everything. I was born in California, at least that’s what my passport said. My parents wanted a home birth, and the stress of the city of Pasadena wasn’t ideal. So they decided to deliver me at my grandparent’s ranch in the East. Now that I remember, they had sheep at the ranch. I also remember the beach and everyone laughing at my squealing when I touched the sand and the water. I was very little when the world stopped unlike you. My family and I lived on the ranch for three years, but supplies ran out. The winters were arid, and rangers had tried to attack us many times. So we started our way to some QZ. We almost made it to the QZ of Colorado, but my mother had a flu, so they kicked us out, then discovered I had asthma. So without inhalators, there were a couple of nights when my family sent me to sleep with a goodbye in case I didn’t make it till the following day. Then we tried on Memphis, but they didn’t have space. Until we ended up in Boston’s QZ. FEDRA allowed us because we had plenty of seeds to grow, including illegal stuff. They even allowed me to stay out of FEDRA school, it was a bribe. Also, my aunt was a firefly, yes, I bet she knew Marlene. You know? I saw you once in 2018. You were doing one of your deals with an agent. And I was taking a break from the clinic. I thought you were scary, but I liked how you never let anyone intimidate you. Then I saw you in the old park, drinking something. I was about to get close, my aunt didn’t let me, she said you were dangerous. Do you remember that morning? When everyone was in panic because a large family got infected inside the QZ?. My shift in the clinic ended very early. It was still dark when I arrived home, I heard grunts and something was crawling, it was my father, completely infected. I ran upstairs and then my mother was eating who once was my aunt. They chased me and I hid under my bed, looking for the gun my aunt gifted me. I knew it would be worse if it wasn’t over soon, so I knew I had no choice. I couldn’t even close my eyes, I just shoot nonstop. The blood bath was worse, then it hit me I had just killed, and not strangers, but my family. I know you burned my mother and my father’s corpses while working, Joel. You have my mother’s locket, I saw it this morning while checking for a band-aid in your backpack. And I know you never told me because you wanted to protect me, thank you.

My aunt was an English high school teacher. So she educated me, and that’s why I love reading. It wasn’t just because I wanted to look attractive or sophisticated.  My grandma was a surgeon’s assistant, and she taught me everything. So that’s why I was a nurse at the QZ.  My favorite movie was Anastasia; that’s why I begged to look for a biography of the Romanovs when you took me to the library. That night I knew you were meant for me, Joel. Even if I thought you didn’t feel the same, that you felt pity for me, I knew it. Because you saved me. You reformed me. Of all the patients and colleagues I used to have, no one offered help or condolence. But you, you took me from that filthy place and brought me to your home. Tired, mad, stressed, but you decided to look every day to get me medicines for the anemia, the inhalators and the vitamins. 

When you start talking with that Texas drawl, it reminds me that you were a different person long before I met you, before I was even born. You have told me you feel like a bad person, but you are not, Joel. And all the bad things you have done have been forgiven with your good intentions towards Ellie and me. I wish we had met in different circumstances, you know my biggest wish is that family. The baby, the husband, and the ranch house. The truth is… I’m too fucked up for that. How many times have we avoided talking about this? I’ll write it down either way. In my dreams, you’re the husband and father of my children keeping me alive.

And right, as I write this, you are fighting for your life. Ellie wants me to make a surgery on you. I can’t help you because I’m too fucking scared. Everyone in my hands dies. That girl outside this room holding your hand because you are our family. You and Ellie are my family. You two are my broken dream, and I must be grateful for that.

I love you, and I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone else. No matter what happens, if we live or die, you are my other half, Joel Miller. 

For evermore yours, y/n.

____

“What the fuck are you doing? You should be down there stitching, Joel" Ellie said, startling you as she stomped inside the room. “I can’t…”

“What? You have a fucking pharmacy on your backpack, y/n…” you tremble slightly as you fold the letter and put it inside an envelope. “Ellie, I can’t….”

“Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me!. Girl, you have to get your ass down there and save Joel. He’s dying” she yells, exasperated, as you seal the envelope violently. 

“If it doesn’t help either, I won’t be able to have his blood in my hands” you bet Joel could hear your rising voice even with the distance.

“What are you talking about?” the girl asks. You sigh, walking towards her.

“Everyone I have cared about before died. Just like you have experienced before….” Ellie sighed like she was comprehending your words. 

“Before Marlene found me, I was gonna be a FEDRA official. And no one had died because of me. Until…” you look at her softly. The cold was bearable at the moment. Her voice wasn’t trembling. “You ever visited the mall in Boston?….”

“No…” you accept. She sighs again, looking at the improvised envelope you made. 

“Don’t interrupt me while I’ll tell you this…” before you can’t say anything, she digs to tell you one of the most heartbreaking anecdotes you’ve ever heard. Her best friend and her, they were just kids. Another tragic story, another people’s happiness vanished.

…

“Did-, did you… you loved her?” Ellie stared vaguely at the floor. Her eyes were teary, but she remained firm, as usual. “I guess so….”

“Did Joel ever do something like that for you?” You nodded slowly. Joel has done beautiful things for you. 

“He took me to the library one night. He said it was because I was being annoying while pleading for a book. But I know he did it for my birthday,” Ellie chuckled. As you started to look back at the memory…

_

“Darlin’…” you heard distantly as you started to wake up. As you clean the sweat on your forehead, you spot Joel caressing your leg, giving you an ecstatic look. “Joel… you’re home”

“Yeah, Tess is coming until the morning…” for some seconds, you assume he’s suggesting sex, but when he stands up, you know there’s something else. “Get changed…”

“What? Tomorrow is our free day. We should be resting…” he nods but throws some pants and a straps top at you. The summer was long and suffocating. And you didn’t understand why Joel demanded you to get some clothes.

“We’re going out….” you open your eyes widely. Stopping Joel from getting his belt and holster ready. “What? No, you know fungus grows faster in the summer. Joel…”

“Drama queen, be thankful I’m willing to take you out. We must get going if Tess is gonna be out the whole night.” he sounds calm, which is unusual. Joel was the synonym for being alert. Never relaxing, always thinking about perhaps, what if, etc.

“You’re scaring me, Joel. I dare to say I’m speaking with a different person” somehow he giggles briefly. Grabbing his backpack and getting some little brown carton box inside. “You trust me?”

“I guess so…” you say, tilting your head. He turns around and gives you a concerned look raising his eyebrow.

“You guess so, kid?” he asks, walking towards you with his raspy voice, making you shiver and feel small. Then he goes and teases you by brushing the edge of the oversized brown tee of him you were wearing. “Of course I trust you, Joel”

“Good. Let’s go then…” you roll your eyes, removing the shirt and putting on the clothes he threw you before. You’ve only been out of the QZ with Joel once. And Tess was there too, making it a little tricky for you since she didn’t have any problem telling you how slow you were going or how out of shape you were.

This time, however, Joel was being extra careful and comprehensive. After leaving the QZ, Joel checks on you every 5 minutes. He asks if you have your gun and how you are feeling. 

“Break?” he asks after passing by some abandoned restaurant. You shake your head, offering him a shy smile. He thinks you were trying to be strong after the last time. Joel knew you were insecure because of Tess and her snarky comments at you. He couldn’t fight her, though, just send her disapproving looks.

“Okay, we’re close c’mon” you don’t know where you’re going yet. You had been walking for at least 25 minutes. No clickers yet. Everything was silent.

“And so… Why you had been so obsessed with this weird Russian revolution stuff?” he asks suddenly, entering a hallway. You are surprised he’s asking you questions to iníciate a conversation, but you’re happy to answer.

“I found a book in the clinic last week. It was an encyclopedia of the most famous revolutions in the world…” you say, remembering the big old book with green hardcover. “French, Mexican, and Russian revolutions are the most interesting.”

“I don’t remember anything from that. Sounds boring…” Joel admits guiding you towards a door. 

“You can’t even read, I bet. Of course, you find it boring” he gives you a bad look, causing you to chuckle. He looks at you with adoration because he loves making you laugh even when he isn’t trying. “I’m kidding….”

He sighs, making you believe he’s mad. But right after that, he brushes your hair back, startling you. So when you look at his eyes, he’s giving a little smile.

“Get in, darlin’…” he says, pointing at a little window beside the door he walked you through. “I locked the door some days ago, but you can get through the window and open it for me…”

“So you were here before?” you ask, wondering if he came there with Tess. It stings your heart a little, but you brush it off. 

“Correct. I secured it was clean, so I could bring you too…” his statement makes you blush. And after a playful exchange of smirks, you climb the trash container with the help of Joel. After opening the window, you check if it’s too high to jump, but it’s not.

Joel waits patiently, and seconds later, you are opening the door. 

Joel steps inside and closes the door with the lock again. He knew the building was empty, the main entrance was covered with cement, and the windows were upholstered with thick wood pieces. 

“Now, close your eyes,” you shrug, closing your arms hesitantly. “Oh, so you brought me here to get rid of me?”

“Shut up. Now close your eyes and fucking turn around” he regrets being cold to you sometimes.

“You’ll like it…” he says in a warmer tone, you trust him, so you just nod. Joel starts guiding you in what you assume it’s a long corridor, then he makes you go up some little stairs and finally turn to the right.

“Open your eyes…” slowly, you do so. He could take his hands off your hips but keeps them there. 

You gasp in surprise. There’s an extensive library in front of you, with bright colors and tons of books stocked on shelves alphabetically.

“Joel…” you start, but you can’t finish. There were a lot of ingrown plants scattered across shelves, and there was a lot of dust everywhere, but it was beautiful. Unfortunately, the whole place was frozen in time.

“This is beautiful,” you opt to say. Holding his right hand on your hip, trying to tell him how much you appreciate what he had done.

“I was growing tired of hearing you talk about these Russian people every day” he’s lying, but you don’t know. Actually, he loved hearing you spit random facts every day. It made him feel some sort of normality in his daily routine. Also that your birthday was upcoming, so he wanted to make something good for you. Mainly because it was your first year without your family.

“Sorry. I’ll hurry up, so we don’t stay very long….” you say, embarrassed. But as you start to walk away, Joel makes you stop.

“No. We can stay a couple hours. We’re not far from the QZ.” 

“Okay…” you reply shyly. Joel curses himself. He isn’t a soft guy. He knew it. But you were so perfect. Never afraid of showing how you felt or apologizing, always being open, willing to smile even when you were rooting inside.

He stays near the entrance with his gun in hand. But he only has eyes for you wandering across every hallway full of shelves. He looks over the window once, and when he sets his sights on you again, you already have a pile of books in your hands. 

“Joel…” he goes to you, looking so little between the tall piles of books. “Can you help me reach me that book?”

He chuckles, grabbing the purple book and passing it to you. It’s a herbalist book with tons of remedies and suggestions.

“This is very helpful. I know it’s hard to find some seeds or else, but this is a need” you say, flipping through the pages. Joel loves how versatile you can be. You aren’t just looking for cheesy old novels or dead Soviet royal families. 

“Yeah, I really like the tea you make,” he accepts, making you smile. Joel and Tess complained about having too many plants inside the apartment. Still, once you started using them for cooking, they never said anything else again. The pair of adults had to accept you were resourceful, you required medicines from them, but you gave them a lot of things that compensated for your needs.

“Thank you. I’m saving my favorite seeds, though….” you mumble, reading some pages.

“Why?” He asks to lean against a shelve. 

“When I find a house. I’ll have my garden and plant tulips and beetroots so I can pick them with my baby every spring” it’s silly, but that’s your wish. Joel remains quiet for some time. Then, of course, he wouldn’t say anything. He’s not in love with you; he just appreciates you. It doesn’t mean it won’t hurt but…

“Okay… let me check what I have” you break the silence with a big smile. Then, walking to some big table with dust and broken glasses, you place the pile of books you collected. 

Joel read; Hamlet, Valley of the Dolls, understanding surgery, A Garden of Herbs, and History of the Russian revolution. 

“Surgical book?” Joel asks, arching a brow. You nod without looking at him.

“You don’t know when it’s gonna happen. I could save a life…” he knows you remembered your family. The way you stopped smiling makes him take your hand.

“Hey, if sometin’ happened to me, you would be the only one I would allow to treat me” you smile sadly at him. He pats your arm and brushes your hand with his fingers. 

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” he nods, smiling very little. Still, he leans carefully soon after watching your face, barely illuminated by the last sun rays that peek through the parched windows. And both of you end up kissing. You like to think that’s how having a high school sweetheart must've felt. Surrounded by books and plants, in your dystopian brain, it worked.

You want to scream, I love you. Because you do, you love the man that’s kissing you. You would do anything to protect him; if he ever needed your healing hands, you wouldn’t let him die. 

-

“Is it just bad luck?, Or that life actually hates us?” you shrug at the girl before you. “Probably both….”

“Listen Ellie. No matter what happens, I’ll take you to the fireflies…” she sighs, looking at the floor before pinching the bridge of her nose.

“No. You will go down there and save Joel. Then the three of us will go with the Fireflies.” again, you shake your head. But Ellie is determined, so she takes your arms, caging you.

“Yes. You are a fucking nurse, you have a whole damn pharmacy in your backpack, and you have a surgery book. You have to save him. We need him…” she’s pleading. She doesn’t want to lose Joel, and she doesn’t want to make you lose him. “That man loves you, if it wasn’t for you he must’ve dumped me already. I know what I’m saying; that man saved your life. If you love him, you’ll go and do the same.”

You can feel the tears coming, but you remain still. Joel trusted your hands. He only considered you to treat him. He reminded you many times, even after taking you to the library. That if anything happened to him, you could save him. And Ellie is correct. You’ll do the same because you love him. You need him because you are so close to having that fucking ranch house, that man, and the garden of tulips and beetroots.

“Find some matches. And take Joel’s duct tape…” she can’t help but smile a little. Then she nods and starts running downstairs. But you stop her.

“Ellie…” she turns back, waiting for your words. “If he lives and eventually something happens, give him this letter, please. Only if it’s necessary”

“How I will know it’s necessary?” she asks confused. “You’ll know…”

She nods, and in seconds, she’s out again. Taking some time, you take your breath and start praying. Not that you were very religious, but you needed to pray at that moment, hoping that someone would listen to you.

I can do this. I won’t kill him. I’m helping him. I’m going to save Joel.

You don’t look at him when you enter the cold room. He’s watching you while shaking and gasping for air, half awake, half unconscious. But you can’t do it; you won’t look at him or else, you’ll sob with your head on his chest. 

Joel watches you taking some stuff out of your backpack before cross-sitting beside him. You open the white box, and you’re greeted with tons of little bottles of medicine and antibiotics. Needles, injections, band-aids, patches. But you shake when you take the little surgical instruments, and Joel stops you, taking your right arm.

“Joel. No…” you say in a low tone. But Joel doesn’t let you go. “Take her to the north. Go with Tommy…”

“Joel, shut up…” you’re ignoring him. Opening a bottle of alcohol, you sunk the needles in there. “Please, y/n. You have to go…”

“I’M NOT LEAVING YOU BEHIND!” Just in time, Ellie entered the picture. She heard you, but she didn’t say anything. She only handed you some matches. Joel remains quiet. He won’t hurt you anymore. In fact, he’s faithful about your nursing skills and wants to survive that day to complete the quest. He can already taste the feeling of living in that ranch home you desire. He’s determined to make you happy. But he was dying.

“They’re a little wet…” she said talking about the matches nervously. So then, under the tired look of Joel, you test them. 

“It’ll work…” the man and the girl watch you breathing, trying to relax. It stopped snowing some hours ago, so the weather feels slightly warmer. But, when you open your eyes, Ellie takes one of Joel’s hands. He’s crying silently, with a blank expression. And you don’t know if it’s because of the pain or the bunch of emotions feeling in that old creaky room, or both. 

“You’re gonna be fine, my love. You’re gonna be fine…” you whisper, leaning to kiss his forehead. He gives you a sad look before you start spreading a match across the instruments, hoping to sanitize them.

As you push his shirt up, the cold air hits Joel, and he starts shaking in discomfort. The blood was running nonstop, and it was hard for you to not freak out.

But somehow, you find some strength in Joel’s eyes, pleading with you. For help, for hope…

“Check if he doesn’t have a fever….” Ellie nods, touching Joel with the back of her hand. “I think he’s just cold…”

“Good, now… okay, here we go…” officially, you start to work. Joel grunts and moans in pain.

Meanwhile, he wants to hold your hand, but you’re busy. He watches you work so concentrated. Asking Ellie every once in a while if he has a fever. Your soft hands clean the wound and your forehead is drenched in cold sweat. He passes out almost at the end of it, but he survived. That’s all it matters.

After what feels like an hour, you have stitched the wound. Joel is sweating and tired, and after injecting him with a shot of vitamins, he can breathe normally.

“It’s okay, Joel. You can rest now” he barely had some strength to move, still asleep.

“I love you….” you whisper knowing he won’t hear. Holding him softly and feeling him brushing your hand, and feeling his heart beating.

___________________________________________________

@aonungstsahik @buckysmainhxe @amethystwonders11 @kyuupidwrites @bookfrog242 @acornacreacure @enbywan @ipadkidsworld @my-obsession-spn @happycupcakeenthusiast @thesameoldboo @spideysimpossiblegirl @tubble-wubble @flightlexsbird @randomstory56b @memento-mora @royalty-cashinout @ayamenimthiriel @eddies-bat-tattoos @kassieesworld @damnzelsoul @floffytofu @rhyanna6012 @floralsightings @pedro-pascal-3nthusiast

[qqueenofhades]

I will always attempt to prod you for new Garcy content, so, here's hoping this speaks to you 😂 (also happy belated birthday! <- my Tumblr wasn't working properly on you big day, and didn't let me send you a HBD greeting then, so I'm doing it now) 🥳

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Garcy

41. Don't look back

The New England night is rank with cold, with the briny scent of the distant sea, with woodsmoke and creosote, tar and turpentine, hay and mud. Lucy stands with her arms crossed, her coat drawn tightly over her shoulders, staring out at the dark woods that stretch endlessly beyond this simple farmhouse on the edge of Boston -- in the year 1880, a fast-growing industrial city, thronged with largely-Irish immigrants, strung up with newfangled electric lights and trolley cars, steamships moored at the docks, but still straining at the old Pilgrim bones beneath, forced to accept all this modernity at a blow. In other circumstances, she would almost like the chance to look around. Not, however, as if that is going to happen. Now or ever.

She shivers harder. She can still feel the wind cutting right through her, and surely it's her imagination that it's not just a figure of speech, that she's becoming more and more insubstantial, never-existing, by the moment. She feels dreamy, almost comfortable, the sort of lulling reverie you slip into when you're on the brink of freezing to death and it feels downright pleasant. She looks down at her hands, tries to see if she can see through them to the ground. It would be just, perhaps. It would be the only outcome.

Just then, there's a particularly loud commotion in the farmhouse behind her, and she turns around sharply. She hasn't been paying attention to the low-level clamor -- the shouts, the shots, the smashing, the screaming, the sort that would attract the neighbors if there were any in range. As it is, there aren't, and that too is all by design. She stands here, a cold and merciless goddess, listens to men die inside, and feels... nothing. Her mother has, in the end, done her job too well. Carol Preston dutifully raised her daughters in Rittenhouse, trained Lucy to be the heiress, the crown princess, and now it's playing out exactly as she intended, with one devastating little twist. It's Rittenhouse dying in there, all of them, or at least Lucy so badly hopes. All her ancestors, her great-grandfathers and uncles and whatever else, and that means that when they get back to the present day (if they get back to the present day), there is a very good chance that she will never have existed at all. Will be a revenant, a time-ghost, a relic from another timeline who has nothing left at all, no root to her old life, and not even anyone else's memories. Hell, she might just wink out on the spot, a twisted paradox too contradicted to exist. Is it worth it? Can anything possibly be worth this?

Yes, Lucy thinks. Her face is stone, her eyes are dry, she does not weep a single tear. Yes, it is.

At last, the banging and blasting falls silent. Ruthlessly effective as he is, Garcia Flynn is far from subtle. There's a long moment in which Lucy panics, thinking that they managed to strike a lucky blow, that he's gone too, but then he emerges, tall and dark and shadowed, his suit sleeves spattered in blood. He looks at her and doesn't say a word. Just goes to his knees in front of her (even so, he's still almost as tall as she is) and holds out the gun, a medieval knight pledging his sword to the service of his lady. At last, his voice half a whisper in the wind, he says, "It's done."

Lucy shivers from head to toe. She looks down at him and doesn't answer. Yes, her ancestors might all be dead now, but there's still no guarantee that Rittenhouse has been erased, root and branch. One of them might have left a pregnant wife somewhere, or a secret mistress with a love child, or all the other ways history contorts around on itself to protect its continuity. She could have done all this, live with the knowledge of it forever, and still failed. Flynn might have gone in there to kill her whole family, but Lucy is the one who brought him here.

(What would she have done, if they hadn't found each other? Who would she be? Carol's perfect little Rittenhouse princess, just as planned? Not this, this Salem witch, hands dripping with blood just as much as Flynn's. It's only on his because she asked him to do it, and he agreed. That's love, she supposes. A twisted and dark and desperate version, but still love. He is the only thing she has.)

"Flynn." Lucy doesn't recognize her own voice. "Please. Get me out of here. Get me out of here."

Flynn considers, then nods once. He lifts her halfway, arms around her waist; as ever, her weight is completely negligible to him. It's going to be a long walk back to the Mothership, where Rufus is waiting nervously. When they get in, the jump very well might not work, as long as Lucy is in there. The space-time continuum might reject traveling back with an alien entity, an erased object. She might have to get out and stay in 1880 forever, the price of removing Rittenhouse in the present. Is she ready to do that? Can she stand it? Or will she just simply evanesce away?

"Flynn," she starts again, shaking, her face buried in his shoulder. He walks quickly, but somehow without hurrying. The wool of his jacket smells of lamp-oil and fresh blood. "Flynn, I'm not going to be able to come back, not if I don't -- "

"Yes." He sounds calm, certain, cold as the snow. "You're going to be fine, Lucy. Rufus will figure it out. You'll come home with us."

"But back there -- " Lucy twists, tries to peer over his shoulder, to look back at the dark farmhouse where Rittenhouse has, pray God, finally met its utmost end. "If you -- "

"Shh." Flynn's grip tightens on her. "Don't look back, Lucy. It's all right. Trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you."

It's a deeply ironic utterance, considering what he just did to her whole family (on her express invitation, but still) and how their relationship started, but she does. She trusts him. She holds onto him with both hands. Don't look back. Like Lot's wife fleeing from Sodom, unable to resist the curse, transmogrified into salt. There are tears on her cheeks. She tastes it on her lips. She doesn't know who she's crying for. It seems impossible for it to be her.

Don't look back.

Lucy buries her face in Flynn's neck again, and does not.

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Five — Road to Sanctuary

“By the time I agreed to work with him, he was sure he was onto something bigger,” Zeke continued. “It was a whole conspiracy. Curdun Cay was impossible to find, but apparently he had a group of hackers that managed to break through once. Barely got into a database for experiments before the FBI were at their door.”

7k words | 23—30 min read time | TRIGGER WARNING: death mention, hallucination mention | CHAPTER THEME:

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A very large, very heartfelt thanks for @lobotomizedlemon for trusting me with Alessia Donovan. I've adored this OC since they made her, and I love her story and simply everything she made Sia into. To be able to make this story her home, to be able to claim this her canon and intertwine her route with my own story? Well, I can't think of a higher honor. Love you babe! And I hope you all love this character as much as I do.

I was surprised that the drive to Boston was faster than the one to New Marais. 

Everyone rotated in the gutted out van throughout the two day drive, trying to stay comfortable. Zeke no longer had an inflatable bed — and after hearing about some of his escapades while on the road, I was happy for it — but we ended up finding this large camping mattress thing that we shoved in the back, edge curling up against the back of the van. 

The East Coast was…not a good place. Definitely not one to try and drive through, at least. The closer to the Atlantic ocean we were, the worse everything got. 

Some areas were lucky enough to heal from the Beast. Washington, DC was never touched, and some cities like Roanoke and Charlotte in North Carolina found a way to build up from the rubble. It was a miracle New York City wasn’t toppled, but Philly wasn’t as fortunate. But there were other areas that were ghost towns. I was convinced Baltimore was a myth for the longest time as a kid like Atlantis or El Dorado — till Dad forced us to watch Hairspray: the Musical. It just wasn’t there anymore. The Smoky Mountains had a canyon carved through them that refused to grow any foliage, just dirt and rock and remains of getaway cabins that no one but vandals had bothered to touch in the last twenty-five years. 

Driving to Boston, though, was a challenge; there was no way to ride the coast all the way north, not anymore. We traveled up to Pittsburgh, then even further north to Albany. We couldn’t stick close to the coast here. Anything near the Atlantic was gone, either ghost town or slum or absorbed by the shore. That carnage stopped just under New York City, though, in the waters off of the shores of New Jersey — meaning once we passed the latitude that used to hold Empire City, we could finally travel East. 

It was the dead of night by the time we left Albany after getting a late dinner, Dad sleeping on my right while Brent was laying on my left. Zeke was driving as Dr. Sims worked on his laptop, the sound of phonk music leaking from the earbuds shoved into his ears. I was on my side, trying and failing to sleep as Brent shifted beside me again. And again. And again.

My eyes snapped open. “Dude, would you stop?” 

Brent groaned lightly. “I drank too much coffee at that breakfast joint,” 

I chuckled softly. “I warned you,”

“Shut up.” Brent’s chest heaved a bit with his sigh, and then he finally looked over at me. “This isn’t how I thought that ‘family road trip’ Dad always talked about would go.”

“I know,” I sighed. “Always thought it would be…better than this. After we graduated too, like he said.” 

Brent hummed, staying silent for a minute before saying, “School started three days ago. Mei was telling me about it.” 

God, I had forgotten entirely about school. How was I supposed to even care about it right now? “Think our online classes did too?” 

“They did,” Brent said. “Did you not get the email?” 

“I…” I drew off, feeling the phone burn a hole in the back pocket of my jeans. I barely looked at it since the day I was released from the hospital; I knew if I got on it, I’d break and check out more about the tsunami, and I couldn’t take the image of another flooded house or a funeral with my essence as the victim’s reaper. “I don’t really…use my phone much.” 

Brent looked at me for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” he said, sounding entirely unconvinced. “But yeah, school started Tuesday.”

“I don’t even think I could do any homework right now if you held me at gunpoint,” I admitted

Brent chuffed. “Yeah. Yeah, me too. It almost feels stupid compared to the monsters and Archangel and — fucking time travel. You ever just think about that for a bit?” He asked me, eyes alight. The caffeine was definitely talking. 

But he had a point. “Yeah,” I admitted. Whenever I wasn’t wallowing in some pathetic self pity like my issues mattered more than what I created, I couldn’t help but think about the wild fact that time travel existed. “How do you think he did it?” 

“Probably some overly complicated bullshit that doesn’t exist now,” Brent muttered, light from a lamppost crossing over his face. “Otherwise I feel like Dad would have known about it, ‘cause there’s no way Kessler would’ve been the only time traveler if it was still possible. Or, currently possible.” He huffed, that same look crawling on his face when he was solving a problem or had managed to crack the catcher’s signs on the plate. “Imagine if we could figure that shit out. The things we could do.”

I could think of a list of things I’d love to do if I knew how to time travel — stopping my tsunami being at the top. Brent, though, had different priorities, as after a moment he murmured, “I think I’d try to meet Mom, if I could. Maybe Uncle Brent, Reggie. Dad’s parents.” 

Mom. I forced myself to breathe deeply as my mind pulled forward images of the hallucination when I was dying or dead or whatever; her outfit made of opaque neon and the freckles on her face. The way her eyes shined like Brent’s. 

“Hey, can I…” I drew off; no one but Zeke knew about this and I never took the time to actually describe the hallucination. It felt like a fever dream in retrospect, and yet I needed someone, anyone else to know about it. That’s his mom too. And that’s my twin. I knew I could trust him with anything. “Can I tell you something? You can’t make fun of me,” 

Brent huffed, smiling crookedly. “No promises,” he teased. But when he glanced at me, examining my expression, the smirk fell. “What’s up?” 

I swallowed, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Dad was asleep before turning my head back, leaning in a bit. “I…I saw Mom,” 

Whatever Brent was expecting me to say, it wasn’t that. He blinked a few times in confusion before managing to work out a, “W-what?” 

I explained everything; the field I woke up in, me looking for him first before thinking I’d caught a glimpse of Dad. How I knew this wasn’t where I was before I fell but how I’d gotten there was fuzzy. The forest, the mine, the size of it all. 

And Mom. 

Seeing Mom standing in that drained pond littered with crystal growths. Her face, her words, her smile. I’d told Zeke about this before, sure — but reliving it with Brent was something else entirely. It was a relief to, for a moment, act like it happened and not something I needed to keep secret for fear of either seeming insane or instigating some sort of reaction out of Dad.

By the end, Brent was speechless, chewing so hard on the inside of his cheek I was sure he was going to gnaw a hole straight through it. “It felt so real, Brent,” I murmured, breathing shakily. Retelling every bit of the hallucination nearly made me cry, multiple times. 

Brent was staring at the little bit of mattress between us before he exhaled, looking back up to meet my eyes. “What do you think it was?” He asked solemnly. 

“When…when I talked to Zeke alone about the tar and Cole and all that, he said that it made Cole see stuff too.” I began. “Apparently breathing it in was enough to get the guy to trip — and it got in my blood. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was because of that.” 

He nodded, following my train of thought and adding, “Isn’t it normal for people to imagine dead relatives when they’re dying? They see them standing in the corner of the nursing home or something and think it’s time to leave. Maybe it was something like that?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Sad to think that that hallucination has been one of the best parts of the last two weeks.” 

“Right?” Brent scoffed. “Hasn’t even been a month since we were freaking out about exams.”

I couldn’t help but agree; those dreams of college and comic books seemed so small compared to everything else right now. “Things are so bad now,” I grumbled.

Brent shrugged. “I mean, it’s not all bad. We finally get to see Aunt Sia’s new place."

We hadn’t seen her since the charity gala in Seattle two years ago; between her regular work with COLE and all the added political stuff from the last two years, she’s been too busy to even visit. The New England chapter needed a lot more support than the West Coast, anyways. 

The closer we got to Boston, the more apparent it became how much this entire region was struggling. Boston looked overpopulated between the cars in the street and the homeless on the sidewalk, like it never truly figured out what to do with the refugees from the south before the population started growing again. Every bridge had a plethora of tents underneath it, every soup kitchen had a line a mile long behind it. Brent’s head stayed on a swivel the entire way through the city, and I couldn’t blame him; the buildings here just looked older in a breathtaking way, a testament to this area being one of the first to be settled in America. We both made sure to make jokes towards Dad about a sign pointing towards Rowes Wharf, and watched the skyline with pristine glass and steel buildings reflect back the sunrise as we approached the outskirts of town, turning down more one-way side streets. 

The van lurched forward a bit as Dad pushed on the breaks and parked on the side of the road. There was a row of townhomes nearly touching each other, the alley only small enough to hold trash cans and barely any wiggle room between them, hiding untouched white snow instead of the grayish sludge on the street.

“This is it,” Dr. Sims confirmed Dad’s unasked question. 

As we got out and began fishing for our bags that were stored along the edges of the mattress pad, there was a slamming door, a blur of red and black clothing with fishnets, and a sudden huff from Dr. Sims, who breathlessly laughed. “Hey, Squeaks,” he greeted. 

Aunt Sia was a small woman, but that never stopped her. She took to life like she was bigger than it all, and made it bend to her. That’s what I loved most about her; being able to see someone so small do so much inspired me a lot as someone nearly the same size. I wish I had that much confidence. She almost took down Dr. Sims with her hit, arms wrapped around his waist like she was going to pick him up and carry him back into the house. 

Aunt Sia pulled away, looking up at Dr. Sims with the same face you would an old friend. “I’m so happy to see you!” She chirped, messy bright red updo bouncing with the declaration. Her voice had that softness to it Disney would reserve for its cutest characters, the sorta squeaky tone that would let the main character know hey, I can trust this one. 

Which I guess is why Dr. Sims called her ‘Squeaks,’ though I’d never heard anyone call her that before. I didn’t even know they knew each other personally. 

Aunt Sia turned to Dad, smile going soft. “Delsin,” she gently said. Dad smiled back, and he moved in to give her a hug — and was promptly interrupted in his movement by a quick thwack to the side of the head. 

“Ow!” He complained, looking at Aunt Sia. “What was that for?” 

“Everything that’s happened, and you didn’t think to call me once?” she demanded, now scowling. This was the other side of her I loved; she was a no-nonsense woman. Many arguments between Brent and I when we were younger were quickly extinguished by her ability to see through our bullshit. “I’ve had to find out things from the news or Arthur or—”

“I know, I know,” Dad grumbled, rubbing the spot she hit. “You’ve already yelled at me about it.”

Aunt Sia scoffed. “And I’m going to keep yelling at you about not telling me a thing about my babies,”

At this, she glanced behind him, eyes settling on Brent and I and immediately growing in excitement. “Oh, look at you two!” She cooed, pushing past Dad, who stumbled back a step and rolled his eyes. 

She went to Brent first, regarding him fully. “God, you’ve gotten huge,” she murmured, pulling him into a hug and coming to the middle of his chest. Brent had a huge growth spurt in the time she was gone, and she didn’t look at all happy about the fact as she pulled away from him. “You can’t get any bigger, it makes me feel bad.”

Brent chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he jokingly promised. 

Her eyes traveled over his form to me, somehow getting even softer. “Jeanie,” she smiled, moving to hug me next. 

She was always gentle, in spite of how badass she was. The same woman throwing bricks over bridges at passing DUP convoys was also someone who would hug you softly, like she knew you needed it more than she did. It was weird being a little bit taller than her now, too, but other things never change — like how she still smelled like cinnamon. 

Aunt Sia pulled away and her hands went to cup my face, gray eyes examining me. I knew that look, I knew what she was doing, but it felt less judgmental coming from her. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered before lowering her hands and regarding the group, giving Zeke a nod of acknowledgement before declaring, “Well — who’s hungry?”

“You’ve made a lot of work for me, Delsin,” Aunt Sia chastised, plopping down a bamboo bin on top of all of the COLE paperwork on her round dining table. 

“I know,” he grumbled, unwrapping the bandaging around his arms. 

Brent and I were on the other side of the kitchen, chowing down on breakfast. God, I missed Aunt Sia’s cooking almost as much as I missed her.

Dad glanced over at us. “You act like you’ve never had a homemade meal before,” he jested. Mostly. He did look a little offended.

Brent, mouth full of at least three different types of food, spoke past it to say, “It’s different when it’s Aunt Sia’s food,” 

“Bean, not with your mouth full,” Aunt Sia laughed, smiling so hard the single dimple on her left cheek popped out. Brent turned beet — or maybe bean — red at the childhood nickname and muttered something about being a man that we all ignored.

Dr. Sims moved to finish undoing Dad’s bandaging for him as Aunt Sia and Zeke began pulling things out of the bin. Even more files, a few different flash drives, a couple chips that were probably dead drops. “I kept it all,” she said, looking up at the group. Her eyes seemed to immediately flit to Dr. Sims’ back, like she was talking to him specifically. “I don’t have a way to listen to any of the audio anymore—“ 

“I do,” Zeke said, reassuring her. “In my bag. I’ll go get it,”

“Good! Good, okay then. Delsin, I also still have some of the things from Seattle, too.” She added. 

Dad nodded, “From Project Sanctuary? Or the Conduit Rights League?”

Aunt Sia shrugged. “Both. I used my volunteer time at one to inform the other, so I suppose they go hand-in-hand.”

“Is that how you two met?” I asked suddenly. It was very obvious that they’d known each other from before — it was more a question of how before it was. “You knew Dad as…Delsin? Even back then?”

Aunt Sia looked at Dad — and then glanced at Dr. Sims before letting her eyes return to me. “I did, but it’s not how we met. Eugene introduced me.”

Brent blinked, swallowing away a mouthful of food before asking, “So you knew Dr. Sims then too? Did you all meet in Seattle?”

Dr. Sims chuffed, eyes far away like he was reliving some memory. “Oh, no. Alessia was my closest friend in high school, before everything,”

My eyes went wide, and I glanced between the two of them. “You’re kidding,” They’ve known each other since high school? Since my age? Maybe even earlier?

Aunt Sia put a hand on Dr. Sims’ shoulder, squeezing once. “We met on an old video game,” she informed us, laughing slightly. “Didn’t even know we went to the same school together until I…helped him out.”

“Hard to mistake a voice like hers,” Dr. Sims chuckled. 

“Right, ‘cause that’s what gave it away, not you playing on your computer during lunch.” Aunt Sia rolled her eyes. “But yes, I…I’ve known your father for a while. We did a bit of work together in Seattle.”

Dad was still unwinding his bandaging, saying through the bit in his teeth, “Alessia was the only way I could stay in touch with Eugene, after your mother died.” He let the bandage fall from his mouth as he peeled the brown away from his forearm. “Couldn’t reach out to him normally. Had to be careful.”

I nodded, looking down at the ground; Aunt Sia must have followed Dad out of Seattle when everything happened. It made sense, right? And I’m actually really glad he had some support during that time. Losing your fiancée, becoming a single father, having to go into witness protection — that sounded like hell. At least he had someone.

But still, it all just felt like another lie. 

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the negativity as I instead concentrated on Dad, who was beginning to peel the gauze off of his arms. “Do you need any help?” I offered, setting the plate on the counter behind me. I wanted to be helpful in some way, especially since I couldn’t do anything to prevent this injury in the first place. My dreams were plagued by the gaps that riddled Dad’s skin, only nightmares would paste them to my skin instead. And I wouldn’t be able to fast track the healing like he could.

Dad shook his head. “I’m hoping it’s done healing,” he said. “And if not I shouldn’t need much medicine.” And luckily for him, he was right; the skin on his arms was fully healed, save for some redness and flaking that he shooed away with a quick rub under the faucet, like it was nothing. 

I couldn’t help but look at him in jealousy as he moved to gather all his used bandages and throw them away, arms fresh and recovered. 

Zeke walked back into the room, that little device he used to listen to the other dead drops in his hands. “Here you are, Alessia,” he said, handing it to Aunt Sia, who immediately began trying to plug it into one of Dr. Sims’ computers. 

“So what are you guys hoping to figure out?” Aunt Sia asked as she flipped the USB port of the cord after it refused to plug in. 

Dad grabbed a blueberry pancake and shoved it in his mouth sans syrup, helpfully saying between chews: “Anything.”

Dr. Sims decided to clarify. “Zeke has a journal from Dr. Wolfe. The First Sons scientist, not the reporter. According to him, they had ice soldiers a lot like the ones that attacked Salmon Bay. And they swiped some hard drives from the underground base in New Marais that I’m trying to recover files on.”

Aunt Sia blinked. “You think…whoever this Archangel is, they’re tied to the First Sons somehow?” 

“Well, we’re hoping we’re wrong,” Dad said. He then looked over at Dr. Sims. “Have you gotten anywhere with the hard drives? And the journal?”

Dr. Sims didn’t answer immediately; he turned to one of the computers, opening some sort of program file and clicking away. “Hopefully it finished translating every page of the journal on our ride up here,” he muttered, clicking around some more. A mouse scroll, and he said, “Almost done, it’s on the last few pages.” 

“And the hard drives?” Zeke asked, moving to approve some pop up on Dr. Sims’ computer. 

Dr. Sims glanced at his hand disapprovingly when he touched the ‘enter’ button, taking a moment to respond, “I made pretty decent headway there, but I can’t guarantee we’ll get anything good from it. These drives are both futuristic and from the nineteen-nineties. It's old and yet unlike tech I’ve ever seen. Doesn’t help that the military wiped them. A triple pass of the entire storage space is hard to reverse.” 

Dad flinched at that, like something about the statement mattered more than if it was just some random joe that did the same. “So what’re the chances you’d be able to recover anything?” He asked. 

Dr. Sims sighed. “Right now? Slim.” Dad groaned and Dr. Sims held up a hand. “But, if I could get your support on this…I might have more luck.” 

Aunt Sia looked at the man curiously as he readjusted his glasses. “Isn’t that dangerous?” She asked, immediately concerned. I glanced over at Brent who looked just as confused, answering my unasked question with a shrug — what on Earth were they talking about?

“It is,” Dr. Sims said. “But with Delsin’s help, I should be fine.” 

Aunt Sia didn’t look convinced at all, but she sighed hard. “Okay. Do you need anything?” 

Dr. Sims shook his head. “Just Delsin.” 

Dad moved, taking a spot by Zeke as Aunt Sia stepped aside, arms crossed and with that worried scowl on her face. Dad’s hand came out and he pressed it against the screen, the press of his hand causing the screen to warp and bend as the home screen became lost to pixels that popped like static, crawling off of the screen with each crackle and onto Dad’s skin as he drained video. The screen flickered but didn’t go completely black like I had seen before, motors whirring to turn it back on like it was programmed specifically to fight against the drain. 

Dad moved his hand and nodded to Dr. Sims, who pressed his own palms against the main laptop of his hub and closed his eyes, brow furrowing. The screen grew brighter, the light encapsulating his hands as he glowed blue with it, and there was a flash that disoriented me. “Ah, fuck!” Brent exclaimed from somewhere. 

I blinked hard as sight slowly returned to my eyes, looking around; Dr. Sims wasn’t in the room anymore. Dad was still standing in the same spot, hands out as he kept a stream of pixelated blue between him and the computers. “Wh—” I cut off, looking around a bit just in case I missed Dr. Sims. “Where did…”

“Damn, so that’s what it looks like when he does that?” Zeke asked, looking at the screen. 

I looked around Dad at the computer screen, faltering when I saw it; it was blue like most of Dr. Sims’ video powers, but the screen warped and twisted on itself like an oil spill in a gas station parking lot, bending and churning and swirling. Dr. Sims was here, with files on his computer screen…and now he wasn’t, and the screen looked like something that could be stepped through. “Is…” I drew off, glancing at Aunt Sia, “Is Dr. Sims—”

She nodded, “In the computer, yep.”

Brent looked over at me wide eyed, balking. “He’s in the computer? Like a virus?”

Dad decided to speak this time, “He’s rebuilding the database from the inside out. And I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t run into an irreversible issue and dies, so if I could have some silence, that’d be great.”

Well, jeez, with a risk like that, he didn’t have to ask twice. 

We all stayed quiet as Dad held his hands towards the computer screen, brow furrowed in concentration. Aunt Sia seemed too nervous to not move around, succumbing to a pace that had her walking the five steps back and forth between the back door and the swinging door that led to her living room, combat boots threatening to carve a hole in the tile. 

The fans on the laptop whirred to life, kicking up like a helicopter trying to lift off, and Aunt Sia froze, turning to watch the screen. Brent and I did too; the ambient color shifting of the screen left, the entire thing vibrating from the center outwards. The edges of the screen got brighter, and Brent and I both made sure to look away this time, me turning around completely to face him while he hid his eyes in the crook of his elbow. The blast of energy that happened was so strong that I could feel the wave of warm air, my eyelids going pink with the flash as Dr. Sims reentered the room, huffing like he had just ran a marathon. 

Aunt Sia’s shoes hit the ground so hard the floor vibrated, and I turned in time to see her push Dad aside a bit and wrap an arm around Eugene’s shoulder, demanding, “Are you okay?” 

“Y-yeah, yeah,” He huffed out, forcing a deep breath. He looked behind himself at Dad, “I got somewhere. Didn’t manage to dig up a lot, but I got something. I just need to finish refining it.” 

Dad nodded as his hands fell to his side, relieved. “Good, okay. Hopefully there’ll be something worth it in there.” 

“We can look at this stuff in the meantime,” Zeke decided, moving to begin to pull stuff out of the bamboo bin Aunt Sia had brought out.

Aunt Sia began flipping through the files Zeke set near her, Dad moving to her side. “This is a lot more than I sent you guys,” he said. 

“We just needed you to do the dirtiest work for us,” Aunt Sia said with a hint of a tease to her voice, looking over her shoulder at Dad. 

Dad gave her a sarcastic smile, picking up a random manilla envelope from the pile to open. He was always so comfortable around Aunt Sia — I missed their cohesion over the years since she moved. “What all is in this? Do you remember?”

Aunt Sia trilled her lips. “Not a lot that wasn’t revealed in the UN trial,” she sighs, holding up various papers and flipping through them. “What Augustine subjected the Conduits to, natural RFE, the Ray Sphere. They were trying to figure out something about Conduits, but…we didn’t figure out what before Raymond Wolfe died. You went and tore down the DUP and so many files disappeared.”

Brent, food finally finished, decided he wanted to remind everyone he was in the room by saying, “So all the messed up things they did were erased?”

Dad held up a finger. “Hold on — the Ray Sphere?” he asked. 

Aunt Sia nodded. “You’ve gotta remember, whatever the First Sons were working on in New Marais? They got it. And that includes—” Aunt Sia cuts off, looking through the files in her hands and then two on the table before handing one to Dad. “—the Ray Sphere prototype.”

Dad took the file, thumbing through the pages as Brent and I did the worst job at trying to be discreet while looking over his shoulder. 

I could remember the Ray Sphere Zeke showed Brent and I, the mock up that was in that journal. The near perfect roundness, the little indent like the crater that held the scary secret weapon on the Death Star imprinted on its dome. This? This was nothing like it. It was a contraption held together by wire and hope, more pill-shaped than round and with two handles on each side as if to steer it. I wasn’t close enough to read the notes, but Dad seemed to find something that shocked him. “‘Unrefined raythium mined from the Earth’s core?’” he read aloud, looking to Aunt Sia for confirmation. 

Brent’s brow furrowed. “Raythium? Like the stuff in the Earth’s core?”

“By the core,” Dr. Sims corrected. “It’s what remains of Theia when it crashed into Earth eons ago.”

“It’s what causes the Ray Field too, right?” I asked, moving to sit at the table opposite the adults. I remembered that from my Earth Science exam two weeks ago; the radioactive remains of Theia were close enough to the core to be pulled into the whole process that made Earth’s electromagnetic field, the churning with the iron and stuff in the center making the Ray Field. 

Dr. Sims nodded, “And what Conduits use to convert energy into their conduvergence matter.”

“I still don’t get how that works,” I admitted with a mutter. 

Dad looked like he was working through some sort of math problem in his mind. “So the First Sons were…trying to use raythium to activate Conduits? Like MacGrath?”

“Not Cole,” Zeke chimed in, moving to lean against a wall. “He got the end product when they perfected it and started using rayacite instead. But the Blast cores Cole used to ‘power up?’ Those came from New Marais and Bertrand’s testing.”

“Wonder if that’s why Bertrand’s power was so messed up,” Dad hummed. “If he used raythium to activate his power, he basically nuked himself with radiation. Isn’t raythium really radioactive?”

Dr. Sims leaned back in the kitchen chair. “It is. If Earth’s geodynamo process was any different, and a fraction of the radioactive RFE in the core leaked out, there’d be no life on Earth.”

Brent and I glanced at each other, grimacing; that was a fun fact we could have lived without. 

“Let’s just…start with what we know,” Aunt Sia said, turning to her bin after an awkward pause and digging in it. Eventually she pulled out a small manilla folder with some sort of crinkly window on it, revealing a dead drop a lot like the ones Zeke kept in his way-less-organized ammo box. “Here, Angel, put this in.” 

She held it out and Dr. Sims took it from her, him taking long enough to play it for me to look up at Brent as he mouthed Angel? at me with a raised eyebrow. I guess they really did know each other. 

The speakers on the leftmost laptop crackled a bit, the computer’s motors picking up as the dead drop began to play. “Cole’s Gift: Short Lived or Just Beginning, by Raymond Wolfe.” The voice began, firm and lyrical like any other reporters’. “It’s common knowledge that when Cole MacGrath died he not only cured the plague that was sweeping the world, but took every Conduit with him to his grave. What we didn’t know was that this would be temporary. Within a year, rumors emerged of the return of the Conduit gene. Some believed that the plague had survived and mutated, this time creating Conduits rather than killing normals. Some believed that not all the Conduits were actually killed, that a few remained and were somehow able to spread their abilities.” 

I shook my head. That didn’t sound right—how do you spread a gene? Besides the obvious procreational way. 

“I’ve personally looked into both of these urban legends and have yet to find any proof of either of them.” Raymond Wolfe said, agreeing with me. “Which is why I’m here in Seattle. I believe the DUP know more than they are letting on.”

The recording stuttered short there, Brent saying what I was thinking: “That’s it? That was his report? That was nothing,”

Dad’s eyes screwed shut like it was painful for him to think. “I remember Raymond saying something about…the DUP having a hand in the gene?” He asked like he wasn’t sure, opening his eyes to look between Aunt Sia and Zeke. “Did you guys ever learn what he was after?” 

Aunt Sia shook her head. “He died before he got anywhere.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “That’s nice,” he said, tone suggesting it wasn’t at all. 

Zeke ignored the jib, saying, “Raymond found me, long before we took this to Project Sanctuary. Came knocking on my door in the swamp and nearly found out what the business end of a twelve gauge felt like. Apparently when Wolfe, the doctor, was captured and the Militia bombed his lab, it triggered some sorta failsafe in his computer to email Raymond a goodbye letter. He showed me it.” After a moment, Zeke continued, “It admitted to everything he did. Shit Cole and I didn’t even know about. Some sorta final attempt at soothing his subconscious or something.

“He mentioned Cole in it, his one attempt at redemption. Everyone knows the heroes, not the sidekicks, so it took a while for him to find me. Three years, to be exact. The DUP had started putting people away in droves and he thought they had a hand in the fact that they were coming back to begin with. Asked me to help — tell him what I knew from back then with Wolfe and Cole.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “And?” 

Zeke sighed. “I told him to fuck off before I used him for chum in a gator trap.” 

Whatever Dad was expecting, it wasn’t that; he blinked hard twice before eventually asking, dumbfounded, “What?”

“I didn’t want anything to do with it at first.” Zeke admitted. “I was mourning and pissed at the world. My best friend did everything he could to fix what Kessler started and not only did it not matter, but they were making him into some sorta villain.” He looked at Delsin. “You know what that’s like.”

Dad just seemed to relent with a single nod. “By the time I agreed to work with him, he was sure he was onto something bigger,” Zeke continued. “It was a whole conspiracy. Curdun Cay was impossible to find, but apparently he had a group of hackers that managed to break through once. Barely got into a database for experiments before the FBI were at their door.”

I heard of the testing done in Curdun Cay long before I knew Dad was Delsin. Everyone did. It was one of those blemishes the history teachers would breeze over in class and you’d have to learn after seeing a survivor’s interview on television or some post on social media. I learned about it from a Wikipedia rabbit hole when writing a report on Delsin Rowe’s tag art and importance of civilian empowerment. 

Dad’s art. Dad. 

And apparently, Dad seemed just as familiar with those stories as he sighed. “That could’ve been anything,” he said solemnly. 

“It could’ve been,” Zeke agreed. “But you don’t think she had a reason for doing what she did?”

No one had a good retort to that. 

Dad’s eyes traveled thoughtfully from Zeke’s face to the bin Aunt Sia had brought out and he stepped forward, digging around in it for a minute and rejecting two different dead drop sleeves before finding what he was looking for. He pulled the little chip out of its folder and handed it to Aunt Sia, who put it into the player without question. 

“Report by Augustine.” Her voice was softer than anything I heard from her on Christmas eve—but it still sent a jolt down my spine so violent I jerked in my seat a bit, hair on the back of my neck standing on end. “While the inciting incident that supposedly claimed the lives of all the Conduits was in fact a lie, it was not one created by the DUP. Conduits did live through Cole’s Gift, myself included.”

I hated how tense her voice made me. I hated how I could hear waves roaring in my ears despite being in the middle of Hyde Park. I glanced over at Brent, who was trying his hardest to scowl a hole into the fridge’s door before looking down at the table, trying to shake the tension from my shoulders. Not that that helped; all it did was turn my attention to the cast on my arm — the cuts and scrapes still healing from the car crash and the monster chase — and it just made my stomach churn more. 

After a breath, Augustine continued, “Instead, we used the calm to build, learn, and prepare. We got better at early detection and collection. Curdun Cay’s facilities were upgraded and we built an army. The events here in Seattle will ensure the DUP will be funded for the foreseeable future.” 

A hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. My head snapped back and the sight of red hair made my heart stutter until I realized it was too red, with exposed black roots — not wild and gray streaked and more auburn than cherry. Aunt Sia looked down at me in concern as I tried to force my breathing to steady, hand moving from my shoulder to rub my back reassuringly.

“This will allow me to expand our facilities abroad.” Augustine confided in the recording in a hushed tone, like they were sharing secrets under a duvet at a sleepover. “We have made an excellent headway on establishing a permanent science facility in Australia. The work we’ve already done there using Dr. Sebastian Wolfe’s notes on the Conduit is…” She drew off, breathing deeply, “Well, awe inspiring, even to me.”

The recording cut short right there, and we were all left in silence for a considerable few seconds. 

“‘Wolfe’s notes on the Conduit,’” Dad eventually asked, looking up at Zeke. “What notes?” 

Zeke looked to Aunt Sia, who sighed. “He thought Augustine was trying to influence the gene to create herself a little army,” she began, “And that, since the DUP had information on the Ray Sphere and RFE, that she was planning this mass event that would have activated Conduits everywhere, make it impossible for the world to ignore Conduits.” 

Dad huffed. “She was locking up every gene positive person she could find,” he pointed out. “You believed that?”

“Yeah.” Aunt Sia responded, that firm finality in her voice that always lingered in its tone whenever she refused to hear otherwise. “I did. Because when I heard about what happened in there? I refuse to believe it was just for shits and giggles. Augustine was up to something, you can’t tell me she wasn’t.”

Dad didn’t seem convinced. “When I fought her, she said she was just…trying to keep them outta the hands of the government,” he started, brow screwed tight as he tried to access the memory from that time. “That the military was the reason they died in the beginning, and she was the only thing keeping them safe.”

Aunt Sia cocked an eyebrow at Dad. “You believed that?” she returned with the same doubtful tone he had earlier. 

Dad faltered as he considered her words, and Aunt Sia stepped forward, a hand going to Dr. Sims’ shoulder. I hadn’t noticed it till this very moment, but it seemed like Brent and I weren’t the only ones bothered by Augustine’s voice; Dr. Sims’ jaw was tense, the fingertips of his right hands sort of tapping against the keys like he wanted to distract himself with typing but couldn’t think of the words. “After everything Eugene told me, it’s—I can’t believe that she didn’t have some sort of ulterior motive.” Dad opened his mouth to retort and Aunt Sia continued without waiting, “Someone that cares about Conduits doesn’t torture them to see what they can do. They don’t experiment on them, and they sure as hell don’t train them to kill. Fetch wasn’t the only one she did that too.”

Dad’s shoulders immediately tensed when Aunt Sia mentioned Mom, looking off like the mere mention of what happened then made him want to slew a string of curse words. He took a moment to run his hand over his face before asking, “So, what? She was slowly building some sort of army?”

Aunt Sia sighed, shrugging. “I’m not sure. I can’t say I fully believed the idea, because I didn’t. I still don’t. But she was doing something in that little ivory castle of hers, I can promise you that. We just don’t know what.” 

Dr. Sims suddenly sat up in his chair, eyes scanning over the entirety of his screen as he said, “We may have just found out,” before looking over his shoulder at Dad. “I can access the hard drives now.”

Dad moved to Dr. Sims’ shoulder as Aunt Sia’s hand moved to grip the back of the chair I was sitting in, tense. “What d’ya got?” Zeke asked, leaned against a back wall. 

“A lot of…corrupted files…” Dr. Sims hummed, hands working overtime as he typed away. I couldn’t see what he was doing but Brent could, his eyes moving from scowling and angry to a bit wide as he watched Dr. Sims do his thing. “Maybe I’ll have more luck in the network file share…”

Dr. Sims continued his typing, brow furrowed as he dug in the computer’s data mine, looking for gold, the screen reflecting in his glasses; I couldn’t make out the words, but what I could see were the multiple popup windows and various loading bars, Dr. Sims looking like someone straight out of some cliché hacker scene. 

But white suddenly overtook his glasses as something bigger popped up on screen, lines of text spawning faster than he could read it. Dad leaned forward, lips moving ever so slightly as he silently read off of the screen. 

Zeke was the first to crack. “What did you find?” He asked. 

Dad and Dr. Sims shot each other a glance. “Notes from the First Sons,” Dr. Sims hummed, reading further. “About power transfer, forced Conduits, RFE exposure, and…evolution.” 

“Evolution?” Aunt Sia asked, “Like the gene evolving to survive the RFI?” 

Dad shook his head. “No—evolution to make a Conduit all powerful.” 

[robotslenderman]

Aside from Sullivan, are any of your other vampires from the Sabbat/Formerly Sabbat?

LET ME INTRODUCE YOU TO THE VYKOSOVICHES~!

Introducing: Grigori Verenich. As a Russian scholar in Oxford he was Embraced by Sascha Vykos for his research skills, and discarded when no longer useful. Needless to say, he was one of the lucky ones, but his experiences with them fucked him up nonetheless. He poured his time into learning blood magic and was often mistaken for Tremere, which he delighted in because he knew it'd piss off Sascha, but also not enough for them to actually destroy him over it.

I don't know much about his time between then and meeting Norman, but he met Norm in the roaring twenties in Boston. Norm was almost ready to graduate medical school to become a doctor, and he was also a boxer. When Grigori Embraced him Norm took one look at the Sabbat and went "holy shit fuck THIS" and noped out. Grigori stalked him for a few decades because he didn't really know what else to do with this kid that actually has morals, and their relationship was pretty tense. Norm basically divorced himself as much from his Tzimisce heritage as he could. Much like how Grisha was frequently mistaken for Tremere, Norm was usually assumed to be a Gangrel.

Their relationship was healed by having a baby, believe it or not -- in 1980s New York City Grigori met Anastasia Petrova Sokolova, who was an exceptional artist and sculptor at an art school. Grigori went to Norm "hey, you're a good anatomist but you're shit at Vicissitude, check out who I met who'd be awesome at it" and introduced them. Norm quickly realised that no matter what his opinion was over the matter that Grisha was going to Embrace her, so he agreed to stick around to watch over her, at least for a while, and ended up agreeing to do the deed himself.

Nastasya ended up being the counterbalance in the relationship and Norm and Grigori got along a lot better with her influence. She was, however, largely sheltered from the majority of the Sabbat, and is shit at playing politics. They do take her to Sabbat events but keep her away from the edgelordy stuff; Grisha knows that Norm wouldn't stand for it, and thinks they're a bunch of tryhards anyway.

The three of them lived together long after Nastasya was supposed to be released. They do not have a vinculum, but do not need to. They mostly see themselves as Noddists who are "true Sabbat" and haven't lost sight of the underlying founding principles of the Sabbat that eventually got taken over by edgelords and sadists -- they adhere to the main beliefs of being anti-establishment and anti-Antediluvians, and also varying levels of vampire supremacy.

These nights they live in Staten Island in New York City. They mostly ignored the Battle of New York (though Grisha did participate a bit). They have a treaty with the local Camarilla (which Hellene would sooner die than admit the existence of) and a good relationship with the local Anarchs, too. In exchange for certain stipulations, including Nastasya's services as a Vicissitudist, the Camarilla don't kick them out of NYC. The Anarchs also leave them alone because Grisha has played the three of them up as being the only thing holding the Camarilla back, and absolutely leans hard on the "childe of Vykos" thing, using his blood magic skills and Nastasya's Vicissitude to give the three of them a far more terrifying reputation than they deserve. They had no idea Callihan was blood bound, but when he gets replaced by someone who seems to have the exact same ideas they definitely do get suspicious about it...

Despite their reputation, these nights the three of them are super chill and laid back and tend to just fuck around in their house leeching off Nastasya, lmao. Grigori breaks into the Tremere Chantry for fun to borrow their books (it's not stealing if he gives them back), which drives Aisling Sturbridge apeshit. Norm, on the other hand, spends most of his time in his Gangrel identity hanging out with Anarchs. Nastasya is the only one of the three of them who is actually actively working, lmao. Norm and Grigori just stuck their money in investments decades ago; the three of them are "don't have to keep track of how much money I have" kind of wealthy. They have friends in all sects. After a while, post-Dracon, Sascha even starts mentoring Nastasya in Vicissitude.

[baddieladdie]

FO4 Companions react to Sole's chem addiction

@falloutchicken Alright! Finished it~ Sorry it's a little long, I had an idea for a different format style and I ran with it - but I love how it turned out <3

tw: addiction, drugs, trauma, chem-use as an addiction

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While trading at the Diamond City market, the Sole Survivor of vault 111 overheard folks whispering over their steaming noodle bowls about an abandoned shopping center filled with valuable loot. The only barrier between them and the score of a lifetime were the supermutants inside. The gossiping locals didn’t have the fire power for such an altercation, but the sole survivor did. And they certainly would not be going alone.

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Selecting your companion:

Cait: I’ll come, but just don’t make me wear anything stupid

Curie: “Oh! Shopping!” She mused delightfully, her voice ringing with pleasure.

Codsworth: How delightful, mum! I do so miss shopping expeditions and, please pardon my saying, but your jumpsuit is looking rather drab. Off we go, miss!

Deacon: Sounds like my kind of dig! I could always use some new disguises.

McCready (sarcastically): Oh, we better hurry. I hear clothes practically fly off the shelves with their discounts.

Piper: Jesus, Blue. Sounds dangerous. Something wrong with the clothes you already have?

Preston: Absolutely, General. I wouldn’t want you facing this on your own.

Hancock: *heh* Thought you’d never ask. Let’s get the fuck out of Diamond city.*grumbles, muttering under his breath* Never understood how these bigots can sleep at night…

Danse: I advise against putting yourself in unnecessary danger. The gossip of strangers isn’t worth risking your life, but I’ll be damned if I let you face this alone.

Nick Valentine: Well, if it’s worth your time kid, than it’s worth mine *grabs his hat and coat before locking the detective agency door behind them* Lead the way

X6-88: I agree. We might find something useful. A large shopping center may have valuable pre-war goods. Right behind you, ma’am.

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The Sole Survivor walks out of Diamond City with their companion, combat shotgun in hand. Though well armored and stocked with plenty of ammunition, they carefully made their way south through the ruins of Boston. Sole and their companion had not walked far from the Boston Police Rationing Site when they heard the unmistakable sounds of feral ghouls, clumsily kicking tin rubbish and bones left on the broken streets. Sole and their companion crouched behind the remains of a building’s wall. Daring a look, sole peaked above the wall, only to notice the dirty, ruined faces but unmistakable faces of her pre-war neighbors, Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue. Sole immediately felt sick and dizzy watching the two ghouls stumble down the street aimlessly, eyes white and staring at nothing. Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue were expecting a child as well. Sole had spent hours in their kitchen, chatting about the excitement of parenthood. They swapped ideas over coffee and pie. 200 years after the bombs dropped, while sole was safe in a vault, her neighbors had been turned into radiation monsters, void of the humanity they used to possess. Alive in a physical sense, but her neighbors were lost. Sole had no choice but to put them down and out of their miserable experience. It’s what they would have wanted…

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Your companion reacts:

Cait: Jesus Christ, not a way to go. At least you had the ‘ol Vault-Tec treatment, eh? *Cait notices tears filling in sole’s eyes, rapidly decides to change her approach* I - er - um…..I know this must be difficult for you…I…I am here if you need to talk, or something.

Curie: One must wonder, what causes the deterioration of this ghoul condition? Some "ghouls" are in possession of their mental faculties. Others are not. I wonder why Mr. Donoghue and Mrs. Donoghue became feral while many other ghouls have maintained their mental capacities [Sole - Those were my neighbors, Curie. Not a science experiment] My apologies, sir/madam, I didn't mean to offend you. Grief can be managed with a well balanced diet, exercise, and spending time with loved ones!

Codsworth: Oh dear *emotional processors cracking through his speakers* Is that…the Donoghues? Mum, I’m…I’m so sorry *offers a hankie*

Deacon: Well, that was terrible *sigh* radiation, you unbelievable bastard.[notices how upset sole is] Ah..Look, I’m sorry. This…I mean, what you’re going through, I can’t even imagine. If you wanna talk or something…[trails off]

McCready: Oh man…*He pauses, letting the information sink in regarding sole’s neighbors* I’m really sorry. We can turn around if you want. That department store isn’t going anywhere. 

Piper: You okay, [sole]? You seem pretty shaken up. Why don’t we rest for a bit.

Preston: Oh, I’m really sorry, General. *he removes his hat, holding to his chest, tired eyes looking away in respect* Take all the time you need. I can help you bury the bodies if you would like to give them a proper burial.

Hancock: Ah shit. Old neighbors, huh? Hey, let's just get outta here. I hate seein’ you so broken up like this.

Danse: You’re awfully quiet. Want to tell me what’s on your mind? [listens intently to what Sole says about the feral ghouls they had recognized and killed] I see. Take as long as you need, soldier. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.

Nick Valentine: “You seemed to recognize those two, who were they?” [response from sole] “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” he spoke softly, placing a supportive synth hand on sole’s arm.

X6-88: Those were your neighbors? My condolences.

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The sole survivor heaves in grief, but is eventually able to continue on, intrigued by the elaborate wooden welcome sign to Fairline Hill Estates. They had toured the gated community long ago when looking for a house. Sanctuary Hills, the houses of tomorrow, had captured their attention more, with all their technologically advanced features the estates lacked. But all that remained now were the corpses of friends turned into monsters from nuclear radiation and two lazy yao guai, chewing on the bloody bones of rotting brahmin.

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Your companion reacts:

Cait: Oh! Such fascinating creatures! Shall we get a closer look? I wish to study the effects of radiation on these beasts

Curie: You’ve got be fucking kiddin’ me. yao guai? That’s the last thing we need right now.

Codsworth: Oh dear. You don’t think they can see us, right mom?

Deacon: That is disgusting *he giggles* How do you want to play this, boss?

McCready: *Chuckles gleefully, silently pulling out his well polished rifle* This is where the fun begins.

Piper: Well that’s just great. Breaking news: Diamond City reporter torn to ribbons by a giant, stupid, irritated bear.

Preston: Dammit, I think we're in trouble here *pulls out his musket, at the ready* I’m with you, general.

Hancock: We ain’t alone *drops shotgun ammunition into the barrels of his gun* Those yao guai are mean bastards, they hit hard. Just lemme know when you’re ready and I got your back.

Danse: Yao guai..Not to worry, we’ll send those monsters right back to hell [Charges, heavily clad in power armor, laser weapons firing away, breaking the silence of a sleepy afternoon] Die, you godless heathen! Die!

Nick Valentine: There’s no getting out of this without a fight *loads his 10mm with a satisfying click* You ready, kid?

X6-88: Good, I was starting to feel a little bored. You ready to engage, [sole]? This shouldn’t take long

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The Sole Survivor and their trusted companion gawk at the yao guai corpses, bleeding from their many fatal bullet holes. Sole sighs in exhaustion, dropping to squat and holding their face in hands.Their companion rubs their back sympathetically and suggests the tempting idea of spending the night at Fairline Hills Estates. The area was relatively safe now, with Mr. Donoghue & Mrs. Donoghue and the yao guais dead. Keenly aware of the mental torment they both witnessed and given Sole’s fragile state, their trusted companion led the way to the southeast house. Sole collapses weakly on the sunken couch and watches as their companion wanders into the brokedown kitchen to prepare dinner for the night. They ate the meal peacefully without many words to be said about the days’ events. The sole survivor turned down every request to talk about the killing of her neighbors and the close call they had with the yao guai in what used to be a highly sought after gated community. Their companion accepted that sole just wasn’t ready to talk about. They offer to take the first watch to let the sole survivor get some much needed rest.

Once their trusted companion shuts the door to the house to begin their watch, the sole survivor slinks away to the attached garage. They had noticed the chemistry station earlier and knew exactly how to use it. There were piles of dead leaves everywhere, a natural fertilizer. Using the leaves along with the plastic from some junk lying around the house, sole knew they could craft jet - lots of jet. Sole gets to work, tinkering feverishly at the chemistry station, sweating from the withdrawal and desperate for relief. The Sole Survivor sighed in contented satisfaction, admiring their own craftsmanship. Not even bothering to step from the chemistry station, they begin taking hit after hit of jet. Sighing happily as the pain of memories and her broken heart eased into comfortable numbness. Sole wanted to take jet until they couldn’t remember who they were, much less what had happened to them. Sole stumbled back slightly, the room a spiraling blur. No matter, they take another hit and watch the world slowly rise until they felt their back hit the floor. The stared blankly at the ceiling, surrounded by empty jet cartridges. Hearing the loud THUD sole’s companion rushed into the room, fearing the worst (an intruder, a kind of murderous threat) only to find in their horror, a close friend in indescribable pain.

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Your companion reacts:

Cait: “*tsk* Havin’ a good time now, are we?” Cait teased, pointing on the jet in sole’s hand as they slouched against the chemistry station. Cait’s eyes scanned the scene further, noticing the familiar signs of a serious addiction problem.Given the amount of empty jet canisters scattered on the floor around sole, it was a miracle they were even still alive.] I think you’ve got a wee bit of a drug problem, [sole]. Which ain’t right, especially after everythin’ you watched me go through. Why would you let yourself get hooked on the stuff? Can’t believe you’re doin’ this to yourself?!” She shouted, breathing deepling like sole had taught her to calm down. “You’re an idiot, [sole]. But I’ll help ya, just like how you helped me. Let’s go, we’re getting you cleaned up”

Curie: She stares curiously, “I have more than enough data on the physiological effects of chems, there is no need to provide me with more data, sir/madam.” She notices the dilated pupils, racing heart beat, the sweating… “Are you alright, sir/madam? I believe you should see a doctor, we cannot treat your condition here.”

Codsworth: “Are you well, mum?!” Codsworth panicked, desperately trying to assess the situation. A Mister Handy bot was designed for household duties, not crises.

Deacon: Wow, looks like you’ve been partying pretty hard with out me. Miiiight want to lay off cause I think you’ve enough.

McCready: *Slaps the empty get out of sole’s hand, they glare at him angrily, demanding an explanation* That crap is gonna rot your mind. This stops right now (Dad-mode activated)

Piper: Ooooookay (nabs all the empty jet cartridges) I think you’ve had enough, Blue. (Stares at the insane amount of jet in the room). I think we better get you to a doctor. I just hope it’s not too late (she sighs heavily, emotion tightening around her neck hotly) This is why I wanted to talk, Blue! So you - you wouldn’t do anything stupid! Arg! What a mess. Come on, (she lifts sole up) let’s get you to a doctor.

Preston: This is how it ends, [sole]. You keep this up and I’ll have to bury a friend. The Minutemen need you. I need you. And you don’t need those chems. You have people who love and care about you.

Hancock: “Woah!” Hancock froze, staring at the used jet scattered about the room. 2..4..6..three over there, that makes 9…pile of 5 in the corner makes…14? 14! How are they alive? Hancock glanced at the sole survivor, slumped pitifully against the chemistry station, empty jet still in hand. They just kept staring at his boots, completely unresponsive, but he could see the steady rise and fall of their chest with each shallow breath. Hancock began to sweat, panic sweeping in, staring at sole’s chest. What if it they stop…what if they breathing stops - he’s mayor, not fucking doctor.”H-hey, stay with me, now! Look,” He turn’s sole’s face to look at him only to be greeted with dull and empty eyes. “Hey, sunshine. It’s me, remember? Hancock. D-don’t go, you can’t do this to me. I need you, please. Don’t leave me alone.” Tears welled in the crevices of Hancok’s face as he sat beside the sole survivor, holding their hand. He gasped as a familiar smooth hand rested on his. “I could never forget you, Hancock.” The mayor choked back sobs, gripping sole’s hand like it could fade away any moment. “Don’t you ever do this again. Never trip alone. We’re getting you help. Like, now now.” He takes sole’s arm and wraps it around his shoulder’s, pulling them to their feet.

Danse: [Stares in stunned silence mixed with disgust and concern] He crouches beside sole, pushing the drugs away, and whispered angrily, “How can you fight when your brain’s clouded with those drugs? You’re going to get yourself killed. And I’m not just gonna stand here and watch brotherhood’s best, my friend, die unnecessarily. We’re getting you clean and that’s an order.”

Nick Valentine: “SHIT!” Nick hissed under his breath. He'd see a lot of folks at their worst in his line of work. He’d seen this scene too many times before. A case closed in an overdose. There were even some rare occasions where he found Mayor Hancock after a few too many chems. But usually, there were warning signs. How could he call himself a detective when he couldn’t even save his friend from themselves. Nick crouches beside the body, holding their limp wrist in his. A pulse, weak but still there. “Alright, now you’ve done it, kid” He scooped up the sole survivor into his arms. “We need to get you to a doc.”

X6-88: Oh god…[composes himself] You don’t look so good sir/ma’am, Might want to lay off the chems for a while. I’ll be throwing these away (disposes of all the chems the Sole Survivor made and had on their person)

The Sole Survivor wakes up in a familiar bed at the Castle, a stack of addictol was left on the nightstand. This was certainly a more permanent detour to Fallon’s Department store than they planned for. Sole’s companion apologizes for moving them and delaying their trip to the department store. But sole’s close friend promises profusely that it was and always will be for the sole survivor’s own good. They promise again and again that they do not feel any different about them and still deeply appreciate the relationship that they share. So much so, they couldn’t bare to lose their friend to addiction. After some time and regular check-ins with the Minutemen Surgeon General, The Sole Survivor will finally leaves thre Castle and continuing their journey.

[hrodvitnon]

Abraxasverse Headcanons - Infrastructural/socio/political consequences

Some thoughts and headcanons of mine, this time about some of the possible lasting impacts of the post-2014 major Titan crises on humanity’s infrastructure and zeitgeist. ;) (Bear in mind, I’m not an expert on politics or the military myself.)

(1) After the Mass Awakening, the U.S.’s military DON’T have the unexplained recovery that they seem to have had in GvK with the naval fleet. Having thrown all their home-based personnel except for last reserves and those out of contact at Washington D.C. and Boston, and having lost the majority of those forces to Ghidorah and Rodan’s counterattacks and to Ghidorah’s Boston wing-lightning respectively, while most of their abroad forces including those at Monarch outposts were likely called to assist the local militaries in trying to push back the other Titans on the other continents… After the Battle at Boston concludes, the U.S. military’s total personnel is probably reduced from over one million to just somewhere in the thousands - and even with a surge in new recruits joining up after the world caught a hard glimpse of the existential threat that Titans like Ghidorah can pose, it takes the U.S. at least a decade to built its military personnel back up to anything NEAR a pre-Mass Awakening level.

(1.5) Ghidorah’s involvement makes the U.S. military’s decimation a lot worse than that which other superpower countries’ militaries suffered - other countries just had to contend with one or two baseline Titans rampaging on each on their respective soils. So in the meantime after the Mass Awakening, the U.S. has officially lost its position as the world’s number one military superpower, and it probably isn’t even the second or third biggest military power comparatively speaking at this time. The good news is that almost every country is much too focused on global cooperation against future Titan threats to even try starting fights with each-other anymore.

(2) Sooner or later, once people at large catch on that the worst of the Titan clashes and incidents usually occur in cities, I can imagine LOTS of people will start emptying out of cities and moving into the countryside (areas of it that aren’t claimed by territorial Titans that is) and into more rural population centres. The cities are left HALF-abandoned but are still standing, ripe for being toppled by Titan battles. I don’t know whether this exodus will last, or if it’ll reverse due to major Titan clashes still finding their ways to people in the countryside.

(3) After the Mass Awakening, Monarch have lost at least half their global personnel. Whilst there are a lot of people willing to sign up with them after the Mass Awakening, Monarch are in dire need of new personnel. To the point where, I can imagine, some of Monarch’s higher-ups who didn’t learn anything from Emma Russell take a “quantity over quality” approach to new recruitment and evaluation requirements. Which could enable an infiltration of Monarch by a nefarious lot down the line, or it could enable a Renegade Splinter Faction forming and stealing some of their resources with them when they split.

(4) Birth rates after the Mass Awakening haven’t fallen much at all globally speaking, but it’s widely believed that that ISN’T a sign that people at large are feeling hopeful about bringing children into a post-Mass Awakening world of Titans, where hundreds of thousands seem to die every several years in a crisis-level Titan conflict that wipes a city off the map. Rather, there are rumours that the Titans’ radiation affecting humans is massively bolstering human fertility much like it affects other life in the environment and that’s making it a lot easier to conceive, so the whole thing balances out.

---

All interesting thoughts! I imagine the influx of new Monarch recruits would even result in Titanics (Titan cultists for anyone in need of a reminder) joining their ranks; this could result in anything from friendly hangouts that may or may not end up in religious pamphlets being found all over the place (”The Church of Old Gods wants YOU!”) to groups secretly meeting up for practices after-hours a la DOOM 2016 but with less Hell Bullshittery, to some loonies trying to replicate Dr. Graham’s ascension to Abraxas under the delusion that mankind are children of the old gods and divinity is their evolutionary birthright. Never a dull moment at Monarch.

[odinsblog]

So I took an unexpected trip down memory lane today. Something I haven’t thought about for almost two decades…

After work, I decided to avail myself of the nearest happy hour with some acquaintances, and me being me, ofc the conversation eventually turned to politics (generally a no no for me, but what can I say - blame it on the alcohol, right?)

Someone I’ve known for some years now, a white person, abruptly asked me if I had ever seen an actual burning cross before. If I’m being honest here, my initial instinct was to be angry at them because we don’t know each other like that. We were in a large group, and while I know he didn’t intend to, it’s “innocent” questions like that that put Black people on the spot. Kinda like asking the only Black student in a classroom full of white people what their thoughts are on slavery. Don’t get me wrong, some exceptionally gifted Black people would knock that question outta the ballpark. But many of us, caught unawares, might struggle to find all the right words. Even though I’ve taken many such public speaking classes to prepare me for just such an eventuality (extemporaneous public speaking is part of my job, currently), not everyone is prepared to be an on-demand public speaker. And definitely not on such personal subjects.

Anyway, I was actually kinda vibing with the mood in the bar and I didn’t really feel like making a scene, so decided to pull my “friend” aside to answer him.

And here’s where I got dragged down memory lane.

I was in high school. I don’t remember the exact year, but it was before I graduated, so that puts it somewhere (maybe a year or two) before 2002.

I went to the great (racist) state of Alabama, and the city of Shorter, for a week long visit with my then-girlfriend and her folks. Absolutely NOTHING could have prepared me for the abject poverty I had read about but only then witnessed firsthand.

I was born in Florida. I literally have memories of walking blocks and blocks barefoot on hot asphalt to go to the nearest corner store. BUT … Imma city boy at heart. Because of my father’s job, we were constantly moving all up and down the West coast of the country. I’ve lived and gone to schools for at least a year in major metropolitan hubs like NYC, Boston, Raleigh, DC, Hartford, Philly, Atlanta, and Nawlins*, etc. When I arrived in Shorter, it was the first time I had ever seen dirt roads that were the major routes between (Black) inner cities. The very first night when I got there, THE FUCKING SHERIFF (literally the only white person I saw in my week long visit) made it a point to stop by my gf’s moms house because, “I heard we were getting a fancy out of towner here today,” and even though I wasn’t a full grown man yet, I can still remember the feeling of incredulity and utter disbelief I had in those few minutes of being interrogated by the mf sheriff, who btw, arrived at my gf’s moms house with his lights on and sirens blaring. If you’re wondering, yes, he was white, and if I had to do a sketch of him today, it would look EXACTLY like the sheriff from that old tv show with Bo, Luke and Daisy Duke. “Dukes of Hazard,” I think.

And later that evening, the first time I had to go to relieve myself, I asked my hosts where the bathroom was, half asleep , the youngest brother, a kid of about 9 or 10, took me by the hand, led me to the back door, and pointed into the darkness at some weird looking treehouse a few yards from the house’s back door—except there was no tree and whatever it was that I was looking at was on the ground. I said, “No, where is your BATHROOM?,” and still half asleep, again he pointed at the weird looking tree house and said, “That’s it.”

I walked out, still not knowing exactly what to expect when I got closer to whatever it was in their backyard, and when I got close enough to recognize the smell, I stopped dead in my tracks … was this … waitaminute … is this an OUTHOUSE??!! I held my nose and cautiously opened the door, and sure enough, yes: it really was an outhouse. Like for real. In real life. I didn’t want to be rude, but there was no fucking way in hell I was going to take a dump in an outhouse. I went back to the house and awkwardly asked if there was another bathroom, and I was a little bit amused when he said, “Yeah, if you want, I can walk you over to the neighbor’s house and you can use their outhouse.” It turned out that everyone in the hood had outhouses.

I’m not sharing this to dunk on Alabama, it’s just what happened and it was all incredibly jarring for me. Shorter, Alabama was incredibly poor at the time, and there was no possible way for me to be prepared for all of the abject poverty I witnessed firsthand. And, lol, it’s not like I grew up wealthy or anything. But this was the norm for where I was visiting. I would later learn that my gf’s mom sent her daughter to Florida literally for a better life that she couldn’t provide her. My gf lived in Florida with her (comparatively) “very wealthy” aunt and uncle, who lived in what was essentially one step up from the projects. Truly some heartbreaking shit. I was humbled, but this experience gave me perspective like no history book could ever do.

AND YET …… I was a young teenaged boy, who was far away from home with his girlfriend, who I believed I would one day marry, so I somehow managed to brush almost all of that aside, because while my gf’s mom had to work double shifts at the dog track, we were assigned a chaperone—and he was literally thee coolest older cuz’n everrrr. He went out of his way to make sure my gf and I had enough time alone to make out pretty much whenever the mood struck us! Things were a little rougher than I had anticipated, but the time I had alone with my gf made it worth everything.

And then one night, Cuz’n Feaster (yes, that was his real name) took us to a hole in the wall bar. Don’t worry, he didn’t take us inside or give us liquor or anything, he just went inside for about an hour and left two teenaged virgins COMPLETELY alone in the backseat of his Chevy. FOR AN HOUR!!!

And when I tell you that we went all the way, I mean we went ALL the way—to third base!! Hands everywhere exploring everything, heavy kissing and making out! WITHOUT ANY SEX. (We were both two good little Pentecostal kids who had taken a stupid “purity” pledge, what did you expect?)

HA! But I will never forget that night though. I can still hear “Do Me Baby,” by Prince playing on the radio. Good times, man.

But I was telling you about the first time I saw a burning KKK cross, right??

So when cuz’n Feaster finally came out of the “club,” it was super late and dark outside. I remember him and my gf laughing at me because my neck was craned up looking out the window like a dog with the window rolled down. There were absolutely no lights outside on the road. No streetlights, no road lights, no house lights, no nothing except for the headlights and the stars above. I couldn’t believe all the stars I could see. I even recognized part of the Milky Way. It was an amazing sight. An amazing ride home. And an amazing way to top off an amazing night.

I was young, I was in love, I was happy and holding my girl’s hand, the stars were out, and just… Everything was perfect. Perfect.

And that’s when we started getting closer and closer to …. something?? Burning in the middle of an open field? As we got closer and closer, for the second time on my trip, my eyes and my brain recognized what I must be seeing, but my mind couldn’t comprehend or accept what it was: an enormous burning cross in a field, with men in white pointy hoods. It was the Klan!! I couldn’t fucking believe it. This was something that I knew and understood existed, but that was supposed to be history book stuff, right? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“Feaster, is that…”

-The Klan? Yup, that’s them. Leave them alone, and they’ll leave you alone.

Pfft! I scoffed. Messing with Black people who aren’t fucking with them is pretty much their job description.

And he and my gf were sO fucking calm about it. They acted like they saw that shit every day and twice on the weekend. BUT MY BLACK ASS WAS FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

“Feaster, we’re all Black! What if-”

-Calm down. They do that all the time. And even if they wanted to, nobody can catch me in this car.

And my only thought was, we’re all gonna get lynched and die because this fool thinks his car is faster than bullets. We had to drive RIGHT BY that cross. I know it was probably my imagination working triple time, but it looked like it was 100 feet tall. It was less than a football field away, and that cross was burning so bright that it turned nighttime into daylight, disappeared all the stars, and I could very clearly see men in white robes holding guns. I was fucking terrified. Talk about sights you won’t ever forget. And Idk why, but the fact that Feaster and my gf were so damn calm about it just really added that extra something to my freaking out. It was unnerving af.

Me and my gf caught the bus back home to Florida the next day, but yeah, that was the first (but not the last) time I had ever seen a KKK cross before. Such a mix of emotions, that night was.

[anthrofreshtodeath]

Ooh 4 and 10, a forced return and kisses??? Angst central 🥳🥳

I enjoy some angst, especially in bite-sized chunks. @kerfuffle-puffin also asked for 4, so we'll start with that one.

___

4 Kisses where it hurts

Maura’s thoughts are so disorganized that it chokes her. She is used to order, used to the gestalt cognition her autism had previously blessed her with, that her brain injury has taken away. She’s never gotten a diagnosis for the former, no need with her expertise, and the latter had been obvious as soon as her head hit the bar of The Dirty Robber those weeks prior. 

Her brain had been so… so good before. So beautiful.

Now, she pulls up BCU’s medical dictionary of health terms just so, you know, she can double check that her pathology reports say what she wants them to. She consults the lowly thesaurus.com so that she can confirm her previously plentiful bank of synonyms without sounding repetitive. 

She never sounded repetitive. Oversharing? Sure. Unnecessary reiteration? A lot. But sounding repetitive? Never. Not since she used to repeat things as a little girl just because she liked the way they sounded, how the cadence and the prosody lilted out of her tiny mouth and changed the airwaves around her. Constance had rid her of that, and quickly.

What… what would Mother say now? Now that Maura stares at a computer screen unable to remember the thought she’d started just a few seconds ago. Her fingers had been sure, they’d begun the sentence so quickly, and now she can’t decide if she wanted to talk about the bullet deep to the victim’s left lung or the deep vein thrombosis that would have killed him hours after the bullet entered his chest anyway.

Either way, her head wants to hang and she wants to cry. 

“Hey,” a voice she’d never forget even with the most devastating of traumatic brain injuries, all but whispers, dragging her out of her head.

When had Jane stopped in the doorway? Before the concussion and the inflammation and the chiari malformation diagnosis, Maura would have spotted Jane’s march from the elevator to the threshold.

Jane doesn’t give her much time to contemplate though, because as soon as Maura looks up and as soon as Jane sees that Maura’s been weepy, she goes over to Maura’s desk.

She takes Maura’s head in her hands, cradling the thing that has given Maura’s life so much meaning and, recently, so much consternation. Jane looks down, Maura looks up, and then Jane places her lips right in the center of Maura’s forehead. Three kisses. “Looked a little sad,” Jane reasons when she pulls away and Maura’s confusion registers across her face. “Thought I might know what was botherin’ ya. Wanna run through this thing together? I’m a good spell check.”

10 forced reunion

Maura’s heels clap through Boston Regional’s polished halls, and even though it’s not the ICU, her heart hammers just the same. She weaves through residents, nurses, and doctors as rooms blur by her. Gómez, O’Rourke, Mwangi, Jackson… Rizzoli.

She’s made it. From Korsak’s breathless call to her desk phone, to the hurried change out of scrubs and into the outfit she wears now, from the agonizing ascent of the elevator to the driver’s side of her car, she’s thundered across the city to Room 308. 

Jane is not supposed to be here.

Jane glowers at the edge of the hospital bed, arm in a sling and face scraped, because she is not supposed to be here. 

She is supposed to be deep in the webbing of an extortionist group that had already killed three people. She is supposed to be undercover, with no contact, for the remainder of the week at least. But, on this Monday, she is attempting to leave against medical advice. She was made and she was hustled out of the job gone wrong and she is mad.

Maura pauses in the doorway. Jane’s hair is more wild than usual and someone had been holding ice up to her eye because the gash over it is angry burgundy, but not swollen. It’s still weeping. Its first opening, probably at the hands of a large knife, had stained the front of her shirt. There’s still blood on her neck. It’ll scar, even if someone had bothered to suture it. Maura looks over to the side of the bed, the suture tray still there, with instruments dropped in a hurried mess on it, and realizes someone probably had bothered and been chased away for their trouble. 

“I’m glad you’re ok,” Maura chances, dropping her purse on the chair just to the right of the door. For all her bluster outside, she radiates calm now, like she knows no other way to be. 

“Oh fuck off,” Jane groans. Maura had expected as much. She doesn’t even flinch. In all their years in each other’s orbit, she’s finally learned that this means to come closer.

Most of the time.

“Is that what you told the physician?” Maura purrs with a little bit of teasing. She purses her lips, but one corner goes up and her eyes dance. 

Jane scoffs and turns away. “I’m goin’ home,” she says.

Presumably to lick the proverbial wounds, Maura surmises. She can’t reach that large one with her tongue. “Not before you let me close that. Here. In a hospital. With antiseptic.”

The doctor had even been kind enough to leave his stool, the padded one with the wheels so common to hospitals, and Maura brings it over, along with the tray. She goes to the wall, pulls a few nitrile gloves from the station next to the charting board, and then takes her seat. 

“I’d rather not,” Jane finally grumbles.

“I don’t care,” Maura tells her. “I care that you’re safe, and mostly intact. I care that your job spared your life - again. Though I know at any moment it could tear it away,” The frenetic heartbeat of the hallway returns, and this time her voice shakes. She won’t cry, though.

“This isn’t how I wanted to see you again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to come back a winner,” Jane argues. Maura hears her voice shake, too, but not with tears. She holds the collection tray up, looks Jane in the eye, then nods to it.

Jane knows what to do. She spits the amalgam of phlegm and blood into it. Maura doesn’t flinch, doesn’t grimace, doesn’t gag. She just puts it down and hands Jane some gauze. “That is irrational of you,” she says to Jane. When Jane glares, she smiles. “It is. You have the best closing rate in the state. You are always a winner and one case isn’t going to alter that. You are mad because you are obsessive and you are filled with such… oh. Such vengeance. Try to stay still. I’m going to flush the wound,” Maura pauses her speech to squeeze the cold saline solution into Jane’s wound. 

“Agh fuck,” Jane snarls, but to her credit, she stays put. 

“You’re mad because you haven’t released the valve in awhile,” Maura continues. She rubs antiseptic around the cut before she pulls out the needle and thread. Jane won’t want the anesthetic because Jane needs to feel something. “And I keep telling you that there are safer, healthier, more enjoyable ways to do that, but you don’t listen.”

Jane says nothing. She lets Maura sew her up.

“Jane?” Maura calls with a small smile, because it’s been a few seconds and Jane is blushing.

“Not ready yet,” Jane rushes out in one quick breath.

“Well, I am,” Maura says. Her next tug is particularly forceful and it jerks Jane’s head closer to Maura’s chest. “And so I don’t mind waiting for you to be. But what I have planned is a lot better than a through-and-through and a forced reunion, so you may want to hurry up.”

Jane responds with a chuckle and white knuckles against her own knees. “Oh, fuck off.”