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radio-writes · 6 months

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I Don't Know if I'm Real Without You

— Part 2 of 2 (Read Part 1 here: What is Left of Me Without You)

Synopsis: He didn't love you, but he needed you—that's what he said, at least. He needed you to show him just how deep your devotion to him really was.

Warnings: abusive relationships, power imbalance, some misogyny, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, murder and violence, physical injury to reader, major character death(s), angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader

MDNI

"Why, just the other day a green fuzzy caught sight of another stiff by the river! Poor green egg went green in the face!" A laugh track followed the voice on the radio.

Alastor sat on the couch as he riffled through his briefcase, making sure he had everything he needed today.

"What poor taste," You commented absentmindedly from behind him. "Is that really any way to start off a Sunday morning?"

Alastor let out a distracted hum at your words. He hadn't really been paying you much mind. A lazy smile simply played on his face.

Just one body? Seems they missed the other two friends it had in there.

"Well, it takes talent to entertain, my dear. Something these hacks clearly lack," He said casually, waving a hand at the radio's direction.

"And speaking of stiffs! We've got a fresh one today, folks—" The host's voice was chipper as it came from the radio.

Alastor sat a little straighter, as if on instinct.

"Darling, do you mind fetching my script?" Your husband spoke over the hack radio host. "Seems I might have forgotten it in our bedroom."

"Not a problem, dear," You replied almost instantaneously. Your hand landed on his shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze before you left the room.

Alastor stood up, cooly making his way towards the radio as he turned the volume down slowly.

"Glue stuffed in his mouth, chilled off, and absolutely tattered by nails, people! Brutal new body found behind the local—not so secret—juice joint!" The radio continued, but Alastor's smile remained calm despite the gruesome news.

His eyes stayed at the doorway you left through, making sure you had actually gone.

There was no need to sully your little ears with useless chatter like this. You were much more use to him all oblivious and naive, so he'd prefer to keep you that way.

When the radio host finally finished talking about his the most latest victim, Alastor turned the volume back up to how it was. He made his way back to the couch, hands gathering his script neatly into his hands from the top of his briefcase.

He chuckled to himself before calling out to you. "Never mind, dear! The little bugger was at the bottom of my case this entire time!"

He wasn't the type to forget these things. He was always so organized, sometimes to a fault.

And you knew that.

And Alastor knew that you knew that.

But he wasn't worried. You'd never doubt him. Whatever pesky little thought you had related to him, you'll just brush off easily.

He'd made sure of that.

Alastor heard you playfully scold him, your soft laughter rung through his home.

"—I guess you can say he really nailed that Chicago overcoat!" The annoying little shit on the radio joked just as you entered the room.

Alastor spared it one quick glare before his sight fell on you once more. You didn't seem to care for the joke much, but your eyes did linger on the dials of the radio for a second too long Alastor thought.

"Does the radio seem a bit louder to you, Al?" You asked him.

Ah, he must have turned it back a tad bit too far.

He looked at you with faux confusion. "'fraid I don't know what you mean, dear. Why would it be louder?" He stood up, closing the briefcase in front of him and straightening out his collar. "But I do have to split now, darling, or the ol' big cheese would have my head."

Your eyes met his warm chestnut ones. Alastor could practically see the way you brushed away your silly concerns in your head, a soft smile once again gracing your lips.

He knew you were confused as to why his boss supposedly needed him at work on a Sunday.

He knew you wanted to ask why.

He knew that, at least some part of you, didn't fully believe that he was headed off to the radio station.

If you were smart you'd have listened to it.

But you were his wife.

So you simply nodded in understanding, moving closer to where Alastor stood. You made to grab for the suit jacket that still hung on his arm but the tall man was quick to pull it high above your reach.

"Not so fast there, darling." He teased, smiling down at you.

"It's cold out, dear. I'll help you put your coat on," You insisted, small, delicate hands reached up for the jacket.

Alastor stepped back from you, briefly tapping his fingertip against your nose. "And who said I was in any hurry to cover up this lovely new shirt my wife got for me?" He teased, snapping the suspenders he wore against the crisp white shirt.

He simply adored it when he made heat color your soft cheeks. He loved seeing proof of his effect on you.

His eyes drifted to the clock behind you, his smile straining just a tiny bit when he realized what time it was.

He'd miss his mark if he wasted any more time here.

"In any case, darling, I really do have to dash," He smiled back at you, already heading towards the door before you could say anything else. "But do keep yourself free, baby. I'll be back before you know it." He shot a wink at you.

He grabbed his hat from the coat rack and plopped it neatly on his head, then he was out the door in a second.

Alastor let out a short, tired breath.

Sometimes, he did find your love to be a bit tiring. But he supposed, at the moment, it was still worth much more than the hassle it caused him.

He hurriedly strolled down the street, smiling and greeting everyone that passed by him politely. His ego stroked just a little bit with every flustered dame.

He didn't care for any of them, but he never grew tired of knowing the charming effect he had on people.

Alastor tried to clear his head of you as he hopped into a taxi. He laughed as the cabby recognized him almost immediately, but he didn't pay the man any mind as he yapped about how much of a fan he was.

Instead, he found that his thoughts have annoyingly strayed back to you. He's found that you've been so persistently present in his mind lately.

One would think that sounded so romantic, that he was a cold man finally falling for a sweet little thing.

But in reality he was weighing his options.

You've always been so behaved, so meek.

He found you endearing, that much was true.

You were great company, after all. You loved the same music he did, kept up with his dancing, and sang so beautifully along whenever he tickled the ivory keys.

You dressed up to compliment his style, even if it wasn't to your comfort. Smiled at all the wretched people, even as they gossiped behind your back. Perfectly prepared and happily ate every dish he liked, even stranger ones you found hard to stomach.

Because you shaped yourself to be his partner. You did everything and anything that you could to gain his approval.

And that was indeed endearing. The lengths you went to, just to hear a simple praise from him.

Alastor used to wonder if there was ever a limit to it, but as the times flew by he realized you were just too happy to rewrite even your own logic just to stay by his side.

And it was also true that you were a brilliant cover.

As a taken man, there were much less people prying into his life as opposed to when he was an eligible bachelor. And no odd rumors ever spread about him thanks to how behaved you were.

People saw him as soft, gentle, caring. Because a violent, murderous, psycho could never keep a delicate little thing like you as his wife, could he?

Yes, you definitely had your perks. That much he already knew.

But you've been so restless lately. So oddly, insistent on being by his side more.

He'd tried to talk it out of you. Whispered how he was so lucky that you weren't like other wives. How you trusted him and respected his space. How you didn't nag him like a terrible partner would.

And it worked...for a while.

Until you've been fixated on getting the darn basement door open, at least. Somehow, you had it stuck in your brain that opening that stupid lock would have proved your worth to him.

You've been visiting that mug of a shopkeep at the locksmiths so often that Alastor just simply had to get rid of him already. He returned the useless tools he sold you last time too of course. He didn't quite like others making a fool out of what was his.

Only he could do that.

The cab stopped by a rather classy bar, the driver letting out a low whistle, going on about how they also wished that they could live up the big life.

Alastor tipped him generously, bidding him a great day as he stepped out.

He tossed his jacket on quickly before he adjusted his bowtie in the reflective glass window of the building. This was, he thought, his second favorite part of it all.

For such a detached man, Alastor loved many things.

He loved meeting his victims for the first time in person. The thrill of so many eyes on him as he clasped their clammy palms in greeting.

He loved talking to them, watching their eyes light up as he mentioned what they wanted the most. That moment where he knew he had hit the nail on the head and found out exactly what made these scum tick.

He loved using it against them, luring them to a false sense of security.

And, his absolute favorite part, he loved dragging the sharp edge of his knife against the skin of their necks. The lovely shade of red bleeding down their stiffening bodies.

He just can't help but love—

"My darling?" A voice—your voice—rung out in the dark alley.

There wasn't time. There was no time to hide the body, toss the knife, flee from the scene.

There was no time to come up a with a story, a lie, a cover.

Because you were right there, standing in the alley with him. His blood stained hands and the corpse by his feet plainly in your view.

Even with the blood smudged on the lenses of his glasses, he could see the fear in your eyes, the gears turning in your head as you tried to process the scene in front of you.

It's a real shame. Earlier today he had decided that you still had more purpose to serve him. That he could still put up with you. That he would still be able to stomp out whatever stubborn will riled you up lately.

Clearly that wasn't the case anymore.

"Now, now, dearest," He started, hand reaching out to you as he held the knife still in his hand.

Your feet moved, but to Alastor's shock you ran to him.

Your panicked eyes took in the violent red that stained the pristine white shirt as you took his outstretched hand in both of yours.

"We should go," You hurriedly whispered, fearful eyes met his confused ones. "You can't be seen here."

You tugged him along the streets, careful to keep yourself in front of him as you tried to hide most parts of him stained with red.

Alastor's eyes were wide, his long legs working on their own as he tried to understand what exactly was happening.

"Dearest?" He whispered to catch your attention. "I just chopped off a man, you know that, right?"

Your steps didn't falter as you hurried along, but you didn't turn your head to look at him either.

"Yes," You responded. The tight knot against your throat kept you from saying anything more.

"I sliced his throat open," Alastor continued to prod more. "His blood is all over me, in fact."

You whip your head around in urgency. You meant to shut him up. You meant to warn him not to talk so loud, that you couldn't be too sure who could be around to overhear.

But when your fearful eyes met his calm, warm, sweet, ones you ended up swallowing against your dry throat. Adorning a shaky smile instead.

"And I'm sure you did it to keep yourself safe, dear." You said, although it seemed as though you were trying to convince yourself of that.

It was as if a light bulb lit up in Alastor's head. He finally understood what was happening. He fought against his own body to keep himself from smiling as he stared into your uncertain eyes.

"I knew you'd understand," He feigned a sigh. His hand, that was previously unresponsive in yours, curled its fingers to hold onto you. "I knew I would be safe with you, my darling wife."

Alastor noted the way your stiff shoulders slacked at his words. As if you were waiting for his praise; as if you were waiting for that little bit of confirmation to fully push away all those pesky, silly, little doubts you held.

As if you were begging to have the slightest bit of reason to cling onto, to prove that there was no cause to leave your spot beside him.

"If anyone asks," You said softly, your hand reached out to wipe away the little bit of blood on his cheek. "I'll tell them you came home early to me. You did promise that you would come back quickly, anyway."

Alastor smiled down at you, letting himself lean into your touch as you seemed to love it when he does. "I am so lucky that you love me, doll."

You continued to lead him down the streets, sticking to less lit areas as you did so.

Alastor couldn't stop the grin from spreading widely across his face.

Because you did love him. You loved Alastor with all your sanity it seemed, but he was, unfortunately, far too happy to take advantage of that.

It was a huge weight off his shoulders really.

Alastor enjoyed the hunt, the kill, but the clean up? Not so much.

While yes, he did enjoy tricking people into eating up his stories, misdirecting them this way and that, silently mocking how clueless they were. It was still such a pain to have to constantly make sure his stories were air tight.

He didn't have to do that anymore, though. Not when all his darling wife had to do was smile shyly at people and hint that he was back home all night busy with more usual pleasures.

It wasn't even that hard to convince you to let him stay out late, hunt to his heart's content.

It was all just bad, terrible people. Scum of the earth. Dangers that could hurt you, or others. And Alastor, the dashing, selfless, secret knight in shinning armor was willing to dirty his hands if it meant keeping people safe. He'd taken on the burden so everyone else didn't have to.

Your husband, a great, tragic hero.

And besides, it's not like he asked you to kill someone. All you had to do was lie a little. Nothing grand, nothing elaborate—he wasn't so sure you'd be able to handle it after all—just smile, and hint, and spread a few insignificant white lies.

It was easy enough, wasn't it?

And your little love for him did everything else. Your own lovesick mind fought your instincts without Alastor even doing much of anything else.

You convinced yourself so quickly that all this blood, all this violence, all this murder, just made your husband an even greater man.

Ah, he truly did love the way you loved him.

You were with him now down in the basement—Alastor conveniently finally figured out how to open the stubborn padlock—and if he was being honest, he never really imagined you joining him here.

Well, not alive anyway.

You watched him as he neatly packed the most latest body into a bag and burn the gloves he used during the act. Going through his simple routine to make sure he could continue to get away scot-free.

Alastor noticed how your eyes always averted from the corpses, insistent on staying on his form instead. He didn't really mind it, but oh did he enjoy that little spark of fear you worked hard to stomp down whenever your glance landed on a limb or two.

He heaved the bag over his shoulder, before finally fully turning to you. "Well, let's get a move on, shall we, darling?" He smiled cheerfully, motioning with his arm for you to head up the stairs first.

You were glad to do so it seemed, you always were. You didn't have to watch your husband dispose of bodies, but Alastor found it rather cathartic how you've now started to cringe away from the basement door, after weeks of pestering him over opening it.

A little lesson, he thought. Well deserved.

And look how behaved you were now again.

The walk to the nearby woods was uneventful. Silent. Routine.

Unlike the first time around he dragged you along. You kept wondering and wondering until you finally asked out loud how Alastor knew the streets so well. How he knew where to go where no one would see him. The man you saw him kill was the first one, wasn't he?

He laughed at your unsure smile, brushing your worries off with the flimsiest excuses. How he'd been home late so many times already because of work. How he just preferred to take the quieter roads so as to decompress from all his adoring fans—fans who weren't you.

And it was enough.

Because you foolishly trusted him. You wanted to believe him, and so you did.

Alastor hummed cheerfully as he continued to shovel dirt over his most recent victim. He was certainly far enough into the woods not to care too much about being overheard, anyway.

A sudden soft beeping noise joined his melody, and he looked down at his—rather expensive—watch.

"Would you look at the time! I hadn't realized it was already so late. Time surely flies when you're saving the world, right, darling?" He looked over his shoulder at your unsure form.

You stood hunched over, your back against a tree, and your arms wrapped around yourself, a fair distance from the man burying a body.

Your eyes avoided the hole in the dirt as you painted a strained smile on your face.

Saving the world.

Alastor could practically see the way you tried to remind yourself that that is what your husband was doing.

"It's hard to keep track when you've got a lot do," You vaguely answer, choosing your words carefully.

It's not that you worried Alastor would do anything to you. But you were, unknowingly, cautious of any single thing that could trigger any more silly concerns within yourself.

Alastor hummed in response, his eyes staring at the mangled corpse he threw in the ditch. "They'll be looking for me at work if I don't show up soon, though." He thought out loud. "But I can't exactly leave this rotten stiff like this, can I?"

He sounded troubled. He looked troubled, with that wrinkle between his brow.

A good wife would soothe him.

A good wife wouldn't stand around watching her spouse do all the hard work.

He didn't need to say it though, not that he had any mind to. You heard his voice in your head regardless.

Your timid, unsure voice spoke up. "I...I could stay behind and continue burying it?" It sounded like a question.

One that it seemed like you hoped the answer was no.

Except you'd be a horrible wife for thinking that. You should be praying that he'd say yes.

After all, a good wife would do anything to help her husband.

Alastor froze for a second, his eyes catching yours from above his glasses before he adjusted them up his nose.

Then you were rewarded with a smile.

"My darling wife, always so helpful," He cooed, walking towards you. He dropped the shovel to the ground and wrapped his arms around your waist, almost lovingly.

Alastor could feel how fast your heart beat in your chest, almost fighting to get out. "But I could never ask a lovely doll like you to do such a dirty job like this." He tsked as he looked down at you.

"I can handle it, my dear," You responded, eyes bright with stars at his praises. It was almost as if you'd forgotten what exactly it was you were agreeing to.

Alastor pretended to think for a moment, but his eyes caught sight of the watch on his wrist and decided he didn't exactly have time to enjoy playing with you more.

"Only if you promise not to get caught, my darling." He smiled down at you, and you quickly nodded, promising you'll do a good job and meet him at home.

He pressed his cold lips chastely against your forehead, and left you with a corpse in the woods to bury.

But it's just that, anyway. Nothing too much to ask for.

It's not like you killed him.

And he was probably a horrible person to begin with.

Right?

You brushed away the heavy, gnawing feeling, as you met the glassy unseeing eyes of the corpse in the ground.

Alastor surely knew what he was doing. And you loved him enough to do this simple thing to help with that.

Just as you shoveled in one patch of dirt to cover the man's eyes, you heard a loud gun shot echo through the early morning woods.

You jumped out of your skin, cold hands gripping the shovel as the sound rung out.

Your heart was at your throat as goosebumps littered your skin.

Alastor.

You ran. You barely registered your own body moving until you felt the cold air whipping against your face as your legs carried you to where your husband went.

Worry. It all but consumed you, as your blood rushed loudly in your ears and your heart pounded.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Please—

You didn't know what you were doing. You didn't recall it. You didn't feel any of it.

You remembered seeing your husband's body collapsed and bloodied on the forest floor.

You remembered seeing someone with a gun standing panicked over him.

But no, you didn't remember when you ran at the culprit.

You didn't remember the feeling of stabbing the shovel into their side, nor the warmth of their blood as it splashed on your cold skin.

You didn't remember bashing the steel against their skull with all your might; the metal dented and morphed as it disfigured the man's face.

You didn't remember screaming until your throat was raw. You didn't remember the tears scrolling down your bloodied cheeks. You didn't remember the horrible, unbearably cold, ache in your chest.

You didn't remember staring down the barrel of a shaky gun.

You didn't remember dying.

All you remembered, was the feeling of Alastor's warm arms embracing you as he pressed his welcoming lips to your forehead.

And how you knew you'd never feel it again.

At least, you didn't think you would.

You blinked in confusion as you stared up the man—thing?—that caught you in their arms like a bride.

"I guess someone ought to rewrite those wedding vows because death didn't seem to do us part!" It laughed. Its voice sounded as if you were merely listening to it from a radio.

No, wait. Sure the thing that caught you also laughed, but you could have sworn you heard a whole crowd do so as well. Strangely, almost like a laugh track.

It's sharp yellow teeth showed proudly as it grinned down on you, and you couldn't help but cringe away a tiny bit from fear.

What are you? You wanted to ask, but you knew better than to be blunt.

You wouldn't want those nasty paper folk to catch wind of Alastor's little wife being rude—

Except. Were you still his wife? Where was he anyway? Where were you?

The thing that held you laughed cheerfully as it gently set you down onto your own feet. "Darling, I will never get enough of how easy you are to read," The thing said, twirling it's cane—microphone?—in it's hand before it leaned on it to study you.

You got a strangely familiar heavy feeling in your gut, but before you could think much of it, your arm was looped through its as it pulled you along to a shop window.

"It seems you're a tiny bit confused, my darling," It said with a bright smile. "It's alright, you weren't always the brightest bulb in the room, but you certainly made up for it with your passion." It chuckled, once again a laugh track following its words from seemingly nowhere.

You felt the tip of its microphone at your chin, tilting it so that you'd turn your gaze from him to the shop window.

You almost jumped away, like an animal not recognizing itself in the mirror.

It took you a minute to realize that you looked at your own reflection.

You even waved your hands around and tilted your head to make sure it followed your movements. To make sure this was real.

You looked nothing like yourself. Hell, you looked nothing human.

"Truthfully, I'm a little offended, dear." The thing beside you spoke up, now turning to his own reflection as he adjusted his bowtie and dusted off his red pinstriped suit. Something oddly familiar.

"It took me less than a second to recognize you, and you still seem to not even know who I am." It said, glancing at you from the corner of its bright red eyes.

Your gaze trailed up to the top of its red hair, seeing two small horns—at least that's what you thought they were.

"The devil?" You asked cautiously, still confused. "Am I in Hell?"

It let out a hum at your response. "One of two. I suppose it's one of your better shots, my dear." It said.

It turned to face you, suddenly leaning down close, so as to have it's mouth right by your ear. Your body freezes on instinct as it spoke.

"Must I really bed you again for you to remember me, darling? Or would watching me bury another body be enough to jog your memory?"

You leaned back, only enough to catch a look at the thing's face. The knowing eyes that seemed so warm, so inviting, so charming, despite how monstrous they looked. The smile that seemed incapable of falling.

The familiar feeling that brewed in your gut.

"Alastor?" You asked, your now clawed hands reached up to caress his cheeks, and the thing—your husband—leaned into it. His eyes briefly closed.

"Took you long enough, really." He said, a joking exasperation in his tone.

The thing—your husband, you had to remind yourself again—abruptly pulled away, his tone bright and cheery as he began to drag you along the streets with a heavy clawed hand on the small of your back. "Now enough of that! Time for more important business, darling!"

"Wait, Alastor? How? What?" You stammered, attempting to pull away to take a second to breathe and clear your head.

The hand that guided you slid to the side of your waist, pulling you tightly against it's Alastor's side. "Ah, my darling thing. Always so slow on the uptake." He shook his head as if he found it adorable. "We're in Hell, dear!"

The words rang loudly in your ears, your heart sinking to your stomach.

"And we have important business to take care of, yes indeed!" Alastor continued, not letting you process a single thought. "And for this, I'll need a partner I can trust! I'll need a partner who I can rely on! I'll need someone absolutely devoted to me." His eyes met yours but he saw how the alarm still outweighed his words.

His eyes narrowed, lowering his face abruptly to yours, to the point where you could feel his breath on your skin. He wanted your attention, all of it, and didn't really care all that much about what else you had to think about.

"Hellooo? Anybody home?" He joked, tilting his head as he saw your eyes come back to focus on him. "Ah, there you are, dear. Thought I lost you for a moment."

You supposed you could think things through later. Even if Alastor looked terribly different now, this was still your caring husband after all. And he needed something.

A devoted parter? Was that what he said?

"Well, you know I'm always here for you, Al. Whatever this plan of yours is." You tried to paint a smile on your lips as you always have.

"Oh, but how exactly do I know that?" Alastor stood back up to his full height, his head tilting as he smiled down at you.

Your brows furrow. You don't quite know how to tell him that. You swore you've done so much for this man, and yet when trying to think of an example, none came to mind.

You cooked and cleaned and looked pretty for him? Spent time with him? Loved him? Lie for him? Hide a body for him? That's just what a good wife would do.

But you supposed—you think—you killed for him.

"I avenged you?" It came out more of a question than an answer. "I killed for you."

Alastor didn't blink as he responded. "Then do it again."

Your mouth ran dry.

Had you heard him correctly? Was it a joke?

You waited for the laugh track to play but none came.

"What do you mean...exactly?" You asked with a nervous laugh, your lips straining to keep the smile.

"Kill for me again," Alastor casually said. He turned, eyes locking onto a random demon further down the street you walked along on. He raised his microphone to point at them, turning his head—unnaturally—to face you again.

"Like that one. I suppose he'll do." His tone was still as cheerful as ever.

You follow to where he pointed, eyes hesitantly looking at the creature.

You quickly looked back up to meet your husband's gaze. That feeling was there again.

And you weren't sure if it was the fact that you just died, or the sheer lunacy of the request, but you finally realized what it was.

Doubt.

You doubted Alastor.

"Why?" Your voice was small. "Is he a bad person too?"

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Hell, if I know dear. I've only just seen him now. But we are in Hell, you know?" His shoulders casually shrugged as if he didn't really care. "So, maybe?"

You tried to hide the tremble in your voice. Tried to hide how you doubted him. "But I already killed for you. Why do I need to prove my devotion even more?"

"You killed out of passion, darling. It hardly counts." He laughed, as if you were being so silly.

You're left with even more questions when Alastor grabbed your wrist, and you melted into shadows before re-appearing right in front of your supposed victim.

"What the fuck?" They exclaimed, jumping back.

"Good day, good fellow! The name's Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure!" Your darling husband stepped in front and forcibly shook the confused sinner's hand.

Alastor waved a hand in your direction to showcase you. "This right here is the Mrs., and she'll be killing you now."

You flinched as Alastor's voice further distorted.

Black tentacles wrapped around the now thrashing demon. And to your horror, you realized they came from your still-grinning husband's back.

His red eyes now consumed by black as he looked down at you expectantly.

"I...I don't have a knife." You avoided his eyes and looked away.

Alastor's head tilted. "You have claws now, dear."

You felt bile raise to your throat at the idea of ripping some stranger apart with your own hands.

"It'd be terribly difficult if these clothes get stained. Who knows where I could get new ones in...Hell." You had to spit the word out. "A-and, we're out in the open. Anyone can see us, there might be police here o-or their friends and family."

"You won't do it." Alastor cut off your rambling, more of a statement than a question.

You didn't meet his eyes.

You heard him sigh in dismay. "Well, it's alright, my dear. I suppose I knew your love for me had its limits."

Your eyes widen in shock, head whipping to look at him in panic. There was disappointment in his gaze as he looked away from you. Even as his smile remained painted on his lips, you could see how he seemed to shrink away from you.

"That's not true!" You half yelled, ignoring the struggling demon still held off the ground. "I'd go to the ends of the earth for you. I'd give up my life for you. I followed you to Hell, even! How could you even think that my love for you isn't boundless, Alastor?"

"Because it isn't." He sighed, his clawed hand gripped his microphone tight as he started to walk around you. "You say you'd do anything for me, that you'd give everything up for me. But I'm asking you for something so simple, and you couldn't even do that."

Your shoulders stiffen, you try to turn your head to follow him around. "This is not simple, Alastor." You said, a tinge of hysteria creeping into your voice. "You're asking me to kill someone for you, again."

"Wrong." Your husband said in a rather, sing-song manner. A jarring buzzer effect played at his words.

"I'm asking you to kill someone who is already dead." Alastor explained, barely paying mind to the sinner who now just looked very uncomfortable. "And you're already in Hell."

He looked at you as if you were stupid not to have put this together yourself. "He won't lose anything. You won't lose anything. There is nothing to give up with this tiny request of mine."

He stopped walking in front of you, but a greater deal of distance away now than when he started.

"And yet you can't even do that, my love."

You glanced down at your hands—your claws—in uncertainty.

That persistent feeling—doubt—swallowed you whole as you stood there willing your body not to move.

You should stop.

Run.

Never look back.

But instead your body moved toward the sinner; sharp, shaking, hands hesitatingly sinking into their flesh.

Once. Twice. Thrice. You couldn't be useless to your husband.

Their muffled screams sounded so far away from you, even as they yelled right by your ears.

You felt it.

Their skin giving way and the blood dampening your clothes each and every time you sank your soft, delicate, clawed hands into him.

The feeling of your long claws coming into contact and tearing through whatever bone or muscle stood in their way.

The awful, gut wrenching, guilt that swallowed your chest.

You hated it.

Alastor's hand clasps affectionately at your shoulder as he watched you cheerfully. Enjoying the conflict in your eyes as your heart died with every drop of blood that spilled from your hands.

"I think I may have just fallen so deeply in love with you, my dear wife." He cooed into your ear.

And your chest didn't flutter, or grow, or skip a beat like you had thought it would at those words.

But it's probably just the guilt, right?

It's just because so much has happened that you couldn't process anything.

Because you still loved Alastor, didn't you?

You loved him with your very soul, but he was a liar, and you may have finally started to see it.

Taglist @lil-bexie / @mizukikyong / @amurtan / @fokrilove / @fairyv-ice

#tw: murder and violence #tw: physical harm to reader #tw: major character death #tw: heavy manipulation #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #vien writes #Finding the right amount of old timey phrases to toss in without it sounded so cheesy is always such a challenge #Also this got out of hand I swore this fic was not meant to be this long or even in two parts #but here we are

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greenglowinspooks · 11 months

Text

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

—

Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

—

Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That what we’re going with?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #vengeful danny #villain danny #btw Derringer is named after a type of gun #dw he isn’t the focus forever #I just felt like Danny could use like. a single person who isn’t trying to manipulate him #also I think he would get along very well with the goons :)#aside from. yknow. the whole target thing HDJDNDND #also there IS a lore related reason that his vocal chords can’t recover but the rest of his body can #you just gotta wait to see what it is >:3 #anyways. Arkham time next chapter #Awwawaw

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holllandtrash · 1 year

Text

6 to 1 | lando norris (part 2)

paring: lando norris x leclerlc!reader part 2 in the 6 to 1 series (read part 1 here)

you're a bit of a flirt, the drivers understand that even if charles doesn't and recently you've been a little less careful about your interactions in the paddock. you'd think that would deter lando, but he's still committed to moving up your ranking, no matter what it takes

word count: 6.1k tags: established friendships, minor social media au aspects, poorly translated French

“What’s it going to take for you to love me?”

Lando practically forced you away from your brother and Carlos as you walked behind them. You were staring down at your phone and didn’t even see the McLaren driver headed your way so it was safe to say you were startled when he grabbed your wrist to pull you aside.

You pushed your sunglasses up to your head, “Excuse me?”

Lando sighed, as if having to repeat himself was such an inconvenience. “What’s it going to take for you to love me?”

At this point, Carlos and Charles had noticed you stopped following them and were making their way back to you. Carlos was amused at your interaction whereas Charles was uncertain. He couldn’t tell what Lando’s motives were or if they went beyond moving up your driver ranking.

You pretended to think about it for a second and Lando looked hopeful, as if there were genuine steps he could take to get you to like him more.

You counted on your fingers, “Be about four inches taller, for starters,” You held out a second finger, “Have darker features and…” a third finger, “Don’t be a Formula 1 driver.”

Lando wasn’t impressed with your answers, mostly because they didn’t help at all and you weren’t being the least bit serious. Instead of trying to get some real information out of you, he reacted like a child and yanked your sunglasses off your head before turning and running down the paddock.

You cupped your hands around your mouth to help with the volume of your voice, “This is why you’re fifth on my ranking!”

Carlos waited until you rejoined him and Charles before asking about the sudden change, “I thought he was sixth?”

“Oh, I mean-” you waved your hand outwards, “yeah he worked his way up, I guess. By default.”

“By default?” Charles asked. You weren’t making any sense, but you also weren’t about to explain why Lando was now fifth, nor did you know how to explain why Pierre had been dropped without coming clean about hooking up with him.

Your shoulders tensed, “Yeah, I-”

“Hold on,” Charles came to a sudden halt. He pulled his sunglasses off his face and looked back and forth between you and Carlos. Neither of you knew what he was doing, but you felt obligated to freeze until he opened his mouth again. “Is Carlos your ideal man?”

It took you a second to figure out how Charles came to that conclusion, but you did say to Lando if he was four inches taller and had dark features, you’d love him. Which practically described Carlos. The only thing was, Charles was missing an important detail.

“Carlos is a Formula 1 driver. I don't date drivers.” you pointed out, starting your walk to the garage again. Carlos moved at your pace, draping his arm over your shoulder as Charles tagged along behind you two.

“What if I wasn’t a driver?” Carlos asked, a playful smile on his lips.

You smacked his chest, “No.”

“No,” Charles repeated, much louder. “Y/N, I am going to take away your paddock access if you don’t stop flirting with the grid.”

You held up your hand and stuck up your middle finger, a beaming grin on your face knowing Charles was staring at it with betrayal. Carlos laughed, tugging you into his side as you continued walking, leaving Charles to mutter a string of complaints the entire way down the paddock.

“So Lando made it to your top five?” Carlos asked, reaching for a pair of Ferrari headphones to hand to you.

“Unfortunately.”

“And where am I on this list?”

You slid the bright red headset over your ears, rolling your eyes, “Bold of you to assume you’re in my top five.”

“Of course I am,” there was a glint in his eye as he walked you to the visitor booth at the back of the garage. He waited until you stepped up to lean against the barrier, crossing his arms over it as he looked up at you. “Charles is probably first, which means I am second, no?”

You didn’t confirm or deny where the Ferrari driver stood, deciding to just press your palm to his forehead to push him away from the booth. Carlos laughed and before he could gear up to get into his car, you wished him good luck for the qualifying session.

You caught that faint sliver of a smile he sent you before sliding his helmet on and it took most of your attention that you flinched when you noticed Charles standing next to you. As you placed your hand on your chest to steady your heart, you couldn’t help but notice his scowl.

“What is your problem?” You asked, dropping the headset to rest around your neck. You wanted Charles to know that he had all of your attention because clearly something was bothering him. And if he performed poorly during qualifying because of it, he’d blame you.

“I don’t like it,” his gaze was stuck on his teammate, watching as Carlos chatted with the employee assisting him with his helmet strap.

But you weren’t following. Your brother seemed to be referring to a made up scenario he came up with that involved yourself and Carlos and the thought alone made you laugh. As in, tip your head back and cackle so loud that people turned over their shoulders to see what sort of animal just wandered into the garage.

Even Carlos looked at you. Through his helmet and with his faint head tilt, you could tell he was wondering what was so funny. You did your best to get your humorous expression under control and turned back to Charles.

“I don’t actually like Carlos, you know that right?” He had to have known that. Charles made it clear time and time again that he would figure out a way to kick you out of the Leclerc family if you started dating a driver, hence why you were so on edge about Pierre running his mouth around the paddock.

“You flirt with him a lot,” was his only reasoning.

“I think you’re looking for a reason to be annoyed with me.”

“Well I mean-” Charles shrugged a shoulder, “I don’t know, Y/N, tone it down a bit, is all.”

“Just get in the car and focus on qualifying,” you pushed on his shoulder right as someone handed him his helmet.

Charles definitely looked like he had more he wanted to say, but now was not the time to get into it. You gave him a thumbs up before he turned around, making the smart decision to put his focus into the upcoming sessions than to worry about you.

A friend of yours sent you the twitter thread after qualifying had ended and you thought that replying to it would not only be funny, but put some rumours to rest.

You definitely did post Carlos a lot, but you were with him a lot. It was just something that happened.

But you had no idea how the photos of you and each of the drivers surfaced. You tried to be careful and not be outwardly flirtatious or cross any lines, even as a joke, in public, but it seemed like some fans were starting to get suspicious.

You stepped into the paddock, water bottle in your grasp, your hand acting as a shield from the rare Montreal sun seeing as everyone expected this weekend to be a wet one.

“You look like you could use some sunglasses.”

Lando’s little tease had you stopping in your tracks. Your arm fell to your side as you turned on your heels and watched as the McLaren driver pushed himself away from a flag pole to walk towards you. How long had he been standing there? His racing suit undone and hung horribly low on his hips as his black fireproof long sleeve clung to his body.

“Don’t you have media to do or something?” You pestered, eyeing your sunglasses that he tucked into his collar, looking extremely out of place compared to the rest of his driving attire.

Lando stepped forward and you flinched when he raised a single finger up to your forehead, tracing his fingertip over the lines above your eyebrows, “You shouldn’t squint, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Maybe if I had my sunglasses-” you reached for the accessory but Lando’s reaction time had you beat by miles. He jumped back and his laughter rang through your ears.

He adjusted them on his collar and when you realised you weren’t going to win this battle, you figured it wasn’t even worth it to fight.

And if he held onto them for the rest of the day, he’d have an excuse to find you later to give them back.

Not that you wanted that.

But you also didn’t not want that.

You didn’t know what you wanted, all you knew was that Lando confused you and each time you saw him this weekend so far, you held your breath or rolled your eyes or sometimes both.

Right now it was both as he sauntered to your side, draping his arm over your shoulder casually, as if you weren’t surrounded by people with cameras and smartphones with the ability to pick up on this little exchange and ultimately spin a story out of it.

Lando didn’t care, he had something else on his mind.

“Did you see where I placed?”

“Place what?”

He knew that you knew what he was talking about and the fact that you were making him work for it was, purposely, annoying. He tugged harshly on a handful of your hair which resulted in you pinching his side as retaliation. Lando knocked your water bottle out of your hand and jumped back to put space between you before you could yank on his driver suit, which you were trying to do.

You were children, essentially. Anyone walking by would see a couple of twenty-something year olds play fighting. You with a glare on your face and Lando with a cheeky grin because you picked up your water bottle and tried to throw it at him and the fucker managed to catch it like it was nothing.

“Qualifying, you little shit,” Lando finally clarified when he sensed you had given up on this immature battle. He tossed the bottle up and caught it with ease, still wearing that same smile. “I start fifth tomorrow.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

He winded his arm back and pretended to throw the bottle at you. Automatically, you held your hand up in defence and squinted, bracing yourself for an impact that never came. Instead, Lando stepped forward and grabbed your hand to lower it, a non verbal assurance that he wouldn't actually throw a water bottle at you…this time.

You noticed that his fingers lingered on yours longer than they should have. Lando did too and he handed over your drink, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck to play off whatever that little gesture was.

“Lance starts tenth,” he pointed out.

Just to piss him off, you clenched your hand to your chest and sighed dreamily, “My Canadian hero.”

“He starts tenth!” Lando repeated himself, much louder this time. “Come on, Y/N, this has to move me up your ranking.”

“Qualifying higher doesn’t mean you get points,” you weren’t about to let him get his hopes up. “Finish ahead of Lance tomorrow and I’ll see about bumping you up to fourth.”

“You are cruel.”

“You sound funny when you say that,” the corner of your lips curled upwards when his British accent made the ‘r’ sound in cruel come across more like crool.

“You sound funny.”

“Good burn, you really got me,” your words were layered with heavy sarcasm and you watched as Lando rolled his eyes. You two could probably set a world record for the amount of time eye rolls are exchanged in a single conversation.

“I don’t actually mean that,” Lando suddenly flipped a switch, his cheekiness being replaced by a bashful smile. “I like your accent. I like when you speak French, even if I don’t understand it.”

You could have thanked him for the compliment, if it could have even been considered one, but that wasn’t the type of friendship you had with Lando. You liked making his life difficult and in return, he liked to annoy you.

So you stepped up to him until there was only a few inches between your bodies. He seemed confused when you placed your hand on the side of his cheek, a soft gesture, one to purposely mislead him.

“Oh Lando,” you whispered, your smile growing warm. “Tu as le QI d'une huitre.”

You watched as Lando tried to piece together what you had just told him and he definitely was hoping it was polite because the way your voice sounded like silk made him think you were giving him a compliment. But Lando knew you, so he wasn’t counting on it.

“Tu as..” he mumbled to himself as you laughed. “Huitre? What is that? What’s that mean?”

You patted his cheek, deciding it was best to let him figure it out on his own. He probably wouldn’t have, let’s be honest here, but as luck would have it, Lando spotted one of the two French drivers on the grid headed in their direction.

Lando waved him over and you watched as Pierre slid his phone into his pocket, figuring that the conversation he was about to walk into was much more entertaining than whatever his phone could offer him.

Much like Lando, Pierre still wore his driver's suit, the upper half unzipped and hanging loose around his hips. He greeted Lando with a fist bump and congratulated him on his P5 starting position, and then he turned to you.

Your relationship with Pierre wasn’t awkward, but this was the first time you’ve seen him since finding out he told half the grid you slept together. In his eyes, nothing was wrong but you were uneasy around him. He gave your arm a gentle squeeze, something he often did when he walked past and just had time for a quick hello, something that you used to love because it told you that Pierre wasn’t disregarding you, he cared about you. And now you found yourself tensing, just for a moment, but you simply didn’t want him touching you.

You thought that you putting on a good poker face and acting normally, but Lando noticed right away how apprehensive you were about Pierre's gesture. Instead of allowing there to be a lull in conversation for Pierre to also notice and call you out on it, Lando acted fast. He draped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you closer to his side, creating a bigger gap between you and Pierre.

“Gasly can you translate something for me?” Lando asked him. “Little Leclerc here said ‘tu as le huitre’ what the hell does that mean?”

“Tu as le que huitre…” Pierre shook his head seeing as Lando was missing a few words. “That doesn’t make any- oh, tu as le QI d'une huitre.” He looked at you, a smile curling up on his lips as he continued talking to you in French, “Oui? C'est ce que vous avez dit?” That’s what you said?

You nodded, but part of you hated that Lando couldn’t understand your words. You didn’t want to be able to have a private conversation with Pierre, you didn’t even want to talk to him right now. Lando being left out left you open to a sense of vulnerability with Pierre.

So you switched back to English, “He told me he liked when I spoke French.”

Pierre chuckled, “I don’t think that’s what he had in mind.”

Lando tightened his arm around you, putting you in a headlock for a second, “Will someone please tell me-”

“You have the IQ of an oyster, mate,” Pierre interjected, ending the translation with laughter. “That’s what Y/N said.”

Lando tilted his chin to look down at you, brows pinched, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together tighter. He was definitely taking back that compliment right about now and all you could do was offer him a guilty smile.

“I’m a lot smarter than an oyster,”

“Okay.”

“Why are you so cruel to me?”

“Why do you pronounce cruel like crool?”

Lando squinted at you, not able to come up with a suitable answer. And because you were finally within reach, you took this opportunity to snatch your sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and slide them on your face.

“Am I missing something here?” Pierre suddenly asked. Both you and the McLaren driver turned to him. Pierre was wagging his finger between the two of you, looking as if he was trying to solve a puzzle and somewhere between the close contact of you and Lando he'd find the last piece.

You shook Lando’s arm off of you, “What do you mean?”

“You’re-” he stopped short, licking his lips before changing his choice of wording. “I don’t know, Y/N, you don’t usually flirt out in the open like this.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “Excuse me?”

Pierre held up a hand defensively and tried to play the observation off with a breath of laughter, “I’m not wrong. It’s entertaining, for sure, but you’re always so worried about Charles seeing, are you not?”

Were you flirting?

Every once and a while you’d flirt with Carlos, just for fun because you both knew it meant nothing.

But even Charles called you out on it earlier, for flirting with his teammate. Maybe you weren’t as subtle or maybe you just didn’t care if Charles was a witness to it anymore.

And Lando…honestly you weren’t even aware you were doing anything. You were just having fun, trying to get on his nerves while simultaneously hoping to make him smile. That wasn’t flirting, was it?

Or maybe Pierre was projecting. You never flirted publicly with him, he was your brother's best friend for christ's sake. Charles would find a way to ban you from the paddock if he caught wind of you two becoming a little too friendly.

You went with that option. It was easier than admitting that you were in fact being careless.

“I think you’re a little jealous,” the corner of your lip twitched into a smirk. Even Lando tried to hide his snicker, probably having thought the same thing.

As soon as you said it though, you regretted it. You recognized the mischievous glint in Pierre’s eye, one that practically screamed he had no reason to be jealous of Lando. Lando wasn’t the one you slept with. Lando never saw you the way he did.

And even though all three of you knew what took place, Pierre wasn’t going to say anything, still under the impression you were thinking he had kept it a secret.

You didn’t want him getting away with it. You wanted to slap that arrogant expression right off his face. The last thing you wanted was for Pierre to be able to walk away from this conversation with a higher sense of self than he already had.

But you also weren’t going to cause a scene in the paddock. Whatever conversation you wanted to have with Pierre, could wait.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you told him, forcing the wish through gritted teeth. You turned to Lando, “Where are you headed?”

“Where- what?” Lando repeated.

“Where are you going right now?” You asked. “I’ll walk with you.”

Pierre got the hint. You were purposely ignoring him and making an effort to not include him in the paddock. Your body faced Lando’s, a physical barrier between you and Pierre and you had the feeling he would call you out on it later. He too wasn’t going to get into any of this in the middle of the paddock.

“McLaren motorhome,” Lando finally answered. He nodded his head towards Pierre, “I’ll see you later, mate.”

Pierre seemed a little annoyed, but said nothing as he turned around. You waited until he was out of earshot before releasing a heavy breath.

“I just don’t want to be around Pierre.”

“Yeah I think that was pretty obvious.”

He then nudged his elbow against yours, wanting you to uncross your arms and loosen up a little. You did, reluctantly, but it was easy to push Pierre out of your head when Lando was giving you one of his classic grins.

You started to back up, “I won’t actually walk with you, you’ve probably got-”

“I want you to walk with me, though,” he cut you off, starting off in the McLaren motorhome direction. “Just don’t call me an oyster.”

“I didn’t call you an Oyster.”

“Fine, don’t compare me to one.”

You glanced around, wondering if continuing on your walk with Lando was really the best idea right now. You enjoyed his company, but you didn’t want people to get the wrong idea. The more you accompanied him, the more likely people would be coming to their own conclusions.

But with Lando’s encouraging head nod beckoning you to walk with him, followed by a smile you really couldn’t say no to, you found yourself at his side, on the way to the motorhome.

You tapped his arm with the back of his hand, “You know that this-” you gestured between yourself and him. “-we, you know, this whole thing it’s not- it’s not real, Lando.”

Lando seemed unaffected by your words, yet another rejection he was going to ignore, “What’s not real?”

“Like if I flirt with you, it doesn’t mean anything,” you clarified.

He nodded once. And then again a few seconds later as if it really sunk in.

“Well, maybe if you let me take you out on a real date-”

You pushed your shoulder into his, shoving him towards the middle of the paddock as he laughed, the last of his sentence fading into the air.

“Okay fine,” Lando cleared his throat, strolling back towards you after adjusting the suit on his hips. “What if I get a podium?”

“I’m not following.”

“Will you go on a date with me, a real one, if I land a podium tomorrow?”

You actually laughed at the thought. Lando rolled his eyes, trying not to be personally offended by your reaction.

“Lando, just focus on your race,” you said, trying to mask your amusement by scratching the corner of your lip. “If you do better than Lance, maybe you’ll move up the ranking. A date isn’t going to do anything to help you.”

He shrugged innocently, “What if I just want to go on a date with you?”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeated back, quite loudly might you add. You both looked around you but no one was paying either of you any attention, “Y/N come on, why wouldn’t I want to go on a date with you? You’re-” he took in a sharp inhale, “I mean, you’re stunning, for starters.”

“That’s it?” You raised your eyebrows. “My appearance? That’s all I have going for me?” You swiftly turned on your heels, “See ya’ later, Norris.”

“Hey, no, come on now.”

Lando was quick to grab hold of your wrist and tug you back. The sudden turn made you stumble over your own feet and you fell directly into his chest. Lando’s hand slid up your arm to help you regain your balance, but he didn’t let go of you once you were upright again.

He took a breath.

“When I see you during race weekends, my mood instantly improves,” Lando said, but he didn’t say it in a way that told you this was a sudden realisation. This was something he had known for a while, but never shared with you. “You’re so fun. I can be myself around you and you also grew up around motorsport so you’re familiar with this lifestyle. And I love talking to you, Y/N, even if it's just for a few minutes before I have to go to qualifying or- or now as we walk down the paddock and then go our separate ways. Your looks are- well they're definitely a plus, but they're not why I like you. I promise.”

You were speechless.

Genuinely, not a single word came to mind. Lando wasn’t one to just spurt out a string of compliments, let alone to you.

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I want to go on a date because I just like spending time with you?”

“But the-” your mouth felt dry. “My ranking?”

Lando shrugged, “Well if I move up then that’s just an added bonus.”

Still, you were hesitant. His words were heartwarming, probably the nicest things you’ve heard in a long time, but you couldn’t just casually agree to go out with him.

The only upside was, Lando scoring a podium in his McLaren was extremely rare. He had yet to so far this season, it was unlikely one would come for him tomorrow.

“Fine,” you nodded firmly. “If you get a podium, I’ll go out with you.”

Lando seemed taken aback, like he didn’t think you’d actually say yes. Any other day, you wouldn’t have. But the podium ultimatum and his strangely out of pocket compliments pushed you towards possibly giving him a chance.

“What if I win?”

“Don’t push it.”

Lando’s head tipped back as he chuckled, “Come on, what if I win?”

Your arms flailed out to your side as you thought of something on the spot, “I don’t know, Lando. I’ll sleep with you.”

Lando’s eyes widened more than you thought possible and his jaw fell open. His grip on your arm loosened, probably because he couldn’t focus on anything other than staring right at you, completely frozen.

You lifted your hand to his chin to gently close his mouth, “I was joking.”

“But- you-” Lando sputtered, having trouble forming a coherent thought. “You can’t just say that. For Christ's sake, how am I supposed to do anything for the rest of the day?”

“Again, it was a joke,” you felt the need to repeat yourself so Lando didn’t get any hopes up. He was a guy. And like most guys, they thought with their dicks 9 out of 10 times. “Just focus on the race, okay?”

Lando’s head fell backwards and he looked up to the clear sky, looking for some sort of higher figure that could give him the answers he wanted. You patted his cheek before playfully pushing him in the direction of the McLaren motorhome.

“I’m going to go find Charles,” you said, using his silence as a reason to part ways.

You barely got a few feet away from Lando when he snapped out of his little daze and called after you, “But you weren’t joking about the date, right?”

“Focus on the race, Lando!” You called back, cupping the side of your mouth. You watched as he gave you one last eye roll and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice him trying to subtly adjust himself through his racing suit.

When you left to go find your brother, you had no idea that Lando would be replaying your words in his head for the remainder of the day.

If you get a podium, I’ll go out with you.

And if I win?

I’ll sleep with you.

He knew it was a joke, the sleeping with him part, but that didn’t mean it didn’t motivate him.

You were clueless to the fact that Lando paid more attention than normal during his post qualifying debrief. He usually gave the team anywhere from 90-95% of full focus, discussing his results, the strategies for tomorrow and everything in between. But today, it was 110%. Asking more questions and repeating them back for clarification. He wanted to get the most out of the car tomorrow, he wanted the date with you.

When you were sitting in the hotel lobby, chatting with a member of the Ferrari team, you weren’t paying attention when Lando walked through the doors. Up until now, neither of you were aware you were even in the same hotel, but Lando spotted you quickly. How could he not? Your captivating eyes and bold smile lit up the lobby at the end of a busy day. He was tired and ready for bed, but if you had noticed him and invited him to sit down, he would have happily nestled onto the couch next to you.

And Lando didn’t know that when someone called his name, you heard it. A faint ‘Lando’ echoed through your ear and momentarily pulled you away from your conversation. You weren’t trying to be rude when you looked over your shoulder and away from the team member, but you wanted to know if Lando was really in the room.

Sure enough, the second you found him leaning against the corner in the elevator, the doors slowly started to shut. He was looking down at his phone and hadn’t been watching you, but you didn’t know that he had been watching you up until he stepped into that steel box.

If you had caught his eye a second earlier, you probably would have ended your conversation and caught up with him to join him on the ride up. Just so you could have a few extra seconds to chat with him, see if you could an eye roll or two out of him before going your separate ways again.

Because for some reason, you really fucking liked talking to him too. He annoyed you at times, but in a way where you couldn’t actually stay mad and found some joy between his teasing. You could be yourself around him too, there weren’t any guards up around Lando.

You could admit you hung around outside the doors of the Ferrari motorhome longer than normal on Sunday, just in case Lando walked by. Was it so wrong that you wanted to wish him well before the race?

But as luck would have it, Lando wasn’t the driver to walk by and grab your attention. You looked up from your phone just in time to see Pierre making his way up the bright red steps.

“Can we talk?” He asked, but he only phrased it as a question for show. He wasn’t going to give you an option to walk away. Pierre leaned against the railing opposite of you.

“About?” You slid your phone into your pocket, head tilted innocently at the French driver.

“Yesterday,” he said. “There was just a bit of tension, Y/N, and don’t tell me there wasn’t any. I just want to know if we’re okay.”

You played dumb, “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well I-”

“Because I was under the impression we would act as though what happened at Christmas didn’t happen,” you interjected sharply, a hint of sarcasm in your voice as you let Pierre piece together what you knew. “I sort of assumed that we would move on and be friends and that we wouldn’t tell anyone. So unless…something changed…why would there be tension, Pierre?”

You practically spelled it out for him. Something had in fact changed. Pierre didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

He dragged his hand over his face, “What did Lando say?”

“It doesn’t matter what Lando said!” You exclaimed with a bitter laugh. “We agreed to not say anything and yet you’ve gone and told half the grid!”

“Half the grid is a bit of a stretch.”

“I’ve told no one.”

“Well it’s different for you.”

“You’re such an ass,” you scoffed. “I don’t want Charles finding out, Pierre.”

“He won’t!”

“He will if you don’t stop talking to people about what happened six months ago,” you started to ascend up the stairs, having had enough of this conversation.

You had just reached for the handle when Pierre suddenly yelled out, “I’m sorry.”

All you could do was glance over your shoulder, “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it, Pierre. We both knew sleeping together was a mistake but I didn’t regret it,” you paused, releasing a soft breath. “Now I do.”

You walked into the motorhome without giving him another chance to apologise and you stayed there until it was time to head down to the garage. All hopes of seeing Lando had now vanished, you didn’t want to step outside and see anyone.

Was Lando disappointed when he walked past Ferrari and didn’t see you anywhere? A little, but he wouldn’t admit it. He thought maybe he’d catch you before the race, most drivers headed towards the garages at the same time anyway.

And when that time came, he spotted the bright red attire of Carlos and Charles, but you weren’t anywhere to be found. He even went the long way to the McLaren garage just to try and sneak a glance into Ferrari and see you in the visitor booth, but you weren’t there.

You didn’t show up until minutes before the cars were wheeled out towards the grid. You wished Charles good luck and grabbed a headset, finding a spot in the booth beside the VIP guests and family members.

When you glanced at the screen, your eyes landed on Lando sitting in fifth.

You would always root for a Ferrari 1-2, but what if Lando found himself on the podium today?

There were no words exchanged since you left him in the paddock yesterday. You doubted the date idea was forgotten about, but you wondered how serious Lando was about using it as motivation.

Not wanting to think too much about it, you focused on the race, something you've been telling the drivers to do for the last 24 hours.

The first ten laps, nothing happened. Charles kept his second place position, Lando dropped down to seventh.

By lap 11, George, who was in third, spun out, taking himself out of the race and Checo as well.

The safety car helped Lando catch up and because two cars were officially retired, he found himself in fifth, fighting for fourth.

A close call from Max earned him a five second grid penalty and when he went into the pits, his team unintentionally screwed him over. The wrong tyre was grabbed and his pit stop, that shouldn’t have been any longer than 8 seconds, ended up being almost twenty. Equivalent to an hour during a race.

Suddenly Lando was in fourth.

Charles led the race, Carlos behind, Lewis in third.

There was no way Lando had better pace than Lewis, not in that shitbox of a McLaren that seemed to provide horrible results week after week.

But then Lewis started struggling with degradation and Lando was catching up.

It was nearing lap 67 by the time Lando was within DRS range. You held your breath each time he activated it, letting his rear wing open. Each corner brought him closer and closer to Lewis.

And you had no idea what his end result was. When it became clear that the team was going to get a Ferrari 1-2, the crowd of you ran towards the gates to be able to celebrate with the drivers when they parked. As much as you wanted to see the battle between Lewis and Lando, you had to be there for your brother.

So you ran with the team, screaming in excitement when the chequered flag was waved at the end of lap 70. Charles taking home a win, Carlos close behind. They parked their cars in front of the banners labelled 1 and 2 and shared a congratulatory hug after stepping out of the cockpits.

But who got third?

Your view was blocked, you genuinely had no idea who crossed the line after Carlos. You wouldn’t know until the third place car finished their cool down lap and pulled in, which should be happening any second now.

You gave your brother a hug, squeezing his arms, all while keeping an eye at the end of the lane.

And then your question was answered.

The bright orange car drove up and came to a sudden halt in front of the third place banner. The McLaren crew crowded the barrier next to everyone from Ferrari, ready to congratulate the British driver.

Time froze for you as he climbed out of the car, fisting pumping the air. This was his first podium this season. He was overjoyed, he was walking on air, he was on top of the fucking world.

And then he took his helmet off and spotted you.

Lando should have gone directly for his team. He should have jumped into their arms and celebrated with them, but he used Carlos as an excuse to be near you. He patted Carlos on the back, the two of them sharing the same level of excitement, before he turned to you.

You held your breath as he leaned in, a wicked smile on his face, he didn’t even care that he was surrounded by a sea of red or that his team was waiting for him or that the media was definitely catching how you were the first person he approached after landing himself a podium.

You barely caught his eye before he dipped his face towards your ear, speaking only loud enough for you to catch his words.

“You free tonight?"

All you could do was nod.

Lando pulled away, but not before brushing his hand over your arm, sending a chill down your spine.

"Perfect."

masterlist here | part 3 in the series here taglist: @moneymasnn @thotd-f1 @masonspulisic

#lando norris #lando norris au #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris fic #f1 requests #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #holllandtrash

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man3at3r-mp4 · 7 months

Text

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖇 𝖍𝖍 𝖝 𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 Ⅱ - 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆

Prologue Chapter 3.5

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Charlie = underlined

Y/n = normal

Both = italics

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞

𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

It's been 3 hours and you're already exhausted...okay well maybe not exhausted, but you were definitely bored.

You sighed, leaning your chin on your palm, as you listened to Liam go on about something, probably about how late you both were? You don't know, you stopped listening.

You glanced out the window, to see the 'busy' streets of Heaven. You were able to see what seemed to be a group of friends, laughing and talking with one another. You frowned, you wish you could be enjoying smoothies with Miko, Elijah, and Molly. They were really your only friends.

Yeah, despite being the prince of Heaven, you didn't have many friends. Part of that due, to Sera's insistence of not letting your travel far without super vision. But I suppose, trying to sneak out of heaven every chance you get to go outside is worthy of such a consequence. Well, maybe when you were younger it was an okay punishment, but you're an adult now. You don't need to be supervised like a child.

But like I said, that's only part of the reason. The second being, the friends you tried, or rather Sera forced you to try and make...felt fake. Not to say, they were twisted or two faced. They probably weren't, most likely just some overly excited heavenly resistance being able to meet the famous prince of heaven. However, that didn't mean it didn't get annoying. Whether they had good intentions or not, they made you feel an object..something pretty to ogle and admire. Like an expensive piece of art, a middle class soccer mom would buy, and hang up in the parlor to "impress" her friends, when it really it was to make them envious she was able to afford something so priceless.

It all felt fake, artificial whatever. You've grown accustomed to it, people want to be your friend but they don't want to be your friend. You've come to realize that soon enough, so your feelings wouldn't be so hurt and eventually they didn't and you've came to terms with that.

Everybody loves you, but nobody likes you.

As you were wallowing in your own self pity, you failed to notice Liam, who was desperately trying to get your attention.

"y/n.....y/n!....Y/N!!!!" You finally snapped out of it, the loud volume of Liam's voice effectively spooking you as your entire body went rigid, before you flopped to the floor like a fish.

"Oh dear! Your highness, are you alright?" The Angel cried, as he rushed to your side. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you!" He says, clealry panicking as he helped you stand up.

You rubbed the sore spot on your forehead as you mustered a pained smile, "I'm fine Liam, no need to worry about me" you patted him lightly on the shoulder to reassure him before taking a seat back on the chair.

"But I caused you harm!"

"It was an accident, Liam you're fine! I'm not about to damn your soul to hell" you say sarcastically. You were clealry joking, but apparently Liam didn't think it was very funny, as he looked genuinely distressed.

You frowned, deadpanning,"im joking"

"Oh...well it's not very funny, your highness we don't joke about those sorts of things"

"Me, Miko and Elijah do.." you huffed under your breath, unfortunately it seemed like the other angel heard you.

"Oh do they now?" He asks, if he had eyebrows he would raising them. "They're the hairdresser and the seamstress correct?". You perked up, a bit confused.

"Yeah why?"

"Well it makes sense why you're so snappy lately, I knew thsoe two were a bad influence" he says, arrogantly. Oh, yeah that pissed you off. You weren't one to get frustrated, at least publicly but this was ridiculous. He's blaming your only friends for the reason why you having a sense of humor? You frowned, crossing your arms. You knew if you snapped at him, you would have just confirmed his suspicions and you're sure he would tell Sera, then you'd probably never see Elijah or Miko again.

"Let's just move on, Liam. We still have a shi-" a sharp look from Liam caused you to reword your sentence. "Stupendous amount of work to do" you corrected yourself, causing the other male to relax as he nodded.

"Very well, next we have your astronomy lessons" he says, as he leads you down one of the many halls of the palace.

The grimy streets of hell, the bright, obnoxious neon signs advertising drugs or porn studios, and the stink of death. All things Charlie has grown accustomed to as the princess of hell. One would think, with such an intimidating title as Princess of hell. You'd expect her to be terrifying, cold, and power hungry creature, when in reality Charlie is more comparable to a puppy...or rather a kid.

Charlie was someone you'd least expect to be the princess of Hell. She's sweet, kind, got a big heart, and she's got a passion for singing. She's literally a wannabe Disney princess, just lacking the animal side kick...well unless you count Razzle and Dazzle. But on a serious note, it's unexpected to have someone so happy go lucky as literal he'll born royalty. But what's even more shocking is the fact she started up a hotel to rehabilitate sinners. The reaction to the hotel...was less than positive. But she simply doesn't know when to quit despite being publicly humiliated on tv that her only tenant was involved with a turf war.

But like I said, Charlie has never given up. She simply doesn't know when to quit. Which leads us to now.

The princess of Hell, sitting in the lobby of the hotel, planning out another presentation about her hotel, to potential customers....the presentation really consisted of colorful messy drawings Charlie enthusiastically put together.

the room was quiet , but Charlie could swear she'd be able to hear some radio static every now and then. Which she supposed made sense? Alastor was weird, she wasn't even sure if he slept. Like at all. She shrugged going back to finishing her drawings. "Oo! Oo! Almost finished! I just need pink! Ooo where's the pink!" She said, cheerfully as she scavenged around for her pink marker. Once she found the plastic tube. She quickly uncapped it and scribbled in some doodles and a stripe of pink on her rainbow, and she was finished.

The blonde stepped back, as she held up her masterpiece in the air. "This looks great! I cant wait to show Vaggie!" She grinned, though something caught her attention in the corner of her eye; her phone was on and the Lock Screen showed a picture of her, her father, and her mother. A small frown made its way onto her face, as she glanced back at the messy child like drawings she made. She sighed, placing the papers down on the table as she picked up her phone. She sunk down into the cushions of the couch as she stared at the screen, they were so happy back then....what happened?

"Cmon Charlie, happy thoughts happy thoughts!" She tried to encourage herself. "You've got a hotel to run and sinners to redeem!"

'That is if you get any actual clients' a small voice in the back of her head, spoke but she tried to shake it away. Sure, advertising the hotel on the news wasn't the best choice. Charlie could remember getting into a fight with Katie, and the absolute humiliation of having Angel dust being shown in participating in a turf war. And sure, they haven't had much success, no other demons have joined besides Husk, Niffty and Alastor but they were all employees that were literally forced to be here.

No, she couldn't give up now. Despite the crippling self doubt. She wouldn't give up. "There's got to be someone out there who believes in this hotel as much as I do, there's just gotta be.." she whispered, as she turned to look out the window.

"There's gotta be."

Back in heaven, you were being poked with pins and needles, biting your lip as you desperately tried not to flinch away from the pointed ends.

"Ow!" You finally yelped, as the needle pricked your skin. A small droplet of golden blood dripped from your forearm, staining the white gown you wore being fitted into.

"That wouldn't have happened if you would have stayed still, your highness" the Angel fitting you said, her voice in deep concentration as she clenched another pair of pins in between her teeth.

"I'm trying to!" You pouted, trying your best to stay still. "Why am I even being fitted? Elijah is the one who picks all my clothes! Also this looks like extremely formal attire!"

"Happy you finally noticed, your highness" Liam spoke up, "you're being fitted for wedding" he stated, casually.

"WHAT?!??" You screeched, your eyes as wide as saucers. "Wedding? Wh-what?! When? How- WHy?!?" You stammered over your words.

"Your highness, please stay still.." the female Angel said once more, as she placed another pin into your outfit. You whimpered a soft 'Ow' as you felt it nick you again.

Liam smiled, "ah yes, I forgot, Sera did not tell you." He says nervously. "You're being wed! Congratulations your highness!" He summoned a scroll, this one with a picture of who you assumed would be your future spouse. Before you, you saw a beautiful woman, she had dark skin, and light purple tinted hair, styled in braids, her hair was long, length wise it could rival Rapunzels! Her eyes were gorgeous, siren shaped and a rich color of brown, or well one of them was, the other was a shade of green. You could also notice her dimples. She was beautiful, ethereal even. But you didn't know her! You didn't want to get married to a stranger.

"No!" You screamed, causing everyone to fall silent and look at you in surprise from your outburst. "I-I mean! Yes!" You stuttered over your words to try and save yourself. "She is, sh-she's beautiful but I don't know her!"

Liam looked confused, "she?" He then noticed his mistake. "Oh silly me, this is the wrong picture, you're not getting married to her, Aurora is your wedding planner.."

You jaw would have been on the floor, if it weren't literally attached to your skull.

" Why am I even getting married?! Sera told me none of us could since our life had to be devoted into making heaven and earth a better place! And romance would get on the way?"

"Well, she's changed her mind. Or rather the humans on earth did, you are the Angel to represent us down in the mortal realm y'know? And you know humans and their romances! They think it's be a good idea!" Liam explained. So what? This was just a big PR stunt? For the fucking humans?!?

"But- don't-"

"Do not being up Adam and Eve, y'know he and Eve were far from the perfect couple no matter how hard the mortals try to make it seem they were"

You sighed, "yeah..." you couldn't fight that, the fact Adam doesn't even fucking speak abt Eve, is already enough to know that even the humans on earth could see they weren't a great couple. Though, they blamed most of it on Eve.

Misogynistic pigs.

"Don't worry, Prince Y/n. Everything has already accepted and he's more than happy to be married to you! He even sent engagement gifts!" Liam snapped his fingers, and a hoard of angels came in carrying gifts. Placing them neatly in the corner before exiting the room.

You were too stunned to say anything, Gifts?!? Really?!? They sent you gifts?!? luckily your fitting was over. The Angel fitting you pulled out all the pins, making you sigh in relief, as she went to speak to Liam.

"We'll have to shrink it down to a medium, and we need to adjust the waistline, the Prince has surprisingly wide hips for a man." They both glanced at you, as you blushed in embarrassment, shrinking back as you placed your hands in your hips, and felt around.

'Damn I guess I do have those Kim kardashian hips...' you thought. Though you couldn't really tell if that's a good or a bad thing. While you were in your thoughts, you failed to notice that Liam pulled out your to do list for today. "Oh, we're late, late, late. We have twenty, maximum twenty-two minutes for your royal fitting. And then it's move, move, move to your speech at the Angelic Society. After that, we have to rush, and I mean rush, to the Heavenly Society Tea. And then there's your math lessons, your geography lessons, your science lessons..."

You sighed, as Liam began to go on and on, tuning him out as you focused your attention to look out the window. You noticed a butterfly, you're not sure how it got here, but you wished you could fly away like they could, "All my life, I've always wanted to have one day just for me. Nothing to do, and for once, nowhere I need to be" you placed your face in your palm.

"With no lessons, lords or lunches Or to-do list in the way" as you went on, your voice grew a bit louder to drown out Liam's rambling as you snuck away, desperately trying to loosen the tightness of the outfit you wore.

"No one to say when to eat or read or leave or stay" you made your way to the balcony as you continued on, you held out your pointer finger, as the (f/c) colored, butterfly landed on your finger.

"That would be the day"

"All my life, I've always wanted to have one day for myself. Not waking up with a pile of work on every shelf" Charlie sang, as she brushed her suit jacket off, as she stood up from her spot on the couch.

"With no father in need of impressing. And no hotel in disarray" she stepped over the scattered markers on the floor as she saw something catch her attention out of the corner of her eyes. It was a butterfly, that intrigued her. You didn't see butterflies in hell. But it was a beautiful shade of cherry red, it matched her eyes.

"No hell with thousands of sinners to save" she opened the window, gently to not spook the winged creature. It eagerly flew inside, spooking KeeKee a bit. Charlie chuckled, as she held out her finger as she watched it gently land on it. "And no extermination in the way".

Her smile fell a bit as she watched the butterfly fly off her finger, as all the weight and self doubt creeped in again. "What would it be like to be..."

You watched as the butterfly flew off your finger, "What would it be like to be free?"

"Free?"

"Free to try crazy things" you looked up at the sky, dreamily with a cheeky smile on your face.

"Free from endless IOUs" the red eyed demon, cooed, as she leaned against the wall of the hotel.

"Free to fly" your ears flicked, as you watched the butterfly flutter past you and out towards the balcony.

"Free to sing"

"And marry whom I choose" you sang bitterly, as you remembered your arranged engagement you own fucking sister didn't tell you about.

"Cmon your highness, don't be so upset. This is for the greater good, you both will be an adorable couple! Helping bring hope to humans for centuries to come!" Liam said enthusiastically.

"I guess ..." you grumbled bitterly, "it's my duty..."

"Oh look! Another engagement gift!" He cooed, as another Angel sent down a gift on the growing pile. You rose a brow, a bit skeptical. "You would think that I'm so lucky that I have so many things" you crouched down to grab one of the presents, it was wrapped in your favorite color with a golden ribbon on the top. "I'm realizing that every present comes with strings" you looked at the gift solemnly, as you fiddled with the string.

"Though I know I have so little, my determination's strong" Charlie, glanced around the slightly ramshackled walls of the hotel, nervously. Before putting on a determined grin, "People will gather around the 7 rings to hear my song!" The blonde twirled, as she thrusted her arms up enthusiastically into the air.

"Now I fear I'll never be..."

"Soon, I will forever be..."

"Free"

You and Charlie both made your way back to your balconies, as you both sang in harmony. " I close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away". You both gripped the railing as you both overlooked your kingdoms; Your sunny blue clear skies and Charlie's dark and dingy horizon. "I could take flight, but would it be right?" You both glanced up at the colored butterflies fluttering around you. "My conscience tells me, "Stay"

"I'll remain forever royal" you sighed, as you closed your eyes.

"I won't give up on these sinners yet!" Charlie declared determinedly.

"Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret"

"But I'll never stop believing" Charlie cooed softly, as she looked up in the sky dreamily. She was sure there was someone up there in heaven who'd take her seriously

"She can never stop my schemes" you rolled your eyes playfully, as you leaned against the railing. Sure, Sera could try and tie you down with marriage but you weren't about to roll over and take it.

"There's more to living than gloves and gowns and threads and seams" You both sang into the empty sky, as y'all watched the butterflies finally soar away from the balcony

"In my dreams, I'll be free"

"Nice singing twink" a familiar voice snapped you out of your perfect harmony, causing you to freeze. You turned around bashfully, as heat began to rush to your face. You were NOT expecting to be caught. You were met with the familiar sight of Adam's exterminator mask, you sighed. "Good afternoon Adam..." you noticed Lute standing not far from him. "Good afternoon Lute"

"Afternoon, your highness" she replied, professionally, nodding her head in a slight bowed.

"Uh? You don't sound pleased to see me? Which is fucking crazy, since I'm ADAM y'know the-" you cut him off swiftly.

"The original dick? Yeah, I know Adam..." you huffed, crossing your arms. "What do you want anyways?" You asked, as you fiddled with the collar of your shirt.

"What a guy can't see the cute little twink he's about to put a ring on?" He asked smugly.

Your eyes widened, at those words, your form stiffening, as you processed what he had just said. Adam...is the Angel you're marrying.

Adam.....marriage you.

Adam is marrying you.

You couldn't help but let out the screech you've been holding in. Fuck that entire Disney princess ass song you sang about follwing your duty for the greater good that was when you thoughts you were marrying literally anybody else except literally FUCKING ADAM.

"OH YOU MOTHERFU-"

-... ..- - / .-- .. - .... / - .... . / .--. .-. . -.-. .. --- ..- ... / -... .-.. --- --- -.. / --- ..-. / -.-. .... .-. .. ... - --..-- / .- / .-.. .- -- -... / .-- .. - .... --- ..- - / -... .-.. . -- .. ... .... / --- .-. / -.. . ..-. . -.-. - .-.-.- .---- / .--. . - . .-. / .---- ---... .---- ----.

@mixplara @lukerycyja-reblogs

Hey y'all, how y'all doin *nervous smile*. I'm sorry this took so fucking long, the or I am dox got deleted and then I keep rewriting the chapter cause I didn't like it and honestly I'm not not even sure if I like this version of it. Let me know if you thought the addition of the song was corny, I had very mixed feelings towards it. Cause I thought it would

Also from now updates will be every Friday, any other updates in between the week will me deciding to be a motivated bitch out of literally nowhere. <333 anyways bye pookies

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vivzieverse #vivziepop #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #adam x reader #angel dust #x male reader #charlie morningstar #adam hazbin hotel #x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel charlie #blood of the lamb #man3at3r.mp4 writes

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silencedrowns · 1 year

Text

hi I’m a very long time cosplayer (20+ years experience) who has chronic headache and migraine problems and this is a post about how to prevent your cosplay wigs from giving you painful headaches! Nobody likes wandering around the con in blinding pain and so hopefully this post will help you reduce the chances of this happening.

1. If your wig is way too tight, don’t use it. Get something with a bigger cap. tbh I often wear slightly too big wigs to reduce the pressure! Find out what brands and sellers sell wigs that are comfy on your head and prioritize buying wigs from them! I made a big master list of cosplay wig sellers a while back so here’s a few you might not have known about. Arda (and its Canadian and European sites) sells by far the biggest wigs, but I personally find Classe the most comfortable for my specific head. It’s all very YMMV and it’s totally possible for a wig to not actually be too small but fit your head in an uncomfortable way (Blue Beard on taobao does this to me every time), so just don’t buy from suppliers that do that. Also consider resizing wigs to be larger! For wig clients with extra large heads I like to nip the edge of the wig right behind the ear where your ear and hair from above will cover it and add in a little godet of elastic.

2. Reduce weight! A heavy wig will make head pain much more likely, so here’s a few tips on wig weight reduction!

A) if your wig doesn’t need a ton of volume and is already very dense, rip out some wefts in the bottom half. Anything on the part of your head from the ridge where your head starts going in towards your neck won’t really show unless your wig is very short and it’ll obviously reduce weight instantly! You can replace any missing volume with light crimping or light heat and tease, or leave the wig as is for a natural and silky look without the unnatural volume of a cosplay wig.

B) if you need more volume in your wig, instead of going straight to adding wefts for more volume, see first if combining crimping with heat and tease at the roots will give you the extra volume you need! Crimping or heat and tease adds volume and if you straight up destroy the fiber in the first two inches from the scalp by doing both repeatedly, it’ll add huge volume without you needing to add extra hair! When I do this I like to heat the fiber near the roots, tease it, let it cool, crimp the teased part, let THAT cool, and then brush it out. You can flat out double the perceived volume in the back of the wig this way!

C) if your character has a high ponytail or high pigtails, consider using clip on ponytails that you can easily remove if you need the weight off your head right the fuck now. here’s two tutorials I swear by for making a short wig + clip on combination look more natural! They’re in Japanese but easily comprehensible if you use machine translation thanks to the clear photography. They also help with spreading out the weight on the wig itself, and if your hair is long enough, using a clip on with a fishnet wig cap and clipping through the wig and into your real hair will also he lp make it more secure and distribute weight more evenly.

if your character has high pigtails

if your character has a high ponytail

D) when you need extra wefts, opt for sewing in wefts rather than gluing whenever possible. Glue doesn’t seem heavy but enough of it can make a wig get real heavy REAL fast.

E) redirecting the weight to your entire head and not just the front hairline will feel lighter and give you less forehead tension, which is one of the biggest causes of wig headache. Toupee clips sewn evenly around the edges and a Wig Fix https://therenatural.com (the name brand one, the knockoffs genuinely don’t work half as well) can help with doing this. A Wig Fix will also let you use fewer pins to keep your wig on, which is another cause of wig headache. Can’t suggest trying those enough. There are also some velvet wig grips out there but I find those don’t work quite as well, but they’re by far better than nothing.

3) make sure your wig is easy to remove. A lot of characters have horns or veils or other head things on top of the wig so make sure those can easily come off if you need a wig break! I’m a big proponent of using wig glue or double stick tape to glue strands (face framing layers etc) to your face for a more natural and more flattering look, but if you get headaches from wigs, keep that glue or tape in your bag so if you have to de-wig for a bit, you can get it back on!

4) take the ibuprofen or whatever BEFORE you put the wig on, and not when your wig is already making your head miserable! It’s like taking the ibuprofen before you wear the horrible shoes for a special event; it’s more effective in advance.

5) what are your normal headache triggers? Make sure you’re doing the work to EXTRA avoid them before wearing a cosplay wig. Stay hydrated. Keep up with your electrolytes. If you have any food triggers, make sure you’re managing them properly.

6) try multiple types of wig cap before deciding which ones to use! I’m a big fan of the fishnet kind because I’m in agony every time I try to use the stocking kind. Some people find relief in doing pin curls under their cap, and @/battleangelgif on twitter suggested doing this with damp hair the night before you wear the wig. There are tons of methods! Stretching out fishnet caps can be done more effectively when they’re slightly damp and that’ll make them pinch less. Experiment with what you like best to keep your irl hair in place and once you find a method you like, go for it! Make that your go-to!

7) always remember: wearing a short wig is less miserable than wearing a wig to your ankles. consider very carefully whether or not you can actually handle that wig that’s as long as you are tall. sometimes you just can’t and that’s okay! reduce the length of any super long haired character to hip length and it’ll be FINE. I swear. It’ll still read as super long and it won’t be as terrible.

8) always remember you can just. take the entire wig and cosplay off if you’re in agony. it’s not worth it. don’t do that to yourself. If the migraine hits anyway, just take it off.

Hope some of this might help you out! Focusing on reducing and redistributing weight is what helps me out the most 😌 feel free to reply or reblog or message with questions and I’ll try and get back to you ASAP!

#cosplay #cosplay tutorial #wigs #wig tutorial #cosplay tips #reducing wig weight #I just want to save everyone from blinding cosplay wig induced migraine #nobody likes head pain at the con #hope I was clear enough hhhhhh #yes this is an expansion of a twitter thread I wrote #y’all get the better version

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morning-star-joy · 1 year

Text

can the killer in me tame the fire in you?

a stranger's heart without a home chapter 10

Pairing: rivals to friends with benefits Joel x F!Reader, Post-Outbreak

Chapter Summary: Joel and Tommy set out on a rescue mission to bring you back home. In your moment of need, Joel comforts you and takes care of your injuries.

Chapter Warnings (Buckle Up): 18+ Explicit Descriptions of Canon-Typical Violence, Classic Miller Interrogation method from the games/show (Explicit Descriptions of Torture, please don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable), Descriptions of Torture against Reader, Heavier mentions of Loss/Grief (mentions of death of Reader's younger sister) and Depression/PTSD/Survivor's Guilt, Injury Treatment (knife wound), Language

Wordcount: 12.8k

chapter 1 || chapter 9 || chapter 10 || masterlist

ao3 link

Joel hadn’t felt like this for months. He hadn’t been so on edge, so ready to head into battle since returning to Jackson. Life in the settlement had been easy so far, peaceful even. He had almost let himself begin to believe that things could be as close to an old sense of normal as they could be in this sickened world.

But nothing good could last. Part of him had known this deep down the whole time, and he couldn’t help but think that he was proven right during the entire ride that he, Tommy and Jesse had made at a breakneck pace to the neighborhood where the teenager’s patrol had gone so wrong.

The dead body of a bandit rolled over as Joel nudged it with his foot. He glanced over the bullet wound in their head that had killed them; long range, expertly placed. One of her shots.

Tommy sighed heavily as he descended the staircase of the house they were sweeping, shaking his head when Joel looked up at him.

“Anybody still alive is long gone,” he informed with no small amount of exasperation, his hands raising and flexing before he lowered them, and Joel knew Tommy was resisting the automatic reflex to run them through his hair in worry.

His younger brother was desperately trying to hold himself together even now, even with the debilitating fear for his friend’s life that just kept building.

“She took out quite a few,” Joel muttered, glancing over the other bodies that littered just the first floor of the house they were in, the one Jesse had led them to and told them it’s where they were confronted.

“She was covering me,” the boy spoke up from where he loitered by the door, his voice shaky as he clutched to the makeshift bandage Tommy had wrapped around the spot where a bullet had grazed his shoulder. “She told me to run. I…I should have stayed. I should have—”

“You did the right thing, kid,” Tommy interrupted, even as anxiety permeated from his bones with every movement he made throughout the rooms, looking over the bodies as if they would give some hint as to where they had taken her. “If you didn’t get out of here, you’d both be gone. We might have—”

He cut himself off, his hand coming up to cover his face as a deep breath was sucked in through his mouth.

“She’s fine,” Tommy muttered, dropping his hand as he shook his head sharply, but Joel got the distinct feeling that his brother wasn’t talking to anybody but himself now. “She’s fine. She wouldn’t go down like this.”

“We didn’t find her,” Joel spoke up, bringing Tommy’s scattered attention back to him. “That’s a good sign.”

Tommy inhaled sharply again, nodding his head once at the encouragement, even with the words that Joel left unsaid.

We didn’t find her body. The underlying meaning of the sentiment spoke volumes; it meant that it was possible she was still alive, and Joel steeled his nerves as he followed his brother towards the exit.

“What should we do—”

“Get down,” Joel cut off Jesse's question with a hiss as he grabbed the teen, pulling him back to hide against a half-wall as another, unfamiliar voice echoed through an open window from down the street.

“Jesus, how many guys can one bitch take out?” the voice said, and Joel stiffened as he slowly reached towards a broken table leg on the ground near him, the wooden edge sharp from where it had splintered off of the furniture.

Tommy quickly ducked behind a couch on the opposite side of the room, out of sight of the main door as Joel caught his eye, the two men communicating silently as another voice replied to the first, “No idea, man, but I gotta admit I feel less confident about keeping her tied up now.”

“What’s there to worry about?” The first voice scoffed as they got closer, and Joel shifted silently on his feet in anticipation of them following the bodies that she left in her wake into the house. “You said it yourself: she’s tied up. She can't do shit on our watch.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” came the mumbled response as the front door creaked open, and Joel’s breathing slowed as he entered a detached combat mode, listening for their footsteps as they neared his hiding place. “Still, she couldn't have been alone, right? I feel like it’s a bad idea to—”

The pair walked right past where Joel was hunched down, and that was his cue.

He leapt out, sweeping the table leg against the back of one of the hunter’s knees to send them flying to the ground. Joel raised the table leg in a swift movement as they fell, not missing a beat as he brought the makeshift weapon down hard enough that the bone in their leg shattered, causing the wood in his hands to break into two from how hard he hit them.

In the same instant, a gunshot rang out, the other hunter screaming in pain as blood spurted from their knee from Tommy’s well-placed shot, and they collapsed to the ground next to the one Joel had taken down.

Breathing heavily, Joel tossed the leftover piece of the makeshift weapon in his hands to the side. He reached down to grab the hunter by the collar of their jacket, pulling them along the ground behind him to one of the dining chairs.

“Find some tape,” Joel ordered gruffly over his shoulder, the words directed towards a startled Jesse, who jumped at the command before starting to search the house.

Tommy grabbed the other hunter, leaving a trail of blood that soaked the floor as he dragged them along after Joel. The Miller brothers fell into a practiced routine then, even if it was a strategy that they hadn’t done together in years.

Joel had done it recently enough, after all, and there was no small amount of anger fueling the malice that burned hot in his veins as he shoved the hunter at his mercy into a chair.

When Jesse returned shortly, a roll of duct tape in his hands, Tommy grabbed it from him, securing the hunter he had shot to a chair before tossing the tape to Joel so he could do the same. Once it was done, the men roughly rotated the chairs so the hunters were facing away from each other, and Joel began to stare down the one that he had ended up with as Tommy spoke in low, menacing tones to the other one.

The hunter was whimpering, trying to reach down to their broken leg, and Joel’s lip curled back in disgusted anger as he glared down at them. Who they were didn’t matter—not when they had been talking about her like that. Joel knew what they were responsible for, and he had run out of mercy a long time ago.

A loud slam echoed throughout the kitchen as Tommy threw the chair with his hunter in it to the ground. Joel looked up to see his brother crouch down to grab their hand and shove their fingers against their own bullet wound. The hunter screamed before Tommy dropped their hand, but not out of pity.

He gestured towards the hardwood floor, his voice devoid of all his trademark warmth; now it was only cold, with a deadly intent if he didn’t get an answer he was satisfied with.

“Write it,” he snarled, tapping the hardwood once before straightening.

The hunter’s breath quickened before they maneuvered their hand awkwardly with the tape binding their wrist to the armrest, writing something on the ground with the blood from their own wound that Tommy had made sure to drench their hand in.

When it was written, Joel leaned closer, glancing over the words that specified the location they were looking for. He glanced back at Tommy, nodding once before he made his way back to the hunter under his control.

“Now, I don’t have a lot of time,” Joel drawled almost casually, his voice low like he was having an intimate conversation with the hunter. But his smooth accent barely covered up the icy tone he spoke in, his gaze empty as he crouched down in front of the hunter he was interrogating. “And I don’t have a lot of patience. So you’re gonna tell me where you’re keeping the woman, and maybe I'll let you walk again.”

Joel's gaze moved to their other leg with sadistic intent, and he watched as the hunter began to hyperventilate, their eyes that were glazed over from pain flickering around the room as they began to realize the situation they were in.

“What, I’m supposed to believe you’ll actually let me go?” they said, laughing almost hysterically as they struggled against the tape. “You’re just gonna kill me, even if I tell you. And for what? Some stupid fucking bitch—”

Their head snapped back as Joel's fist hit them square in the face so hard that their chair fell over, and they hit the ground with a loud thud. The hunter groaned in pain, blood streaming through their broken nose as Joel stood slowly, his breathing coming in faster from white-hot anger as he grabbed the back of the chair to roughly pull them back up.

"You're right," he murmured, a slow, dangerous smirk growing over his face, before glancing back at Tommy to gesture toward his brother’s knife. "I am gonna kill you for that."

Tommy laid the blade on the ground, sliding it over to Joel, who stopped it with his foot when it got close enough.

“In fact, I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do now,” Joel started, turning the knife over in his hands before jabbing the blade into the hunter’s side.

They gasped before letting out a scream at the pain, trying to inch away from it as Joel leaned in closer to their face.

“You tell me where she is, and I’ll make it quick. If not—”

He pulled the blade out an inch, letting them finish another scream before he added quietly, “I’ll make every breath more painful than the last until you got none left.”

It only took another moment of hesitation, when Joel pulled out the blade just a fraction more to result in more excruciating pain, for them to confess. When they did, Joel glanced down at the location written in blood on the ground, seeing that the facts matched.

“Lucky for you, your buddy caught the memo,” Tommy said in mock cheerfulness as he pulled his handgun from its holster.

At the sound of the safety clicking off, the hunter Joel was interrogating began to panic, “Wait, no no no, you said you’d let me walk. You said—”

“I said I’d make it quick,” Joel said coldly as he yanked the knife out of their side, sinking it into the side their throat in the same breath that Tommy shot the other hunter in the head.

Silence descended upon the room as Joel stood, pulling the knife out and wiping the blade off on his jeans before he walked over to pass it back to Tommy.

“Jesus,” Jesse breathed from where he stood back, glancing between the Millers, and Joel could almost see the teenager’s mind processing just who he was looking at, maybe for the first time.

Joel knew that Tommy was charming and welcoming around Jackson, stepping into an easy leadership position with his boundless charisma. He doubted any of the residents knew of the cold calculation Tommy’s inviting presence hid well.

And while Joel was the polar opposite to his younger brother, never particularly warm or a shining beacon of friendly conversation, to see him flanking Tommy, hands stained with the blood of a man he had just tortured, and a formidable intent to kill every last bastard who had gotten their—Tommy’s girl, Joel realized that Jesse was seeing how dangerous they truly were for the first time.

Tommy holstered his weapons before his voice took on the tone he used when delegating orders, “It’s a house out in the forest, not far south from here. Joel and I will check it out, slow and careful. We don’t wanna tip them off that we’re around. And when we find them…”

Tommy glanced back at Joel, a rare hint of malice burning in his eyes that Joel recognized as his own; a part of himself that he couldn’t control passing on to his younger brother through their methods of survival in the first years following the Outbreak.

At the sight of it, Joel nodded seriously, his face set in grim determination as he swung his rifle down into his grasp. Neither of them needed to speak as they communicated the same sentiment silently:

Not a single one of them makes it out alive.

“What about me?”

Joel glanced back at Jesse’s anxiously eager question, which Tommy answered with a shake of his head as he walked towards the teenager.

“I need you to hunker down here. You—”

“What? No,” Jesse interrupted, shaking his head as he looked between the brothers. “I’m not sitting back. I can help.”

“You’re injured,” Tommy said firmly, his hand coming to rest firmly on Jesse’s uninjured shoulder as emphasis to the words.

“Hardly,” Jesse frowned, shrugging the shoulder with his injury as if to draw attention to it, showing that he could still move it. “It was just a graze. I can—”

“Kid,” Joel interrupted in a low tone now, his entire presence radiating a deadly gravity, and Jesse fell quiet as he met the stoic man’s eyes. “You’d only slow us down.”

Jesse looked between the brothers again, before looking down at the bodies they had just left with no hint of remorse, and he deflated as he realized there was truly nothing he could do.

“Okay,” Jesse said quietly with a nod, even as Joel could see how much staying back, how much being helpless hurt him. “Just…”

Jesse sighed, looking down at his feet for a moment before looking back up, his gaze solemn as he finished speaking with conviction, “Just bring her back.”

Joel’s grip tightened on his rifle as Tommy gave a grim nod, his brother clapping the teen on the shoulder once before turning to exit the house.

Following close behind, the two brothers fell silent as they cut through the backyard, out of the neighborhood and into the trees. They moved slowly even as Joel’s blood pulsed to the fast beat of his heart that urged him to go faster, faster, to find her and leave no motherfucking survivors.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Joel was unsettled by how ready he was to storm into battle for her. Even as his muscles were tensed with the anticipation to kill every last bastard who may have laid a hand on her, he couldn’t help but remember her words clearly:

You’re not supposed to care.

She was right. He wasn’t supposed to care.

So why did he?

It wasn’t a question he could answer now, even if he wanted to try and figure it out, so Joel continued to walk in silence, holding his rifle tight as he tried to control his anxious rage that urged him to go in guns blazing.

Tommy was as disquieted as Joel, if not more so, but the more steps they took towards their destination, the more both brothers began to calm. They fell into a practiced silence; the quiet before the storm, readying themselves mentally and physically for the arduous task ahead.

When the house appeared through the treeline ahead, both men hunched down, approaching carefully to get a clear sightline while staying hidden as deep in the trees as they could.

At first glance, it almost appeared abandoned, until a shadow passed by one of the windows on the second floor. Tommy shifted around the tree he was hiding behind to get a closer look at the same time Joel leaned forward, both men watching intently for more signs of life.

Then the back door swung open.

An armed man walked out, followed by another as a voice echoed towards them from inside the house.

“Stay in the trees if you’re gonna smoke, I hate the smell of that shit,” the voice barked before the door slammed behind them, and one of the hunters sighed as he pulled a couple of cigarettes from his pocket.

Joel exchanged a look with Tommy, and at the grave nod of confirmation, both men shifted. Staying hidden deeper within the trees, they looped around to where the hunters were heading further away from the house and into the forest, out of sight.

Their mistake, and their downfall.

Approaching stealthily, Joel and Tommy crept closer to the smoking pair, sneaking from tree to tree as the oblivious conversation from the hunters continued.

“How much longer do we have to stick around here for?” one of the men asked as the other sighed a puff of smoke out of his mouth.

“Until the boss is satisfied with the information he gets,” he replied as he tapped his cigarette, a couple ashes falling to the ground as Tommy sent Joel a look as they neared. Joel shook his head, silently telling Tommy to hold off for now, wanting to get more information on what was happening before they went in.

“Is he even getting anything?” the first one groaned, leaning his back against a tree a couple feet ahead of Joel. It was a perfect set up to take the hunter down quietly, but Joel stayed back a moment longer, even as his blood ran cold at the next words that left the man’s mouth, “That bitch hasn’t made a peep since we got her. Besides, that settlement looked fucking huge. We can’t take that, even with inside info.”

Joel’s hands clenched into fists at the mention of her, his vision turning red at the response that made it impossible for him to hold himself back any longer.

“Eh, even if we get nothing out of it, at least we take her down. I heard from another one of the guys that she was involved in taking our men out a couple months ago.” The man turned with a smirk that made Joel so blind with rage that he burst forward from his hiding place even as the man continued, “So getting to hear that bitch scream when the boss broke her wrist was satisfying as—”

The sentence was never finished as Joel was behind him in an instant, one arm going around his throat to pull him back as he grabbed the hunter’s jaw with the other. Somewhere behind him, Tommy cursed before muffling the start of a shout from the other hunter with a hand over his mouth and a knife shoved into his throat.

Joel ignored the struggling of the man powerless in the strength of his grip, reveling in the fear that he could feel exuding from the bastard before Joel found the right position and leverage, his hands twisting quickly to efficiently snap his neck.

The body fell lifelessly to the ground at his feet, and Joel glanced at Tommy as his brother wiped his knife and sheathed it again.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy muttered as he looked down at the body, the distorted angle of the broken neck, and back up at Joel. “A little warning next time.”

Joel didn’t respond, his mind on a one-track mission as he turned, creeping closer to hunch behind a tree with a clear sightline to the back door. Tommy followed, hunkering down near him as they glanced between the windows of the house, trying to gauge how many hunters were left.

It was nearly impossible to tell their numbers, with most of the windows in the back of the house covered by boards or curtains. While it left the Miller brothers at a disadvantage, it also meant that nobody inside could see their approach. Tommy nodded at Joel, and the two men darted towards the house, flanking each side of the back door, pulling out their sidearms to take this closer-range fight.

Even though the hunters had an advantage in numbers, Joel and Tommy didn’t need to overcompensate with more bodies; anybody else fighting alongside them would only get in the way. The brothers held the element of surprise, and they only needed each other to make the last moments of these bastards’ lives hell.

Tommy shifted, pulling his knife back out when they heard footsteps approaching the back door. Joel subconsciously held his breath, flattening himself against the wall as the hunter who had shouted at the smoking pair earlier stuck his head back out, brow furrowed as he called out their names when Tommy’s dagger came right for their throat.

The blade glinted with blood that the raider choked on as Tommy pulled the knife back out with a sickening sound, stepping into the house as he switched the melee weapon for his handgun. Joel followed, sidearm lifted at the ready, ignoring the weak efforts the dying hunter made to grab his feet as he passed.

Together, the Millers moved swiftly through the house, their bullets finding their surprised targets with ease. Despite the numbers they faced, the hunters didn’t stand a fucking chance against the vengeance that fueled both men. They ended one life with detached, ruthless precision before moving on to the next, no ounce of mercy in their veins as they embarked on a mission with one task only:

Bring her home.

Breathing came with difficulty, your vision swimming as you hunched back against the wall. The sounds of the hunters’ conversation seemed far away, and you curled your body around itself as well as you could to protect yourself without seeming too broken down.

It had been a while since you had been on either side of torture, and you focused on keeping your breaths even as you kept that shred of yourself that remained, your dignity and sanity, locked carefully away in the back of your mind. One of your hands hung limply in the rope that still bound you to the pipe on the wall, pain radiating from your broken wrist as you took this break from the punches to collect yourself as best as you could before the next wave of torture came.

When the hunter who had spoken to you when you had first woken up—the leader of the group, from what you had gathered—walked towards you again, you glared up at them in defiance.

“You’re not gonna last much longer, girl,” they said as they crouched down in front of you, and you laughed, your own blood glinting on your teeth as you bared them in an angry grin up towards them.

“I could say the same to you,” you bit back, your voice hoarse from the effort you had made holding in the screams that threatened to escape your throat during the torture. They raised an eyebrow at your unwavering determination that remained even after the pain they had been inflicting upon you.

You tried to gauge how much time had passed now, but it was impossible to tell other than how the ache in your muscles had gotten progressively worse. But it was a sign that this had been going on long enough for it to be over for them soon.

Right as you realized that their time was about to be up, you heard a gunshot ring out from somewhere below you, as if on cue. A tired laugh left your dry, cracked lips as your smirk grew at the startled look on the leader’s face.

“Fucking idiot,” you spat the words up at them, watching with satisfaction as they winced from the blood that flew from your lips to land on their face. “Should’ve killed me and left while you had the chance.”

More gunshots rang out from below, shouts of men followed by the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground, and your smile was only broken when a sharp burst of pain radiated through your thigh.

You sucked in a harsh breath, your eyes flashing down to where the leader had stabbed you with your own knife. Looking up, you returned their deadly glare vehemently, even as you were unable to hold back a shout as they pulled the blade from your flesh.

“Let’s see how long you last,” they said bitterly, dropping the knife before standing and spinning to walk towards the only door to the room. They pulled their pistol from its holster, lifting the gun as they nodded towards one of the two guards in the room to open the door.

Though it was cruel, and spoke volumes about your humanity, you swear you could have laughed when the hunter leader took only a step forward before their head snapped back with a spurt of blood as a bullet flew through it.

You watched their body fall back, hitting the ground as the guards flanked either side of the door, voices loud with panic as you looked down the hallway. Whoever had taken the shot had disappeared in an instant, ducking into one of the rooms lining the hall as you tried to ignore the blood rushing from the knife wound left in your thigh.

When there was no sound except for further gunfire downstairs, one of the guards next to the door shifted, sharing hesitant glances with the other guard before moving out into the hallway. They crept down it carefully, hands shaking on their gun before they steadied their grip.

Didn’t do them much good as they whipped around, unable to get a shot off as a large body flew at them from inside the room across from them, shoving them against the wall before delivering a bullet straight into their stomach. Another shot was taken right for their head as they slid to the ground, before the man who had killed them turned towards the last guard that was trying to find aim on your rescuer.

He ducked as a shot rang out, the bullet going wide over his hunched form as he sprinted forward. The guard fell heavily to the ground with the tackle to their torso, the thud of their body hitting the floor echoed by the punches to their face.

One, two, three times the man pinning the hunter to the ground delivered his fist into their face before you lost count. He rose to his feet after a moment, kicking the gun from the cowering guard’s grasp before moving towards you.

Your vision swam, the face of your savior blurry from the combination of lingering pain from the torture, and the loss of blood from the stab wound in your leg. You subconsciously pulled at the bindings on your hand as he moved closer, even as the pain shooting through your broken wrist made you wince. Blinking a few times as he kneeled, your sight finally started to clear as he picked up your knife to begin cutting through the rope that kept you tied down.

For a moment, you only saw dark eyes, the strong lines of a face, and you thought it was Tommy. But when he leaned closer, pulling the cut rope from your sore wrists, you saw the gray in the hair, the familiar crease of his brow, and you released a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding.

“Joel,” you whispered hoarsely on the exhale, your body slumping forward as he gently held your bruised wrists in his steady grip.

And for once, you saw his face soften.

It was a small shift in expressions, hardly noticeable, but you still saw the way that Joel’s gaze wavered as it flickered over your face, as if he was assessing the damage inflicted upon you, both physical and mental.

In his presence once more, you began to relax almost subconsciously, no ounce of protest in your body as he tugged you to him, arms wrapping around you to keep you from falling. He carefully pulled you to your feet, gingerly taking your wrist that wasn’t broken to pull your arm across his shoulders. You didn’t protest as you leaned heavily against him, using him for support as he guided you out of the room.

Joel didn’t even pause next to the hunter he had beaten up that was slowly crawling to their gun, nor did he look down as his gun echoed with a bang, leaving another body on the ground as you passed.

The gunfire had ceased downstairs, and you struggled down the steps, only making it because Joel held onto you tightly, making sure you didn’t trip as he guided you forward. When you saw Tommy approaching, making his way through a floor littered with bodies, you couldn’t help but smile weakly at the pure look of relief that broke out over your friend’s face.

“It’s all good,” you murmured as Tommy’s hands found your face, tilting it so he could get a better look at the damage. One of your eyes hurt more than the other, and you realized that it was swelling—probably part of the reason why your vision was still blurry. “I knew you would come, so I kept them distracted.”

Tommy huffed out a shaky laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he patted your cheek fondly.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” he muttered, turning to lead the way towards where you presumed the exit was. You limped along, leaning more and more on Joel as you stumbled out of the suffocating air of the stuffy house into the fresh summer breeze outside.

And when the clean air washed over you, you sucked in a deep breath as you finally allowed yourself to relax.

It was over.

They had come for you.

You were safe.

The last thought echoed in your mind as you sank into Joel’s side, unable to resist the feeling of protection he offered as he kept you standing. His grip on you tightened in response, and that thought kept repeating itself, over and over: safe. He was here. You were safe.

Tommy turned to say something to you as you continued to sink into that feeling of safety, his mouth opening at the same time a loud bang echoed through the air.

Your blood ran cold, frozen in horror as you were helpless to do anything but watch it happen.

Blood spewed from Tommy’s arm as a bullet shot through it, and a scream finally tore from your throat at the sight. Tommy stumbled forward, grasping at the wound as Joel’s free hand lifted, swiftly delivering a few returning gunshots to the hunter that had been unaccounted for as they emerged from the treeline.

Tommy exhaled heavily, grabbing his arm as blood rushed from the wound, and you tried to run the short distance to him even as Joel clutched you to his side, his tight grip on you not wavering as he scanned the trees for any more stragglers.

Only when there was no more movement did Joel turn to his brother, his eyes wide with concern that Tommy brushed aside with a shake of his head.

“I’m fine,” Tommy grunted, turning away as he began to walk towards the trees. “Clean shot. Just need to bandage it up quickly and head back to Jackson.”

“Tommy—”

“I’m fine,” Tommy quickly cut you off, his voice showing he was taking no arguments as he quickly marched through the trees back towards the neighborhood where you had been ambushed, even as blood continued to drip through his fingertips. “I’m more concerned about how hurt you are. We gotta get you back.”

You frowned, not liking how he brushed aside his own wound in concern for you, but you kept your mouth shut, not wanting to upset him further. You knew that he would be taking your capture hard, probably even going so far as to blame himself for it, but now was not the time to argue.

When you entered the neighborhood, and somebody burst through one of the doors from the line of houses, you nearly shouted from fear that Tommy would get hurt again before you recognized the face, even twisted in concern as it was.

“Are you—”

“Go get the horses,” Tommy waved off whatever question Jesse had, wincing as he quickly clutched his gunshot wound again. It hadn’t stopped bleeding, and panic began to make adrenaline course through your veins again, even as you currently couldn’t stand on your own without Joel’s help, who had not loosened his grip on you from where he had you pulled against his side.

Jesse wasn’t gone for long, returning shortly with a couple of the horses as Tommy began to sway in place. For the first time since getting you out of that house, Joel spoke up, his words an order to Jesse as he moved with you towards one of the horses.

“Bandage Tommy’s wound, and ride with him to make sure he doesn’t fall,” he said shortly, and Tommy managed a glare towards his brother even as he was helpless to resist as Jesse wrapped his wound tightly with gauze the teen pulled out of his backpack, before guiding the injured man towards one of the horses.

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not,” Joel interrupted, his voice taking on a tone of command that only an older sibling could have.

Tommy paused at the sound of it, heaving a sigh as he finally let Jesse help him onto the horse at the same time that Joel turned to you. His touch was gentle but firm as he helped you onto your own horse, making sure you were in the saddle securely before swiftly mounting behind you. His arms circled around you, grabbing the reins to spur the horse forward, keeping you pressed back against his chest so you didn't fall while you rode.

There was still a way to go before you returned to Jackson, but Joel set a pace so fast that the trees around you were nothing but a blur. You marveled at how he could even keep to the trail, sparing a glance behind you to see Jesse keeping pace with you from where he sat behind Tommy, whose face had gone pale with blood loss from the gunshot.

You turned back around, eyes watering as you tried to not think about the worse because, god fucking dammit, if anything happened to Tommy—especially because of you—you didn’t think you could ever forgive yourself.

In the height of your adrenaline, you forgot all about your own wound, blood seeping through your jeans as the dark fabric obscured the fact that you had been stabbed. Even if you could feel the pain right now, you wouldn’t care. Tommy was more important.

When the gates of Jackson finally appeared in the distance, you let out a heavy sigh of relief, nearly slumping out of the saddle with it if Joel hadn’t grabbed you and pulled you further against his chest. You were helpless to the warm protection he offered, sinking back into him as your eyes began to droop. The gates were opening as the guards saw you passing through the clearing, the men and women shouting towards the inside of the settlement for assistance, and you knew you had made it. You knew Tommy would be safe.

Your eyes only opened again once you passed through the gate, watching as a group of your fellow patrolmen rushed forward to help Tommy down, as the man had an obvious injury that was in need of immediate care. Glad for the lack of attention, you turned towards Joel as he slid off the horse before carefully pulling you off the saddle after him.

He began to reach a hand out towards the group leaving with Tommy, his mouth opening to call attention towards you as well as your friend was taken towards the direction you knew Jackson’s clinic was in, but you shook your head as you watched Tommy’s back get further away.

“Tommy needs the help,” you mutter, eyes drooping as you tried to deny Joel’s assistance even as you began to fall forward.

He quickly caught you, his grip strong as he tried to hold you up, even as you couldn’t remain standing any longer. You slumped into Joel’s side as he grabbed at you, saying something you couldn’t hear, and you watched his mouth move as his concerned gaze flew over you, searching for the cause of your quickly fading consciousness.

Then his hand came away from where it had landed on your leg, his palm slick with your blood, and his eyes widened. Joel glanced back towards the horse behind you, and you turned, finally seeing the trail of blood your wound had left on the saddle where you had slid off of it before you swayed again.

Joel grabbed you tightly, pulling you against him as he shouted. You felt his voice rumble in his chest from where your head was pressed against it more than you heard whatever he was yelling, and your eyes were falling shut as you felt his hand press to your cheek, leaving your own blood as a stain on your skin as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

For a moment, you saw his face.

For just one moment, you saw the look of trepidation in Joel’s eyes as his mouth moved, saying something to you that you couldn’t hear through the blood rushing in your head.

And right before unconsciousness finally swept you away, you could only think one thing:

He wasn’t supposed to care.

When you awoke next, it was with pain. You winced even with your eyes still closed, slowly returning to the land of the living as your entire body seemed to hurt. But that dull, throbbing ache throughout your muscles paled in comparison to the sharp pain that shot through your leg as you tried to shift.

You forced your eyes open, blinking at the artificial light that flooded the room as you stirred. A stiff pillow was beneath your head, and you turned to try and gain some bearings of your surroundings, nearly jolting from the bed you were in when you saw that you weren’t alone.

But that short burst of shock quickly faded as you relaxed back into your bed, a tired smile flickering onto your face as you saw Tommy in the bed beside you, his arm heavily bandaged up as he returned your exhausted smile with one of his own.

“The doc was worried that if one of us woke up alone without seeing the other, we might tear the place apart,” he said softly, a wider smile tilting up his lips at your hoarse laughter.

“Yeah, well,” you started, wincing at how dry your throat was before you sighed, “she always was one of the smartest people in this town.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Tommy said cheekily, and your smile was weak but fond as he drawled, “even smarter than me?”

“Tommy, you mean the world to me, man,” you muttered as you shifted again, trying to push yourself up on only one arm as your other wrist was bound in a cast, “but you’re as dumb as fucking rocks sometimes.”

He laughed brightly at your snark, the sound quickly turning into a cough as you glanced over in concern, which he waved off as he grabbed a glass of water off the table next to him with his good arm. You glanced beside your own bed at the action, letting out a sigh of relief as you grabbed the glass of water that was there with your good hand and began to gulp it down.

When you both finished drinking, you sat in silence for a moment, and it was hard not to notice Tommy’s mood turning somber as he shot glances at you from the corner of his eye. You were about to ask him about whatever it was that he clearly wanted to say when he finally spoke.

“You should have told us you were hurt,” he said quietly, frowning deeply, and you sighed as you rubbed your free hand down over your face.

“To be honest, I forgot about it,” you muttered. Tommy gave a disbelieving scoff at your words, and you sent him a half-hearted glare. “Well, you were bleeding out.”

“So were you,” he nearly snapped back, his tone more biting, and you had to remind yourself not to take it to heart, because you knew it was from a place of love.

You knew that Tommy was mad because he cared. He had been scared for your life, and you knew that when Tommy got angry, he got mean. Just like you did.

It was because of that fact that you forced yourself to keep quiet, not wanting to turn this into an argument. Not when you were both injured and bedridden like this.

“What, you’re not even going to say anything?” he bit out, and you sighed as you leaned back into the pillows you managed to prop up behind you so that you could sit up.

“I’m not doing this right now, Tommy,” you murmured, your eyes squeezing shut as you heard him shift in the bed beside you. You could almost feel his anger growing, even as you refused to feed it with the fuel of your own anger.

In retrospect, maybe that was why Tommy only got angrier. When faced with the rare circumstance when you two got into an argument, neither of you minced words as you tended to duke it out with your words. Then when the heat of the moment faded, and you were only left with the harsh words hanging in the air, you both would deflate, forced to face down your own needless cruelty and talk it out in an honest heart-to-heart.

Faced with your rare silence now, he didn’t know how to handle the situation. And that made him meaner.

“When are we going to do this?” he barked back at you, and you finally opened your eyes to stare at him blankly, watching his hackles rise at what he probably perceived as indifference from you.

Little did he know how much you truly cared, and how much that vulnerability tore you apart.

“When are you going to admit that you are ready and willing to die?” Tommy’s voice was hard as he accused you, even with the pain shining in his eyes at his own words, and you froze at the truth as it hung heavy in the air between you.

Because, fuck, you knew that, but you didn’t know Tommy did.

This whole time, you thought he couldn’t see. You thought you covered it well; your emptiness, your dedication to live only for as long as it took to ensure that the people you loved survived.

In retrospect, you should have known Tommy could see it. He had always known you well, sometimes even better than you knew yourself.

“For you,” you finally managed to clarify in response to the accusation, and Tommy winced as he turned his face away from you.

He shook his head, his hands balling into fists on the sheets as he glared down at his own tight grip. Maybe he was picturing it was you that he was holding onto so tightly—not trying to hurt you, but trying to keep you there. Trying to keep you with him.

“I don’t want that from you,” he finally said quietly, and you frowned as you looked away from him.

“I do,” you whispered, and you winced at Tommy’s sharp exhale, like your two simple words hurt him more than the bullet that had pierced through his arm.

He spoke your name as a curse, and you looked back up at him to see him staring at you with unshed tears behind his dark eyes, and your own eyes began to sting at the sight of his pain even as you couldn’t change your mind. You had set yourself on this path long ago. It was all that you had left in you.

“Jesus, I can’t—” Tommy cut himself off, unable to finish whatever he was going to say as he breathed out heavily. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, inhaling deeply before the next words that left his mouth made your blood run cold, “Is this what she would want?”

You knew Tommy realized it was a mistake the moment he said it, but you couldn’t stop yourself from shutting down as you knew exactly what he meant.

He didn’t need to say the name, didn’t need to give any details because you knew.

And he knew, his eyes wide as he looked back up at you.

He said your name again, this time as a plea as you threw the sheets off of your body. You stumbled to your feet, ripping the IV from your arm as you stormed away on unsteady feet. Tommy’s words fell on deaf ears as you only stopped to grab your dirty, blood-soaked clothes from the chair in the corner, not looking back as you staggered out of the room.

This time, he let you go.

When Joel visited the clinic to see Tommy, and she wasn’t there, the rare, unwelcome sensation of fear nearly choked him yet again.

For a second his mind turned to the worse, seeing the empty bed beside his brother where she should have been. In a quick flash he saw a freshly dug grave, a headstone with her name on it, before he saw Tommy’s gaze was not one of somebody who had just lost their closest friend.

Only then did Joel allow himself to relax, the panic swept to the back of his mind as he frowned, sending another glance towards the empty bed when Tommy sighed.

“She’s fine,” Tommy muttered, reaching a hand up to drag his fingers through his hair in a movement that told Joel that his brother was stressed, but trying not to be. “She just—”

He stopped, sighing as he dropped his head into his hand, covering his face with his palm as his shoulders slouched. Joel saw now that there wasn’t only stress in his brother’s movements, but guilt.

“I got mad,” he muttered against his hand, the quiet words almost getting lost between them if the small room wasn’t otherwise empty. Joel moved to sink down onto the empty bed, not saying anything as he let Tommy continue slowly, “I said some shit I shouldn’t have.”

Joel still said nothing. He wasn't surprised; he knew well that Tommy lashed out when he was upset, having gotten the brunt of his anger more than once. Joel leaned forward as he looked at his brother, showing that he was listening, and that he could wait until Tommy was ready to reveal whatever was weighing on his mind.

“She used to have a light in her eyes, y’know,” Tommy murmured after a long moment of trying to find the words. He stared down at his hands in his lap as his shoulders sank, as if the weight from his thoughts were heavy enough to affect him physically as well as emotionally. “A bright light that I haven’t seen in…years.”

Tommy shook his head, rubbing his hand over the facial hair on his chin, not looking at Joel as the older man simply listened in silence, letting his little brother get whatever he needed to off his chest.

“She acts like she’s okay, but I know she’s not. Dina knows it too, but what the hell can we do?” Tommy laughed humorlessly, throwing his hands up in the air as if it was a helpless cause that tormented him more than Joel had ever realized. “She doesn’t want our help. Even though she’d do anything for us, she won’t let us return that favor for her.”

His head continued to shake, downcast in a way so that Joel couldn’t see his face, but the way he choked up on the next words was enough to make Joel stand in concern for his baby brother.

“She’s like—she’s a piece of me, y’know?” Tommy said quietly, placing his face in his hand again, and Joel quietly sank down on the edge of his bed, just so Tommy knew that he wasn’t alone in this. “In the Fireflies, we did some fucking awful shit, and I didn’t have anybody. I…I didn’t have you.”

Tommy looked up then, his eyes watering, and Joel’s heart broke as his older brother instincts kicked in. The pain, the vulnerability on Tommy’s face suddenly reminded Joel of when they were kids; those days when Tommy would come home from school, crying because the older kids had picked on him.

Joel remembered how he would go back to school the next day with his fists up, giving those kids bloody noses and black eyes until they knew to leave his baby brother alone, even though their mother would yell at him for the needless violence every time.

He guessed he had always had a hothead and callous heart, even at a young age. But it was always all for those few souls that Joel loved, and that had never changed.

“When I met her and—”

Tommy suddenly broke off, his eyes wavering before they darted back down to his hands. He flexed them, clearing his throat before he corrected himself, even though Joel noticed the slipup.

There was another name, another person who had been in the Fireflies with them. Someone who Joel presumed was not still here with them, the name too painful to speak aloud even now.

Suddenly, a lot of things that he vaguely knew about the woman began to make sense. The pieces of her that he knew about clicked into place to form a bigger picture of her in his mind, of why she was the woman she was today.

“When I met her, she had her whole life ahead of her. Sure, she was always tough, with a smart mouth, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head as he straightened with a sigh.

“She lost everything,” Joel found himself murmuring, and Tommy looked back at him in surprise, to which Joel shrugged in response. “You can recognize it in another person pretty well, when it’s happened to you.”

Tommy leaned back into the pillows behind him, nodding slowly even as he didn’t confirm it with any words or explanations. Those weren’t his to give, after all.

“The doc said she’ll need help with her injuries,” Tommy said quietly as he glanced back towards the empty bed where she had been. “But she doesn’t have anybody to do that for her. She’ll struggle alone, and nobody will know.”

For some reason, that caused an ache in Joel’s chest, his brows furrowing as he stared at the empty bed and the IV bag of fluids still hanging next to it.

“You’ll know,” Joel said quietly, trying to find some peace in the situation, but Tommy’s bitter laugh in response was jarring to his ears.

“But I can’t do shit about it.”

The brothers fell silent at that, both of them staring at the spot where she should have been. Joel’s hand balled into a fist against his knee, that ache in his chest deepening the longer he stared at the emptiness across from him.

When the resident doctor came in to change Tommy's bandage, Joel parted with his brother with a brief farewell and a promise to be back soon.

Outside of the clinic, the streets of Jackson weren’t too busy as night approached. The temperature was cooling down as Joel shoved his hands in his pockets and began to walk the path back to his home, that ache continuing to carve its way deeper into his chest with each step he took.

Joel ignored it, as he did with everything that involved any emotion deeper than indifference. There were precious few people who could get him to care these days, and she wasn’t one of them.

But that ache persisted, and Joel’s shoulders hunched forward as he tried to shake it from his head. She shouldn’t be one of them.

On his right, the gravestones of Jackson’s cemetery beckoned his attention as he passed by them on his path home. Joel’s steps slowed to a stop, glancing over the names of the residents’ beloved, as the same thought from his brief panic earlier, when he had seen the empty bed, flashed through his mind again.

Joel sighed heavily as he paused for a moment, fighting with himself before he turned right back around, that ache in his chest only loosening with each step he took closer to his new destination.

Cold tile pressed against your cheek as you laid on your bathroom floor, trying to ground yourself from the barrage of thoughts and memories making your mind spin. You had already been sick once when you had returned to the safety of your house, but even with the time that had passed since then, you had only been able to get back up long enough to clean your face before lying back down.

The phantom weight of your tattoo pressed heavily on your torso again, and you exhaled harshly as you shifted, wincing from the pain that radiated from the bandaged wound on your leg from the awkward position. When the pain didn’t fade even as you readjusted, you sighed, using your one good arm to push yourself up so you could look down at the injury.

“Shit,” you muttered as you pulled the top of your jeans down, the dirty fabric caked with dried blood from when you had been stabbed earlier. You looked down to see that your wound had started bleeding lightly through the fabric from moving too much.

You rubbed a hand over your face, stumbling to your feet and trying to ignore your reflection in the mirror, but it beckoned you to look. Beckoned you to see.

And when you did, you were nearly sick again. But you held on, your free hand curling around the edge of the countertop in a desperate attempt to keep yourself up.

There was too much of her in your face, even with a black eye and cracked lips. The color of your irises was too similar, the way your hair fell into place too much like her own, and you turned from the mirror with a shaky breath, unable to keep looking any longer, even as you knew that that wasn’t where the similarities stopped.

Your snark; she had had that too, her wit outmatching even yours. Her jokes had always held a kindness, even as your laughter was at the expense of others. Her humor had a joyful spark that contrasted sharply to your needless cruelty.

Her tenacity; she had gotten that from you too. But while your stubbornness had always been focused on survival, hers was always set on doing good. You wouldn’t have joined the Fireflies if it wasn’t what she had wanted, her conviction leaving you powerless to say no.

And even after all you had done, she had always believed. She always saw that light in the dark.

She always had been the best version of you.

She had always been your light in the dark.

And now she was gone; gone, but you loved her still, more than anybody, and what were you supposed to do with that? Where was all that love supposed to go when she wasn’t here anymore?

Your back slid against the cabinets as you fell back onto the ground, head tilted back as the tears streamed silently down your cheeks.

This is why you deflected. This is why you compartmentalized it, shoving it into the back of your mind, refusing to think about it even as it haunted every step you took.

Because how could you ever get back up when you remembered her face every time you looked at your own?

Hands covering your face, you wept for a world without her in it. Your shoulders shook with the sobs, helpless to do anything except wait for the moment to pass, to wait until you had no more tears left to shed.

Even when it finally passed, you sat there, unable to find the strength to pull yourself up again. Unable to look in the mirror and see the parts of her that were still a part of you.

So when you heard the knock on your front door, you were nearly relieved by the necessary distraction it brought from your wallowing, even as you began to realize you that you didn’t have the strength physically to get up and answer it.

“Go away, Tommy,” you called out of the open door of the bathroom, knowing your voice would carry through the small home to where he was no doubt pounding on your door.

There was a pause, then more knocking, and you sighed in exasperation when it didn’t stop this time.

“For fuck’s sake, Tommy,” you bit out as you shifted to grab the edges of the countertop, pulling yourself up to stagger out of the doorway. “I told you to go away—”

You paused, seeing the culprit behind the knocking had taken the liberty of opening your front door and stepping inside. They froze when they saw you standing down the hallway from them, and you stared right back at them in equal shock.

Joel stood in the entryway with his hand still on the door handle, as if he was ready to turn and leave the moment you told him to get out. In his other hand, he held a package of bandages and cleaning solutions, and you couldn’t help but gawk at the unexpected sight.

“Um,” you hedged, not sure what to say as the two of you stared at each other from opposite sides of the hallway. Joel, surprisingly, looked as dumbfounded as you felt, even as he was the one who had walked into your house without an invitation. “Come in, I guess?”

“Sorry,” Joel muttered, shifting on his feet as he glanced away from you, and you were surprised by how awkward the motion was before he straightened. He lifted the medical supplies in his hand as he added, “I went to see Tommy, and the doc mentioned you needed these. I—uh, Tommy asked me to bring them.”

“Oh,” you said softly, nodding as you rocked back on the balls of your feet. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered you had just been sobbing your eyes out, and you turned your face away from his view as you quickly wiped at your eyes, wincing as you rubbed at the slightly swollen one. “Uh, thanks.”

Joel nodded, even as he made no move to walk forward and give the supplies to you. He stayed glued to the entryway, his hand still on the open door, his entire being screaming more hesitation and uncertainty than you had ever seen from him. Maybe it would have made you laugh, if you hadn’t felt so empty right then.

“The uh—the doctor also mentioned you might need help,” he said quietly, still avoiding your gaze even as you tried to catch his eyes, trying to gain a glimpse through his outer walls to see what he was really thinking, what he was really doing here. “So…”

You paused, blinking for a moment as you tried to process what he was getting at.

Help? What did he—

A startled cough escaped you, and you quickly cleared your throat as you glanced away from him.

“I’ll be fine,” you murmured, glancing down towards your where your bandaged knife wound was hidden underneath your dirty jeans with a wince because, fuck, you wouldn’t be. It would be hard to clean the injury even with two working hands, given how much your body was aching all over from the physical torture you had only just endured.

“Yeah, right,” Joel said quietly, nodding to himself as he looked down at his feet. After another moment of just standing there, he cleared his throat, finally looking up at you, and although his gaze appeared to be as guarded as always, there was something threatening to bleed through there that made you avoid the eye contact this time.

In the back of your mind, you remembered that morning on his kitchen floor, drinking coffee together. Your voice echoed through all the crevices in your mind, followed by his, and you paused at the memory.

Have you ever lost everything?

…Yes.

You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment as you cursed yourself internally. Turning back to face him, your mouth opened to say words you had sworn to yourself never to say to anyone.

“I won’t be.”

Joel paused from where he had been reaching out to place the supplies on the table in your entryway before leaving, blinking as his eyes met yours from down the hallway.

“Fine,” you clarified, your voice shaking as you balled your hands into fists at your sides. “I won’t be…fine.”

Fuck, you hated admitting it; especially out loud, especially to him.

But Joel already knew you in a more intimate way than anybody else did. Not only that, but he knew how broken you were; he had shared that pain somehow in his own way, in his own life.

So what the fuck did you have to lose from swallowing your own fucking pride for once in your goddamn life?

Joel searched your gaze, probably looking for any part of you that said otherwise, that wanted him to leave through the door that was still open. You assumed he found nothing that told him to go outright by the way he stepped further into your house, the door clicking shut behind him before he walked down the hallway to meet you.

When he stopped in front of you, he still hesitated, and you did too as you glanced towards the bathroom next to you before looking back at him. You gestured towards it, and Joel looked over before shaking his head and waving back towards you in response.

“Ladies first,” he muttered, and you couldn’t help a quiet laugh. Some small, yet-to-be-broken part of yourself was still able to be genuinely amused at the comment as you walked into the small bathroom first at his show of selective manners.

“Maybe you really do have some Southern charm in you after all, cowboy,” you said quietly as you turned, trying to find a place to sit as Joel walked in behind you, his quiet chuckle pulling your attention back to him.

“Don’t go letting people know, now,” he murmured, shooting a glance towards you from the corner of his eye as he laid the medical supplies out on your counter. “I got a reputation to keep up.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” you drawled, the banter you had exchanged that night when you had both been drunk returning to you now with an odd sense of familiarity, and you leaned into that feeling, letting it ground you to the moment as you gave him a small smirk. “I’d have to fight the other ladies off with a stick.”

Joel laughed again, louder this time, the sound somehow more real than it ever was before, and you paused as you watched the amusement pass over his face; the corners of his eyes crinkling, his brown irises brighter as his lips tilted up in his own small smirk to return yours.

He didn’t say anything in response, simply shaking his head as he busied himself with tearing one of the packages open. In the silence that fell, you busied yourself with unbuttoning your jeans, wincing with the pain the effort brought as you tried to push them down enough to reveal your bandaged wound, when Joel turned back around to face you.

Shock made you freeze as Joel knelt down in front of you, his hands coming up to help peel the pants down your legs all the way. You hadn’t been planning to take them off completely, but Joel didn’t say anything as he put them to the side, letting you sit down on the edge of your bathtub as he turned back to grab the bandages and cleaning solution.

You told yourself it was nothing he hadn’t seen before, and while that was true, this felt…different.

Because it was different; it was removing clothes with no intention of sex, and your fingers twitched from restlessness where you rested them on the edge of the bathtub.

“Doesn’t this break your rules?” you murmured, and Joel didn’t spare a glance up at you as he carefully peeled the slightly bloody bandage away from your wound.

“We’re not fucking, are we?” he replied bluntly, echoing the words he had spoken in his kitchen that one morning, and you huffed out a laugh before glancing away with a shake of your head.

You guessed he was right. Technically, it wasn’t a violation of the rules.

But deep down, you knew the slope that you were on together had gotten steeper again, and you were both helpless to do anything but slide down it a bit farther than before.

Still, you didn’t want to ponder too much about what that meant as you looked away from him while he cleaned up the wound your own knife had left in your thigh when the hunter had stabbed you with it. You held back any noises that indicated your pain, but you were too tired to hide any winces as he meticulously wiped the clean cotton soaked with solution along the wound before covering it back up with a fresh bandage.

You were prepared to stand back up when Joel picked up a damp washcloth that you hadn’t noticed he had prepared, and began to carefully wipe it down along your leg, cleaning up any dried blood and dirt that still stained your skin from the day. The action made you pause, eyes wide at the intimacy of it as you clutched the edge of the bathtub tighter.

No words left your lips as you watched him, unable to string together anything coherent to say as he finished cleaning one leg and moved to the next. When he wiped the fabric across your uninjured thigh, you suddenly remembered waking up in his living room not even twenty-four hours before this moment, and how your thighs had been clean then.

You wondered if Joel had cleaned them then like he did now; with a concentrated furrowing of his brow, the hands that you had seen kill mercilessly just earlier today the very same ones that attentively guided the damp washcloth along your skin now. A feeling you couldn't recognize thumped in your chest at the thought, and you quickly glanced away.

Joel’s hands rose, the cloth now wiping away the grime on your arms as he took them in his hands, and you stared at your bathroom wall as you forced yourself not to think, not to feel anything in that moment. Even as you could feel something growing that you tried to bury back into that crypt that every thought of him always seemed to crawl back out of.

When he stood and turned away from you, a silent breath of relief escaped you, thinking you were done with this now, and everything between you and Joel could go back to its weird normalcy. He would leave now, and you wouldn’t see him again until he wanted to fuck. And you could live with that.

But then he turned back with a new washcloth, crouching down in front of you again as he calmly took your chin in his hand. You froze at the touch, eyes wide as that feeling inside you grew when he began to meticulously clean your face.

Your eyes darted over his face, helpless but to watch for any reaction he was giving during his task, but you couldn’t read him. He was as guarded as ever, taking his task seriously as he carefully dabbed the cool cloth around your swollen eye.

It was only then when you finally found the ability to speak, the words leaving your cracked lips even before you could really think about them.

“What are you doing here, Joel?”

Joel paused in his actions, his gaze finally flashing to meet yours from where his face was now so close to yours, maybe closer than it had ever been. Your heart thumped in your chest as you stared at him in defiance, his expression blank before he shook his head and went back to carefully cleaning the area around your black eye.

“I told you to stay safe,” he said quietly, and your heart squeezed in your chest as you tried to look away, but his grip on your chin tightened, keeping you there as he lightly wiped the damp cloth down your cheek. “Don’t be so eager to throw your life away.”

The words made you bristle, your hand curling into a fist as you mustered a glare at him, even as his grip didn’t waver on your chin while he drew the washcloth along your jaw.

“Did I make the wrong move?” you asked quietly, anger simmering under the surface as Joel finally looked back at you. “Should I have let Jesse get captured too?”

Joel sighed, the washcloth dropping from your face, even as his hand remained firmly holding your chin so you couldn’t look away from him as he met your hard gaze readily.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly, his eyes serious as they looked into yours, the brown of them trying to communicate something that you couldn’t understand.

“Then what?” you snapped, unable to keep yourself from reacting on your knee jerk response to this kind of topic that told you to fight. “Given the same circumstance, I would do it again. Jesse has a life. He has a family—”

“So do you,” Joel said sternly, his eyes blazing as an emotion that you couldn’t name finally bled through his neutral voice, and you paused at the unexpected strength of it.

The two of you watched each other for a moment, neither of you knowing what to say to follow that, before Joel finally dropped his hand from your face. He sighed again, rubbing his eyes before speaking again, quieter this time.

“People need you.” Joel looked up at you, his stoic gaze cracking just slightly even as you couldn’t tell what emotions were trying to break through. Still, it caught you off-guard and captured all of your attention. “Tommy needs you. Dina needs you. Hope needs you—you made a promise to her. You can’t just brush that aside.”

The mention of Hope got to you the most, your gaze darting away as you bit your inner cheek.

“It’s not that simple,” you said quietly, still not looking at Joel until he moved to slump against the bathtub on the ground, next to where you still sat on the edge.

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured, and you didn’t need to know his life story to know that he really did understand—probably better than anyone else in this town did.

Silence fell between you, hanging heavy in the room as you tried to process everything that had happened in just the past twenty-four hours. Something was still nagging at you; a question, an accusation that Joel had not offered the answer to even when you asked, and you turned to look back down at where he sat with his elbows resting on his drawn-up knees.

“Why are you here, Joel?” you repeated quietly, watching as he stiffened at the question, but you wouldn’t back down from it now that you had finally gathered the courage to ask. “Really?”

He didn’t respond for a moment, his fingers tapping against the top of his shin. After a long moment, when you were about to snap at him again for an answer, he slowly replied, “You ever heard of the term ‘friends with benefits’?”

You laughed, even as you felt surprise at your own amusement towards the unexpected, blunt terminology that left the older man’s lips.

“Yeah, that’s kind of what we are,” you muttered as you shifted off the bathtub, moving to sit down next to him on the bathroom floor. The cold of the tile bit into your bare legs, but you found that you didn’t mind much with Joel’s body heat radiating from where he sat close to you.

His shoulder brushed against yours as he shrugged, but he didn’t make a move to pull away from you at the light touch.

“Well, it also implies something else,” he said quietly, and you watched him in confusion, brows furrowed when he gave no further clarification until he looked up at you.

There was something honest in his gaze; something unspoken, unseen until now, and your heart skipped a beat as you suddenly heard what he left unsaid.

Friends.

You just stared at him for a moment, watching him as he watched you. You wondered what he saw there, what emotions were showing on your face that you couldn’t hide in your shock, before you quickly looked away.

And despite your better judgment, a small smile broke across your face as you thought the word over again.

Friends.

Joel Miller was your friend.

You didn’t know when it had happened, or even why it happened, but it had. There was no denying it now, not when he had implied it so heavily. Not when it was a term that made whatever it was growing between you finally make…sense.

There was nothing left to say, so you said nothing. You only stared down at his hands, looking at the old scars across his knuckles that had split open again, bruised and bloodied from when he had punched the hunter over and over before saving you.

Your face softened at the thought; this cold, ruthless killer who had somehow found it in his carefully guarded heart to save you, even going so far as to take care of you now.

You reached out to take his hand, pulling it towards you to rest in your lap before grabbing the washcloth. It was difficult, cleaning the old, reopened wound with one hand in a cast, but you managed.

"You're a fighter," you said quietly, brows furrowed in concentration as you avoided his gaze when it focused fully on the side of your face at your repetition of the words he had told you months ago, back when you still despised each other. "You should take care of your hands."

A silence fell over you when you finished cleaning his hand, and you placed it back in his own lap before letting the bloodied rag drop between you.

Neither of you said anything then, because you didn't know what to say. Something heavy was settling in the air, pressing around you, and you resorted to your usual deflection of humor to push back against it, gently nudging his shoulder with your own before glancing back at him from the corner of your eye.

“Don’t worry,” you said cheekily, making his eyebrow raise in question, and you held back a snicker at the sight as you added, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“What secret?” he asked, his voice revealing his confusion as he stared at you blankly, his stoicism not fading even at the revelation of friendship that neither of you mentioned directly.

You hummed, letting the question hang in the air for a moment, pretending to think it over as you crossed your arms.

“That you’re a big ol’ softie, Joel Miller,” you smirked, unable to help a laugh as he scoffs beside you.

A moment of quiet fell between you as your words lingered, before he finally responded.

“You better keep that secret,” he chided without any hint of malice, and you laughed again before glancing away from him, closing your eyes and keeping them shut even as you felt him watching you.

“On my life, cowboy,” you murmured, unable to keep the small smile off your face as his shoulder brushed against yours again, and the two of you fell into a silence more comfortable than any between you before as neither of you pulled away from the touch.

And as you sat in silence in the presence of Joel’s company—your friend —you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller angst #a stranger's heart series

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kerubimcrepin · 2 months

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Wakfu Manga - Tome 4, Part 1

During every tome his character bio is mostly the same, save for little rephrasings, and yet it's always such a blast. The Brotherhood of Tofu has bewitched him.

I'm insane... I'm crazhyy.

Imagine being an Eliatrope demigod whose entire purpose is chilling and inspiring others to chill. Like imagine spending millions of reincarnations chilling and there's no war or tragedy, besides maybe the fact that you often outlive people due to being a demigod (but even that is remedied by the fact that you have 11 siblings).

Now imagine a war breaks out and shit. Maybe it breaks out twice. God knows if they reincarnated between these two, though they probably did.

NOW imagine that, after defeating the baddie, — even though you're the demigod of chilling, you spend thousands of years in absolute silence in cosmos trying to catch your deity mother's psionic suffering waves to rescue her, and THEN you face a fate worse than death.

Wouldn't it be fucked.

There are some very good Joris moments in this volume — though the peak was in tome 3. He looks pretty interested in this, for obvious reasons.

Of course YOU would know about century-long art projects, century boy.

The fact that an entire planet is just gone and lost is very tragic to me. They'll never know their home, even if the World of Twelve is also home to them.

STOP BEING CUTE!

Not him standing menacingly and looking right at the reader 😭🤣

He is getting so much enrichment from this. So much mental enrichment, like a cat.

He always knows when to say something ominous and scary.

Very good Joris expression.

HIS FANGS. HIS FANGS. HELLO?!

Anyway, this being the face he pulls after seeing a past incarnation of Yugo come to terms with his immenent death and never seeing his brother again, is so Joris-core. Of course he'd go "🤨"

But despite his chipper attitude here, his mood and curiosity start to rapidly deteriorate after this moment:

I think that for Joris "I am afraid of being alone so thank god my father and uncle are together with me for centuries and remember me after dying, because I don't know how I'd live otherwise" Crepin-Jurgen — talks of actual proper reincarnation with memory loss are scary and exhausting.

He didn't exactly have anyone to tell him what Kerubim and Atcham would be like, after reincarnating. Maybe he spent the couple of years that they were kittens and couldn't talk, fully convinced that he lost Kerubim forever.

That's bound to leave a mark on a person.

It's especially horrifying and off-putting because of how casual Adamai and Yugo are about death and forgetting. Joris has always valued memories — they may as well be all he has of some of the people he loves, at this point. It's the reason he gifted them his fishing rod — in a way, it is a memory of Khan.

Yet, every time Yugo and Adamai die, some new version of them — a version they won't have control over, a version who will forget everyone they have loved up to that moment, — will spring forth and take their place. They'll have new families. "They" probably had hundreds of children and hundreds of lovers in the past, but were those people even them? Is it going to be "them" after they die?

He likes Yugo and Adamai a lot. The thought that someday some strangers may take their place is... a lot.

I can't discuss this scene without including these two entire pages, because something very interesting is happening here:

Joris, quite carelessly, lifts the pillow that contains two precious items, with an annoyed expression, before aggressively questioning Adamai.

I really think he hates all the reincarnation talk.

Anyway, he has very visible fingernails again. Nail polish win.

The fact that sexy femboy Baltazar is exclusive to Wakfu manga is oppression against teachers and education workers.

Joris is worried that something bad happened, but it was just inter-adventurer party abuse, which is normal.

He's so ready for this bullshit to be over.

Standing a very asocial distance apart from everyone. As is the usual <3

#ro liveblogs dofus #krosmoz #dofus #wakfu #wakmanga #joris jurgen

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ageless-aislynn · 7 months

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Title: “15 Minutes” (9/?) Author: @ageless-aislynn Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You're in peril but don't be afraid, help is near. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating: T (PG13) Length: 2,568 (this chapter, 22,261 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Trigger warning: claustrophobia Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N: Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you’ll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we’ll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 10 is in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞 The tags have been updated for hurt/comfort starting with this chapter. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger @mysardencut @laurenstacy610 @sporadicbelievernightmare @ultrablackwidower @bxmxtx @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Trigger warning again: claustrophobia If you need to avoid the actual scene, skip the entire first section but there will be a lot of mentions of it again through the rest of the chapter, just so you're aware. I don't want to cause any distress to anyone so if you'd like a recap of what happens in this chapter, feel free to contact me here and I'm happy to oblige so you can stay in-the-know without reading something that could trigger a bad reaction. Stay safe, my friends! 🤗

You tried to gasp in a breath but there was a weight pinning you down. Smoke burned your lungs and your eyes. Your left arm couldn't move but you were able to bring your right hand up to wipe your face, trying to clear your vision. The only light in the rubble came from a shower of sparks a few feet away, emitting from a panel half-ripped from the wall. There was very little to orientate yourself by.

"Hello?" you tried to call but you couldn't take a deep enough breath to yell. The muffled ring in your ears told you that at least one of your eardrums had ruptured.

Evaluate, you thought in the tone you used when triaging patients, shoving down a wave of panic. You tried to squeeze out from under whatever was pressed across your back. No good, too much weight.

There wasn't a tremendous amount of pain but you worried at the numbness from your waist down, behind whatever was restraining you.

Evaluate.

You tested moving your legs, your feet, your toes. It felt strange but yes, you had movement.

Spinal cord potentially compromised but not severed, you diagnosed as clinically as possible.

Something overhead gave an alarming groan.

Alert help. Report your position.

"Hello? I'm by the crane operator booth. Can anyone hear me?"

You couldn't get the volume you wanted and you automatically tried to inhale deeper. You couldn't and had to fight another wave of panic. The animal part of your brain wanted to claw the twisted metal of the deck, trying to squirm free, but when you twitched, something above you groaned again.

You had no way to know how perilous the collapsed structure was. A wrong move could bring it all down.

A fresh wave of smoke irritated your nose and you coughed weakly. From far away, you heard the muffled sound of a woman saying your rank and last name.

"Here," you choked out. "I'm here."

A blue light shimmered a few feet away, the lower half of a blue-tinted woman, her upper body phased through the rubble. Then she shrank until she fit the space, adjusting like a camera lens. A hologram.

She repeated your rank and last name. "We have your location," she said, your damaged hearing distorting her voice. "Sit tight, a rescue crew is on their way."

You tried to respond but the smoke triggered more coughing, so you nodded.

"I'll stay with you for as long as the holo-emiter holds," she said, gesturing towards the ruined wall panel that continued to spark.

"Thank you," you managed to say. "Casualties?"

She glanced up and away as if receiving new information. "Reports coming in of injuries but no fatalities. Your alert gave enough time for almost everyone to get clear."

"Good." You made yourself slow your breathing down, taking shallow breaths since you couldn't take deeper ones. For a moment, your head swam and it felt like the floor tipped. Your fingers scratched for a hold on the crumpled metal.

The sound of your rank and name cut through the terror. "You're all right," the woman assured you. "You're not falling. Try to stay still. Silver Team will be back on site in a few more minutes. John will be here soon."

It gave you something to focus on other than bring trapped. The way she knew that the mention of John would comfort you, that she didn't call him Master Chief like most people did, even the mannerism of how she'd looked away, like someone was speaking in her ear...

"Your name wouldn't be Ms. Classified, would it?" you asked haltingly and tried to smile.

"That's... not inaccurate," she said and maybe it was your blurry vision but you could've sworn she gave you a fond smile, like she knew you. "I'm not supposed to tell my name."

You tried to say it was all right but couldn't draw enough breath.

"Ah, screw it," she said. "What are they going to do, fire me? My name is Cortana."

You must've blacked out because the next thing you knew, she was kneeling next to you, her small holographic hand resting atop your outstretched arm as she repeated your rank and name.

If you could get a breath, you needed a good, solid breath. Your chest instinctively fought to expand but couldn't beneath the pressure bearing down on your back. Something above you slid and the pressure abruptly worsened. You clawed, you fought, you struggled to breathe. To live.

"John, get here now! The support beam is failing!"

"Not his fault," you tried to say. "Tell him. Not his--"

Metal screamed and everything went dark.

You woke, grasping at nothing. You still couldn't get a deep breath but this time you were on your back and it felt like someone had laced a corset brutally tight around you.

"Easy there. You're all right," said a deep voice.

Your vision swam and then Spartan Vannak-134 appeared out from the dim lighting. You were still clawing at the air, trying to sit up, and he caught your hand a little awkwardly in his much larger ones.

"Where?" you gasped.

"You're back on Reach, in medical."

Once he said it, details emerged like a black and white picture filling in with color: the beeps of the monitors, the distinctive antiseptic smell. Your hearing was still deadened but not as much as before, meaning they had already begun healing therapies on your eardrums.

Anything you might've wanted to say dissolved like sugar on your tongue before the words could be spoken. Your head seemed too full. I'm drugged, you thought and that was the last thing you knew for a while.

Voices drew you from the murky depths and you tried to open your eyes but couldn't.

"Hold her hand," Vannak said in a quiet rumble. "She likes that."

A new hand gently folded around yours and your fingers instinctively gripped hold.

You woke, feeling the phantom press of metal bearing down on you, forcing the air from your lungs. You tried to sit up, your limbs flailed, uncoordinated and leaden. A second hand closed around yours and a feminine voice began to softly sing, a lullaby in a language you didn't recognize.

The room was blurry but you caught a glimpse of red hair -- Spartan Riz-028. You went under once more, dreaming of music that soothed your fears.

Later, there was a new voice to lure you up from the sticky darkness.

"Poor little thing. She looks so small."

"She'll heal. Hold her hand, it helps."

At some point, you jolted awake to find your hand cradled carefully within Kai's.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter in the chair next to the bed. "You need anything?"

Your head felt less stuffed with cotton than before but now that cotton seemed to have been transferred to your mouth. "Water?" you croaked.

She jumped up and returned shortly, carrying a cup with a straw in it. You intended to sit up but a searing pain in your ribs immediately convinced you that was a bad idea and you let her help you by holding the straw to your lips.

"Slowly," she advised.

Once you'd taken a couple of sips, you mumbled your thanks then promptly passed out.

You thought you'd closed your eyes for a brief moment but when they fluttered open, it wasn't Kai sitting in the chair, holding your hand.

As soon as John knew you were awake, he was on his feet, carefully brushing the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of your cheek.

You mouthed his name.

"Rest," he said. "I'm here. You're safe."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you truly felt as if you were. Your mind let go.

"And how's our favorite mech, the Hero of the Pit?"

"That's not a very heroic name," you confessed, smiling as Maria and then Jamie entered medical.

You were sitting on the side of the bed in generic gray scrubs, waiting for Dr. Savannah to give you final instructions before your release. It had been two days since the explosion. Your hearing had, thankfully, returned to normal. The rest of you... not so much but you were on the mend.

They both gave you careful hugs.

"You look a lot less like you were squashed by a building," Jamie said sincerely and Maria punched his arm. "Hey, that was a compliment!"

"Don't make me laugh," you begged, holding your left side. They'd fused your broken ribs back together but the tissue damage would take longer to resolve. Still, aches, pains, limited motion and all, you knew you were very lucky.

"I hope they're giving you a nice vacation, at least," Maria went on.

"I should be ready for light duty in a week."

"Technically, I said we'd evaluate you for light duty in a week," Dr. Savannah corrected as she entered. "Afraid your friends will have to catch up with you later."

They said their goodbyes and, as they left, you started to stand. The doctor quickly said, "No, you don't. I don't want you walking on that leg."

"It's not broken," you argued.

"Not anymore," she countered. "Stay put. I got you a ride."

"I don't need to be wheeled back to the barracks." You tried to keep your tone confident but the truth was even that little bit of exertion had left you feeling twinges all along your left leg. Your left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Well, good thing you're wrong on both counts," she said, winking. "And here he is now."

John came through the door, dressed in his undersuit as if either about to head to the Brokkr stations to have his Mjolnir mounted up or returning from having it removed. You didn't even realize you'd moved to rise again until Dr. Savannah put a practiced hand on your good shoulder to keep you down.

"I'll be sending PT to you twice a day, starting tomorrow," she said. "They'll help you to get your strength and mobility back. Around that, rest. Catch up on your reading, watch some thoroughly trashy movies, and keep your feet up. Not too far up, though. Nothing too strenuous. Make him do all of the work."

That got you to look at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

John cleared his throat slightly, a faint but definite flush creeping up from his collar. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, see you back in a few days, sooner if anything else develops. You know what to watch for."

It wasn't until she stepped back and John approached that it clicked.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated in a murmur that shivered straight down your spine.

Since your left side had taken the brunt of the damage, he put your right to his chest and cautiously picked you up in a bridal carry. Despite the care, being moved set a thousand things to hurting and your breath hitched as he straightened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, your tone tighter than you would've liked. You thought, I hope nobody sees me being toted around like this, but, as soon as you left medical, you realized that no one was actually looking at you.

I think if Master Chief offered to drop me and pick up any marine, ODST or officer in this hall, they'd be hopping into his arms before I even hit the floor!

At the first turn he made, you realized the rest of it. "This isn't the way to the barracks."

"Nope," he said and you knew him well enough now to see the hint of a smile in his eyes.

You didn't have to wait for further clues, there was only one place, then, that he could be taking you. "How many strings did you have to pull for this?"

"Not as many as you might think," he demurred. "Your actions saved lives."

And they could've blamed you for failing to make sure a bomb hadn't been sent to the Pit in the first place. The curly tailed Warthog had been your responsibility, after all. You'd been curtly informed of all that when they'd debriefed you the first day you'd had your eyes open for more than 15 minutes.

You doubted they'd told that to John, though.

When you reached his room, he maneuvered so to get his thumb on the panel without jostling you too much. The lights came on as he took you through the doorway and then he paused.

"Kai," he rumbled, shaking his head. "She said studies show people heal better with color. I should've known she'd overdo it. Say the word and I'll have her in here clearing this out."

"It's your room," you said, "but personally, I love it."

The duvet on the bed and the pillows on the couch were now a rainbow of jewel tones. A tapestry with a field of sunflowers dominated the wall at the foot of the bed and you could've sworn there was a dusting of diamond glitter shimmering on every wall, sending tiny holographic rainbows through the air in all directions. But the main thing that caught your attention was overhead.

"She put up stars," you said, brightening.

"Ah, that one was actually me," he confessed. "You seemed to really like those in her room so I thought..."

You stretched up in his arms, inhaling a little sharply at the stab of pain in your left side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love them, John. Thank you."

A short time later, you found yourself lying on the bed in the darkened room, looking up at those stars. John had profusely apologized for not being able to stay after getting you settled in. He'd turned down the bed so you wouldn't have to, had put your padd close at hand on the nightstand to the right along with a bottle of water and a couple of emergency ration packs in case you got hungry before someone bought you a meal. He'd even procured you a set of unthinkably soft civvies to change into, exactly your size and in your favorite color.

You couldn't imagine that a Spartan had ever taken care of a sick or wounded person before, other than in a battlefield triage situation, so he'd probably found a checklist from somewhere to guide him. His earnestness to make sure he'd done everything right sent warmth flooding through you.

Before he left, he'd paused to kiss the top of your head.

"You know," you said, lifting your chin, "my lips aren't broken."

He hesitated. "The last time I did that, an entire base fell on you."

"Only the warehouse part," you said dismissively, "and there was absolutely no correlation, I promise."

He tried to smile at that but his eyes still showed concern.

"I promise," you repeated more seriously and he exhaled as if about to make a tremendous leap. His kiss was so soft and gentle, it was barely more than a whisper against your mouth.

Once he had left, you'd considered taking Dr. Savannah's advice and watching a holo, reading something on your padd, or doing any number of things to pass the time but ultimately, you'd wanted to appreciate his handiwork.

After all, it wasn't just anybody who could say a Spartan had literally hung the stars for them.

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#master chief x reader #x reader #john-117 x reader #fic: 15 minutes #series: how to date a spartan without even trying #ageless aislynn #aislynn's fics #aislynn's fic

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