#i mean i do have so many scenes mapped out for them in my head and on my planning doc but still...

[noahtally-famous]

finished s2 of the reboot wooo!!

(that took a shorter time than i expected. reckon it's bc of the fic I've been rotating in my mind since i picked up the reboot again)

dont have as many thoughts for this one as i did for s1, but i will still compile them into an 's2 thoughts' post hopefully within next week?

[moonmunson]

don't you want me

wc: 4.4k

cw: slight angst, discussions surrounding death and the poor aging of some scenes in the breakfast club, plus size!live!reader, still gender neutral!reader

summary: wally tells you about how he died, you watch the breakfast club, and shit is getting a little weird.

don't go breaking my heart: pt 1. - pt 2. - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5

masterlist

Wally meets you in the library every day during your study hall for the next few weeks. 

When it’s quiet, and there aren’t any people around, you spend the whole hour talking. You learn a lot about him, what life was like for him in the 80s, and what his afterlife is like here, as well. He asks questions about your abilities, and though you don’t have many answers to give him, you try your best. 

“Have you talked to a lot of ghosts?” 

You’re sitting at a table in the corner, notebooks and study guides splayed out to give the impression that you’re actually here to do work. Wally sits across from you, chin cupped in the palm of his hand, elbow leaning on the table top. He has a staring problem, it makes your skin crawl. 

“Not really? Not on purpose, anyways,” you shrug, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve had a lot of opportunities to do this.” 

“So I’m your first?” 

The intention to tease is clear - his tone is light and airy - honey brown eyes boring into yours, smile creeping up on his face. You could look at him for hours. You have looked at him for hours, mapping the freckles on his face like constellations. 

“Yeah, Wally. You’re my first,” you giggle, conceding to the bit, “you should feel honored, really.”

“Oh, more than honored,” his eyes twinkle under the fluorescent lights, “and you’re my first, too. What we’ve got going on here is special.” 

There’s a beat of silence, genuineness seeping into the joke. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, “super special.” 

You share a look, and you wish you could reach out and touch him. You wish you could hold his hand, hug him, draw lines from freckle to freckle with your finger. The time you’ve spent with him has been so good - sweet, easy hours spent giggling and blushing. 

And then you leave campus, go home, fight the urge to cry into your pillow. It isn’t fucking fair. It’s not fair that he died in the way that he did, it’s not fair that he isn’t fifty something with a wife, watching their kids go to college. 

You haven’t talked about it much - the divide between you, or the nature of his death - despite the amount of time you’ve spent together. It’s like you’re stuck in this semi-honeymoon phase, wanting to keep being entertained by the novelty of it, instead of letting the truth of the situation infect that happiness. 

It’s so hard, though, when you look at him and think of the life that was stolen from him. 

He sees your smile falter, reaches his hand forward to sit next to yours. You feel the displacement of air, the coldness pressing up against the tips of your fingers. It’s enough, for now. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the other ghosts making their way towards Wally. It’s the kid with the jean jacket and the bleached tips - Charley, Wally had told you - and he looks slightly concerned. 

You put your head down, moving your hand away from his and feigning focus on the worksheets in front of you. Wally had suggested not letting in any of the other ghosts until you figured out how to tell them, though you had a sneaking suspicion he just wanted to keep this to himself for a little while longer. 

Charley plops down in the seat next to Wally, eyes going back and forth between the two of you. 

“You missed group again,” he whispers, like he doesn’t want to disturb you from your studying, “are you still following this poor person around? They can’t even see you, it’s getting creepy.” 

Your eyes, though directed at the pages on the table, widen slightly - has Wally been watching you the same way you’ve been watching him?

You’ve never noticed him looking at you, and you wouldn’t have, because up until recently you’d been trying your hardest not to get too close. It was futile, you can admit that now. 

It almost makes you giggle, knowing that he’d been doing the same thing. 

Wally splutters, “I don’t follow them around,” you can feel both of them looking at you, and it’s getting harder not to laugh, “I don’t know why you’d think that, that’s just…” 

Charley pats Wally on the shoulder, rubbing it slightly and sighing. 

“It’s sweet of you, I think. We’ve all had crushes on living people at some point or another, but this one seems bad. You’re like, obsessed.” 

That’s the thing that does you in. Laugh tearing from your throat, hand clasped over your mouth, trying and failing miserably to hide your amusement.

“Sorry, sorry, oh,” your shoulders are still shaking with your laughter, head bowed in apology before you look up to see a pink cheeked Wally and a shocked Charley, “I really tried, I’m so sorry.”

“Nice,” Wally chastises, though he’s smiling, “the idea of me having a crush on you is funny?” 

Charley still hasn’t said anything, head whipping back and forth between you and Wally like he’s watching a game of tennis. 

“I didn’t say that! I also think it’s sweet,” you turn to Charley, stick your hand out before thinking better of it and pulling it back to your side of the table, “Hi, I’m y/n, yes, I can see you, no I’m not dead.” 

“H- hey,” his eyes are still wide, brain working on overdrive to figure out what’s happening, “I’m Charley.” 

Wally fills him in on the time you’ve been spending together, retelling in theatrical detail the way in which you’d accidentally made it known you could see him.

Then it was your turn, explaining to Charley how you’d known since you were a kid that you could see dead people, but that you didn’t know why, or what it meant. If it had a purpose, or was just an unexplainable quirk. 

To Charley’s credit, he takes it really well. 

He doesn’t get upset with Wally for not sharing, he doesn’t get upset at you for not making yourself known to them sooner, though he mentions that when the time comes for you to tell Rhonda, she won’t be nice about it. He’s a sweetheart, just like you thought he’d be. 

“Have you guys just been hanging out this whole time? That’s why you’ve been missing group so much?”

Wally goes to answer, but you cut him off. 

“What’s group? Do the ghosts here have, like, an afterlife support group?” You find the idea of it really sweet, and amusing, chuckling to yourself until you see that the two boys in front of you aren’t laughing, they’re nodding. “Oh shit, wait, really?” 

“Yeah,” Charley confirms, “It’s run by this guy Mr. Martin. He was a science teacher that died in the late 50s, I think,” he looks to Wally for confirmation, turning back to you when Wally agrees, “He’s pretty cool. We have a bunch of traditions, like movie nights and stuff like that.”

“That’s really cool, actually. I didn’t know that you guys did that. I’m sorry I’ve been messing it up, keeping Wally to myself.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Wally says, and he smiles, a sweet, boyish thing, “I’d rather be here with you.” 

Charley watches the both of you, and he doesn’t think either of you clock the lovesick puppy looks on your faces. He doesn’t know what it means, how it’ll end, but it’s nice to see his friend so happy for once, breaking the monotonous nature of their days at Split River High. 

He leaves eventually, making you promise you’ll hang out with him sometime. 

“So,” you ask Wally, “how long have you been watching me?” 

“You can’t judge me,” he parrots, “and I could ask you the same question.”

“I didn’t say I was judging, I’m just curious, y’know, since you have a crush on me and all.” 

“I do not have a crush on you.”

Wally isn’t the most convincing liar. You can tell, by the way he’s looking everywhere but directly at you, that Charley was telling the truth. 

“That’s too bad,” you shrug, glancing at the clock behind him and beginning to gather your things from the table, “I wouldn’t mind it if you did.” 

Your nonchalance affects Wally exactly the way you want it to, watching as his cheeks grow pink again and as he trips over words that don’t leave his mouth. He starts to say something, but the overhead chiming cuts him off before he can get any words out. 

“Look at that, saved by the bell. Later, Wally.” 

On your way out of the library, you look back to see him still at the table in the corner, slouched backwards and head tilted towards the ceiling. 

- 

When Wally talks to you about how he died, you’re sitting under your tree overlooking the football field. 

He hadn’t had the intention to talk to you about it today, but the football team is training, preparing for next year’s season, and you’d asked about it.

It was nice, talking about football in a casual way at first, explaining things to you in a way you’d understand them, because in your words, you were more of a “music and film nerd,” though you understood the appeal of sweaty men tackling each other. 

You’d skirted around asking questions about homecoming, attempting to spare Wally the reminder, but the conversation was always going to end up there eventually. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, leaning against the tree, head tilted in your direction, “I don’t mind talking about it.” 

“Are you sure? We don’t have to.” 

It’s not pity he sees on your face, but genuine concern. It emboldens him enough to tell you what happened. He goes on autopilot a bit, like he’s told the story so many times that it feels like he’s removed from it - telling a story about someone else, rehashing the grizzly details the way a true crime documentary would. 

He tells you about his knee injury, his coach benching him, his mom pushing him to strive for her specific idea of greatness. 

He tells you he was running so fast, he didn’t even feel the initial impact, just heard the crunching of his neck when he hit the ground. And then it was lights out. Just like that.

He tells you how he stood up from his own body, watched in confusion and abject horror as his coach and team members ran up to him, trying to wake him, thinking he’d simply been knocked out.

He tells you about the gasps from the crowd, whispers shared amongst the stands as the announcer tried his best to explain what was happening. 

It felt like time was standing still, and he’d gotten up so fast that he was confused why everyone was reacting the way they were. He was fine, couldn’t they tell? When his mom rushed onto the field, and the EMT’s loaded him onto the backboard, that’s when he knew. 

He watched as everyone left the field, standing solitary with his helmet in his hands. 

Mr. Martin and Rhonda found him a few hours later, wandering the halls of the school, tears running down his face. 

You don’t mean to cry, you don’t want to take the attention or make him have to comfort you, but the tears fall anyway. Heavy and slow, they build in your eyes before falling over onto your cheeks. You turn your head to the side, wiping them away, trying to hide it. You fail, but Wally just smiles at you - a sad thing, appreciative of your kindness. 

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. I haven’t cried about it in almost… twenty years, I think.” 

“I don’t really know what to say,” you face him, collecting the last of your tears with your jacket sleeve, “I’m just really sorry that happened to you. I wish I could change it.” 

Wally does what he’s been making a habit of, hovering his hand over yours so you can feel the change in temperature. This time though, and only for a second, there’s a flicker of warmth, a millisecond of feeling a solid palm against yours. 

“Did you feel that?” 

Your head whips over to see Wally, eyes wide and brow furrowed. He nods, moves his hand away, and tries to do it again, but it falls through yours - cold air seeping into your skin and sending shivers up your spine. You think the latter is more so a credit to Wally himself, not just the cool sensation. 

“Why did that happen?” he asks, pulling away from you to fiddle with the gold chain around his neck. 

“I have no idea. I didn’t do anything, did you?” 

“Not that I know of,” a slight sigh of defeat, “it was nice though, right?” 

It makes you want to cry again, how small he sounds at that moment. Hopeful and sad at the same time. You’d give anything to throw yourself at him, hug him, run your hands through his hair. 

“Yeah, Wally. It was really nice.” 

Time passes, easy silence as the two of you lay in the grass, staring up at the sky through the tree.  

“Do you miss it? Being alive?” 

He chuckles, shakes his head. 

“Not really. I mean,” he rolls over, props his head up with his hand, “It’s been so long that I’ve kinda forgotten what it felt like. There’s lots of shit I missed out on, and for a while I was so upset about being dead that I didn’t even try to catch up. Like, when Charley heard I’ve never seen The Breakfast Club, he flipped out.” 

“You��ve never seen Breakfast Club?”

“It came out in ‘85, so…” he trails off, “We had a copy of it in the library for a while, but I mostly stayed away from all the popular 80s movies.” 

“I get that,” you sympathize, “but you have to watch it at some point. It’s a classic, I think you’d like it. I could watch it with you, if you wanted.” The question is asked carefully, like you’re still not sure if he wants to keep seeing you. It’s a silly assumption, you know that, especially because his whole demeanor lights up. 

“Yeah, okay,” Wally nods to himself, “I’ll watch it with you.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, dude,” Wally stands from his spot on the lawn, dusting the grass off of himself, and reaching a hand out towards you to help you up. For a second, you forget that you can’t actually grab him, and you both giggle when your hand goes through his, “the film room is basically always empty, but I have other hiding places if you want to come back sometime not during the school day. The security around here sucks, they haven’t updated it since like, my time, so there’s always at least one open door.”

“That didn’t take as much convincing as I thought it would.”

“What can I say?” he shrugs, “I’m a sucker for a pretty face, and you’re very persuasive.”

- 

Sneaking into the school on a Saturday could go really, really badly. 

When you’d walked through your kitchen that morning, and your mom had asked where you were off to, you made the attempt to tell her a story as close to the truth as possible. 

You were going to hang out with a friend - your mom didn’t need to know that friend was dead, and confined to live within the four walls of your high school. 

She didn’t need to know that even though that friend wasn’t capable of touching you, that you’d put ten times the effort into your outfit and hair than you usually would. 

It’s late March in Wisconsin, and the last tendrils of a freezing Winter are grasping desperately for recognition against early Spring. In other words, it’s still fucking cold. Out of an abundance of caution, you’d parked your car about a block away from the school, paranoid about a faculty or staff member seeing it and catching you. 

It was a good idea, but you spend the five minute walk with your arms wrapped around your body, shivering and teeth chattering. 

By the time you make it to the school grounds, you can barely feel your fingertips. Wally is waiting for you by the bus stop, shoulder leaning against the glass, his hands in his jacket pockets and feet crossed over each other. 

“Did you walk all the way here?” He pushes off, coming as close as he can to the boundary without being thrown back to the middle of the field. “You look fucking freezing.”  

“Not all the way here, no,” You huff out a breath, watching as it dissipates in front of you, “but I didn’t want anyone to see my car in the parking lot.”

“Fair,” he says, “Maybe wear a bigger jacket next time?”

You roll your eyes, and start the trek into the school, Wally leading the both of you around the back and through the gym. 

“Sports faculty leave this door open all the time, so they can come in and check equipment, but they were just here last weekend, so the coast should be clear.” He turns around, walking backwards through the gym door and into the hall so he can look at you while he talks. “I don’t want you to make fun of me, but I have a whole thing set up in the film room,” he smiles, ever-present pink flush on his face, “I don’t know if you’ll be able to interact with any of it, but you did kick that football away from you, so I figured it was worth trying.”

He faces forward again, jumping and clicking his heels together. You laugh, shake your head, and follow him the rest of the way to the film room. He holds the door open for you, and when you see the inside, you stand stock still in the doorway. 

You have no idea how he did this, where he got all of this from. There are fairy lights lining the room, soft yellow glow illuminating it and shedding light on the massive pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. There are snacks everywhere. Drinks, chips, chocolate bars you can only assume he got from the vending machines in the cafeteria. The projector is on and pointed at the screen on the wall, paused at The Breakfast Club’s opening title sequence. 

Your hand goes over your mouth, overwhelmingly endeared by the amount of effort Wally put into your movie day. You walk around the room, looking back and forth between him and the spread in front of you. Thankfully, Wally doesn’t take your silence negatively, instead plopping himself down on the floor and grabbing the remote. 

“Well? What do you think? Is it too much?” 

He looks up at you from his place on the ground, patting the seat next to him. You’re shaking your head as you sit, still reeling from the feelings rumbling in your chest and stomach. 

“Not too much, no,” you settle onto the cushions, wrap a blanket around your arms, glad that you can touch the things around you, phantom though they may be, “Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me.” 

“It’s no biggie,” Wally leans back, shrugging his shoulders, “I just thought it would make today more fun.” 

“This is so fucking fun, Wally. You did good.” 

-

The Breakfast Club is a classic, but it’s also a product of its time. 

It’s profound, with complex characters who have complex home lives and interpersonal relationships, it’s thorough in its exploration of what labels and presumptions can do to a person. 

It also has its scenes that have aged incredibly poorly. 

For most of the movie, you almost regret making him watch it. In your excitement to spend the day with him - significant hours, not just fragmented moments in between classes throughout the week - you’d forgotten how triggering the movie would be for him. It feels like a neglectful oversight, but Wally seems genuinely invested. 

He laughs at some of the lighter moments, winces through a lot of the more ugly parts. Slurs being thrown, general and explicit misogyny, fatphobia. 

You don’t need to ask him if the movie is accurate, you can see it on his face. 

You can especially see how much Andrew’s character affects him. A jock, who, not so unlike Wally, cannot think for himself - who spends the majority of his time trying his best to appease his father’s wishes. Who refuses to be a loser, refuses to stand up to his parents and tell them how he really feels.

How that tumbles into his decision making - beating up a kid who didn’t do anything wrong, just to prove to his dad that he’s a man. It’s not a one to one ratio, but it’s close enough. 

He’s quiet as he watches the kids sit in a circle, eyes glued to the screen as they talk about being terrified that they’ll turn into their parents.

You wonder if he’s thinking about the kind of man he’d turn out to be, if he hadn’t died. If he would’ve been harsher, not nearly as accepting as he seems to be now, lacking the 40 years of growth he’s had. 

When the movie ends, freeze framed with John Bender mid-fist pump, you look over to see Wally wiping a few stray tears away. It makes your chest ache, your own eyes watering, throat closing up around the lump in it. 

You can’t imagine what it’s like, to watch forty years of high school students enter and leave, while you’re stuck there, just watching. The jocks, the bullies, the tightly-wound rich girls, the freaks. 

To see the evolution of youth, to watch the times change right in front of you, to realize how small high school is in the grand scheme of things, but to recognize that for Wally, it literally is his whole world. He has to watch, over and over, and see that times really haven’t changed at all. The tropes are still there, the cliches and cliques are just as bad. 

“That was a lot more serious than I remembered,” you laugh lightly, “Are you okay? I wouldn’t have suggested we watch it if I remembered how hard it is.” 

Wally lies back on the pallet he built on the floor, landing softened by blanket-covered gym mats and couch cushions he’d stolen from the teacher’s lounge. He’s staring at the ceiling, quiet to the point of concern on your end when he says, 

“If I’d seen that movie when it came out, I think it would’ve changed my life.” 

“In a good way?”

“In a really good way,” he turns his head towards you, looking up at you from his place on the pillows, “Maybe it would’ve made me brave enough to tell my mom I didn’t even like football. Maybe I would’ve…” He trails off, voice watery and cracking, “Maybe I would’ve stayed on the bench. Maybe I would’ve lived through that game, and the next one, or I’d have quit and done something I actually enjoyed. You know she still goes to every homecoming game they have at this school?” 

“Really?”  

“Yeah. And for all of them, I go out and join her. I sit next to her, cheer when she cheers, boo when she boos, I talk to her even though I know she can’t hear me. I know it’s stupid -” 

“It isn’t stupid,” you interject, “You love her, she’s your mom.”

“It is stupid, though. I told Charley once that I was annoyed I didn’t die in the end zone, instead of the five yard line,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself, “I was upset I couldn’t get her one last win, y’know? What does it say about me, that I keep going back to the field I died on, to watch the game that killed me, because I think it’ll make my mom happy?” 

“That you’re loyal. That you care,” you duck your head, trying to catch his line of sight, “But also, maybe that you care too much. That you put too much stock into what your mom thought of you while you were alive, and now it’s carried over into your afterlife. You wanna know what I think?” 

Wally nods, urging you to continue. 

“I think you’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. I think you’re kind, and funny, and you care about your friends more than most living people care about theirs. I think it’s really fucking unfair that you’re not alive right now, and, all due respect to your mom, but,” you pause, working up the nerve to say, “she sounds like she fucking sucked. And you don’t have to do what she wants anymore. Caring about what she thinks is natural, she’ll always be your mom, but it weighs you down, I can see it.” 

“What do you mean, you can see it?”

“It’s hard to explain, but it’s like,” you wave a hand over his body, “the air around you is heavier, sometimes. Like it hurts for you to be here.” 

Wally hums, digesting your revelation, “Damn. That kinda blows. Does it fuck up my figure?” 

“No, silly,” you snort, “Your figure is just fine. Trust me.” 

You take the change in topic for what it is, trusting that he’ll work through your words on his own time. 

“Oh, my figure is just fine? You wanna elaborate on that, or…” 

He props himself up on his elbows, draws his chin down to his neck, and bats his eyes. 

“Wally, oh my god,” you go to shove at his shoulder, out of habit, mostly, used to shoving at your friends when they say something ridiculous. 

It makes contact. 

Like the force of it almost knocks him over, you can feel your hand on his shoulder, contact. 

You gasp, go to pull away because the shock of it is overwhelming, and lightning fast, Wally brings his hand up to cover yours.

He’s not necessarily warm, not fully solid either, but you’re touching. He pulls your hand down, holds it between the two of you and laces his fingers through yours. 

The hum of the projector is the only noise in the room, as you sit in silence and stare, dumbfounded, at your hand in his. 

a/n: hiiiii guys! here's pt 2, i hope you enjoy! i have a very clear idea of what i want 3 and 4 to look like, so stick with me. i watched the breakfast club, realized that wally is literally copied and pasted from andrew, and needed to write about it or i'd die

if you liked this, my masterlist is linked at the top! my asks are always open, and don't forget to like and reblog if you feel so inclined.

also, who else is terrified for the season finale tomorrow????

taglist: @preparedfruit , @lov3bug , @whoopsyeahokay

[moonlightkb]

Owned by the Night 🐇

chapitre 1 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

AJ x Fem! Reader

Summary:  AJ needs the perfect girl to help pull off a dangerous heist. They say behind every great man is a woman, and he’s just found her. Curvy, smart, and working the pole with secrets in her eyes, she’s everything he didn’t know he needed. But in this game, trust and safness are expensive… and desire might cost more than either of them can afford.

Warning: Smut, ice play, stripper!reader, chubby!reader, obsession, adult content (18+), mild violence.

 Words Count: ~4k 

Author's notes: Hi! English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes. and this is actually my first time writing a smut/sex scene. I was inspired by Janitor AI, so please be kind! I really hope you enjoy the story, it means a lot to me. If you have any thoughts, feedback, or suggestions, I’d love to hear them! Thank you for reading 🤍

divider by @enchanthings

Gordon stood at the head of the table, his hands planted firmly on either side of a large, worn-out map. The edges were torn, coffee-stained, and covered in scribbles, routes, escape plans, camera placements, and red-ink timestamps scrawled in his sharp handwriting.

Gordon: “Football match, boy band concert, and a protest … The cops are gonna be busy. If we do this right, we’ll have a window. 

John, you’re on the lookout. If the police show up or shots get fired, you stay outside, engine running, ready to get us out early if needed.

AJ, you’re handling the cameras and security system. Quick and clean.

Jake, you stick with John.

Jesse, you’re coming inside with me.

Any questions?”

The room was thick with tension, like the calm before a thunderstorm. No one spoke. No one needed to. They all nodded silently, the weight of the job sinking in as they took quiet sips from their drinks, their eyes traveling all over the information on the table as they thought and planned their job, the risk, the money. It’s not their first time. They all knew their job: first and last, to keep each other safe and alive.

AJ leaned back in his chair, cigarette balanced between his fingers. His other hand held a glass of expensive whisky, half-melted ice clinking softly as he gulped down a sip of his drink. His eyes moved slow but sharp, scanning every inch of the map like he was reading between the lines.

AJ: “I need to know what kind of cameras and security systems they have so I can move fast. If it’s basic, I’m in and out. But if it’s smart tech… that’s another story.”

Jesse sat upright, arms crossed, his eyes squeezed in focus as he did the mental math. His foot tapped softly against the metal chair leg, counting beats, calculating seconds.

Jesse: “We’ll have about thirty minutes max before the nearest units get to the shop. Based on patrol routes and the emergency response speed, we’ve got 25–30 minutes before a squad car even gets close. The closest they can get without fire or injuries is 5 km away, that’s if they don’t bring in a helicopter.”

AJ flicked ash into a tray, breathing hard through his nose.

AJ: “Without knowing what system they’re using, I might need 15, even 20 minutes just to break through. That doesn’t leave us enough time to get in, grab the goods, and get out clean.”

Gordon straightened slowly, cracking his neck as his jaw tensed.

Gordon: “So what does that mean?”

AJ took another drag, now more serious, not scared, but troubled. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, voice low but firm.

AJ: “It means we need information before we go in. Cameras, alarm response times, maybe even their tech supplier. We need names. Models. Installation history. Something. Anything.”

John sat perched by the window, arms resting on the back of the chair he straddled backward. He wasn’t fidgety, just careful, watching the street like a man who'd seen too many jobs go sideways.

John: “Can’t we do a little recon? Drive by, see what we’re working with?”

Jesse shook his head, voice clipped, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

Jesse: “No chance. Only certified personnel are allowed near the big jewelry cases. They’ll clock us the second we get too close.”

Jake sat hunched forward, nervously rolling a coin between his fingers, a habit that only came out when things felt real. His eyes moves between Gordon and the map.

Jake: “So… what do we do?”

Gordon's answer came like a loaded gun, slow, cold, and final. He stepped back from the table just enough to stretch the tension in his shoulders.

Gordon: “We stalk the boss. Follow him for a week. Watch his routine. His habits. Where he goes. Who he talks to. Bet he slips up somewhere.

Jake, Jesse, that’s your job.”

He stared them down like he was daring them to object. No one did.

Gordon’s voice dropped lower:

“Then we move. End of the week.”

the smell of smoke, whisky, and sweat hung in the air like fog. Nobody smiled. Nobody made a joke. The crew nodded. No high-fives. No cocky grins. Just quiet, professional silence, the kind that hangs right before a storm.

The job was on.

They were in.

A week later

They were all back around the same table, ashtrays full, empty bottles lined up, the air thick with smoke and tension. Jess and Jake dropped a stack of photos onto the table. All eyes fell on them.

Jake said, flipping through the pics: “No family, no friends. Every night, same club. Drinks, poker, then he takes some girl from the club to a hotel room and disappears till morning.”

Jess smirked: “Easy. We get a girl to fuck him and plant a mic, maybe a camera or a GPS on his clothes.”

Gordon leaned forward, arms crossed over his chest: “Simple. Clean. We get what we need without tripping any alarms.”

Then without hesitation, they all turned and stared at AJ

He blinked, mid-sip of his whisky: “What?”

His thick Italian accent that could cut a tree filled his throat.

John was the first to speak, smirking like he’d been waiting: “Your job.”

“Why me?” AJ asked as he gave John a sideways look while arching his eyebrow, his eyes traveling to every man that was looking at him like it was an obvious answer.

Jake grinned: “Because you’re the walking cheat code to women’s pants, that’s why.”

Jesse laughed: “Your damn jawline gets more action than the rest of us put together.”

“Bullshit” AJ muttered, though the twitch of his mouth betrayed him.

“Oh come on” Jess said, nudging Jake. “All you have to do is smile a little, and girls go crazy. You start moving those hips? It's over.”

“Man’s dick probably has a fan club” Jake said, nearly choking on his drink as the table burst out laughing.

John raised his glass: “To AJ , the certified weapon of seduction.”

They all clinked glasses while AJ sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“You all are out of your goddamn minds.”

“Yeah” Gordon said, deadpan. “But you’re the only one with a dick worth weaponizing.”

Another round of laughter.

AJ lit a cigarette, dragging slowly and acting annoyed, but the smirk gave him away.

“Fine. I’ll find someone. But we do this my way. No amateurs. No danger we can’t cover. She gets a cut.”

Jake raised a brow: “So thoughtful. All that charm and a conscience.”

“Maybe that’s why they keep coming back” Jesse said, smirking. “Not just the hips, huh? It’s the aftercare.”

“Fuck off” AJ said, flipping him off but still grinning.

Gordon pulled them back: “You’ve got three days. Then we move.”

AJ nodded, his voice lower now as he looked over a photo of the boss: “I’ll get us what we need.”

The room went quiet, not from doubt, but because they believed him.

Jake wasn’t done, though: “Make sure she’s hot. We don’t want you getting bored halfway.”

Jesse smirked: “Though knowing AJ, that probably means soft belly, thick thighs, curves that don’t quit…”

John chuckled: “Man’s got a type.”

AJ didn’t flinch, just took another drag from his cigarette like he was proud of it.

Jake leaned forward: “He sees a thick girl with a belly and a pretty smile, and suddenly he’s planning their wedding.”

“She touches his arm and laughs once, and he’s naming their kids” Jesse added.

Gordon watched AJ with an amused look: “At least he’s consistent.”

AJ exhaled slowly, flicking ash into the tray: “I like softness. I like warmth. I like women who look like they could knock me out and still let me fall asleep on their stomach after… I want my hand to be full of fatness like my wallet is full of money. Is that bad?”

Jake cackled: “You’re so whipped for the fatties, it’s unreal.”

AJ just smiled a little, tapping his glass: “And they deserve better than any of your ugly ass.”

John raised his drink: “To fat girls and the man who worships them.”

The laughter returned, loud and easy, the kind that came from comfort, from brotherhood, not cruelty.

Jesse grinned: “So I guess you already know who you’re looking for.”

AJ leaned back, cigarette glowing between his fingers, eyes sharp now as he stared at the map: “Oh, I know exactly what I’m looking for.”

And just like that, it was back to business.

The teasing died down, but the smirks stayed.

They all knew AJ wasn’t just going to find her, he was going to charm the hell out of her.

And with her help, they were going to bring a monster down.

That same night, AJ walked into the same club Jess and Jake had been visiting  the boss all week. While they had been chasing shadows, he came looking for something real, something warm and soft. And he found it.

She was leaning against the bar, talking to someone, dressed in an outfit that barely covered anything. It left little to the imagination, and even less to hide. AJ's smirk widened as his pants grew tighter. She was nervous, he could read people like books, and it was written all over her body language. New girl. Probably hadn’t been here longer than a few days.

An hour later, he was sitting in one of the club’s private rooms, a plush round sofa wrapped around a low table, soft purple lights casting shadows across the red walls. He waited, calm but alert.

Then the door opened.

She stepped in, chubby hand holding his drink, nerves thick in her walk, but her curves swayed anyway. Oh yeah, she was definitely new.

“Hello, sir” she said, soft voice trembling slightly. “Thank you for choosing me. I hope you won’t regret it.”

He bit his lip. That voice, that softness, her nerves were almost sweet.

“Thank you, Bunny” he said, his Italian accent rich and thick, curling through the room like smoke.

The way she blushed at the nickname, he could tell she wasn’t used to kindness, not in here. She looked up at him, almost lost in his deep blue eyes, like she was already slipping into something warmer than her fear.

“Get on the table for me, Bunny.”

She snapped out of it, nodding quickly.

“Yes, sir” she whispered, climbing onto the table on her knees, facing him.

“What’s your name, Bunny?” he asked, still studying her like she was a rare painting, one-of-a-kind, priceless.

“I can’t tell you that, sir. People around here call me… Blueberry.”

“Blueberry, huh?” he smiled. “Cute little name for a sweet girl like you. Come closer, Bunny.”

He took a slow sip of his drink, reaching into his pocket for a few folded bills. A couple hundred, hoping it’s enough to calm a new girl’s nerves. She edged forward, and he stood to meet her halfway. His eyes dropped briefly to her chest, catching the edge of an old scar peeking from under her bra strap.

He reached out, slow, careful, but froze when his fingers brushed the scar. She flinched, pulling back.

They locked eyes. His sharp and intense, hers wide and unsure.

“You can’t touch me” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry…”

“And who’s gonna stop me?” he asked, tone curious, not threatening.

She looked away, clearly scared.

“There’s a camera. If you touch me, they’ll send in security.”

He chuckled softly, stepping back just enough to give her air.

“Nah, sweetheart. It’s not the cameras stopping me.”

His voice dropped, intimate:

“It’s your consent. Nothing else matters.”

She blinked, her fear cracking slightly, shifting into something closer to surprise… maybe even trust. He crooked a finger, motioning her forward. She obeyed.

“Good girl” he said low, brushing the edge of the money over the faint line of her scar. “Tell me, Bunny… who did this to you? Who dared to mark a body like yours?”

She swallowed hard.

“My first client,” she whispered. “He got angry when I told him he couldn’t touch me.”

He exhaled slowly, rage simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“Of course. Your body’s like a dessert for starving men, sweet, rich, made to be savored… not taken by force.”

He slid the money gently between her bra and that soft curve of skin spilling from the too-small top.

She glanced down.

“That’s… too much.”

“No. It’s not” he said, leaning back, smoke curling from his lips. “You deserve more than this place gives you.”

The scent bothered her, he noticed right away and put the cigarette out without another word.

“Tell me, doll. What can you do for me? What can I see? What are the rules?”

“No touching” she said quietly. “But… I can take things off. We can talk. Drink. I can dance for you… if you wish.”

“You can undress?” he asked, genuinely curious now.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Then start with your top, Bunny. Let me see you.”

Her hands shook slightly as she reached down, untying the baby-blue babydoll top. It slid down her thick arms and landed in a pool at her waist. She hesitated again, then reached behind, unclasped her bra, and let it fall to her lap, money slipping down with it.

He reached forward, picked up the bills, and set them aside. Then, his fingers slid over the lace of the bra, eyes still locked on hers.

“Can I?”

She nodded, lips parted slightly, her body still, obedient.

He brought the fabric to his nose, breathing her in with the care of a man savoring wine, not lusting over skin. She didn’t move, just watched him, her big brown bambi eyes locked on the tall, tattooed man who looked at her like she was the only softness in a cruel world.

His legs spread wider as he leaned back again, a king in his throne, hunger in his eyes.

She stayed kneeling, like a good girl, bare, soft, and waiting.

Her scent drifted toward him, sweet and warm, clinging to the soft fabric of the shining bra she’d just let fall. His eyes moved over her chest, gentle curves full and inviting, fitting perfectly in front of him like they were made to be held.

They sat obedient and plush, framed by pale lines of stretch marks that curled like quiet lightning across her skin, the  silent testaments to time, change, and womanhood. Far from flaw, they only deepened her beauty. Her skin was wide and warm, like honey left in the sun.

A faint bronze line traced her shoulder where a tan had once been, and even that, to him, felt intimate, like a secret only he was allowed to see.

“How old are you, Bunny?” he whispered, rubbing the fabric of her bra. It wasn’t a soft fabric, her chest deserved softer material to hold those jellies.

She looked at him, a bit nervous, and whispered while glancing down to hide her face, “Twenty three.”

He smirked. She wasn’t supposed to give away personal information. His smile grew bigger. He leaned in, lips close to her ear, and whispered:

“You’re breaking rules for me, Bunny… Naughty Bunny. Should I punish you? Should I?”

His voice was low and teasing as she felt the brush of money against her skin.

“Lift your chest, love.”

She looked at him, nervous, but obeyed. Gently, he slid some bills beneath her breasts and let them fall back into place, keeping the money warm and hidden.

Then he returned to his seat. His eyes lingered on the sight of his money tucked under her soft chest, and he smiled.

“Pretty Bunny.”

After a moment of silence, as he admired that piece of art, he picked an ice cube from his drink.

her eyes widened as he brought it closer, a mix of fear and anticipation flashing across her face. She knew what was coming. and it made her pussy clench and drip with need. pressing the first cube against the firm peak of her nipple. 

The sudden, shocking cold made her gasp and arch her back, her teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. AJ just smirked, watching her squirm. He slowly let the ice cube melt on her nipple, feeling it soften and drip as it cooled her overheated skin.

he pressed the ice cube against her other nipple, letting it melt and drip down the swell of her massive tit. He could see shivers rising on her skin, could feel her convulse and shaking as the cold dripped into her bones. 

AJ watched in amazement as her eyes rolled back in pure euphoria. He could hear her voice, a mix of whimpers and broken moans, all blending together in the most erotic symphony. The way she was squeezing her hands,her eyes, made his cock throb and leak pre cum in his boxers. 

She was like a goddess in the soft purple light of that small room. “Lay down, Bunny” he said, his voice low but commanding.

She felt like she was in a fog, hesitant but drawn to him. Slowly, she lay back, her whole body gently shifting under him, soft curves catching the light as they moved.

“Open those big thighs” he whispered, “and show me that little pussy.”

She looked up, eyes wide and uncertain. She had never done anything like this before. Despite the hardness in his voice, his eyes were gentle, offering her the chance to say no, to stop him if she wanted.

After a pause, she parted her legs slightly, the high thigh socks hugging her softness like a tender embrace. Her breath hitched in the silence, but she gave him the trust to see what she held back. 

slightly, with hesitation, she moves her fingers to her little baby blue underwear to the side, showing her fat fold, all wet.  "That was just the warm-up, baby girl," he purred, grabbing an ice cube from the whisky glass. her eyes widened as he brought it closer to her dripping, sensitive cunt. She could feel the cold air hitting her overheated flesh, making her shudder and clench reflexively. AJ pressed the ice cube directly against her swollen, aching clit, the shocking cold making her cry out and jerk her hips. He could feel the little nub throbbing against the ice, pulsing with a life of its own as it desperately begged for more stimulation. He rubbed the cube in slow, soft circles, watching as it melted and dripped down to cover her folds and thighs.

"That's it, baby... let me feel this greedy cunt spasm on my fingers" AJ growled, his other hand reaching down to put some more money in her socks, while he ordered her to spread her lips apart.

open those fat lips for me bunny” 

 He could see her hole clenching and winking, the silky pink walls shining with her arousal.

With a smirk, he pressed the ice cube right inside her entrance, feeling it melt and trickle along her velvety walls. AJ watched in admiration as her body convulsed and shook, her massive tits jiggling like jello as she came undone from just the teasing touch of the ice cube on her sensitive hole. He could feel her pussy clamping down on nothing, greedy and hungry for something to milk, to squeeze and clench around.

The sight of her shaking and moaning, completely lost in pleasure, made his painfully hard cock throb and leak even more. "That's my good girl, cumming on command like a proper little slut" he praised, his voice dripping with lust and satisfaction.

He could see the heavily look playing out across her face, could feel the way her body trembled and quaked with the force of her release

he finally pulled back, admiring his work as he took in the sight of her utterly wrecked body. He could see the way her massive tits heaved with each labored breath, her skin slick with a sheen of sweat, ice water and arousal. 

“Good girl… good Bunny” he said softly, his voice low like a secret. “So soft… so good. I’ve never seen anything more heavenly than this.”

He paused, his gaze heavy with hunger.

“I wish I could touch that beautiful, fat body…”

He pulled back, letting her rest and catch her breath. Quietly, he reached for his wallet and took out a stack of bills. Gently, he filled her sock with hundreds, continuing to praise her in a soft voice, the only aftercare he could offer since he wasn’t allowed to touch her.

When she slipped back into her clothes and sat up, tears slid down her cheeks — not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of her release.

He took a fresh bill and carefully wiped her tears away.

“You did so good, Bunny” he whispered, his voice tender.

He handed her a glass of water and made sure she drank. Then, without a word, he placed his jacket around her shoulders, warm, heavy, comforting, like protection made of him.

She was still in her underwear, soft baby-blue lace clinging to her curves, the straps of her bra fallen loose on her shoulder. Her bra, her panties, even the tops of her thigh-high socks were stuffed with folded bills, thick and quiet like offerings. They peeked out from every edge and strap.

He rested beside her, close but not touching, letting her body settle next to his. They passed the drink between them in silence, not lovers, not strangers, just two people in a quiet, shared room. Her skin glowed, and the weight of the money, the jacket, the moment, it all seemed to hold her in place. 

She looked down at the money scattered across her body — tucked into her bra, her underwear, her thigh-high socks. Her voice was shaky, exhausted, barely above a whisper.

“This is… too much. These are hundreds, I can’t accept that…”

AJ met her gaze, his tone firm but kind. “It’s all for you. Don’t worry about it. You deserve it.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but he gently cut her off.

“Go get yourself whatever you want. Eat something real. Fill that beautiful fat ass for me. Get better clothes, softer ones, ones that treat your skin the way it deserves to be. It’s your job, after all. And I won’t let you starve or struggle for money. Not while I’m here.”

“But…”

“No buts, Bunny” he said softly. “Be a good girl berry.”

She blinked slowly, her lips curling into the smallest, shyest smile. “Thank you, sir…”

He leaned in, brushing his lips near her ear.

“AJ” he said. “Call me AJ”

She tilted her head slightly, cheeks pink. “AJ?”

“For Alexander Junior” he whispered.

She giggled, eyes wide with surprise. “Oh… I thought it was for Alejandro.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich in her ear. “You’re not the first to think that.”

The hour ended. AJ got up and left, even though he didn’t want to. His chest felt tight. It hurt to walk away from her, that soft girl. He didn’t want anyone else to touch her.

But the time was up, he couldn't have more of her. 

He waited outside. He wanted to see her again, the real her, not just the girl from the room. About 50 minutes later, she came out the back door. She wore big, warm clothes. Her face was clean, with no makeup. She looked soft. Sweet. Real. 

She didn’t see him. The street was dark, barely any lights. But like most women, she felt something wasn’t right. She looked around and started to walk faster.

AJ followed. At first, slowly. Then he picked up speed.

She started running.

So did he.

He was faster. He caught up and reached for her arm.

She turned quickly and grabbed a small spray can from her coat. It made a loud hiss as the pepper spray hit him straight in the face.

“Shit!” he yelled, falling back. His eyes burned like fire. He dropped to his knees, hands covering his face, pain shooting through him.

She ran.

He stayed there in the street, whispering curses, eyes full of tears, trying to breathe.

Thirty minutes later

He sat at the gang's usual bar. John puts a wet cloth pressed to his swollen, red eyes.

John poured a drink and slid it over with a smirk. “So… you think she’s the one?”

AJ winced and wiped his face. “Yeah. Fuck… my eyes.”

John laughed. “It’s your job to get close to her, man. You’ve got two days. If you don’t, Gordon’s gonna break your neck.”

AJ took the drink and finished it in one gulp.

“She’s worth it.”

tag list : @prettiestmini @speaknow-sw @alealuvshayden @scariffs @loliskywalker

Feel free to tell me if you want to be added or taken off the taglist! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Hope you enjoyed it! ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

[musings-of-a-rose]

Meet the Millers - Chapter 15

Pairing: Joel Miller x Benny Miller x Will Miller x Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 8000+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I’m sorry this took so long to get to. I’ll make it up by word count and an additional chapter!  Well folks, it's finally here! I originally ended this series back in April 2022, nearly a year before TLOU season 1 debuted. I thought it was over, but not only did I have a few scenes I wanted to write but wouldn't fit, SO MANY PEOPLE asked me for more. No one more than @theewokingdead so I dedicate this last half of the series to her!

Posted in 2022: This is set loosely in The Last of Us universe. I’ve only played a bit of the game and watched others play (and the show isn’t out yet), so please forgive any inaccuracies. Also it’s a post-apocalyptic world so I’m taking a bunch of liberties here. Because fan fiction.

Ages at the time of this story (so you don’t have to do math):

Reader: 29

Benny: 36

Will: 39

Joel: 51

Main Masterlist

Meet the Millers Masterlist

<<Chapter 14<<

“They were definitely here,” Will kneels down, sliding one of Ellie’s comics out from under a makeshift bed on the floor in a basement. We had ridden more than several miles out, following their trail, which led us here. We had ditched the horses once we realized we were tracking other people as well. Horses are really obvious and may be a magnet for anyone who is starving through winter. Will hands me the comic and I gently run my hand along the front, a memory of Ellie overacting a scene from it flashing before me. I swing my backpack around and carefully stick it inside, resituating the pack. 

We head back out and into the house next to this one. Benny counts on his fingers, giving us the countdown before he opens the door. The door opens and we move as one unit, a quiet gasp leaving my lips as we all take in the mess in the living room. 2 dead bodies, each brutally tortured and eventually killed, left behind to rot. Benny moves into the room, pushing each body over with his boot to look at their faces. Neither one of them familiar. I let out a breath of relief at that. We clear the rest of the house and meet in the kitchen.

“Think that was Joel?” I ask, gesturing towards the living room.

Will nods. “Looks like his handiwork.”

My mind wanders back to a conversation that Joel and I had, about his previous life. The one  after outbreak day. Where he tortured and stole and lot of other horrible things that he very much regrets. A small lump in my throat forms and I swallow it down, thinking of what that must have cost him to do that. But I also know that it would be no hesitation on his part to do that to anyone who hurt any one of us or took-

“Someone has Ellie,” I blurt out over their conversation.

Benny’s eyebrows pinch together. “What? Why do you think that?”

“Why else would Joel torture people like that? He’s not sadistic. And if it was for supplies, he’d have just taken them. Or…or maybe killed them. But torture? He was after information. And the only reason he wouldn’t have waited for us to catch up is if-”

“Someone took Ellie,” Benny finishes, his eyes hardening as he clenches his jaw. “So…how do we find these fuckers?”

Will takes out his map and starts to study it while I motion for Benny to follow me. I head back into the living room and we each start to pad down the bodies. Finding nothing of importance, we head back into the kitchen, Will hunched over the map he spread on the kitchen table. He glances up at us. “Anything?”

I shake my head. “No. Not even a weapon. Joel must have taken them. You?” I walk up and place my hand on his back, looking down at the map. 

He points to a few places on it. “There are some neighborhoods around here, like this one. And this resort up the road a few miles. It’s a lot of houses.”

Benny shifts his rifle up higher on his shoulder. “Let’s look outside. See if we can find anything. Joel is good about covering his tracks but maybe he left us some clues.” We all file out after Benny, Will stuffing his now folded up map back in his inside jacket pocket. It doesn’t take us long to find some tracks, but they also look like an injured person walking. 

“He’s hurt,” I say, pressing my gloved hand into the bootprint in the snow. “I’m not sure if it’s a leg injury, but he’s limping pretty good.” I swallow down that familiar lump. “It looks like just him. No tracks for Ellie.”

“Fuck,” Benny whispers. “Let’s go get these assholes.”

Despite being injured and in a rush, Joel does a pretty damn good job of covering his tracks, the thick snow giving him extra cover. We track him for a few miles, Will referring to the map and deducing that we were heading towards the resort. But then his tracks veer off, heading down a road when the resort was up it. 

“Do you smell that?” Benny asks and we all sniff. Smoke. We all start looking around for any sign of a blaze. The trees are tall, making visibility difficult, even in snow. We continue following his tracks, rounding a corner before we see the smoke billowing out from a small building, probably a former restaurant of some kind. We draw our guns, picking up the pace towards the burning building. 2 figures come from around the back of the building, stumbling in the snow. We all freeze and I jam the scope to my eye, aiming towards the moving people. 

“Joel! Ellie!” I nearly yell but remember myself and whisper it to the boys instead, pretty much running towards them. They see us and turn towards us, both of them leaning on the other. Ellie crashes into Benny and I lunge at Joel, throwing my arms around him and immediately jumping back when he cries out in pain. 

“What happened? Where are you hurt?” I start pawing at his clothes. Joel gently takes my hand and guides it over his clothes to his abdomen. 

“Here. Roughly stitched. Got infected but Ellie got me antibiotics.”

“I need to look at that wound asap. Are you ok to walk?”

He nods. “Yeah. We need to get away from here. Where are the horses?”

Will chimes in. “Had to send them off once we knew we were tracking people other than you two.”

“Damn. Would’ve been nice.”

I move to Ellie who leans into me, a quiet sob wracking her body. “Hey, sshhh it’s ok. Joel got you. We’re all here now. Ellie, I need you to tell me. Are you injured?” 

She shakes her head and speaks into my shoulder. “Just a little. Nothing major.”

“You can walk?” She nods. I look at them all. “We have to move.”

—----

Somehow, we manage to get a few miles from the blaze without any issue, a small gas station our salvation. Once cleared, I guide Joel and Ellie into the back office, motioning for Joel to sit in the office chair and Ellie on the desk. She insists she’s fine, but I know that look. She does have some minor abrasions on her hands, some small bruises and cuts. The blood on her was not hers and I hope the fucker it belongs to died slowly and horribly. She’s quiet. Too quiet. As I wipe the last of the blood from her face, I cup her cheeks, getting her to look up at me. 

“You’re ok. But some wounds can’t be seen with your eyes.” I lean in and hug her tight, whispering in her ear. “Please come talk to me when you’re ready.” She nods against my shoulder and pushes away, hopping down off the desk and heads into the main store to help Benny and Will. I look down at Joel. He looks exhausted, his face a little more pale than it should be. 

“Take off your shirt, Mr. Miller.”

“I am a married man, miss,” He chuckles, sucking in a breath at the pain. He pulls up the edge of his jacket and shirt, exposing the wound that he had tried his best to cover. There’s dried blood around it, a little fresh bleeding from his exertion, but I can see the infection leaving his body.

I kneel to get a better look, lifting the makeshift bandage from his stomach. He hisses, but doesn’t move. “This wound is the only thing keeping me from bending you over this table,” Joel says just loud enough for me to hear. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, cowboy.”

“Just wait until I’m healed.”

—----

We wait in that gas station for a few weeks, letting Joel heal fully. His wound had been infected, but, thanks to Ellie’s intervention, the antibiotics had gotten to work right away, saving his life. Benny and Will kept Ellie busy, helping her to practice shooting, taking her hunting in the nearby woods to catch rabbits or a stray deer. She’s quieter though. Reserved. She told me nothing had actually happened but that something had almost happened before she killed the man. Good riddance to the man, but that does leave a mark on someone. 

The day before we leave, Benny and Will take Ellie into the woods to inspect their traps and Joel makes good on his promise, pushing himself inside of me as I moan his name, his body pressed over mine, pinning me to the desk. It’s not long before I let go and he follows, the sounds of our moans filling the small office space.

—----

“Ok but wasn’t that giraffe cool as fuck?” Ellie smiles as she gestures back towards the dilapidated building where we had found an actual, living giraffe, living its best life. For some reason, the infection never spread to animals, which I’m grateful for. They seem to be fairing well for themselves. Better than most humans anyway. 

But more than that, I’m grateful for the smile they put on Ellie’s face, her first true, whole face smile in weeks. Months? I lost track of time, worried about Joel and then worried about Ellie. The snows had melted, giving way to a beautiful spring. The air is still cool, but it doesn’t feel like snow will make a comeback. Spring is here to stay for a bit. 

Ellie walks alongside Joel, the two of them sharing an old can of Chef Boyardee Joel had found in a busted up RV. My heart swells watching them. Their relationship has definitely deepend since the events at UEC. They’re closer, Joel looks at her like I imagine he looked at Sarah, and my heart breaks thinking about the teenage daughter I never met. 

We’re getting closer to one of the hospitals in Salt Lake, hoping that the first one we picked on the map was the one where the Fireflies were. Still are. If they weren’t chased out or worse. We take a quick break, Ellie and Joel sitting on a crumbling cement barrier, sharing the last of the can of beef-a-roni. I start to walk over to join them when I hear Joel telling her about the scar on the side of his head and how he lost his hearing. Immediately, I turn back to Benny and Will, sandwiching myself between them. I know this story, and if Joel is telling it to Ellie…well I definitely don’t want to ruin that moment. 

Benny nudges my shoulder with his. “You want some jerky?”

I blink, pulling myself back to the present and look at him. “Sure.”

He holds the open bag of jerky in his lap, between his legs, in a very suggestive spot and smirks, his eyebrows waggling. “All yours, sweetheart.”

I punch his shoulder, chuckling along with him, but still reach over and grab some jerky, making sure to lightly touch him as I drag my hand from the bag. I don’t miss the way a light flush blooms across his cheeks. Will puffs air from his mouth next to us. “Can’t take you guys anywhere.”

I turn to him, leaving Benny squirming in his seat. “What ever are you talking about? I was simply getting some food.” I lean in towards him, getting close to his face. “Why, do you have snacks in your pants I could get, Will?”

His ears heat up and he smirks. “Darlin’, you’re welcome to anything in my pants.”

Before I can reply, Joel clears his throat. “If y’all are done eye fuckin’ each other, let’s get moving.”

Ellie chuckles as we all stand up, gathering our things, and hoisting our packs on. We fall into a sort of grouping, picking our way across the rubbled streets of Salt Lake City, a once bustling hub of activity, now reduced to crumbling buildings and, apparently, wild giraffes. 

“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Joel asks, looking at Ellie as we walk. She looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Shitty puns.”

Her face lights up, a smile spreading across it. “Say no more!” She slides her bag from around her back, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out her worn joke book. She flips through a few pages before she settles on one.

“People are making apocalypse jokes like there’s no tomorrow.” 

Joel gives her an overly dramatic, disgusted look and tsks. 

“Too soon?” Ellie asks, fighting back a smirk.

“No,” Joel replies. “It’s topical.” 

Ellie chuckles, her eyes landing back on the book. “Oh I love this one! Moon rocks taste better than Earth rocks. Why?” She pauses, waiting to see if anyone would reply. “Cause they’re METEOR!”

We all laugh, Joel making a pained face. “That’s terrible.”

“Fuck you! That was actually good!” Ellie replies, hitting him in the shoulder with her book.

“That’s a zero outta ten.”

Ellie sighs. “Alright….ok, what did the green grape say to the purple grape?” Another pause. “Breathe, you idiot.” She watches Joel’s face expectantly, holding back her own excitement. Meanwhile, Joel is fighting for his life, trying not to smile, a small smirk breaking through his gruff attitude while Benny howls with laughter. 

“That was a three outta ten.”

“What?” Ellie and Benny respond at the same time. “That was a seven, minimum!” Ellie continues.

Joel thinks. “I’ll give it a five.”

“Five??”

“Five outta ten.”

“Fuck you, five. That was a-”

The clear metallic sound of something hitting the ground behind us, rolling across the rock spattered cement brings our laughing to a screeching halt. We all turn and look down just in time for the thing to ignite, Joel leaping to cover Ellie and Benny over me. We all hit the ground, ears ringing like mad, smoke everywhere. I can’t focus, the ringing too loud. Too disorienting. I can hear Joel calling out for Ellie, can feel the weight of Benny on my back. But then suddenly he isn’t. Before I can look, something strikes the back of my head and everything goes blank.

—----

The sound of muffled yelling is what brings me back to reality. My vision is blurry at first, the room I’m in coming into focus the longer I blink. The voices get clearer too and I realize there’s a voice that’s not a Miller. Or Ellie. I shake my head a little and the voices click into place as I blink the last of the blurriness from my eyes.

“You take me to her. You take me to her RIGHT NOW!” Joel demands from a cot on the other side of the small exam room from me. 

A sigh. “Joel, you know it has to be this way. Do you think I want Ellie to die?” That voice. I know that voice. I hadn’t heard it since I left the Fireflies. Marlene.

Wait did she say Ellie had to die?

I sit up, a little too fast and the room starts to spin as her and Joel continue to argue, saying something about them needing to operate on Ellie’s brain to get the infection out to make a cure. Which..honestly doesn’t entirely make sense. Even with my head spinning I know it doesn’t make sense. There’s no guarantee that a cure would work from that and then you’ve killed your only immune person? I press my hand to my head as Marlene walks from the room, telling the other Firefly soldiers to walk us to the highway to meet our companions, presumably Benny and Will, and only then give us our packs and a knife. I hear them grab Joel and move him to the door, gruff hands yanking me up from the bed and my feet slide a little on the tile floor.

“Hey! Don’t touch her!” Joel gruffly commands, his hand reaching for mine. His fingers barely brush mine before the soldier prods him in the back with the barrel of his rifle. “None of that. Keep moving.”

Joel looks at me and I nod, my head finally clearing at the severity of this situation. They push him forward towards a stairwell, Joel pausing for a brief moment to look at a floor map on the wall. As we’re shoved into the stairwell, I watch Joel’s broad back, the changes in it as he makes up his mind. I know what he’s going to do from the moment he looked at that map. We go down a couple of flights of stairs before he pauses, mid way down the next grouping of them.

“Hey! Who told you to stop?” The soldier behind Joel places his hand on his shoulder to push him forward and Joel makes his move. He grips the soldiers wrist and spins, knocking him out with a couple of well placed punches, quickly grabbing his gun. While he moves, so do I, throwing my head back and ramming it into the man behind me, catching him off guard. I duck as Joel rams the butt end of the rifle into the man’s head, knocking him out. As the men moan on the floor, Joel looks at me. His eyes are dark, his intention set. No one will stand in his way to get to Ellie. I nod at him, bending down to pick up the second gun. 

“I’ll follow your lead,” I quietly say to him, checking the mag and loading a round into the chamber. He studies me for one quick moment, then nods his confirmation.

“Stay behind me.”

“Understood.”

We move through the hospital in a violent dance. I barely do anything except watch his back. Joel moves with a sole purpose, taking out everyone who poses a threat, even a few people who put down their guns, who most likely would’ve taken them back up when we passed them. The way he moves with precision is beautiful, his muscles shifting with every move, the veins in his arms bulging as he reloads a newly acquired rifle, stepping over the body of a soldier he’d just taken out. It’s horrifyingly beautiful and I can see why Joel has the reputation that he does.

Finally, we arrive in pediatric surgery, the lights glaring out from one of the operating rooms. Joel pulls back the slide on his handgun and quietly pushes open the door, aiming the gun into the room. The nurses all scream, stepping back, but the doctor just turns and looks at Joel, a mixture of confusion, arrogance, and fear in his eyes.

“Unhook her,” Joel quietly demands.

The doctor replies. “No! What are you doing? You need to leave my or now!”

Joel fires a warning shot into the air, the nurses screams echoing through the small room. “Unhook her.”

The doctor, now frantic, reaches to the side and grabs a tool off a tray, like a small blade. A scalpel. “No! I won’t let you take her!”

Joel fires a single shot and blood spurts from the doctor’s forehead as his body crumbles to the ground. The nurses scream again, huddling together as if that would save them. Joel turns the gun on them but doesn’t fire.

“Unhook her.” They don’t move, their hands trembling. “Now!”

One nurse moves forward and unhooks Ellie from the machines. She quickly steps back, giving Joel as much room as she’s physically able as he steps forward, gently scooping Ellie into his arms. She’s so small, her eyes still closed from the anesthesia, resting against Joel’s bicep. He turns and strides from the room and I follow, not looking back at the nurses.

The halls are quiet now, Joel having taken out any soldiers that were running at us. But that doesn’t mean we’re alone. Our guards still up, Joel stops to punch the elevator button, shifting Ellie up a little to get a better grip. Once we’re inside the elevator and the doors close behind us, Joel reaches over to press the garage button. The elevator lurches and starts its descent. 

“Do you need me to take her?” I ask quietly. I know his bones have to be aching. His face hardens, resolute as he shakes his head. 

“No. I got her.” We’re quiet for a moment as we watch the floor numbers tick down. “We’re going to leave. If there’s a car, we’ll take it. Find Will and Benny on the highway and head back to Jackson.” 

I nod. “Sounds good.”

The doors open and I stride out first, gun raised, my head on a swivel. I see nothing and we start forward, Joel tapping my arm with Ellie’s bare foot and nodding towards a truck that has the hood open, a battery attached to it charging. We head for it, but then Marlene steps from the shadows, her gun pointed straight at Joel. 

“I can’t let you leave with her, Joel.”

“You can. You can let us go.”

Marlene shakes her head. “She can change all of this. You can..we can forget all of what you just did, if you give her to me.”

Joel looks down at Ellie, then back up at Marlene. “You’ll never stop looking for us.”

“No. Wait, Joel-”

BOOM! 

A single shot rings out from the gun Joel had in his hand, concealed by Ellie’s hospital gown. Marlene flies back, her abdomen spurting blood as Joel steps around her, gently laying Ellie down in the back row of the truck. Marlene reaches up towards me. 

“You…you have to stop him, Ghost. She’s the answer.”

Before I can answer, Joel is back by my side, raises his gun, and Marlene becomes forever silent. Quietly, we get in the truck and drive out of the garage, making our way out of the city to the highway that moves around it, hoping that we’ll easily find Benny and Will. I reach over and grab Joel’s hand resting on his leg, giving it a small squeeze. He glances over at me, worry etched in his features for the first time.

“I…I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t…you shouldn’t have had to see that.”

I squeeze his hand harder. “You did what you had to do to protect your family. They would’ve killed her. Killed us. And it honestly doesn’t make any sense. For them to just kill Ellie from the start- wait. I see them!” I point out the window to 2 figures walking down the side of the road. They turn and Benny throws his hands in the air, his mouth forming a “whoop!”. I hop out and move to the back, giving one of them the seat with more leg room as I place Ellie’s head on my lap. As we drive back to Jackson, we fill them in on what happened. Will isn’t happy about it, but understands. Benny simply says “Fuck those assholes.”

We stash the truck and walk the last several miles to Jackson, grateful we didn’t have another couple of months work of walking. Benny, Will, and I make it down the side of the hill several feet before we realize that Ellie and Joel aren’t with us. We wait for a moment and they come over the edge, Ellie retreating back into her mind as Joel looks on, worried. He’d asked all of us to not say anything to Ellie about what happened. He’d told her raiders had come and it was all we could do to get her out in time. I don’t think she buys it, but I follow Joel’s lead. A pit grows in my stomach, like this will come back to haunt us. But for now, I’m choosing to look forward. Especially when the gates swing open and Tommy runs to greet us, sweeping me up into his arms as he holds me close. 

—----

5 years later…

“Do you both have to go so early?” I complain as I lay sandwiched between Joel and Tommy, who had joined our..family within a year of us returning from Salt Lake. Tommy presses himself against me from behind, growing harder every time he grinds his hips against my ass, his hand making its way between my thighs. Joel faces me and grips my chin gently, staring into my eyes.

“Sorry, angel. Tommy agreed to switch so Ellie could sleep in after last night.” He glances up behind me, giving a quick nod to Tommy, who’s hand gently pushes my back forward slightly, angling my hips up. He slowly pushes into me and my lips part, a small gasp coming from me as he stretches me. As Tommy starts to rut into me, his thumb teasing my clit, Joel’s grip on my chin doesn’t loosen, his silent demand that I keep my eyes on him. His other hand reaches out and gently pinches one of my nipples just as Tommy hits a spot inside me and I cry out, my orgasm flowing through me as Tommy reaches his, biting my shoulder as he comes. He soothes the bite with a kiss, as Joel brings his lips to mine, kissing me softly. Tommy pulls out and I whimper into Joel’s mouth. Tommy disappears for a moment before tossing a wet rag at Joel, who rips himself away from me to yelp, cursing at Tommy as his chest glistens with the water from the wet rag. I chuckle, swiping at the water with my bare hand, like that would do anything. I just wanted to touch his chest. 

Tommy closes the bathroom door behind him, the shower turning on. Joel focuses his attention back on me, cupping my cheek, rubbing his thumb across it before lightly kissing me. “Roll over and spread your legs.”

My entire body heats up and I nod furiously, quickly rolling onto my back, spreading my legs as wide as I can while Joel watches me, his eyes raking down my body. He kneels on the bed, rag in hand, and dabs at my sensitive pussy, gently cleaning his brother off me. He presses one of his large fingers inside me and I squirm as he cleans me out, wiping his hand on the rag when he’s done. Without saying a word, he lowers his mouth to me, dragging his tongue up the center of me and I gasp his name, my hands flying to his head, fingers tangling in his greying curls. He continues to torture me, bringing me to the edge and then pulling back, his nose gliding up my center. 

“Please, Joel,” I beg, my body wound up and desperate. 

He gently kisses my pussy and I whine, bucking my hips into his face. He chuckles, a quick, light lick to my clit before backing off again and I huff, opening my mouth to tell him off. Or something. I can’t remember because Joel dives back in, coming at me like he can’t hold back any longer and a handful of seconds later I cum, fingers digging into his head as I hold him there, his name a chant on my lips. As I start to come down, Joel pulls away, crawling up my body, pinning my wrists on either side of my head. His eyes stare down at mine, nearly black with lust.

“I’m gonna fuck you into this bed and you’re gonna take it. Got it?” 

I nod. “Yes. Yes, I’ll take whatever you can-” Joel pushes into me with force and I cry out, wrapping my legs around him as he loses himself in me, having edged himself too. He cums a few moments later, his forehead dropping to my chest as we both breathe deeply, trying to catch our breaths. He drags his eyes up to mine, happy and content. 

“Hopefully that makes up for the early hour.”

I chuckle. “I hope you’re getting up early tomorrow too.”

—----

“I think I missed my morning patrol time?” Ellie says as she walks up to me at the main gate, horse reins in hand. 

I shake my head. “Nah. Tommy swapped with Joel so you could sleep in after…after the New Years Party last night.”

“Oh. Right. That was..nice.”

I smile at Ellie. Joel and her had been going through something lately and neither of them would explain it. Maybe they couldn’t. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah. We..talked last night. I’m going to come to movie night tonight.”

“Oh thank God. I’ve been outnumbered by boys for so long.”

Ellie laughs. “Sorry about that.”

I squeeze her arm. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’ve been going through something and sometimes you just need your own space. You know I’m always here to talk, right?”

She nods, adjusting her saddle. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Will and Benny walk up, coming from the guard post on the wall. They each press a kiss to my lips, while Benny reaches out to ruffle Ellie’s hair. She dodges, swearing at him and they play wrestle for a moment, Benny giving up when she pokes him in his only ticklish spot. Will helps me up onto my horse and I lean down to kiss him again. 

“Be careful, darlin’. We think that storm might come in. If you need to take shelter, just radio in as best you can and hunker down.”

“Of course. Love you.”

Benny helps Ellie onto her horse and she punches him on the shoulder. “Ouch.” 

“Plenty more where that came from.”

Benny rubs at his shoulder, smirking before turning to me. “Should’ve never taught her how to fight.” I lean down and kiss him, his large hand cupping my cheek as he holds me there for a moment, pulling back just enough for me to see his bright blue eyes. “Be careful, sweetheart. Don’t take any chances if that storm rolls in quick.”

“I promise. Stay safe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

—----

“I’m so glad Jesse showed you this place,” I say as I take another cookie from Ellie’s outstretched hand. She’s smiling, for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Yeah, me too. Great place to wait out a storm like that one coming at us.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the special plants and snacks stored here?” I raise my eyebrows, smirking.

Ellie puts her hand on her chest, looking fake shocked. “What are you saying?”

Static scratches out from the walkie. “Ghost? Ellie? You there?”

I pick it up, pressing the button. “Yeah we’re bunkered down. Everything ok in Jackson?”

The operator, Allie, answers. “We’re fine but have you heard from Joel and Tommy recently?” 

Ellie and I sit up. “No. Have you?”

“Not since they started route. They’re not answering.”

Ellie and I look at each other, fear and worry coursing through my veins. “Roger that. We’ll go look for them.” 

“I don’t think that’s-” I click off the walkie and look up at Ellie, my own worry echoed in her features. 

“Let’s go find them,” She says, quickly gathering up her pack and heading for the door, zipping up coats as she walks. We make it outside, the wind already blowing, our horses complaining about going back in it. I grab Ellie’s arm and she looks at me.

“We should split up. Stay on channel 4, ok?” I hold up my walkie and she clicks hers to channel 4, holding it up to confirm. She turns to get on Shimmer, her horse, but I grab her arm again.

“What?”

“Just…be careful. Don’t forget to radio me if you find anything.”

“Yeah. Of course. You too.”

We hop on our horses and take off in opposite directions, both of us terrified at what we might find. Best case scenario, their walkies are dead or the storm has blocked the signal and they’re tucked away somewhere safe. Worst case…I’m not thinking about that.

I ride for about half an hour when a sudden lurch in my stomach has me pulling on the reins to stop my horse. Anxiety and panic flood my system. I look around, not seeing anything, but I can’t shake this feeling. I ride for another couple of minutes, thinking about what structures would be near enough to their route-

The resort. 

I turn my horse and spur him on, riding into the wind and snow as the blizzard creeps towards us. It’s so hard to see in this, and the rushing sound in my head doesn’t help. They’re at the resort. They’re tucked in all safe. Nothing is wrong. But the closer I get to the resort, the more the panic rises, making me gasp for breath a few times. I finally break through the line of trees and see the resort…and a couple of horses outside it. I hop off mine and take out my gun, checking it before quietly moving to the door. I try the handle and it turns easy, allowing me to slip inside. The roaring of the wind is muted, my ears and eyes taking a quick moment to adjust. But then I hear the sounds coming from upstairs. Thuds and- no. No!

Joel’s grunts and cries of anguish are loud in my ears, each one coming after a painful sound blow. For a brief moment, I have to choke back the simultaneous urge to vomit and to run towards him, hell bent on putting myself between him and whatever was making him make those sounds. 

“No! Please stop!” 

Ellie. Begging and crying. She’s not alone. Another voice, female, scoffs. 

“Do you think he waited? When he killed everyone in that hospital? They were just there to find a cure. And then he came in and bam! Dead.” 

I move through the hall and up the stairs like a ghost, the reason I earned my nickname. I reach the top of the stairs, a door standing ajar in front of me, Joel’s grunts sounding weaker despite me being closer. I swallow hard, bracing myself for whatever is behind the door. No one else is in the hallway, so I move up to the cracked doorway and peer inside. Tommy lies crumbled in a heap on the other side of the room, two young women standing over him. He’s breathing, so he must be knocked out. The men in front of me are holding Ellie to the ground, her arm pinned painfully behind her back before he kicks her in the ribs, telling her to be quiet. Rage fills me, but my eyes drag up and to the center of the room, where another young woman stands over a bloody pile of rags, kicking it again and again. I focus on the rags for a moment before I realize what exactly I’m looking at, the blood in my veins freezing in fear, but also burning with rage.

Joel. Not rags. Joel. Beaten so badly that I could hardly recognize him. 

My brain clicks, all expression sliding off of my face as I slowly stand, taking my knife from my pocket. My blades quietly slices into the one man with his foot on Ellie’s back and before he realizes he’s dead, I’ve sliced into the other man, his blood gushing down his side. Ellie doesn’t move. I raise my gun just as one of the 2 women look up and see me, horror on their faces. 

“Wait-”

I hit my first target in between her eyes, her body crumbling to the floor. The other girl raises her hands but she meets the same fate as her friend, their bodies lifeless and staring blankly ahead. I turn to face the woman standing over Joel’s bloody body, a broken golf club in her hands. She looks at me, her rage fueled by my apparent indifference to it. I aim my gun at her, gently pulling the trigger and…it jams. She glances down at Joel and back at me before she raises the golf club, aiming it at the back of Joel’s neck.

I yell, a primal, guttural scream, as I drop the gun and lunge at this person, tackling her to the ground before she could do anything. She struggles against me, yelling back and we roll for a couple times before I’m on top, pinning her arms beneath my knees. My hands wrap around her throat as she chokes and sputters, her body jerking as I watch the life start to fade from her eyes. But then I let go and she gasps for air, choking as she breathes rapidly and deeply. Once she’s caught her breath, I wrap my hands around her throat again, watching with a blank expression as she tries to fight for her life. I bring her back 3 more times, each time she gets weaker, her sputters less and less. I want to watch the life leave her eyes for what she’s done, watch her die here and now knowing that all of her companions, her friends, are dead because of what she’s done to my husband. 

“Joel!” Ellie cries out from across the room, still barely able to move. I blink, coming out of my rage vengeance and simply watch as the girl under my hands chokes, sputtering, her limbs fighting back less and less. I watch as the light leaves her eyes, the last thing she sees is me. I release her, swinging my legs off her body before I come to, the rage leaving me the second I lay eyes on him.

“Joel?” He’s on his stomach, his bloody cheek pressed against the hard ground, his eye bruised and puffy, gashes and scrapes bleeding and puffing up not just on his face, but across his body. His leg has a homemade tourniquet above what I’m assuming is a gunshot wound. His shirt is torn in several places across his back, revealing deep puncture wounds, a small stream of blood spreading out onto the floor. 

“Joel?” I don’t know what to do. My hands hover around various parts of his body, but I'm afraid to touch him. I don’t know where to start, what the worst injury is. I’m trained for medical, but this is…

Tears well in my eyes and I try to fight them back. “Joel, baby?” I put my face in front of his, pressing my hand to his bloodied one. “Joel, it’s me. It’s Ghost. I’m here. You’re safe. Ellie’s safe. So is Tommy. I got them all, I just need you to-” my voice cracks, the tears no longer able to be held as his tired and pained expression meets mine.” 

“Joel, please hold on. Let me look at you.” I throw my walkie at Ellie before returning my attention to Joel. “Look at me. Joel, you do not have my permission to die. Do you hear me? You c-can’t. Y-you can’t leave me, Joel. Please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. He opens his mouth, gasping for air as he coughs out blood.

“Joel? No, NO you can’t! Please, please-” my entire world goes black.

—----

“You take me to her right now!” 

Joel’s voice rips me from my unconscious state. Where am I? My head spins, slowly coming back into focus. Joel? He’s alive? I blink, my vision clearing, and realize I’m back in the hospital room. In Salt Lake. What the fuck just happened?

“Joel, you know it has to be this way,” Marlene says in a poor attempt to console him. 

No, no this isn’t right. Didn’t that girl who was beating Joel say her dad was here? He was the doctor? I know what happens if we go down this path. I've seen it. 

“I don’t have another choice, Joel.”

“I do,” Joel says threateningly.

“Wait!” I sit up a little too fast, holding the side of my head while the room stops spinning. “Marlene, wait!”

She turns to look at me, but her body remains fully focused on Joel. She’s right to mistrust him. “I really have no choice, Ghost.”

“Marlene, you knew me. Know me. I’ve learned a lot, especially since leaving the Fireflies. You know I was studying not just sniper but medical. Healing. I learned…a lot. And let me tell you…I don’t think they need to kill Ellie.”

She turns her head fully to me now, the other soldier in the room tightening his grip on his gun. “What?”

“Think about it. This..doctor… wants to cut open her brain, right?”

She nods. “To get the cordyceps out.”

I shrug. “Yeah, but there’s no guarantee that it will work. I mean, she’s probably more than likely actually infected, not immune, and we don’t know what in her stopped the cordyceps from taking hold. Could it be something in her brain? Sure. But it could also be in her dna, or a myriad of other things.”

Marlene watches me for a few long moments. “What’s your point?”

I puff out some air. “Look. Everyone is wanting a cure, right? A preventative? But what sense does killing your only immune person make? Wouldn’t you want to make absolutely 100% sure it has to come from her brain before you kill her and then oops it doesn’t work? She’s your only immune person…right?”

Marlene takes longer than I like to answer. “She’s the only one we have now…but I’m not a doctor. Let’s go ask him.”

She jerks her head towards her soldier and addresses Joel. “Absolutely no funny business or they will kill you and her,” she points to me. Rude. “Got it?”

Joel nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

We quickly head up a couple flights of stairs to the pediatric surgery ward, where all of the lights are off except for one room. I’ve been here before, in..whatever I experienced a moment ago. Panic soars through me as images of Joel’s bloody and beaten body flash before my eyes. I pause for a moment and feel Joel’s large hand at my lower back.

“You ok, angel?”

“Mm no. But ask me later, ok?”

“O…k…”

Marlene pushes into the surgery room where a male doctor and 3 nurses stand over Ellie’s body as they do final preparations for surgery.

“What is this, Marelene? Get them out of here!”

She holds a hand up. “Not yet, Jerry. Just wait. You too.” She speaks to the nurses, who back off Ellie. 

The doctor, Jerry, looks pissed. “We only have a short amount of time. I won’t let you-”

“Are you certain you need to cut into her brain to make the cure?”

He looks shocked, even behind his face mask. “Well, yes.”

Fuck this guy. “How certain?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. 

He looks over at me, his eyes raking my body up and down, assessing me. “Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter. Answer my question.”

“You wouldn’t understand. You would’ve been what, 5? When the outbreak happened?” He scoffs and I resist the urge to punch him.

“8, actually. But yet somehow I know more than you?”

He crosses his arms, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure. Why am I talking to her?”

Marlene speaks before I can. “Because that girl? I know her. She’s studied healing and medicine under some of the best people in this shitty world. She’s also the best shot I’ve ever seen and you have someone she cares about strapped to your table, so yeah. I’d answer her question.”

Jerry looks between us both, finally sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know…maybe like 65%?”

She doesn’t show it, but I know Marelene is shocked, her body language shifting slightly. Joel tenses beside me and I reach out to squeeze his hand. 

“Only 65%? You promised me a cure.”

Jerry gestures around. “Yeah well, I had to get her here. I have to look at her brain and then I can tell you better.”

“But how do you know her supposed cure doesn’t lie in her blood? Her dna?”

He looks back at me. “What do you mean supposed?”

“Assuming she’s immune and not infected.”

He watches me for a few long moments. “I…hadn’t considered that possibility.”

I point at Ellie. “You have no idea if she’s immune or just infected and her body has somehow prevented it from taking hold. Could it be in her brain? Sure. But it could also be in her blood. Or anything else.”

Jerry crosses his arms, cocking his head to the side. “You’re right. Unfortunately, it would be too difficult to know.”

“Why?”

Jerry gestures to the room. “Look around. We barely had enough power for this room, let alone a whole lab to do testing. We simply wouldn’t be able to accommodate that. Not without more power.”

Joel speaks up. “You know where there’s more.” Not a question.

Jerry nods. “Yeah. Marelene knows the specifics, but Gracepoint Hospital, on the other side of the city, has a ton of solar panels that would hook into the power grid for this hospital.”

Joel nods. “What’s the catch?”

Marlene and Jerry exchange a look. “It’s never been cleared. There’s a lot of infected in that area. We never took the risk.”

Joel nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “And I’m assuming these are the only ones?”

Marlene nods. “The only ones we know where they are and that they’ll work.”

Joel glances down at me and I nod. “Alright. Bring us my brothers and we’ll get your solar panels. But you have to promise that you will not place 1 cut on her body.” He steps forward towards Marlene and Jerry, his voice dropping. “Or I will hunt you until the ends of this earth and personally remove you from it. Agreed?”

Jerry swallows hard, glancing at Marlene, who also realizes the weight of Joel’s words. He is absolutely serious. They both stick their hands out and shake Joel’s and mine. “Agreed.”

Joel nods once. “Alright then. Marlene, bring my brothers to the lobby, And get a map to show us where this hospital is.”

Marlene moves to speak to her soldiers, sending a couple of them towards the highway where they’d already brought Will and Benny. Joel takes my hand again and pulls me out of the surgery, one last look at Ellie before he rounds the corner and brings me into another empty room. He closes the door and turns to me, clicking on a flashlight and setting it upside down on a table to illuminate a tiny space. 

“Alright, angel. I need your head in the game if we’re doing this. What’s wrong?”

I open my mouth to speak, but instead, tears fall freely from my eyes, my chest heaving as I sob. Joel pulls me to his chest, holding me tight as he cradles the back of my head, whispering to me as I cry. I pull back enough to look up at him, my hands lightly tracing his face, his beautiful face. Every scar, every line, all of it. All of him. I cup his face and pull him to me, kissing him gently before he pulls back, his eyebrows pulled together in worry.

“Are you ok, angel? What happened?”

So, I tell him. How I had woken in that bed and watched Joel kill nearly everyone here because they were going to kill Ellie. How I never spoke up and didn’t think twice about it. Our life over the span of 5 years in Jackson. How the group of young people came and beat him, how his face looked, and how I didn’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if he survived. Then I woke here, a chance to do it again, which is why I spoke up. 

His eyes water and he pulls me to him again. “Oh angel. I’m so sorry. But that wasn’t real. I’m here. We’re here, together. It’s ok. I’m not going anywhere.”

I sob again for another few minutes, trying to let go of the lingering images of his blood covered body. Then I pull back, wipe my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out, stretching my limbs before looking back at Joel, determination in my features.

“Let’s go get those solar panels and help save the fucking world.”

—---- 

>>Chapter 16>>

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[childrenofcain-if]

Happy Spooky Season, Axel! This might be a little unusual but with the spirit of Halloween coming up, how would the ROs react to MC being a werewolf?

Maybe it can happen in a camping trip, similar to The Quarry? Maybe not separately bcuz I would love to see how they handle it as a group, but I won't complain with individual reactions either. Do whatever would be more comfortable, dear Author. Happy Halloween in advance!

rural connecticut had a way of making everyone feel a little uneasy. perhaps it was the countless urban legends people told around it, perhaps it was the way that the state was where the nation’s first witch trials occurred—three decades before they happened infamously in salem, massachusetts.

the air was crisp with the sort of chill that lingered in your bones but didn’t quite feel threatening yet. the fire crackled softly as you stoked it, watching the flames flicker against the growing dusk. everyone was scattered around the camp, still settling into the space.

D was busy doing what they did best—getting under C’s skin with sarcastic jabs, teasing them about the way they kept folding and refolding the map as if it would magically change the directions. M, ever the stoic one, was trying to ignore them, but you could see the slight twitch of their lip, an indication that D was close to getting on their last nerve.

V was standing beside you, hands in their pockets, looking vaguely amused by the whole scene. W, on the other hand, just shook their head and smiled, the picture of someone used to D’s antics by now. it was a strange mix, this group—too many strong personalities in one place—but it worked. everyone knew their role, how far to push, when to back off. at least most of the time.

D had started flicking small rocks at C’s back and making loud, obnoxious comments about how they were overpacking again. “C, honestly, it’s a camping trip, not a three-week expedition. You don’t need an entire suitcase for a weekend.”

C shot D a venomous look from over their shoulder, folding the map they’d been fussing over with a little more force than necessary. “keep it up, and you’ll be sleeping outside the tent tonight.”

“i’d love that, thanks,” D fired back, their smirk relentless.

you fed the fire another branch, staring into the flames as V leaned closer.

“you’re quiet,” they said, voice so soft that it was almost drowned out by D’s exaggerated laugh in the background.

you shrugged. “just thinking about all the coursework i still have waiting for me when we get back. feels like i should be doing something instead of sitting here.”

V smiled, the kind that crinkled the corners of their warm brown eyes. “it’s a holiday. you’re supposed to be relaxing. the work will still be there when you get back.”

M wandered over, looking unusually tense. “you lot heard about the wild predators around here lately?”

you glanced up, the firelight reflecting in M’s eyes, giving their worry an edge.

“what do you mean?” V asked, straightening up.

M ran a hand through their hair. “there have been some sightings—wolves, maybe coyotes—attacking other animals around these parts. i was checking for some news around the area and it showed up on my phone.”

D chimed in before anyone could respond. “oh, come on, your highness. it’s connecticut. we’re not in the middle of the appalachian region or yellowstone. we’ll be fine. plus, this place was ranked one of the best camping spots in the state. we’re practically in a five-star resort.” their grin was wide and mischievous, but you noticed the slight edge to it, a crack in the usual rodomontade.

W, usually the voice of reason when M couldn’t be, spoke up next. “we’ll stick together either way. there’s strength in numbers. we’ve got a fire, flashlights, and C brought a hunting rifle. if anything comes near us, we’ll handle it.” they squeezed M’s shoulder reassuringly.

but M’s worry lingered in the air, a quiet tension settling over the group despite W’s calm reassurance. you noticed it—the way M kept glancing at the treeline, how they kept rubbing their arms like the air had turned cold with every passing minute.

you had nodded in agreement with W, trying to push away the strange feeling that had settled over you. It was probably nothing. this was just camping—people did it all the time. and yet, something about the stillness of the woods, the way the sun was sinking so fast behind the trees, left you uneasy.

as the sun sank lower and the sky shifted from blue to deep indigo, you all gathered around the fire for dinner. D had somehow managed to snag a pack of white claws, and C cracked open a can of pepsi, glaring at D as if it was their fault no one had thought to bring more non-alcoholic options.

the fire felt like a buffer between you and the world, the flickering light casting shadows over the campsite. the mood was light, despite the earlier worries. cheeriness spilled out from the group in bursts, warming the cool night air. but as the conversation started to smooth out more, a sound rose up from the woods behind you—a long, eerie howl, distant but unmistakable.

it came from far off at first, just a faint sound on the wind, but it was enough to make everyone pause, the laughter dying in your throats. V’s eyes darted toward the tree line, and M’s face went pale.

“that’s probably just—” D started, but their voice faltered, betraying the nervousness beneath the joke. “i mean, it’s probably some sort of a mating call, right?”

no one answered.

then, another howl. closer this time. too close.

W stood up, their face pale, hands clenching nervously. “we should probably—”

“i’m getting the rifle,” C interrupted, standing abruptly. their face was tight, their jaw set, as if they were angry more than scared. “whatever’s out there, i’ll scare it off.”

“we should all go with you,” M said quickly, grabbing their flashlight. “like W said, strength in numbers, right?”

everyone nodded, uneasy but moving in unison, as if drawn by the same invisible thread. you grabbed your flashlight, the cold metal heavy in your palm, and followed as C led the way into the woods.

the flashlights carved weak paths through the dark, illuminating only fragments of the trees and underbrush. every step felt wrong, like the forest had swallowed you whole. you could hear the rustle of leaves, the crunch of dead branches, but no animals. no insects. it was too quiet, and the silence buzzed in your ears.

“where are all the animals?” M whispered, their voice barely more than a breath.

and then, just as you turned to respond, there was a sound—a low, guttural growl, so deep it seemed to shake the ground beneath your feet.

it came from behind you.

you froze, heart slamming against your ribs. the others turned in slow motion, flashlights swinging wildly through the dark, their beams landing on a pair of glowing yellow eyes. the creature was huge, hulking, its fur bristling in the cold air, muscles rippling beneath its skin. it wasn’t a coyote. it wasn’t even a wolf, not really. it was something else, something too large, too wild, too impossible.

“shit! C, get your fucking rifle no—” D exclaimed, but the creature was already moving. in one fluid motion, it lunged toward your group, its teeth bared and its claws extended.

without thinking, you shoved W out of the way, just as the creature’s jaws snapped inches from their face. before you could react, you felt the searing pain of teeth sinking into your arm, claws ripping through your skin as the creature dragged you backward into the underbrush.

the world seemed to wobble around you, the flashlight slipping from your grasp as you screamed, thrashing against the weight of it. the burning, tearing pain spread like wildfire through your body, but the more you fought, the deeper its teeth sunk into your skin.

“shoot it! C, shoot it!” V’s voice cracked, desperate, as they, D, and M scrambled to pull you free.

there was a crack—a gunshot—and the creature jerked back, snarling in pain. C had fired, the rifle smoking in their hands. the beast staggered, blood dripping from its shoulder, before it let go of you and fled into the night, vanishing into the trees as quickly as it had appeared.

you were left on the ground, panting, clutching your arm as the pain pulsed in waves, so sharp and overwhelming you could barely breathe. blood soaked through your shirt and jacket, your vision swimming in and out of focus as the others rushed to your side, their voices a blur of panic and urgency.

“oh shit, oh fuck,” W rambled, dropping down beside you, their eyes filling with tears and panic. “hold on, we’ll need to get you to a hospital. now.”

nobody argued. they packed up the camp in minutes, the fire doused, gear thrown haphazardly into the car. you were half-conscious by the time they bundled you into the backseat, your arm throbbing in time with your heartbeat, every movement sending fresh spikes of pain through your body. you could feel the blood seeping through the makeshift bandages they’d wrapped around your arm, could hear D’s voice, low and tight, muttering curses under their breath as they sped toward the nearest hospital and probably broke many speed limits.

but beneath the pain, beneath the terror, there was something else. a heat. something wild and feral curling low in your chest, spreading through your veins, something you couldn’t name but felt terrifyingly real.

***

the fever started small. just a dull, persistent heat behind your eyes that made you squint against the light of the hospital room. at first, you thought it was something else, something ordinary—a delayed reaction to the bite. the doctors had warned about infection. C had been furious, pacing the length of the small room with that same tight look they always got when they were trying not to say something filled with rage. they were pissed, but more at themselves than anyone else. they’d been the one to insist on bringing the rifle, after all. M kept a hand on your forehead, their fingers cool against your overheated skin, and whispered reassurances, half to you and half to themselves.

“it’s probably rabies,” M had said, voice low and steady like they were trying to convince themselves more than you. “you’ve got the shots. it’ll be fine.”

W and V exchanged a glance over your bed. you didn’t miss it, the way their eyes flicked toward each other, something unspoken passing between them. you’d noticed it before, during those first few days when they’d both taken turns sitting with you. they weren’t saying it out loud, but you could tell—they didn’t think this was just rabies. and part of you, the rational part that had clung to M’s words, didn’t think it was either. but you weren’t ready to ask.

the fever crawled through your body, starting in your chest and spreading to your limbs like fire under your skin. it wasn’t normal. you knew it wasn’t, but there was no explanation that made sense. the doctors couldn’t find anything except for signs of a violent infection. but that didn’t explain the dreams, the way your senses had started to shift in ways you couldn’t fully articulate.

at night, when the fever hit its peak, you’d wake up drenched in sweat, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were trying to break free from your ribcage. your skin felt like it was too tight, like something inside you was pressing outward, demanding to be let free. there were flashes of something more—brief moments where your senses sharpened, where you could hear footsteps down the hall or smell something faint, metallic. but those moments came and went, and you told yourself it was just your mind playing tricks.

M and C were the ones to step in with the rational explanations, repeating the same things over and over until you almost believed them.

“it’s just an infection,” they said. “you were bitten by a wild animal, after all.”

D, though, tried to lift your spirits, as they always did. they’d show up with bags of sweets, grinning, trying to make you laugh even when your head was throbbing and your skin was burning up.

“maybe it’s not rabies,” they’d joked once, tossing a gummy bear into the air and catching it with a quick snap of their teeth. “maybe you’ve been cursed. like some old angry spirit or whatever. we should get a shaman.”

that had gotten a weak laugh out of you, but it had been hollow, thin. there was no shaking the feeling that something was wrong, that whatever had bitten you had left more than just physical wounds.

but eventually, after days of burning and aching, the fever broke. your body cooled, the heat fading into a dull memory, and the doctors were quick to say that you’d recovered. you’d survived the infection. but you knew better.

when they discharged you, your friends were there waiting, trying to make light of the fact that you looked half-dead. you could see it in their eyes—the way they studied your gaunt face, your hollow cheeks, the way your skin clung too tight to your bones like you’d been starved for weeks instead of days. D had tried to joke about it, something light-hearted about your diet, but no one had laughed. not really.

you didn’t say much. you couldn’t. because something in you had changed during those fevered days, something you couldn’t put into words. and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had happened wasn’t over yet.

***

the first full moon passed without you realizing it. you’d felt strange for days—restless, anxious in a way that didn’t make sense. there was this pull, this quiet urging in your chest, like something was trying to guide you somewhere. but you couldn’t pinpoint it, couldn’t find the source.

then one night, after a long day of feeling like your skin didn’t quite fit, you found yourself wandering through the campus. it wasn’t intentional—you didn’t decide to go out, but your feet carried you across the quad, past buildings and students, and toward the woods on the outskirts of the grounds. it was like something was calling you there, something you couldn’t ignore.

the woods were quiet, eerily so. the usual sounds of campus life—the chatter of students, the distant hum of traffic—faded into the background as you entered the trees. you didn’t know why you were there, but your body did. and then the pain started.

it began as a dull ache in your limbs, like the kind you used to get during growth spurts when you were younger, but sharper, more insistent. then it spread, climbing up your spine and into your chest until every breath felt like you were inhaling fire. you dropped to your knees, gasping, clutching at the ground as your body twisted and contorted in ways that was decidedly inhuman.

your bones cracked, loud in the stillness of the woods, like twigs snapping underfoot. your muscles shifted, stretched, and you could feel your skin pulling, stretching over something much bigger than you. it was agony, every nerve ending on fire, your mind screaming in protest as your body changed. you tried to hold on to something, some shred of yourself, but it slipped away as the beast took hold.

your hands, once familiar, turned into something else—claws, long and sharp. you felt your teeth elongate, your jaw stretching into something animalistic. your senses exploded, everything around you suddenly too loud, too bright, too overwhelming. you could smell the earth, the dampness in the air, the faint metallic scent of blood from somewhere in the distance. the hunger hit you next, sharp and undeniable, driving you forward.

you didn’t think. you couldn’t. your mind was gone, lost to the beast moving on autopilot. all that mattered was that you were starving. you ran, your new body moving faster than you’d ever imagined possible, every muscle coiled and ready to spring.

there were livestock near the edge of the woods—sheep, maybe, or cattle. you couldn’t tell. it didn’t matter. you didn’t care. all you knew was the hunger, the need to kill, to tear something apart. you leapt over the fence, your claws finding purchase in the soft flesh of a sheep. it struggled, bleating in terror, but it was no match for the strength coursing through you. you tore into it, your teeth sinking deep into its neck, blood hot and thick in your mouth.

you didn’t stop until the animal was still, its blood staining the ground, the scent of it filling your nostrils. by the time the moon began to sink below the horizon, you had lost track of time, of how many animals had fallen to your claws. your body felt heavy, exhausted, but the hunger had been sated, at least for now.

***

when you woke the next morning, you were back in your bed with the window of your room open. naked. covered in blood and mud, leaves clinging to your skin like some reminder of the night before. you stared at the ceiling, your heart pounding, your chest heaving with every breath. you didn’t remember getting back. you didn’t remember much at all.

the memories of the night were fragmented—flashes of pain, of running, of blood. you didn’t know what had happened. you didn’t want to. but the evidence was there, on your skin, in the way your muscles ached, in the taste of blood still lingering in your mouth.

you couldn’t tell anyone. how could you? you didn’t even know what had happened. and you didn’t want to freak anyone out. so you kept it to yourself, burying the truth deep inside, hoping that whatever had happened would go away. that it had been a one-time thing.

but deep down, you knew it wouldn’t.

***

it was subtle at first, like a creeping shadow that you didn’t even notice was there until it had fully swallowed the light around you. you started to look tired all the time—bags under your eyes, your face pale and drawn, as if sleep didn’t offer the relief it was supposed to. the first person to notice was M, of course. M was always the one to notice. they didn’t say anything at first, just offered quiet glances whenever they caught you staring blankly off into space or saw you rubbing at your temples as if that would shake the lingering headache you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“you okay?” they asked one evening. the two of you were studying in the library, the lamplight casting long shadows on the dark wood of the table.

you forced a smile, shrugging like it was nothing. “yeah, just tired.”

but the truth was, you weren’t just tired. you were exhausted—bone-deep, soul-deep tired in a way that made you feel hollow. your body was fighting something, that much was clear. but fighting what? you didn’t know. you told yourself it was the aftereffects of the fever, that maybe you hadn’t fully recovered yet. but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t true.

then the cuts and scratches started showing up.

you’d wake up in the mornings and find a fresh gash on your forearm, or a thin, red line across your cheek that hadn’t been there the night before. they were never deep, never serious, but they were constant. every week it seemed like there was something new—an unexplained bruise on your ribs, a scratch across your neck. at first, you brushed it off. maybe you were thrashing in your sleep, scratching yourself without realizing it. but then C saw them.

“what the hell happened to your face?” C asked one morning, frowning as they reached out to touch a thin scratch running down your jawline. “did you fall or something?”

you shook your head, pulling back before their fingers could graze the raw skin. “i don’t know. it was just there when i woke up.”

C’s eyes narrowed, concern creeping into their voice. “you sure you’re okay? you’ve been… off, lately.”

you wanted to brush it off, to tell them you were fine. but the truth was, you weren’t fine, and you had no idea why.

“i don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted quietly, and it felt like the first real thing you’d said in days.

C sighed, running a hand through their hair. “maybe you should see a doctor again. this… this isn’t normal.”

you nodded, though the idea of seeing another doctor made your stomach turn. what were you supposed to say? that you were waking up with scratches and bruises and no memory of how you got them? that something felt wrong inside you, like you were losing control of yourself? no. they’d throw you in the loony bin faster than you could say “stop.”

but it wasn’t just the tiredness or the scratches. it was the way your body had started craving things, strange things. like meat.

you’d never been picky before, but now, every time you sat down to eat, all you could think about was meat. not just any meat, though. it had to be rare. blood-red, almost raw. the first time it happened, you’d been out with your friends, grabbing dinner at some burger joint near campus. you ordered your usual, but when the burger came, perfectly cooked with a slight char, the sight of it turned your stomach.

“you gonna eat that?” D asked, eyeing your untouched plate. “or are you saving it for later?”

you frowned, pushing the plate away.

“it’s overcooked,” you muttered, even though you knew it wasn’t. it just wasn’t what you wanted.

W raised an eyebrow, glancing at your plate. “it’s medium-rare.”

“yeah, well, it’s not rare enough.”

C snorted. “you want it raw or something, starkid?”

you didn’t respond, because the answer, disturbingly, was yes. you didn’t want it cooked at all. you wanted the blood. the thought made you feel sick, but it also made your mouth water in a way that scared you.

from that night on, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. every time you sat down to a meal, you found yourself staring at the meat on your plate, wondering what it would taste like if it hadn’t been cooked at all. you started ordering steaks rare, almost raw, the blood pooling on the plate, and when you ate, it was like nothing had ever tasted so good.

“you’re getting weird,” D said one night, watching you tear into a steak that was practically still mooing. “like, seriously. are you okay?”

you glared at them, your fork clutched tightly in your hand. “i’m fine, D.”

D raised their hands in surrender, chuckling nervously. “alright, jeez. just checking.”

but you weren’t fine, and D knew it. they weren’t the only one. everyone had started to notice. it wasn’t just the way you looked—paler, thinner, with dark circles under your eyes and fresh cuts on your skin every other week. it was the way you acted. you were on edge all the time, your temper shorter than it had ever been. the smallest things set you off.

one afternoon, D asked you a simple question—reminding you about an assignment for one of your classes that was due the next day—and you snapped at them, yelling about how you didn’t need them hovering over you all the time. the words came out before you could stop them, and the look on D’s face—hurt, confused—was enough to make your stomach twist with guilt. but you couldn’t take it back. the anger had bubbled up out of nowhere, hot and irrational, and once it was out, you couldn’t control it.

“i was just trying to help because you asked me to remind you of it a month ago,” D said quietly, staring at you like they didn’t recognize the person standing in front of them.

you wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in your throat. instead, you just muttered something under your breath and walked away, leaving D standing there, hurt and confused.

after that, things got worse. you started pulling away from everyone, isolating yourself without even meaning to. it was like you couldn’t stand to be around them anymore, like their presence irritated you in ways it never had before. every little thing set you off—the way M asked if you were feeling okay, the way W smiled at you with that concerned, worrying look in their eyes, the way C hovered like they were waiting for you to explode.

you didn’t want to explode. you didn’t want to be angry all the time. but you couldn’t help it. it was like something inside you was constantly simmering, waiting for a reason to boil over. and the worst part was, you didn’t know why.

***

it was V who finally brought it up, one night after you’d barely spoken to anyone all day. they found you sitting in the common room of your suite, staring blankly at the TV which wasn’t even turned on, your mind a mess of half-formed thoughts and simmering frustration.

“hey,” V said quietly, sitting down beside you. “you’ve been… different lately.”

you didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the TV, hoping they’d drop it. but V wasn’t like that when it came to their friends. they weren’t going to drop it.

“i mean it,” they said with all the firmness they could muster. “we’re all worried about you. you’ve been acting strange. D’s scared to talk to you now, after what happened last week. C’s been trying to keep it together, but even they don’t know what to say anymore.”

you swallowed hard, still not looking at them.

“i don’t know what’s going on,” you whispered. it was the truth, and saying it out loud felt like admitting defeat.

V sighed, their hand resting lightly on your arm. “maybe you should let us help. we all want to. you don’t have to go through this alone.”

but that was the thing, wasn’t it? you didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. how could you ask for help when you couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even make sense of it yourself?

“i’ll be fine,” you said, pulling away from them. “i just need some space.”

V didn’t push anymore. but you could see the worry in their eyes, the way they wanted to say more but didn’t. instead, they just nodded, standing up and giving you a small, sad smile.

“alright,” they said. “but if you ever want to talk…”

you didn’t respond, and they left, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your guilt, and the growing fear that whatever was happening to you, it wasn’t going to stop.

***

your friends decided to keep an eye on you after that, though they tried not to make it obvious. you noticed it in the way C watched you out of the corner of their eye during study sessions, the way W lingered after class to ask how you were doing, the way D, despite your outburst, kept showing up with snacks and stupid jokes, trying to make you smile.

but none of it helped. because the truth was, you didn’t know what was going on, and that terrified you more than anything else. you didn’t want to be around them, didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t want them to see what you were becoming. so you did what you always did—you pulled away. you stopped answering texts, made excuses to avoid hanging out, buried yourself in your coursework.

what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

***

the night of the next full moon came quietly, as if it was trying not to disturb anyone. but the air held something heavy, something ominous, that felt like it was waiting just beneath the surface of things.

the group hadn’t planned to spend the night together—it was a tuesday, after all—but V had been restless all day, pacing their room, chewing on their nails, staring at their phone like it held all the answers to the questions swirling in their mind. something didn’t feel right. it had been gnawing at them since morning, a nagging anxiety that wouldn’t let go. and then, just after sunset, they’d gone to check on you, only to find your room empty.

you’d disappeared again.

their heart raced as they dialed W’s number, each ring on the other end making their throat tighten. W picked up on the second ring, sounding out of breath. “V? What’s wrong?”

“it’s... it’s them. they’re gone again, W. i think something’s wrong. i don’t know, i—” V’s voice cracked, panic bleeding through. “we have to find them. i have a really bad feeling about this.”

W didn’t hesitate. “i’m on my way. call the others.”

V nodded, even though W couldn’t see them, their fingers already flying over the screen to call M, then C, then D. within minutes, the group had assembled, all of them tense, worried. they didn’t need to explain why they were worried—everyone knew. the last time you’d disappeared in the middle of the night, you’d come back with fresh cuts and bruises, looking like you’d crawled through hell and didn’t remember any of it.

they couldn’t let it happen again. not tonight.

the group spread out, flashlights slicing through the darkness as they searched the familiar haunts around campus. the woods near the edge of campus were always a good place to start—isolated, quiet, and easy to disappear into. but as they ventured deeper, the silence began to settle over them, thick and unnerving. no wind, no birds, no rustling leaves. just the sound of their own footsteps crunching on the forest floor.

a dreadful sense of deja vu hit them all at once.

“i don’t like this,” D muttered, keeping their voice low, as if speaking too loud might make something worse happen. “it’s too quiet.”

M, who’d been leading the way, stopped in their tracks, holding up a hand. “did you hear that?”

everyone froze, straining their ears. for a second, nothing. and then, faintly, the unmistakable sound of chewing—wet, visceral, like something tearing through flesh.

V’s stomach churned. “we need to move. now.”

they followed the sound, their footsteps quickening, hearts pounding in their chests as the chewing grew louder, more grotesque. and then, as they turned the corner of a clearing, they saw it.

a massive creature, hunched over the carcass of a bull, its fur matted with blood. the moonlight glinted off its golden, beastly eyes as it tore into the animal with sharp, deadly teeth. it resembled the same creature they’d saw during their ill-fated camping trip. its muscles rippled under its coarse fur, claws like knives glinting as it gripped the bull’s body. and then it stopped, its head snapping up, eyes locking onto the group.

they didn’t have time to react, didn’t even have time to scream, before the creature snarled, baring its teeth.

V took a step back, heart slamming against their ribcage. “did... did it follow us?”

but W, standing frozen beside them, didn’t answer. they were too focused on the beast’s eyes, those glowing golden eyes, which seemed to flicker with something—recognition? for the briefest moment, the beast hesitated, its snarl faltering, the wild fury in its gaze dimming. it stared at them, unmoving, like it was trying to remember something it had once known but had long since forgotten.

“what’s it doing?” D whispered, their voice barely audible.

the creature’s breath came out in ragged, heavy pants, steam rising in the cold night air. for a moment, it seemed almost human, that look in its eyes. then, with a sudden jerk, it turned and bolted, vanishing into the darkness of the woods, leaving behind the bloody remains of the bull.

“we need to follow it,” W said, their voice trembling but certain.

“what?” C snapped, still staring after the creature. “are you insane? that thing will kill us.”

W shook their head. “it didn’t, though. it recognized us. i’m telling you, something’s amiss here. it’s not the same creature from our camping trip.”

for a second, no one moved. they were all too stunned to process what had just happened. but then V nodded, their face pallid but determined. “W’s right. it didn’t attack. it... it hesitated.”

C opened their mouth to argue but then closed it again, sighing heavily. “fine. let’s go. but if that thing turns on us..."

“it won’t,” D spoke up firmly, though their hands shook as they gripped the flashlight tighter. “i... i think W has a point.”

they followed the werewolf’s trail, moving quickly through the dense trees, their breath visible in the cold night air. the deeper they went into the woods, the darker it became, the flashlights barely cutting through the gloom. hours seemed to pass as they searched, the group growing more and more exhausted. but none of them would give up. they couldn’t. not after what they’d seen.

just as the first hint of sunlight began to break through the trees, M stopped, pointing ahead. “there. look.”

lying on the forest floor, half-hidden by a tangle of leaves and branches, was you. naked, covered in blood and dirt, shivering uncontrollably. you were mumbling something under your breath, your voice hoarse and broken, words slurring into nonsense.

V was the first to reach you, dropping to their knees beside your trembling body.

“oh my god,” they whispered, brushing the matted hair away from your face. “you’re freezing.”

C was right behind them, shrugging off their coat and immediately wrapping it around your bare shoulders, trying to cover the worst of the cuts and bruises on your pallid skin. they crouched beside you, their expression a mix of anger, fear, and helplessness.

“you idiot,” C muttered, their voice rough, almost choked. “what the hell happened to you?”

you didn’t answer properly, your lips trembling as you mumbled something incoherent, your body curling in on itself. you couldn’t stop shaking, your eyes unfocused, glazed over, like you were still caught somewhere between the transformation and waking.

W knelt down on your other side, handing C the scarf they’d brought with them.

“here,” they said softly, “wrap this around their neck.”

C took the scarf, wrapping it carefully around you, their hands surprisingly gentle despite the frustration etched into their face.

“you’re gonna be okay,” D muttered, though you could hear the doubt in their voice.

W leaned in closer, slipping their arms under you and pulling you against them, ignoring the blood and dirt smearing onto their own clothes.

“shh,” they whispered, their voice soft and soothing as they held you close. “it’s okay. we’re here. you’re safe now.”

you whimpered, the sound low and pitiful, like an animal in pain, your body still trembling uncontrollably as they held you.

“hey, hey,” W murmured, rocking you gently, their fingers brushing through your hair in an attempt to calm you. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

the rest of the group stood around you, their faces concerned and drawn, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. no one knew what to say. no one knew how to explain what had just happened.

M stood off to the side, their arms wrapped tightly around themself as they watched you, their expression unreadable.

“what do we do now?” they asked quietly, their voice trembling.

“we get them back to the suite,” V said, standing up and glancing around at the others. “they need help. medical help.”

“no hospitals,” C said sharply, standing up as well. “we can’t explain this. we just... we just need to get them somewhere safe.”

D nodded, though their eyes were filled with worry. “i agree, C. but we also can’t leave them like this.”

C sighed and closed their eyes for a few seconds. “we’ll take it one step at a time.”

together, they lifted you, supporting your weight between them as they made their way back through the woods. the sun was fully up now, but none of them noticed. they were too focused on getting you back, on making sure you were okay.

as they walked, V kept whispering to you, their voice soft and reassuring, though you weren’t sure if you could hear them.

“you’re gonna be alright,” they kept saying, over and over like a hymn. “we’re gonna figure this out. we’re not gonna let you go through this alone.”

but deep down, none of them could really tell what would come up next.

[neurospiczzzziee]

Are there any songs that make you think about Blitzø’s character arc in particular these days? I’d love to see some art of yours based on that! :)

You asked such a good fucking question! These are some songs that currently haunt me, I just haven't gotten to drawing them or deciding if I want to draw them. My head is filled with too many songs and head cannons.

If there are any that really stand out to you and ur like oh my goodness you need to draw this. Plz let me know. I literally get all the motivation from everyone's kindness. 💕. Also I love your art so much and it means a lot that you want to see more of mine 🥹.

Personal Growth and healing of trauma:

Eight by Sleeping at Last

Hi there is a song to listen to this is the one! It is such an inspiring song and is so powerful for Blitzø.

Some of my favorite lines of the song. Idk what I would draw for this yet but eventually I do want to make art for it.

"I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart

And all I want is to trust you

Show me how to lay my sword down

For long enough to let you through

Here I am, pry me open

What do you want to know?

I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough

To hold the door shut

And bury my innocence

But here's a map, here's a shovel

Here's my Achilles' heel

I'm all in, palms out

I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin

I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in"

Like a Child -Piano Demo by Mother Mother

Blitzø lets his heart open up and recognizes his childhood trauma. Imagine a very good dramatic Blitzø playing a piano moment.

Hello My Old Heart - The Oh Hellos

Very good personal growth song. Shows Blitzø having his heart back with Stolas and willing to take his walls down. Idk what I would draw for this yet.

In love and just wants to take care of your partner:

Irony would have it by Matt Maltese

This is so fucking perfect for Stolitz that it's amazing. 😤. Like I can imagine so many scenes of him taking care of Stolas struggling and Blitzø just looking at Stolas lovingly.

Like I love the line:

"when the TV laughs, I look at you. That's our thing, you're a passionate man and I'll always look up to you"

I can imagine Blitzø just lovingly Looking at Stolas watching TV.

Small Hands - Radical Face

AHHHHHH ITS SO WHOLESOME IM DYING. There is so much good content/ideas with this song.

Also the lyrics match perfectly:

"Well, the world might cut you down again

But you know the way back home

And your best might not be good enough

But just know you're not alone

And if you slip and lose your way again

Well, I'll know that you will be all right

You still gotta try

If you need, come build your home in me

And you know I won't complain

And I can't fix what was done to you

But I'll shield you from the rain

And if the walls they build become too high

Then step up on my back and climb

'Cause I never mind

No matter the day or time

I never mind

And all the anchors that they hid inside your chest

We will unravel all of the chains

And toss the remnants all down the drain

And all my hands are much too small to hold you up

I will be there to pick up the pieces

And keep you housed while you bend them up

And if you wind up in the dark again

Just turn and call my name

And if the fire in your chest comes out

Well, I'll hold you all the same

And if you need to take this out on me

Well, you know I won't complain"

When somebody needs you - Will wood

Will Wood as a singer just feels so inherently Blitzø coded. This song fits well with the situation.

Blitzø caring for Stolas but also a bit spicy 🔥👀

Clean by Noah Floesch

This song is literally horny care giver. Very cute song which has the duality of I want to take care of someone so badly but also damn do I want to fuck them.

This song really says:

"all I want to do is you and your dishes" 👀

Beige- Yoke Lore

THIS SONG FUCKS SO HARD. 😤.

This song is could be either Blitzø or Stolas coded to be honest.

Here are some of my favorite lines:

Tell me something I don't know

And lead me to the place where no one ever goes

Let me go under your skin

Let me find the demons that drive those heavenly limbs

You know you're beautiful

But that ain't half the gold treasure in your soul what you got 'cause I want it all

With your fingers in my mouth, I fail to see your faults

So please don't let me fall

So please don't let me fall

This song didn't need to be this horny. Hello????

Also I like how in the middle of the song it's like hey we could survive in the wild together 😜. That just feels very Blitzø.

The art I would make of this would have to be spicy. Mandatory.

Wholesome:

Dancing in the Rain -Stephen Day

Very wholesome rom com. Song.

Sore feet Song- Ally Kerr

I have a headcannon that Tilla would sing this to Blitzø and Barbie as a lullaby. I think it would be so cute for Blitzø to sing it to Stolas.

I also love that in the song the person Robs a convenience store and kills a bear just to get to the person they love.

I have more song recommendations/ideas for angst Blitzø family head cannons. If ppl want to hear them but I've hit my song limit on the post. So I would have to do it later.

[operation-cursed-sweet-tooth]

Interesting choice, Cipher could come in handy should we ever need to speak to any puffles who might’ve witnessed anything… just do be careful as he can be rather stubborn…. and snappy when wearing his communicator- that and he’s able to whip up a few things should the situation need an invention of some sort….

Now… we need to think about our next steps in the case… even if it’s just baby steps for now- afterall this is still training for you… especially with an elite puffle member on our side, considering Flit wasn’t able to do much in the last-

But this here is one of the maps we have in the base- mainly just to help mark out basics of where everyone is… not their direct locations… that’s what our trackers on our phones are for as well as smaller tracking devices on clothing articles-

So do tell me…. Aside from the obvious location to start, the Igloo Village- where else should we try to get some information from? It can be anywhere on the island… no need to worry about small details unless you wish to… we are able to teleport anywhere we wish to with our phone- as long as it stays intact of course

I would recommend steering clear of the Wilderness… but again I’m leaving the location decision up to you in terms of training purposes- just please don’t try to confront Herbert directly… if you decide that’s where we head to first-

And another thing to note, unless it’s crucial or if they come up to us first… don’t bug any of the other agents about any new information, it could keep them from doing their part properly in the mission, understand?

Aside from the newest case… the previous location where you’d found that puffle has been cleaned up to its fullest… so that’s at least one good thing should we go to the Wilderness…

The schoolyard is an iffy place for something like this…. but kids are nosy about things… and quite brutal about the things they let slip out- so if any chick had seen or heard anything about this they’d give the most amount of detail… wether it be factually correct or not-

Same would apply for the mines… worker penguins tend to gossip a lot I’ve noticed- not just in Rory’s case either…some also will just gossip about stuff that doesn’t really… matter if that’s a good way to put it- or they just don’t pay attention much at all and just do their work in peace

The Town would be a decent place to start as its closest to the scene, but that doesn’t mean many would’ve been paying attention to anything out of place given the location itself and the time the crime had supposedly taken place… and was found-

Another decent spot I’d say would be the Docks as it too is close… there’s a boat man there who is rather keen about everything that happens around the Hydrohopper or the Lighthouse…

But of course… these are only my personal opinions on the locations, you may pitch whatever you’d feel fits best as long as you’re picking so to stay on track of the case itself and not to get distracted and play games or chat for the sake of it…

Edit: yes I misspelt a color- it’s supposed to say maroon but my phone autocorrected it for some reason-

Please pick based upon reasonable story driven purposes and NOT just for your favorite characters please!!

I myself adore Rookie, but I’m leaving his and JPG’s section for last for a reason ✨

[1arkspur-aconitum]

SOULS OF POETS (s.r.)

SOULS OF POETS DEAD AND GONE, WHAT ELYSIUM HAVE YOU KNOWN?

[PART ONE OF THREE]

IN WHICH: Spencer discovers more about Juniper’s previous work history, and it is not to his taste.

PAIRING: Season3!Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: angst

CONTENT: strip-clubs, common BAU violence, the team being little shits, established secret relationship, Spencer being mean, not a happy ending (in this part at least)

WORD COUNT: 8k… (I got a bit carried away)

PUBLISHED: 16/10/24

TO SAY THIS ISN’T HOW I was expecting today to go would be an understatement.

Sure, we end up on some of the most bizarre cases in the FBI, but the chances of this happening are slim to none—I am not Dr. Reid, so I am unable to give you an exact statistic, but I reckon it would be in the 1:1 bajillion ballpark.

Normally the cases are bizarre because of M.O., or because the people we deal with are strange; I still remember that one interview Emily and I had with that frankly absurd woman with way too many garden gnomes inside her house. Or the time Derek and I found a dude in his bath, stark naked, the tub filled with what I have told myself was milk, and have refused to ponder any other possibilities since.

All that to say, we get weird shit at the BAU.

Yet when I walked in this morning and saw the photos, and read the case file, I was more nervous for this than I had been for any bomb or kidnapping case.

To the others, it looks perfectly average. Localised crime scene, moderately high-risk victims, a clear comfort zone. New York City isn’t far from D.C and we have a good relationship with the police working on the case already. Seems simple enough.

But even as I sit on the plane, knees up to my chest, I still feel as if I can’t take a proper breath. As I try to force myself to take one, I catch Emily’s concerned glance from across the aisle. She knows me too well.

I clear my throat and force myself to adjust. Dropping my knees underneath the table, I spread the photos across the table in front of me. Women’s bodies–hands and feet removed–shoved into the bins out the back of a strip of clubs ranging from gay bars, to strip joints, to your average night-out with the girls club.

Shoved into bins. Nothing better than rubbish.

To my left, Spencer is busy pouring over a map of the NYC suburbs. He’s armed with his favourite set of coloured pens, slender fingers idly tapping the lid on his chin as he thinks it over. Spencer, as always, looks adorable. Messy hair, loose tie, those cheekbones–the little furrow he gets between his eyebrows when he’s thinking. With his lips parted in focus, I can’t help but let my knee press against his under the table.

He smiles privately, not once looking up from his map. It’s the only concession to tenderness he’ll give me at work. The only one he can whilst we’re keeping our relationship hidden from the team.

‘So, when we land, I want us to hit the ground running,’ Hotch announces, drawing all of our attention to him. He looks at us gravely in turn. ‘We have to handle this one with tact, especially considering the subject matter–JJ and Rossi, I want you guys to head to the police station and help us get set up.’

‘That should be fun.’ Rossi says without a trace of humour in his tone. ‘The local police always get antsy about us treating these cases like they’re important–’

‘They are important.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, sounding a lot harsher than I originally intended. Rossi stops mid sentence. All eyes turn to me. Flushing, I pick at my fingernails as Spencer jostles my knee gently. ‘I’m sorry. It just pisses me off that people treat them like they aren’t.’

‘I know that, but the local police don't always.’ Rossi reminds me gently, flashing me the palms of his hands. A classic sign of apology. I incline my head and don’t say anything else. Emily is still watching me from across the aisle with those perceptive eyes of hers. ‘So JJ and I will do our best to get them on board.’

‘The rest of us are going to head to the main club that’s been targeted,’ Hotch has an air of disapproval in his tone, sending me a quick glare to remind me that I am the source of his anger. I sink lower into my seat, biting my lips shut. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. ‘See what we can find out about the place, the locals.’

‘Are you okay?’ Spencer murmurs to me under his breath a few moments later. The rest of the team have devolved back into their previous conversations, so the sweetness in his voice isn’t as easily detected. He is looking at me with those annoyingly perceptive, wide brown eyes. It’s like he’s peering deep into my skin and I don’t like it.

‘What? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?’ I close myself off, folding my arms and trying to work some of the tension out of my jaw. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s not Spencer’s fault, and even genius Spencer Reid doesn’t have all of the pieces to finally puzzle this together.

‘I don’t know…is it because we’re going to New York City?’

‘What’s made you think I don’t like New York?’

‘Well…I know you lived there for a while after you dropped out of Cornell–’

‘I took a break from Cornell, I went back eventually.’ I scowl at him, brushing some loose strands of hair away from my face. Spencer quirks his eyebrows but I can tell he’s laughing internally at me. ‘I completed that degree, thank you very much. I just…’

‘You just what?’ He bumps his warm shoulder gently against mine.

‘This case…’ I pick up a picture of one of the bins–the woman inside has her legs spread, blood crusted around where her feet used to be, the short skirt she was wearing shoved up around her hips. She seems so painfully familiar. ‘There’s something…there’s something personal about it.’

The next time I look at Spencer, his lips are slightly pursed, eyes narrowed. If I were to lean in, I’m ninety percent sure that I could hear the cogs in his brain working. The idea of Spencer finding out concerns me more than I want it to. Rechecking my microexpressions, I plaster on a mildly bored smile. He doesn’t believe it. I can tell immediately. Yet he still can’t put a pin on why I’m lying.

‘I feel bad,’ I say, doing my best to pace the words to a steady, ordinary beat. ‘These women are as deserving of respect as anyone else, and yet somehow they always end up being the ones covered in rubbish.’

Spencer nods slowly, apparently satisfied with this, but the narrowness to his usually wide eyes doesn’t fully lift. I can tell that I have not heard the last of this. Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent–at least he won’t have to wait long to find out, because I know that as soon as we get off the plane, I’m on a deadline. An hourglass with only a teaspoon of sand left.

I lean back into the seat and wait to meet my terrible fate.

Elysium is everything you would expect from a strip-club.

Bleak and unassuming exterior, with one door manned by a beefy looking security guard, and several cameras aimed at the entrance. Inside it’s dark and seedy, the walls painted black to better enhance the vibrant colours of the strobe lights. They pulse in time to the music; a classic pop song I recognise, pumped through massive speakers at an almost deafening volume. The beat is so nostalgic I resist the urge to tap my foot.

We step into the main room and my heart stammers. It’s still laid out the same–a big raised platform at the back of the room with three poles, two currently in use. The women curve around the silver poles, the low lights slicking off of their curves. There’s a catwalk down the centre with a few loose notes blanketing it like leaves. The door to the right with the big neon ‘PRIVATE’ sign above it sits resolutely locked. The extensive bar has several scantily dressed women lean against it, talking to the patrons. It’s so familiar that I am suddenly twenty one again, walking into this place for the first time.

‘Can I help you?’ A voice says and I drag my attention from the bar.

The lady talking to Hotch hasn’t changed either. She’s still got that impossibly divine smooth skin, but she’s swapped the belly button piercing since I last saw her. It’s now a golden teardrop embellished in green that swings as she moves. Long dreads hang down to her waist and she’s dressed in the little gold number she always saved for big payouts. She must be planning on scoring high tonight. Despite myself, I let my face split into a broad smile.

‘Yes, actually could–’ Hotch starts, pointedly looking at her face rather than the rest of her body. Spencer is trying not to look at her breasts and failing–and I don’t think Derek even makes the attempt to be discreet. He’s like a kid in a sweet shop. The woman lifts her hand to silence him, brown eyes settling onto mine.

‘No fucking way.’ Tia takes two steps towards me, vibrant eyes scouring my figure. The last time she saw me, I would have been caught dead in a pair of suit trousers and a button down, yet here I am. I flare my arms away from my body, as if to say ‘yes way’. ‘June–Junebug!’

‘Hi, Tia.’ I laugh as she throws herself at me. Her strong arms wrap around my shoulders and she presses her body tightly against mine. The team is openly ogling at me as the stripper gives me the biggest, friendliest hug ever. I don’t look at them, though, face buried in her neck. She smells like cigarette smoke and vetiver perfume. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t a friendly visit.’

‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’ Tia grins, gesturing at the gun holstered at my hip before she grabs me again. When she speaks next, she shakes me to punctuate each word. ‘Ugh, I’m so glad to see you! You don’t visit us enough, and you said you would.’

‘I know, T, I’m sorry.’ I extricate myself from her arms, wincing awkwardly at my team. I feel very exposed. There will be time for explanations later, though, and right now I’m busy basking in the warmth of an old friend. She’s right. I haven’t visited nearly as often as I said I would. Regret seeps through my pores. ‘We’re here to ask some questions about the murders that have been going on?’

‘Oh, of course.’ Tia immediately loses the air of excitement, brow furrowing. She inspects the team as a whole again, noting the way they’re looking between us with a curious air. When she looks back at me, she raises a quizzical brow. I shake my head–explanations later. Tia, ever the saint, doesn’t push the issue. ‘Come on, do you want to head to the back office? I’ll get some of the girls together but Harold is already in there, waiting to talk to you.’

‘Harold still works here?’ I blink, surprised.

‘Yeah, he does–his hip is bothering him more now, but he’s still kickin’,’ Tia loops her arm through mine and starts to lead me through the strip club. I can hear the sounds of my team whispering behind me as they fall into line, but I pointedly ignore them. Nosy buggers. ‘You would know that if you came to visit.’

‘I already feel guilty about it,’ I knock her with my elbow. ‘No need to make me feel worse.’

‘I’m just glad you’re here now.’ Tia presses a sticky, lip gloss kiss to my cheek as we stop by another inconsequential door. It’s been painted black to match the walls, designed to be unobserved by the patrons. The amount of secret spaces in this place is unprecedented, rat runs sprawling through the bowls of Elysium. It took me months to learn where all the nooks and crannies were. I scowl petulantly. ‘You remember where you’re going?’

‘Of course, I mean, how could I forget?’ I flash her my cheekiest of grins.

I cross my arms as I wait for the team to catch up with us, leaning back against the wall.

Derek is currently casually flirting with one of the barmaids–someone I do not recognise–which doesn’t surprise me. Hotch is scouring the layout of the place, pointedly avoiding looking at the half-naked women gyrating around poles, or meandering around laps.

Emily has that shit-eating grin on her face, striding towards me and Tia, and Spencer is staring down at his hands as he follows in Emily’s wake.

Thinking about it, I wonder if Spencer has ever even stepped foot in a strip club before. It doesn’t seem like his kind of vibe, but you never know. Spencer is always full of surprises.

‘I’m gonna get Jas, she’ll die when she sees you.’ Tia grins as Emily arrives, bouncing off into the crowd. Tia has always been my favourite; she was the one who took me under her wing when I first arrived at Elysium, who gave me a place to stay when I didn’t have anywhere. The fact that she’s still here hurts my heart like a bruise. We always said we’d get out together.

‘You, ma’am, have a lot of explaining to do.’ Emily grins at me when she gets within earshot, grabbing my elbow. She loves this.

‘There isn’t much to explain,’ I try, but then Derek appears on my other side and I know I am done for. ‘Seriously.’

‘What, so you’re just casually friends with strippers?’

‘What’s wrong with being friends with strippers?’ I retort, turning pleading eyes to Spencer.

Spencer Reid looks as uncomfortable as possible–his shoulders are tense, hand to his lips, that slight frown between his eyebrows. He’s physically trying to make himself smaller by curving his shoulders inwards. Whenever someone nearly naked walks past him, he deliberately makes a lot of space. If his eyeline drifts for more than a few seconds, he’s instantly staring down at his feet again, cheeks blazing red hot. When he meets my gaze, though, he cannot hide the subtle hint of interest. It becomes clear that Spencer is not the person I should look to for help.

Balls.

‘Hey, you know I’m not complaining–’

‘Shut up, Derek, you’re just salty because she kissed me.’ I shove him in the chest, realising I’m not going to get any help from anyone involved. I’m on my own. Turning away from them, I rap on the door. ‘I can feel your stupid grin, Morgan–and yours too, Prentiss.’

‘Ooo, the last names, someone means business.’ Emily teases, but a voice from inside the room invites us in, and I take this as my saving grace.

I open the door to the small back office, holding it wide with my foot so the rest of my team can trickle in. The office is relatively small, lined with filing cabinets, and manned by a desk covered in papers and an overflowing ashtray. Someone has replaced the wooden chairs with two comfier looking arm chairs, though they still look slightly weathered in the dim light. The ceiling fan above is still laden with cobwebs and dust, perpetually unused. Yet another thing that hasn’t changed.

Once the door is shut behind us, I turn my attention to the man sitting behind the desk.

‘June?’ Harold spots me first, his Texan voice thickened by tar and smoke. He has more wrinkles around his eyes now, but the smile is as blinding as the last time I saw it. Harold’s beard is streaked with white, and when he pushes himself to his feet, the silver cane is new, too. ‘Junebug? Is that really you?’

‘Alive and in the flesh.’ I smile, reaching out to hug him as he hobbles towards me. Harold was the one who gave me that moniker barely two days after I started working here. There’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t make me feel like he’s being condescending–in fact, it just reminds me that someone loves me enough to say a nickname with such adoration. I wrap my arms around him and hold on tightly. I try not to focus on how he feels thinner underneath me.

‘So,’ Harold says, stepping away from me but not letting go of my waist–I don’t know if it’s for support or just for show. I don’t really mind either way. He inspects the rest of my team, who are standing awkwardly around. None of them can hide the thinly veiled amusement from their faces, nor the bright curiosity. ‘These your friends?’

‘Yup.’ I nod, not meeting any of their eyes. There’s too much going on right now. Shame is a powerful emotion and even though I know I shouldn’t feel it, I can’t exactly control my own brain. ‘Uh, SSA Hotchner, Prentiss, and Morgan–and that’s Dr. Reid looking uncomfortable in the corner. We’re with the FBI.’

‘The FBI huh?’ Harold affixes me with that appraising stare before pushing away from me. I follow him, keeping my arm out for support. He plops himself down in his chair and leans back. Waggles his cane at me. ‘I never thought one of my best dancers would make it up into the big leagues like that. Good on you, Junebug.’

And there it is.

It takes Spencer about three seconds to process that information. About two times faster than it does for anyone else in the room. I can see the realisation burning red hot behind his brown eyes when he jerks them to me. I can’t hide my expression quickly enough–my blink is all he needs to confirm what Harold said. Spencer’s eyes cloud for a second, lips parted.

When he cocks his head curiously, I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What he’s imagining in that brain of his. What a little shit. When his eyes focus again, he sees my look of disapproval and flushes. Then, his expression changes–closes off. Becomes unreadable. It’s an annoying talent he has and one of the most frustrating things about him.

‘Thanks, H.’ I clear my throat, ignoring the mercilessly gleeful grin on Emily’s face. ‘Guys, this is Harold, he’s the manager here–if something happened, Harold is the one who’s most likely to know about it.’

‘You were a stripper?’ Derek blurts out. Of course he would be the one to ask first. It just encourages Emily, though. Soon enough, both of them are peppering me with questions like they’re rubber bullets.

‘How long did you work here?’

‘Yeah–were you good?’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Do you still dance?’

‘Was she good?’ Derek directs this last question to Harold, evidently not satisfied with my silence.

‘Jesus Christ, guys, it’s not exactly relevant, is it?’ I snap, feeling a familiar burn of anger and shame. Spencer has remained, thankfully, silent, but is watching me with that blank expression. It’s unsettling. ‘Can we focus? I’ll answer your questions later, we’re here about several murders, let’s not get distracted by the fact that I used to be a stripper.’

‘You ain’t told ‘em till just now?’ Harold says from his seat, voice tinged with amusement and something that strikes me too much as sorrow. When I look at him, he’s surprisingly sad. It hurts me right in the centre of my chest. ‘I can understand that. There ain’t any shame in it, though, Junebug. You loved it here. Sure, you were at rock-bottom, but e’ryone who comes here is. It’s an absolute joy to see you doin’ somethin’ fulfillin’.’

‘Stop it, Harold,’ I say, the words choked somewhere in the back of my throat. A tingling sensation behind my nose threatens to make me sob. His words carve away at something within me, a part of me I haven’t thought about since…well, since I left Elysium. Avoiding looking at the others, I step around to the withered old man. Rest my hand on his shoulder. The next words are a breath of sadness. ‘Thank you.’

He understands that that’s not just for his words today. It’s for everything.

Harold gives me that sad smile again and rests his own hand on top of mine. It’s a connection I haven’t had in a while–Harold always reminded me of my father. Seeing him again is like seeing the ghost of my dad. I can’t afford to break down in front of the others, not when we’re here for a job, so blink furiously at the silver lining around my eyes. I plaster a smile on.

‘Bishop,’ Hotch says, voice low and measured. His words are not unkind and he is the only one out of the entire team that does not look disturbed, surprised, or horrified. Realistically, Hotch probably already knew this about me. I imagine it’s on my file somewhere. ‘If you need to go to the police station, you can. We can handle the questions here.’

‘It’s alright,’ I say, taking a deep breath and schooling my features. I do my best to forget where I am, who I am with–I try to become Dr. Bishop, the FBI agent working on a case that she has no personal connection to. ‘I can do it. Besides, I think Tia might kill me if I leave before she can accost me again.’

‘Alright, then.’ Hotch nods briskly, and the questioning begins.

Hotch leads it, as usual, Derek and Emily still staring at me with those aghast expressions. I don’t care about them, though. Whilst Hotch and Harold discuss the recent murders (three of the girls had been new dancers at Elysium, some of them regulars) and if Harold saw anything suspicious (a few odd cars, but most people who come here are unusual or strange), I keep my eyes trained on Spencer. I want to see what his reaction is, to gauge if I should start thinking about damage control.

He’s busy scouring the room, taking at each of the pictures on the wall. They're all of the dancers Harold has employed. I’m up there somewhere. I wonder if that’s what Spencer is looking for. He stands with one arm across his lower stomach, the other brought up to his chest. Long fingers rub the sharpness of his jaw idly. His eyes work furiously across the walls, committing everything to memory.

Spencer has always been good at disguising his microexpressions, so I doubt that I can ever truly work out what he is thinking from just observing him. The blankness hasn’t gone from him.

I hope he’s relaxed, though, and not severely freaked out. I have no idea what I would do if he was severely freaked out.

‘Hey, Junebug!’ Tia’s melodic voice cuts through my panic crisis-prepping brain fog as she steps into the room, making Spencer jump. I turn to look and see that my gorgeous friend is dragging yet another gorgeous friend into the office. The other girl is tall, willowy, with ice-blonde hair that she’s been carefully maintaining since I knew her. She is wearing a pair of thigh-high blue boots and the tiniest lingerie set I have ever seen. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, this one was a nightmare to find.’

‘It’s true!’ Jas squeaks, her eyes widening as she lays them on me. I barely have enough time to process her being there before she launches herself at me. Despite the fact that she is all bone, Jas is surprisingly strong, and squeezes her arms around my neck. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been so long, what the fuck, June, where have you been?!’

‘Whoa, there, Jas,’ Tia chuckles, gripping Jas by the shoulders and extricating her from me. Grateful, I rub the spot where Jas’s acrylic nails dug into my skin. ‘Give her some breathing space. She’s with the FBI, silly, didn’t you hear me say that?’

‘You’re such a bitch.’ Jas scowls at me as she shakes Tia off, and hits me hard in the upper arm. I yelp in pain, staring at her with an affronted look. She pats the spot where she hit me apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I just missed you.’

‘No need to get violent.’ I remind her, turning her around to face the rest of my team. ‘We’re here to ask you some questions about the recent murders?’

‘FBI?’ Jas scans my team, her eyes widening as they sweep over each member. Her gaze lingers on Spencer, and I can see the familiar glint of interest sparking in her eyes. She lets out a long, low, appreciative whistle that seems to echo around the small office. I can tell immediately what’s going through her mind, and I brace myself for what is about to happen. Jas angles her head like a cat watching a bird. Her posture shifts. ‘Well, hello there. Aren’t you the most handsome man I’ve ever seen?’

Spencer’s reaction is immediate and intense. His face flushes a deep crimson, the blush spreading down underneath his collar when he realises that she is talking to him. His eyes, wide with surprise and discomfort, immediately lock desperately on me. The way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, is so endearingly awkward that I can’t help but find it utterly adorable.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as I watch Jas saunter seductively towards him, hips swaying with each step.

‘Jasmine,’ I interject, my voice is thick with warning, hoping that that hides the jealousy I’m feeling as she begins to circle Spencer like a shark. She trails a hand across the back of his shoulders and I have to resist the urge to physically remove it. Only I am allowed to touch Spencer like that. ‘Behave, please. That’s my colleague.’

What I really want to say is ‘that’s my boyfriend you’re pawing at’, but I can’t. Not when the team is standing right there, watching with varying degrees of amusement. The secret aspect of our relationship hasn’t bothered me as much as it does right now. I don’t know what to do.

‘Oh, come on, Junebug, you’ve never been a prude.’ Jas flashes me a familiar, mischievous grin as she casually straightens Spencer’s collar from behind, her nails scraping across his shirt. I know that expression–I’ve seen it on her several times before she scores a big payout, and Jas always scores big. Bitter jealousy twists in the base of my stomach. ‘If I remember correctly, you would have been all over this one a few years ago. Let me have my fun. What’s your name, handsome?’

‘I–I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.’ He stammers, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he finds the ceiling very interesting. I can practically feel the heat radiating from him. Part of me wants to intervene, to yank her away from him and put an end to this little performance. But another part, a part I am decidedly not proud of, wants to see what Spencer will do. It’s a test of sorts, though I am not sure what I am testing or why.

‘Dr. Spencer Reid.’ Jas purrs, drawing out each syllable as if it’s fine wine. She completes her predatory circle to stand in front of Spencer, giving me an excellent view of her pert behind. It’s not exactly hidden in the thong she’s donned. She twists a stray strand of his hair around her finger. Spencer flinches away from her touch, and I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I want to tell her to back off but Derek’s amused expression stops me. ‘A doctor–you’ve always loved a man with brains, Junebug. So, Spencer, what brings you to Elysium? Looking for some extracurricular studies?’

‘We–we’re here about the, the recent murders…’ Spencer chokes out, his voice strained and higher than usual. He’s still staring resolutely at the ceiling, as if trying to solve some complicated mathematical equation etched into the plaster.

‘Yes, we are.’ Hotch cuts in, his voice taking on a sharp and authoritative tone. He places a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder, effectively creating a barrier between him and Jasmine. I feel a rush of gratitude towards my Unit Chief for doing what I could not. ‘We’re hoping you could help us by answering some questions, not by accosting a Federal Agent.’

‘I suppose.’ Jas pouts dramatically, but there is a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. She knows she’s pushed the boundaries a little bit too far. Her shoulders slump in defeat, but she turns back to Spencer. ‘I guess I can behave. But only if the good doctor here promises to buy me a drink. What do you say, gorgeous? Care to hear some stories about our Junebug’s wilder days?’

‘I will buy you that drink, Jasmine.’ I interject quickly, my words coming out harsher than intended. My hand shoots out, curling around her upper arm as I tug her a few steps away from Spencer. I fix her with a stern look, eyebrow raised in silent warning. ‘Leave Spencer alone.’

‘Fine, June, you absolute spoil sport.’ She hisses at me, but there’s no real venom in her tone. If anything, there’s a hint of amusement, as if she’s enjoying this power play. It wouldn’t surprise me. ‘Why don’t all of us go out for a drink, then, if I can’t have Spencer by himself?’

‘Can we focus, please?’ I sigh, not liking the way both Emily and Derek have perked up upon hearing the possibility of getting the juicy information about my ‘wilder days’ as Jasmine so kindly phrased it. ‘We are here on official business–we can gossip later, alright?’

‘Alright, alright, message received.’ Jas rolls her eyes but finally relents. She sits down on Harold’s desk, looking expectantly up at us. ‘Ask away.’

‘Don’t think you can escape, Juniper Bishop.’

Balls.

I turn around sheepishly, one hand on the door to my hotel room. I was so close. If I hadn’t stopped to stock up on snacks, I might have escaped, might have managed to prolong the inevitable until I felt ready to face it. That’s the unfortunate thing about the inevitable, though. It always comes around eventually.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, are Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and JJ. I only need to take one look at the blonde to realise that they have already dobbed me in, and have caught her up to speed about what happened at Elysium. They stand there like hunters spotting prey and knowing it has nowhere else to run.

‘Seriously, guys? Now?’ I sigh, leaning against the doorframe and readjusting the snacks in my arms–the vending machine was limited, but it had Oreos, and that’s good enough for me. Hair falls into my face as I hang my head. ‘I was just gonna watch a film and go to sleep…’

‘Not happening.’ Emily announces, striding over to me and grabbing my upper arm. ‘We’re going to the bar.’

‘The bar?’ I say, dragging my feet but letting her lead me over to the others. I don’t like the way they are looking at me. I feel like a student being dragged to the headmaster’s office for a scolding. ‘We haven’t solved the case yet, surely it’s a bad idea to drink on the job?’

‘Then order a soda.’ JJ grips my other arm and they frog march me towards the top of the stairs.

‘Guys.’ I whine, trying to dig my heels into the plush carpet, and failing spectacularly. It’s no use. I am dragged rather roughly down the stairs and towards the hotel bar, my protests falling on deaf ears. ‘Come on, this is ridiculous–’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Spencer, save me!’ I call, looking over my shoulder to spot my handsome boyfriend by the lift, his head angled curiously as he witnesses what is essentially my death march. JJ and Emily take no prisoners, though, and continue to haul me towards the bar.

‘We’re just gonna ask her some questions, that’s all.’ Derek says, talking to Spencer as if he’s just found out that I am a suspect in a gruesome murder. Spencer blinks, confused, and starts to trail after us. ‘Care to join?’

When we reach the bar, I am deposited unceremoniously into a booth, being wedged in by Emily and opposed by JJ. Derek and Spencer don’t take long to join us, the former drifting off towards the bar with a firm warning not to start without him. The latter sits down beside JJ. I glare at them, arms folded across my chest, Oreos abandoned on the table.

‘You brought this upon yourself, you know.’ Emily says, all high and mighty. She rests her elbows on the bar and cocks her head at me. ‘I mean, I knew there was something…different about you, but this? This is not what I was expecting.’

‘Oh my God.’ I groan, staring down at the table rather than at their three pairs of inquisitorial eyes. Spencer’s gaze is the hardest one to avoid and the worst one to meet. He’s guarded his expression so I can’t fully read it, but judging from the way he has his arms crossed, he isn’t going to come to my rescue. Evidently he’s just as curious as the rest of them. ‘Was all this really necessary?’

‘You were the one trying to hole up in your room.’ JJ says with a casual shrug, glancing over to where Derek is paying for a selection of drinks. ‘Forgive us for trying to get to the bottom of this.’

‘There isn’t anything to get to the bottom of!’ I say, voice rising in volume and in pitch. ‘I think you guys are making this out to be worse than it actually is.’

‘Aw, come on, hotstuff, we’re just curious.’ Derek says, putting down a circular black tray in the middle of the table. He divvies off the drinks, placing what suspiciously looks like a G&T in front of me. Despite my earlier reluctance to imbibe, I’m kind of grateful. I might need alcohol to get through this. Once he’s done, he pulls up a stool and heads the table. ‘Can you blame us?’

‘Yes.’ I retort, slumping back in my seat and scowling. ‘Fine. Fine. Ask away.’

‘How come you never told us you used to be a stripper?!’ Emily cuts right to the chase, leaning forward even further. If her eyes could get any wider, they would. She resembles one of those weird marsupials with the long fingers that tap on trees to eat the bugs.

‘It…it never came up.’ I shrug, running my finger along the edge of my glass and glancing at Spencer. He’s still utterly unreadable, stirring the ice around his drink with a straw. He’s watching me carefully, probably looking for any microexpressions or tells–fucker knows me too well at this point. Unlike him, I’ve never been good at hiding things. ‘It’s not exactly something you just casually tell people, especially when you now work for the FBI. It’s…frowned upon.’

‘I suppose I can understand that.’ JJ concedes, taking a sip of her drink. ‘When were you working there?’

‘Oh, maybe, like, five, six years ago?’ I copy her movement, letting the gin blaze down my throat. It’s relaxing.

‘So…was this before or after your PhD?’

‘After. I was in the middle of completing another undergrad at Cornell when…well, when I started to dance.’

‘Another undergrad?’ Derek says, apparently more surprised at my academic achievements than the fact that I used to get naked and dance around for money.

‘Yes, Derek, another one.’ I laugh, sipping my drink again and let myself watch Spencer watching me. ‘I was bored after finishing my PhD and felt like doing another degree–it was psychology, which now that I think about it, is kind of ironic.’

‘So…were you dancing to pay off your debt?’ Emily asks, her curiosity piqued. Her bright brown eyes sparkle with intrigue. I’m apparently the most fascinating thing she has seen in quite some time. ‘I mean, degrees are expensive, were you having money problems?’

‘No, it wasn’t the money.’ I confirm, eyes flickering down to trace the pattern of the wood. I have to be careful here, and I have to choose my words with the utmost precision. God, sometimes talking to these guys feels a lot like sitting an exam. ‘It was…well, there were a lot of things going on, and I felt very out of control. I don’t know, I think dancing gave me the control…and the escape…that I needed.’

‘There are other ways to get control.’ Spencer finally speaks, and I almost flinch at the rawness of his words. When I look at him, he’s staring down into his drink. His tone is laced with disapproval. ‘Why…why would you do something like that?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I have no shame in it.’ I say, somewhat harsher than intended. ‘I loved dancing. It was empowering and freeing, and brought me a lot of joy. But I started it for the wrong reasons, and unfortunately it facilitated habits I really should have been trying to break rather than…well, rather than indulging.’

‘And, according to Harold, you were good. In fact, I think he said you were one of the best.’ Derek grins cheekily at me, eyes roving over my body. I can see Spencer tense out of the corner of my eye at Derek’s words, his shoulders closing inwards. This is dangerous territory.

‘Stop picturing it, Morgan–never gonna happen.’ I flick an ice cube at him, but laugh to show him I am actually teasing.

‘Wait, really?’ Emily sounds genuinely upset, gaping at me. The concept that Emily Prentiss was actually considering asking me to dance for her blows my mind.

‘Oh, come off it, I’m not gonna strip for my coworkers!’

‘Even if I paid you?’ Derek flirts, leaning towards me and flashing me his characteristic wink.

‘Oh, Derek, sweetheart,’ I let the words roll around my tongue, let them drip seductively from my lips. I focus all of my attention onto him as if he were another patron eager for something from Elysium. My eyes trail slowly across his handsome face, lingering on the firm jaw, sticking to his slightly parted mouth. Derek swallows–hard. He leans in just a little bit more. ‘You wouldn’t be able to afford me.’

‘Damn…’ Derek blinks as if clearing his eyes off water. The others (minus Spencer) are laughing at us, and I join in. Derek, to his credit, moves past it with dignity. ‘Worth a shot, eh.’

‘You’re a pig, Morgan,’ JJ steps to my rescue, sneering at our coworker. ‘What would Garcia say if she could hear that?’

‘Hell, she’d probably ask me to split the cost with her.’ Derek winks at me again, but I don’t indulge him this time. I’m watching Spencer, and my heart is sinking.

He hasn’t touched his drink. It just sits in front of him, condensation forming a ring around the bottom. Spencer is staring down into it as if it’s the most interesting thing he has ever seen, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. I know that if I looked under the table, his hands are most likely either fiddling with the seam of his slacks, or balled in his lap.

He looks…angry. Hurt. Betrayed, almost. I don’t really blame him. It’s a lot to hear, and I should have told him when he asked me about it on the plane. Spencer doesn’t ask for much, but what he does ask for is transparency. Truth.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him. I want to reach out and touch him, apologise for not mentioning it to him, and apologise for the fact that when I am telling him, it’s surrounded by our coworkers. I can’t reassure him in the way that I want.

What I want to do is hold him and kiss him and tell him that none of the past matters now that my future is his. I have never regretted keeping our relationship underwraps–it works for us, especially considering it’s so new, but…but right now, it sucks.

As I continue to watch him adamantly not looking at me, I wonder if I actually do know the reason why I didn’t tell him. Maybe I didn’t tell him because some small part of me didn’t want him looking at me like that. Like I am dirty, or impure, or whatever disgusting words people use for strippers.

‘So, let me get this straight.’ JJ is saying, seeing off the remainders of her drink. ‘You started dancing because you were in a rough patch. That’s fine. What made you stop?’

‘Hah, my mother.’ My laughter is dry, and I take another sip of my drink. ‘She’s very good at being disappointed. She basically sorted me out, sent me off to complete my undergrad. I haven’t danced since.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Sometimes, Em, sometimes.’ I smile at her, trying to squish down any thoughts of Spencer’s upset gaze. ‘I mean, not the sleazy pricks, or the teenagers who don’t know how to listen to boundaries, but I miss my friends–Tia, Jas, Harold–and I miss the freeness of it. If you guys haven’t had some kind of pole class or something, I seriously recommend it.’

‘You could teach us.’ JJ suggests.

I laugh dryly, swilling my drink. ‘You and Emily, sure, but Spencer and Derek on a pole? Could be questionable…’

‘Hey, I’ll have you know I would be a very good stripper!’

‘Whatever you say, Derek.’ I roll my eyes at him but I can’t stop the laughter. I finish off my drink and am very glad that I decided to accept it. Alcohol warms me from the inside. Makes this whole conversation so much easier. ‘So…are you guys satisfied? Can I go to bed–can I eat my Oreos?’

‘No way, Hops, we’re only just getting started.’ Emily grins naughtily at me and gestures for Derek to get another round. Before he can, though, Spencer is already standing and walking away from the table towards the bar without a word. Ouch. It’s clear he’s not very impressed. He hasn’t even finished his drink. ‘We still have so many questions.’

‘Like, did you have a stage name?’

‘What kind of dances did you do? Pole, group, private?’

‘Did you have a signature move?’

‘Do you still have a stripper playlist? If so, can I have it?’

‘Did you ever fall off the pole?’

‘What was the most money you made in one night?’

‘Did you have any regulars? Like, people who came in just to see you?’

‘Did any of them ever try to take you home?’

‘Did you let them?’

‘Oh my God, guys!’ I have to slam my hands on the table to get them to shut up, the words coming in a breathless laugh. I think Derek might have gotten me a double because the alcohol has loosened my tongue and I’m genuinely considering answering them. ‘One question at a time, please.’

It is then that Spencer returns, passing around the drinks quickly. He can’t even look me in the eye as he sits down and goes back to staring into his drink. My mind whirrs with ways to rectify this problem, but it’s not as if I can go back and change the past. Spencer has to come to terms with this on his own merit, and all I can do is wait.

‘Tell us everything.’ Emily gushes, taking a healthy swig of her fresh drink.

‘Everything? Do you think you can handle everything, Spencer?’ I don’t know why I call him out like that. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I chase the icky feeling away with a swig of another double G&T.

Spencer finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time in what feels like hours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze–hurt, maybe? Anger? Perhaps even a hint of arousal. I can’t fully tell, and that scares me. Spencer opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Derek interrupts.

‘Hey, Reid, don’t tell me you’re not curious.’ Derek nudges him playfully, but Spencer doesn’t react. He just continues to stare at me, expression unreadable. I have no idea what that look is trying to say. ‘Come on, man, we all wanna hear about Junebug’s wild past.’

‘Don’t call me that.’ I snap, shaking my head at Derek. I don’t know why, but hearing that old nickname on his tongue upsets me. Derek shows me the palms of his hands in apology and I’m pleased to see that my little outburst has shifted his focus away from Spencer.

‘Come on,’ JJ sighs, cutting Derek and Spencer a curious glare. ‘Tell us everything.’

I hesitate for a moment, taking another drink. How much to reveal? I realise that I am going to have to toe a careful line between what is suitable to tell them, and what I want to take to the grave. They are my friends first, though. Colleagues second. There’s not much point in hiding anymore, not if they still want to go out for drinks with Jas and Tia when we’ve finished the case. There’s no going back.

‘Alright.’ I take a deep breath and start to pull at my fingernails. ‘But don’t judge me, okay?’

‘We promise.’ Emily says, voice so sincere that it almost hurts. She raises her glass in a mock toast, and the others follow suit–even Spencer raises his glass, though his movements are more stilted, eyes clouded with that mixture of emotions I’m driving myself insane trying to decipher.

‘I did dance under a stage name–it was Cassandra, or Cass. I chose it because–’

‘Because of the priestess?’ Spencer’s words are a mere mumble, but I am so attuned into him that I hear him. He’s looking somewhere in the region of my collar, but at least he’s looking at me.

‘Yeah. Precisely. She was this Trojan priestess that was cursed to see the future, but for no one to believe her, but I chose it because of what the name means, etymologically.’

‘Bless you.’ Emily teases, and I roll my eyes. ‘Go on, what does it mean?’

‘The Greek spelling is with a K, so ‘kassos’ means to excel, and ‘andros’ means over men. So her name literally means ‘to excel over men’. I was quite proud of that one.’

‘Damn…and did you? Excel over men?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I grin, taking a sip. ‘I did a variety of different types of dances–you kind of have to do all of them, really. No favourite moves, a couple of regulars that came in just to watch me, and yes, Emily, I do still have my playlist. To answer your question, Derek, a couple of them tried to take me home, and only one succeeded.’

‘What?’ Spencer’s word is perfectly formed, a bullet that pierces through the alcoholic armour I’d been establishing. I blink in surprise. He is staring at me with his mouth slightly parted, such a betrayed look on his face that I’m cut deep to the core. Spencer had seemed content to stay out of the conversation, but this is perhaps the first sign I get about how he’s actually feeling. ‘You slept with the people you danced for?’

‘Only one, and that was a long time ago–’ I say, wondering how only Spencer can get me feeling so defensive and so eager to alleviate his concerns.

‘It doesn’t matter when it was.’ Spencer’s voice is sharp, but he remains motionless, evidently not wanting to give away too much. The rest of the team are leaning back in their seats to get away from the tense energy now crackling between us. Emily is looking between us with a curious expression. ‘You slept with someone you barely knew, someone who saw you as nothing more than a–’

‘Than a what, Spencer? Go on, say ‘whore’, I know you want to.’ I snap back, slamming my glass down onto the table more violently than intended. Spencer flashes hurt eyes at me. ‘Jesus, Spencer, it’s my life–my old life–and I did what I wanted with it. I don’t need to explain it to you.’

‘No, no, don’t worry,’ Spencer scoffs, voice laced with bitterness. ‘I’ve worked it out. You used to sell your body for money, let men ogle you and touch you and degrade you, and you slept with one of them just because you thought, what, you thought it was fun? That doesn’t make you a stripper, June, that makes you a hooker.’

‘What the fuck, Reid?’ My words are soft, but the meaning is harsh. I’m hurt. I’ve heard those words a thousand times, from a thousand different people, but hearing it from Spencer–my Spencer–sucks the life right out of me. It’s as if it’s the first time I’m hearing it. All I want to do is run away and hide, but I can’t. ‘Don’t talk to me like that. You have no idea what it was like.’

‘Oh, but I do. I’ve seen the crime scenes.’ Spencer’s voice is cold. Clinical. Detached. It breaks my heart a little. ‘I’ve seen what those men do to women like you, I know how they treat you, how they view you. And you willingly put yourself in that position–it’s…it’s disgusting and, and–’

‘Stop it!’ I snap, slamming my hands onto the table. His words hit me like a physical blow, knocking all of the air out of my lungs. My eyes line with silver. I can’t believe he’s saying this to me, I can’t comprehend that he thinks that about me. I rise out of my seat, towering over the table. ‘Stop fucking talking, Reid. How dare you?’

‘Whoa, hey, easy now…’ Emily puts out a warning arm between us and I am suddenly reminded that the rest of the team are there. They have shifty looks on their faces. ‘Let’s all just calm down.’

‘No, actually–actually, I’m done.’ I sigh, seeing off my drink and gesturing for Emily to get out of the booth. ‘I’m leaving. Fuck this.’

I grab my snacks and my phone before pushing out past the rest of them and making a beeline for the door. I can hear their voices call out after me, but I don’t care. Even when I see Spencer rise too, as if making to follow me, I don’t change my trajectory. Thankfully Derek yanks Spencer back down into his seat. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. I stalk out of the bar as quickly as possible.

It’s only when I’m in the lift that I let the hot, salty tears start to fall.

THANK YOU FOR READING! PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE.

[sitp-recs]

hi liv!! been working my way through your rec lists thank you for all that you do i admire the work you put into keeping fandom alive 💗

ive been listening to anthems for a seventeen year old girl by broken social scene on repeat these last few days, do you have any recs for fics that explore feeling lost in your young adulthood/nostalgia about a younger version of self that had big dreams or things of that sort? thank you so much :)💓

Hi anon! Thank you, I really appreciate your words - although I believe the Drarry fandom is very much alive and kicking without any help from me 🤣 that’s a very interesting ask, as someone who’s prone to melancholy I have to say both themes (coming of age and youth nostalgia) are right up my alley and speak a lot to me on a personal level. Here are some recs that came to mind:

Five Years by @shiftylinguini (M, 4.5)

For Draco, December means finding somewhere he can lose himself in the thrum of a crowd and the throb of music ― and Potter. It always means Potter now, too.

Poor Unfortunate Souls by @doubleappled (E, 19k)

Draco is a potioneer. Harry is trying to save his sex-challenged marriage. Everything is a mess, but at least there's an octopus in the lobby.

Under Giant Mountains by @wolfpants (E, 33k)

Harry doesn't know where he's going. Everyone else has their life paths figured out; he doesn't even know where his map is. Who'd have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be the guidepost Harry needed?

(Un)wanted by @aibidil (E, 35k)

Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout (M, 49k)

Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

Such Great Heights by aideomai (E, 93k)

Draco Malfoy, wide-eyed and pale and in a decidedly ragged shirt, was crouched next to the pile of whatever the dragon had been eating. Harry threw himself to a halt and yelled, “Merlin, how many times do I have to save your life?”

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them by nerakrose and dustmouth (M, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry. Features: Little League Quidditch, an abundance of bath bombs, happy endings, and gay robots in space.

where all the veins meet by @saxamophone (E, 146k)

It's the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now? His friends try to help, but the only thing that can hold his attention—one of the only things that ever has—is Draco Malfoy, out on parole and weirdly hanging around the British Museum.

[sena-seastar]

The Dragon's Gold

Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Aerys Reyne (male oc)

Summary: Aerys Reyne, son of Naerys Targaryen, the second-born daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, has been best friends with Aegon since childhood. As boys, they had been inseparable. Many said that it reminded them of the early days of King Jaehaerys reign. When the princes Aemon and Baelon were still children. Wherever one boy was, it wasn't long before the other came running behind him. That was until forbidden desires of the heart forced a wedge between them. After the death of his grandsire, King Viserys, Aerys finds himself torn between two sides: stand by his oldest friend or stand by the only mother he has ever known.

Warning: Ableism, violence (dragon's fighting), descriptions of burns and other injuries

A/n: I don't have much experience writing fight scenes, so I hope I did well enough here. There may also be slight medical inaccuracies, so I apologize in advance for that. As always, dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in high valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

Aerys

“Fuck you. I told you we should’ve sent our dragons. And now look what’s happened.” Aegon rants, pointing his finger at the map.

Aerys shifts uncomfortably in his seat, or Ser Criston Cole's seat. Aegon had ordered him to sit in the hand’s chair during their meeting. Aerys could feel the eyes of Aegon’s council watching his every move. He did not like it. It made him feel like some sort of exotic animal on display. For them to point and gawk at.

“Daemon, of all people, has taken Harrenhal. I give you a job, and now you just sit there. It’s your fucking castle!” Aegon yelled, singling out the Lord of Harrenhal, Larys Strong.

Aerys threw the man a pitiful glance. It was not like the master of whisperers could do much. He was here in the capital, and Harrenhal is leagues away. The man was also a cripple. Men seldom follow those they believe to be weaker than themselves. And if Daemon was there, then so was Caraxes. Aerys could not necessarily fault the men of House Strong for bending the knee. Daemon was not known for his merciful nature. 

The master of whisperers kept his head down, enduring Aegon’s wrath. He peeked his eyes up once Aegon finished.

“Well, that castle is more crippled than I am, your grace.” He replied meekly.

His jest did nothing to soothe Aegon’s anger. The man was growing restless. Being deprived of his revenge for Jaehaerys's murder only fueled the fire within him. 

“It’s like to drive Daemon to madness as he attempts to make use of it. It is beyond his faculties. It is also penniless, as I happily control all of its gold.” Lord Larys added. “So, as Harrenhal saps Daemon’s resolve, the false queen remains trapped on her island, and Ser Criston continues felling castles in the Crownlands.” 

The mention of Rhaenyra made Aerys shift uncomfortably in his seat. He dropped his head, fingers reaching for his ring, until he remembered he was no longer wearing it. A lump rose in his throat, and he felt nauseous. Perhaps it was the guilt of his betrayal slowly consuming him. Aegon turned around, returning to his seat at the end of the table. He rested his hands on the back of his chair.

“Wh–” Aegon stammered, his eyes looking around at the men of his council. “I need to be informed of these things if I am to make informed rulings. I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies.”

He turns his eyes to Aerys, looking for support. Aerys clears his throat, sitting upright.

“Regardless of who holds the coin, the king is right,” Aerys says. “Harrenhal and the Riverlands should be of the utmost concern. From what I understand, the blacks had not acted for nearly a fortnight after the death of Rhaenyra’s son. You should have used that time to seize Harrenhal for yourselves, but” Aerys sighed, exasperated. “I suppose there’s no point in mourning over a lost opportunity.”

“We have sent Ravens to Lord Tully, but he has yet to respond,” Maester Orwyle explains.

“And with Prince Daemon now occupying Harrenhal, there is not much we can do,” Lord Tyland added.

“We could force him out,” Aerys responds.

The table is filled with disbelieving scoffs and looks of confusion.

“And how do you suppose we do that, Lord Reyne?” Lord Jasper snickers.

“We send dragons,” Aerys answers.

“Prince Daemon has a dragon of his own-”

“He has one, Lord Tyland,” Aerys interrupted the master of coin.

The room goes quiet as they wait for Aerys to finish.

“Aemond and I will take our dragons and root him out.”

“You intend to challenge him? The blacks already outnumber us when it comes to dragons. If you or gods forbid Prince Aemond were to fall in battle, we may as well wave the white flag now.”

“Daemon will not fight us, Lord Jasper,” Aerys sighed. “If it were me or Aemond alone, he would certainly take up the challenge. But with the two of us together, he will flee. Daemon may be rash and impulsive, but he will not rush into a battle he does not think he could win.”

“And if you successfully chase him out, what will you do then?” Lord Jasper asked. “Ser Criston has already taken most of the fighting men here. Even if we take the castle, we do not have the men to hold it.”

“I will stay behind with Agana and treat with the rivermen myself,” Aerys explains. “Lord Tully has yet to declare for the blacks. Perhaps we could offer him something.”

“And what do you have in mind, Lord Reyne?” Lord Tyland asked. “As Maester Orwyle has already stated, the man refuses to respond.”

“A marriage pact.”

“He does have a daughter who has just come of martial age,” Maester Orwyle nods.

“And who do you suggest we betrothed the girl to, Lord Reyne? You?” Lord Jasper asked.

“No,” Aerys and Aegon say in unison.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Aerys cleared his throat.

“No, Lord Jasper. Not me.” Aerys shook his head. “The king has another brother in Oldtown. Daeron has just come of martial age as well. I propose we betroth them.”

“You think Lord Tully will marry his only daughter to a third son?”

“Third son or not, Daeron is a dragon rider. His children will be as well. Tell me, Lord Jasper, do you know many lords who would reject having a dragon on their side?”

Ironrod remains silent, lowering his head.

“Harrenhal must wait,” Aemond interjected.

Aerys closed his eyes, praying that the gods would smite the one-eyed coward where he sat. 

“Ser Criston is marching on Rook’s Rest.”

Aerys let out a quiet sigh. Once again, his prayers went unanswered. He kept his eyes on the table, refusing to even look at the man. Aerys knew he would have to face the man, but he was not prepared to do it so soon. 

“Rook’s Re- A pathetic prize. I gave no such command-”

“The castle is small,” Aemond interrupted once more. 

He stood for his seat, marching over to the board. 

“Weakly defended, and Lord Staunton sat on Rhaenyra’s council. After Cole smashes it, we’ll have Dragonstone effectively cut off by land. This war will not be won with dragons alone but with dragons flying behind armies of men.”

“No!” Aegon protested. “Have him turn about. I want Harrenhal back!”

Aegon marched to the board, his finger angrily tapping against Harrenhal on the map. Aemond ignored him, turning away.

“Cole is already preparing his attack,” he explained, returning to his seat.

Aegon turned his head to Aerys, and the two shared a look of confusion. 

“Uh, how-how do you know of this?” Aegon stammered, furrowing his brows. 

“He sent word to me,” Aemond answered as if it were obvious.

“To you? The two of you have been plotting... without my authority?” Aegon’s voice hardened.

Aemond sighed, “You had more pressing matters to attend to. Such as holding court, choosing your sobriquet, naming imbecilic lickspittles to our Kingsgaurd, and hosting private meetings with your... childhood companion.”

“Tread carefully,” Aerys warned with a scathing glower. “You may be his brother, but he is your king.”

Aerys balled his hands into tight fists. His nails dug painfully into his palms. He would not be surprised if they had pierced through his skin. Aemond stared at him. That vexing, never-fading smirk sat on his lips. But there was something in his gaze, something Aerys couldn’t quite place. Was it arrogance or shame? Aerys would spit on him if he could. He hoped the monster felt guilty. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay directly led to the murder of Jaehaerys. Aerys hoped that guilt would haunt him.

“Mm,” Aemond hummed, looking away.

Aerys continued to scowl at the man until he felt someone kick his foot. He turned his attention back to Aegon. The man shot him a warning look. Aerys gave him a slight nod, silently apologizing for his outburst.

“Do you have a wiser strategy, my king?” Aemond asked. “If so, you should voice it to your council. We all await your answer.”

There is a short pause as the council awaits the king's response. All eyes turn towards the monarch.

“I can have to...” Aegon's lip twitched as he gathered his thoughts. “War?”

He turned his head to Aerys, looking for validation. Aerys gave him a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to humiliate him further. An awkward tension enveloped the room.

“Harrenhal is a useful morass,” Aemond spoke to the council. “It will keep Daemon well-occupied while we strengthen our host and weaken Rhaenyra’s support on the mainland. We will deal with it in the Riverlands in time.”

Aegon sighed, sinking into his chair, defeated. 

“But right now. Rook’s Rest is an easy target and a worthy effort. Don’t you agree, my king?”

Aegon said nothing. His eyes flickered at the men sitting at the table. It was clear that he felt cast aside. And in that, he was right. They had disregarded everything he had said in favor of Aemond and Ser Criston’s plot. Aegon gave a begrudging nod, agreeing with Aemond. Not that he had much choice. 

Aerys looked at Aegon with concern, fighting the urge to reach out to him. Aegon gave him a slight nod before lowering his head. Aerys sighed, turning his head to stare at the wall behind Ser Jasper’s head, wishing for this meeting to be adjourned.

-

Aerys’ body was sore from sitting in the hand’s chair. The small council meeting had taken most of the day before Aegon abruptly left after declaring how bored he was. Aerys himself had left not long after. Ser Thorne escorted him back to his chambers. The queen dowager still did not trust him enough to have free reign of the castle.

“You must eat more than that,” Wylla protested. “You’re growing frail.”

“I ate the bread and half the soup,” Aerys said. “Now, where is it?”

Wylla froze, her eyes darting around the room as if checking to see if someone was watching them. She hurried towards him, handing him the quill, ink, and scroll she had stored in her pockets.

“Thank you, Wylla,” he smiled. “Here,” he said, tossing her a large black purse. “As a token of my gratitude.”

She frowned, peeking into the bag. Wylla gasped, trying to return it. “This is far more than we agreed on. I cannot take it.”

Aerys waved his hand, pushing her away. “You must. I have put you at great risk by involving you in my scheme. Keep the coin. It is the least I can do.”

Her lip wobbled as she nodded her head in agreement. “Who are you writing?” She asked.

“Rhaenyra,” Aerys answered truthfully.

She gasped, “They could have your head for this!”

“I need- I need to know the truth,” Aerys stammered. Dipping the quill in ink. “I need to know if she was behind the murder of Jaehaerys.”

“Oh gods,” Wylla sighed. “And if she denies it, then what? You’ve already aligned yourself with the king. You said you are his friend. He depends on you!”

Aerys ignored her.

“Will you betray him?” She asked suddenly.

The question startled him. His head snapped towards her.

“No,” Aery hissed.

“I just,” he sighed. “I need to know Wylla.”

“This is a mistake,” she reproached. “If they find out you’re sending messages to Rhaenyra without their permission, they will have your head!"

Aerys sighed, “I know.”

“You’re a fool,” She shook her head disapprovingly. 

“I know that too,” he said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Make it quick.” She replied. “My friend at the fishing port will not wait long. We must hurry if you wish for him to deliver it.”

He nodded, quickly putting quill to paper. 

Dear Rhaenyra, I hope this letter finds you well. I wish to express my sincerest condolences for Luke's passing. You have my deepest sympathies. I am sure by now you’ve heard that I have aligned myself with Aegon. It is true. I am sorry. I owe you a great debt for everything you have done for me all these years. I had hoped that one day I would be able to find a way to repay you, and yet it seems I have done the exact opposite. But that is not why I write this letter. Aegon has accused you of having a hand in the death of his son. I do not wish to believe you could be responsible for such savagery. I need to know-

Wylla cleared her throat loudly, nudging her hip against the table. 

“What are you-” Aerys gasped as the ink spilled across the table.

Wylla snatched the scroll, hiding it away in her bosom.

The doors of his chamber opened before he could react. Lady Alicent entered, her eyes searching every corner of the room. Her panicked expression made his stomach churn.

“What’s happened?” He asked.

She walked towards the table, resting her hands against the wood. She hung her head, releasing a shuddered sigh.

“Aegon is gone.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “Gone where?”

“Rook’s Rest, no doubt.” 

“Rook’s rest? The fool is going to get himself killed!” Aerys fumed.

Alicent kept her head down, not saying anything.

“You must let me go after him,” he demanded.

Her head snapped towards him, her eyes wide. “No- no, absolutely not.”

“You must!” Aerys insisted.

“No, I cannot.” The queen dowager shook her head.

“I have to bring him back!” Aerys contested. “Dragonstone is just across the bay! Lord Staunton sits on Rhaenyra’s council! What if she sends one of her dragons to defend his land?”

“Aegon has Sunfyre with him.”

“Sunfyre is small, with no more battle experience than his rider!” Aerys cried out. 

“I do not trust you!” She hissed, gesturing to the quill and ink on the table. “How do I know you will not flee to Dragonstone the second I let you go?”

Aerys marched forward, taking her roughly by the arms.

“You have just lost your grandson. Are you so eager to lose a son as well?!”

His chest heaved wildly as his heart thumped in his chest. The woman’s eyes widened, filled with fear.

Aerys sighed, dropping his hands to his side. “I’m sorry,” he choked.

He lowered his head, his eyes burning with tears. His lips trembled, and his face contorted into anguish. Would Aegon die? Would he lose him so soon?

“Go,” she whispered.

Shocked, he lifted his head to face her. A small fire of hope kindled in his heart. He nodded his head. Aerys ran over to the chest at the bottom of his bed. He rummaged through his things, tossing everything onto the floor until he found a pair of riding gloves. He shoved them into his pocket as he sprinted out of the room. He did not slow down for a second, not paying any mind to the people he knocked out of the way. 

When Aerys reached the outer yard, he grabbed the nearest horse. Pushing some lord, he could not be bothered to remember out of the way. The man cursed at him as he rode away.

He made it to the dragon pit in record time. Aerys hopped off of the horse before it even had time to stop. He stumbled but carried on. 

Aerys pushed the doors of the dragon pit open. He ignored the dragon keepers, who shouted after him as he ran towards the man-made caves where the dragons were kept. The roars of a restless Agana soon drowned out their voices. He could hear the loud thuds as she rammed her head against the giant gate, trying to reach him.

“I am here, my dragon!”

Agana whined, trying to snake her head past the bars.

“Open the gate,” he ordered.

The dragon's keepers looked at one another, unsure what to do.

“Open the fucking gate!” He commanded.

Agana bared her teeth, letting out a low growl. The men did not waste another second. Aerys slipped under the gate, not waiting for it to rise fully. Agana cooed, pressing her head against his chest. 

“I’ve missed you too,”  he whispered.

Aerys leaned his head down to press it against hers. He could not fight the tears that escaped his eyes. He had missed her dearly. Being away from her was the worst pain imaginable. 

“We must go,”  he sniffled, pulling back to meet her eyes.

He ran his hand across her neck as he walked to her side. Agana lowered her body to the ground. Aerys pulled on his riding gloves. His fingers curled around the ropes attached to her saddle. He quickly made the climb, as he had done a thousand times before. Aerys hoisted his leg over the saddle, settling in. He rubbed a gloved hand over Agana’s silver scales. 

“Sōvēs, Agana!”

-

Aerys’ hands gripped tightly onto the handlebars of his saddle. The dread in his heart grew as his eyes found no trace of Sunfyre’s golden scales. The wind blew hard against his face as Agana soared through the sky. He was unsure of how long Aegon had been gone. Would he reach him in time? Was he already too late?

Agana called to Aerys, alerting him to some potential danger. Aerys stayed silent, listening. From the distance, he could make out the faint sound of a dragon’s roar.

“Follow it, Agana!”

She shrieked, obeying his command. Agana charged forward, moving even faster now that she had a clear grasp on her target. Aerys squinted his eyes. In the distance, he could make out brilliant flashes of red and gold. Icy fire coursed through his veins, igniting his skin in a rush of cold flames. His entire body was shaking as fear seeped into his bones. Rhaenys was here? Had they sent her alone? Was Baela or Jace here as well?

Agana hissed as a giant burst of dragon flame lit up the sky.

“Halt!” Aerys called.

Agana followed his command. Her wings flapped loudly as they hovered in the air, watching Meleys attack Sunfyre from below. 

Aerys’ heart hammered in his chest.

This would be his only chance for freedom. He could turn away and fly to Dragonstone, grovel at Rhaenyra’s feet, and beg for her forgiveness. He still held onto hope that she would take him back. Aerys was her nephew—the last living memory of her sister. Rhaenyra had opened her heart to him and raised him alongside her children. He owed her a debt that could never be repaid. Could he turn his back on her now when she needed him most?

Then Aegon’s voice echoed in his mind, his words repeating over and over again.

“You’ll never choose me. You never have.”

Aerys closed his eyes as the many shared memories of his and Aegon’s youth flooded his mind. He remembered the many nights Aegon stayed awake with him, distracting him from his misery. The many hours of boredom that Aegon endured so that Aerys would not have to sit in the library alone. Aerys thought of the many times he held Aegon as he cried. He had to comfort him often when the boy’s mother was too harsh on him. Or when his father’s lack of endearment became too much for him to bear.

Aegon was his friend, his very first friend. Time had driven them apart, but that love Aerys held for him had never faded. If anything, the distance had only made it grow stronger.

Sunfyre’s cries of pain echoed in the air, forcing Aerys back into the present. His eyes widened, and he watched in horror as the golden dragon fell from the sky. 

Sunfrye screeched in pain. He flapped his wings, desperately trying to regain flight. The dragon was able to spin around, catching himself before he crashed to the ground. Sunfyre shrieked as he flapped his wings, ascending higher in the sky, trying to reach them. Meleys circled, heading straight for him.

Now was the time. The choice Aerys made now would set him on a path he could never return from. If he turned away, he would be leaving Aegon to die. Sunfyre stood no chance against the fierce Red Queen. But if he stayed, he would have no choice but to face the Red Queen and her rider himself. His heart ached at the thought of sending Agana into battle. 

Princess Rhaenys was no great friend of his, but he was close to the woman’s granddaughters. In those years on Dragonstone, he had come to see the girls as his sisters. If Agana and Sunfyre fought together, there was a chance they could overpower Melyes and her rider. Yet the thought of doing so made him feel ill. There was no one more accursed than the kinslayer.

A deep grumble formed in Agana’s throat. Aerys reached a hand back, strapping himself into his saddle. His fingers curled tight around the handlebars as he gave the command.

“Angōs, Agana!”

The silver dragon turned her head to him, looking him in the eyes. The look of confused sadness she gave him filled his heart with great sorrow. He rubbed a gloved hand over the scales on her back.

Sunfyre let out a loud coo, calling to her. Agana turned her head, watching him struggle to reach them. She let out a doleful cry but obeyed.

Agana charged forward, ramming her head into Meleys’, using her horns to drive the red queen away from Sunfyre. The two dragons of silver and red danced in the air, biting and clawing at one another. Agana latched onto the side of Meleys’ neck, trying to bite down as hard as she could. The red queen shrieked; she rounded her neck as best as possible, trying to lunge at Aerys, who tried desperately to avoid her teeth. 

Agana lifted her wing, trying to shield him. Meleys wasted no time, digging her claws into the silver dragon’s underbelly, but Agana’s jaw only tightened. 

The red queen roared, snapping her jaws at Aerys once more. She managed to sink her teeth into the muscle of Agana’s arm. The silver dragon finally released her neck and pulled back with a hiss. Meleys used this time to dig her claws into the side of Agana’s face. The silver dragon shrieked in pain, and they began falling.

The red queen pulled away, chasing after Sunfrye once again. Aerys tried to command Agana to fly, but the silver dragon shrieked in agony. Aerys could see the blood spurting from her face, but he could not see the full extent of her injury. He turned his head, watching as they began plummeting down to the ground. The man pulled one of his gloves off, rubbing his bare palm over the scales of her back. Come on, he whispered in his mind. Fly. You have to fly. 

He repeated the words in his head over and over again. The world seemed to slow down to the point where he could feel his pulse thrumming in his veins. His hands shook, but not with fear. Aerys grabbed the reins, pulling them with all the strength he could muster.

Just as they were about to hit the ground, Agana pulled up and flapped her wings. They hovered just a few inches off the ground as Agana tried to overcome her pain.

Sunfyre’s screeches and Melyes' growls rang loudly above them. They both raised their heads, watching Melyes catch Sunfyre by the wing. Agana growled, giving chase. Sunfyre cried and clawed, trying to wriggle free from the red queen's grasp. Agana rushed forward. She tried to aim for the red queen’s rider, but Aerys pulled at the reins, steering her away.

He could not do it. He did not wish to bear the burden of being a kinslayer. The gods had cursed him enough as it is. They just needed to get Melyes’ attention on them and buy Sunfyre enough time to get away.

The two of them circled back around. Agana growled and sunk her teeth into one of the red queen’s legs, trying to pull her away, but to no avail. Sunfyre lunged at Meleys’ head, ripping off one of her many horns. The red queen screeched but refused to let go. She kicked her other leg at Agana, trying to fend her off while still holding Sunfyre. Agana’s teeth chomped down, and she shook her head wildly as if trying to tear Meley’s leg off her body. 

Suddenly, she stopped. Agana snapped her head to the side, and a low, guttural growl emitted from her throat. Aerys barely had time to turn his head before coming face to face with a giant ball of fire.

Agana pulled up, but not fast enough. Aerys howled in agony as the unbearable heat of the dragon flame bit into the right side of his body. The putrid smell of burning flesh overwhelmed his senses. His eyes burned from the smoke, and he struggled to breathe. He could feel them climbing higher as Agana tried to get him out of harm's way. 

The nightmarish screams of Sunfyre filled the air. Aerys wiped his eyes, trying to clear his vision. He watched, paralyzed by fear, as the golden dragon fell from the sky. Agana did not hesitate. She dived down, flapping her wings as hard as she could, trying to reach Sunfrye before he could plummet to the ground. But they were too late. Sunfyre crashed into the trees with a large burst of flames. 

Agana and Aerys both roared in anguish.

They stopped, hovering above the trees. Aerys stretched his neck as far as he could, trying desperately to find some sign- any sign of Aegon. There was none. 

No! He cannot be dead. He can't be. 

A terrible, sickening dread washed over him. Aerys heart was thudding in the back of his throat. Something inside him wrenched and soared. This could not be the end. Not now, not yet. It was too soon.

“No,” He whispered. “Land, Agana!” 

Agana flapped her wings, easing herself to the ground. Aerys hastily unstrapped himself from the saddle. He slid down the side of her body. The shock of his landing caused him to stumble, but he was able to keep from falling. 

Agana let out a whining, breathing-like noise. She turned her neck, pressing her head against his shoulder as if trying to nurse his wounds. Aerys winced as he looked upon his wounds. There were small patches of slightly charred flesh here and there. The red, black, and yellow burns covered his right shoulder and extended down to his elbow. But there was no pain. The entire area just felt numb, though he knew the pain would surely come later.

Agana pulled away. Aerys could see her face now. Giant, jagged claw marks ran across the left side of her face, and there was a gaping hole where her eye once sat. The damage done to her underbelly was not as severe as he thought it would be, thank the gods.

A lump had formed in his throat. The corner of his lips pulled down, shaking as he tried to stop the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume him.

“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry.”

The silver dragon trilled, carefully nuzzling the tip of her snout against his stomach.

“You did well,” he praised, caressing her face. “Thank you.”

He pulled away, moving around her. Aerys found Sunfyre curled up on his side, grumbling in pain. He approached slowly, not wanting to frighten him. The golden dragon did not seem to care for his efforts.

Sunfrye growled, baring his teeth, but the dragon could not raise his head. Aerys held his left hand up in surrender.

“I’m here to help him.”

The golden dragon snarled at him.

“Please,” he pleaded.

Agana crawled behind the wounded dragon, resting her head against his own. She released a loud hum from her chest, almost like a pur. The sound seemed to calm him. His growling ceased, and he retracted his teeth. Aerys approached him, carefully climbing over the dragon's tail. Sunfyre had curled himself around Aegon, still trying his best to defend his rider. 

Aerys gasped when he saw the state of Aegon—his body, battered and burned. Aerys inched closer. His knees wobbled, and his terror mounted with every step. Aegon was lying still on his back. His violet eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids. 

Aerys fell to his knees, his eyes trailing over the man’s wounds. His stomach clenched, dread twisted in his gut.

“Aegon?” He called, his voice thick with fear.

But Aegon did not move, and he did not make a sound. The armor he wore seemed to have melted into his flesh. 

Agana growled, raising her head. Aerys snapped his head to the side, watching Aemond march towards them, wielding Blackfyre. There was something in the man’s gaze, something dark. He was uncertain as to what the man’s intentions were. Aerys did his best to shield Aegon’s body with his own despite his injured shoulder. He was not afraid of him. Aemond would be a fool if he tried to harm either one of them in the presence of their dragons.

As he approached, Agana snarled at the man. Aemond’s eye flickered up to Agana before looking back to Aerys. Just as he raised the blade, a voice called out.

It was Ser Criston. Aerys shot Aemond one last glare. He turned around, focusing his attention back on Aegon. 

“I choose you, Aegon,” Aerys whispered, his bottom lip trembling. “I choose you.”

Tags: @saicherry, @sadpuffpuff, @willow-red, @teamavatar13

[landinrris]

☔️ and 🌧️

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I do love some good mid-plot angst 👀👀👀

Ask me about my wips!

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP. This is from the Lando PR fic, also titled A Matter of Perspective because I love a double meaning. This is also a full-fledged snippet but every angst scene is too long, so just have the whole thing of this one

When Max and Pietra get into town on Wednesday afternoon for the race weekend, Lando expects Carlos’ run of form to continue. They’re due to get dinner together for the first time in nearly a month, Lando feeling just a bit giddy at the prospect of seeing one of his best friends again for the first time in what feels like a stupid amount of time.

Carlos doesn’t say anything about their evening plans until later that afternoon.

“Do we know where we are going for dinner?” Carlos asks, walking into the living room. He’s busy toweling his hair dry, goosebumps immediately rising on Lando’s arms at the thought of what his own hair would do if he did that now.

He shakes himself and looks down at his phone where Max had texted him Pietra’s idea while Carlos was in the shower.”Uh, Max said Pietra wanted to try this new place. I mapped it, and it’s not too far from here. Near that new highrise they just finished building. Apparently, it’s all the rage and she needs to get her plug in.”

Lando looks up in Carlos’ direction when he doesn’t get an immediate response and sees Carlos looking uneasy. His hand has frozen with the towel against his head, looking like he’s glitched or something.

“Have you heard bad things? I’ve only heard about it like fifteen minutes ago.”

“Do we have to go to this one?” Carlos asks. He seems to reset, returning to drying his hair before draping the towel around his neck.

Lando’s not sure he knows what’s going on, feeling like he’s missing something fairly obvious. “I mean, I guess I can suggest somewhere else. Why, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just so public, no? That new highrise is down near the casino and the coast. Lots of people and shopping and things.” Lots of cameras, he doesn’t say. The pieces click into place in Lando’s mind, and he sucks in a steadying breath. 

“I mean, yeah, but all the good spots are out there. You didn’t have an issue being down there the other day when we were with everyone.” Lando thought Carlos was over whatever stick had been up his ass, but maybe that was wishful thinking after all.

“But that was with other people— a group. This wasn’t what looked like a…”

“Like a date?” Lando finishes. “Carlos, we’re still gonna be with people, what are you talking about? It’s not like we’re both dressing up and going somewhere one-on-one and telling everyone what we are. It’s Max and P for God’s sake.”

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice because he knows how skittish Carlos is about other people outside their circles knowing about them. Hell, Lando feels the same, ultimately. But there’s something about Carlos seemingly not even willing to go out to a casual dinner with Max and Pietra. If Lando was interested in a boyfriend who only paid attention to him while there was foolproof plausible deniability, he wouldn’t have given Carlos a key to his flat.

Carlos flinches subtly, but that’s one downfall with them— they know each other so well that Lando clocks the movement from where he’s sitting on the sofa. “Yes, but we will be with two other people who are in a relationship. We will look like we are on a double date, and with all the people who will recognize everyone hanging around waiting to get pictures, Lando can we not go somewhere else, please?”

Lando’s annoyance cracks at Carlos’ pleading, his eyes wide with anxiety. It’s not Carlos’ fault that he feels like this, and yet Lando can’t help but be annoyed with him anyway. He doesn’t want to lock all of his personal life behind the doors of their flat or whatever hotel room they’re in for the weekend.

He bites his lip and looks down at his phone for a few seconds. How many times would they get away with going out together before people seriously asked questions? How close are they to that point now that the broad world knows Carlos’ permanent residence is Monaco? Maybe they should be more careful considering Lando’s privacy is so lacking that someone could pretty accurately map out the days he’s in the country based on when his photo is taken. 

And yet… he’s not ready to let fear of social media completely rule his life. “Pietra really wants to go to this restaurant, my hands are tied. If you’re so afraid then don’t come, I guess.” He pushes himself up from the sofa, his throat tight with a mix of sadness and frustration. He barely looks at Carlos as he walks past him and into the direction of his room. “I’ll just see you when I get home and we’ll do dinner another night or something.”

“Lando, really? You are going to do this?” Carlos calls after him sounding like Lando’s the one who’s being unreasonable here. 

Lando rounds on Carlos where he’s standing in the doorway. “I’m scared too, Carlos! But that doesn’t mean I want to put my life on hold, yeah? If you don’t want to come out tonight because you think the internet is suddenly and unironically going to think we’re on a double date, then I can’t help you. I’m gonna go to dinner with my friends I haven’t seen in a month, and I’ll just see you when I get home. Maybe we can have dinner together in public again when we’re in Barcelona for the race in a few weeks and you decide that’s okay.” He doesn’t mean to blow up and promptly storm away, shutting the door in the hallway leading to his bedroom a bit harder than he’d meant to, but he does and he’s not big enough to immediately apologize for it yet.

He only has about forty-five minutes until he’s meant to meet Max and Pietra anyway. Plenty of time to get in the shower and pretend he doesn’t let a few tears slip from his eyes in anger. He should’ve said something to Carlos when he noticed the pattern last week— when Carlos decided he wanted to whisk Lando up into the surrounding villages outside of Imola for “an authentic dinner” without a care as to the rest of the world. 

Instead, he’d let it fester. He’d taken Carlos’ attention as freely as he’d been given it— taken the kisses Carlos had pressed to his lips pressed against the car door before opening it like a gentleman and letting Lando climb into the passenger seat.

The issue is Monaco and the public eye— a detrimental detail they've likely realized too late if they have any hope of surviving until they're ready to come out on their own terms. 

Carlos doesn’t come and check on him in the half hour it takes Lando to get ready. With all of Carlos’ belongings in Lando’s bedroom and bathroom, the lack of his presence sends as strong of a message as anything. They’re both at a stalemate, and Lando’s a little afraid of where they go from here.

He pokes his head into the living room as he’s about to leave and sees Carlos seated on the sofa where Lando had been earlier scrolling resolutely through his phone. The towel is still around his neck, his feet propped up on the coffee table like he’s casually and calmly waiting for Lando to be finished in the bathroom.

The sight does complicated things to Lando’s stomach.

“I’m heading out. I’ll see you later.”

Carlos looks up from his phone, a carefully controlled expression on his face that does nothing good for Lando’s stomach. “Okay. I will see you later. Have fun.”

Lando fishes for something to say, and upon coming up with nothing, turns and walks out the front door.

---

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

I really feel like the Lando to Red Bull fic that I picked up from a fic fest was a missed opportunity that I let slip through my fingers right at the edge of McLaren going from zeros to heroes back in Summer 2023. Basically, the prompt was that Carlos was at Ferrari still, and Lando makes the jump to Red Bull after giving up on McLaren. They aren’t together romantically yet, but they're both mega hardcore pining and just being Them. They get into a few scrapes, and Lando begins to think Carlos hates him now that they’re battling much more directly across teams. Meanwhile, Carlos is just pulling away because he’s struggling to hide his feelings. Lando getting to show what he's capable of is too addicting, and he doesn't trust himself like he once could.

But McLaren literally went from being like 6th/7th fastest team to 3rd/4th in one race weekend, and with it went all the inspiration for me to want Lando to leave McLaren 😅. I would love to potentially rework this somehow. Maybe have it be that Lando's rise in McLaren puts him and Carlos much more on that level playing field, so you still end up with the false angst with them both properly at the front. We shall see maybe... the PR fic the previous angst scene is from might have enough angst for awhile.

[kindred-spirit-93]

jazzy!! & apollo

hello yall im back on my bs (biscuit soliloquy) with my wonderful oc jazzy and a modern au i came up with when i opened my eyes this morning lol. u can find a little lore on ma blog under the #jazzy tag :3

--

aight so for context a few months ago while deep in the trenches of my greek mythology obsession i made a minor underworld diety oc who goes by kore or jazzy. shes my favourite muffin and i love her.

and after reading one too many apollo fics here lmao i really wanted to explore his domains (which i find endlessly fascinating bc its all my favourite things in one: medicine art literature) and learn more about him as a god via a character study of sorts.

(ive yet to write anything for them lol but when i do it will be great :P)

--

anyway back to the story they are teachers!! bc im currently rethinking my life choices and having fun imagining what my life could have been like things went differently (11/10 recommend. great for the blorbos). babys first midlife crisis at the ripe old age of 21 lol

so without any further ado, them <3

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY BABIES

*slaps hands* aight so context and premise:

cant be bothered to come up with alternative names and clever refernces for everyone so theyre keeping their greek names lol.

not everyone in the pantheon will make an appearance, this aint keeping up with the olympians (until it is)

the setting is vaguely british lol bc its where i grew up and am more familiar with the system and the norms. ish

they teach both primary and secondary school students (this afaik doesnt exist in the uk but it does here so yeah. will elaborate later)

greek mythology adjacent at best i regrettably know very little of the mythos and my one and only reference is theoi. i will do better i promise. as soon as i graduate

in the mean time pls feel free to tell me all about ur fave myths and works and recommend stuff :D!!

--

art stuff, character design, notes

apollo has heterochromia :3 dunno if u can see it but his eyes are olive green (right) and a teal (left). representing the suns reach over land and sea. ALSO FRECKLES >:D

my girl jazzy has the most boring brown eyes ever. no pools of honey or flecks of gold. just good ol dirt brown. *foreshadowing*

short curly hair somewhere between brown and black for her, and floofy kraft singles waves for him XD

jazzy is a knitwear gremlin (like urs truly lol), 24/7 turtlenecks cardigans jumpers scarfs all of it. her hands (and extremeties) are always cold bc bad circulation and probably dehydration. shush

palettes are warm and earthy for jazzy (wow im so subtle) and cool celestial for apollo (and artemis hehe)

so thats mostly greens esp olive, brown and beige and a healthy sprinkle of rose. le aesthetic is forest/ gremlincore for my girl

and lots of blues esp navy and shiny silver and gold for chaotic academia sunshine boi (TIL astroacademia is a thing and like wow)

arts and moodboards and quotes in this century trust

jazzy is of average height (which to me is 160cm hhhhh and apollo is taller at 180cm. do ur own math we use metric in this household)

--

finally concept idea, plot if u will, notes and backgorund info too:

the first thing i thought of when i opened my eyes was literally apollo and his nine daughters the muses. let me finish

i wish i was joking lol it instantly gripped me but alas i had to go to uni and so it stayed on hold and i havent studied more that 3 pages bc im thinking about them

and by thinking i mean going over the same scene in my head and not doing somethinguseful like say expanding lore. as one does.

anyway yes we have apollo the girl dad of all time who has 9 wondeful daughters of varying ages from fist year of uni to toddler

still mapping out details like if from same mother or several relationships. idk what im doing pls respect my privacy at this time

apollo has 2 degrees bc its cool af to me (my dad has two masters and its been on my bucket list since. i dont know why i am the way that i am either) one in nursing and another in english literature (and a masters in translation bc i can)

he teaches english and history tho and the art afterschool clubs. yes clubs plural. i am insane and so is he.

jazzy is a biomed graduate and is currently pursuing a masters in forensic toxicology (sucks that i hade organic chem this would be fun to write) so she teaches bio. probably part time idk.

i will get to the details of lore and what theyre like and their work ethics etc but i is tired and id really like to finish some work before bed lol so goodnight for now and enjoy and feel free to ask stuff ig :3

[zelbits]

Chapter 1: A Mysterious Shade

Rating: M at its worst, I'm trying to keep it T. Depictions of gore, violence, themes of depression, war, battles, and some steamy scenes later on but nothing outright spicy, some strong language but nothing too explicit

Summary: Sheik, Link, Asahi, and Zelda depart from Hateno at dawn, but Zelda shall go no farther than Kakariko. A full day of travel lies ahead of them as they make their way to the Temple of Time, and the weight of Link's decision is heavy on them all as Sheik tells them all that he can. But on the final stretch of their journey, on the edge of the Forest of Time, they encounter someone strange and dangerous...

Trigger Warnings: PTSD, gore, violence, mild steam, angst, forbidden/taboo love, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, probably more I haven't thought of yet.

Word Count: Unsure

A/N: Asahi's appearance and name are loosely based off of Asahi from The Water Dragon's Bride, my favorite manga (besides Zelda, ofc). I've had this story in my head for a very, very, very long time and I'm really excited to finally be putting it out there, even if it's not in the comic form that I had originally wanted to do.

Media: Written for now, with some art and hopefully redrawn in manga form later on when I learn how to do it well.

Releases: Monthly to bi-monthly, if possible. I work full-time and am in the midst of preparing for college, so I'll try to release chapters alongside my usual content.

Anytime you see an embedded link (pun intended), it leads to related soundtrack.

While Asahi made preparations to take Zelda to Kakariko Village, Link spoke with Sheik about what their course of action would be.

"Our first stop is the Temple of Time," Said Sheik, pointing to the Great Plateau on his traditional map. "It will be easiest for me to open a portal from there. Our journey will take us across many eras, many worlds... Are you sure you're up for this?"

"If it means the end of future incarnations suffering," Link answered firmly, although the thought of time travel made him a bit queasy. "What era are we going to first? What era do you come from?"

Sheik seemed to smile beneath his mask. "One that happens a millennia before now, a mere myth in your time. As for what era I'm from... That is something I shall keep to myself."

Link didn't bother prying. Instead, he asked a different question, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "What exactly are we doing in these other eras?"

Sheik hummed thoughtfully, pulling the poem out of his pocket. "Clearly, we must have ended the Curse somehow. I say we solely because this implies that the weapon used to defeat him involved trips through different times and realms, which you could not possibly have done without my help... But I have no idea how we did it. My best guess is going to the Temple of Time in all eras that we can; it is one of few consistent locations in Hyrule throughout time. If I was with you, perhaps we left a clue at one of them."

"So are we going back to the beginning?" Link questioned.

"In a way, yes," Sheik responded. "Our destination is not the beginning, but it is a beginning. The hero of that era faced three destinies: victory as a hero, a forgotten victory, and failure. Hopefully, once there, we can narrow down the timelines a bit and try to shrink our search area."

Link rubbed his temples. The thought of traveling through eras made him sick to his stomach. "If we leave at dawn, we should make it to the Great Plateau by nightfall, so long as we don't encounter any setbacks... But I don't want Zelda to accompany us, not in her current state. You saw her this morning. If an episode strikes her in the middle of a battle or on the open road... it could be disastrous."

"It could indeed," Sheik agreed, "But where will she be safe? This new Ganondorf will surely seek to find her."

"The Sheikah will take care of her," Said Link with the utmost certainty. He stood, pushing back his chair and regarding the mysterious figure with a mixture of caution and apprehension. He had so many questions, but he knew Sheik wouldn't answer any of them. He wondered if he could even trust any of what was being said. Is any of this a good idea? But if there was any chance of stopping the Cycle... "I'm going to go help Asahi prepare."

"She's already agreed to this?" Sheik sounded surprised.

Link didn't answer. He didn't feel as though it were his place to explain Asahi's reasoning. Instead he simply walked away, through the rain back to the house.

When he arrived, Zelda was still fast asleep, but Asahi was lounging on their haphazard couch, several rucksacks and saddlebags packed around her. When she saw Link, she didn't really move, only glancing at him with her sharp amber eyes from underneath her reddish bangs.

She'd changed her clothes again-- she was always so uncertain about herself. Now she wore her traditional Sheikah attire: snug-fitting leggings; a collared Sheikah tunic fastened closed at her waist, bearing a blazing crimson eye motif on the front; a longsleeved tunic underneath that also covered her neck; a sash around her waist, concealing her many daggers; fingerless gloves; and of course the bandages around her forearms and the crown of her head, keeping on her cap. All of it was black, save for the Sheikah eye, her cap, and some highlights on the hems of her sleeves and tunic. Her deep red hair, almost purple, hung in bangs out the front of her cap, concealing most of her face that wasn't already hidden by the mask she wore.

For a moment, Link was surprised how much she resembled Sheik.

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Did you put your full armor on earlier because you thought we were leaving right away?"

She regarded him with an air of mock-coldness. To anyone else she might be intimidating, but Link knew she wouldn't hurt a fly. "...Shut up, Link."

"That's no way to talk to the princess's husband."

"That make you a prince?"

"No."

"I think it does. It's not like you're not already in charge of everything anyway." Asahi stretched, much like a cat. "So what'd big bad mystery guy have to say?"

"We leave for the Temple of Time tomorrow," Link sighed, running a hand through his long hair. "If we leave at dawn, we should make it there by nightfall."

"And?"

Link hesitated, then sat down beside her in defeat and told her everything. About the Curse, the new incarnation of Ganondorf, the fact that they'll have to travel through dimensions. "Are you sure you still want to come?"

She thought for a moment. "...Well, Link, I feel like you're gonna need someone with extensive historical knowledge on this adventure. Quest. Thing. Listen, if Zelda can't do it, I'm the next best thing, not to toot my own horn, but she said it herself. I don't want Zelda traveling through time when she can barely go down the stairs on a bad day. But who's gonna take care of her?"

"The Sheikah, if you still want to come."

"I'm sure Purah and Paya can handle it. The princess would want me to come with you."

"And why would I do that?" The princess's voice made Link jump to his feet. Asahi stayed seated but her head shot up at the sound of her voice. At the top of the stairs, Zelda stood in her nightgown, hair disheveled and tears in her eyes. She looked so lost. But she was coherent. Link's heart leapt into his throat as he raced to her. "Where are you going?" Zelda breathed, immediately falling into his arms when he reached her. "You're leaving?"

Her voice cracked, and it broke his heart. "Zelda, I need to tell you something. If you don't want me to go, I won't, but I'll explain everything to you."

He glanced back at Asahi, who hadn't budged from her spot. "Why don't you make sure the horses are ready?"

Taking that as her cue, Asahi bolted out the door. Link turned and led Zelda to the bed, where he made her sit while he fetched her tea and some food. When she had eaten, she thanked him, and Link told her about Sheik, and the quest, and Asahi's participation in it.

"Like I told you before," Link took her hand in both of his, bowing his head to hide his face and holding it to his forehead. "If you don't want me to go, I'll stay with you, Zelda. There's a chance everything he's saying is a lie. Maybe he just works for this new Ganondorf, if there even is one, and is luring me into a trap. But if you tell me to go, I will. I'll go and I'll defeat this Ganondorf, and any other afterward."

For a long moment, Zelda was silent. He thought she maybe lapsed into her trance state, and he started to lose hope. How could he leave her if she didn't even know about it?

"...Link... Look at me." He did, immediately, regardless of whatever was on his face. He couldn't hide anything from her. Her emerald eyes locked on his and she smiled. "...I think you should go." He was speechless, and she continued softly, "When I was... When I was up there... I had no idea where I was. Who I was. Sometimes, I was aware of your presence, but I didn't know it was you then. I just knew you were important. Just like I know now that this is important. I don't know why." Her cold hand caressed his face, and he leaned into her touch, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "You need to go. If what he says is true, and, I feel in my heart it may be, then you could not only save this Hyrule, but every Hyrule. All of our descendants. Everyone. I hate this burden is on you alone, but... like Asahi said, I can barely go down the stairs some days."

He involuntarily flinched. "We didn't mean--"

"It's the truth," Zelda interrupted. "I can help you from here. I will do all of the research I possibly can, find any sources I can think of to help you. Maybe you'll return intermittently, or I can tell you everything when you've returned."

Link bowed his head into her lap, holding her hand tighter. Uncontrollably, his shoulders began to shake. Despite how hard he tried, Link couldn't hold himself together as his heart tore itself apart. Zelda gently called his name, and he couldn't even be strong for her. He gasped through his sobs but refused to lift his head. "I don't want to leave you again."

"Neither do I," She admitted, and slid off the bed to kneel in front of him, mirroring his position. She took his face in her hands and made her look at him. "Just make me a promise--"

"I'll come back to you," He breathed, "I swear to you, Zelda, I will come back to you."

Her gaze softened, and she let the tears fall. "That's all I could ask for. I will wait for you." She kissed him sweetly before he pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her like it was their last day on earth.

It very well could be.

Together they mourned a normal life, dreading when dawn comes.

Outside, Asahi sat by the cooking pot, warming herself by the fire. She didn't want to go back inside unless she was called to, because she didn't want to interrupt them, but she'd already "checked the horses" (she stood out there and petted them for awhile, feeding them apples) and she'd walked around the property a couple of times. The sun was long gone, it was cold, and it was raining. Under the tree granted her some protection from the wet, and as long as the fire stayed lit, she was warm.

"So you are Asahi."

She leapt to her feet and spun around. It was Sheik, leaning against the tree. She inwardly chastised herself. She'd been trained for this. How could he have snuck up on her so easily? "...Sheik, is it?" She didn't relax, but she would be friendly. After all, she'd be stuck with him for who knows how long?

"Yes." His golden hair and tanned skin were warped by firelight, turning a dusky orange color, and his armor yellowish-gold. "Where do you come from, Asahi?"

She tilted her head. "I'm a Sheikah. Like you, I guess."

"You don't look like a Sheikah."

Unlike the bullies of her childhood, it didn't sound like an insult, but more of a curiosity. She subconsciously ran her fingers through the hair at the base of her neck, instinctively hating everything about it: its deep magenta color, its red highlights, the black tips. She'd tried to dye it white so many times, but it always washed away within a day. It took her a moment to remember that she'd embraced her differences with her people. Years of bullying in her youth had hardwired her brain to automatically hate it, but since meeting Zelda, she'd learned to accept it. "...I'm adopted," She managed, shrugging.

"From where?"

What's with all the questions? "I dunno. I guess I'm Hylian. I was found by a Sheikah couple in an orphanage."

"You guess you're Hylian?"

"Well, what else would I be? A Goron?" She waved her arms at herself. Tall, lanky, smooth skin, pointy ears: definitely a Goron.

Sheik regarded her carefully before smirking. "I like you. You're fascinating."

"Okay?"

Sheik approached her and Asahi's hand fell to her belt automatically. She didn't draw a weapon, but she was prepared to. Sheik seemed to take no notice, drawing something out of his pocket. It was a shard of glass. He handed it to her, and she stared at him blankly for a minute. "Oh. Cool. Glass. I love it, thank you."

"You jest, but this is a very powerful item."

"...Is it a very powerful paperweight?"

Sheik shook his head. "Call upon it in your time of need. It will show you that which you desire most to see. It can be used as many times as you wish, but be warned: what you see may upset you."

"This is all rather sudden. Will it show me what I want for breakfast? I feel like that'll just upset me. If I want cake for breakfast and we've had bacon only for weeks that just feels like torture. That's exactly it, Torture-Shard. Why doesn't Link get a Torture-Shard? Am I special? Have I been chosen to be tortured by the sight of a breakfast I can't have?"

"Link has enough to deal with. This is specifically for you. I was meant to give it to you. It will be useful later on."

"Sure. When I want to see where the nearest place I can get cake is."

Sheik lifted his chin, staring down at her with narrowed eyes. "For a Sheikah, you make lightly of quite a bit."

Asahi grinned under her mask, sighing theatrically. "Oh, well, if I didn't, I would fall into the pit of existential dread that is my heritage, so."

Sheik was silent for a moment. "Asahi of Kakariko, I look forward to seeing how you develop on this journey."

She stared at him with wide yellow eyes. "Am I gonna become like a legend or something?"

Sheik shook his head. "I will see you in the morning."

Asahi blinked, and he was gone. "Whoa..." She spun around in circles, but couldn't see any trace of him. She held up the shard and looked at it from all angles. One side was reflective, like a mirror. It was a very thick, dark piece of glass, inscribed with ancient markings she couldn't decipher. They looked familiar, though. Perhaps she had some reference in her notes. "Hm..." Why doesn't Link get one of these? Why me? Is it a cursed item? Should I throw it away? Should I keep it? Should I tell Link? Why isn't it sharp?

Confused, she stuffed it in her rucksack with everything else. Maybe she could chuck it at someone if they were attacked or something. Maybe that's what Sheik meant by it coming in handy later. But what did he mean when he said it'll show me what I want to see? Snickering to herself, she thought, Maybe because it's a mirror.

Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten since lunchtime. Glancing up at the house, she noticed that the lights were off. Gee, thanks for letting me know. She kicked some dirt over the fire and ensured it was completely out before going back to her own little abode.

Well, now I want cake.

They left at dawn the next morning, and Asahi indulged in a breakfast of cake before grabbing her rucksack and leaving her house. She probably wouldn't have cake again for awhile.

She glanced back at her house once, wondering when she'd see it again. Travel between times and dimensions? She inwardly laughed. I bet we're going to the Temple of Time and watch this guy do some fake magic before realizing he's nuts.

But on the off-chance that it was real, she would come with Link anywhere. Whether it was or wasn't, she didn't want him to be without backup if something happened. Although she'd never been in a true fight before, unless you counted going against the ancient Sheikah automations.

Link and Zelda were in the stables when she arrived, and they both turned when she approached. "Morning," Said Link groggily.

"Asahi," Zelda hugged her friend, and Asahi beamed. Sometimes it was hard to remember she was a princess. "Thank you for yesterday."

"Anything for you, Zelda. You guys are my best friends." She really was. Asahi had never had many friends until she met the blond-haired hero beside them seven years ago, on assignment in Zora's Domain. She had been investigating the disturbances of Vah Ruta when she found herself face-to-face with a Lynel on Ploymus Mountain.

Link had saved her life. They didn't defeat that Lynel, nowhere close. Instead, they ran to the edge and jumped into the lake. Unexpectedly, Asahi found herself wrapped up in trying to help Link and Sidon get past the Divine Beast's defenses, although she never entered it. That part Link faced alone.

While he was in Vah Ruta, Sidon told her who he was. This wasn't just any Hylian, it was the knight who had defended Princess Zelda until his very last breath, come back to life after 100 years in the Shrine of Resurrection. And he had no idea who he was. Struggling with severe amnesia, Link could only remember bits and pieces of his past, recovering more each day.

Sidon and Asahi had waited outside of Vah Ruta until he returned, quite safe, and the Divine Beast made its way to the top of a mountain and beamed a laser at Calamity Ganon.

Traveling with her research group, she ran into Link quite often before finally suggesting they team up together. "No," He'd told her, quite firmly, "I've lost enough friends."

That didn't stop her from going to Goron City and helping him and Yunobo to Vah Rudania, informing them of what it was capable of before they approached. The same with Vah Medoh, although he and Teba both were very adamant about her staying as far away as possible. She helped from the ground beforehand, telling them everything she could about it and even producing schematics. After Vah Naboris, where her help was pivotal in even getting him inside of Gerudo Town, she told him she was coming with him to Hyrule Castle whether he liked it or not.

Somehow, she'd never encountered a Guardian up close before then. They were absolutely terrifying. Link did most of the fighting, while Asahi would hurl explosive bottles of potions into rooms to clear them a bit before Link ran in. He refused to let her fight, insisting she stay safely back and using her knowledge to guide him to the Throne Room, where Zelda was apparently trapped.

Then he'd warped her away. Just like that, he teleported her to Hyrule Field. Asahi had hopped on her horse and made to go back into the castle, but she'd barely gotten to the gates when the Guardians attacked her. She'd fled, intending to try a back entrance when it happened: the sky turned red, and a hog made of malice and larger than life spawned in Hyrule Field.

Asahi and her trusted horse, a chestnut mare named Dusty, served as a distraction for the monster while Link, armed with arrows of light, fought it off. It was the scariest moment of Asahi's life. When it was defeated, they watched in awe as Zelda, unharmed, was returned to them. She felt really awkward just standing there as Link rushed to embrace Zelda. It was the only time she'd ever seen him cry.

Then there was peace, and they all moved to Hateno village, their base of operations. Hyrule moved on. Zelda, Purah, Paya, Link, and Asahi worked on rebuilding Hyrule. Things were going well. She watched her best friends fall in love.

Until the Upheaval.

She still remembered how the world trembled, and how she'd thought she'd lost Link and Zelda; then Link returned, and again refused to let her outright come with him. She had more responsibilities now, though, assigned to her by Zelda herself. She had been targeted by puppet Zelda, who came to her in her tent. She knew something was off, but she didn't remember anything after that until she woke up in the mud with a bloodied face with Link standing over her. According to him, the puppet had coerced her to lead the Yiga remaining on the surface in Kohga's absence, but thankfully she didn't do a very good job of it.

He told her about Zelda's transformation. Somehow, that was the second and last time she'd seen him cry as he revealed that he found out that Zelda was gone, and may never return. She had tracked him down to the East Akkala stable, and it was after dark. His weapons were laid haphazardly on one of the beds, and he (shockingly) was drinking. "What has you so upset that you decided to drink like one of us normal folk?"

"Zelda's gone."

Asahi's heart hit her boots. "What?"

Suddenly, Link shot to his feet, dragged her to the door, and pointed a finger at a long, thin shape in the distant sky. It was that new dragon that appeared after the Upheaval. "She's gone." After he'd explained the fact that she'd been snatched back in time 10,000 years and had been a dragon ever since, Asahi had sank to her knees, watching the faraway shape of the dragon fly away.

She forced Link to accept her company after that, and they vowed to destroy Ganon together; except, again, he teleported her out of harm's way before he descended to the Depths, and before she could return in time, she again was left on the fringes of Hyrule Field while watching an epic battle of gods play out. The Demon Dragon and the Light Dragon fought brutally overhead, until both were extinguished.

It took two days for her to learn that not only Link, but Zelda, were both alive.

Ever since, Link and Asahi have banded together to help the princess recover from her ordeal in any way possible. She was doing much better than she had been when she was normal again, that's for sure. Yesterday's episode had been the first one since four weeks ago, making for a good record of recovery. And even now, so soon afterward, she seemed fit and ready for anything.

"I wish I could go with you," Zelda sighed.

"No you don't, princess," Asahi laughed, "We're gonna be uncomfortable and sore and we won't have any cake. Plus, think of the bugs."

"But I like bugs."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. You can find Kakariko's bugs?"

"I've already documented all of them..."

"...Well, find a new one you haven't documented yet. Better yet, breed one."

Link interjected gently, "Do you have Dusty ready, Asahi? We need to leave as soon as possible."

"I paid a stable hand to get her tacked up for me this morning," Asahi answered, "I'll go and get her." As she left, she passed Sheik on the bridge, leading his own horse, a dapple gray. She simply nodded to him. Weird mirror man. Sheik returned the nod.

Once she had Dusty properly tacked up, she met the others at the entrance to Hateno and they set off without hesitation, following Link. Asahi and Zelda made small talk, avoiding the realities of their adventure: if they really did need to travel through time, how would they come home?

"Here we are," Sighed Zelda. "The crossroads."

It was just after high noon. Thus far their trip had been rather boring, and Asahi shifted her seat bones to try and get the blood flowing back to her legs.

Ahead of her, Link and Zelda dismounted. Sheik turned away, giving them their privacy. Asahi, however, subtly pulled her Purah Pad out of her rucksack. She tried not to listen too closely, but her sharp hearing still caught their conversation.

"I'll help from here, as much as I can. Who knows? Maybe the Purah Pad will work across timelines this time." Zelda's voice was gentle, concealing the depth of pain she felt. "Just... Remember your promise, Link. Please... come home."

"Alive," Link added, "I will come back to you alive, I swear it."

He hugged her tightly, breathing in the scent of her hair one final time. Briskly, they kissed, and Asahi sprung into action, snapping a picture of the moment. He'll need this. At some point in this adventure, he's going to need reminded why he's doing this.

"I'll see you soon," Link breathed.

Zelda spared Asahi a glance and a smile. "Take care of him, Asahi."

"I'm right here," Link grumbled, but Asahi only laughed.

And it was then, without Zelda, that they set off once more. They paused at the Dueling Peaks Stable about thirty minutes down the road, where they stretched their legs, relieved themselves, and ate their lunch of bread and cheese.

They didn't stop again for the rest of the day. Asahi quickly grew bored, and often walked alongside Dusty to keep her legs from growing numb. She hadn't ridden this far in years. Dusty, ever loyal, was an aging horse; she wasn't particularly slower, but she definitely should have been retired long ago. Maybe I should have chosen a different horse for this adventure... It was selfish of her to bring Dusty along just because she was comfortable with her. But, then again, Link was bringing Prince, and he must be even older.

It was just past nightfall when they reached the Outpost Ruins. Asahi had only ever been through here once, and she had been alone and had been ambushed. She had managed to escape, but only barely. Ever since she detested them and would go around if she needed to travel this way at all, and she never did so alone.

Especially at night, they felt haunted with the soldiers who had been slain in the Great Calamity. She swore she could hear whispers and catch glimpses of shadows moving quickly. Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw a man leaning against a wall with his arms crossed before pushing off and disappearing.

Asahi felt like she was being watched. Her skin crawled and her heart pounded against her chest. Her yellow eyes darted around wildly as she tried to pinpoint the sense. Every hidden alley and corner felt like it was hiding a threat. Sensing her unease, Dusty began to fuss beneath her.

The trees whispered in the nighttime breeze. The ruins were eerily silent as the sun fully set and the birds hid away for the night. The sky darkened quickly, gold hints swallowed by a black swathe of stars. She didn't even hear any crickets. Asahi tensed as they followed the path; her horse chuffed nervously. "C-can't we just go around?" She didn't want to sound like a coward, but if they were ambushed here, they were surely at a disadvantage.

"It is faster to go through," Said Sheik, without turning back.

Link pulled Prince's reins a bit to slow him, coming to walk beside her. "I feel it, too. Something's off." Link's confirmations of her feelings didn't help her any. After everything he'd been through, he was certainly more experienced in asserting threats.

"Like I said," Sheik insisted, unmoving in his resolve, "We must go through. We will make camp on the other side." Asahi felt a flash of disdain. Who does he think he is, bossing us around? Link only tightened his jaw and inclined his head to her. If Link didn't say anything, then neither would she. She kept her thoughts to herself and settled for glaring at Sheik's back.

"Stay vigilant. If something does happen, we'll be well prepared."

All through the ruins, Asahi was near paranoid. Every little noise or scuffle had her attention. Her gaze swiveled back-and-forth as she tried to pinpoint scattering pebbles or faint groans of wind through cracks of old cobblestones. When they made it through unscathed and the sound of crickets drew closer, she finally relaxed.

"How far away are we from the Temple of Time?" Sheik asked, pulling his own horse to a stop.

"Still a couple of hours away, at least," Link answered, "But not terribly far."

"Show me again." Sheik dismounted, giving his horse a pat on the neck as he pulled out his traditional map. Link followed, leaving Prince by Sheik's dappled mare. Asahi did the same, rushing over to them.

They were about to start a fire when the crickets stopped singing. The air grew still. Asahi's heart dropped. A chill swept through her body.

Link, sensing the danger, drew his blade first. Then she heard it: the snort of bokoblins. Not one, not two, but many, lingering on the shadowed treeline and all of them stark white as they melted out of the darkness. Shakily, Asahi drew her weapons.

In the center of their midst, a pair of glowing crimson eyes opened. Hylian-height. Yiga? Asahi's heart was pounding in her throat. Her palms began to sweat.

"Hello, Hero," Mocked Link's own voice, warped and distorted. They shared brief, confused glances. Sheik and Link stood side-by-side in fighting stances, ready for whatever may come. Asahi's mind raced to remember all of her training, over all of her life. I should know what to do. I should know what to do. "Ganondorf sends his regards."

The shadow leapt first, a spitting image of Link, a wild grin on his gray-skinned face and red smoke curling from his eyes. Link met him in the middle, unafraid, and their blades clashed in sparks of white light.

The bokoblins attacked at the shadow's first blow, and Asahi's heart plummeted.

Everything happened so fast. Her body froze as her mind raced. Bokoblins came at them from all angles. She couldn't breathe. With Link occupied with the shadow, Sheik lunged for the bokoblins, a flash of pale color and purple blood as he sliced its throat clean open. "Conquer yourself!" He yelled at Link.

Link and the shadow furiously exchanged blows, sparks flying everywhere as their blades clashed. As the bokoblins, slow and clumsy compared to the shadow, shambled forward, Asahi's body began to tremble uncontrollably. Her hands shook, and tears of fear, unbidden, sprang to her eyes. She felt trapped in her own skin. Why can't I move?!

"Asahi! Fight back!"

Sheik's cry forced Asahi back to reality. Her kunai flew to her palms, and while her fear didn't dissipate, it was rightfully turned to fuel for the battle.

Asahi charged with a wild cry. Her blades were a blur before her eyes. Violet blood and bits of flesh flew this way and that as she hacked through the fray. The screams of the bokos rang in her ears. With every one she knocked down, two more sprang up in its place.

She tried to ignore the sensation of gore on her body. Her sleeves were soaked in blood that wasn't hers. Her stomach rolled and her footwork faltered. Inwardly, she cursed herself as she stumbled, allowing a bokoblin to slash far too close. She bent backward, avoiding the blade by inches. Her heart leapt at the proximity, but she managed to regain her footing quickly and attack the opening left behind. As the bokoblins fell, she realized her mistake.

Link had been distracted by her. Tripping on his own feet, he fell backward. Goddesses, this was why he never wanted me around. The shadow took advantage of the moment, driving his blade straight for Link's heart--

--Asahi moved before she realized she was. By only a few inches, she deflected his blade with hers, sending them into the bloodsoaked earth beside Link. The shadow growled with frustation, and their eyes locked: blazing crimson and fierce yellow-gold. He didn't notice her free hand until it was too late.

In between her fingers were three dazzlefruit, and she hurled them into the ground between them as hard as she could, closing her eyes. The shadow roared in agony as the light exploded, blindingly brilliant. The bokoblins shrieked as they too were affected by it, falling victim to Sheik's whirlwind of attacks. Asahi, however, didn't let up on the shadow.

She was more reluctant to hurt him than she was the monsters: he was Hylian-shaped, if that made sense. While the edges of her blade kissed his sides, she was sure she wasn't even leaving scratches. She put most of her force into blunt attacks: kicking, punching, slamming the butt of her kunai into his ribs. She even knocked his blade out of his grip. In retrospect, that was probably a bad idea.

The shadow's hand snatched her wrist with an icy, painful grip; she had been so occupied with taking the opportunity of his blindness, she hadn't realized it had worn off quicker than it should have. Swinging her around, the mimicry of Link slammed her into a ruined wall, pinning her to it effortlessly. Her free arm was wedged between them at a painful angle, and he had a firm grip on her wrist. He was standing in such a way that she couldn't even kick out, and he was far too strong for a normal Hylian. His eyes blazed with fury. "Now why would you go and use cheap tricks like that?"

Fear bubbled up in Asahi's chest. His body was ice-cold. His voice made her skin crawl. It was Link's, but it wasn't, and she was in a very vulnerable spot right now. If the shadow didn't kill her, her instructor would for letting herself get into this position in the first place.

The shadow slammed her wrist into the stone, hard. Asahi cried out and dropped her blade, allowing the shadow to grab it. Shit, Asahi gasped and closed her eyes, bracing herself as the shadow made to stab her between her ribs. When the blow didn't come, she cracked her eyes open and found the shadow narrowing his eyes at her, brow furrowed. His grip, so tight before, had loosened slightly. His bright crimson irises, barely discernible from the rest of his glowing eyes, flicked back and forth as his gaze seemed to search hers.

"...Do I know you...?" She didn't know if he meant to say those words allowed. She could only stare at him silently. Yeah, from your nightmares! She wished she could have quipped, pushing him off of her and doing some epic move that would leave even Sheik impressed. But she couldn't. It was like his gaze had frozen her to this very spot. She couldn't move. The eerie familiarity of his face unsettled her. It was just Link, but a dark, shadowed copy. But where does he know me from?

She didn't have to worry about it long. Taking advantage of the shadow's pause, Link slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of his head. The shadow's eyes stopped glowing instantly, rolling to the back of his skull as he collapsed to the side with a groan. Asahi stumbled as she regained her footing, snatching up her kunai. "Yeah, that's right! Don't mess with me!"

"We all saw you, Asahi," Link sighed, rolling his eyes.

Around them lay a dozen white bokoblin corpses, each one taking a minute to explode into a cloud of purple dust and leaving behind their most powerful parts. She waited for the shadow to do the same, but nothing happened yet. "Oh, he's not dead?"

"He's about to be."

Sheik stopped him before he could put an end to his copy. "Don't. He could be of value to us."

Link gave Sheik a sidelong glance of disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Yes," From his pouch, Sheik produced a pair of glowing, beautifully-engraved shackles.

"Oooh," Asahi breathed, immediately entranced. "Sparkly. Wait, why do you even have those?"

Link glared as the Sheikah warrior bent down to place the restraints on the shadow's wrist. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you? That's why you pushed for us to go through the ruins. You needed to capture this thing."

Sheik took his sweet time ensuring the restraints were properly attached. Asahi wasn't sure what kind of magic was taking place, but the wispy darkness surrounding the shadow disappeared, almost as though he were becoming solid. Experimentally, Asahi bent down and poked his forehead with her fingertip. Hm. He's warm now. "Asahi," Sheik warned, and the shadow stirred slightly. With a squeak of alarm, Asahi jumped back.

To Link, Sheik said quietly, "I knew he would be of use to us." His gaze locked on Asahi, making her uncomfortable. "He has a very special purpose to serve." As Link's gaze followed Sheik's, Asahi fidgeted nervously.

"What? Stop looking at me like that."

"You will be in charge of him," Sheik ordered. Her stomach dropped.

"What?!"

"He is physical now. He will require care to his wounds, and a portion of food, and water. He is our prisoner, but we must not let him die."

"We can't?" Link questioned sourly.

"No. Like I said, he is required for this mission. He has key information on Ganondorf that we will need. We cannot kill him, or the entire point of this quest will be useless. And if we let him go, he will only report to Ganondorf about our location. With those shackles, he is no more powerful than your average warrior. He can access none of his dark magics, he cannot harm us, and he cannot leave us." He bent down and grabbed the shadow's ankles. "Help me get him onto Dusty."

"I'm sorry? No one requested her permission?" Asahi huffed, but she went ignored. "I'm not riding with him behind me. He's just gonna wake up and stab me in the leg."

"I just said he can't hurt us," Sheik glared at her.

"Just push him off," Link mouthed, earning himself a sharp look.

As they carried him away, Asahi picked up the shadow's blade. It looked like a copy of the Master Sword, but it couldn't be nearly as powerful. She carried it over to her horse, ensuring it would be safely packed so it wouldn't hurt Dusty.

Once the shadow was secured on Dusty's saddle, Asahi opted for walking alongside her precious horse. She needed to stretch her legs anyhow. After Link confirmed the location of the Temple of Time, they continued their journey.

Asahi led Dusty along, her mind racing. I fought horribly. Goddesses, I've been trained, why didn't I react better? She thought she reacted pretty well to Link being in danger, but her thoughts kept going over her interaction with the shadow. Why didn't he stab me? Why did he think he knew me?

"He said I can't kill you," The not-voice of Link said from behind her, and she jumped. She almost shrieked. The shadow was barely-conscious, eyes half-open and a lazy grin on his face. He couldn't even sit up. Asahi was deeply unsettled. He looks exactly like Link, but he isn't. "But I wonder what would happen if I tried."

Asahi took a deep breath. I won't let him scare me. "Your hand would incinerate. Probably."

The shadow looked surprised that she'd even deigned to respond. "Nice. Then I could just slide that shackle off and reform my hand with darkness. Then I could stab you."

"You didn't when you had the chance, like, twenty minutes ago. I'm just too pretty to be stabbed."

The shadow let out a weak chuckle. "I can't even see your face besides your eyes. It was a moment of weakness on my part, my bad."

Asahi just shrugged. "Do you have a name?" She was getting really tired not having a way to refer to him besides the other Link in her head. "Link 2? Dark Link?"

The shadow only frowned. "I don't need a name. I'm meant to kill the hero, and that's all. Why would anyone need a name for a weapon?"

For some reason, that thought made her incredibly sad. She knew Link would scold her for feeling sympathy with the thing that had almost killed them, but she couldn't help it. "Were you ever a kid?"

"What?"

"A kid? Were you ever like, really short and always wanting candy?"

The shadow hesitated. "...I've been training to kill the hero since I was little, if that counts. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"And you never had a name?"

"I don't need a--"

"Well, too bad. I guess I'm in charge of keeping you in check from now on, and I don't want to keep calling you Link 2. That sucks. So I guess I have to give you a name. Any preferences?"

The shadow stared at her blankly. "...Are you serious right now? Goddesses, I wish I could stab you. I should've stabbed you."

"I'm calling you Shadow," She told him, and he sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

"In a few days, Ganondorf will send someone to get me. Once I'm free, you'll be the second person I kill."

"Asahi," Said Link, the real Link, and she perked up immediately. "Don't even talk to it. There's no point."

She didn't really respond. She couldn't not talk to him. When her gaze went back to Shadow, he was watching her with lidded eyes like a cat. She wondered if he had a concussion. "...That's your name, huh? I'll remember that as I slit your throat, Asahi."

She turned away, holding Dusty's reins tighter. She couldn't think of anything quick to snap back at him.

They reached the Temple of Time around moonhigh. By this time, Shadow had recovered and now sat in Dusty's saddle as though he was riding her himself. Asahi wasn't sure if they had horses wherever he came from, but he sat with a kind of familiarity that implied that they did. He hadn't said anything at all, only watching the darkness like he expected Ganondorf's minions to appear at any moment to help him out of his predicament.

They stood before the Temple, and Asahi marveled at its splendor. She'd only ever been here one time before, but she still couldn't believe that it was still standing after so long. She admired every arch and brick, entranced by its beauty.

"We will camp inside the Temple," Said Sheik, "And tomorrow, we will set out after we eat a hearty breakfast. Traveling like this on an empty stomach could lead to adverse--"

"Asahi!" Link yelled, making her jump out of her trance; Shadow was gone. Looking around wildly, she spotted him a few yards away, bolting for freedom.

"Hey!" She cried, and made to chase after him, but Sheik raised a hand to stop both her and Link.

"Wait. He can't leave, like I said."

Sure enough, Shadow had hardly gotten a hundred yards away before being yanked violently back. A chain, glowing golden, snapped into existence. It connected his shackles to Sheik, who gripped one end of the chain tightly. "Are you going to come back now? You are physical: it will rain soon, and you will catch your death."

Very reluctantly, Shadow begrudgingly returned. Asahi wondered what it might feel like to go from a formless shadow to a Hylian so suddenly. He was probably feeling exhaustion, hunger, and thirst for the first time in his life. Shadow stayed as far away as possible while the group dismantled their horses' tack and made a fire in the Temple, preparing to cook stew. The entire time, Asahi knew that Shadow had holed himself up in the small room off to the side, refusing to be near his captors even if he wasn't traditionally bound.

"...Why do you keep calling me 'the hero of wilds'?" Link asked, breaking the silence around their campfire.

Asahi listened carefully as she stirred the pot, not wanting to miss a single detail of Sheik's response.

For a long time, Sheik didn't speak. Then, after deep consideration, he began, "Every hero of every timeline I have ever visited has faced a different sort of evil that defines their era. Our next destination, we are meeting a hero that was forced to travel between past, present, and even future, but his quests are not remembered by the people. He is called the Hero of Time." Gooseflesh marched up Asahi's arms. "There is a hero who journeyed between worlds of light and twilight; the Hero of Twilight. The very first hero comes from an era where Hylians live in beautiful islands in the sky, much like these ones now. He is the Hero of the Skies. You, Link, are in a Hyrule without government, without a Triforce, and where nature has reclaimed much of what was. Hence, you are the Hero of the Wild."

"Are you a hero?" Asahi questioned. "Are you one of the incarnations?"

Sheik smiled beneath his mask. "If only. I am only a traveler seeking to end the Cycle and the Curse of Demise." He nodded to the pot. "Don't burn the soup."

Asahi hurriedly removed it from the heat, preparing bowls enough for all of them; even Shadow. Grabbing an extra flask and his portion of the food along with some extra supplies, she went down the hallway and into the side-room, making the dozing shade nearly jump out of his skin. "What happened?"

She couldn't help but chuckle as she sat down the bowl and flask a safe distance away. "Not used to being tired, huh? It's normal. It's what happens to use Hylians."

"It's a weakness," The Shadow corrected, "And what is that?"

"Food. And water. And if you insist on staying so far away from everyone--" She placed a couple of sticks before pulling a piece of flint out of her pocket and striking it with her blade, creating a small, but very warm, fire. "--Here. So you don't get cold." She tossed her bangs out of her eyes. "There. You gonna remember that when you slit my throat?"

The Shadow regarded her carefully. "Maybe. I might make it a little quicker."

"Good," Asahi tossed him one of the blankets from the saddlebags. He caught it, frowning. "Remember that, too. I like that blanket, so don't ruin it. Sorry if it smells like flowers." With that, she spun on her heel and left the room.

What she didn't see was Shadow take the food and water almost greedily. It was good, he had to admit, but he'd never even had food before, so how would he know? The water was heavenly to his dry throat. And the blanket... He had no idea what flowers smelled like. But whatever it was, it did smell nice. He laid there for hours, examining his physical body with the utmost scrutiny. Everything felt alien, and he hated it. He hated it so much that he couldn't melt into the darkness and disappear when he liked.

He didn't mean to, but he fell asleep quickly, knowing that he would be safe as long as he was useful.

He just wished that Ganondorf would hurry up and send somebody to get him.

When Shadow woke up, his pounding heart scared him to full wakefulness. He thought it might be some creature digging into his chest and bit back a yelp as he scrambled to get out of the blanket, unbuckling his straps to tear off his tunic. He stared at his chest, dumbfounded. There's nothing there. Is this normal? He placed his hand over the place he felt the beating, even as it calmed. Oh. Goddesses, how do Hylians live like this?

He had always been semi-physical. He could take a physical form, but he was still a shadow. He didn't have hunger, or thirst, or a heartbeat. All of this was new to him.

He pulled his hair tie out of his hair and ran his fingers through it, pulling out the tangles and knots that had developed while he'd been sleeping. He was used to doing this after a battle, but he'd never needed to sleep before. There seemed to be more knots than if he were fixing it after training. And his eyes still felt so heavy. He poured out a little bit of the water from his flask and splashed it on his face. Hylians do this, right? It helps them wake up. He'd never needed to sleep before. He had, but mainly just... to escape.

A noise from the door made him whip around. It was the girl. What was her name? It had started with an A. She seemed surprised to see him up and about. Her freckled cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink. "What?" Shadow demanded, impatient.

"It's about time to leave," The girl said. Asahi. That was her name. He'd promised to remember it, after all. He took in her traditional Sheikah attire, pitch black save for some crimson highlights, realizing how easy it would have been to stab her last night. Why didn't I?

"Fine. I'll be ready."

She nodded, her yellow eyes still wide even as she hurriedly turned to leave. That was it. Her eyes. That's why he hadn't stabbed her, why she looked so familiar. He'd never met another Hylian. He knew that for certain. But her eyes... He'd seen yellow eyes like her so many times before, in dreams that he would have when he did. Flashes of yellow eyes on a pale freckled face. He hadn't meant to voice his reasoning. Do I know you slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. A mistake.

It was just fate. He was destined to defeat the hero, it must simply have been a sign from the goddesses that Asahi would have stopped him. That's all it was.

He pulled his hair back and dressed himself before leaving the room. He didn't grab anything or kick out the embers of the fire, forcing Asahi to. She grumbled as she rushed past him, earning himself glares from the hero and their companion. He only smirked at the idea of getting under their skin.

He expected the sunrise to burn him, but it didn't. It was bright, far too bright for his sensitive eyes, but he didn't wither away so that was something. It felt warm. Link stood beside him on his right, holding the reins of his stupidly white horse. Shadow was distinctly aware of being a perfect copy of him, except darkened by gloom and malice and Ganondorf's influence. Golden hair, sharp blue eyes, tanned skin, the hero in blue glared at the Shadow, who grinned right back.

Briefly, he wondered what it felt like to be an original person.

"Thank you for not tearing up my blanket," Asahi managed when she returned, standing on his left and guiding her and Sheik's horses.

"I should have. I just didn't want to hear any of you complaining about it."

"Are you ready?" Sheik asked them.

Asahi and Link nodded. Shadow said "no" just to say it.

Sheik began to play. Shadow shuddered as the notes filled the air. They were beautiful, hypnotizing, otherwordly. Every note jarred Shadow to his core. When the final note rang, it seemed to echo through the halls of the Temple, almost as though the structure itself were holding on to the melody. At first, nothing happened...

Then, behind Sheik and in front of the goddess statue, a pinpoint of bright light formed. In moments it exploded violently into a glowing circle, its edges rippling with energy like lightning. Sheik turned to face the group, and Shadow eyed the portal with uncertainty. Just yesterday he had been a nameless, formless entity with nothing expected of him except bringing about the death of the hero. Now he was captured by the very one he sought to destroy, in a physical body, and he bore a name. Things were changing far too quickly, and he didn't like it. How would Ganondorf find him if he was wherever this was taking them?

"I will go first," Sheik hooked the harp on his belt and came to retrieve his horse, calmly and slowly making his way through the portal until there was nothing left of him. Shadow briefly felt a sense of relief, expecting to be able to run now-- but that damned golden chain reappeared, tugging him toward the portal. He fought it, planting his boots firmly on the ground.

"No way in hell am I--"

"Too bad." With a shove, Link knocked him to the ground. Shadow yelped, cursing the hero as his elbows and knees bit the stone and he was dragged roughly across the ground. The portal swallowed his hands first; it was cold, and felt like water. Shadow gasped as he was fully yanked through the portal. His last thought before his head disappeared was if he would come out the other side, or if he would simply cease to exist.

As Asahi watched Shadow's boots disappearing into the white glow of the portal, she glanced sidelong at Link. "...Do I have to go?"

"No," He replied honestly, "You can stay here if you want."

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "No, I'm staying. I made a promise to Zelda."

"Just stay calm," Link told her, beginning to lead Prince to the portal. "That's what Sheik said. But you won't be able to go back if you come through, Asahi." When he reached the edge, he looked back once. "If I don't see you, be careful. Tell Zelda I love her." With that, he stepped through. Prince snorted defiantly once before following his master.

Asahi scratched Dusty underneath the chin. "...I guess we better get going, huh?" Butterflies flip-flopped in her stomach. Her palms were sweating. Taking a deep, nervous breath, Asahi led Dusty to the edge and hesitated. Tentatively, she touched the glow; with a gasp, she yanked her hand back. It's so cold. She shook the nerves off. I made Zelda a promise.

She stepped through the portal, closing her eyes. Please, Hylia, let this work. Let me see the other side.

And she did. When she stepped through, she and Dusty were still very much in the Temple of Time. But it was new.

Marble floors and arched ceilings, carpets of pure red velvet, hanging chandeliers, and tall, arching windows. She glanced around a bit, noticing everyone else had made it through safely, and realized that Sheik had been telling the truth. He wasn't simply some fanciful sorcerer. He truly had taken them back a very, very long time ago. Asahi's heart dropped.

"Welcome to the Era of Time," Sheik said, his voice echoing off of the pristine walls. "In this era, all of Hyrule's most precious records are kept within Hyrule Castle. The Temple will act as our waypoint. We are to meet our contact shortly; it is nearly noon here, if you were wondering." The portal closed with a sense of finality. Asahi fought the chills that ran up her spine. She glanced at Link, who gripped his belt so tightly she was surprised he hadn't broken it yet. We might need to look at that picture daily. Goddesses, please help us have a safe journey and get home safely.

Shadow stood, taking in the sight of the Temple with wide red eyes. His eyes fell on Asahi, on top of the stairs with Dusty. She couldn't help but stare back, trying to figure out why this felt... odd... All of a sudden. Well we just traveled how many years back in time, of course it's gonna feel a bit off. But with Shadow standing at the stairs below her, she felt a sense of deja vu she couldn't shake. Have we... done this before? Sheik said he knew we'd need him. Maybe future-us is standing in this same place, just like this, at some point.

A sound in the door brought everyone's attention to the person who had just entered.

He was tall. His blond hair fell in two sides to frame his face. His eyes were blue, startlingly so. He wore golden armor, covered in scratches and scrapes from previous battles. A scar ran the length of his face, showing the path of the blade that took his right eye. Under his arm he held a horned helmet, although the left one had been snapped off. "I see you all made it safely," He said. His rough voice resonated in the open space, and he inclined his head to the group. "I was worried. You took longer than you said you would."

"We ran into a new friend," Sheik jerked his head toward Shadow, who had frozen in his place. The newcomer narrowed his eyes at him.

"Hm. So I gathered."

Asahi watched, dumbfounded. She didn't dare to move or breathe, afraid someone would notice her. As though the thought summoned it, Sheik began, "This is the Hero of Wilds, and our researcher, Asahi. She is of the Sheikah tribe." He didn't care to introduce Shadow. She was pretty sure everyone was just going to ignore him. Link, however, had taken up his knightly persona, stoic and straight-faced. She had no idea if the sight of the newcomer affected him as deeply as it was her.

"What of Zelda?" He asked, "Is she safe?"

"Yes," Link answered, "Just in no condition to travel after recent events."

The newcomer regarded him carefully before nodding. "Sheik told me a bit about your era before he left. I am very sorry for everything you and your people have been put through." Link didn't respond. He probably didn't know what to say. Asahi certainly didn't. He sounded like he was actually remorseful. Like it was somehow his fault...

Realization hit Asahi like a moblin's club. Oh. That's why. That's why his presence is so powerful. That's--

"Well," Sheik began to lead his horse to the door. "Are you ready to take us to your castle now, hero?"

Finally. After weeks of setbacks it's FINALLY out!!! I hope you guys enjoy and if you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

[morganaspendragonss]

If you're taking fic requests can i ask for a story where the 126 is at a call and mateo gets trapped and/or hurt and nancy freaks out or vice versa? If not its completely fine!

pull apart the darkness while we can

also for the prompt "i'm cold, come closer" on my @anyfandomgoesbingo because i WILL see a prompt intended to be fluffy and make it angsty title from in the embers by sleeping at last ao3 | 1.4k | hurt mateo, worried nancy, s5 finale spec, open ending

It’s her oath that keeps her going. The one she swore so many years ago, back when she was young and green under Michelle; the one she swore again when the 126 reopened after the explosion, and again after the fire. 

To conserve life, to alleviate suffering, to do no harm; it’s what she has lived her life by for over fifteen years and it’s what’s kept her strong even through losing patients and partners alike.

Now, it’s the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees in despair, from bursting into tears and giving up. The asteroid is still on its way, still likely to wipe half of Texas off the map, but Nancy keeps bandaging wounds and administering painkillers and comforting every terrified person who passes through their ambulance. For the first time in her career, this work feels futile, pointless when all these people, and Nancy herself, will die anyway when this thing finally hits, but she is duty-bound to keep going, so she does.

None of them have had a minute to rest all day, and it’s exhausting but it’s good; it means she doesn’t have time to think about the asteroid of Damocles hanging over their heads. She just has to focus on one call, and then the next and the next like it’s just any other day, until they either die or they don’t.

Still, she can’t ignore the way things get more and more apocalyptic as the hours tick by, and she sees her own fear reflected, albeit well hidden, in TK’s eyes. She knows he’s called Carlos and Sofia all the way in Switzerland; Nancy herself has called her dad and her brother and sister. They all said the same thing: no goodbyes, it’ll be okay – and she nodded and said them back, all the while knowing none of them believe it.

It breaks her heart that the one person she hasn’t been able to talk to is Mateo. He, like her, has been buffeted between calls, leaving no time for a kiss, or even a squeeze of the hand. Nancy isn’t a religious person, but she prays they’ll be able to do all that, one last time before the end.

They’re not even back in the ambulance after wrapping up one call when another comes crackling over the radio. Signal’s been getting worse, so it’s hard to make out the details, but it’s enough to know that it’ll be a bad one, and that it’ll take a long time. Too long, maybe, but they have to try.

By the time they get there, the scene is crawling with first responders and walking wounded. There’s the same grim look on everyone’s faces, and Nancy feels her own expression settling as she takes it all in. Debris from the asteroid had hit an industrial park, practically flattened some sections while others are crumbling dangerously. Half the firefighters are manning the hoses while the others are running in and out of the destroyed buildings, bearing victims in various stages of collapse. There are ambulances dotted around and a triage area set up, and even from a distance Nancy can see that there are very few green tags, and perhaps more black tags than she’s ever seen at one call.

She exchanges a glance with TK, getting a nod in return, and looks around for the IC, who materialises suddenly at their sides and shoves helmets into their hands.

“Secondary collapse,” he explains succinctly. “One vic and a firefighter trapped in the rubble; we’ve stabilised it as much as possible and extracted the civilian, but the firefighter needs medical attention before we can move him. You’re up, 126.”

Nancy lets TK take the lead on this one, once they’ve been more thoroughly briefed by the firefighters assisting the rescue. It’s not that she’s never dealt with situations like this one before, but he has infinitely more experience and she trusts him to steer them right.

The tunnel to their patient is low and narrow, forcing Nancy to duck her head even while crawling, and her backpack scrapes the roof with every movement. She’s pretty much reliant on touch to find her way, which means it’s a shock when TK stops suddenly and her helmet crashes into him.

“Dude,” she hisses. “What the hell?”

“Um.” TK pauses, and when he next speaks, his voice has taken on a slightly hysterical tone. “So we’ve found the patient.”

“Okay?” She shoves at him. “Move it.”

TK still hesitates. “Nancy, listen, it’s–”

“Oh, hey guys.”

When Nancy shoves him this time, TK obliges, and soon they’re emerging into a slightly more open pocket where their patient is lying, blood streaking across his face as he stares straight ahead. Nancy manoeuvres herself past TK to kneel at his side, her hands trembling as they hover over a body she now knows so well.

“‘Teo,” she breathes, a slight hitch in her breath betraying the tears she’s trying so hard to hide.

“Hey, Nance.” He smiles and his eyes flick towards her, but his head doesn’t move and his voice is strained with pain. “Don’t worry,” he tries anyway. “It looks worse than it is.”

She laughs wetly and tries to compose herself as she switches her dirty gloves for clean ones. “I’ll be the judge of that. Where does it hurt?”

“Mostly my chest?” Mateo phrases it as a question, as if he’s not really sure himself. “And I, uh. I kind of can’t move? Like, at all.”

“Okay.” She swallows and turns; without even asking, TK is already there with the C-collar. Still, she says anyway, “Full spinal precautions.”

She tries to be quiet, but Mateo overhears her. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he asks, voice trembling. “Be honest with me, Nancy.”

His fear is palpable and it shatters the cracked halves of Nancy’s heart until she can feel each individual piece stabbing at her insides. But there’s no time to dress her own wounds while she has a patient needing her help.

“It’s not good,” she confirms. “But we’re gonna look after you, Mateo, okay? I promise.”

He smiles again. “I know you will.”

They work as quickly as they can in the small space, but Mateo’s injuries are extensive enough that it’s still slow going. Nancy has no idea how they’re going to get him onto a backboard, let alone get him out of here, but she pushes those thoughts aside as she continues working; preserving life, alleviating suffering, doing no harm.

Until–

A crash, outside.

Then another.

Screams.

The precarious ground they’re on shakes, and Nancy throws herself over Mateo, feeling TK do the same at her back, and she swears the world is coming to an end.

And then…

It doesn’t. 

Yet, she reminds herself. And anyway, it’s not like they’re any less screwed, because the light signalling their way out is gone. She has no idea where TK is, or any of the others, and a glance at Mateo in the failing light of her torch shows his face has turned ashen and his eyes are closed. But he’s breathing; she can see that too, and that’s all she needs.

“Mateo!” she cries, rubbing her knuckles along his sternum. “Come on, wake up. You gotta wake up so we can get out of here, please.” Nancy has to swallow a sob down and she bows her head, hair hanging in her face. “I need you.”

Then, like in a fairytale – a really shitty one where they’re trapped in a hole with no hope of rescue – Mateo groans and doesn’t quite stir, his eyes opening to slits.

“N’ncy?” he asks, and she has to lean down and kiss him.

“I’m here,” she assures him, taking his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither,” Mateo slurs. “Hey, Nancy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m cold, can you come closer?”

Nancy nods and this time doesn’t bother to hide her sob. “Yeah.”

She shifts as close to him as possible, lying down next to him and resting her head on his chest. Her instincts – her oath – tells her to keep going, but it’s obvious, now, that this is it. After all they’ve faced, this is where it ends.

And this, holding him, is how she can fulfil her oath.

Silence falls, broken only by their breathing for what could be seconds or minutes, until her radio crackles. The IC’s voice comes over, slow and distorted by static, but the message is clear.

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been an honour.

[beryllineart]

How2Draw Comics: Story

Last time we learned about conceptualizing our characters, settings, art style, etc. Now we actually have to put our characters in a situation, drive them from point A to point B through a story.

There are many different ways to do this. I'm assuming you have, if not an outlined story, a situation you want your character to experience. If you don't have a story, make your character order pizza but something happens and they have to rescue the pizza (and the delivery guy, I guess.) The first method I'll discuss is my least favorite- the Script Method.

You write a script for your story, listing pages and panels as you go along. I hate this. It feels too limiting, and panels are actually one of the most limiting and intimidating things to a beginner comic artist. Yet most tutorials encourage you to draw your panels first and then squish or stretch your drawings to fit, and that's what the Script Method is based off of. I draw my panels while I do my drawings, or even after I do them.

If pacing your comics is one of the most difficult things for you (what size do I make my panels? Is there too much dialogue on this page?) then I suggest the Storytelling Method.

You do not have to make a full short story or book. Usually I just say something like, "boy is making cake. girl walks up behind him and hugs him, kissing his floury cheek. she walks away, licking her finger. she has stolen some cake batter and he didn't notice." In my head I can see a more detailed story there, but you can tell a story without a bunch of flowery prose.

You may be wondering how this helps with pacing your comics. Well, I have actions associated with dialogue, meaning I know which drawings will have which dialogue, automatically creating a nice balance. Additionally, I know what to prioritize. I know that the panel introducing the manor will be large, because I used the words "large and imposing" to describe it. I know that when I set the ballroom scene in this story, I also need to set the scene in an establishing shot. And I know that I'm going to have Bernice's appearance on the food table be surprising, taking place after she tugs his shirt or something. (This will probably make more sense once I actually make the comic)

The final method is a very flexible one for those who aren't into words and just want to draw- the Children's Book Method.

This particular example is mind-mapping, but you can also do a more organized version by storyboarding (placing each drawing in a square and giving a short description for context). I call these collectively the Children's Book Method because the basic idea is that you don't repeat your drawings like you would in a comic. Instead, you draw those things that feel the most interesting and most dynamic, the things that are most important. (like keyframes in an animation) Children's books illustrate one scene at a time, providing context for many different moments in one picture (and some text). They are less sequential than a comic because they only have one picture per page.

I usually have a mix of the storytelling method and the storyboarding end of children's book method. And usually I tell myself a story only in my head, without writing it out, because that's all I need. And I'll admit, sometimes the stories play out in my head like a movie, which is probably why the script method works for people. Sometimes you don't know which is the most effective way to tell yourself a story until you try to draw the comic and see what is giving you the most trouble.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask me! I know I'm kind of rambly and don't make much sense, so if you need clarification or other tips, I'll do my best to help.

Next is Panels and Pacing: Drawing the Comic (which will probably happen in multiple posts, but this art block will make it nigh impossible for a while, why doesn't it just go away?)

[velourfant]

on fanfiction, fic authors, and the (misplaced) expectation that fanfiction should be an extension of the source material rather than…fanfiction

forgive the negativity, i promise this won’t be a norm :)

i’ve been writing fic as a hobby since i was in elementary, first for the TMI series, then 1D (lol), then haikyuu, genshin, you name it. for the most part, writing has afforded me unique opportunities to connect with fandom, even if many of my earlier fics never saw the light of day.

while i’ve received a lot of love from the communities i do publish fics for, i’ve seen an uptick in entitled fic readers publicly bashing fanfics because authors “mischaracterize” characters from the source material.

then, i watched a tiktok about a renowned bakudeku fic:

*i’m not a diehard bakudeku or my hero fan, nor do i consume any fan content for the series, so if i’m missing something regarding the bakudeku fic, you’ll have to forgive my ignorance. the point i wanted to make extends beyond mha anyway.

…and realized this problem was not endemic to the fandoms i’m active in, but a larger sign of souring fandom etiquette.

i don’t care how entitled you think you are to reading “good” fic. voluntarily consuming someone’s work and then complaining about it because it doesn’t meet your “standards” is a terrible way to interact with fandom spaces. you’re allowed to have opinions within your circles. everyone does. but the moment you publicize hate so you can interaction farm + round up other entitled fic readers (who often don’t produce their own fic), you’re inviting negativity into a space that you have no right to police. what gives you the authority to criticize someone else’s labor of love?

to begin with, the expectation that every fic writer’s interpretation of the chars must perfectly align w the source material imposes a skill/time barrier on fan work creation, draining all the fun out of the creative process. even if someone knows in their head how x and y are characterized, the disconnect between your brain and the words you put on a page takes time to mitigate. writing is a skill honed with practice. in other words, it’s difficult to convey what you want with words. by expecting fic authors to faithfully abide by source material characterization instead of allowing them creative freedom to INTERPRET ART (because believe it or not, these chars are just another piece of art that can be analyzed from different angles) as they see fit, you’re limiting the pool of creators to one of the following:

1) fic authors who understood the source material characters “correctly” on first read

2) fic authors who didn’t initially, “correctly” understand the characters, but could reread the source material and capture them through thorough study

i’ve missed some nuances, sure, but doesn’t that sound ridiculous? because i think it sounds ridiculous.

a suggestion, if i may: how about you just don’t read a fic you don’t like instead of lobbing unrealistic expectations at people who share their work out of love for the source material? how about you create your own fic since you’re soooo confident that deku wouldn’t wear this or that? legit why don’t you try contributing to the space instead of clout chasing and driving fic authors out? if you have so much criticism, then please, by all means, bless us with your vision. only through creating will you see how difficult it is to abide by your standards.

and if you’re a fic author who criticizes other fic authors’ works, shame on you. everyone in the space is interpreting art. congrats on being able to map out “canon-compliant” scenes or dialogue. stop holding other people who aren’t quite there yet/have no interest in doing so to the same expectations.