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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. x

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chapter summary: an old friend finds you at your lowest point, and you're confronted with ghosts of the past. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 5.7k chapter warnings: HEAVY ANGST. Grief. Time jumps. Referenced death of family members and romantic partners. Canon typical violence. Blood mention. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: I took a week off to get my shit together. I hope you are still with me :) Also, please pay attention to dates in this chapter.

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

-March 7, 2022-

You hobble forward through the snow, dragging your right foot behind you for as long as you can until you’re forced to use it to step forward. Every time you have to bear weight on your ankle, you try to mentally prepare yourself for the pain, to convince yourself it’s not that bad. But each time your injured foot comes in contact with the ground, you realize your imagination didn’t do it any justice. Still, you try to keep the noises you make in response down to nothing more than sharp inhales. Despite the fact that the boy trailing a few steps behind you always keeps his eyes cast down, he sees everything, and the last thing you want him to notice is the severity of your injury.

Both of you have more important things to worry about.

It’s a forgivingly warm day, and by forgivingly warm, you mean not freezing. Snow still covers the ground, so tightly packed that in some areas you can walk on top of it, but in others you have to forage a path – it’s nearly above your knees. Without the support system of the group you had just been with, there was no way you’d be able to make it in this weather. This was the plan – head South, for warmer weather. But still, you’ve no real destination or purpose, you’re kind of wandering aimlessly through the woods and mountains, with nothing to direct you but a cracked compass.

Despite the pain you’re in, you find the discomfort a welcome reprieve. If you’re focused on that, you’re not thinking of her. Of what you’d just lost, which would spiral into all the things you had lost, and so on and so forth. If you let yourself go down that path, you wouldn’t be able to come back, despite your future looking more and more uncertain each day.

The boots that crunch behind you echo your own footsteps, so when they come to a sudden halt, you turn to look at him. He puts a finger to his lips. “Did you hear that?”

His head tilts towards the wind. It’s hard enough to hear already, between the rushing river to your left, and the whistling of the breeze through the pines to your right. It ruffles his dark hair and you watch him – but it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking when his eyes are obstructed by a pair of Rayban Wayfarers perched on the bridge of his nose. You’d found them – along with the aviators you wore – on a road full of abandoned cars about three days back. Or was it…four? You’d have to look at your journal. Either way, you’d known they were necessary to avoid snow blindness, especially now that the sun was out.

After a few moments of listening, he shakes his head. “I thought I heard horses.”

Whether he did or not doesn’t matter. “We should move back towards the woods,” you advise.

He frowns, but doesn’t argue, and you abandon the easy path in favor of what’s safer, but also much, much, harder terrain to move over. Now, you have to move slower, but the pain is just as bad as before.

You’re not sure how much time passes before you lose your footing over some gnarled tree roots, and it sends you to the ground. It hurts, and because you weren’t prepared for it, sharp cry you let out can’t be held back.

“Shit!”

Within a second, the boy is kneeling at your side, brow furrowed in concern. And you’re reminded, with him hovering over you, that he’s not a boy anymore.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say rapidly, rolling onto your stomach to push yourself up to a seated position.

“No you’re not,” he crouches down, gesturing to your foot. One of his hands lands on your shoulder, keeping you from trying to rise to your feet. “You’re clearly not.”

You lift up your pants to tighten the cloth you’ve wrapped around your ankle – a makeshift compression sleeve – even though you know it’s not going to fix the problem. It’s main purpose, really, is to hide the majority of the bruising and swelling. It makes it easier for you both to stay in denial of how bad the situation really is. “I twisted it. It’s fine.”

“It’s fucking broken,” he insists. “You know it is. We can’t keep going like this, we need to rest, and food. You need to ice it and actually let it fucking heal-”

“Ethan,” you hiss. “Just where the fuck are we going to do that?”

Wherever you are is incredibly remote, you hadn’t been able to find a reliable shelter since you first started running away.

Your nephew frowns again, his head dropping. “You’re right. We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“We’re not fucked,” you say, even if you don’t believe it. “We’ve seen worse.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know....this is pretty fucking bad, right?”

There was something equally tragic about almost every situation you’d been in since the beginning of the outbreak, so it’s honestly hard if you’re actually doomed or not.

“I mean we survived….that,” you gesture towards the general direction from which you’d come, even if it’s a week’s worth of travel away.

“Maybe we’re still not out of it.”

“We are. The worst is over.” Despite your own doubts, you try to remain determined for his sake.

Ethan only sighs. He doesn’t argue with you, and rarely does. It doesn’t mean he agrees with you. Even after everything you’d been through, he’s sensitive – and incredibly introspective.

This conversation was getting filed away to bring up later. There’s a lot of things you know he wants to talk about, but he knows now is not the time for those conversations.

“Let’s keep moving,” you decide. “Hopefully we’ll find shelter soon, and when we do, I promise, you can rest.”

“You can rest,” he corrects.

You hum your affirmation, and he stands. The thick pelt that’s draped over his shoulders shifts when his hand reaches out to help you up. There’s still blood that stains his clothing, and it’s caked under his fingernails. Yours too. It’d be nice to clean yourself off properly, but with the unpredictable temperatures, you’re not interested in diving into the river and risking hypothermia.

The second that you rise to your feet, you can see you are – as Ethan predicted – fucked.

There’s four, hulking figures cantering towards you on horseback. You turn to look into the woods. “Fuck, we have to-” you fumble for the revolver strapped at your hip, and Ethan lifts his rifle, but it’s too late. Before you can even draw your weapons, or comprehend an escape plan, you’re surrounded.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” there’s at least two guns trained directly at you. “Hands up.” After everything that had gone down, you’re out of bullets, so even if it might’ve been a good bluff, a gun would only get you so far.

You both obey, but Ethan subtly shifts his weight so he stands in front of you. “Hey kid. Step away from mom or we’ll shoot you both.”

The words come from the man on the horse directly in front of you. Probably the leader, if you had to guess, and clad just like his counterparts. They’re all clad in muted tones, handkerchiefs obscuring their mouths and cowboy hats casting shadows over their eyes. There’s a dog seated obediently at one of the horses feet.

You don’t say anything as Ethan steps away. This wasn’t the first time you’ve both been cornered like this before. And hopefully not the last, you think, before realizing just how grim of a wish that would be. Either way, he knows what to do. Silence is an incredibly effective card to play when you have absolutely nothing to offer. It allows you to bide your time, to strategize, to listen.

Once Ethan is an appropriate distance away, he raises his chin in defiance. “What brings you to the area?”

“Nothing. We’re passing through,” you answer. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe the only thing you really can use as leverage right now is just how down on your luck you actually are. Unfortunately, you have found that even when you have nothing to give, there are still things that can be taken.

“What’s with all the blood?” another man asks, this one to your left. “You in some kind of trouble?”

“Only the usual kind.”

“Infected?”

“We aren’t sick.”

“We’ll see…” the third man whistles to the dog at his feet, which trots forward with a low growl to sniff at your shoes.

Neither you or Ethan have been bit, so you know you’re in the clear, but that doesn’t make things any less hopeless. You exchange a sidelong glance with your nephew as the dog sniffs at you, and you glance to the only cowboy who has been silent the whole time, the one at your right. He clears his throat, adjusts his hat, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes….just for a second. The dog backs away.

“Looks like you aren’t lying,” the cowboy in front of you sounds almost satisfied. “Both of you, take off those glasses.”

You sigh, glancing over at Ethan.

“Don’t look at him, just do it.”

You do, pushing them off the bridge of your nose and up into your matted and tangled hair. Pointedly, you turn to look at the men surrounding you. Revealing your face is always a risk, and you’ve made plenty of enemies who would recognize you. But you’re out of options.

“Where are you headed?”

“South,” you say. “Just trying to get out of the cold.”

“If think this is cold, then you must have not been in the area long enough.”

Actually, I have, asshole. Is a decade long enough? You keep the commentary to yourself.

“Any friends nearby we should know about?”

Your stomach twists. No. But he doesn’t deserve the story. Not when all you want to do is forget every second of the last week. “Can you just tell us what you want from us?”

“Answer the question.”

“Hold on,” the man to your right speaks up for the first time, and you turn to look over at him. “What’s your name?” His voice is muffled by the bandana.

Hesitantly, you give him your first.

The man pulls his handkerchief down around his neck, pushes the brim of his hat back. Now, you can see him clearly. He looks familiar, but it’s not someone you know from this lifetime. His long, dark hair pokes out from where it’s slicked back behind his ears. He looks far too young to be the first person that comes to mind. But….maybe.

And then he repeats your name, adds your last himself. How does he know?

You tilt your head to the side, squint against the sun.

“....Tommy?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Huddled at the far end of a couch, you’re still trying to make sense of the situation when Tommy settles into a chair that he pulls alongside you.

“Let me take a look at your ankle.”

“It’s fine, really,” you insist, even though all your efforts to refuse help since you’ve arrived have been futile.

It’s the most normal-looking community you’d seen in a decade. Completely self-sufficient and self-governed – no FEDRA, no Fireflies. Hell, you’d just showered under warm, running water – had watched the blood and dirt and grime swirl about the tiles before disappearing down the drain. And now, despite the temperature having dropped since nightfall, you are perfectly warm in a thin gray sweater, thanks to the central heating and a fire crackling in the fireplace. It seems far too civilized to be real.

Your eyes flick behind Tommy towards the stairs, and you register the sound of the water running above you. Ethan. For the past few days, he hasn’t left your sight once, such a force of habit that leaving him alone puts you on edge. If something happens, and you’re separated….

“He’ll be fine,” Tommy assures you, almost like he can read your mind. You focus back on him, but don’t have anything to offer in response. He sighs, lowers his voice. “Whatever happened to you, I want you to know that you’re safe. And can trust me. You know that, right?”

You study Tommy. Of course, you want to trust him. But he is a man, after all. A man you haven’t seen in a long time. You had been betrayed so many times by people you thought you could trust that it was no longer something you could give so easily. The sincerity in his expression, the conviction with which he speaks, however, causes you to soften. “C-Can I?”

“Of course,” Tommy says. “We knew each other….before.”

“I know, I know.” You nod, wearily, and take in the room. “Guess it’s just….a bit of a shock.”

“I get it,” he sympathizes. “But I’m here to help. If I wasn’t, all this…” he gestures around the living room of the once-empty house he’s letting you use for the night. “...would be a huge waste of time and resources.”

You offer a small smile, feel some of the apprehension fade, and allow him to examine your ankle. When you’d gotten a glimpse of it in the shower, you really couldn’t deny the severity of the situation.

“It does look like it could be broken,” Tommy says as he begins to wrap it in a bandage. It’s so sensitive, you can’t even watch, trying not to wince. “Tomorrow, I’ll get the doctor to come by and take a look. But for now, we’ll ice it and keep it elevated. Maria’s coming by later with dinner and some medicine that should help with the discomfort.”

You nod. To be real, the whole situation seems too surreal. There is something interesting about this situation – that right after one of the most traumatic events of your life, someone you knew from before was there to help. It wasn’t nothing.

And you’re aware that there are a thousand questions that hang between you. It’s overwhelming, you don’t know what one you want to pick, or if you even want to. So you keep it simple. “Who’s Maria?”

Tommy maneuvers a pillow under your foot and gingerly rests an ice pack on top. “She only kind of runs the place. And….she’s also my girlfriend.”

“How nice,” you say, earnestly.

“Yeah….” Tommy smiles to himself. “Yeah, it is nice. I have a life here. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that way.”

His candid nature further helps you relax. If you can trust him, and he feels safe here….maybe you are, too.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I have to ask…” Tommy begins, rubbing his hands together and looking over his shoulder. “But uh….the kid….Ethan…is he….”

You tilt your head.

“Is he….Joel’s?”

“Oh,“ your eyes widen. You register that a less hardened version of yourself might have laughed at the misunderstanding. But not now. Something twists deep in your gut at the implication. “No, no. No. He’s not mine. He’s my nephew. My brother’s son.”

“Okay,” Tommy looks almost relieved. “Sorry, it's just. He’s so young and you sort of look alike and-”

“It’s alright, Tommy,” you say. Because you can see why he thinks that. You are old enough to be Ethan’s mother, and people constantly assume he’s your son. Most of the time, you don’t bother to correct them. No one needed that information. Ethan was only a child when his parents passed. The two of you were all that remained of your family, and if it weren’t for him, you probably wouldn’t even be here. -“I get it.”

It’s been awhile since you’ve thought of Joel, of Sarah. It seems cruel, but it’s really just a matter of self-preservation. For some time, right after the outbreak, you had tried to find them. But you weren’t willing to abandon Ethan or Vincent, and there was only so much you could go. You kept losing people, and then started to avoid thinking about them entirely. Those memories became a distraction. You had more important things to focus on. Staying alive. Only when things were quiet would you let yourself indulge.

“He’s still alive,” Tommy’s voice cuts through the silence.

It almost feels selfish to be relieved that Joel’s alive. Because anyone who remembers what it was like before has survived, against all odds. And it’d be impossible to meet anyone who hasn’t traded over part of their humanity to last this long.

Despite that, you aren’t surprised. Joel was practical, smart….a protector. You remembered a hot summer night, the way he’d made some guy harassing you and Sarah cower and retreat with all his friends. It would be terrifying to be on the receiving end of that rage. What kinds of things was he capable of? Maybe you’re just projecting.

“And Sarah?” You think of her, her sweet smile and quick wit.

Tommy’s head drops, he shakes his head once.

“No….really?” It’s such a stupid question to ask. As if he’d make such a terrible joke.

At first, you’re overwhelmed by the anger you feel. It grips you tight around your throat and you struggle to breath as Tommy continues.

“It was the night everything went down. The military had these orders to kill all civilians….we all got split up. Sarah and Joel were cornered by this soldier. I shot him but…. I got there too late…she, uh….yeah….”

The anger dissipates quickly. Because you know all too well that it’s not useful. You’re completely powerless, it won’t fix anything. So all that momentum and energy comes screeching to a halt. You’re left thinking of Joel, of what that loss must have felt like. What you’re feeling now probably isn’t a fraction of what he felt. And you feel terrible.

“No,” you choke out, the frustration fizzling into grief. “She was so-”

All that time you’d spent with her, all those years ago, yet you still can see her so vividly.

Something you’ve always longed for is the ability to know, the second you meet someone new, just how much they are going to change your life. You think of Sarah, standing timidly at the end of your driveway, asking to use your landline. That was it. Then, she was always over at your place – eating your snacks, sprawled out on your couch watching television, asking for life advice as if you were qualified to give it. In the end, you’d probably learned more from her than what you had to offer. It wasn’t fair. Not to her. Not to Joel. Not to Tommy. Or you.

“I know, it’s-” Tommy starts, but he doesn’t finish. You understand. What is he supposed to say?

You’ve been a fortress, held together by nothing but sticks and plaster, and this is the blow that takes you down. It’s not just Sarah, it’s everything you’ve been holding back for the past week. That you’d hidden from Ethan because you didn’t want him to worry. But you can only take so much loss, pitching forward to sob into your palms.

You don’t cry like you used to. The tears come, but you don’t make any noise, save for the shaky, staggered inhales your body forces you to take to self-regulate. There’s a hand on your shoulder, and a weight settles next to you on the couch. “I’m s-sorry,” you manage through a faltering breath.

Tommy doesn’t say anything, but he wraps his arms around you. Something in the back of your brain reminds you that this could be a part of some long con. But you’re sick of listening to that voice. You lean into him, and accept the little bit of comfort, because you can’t remember the last time it’s been offered to you. So much time spent being strong, but you’re only human, and no one is built to endure this much without breaking.

“Where is he?” you ask Tommy, once you’ve finally managed to pull yourself together, his hand still between your shoulder blades. “Is he here?”

“Last time I saw him, we were livin’ in the Boston QZ.” Tommy shakes his head. “But it’s….been awhile since we’ve spoken.”

They had always seemed close, but you don’t press, because you get the impression it’s painful to talk about. You wonder what kind of man Joel must have become after losing Sarah. What else would he have to fight for? You know how loss has changed you, too. How all of this has changed you. For better, and for worse.

“I bet he would be glad to know you’re still here,” says Tommy, patting your back.

“Sure,” you say. “But it’s been a long time.”

“It has been. But you took good care of him and Sarah,” Tommy says. “So there’s a place for you here. If you want to stay, the house is yours.”

“Tommy, I can’t-” You aren’t really sure why you are refusing. It’s all so much. And it doesn’t even make sense to do it, because where had you been planning to go to begin with? You’re just stubborn. You know if you stop moving, everything will catch up to you.

“You don’t have to decide tonight. But at least wait until you’re back on your feet.”

“Is that…a joke?” you glance towards your ankle, relieved to find some remaining proof of your sense of humor, something you’re pretty sure you can’t go on without.

Tommy seems to share this relief, smiling gently. “It wasn’t intentional.”

There’s a lull, then: “Maria was a lawyer, too. She could use your help on the council.”

You sniff, wipe at a stray tear that falls at the mention of your old life, the job that you were constantly complaining about. Everything had been perfect, and you had taken it for granted. “I don’t know how much of that stuff I even remember.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re family,” Tommy speaks definitively. “Maybe not technically. But eventually…you would’ve been.” That makes you ache, and he goes on. “It’s the least I can do.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 10, 2024-

The wind rustles the leaves of the trees, through the windchimes that hang off your back porch. The sun is on the horizon, you can tell because there’s a red glow behind your eyelids. Huffing, you fold your body forward over your feet, pulling yourself towards the floor by the backs of your ankles, before stepping back into a lunge.

The sound of a door sliding up interrupts the quiet, then two plates hit a glass tabletop.

“Breakfast.”

You open your eyes. Ethan’s head is tilted as he glances over at you. “I can’t believe you still do this shit everyday.”

“Old habits die hard.” You push yourself up off the tattered blanket you’ve been using as a yoga mat and roll it up. “Gotta stay limber.”

It’s the truth. You’re in your forties now, and have spent the last twenty years under constant physical and mental stress. If there’s anything you can do to reverse the damage and be a little kinder to your body, you’re going to do it.

You put your hands on your hips and look at the omelets he’s prepared. “Wow,” you say. “You know, you’re becoming quite the chef.”

“One of us has to.”

You ignore his dig to take a sip of the tea he’s prepared you. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Patrol. I have to leave in like 20 minutes. Are you going out today?”

“Tomorrow,” you correct, sitting in the chair across from him. “But today I have to meet with Eugene, and then I told Maria I’d look after the baby while she gets some work done.”

“Makes sense. Tommy told me they’re hardly sleeping. How is she?”

“She’s doing good. But…there used to be this saying…It takes a village.”

Ethan considers this. “I still don’t know how you and dad looked after me all those years.”

“You were five years old, not five weeks. At least you could walk.”

“That’s still young. It must’ve been hard.”

“It was but….” you shrug. “We made it.”

Ethan looks into the backyard, like he’s contemplating the past two years you’d spent in this house. “You think this is it?”

After Tommy had brought you to Jackson, you’d never left. Will it last? Is really what he’s asking. It’s easy to feel jaded. The last place you’d been before Jackson had housed you for almost a decade. It hadn’t been nearly as nice as this, but it had its appeal. Today, you feel hopeful. “It’d be nice if it was.”

Ethan seems comforted by your answer. “I don’t remember much…from those days. Back at the beginning of everything.”

“That’s probably for the best,” you say. There are so many things from that time you’d erase from memory if given the chance. Some things never felt less jarring, even with time.

Ethan looks down at his food. “I miss them. I wish I got to know them better.”

You think of your brother, of Elizabeth. His parents. “You knew them,” you assure him. “And they loved you.”

Ethan studies the divots in the glass of the patio table. He’d grown up to be a spitting image of his dad. In fact, if Vincent were still alive, you would’ve found a way to give him shit about it. I knew you were self-absorbed, but don’t you think cloning yourself is a little extreme? But he’s not here, so you whisper those sorts of things when no one else can hear you, and hope that somehow he can.

He finishes his last bite of food and stands, towering over you, tall and lanky. When he reaches to collect his plate, you stop him. “I’ll get it. Don’t want you running late.”

“Thanks,” he leans down and gives you a quick hug. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun is about to set when he returns. You’re back from Maria’s, mellowing out on the couch with your knitting while listening to an old comedy album you’d found the last time you were on patrol.

“Hey,” you crane your neck to see him kicking off his boots in the foyer. Taking your shoes off when you walk in a house was a habit that had taken some getting used to. Before Jackson, you’d been so used to sleeping in your clothing, your shoes, knife and gun curled by your side, ready to grab at a moment's notice. The first week you’d lived here, you and Ethan had slept on the couches in the living room and refused to separate.

In general, there were a lot of things that had taken some getting used to while you were settling in. But humans have a natural instinct to put down roots. It was only a matter of time before you’d start to thaw out. And boy did you thaw.

For a long time, you were resistant to staying. At first, it was just for the night, then, it was until your foot got better. Your foot got better, and then you wanted to put on some weight. Then one day, you were sitting in the Tipsy Bison, sandwiched in a booth listening to Tommy brazenly flirt with Maria while watching Ethan joke with the kid his age working at the bar. It had been three months, and you didn’t want to leave anymore.

Twenty years of running, of not knowing when your next meal was coming from, or what could be lurking around every corner. It was a different kind of exhaustion, and the second that you felt safe, it all caught up to you. All you did for the first two months was sleep.

You woke only when Maria dropped by. Like Tommy had said, Maria had been a lawyer before. A prosecutor, however, so the work was different. You’d had a good laugh over the fact that you were raised by a ruthless criminal defense attorney with questionable clientele, because that was her worst nightmare. She was always enthusiastically telling you about things happening amongst the town council, and would even ask for your expertise. When you were done sleeping off the exhaustion, she’d extended you an offer to work for the town council.

Not leaving your house for weeks you assumed would earn you the reputation of the town recluse. But when you started to participate in community affairs, no one gave you any grief. That was probably thanks to Ethan, who from the beginning, fit right in. He was desperate for a social life outside of you, and more importantly, with kids his actual age.

Between helping Maria on the council, and Eugene with his….business…you didn’t go out on patrol too often. But you were glad you and Ethan had managed to find some sort of normalcy in Jackson. Even though you’d never admit this to him, the last group you’d lived in had some…..questionable traditions.

“Did Tommy come by already?” Ethan asks as he strolls into the living room and practically throws himself down on the couch.

“No,” you say. “Was he supposed to?”

“He said he was coming over tonight because he has a surprise for you or something?”

“A surprise?” you ask. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan says, sounding slightly annoyed by your questions. Sometimes, you still get glimpses of the fifteen-year-old boy he once was. He had always been well-behaved, but those sorts of things slipped through on occasion.

“Hmmm,” you return to your knitting, but don’t think much of it. It’s not like Tommy coming over is out of the ordinary. If it wasn’t him walking through your front door, it was Maria, and you and Ethan were over at theirs several times a week as well – whether it was for dinner or to help out with their new baby.

You think about what Tommy had told you when he first encouraged you to stay. He’d called you family. At the time, you didn’t think that was true. But now, it was. Maybe you weren’t bonded together by blood, but you’d grown to care for each other as if you were. Opening your heart used to feel impossible, painful even….but all the people who had helped you at your lowest had proven otherwise. Shutting them out only made things worse. After everything you’d been through, all you had left were the people you cared about. What else was there? It was stupid to do anything else but love.

There’s a knock on your screen door, and Ethan is the first to practically jump off the sofa. You don’t get up right away, figuring that Tommy will stroll in shortly.

Instead, you hear more voices than you were expecting, the screen door closing behind Ethan, his muffled “Nice to meet you.”

The sun is setting, and the last thing you want to do is go and meet someone who's new to the community to make small talk. But then you hear Ethan call for you. You need to be a good member of the community and keep up appearances. Begrudgingly, you lift yourself out of the sofa and walk down the hallway to your front door.

You slide into your sneakers, pull on your pair of aviators to protect from the intense light of the sun on the horizon, stepping onto the patio.

“What’s up?” you ask, stepping out onto the patio next to Ethan, and Tommy is to your right, though you are hardly aware of him as you focus immediately on the man standing in front of you.

You recognize him instantly. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. It doesn’t matter that his hair is more gray now than it is brown. It doesn’t matter or that the lines on his face are deeper, and his shoulders slump under an invisible weight. There’s a scar on his temple that hadn’t been there before, and his eyes, once warm and sparkling, seem impossibly cool and distant. He’s hardened by the world, and so are you.

“Joel?”

It’s a stupid to pretend like you don’t know that it’s him. Like you need the confirmation. And you lower your sunglasses, just in case you’re seeing something you want to see, and not what’s actually in front of you.

When you meet his eyes, his jaw clenches, and something unrecognizable flashes in his eyes.

“How are-” you step forward, and you’re not sure why.

What were you expecting, a hug? A kiss? Some grand reunion, like you hadn’t lived separate lives for two decades, like you hadn’t loved someone else in the meantime. He probably had, too. So it’s not like you’d be able to pick up where you left off and forget all the things that happened. It wouldn’t be possible, but you have an instinctual urge to wrap him in your arms, to press your face into his chest as you did so many times before. You’d tilt your head back to kiss his neck, his jaw, and to feel his stubble scratch your face – you’d do it anyway, because you don’t care if it hurts you.

Joel steps backwards just as you move closer. There’s a young girl hovering behind him, the same way that Sarah used to. But it’s hard to see much of her from where you are standing. His eyes flicker between you and Ethan, and then he turns on his heel and walks down the pathway without a word.

“Ellie!” he calls out, and doesn’t even so much as glance over his shoulder. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, and his voice gruffer, a bite to it that didn’t exist before.

You don’t call out after him, don’t trail after him down the street like the girl or Tommy does. But you do stare after him until he turns the corner and disappears from view. The only evidence he’d been standing in front of you at all is the pounding of your heart and a sick feeling in your stomach.

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moominsuki · 9 months

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✎ᝰ GOJO SATORU ; — i hate how you make feel while simultaneously being so incredibly unfeeling

࿄ ! warnings - afab!reader, angst, lowkey reader is a meanie but she has reasons, okay! no other warnings :}

love is fruitless with gojo satoru.

he’s attractive enough - shiny grey-blue eyes, tall, tan: the whole shebang and it’s no wonder that girls fall at his feet for a single chance to bed the man. and, in a twist of fate: when a lucky girl gets to have gojo in her room, she’s met with the night of her life before he slips into the night, inconsequential and cold to the world - as if he hadn’t ran his hands on her naked body.

that being said, once you get to know him, you come to realise it is virtually impossible to be around gojo without wanting to pull your hair out. you once told him that you couldn’t be around him without feeling the urge to pull out handfuls of your hair. he laughed at that; bandage crinkling across his eyes and rows of bright teeth blaring haughtily at you.

even at moments that would require some warmth and thought-provoking soul searching, he’d look at you with the same expression he always gives - one of faux joyousness and a chastising turn of his lips poking fun at you because you felt something that happened to be the antithesis to what he’s feeling… if gojo could actually feel anything at all - given how he presents himself. how could you ever enjoy the presence of someone like that?

“what do you think of gojo, y/n-san?” asks utahime across the chabudai and you snicker, the sourness noticeable even in the tone of your laughter - if you could even call it that - ‘laughing.’

“arrogant. egotistical. one track minded. sometimes i want to wring my hands around his neck to get him to be quiet but-” (utahime giggles slightly at your words and you beam a little - only a little).

“it’s not fair to speak about someone when they’re not here to defend themselves,” interjects a voice and you can practically hear the pout in his tone.

“who said i was being fair?” you hum, a sip of ginger and lemon tea running past your lips and it does little to satiate the rumble in your gut and the rise of acrid bile in your throat. damn you, acid reflux.

“well, if we’re being unfair to each other, i think utahime should ask me what i think about you,” says gojo pointedly and he sits cross legged at the low table - raising what seems to be a brow under his many layers of bandages.

“for your information, we were not playing a game-”

“no, you can go on and ask him, utahime. i’m a big girl. i can take it.” you narrow your eyes at the white haired man when you say that and it’s somewhat laughable that even though he’s sat down, at your level, gojo is ridiculously too statuesque to look right at you - prompting what you can feel is a fiery blush erupt on your cheeks when he leans down. you want to kill him so badly. just who does he think he is?

“um… o-ok, if that’s alright with you then… what do you think of y/n, gojo?”

a beat passes and you hold down a swallow, a gulp, at the silence that ruminates the staff room. gojo looks away, as if in deep thought and you roll your eyes at the over the top act.

the man leans down again, elbows on the chabudai, “i think y/n is afraid. constantly running from anything that invokes even the slightest bit of fear and feeling in her bones,” and utahime chokes in disbelief, shaking the palpable heavy tension in the room.

“i don’t think i’ve ever met a jujutsu sorcerer with traits as undesirable as those- i mean, have you, utahime? talk about a red herring.”

another beat passes and you haven’t said a word; if the furrowing of your eyebrows and embittered scowl on your lips was anything short of an answer, though, then gojo had definitely hit a nerve.

unfortunately for utahime, if gojo goes low, you simply go lower.

“huh. maybe you think you’re right about me, gojo…” and he smirks, victorious in this little dance that you’re both caught up in - with utahime caught in the superfluous torrent of it all and you let a moment pass, you let gojo believe he’s won before you continue, “but it actually couldn’t be further from the truth. at least i’m deliberate about what i let others perceive about me. you want to know what i really think of gojo satoru? i think ‘how can someone as powerful and omnipotent as you be so unimaginative… so boring and so miserably orchestrated?’”

you look down at your hands, playing with the rings on your fingers and wanting to avoid the looks of the other two heads in the room, shaking in belligerent disgust and just second hand audacity.

“above all, though… gojo satoru is all too obvious yet not at the same time. it becomes neither cool or interesting when you pretend to be some suave and sexy man who strolls through life. no one knows gojo better than he knows himself and he knows that every night, when the capes and the glasses and the- the fucking bandages come off, all what stares back at him is what he attempts to hide and that’s when he really starts to feel. in the four walls of his empty room with empty eyes staring back.”

you finally look back up to see a pair of disbelieving eyes staring back at you and you can feel another boring into your soul. the bile sits at the back of your throat again and a pang knocks at the edge of your heart.

“i may be scared but you’re terrified and you go about your life like you’re not constantly thinking - worrying. if my problem is that i don’t let myself feel enough then, gojo, yours is that you pretend to feel and act superior to us normal people because you’re a fraud.”

you’re panting - breathless - by the end of it and your eyes widen, burning and brimming at the implication of what you’ve just said. your hands are clammy and the burning - the sourness starts to grow all over again. you can’t bear to look at gojo for even a second before stumbling from under the seat and storming out of the room.

consequently, that evening after the whole debacle, with gojo sporting a frown that didn’t curl up once even in the company of his students, does gojo let himself feel something. and it feels pretty damn good.

he just wishes that it hadn’t come from you of all people.

#sorry miwa clocked your tea at the beginning #this is a huge hc of mine #gojo doesn’t let himself process things and #it makes me sad :( i do adore him #dw there has to be a part 2 he’s not going out sad like this #gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojou x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x you #✎𓂃stamped: (jujutsu kaisen)。°˖⌕#jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen #angst #jjk x reader

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agnisleftpec · 6 months

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in light of lie detector tests irl being mostly bullshit, especially so for people with anxiety, combined with fandom shoving all their mental disorders onto their faves cuz projection is fun, i propose a much more chaotic take on zuko joining the gaang wherein toph can NOT get a fuckin read on this guy and kind of wants him to just sit down and breathe for a second thanks, your heartrate is giving her a headache

#as with most of my ideas #time for jokes #the gaang ends up at a standstill cuz they really DO need a firebending teacher #but they cant fuckin tell if zuko is lying #at first they assume he's just like azula #but then toph's genuine concern for his heart health shuts that down #and so they begin opperation calm zuko the fuck down #which does not work at all #cuz the gaang suddenly switching from 'mm dont trust you' to 'hey lets do a spa day' is concerning to say the least #and then joke prompts aside #the angst potential if toph ever misinterprets anxiety as a lie #especially in the early days of zuko joining the gaang #things could go wrong pretty fast #is hyper anxious zuko pretty ooc? yeah #do i care? no #two versions of any character in my head #one is classic best efoort interpretation of canon #other is a free for all of headcanons and projection #both are valid and both are constantly pinging around in my head #you dont get to choose how i play with my dolls asgjfhdh #atla #zuko #toph #book three #insp

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lhrryonce · 2 months

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No remedy for broken hearts

pairing: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy

rating: M

WIP: 4/?

summary:

When Draco and Astoria can’t find a cure for Astoria’s mysterious illness, in a last-ditch attempt to save her life, they consult with Healer Granger.

It'll be too little, too late.

“What time am I meeting you at St. Mungo's later?” he asked, not lifting his eyes from his plate.

“I am meeting with Healer Granger at 4 pm. You don’t have to come. I can ask Daphne or Mother to escort me.”

“I have cleared my schedule,” Draco replied drily. How could she assume he had anything more important to do than accompany her? He tried to mask his annoyance. “I want to see what this all entails. I'm not convinced, still.”

“Well, you don’t have to be,” she replied, “I have made my decision. If this is the best option I have right now, I am not going to waste it." She was looking at him now, almost challengingly.

“Roscher said you might get worse in the beginning.”

“I am aware of what he said, I was paying attention.” Unlike you. She didn’t have to say that part.

“I was paying attention.”

“You were occluding,” she snapped.

{read on ao3}

#current wip #dramione #dramione fanfic #my fic #mine #draco x hermione #hermione granger/draco malfoy #dramione ao3 #dhr #dhr fanfiction #let the angst fest begin

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vexic929 · 5 months

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me: can I please write the start of this story so I can finally post it?

brain: no but here's FOUR MORE SCENES that happen way way later that you can write!

#I love to write the angst but please let me actually write the beginning now #the leading up to portion is important too brain #vexic lives #vexic writes

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pixlokita · 4 months

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hi I just wanna say that absolutely love your ballpit AU?? And like, I was just thinking about the butterfly effect and how it could come into play. Would Michael try to save C.C. only for it to mess with the timeline and cause Gregory to have never existed?? Or would he try to mess with the past as little as possible and have to watch C.C. die all over again? Is there a way for him to save both the kids he cares about???

Sorry I’m just having a lot of Feelings™ about your AU and the possibilities and wanted to ramble about it anonymously. Hope you have a good day :)

Heheheh actually-

There’s like-

6 possible routes and - no wait there’s 7 now but I haven’t decided on the three I like better TTwTT I have, however subjected people on discord to the worst possible outcomes ✨✨✨ I think one day I’ll just post spoilers since it’s taking forever to make progress on the actual comic :’>

You have a good day also 💖

#pix answers #fnaf #aight so there was even a Gregbot route at the beginning let me say that now #there was the route where CC dies #the one where Gregory is the bite victim in his stead #the one where Mike goes back with him to the future #uhhhh-#what else #I gotta add Vanessa now too #so that’s 9 routes now #AND CASSIE #there was a different route for Cassie when the twin theory was still valid #augh #but that’s less angst now that it’s not canon #let’s seeeee #some people have guessed my fave route #yeee pls do ramble about the AU #actually how ok are y’all with spoilers can I just spoil the comic #it’s been 2 years…. and we only 30 pages in

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wind-and-earth · 1 month

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The Southern Air Temple

Ever since they had arrived at the Southern Air Temple Haru had felt a growing pit in their stomach. It felt like a chasm almost, opening wider and wider each hour they spent here.

For the most part so far they had kept up appearances for the kids, running around with Ikki and Meelo, reading texts and exploring different rooms with Jinora. But they weren't fine. No amount of learning more about their culture or the burst of pride they occasionally felt seeing the work Aang had accomplished could make it go away. They didn't know if their act had worked on the rest of the adults there but couldn't bring themselves to worry enough if it didn't.

Maybe this was a bad idea after all and they should've just stayed with Korra from the start.

For the millionth time during the trip they found themselves in the statue room and as painful looking at his statue was it brought a strange sense of comfort to Haru.

Footsteps and a sudden presence made them jump slightly, turning to see none other than Tenzin. "Oh, hey Tenzin," they greeted trying for their usual friendly smile and laid back tone.

@airteacher

#muse: haru omi #let the angst begin #runs around excitedly

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pirxtefairy · 4 months

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closed starter : @plaguedpirate 📍 the home of the antique shop owner

Avoiding the imposing lights of the street lamps, Zarina lurked around shadowed corners; her eyes carefully scrutinizing the neighborhood. She didn't spend her personal time around the more affluent areas of Evermore, but the girl did make a habit of pursuing them for higher-class items to steal.

Tonight was a rare night for the Neverland native. Zarina was on a mission fueled by a spare bit of intel she heard in passing. Allegedly, the owner of the antique shop, Secondhand Treasures, lived on this street. With her particular... occupation, Zarina avoided the antique shop. The fairy knew better than to try and peddle her findings to someone who would be able to tell within an instant that she was lying through her teeth. Selling to them was non-negotiable... but stealing from them was another story. She's been in dire need of a good score lately; and while she's not proud of the work she does for a living, this house could very likely turn her week around.

Zarina knew she found the right home by the decorative, antique pots on the front porch. With her hood protectively slid up over her head, the brunette approached cautiously. Slow, quiet steps were muffled further by the padded grass. The windows were dark, the lights were off and the house was seemingly empty. Zarina always felt more guilt about sneaking into houses, but she only did it during desperate times. With a silent sigh and one last look around, she expertly prowled to the back door before slipping the lock-picking tools from the small bag across her body.

#let the angst begin #apologizing in advance because i tend to overwrite as you can see #no faith no trust just pixie dust *.⊹₊‧ – // threads ⚔️#ch: james hook

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chloecherrysip · 1 year

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Just Beyond My Reach, There's Someone Reaching Back For Me (speculative mario movie fic, mario & luigi centric, around 3600 words.)

[OK SO i literally could not stop thinking about this post in the mario movie tag from last week, which turned into me trying to write out my thoughts about how the scenario could unfold, which then turned into me writing a full-fledged fanfic that's over 3,000 words long??? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. I've truly lost my common sense, but I just felt like I HAD to get this out before the movie arrives and their reunion is nothing like this in any way whatsoever.

This is a speculative fic of just one possible scenario out of millions, no actual spoilers; i'm working off info we've seen in the trailers/TV spots/promotions/etc, and all the characterization is based off those too, so it might ultimately be off-base. Please don't @ me after the movie comes out and get on my case about details being wrong! I AM IN THE PAST (and jealous of you in the future for having already seen it).

I present to you: A Version Of Mario & Luigi's Reunion in the Mario Movie That Would Cause Me Irreparable Psychic Damage.]

----

Mario hears him first. He would know that panicked yelp anywhere.

By that point, he’s lost count of how many of Bowser’s minions he’s tried to interrogate as he fights his way through the airship. There’s so much shouting and clanging all around him, and his voice hurts from yelling loud enough to be heard over it, but he can’t stop. “Where do you keep prisoners? Have you seen someone who looks like me — but tall, skinny, and green? If you take me to him, I’ll go easy on ya, I swear—”

it’s hard to tell if they’re just refusing to answer him, genuinely don’t know any useful information, or can’t actually communicate in a way he understands — probably some in each column. But he’s about to grab another angry Koopa by the shell and try again when there’s a commotion far off in the distance. The yell that echoes out to him is faint, but it tugs hard at Mario like a rope tied around his middle. Something from his memories, the nightmares he’s been having this whole adventure that he hasn’t told Peach and Toad about. Something instantly, certainly familiar to him in a way that few things are.

His heart is suddenly lodged in his throat. He barrels his way past the troops and the Kongs fighting them, moving fast towards it.

The area of the airship he’s in starts to slope down further ahead, surrounding a huge open space that, judging by the flickering embers in the air and heavy heat that’s got him sweating through his shirt already, has a whole bunch of lava simmering at the bottom. On the other side of the chasm, there are a whole group of what look like angry blue penguins beating down some feisty stacks of Goombas with their bare flippers. There’s also what impossibly looks like a star, with a face and everything, beaming bright and doing twirling cartwheels in the air, giggling at the carnage underneath. And behind all that, he can see—

Mario reacts without having to think. He jolts forward against the railing, reaches a hand out, and yells as loud as he can. “LUIGI!”

He can only see glimpses of his overalls and green hat at first amidst all the other chaos, but then pieces of the ongoing fight tumble further to either side, giving a clear view. Mario watches wide-eyed as his brother frantically swats away Goombas, shrieking and flailing his arm furiously when one snags some teeth through his sleeve until it comes loose. He looks terrified and a little queasy, but also very determined, even jumping in to help when one of the penguins gets pinned down. They seem to be working together.

Luigi is here. He’s really here, alive and fighting and still in one piece. Mario isn’t too late. It feels like a 20 pound weight’s suddenly gone from his back that he hadn't even realized he was carrying around.

His yell is half-drowned out by the chaos, but Luigi’s head still snaps up, eyes wide and stricken and bright with recognition. “Mario?” He cries out, his voice cracking badly. He kicks another Goomba away and then starts spinning, searching the surrounding area with increasing desperation. “Mario!?”

“Over here!” Mario wishes he had another raccoon powerup so he could just fly across the gap and reach him right then and there. He has to settle for taking off his cap and waving it in the air like a flag. “Luigi! Over here!”

Finally, their eyes meet across the gorge. It’s not necessary at that point, but Luigi still tears off his own hat and starts flailing it around too overhead, as if just to make absolutely sure his brother knows where he is. “MARIO!” He shouts, his tired face instantly transforming into a relieved, overjoyed smile.

“Are you okay!?”

“Y-Yeah! I mean, define “okay,” but I, I'm not hurt or anything like — wait, how did you get here!? We’re way up in the air!”

Mario’s face already hurts from how wide he’s grinning. “Not anymore! And whaddya mean? What do ya think I’ve been doing all this time? Looking for you! You don’t think I could find you wherever you are, even if it’s a million miles in the air? Give your big bro some credit, eh?”

A laugh bursts out of Luigi, surprised and shaky. Mario has missed that sound so much. “Right, right. I did think…I mean, I hoped, or…” His brother shakes his head, his voice failing him. He lets out a deep breath, so deep that it’s almost like he’s been holding it in ever since they were separated, still smiling like the sun. “I knew you would. Mario, you — look out!”

Mario turns just as a hammer goes whizzing past his ear, tumbling down into the lava pit. He dodges the next one more capably and then catches the third one that comes his way. In one smooth, lightning-quick motion, he throws it back at the attacking Hammer Bro, nailing him in the face and knocking him out cold.

“Whoa!” He turns back to see Luigi staring with his mouth agape. “When did you learn how to do that?”

“It's kinda a long story!” There will be plenty of time to get into all the details about his adventure when he’s gotten Luigi safely out of an active warzone. “What about you? I thought you were a prisoner here!”

“I am! Or I was, I guess! We — me, and the penguins, and Lumalee,” he gestures wearily up overhead, where the blue star-thing is idly playing with a pinwheel that it somehow conjured out of thin air, “and the others — we broke out! We, ah, we’ve been trying to find a way outta here ever since, but this place is a maze and we need some kind of hot air balloon or one of those floating clown-car thingies to even get away in the first place, and—”

“Spinies at four o’clock!” One of the penguins shouts, at the same time that Mario yells “Luigi, on your left!”

Luigi jolts at the sight of the three spiky, spinning shells approaching fast. He jumps high enough to leapfrog right over them all, causing them to ricochet off the wall unexpectedly and careen off the side straight into the deep pit.

“Nice, Weegie!” Mario cheers. “You always were the better jumper.”

“Keep your head in the fight, soldier!” One specific penguin calls out to Luigi. He’s wearing a very fancy gold crown — probably their king? “We’re not done here yet!”

“I know, I know, but look!” Luigi gestures excitedly across the chasm. “My brother’s here! He made it!”

“Good show! If he’s as brave as you said, he can help us beat back these dastardly troops once and for all! We’ll all see the light of day again soon!”

The rest of the penguins cheer, thrusting their flippers victoriously into the air, and then let out a wave of new, guttural battle cries. The Penguin King smiles over at Mario and salutes him before rejoining the fray. There are more of Bowser’s minions crowding the walkways on both sides, Mario realizes with a newfound wave of worry. He needs to get to Luigi now.

“Stay right there!” He calls, starting to run alongside the railing. “Don’t move! I’m coming!”

“Are you kidding!? Wait!” Luigi starts running too, mirroring Mario. “I can meet you faster this way!”

Mario laughs. “If you can keep up with me!”

“You’re on!”

The road ahead of him is pure chaos, filled with attacking enemies and whooping Kongs and weapons flying every which way, but Mario runs. He runs until his heart burns, dodging and weaving, almost tripping here and there because he can’t stop looking over the gap to make sure Luigi’s still there on the other side, stumbling his way through his own gauntlet. The two areas are winding closer together, slowly but surely. They must meet somewhere. He’ll find it. He has to.

“Hey, Luigi!” He yells, breathless and happy. “Remember when we were fixing Mrs. McGrady’s sink a couple weeks ago and talking about the future? Did you imagine it’d be anything like this?”

“Whaddya think!?” Luigi shouts back jokingly. “I-I mean, I imagined people being mad at us, but those were customers. There was definitely a lot less lava, and magic, and crazy green pipes that send you to places from your literal nightmares!” He laughs, which swiftly turns into a yelp when he has to dodge away from a red Koopa. The next words come out thicker, almost strained. “Mario, you, you’re really here, you — I missed you, I…”

Even with the distance and the distracting noise and the heavy breathing, Mario can hear the familiar tearing in his brother’s voice, and it pushes him to run faster. Luigi is so much braver than many people in their life have given him credit for, but he has a breaking point, and Mario can recognize it like the back of his own hand. Heck, he could use a good cry right about now too. They're so close. Just a little further.

He’s never been the biggest hugger — that title belongs squarely to Luigi, who always holds on a little too long, especially when Mario protests, swinging him up into the air until Mario has to grab him in a headlock and wrestle him down, both of them laughing by then — but he genuinely doesn’t know how he’s ever going to let go of his brother again once he’s within arm’s reach.

“I missed you too! Every day!” He calls out, and if his voice cracks, well, that’s okay. “Hold on! It’s gotta be just up ahead!” There’s a solid wall coming up where they won’t be able to see each other across the way any longer, but the sharp curve of it looks extremely promising. “I’ll meet you on the other side!”

“Okay!”

The wall comes between them. Mario's finally in the clear, having left all the attackers in the dust. His legs and chest hurt, but it doesn’t matter. He's about to get his brother back. He feels invincible, unstoppable.

“I told you, bro!” He can’t hear Luigi at all any longer, but he shouts anyway, hoping the words reach him. “Even if it didn’t turn out like we thought, it’s all gonna be okay! This is crazy stuff, but as long as we're—”

Mario turns the corner and skids to a sharp stop. The words die in his throat, turning to ash.

Bowser is in front of him.

The King of the Koopas nearly fills the entire space wall-to-wall, hulking and monstrous, even bigger than what Mario imagined. He breathes out an angry, deep growl that prickles at Mario’s skin, star-bright embers scattering in the air, the smell of burning getting stronger and stronger. But none of that is what Mario is focusing on. He’s frozen in place at the sight of Luigi, wriggling in one of Bowser’s gripped hands. A thick, scaly finger is coiled tight over his brother’s mouth too, keeping him from making any noise besides a variety of muffled, panicked sounds.

“Thought you didn’t know him, Greenie,” Bowser says in a low voice to Luigi. “Wasn’t that what you said? Boy, you wouldn’t like what I usually do to liars. It involves fire — a lot of it.” His rows of sharp teeth part, just enough for a big exhale, tinged with molten heat. Luigi cringes, turning his head away as far as he can manage. He’s trembling. “But lucky for you, turns out you’re not entirely useless.”

It takes a moment for Mario to come back into his body, remember how to move and think. But slowly, his hands ball into fists. A voice erupts out of him that barely sounds like his own, grave and angry, angrier than he’s ever been in his life.

“I’m only gonna say this once, ya overgrown turtle,” he says, shifting his footing into a fighting stance. “Let my brother go now.”

Bowser looks down at him with a derisive sort of amusement for a long moment before laughing outright. "Give me a break, shortie! You’re even punier in person — 50 of you couldn't stop me. But that hasn’t stopped you from trying, has it? You and your little friends — your pathetic excuse for an “army,” if that’s what you want to call it. But that all ends now.”

As if on cue, Mario hears DK and a few other Kongs turn the corner, whooping and hollering, only to pause too at the sight of Bowser. “Let’s get ‘em! He can't take us all at once!” Someone says, and there’s a rush of new movement behind Mario. Bowser turns Luigi in his hand, holding him out a little closer to Mario with a shake of the wrist — a taunt. One of his claws pulls up just a little from the rest, the sharp tip arched and pressed lightly to his brother’s neck. The implication is clear.

“Stop!” Mario shouts, half-strangled. He must sound serious enough that DK yells “hang on, hang on!” to his brethren, grabbing them with both arms and holding them back from attacking. On Bowser's other side, Mario can see the penguins watching what’s unfolding too with wide eyes. Even all the minions in the area have gone still, weapons lowered, waiting to see what Bowser does before making their next move. The space is suddenly quiet.

The claw finally relaxes again. Luigi’s eyes are very wide, and there are tears on his face as he stares at Mario. He tries to say something, the sound of it hopelessly muffled against Bowser’s hand — an apology, or a plea, or simply Mario’s name.

Mario is shaking. He grits his teeth hard, desperately tries to hold himself steady again. He hopes Bowser can’t see it — but there’s a gleam in the King’s eyes, and it couldn’t be any clearer that he does.

“Do you know how long I worked on this plan?” Bowser says, his tone softer, more thoughtful all of a sudden. “Orchestrating these invasions, gathering forces far and wide to serve me, taking the almighty power star for myself. I’ve wanted this for years!” His wide mouth curves up, plainly wicked and self-satisfied. “And now here I am, about to rule the world like I deserve, and a couple of useless, pipsqueak plumbers from who-knows-where think they’re just gonna waltz right in and ruin it for me.” Bowser chuckles to himself. It’s a dangerous, sharp-edged sound, echoing on and on. “Ain’t that a laugh, Mario?”

Mario doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even know if he’s breathing any longer. All he can do is glare.

Bowser shrugs. The large fingers on his occupied hand flex ever so slightly, a slow, malicious ripple of movement, all the scales glinting in a wave. “You’re less fun than I thought you’d be,” he says gruffly. "What does the princess even see in you? A tiny little killjoy who loves ruining things for others. Guess it’s only fair I ruin something of yours to make us even."

There’s no further warning or fanfare. In one brutal motion, Bowser crushes his grip tighter around Luigi. His brother’s mouth is still covered, but the way he cries out is starkly, unmistakably pained.

Mario’s vision floods with red. Something inside of him, the patient, careful part that was still desperately clinging to one last scrap of self-control, snaps cleanly in two. He runs at Bowser full-speed, fist cocked back, teeth bared.

“I said LET HIM GO!”

He doesn’t make it there. Bowser, grinning outright, moves so much faster than Mario would have ever guessed he could. He spins, and his tail comes out of nowhere. The impact is like an oncoming train, catapulting Mario into the nearby wall with a sickening crack.

There’s a horrible ringing sound in his ears. His head hurts. He hears Bowser laugh, followed by a roar and a burst of fire breath, awful-smelling and close enough to singe. There’s a lot of shouting, and panic, and thunderous footsteps, moving in a hurry. He can’t think any longer. Why can’t he think? All that comes to mind is—

(They’re fifteen, hiding in their bedroom with some smuggled bandages and antibiotics from the medicine cabinet because if their mom finds out Mario punched out a kid behind the school, she will LITERALLY murder him. Luigi wraps each bruised knuckle carefully as Mario winces and complains about the stinging ointment. His brother looks angrier than he’s ever seen him before, though, and that makes him quiet again in a hurry.)

“You want him so bad?” Bowser is much further away, his voice a distant rumble over the flickering flames. Get up, Mario tells himself. He’s gasping, struggling to push himself back up with useless, trembling hands. His legs feel numb. Get up! “Then come and get ‘em already!”

(“You never stop and THINK first, y’know?” Luigi shakes his head, badly trying to hide the tears budding under his eyes. “And now you’re hurt, and it’s all my fault, and — and I don’t need you to do stuff like that for me! I can handle it, e-even if you think I can’t!”)

“Mario!” That’s Luigi, terrified and wheezing, finally able to talk again. An intentional decision by Bowser, no doubt, just to be cruel. Mario can barely hear his brother at all, and the sound of his voice keeps growing fainter. “No! Let go! MARIO!”

(“What are you even saying? That’s not why I did it at all!” Mario insists, using his uninjured hand to flick Luigi’s nose with a few fingers. His affronted expression at that makes Mario laugh, and the motion quickly turns into them trying to be the first one to swat each other in the face without getting blocked. At least the tears are forgotten, which is what he wanted from the start. “Don’t ya get it? I know you can take care of yourself. But if anyone wants to hurt you, they’re gonna have to go through me first. I’M the big bro, and that’s just how it is forever.”)

Luigi!

He’s standing again, even as his body protests every pull and push of the way, even as he’s still struggling to open his eyes. Someone strong and furry offers some extra support on his right side.

“You okay, man?” Donkey Kong asks. “Geez, that looked like it hurt. Hey, anyone have an extra mushroom?”

Stars are flashing across his vision, but finally they fade away. There’s a line of fire in front of them like a makeshift barrier, slowly but steadily dying out. Sure enough, Bowser and Luigi are gone. Mario’s heart lurches hard against his ribs.

“Setting a devious trap for sure,” The Penguin King grouses from further away. “Using one’s own flesh and blood! Does that dastardly Koopa’s depravity know no limits?”

“I’m fine. Never better,” Mario groans. He points past the fire. “He went that way, right?”

DK blinks, looking a little uneasy. “Uh, yeah, but we should probably regroup first and — hey! Wait a second, you idiot!”

Mario’s already charged full-speed ahead, jumping over the flames. Others yell after him too, saying it's too dangerous, but he’s running anyway, chasing the smell of molten heat, the faint, far-off echoes of yelling that feel like pinpricks in his lungs.

He knows it’s a trap. He knows. He just doesn’t care.

He already let Luigi literally slip through his hands once before. Heck, he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for that alone. No matter where he has to go, who he has to fight, how much abuse he has to take, he's getting Luigi back right now, and he's gonna pound that overgrown bully's face until he regrets every life decision that led to him daring to hurt Mario's little brother.

It can't be too late. He can't have screwed this up again. He'll do anything. Even if...

The feeling of something on his cap startles him out of the thought — the softest boop-boop-boop, like someone very small is bouncing on it. He assumes he’s just imagining things until the blue star-thing (Lumalee?) floats down further, easily keeping up with his top speed, humming what sounds like a lullaby. Mario gawks in its direction.

“The biggest sacrifices are often the ones that burn the brightest, out in space,” it says, bright and sing-song. “Did you know that?”

“What are you even talking about!?” Mario yells. “Sorry, but I’m a little busy here!”

It’s unbothered by that, twirling close enough to give his mustache a little, playful poke. “Not existing any longer is natural, inevitable. We all go into the light someday.” The way it’s staring at Mario is unnerving, as though this little, creepy star knows exactly what he was just thinking about. “You look scared of that. Are you?”

Mario swallows thickly.

“No,” he says. “If that’s the only way, then…” His eyes are burning at the edges, just a little. “If the people I love are safe, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

Lumalee smiles a dreamy, thoughtful smile.

“Oh,” it sighs, little more than a breath. “This is going to be so much fun.”

And then it floats away.

Mario doesn’t have time to stop and wonder what that was all about. He throws himself deeper and deeper into the airship, even when a heavy metal gate slams down behind him to separate him from the others, even when the slabs of rock under his feet sink down into the lava from the weight and don’t resurface, erasing any way out. Mario thinks of his training, of Princess Peach and Toad cheering him on, of the exhilaration and hope he felt looking out over the Rainbow Road, of Luigi smiling in the warp zone right before they were ripped apart. He steels himself for what’s coming next.

Further ahead, he hears his brother call out for him.

Mario runs.

#mario movie #mario movie spoilers #super mario bros #mario and luigi #super mario bros movie #cherrysip fic #super mario bros movie spoilers #(again NO SPOILERS IN THE FIC ITSELF unless you've been avoiding all trailers and TV spots but just to be safe)#(although i AM going to post a small music-related spoiler down here in the tags so don't read if you want to avoid!!!!)#'hey what were you insinuating with that weird convo at the end there' NOTHING [pointedly stares at one up mushroom in promotional stuff]#LOL this is WAY TOO DRAMATIC and probably too violent for a kid's movie but LOOK #i just need them to pay off the 'bowser is looking for mario's weakness and luigi ultimately IS the weakness' thing. I NEED IT #even if it's just in a small moment. bowser wants to fight mario but he does NOT play fair if he thinks he'll lose. I CRAVE THE ANGST #i was actually going to go a little further with the scene and carry it all the way to bowser saying 'let's end this' like in the trailer #but i just really liked this foreboding ending note #if you are curious about what came next in my head (and also where the heck peach is in all of this) mario ends up in bowser's throne room #and sees that peach has been captured too which is a whole new fun wave of horror that he didn't know about #luigi's been thrown in with her and she's helping him because he's obviously a little hurt after being SQUEEZED #the power star hangs over bowser's throne like the chekhov's gun it is. and we begin!#(the only thing i really wanted to write that i didn't get to by cutting earlier was some more mario + bowser dialogue)#(i think mario would be too tense to say much in the scene i have but once they're squaring off he's a smartass for sure)#(he's known a lot of bullies in his life and bowser is just a much bigger scalier one)#(the title is from the song 'holding out for a hero' which apparently according to a new interview is IN the movie!)#(during mario's training montage so i started listening to it and it basically become my background music for writing this lol)#(last stupid thought before i shut up: bowser hitting mario with his tail is included because i recently played mario odyssey and bowser #kept absolutely BODYING me with that move in the end fight. i died twice because i am bad at games lololol)

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