#no joke she’s an equal split

[phantomrose96]

Prometheus

content warnings: horror. body horror. ghost show can have a little existential horror, as a treat! :)

...

Tucker and Danny sat as silhouettes in the Foley attic rec-room.

The ghoulish light of the television pinned their shadows against the back wall, pulsing in and out like fireflies at each flash of the screen. It left their backs drenched in darkness, and it made monoliths of the old furniture and piled-high boxes that wrapped the perimeter of the attic. Drafty air whistled through the gaps in the insulation. Plicks and flicks of moths beat in tone against the light of the television where the seal of the attic window failed to keep them out. Danny hounded the controller in his hands, clackering with each frenetic beat of his thumb while he mashed his buttons and leaned his full bodyweight into the assault he wrought, virtually until--

“BOOM!! Headshot!” Danny yelled with a pump of his fist. From his nonexistent peripheral vision, he could not see the way Tucker would not look at him.

“Come on, man,” Tucker said.

“Get it?” Danny asked.

“Dude, come on, like… Maybe don’t.”

Danny let out a disappointed huff of air from his nostril, spirits dampened. The wayward glow of his eye settled back on the screen: Victory blazoned across his split of the screen. You Died pulsed on Tucker’s. Danny mashed the rematch option. “Maybe get good then,” Danny said, “and then you get to make the bad puns.”

“Sorry man look I’m just—tired okay?”

“Yeah I know—”

“You can be goofy about it tomorrow—”

“I know—”

“I promise it’ll be hilarious then just—”

“Okay okay, I get it. I’ll save the jokes—”

“How much longer?”

“Hmm?”

Danny looked, and Tucker was looking now too, and it was taking all concentrated will on Tucker’s face to keep looking.

“How much longer until you’re like… You know.”

4am chimed from the grandfather clock stowed in the Foley attic. The ghostly sheen of the television splashed bright and pallid across the right side of Tucker’s face, as he stared at Danny. And it splashed bright across the left side of Danny’s face, which was the only side of Danny’s face remaining.

“I don’t know like… maybe 3 more hours, I think?” A lisp whistled from the absent flesh of his jawbone.

Tucker watched his lips. And his eyes drifted to the shadow carved dark and empty in the socket that could no longer see him, a merciful concealment of where skin turned to raw exposed flesh turned to bone.

Tucker looked forward again, and he mashed his thumbs into his own controller. Danny’s character’s skull exploded into a cloud of meat-rain before Danny had the chance to notice the match resume.

“Fine. I can do 3 more hours,” Tucker said. “And start watching your head.”

…

It wasn’t until the camping trip 4 months ago that Danny knew anything was strange.

It was a yearly Fenton tradition, which Danny tolerated and Jazz dreaded, to haul the four of them and the RV out into some swampy campground 3 hours from home. They’d roll in roaring, RV stuffed to the brim with wilderness equipment and enough mechanical monstrosities to scare away all actual wildlife. All except for the fish, who had the disadvantage of not seeing the mechanical affront to God parked with questionable legality on the campgrounds.

This year, Danny had decided he was embracing it. Because for the first time, sitting grubby and wet in the mud for 3 days sounded much nicer than his typical weekend plans, which was mainly getting his ass kicked by ghosts. He’d flagged down Valerie a week ahead of time to tell her, between gunshots, that he’d be absent for those 3 days. Valerie had taken equal offence at the request that she pick up Phantom’s slack, and the implication that she wasn’t already doing that.

But it meant the ghosts were covered for the weekend, and it meant Danny was free to do nothing more exciting than sit in the mud, which was all well and good enough for Danny. Although his hopes of leaving the weekend with the same number of scars he started with were dashed by hour 5. It was his own fault too. Jack had insisted Danny gut the fish Jack caught via a blast of the Fenton Disintegrator to the lake (unconventional, not even a fishing device, a ghost weapon he and Maddie were fine-tuning. A ranger came and yelled at them about it.) And while distracted by his parents getting told off for being menaces, Danny miscalculated the slipperiness of both fish and knife.

Luckily the RV was, among many many things, a hospital on wheels, and Jazz had quit sulking long enough to take a morbid fascination in cleaning Danny’s palm out with antiseptic that burned like acid and bandaging up his palm. For dinner that night, Danny ate his open-flame grilled fish with a little more prejudice than usual.

By Saturday, his hand hadn’t healed. Nor by Sunday. And on Sunday evening while Maddie and Jack busied themselves with packing up the tent they’d both invented and yet struggled to collapse back into its box, Danny flagged Jazz with quiet urgency.

“I think there’s something wrong with my hand.”

“Wrong how?”

“Infected, maybe.”

Jazz knit her brow in concern. “It looked fine this morning,” she muttered as she pulled Danny down onto the stump beside her and flipped open the First Aid kit latch. She unraveled Danny’s bandage layer by layer, and the concerned knit to her brow loosened to confusion.

“It looks fine. It’s barely even red.”

Danny snatched his hand back. “Yeah, and it’s barely healed at all.”

“I mean, it’s healed a little bit.”

“Yeah but. Barely.”

“It looks pretty normal.”

“Jazz my day-job is getting whacked with ghost machetes,” Danny said, tone growing a little tense at Jazz’s lack of concern. “I know how quickly cuts are supposed to heal.”

“And how quickly is that?”

“I mean. It depends. But like a day.”

“A day?”

“Or maybe 25 hours, I guess.”

“Danny, you cut yourself pretty deep.”

“26 hours max, literally.”

Jazz was staring. Danny felt awkwardly judged.

“Hey um, as a question Danny, do you remember the last injury you got before your ghost powers?”

Danny hesitated. He racked his brain and some part of him felt a little embarrassed how hard he had to search, as if it were shameful to have been so delicately uninjured before this whole thing.

“…Dash, maybe. But Dash it good at the kind of quick jabby punches that hit your nerve but don’t bruise.”

“Anything else?”

Danny fell quiet. Then brightened. “I fell off my bike last year. Racing Tucker. Scraped up my shin and knee.”

“And how long did that take to heal?”

The delight faded a bit. Danny thinned his lips thinking. “…Maybe a while.”

“Probably a few weeks.”

“Jeez, really? No.” Danny said. And he so deeply wanted to be offended, because he’d become the biggest expert in the family on getting his skin used as a ghost shrapnel canvas, which should make him the authority on injury healing. And Jazz was doubting all of that. “No. That’d heal in like. A day.”

“Maybe with ghost powers,” Jazz answered. “Maybe in ghost form. Which, currently and for the last 3 days, you have not been in.”

Danny fell quiet. He considered this information that deeply annoyed him until, with grudgingness edging to acceptance, he looked at his hand, and then his sister, and then his hand.

“….Oh.”

That night, home and showered and with the clock creeping toward 1am, Danny sat on his bed. He pooled his hands in his lap, lit by the moonlight pouring through his bedroom window. He sat an inch above his bed, in fact, hair shimmery white and his right glove removed. In the wash of moonlight he watched his palm. And there was something haunting, almost, in the way he could see the edges of the cut stitch themselves back together bit by tiniest bit. He lost himself in a grainy infomercial on his television, and when it ended, his cut was gone.

…

Phantom returned to the ghost fighting scene with an unwarranted new confidence. In truth nothing had changed. But Danny operated now with the knowledge that he was a particular kind of resilient that he’d not actually realized before. And while he did not like getting fileted by Skulker’s ghost gut-hook knife, or seared by Ember’s flame guitar, or bonked in the head by Fenton Bolas (Dad why), there was a certain delight in the “This will all not be a problem by tomorrow”-ness of it all.

Even better, he now knew that just idling in ghost mode for an extra hour or two was all it took to be right as rain again. (“This is making your Gameboy addiction worse than Tucker’s,” Sam had commented. “Well how else am I supposed to pass the time?” Danny asked while mashing buttons with one less finger than usual. “You could read a book.”)

On the flipside, it did make Danny grouchier about mid-school-day attacks, which didn’t afford him the luxury of floating around to bake in ghost mode for an hour or two watching bad tv. And unless Mr. Lancer got real chill real fast with Danny Phantom taking Danny Fenton’s English tests, it meant that any school-time fight injury had to be dealt with conventional human-style, and super-healed after school.

And Danny carried this knowledge with more bitterness than usual one fall afternoon when a fight with Technus had already gouged into the first 15 minutes of his math test, and now Danny was going to have to suck it up for the last 45 minutes if he wanted to pass geometry this quarter. Which was bullshit because that last blast Technus got on him had really fucking hurt.

Danny landed, and in his math-induced funk, he missed the particular wide-eyed way Sam and Tucker stared at him. “Here,” Danny said, handing off the thermos to Tucker, and Danny let his human transformation slip through in rings around his sternum.

“Danny stop,” Sam said, and with an urgent breathlessness that froze Danny in place. “Do not turn back.”

Confusion seeped into Danny’s blood. He let the transformation rings fade away, and he felt the thermos heavy in his outstretched hand that Tucker would not take. Heavy and wet. Heavy, and very very wet.

He looked at his hand, and his white glove was unrecognizable beneath the saturation of red. The thermos dropped from his hand, and suddenly Danny wasn’t so sure which direction was up.

“Sit,” Sam maybe said, or said something like it. Her hands were on his shoulders. He was easing in a direction that was probably down. His butt hit cold pavement. And suddenly he raked in a shuddering breath which was wet as mud.

Sam was pulling away the top of his suit, which was the worst possible place for her to do that considering how much it hurt. She was pulling right where Technus had blasted him, and Danny had half a mind to tell her off until he saw what was underneath the fabric.

“That’s not good,” he bubbled out through a lot of blood in his mouth and throat.

Baseball-sized. Like someone had taken a very large hole-puncher right to his sternum. A very good hole-puncher because it had in fact punched him straight through and run off with the little cut-out it stole. Globby flesh spilled to fill in some of the empty space. But a solid chunk of sternum, and heart, and lung, and spine, were rudely elsewhere.

Danny was in a very slippery wet dream, and his fluttering eyes agreed.

“No,” Sam said with an unnecessarily aggressive pinch of his skin. “Absolutely do not fall asleep.”

“Ow,” Danny said, maybe about the pinch but also his missing organs.

This wasn’t good enough for Sam who was a little bit ghost-shaded herself while she grabbed both Danny’s ears tight and angled Danny’s eyes to hers. “If you turn human now that’s going to be very very bad. You’re fine, Danny. You’re just in shock, I think. Focus on me. Come on, count with me Danny. 1. 2.”

“Isn’t counting sheep supposed to put you to sleep?” Danny quipped, but all the blood gurgling maybe ruined his delivery a little.

…

His heart sewed itself back together in 20 minutes. His esophagus and trachea kindly followed at the 27-minute mark, the last of the tubage knitting itself together and forming the correct kind of air-seal against anything else in his chest cavity. That was a blessing, because passing the time was easier when he could talk without re-enacting the elevator from The Shining – a joke Danny had tried to deliver several times and which refused to land.

And while he still did not have his new spine vertebrae nor sternum by the 30-minute mark, Danny could see the way the last of the white fear had left Sam’s face and the way Tucker could now face him directly. And that told him that however he looked, he no longer looked like someone who was going to die.

By the 1-hour mark, Danny sat drenched in his own blood from a fatal wound that no longer existed. And he’d missed his math test.

…

Super healing was cool. Very cool. What other kind of power lets you just walk away from fatal injuries?

At the close of a ghost fight, thermos capped, swimming in the eerie silence of a street cleared of screams, Danny stood. And he shivered. He ran his hands up and down his stomach, his chest, his back his face, pressing any pain-point to discover if his fingers would sink in wet and deep. Was it safe to transform back? If he made a mistake, would he notice fast enough? Would he be able to turn back again in time?

Alone in the snow of the Amity golf course. The roof of the mall. The back archives of the library. Danny lingered. Many places were good for lingering, and so Danny would linger, wherever and whenever he could. It made that held-breath feeling of transforming back easier, to know no part of him was at risk of undoing him.

And sometimes his hand did come away sticky. And in the black of night Danny went home, mindful to step only on the kitchen tile from which blood could be wiped up cleanly. And he was tired from too many nights of this when he pulled cereal from the cupboard and splashed milk into a bowl and cleared away the nuts and bolts from the half-undressed Fenton Disintegrator (undergoing v2 upgrades) and flickered the noxious glow of the muted television to life while his liver stitched itself back together. The tremble would not quite leave his cereal spoon hand but he’d manage.

One night Walker had blasted off half of Danny’s skull. And he lay shaking hunched on the pavement willing himself to overcome the pangs of shock radiating through his body until he had enough composure to call Tucker on the phone and ask if he could come over, if they could play Man vs. Zombie maybe, and stay awake through the night while his brain matter remade itself.

One night he had to grab Valerie by the ankle before she flew off, and she probably only heeded him because the break in Phantom’s superhero bravado unnerved her so much. “Please just stay and talk to me. Something bad will happen if I fall asleep,” he said, while holding the parts that used to be his stomach. “Define ‘bad.’” “I’ll die.” “Sounds like a human.” She shouldn’t have taken pity on him. But she did. Maybe because she was a human who would die like Danny if left on the pavement with her stomach open. Valerie stayed until the sun rose.

And he was lucky, because as a human he should have died. And Danny didn’t. He just came close, more and more and more. Until the sight of a raised ghost weapon forced a very human flinch from him.

…

“…losing an edge, you’d say, Craig?” “Not exactly. As a psychiatrist who’s worked with many veterans and active-duty soldiers, it’s common to—”

“Morning,” Jack said, flipping up his welding mask just long enough to nod to Danny before re-busying himself in his soldering.

“Dad, do you think maybe you could do that in the lab?” Jazz asked over a bowl of cornflakes, with a tone one might use when asking a 10-year-old to move his basketball game outside.

“Hmm, why? The table won’t catch fire.”

“Which is what you said last time,” Jazz said, carefully plucking up a cooled bit of metal scrap from beside her cereal bowl.

“…ffered many fatal injuries on camera, who knows how many weren’t capt—”

The television drowned beneath the screech of Jack’s welding, let up to breathe for moments at a time before Jack resumed the drowning. Danny’s eyes followed. The refurbished Fenton Disintegrator had nearly reformed, bigger than its original body, with a gaping fish-mouth twice the radius of the thing which had blasted up the fish in the campground lake.

“I just think, Dad, that you and Mom have a whooooole laboratory basement to yourselves, and I have just this one dining table to eat cereal at, so—”

“But then you kids would miss out on what I’m making. See, Danny’s interested. Danny, watch this—”

Jack hoisted the monster up. He hitched it atop his shoulder, and set his eye behind its sight, and twisted at the hip to point its open maw directly at Danny.

Danny froze.

“Dad, Jesus, at least show some trigger-discipline if you’re—Danny?”

Danny could not move. He could not move or really see. The shockwave rippled through him, and he believed for the moment that surely he’d been shot until Jazz shook him. “Danny, are you okay?”

Danny’s heart was intact but still it squeezed like it had been ripped. His legs were whole but they were numb beneath him. And he was useless too. Over what? Over nothing. Over a gun pointed at him, the sort which had been pointed at him 4,000 times before.

“…Danny?” Jazz asked, more worried than before. Jack had put down the gun, and he was staring at Danny in the same way.

And it was stupid. So very stupid. Because Danny had super-healing, and a hit from something like that would heal. It could rip him apart, and he’d be completely fine.

So it was all actually incredibly incredibly stupid that he was somehow, without even meaning to, crying.

…

The fight had ended three hours ago. And three hours was longer than only the worst of his injuries took to heal. Tonight had not been bad at all, just a bit of ripping and tearing at his leg from a bear-trap Skulker had laid (despite Skulker insisting he did not know what a bear was). And that had healed up in 20 minutes flat.

Danny lingered anyway, sitting soaking cold in the snow on the golf course. He liked that it was high-up here. He liked that the lights fanned far and wide. He liked that the razed-flat golf turf allowed nothing to hide. He wiled away the hours he ought to be sleeping, because there was a security in consciousness, in his ghost form. If he slept, he could be killed. And if he sat resting in ghost form on the crest of the golf course hill, he could not.

But he could nod off. Catching his head at each dip. But his mind fizzled and faded, rubbing against the staticky edge of sleep, enough to perhaps not notice steps in the snowfall that tracked him to where he sat.

The whir of the charging gun kicked him to high alert.

All alert, all at once, so suddenly adrenaline soaked that Danny had no sense of orientation when he spun on spot and his eyes drank in the sight of the barrel-mouth breathing to life in his direction.

“Told you I fixed the calibration on this, Honey.”

“Well at least it’s not a fish.”

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he was paralyzed. He was dread. He was stone.

It screeched. And it roared. And with a connection of a car crash, it took greedily for itself a gibbous moon of Danny’s torso.

He collapsed. Eyes spinning. Ears ringing. Sensation like fire and like ice and like buzzing static and nothing, feeling, at all to connect to his legs.

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he needed a mouth for that. So the second blast connected.

…

It had been an amount of time. Jack and Maddie Fenton may have stooped in the snow and collected samples to study. Danny could not know, because he’d need eyes to know. They may have crunched with their boots and mused about the resilience of ecto-flesh, more resilient than fish-flesh. Danny could not know, because he’d need ears to know. They may have picked him up piece-meal and carried him in their pockets. Danny could not know. Not without touch.

He may have been on the golf course. He may not have been. There was no ‘where’ Danny could know. He needed his proprioception for that.

There was was. There was something Danny hoped was be. This was, Danny hoped, awake. This was the only awake he could be without a brain. And if this was awake, how long could he last? And if this was awake, was it enough to heal again?

Super healing was cool. It saved you from death. But maybe not always.

Was time passing…? Was the snow cold. Was the wind blowing. Was the hilltop white under pooling lights. Was it. And did it. And was he and did he.

Was time passing?

Surely, it had been just an eternity, by now. An eternity at least.

Or had it been only one second.

Or Danny wasn’t here.

He was, though. He had to exist to feel what he felt in the moment. He had to exist even if he was deprived of the mouth needed to scream the agony that was, in its entirety, him.

…

Sun glazed the snow on the east bank of the golf course down to a slushy sheen by 10am the next morning. Mitted, in snow boots, three trespassers combed the 18 holes of Amity Park Golf Course.

“Are you sure it’s this one?” Sam asked, voice hoarse with a question that had been repeated once an hour for the last three hours between heaving breaths of clearing snow.

“It has to be this one. They said golf course there’s only one golf course,” Jazz answered, and her hands trembled against the heel of the shovel she dug into her nearest snowbank.

“Do you see any foot prints?”

“They’re melted.”

“Well check the melted sides then!”

“We checked the melted sides.”

“Maybe we missed—”

“Guys shut up,” Tucker said, and he said it low, and he said it with lips the color of ash. He stood rooted. And his eyes shifted to the crown of the hill 30 feet to their right.

Jazz and Sam shut up. Because they heard it too.

Jazz abandoned her shovel in the snow. She ran. But Sam was faster.

And it was a noise. Long and piercing and deflating. Quiet. Then starting fresh from the top. Long and singular, like the note of a bagpipe. Sam rounded the crest of the hill. And she found the noise first.

And this close, she realized what it was. The noise was relief. Because the thing lying in the melted snow was finally enough of a mouth, and enough of a throat, and enough of a lung, to scream.

[delulujuls]

snow scales | cregan stark

hi, here comes the big boy aka the wolf of the north. i know that cregan got like three minutes total on a screen but man, the amount of babies that i would give him

anyway, for sure i want to write probably two more parts of this so watch out!

summary: westeros is at the gates of war and to gain allies, king's landing sends one of its dragons to winterfell to marry the northern wolf and increase the chances of winning the war.

warnings: none (?) i believe

pairing: fem!targtower reader x cregan stark

Westeros stood on the brink of war and no one could prevent it.

Rhaenyra, occupying Dragonstone, was gathering armies and allies around her. Aegon was doing the same, though he was merely a pawn in the hands of those wiser than himself. Nevertheless, the Targaryen family was split in two: one side wore black, the other green. However, it seemed that the Dragon Family had not just split in two but shattered like a broken glass.

One of the dining halls in the Red Keep hosted a silent dinner. Since the king's death, meals had passed in silence. At the head of the table, where Viserys once sat, now sat Aegon. Next to him was his mother, then the Hand of the King. On the new king’s left sat Aemond, followed by their two younger sisters. No one exchanged even a glance.

After dinner, everyone left the table and went their separate ways, but Alicent stopped her older daughter, asking her to have a word. The girl nodded and they went to the mother's chambers.

"Has something happened?" the young princess asked once they were alone. The woman quickly reached for a jug of wine and filled her goblet, taking several large sips. The alcohol, however, did not ease the knot in her throat. Alicent clutched the goblet in her hand and sat down, looking at her daughter. She stared at her for a few moments in silence, as if trying to memorize as many details of her as possible. If she could, she would have imprinted her image on her mind.

"Mother—" "You will go north," Alicent interrupted her, declaring it like a crossbow bolt. She knew this revelation would not be easy for her. Accepting the news would be equally difficult for her daughter.

"What?" the girl frowned. "Me? To the North?"

The woman nodded and sighed, wanting to gather some courage and convince herself that what she was doing was right.

"You know well that war is coming, and even if we wanted to, it is inevitable," she returned her gaze to her daughter’s face, who was looking at her with a slight frown between her brows. "We need allies, and the most are in the North. We must forge an alliance with them."

"Why are you entrusting me with such task?" she asked, shaking her head. "I understand you won't send Aegon, but Aemond? Ser Criston?"

Alicent tightened her grip on the goblet, and if it had been made of a weaker material, it would have shattered in her hand by now.

"Only you can bring the North closer to us."

The young princess frowned even more and shook her head. She didn’t understand any of this.

"Am I to go there alone?" she looked back at her mother, who only nodded. "How long am I to be there?"

"You will marry Cregan Stark," she announced, placing the goblet on her lap. "There is no stronger alliance than marriage. Rhaenyra can do nothing about it."

The girl scoffed in disbelief and took a few steps back.

"This is absurd, utter madness," she believed her mother was joking, but the woman's face still had the same expression. "But you promised me to Aegon!"

"Aegon broke off the engagement," she said, looking at her daughter's face. "He knows it is necessary."

The young princess laughed bitterly, and tears, hot as molten steel, streamed down her cheeks.

"The North will not stand with a usurper, you know that very well!"

"Lord Stark is extremely pleased with the prospect of marrying a Targaryen and eagerly awaits you," she said almost mechanically. She had been repeating this sentence nonstop for days, as if trying to convince herself that what is she doing was right. However, she couldn’t bear to look at her daughter's tear-streaked, bitter face.

"You're a monster," she sobbed, turning and grabbing the door handle.

"We all must sacrifice for the greater good," she said, but her daughter no longer heard her.

The shaken princess hurriedly left the castle, heading to the Dragonpit. She sobbed bitterly, tears streaming down her cheeks. When she heard Vermithor, she quickened her pace, running. When she saw the dragon, her heart momentarily lifted. It broke, however, when she saw the massive collar around the beast’s neck and the heavy chain that bound it. She cried out, reaching out and touching the dragon’s snout.

"What have they done to you?"

The bronze giant looked weakened, likely given a massive dose of something to sedate him during the collaring. The young princess couldn’t believe what her own family was capable of.

"There, it's alright," she ran her hands over his snout, though she herself was shattered into pieces. Sadness, grief, and despair mixed with fury. She walked around the dragon and stood before the collar clasp, grabbing the chain and pulling with all her strength. But even with that, it didn’t budge.

The girl screamed in anger, her scream not sounding like that of a teenager. It sounded like the roar of an enraged dragon, yet even the beast’s roar couldn’t break the brass chains.

"I’m so sorry," the girl sobbed, helplessly kneeling by the beast’s snout and hugging it with all her might. "I’m sorry."

The young princess did not return to the castle. She spent the night in the Dragonpit, nestled against the side of her dragon. She cried until sleep overcame her. Vermithor covered her with his wing.

The next morning, when the Dragonkeepers were ordered to bring the princess, the dragon roared fiercely, not allowing them to approach. The girl woke immediately.

"Princess," one of the men spoke, standing at a distance the dragon permitted. "The queen summons you to the castle."

"She is not the queen," the princess muttered, sniffing. She stood and wiped her face with her hands. She felt tears welling up under her eyelids again. Vermithor sensed her emotions and abandoned his aggressive stance, laying his snout flat on the ground. The girl smiled sadly and hugged the dragon one last time.

"Geros ilas, uēpa raqiros," she said, raising her head and looking at the bronze giant. She tenderly stroked his scales. Bitter tears once again wetted her cheeks, but she wiped them away with a clenched fist. "Nyke jāhor māzigon arlī skori issa jēda māzigon, se hēnkirī īlon jāhor zālagon ry lī qilōni gōntan bisa naejot īlva." (Farewell, old friend. I will return when my time comes, and together we will burn all those who did this to us.)

She walked away, not looking back. She heard the dragon's roar and cry, the clanking of chains, and the flapping of wings. But she left the Dragonpit alone.

At the castle gates, two carriages and about four dozen knights waited, all on horses and in shining armor. Alicent waited by one carriage, accompanied by the Hand of the King. Ser Criston also looked like he was being sent on a journey, probably to make sure than the princess will not run away. However, neither Aegon, Aemond, nor Helaena were among the crowd. The girl felt like spitting in her mother’s and the Hand’s faces. She could only guess that her siblings knew nothing about this. No one could convince her that Aegon had agreed to break the engagement. He might be foolish and reckless, but he loved his sister sincerely. And Helaena? She would never have let her go.

Alicent wanted to say something, reached out to her daughter, but the girl didn’t even look at her. She got into the carriage and slammed the door. She would return and burn them all.

For several days, until the first stop, the young princess didn’t say a word to anyone. She didn’t eat or drink much, which did not go unnoticed by several of her maids who had been sent with her. Fearing the princess planned to starve herself to death, they tried to persuade her to eat at least small amounts. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes not.

As a result, the girl lost a lot of weight during the journey. Her dresses became too large, her eyes sunken, and her hair, once like glowing gold, now resembled spider silk. The princess stopped spending the journey in tears only when the entourage passed Harrenhal. She remained silent, and the feasts thrown by the lords to host her were always the first she left, apologizing and explaining a headache. No one blamed her.

As the entourage moved further, the days grew shorter and the nights colder. Winterfell was near, but the approaching winter was even nearer.

The Targaryen princess reached the northern capital after over two moons.

At the maid's suggestion, the girl donned a thick fur coat, and as soon as she stepped outside her carriage, she was greeted by piercing cold. She had seen snow on the journey, but there was much more of it here, and it still fell from the sky. Lead-colored clouds hung low, and snowflakes swirled in the wind, falling onto the icy ground. They also fell on her snow-like hair, which the frosty wind blew, kissing her cheeks in greeting.

Cregan Stark, the young lord of Winterfell and her future husband, also came to greet her.

The young man was the textbook definition of a Northerner. He was only a little older than her, but his sharp features made him appear more mature than he actually was. The Wolf of the North was over a head taller than her, with broad shoulders and a well-built physique, now covered under a thick fur. The wind tousled his shoulder-length brown hair, and his toughened skin was impervious to the cold. Not like the girl’s cheeks, now rosy as petals of a fresh bloomed flower.

"Princess," he spoke, his voice deep and marked by an accent. "I welcome you to Winterfell."

"My Lord," she forced a smile, though she knew it must have looked more like a grimace. The Dragon Princess was aware that she would have to endure many more forced smiles and artificial courtesies.

The Wolf of the North, however, did not require any courtesy from her. He knew why the girl had been sent to him and what was expected of her; he had even heard rumors of a broken engagement. He decided not to pressure her and let her get used to the new place, to the North. After all, a Dragon had ended up among a pack of Wolves.

The wedding did not wait for the girl to get accustomed to Winterfell; it took place just a few days after her arrival at the Stark stronghold. The Dragon Princess had exchanged only a few formal sentences with the Lord of the North before she had to call him husband. The Godswood, where the wedding was held, had seen many a forced marriage. The girl had even come to terms with the bedding, but the Young Wolf announced that it would not take place.

"Perhaps one day a spark of affection will ignite within you, and you will come to my arms of your own accord," he said when he saw the questioning look on her face.

The night after the wedding, the marriage was spent apart. Every subsequent night was as well.

Days passed, and the young princess gradually came to terms with her new reality. She knew this was her life now, that she was the wife of the Wolf of the North and the Lady of Winterfell. The choice she had been forced into might not have pleased her, but it did not mean it was a bad one.

After some time, the girl began to spend more time outside her chambers. She abandoned reading and took up sewing, helping the servants mend linens and clothes. She insisted on mending her husband's clothes herself, asking that no one else do it for her. Although it was not her duty, every morning and evening she fed the animals. The young princess missed her dragon dearly, but she found joy in spending time with horses, feeding chickens, or petting rabbits.

One of the servants once ran terrified to inform Cregan that the princess was endangering herself with the direwolves. The Lord, worried, quickly went with her to the scene, only to find there was no reason for concern. The girl sat motionless on the ground, allowing the animals to sniff her. Two wolves wagged their tails, and one even lay down beside her. Cregan's heart swelled at the sight, not because of her interaction with the animals but because, for the first time, he saw a smile on her face. He could have sworn it was genuine.

The marriage, however, still did not see them spending much time together, nor talking much. This did not mean the Young Wolf was not interested in his wife; quite the opposite. Both morning and evening, he would ask the servants how the girl was doing. After some time, the young princess began to do the same.

"What is he like?" she asked one day, while she and two Winterfell servants were mending clothes. Though she did not ask directly, the women knew she meant Lord Stark. They exchanged glances and only smiled. Did her question mean that the Dragon Princess was beginning to warm to the Wolf Lord?

"He has a very big heart, my lady," one admitted. "At first glance, he may seem intimidating, but he is a gentle giant. Lord Stark is very kind."

The girl lowered her gaze, focusing on her work. She smiled slightly.

"I think he is a good man too," she admitted.

"That does not mean he can be trifled with," added the other. "He is kind when someone gives him the same. But he is a wolf, my lady. He can bite if provoked."

Indeed, Cregan appeared to be a man of steel nerves who could turn that steel into a sword, with which he could take a life without a second thought.

When the princess had finished her duties, she dressed and went outside to spend some time in the stables. In the courtyard, a few men were preparing for a journey, saddling horses. Among them was her husband.

"My lady," he smiled at the sight of her. Each of the men bowed slightly.

"Are you going somewhere, my lord?" she asked, stroking his horse’s muzzle.

"Hunting," he announced, fastening a crossbow to the saddle. "I will return before nightfall."

"Could I accompany you?" she asked without much thought. The young man's lips twitched upward. The unexpected proposal pleased him.

"You would do me a great honor, my lady."

And so the Wolf and the Dragon set off together, side by side. They rode at the front, accompanied by four men. No one questioned the princess's participation.

When they reached the depths of the forest, they tied the horses to a tree and continued on foot. At a certain point, they all split up, but the Wolf and the Dragon stayed together. They were silent, but it was not an awkward silence. Their mutual company was enough.

"Look," he leaned toward her, whispering. "There, between the trees. Beyond the fallen trunk."

The girl quickly found the point he indicated and smiled at the sight of a deer. The stag was large, and its antlers were even larger. It calmly stripped moss from the fallen tree.

Cregan silently removed the crossbow from his shoulder. The girl felt a pang in her heart. Of course, she thought. They hadn’t come for a stroll.

The Young Wolf noticed her troubled expression. He knew what saddened her.

"I never let them suffer longer than necessary," he assured. The girl quickly nodded, causing a tear to roll down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with her hand.

Cregan drew the arrow and raised the crossbow, aiming at the deer. A moment of silence, a whoosh of air, and a dull thud. The stag fell to the ground. The young man glanced at his wife's face one last time and moved ahead. When they reached the deer, it was already dead. Blood flowed from its mouth, and the once-living body was now motionless. Cregan approached to retrieve the arrow, but the girl beat him to it. She knelt by the dead animal and gently ran her hand along its neck, stroking it soft, golden fur. For a moment, she gazed at the deer, absorbing its beauty. Tears welled up in her eyes again, so she quickly grabbed the arrow, pulled it out, and stood up, handing it to her husband. Cregan took it in silence.

Although neither of them spoke for the rest of the hunt, an understanding formed between them, a sort of alliance. The culture and customs of the North were so wild and distant for someone from the South. The young princess, however, knew that Winterfell was her home now. And if it was her home, she had to learn its customs. Even if they were far from her own beliefs.

That evening, despite the darkness, the Wolf Lord could have sworn that the scales of the Southern Dragon glistened with a snowy sheen.

A few days after the first closer interaction between the young marriage, Cregan decided he would like to spend some time with the girl again. He knocked on her chamber door, and when she let him in, he entered. The girl was sitting by the fireplace, stuffing pillows with feathers, but she smiled at the sight of her husband.

"My lady," he nodded to her, lightly returning her smile.

"My lord," she replied, reaching for a needle and beginning to sew the pillow. "Something brings you here?" she asked after a moment when he silently observed her deftly working fingers.

"I would like to introduce someone to you," he replied, causing the girl to frown slightly in surprise.

"Do we have guests?"

The young man nodded and reached for her fur. Seeing his gesture encouraging her to stop working, she set her task aside and stood up. She walked over to him and turned, allowing him to help her dress. Shortly afterward, they went outside.

"Who are these guests? Did we know they were coming?" she asked, glancing at her husband.

"We expected them, but we didn't know when they would arrive," he explained.

They passed the courtyard, which was empty. There was no sign that Winterfell had visitors. The girl remained silent until they entered one of the sheds. This particular one housed the direwolves. She was about to ask what this was all about when she heard squeaks and whimpers. As she connected the dots, the frown disappeared from her brow, and her violet eyes lit up.

"No way, it can't be."

Cregan smiled and gestured for her to come closer. Around the corner, on a bed of straw, lay a she-wolf. Four pups were latched onto her teats, and one of them, with nearly golden fur, was sleeping a bit further away.

The young princess was genuinely moved by the sight. Cregan smiled as well, not just because of the litter but because of his wife's joy.

"They were born this morning," he announced. "Four females and a male."

The male turned out to be the pup lying away from the pack. He was bigger than the rest and had a bronze coat, a color familiar to the girl. When the little wolf woke up and stretched, Cregan approached and petted the she-wolf's head, silently praising her for a job well done. He picked up the pup that was away from the mother and held him in his arms, then handed him to the girl. The young princess cradled him, stroking him gently.

"So you've returned to me as a direwolf," she said softly, more to herself than to her husband.

Cregan looked at his wife questioningly. The young princess felt his gaze on her.

"My dragon has a very similar color," she explained, scratching the wolf pup behind the ear. "They call him the Bronze Fury, all because of the color of his scales."

"In the skies, is he truly a fury?" he asked, watching her interaction with the pup.

The girl laughed softly and shook her head. "Maybe once, when my great-grandfather rode him. Now he's an old beast. Sometimes I felt he preferred a nap over a ride with me."

Cregan smiled at her words. He noticed that she found joy in animals, especially direwolves and dragons. While he couldn't provide the latter, he was glad he could bring her happiness with the pups.

"He's yours now," he declared when she kissed the pup between the ears. "The Targaryens have dragons, the Starks have direwolves. It's time for you to have your own."

The girl looked again at the pup she was holding and smiled even more. Her heart swelled with emotion.

"Thank you," she said, looking at her husband. Cregan returned her smile.

"What will you name him?"

"Vermithor," she said without hesitation. "I feel he's a dragon in a direwolf's body."

To the servants' concern, they spent several hours in the shed, out of sight of everyone. They sat on the straw among the pups, talking about dragons, direwolves, flights in the clouds, and hunts in the forests. For the first time since they met and got married, they had the chance to learn something about each other.

"I've never seen a dragon," Cregan admitted. His sword lay by his straightened legs, and he leaned his back against the rough wall.

"I wish you to never have to," the girl replied. Her legs were crossed, and in them, like in a nest, slept little Vermithor. "Dragons never bode well."

"But still, they obey you," he looked at her. "How do you manage that?"

"You can't control them completely; they are still wild beasts," she noted. "But the Targaryens have managed to do so to some extent for thousands of years, back when the home of dragons was Valyria."

"Dragons respond only to the old language, right?" The young princess nodded in confirmation. "Just as I've never seen a dragon, I've never encountered that language."

"Zyr sindighy iderēbion, kes as qogralbar," she said, and the Young Wolf smiled. "Se valzi rijinyso sizi vys̄oron" (It is a very rough language, in my opinion. And also not the easiest to learn)

"If I were a dragon and heard something like that, I wouldn't hesitate to follow orders," he replied, making her laugh. Cregan also smiled sincerely. He never thought he'd hear the language of Old Valyria, but even more, he didn't expect to hear such sincere laughter of the Dragon Princess.

Winter began to settle more and more into Winterfell, but the biting cold was defied by the spark of affection that blossomed between the Wolf and the Dragon.

[white-poppie]

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐘-𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑

A shrill shout causes you to dart your attention in the direction it came from. You leave all the work you were occupied with and run towards the source of the sound, which was the master bathroom.

You knock on the bathroom door, panicking, where your lover is supposed to be taking a bath. All kinds of scenarios ranging from scalding hot water burning his skin to him slipping and getting a concussion, keep running in your head, "Babe what's wrong?"

You hear hurried, wet footsteps thumping on the marble-tiled floor. He opens the door with a loud bang, making you flinch. He is standing in front of you, wearing nothing but his bath towel around his waist, leaving his torso for you to marvel at.

"What's wrong?" You ask, looking into his restless eyes.

He rests a hand against the doorframe, water dripping down his body and creating a puddle. Whatever the matter was, it was far more critical than drying himself or looking decent.

"Spider," he says breathlessly, "there is a spider in the bathroom."

You blink. Once, twice, thrice and then stare at the man in front of you. You say the S-word again to confirm if you are hearing correctly or if you've turned into a sixty-year-old grandma, "a spider?"

"A spider," he says and nods aggressively, "get it out of there."

You don't know whether to be amused or irritated. Is there a camera anywhere? Is he filming a prank?

"What do you want me to do?" You ask, keeping your hands on your hips.

"Kill it," he says with wide eyes and you can't help but grin a little at this absurd situation of a behemoth of a man being scared of a tiny spider.

"Aren't you the man here?" You muse, playing along a little as he stands there, half-naked.

His brows furrow and he stares at you in offence. "Oh so now patriarchal standards come into play? In this situation? We are in the twenty-first century! And what about 'equality' and this 'willpower' you talk of when I say I'll pay for our dates? However, you either split the bill or make an advanced booking and now I have to make an advanced booking before your advanced booking."

"Okay, Okay I get it." You say exasperatedly and walk into the washroom and ask him to point at the tiny predator, "How big is it?" You say and immediately think of a 'that's what she said' joke, but he is too stressed to notice.

He makes a gap between his index and thumb and implies that the spider is about half an inch big- Wait hold on, that's one huge spider.

Your eyes widen as you finally understand his fear. You remove your slipper and wield it like a weapon and look around, "where is it?"

He stands beside you but sweatdrops as he realizes the spider is nowhere to be found. "It's not there anymore."

You look around the bathroom, panicking from your position and find the spider nowhere.

You then look back at your beloved with a mutual understanding of what to do next, "pack your things we are leaving."

KURAPIKA, Leorio, SHINICHIRO, Benkei, BAJI, GOJO, Getou, MELLO, Matt, Kuroo, BOKUTO, SAKUSA, LEV, OIKAWA, ASAHI, Atsumu,

A/N: But spiders are not that sc- *is shot dead.*

-- Fanfictions

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[s-awturn]

On The Highest Place On The Podium || LH44

summary: Fortunately, the Paris Olympics coincided with Formula One's summer break, and Lewis had no plans other than to watch his girlfriend shine at the games.

request: @evasmlp

cw: nothing but cuteness and unconditional support from Lewis in the stands

a/n: I loved this request because I can use the joke of Lewis being a wag during the games, so I'll try to make it cute and funny, I might fail, but let's see what happens. My knowledge of rhythmic gymnastics is equally scarce, so don't take it seriously, it's all nonsense. This will be short, unfortunately it's what I can do right now (I have a fucking headache

"Excuse me, excuse me," he asked as he walked to his seat, mumbling apologies. Luckily the competition hadn't started yet, so he hadn't asked for anything. The gym was packed and flags of several countries were seen there, he looked around, searching for her among the competitors and as if he was attracted by a magnet, Lewis found her at the opposite end. Y/N was wearing the Spanish team's tracksuit pants and royal blue leotard that made her stand out among the other gymnasts; Lewis could see that his fiancée was anxious, she rubbed her hands on her arms and He looked around, he knew she was analyzing her opponents, even from afar the pilot could see the gears in her head turning.

Lewis wanted to be there for her and support her, tell her she would do fine, but he knew Y/N and in moments of tension, she preferred to focus alone or with the team, and being an athlete, Lewis understood her need, so ok, he would stay in the stands, cheering for her.

S/N took a deep breath, she would open the finale session with the ribbon, it was her first Olympics, and she felt that the entire weight of her country was on her shoulders; she repeated her mantra, trying to stay centered and calm, and didn't look at the stands, didn't want to know if there were Spanish flags among the fans, she didn't want to look for Lewis either. It was stupid, but she was afraid of disappointing her people and her fiancé, so she kept her eyes on the ground, looking at her blue nails also escaping from the slipper.

"Are you ready, Y/N?"

"Fuck no, but this is the best way" she replied and took off her tracksuit pants, she had chosen Hips Don't Lie as the theme for her solo, the trainer handed her the equipment and she walked to the edge of the mat, Y/N arranged the ribbon around her feet, waiting for the music to start.

As the sound echoed through the gym, Y/N spun on one foot, making the ribbon tremble around her, everyone seemed enchanted by her performance, as if Y/N and her ribbon were one. She ran across the mat and jumped, doing a split in the air as the ribbon fluttered above her head and Y/N finished the performance with a pike.

Lewis was the first to stand up, clapping loudly as he watched his girlfriend thank him and leave the mat, he didn't understand anything about gymnastics, but from what I knew, S/N had a good performance and would have high grades, the chance to go from seventh place to second and securing the silver medal for Spain were great Lewis was rooting for her to make it.

S/N swallowed more than half of the contents of the isotonic bottle, she kept her eyes on the screen while waiting for the note, her heart was a war drum, beating non-stop. 14,987 points, the highest score that she had already received in her career as a gymnast, with that she was on the podium, not the second one as she was thinking, but the first one. If everything went well, she would be Olympic champion! S/N was surrounded by the team, congratulating her and celebrating her grade.

She picked up her phone and checked her messages, smiling at the words of support and cheering from family and friends and of course, a beautiful photo taken by Lewis, at the exact moment she jumped.

You were amazing, doll, I'm proud of you.

She sobbed, holding back tears. Lewis had been so supportive of her last year as she qualified for the Olympics, he had accompanied her to the championships, and even though Y/N denied it, and Lewis was her master sponsor, and he didn't regret a single penny spent on his bride's brilliant career.

Thank you love, I wouldn't be here without you.

She looked for him in the stands, in the middle of the presentation, Lewis took a seat near the team, he needed to be with her after the solo.

Where are you?

Behind you, sweetness

She smiled widely as she jumped onto the bench to hug her fiancé. Lewis kissed her entire face, finishing with a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Of course you'd be here without me, you're amazing, love," he murmured, cupping her face in his hands. "and you're going to win the gold, showing everyone that you're the best."

"Lewis," she scolded, but she kept smiling.

A few minutes later, Y/N returned to the mat, this time with the hoop, this time she chose Julio Iglesias as the backdrop and again. Lewis watched in fascination as the bride gliding gracefully across the mat, she handled the hoop masterfully, humming the song as she performed. Lewis was so proud of her, so happy that she was achieving her goals, slowly but steadily.

Lewis was proud to be engaged to her, he loved talking about her and knew his next helmet would have the same pattern as her leotard, Lewis would honor his future wife in the best way possible.

Y/N couldn't hold back her tears as she heard the Spanish anthem play, she was in her highest place, with the Spanish flag around her body. She had done it, the highest place on the podium was hers, cleanly and honestly. The photo of her on the podium was of S/N kissing the medal, red from crying as she looked at the fruit of her effort.

She looked at Lewis, her heart swelling with pride in her fiancé's eyes. She had secured the two highest places she had ever wanted: the top of the podium and a place in Lewis's heart.

y/nrhythmic, georgerussell63, valtteribottas, carmenmundt and 6,869,650 other people liked it

lewishamilton I don't have enough words to say how proud I am of you. I always knew you were capable of reaching the top of the world, my love, and thank you for letting me be by your side through it ♡

y/nrhythmic I'm a very lucky girl to have you baby 😭🫶🏼 → liked by lewishamilton

[florapal]

enchanted to meet you.

welcome home ! / ot8 x human!reader , can be seen as romantic or platonic.

what they like abt u <333

no warnings.

first welcome home writing piece ever ... I hope you little tulips enjoy<3 inspired by so many human readers I've seen n read !

humanity.

that was what made you different from your neighbors— your humanity. your flesh, and your bone, and every blood vessel you had— every vein, every nail, every tooth and every beat of your heart— it made you different. they were made of felt. they had nothing but stuffing in their bodies, they were literally puppets. they didn't need almost everything you did— food, toothbrushes, skincare (probably). water made them sink so deep into the ground, they could barely move.

but you— you were vastly different from them, and you naturally— knew more. they came to you for most of their endeavors; even the smartest neighbor, your predecessor— frank frankly— came to you once in a while.

they asked you about what it was like , how it was like , to be a human. why did you need this? why did you need that? what would happen if [...]? what would never happen? curiosity, curiosity, curiosity. you couldn't blame them, either, seeing as you were equally curious about the world around you. this foreign world that you, like, literally dreamed of— you dreamed about this world so often, that you theorize its what got you sent here in the first place. a gap made in the multiverse, you theorize, opened during your sleep. until then, you had been an overseer, not directly interacting with anyone from the neighborhood.

it must've taken one gap in space. one lapse in time, in the order of the universe. one thing to confuse your conscience, and in turn confused your senses. your dream felt real, now, as a familiar voice called to you— and you opened your eyes.

wally darling.

you freaked out a bit, after that.

who wouldn't? who wouldn't, in such worlds like this one.

the sky shines brighter here.

everything's brighter, to be fair.

even you are.

surrounded by constant support & love , comforted and relied on— you don't believe yourself deserving of this, but they do.

poppy partridge is, no joke, a mother hen. poppy is the first to offer housing, to offer nutrition and to offer company— she cares, she cares, and she cares some more. she finds herself running a wing down your hair , entranced by every strand and every split end. counting each strand you have eases her , to some extent. it helps her cool down, just as her presence in general helps you cool down.

julie joyful is as joyful as her surname suggests. she takes your hand without fear, she doesn't hesitate to know you— she pushes you to talk about yourself , even. she finds herself interested in your fingers. she fiddles with them unconsciously, intrigued by every callous, intrigued by every line on your palm— intrigued by your nails. she traces the lines on your palms absentmindedly — uncharacteristically quiet as she listens to you talk about your world.

barnaby b. beagle makes you laugh the moment you meet him. all it takes is a clever punch line , and you're giggling like mad— and barnaby prides himself on the fact he is able to make you laugh. he is curious about your smile— for the first time he saw it, he saw a row of white pearls shining up at him. it looked like a treasure chest being opened, as weird as it sounded. barnaby only hopes that he'll make you smile each and every day— he wouldn't know what he'd do if he saw your teeth gritting— be it in anger, or sadness. he hopes he never will know.

eddie dear is your pen pal who delivers his letters himself. in these letters, you tell him of your hobbies and your pet peeves, your no's and your yes', your dos and don'ts. you tell him everything, and in turn, he tells you everything aswell. can you blame him if he is enamored by how you speak? like, literally, how you speak. he does, indeed, find your voice calming— something he must savour. but he cannot fathom the fact you don't need a voice box, and whenever you speak— your neck?? vibrates?? he is eager to learn about human anatomy! it'd be even better from you, as sadly, what you say is almost always on paper.

sally starlet is in her prime theater kid era, as you said. you stated it once and she has never let it go. yes, she is infact in her prime ! she enjoys the thrill , the applause and the fun ! she's also, however, thrilled by your ideas. you, as someone from another world, bring such wonderful things onto the table that— in her brilliance, she makes possible. she wonders if the sun is inside of you, for your ideas brighten up every day she lives. yes, tell her more about your little disney movies, she's taking notes and planning to create another to add into that category! the best one yet! perhaps you could be the lead?

howdy pillar is , in your words , a funky dude with nice arms. he appreciates the compliment. the supplier of most of the towns goods, he gets in good business— but he thinks whenever you're there, he gets better business! your drive is contagious, and he wants to get more things done when you're in his vicinity. you motivate him unknowingly to better his shop, as you better your situation in this neighborhood. he's proud of you, neighbor, he hopes you are of him too.

frank frankly is fascinated with you. he seems to be interested in your knowledge of insects , but he seems to be interested in your general knowledge too. you know more than he does , been out and about more than he's been— seen more bugs than he has, you are literally from a different world— a world he wants to know all about. there is so much going on in your brilliant mind, every time you converse— he believes he's only ever receiving a morsel of your intellect. perhaps you'd be free tomorrow, to meet up and to engage in intellectual things?

wally darling is intrigued. he hears a beat in your chest, he says, and you nod. he places a hand on your chest, over your heart, and it beats. he looks at you in awe. he doesn't know what this is, but it is part of you, and if it's part of you— it's aweworthy. this mindset goes for every part of you— all of you is beautiful to him. however, he must say, he enjoys the way your eyes crease whenever you smile. eyes are windows to the soul, you told him, and he couldn't agree more— especially the moment your eyes sparkled when he told you he loved you. how did you interpret this ? you did not know, all you know is that you love him too.

each puppet finds solace in you, as cliché as it sounds. as different as you are from them, flesh & bone to felt & fur , they can not deny that, just as they were with every neighbor,

they were enchanted to meet you.

assets / pinterest ♡ property of florauna, 2023

[tofics]

Broken - Chapter 6

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes… Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he’ll never get.

Word Count: 3433 words

This chapter is very dark. Reader discretion is advised.

Warnings: violence (knife at throat, choking through knee on chest), clear intentions of killing, blood, clear mention of SA (usage of the r-word), panic attack, throwing up, cursing.

Chapter 6 - Nightmare Knocking On Your Door

"YOU." Spit flies from your lips as you scream into the man's face, foaming at your mouth. The knife you're pressing into his throat is already drawing blood, the blade pressed against the skin so tightly that it's being split open by the sharp edge. It's taking every ounce of strength in you not to slice him open right there and then.

You barely register his female companion crying out and staggering towards you before she's pulled out of your view. Then someone drops to their knees besides you. "Whoa whoa whoa, hey, why don't we put the knife away?" Tommy's voice is gentle, clearly meant to ease you down, but you only hiss in response, never taking your eyes off your prey.

You've waited so long for this moment.

You dreamt of it so many times; so many versions where the outcome is always the same: you, taking his life.

One Hour Earlier

Springtime in Jackson is nothing but beautiful.

Joel and you returned to Jackson a week earlier. Although your mission was unfruitful, you still came carrying gifts and trinkets. None of the ranches you hit up had any cows to offer, but a few of them still had quite a bit of resources scattered around to loot from.

Betsy received two relatively in-shape backpacks that you found, filled with all kinds of knick-knacks that can be helpful out in the wild.

The Tipsy Bison got a fresh batch of whiskey, found stashed away in what was presumably a 'man-cave' a long time ago.

The chalk, skipping ropes and board game you found went to the school where they're received with joy and excitement.

The thing you were most excited about though was a stash of Savage Starlight comics that you found in an abandoned library. When Joel told you about Ellie's love for them, there was no question that they'd be coming with you, weight be damned.

Ellie was ecstatic and wrapped you in a bear hug that made you all fuzzy and hurting inside at the same time. Despite the hurt, you hugged her right back.

Everyone else was grateful for their deliveries as well.

You've come to love this little town, there's no doubt about it. This place is as close to the old world as it comes, if someone put a spin on it and cranked up the equality setting. Everyone chips in, everyone gets something out of it. It actually fucking works.

It's always bustling, no matter the season, but now that the colors are changing from white and gray and brown to blue skies and green and specks of color here and there, provided by the odd early flower, it's almost something out of a fairytale. Some days you're convinced Snow White will come around a corner with a bunch of forest animals trailing behind her.

That's not to say life is easy. You're not delusional about the world outside of the town's walls, it's still an apocalyptic shit-show out there, run by raiders and infected. But it's out there and you're in here. In a community that looks out for its members. With a roof over your head, food in your stomach, and a warm bed to sleep in at night. That in itself is already more than you allowed yourself to dream of for the past twenty years.

And yet, somehow, as if you weren't already lucky enough, there's Joel and Ellie.

Ellie with her infectious smile and silly jokes and ruthless honesty that seems way beyond her years and Joel with his... Joelness. The quiet exterior that hides more than you could've ever thought and somehow got lucky enough to become privy to.

Your life is bordering on being too good to be true. That, you're certain of.

And yet you can't help but smile, all the damn time.

It's like not only Jackson is thawing out, but so are you. Something that was buried deep inside of you is slowly resurfacing, breathing more color and life back into you with every day that passes. It's the most wonderful and scariest feeling you've come across yet.

You're on your way to the stalls, admiring Jackson's spring attire when you hear the commotion near the gates. One of the guards is shouting something unintelligible, closely followed by the tell-tale sound of the gates slowly being opened.

This is strange for two reasons. One, it's too early for patrol to return - unless something happened. Two, the guards wouldn't be yelling to open the gates for patrol - unless something happened.

Joel's on patrol this morning.

Apple still in hand, your feet turn the opposite direction from the stalls. You're running by the time you arrive at the small plaza in front of the gates.

Please, please, don't let anything have happened to him.

You're not the only person the guard's shouts attracted. A small crowd has formed in front of the gates, obscuring them from your view. People at the front are muttering, but you can't tell by their tone whether what they're seeing is good or bad.

Please, not Joel. Please.

Your pulse drums in your ears as you push through the rows of bystanders.

Not him. Anyone but him.

He is the first thing you see when you stumble out of the crowd, up on his horse and alive, thank God. Your eyes roam over his body to check for injuries, but you can't find any. Instead, your eyes stop on the hands wrapped around Joel's waist from behind.

What the...?

Your gaze flits over to the second horse that's carrying Jeff. He appears to be healthy too, thankfully, but there is also a pair of arms wrapped around his waist.

"Who'd they bring in?," a voice sounds from your right, and it finally clicks.

Oh. They brought new people.

It's crazy how quickly you can go from being the new one to being one of the people in the face of strangers. A multitude of thoughts run through your head in the few seconds it takes for the information to register in your brain, ranging from 'Thank God Joel's okay' to 'I wonder whether they'll fit in', never once considering the fact that you're now on the opposite side of where you were a few months ago when Joel brought you in on that very same horse.

To the left of you, Tommy weaves through the people watching the action unfold and walks up to Joel's horse. They exchange a few words and you see Tommy nodding, first to Joel, then to Jeff.

"I guess that means they get to stay. For now," the woman next to you mutters. "For now?" You raise an eyebrow at her. "What does that mean?" She turns to you with a mocking expression that quickly fades when she realizes that it's you. "Oh. Yeah, guess you wouldn't know. Council's gonna decide whether they're a good fit or not. If not..." She shrugs, the implication of the words unspoken hanging heavy in the air between you.

It's never occurred to you before, but of course a place like Jackson would have a system in place that decides whether or not people are a good fit for them. Just because nothing was ever explicitly brought up to you doesn't mean that you never went through a screening process yourself.

Joel's passenger is revealed to be a very pregnant woman when he slides off his horse with ease. How she was even able to hold on to him with a belly of that size between them is beyond you, but it also answers any question about why Jeff and Joel decided to bring them in.

You watch as Joel and Tommy awkwardly help her come off the horse. "Phew, looks like she's about to pop any minute now," the woman to your side comments, and you couldn't agree more.

She is lucky they found her when they did, you think as the woman puts her hands on her lower back for support, visibly stiff from the ride and the extra weight she is lugging around.

Opposite of the little trio Jeff jumps down from his four-legged companion and extends a hand out to his own passenger. His help is accepted and - thump - the second stranger sets their feet on Jackson's ground. Jeff pets them on the back and smiles, and although you're too far away to properly hear him, you can practically read the words on his lips: Welcome to Jackson.

From the frame of the person, you assume it's a man, likely the second half of DNA that's currently cooking in the woman's belly. He reaches for Jeff's hand and envelopes it in both of his. "Thank you, man, I don't know what we would have done without you."

A sizzling pain shoots through your body and immobilizes you.

You know that voice.

It's haunted you in your dreams for years.

You'd recognize it anywhere.

Jeff and the man move towards the other half of the arrival party and you watch, frozen in place, as the back of the head turns into a side-profile until you're staring into his face.

Him.

The face of the one person you hate most in this world.

The face of the monster that is responsible for your pain. For her pain.

The apple in your hand falls to the ground and lands with a soft thud, but you barely register it. Time seems to stand still as your eyes lock on him, that face you'll never be able to forget.

Bile is working its way up your throat and filling your mouth with the sour and bitter taste of pure, unfiltered hatred. Your vision blurs and refocuses multiple times, his face going in and out of focus as if your brain is doing repeated double-takes, unable to process what you're seeing.

Every single muscle in your body is on fire, screaming a thousand silent cries that are only matched by the high-pitched ringing in your ears, so loud and deafening that no other sound comes through.

I will kill you.

The sentence is so loud and so clear in your mind that it snaps your body back into reality and time resumes.

In front of you, they're being welcomed, hands are shaken and pats on the shoulders are given out. "Wanna bet on when she pops?," you hear from your right but don't waste a single glance.

Your eyes are locked on your target.

You watch in trance - or like a predator stalking their prey? - as the pregnant woman and her accompanying monster are welcomed with open arms into your community, your safe-space until he turns to Joel and shakes his hand.

"No. NO!," you screech and everyone turns towards you, but your legs are already carrying you forward, your hands finding the knife that you keep tucked in your belt on their own accord as you beeline for the source of all your misery.

You see him doing the mental math of placing you. The initial confusion, the recognition that wipes the smile from his face, and finally, the fear that spreads in his eyes.

Good. Fear me, for I will be your death.

Tommy, who is closest to you, tries to step into your path. "Hey, what's goin' o-," is how far he gets before you push him to the side and lunge forward.

He goes down hard, despite his large statue, your knife at his throat.

"YOU." Spit flies from your lips as you scream into the man's face, foaming at your mouth. Your knife is already drawing blood, the blade pressed against the skin so tightly that it's being split open by its sharp edge. It's taking every ounce of strength in you not to slice him open right there and then.

You barely register his female companion crying out and staggering towards you before she's pulled out of your view. Then someone drops to their knees besides you. "Whoa whoa whoa, hey, why don't we put the knife away?" Tommy's voice is gentle, clearly meant to ease you down, but you only hiss in response, never taking your eyes off your prey.

You've waited so long for this moment.

You dreamt of it so many times; so many versions where the outcome is always the same: you, taking his life.

Tommy is still talking to you, urging and soothing words mixing into a slurry background noise. You briefly make out Joel's name being called, but you block it all out, a tight wall coming down in your mind to shut it all out. Nothing and no one will take this from you.

"Not fighting back now, hm?," you pant and lick your lips. Your eyes flit back and forth between his, soaking up the fear in them like dry ground on a rainy day. "What, fight's gone out of you that quick?"

He doesn't reply, he just stares back at you, something unreadable behind the panic in his eyes.

"Fight back, you coward." You press the knife harder into his skin, drawing more blood. He winces but doesn't draw back, nor does he make any attempt to fight you off.

After what he did? After what he put her through?

Here he is, at your mercy, and he won't even attempt to fight back?

It makes you furious.

"I said fight BACK," you roar and shake him, fist buried into his jacket. He thumps back into the ground and his head comes down hard, but his hands remain stoically at his side, not moving an inch besides the fists his fingers have curled into.

Instead, he opens his mouth for the first time.

"I'm sorry." The words come out in a hoarse whisper.

It's so far from what you ever could have imagined him saying in a moment like this that for just a second, you're taken aback.

Then an even deadlier rage overtakes you.

You pull him up by his collar until your nose meets his nose. You stare into his eyes, making sure he truly sees you as you speak your next words.

"You don't get to say that to me," you hiss out between clenched teeth. "Not to me, when you should have said it to her, you fucking piece of shit!"

You slam him back to the ground and add a knee to his chest, pressing him into the dirt. It delights you, the way he's struggling to breathe under your weight. The fear in his eyes slowly grows into panic with every hitched breath he tries to take.

"Give me one good reason why I should let you live," you snarl.

He's panting now, wincing when you add more pressure on the blade at his throat.

"One good reason for why I shouldn't slice you open right here, right now."

The woman he came with screams at your words. It's shrill and piercing and filled with so much fear for him that you can only shoot her a quick look of pure disdain. How could she be worried about the life of a monster?

He holds your gaze and you can see it in his eyes, that slow shift from panic to begging, and you can't help but laugh. "Pah!" You spit onto the ground next to him. "That's what I thought."

You raise your knife to deliver the final cut that will take his life when he suddenly speaks again.

"She's alive," he sputters and heaves for air.

You freeze in your spot, knife hanging mid-air.

"Say that again." Your voice is low, threatening. He eyes the blade, then quickly looks back to you.

"She's alive."

You lick your lips as your eyes feverishly move back and forth between his, trying to detect signs of the lie you're sure you're being told.

"Hey," a low voice says next to you, the first one to get through to you since you've tackled this monster to the ground. "Hey," Joel repeats and you feel a gentle hand on your back, but you don't move, don't look away from the scum in front of you, frozen in action.

"What's going on?" Joel's voice is as gentle as the hand on your back, but you know him well enough by now to hear the concern in his voice, try as he might to conceal it.

He waits for your response, his hand burning on your back like hot iron. A few moments pass as the thoughts race through your brain.

"Why should I believe you?," you finally spit out.

His response is as simple as it is logical. "What do I have to lose?" His voice is raspy from the lack of air in his lungs. "Why should I lie to you, when you would kill me anyway?"

Your breathing is almost as labored as his. Your pulse is drumming in your ears, drowning out your thoughts and making it hard to think. Next to you, Joel says your name.

"Location." It's a clear order from your lips.

"I don't know." The words are barely out of his mouth when you respond with a croaky laugh, ramming him into the ground once more.

"You filthy piece of shit, of course you don't. Because you're lying." You raise your knife again, but then your arm is obstructed, caught mid-way by a strong hand.

"Joel, let go," you hiss but he doesn't budge, just shakes his head. "Not like this. Not here." He cocks his head at the crowd that's gathered around you and you realize everyone's eyes on you for the first time.

No. No, this is all wrong.

"You don't know what he did," you cry out, suddenly desperate to make him understand that you have to do this, that no matter what, you can't let him just walk away, not after what he did to her.

"You'll tell me. He won't get away." Joel's free hand gently wraps around the knife in your hand. "Ain't that right, Tommy?"

Your vision is starting to swim at the bottom as tears are flooding your eyes. Joel's gaze stays locked on yours, his eyes communicating more to you than his words ever could in this moment.

Trust me, they're saying, and despite every instinct in you screaming at you, you feel your hand releasing the knife.

"I got you."

Joel's eyes never leave yours, not when he gives the knife to Tommy, not when he gets up and lifts you with him, not when both his hands wrap around your elbows and lead you away from the scene, from the crowd, from him.

"Tell me what I need to know."

You're behind the town hall, just far enough to be out of sight and earshot of what's happening in front of the gates. Joel's hands are still on you, though whether he's keeping them there to keep you here or to steady you, you're not sure.

He's watching you intently, waiting for you to offer up an explanation, but the words are getting stuck in your throat, too thick and heavy and laced with pain to come out.

A sob breaks through your panicked breaths and you tug on your arms, wishing to be loose so you can pace about, but Joel won't let you.

"Tell me, babygirl. Tell me what I need to know." His voice matches the urgency in his eyes and another shrieky sob escapes you.

"He did that to her," you finally press out, a whispery shriek that cuts through your chest like a hot knife through butter.

"Did what, baby?" Joel coaxes you, his voice soft but serious, concern etched into his eyebrows.

Tears are running down your cheeks as images of the worst moment in your life flicker across your vision, the monster's grin taunting you like a horror mask as he's hunched over her, his hands digging into the flesh on her hips like she's not made of flesh but of dough.

The bile comes up so quickly that all you can do is turn your head to the side before it shoots out of your mouth. You vomit into the bushes, one of Joel's hand rubbing your back while the other holds your hair, soothing sounds coming from his lips that do little to stop your stomach from emptying all its contents into the green foliage.

You let yourself slide to the ground when there's nothing left to vomit up anymore, breaths heavy and sharp in your ravaged throat.

"He raped her, Joel. He raped my babygirl. Right in front of my eyes."

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[sundrop-writes]

My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

The joke's on you - we are salt and you are the wound.

Summary:

Ellie confronts your abuser, and after years of torment, you finally feel free.

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Hurt and Comfort. Can be read with or without considering the canon events.

Word Count: 9,600

The Last of Us Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: reader uses she/her pronounces, the reader is a lesbian/does not date men, themes of abuse and abusive relationships, domestic abuse, ‘love at first sight’ trope, could be considered ‘soulmates’ trope, hurt and comfort, the reader is being abused by a family member and is saved by Ellie,the reader is being emotionally and physically abused by a family member, evidence of emotional manipulation/brainwashing in the reader character, the reader character has injuries from physical abuse, trauma, becoming free from abuse, depictions of violence (fist fighting between Ellie and the abuser), mentions of guns and gun violence, there is elements of Joel and Ellie’s relationship in the background and this could be read with or without considering the canon events (their emotional falling out), mentions of alcohol, drugging someone against their will (done toward the abuser), threatening someone’s genitals with a knife (done toward the abuser), kidnapping and intimidation through violent threats (done toward the abuser), mentions of hanging/choking/suffocation, use of lesphobic slurs (I think ‘rug muncher’ is the only one?) (from the abuser towards Ellie), Joel and Ellie making a kidnapping (and potentially murder) plot together, this has a happy/hopeful ending. 

A/N: Another re-post of a fic I really, really love. This one is particularly deeply personal to me. Whenever I write about the concept of abuse, it’s very emotional for me, but this one has some more personal touches - because it is about abuse coming from a family member and how it can be difficult to part from that because you rely on them for survival and resources that keep you alive. Often times when people think about abuse - or when abusive relationships are modelled in media, it is a romantic relationship, and they display how a person can go from sweet and romantic and turn into a monster, and how it manipulates the victims emotions and makes it difficult for them to leave. And I do think that is an important story to tell, but one equally important - the story of an abuser who is a constant in your life, and makes you dependent on them for survival, and it causes you to rationalise all of their poor actions and behaviour because you need them. You want them to be a good person in your mind because you don’t know how to sustain your life without them.

Another deeply personal touch on this fic - the title. It is titled after a Fall Out Boy song, and you guys might know - I fucking love Fall Out Boy. I feel like all of their songs have a direct cord to my soul. But this one in particular is so special and tender for me. I was struggling with what to title this fic, and I was going through a playlist of songs that I listen to frequently - and this one came up. Although I believe the original intent of this song is about a cheating spouse, for me, it brings up feelings of how I think of my abuser. Especially the lines ‘I’m the kind of kid that can’t let anything go, and you wouldn’t know a good thing if it came up and split your throat’ and 'this is me wishing you in to the worst situations’.

I feel like it is very accurate, because Ellie is someone who is very 'wearing her heart on her sleeve’ and through this fic, she wants to be emotionally detached and leave the situation alone, but she can’t. And it turns her heart into this weapon against her, and ultimately, against the abuser. Because it is only of the fact that she cares so much about y/n that she wants to hurt the guy at all. And it also works to describe y/n’s feelings, because she hates that she has emotional attachment to her abuser, but she does, and it makes her feel as though her heart is a weapon against herself. So yeah. I hope you enjoy this fic, and if you relate to it somehow, I hope you can heal.

...

Ellie didn’t believe in love at first sight. 

She was the type of person who thought it was cheesy - some made-up bullshit built for movies and books to sell people on the type of story that would never actually happen. She founded herself on facts, and though she knew realistically it would never happen in her lifetime, she thought that space travel was far more factual than something like love at first sight. 

Until she met you. 

And yeah, it probably wasn’t love - at least not true love - until later on. But there had to be some reason that she stuck her neck out for you like that. There had to be something drawing her to you like that. Maybe it was that fabled invisible string. That unspoken thing that made her want to die and want to kill for you, especially within the first ten minutes of meeting you. 

You were with a group taking refuge in Jackson. In such a small town, rumors were rampant. The group had been in town for less than a day and people were already whispering about whether or not Maria was going to take in such a large number of people on such short notice. 

Personally, Ellie didn’t care. She knew that Jackson had the resources to support new people and she knew that Maria would make the right decision. She was a good leader; she would sense if the group were good enough people to stay or not. She wouldn’t knowingly let in any dangers. 

But then, Ellie started to care very suddenly, very much - when she met you. 

When she saw you, the very first thing she noticed was your smile. She didn’t think she had ever seen someone smile with such intense, genuine joy. It was something that instantly twisted her gut into knots - filled her with those cartoonish butterflies as she took in the sight of you. 

You were standing along the edge of one of the fences, near a small, green pasture for the animals in town. It was a small wooden fence that came up to your hips, around an area that was sectioned off to keep the baby cows in so they could graze. You were leaning on the wooden panels, admiring those little cows with awe, a smile on your face a mile wide as you watched the animals stumble around happily in the field. It was a beautiful spring day, with a light breeze kissing against your skin, and plenty of bright green grass for the cows to snack on. It made the sun seem so much brighter with your smile under it.

Ellie couldn’t help but find herself drawn to you. 

She was supposed to be on her way to return her rifle to the gun shed after patrol. But instead, her feet carried her to you, almost entirely against her will. And soon she found herself standing barely a foot away from you, leaning on that same fence with one hand and staring at you with a big idiotic smile of her own. 

You gave a small jolt when you finally took your eyes off the cows and noticed her staring. Ellie panged with guilt. She hadn’t realized how unintentionally creepy she was being. She didn’t know that it was a programmed response on your part - an ingrained jumpiness that you couldn’t help. 

She swallowed around the dryness in her throat, struggling for words, and she was thankful when you spoke first. 

“You guys have everything here.” You said, bright and excited as you put your eyes back on the grazing pasture. “It’s the first time I’ve seen baby cows before.” 

“We - uh - we also have sheep.” Ellie tripped over herself to say this, shouldering the strap of her rifle to point beyond to a spot where the sheep’s pasture could not be seen. “And there’s greenhouses, and horses. My horse is named Shimmer. You can come and meet her if you want!” 

Ellie almost felt stupid, rushing to say all of this, rushing to impress you. If you liked Jackon’s plentiful resources, then perhaps if she pressed just how fantastic and resource filled the place was, you would want to stay. 

She found herself wanting you to stay. Very badly. 

You bit your lip, slightly shy, and let out a nervous giggle. You didn’t want to turn her down. But years of warnings in a closed off echo chamber had made you weary of strangers. Even seemingly kind ones. 

“That would be nice.” You told her quietly. “Maybe later.” 

Ellie thought she was coming on too strong. She kicked herself internally because of it. 

She had no idea that you were hesitant to be friendly - hesitant to get too close because of the ‘consequences’ you had seen in the past. In your eyes, Ellie seemed like a lovely, friendly person, but you didn’t want to get hurt for trying to make friends. Even if you felt a spark of attraction towards her, you could never pursue it. You didn’t have the room to do so. 

Ellie simply nodded at you, the pain of rejection curling in her gut as she began to walk off. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she heard it. 

Yelling - a brute voice disrupting your peace. 

When Ellie turned around, there was a man. Someone who would have been otherwise average in his looks, if not for the violence he wore so boldly, obviously uncaring of who saw him. His face was tight with anger as he crowded into your personal space, grabbing a hold of your wrist and screaming at you relentlessly as though you had greatly offended him. 

She wondered how someone like you - someone so sweet, who took wonder in baby cows, could ever do something to warrant such a visceral reaction of anger from someone. 

Ellie gripped her rifle tightly. 

A voice in her mind told her that it was none of her business, but another quickly argued back and said that you didn’t deserve to be treated like this. It said that she should step in. She felt frozen as the two sides warred inside her. For a few moments, she simply watched on, taking in the one-sided conflict between you and this man with horror swimming inside of her. 

Your reaction was the worst part. 

Your face immediately shifted from that excitement, awe, and wonder that the baby cows gave you and contorted into pure pain. Tears welled up in your eyes and pure fear overtook your entire body. Your spine coiled up, as if to protect your internal organs, but you made no real moves to get away from this man. 

He spouted at you about ‘wandering off’ and ‘what have I told you before’, ranting on and on as if you had made some horrible mistake by taking time out of your day to admire a grazing pasture full of animals. Ellie was just about to unlock her knees and charge over there to do something about it when a vial, angry eye caught hers over your shoulder. 

“The fuck you lookin’ at?” He barked at Ellie. 

Those simple words were all it took to trigger something in Ellie. 

At a moment’s notice, all of her logic flew out the window, and she found herself consumed by the impulse of her rage instead. She shed off the strap of her rifle, leaving the heavy object on the ground behind her in case it might impede her as she barreled toward the man like a raging bull. 

“Why don’t you tell me, asshole?!” Ellie fired back, entirely nonsensical. 

But both of them, ill-tempered, were beyond talking at that point. 

He stepped around you and went to open his mouth again and Ellie took a swing. She easily made contact with his jaw, but he absorbed it well. Her knuckles stung as she pulled back and landed another hit on his cheek, most definitely leaving a nasty bruise. 

Ellie was caught off guard when a large fist collided with her face. 

She would never be the type to say that men shouldn’t hit women simply on principle. Especially not in this case, because she had swung first. 

She was shocked simply because of the sheer force behind the hit. It wasn’t just to get her off of him - it was vengeful. 

Though her skull was rattled, when he moved his hand up again, Ellie caught his wrist and hit him again. Still feeling that blinding rage, she took him to the ground. His nose felt like mush under her knuckles and she wouldn’t have stopped - if not for someone forcefully pulling her off of him. 

She wanted to yell when she found out that someone was Tommy. But he quickly dampened any of her protests. 

Tommy then gave her a long lecture about ‘first impressions’ and handling her temper during ‘misunderstandings’. He told her that being a part of their family meant that even unintentionally, she represented Jackson as a whole. Regrettably, Ellie felt guilt curling in her stomach because of his words. Even if the guy had it coming, she hated Joel or Tommy looking down on her with disappointment. 

And some time during that long, droning speech, you and that man slipped away. Ellie had a very bad feeling in her gut because of it. 

She had a feeling that he was nothing but a cause of pain for you. 

But of course, she had no outright proof of that. Aside from your tears. But you weren’t even there to tell Tommy your story. And what story was that? That you had been yelled at? How the hell did that substantiate Ellie beating a man up? 

She had nothing more to go on than a gut feeling. 

So rather than telling Tommy about any of the things she suspected, she accepted everything she had said, she apologized for losing her cool, and then (after he gave her a hug, patted her on the head and said ‘it’s okay, kiddo’) - she turned and walked away. 

When she returned her rifle to the gunshed, Jesse asked if something had happened on patrol to cause the bruises on her face and make her expression so sickly, and she quickly shrugged him off. 

Ellie felt intensely guilty for not doing something more. She felt bad for not simply asking you what was wrong, for not handling the situation like a real human being. She had no clue why she couldn’t simply be calm when she saw you so upset like that. 

She didn’t even really know you. She just had a feeling that you were too good to be treated like that. Something deep in her gut was screaming that you did nothing to deserve it. 

The group you came in with split up. Some of them made their way down to the coast with the intention of fishing, perhaps finding and fixing up an old boat, and some of them stayed. 

Ellie took notice when you and the man who had yelled at you stayed. 

She also took notice of the fact that whenever she saw you around town, that man was never very far from you. And whenever he lingered around you, you were much different from the girl she had met that day near the pasture. You were slumped down, never rising to your full posture, constantly tense, and incredibly quiet. You never spoke a single word to anyone other than that awful man. You never even made eye contact with other people. 

Ellie spent weeks watching you from afar, attempting to see if you were okay, looking for some ‘evidence’ that you weren’t. Some hard proof that she could bring to Tommy and Maria, something to show that she wasn’t insane for attacking that man. And it wasn’t until the spring rolled into summer, and Ellie’s bruises from the incident had faded, that she found time to speak to you again. 

There was a time when Ellie caught you without your ugly shadow - when you were by the coops, feeding the chickens, imitating their clucking and laughing to yourself. 

“I think you’ve got a career as a chicken caller.” Ellie chuckled as she walked toward you. 

You smiled when you looked up and saw her. 

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “I just like them because if they say mean things to me, I don’t have to know.” 

Ellie felt a lump rise up in her throat at the pain behind your words. 

It left an awkward, painful silence for a moment before you spoke up again. 

“Look, I’m sorry about before.” You told her. “If you thought you had to defend me, or…” You continued staring at the grainy feed on the ground, pointedly not looking at Ellie. “I piss him off. Often. He was just having a bad day, and I-” 

“That’s no excuse for him to yell at you like that.” Ellie cut you off. She rushed to get the words out, desperate for you to know this at the truth. “He’s got a temper, doesn’t he?” 

“So do you.” You chuckled. It wasn’t genuine laughter. 

There was a twinge of fear in your voice. It made her nauseous. She never wanted you to fear her the same way that you clearly feared that horrible man. 

“I’m sorry.” Ellie said quietly, intense guilt overtaking her. “I do genuinely apologize if I scared you. I just… I couldn’t stand to see you crying like that.” 

“I totally get it.” You snorted, painful humor lingering in your voice. “It’s so annoying. But… sometimes I can’t help it.” Though you kept your voice steady, these simple words spoke volumes of pain. 

Ellie wanted to ask why. She wanted to ask if there were more days when he pushed you to tears. 

“I’m sorry that I’m such a crybaby.” You told her. You tried to laugh this off, as though it was just a funny trait of your personality, and not a fault of pain being inflicted onto you. 

Ellie shook her head vigorously. 

“No.” She quickly corrected you. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Confusion knitted over your features. Ellie fought hard to find the words to explain it. 

“I was angry because he made you cry.” She explained. “I was pissed off because he upset you, and - and, I know it’s stupid. I don’t even know you. But you don’t deserve that.” 

Hearing those words for the first time was a truth so radical it almost tore the ground from underneath your feet. After years of being told that you weren’t worth the trouble - that the food you consumed was a burden, that the bullets used to protect you were a waste - being told for the first time that you didn’t deserve such treatment… you felt like the words didn’t belong in your ears. 

“What?” You looked at her with pure shock overtaking your expression, a most genuine and raw reaction. “You really care that much about me being upset?” 

This gripped Ellie’s insides worse than anything else. You could barely conceptualize someone caring about your feelings this genuinely. 

“Yeah.” She admitted quietly. “I do care.” 

This left your face tight with contemplation, intense thought. Ellie didn’t want to leave room for you to get too caught up in it, for you to overanalyze her genuine gesture. So she came up with something else. 

“So… did you still wanna meet my horse? Maybe we could take her out for a ride?” Ellie posed. 

You seemed hesitant. But eventually, you decided ‘fuck it’ - you might as well have some fun. Especially if it meant spending some time with someone who actually seemed to care about you. 

Ellie took you to the stables and introduced you to Shimmer, and officially introduced you to herself, as you did in return - which seemed odd after all that had happened. But it was nice to finally have a name to go with your pretty face. It was nice to finally hear your laughter as Ellie made an age old joke about hay and horses. 

After you took a while to pet the horse and get acquainted with her, Ellie got permission to go past the gate. She took you on a slow trot on the outskirts of Jackson. She had butterflies curling in her stomach the whole time as you gripped her waist, sitting on the back of the horse, and you smiled brightly and complemented how peaceful everything was. 

When the two of you got back from the ride, you kissed Ellie on the cheek, and she nearly squealed with happiness. 

And then, she didn’t see you for nearly a week afterwards. 

She thought she had done something wrong, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with that awful man who barely let you out of his sight. 

The next time she did see you, you were walking along closely behind that wicked man, your eyes low to the ground. And when she called out your name, you didn’t look up to greet her. 

The sweet summer turned into fall and Ellie felt the guilt gnawing at her more, especially when she noticed the days or even weeks when you didn’t seem to come outside. Days when you didn’t show up to do your chores and were supposedly sick, days when nobody else seemed to care why you were missing. 

There was that voice in her head. ‘She’s just a girl.’ The voice said. ‘It’s just a crush. It’s none of your business. You should just move on.’ 

Ellie couldn’t bring herself to listen to that voice. For some reason, she felt this thing gnawing deep in her gut - something that said you needed her. 

Against her better judgment, Ellie went to the house she knew you were staying at, and knocked on the door. 

She wasn’t surprised when you answered. You peeked through the door with only half your face showing, utterly terrified. 

“What are you doing here?” You barked.

Ellie had a feeling that your anger was a formation of fear, and it wasn’t entirely directed at her. 

“I was worried about you.” Ellie admitted shyly. 

You opened the door further, hesitantly, and then pulled Ellie inside before you shut the door and closed all the locks. Ellie felt her stomach twist when she noticed you looking through the curtains, as though you were afraid for your life, looking out for danger. 

Ellie had a distinct feeling that she knew what that danger was. 

A giant lump formed in Ellie’s throat when you turned around and she saw it - that black eye, swollen and bruised, glaring at her. It was the part of your face you had been blocking with the other half of the door. There were other things she couldn’t see. Scrapes and bruises and hand shapes swats over your arms and torso, covered by your purposefully baggy sweatshirt with long sleeves. 

“Just stop.” You said, turning to Ellie, your voice quaking with the intensity of your emotions. “Stop worrying about me.” 

Ellie’s jaw tensed. She would find that intensely difficult - practically impossible. 

“No.” She easily told you so. “I care about y-” 

“Stop.” You said, a harsh cry in your throat. 

It was too painful for you to consider. The idea that someone sweeter and nicer existed in the world and cared for you. The idea that the way of life you had known for years wasn’t the only way to survive. 

“Look, I like you.” You added on. “You’re really sweet. But you don’t want me. I’m sure you can find someone else-” 

Ellie stepped forward, her fingers brushing so gently over your cheek, right underneath the swelling of that awful black eye. You were so entirely startled by the pure gentleness of the touch that you let out a choked off sound from the back of your throat, almost a sob. 

“He did this to you?” Ellie asked, her voice deadly calm and quiet. 

You refused to answer. 

“Is he your fucking boyfriend?” She prodded, her voice even sharper and more offended now. 

You scoffed, pulling away from her touch. You thought she was jealous of the idea of you having a romantic partner. But in fact, she was deeply offended at the universe, she was in turmoil at the idea that someone would even consider hurting you when they claimed to love you. 

“My brother.” You told her, the word almost sounding like poison on your tongue. “I would never choose someone like him. But I’ve been stuck with him for as long as I can remember.” 

“Oh.” Ellie said quietly. 

It was not a possibility she had considered. But she knew that there had never been any romantic connotations to the interactions between the two of you. Only danger, intimidation, and pain. 

It was almost a worse fate, in a sense. The idea that you had been saddled with him because of genetics, that you couldn’t escape him because of obligation, or being forced to survive together.  

“Yeah, oh.” You repeated, tears clutching the inside of your throat. “And really, it’s none of your business. He’s always taken care of me. He takes care of me, so-” 

“This is not taking care of you.” Ellie argued sharply, gesturing to the mark on your face. “If you need someone to take care of you, I’m right here.” 

You rolled your eyes at this. Again, you thought it was jealousy. That it was her trying to make herself seem appealing as a romantic partner. 

You didn’t know that she was serious, that she would give you the world on a silver platter if given the chance. 

“And I sure as hell won’t hit you.” Ellie added on. 

“That’s easy for you to say.” You scoffed. 

“That’s easy for me to do.” She fired back. “Not beating the people you love is the bare fucking minimum. In case no one ever told you that.” 

Her last words were intensely sharp, but struck a chord deep inside of you. It caused your stomach to churn with harsh realization, something you probably already knew that was brought to the surface and waved in your face:

This was not a life that everyone lived. 

“I can’t do this right now.” You huffed quietly, shaking your head. 

You were still swimming deep in denial, hating the idea that your life was founded entirely on pain. But Ellie would fight through all of that pain to get to you. 

“Come on, how long is it gonna be before he kills you?” She asked, the words quiet but devastatingly striking. 

You remained painfully silent. 

“What kind of life is this for you?” She spoke up when you did not reply. “There’s so much more out there for you that doesn’t involve your asshole brother.” 

“Look, you know nothing about him.” You said sharply. “You don’t know what kind of life he’s had. You don’t know what he’s been through. What we’ve been through. Some of the things he’s saved me from.” 

Ellie could only imagine what was going through your mind. Obviously, she had seen some of the darker things the world was capable of. She knew that if your brother had saved you from some of those horrors, it made him look like a saint by comparison. 

She wanted to scream that you didn’t have to go through this. Life didn’t have to be like this. Absorbing his hits and being a target for his anger wasn’t necessary for your survival. 

“Usually it’s my fault anyway.” You sighed. “I meant what I said before. I have some weird talent for pissing him off.” 

Ellie was downright insulted at this. 

“It is not your fault.” She rushed to say, her throat straining with the intense passion behind the words. 

You found it difficult to believe her. 

Any reply you could have mustered was drowned out by the sound of heavy boots coming up the porch. 

“Get out.” You barked at Ellie, panicked. “Get out, you have to leave.” 

You shoved Ellie out the back door before she could argue, and the sound of more screaming and an ugly collision of a hand on flesh made Ellie clench her fists to avoid charging back inside. She had to tell herself one simple thing - she wouldn’t be able to explain a murder to Maria or Tommy. 

She wouldn’t have to. 

And there was maybe only one other person in town who would understand. 

She went right from your place to Joel’s, and he seemed too pleased about her being there in order for him to really question it. He seemed even more pleased when she asked for his help. 

When Ellie explained the situation, she was surprised that Joel didn’t want to take it to Maria. But they both knew that she was diplomatic. She had an entire town to think of. She couldn’t be chasing down people’s personal problems, and she couldn’t be known for doling out vigilante justice. She had to make people in Jackson feel safe, and she didn’t think that civilian trials and public executions would be the way to do that. And as far as Ellie knew, nobody in Jackson had ever acted up like this before. Maybe they were just good at keeping it a secret. (That thought scared her more than anything.) 

Joel suggested something about a quiet smothering and a shovel. Nobody would ever find the guy’s body, he reasoned. 

Ellie didn’t want it that way. Even if the guy was a piece of shit, he was your only family. She knew that in some fucked up way, you would miss him. 

No - it needed to be his choice. And he wasn’t going to make the right choice on his own. So they had to guide him to it. Well, they had to force him to it and shove his face in the damn right choice. 

And then, if he didn’t make the right choice - then they would go to Joel’s version, a Plan B, and they would get the shovel. 

Her and Joel talked it over for hours, making a solid Plan A. When they were both finally satisfied, Ellie left out the back door to head to her place to finally crash for the night - when had it gotten dark out? 

She paused in her tracks when she saw you standing at the bottom of the few stairs that led up to the porch. 

You had a large sweatshirt hood pulled up over your head, and in the minimal light from the back door’s bulb, Ellie could see that your eyes were entirely startled. Your cheek was sporting a fresh, wicked bruise that hadn’t been there before. Your lip was busted, and you had the neck of the sweater pulled up, half hiding some marks on your neck. 

Clearly your brother had come home furious about something. Perhaps he had seen Ellie leaving. She partially felt guilty about it, and definitely felt more secure in her plan. 

“I - uh - I ran into Dina, and she said I could find you here.” You said, motioning off to where you must have spoken to Dina, muttering nervously because Ellie had been standing there for a few moments staring you down with sadness in her eyes and had not spoken. “I was gonna knock. But… I…” 

‘I got nervous.’ The words were lost on your tongue. You knew it sounded strange. Being afraid to knock. Being afraid to ask for help. 

Ellie walked down the steps to meet you on the ground, and you didn’t move away when she reached up and brushed a gentle thumb across your lip - not quite touching the area when it had been split open, but clearly scorning it in her mind. 

She wanted to suggest something about running away, but she knew Joel would just come after her. The easier solution would simply be to get rid of the awful man who had done this to you. 

You grabbed her wrist and leaned into her hand. She cupped your cheek then, holding you so tenderly that it almost hurt. Your body was so unfamiliar with sweetness, with comfort. 

“I can’t do this.” You sobbed quietly. “Ellie, I can’t do this.” 

You weren’t feeling brave enough to leave the familiar, the thing that bound you in pain and torment. 

“Yes, you can.” Ellie told you firmly. 

She gently tilted your head up, forcing your gaze toward hers. 

“Ask me.” She told you. 

You both knew what it meant. 

‘Ask me for my help.’ 

‘Ask me to get rid of that monster, and I will.’ 

You let it bubble inside of you. The words swelled up inside of your throat, and a wicked sob escaped, causing hot tears to leak down and touch Ellie’s hand before you got it out. 

“Help me.” You croaked. “Please.” 

“I will.” Ellie told you firmly. “I’ll get rid of him.” 

She leaned in then and planted a kiss on your forehead, something sweet enough to render another sob from your throat. When she moved to pull away, you reached around and grabbed the back of her shirt, clutching on tight to keep her there, pulling her into a hug and holding her to savor the precious temporary moment you were able to be away from your tormentor. 

“Ellie?” You said her name, and she hummed a response, still leaning with her lips gently pressed against your forehead. “I know - I know it’s so stupid. But… I don’t want him dead.” You told her. Ellie had predicted as much. “I just… I want him gone.” 

“It’s not stupid.” Ellie assured you. “I understand.” 

By the time Ellie got everything together, the cold was just setting in. 

The first snowfall had just hit Jackson, and she had made sure to keep a close eye on you in the interim. You told her over and over again that you were going to be fine. 

A few times you even went back on your ask, you told her that you and your brother were getting along much better. Ellie’s gut churned on the days when you smiled and told her that things between you and your brother were getting much better, that he was making an effort to control his temper, that you could see him making ‘big changes’. 

On for another fresh wound to show up on you and when she would ask you about it, you broke down crying and declared that it was all your stupid fault. 

Ellie knew that he was never going to change. And it only made her more firm in her convictions to carry through with the plan that she and Joel had carefully laid out. 

Gathering the supplies needed for her plan wasn’t as hard as she originally thought. 

The pharmacy in Jackson was surprisingly easy to steal from. She found a pharmaceutical journal in the library; finding out which drugs could knock out a grown man and memorizing the names of them - not that hard. 

And then Ellie took an easy fall during one of her patrols, wincing and whining about the pain in her twisted wrist far more than she felt it, getting the nurse to unlock the drug cabinet to give her some tylenol with codeine. Then she ‘accidentally’ knocked over a tray with a bunch of stray pieces on it, and she got what she needed out of the unlocked cupboard like clockwork. 

She wasn’t sure if the people in Jackson were naive, or if she was far too used to being a criminal. 

Her wrist had healed up nicely by the time everything else was ready.  

Joel thought it would be wisest that they use his basement. 

He explained to Ellie that they could use an old military technique - shut out all the light, take away anything potentially familiar about the room, make it naked and bare and anonymous so that it would seem like a random place that could be anywhere. 

It would be right in town, but the prospect of seeming so far off, so ‘in the middle of nowhere’ - it would be a good part of the scare tactic. They spent some time cleaning out the basement, putting garbage bags over the windows, and draping the room in plastic tarping - partially to scare him, and partially, just in case. 

Joel got a bottle of cheap whiskey that he watered down some, and Ellie poured out the bottle of pills onto the counter with the intention to crush them all up and mix them with the alcohol. 

“Christ Ellie, that’s enough to take down a goddamn horse.” Joel commented. 

Clearly, it was too many pills. 

Ellie took a handful of them - half, and put them back in the original bottle. When she looked up at Joel again, he shook his head. Still too many? 

“Here, let me.” He said, gently shouldering her out of the way so he could make the mixture himself. 

“You act like you’ve done this before.” She commented. 

“You act surprised that I’ve done this before.” He replied. 

He did have a point. Especially considering that when Joel had met Ellie, he had likely been expecting her to be a large bag of drugs, and not a child who needed to be smuggled. 

Joel put back a much bigger portion of the pills, only leaving four tablets that he began to crush up to be mixed in with the drink. 

“The alcohol is gonna magnify the effects of this stuff. A lot.” Joel explained, emphasizing the last words. “You kept saying you didn’t wanna kill him. So you don’t need to give him an overdose.” 

Ellie nodded. It was a good point. She felt lucky to have his help with this. 

Joel scraped the crushed up tablets - now a powder - into the bottle, and put his thumb over the opening to seal it while he shook it up, making sure it was well dissolved before he put the cap back on. 

“Remember. Pour one for yourself, but don’t fucking drink from it.” Joel reminded her. 

It was a mental tactic. Pour two glasses, so as to not seem suspicious, but don’t take a sip. 

Joel handed her the bottle, and they walked over to your place. 

Ellie made sure that Dina was keeping you busy with spare chores, things she supposedly couldn’t do without your help, ensuring that you would be out of the house for the night and wouldn’t miss your brother gone. Ellie went around to the front door and Joel went to the back, waiting for her signal. 

She knocked on the front door and when your brother answered, she waved the bottle. She apologized for the two of them having gotten off ‘on the wrong foot’ when he first came into town. She claimed that she wanted to set things right with him. 

He looked her up and down with suspicion, but opened the door. He fetched a couple of glasses and Ellie did as Joel instructed - poured one for herself after she poured one for him, took it in her hand, but didn’t sip from it. 

He eagerly knocked the first drink back and Ellie hated the fact that he didn’t pass out right away. He poured himself a second and she forced herself to make an attempt at conversation. 

She asked about one of the pictures he had on the mantle over the fireplace - a framed photo of him and some woman. He grunted, saying that it was ‘his bitch’ but ‘she was dead now’. The way he spoke about women made Ellie want to hurl. This caused the conversation to lull into him asking if Ellie had a boyfriend. 

She shrugged it off. Especially seeing as he didn’t seem like the most accepting type if she told him why she didn’t have one. Then he looked her up and down as though he was inspecting her. As though just because she didn’t have a man in her life, that made her an available prospect for him. Ellie clutched her glass so hard she thought it cracked. 

He took more gulps of his drink, and then he mentioned you. He said that he had seen Ellie talking to you. 

He wasn’t clever about his intentions. He wanted to know why someone who was clearly friendly toward his sister wanted to be on his good side all of a sudden. 

Before she could make up some lie, the drugs kicked in. He became hazy, and made a slurred thought about his liquor tolerance being higher normally before he dropped to the floor, out cold. 

Ellie knocked on the back door for Joel, and they had his unconscious body halfway down the basement stairs when Tommy’s voice came into the house, shouting for Joel. They both gave each other that ‘oh shit’ look and Joel dropped the man’s head like a sack of potatoes. He rushed up the stairs to talk to Tommy before his brother could come to them. 

Ellie dragged the dead weight the rest of the way, and she listened as the voices carried through the house. Joel was getting called out for an emergency patrol route - a large horde of Infected had been spotted near the west watch tower. 

Tommy asked for Ellie too, but Joel lied and said that he hadn’t seen her. 

As Joel was gathering his things to leave, he went to the top of the basement stairs. He gave Ellie one last firm, knowing look. It was an out. She knew that if she wanted to, he would stay back and help her clean up the mess, and they would find some other way to go about things so she wouldn’t have to go it alone. 

But she was firm in her convictions. 

“I’ve got this.” She told him, giving him a nod. 

He nodded back and then closed the basement door. 

She picked a steady beam in the ceiling. 

She dangled off it with her body weight to make sure it wouldn’t budge (even though your asshole brother was probably a good hundred pounds heavier than her). And then she put him in the noose Joel had tied, with the rope tied precariously around the beam. 

She had more than enough slack on it to make sure that he wouldn’t choke while still unconscious from the drugs. As tempting as it was to simply kill the man who had been abusing you for years, this was about scaring him. This was a warning. An attempt to get him to make the right choice. His hands were tied behind his back, making him unable to get away. 

As he came around to consciousness, he began to groan and squirm, and Ellie wasted no time in putting her plan into action. 

She went to where she had the other end of the rope tied, fashioned to some hook that might have been used to hang up tools or something else at one point, and she untied it and hoisted him up. He choked furiously as his breath was cut off by the noose, and Ellie made sure he was far enough off the ground before she grabbed something else important - the stool. 

When preparing, Joel had intentionally cut off two of the legs, making it wobbling and unsteady. She put it underneath him and guided his legs to it, and then he took a wheezing breath as the pressure was released from his neck while his feet wobbled on it unsteadily. 

“What the fuck?” He barked out, obviously trying to sound intimidating when he was so breathless. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re fucking insane!” 

Ellie took a step back, looking up at him with a neutral expression. He was entirely powerless. He couldn’t swing and hit her, he couldn’t run. If he jumped, he would hang himself. He was completely at her mercy, and he had to listen to what she had to say. 

In regards to the question, she shrugged. 

“Maybe.” She said simply. “I just wanna talk.” 

“Oh, you wanna talk?!” He growled out the words in anger, still trying to sound lager and more powerful than he was. 

And then, all too predictably, he swung out his leg in an attempt to kick her. 

Ellie easily dodged it, and the motion made him unsteady on the stool. Both his legs fell off, and she simply watched as he struggled, hanging freely by the noose for a few moments. He sputtered and choked, kicking around frantically to get his feet back on the stool. It was a wonder that he didn’t knock it over. 

Eventually, he did get back up to stand on it before he passed out. He continued to choke on the air, veins bulging in his face from the effort. All while Ellie stood back, arms crossed, staring at him condescendingly. 

“That was stupid.” She commented quietly. 

“Fuck you!” He choked out. 

“Look, the way I see it, you have two choices. Maybe three.” Ellie explained. 

He glared at her with absolute poison in his eyes, but remained silent and still, other than the tremors in his legs as he struggled to balance on the stool. 

“Option one: you continue being a petty bitch, so I leave you here.” She told him simply. “You can test your endurance for a few hours, maybe even a few days. But no one will find you, if they come looking at all. And eventually, your legs will give out from exhaustion and you’ll hang.” 

“Y/N will come for me.” He replied confidently. The devilish smirk that spread across his face gave Ellie the urge to smack him. 

“No.” Ellie argued, just as quick, just as confident. “You really think Y/N is gonna be able to find you?” 

This was the mind game Joel had talked about. He was right in Jackson, right under your nose. Would he shout for help, or would he believe that he was out in the middle of nowhere, stranded somewhere that you would never be able to find him? 

His silence was all too telling. Ellie resisted the urge to smile, knowing how important a firm, intimidating face was in this situation. 

“Option two,” She continued on, taking his silence as a sure sign that he didn’t like option one. “You can listen to what I have to say, and you can get agreeable about it real fast.” 

“What’s option three?” He asked. 

Of course, he didn’t like option two either. He didn’t like being agreeable. 

But Ellie had a feeling that in a few minutes, option two would be the one that he’d beg for. 

“You say something I don’t like,” She got her switchblade out of her back pocket, and clicked the switch to show off the sharp, shiny blade. “And then I kill you.” 

There was a pointed moment of silence as he looked between the sharp point of her knife and her unforgiving, deadly calm expression. For a moment, his enraged face wavered, and then came fear. It was just a flicker, but Ellie saw it as weakness. And she was going to exploit it. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He barked. 

“It’s very simple.” Ellie explained. “Leave Y/N the fuck alone. Get your shit, leave town, and get as far away from her as possible.” 

“That’s my sister.” He argued. “That’s my blood. You can’t just expect me to abandon the only family I have, I-” 

“If you respected her as your family, you wouldn’t fucking beat her.” Ellie cut him off, the words turning to poison on her tongue. 

He looked intensely caught in that moment, his expression becoming ghostly. As if he somehow hadn’t figured out that this whole thing was about his abusive ways. 

“What? You don’t like me ‘cause I protect her? ‘Cause I look out for her?” He immediately switched, swelling into that self righteous, taunting person he was with you. “You wanna fuck her, don’t you? You fucking self righteous rug muncher, think you know what’s better for my own sister than I do! What the hell is wrong with you? You-” 

As he ranted, Ellie stepped forward and hesitantly grabbed the waistband of his pants. Clearly, the message wasn’t getting through to him. 

And though it was something more disgusting to her than blood, guts, viscera, even the smell of an old moldy building - Ellie yanked down his pants in one swift movement, trying to ignore the sight of it in front of her. She placed her switchblade right at the spot where his dick met his inner thigh, simply resting it there. 

The feeling of the cold metal in such a sensitive spot easily shut him up. His stomach clenched as he held his breath, likely waiting for Ellie to cut him. 

With him on the stool, it was hovering at around eye level, and she tried her hardest not to look directly at it. For you, it was worth it. That’s what she told herself. 

“Listen carefully,” Ellie told him, her voice still low, still deadly calm. “You are going to agree to my terms, or they’re going to find your body missing this.” She threatened him, gently nudging the blade upwards, not yet cutting into flesh. 

He gasped, shock and horror crashing through his system. He continued to struggle with balancing on the stool, struggling not to lean into the knife by accident and maim himself by mistake. 

He looked at Ellie with terror in his eyes, but oddly enough, he didn’t say anything. Ellie considered it progress. 

“I’m going to be very generous,” She said lowly, making it sound like a threat. “You have twenty four hours to get your shit, and get the hell out of Jackson. I don’t give a fuck what you tell Y/N. In fact, you don’t have to tell her anything at all. Just disappear. I don’t care where you go. Just get the fuck away from here. The farther, the better.” 

Ellie paused, letting her words hang in the air for a moment. 

“If you’re still in town by sundown tomorrow, I will kill you.” She said. “If you tell Y/N about this little incident, I will kill you. If I see Y/N later and she has a single scratch on her-” 

“You’ll kill me.” He quickly finished off the sentence as he thought she would say it. 

Ellie shook her head, putting on a wicked grin of her own for the first time during the conversation. 

“No.” She said, a chuckle peeking through her voice. “I’ll make it slow. I’ll make you beg for death. I’ll make you wish that you had taken this very fucking generous first offer.”

There was another silence, filled only by the wobbling legs of the stool rocking against the ground, and the man’s anxious breaths. 

Ellie wondered if he was stupid enough to decline her generosity. 

“Okay.” He finally agreed. 

Ellie hoped that she wouldn’t have to follow through on her threats, but she wouldn’t hesitate to. 

She took her knife away from his crotch, leaving a small nick on his inner thigh that would hopefully serve as a good enough reminder of what he was supposed to do. 

Of course, the temptation to hurt him more brutally was there. She knew that if Joel came home and she was covered in blood - he would help her clean up. He would help her hide the body. But Ellie knew that this was about something bigger than herself, her own rage, her own guilt. 

It was about keeping your conscience clean. 

She knew that if you ever found out that she had killed your brother, no matter the reason, no matter the situation - the guilt would fall back onto you. You would spend the rest of your days wondering how you could have done things differently to solve a problem that was never your fault. So she would take the burden of guilt or fault off of you, and force it onto him - where it belonged. He would get to live, but he would never go near you. Not ever again. 

After thinking about all of this for a moment, and calming herself, Ellie unceremoniously cut him down, letting him fall into the middle of the floor with a grunt. She pulled his pants back up and shoved a bag over his head. The bag something else that Joel had woven into the plan - another scare tactic. 

She kept his arms bound behind him as she struggled to lug him all the way across town without getting caught. He struggled against her hold and spoke up every now and then, demanding to be released, but Ellie simply kicked him and told him to shut up. It worked well. It seemed that he was truly afraid of her, because he was much more docile now than the man who had risked hanging himself to kick her in the head. 

She dumped him on the back porch of your house and cut the ties on his wrist. He could feel stupid later for the fact that he had been in town the whole time, not secluded off in the woods someplace you would never find him. He yanked the bag off his head and looked up at Ellie with pure scorn in his eyes, and she held up her knife once more, reminding him just how sharp it was as she left him with some parting words. 

“Sundown. Tomorrow.” She told him firmly. “Or Y/N won’t even find the pieces of you scattered out in those woods.” 

Ellie was surprised when he didn’t say a single word, didn’t even hurl any insults at her back as she walked away. 

She had no idea that he was happy to cut his losses, thinking that you weren’t worth the trouble if Ellie was willing to kidnap, threaten, and eventually kill for you. 

Ellie went to bed early and hoped that everything had worked. 

She woke up from a deep, hazy sleep to pounding on her door. 

She struggled to get out of bed, thinking there was some kind of emergency. She flicked on a light and opened the door, and you came rushing inside. 

Ellie almost didn’t see you through her sleep dulled eyes, her lids still half-closed, but she recognized your voice as she closed the door behind you. 

“My brother is gone.” You said, your voice edging between worry and fear. Ellie thought you might be relieved. She didn’t know that you were still tentative - scared that he might come back, terrified it was a trick. “It’s just - he just packed up all his things, and when I woke up, he was gone. And he left me this note.” 

You thrust a piece of paper into Ellie’s hands, and she blinked her sticky eyes open a few times in order to read it. She scanned over the messy writing, barely absorbing it. It was some bullshit about how Jackson ‘wasn’t right for him’ and he felt ‘suffocated’ and he was going to travel to catch up with your group who had gone to the coast, he thought he was a man of the sea, blah blah - but you needed to stay in Jackson, because it would be safer for you. 

“It’s a trick.” You announced as Ellie read over the words. Your voice quaked, your throat tight with fear. When Ellie looked up, tears were dancing in your eyes. There were sharp scratches on your neck - they were scabbing over, and a greenish bruise on your cheek that was fading. “It’s gotta be a trick. He’s testing me. He wants me to - to follow him? Or he’s coming back, or-” 

Ellie tossed the paper aside, uncaring of where it landed, and then stepped toward you, grasping your face with gentle hands. 

“It’s okay.” She said calmly. “He’s gone.” 

She echoed the words you had said that night, letting you know that she had miraculously granted your request. 

If it was true, then you would consider her a guardian angel. But you almost couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. 

“You did something.” You said quietly. It wasn’t accusing. It was a simple truth. You swallowed thickly. You waited before you asked your next question. “Is he dead?” 

You would have hated to think that Ellie would go through so much trouble to frame his murder as him simply leaving town. 

“Would you hate me if he was?” She replied. 

Strangely enough, you had no clue how to feel. 

Ellie saw the warring on your face, the years of pain tethering in your soul, and hoped to release you from it. 

“He’s alive.” She sighed, a heavy awful truth floating from her lips. You looked somewhat relieved, but then that fear pricked into your big, sad eyes once again. “He’s not coming back. I can promise you that.” 

If he did, Ellie would kill him. But she didn’t speak those words to you. 

You lunged forward then, tightening your hands around her back, squeezing her with intense, passionate ferocity as you pressed your face into her shoulder and began to sob. Ellie held you dutifully, trying her hardest to be gentle with you, petting smoothly over your back as her heart ached at the sound of your cries. She had no idea that it was relief - pure relief exhaling from your lungs, the feeling of finally being able to breathe with the presence of that dark tormentor no longer hanging over your life. 

“Thank you.” You sobbed, clutching onto her shirt. “Thank you, Ellie. Thank you.” 

… 

When Joel came back from his patrol, he asked where Ellie had buried the body. She sighed and told him that the guy had made the wise decision to leave town. Completely of his own accord. He shrugged and said he didn’t care either way - he just wanted to meet the ‘lovely young woman who was worth going through all the trouble for’. 

Ellie invited you over for steaks at Joel’s house a few days later, and artfully dodged all the questions about whether you were dating or not. 

… 

A few months later, when winter thawed out and spring had come around once again, Ellie had taken you beyond the walls of Jackson once again, both of you delighting in the purity of everything nature had to offer, and your newfound freedom. 

“Is it just me or is the air out here… fresher?” You posed, inhaling deeply as you threw your head back, truly basking in the nature around you. 

Ellie giggled at this, and you threw a smile back over your shoulder at her. You walked along the path, bobbing between the trees and enjoying the greenery as it thawed out from the snow. 

“It’s the mountains, there’s nothing but fresh air up here.” Ellie chuckled. “As far as I’m concerned, it beats living in the city. That place stunk to high hell. People piled on top of each other, old rotting buildings, no trees anywhere.” 

You let out a small laugh at this. It wasn’t Ellie’s greatest work in comedy, but your lungs felt much lighter these days, and she soaked up the sound like the new saplings soaking up the sun. 

She had also noticed your choice of attire for the day. For her, there was still that small nip in the air, something indicating that there might be one last frost left to the year, something that made her want to wear a sweater. But you had worn a short sleeved tee shirt with your jeans, and Ellie preened at the fact that there was not a single bruise anywhere on your skin. Some old scars that she could never have the hopes of reversing, but more and more lately, your smile outshined all of them. 

“Ooh, look at this!” Ellie came to crouch at a small patch of grass, what you didn’t recognize as thick reeds that were somewhat special to her. 

“What is it?” You asked. 

“Joel taught me this.” She noted, making you even more intrigued. 

Ellie plucked one out of the dirt, and held it between her two palms before she held it up to her two lips and blew - it made a sharp noise like a duck’s call, and you instantly began giggling at this delightfully strange sound. 

“Okay, how did you do that?” You asked, kneeling down beside her. 

Ellie grabbed up another one and put it in your hands, positioning them well. After a nod from her, you put it to your lips and gave a hard breath. You dissolved into laughter once again when it made that strange sound. 

“I love that.” Ellie commented, absolutely beaming herself. 

“What? You play the guitar but your favorite instrument is grass?” You joked. 

“No.” She replied. “I love that smile.” She told you, motioning up toward your face. “That’s why I fell in love with you.” 

“Els.” You murmured quietly, unable to truly explain the wave of emotion that came over you - being intensely thankful for her saving you, changing the course of your life, the swelling of love you felt for her and how it only grew with time. 

Ellie didn’t need words. She leaned in and kissed you then, and you - for the first time in a long time - relaxed into her love and let yourself be happy. 

From time to time, you were tempted to ask what exactly it was that she had done to make your brother go away. But as the months ticked on and your relationship developed - as Ellie helped you navigate your freedom and enjoy the sweeter things in life, you found that you truly didn’t care.

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot, so please do not ask about a sequel or a continuation for it, because there won't be one. If you liked it and you want to comment on it, please comment on the body of work that I have written. Or feel free to check out the many other works I have written on my TLOU Masterlist. Thank you!!

[elsweetheart]

hi!! i love your fics sm!! im such a whore for ellie and abby 😭 i just read your ellie headcanons and the one where you said she has a daddy kink is all i can think about.. i was wondering if you could write more about it? ty and love u!

i did say that yes … thank u for asking because i have been dying to talk about it 😋

this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea so if it’s not - keep scrolling !!

ellie williams x occasionally being called daddy

• so the two of you have jokingly been throwing around the word for some time. it’s one of those things that are kind of a joke but there’s some weird tension and weight behind it that you both refuse to address (because she’s thinking why do i kind of like this? what does this say about me? and you’re thinking the same…)

• it started when the two of you were doing some target practice deciding to clear out a few infected from outside the building you were staying. two slow moving corpses stumbled towards the two of you from the across the alley and she nudged you with her arm. “bet i could clear ‘em out with one bullet.” she promised, raising her gun with a confident but focused expression.

• “yeah right.” you denied, swinging your legs on the wall you were sat on behind her. you watched the two infected naturally fall into a single file line, and when ellie had the perfect shot she pulled the trigger— and alas, one bullet tore through both their skulls sending them straight to the ground. your jaw dropped, impressed as you jumped off the wall and walked up behind her. she turned around with a grin, jokingly flexing at you. “thats right, who’s your daddy?”

• it was obviously a joke, but her smile almost dropped clean off her face when she saw the speed at which your eyes glazed over, expression becoming lustful just for a split second before you got yourself together, covering your reaction with a giggle. she chuckled back at you, eyes lingering on you for a moment as the tension passed and decided to pocket that moment for later.

• after a few more instances where she’d throw the noun out jokingly it was etched into your brain and you were starting to realise that it was kind of becoming a thing. the two of you didn’t know how to discuss why that be, so you didn’t — however one night, when ellie had you face down in the pillows taking her strap pressing kisses to your back you were so fucked out that your mouth took control without your brains permission.

• “mm—mmph please daddy!” it was muffled and whiney but ellie heard you loud and clear. she didn’t stop to address it, infact after it slipped from your mouth you felt her pace pick up — a surge of stealth taking over her from the once jokey, now incredibly hot nickname. she placed a hand on your waist, pulling you to fuck against her and she sighed against the back of your neck.

• “thats it, daddy’s got you. fuck, babe.” she cursed at the way you were squeezing and grinding back against her strap which equally felt good for her. her calling herself daddy was the tipping point that pushed you over the edge, making you cum hard.

• when it was all over you lay in her arms, both of you catching your breath and cooling off— and when enough time had passed you looked up at her, and she looked down at you, the two of you bursting into simultaneous giggle fits.

• she pressed her mouth together in a smirk and raised her eyebrows. “well, well, well—” she starts and you giggle even harder, placing your hand over her mouth. “stop, don’t!” you squeal and she calmly pulls your wrist away with a smile, stroking your cheek as if to calm you down.

• “hey, i’m not judging. shit, i think i’m pretty into it.” she confirms and you smile softly, pushing yourself further up the bed to kiss her. ellie always gave you anything you wanted.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Some more of my and @queenjunothegreat’s Sofía Valdez thoughts (this time specifically focused on her relationship with her dads when she’s little):

-Jason is the kind of dad who has more baby pictures than money in his wallet and you cannot convince me otherwise.

-The same would be true for Leo, except he doesn’t really have a wallet because he tends to lose those a lot. Instead, he just puts stuff into his tool belt and hopefully one day it’ll reappear lmao. He’s got lots of pictures of her up in his workshop, though.

-Leo makes her the most ridiculously elaborate baby mobile ever. He works on it for days. There are so many moving parts and she’s obsessed with it.

-Toddler Sofía loves sleeping on her papá’s chest because he’s always warm. She’s like a cat curling up in a sunbeam. Will also take her gloves off in the winter to take his hand instead. 10/10 would recommend having a dad who also doubles as a heat lamp.

-Leo and Jason take turns telling her bedtime stories. Leo’s are often grand adventures that somehow manage to be both cool and almost completely nonsensical. He also does goofy voices for all the characters. Jason’s are heartfelt ones about found family and love, which tend to be… a lot more coherent than Leo’s. Sofía loves them an equal amount.

-Her dads are the most sickeningly in love people Sofía has ever met and she finds it so so annoying (she loves them dearly and they’ve been her go-to proof true love is real since she first encountered the concept in a movie). They’re holding hands grocery shopping and when they split up to go into different isles they’ll greet each other with a kiss like long-lost lovers returning from a voyage upon being reunited. They will constantly hit on each other in the cringiest way possible for absolutely no reason. It’s unbearable.

-Sofía gets told so many stories about her abuela. She thinks Esperanza was the absolutely coolest person ever and loves sharing a name with her. There’s a six month period when she’s little where she won’t respond to anything other than Espi.

-The only family member on Jason’s side of the family Sofía actually meets/knows about is Thalia. She has no idea who Beryl Grace is. She’s never even heard the last name Grace before (Thalia stopped using it a long time ago and obviously Jason took Leo’s last name when they got married.) The only thing she knows about Jupiter is that her family doesn’t like him.

-Because Jason never talks about his mom, and because Piper makes so many jokes about wolf genes, Sofía was genuinely convinced her abuela on her dad’s side was a wolf for the first several years of her life.

-Sofía and Leo build the fanciest pillow forts together that anyone has ever seen. The Waystation thankfully has lots of space for it. Sometimes when Jason comes back from work, exhausted, he’ll just collapse into the pillow fort and nap there, which inevitably results in him waking up in a Valdez family cuddle pile.

-Leo gets very invested in some of the cartoons Sofía watches. Will this whacky found family of animated cartoon princesses save the world again this week? Probably. But he needs to know for sure. They always have a great time.

-When Sofía is around eight, she gets really into puzzles. When she can’t sleep after a nightmare, doing puzzles in the middle of the night is Jason’s go-to way to make her feel better.

[pepper-makes-art]

relavity falls stans, graunts, n friends

oK THEYRE HERE NOW AND NOT JUST FIDDLEFORD!!!

fiddleford can be found here!!!

i wish i could've done more sketches but im a bit busy atm </3 will def do some on the weekends though!!

on the au:

instead of taking place in 2014, it takes place in 2024 now! which doesnt rlly change much outside of appearances and slang lol.

bold is what their au name is

stanford (ford) <--> dipper

pretty self explanatory! i feel like stanford'd be an x-men fan, hence the x patch on his shoulder lol. also yes, dipper is a trans woman here. and she has glasses bc fuck dude i hate drawing regular eyes.. i thought the design looked a bit empty, so i decided to make that cool glove thing ford had dipper's robot hand thingy!

stanley (lee) <--> mabel (mason)

stanley now wears a hat. hoorah. nothing much to say here besides him also smuggling shanklin in (w/o the knife unfortunately). mabel's still impersonating her sibling (who, before the portal scene, doesn't know that she's a girl now) under the name of mason, but has ultimately shed her sibling's fashion tastes for her own. mabel wears a turtleneck UNDER the suit bc she doesnt feel heat apparently!

candy <--> wendy

candy's now a 15 yo asian kid who took up the cashier job under grauntie bc she needed more extracurriculars and the experience. totally cant relate to that haha. wendy's now a 12 yo mischievous lil lumberjack who's best friends w/ stanley (i thought it'd be interesting since theyre all now still associated w each other) and who has ALL the middle school tea (which is A LOT)

grenda <--> soos

as much as i want the ages to line up relatively (haha get it.), i think it'd be funny if mabel just hired a bunch of teenagers to run the shack (not sure what to call it). grenda's the 15 yo handy(wo)man who has the voice of an angel and the golden mentality of "smash with couch"! soos is now a friendly n equally naive 12 yo who's best friends w stanely (yada yada) and who somehow always solves problems

on dipper and mabel (will be using he/him for pre-transition dipp):

hoo boy. i see SO many ppl arguing abt their relationship, and i just gotta say, i can tell who has siblings and who doesn't! (joke. thats a joke. mostly) anyways, theyre good siblings!! up until high school, where after drifting apart somewhat, they have a big argument abt where theyre going in life - dipper wants to go to insert rlly good college name and become a scientist while mabel, well, she doesn't know where she wants to go. unbeknownst to them, while theyre fighting, their parents are also fighting. suddenly, their parents split, and mabel is forced to live with her mom and dipper with his dad, far apart from each other. dipper (wearily) accepts this while mabel silently resents dipper for his submission

dipper attends his dream school but is unhappy in his schooling years. afterwards, with his 12 phds or whatever the hell, he goes to a quaint town named relativity falls... mabel becomes an artist of sorts, taking commissions n such, but finds that this doesn't exactly lead to profit. she then becomes a sort of con(wo)man and psychic in attempts to capitalize the strange. she DEF doesn't get into as much srs trouble as stanley did back in his day, but she still lands herself in hot water from scamming and stealing across state lines...

im tired rn so lmk if yall wanna hear more lol.

[cloakedsparrow]

Bruce is Tim’s Biological Father AU idea #5

Janet wasn’t in any rush to get married, but being a young woman with a steady boyfriend from a well off family, naturally everyone kept asking when she and Jack were going to take the next step. Janet always remarked that she was happy with the relationship as it was; that she was focused on her career goals; that she and Jack were letting things move organically.

In her presence, Jack always gave similar answers. One day, when he didn’t realize she was in hearing range, he joked with some peers about not wanting to settle until he’d explored all his options. She let him know she’d heard him and told him to feel free to explore his options and that she’d do the same. He pulled a med student; a barista; a couple administrative assistants: young women who were very sweet and equally boring. She pulled men like the Davenport heir, Adrian Veidt,John Constantine (she’d been a Mucous Membrane fan in college), and Bruce Wayne. Realizing he was going to lose the most impressive woman he’d likely ever know, Jack told her he wanted to get back together and proposed shortly after.

When Janet learned she was pregnant with Tim (and what the due and conception date ranges were), she knew right away who the father was. As they’d been split up at the time, Jack couldn’t hold it against her. However, he didn’t want Bruce involved in their marriage (he was a bit jealous of the man). Janet didn’t want anyone telling her what to do with her son, so she agreed not to tell him.

It was always something of an open secret among the Drakes (Jack, Janet, Tim, and Janet’s father who died when Tim was little) that Tim was Bruce’s child. They never talked about it. Ever. Not even to confirm it to Tim who just kinda worked it out for himself. Janet always suspected that Tim knew but again, they never spoke of it.

After he intervened on Bruce’s spectacular breakdown following Jason’s death, Tim assumed it was the same in the Wayne household. After all, Batman was considered by many to be the world’s greatest detective. Alfred and Dick were certainly no slouches in the investigation department either. Of course, they’d figured it out for themselves just like Tim had.

And, just like the Drakes, of course they didn’t openly acknowledge the fact.

It wasn’t until Bruce returned with news that he had a son with Talia that Tim finally acknowledged it, thinking Bruce would get the joke because he already knew.

“If you had a nickel for every illegitimate child you had, you’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s still weird that it happened twice.”

“…”

“Especially with you being, like, the master of preparations and contingency plans.”

“…”

“It’s just weird, is all.”

“Who else do you think is my child?”

“…”

“…”

“Oh, shit, you have no idea.”

“No idea about who?”

“This whole time, you- Crap.”

“Tim.”

“Crap.”

“Tim.”

“Give me a minute, I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.”

“You look completely calm.”

“Yeah, well, my nervous face and my calm face are the same.”

“…”

“…”

“Tim?”

“Not that I want any details, but, uh, do you remember sleeping with my mother?”

Bruce was not expecting that response but he quickly does, in fact, remember having sex with Janet. He then connects the dots to the joke that started the current conversations and does some quick math.

“Sleeve up. We’re drawing blood.”

Sitting down in shock for a minute as the paternity results stare him in the face, Bruce realizes that Tim’s reactions suggest Tim knew and assumed Bruce knew and that just goes in a loop in his head for a bit: all this time his son thought he knew.

He’d sent Tim home to an empty house or overseas to train with strangers, and the boy had gone, thinking that was his father knowingly sending him away.

He’d been dismissive the one time Tim commented on his parents always extending their trips or otherwise fighting, and the boy had kept his silence, thinking that was his father knowingly leaving him in that environment.

He’d given Tim back to Jack when he woke from his coma, and the boy had gone, thinking that was his father making a deliberate choice to give him up.

He’d let Jack take Robin from Tim (and keep him from seeing him) in exchange for his silence on Bruce’s identity as Batman, and the boy had agreed, thinking that was his father sacrificing him for his secret.

He’d offered to adopt Tim after Jack’s murder, and the boy had turned him down, thinking that was his father refusing to publicly acknowledge their true relationship.

He’d helped Tim solidify the records on his fake uncle and the boy had accepted the help, thinking that was his father knowingly passing him off to some stranger.

Tim had been prepared to move into the stable apartment after his fake uncle died, until Bruce brought up the adoption again, and the boy agreed, thinking that was his father telling him their relationship had to remain a secret.

The joy of realizing that Tim was truly his warred with concern over the fact that his son thought such behavior was not only acceptable from a father, but should be accepted quietly.

He’s has no idea how he’s going to fix that, but he’s Batman, he’ll work it out.

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

They cling to each other for a long time. Gradually, Eddie’s breathing stops catching with sobs, and he becomes aware of other impressions: the water dampening his jeans as he sits on the tiles, the muffled chaos on the other side of the bathroom door—people calling desperately for loved ones, hospital staff shouting orders.

And as Eddie calms, he feels when the hug shifts, when Dustin starts to shake, and it turns more into Eddie holding him than the other way around.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths, only stuttering slightly. Swallows and tries to gather himself. “What happened to your face, man, you okay?”

Dustin nods over his shoulder. “One of the windows blew at Ste—at the house when the… when the gates...”

“Shit.” Eddie pulls back a little, and he can see the evidence of it now, little pieces of glass littering Dustin’s hair. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re fine, they stayed there. It was just one window, the house barely got hit compared to…” Dustin trails off with a shrug that Eddie takes to mean compared to the whole town. “There was an old bike in the garage, so…”

“You biked here? By yourself?” Eddie had half been hoping that he’d somehow hailed a cab or something equally miraculous, can’t fathom just how dangerous it currently is to travel alone, so exposed, if the whole town is anything like the trailer park—

The ground splitting, blood red light, Steve’s blank eyes—

Eddie shakes his head. “Jesus, Henderson. You’re damn lucky you didn’t break something.” Or worse.

“I don’t care.” Dustin lets go and fixes Eddie with a fierce stare, eyes wet. “I—Eddie.” His voice breaks. “I said I hated him.”

They’re both avoiding using Steve’s name, like saying it out loud will mean they have to face the terrible reality of it.

Eddie pushes down another wave of grief. Dustin needs to hear this. “That’s—Dustin. He knew that wasn’t true.”

“Yeah.” A harsh laugh of self-loathing, and Eddie’s heart breaks at the sound. “But I still said it. That—that says—”

“That doesn’t say anything about you,” Eddie says fiercely. “You hear me? Not a fucking thing. You…” He pulls Dustin into another hug, feels the tremors of him crying. Squeezes tight. “You were just scared. No crime in that, all right?”

“Sorry, Eddie, I—I’m just. I’m really fucking scared.”

He has no idea if Dustin is really listening, wonders distantly if this is how Wayne has felt over the years, when faced with him. He just holds onto Dustin, hopes that it’s enough, hopes that it says all that he means. Christ, kid, can’t you see how much he loved you? He’d have done anything for you.

Eddie strokes a hand through Dustin’s hair, carefully removing pieces of glass. Oh, he’d have done anything for you.

And he did.

It’s only when they pull themselves up off the floor that he notices Dustin’s limp.

“You did break something.”

“I don’t think so.” Dustin stands on the foot experimentally, then winces with a quickly stifled cry.

“Hey, don’t! Here, just…”

He gives Dustin his arm to lean on, and they walk in silence. Eddie finds that he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what balance to strike. His usual joking would just ring false, but what he actually wants to do, which is keep double checking that Dustin is okay, feels too close to… to something that Steve would do.

He doesn’t want to be a reminder of all that they’ve lost.

They find Robin waiting for them outside the restrooms. Her face is pale, blotchy, and when she runs to Dustin, wraps her arms around him, Eddie remembers—

Robin’s arms tight around his chest, holding him back. He had caught the ambulance driver glancing at his watch, realised it was to check for the time of death, and now he's making a mournful keening noise he didn’t know he was capable of.

Denial flooding him, painful, overwhelming. He can’t accept it, suddenly, even though another part of him repeats ‘he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone’ like a lament; wants to scream, “You don't understand, he can’t be—he was just talking to me—”

“Why are you just—someone fucking help him!” He's reaching for Steve, but Robin's grip is strong; he just brushes Steve’s fingers, and they’re cold, why are they—

“Eddie,” Robin is whispering brokenly. “Eddie, stop, it's—it's not him anymore.”

Eddie breathes, presses his back against the wall as Robin takes Dustin’s weight with a concerned expression.

“He needs someone to take a look at that,” Eddie says, nodding at Dustin’s leg. His voice sounds normal, if a little flat. Oh. He’s numb, he thinks.

When Robin replies, she sounds similar, looks grateful at being given a task, something to do. “They're taking minor wounds on the floor below.” She gives ‘minor wounds’ a skeptical air quote with one hand.

They start heading towards the elevator, and then Eddie sees it out of the corner of his eye. Denim jacket, a flash of plaid.

He makes sure Robin is still holding Dustin before he starts to run. People jostle against him, unseeing, slamming into his shoulders, and he keeps fighting against the tide, because—

“Wayne!” he calls desperately, feeling suddenly very young.

Up ahead, someone turns. And then there is a familiar warmth around him, ushering him to the side, away from people.

“Eddie,” his uncle says, and he looks exhausted and shaken, but otherwise unharmed.

The sight of him triggers a rush of emotion all over again, and the only thing Eddie can say is a choked, “I didn't kill her.”

Wayne’s eyes soften. “C'mon, son. You know me better than that.”

Eddie’s breath hitches again. Wayne holds him, holds him like he did when he was a child and had bad dreams, a hand cupping his head like there, now. We’ll make this right.

And then Wayne pulls back, eyes flickering over Eddie. “Christ, Eddie. You hurt?”

There’s a split second of confusion; Eddie glances down at himself, sees the blood and vomit on his shirt. Sways a little, and Wayne grabs onto him in alarm.

“No, it's not—I'm fine, Wayne. Promise.” He breathes through a lump in his throat and gets out, “A friend died,” which feels so inadequate for the enormity of what had happened.

Wayne stares at him for a long moment. Then he says, very gently, “This is something big, ain't it?” He gestures to the thronging corridor, to the windows. “What you got mixed up in?”

Eddie almost laughs at that. From Wayne’s phrasing, it sounds like he just got mixed up in the wrong crowd at school, when really, just a few days ago, lost in despair, he'd somehow found the strangest, best people in the world.

And now, he's lost one of them.

“Fuck, Wayne, there's—there's so much I want to tell you,” he says. “But I—I don't know if I can. Not yet.”

It hurts to say; Wayne’s always upheld the fact that Eddie can tell him anything and everything. He can see that Wayne is about to reply as much, but then he must spot something on Eddie's face, sense the fear.

“All right, Eddie,” he says calmly. “Not yet.” Then his eyes widen a fraction, and he moves forward, as if to shield him. “Aren't the cops still looking for you?”

“I...” Eddie shakes his head. He recalls having a very distant thought that he might get arrested as they arrived at the hospital, but it had gone as quickly as it came; because he’d seen Steve—seen the body get covered with a sheet, and Nancy's hand had gripped around Eddie’s wrist like she needed an anchor, nails piercing his skin.

“Not sure,” he finishes honestly. “I—I don't think so. I don't know why.”

Wayne studies him, then sighs. “All right,” he repeats. He doesn't sound happy about it, but he can read Eddie, read that there's somehow even bigger things to worry about. “You got people here?”

“Yeah.” Eddie blinks away the image of Steve's glassy stare, thinks of Dustin—Dustin, who still needs him. “Yeah, I...”

Wayne nods. “Go. Some folks got banged up at the plant, one of the nurses said they need volunteers.” He lets go of Eddie with reluctance. “Stay in the building, all right? I'll come find you.”

Eddie nods. It’s one of the hardest things in the world, to walk away from Wayne. He didn’t think he’d ever have this back. “I love you.”

Wayne tsks, brings Eddie in for a brief, fierce embrace. “I love you, too.”

-

It’s not Dustin that Eddie finds first as he retraces his steps, but Nancy, taking a call. He sees her lips move: “Mike.” Something changes. She goes very still, her grip on the phone tightening. Then, whatever she’s saying is delivered rapidly; she slams the phone down and runs right into Eddie.

“Woah, where's the fire, Wheeler?” Eddie says. His heart is already in his throat at the sight of her; she’s white as a sheet. What fucking now?

She breathes in and out, then grabs his hand. “Come on.”

They run together. Nancy doesn't provide any explanation as they hurtle up the staircase, as she leads him to a very quiet corridor in the ICU.

“Just...” She takes a breath, collects herself. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”

And she storms through another set of doors. Eddie stands there, frozen. It’s the longest fifteen minutes of his life. When she comes back, she’s much slower, and she sits down opposite him, puts her head between her knees.

“What's...? Shit, Wheeler, you're scaring me.”

She looks up. Surprisingly, her eyes are dry. “I'm about to tell you something,” she says, “and... Eddie, I'd only tell you if I was sure.”

Eddie blinks. “Shoot.”

“Okay. They—Steve. He was being taken away. To the...” Nancy's eyes dart to a sign, and Eddie fights back nausea. To the morgue. “But then they... They've found a pulse.”

The words take a while to truly hit Eddie, as if they come from a long tunnel. When they do, he feels his legs buckle, and he slides down to the floor. He's glad Dustin isn’t here; hope, false hope, is cruel.

“Nancy,” he says, through gritted teeth. "That—that’s not possible. I—I felt him—” He can’t even say it. I felt him die.

Nancy leans forward, puts her hand on one of his knees and squeezes. “I know,” she says simply. Then she stands. “Come with me.”

But Eddie doesn't want to move. He wonders if it's all been too much, if this is a trick, if Nancy’s had enough and is finally turning him in. But then he remembers how she had held onto him as they celebrated the communication with Dustin in The Upside Down. And he sees her eyes now, sharp and earnest.

So he lets her guide him onwards.

He comes to a halt outside a room. Feels a weight in the pit of his stomach, like he’s at a turning point; that maybe this is all in his head, and he'll go right back to his bedroom, and Steve will—Steve will—

Nancy’s hand slips into his. She raises her eyebrows, and it’s not quite a smile she gives him, but the expression seems to say, Together?

As one, they walk inside.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie whispers.

In a bed lies a body that looks remarkably like Steve Harrington. There’s a cast on one of his legs, but what draws Eddie’s attention is his face, the waxy pallor of it, the mask fitted tightly around his mouth. That awful stare has gone; someone has closed his eyes. Eddie doesn’t realise that he’s holding his breath until he sees the slightest movement of Steve’s chest, the weakest rise and fall... but it's there.

Eddie turns away and retches. Nothing comes up. Nancy rubs at his back.

“I spoke to some... there’s doctors who—they know about. Everything. They told me that they're not really worried about his leg, it just seems like a normal break,” she says. Her voice wavers slightly, like she's fighting tears. “The... the bites on his stomach stopped bleeding, but... it's his lungs, they think.” She nods at the mask. “They're giving him the same stuff they gave Will, after he was in The Upside Down. They say it's the best chance he's got.”

Eddie thinks about Steve throwing up. His gasping breaths. Panicking. Fuck, he can’t breathe. Then—

“He was coughing,” he says. The memory feels hazy, as if it happened years ago. “When we were… on the bikes, to my trailer. I could hear him.”

He feels shaky again. Nancy draws up two chairs, close to Steve’s bed, and they sit.

He is aware, suddenly, of a slow but steady beeping. A heart monitor.

It doesn’t feel real. Eddie pinches the skin on the back of his hand hard, half expects to see a clock instead of…

“Fucking hell, Wheeler,” he sighs. “What are we gonna do?”

“Make sure he’s not alone,” Nancy says.

They keep a silent vigil. At some point, Nancy rises, flits out of the room. Eddie hears hushed conversation just outside, and then Dustin and Robin come in, Dustin hobbling on crutches. Robin makes a wounded noise, reaches forward and holds Steve’s hand so gently.

Eddie doesn’t dare touch him. Something in the back of his mind whispers that he might break the spell, that Steve might crumble away into nothing if he so much as—

“It doesn’t look like him,” Dustin says. He sounds torn between anger and despair. “He looks… gone.”

Eddie sucks in a breath. “I know.” Because Dustin has voiced his precise fear: that this is all that remains. A different death, but a death all the same.

-

It happens much later, when Dustin has been shepherded back to Steve’s house by Nancy and Robin. “We’ll check on the kids,” Nancy had said, “and then we’ll be back.”

“Take your time,” Eddie told her, noting the sunken, fatigued look to all of them.

They’ve been gone for just over an hour when Eddie, fighting sleep, realises that he hasn’t told Wayne about the state of the trailer. He almost wants to search for him, but he doesn’t dare leave the room, even if he can only really look at the hospital sheets, his eyes darting away from Steve’s face. Dustin’s right; he looks gone.

He hears it half in a dream, eyes closing despite himself. A radio, faintly, from another room, a cleaner leaving the door ajar.

Leaving nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town. Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town.

He jolts awake sharply, as if his body is already aware of something before his mind has understood. Still blinking away sleep, this time he does not look away when his eyes land on…

It’s barely there. But Eddie sees it: the faintest of creases on Steve’s forehead.

Eddie stares. Then it clicks.

“Holy shit,” he says, hushed, afraid that if he speaks too loudly, it will all stop. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry—he ends up doing a mixture of both. “Harrington, is this your fucking song?”

The sound of the radio fades away, and with it so does the tiniest of frowns. Desperately, Eddie picks up the chorus himself, stumbling over the words in his haste; and this time, he sees it happen, the change from an unnatural laxness to…

A little pinch in between Steve’s brows, subtle, but there.

“Fuck, it’s really you,” Eddie says. “You’re still in there.” His eyes burn with tears. He reaches for Steve’s hand, holds on despite the lingering coldness to his skin. “Christ, please keep fighting, man. Please.”

[callsign-rogueone]

falling, floating, flying - d.a.

Dain Aetos x marked!reader (Love!) words: 2.2k 🏷: here is the official start of Dain and Love's story!! no book spoilers yet (this occurs pre-Fourth Wing! reader and Dain's first year.) no pronouns used in this chapter but future ones will be she/her afab reader. mentions of fear of heights, falling from heights and jumping from heights, Dain being Dain and flipping out on reader (for a good reason lowkey). yes, I am legally required to traumatize everyone when they get their signet. copy-pasted physics jargon from wikipedia. this series is going to be my attempt at a slowburn... we'll see how that goes. as usual, 5 points extra credit if you can spot another girlfriend in here! chapter two is ready, and slated for Fri/Sat. maybe earlier. I'm not good at resisting peer pressure 🤭

This flight training would be a lot more enjoyable if you weren’t positioned next to Amber Mavis the entire time. Her orange daggertail is just as irritating as she is, and equally self-centered; Claidh keeps forcing anyone and everyone out of his way, regardless of where they’re supposed to be in the formation, and Cosa isn’t having it. You aren’t, either — neither of you will be bullied, especially not by someone in your own wing.

Claidh flicks his tail out completely unnecessarily, and Cosa has to swerve to avoid being hit with it. The sudden movement has you tilting in your seat, and she tries to correct for it by turning in the opposite direction, but it doesn’t work. 

You scramble to hold on to her, but your nails don’t make a dent in her scales — you slide right off of her back. You shriek, the sound swallowed up by the air as you drop straight down like a rock, cold wind whipping your hair out of its braids and into your eyes, stinging your cheeks. 

“Reach out!” Cosa shouts, diving down to try to catch you. “Reach for the bond!”

You shut your eyes tightly, grabbing onto the little red string connecting you to Cosa and pulling as hard as you can. A feeling you’ve never felt before spreads through your body like wildfire, a rushing wave of pure power.

For a split second the world around you stills completely; like that feeling you get when you’re about to fall asleep, and you feel like you’re going to plummet through the mattress, only to jolt back awake — but you’re not in your bed, you’re suspended in midair, still a hundred feet above the ground. And then you’re falling again, but not as fast — you’re… floating? You drift through the air like an autumn leaf, landing in a heap on the forest floor.

You groan, rolling onto your back and looking up through the treetops at the blue sky above you. You’re exhausted and a little sore, though nothing feels broken, and you clearly aren’t dead. Count your blessings, or whatever — but what the fuck just happened?

Cosa must realize you’re still alive, because her panic decreases substantially, leaving you with your own emotions, none of which you can name. You feel like you’ve just taken a dip in the Arctile ocean, frozen and numb, your brain wanting to shut down.

“Callwell!” someone shouts through the trees.

“Over here,” you manage, the words coming out hoarse and quiet.

There’s a rustle of branches and the sound of hurried footsteps before you see Dain jogging toward you. He breathes a sigh of relief seeing you in one piece, sitting upright.

He kneels down beside you, examining you for injury, but not finding anything glaringly wrong. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… I wasn’t hurt,” you answer distantly, still looking out into the forest.

“But are you okay?” he asks, more gently. It’s clear that you’re still rattled — you’re trembling, arms wrapped around yourself in an attempt to self-soothe, that usual happy, joking personality nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” he answers. “It’s not stupid.”

You finally start to cry, swiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, but the cold leather doesn’t absorb anything, it just pushes the salty tears around your cheek. “I’m sorry,” you rasp, suddenly embarrassed, worried he’ll think you’re weak for sitting here sniffling like a child that skinned their knee. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says softly. “That was terrifying.”

It takes a moment for you to focus your vision enough to look at him. You can’t tell what has you more stunned— those pretty brown eyes gazing down at you with such softness, or the fact that he’s treating you so carefully, that he’s put aside the rivalry and bickering to make sure you’re okay. 

You clear your throat delicately, standing. “We should get back up there. They’re probably wondering where we are.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but he nods, rising to his feet and motioning for you to follow him back from whence he came. The walk out of the forest is quiet, only the sounds of your footsteps on the layers of fallen pine needles and twigs snapping under your boots.

“Thank you, Dain,” you say softly, once your tears have dried.

He blinks for a moment, realizing this is the first time he’s heard you use his given name— not Aetos, but Dain. He likes hearing it from you more than he should.

“Of course,” he replies, holding back a tree branch so you can squeeze through the narrow path by his side. “That’s what squadmates are for.”

The comment makes your heart sink — he’s not here because he’s truly your friend, or because he genuinely cares if you were injured or dead, but out of obligation to that damned codex, and the goal of winning Squad Battle this year to impress dear old dad. But then again, he’d definitely broken at least two rules by leaving the formation and coming down here to find you, so maybe he cares more than you think.

You finally make it out of the woods and into a clearing where you see Cosa and Cath sitting side by side, waiting for you. You make a tiny nod of acknowledgment to Cath, a silent gesture of thanks for letting his rider land to come find you.

“I apologize, graceful one. You handled that as well as anyone could.”

You give her a half-hearted response, scaling her leg to get back in the saddle. Muscle memory takes over for the rest of the class, with Cosa doing most of the work and keeping her distance from Claidh. You’re just glad to be back on the ground, solid rock beneath your boots. 

Cath lands beside her, Dain climbing down his leg easily and taking a step toward you, but someone else gets there first; Bodhi.

He nearly crushes you in a hug. “We all thought you were dead,” he breathes, holding you tightly. “That must have been a thousand feet… how did you survive that?”

You manage a smile, hugging him back. “I’m very much alive,” you promise. “I think my signet came in at the exact right time — it did something to cushion my fall.”

A few more of your friends have realized you’d made it through, running over to check on you and pull you into warm embraces, grateful you’re okay.

“That must have been terrifying,” your friend empathizes. 

“Oh, yeah. I was totally freaked, but…” You look over your shoulder, but Dain is already gone.

————————————————————————

“What’s today’s not-required reading?” Bodhi asks as he settles into the seat next to you.

“Advanced Physics of Flight,” you answer, your eyes flicking back and forth over the lines of text. “I borrowed it from Xay, but he needs it back after lunch, so I have to read fast. I’m halfway done, but it’s getting complicated.”

“You’re going to read that entire thing by noon?” Dain asks, raising an eyebrow. “No way.” 

“Yes way,” Bodhi answers for you. He slides the book away from you, flipping back a good thirty pages and handing it to Dain. “Read the first sentence aloud.”

Dain looks confused, but complies. “Understanding the motion of air around an object (often called a flow field) enables the calculation of forces and moments acting on the object.” 

It takes you a second to jump in, reciting the following sentences. “In many aerodynamics problems, the forces of interest are the fundamental forces of flight: lift, drag, thrust, and weight. Of these, lift and drag are aerodynamic forces, i.e. forces due to air flow over a solid body. Calculation of these quantities is often founded upon the assumption that the flow field behaves as a continuum. Continuum flow fields are characterized by properties such as flow velocity, pressure, density, and temperature, which may be functions of position and time. These properties may be directly or indirectly measured in aerodynamics experiments or calculated starting with the equations for conservation of mass, momentum, and energy in air flows. Density, flow velocity, and an additional property, viscosity, are used to classify flow fields,” you finish. “Can I have that back now?”

He hands it back to you, visibly confused. “How did you…”

“I’ve been able to do this since I was a kid. I’m just reading from the picture of the page in my mind,” you explain, already working on committing the next page to memory. 

“Huh?”

“I’ve learned not to question it,” Bodhi says. “But basically, she doesn’t forget anything, ever.”

“Not true,” you counter. “I can only do it with written words, not anything else. And I have to do it intentionally, or it won’t work.”

“That’s cool, but why are you memorizing a textbook you won’t need until next year?” Sawyer asks.

“I’m trying to figure out how to make Cosa and I more aerodynamic with my wind-wielding, and what all I can do with it, since Carr is absolutely zero help.”

“Understatement of the century,” your friend scoffs. “He hasn’t spoken to me once in the last two weeks. He only cares about the signets he finds interesting, and everyone else can just go fuck off and die, or figure it out on their own.”

The conversation comes to a halt as Professor Devera enters the classroom, beginning her presentation. You close the physics book, taking out a pen and paper for notes — time to see what lies they’ve come up with for you today.

————————————————————————

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cosa asks.

“Yes,” you answer, tightening the strap of your goggles and checking that all of your weapons are secure.

“See you on the ground, then.”

You loosen your grip on her slowly, willing yourself to take deep breaths as you feel the control slipping away, the wind taking over. You’re falling, falling… and then you’re floating again, your body relaxing into the air as it rushes up to meet you, cushioning your fall.

You land gracefully on both feet with a small gust of wind, several beautifully-colored autumn leaves swirling around you. You giggle in delight, stirring them up with your finger and watching them flutter around your feet.

“Perfectly done,” Cosa praises, landing behind you. 

Dain blinks at you, lips parted in shock. “What…”

You give him a bright smile, removing your goggles and letting them hang around your neck. “I’m fine. It doesn’t scare me anymore — I’ve been practicing.”

Something shifts in the air. “Practicing?” he echoes, incredulous. “What did you do, jump off the parapet?”

You don’t deny it. 

His jaw drops. “Are you out of your mind?”

Your smile fades immediately. You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “How else was I supposed to get over my fear of heights?”

“By doing literally anything else other than jumping off a hundred-foot-tall bridge over a river with giant rocks at the bottom? You could have died!”

“Clearly I didn’t,” you huff, the wind blowing a little stronger now, sending the fallen leaves skittering across the flight field. “I didn’t get a single scratch either time.”

“Either? You did it twice?”

“I had to make sure the first time wasn’t a fluke. I would have done it three times, if there weren’t so many stairs to get up there.”

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation — if he doesn’t take a moment to steady himself, he’s going to say something he regrets. 

You continue to defend yourself. “If something like that happens again, I need to be able to handle it. And they aren’t teaching us shit besides keep your seat and don’t fall, so I took matters into my own hands.”

He sighs. You have a point, even if your methods were incredibly dangerous. “I’m glad you conquered your fear. Just please don’t do that again?” he asks quietly. “Not unless you absolutely have to?”

You’re taken aback by the hurt in his voice, the same look in his eyes you’d seen when he’d found you in the forest earlier this week. You’re hit with a wave of guilt as you realize that you’d scared him, that his anger is really just fear — fear of losing you, the closest thing he has to a friend in this school, even if you butt heads sometimes.

“Okay,” you agree quietly. “Not unless I absolutely have to.”

He’ll take that. “Thank you.”

“Are you coming to dinner, or what?” your friend calls across the field, impatient.

“In a second!” you shout back. You look back at Cosa, patting her leg. “See you tomorrow, Co.”

“Until tomorrow,” she replies. “I’m proud of you. Now run along.”

You beam at the praise, thanking her before jogging off toward your friends.

Dain stands there for a moment, watching as the leaves flutter to the ground, laying still. They’d been something beautiful when you’d played with them, laughing as they danced around you on the breeze you’d stirred up, but now they’re just dead leaves, crunching under his boots as he walks across the flight field back toward the school building.

[miquellah]

⚜️ SOTE Impressions Survey Results ⚜️

Earlier, I cycled around a survey to get opinions on the story of Elden Ring's DLC, and 101 respondents answered!! Following through with my promise, here are now all the results as recived.

Most all of these responders are likely from Tumblr, with potentially just a few from Twitter. To my knowledge this was never posted anywhere else, so these results can likely be best considered the thoughts of a good chunk in the Tumblr sphere of players!

I've done my best to make everything sufficiently readable, but there's still quite a bit in length here, apologies. The text on the actual charts may or may not be difficult to actually read, but I've given small summaries after each question to try and mitigate this.

First, the basic demographic questions:

These two were optional, but almost entirely filled by all respondents nonetheless. It’s a pretty good split between gender! I half wish I’d made it more specific just for curiosity, but eh. Age range is primarily 19-25, with 26-30 second place.

A question to determine how familiar players were with Fromsoft’s soulsborne genre and writing. Most respondents are indeed Fromsoft regulars.

Most respondents fully expected Miquella to be Morally Grey before DLC release, with only a somewhat smaller amount expecting True Good over True Evil.

These speak for themselves. Base game lore has consistently high scores, whereas while DLC lore still has high peaks, there’s still much more of a spread haha.

Despite it all there’s more people saying the DLC lore coheres with base game more than not??

Have you changed opinions on the DLC's lore at any time since it's release? If so, how?

No (no elaboration) - 18 No change, i feel negative- 15 No change, i feel positive- 10 Yes, I feel worse- 2 Yes, I feel better now- 18 Yes (no elaboration)- 6 N/A- 7

And wherever there’s nuance it’s usually a lot of “yeah I see the vision, but some execution could ultimately have been better.” In hindsight this is also a question I should’ve made multiple choice…

A very high chunk of people were spoiled to any degree beforehand!

This question was due to all of the comparisons to Miquella as being similar to Griffith/initially expecting that of him before DLC. I think Berserk is a bit more popular in the Twitter/Reddit circles of fans, though.

Primarily high impressions of Marika, with veeeryy low levels of believing she’s justified. Only a sliver of hate.

VERY high opinions of Messmer! Very small justifications of his actions, much in line with his mother.

Very high impressions of Mohg overall, with a small slice of dislike, a tiny sliver of hate. People largely feel his actions are nuanced, with a small slice of more justified than not.

Miquella is by far the most divisive character! Albeit he still has some good chunks of Like and Love. Justification scores are much the same as Mohg, primarily complicated/nuanced.

More people feel Miquella is a child only in body, with a near-equal chunk feeling it’s open-ended/nuanced.

Surprisingly, most respondents do NOT believe in Mohg having sexual misconduct with Miquella… though perhaps some people felt this meant just with Mohg as a perpetrator, and not that there wasn’t iffy stuff at all? Nonetheless, this headcanon seems pretty prevalent in the community as a whole, but maybe that’s just due to all the loudest people with the crass jokes.

How do you feel about the writing choice of Radahn as Miquella's chosen king and consort?

Okay rather than try and take the stats for this one, I’m going to try and summarize the bulk of responses best as possible:

The least generous replies say this sucks ass. The most generous usually say “yeah, I see what they were going for, but the execution of this feels very flawed nonetheless.” One respondent states that the emphasis of Miquella’s plotline seemed to be on his choice of consort entirely, rather than his actual motivations or journey to get here.

Many people lament Malenia’s lack in things at all within DLC, past a single mention. A notable amount of people note that they would’ve been more accepting of the consort if it had ended up being Godwyn instead, because of the amount of weight he seemed to have in the base game lore alongside Miquella. At least one respondent laments the disservice “done to monsterfuckers everywhere” that we didn’t even get a physically  monstrous boss in the end.

There’s a couple of people who go “oh yeah this makes sense for the both of them and/or I saw the signs along the way”, but they never go on to elaborate… the longest responses are always from people who are most unhappy, or are fairly understanding, but still ultimately unable to end up terribly pleased with this plot point.

Overall the reception to this plot point is decidedly poor, with the main grievances being how little foreshadowing or apparent basis there was, and how it changed the context of things in base game– such as Radahn’s first boss fight, the battle of Aeonia itself, Jerren’s wishes, and the sacrifices of all the soldiers between both armies. Even any concerns over implications of incest are honestly low priority here.

By far my personal favorite response is “I couldve written a better plot twist with three hoyrs of sleep and a coca col”, so shoutout to that one.

(Bonus) Optional because she's not relevant in the DLC. How do you feel about Ranni as a character and her actions?

I’ll be honest, this one was just because I think people’s thoughts on Ranni are a great judge of narrative comprehension. HAHAHA. But out of 91 responders to this one, most everyone cleared!

The bulk of responses are ultimately “yeah what she did to Godwyn was fucked up, but ultimately I understand it”. A few respondents note her narrative of female autonomy, and state their own reflection in this. Several note that she is selfish, but some aren’t particularly condescending with this and say that by all means, she’s just like the rest of the demigods if not still better than them.

A small handful also note that Ranni and Miquella are essentially foils to one another, where Miquella gives up everything for the sake of his Age of Compassion, but Ranni finds a means to keep her soul. It’s noted that even with his well-intentioned ambitions, he still ultimately fails as a reflection of Marika, whereas Ranni cuts herself from the cycle entirely.

A good handful of responses are little more than “hell yeah girlboss” and “fuck yeah that’s my wife” lol. On the other end, there’s a couple of responders who talk about how much they hate how she’s waifu’d, some disliking her purely because of this. Only about 2-3 responses in here are ones I’d truly consider character hate (without any seemingly justified reason) though.

Overall she’s more praised than not, with most everyone acknowledging her motivations, complexity, and role in the story. She’s often noted for her foils with Miquella, her goals of autonomy and the subsequent sympathy here from cis and trans female responders alike, with many acknowledgments that she is still by no means a saint.

And that's all! Thanks again to all of those who responded, and once more to those who've now read all the results. I still have the individual responses saved, so if I wanted I could go through and try to discern if there's any patterns related to how certain outcomes in opinion happen... but I'm tired!!! Hopefully if nothing else, this survey was a nice way to reflect and to sate some curiosity ✨

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red Pt 9

“Are you sure you want to do this? I won’t go easy on you.”

Lena’s voice is light in its challenge, but edged with true competition. 

It’s been more than a month since their confrontation, when they’d mutually agreed to keep things going. For much of that time, Lena had existed on tenterhooks, waiting for some other shoe to fall. But Kara was patient, and when nothing happened to threaten their happiness, Lena had finally relaxed, bringing a return to her playful confidence.

Kara bares her teeth in a grin. “Bring it.”

Today is the day of the intramural baseball championships, pitting the best of FDNC and NCPD against each other. They’d thought it would be fun to participate, neither thinking they’d ever manage to face the other in an actual game. Yet here they were, Precinct 42 facing off against Station 13. 

“Hey!” Nia calls from the bench area. “No cavorting with the enemy, Lieutenant!” 

Lena’s face creases into an exasperated eyeroll. Kara cherishes the sight, the memory of her girlfriend’s guarded features still fresh in her memory.

“Duty calls,” she drawls, leaning in for a final pre-game kiss. 

“No smooching the enemy either!”

Lena huffs as Kara guffaws, giving Lena a swat to the butt as they split to return to their respective teams. Kara hears Lena say something about psyching out the competition, but Nia’s disbelief is equally audible.

“Sure, Jan.”

Kara jogs a lap around the diamond, doing her best not to stare at Lena’s legs as she does a series of lunge stretches. When Lena moves to side bends, the edge of her jersey rides up to expose a slice of skin that makes Kara nearly trip over her own feet. When Lena turns and bends backwards, stretching her spine, her grin tells Kara that she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

Suddenly, Lena pauses mid-stretch. Though she straightens casually, Kara sees her eyes scan the field, then the bleachers, searching for something. Concern flashes through Kara, but before she can approach Lena, Winn Schott trots towards her. 

“Hey Danvers. You ready to crush your girlfriend?” 

His smile is broad and bright, and Kara automatically smiles in reciprocation. She hadn’t spent much time with Officer Schott before joining the team, but over the course of the season she’s learned that he’s a good sport, playful yet dedicated. She likes him.

“You know Lena,” she returns, “she’s not one to do things halfway.”

Winn’s nose wrinkles. “Okay, did not need to know that about you guys.” He earns a smack to the shoulder, and breaks into giggles. “Okay, okay, you know I’m joking!” 

Glancing back over the field, Kara sees that Lena has been similarly wrangled, circled up with her teammates. Her focus seems to be entirely on the huddle, so Kara lets her shoulders relax. 

“Come on,” she tells Winn. “Let’s get going.”

The game is close. Too close. It comes down to the final inning, with two outs and the bases loaded. The Hot Shots are at bat, trailing by one, but the Moody Blues need only one more out to end the game. From her position at shortstop, Kara swallows with anticipation as Lena steps towards the plate. The rest of her team cheers, while Kara’s jeers. Kara remains silent, mentally calculating how Lena might play it. She’s been hitting hard all game, making Kara’s team work to collect the ball and wing it back towards the bases before doubles and triples can turn into full homers. And in this suspenseful moment, Kara wouldn’t put it past Lena to fire a line drive directly into Kara’s knees.

She settles in, watching Lena’s relaxed strides to the plate, casually knocking the bat against her cleats to dislodge the packed dirt. Then, she settles into her ready stance, and waits. The pitcher winds up and drives the ball over home plate. Lena doesn’t swing. On the second, she even dodges as the pitch careens too close to her, much to the Hot Shots’ outrage. After a warning from the umpire, the exhausted pitcher takes a beat, spits, then readies himself.

The pitch is so fast Kara barely registers it’s been thrown, but the answering crack of the bat is unmistakable. Kara traces the arc of the ball up, up, and away, across the field and over the scoreboard on the far end, out of sight. Home run. Lena takes her victory lap at a trot as the other runners cross home plate one after the other, picking up her pace when she sees her team surging towards her in celebration.

While Lena gets showered with praise and gatorade, Kara laughs as her team groans and curses, sprawling on their backs in the dirt, exhausted. It’s been a tough one, giving as good as they got, but where the other officers wallow in disappointment, Kara feels exhilarated. 

“Jesus,” Winn says, panting as he crosses to her from second base. “Is she superwoman?”

Kara shoots him a cocked grin, and after a beat of staring his eyes go wide. “Oh! God– Danvers, I did not mean it like that!”

Slapping him on the back, Kara chuckles. “Later, Schott!”

She trots over to the other team, wading into the crowd of bodies until she’s planted herself in front of Lena. She grips Lena’s face with both hands and kisses her soundly, dust and sweat and all. It surprises Lena, evidenced by the slight glaze in her eyes when Kara draws back.

“Good game,” Kara all but shouts to be heard. As Kara smiles up at her, she sees the tiniest wrinkle appear between Lena’s eyebrows. Green eyes lift to scan the area around them, her chin even swiveling to check behind her. Kara’s hackles lift; she knows that look– the sense of being watched. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Lena doesn’t respond, and Kara realizes that she hasn’t heard between the din and distraction. She touches Lena’s arm, pulling her girlfriend’s attention back towards her. 

“Everything okay?”

Lena blinks, staring for a long moment before she shakes her with a disarming smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Hey lovebirds!” Nia calls. “Come on! We gotta treat the losers to pizza and ice cream!”

“It is tradition,” Brainy confirms. “To ease the sting of failure.”

Kara turns back to Lena, smirking. “Oh darn. Guess I’ll have to wait to give you your prize at home…”

Lena’s gaze sharpens as her words register, her previous distraction swiftly turning to hunger. “You know, I have some ice cream in my freezer–”

“Nope!” Kara chirps. “Come on, babe. Pizza and ice cream wait for no man.”

Under the din, Kara hears a plaintive whimper. Her insides melt as she settles her hand into Lena’s hand and gives a promising squeeze.

All in good time, it says. All in good time.

—

Later that night, Kara wakes up deliciously sore, and not just from the game. She lengthens her body under the covers, stretching some of the ache away. It’s a few bleary moments before she understands exactly what’s woken her. 

Lena twitches and jerks in the bed beside her, her brow furrowed with anguish. Her lips move indiscernibly, silenced in sleep. A nightmare. Kara reaches to shake her awake, but retracts her hand at the last moment. She’s heard stories of unsuspecting partners trying to rouse their loved ones awake, only to be made part of the nightmare itself. She knows Lena would never consciously attack her, but in sleep? With a monstrous trauma and undisclosed past hanging over her? Kara knows better than to believe she would be an exception to the possibility.

Suddenly, Lena spasms, lashing out with a long arm. Kara only just manages to dodge before rolling out of bed and onto her feet. “Shit,” she hisses. She flips on the light on her bed stand, casting a glow throughout the room. Lena’s movements are more noticeable now, rocking to either side as though to dislodge something sitting on her chest. Her arm flails again before clenching the sheet in a white-knuckled grip.

Kara considers her options, but before she’s able to make a decision, Lena bolts upright with a sharp gasp, so suddenly that Kara flinches back in surprise. Lena’s head whips back and forth frantically, scanning the room. She jumps when she sees Kara standing beside the bed, eyes flying wide before recognition hits. For a brief moment they can do nothing but stare at each other. Kara’s sure her eyes are as wide as Lena’s which soon glaze with tears. Finally, Lena sighs, deflating a little as she wipes a hand over her face. 

“Fuck,” comes the inevitable mumble. Kara watches tentatively as Lena scans the room again before slowly sliding her legs over the side of the bed, turning away from Kara. Her night shirt clings to her in cold sweat, and her hair hangs limp around her shoulders. 

“You okay?” Kara asks, clearing her throat. 

Lena nods without looking up. “Yeah.” Her voice is little more than a croak, and does nothing to reassure Kara. In the end, Lena sniffles huskily and swipes again at her eyes. “I’m going to get some water. You can go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”

With that she slips out of the room as quiet as a wraith. Kara stares after her, at a loss for what to do next. In the quiet that follows, she realizes she’s also trembling, her body stiff with adrenaline.

“Fuck,” Kara echoes Lena’s sentiment. She drops onto the side of the bed, resting her elbows heavily on her knees as she rubs her cheeks. She doesn’t feel afraid, but her body does. Only when her hands stop shaking does she rise and venture from the bedroom. Lena doesn’t look up when Kara enters the living room, but doesn’t protest when KAra settles down next to her.

Her shoulders are hunched, arms crossed around her middle, a glass of water forgotten on the coffee table. They sit in silence for several long minutes– Lena not ready to speak, and Kara loathe to break the quiet. Finally, Lena forces herself upright, lifting her head to reveal solemn features. 

“You were smart,” she says roughly. “Getting out of bed.”

Kara takes it as an invitation to take Lena’s hand, who allows their fingers to intertwine. Clearing her throat, Lena looks at her. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Kara promises, shaking her head quickly. “I’m good. Are you good?”

Lena doesn’t respond. Tension still limns her frame, her breathing almost shallow as they sit, as though Lena can’t pull in a full breath. An idea pops into Kara’s head, and she gives Lena’s hand a squeeze. “Hey. Wanna go for a walk?”

The offer is accepted with a quiet nod. After pulling on their sweatpants and sneakers, they step out into the night. They’re the only ones on the street at this hour, and they hold hands as they silently walk towards the nearby park. When the scent of sleeping trees drifts across their senses, Kara finally feels Lena start to relax. The air isn’t quite chill, just cold enough to bring a tint of pink to her partner’s cheeks. 

Halfway across the bridge spanning a small creek, Lena draws to a stop against the wrought iron rail. Kara watches her turn her head to the sky, eyes reflecting every star peeking through the cloud cover. Soft moonlight dapples across Lena’s skin, and Kara feels her heart lurch, stuttering a little with an emotion she can’t quite describe.

“Thanks,” Lena murmurs. “This was a good idea.”

Kara slides closer, until the warmth of Lena’s shoulder melds with hers. “It always helped me, when I had nightmares. After the shooting, there were nights I felt like I was still in that bathroom stall, with the walls closing in.” She smiles thinly. “Sometimes a little breeze is enough to ground a person.”

“Or blow them away entirely.” Lena’s voice is even, but low. Vulnerable.

Kara gazes at her. “Is that how you feel right now? Like you might blow away?”

Lena sighs, then turns her gaze from the sky to Kara. “Let’s just say it’s not the breeze keeping me grounded.” Her thumb brushes the back of Kara’s hand in soft circles, sending a thrum of something deep through Kara. She leans her head against Lena’s shoulder, gazing out across the trees lining the creek while Lena returns her attention to the sky.

“It’s actually one of the things I miss about the desert,” Lena says gently. Kara hums a low question. “The sky. You could see the whole Milky Way out there, painting the entire sky. It was… breathtaking. Even on the most miserable days, it still awed me.”

You awe me, Kara longs to say. You are breathtaking.

She doesn’t.

“Maybe we could go camping,” she suggests instead. “Chase the open sky.”

Lena grunts, but the sound of it doesn’t completely nix the idea. Kara bumps her with a hip.

“I could see you on a Harley for sure.”

Finally, Lena laughs. “Nah,” Lena returns. “We’ll take the truck– sleep in the bed.”

“With all the rust mites? Psh.”

“All right, fine. Just some bedrolls around a fire. Like Xena and Gabrielle.”

Kara grins. “Can I be Xena?”

“Nope. You’ve the soul of a poet, Miss Artiste.”

It draws a chuckle from Kara. When Lena lifts her arm, Kara tucks herself against her, soaking in the proximity. 

I love you, she wants to say. I cherish you.

She doesn’t.

[regheart]

From one old men yaoi shipper to another… I notice that a lot of marauders and wolfstar works tend to portray Sirius as kinda mean towards Remus, where tenderness, kindness, and understanding normally come from James. It’s either that or Sirius being completely devoted and in ride or die love with Remus. Do you think Sirius could deliver tender moments and more sincere exchanges with Remus (romantic or platonic)? Or was their relationship not like that?

well, there are two moments in the book that come to mind in terms of portraying how sirius feels about remus

first, is when they meet again at the shrieking shack at the end of PoA. remus is the one whose feelings are easier to read, because so far we've known him pretty much for who he is, while sirius has yet to prove himself innocent

Then Lupin spoke in an odd voice, a voice that shook with some suppressed emotion.

“Where is he, Sirius?”

[...]

Lupin was lowering his wand, gazing fixedly at Black. The professor walked to Black’s side, seized his hand, pulled him to his feet so that Crookshanks fell to the floor, and embraced Black like a brother.

and, you see, the really cool thing about the ending of the book is that sirius was willing to show up, kill peter and probably run off again. harry is the most important person in his life, but at this moment he has no hopes of building any sort of relationship with him. remus is the one who calms him down and helps him see the bigger picture (before harry does the same to both of them), and obviously there's the narrative factor of needing to come clear about a lot of information and keeping the action as easy to understand as possible, but sirius stands on the back for the big part of remus' story

it is obvious, from the start, that they've had their differences, but they fall back swiftly into easy camaraderie as soon as they reunite and you can't do that if there was never any trust, love (however you want to see it) and companionship before

“Ready, Sirius?” said Lupin.

Black had already retrieved Snape’s wand from the bed. He approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face.

“Together?” he said quietly.

“I think so,” said Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. “On the count of three. One — two — THREE!”

we are lead to believe that james and sirius were equals — equally brilliant, equally confident, equally brave — while remus and peter were excluded from that. but looking at the way adult remus interacts with sirius, and how he's included in the joke after their owls, his participation on creating the marauders map and the general propensity to mischief, he was their friend and it's frustrating when people completely overlook that because his role in their friendship (and the main things that distinguish him from peter, his loyalty and the capacity to stand oh his own*) is no demerit to whatever the other two have and his magical skill and his intelligence is not erased because it manifests differently

everyone and their mother has this scene memorized but i'll post it again

the second thing is how sirius speaks of remus in OotP, which is more than one moment but i think it shows how he tends to act towards him as a friend

i. when they're talking about prefects

“No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.”

“I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,” said Lupin. “I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.”

ii. sirius comforting harry about umbridge

“Yes, but the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters,” said Sirius with a wry smile. “I know she’s a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her.”

iii. discussing SWM

“Of course he was a bit of an idiot!” said Sirius bracingly. “We were all idiots! Well — not Moony so much,” he said fairly, looking at Lupin, but Lupin shook his head.

“Did I ever tell you to lay off Snape?” he said. “Did I ever have the guts to tell you I thought you were out of order?”

“Yeah, well,” said Sirius, “you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes.... That was something...”

in these three scenes we see sirius bringing up remus in conversation, even when isn't present, and including what he thinks is relevant and positive, half of the time with remus assuming his own failings after sirius cuts him some slack

now, it could be argued that the compliments in each case are condescending (as if saying remus was nice! and also uncool), but i think they show acknowledgement of something remus was probably proud of (being a prefect, at that time) and sense of fairness that he feels he should point out (being less of an idiot), and remus confesses to his share of guilt

the fact that they are living together, hanging out, discussing werewolf legislation from two years ago, suggests closeness and comfort in spending time together. i see both the joining forces to murder our traitorous friend and the casual relationship as a reflection and a continuation of the friendship they had during the first war. once they take down the obstacle of believing each other the spy, they trust each other completely and they share similar experiences and understandings of that time, more similar than any other pair in the order

i understand that people believe they don't understand each other (no one fully does, get it together), and i see this particularly in how sirius tends to soak into his own sorrow once he is there and not realize how others may feel similar to him (when harry says he wishes he could stay with sirius, even if it were in grimmauld place, and not with the dursleys, sirius replies that fighting dementors is exciting which is not at all what harry is complaining about), and remus is so used to suffocating his own wishes and complaints that he can also fail in providing comfort to others because he can endure making himself miserable

and that is reflected on the prank and how sirius speaks of it, and remus prioritizing dumbledore's orders over sirius' well being

but this specific issues are what make their mid-30s relationship compelling to me, not at the cost of their shared history and knowledge of each other's worst traits and mutual forgiveness and unspoken tenderness and aligned morals and politics and internal jokes and shared secrets and willingness to try again and make it work this time

*remus lives a miserable life, but he lives a life nonetheless, he has multiple jobs, he makes right decisions and wrong decisions, he is a valuable member of the order and a friend to multiple people, peter was a servent to other death eaters. do we really need to argue on this?

**not referring back to anything but while i do think james was more aware of other people's feelings and had a better response to them, i don't think he was particularly kind, in the broad sense of the word, not until they were older, and i don't think it was impossible for sirius to have emotional awareness and responsibility, just that his upbringing made it difficult for him to have acceptance and understanding as his default reaction to anything, so this is something he probably had to work on himself and be conscious of his own acts of kindness