#this is like almost canon to the Boston live show

[lithiumseven]

Taako tells Angus he’s proud of him and takes 10 psychic damage

[justagalwhowrites]

Hello, i love your work omg!! I had a request for another Joel angst <3 I had an idea where reader decides to sell Joel's watch in the QZ and gifting him a new one (obv not knowing the meaning behind the watch) Joel gets angry and reader becomes heartbroken and decides to look for the watch and gets rly injured by gangs in the QZ and Joel gets worried/goes after her!

OMG Hi Bestie!

You sent me this forever ago but I'm in love with this ask and then went totally overboard and ANYWAY here's the angstiest ask I've ever had, I hope you love it as much as I love you!!

The Watch

You try to do something kind for Joel but things backfire in a way you never expected.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: SMUT! Canon-typical violence. I did almost no proofing on this so... ya know. Basically no age-gap, reader is 3 years younger than Joel. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 12.2k (LOOK I'M SORRY OK I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME EITHER.)

March, 2010

Sometimes, you weren’t sure you knew Joel Miller at all. 

It was a strange sensation, when you thought about it. You’d known him for almost three years now. You’d first met him and his brother, Tommy, when they moved in a few doors down from you in the Boston QZ. Both handsome, both around your age - Tommy a bit younger, Joel a bit older - both beat down by what the world had become. 

But the last thing seemed to apply to everyone in the QZ. Life now was hard. That’s just the way it worked now, as much as you wished that weren’t the case. 

You’d managed to land a relatively good job in the grand scheme of things. You were a chef before, you ran part of the kitchen at a ritzy banquet hall in the city. You were used to feeding a crowd and FEDRA definitely had a crowd to feed every day, what with guards and all. 

It wasn’t much like it was before. There was very little joy in it, the process reduced to the barest minimum: Feed people so they stay alive. But you liked trying to find ways to make the food good, different from day to day. You still took pride in your work, even as the overly long days threatened to wear you down. You still wanted to try to make people happy with your work. 

Which is how you ended up getting to know Joel and Tommy in the first place. You showed up at their door a few days after they moved in with a few plates of food in hand, still hot below the tin foil they were wrapped in. 

“Yeah?” Joel said, voice gruff. 

“Hi!” You said brightly, not taking his attitude personally. Everyone was gruff here. You were used to it. You introduced yourself before pressing on. “I hadn’t seen you both around the QZ before so I thought you might be new and want a little something while you’re settling in, maybe stretch those ration cards a bit further…” 

“What’s in it for you?” Joel cut you off, looking you up and down.

It was like he was finding every flaw you’d ever been afraid you had, his eyes raking over you fiercely. 

“Nothing,” you smiled, even though it felt forced. “Just wanted to do something nice!” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Joel, you scarin’ the neighbors?” Tommy asked, coming alongside his brother and opening the door wider. 

“Not at all,” you smiled, a little more genuinely this time. 

Tommy introduced himself and Joel, who just grunted at you. 

“I brought dinner,” you said, holding the plates out. “Just thought you might want a break after getting here is all.” 

“That is real sweet of you,” Tommy smiled, taking the plates. He lifted one to his nose and breathed deep. “Smells real good, too. You a cook or something?” 

“Or something,” you smiled. “I used to be a chef but now I just cook for FEDRA. This is better than that, though. Anyway, I hope you like it and welcome to Boston!” 

“Thank you,” Tommy smiled broader. “Hope to see you around!” 

You started coming back to see Tommy. He was kinder, he seemed like he was happy to see you. Which you appreciated. You didn’t have many people in the QZ, it was nice to have someone who felt like a friend who lived so close. 

You’d come by twice more and chatted with Tommy for a bit the next time you saw Joel at all. You knocked on their door with a loaf of bread in hand and Joel opened it, frowning at you. 

“He ain’t here,” he said before you had a chance to say anything. 

“Oh,” you tried not to look disappointed. It seemed like that would be rude. “Well, I made a few loaves of bread today. I thought you might want one!” 

You held it out, an offering. 

He took it. 

“Still not sure why you’re doin’ this,” he said, almost sneering. “You just never work? FEDRA jobs that kush?” 

“No,” you frowned. There was the familiar pinch of tears at the back of your throat. “No, I work 12 hours a day six days a week, I just… I like to share.” 

You turned to go before you started crying in front of him, like an idiot. You’d always been overly sensitive, too open-hearted your mom had always said. It didn’t serve you well in the apocalypse. 

“Wait,” he said. You stopped but didn’t turn around, tears starting to slip down your cheeks. “Shit, I… Look. I’m not trying to be an asshole, OK? Just… Haven’t exactly had many people be nice for the sake of bein’ nice in a while. Feels hard to believe. Would… would you want to come inside? Don’t exactly got much at the moment but there’s coffee. Could make us some.” 

You dried your eyes on the back of your wrists and hoped he didn’t notice. 

“Yeah,” you sniffed a little before turning around. “Yeah, OK. Coffee sounds good.” 

It was awkward at first. Joel was stiff, clearly not used to having someone else around who wasn’t his brother. It reminded you of when you’d adopted a dog from the shelter when you were in your 20s. You brought him home to your apartment and let him off the leash and it was like he didn’t know what to do. He could recognize that this was a home, that it had a kitchen and a living room and a couch. He just couldn’t find his place in it. An interloper. Something that needed a map to help navigate a new yet familiar land. 

“How are you liking Boston?” You asked after a few minutes of awkward silence. 

He shrugged. 

“Fine,” he said. “Still tryin’ to figure out if it’s better than out there or not.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“I’ve wondered that, too,” you said. “But I’ve never been out there. I’m just not sure it’s worth it to try and figure out the difference.” 

He was almost kind while you were there. Well, definitely kind by Joel standards, almost by anyone else’s. But you’d take what you could get. Especially since you imagined that would be the last time something like that would ever happen. 

You were wrong. 

When you made pasta a few days later - the sauce surprisingly good for something thrown together from leftovers from the guards’ mess hall - you brought plates a few doors down and Joel answered. He invited you in again, even as you tried to just leave the food and go. 

The conversation was unlike anything you’d ever really had before. It wasn’t small talk - Joel seemed to find that sort of conversation excruciating - but it wasn’t anything personal, either. It occupied an nebulous third arena, deep and intelligent - discussing things like depictions of the end of the world in fiction and what they’d gotten right and what you thought might becoming because of it - but without offering a glimpse into the core of the other person. 

You weren’t sure what to do with any of it. But you liked it. You liked Joel. 

It happened a few more times over the next several months, you ending up in an obscure conversation with Joel in his apartment every other week or so, until, one day, things went bad on your walk home from work. 

One of your cooks was too sick to work - which said a lot with FEDRA breathing down your necks - and you’d stayed late at the kitchen after, getting things reset for the next day.

It was raining and cold and miserable as you trudged home, looking forward to a hopefully hot shower and your bed, when someone stepped out of the shadows as you turned a corner. . 

“Well well,” the man said, making you jump. There was a knife in his hand. You swallowed. “Look what we have here. A FEDRA bitch.” 

You looked around quickly, about to take off back the way you came when there was something warm and large against your back. 

“Don’t even think about it,” the man’s voice was harsh. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, your hands shaking. “I’ll give you whatever you want, I have ration cards, you can have them…” 

You felt the man behind you laugh. 

“Hear that?” He said. “She thinks we want her ration cards.” 

He sneered the last words, taunting you. 

“I just…” you began but the man in front of you spoke now. 

“We’ll take the ration cards,” he said, stepping closer. “Take a lot else, too. FEDRA killed my sister. Seems only fair we take a few of their bitches in return.” 

“Please,” you said softly. “Please, they won’t care, I’m just a cook, they won’t even notice, I’m so sorry about your sister but I’m not…” 

The one behind you grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, making you squeal. The other punched you across the face, making you cry out in shock as much as it was pain. 

“Then we’ll start with you,” he said. “And take a few others, too. We’ll just take and take and take until they have to pay attention. Won’t we?” 

“Yup,” the man at your back put his mouth next to your ear so you could feel his hot breath on your skin. “We could get creative with ‘er. Know you wanted to gut her but now I’m wondering if I could make her choke to death on my cock…” 

Your heart was racing, beating so hard against your ribs it felt like it should be bruising from the force of it. 

“Please,” you were crying. “Please, I haven’t done anything to hurt anyone, I just…” 

“You’re FEDRA,” the man in front of you said, curling his hand into a fist. “That’s plenty.” 

You flinched from the blow you knew was about to land, tried to remember what you could about throwing a punch, when a sharp voice broke through the night. 

“Hey!” 

You opened your eyes just enough to see Joel stalking up. 

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” He demanded. The man at your back released your hair. Joel didn’t slow down. He just shoved the man in front of you back. “Think you can just fuck with whoever you want around here?” 

“You FEDRA now, too, Miller?” He snapped. “Fuckin’ kill you too, maybe make you suck my dick first, too…” 

Joel punched him, hard, across the face. So hard the man collapsed to the ground in one hit. The man at your back grabbed you and threw you to the ground and you landed in the mud as he lunged for Joel. He dodged the man easily, throwing a punch to the man’s torso before he grabbed a knife from his belt and thrust it into the man’s stomach. He gasped at it, his mouth agape in shock as Joel pulled the blade up through his gut to his ribs before shoving him to the ground. The man he’d punched first had managed to roll over, trying to get up. Joel held up the knife. 

“Try it, Pickett,” he said. “Fuckin’ dare you.” 

The man stayed down. Joel nodded, bending to wipe his knife on Pickett’s pants before putting it in the sheath at his belt. He pulled his leg back and kicked the man, hard, in the stomach, right where he’d stabbed the other one. 

“She’s under my protection,” Joel snapped. “Tell your fuckin’ friends. I catch any of you fuckin’ with her, I’ll kill every last one of you. Understand?” 

Pickett just groaned. Joel dropped to one knee next to the man and took his face in one hand, his fingers sinking harshly into the ruddy flesh of the man’s cheeks. 

“Asked you a goddamn question,” he snapped. “Expect an answer or you’re too useless to leave alive. She’s protected. Fuck with her, you die like your fuckin’ buddy. Understood?” 

“Understood,” the man managed. Joel freed his face and he slumped down into the mud as Joel straightened back up. 

“Good.” 

He left the man in the mud before kneeling next to you. 

“You alright baby doll?” He asked, his voice weirdly gentle. You sniffed and nodded. “Alright, let’s get you up, get you home and cleaned up….” 

He put his hands on you delicately. You realized suddenly that Joel had never touched you before. Even when you handed him food or he gave you a cup of tea or coffee, his fingers never even brushed your own. Now, his hands were fully on you, all overly large and delicate and warm, guiding you into sitting up and then standing. Once you were on your feet, one of those large hands gingerly took your chin and turned your face this way and that, so different parts of your skin caught the light. 

“Fucker got you good,” he said, shooting the man who was still alive in the puddle another glare. “C’mon. We’ll get you home, get you all cleaned up. You’ll be OK.” 

He tucked you below his arm, guiding you away from the carnage behind you. You turned to look at it, anyway, the still living man crawling through the mud and the rain to his dead friend. 

“Don’t,” Joel said, voice oddly gentle. He delicately tucked your head against him, making it so you couldn’t look back. “Don’t need to see that. They don’t fuckin’ deserve it.” 

“You killed him,” you said, hating how small and weak you sounded. “Joel, you killed that man, he’s…” 

“Barely counted as a fuckin’ man,” he muttered. “Got what he deserved. Don’t worry about it. C’mon, almost back…” 

You were strangely numb as you let Joel guide you back to your building. He led you up the stairs and to your apartment door, something that shouldn’t have surprised you - you only lived a few doors down from him and Tommy, after all - you just hadn’t thought he’d ever paid attention. 

“Gimme the key,” he said, his arm still around you. You obeyed, your hands still shaking as you got the key from your pocket and handed it over. He unlocked the door and flipped the lights on. You were glad you’d picked your apartment a bit the day before so it was at least neat and relatively clean - at least by QZ standards it was, anyway. 

Joel lowered you gently into a chair at your kitchen table and pulled up another one next to you. You frowned. 

“What are…” 

“Fuckers got a good hit on you,” he said, looking at your face in the light, frowning. “Should’ve just killed them both but that don’t work as well for sending a specific goddamn message….” 

It seemed like he was talking to himself, at least in part. You just watched him examine you, his face drawn, eyes tracing over your skin. 

“Go get cleaned up,” he said, sitting back from you. You frowned. “You’re covered in mud. Won’t do a damn bit of good to bandage you up now if you’re a mess.” 

“Right,” you said, looking down at your body. You’d almost forgotten that part of it. “Um…” 

“Be here when you’re done,” he said. “Get you patched up. Go shower.” 

You took a last look at him, acutely aware of the mud dripping onto your carpet, before you went to your bathroom, stripped down and climbed in the shower. You tried not to think about the fact that Joel Miller was just… sitting in your apartment. 

It didn’t make any sense. It was Joel. Why had he even bothered to stop? Why had he intervened at all? He seemed to think of you as little more than a nuisance but he saved you. Killed a man for you. Told another that you were under his protection, all but told him to let the whole of the QZ know it. And now he was just sitting at your kitchen table, waiting for you to get out of the shower so he could take care of you. 

You stayed under the mercifully warm water longer than you needed to trying to come up with an answer. The best thing you could come up with was that he felt like he owed you for all the food you’d brought over the last few months - though murder seemed like a high price for some bread and dinners. 

In your almost dazed state, you hadn’t thought to bring more clothes into the bathroom with you, a fact that occurred to you when you were still in the shower. You groaned. At least there was a robe in the bathroom so you wouldn’t need to dart across the hall to your bedroom while wrapped in nothing but a damn towel. 

But when you stepped out of the bathroom in a haze of steam and wrapped in a terrycloth robe that went almost to your ankles, Joel was standing at the mouth of the hall. He looked up at you and blinked twice, frozen where he stood. You froze, too. You weren’t entirely sure why, if maybe you felt like prey under his gaze, a rabbit hoping that stillness would keep the wolf from gutting you, or if the heat inside you made you want to be cracked open wide to the very center of you and consumed. 

“Better,” Joel said after a moment before jerking his head toward the kitchen table. “In here, where it’s light.” 

“But…” you tried to protest, overly aware of your own nakedness below your robe. 

“It’s fine,” he cut you off. “C’mere.” 

You kept your eyes on him as you obeyed, moving slow and cautious for the kitchen table, never turning your back to him. You still weren’t sure why. 

The seat you were in before had been cleaned, as had your floor, no sign of the splatters of mud. Instead, there was a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and cotton balls and gauze on your kitchen table. 

“Sit,” Joel ordered. You obeyed without hesitation. He took the seat close to you again, reaching to the leg of your chair and jerking you forward, the wood groaning as it scratched across the linoleum of your floor. He took your chin in his hands again and examined your skin, his face close to yours. You could smell him, the rain water on his skin, the remnants of laundry soap, the bite of something wild that you couldn’t place but seemed to blend with his rough beard and flannel shirt. “Not exactly a doctor but don’t think you need stitches. Just gotta keep you from getting infected. Unless you’d rather go to the damn clinic…” 

“No!” You said it quickly, probably too forcefully. You cleared your throat. “No, I… No clinic. I don’t want to cause any issues and I don’t want them to ask too many questions…” 

You didn’t want anything that would tie the dead body that was going cold in the rain a few blocks away to you or Joel. 

“Good,” Joel said. He dabbed the rubbing alcohol on your cut cheek, making you hiss in pain but you held still. His fingers were surprisingly gentle, even with the rough callus of them. “You’re doin’ good, baby doll. Almost done.” 

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, his brows drawn together as he concentrated on you before picking up the gauze and taping it over the injured skin. 

He released your face when he finished and sat back in the chair. You crossed your arms over your stomach, watching him for a moment. You’d always known that Joel was handsome. That was a simple fact, anyone with working eyes could see it. But it had always been a somewhat neutral statement. He was handsome but he was also cold and gruff and seemed to barely tolerate you outside of the unusual conversations you had when you brought something by and Tommy was unexpectedly absent. Even then, you’d gotten the impression that he was humoring you for Tommy’s sake, not out of any kindness or affection toward you. He was handsome but you’d never had anything more than a passing attraction to the man because thinking about how he must look at you, see you, hurt. 

But it was like a switch had flipped since Joel had saved you. Like the only thing that had been keeping you from looking at him and wanting him had been the idea that he wouldn’t want you in return. Some kind of protective measure meant to save you from getting attached to something hopeless because, at the end of the world, what was the point of attachment without hope? 

“Thank you,” you said when you realized you’d been quiet for too long. 

Joel shrugged. 

“Anyone fucks with you again, tell me,” Joel said. “Idiots should know better now, but…” 

You nodded slowly. Joel watched you for a moment before getting up and going to your kitchen. He got a towel from a drawer and filled it with ice before coming back and moving his chair closer to yours and pressing it against your bandaged skin. Your fingers covered his, meaning to take the ice pack from him, but he left his hand there, cradling it to your face. Your eyes met his, all dark and deep and wounded and you swallowed, hard. 

“Why did you do that?” You asked, whispering more than fully talking. Like it was a secret you were asking at all. 

“Didn’t deserve what they were about to do to you,” he said. His eyes were still on yours. You were closer to him than you’d ever been before. Your hand slid from his down his arm to his elbow, fingers twisting in the fabric of his sleeve. You watched his jaw tense for a moment. “Didn’t… Couldn’t see you hurt.” 

You leaned into him. You couldn’t help it, drawn into his strength and warmth, the comfort of his safety and sudden kindness so overwhelming it was a force unto itself. It was almost a surprise when you kissed him, that his lips were on your own. 

The kiss was only soft and gentle for a moment. Just long enough for Joel to drop the ice pack to the floor, his hand gently holding your bandaged face, ensuring he kept your mouth at the right angle. His other hand went to your waist, grabbing you almost roughly, pulling you sharply onto his lap with a surprised squeak. You were straddling Joel and damn near naked doing it, the only thing between you his jeans and the robe that was caught between your thighs. 

You froze as his fingers tightened on you, his lips growing more insistent, the heat in you building and burning but you weren’t sure what to do with it all. 

But he wasn’t slowing down or pulling away. His kiss deepened and the hand that was at your waist moved to the small of your back, adjusting you so that your core was pressed tightly to his growing length in his jeans. You moaned into his mouth, involuntarily rocking your hips against his hardening cock. Your arms went around his neck and you pressed yourself closer to him, dipping your tongue into his mouth to taste him. Joel’s hips pressed up against yours and you could feel his bulge against you, the heat of him making your core tighten and ache. 

Joel’s hands left your face and your back, coming around to the knot on the front of your robe. He pulled his lips from yours and looked down at your body as he untied it. He looked you in the eye - a silent request for permission, it seemed - and you didn’t stop him as his hands slid inside the fabric and pushed it away from you. 

Your skin was still warm from the shower and the shock of the cool air against you made you shiver. Joel didn’t seem to notice. His hands moved almost reverently for your waist, then your breasts, his callused fingers running over your soft, smooth skin, cupping the heavy globes of flesh, running his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. 

“Fucking Christ,” he breathed before kissing you again, your tits still in his hands. You pulled him closer, tighter, not caring if you seemed like some kind of rabid whore as you ground your leaking slit down on his still clothed cock. 

His hands ranged over you as he all but devoured your mouth, grip getting harder, kiss getting more desperate before he separated from you once more, panting for breath, pupils blown. 

“Let me fuck you,” his chest was heaving. He didn’t say it like a question or even a plea. He said it like it was a foregone conclusion, that he was going to have you and this was a formality. 

You could only nod and he shoved your robe to the floor before taking you in his arms and carrying you to your couch. He ripped his shirt over his head and cast it aside before hurriedly stepping out of his boots and shoving his pants and underwear down and off, his cock full and hard, making your eyes go wide. It’s not like you were a virgin or anything, you’d been in your early 30s when the outbreak happened, you’d had your fair share of men. You’d just never seen a cock quite that thick. 

Joel looked down at you on the couch, one of his hands wrapping around his length and stroking it once, twice, before gathering the precome leaking from his head and spreading it over himself. 

“Joel,” you swallowed hard as he adjusted your legs and climbed between them. “I don’t think…” 

“It’ll fit, Baby Doll,” he was still breathless as he jerked himself. “I’ll make it fit. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry…” 

You nodded, not really sure you believed him, but the gnawing need inside you was overwhelming any resistance you felt as he lined his fat, almost purple head with your weeping hole. You sat up on your elbows, watching where he was going to enter you - or try to enter you, at least.  

“Already so wet,” he ran his head up and down your slit, gathering your slick. “Make you feel so good, fill you up so good, promise baby…” 

He pushed himself inside you then, a grimace on his face until his head almost popped into your tight channel, pulling a shocked gasp from you. He was hardly inside you but you could still feel the burning stretch of him. His thumb went to your clit and brushed it at first, making you shudder, before working you in tight, firm circles. He fucked just the tip of him in and out of you, keeping the pressure on your sensitive nub as he did. You rocked your hips against him, you couldn’t help it, your orgasm already closer than you’d expected it to be. 

“See?” He panted. “Told you I’d take care of you.” 

With that, he thrust into you the rest of the way, making your eyes go wide and a high pitched whine leave you. You couldn’t look away from where he was filling you, the stretch unlike anything you’d ever felt before. He was so big you could see the outline of him between your hips, a foreign swell where he’d made space inside you to fill. 

“Joel,” you whimpered below him. You could feel him twitch inside you, like he was inches away from orgasm already. “Fuck, I need a minute, you’re too big, I need…” 

“Fuck,” he groaned, tipping his head back, his hands finding your waist. But he was still inside you even though you could feel that he wanted to fuck you hard and fast. Your body adjusted, the almost painful strain of taking him fading to an overwhelming fullness that had you starting to rock your hips against him, desperate for more stimulation. “Fuckin’ Christ, gonna lose it with you doing that, Baby Doll, I need to fuck you, I gotta, won’t hurt you promise I won’t…” 

You nodded but you weren’t sure it even registered with him. His grip on your waist tightened and he pulled back from you - slow at first - before thrusting all the way back in, the force of it knocking the air out of you. You groaned as Joel started to fuck you, hard and fast and needy, his thick cock stretching you with every motion. 

“Knew you could take it,” he panted. “Told you I’d make it fit.” 

You just whimpered, one of your hands finding your clit, the other your breast, working yourself in both places as he pounded into you. Your channel grew tighter around him, your orgasm close. 

“There you go,” he kept up his almost brutal pace. “Fuck yeah, make yourself come on this cock, come all over my fuckin’ cock while I wreck this little pussy, do it, fucking come for me.” 

You couldn’t help it, you came so hard you cried out with it, your hands stilling as you pulsed over Joel and he fucked you through your orgasm. He never stopped, never even slowed. If anything, he slammed into you harder and faster and your overwrought pussy almost hurt with it. 

“Fuck, can I come in you?” He asked. “Please… fuck… please, gotta come in you, need to come in you, fuck Baby I’m coming, gonna fill you up, fuck!” 

He pressed himself deep and exploded inside you there before you had a chance to tell him either way, the hot ropes of his come coating your inner walls. He collapsed forward onto you, his head over your shoulder and pressed into the cushion of your couch as he caught his breath. You could feel him leaking out of your spent hole as he went soft inside you. You slowly, hesitantly put your arms around him, stroking his back for a moment. Part of you was unsure what, exactly, had just happened. If it meant anything at all. 

“Fuck,” he sat up from you and pulled his cock from your body. He was glistening with the blend of you and him together. He looked down at you, still a little breathless, as you were splayed out before him. You remembered, suddenly, what it was like to look down at a chicken you’d split while butchering, all hollowed out, its only remaining purpose - to be consumed - laid bare. “Fuck, I… I don’t…” 

You sat up on your elbows again and looked down between your legs. His come was leaking from you. You looked back up at him, acutely aware of your vulnerability but hiding anything from him felt wrong. 

“It’s OK,” you said quietly. 

“No,” he shook his head. “I… I’m sorry, I…” 

He stopped and got off the couch, getting his clothes from the floor. He pulled his underwear and jeans on quickly before retrieving your robe from beside your kitchen table. He lowered it gently onto your stomach. You stared at it for a moment before sitting up and sliding it on. You cinched the tie around your waist. 

“Are you…” he trailed off as he shrugged back into his shirt, his brown eyes ranging over you again and again. 

“I’m fine.” 

He nodded. 

“Right,” he said. “Right, OK…” 

He stepped into his boots, not bothering to adjust the laces. But then, he only lived a few doors down. 

Oh God, he only lived a few doors down. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly after he was fully clothed again. “I… I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” you said, getting up and crossing your arms over yourself, thankful that your robe was long and covered most of you. “I… I wanted it.”

“Right,” Joel nodded. “That… we can’t do that again, OK? It’s not smart. Probably best if we…” 

“Sure,” you just nodded again. “Yeah, OK.” 

“Good,” he said, going for your door. He stopped to look at you. “Take care of yourself. Let me know if you run into any more trouble.” 

“I will,” you nodded. “Thanks, Joel.” 

He gave you a nod and just left you there, his come dripping out of you and his bandage on your cheek. 

That was the first time you fucked Joel Miller. 

It wasn’t the last. 

You came by a few weeks later, almost positive that it would just be Tommy home but it was Joel who answered the door. 

Once you got through the awkwardness of the hellos and the handing off of biscuits, you tried to leave, even though your core was tight and achy being so close to Joel again. Like he’d imprinted himself inside you, the shadow of him still there as a reminder. But Joel wasn’t having it. He grabbed your shoulder and pulled you around to face him before pressing you back into the wall and all but shoving his tongue into your mouth. He fucked you right there, against the wall of his living room, and when your thoughts weren’t blinded by orgasms you were just praying that his brother didn’t come home and find the two of you like this. 

When it was over, he stepped back from you, his eyes wide as he panted for breath and said over and over that it couldn’t happen again. That it wasn’t smart, not when you were neighbors and you were all stuck here like this. That he didn’t want any kind of anything with anyone. That it was a waste of time. 

It took until about the fifth time for Joel to stop saying it couldn’t happen again. For him to just accept it. He showed up at your door most nights now. He had for more than a year now. You weren’t entirely sure what your relationship actually was. You slept better when Joel was wrapped around you, even when he jerked in his sleep as nightmares plagued him. If you had an utterly miserable day, he sometimes listened to you vent about it before he fucked you silly. He brought you things he thought you’d like when he made smuggling runs outside the QZ, like a magpie who sought out books and baking equipment. You made him dinner and cut his hair when it got too long and didn’t ask questions when you bandaged up his knuckles at the end of a long day. 

But Joel had never so much as told you that he liked you, let alone anything close to love. Even though you loved him. It had taken you some time to realize that you had. You’d become numb to a lot since the outbreak. Love was a risk, one that your subconscious mind seemed itching to keep you away from. Especially from someone as distant as Joel. You’d been fucking no one but him for more than a year now and you’d only learned within the last month that he was a contractor before the end of the world. 

You wanted to do something nice for him. Something that might let him start to love you. At least like you as something more than someone to fuck, anyway. And you had the perfect thing in mind. 

That day, Joel rolled you over in the early morning hours, kissing you deeply in the dark, enough to start to wake you up. 

“Have a good day,” your words were slurred and mushy in your sleep but he seemed to get the picture. 

“Think you’ll have an easier time of it, I’m on sewer duty,” he kissed you one more time, just a peck on the lips. “See you tonight.” 

“Mmmm.” 

You waited until you were sure Joel was gone for the day before you turned on the lamp beside your bed and found Joel’s watch on the nightstand. 

He never took the darn thing off except to sleep. He always wore it, every day. Except the days he was on sewer duty. He left it at home or at your place then, the face of it cracked and the mechanism so broken it didn’t work anymore. But he still wore it every damn day. He’d never told you why. 

You ran your thumb over the broken glass of the face for a moment before setting it back down and getting dressed in your kitchen uniform and pocketing the watch.

Your shift started in an hour and a half, giving you what you hoped was enough time to get the errand you’d been planning done. You had to venture most of the way across the QZ to do it, traveling to the black market shops where you knew a lot of what Joel smuggled in wound up. It was still early there, people setting out what was on offer, and you found the one person you knew of in the QZ who dealt in things like jewelry and watches. Even though he’d always struck you as slimy every time he’d talked to you when you’d walked by his stall when on the hunt for something else. 

“Hey there pretty lady,” he smirked. “Finally coming to see me?” 

“I was wondering if you could fix something for me,” you said, getting the watch out and handing it over. “It’s my… it belongs to my friend. The face has been broken forever and I don’t think it tells time anymore. Think it’s fixable?” 

He took it and frowned down at it, turning it over in his fingers. 

“Kind of a piece of shit to waste the energy on fixing it,” he said before looking back up at you. “Could find you something better, get you a deal…” 

“I’d rather get that one fixed if you can,” you smiled. “I don’t mind the price.” 

He nodded, looking back down at it.

“Well, it’s beat to shit,” he said. “But I’ll give it my best shot or find something good to replace it with, how about that? Even buy this piece of crap off you, I’m sure I can use it for parts. Give you a discount on the watch itself.” 

There was a twinge in your gut at that, the idea of maybe trading Joel’s watch away. It must have sentimental value if he wore the broken thing that much. Or maybe it was just force of habit? He didn’t have one that worked but felt naked without it? 

“Sure,” you smiled. “When do you think you’ll know?” 

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Come back, see me. I’ll let you know what I can figure out.” 

You walked to work excited to see Joel that night. You were sure he was going to like the watch thing. Maybe it could be the start to something new, something good. After so long of living in limbo with him, you sure hoped it was. 

***

Joel fucking hated sewer days. 

They paid the best but it was disgusting work. The only worse job, in his opinion, was burning infected bodies. At least the sewer didn’t have dead kids. 

Otherwise, it was worse.

He went by his apartment first to shower and get cleaned up before heading toward yours. 

Joel was reluctant to admit it even to himself - especially to himself - but he’d grown attached to you over the last few years. 

He’d never meant to fuck you. 

It had been an accident, the first time. Or, at least, as much of an accident as fucking someone could be. He’d always thought you were pretty. You were beautiful, truly. Beautiful enough that he couldn’t pretend that you weren’t. So he moved on from that fact. But you were also sweet and kind, nicer to him than he deserved. He tried to keep you at arm’s length but you’d somehow managed to insert yourself into his life in ways he hadn’t expected. He liked being around you, he liked to look at you, he liked to imagine what it would feel like to be inside you. Falling into fucking you had been easy, so damn easy.

It helped that you didn’t ask anything of him. That you put up with shit from him that he doubted you’d have tolerated in the before times. But you were lonely here, that much was clear, and Joel was someone. He took advantage of that fact, he knew. He knew he should be better for you. Try to be more. Try to be something at all. But he wasn’t sure he had it in him anymore, if it had ever existed for anyone but Sarah at all. It seemed like it would be cruel to both of you to try. 

So he didn’t. 

He was lucky that you seemed fine with that. Even if he really wasn’t. 

He beat you to your apartment. Not surprising, sewer shifts started early and ended early, and he let himself in to wait for you, going to get his watch off the nightstand first. 

Joel felt naked without it. Almost like he was betraying his daughter when he didn’t wear it, that he’d somehow decided the last thing she’d done for him wasn’t good enough anymore. But wearing it on sewer jobs was too big a risk. If it fell off there, he’d never find it again and he wasn’t sure he could live with himself if that happened. So he left it wherever he slept the night before - as likely to be your place as his anymore - and always put it back on the second he got cleaned up. 

But it wasn’t on your nightstand. He frowned, looking on the bed - you made it every day, like that shit still mattered - but it wasn’t there. He got down on his hands and knees and looked around the nightstand, below it, under the bed. He ripped the sheets off and shook them out, took the pillows out of their cases. His heart was pounding. It had to be here it had to. 

He went to the bathroom next, maybe he’d taken it off in there the night before even though he never had before but he searched there, too. He was taking all the cushions off your couch when he heard your key in the door. He kept searching as you came in, not even looking up at you. 

“Joel!” He heard you drop your keys and your bag and then your hands were on him, pulling him back from the couch and making him stand up straight. He was breathless. He had to find it, it had to be here. Fuck, what if he put it on this morning and it fell off on the job and he hasn’t noticed? What if it was gone? “What are you…” 

“My watch,” he said, looking around the room for where to search next. “I… my fucking watch, left it here this morning, almost positive I left it here but I can’t find it and I need that watch, Baby Doll, I gotta…” 

“Joel,” you smiled a little, putting your hands on his forearm. “It’s OK. You did leave it here but… well, it was supposed to be a surprise…” 

His stomach dropped.

“What did you do.” 

You took your hands back, smile fading at his tone. Your eyes went a little wide. 

“I noticed that it’s broken,” your voice was quiet. “And I thought it was something that might be fixable…”

“What the fuck did you do?!”

You shocked back from him. Joel had never so much as raised his voice to you before and he was screaming now. 

“I took it to a man across town,” you said quickly.  “He said he might be able to fix it or find a good replacement and…” 

“I don’t want it fucking fixed!” He screamed, pressing closer to you and you flinched back. “I want it the way it was! I want it the way it was when my daughter fucking died!” 

You stared at him for a second. He’d never told you about Sarah. He didn’t talk about her. It hurt too much to even consider it, he kept her to himself, her memory saved for quiet spaces where he could let it overwhelm him. 

“Your daughter?” You whispered, reaching for him. He stepped back from you, couldn’t handle your fucking hands on him, not now. “Joel, you never… I didn’t…” 

“She gave me that watch!” He wasn’t yelling now but there was a tremble in his voice, the barely contained rage slipping through. “She gave me that fucking watch and the day she died she got it fixed for me. It got fucked up by the bullets that killed her because I didn’t do my fucking job as her father, I didn’t protect her! That watch is all I have left of her and you…” He shook his head, his resolve cracking and yelling again. “You fucking gave it away! How could you be that fucking stupid? That fucking careless? What the fuck were you thinking!”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. You were crying, voice shaky. “I… I didn’t know, I just wanted…” 

“You think I give a shit what you want?” He yelled, towering over you. “Think I give a shit about you? You’re just some stupid fucking girl I use when I need to get off and you…” 

You were cowering back from him and he knew he was scaring you but he couldn’t feel anything past the sharp pain of loss enough to care. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice was so quiet he could barely hear you. “Joel, please…” 

He glared at you with so much force it made you flinch and stalked out your front door, not bothering to close it behind him. 

Joel took the stairs down to the street two at a time and set off, walking quickly as night fell and rain started in a steady drizzle over him. He could think of a few places you’d probably try to take the watch. If he could find it in time… with all the fucking smuggling connections he has in this godforsaken town. He had to be able to find it. He had to. 

But he searched all night, went to every goddamn black market dealer he could think of. He was only able to find about half of them, some out who the fuck knows where, and none of them had the watch. 

It was daylight again when he returned home, soaking wet and exhausted. He glared at your door as he passed, going to his place to shower and try to warm up. 

But without the distraction of searching, the desperate drive to do something because he could, he was forced to feel while standing in the steam and the water. 

The pain of the loss of his daughter was there, sharp and acute when he realized he may never again touch something she had also held. The permanence of that somehow making her loss more real than it had been in years. It was gutting. He’d rather be shot or stabbed or have the shit beaten out of him than feel this. At least that was tangible, something he could heal from and not this constant, consuming pain. 

But there was also you. You, who had become the only bright spot in this goddamn place. You, who held him when he woke up in a panic and told him that he was safe and that it would be OK. You, just about the only thing that had made him smile in years and who looked at him like he was something worth wanting. Looked at him like there was still a point to him at all. 

You’d tried to do something nice for him. You hadn’t known any better, he knew that. He’d just never let you in. Never even told you Sarah existed let alone about the way that she died. How he’d held her, how Tommy had to drag him away from her body, how all he’d wanted to do was join her and he couldn’t even do that right. He’d never told you any of it. He couldn’t blame you for that, not when he was already afraid of how much he cared about you. He was even more terrified of what he knew he could feel for you if he just let himself. It wouldn’t even be hard. Not feeling it was like fighting against gravity. It would only take one slip and he’d fall into it, he knew that. 

He got out of the shower and sighed, trying not to think about the watch. About the things he’d said to you. He’d been so panicked, so angry. He had tried to hurt you. Said things he knew were cruel because if he was hurting he wanted you to hurt, too. 

But he wasn’t proud of that. He didn’t want you to hurt. He wanted to take care of you and protect you. You were kind and thoughtful and this fucking place hadn’t chewed you up and spit you out yet. He wanted to help you stay that way. Instead, he’d tried to hurt you. 

He sighed and got dressed before going to knock on your door. It was your day off, he expected you to be home. Probably reading or baking something. Because apparently cooking all day during the week wasn’t enough, you had to do it on your day off, too. 

“Hey!” Your next door neighbor came outside but her face fell when she saw Joel. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were…” 

“I’ll tell ‘er you’re looking for her,” Joel said, looking back at the door, waiting for you to answer. But he didn’t even hear you inside. He frowned. He had a key, it just felt wrong to use it after the way he’d spoken to you but maybe he’d need to…

“Thanks,” your neighbor smiled, a plate in her hand. “She’s always making things for my daughter, I finally had enough extra to return the favor but I haven’t seen her since she left last night and…” 

“Last night?” Joel’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, when last night?” 

“Kind of late,” she frowned back. “After dark, I was just coming back home when I ran into her. Seemed like she was in a big hurry, looked like she might have been upset. I told her I had something for her and she said she’d be back later. I don’t think I missed her but…” 

Joel’s heart sped up and he shoved his hand in his pocket, finding his keys. He tuned out the neighbor and had to fight to keep his hands from shaking as he opened your door. 

Your apartment was still torn apart from when Joel had been searching it, couch cushions still all over the floor, coffee table askew. He ignored it, half walking, half running to your bedroom. 

“What happened?” Your neighbor hovered in the doorway. Joel ignored her, too. He looked in your room, still in total disarray but empty, your uniform on the floor where it hadn’t been before. Your bathroom was empty. 

“Fuck!” Joel smacked the wall. You’d left, gone somewhere and not come back. But you’d planned to come back, you’d told your neighbor that you were going to be back later and you hadn’t come home. He went to the woman in the doorway, her eyes still a bit wide as she took in the mess he’d made of your apartment. He took her by the shoulders and she blinked up at him in surprise. “Where was she going? Did she say? Tell you anything at all?” 

“N-no,” she stammered, frozen in Joel’s grip. “She didn’t, I’m sorry, I don’t…” 

Joel released her, running his fingers through his hair for a moment. Had you gone to try to get the watch back? He’d been so upset, so cruel… You must have. It seemed like something you would do, immediately go to try to fix it. He turned back to the woman, cursing the fact that he didn’t know this about you, that he had kept his distance from you so he wouldn’t know things about you and fall into you in the way that was so tempting to do. 

“Know what markets she goes to?” He asked. “Especially for any contraband shit?” She just blinked at him for a moment and he resisted the urge to yell at her. That’s what got him into this situation, losing his fucking temper at someone who didn’t deserve it. He took a deep breath, keeping his voice calm. “I think she went to look for something but I need to know where that would be so I can go find her. Do you know?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded after a moment. “Yeah, there’s one across town, in the south end. I’ve run into her there before…” 

Joel was out the door before she finished talking. It was one of the places he’d gone the night before but hadn’t found anyone to talk to. He certainly hadn’t seen you there. But it was at least a starting point. He’d find you. He had to. 

***

You stared at your open door for a few minutes after Joel left, in too much shock to move. 

Joel had a daughter. A daughter who died. The watch had been from her, of course he wouldn’t want it fixed, of course he would wear it every day. And you’d given it to some slimy guy in the contraband market. 

After a while, you could make yourself move. You closed your door and went to your room. Joel had turned that upside down, too. Of course he had. Because he was desperate and you’d made him that way. 

You got changed quickly, leaving your uniform in a pile on the floor, grabbed a handful of ration cards in case you needed to buy the watch back, and headed out. 

“Oh, hey!” Clara, your next door neighbor, almost ran into you on the stairs, her two-year-old on her hip. “I was just going to pop over, I made…” 

“That’s so sweet,” you cut her off. “But I’ve gotta run, I’m so sorry. I’ll be back later and should be around tomorrow…” 

“OK!” She called after you as you took off. “Be careful out there!” 

You moved as quickly as you could manage toward the market, hoping that you could find the man, that he hadn’t started doing anything to the watch, that everything would be OK. Even if Joel hated you now, he shouldn’t lose the one thing he still had from his daughter because you hadn’t thought to ask him about the damn watch. 

You breathed a sigh of relief when the man was still there, closing up shop, when you ran up. 

“Why hello again,” he smiled, a smile that was smug and lecherous. “Haven’t been home to check my stash for parts yet, pretty girl, but if you wanted to come back with me I bet I could find a way to give you an even bigger discount…” 

“That’s OK,” you said, a little breathless. “I actually just want the watch back, just the way it is…” 

He frowned. 

“It’s still pretty useless…” 

“That’s OK!” You said quickly. “Just… please. Please say you still have it.” 

He sighed and opened a box, rifling around in it for a moment before pulling it out. But he held onto it, running his thumb over the face of it. 

“I was expecting something for fixing this,” he said, glancing up at you before looking down at the watch. “Had plans for those cards…” 

You pulled a few ration cards from your pocket and held them out. 

“Please,” you said. Even though he hadn’t done any work. You didn’t care. “The cards are yours, just give me the watch.” 

He looked almost surprised that getting cards out of you had worked but he took them and gave you the watch. You looked at it for a moment, the broken glass in the face, the time frozen  at 2:15. You tucked it in your pocket, the fist that had been clenched around your heart loosening. 

“Thank you,” you smiled. “Just… Thank you.” 

You started at a more reasonable pace back for your apartment. You’d go to Joel’s, return the watch, apologize again and hope that he wouldn’t still hate you once you fixed it. At least you hoped he wouldn’t be hurting as much, he didn’t deserve that, not after everything he’d been through. You could fix that for him, at least. You had to. 

You were so relieved at getting the watch back that you weren’t paying close attention to your walk home. Yes, it was dark and raining and late but you knew the way and, since that day more than two years ago when Joel had saved you, everyone seemed to know you were protected. That you weren’t someone they messed with and expected to live. In hindsight, it made you feel like the QZ was safer than it was. So safe that you were fine walking home alone from a shady corner of town, far from FEDRA guard posts and people you knew. 

It was a stupid mistake. You realized that when you heard a voice in the dark. 

“Well well.” 

The sound sent a chill down your spine. You recognized that voice, the voice of the man who had tried to kill you once. 

You froze, eyes wide, an animal caught in a trap. 

“If it isn’t Joel Miller’s little FEDRA bitch,” Pickett emerged from the shadows, his hands in his pockets, a few men at his side. Your eyes darted between them. There were six of them that you could see. There was no way you could fight off that many. Hell, you probably couldn’t even fight off one. You’d never been a fighter. “Awful far from home aren’t ya?” 

“Heading there now,” you said, voice shaky. “Joel’s expecting me…” 

“Well that’s too bad, isn’t it?” He prowled closer. “Guess you’ll have to keep him waiting just a bit longer.” 

“You don’t want to do that,” you finally were able to make your legs move, backing away from him. “You know what he said…” 

“But he isn’t here, is he?” He smirked. “And he’s the one who left his little toy out for just anyone to take. If you mattered all that much to him, don’t think you’d be out here all alone at this time of night.” 

Your eyes darted, looking for the best way to run, but your mind was distracted. The man was right. You didn’t matter to Joel, he’d told you as much, that you were just some stupid girl he used when he needed it. You were just some stupid girl and you were going to wind up dead in the shitty part of the QZ and he’d never get the watch back, the one thing he had left of his daughter, because you’d been too stupid to ask about it. For some reason, that part hurt more than the thought of dying. There wasn’t much to life in the QZ, certainly not much that made life worth living. Joel had become the one thing you looked forward to. It was hard to mourn your own destruction when there wasn’t anything left that was really worth living for. 

You tried to run, slipping in the mud as you went. But you were turned around, too panicked to look at street signs or pay close enough attention and, when you wound up at a dead end, you were cornered, the men closing in on you as you backed into a wall. 

“Please,” you whispered. “It won’t make a difference to him or to FEDRA, if you want to hurt them, I’m not the way to do it and…” 

“Maybe not,” Pickett smiled in a way that was more like the bearing of teeth than an actual smile. “But you sure will be fun.” 

Your eyes were so glued to his that you didn’t even see it coming when the first blow sent you to the ground. 

***

Joel made it to the market in record time, out of breath and bones reminding him that he was in his 40s now and he’d spent his life breaking his body to survive. He scanned the stalls quickly, finding the man who was the most likely one you’d have gone to, watches and jewelry out on a table in front of him. As if anyone could afford that shit now anyway. 

“How can I help you?” The man asked, smiling up at Joel from his seat behind the table. “Looking for something special for a lady friend, perhaps?” 

“Looking for my…” he paused. Technically, you weren’t anything to him. “My friend. She would have come here yesterday with a watch…” 

“Oh,” he laughed. “Yeah, I know her. Such a pretty thing, a little disappointed she only decided to give me the time of day when she needed something…” 

“She was here?” Joel asked, brows raised. 

The man smirked. 

“Answers are gonna cost you.” 

Joel ground his teeth for a second before shooting his arm forward and roughly grabbing the back of the man’s neck, shoving his head down and slamming it into the table, the man giving a yelp of pain when his nose crushed against the wood. 

“Fuck!” He swore as Joel pressed his face against the table. He squirmed but Joel held him down. “Jesus Christ, man!” 

“Was. She. Here.” Joel’s teeth were clenched, his chest heaving. 

“She was here!” The man cried out and Joel released his neck. He panted for breath for a moment and sat up cautiously, cradling the back of his neck. “She was here, last night, she came by, wanted the watch back, she seemed desperate.” 

“Where’d she go from here?” Joel demanded. 

“What?” 

“Where!” Joel screamed, hand curling into a fist, ready to beat the answer out of him. 

“Back the way she came!” He covered his head with his arms. “Same place you came from what I could see, please!” 

Joel stepped back. 

“When was it?” 

“Late!” The man said quickly. “Late, she came by late. Right at the end of the day, I was closing up shop, it was dark and raining…” 

So you’d made it this far. You just hadn’t made it back home. 

“Anyone who runs around here who would give her trouble?” Joel asked. “Keep her from comin’ home?” 

“Plenty of people,” the man looked at him like he was insane. Joel glowered at him again and he flinched. “But most likely, Pickett’s gang, saw a few of them last night prowling around, they’ve been causing trouble around here lately. If she ran into trouble, it’s probably with them!” 

Joel nodded slowly. Pickett. He knew him. That was the man he’d saved you from before, the jackass had been building up a following of FEDRA hating idiots who seemed bent on causing trouble and hurting people as a way to feel strong by being cruel. 

He knew where to find them. 

Joel ran there, a crumbling building FEDRA hadn’t done anything with yet that he and Tommy had run drugs to a few times. He pulled the knife he kept at his belt free before he pushed the door open. Whether you were here or not, these were men he wouldn’t care about killing. 

The first one was just inside the door. Probably meant to be standing guard but not paying attention, flipping through an old Playboy instead. Joel caught him off guard. He wrapped his hand around the handle of the knife and used it to bolster his punch, the blow landing so hard the man fell backwards off his stool. Joel kicked his gun away and kneeled on the man’s chest, putting the blade to his throat. 

“Your boss bring a woman here last night?” Joel asked. 

“Not your business, is it?” The man sneered. Joel ground his teeth, covering the man’s mouth to muffle his screams before taking the knife in his hand and thrusting it into the man’s shoulder. Joel waited until he quieted some, gasping below his palm, before he spoke again. 

“Scream and I’ll gut you like a fuckin’ fish,” Joel snarled. “Now I’m just about done askin’ nicely. Did your boss bring a woman here last night?” 

“Yes!” He said, pleading. “He did, she’s still here, I think she’s still alive, they’re on the second floor, please…” 

Joel freed the knife and thrust it into the man’s throat. He didn’t need him anymore. He picked up the gun. 

It was easy, finding you then. He shot men as they approached, only half a dozen or so between him and you. But none of them were Pickett. 

He found the room he was sure you were in, two men stationed at the door who fired at him when he came around the corner. He ducked out of sight, readied his stolen weapon and exposed himself just enough to shoot. He dropped them both before they could land a shot on him. He took their ammo and changed his clip before listening at the door for a moment. It was quiet. 

Joel opened the door slowly, cautiously, but he didn’t need to. You were the only one inside, on the ground in an unnatural looking position. He holstered the gun and ran to you, kneeling beside your prone form. There was a rattle in your breath and you’d been beaten to hell. Even in the dim light, he could see the cuts on your skin, the parts of you he could see swollen and discolored. They’d savaged you, your body broken and bleeding, and you’d only been out here because of him. Because he’d been so angry at you for something that wasn’t your fault. Fuck, you were the only thing left he cared about besides Tommy and you were bleeding because of him. If you died because of him, if he’d failed you the way he’d failed Sarah…

“Please,” you rasped, trying to lift your head but giving up, your eyes closed. Your voice surprised Joel, he hadn’t expected you to be conscious. “Please… I don’t…” 

“It’s OK Baby Doll,” Joel said, his voice thick. “It’s me, you’re OK now. Gonna take real good care of you, you’re alright…” 

“Joel?” You lifted your head and managed to open one eye. The other was swollen shut. “Joel, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” 

Before he had a chance to stop you from moving, you reached a shaky hand into the pocket of your jeans and pulled out the watch. You held it out to him, your fingers bloody. 

“I don’t think it’s any more broken,” you winced. “I tried to protect it, I’m sorry…” 

He took it from you, your blood on the face and the band, a tightness in his throat he was struggling to breathe around. 

“S’OK Baby Doll,” he said, putting it on his wrist quickly and reached for your head, to try to brush some bloody hair back from your skin, but you flinched away from him. “Nothin’ to be sorry for, it’s not your fault, none of this is your fault.” 

You took a deep, shaky breath like you were going to argue with him, but you didn’t get the chance. 

“Look who it is.” 

Joel stiffened, getting to his feet slowly, turning to face him. 

“Almost expected you to not show up,” Pickett smiled. “She seemed damn sure she didn’t mean anything to ya, swore up and down that you wouldn’t even notice she was gone.” Joel’s stomach twisted. “Took you so long I was starting to believe her.” 

Pickett prowled closer. 

“Course I’d hoped she’d be enough to draw you out,” he said. “Getting tired of tip-toeing around you and your fuckin’ brother. But if she wasn’t, at least she was fun. Didn’t even get a chance to let my guys have the real fun with her yet, though. Figured I’d see if we could knock her teeth out first, bet she’d suck real good then. But looks like you took care of them, so I guess she’s off the hook.” 

Joel roared and lunged for Pickett, swinging for him as he did. The other man had either underestimated Joel or overestimated himself, because he tried to dodge him and failed, Joel’s shoulder catching him in the chest and sending him sprawling to the ground. Before he had a chance to even get his bearings, Joel was on top of him, screaming as he pummeled him, raining the blows down on his face again and again and again. 

For the first time since you’d disappeared, Joel felt like he was really doing something. This man had taken you, hurt you, was going to do more to you. Joel was doing what he was supposed to do. He was protecting you. He felt it in every blow he landed on the man’s face, in every collapsing structure below his skin, in every splash of blood. It wasn’t until he had stopped breathing and the blood had stopped pouring from his open wounds that he stilled, panting for breath as he looked at the mangled face of the man below him. 

He stood, flexing his hand and looking at it, the split open knuckles, the mix of your blood and his own and Pickett’s on the watch. He wiped his hand on his shirt and went back to you, kneeling again. 

“Joel,” you whimpered. 

“He’s dead,” Joel said, his voice thick. “They’re all dead. Warned ‘em. Told ‘em what would happen if they fucked with you.” 

He watched you work to swallow around your damaged throat as you nodded. 

“You’re safe now,” he said softly, fingertips gently tracing your face where you didn’t look battered. You flinched at first but relaxed. “Need to wait a bit to take you home. Too bright outside right now, FEDRA fucks would stop us…” 

“Don’t need to worry about me,” you struggled to sit up for a moment before giving up and going limp on the floor. “It’s OK. Already did more than you should have. Go home in case FEDRA comes poking around and…” 

“Not leaving you here,” he said gruffly. 

You winced as you swallowed and fought to open the one eye you could. 

“Don’t put yourself at risk for me,” you managed. “I’m not worth it, you know that and…” 

“You’re worth it, Baby Doll,” he said softly, his hand on your face. “About the only thing in this fuckin’ place that is.”

You flinched as you frowned. 

“No,” you shook your head a little. “No, you said…” 

“Don’t matter what I said,” he cut you off, trying to ignore the stabbing guilt in his chest. Fuck, the things he’d said to you. “I didn’t mean it, didn’t mean a fuckin’ word of it. I was pissed at myself, I was hurting, I took it out on you and I never should have said or done any of it, Baby Doll, never. I didn’t mean it, not a word of it and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it back, I wish I could take all of it back…” 

He lay beside you, delicately holding your face, his eyes tracing over you. He memorized the damage done, the signs of all the pain he knew you were in. All because he hadn’t told you about Sarah, because he’d hurt you, because he’d failed you. He wouldn’t do that again. He was not going to let you suffer because of him again. You tried to move closer to him but he put his hand on your hip and held you still, instead moving toward you. You winced as you pressed against him but it didn’t stop you. He held you gently, feeling you breathe against him. 

“I’m sorry, Joel,” your voice was muffled. “I didn’t mean to, I promise…” 

“Shh,” he hushed you, tears stinging his eyes. He’d done this to you. Made you feel like, even this broken, it was your fault. “It’s not your fault. None of it. I’ve got you, Baby Doll. Gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good care of you if you let me. Please let me.” 

You were quiet, passing out against him. He held you like that, letting himself feel for you, letting himself fall into that dangerous place with you. He stopped fighting the gravity of loving you until it was dark enough to safely carry you home.

He got you cleaned up, patching you up as best he could before giving you some pain meds from a stash he hadn’t traded away yet and carrying you to bed. He held you there, too, his body curved around yours, shielding you from anything that could hurt you and promised himself, silently, that he’d never see you like this again. Because he was going to take care of you. He was going to protect you, he was going to love you, until there was nothing else left of him and he was dead and gone. 

He ran a gentle hand over your head and pressed a kiss to your hair, the glass of the watch reflecting the light of the moon, sending fractured splotches of light on your wall. He wasn’t going to fail again. That much, Joel knew. 

[griffther]

there’s so many ppl enabling me in the notes of this post, so here enjoy some Thoughts i’ve had about the nurseydex maine road trip so far:

they do a road trip up the coast of maine over fall break their senior year so that nursey can see acadia national park while the leaves are changing

william “acts of service” poindexter decides that it is his Responsibility as nursey’s captain and fellow d-man to become maine’s official tour guide barbie. he plans the entire thing out and even prints them little itineraries and maps and shit because this boy is nothing is not Efficient

nursey makes them stop to see every single lighthouse they go anywhere near just to be a little shit (there are 65 lighthouses in maine, this would take So Long even if you just stopped at like a quarter of them)

the only canonical reference i could find for any actual locations in maine in the comic is that dex said his uncle who owned the lobster fishing boat he worked on over the summers lived in portland

(a side note to the above, i find this hilarious. portland is an pretty solidly liberal urban city - imagine a very small boston - and not somewhere you’re very likely to find small family-owned lobster fishing boats, at least in my experience. it would make way more sense for his uncle to live somewhere like rockland but i digress)

dex is 100% positive that nursey would Love portland so he carves out two whole days of their trip for them to stay with his uncle and explore. they go to the art museum and old port and the port head lighthouse and the top of the world lookout at fort sumner park and all the little shops and hidden places dex had found from living there every summer for years

nursey does end up loving portland but it might be more about the boy that shows it to him

even though his uncle lives in portland, i am still personally convinced that dex’s family mostly lives around the rockland area. i will go on a rant about nursey meeting dex’s close family another time, but while they’re in rockland, nursey continues his dedication to seeing all the lighthouses he can by forcing dex to make the almost mile long trek out to the breakwater lighthouse with him (don’t think about them standing alone next to this little building almost a mile out from land. the wind is chilly and strong and it makes dex’s hair look ridiculous and his cheeks flush and nursey definitely doesn’t want to kiss him ITS FINE ITS CHILL)

dex has them make a detour up to bangor and surprises nursey with going to see stephen king’s house. he doesnt understand why people are interested in looking at some dudes house At All but he does know nursey would love it so he does it anyways. the fence is cool and nursey gets so excited he almost face plants jumping out of the car, so dex counts it as a success

some random places i feel like dex would make them stop at along the way: freeport (nursey is both so confused and so delighted by just Everything about that place, but he loses his mind over the mcdonald’s and the ll bean outlet), ogunquit (dex purposefully takes highway 1 instead of the maine turnpike going towards portland so that they drive through ogunquit and he can see nursey’s face when he realizes they’re driving through the single gayest town he’s ever seen in his life and it’s in southern maine), moose point state park (there are a billion lil state parks in maine but i just randomly like this one in particular idk i think it’s cute), camden hills state park (it’s too foggy when they get there to drive up to the top so nursey makes them go on a hike instead so they didn’t “waste their time.” they get lost within like 10 minutes and are wet from the fog by the time they make it back to the car like 2 hours later), the desert of maine (it’s kinda boring to dex bc he’s seen it a dozen times since he was a kid, but nursey gets enthralled by the science behind it so it’s worth it), cushing (this is where the famous painter andrew wyeth lived at the olson house and was the subject of a lot of his work and i just feel like nursey would have fun seeing this place)

when they eventually make it to acadia, nursey ends up spending like two solid hours just sitting at sargent peak staring out over everything and desperately scrawling out lines of poetry into his notebook (dex spends most of those 2 hours staring at nursey but somehow doesn’t notice that nursey definitely isn’t writing about the scenery)

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Lost Boys

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Superfam

Summary: After Jonathan Lane Kent wipes himself from existence by canceling his own timeline, he finds himself stuck in the afterlife where he meets Jason Todd. He still wonders about the life un-lived on Earth, and how his parents would've felt about him.

Jason Todd, who is making the most of being dead, struggles with the reality of what he's left behind. He has one wish and one wish only: to send his family one final message.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jonathan Lane Kent (Laney), Jason Todd, Catherine Todd, Boston Brand, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, John Constantine, Raven, Talia al Ghul, Ra's al Ghul, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake

Relationships: Platonic JayLaney

Additional Tags: Angst, Platonic Relationships, Magical Jason Todd, Resurrected Jason Todd, Queerplatonic Relationships, Canon Divergent AU, POV Multiple

Chapter One: I'm Just A Kid (Laney's POV)

He belonged in heaven. I don't mean that in a he-was-too-soft-for-this-world way or a he-was-the-most-beautiful-thing-I'd-ever-seen way. Jason never looked more at home than when he was in heaven being my best friend... Hell, he was my only friend.

I remember when I met him. I'd just come out of the fog of wiping myself from existence, and I was all alone. I spent who knows how long by myself before the day at the lake changed everything. I dipped my feet in the water and watched as the fish swam past. Freshwater fish had such engaging colors. I often spent my days there watching them swim around. It was always the same group of fish.

That day, in particular, I was overcome by loneliness, and I found myself crying. I just wanted it to end. I wanted to end the loneliness, and I thought if I could die somehow for good that the pain would be over.

I wanted to throw myself into the lake and sink to the bottom, and just before I could muster up the courage to do anything, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Mind if I join you?" the voice asked. I turned to face the source with tears in my eyes, and when I saw how Jason was dressed, I laughed.

"Hey! It's not that funny," he replied, "I'm Jason... Can I join you?"

"I was gonna drown myself, and it'd be awkward if—."

"I was around to watch?" Jason interrupted. "I don't think it works like that up here." He took off his pixie boots and dipped his foot in the water. "I don't suppose you took it into consideration that we're already dead."

"I don't know," I mumbled, "I was just thinking maybe I could—. Wait, how have I been alone so long, and why'd you just show up today?"

"I've never wandered out this way. If that's why you're doing this, I'm here now, I know where all the other people are," Jason whispered, "You still haven't told me your name."

"I don't exist anymore," I replied.

He walked around on his hands and plopped down right next to me. "Doesn't matter if you exist anymore or not. I'm sure you had a name before. What was your name when you existed?" Jason asked. He didn't look directly at me. Instead, he stared at the horizon.

"Jonathan Lane Kent," I answered.

"Laney?" he suggested.

"Sure... I guess," I replied. I hated it, but I didn't really feel like being Jonathan anymore.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked.

After sitting with him for what felt like hours, he got up to leave, and I grabbed his hand. "Please," I begged. I couldn't bear to be alone again. He squeezed my hand, and he took me to a cottage.

Jason stopped at the door. "This is my favorite part of being here," Jason whispered with a big smile on his face. "Ma! I'm home!"

She opened the door and embraced him, and he introduced me to her. "This is my Ma, Catherine," Jason replied as he went into the kitchen and set the table.

Something in me felt sorry for him. I almost forgot how badly I felt before I met him. He made my plate, and I stood there wondering why he felt the need to make dinner for dead people. I stood in the doorway and watched as he worked, and I pushed a hand through my hair. "Laney, you eat beef?" Jason asked. I nodded.

We all sat at the table and started to eat. Catherine doted on him and fixed his collar, and they talked about the food and their life. I was too busy stuffing my face to include myself in the conversation. The food was good. I hadn't tasted anything in so long. Their cottage was so warm and inviting that I almost forgot I wasn't alive. "Have any family you might want to see here?" Catherine asked. I shook my head. "Well, you can stay with us."

I smiled at her. I could see where Jason got his warmth. He poured me a glass of juice, and something in his eyes seemed sad. "So, who are you?" Jason asked. "Who are your parents?"

"My parents?" I asked. Jason nodded. "Clark and Lois Kent... Superman and Lois Lane? I dunno if they're even—."

"I figured, I just wanted to make sure," Jason whispered, "But you don't seem like—."

"I wasn't raised by them. It's a long story," I interrupted. Jason nodded. "But I don't exist anymore, so I don't really belong to anyone."

"Belong to?" Jason and Catherine questioned me at the same time, and I went back to eating. I didn't know what to say. I just didn't want to speak anymore.

The dinner seemed neverending. Part of me didn't want it to end. When the day as we knew it was over, we lay out among the stars, and I stared up at the sky. I wanted the night to stretch on forever. I thought that if the night ended that everything would be over. I thought I'd be alone again. "I was sad at first, but I think it's okay that I'm dead," Jason stated. I turned to look at him as tears streamed down the side of his face. "I um—. I miss him, though." He sniffed, and I turned on my side and reached for his shoulder before stopping myself.

"Who?" I asked. He turned his head away from me.

"Bruce... I mean, I know I'm better off here, but I—. No. I know... I just want to say it... I never said it when I was alive," Jason cried. "He was more of a dad to me than my own—. He was my dad. I just want to talk to him one more time."

I brushed his hand with my pinkie and looked back up at the sky. "I killed a lot of people, Jason... I don't know. I um—. I had to erase myself from existence to keep from messing up the entire—. I don't think my dad would want to talk to me even if I—."

He took a sharp inhale of air, and I sat up. Before I could try to say anything else, Jason wrapped his arms around me, and he held me. "We're never gonna grow up, Laney," he mumbled into my shoulder, and I burst into tears. It was the first time in my life that anyone ever just held me, and the first time I realized that I was just a kid too. We stayed there underneath the stars until the sun came out.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

When It All Falls Down [a Frankie/Joel x f!reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us / Triple Frontier

Ship: Joel Miller x you/reader, Frankie Morales x you/reader (cishet f reader)

Tags/warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, major angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Grief/Mourning, Death of a loved one, Assault, Blood and Injury, executions, Implied Suicide Attempt, Miscarriage, Loss, frankie and joel are both soft but in very different ways, cunnilingus, fellatio, piv sex, bad sex good sex all is sex, choking, pls tell me if I missed anything this one is a lot.

Summary: You live in the Boston QZ, trying to get by, when you become involved with a certain Joel Miller.

Words: 14,098 (oops)

A/N: Holy cow I started writing this almost six months ago when the show started! It was meant to be a very different kind of story but as it dragged on, it changed. Now I'm just happy to have finished it. I don't know if this fic is a dead dove but I just want you guys to be safe. Be aware that it's pretty heavy and there is definitely not a super comforting happy ending. But there is a certain kind of closure. Read at your own risk and let me know if I missed a warning.

Darkness lies thick around you when you stumble into the tiny apartment that is your so-called home. Exhausted yet wired, you take your time washing, and having a drink, knowing you can't fall asleep anyway until you take the two pills you got from the dealer with the salt-and-pepper hair and beard. He has an aura of danger around him, but you've never felt afraid so far. You carry an assault rifle, after all. He's surely armed as well but yours is fully visible, and your fatigues and ravaged face will let surely let him know that you are a force to be reckoned with.

Eventually, you find yourself drawn towards the narrow bed. You pick up the bottle of liquor that was no doubt made in a toilet, shake out the precious pills from a small plastic bag in your breast pocket, and down them with some generous gulps of the piss-colored liquid. It burns its way down your throat, warms your belly, and with a deep sigh, your collapse on the bed. As you look up at the ceiling, you see the flaking paint dance before your eyes, not from the drugs and the alcohol, but from sheer exhaustion. You turn onto your side and press your eyes shut and make your brain go blank.

Almost asleep, you hear the front door open and close. Too groggy to care about making sure it's not an intruder, you immediately recognize the footsteps anyway. They echo the tiredness you feel in your body, and the mattress dips heavily when your husband lies down next to you. You scoot back clumsily, longing to see him. His face is lined with the same hard years as yours is, but he has managed to preserve a glow of humanity in his kind eyes. You love that for him, and now you find yourself smiling.

"Hi," he smiles back, touching your cheek with calloused fingers.

"Hi."

"I missed you."

"I missed you."

"Are you okay?"

You nod, and a sad kind of mirth flashes by in Frankie's eyes.

"Liar."

"I feel better now that you're here."

"Me too."

You raise your hand to his cheek, mirroring his gentle caressing of your skin. His scratchy beard is growing long enough to almost cover the bald spots along his jawline, but your thumb finds them nevertheless.

"Will you shave tomorrow?" you ask, feeling an inexplicable desire to see those spots, kiss them like you used to back when the world was normal and he kept his facial hair a little tidier.

"Just so that you can point out to me that I'm unable to grow a beard?"

"That's not it at all..."

"We'll see, sweetheart. Now sleep."

You touch your forehead to his, and only then can you let yourself be dragged under by the pills.

///

The sun is beating down from a clear blue sky. Your mouth is filled with cotton, and it doesn't make it any better that the smoke from the burning bodies is somehow finding its way to your tower. The smell of burning flesh should make you gag, but it doesn't, not anymore. The smoke, however, irritates your lungs.

"Goddammit," you hear Peters, your guard partner for the day, cough behind you. "We need a big fucking fan."

"Rain would be better," you reply, looking around you, seeing nothing but blue skies.

"Rain just impregnates the smell into the clothes."

He's right, of course, but you still wouldn't mind rain. Looking around you in the guard tower, you stop when you notice movement some distance away. Frowning, you stop still and wait to see it again.

"You got something?" Peters asks, having noticed the change in your posture.

"I got something," you confirm in a mumble. He lifts his rifle to look through the scope, searching for a moment before finding it.

"That's a goner," he shakes his head as he lowers the weapon. You grab the walkie at your belt and call it in. Soon after, a trio of soldiers appear on the other side of the wall. They close in on the wandering figure and shot rings out. You watch indifferently as the figure drops where it stands. Shortly after, your walkie crackles, and the kill is confirmed.

Peters coughs again, and the day continues in the same manner.

When you're relieved of your watch, your closest superior wants to speak to you.

"FEDRA HQ is sending us more soldiers," he tells you, ”So we won't be needing you at the moment. Report at the job office."

You merely nod. There is nothing to say, and you know that you were on watch duty by necessity only. You were never a soldier, Frankie was. When the world went to shit, he taught you everything he knew, and he knew a lot. You went from never having touched a gun to a weapons expert in six months. Your sinister competence was probably the only reason you were still alive.

You relinquish your rifle, missing the heavy weight of it in your hands, and change into civilian clothes. There is no hurry to take a new job, nobody is keeping tabs on you, but you are used to keeping busy. The alternative is going back to your so-called home and spend the rest of the day doing nothing by yourself. And that is not an option.

You draw the worst number imaginable: arrival clinic. The place where new arrivals either get checked for infectious diseases, or receive a lethal injection that kills them immediately. You'd much rather be burning bodies. At least those are covered, and already dead. It's a lot worse trying to avoid looking a person in their despairing eyes right before you stick a deadly needle into their arm.

It's just a job, you remind yourself as you're changing into medical scrubs and a face mask. You've done it before, so you just nod at the medical officer and start to make yourself useful. The uninfected ones have to undergo tests that you find intrusive, but you don't think about that.

A new patient is rolled in on a gurney: a young woman. She's softly sobbing, a sound which does not affect you, but then you hear the quiet whimper and realize that she's holding a swaddled baby in her arms. You stop still, stomach dropping and filling with ice.

"The baby is sick," the medical officer explains briefly, and you know what that means: there's something else ailing it, not infection. You see the officer prepare a syringe, and  know what it means: the mother is infected, and must be disposed of. Despite how revolting you find your actions, you still take the baby from the protesting mother.

"No, please, I have to hold her, she's sick, please, don't take her from me..."

You swallow hard, unwanted images flashing through your head. It becomes a little difficult to breathe as you take the baby out of the room, ignoring the mother's pleas that are turning louder and more desperate. You look down at the baby and see from its dull eyes that it is not well. Unswaddling it, you find that it is looking malnourished, and is burning up with fever. The thermometer reveals a temperature of 103.

It's a miracle this baby is still alive, but you can tell it won't be for long.

You leave it in the plastic bassinet and re-enter the procedure room, where the mother is dozing off. Her face is shining with tears. She's younger than you, maybe the same age you were when...

"The baby?" the officer asks without looking up.

"High fever. Dehydrated and malnourished," you tell him bluntly. He nods.

"Better to let it go to sleep. We don't have the resources anyway."

You don't question it, you just prepare the injection and administer it yourself. More fuel for the fire that's stinking up someone else's lungs now.

///

It's dark when you're let off your shift. On heavy feet, you drag yourself home. No interest in food or hygiene, you plop down on the threadbare couch and start to drink. For every time you raise the bottle to your lips, the sound of the crying mother is turned down a little in your head. You decide to not stop drinking until either the bottle is empty, or Frankie comes home. Luckily for your liver, Frankie arrives not long after.

Blearily, you look up at him, expecting scorn but receiving sympathy. How does he do it, how does he remain so humane?

"Rough day?" he asks quietly. You rub your neck with a joyless bark.

"Every day is rough now."

"I'll get you your pills."

He comes back with two of them, but you shake your head.

"Three," you mumble throatily. You crave oblivion tonight.

"Not with liquor."

You grunt in dissatisfaction but accept the two pills, down them with yet another gulp of toilet booze, and relinquish the bottle to Frankie. He puts it to the side table and offers you his hand.

"Come on, let's go to bed."

He holds you as the world dances, kisses your clammy forehead as he lays you down on the bed.

"I'm not up for this anymore, Frankie," you tell him quietly, speaking words that you can barely allow yourself to even think. "I'm not strong enough."

"Of course you are," your husband tells you gently, stroking the hair out of your face. "You are way stronger than I ever was. You were always the backbone of our family, my love. You suffered through all those years when I was overseas. You held everything together when I was on my coke adventure. You found the strength to forgive me and take me back."

You giggle drunkenly.

"That sounds like a kids' movie. Francisco's great coke adventure."

He scoffs. "Not a movie I'd let my kids watch."

Your mirth disappears just as fast as it came, and now your eyes fill with tears. Being reminded of kids with Frankie breaks your already shattered heart.

"She would have been fifteen now..." you start to sob, hiding your face in the lumpy pillow. Frankie sighs deeply.

"I know. I miss her too. I think about her every day."

Your body starts to shake as you remember the lifeless weight of your baby in your arms.

"I don't want to do this anymore," you break down, shaking and crying into the pillow as your hands fist into the sheets. "I'm done, I can't do it!"

Frankie watches you patiently as he softly caresses your back, letting you cry it out without saying anything. It's not your first time and it won't be your last.

When you finally fall asleep, your head aches from both the crying and the beginning of a hangover, and you have lost your voice from screaming into the pillow.

///

The days keep coming, one after the other, with never-ending relentlessness. You go to your designation at the clinic, put your work in, return home, sometimes by way of the rations office. When you run out of pills, you seek out the man who resembles a graying yet still fierce watchdog. Meeting him in a secluded backyard, you ask for the usual amount but find out that he's all out.

"When are you getting more?" you ask, fingertips tapping together in your pocket at the thought of the sleepless nights you are sure to have until you can get your hands on more drugs.

"Unclear at the moment."

"When will there be clarity?" you bark, annoyed at the non-answer. He towers above you, as if reminding you of his size.

"Do we have a problem?"

"No," you mutter, in no mood to start a fight despite your desperation. He nods in agreement.

"Good." He pauses, before adding: "Check back in a few days."

Abruptly, you spin around on your heel, and leave. On your way back to your apartment building you notice after a while that you are being followed. Slinking into a narrow passage between two buildings, you hide behind a couple of trash cans, crouching low as you pull a knife from your boot. You don't have your gun; bringing it with you to work is too risky, you would be arrested if a FEDRA agent found it on you.

The sounds of voices and heavily booted feet come closer. At least three men are talking amongst themselves about you. One voice sounds familiar: it belongs to an absolute asshole who has been on you before for working for FEDRA.

Shit. You press yourself against the cold wall, hoping they'll pass by. You have no chance of fighting them all, and you don't want to know what they'd do to you if they got their hands on you.

You are about to find out. The steps come closer, and then one of them is standing right in front of you. You slash at his legs, feeling the impact before he kicks at you, his boot hitting your arm that you managed to raise to shield your face, but the momentum brings your arm up to your face, and you're knocked down on the ground. The knife clatters somewhere next to you but you don't know where, and in the next second you're curling up on your side, gasping for air from the kick you received to your stomach.

"You fucking cunt!"

The pain is blinding but when the second kick comes, you manage to wrap your arms around the foot. Twisting your aching body, you pull your attacker down. Next thing you know, you are being battered with kicks from several feet, and you make yourself as small as possible, try to protect your head.

You are pulled up and slammed into the wall. Spitting blood, you try to focus your gaze on your assailants, but your vision is blurry and impaired by a quickly swelling eye.

"You'll regret this."

Hands close around your neck, cutting off your air supply. Panic rises in you, floods your limbs, making you kick and flail with your last ounces of strength, choked protests pressing out between your lips.

Your salvation comes not from your fighting, but the chain around your neck.

"What's this?" The grip loosens a little, fingers pluck at the chain.

"There's someone coming." Another voice warns. "Finish her off."

The rings on the chain around your neck get pulled out from underneath your shirt and you start kicking again.

"Is this gold?"

A snap, and the chain breaks. The familiar clink of the two rings in the palm of someone else's hand makes you furious.

"Give them back!" you scream, but the words only come out as hoarse whispers. You throw yourself at the shape closest to you but only fall to the hard, cold ground as the assailant side-steps your pitiful attack. You receive one last kick to your ribs before the sound of heavy boots running away thunders in your ears.

"Fuckers," you croak, fumbling to get up, but failing as your ribs and stomach hurt too much.

New footsteps close in, the accompanying crackle of walkie-talkies telling you it's probably FEDRA. You think you recognize one of the voices but by the time the agents are with you, you have lost consciousness.

///

Ten minutes is the total amount of time that you were willing to spend in the clinic after you woke up. A fractured rib and countless bruises as well as an eye swollen shut and a bleeding lip is not enough to keep you in one of the sad hospital beds. The physician shrugs and dismisses you, and when you stumble out onto the street, Peters from guard duty is waiting for you.

"Figured you wouldn't stay," he shakes his head and starts to walk alongside you.

"You don't need to escort me."

"No, I don't. But I choose to do it."

You walk in silence for a few blocks before glancing at him.

"Did you catch them?"

"Do we ever?"

You grunt, your aching head already trying to plan for how to find them yourself. You need those rings back. Gold has no worth today, not like it used to, and the rings mean nothing to anyone but you. The loss of them is like a void in your chest, and your neck feels naked without the chain.

"You okay?" Peters asks.

"Sure."

"I saw the medical officer. You don't have to come in for a couple of days."

"That was unnecessary. I need to work."

"You can barely stay on your feet."

He's right, but you're not going to give him that. Reaching your apartment building, you just tell him bye before slipping through the front door. Almost succumbing to the three flights of stairs, you eventually reach your front door. Not until you are on the other side, locking the door and sliding the deadbolt, do you allow your body to sag, the tears to rise.

The physician gave you pain pills, and you down them with alcohol, all at once. Then you drink until you pass out on the bed.

It's late morning when you wake up, head throbbing, body immovable in its soreness. You blink at the sunlight, groan and turn your face away from it.

"My poor girl."

Frankie's voice is soothing right next to your ear.

"I lost them, Frankie," you whisper, unable to open your eyes and look at him. "Our rings."

"It doesn't matter. You're alive, that's what matters."

"It matters to me."

"They're just items."

"Symbols of our love."

"I loved you before I put a ring on your finger, and I love you after it's gone."

You start to sob, each one tearing through your body like a bullet through flesh.

"I know you're hurting, baby, but you gotta keep going." Frankie's encouragement is quiet and sad: he knows how hard it is for you, how unbearably tired you are.

"You can do it." He wraps his arm around you, very gently so as not to hurt you, and his lips are wonderfully cool against your hot forehead. "I know you can."

Sleep returns to temporarily release you from your pain.

///

"Frankie, she's not breathing!"

"Lemme see."

You cradle the still baby against your chest: the chest in which your heart has stopped beating. You're barely breathing yourself anymore, at least it doesn't feel like you are. If your baby is no longer breathing, how can you?

Frankie checks your child for a pulse, his grim face slowly falling apart when he realizes that which you don't want to acknowledge: that the fever has finally taken your daughter away from this burning world.

Halfway to the nearest town in which you had hoped to find a doctor, he turns the pickup around and return to the Millers' ranch, where you had taken refuge as soon as the cities started to empty because of spreading infection. You hug your baby to you the whole way. When you come back, William and Benjamin step out on the porch. They know how far it is to the nearest town, and that your early return only means one thing.

Frankie starts to dig a grave in the backyard that very same evening. You stand next to him in the twilight, still holding your child. When it's time to put her in the ground, the tears finally come.

///

The empty hollow in your chest is a stark contrast to the mind-numbing soreness of your body. How you manage to get out of bed and use the bathroom is beyond you. Returning to bed with an unopened bottle of moonshine - your last one - you force yourself to remember the dreamed memory of how you lost your daughter. In dark moments, such as this one, you think that it was for the best. What kind of a world is this to raise a child in? A fever is a lot less dramatic than getting bitten, infected, shot, burned. At least now she got to go to sleep peacefully in your arms. You buried her. Benny played a song on his old guitar and sang with a quivering voice. It meant so much to you.

The following year was hell. Frankie was just as heartbroken as you were, but he was the one who kept the marriage alive. Every time you pushed him away, he held you tighter. When you finally appeared from the tarry, stinking hole of grief, you discovered that you loved him more than ever. Loss makes some couples grow apart, but you had grown together. It was your salvation.

You take a swig from the bottle and grimace. Your head is pounding, and you can't remember the last time you ate anything. Alcohol poisoning is starting to feel very real, but you find it hard to give a shit. What more is there to live for, really?

Hunting down and killing those assholes who took your rings.

The thought sobers you up enough to put the bottle away. Sniffling from the pain, you heave yourself up from the bed, drag yourself to the bathroom where you vomit almost neatly, like it was planned all along.  Avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you turn on the water in the shower, undress, and step into the cold, slow drizzle. You stand there until the shower runs out of water and you are shaking. Slowly, wincing with pain every time you move a muscle, you dry yourself, put on clean clothes, and leave your apartment.

The heat of the afternoon sun feels good, but you don't reflect on it as you limp with purpose through the crowd moving on streets of the QZ. Your stomach complains of hunger, and you're dehydrated, but the mission at hand is more important right now.

You find the drug dealer at work, burning bodies. The lower half of his face is covered by a kerchief against the smoke and smell, but you'd recognize those shoulders anywhere. Without hesitation, you walk up to him as he makes his way from the pyre to the back of a truck. You can see the dead bodies stacked there, like logs. Or spoilt meat.

"I need to talk to you."

He recognizes you, and there is a split second of dismay when he sees your beat-up face before he squares his shoulders and looks at you with disinterest.

"I don't have anything to sell."

"It's not that." You step in front of him when he tries to get past you. "You know where I can find the people who did this to me."

Even with his mouth covered, you can see the tightness in his lips.

"Why would I help you?" He pushes past you, and you glance towards the armed FEDRA guard further away. He's not paying you any attention, so you follow the man to the truck and watch him lift another body from it.

"I have no idea," you confess, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the dead weight in his arms. It's easier to just think of the bodies as firewood, not the physical home of a once living person.

"I'd be in your debt," you try. He barely even looks at you.

"There's nothing I want from you."

"I can get you drugs," you tell him quickly. It's not a good idea, you're fully aware of that: every supply and every pill in the medical center is zealously accounted for, and you don't even have access to anything worthwhile. But he doesn't need to know that.

"I work at the clinic," you explain, now in a lower voice so that not one word will carry over to the FEDRA guard. The man stops, now eyeing you up and down.

"Why would you risk it?" he wants to know.

"I really need to get my hands on the men. They took something from me."

He grunts, leaning his weight on one leg and hooking his thumbs through the belt hoops of his jeans as he considers your offer. Eventually, he nods.

"What did they look like?"

///

Two days later, you're working in the clinic when FEDRA brings in man they found wandering outside the quarantine zone. He's middle-aged and a little malnourished but seems to be in otherwise good condition. He's brought in in handcuffs, and the agent leading him in gives you a little headshake.

The man's infected. You purse your lips, annoyed at the agents for not just shooting the man on the spot. Why do they have to bring them in here, where you have to pretend like they're not just about to die?

"How do you feel?" you ask lightly. "Any fever? Nausea?"

"I'm tired and hungry, I've walked for days - "

"You'll receive a meal and a bed shortly," you interrupt, grabbing the scanner so that you can check the man's status for yourself. The field agents sometimes bang up their scanners, so you don't trust them to give a correct reading.

The scanner's red light seals his fate. You hold the device away from him so he won't see it. Not that it matters: he must himself know that he's been bitten.

"I'll just give you a little shot of antibiotics," you tell him, turning your back to him as you prepare a syringe. "It's standard procedure for new arrivals."

You hear a shuffle and a broken gasp, and swing around to find him on his knees, looking up at you with fear in his eyes.

"Please," he implores you, "please don't kill me, I beg you, please!"

You swallow hard and nod at the FEDRA agent, who steps up and secures the patient so that you can administer the injection.

"I don't want to die."

Your hand starts to shake as his words start to move the sharp pieces of your broken heart around in your chest.

"I'm not ready to die."

Your throat feels constricted, but you manage to pump the entire dose into a vein, and the man grunts. You watch his eyes get sluggish, and take a step back when he slumps forward. His body twitches a couple of times before it lies still.

You tear off the mask and hurry out of the room, hurry down the dwindling corridors until you reach the back door. You burst through it and take a deep breath of the fresh air in the mid-morning sunshine. Your heart is chafing in your chest, which feels smaller than normal.

I'm not ready to die.

Leaning against the wall, you press your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing. In, out. Calmly. Frankie's voice haunts your memories. You can do it, baby, I believe in you.

Someone is approaching, so you snap your head up, your fist closing and ready to swing.

It's the drug dealer.

"I found them," he informs you without preamble. "Are you free tonight?"

"I'm free now," you tell him, desperate to get away from the clinic. He nods, and you ask him to wait fifteen minutes. Returning inside, you tell your supervisor that your injuries are bothering you. Once you receive a permission slip for the rest of the day, you change your clothes and leave.

Your guide is still waiting for you outside, arms crossed in front of his chest, face set grimly.

"Did you get the drugs?" he asks you when you come out. You shake your head.

"It needs planning."

"You've had two days of planning."

"I'll get to it, okay?" you snap, and he yields. It is a little strange to you that he would help you without any guarantee of payment, but you don't dwell on it. What matters is that you're on the move towards justice.

You follow the smuggler, who introduces himself as Joel, through the busy streets towards the blocks out of reach for FEDRA's concern. The crowd thins out, leaving only individuals of questionable intent and suspicious gazes. You don't feel unsafe, though: there is something very reassuring about having Joel walk in front of you, like his broad shoulders serve as a barrier between you and the bad things surrounding you. He moves with confident wariness, staring down anyone who dares to throw an unfriendly glance at the two of you. Finally, he stops outside what looks like a former bodega, and turns to you.

"There's three of them," he informs you shortly. "In the back room. Not very bright, but armed. You carrying?"

You pull out your handgun from the waistband of your pants. You've carried it since the attack, damned be the consequences if it were discovered on you. Joel nods, produces his own gun, and clicks the safety off. You do the same and follow him into the building. He moves surprisingly silently for his size and heavy boots, and you do your best to match him as he leads you through the derelict space to the back door. He gestures for you to cover him from the side, then counts down by holding up first three fingers, then two, and finally one.

Then he kicks down the door and fires a warning shot as he enters the back room, where three startled men scramble for their weapons. You crash in, immediately shooting one of them in the knee.

"Don't fucking move!"

"On your knees," Joel commands them. The one that you shot is already writhing on the floor, and the two others raise their hands as they kneel. You recognize the leader immediately, and his features tell you that he knows that the day of reckoning has come.

"Where are they?" you demand, pointing the gun at him.

"What?" He has the audacity to even ask you: he and his companions took nothing from you but two rings on a chain. Everything else you ever had, including love, your sense of security, your sense of self, were taken years ago.

"The rings!" you roar, coming close enough for the barrel of the gun to touch his forehead. "The rings you fucking took from me, where the fuck are they?"

"I sold them!" His voice is growing panicked.

"To whom?"

"I don't fucking know, it was just some guy!"

"The QZ isn't big enough for you to not know every single fucking lowlife that crawls these streets," you point out. The guy starts to shake.

"I promise, I don't know!"

You don't even think: your trigger finger makes the decision for you. The shot rings out as your hand jerks back a little with the recoil. Warm blood stains your fingers, and you point the gun at the next guy.

"What about you? You don't know either?"

"I don't know, I swear!"

You shoot him too. The last one is the one with only one good knee. Putting him down is an act of mercy, but he holds out his hand as you turn to him.

"No, wait, wait!"

You fix him with your gaze as well as the gun, and let him speak.

"I don't know his name, but I think he's FEDRA. Thin guy, around six feet, light hair, blue eyes."

Your nostrils flare as you recognize the description. Lowering your gun, you turn away from the man bleeding on the floor.

"What are we doin'?" Joel demands, but you click the safety back on, a new purpose forming in your mind.

"We are not doing anything," you tell him. "I don't need you."

You walk out of the building. A gun goes off behind you, telling you that Joel put the last assailant out of his misery.

///

Peters is on a smoke break outside the FEDRA headquarters. He nods when he sees you, and without wasting any time, you march straight up to him. You push him roughly, sending him back two steps.

"Where are my rings?" you demand, resisting the urge to reach for your gun. Peters' eyes narrow.

"If you want them back, I need something from you."

"What?"

"Meds. Drugs. You work at the clinic."

You stare at him, your hatred spilling into your features, letting him know just how much you despise him.

"You must know I can't just waltz in there and fill a shopping bag."

"That's your problem," Peters shrugs. "Get me pills, or you won't see the rings again. Moreover, I'll report you for killing the men that attacked you."

"How do you know I killed them?"

"You just told me."

You bite your jaws together as you realize that you've been had. Peters smirks.

"I thought you were smarter than that."

You can't stand to look at him one more second, so you turn around and leave.

///

The night is long when pain keeps sleep away. You toss and turn, your brain working feverishly overtime in trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. You remember how Frankie wanted both of you to stay clear of any kind of organized attempts to keep the new status quo, or the opposite. He was a contender for becoming a FEDRA agent because of his military background but refused to serve a government that shackled and killed people. Yourself, you could have joined the Fireflies, but he didn't want that either. It's just best to mind our own business.

You did that for a long time, and you still lost your daughter. You took every precaution when leaving the Millers' farm to make it on your own with Frankie, and still...

He comes to you in the small hours of the night when your brain can no longer tell the difference between reality and delusion. His familiar smell invades your nose and comforts you, and his strong arms gather you to him, to his steadily beating heart.

"You went and got yourself in quite a pickle now, corazon."

"I know, I know. You told me so."

"I did. Still, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

You sigh deeply. "Me too."

"You'll figure it out," he states matter-of-factly. Of course you will. You have to.

You sigh again and reach your hands into his hair, those soft curls that you have loved since day one.

"I want you, Frankie," you mumble. He kisses your forehead.

"You know we can't. We can't risk it."

He was always the careful one. You were on the pill when society collapsed, and you didn't exactly think to pack them when you had to flee your home. Whenever you raided a grocery store, Frankie would always check for condoms. When there were no more to be had, you had to resort to other ways to pleasure each other. The world may have gone to shit, but you still wanted each other. What you and Frankie had was a once in a lifetime thing. You could not not want each other.

"Just use your fingers?" you suggest throatily. "Your mouth. Like you used to."

"Why don't you do it to yourself, sweetheart," he coaxes you with equal amounts of honey dripping from his voice. "Let me watch."

He kisses you, teasingly, longingly. It has been ages.

"Let me watch you, baby..."

"It's not the same."

It was that objection, spoken years ago, that led to the penetration that resulted in a pregnancy. Your daughter had been dead for three years and the need to be with Frankie, really be with him, had grown too great. Your cycle was unreliable, and you figured that the risk was low.

Low risk, your ass. You got pregnant on the spot. And lost the baby only a few weeks later, the day you had to put a gun to your husband's head and pull the trigger.

I'm not ready to die.

That's what he said, as if you were any more ready to lose him. To lose him was unfathomable. But he had been bitten and had to beg you to put him out of his misery.

I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry I'm making you do this. But someone has to. God, I'm not ready to die.

Tears begin to fall, and your body starts to shake. You roll over onto your back and sob out loud. Frankie is no longer with you, and all you have is a battered body, a broken heart, and a huge problem to solve.

You have to survive.

///

The medicine storage room is only accessible by key card and code. Only Craig, the physician at the arrival clinic, has both. You track his movements for the next two days, hoping to find some fault in his routine. When none presents itself after those two days, and you know that time is short, you try something new. Complaining of lingering pain, you earn a prescription of painkillers, but he won't release more than a couple at a time to you.

When you get ready to leave for the night, you throw a glance through the open door to Craig's office. He's sitting there; a middle-aged, bearded man, in a circle of light cast by the desk lamp, deep in paperwork. It's funny that medical staff should have paperwork even now.

"Good night," you say tentatively. He looks up, nods at you.

"Good night. Lock the door behind you. I sent the guards home."

You nod, and when the door clicks shut behind you, you have a plan. But for that you need Joel.

Still limping, you look for him in the deserted back alleys where the light faded already before the sunset. When you finally find him, he gives you a look that could almost be described as a smirk.

"You have my drugs?"

"Almost," you answer, squaring your shoulders that are dwarfed by the sheer wall of deadly that constitutes Joel's upper body. "I need your help."

"You're racking up quite a debt."

"I need your help to break into the clinic and beat the physician into giving us the drugs."

You state your business with the confidence of someone who has planned this to the very last detail, but the truth is that you don't really have any idea of how to do this. You're out of options, and you can't burst in there on your own, guns blazing. You need help, and you don't have anyone, not even Joel, but you have to convince him somehow.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises an eyebrow at your bold proposition. "Are you on some kind of suicide mission?"

"I'm in trouble. I need those drugs, not just for you."

"I don't associate with desperate people. They get sloppy."

You purse your lips, angry at yourself for letting your despair shine through.

"If I don't get help, there will be no drugs."

He looks at you with narrowing eyes and for the first time you feel small next to him. You are at his mercy, and he knows it, and you don't like it one bit.

"It's not just about the drugs," he finally says, "there's something more. It has to do with those guys that we killed."

His eyes see right through you. "You know who they sold your rings to."

Fine. "He's a FEDRA agent, and he threatened me. If I don't get him drugs, he'll turn me in."

"Fuck." The curse comes out as a sigh.

"So if you don’t help me, they're going to kill me, and you won't get anything at all," you point out. Joel shakes his head.

"I need more than that. What are these rings? Why are they important?"

Now it's your time to cross your arms and glare at him. However, there is no beating that stone cold face. You could stand here until the end of time and you wouldn't win a staring contest with Joel.

"Me and my husband's wedding bands," you finally admit, defeated. "I wear them in a chain around my neck. They matter to me."

You expect him to scoff but to your surprise, you are instead served the hint of a crack in his grim facade. He looks down, seemingly at his left wrist right in front of his chest. The edge of a wristwatch peeks out from underneath the fraying cuff of his jacket.

"Okay," he finally nods. "Let's go."

///

The plan is simple. You will wear masks, get in with your key, surprise Craig, and force him to use his key card and code to open the storage room. A knock on the head and he hopefully won't remember much the next day.

"Can you walk without limping?" Joel asks as you pull the FEDRA-made balaclava over your head. Not surprising to you, he had managed to produce two of them very quickly. He doesn't explain and you don't ask.

"Don't worry," you tell him curtly and take out your gun. "Come on."

The clinic corridors are dark and silent, but you know that Craig will be in his office. His sleep deprivation manifests in dark circles under his eyes each morning, as well as in the way he cherishes his big mug of surrogate coffee every day, like it was a delicious Guatemalan roast. He has no family, barely any conscience either, but he has always shown a weary patience with you when you started working at the clinic. Not a chatty type, but then neither you.

The light spilling out the open office door tells you that he's still working. You gesture towards the door and Joel shows with a nod that he's understood. Quietly but quickly, with your heart thumping in your throat, you make it to the door. Joel makes himself known first, his tall and broad form claiming the entire doorway.

"Let me see your hands. And stand up."

Slowly, Craig obeys, but when Joel tells him what he wants, the physician is not moving.

"Did you not hear me?" Joel growls, but Craig doesn't move a muscle.

"I'm not giving you drugs."

Shit. You didn't count on him being a hero. Not knowing what to do, you hold back a gasp when Joel walks around the desk and smacks Craig in the face with his gun.

"How about now?"

Spitting blood and trembling from the shock of the sudden assault, Craig nevertheless shakes his head.

"No."

Joel growls again, and grabs Craig by the collar. Dragging the man after him to the corridor, he looks in both directions. "Which way?"

Craig doesn't answer, so you nod to the right. Joel sets off, pulling Craig with him. A tearing sound is heard when a piece of his shirt fabric breaks from Joel's rough handling, but Joel doesn't blink an eye. You follow, cursing under your breath. Just fucking give him what he wants, Craig!

Joel stops at the door to the storage room and shoves Craig against it. "Open it."

"No." The word is spoken in a small voice, but it is a no nonetheless. Joel cocks his gun and puts it to the older man's forehead.

"Open it."

You suddenly feel sick. This isn't right. This isn't how you wanted to do it. You push your hand down his pockets, finding the key card, and you immediately scan it by the door, but without the code, the door doesn't open.

"The code," you ask him, but he only shakes his head. You shove the gun under his chin.

"Don't be a hero."

"I'll die before I give you the code."

"Let me oblige you," Joel growls. "I'm counting to three."

You look into the physician's eyes. You may not know him, but you can see that this is a man who has made up his mind. What traumas does he carry that makes him so eager to part with his life? Maybe this end comes as a blessing to him?

"Fuck!" you exclaim and slam the gun against the side of his head. With a heavy huff, Craig sinks into a heap on the floor, blood seeping out of a cut on his head. Joel looks down at him, then turns his dark face to you.

"What is wrong with you?"

"All of this!" you hiss before turning around promptly and starting a brisk march down the hallway, away from the situation, out and as far as you can get. You don't know if Joel follows you, and you don't stop, except to dispose of your balaclava into a trash can halfway home.

Frankie is nowhere to be found as you pace your small apartment all night, waiting for FEDRA agents to come and arrest you. When the first rays of morning light come in through the window and nobody has been at your door, you collapse on top of your bed, and sleep restlessly for three hours.

Showered and with clean clothes, yet still looking half dead, you venture out of your apartment. You don't really want to but know that you have to make an appearance at the clinic, see how Craig is doing, what the consequences of your break-in are. You have a lie to serve about why you're late and are ready to serve it with a straight face. When you arrive at the clinic,  however, nobody is interested in questioning you. There is blood at the entrance, and extra guards who check your credentials before letting you in. You walk through the halls towards Craig's office, fearing what you'll learn, what more lies you'll have to come up with to explain why you didn't come to work in the morning.

It turns out that nobody cares about your absence: everyone is more concerned with the assault and subsequent death at the clinic last night. Slowly, you begin to understand the picture, even if you can't understand it.

Around midnight last night, a man and a woman broke in, threatened the physician, then rendered him unconscious with a nasty blow to the head. He woke up by a gunshot, traced it to the back door, and found a dead man holding the gun he recognized as belonging to the masked man who threatened him. This dead man has been identified as Jeffrey Peters, a FEDRA agent.

Peters. Discreetly, you make sure that there's a wall behind you, and lean on it to make sure you'll stay on your feet.

"You okay?" Craig asks you, and the FEDRA agents all turn to you. Shit.

"Yeah..." You make a show of rubbing your forehead and sighing deeply. "I did guard duty with Peters."

"How well did you know him?" one of the agents ask, and you shrug.

"Not that well. We didn't talk much about ourselves. He seemed nice enough, though."

"Was he punctual? Reliable?"

You hesitate. "He... sometimes, a couple of times, he'd ask me to cover for him, and he'd disappear for a few minutes or so."

"While on duty?" another agent prompts. You nod.

"I always assumed he went to piss or something."

"Would you have thought him capable of something like this?"

You swallow, your hesitation real as you try to navigate these tricky waters. How do you raise suspicions about Peters without expressing a dislike for FEDRA?

"I think that his training made him capable of many things," you finally saw, eyes cast down.

They buy it, and you're let off the hook together with Craig. You apologize again for being late, blaming headaches and pains, and get the rest of the week off.

You immediately start to look for Joel. When darkness brings another night over the QZ, you still haven't found him. Instead, you find your local bootlegger and trade in a ration coupon for two bottles of something not-quite-clear that you're positive has a high enough alcohol level to kill off whatever germs it most probably contains.

The liquor tastes vile, and you long for the carefree emptiness that the pills provide, but at least you pass out soon enough. The nightmares you have are of Frankie and the bullet you put in his head, again and again and again you're forced to relive the terror, the guilt, the absolute devastation of having to first kill your husband, then live without him.

When you wake up the next morning, your anguish is only trumped by your hangover. It takes you half the day to get out of bed, shower, dress, and eat without getting sick. When you finally venture out it's late afternoon, and you are on a mission to find Joel. A nagging suspicion about him is making you uneasy, and you need confirmation, even if you have no idea what to do with the knowledge.

You finally find him hanging around the usual alley where you know that he deals. He's performing a quick transaction with a young, haggard-looking woman, and you wait at a respectful distance until she's gone. Joel's gaze follows her before fixating on you, and you see his hand quickly stuff some coupons into his pocket.

"You're dealing?" you demand at once. "Where did you get the stuff from?"

"Another source came through."

"So we beat Craig up just for fun last night?"

Joel gives you an almost disdainful look. "It was your idea."

Your head is pounding, and you feel the bile rise. Fighting to keep it together, you turn away from Joel and rub your palms over your face.

"Did you kill Peters?" you ask, your voice subdued beneath your hands.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He complicated things."

That's for sure. You take a deep breath, will your stomach to settle, your head to cease spinning. Slowly, you raise your gaze to Joel.

"How did you do it?"

He folds his strong arms in front of his chest and dips his chin a little as he regards you.

"You sure you want to know?"

You nod. Yes, you're sure. You need to know.

"I told him your plan and said I needed his help to execute it. He jumped on it at once. As soon as we had broken in, I took his gun and shot him. I left my gun in his hand and put my balaclava on him, then left the scene. The doc soon raised the alarm."

Joel tells you this matter-of-factly, like he was talking about a walk on the beach. But there is still one issue he hasn't addressed, and now you have to.

"The rings," you remind him. "My rings. Did he have them on him?"

"Yes."

Your heart almost stops. "Yes?"

Joel sticks his hand in his pocket and fishes out the gold chain. The two rings clink softly when he places them in your trembling hand. They feel warm from his body heat, and for a moment you can almost feel Frankie's touch on you.

"Thank you," you whisper throatily, closing your hand to keep the rings safe. "Appreciate it."

Joel only grunts.

"I'll get you the drugs," you promise. "Somehow."

"Forget about it. You don't have to."

You look up at him, surprised and wary. Nothing is free in this world, and Joel is a smuggler. There is no way he wouldn't want anything for his troubles. You're indebted to him, no matter what he says, and you hate that feeling of him having something on you.

Joel's dark gaze offers no answers. You pocket the rings and don't know what to say. Lingering in front of him, you almost feel like you did when you were 12 years old and finally had the opportunity of talking to your crush. The feeling mixed badly with the relief of having your wedding bands returned to you, and before you know it, your lips are pressed against Joel's.

Joel is completely unresponsive, so you step back almost as quickly as you advanced. He's like a statue, cold and still, and you suddenly just want to cry from how much you miss normal human interaction, even just a hint of goddamn kindness.

"Sorry," you mutter before slinking away, neck bent in shame and confusion. You head towards the small apartment that was never a home but that you call home because what else would you call it? Sometimes you think that it must be easier for young people who know of nothing else but this world. At least they don't know the loss of, say, sunny Sunday morning breakfasts, exchanging relaxed, loving smiles across the table before leaving the coffee cups and hurrying back to bed...

The heartache is physical, intolerable, and makes you hurry. You need to get away from people, hide between the four walls with peeling wallpapers that surround your designated living area. If you're going to break, you have to do so privately.

As soon as you've locked the door behind you, you reach into your pocket and take out the chain. The rings look as familiar as ever: you know every scratch in the gold as well as the little indentation in Frankie's from that time when he caught his hand in the car door. His ring finger was saved by you still had a hard time getting it off his finger as it started to swell. The rest of his fingers required a visit to the ER. He never wanted his ring fixed. Frankie believed in letting things age as they were, with scars intact.

You slide your ring on your finger, finding it doesn't fit anymore, not only in size, but it also looks foreign on your finger. You sigh deeply and fasten the chain around your neck instead. The liquor bottle comforts you when the pain becomes too much to bear. You drink slowly, mindfully, because you know that drinking yourself into a stupor only makes you pass out. You need the in-between, that special place where you're awake but lost to substance. That's where Frankie is.

He comes before long, sighing deeply as he stands by the bed and watches you in the dusk.

"Missed you," you mumble, reaching for him. Frankie, however, doesn't move.

"You need to snap yourself out of this," he tells you gently. "Baby, you need to - "

"I need to survive, I know," you cut him off. "You always tell me that. I'm surviving."

"Survival isn't just about not dying," he reminds you. "You need to move on, my love. You have to move on."

You blink slowly, trying to focus on him. Has he always been this hazy?

"What're you talking about?"

"I think we should stop doing this."

You jerk up into a sitting position. The room spins, as does your stomach.

"No! Frankie, no, I can't do this without you!" Tears begin to run down your cheeks. Frankie shakes his head and looks at you in the same way as the first time he worked up the courage to ask you out: chin down, warm brown eyes shyly peeking at you. Now, however, he just looks infinitely sad. The trembling smile he gives you rips your guts out.

"You've been doing this without me for years. You can do it. You're strong, baby, you're so strong."

"I don't want to," you weep now, snot mixing with tears on your upper lip. "Frankie, don't make me do this."

"I don't want you to live in the past."

"There is no future to be had."

"There is always life."

He sits down next to you and lets you cling to him. He kisses your hair, caresses your back, lets you cry it out against his threadbare flannel, soft and worn down.

"I loved you since I first saw you," he tells you with longing and regret in his deep voice, "and I loved you until the end."

You want to tell him that you love him too, beg him to stay for his love for you, but your throat is too constricted for words. You cling to him, desperate for one last embrace, to smell his skin, thread your fingers through his soft locks, feel the scrape of his mustache on your lips.

"Let me go," he implores you. "You need to let me go, sweetheart."

"No..." you keen helplessly, pathetically, "please, don't make me do this...!"

"It's okay, baby."

"No..."

"It's okay. You'll be okay."

You don't know when he leaves. The next time you open your eyes to look through a curtain of tears at the room, he just isn't there anymore.

///

Joel's observant eyes follow you when you hurry away from the alley where he deals. Normally, he doesn't pay his customers too much attention, but there's something up with you.

He hasn't seen you in a week, and you look like you've been on a bender for the entirety of that time, and only now woke up, cleaned yourself enough to show yourself in public without attracting too much attention, and then went out to get more shit to fuck you up. Your eyes are bloodshot and unfocused, and he can smell alcohol on you. Your body language is so different: you are hunched up, neck bent, and your eyes fastened on the ground.

You want more pills than usual. When he lies about not having any more, you pull out even more ration coupons. He should say no. He has a terrible feeling about what you're about to do with those pills. Even if he's wrong, he knows approximately how many coupons you get each week and month, and you're giving him pretty much everything you have.

He should say no, but he doesn't. It's business, and those coupons are worth a lot.

Still, he watches you leave, then starts to follow you through the crowded streets of the Boston QZ. He keeps a distance but realizes soon that you have no idea - or don't care - if you are being followed. You bump into people, dig your hands even deeper into your pockets, and let yourself be pushed to the side by an angry passer-by. Still, you walk with a sad kind of purpose until you reach a run-down brownstone and disappear inside. He enters not long behind you and stands still in the foyer, hearing your heavy steps work their way upstairs. Finally, steps along the floor, then a door.

He stands in the foyer for a while, wondering if he should find out which apartment is yours, and see that you're okay. In the end, however, he decides against it.

You're not his problem. Now that all the unpleasantries with the clinic are over, and both of you seem safe from suspicions, he's definitely not getting entangled with you again.

Still, he lingers in the foyer, shifts his weight from one foot to the other while scowling at himself. Finally, he leaves the building and marches away. He has shit to do. He has his own survival to think about.

One block down, he turns around.

///

The rapping on your door makes you jump, and you pull out your gun as you go to look through the peep hole. Seeing Joel, your first thought is that he's coming to kill you and take back his pills, the pills that are waiting on your bed.

"What do you want?" you want to know.

"Just open the goddamn door or I'll break it."

You doubt he'd do something like that, but you still open the door. Joel fills the entire doorway with his broad frame, looking past you into the room. He doesn't even seem to care about the gun you're holding. When he sees the pills on your bed, he takes a step in, and that's when you point the gun at him.

"Don't take another step."

"I need those back." His voice is nearly toneless but you can hear a warning in it.

"I'll shoot."

"I've seen you pull a trigger, you would've shot me already if you wanted to."

He walks past you as if you were but a child who didn't want their toys taken away. When he reaches your bed, you realize that you're really going to lose your way out.

You throw yourself on him, pushing him down onto the bed, and start beating his broad back with a knuckle and the gun. For a moment, he grunts and curls up, but then he seems to find himself, and turns around and grabs your wrists with an ease that's nothing but frightening. He twists your wrists, and you drop the gun, your face distorting into a grimace until you keen from the pain. That's when he releases you, takes your gun, and releases the clip as well as the one in the chamber.

You lie on the bed, panting from lingering pain, your aching hands pressed against your chest, and watch him gather the pills. He doesn't look at you, barely even acknowledges you, except for when he leaves your coupons on the sheets. You feel cheap, used, discarded. Shame burns in your throat, and you just want him to leave, go and let you be alone with your misery.

Instead, he sits down on the couch, grimacing a little when his back hits the backrest. You got in some good hits.

You glare at him. "You got what you came here for, now get the fuck out."

He regards you with a slightly tilted head, even puts his arm up on the backrest, claiming his space with spread legs and a comfortable recline. You think in that moment that you hate him fervently.

"Are you a good shot?"

"What?"

"I said, are you a good shot?"

You stare incredulously at him as you slowly sit up. "Why?"

"Just answer the question," he barks. You shrug.

"Not a great one, but I get by, I guess."

"Rifle?"

"Yeah."

"I could use you on an expedition."

"Are you offering me a job?"

He leans forward, forearms on his knees. "I need a lookout. You interested?"

You chew on your lower lip, still suspicious and frankly, a bit confused. He waits patiently for you to come to a decision.

"Okay."

///

There is something about being outside the walls of the QZ. The air is fresher there, more breathable, more oxygenized. There's greenery, the whole city of Boston is swallowed up by nature. It's heart-breakingly beautiful how when a civilization falls, another takes over. The civilization of trees, animals, plants. Some part of you applauds the reclamation, roots for the trees, so to speak.

Liberating though it may feel, the world outside of the QC is also incredibly dangerous. But with Joel on your side and your former experience of traveling with Frankie, you learn how to navigate the overgrown streets and decrepit buildings.

Coming back from the first run - a shorter one to look for an alternate way through a particularly nasty block - he asks you if you've had military training. You just shake your head, but you can tell that he still is curious about your use of hand signals, how you handle the rifle, your military abbreviations.

"My husband was," you finally offer, not taking your eyes off the road. "Special forces."

Joel grunts in acknowledgement, but neither one of you speak any more until you reach the QZ at nightfall.

"I might need you again," Joel says once you're back inside the city walls.

"You know where I live."

He holds out a small, crinkled slide lock bag with pills, but you shake your head.

"I'd rather not have those around," you tell him quietly. Even if you long for the oblivion the pills can provide, you have decided - for the time being - that you don't need them.

Joel immediately pockets the pills, like he's afraid you'll change your mind. He then nods at you before disappearing into the shadows. You go home, and you sleep better than you have in ages. Still, the lumpy pillow is wet with tears when you wake up in the morning.

///

On the fourth run, you save Joel's life. You're his lookout, perched on top of a smaller building, while he clears out debris in an alleyway. The sun is high and sweat runs down your forehead. You wipe it away and then you see him: a man holding a baseball bat, slowly creeping up on Joel from behind. Mechanically, you take aim and shoot. Joel jumps at the sharp sound of the shot, and the subsequent groan from the man who slumps down onto the street makes him turn around. The man's head is blown to bits, and Joel quickly looks through his backpack and pockets for anything useful. He then looks up at you, gestures for you to keep looking - the gunshot could attract unwanted attention - and goes back to what he was doing, confident that you'll have his back.

You realize that in a very short time, you've become somewhat synced with him. You noticed early on that Joel has impaired hearing on his right ear and therefor wants his right flank covered in dangerous areas. He has bad knees, so you help out with heavy lifting from the ground. He doesn't talk much, but he gives you the last piece of jerky when your stomach growls at the end of your break.

He reminds you of Frankie in that sense. Frankie would also wordlessly see to it that you were comfortable, both before and after the outbreak. He would give you the best couch corner and get you your favorite snacks. He would have you take the last sip of water and stay awake all night so that you could sleep. And he never expected anything from you in return.

The comparison hurts, but you didn't use to think about Frankie at all during the day. He was a bittersweet pleasure saved for the night, for the pills and the alcohol. Now you're thinking about him in the harsh light of day, whenever your gaze rests on Joel's broad shoulders a second too long.

And yet, Joel is nothing like Frankie. You late husband kept his softness, his humanity, even after the loss of your daughter. You don't know what Joel has lost, what he has done, but you can tell he's been through shit. Well, so did Frankie, and Frankie never changed.

Joel is a cold hard killer. You find yourself wondering if he was always that. He has a military background, that much you know now, but what did his hands do when they didn't hold a gun?

Joel has made his way through the clutter in the alleyway, and you climb down to continue forward with him. He grabs you by the upper arm and when you startle, he releases you with his hand sliding down your arm, surprisingly softly.

"Thanks," he says gruffly, and you nod. So that's what his hands can do when not busy beating the life out of someone.

The two of you walk on, attentive of your surroundings, and very aware of the other's presence.

When you return to the QZ with the first light of the morning Joel stops you just a you're about to part ways. His hand rests heavily on your shoulder as he seems to look for something to say.

"You did good," he finally says. You search his face in the hopes of finding something more, but he is as closed off as ever. You finally put your hand on top of his. His fingers flex at the contact but stay where they are. A few moments pass by with the two of you just staring at each other and when Joel doesn't make the first move, you finally do. Your lips are on his, seeking a response that takes some time. When your lips part to let out the tip of your tongue against his pressed-together lips, his hand moves to the back of your neck, his big palm cupping you there roughly. You didn't expect him to be so rough from the way he had caressed your arm before, but it feels right. His tongue meets yours, forces it back into your mouth as he devours you, dry, chapped lips that taste of sweat stealing your breath away with the kiss that never ends, or maybe it's just one kiss after another that picks up before the previous one is over.

When he finally lets you draw breath, you're almost light-headed. He's still holding you by the back of your head, but now his fingers are gently stroking over your scalp. A tremor runs down your spine, and you make up your mind.

"My place is not far away," you tell him quietly. He just nods, then follows you through the empty streets to your apartment and into your bed.

///

He's not there when you wake up. You didn't expect him to, and you feel nothing but relief.

Last night, this morning, was a disaster.

You get up and step into the shower, the cold water making you shiver as you scrub yourself with a rough piece of soap. The events of the early morning replay before your inner eye, and your cheeks burn with chagrin.

He was rough. You welcomed that. Tenderness would have reminded you too much of Frankie, and you couldn't think about him. You ripped each other's clothes off, and Joel did his best to get you off, using his fingers and mouth. But he was in too much of a hurry, and you were stuck in your head. Eventually you just pushed him away and asked him to fuck you. You even turned around so he could take you from behind. So neither one of you had to look at the other, in case you suddenly found yourself wondering what you were doing there.

Muffling yourself by hiding your face in the sheets, you took the backshot as silently as you could, enduring it rather than enjoying. You wanted it, but you found yourself distracted by thoughts of unwanted pregnancies, and found yourself unable to relax. Your tension led to greater friction, his big cock struggling to fit in, and after having assaulted your clenching pussy for a few minutes, you sucked him off.

Neither one of you were satisfied, and you fell asleep by sheer force of will, because it was the only way for you to escape the situation.

Stepping out of the shower, you dry yourself off before wrapping the threadbare towel around you. Your fridge is empty because you haven't been to collect your rations, and you slam shut the fridge door with a frustrated sigh. Your last remaining liquor bottle stands on the shelf. You haven't touched it in a while, but now you grab it and unscrew the cork. A deep line between your eyebrows, you drink deeply, savoring the heat of the drink going down smoothly into your belly. Leaning against the countertop, you rub your forehead and sigh deeply.

This went to shit faster than green grass through a goose.

It was only supposed to help you release some tension. It was only because he touched you like that. It was only because he gave you the rings back. It was only because when you shot that would-be assailant, you imagined for a split second what life would be like if you hadn’t seen that assailant in time, and Joel would have died.

It was only because you missed the touch of another human being.

Inhaling deeply, you will yourself into facing yet another day. It doesn’t matter. Joel doesn’t matter. You’ll survive.

You go to the clinic, you perform your tasks, you return home with rations, but the bottle is more interesting than food. You eat dutifully, however, before emptying the bottle and cursing the fact that it was your last one. Just as you’ve decided to try to get hold of more alcohol, there is a knock on the door. Sober in just a second, you grab your gun and approach the door, craning your neck to look through the peephole.

It's Joel. Frowning, you open, letting him see you’re holding your gun.

He barely raises a brow. “You can put that down.”

You do, but keep the door ajar, staring at him with distrust.

“What do you want?”

He shrugs. “Wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I’m fine.”

He nods, then looks down the hall before fastening his gaze on you again.

“Can I come in?”

“What for?”

He pulls out a flask from his pocket and shakes it seductively. It’s full. You consider this for a second, then open the door and walk back into the apartment. Joel follows, closing and locking the door behind him. You take one corner of the worn down couch, he takes the other.

He brings not only the bottle, but also pills. You accept one – a lot less than your usual dose – and down it with the real bourbon from his flask.

“That’s good,” you nod when passing the flask back to him. Joel nods and takes a swig.

“I know a guy.”

“You know a lot of them, don’t you?”

He grunts, unwilling to admit the extent of his network. You’ve met a handful of people during your runs together. None of them ever introduce themselves, and neither do you.

“What about girls?” you ask boldly, the substances starting to mellow you out. Joel raises one brow quizzically.

“I know where the FEDRA agents go when they want to let off some steam,” you continue. “Do you go there as well?”

He shakes his head. “Not my thing.”

“Don’t you fuck at all?” you ask, the booze and drugs slurring your words slightly. “Maybe that’s why your pity fuck last night was so miserable.”

He bristles a little at that. “I’d be inclined to say that it wasn’t all on me.”

“No,” you sigh, “it was me as well.”

Silence descends with the two of you staring at the ceiling, at your own hands, at anything but each other. When you reach your hand across the couch, Joel gives you the flask. You take a large swig, and Joel glares at you.

“That stuff’s hard to come by.”

“I’m sure you have your ways.”

“At some point my ways won’t be enough anymore.”

The conversation is stilted, unnatural. You lean back and sigh deeply, your eyes closing.

“Why are you here, Joel?”

He takes the flask from you, and you hear the cork screwed shut. He then shifts closer, his body heat radiates towards you. You keep your eyes firmly closed and startle when you feel his fingers brush over your cheek. Next, his lips. They slowly cover your skin to your lips, which separate so that he can close his lips around your lower one when he kisses you. Bourbon mixes with bourbon and the intimate flavors of the self when the kiss deepens. Joel slides his tongue in, intimate as if it were finding its way into your slick cunt, not your mouth. It’s met by your tongue, eager and shy at the same time, unable to decide whether to wait or advance. With a calm confidence, Joel takes control, kisses his fill of you, peels raw the sensitive skin around your mouth with his sharp bristles.

His hand comes to a rest on your thigh, fingers loosely spread over the flesh until you put your hand on his and press down. He breaks the kiss, and you feel his shallow breaths right in front of you.

“Look at me,” he demands in a low voice. Your eyes flutter open to meet his: dark as the night but not frightening in any way except in intensely they seem to yearn for love and affection, if only for one fuck.

“You’re drunk,” he states.

“Yes,” you confirm, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

“What do you want?” His hand burns on your thigh.

“I want… I need you to fuck me, Joel.”

He makes some kind of noise, a guttural croak, maybe a growl, and presses his lips to yours again. Now you let yourself react more, your tongue meets his in a powerful dance, your hands run up the sides of his waist, ribcage, and back to pull him in. Your eyes are closed again, you don’t want to see anything, you only want to feel. He pulls his mouth from yours to instead bite and lick your tits, hands cupping and discovering and pinching. When he attaches himself to one nipple and sucks hard, you keen loudly, your head lolling back to meet the wall behind the couch. You find his hand on your breast and redirect it to the base of your throat. Joel only pauses his ministrations briefly before continuing, his fingers closing around your throat for a gentle but firm squeeze. You whimper encouragingly as the light pressure on your windpipe cuts off all intrusive thoughts, allowing you to focus on the pleasure instead.

When your breasts are dappled with marks left by Joel’s lips and teeth, he releases your throat and stands up. You blink up at him, worried for a moment that he grew tired already, but your eyes catch the thick outline of his cock at the front of his jeans, and then he offers you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you up, crashing you into him, back against his lips, and as you kiss you unbutton his denim shirt, rid him off it unceremoniously, then take his t-shirt off. You make no time to admire his chest and stomach, don’t allow yourself any musings on the physique of a middle-aged, hard-working man. You simply duck your head to bite his nipples, suck and nibble just as he did to you. Joel grunts, his fingers slipping through the hair at the back of your neck before taking a hold and pulling your lips off him. You cast a wondering glance up at him, but he’s already maneuvering you to the bed. Not unkindly but with a demand that you appreciate, he pushes you down on the bed, then locks your gaze as he unbuckles his belt. You mirror him, unbutton your jeans and push them down your hips as he does it, and then you’re naked before him, and he before you. Your eyes flicker down to his stout cock fighting gravity as it strives upward. Involuntarily, you start to salivate, your mouth remembering the challenge of fitting as much as possible of that thick cock in it. Your cunt is dripping in the same recollection, and you swallow, your legs separating as you show Joel what you have, your fingers trailing down to part your lips and rub your clit. He inhales sharply before leaning over you to roughly turn you around. He then gets onto the bed, gives you a surprising smack on your ass, and then you feel his bristles and lips against your sex, from behind, as his hands knead your ass cheeks. You yelp in surprise and instant gratification before muffling yourself against the mattress as your whimpers turn into moans, rising in volume the tighter your core winds itself. Lick after slurping lick, you let go of everything but the sensation, your ass in his hands, your cunt pressed up against his face, your clit throbbing from his constant rough care.

Joel’s name is on your lips when your climax breaks free, but you press your lips together, press your eyes shut, press your hand over your mouth as your legs kick and your body trembles. Your walls have barely stopped fluttering around empty when Joel shifts and moves up your body, positioning himself. Your cunt is wet, but his cock still sears through you as he pushes himself in, balls deep with one thrust. Your breath gets stuck in the back of your throat, your scream stops before it’s even out, and then your lungs compress when he lays his entire weight on you. You expect him to pound you into the mattress but instead, Joel starts a slow, deep grind, and it's almost more brutal because he’s deep, so thick, so heavy, and you don’t want him to stop. Your mewls are pitiful, the sheet are half inside your mouth, there is no room to move and when Joel grips your throat again, there is barely any room for breathing, either.

And yet, you want more of it. You want him to choke the life out of you, want him to crush you with that broad, heavy frame of his. You want him to blow you apart, tear you up, fuck you so deep that all there is left for you to do is survive. Survive this slow, all-consuming fuck, the one you wanted last night but couldn’t have because you were thinking too much. Now you’re not thinking at all, but you still have two braincells that cooperate enough to tell you that he’s about to bust when his breaths turn quicker and huffier against your cheek.

“Don’t come inside!” you squeak, and Joel heeds your wish. He pulls out just as quickly as he entered, and you feel him spill on your ass cheeks, hot and sticky.

You feel empty and cold when he climbs off you. Moving your extremities gingerly, as if expecting them to fall off, you slowly curl up on your side. Joel pulls the covers over you and you’re too dazed to dwell on it. Instead, you let sleep take you away.

///

“You talk in your sleep.”

Your head snaps around to find Joel still in your bed. You have just woken up, stretched, and noted that it’s still dark outside, so you decided to sleep some more, if nothing else then to try to suppress the beginning hangover that you feel just behind your frontal lobe.

“What do I say?” you ask, not sure if you want to know. Joel waits until you’ve settled, then turns onto his side, facing you.

“You talk to someone you call Frankie.”

The name hits you like a sledgehammer in the face, and you feel shattered. Murdered. You haven’t heard that name said out loud in so many years…

“He was my husband,” you whisper, like you were afraid that if you talk about Frankie to anyone, he could turn out to be nothing but a figment of your imagination.

But he’s not. You still wear the rings around your neck to prove that Frankie was real, very real. But his touch has faded from your skin, even if your love for him hasn’t left your heart.

Joel doesn’t say anything, but you can sense the grief in him, burdensome and harsh. You wonder what dead loved ones he carries with him, but you don’t ask. Instead, you inch closer, find his shoulder, and rest your head on it. Your head is heavy, a headache waiting just around the corner to break out, but you feel strangely safe like this. You don’t know anything about Joel, but you trust him.

“Go back to sleep,” you tell him, as if you were old lovers, used to sharing a bed, of falling asleep in each other’s arms. You’re not, however, you’re very new lovers indeed, and Joel is hungry for more. He kisses sleep away from you before mounting you and fucking you with the same slow, steady devastation as earlier. Except for moaning, it is a silent affair with no other communication than the direction of limbs into their right places. He has your legs on his shoulders, hands on the back of your thighs, pressing your legs impossibly down so that you’re almost bent double, trapping you between his rock-hard cock and a sharp spring in the worn-down mattress. Each profound thrust pushes the breath out of you, along with a moan, and shoves the bed against the wall with a low knock that you somehow want the neighbors to hear.

You’re furiously rubbing your clit and when the orgasm rises as a dark shadow to swallow you whole, Joel releases your legs and curls his fingers around your throat instead. You cum hard, mouth open in a silent scream, and in the next second Joel pulls out and paints your pussy and hand with strings of hot cum.

He goes back to sleep with one arm around you. It is not the soft embrace of a lover but the possessive shackle of a broken person who has found someone equally broken to take away their pain, tiny moments at a time.

You raise your hand to your neck, and press at the skin. There’s a bruise forming there, you know. You press it softly, feeling your pulse in the tenderness. Right next to it, the rings are softly clinking against each other.

You don’t think you’ll ever take them off. But you also think that it’s time to stop taking those pills.

[salamandergoo]

stoncy headcanons?

I Love stoncy in theory lol. I truly believe they wouldn’t work out long term when taking canon into consideration because of 1) Steve’s established issues with cheating and 2) differences in what they want for the future. I truly can’t see Jonathan, after being parentified from a young age, or Nancy, who shows very little interest in motherhood, ever wanting kids vs. Steve very openly wanting kids. But! Play with me in this space.

The three of them can never agree on movies, so their movie dates involve finding the worst looking movies from Family Video and ripping them apart. Steve is a big fan of bad effects, Jonathan loves to get riled up over soundtracks and audio editing, and Nancy gets extra excited when she can point out plot holes.

In an au where the three of them do work out and they stay together long term, Steve takes on more of the homemaking tasks. He works part time at a daycare, while Jonathan works as a music photographer and Nancy works as an investigative journalist. They both travel for work fairly frequently, and Robin lives next door, so the two of them are together often enough to have bad ideas. Sometimes they end well, like with Steve taking in their first dog, a droopy hound mix who likes to lean on Jonathan. Sometimes Nancy gets home and they’ve torn up the carpet in the living room.

The only parent to know about them is Joyce. Nancy would be mortified if her parents found out and Steve’s parents would be… less than pleased. Joyce found out after finding Steve sleeping in Jonathan’s room one morning while Nancy was in the middle of climbing out the window. She's chill about it.

Steve loves getting to flirt with both of them. He usually gets a fond eye roll out of Nancy and Jonathan goes pink and doesn't know how to respond. The first couple of times he gets so flustered it's almost like frustration, but he calms after a little bit.

Nancy tends to take the lead when the three of them go out together. Jonathan prefers it that way and Steve likes when she gets bossy.

After the move to California, Jonathan sort of fell out of photography, it took a toll on his mental health. For as encouraging as Argyle was, it wasn't until his return to Hawkins that he really got back into it. He just kept looking at Steve and Nancy and imagining all the angles and moments he could capture.

The three of them are long distance for awhile. Nancy goes off to Emerson and Jonathan gets accepted to NYU. Steve and Robin stay in Hawkins for a year before Robin goes to college. And she and Steve decide to go to Boston, reuniting him and Nancy. Jonathan transfers to Emerson for his last two years and the three of them and Robin end up sharing an apartment :)

Robin gets along great with Nancy and Jonathan after the first little while. It takes a little bit for them to fully understand Steve and Robin's relationship and she's suspicious of them for awhile, but they eventually get on!

Same with Argyle. Nancy is skeptical of him for awhile, but Steve immediately likes him. Nancy comes around after some time, she just needs a little while to get used to his groovy vibes.

Jonathan isn't exactly touch-averse, per se, but he's not exactly touchy either. That takes some adjustment from Steve who can get extra touchy. Nancy is similar to Jonathan, but the three of them figure out the right arrangements for them all to be comfortable.

[akahellcat-moved]

I believe I said I would write a very long comment about Days in Violet a while ago so better late than ever. Get ready cause this might be long. And scatterbrained.

Let me tell how much of a good thing it is that I found this story and you took a break from writing it when they had already kissed. Especially since they weren’t in a good place before the lake scene. The anguish, the angst, the almost tragedy. At least with the happy chapter, if you stopped writing it, I could pretend that it had a happy ending, you know? This storied would have pLagUEd my mINd like you would not fucking believe. I mean it still does but at least not in an anguished way.

It also helped that I looked up Boston Marriage just to double check and the definition was “historically, the cohabitation of two wealthy women, independent of financial support from a man”. So I’m assuming there better be a happy ending. But also “wealthy” 👀👀?

But also I found the playlist! Which is great because I listen to music instead of thinking actual thoughts. The song From Eden? Chef’s kiss. It is now one of my favorite songs to exist. The song in relation the story? Double Chef’s kiss. I don’t know if you went that deep when you were choosing the songs, but the in-depth analysis I could give on the lyrics in relation to the story?? If it was possible to send a word doc through tumblr I might. There are other song choices to praise but that’s the one that’s sticking out right now.

May I also praise you in Yelena’s decision to wear men’s clothes? I think we definitely her decision to not give a flying fuck about what people care about her clothes and it works for her. We all saw it in Hawkeye when she wore a fur jacket, an I Love New York Tshirt, and an abundance of chain necklaces. If her clothing style is a little out there in modern times I can totally see her breaking the norm back then. In anyone else I feel like my reaction to both eras of dress would be “weird but you do you boo”, but then on Yelena: insert the Lady Gaga “amazing, show-stopping”meme.

I also love your characterization of Yelena and Kate. Yelena’s out see she’s seen some of the worst in humanity and I think you captured her sadness/world-weariness that we see in canon. Kate also has this almost innocent or light that Yelena is drawn to and falls in love with.

Sorry for the long, long comment! I just want Kate to abandon her mother and run away with Yelena and live happily ever after in New York. Is that too much to ask? I can’t wait for the next update but also no pressure, live your life. I will literally wait however long (though preferably within the next decade or at least year).

Please never apologize for the long comments! This message gave me LIFE.

Let me start off by saying that all that you pointed out was intentional from the get go. The reason why it's been now a year since I wrote anything DiV related is because I got stuck in trying to make the last 1/3 of the story as deliberate and as thought out as everything so far.

I did stop at that exact point because I wouldn't bear it to stop at an angsty point because I am a reader as well as a writer and I wouldn't have wanted to leave the people who read my fics hanging. I mean I still have but there is that 'soft' happy semi-ending there to tide you all over until I pick it up again.

Yelena's choice of clothes is definitely a nod to her going against the grain in canon and this was the best way to show it in DiV setting. Kate being a huntswoman = archer. The prep for this fic lasted MONTHS while I wanted to make all pieces of the puzzle fit together neatly and I am glad it's noticeable!

As far as the music goes, every single song and its lyrics have been put there intentionally, because they follow the story. If you listen to the songs towards the end, you can gauge where the story will go without many spoilers.

Finally, Kate is already wealthy with an untapped potential in anything flower-related and Yelena is already building her reputation as a tailor so if they get out of their little town... who knows what can happen ;)

PS - I love From Eden. It's such a DiV Kate x Yelena song. If you want to share your thoughts on it, I am here to listen!

[technicallyverycowboy]

For you fic ask game: 🤩,💘 and 📚

🤩: Magic, Madness, Heaven, Sin (The Magicians, Penny/Quentin & Eliot/Quentin) OKAY so up front, this story is not finished and has not been updated in quite awhile. That being said, I keep my subscription to it active like a little flame of hope in my hands. The premise of this story is that Quentin is so shit at not broadcasting his thoughts in Penny's head that they decided to have kinky sex about it until Quentin learns to relax. It's one of the funniest things I've ever read and a spot on Penny voice, which can be hard to come by in the fandom. 💘: Terror in the Resonance (Not Me, Black/Tod) The entire time I was watching Not Me, 80% of my focus was on what the fuck Tod and Black had going on. I love this version of Tod that's going through one of the hardest things he's ever done alone, because he fucked things all the way up with Black. He's vindictive and tired and so stupid in love it's truly chef's kiss. It's also a really excellent Black at his most feral cat. It's soulmates (hand in unlovable hand) and I reread it frequently. 📚: Goodbye Forever (Until Next Time) (Only Friends, Boston/Nick) This is not only thee BostonNick story, it's thee Only Friends fic overall and post show canon for me. It's about Boston coming back to Thailand after spending ten years in New York, almost immediately running into Nick, and the slow path toward understanding each other. There's so much I love about it, but some highlights: how fleshed out Boston and Nick's adult lives are, threading the needle of them being ten years older and wiser while also still having the tangle of who they were at 22, and the only depiction of a polyamorous/monogamous relationship that has ever resonated with me. The sex scenes are smoking hot and the ending is incredibly satisfying.

[sepulchralblues]

You Were My Gravity

Ahh it’s Neil’s birthday and in honour of that I have a not-so-little ficlet that I wrote and I’m really excited to share it.

Something to note: Andrew’s past is entirely different from canon in this AU, and it shows in his relationships and interactions here.

Title - Gravity by Against the Current

Airports, in Andrew Minyard’s esteemed opinion, were hell in its finest form on earth. And airplanes? Metal death traps that took man where he wasn’t meant to go? They were much, much worse.

Really, if humans were meant to fly, they'd have been born with wings and pneumatic bones. But they certainly weren’t, were they?

The universe was conspiring against Andrew, because clearly it believed flying was a just and righteous activity for humans to undertake.

Why was the universe against him, you ask?

Well, because he had a twin.

Or rather, he had a twin who was getting married in Chicago. Couldn’t have been New York, where Andrew lived, or in Boston, which he could comfortably drive down to and back from on the same day.

No, it had to be in the city where the majority of his fiancée’s family lived.

No sacrifices to be made for poor Andrew Minyard, best man, that would prevent him from getting on an airplane.

And to think Andrew had planned such a brilliant wedding gift. First-class, really. Aaron would never top it if Andrew ever actually got married.

Perhaps the only saving grace of this entire godforsaken trip would be the gorgeous redhead in the queue in front of him.

Some people, Andrew knew, were just born pretty, and this man was one of them.

With a face chiselled like that of a Greek god’s, and long, lean legs that Andrew wanted wrapped around his waist, the man was probably the closest approximation to a walking wet dream.

Andrew was not drooling, thank you very much.

He watched as the man lifted his suitcase onto the conveyor belt for check-in luggages, and studiously noted the flex of his bicep.

Another counter opened up and forced Andrew to tear his gaze away from Greek God Man.

When he was done, he looked around the noisy airport floor for the man, but he was nowhere to be found.

Andrew held back an unhappy sigh. At least his perfect memory would serve to remind him of the beauty that had graced this airport.

Andrew dragged his suitcase onto the escalator, drumming his hands on his legs.

He spotted an interesting magazine in the shelf on the first floor, and immediately diverted his path towards it.

Security check could wait one minute for Andrew to grab a copy of Condé Nast Traveller.

He had almost reached the rack when someone crashed into him.

Andrew went sprawling. He landed on his ass in the most unflattering way. A hot flush worked its way into his ears, turning them bright red.

The flush spread to his cheeks when he saw that the person he had bumped into was none other than Greek God Man.

Oh, for the love of all things unholy. Why did this have to happen to him?

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” cursed the man, and Jesus fucking Christ Andrew must have done something grievously wrong in a past life, because that was a British accent right there.

It was truly a wonder he didn’t pop a boner in the middle of the airport.

“Here, let me help you up,” said the man. He pushed himself up to his feet and stretched a hand out to Andrew, who was still sitting on the floor like it was a feather-downed bed and not a cold marble tile.

Andrew swallowed, willed some cool into himself, and grasped the man’s hand.

He was not paying attention to the muscles of the other man’s forearm. He was not.

Andrew blinked hard and turned to straighten his suitcase. He noticed one corner of the top zipper was a little open and he pulled it shut.

“Sorry,” said the man again. “I was looking at my phone and walking, and I do really hate it when people do that, can’t believe I didn’t see you there. You’re not hurt, are you?”

Andrew cleared his throat. “No. I’m fine.”

The man grinned at that, as if what Andrew said was an inside joke. His smile was a little crooked. Andrew found it mildly adorable.

Honestly, fuck this guy for making Andrew think the word ‘adorable’.

“Oh, hey,” the man said, glancing at the ticket Andrew held in his hand. He pulled his own ticket out of his back pocket.

It had the same gate number and destination.

“Same flight,” said Greek God Man.

He had committed truly heinous crimes. Mass murder. Mutilation. Torture.

“Chicago is a horrible place. No one in their right mind should ever visit it,” Andrew said.

Greek God Man snorted. “What has Chicago ever done to you?”

“House too many people of the same family.”

Greek God Man raised an eyebrow, so Andrew elaborated.

“The wedding I have been coerced into attending is populated by residents of Chicago. Apparently, that was good enough reason for it to be held in Chicago.”

Now he looked amused. Andrew smothered the thrill in his stomach that came from putting a smile on those incredibly kissable lips.

“Wow. Let’s burn Chicago to the ground, shall we?”

“Oh, gladly,” muttered Andrew.

“Well. I won’t bother you any longer,” Greek God Man said, backing away slowly. “Guess I’ll see you on the flight…”

“Andrew,” he introduced.

“Andrew.” The man smiled. “I’m Neil. It was nice to meet you.”

With that Neil backed away, leaving Andrew stunned and shell-shocked by his suitcase.

Was that conversation just social niceties or was Andrew right to read into it, that Neil may have been flirting with him?

Reading into it. Definitely. With a face like that, why would he flirt with Andrew?

Security check was its usual hustle and bustle. Boots off. Gadgets out. Scanner beeping. Ticket stamped. Bag collected. Boots on.

And unbelievably, incredibly, walking right into Neil again.

This time it was at the coffee shop. Andrew had just collected his very creamy, very sugary drink and stepped out of the queue with one hand on his luggage. As he removed the paper lid to blow on his drink, his suitcase bumped into someone’s leg, and nearly caused him to spill burning hot coffee on his fingers.

“Fuck,” he swore, carefully turning to grab his suitcase.

“Hello again,” Neil said, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “It seems we were meant to bump into each other one way or another.”

Andrew hated the heat that infused his cheeks when he said, “Neil,” in a calm, non-strangled-sounding tone.

“Andrew.” Neil glanced at Andrew’s coffee and wrinkled his nose as if the drink had offended him. “What is that?”

Andrew looked at the paper cup in his hands and then back at Neil. Slowly, he said, “My coffee?”

“That’s not coffee,” Neil snorted. “That’s a monstrosity.”

No one insulted Andrew’s drink. Not even Neil of the Greek God-like face.

“You can talk to me again when you make better life choices. Drinks like these are the right way to have coffee.” With that Andrew turned away and started walking towards the gate.

Neil called out from behind him, “Our gate is in the opposite direction!”

Spitefully, Andrew kept moving in the same direction. Neil could shut it.

Right before he turned the corner, Andrew swore he heard a chuckle come from near the coffee shop.

—

The plane was unusually empty. Apart from Andrew and wretched, gorgeous Neil who had all the wrong tastes in drinks, there were maybe six other passengers.

In hindsight, he probably should have found this odder than he did. At the time, he was thrilled there were going to be less people who would see him fighting off his anxiety.

It really wasn’t Andrew’s day at all because his seat was pretty fucking close to Neil’s, which meant the redheaded menace that had followed him around the airport struck up a conversation as soon as Andrew sat down.

“So,” Neil said, leaning against the armrest and towards the aisle separating the two of them as the plane started moving onto the runway. “Whose wedding were you coerced into attending?”

Andrew regretted every decision that had led up to this point. “My twin brother’s.”

Neil cocked his head. “Twins, huh.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow in question.

“I’ve never met someone who has a twin,” he explained.

Whatever Andrew was going to say in response to that was swallowed by the sound of the plane’s engines as they fired up and the plane started moving faster and faster.

The pen Andrew had taken out of his backpack was clutched in his hand. His knuckles squeezed around it so tightly they turned white. His fingertips dug deep into his skin. There would be half-moon marks left for a few hours.

There was a crushing pressure on his chest as the plane tilted upwards. Repeating in Andrew’s head was a litany of prayers and curses jumbled into one another to form a chant he couldn’t recite again for the life of him. Even with his perfect memory.

Everything felt painful until his ears popped. His stomach had been left behind on the ground, and his intestines had knotted themselves together thoroughly.

“Hey,” Neil said, cutting through the fog in Andrew’s head. He didn’t wilt under the force of the glare Andrew sent him. "If it makes you feel better, fewer than twenty planes crash every year and it's not always due to the weather. Sometimes pilots are just unreliable. I'm sure it's a quick death either way."

“What,” Andrew ground out.

Neil pointed at the pen in his hands that he was almost denting. “You’re afraid of heights.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re still afraid of heights.”

Andrew wanted to say fuck you again, but he chose to stay silent.

It wasn’t long before the air hostess walked out handing out drinks. Andrew got himself a nice whiskey and took a long sip.

Beside him, Neil turned her offer down to ask for a glass of water instead.

Although he wasn’t apparently afraid of heights, Neil grew more jittery as the flight proceeded. His foot would not stop tapping and he kept zipping and unzipping his jacket.

When Andrew got up to use the washroom, Neil tensed up so suddenly, Andrew nearly asked him what was wrong. But he relaxed almost immediately, so Andrew kept quiet.

Those two minutes out of his seat shouldn’t have changed Andrew’s life the way they did.

The scene on the plane when he stepped out of the washroom was infinitely different and exactly the same, all at once.

All passengers apart from Neil were slumped in their seats. Neil himself was leaning against the armrest of the aisle seat between his and Andrew’s seats. He was holding two little bottles of vodka.

Andrew carefully stepped up to him, senses prickling and on high alert.

Neil handed him a bottle before he spoke. “There’s a little issue with the pilots.” He raised a palm before Andrew stopped breathing altogether. “It’s alright. It’s not a huge problem. I can land this plane just fine. You won’t even notice the difference.”

Andrew blinked at him. He uncapped the bottle and swallowed the drink in a few mouthfuls without pulling off.

He pointed the empty bottle at Neil. “Did you just say you were going to fly this plane?”

Neil nodded.

Andrew glanced down at his feet. “The one we’re in.”

Now Neil frowned. It was a small thing, creasing the skin between his eyebrows. Andrew wanted to press his lips to that frown.

“Yeah, this plane.”

Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the alcohol kicking in. Andrew thought out loud. “So if you’re here talking to me, and the pilots are having ‘issues’, who’s flying this thing?”

Neil scratched the back of his head. “At the moment, autopilot. But that’s not gonna last for long, so what I need you to do is calmly get back in your seat and buckle up nice and secure, got it?”

Andrew felt hysteria bubble up inside him. This guy was joking, right? Andrew had hit his head on the toilet. He was passed out on that disgusting seat right now. He wasn’t having this conversation with Neil.

This plane wasn’t fucking flying itself with no pilots to man it.

“—rew? Andrew?” Neil snapped his fingers in front of his face. Andrew blinked at him.

“Did you hear what I said? You need to get in your seat and fasten that seat belt now.” Neil’s voice had taken on a hard edge.

No way. If dream-Neil was going to fly a plane, Andrew was going to see it happen. He couldn’t be affected by a fear of heights in his dreams, right?

“No. I want to come to the cockpit too,” he said.

Neil sighed as if Andrew was being difficult, but he kept glancing towards the front of the plane.

Andrew looked too.

The door swung open to reveal two men leaning out of their seats. There was red on one of their foreheads.

Were they dead?

It had to be a dream. A really weird dream.

Neil ran his hands through his hair. He let out a frustrated noise and said, “Fine. But you will get your ass into a seat and fasten the goddamn seat belt, got it?”

Deliriously, Andrew nodded.

The cockpit was a mess. Neil shoved one of the pilots out of his seat and sat down, reaching for the headset with one hand and the controls with the other.

“Andrew,” he said. “What did I say? Sit. The fuck. Down.”

Fine then, if he was going to get annoying. Andrew sat on a seat towards the back of the cockpit and fastened the seatbelt. This one was different from the usual passenger seat belts. It hooked from the top and pushed Andrew’s torso firmly back into the seat.

Neil was saying something into the headset, but Andrew couldn’t make out any of the words.

“Andrew?” Neil called out. “This is going to be a rough landing!”

“What?” Andrew said. “We’re not there yet.” He glanced out of the window and swallowed back a wave of nausea. “We’re in the middle of some farmland!”

“We weren’t going to land in an airport. Airports are too dangerous right now.”

“What? What does that mean?”

Neil tossed the headset aside and grabbed the steering wheel sort of thing with both hands. “It means hold on!”

‘Rough landing’ didn’t cover it. Andrew was bruised in places he didn’t think could bruise, and his ass felt glued to the seat.

It still felt like a dream, but somewhere in Andrew’s head he was starting to recognise that he hadn’t been knocked out on a toilet seat.

He was actually here, in the middle of some random farm, with Neil, who it turned out was some sort of secret agent or something who could land a fucking plane.

Neil dragged them to a halt a few hundred metres from the plane crash and sat him down on a large rock.

“Listen very carefully to me,” he said, kneeling down in front of Andrew. “They’re going to come for you.”

The alcohol was really kicking in now because it seemed like Andrew was hearing things.

Come for him? Really, Neil?

Andrew squinted at the other man, but he didn’t say anything.

Neil pushed away from him and reached into his bag, which he had somehow recovered along with Andrew’s. He pulled out a white bandage.

Tugging up the edge of his shirt, he pressed his fingers to the bloody patch on his skin. He hissed and uncapped another bottle of alcohol.

Idly, Andrew wondered when he’d pilfered them from the air hostess after refusing to drink at all.

He poured some of the alcohol over the wound and bit his lip to mask the pain.

Andrew asked, “Were you shot or something?”

“Grazed by the bullet, actually,” Neil answered.

He peeled off the protective covering of the bandage and pressed it to the wound, sealing it from edge to edge. He took another sip of alcohol and tossed the bottle aside.

He pulled out yet another one from his bag, and this time handed it to Andrew.

“Drink that,” he said, cracking open the seal.

Wordlessly, Andrew complied. He didn’t know if it was an after-effect of whatever that experience on the plane was, or if his head really was pounding so much he reasoned a drink could make it better.

“Hey,” Neil tilted his chin up. Andrew swatted his hand aside, so Neil said, “Look at me.”

Andrew looked at him.

“They’re going to come for you. You weren’t supposed to be on that plane. I don’t know why you were. Fuck,” he swore. Neil ran a hand through his hair. “They must have seen the switch on the cameras. Fuck, that was a beginner’s mistake. Shit.”

“What switch?” Andrew asked. His vision was slowly becoming blurry. “Who’s coming?”

“Never mind that.” Neil tapped his fingers on the rock Andrew was sitting on. “Think of them as the bad guys.”

“And you’re the good guy?” Andrew asked wryly.

Neil smiled. “Well of course.”

That smile was wiped away instantly by a more serious expression. Andrew alone mourned its loss.

“They’re going to want to take you away. They’ll use words like ‘safe’ and ‘secure’ and ‘package’. Andrew.” Neil snapped his fingers in front of Andrew’s face.

So rude, really.

“Andrew. Don’t answer their questions. Definitely don’t get into a car with them. And don’t, under any circumstances, say you know my name. Got it?”

Andrew’s vision was nearly black by now. “Did you drug me?” He asked, words slurring.

Neil almost looked apologetic. “I did.”

“I hate you.”

He shrugged. “That’s perfectly acceptable. Did you hear anything I just said?”

Annoyed, and tired of being treated like a little kid, Andrew said, “They use the words ‘safe’, ‘secure’ and ‘package’. Don’t talk to them, get in a car with them or say your name. I’m not an idiot, Neil.”

Neil chuckled. “No, you’re not, Andrew. No, you’re not.”

He rose to his feet and backed away from Andrew. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sorry about the mess.”

Andrew wanted to say something. The words were right there, on his tongue, but the darkness crept in, and his vision turned black.

The last thing he remembered was the feeling of strong arms lifting him up and carrying him away.

He was too far gone for the panic to set in.

[double-aa-batteries]

Fic Rec Friday - Week 4 - Andreil

Here it is! The fourth and final Fic Rec Friday in this fine April. Almost a week late, such that is no longer April, but it is here nonetheless :) If you want to check out any of the other 3 fic recs you can find the master post here

(also, plz ignore the terrible formatting, tumblr isn’t cooperating and i don’t know how to make it.)

the sound by jemwrites on AO3 here (17k, 5 chapters) 

 its always you series by justdk / @dkafterdark on AO3 here (5 parts) blood spilled (but none waisted) by detective4 on AO3 here (19k, 1 chapter) you kind of do though by Rory_writes on AO3 here (4k, 1 chapter)

during the height of the minyard-josten rivalry by @youknow-igetit on Tumblr here

during the height of the minyard-josten rivalry, a tiktok account is made titled “andrewminyardshusband”

no TWs, only fluff fame and infamy (you're a fairytale to me) by jemejem on AO3 here (18k, 5 chapters)

When Neil, an enormous fan of A.Doe's novels, stumbles into the quaint town of Palmetto, the last thing he expects to do is stay.

And when Andrew, secretly A.Doe himself, meets the town's newest cryptid, the last thing he expects to do is fall.

TW PTSD and anxiety

satisfaction dragged it back by scars and pipedreams (undermoonlitstars) on AO3 here (10k, 1 chapter) Neil has a reputation for lying, instigating fights, and meddling with people’s lives. He’s also unfairly handsome, but you didn’t hear that from Andrew. Anyways because of this, Andrew goes out of his way to avoid him, which isn’t easy since they live at the same apartment complex on the same fucking floor, but boy does Andrew try. He’s mostly successful until Neil shows up at his door holding his cat. 

References to canon-typical characters’ pasts

breaking the habit by Emmerr on AO3 here (2k, 1 chapter) Neil comes home with nicotine patches

no TWs here the key to fighting by andreil on AO3 here (6k, 1 chapter) It's rare for them to fight, but when they truly do, it's destructive.

TW for angst, drowning, kidnapping and mild torture and violence    back to the start by @fuzzballsheltiepants on AO3 here (29k, 11 chapters) This was the fic that made me read AFTG in the very first place.

Andrew has been on his pro team for 6 months when he takes a ball to the head. Neil flies to Boston to see him - only to find that Andrew doesn't remember him.

TW for references to Andrew’s past, and anxiety attacks (Andrew gets held down by some idiots who don’t understand boundaries) 90% of the time i want you to touch me by Mystrana on AO3 here (2k, 1 chapter) Neil loves being with Andrew. So why does he sometimes feel like he's going to throw up when they kiss?

TW for discussion of sex and depictions of repulsion from sex and sexual acts, nausea    fang and stake by darkbluebox on AO3 here (2k, 1 chapter)

Vampire!neil and Hunter!andrew

For most hunters, it would have been a wet dream: his quarry beaten, bleeding, trapped and prone before him. He might as well have been holding a stake on a silver platter. If it had been any other vampire in the world, Andrew wouldn’t have hesitated to drive the splintering chunk of wood through his chest and be done with it. Unfortunately, Neil wasn’t any other vampire.

TW for blood and stab wounds

please lmk if I missed any TWs!

@intangibel

[admiral-alby]

bob fic recs galore

here’s the fruits of my labour. a working fic rec master-post containing multiple bob ships and many, many amazing fics. the writers in this fandom are absolutely incredible and their talent astounds me every time I read a new fic. all the kudos to y’all. keep on keeping on!

this is a long post. recs and some general notes are under the cut :)

(04/13/21) I’ll do my best to keep this list updated... or I’ll make a part 2 depending on length. if anyone has any recs that are not already listed in this post, please please message me! this is no way an exhaustive list and I’m sure I missed some fantastic fics out there - to get started I mostly just plucked from my bookmarks. I’d be happy to add on new fics for ANY pairing, rare-pairs included. I don’t really have much for rare-pairs in this rec because I haven’t read much yet but that will change soon when I have some more time on my hands to get into them  :)

if you are an author on this list and you would like your work removed from it, please just message me. no explanation necessary I will take it off asap.

I’ll make the disclaimer that while I tried to include some general information about each fic, I did not include tags/warnings. so if you choose a fic, read the tags and proceed at your own discretion.

 @capsparkyspeirs   you’re a lovely human being and this is probably not what you were imagining when I said I’d be happy to rec some fics for you. I admit it got a little out of hand but there’s so many great fics out there I couldn’t stand to choose just a couple to send your way... so you get them all! you inspired me to do this, so this is for you and anyone else who wants to read some great fics but doesn’t know where to start <3

WINNIX (RICHARD WINTERS/LEWIS NIXON)

Long Ago and Far Away (Canon Winnix) by churchkey (Series) Rated T-E / Canon Era / 18013 Words (Total) / 4 Parts / Not Complete

Summary: “A few scenes exploring how Dick and Lew became the timeless cosmic lovers they were born to be.“

*Each part can be read as a stand-alone!

It Happened One Night by raquelelpillo Rated M / Groundhog Day AU / 7704 Words / Complete

Summary: “ Nixon gets the chance to do the day before the big jump over and over and over (or, Every Fandom Needs Groundhog's Day Fic).”

Finding Our Way in the Dark by rilla Rated E / Canon Era / Soulmate AU / 8477 Words / Complete

Summary: “After Dick and Lew share their first kiss in Austria, they open their eyes to find a golden thread binding their wrists together.“

Mutual by miss_grey Rated G / Canon Era / 2105 Words / Complete

Summary: “Dick couldn’t help wondering to himself when exactly Nix had decided that Dick’s personal space had become their mutual space.“

Let Me Be Close by armyofbees  Rated G / Canon Era (Post-War) / 8679 Words / Complete

Summary: “Five things Nix loves about Dick, and one thing Dick loves about Nix.Or,The thing about Nix, Dick is beginning to learn, is that he doesn’t love in halves. Nix loves with everything in him, and sometimes that means moving to the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania for Dick. Sometimes it means making spaghetti with him because Dick came to New Jersey and planted tomatoes, of all things. Sometimes it means telling without saying.”

Let’s Start the New Year Right by slightlytookish Rated G / Canon Era (Post-War) / 10523 Words / Complete

Summary: “Nix had always been able to pick Dick out of a crowd, even when he was lying on his belly in the dirt two hundred yards away, squinting through binoculars at an entire company of men wearing identical uniforms. It was easier to spot him in the crush of people inside Penn Station, even out of the familiar uniform: the same tall figure, the same bright hair, the same way he always seemed to find Nix just as easily and turn towards him, like an arrow on a compass.”

Lancaster County by raquelelpillo Rated T / AU / 31500 Words / 17 Chapters / Complete

Summary: “Nix is born later. Dick is there. (AU). Set in the summer of 1942 in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.”

**It is part of a series with the other works being small ‘extras’ set through the story. This is the main work. It ends a bit ambiguously.

SPEIRTON (RONALD SPEIRS/CARWOOD LIPTON)

The Desolate House by Howling_Harpy Rated E / Canon Era (Post-War) / 26672 Words / Complete

Summary: “It's been fifteen years since Carwood has last seen or spoken to Speirs when they reunite suddenly at an Easy Company reunion and have both recently relocated back to the US. Carwood has promised to his mother to finish packing and cleaning the family's boarding house that's about to be put up for sale, and on a whim invites Speirs to help him. He didn't expect him to actually show up.”

and you on my mind by seabright Rated E / Canon Era (Post-War) / 11081 Words / Complete

Summary: “’You say that you don’t want any of Easy to know that you’re in Boston but you give me your address.’  Following a relationship through the end of the war and beyond.”

Of Soldiers and Secrets by nanuk_dain Rated E / Canon Era / 62988 Words / 26 Chapters / Complete

Summary: “A series of moments in the life of the Easy men, from Foy until after the war, focussing on the development of the relationship of Carwood Lipton and Ronald Speirs.”

Erasure by Howling_Harpy Rated M / Canon Era (Post-War) / 15255 Words / Complete

Summary: “Carwood takes time off from work to visit his mother to get away from his lonely life in Boston. Ron is deployed to Korea and has been for a long while, and after spending a year alone and even longer lying to everyone, Carwood is not sure he wants to live like this anymore.”

Fluences by masongirl (Series) Rated T-M / Canon Era / Soulmates AU / 12818 Words (Total) / 5 Works / Complete

Summary: “ Soulmate AU in which soulmates can sense each other's emotions if they are close enough.”

**Mainly Speirton centric. Part 2 is Winnix & Part 3 is Shifty/Tab.

A Thousand Kisses by Arwen88 Rated T / Canon Era / 1993 Words / Complete

Summary: “ A late night in Hardigny brings Carwood to the room where Ron is dealing with paperwork, but even with a comfortable bed, he can’t find his peace. Late night chats have Ron showing a side of himself that Carwood had not expected.”

stop the world by languageofthebirds Rated T / Canon Era / 3001 Words / Complete

Summary: “The way his hair fell in mussed waves over his forehead made Carwood want to reach out and run his fingers through it. He was sin personified, in that moment.”

**Did I throw in a shameless self promo? Sure did.

WEBGOTT (JOSEPH LIEBGOTT/DAVID WEBSTER)

rivers always reach the sea by bitchbutter (Series) Rated E / Canon Era / 40790 Words (Total) / 2 Works / Not Complete / Last Updated March 17, 2021

Part 1 Summary: “Joe breaks things off with Web in Austria. Of course, nothing with them is ever that simple.“

Part 2 Summary: “The end of the war could be the end of a lot of things. If Joe could let it be.“

if i know you at all, i know you’ve gone too far by starblessed Rated T / Canon Era / 2654 Words / Complete

Summary: “How many stars d’you think there are, Web?” Joe asks after a moment.David has no damned clue. “A lot,” he answers confidently. “Millions.”“Millions,” echoes Joe. The glittering stars are reflected in his eyes, like black pits sending each beam of light back outward. It’s almost hypnotizing, the way they flicker. If he stares too long, David knows he will get lost in them...  and that doesn't seem like the worst way to go.”

Teller of Tales; Song of Songs by thedastardly Rated E / Canon Era (Post War) / 8352 Words / Complete

Summary: “He hopes that he dreams about the mountaintop tonight. He isn’t in the mood to dream of the water, the shore, the everything after, again.”

the only noise beating out is ours by lakehymn Rated M / Canon Era (Post-War) / 3470 Words / Complete

Summary: “Over the next couple weeks, Webster realizes that Liebgott has effortlessly invaded every corner of his life. Even on the days when he barely sees Liebgott at all, he can always find comic books or packs of cigarettes lying around somewhere. It’s almost disconcerting how ordinary it’s beginning to feel to stumble upon someone else’s belongings in his own house.”

push and pull by LT_Aldo_Raine

Rated T / Modern AU / 4115 Words / Complete

Summary: ““got hands like an ocean, push you out, pull you back in” And David Webster never could resist the ocean. OR: Webster snorted, a sardonic sound that echoed across the hotel room. “You don’t know the first thing about what I need.””

hang in there, baby by rilla Rated M / Modern AU / 3116 Words / Complete

Summary: “Written for the Kisstober prompt 'upside down Spiderman kisses'. '“I don’t know what I was expecting when I asked you what your top fantasy is,” Web says, “but it wasn’t this."'”

In His Wildest Dreams by Impala_Chick Rated E / Canon Era / Dream Sharing AU / 3891 Words / Complete

Summary: “While David is in the hospital, he starts sharing dreams with Liebgott.“

Black Ink on Some Blue Lines by thelastfig Rated E / Canon Era & Post War / 10185 Words / Complete

Summary: “It’s been sixteen years since the letter was written, but it never found its way to the one it was intended for. The thing about secrets is they eat away at you, not all at once but slowly over the years, and you begin to wonder, to play out the what if scenarios in your mind. Instead, David buried it away and pretended like it never existed. He should have killed it, he thinks to himself, not buried it while it still had breath in its lungs. In which David remembers his evolving relationship with Joe over the course of the war and decides to deliver a letter.”

LUZTOYE (GEORGE LUZ/JOSEPH TOYE)

The best laid plans by masongirl (Series) Rated G-E / Modern AU / 52652 Words (Total) / 15 Parts / Complete

Summary: “Modern AU in which Joe and George find each other as college students and build a life together.“

each and every day (of the year) by bruce_the_shark Rated M / Modern AU / 21630 Words / 2 Chapters / Complete

Summary: “Joe grins, lifts his hand from George’s hip to grip him by the chin, twists his face around to catch his lips in a bruising kiss. George relishes in it, likes how the taste of Joe’s preferred brand of liquor mixes with the taste of his own on his tongue. He grins against Joe’s lips, knows it’s going to be a good year.”

Babysitting and Other Rationales by aces_low Rated T / Modern AU / 3267 Words / Complete

Summary: “George Luz is a god damn saint, or at least some kind of kid whisperer. And Joe's just trying to keep his head on straight.”

who let the dogs in? by starblessed Rated T / Modern AU / 1869 Words / Complete

Summary: ““And he heard me shouting and I guess it inspired him or something, cause he full-on charged at me, Joe, and before I could even slam the door, he was just —“ George cuts off with an incoherent noise, gesturing grandly to their front door. “In! And then he was running, and sniffing everything, and exploring our shit, and he peed —““Not on my damn couch,” Joe growls.“No, on the nice carpet. Marking his territory, y’know? Except it’s our territory, but I guess it’s his now, because he won’t freakin’ leave.”

BABEROE (EDWARD HEFFRON/EUGENE ROE)

Call me sweetheart, please? by mariamegale (Series) Rated G-E / Modern AU / 95865 Words (Total) / 12 Works / Complete

Summary: “A not-relationship in the making.”

**Each part could be read as a standalone I suppose... But it’s so worth it to read the whole series!

between the walls by CountlessStars Rated M / Canon Era (Post-War) / 2275 Words / Complete

Summary: “ Eugene decides to paint his living room. It should be easy, it really should, but it doesn't go as planned (in more ways than one).”

Walking Wounded by papersky_pencilstars Rated G / Canon Era / Magic AU / 3501 Words / Complete

Summary: “Prompt: Canon-era; Either Gene or Babe have magic, or both. Maybe magic is known or maybe they need to hide it.”

JOHNNY MARTIN/BULL RANDLEMAN

they don’t know about the up all nights (they don’t know I’ve waited all my life) by PotofCoffee Rated T / Canon Era / 22010 Words / 3 Chapters / Complete

Summary: “ Johnny and Bull throughout the war, in a slow meandering dance you might just call love.”

All My Love to Give by Muccamukk Rated E / Canon Era / 8852 Words / Complete

Summary: “ Johnny wants to screw around to pass the time. Bull wants to show Johnny how he feels without having to risk saying it”

The Red String by Arwen88 Rated M / Canon Era / Soulmates AU / 1834 Words / Complete

Summary: “He had to wrench his gaze away from the sickening sight, from the machine that was probably moments away from killing his soulmate. He would’ve thrown himself under that tank if that meant saving his lover, but he couldn’t do it. He had to take care of his men, and so he forced himself to stop looking, to order his men to retreat, to see that they did what he was screaming at them.“

Over Where You Began Muccamukk Rated E / Canon Era / 2949 Words / Complete

Summary: “ The way Bull saw it, Johnny was mad at him now, and Bull had no idea what he'd done wrong. Maybe it was better to just let it lie, let Johnny come out of whatever angry mood he was in on his own, instead of kicking an ant's nest.”

Simple as a Glass of Chocolate by ThrillingDetectiveTales Rated E / Canon Era / 2600 Words / Complete

Summary: ““It was supposed to be syrup,” Johnny muttered darkly. “Says right there on the can!”“Reckon it started out that way,” Bull shrugged, biting his lip against a smile when Johnny narrowed a glare over his shoulder.(In which Johnny and Bull try to sweeten up their sex life and it doesn't go exactly as planned.)”

CHUCK GRANT/RONALD SPEIRS

to Babel, in ruins by captainkilly Rated T / Canon Era (Post-War) / 5114 Words / Complete

Summary: “Chuck knows recovery isn't a linear event. Knows there are times when words will leave him and the night will place him back beneath the dirt. Knows there are things he just can't speak about.Captain Speirs hears him anyway.”

pulse by captainkilly Rated T / Canon Era  / 4706 Words / Complete

Summary: “ Ron Speirs knows how to kill. Knows how to hurt, how to twist, how to maim. He doesn't think he's figured out how to love, not really, not where it counts the most, but the touches he reserves for Chuck Grant beg to differ.. “

AUTHORS

there are so many authors on this list that have written tons of amazing works for one or multiple pairings. as much as I would have loved to, I couldn’t rec all of their works... I had a hard enough time keeping it down to 3 or less works from the same author! similar to fics, I’ve only linked authors that I am familiar with/know have written multiple fics, so feel free to send me more people to add to the list :)

churchkey - is a sweetheart. has multiple amazing winnix works. she has recently gotten into super rarepair toye/malarkey. godspeed I’ll see you there when I read those fics.

ThrillingDetectiveTales - writes for multiple pairings. all of their works are fantastic! every time I see their name as the author I go !! and know it’s going to be good.

Howling_Harpy - has written so many fics. many different pairings. lots of speirton. they’ve ripped my heart out and made me cry but then gently kissed my forehead and put my heart back. I think that’s praise of the highest order.

masongirl - another fantastic author who has written so many amazing fics. tons of speirton and other ships too. also has made me cry and then quietly wiped my tears away.

mariamegale - baberoe queen. that’s all I have to say. I was tempted to just rec all her baberoe fics. check them out!

Muccamukk - another multi ship, multi works writer. i had a hard time only choosing a few of their fics to rec. they’ve got so much to offer!

Impala_Chick - writes lots of great webgott and other pairings too!

captainkilly - if i could rec all her fics I would. there’s some rarepair pieces that are fantastic. I didn’t list it here because it’s more of a character centric piece with an OFC and a little bit of ron/chuck dashed in mostly at the end, but read her form & void series. seriously. read it. I have nothing else to say because her work speaks for itself.

Arwen88 - another writer for multiple pairings with multiple works! love to see it. some great rarepair stuff and also fantastic popular pairings.

LT_Aldo_Raine - love their work! they write for multiple pairings.

[a-froger-epic]

Get out your glitter leotards and pour some champagne in your cat mugs! 🥂 🍾 It’s time to celebrate Freddie! 🎉😸

🎊 Freddie Mercury Weekend 2021 🎊

❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

ABOUT THE EVENT

This weekend is a content creation event in honour of the man himself, the legend we all love, Freddie Mercury! Once more, everyone who is inspired by Freddie is invited to share their creativity with the fandom. You can write, draw, edit, record, even cross-stitch 😉 content for absolutely anything related to Freddie, any ship, any genre, any way you like. This is an indiscriminately inclusive, positive event. Everyone is welcome, there is no wrong way to be a fan of Freddie! (Except convincing yourself you're dating his ghost maybe. That's pretty wrong. And weird. Don't do that.)

WHEN? On the 21st, 22nd and 23rd of May.

HOW? On the above dates (or after!), post your contributions to the AO3 collection or alternatively on Tumblr, tagged ‘#fmw2021’ or/and ‘#freddie mercury weekend 2021’. If you post on Tumblr, please also tag @a-froger-epic to make sure you get a reblog from me!

❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

THE PROMPTS

You can be as free with the prompts as you like. They are here to inspire, there is no wrong way to write them! Change them around, mix them up, make them fem!Freddie, A/B/O, add your favourite ship. Anything goes! 😊

21st of May - 500-1000 word challenge!

We’re kicking off the event with ficlets and drabbles. First time writer just testing the waters? No need for an epic, just write a scene! No time to write but you want to participate? Surely you’ll find time for 500 words! 😉 Interpret these mini-prompts however you like (every one is a separate prompt, but you can combine them!):

Make-Up 💄   |   Pain/Pleasure 👀

Strip 👕   |   Ring 💍

Forbidden 🤫   |   Delilah 🐈

Piano 🎹   |   Dormitory 🛏 

Outrageous 🎉   |   Contentment 😌

Come Together 🎇   |   Ballet 🩰

Piece of Art 🎨   |   Leather 🧥

Cockring 🐔   |   Kimono 👘

Petals 🌸   |   Leotard 🕺🏻

Mustache 🧔   |   Last Time 😔

22nd of May - Is This The Real Life? 

A list of real event/canon timeline prompts from Freddie’s life. How real you want to keep them, however, is entirely up to you!

Down in flames

Freddie is 16 years old when he leaves boarding school. Does it have something to do with the school gardener, Sanjay? Did he flunk his exams or did he not even sit them? Is one thing connected to the other? Does he really find a boyfriend when he goes to stay with his aunt in Mumbai (then Bombay)? Either way, there’s the small matter of his parents finding out about all of it... (Sources: x x )

When Freddie met Kenny

Freddie is a guest on Kenny Everett's radio show in spring 1974. Freddie is living with Mary, Kenny is married. Two gay men, deep in the closet. To no one's surprise, they hit it off immediately. (Source: x )

But when did he? 

At some point during his relationship with Mary, prior to his relationship with David, Freddie had already begun sleeping with men. But how and when did that first happen? Cottaging in London? On tour somewhere in the world? Your guess is as good as ours… 

Flying High

Sex, Drugs and Rock n' Roll. Like all rock bands of their time, Queen doesn’t escape the copious amounts of cocaine in the entertainment industry for long. Somewhere on tour in America, perhaps, Freddie is first introduced to it. Where? How? 

Hide your tears

Jim said that he tried to be strong for Freddie and only cried in private, so as not to burden Freddie with his feelings. But this time, he is found. 

One-liners:

In 1969, Freddie doesn’t know how to cook an egg and neither does Roger (Source: x )

In 1977, Freddie meets Joe while on tour in Boston and starts dating him behind David's back

In 1990, Brian and Freddie work on 'The Show Must Go On' (Source: x )

In a year of your choice, Jim reminisces about his fondest moment(s) with Freddie

In 1976, Freddie and Mary end their relationship 

In 1984, Winnie gives Freddie a wedding ring (middle of the post: x )

In the late 60s, Freddie agrees to model for an Ealing Art School fashion show, but panics and flees the runway (Source: x )

In 1974, Freddie is strip-searched upon arrival in Australia (Source: x )

In 1982, Freddie and Roger go shopping in Amsterdam (Source: x )

In 1978, Freddie swings from a chandelier - naked (Source: x )

23rd of May - Is It Just Fantasy?

A list of AU prompts to spark your imagination. Take them and run with them or change them up, just have fun!

Make your dreams come true

Freddie hasn't been very fortunate in his life, until he finds a very special oil lamp, and rubs it just the right way. 

Beautiful stranger

Freddie meets an alluring stranger at a masquerade ball, who has more secrets than he can hide behind a mask. But Freddie has some of his own. 

Thicker than water 

Freddie agrees to a dreadful fate in order to save his little sister from the very same. Fortunately, he has friends who are more than willing to help him, but can they? Or are they, too, in danger?

Diamonds are a boy's best friend

Freddie is the prized jewel of the court, a skilled belly-dancer and entertainer, but he may also be plotting murder and getting away with it. 

Almost Real

In a distant future, humans have all but done away with face to face interaction. Humanity largely lives online. Children grow up isolated and live with only their families well into young adulthood. Cybersex is the new normal, although some families take a puritanical approach for fear of addiction. One day, impossibly, a real life young man falls through the containment field in Freddie’s back garden. 

One-liners:

This plane is going to crash (Freddie knew there was a reason he hated flying) 

Shipwrecked on an island (Freddie could never bear to be alone, but luckily/unfortunately for him…) 

Hunger Games AU (Freddie is so dead) 

A terrible road accident (Everyone is so dead, or are they?) 

Blind Date AU (Freddie's best friend is so dead for setting him up with this person… or are they…) 

Bank robbery (but who are the robbers and who are the hostages?) 

Magic AU ("Yer a wizard, Freddie!")

Film Noir AU (Secrets and cigarette holders) 

Interior Design AU (Does the carpet match the drapes?)

The Bodyguard AU (“And I will always love yooouuuu…”)

❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

RULES & FAQ

⛔ Strictly No Hate ⛔

This is the NUMBER ONE RULE of the event, to ensure that everybody feels safe. No rudeness, provocations or hate aimed at creators or other commenters will be permitted, not on AO3 nor Tumblr.

Follow these steps if you receive a comment or ask that distresses you:

Do not engage. (You can take a screenshot as proof.)

Delete it. No ifs, no buts. Just delete it. (Don’t hesitate to block anon hate on Tumblr.)

Alert me ( @a-froger-epic ) or @aboutnothingness, who is lending me a hand to make sure all needs are attended, all questions are answered and everything runs smoothly. We are here to actively support you. We’ve got your back, and we will gladly talk to you and help you feel better.

If you choose to ignore this rule, your work may be removed from the event. We would hate to resort to that.

But what if one of the works has upset me?

Can the thing that upset you be tagged, but it wasn’t? Then please inform @a-froger-epic or @aboutnothingness, and we will bring it to the creator’s attention. (Remember to use the appropriate tags, everybody!)

Was the thing that upset you already tagged? Or is it perhaps simply the characterisation you find disagreeable? Then we suggest you click on the ‘back’ button, take a deep breath and remind yourself it's just fanfic.

Who can participate?

Anyone who is inspired by Freddie Mercury in any way shape or form. This event is open to all.

Can I combine prompts from different days?

By all means! We look forward to your futuristic Freddie-gets-kicked-out-of-boarding-school Maycury Film Noir AU. With leotards. Go crazy.

I'm not sure where my creation fits in, what day do I post it? 

The days, like the prompts, are only suggestions. We don't mind when you post it, as long as you post it! Even if it's two weeks late! 

Help, I've never posted fic before! 

Don't worry, we've got you! (And more importantly, we've got AO3 invites!) @aboutnothingness is more than happy to walk you through the process of setting up an account and is also offering her services as a beta.

I’m still too nervous to participate!

You can post anonymously to the collection. You can disable anon comments on your work. You can disable comments entirely and just collect the kudos. You can close anon asks on Tumblr temporarily. But most importantly, we are here for you and we want you here!

❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

“I love the fact that I make people happy, in any form. Even if it’s just half an hour of their lives, in any way that I can make them feel lucky or make them feel good, or bring a smile to a sour face, that to me is worthwhile.”

- Freddie Mercury

[sequinsmile-x]

Defence

They can’t stop each other from being hurt by the past so they do what they can now. They protect each other, their love fierce and soft in equal measure.

Words: 2.5k 

Warnings: Canon typical violence 

Thanks to @aubreyprc for reading this for me to ensure it made sense because I wrote 98% of it in a sleep deprived state. You’re the best, bestie <3 

Read over on ao3 or below the cut.

Let me know what you think!

Emily was sure she had never been so grateful for a case to be over. Eight days in a small town, with almost as many dead young boys. Lost at the hands of a man who was taking out his anger at losing his own son out on innocent local families.

She had watched as the man she loved struggled with it, the similarity between the dead children and his own son not lost on anyone in the team. She knew she’d hovered, stayed maybe a little too close, but she missed Jack too. She kept thinking about the homework she had been helping him with before they were called away, how it was probably still spread out on their dining room table.

She couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to never finish it, to walk back into a home that only had memories of the boy she loved as her own. They finished the case a little too late to fly home that evening. Aaron’s disappointment was sharp, his frustration coming out in barbed shouts at the team and the local cops as they packed away, broke down the room they had called home for more than a week. Some work needed finishing in the morning, the finilalsing of interviews that Aaron had said they would help with before they headed back to DC.

Dave had given her a silent look, asked her to work her magic. Emily led Aaron down a small, quiet, hallway and she gently assured him they’d see Jack the following day, that they’d pick him up from school and take him to see the movie he’d been raving about for weeks. It drew a smile out of him, and she had squeezed his hand, quipping that he owed everyone a drink.

It’s how they found themselves in a local dive bar, all crowded around a table. Aaron had his arm around her, slung over her shoulders, and she had hers around his waist. Any discomfort of public displays of affection in front of the team had melted away years ago. She could feel some eyes on them, cops they had worked with over the last week casting curious gazes in their direction, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The case was over, they were heading home in the morning. They could allow themselves to act like a normal couple.

Emily looks up at him and smiles when he looks back at her. She reaches up to press a quick kiss to his lips, her hand coming to rest on his cheek.

“I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a sec.” She kisses him again, and flips Derek off as she walks away when she hears him making a fake gagging noise.

As she enters the hallway she sees two of the officers from the case. Officer Peters, a difficult man who had looked at them all with contempt since they arrived, and his partner Officer Hayes. Peters was clearly a misogynist, his defiance towards her when they’d been partnered up on a couple of interviews over the last few weeks made that clear. She gets closer to them and stops, their conversation loud enough for her to hear.

“I looked him up, you know?” Officer Peters says, taking a sip of his drink, leaning in towards his partner like he was about to tell some grand secret, but not lowering his voice. “Do you remember The Boston Reaper?” He waits for a nod. “The suit killed him. With his bare hands.”

The mention of Foyet always made her blood run cold even all these years later. Haley’s last words echoing around her head as she remembers them finding Aaron with Foyet’s body, still beating him as if the man wasn’t long dead. She lived with a little boy who had very few memories of his mother now, who would still sometimes find his way into her and Aaron’s bed. Nightmares fused with half remembered moments of the worst day of his life. The things he had overheard, but could not understand, twisting into something that was somehow worse than reality.

“Wouldn’t think he had it in him.” Officer Hayes says in disbelief.

“There's got to be something interesting about him to bag Agent Prentiss. You know she's a wild one just by looking at her.” Officer Peters takes another swig of his drink. “He’s a stern bastard, didn’t crack a smile the whole time they were here.”

She knows it’s true, she makes fun of Aaron for it herself often enough. Good natured jibes to make him relax a little, to remind him that they were all there too. Hearing someone else say it, someone who didn’t know them, set her on edge. She knew how Aaron wore his stoicism like an armour, something to protect himself from the things they saw, from the responsibilities he carried. She was there when it all fell away, when he became her Aaron, not Hotch, and it made her protective of him. Something fierce building in her chest.

She clears her throat before she can stop herself, and the officers both turn to look at her.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” She says, an eyebrow raised. “I’ve got to get past you.” She nods down the hallway towards the bathrooms, indicating the amount of room they were taking up.

Officer Hayes has the decency to look caught out, and he steps back almost immediately. Officer Peters, however, stands in her way. Purposely blocking her with a defiant look on his face.

“The case is closed.” He says, and she can smell the alcohol on his breath. Emily wonders how long they had been here, if they had been drinking since the unsub was brought in several hours ago. “Your team can’t tell us what to do anymore.”

Emily rolls her eyes and walks past him, easily getting by, and he grabs her arm, yanks her back towards him. She tries to pull her arm free, but he holds on tighter, squeezing her skin in a way that hurts. She doesn’t let it show.

“Let go of me.”

“Terry-” Officer Hayes tries to warn his partner, cut off before he can get beyond the man's given name.

“What are you going to do?” He asks, getting closer to her, making rage as opposed to the fear she was sure he was after rising in her chest. “Tell your boyfriend.”

When she looks back on it in the weeks to come Emily isn’t sure what made her say something. What made her push past the voice in her head, that sounded suspiciously like her boyfriend, telling her to leave it. To walk away. She thinks it’s down to the brutality of the case, the way she knew it had impacted Aaron much more than he would let anyone other than her know. His facade cracking when their hotel room door closed at the end of a long day, too many hours worked behind them and too few hours of sleep ahead.

Emily had watched as he loosened his tie every night, the stoicism on his face giving way to sadness and something too close to guilt for her liking. She had held him tightly in her embrace, trying to transfer some of her strength to him, kisses and words of love pressed against his skin. A loan she gave freely but knew he would pay back, and then some, the next time it was her turn to fall apart behind closed doors.

“I don’t need to tell him anything.” She smiles at him, and it pisses Officer Peters off more. “I’m a federal agent, this is assault. I’d think long and hard before making me involve him. It won't end well for you.” She tears her arm free, holds back the wince when she can feel her skin bruise. She starts to walk away, forgoing the bathroom altogether to walk back to the team, to Aaron.

“Is that a threat, bitch?”

Emily doesn’t exactly know what happens next, Officer Hayes and Peters move at the same time. She’s sure the former is trying to stop his partner, but she ends up getting a blow to her left cheek either way. She cries out, her hand coming up to her face, pain spreading from the point of impact. She hears Derek yelling from across the bar and she sighs.

All hell was about to break loose. _______________

Emily finds herself grateful that Aaron is not there when everything happened, that he’d stepped out to call Jessica and speak to Jack before he went to bed for the night. When he walks back into the bar she can tell he immediately knows something has happened. She watches as he pauses in the doorway, the relative silence in the bar deafening in comparison to the noise he had left behind.

Aaron looks over and sees Derek and Dave talking to a couple of officers from the case, Officer Hayes included, and then he looks over at where she is sitting, JJ holding ice wrapped in a towel the barman had given them against her cheek.

He’s by her side in seconds, JJ handing over the makeshift ice pack silently, linking arms with Spencer to lead him away to give them some privacy

“What happened to your face?” He cups her jaw gently, his thumb ghosting over the swelling already appearing under her skin, bruising blooming on her cheek.

“It’s ok.” She says, her self deprecating laugh turning into a wince as he presses the wrapped ice to her cheek. “It’s nothing. You should see the other guy. Derek did a number on him.”

“Em.” Aaron says, grabbing her hand with his spare one, gently squeezing it. “Please.”

She sighs and closes her eyes. “Ok.” She swallows and looks at him again, attempting a smile to reassure him. “But you’ve got to understand it is not your fault.”

His face falls, eyebrows furrowing enough that the crease she loves to soothe with her thumb appears on his forehead.

“A couple of the officers from the case were over by the bathroom, I heard them talking about you.” It riles her up again, frustration burning in her chest. “I let them know I was there. One of them was pretty drunk and he grabbed me. I got away and he managed to get a good punch in whilst his partner tried to stop him.”

“Where?” He grits out.

“What?”

“Where did he grab you?” He asks, his voice dangerous. She sighs, rolls the sleeve up on her sweater to show where the finger shaped bruises were forming on her arm. She sees him clench his jaw, the hand not gently holding ice against her cheek forming a fist.

“Honey-”

“I’ll kill him.”

Emily stops him from moving, wrapping her hand around his fist. “Aaron, just breathe. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Emily.” He seethes, anger vibrating off of him in a way she couldn’t remember seeing in years. “He hurt you.”

“Come on, love. I can take a punch just as well as the rest of you.” She says, smiling at him. “Probably better actually.”

“Em.”

“It’s not worth it. He’ll already be losing his badge for this. I’d rather you didn’t go to prison for killing him.” She reaches out and cups his cheek, tries to coax a smile out of him. “I don’t think I could keep up with the mortgage payments by myself and it would be a shame to move.” She presses her forehead to his. “I love the bay window too much.”

Aaron does laugh at that. It’s cracked, catching in his chest, but it’s something and it relieves the tension. “I always knew that’s why you agreed to move in with me. The house.”

“You’ll do too, I suppose.” She kisses him, and becomes serious when she pulls away. “Let’s just get out of here, ok? I’d like to go climb into that tiny excuse for a bath in our hotel room with you.”

She doesn’t have to ask twice, their goodbyes to the team short as they leave the bar. When they get outside Officer Peters is there, his superior officer having arrived once the incident had called through.

Emily has to physically pull Aaron in the opposite direction, she feels the tension in him build again as they take a couple steps away.

“She threatened me first, you know.” Officer Peters yells after them, his anger at Emily still clear. “This is what happens when you let women do this kind of work.”

Aaron rarely used his strength against her, unless she asked him to, but he was out of her grasp before she even knew what was happening.

“Aaron.” She calls after him, catching up with him and grabbing his arm again, her fingers digging into his bicep. “It’s not worth it.”

“She is better at her job than you could ever hope to be.” Aaron spits out, anger flowing from him. “When I’m done with you they won’t even let you direct traffic.” He turns to the detective in charge of the case. “We won’t be back in the morning as discussed, we will be leaving first thing. My team will liaise with you on anything you need.”

He walks away, pulling her with him, before there is any chance of a response. _______________

She wants to distract him, his fingers grazing gently over the bruising on her arm as they sit in the bath together. She was on his lap, crushed up against him so they could both fit. Emily could feel how delicately he was treating her. Even though she couldn’t see his face she knew he was frowning, on a downward spiral, blaming himself for not protecting her.

She links her fingers through his, drags his arm around her so he’s no longer focused on her injuries. “That was pretty hot, you know.” She turns her head to press a kiss into his throat, her fingers dancing across his skin. “What was?” He asks, and she turns her whole body to look at him, settling herself back over his thighs. She bites her lip before she kisses him so he can’t focus too much on her bruised cheek.

“You wanting to go all caveman like that.” She says, moving her lips to his ear lobe, nipping at the delicate skin. “However unnecessary it was.”

His hands grip her hips, pulling her closer to him, and she knows she’s achieved what she had set out to.

“Oh really?” He asks as his hands trail up her back.

“Really.”

She kisses him, and all other thoughts are lost.

[boldlyvoid]

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x Mindhunter AU

Spencer Reid x Peggy Carr (OC) Part 2: The Case

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn! flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr and Jason Gideon's biological daughter. mentions of rape and murder (typical canon violence)

word count: 2.2K

ao3

P1

He’s not expecting her to roll out a full map after the waitress clears the food from their table. They’ve been in the booth for barely 20 minutes. Having mindless conversations about their day and small get to know each other questions while they ate.

“So, I brought all this to my dad,” she explained, dropping 33 files on the table as well as 2 spiral notebooks and a handful of pens. “He thinks I have a case, but he’s refusing to look at the evidence because he’s still triggered by it, which I get, but he said you’d be the best at helping me because I really just need a geo-profile consult.”

“How is he doing?”

She’s been waiting for him to ask but she still didn’t know how to answer, no matter how much time she had to prep, “uh, he’s good. He talks about you every time I see him, how often do you talk?”

“We haven’t talked since he almost died, 6 years ago now… yes, it was in 2015,” Spencer says it like it’s nothing serious.

“Oh,” she’s confused about it all. Her father talks about him more than anyone else, always remembering a case or a conversation that he just had to tell her about.

Spencer was his buddy in her eyes. “Here I was thinking he liked you more than me like you’re his favourite kid.”

“I’m not his kid,” his eyes widen at the insinuation that they’re somehow siblings in any sense.

It makes her laugh, she knows he’s interested in her a small amount. She was hoping he would, she’s heard so many wonderful things about him and she remembers just how cute he was back in 2005. Now he’s a man and a mighty fine one at that…

“I take it you’re an only child?” He changes the subject, “you can’t handle the idea of your father having relationships with people your age when you hardly know him?”

“How about you tell me who you think I am and I’ll tell you where you went wrong?” She challenges him rather than answering, she knows he’s good but she wants to see it in action.

Spencer raised his brow, “if I get it right, you’re paying for lunch.”

“Deal.”

He opens her notebook and takes a look at her notes, flipping through the pages reading the words just as fast as her father said he could. It was incomprehensible, but he didn’t read far… he keeps going back to her drawings, studying the pressure and how her mind worked.

“Your mom travelled a lot when you were a kid, and you always went with her. I’m thinking you have a few degrees, at least 3…” he pauses to watch her microexpressions, trailing her skin with his eyes as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. “There’s a doctorate in there but you hate being called Dr. Carr because that’s your mother’s name and it reminds you too much of people asking about her instead of how you’re doing.”

It cuts deep, but he hits the nail on the head and she just blinks. The simplest microexpression that shows him he got it right, his smile is awkward and he’s sorry for it.

“You were homeschooled so you don’t trust people very easily. You have issues with your father that you can’t place because you still don’t think you know him well enough to really have an opinion, and you’re jealous of me because you wish you knew how he brags about you when you’re not around, but he doesn’t talk about you because you told him not to.”

“I specifically told him I wanted to be left out of his life to stay safe, so it’s really my fault that he can’t brag about me. But I still wish someone would,” she admits with a soft smile. “And I think it’s not really jealousy. I’m not jealous of how he brags about his time with you. If anything, I really admire you now.”

He blushes a little, “alright, your turn.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before have you?” She calls him out right away. “You can’t take a compliment seriously because no one has loved you deep enough yet for you to believe them. I already know about your parents, I know that you’re scared of forgetting and that’s why you won't stop learning. I think you probably have a bucket list, you’re desperate for something exciting to happen and that’s why you like me already.”

He blinks right back, “touché.”

“I’ll still buy your lunch,” she smiled, and he smiled right back. “And I do have 3 degrees.”

“I do too.”

“I know,” she reminded him. “You’ve been working on that 4th one for the last 16 years.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

She shakes her head as she laughs, teasing him as if she’s better than him because she knows he finds her interesting already, “I had my Ph.D. by 17, as well 2 masters by the time I was 21.”

“3 Ph.D.’s by 22,” he bragged right back.

It had suddenly become a staring contest, “when exactly did your dad walk out on you?”

“I was 10.” Spencer answers. “When was the last time your mom said she was proud of you?”

“Oh, we're going that far, I see,” she laughed, hurt just a little that he dug that deep, “what happened to yours recently?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m really sorry, I knew about the schizophrenia already because of the fisher king case, that one is the one that still has my dad all fucked up,” she can’t help but rant as she apologizes, placing her hands on his in the centre of the table and he interlocks their fingers like they’ve known each other for years.

“Boston?” He asks her, changing the topic back to getting to know each other without letting go of her hands.

She nods, “Vegas?”

“You knew that already,” he catches her.

“Maybe so,” she blushes at the embarrassment of him picking up on her crush.

“How’d he describe me at chess?” There’s a cockiness behind it that she admires, smiling in response she just shakes her head.

“I don’t play chess, but he says that other than Agent Prentiss, you’re the only person who has come close to beating him.”

“Prentiss?” He looks almost offended at the fact he didn’t know that story.

“You were asleep on the jet, it was right after the trip to Azkaban,” she reminds him.

“Azkaban?” He repeats. “You mean Guantanamo?”

She’s only slightly embarrassed by the slip-up, blushing a deep red as she presses her lips together and squeezes his hand. “My mom calls it Azkaban, she hates it. If it wasn’t for the BAU, she would have never joined the bureau or the government in any way, she’s against the criminal justice system too, so…”

“She’s a woman of science and empathy, I’ve never met her, but I’ve read all her work.”

“So have I,” she’s full of butterflies for some reason as she thinks about him knowing everything that she does, she’s suddenly excited at the prospect of future conversations with him like this isn’t a one-time thing.

He’s still holding her hands over the map, both of them leaning in slightly as they kept talking, it felt overly intimate for a discussion of a case— and they haven’t even started yet.

She takes her hands out of his grip and flattens them over the map, “so I found a pattern, I was asked to look into the rape and murder of a friends sister, and now I’ve found 32 matching cases all over America going in alphabetical order by state, 2 a year since 2005.”

“Are you serious?”

She nods softly, “I’m a private investigator. I hated the academy and simply being in the BAU almost killed both of my parents so I’m not really fond of it, but I need help.”

“How did VICAP not pick this up?” Spencer’s still caught up on the fact this has been happening during his entire career and he had no way of helping. It was very clear by the look on his face.

“Because they’re college-age women getting raped in their dorms, 1 in each state, and men don’t care enough to dig a little deeper when it’s just a little girl who was probably asking for it anyway, right?”

He looks furious, but with her… not at her.

Not like most men, that’s actually exactly what any other guy would have said to her. ‘Not most men,’ they only said that if they were offended; when they knew that they were the exact type of man she was referring to.

He started opening case files then, flipping through everything as she watched carefully, “he always does it the exact same way. It’s every March and November between the 6th and 12th, he’s gotten to the O’s, which means the next hit should be in Oklahoma in exactly 2 months' time.”

“Has there been evidence?” Spencer asks, avoiding eye contact as he both listens and absorbs.

“1 footprint and some random fingerprints at the first few, other than that it’s like he was never there,” she sighs. “This is where I need your help; I’m unsure if he’s attacking randomly or if it’s planned ahead of time, so I brought the map to see if you can make any connection.”

“Alright,” he closes the folder and hands them to her so he can get a better look at everything. “I’m going to need the exact address of each one.”

“I have 32 mini maps,” she says, opening her book bag and handing him yet another folder.

“I’ve noticed they’re in every capital, and it’s always on the east side of the city,” she adds as he spreads them out on the table.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flash, turning it face down and holding the sheets of paper over it, “If you look at them over each other, there might be a pattern. We should call my friend Penelope, she’ll be able to digitally do this and find something.”

“Okay,” Peggy nods along, “I really need to know within the week because I’m moving to Oklahoma.”

“What?” He looks overly worried.

“He’s interested in college-age brunettes,” she points at herself. “I’m going to rent an apartment with a sliding door in the kill zone, and I’m going to wait it out. I’ll make sure everyone knows I live alone, I won't make friends, I’ll keep the windows open when I go to the store, I’ll make myself a victim.”

“No, we can get the bureau to send in a team, you don’t need to be in harm's way,” he protests, “I won’t help if I know you’re throwing yourself in the middle of all this. I refuse.”

There’s an underlying panic that she doesn’t quite understand. He’s almost shaking as he thinks about her playing the victim, they stare back and forth at each other softly, eyes flickering over the other’s expression as he also reads her.

“Fine,” she agrees, finally. “But if you’re getting the team involved, I want to be able to have some say in the investigation. I don’t want to be kicked out for just being a PI.”

“On one condition,” Spencer smirks. “You have to teach the BTK seminar with me.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “But I have some conditions too.”

“Anything?”

He was going to regret that.

“We can’t sleep together until we catch the guy— don’t look at me like that!” she catches the way his jaw drops and his eyes glisten.

He’s in complete shock, trying to say words and failing miserably as she stares at him knowingly. “I only said that because I need rules for myself too. We can’t care more about each other than the victims. Solve the case with me and then I’ll have a crush on you, okay?”

“Okay,” he finally finds the words to agree. “Was it that obvious?”

“We held hands for 5 minutes, I’ve thought you were cute since you were 23 and that seminar was a; 'my horse is bigger than your horse' flirting match,” she calls it all out, “I’m just as into you as you are into me already, if not more so because I know way too much about you thanks to my dad and uncle Rossi.”

“Dave knew about you too?” He’s more upset than she expected.

She nods, “yeah, so that I’d be taken care of if anything happened to my dad.”

He is a little upset and she can’t figure out why from what she knows already, “why?”

“You’re so interesting, you and I could have been friends for the last 15 years and things could have been so interesting but you were a secret,” he whispers.

“I was right wasn’t I?”

He nods again, “Gideon doesn’t know about Maeve, but I had a girlfriend who died in front of me before I could tell her I loved her and it broke me.”

Everything makes sense now. The stares, the stuttering, the defensiveness at the idea of her being in harm's way after only knowing her for a few hours. He was desperately looking for someone like himself to prove that he wasn’t going to be alone forever, and he wanted that to be found in her.

“Solve the case with me, then you can learn what it’s like to love someone who loves you back.”

taglist:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

[minor-solemnity]

What's your favorite character from the golden trio era?

Oooh idk possibly this is an unpopular opinion - at least it was when I was like, properly in the fandom rather than where I am now which is firmly on the sidelines with my hands over my ears and ignoring everything that I don't like - but Cho Chang. This is probably in part because she got so much undeserved hatred (thank u fandom and author racism) and I am predisposed to like characters that people don't like.

I find her character so heartbreakingly real in a way that I think is entirely accidental on JKR's part. I don't think JK can write women. (Plz don't hate me for that, but like, it's true.) Everything interesting about the characters we are meant to like gets sanded down and ignored in the later books - Hermione's whole thing is like, book smart but not emotionally intelligent, she wants to be right and have people know she's right more than she cares about their feelings. She thinks rules are important until they apply to her. She is ruthless and vindictive and petty. These are interesting character traits that just get completely dropped in the later books. By the time book 6 ends and book 7 starts Hermione is 'wife' and 'mother' and it's kinda sad.

I digress.

Cho's boyfriend is murdered. Cho is understandably upset and heartbroken and sad af. She tries to find comfort in Harry because Harry was there, Harry must understand. Harry can help her process. Their ways of dealing with trauma are completely opposite to each other. Cho seeks emotional vulnerability and closeness from the boy who, of all people, will understand. Harry's way of processing trauma is to ignore it. It happened, it sucks, I will never speak of it again (until all my unprocessed emotions come spilling out and I end up lashing out and getting angry). Those two ways of dealing with trauma are not going to work well together. Harry is honestly a dick towards her - she's his fantasy. She's not a real person to him. When that fantasy comes crashing down he behaves pretty awfully towards her. And if you're reading critically, you come away thinking yeah, Cho's a whiny crybaby who doesn't get Harry at all. What a bitch. When in reality, it's more like - Cho is seriously fucked up and is trying to come to terms with her grief and seek comfort in someone who she thought would get it.

Imagine being like, 16 and being isolated and sad and so fundamentally misunderstood. Imagine being 18 and your friends are dead and the boy you liked is still dead and the other boy you thought you might like is a hero and the only thing you're really known for is the mess that is your grief. Imagine that the popular consensus is that your grief is something to be ridiculed.

I tend to pick and chose which parts of the extended canon I believe in, but I believe in Cho moving to America and getting hitched to an American muggle dude. (Moving to America is probably my own headcanon actually). What would motivate her to move across the world? Grief? Wonderlust? Anger? I imagine it's all three. Idk if this is a relatable feeling to a lot of people, but I get it. I have a constant itch under my skin that tells me to move on whenever a place starts to feel too much like home. To leave. To escape. Nowhere feels like home because home is a collection of broken things. It's a hall of funhouse mirrors - the wires in your brain get mixed up. Comfort and safety become synonymous with 'i will fuck this up' and 'i don't deserve this' and 'everyone will leave'.

I want so many things for Cho. I want her name to make sense. I want her to be seen as something other than 'pretty' and 'sad'. I want her in Boston slamming Sam Adams by Sam Adams grave because she finds it funny. I want her in Boston, learning to drive a car (stick-shift because the driving instructor had made a comment about how automatics are easier to learn and she is tired of people seeing her as something weak and unable). I want her road-raging and I want her to drive across the country because why the fuck not. I want her in New York and the city is so frantic and no one looks at her and she feels so small and the lights are so bright and she thinks maybe she could disappear here and no one would ever know. I want her to find a group of women rollerskating and maybe they invite her to their roller derby group. It isn't flying, but it's fast and aggressive and she's never allowed herself to be aggressive like this before. She's not allowed herself to be angry like this before. No one else has allowed her to be angry like this before.

I want her to go to California and to go to Angel Island and I want her to understand that there have been people like her before. That she is not alone in this feeling. I want her to meet a dude who's studying for an MBA - he doesn't know who she is. Doesn't know what she is. She's just this cute girl who drinks Sam Adams even tho that's a Boston thing and they're in San Diego. He's probably a frat boy. I want him to be a frat boy who takes his degree too seriously and wakes up at like 5 because he's also a gym rat. He takes her to his boxing class. She probably cries during and hey that's okay - she has a lot of shit to work through, he can tell. He doesn't ask about it. Just says her accent is cute. Maybe she starts taking night classes, maybe she doesn't. She's weirdly technologically illiterate - she sends him postcards even though they live in the same city. She says its because her school didn't let them have phones. She's never seen a Tarintino film and that's just like... not cool. They watch True Romance on his shitty box TV in his room in his frat house and she laughs (she laughs like the violence is cathartic) when Alabama completely destroys Virgil. He looks at her and she shrugs and says 'I get it.'

She says that's she's leaving soon - doesn't know where. Probably isn't coming back and again that's... not cool. She's weird about some stuff. Won't talk about home - won't say where she's from. He should be fine with it because like, it's not as if this is anything serious and his life is pretty clearly planned out. Get an MBA, work in some start-up tech company - the internet is a thing now and god, there's money to be made. He thinks maybe that she should like, stay but she also seems like the kind of person who doesn't know how to stop running. And look, he's doing an MBA. He rushed his frat. He goes to boxing every morning without fail. He's determined. He's not good at letting the things he wants go. But he lets her go because she doesn't want to stay. One night afterwards, his frat bro says, philosophical because they're crossfaded, that maybe she can't stay. Maybe she won't let herself stay. And that... That sounds about right.

So he waits. He waits and he gets postcards with no return address - in Seattle, she tries ice hockey. In Miami, she tries surfing. He almost gets on a plane to Cincinnati because she got into a fight with some dude who made his girlfriend cry in public. Apparently, she knocked him out with a punch just the way he showed her to. It feels weirdly romantic.

I want her to write a postcard to him when she's sitting in a bar in Las Vegas and I want her to include a return address. I want him on the first flight out, because fuck his classes? She included a return address. He asks her if she's ever going to go home and she looks at him and says, 'What? To San Diego?'

[headoverheelsforramsey]

Your Love Is Killing Me (Part 1)

Pairing : Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Dr. Meera Bose)                                            Summary : A canon divergent take on the emotions Ethan and Meera face on returning from Miami, and what happens when Meera faints in the hospital atrium.                                    Category : Angst                                                          Warnings : A few swearings, PCOD and cardiovascular disease that comes with it, stress and anxiety                                                        Word Count : 1724

A/N : So this is my first fic,🙈 so please ignore some of the rookie mistakes, also please send in criticisms, I would love to improve. Got tired with clone Ethan and PB writers and the book 1 replay got to me so I thought torturing myself through angst will be a good idea. Happy Reading!  ❤

Meera shifts in her bed. Rolling over to face away from the window. It was another sleepless night for her. Where usually she used to be famished after coming home from work and all she desired for was her head to touch the pillow the last 5 days was completely different. These 5 nights she spent staring into the ceiling as a train of thoughts ran through her mind. Dr. Ramsey's words kept on ringing in her head "I need to be able to push you to your limits. To help you become the doctor you want to be. The one I know you can be." Lost in her reminiscence of that magical moment in the balcony of the Miami hotel, Meera didn't seem to notice the sky changing its colours from the dark starry blue to the first hues of gold, orange and red, signifying the beginning of a new day. She turned over thinking what went wrong, a calculation she was doing for the zillionth time and each time she came to a fruitless answer. Meera was interrupted by the sound of her alarm, one which was useless as she wasn't able to close her eyes for a single minute. 

She sat up in bed rubbing her eyes and catching a glimpse of herself on the full sized mirror. She was in her comfiest sweatpants, her uncombed curls sprawled over her shoulders and face. She removed her hair from her face and found tired eyes, deep dark circles and chapped lips staring at her from the mirror. She closed her eyes, hugged her knees close and rested her forehead on her knees as she thought about her plan for the day. For the past five days she had planned her days carefully so as to not run into the grumpy attending at any cost. She was on high alert. Any sign of him nearby and she always made an one eighty degree rotation in order to escape him. She went to meet the patient X to take his regular vitals and monitor required medicines on hours she was cent percent sure Dr. Ramsey was busy. She replied with lies and smiles to Dr. Banerji's unending question about the conference, Miami, Ethan and the sudden change in her behavior. Although she sometimes felt he could see right through her. 

Meera stood up from the bed and went into the shower. As soon as the cold water hit her skin she remembered how Ethan had abandoned her in the hotel in Miami. How she had been sitting there on the bed dressed in luxurious blue with her heart and bed cold as tears swelled up in her eyes. She remembered the awkward flight from Miami to Boston and the bare three sentences of exchange between her and Ethan. How she thought that the flight washroom was her safe haven and how she wished to spend the entire flight there. All these thoughts were such an emotional burden on her and she finally gave in to the inevitable. She double downed with sobs as she cried in the shower keeping as quiet as it was humanly possible for her so that her roommates won't get to know. After a few minutes she was finally able to compose herself. She stepped out of the shower a towel wrapped around her as she rubbed her hair dry. Meera got into a fresh pair of scrubs combed and tied her hair into a tight high ponytail. As she applied a generous amount of foundation to hide her dark circles and chapstick to moisturize her lips her phone beeped with a notification from her period tracker which notified that her period was 3 days late. She didn't think much about that as she had been dealing with PCOD since she was sixteen. She had almost defeated the disease with changes in her lifestyle and a few medicines, but after all there is no permanent cure. She had learned to live with it over the years. 

Finally she looked at herself in the mirror. She was now looking like Dr. Meera Bose the confident number one intern at Edenbrook Hospital. She forced on a smile to face her roommates outside her bedroom door and the world in general. This is what Meera's life looked like for the past five days. She was tired of putting on a happy show for the outside world and hence once she was inside her room with no one except herself her thoughts collided against each other and finally left her crying. She was tired of going through the same crescendo of thoughts and emotions again and again but there was no other way out because the only possible solution to end her pain, in Dr. Ramsey's words was "unethical and complicated."    

It was noon when Meera was already done with 6 cases. She also made it a point to check up on Dr. Banerji first thing in the morning when she was completely certain Ethan was in a board meeting. She was once again walking the crowded but motivated halls of Edenbrook navigating her way to her next patient's room. 

Meera felt a sudden piercing pain in the middle of her chest which slowly travelled to her left arm. It started as a mild one but quickly accelerated. From the corner of her eye she saw Ethan rounding a corner and walking towards her. It had been six days since both of them were in the same corridor. Before she was ready to process anything further she broke out into a sweat and started feeling tremendous trouble in breathing properly. All she remembers next is darkness and the sound of her charts slipping away from her hand and hitting the floor. In the last moments before her unconsciousness hit she felt someone holding her close and tight, the chaos of the hospital becoming silent to her as she tried with all her might to figure out if she had the opportunity to be in Ethan's arms once again like she was in Miami but she failed.  

 Ethan was very annoyed when he was held all morning in a stupid board meeting and wasn't able to finish any of his work. Ethan often doesn't listen to half of the things the board members say. He utilises those hours to mentally untangle the complications of the diagnostic team patient, something which he felt was much much more important than listening to entitled doctors who aren't even good as they think themselves to be. But today it was different. He was unable to concentrate at all. His mind wandered back to the one curly haired brunette intern. These past six days Ethan had immersed himself in work. Between the interns, the diagnostic team and Naveen's mystery illness his mind was pretty busy. He took on more cases than usual, pulled all nighters at the hospital and the little time he was at home he did find some article he needed to finish writing on his laptop. This was the only way he could keep her out of his head. Atleast this is what he believed, because work, patient care and her career was the only thing standing between him and her.

He was quickly making his way towards the diagnostic team office once he was finally freed from the conference room. He turned a corner and started walking through the corridors, pinching the bridge of his nose. That's when he heard a thud and saw a chaos forming around a patient who had just fainted, up ahead in the corridor. He picked up his pace ready to yell at the intern who was responsible for this. When he was merely steps away, he stopped in his track, completely recognizing that it wasn't a patient but an intern. The intern that topped the charts in the diagnostic team competition, the intern he was so keen on avoiding, and for the first time in years his doctor senses didn't kick in. He was looking at the intern, not as Dr. Ethan Ramsey but as just Ethan.

She was nestled in the strong arms of the Averio paramedic she was friends with. Ethan snapped out as the chaos became louder, a stretcher was brought and Meera was lifted into it. Surrounded by her intern friends and Dr. Delarosa, she was being rolled towards the ER. The immediate thing Ethan did was follow her, but that's when his pager beeped. It was a code blue from Baz. Ethan stopped once again evaluating his next step. He knew the diagnostic team was already understaffed and needed him, on the other hand Meera who- who- who was exactly what to Ethan he didn't know. Ethan did the same mistake he had done in Miami, he put his work, before her inspite of what his heart wanted.  

It took Ethan twenty minutes to handle the situation of the Diagnostic Team patient. After which he was on his way to the ER, determined to check up on Meera. He felt, him running after just an intern would stir up the hospital gossip. But did he care for it? He didn't, until he heard a few nurses huddled together talking in loud whispers. "I think she is pregnant, Mary told me she was feeling nauseous the other day." one of them said. "Are you serious?? Do you think it was Dr. Ramsey ?" another one asked. "I don't know, they spent two whole days alone in Miami, who knows what they were upto." the first one replied. "You know, I think you are right. Dr. Olsen told me that she wasn't even half smart and intelligent as he was and yet she is leading the competition. It's very clear Ramsey favours her." a third joined in. "Whatever it is, I don't know what he sees in her. I could be standing her naked waiting for him to fuck me, but he wouldn't budge." with this the group of nurses started giggling and moved towards the atrium their back towards Ethan. After this encounter he couldn't risk being found close to her. It's her career that was at stake. Something that he priced over his own feelings for her. Dejected, he made his way back towards his office, locking the door behind him and immersing himself in paperwork.

Thank you so much if you have read till here, it means the world to me. I will put up the second part as soon as possible, till then sending love and hugs your way! 💖

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Part 2 is up now! Read it here