#they have gone too long without my barbs pointed at them

[absolutebl]

alright dek dek

should I trash watch Be My Favorite? 

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started.  Joel clears his throat. 

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!” 

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult." 

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips. 

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person. 

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it. 

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs. 

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!" 

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees. 

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?" 

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree. 

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover. 

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses. 

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire. 

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says. 

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize.  You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks. 

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off. 

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway. 

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark. 

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window. 

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop. 

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.” 

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary. 

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half. 

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating. 

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head. 

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?” 

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave. 

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.” 

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you. 

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest. 

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space. 

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves. 

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin. 

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says. 

“From what?” 

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him. 

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap. 

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel. 

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask. 

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says. 

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh. 

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room. 

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back. 

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands. 

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel. 

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully. 

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm. 

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael. 

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night. 

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships. 

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down. 

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips. 

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish. 

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses. 

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer. 

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[hazbinshusk]

day fourteen of salem's unofficial attempt at kinktober:

heat sex/breeding/touch starved/"knife" play (husk x reader)

a/n: it's my birthday; have some desperate, needy, heat-overcome husk.

knife play refers to husk being a little too forthright with his claws.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

“Hey, honey, Charlie said you’d been stuck up here the last few days,” you say as you toss your key on top of the bureau and immediately begin to shed your clothes. You toe off your shoes, leaving them haphazardly on the floor as you turn towards the bed. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, I didn’t realise your—oh, baby…”

Husk is face down on the bed, the sheets torn and littered with feathers – both from his own wings and the pillows he’s managed to shred. He doesn’t seem to have even noticed your presence; a pathetic mewling sound escaping him as his hips move in a weak, disjointed rhythm against what’s left of the sheets.

He’d gone into heat not long after you’d left, and with you gone for a few days, he was left with this burning, aching need that he’d been unable to satiate on his own. Now, it breaks your heart to see where he’s managed to pull out fur in frustration, to see the limp line of his tail hanging off the side of the bed. You’d known this was a risk, you being gone during – once you and Husk had begun seeing each other, his heats had become more… focused on you. He couldn’t get through it without you.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” you murmur as you approach the bed slowly. You notice Husk has some of your clothes balled up on the bed, his nose pressed deep into the fabric. You touch a hand to his shoulder carefully. “Husk…?”

The bartender jerks up under your touch as though you’ve sent an electric shock through him, his whole body shuddering. You watch his pupils dilate; his jaw almost slack. He looks… delirious, the closest you’ve seen to creature in a long time. “Doll…?”

“Hey,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I’ve—”

“Please…” he whines. His hips are still thrusting weakly into the mattress, his voice breaking. “Please…”

“It’s okay, Husk,” you promise gently, gliding your hand slowly down his back, smoothing the mussed fur and frowning when more of it falls away with your touch. Husk groans deeply; he buries his head against your thigh. He shudders, full-bodied, and you realize the bartender has cum into the sheets from that simple touch. He’s never been this far gone before; you’d seen him so deep into his heat that he’s barely let you get through the door before he’s shoved you up against it. You’ve seen him so addled by it that he’s barely been able to talk outside of growling urges for you to take it, to have his kits. This… this is so much more concerning. “Oh, you really need this, don’t you, baby?”

He can’t make out anymore words; he just lets out this soft, cattish mewl that makes tears of pity burn in your eyes.

“Lay back,” you tell him, pushing gently on his shoulder. Husk is clinging to you, and his desperation to get you further undressed only makes it more difficult. His claws catch in the waistband of your underwear, and they leave tracks of red as he tears it away, the sharp point of them slicing into your skin. You hiss in pain but otherwise ignore it, gently forcing him to lay back against the mattress and straddling his lap.

Husk’s cock is hard and already leaking again with precum, the barbs standing rigid. You wrap your hand around it and he moans, thrusting up into your hand. You coo reassuringly to him as you stroke him slowly a few times, collecting his precum on your hand. You release him and slide you hand between your thighs, slickening yourself with his excitement.

Husk’s claws dig into your thighs as you lift yourself up over his lap, gripping the base of him and guiding his cock inside you.

The possessive growl that rips through the bartender’s throat as you sink down onto him is nothing even approaching human, and you feel a shiver of excitement roll up the middle of your back. You know he can’t handle slow, not while he’s like this, and you feel yourself ache with the way he stretches and fills you as you take up as urgent a pace as you can handle without foreplay.

Husk begins to purr as soon as you start to fuck him, clutching desperately at your thighs, your ass, your hips. You grasp at fistfuls of fur on his chest, and the purring doubles, a chainsaw rumble that you can feel reverberating under your fingers. It takes barely more than a minute before he presses his hips up into yours so hard he almost unseats you and cums again, choking on a moan.

It does nothing to ease the almost manic look in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, but feeling his cum fill you makes it all the easier to take the thick line of his cock.

“That’s it, Husk,” you murmur, stroking fingers through the fur of his neck. He whines, arching his neck to the side to give you better access. “That’s it. C’mon. I can take it, baby.”

You grind your hips down hard against his, your eyes rolling back for a moment as you feel his barbs tease against a sensitive spot inside you. Husk hisses softly, and you gasp as his claws carve into your thighs.

You swallow back the shock of pain, gritting your teeth as you begin to bounce yourself on his cock again.

“I can take it.”

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

Husk pounds himself into you, your thighs aching with tension as he presses them down hard against your torso, your knees bent over his shoulders. He has his face buried in the curve of your neck; his hands braced on either side of you. You can’t even moan anymore – your voice is all but gone, hoarse with the pain in your throat.

There’s no doubt in your mind that the others in the hotel have heard you both, especially with the way Husk keeps growling, the way the sound of flesh meeting fur fill the room, but you can’t bring your mind together enough to care. You’ve been going so long that you can feel your hair and skin are damp with sweat, sheets and feathers sticking to your bare skin.

You can feel Husk’s cum leaking out of you with every thrust, dripping down over your ass and onto the bedding beneath you. He buries his teeth in your shoulder as he cums again, and the sound you make is raw and painful, and you bring your hand between your thighs desperately.

“Fuck, doll, I missed you,” he groans against your skin, lips grazing the side of your throat. You turn your head and he kisses you, the taste of your blood staining his lips. Still, you wrap an arm around his neck and slide your tongue into his mouth, thighs quaking as the attention you give your clit builds inside you. “I missed you so much.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” you murmur in a husky voice, clutching at the fur behind his ear. His purrs grow louder when you run your fingers through it, your nails scratching at the base of his ear. “Show me how much you needed me, okay? Show me what you need.”

“Need to fill you up,” he growls desperately. He pistons his hips into yours, hard enough that your cunt aches with the force of it. “Need you full of my kits and fuck… gonna fill you up, sweetness, gonna fill you so fuckin’ full of my kits…”

“Yes, Husk,” you whimper, letting your head fall back against the ruined pillows. “Fill me up, baby. I wanna have your kits so bad…”

“Gonna be so beautiful with my kits in you,” he pants, his tail lashing behind him. His wings spread wide, loose feathers floating down from them. He stumbles on his words as you cum again and tighten around him, his hips beginning to lose their rhythm. “Gonna be so fuckin’… fuck, I need you to…”

Husk moans your name as you feel him cum inside you again, collapsing on top of you with a choking sob. You unhook your legs from his shoulders slowly, wincing as pain flares through the stiff muscles. You run your fingers through the fur at the base of his neck, a small, tired smile touching your lips as you feel him pepper soft kisses over your chest. His wings fall to rest limply by his sides, the feathers tickling against your legs.

“Missed you,” he repeats in a barely-there whisper, his breath tickling against your skin. “Fuck, I missed you…”

“I know, baby,” you murmur, still petting him in a soothing rhythm. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

He lets out a soft growl as his lips find the bite marks he’s left in your shoulder, leans back enough to turn his head and see the scratches on your thigh and hip bone. “Shit, baby, I’m—”

“Don’t,” you admonish, drawing him back against your chest. “Couldn’t help it.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“It’s fine, Husk,” you promise, leaning up to brush your lips over his. You feel him relax slightly to it, and you begin stroking fingers through his fur again. “I’m okay.”

“’m sorry.”

“I know,” you say simply. You feel his half-hard cock twitch inside you, and you sigh, closing your eyes. “Just… rest. I have a feeling you’re not quite over the urges just yet.”

Husk reburies his face against your throat, his lips pressed to your skin. “Love you, doll.”

“Love you, Husk.”

[fadingdaggerr]

omfggg I just finished reading truth be told and it was so amazing and good and wonderful and wow wow wow you're so talented!!! can you please please consider writing a part 2 where r and Mel slowly start dating and Mel starts bringing them back around her family and introducing them to the Abbott crew and everyone is like 👀👀 and then Mel asks them to marry her and everyone is Mel's family is like FINALLY.

truth be lived

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: part two of truth be told, based on request above | 9.6k

includes: useless lesbian disease, fluff, more fluff bc the last part didn't have enough

warnings: they/them pronouns used for r, slight insecurity, kissing/making out

translation: peluche (italian - teddy bear)

italics are flashbacks

note: god this took me so long i’m sorry. my brain is an evil being. but N E ways how shocked are we that this is way fucking longer than part one? we aren’t? that’s what i thought. swear my dumbass can't make it easy on myself, but i just really wanted to grow the relationship and not just throw it out there yk?? excuses excuses, i know

It’s almost worse than when Barbara made her go a month without caffeine. Scratch that. It’s fifty times worse. It’s been a week that Melissa has gone without getting to see you. The week that will finally come to a close once the clock strikes seven and you show up at her door.

Saturdays, as of late, the two of you spent nearly three hours in a coffee shop, talking endlessly until your macchiatos went cold. Catching up on over a decade apart was slowly patching the dam that gave out all those years ago. A month of this gravitated to getting lunch together during the week, sitting together on a bench in the halfway point between your jobs. A couple more weeks, and you started going to the bar on Fridays to get your whiskey sours to celebrate the end of a hard week.

It was over stealing a cherry from your drink that Melissa got brave enough to ask you what had been on her mind since she saw you again. She knew it had to be her move, after all that had happened before.

“Next Friday night, you busy?” Melissa asks as she picks the stem off.

Your tongue ghosts over your lips, “not at all. And for you, I’m always free.”

“Would you wanna go out? With me?” An exhale rattles her chest, “Like a- like a date?”

Scanning her face, all you can see is sincerity in her question, and not a touch of restraint. The corners of your lips fly up, creases around your eyes deepening as you take in the sight of a nervous, but hopeful, Melissa. What you wouldn’t give to cradle those flushed, pink cheeks and kiss her right now.

“I would love to go on a date with you,” you answer, “name the time and place, and I’m there.”

A grin that’s equally dorky as yours appears on Melissa's face, her smile prevalent in her voice, “you worry about nothing. I’ll pick you up.”

Green eyes flick from the Tucci mug in front of her to the clock over the door. Only eleven hours and forty minutes, not that she’s counting. A sigh passes her lips at her own desperation. She went nearly a decade without you, half a week shouldn’t be this hard. By God, though, it is.

By lunch, it feels like another week passed her by. A sense of freedom fills Melissa, finally able to dig her phone out of the bottom drawer of her desk where she previously jailed it, too tempted to check for texts from you or send her own. For added proof of her restraint, she doesn’t allow herself to look at the screen until she sits at the table next to Barb.

The moment leather pants meet the hard plastic chair, her phone is ripped from her pocket, glasses perched on her nose. Glossy lips stretch into a smile immediately.

Peluche: any idea how to make 6.5 hours into 0?

Peluche: asking for a friend

Tell your ‘friend’ if I knew, I would have done it.

The little smirk on her face does not go unnoticed by the others in the room, though none are brave enough to ask about it. Jacob eyes his roommate from across the room. He’s seen the weight on her shoulders fly off within the last few weeks, the oven door hasn’t slammed once, she didn’t even make fun of his new kombucha. Early excuses to retire to her bedroom were becoming more frequent, and after a very brave snooping session, Jacob heard tiny bits of a phone call. Breathy giggles coming from his roommate made him step away, an act to save not only his room, but also his life.

The little grin that would appear on her face, before she scurried upstairs, was the same one that she wears at this very moment. It takes the willpower of a thousand Ava’s in a hookah bar to not jump up and down at the thought that Melissa may be seeing someone again, someone clearly better for her. With all of his self-control, held together with sheer desperation, he glances at Barbara. God’s number one soldier is smiling to herself, giving a little nod as she feels his gaze on her. Confirmation.

There’s a certain pep in her step the rest of the day. Not one eye roll as Janine breathlessly recounted her walk back from the deli, no pinching the bridge of her nose when a student asked a question she’d answered seven times already today, not even one occurrence of biting her tongue to save herself an elbow from Barbara. Blissfully happy Melissa is almost more terrifying than angry Melissa, her stiff walk replaced with a certain bounce that didn’t diminish.

“Alright, little eagles, it is go-time! Move it, move it! If you’re not out the door in ten seconds, you’re spending the night with the Abbott ghosts!” The kids all run past Melissa in a flock of giggles as she mentally counts each one, making sure everyone is accounted for before locking up her room. Giddiness grows in her chest, T-minus four hours, and she finds herself just as motivated as the children to run out the doors. Uncharacteristically, she tries to avoid Barbara on her way out, trying to get home as fast as humanly possible, knowing she would be in a frenzied overdrive once she starts getting ready to see you.

“Melissa!” She cringes as she hears her name at the end of the hall, stalling her in her place. Turning on her heel, the redhead faces the floor to hide the pained expression she wears, before looking back up. “Girl, where are you going in such a hurry? You’re moving like the devil is on your heels.”

“The devil couldn’t catch me if he tried,” Melissa snorts, “and I’m just tryna get home, I got plans tonight.”

Barbara raises a brow, “plans, you say? With whom?”

“No one,” she replies, but the sly grin and pink cheeks give her away.

The kindergarten teacher hums, “well, you have fun with no one. I expect a debrief Monday morning, maybe Saturday if you find some free time.” Pink cheeks go as red as Melissa’s hair at the insinuation, only managing a little huff and nod as a response before slinking off to her car.

—☽—

Melissa had given you only one direction for tonight, being that you should dress warm. As much as she knew the limited information would bother you, she hoped you trusted her enough to go along with it, and you did without question, but not without a half-second of hesitation. She could already picture the game of eenie-meenie you would likely play when you went to pick out a sweater or sweatshirt.

And she would be right. With an hour left before Melissa was to arrive, you stood half-naked in front of the closet on your fifth round of the game in trying to choose what to wear. Though every time you reject an option, you’d manage to find a potential reason to go with it, and the cycle keeps going. Deciding to let fate take its chance, you throw an arm over your eyes and blindly swing the other to randomly grab something to wear, at this point you don’t even care if it’s the matching Bluey sweatshirt you share with your nephew.

Fate is on your side it seems, the blind reach procuring a loose fitting, dark grey sweater, one you’d owned over half your life. One that Melissa had stolen many times before, that you had to steal back from her. Without a second thought, you put a longsleeve on before the sweater, just in case it finds a way to pass ownership.

Similarly to last week, you find yourself tense and jittery, waiting on the edge of your seat for the text that tells you that you’ll be able to see her again. Bosco nudges at your hands to be pet, clearly noticing your nerves, attempting to snuggle them away. He’s an expert, your shaky hands stilling as you scratch gently around his neck, dodging his wet nose before it meets your eye. Utterly in the zone petting the spaniel, your phone pinging pulls you from your trance.

pretty girl: Ready when you are.

i’ll be right down, just a sec

pretty girl: Take your time hon.

You, in fact, do not take your time, but what Melissa doesn’t see, she can’t possibly know. Panting at the bottom of the stairs, you take a spare few seconds to catch your breath before walking towards the only car in the lot with its lights on. Leaning against it was Melissa, picking at her nails with pursed lips, a tell-tale sign of her nerves. The closer you get, the more clearly you can see her. Her bright pink hoodie is clearer now, contrasting against a pair of leather pants that almost rip the air from your lungs.

The words leave your lips before you can really stop them, “you’re beautiful.”

Bright eyes look up from the pavement, wide with surprise from your seemingly sudden appearance in front of her. Heat spreads from down her face to her chest at the compliment, feeling every bit of it from head to toe, reveling in the warmth of your attention. It’s been years since you’ve looked at her like this, much less spoken.

“You-” she breathes, “you’re wow.” A second wave hits her when she sees what you’re wearing, that fucking sweater. She’d stolen it more times than she can count, straight from the closet or even directly off of your body, and now it was within arms reach again.

“Should’ve asked first, wearing your sweater and all,” you say lightheartedly, hoping that it will calm the nerves between you both.

“I guess I can let it slide this time,” Melissa chuckles, looking down bashfully. “You ready to get going?”

All you manage is a nod, far too excited to be in her presence to get anymore words out. Ever the gentlewoman, Melissa slides in front of you to open your door, closing it once you’ve slid into your seat. You knew better than to ask where you were going, the redhead already told you three times that she wasn’t spoiling anything for you.

The entirety of the twenty minute drive, it takes a god-like amount of effort to keep from staring at Melissa’s hand on the gear shift. Shimmering rings just beg to be fiddled with, hand asking to be held, but you refrain from crossing the line. The late time keeps the road relatively empty, though Philly streets are never silent, a cacophony of horns and yelling seems to linger regardless of the sun’s presence.

The car pulls into a lot of a building, only a small deli on the first level, the rest appears to be utterly vacant. Slowly, you turn to face Melissa, looking at her with pure confusion and a need for an answer.

She peeks over, sensing your gaze on her. Putting the car in park she simply says, “just trust me.”

“I do,” you reply without hesitation.

It takes very little persuading for you to begin following Melissa, in through the deli where she greeted the man at the front desk. From the little Italian you still remember from being around her family, you pick up something about a door and the two of you being allowed to do something. All the fishing for translation in your mind halts when a hand goes to the small of your back, guiding you to the back of the shop towards the stairs. At the top floor, Melissa reaches around you to put the code into the door, opening the roof access. Three thick blankets stacked on top of one another, with a cooler holding them down, greet you when you turn after watching the redhead prop the door open with a brick.

A sort of wonder takes over, just following her movements as she sits on the blankets, patting the spot next to her. Taking residence next to her, you scoot closer without even an attempt of subtlety. Glossy lips curve into a smile at your action, Melissa immediately trying to hide it by reaching into the orange cooler.

From the cooler, she pulls out a shaker and a bottle of whiskey, peeking at you with a mischievous look in her eye. Without breaking eye contact, she lifts out simple syrup and lemon juice. Simultaneously, both your noses scrunch, leaning into each other slightly as you snicker, feeling juvenile in the excitement of it all. 

Despite taking the time to garnish both your drinks with maraschinos, you pretend to not notice the sly reaches to pull them out of your drink. As far as you’re concerned, she can have whatever she wants if you get to hear that quiet, satisfied giggle.

Reaching into the cooler again, Melissa pulls out a small radio, checking her watch as she fiddles with the dials. After a few moments, you hear what sounds like the opening credits of a movie. Knocking her knee with your own to get your attention, she points to a screen a little ways away, a small drive-in theater that you didn’t even know was in the city. Squinting a little to see the title from the distance, you see that it’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, one of her father’s favorites. The thought alone makes you smile, he’d gotten you both into westerns once you were ‘old enough to appreciate them,’ meaning when you were well into your twenties.

It takes little time for the two of you to end up pressed against each other, everything packed away and forgotten off to the side. The two of you stay quiet as you listen to the movie, both mouthing lines you remember. Your eyes long to look at her, so you look down to grab your drink, shifting your eyes to look at Melissa.

Once you do, all you can do is watch her, her hands, her eyes, her lips, how content she is written on her face. It’s hard to take your eyes off her, it always has been, but right now it feels more difficult than ever. Yellow street lights barely illuminate her, everything you can see is because of the sheer closeness of your bodies. The warmth radiating off of her is grounding, the chill around you nonexistent.

Feeling your attention on her quickly has Melissa turning towards you. She’s met with a nose brushing against hers, both of your eyes widening at the newfound closeness. Neither of you even attempt to move away, completely engrossed in each other’s gaze; the closest you two had been in a decade, here and now.

“Can I-” She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence.

“Please.”

Lips rush to press against yours, moving quickly, but so carefully that you can’t help the whine that crawls out of your throat. It takes even less time for your hands to slide up to her face, holding her close as her own hands wander to hold your sides. Needy fingers weave into her hair, tugging lightly at soft copper. Melissa groans into your mouth, tongue swiping against your lips, being met with instant entry and a cross between a sigh and moan.

Any remaining gloss that wasn’t sticking to the plastic cups was spread across your lips, giving you a taste of cherry and lemon, whiskey shared between you. The feeling of her tongue is intoxicating, and all you can manage is to haul her closer, wanting her entirely against you. Catching on, Melissa pushes further into you, leaning you down onto the blankets. The change in position seems to bring a moment of pause to both of you, parting for a moment to catch your breaths.

Slowly, you open your eyes, meeting jade eyes with blown out pupils. Detangling your hands from her hair, you bring them back to hold her face. Stroking your thumb over her cheek, her eyes flutter shut as a deep breath leaves her chest. You gently pass over her cheekbone, following the slope to her lips, kiss-swollen and lovely. Brushing against her lips, you see her eyes open again, watching your attention on her skin. You can practically feel the nerves radiating off of her.

Tugging her down gently, you press a soft kiss to her lips, easy and slow. A silent reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere, that you want this just as much as she does.

The entire drive back to your building, Melissa keeps her hand in yours, enjoying the feeling of your grip tightening around hers every now and then. Uncharacteristically, she drives the speed limit through the streets, wanting to prolong her time with you as much as she can. Pulling into the lot, she lifts your hand to press a kiss to it before hopping out, rounding the car to open your door.

“What a charmer,” you joke, voice bubbly and light from pure adoration for the woman. Humming, Melissa’s fingers tangle with yours as she walks you to the door. Leaning against the cold brick of the building, you pull her in closer, wanting her in your orbit a little longer.

Her thumb glides over your knuckles, “thank you, for tonight.”

“Thank you. Next time, though, I’m planning everything,” an easy smile crosses your face as you fiddle with her rings. You watch a barely suppressed excitement cross her features, feeling your heart swell at the sight.

Subconsciously, you both lean into each other, no words spoken between you. Your eyes flick to her licks, catching her attention. With a barely there touch, Melissa presses a kiss to your lips, lingering as you just barely keen into her. As she pulls away, she forces herself to take a step back, knowing if she stays close that she’ll never leave.

“Can’t wait,” she says, a smile on her lips that never fades when she’s around you.

“Text me when you get home?” You have to keep a hand on the wall behind to keep you in place, too drawn to Melissa for your own good.

She chuckles, taking a step back, “it’s a five minute drive.”

“Just text me, please,” your head drops to the side, looking at her through your lashes.

The only you get is a little nod, reveling in her little smirk as she turns away. Your eyes stay on her, intent on seeing her safely to her car, but she seems to have other ideas. Before she even reaches the fence, Melissa turns on her heel and quickly walks back up to you. Without so much as a warning, she holds your face in her hands and plants one more solid kiss to your lips.

When she pulls away she sees your brows raised and a dumbfounded look on your face, it leaves her with a little spark of pride in her chest. Her thumb passes over your lip before she steps back, slowly walking backwards, “I’ll text you.”

—☽—

The trudging of Jacob coming upstairs shakes Melissa from her last minute indecisiveness about her choice of shirt, registering her open door, throwing the green shirt over her bra-clad form. Quick feet land her in front of her vanity, plopping in the seat to seem busy instead of fretful. Silent prayers that he leaves her alone go unanswered, peeking in as she unscrews the wand of her mascara.

“What’re you up to tonight?” Jacob asks, practically hopping up to her.

She purposely avoids looking at him, “noneya.”

“Oooh, come on Mel-Mel! Spill!”

“Stop calling me that,” she lets out shortly, carefully blinking on mascara. “I’m just going out, that’s all.” Melissa promised herself the second you came back into her life, she wouldn’t refer to you as just a friend. Not until you told her that’s all you want from her, she couldn’t blame you for that choice after all of her own.

You are beginning to run out of things to fill the time until Melissa arrives. The kitchen was wiped down and swept, the living room vacuumed, shit, you even wiped down the blinds. A nagging part of your mind keeps ringing that maybe you should change the blanket over the back of the couch, but the others don’t match the pillows and that will only make your skin crawl more.

A slammed door in the hall makes you startle out of the near catatonic state you’re in, eyes glazed over as they stare unfocused at the coffee table. Your eyes jump to the clock, the little hand getting closer and closer to the seven, only twenty minutes until she’s here. You let out a deep breath before it hits you, only twenty minutes.

Nearly crashing to the floor as your socks glide on the carpet, you rip the top drawer of your dresser open, brain rushing to figure out if the fluffy socks are a bad look or not. Eyes clenching, you sigh at the immaturity of your own thoughts, feeling like a middle schooler trying to get their crush to like them. It’s all frivolous, really. But, God, you want her to like you.

With five minutes left to wait, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the dark TV screen as your leg bounces hard enough to cause a six-point magnitude earthquake.

Unbeknownst to you, Melissa has been sitting in the lot of your building for ten minutes, working up the courage to walk in. If she didn’t get here early, she is sure she would’ve been late walking inside. Melissa stretches out her hand from the tight clenched fists they had been, crescents in her palm from her pink acrylics. She has to reread her text about a million times before sending it.

Just pulled in.

Peluche: i’ll be right down, give me 30 seconds

Creaking of a heavy metal door takes Melissa out of her thoughts where she stands on the steps, turning to see your head just barely popping out of the door. Neither of you can help the little grins that come to your face, both of your attempts to hide them being useless against the other. Wordlessly, you wave her in, and Melissa is quick to obey. It’s quiet as you both climb the stairs, until you arrive at your front door.

The moment you press one number on the keypad, Bosco is barking up a storm on the other side of the door. When the door opens, he is just as quick to start jumping on Melissa, clearly remembering his friend that he hasn’t seen in almost three months.

“Bobo, dude,” you almost whine, trying to tug him away despite his excited hopping, “alright, enough. Bed, now, little freak.”

When you turn back to Melissa, her face is pink from laughter, the lines around her eyes deeper from the smile on her face. Slipping her jacket off her arms, she asks, “is he like that with everyone?”

“No, not everyone,” you answer, stepping forward to grab her jacket from her to hang up, “he’s usually only that excited when I get home or when my neighbor stops by, but he never jumps on him since the man’s like eight thousand years old.”

Melissa tries to ignore the shivers up her spine, “probably just remembers me, or I’m just that special.”

“Two things can be true at once,” you say sincerely, taking the bottle of wine with you as you search for the corkscrew. “I’ve only got stemless glasses, that okay?”

“Blasphemous,” she jokes, leaning against the counter, resting her weight on her elbows.

Lightheartedly, you roll your eyes, pouring her glass first. Melissa’s eyes light up as you swirl the wine in the glass before handing it to her, something she does before she starts any glass. It’s a pointless little thing she has done since Nonna began allowing her a small cup of wine at dinner when she was fifteen, she never thought you would remember something so miniscule.

It takes less than two minutes of sitting on the couch for Melissa to realize that she had made the biggest mistake telling you that she didn’t care what you watched tonight, that you had full reign of choosing. The Conjuring pops up on the screen, the ominous tree makes her groan. Dropping her chin to her shoulder, she stares at you. The pursing of your lips and strict avoidance of her eyes makes the stare turn to a glare.

“You’re fucking kidding,” she says with a facetious anger, “you’re fucking with me.”

Turning slowly, you put on a failing face of innocence, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Melissa laughs through her words, “you’re trying to get me to walk outta here.”

“No! You said I could pick whatever I want,” you gesture towards the TV.

Melissa heads tilts down, but her eyes stay on you, lips turning up, “you tryna get me all scared like a cliche little movie date? Real sly.”

“So what if I am?” Your expression is playful, but there’s something in your voice that makes Melissa feel warm.

A deep breath leaves her lungs, “if this jump scares me, I’m hitting you with a pillow.”

“Thankfully, I have several,” you mumble, a sated smile on your lips as you press play. 

Two glasses of wine later, you find yourself relaxed into the arm of the couch, while Melissa sits curled into a ball, fully leaned into the back of the couch. For someone so confident and brave, it has always humored you that she was so easily scared of horror films. She nearly suffocated you when she came over one night all those years ago, Candyman left you with the redhead clinging to you like a baby koala.

A pitchy squeak pulls you from the reminiscing you can’t seem to escape, eyes scanning the screen, seeing the exorcism scene, before looking towards Melissa. With her hands over your eyes, you can see her mouth moving, quiet mutters of God dammit and mother fucker leaving glossy lips. It’s impossible to suppress the little chuckle that bubbles in your throat, and squinted green eyes stare you down.

“Shut up,” Melissa mumbles, looking at you rather than back at the movie.

“I didn’t say anything,” you can’t even say it with a straight face, “you’re the one that said I could pick the movie.”

Melissa throws the pillow in her lap at you with a weak arm, “you know I don’t like this scary shit. I’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll put Fox and the Hound on after,” you offer. Olive eyes give you an unimpressed look, but the corners of her lips turn up before she gives a little nod in silent thanks.

Her eyes don’t leave you as your attention falls back on the screen, watching as you become fully engrossed in the happenings she refuses to acknowledge. Melissa’s mind churns over your earlier statement, how you might’ve just chosen this for her to get closer to you, and she wishes she could say your not-so-subtle plan wasn’t working. Yet, here she is, thinking that if you were holding her, this would feel like a Pixar film.

Slowly, as if you were the spooked one, she slowly shifts closer. After scanning for discomfort that she doesn’t find, Melissa leans closer, praying you’ll catch on.

“Get over here,” you mumble through a huffed laugh, shifting to rest your back against the arm, putting a leg down on the floor to open up space. Not wasting a second, Melissa lays down on top of you, tucking into you enough that only one eye is able to see the TV, but only if she strains to look up.

It takes zero time for your fingers to find the ends of her hair, the feeling only making Melissa settle in further. Your free hand gets a hold of the remote, turning off the movie before it’s even ended. While you’re looking for the cartoon, Melissa fishes her phone from her back pocket, not bothering to move as she checks her messages.

Jacob: sooo am i leaving the porchlight on or are u coming back in the morning

Put the light on, please.

Jacob: am i allowed to ask questions????

The redhead feels your laugh more than she hears it, peeking up she sees your smirking face. You tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, “you’re right, he’s nosy.”

“Told you. If we were at my place right now, we’d be getting interviewed until next week,” Melissa grumbles. Your only answer is a hum, attention moving to the annoying task of typing out the name of the movie.

You just did.

Your chest rumbles with silent laughter at her response, only holding her tighter when her phone drops on the table and her nose bumps against your neck. The meandering fingers that twirl loose curls around them are a constant distraction for Melissa, the voices of Copper and Tod not even reaching her ears as she settles into a comfort she’s been longing for for years. Nothing will ever quite match the feeling of your lips pressing to her temple.

—☽—

Melissa Schemmenti is picky. Name a topic, she’s got a steadfast opinion on it. The Seahawks? Wanna-be Eagles. Mashed potatoes? Better when a little lumpy. Sleeping? Her bed is the only place she can feel rested. She’d grown all too used to sleeping in her own bed alone, it feels foreign to wake up with someone beside her.Well, her opinion may have changed on that last one.

Curled under a thin blanket, Melissa wakes slowly as the little rays of sun work their way under the curtains. Attempting to stretch her legs, she tries to turn on her back, but is met with resistance. Her movement makes the arm around her tighten, a head nudging into her shoulder blades. Her fingers run up and down the expanse of your arm, quietly asking for you to loosen up. With newfound freedom, she turns to face you, meeting half open eyes and a dopey grin. Tucking yourself into her, you press a lingering kiss to the junction of her neck, mumbling into warm skin.

“What was that, baby?” Melissa rasps out.

“Phone went off,” you grumble a little louder, shuffling closer to her.

Blindly, the redhead reaches around for her phone. Huffing, she forces her eyes open enough to catch face unlock, but they immediately bulge out of her head.

Jacob: hey u coming home tonight?

Jacob: mel mel?

Jacob: barbs said u were fine but can u just answer

Jacob: melissa?

Melissa flies up, your arm dropping limply beside her. A high pitched whine climbs out of your throat as you sit up, leaning against her side with your head on her shoulder. Glancing at her screen, your eyes go as wide as hers.

“If you need to call him, go for it,” you say quietly.

She sighs, “I don’t like lying to him. I’m just…”

“I know,” you reach to hold her hand, “just do whatever feels right for now. We’ll figure everything out later.”

Melissa only gives a nod in response, clearly still in her head. Giving her space, you press a kiss to her shoulder before climbing out of bed. Green eyes follow as you walk out of the room, nearly stumbling into the door as you go. She gives herself another moment to watch you by the coffeemaker before glancing back down at her phone.

Once you’ve taste tested the coffee you made for Melissa, you carefully walk back into your room, trying to not spill a single drop. Glancing up from the mugs, you see that Melissa’s eyes are scrunched, clearly hating the conversation that was happening, but accepting the consequences. Opening one eye and seeing you, she presses a finger to her lips as she puts the call on speaker.

“-ad me worried! You could’ve been dead in a ditch, or worse! I’m happy that you’re happy and having a good time, but you need to be safe! Wait- that sounded weird, I meant physically safe. But that kinda safe too!” Her roommate’s, well warranted, rant continues, leaving you both struggling to breathe from the laughter you try to hide.

Melissa takes a deep breath to compose herself, “Jacob, again, I’m sorry. Wasn’t looking at my phone, but I’ll be better about it.”

“Cross your heart!” The sixth grade teacher was clearly not playing games.

Despite him not being able to see her, Melissa actually draws an X on her chest, “cross my heart.”

Laughing inwardly, you leave Melissa to speak with Jacob as you pad around the room, grabbing your clothes for the day. You feel eyes on you as you move, chest warming under her affection. Peeking over your shoulder as you go down the hall to the bathroom, you send her a wink that makes her grin.

When she finally hangs up with Jacob, Melissa flops back onto the bed, mulling things over in her mind. Telling her friends about you couldn’t be so bad, could it? Starting slow could help, but that means starting at home, and Jacob’s mouth is far too big to keep anything to himself. Telling Barbara will be easy, she already knows about you, just not current events.

She knows that Barbara will love you, that you will love Barbara. Deep down she knows the two of you would be two peas in a pod, and the thought of that alone makes Melissa want to throw caution to the wind. As much as she hates to admit it, acceptance of you from Jacob is something that weighs on her. He’ll probably be obsessed with you, and you don’t even have to say how much you want to meet him, she already knows. It could be so easy.

The spiral in her mind comes to a halt when she hears the bathroom door open. Suddenly feeling full of energy, a giddiness in her bones, she jumps out of bed to find you. Finding you in front of the microwave, reheating your coffee, she wraps her arms around your waist. The light squeeze you receive makes you smile, turning in her grasp to face her, arms encircling her neck.

“Hey, you,” you say, fingers twirling her hair.

“Hey, yourself,” she doesn’t even try to hide the lovesick look on her face, “I’ve got a proposition for ya.”

You snort, “you’re propositioning me?”

“Don’t even,” a hand playfully pinches your side, “it’s a serious question.” The little grin on your face drops, and Melissa can feel your hands freeze where they play with her curls. “Not super serious… just wondering if you’d wanna meet them? Barb, Jacob, maybe the others?

“You want that?” She nods immediately. “Are you sure?” She nods again. “Then, okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

—☽—

How on Earth was she ever nervous about this? Seriously, how?

Janine had invited most of Abbott to her shoebox of an apartment for an end of year party, cleverly inviting Melissa and Barbara over early to get them in a cleaning mood. Everyone else wasn’t supposed to arrive for another half hour, you included. Melissa asked you to come later, hoping that there was less of a chance you’d be grilled if you arrived when the party was more full.

Forty sardines with master’s degrees fill the apartment, and Melissa is still finding little things around the place that need to be dusted and wiped down, but her momentum entirely ends when her phone buzzes in her pocket. Nearly dropping the vase in her hands, she fishes her phone out.

Peluche: i think i’m here

Peluche: the bouncer?? won’t let me in

An amused sigh passes her lips as she swerves through the sea of bodies to get to the front door, seeing Mr. Johnson with his arm barring the door.

“Mr. J, let them in,” Melissa laughs out, patting the man’s shoulder. He turns to look at her with scrutinizing eyes, but lowers his arm to allow space for you.

An arm wraps itself around your waist, immediately pulling you into her space, filling your senses with honey and the distinct smell of foundation on her skin. Guiding you carefully, trying to keep anyone from getting too close to you, she brings you over to where Barbara is fussing over a bookshelf. With a tap on the shoulder, the kindergarten teacher turns to Melissa before brown eyes land on you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone so excited to see you in your entire life, and you don’t even know this woman.

“By the good lord’s graces,” she gasps at her own outburst, thrusting out her hand for you. “I’m sorry dear, it is lovely to meet you. I’m Barbara.”

Shaking her hand, you reply, “lovely to meet you, too. I’m-”

“Oh, I know exac-”

“Barb!” Melissa cuts in, pinching the bridge of her nose. Your hand rubs her arm, trying to keep her from blowing a gasket, even if you’re fighting giggles next to her. Her attention falls back on you, all annoyance fading, “you want a drink?”

You nod, feeling her already beginning to tug you away. Rushing your words, you speak to Barbara, “it was nice meeting you!”

“You too, sweetheart. I’ll see you at brunch next week, I’m sure,” Barbara chuckles warmly. Accepting that this was the closest thing she’ll get to an introduction with Melissa.

Staying behind you with hands on your hips to guide you, Melissa leads you towards the kitchen. Everything feels like it’s underwater, with her hands on you, protective and, dare you say, possessive. For someone who had been nervous for days about you meeting everyone, she sure had no care in the world now. Quietly, next to your ear, you hear her counting down from five. Just as she hits one, a squeal pierces your eardrums.

“Oh my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh!” The voice is immediately recognizable to the one that had been lecturing the redhead over the phone in your bedroom only a few weeks ago. “Hi, hi, I’m Jacob, I work with Melissa at Abbott.”

“Also lecture her, from what I heard,” you joke, making Jacob pause.

Without a chance to blink, Jacob jumps up and down, “so you’re where she’s been lately!” Both you and Melissa wince and the sheer volume of it, but recover quickly when he calms, suddenly quiet and scanning you over, “you better be careful, not for her sake, but yours.”

There’s no malice in his words, it’s a pure warning. From the look on his face, it’s entirely about what he’ll do if she gets hurt, not what Melissa would do to you. From behind you, the redhead’s brows scrunch, mostly out of confusion, ready to tell Jacob off for talking to you like that. She feels guilty, she’s the one who messed everything up before, she deserves the questioning of her worthiness.

You take Jacob’s words in stride, “I’m counting on you to set me straight then, if I ever dare to step out of line.”

Jacob’s entire demeanor goes back to normal at your words, looking at Melissa excitedly, “I like them.”

“Yeah, me too. You ain’t special,” she chuckles, hand on your hip tightening, pulling you imperceptibly closer.

Within an hour, most of the partygoers are on the dancefloor, the two of you included. Cups with rum and whatever chaser Janine had left were teetering on spilling, holding your weight against her is all that keeps you from teetering as well. Sea Barbara stays happily to herself with her cardboard cutout dance partner, content to slow dance to the fast paced music. Singing and cheering around you feels far away as your drunken attention refuses to stray from Melissa, her attention staying on you.

It’s increasingly more difficult to not kiss you when you’re this close, but with warm bodies against her at every side, it’s less than ideal. If it were, it would just be the two of you. She’s so close to just asking if you want to get out of here, but she’s interrupted just as she ducks to speak in your ear.

“Melissa! Barbara! You’re supposed to be cleaning!” Janine yells, hands on her hips. You can feel Melissa groan more than you can hear it, loud music almost deafening you in the small apartment. Barbara tries to shoo the shorter woman away, but her drunk state doesn’t hold the same level of authority that it typically does.

“Janine, it’s a party. We’re partying,” Melissa says dismissively. Not once does her hand leave your waist, keeping you from being jostled by other people.

Her speaking up has Janine’s attention back on her, who quickly recognizes your presence. Brown eyes go from your face, to the hands on you, and back to Melissa’s face. Realization and excitement washes over her face, and the chattering that comes from her is hardly heard or understood from the bass boosts and liquor. Flapping hands keep moving as you try your best to gather her words, but she’s running off excitedly before you can even introduce yourself. You watch Janine bounce towards a lanky man, pointing in your direction, clearly telling him that Melissa brought someone.

Chuckling to yourself, you look back to Melissa, whose eyes are already one you. The universe seems to be both with and against her, because just as she tries to speak, the lights go out and the music stops. Warm hands pull you closer in surprise, and you can’t even be upset about your almost empty cup dropping to the floor. Murmurs around you get louder as everyone sits in equal confusion, but Melissa feels her opportunity.

Feeling lips brush your ear, heat rises to your cheeks, “wanna get out of here?”

“God, yes,” you say, shifting your hand from her arm to her hand, interlocking your fingers. Pulling you with her, she quickly gets to Barbara to let her know you’re both leaving, sneakily passing your phone to text Gerald while she gets her friend some water.

By the end of the night, neither of you could even find the energy to change out of your clothes after walking home. Melissa’s apartment being closer was a blessing, you didn’t even register that this was the first time you’ve been there. Neither did Melissa.

Brushing her teeth next to you in the mirror, pulling back sheets on the other side of the bed, becoming your personal pillow the moment you lay on the mattress. It just felt right.

—☽—

Bobbing your head along to Deftones, you mentally map out the drawing you’re supposed to be starting. The measurements they gave you make no sense, especially with the materials they requested. It’s like they’re asking for the building to concave on itself, not to house people. You’d pressed about giving them a consultation, see the inner workings of the old medical office yourself, but they rejected it ‘for time,’ which really means money. Little do they know they’re going to end up costing themselves more.

The song switches from Shove It to Mascara as knocking raps against your door, but they go completely unnoticed to you. So does the voice trying to get your attention without having to tap your shoulder, knowing it sends ten feet in the air in surprise.

“Boss… Boss… Boss!” Terrence gets no response for the third time before looking to the woman on his left, “you’ll have to go get ‘em, I guess. Lunatic keeps the volume to ear bleeding levels so they don’t have to listen to us, I swear.”

Melissa chuckles, “well, thank you anyways, hon. I got it from here.” Moving into the room, she shuts the door behind her, leaning against it to watch you for just a moment.

What she first notices is your button up, or lack thereof, disregarded on a chair on the other side of the room. Selfishly, she lets herself look you up and down, savoring bare arms and the hard look on your face. Melissa finds herself frozen, mind racing with images of you, subconsciously biting her lip as her eyes rake over you. Only pulled out of her mind by a groan that leaves your lips, she wills herself to get closer to you.

With your back still to her, you’re unable to see her slow movements as she tries to sneak up on you. Hands trail up your sides, clutching slightly when she feels you jump at the sudden touch. Turning in her arms, your bewildered expression dies when you meet green eyes, crinkled around the edges in amusement. Catching your breath, you wrap your arms around her neck.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you say softly, “but this is a pleasant surprise.”

“Missed you. I’ve barely seen you all week,” her arms tighten around your waist.

You press your lips together, trying to hide the giddy feeling in your chest that’s spreading, “I’m sorry, they’ve got me practically chained to the desk until this draft is drawn up. Fuckers think it’s easy turning procedure suites into apartments, it’s not.”

“Not your fault, sweetheart,” her lips press to your cheek as she tugs you in, missing holding you, being held by you. “I have dinner with my family tomorrow night, though, so I won’t be around. Just wanted to get my time in with you before I go into withdrawals.”

You laugh at her words, “Withdrawal? Little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“Me? Never,” she tries to keep a serious face, but her smile overtakes as she watches you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

A finger twirls a copper strand around, voice weary, “tell everyone I said hi?”

“Well…” Melissa’s face drops a little, knowing she hasn’t told her family that you’re back in her life. Her eyes scan your face, seeing the smallest hint of sadness, and hurries to correct it. “You can tell them yourself, if you want.”

The twirling stops, “you mean that? Because you can’t offer that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it, I promise,” her hands sit more firmly on you now, “they miss you, they just never mention it. But they do. Especially John Anthony. And Kristin Marie, but she’ll never admit that, even to herself.”

The only answer she received is a strong kiss pressing to her lip, her eyes immediately fluttering shut at the contact. The hand in her hair tightens as your entire body pushes into her, groaning at the feeling of her on you mixing with the emotions of it all. How easily she asked you to come with her, to see her family, to be by her side for real this time. It feels too early to say what you want to at this moment, so you just kiss her harder.

Melissa spent half the day and the entire drive to the house telling you that no, her parents don’t hate you, and that yes, they will be incredibly excited to see you again. She kept the knowledge of your attendance secret, not wanting to be slammed with questions, but mostly because she wanted to see the look on her mother’s face when she saw her favorite not-her-child from all those years ago.

“Are you sure you want me to go? I don’t want to if you only offered because you felt like you had to. If I’m impos-”

“You’re not imposing,” she almost whispers as she cradles your face, “I want you there. It hasn’t felt the same since you stopped coming.”

Pressing kissing to your knuckles every now and then, Melissa manages to take some of the anxiety off your shoulders. Turning onto the familiar street, you immediately sit up straighter in your seat, checking your outfit and fiddling with everything, desperate to pick off lint that isn’t even there. Melissa lets it go, knowing there’s no stopping this. Part of her feels guilty, knowing she’s the reason that you felt they could hate you, that they wouldn’t be happy to see you. All she ever told them was you had a mutual falling out, never that it was her fault, especially not that it was yours.

Pulling up in front of the house, Melissa’s fingers tighten around yours. Looking up at her, you see the silent question in her eyes, giving her a nod that tells her you’re fine. To prove yourself, you hop out of the car to jog to her side, opening the door for her with a grin. Shaking her head with a half-hidden smile on her lips, she takes your offered hand and pulls you into her, walking with you to the door.

No knocking required, Melissa steps in first, only letting go of your hand for a brief moment to shrug off your jackets before her hand is back in yours. Chattering in the kitchen leads you to where everyone stands or sits, sipping on beers and white wine. Clearing her throat, Melissa gets the attention of the room. Silence fills the previously loud air.

“Yooooo!” You hear someone yell, a voice that you recognize all too well. Without a moment’s notice, you’re immediately tackled, hand being ripped from Melissa’s. You hug the person back, still trying to figure out exactly who it is, but the exaggerated leaning side-to-side gives you everything. Little John Anthony isn’t so little anymore, not that he ever really was.

Feeling another body against you, one arm reaches behind to give some level of contact as acknowledgement. Slowly people let go of you while others come in, and all you can feel is glad that everything is so busy, no one will see the happy tears forming in your eyes. Annette’s noodle arms let go of you, moving as she feels a tap on her back. When she moves, Melissa’s mother stands before you.

“Finally,” she says, cradling your face in her soft hands, “I knew you’d be back.” Patting your cheek, she finally moves out of the way for others to get a hold of you. Melissa can barely see you most of the night, but the warmth in her chest grows every time she sees you talking with someone new, hugging someone else as you talk. Kristin Marie hides her excitement well, but not well enough, though you let her get away with hugging you tightly without saying anything about it.

By dinner time, everyone’s been reacquainted with your presence, and Melissa can finally get her hands on you again. Scooching her chair closer, she mumbles in your ear while the conversation carries around the table.

“Told you, nothing to worry about,” her hand squeezes your thigh reassuringly.

“I missed them,” you say, running your fingers up and down her arm, “I missed this.”

Family dinner ends the way it always does, with everyone talking in the living room, sipping coffee or the remainder of their drinks. You take your place next to Melissa on the couch, leaning your head on her shoulder as she talks to Toni about something you can’t remember. You haven’t felt this at peace in so long, you missed your family. Annette and Vinny fighting, music playing from the TV, chattering around you in a mix of Italian and English, it’s comforting.

Looking up from your perch on her shoulder, you keep your eyes on Melissa. Watching her hands move as she speaks, how happy she looks, how beautiful she is. Turning slightly to put her glass on the table, she catches your gaze, the corners of her lips going up as she catches the lovesick look on your face. Fully knowing she’s being watched, fully feeling the warmth in her cheeks, she leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips. Careful to not linger long, she pulls away and goes back to her conversation with her sister.

No more hiding.

—☽—

“Am I buying groceries for two people or three this week?” You ask as you walk into the kitchen, fidgeting with the pen in your hand,

“Mmm… Jacob mentioned maybe stopping by tomorrow night, so probably three,” Melissa answers, looking through the pantry, “and we need potatoes, I forgot to write that down.”

“Red ones?” You joke, coming up behind her to press your lips to the junction of her neck. Leaning her head back onto your shoulder, she lets you continue your path up her neck to her jaw, nipping at her ear. “I gotta get going before they close,” Melissa whines at the loss of contact, “I’ll be quick, might not even pay.”

She chuckles warmly, scrunching her nose, “right, sure you won’t, goodie-two-shoes.”

Pulling away, you jot down russets and give her another kiss, this one to her lips. “I love you,” you mumble as you part, “see you in a bit.”

The moment the front door shuts, the once cozy and nonchalant Melissa is replaced by a frenzied and excited one. Flying around the house, she begins to put her plan in place. Tealights are placed everywhere, the lighter checked for fuel, the small box from under her socks now buried in her pocket, she just had to open the bottle of Angel’s Envy. It took an embarrassing number of different liquor stores to find, but that was months ago, and this is now.

Melissa lights the last candle just as she hears your car door slam shut, then the trunk. Staying out of direct view, she watches you come in the door, looking at your feet as you walk. You’re in your own little world, completely walking through to the kitchen, dropping the bags off. Making your way into the living room, you almost drop the bouquet in your hands.

Candles all around the room, music playing softly from the record player, Melissa wearing your sweater. Your jaw drops, eyes wide as you stare at the redhead, utterly bewildered. She takes the chance to step a little closer, watery smile stretching across her face as you shakily hold out red chrysanthemums. Taking them carefully, she sets them on the table, grabbing your hand to pull you with her. Soft eyes watch her every movement, letting her move you around until you’re where she wants you.

“I love you,” Melissa says quietly, shifting from the couch to the floor, “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, and I haven’t stopped once. Even when I didn’t know, I loved you. When I wouldn’t listen to my own brain, I loved you. When I thought I couldn’t, I loved you.”

“Mel…” Your voice comes out cracked, a wobbly lip stuck between smiling and sobbing.

“Let me finish, baby,” she says softly, stroking the hand she holds in her own, “you are everything to me, and it took me too long to figure that out. But now, I’m not taking a single thing for granted, not you, never you.” Melissa reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a small, emerald box, “I wish I could’ve had you my whole life, but all I can ask you for is the rest of it.”

Tears spill down your cheeks at her words, fingers clinging to her hand like a life source. You so badly want to reach out, cup her face, and kiss her, her words playing the strings of your heart, but you refrain. Too much restraint goes into not pouncing on her the second she pulled out the ring box, your lips practically begging to be on hers already. You can’t help the frown on your face when Melissa’s hand leaves you, properly holding the ring to present it to you.

“Will you marry me?” The smile on her lips only grows as she asks, knowing what you’ll say just based on the look you give her.

What she doesn’t account for was that all your restraint would break, and she’s knocked to the floor as you pepper her face with kisses, lips smacking against her skin. Moving from her forehead, to her cheeks, and finally, to her lips. All love, all want, all devotion, all you.

“Yes, yes,” you answer quickly, lips barely parting from hers, “God, I love you. I love you so much.”

Chuckling at your overexcited babbling, she manages to sit you both up, keeping you in her lap. A warm hand pulls your left hand from her face, sliding the ring on without taking her eyes off of you. Your hand immediately goes back to her face, pulling her into your kiss once more.

Morning back pain be damned, neither of you leave the floor of the living room the rest of the night. Waking up with your heart beating under her ear is all the consolation she needs, your newly ringed hand in hers.

At the next family dinner, all the cousins take one peek at your hand, eyes widening. Melissa and you both brace for shouting and to be lifted in the air by one of her brothers, but you were wrong. Maria Christina groans as she passes a twenty over to Seamus, who was getting handed money by at least four other people. He peeks up to see a very shocked you and Melissa.

“What? We all saw it coming, I just picked the right week. Ma said tomorrow.”

note: time for sol’s monthly novel <3 hope you enjoyed

feedback appreciated as always

[misc-obeyme]

Hi there i have been reading your blog for an hour now and im obsessed. Your writing is amazing. May i please request gn! Mc who was just in a fight, and got badly injured, but doesn’t care. So they ask the demon/angel there yo cuddle?

Im so so so sorry of this doesn’t make sense im very tired xD

Preferred characters you can ignore this well the entire request too xD (lucifer, satan, belphie, dia, barb, and simeon)

Here is a cat to keep you company his name is mr. Whisp 🐈

Hello there!

Oh thank you, I'm so glad you're enjoying my writing! (Also thank you for Mr. Whisp I love him.)

Okay, so I wrote these as little scenes instead of the usual bulleted list style, I hope that's okay! They did end up a little longer because of that, though. I did it that way because you requested specific characters and it's easier to write little scenes for fewer characters rather than all of them.

Thank you for the request!

GN!MC gets hurt in a fight, but doesn't care and just wants cuddles with Lucifer, Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Simeon

Warnings: MC is hurt! Bruises, blood, general injuries, talk of fighting.

Lucifer

You were standing in front of Lucifer, summoned to his room after he inevitably heard from several of his brothers about the state you were in. You had shown up at the House of Lamentation covered in scrapes and bruises. They all noticed how you were walking with a slight limp and the dark circle that was forming up under one of your eyes.

You had considered blowing him off when you got the message on your D.D.D. that he wanted to see you immediately. You didn't really feel like listening to a lecture about getting into fights. And yet you knew that if you put it off, it'd only be worse later. And secretly you wanted to see him.

Lucifer was observing you with a dark expression, clearly looking over your various injuries.

You kept your arms folded, chin up, and said, "You wanted to see me?"

He didn't say anything at first. You weren't sure if this meant he was so angry he couldn't speak or if he was just trying to make you nervous.

"Explain," he said at last.

You sighed. "I got into a little fight, it was no big deal."

Lucifer quickly closed the distance between you. He took hold of your chin and tilted your face this way and that. "No big deal? MC, you have a black eye. I think perhaps you've also injured your ankle in some way. Do you really think it's okay to risk yourself like this?"

You frowned up at him. "I can handle myself. Just because I got hurt doesn't mean I didn't win the fight."

Lucifer shook his head in exasperation. "That is not the point. Surely the issue could have been resolved without you getting hurt."

You softened a little. "You don't have to worry about me so much, you know."

Lucifer let go of your chin, tracing the tips of his fingers down your cheek lightly. "How can I not when you come in here looking like this? I know you can take care of yourself, but it really is a problem if you-"

You cut him off, catching his hand and stepping in even closer. "Lecture me later. Right now, can't you just hold me?"

You saw his resolve break as his expression changed. He wrapped his arms around you gently, careful to avoid aggravating your injuries. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, unable to hold back as his worry for you spilled over.

"We will treat your injuries shortly," he said into your hair. "And MC, you will not worry me like this again."

You smiled to yourself at this blatant admission of his concern for you. The warmth of his arms was more than enough to make you feel as though you were healing already. You later heard all about how he hunted down those who hurt you (though you could never figure out how he knew who they were). Those demons were never heard from again.

Satan

You sat down across the table from Satan at the library of RAD. There was nobody else around - it was late in the afternoon and all the other students had long since gone home. You knew Satan was there late, taking his time studying for an upcoming curses and hexes exam. You had agreed to meet him there at some point, since you needed to study for that exam as well.

Satan looked up as you sat down and instantly reached out across the table, grabbing your wrist.

"MC," he said, his voice low. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

You knew he was reacting to the bruises on your face and the cut across your forehead that was currently still bleeding a little.

"I'm fine," you said, shrugging a little and pulling your wrist out of his grip. "I just had to take care of something on my way here. Now are we going to study some hexes or what?"

Satan stared at you with wide eyes for a moment. You watched as his face changed, his eyes going dark and his teeth clenching. You could see where this was going and sure enough, he was suddenly in demon form. He half stood out of his chair, leaning across the table and growling.

"Who was it?" he demanded. You could see the tip of his tail twitch just above the table, unexpectedly free rather than wrapped securely around his leg.

You weren't scared because you knew he was contemplating tearing some other demons limb from limb for doing this to you. His reaction was a little over the top, but nothing you weren't expecting. This was Satan, after all.

"I know you're upset," you said. "But it really isn't anything you need to worry about." You placed your hand over one of his, leaning forward yourself to meet him.

His death glare only cooled slightly. "You can't show up to a study session with injuries like that and expect me not to worry, MC."

"I can if I'm telling you that you don't need to worry," you said adamantly. "I need you to trust me. And honestly, it would help me a lot more if you would calm down and give me a hug than if you went off the rails right now."

He was struck by your words, and they caused him to sit back down. Slowly, his demon form left him and he was back in his RAD uniform. The anger still smoldered in his eyes, but it was in competition with how much he cared for you.

Satan closed his eyes, clearly fighting with himself to push down the wrath that continued to simmer in him. After a few moments and some deep breaths, he opened his eyes again. He came around the table, gently taking your hands and pulling you out of your chair.

His eyes roamed over the cut on your forehead, but he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You pressed yourself to him, letting your own arms return the embrace. The pain of injuries seemed to fade away entirely as you let him comfort you.

You pulled your head away just a little to look at him and as you did so, you saw a splotch of red against the grey fabric of his uniform. "I'm sorry," you said. "I got blood on your uniform."

Satan sighed and pulled you even closer to him, resting his head on your shoulder. "What am I going to do with you, MC? Promise me you'll be more careful. I hate to see you hurt like this."

"I promise I'll be more careful," you said. It was a promise you felt you could keep.

Belphegor

You moved as quietly as you could through the halls of the House of Lamentation, avoiding any of the brothers you came across. You were on your way to the planetarium to meet up with Belphie and you didn't want any of the others to see the state you were in. So you kept to the shadows, moving along the walls until you came to your destination.

You slipped into the room and smiled at Belphie as he looked up at you. He had been nearly dozing off, so he was still a little bleary.

"There you are," he said with a yawn. "You're late."

"I'm sorry," you said, hoping the room was dark enough that he hadn't noticed your cuts and bruises. You sat down next to him, making sure you stayed partly in shadow. "I lost track of the time."

"Hmm, fine, I'll forgive you this time," Belphie said, rubbing at his eyes.

You laughed softly. "Gee, thanks."

Belphie leaned against your shoulder sleepily. You winced. You didn't mean to, but your shoulder was still sore in that spot.

Belphie noticed instantly. He sat up straight and looked at you carefully, the sleepiness suddenly gone. "MC… is that… a black eye?"

You shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Belphie frowned. "It is. You're hurt." He tugged on your arm a little to move you more into the light. You knew he could now see how banged up you really were. "MC! What happened to you?"

"Don't worry about it," you said. "It's not a big deal."

Belphie scoffed. "You got into a fight, didn't you? At least tell me that you gave worse than you got."

"Of course I did," you said.

Belphie stood up. "Hang on," he said. "I'll be right back. Then you should tell me about it."

Belphie was gone for only a few minutes, coming back with a first aid kit in tow. He sat back down next to you and opened it, pulling out a disinfectant wipe. He started to wipe down the scrapes on your face. It stung only a little.

"So? What happened? Did some demons insult you or something?" he asked.

"Yeah," you said. "Well, they said some things that I couldn't just ignore and things escalated quickly. But I can promise you they're suffering worse injuries than I am."

Belphie smirked. "I'm not happy about you being hurt," he said seriously. "But I can't pretend I'm not proud of you, either. You should let us handle stuff like that for you, MC. I know you can take care of yourself, but I don't know if it's worth you getting hurt like this."

Belphie carefully put a bandage over the largest cut.

"It's really no big deal," you said. "Especially since I have you to take care of me."

Belphie frowned, a soft blush creeping across his face. He sighed and put his arms around you. "Just because I'll patch you up doesn't mean you should go around getting yourself hurt."

You leaned into his embrace, nuzzling into him while still being careful of your injuries. "I know. Thank you for taking care of me, Belphie."

Although Belphie stayed by your side that night, you later heard rumors about those particular demons being plagued by nightmares.

Diavolo

You ducked into an empty classroom, having finally gotten away from the scene of the fight. You were covered in scratches and bruises and your lip was bleeding. You had eventually escaped the pandemonium after landing a particularly well thrown punch and running while your opponent was dazed. Now you could take a moment to breathe and figure out what you needed to do for your injuries.

You turned around from the classroom door and froze in shock. Diavolo was standing there in the middle of the room, looking just as shocked as you felt. He stared at you for a long moment, taking in your disheveled appearance, and the blood still dripping down your chin.

"MC," he said and the darkness of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He came toward you. He put one hand on your arm and lifted the other to wipe the blood off of your bottom lip. He let his touch linger there. "Did a student do this to you?"

You considered telling him exactly which demons you had been dealing with. But then you thought about how you weren't entirely blameless. You engaged with them, after all, and there was no doubt that you'd left a few of them injured.

"Please don't worry about it," you said. "It wasn't like I couldn't handle it."

Diavolo sighed. "That isn't the point, I'm afraid," he said. "It's against RAD policy to fight on the grounds."

You smirked a little. "Are you going to give me detention?"

Diavolo laughed. The sound filled you with a feeling of warmth and contentment. It was his usual laugh and it let you know that everything would be okay. "I don't think that will be necessary," he said. "But if there are students picking fights, I'll have to do something about it."

You put your hand on his where it still lingered by your bloody lip. "You can do something about it later, can't you? I could really use a hug right now."

Diavolo put his hand gently on your cheek then wrapped his other arm around you, pulling you close to him. After a moment he put his other arm around you, too, keeping you safe and warm in his embrace.

"I am so sorry this happened to you, MC," he said into your hair. "Please come back to the castle with me so I can be sure your injuries are properly cared for."

You pressed your cheek against his chest. "Are you really that worried about me? I can handle myself."

"I don't doubt you," he said. "But I would feel much better knowing you are being taken care of. Won't you indulge me?"

It wasn't like you could really refuse him. Especially not when you looked into his gold eyes and saw the deep concern there. So you would allow him to take you back to the castle, where you would stay for the rest of the night. You later heard about the rules regarding fighting at RAD becoming more strict.

Barbatos

You pressed your fingertips into your cheek in an attempt to stop the bleeding from a small cut you had gotten there. You felt that it was the most prominent wound, since it was right on your face, and while you couldn't exactly cover up all your bruises, you hoped you could at least stop the bleeding.

You were waiting for Barbatos in the gardens of the Demon Lord's Castle where you were meeting him for tea.

You weren't delusional. You knew you couldn't hide what had happened from Barbatos. But you still thought it would be better if you weren't actively bleeding.

When Barbatos finally arrived, he was carrying a tray of tea and pastries in his hands. The moment he saw you, he nearly dropped the tray, catching himself just in time. Still it tipped enough for a teacup to go flying off the edge, falling to the ground and smashing into tiny pieces.

You gasped and stood up, an unexpected reaction to the shattered teacup. "Oh don't worry, I can fix that," you said.

You couldn't look at Barbatos as you cast the spell to repair the cup. The pieces lifted into the air and fused back together. The cup landed in your palm, whole again. You straightened up and brought the cup over to where Barbatos was still standing, setting it on the tray before meeting his eyes.

There was an unmistakable aura of distress around him, even though his expression remained neutral. He carefully placed the tray on the table you had previously been sitting at.

"Thank you, MC," he said. "I'm afraid I lost my composure for a moment. I apologize for my clumsiness."

You had to hold in a laugh. Of course he would apologize to you for that. "Don't worry about it," you said.

You were about to sit back down at the table when he caught your arm. "I must inquire about your current state, MC."

You shrugged. "It's nothing important," you said. "Just a little altercation I was in on the way here. But I'm fine."

"I must disagree," Barbatos said. To your complete shock, he touched your cheek, leaving a smudged red stain on his spotless white gloves.

"Barbatos!" you cried, taking his hand. "You're getting my blood all over your gloves!"

It wasn't like Barbatos to allow his gloves to get dirty.

"A small matter compared to the fact that you are currently bleeding, MC," Barbatos said calmly. "You must allow me to tend to these wounds."

You sighed, squeezing his hand in both of yours. "All right. But first won't you…" You blushed, a little embarrassed to ask him to hold you.

But Barbatos knew what you wanted to say. He pulled you down into his lap as he sat down in one of the chairs by the table. You rested your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, gently kissing your neck. Much later, he would bandage you up and give you some healing tea. But in that moment, his touch was like the magic you had used on the teacup - making you feel whole again.

Simeon

You fidgeted outside the door to Purgatory Hall. You had come here to spend some time with Simeon, studying while he worked on his latest novel. It was something you had gotten into the habit of doing recently. You were currently concerned about running into Luke and scaring him with the sight of your injuries.

You decided to send Simeon a message on your D.D.D. letting him know you were outside.

He sent you back a question mark sticker, clearly confused about why you didn't just knock on the door.

You waited for a moment instead of responding and the door opened to reveal Simeon, his expression just as confused as the sticker he sent.

"MC?" he asked. Then he got a decent look at you. "Oh, MC. What happened to you?" He grabbed your hand, pulling you inside.

"I'm fine," you said. "Can we just go to your room so I can study?"

Simeon frowned, but he did as you asked. He held your hand tightly as he led you down the hall to his room.

Fortunately, you didn't run into any of the other Purgatory Hall occupants.

When you reached his room, Simeon sat you down on his bed as he stood before you, fingers lightly touching the largest bruise on your face.

"I told you, I'm fine," you said again. "I just didn't want to scare Luke, that's all."

"I appreciate that you were concerned about Luke, MC," Simeon said. "But you really should be worried about yourself, too. These injuries are serious. They need treatment."

You groaned a little and leaned forward, letting your forehead rest on his stomach. "I knew you'd be worried about it," you said. "But I'm fine. And anyway, I'll really start to feel better if you just hold me for a bit."

Simeon chuckled. He gently pushed your head back to make you look up at him. "I could never say no to that," he said. "But you really should let me take care of this later." He let his fingers hover over the various places where you had developed bruises.

"Later," you agreed.

Simeon shook his head, but he sat beside you on the bed. He took you in his arms, leaning back against the pillows so you were lying on his chest. He ran his fingers down your back and kissed the top of your head.

"You really should be more careful in the Devildom, MC," he said.

You snuggled into him more. "It's fine. I can handle myself."

"I have no doubt of that," Simeon said. "But I'd rather you didn't get injured. I can only imagine how the demons you fought are faring."

"Let's just say they'll think twice before messing with me again," you said.

Simeon sighed, but he only held you a little closer.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[koolades-world]

the inspiration behind this idea came from one of my favorite vocaloid songs from back in the day. rediscovering the song gave me some great inspo. the songs is about gukapo, whose likely playing a character for the purpose of this song, the purple haired man in the thumbnail, who sees a girl he’s immediately enamored with after she runs into him at a party. after following her out of the venue, he sees her with another man and kidnapped her. her holds her captive and later kills her lover. at the end of sing, she rejects his advances and it’s implied he hurts or kills her. I love vocaloid :)) at one point in the songs he's like "i'll just cut off your legs so you can't run from me" and that screams barb. dark vocaloid is one of my fav genres

had a tough time picking between belphie or barb, but you guys decided for me!!

quick warning! the beginning of the song is a little loud and scared me the first time I listened. it’s just some rain and glass breaking but just know not to have it too loud if you do listen. also general warnings of yandere themes, kidnapping, bodily harm to both parties involved, and blood.

alright i've rambled enough now! If you couldn't tell i was very excited to write this. please enjoy!

Destiny

"You didn't notice? It has been written in the stars that we were to be together since the beginning of time. It's just a shame we faced so many 'bumps in the road,' on our journey where our paths converged to one, as he always put it."

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and he knew it.

You’d noticed his gradual changes in behavior. At first, it was nothing to you. Finding excuses to see you throughout the day with small tokens of his affection, and brief moments spend hidden in closest together to avoid being seen by Lucifer or Diavolo that turned into more, despite the fact that he had no need to hide from them. You suspected he treasured these moments, just like you did, so who were you to object? He treated you like the crown jewels, and you weren't even certain he was this close to Diavolo.

His obsession gradually grew slowly, and you were none the wiser, like a frog set in a pot of water that had yet to be turned to boil. "It was just Barbatos being Barbatos" you thought as he began to show up in your room any night you weren't staying at a palace with treats made specially for you. "It's just because he cares" you thought as he started to fend off demons he deemed as untrustworthy in all parts of your life. "He's so sweet" you thought as he began blocking off portions of his day for time with you, and only you. "He must really care! I'm so lucky to have him in my life." These thoughts are exactly what he had intended to plant into your head all along.

Unbeknownst to you, despite his signature air of indifference, Barbatos had been taken with you from the start. He had hoped you'd come to live with him in the palace, but unfortunately, the Young Master has wanted you with the brothers instead. It wasn't a problem, however. He made sure to make an effort to make his way into your life even if it was somewhere he didn't belong. Despites his efforts though, you grew much too close to Solomon for his liking. He often opted to go out of his way to separate the two of you, so he could keep you all for himself.

But what did that damned sorcerer have that he didn't? His humanity. Although it was long gone, he knew what it was like to be human. The thought of this infuriated Barbatos. The fact that something as simple as human mortality was keeping him away from Mc absolutely would not do. Of course, it wasn't something he couldn't fix. His hatred for the

He could just swap to the timeline where he was the apple of their eye, without all the playful dancing around what he so desperately wished for, but where was the fun in that? Good things came to those who waited. He of all demons would know. Besides, it would bring him great joy to make Solomon suffer. He was nothing but trouble and Barbatos would revel in his absence.

The way Solomon swept you off your feet in a way he just couldn't almost made him drop his facade several times. The moments the two of you had shared in the broom closets now became you and Solomon vanishing when he came searching for you. You were at the House of Lamentation less frequently, and were always out with that human. When you two finally made it official, and began dating, he knew Solomon had tried his best to keep the news from reaching his ears. But nothing escaped Barbatos, not when it was about you. He always thought it was ironic his favorite and least favorite human had found their way together, but it was just a road bump, as he heard Solomon refer to his problems. Barbatos always thought it was annoying.

After lots of meticulous planning, he finally decided he was ready to have you all to himself. He was done sharing what was rightfully his with Solomon. He called you, saying it was urgent and that you needed to come over to the palace right away. After saying something about how it concerned your family and that you were to come alone, he set his D.D.D. down and waited. He knew you would have told Solomon, or whoever you happened to be with, which would give them the excuse he needed to get you away from the others.

When you showed up, he invited you into his room with little words. It was strange of him to be so silent. He also had his usual, sweet smile on his face, but it seemed more intense that usual. You just couldn't understand how he looked so calm when he'd had a sense of urgency in his voice not even ten minutes ago when you'd spoken to him on the phone. After you stepped into his room, he closed the door behind you, and shut the lights off. You'd never been more terrified of the demon you'd come to love.

Before you knew it, you were waking up in a human sized cage in the corner of Barbatos' room you hadn't noticed when you'd entered. Besties being locked inside, there was also an ornate choker around your neck you could only describe as a collar. After sitting up, you began to look around for Barbatos. As you searched, he emerged from dark spot in the room, the same intense grin on his face from earlier.

"Barb? What's the matter?" You placed both hands on the bars and squeezed.

"Nothing, my love." He took a seat on his bed, and just started at you, unblinking.

"Can you please let me out then? Don't we have to go see my family? If they need my help, I want to be there for them." You got to your feet, only to hit your head on the ceiling of the cage.

"You're best kept here, where you're safe and away from Solomon." His eye twitched slightly at the name of your lover.

"Open the door. Barbatos, this isn't funny." You tried to shake the bars, trying to find the Barbatos you'd loved. He just stared. It was beginning to get very creepy. "Please. I don't like this. What have I done?"

"Nothing, and that's precisely it, dear. You're too precious for this world, and I've decided it's best you stay here, with me. Where better for you to be?" He finally blinked, and the gentle smile you knew well returned. For a moment, you thought the joke had finally ended, and he was about to open to cage door to let you know it was all for a surprise. But, he didn't. Instead, he got up and walked towards his door. Before he left, he spun back around to speak to you a final time. "I'll be back later with dinner. Sit tight, and I'll answer more of your questions later." He opened the door just enough to leave, and slipped out.

You were alone. You knew better than anyone else that his room was soundproofed, and that screaming was pointless. You tried to escape for what felt like hours and cried for some portion of that too. Nothing you tried worked, even summoning any of the brothers with your pact. Did he always want to just keep you in the corner of his room, like some trinket, from the very beginning? You had millions of questions.

When he returned with a plate of food, like he'd promised, you didn't know how long it had been. Your back was to the door, tears caked on your face. "My darling, I brought dinner, like I promised." You didn't want or feel like moving to face him.

"Why?" Your voice was raw, and you weren't sure if you were more upset about the seeming betrayal, or the treatment you were receiving, as if nothing was wrong.

'Why? I thought I told you this. You know how much I hate redundance." The loving lilt in his voice dropped.

"You lied to me. To think I ever loved you." You whipped your head around to meet his gaze, letting the emotions seep their way into your words. He looked more dull and empty than you'd ever seen him. He didn't respond. He moved towards the cage, causing you to scoot back, suddenly afraid.

"I know you tried to escape. I don't appreciate that, love. That's what the point of your necklace is. I work quite hard on that." He opened the door and yanked you towards him by your ankles, causing you to fall flat on your face. In his other hand, he held a knife you'd never seen before.

"What the hell are you doing? Put that away." You kicked your legs, but he and his gaze remained unwavering. He rested the knife on your knee joint, and slid his gloved hand up your leg so his thumb rested next to the blade. It was a touch that was all too familiar. He seemed to feed of your fear, and a small smile grew on his face.

"If you apologize right now, I'll have no reason to cut your legs off." You could feel the blood draining from your face. He'd never been violent with you before, but you knew he could if he wanted to. "Well? I haven't got all day."

"I- I'm sorry, Barb. Please put the knife away." You're relieved at how his expression softens and how his hands slide back down to your ankles. However, much to your surprise, he slashes the bottoms of your feet with the knife before letting go of your legs suddenly. Your scream was equally one of pain and shock. Blood began to pour out of the cut. You cradled your legs closer to yourself, now facing him as he turned around to get the first aid kit he happened to have on hand.

"You won't be going anywhere now, will you?" He hummed as he pressed a cloth around your feet to stop the bleeding. You could only stare at him in horror as he tended to the wounds he'd created. "You can sleep with me in my bed tonight. I'm sorry, but it had to be done. I can't have you leaving me." He smiled as he would at the Little D's but you would never see it the same again.

As the days went by, you began to wonder just how much of the outside life you were missing. What where they doing in RAD? How long did they expect you to be gone? Did Solomon miss you? Your only company was the soft pulsing of the portals that were somewhere nearby when Barbatos wasn't in the room. The only way to tell what time of day it was, or how much time had passed was the routine meals he brought to you like clockwork. He would consistently mention, especially nightly when he would drag you out of the cage to bed with him, about how this is how things were meant to be, and that how this was your mutual destiny. He'd never mentioned that before, but now it seemed like it was all he wanted to talk about. It was strange, but if he was happy, you could’ve cared less. Most of the time, you just remained silent, unless he directly inquired you. He was his charming self again, with the empty Barbatos returning rarely. He’d broken your trust, but didn’t seem to care. He treated you just like he had before you got with Solomon, like the days where the two of you acted like children with crushes on each other. He wanted to go back to the days of chaste kisses and long nights together, but you couldn’t get past what he’d done. You never tried to refute his claims, but deep down, it disgusted you.

He didn’t hurt you too badly, or too often, but that didn’t take away from the constantly fear. Seemingly, if he felt like it, he’d get the knife back out and threaten you with it in a very violet way, before only minorly hurting you compared to what he’s just threatened to do. Once, he said he was going to stab both of your eyes out if you didn’t stop crying so much, becuase he hated seeing you upset. Instead, after you promised to stop, he danced his blade on your face and left some minor injuries. The entire time, one of his hands was on your chin and he was looking directly into your eyes. At one point, he even threatened to carve his name into your neck so you’d never forget who he thought you belonged to. Sometimes, you thought he enjoyed seeing you suffering more than just physically, because he'd keep your D.D.D. charged and leave it in your sights while he was gone. You could see all the texts and incoming calls, but powerless to respond, just to let them know you were in their backyard. Solomon called the most, but your group chat with the brothers seemed to continue as normal.

After another afternoon of tears while Barbatos was gone, he returned earlier than expected, leaving you no time to clear up your tears. Without any words, he dropped something next to you. Through tears, you tried to make out what he'd dropped. When you looked up, you saw him expectantly smiling down at you. You looked back down to try and figure out what he'd left. You grabbed it through the bars, studying it.

"He's finally out of the way, dear. You don't need him. That wretched sorcerer only caused us problems. You were happy with me, so you can be happy with me again." With horror, you realized you were holding a fragment of Solomon's wand. The very same wand that been the source of many of your problems, but also love, together. You'd polished it many times. The piece you were holding was part of the tip where the cute star rested.

Barbatos knelt down beside you to open the door, but you didn't move. But you had finally had it with him. You almost didn't want to know what he did to your lover and refused to even think about the possibilities. Gripping the wand piece in one hand, you balled up the other and socked Barbatos as hard as you could in the face. You hit the center of his face, and he stumbled back a little. He touched his nose gently with his hand, and both of you saw the blood trickling down onto his white glove. You made eye contact, and you saw the sweet Barbatos leave you along with any ounce of courage you'd mustered up to do that, for Solomon.

Nobody ever did see you, or Solomon again.

i wrote this all in one sitting!! not in love with it since I don't think I'm great at writing action but i really like the beginning!! hope you liked this bc this was so fun to write

[bokettochild]

He's My Son

Happy Father's Day everyone!

I had fully intended to create something sweet and fluffy, but I had no idea what to do, and Hanniko asked me for Time and legend angst for today so....

Whump time anyone?

-

“Hang in there, you’re going to be fine.” Even as he says it, it feels like a lie. There’s blood everywhere and it’s making everything harder. It’s all the worse with less fabric to grab, his hands slipping on the vet’s legs. 

Not for the first time, he wonders why Legend avoids trousers like he does. 

From his back, the hero in question wheezes what sounds like a weak laugh. When he looks back over his shoulder, there’s blood leaking between pale lips, dazzling violet eyes now hazy as they stare, dazed, into the air. There’s not much thought there, mostly only pain, but the harsh, bubbling laughter, accompanied by a new gush of warm crimson against his back, unsettles him more than that blank stare. 

“We’re almost there, Legend, just a little longer.” His own voice sounds strained to his ears. His back and arms ache, although the younger hero is far lighter than many a load he’s borne in the past. The gauntlets he wears offer some aid, but even then, it’s been a long few hours. The fact that Legend’s still alive is a miracle in and of itself, although one he can’t trust to last much longer. 

His heart stutters in his chest at the thought, throat closing on his next words, despite his desperate attempts to keep calm. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.” 

Choking behind him says otherwise. 

Not for the first time, he loosens his grip, letting Legend slide down. Booted feet would usually hit the dirt with some comment about not needing the extra care, some quip or barb dropping from a smirking face as those starlit eyes glitter, a challenge in their depths, pushing. The vet always pushes. Pushes his sanity, his resolve, his authority. The boy reminds him of himself, although from so many years ago. Now though, there’s nothing. The teen’s head lolls to one side even as he’s propped against a tree, limp and near lifeless, although there’s still that whisper of a smile, eyes hazy and unfocused even as he wipes blood away, tries clearing the air-way of his charge.  

Legend needs to keep breathing. He just needs to keep breathing a little longer. They’re almost there, almost to safety. 

It was an attack. They’d gone scouting together. It’s not usual that they pair off, but it’s been a long day and most of the others were in need of a rest. Scouting had turned into a rescue. They’d been about to head back when the vet had pointed out smoke. They'd hoped it was a fellow traveler, they’d strayed off course just a bit.  

They found a burning village. 

They were far too far to call the others for backup. Too overwhelmed within seconds to spare time to run for help, or do anything more than draw their blades and fight. What few villagers remained alive had stumbled off into the forest, the veteran’s magic shielding their escape while blades had turned their edges on the monsters that assaulted the town. 

It wasn’t enough. 

With two of them against so many, their chances were slim to start. They’d made good headway at first, the element of surprise being with them and their own skills far superior to that of the monsters’. It’d only lasted for so long though. They made their mark, took out the worst of it, but Legend’s magic was focused overmuch on shielding him, on protecting him, that the vet had failed to see as well to his own defenses. 

He shouldn’t have trusted the boy so much. 

As a hero, Legend is a capable young man. He knows how to fight; how to win. Legend has the skills to make him a veteran, but that’s only so good without someone to watch his back in the worst of it. With the vet watching out for him, he’d assumed Legend would also be minding himself, a mistake he now thoroughly regrets as he wipes blood from freckled cheeks, senseless blather falling from his lips as an assurance that he can no longer tell the intended recipient of. Is it to assure Legend? Himself? Is it simply something with which to keep his tongue busy, his mind thrumming with assurances rather than facing up to the very real concern here that they won’t make it back in time? 

Rain has washed away their footprints, water their scent. There's no way the others will track them down, and little chance the heroes will know to look this far.  

He should have said something, should have elected to turn back earlier. 

He should have been watching. 

Blood stains his hands, stains the veteran’s lips, parted in a weak smile ever as he cradles the head of the younger hero, hands so large in comparison, so rough against smooth cheeks. 

“Guess I’ll go out like you after all, Old Man.” 

“No,” the word is on his lips before he’s even thinking what the teen means. “No.” He’s not sure whether the dampness on his own face is the boy’s blood, rain, or his own tears as he brushes a thumb gently over the younger’s face, catching his breath in this moment before once more lifting the younger onto his back and make it for camp. 

In this deluge, Warriors would remind the others to stay still, to wait. Twilight will want to scout ahead and Hyrule will be flitting about camp, but the captain will hold them down. Tracking in rain is hopeless; their best bet will be to wait either until it stops or he and Legend return. Warriors will follow protocol, at least for now. If he gets too worried, he’ll split the camp, but the captain won’t leave their site abandoned, not on the off chance they make it back before someone else finds them. 

They just need to get there. It can’t be that far, right? 

“s fine,” Legend slurs, eyes falling shut, head lolling on one side, cheek pressing further against his hand, smile still ever present. “Kinda figured.” 

“You’re going to be fine.” 

Another laugh. More blood bubbling between pale lips. Time’s stomach churns, tears burning at his eyes. 

Unless something changes, Legend’s chances are near non-existent. 

He shifts, moving to stand, to pull the vet up again. Never mind carrying the boy on his back, he can’t watch to make sure he’s still alive up there, so he catches him in his arms instead, watching sodden hair fall against his breastplate with a soft hiss. 

“I’m not upset,” Legend whispers, voice nearly lost in the downpour, but each word another stab at his heart. “I kinda figured. All the heroes who came before got killed in battle, why should I be different?” 

“You’re not going to die.” His voice wavers on the words. He can’t even convince himself anymore. 

“You did,” violet turn to him, unfocused and lost. “Ganon killed you. I killed him, but what’s to say I won’t die now too?” Lashes, like ways stained with blood, fall, the teen’s face slack even as he’s jostled with every hurried step of the elder hero’s feet. “’s okay. I’m not leaving anything behind.” And there, again, is that smile. It’s genuine, although pained and weak, and he wishes he’d been able to see it in some other way than as lifeblood trickled down his front and back both from wounds he’d tried desperately to bind, but lacked the knowledge to treat as they ought to be. 

He really wishes Navi was here, to tell him what to do, how to help. He wishes she’d appear and offer a bit of fairy dust, just enough to stop the bleeding, to promise them a few minutes more to get to camp, to get to the others, to find their way. 

The earth churns under his feet, clumps of dirt clinging to his boots as he weaves through trees, his one good eye trying, fruitlessly, to locate the path they’d abandoned in favor of following the smoke. It was just this way, wasn’t it? Just a strait shot from the village well and into the woods. Legend had used the well for cover while he’d raised his shields. 

“You’re going to be fine, Link,” he’s not sure which of them he’s talking to. 

Bloodied hands tap his armor weakly. “It’s okay, Time.” 

“It’s not,” his voice breaks. Why is Legend looking at him like that? 

“I did my job. I beat Ganon. I'm not going to leave it to someone else.” And then the vet’s eyes fall closed and he breathes softly, and Time can’t help but freeze in his steps, heart skipping as he listens for the next huff. That wasn't a final breath, was it? Legend is still breathing, right? He’s got to be! 

He’s not breathing. Navi’s voice whispers- all in his head, it’s got to be in his head and- 

A soft shudder sounds from his arms and his own sigh of relief makes sodden hair tremble under its force. It’s sucked back in again though at the words that follow. 

“I’m not going to be like you.” 

There’s no fire behind it. There's no ire or anger or hurt. There's just relief, just a breath and that horrible, soft, gentle little smile that makes his own breath cease and his hands tremble. 

What does Legend mean ‘be like you’? What has Time done? 

“No, you’re nothing like me.” So much like him. So very, very like him that it makes him worry. 

Oh sure, it’s Twilight that is his own. It’s the rancher whose bloodline he can trace back to himself and Malon, but it’s Legend whose laughter and smile reflect that of a mask wearing child from thirty years past. It’s the vet whose sharp words and barbs veil a hurt he knows as intimately as his own soul, one that’d taken years and decades and a thousand long nights to soothe and soften until painful memories had become something to be cherished rather than scorned.  

Twilight might be his, but Legend bears his reflection in ways he’d never wish for his own descendant, not in a million lifetimes. A reflection that now wavers, fading between his fingers, just as blood runs thin under the rain. 

“You’re-” he hasn’t the words. He should have something to say. Legend is amazing, or Legend is great, but unlike when it’d been Twilight whose life flickered before his eyes, there isn’t anything here he can say, no heartfelt encouragements or beloved memories, promises. There’s no gentle pet-name- or really anything he can offer save arms that hold tight and cling as though that alone would hold in place the soul that wavers between life and death. 

“Zelly will cry, but it’s okay,” blood smears over bronze as a pinched face turns closer to press against him. “I’m not like you. There’s no one else.” Sharp little laughter, harsh and grating on his ears. “I don’t have kids to carry my burden. I'm not cursing anyone. I’m not like you.” 

“What?” 

“You’re not real either, are you?”  

Wait no, go back! What was that you said?  

“You’re just a dream too, aren’t you, old man.”  

Why is he smiling? What does he mean? Legend, what in Hylia’s name are you on about? Please!  

“The Hero of Time died young. Before his children were even born. You’re old,” cheeks brush his armor, rubbing gently, seeking the coolness, despite the fact that the rain pours over then in freezing sheets, “that always confused me.” 

“What children?” 

“Your daughter.” 

But he hadn’t had... he doesn’t have children? Other than Twilight? 

“Gramma says Malon had a daughter when you died.” 

No. 

“And she was Raven’s mum.” 

No! 

“And Raven says that’s why we Lons have to protect our name,” and those eyes are still so blank, so boundless, and he’s lost, he’s floundering, drowning as they turn to him, unreadable and endless. “Because you died, so we have to live and fix it. I fixed it, so maybe now it’s my turn.” 

He doesn’t know when his feet stopped, when he’d tumbled down to his knees, still clinging, still staring, breath short and eyes searching; the one grants him the vision of a flickering soul, the other- still mortal- can only show him the dazed expression on the face of the younger as smaller hands reach for his face. Legend’s mumbling something, but.... 

His daughter? He’d had a daughter? He’d died? 

It can’t be, and it shouldn’t, but... but Wind’s world has a different tale from his own. Wind’s time tells of a hero gone missing; a timeline altered from his own. What’s to say there aren’t others? He was a young thing back then. He was a hero and adventurer, but he was a young man as well. He’d had some fun and messed around in the moments he could spare. The thought that maybe, somewhere, somehow, he may have... he might... 

A daughter? 

What was her name? Did she look like Malon? Himself? 

She had a son. He was Legend’s ancestor, which means... 

He looks down to the dying boy in his arms, and somehow it becomes possible for mind, heart, and soul to scream even louder, ache even further for the teen whose life flickers like a flame under the falling rain. 

He has more than the one descendant. 

If only he’d known sooner, he’d... he’d... 

Legend’s shuddering breath is joined by the first of what will be many strangled sobs. 

[shadowsingerlightsinger]

A Court of Shadows and Sunlight Chapter Three

I'm baaaaaack. Finally felt inspired to keep writing. Warning for Az once again being a self-sabotaging idiot.

Part One|Pt.2

Ao3 Link

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel was, quite possibly, the most bored he had ever been in his entire life. He had been on the outskirts of autumn for two weeks now, and had absolutely nothing to show for it. Not that he expected to find much when he originally set out. After that morning in the ring with Gwyn and the prompt talking-to from Cassian, he knew he had to distance himself. Thus: Autumn. Dull, soporific, beautiful Autumn. Even when he found himself entirely worn out by this place, he couldn’t deny the beauty of the fiery shades in every tree and the cool breeze that brushed the hair from his forehead. 

Are you done being avoidant, brother? Rhysand’s night-kissed voice murmured into his mind. Azriel huffed and shifted where he sat, arms braced on his knees where he looked out over a cliff face. From this vantage point, he could glimpse the entrance of Beron’s palace. When it became clear he wasn’t going to respond, talons grazed the walls of his mind before he felt Rhysand’s presence fade from his consciousness. Rhys had first accepted Azriel’s decision to depart on a mission for autumn without comment, trusting his brother's intuition when it came to the need to gather intelligence. As the weeks wore on, though, Azriel knew his brother was beginning to suspect that this mission was more for escape than anything. He refused to speak on it despite Rhys’s unending attempts. Rhysand still didn’t know what was going on in Azriel’s personal life. Only Cassian knew what had happened, and he planned to keep it that way. 

Suddenly, he felt a shifting in the breeze behind him. A shadow crept up and curled around his ear. Eris, it whispered. He stiffened, annoyed by the future high lord’s unwelcome intrusion into his brooding. 

“What do you want, Eris?”  he spat without bothering to turn his head from the view before him. Eris strode around to stand in front of him, red hair lit like a halo by the sun behind him. Gods, why did everyone in autumn have to have red hair? Every time he caught a glimpse of a woman out of the corner of his eye, his heart leapt, reaching for Gwyn. 

“Just checking to see if I might need to be hiring someone to deal with my court's new bat problem” Eris responded with a sneer. “We may be allies, but that doesn’t mean I appreciate your hulking presence shadowing the borders of my court.”

“You’re father’s court” Azriel corrected, never one to pass up even the slightest opportunity to shoot a barb at the prince.  Eris dismissed the statement with a wave of his hand. 

“Either find me some information of interest, or take your snooping elsewhere”. With that, autumn leaves swirled around the male and he was gone. Message received. His presence in autumn would no longer be tolerated. Azriel stood with a groan, his legs aching from sitting in the same position for so long. As much as he didn’t want to return to the House of Wind, he didn’t think Rhys would appreciate him starting a feud between Night and Autumn. It was time to go home. Silently, he summoned his shadows and stepped into their endless night, transporting himself back to the Night Court. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn he heard a few of them whispering Valkyrie as they carried him home. 

When he landed on a balcony of the House of Wind, Cassian was already there to greet him. 

“She’s in the House’s library” he said without preamble. How he knew Azriel was coming, the he wasn’t sure. 

“Glad to see you too, brother,” Azriel responded. Cassian simply pinned him with a look, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel blinked back, face impassive. He wasn’t going to let Cassian push him around, especially when it came to her. Seeing he wasn’t getting anywhere, Cassian retreated into the House with a shake of his head. Azriel followed behind his brother, making his way to the kitchen. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he’d barely eaten today. As he sat at the table, he asked the house for a meal. A bit aggressively, an empty plate clattered into place in front of him. 

“Really?” He called out into the silent air. “Can I please eat?” In answer, a full plate of food materialized on the side table that stood in the hallway. The smell of roast chicken and vegetables wafted to him tantalizingly. Azriel reluctantly rose to his feet, walking down the hall. Just before his fingers could grasp the plate and bring it back to the dining table, it disappeared, rematerializing on the stone tiles further down the hall. 

“Seriously?” He said to no one. In response, the lights seemed to flicker as if responding yes, seriously. The house continued to take him further down the hall, leading him with dinner like a horse with a carrot. If he wasn’t so hungry, he would have given up, but he continued to play the house’s game. Finally, the plate landed just outside the door to the private library. Valkyrie is inside, his shadows whispered, our mate. As he approached, the plate disappeared again. 

“Oh thank you,” he heard a soft voice say through the door, “but I’m not hungry”. When his dinner didn’t reappear, Azriel resigned himself to going to bed hungry. Clearly, the house didn’t want to feed him, deciding to play with him instead. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done long ago to earn the sentient building’s ire, but it never made the simplest requests easy for him. When he turned to go to his room, though, the library door swung open of its own accord. He froze, suddenly exposed to the Valkyrie seated in the plush armchair directly across from the open doorway. 

“Azriel!” Gwyneth exclaimed, putting her book face down on an arm of the chair, “welcome back”. The priestess stood, striding across the room. 

“Is this your dinner?” She asked, gesturing to where his still steaming plate sat on the low coffee table. 

“Yes, sorry,” he said, barely able to meet her gaze. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but the house wouldn’t let me eat in the kitchen”. He couldn’t stand it, being in such close proximity to her now that he knew how her lips tasted. Every instinct cried out within him to take, claim. His shadows had already mutinied, twining themselves around her shoulders and arms instead of his own. 

“Please, come in,” she urged, placing a guiding hand on his arm. He involuntarily tensed, not trusting himself to hold his desires back at even this small amount of contact. Sensing his unease, she retreated to the couch, once again encouraging him to sit with her and eat. A particularly traitorous shadow pressed at his back, and he begrudgingly entered the room, seating himself on the far end of the couch. Wordlessly, he picked up the plate of food, the house finally allowing him to eat his meal. 

“You were gone a while,” Gwyn began as he speared a bite on his fork and chewed. 

“Yes,” he said once he swallowed, “Autumn needed to be watched”.  Liar, a shadow whispered. 

“Oh,” she said, a blush rising to her freckled cheeks. Gods she was stunning like this. Fire and faelight gilded her skin and hair, her flushed skin sending his mind reeling with visions of what that skin would look like against his sheets. “It’s just- I thought- oh nevermind,” she stammered. 

Our mate is feeling uncomfortable, a shadow breathed. That shook him from his thoughts. For the first time that evening, Azriel took a real look at the priestess. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her teeth worrying at her full bottom lip. Clearly, something was on her mind. He inwardly admonished himself. She was his friend first, and here he was lusting after her while she had something to get off her chest. 

“Priestess,” he said gently, setting his plate and fork aside, “what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” she said hurriedly, “just silliness”

She’s a liar too, his shadows muttered. 

“Berdara, I can tell something’s up with you” he cajoled her. He pinned her with his “spymaster” stare. The look that said, you will tell me what you know. She squirmed under her gaze. He didn’t relent, content to let her stew until she was ready to talk. 

“I just,” she began, before stopping herself to take a deep breath. “I thought maybe you left because of what we did in the ring that day”. The words left her mouth in a rush. Her teal eyes flicked to his and them away, flitting around the room as her admission settled between them. His heart cracked a bit at her truth. He could sense her hurt down their one-sided bond. When he left, he didn’t stop to think what it might look like to her when he ran so soon after her brave kiss. Brave, beautiful, mate, his shadows sang.

“No,” he said sincerely, “my leaving had nothing to do with you”. His hand reached out to her almost of its own volition before he caught himself, reeling it back in. Gwyn’s keen eyes tracked each movement, seeming to shutter when he stopped his grasp. 

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she murmured, eyes downcast. 

“I promise you,” Azriel urged, “it had everything to do with me, not you”. She looked pointedly at his hands before returning her piercing gaze back to his own hazel stare. She clenched her jaw, her spine stiffening in what seemed like anger. 

“Then why won’t you touch me?” She questioned. When he didn’t answer, Gwyn reached, grasping one of his scarred palms in her own smooth hand. When he tensed, she held on tighter, fiercely staring him down. “Do you regret it?” she asked, her attitude daring him to respond. Azriel didn’t trust himself to answer. Knowing her past, he was almost certain she would detest the primal nature of a mating bond. He didn’t want to force that upon her, and he wasn’t sure he could trust his own mouth not to spill his soul’s secrets. 

“Do. You. Regret. It?” She pressed, scooting closer to him on the couch. They were nearly knee to knee now. Azriel could feel her warmth through the leather of his pants. Her nearness scrambled his thoughts. He could barely remember what she had asked. Cauldron boil him, he felt like a youngling, flustered by a pretty girl simply holding his hand. Our Valkyrie awaits your response, a helpful shadow reminded him. 

“No,” he croaked, voiced barely above a whisper, “I don’t regret it”. 

“But you can barely look at me,” she responded, silver beginning to line her lovely eyes, “and you react to my touch like it repulses you”. His heart broke open. 

“Never, you could never repulse me,” he reassured her, grasping her other unoccupied hand. The touch sent a shock through his body. He pushed down his body’s need, forcing himself to focus on the priestess kneeling on the couch before him. She searched his face, looking for signs of a lie. When her lips parted to question him further, he couldn’t help himself. He rushed forward, capturing plush lips with his own in a gentle kiss. Almost instantly, she softened beneath him, leaning back so that he could press her into the cushions. His tongue swiped across the entrance to her mouth, and she welcomed him, tongue tangling with his own. He groaned, deepening the kiss, unable to stop himself from consuming her. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough of her mouth. Her taste on his tongue. After what felt like an eternity and also not nearly enough time, she broke the kiss, pulling back to look him in the eye. 

“What do you want, Azriel?” She questioned him, still breathing hard. “Because I know I have feelings for you, but I can’t keep doing this if I don’t know what you want”. Everything, he thought, I want everything. He couldn’t tell her that though, would never force the bond on her. If, when, she learned of the bond, he wanted it to be on her own time. He realized now, though, that he couldn’t keep himself away. There was no helping it. They would go at her pace then. IF what she wanted right now was to know what he felt for her, then he would give that to her.

“You, Gwyn,” he murmured against her lips, “I want you and whatever you are willing to give me”. 

“Does this mean you’ll be my partner, then?” She asked innocently, mouth quirking into a smile. She had his heart firmly in the palm of her hand.  “My boooyyyfriend?” she said playfully, drawing out the vowels. 

“You can call me whatever you want, priestess, and I’ll answer” he breathed against her ear, relishing in the shudder she let out. “But yes,” he answered her question finally, “I would be honored to be yours”. Gwyneth grinned furiously before pulling him back down into another crushing kiss. Mate, mate, mate his stubborn shadows murmured in his ear. 

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Multitudes Chapter Five Spider Pinned...

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> The team find out the worrying reality of Nat's condition, and things reach a breaking point.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 3927

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) SA mentions, minor injury detail, mentions of figure, exercise desperation.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. Check it out below, or on AO3 here! This snazzy divider comes from @firefly-graphics and I love it <3

<- Previous Chapter (4/72) Next Chapter (6/72) ->

My fingers trembled on the heavy bolt, knuckles scraping over the rusted metal several times before I finally managed to slam the catch home.

You’re running out of time. You’ll have to pick up the pace. You can’t be here for much longer, or they’ll never let you leave.

I nodded, dropping to the floor without complaint, lukewarm wedges of cucumber still stuck to the skin of my forearm as the protruding bones of my pelvis dug into the hardwood. I had no time to warm up slowly, but fuck it. Let the klaxon sound, if it must. The door was locked – they couldn’t stop me.

My sit-ups were rapid, driven by fury and hatred, spurred on by the look of disgust on the faces of my team members. Any guilt I had about lying had been assuaged; The Voice was right. They would never understand this.

They would never understand the profound yearning for the predictability, the rigidity, the comfort of knowing exactly what is expected of me. A place where emotions didn’t exist and heart never ruled over head.

A place where the only pain was physical – and I was adept at tolerating that, at least.

And besides… One day, they would come for me anyway, if I didn’t return on my own. But if I went back in peak condition, of my own volition… Maybe my punishments wouldn’t be too severe.

You deserve it, though. You’ve been away for far too long. You should have gone back a long time ago.

“I know,” I panted as I frantically went about my exercise, the base of my spine beginning to bruise from the repeated collisions with the floor. “I know.”

Right on cue, as my muscles began to scream and burn under my punishing motions, the klaxon wailed, accompanied by Friday’s melodic voice.

“Heart rate spike detected in the living quarters of Natasha Romanoff.”

I spat out a curse, my pace increasing further, pushing myself while I could in case they somehow managed to stop me.

Their intrusion came quicker than I expected.

The door flew from its hinges, propelled into barbed shards by a single shot from Tony’s outstretched palm, the blue ring of light still fading as my head turned.

Without the acknowledgement that they were about to get in, I hadn’t time to stop my desperate exercise, and was halfway through a crunch as their gazes found me.

I resigned myself to their pity, to their understanding of just how damaged I was, and screamed wordlessly, full of hate and rage as I continued my exercise.

There was a heartbeat hesitation while the men tried to understand the sight before them, followed by a flurry of movement. Tony bundled me in his arms, the metal suit allowing no give no matter how I thrashed and punched at it. The others spread out, poking through my things, invading my small scrap of privacy.

It was Clint who entered the bathroom, returning with a curled lip, food- and vomit-splattered clothes pinched carefully between two fingers, and a bloodied bandage from my trashcan in the other hand.

I howled hatefully, straining against the arms that restrained me, desperate to snatch my things from their gaze – to leave my sins hidden and unspoken.

“Medical lab. Now,” he informed Tony, his cold, unfeeling gaze on me. It was an expression he had directed at me only once before, when his eyes were an unnatural blue and his actions were not his own.

But this time… This time there was no puppet master. This time, the disdain was purely Clint’s.

That was how I found myself curled up on a medical bed once more, trembling with cold and rage. Bruce had offered me a blanket, but I merely met his gaze steadily, refusing to take anything from this mass of traitors.

The room had been cleared of all but the doctor and Clint himself, who stood to one side having a conversation I didn’t care enough to listen to, but for a few stray words that filtered through my disinterest.

“… weight … blood work … concerned … health … I’m not …”

I rolled my eyes in annoyance, lifting my head to glare at the pair. “You don’t need to be concerned about me. I’m not your problem.”

Clint turned to me while Bruce only sighed, ducking his head as the archer approached warily. “Nat.. We’ve gotta run a couple of tests. We’re worried about your wellbeing; you’re not a problem, you’re a part of this family.”

I scowled and muttered Russian curses, turning the air blue, but Clint was immune. “What tests?” I asked eventually, reluctance heavy in my voice.

“We need to weigh you. Do a couple of blood tests.”

I smirked, assured. “And when they show you that there isn’t anything wrong with me?”

Clint’s gaze trailed my body slowly, stopping on the bony protrusions of my one visible wrist. “If you let us do the tests, and they say you’re fine, we’ll leave you alone. You can do what you like.” He raised a finger warningly. “But, only if you co-operate.”

I let out a short laugh, full of confidence. “Deal.”

Those tests will only prove one thing – that you’re a fat, lazy waste of oxygen. They’ll be appeased, and you can get back to training in peace. Perfect.

“You’ll have to wear this gown,” Bruce murmured, offering the folded object to me without meeting my eye. I glanced at Clint, panicked.

“You didn’t say anything about that,” I countered, feeling panic and anger bloom in my chest.

He shrugged helplessly, sharing a glance with the doctor. “We have to make sure that you’re not hiding anything that can affect the results,” he offered, wincing minutely, but his jaw set firm. “I’m sorry, Natasha, but you agreed to comply.”

I let out another quiet curse, unceremoniously hopping off the table and beginning to drop my sweatpants. Bruce turned away, respecting my modesty, but Clint kept his eyes on me, making my hands stutter. “Are you going to watch me change?”

He nodded once, short and sharp. “I need to make sure you don’t have anything hidden, Nat.”

I laughed coldly, rolling my eyes. “When would I have had chance to do that? You carted me down here with no warning!”

The muscle in his jaw twitched with stress. “There’s also the matter of the bloodied bandages.”

“I’m a girl, Clint. We bleed sometimes, you know?” I prompted when he remained impassive. One eyebrow arched, and I looked down with a flush.

But you don’t, and he knows that.

“Fine,” I muttered under my breath, resigned, sliding my legs from my joggers unceremoniously. When they hit the floor I raised the sweatshirt over my head, leaving me in just my bra and panties, shivering with cold and anxiety, my arms clasped around my stomach as tightly as the cast would allow.

“Shit, Nat,” he breathed, stepping closer, fingertips reaching out to brush the bandages on my bicep. I backed away with a menacing growl, and Bruce turned, hesitating as he took in my mostly-nude body.

“Natasha… What have you been doing to yourself?”

I looked down with a frown, confused by the horror in his voice. Sure, my body was a tactile roadmap of scars and burns, uniformly etched and branded into lines across my skin. But it wasn’t that bad.

“Penance,” I replied eventually, simply.

“I-I’ll have to, uh… I’ll have to check any open wounds,” Bruce stammered, his gaze still devouring my flesh with morbid fascination. Rolling my eyes petulantly, I nodded my consent, and the doctor moved closer, his skin tinged green.

“Like what you see?” I whispered, leaning closer with a wink, trying to alleviate the tension of the situation.

“It’s not the big guy,” he replied under his breath as he began to unravel the bandage from my arm. “It’s nausea.”

I recoiled at his words, resisting the urge to lash out.

See? Even the virgin doctor thinks you’re repulsive.

He gently poked at the edges of my open wounds while Clint looked on, mortified, before moving to grab some supplies. “They’ll need a couple of stitches, Nat,” he explained as he returned, delicately applying butterfly bandages to the wounds and pinching the edges closed. “You’re lucky; you only just missed the brachial artery.” His finger traced the blue line down the inside of my arm lightly, eliciting a shiver.

“I’ll aim better next time,” I quipped, making him flinch.

“What was the difference?” he mused, moving on, as he took in the rest of my scars. “You’ve clearly been doing this for a long time, with very little variation. Why was this time so… Impulsive?”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard, declining to answer, and Clint scoffed under his breath. “It’s because we caught her.”

“No… I don’t think that’s it,” Bruce mused after a moment, watching me carefully, and I looked up in surprise.

“I… Felt guilty. For… What I did,” I added meaningfully, meeting his gaze. He recoiled visibly, guilt and grief warring across his face.

“Nat…” he breathed, his fingers finding mine, squeezing lightly. “I would never, ever have wanted you to do this. You know that, right?” I shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly. He’d probably have rather punished you himself. “I didn’t love what happened. But I never wanted you to be hurt.”

“What happened?” Clint repeated curiously, his eyes flicking between the two of us, the ghost of suspicion behind his gaze. Bruce looked at me for clarification, and I shook my head fiercely. Clint can’t know. He would never forgive me for doing that to Bruce.

“It’s… It was nothing, really. Why don’t you put the gown on now, Natasha, and we can get started?” Bruce offered, mercifully diverting the conversation. I obliged gratefully, eager to move on and get back to my life without them breathing down my neck.

I was sat at the lab table, the pair seated opposite muttering and pointing at facts and figures on my chart.

“Natasha,” Bruce started slowly, raising his eyes to find mine. “I won’t give you any figures – I’m sure you already know them anyway, but that stops now. It goes without saying that you are severely underweight and malnourished. Almost all vitamins and compounds that should be seen in your bloods are either incredibly low or non-existent. You’re also dehydrated and showing worrying signs of permanent damage to several internal organs.”

I laughed sharply, cruelly, and shook my head. “You can’t tell me about these things without the evidence to back them up.”

Which they don’t have, because it’s not true.

Clint rolled his jaw, dropping the clipboard in front of me. “See for yourself.”

My eyes devoured the numbers, skipping over the parts I didn’t understand, focusing on one key number in particular.

BMI: 16.9.

“That’s barely underweight!” I protested angrily, shoving the papers back across the table. “I’ve always been slender, anyway. It- It’s my build, is all. Plus, I’m a woman – we have less muscle mass, and muscle weighs more than fat.”

“You have very little of either,” Bruce countered, and I snorted, tugging up the waist of my sweatshirt and grabbing a handful of flesh.

“Oh yeah? That what is that?”

Clint stood, rounding the table, putting his own hands around my back. I blinked in surprise as his outstretched thumbs came within a few inches of one another by navel. “It’s skin, Natasha. There’s nothing to you. You are dangerously underweight, and I need you to see that. Please. I’m begging you to see it.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and I met his watery gaze, startled. “I…” My eyes found his hands once more, feeling the warmth of his touch on my frozen skin.

Is it true?

Of course not, The Voice snarled, snapping viciously against my dawning clarity. You know it’s not. They’re just trying to trick you.

“Tell me what’s happening to you,” Clint whispered raggedly, resting his forehead against mine. “I need to understand so I can help.”

“You can’t understand this.” My words were rough, full of repressed tears, and I felt my body tremble under his touch. “You could never understand this.”

“Let us try,” Bruce interjected, moving closer. “I - we – don’t want to force you into an ultimatum. But if you can’t talk to us, we can’t even try to help you. You’ll have to go somewhere else, Natasha; it’ll be somewhere far less personal, with people who don’t love you like we do.”

“I… I want to go back. I have to go back. I understood my life there. And they’ll be coming for me anyway, so… So it’s better to just go back on my own. To go back perfect,” I added, my words barely audible.

“Nat… They will never get you. I’d die before I let that happen,” Clint enthused, his voice full of venom and pain. “We all would.”

“They only loved me when I was perfect,” I continued, oblivious to my partner’s words; now I had started speaking, I didn’t seem able to stop. “I was punished for every sin, every imperfection, and every crime committed. If they came for me – if they learnt how badly I’d been keeping up with my training… The punishment would be…” I trailed off with a shrug, wincing at the very thought.

“What did they do to you, Natasha?”

I looked up into my partner’s aquamarine eyes,  remembering the stark blue, and shivered.

“Everything.”

He swallowed and glanced away, teeth visibly clenching. “And me? You said… You said that you know I remember. What am I supposed to remember?”

I hesitated, then shook my head sharply. “It doesn’t matter.”

He let out a soft sob, turning away as his shoulders shook. “Loki?”

“Yes,” I answered softly. “But it wasn’t you.”

“What did I do?” he repeated, still unable to face me.

“It doesn’t-”

“Please, Nat,” his soft voice interjected, quiet and emotional. “I need to know.”

My jaw worked wordlessly, and I glanced at Bruce, who simply shrugged helplessly, unable to make this choice for me. “I… Similar things. Nothing I haven’t had happen countless times. It’s no big deal.”

Clint laughed shortly, a hand running through his hair, sticking it up at odd angles as he looked to me with an unreadable expression. “No big deal?”

“Clint-”

“How am I supposed to help you, to comfort you-”

“Clint, please-”

“-with the knowledge that I-”

“Stop! I… I can’t, I don’t want you to-”

“-with the knowledge that I held you down, that I forced you to that floor, and had my way with you? That I am exactly the same as those men in the Red Room?”

He was panting as he met my eye, while I was dumbfounded into silence. “You do remember,” I whispered eventually. He half-nodded his assent, chewing on a thumbnail.

“How could I ever forget? I just thought… Hoped… That it was a dream. A nightmare,” he amended quickly, wincing as his hand dropped. “I couldn’t face the idea that it might have been real. That I could ever…”

“But you didn’t,” I interrupted quickly, moving to take his hands in mine, my cast-bound fingers feeling fat and useless in his. “You never would. You didn’t have a choice – it wasn’t you.”

Barton sighed and winced, shifting to press his forehead to mine. “Either way, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Whether you already forgive me or not,” he added as I opened my mouth to interrupt.

“I’m going to make up a plan of action. A diet plan, strict instructions and limitations.” Bruce was typing as he spoke, half glancing to where I sat curled on Clint’s lap, cheek resting on his chest. For the first time in a long time, I felt like my partner truly knew me, and that gave me the strength to fight this.

For now. But I’m not done with you yet, not by a long shot.

I clamped my lips shut tightly, fighting the urge to sob.  Will I ever be able to escape you?

Don’t be a child, The Voice quipped in annoyance. I am you. I’m the part of you that knows that your return to the Red Room is inevitable, and that doing so on your own terms is the best way. You’ll never be rid of me, because you know that I am right.

I shook my head roughly, and Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”

“Huh?” I glanced between the two, flushing lightly. “I… I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.”

Bruce smiled sympathetically, and nodded. “That’s understandable. It’s been a long day. How about I print everything off, and you can peruse it at your leisure?” I nodded my agreement, deeply grateful. “Is she okay to stay with you tonight? I’d be uncomfortable knowing she was alone.” The last remark was addressed to Clint, and I felt myself stiffen inadvertently. He looked down, his oceanic eyes locked on mine.

“Only if that’s okay with you, Little Spider,” he pressed softly, holding me infinitesimally tighter. I nodded again, but he saw the hesitation and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s okay with me,” I assured him, nuzzling closer. “I… I don’t want to be alone, either.”

Clint’s living quarters were perfunctory, and it was a space I wished I’d spent more time in, wreathed as it was in the inevitable scent of bowstring and him.

He placed my trembling body lightly on the edge of the bed, reaching across to snag a pillow as he straightened. “I’ll just set up my nest for the night, and then we can think about a movie or something, if you’d like? But if you want to be alone, that’s fine, too.”

“Thanks, Clint,” I murmured, picking at the fraying cotton peeking from under my cast, and he offered me a tender smile before ducking from the room.

I bet he finds an excuse to share the bed with you.

Clint wouldn’t do that, I argued weakly, tugging my sleeves over the heels of my hands. He’s not like that.

He remembered what he did to you, didn’t he? If he was truly under Loki’s control, he’d have no memory. Maybe Loki planted the suggestion… But the behaviour was all him.

That’s not true, I countered, but the words sounded false even to me.

We’ll see, The Voice answered smugly, self-assured and confident, as Clint re-entered the room, his hands now free of bedding.

“So? What do you think, Little Spider? Movie night, or time alone?”

I shrugged one shoulder, unable to meet his gaze as The Voice continued to pour venom into my ear. “A movie sounds good, I guess.”

Clint extended his hand theatrically, and I chuckled fondly as he helped me to my feet. “You get comfortable, and I’ll get the popcorn. Half-and-half, yeah?” My face fell a fraction of a second before his own, and he winced guiltily. “I-”

“Popcorn sounds great,” I interrupted loudly, aiming to drown out the hissing in my brain. “Half-and-half. You got it.”

I felt Clint’s eyes on me as I brushed past him, keeping my back straight until I was out of sight, a ragged breath hitching past my lips. You’re not even trying any more, are you? You’re such a disappointment.

“Please… Please just leave me alone,” I whispered, running my hands through my hair as I made my way to the sofa, hesitating at the blanket folded up along the back and the pillow wedged against one armrest.

It's fine. It’s just for him later. There’s nothing going on.

I dropped into my customary spot on the left side, stubbornly flicking through the channels, trying to pretend it was just another, normal day. When was the last time I actually ate popcorn with Clint, though? I used to just put it back in the bowl when he wasn’t looking…

And now at the first hint of difficulty, you’re giving up. You might have lost a little weight, but you’re still a weak piece of shit. You’ll never be good enough for the Red Room. And when they find you…

“They won’t,” I argued weakly. “Clint won’t let them take me.”

Like that sparrow could stop the Red Room, The Voice scoffed, unimpressed.

“He got me out last time,” I protested, remembering the considerate expression on his face as he had taken me in, a slip of a girl, his demure target.

We both know they wouldn’t make that mistake again though, Natalia.

“Don’t fucking call me that!” I snapped, whipping my head toward my invisible tormentor just as Clint re-entered the room, concern furrowing his brow.

“Call you… What?” he asked as he moved hesitantly closer, the bowl of popcorn slack in his distracted grip. I just shook my head, and he sat beside me, our snack abandoned on the low table. “Nat?” he prompted, one hand resting lightly on my arm.

All I wanted was to do what I had always done – to reach up and wordlessly remove his hearing aids, communicating my needs without words.

But he broke the rules last time…

He watched me curiously as I shrugged one shoulder, picking at the edge of my cast. Silently, he took a hand, guiding it up to the thin strip of plastic hidden behind his ear, head tilted curiously. I nodded – a jerky, reluctant motion – and he removed his aids immediately, dropping them casually onto the table.

Do you want to talk about it? he signed, his knee bumping mine as he shuffled nearer.

See? He’s already getting closer.

I winced and looked away, sniffing against the tears that threatened to spill once more.

I can never make it quiet.

Clint’s head cocked, innocently inquisitive, before he gestured at his hearing aids. You… Want to be Deaf?

I laughed under my breath, shaking my head, then paused, wriggling my hand indeterminately. Deaf… On the inside. I wish I could take out my brain’s hearing aids, sometimes.

Comprehension dawned, and he touched his forehead lightly to mine. Bad thoughts?

A voice, I admitted, my motions muted and uncertain – whispering in ASL. All the time.

What does it say?

His fingers twitched, wanting to entwine with mine, but he settled instead for a gentle hand on my knee, leaving me free to speak. It… Taunts me. Says… Horrible things. About me. About the team, the Red Room…

And me?

I had to look away from the devastation on his face – entirely broken by the idea that anyone could poison me against him – as I nodded softly. Especially you. It… Knows that you make me feel safe. It knows that you’re the only one who poses a threat to its intentions.

What are its intentions? he asked, waiting with bated breath for my response as I hesitated.

It-

Don’t you dare-

It wants me to-

Don’t you fucking dare-

-wants me to go back-

Shut the fuck up, you useless piece of shit. You’re going to ruin everything. Can’t you do anything right?

- to the Red Room, I finished with a sob, tears flowing freely down my cheeks at the war raging in my mind. I don’t want to go, Clint.

His hands trembled as he replied, at odds with the fierce determination in his eyes. You’re never going back, Nat. I promise. No matter what, you never have to go back there. I’m going to help you out of this – whatever it takes.

[unsleepingtales]

Vulture Dimension Time I’ve got my ice cream let’s do this it’s our time it’s our year

Everyone’s outfit is Fantastic today

Some good ol fashioned summer fun

The vulture dimension is great right

They’re actually doing this. I keep thinking oh they’ll just do a normal episode but no they’re fully gonna do this but for however long it takes

That’s such a fair assumption gorgug. I would also think I had died.

Why did you do this to yourselves

‘It’s not gonna work any other way than the way I want it to’ this is so Brennan’s revenge

All that buildup <3

Trans joke trans joke

From the vibe they all had. Absolutely.

Love gorgug trying to do plot things in the vulture dimension

Oh Zac is GONE

Are these real

HOMEBREW ALERT: Feather of the Vulture King: Breaking this oily feather summons 1d4 vultures. They are not under your command.

I want these items so badly.

Cassandra glowed from that??

Oooh new battle board camera angle!!

It’s not yesterday! What a good motivational statement.

Devastating.

God he hit her for 20 dmg off a cantrip and she did 22 from a 5th level spell that really is devastating

Woooo hit himmm

Get off my lawn!

Gorgug has So much to be mad about here

(Brennan rolling too many dice)

One of my favorite things about dropout are the captions <3

Riz giving his silvery barbs advantage to Fabian after the bardic/least favorite friend exchange is. I’m thinking and feeling things.

Nat 20 luck check is incredible

Ally.

THIRTY NINE

NICELY DONE FABIAN

So… what happens at school now?

Go homeeeee get out of my house

What are you doing baby girl

Why are you doing this

Emily you HAVE a nose piercing. It’s not a septum but cmon.

DO YOU HAVE A WARRANT

Gorgug is so done I love him so fucking much

I am the exact same way when it’s been too long a day with too many things.

GET HIS COP ASS GORGUG

Oh the identify spell has a radio filter on now that’s fun

What’s threatening the existence of the school at the folk festival?

Riz art hiiiiiii

Siobhan’s outfit is so great

Red light??

Copperlilly caterpillar <3

Three cheers for stage tech arcana.

Like the 24 point stars from the book?????

Enchantment effect?

OH MY GOD

Rage effect. Fucking hell.

I so wish I could hear about spells being cast through concerts without thinking of uhv. Unfortunately I cannot.

Guys. Guys.

No! Eat it now! Don’t give him hot sauce mom!

Just fun videos to look back on

Nobody noticed Zac saying Kristen the rats can’t vote and that’s criminal bc it was SO funny

He frenched the vulture king

How good can a rat’s history check possibly beeeee

Ooooh Lucy was doing necromancy?

NO

There’s definitely not a rat world under the school 💀

Awwwww

Spot needs to be the next d20 plushie

Oh god

Oh nooooo

Gross

RIP Spot 💔

THAT TRAILER EDIT WAS SO CLEAN

ALSO WHAT THE FUCK THOUGH

She died so recently ok

Add it to the fucking pile

Fig’s dad is an archdevil I think she can afford wizard class

HELLO????

An unholy last rites. That’s so fucked.

Oh SHIT okay

Did Lucy’s party turn on her?

Holy shit that’s intense

Here there be giants?

Christ

Work a miracle Kristen

Who’s the fuckin turncoat man

God they’re so good at being teenagers

Kristen just literally saved someone’s soul. Good lord.

Saint Kristen Applebees.

Oh my god.

Holy shit! Nice job Kristen!

I hope they can reach Cassandra somehow. I honestly can’t tell if the resolution of this arc is letting them go or finding them through work and either one is beautiful but I love Cassandra and I want them to be okay.

Where do you live 😭

Oh godddd

They’re being really inconsistent with the days of the week and I can’t tell if it’s on purpose time quangle/exhaustion stuff or if it’s just a mistake. Like, the party was on a Friday night and then the next day was Sunday. The festival was on a weekend day and then the next day was also a Saturday. It’s bugging me.

Yeesh.

DID THE DIRT MAKE HIM MAD (am I overthinking this)

Consigliere of the geeks

Sklondaaaaaa

Devastating

I’m unbelievably wealthy and me and my friends just discovered the site of a double homicide #justgirlythings

Fabian is taking care of them and I love him so much for it

Please please please

YAYYYY PORTENT

Oh I just read such a nice fic about Adaine studying barbarian stuff with Gorgug <3

HE CAN DO THIS

Teddy bear of helpfulness holds concentration, would he be able to use that whole raging?

Gorgug Thistlespring my BELOVED

I felt weird about being mad 😭😭

But he doesn’t burn and pillage and murder! That’s not how the bad kids adventure

God porter annoys me

WOOOOOOO GET THAT MCAT

The Last Stand exam

oh god if Kristen gets moved to pass/fail what happens to the others

Oh fuck Gorgug

RIZZZZZ

HES THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO TAKE STRESS FOR OTHERS

Henry encouraging gorgug to build a time machine?

Oh thank god he’s still on the owlbears

I think I have to lie down. He’s me.

The fact that their relationships with their parents are suffering because of this is fucking heartbreaking

Bitch fuck all the way off ok

It’s fine it’s all fine everything’s peachy I love my life 🥲

Awwww is Aelwyn gonna visit Adaine at work

ALSO Cait May said Aelwyn’s art was based on her mini. Which means we’re gonna see an Aelwyn mini. Which I’m so excited for.

Glad to see Aelwyn is still Aelwyn

Oh nooo

CLAMFACE CUNTHEAD

CLAMHEAD CUNTFACE

What in the worldddddd

COTTONCANDY BITCHFUCK

Adaine Abernant and Siobhan Thompson I love you so so much

Yeah what does happen if Gorgug is affected by the rage magic.

It’s our time! It’s our year!

[highwayphantoms]

JAY JAY FRIDAY JAY - ❝ sometimes i feel i’m being crushed under the weight of everything i’ll never be. ❞ for Briar Hawke and a character of your choice plsssss and thank!!

TY TY here is some Briar & Varric for you! :D @dadrunkwriting

Words: 1125 Rating: T Warnings: Alcohol consumption

-

She brushed it off at first. In the beginning, it was easy: nobility or not, she wasn’t expected to visit or entertain guests while recovering from significant injuries. If Briar maybe exaggerated the length of her recovery, no one but her handful of household staff and her friends would ever know.

But she couldn’t hide in her home forever. A month and a half after she killed the Arishok in single combat, the polite invitations from her neighbors had started to become much more pointed. Gone were the messages of sympathy for her “grievous injuries” (Anders had been far more concerned than she had, but she wasn’t dead, now was she?). In their place were requests and wheedling and subtext.

She may not have been raised in a noble household, but Briar had not lived in Kirkwall for four years without picking up on some of the subtleties of the upper classes: the hidden daggers and poisoned barbs of language. Nor was she unaware of the… expectations of these invitations. Fine fabrics, knowledge of the current trends in Orlais and the Free Marches, spending hours with Orana to tame her hair into a “more appropriate” style.

Any event that Briar could not show up to in full armor was not an event she had any interest in attending. She felt too exposed in dresses and fine shoes—exposed not to weapons but to attention. And she hated attention.

Which was how she ended up in the Hanged Man nursing the worst ale she’d seen in months. Though the place was busy, it felt deserted; Isabela wasn’t in Kirkwall, Varric was nowhere to be seen, and the only familiar faces were that of the staff. By now, most of the Hanged Man’s regulars knew to leave her alone, but there was always one idiot made brave by alcohol who would try to proposition her or some equally irritating nonsense. Still, it was preferable to what seemed like the equivalent of walking on broken glass in bare feet with a full audience.

She wasn’t so drunk that she didn’t react immediately to someone tapping her on the shoulder. On instinct, she was prepared to grab and potentially break a wrist—but she let her hand drop the moment she turned and realized it was only Varric. “Where have you been?” she said, though she didn’t really need or expect an answer.

The dwarf fixed her with an amused look. “I thought you had plans tonight. Plans of the Hightown variety?”

Briar groaned. “That was before some noble asswipe started making noise about putting my name up for Viscount.” Then she gestured loosely at the fine dress she still wore under a travel-worn cloak and added, “As you can see, I left fashionably early.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Hawke.” Varric smiled wryly and tipped his head towards the stairs at the back of the room. “Come on, I’ll get them to crack open something better than whatever watered down shit they’re serving down here.”

She got to her feet wavering only slightly, which was definitely the fault of the ankle she’d twisted earlier in the evening and not the ale she’d been drinking for… she wasn’t entirely sure how long. The stairs were a manageable prospect, so long as she kept a hand on the wall to steady herself, but she was glad to sink into one of the chairs at Varric’s table. When he joined her a minute or two later, Varric shut the door behind him. “Here,” he said, and a heavy glass bottle clinked where he set it in front of her. “Antivan whiskey. Not the best you can get in this city, but you wouldn’t be drinking here if you cared, would you?”

Briar snorted. “Nope,” she replied, and snatched the bottle. Whiskey wasn’t her drink of choice—given an option she preferred wine—but she really, truly, did not care. Not tonight.

“So,” Varric said eventually, after settling into a seat of his own, “is this a drinking in mutual silence kind of night?”

She shrugged and swallowed the last of her ale, freeing her mug to be filled with whiskey instead. “It’s absurd. I mean, look at me. I’m Fereldan, for one, and all I’m actually good at is making people dead. Viscount? It would never happen.”

“It might,” Varric countered. “So long as there’s no Viscount in the Keep, the Knight-Commander rules every inch of this city.”

While she refilled her mug, she said, “Right, because I want more opportunities to be reminded of the fact that my sister is locked in the Gallows and there’s nothing I can do to change it.” Briar shook her head with an irritated sound and grumbled, “It’s just… Sometimes I feel like I’m being crushed under the weight of things I’ll never be. Most of Hightown expects me to be just like the rest of them, to want what they want, and that’s igoing to happen.”

“Shouldn’t have saved them from the qunari,” Varric said wryly. “If they were all dead, you wouldn’t have to deal with them.”

She groaned. “What else was I supposed to do, turn my back and let dozens of innocent lives be slaughtered.” Briar paused, then amended, “Allegedly innocent lives. Maker only knows what shit they get up to behind closed doors.”

“I have a few ideas.”

“You would,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t know. I almost want to start bringing Merrill with me to these things, give them something to talk about that isn’t me, but I couldn’t do that to her. She deserves better than Orlesians making snippy comments behind her back.”

Varric quirked an eyebrow and said, “Something tells me Fenris would go with you if you asked him.”

“I don’t know,” she replied, desperately reaching for some excuse to cover the fact that the thought of Fenris made her heart ache. “I don’t exactly need a bodyguard,” she said lamely.

“Uh huh.” There was no fooling Varric. She could see it in his face, that he’d just confirmed any suspicions he might have had.

Four and a half months, and she still couldn’t shake the feeling that it was her fault. It wasn’t, Fenris had said so, but knowing and feeling were two very separate things. Briar sighed and took a long drink of whiskey, half hoping the burn down the back of her throat might cancel out the pain in her heart. “I should head home,” she said after a few moments. “Thanks for the drink and the company, Varric.”

“Anytime, Hawke.”

When she staggered out the front door, Briar took three steps in the direction of Hightown before she reconsidered and turned to head for Darktown instead.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

The Naughty Reindeer, deep in the North Pole, tried to weave Holly around the Chimney for any OC—you choose!

festive prompts

Naughty - punished Reindeer - pursued, hunted North Pole - far from home Holly - poison, venom, toxin Chimney - escape attempt

nonny...wow 😍this is ambitious and I will do my best. *throws pokeball* Emmeline, I choose you!

Author's Notes: At some point while writing my mind decided her captors are a group of rowdy hicks or something. They found her and went, 'a person that can't die? hold my beer.'

Content Warnings: lady whump, immortal whumpee, implied captivity, implied torture, punishment, failed escape attempt, extreme heat, starvation, dehydration, sleep deprivation, dizziness, headache, exhaustion, cuts, barbed wire, poisoned

----

Emmeline can't help glancing back every few steps, walking as quickly as her legs can manage. They will notice she's gone any minute and no amount of head start feels like enough.

There are four of them and one of her. They have two pickup trucks while she stumbles barefoot across the barren land.

They are hale and hearty while she grows weaker by the second.

It is unbearably hot, unbearably dry. She's malnourished, dehydrated, sleep deprived. Because why give her any of those things when they know she won't die without them? Why waste good food and water or a soft bed on her?

Too quickly her thoughts turn dark. Maybe they're right. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe I'm being punished for a reason.

A dry sob rips from her throat. She longs to be able cry; tears would be such a relief to her burning, bloodshot eyes. Despite the pounding in her head or the harsh sunlight from above, she doesn't let herself close her eyes for more than a moment, fearing she'll pass out mid-step.

When she makes it...if she makes it, the first thing she's going to do is sleep for a week. Preferably inside somewhere cool, finally shielded from the beating sun after a hellish day forced to remain outside until she fixed the screen door she broke trying to escape.

She doesn't want to imagine what the punishment for trying again will be.

In her hurried exit, Emmeline had cut her arm slipping between the rows of barbed wire fence. It seemed a minor thing at the time compared to the abuse she suffered there.

But now the skin around the cut is swollen and throbbing. It...it can't be infected, it hasn't been long enough. But something is - something is wrong...

Emmeline stumbles, suddenly dizzy. She has no choice but to stop. Taking long, labored breaths, she doubles over and holds her good arm to her stomach to ease hunger pang.

In the distance she hears the unmistakable rumble of engines.

No...

In her panic Emmeline stands too quickly.

The world spins. Her legs finally succumb and she drops heavily to the ground.

There she remains, barely conscious, barely breathing, until two trucks skid to a halt on either side of her.

"You thought we were stupid," the youngest sibling accuses as he hops down from the back of one with a length of rope, which he uses to bind her unresisting limbs. "'Course we knew you'd fit through the wire. Most animals do. That's why we brush snake venom on the sharp bits. Nothin' ever gets very far."

The young man throws her onto the bed of the pickup like a bale of hay, hops on behind her, and bangs on the back window. The trucks race each other home, their drivers whooping and shouting insults.

Utterly defeated, all Emmeline can do is hope she's out cold by the time they arrive.

[billysgirllol]

"my magical brute force that comes out when i'm determined, i guess." but she hopes she won't be need taken care of, there's too much to get done and do around the house to just be resting on the job with a sore back and arms. then again, that's probably why she does have strength. from all the labor she puts in around this house day in, day out. "plus, you're long but you ain't all that heavy." she plays it off like he's feather light or something. "well that goat only comes up to my knees, darlin'. the horses are a lot bigger and mightier lookin' to me. and she ain't no mean goat, she's a sweetheart. sweet as pie. –well, to her mama and little cousin she is."

in case shamus was being rude to him while she had been gone. "she's just used to girls." she's smart and probably just knows he's a boy. "i love the horses, i admire what they stand for. freedom and strength. i do know they're very smart, too. but i can't help it... i guess i know they're smart and they might sense me bein' scared and throw me off or somethin'. but if you know what you're doin' then i won't mind to attempt to conquer this fear." which just further proved what he was saying was true, about being courageous. "without meanin' to, i guess that part just came naturally so." she softly laughed, meaning the part about naming them so traditionally southern sounding. "mhm, all that's correct." amusement reached her deep honey eyes at his extra nicknames for them... gang of chickens, three musketeers. "and don't forget theo and blaze." the last two horses. lucy gray heard him apologize again and she only felt more guilt for getting an attitude with him, softly smiling to let him know it was okay. maybe he was just curious, even if her mind was conflicted.

"on the weekends we like to sing in our little band we got. and then through out the week, sometimes barb azure and maude ivory come over and help me with the garden and the animals." brunette answers, very grateful for her two cousins too since their kindness helps out tremendously. "a gnome you say?" brows lifted, she hadn't heard much about any gnomes. she knew what they were but never heard any tales people being called one, which made another soft laugh emit from her. "well, over on yonder they'd call her personality uglier than sin on a sunday." but a gnome could work too. "no, now we wouldn't." she agreed, giving him a pointed look that he's right for not going further and agreeing with her that they wouldn't be cruel like that. "makin' comments about her won't make us any better. if anything, just lower." lucy gray lectured, pointing her finger as he nudged her.

"i do, they just come out at last second. i don't wanna use them if i don't have to." her first option is always snakes, but if there's no snakes around then claws are the next best thing. "yes, a real snake." she confirmed. "and he was, he was cursin' and yellin' all over the place." own laughter of hers started forming that she stifled, resorting to grinning until her cheeks hurt at his own muffled laughter her story caused. "right?" she deserved it. "but then, people had the thought to think i was the one in the wrong. ..why peefair? her real name is already horrible soundin' enough, it does it plenty justice alone just by bein' mayfair lipp." lucy gray sassed, smiling a little deviously that time as her fingers weaved the string in between them and formed a nice knot. "welcome, now just snip the ends with the scissors."

“five  foot  one  —  two?  and  you  dragged  a  six  foot  man  all  the  way  here?  how?  tomorrow  i’ll  be  the  one  taking  care  of  you,  it  seems,”  he  muses  with  a  chuckle,  glancing  at  her  skinny  arms  and  imagining  they’ll  be  hurting  like  crazy  in  the  morning.  “so  the  mean-looking  goat  in  your  barn  doesn’t  intimate  you,”  he  recalls  her  talking  to  that  thing  in  the  sweetest,  kindest  voice  so  surely  they’re  friends,  “but  horses  do?”  it’s  mostly  a  joke,  said  in  a  light-hearted  manner,  but  a  tiny  part  of  him  is  genuinely  surprised.  “yeah,  but  i  see  where  you’re  comin’  from,  lucy  gray.  their  size  can  be  intimidating  when  you’re  not  even  half  their  size,  but  most  horses  have  an  extremely  amenable  and  trainable  attitude.  they’re  very  smart  and  gentle  if  handled  properly.”  and  she  doesn’t  have  to  jump  into  the  saddle  or  struggle  and  pull  herself  up  all  on  her  own.  he’ll  bring  her  a  stool  or  simply  lift  her  up,  whichever  she’ll  feel  more  comfortable  with.  “you  know,  lucy  gray,  i  don’t  think  i’ve  ever  met  a  person  as  courageous  as  you.”  her  willingness  to  overcome  fears  impresses  him.  if  she  told  him  she’d  teach  him  how  to  milk  that  goat  of  hers,  he  doubts  he’d  be  half  as  brave.  “then  that’s  settled.  as  soon  as  i  get  better,  i’ll  teach  you  everything.  i  have  a  feeling  you’ll  love  this.”  the  freedom.  galloping  across  a  prairie,  with  sun  kissing  your  cheeks  and  wind  dancing  in  your  hair  —  nothing  can  compete  with  that  feeling.

“shamus.  it  does  sound  a  bit  masculine,  but  you  know…  it’s  very  fitting.”  an  intimidating  name  for  an  intimidating  creature,  he  thinks  to  himself,  for  whatever  reason  thinking  the  goat  doesn’t  really  like  him.  the  way  it  she  was  looking  at  him…  this  name  he’ll  have  no  trouble  remembering.  his  eyes  growing  wider  and  wider  as  the  names  just  keep  piling  up.  “oh,  i  see  you  have  a  preference,  hm?  southern  classics  like  hank  and  clyde.  lovely  choices.”  he’s  trying  his  best  not  to  laugh  as  it  would  be  rude,  but  a  duck  named  hank?  it’s  so  very  adorable  but  also  hilarious.  “you  weren’t  kiddin’  when  you  said  you  had  a  lot  of  animals.”  and  then,  as  if  to  impress  her,  he  attempts  to  recite  the  names  back  to  her,  “clyde  and  hank  and  gilbert  are  the  three  ducks.  the  three  musketeers.  storm  and  spirit  and  sundance,  the  horses,”  and  the  two  he’s  forgetting  because  their  names  don’t  start  with  an  s  and  stand  out  a  bit  more,  “little  pip  and  his  gang  of  chickens.  and  rabbits,  henry  spot  and  otto  and  two  lovely  ladies.”  maybe  when  she  actually  introduces  him  to  them  and  he  sees  their  faces  and  markings,  he’ll  do  a  better  job  at  keeping  up  with  the  names.  “you’re  right.  if  i  had  a  family  like  yours,  all  these  sweet  animals  and  your  cousin,  i  wouldn’t  be  thinking  of  running  away  either.”  he  reckons  it  would,  indeed,  be  the  hardest  goodbye.  leaving  joe  and  ma’s  grave  behind  was  hard  enough,  he  can’t  even  begin  to  imagine  what  abandoning  living,  breathing  people  would  be  like.  “it’s  alright.  i  didn’t  mean  to  get  nosy.  i  tend  to  forget  myself  sometimes.”  he  can  tell  it’s  a  sensitive  subject  and  retreats  with  no  hard  feelings,  fully  respecting  the  other’s  boundaries.

“that’s  very  kind  of  you  and  your  covey.  when  do  you  meet,  if  you  don’t  mind  me  askin’?  i’m  sorry,  i’m  just  really  curious  about  everything  because  this  is  the  first  time  i’m  coming  across…  a  covey.”  so  everything  about  it  fascinates  him,  from  the  way  they  dress,  their  names,  their  attitudes,  their  bond.  it’s  all  so  new  to  him,  sounds  like  a  concept  from  one  of  his  mother’s  utopian  novels.  “she  clearly  ain’t  no  gem  or  prize,  not  even  personality-wise.  an  unkind  man  would  say  her  father  must  have  been  a  troll.  you  know,  a  mean,  ugly  gnome  from  legends?”  they’re  very  popular  in  ireland,  something  all  parents  use  to  scare  their  children  with  when  they  misbehave.  “but  we  wouldn’t  be  cruel  enough  to  say  that  out  loud,  now  would  we?”  he  chuckles  softly,  gently  nudging  the  curly-haired  brunette  with  an  elbow.  he’s  a  polite  man  with  a  gentle  heart,  but  when  someone  crosses  the  people  he  cares  about  (and  he  sure  does  care  a  whole  lot  about  lucy  gray),  all  that  goes  out  the  window.  he’d  do  anything  for  his  loved  ones.  “i  didn’t  know  you  had  claws.”  judging  by  her  looks  and  actions,  she’s  an  angel  and  so  it’s  almost  impossible  to  believe.  

the  smile  on  his  face  growing,  pale  blue  eyes  watching  her  with  amusement.  “you  slipped  a  snake  down  her  dress?  a  real  snake?”  he  has  to  clasp  a  hand  over  his  mouth  to  keep  from  laughing  out  loud,  his  shoulders  shaking.  he  can  picture  this  sweet,  tiny  girl,  sneaking  up  on  may-not-so-fair  and  slipping  a  snake  down  her  dress,  and  it  sparks  a  whole  new  kind  of  love  and  respect  for  lucy  gray.  “and  left  one  in  his  shoebox,  too?  that’s  the  greatest  revenge  ever.  i  bet  he  was  screaming  like  a  little  girl  when  he  lifted  the  lid  and  saw  the  snake.”  this  girl  is  so  different…  how  could  a  person  not  fall  in  love  with  her  and  her  attitude  and  angelic  looks  and  these  stories?  “an  accident,  you  say?  oh,  god…”  now  billy’s  full-on  laughing,  and  he  has  to  bury  his  face  in  the  colorful  quilt  to  keep  from  making  much  noise.  it  takes  him  a  moment  to  calm  down,  and  when  he  does,  he  puts  on  the  saddest,  most  pitiful  look  and  wails  quietly,  “oh,  poor  mayfair,  a  snake  down  her  dress  and  a  very  public  accident.  poor  mayfair,  got  what  she  deserved.”  he  gently  pats  lucy  gray  on  the  shoulder,  a  silent  good  job  hanging  in  the  air  between  them.  “cheat  taupe  sounds  about  right.  what  do  you  think  of  pee-fair?  to  honor  and  commemorate  that  memorable  event?  they  need  new  matching  names.”  he  can’t  help  but  blush  when  she  says  the  name  looks  better  on  him,  shy  gaze  focusing  on  her  skilled  fingers  and  quickly,  as  if  to  distract  and  keep  her  from  noticing  the  color  of  his  face,  adds,  “thank  you  for  helping  me  tie  it  up.”

[atozphantomsquadron]

Chapter 17: Sacrifice

(cw: torture, gore)

July 16th

I haven’t been able to let up from my flight, not once.  I can’t help but wonder if satellite eyes are watching my every move, whether the New Empire is scrambling jet aircraft to intercept me.  It’s nerve-wracking, but what makes it worse is that I’m too nervous to do anything about it; to stop, to eat, to sleep, to do anything other than fly.  Landscapes pass below me, but I don’t realize they do.  I can’t see the farmlands, can’t admire the mountains.

Not when I’m always checking my back.

Eventually, running on pure adrenaline gets me to land, as my body starts to give in to its basic needs for life.  Particularly water.

I look for a good, thick forest to conceal myself in, and manage to find one, across the border in the New Empire, in what used to be called the upper peninsula of Michigan.  I barely disturb the ground as I flutter in for a landing: I’ve been slowly teaching myself control over the dragon body, to the point now that I can return to my (mostly) human self without too much trouble.  The ground beneath my feet is soft and giving, perfect if I’m going to be sneaking around.

Then I remember why I landed.  I need water, desperately.  There’s a shoreline to one of the Great Lakes not far from where I’ve alighted: I simply have to find it.  It takes merely a half hour to reach a rocky shoreline.  I eagerly crouch down to the water and lap up fluid, desperate for hydration.  It tastes bitter and awful … I suppose all those salt mines that caved in affected the quality of this water somewhat … but it’s wet and I’m starting to feel more alive now that I’ve drank my fill.

Able to concentrate normally, I crouch low so that I won’t make as much of a figure against the trees and look out across the water.  I’m still getting used to some of the full dragon abilities I have now, one of those being telescopic vision.  I can see clear as a bell for miles now, an ability I use to focus on the land mass directly opposite from my position.

There’s a facility there.  Six large buildings, ringed with a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Vehicles move in and out of the compound on a fairly regular basis, large vehicles capable of carrying good amounts of supplies.

Or troops.

My eyes focus in on some of the people walking around.  Blueshirts.  Rank-and-filers, mostly.  I don’t see anyone wearing the insignia of command …

Then I spot him, and I have to dig my heels into the stones.  I can’t stop a low growl from crossing my lips.

“Scolar …”

The General is walking casually through the compound, like he’s making an inspection tour.  He has three of the rank-and-files around him at all times, forming a fairly tight security cordon.  The Sabre hangs low off of his right hip, idly slapping against his leg as he walks along.

My wings are sprouting.  I can’t go berserker right now, I need a plan of attack.

I’m guessing that this is the SSA’s facility for “processing” captured supernaturals, implanting them with control chips and brainwashing them into being SSA troops.  That should be my first priority, not …

My eyes can’t help but travel back to Scolar again.  I’m reaching for the Sword …

I slap my own hand away from the weapon.  No!  I need to keep control, I need a steady head.  Flying in half-cocked is only going to guarantee I’m leaving in a box, if even that.  I close my eyes and try to remember some of the meditation tricks Durga taught me: easy breathing, concentrate on the feeling of the air, in and out of my lungs.  Before long, the thrumming of my heart calms down to a normal, steady beat.  I think I can open my eyes again.

The facility comes back into focus.  Thank God, Scolar must have gone inside.  I can concentrate now.  I watch the entrance for another hour, mentally taking notes on whether there is a pattern to the entry and exit of the vehicles.

A pattern finally appears to me: it’s a regular half-hour schedule.  They open the gates, let three trucks out, and allow one truck entry.  The gate locks down for twenty-five minutes, then the pattern repeats.  That might be my chance to get inside …

Then what?  What do I do once I’m inside the SSA’s compound, where I’ll be naked without backup and facing every blueshirt this side of the Mississippi, not to mention Scolar, when I’m ultimately discovered?

Well, you came to die anyway …

I finally decide my course of action … I’ll try to find the captive supernaturals, and maybe they’ll help me fight out of the place.  What more damage can I do to my own reputation?  I’m a wanted woman already.  Plan of action decided, I creep back into the forest, looking for a quick meal.

Three hours later, my stomach filled with a flash-broiled rabbit that happened to be on the business end of a firecast, I’m securing the Sword to my hip and rubbing my face down with mud, in the hopes that I’ll be concealed at least somewhat.  Night has fallen completely.  If I can just stay low along the water, I might be able to sneak across.

My wings unfurl.  I try to flap them as quietly as possible.  To make that distance, I’ll have to go way up, then loop down like a ski jump, if I’m going to stay as low as possible.  I flip on my back and rub my wings down in some of the mud as well, then flap them hard and take to the air.  Altitude screams past me … I can only guess, but considering I can see the SSA facility, I must be at least two miles up … now three …

I count to five, arc myself around, and launch into the steepest dive I’ve ever attempted.  Soon I feel like I’m at terminal velocity.  The distance between myself and the ground closes very fast … almost on top of me … almost in my face … at the last second I arch my back to pull myself up, and to my delight I find that this plan is working: without having to flap my wings, I’m now speeding across the lake barely five feet above its surface.  Whenever I sense my altitude failing, I only flap once or twice to regain it.  The speed continues to carry me to my ultimate goal.  The wind whips my skin, whips my hair, tries to force me down.

My will refuses to let me fall.

The shoreline in sight, I allow myself to slacken just a little bit.  My stomach and chest skip gently across the water, creating a soft splash noise that I hope gets mixed in with the sound of the waves crashing on shore.  With the shoreline twenty yards away, I curl my wings up around me and let myself fall into the water, where my momentum continues to push me forward until I hit land.  Slowly, I extract myself from the water, wringing the excess off of my skin and clothes.  I don’t dare shake my wings out: that would definitely alert someone up on the road.

Speaking of which, the road’s a lot closer to shore than I thought it was.  I spot a truck approaching.  Too late, I realize I’m caught in its headlights.  I try to run and find a place to hide, but it stops anyway.  Two blueshirts climb out of the vehicle, flashlights out.

They’ve spotted me.  Do something!

I keep myself calm, waiting until one of them reaches the edge of the road.  His flashlight pours into the darkness behind me.  Perfect.

I wrap my arms around his ankles and yank him down.  The back of his head strikes the asphalt.  He’s going to have one whanger of a concussion if he ever comes around, and I know that his buddy probably heard the commotion, since I can see the bouncing of a flashlight beam.

“Who’s there?  Come out!  SSA!”  I hear a gun coming out of a holster.  This just instantly got more dangerous.

The churning comes from my gut.  I part my teeth and send a narrow stream of flame out into the darkness, which hits the blueshirt’s gun.  It’s instantly too hot to handle, and clatters to the ground.  When he’s recovering from the shock, I take my opportunity, leaping up to his level and wrapping my arms around my throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you, sir, but you will help me or by God you’ll be buried in the morning.  Got it?”

His eyes are wild with fear.  I think he just wet himself.  He whimpers and nods … I have a feeling he’s just recognized me.

“Good.  You’re driving.”

I’m sure he’s going to look strange without a partner in the truck, so I’d better let him have one.  Very quickly, I remove the uniform from the unconscious blueshirt and throw it on over my clothes.  He’s so big that the uniform is very baggy on me, though that’s to my advantage because now I can hide the Sword inside a pant leg.  I tie up my hair and stuff it into the SSA-issue cap, then climb into the passenger seat.  Without thinking about it much, I pull out the service pistol from the stolen uniform belt … not that I can even handle a gun, but it will hopefully keep my captive in line.

“Drive, straight ahead.  You don’t want to keep them waiting.”

My captive nods fearfully, throwing the shifter into gear and moving the truck forward.  We travel in silence: after all, this is a hostage situation, and I doubt he’d want to say anything to me anyway.  Thankfully, after fifteen minutes of dead silence, the front gate of the facility is upon us.  The three trucks being let out are already waiting when we pull up.

I jab the gun into my captive’s hip.  “Act natural.  If they ask why you’re late, there was trouble along the side of the road and you helped change a tire.”

He says nothing.  The gate opens and allows three trucks to leave.  We pull up at the gate, now that the passage is clear.  A rank-and-file walks up and hands up a clipboard to my captive.

“Warm night tonight, huh?”

The guard’s trying to make small talk.  I keep the gun pressed to the driver’s leg.

“Yeah, I hadn’t really noticed.”  The clipboard makes its way into the truck, and my captive scribbles on it.

“What kept you guys?  You’re a little late.”

The driver clears his throat.  “Good Samaritan work, we helped a driver in trouble.  Changing a tire, no big deal.”

The driver hands the clipboard back to the guard, who gives it a once-over.  He motions us forward.  “Go on, bay 6 is ready for you.”

The driver thanks the guard, shifting the truck into gear again.  We’ve only gone thirty yards into the facility, though, when he stops and turns toward me with a sinister grin on his face.

“You’re screwed, bitch.”  He kicks the gun out of my grip.  I respond by punching him out of the window of the truck. 

I knew that was too easy.

No point in being stealthy now … I open my door, only to be met with a barrage of gunfire.  As much as I hate to do it against the pawns, I’m left with no choice as I rip the uniform off and draw the Sword.

The Guardswoman bursts out of the truck and begins spinning the Sword quickly, like a propeller, to deflect the small-arms fire of the blueshirts.  Fighting this group will be no challenge.  I raise the Sword high and charge into their midst as they reload.  Before long, the entire group lies at my feet, wounded but not fatally.

I’ve got that much control, at least.

I sheathe the Sword and make my way for the shadows.  Darkness is my ally right now: they can’t see me, so they won’t know where I am.  I press my body tightly to the wall of a building.  I wish I knew what was going on inside, it sounds like screaming.

No time like the present to get things started.  I steel myself for anything, then make my way toward a door and let myself in.

I’m nowhere near ready for what greets me inside the building.  There’s supernaturals here, all right.  Or at least what’s left of them.  Jars line the walls of the room I’ve stumbled into, jars filled with fluid and organs, blood-red and horrifying.  Directly in front of me is an operating table, where a supernatural man lays, sightless eyes pleading with me, a voice long since silenced begging for mercy.  Two men in surgical scrubs stand on either side of the victim, frozen in place when I burst in on them, holding I don’t know what between them like a gruesome tug-of-war.

What in God’s name is happening here?

Any qualms I had about rank-and-filers are gone now.  The churning in my gut answers my anger, as I open my mouth.  These two goons have recognized me, and want to run, but are too tangled up in organs to move quickly.  The familiar burning rises …

Flames engulf the entire room.  The two “surgeons” catch the brunt of it, running and screaming as their surgical scrubs cook them alive.  The fire stream blasts a hole through the opposite wall, as the plaster which lined the room catches on fire.

This is just too much.

With a slow, measured pace, I make my way through the destruction, over to the side of the victim on the table.  I gently close his eyes.

“Rest in peace, my friend.  I’m sorry I was too late.”

With the dead supernatural’s empty eyes burning holes in my mind, I continue walking through the building.  By now, alarms have been sounded, and guards are scrambled looking for me.

I really don’t care right now.

I find that I’m thoroughly numbed to horror.  I can’t make myself cry for that dissected supernatural.  I can’t make myself regret killing his killers.  I can’t find any sympathy for these SSA soldiers, not a single shred.

On the contrary, I want them all dead.

[kedreeva]

Steve gets to have the talk with Jonathan that he wanted to have at the end of S1

I know who sent this one, and I know why she went on anon, and I SEE YOU, SUNSHINE.

collected on AO3

-----

It doesn’t take long for Steve to feel out of place in the too-bright waiting room. He’s exhausted and achy and still reeling from spinning his entire life hard 180 degrees only to find himself in utter freefall. He’d already had his own injuries looked at and been told to have someone keep an eye on him for his concussion, but there was no one at home, so he’d collapsed into the nearest unoccupied chair.

But now the lights are too bright and the kids had all shot up to see their friend when he woke up, and the adults had either gone with them or disappeared for business, and Steve finds himself once again alone. The silence - or near-silence anyway - is nice, but every time the dying light down the hall flickers, his heart kicks his ribs and he’s right back in Jonathan’s living room. He’s watching the girl he loves point a gun at his face while his misconception of the world as a safe place falls apart behind her.

He heaves himself to his feet, and heads for the door.

The chill November air greets him sharply, and he welcomes the way it braces him. He doesn’t go far – not supposed to be alone – just leans against the cold bricks of the front entrance to take a few deep breaths. He closes his eyes, head tipping back against the stone.

The door opens to his right, and he hates the way his hands twitch for a weapon, so he sticks them in his pockets as Jonathan joins him. He doesn’t know what to say, how to break the ice; he’d broken too much already in the past 24 hours. How can the knowledge of what he’d said live right there beside the knowledge that he’d lay down his life for this boy without a single thought? Sorry isn’t big enough to bridge the gap he'd made between them.

“How’s your brother?” he says, because he has to say something or he’ll crawl out of his skin and they’ve had enough of that tonight.

“Alive. Happy to see his friends,” Jonathan says, not looking over as he leans back against the wall now that he’s had an invitation. He puffs out a laugh. “Maybe not as happy as the kids were to see him.”

Steve manages a thin smile around the shards of his heart. He cannot imagine having friends that care that much, the sort that would go to the ends of the earth for him, that would burn it to the ground to save him. Tommy’s loyalty ended at a single rejection.

Jonathan may have rightfully kicked Steve’s ass, but he’d also taken his hand. He can still feel the gut-pull shiver of Jonathan demanding jump and his own instant and unthinking obedience. He can still see the flicker of lights through the window. He can still hear his one, crystal thought: he can’t leave them.

Not Nancy. Them.

“They’re good kids,” he says quietly. “Your brother too.” His breath twists up in his lungs as his face pinches up. “Look, I uh- I shouldn’t have said what I said about him. Or you.”

Jonathan remains quiet, not looking at Steve for so long that Steve nearly opens his mouth to continue the apology he’d gone there to make, but Jonathan beats him to the punch again. “It was pretty shitty of you. Honest, but shitty.”

“It wasn’t,” Steve says, and then quickly amends- “Honest, I mean. That’s why- I don’t know, dude. Maybe you knocked some sense into me. I was being a huge dick to you because I couldn’t handle my own problems.”

“King Steve has problems?” Jonathan asks, though it sounds more like a barb than a question.

Steve pulls a hand from his pocket to run it through his hair. “I guess,” he says with a little shake of his head. “I don’t know what it is about Nancy. It’s like… she’s the first person that’s ever looked at me like she just… expects me to be a better person than I am. And the crazy thing is, when she looked at me like that, I wanted to be, I just… I didn’t know how. I either had to climb up to her level or drag her down to mine and when I saw I saw the two of you, I was just… I dunno. Furious.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Jonathan says. It’s not the truth, Steve knows; or at least, it’s not the whole truth.

“It was, but that’s not- that wasn’t it. I thought it was, but it wasn’t,” Steve admits. It feels weird to say it aloud. “I thought I was mad that she… would come down to my level, I guess? After I let myself think… it doesn’t matter. And I was mad at you for… I dunno. Being the reason.”

“Nothing happened, Steve,” Jonathan says, a little hotly.

“That’s not true,” Steve says. “I mean, yeah, okay, you two didn’t screw or whatever, but… something happened. She went to you for help. Not me. Or, y’know, it’s- it’s worse than that. She did come to me, and I was too much of an asshole to help her. I was too worried about my dad’s opinion. He’s not even- It’s stupid. I should have helped her sooner. I was furious at myself for not listening to her. I should have.”

Jonathan doesn’t argue that, and Steve tries again to pull the knife of the realization from his gut, but it doesn’t move. She’d needed help, and he’d walked away, and he’d gotten exactly what he’d deserved for it. He’d gotten off easy, looking back.

“Well, you can’t go back,” Jonathan says, almost as if he’d read Steve’s mind. “None of us can, after this. There's only forward.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He’s going to try to get back to normal, or make a new normal at least. He’s going to make sure they think this is over, and then he’s going to do his level fucking best to forget any of this ever happened.

Almost any of it, anyway. Maybe not the part where he's trying, now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, trips over the words in his rush to make good on his decision. “I meant- I meant to say that, before. It’s why I… came over to your place. I wanted to apologize. Even before the monsters.”

He’d wanted to apologize once the monster had gone, but Nancy had rushed them into the cars and told him to meet them at the school gymnasium, and then they’d been so frantically trying to find where the kids had disappeared to that nothing had even been explained until they finally sat down at the hospital. Steve still isn’t sure he totally understands, but he’s not sure if there’s explanation missing or if it’s the concussion talking.

“I already… told Tommy and Carol off, that bridge burned pretty goddamn quick. I cleaned off the theater sign. I was coming to apologize to you, and then I was going to see Nancy, and apologize to her, too,” he adds, remembering the speech he’d thought about the entire drive out to Jonathan’s house. “I want to do better. I messed up and I don’t know if I can make up for it, but I want to do better.”

“Okay,” Jonathan says. Simple as that.

“Okay?” Steve echoes dumbly.

Jonathan shrugs and pushes away from the wall. “Yeah. You want to do better- okay. But, I’m freezing my ass off out here. Come back inside.”

Jump.

Steve pushes away from the wall, too, and follows him inside.

[warningsine]

@murcielagatito let me begin by saying that I do not think that season 6 is the worst. That's season 5 for me (although I have yet to see season 7 so I'm reserving judgment) followed by season 3.

Just like season 3, season 6 was a reset button.

They removed half of the cast and introduced new ones without giving them any depth. A bad move so late in the game, because the OG characters have had time to develop and mature.

In my opinion, the mistake they made in season 6 is that after getting very political in seasons 4 & 5*, they tried to go back to regular prison drama.

The only real heaviness that remains is Tasha's ongoing battle and the figurative backstabbing. Brooks is once again carrying the season like the acting beast that she is, but it's not enough when the season is structured around the gangs/two sister's beef.

*Every season is political because it is a series about the prison industrial complex--because everything is political, but s1-s3 were not dealing with the aftermath of Poussey's murder, BLM and the riot.

Let me elaborate:

Season 1: (Fish out of the water, inmate vs. scary inmate)

The final boss is Pennsatucky. Yes, Pornstache, Caputo, Healy, Fig are all terrible, but the season ends with Piper hurting Tiffany.

Season 2: (again inmate vs. dangerous inmate)

Vee.

The reason people hated her yet found her a compelling villain was because she made sense. She was introduced when it made sense for her to appear and shifted the focus from Piper to Tasha and her friends.

She also gave Rosa her Thelma and Louise exit, which many people loved.

Season 3: (no final boss)

There's some light drama between Piper and Maria and Luschek temporarily becomes an antagonist by sending Nicky to Max, but that's it.

A transitional season that ends on a rather optimistic note yet prepares us for what's about to happen in season 4.

Season 4: (inmates vs. the system)

This season is the real turning point for the show and its pacing is really, really good because of how everything escalates.

MCC (personified by Linda) cuts the budgets, veterans with no training are hired as COs for tax cuts, COs harass inmates more and more each day, Blanca starts protesting, Caputo tries to fight but loses the battle when the training program turns into slave labor.

All this tension rises to the top and finally ends the way it ends.

The main villain in season 4 is the system. Other villains include the guards, especially Piscatella and Humps, who are products of the system.

Maria and Kukudio are the supporting antagonists but are obviously nothing like the guards.

Season 5: (inmates vs. the system)

A season that is all about justice, change, retribution.

Even when the script gets really messy, it is clear that all the inmates have the same common enemy.

Piscatella is defeated when he realizes that Tasha is on the brink of making the same mistake he did. Then he is poetically murdered by a rookie with no training.

Humps is tortured and dies.

Season 6: (inmate vs. inmate in the foreground, inmate vs. the system in the background with Tasha)

Deals with the aftermath of the riot. Has a strong beginning and ending, but drags in the middle. Why? Because the inmate vs. the system thingy should have been in the foreground instead.

Carol and Barb feel like recycled caricatures, because the stakes have gone beyond block beef and Badison's antics a long time ago (season 4).

Imitating the tone of the first two seasons was a mistake, because the series has gotten too dark and serious for that. It should have committed to drama. 

As it is, their attempt to properly manage the humorous aspects comes off as clumsy. Nicky's wit or Flaca's airhead antics--as charming as they are--do not ring the same anymore.

That's not to say that season 6 sucks. Like I said, the season had strong moments.

The government putting pressure on the investigations to be wrapped up fast and finding a scapegoat instead of caring about justice? Nice job there.

Manipulating and turning the OG ladies against each other? Good idea as well.

Tamika basically telling Tasha that she did this to herself only to develop, see the cruelty/injustice and come around to be on her old friend's side? +1.

Sophia taking the deal and getting an early release, because unlike Tasha, she knows from the start there's no justice and thus no point in fighting? +1.

Aleida showing us how difficult it is to make it out of prison as an ex-convict, trying to get her kids back and then resorting to drugs again? +1.

The fantasy inmate stuff? Eh. Conflicted about it, because it has no real consequences in the story. Shows the guards' cruelty and complicity again, but these guards are cheap imitations of previous guards.

They even brought back Dixon and turned him quirky. Ew. No, thanks, I didn't need a Donuts No. 2.

--

My point? Season 6 is good enough to make me want to watch season 7, but not that good.

Watched the episode where the viewer finds out why Carol and Barb are in prison and... lots of wasted potential there.

I'm enjoying the characters (the older versions of them anyway), but the season's portrayal of gangs is naive.

There is no way that these two would become top dogs in Max, because people that harm children get eaten by the actual top dogs upon arrival.

(Speaking of child related crimes, I would have loved to see Beth's story--how she ended up becoming Medea--instead of Badison's "she was bullied as a child so she became one herself.")

There is no way that anyone would take them seriously with such incompetent lapdogs: Badison, the high school bully that possesses no skills whatsoever (she is funny though even though no one appreciates it), and Daddy, the cornball trafficker who trusted an addict to bring drugs into the prison.

Had they wanted to make them scarier, they could have at least thrown some flashbacks where the two were total badasses in prison so we could see how they got to the top of the food chain or how they became drug bosses in the first place since they had no idea about drugs.

Carol is supposed to be a charming murderer with sociopathic traits (more or less a young Villanelle), sure, but she is way too irrational and not smart or manipulative enough.

Barb, who appears more ~normal and likeable but is just as unhinged as her sister, is not intidimating, charming or smart enough either.

Also, it took them 3 decades to come up with a good plan to murder each other? And no one challenged their authority?