#the way he goes out in an APOCALYPSE to get her meds and help her fend off the pain he goes out despite how utterly terrified he is to make

[madigoround]

I just watched a quiet place day one for the first time thinking it would just be like a thriller/suspense and no one told me how steeped this movie is in guttural emotion. I’m over here crying over this monster movie and the display of true human emotion and tragedy and love it shows as if I haven’t seen a million apocalypse movies

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 3: The Ones Who Died Without A Name]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Holiday” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

The Tahoe runs out of gas just west of Ashland, Ohio, coasting to a stop along the shoulder of State Route 96, sapphire skies and cotton ball cumulus clouds, emerald fields of Swiss chard and beets slowly being nibbled bare by deer and rabbits, the inheritors of an abandoned earth.

“Well, that’s it,” Baela says, offhand, blasé, as if it’s not a disaster. You’ve sorted this out, it didn’t take long: there are people who aren’t allowed to panic. If they do, it’ll be like a dam crumbling, and the flood will burst through to drown everything, like when Noah’s wrathful God decided it was time for the world to start over. Baela can’t panic. Aemond can’t panic. And maybe you can’t either. Rio gives you a skeptical look—Are we really about to walk to Oregon?—and you slap his thigh encouragingly as you climb over him and out of the Tahoe.

“Everyone gets a gun,” Aemond says as he starts distributing them: Rugers for Rhaena, Baela, and Helaena (although she winces as she obediently takes the revolver, immediately tucking it away into her burlap messenger bag), .22s for Daeron and Aegon, Remington 12 gauges for Jace and Rio, who gives you his M9. You’re better with it anyway. Aemond’s Glock 20 is in a handmade leather holster he took from the cellar of the house back in Distant, Pennsylvania. Luke, still a potential zombie, will not be armed; but Aemond slings the strap of a .22 over his own shoulder for in case Luke recovers.

“Safeties on, right kids?” Rio goes down the line checking everyone’s gun. “Remember what we practiced, use your sights, don’t go pointing the barrel at anyone unless you’re okay with blowing a hole in them. The noise is risky, but getting bit is worse, so use your best judgment.”

“I don’t have any of that,” Aegon says, grinning.

Rio grabs Aegon’s sunburned face roughly and smacks a kiss onto his cheek. “I know, Honey Bun. Don’t you worry. Stick close and I’ll do your thinking for you.”

You spy it up the road a ways on the right, half-obscured by tree limbs: a white and orange sign, a logo shaped like a diamond. “Oh my God. It’s a Stewart’s.”

“A what?” Aemond asks, squinting at the sign. It’s late afternoon, and soon the sun will be sinking into the west like a drowning man through deep water, and like all prey animals you are restless without the promise of shelter.

“A Stewart’s Root Beer. They used to sell hot dogs and barbeque and all these neat soda flavors like key lime and black cherry. We had one where I grew up. That was the fancy place. You knew it was a good day if you ended up at Stewart’s for dinner.”

Aemond considers you, that subtle ceaseless curiosity. “We can stay the night there.”

“I thought we didn’t want to waste any daylight, Aemond,” Jace jabs as he helps Luke—miserable but presently human—out of the Tahoe. “That’s what you said when I wanted to check out that Barnes & Noble, Aemond.”

“What the hell do you need books for?” Aegon says. He’s grabbing clear CD cases out of the center console of the Tahoe. He pounds on the eject button and then punches the CD player when he realizes he won’t be getting that particular disk back. “Oh, you bitch! I had Shakira on there!”

“I would like to preserve my ability to read at higher than a fifth-grade level. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I was going to work for Sullivan & Cromwell, you know.”

“And now you’re a jobless loser just like me. Isn’t life funny?”

“You can’t be serious,” Baela says to Aegon, his arms full of CD cases. “You’re going to carry all those to California? You don’t even have a way to listen to them.”

“I’m not leaving my mixtapes.” Aegon shoves them into a U.S. Army backpack he found at Fort Indiantown Gap and then hoists it onto his back with a grunt.

Aemond tells Jace: “We only have a few hours until the sun starts going down. We don’t know what’s up ahead. We should take advantage of a safe place to sleep if it’s available. Getting caught out in the open after dark is the worst case scenario.”

“Whatever, Aemond. It’s your call. Everything is your fucking call.” Then Jace plods out into a field of rabbit-ravaged Swiss chard to relieve himself semi-privately, his back to the Tahoe.

“Hey, Chips Ahoy,” Aegon says, taking the folded-up map out of the pocket of his shorts, mint green plaid. “Want to tell me if there are any nuclear power plants near our route so we can steer clear of them and not get irradiated?”

“Uh, well, I don’t exactly have them all memorized…” You examine the map, hoping the black-ink cities will jog your memory, trivia you catalogued years ago, snippets you’ve heard from your fellow seamen. “Perry’s in Cleveland. We won’t be anywhere near that one. Fermi is up by Detroit.” You hesitate as your fingertips skate past Chicago. “Braidwood, LaSalle, and Byron are someplace between Chicago and Peoria, but I’m not sure where. And then there are a few others around the border of Illinois and Iowa. West of that, I don’t know. Rio?”

“Cooper’s in Nebraska, dead east of Lincoln. That’s all I got.”

Aegon is nodding, making notes on his map with a glittery forest green gel pen. “Cool, cool. If I don’t end up eaten or a zombie, I can look forward to being a sterile, glow-in-the-dark mutant.”

Luke frets: “What if we accidentally drink contaminated water or something?”

“Then you die an agonizing death, kiddo,” Rio says. “Your cells dissolve and you turn into human Jello and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

Luke swallows noisily. “Awesome.”

“You might just get cancer if the dose is small enough,” you tell him. Luke does not seem pacified. Rhaena gives him a sip of warm Coca-Cola from a plastic bottle from the Wawa.

Jace comes trudging back to the road, zipping up his khaki chino shorts. “Alright, are we ready?”

Helaena is gazing solemnly out over the fields of green leaves, red roots that grow like arteries into the soil. “We should try to find antivenom.”

“Antivenom?” Aemond asks, distracted as he makes sure nothing of importance was left in the Tahoe. The keys are still dangling from the ignition; you won’t need them. There’s no breathing the Tahoe back to life. There’s no returning to Aemond’s house back in Boston. There is only the West, beckoning you to cross rivers and plains and mountains to join her, and to do it as people did two hundred years ago, no cars, no phones, no escape hatches. The only way out is through.

“For the snakes,” Helaena says.

Aemond stares at her. The stitches in his face are dissolving as the flesh weaves back together, jagged maroon scar tissue, beautiful savage ruins, landscapes of improbable survival. “Helaena, antivenom has to be refrigerated. Even if we miraculously found some, it wouldn’t be useable.”

She nods, eyes wide and glazed, still peering into the fields, into the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

A hand brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, a whisper through the dissipating indigo of sleep: “Guess what today is.”

You startle awake and yelp as you bolt from your assailant. Aegon is watching you without any shame whatsoever. People are laughing as they gather up supplies so you all can get moving again, brushing teeth, arranging hair, drinking glass bottles of Stewart’s soda found last night in crates in the storeroom, snacking on bags of Utz chips. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows; specks of dust glimmer in the air like comets through the inhospitable void of outer space.

Luke says from where he is sitting on the floor, his arms and legs tethered: “Hopefully the day when somebody’s going to untie me.”

“It’s my birthday!” Aegon announces.

You’re still blinking at him, disoriented. “What…?”

“Aegon, I told you,” Aemond says, sipping a bottle of Stewart’s key lime soda. “It’s not your birthday. It’s not the 23rd.”

“It’s the 20th, right?” Rhaena says.

Rio looks to you, bewildered. “Isn’t it like the 25th?”

“We’re still in June?” Luke says. Now Aemond is hacking through his ropes with a hunting knife from the cellar in Distant, Pennsylvania.

“Your hand is healing up. Your color is good, your temperature is normal. I guess we can officially declare you human for the foreseeable future.”

“I knew it,” Jace says, combative so no one will see the desperate relief underneath.

Aemond examines your hands next, calloused over where the heat of the transmission tower burned the skin. There is no pretext for needing to tend to them any longer, no antiseptic or ointment or gauze. Aemond nods somberly at your palms, as if he isn’t entirely happy to pronounce them cured. His hands linger on yours for slow, unnecessary seconds.

“So what are we going to do special for my birthday?” Aegon presses eagerly.

“We’re going to walk between ten and twenty miles towards California,” Baela says.

“That’s not a birthday activity!”

Daeron groans as he inspects the screws and bolts of his compound bow. “Aegon, it’s not your birthday!”

“Shut up. You can’t even apply to get a credit card.”

“No one can get a credit card now! Currency is worthless!”

Rio offers you a cherries and cream soda. You take it and say: “Aegon, how old are you? On today, your alleged birthday?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the important part.”

Aemond smiles as he tells you, mock-whispering: “He’s thirty.”

“Thirty?!” Rio exclaims. “That’s like, an actual adult age. Marriage and a mortgage, shit like that. What were you doing before everything went insane?”

Aegon gestures vaguely. “I was considering a number of opportunities.”

“He was living on my couch,” Aemond says.

Rio shakes his head, grinning. “No job? No school? No nothing?”

“I wasn’t doing nothing. I played a lot of golf.”

“He was totally doing nothing,” Jace says. “I was in my third year of law school at Harvard, Baela was getting a master’s in Aeronautics and Astronautics at MIT, Rhaena just started an Anthropology PhD, Luke was getting a master’s in Screenwriting at Boston University—he was going to be very sad and very broke, but still, he had a plan—and Aegon was doing…nothing.”

“I’ve never had a real birthday party before,” Aegon tells you; and there is something in his murky blue eyes that is tremendously sad, wounded, childlike. “I might not get another chance.”

“What do you want to do?” Now people are alarmed, skittish glances and mouths open to object. You are encouraging him.

“I don’t know yet,” Aegon says. But he’s glad you bothered to ask. You can see it on his face.

It’s not until several hours later—after noon, the sun high and blazing, everyone’s unpracticed feet aching and blistering in their shoes—that Aegon experiences a revelation like the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary or Sir Isaac Newton extrapolating gravity from an apple falling on his head. Aegon’s epiphany appears in the form of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio called Luxury Lanes. It is remarkably unluxurious, a nondescript black rectangular building with a few doors in the front, one small tinted window on each, and no other openings. To Aegon, it is an oasis in a desert.

“I want to go bowling!”

“Aegon, we’re not going bowling,” Baela says, breathing heavily but trying to hide it, her hands massaging the small of her back. Aemond is watching her worriedly. Baela is the only person not burdened with carrying any supplies beyond her hammer and shiny new Ruger—and she resisted this accommodation at first—but still, she suffers more than anyone.

“Once again, it is my birthday—”

“Aren’t bowling allies soundproofed?” Rio asks Aemond. “You know, so they don’t get noise complaints?”

“Uh, I guess so…?”

“It’s kind of a fortress, isn’t it?” Rio continues. “Not many ways in or out. We wouldn’t be seen or heard. Might be a good place to stop for the night. ”

“Yeah!” Aegon says. “Right, Aemond?”

Aemond looks at you. It takes you a moment to figure out why. “I think the bowling alley is a good idea,” you tell him. “It’ll be safe, assuming we can clear it. And Aegon can have his party.”

Aemond is skeptical. “A party?”

“Survival isn’t just about not dying. It’s also about holding onto the things that make us human.”

“Like bowling!” Rhaena says excitedly. “It’s preserving a tradition! And I used to be so good at bowling. I bowled a 250 game once.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Aegon says, still delighted to have her on his side.

“There’s a sign for a Walmart maybe half a mile up the road,” Daeron points out. “We could search it for supplies and then double back here.”

Aemond polls the audience. Everyone agrees.

Shenandoah is tiny, rural, religious, and out of the way from the major highways. The Walmart doors are chained shut with padlocks, and amazingly no one has taken that as an invitation to drive their car through them or otherwise shatter the glass yet. Rio is honored to be the first. He takes the butt of his Remington shotgun and punches through the glass of the locked doors, kicks away loose shards, whistles and shouts to lure out any zombies. A dozen of them come reeling out of the aisles and towards the doorway. Daeron shoots down most of them with his compound bow. Rio kills two with the butt of his Remington, his new favorite toy. Aegon, the birthday boy, uses his golf club to beat in the skull of a teenager who is still wearing glittery pink nail polish and fake eyelashes. According to her nametag, her friends and family once called her Raelynn.

Inside the Walmart, Jace and Aemond take one side of the store, you and Rio the other, doing a quick sweep to make sure you didn’t miss any undead employees or customers waiting for the chance to sink their teeth into you. And when that’s done, you begin shopping.

The shelves are probably two-thirds empty, but there are still treasures to be found. You push carts through the aisles and fill them with candles, lighters, Chef Boyardee, Doritos, canned soup, fruit snacks, tuna pouches, 5 gum, bottles of Snapple, socks and underwear, hair ties, t-shirts and shorts, Kleenex tissues, pads and tampons, toilet paper. Baela finds some cute maternity dresses. Helaena picks through the pharmacy for useful medications, Aemond shadowing her with a baseball bat in his hands and his Glock at his waist.

“Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!” Rio exclaims, tossing several boxes into your cart.

“I miss grocery stores,” Rhaena says as she climbs the shelves to get the last box of Teddy Grahams.

“I miss going to the mall and getting Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets,” Aegon commiserates. Then he stumbles upon the liquor aisle and his eyes light up like high beams. “Aemond!”

Aemond appears—perhaps a bit flustered—and deliberates for a while as he browses the selection, Aegon waiting anxiously, before he decides: “Since it is allegedly your birthday, you can drink tonight. And you can pick one other person to drink with you. But only one.”

“Rio,” Aegon says immediately.

“Come on!” Daeron whines.

Aegon is already putting bottles of Captain Morgan rum into a cart. “Sorry. Illegal. Underage.”

“I’ve helped you butcher countless zombies, but I can’t drink?!”

“Just Say No, as Nancy Reagan would tell an innocent child such as yourself.”

Jace strides over, sly and playful, gnawing on a Twizzler. “Aemond, were you over there rummaging through the medicine aisles again? What do you keep looking for? Condoms?”

There is an awkward silence, an extremely awkward silence. Aemond glares at Jace. Jace’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, I, uh…I was definitely joking. But…congrats on the possible future sex!”

“I already checked,” Luke tells Aemond apologetically. “You know condoms were the first thing to get bought up or looted everywhere.”

“Okay, great,” Aemond says quickly, willing the conversation to be over. There is blood, hot and mortified, flaring in his cheeks. He was thinking of you, he had to be; the only other single woman here is his sister, and obviously that’s not an option.

Jace takes another bite of his Twizzler. “Just pull out, man.”

Baela, incredulous, gestures to her belly. “Because that worked out super well for us.”

“I told you to stop riding me!”

“Yeah, a whole two seconds before you impregnated me with your super-swimmer Michael Phelps sperm.”

“Please don’t make me listen to this,” Luke begs. “I’m starting to wish I really was bitten.”

“Don’t you know all the tricks to not getting someone pregnant, Aemond?” Jace says. “Wasn’t that going to be your specialty? You wanted to be a vagina doctor? So don’t you know all the mysteries of the vagina, Aemond?”

“He was going to be an OB/GYN,” Baela says, unamused.

“Really?” Rio turns to Aemond. “Why would you want to do that?”

“So he gets to look at pussies all day,” Aegon says morosely, as if heartbroken that such a path is inaccessible to him.

“That’s not why,” Aemond insists, mostly to you.

You smile. “I didn’t think so. What’s the actual reason?”

“Interns do rotations in different departments so we can figure out what we enjoy and what we’re best suited for. I knew within two days of my OB/GYN rotation that that’s where I wanted to be. Giving birth is the only life-threatening trauma that is necessary for humanity to continue. I wanted to help people get through it as safely and painlessly as possible.” Then his gaze darts to Baela. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound worse—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m very much aware. It hurts like hell, people die. Believe me, I’d be thinking about that even if you hadn’t said it. I think about it all the time.”

“I have an idea you’re not going to like.”

“What?” Baela says. Aemond nods to the nearest shopping cart. “No way. You’re not going to push me around in one of those.”

“I believe it’s an adequate solution until an alternative appears.”

She sighs. “I’ve lost my body, my career, my society, my parents…must I lose my dignity too?”

Aemond winks. “Only when you’re too tired to walk.”

“Alright, Aemond. I realize you’re under the impression that this is a favor. So thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Let me give you a favor in return.” Then Baela begins shooing everyone except you and Aemond out of the liquor aisle. “Grab anything else you want, we’re leaving in five minutes! Jace, come look at the baby clothes with me…”

When the two of you are alone, Aemond says: “I really hope that didn’t make you feel too weird. I’m not someone who gets uncomfortable about the…um…the subject matter in general. But I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to…I don’t know. Assume anything or pressure you into something that you weren’t already open to. Obviously I like…um…I mean, enthusiastic consent is essential, and I just…I would never try to convince anybody or…you know what, I’m just going to stop talking now. Okay?”

“Aemond, I’m fine. I didn’t think it was weird.”

“It’s a compliment,” he confesses, flushing pink again, touching his chin, perspiration gleaming at his temples.

Now you have to show interest so he knows you’re on the same page. You’ve never had to think this way before, you’ve never liked anyone enough to play the game. “So hypothetically, if someone didn’t want to get pregnant but there were no condoms, pills, etcetera…what are the options?”

He looks at you, pleasantly surprised. “Well, there’s the rhythm method. It’s not perfect, but it’s been around forever and is reasonably reliable if done correctly.”

You are only vaguely familiar. “We didn’t get a lot of sex ed down in Kentucky.”

Aemond chuckles then leans in, a mischievous curl of his lips, a craving in the crystalline river blue of his eye. He grips the shelf above your head, his arm a canopy. His voice is hushed. The front windows of the Walmart face west where the sun is setting; golden light floods in to illuminate the store. “Is your cycle regular?”

“It is, actually.” This should be embarrassing, but it’s not; it’s exhilarating. You’re imagining him seeing you, touching you, unearthing secrets you’ve never been tempted to share with anyone else.

“So if we imagine it like a circle…” He draws one on the back of your hand, invisible, mesmerizing, blue-white lightning crackling up the path of your metacarpals, wrist, ulna and radius, humerus and clavicle, descending ribs like the rungs of a ladder to jolt the sinus rhythm of your heart. “The start of your period would be Day One.”

“Okay,” you say, hypnotized as his fingerprint skates in an arc across the bumps of your knuckles.

“Ovulation doesn’t happen until around Day Fourteen. You might have noticed some increased arousal and…wetness. Clear in color, elastic consistency.”

Your eyes are trapped in his face, smooth skin, jagged scar tissue. You tease him back, stepping closer. You can hear people snickering in the next aisle as they eavesdrop. You don’t care about them, and neither does Aemond anymore. “Now that you mention it…”

“That’s nature trying to trick you into reproducing. Day Fourteen is crunch time. Once ovulation occurs, the egg is only good for up to twenty-four hours. And then the rest of the cycle you’re effectively useless, as far as making miniature humans is concerned.”

“Wait, you’re telling me people can only get pregnant one day a month?” This seems improbable. “How has the species managed to survive this long?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Aemond admits. “Depending on the health of the specimens, sperm can survive up to five days inside a woman’s body. And it’s difficult to tell exactly when ovulation occurs. So, in practice, there’s basically one week a month when you’d want to avoid a man…completing the act, if you will.” He’s still smiling, taunting, famished, imagining the same scenes you are. You know this with a categorical certainty, as if you’re reading his thoughts like stark stripes of distance on a measuring tape. “And that’s also the week when your hormones are demanding you have sex, inspiring you to make all sorts of impulsive yet extremely consequential decisions.”

“Don’t I know it,” Baela laments from the next aisle, and there is a rupture of wild giggles.

“Anyway.” Aemond lifts his finger from the back of your hand and you have to stop yourself from reaching for him as he recedes from you. “There’s a basic overview.”

“It was very educational.” You follow him out of the liquor aisle.

“I’ve used the rhythm method for years,” Rhaena says as everyone makes their way towards the front of the store with their carts. “Clearly that’s just anecdotal, so don’t think I’m officially endorsing it. When I’m in my fertile week we add condoms. Well…we used to. Back when we could get them.”

“Ugh, I hate condoms,” Baela grumbles.

“We can tell,” Aegon says.

“I hate the way they feel, I hate the way they smell…”

“They’ve never bothered me,” Rhaena says. “I don’t notice that much of a difference. And it can be fun to try different kinds.”

“Are you on drugs?” Baela whirls to you. “Seriously, what is wrong with her? I’m right, aren’t I? Condoms are awful.”

Rio gives you a cautious look, uncharacteristically reticent. He’s not going to be the one to reveal it. He doesn’t know if it’s something you’re willing to share. But if anything is going to happen with Aemond—and you want it to, already you know you want him—then it’s something you think you should be honest about. You want him to know about you. You don’t want to have to create some false version of yourself to wear like a pelt, heavy, smothering, something that will inevitably need to be taken off.

“I am regretfully not qualified to say.”

“You’ve never used condoms?” Baela asks, a bit dubious.

“I’ve never done any of it.”

Everyone freezes at the defunct checkout counters and turns to gawk at you. “No sex?” Jace says. “No nothing?”

You shrug, smiling a little self-consciously. “I made out with a guy once.”

“The Marine from Corpus Christi?” Baela asks. They’re obsessed with him, they’re convinced there’s some lore to be excavated, translated, displayed like a relic in a museum. There isn’t. Sometimes people pass in and out of your life as seamlessly as shadows or sunlight, no weight, no indentations, nothing to recall or relay. He existed and then he didn’t. He was an airplane drawing contrails in the sky that faded before the blood red fire of dusk filled the horizon.

“No. Someone from home. Just a guy, not even worth mentioning.”

“Girl, you gotta fix that, soon, pronto, like yesterday.” Jace seems genuinely horrified. “You can’t die a virgin.”

“You really can’t,” Daeron adds, and Aegon pretends to be distraught over the loss of his youngest brother’s virtue.

“That’s what I’m always telling her!” Rio says.

“Not everybody wants to have sex,” Helaena murmurs as she records today’s findings in her spider notebook.

“True,” Jace concedes. “And that is totally legit. Mother Teresa, Queen Elizabeth, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Joan of Arc, Sir Isaac Newton, Nikola Tesla, the Jonas Brothers for a while, all great people. But Chips is not celibate by choice, correct?”

“Buddha had a wife and son,” Aemond says, preoccupied. He isn’t looking at you now, which is concerning; he’s peering down at where his hands grip his shopping cart, his brow creased with…what is that? Unease, disapproval, concern, thoughtfulness, fear?

“It’s not some big thing,” you backpedal. “I don’t have a hangup about it, I just never met a guy I liked enough, and enlisted men, they’re…well, a lot of them are taken, or cheaters, or idiots. Or all three.”

“Not to worry, Chipper.” Aegon claps a hand on your shoulder; and you aren’t sure if it is his purpose to break the tension, but he seems to have that effect regardless. “If you ever wish to be initiated into the art of lovemaking by a slightly below average and entirely unintimidating penis, I’d be thrilled to assist you. I love condoms. But in their absence, I am the king of pulling out. 100% success rate. Zero bastard children running around to my knowledge.”

“You should give Jace lessons,” Baela says.

And the last thing Aegon takes from the Walmart is a green battery-powered Toshiba CD player so he can blast to his mixtapes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Flickering candles lining the middle lane, drinks and snacks strewn across the tables, Rio’s Moonbeam propped up so it’s aimed at the disco ball still hanging from the ceiling from a time before the dead started devouring the living. Daeron is at the end of the lanes to reset the pins after each player’s turn. Helaena is keeping score in her notebook; Rhaena is currently in the lead by a massive 80 points. Aegon is wasted, dancing on a table and crunching Cool Ranch Doritos beneath his bare feet, his blonde hair flopping. Each time it’s his turn to bowl, Aegon has to roll the ball down the lane with two hands like a child. Rio, several shots deep but unable to feel much shy of half a bottle, is singing along with him to Cruise by Florida Georgia Line, but it’s really more like shouting, each sentence an off-key monstrosity that makes you laugh.

“Baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!

Down a back road, blowin’ stop signs through the middle, every little farm town with you!

And this brand new Chevy with a lift kit, would look a hell of a lot better with you up in it!

So baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!”

You cleared Luxury Lanes easily; the only difficult part was figuring out how to get into the area called the pit where, in normal times, felled pins were mechanically collected and sorted. There were two former employees roaming around back there in their tattered uniforms, snarling and drooling blood. Both were rapidly neutralized.

Someone always has to be by the front doors, watching through the small tinted windows for signs of trouble, whether from zombies or living humans. Aemond is currently on guard, nursing a Snapple. According to the bottle, the flavor is called Takes 2 To Mango. You grab your own Snapple—plain and simple Lemon Tea, no charming gimmicks—and walk over to join him.

“So now I guess it’s my turn to say I hope that conversation didn’t make you feel weird.”

He smiles politely, glancing out the window. “No, I’m completely fine.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to look at me differently than you would any other girl, like I’m better than them, or worse than them, or like there’s anything wrong with me, because it really isn’t something I consider to be paramount to my identity, and people always seem to get all twisted up about it, but it’s a pretty boring story, I just…”

“You’ve never liked someone enough to take the risk. I get it. I don’t think you’re a freak or anything.”

“Okay. Good.” The next song on Aegon’s mixtape is Shaboozey’s A Bar Song. Jace is dancing with Baela, spinning her around as she giggles. With Rhaena’s coaching, Luke bowls his first strike. You rest your head on the door as you gaze up at Aemond, the phantom of a smile on your lips. “I might like you enough.”

And he says as if it’s the worst thing in the world, a plague, an infection, an apocalypse: “You’d fall in love with me.”

It hurts, of course it does, this flippant rejection. He burns you, he cuts you, he stitches you up with no anesthetic. You try not to show it. “You’re…confident.”

“No, I don’t mean because of anything specific I would do, it’s just…it’s natural to form a certain…attachment. To the first person you’re with. It leaves an impression.” Not an impression like a first judgment, superficial and swift; an impression like an imprint, a hollow, a prehistoric fossil that is preserved through eons. “That was already true before. And everything is more intense now, because life is so…” Aemond takes a while to settle on a word. “Precarious.”

You say like a challenge: “Are you still in love with the first girl you slept with?”

A shadow that ripples through his face, a flinching he tries to hide. You shouldn’t have asked. Still, you feel like you need to know, like you’ll run out of oxygen if you don’t. “I think I’ve gotten enough distance from it to realize that she wasn’t…wasn’t good for me in a lot of ways. It was an unconventional situation. But I still carry all these pieces of her around with me, yes. I don’t think that will ever go away.”

“Aemond,” you say gently. “Who was she?”

He is evasive, smirking. “It’s a cliché.”

“Was she a patient? That’s very Grey’s Anatomy of you.”

“No. She was my professor.”

An older woman, wise and experienced and captivating and sophisticated. He’s cut you again, a blade slicing effortlessly through veins like soft butter. “Oh. From med school?”

“Undergrad.”

“You were really young,” you say, a little startled.

He nods. “I was eighteen when it started. I was this shy, insecure, friendless freshman, she was married with two kids around my age. And it was off and on, but there was never anyone else for me, she took up too much space in my head, in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe unless I knew we were okay.”

“It went on for seven years?”

This seems to stun him, hearing how much of his existence she bottled like a terrarium. “I guess so.”

Is she dead? Missing? Safe somewhere with her husband and kids? “Is she…gone?”

His gaze drops to the floor. “Yeah.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“I was the one who killed her when she turned.”

It’s indescribably horrible; you don’t know what to say. “Aemond, I’m…I’m really sorry…”

He is abruptly nonchalant, the blue of his eye cool and dispassionate. “Look, I’m not prepared for this to be anything more than casual. And I don’t think casual is really in the cards for us. So it’s probably best to leave it alone.”

“Right,” you agree numbly, not meaning it.

“We’re headed different places, I’m going to California, you’re planning to end up in Oregon, it’s just…a bad idea to muddy the waters, I think.”

“Because I haven’t done this before.”

He shrugs ambiguously. “It’s a contributing factor.”

“Well you seemed pretty interested before you found that out, so.”

“I don’t mean to offend you.”

“You aren’t offending me. You’re disappointing me.”

Now Aemond is offended. “By trying to protect us?”

“No, by saying you don’t think I’m a freak when you clearly do, and by having some savior complex, or a whore-Madonna complex, or whatever’s going on in your head, it’s always such a mystery to everyone else.”

He downs the rest of his Snapple and shoves the bottle into the nearest trash can. You hear it thump against the bottom, no garbage bag. “Alright. This was fun.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of making a mistake, just like I always was.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have to teach you how to do everything,” Aemond snaps.

“I taught you how to shoot.”

“The fact that you don’t realize how wildly different those two situations are proves you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, bye. Sorry about your zombie girlfriend.”

Aemond glares at you, shocked, furious. “That was so fucking low.”

It was. You regret it. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him that. You flee to the far end of the bowling alley and sit alone at a table draped in shadows. After a while, Rio notices and ventures over to see what’s wrong, a bottle of Captain Morgan swinging from one hand. He’s tipsy now.

Rio sighs as he takes a seat beside you, reaching over to rub your back. His hands are large and indelicate; what he means to be comforting is more like getting manhandled. Sometimes he leaves bruises, but it’s not his fault. Nature gave Rio the body of a killer. If anyone is going to survive the zombie apocalypse, it’s him. “What’s going on, Chips?”

Your voice breaks as you say it; tears sting in your eyes. “I hate caring about people.”

He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, it’s the worst, isn’t it? But once in a while it works out.”

“Bryan.”

And now he knows you’re serious. You have his full attention, large dark eyes fixed on your face, lines etching into his brow beneath the artificial starlight of the disco ball. “What are you asking me?”

“We can’t leave them and walk to the West Coast ourselves, can we?”

“I mean, technically we could, but it would be really stupid. Everything’s so much easier with ten people. And also I think I’d have to kidnap Aegon and take him with us, I love that little dude. Why? Do you really want to leave them?”

“No.”

“I figured.” He offers you the half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Come on. It’ll take the edge off.”

You look at him. Rio looks back, smiling now.

“I’ll watch out for you,” he says. “And if you get bit I’ll shoot you dead, no hesitation, swear to God. I remember our promise. I won’t let you die alone.”

“You’re a good guy.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm with the bottle of Captain Morgan. “A few swigs won’t hurt. It’ll help you sleep.”

You take the bottle, twist off the cap, drink down amber-gold poison that burns like gasoline, like fire.

[darylbae]

Always read your fics and enjoyed them from afar , , why not send a request ! ^^ Don't feel pressured to write this too this is a little weird now that I read it over and sorry for the long req ! ! >< Could you write some an angsty or fluffy oneshot of a reader infected with the deadly flu during (i think) early season 4 and Daryl determined to cure her of the sickness. Them both having conversations between the glass of the prison where the reader is just at the point of giving up and accepting they'll die by this flu and Daryl is trying to give them hope. There's the scene with the group who went to the veterinary (..?) college/university to grab medicine for Hershel to use where they find out Bob didn't grab shit and Daryl just goes off at him because the reader was so kind and generous to him wdym you only grabbed BOOZE?? And then it ends with the reader who's cured of the flu, running into Daryl's arms both relieved and happy that they can finally hold each other again. Which ends in Daryl showering them in kisses because yay they're cured ! The idea just came to me while I was laying at the beach, "If the reader, his lover, was infected by the flu how much more angry would Daryl be with Bob when he only grabs alcohol?"

quarantine — daryl dixon

in which the flu catches up to you, and daryl is stressed about losing you

note: my requests are still open!! i have a few to write but im still happy to accept them! <3

Your job prior to the apocalypse was a caregiver to the elderly, so you had experience with a lot of medication and general practice of caring for someone. It's why Daryl had become so drawn to you, seeing you care for your people, or even people from Woodbury that had just been taken in, you gave everyone the same love and attention regardless of time spent with them. Daryl hadn't realised his longstanding affection for you until this flu outbreak within your prison community. You'd volunteered to help everyone alongside Herschel, caring more about the well-being of others more than your own. Until you'd gotten sick. "It was inevitable, honey," you spoke, not having the energy to even raise your voice above a whisper, "I'm glad I kept everyone in here hydrated, fed, and stable. But we're not seeing any progress." Daryl was on the other end of the window, eyes staring intensely into yours, wishing he could touch you, wishing he could hear your voice clear as day and not muffled due to being separated. Daryl sighed in defeat. "You don't deserve this." "Nobody does, but we need medication, Dar." You admitted. "It's the only way for people to get better, otherwise, we'll die in here." The thought of losing anyone else was enough of a push to find some medication, but the thought of losing you was enough to get him anywhere. He'd ride for days, hell, he'd walk for days if it meant you could get better. "I'm taking a group out, I'll get ya the meds. Just rest f'me, okay sweetheart?" Daryl was pleading now, you could hear the whine in his voice. You nodded, coughing into your hands as you hobbled away.

Days had passed. You couldn't get out of bed most mornings, even as Herschel did his rounds. Usually you'd join him, making sure everyone had water and food. But your bones ached, your head was pounding, you were sweating through your clothes. "Why don't the caregivers care for themselves, hm?" Herschel asked, entering your cell with a pitcher of water. You smiled painfully, reaching for your cup and holding it up for him. "Not used to it, I guess.." You wheezed, stabling yourself before another coughing fit. "How is everyone?" "Good as they can be, I guess." "Any word on the meds?" You asked, wanting to take the moment off yourself and onto a cure. Herschel shook his head. "Daryl keeps asking about you, though. It's rather sweet, really." "He is. Contrary to how he acts." You smiled, the thought of how he only acted around you. You'd caught him smiling a few times, even laughing at your terrible jokes. "I know a man in love when I see one."

Herschel had alerted you that Daryl was by the window again, asking for you. So you'd made the effort to hobble out of your cell and over to the window. And Daryl almost collapsed at the sight of you. Pale, hunched over in pain, sweat dripping from your skin. Your once glowing skin replaced with dullness, dark circles under your eyes. "Hey," you whispered, your hand on the glass, "how are you?" "How are you?" He asked, matching your hand with his and the both of you craved the feeling of the other's skin on yours. This was pure torture. "I can't do this anymore, Dar." You tried to take in a deep breathe, but you would wheeze as you did so. "It's getting harder. To talk, to walk, to move at all." Daryl's brows furrowed, trying to hold in every ounce of emotion threatening to spill out of him. "I know, sweetheart, I know." "They really need those meds in here, they're not getting any better." You confessed, there was no point trying to hide it now, you'd be walkers in a matter of days. "I'm gettin' em, I promise. Jus' been findin' fuel and supplies for our trip, we're leavin' today." Daryl mumbled, doubts and fears running rampant in his head. "Jus' came to say goodbye and I'll be back for ya." "I know you will, when I'm better I want a nice hug from you. It's the least bit of affection I deserve." You smiled, matching his as he shoved his middle finger up at you. But you knew what he meant. You could wait to tell him you loved him too.

Daryl had gone with Michonne, Bob, and Tyreece to a veterinary college for the medication, but Daryl couldn't think straight. He hadn't realised just how much you meant to him until you were isolated away from him. And he wasn't going to keep it to himself anymore. "We're in and we're out." Daryl instructed the team, leading them into the building. "Grab everything you can." He was so focused on finding the names of everything he needed, shoving it into his bag, he had his sights set on his objective and nobody else. Walkers had become the least of his worries. Even when the escapes had been overrun with walkers, he'd found a window which took them out to a roof. "We can walk over this roof, get us away from 'em." Daryl suggested, helping Michonne through the roof and carefully out of the building. The four steadily climbed out, aiming to walk along and find a quiet place to drop down, but Bob had lost balance and almost let go of his bag. Daryl turned, seeing the commotion and seeing Bob so desperately clinging to the back, completely ignoring any sense of fear from the walkers. "Just let it go!" Tyreece called out, but Bob was adamant on pulling the bag up. And Daryl had leaned forward to retrieve the bag from him. "What's so damn important in here, huh?" Daryl mumbled to himself, unzipping the backpack and pulling out a bottle. A bottle of what looked like whiskey. "All that for a drink?" Daryl reached his arm up to lunge it away, but Bob let out a yelp. "Please," he pleaded, "don't. It's just for when it get's quiet." Daryl was seething, why should he listen to his cries? He was on a selfish solo-mission. "Just give it to him." Michonne sighed, still wary of her footing as the walkers were clambering for their feet. "I can't believe this shit!" Daryl exclaimed, Bob's eyes fixed onto the alcohol sloshing around in Daryl's hands. "Should've left ya to die out there, we been so nice to ya. Y/N's been so nice to ya, and ya don't care one bit." "You take a sip of this before these meds get in our people," Daryl stepped to Bob, a menacing expression on his face as he shoved the bottle into his chest, "I will beat your ass into the ground."

It was a silent trip home, Daryl in the front seat with his head on the window. He couldn't stop thinking about you, about whether you were dead or alive. He was praying for the latter, and Daryl never prayed. In his life, he was so anti-God but when it came to you, he'd try anything. So seeing the familiar prison gates, Daryl almost leapt out the car whilst it was still rolling. He'd taken the bags of supplies straight to the quarantine zone, throwing it over to Herschel and sitting impatiently by the window. The window you'd always talk at, pressing your hands against it together, the one he hoped wouldn't have to separate you any longer. He had nothing to do except wait. He'd anxiously play with the ends of his hair, biting on his lip whilst he waited for any signs of progression. He sat, completely alone, just waiting for you. Completely unaware of the time passing around him. It wasn't until Maggie spotted him, and approached him slowly. "Everyone's taken the meds, they just need rest." She confirmed, and his heart lifted. "She's okay, but I think you need some rest too." "Thanks." Daryl spoke softly, a small smile on his lips as Maggie had exited the quarantine zone. He'd only waited a little while longer, until admitting defeat for the night.

The next morning, Daryl was up and spent the morning outside. Fixing the fence, stabbing some walkers in the skull, the usual daily tasks for him now. He'd accepted that you'd needed your rest, at least you were alive. But the weight still sat in his chest, even knowing you were on the mend, he wanted you. He needed you. Bob's selfish actions yesterday were now but a passing thought, he was solely centered on you. So he'd eaten some food, spoken to Carol, gone about his day as he usually would. Except you were missing. It had gotten to the evening, the sun setting behind the trees and it was a sight he wished to experience with you. "Hey handsome," he heard behind him, his head snapping to the direction of your voice, seeing you stood, weakly, against a wall. "Oh my God," he tried to speak, but it came out as more of a whimper. He'd abandoned his smoke, throwing it onto the ground before wrapping you into his body. Feeling your skin on his, your voice blessing his ears, it felt too good to be true. "Dar," you croaked, "too tight." You giggled when he'd released you, brushing his hands down your back, not wanting to take his hands from you.

[symphonic-scream]

Okay. P4 Apocalypse Au

Spoilers for P4! SPECIFICALLY LIKE. ENDGAME SHIT. LIKE NOVEMBER AND STUFF

Okay that's out of the way

Let's get into it

Plot summary first then any notes I've sent to my buddy Cap. Cause that poor guy is suffering through my ADHD meds shortage

Okay. Okay. Let's go.

It's. Based on the bits about the Inaba in the TV. With the "shadows" coming out of everywhere, the town in ruins

The gang and any Inaba survivors holed up in the school, since it has a gate. They reinforced it. Barred access to the roof as a precaution. The black puddles don't take shape unless you run into them, but. They can't be certain

The windows in the classrooms are always shut. It's clear inside, but every time the door opens, dense fog leaks in

Everyone's scuffed up. Looking worse for wear

They make trips out, in groups. Most of the time? The groups make it back. They see remains of unfortunate people all the time now. Strung in the wires, dead on the ground, etc

They've stocked up on stuff from Junes. It wasn't save to stay when the power left, but the school is old enough

So mainly it's Junes runs, for nonperishable foods. There's plants growing in the practice building, where they cook meals and such

Each classroom is a sleeping quarters now. Sometimes, people notice others going between the rooms at night for comfort. They say nothing

On their first excursion, Yu, Chie, Yosuke, and Yukiko find Teddie in Junes, banishing a shadow somehow. The gang wants to know how he killed it for good, since their weapons barely Nick them. They take Teddie back with them, partially as extra hands to carry more goods back

Teddie can, grant them the blessings of Light on their weapons for limited times. They can finally kill the shadows, but only by engaging in actual combat. It's dangerous. But, to save everyone, they decide to do it.

So, they start midnight secret kill runs. To rid the town of shadows. When their families think they're asleep, they go to scavenge for upgrades and kills

They save Kanji soon after. Find him holed up in his house, struggling to keep his Ma alive

They offer to carry her back, but he wants more. To kill the things that nearly took her. They let Kanji join in

Then, they find Rise. She's running down the road, definitely on her last ounce of strength, being chased. She's run halfway from the city, when her manager's car broke down and was overrun. She's. In dire need of help

Rise can see through the fog, and offers to be their eyes from above. They sneak her up to the roof at night, with a walkie and binoculars.

She tells them what's around them, which streets are overrun vs nearly empty

Then, Naoto.

The government tries to send a police brigade to help but. They get seiged. Naoto had been brought along to get him out of the hair of the city cops. Under the excuse that he'd be smart enough to save Inaba

So. He watches everyone around him fall and he's got just his gun, climbing into a tree near the Samegawa and shooting, until he's got nothing left

Tears fall down his face as they bang at the base of the tree. In the end, he's still just a kid,

The others rush out. Drive the hoard away, and get Naoto into the school. He's shaken up, won't talk for a week. But, hes determined to help. He thinks there might be something that can help at the Shirogane estate and guides them through the labyrinth of a building

To the secret lab beneath. Naoto offers to run tests on what they find and stuff to find answers

So. Some nights they kill, some nights they take Naoto to the estate for tests

Rise goes with them to the estate. She wanders through the old rooms and finds an old cat doll under Naoto's bed. She surprises him with it that night when they return to the school

Okay. Splitting here! Extra under the cut!

You can talk to me about this or any au I have I'm always around :)

There's one room in the school that most people pity. The room for those without family. Rise, Kanji, Naoto, etc

Naoto likes to lie down under the teachers desk. Rise lies down just outside it, watching Naoto slowly breathe at night

Kanji sleeps right nearby to protect them both.

Yu and Yosuke's families are in the same room. Yukiko and Chie's are nextdoor

Chie's stupid dog is also there, he's kept in the gym with the other pets

Naoto sometimes keeps Rise company on the roof. The gang find him a sniper rifle from the site of the cops deaths. He cleans it with extreme care, and lies down in position, his elbow just beside Rise's leg, so they can feel the warmth

Rise: they're going to need assistance, Naokun. Three clicks up, ten left from position J

Naoto: affirmative.

Naoto can't see where he's shooting. He trusts Rise's instructions and shoots just as she instructs.

She's never guided him wrong

One night in the lab, Naoto gets frustrated. He's getting nowhere it seems, and he throws his goggles, crying in frustration as he tries to get his labcoat off

Rise is the only one still in the lab, and she tries to calm him down, but. He's shouting and won't listen, so

She just kisses him to shut him up

Naoto freezes and stares.

Rise pulls away, tears forming in her own eyes. Stares.

They crash together, Naoto walking Rise back until she's sitting on one of the desks, hands in his hair, one of his near her knee, the other wrapped around her waist

They make out. It's, sloppy. Emotional. Not the greatest

That night they both sleep under the desk. They don't talk about it. But Rise feels safer in his arms. Naoto doesn't feel so cold and alone with her

Rise sometimes shivers up on the roof in the fog. Naoto's jacket is often thrown around her shoulders

Naoto: I. Don't mind being me so much when it's with you. I, I'm not quite a boy. Not quite a girl. But. I feel I don't need an answer when it's just me and you

Rise: that's cause you don't. We're just Naoto and Rise. Whoever they may be

--

Yosuke: yo Rise how's that chick we saved?

Rise: Naoto wants to be called 'he' for now

Yosuke: what

Kanji: YEAH. HER PRONOUNS ARE HE THEY BUT JUST CALL HIM A DUDE

Naoto looks so small behind the two of them, still bandaged up and unable to bind in his condition

Naoto: Kanji? Rise? I require assistance getting back to my futon,

Kanji: on it, little man. Let's get you to bed

Rise: rest time! You won't recover if you push yourself!

Yosuke: what just happened

Yu: another dude joins our team

--

Naoto's first time at the estate and he goes to his bedroom and finds his first binder

"Shoot... It's too small now,,"

"Hey, uh, I can make ya a new one. If I can find the material."

"...thanks Kanji, that means a lot"

They don't have clothes that fit Naoto for a while. They take some of his father's old stuff back from the estate and Kanji has to hem them all so Naoto doesn't look like a child playing dress up

Rise: there, all handsome

Kanji: does that uh, liner fit? I wasn't sure with the pattern, but-

Naoto: it's very comfortable, thank you Kanji. I feel much better in these clothes,

Rise: you look much better too

Naoto: a-ah. Thank you

--

Kanji: yo, you two cuddling?

Rise: Kanji! Leave us alone, can't you see we're having a moment?

Naoto: do you, want to join?

Kanji: yeah. I like keeping you two safe. I'll block out the world for a bit.

Rise: ...you can be pretty okay sometimes

Kanji: yeah yeah. Huddle in, Ma tells me I'm warm as shit

Naoto, his girlfriend, and the guy that also cuddles with them at night without being romantically involved

Their platonic buddy that keeps the world away when they're all sleeping. The big safety Teddie bear

--

Kanji's always in the infirmary checking on his Ma. Rise stares at the old fire alarms, occasionally pulling them and pouting when no alarm sounds. Naoto bunkers down in the library, between big hefty chemistry textbooks, town legends, and biology

Naoto: Rise.

Rise: ah! Hi, what's up? Missed me that much~?

Naoto: come with me to the library if possible. I find, it easier to focus when I know you're safe

Rise: hey. I'm not going anywhere, you hear? I'm making it out to see the sunshine again, to be able to go to the beach with everyone and relax. We all promised.

Naoto: I know...

Rise: so?

Naoto: but, I care for you more than I've cared for anyone in a long time... It would be easy on my own. If I failed, only I would suffer. But knowing your life is on the line-

Rise: it's not all resting on you. If you don't find a solution, the others will kill them all. We've witnessed less and less since we started. That's proof! We just have to keep pushing

Naoto: right. Right. As long as I've got you to keep me from falling into my head, we can't lose

Rise: *giggling* that's right! Now, you wanted to read? Hope you won't mind me sneaking in some kisses~

--

Naoto always has dark circles under his eyes. He looks almost gastly the day after trips to the estate. Pale, tired, trudging to the library, having to be dragged to meals

Rise always looks. Hollow. She can see through the fog, and. She doesn't see it as anything but a curse

She likes to dote on Naoto. It gives her a daily purpose. And fuck, Naoto needs it. Someone to take care of him for once,

--

Rise: WHERES NAOTO

Yu: is he not in the library?

Kanji: NO, HE ISNT, OTHERWISE WE WOULDNT BE FUKCING LOSING IT TRYNA FIND HIM!

Chie: I saw him an hour ago with that detective guy, Adachi? They went out to talk in the yard...

Yukiko: but I saw Adachi a minute ago, walking back in alone?

Yosuke: you dont mean...

Rise: IF NAOTO'S OUT THERE ALONE, WE NEED TO FIND HIM

Adachi told Naoto Nanako ran away to find her mom.

Adachi had knocked out Nanako and out her in the old Dojima house. He knows Naoto is close to the truth and is trying to get rid of him and make Dojima useless

The others rush through town, finding Naoto's hat and ripped jacket on the way. And blood

They find him inside the Dojima house, holding his sleeve to his gut, slowly bleeding as he shoots the shadows back. Nanako lies in the room behind him, safe but still out

Naoto: you, you came?

Yu: Adachi tricked you. For some reason, he wanted you dead

Naoto: that, bastard,

Kanji: quick, we need to get him and Nanako back before he bleeds out. Or worse, Rise has a heart attack

Naoto: Rise,, tell her, I'm sorry,

Yosuke: TELL HER YOURSELF COWARD, YOU'RE MAKJNG IT THROUGH THIS

Naoto is out for two weeks. Nanako is back at it after a few days. Yu grabbed Dojimas handcuffs as they left the house and they've kept Adachi chained to a bar ever since

Naoto wakes slowly. Pale, anemic still, dizzy. Rise is resting her head on his belly. Kanji is asleep in the visitor chair. The others are scattered around the room

Naoto: owe,

Rise: you stupid idiot,

Naoto: is Nanako okay?

Dojima enters the room and just. Thanks Naoto. So sincerely. But also calls him stupid

--

Rise: you're so smart,,

Naoto: we are making out. Is this, what they call the "sensual speak?"

Rise: no I'm complimenting you. Ugh, forget it. Kiss me again

Naoto: I need to work, Rise,

Rise: push me away then

Naoto:

Rise: that's what I thought. The fog will still be there the next time we come here, but we're both herw right now...

Naoto: not too much, the others are still in the estate somewhere, Rise -

Rise just keeps kissing them, and kissing them, and kissing them-

--

Rise: hey. Once everyone's asleep tomorrow, meet me at the old sewing room in the practice building. It's where they keep the spare futons

Naoto: why

Rise: I think you can guess why

Naoto: what

Rise: *wink* special alone time,,

Naoto: ...WAIT DO YOU MEAN SEX

Rise; you're so dense for someone so smart,

Naoto: uhm- I er-

Rise; we don't have to. But. I do want some time with just me and you, no chance of interruptions or the smell of chemicals

The morning they wake up in the sewing room, Naoto feels. Rested. His whole body feels, like he rested on clouds. The triple stack of futons probably helped

But he looks down and sees Rise's messy hair, her peaceful, sleeping face, pressed into his shoulder. He can feel her just. Wrapped around him all tight, hugging him in her sleep. He carefully moves her bangs aside, smiling at the little pout on her lips as sleep starts to fade

"Naokun,,"

"Hey, morning. Sleep well?"

"Mmmm, the best~"

"we need to get up soon, before someone finds us here."

"Mm, but I wanna rest some more,, can we go sleep under our desk some more?"

"I suppose it won't hurt. Now come on, let's find our clothes"

Rise swipes the button up Naoto had been wearing. Does up just enough buttons to be passable

Naoto: ...oh god your neck,

Rise: I wanna show it off! You're quite passionate

Naoto: let's hurry back before someone sees us,

Kanji is still asleep when they slip under the desk. Rise cuddles right back into Naoto, falling asleep almost immediately

He lies there for a bit, just watching her

--

Rise: you're stronger now than when we first rescued you... You were like a twig then

Naoto: thanks, I think

Rise remembers seeing, from the rooftop, the shaking little body in the tree. She can't believe it's the same guy that's curled up with her now, making that spot under the desk feel like the safest place in the universe

She remembers sitting at his bedside, spoon feeding him soup and vitamins when he could barely sit up himself

The hollow, dead look on those blue eyes

Rise: hey there, you're awake! You had us scared for a moment there! What's your name?

Naoto: I'm. Naoto Shirogane.

Rise: huh, that sounds like a guys name!

Naoto: I. I'd prefer to be addressed, as such.

Rise: huh? But- ...I don't understand it, but if it's what you want, I'll follow. So. You're a guy?

Naoto: maybe. I'm, not sure.

Rise: ...that makes two of us. A-anyways! More people will wanna talk to you later, rest up Naoto!

--

Naoto lying on the roof in sniper position, listening to Rise hum. He can't see anything through the sights but blurry fog. She can see the Horrors of what's beyond the school gates, so she reaches over. Pulls his hat off to play with his hair

Naoto: Rise?

Rise: please. I'll give it back if you need to take a shot. Just. Let me-

Naoto pushes himself up to give her a sound kiss

"Hey. You're doing great, being the strong one sucks I know. But you can use me to hold you up. Figuratively."

[best-funeral-ever]

If you’re taking TUA requests would you considering writing something where Luther has a cold and his siblings (or maybe Sloane?) look after him? Just something nice and sweet uwu🥺 or angsty works if that’s your vibe~

Luther gets a cold [various/platonic]

Hi! Thank you so much for requesting, I'm sorry this took me a few days I'm recovering from the flu.

I wanted to do Sloane but I unfortunately don't know enough about her character (I'm watching S3 with my dad and we're only up to Episode 3) :(

I hope this is good enough, and thank you again for requesting!! 💛

Rated: M (Small Mature Themes)

Triggers: Sickness? Implied intoxicated Klaus

Synopsis: Number 1 of the Umbrella Academy gets sick and consequentially bedridden? How would the rest of the Academy handle the situation as individuals? Written in a setting where they live together in the house (probably S1 without so much apocalypse rush?); NOT MEANT TO INTERTWINE WITH THE PLOT

Let's be real.

Luther gets a cold? He can handle it, he's fine, he doesn't need help, he's been sick before, and he doesn't want his siblings to help him in any way or be helpful

(he is lying on all of the above)

We'll review each sibling down the number line and start with everyone's favourite boar headed mama's boy.

Diego I feel like would know before Luther knows that he's sick (or getting sick)

He goes out and buys some cold and flu medication, "just to restock", and hides it in Luther's bedside drawers when Luther's out and about

This is the most he does, because he knows his brother, even though he's stupid as hell sometimes, can handle a cold

(he will be significantly more tolerable during this time, Klaus absolutely bullies him about it in a fond, Klaus kinda way)

Now, Allison. Allison, Allison, Allison.

Allison (a weird word now that I've typed it 5 times in a row) is of course very attentive. She also picks up on Diego's behaviour.

She, unlike Klaus, isn't a dickhead, so she smiles to herself about it and nothing more

She will be the one who checks in every few hours and makes sure that Luther's taking his meds and staying in bed

"Luther, I don't care that you think you're fine, you are not moving."

"What? Why?"

"You're sick???? You're contagious- Luther stop trying to get out of bed stop it"

"Allison, I'm fine, really"

Luther proceeded to cough so bad he doubled over, and Allison promptly pushed him back onto the bed and tucked him in with a little less patience than she had before

She knows this contact will definitely make her sick later, but she cares about Luther more, and future Allison will know not to repeat his mistakes

On to number 4, my personal bias

Klaus is a dick yes? We all know this?

Good, good, just making sure :)

He will be the person to also check in every few hours; he somehow accidentally falls perfectly in line with Allison's routine, so they swap out so efficiently Luther thinks they've coordinated it beforehand

("You think I planned this? Oh you silly little big boy.")

Klaus will try his best to keep Luther entertained but let's be honest here

It just makes Luther wish his meds had melatonin. And that he'd taken double the amount.

He will go on for actual hours about random shit he's seen, will laugh at his own jokes constantly

I'm placing this in S1 sort of time period so he's sober but barely and Ben is also there

Klaus will randomly adjust stuff on Luther's bed to make him more comfortable, like fluffing up couch pillows and readjusting his blankets

"Klaus, how do you know how to do all this?"

Klaus takes all the credit in a panic, not wanting Luther to be all grumpy when he says Ben's being a control freak

Ben looks very exasperated at having credit, like always, being taken from him and given to Klaus

But, Ben thinks to himself, at least his brothers aren't screaming at eachother.

Five is cynical. That's his nature. He's a grown man who has to relive puberty and the general public; he's not happy

That doesn't stop him from wanting to help his brother, even if he's pea brained

He will adjust his med dosages based on his body and tolerance so that they actually work

He'll do the dumb little math to make sure his brother can get his coughing under control - he's starting to think the walls will start crashing down if his elephant coughs keep ringing out through the house

He will also elect himself as volume control. He's very respectful, very calm and polite—

*SLAM* "FIVE IM SO GLAD I FOUND YOU I HAD SUCH A WILD FREAKIN NIGHT MAN—"

Klaus is promptly teleported onto the porch in the rain by a very pissed off Five who was supervising Luther for the night

"You idiot! Your brother is sick and trying to get better in there! For once in your pathetic life will you just. stop. talking!?"

"Okay okay okay okay can we go back inside now it's cold :("

Five warps them both back inside

Klaus doesn't interrupt him or Luther's sleep for the rest of the period

Five is vv protective in his own, violently dysfunctional way

Victor is probably the most awkward about the situation

He's been sick, obviously, and he knows Luther can get sick, obviously

He just can't wrap his head around how he's able to help

He's by far the most quiet and mellow visitor that Luther could have that isn't boring (Pogo)

Usually, Victor will just talk to his brother about whatever either of them can think of

A lot of apologies come from both ends because they're both just two awkward brothers trying really hard to bond

In a way, it's nice, because they learn a lot about eachother this way

Luther learns how Victor realised he was transgender and learns what exactly that means going forward (pronouns, medicals, etc.)

Victor learns how Luther truly felt about being "Number 1" and how much pressure he feels to fit that name

"I never realised how difficult it was for you to just be yourself," is the mutual thought that they voice

it's met with obvious, joined laughter, because of course the other has no idea what it's like, but then there's an understanding

When Luther finally does get better, it's easy to see that he and his siblings are all a little closer; between having to co-ordinate with eachother and work together to tend to their brother and having to keep arguments slim "because it'll fuck up the healing process", they've all grown closer and more understanding of eachother

It's something they're sure their father would've resented seeing.

[sixty-minutemaam]

I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN FRANCISCO

1

The fluorescent hum of the cool, blue lights above seemed adversarial in their nature, making it only more difficult to keep a focused mind. The floor was hard, unforgiving concrete, with thin, worn rubber mats loosely fitting together like a haphazard patchwork blanket. Bill Calhoun stood in the center of this chamber, wearing an off white doctor’s coat, swimming goggles, and a cloth mask, performing the surgery of his life. Doctors gathered in the observatory room across, and though Bill couldn’t see or hear the discussions clearly, he had the feeling they would soon rush into the room and seize the instruments from his grasp in horror, swiftly kicking him to the curb.

The Tweezers in his hand felt like they were taking intense strength to hold still, as if they could, at any moment, spring open and fly across the room in a rather comedic fashion, maybe even hitting the observation glass, who would find it perhaps less humorous. The injury was life threatening, a gunshot wound to the thigh on a 40 year old woman. Anyone could tell that she was lucky to be alive on the operating table, as opposed to being dead on the street, an all too common end for a Wastelander. Despite her luck, she was still a dying woman. Furthermore, the procedure was not permitted to use chems outside of stimpacks, as the supply of Med-X is always tight, and this surgery was an examination not of the wound, but of Calhoun’s performance as a On-Site Physician (O.S.P.).

His stomach spun in circles thinking about how close his graduation was. Five long years of schooling with the Followers of the Apocalypse had given him Medical training, basic pre-war classical studies, companionship, and the greatest gift of all, a Mission. Every Follower was given a mission at the end of their training. Perhaps 60 percent accept their mission, as each one is a noble goal, with prestigious potential benefits if achieved. Go collect chems from a distant city’s hospital, delve into the library for new literature, make contact with an unknown people, tend to a village’s Syphilis epidemic, The list of mundane chores a Follower is tasked with goes on to the horizon. This is why the other 40 percent choose instead to go on with their lives, with the knowledge they gained from the Followers being a perk if needed. Someone like Calhoun would never choose to reject a Mission, as though they are not required, Followers take great pride in helping bring knowledge to the Wastes; These Missions are often of mixed quality in practice, while some will end with clean water being freely available for whole regions, most end with a dead Follower or, in some cases, a cruel heart taking instead of giving to the community.

Calhoun was breathing tightly as he poured the antiseptic solution from its brown bottle around the bullet, the blood fizzing like a nauseating soda. He grasped the lead bullet with his tweezers, holding onto it hard enough to dig into the lead slightly, and slowly pulled the metal from out of the hole in her thigh. Blood oozed out of her leg in a small but flowing stream, and as soon as he dropped the bullet and his tweezers onto the tray beside him he reached in his coat for a stimpack, felt for the syringe, and forcefully jabbed the stimpack into the side of her leg. Soon, the blood that was previously drawing out of her wound had ceased, and with a bandaging and rest it was clear she would be going home. Bill suddenly felt every moment of the last five years rush over him, and come to fruition.

As soon as the patient was moved to her bed and he opened the door to the observation room he developed the grin of a smug, triumphant child getting one over on their parents, wishing to relish in the achievement for all time. As he removed his goggles, then mask and finally gloves, the three doctors before him looked back in an endearing way, and the oldest, A balding, frizzled, gray haired man with glasses like what a penguin must wear approached, whom Bill recognized as Dr. Chamberlain. “Bill! That was the smoothest stimpack injection I have ever witnessed, and I’ve seen a lifetime’s worth. Any merc would be lucky enough to have you by their side.”

“Yes, but more importantly,” said a woman, “you have shown your skills in medicine, and we all agree you are deserving of the title of Physician, congratulations Dr. Calhoun.” The short, hispanic woman congratulating him wore bright red glasses, and as they shook hands he felt that she might be some secret FEV creature with how strong her hold was.“Thank you, thank you all so much. It was wonderful to learn from the Followers these last 5 years, and I’m thankful for the work you doctors put into educating here.” Bill meant every word, and wished he could give these people more than what he had. They had saved his life, as they had for so many other children and youth around California. Without the Followers, he thought, the Wasteland would have double the raiders it does now.

“It’s our pleasure, Bill.” spoke the woman. “I know you want to get started on your Mission as fast as possible, so Dr. Chamberlain will be having dinner tonight at the Orpheum, you’ve been invited, if you want you both can discuss things there?” Bill lit up.”Well that’s great actually! I’ll be there Dr. Chamberlain. It was nice meeting you both!” And with that, Calhoun rushed out the operating room doors and left them swinging in a saloon-like fwop, fwopfwop close.

The Orpheum, unlike most other pre-war ruins, was spared during the Great War of 2077. Time and minor rubble were the only damaging factors for 168 years, until in 2245, when the building was cleared out with the help of The Shi, a large group of people descended from the crew of a Chinese Nuclear Submarine. They landed in San Francisco Bay shortly after the war, and with the help of a powerful AI they hailed as their Emperor, The Shi established Chinatown, which now encompassed most of pre-war San Francisco as of 2247. Now, San Francisco is one of the largest settlements in the New California Republic, With a recent loose allyship settling the deal. The Caravans run right through the city, going to Sac-Town or coming from Necropolis. Raiders hide in the Hills of Southern California everywhere, with only the highways and some roads being safe, and even then, things happen. The port is also active, though this is more experimental than practical at this point.

Back to the Orpheum, it is a wide concert hall in the center of downtown, with a faux-marble facade; The facade is decrepit, mostly chipped and burnt, but the arches and pillar caps are still visible, when they are complete. A large black vertical sign perpendicular to the street reads “ORPHEUM” in neon red, with a red outline around the perimeter of the sign. Ruined ticket booths peek out at the ground floor, dark and unmanned. The actual tickets are bought inside, at the lobby.

It was at the Followers barracks where newly anointed Doctor Calhoun was getting ready for his Dinner; He thought about what he should wear to receive the most important assignment of his young life. Searching through his very short selection of formal clothes, he decided after much matching to wear a Tan three piece suit, old but undamaged, as well as a slightly rattan off-white Bowler hat. For good measure, a cerulean blue (fake) rose. Yes, 23rd century fashion was archaic and stuck, but people like Calhoun could always find ways to develop the art despite the plebeians' insistence on denim and leather.

Bill himself was 22, a charming young man with a well kept, short beard. He has an amber complexion, A tall nose, and large, dazed eyes. He was also a little short, maybe 5’7”. In his tan suit you could almost believe he was pre-war, with his cleanliness and his unusual colorful flower. He left the barracks and headed along the street towards the theater.

Night-time in San Francisco, and the fog rolls into the Bay. Outside, the air is cool and misty, windless and stagnant. Inside, the atmosphere was very different. Glasses were clinking and pouring drinks and cocktails in the lobby, with lines around the entrance for tickets. Dozens of people in Atrium were gathering for the show, and Calhoun got a nice, white table near the side of the stage. The stage itself was recently renovated due to the Shi’s ownership, so everything in this hall was ordained with crimson cloth and golden frills, with large, snake-like dragons crawling around the sky high roof. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, and more decorations, such as paper walls, were built across the stage and the sides of the theater.

The old doctor entered the theater not long after Calhoun had sat down. He waved at Dr. Chamberlain, and got back a dazzling smile one only of experience can give. They sat down together, shaking each other's hands, and ordering drinks (Chamberlain a dry moonshine, Calhoun an atomic cocktail). “I hope it was a safe trip for you sir,” Bill said, looking for assurance. “Oh, it was quite a stroll, Bill. I haven’t had to deal with a mugging or arson all month, so I admittedly let my guard down. Well, of course the day I'm walking carefree is the same day that these bastard kids come out of the woodwork, ripping my bag from my own back practically! Oh don’t give me that look, these were real ruffians, gang kids from the Shi.”

“Well,” Bill gulped down a big fizzy mouthful of the boozed soda.” I think that’s why it’s so important that the Followers stay here, grow even. I mean when I came to the Followers I was a lot like those kids, just living in the ruins with bad influences, nothing to do but raid, scavenge and use chems. But the Followers gave me hope, we’ve given the whole region hope.”

“Heh, I sure feel like you’re right when you say it like that, kid.” Dr. Chamberlain had a look about him, one that seemed to go from joyous to solemn in a heartbeat. “Bill, now that you’re done with schooling, I’ll be honest, and admit that Followers lead a hard life. I know you’re so dead set on doing this Mission, and if you agree then by all means I will support you of course, but I want you to know that every Mission is dangerous. No matter what, there are great risks when we send Followers to places they are not used to. Many die. I alone know 6 of my colleagues who have succomed to the wasteland, all while doing work for the Followers. And once you do this first Mission, and once it’s completed? You’ll be a different person, son. A lot of people who complete a mission end up retiring afterwards, or they become a small town doctor. With me, I’ve done teaching for years, and I won’t stop. But physicians don’t become teachers to city kids. They go into the shit, and often don’t come back.”

Bill thought for a second, maybe ten seconds, on what to say. Then, he spoke. “I understand the risks. I’m prepared to make a difference out there, and it makes me so angry I'm not there right now, helping people.” “There’s not just helping people out there. It’s murder, and if you accept, you will have to kill, mark my words. If you’re unlucky, you might have to kill a lot. Even if you are the noble angel of good we all strive to be, that wasteland corrupts. And people love to drag down others.” “I’ll try to be wary of that sir,” Calhoun understood what Chamberlain was trying to say, but went back to his soda shortly after.

The red curtains rose from the ceiling, and on stage stood a dozen women, dressed in elegant crimson chinese garb. The lead, a blonde with a unique white dress, began to perform a routine.

I left my heart in San Francisco

High on a hill, it calls to me

To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars

The morning fog may chill the air, I don't care

My love waits there in San Francisco

Above the blue and windy sea

When I come home to you, San Francisco

Your golden sun will shine for me

When I come home to you, San Francisco

Your golden sun will shine for me

The audience clapped, and whistles as well as hollars roared from this rowdy crowd like a pre-war hockey game. “She was swell, no?” harked Bill. “They all were! I didn’t know this place was such an uproar, what’s gotten into the crowd?” The doctors looked around. “It must be the song. I reckon they play that one nightly huh? Must get annoying.”

After the crowd cooled off, and the jazz got started again, the Doctors discussed the reason they had gathered. “So,” Bill felt him choke a bit. “Are you going to tell me what they’ve decided is to be my Mission?” Dr Chamberlain looked at Bill with acceptance, and pulled from his briefcase a plain file, and opened it at once. “Your Mission, if you choose to accept it, is to attend medically and be the senior to a small team of Followers, going east of the Colorado River into Arizona. They’re making contact with the tribals in the area, translating, studying, and differentiating the different tribal dialects.”

Bill looked at the route he was being sent, A boat to the Boneyard, then to the Hub, then east into unknown land. The Colorado river was the marker of California, and few people crossed the river over time. Sure, there were some people who managed to hike from far off places, He had met someone who claimed to be from Florida, on the other side of the continent, and another who was from Mexico City. There were also the occasional Texans or people from any sort of tribal background in the Utah, or Arizonas. But going into the heart of Arizona with only a small group of people sounded daunting, and all for dialects?

“Why are these dialects so important to learn? We’re putting our lives on the line for Tribal languages?” Bill was upset, but kept his composure. “I know it’s not the most glamorous of duties,” exclaimed Chamberlain. ”But this is genuinely a golden opportunity for any Physician! Going east, as a Pioneer, an explorer of uncharted territory. I’ve read that pre-war America idolized their explorers as founders and heroes of their country! They exclaimed Davy Crockett, Lois and Clark, David Bowie, all heroes of the frontier! Imagine that, Bill Calhoun, a name equal to Tandi herself in standing. Yes, the NCR plans to eventually expand. I hear that their goal for the next 50 years is for the annexation of New Vegas, Phoenix, and Salt Lake City.”

“Hah!” Calhoun chortled, “New Vegas is teeming with Fiends, Cannibals, Kings, Vipers, Boot-Riders, Brotherhood of Steel and Slither-Kin. What makes them think they can even get close to that city before they’re devoured to the bone by those chem’d out freaks and fanatics?”

“Nothing. There aren’t any plans for going into the Mojave yet. The Baja Campaign is keeping the NCR busy at the moment, and removing all the raiders, Khans, Steel, and Enclave from California. But there’s a population boom coming, and I can feel the beginnings of a very powerful Military class. Not to mention those idiots at Shady Sands are too busy doing paperwork to help anyone with anything. Soon enough they’ll be blowing themselves up again huh?” Chamberlain chuckled, coughed, and continued. “Phoenix is obviously a pipe dream. Who knows what’s even there, if anything. If you care about an old man’s opinion, Salt Lake is actually possible, in a decade even, if they knew what they were doing. The 80’s are in their prime, but if the full NCR military went through, there would be nothing left. The Mormons have been friendly to our caravans, so annexation would be more achievable, better than people who actively hate us.”

“So, you’re sending Followers on this Mission for imperialism? I thought we were looking to put states down a peg, not prop them up.” Bill seemed less confused, and more sour. “Followers are independent, we don’t have a philosophy outside of helping people, if you want to subscribe to Anarchy then do it, I don’t care. But when the NCR gets bigger, it gets safer to perform our duties and less of your companions die. Our goals will diverge some day, and I can only hope we survive that, but for now we are making sure people aren’t dying of preventable illness because of borders. ”Bill, feeling humbled, stayed quiet for a bit, then announced. “OK. I’ll do this Mission. I’ll be ready for this in the morning.” “Good, you’ll enjoy the experience, Bill, you just have to meet up with your team. I’ll be at the docks waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Chamberlain.”

“Have a goodnight,Bill.”

Chapter 1

[twdeadfanfic]

Daryl Dixon One Shots

SNOW: Daryl’s been away from the communities for years, after Rick died, and in those years, he met Y/N when she stumbled into his camp. She needed help and Daryl took her in… They ended up being friends and then more, and by now, they have been together for years. Y/N is with Dog at the camp, waiting for Daryl, who went to trade to Alexandria, when it starts snowing. Winter holiday vibes one-shot.

HOT COCOA:  Pre-apocalypse with winter holiday vibes. Y/N is an elementary shcool teacher new to the town, and one of her students is little Dixon, Daryl Dixon’s nephew, Daryl has taken care of him for years, the kid’s mother out of the picture and his father seeming to be in and out of jail all of the time.One afternoon, as usual, little Dixon is the last kid to be picked up from Y/N’s extracurricular art class, since Daryl works long shifts at the town garage, and once he goes to pick up the kid, he might as well lend a hand to the kid and Y/N while they get ready some decorations for the school’s christmas play.

PERIOD:  After months on the run without her period, it comes back once the reader is living safely at the prison, and with it some discomfort and of course, cramps. Tags: Stablished relationship. Daryl is asexual, I guess that’s not a problem. I hope you are not squirnish about periods either, because there’s fluff and blood in here.

WHERE’S MY MIND:  Request, Reader has manic-depressive disorder, and she has run out of meds, which makes it hard to control it, and hard to control the way she feels and the way in which it changes, no matter Daryl tries to help. Angs, hurt/comfort, sad  3334 one-shot, inspired by the prompts  Maybe you should fuck yourself” and “There’s nothing wrong with you”

HOPELESS:  After losing everyone when the walkers attacked the quarry, reader can’t see the point on keep going, but then Daryl Dixon becomes her shadow, frustrating her attempts at being alone and end it all. She doesnt know why he’s doing it, neither seemed to know it himself, and neither does reader know if she’ll ever stop feeling like this, if that sense of hopelessness and lonelyness will ever leave her…Warning for suicidal reader.  (4600 words one-shot inspired by the prompt “I saved your life”)

CAN’T HELP IT: Things with Daryl aren’t easy. Reader’s been with the Dixon brothers since the begining of the outbreak, after being resqued by Daryl in their town. Eventually, she discovered how big Daryl’s heart is…and how stubbor, reckless, harsh and infurating he can be too. That doesn’t mean they aren’t friends, though, becoming more than friends after the CDC, but it means that they fight day in day out…and in one of those fights the reader is going to find something about Daryl that she didn’t know, and which would break her heart. Inspired by the idea of Daryl flinching during a fight with the reader because she can’t help but think she’s going to hit him. Set in season 2, with flashbacks to season 1 to when reader and Daryl meet, and when they get together.

A SECRET WELL KEPT: The reader has two scecrets. A small one, her crush on Daryl. A big one, the abuse he endured at the hands of her parents. On his side, and after just having arrived at Alexandria, Daryl’s not doing good, making him snap easily. Dyring a fight between him and the reader, some secrets are going to slip.

WINGS:  Little one-shot, set after season 9, Daryl’s vest is more than damaged, one of the wings torn and the other missing…and Y/N doesn’t like it, doesn’t like it at all…she wants to give the guardian angel his wings back.

MINE: Daryl’s girl is a pretty reserved person. She doesn’t talk much unless she really needs to. When Tyreese has Daryl pinned after finding Karen’s body, she reacts the fastest and aims at him,and this time you can bet she’s going to speak. Request.

EVERYBODY KNOWS Daryl has a crush on Y/N, his mind wandering to her at the worst moments on its own accord, making him unable to think straight with her arround, it’s frustrating and it’s embarrassing…little do he knows that it’s exactly the same for Y/N, who’s also unable to stop her eyes from wandering to him, her mind daydreaming. All their friends, seem to know, though…could them both going to a run finally bring them together? This was a request. Both reader and Daryl’s pov in third person.

SAD LOVE LIFE:The reader and Daryl share their sad love stories during late night watchs, until eventually they come out to each other as bisexuals.

DON’T LEAVE: Daryl and the reader used to be close, but with him leaving to the woods and her living in Alexandria, they hadn’t seen each other in a long while, until the meet again at Hilltop in 9x09.

AFTER THE BRIDGE:  Imagine following Daryl after Rick blows up the bridge.

NOT THIS TIME : When the prison falls you find yourself alone with baby Judith, running away from the chaos to save the baby, your heart breaking at the loss of your home, your friends, your family, your love…You were once unable to keep your own baby safe, will you be able to keep Judith safe now? Inspired by a request.

SLOW: The reader is getting ready for Deanna’s party, even though it felts a bit silly, even though Alexandria feels strange, she wants to try. She finds Daryl outside Deanna’s house, he seems to want to try to, but it’s not easy for him. Needless to say, an invitation to Aaron and Eric’s house for dinner instead of staying at the party is more than welcome.There’s not much plot here, just a reader crushing in Daryl, and Daryl being awkward and shy yet sweet.    I always thought that no matter what, I wouldn’t shave in the apocalypse.  I never wrote it in fics because I didn’t know what people would think. But  talking to some people here they thought the same, so that idea inspired   this one-shot.

I ONLY WANT YOU: Prision-era, Daryl and the reader are together, but now that there’s more people at the prison and the reader spends more time with a new friend, Daryl can’t help but feel insecure and jealous. Inspired by a request.

SOMEONE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU: The Reader is sick and Daryl takes care of her, fluff, and pre-apocalypse. Inspired by a request.

IT MIGHT BE CHRISTMAS: Daryl Dixon x Reader, Christmas inspired one-shot, some holidays vibes in TWD word.

YOU’LL BE SAFE: The reader lost her camp and her people and is roaming the woods alone when a group of men find her, bad men. But a not so bad man showes up to help, though how can you trust a stranger after all you had seen, all you had gone through? Inspired by a request.

[i-like-it-when-ju-sleeps]

I am the Apocalypse (Part 3)

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Sarah (OC)

Summary:  Takes place during Chicago Fire 3x18. Sarah is a doctor at Med and in a long term relationshp with Jay. She is at Med when the grenade goes off.

Part 1

Part 2 

The next hour was spent trying to help as many people as they could but at this point, they had seen everybody who needed to be seen and people were just really playing the waiting game. Sarah looked at the woman who was in the room with Hermann and came in, deciding to check on them.

“What you got?” She asked the two and Hermann answered instead of the woman.

“We need to patch in your boyfriend” he stated grimly, and the young woman nodded, getting her phone out.

“He was working with Marburg.” Sarah told the blonde woman as she listened to Jay’s information. “He injected himself with it.”

“What's Marburg?” Hermann asked.

“It's a viral hemorrhagic fever. The Soviets developed it as a biological weapon. Ask them which strain of the Marburg virus.”

“Yeah, which strain?” Sarah transmitted over the phone and listened intently before answering the woman. “Raven.”

“Okay. All right. Okay, so now I just have to see if he was past the incubation period and actually infectious.” She stated clearly and the doctor and the firefighter looked at her expectantly.  

“And if he was past the incubation period?” Hermann asked worriedly.

“It means Aleem was a walking biological weapon.” Diane announced and the three of them shared a look before glancing at all of the people outside.

“Alright,” Sarah sighed “Keep me posted, okay?” she asked the other woman before returning outside the room.  The ER was still dark and filled with smoke, people anxiously waiting against the walls. Right now, there was nothing left to do but wait, as everyone who could be treated had already been taken care of. Sarah sighed and sat down, a feeling of tiredness taking ahold of her now that she knew she couldn’t do anything more to help. She leaned against the wall and let her head fall backwards, a feeling of dizziness taking over and her head pounding. She lifted her hand to her forehead, where blood was coming out when the explosion happened. There was still fresh blood on the wound but it was not bleeding too much; She refused to believe that it was something serious. Still, she felt a bit nauseous but blamed it on the lack a clean air rather than a mild head injury. Will, noticing that she looked a bit pale, crouched in front of her and she perked up, looking at his concerned features.

“You okay?” he asked motioning to her forehead.

“Yeah….” She sighed “I’m fine. Just hit my head during the explosion.” She shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“And you still ran around for the past couple of hours? Not checking if it was serious?” Will frowned. She felt like a child being scolded.

“You know I’m a doctor, right?” she chuckled quietly. “If it really was serious, I would have noticed. I just felt dizzy because I’ve been on my feet for hours that’s all”

The man in front of her rolled his eyes and got a small light out of his pocket, checking her eyes.

“You could have a concussion, seriously you…”

“Seriously I’m fine stop fussing over me” Sarah cut him off, a little annoyed. She hated when people treated her as if she were made out of glass, and she did not want to have someone taking care of her when so many were in worse shape that she was. Still, she let Will grab bandages and securing one on her forehead, where the wound was finally stopping to bleed.

The young brunette stood up with a sigh once he was done, aware that he was still looking at her carefully, when movement got their attention. Hermann had just gotten out of the room with Diane Claman and wore a solemn expression.

“What is it?” Matt Casey asked worriedly from behind the two doctors.

“Not contagious” Hermann told everyone, a grin breaking onto his face. Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding.

“Influenza A tested positive, but the Marburg virus didn't have time to incubate. Whatever he had in his body died with him.” Diane then said, her helmet off. The crowd cheered, people letting cries of joy and relief. Sarah turned to Will and the two shared a bone-breaking hug, laughing as a way to let out the stress.

“Open up the ER” Will called out and Otis who was close happily complied. Over his radio, Matt informed the chief that it was all clear and cheers could be heard outside. Sarah looked over at Gabby who was still siting with the older man, Jim. She approached them and gave Gabby a side hug before looking at Jim.

“Ready to pull that thing out and get out of here?” She asked with smile and the man nodded gratefully. The two women helped him sit on a wheelchair and watched as a nurse started guiding him towards another part of the hospital. Before he left, he latched onto Gabby’s arm, thanking her for everything. Gabby blushed slightly and brushed it off quickly, watching him leave.

“You know” Sarah said watching her with a smile. “I still remember when you wanted to become a doctor”

“I sure have gone a long way, haven’t I?” Gabby answered with the same small smile.

“Yeah you have.” Sarah chuckled and gave her another hug.

“You know we still all miss you at the firehouse… You sure you don’t want to come back?” she joked

“As much as I miss all of you, I guess I was always meant to be there.” Sarah sighed looking over her shoulder at the doctors and nurses of Chicago Med who were walking around helping people out. Gabby was about to say something else when a very worried Jay made his way towards his girlfriend. He took a few long steps and engulfed the girl into his arms. Gabby left quietly, not wanting to disturb the two as Sarah’s arms went around her lover’s torso, burying her face into his neck. As they broke the hug, Jay’s hand went to her face, his eyes widening slightly at the blood on her forehead.

“It’s nothing” she reassured him with a soft smile. “I’m fine I promise”. Jay let out a deep sigh looking her in the eyes to make sure she was telling the truth before nodding and taking her into his arms again. As they broke their second hug, Will put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and Jay turned to him, giving him also a tight hug.

It took them a long time to actually transport everyone to different wings of the hospital. Every member of the staff that had been in the explosion had been dismissed, but none of them had actually left, helping around as much as they could. Once the day was over, and every patient had been looked after, Sarah tiredly walked into the resting room, only to find Hannah Tramble, sitting down on the ground, tears in her eyes, and Will’s hand placed on her knee in an attempt to comfort her. Sarah gave the two a week smile, sitting cross legged across from them.

“One hell of a first day huh?” she asked Will, although her tone made it clear that she wasn’t expecting an answer. It was a dark question to end a dark day.

 Sarah had finally been able to go home and shower, to wash away the grime, dust and blood from the day. As she wiped the fog on her mirror, she took a look at her reflection. She looked pale, her skin contrasting with her dark brown hair, but also with the purple under her eyes. And on the top of her forehead, hidden among her hairline, there was a purple bruise, on which stood a red angry line. The young woman sighed before concealing her eye bags, applying a bit of makeup and going to her bedroom.

Jay sat on the edge of the bed, simply waiting for her to come out. He hadn’t really been able to talk to her since this morning, as both of them had been busy. He looked up as she entered the room, noticing the tired eyes of his girlfriend.

“We don’t have to go out, you know?” he said quietly “We could stay here and rest if you want to.”

“It’s fine” Sarah answered softly “Everyone is going out and I really need something normal today.” she explained.

Jay stood up and walked towards her, stopping only and inch from her. She could feel his breath as he looked at her, his hand slowly grabbing hers.

“I was so worried about you. When I heard, I hoped that you weren’t there. I just…” he struggled to find his next words, so he settled for simpler ones that he thought conveyed his feelings as best as possible. “I love you”

“I love you too” Sarah answered with a conviction in her eyes that made Jay smile. Jay’s hand rose towards her cheek, touching it as if she was the most precious thing in the world, before their lips connected, a way for them to express what their words couldn’t.

At Molly’s, the couple stood with their friends, beers in hand and laughing around when Chief Boden called for everyone’s attention. The room fell silent, looking at him as he spoke.

“Just a quick word.” He explained “Wanna take a moment and let you all get back to the fine cocktails that they serve here at Molly's.”

“Keep talking, Chief.” Hermann interrupted, which made everyone chuckle.

“To the good people at Chicago Med.” He said, raising his beer slightly. “You made us proud today. And we are very grateful for the service that you do for us and for the city. It's not said enough.” He told us, looking over at the different doctors, a small smile on his face.

“Thank you, Chief.” Sharon Goodwin answered for all of the staff that was here. “We want you all to know that every time those doors crash open, there are good people, strong people, people at the top of their game ready on the other side.”

With that being said, everyone raised their drinks, a distinct “hear, hear” to end and terrible day on a good note, surrounded by family.

Sarah leaned into Jay as they spoke to Brett, Mills and Will, and she stopped listening to the conversation for a minute, taking a moment to appreciate being surrounded by people she loved, and she smiled to herself, enjoying the beautiful moment she was living after a terrible day. She had hope that no matter how bad everything could get, she’d always get better.

[in-tua-deep]

20 for Vanya?

20. What-ifs/Alternate Timelines

I have a lot of what-ifs and alternate timelines for Vanya lmao, especially ones that prevent the apocalypse because I’m a sucker for a happy ending tbh

What if Vanya was included? Why not? Klaus’s powers weren’t useful for missions, Allison’s story for Claire was literally like “yeah Klaus got distracted by ghosts in the background lol” so it’s not like a kid without offensive powers couldn’t do it

you have rebellious Vanya aus, where she decides, like some neglected children do, so act out. If her father isn’t going to acknowledge anything good about her, she’s going to make him acknowledge the bad. Punishment might be the only time he pays attention to her, after all.

(let’s call this an au where the pills suppress her powers but not so much her emotions)

So you have an au where she sneaks out and joins the missions. She breaks into the mausoleum and picks Klaus up and stares her father down with a challenge in her eyes. 

Five vanishes, and Vanya gets worse. She plays her violin at 2 in the morning. She refuses to eat her broccoli. she teams up with diego to see who can piss dad off the most

(her and Diego actually get along very well in this sort of au, honestly)

Vanya gets out and plays the violin and gets angry. She plays with fury and fire and gets second chair, because Helen is actually really very good. But she makes Helen work for it. Helen isn’t secure in her position, she always knows that Vanya is a step away from taking it from her

and maybe that should make them enemies, but it doesn’t. They’re rivals. Helen respects the hell out of Vanya, and Vanya can’t help but admire the woman who makes the most difficult pieces look effortless

(RIVALS TO LOVERS: VIOLIN EDITION)

Vanya writes her book. Except she kicks down Diego’s boiler room door and is like “DIEGO”

“WHAT”

“I WANT TO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT HOW MUCH DAD FUCKING SUCKS”

“I’LL BE RIGHT THERE”

as one of the rebel kids, Vanya actually got along well with Klaus as well since she helped him sneak out and 100% also smoked at least some weed with him because it would piss off Reggie tbh though she didn’t get into the harder drugs like he did

(showing up absolutely plastered to breakfast when they were sixteen was hilarious even if the laps they had to run around the block were not)

anyway Klaus crashes at her apartment sometimes, with supervision, because she loves Klaus but he has a problem and has stolen from her before but he’s still her brother but regardless

Klaus-Diego-Vanya sleepovers where they brainstorm the book to shit talk their father. Honestly it’s kind of a blast. They all get super wine drunk and end up watching Mary Poppins together with some Very Loud Opinions about nannies in general tbh

klaus throwing popcorn at the screen: BOO WHY WAS OUR CHILDHOOD NOT A MUSICAL???

diego: idk if you can have cheery musicals about child soldiers

vanya: i mean if they can have a musical about child labor in factories and the starvation of the workers in oliver twist you could do something with child superheroes

klaus: EXACTLY thank you vanya

they publish the book (luther is uNHAPPY, vanya dedicates her book to ‘all my siblings who survived the Reginald Regime but especially those who didn’t’, and she gifts Reggie a copy that says “fuck you lol” and is signed by her, diego, and klaus), they continue living, they go to the funeral when reggie kicks the bucket

and then five shows up, feral and aching

and five tells vanya about the apocalypse, and vanya thinks about their father saying time travel messed with the mind, and then she thinks - fuck the old man he was wrong about her (ordinary, fuck that, she’s Vanya Fucking Hargreeves) and he was probably wrong about Five, too

and Five is wholeheartedly believed

“Let me call Diego,” Vanya says when Five tells her about the eye, “I bet he could totally wear a police uniform and get info about the eye. And if not, I’m absolutely sure Klaus could improvise a solution. He’s good at that.”

“Klaus??” Five asks, vaguely suspicious.

“We don’t talk about the Sleepover of 2012.” Vanya intones solemnly, and refuses to answer any further questions on the topic.

Harold Jenkins comes to the apartment and tries to woo Vanya or whatever, and Vanya is kind of like... “Look, Leonard. I can be your teacher for violin. It’s my job. But I am in a relationship. And also like, super gay. If you have a problem with that then I am not the teacher for you.”

Actually scratch Diego and Klaus getting called, which they do, Vanya looks at them and her thirteen year old brother and is like “wait. actually i know someone infinitely better to crack this case wide open.”

“Who?” Five, Klaus, and Diego all ask

“My girlfriend.” Vanya says proudly, called Helen up.

And Helen walks into the building like she’s at fucking war and has such demanding confidence that they just give her the information she seeks and apologize for inconveniencing her.

“Hey Vanya are we still on for date night tomorrow?” Helen casually asks after, and Five kind of wants to be her when he grows up honestly after watching her verbally eviscerate Lance or whatever the fuck his name is

“Yeah.” Vanya confirms, “Unless there’s other apocalypse stuff to do?”

“You take all the time you need, honey.” Helen says warmly, “After all the more time you take the less you have to practice.”

“I’m gonna destroy the concert piece and you know it.” Vanya threatens.

Helen sniffs, “Okay, whatever you say second chair.”

and then they kiss and Helen ditches and the others just kind of look at Vanya judgingly

“In fairness, she’s very hot and very talented.” Vanya defends herself.

Klaus nods sagely. Vanya nods back. He gets it. 

“Concert piece?” Diego asks, because he has priorities.

“Yeah, I’ve already asked for tickets for all of you and you will be attending Diego.” Vanya smiles prettily with all her teeth.

“When is it?” Five asks

“April 1st.” Vanya tells him, “And no that isn’t an April Fools joke. You will attend and you will marvel at my skill. And maybe run interference between Helen and Allison because I’m kind of afraid they’re going to rip each others throats out to establish dominance.”

“That’s the day of the apocalypse.” Five informs her.

“Not on my goddamn watch.” Vanya says, because her family will attend her fucking concert and they will make awkward small talk with her girlfriend and the fucking apocalypse has better lay down and get over itself because nothing can stop Vanya’s goddamn plans

“I can investigate Meritech more.” Diego offers, because Lance-or-whatever-his-name-is is clearly shady as shit, “I have police contacts I could go through. Hey Vanya, your concert tickets include a plus one?”

“They can.” Vanya shrugs.

“Sweet, let me see if Patch can come.”

“She’s way too good for you, bro.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth.”

Anyway the point is they all go home, and Diego goes to talk to his police contacts and Five is definitely at home for when Hazel and Cha-Cha attack the mansion, oops. 

“Whomst the FUCK.” Vanya yells, kicking Hazel in the crotch because she’s Vanya Fucking Hargreeves she knows self defense thank you very much

“Ah.” Five says. “Hazel. How’s it going.”

“Just peachy.” Hazel wheezes, “Why’d you betray the Commission?”

“Well, you know. They cut the dental. That was really the last straw.” Five says, sarcastically.

“The dental.” Hazel echoes back, nodding very seriously, “I fucking know. You know physical therapy isn’t even covered anymore?”

“No shit?” Five says, “I mean you’d think with a job as physical as ours...”

“I know.” Hazel howls, vindicated. 

“Five.” Vanya says, rolling her eyes, “The house?”

“Oh, right.” Five frowns, looking at Hazel, “I mean. Can you like, leave? And not come back?”

“‘Fraid not.” Hazel actually sounds somewhat apologetic, “You know what the Commission is like. They’re really gunning for you.”

Five nods, because really what did he expect, “Can you leave like, temporarily? I mean you’d pretty clearly outnumbered. I don’t even know where Cha-Cha is, but judging by the furious yelling she probably met our sister and brother and Luther is hard to kill. Trust me, if he wasn’t we would have killed him when we were like, eight. But for real, can you get out of our house? I mean. Storming the den? Seriously? What kind of information did they even give you?”

“They didn’t give us any information.” Hazel responds back, sounding appropriately outraged, “They didn’t even tell us you could teleport.”

“Well that’s just rude. You’d think they wanted you dead or something.” Five muses, “But seriously, get out of my house.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Hazel admits, and leaves, because honestly Hazel is chill like that and knows when he’s lost. And Hazel also has a lot to think about. Like the fact that the Commission sucks and doesn’t even have dental, and how pretty the donut lady is. 

and Vanya is just like... okay. Weird. Is that going to happen again? Probably? I mean. Okay, this day has already been so goddamn weird. This week, honestly.

And they keep getting attacked by the Commission. And Vanya finds out someone broke into her apartment and stole her meds. What the fuck. 

“Did your shitty assassin friends do this?” Vanya asks, waving an empty pill bottle.

“Why would they?” Five asks, honestly confused.

“Because they’re assholes?” Vanya says, honestly outraged.

“You got me there.” Five admits.

The combined forces of Diego-and-Patch (because Patch is actually thrilled that Diego is asking for help regarding an actual fucking crime) figure out that the eyeballs are being sold illegally

Klaus is not kidnapped so he’s fine, just tagging along and living his best life, however this also means that Klaus does not steal the briefcase and Hazel and Cha-Cha are fine

Vanya keeps Five close at hand because frankly she doesn’t want him to leave again and she did really miss him. Also if she does save the world she can lord it over Helen’s head forever. 

And so Five is around when Vanya’s powers manifest, probably because they just got targeted by commission goons again because they’re trying real hard to kill five and separate Vanya

“Holy SHIT.” Five says, very intelligently, “You have POWERS.”

“Wow. Gonna have to write a fucking sequel to the shit-talking-dad book.” Vanya says, honestly a little light headed.

And then Vanya finds out her powers are sound based.

“Oh no.” Vanya says, “Where the fuck are my pills. I am not relearning how to play the violin with-powers a few days before the big concert Five, what the fuck.”

“But you need to learn to control them!” Five protests, “They’re your powers!”

“They’re a goddamn inconvenience is what they are.” Vanya states, “I mean, what am I going to do with them? Stop a bank robbery with the Umbrella Academy? Yeah, no thanks, that ship has sailed and sunk to the bottom of the ocean Titanic style. I’ll figure them out when I’m not in danger of blasting the audience halfway across the continent.”

“Yeah.” Five admits, “That’s fair.”

“Besides, if I’ve been on that shit as long as I have, and it’s been a long time, I cannot even IMAGINE what quitting cold turkey will do.” Vanya points out, very sensibly, like a siblings who has watched Klaus go through withdrawal symptoms more than once.

“Maybe there’s extra at the manor?” Five suggests, “Pogo probably knows.”

“Oh yeah I bet Pogo knows something.” Vanya mutters maybe a little bitterly.

They go back to the mansion and the Commission is honestly pulling their hair out tbh, and they ask Pogo who kind of pales and is like “UHHHH YES I CAN GET VANYA EXTRA PILLS” and goes to get them from whatever stash

“Fucking sweet.” Vanya whispers, entirely done with this situation, “The only adult male role model I had and he hid my powers from me and betrayed me. Love that for us.”

Five shrugs, “I mean, you’re right. All of our adult role models were all kinds of fucked up.”

“You vanished when we were 13.” Vanya says, “Didn’t you find like, any other adults ever?”

“Oh let me tell you about the Handler.” Five says, and proceeds to do just that. Because let’s be real, the Handler was the only human interaction Five had after forty odd years alone it was pretty damn important

Vanya, on the other hand, has strong plans to eviscerate the Handler should the two ever meet because Five deserved way better than to be forcibly made into an assassin?? honestly fuck that woman

that’s it that’s the au

Vanya finds out she has powers and is like “i have a LIFE i don’t want to interrupt it with bullshit POWERS,,, also going cold turkey off my meds seems like a bad idea if I don’t want to deal with withdrawal symptoms during my concert for fucks sake, my gf would never let me live it down if i skipped”

so vanya takes her meds, does NOT destroy the world, makes every one of her siblings go to the concert and even invites Hazel and Agnes after Hazel betrays Cha-Cha to join team No-Apocalypse. 

and then introduces them all to her girlfriend

“Holy shit Vanya.” Helen deadpans, “Your family is all kinds of fucked up.”

“I know.” Vanya says, aggrieved, “It’s been a long fucking week. Want to go camping and help me figure out my cool sound based powers? Bet they’ll make me a better violin player than you.”

“I think the fuck not.” Helen hisses, always up for a challenge, “Let’s do this. Me and my violin vs. you and your dumb baby powers. You’re on.”

“FAMILY CAMPING TRIP.” Klaus hollers, with all the enthusiasm in his little heart.

“Holy shit this is going to be such a disaster, I just know it.” Diego mutters.

“Shut up, it’ll be nice.” Allison says, elbowing Diego with her pointy pointy elbows.

“It’s going to be a shitshow.” Vanya says serenely, because it is. That’s just who their family is. 

Wouldn’t have it any other way, though

[archadianskies]

wingspan

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Monday Day 1: Post-Apocalypse •  Sacrifice; Hank Anderson/Rose Chapman TLOU AU

“Alice needs medicine.” It’s said in a whispered hush, paired with nervous glances over at the feverish child labouring in bed. “Her coughs are wet and her chest sounds congested.”

“Adam’s still about a week out from being able to drive back here,” Rose chews her lip, shaking her head. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Hank shrugs, “I’ll make the exchange by myself.”

“No!” Her voice is stern, her gaze even moreso but she knows it won’t dissuade him. They both know this has to be done.

“Make the call. Luther can help me load up the truck and I’ll go.”

“Hank-” Kara, sweet Kara with anguish on her face weighing her down, wearier and wearier with a sick child already. 

“I’ll get it done, for your little girl,” he pats her hand and there’s conflict mixed with her gratitude. “Luther will keep everyone safe here while I’m gone.”

*  

They’re easing into winter and they all know if he doesn’t go now, there won’t be a chance later when the roads are covered in snow. Doesn’t mean Rose is any more comfortable with the plan, not when the world isn’t what it was and every single day they’re out here they know they’re all on a knife’s edge.

“The cold slows them down,” Hank tries to placate and she raises one brow and he drops that line and goes for another. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better,” Rose says firmly and eases the beanie on his head. “North’s making the drop this time.”

“Doubly, extra triple careful then,” he mutters. North’s tempestuous at the best of times, so Hank knows there won’t be any casual banter or interesting snippets of news exchanged with the goods. 

Usually Josh is the one he meets with, sometimes Simon, and on that one occasion which he still is half-convinced never happened- Markus himself turned up. Jericho is one of the largest communities flourishing in the aftermath and has a functioning hospital, and the Chapman farm has, well, fresh vegetables and poultry. It’s a good relationship in this hellscape, one that gives him hope for a future.    

 *  

“Truck’s all loaded,” Luther thumps the hatch as Hank makes his way over. “If you leave now you’ll make it back before nightfall. I’ll keep an eye on the house, I promise.”

Hank claps his shoulder. “Thanks Luther, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“Thank you,” the man murmurs, his voice more like a deep rumble in that broad chest. “Thank you for doing this for us.”

“Hey, I’d do anything for her,” it’s the goddamn truth and he isn’t too proud to admit it. “I’d do anything for any of you.”

“Be safe,” Luther squeezes his arm. “It’s your turn to read to Alice tonight, remember?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

*  

He pulls out of the driveway, sparing Luther one last glance in the rearview mirror before it’s just him and the road and all the thoughts he tries so desperately to keep at bay. It’s been ten years since the outbreak, ten whole years since that cursed day he held Cole as his son bled out in his arms. It’s been nearly five years since Rose Chapman found him, half mad with grief and nearly feral with hunger yet too stubborn to die. 

He doesn’t really remember the years between Cole’s death and him wandering onto the outskirts of Rose’s farm. She’d saved him, continues to save him day in and day out because he has a purpose here, he matters here, and there are people here he’d kill to protect. 

Once the initial wave was over, once the violence cannibalised itself, people did what people do best- they come together, they rebuild, they reconcile, they strive forward. It doesn’t mean it’s completely safe, it doesn’t mean it’s all smooth sailing, but Hank can see a future now where he couldn’t see one before. 

 *~*  

There’s three kids walking along the tree line; it’s a blink and miss situation, but he definitely didn’t miss it. Three kids, all alone, heading somewhere but nowhere close enough they’ll make it by nightfall. Ah shit. Hank pulls over and the kids are smart enough to dart for cover.

“You kids alright?” He takes out his gun and sweeps his gaze around, trying to spot any infected who might be lurking nearby. 

“We’re alright!” One of them calls out.

“Shut up Connor!” One of them hushes the one named Connor.

“It’s only a couple of hours until sundown and there’s no camp you can reach safely on foot in time,” Hank approaches slowly, keeping his voice low. He sees them now, all three of them, skinny boys in ill fitting clothing with backpacks too big for them. 

One of them has a bandaid stuck to an old crusted wound right in the middle of his forehead. The other has a bandage wrapped around his forearm, brown with age. And the last one is pointing a gun at him.

“We said we are alright.” The one holding a gun says icily. He can’t be more than ten, yet the look in his eyes says everything; the boy has been through things a ten year old shouldn’t have, but then the same could be said about most children in this hellscape.

“Two of you are hurt. I’m going to Jericho and-”

“Jericho?” The one named Connor perks up. “We’re going to Jericho!”

“Shut up Connor!” The other says exasperatedly, and Hank can see they’re identical twins with the only difference to be found in their expressions.   

“I can take you there. Plenty of room in the truck.”

“What will it cost us?” The one with the gun demands, and Hank shakes his head.

“Nothin’. I just don’t want you boys out here all alone, especially once it gets dark and the temperature plummets,” he tries to reason with them, but can’t fault them for their caution. 

“We managed to make camp just fine,” one of the twins says stubbornly but Hank can see it, can see that small hopeful expression he’s trying so desperately to mask.

“I’m sure you did, and I’m sure you can tonight. You just shouldn’t have to, that’s all,” he gestures at his truck. “This way’s pretty deserted but Jericho’s much safer and the truck’s much faster than going on foot. What do you say?”

“If you try something funny, Ronan will shoot you,” the stubborn twin threatens, and Hank nods.

“Alright.”

 * 

It’s a tight squeeze but three boys under ten are about the size of one grown man so it spares Hank the effort of rearranging the produce on the back. There’s a blanket Kara crocheted on one of the seats, and he tucks it over them and doesn’t miss the way they snuggle closer, huddling for warmth. 

“Is Jericho nice? How long have you lived there?” Connor asks after a while.

“Jericho is very nice. It’s big and safe and there’s other kids in there too,” Hank explains, “but I don’t live there. I live on a farm down the other way, and we supply vegetables and chickens to them in exchange for meds and materials and shi- stuff.”

“You’re making an exchange now?” The one named Ronan asks quietly, the gun still held tightly in his hands now resting on his lap.

“Yeah, uh, Alice, a little girl about your age, she’s sick,” Hank spares them a glance. “Her cough’s getting pretty bad so we’re hoping to get some meds to help.”

“Maybe they’ll have something for me there?” Connor says so softly Hank barely hears him.

“Are you sick? What do you think you need? I’m sure they’ll have it there.”

“You’re not sick!” The other twin hisses, and Connor huffs stubbornly.

“That’s the problem Sean, and maybe that’s why I need help!”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Hank looks over at them and both boys click their jaws shut and refuse to meet his gaze. 

“It’s fine,” Ronan says, the ice back in his tone. “We just need to get to Jericho.”

*   

They spend the rest of the drive in silence, and Hank’s glad when the large gates loom up on the horizon. He doesn’t drive up to the main entrance, but takes a side road and stops the truck by a clearing where there’s another car waiting.

“Hey Hank,” the redhead greets with a lazy wave, leaning against the trunk.

“Hey North,” he nods respectfully as he kills the engine and hops out.

“Oh,” she blinks in surprise, “new survivors?”

“Yeah I picked ‘em up on the way,” Hank gestures over at them before busying himself with removing the tarp over the cargo. “They were headed this way so I thought I’d get ‘em here safely.”

“Doc will want to check them over,” North looks at the boys and Connor is the only one who offers a wave. “It’s just protocol of course.”

“They’ll need her help anyway- Sean has that wound on his forehead and Connor has the bandage on his arm,” Hank looks over his shoulder at the boys. “Blood looks old but it can’t hurt to give it a once over and a dressing change.”

“And the other one who looks ready to murder me?”

“That’s Ronan. He’s holding a gun.”

“Clever boy,” North smirks, coming around to the driver’s side and peeking in through the open door. “You boys want to come stay here with us, you have to get checked by the Doc first okay?”

“Okay,” they chorus obediently and Hank finds himself grinning helplessly. 

“Got the meds and some honest to god wool yarn for Kara,” North informs him as she loads up a crate onto the back. “Otto farm about six hours away made the exchange and I kept a couple of skeins for her.”

“She’ll love that, thanks North,” he pats the crate happily. “And we all profit it from it, so…”

“It’s more an investment than a gift,” she grins before beckoning to the brothers. “Alright kiddos let’s go. Come in and grab a coffee Hank, while the guys unload the rest and refuel.”

“You’re a saint, thanks.”

 *~*  

Jericho is a nice place. It’s a really really nice place. It’s full of life and learning and healing. No matter how hard others try to take this place for themselves, no matter how much violence they try and inflict, the sheer resilience of its people keeps the place running. That, and well, having nearly an entire SWAT team complete with a Captain in residence can’t hurt. 

Far better, kinder, saner team than the rabid FBI team led by Prickins from a few years back who tried to destroy Jericho and take it for themselves. The whole debacle saw over half of Jericho burned to the ground and dozens slaughtered. 

It’s when he and Rose took in Kara and her family, because the sheer trauma was too much for Alice to process and she could never return. Adam stayed on as a nurse and found his calling. It feels like a lifetime ago too.

*   

He takes his coffee over to the little clinic at the side entrance where newcomers are screened because he wants to make sure the boys are alright.

“This is a burn,” Adam frowns as he inspects the wound on Sean’s forehead. “How did you get this?” 

The boy doesn’t answer, looking over nervously as doctor Anthea unwraps the bandage from Connor’s arm.

“Oh my god-”

“Fuck!” The expletive leaves his mouth before he can stop himself.

“It’s three weeks old we swear!” Connor cries, nursing his arm to his chest, tears in his eyes. “It’s three weeks old!”

Before Hank can comment any further he’s being slammed to the wall, North placing a gun under his jaw. “You brought a fucking kid with a bite into Jericho and expected to leave him here?!”

“I didn’t-”

“He didn’t know!” Ronan shouts, clenching his trembling hands into fists. “We didn’t tell him in case he left us behind!”

“He should’ve left you behind!” North growls.

“It’s old,” Anthea raises her voice. “The teeth indentations have healed over. This is new scar tissue right here.” She’s gently tracing the mark on Connor’s arm, the boy’s bottom lip trembling as tears spill down his cheeks.

“How the fuck is that possible?” North steps away and lowers her gun, too shocked to be angry now it seems. “Everyone who’s ever been bitten turns after eight hours at the most.”

“He must be immune, then,” Anthea smiles in disbelief as she smooths Connor’s hair away from his face. “You are one of a kind, Connor.”

“We keep him in holding overnight,” North declares, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just to be sure.”

“No, you keep us together!” Sean spits, fuming at the mere suggestion of separation.

“I don’t have time for that, I have to get back to Alice!” Hank argues and North cocks her brow.

“No one’s asking you to stay, Hank, you can go.”

“Bullshit! I’m not letting you lock up these kids outside of Jericho’s walls!”

“You can go, you got us to Jericho, you don’t need to do anything else!” Ronan adds and oh Hank can see it, Hank can see the fear of being left alone in those big grey eyes. 

“I’ll go, I know the way,” Adam offers, holding his hand out for the keys. “It’s my home, after all. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I’ll spend the night in holding, then,” Hank nods as he hands over the keys to the truck. “Tell Alice I’m sorry I’ll miss storytime.”

“You spend the night in holding,” North orders as takes his gun from the table and presses it back into his hand, “and you put him down yourself if he turns.”

“And then us too,” Ronan says in a voice so steady, so resigned for a child. “If you shoot him, you have to shoot us too.”

“It won’t come to that,” Hank says firmly.

“For everyone’s sake, I hope you’re right,” Anthea runs her fingers over the bite on Connor’s arm again before gently thumbing away his tears. “I guess we shall see in the morning, hm?”

* 

The holding area must have been a security control room at some point. It’s now been caged by wire completely, with a chained and padlocked gate. He must be losing what little sanity he has left, but at least he’s not losing his compassion. No way in hell he’s about to abandon three boys to an uncertain fate, no matter how brave they’re trying to be.

“You could’ve gone back to the farm,” Ronan points out as Connor curls up on the lumpy mattress under the covers with his twin.

“Yeah I know,” Hank shrugs, nursing his coffee mug. Simon had left them with provisions to last the night, including a large thermos of coffee because he’s an angel in this apocalyptic hellscape. 

“What if we’re lying and Connor turns and kills you?” Sean demands, though it’s not so effective given Connor’s clinging to him tiredly. 

“Then I’d die,” Hank offers them the soup thermos. “Alice is still getting her medicine tonight, so that’s perfectly fine.”

“Don’t you have family at the farm?” Ronan accepts the thermos and pours out a cupful, handing it straight to Connor. 

“Losing me won’t be that big a loss for them.”

“That’s a lie! Everyone has someone who’d miss them!” Connor shouts, nearly spilling the soup in his outburst. Hank admits defeat there. Rose would miss him, he thinks, because she’s all heart and soul. 

She took him in when he was a husk of a man and together with Adam they toiled and tilled the land, took in every broken survivor and sent them on their way to Jericho with a full belly and provisions to spare. And Hank shot anyone who ever dared to raise their hand against Rose because people like that, greedy fuckers who want to take and take, have no place in this new world. 

“What happened to you boys out there? What happened three weeks ago?” It’s The Question and no one seems to want to answer it. 

“We wanted to go to the stream to see the fish,” Ronan eventually starts quietly. “We snuck out because Amanda didn’t give her permission.”

“It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have insisted,” Connor stares into the soup as if it could offer comfort. “I just really wanted to see them.”

“We didn’t see the infected one until it was too late and it bit Connor,” Ronan reaches over to hold his hand. “We tried to hide it but it was bleeding a lot and Amanda heard us in the bathroom getting the first aid kit.”

There’s a pause and Hank realises Sean hasn’t said a single word, resolutely avoiding everyone’s gaze. 

“She dragged Connor out the back and-” Ronan falters, pressing his lips into a tight line as he darts a look at Sean. “She gave Sean a gun and told him to shoot Connor as punishment for sneaking out.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank swears, recoiling in horror and it makes sense now; the small burn mark on his forehead is from the shell casing hitting him.

“She made you do it, Sean, I don’t hate you!” 

“Well you should!” Sean yells. “You should because I pulled the trigger!”

“She made you do it!” His twin insists, squeezing his hand. “She made you and if you didn’t she would’ve killed you!”

“So I killed her,” Ronan says evenly, as if he’s simply stating the sky is indeed blue. “I took the gun from Sean after he missed, and I shot her in the chest and after she fell over I shot her in the head.” Ronan looks at him defiantly. “So we’re fine. We can look after ourselves, you don’t have to care about us.”

Hank slowly sinks to his knees, taking the cup of soup from Connor and setting it aside before gently gathering the boy into his arms and reaching for the other two. He’s a big guy, he has enough wingspan for all three, and he enfolds them in as tight a hug as he can manage and that’s it, that’s what sends the last of their defences tumbling down. They cry loudly, the trauma of it all finally being given a proper outlet and he holds them and he vows to himself that he’s never letting them go. There will be no more Amandas in their life, not now, not ever again. 

“Takes us with you,” Connor sobs. “Don’t leave us here.”

“We’re leaving once Adam gets back. All of us,” Hank promises. “I’m never letting you out of my sight.”

* 

He’s used to watching the dawn, used to getting up this early now to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. He’s even used to waking up with a child still fast asleep on him, now that Alice treats him like a grandfather. There’s something different about this moment, though, with all three boys snuggled against him. 

There’s something hopeful about this because it’s eight hours later and he’s still whole and alive and unbitten. And that means Connor is indeed immune. With Sean being an identical twin, that means he too could carry the natural immunity. The hope of the entire world, fast asleep in his arms. It’s a beautiful sentiment. 

“Good morning Hank,” greets a voice at the gate and there’s Mister Markus Manfred himself; Jericho’s saviour and leader. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is Adam here yet?”

“Not yet,” the man shakes his head. “But Simon made breakfast for you and the boys. They’ll have a room near the creche with the other children, and we can get them settled in afterward.”

“We’ll have breakfast, and then as soon as Adam gets back, we’re heading for the farm,” he meets Markus’ gaze steadily. “They’re not staying.”

“Hank, Dr Anthea told me Connor is immune. That means we could work towards developing a vaccine.”

“You still can,” he shrugs as best he can with three sleeping kids piled on him. “We can make the trip every weekend. But these boys are coming home with me.”

Markus looks at him, scrutinising him, and Hank can see both the leader and the saviour at work, weighing up the pros and cons and trying to find the common ground for the greater good. Hank would never want to be in his shoes, no sir, no thank you.

“Breakfast, then?” Markus smiles one of his charming presidential smiles as he unlocks the gate and gestures towards the entrance. “Simon made pancakes and we cut up some of the strawberries you brought over from the farm.”

“Pancakes?” Connor stirs sleepily, rubbing his eyes and there it is, there’s the bite on his arm, three weeks and one day older. 

“Yeah kiddo, pancakes for breakfast before we head home.”

“Home,” Ronan echoes with a soft smile. 

“We’ll be good, we’ll help out on the farm and work extra hard,” Sean whispers nervously, and Hank runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. 

“I know you will.”

* 

Connor and Sean Dechart are ten years old- very nearly almost eleven, Connor points out. Ronan Dechart turned nine two weeks ago, a birthday forgotten entirely in the struggle to survive so Hank makes note to bake a cake. Their parents had died in the initial outbreak, and Professor Amanda Stern had taken them in after finding them hiding at the nearby university where she taught. The story unfolds on the drive back to the farm and the more he learns about their time with Amanda the more he’s glad Ronan shot her and shot her again. 

Luther greets them on the driveway, Alice bundled up in a thick down jacket and blanket sitting on his arm. She waves enthusiastically, cheeks rosy and smile bright and Hank feels his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight. Rose is standing on the porch and she’s giving him A Look and he wants to say sorry reflexively but he’s not actually sorry for anything. 

Alice takes Connor’s hand and drags him inside, the boys trailing, and she announces loudly that she’s giving them the grand tour. Luther claps him on the shoulder before following Alice.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Rose sighs heavily as she pours him a generous mug of freshly brewed coffee. Her tone is reprimanding, but there’s something fond in her eyes as they take a seat at the dining table. 

“I couldn’t leave them,” he shakes his head. “Not out there on their own, and not even at Jericho. Not after all the shit they’ve been through.”

“Because you’re a parent, Hank,” she says it so softly, so gently and his breath hitches in his throat. “You’re a father. It’s just what you do. It’s just who you are.”

“They’ve been through hell, and they deserve better. They deserve a second chance.” His vision blurs as he raises his head and looks at you. “You taught me that.”

“I did, and now you’re teaching them that,” Rose is smiling, a big radiant smile and he can’t help but lean over to kiss that beautiful smile. As far as second chances go, he reckons this is about as perfect as it gets.

[faithfulcat111]

Okay, this bit is going to appear to start in a really weird place, but that is because I wrote this entire AU stream of consciousness style in my notes and just broke it into sections to post here cause it was like thirty pages. So part two!

Vanya wastes no time driving to Diego's. She can't get Five out of the car by herself, so she goes into the gym and manages to find Al who looks like he could be in charge and asks if he know where Diego is. Al is immediately defensive, wondering if this is some weird ex. Not Diego's usual type, but hey who is he to judge. When Al asks why she is looking for Diego, Vanya explains that she is his sister and she has their missing brother and needs Diego's help. Sister instantly set off red flags because as far as Al knew, Diego was pissed and fighting with both of them. Al wasn't even sure how many brothers Diego had, having only seen one around (the only sibling around actually), and only heard of the others as a group in passing. But a missing one? No wonder the kid is messed up. He agrees to help Vanya get Five into Diego's room as Diego is out right now and holy shit, that is a legit kid. Too old to be a kid of Diego's, but he almost looks too young to be their sibling. And Vanya is grabbing a couple duffle bags and abandons the keys. Something weird is going on. Al gets the kid inside for Vanya, but decides he is staying out of this mess.

Vanya waits inside. Five isn't waking and Diego takes a few hours to get back from his vigilante stuff. Al manages to catch him and says his brother and sister are waiting inside so don't throw those damn knives at them. Diego is confused, but Al keeps going, saying that his sister showed up with a kid claiming it was their missing brother and the kid looked horrible and, Diego runs into the room and stops short when he sees Five of all people sleeping on his bed with Vanya reading beside him. He is understandably not happy about Vanya just showing up and wants answers about why she and Five of all people are here. Vanya tries to explain the best she can with her limitied knowledge: Five showed up at some point, Dad was keeping him at the house cause he is sick or something due to time travel, Luther tried to contact the siblings, but could only get ahold of Vanya, Luther got Five out of the house before taking off to some important mission to the moon. Luther never saw Five awake and neither has Vanya yet. Diego needs a moment before he asks why Luther even bothered getting Five out. Vanya says that all he told her was Mom mentioned it, that Five needed family. Diego still feels like there are so many missing pieces, but you know what, he'll take what he has and since Mom wanted Five to get out like everyone else, then he is staying out.

Five chooses this moment to come back to consciousness. The two just hear a slight whimper behind them at first and turn to see Five sleepily blinking his eyes open. They stare at him for a long moment before he just screeches. Vanya practically jumps on the bed grabbing Five and holding him which promptly shuts him up. He looks absolutely bewildered. Diego steps forward, cautiously asking if Five knew who they were and where he was at. Five reaches up one hand to touch Vanya's arm and just whispers in a far too raspy voice, "Ghosts can't touch me." And then passes right back out.

Okay, their brother has obviously been through some things and is traumatized af. Diego helps Vanya navigate their brother out of the coat, startling when something falls out of one of the pockets. It's Vanya's book. Clearly it is Five's copy as a quick flip through the pages shows a bunch of equations scribbled through the margins. What stops Diego though is that this is a library copy. And the last date it was turned in was in 2019. Nearly four years from now. Vanya sees Diego holding the book and starts to say something, but is cut off by him just saying that Five definitely time traveled before showing her the stamps showing when the book was last checked in. He then says that Veggie will be looking for them, or at least Five, and they need to go. So he stuffs some things into his own duffle bag, hands all the bags to Vanya, scoops up Five, and leads the way.

This is where I stopped writing for two months because I was working on another AU and had finals and holidays, but I think I remember where I was going with this, so here we go.

Diego, Vanya, and Five take off with only a call to Eudora from Diego (who they are newly broken-up, so it takes awhile, but Diego finally just tells her he has to leave for awhile and if she can keep an eye out for Klaus, he would appreciate it) and Diego telling Al to just box his stuff up or sell it. They leave in Diego's car, although they trade it out at a sketchy car lot the next town over. Why did they take off like this? Diego knows what the evil there father figure is and Vanya quickly figured out they would have to leave to avoid him taking back Five, which is her focus. It doesn't take long for Diego to deduce that is her intentions and for his big brother instincts to take over and decide to run with them and take care of the two.

Through the initial 24 hours after they take off, Five is mostly asleep. They bring him back to consciousness a couple of times to drink something or eat something soft, but he appears to also have some kind of fever.

They end up in a mediumish-sized town in the midwest just big enough that they can disappear into. They pull the siblings trying to get away from abusive situation card with a nice old lady who manages an apartment building and lets them stay and even hires Diego as part of her maintenence crew for the buildings she runs till he can find a proper job. The old lady seems to be under the impression that Five is one of their kids, not little brother, but they can't figure out whose kid she thinks he is, because she clearly knows that Diego and Vanya are siblings and it is a whole thing. They also give fake names when signing their lease, but I'll figure those out later.

Five finally wakes up more coherent then he has been a couple days later under Vanya's careful care. He seems very confused about where he is, understandably, but especially by Diego and Vanya being there. He appears to vaguely remember being locked up by the trauma-meister, but seems hesitant to explain what happened before that. Vanya explains that Luther got him out before taking off on some important mission to the moon on Grace's prodding and Vanya and Diego took off with him as they didn't want Veggie taking him back to his torture chamber.

After a little bit of prodding, they finally get out of Five that he traveled to the end of the world, set to happen in 2019 and they need to stop it and that he was trapped there for two years. Diego and Vanya are doubtful, but they agree to help under the condition that they do it under the radar considering they need to stay hidden from Vegetable until at least 2018 when Five will be, biologically 18.

And that is the premise. There is no permanent orchestra in the town they moved to, but Vanya lands a job teaching music theory and such at the community college and giving private lessons to local kids on the side. After a month of working for Ms. Roberts (I've decided that is their landlord's name), Diego gets a much better job, working first in janitorial at the local gym and a temp trainer, before being hired on permanently. Five is a bit more trouble. People seem to freak him out in large quantities, but he is also a kid, even though he is a very smart kid. And with Ms. Roberts knowing he is a minor, they really don't want the CPS breathing down their necks and taking their technically kidnapped, but very traumatized brother away. So, Vanya finds a local homeschool coalition. It requires that Five shows up for an in-person class once a week, but he can do the rest of his classes online and that gives him plenty of time to work on the end of the world stuff. He picks the music theory class that Vanya volunteers to teach to give Five free tuition.

And the three slowly build a life in this town. Diego and Vanya seem to have silently agreed to just pretend the Book never happened so they can take care of Five. Five clearly has nightmares and freaks out at both people and being without his siblings, so he goes with them everywhere (he ends up auditing all the classes Vanya teaches at the university when he enrolls at 17 to start on a math degree, mainly because he already sat through the classes a couple of times at this point).

They don't contact Vanya's orchestra, they were miffed when she called to say she wasn't showing up anymore the day she got Five. Diego calls Eudora after about six months to check in. She picked up Diego's only box of stuff from Al that he left behind and is holding it for him and agrees since Vanya's year lease is almost up to clear out Vanya's old apartment soon. (She is just being really great, but they aren't telling her the brother they are watching is a kidnapped minor for a reason). She also tells them that she had to put Klaus back in rehap a month ago and he had seemed really confused by her doing it instead of Diego like usual. Diego won't tell her where he is though. She does agree to look into the eye Five finally admitted he has from the apocalypse and will gather all info she can find for when Diego calls back. (When he does a few months later, she tells them the eye doesn't exist, the company it is from hasn't even started making prosthetic eyes yet).

And then, Vanya's pills. Well, she realizes she is running low and since they are laying low, she can't exactly call her old therapist or psychiatrist and get a refill. So, she goes to a new one who flips at the level she is taking (how is that allowed!!!) and starts a plan to wean her off those and onto a new set of anxiety meds that would be better for her. Vanya starts to feel happier and better overall. There is complaining about the bad lightbulbs Diego always buys because one seems to shatter every two months and she always seems to know what either boys are muttering even across the room, but none of them really notice Vanya's powers. Maybe because Five seems genuinely terrified of his own at the moment and they all know they can't draw attention to themselves as former members of the Umbrella Academy, but powers are the furthest thing from everyone's minds. Diego even goes to a sort of seedy tattoo artist and gets his covered up, playing up the umbrella as a stupid drunk mistake he wants to forget and Five takes to wearing long sleeves and bracelets so people can't see his. Five also goes and sees this therapist and gets classic GAD and PTSD and goes on anxiety meds too eventually. Vanya just has SAD and over the time they are in this town, she eventually gets weaned down to an as needed pill, which she only is to take for an attack which ends up being once every couple weeks or so. Five is on daily meds. Dunno yet if this will be relevant, but to give you an idea of the starting point I have for each of them. Five also has asthma from all the ash.

[prismatica-the-strange]

Au Zombie apocalypse (but more like the movie Fido

While I did watch the film (and absolutely loved it!), I didn't really know how to write it as an AU, so I went more for a 7 Days to die meets Tyler Posey's Alone.

Word count: 2014

Warnings: Blood, violence, swearing

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Jackpot!"

"What'cha got?" Cam comes up behind her to look into the cabinet.

"Enough to last us a while," Bunny grins, shrugging off her backpack and shoving cans from the shelves into it.

"Dread found a buttload of nonperishables," he says into the radio on his shoulder, "What about you gu-"

He's cut off by the sound of gunshots from two floors up where Daniel and Vala are going through apartments.

Bunny freezes, hand gripping the worn, bloodstained handle of the fire ax on the counter next to her. Everything goes quiet.

They wait for what feels like forever with bated breath until Daniel's heavy breathing crackles through the radio, "We had a group of infected, but we took care of it... Keep an eye out, those shots could have attracted more."

Before she can even let out a breath of relief Bunny sees a figure shambling up behind Mitchell.

"Behind you!"

She manages to pull out her sidearm as the zombie tackles him. She fires a few times and prays she was quick enough to kill it before it bit him.

The infected goes limp and she nudges it with her toe before pushing it off him.

There's a lot of blood, she wipes away as much as she can but she doesn't see a bite mark, just the gash on his forehead.

"Mitchell's unconscious," she says into her radio, "Zombie took him down and he hit his head, I don't see a bite."

"Keep your distance, just in case," Daniel answers, "We'll be right down Bunny."

"Hey! It's just me!" Daniel says when she points the Glock at him.

"Announce yourself next time dumbass!" She snaps, pointing her gun to the floor. "There's infected around, I could've killed you!"

He glances up at her when he kneels next to Mitchell, checking him for bites or deep scratches. "We'll bring him back, but he'll need to be watched closely, are you okay?"

"'M fine, let's get him back to base." She assures him with a small smile.

"Guys!" Vala skids to a stop in the doorway, "We've got an entire pack of runners headed right for us, if we're leaving, we need to go now."

"Help me with him," he looks to Bunny and she slings one of Cam's arms over her shoulders, helping Daniel get him to his feet.

Vala takes point as they drag him down the, now darkening, hallways of the apartment building. The group makes it to the truck without incident, Vala climbing into the bed with Cam and the supplies they managed to raid.

The compound was a small, red-brick school that they had reinforced. Two floors, lots of rooms, a flat roof that was good for patrolling on, and a chain-link fence surrounding it that they had wrapped and topped with barbed and razor wire.

"This is Raid Team One to Base, come in Base," Bunny says into the radio hooked to the dash. "I Repeat, This is Raid Team One, we're coming in hot, ETA 8 minutes. Base, do you copy?"

She gets back nothing but static and she looks to Daniel in the driver's seat.

"We have a man down and sprinters on our ass. ETA 5 minutes. Base, please respond." Nothing, "Damnit Walter! You'd better have that gate open when we get there or I swear to fuck, I'm gonna kick your ass!"

... "This is Base to Raid Team One, what is your current Eta?"

"Fuckin' finally!" She holds the mic up to her face again, "One minute Walter! Get that gate open NOW!... And tell the doc to be ready for a bleeder."

"What in the hell happened?" Sam asks as they unload Cam from the back.

"One of those new silents," Bunny grimaces, wiping her sleeve at the speckles of dried blood from her cheek, "Fucker got the drop on us."

"Hey!" She stops the group just inside the gate, the sound of gunfire echoing from O'Neill and Teal'c in the watchtowers as sprinters hurl themselves at the fence, "You know the rules, I can't let you in until you get a bite check."

"Damnit, Sam! Mitchell's dying!" Daniel snaps, "We don't have time for this!"

"I won't be the reason we have another outbreak!" She argues, pulling her pistol from its holster.

"Both of you calm down!" Fraiser interjects, rushing in with a gurney, "Sam, put your gun away, and Daniel..."

She looks at him pointedly, "Roll up your sleeves. Rules are rules, no exceptions, not even you."

He does as she says as she scours Cam for bites, Bunny and Vala also rolling their sleeves and pant legs up for Sam to inspect.

After getting checked out, Bunny brings the raided food to the kitchens, Daniel trailing closely behind her.

Once they make it to their quarters, an old English classroom, he pulls her into his arms.

"You're sure you're okay?" He asks, looking her over again.

"I'm fine," she assures him, "A little irked that we had to leave before we finished looting, but physically, I'm okay."

"Good," he sighs, pressing his lips to her forehead.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"We should take the mountain." She says, fingers drumming against the table in the war room.

"Not this again," O'Neill sighed, running his hand over his face, "That place is swarming with infected."

"But it's also loaded to the teeth with Ammo, MREs, and medical supplies." She argues, "Enough to last at least a few years. Jack, we've nearly picked the rest of the town clean, there's not much else to raid, what do we do then?"

"And or med supply is running dangerously low," Fraiser cuts in, "The stock in that mountain could save a lot of lives."

O'Neill huffs and slouches against the wall next to the window, looking out in the direction of Cheyenne Mountain.

"We need to take inventory of our current ammo supply before we make any hard decisions," He says, "If you can get the floor plans from the town office and draw me up a workable plan for this, we might- and I stress the word might- be able to get this thing off the ground."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"So you finally got O'Neill to agree?" Cam groans from the bed in the makeshift infirmary, "How the Hell did you manage that?"

"Persistence."

"You annoyed him into it," he clarifies.

"Something like that," Bunny laughs, "Daniel and V are prepping the truck to raid the town office to hopefully get the floor plan."

"Document snatching, I don't envy you there."

"Yeah... So how are you doing? Feeling hungry for human flesh?" She jokes, "Craving my sweet sweet bone marrow?"

"Nah, the doc checked me out, I am 'infection free' as the kids call it."

"That's good, I hope to see you up on your feet soon, I don't like being down a man." She pats his arm and makes her way to where the rest of the team is getting ready to head out.

"How's he doin'?" Daniel asks, lifting the weapons duffle into the bed of the truck.

"Cam is Cam," she shrugs, "Bit of a concussion but otherwise still the same, we lucked out."

"Yes, those new Silents are beginning to be quite the problem," Vala says, climbing into the back of the truck.

"We'll figure it out," Daniel nods, "We learned to manage the sprinters, we'll get a read on these ones too."

"You guys ready to go?" O'Neill asks, walking up with Teal'c, his hands in his pockets.

"Just about," Daniel says, "What's goin' on?"

"With this new variant out there, I know I'd feel a lot better if you took Teal'c with you." He tells them, "So you're taking Teal'c with you."

"Hop in," Bunny motions to the truck, and Teal'c nods before stepping into the bed and shutting the tailgate.

The town office is mostly empty, with only a few zombies stumbling around, easily incapacitated with melee weapons.

"Where do you think they'd keep the floorplans?" Bunny asks, scraping the blood off her ax on the side of a desk.

"Archives are in the basement if they had them at all," Daniel explains, "Uh... Teal'c and Vala, you guys take guard up here, Bunny and I 'll check out downstairs."

Their lights shine around the dusty folder-covered shelves as they try not to kick up any papers that litter the ground as they go.

"It's too fucking quiet," Bunny hisses, eyes darting over to Daniel, her knuckles white as she grips her flashlight, "Daniel."

He turns to look at her, but her eyes and light are trained on a spot on the floor. He follows her line of sight to a bloody bootprint on the cement floor, "That's not ours."

"It's still wet," she grimaces and he shines his light around their immediate surroundings.

"They're still here," his eyebrows knit together, "We should go."

"We need those plans."

"We don't even know if the plans are here," Daniel argues, "Even if they are, is it really worth risking our lives to a band of Rovers?"

"We risk our lives every time we leave the compound," she frowns, stepping past him to continue her search.

"Is someone there?" She calls out and Daniel rolls his eyes, grabbing his radio.

"Teal'c? This is Daniel, we think we could have a Rover situation here, keep your eyes peeled."

"Understood."

The sound of shuffling papers alerts them to another presence a few shelves over. Daniel pulls his gun, pointing it in the direction of the sound, pulling Bunny behind him without a second thought.

"Come out," Daniel orders, "Calmly with your hands behind your head. We're armed."

A small figure slowly shuffles into the light, hands clutched tightly around a raggedy-looking stuffed moose.

"Jesus Daniel, it's a kid," She tries to move past him, but he stops her.

"Are you alone?" He asks, "Is there anyone else here with you?"

Their eyes start to glisten with tears and they start sniffling.

"M-my papa he-" They hiccup, "He told me to hide. B-but he hasn't come back!"

"Honey, how long ago was that?" Bunny asks them.

"F-four days ago."

"Oh geez," Daniel slowly lowers his gun and looks to his wife who carefully approaches the child.

"Did your dad tell you anything else before he left?" She asks softly, unscrewing the cover of her water bottle and handing it to them.

"S-something 'bout getting bit," they pout, taking a sip.

She turns to Daniel.

"He can't be more than five," she whispers, "Daniel we can't just leave him here."

"I know."

"What's your name, sweetheart?" She asks as Daniel radios the new information to Teal'c and Vala.

"H-Henry."

"It's nice to meet you, Henry," she smiles warmly, "You're gonna come with us, ok? We've got food, water, and a nice safe place to stay."

"But... but my Papa!"

"Honey, I'm sorry but I don't think your papa's coming back," she tells him, "Now you need to come with us to where it's safe."

"Ok."

"I need to make sure you weren't bit too, can you roll up your sleeves for me?"

He nods and does as she says.

Once she's sure he hasn't been infected she picks him up and he clings to her.

"We just need to find something before we go."

"I think I've got it," Daniel calls from the other side of the basement, after a good 40 minutes of searching through musty old files.

He meets Bunny near the stair and unfolds one of the blue documents. Shining his light through it he smiles when they see the layout of one of the complex's floors.

"Hell yeah!" She grabs his arm, and grins, "Let's get these back to base."

"It's okay," she reassures the young boy when he whimpers, holding her tighter when she goes to set him in the front seat of the truck, "I'll be sitting right next to you."

"Base this is Raid Team one," she says into the dashboard radio, "The mission was a success. We found a new survivor and we're headed back. ETA 15 minutes."

○●○●○●○

There will be a part 2 (or even more) because I really love this AU and want to write more for it

Taglist: @mysg1spacemonkey @sgcprometheus @i-am-morrigans-apprentice @malcolm-reeds-pineapple @witching-things @reeseykins @abnormalvampire64 @girl-obsessed-with-things @gatez @myro-tse @just-a-si-fi-nerd

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 5: Heads Or Tails, Fairy Tales In My Mind]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Are We The Waiting” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“I know he has a scalpel in his bag,” Baela says, meaning Aemond. You are sitting with her on the front steps of a two-story house—1970s construction, split foyer, pale blue siding and rust-red bricks—on Trux Street in Plymouth, Ohio. This town was named for the place where the pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower over four hundred years ago, pioneers who crossed through the doorway of an unfathomably changing world to die of disease, cold, accidents, starvation, violence. You wonder if you are so unlike them. “He’s assisted with c-sections before, if it comes to that. And he has needles and surgical thread. But he doesn’t have any way to anesthetize me.”

Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the silver Chrysler Pacifica parked at the end of the driveway and surveilling the road. Everyone else is inside tearing the house apart as they try to find the keys. You don’t know what to say to Baela. There is no way to console her except by lying, and she’s too smart for that. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t even know.” She laughs like she’s on the verge of losing her mind. You don’t blame her. “The doctors calculate it based on the date of your last period, but mine was all over the place. I had tried a few different birth control pills and had all these side effects, weird spotting and cramping, no sex drive, feeling depressed, so I just figured I’d go all natural for six months and give my body a chance to reset. And we all know how that turned out.” She skims her palms over the globe of her belly, hidden beneath the flowing periwinkle cotton of a maternity dress she found at the Walmart back in Shenandoah. “I’m officially due in four weeks.”

“But it could happen at any time.”

Baela nods miserably. “My mum had me and Rhaena the…you know…the natural way, and it was smooth sailing. But she needed an emergency c-section with my little brother. What happens if that’s how it goes for me? Do you ever think about all the ways people can die now? It’s not just the zombies. I could get murdered, or fall and crack my skull open, or get a cut that turns septic, or rupture my appendix, or get frostbite or heatstroke, or get bitten by a snake. It never ends. We’ll be balancing on the knife’s edge for the rest of our lives.”

You wish you were better with words; you wish you were someone who spoke effortlessly like Rio or Aegon. You reply with the only thing you can think of. “Humans have survived for hundreds of thousands of years, and for the vast majority of that time with no modern medicine. It was dangerous, and it was painful. But there have always been people who made it. We wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

Remarkably, this seems to help. “I know Aemond will do everything he can for me,” Baela says, more steadily now. “He’s always been the most dependable one. So serious, so protective. Daeron was visiting us in Boston when everything shut down, and Aemond wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight for weeks…then Aemond almost died when he lost his eye and Daeron proved he could take care of himself with his compound bow.” Baela unwraps a Twizzler and takes a bite out of it, gazing vacantly at the sky, calm and overcast now that the storm has passed, breezy, mid-80s. She doesn’t even like them, but she’s been eating through a pack of Twizzlers Luke had been carrying in his backpack for Jace, slow mindless chewing like a cow’s. “Aemond feels responsible for you now. And that’s difficult when there’s so little control he actually has over what ends up happening.”

“Baela…I’m so sorry about Jace.”

“Drowning isn’t so bad, I guess. I hope he drowned. I hope he was dead before he washed ashore and they ate him.” Baela turns to you, eyes glazed. “Do you think we should have shot him before we left the river? To make sure he didn’t die in pain? You could have done it if you wanted to. Your aim is good enough.”

“No,” you say, horrified but trying to soften it. “I think that would have been…immoral.”

“I don’t even have a picture of Jace to show the baby, everything was online or on my phone, and now that’s all…gone. Just gone. Like he never even existed. How am I going to explain to my child what Boston was, or law school, or aerospace engineering, or grocery stores or shopping malls or Instagram, or anything else about our lives before this whole fucking disaster? All they’ll ever know is running from monsters, scrounging for shelter and supplies from the ruins of civilization.”

“The world is going to come back, Baela. Maybe not for five or ten years, and maybe looking a lot different than it did before, but humanity will recover. The Black Death wasn’t the end, and neither were the World Wars or the Mongol invasions or the colonization of the Americas, or famines or floods or volcanic eruptions. The zombies won’t end us either.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I want to. “Yeah, I do. We just have to hold on until the tide turns. We can’t give up.”

“In that case, I’ll try not to go completely insane in the immediate future. Thank God Rhaena and Luke are still here. Do you have any siblings?”

You smile vaguely. “Four.”

“Wow,” Baela says. “Do you know where they are now?”

There is an interruption before you have to decide how to answer: a roaring high above in the sky, a remote mechanical growling. You and Baela both look up to see a jet zooming by, just below the steel grey cloud cover and leaving a trail of condensation behind it like a comet’s tail of eons-old cosmic dust. From where he is perched atop the Pacifica, Luke is pointing at the jet to show Rhaena. Aemond, Rio, Aegon, and Daeron come rocketing out of the house to find the source of the noise. After a moment, Helaena moseys onto the front porch as well, tucking flashlights and napkins into her burlap messenger bag. Meanwhile, Aegon is filling his pockets with packs of Marlboro Golds and orange prescription bottles labelled Percocet.

“Is that an airplane?!” Aegon gasps. “People are flying again?! Oh, we are back, baby! We are so back! I’m catching the next flight to SFO, peace out bitches, no more Oregon Trail for me!”

“It’s a jet,” Aemond says flatly. “Not a passenger carrier. Probably military.”

“Doesn’t look like one of ours.” Rio turns to you for confirmation.

“No, I don’t recognize it.”

“Then who the fuck is up there?” Aegon says. “Canada? The U.K.?”

Rio sighs, ruffling Aegon’s already quite disheveled blonde hair. “Who knows, Honey Bun. Maybe it’s China or Russia swinging by to drop nukes on any survivors.”

“Fortunately, nobody’s going to waste a nuclear bomb on freaking Plymouth, Ohio,” Baela says, watching the jet vanish into the west, the droning of its engines replaced by the breeze through the sugar maples and sycamores, the screeching of cicadas and chirps of robins. “No luck finding the keys?”

Aemond frowns as he shakes his head, tapping his chin anxiously. He knows she can’t walk much farther.

“How do none of us know how to hotwire a car?” Aegon demands, exasperated.

Rio replies cheerfully: “Well, Chips and I have been diligently serving this glorious nation since we were eighteen years old, and you’re all clueless rich kids. So…I think that just about sums it up.”

“I need more arrows,” Daeron says, clutching his compound bow. All the ones he had are now speared through zombies along the river where Jace died. When you snuck away from the farm at dawn, Luke used his binoculars to check the shores; they were still swamped with zombies, even more than the night before. They are pack animals; alone, they are aimless and easily confounded, their memories calamitously short. As part of a group—if they were crows they’d be a murder, if they were camels they’d be a caravan—zombies attract and guide each other, moving symbiotically like planets and moons locked in orbit.

“I think you’re going to have to start making them the old fashioned way, kid,” Rio tells Daeron, accompanied by a rough pat of encouragement on the back.

“What, like with sticks?!”

“Yeah. Use a knife to carve one end to make it pointy and you’re good to go.”

“Love it. Very pioneer.” Aegon holds up a Sony Walkman, pink and covered with Disney stickers, Ava spelled out across the top in glittering rhinestones. “At least I found this. Helaena, do we have any more AA batteries?” She fishes around in her bag and hands him a pair.

Baela gapes at him, but she’s smiling. It’s horrible, it’s absurd, it’s something you can’t help but find a macabre humor in. “Aegon, you cannot use that poor eaten kid’s CD player. You know it’s haunted.”

Aegon sings like a jingle from a commercial: “Little Ava died, RIP. Now I get to listen to my CDs.”

“Oh, that is so fucked up!” Rio cackles.

You say, grinning: “Aegon, I’m really going to miss you when we’re all in heaven at the bowling alley made of clouds and you’re downstairs in the fiery version of the afterlife.”

“Don’t feel bad for me, Chipmunk. You’re the one who’s going to die without ever having an orgasm.”

“You don’t need a man for that, Aegon,” Baela says.

“You definitely don’t,” you agree. Aemond glances over at you, intrigued. You stare dauntlessly back. What? You said you weren’t interested. The corners of his lips curl up in a reticent smile; he looks down to try to hide it. He’s touching his chin again. His cheeks flush pink as his mind wanders.

Rio chuckles. “Oh yeah, I remember your little experimenting phase. Lots of trips to the Spencer’s in the Tysons Corner mall when we were stationed at Anacostia.”

You raise your eyebrows, though you’re not annoyed. “I thought you were never going to tell anybody about that.”

“It’s the end of the world, baby. No time to be shy.” Then Rio asks Aemond: “Since we’re here and it’s quiet, you want to go ahead and check every house that has a car with the fuel cap still closed? There are some minivans and SUVs down at the other end of the street. Even a few gallons of gas will take us farther than days on foot.”

Aegon adds, checking his map: “A half tank would get us all the way to Decatur, Indiana.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Aemond says. He offers Baela a hand and helps lift her to her feet. “You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you down at the driveway with the black…what is that, a Honda Odyssey? You know the one, the van in front of the yellow house. Don’t go inside until I get there.”

“Yup!” Aegon agrees as he speeds off, racing Daeron to the house. Rio—not one for sprinting—jogs after them with his Remington in hand, ready to bash rotting skulls in at a moment’s notice. Baela toddles down to the Pacifica to tell Luke and Rhaena the plan, her periwinkle dress billowing in the wind; then they climb down to walk with her. Helaena floats across the sidewalk like a ghost, pausing to pick buttercups that grow up between the cracks in the cement.

Aemond has been waiting until the two of you are alone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” A few houses down, a female zombie—early-twenties, white bikini top, red Ohio State shorts—staggers across the yard and in her attempt to snag Aegon falls and impales herself on the white picket fence. She is suspended there, clawing and yowling, her blackening intestines and dark clotted blood staining the wood. Aegon takes his time getting into a stance and swings his golf club like he’s at a driving range. He hits her dead-on, caves the front of her face in, takes a few more shots just to be sure.

“I get what’s in Oregon for Rio,” Aemond says. “Sophie, the baby, his parents. But why are you going there?”

“Rio’s my best friend. He might be my only friend who’s still alive. And when we left Saratoga Springs, he made me promise that I wouldn’t let him die alone. So before anything else, I have to make sure he gets to Odessa and finds his family. And then I can figure out what’s next for me. But if it really is safe there, I don’t see why I’d leave. I’ve never wanted to be on my own. Maybe I can end up having a family in Oregon too.”

Aemond rests his elbows on the porch railing. He’s teasing you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m still alive.”

You tease him back. He deserves it. “I’m not sure about you and me.”

“I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Would you?”

“Resoundingly.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

He considers you. “You know, Kentucky might have been a good place for you to hide out. And it would be a lot closer than Oregon.”

You stand up, throwing on your backpack full of bullets for your Beretta M9s, beef jerky and peanut butter crackers and granola bars, lip balm, bottles of water, Kleenex tissues, Juicy Fruit, miscellaneous treasures from the road, practically worthless trinkets made so impossibly valuable. “We’re done here, right?”

Aemond is disappointed, though not with you. He has committed an error he cannot understand. “Yeah, we’re done.” He walks with you to the yellow house, your sneakers pounding in tandem on the sidewalk, squirrels and rabbits darting through the overgrown lawns, eastern tiger swallowtails swooping between blossoms.

Aegon says when you and Aemond arrive in the driveway, nodding to the once-attractive blonde zombie pawing and licking at the glass of the living room window: “Who wants to take care of Ryan Seacrest?”

“Got it,” Rio replies immediately. He kicks down the front door, macerates the zombie’s skull with the butt of his Remington, then sweeps through the kitchen and dining room searching for any other monsters in need of hasty euthanasia. He doesn’t find any. He drags the corpse outside to lessen the stench of decomposition and opens all the downstairs windows.

“Commence Operation Find The Minivan Keys,” Aegon says as he rummages through drawers and cabinets. Helaena joins him, seeking so delicately she is almost soundless, her large blue eyes flicking from place to place. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron stay outside to keep watch. Baela collapses into a recliner in one corner of the living room and is dozing within seconds.

“I’ll clear the upstairs,” Aemond volunteers, then asks you: “Watch my blind side?”

You can’t help but smile; it is a generous invitation. It is an honor. You shadow him up the staircase of olive green carpet, through the hallway, into each of the three bedrooms and one full bath. When you are certain it is safe—exploring the back of every closet, under every bed—you and Aemond begin searching for weapons and car keys. The main bedroom is like a forest: blankets pattered with trees and deer, wood furniture, paintings of the Battle of the Wilderness during the Civil War. You investigate every drawer of the nightstand and dresser, then go to leave.

“Wait.” Aemond peeks out into the hallway to make sure no one else is around, then closes the bedroom door. Your eyes track him quizzically, shy skittish optimism, your head tilted, your fingers finding the dresser behind you, cool rust-hued oak, a color like dried blood. You slip off your backpack. Then Aemond comes to you like a returning comet—once in a lifetime, once in an eon—and holds your face in his hands as he kisses you, soft, careful, unhurried, then turning famished, sweltering incurable hunger. You lift yourself up onto the dresser; your thighs have parted, and Aemond is between them, still fully clothed and leaving yours in place too, so innocent, so spotless, and yet in your mind you are imagining what it would feel like to lie beneath him as he opens and fills you, to be so irredeemably close to another person, to watch and listen as he teaches you what to do.

Right here? Right now?

It suddenly strikes you as too soon; you want this but you aren’t ready. Your heart races, you can’t catch your breath. “I am obligated to make you aware that according to your own calculations, I am likely dangerously fertile at the moment.”

Aemond grins as he bites playfully at your lower lip. “Relax. We’re not rounding all the bases this time.”

His voice evaporates your panic, lulls your rushing blood. Your muscles turn to seamless rippling water. Your bones crave the weight of his. “Yeah, totally, good, that’s good. Just making sure.”

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

In reply, you unbutton your denim shorts and pull down the zipper, slowly, very slowly, your gaze linked with his like torn flesh stitched together. He’s close enough to kiss you again, but he doesn’t; he takes your chin gently and turns your face to the side, admiring the curve of your jaw. Then his lips are on your throat and his right hand is skimming down the front of your shirt, over your belly, under your shorts. You gasp—the foreignness of another’s hand here, the disorienting vulnerability—and Aemond stops.

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him, smiling. You kiss him deeply, your fingertips tracing his scar, the work of his careful, gifted hands. Aemond does not flinch away. He presses his face into your palm, offering himself fully, taking shelter in you. And everything other than him—this house, this world, this age, this westward journey, this apocalypse—goes quiet, quiet, quiet, like when you are shooting, like when you are hammering nails under the sun. Aemond makes everything horrifying disappear. It is the greatest sort of magic you can imagine.

“So,” he says. “What did you buy at Spencer’s?”

“Green Day t-shirts.”

“Sure.”

“And some, uh, battery-powered companionship.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s fingers are moving against you; it is increasingly difficult to respond to his questions. “Internal or external? Or both?”

“Oh, definitely…um…I stayed on the outside, mostly. I tried…oh wow, okay…inside a few times, but I didn’t get much out of it. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

“No problem. We’ll work up to that.”

“Will we?” You hope you don’t sound too desperate. The warm coiling pleasure is swelling, strengthening, begging to be released, loosed like an arrow or fired like a bullet. Aemond’s fingers slip through your wetness, circling and pressing down harder, insistently, masterfully. It feels different than using toys: it is more gradual, less sharp, helplessly overpowering.

“That’s my plan. If you’ll allow it.”

You exhale a threadbare ghost of a whimper against his throat and then reach for his shorts, fumbling blindly for the button and zipper.

“No, don’t do anything,” Aemond murmurs, soft and pleading, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you. Please let me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing a lot right at the moment.” You’re close now, your breaths quick and panting. You throw your arms around the back of Aemond’s neck and fold into him, feeling the thudding pulse of his carotid artery beneath your fingertips, the softness of his lips and unscarred cheek as he nuzzles the side of your face. It’s so quiet, but there’s no need to fill the silence, no words, no uneasiness. You’ve always wondered what you would have to do to please a man, what premeditated motions and praises you would offer him, niceties, perhaps even lies. But this is effortless. The shimmering golden glow like sunlight is here, and he is the one drawing it out of you, water from a well, blood from a tapped vein. The only sound you make is a shuddering inhale, but Aemond knows immediately. He closes his eyes, relieved, proud, beaming, resting his forehead against yours.

He asks: “Can I try…?”

“Yes, do it, please, I want you to.”

Aemond’s hand shifts between your thighs, moves lower, and there is a sudden jolt of pain like a pinch, like a bite. You wince before you can think to disguise it. Immediately, Aemond retreats, kissing your lips and your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You were incredible.”

You reach for his shorts again and unbutton them. “Show me what to do.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

He takes a shaky breath, drags his tongue over the fingers he touched you with, moans so quietly you can barely hear him. He frees himself from his clothes: long and thick, harder than you believed flesh could be. Aemond grasps your hand and places it, demonstrates how to move and how much pressure to apply. Then his own hands drop to grip the edge of the dresser as you stroke him. You nip at his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear; you coax euphoric sighs from him, feel a high in your bloodstream like something illicit and lethal.

“I’ll be honest,” you say. “I have no idea how that’s ever going to fit inside me.”

Aemond chuckles, distracted. “Women stretch, just like men do. It might take time, but it will happen. And I’ll make sure it’s as good as it can be.”

“I want it to be you, Aemond,” you whisper, and you can feel him throbbing in your hand. “You and no one else. Teach me how to do everything.” Make the world go away.

He gasps as he finishes, a thunderous trembling all over, a gush of white heat that flows over your hand. Curious, you lift it to your mouth. “Don’t—!”

But he’s too late; you lick him from your palm and then recoil at the taste, pungent, bitter, salty.

Aemond laughs hysterically, kissing your mouth and then your forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“I hope I taste better than that.”

“You definitely do.”

You peer up at him, dazed, dreamy. “I really like you, Aemond.”

“You can’t fall in love with me.” It is a taunt; it is a warning.

“If I do, I won’t let you know,” you promise. “You’re on first watch tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll stay up too.”

“Rio already volunteered to do it.”

“Really, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Aemond purrs, brushing your hair back from your face, marveling at you. “I can’t have you sleep deprived. You’re our best shot.”

“I can handle it.”

“You want to be honest with each other, you want to communicate? I like knowing you’re rested. I like knowing you’re safe.”

The door flies open with a bang; Aegon stands in the threshold. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank of gas!” he announces ecstatically, jangling car keys in the air. Then he registers what he’s looking at. “Come outside when you’re done fucking.” Aegon slams the door shut; you hear his Sperry Bahama sneakers drumming on the staircase.

“I guess we should go,” you say reluctantly, untangling yourself from Aemond and sliding down from the dresser.

“Wait.” He gets a water bottle out of your backpack, soaks a handful of Kleenex tissues, and gives them to you to clean yourself off. When you’re done, he wipes himself down too. “Make sure you always take a piss after any…activities. We don’t have antibiotics if you get a kidney infection.”

“I know, doctor. I’ve read Reddit threads.”

“Not a doctor. Just a lowly intern.”

“You seem like an anatomy expert to me,” you say, then head downstairs.

The black Honda Odyssey is idling as the last of the supplies are loaded, the windows down, Baela adjusting the driver’s seat so she can accommodate her belly. Everyone piles inside and she steers the minivan out of the driveway and onto Trux Street. Aegon pops one of his mixtapes into the CD player. The song that pipes through the speakers is Prayer In C:

“Yeah, you never said a word

You didn’t send me no letter

Don’t think I could forgive you…”

“So,” Baela says casually, grinning at you in the rearview mirror. “How was the sex?”

“Stop,” Aemond begs, his face going red, smiling involuntarily.

You say placidly: “I appreciate your interest, but that’s not what we were doing.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Do you know what sex looks like or not, dumbass?”

“They were doing something, okay! Those were not virginal activities!”

“See, our world is slowly dying

I’m not wasting no more time

Don’t think I could believe you…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and watch the abandoned houses pass by in a blur.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Odyssey arrives in Decatur, Indiana just a few hours before sunset, gas to spare and plenty of time to find a safe place to spend the night. You break into a house on the outskirts of the west side of the city: a rancher with a screened-in porch, beach décor, bowls of seashells on tables and spray-painted aluminum dolphins on the wall. Baela plummets into sleep immediately, sharing the largest bed with Rhaena and Luke. Helaena writes in her spider notebook for a while before curling up on the living room couch, Daeron sprawled on the floor beside her with a couch cushion for a pillow. Aegon is in what was once a child’s bedroom; you have the bedroom of a teenage girl, perhaps spirited away to friends or relatives in some other part of the country, perhaps dead, perhaps lurching around out in the night somewhere, mad and murderous. Everything is purple, the walls, the blankets, the stuffed animals that form a mountain on the other half of the bed.

You are exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Your thoughts won’t stop racing, stop craving. Aemond and Rio are in rocking chairs out on the porch, keeping watch and working their way through the case of Sunny D they found in the kitchen pantry. You go out to join them, then stop at the screen door that separates the linoleum-floored dining room from the porch. They are discussing you. You sit, legs crossed, listening in the dim silvery light, stars and moon and nothing else.

Aemond is saying: “She doesn’t talk much about where she came from.”

Rio chuckles, a low baritone rumble. “She doesn’t talk much in general. But yeah, don’t expect any juicy revelations. That’s not how she does things.”

“Do you know what her life was like before?”

“I know some of it. I don’t know a lot.” Rio pauses; you can envision him shrugging and running his fingers through his dark curly hair, weighing what you would be okay with him sharing. “I know that when I met her, her mother was calling all the time telling her to send money home. And she’d do it, because she felt like she didn’t have a choice. Then she never had cash for drinks or anything, I was always paying her way, and one day I was finally like ‘Chips, how much do you actually have in your account right now?’ because I figured she must be down real low. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it when she showed me the balance, she had like three bucks left until her next paycheck, and of course then her mother would be calling again. She sent tens of thousands of dollars home that disappeared, poof, gone, without a trace.”

Aemond sounds stunned. “What did they spend it on?”

“Who the fuck knows with those people. Lottery tickets and cigs, probably. Trips to Virginia Beach. Benny Hinn Bibles. And when she tried to hit the brakes, her mother and siblings got nasty, calling constantly and telling her how awful she was and that they were going to starve. I convinced her to stop picking up the phone, but it took forever. I think she knew by then she was going to have to cut them off if she didn’t want to end up back there, but she needed somebody to give her permission. That was my job. As far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to anyone from home in years. Hell, Sophie was her AOP.”

“AOP…?”

“Oh, sorry, Arrears of Pay. It’s the person you designate to get all your benefits if you die in the service. I guess she figured that if our base got bombed or our plane went down or something, at least it would end up with my family.”

Aemond is quiet, thirty seconds, a minute, maybe two. “Obviously my circumstances were a lot different. But I understand having to choose between other people’s expectations and yourself.”

“Why are you asking me all this?”

Another pause; silent thoughts under glimmering stars and the shrieks of short-lived summer cicadas. “She takes me out of this world for a while. She makes the guilt and the fear go quiet. I want to know everything about her.”

When Rio speaks, he is gentle, compassionate. “The hard truth is, the details aren’t my business. They aren’t yours either. When people enlist, they’re starting over. It’s a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It gets them away from home, but it also gets them away from whoever they were before.”

“She said something like that once. Back at Fort Indiantown Gap.”

“It’s a polite way of telling you to shut up.” You know from his voice that Rio is smiling. “If she wants to forget her old life, you have to let her. If you care about her, you’ll want her to be able to move on.”

“I care.”

“She likes you,” Rio says. “But you could still fuck it up. She’s good at finding reasons not to trust people.”

“It’s a bad way to live.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know. I’m the same way.”

There is quiet now, only the sounds of Sunny D being slurped and cicadas screaming through the darkness. You have intruded enough. You stand and walk back down the hallway, then remember something Aegon said outside a Burger King in Pennsylvania. You go to his bedroom, illuminated by a flashlight pointed towards the ceiling, casting long deformed shadows.

Aegon is lying on his back with his head hanging upside down over the side of the bed—dinosaur blankets, bright red and blue pillows—puffing on a cigarette and listening to his new CD player, previously Ava’s, with both earbuds in. Then he spots you. Still upside down, Aegon hits the pause button on his CD player and says: “Hey, Microchip.”

“What did you mean about people pretending to love you?”

He smirks, shrugs, takes a lazy drag off his Marlboro Gold. “Every friend I’ve ever had has used me for money, mansions, yachts. Every girl I’ve ever fucked has wanted something in return. Mother prefers Daeron, Grandfather prefers Helaena, Criston prefers Aemond, and Father prefers his real estate empire and his model ships. Can you imagine loving a miniature replica of the Titanic more than your own children?”

“No,” you say, honestly and with heavy, gore-red pity. “You shouldn’t have to go back to people who make you feel that way. I wouldn’t.”

Aegon takes another drag as he watches you. “Aemond mentioned you’re from Kentucky.”

“I am.”

“But you won’t be returning.”

“No.”

Aegon nods, like you’ve answered an important question. “Aemond talks about you a lot. It’s cute. It doesn’t make me sick like when he was with Alys. Playing her games, breaking himself in half to follow her rules.”

You peer down at your fingernails, short and functional and unglamorous. You don’t want to hear about the older woman who was his lover, his obsession, his cure, his venom. She was poisonous to him, surely, and yet she was experienced where you are uninitiated and unversed, she had a PhD to compare with your high school diploma. Surely in those seven years he shared moments with her that were divine. Surely even a curse is woven from magic.

“Anyway.” Aegon rolls over, props himself up on his elbows, and extinguishes his cigarette in an empty plastic Sunny D bottle. “I have no particular affinity for my old life or the beach house in California, but that’s where Aemond is going. And I have to be where he is. I have to make sure he’s alright, you know?”

Yes, you do know; that’s how you feel about Rio. “What’s it like? That house up on a cliff all by itself?”

Aegon grins, like he’s caught you in a mouthwateringly compromising position. “Why? You thinking about visiting someday?”

“Just wondering.”

He squirms over to one side of the bed to make room for you, popping in an earbud. “Come listen with me.”

“What is it?”

“Just come over here!”

You cross the room and kick off your sneakers, climb onto the bed, lie down and take the other earbud that Aegon offers you. What you hear when you listen is Don McLean’s American Pie. “Oh, this is ancient.”

“It’s a classic. I wish I’d gotten to live through the 70s.”

“We’ll reinvent them when the world starts up again. Disco and lava lamps and shag carpets. We’ll shoot heroin and listen to vinyl records. Jimmy Carter can be president if he’s still alive.”

Aegon snickers, and then he sings along, hushed but surprisingly melodic, solemn, tender. He’s looking at you expectantly, eyebrows raised, nodding, beckoning for you to join him. You adamantly refuse. You don’t sing in front of anybody, not even Rio.

“I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news

But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store

Where I’d heard the music years before

But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

Aegon shoves your shoulder. “I could be dead tomorrow. Don’t ignore me.”

Self-consciously, but smiling a little bit, you begin to sing with him, so softly you can barely hear yourself. Aegon is beaming, small even white teeth beneath sparkling eyes, a murky cool blue like storm clouds, like the ocean, waves lapping at the shores of Diego Garcia, the Gulf of Tadjoura off the east coast of Djibouti, Corpus Christi Bay, places you once never knew existed.

“And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed

But not a word was spoken

The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most

The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

They caught the last train for the coast

The day the music died.”

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Chapter 10 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 10: brief panic attack; some vague JonMartin apocalypse angst. SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 10: Pending Arrival

It’s okay, Jon tells himself, forcing himself to breathe the way Martin taught him: Four seconds in; hold seven seconds; eight seconds out.

Well… okay, it’s not okay. It’s very, very not okay.

…but – four – it – five – will – six – be – seven… okay, exhale.

Some time later – eight minutes, thirty-six-point-eight seconds, he Knows, though he didn’t ask – his breathing evens out and his thoughts clear with it.

That interaction with Martin wasn’t unexpected. There’s little reason to expect things to be different this time around, especially this soon after Jon woke up. He knows this.

There is a wall between him and Martin right now, constructed from a lifetime of rejection and loneliness that Jon himself contributed to for far too long. It’s been recently expanded by a mountain of grief, loss, and mourning – what should have been years’ worth condensed into the last six months – and it’s been further reinforced by Peter Lukas’ manipulations.

It will take some time to coax Martin away from the Lonely. Hopefully it won’t take as long as it did the last time, especially now that Jon knows that the hypothetical threat of the Extinction is not as imminent as Peter claims, but still: Martin needs time and space. Besides, Jon simply can’t force the Lonely out of him with a few words and a prayer. Martin has to choose to reject it of his own volition, or it will always cling to him.

And most importantly: Martin deserves to make his own choice. Jon has no right to take that from him, any more than he did when they passed through the Lonely’s domain.

It would have been nice to be able to physically see Martin, though. Or even just hear his voice outside of his own head. Memories can only provide so much reassurance, and for so long.

Jon had every intention of continuing yesterday’s strategy meeting this afternoon, but already his brief conversation with Georgie and painfully brief interaction with Martin have left him fatigued. The migraine he had expected yesterday failed to reach fruition, but the threat of it still lingers, accompanied by a painless but still unpleasant sensation of pressure in his head, making him feel off-kilter. As of right now, he can still pull on the Archive to speak. Sitting down and strategizing, though, is another matter entirely. Planning ahead has never been part of his skill set. Anxiety, sleep deprivation, and a supernaturally-imparted speech impediment aren’t doing him any favors.

“Let me guess: you’re out of commission.”

Basira looks him up and down, taking in his hunched gargoyle posture in his desk chair, his half-lidded eyes, his restless hands: one resting uneasily on top of his desk, fingers twitching and tapping with no discernible rhythm; the other wound up in the scarf Georgie gave him, still draped over his shoulders.

Jon can’t tell what characterizes her more in this moment: frustration with him, or simple exhaustion. Despite his own hypersensitivity to how others perceive him, he has a feeling that in this moment, it’s the latter.

“I think it can wait until tomorrow,” says Georgie, perched on the edge of Jon’s desk.

“Fine,” Basira concedes. “Tomorrow, then.” She knocks twice on the doorframe. When Jon looks up on reflex, she catches his eye. “Get some actual sleep tonight, Jon. It’s not just your personal mental health on the line here.”

“She is right about you needing to sleep,” Georgie says as Basira leaves. He avoids eye contact. “I’m serious. You look exhausted. I can get you a sleep aid –” Jon shakes his head slowly. “Why?”

With a sudden burst of energy, Jon stands, grabs her hand, and leads her to the entrance to the tunnels. He waits until they’ve both descended the ladder and the trapdoor is closed behind them before he turns to her and blurts out:

“…too afraid to go to sleep.”

“I can sit next to you while you fall asleep if you –”

“…would serve no purpose except to start me having the nightmares again,” he mumbles, sinking into the nearest chair.

“You’ve been having those for a long time now,” Georgie says, following his lead and sitting across from him. “And you’ve figured out how to cope with them. What’s actually scaring you?”

Jon bites his lower lip and bows his head.

“Then I would watch – once again –”

“– paralyzed with fear –”

“– tried to scream but I couldn’t find my breath, I couldn’t move –”

“– I couldn’t talk to anyone –”

“– unable to move its body, though – its eyes darting around wildly –”

“– unable to move – to cry for help –”

“– unable to look away –”

“– could only stare at him as he slowly, achingly crawled towards his doom –”

“– being unable to reach him –”

“– stare at it, knowing how your – friend suffers, knowing how powerless you are to help –”

“Slow down. You’re worried you’ll go back to how you were before?”

“…could only watch from the sidelines, getting a… a –”

He stops, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“What is it, Jon?”

“And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it –”

“– it drew me in almost as much as it disgusted me –”

“– getting a… a sad vicarious thrill from –”

“– when people look at me… that fear“ – Jon’s breath hitches – “it feels amazing.”

He looks up at Georgie.

“Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home,” he whispers in a haunted tone. The shame crashes over him and he breaks eye contact, ducking his head again.

Georgie is quiet for a long moment. Then, she leans forward, reaches out, and takes his hand. He flinches and freezes.

“It sounds to me like you don’t want to like it,” she says. “People sometimes have feelings and urges that they aren’t proud of. Things that would hurt other people, if acted on.” She takes a breath. “But… I think it says more about a person’s character when they fight back against it.”

“…a presence within myself, inside my being –”

“– will strip us of what it means to be human, and leave us something alien and cold.”

“I know your circumstances are… different –”

“…it was the product of an otherworldly evil and called to me,” he says miserably.

“I know,” she says again. “There’s something in you, something that came from outside of yourself, and it’s trying to change you. Consume you.”

“…should have fought harder against the temptation –”

“But you’re fighting it now, aren’t you? You want things to be different.”

“I suppose I had to believe that the darkened natures of our terror could be kept in check – a rather feeble hope, for my own salvation –”

“– as if it might ward whatever awful thing waited inside that door.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a feeble hope. This is the most sure I’ve ever seen you be about anything.” She jostles his hand until he looks up at her. “You’re not a bad person, Jon. You’re taking extreme steps to make sure you don’t hurt anyone. It might not change the things you’ve done in the past, but neither will beating yourself up over it.”

Jon laughs, wincing when it comes out sounding a bit tear-choked.

“I try to think that I’ve left my past behind, but that sort of denial doesn’t help me sleep.”

“Maybe not. But you don’t have to deny the past in order to move beyond it. You can remember your mistakes and learn from them without letting them define you. And I think… I think you’re going to have to do that, if you want to move forward.” After a moment, Jon nods. Apparently unconvinced, Georgie adds: “Also, I don’t know if you need to be told this, but getting better means actually taking care of yourself.”

Jon chuckles at that, some of his tension bleeding away. “Thank you for indulging me, you’ve been very patient.”

“Stop that. You’d do the same for me. You have done the same for me.” He opens his mouth to argue. “Yeah, you’re not great at comforting people, I know. But I’ve seen you try.”

He must still look dubious, because Georgie sighs heavily.

“Do you remember when I was going through that medication change in uni?”

Jon nods warily.

It had been before they started dating. Jon has never made friends easily, but somehow Georgie had managed to tolerate his company long enough for him to start letting his guard down. At that point in his life, she really was the only one who he could confidently call a friend.

So when the antidepressant she had been on for over a year lost effectiveness and she had to start the arduous process of finding a new one, Jon had a front row seat to a depressive episode – and he felt irretrievably lost. He had no script to follow; he worried incessantly that he was making things worse, that he wasn’t making himself useful enough, that he was intruding on her personal space and she just didn’t have the energy to tell him the truth. He would pace restlessly and trip over his words and lapse into uncomfortable silences, wringing his hands and brooding – being more of a nuisance than a help, he was certain.

“You didn’t know how to help,” Georgie says, as if reading his mind. “You couldn’t make me better. I could tell it was driving you mad, not having an answer, because there was no simple answer. It was just… something that had to be lived through, coped with – and you’ve never been able to tolerate that concept, I know. You’re not good at waiting.” Jon huffs – only because she’s right. “But,” Georgie says emphatically, “you spent time with me, even though I was no fun. Brought me takeaway, set alarms to remind yourself to ask me if I’d taken my meds, did all this – this reading and research on how to support a loved one in crisis, which was” – she chuckles – “very you.”

Jon focuses intently on the weave of his scarf, petting it absently with his free hand, tracing the knit with his fingertips.

“You stayed anyway, even though you were uncomfortable. You didn’t say as much, but you’re fairly obvious when you’re anxious. At one point I told you I didn’t want you to fix it, I just didn’t want to be alone, and… you respected that. Which surprised me, to be honest. I was certain you’d be stubborn about it, act like you knew better than me.” Jon smiles at that. It was a fair assumption for her to make, especially back then. “Probably never would’ve considered dating you if you hadn’t proven me wrong then.”

“Until he became me –“

“– moody, short-tempered, constantly on edge.”

He gives Georgie a wry look as he says it, though, and she laughs.

“You’ve always been moody and on edge, including then. That wasn’t a new development that grew up overnight. What I’m saying is you’ve never been just that – which is why I have expectations of you, because I know what you’re capable of.” She gives him a serious look. “Like I told you years ago, you need to stop seeing things in black-and-white – including when it’s about you. Not everything has a clear-cut answer. You’d be happier if you could make peace with that.”

“And he was aware of it always – could not disagree,” Jon says with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Of course I’m right,” she quips back. “But you’re trying, and that’s all I ask.”

The ensuing silence is a comfortable one. Jon uses the lapse as an opportunity to search for a way to ask after Melanie.

“Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –”

Jon pauses. There’s really no way of saying the next part without accidentally drawing on more than one statement, but… Georgie is safe, and the phrase only appears a couple of times in the Archive, so it shouldn’t be too powerful.

“Statement of Melanie King.”

There is a reverb to the words, but the lightheadedness that comes with it is mild and passes quickly. Georgie appears to notice the odd tenor of his voice, tilting her head slightly to track the sound, but she doesn’t pursue it.

“You’re asking how Melanie is?”

“I wanted to check in with them, find out what happened.”

“She’s… having a rough day. I don’t think it’s my place to say more than that.”

Jon nods again: I understand. Then, he repeats again: “Statement of Georgina Barker.”

Georgie leans forward, elbow on knee, chin propped up by her fist. Her other hand continues to hold Jon’s, but she loosens her grip somewhat. The crease between her eyebrows is familiar to him – Georgie is taking her time to inventory her thoughts before speaking. He waits.

“I’m… hm. It’s been a lot to process,” she says carefully. “I think I’m doing okay for the moment? I’m mostly worried about Melanie. I’ve been worried about Melanie, but… after what you said about quitting – it’s complicated things a bit. It’s – it’s something we needed to know,” she adds, seeing Jon’s guilty expression. “I’m glad you were honest with us. Actually, I think Melanie was surprised that you told us about the, ah, second way to quit. It… hmm. It doesn't fit with the image she has of you.” Jon snorts at the delicate phrasing, and Georgie gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but she still thinks you’re a self-serving prick.”

Jon shrugs, unperturbed. He already knew that, and it’s not like he’s done much to dissuade Melanie of that assessment. Not yet, anyway.

“Oh, but she told me to reassure you that she isn’t going to kill you in your sleep, so that’s something? I told her that’s not why you pulled an all-nighter, but she said to let you know anyway.”

Jon laughs, and Georgie’s eyes crinkle when she returns a smile. After a moment, though, it fades.

“I did want to ask, though… did Melanie find out how to quit in your future as well?” Jon nods. “In that case – I’m not sure if you were planning on it, but in case you were… don’t tell me just yet what her decision was where you came from. I’ve been tempted to ask, but I haven’t talked it over with Melanie yet, and I think that’s her call to make. Okay?” Jon nods again. “And… she’s still angry with you – with a lot of things, really, but especially this place, and she sees you as inseparable from it.”

“They’re not entirely wrong,” Jon accedes.

“I did talk to her about it. She asked me to let you know that she does want to talk to you – I know she has some questions to ask – but that she doesn’t want you near her right now. She’s trying to sort through her feelings towards you – figure out how much of it is a you problem versus a her problem versus a both-of-you problem. She needs some space to do that. And it’s not the only thing she’s working through right now.”

Jon can appreciate that. Honestly, it’s better than he could have hoped for. Last time around, Melanie had eventually softened on him, had even tentatively called him a friend – but at that point, everything in his life felt like too little too late, and she deserved better than to have him poison her life again. He really had only been looking for someone to help him parse Martin’s intentions – Jon has always struggled with anything less than direct, explicit communication – but Georgie was right to be angry with him. Regardless of his intentions, he was inseparable from the Institute; there was no way for him to ask for advice that didn’t involve dragging Melanie back into exactly the kind of toxicity she was trying to escape.

When he left that day, it was with the intention of staying out of both of their lives from then on. They both set a firm boundary, and they deserved to have it respected. But he had plenty of time to brood during the apocalypse, and there were so many things left unsaid between him and Melanie and Georgie. Even if the world hadn’t ended, he probably wouldn’t have approached them again – they seemed happy, and showing up on their doorstep to talk, even if it was just to apologize, would have only been for his own benefit. It wouldn’t have felt right to intrude on them again and open up old wounds just for the sake of securing closure for himself.

Now, though? Truth be told, he could use some space, himself. He’s rehearsed it many times before – all the things he might say to the people in his life, both living and dead, if he had a chance to see them again – but now that he actually has that chance, everything he’s drafted in his head feels inadequate. It may take some time to get his thoughts in order before sitting down and openly discussing his and Melanie’s fraught relationship.

“So… Martin?” Georgie says, snapping Jon out of his thoughts. “Have you seen him yet?”

Jon makes an uncertain tilting motion with his hand, finding no succinct way to explain that yes, he did have a brief encounter with Martin, but it was a one-sided conversation, and Jon expected as much, but it still hurt; and moreover, Martin was invisible when he visited, no doubt intending to just see for himself that Jon was awake, check in on how he was doing without being noticed; and Jon wishes he had been able to do the same, to have some irrefutable physical reassurance that Martin is alive and real and here and now, because it’s been so long, and…

“…he seemed determined to avoid – me,” Jon settles on instead.

“You care about him a lot, don’t you?”

“I need him to be okay –”

“– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with.”

“Oh,” Georgie says, sounding stunned. Jon meets her eyes and gives her a quizzical look. “I just – knowing you, I figured you’d still be in denial about how infatuated you are? Or, at best, you’d grudgingly admit you maybe, possibly had a little crush? I was not expecting a declaration of love.”

“Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already –”

“– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.”

“Holy shit,” Georgie murmurs. “You’re absolutely besotted. I mean, I knew you were, you talked about him all the time and you’re not as subtle as you think you are – but actually acknowledging it?”

“…honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand,” Jon replies, not bothering to hide his small smile.

“Wow. You’ve… changed more than I thought.” Georgie mirrors his expression, but then she falters, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Can I ask how it – if it…” Jon’s smile fades too, but he makes a beckoning gesture: It’s okay; go on. “Regardless of whether things worked out between you, I… well, I have a hard time thinking you’d come back to this time if it meant leaving him behind in your future?”

Jon looks down at their linked hands, expressionless as he begins to construct a response.

“I’ll skip over the bit where –”

“– taking me in his arms and giving me the last and longest hug I would ever get from him –”

“– he was gone. Just gone. And I was alone again. There was no one I could talk to about it –”

“– I had plenty of time to mourn him –”

“– it took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor, as I slowly dragged myself away from the edge of my lonely grave.”

Georgie gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, which he returns gratefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “For what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you have this second chance. You… are going to tell him how you feel this time as well, right?”

Obviously, he wants to say, but it’s not as simple as he wishes it was. He frowns thoughtfully as he searches for a way to explain the situation.

“…he’s been so lonely –”

“– embraced the loneliness like an old friend –”

“– for a creature of the Lonely, the urge is to isolate, never to communicate or connect –”

“– I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –”

“But it was like this last time you woke up, too.” She waits for his affirmative before continuing: “So you can do it again.”

“…I managed it eventually, but my inability to speak –”

“– I found him difficult to talk to at length.”

“But,” she persists, “you aren’t going to give up, right?”

“…I knew he would return eventually,” Jon says.

“Good,” Georgie says with a relieved, somewhat exasperated sigh. “I swear to god, if you’d gotten fatalistic right there, I’d have had some words for you.” Jon chuckles. “Seriously, though – you’ll figure this out. You’ve always been stubborn. Every now and then, it’s even an asset.”

“I’m grateful to her, of course.”

“Again, don’t mention it. As long as you keep trying, I’ll support you. I might set limits on how much I’m willing to get involved with the actual supernatural bits – I haven’t decided just yet – but when I need to step back, I’ll tell you. I’m not going to ghost you just because you don’t grovel.”

Jon groans at the pun, which gets a self-satisfied grin out of Georgie.

“Oh, shut up. It was a good one.”

Right, I forgot: comatose people don’t need pens, Jon thinks irritably to himself the next day, turning his office upside down looking for a writing utensil.

He’s so thoroughly preoccupied with rummaging through his desk that he doesn’t notice Basira standing in the doorway until she clears her throat, startling him so badly that he jumps and slams one of his fingers in the drawer. He yelps in pain and pulls his hand back, shaking it out to distract from the throbbing. A moment later, the realization crosses his mind that it’s the same finger he’d tried to cut off the last time he was here.

It’s a coincidence, he tells himself before his mind can wander too far down the rabbit hole. He has enough to worry about without getting caught up in the hypotheticals of time travel and sci-fi tropes about the changeability of the past. Besides, the Coffin hasn't even arrived yet; there are still a few weeks before the original date of his failed self-amputation attempts.

“Sorry,” Basira says, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I figured you’d just know I was here.” Jon has nothing to say to that. Trying to explain the fine details of Knowing has never been a pleasant experience, and he couldn’t tackle that subject now even if he’d wanted to. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

“…think of me as an idiot who turned up to give a statement without a pen,” Jon says distractedly, opening another drawer and sifting through it. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Pens?” Jon nods without looking up. “Yeah, I threw them all out – don’t give me that look, Jon. Half of them didn’t even work, and the others looked like a puppy’s chew toy. Anyway, most of what I threw out in here got touched by the Flesh. You didn’t want any of it back, trust me.” Jon grimaces. “Yeah. Anyway, there are boxes in the supply closet – but I think I can do you one better.”

She tosses something at him. He notices the movement belatedly and just barely manages to catch the thing, nearly dropping it.

“Guess knowing things also doesn’t extend to being able to catch without fumbling,” Basira deadpans.

Jon looks down at the phone in his hands, then back up at Basira.

“Got the Institute to cover it as a work expense. I have no idea where the one you had before the Unknowing ended up; I’m assuming it blew up along with everything else.” Basira leans back against the doorframe. “I’m sure texting will go about as well for you as typing has, but Georgie downloaded a few AAC apps for you to try.”

He gives Basira a tentative smile.

“You’re welcome,” she says with a curt nod. The look she gives him then is curious – almost like she’s still trying to get a read on him, debating how much closeness she can risk. Then her guard goes back up and her tone turns authoritative again. “You can practice with them later. Meeting’s in a half-hour.”

Before Jon can respond, Basira turns and leaves.

It’s uncertain how the Archive will take to this newest workaround, but there’s only one way to find out.

“Here, let me take –”

Jon unceremoniously drops the box of statements down through the trapdoor, where it hits the ground below with a dull thud and a puff of dust.

“…or not,” Georgie finishes.

“Was that really necessary?” Basira calls from the bottom of the ladder.

Completely pointless, Jon thinks to himself a bit giddily, ignoring the stabbing pain in his temples with relish. The Beholding can complain all it wants about him mishandling statements; right now, he’s too tired and too delirious to care.

He’d had plenty of time during the apocalypse to develop methods of coping with the Eye’s intrusiveness. The most emotionally satisfying one he’d happened upon basically amounted to random acts of spite. It had no material effect on anything – aside from triggering varying degrees of headaches, but he already got those anyway. It was no different than a petulant child slamming a bedroom door, but it gave him that fleeting feeling of being in control of something, and it felt good.

“Let me go first,” Georgie says. He gives her a questioning look. “You’re using a cane, Jon. There’s a fifty percent chance you’re going to fall on your ass going down that ladder, and I’d rather keep you out of the hospital for the rest of the year.” Jon averts his eyes and frowns. She must interpret it as reluctance, because she clarifies: “You need a spotter.”

Jon signals agreement and she starts down the ladder ahead of him.

The thing is, he wasn’t trying to contradict her. It’s just… well, he’s still getting used to the idea of being cared for again, especially when it comes to insignificant things. Yes, his leg is acting up today, but it’s not that bad – the cane is just to keep it from getting any worse. And if he did fall, it’s not like it would kill him. It would be inconvenient, unpleasant, and probably embarrassing, but too temporary to really register on his distress scale.

Anyway, he’s grown desensitized to physical pain. Or… no, that’s not quite right. What he’s desensitized to isn’t the pain itself, but the experience of being harmed. He’s come to expect it, and these days only the only permanent injuries he receives are those inflicted by one of the Powers. Everything else heals too quickly and completely to feel consequential. Most things don’t even scar anymore, and those that do – well, what’s one more scar?

He knows it’s not a healthy mindset. Even before the world ended, he’d come to regard his body with a sense of detachment. In retrospect, he should’ve known that his rib wouldn’t work as an anchor. Most days, his body didn’t even feel like it belonged to him. Then, as if to confirm that inkling, Jonah possessed him; the Watcher’s eyes started manifesting on and around him; his presence became synonymous with the Eye to anyone who beheld him. He confirmed on several occasions that he wasn’t able to die. Even the Hunt couldn’t kill him. Jon would end one day, like everything else, but a mundane physical death was beyond him.

He doesn’t Know if that’s still the case now, and he’s too afraid to ask.

So, yes: he’s developed a cavalier attitude towards personal safety. Avoiding minor injuries feels almost on the same level as what temperature the water is before he steps into the shower: relevant in terms of his own comfort, but otherwise unimportant. He’s always spared little thought as to his own comfort, and it’s only gotten worse since becoming the Archivist. And the apocalypse didn’t exactly have much to offer in the way of comfort anyway, especially after…

Jon cringes as he stops to reflect on that train of thought. It took him fewer than thirty seconds to rationalize… well, Martin would have called it self-harm. Or self-sabotage, at the least. Georgie probably would, too, if she could see inside his mind right now. His judgment of what counts as worthy of concern is decidedly skewed, especially to an outside observer. It was easy to justify it to himself when it was just him alone at the end of the world, but employing a mindset forged in hopelessness and tailored to a doomed future is only going to be maladaptive here and now.

He should probably take some time later to unpack all of that. It would be easier if he could write it all out; it’s always difficult to keep track of his own thoughts without a visual aid, but –

“Jon?” Georgie calls up to him. “You can come down now.”

Deal with it later, he tells himself, tossing his cane down for Georgie to catch. As he makes his way down the ladder, his leg does twinge a bit, but it holds his weight well enough, and he reaches the bottom without incident.

“Where’s Melanie?” Basira asks.

“Resting,” Georgie says, handing Jon his cane. “She had a bad morning. I’ll fill her in on everything later.”

“Fine.” Basira nudges the box with her foot. “What’s this then?”

“Statements,” Georgie says. She’d watched Jon throw them haphazardly into the box before coming down here. “Not sure why, though.”

Jon moves the box to one of the chairs that they left in the tunnel last night. It isn’t too heavy – just some pertinent statements and tapes that he thought might make this discussion flow more smoothly. Taking a seat in the next chair over, he removes the lid from the box and begins rummaging.

“Statement of Joshua Gillespie, regarding his time in possession of an apparently empty wooden casket,” Jon says after a moment, holding up a folder labeled CASE #9982211 and containing the respective written statement. One page sticks out crookedly, and Jon’s heart skips a beat when he recognizes Tim’s handwriting. This had been one of his cases to follow up on.

He shakes his head and sets the folder aside, reaching into the box for the corresponding tape. Instead, his fingertips brush against a different loose cassette, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Statement of Detective Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner,” he says quietly, removing the cassette. “Traffic stop of a delivery van.”

“This is the statement Daisy gave you?” Basira says. “She said you compelled her.”

“I didn’t realize that was what had happened until afterwards,” Jon says softly. He pulls a tape recorder from his pocket and gives Basira a questioning look.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Jon inserts the cassette and fast-forwards, stopping when he Knows he’s reached the right timestamp. His own recorded voice begins to play.

“If you don’t mind me asking, h-h-how long have you been sectioned now –”

“I do mind,” comes Daisy’s clipped voice. Then, immediately: “Fourteen years.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to make a statement?”

“About what?”

“Whatever you like. Fourteen years – you must have seen a number of paranormal things.”

“And you want me to tell you about them.”

“Uh – I-I-I-I-I –”

“Okay,” says Daisy.

“What?”

“Okay. I’ll give you a statement about – how I got my first Section 31.” A beat. “You look surprised.”

“I mean, I was largely asking as a formality. Basira didn’t give me the impression you were the sharing sort.”

“Maybe you caught me in a good mood.”

“Right, well… good. Do you need me to go over our non-disclosure policy –”

“Not as long as you understand my policy: if it gets out, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“There are worse things that could happen to them,” the Jon on the tape mutters.

Jon hits stop and looks up at Basira. There’s a sheen to her eyes; he does her the courtesy of looking away and not drawing attention to it. After a long few seconds, she clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is even and impassive.

“So you really didn’t know you were compelling people back then.”

“…he had no idea what was about to happen to him.”

He probably should have noticed sooner, but he was always so fixated on listening to the answer to a question that he paid comparatively little attention to the asking of it. Insensitive of him, really – far too like the detached fascination of the Ceaseless Watcher, in retrospect. The reality that he had the power to compel others didn’t really sink in until after his conversation with Jude.

Jon notices belatedly that the other two are watching him expectantly. He hadn’t planned on playing Daisy’s tape first, but since he already has it prepared to go, he fast-forwards to the beginning of her statement and lets it play through to the end. No one makes any comment in the few seconds it takes for him to swap the cassette out for Joshua Gillespie’s statement.

“So the Coffin makes people want to enter it,” Basira says as the second statement ends. “Is that why you went in, the first time? You were compelled?”

Jon shakes his head no. Daisy had asked him the same question last time. It’s true that the Coffin called to him, but its compulsion never got beneath his skin – not like that of the Beholding or the Web. In the end, going into the Buried was his decision.

“Why, then?”

“…survivor’s guilt,” Jon says. “I should be dead, really – it’s hard to reconcile yourself with avoiding a death that you feel should have been yours.”

There was more to it, though. He takes a minute to rifle through statements, to piece together his state of mind the first time he entered the Buried.

“I felt a great deal of guilt over my involvement with –”

“– the path of the Eye –”

“– when they looked at me, their eyes were full of – anger – blame –”

“– looked at me with a mixture of hate and helpless terror, as though I could do something to fix it –”

“– cut off effectively all human contact –”

“– I decided I had to do something – anything to get out of the fog –”

“– to lose myself in something that is not the absence of humanity –”

“– desperate to remind myself that I could still feel something –”

“– desperate for any human connection.”

He pauses for a breath. Looking back, if Jon hadn’t been so thoroughly claimed by the Beholding already, he may have been a candidate for the Lonely himself back then. Peter Lukas didn’t have to lift a finger.

“I was starting to fear that if I didn’t manage to do something –”

“– I would lose myself – forever –”

“– I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try –”

“– it was – the most human part of it remaining –”

“– to act, to help, to do something –”

“– I need to not lose any more bits of me –”

“– and worst comes to worst –”

“– at least I felt useful.”

Georgie’s eyes are on him now, reading between the lines.

“Did you even have a plan? Or did you just… rush in by yourself, not even tell anyone?” He nods. “Which?” He gives Georgie a pointed look, nodding a second time. “Both? Figures. Don’t know why I bothered asking, really.”

“…but this time was different,” he assures her.

“How did you get out?” Basira asks.

“It took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor.”

“Meaning?”

“…her anchor. The thing weighing her down, tying her to this world,” he tries again.

“Something to ground you,” Georgie says questioningly.

“…to make finding my way back – that much easier.”

“And you can do the same thing this time?” Basira waits for his confirmation before moving on. “What about the delivery itself?”

Jon pulls out another folder and cassette, both labeled CASE #9961505.

“Statement of Alfred Breekon, regarding a new pair of workers at his delivery company.”

“Breekon and Hope?” Basira asks.

Jon nods, inserts the tape, and depresses the play button.

“They’ve been in a few statements, haven’t they?” Basira says afterwards, forehead creased in thought.

As an answer, Jon removes one last cassette from the box before tilting it forward to reveal a handful of case files sliding around at the bottom. All of them contain minor references either to Breekon and Hope or the Coffin, but none of them struck him as significant enough to bother bringing the accompanying tapes.

The remaining cassette in his hand, label reading CASE #0020406, is only relevant for the last minute or so of the recording: Martin’s encounter with Breekon and Hope on the day they delivered the NotThem’s table and the Web’s lighter. Jon pops it into the recorder, fast-forwards to the relevant timestamp, and hits play. Breekon and Hope’s voices echo in the tunnel, finishing each other’s sentences in an uncanny back-and-forth volley.

“Hm.” Basira frowns. “And they just… got into the Archives without anyone seeing them?” Jon nods. “I’m assuming we can expect the same this time?" Another nod, but Jon holds up two fingers, gives Basira a meaningful look, and then puts one down. “Only one of them.”

“Statement of the surviving half of the being calling itself ‘Breekon and Hope,’” Jon says. Then: “When that Hunter killed him – took him from me, made us a me – the casket – was waiting – I fed her to it.”

“Do we have to worry about a fight?”

Jon shakes his head no. “We did not kill them, did not lift a finger. We were bringers of their awful fate, not its executors – and we both tasted it together.” He fast-forwards the statement in his head. “I am without him now – can feel myself fading, weak, no reason to move, nothing to deliver. But I am no longer tied to the casket, so you can have it – climb in, and join her.”

“So we just, what, let it deliver the thing and leave?”

“I told her that any real danger had passed –”

“– fading, weak, no reason to move, nothing to deliver.”

“And then you go in.”

Jon nods. There are more details, of course, but the basics of his plan are the same as they were last time: equip himself with Daisy’s tape, follow the pull of her voice, rely on his anchor to find the way back – albeit hopefully with fewer hiccups this time.

Or fewer lost ribs, at least, now that he has a better grasp on anchors.

Several days later, a visitor arrives in the Archives, albeit not the one they’ve been expecting.

Head pillowed in his arms on his desk, dozing and half-conscious, Jon is roused from a shallow sleep by voices in the hallway, filtering through the open crack in the door.

“This area is off-limits,” Basira is saying.

“I’m just looking for the Head Archivist. Jonathan Sims? He still works here, doesn’t he?”

Is that…

“What do you want with Jon?” Georgie’s voice, sounding genuinely curious, but anyone familiar with her would recognize the protective edge to it.

“Look, is he here or isn’t he?”

It is.

Rubbing bleary eyes and shaking off the remaining wisps of brain fog, Jon stands, his joints cracking in protest. He grabs his cane, heads for the door, and peeks out into the hallway.

Naomi Herne is here, standing in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs between the Archives and the rest of the Institute. She looked his way when she heard the creak of the door opening, and their eyes meet for a brief moment before he reflexively averts his gaze.

“Jon?” She sidesteps Basira and Georgie and starts walking towards him.

He digs in his pockets and brings out his phone. So far, the AAC app has turned out to be a decent workaround. Prolonged use will still give him a headache in much the same way that communicating through illustration does, but it’s helpful for making specific requests, asking direct questions, and conveying simple or general concepts. He’ll accept a headache if it means not being forced to use some convoluted metaphor just to say I don’t know or I’m short-circuiting, please give me some space or I’m going to make tea; would you like some?

“YOU ARE – HERE,” comes the computerized voice as he prods at the screen. “WHY.”

For a long moment, Naomi says nothing, staring at the phone in his hand.

“It’s been over a week since I last saw you,” she says slowly. “At first I thought it must be because you woke up – which was a good guess, it seems – but then days went by and no dreams, and… I was worried.” Jon tilts his head, confused. “What’s with that look?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times, debating on whether to reach for a statement. It feels wrong to be dishonest with her, and a hopeful part of him suggests that Naomi wouldn’t react too badly. She’s seen worse from him, and none of that seems to have scared her away, so…

“…I wasn’t worth worrying about.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Why are you so stubborn?”

Georgie laughs at that. When Naomi glances in her direction, she starts approaching the two of them, apparently satisfied that Naomi isn’t a threat. Likewise, Basira drifts off down the hall and into the break room. She leaves the door open, though – Jon Knows she still wants to listen in, just in case.

“He’s always been like this,” Georgie says.

“Figures,” Naomi says, then looks back at Jon. “So, why haven’t you been around? Did you find a way to sever the dreams, or…?” Jon shakes his head no. “Then what?”

“It’s not like I sleep enough to worry about dreams,” he says evasively.

Naomi opens her mouth to reply and at that moment Jon’s phone goes off. He nearly drops the thing as he fumbles to dismiss the alarm. Once the noise is silenced, Jon sighs and looks at Georgie.

“You want me to…?” Jon nods, giving her permission to speak on his behalf. “Okay then.”

Georgie looks at Naomi.

“Jonathan” – Jon huffs at the use of his full name – “has been depriving himself of sleep. But no matter how stubborn he is, he’s still human.” Georgie gives him a stern look, daring him to contradict her. He doesn’t; it isn’t worth getting into this discussion, especially in front of Naomi. “Now he’s started nodding off in spite of himself, he’s been forced to admit that he can’t go without sleep forever – but instead of actually sleeping, he’s decided that the best course of action is to just set alarms at forty-five minute intervals, to wake him up before he enters REM sleep. Which means he’s not getting any restful sleep.” She looks at Jon and smiles disarmingly. “Does that about cover it?”

Jon rolls his eyes – she really didn’t need to offer the detail about his new alarm routine – but he nods all the same.

“And why don’t you want to sleep?” Naomi asks.

“The only thing that worried me was sleeping. I think it gave me bad dreams,” he says.

“Not to be rude, but…” Naomi hesitates before blurting out: “Why are you talking like that?”

“He’s been having… some speech difficulties,” Georgie says, glancing at Jon. He makes a circular motion with one hand: It’s fine; go ahead. “Ever since he woke up, he’s only able to speak in quotes from the statements? It’s… challenging, to say the least.”

“Ah,” Naomi says, chipper, “just some new spooky developments, then.”

Out of habit, Jon glares at her for her word choice, but there’s no real ire in it. If anything, it’s a relief to find that Naomi’s attitude toward him seems unchanged despite said new spooky developments.

“But…” Naomi frowns. “You’ve been having these dreams for two years now, and you said you’ve mostly gotten them sorted. So how is sleeping now any different from the last few months?”

“He’s afraid that things will go back to the way they were before.”

“O…kay,” Naomi says slowly, “but you told me that most of the others have already learned to stop the nightmare sequence without you. And everyone knows now that you aren’t as scary as you look – which, by the way, is it weird that by now it's almost more unsettling to see you with only two eyes? Sorry, not the point. The point is, it won’t be the same as it was before.”

Jon stares fixedly at a scratch on the floor. Left over from the Flesh attack, maybe? He could Know, but –

Focus, he tells himself before his thoughts can wander too far afield.

He isn’t sure how to explain that the other dreamers may not be as forgiving or fearless as Naomi is. Even if they were to find it in themselves to overlook a relapse, even if they don’t start viewing him the way they did before… the prospect of having his bodily autonomy stripped from him again is more than enough to fill him with dread.

It feels too much like the way the hunger pulls him inexorably toward a victim. It will probably feel like how it does when the Archive takes control. And it will definitely feel like it did when he was made a conduit for the Watcher’s Crown. Jonah wearing him like a glove. Locking him in place, forcing his eyes open, hijacking his voice. Making him into a possession, only to cast him aside like a broken toy once he had served his purpose.

“– Jon?”

With some effort, he drags himself back to the present.

“Something not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free –”

“– stopped being able to move under his own power – walk him like a puppet – directed and controlled –”

“– unable to move – to cry for help.”

Hands shaking, he inputs a response on his phone.

“I AM – SCARED.”

“That’s… okay, that sounds properly horrifying,” Naomi admits. “But you don’t know for sure that’s what’ll happen, right?” Grudgingly, Jon shakes his head no. “So you could be fretting over nothing.”

“So far, so normal, right?”

“Smartass,” Naomi says, but with good humor. “Still, you can’t go without sleep forever – you’re going to have to face it eventually. You may as well get it over with sooner rather than later, and then you’ll know for sure. If nothing else, you’ll get some sleep out of it. But,” she says with a longsuffering sigh, “I have a feeling you’re going to keep pushing it, so…” She holds out her hand and crooks her fingers. “Phone. I’m adding my number to your contacts.”

It isn’t until Jon hands it over that he even consciously processes her words.

“Just so you know,” Georgie says, “he can’t really text, either. Unless it’s in statements.”

“That’s fine,” Naomi says, typing rapidly with her thumbs. “You can just reply with emojis or whatever, Jon. Just something to let me know you’re still alive.” She hands the phone back to him. “And this way I can send you pictures of the Duchess.”

Jon perks up at that.

“The Duchess?” Georgie asks.

“Yep. Adopted a cat last week.” Naomi’s smile is wider than Jon has ever seen it. “She’s settling in nicely,” she says to him before looking back to Georgie. “I almost changed her name, but Jon insisted I leave it as is. Said I shouldn’t deprive her of a title she’d rightfully earned.”

Georgie snorts. “He said the same about the Admiral.”

“Oh, you must be Georgie, then? I’ve heard a lot about… uh –”

“Don’t worry; I’m well aware you’ve heard more about the Admiral than me. Pretty sure Jon prefers his company to mine half the time.” She ignores the indignant look Jon shoots her and holds out her phone to Naomi. “Jon was notoriously terrible at answering texts even before all of… this. Feel free to direct any, ‘Is Jonathan Sims still alive?’ queries to me.”

Jon watches in bewilderment as the two of them exchange numbers. Not for the first time, he wonders how this kind of socializing seems to come so naturally to other people.

“I also wouldn’t mind seeing a photo of the Duchess.”

“What about a group text?” Naomi says. “Spooky-free zone, cat-related updates only. Everyone gets their daily dose of cat antics, I get to honestly tell my therapist that I’m not self-isolating, and Jon can just like things to let me know he’s still breathing. Three birds, one stone.”

“Good idea.” Georgie gives Jon an exacting look. “It’ll give you something nice to obsess over. I’ll have to ask Melanie if she wants to be added, too. She could use the distraction.”

Jon can feel a smile tug at his lips as he hurriedly taps out a response.

“YES – PLEASE – THANK YOU.”

Jon and the others try to retreat to the tunnels as often as possible – every other day, if they can manage it – even if there isn’t a pressing matter to discuss. More than anything, it’s a ploy to throw off Jonah. There’s every possibility that he would grow suspicious if the group only held their secretive meetings just prior to major events. Meeting frequently likely won’t alarm him too much, though. Jonah is likely to write off Jon’s furtiveness as paranoia, or simply his near-compulsive tendency to retread the same ground in aimless circles, obsessing over a single question ad infinitum.

Jon isn’t sure whether he Knows this, or if he’s just become uncomfortably familiar with Jonah’s thought processes. Either way, Jon is well aware of what Jonah thinks of him, of how the man can effortlessly dissect and predict Jon’s every outward action and inner experience. If he's honest with himself, Jonah’s scrutiny may terrify him even more than the Ceaseless Watcher’s.

At least the Eye is alien, operating entirely outside the bounds of human morality and emotion. It and all of the other Fears just… are what they are. Predictable, instinctual, amoral – or operating on a sort of blue and orange morality, at least. It brings to mind something Michael said to him, all those years ago: “Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it?”

Someone like Jonah Magnus, though – born human, raised human, spending several lifetimes embedded in human society – can understand his fellow humans much more intimately than any nonhuman Entity ever could, and he uses that understanding to torture his victims, knowing full well how it feels. On the one hand, Jon and all his other pawns throughout the centuries are nothing but means to an end; he cares little for them outside of their usefulness to him. On the other hand, he isn’t fully detached: there’s no denying the sadistic glee he took in gloating as he forced Jon to open the door.

Even in a world devoid of the Dread Powers, monsters would still exist, and a mundane human monstrosity is almost as dreadful as a supernatural one. Daisy derived joy from the Hunt with more complexity than a wolf would. Jon’s own hunts may have felt instinctual, but they also felt morally wrong in a way that tearing the legs off a spider would never feel to a cat – and he did it anyway. Even Gertrude embodied a certain flavor of monstrosity, despite never fully giving in to the temptation of the Beholding. She did not need to embrace any supernatural power; her ruthlessness damned innocent people all the same, as thoroughly as the Desolation and with as much precision as the Web.

Georgie and Martin – and Helen, even – may have a point about humanity and monstrosity not following a strict either/or dichotomy. Whether the Fears were birthed by humanity or preceded it, in the world as-is they would be toothless without human imagination to fuel and interpret and inspire them. The apocalypse demonstrated that fact rather starkly the more and more the human population dwindled.

Jon shakes his head, interrupting that line of thought. There are more important things to worry about right now. Namely: it’s the third of March, and the Institute is expecting a visitor.

Basira is with him in his office; Georgie is off keeping Melanie company, away from Breekon and any possibility of a confrontation. They’d all agreed to this arrangement last night in the tunnels, and since they’ve been having those clandestine meetings so regularly, it should look like a coincidence to Jonah, rather than a prearranged setup.

And Breekon arrives right on schedule, though this time he cannot catch Basira alone. He comes directly to Jon’s office, dragging the Coffin behind him.

“Jon,” Basira says urgently, not taking her eyes off the hulking figure darkening the doorway.

They must tread carefully – not seeming so unconcerned as to let on that they were expecting the delivery, but not overselling the act so much that Jonah would sense something was amiss.

“I wish I could say that was the last I saw of them – but they did return – started to make deliveries – Breekon and Hope.”

“Where’s the other one?” Basira asks.

“That copper took him from me,” Breekon says balefully. He drags the Coffin over the threshold, lets it fall to the ground with a thump, and jerks his head at it. “So I fed her to the pit.”

“Daisy’s in there,” Basira says, bristling.

“That’s its name? Then sure, ‘t’s in there, whatever’s left. Find out if you like.”

“…get out of my office –”

Jon’s voice crackles with static, and Breekon takes one step backward.

“What are you doing? Stop that.”

“Jon,” Basira says warningly.

“– as soon as they’d placed the box on the floor, they turned around and walked out –”

The static continues to rise in volume.

“I said stop it!” Breekon grunts through gritted teeth, even as he turns and steps back over the threshold.

“– the door slammed behind them” – Breekon does indeed reach for the handle and pulls the door shut after him – “and I was left – with this package.”

The static cuts out abruptly, and Jon exhales heavily, winded.

“What the hell was that?” Basira demands, rounding on Jon. “Did you just – compel him to leave?”

“…apparently this was how it was done now,” Jon says quietly. That at least answers the question of whether he can still effectively use that power. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Knew you could compel people to answer questions. Didn’t know you could compel actions, too.”

Jon shuts his eyes, still catching his breath. There were limits on his compulsion abilities even during the apocalypse; there are bound to be just as many now, if not more. He doesn’t have the mindset for muddling through a complicated explanation right now, though, so he opts for the AAC app instead.

“LITTLE,” he selects from the screen. It should be enough to get the general point across, at least for now.

“Great. I’ll just put that in the ominous column, shall I?” Basira sighs. “Is it really okay to just… let him leave?”

“I told her that any real danger had passed,” he says simply.

“If you say so.” She stares intently at the Coffin, arms crossed. “So, what now?”

Without another word, Jon stands and beckons for Basira to follow. As he locks the office door behind them, Basira tells him to go wait for her at the tunnel entrance while she fetches Melanie and Georgie. He nods absentmindedly, but she’s already left without waiting for a response.

The last time, two weeks spanned between the delivery of the Coffin and the day Jon actually opened it. This time, there’s no need to wait. He still has some preparations to make – there’s no need to visit the Boneturner, but Jon does still want to leave some tapes running to serve as physical anchors. He also has to plan for the possibility of something going wrong, even if he is fairly confident in his ability to find his way back again. Mainly, he’d like to leave a letter behind for Martin, though the Archive might make that difficult.

Other than that, it’s just a matter of mentally preparing himself for another trip into the Buried.

Knowing what to expect doesn’t make it any less terrifying, though. If anything, it might make it worse.

End Notes:

Soooo I thought I'd be able to cover more plot in this chapter, but I was too attached to the scene with Naomi to scrap it, and I wanted that conversation between Jon and Georgie to happen pre-Buried. The result is that this chapter feels a bit scattershot. But that means next chapter I can just focus on the Coffin. Thanks for bearing with me! (Hoping to have next chapter ready by this weekend or early next week. Depends on how busy work is.)

For anyone unfamiliar with AAC (augmentative and alternative communication) devices/apps and wondering why it's different from typing/texting for Jon - the app he's using has preloaded phrases and images he can select from, so he doesn't have to type/text character-by-character. It still has drawbacks for him - difficult to use for long periods of time, less likely to work the more specific he tries to be, like with drawing - but at least there's another communication option for him to reach for now.

Citations for Jon's verbal dialogue are as follows, broken down by section. Section 1: None. Section 2: 009; 036; 050/027/008/153/010/015/009/124/056/128; 112; 045/005/112/131; 045; 020/134; 157; 017; 138/130; 059; 029; 101/024; 135; 094; both 028 & 076; 148; 094; 042; 054; 117/013; 013/009; 150; 013/009/013/007/013; 146/092/151/063; 002/050; 009; 062. Section 3: 038. Section 4: 002; 061; 050; 056; 051; 019/138/013/105/113/013/092/122/102; 019/048/011/123/124/014/145/139; 051; 013, 145; 023; 096; 128; 128 (again); 008/128. Section 5: 014; 113; 002; 032/136/015; 025. Section 6: 096; 006; 002; 002 (again); 005; 008.

The taped banter between Daisy and Jon is from MAG 061. The Michael quote is from MAG 101. A few bits of Breekon's dialogue were borrowed from MAG 128.

[dameronology]

I have no idea if you’re taking requests, but if you are im getting my wisdom teeth taken out soon. I’m super nervous so do you mind writing about poe taking care of you after it and you being all loopy? Thank you :))

i’m so sorry this took me so long to do; i’m assuming it’s probably been done now but i hope ur doing good and that everything went well! <3

my only experience of having wisdom teeth taken out is watching the episode of victorious where trina has hers out so i hope this is accurate as possible 

poe would probably be torn between his deep desire to care for you and his deep desire to prank you whilst you’re high on the painkillers (like that one video where a guy convinces his sister that there’s a zombie apocalypse going on whilst she’s loopy) 

in the end the first one wins & he’s there for you every step of the way, when he’s not keeled over with laughter at some of the crazy things you’re saying 

he’ll bring you ice cream, ice lollies and cold drinks to help you numb the pain 

he’s a stickler for making sure you take your meds. he’ll get beebs to set a timer and every time it goes off, he’ll be ready and waiting 

he’s up for cuddles too. you might be a bit sleepy/out of it and he’ll lay with you for hours, stroking your hair and just being with you until you’re feeling a bit better 

he’ll make sure you have all your favourite movies with you as well, ready to stream in front of you so that you don’t have to move too much as well 

he’s a good pilot but he’s also one hell of a nurse

(and finn is there with a video recorder for when you first wake up so that your loopiness is forever caught on camera to look back and laugh at)

[harringroveficlibrary]

Harringrove ABO Masterlist

someone asked for an abo masterlist, so here it is! 

this list isn’t sorted in any particular order, other than by date posted, which is the default on ao3. (newest -> oldest) i also didnt include every single fic in the abo tag because this list was already going to be a large post. if there are any fics i missed that someone thinks should be included, feel free to send an ask or to just reply to this post! :^) ♥  -cade 

updated: April 16th, 2020

Carnal by mrhiddles (1/1 | 4,001 | Explicit)

Steve goes into heat when Billy pulls up to school. Billy's the only one who can help him, or so Steve says.

The Case Where Billy Hargrove Turned Out To Be Not Your Average Alpha by Anonymous (1/1 | 3,249 | Teen+)

“I don’t spend heats with alphas.” Steve said, his gaze avoiding Billy’s.

Billy faltered at that, his brows furrowing in confusion. “I thought you’d spent your heats with people before?” Billy asked.

“Well yeah, but not with alphas.” Steve huffed.

“So— You’re a faggot?” Billy asked, his eyes widening.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Perfectly Unnatural by ImNeitherNor (1/1 | 3,255 | Explicit)

‘You’re not an alpha in this house, boy. You’re not strong. You’re not even responsible with your sister. You don’t respect Susan. I thought I taught you enough in California.’

Neil’s words clang around Billy’s skull and burn the inside of his bones as he sits on the hood of his Camaro. The metal below his ass is warm from the engine just having been turned off, but the lights still spill out across the cliff. This place, nestled at the top and shrouded by trees, catches the wind just right. The wind bites through his jean jacket, settling close to his skin. The cherry red glow of his cigarette gives a false sense of warmth and puts Billy’s teeth on edge.

‘You’re unnatural.’

warnings: references to childhood abuse

Puppy Pile by Strawberry_Sweetheart (1/1 | 2,432 | Not Rated)

Steve forgets about his heat and thinks he has enough time to make a grocery run before it really hits.

He seems to have miscalculated.

Luckily, Billy is there’s to get him home safe.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

One Last Time by Strawberry_Sweetheart (1/1 | 3,157 | Not Rated)

It came with a phone call late at night, just past the witching hour. It was deathly quiet and dark, a new moon withholding any moonlight to chase the shadows away, and in that silence the piercing ring of the telephone downstairs cut through their dreams. A sleepy noise and wiggle came from the lump under Billy, shifting until it escaped Billy’s arms and legs that held it hostage.

Or

this is a requested fic for Alpha El + Billy and Steve being good parental figure types and helping her figure things out

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

So messed up, I want you here by Boudoir_Writer (1/1 | 3,942 | Explicit)

“I turned you bitch, Harrington.” His voice is gravel and petrol, his limbs and heart lead. “We’re never going to be done.”

warnings: dubcon

Smoke by Carerra_os (1/1 | 468 | General)

Billy is ditching class for a smoke break when Steve comes along. -

Originally this was written for You're Extra Special, Something Else. However that story went in a different direction.

Black silk and wild flowers by Catharrington (1/1 | 3,015 | Explicit)

Steve’s birthday was really just another day. The only thing that made it special was his fathers insistence on going to a party thrown for just him, a party filled with starving alphas with fat wallets all rutting against themselves to buy their own little omega. Steve hates what his father makes him do. Steve hates his birthday. Until Billy Hargrove crawls through his window to remind him it’s not all bad, silver lining in the clouds and shit, and brings him a present.

Drop (The Game) by MissGillette (3/3 | 42,080 | Explicit)

Billy has wanted a piece of Steve since spotting him on the school parking lot his first day. So when Steve flees the bathroom at Tina's Halloween party, distressed and about to drop, Billy does the only logical thing: follow the scent.

The Lucky One by wingedbears (1/1 | 6,881 | Mature)

In a world where on one arm is your soulmate's name, and the other's is your enemy's, omega Billy has to learn to let shit go.

Princess of the apocalypse by Boozombie (2/2 | 15,034 | Explicit)

Steve just wanted to keep his kids safe, and Billy knows how to use that.

warnings: rape/non-con

Princess that runs his world by Boozombie (3/3 | 11,747 | Not Rated)

Billy takes Steve to wash up and plans to get him alone for a date. Steve wants to bring his pack along.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings, rape/non-con elements

lately i feel like i've been losing (my mind) by ToAStranger (1/1 | 3,162 | Explicit)

Billy hasn't felt right since the summer straight out of a horror movie. His instincts are all off. And Steve Harrington keeps looking at him.

Pothos by moonflowers (1/1 | 6,714 | Explicit)

He felt like the rabbit and the fox all at once, the thrill of chasing and being chased, a circle, whole. He might’ve felt stupid about it, if it hadn’t been so intense. Robin always told him he fell for people too easy – and fine, she was right – but this was something else. Or maybe not yet, but oh man he was starting to think he wanted it to be. And it was probably idiotic of him to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help but think maybe Billy did too; watching Steve from behind a tired and quietly angry veneer, a little twist of hope just visible through the mask.

Dubious Hijinks by Corvin (1/1 | 3,998 | Teen+)

Steve needs a buffer between him and the alpha his dad picked for him. The best option he can think of is an uncooperative Billy Hargrove.

with them indiana boys (on them indiana nights) by ToAStranger (1/1 | 4,842 | Teen+)

The thing is, when Billy first saw Steve Harrington, he knew.  

He grew up knowing.  It was hard not to, with all of those hormones and instincts running through his fucking veins.  He knew, one day, he’d run across someone that smelled so right, so fucking perfect that he’d want nothing more than to bury his face against their scent gland and breathe in until the smell becomes a taste becomes a sensation becomes--

Well.  The thing is, he’s always known.

None Brighter Than Your Eyes by Doodsxd (1/1 | 9,991 | Explicit)

Sex Ed course came once again, and, for the first time, Billy listened.

He listened, because it started to match and make sense with what Max’s little troup told him over and over again.

Apparently, it was biology which dictated that omega jewelry wasn’t just a futility or decoration, or even a signal that the omega was taken. It wasn’t a trade, sex for jewelry, like Neil had taught him all his life. No: scientists had found back in the sixties that omega jewelry has a soothing effect, especially during heat, as a reminder of love and affection; something tangible and available at all times, even when no one is.

warnings: graphic depictions of violence

"is that what you want, princess?" by greeneyedsourwolf (1/1 | 4,008 | Explicit)

Steve asks Billy if he wants to spend their first heat together.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Pool Time Stress by AMemoryDelayed (1/1 | 2,610 | Explicit)

Steve's been visiting the pool pretty frequently. He can't help it when he'd been carted along that one time. He can't stand to watch Billy eye other women. It makes him regret it too, and yet. He's excited when Billy barely even moves his gaze over to him. He gives Steve the slightest of grins from where he's sat at. He doesn't make any other sign to warn him of what's to come beyond that. Steve knows though.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Thanks Phyllis by Corvin (1/1 | 11,764 | Explicit)

Steve wants to start a family and asks Billy for help. What was supposed to be a purely professional exchange turns a lot more intimate than he expected.

Everything falls back by Crowweb (1/1 | 1,302 | Teen+)

Billy isn't home like he's supposed to and Steve gets a bad feeling through their bond. The alpha turns up beaten up after a couple of hours.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings, blood

push him down (spread him out) by tol_sirion (1/1 | 3,529 | Explicit)

“It’s embarrassing.” Steve whines and covers his face instead.

Billy tuts. “None of that, now,” he says, and Steve slowly looks up, hands falling to each side of his head instead. “Just one more picture. One more, and I’ll give you what you want.”

And maybe it’s cruel, holding it over Steve like that. Like only if Steve is good and does what Billy says, he’ll finally get dicked down the exact way he wants, and not a minute before.

Woke Up Thirsty by trashcangimmick (1/1 | 3,256 | Explicit)

Billy shows up at the Byers house looking for Maxine. Instead, he finds Steve Harrington and a kind of surprising proposition.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Grace Me With Nothing But Patience by itscrybabyharrington (icanspelliero) (1/1 | 6,587 | Explicit) 

It started off as an itch beneath the surface of his skin, no matter how hard Steve pressed his nails could never dig through, could never scratch the discontent that simmered just beneath.

Tommy says it’s nothing, signs of an early rut approaching, meds wearing off after taking them for so long. Only Steve knows Tommy is full of shit and this doesn’t feel like a rut.

warnings: underage, offensive language used, homophobia

Buzzcut Season by Senowolf (1/1 | 6,332 | Teen+)

Steve always waits for Billy to come back to him.

I Wanna Be Loved by harringrovecryptid (13/13 | 51,993 | Explicit)

"Brenner Relations" was one of the most lucrative businesses in the modern age. But only its clients and staff actually knew how it made its money. Billy Hargrove found himself being one of those people. But the deeper he got involved with the shady industry, the more secrets he began to uncover regarding the omegas that are considered company property.

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, rape/non-con elements

Assigned Alpha by Kiram (2/2 | 3,415 | Explicit)

Steve used to just be an unknown secondary gender till Billy Hargrove rolled into town. Steve’s stuck in a rock and a hard place and is inevitable forced to fold and give into his nature. Billy likes bugging Steve while simultaneously protecting him.

war song by themundaneweirdo (1/1 | 1,789 | General)

Steve misses his soldier.

Don't Take Your Time With Me by trashcangimmick (1/1 | 6,864 | Explicit)

Billy is usually a light sleeper. But when he’s drunk, it’s a completely different story.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings, rape fantasy, implied/referenced sexual assault, implied/referenced child abuse

I Can Do That by captainwingdings (1/1 | 1,971 | Explicit)

Billy wants to help out with Steve's heat, so he shows him a taste of what he can do.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Hot Blooded by captainwingdings (1/1 | 4,463 | Explicit)

The new guy from California catches Steve Harrington's attention for more than one reason. Not only was he hot as hell and didn't know how to button his shirts, but he was the strangest omega that Steve had ever seen. 

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Moaning Lisa Smile by trashcangimmick (1/1 | 3,735 | Explicit)

Billy maybe kind of hides the fact that he’s an Omega because he’s too queer, and too pretty, and would rather not deal with a bunch of idiot Alphas trying to screw the gay out of him. But Steve’s not an Alpha. Steve is also very pretty.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings, consent issues

Sweet Dream (Saccharine) by Highsmith (1/1 | 16,039 | Explicit)

Billy and Steve aren't friends, until they are, and they're not more than that, because the world doesn't work that way.

warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, recreational drug use

Pressing the accelerator down by Etnoe (1/1 | 6,229 | Explicit)

Heat season takes a toll of two alphas who can't find anyone to share a rut with. Aside, of course, from each other.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Keeping a bit of you by peirypatt (1/1 | 697 | General)

Over the years Steve's room has had several changes and seen many trends and phases, but there was only one thing that didn't belong to Steve inside his bedroom. A denim blue jacket.

It came naturally to us by peirypatt (1/1 | 650 | General)

Saying that Steve and Billy held hands in 1999 for the first time would be wrong and right at the same time. It's complicated, and at the same time, it's not.

Don't Belong To Anyone (Else) by sparkleeye (2/2 | 31,145 | Explicit)

And he does, just Billy’s fucking luck, because Harrington licks his lips and hoarsely goes, “I fucking knew it, fuck Hargrove, you’re in heat.”

He shudders as Harrington takes a step towards him. The tangy, warm scent of alpha has him struggling to stand upright, already slipping into the too far gone state and it’s fucking Harrington’s fault because he still won’t leave.

Better yet, he knows, he can smell the sweetness of omega, particularly herbal and saccharine like lavender and vanilla - Billy knows he smells like a girly little candle, okay - flooding the air between them. He could push Billy over and take him there, on the floor, push his face down onto the cracked, dusty concrete and fuck him stupid.

aka -- Billy is a stubborn idiot and goes to school during his heat.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Upside Down, You're Turning Me by ImNeitherNor (1/1 | 7,885 | Explicit)

“Let me get this straight. You want me to go into the middle of the fucking woods in below zero temperatures to find someone who is probably high as a kite and just having the time of his damned life?”

“We’re worried--” Max starts and Billy sneers.

“That sounds like a personal problem, Maxine. Steve is a big boy, an alpha, and can handle--” Billy tears his gaze away from Max as Dustin climbs on top of his hood and sits there. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Not moving,” Dustin shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Doctor’s Visit by HalfNakedWriter (1/1 | 2,320 | Explicit)

Steve goes for his 38 week appointment. 

'Cause We Feel Young and Wild by BeautyInChains (1/1 | 1,515 | Explicit)

Soon, is Steve’s best guess. Soon like the subtle itch beneath his skin that intensifies with each passing day. Soon like the voracity of his appetite as his body begins to prepare itself for the upcoming marathon. Soon like the aggression that continues to build and threaten to spill whenever another Alpha so much as glances Billy’s way. Soon like the way he’s been tenting his sheets, his slacks, his gym shorts at so much as a gentle breeze.

So when Billy texts him that morning, an eggplant emoji followed by the fire, peach, and splashing water emojis with not one but three question marks, Steve replies with Soon.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Lost My Mind by trimorning (1/1 | 1,564 | Teen+)

"I don't want to be dramatic."

He doesn’t know what Steve is going to say, which isn’t normal because he’s a predictable kind of mess, so it makes him feel vulnerable.

But its fine, its just Steve so it will undoubtedly be fine. Billy looks back at the other boy, “I can tell you right now, that you are physically incapable of not being dramatic, so continue.”

---- An a/b/o Harringrove one-shot that has little to do with a/b/o and more with Steve's flirty and messy ass. enjoy

Lavender by PoisonousFlower3 (1/1 | 756 | Mature)

"Billy hated being an alpha. He hated how it made his sense of smell stronger and smell the despair that always seemed to linger in this town. He hated how he was always so angry, though he knew that part of it was the abuse from his dad and his temper.

What he didn’t hate was how it let him get a good whiff of Steve whenever he was around."

In which case home starts to include Steve Harrington for Billy.

Red by PoisonousFlower3 (1/1 | 602 | Mature)

"Yeah, maybe things hadn’t started off the best for them but Billy was definitely in love." Another little drabble for two idiots in love

now I got you drunk, hot, and vulnerable (how do you like me now? do i turn you on?) by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger (1/1 | 6,807 | Explicit)

The first thing Billy notices is the scent.

Heady, sweet, electric. It makes his mouth water, the second he walks in. Makes every bone in his body sing.

Heatstroke by HobbitSpaceCase (1/1 | 8,022 | Explicit)

Billy is out of suppressants and going into Heat. Steve finds him. It's too bad Billy can't have this every time.

warnings: dubcon, sad ending

Steve Forgets by femmesteve (1/1 | 1,242 | Explicit)

Steve forgets his heat and Billy is there to be a jerk and fuck him how he needs.

you scratch my back, i'll bite yours by hoppnhorn (1/1 | 2,363 | Explicit)

Billy rushes Steve's fraternity and gets in, which sucks, only when it doesn't. Drunk Steve has a hard time staying away from what isn't good for him.

bite me, but not too hard by hoppnhorn (1/1 | 3,854 | Explicit)

Steve debates whether or not he should spend his heat tranquilized.

your teeth go deep (it seems) by hoppnhorn (1/1 | 3,554 | Explicit)

Nothing about his life, or his love life, has been simple thus far. The trend continues.

eat me (let it run down your chin) by hoppnhorn (1/1 | 2,837 | Explicit)

Billy ends things with Steve. Sorta.

Nine to five. by Fanflick (9/9 | 34,301 | Explicit)

Steve knew that everything would ultimately come to this, working for his father at a boring office job. It wasn't easy being an omega in hiding, especially now since Steve's boss is the arrogant alpha Billy Hargrove. Now Steve has to work alongside his high school rival while also trying to save enough money to get away from his father. How hard can that be?

warnings: boss/employee relationship

Drunken Things by Rhiw (3/3 | 10,566 | Explicit)

Nancy and Steve break up before Tina's party. Steve finds himself on the rebound, damned and determined to have some fun. Billy just wants to get laid.

Aka: The ABO of Stranger Things no one asked for. Written while drunk, with drunk characters, and lots of angst and smut and shit. Enjoy.

warnings: underage

what a wicked game you played (to make me feel this way) by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger (14/14 | 119,016 | Explicit)

Billy knew Steve Harrington would ruin him. Steve knew Billy Hargrove was nothing but trouble.

They never expected it to end up like this.

warnings: misogynistic language, ableist language, mentioned dubcon

turn me loose by hoppnhorn (1/1 | 3,321 | Explicit)

Billy is a dominant, powerful alpha with a slew of omegas dying to win his affection. He loves it, lives for it, except when he’s in rut. Steve is an omega and fights it every damn day. But when his body goes into heat, needs to breed, he can’t do anything to stop it. Billy is in rut and Steve is in heat when a freak heatwave knocks out the air conditioning in their shared apartment complex. Open windows and rampant hormones? What could go wrong?

Punch by hati_skoll (1/1 | 2,330 | Teen+)

Steve is dragged off by another alpha, Billy handles it.

A Start by ImNeitherNor (1/1 | 5,574 | Explicit)

The quarry was always Steve’s go to when he needed a place to breathe, an area where the smells weren’t in his face and he could think straight. It was strange how one person’s heat could trigger another. Steve, a slightly cowed alpha after Hargrove rolled in, was done with the overpowering scents and the looks that were being thrown around.

He wasn’t interested in any of it. None.

So, when he pulled up onto the edge of the quarry and stepped out, he almost groaned at the smell that hit him. An omega. An omega in heat. Fuck. This is exactly what he had hoped to get away from. He was ready to slide back in and yank his car in reverse when he looked up and saw, exactly, what car was sitting to the side, shaded by an overcast of trees. If he hadn’t actually looked, it would have slipped away. He blamed his sharper senses, his need to search out the omega.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Slick by hati_skoll (1/1 | 2,028 | Teen+)

Steve gets wet for Billy.

(Less porn inside than implied.)

Hold Me Tight Or Don't by BTSBlossom (1/1 | 4,808 | General)

Billy has some news for Steve, he just doesn't know how to tell him. At least he knows he's got Ms. Byers on his side. She'll be there for Billy if Steve isn't.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings, abortion discussion

Wrap Me Up (In Your Love) by LadyMoonveil (1/1 | 1,254 | Teen+)

In which Steve keeps stealing Billy's clothes, and Billy is terrified of the implications when he comes to the realization that Steve is nesting.

After everything that Steve has done for him, all Billy wants to do is be good to his mate. (Even if it means adding things to his wardrobe that sadly isn't denim or leather).

Make me feel special by pizzz_10 (1/1 | 1,577 | Explicit)

A short sweet omega fic where Billy is an omega and Steve is his alpha who loves to spoil him

bück dich by Rebldomakr (1/1 | 966 | Mature)

Billy Hargrove arrives in Hawkins, with Steve Harrington's name written on his neck.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings, mild blood/slight gore

sandman by Rebldomakr (1/1 | 2,226 | Explicit)

Steve’s not a fighter. He sucks at it, actually. He’s a little soft, but he isn’t totally weak or awfully tiny. He’s a good Alpha in many of the ways that count! Just because he isn’t running around sleeping with anyone willing, picking fights, and beating people to death doesn’t mean he’s a bad Alpha. And though Billy might do all that, but he isn't a bad Omega.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

Silk by Rebldomakr (1/1 | 3,393 | Mature)

In Indiana, Omega suppressants are banned. Billy runs out after a while.

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings