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sophiethewitch1 · 21 days

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What We Want - Chpt. 6 - Round Two. Fight!

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Damn. Your indulgent TV stalking of the Wayne’s really doesn’t hit the same once you technically knew them. And you were hiding inside one of their bedrooms, inside one of their clothes, using their TV subscription. It just didn’t feel right. Morally, of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about. No, you were just pissy your favourite pastime was basically ruined. You shovel another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into your mouth, glaring through tired eyes at the screen.

There’s an up-close shot of Dick Grayson’s abs. The presenter ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over his physical form, and you have to agree. You wish you had abs like that. Unfortunately, you did respond to most unwanted experiences with stress eating. As always with these celebrity figures, you can’t really tell if you want to be Dick or be with Dick. Your butt is nowhere near the level his is at.

While you hadn’t really set out today looking for shirtless pictures of the Waynes, it wasn’t like you were going to say no to them. So, when the gossip channel had switched from the reactions of the Waynes to last night’s fiasco to… this… you’d just kept watching.

You wonder if you should stop doing this. It’s definitely kind of creepy, and now you’d technically once been his… step-sister. What a mind fuck. You’ve been crushing on these dudes for a while, and now they were your ex-step siblings. This was like the start of a bad porno, but you knew you were not that lucky. And it wasn’t like you were going to start thinking of him as a brother any time soon. You hadn’t even met the guy. No, he was still firmly in the ‘celebrity crush’ section of your mind. Pretty and untouchable. The way things are supposed to be.

Which was also bad because you would probably have to meet and interact with him at some point. Probably in the near future. God knows you’d absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the fucking Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,. Twice, in fact. You didn’t even want to think about the display you’d shown for Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne.

You didn’t really know what to do with your slightly obsessive crushes. And you could see it definitely being a problem in the near future.

…You decide that what you do in your private time is absolutely nobody but your business, and keep watching. It’s a mix of bitter spite and genuine mental breakdown levels of desperation that leads you to that decision. You feel like you’re a child with their toy being taken away, and it’s making you mad. And sad too. Even if you shouldn’t do this anymore, you still want to keep the habit. You’d mentioned before your creature comforts were one of the few things that kept you going. And while you were mostly very good at not being the jealous, heinous creature you really are, you knew you wouldn’t be giving this up.

They’d have to tear your gossip channels from your cold dead palms. You weren’t giving them up, not without a fight at least. Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed determined to wrestle away literally everything you loved.

Guilt’s for tomorrow. Today is for ice cream and purposefully ignoring everything. Speaking of which, you can not remember the last time you had a good Ben & Jerry’s. They were so expensive these days, as all groceries were. You simply couldn’t afford it. The Waynes, of course, had multiple tubs in multiple different options. Alfred had seemed delighted that you’d taken the ice cream, for which reasons you could not perceive.

Oh, yeah! His name was Alfred. Very butler-y. You’d remember it this time, he was a very nice man. And he called you ‘young miss’ which earned him points. He also didn’t seem to hate you on sight or treat you like a two-headed freak, like some of the other people in this household. Not naming names. Yeah, fuck that noise, Damian Wayne obviously has issues and it’s much less attractive in real life.

The woman drones on, and your eyes flick to your phone. Yup, she’s still yapping. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Dick’s abs or anything, it’s just that you think she might’ve been talking about this one specific photo for over half an hour now. Lady should get a hobby. Wait, wait, this is her job. Maybe you should start a podcast where you rant about the Wayne’s exercise regimes. It seems to be quite a lucrative field.

You shriek when the door slams open, nearly tumbling backwards off the bed. Hands manage to grip the bedcovers before you tip over, not making a complete fool of yourself. As it goes, you lose your spoon to the carpet. Bits of cookie dough spread over the floor in a divine sacrifice. And you lose your sanity to the man standing in the doorway. To be fair, he looks just as confused as you feel.

You blink at the physically perfect form of Dick Grayson and then turn your head to the TV to look at the other physically perfect form of Dick Grayson.

…You really wish you had a good explanation for this.

He mutters out your name, lips parted. Dick Grayson seems absolutely shocked to find you here. His eyes flick around the room and eventually land on the TV. Said baby blues widen to the size of saucers when the reporter makes a really, really unnecessary comment.

“And in news that broke the hearts of both ladies and gentlemen everywhere in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson has announced he will be returning to Gotham to assist his family in this difficult time. My cousin in the Blud is probably crying right now. There’s no ass out there quite like his, and there’s no replacement for Bludhaven’s favourite young rich bachelor,” she winks at the camera, and then the shot of his toned stomach phases forward to take up the entire screen.

Well, there’s a lot to say about that. First of all, fuck. Second of all, shit. Third of all, she really couldn’t have said that part about Dick coming back to Gotham sooner? Perchance, before you’d found yourself in this situation?

You said you weren’t that lucky, you meant it.

“But still, ain’t that lucky for us Gothamites? I myself have spent a lot of time on Dick’s Tiktok and Instagram, and his acrobatic videos have been used in a lot of my personal-”

You snatch the remote from the sheets and pause it right there. The silence is tense. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares at you. Completely stunned, mouth-catching flies. You want to pull the covers up and hide under them, but you don’t think that’d make him leave.

“I couldn’t find my room,” you finally manage to say. It’s the worst excuse you’ve ever heard, sounds like a complete lie. And yet, unfortunately, it is the truth.

Dick’s eyes drift to the TV, which you still haven’t unpaused. You can’t tell if it would be worth it, just to get rid of his golden brown abs staring at you judgementally, even if you’d have to deal with the extra embarrassment of the dialogue over them. Maybe if you muted the TV? It wouldn’t make up for the insult of his paparazzi photos on a widescreen.

It takes you even longer to come up with an excuse for… that.

“I was checking the news about last night,” you continue, the panic in you rising like a tea kettle left on the stove for too long. You might start shrieking like one too.

You don’t think he believes you. He looks down at the Beatles shirt you’re wearing. You know what he’s going to say before he does, but you still dread it.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he mutters, his voice awed.

You want to say, ‘Nooo! No, no, no! Don’t do this to me, damn it! Not anymore! No more, please! It’s enough, enough suffering! This is genuinely ridiculous, damn you!’ but instead you reply with a shaky, “…Didn’t have any of mine.”

Also, you’ve been huffing Eau de Dick Grayson? That’s definitely in character for you. You want to beat your own head in with a stick.

“And I couldn’t find my room, and uh, thought this one wasn’t being used,” you continue, daring a glance back at him. He still looks completely stumped.

“It wasn’t,” he answers, but it sounds like he’s a thousand miles away.

You know, Dick Grayson was supposed to be a lot more charming than this. You’re almost proud you managed to stun the man into near speechlessness. Almost, almost. Almost not going to kill yourself once he leaves.

If he leaves. He doesn’t look like he’s getting up. You eye the gap between you and the door. Your animal brain is telling you to just run for it. But Dick has Olympic level athletics, and you don’t doubt he could catch you if you ran. Would he try though? That’s the deciding factor here.

He doesn’t seem like he’s actually going to fucking do anything though. He just keeps staring, like if he looks for long enough, it’ll all start to make sense. Which, you wish.

“Do you know where my room is? I couldn’t… remember…”

He nods, instead staring at his own abs on the TV.

“Can you take me to my room?”

He nods again. Still doesn’t look back at you.

“…Mr. Grayson?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. ‘You’ wouldn’t have used his last name, even though you might’ve. ‘You’ had been a casual person, as far as you could tell. That was the kindest way you could say it, at least.

His head snaps to you. He somehow looks more confused. You wonder if you should pinch him or something, god knows you’ve done your fair share of pinching yourself recently.

“Yes, right, sorry. Let’s… go,” he gives you a cheery smile, shaking his head, but it seems quite strained. You’re probably matching. This is the most humiliating moment of your life, and of course, it’s with the most beautiful man on earth right beside you.

A break. You want a break.

The two of you quietly shuffle out of the room, and when he guides you forward, you follow him obediently. Your head naturally bows, shame making it hard to look at him. You stare at the wooden floors as you walk. Watching it shine in the morning light that filters through the windows.

Eventually, he comes to a stop in front of a door that has obviously been avoided. Though it’s as clean as every other inch of this house, there are no marks in the rug from the door opening and closing. And even then, it seems… well, it sounds silly, but the door seems sad to you. Too many things seem sad to you these days.

Your thoughts must show on your face because Dick clears his throat and gives you a worried look. Is it rude to say you’re sick of those sorts of looks? That they just make you feel sick and burdened these days? It’s not like you could bring your family back from the dead, or convince your cheating boyfriend to not be a piece of shit. It was out of your hands.

“…Are you alright?” he asks you, blue eyes sincere. You tilt your head to the side.

“No?” you say, but it sounds more like a question. No, you are not alright. Yes, you will be okay. It’s the only option. It’s one of your rules. You have to be okay. You just have to.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You almost laugh.

“No,” this time your voice is firm, confident. Dick seems like he’s going to push it, but something in your eyes makes him stop. You give him a forced smile and say goodbye, closing the door gently in his face. Once you do, you crouch down and once again, press your face to your knees. Then you press your hands to your mouth and let out a scream that had been bubbling up for a while. After that, you feel you can live with the humiliation that is your existence without jumping out the three-story-height window.

You stand up, turning to the room. The first thing you notice about it is that there’s dust in here. Same as Dick’s old room. Now that you think about it, Alfred doesn’t seem the type who’d randomly leave certain rooms uncleaned, so it must be something he does out of respect for the tenants of Wayne Manor. Or maybe the old you requested it? God knows.

Sitting down on the old bed, your eyes rove around the room. It’s well decorated, as the rest of the manor is, but you can’t see anything that would make it your room. There’s none of the novels you’d collected from the used books store, no dorky little items you impulse bought, no pictures of your family. The apartment hadn’t had those either.

‘You’- she- seemed like a ghost to you. While you’d often felt like you’d barely been alive, simply going through the motions, this girl seemed like she hadn’t even been conscious half the time she was doing it. It made your stomach swim, your face pulls taught.

While you’d had few things holding you afloat, it’d been enough to keep you alive. Molly, your co-workers, the need to work so as to not starve to death. She hadn’t had anything like that. No liferaft. You’d been sputtering and gasping your way through life, and she’d been drowning. Maybe already dead, at the bottom of the sea, hair tangling with the seaweed.

This room feels like a coffin, and this manor like a cemetery. It makes you physically sick.

Showing off your fickle-mindedness, you realise that despite this being the Wayne manor filled with all your idols, you actually don’t want to fucking be here. You need space to clear your head, and the creaking floorboards that echo down the creepy hallways just don’t offer that. The atmosphere at your too-modern, too-minimalist apartment is leagues better than the atmosphere at this gorgeous old house which you’d usually love spending hours getting lost in.

Usually. Unfortunately, this place was more suffocating than the workplace when you knew you were about to get fired again. And you weren’t getting paid to stay here, so why the fuck would you?

Once you realise you’ve decided to run, you’re quick to pack up your shit. There’s not much in the room you need. A pair of sneakers, because you would rather die than put those heels on again. And you’ll grab some shirts because they’re comfy and remind you of home. Hopefully, it’ll make everything… grate… a little less. All of this is thrown in an old ratty backpack, which is then tossed over your shoulder. Shoes slipped on, and tapped against the floor so they’re on comfortably. And then you’re ready. Ready as you’ll ever be. With one hand on your phone, you take a peek outside the door. Coast is clear.

You press call for ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’. Jeanine picks up on the third ring.

“Hello, Jeanine Ryans here,” she says, her voice all business.

“Jeanine, I need an evac, stat,” you whisper to her, creeping down the hallway of the manor. The floor is unbelievably creeky, so it’s pretty fucking difficult to be stealthy about it.

“…What?”

“Get me out of this fucking manor, please,” you beg, now going down the stairs. Almost out, almost out.

“Right, on it. I’ll have a car outside in ten minutes if that’s alright?” Jeanine replies, immediately on the case. It almost makes you cry. You know she’s being paid for this, and very desperate for the job for some reason, but it’s still a hail mary that you are so grateful for.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” you say, turning a corner and-

Oh, fuck. Damian Wayne glares down at you, green eyes cataloguing every single guilty piece of you in existence. He sees your hand tighten around your backpack, hears Jeanine telling you not to worry through your phone, and probably notices the way your eyes desperately flicker behind him to the door. To your goal, to the exit to this labyrinth.

You can practically hear the wind blowing, see the tumbleweed drift by.

And then, he moves past you, twisting his body so no part of it touches you. There’s a moment where your brain freezes, something spicy smelling (cinnamon, maybe?) flowing past you, and by the time you turn around, he’s gone. Your deer-in-headlights tensed-shoulders look falls, leaving you confused in the foyer. He didn’t even say a word to you. You felt like you just got passed over by a boss from a Dark Souls game.

…Well, you’ll take the wins where you can find them! Quickly, you hurry out the front door, skittering down the steps like some sort of rat. It’s a long walk to the gates, and you don’t really know how to open them to let the car in, so you decide to take your time and enjoy the walk. The early morning dew apon the clean-cut blades of grass glint and sparkle, the gravel on the road crunches under your technically-not-stolen sneakers, and even if it’s a miserable life, it’s a pretty day. From the hill the manor lives upon, you can see Gotham’s tall skyline, cloaked in its characteristic fog.

Eventually, you find yourself in front of the gate, where you can see Jeanine waiting with a black car on the otherside. There’s a big green button next to the side gate, which you press, and it clicks open. There’s a moment where your neck tingles, and you glance up at the camera pointed down at you. The red flickering light beside it holds your attention. You can see your bedraggled reflection in its lense.

Shaking your head, you move on, greeting Jeanine. She gives you a quick bow of the head and opens the door for you. You hike the bag over your shoulder, give the Wayne manor one final, lingering look and then you step into the car. Jeanine starts speaking to you about some future appointments you have, and you’re too tired to understand a word of what she says. She realises you’re not processing anything she says, and hands you a pair of headphones with a wire adapter.

You could kiss her right then and there. You don’t because that’d be weird, but you definitely think about it. Headphones on, you watch the rolling hills and luxurious manors turn into highways and honking traffic, to finally the upside part of town which was now apparently where you lived.

Eventually you find yourself being delivered in front of your swanky new apartment. With a passing goodbye, Jeanine tells you that she’ll be busy for the rest fo the day so if you need anything to call the number on the card she hands you. You tuck it in your pocket, certain you’ll lose it like every other business card you’ve ever been handed.

The elevator ride up to your room is contemplative. The music is boring, your reflection is bedraggled and tired, and the gentle feeling of gravity under your feet tugs at you. You rock slightly when you finally reach your floor. The doors open, but you don’t make any move to leave. They shut again, and you’re left staring daggers at your mirrored self.

You’d woken up, still here. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. And more than that, it seemed more and more like you’d be staying in this reality. You didn’t think you could go home. Sure you were rich but… but your home. Your few things you’d managed to save. Your meagre group of friends and your hard-sought job. It made you nauseous. Where had you lost it all? Why were you here now? Why did you keep having to lose everything?

You manage to snap yourself out of it before someone else calls the elevator. Striding out of the space, you look to the right where you remember your apartment coming from. It’s not hard to find the unit, as there are only three on the entire floor. Rich people.

The door closes with a satisfying thud behind you, and you nearly melt with exhaustion.

This apartment is the ninth circle of hell for you. Scrambling around on your knees, you’re desperate to find the damn phone that won’t stop ringing. You can’t understand where the sound is coming from.

Under your bed? You shine your other’s phone’s light under it. Nope. Behind the dresser? Nada. You search inside the drawers and then peek inside the fancy lamp. Absolutely nothing. You’re ready to tear your hair out when you spot something… odd.

There’s… You think there’s something stuck in your floorboards. You dig at the space with your fingernails and the piece of wood pops open. Inside is… a cardboard box. An awfully familiar cardboard box, actually. The sight of your Mum’s old keepsake box makes you cry out with joy, lifting it from its little enclave. You’d lost a lot in the past few days but at least the old you knew how to keep your family’s stuff safe.

This apartment looks brand new. And apparently the past you dug into it to hide her stuff. You can’t really judge, you have a hidey-hole back at your apartment. It was a brick that had already been loose in the wall, so it didn’t feel quite as criminal as this.

The ringing is coming from inside the box. When you pull the lid up, you find a keepsake box a little different from yours. While yours only ever had your family’s old passports and photo albums, this one had a sleek phone sitting on top of all the mementos. It’s an exact copy of the phone on your bed- or well, it would be, if you hadn’t dropped it.

Two phones? This bitch was greedy. And so are you, eagerly sweeping the expensive item into your gremlin hands. Your thieving high is instantly quashed when you see who’s calling.

Of all fucking… George.

You roll your eyes before hanging up, tossing the phone to the side as you start rifling through the old keepsake box. You flip through family photo albums and lovingly cradle old stuffies. The phone buzzes. You ignore it. You find one of your mother’s old necklaces, and because you’re desperate for anything that can ground you, slip it over your head. The cool heart locket rests just under your collarbone, and you clutch it with one hand as you keep exploring. The phone keeps buzzing. It’s only almost half an hour later when you realise something about this is strange.

Why is George… not blocked? You glance down at the vibrating object like it’s radioactive, a despairing frown pulling at your face. Cautiously, you pick it up, making sure not to open the notifications lest it tell George you read any of his messages.

He’s… apologising for not being there for your birthday. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. And it’s not even a proper apology, it’s one of those ‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings’ bullcrap. He keeps spamming you, and eventually, you realise that he’s not going to just stop.

You decide to nip this in the bud quickly because even remembering his cheating face makes you feel like throwing up.

‘You’: Why are you contacting me?

‘George <3’: Seriously? Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there yesterday. I was busy, you know that.

Stupidly, you reply:

‘You’: ‘No, seriously, why are you contacting me? I’m done with you.’

You wonder how you ever loved this jackass. Even if he was obviously more of a jackass here, than where you’d come from. He was just better at pretending there. You keep scrolling, ignoring the new texts that pop up. Your stomach sours at the number of texts he himself had ignored, of the amount of ‘sorry baby, can’t come tonight’, the begging, the pleading.

No, he wasn’t worse at pretending. He just didn’t care.

You wonder if this could have been you, further along down the line. Abuse happens slowly, right? Like a frog in a pot. You’d have forgiven and forgotten, written away his worse behaviours till you couldn’t anymore. Till you couldn’t leave, till you were trapped.

You think George Lancaster would’ve tried to. He would’ve isolated you from everyone you had left if he hadn’t screwed up and got caught.

You realise now there were a lot of red flags in your relationship with George. Molly always hated him and he hated her. He’d constantly complain about how much time you spent with her, spamming you with texts when you went out.

You were only… only two days since you’d actually broken up with him. Which was sort of crazy to think about. You feel like you’ve lived eons since then. Like that one traumatic incident aged you thirty years. Anyway, you still hadn’t processed the whole George thing. You’d been sort of busy fighting for your life.

‘George’: I’m here, can you at least open the door so we can talk face to face?

Freeze. A knock sounds, and your head snaps up to the front door. You don’t move. You just wish it away. The knocking only gets louder and louder.

You feel like a dumb girl in a horror movie as you walk towards the door, unlocking it and creaking the knob open. George Lancaster stands on the other side, and before you can slam it in his face, he grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the door. And then he’s pulling you to the elevator, even as you try and get your bearings, get yourself away from him.

“You can’t just ignore me like this,” George says, pissed off to high hell, “We’re going to miss the reservation I booked specifically for you. I told you it was happening today and-”

There’s white noise between your ears, you can’t hear what he’s saying. Told you? It wasn’t in any of the texts. He’s still talking even as the elevator dings, even as he shoves you in a white sports car that’s half parked on the curb. Even as he drives his way through Gotham’s streets, he won’t fucking shut up.

Why are you letting this happen to you? Why aren't you fighting back, wrenching yourself from his grasp? He takes you into a restaurant, one so upscale that normally you wouldn’t be able to get in for months, and your head snaps from staring socialites to watching politicians to gawking celebrities. You have the eyes of the world on you right now, and they’re all watching George yell at you.

And you can’t find your voice.

It's like a scab you can't stop picking at. Like you think this is what you deserve or something. And it's not. You know it's not. And yet you follow obediently, chastised and embarrassed, as he pulls you through the restaurant. When he picks a table in the centre of the room, you don’t protest. When he chooses your meal for you, even though it’s not to your taste, you don’t protest.

Looking at George, scrolling lazily on his phone, your hands clench against the table. They’re sweating, shaking, nails digging into your palms.

You… you didn’t have to break up with him again, did you? You realised it earlier, but you didn’t- it didn’t really sink in. Your first breakup with George Lancaster was a miserable traumatic experience, and it had been in the solitary streets of Gotham’s Narrows. This one, this one would be seen by literally everyone.

Nauseous. You feel so damn nauseous, your mouth dry as you swallow down bile. This was ridiculous. You couldn’t stand seeing his face. Was he texting her right now? God, did she even know? You’d just stormed out that night, running from what you’d seen.

George had chased after you. Had he left her there? Your stomach churned at the idea. You had to hate her on principle but, well, you also had to sympathise with her. Contradictions, that was the average you. You didn’t want to help this random girl. Didn’t want to have to ever think of her again.

…Staring at George, a definitively awful person, you can’t do it. Can’t just leave her to it.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you say.

“What?” George replies, not even looking up from his phone.

“I’m breaking up with you!” you shout. It’s not even intentional, just a result of being pushed too far, of breaking too easily.

The restaurant goes quiet. Guess you’re up for another scandal then. Whatever, it wasn’t like you would’ve lasted much longer anyway. This was all too complicated for your recently traumatised mind to handle. And it was just too damn stupid to bother with anyway. All of this was fucking stupid.

You included.

Just pull the bandaid off, right? You could already see how this version of you had so many scandals to her name. You probably should start giving a shit. Or at least trying to. You don’t think you want to, though.

George puts his phone down face down on the tablecloth, giving you a calm look. That slightly pitying stare activates something in your brain you didn’t really know was there. It’s a type of rage you haven’t known since you were a kindergartner and one of the other girls said you couldn’t play princesses. Since your first service job where your manager felt you up. Just pure, petty, anger. The type of anger ready to burn the world down as long as it burns whoever pissed you off as well. He opens his mouth, probably to say something condescending, and your hand whips out and snatches his phone.

“Hey!” George says instead, his eyes widening.

You turn the phone back on. Hm, passcode. You flip it around and use facial recognition to open it. Despite the fact that George wears the most comically shocked expression, with saucer-wide eyes and a mouth open to catch flies, it unlocks. Nice.

“Hey! What are you doing?” George demands, reaching over the table for his phone.

You twist away from his reach. Password. You flip the phone, and despite George’s comically shocked expression, it still unlocks. He shouts again when it does, probably realising that you might be taking this seriously. That he might actually be in trouble. That his sugar mummy might not take too kindly to the numerous texts to other women on his phone.

…You really can’t believe you’re a sugar mummy. And for George of all people. What a horrendous waste of money, it’s fucking tragic.

He’s got the texts with someone known as ‘Pizza Hut’ pulled up, with some very flirtatious messages. You scroll up furiously, ducking under George as he gets up from the table and tries to get the phone. Still, backing up, the sight of a very poorly shot dick pic of George’s has you grimacing. Your focus on the picture, trying to decide whether his penis looked so unappealing before you’d learnt of his betrayal, has you distracted when one of the servers come around.

And, well, shirt, meet soup. Very, very hot soup. Everyone? Meet a screeching, klutzy moron.

George takes the chance to advance on you, snatching his phone from you. He doesn’t even seem to care you’re currently getting third-degree burns. The sting scorches through the thin fabric of your dress shirt, burning your skin. George grabs you again, his grip harsh enough this time you know it will bruise, and you can’t really say why you do what you do at that moment.

Your aunt used to have a chihuahua. It was an ugly, grumpy thing. She’d rescued it late into its life, and it had been treated poorly beforehand. It didn’t like to be touched at all and used to run from anyone who tried. And if you tried to touch it? Cornered it?

Well, of course, it started biting.

George’s howl is the most satisfying thing you’ve ever heard. His squeal of “bitch!” might be even more so. He slaps you away from him, and the sound echoes in the restaurant. Your face stings. When you land ass first in the puddle of still-too-hot soup, you wonder if you might try and bite him again. You don’t think you even broke the skin, considering you can’t taste blood. The other patrons stare on in genuine horror, like they’ve never seen a messy breakup before. One woman raises a hand to her mouth, and gasps-

You find yourself staring up at a furious George, one with a menace in his eyes you’ve never seen before. You wonder, idly, if he’s ever hit you before. Well, not you, but ‘you’. You realise now that he has the capacity for it, that he probably always did.

“What the fuck!?” he hisses, angry eyes darting from side to side, “Biting me?! In fucking public?! Have you lost it, you crazy bitch?! And you got my phone fucking soaked in soup!”

“Did you buy it?” you ask, wiping your mouth with your sleeve to get George’s dirty taste out of your mouth.

He blinks, confused, thrown off by your question, “Huh?”

“Did you buy that phone?” you repeat, your staring starting to turn into a furious glare.

You don’t think he did. Your George had never been able to afford those sorts of things, he’d been as broke as you were. Of course, you’d seen him lust over those items, but you’d always managed to convince him not to go into debt over silly things like sports cars and fancy phones. And even then, you’d been the one to buy him a PS5.

He looks down at the phone and back at you, and you can see his jaw tick.

“I bought it. That’s mine.”

“It was a gift. You’re going to be such a bitter bitch to take back everything you gave me? Gonna leave me out on the fucking street?” he says, spittle flying with angry words.

This was escalating fast. Maybe before you’d have been cowed by his words, but you were genuinely off your rocker by now and were very much willing to tango with this bastard. Like yes, he did terrify you, but so did everything else. You could handle this much at least. You weren’t ready to back down.

“And if I did? What then George? What could you even fucking do?” you throw back, voice rising to match his.

“It’s not your money either, it’s theirs, you little leech!” says the pot.

“Does it matter?” replies the kettle.

Pushing to your feet, you find George without another answer. He stands between you and the exit. With the plain murderous rage on his face, you think he’ll try to grab you again if you run past. He wouldn’t bite you back, but he might slap you or something. So instead, like any good coward does, you run straight to the girl’s bathroom. It hasn’t failed you yet, and you doubt it will today.

You shove into the bathroom, past a woman doing her makeup. Her head bobs up and down as she takes in your seemingly infamous face, and your stained shirt. You stride as far away from her as possible, darting into the last bathroom stall and sitting on the closed toilet lid. You pull your knees to your chest and hiss out a sound of frustration when that presses the sticky liquid against your chest and pants. Not your brightest idea, but you were sort of running on fumes right now.

The bathroom stall is extremely clean. One thing you were quickly realising about rich people is they didn’t have to suffer shitty public bathrooms. You didn’t think they deserved it. Like customer service jobs, and traffic, they built character.

What were you doing? Right, trying not to cry. You’re doing much better than yesterday. Still, sitting on top of the toilet’s closed lid, your phone pressed to your face, you wouldn’t say you’re doing ‘good’.

But because you knew George was too much of a pussy to ever enter the woman’s bathrooms, you refuse to move a single inch. You don’t want to go out there. At all. At all, at all. You’d tried to call Jeanine, but she hadn’t answered. Some P.A. she was. You still weren’t going to fire her. Then you remember that she told you she was going out later, and that she’d left a card with you. Digging through your pocket, you decide it’s finally time to die when you realise you lost the card somewhere along the line.

So, she wasn’t going to come save you as your knight in shining armour.

You can’t remember Molly’s number. Who did these days? That was your phone’s job. So you were left with… this. You were left with this. Four blocked numbers and a third had sent an automatic reply because he was driving. Alfred was probably busy. Weren’t butlers always very busy?

…Rich people weren’t often very busy. They had butlers and assistants to do all their chores. You unblock all four of the Waynes that you have on your phone.

The first thing you notice is the amount of texts between ‘you’ and Dick. Scrolling and scrolling, you find most of them are him checking up on you and one-word replies from the old you. He’s friendly and accepting, even when you respond in cruel and aggressive tones. The further back you scroll, the kinder your replies are. At one point it seems like the two of you had a good relationship.

You check the other chats. Tim’s message log is filled with coffee requests sent back and forth between you, Damian’s is completely empty, and Bruce’s has had no response from your phone in years. But eventually, you scroll back far enough that you find an actual conversation instead of just ‘Call Alfred’ repeated every few days.

‘You’: I miss them.

‘Bruce Wayne’: I know. I miss them too.

You press the back button, sighing. That felt like you’d seen something you shouldn’t have, like you’d peeked into someone’s diary. Which was unbelievably stupid. All of this is unbelievably stupid. You should just leave, you should just be brave. Two days ago you faced off against one of your worst fears, but today you couldn’t even handle George Lancaster.

You want someone to rescue you. You know no one will unless you ask. It makes you choke on your own self-disgust. This is the second time in one day. God, maybe you should just do it yourself. It’s not like you couldn’t pay for your own Uber.

And still, you find yourself clicking on a name and begging. Skin crawling, you type and retype the text probably a hundred times. You go from long apologies to begging to rants you never intended to send in the first place. Tap, tap, tap, and then you delete, delete, delete.

What you settle on is simple.

‘You’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

Maybe a bit too simple. You cross your arms and tuck yourself in the good ol’ fetal position. You feel like you’ve spent half your time holding yourself like this the past three days.

‘Dick Grayson’: I’ll be there in five.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 month

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Campaign Starter: Tales from the Bonecart

Whether it's due to superstition or a distaste for a toilsome and muddy trade, folk tend to pay little attention to gravediggers. This makes for an awfully convenient cover for your travelling troupe of tombrobbers as they tour around the realm's backroads filling their pockets with mementos purloined from the dead.

Planning adventures for "evil" campaigns can be tough, but sometimes you and your players just want an excuse to get your hands dirty. What better opportunity to get DEEP down in the dirt than to hand out shovels and have them start out as a group of travelling undertakers/thieves?

Setup: A handful of crews have run the bonecart scam over the past several generations, tempering their skullduggerous actions with a bit of honest gravemaking. This dichotomy is no better represented in the current heads of the operation: Dour and hardworking Heliana, who minds the cart's reigns and keeps the crew on track, and the knavish academic Benjamin Eelpot who loves delving into things that should best stay buried. These two have taken the party on for a series of jobs that will likely require a cold heart and a strong stomach, stealing from both the living and the dead and hoping not to get caught in the meantime.

Adventure Hooks:

The party's first outing on the bonecart should be a meat-and-potatoes sort of job, used to set the tone of the campaign, which happens to sound like "Someone old and rich and lonely has died, leaving their house haunted and their valuables unguarded".

While being stewards of the dead is a great cover, it sometimes attracts the wrong sort of attention, such as when a nobleman offers the party a great reward to investigate an abandoned necropolis and the source of the terrifying dreams that haunt him. Gold is gold though, and surely this couldn't have too many long reaching complications for them.

Irony of ironies, Shortly after one of their scores the party is setupon by a group of bandits disguised as dead men, who manage to make off with a good portion of their illgotten gain. There's no way to recover their goods through official channels, so they'll have to do it themselves.

Throughout their early adventures the party will need to avoid the attention of the heavy handed sheriff hired by the local nobility to quietly and brutally dispose of criminals like themselves.

You get a lot of weird jobs being a gravedigger, but "limo service" is not usually one of them. Still, money is money, and when a bloodsoaked countess offers to pay the bonecart well to defend and transport her coffin across the lands so she can attend a gathering of the great and the ghoulish who are they to say no?

Heliana will eventually approach the party once they've gotten enough shared time , experience, and nightmarish close calls under their belts. She's got some personal matters to attend to, which involve a list of names belonging to an old secret society and a series of graves across the countryside that may contain clues to the locations of some great treasure. Its a bolder job then the crew usually pulls, and will draw unwanted attention, but they can rely on eachother to pull through, right?

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

#press start #evil party #necromancer #undead #thief #faction #ally necromancer #ally #ally rogue #rogue #dnd #d&d #adventure compendium

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sundrop-writes · 2 months

Note

if ur taking requests then how about female reader being a bau member and is receiving unwanted attention from the local cops but she cant pick up on social cues very well so it’s extra stressful for her to naviagte

Then enter protective and somewhat jealous jj that tries to protect her and shows her what true love and respect is with soft softdom!jj

I really like this, but I like the idea of it more as a short then a full fic, so... here we go.

JJ Being Protective of You - (Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic!Reader)

Warnings: some harassing behaviour from a random male cop towards the reader; the man uses condescending pet names toward the reader; JJ goes full boss mode; use of the term L/N (as in 'Last Name') to refer to the reader; she reader uses she/her pronouns; the reader experiences a small accidental injury; pre-established relationship. Idk what else. Not proofread.

Paperwork. This is where you thrived. Much like Spencer, you loved a good paper trail.

You were currently in the back room of the police station, going through their old case files, looking at every case from the last forty years that had yet to be digitised. You were looking for previous murders that matched the signature of the killer the team was currently after, since the working theory was that the UnSub had 'taken on' the work of his father or another older figure in his life.

So you had to dig through all the files of unsolved murders and see if you could find a pattern stemming back - to see if you could find more killings that this father might have committed.

It was stuffy and dusty in the file room, but you were finding it to be the kind of work that you did best - your brain churning on all cylinders as you looked through the many files for all the markers in the killings that would have aligned with his killer. You put some files aside and closed the lid on a box, and then moved to a new stack, going to take down a box from 1973 - it was rather heavy and awkward to lift, but you could manage it.

"Oh, little lady, let me help you with that,"

Suddenly, someone appeared beside you, as if out of nowhere, and a second pair of hands began tugging on the box.

"I got it." You grunted out, tugging the box back in your direction, trying to get a better grip on it.

"Trust me, doll, someone like you shouldn't be lugging this crap around on your own." The man's voice argued, becoming slightly strained - angry?

Was he frustrated because it was too heavy for him to lift? Did he feel like he had to help because you looked weak and he was frustrated because of the social obligation?

"It's fine." You assured him, tugging on it again. But - he still wouldn't let go. "I'm stronger than I look, trust me."

That was something that Emily and Derek often joked about. You had used a shovel to break a double welded chain in order to get into a basement when a child was in danger. The police had been arguing about getting a warrant and talking about how they would need heavy duty bolt cutters to get through the chain away, and you were down there in minutes - and from then on, the team all agreed not to mess with you. Especially not in an emergency.

"Sweetie, just let go of it-"

His grip slipped off the box, and it went flying in the opposite direction then, and one of the sharp corners smacked you on the head - a piercing pain went through your whole forehead and and papers came flying out of the box, spilling across the floor and fluttering everywhere.

"Oh my god, ow!" You exclaimed loudly, stepping backward, raising a hand to your forehead toward the throbbing pain. You were alarmed when you felt wetness, and you quickly drew your fingers back and saw blood.

"Oh, goodness. I'm sorry, darlin'." The man appeared in front of you, and soon, completely unprompted, he put his hands on both of your cheeks, trying to lift your head to better inspect the cut. "See, that's why you shouldn't-"

"Don't touch me!" You screamed, reaching up inside of his forearms to shove his hands off you. Your skin was crawling with a terrible, icky itch where his hands had been touching you.

He became slack-jawed with shock at this.

"There's no need to shout." He chuckled. "Calm down."

"Ugh, no!" You shouted back.

You were suddenly feeling terribly trapped in the small, stuffy, dusty room, and though you knew that the papers needed to be cleaned up and you needed to finish your fishing expedition for the trail of murders - you had to leave. You needed air.

You needed JJ.

You shoved past the man and your feet carried you as fast as you could go, frantically looking for that head of blonde hair.

"Listen, babydoll, just calm down-"

"Woah, woah, her name is not babydoll."

That voice. Your hero.

You blinked past a haze if tears you hadn't even noticed was forming, and saw the pale blue shirt and blonde hair that you knew was her - you ran to stand behind her, grabbing her hand tightly, which she gripped back, grounding you, letting you know that she was right there.

"I'm not sure what kind of slack operation you people run around here, but we are professionals. You are going to refer to her by her full title, Special Agent L/N - or you won't talk to her at all. You won't even look at her. Do you understand me?" JJ barked at him.

The pure authority dripping from her voice made you feel so utterly safe.

"Listen, m'am, I'm not sure-"

"It's not 'm'am', it's Agent." JJ corrected him, now straining through her teeth, absolutely seething. "We are here representing the FBI, trying to catch a very dangerous man to help keep your town safe. We're not just little secretaries skittering around to get you your coffee and clean up after you. Just because we're women, we're not here to wipe your ass!"

You heard a chuckle from behind you, and you thought it was Emily's voice. This was followed by a low whistle - probably Derek.

"Is that clear?" JJ finished off, daring the man to talk back to her.

The man sighed and turned around to leave, finally defeated. This is when JJ turned to you.

"Are you okay?" She asked, her voice much softer now. "Oh my god, what happened to your head?"

"There was... a box..." You mumbled quietly, still feeling shaken up.

"He hit you with a box?" JJ snapped, looking back in the direction he had walked off.

"JJ, please." You begged, quietly, squeezing her hand, directing her attention back to you.

She knew what her priority was right now.

"Come on,"

JJ walked you to the bathroom, and as she was cleaning up the cut with a damp paper towel, she was still huffing hard through her nose, the anger still pumping through her.

"I'm going to find that guy's supervisor, I'm going to put in a report about him, I'm going to-"

"It's okay, JJ." You said, reaching out to run a gentle hand along her lower back. "I'm pretty sure he's not gonna come near me again after what you said."

She let out a snort of laughter, and half her mouth upturned in a smile. You both knew that she could be incredibly intimidating despite her looks, and she always protected you - just one of the many things that had attracted you to her in the first place.

"Yeah, well... nobody comes near my girl and gets away with it."

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #jennifer jareau #autistic reader #jennifer jareau x reader #jj x reader #jennifer jareau x you

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openconceptpanicroom · 6 months

Text

The Keeper

-Chapter One: A Gift Unwanted-

Prince Aemond x Dragonkeeper!Reader

Summary: Reader is given to The Greens along with an egg before the Dance as a gift to Prince Maelor. Her job is ensure the egg hatches as a "goodwill," present from Princess Rhaenyra. However, the Greens doubt these good intentions and no one is more suspicious than Prince Aemond. Pride, lust, envy and paranoia make the One-Eyed Prince almost beastly.

TW: MDNI, Aemond is very repressed, choking, threats of violence, obsessive love interest, power imbalance. AN: Aemond's POV in next chapter.

The Dragonpit of King’s Landing was a grand system of tunnels and caverns carved into stone. At the heart of the Dragonpit sat the nursery, a circular room with filled with hot coals to warm eggs marked for their future riders. Over each clutch hung wide open vents to funnel out the smoke, though it did little to lessen the heat of this place. It was here that you spent most of your days, drenched in sweat as you changed out coals beneath the egg you had been sworn to protect. A pale green egg promised to the babe Prince Maelor, a kind gift from his estranged aunt. You first felt pride at being the one to hatch and raise this dragon for a Prince to one day ride. Now, you were… cautious. A dragonkeeper acolyte once under the charge of Princess Rhaenyra, you now rested your head so close to those she had fled from. It had not been unknown to you that the Queen and Princess did quarrel. Although, perhaps naively, you had assumed you would be safe from the crossfire of their rivalry.

It was quite irritating to be so wrong.

Prince Maelor was no more than a week old when Princess Rhaenyra drafted together a ship filled with goods for her youngest nephew. Glittering gemstones, rare silks from Lys, handcrafted toys of fine wood from Pentos, books of varying degrees of academic difficulties, and a dragon egg with a keeper. To the untrained eye, it was selfless. Colder hearts felt differently. The usually fertile she-dragon Dreamfyre had failed to lay a clutch in two years, meanwhile Syrax had just laid one that month. To gift an egg with a dragonkeeper showed Princess Rhaenyra’s arrogance. Her belief that the God’s favored her so much that it was all but guaranteed Syrax’s egg would bring forth a new dragon. Whether or not this was Princess Rhaenyra’s intentions mattered little. You were seen as at best an insult and at worst a spy.

All that kept you from further interrogation was the knowledge that you would never be in the Red Keep. You were, after all, a dragonkeeper. They were not to enter the palace without reason, and certainly not without guards to take them about the keep. So long as you did as you said you would and kept away from the castle, you were left alone.

For the most part.

As you laid red-hot coals over Prince Maelor's egg, you felt that an eye upon your back. It spread chills over your skin despite the blazing heat. You let out a slow breath and laid your shovel to the side, pulling your thick leather gloves from your hands. For weeks now, you resided here with forty other dragonkeepers. None had had issue with your being here. There was no Queen to bother and no Lord Hand to stare at you incredulously. All you did, all day, was care after the egg and assist the other keepers in their chores. Yet He still came to stare at you. To mock you. To disturb you.

“Iksis se Dārilaros's drōmon issare jūndan tolī, acolyte?”*

You sucked burning air through your teeth, lowering your scarf as you turned to face him. Prince Aemond stood in the entryway of the nursery, the heat already showing in beads of sweat on his face. Thin strands of silvery-white hair stuck to his face, one hanging just over his eyepatch. He was dressed to ride, all in black with one glove on and the other still in his fist. Black were his clothes, like that of a raven. A one-eyed raven. He used to be so quiet, Prince Aemond. For a brief time, you had known him. A freckled and shy boy with eyes of pale violet. Small and awkward, so hopeful that his egg on Dragonstone would hatch. That boy was dead. Replaced by this man that bore his name but not his heart, all memory of you gone.

Bowing your head, you forced your voice to stay neutral, “Kessa, Ñuha Dārilaros.”*

His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, either irritated by your response or that you were yet again unbothered by him. Prince Aemond was one so used to insult, that anything without a readily available explanation was assumed to be some manner of slight aimed at him. Your presence was one of these assumed slights, was what an elder had said to you.

“Māzigon kesīr, zaldrīzes buzdari.”

His voice was ice in your blood, and his words pulled you to him. The blood of Old Valyria was your master. Even when it mocked you. Your feet were slow but not clumsy as you stopped to stand before him. Eyes to the ground even then, as show of respect. Acolyte’s are not to make eye contact with those of the royal family. You swallowed thickly as the tips of Prince Aemond’s boots came into your view.

“It gives me great vexation every time I look upon you. A mere acolyte, charged with caring for my nephew’s egg. Yet another example of my half-sister’s contempt. The Whore of Dragonstone cannot spare an elder, so she sends you,” Prince Aemond’s tone almost made you roll your eyes. Another accusation of negligence. Gods be merciful if you ever made a true mistake or misstep in his presence. “Prince Maelor will not suffer due to your incompetence.”

Your back ached from changing out the coals over and over. New callouses made their home over old callouses on your palms and fingers. Every inch of you was caked in sweat and soot. From the moment you rose to the moment you laid to sleep, you thought of the egg. His concerns were absurd, truly. Resisting the ever-growing urge to say so, you merely asked, “What more does Your Grace want for me to do to prove I am competent? I am your servant.”

A beat of pure silence passed.

What was expected was more of his insults, accusations of negligence on your part. You did not prepare yourself for his ungloved hand which then grabbed your jaw. With his bare hand he yanked up your face so that you had no choice but to look at him. He pulled you close, staring down at you with the closest thing to a smile you had seen since meeting him again. Your pulse raced beneath his touch. He smelled of dragon, of bergamot, and coriander. Hair of starlight and one piercing eye of violet. Confronted so close and so suddenly by his fury and his beauty, blessed by the blood of Old Valyria. It felt indecent to be so close to one such as he. To know his palm was now marked by the filth of your labor.

His hand slipped from your chin to your throat, fingers closing slowly. The coldness of his stare marked by something darker. Lips moving, he murmured something you couldn’t quite catch. It was growing hard to focus. To maintain composure. The sweltering heat, his glare, his fingering stealing your breath with every second.

At last, you let out a whimper of a moan. Prince Aemond’s voice answering it with an audible groan. It was quick, but you heard it. Just as he released that hungry growl did he release you. You hacked and coughed on air that was too tainted to give you any sort of relief. By the time you could take a breath without wheezing, he was several feet away from you. He gave one last warning before leaving you in the nursery that day, “My nephew’s egg will hatch, or you will feel the consequences of your failure. Do you understand?”

All you can do is bow and say, "I understand, Your Grace."

----------------------------------

High Valyrian Translations (*)

"Is the prince's egg being looked after, acolyte"

"Yes, my prince"

"Come here, dragon slave"

#aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd fic #hotd x reader #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond x you #aemond x dragonkeeper!reader

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airbendertendou · 6 months

Text

WANNA SEE YOU SHINE! ♥︎ suzaki ryo

synopsis : purge au , ryo isn't quite how you remember him to be. but, he's always kind to you. this was highly inspired by @seijorhi 's tokyo revengers piece!

content warning : a purge au so this is a darker one , murder , gore , gross comments , unwanted gestures / comments , reader is in horrible company , Peach is a made-up character , inevitable death [not related to the reader] , kinda yandere-ish ,

song inspo ; stargirl interlude by the weeknd ft lana del rey

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked. Keep reading

Sweat drips down your forehead as you reshelve the food you’d been asked to. Taking a deep breath, you peek at the clock — only three more hours until closing. You closed early today, of course.

When the clock struck seven today, the world would no longer be safe.

The door opens with a ding, causing you to stop what you were doing and welcome the customer in. It was a group, all casually chatting while looking for snacks. You stand straight and prepare to greet them — your voice catches in your throat. Something about the last person seems so familiar ; so welcoming to you.

A girl with orange hair spots you and turns your way. “You work here, right?” You nod, peeling your eyes away from the red coat and shoulder length hair. She grins, “great! Can you guide me to the chocolate aisle?”

At her words, the rest of the group turns to face you. You lead the way, showing her your preferred sweets and answering questions with a practiced smile. The group disperses, leaving to do their own thing. That comforting, familiar face is standing in front of you now, waiting for your attention to be solely on him.

“Suzaki,” you say. “Suzaki Ryo. You’re back.”

His dull, unchanging face contorts into a soft smile at your words. Eyes travel down your tired, overworked form — you adjust and clear your throat in embarrassment. His smile falls, “are you alright, [name]?”

Words leave your mind at the sound of his voice. It’d been so long — so many years had passed since you last heard his voice. He calls your name once more, eyes drooping into a worried gaze. You shift on your feet, “um, I’m okay. Everyone’s preparing for tonight, you know?”

“Tonight?” Ryo tilts his head before nodding slowly. “The Purge they call it, right?” You nod, fingers intertwining and locking your mind onto something else. He smiles at your habit, remembering the times before when you’d act that way, too. “You’ll be safe tonight, won’t you?”

“I’ll be with Peach,” you admit. Your nose crinkles in distaste before you smooth your face out, plastering on your customer service smile instead. “I think we’re staying with Amagi this year. You still talk, right? You’ll be there?”

Ryo’s eyes narrow at the names. Peach — your old friend who would always take advantage of you. Amagi — his old friend who used him tirelessly. They were quite the match ; Suzaki’s beyond surprised it took them this long to get together. “Sure,” he hides his thoughts with a smile, “I’ll be there.”

Your conversation is interrupted by his group as they push their way between you. One guy with blue highlights shoves you to the side thoughtlessly — you don’t see the glare Ryo sends his way. Clearing your throat again, you lead them to the register to check them out.

Ryo lingers outside as his friends leave, his eyes watching as you get back to work quickly. Calloused, blistered hands scrub at the counter endlessly before you’re quickly sweeping the floor. You go to clean the window when you meet his gaze — Ryo only waves before turning to leave.

Poor thing, he thinks to himself. You’re working yourself to the bone just to survive. Not anymore, he reassures himself. You won’t have to tire yourself out anymore. I’ll take care of you.

——♥︎——

Shoveling pieces of clothing into your overnight bag, you think back to earlier, when Ryo walked into the convenience store. Seeing him again was strange ; exciting and overwhelming at the same time. Last you heard, Ryo and his dad moved overseas for better opportunities.

That wasn’t true. His father worked himself to death, so Ryo ran. It was no coincidence he popped back up on Purge day.

You knew Amagi and Peach would have all anyone would need in their mansion. However, the thought of using their things and therefore owing them— it made you nauseous.

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepare yourself. You’d be surrounded by rich, entitled assholes for twelve ongoing hours while trusting their security system would keep you safe. At one point, they would irritate you so bad that you’d want to take your chance with the streets.

Suzaki will be there, you remind yourself. If Suzaki is there, I won’t be alone.

——♥︎——

The Amagi mansion greets you, hiding in the woods just out of reach of the street. Cars are empty from the road, hidden in garages and who knows where else for the upcoming night. It’s almost seven, so you need to rush ; need to hurry inside before the door is locked for good. Peach’s laughter echoes onto the street — you grimace and force yourself to step inside.

“COMMENCING THE SIREN, ANY AND ALL CRIME, INCLUDING MURDER, WILL BE LEGAL FOR TWELVE CONTINUOUS HOURS.”

Sirens hit the empty street, the world pausing as people prepare for the worst. You swallow, ignoring the champagne that was offered to you. Even with laws intact, you’d refuse any drink coming from this group.

“How dull,” a voice interrupts the silence. Amagi leans forward on his lavish sofa, watching the wall of monitors he had installed. “No one’s screaming yet. Did they not hear the announcement?”

Another reason you didn’t want to stay here — the Purge was used for their own amusement. While the group you were in would never dare to participate — they wouldn’t survive — watching others slaughter each other was their monthly entertainment.

Peach sighs, “the hour just started, honey. It might take a while.” She rubs his shoulder, leaning her lips close to her ear to whisper to him. You can see her tongue peak out and lap against his ear — you hold back the urge to gag and look away in disgust.

Ryo is absent from the house — he’s not coming, you discover. He hadn’t shown up at all ; no one mentioned him coming by. It makes you uncomfortable ; makes your throat itch at the thought of them possibly leaving him on the streets to die.

You glance at Amagi’s sleazy grin as Peach rubs the inside of his thigh. “I saw Suzaki today. Did you know he was back?”

“That loser really came back?” Amagi all but shoves Peach away, murky eyes staring into yours. A snarl curls his lips as they tremble — with laughter or anger, you don’t know. “Pathetic. Thought he’d die off by now.”

You always wondered what happened between them. Up until high school, Ryo would follow Amagi endlessly. And then, one day, he was gone. Amagi would only spit out how much he hated the boy ; how he wished a miserable and lifeless future for his former friend. He never told Peach — even with the endless nights between them both.

Back then, Ryo came to say goodbye to you. He looked exhausted, bags puffed under his eyes and his nails chewed down to the cuticle. A gash was wrapped around his wrist — you cleaned it as his puppy eyes stared at you.

“You’re leaving.”

“I need to,” Ryo says. His voice is soft ; throaty as if he’d been screaming for hours. He closes his hand into a fist, flexing and moving his fingers to see how injured his wrist was. His gaze meets yours, “I’ll be back.”

One of Peach’s friends offers you a drink, bringing you back to reality again. You take it, just so they would stop shoving it your way. You wouldn’t take even a tiny sip, instead pouring small amounts into someone else’s glass.

Amagi’s gaze is still on you — you can feel his eyes burning into your skin as Peach tries to distract him. You watch a monitor mindlessly, sweeping across the silent and desolate street. Sighing, you tuck your chin into the palm of your hand.

You’d love to do anything else ; to be anywhere else.

“You look tense, [name].” Amagi speaks up. His tone is intense, cruel intentions crawling from darkened eyes. He grins, ignoring the kisses that Peach settles on his neck. “Want someone to help you relax? You can have more than one, if you want.”

At his words, his friends cheer joyfully. One starts thrusting into the air, hooting with laughter. Another winks your way as she lowers her shirt to further show her cleavage. Your arm is tugged harshly to the right, your back hitting the couch as the back of your shirt is grabbed. Peach watches on boredly — your friend wouldn’t dare speak up against her fiance.

It wouldn’t matter if you said no. Especially not tonight, but not any other night, either.

Movement on a top monitor catches your attention. A figure is stumbling, almost to a crawl as they enter the street. You squint, moving from the unwanted touches and closer to the screen. Your mouth falls into a gasp, “Ryo?”

The red jacket on his shoulders is bright in the streetlights, beckoning any attacker to come closer. He leaves a trail of darkened splotches behind on the concrete, a puddle forming where he collapses. Amagi sits up at the name, inching closer to the screen. Pressing a button or two, he maximizes the video Ryo stars in. A malicious, evil grin spreads onto his face.

“Finally,” Amagi laughs, “he’ll die like the dog he is. In the streets, covered in his own shit.”

You gulp at his words. Amagi wasn’t going to offer refuge ; he wasn’t going to allow Ryo into his home and keep him safe. Your gaze bounces to Peach — she’s dropped to her knees in front of him, begging for his attention. He just watches the screen giddily.

The people around you wouldn’t help, either. They wouldn’t dare to go against Amagi’s orders — not for a flea like Suzaki Ryo. Not for his childhood friend that left. Someone is still vying for your affections, the type Amagi offered for you, as they rub themselves on you.

You take in a deep breath, focusing on the screen where Ryo lays on the street. The room goes silent, your ears ringing as you watch him writhe in pain. Everything vanishes — you could do something. You could save him. He promised to come back, and he did.

Sound comes back in a rush, laughter and moans heating up the room around you.

Quickly, you stand and leave the couch — you leave the room and hear no complaints for your actions. Your shoes are taken off and placed to the side — your footsteps would be silent, and no one would be able to find you now. Hastened steps patter their way to the front door ; up from the safe room in the basement, past Amagi’s self portrait, to the right of the kitchen. Shaky hands unlock the front door as fast as they can.

Cold air whips into your face. You breathe in the freshness of it ; you bask in the sound of crickets and the absence of sound. You look around warily — there’s no one around except a whimpering, wounded Suzaki Ryo.

“Come on,” you call to him quietly. You sling his arm around your shoulder and assist him to hobble into the house. Right on the threshold, you can see Amagi snarling as he rushes the door to close and lock. To no avail — you pull Ryo in with you just in time. You set him against a wall, right under the window. “Made it.”

“What the fuck,” Peach hisses. She stands in front of her friends — the richer ones, the ones she deemed valuable — shielding them from the man you brought in. “Do you realize what you just did? Why did you bring in a flea?”

“It’s Suzaki,” you breathe, “we know him.”

Amagi stands over his former friend, staring down at him emotionlessly. His face is devoid of anything — even the usual hatred he doesn’t hide. He tilts his head, “what a pity. Would’ve been nice to watch someone slit his throat.”

They all leave without another word, sending glares your way. The basement’s safe room is locked ; they make it known that you’ve been locked out and uninvited.

Suzaki wheezes out from the floor, “sorry. Didn’t mean to mess things up for you.”

“Don’t even worry about it.” You crouch to help him stand, guiding to one of the bathrooms in the house. Settling him on the closed toilet lid carefully, you take in a breath. “Let’s get you cleaned up and brand new, hm?”

Delicately, you take Ryo’s shirt off ; pull his tanktop up and over his head, careful to not disturb the gash across his torso. He stares at you, eyes sparkling and wide as you grab peroxide and antibacterial gel.

“It’s not too deep,” you speak up. You can hear the group below, their insults and joy vibrating against the walls. “No stitches needed. Good thing — I can’t sew.”

A smile lifts up the right side of Ryo’s mouth. You clean his wound gently, a soaked cotton ball swiping any germ or blobs of blood away. As you apply the gel, your tongue pokes out slightly. Ryo watches you fondly, “this reminds me of when we were in school.”

You smirk, “what, when I’d save your ass a trip to the hospital?”

He laughs — you try not to watch his chest as he does. Grabbing gauze, you wrap it around his torso a few times ; not too tight, but not too loose. Ryo’s eyes stay on you as you move. “You would always take care of me. Even when your friends were worse than mine.”

“We’d look out for each other.” You correct him. You shuffle his tank top back down his body, sitting in silence as you avoid his gaze. “That’s what people like us do.”

Ryo slumps in his seat, his voice growing quiet. “People like us?”

You smile, but it isn’t warm or happy. It’s accepting — sad and empty. “People who have to work to survive.”

A rattle shakes the house — you and Ryo simply stare at each other before you make a move. Peach is coming up the stairs as you exit the bathroom, your face mirroring the confusion on hers. Another rattle — the front door is shaking.

“Yoo-hoo!” A voice sings teasingly. Ryo makes his way to you, his jacket slung precariously over his shoulders as he holds his torso with his right arm. Amagi is spitting orders in the basement — he sounds terrified. “We know you’re in there. Come out and play.”

Silence. And then, a bang against the front door as a new voice calls out. “Come outside, rich bitch!”

Tensely, you reach behind you and grab Suzaki’s hand. Stomping is heard on the stairs as Amagi guides his friends to the front door. His eyes are on fire as you pass by him, red-tinted and furious. He glares at the man behind you, “this better not have anything to do with you.”

You let out a breath as you push Ryo to the safe room, eyes dancing from screen to screen. A face pops out of nowhere — one covered in a Ghostface mask. You jump, bumping into Ryo as you do. You look at him from over your shoulder, “they didn’t attack you, did they?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t attacked by anyone. I was… trying to get between an unfair fight.”

You smile despite the situation. “Playing the hero as always.”

“People need to be protected,” he replies simply. Ryo walks over to the wall of monitors, clicking and scrolling expertly. Though, growing up with Amagi probably taught him everything he needed to know. More people are found around the Amagi mansion, waiting for a door to unlock. Ryo’s voice carries into the air, “people like you.”

You blink, “like me?”

Ryo’s mouth tilts as he looks down at the monitors’ control center. He lets out a laugh through his nose before his eyes meet yours. “People who are soft ; kind.” Ryo looks down again, “you’re the one I want to protect the most. You were always my favorite, you know.”

A bang hits the house once more, Peach’s scream echoing with it. You can hear one of her friends insist they just go outside and start shooting — they should just get rid of the strangers while they can. A flurry of footsteps rebounds against the stairs, hurriedly burrowing your way. Ryo takes you into his arms quickly, moving you both out of the way.

“I’ll show them,” he mutters. It’s one of Amagi’s friends — one who tried to get you alone. His eyes are frantic, spit piling at the corner of his mouth as he speaks to himself. “I’ll go out there and tear them all down. Amagi will notice me, then.”

The house’s defenses are down before you can stop him.

Amagi flies down the stairs, trying frantically to get the security systems back up. He clicks every button he sees. The house goes silent as the walls whir, the defenses going back into place. It has to be enough, you bite your lip, hand intertwined with Ryo’s as you tighten your hold. Please, let us be safe.

A window upstairs shatters, high-pitched screaming mirroring the sound.

The sound of scraping is the first thing you pick up. The safe room’s door is closed and locked tight, ensuring your safety. You don’t feel safe, though. Everyone watches in silence as the door’s handle twists left then right. You gulp, hiding the shaking of your hand by holding tighter onto Suzaki’s.

A bang hits the door, causing everyone to jump in unison. A harrowing, mean cackle breaths against the door. “I know you’re in there,” they call, “let us in so we can play.”

“Fuck off!” Amagi’s friend calls out arrogantly. Amagi rushes to the man, holding his hand against his mouth tightly. There are tears in the bully’s eyes — he has no chance if the safe room is breached. His friend fights him until he’s free to speak, “we’ll kill you be—!”

A body falls to the floor. A girl with lilac hair trembles, champagne falling down her arm as the bottle she holds is in half. The man on the floor bleeds from his head — you don’t think he’ll make it. She drops the half-empty bottle, scurrying to wipe the alcohol off of her person.

The masked person outside cackles again, “attacking each other now? Let us join in, won’t you?”

Ryo’s thumb rubs against your knuckles and it’s all you can think of. He does well ; distracting you from the dire danger in front of you. But, you can’t help but also think he’s so calm ; so collected and uncaring at the threats that surround you.

Scratching is heard, the door jolting from the impact. The person outside cackles, drops of sweat fall from Amagi’s forehead. A thump against the door again — you think it’s coming off its hinges. Ryo’s shoulder bumps into yours as you back up, the sound of the door breaking disturbing the silence around you. The splintered pieces hit the floor, collecting around two pairs of boots.

A bloody, rabbit mask and orange hair greets you — another one a Jason-inspired mask doing little to hide blue hair. The rabbit giggles, swinging the axe in hand, “you’ll play with us now, right?”

Two more figures join them but your mind is so fogged from the panic. Ryo is speaking lowly in your ear, but you can’t make sense of anything he says. The girl from before is thrown to the floor, a doll-like mask hovering above her as she’s stabbed. The Jason mask creeps closer to you — he’s got you in his sights and he’s completely locked in.

A kick his sent to the masked man’s chest, sending him flying away as Ryo stands in front of you. He grabs a cheese knife from the center table, putting it in your hand. Your back is to the wall, allowing you to see every inch of the safe room.

Blood splatters as Ryo nails punch after punch onto the blue haired stranger. It’s a sickening, intense anger you’d never seen from him before. Your hands shake as you hold tightly onto the cheese knife, unable to look away from the violence in front of you. Ryo looks over his shoulder at you, blood on his forehead and nose as he stands.

The wound on his torso seems to no longer bother him.

Ryo is quick to pull you to a room, closing the door behind you both as you hold your breath. It’s a bathroom, you see, perfectly compact and hidden. Chaos reigns outside — you flinch as you identify Peach’s cries. A shaky hand cups your cheek, blood smearing as he rubs your skin soothingly. “Stay here,” Ryo pleads,”I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

He strokes your cheek one last time before a glass is shoved in your hand. “Sip on this until I come back.” Ryo holds your hand, gaze fierce and promising, “I will come back, [name]. Stay in here.”

The door is shut and you’re left with the muffled sound of the people you were with being murdered. The handle of the knife you hold is embedded into your skin, the intricate design imprinted onto your palm. Heaving breaths escaped your chest and you know you need to calm down or you’ll pass out.

You eye the water you’re holding, champagne taste staining the flute you sip on. Panic has really set in now, the room around you blurring together into nothing but colors. Trembling legs settle onto the floor, your back to the bathtub as your eyes slide shut.

——♥︎——

“[Name],” is called lightly, a rustle on your shoulder shaking you. “C’mon, angel, it’s time to go.”

Your eyes blink open — they’re heavy, bleary as your eyesight still has to settle. You breathe deeply through your nose — it smells like iron and sweat. An alarm rings, commencing the Purge and thanking everyone for participating.

Your eyes snap back open at the words. You weren’t safe ; the security was fought through and intruders welcomed themselves in. Ryo — Ryo went out to fight. And then, nothing. You fell asleep?

The floor beneath you is wet, your fingers pruning up from the water. Another gentle jostle to your shoulder — someone was here with you. Widened, unseeing eyes blink up at him and he coos.

“[Name],” Ryo calls again. He rubs your cheek lovingly as your eyes flutter shut once more. He sighs — it was too much on your body, after all. Slowly, he wraps your legs around his waist, standing easily and taking you with him as he goes. “Keep your eyes closed, honey. You don’t need to see this.”

Suzaki speaks to someone else as your eyes flutter open and closed periodically. You can’t stay awake — what was in that water? Your mouth moves against his neck, incomprehensible mutters and noises leaving your lips. You hear him kick something on the way out and spit out something you don’t hear.

As you leave, you notice the bloody mess is wearing Amagi’s clothes.

“Welcome back.”

You feel better now ; awake and attentive as your eyes slide open. The sun is in the middle of the sky, warming up the room you’re in. Suzaki sits on the edge of the bed you’re in, clean and grinning as he rubs your legs soothingly. “About time you woke up, huh?”

The last few hours come back to you in a movie-like sequence. The screaming, the door shattering, the blood. You gulp, “what… happened? At Amagi’s?”

Ryo let’s out a sigh, shaking his head. He squeezes your knee lightly, sucking in a breath between his teeth. “It was ugly — an all out brawl. But, we survived and you came out unscathed. That’s all we need to worry about.”

But, your mind stills races. You remember seeing Amagi — seeing what should’ve been his fully intact corpse in pieces. “Peach? And Amagi? Did… anyone else live?”

“I don’t know,” he looks to the bedroom wall. His voice is uncaring ; unsympathetic as he speaks. “All I was worried about was protecting you.”

“You did.” You sit up straighter now, reaching out to hold Ryo’s hand. “You saved us — saved me.”

The room goes silent as you bask in the warmth of the sun. It’s disorienting — the world being so warm after the bloodbath of last night. Ryo speaks quietly, “I’d do it again if I needed to.”

The side of his mouth curves up as he continues, “maybe even after that.”

——♥︎——

happy halloween!! this feels a lil icky to post considering the state of the world rn, but id like to offer a distraction if i can while still using the platform i have <3 if youd like to b tagged / untagged in any HiGH&LOW content, let me know!

🍓FOREVER TAGS : @star2fishmeg ♥︎

🍓 H&L TAGLIST : @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @strxwberrychocolate @simpforchuchu @thatpoindexterpixy @cheshirecatuniverse

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

#ryo suzaki #suzaki ryo x reader #Suzaki ryo imagine #suzaki ryo au #suzaki ryo oneshot #yandere!suzaki ryo #yandere!high&low #high&low the worst x #high&low the worst cross #high&low x reader #HiGH&LOW suzaki #high&low imagines #HiGH&LOW au #HiGH&LOW oneshot #HiGH&LOW the cross x reader #senomon #high and low #high and low x reader #high and low suzaki

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echantedtoon · 5 months

Text

Monster Bride Part 9 Kaigaku

(WARNINGS: Blood and mentioning of blood, a dead chicken, Kaigaku is part vampire in this au so he drains the chicken of its blood, Kaigaku gets hit by a shovel,etc.

Kyogai is next.)

Quietly you stepped closer as and closer and CLOSER to the bush silently. Slowly behind the henhouse you went and stopped right in front of the bush. The wind blew swaying it's branches creepily and looked like thrashing arms. You grabbed a handful and silently and slowly pulled them back.

And you froze at what you saw-

The winds howled as the darkness crept across the skies. The darkness behind the bush shielded your form from the moonlight which cascaded down between the trees and clouds in the sky. The shadows danced and branches creaked as the wind blew them about. Like arms beckoning you closer to grab you away in their rough grip. Drag you into the shadows never to be seen again. But in the darkness something shined. The coldness of the air bit down hard on your skin, like painful bee stings pricking your skin. The terror far greater than seeing a thousand wolves sunk in.

c r a c k

A splatter of red laid across the grass. Feathers coated in the red liquid of life laid there discarded. Unwanted by the maw that consumed the flesh between its teeth. Purple irises shook, watered at the sight before them. A hunched shadow devoured everything in its claws. Down the gullet and never to be returned again. Never before seen by prying eyes. A low hiss of air gurgled from the frothing mouth. Like a wheezing choke. Your body felt rigid. Frozen in utter horror as your mind struggled to comprehend the mass sitting before you. The horrors of it all as your jaw opened up in terror and the smell of blood combed into your senses-

Sniff.

An ear flickered. The mouth paused mid bite into the small body and slowly raised up.

SNIFF. SNIFF.

Loud questioning sniffs filled the air-

C R A C K-

An inhuman snap of its neck sounded as it snapped to you. And you froze as glowing blue eyes stared at your very soul. And for a long moment neither of you moved for a long moment until there was a chittering noise and a chicken drained of blood dropped to the ground from his claws.

IT WAS HER. THE WOMAN FROM THE HOUSE.

Silence rang out as the creature rose inhuman slowly. High. Higher. And then higher. Your head slowly followed the thing up as the thing stopped and you found yourself staring into the eyes of a man's- No...Beast's...It- ..YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE LOOKING AT!! It was like you were looking at a monsters face red blood smeared his jaws from the chicken it had been eating however he stopped and stared down it's nose at you. Your hiding place behind the bush no longer secure as it continued to stare at your petrified form. There wasn't enough moonlight to fully see what it was standing in the shadows except for part of its face which tilted.... before a wide maw of fangs smirked down at you. Without warning it leaned down and you clamped your eyes shut on instinct. Surely this is the day you died.

SNIFF SNIFF??

You froze more as a warm breath blew over you and something heavy loomed over you. You didn't see it. But you sure as hell F E L T IT!! Your body didn't even move being too scared but your eyes opened to stare blankly at the leaves of the bush, too scared to look up and see what it was sniffing curiously at your head. Before whatever it was smirked in amusement and pride at her. Yes. That was right. BE AFRAID OF HIM! He was stronger, faster, and smarter than she'd ever be. Oh he loved it whenever puny humans trembled under his terrifying and strong person. This woman was no different than the rest of them. To add for good measure he let out a little hiss and snap of his fangs at the pretty face. The loud CLACK noise his teeth made had her flinching hard. A deep chuckle of satisfaction left his throat as she trembled...And a hand slowly reached out for something he couldn't see.

"Scared aren't you? It'd make sense. After all.." Black claws reached out to push some strands of hair away in order to better see those scared purple eyes. "There's very little you can do abou-

D I N G-!!!

A very loud and metal DING rang out into the night as a shovel was swung and made contact with whatever creature it was. It's head snapped to the left and down it went unconscious. It's large black body landing face first on the ground with a thud as limp as a ragdoll. You stood there shaking and panting holding up the shovel in your hands. Thank the gods by some miracle you'd left it leaning against your henhouse just within reaching distance of where you stood by the bush. Speaking of which- Without you or that ..thing holding it back anymore, the Bush's branches fluttered back into place leaving you panting and heaving. Blinking as your mind tried taking everything that just happened in.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!

Ever so slowly the bush was again patted before they stopped to let purple eyes stare at the clearly unconscious body. Slower footsteps approached until they stopped by the man's (??) head and stopped...A shovel lowered and gently poked and prodded at the thing's head. It didn't move an inch proving that whoever it was, he was completely out. Eventually you gave a relieved sigh but that still left you standing there with whoever this thing was. Your eyes glanced at his meal that was once a plump prize winning hen and a twinge of anger kindled inside of you. Your eyes looked back to the unconscious creature..Well...he wasn't dead. You could see his chest rising and falling in breaths.

...What were you supposed to do now?

*************************************************************************

MMMMMMOOOOOOO-

Black and blue eyes popped open immediately but blinked back closed as his vision danced and swirled dotted with polka dots. His head swam as a groan escaped a wide maw of fangs. The triple vision swirling until the three things before him became one and-

"AAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHH!?!?!"

His head ripped away from the tongue licking his cheek and an indignant screech of disgust ripped from his throat. A loud moo escaped from the large animal penned up next to him. Immediately the body moved to quickly sit up but instead he yelped and face planted into a ground covered in hay. At least it cushioned his throbbing head-

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

He hissed struggling against the ropes tying his body-...Wait a dam minute. ROPES!? The things trapped him tightly in their grip as he cursed and struggled against them. On top of all of THAT the right side of his head THROBBED from pain! It felt like he had been hit by a stampede of horses!

"Hey. You."

He froze at the voice. A FEMALE voice. Coming from right behind him. His head snapped behind him faster than any human scowling and hissing in rage only to pause at the figure he saw. A woman dressed in a simple kimono comfortable enough to work in. Purple eyes scowled down at him with a frown. In her hands held firmly was a shovel.

"So you're finally awake."

His reaction to you was instant. He hissed and continued with his struggling flopping around and wriggling like a worm having a seizure. "UNTIE ME!!"

"Fat chance. Why would I untie you after you stole and killed my chicken and then threatened me?"

"LET ME GO!!," He screeched eventually stopping on his back to glare up to you with a scowl and fangs bared. "HOW DARE YOU TIE ME UP!?"

"How dare you steal from me?! What was I supposed to do?! Not defend myself?!"

"Where the fuck am I?!"

"In my barn." At this he gave pause, blinked, and finally took a moment to look around him. Obvious farm tools were mounted along the right wall. The entire floor was covered in hay. A small area next to him was fenced off to act like a small pen for a single cow that mooed again as he looked around. "I would've brought you inside my house but I don't know you all too well. How's your head? I suppose it would hurt seeing as I clicked you pretty well."

He continued to stare... before scowling at you harder. "YOU HIT ME IN THE HEAD WITH A FUCKING SHOVEL?!"

"YOU THREATENED ME?!," You shouted back at him, "AND STOLE MY CHICKEN!! HOW DID YOU EXPECT TO REACT!?" He didn't answer at first but flinched when you suddenly squated down eye level with him still holding the shovel narrowing your eyes. "Now who are you and what are you doing here?" He hissed- The metal end of the shovel was raised to his chest. "I have a shovel and I'm not afraid to use it."

Blue and black eyes looked at you then at the shovel. Then at you. Then back at the shovel. Then seemed to think for a moment before hissing and pinning his pointed ears back. "I'm Kaigaku. Now untie me-"

"Not until you tell me what you're doing here."

"Oh for fucks sake!! FOOD. ALRIGHT!? I WANTED FUCKING FOOD!," he spat at you with a deep scowl, "I saw food, I was hungry, and I ATE. As simple as that! You weren't going to miss one dam chicken and a few peaches-"

"That chicken-" You cut him off poking his chest hard. "-cost me twenty coins same as the others! She wasn't cheap! What gives you the right to just come onto my property and take more of my property you...you..... What are you anyways?"

You'd never seen anything like him. Grey skin, weird stripe markings on his cheeks, black eye sclera, pointed ears, and fangs. Two top fangs were much larger than all the others. Was he some kind of monster? He gave a deadpanned look before rolling his eyes and scoffing.

''Im a vampiric demon." He then gave an (not-) intimidating smirk. "I need a certain amount of blood to survive. You should be lucky I didn't consider you to be on-"

"Wow. You must really love this shovel."

He sputtered a few noises indignantly. "I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW IM MORE POWERFUL THAN YOU'LL EVER IMAGINE, WOMAN!!"

"Uh huh. And that's why I was able to tie you up right?" He only glared at you and you sighed. "Well...I guess I can untie you. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with you and to be honest I'm not really too fond of having you around."

"Oh FINALLY!!"

"But if you try to attack me, Ill hit you again and throw you in the river out back," you warned him to which he still scowled at.

He said nothing but yelped as you just grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him over to lay on his stomach. On his back was the knot keeping all the ropes together. All you had to do was grab one end and tug. Instantly he felt himself be freed. The ropes gave out and you blinked as he inhumanly stood up faster than you expected. His body shaking like a dog's to toss the ropes off of him before hissing in relief. His hands rubbing every inch of his sore body eventually stopping on the right side of his head. The pain was STILL throbbing there and his previous flopping around and yelling did not help it. He hadn't felt like this since Kokushibo slammed him into a boulder during a training session. You noticed the groaning and gestures he made with his hands as if in pain.

"Are you alright?," you asked slowly standing up

"You hit me with a dam shovel!," he snapped but winced as a pang of pain shot through his head. "Do I LOOK ok to you?" He hissed through clenched fangs.

A small feeling of guilt washed over you. Oh yeah. You did so that. "Will you be ok?"

"I'll regenerate after a few hours." But until then it'd be hell. He jumped as something grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.

A thud rang out as you dropped the shovel and grabbed the man with both hands and pulled him forward. He stumbled a few steps as you walked and immediately shot a scowl at you getting ready to shout at you to let him go..But he paused seeing your face. The sunlight from the entrance bounced off your body and your eyes reflected the light brightening up the purple shining within them like two perfect lavender diamonds. Your gentle smile and soft lips smiling at him.

"Well let's go get you something to ease your pain. I have a tea mixture that's a pain reliever. Not sure how well it'll work on demons or whatever you said you were but you can still have some."

He only still stared... Like the first time he saw you- "Why?"

"It's called being the bigger person. And I don't like the idea of someone I hurt running around with an injury I caused. If it's really serious then I'd rather have you get help."

He hummed but otherwise said nothing as you pulled him from the barn and towards the small house. His brow rose higher as you reached out to open up the back door before proceeding to pull him in. He chose to just stop and stare in the doorway. It was a one roomed house. It was mostly empty. A coffee table square in the middle, a picture frame or two holding a painting of someone on the walls, a basket in the corner, a shelf full of dishes and other small items, a fireplace with a fire currently alive and heating a kettle, and a few other bland things. Nothing that really stood out as anything important to him. His eyes turned back to you before he hissed again and reached up to cradle his head as another pang of pain flashed through his head. HE SWORE HE WAS GOING TO GET PAYBACK FOR THIS-

"Why don't you have a seat?" You turned from the shelf with a small box. "I'll get you some tea and you can rest a bit."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." He grumbled but wobbled his way over to plop himself down in your futon without any care for how you'd react.

He groaned again and held his head in both hands now that he could sit down. Gods this was stupid. He knew he should've stopped by that dairy farm instead but they didn't have any peach trees and he couldn't pass up the chance to indulge in his favorite fruits. ... He's learnt a hard lesson. From now on all his meals will be taken with him TO GO. He barely looked up when you came back over with a warm cup and small wooden box in your hands although his nose wrinkled up at the smell of horrid rotten vegetables. It came from the cup you shoved under his nose making him lean away and glare at it.

"The hell is that?"

"Herbal tea."

"Smells like shit. Are you trying to give me a stomach ache on top of giving me a headache!?"

You gave him a blank look. "It might not taste very good but it'll help with the pain. Now drink up." You pushed the cup into one of his hands.

Usually he would've refused and just argued but the throbbing pain overruled any arguing. So he just sucked it up and brought the foul smelling liquid to his lips despite his nose's protesting. A glass shattering sound went off in his head as soon as half the small cup was sucked into his mouth. His eyes bulged out, his cheeks puffed out, and it took everything in your power to not instantly snort in laughter at his reaction to the foul smelling AND TASTING tea. The grip on the cup increased as a single tear fell down his cheek...Oh good gods....IT TASTED SO FUCKING BAD!! He nearly choked before he forced himself to swallow the terrible tasting tea and instantly gagged sticking his tongue out in the universal sign of disgust. You couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"YUCK!! What the hell is this?! Poison!?"

"It's just herbs and water."

"It tastes worse than it smells!!"

"Well I never said that it would taste good. Finish up the rest of it and I'll make you something to eat."

He casted a scowl your way. "If your cooking is already this bad then forget it!"

"Too bad. I was going to make some homemade peach cobbler."

You nearly laughed again as he perked up at you in interest. "......Peach cobbler?"

"Made with fresh peaches straight from my own orchard." He fully stared at you now. "But only if you finish up the rest of that tea."

"What?!"

"You already finished half of it. Just down the other half... Unless you don't want peach cobbler and homemade freshly brewed peach tea."

He perked up more. "Peach tea?"

"Finish drinking first. Then we'll talk food."

He scowled again before staring down at his cup with disdain and disgust. Was it really worth the food?....His peach addiction told him yes. So grumbling Kaigaku braced himself and tried not to smell too much of the smell as the rest of the foul smelling liquid was forced down his gullet. He hoped his stomach would forgive him for this.

-TWO HOURS LATER-

It wasn't as scary as you thought having someone who wasn't human sitting in your home. He was WAY more annoying than scary especially when he was scarfing down what must've been his fifth plate of peach cobbler you offered him as you took the chance to bandage his head. When you first touched it he snapped up and kissed at you-

He was cut off mid hiss by a hand slapping over his mouth. "Oh hush up. It'll help your pain."

"Hell no! Why would I let you touch me when you already hurt me?"

You only deadpanned at his stubbornness. "Do you want me to kiss your booboo and make it feel better?"

He blanked. "....What-"

He didn't even finish as two small lips pressed into his temple as you kissed the sore spot he was clutching earlier. The plate of food nearly dropped from his hands as he choked. Your gentle touch was gone soon after and you took his frozen, red faced form as a chance to finish bandaging his head. He flinched at your sudden touch but didn't stop you before you finished bandaging his head.

"There. That should help with it. I think you should stay here."

Still red faced he snapped up to you snapping out of his stupor. "WHAT?!"

"Just in case you have a concussion. I'd feel better knowing you were alright fully."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just walk out of here like I should've done in the first place-"

"Peach cobbler." He fell silent as you rose a brow. "And home made foods and anything else you might want."

"... ...."

Kaigaku found himself staring up at the ceiling and grumbling as you pulled the blanket over himself and smiled sweetly. Stupid pretty-....PETTY human!! You yourself pulled out a pair of spare blankets and pillows for yourself before falling asleep in a different part of the home. From that day onwards you thought you weren't going to see Kaigaku but to your surprise he started showing up a few more times and every time you'd find him in your peach tree scarfing down your hard grown fruits. At first it annoyed you and you'd chase him from the trees with your shovel but after the fourth time in one month you gave up at just expected him to show up at this point. Which was at most once a week. You got the impression that he really loved peaches. At this rate you'd never have any to sell ever again. Kaigaku was still annoying however he was smart enough to stay a good distance away whenever you held something big enough to chase him with in your hands.

"Are you just going to sit up there all day watching me work while eating my produce?" You spent nearly the whole morning reaching up and straining to get the apples on the bottom branches of your apple trees while blue-black eyes just stared at you.

He scoffed stuffing another fruit in his mouth from the branch he laid upon. "It's not my fault you're so dam short- AH!!" He ducked as an apple harmlessly was thrown past his shoulder. "HEY! The hell was THAT for?!"

"For being a lazy asshole. If you want me to make you food then quit being an arse to me."

"You women are all the same. You get your pretty little head too big and think you can boss everyone around."

You smirked. "Oh so you think I'm pretty?~"

"What?! No! I was just saying you shouldn't be a smart ass!!"

"You you think I'm smart too?"

"YOU'RE REALLY STARTING TO PUSH YOUR LUCK!!," He snapped red faced now.

"Oh ..So I'm lucky too.~ How cute of you to think so.~" You continued to giggle at his red face as he sputtered.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!!"

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callmelittlebuttercup · 7 days

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Peace Offerings Pt.6

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Series Summary: Joel makes a bad impression on the reader when he cuts in front of her at the radio station in the QZ. Abe, a father figure to her and an informant of Joel’s, informs her that the two have something in common: A brother in Wyoming. Joel reluctantly follows Abe’s wishes when he asks him to take the reader along to help find her brother too. As the journey goes on, she finds that despite his best efforts to make her think so, Joel isn’t a complete asshole, and maybe even a little… attractive?

Series Warnings: Slow burn, Age gap (reader is 34, Joel is 56), 18+ Minors DNI, Sexual Themes, Violence, Injuries (depictions of blood, bruising, broken bones), Cursing, Grumpy!Joel, Minimal depictions of reader's appearance (hair color/length.)

Chapter Warnings: Creepy men (raiders) & Attempted SA (NOT Joel dw <3)

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Part Six

Joel and I dug graves for the boys right next to each other in the field behind the motel. We shoveled and moved the bodies in silence, a soft sniffle escaping from me here and there, but Joel stayed straight faced and silent. Once they were covered and I’d placed the makeshift crosses above them, we’d decided it was time to move on.

We’d been on foot for a few miles when we came across a vacant gas station. Joel forced the door open and held his gun up to make sure there weren’t any unwanted surprises. Once the coast was deemed clear I followed him into the dusty shack. The shelves had been mostly picked over except for a few cans and bags of things here and there. The most important thing I’d found was an old box of tampons. “Score.” I celebrated under my breath before shoving them into my bag. I had lost track of my period with all of the stress of the journey, but the full ache in my abdomen indicated it was oncoming.

Joel and I met at the front of the store again and agreed we’d gotten everything we could before heading back out onto the road. We’d begun walking but stopped in our tracks when we heard what sounded like a wolf whistle. I whipped my head around to see where the sound was coming from, and spotted a hooded man crouching behind an abandoned car. “What do we have here?” Another guy appeared from behind a closer car. “We don’t want any trouble.” Joel said, raising his hands. I copied his movements. “We don’t either, friend. But see, this territory is ours, and we’ve been livin’ off of that gas station for a couple weeks now, so I’d say we have dibs.” The guy said in an obnoxiously condescending tone. Air puffed through my nose as I tried to hold in a mocking laugh. His eyes shot to me, “What’s so funny, sugar?” His tone slightly lowered. I shook my head and kept my eyebrow raised in judgment at him, “Nothing, friend.” He placed his hands on his hips and pushed them towards me, “That’s what I thought. Knew a good lookin’ girl like you’d know not to disrespect a man like me.” I could feel Joel’s anger rising just the same as mine, but I kept cool. “And what kind of a man are you, sir?” I asked before stepping forward, and letting my eyes travel up and down his frame. My tactic of making him insecure was clearly working when he answered, “The kind who ain’t afraid to hit a lady. What with gender equality and all.” I balled my fists up and couldn’t control myself any longer. My knee connected with his crotch, and he doubled over momentarily before grabbing my shoulders and throwing me to the ground. By this time, the other guy that had been hiding had beelined for Joel and the two were in hand to hand combat. I yelped as my back made contact with the hard concrete and the wind was knocked out of me. The man stood above me with a menacing grin. I scrambled to get back to my feet but the heel of his boot was planted on my abdomen. “Look at you. Like a stuck little bird.” He taunted. I tried to roll out from under his foot, but as I turned to my stomach, his arms wrapped around my waist and he lifted me off the ground. I tried to kick and thrash, hoping he would drop me, but his grip was too strong. I heard Joel hollering after him but he was in a chokehold. “Let fucking go of me.” I shouted. “Can’t just yet, baby. Gotta teach you a little lesson about keeping your mouth shut.” He dragged me behind the gas station. A sickening feeling of dread filled my body as I realized what the man’s plan was. He threw me to the ground and kept his body on top of mine.

I shrieked and squirmed, trying to make this process as hard as possible for him. He became frustrated and raised his fist before bringing it down into my side. Agonizing pain spread up through my rib cage. My head flew back upon impact and my vision went blurry. I’d begun to accept my fate, but was incredibly relieved when a bullet pierced through the man’s skull and his body dropped to reveal a wild-eyed Joel. He practically ripped the man off of me and knelt down, “Did he-“ I cut him off, “No. Thank you.” I breathed. He let out a breath of relief and helped me to my feet. I winced at the pain in my side, but insisted it was nothing.

“Should’ve just let me handle it.” Joel grumbled as we walked off. “Negotiating wastes time. Would’ve been easier just to shoot ‘em.” I argued. “Wasn’t wasting ammo over some hicks. Next time, you let me do the talkin’.” He said sternly. “Not like you were the one who ended up behind a gas station getting your clothes torn off.” I mumbled angrily. “Again, wouldn’t have happened if you’d just kept your goddamn mouth shut.” Joel turned and stood, causing me to almost run into him. “You’re just like them.” I grunted. “Excuse me?” He said, his eyes squinting with astonishment. “You think of me as a small, weak thing. Just like they do. Telling me to shut my mouth, to obey you, and follow your lead.” I said, my voice wavering as tears of frustration threatened to fall. He breathed deeply through his nose and pressed his lips together, “Don’t you ever say that. I have done everything in my power to keep you alive and be respectful towards you.” He seethed. “Respectful?” I questioned, my voice filled with disbelief, “Telling me to shut my mouth is respectful? Barely talking to me and treating me like a piece of cargo is respectful?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I didn’t have to take you with me on this trip. I could have damn well told Abe to fuck off and gone off on my own. Would have been a hell of a lot easier, but I chose to do the right thing for once. All I asked was for you to follow my direction so we don’t get ourselves killed. I’m already doing my part. I don’t owe you friendly conversation, or emotional support.” He lamented. I stood there staring at him, “You’re right. I’m sorry for experiencing all of that shit and having a human reaction to it. I’m sorry I haven’t yet become jaded and calloused by the shitstorm that the world is like you have. But just like no one forced you to bring me with you, no one is forcing you to be my emotional support. You could have left me sobbing on the ground, I would have snapped out of it at some point, but you chose to comfort me. As for friendly conversation, we’re spending months together. Would it be such a bad thing to build some kind of trust? I promise I’m not trying to be a burden, or to cause more issues. I’m trying to get to my brother just like you are. It’s not my fault shit keeps happening to us.” He kept his eyes on the ground, “I know. I didn’t mean to blame you. I just… I was worried he was gonna..” He stumbled over his words. “Well if we’re not getting invested in each other you don’t need to care about that. We agreed to just get out of things alive and move on.” I said sternly before continuing to walk in front of him. I trudged along but my body flew to the ground when my foot got caught on something. “Shit. A trip wire. Get up!” Joel yelled and grabbed my backpack to lift me off the ground. I stumbled, but got to my feet and ran as fast as possible.

Trees whizzed past as Joel and I raced through the woods, trying to get whoever was after us off of our trail. “Don’t go straight, zig-zag!” Joel called out as he veered around trees and rocks behind me. The impact of the ground caused the pain in my ribs to spread across my chest, laboring my breathing even more. Joel must’ve heard my wheezing because he reassured me, “Just a minute more and we’ll probably have cleared ‘em.” I nodded, not having enough air to answer. We came to a clearing and Joel slowed down, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees. I did the same, but as I tried to catch my breath, my vision was blurring again. This time I wasn’t able to shake it, and felt myself collapse to the ground. Joel’s voice calling out my name sounded far away as I lost consciousness.

I woke up to a figure leaning over me and slapping my face gently. My name fell off of his lips followed by “Stay with me. C’mon.” I blinked, trying to regain my vision. Joel’s face became clear and I looked around. We were in a room. The walls were wooden logs stacked on top of each other, and the familiar musk of a cabin filled my nose. “Where are we?” I asked groggily. Joel handed me my canteen before explaining, “We’re in a cabin. Not far from where you collapsed on me.” I took a swig and put the cap back on while swallowing the warm, yet refreshing liquid. “Damn. I don’t remember walking here.” I grunted as I sat up, my side filling with the same searing pain that had knocked me unconscious. Joel shook his head, “You didn’t.” I shot him a questioning look, “You carried me?” My cheeks reddened at the thought of his arms wrapped around me, bearing my dead weight. I should have been embarrased, but to my dismay, I’d found it the slightest bit attractive. “Yeah. Not far. Just wanted to get us out of sight.” He explained. “Sorry you had to do that. And thank you.” I said. He just nodded and turned his attention to his backpack. “Joel?” His eyes shifted up to look at me again. “I’m sorry I compared you to one of them.” I said sheepishly as I played with the cuffs of my sweatshirt, “You’re nothing like them, and that was a really shitty dig. You’ve done a lot for me already, more than you’ve needed to. So thank you.” He kept his eyes on me and pressed his lips together before giving me a slight nod, then stood up from the side of the bed I was laid on and began to walk towards the door. “You’re still an asshole though, just in a different way.” I teased. He stopped in his tracks and turned to glance at me once more. I swore I saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. “Get some rest.” His gravelly voice commanded before he disappeared into the hallway. I laid my head down onto the soft pillow, and fell asleep with a slight smile on my face.

I woke up drenched in sweat. The room was darker than before, signifying that it was late into the night. I was pretty sure I’d woken myself up screaming, so I tried to slow the heaving of my chest by taking slower breaths, but the images of my gored brother continued to flash in my mind. I whimpered and smashed my head into my pillow, attempting to beat the irrational fears out of my mind. None of my usual tactics worked, and I realized I wasn’t getting back to sleep, so I painfully sat up and stood up off the bed. I opened the door slowly, avoiding the inevitable creaks from the old hinges. The hallway was dimly lit by the moonlight shining in through a large window at the end of it. It was propped open slightly, and the wind rippled through the thin fabric that was draped across it. I continued to explore the small cabin, and looked for another place to try and clear my thoughts. As I turned a corner, I jumped about four feet off of the ground and screamed bloody murder as I came face to face with a tall figure. “Shhhhhh it’s me.” Joel’s voice pierced through my panicked shrieks and his hands wrapped around my fists that I’d been blindly throwing around. “Fuck, Joel. What are you doing?” I breathed. I was relieved to know it was just him but also pissed that he would sneak up on me like that. “Findin’ out what the fuck you’re doin’.” He snapped back. “I couldn’t sleep. Was just finding a place to clear my mind.” I explained, still catching my breath from the fright. I leaned my back against the wall. “I see. This about Sam and Henry?” He asked. I sighed, “My brother. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it.” I said as I pushed up off of the wall and began to walk back towards my room.

“I ain’t sleepin’ either.” Joel said, stopping me in my tracks. Another peace offering. “Hmm. Too bad you ain’t keen on friendly conversation.” I said, mocking his southern twang. “Doesn’t have to be friendly. Could just be conversation.” He said in a suggestive tone. That was the first hint of charisma I’d ever experienced from him. It pulled a slight chuckle from my lips, and I subconsciously walked towards him. “You mean you’re willing to engage with me for more than five minutes and about something that’s not a travel plan?” I asked, hiding the excitement in my voice behind sarcasm. “We’ll see how much of it I can take.” He mumbled. We were not only having a casual conversation but were, dare I say, flirting?

I plopped into the couch that had been pushed up against the front window of the cabin. Joel sat back into the chair across the room, sipping something from a glass. I perked up, “Is that?” I asked. He nodded and offered me the glass. “Where did you find it?” I asked again as I accepted it from him. “Took a bottle from Bill and Frank’s reserve. The bottle’s gone. It was back in the truck, but I had some left in my flask.” He explained. “Oh… I won’t drink your last few sips then.” I said, holding it out for him to take it back. “Nah… you need it more than me.” He said waving me away with his hand. I hesitated at first, making sure he was serious, and then took a swig. There was about a sip left and I insisted he take it back. He obliged.

“What makes you think I need it more than you?” I asked, licking the remaining sweetness off of my lips. He thought for a moment, mulling his words around his brain, then spoke, “You were havin’ nightmares.” I nodded. “Bout what?” He asked, his tone staying monotonous so as to not expose his curiosity. I sighed and turned my head, regretting the fact that I’d agreed to talk to him. I’d wanted to continue to throw his words back into his face, but even he was going against his previous statements now. I was breaking him down, brick by brick.

“It’s a recurring one. My brother getting ripped apart by clickers. It’s the ugliest death possible, so of course my brain would decide it should be the focus of my dreams.” I said sarcastically. Joel just nodded, taking in my words. “I don’t know why that’s the one. I’ve gone through so much other shit that could easily be in my nightmares. Why am I dreaming about that specifically?” I lamented. “Cus that’s the thing you’re most afraid of.” Joel answered, “Simple as that.” I clenched my jaw, “Guess so. What do you dream about?” I asked. He swirled the last sip of the whiskey around in the glass before gulping it down and saying, “Don’t dream much these days.”

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Next Part | Masterlist

#joel miller x reader #joel tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x female reader #tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #romance #slow burn #enemies to lovers #light angst #the mandolarian #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #forced proximity trope

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batrachised · 2 months

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an update on what I DID do this week, because it mainly involved taxes and cleaning (I made zero progress writing, and in fact moved backwards because I decided I want the novel to be in first person...alas!)

this week, I have:

taped a bedraggled attic duct

changed a musty dusty furnace filter

boiled an ant hill

caulked a leaky creaky shower

hatcheted a stubborn tree root

defeated a threatening bush via clippers

Dug up an unwanted root with a shovel

Raked leaves...so many leaves (but it's spring batrachised! you might be saying...yes, yes it is. that is how long these leaves have been there)

did my taxes (in less than 15 minutes, I'll have ya'll know)

met a woman straight out of an lm montgomery novel who informed me the previous resident died of cancer but that it was their fault bless their heart because they spent too much time sun bathing

emailed a mother superior about yarn

what will next week hold?? hopefully some actual writing...we shall see, we shall see

#the accountant brag #“yeah I can do my taxes in sub ten hoping to reach sub five next year”#<- none of that is actual accounting culture the shorter your taxes take the less wealth you have lmao #yes i'm moving and I should have known that any other goals would be ridiculous but lent is FORTY DAYS #i STILL HAVE TIME TO WRITE #the recipe I'm unworried about #but then novel...BIG YIKES

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 1 year

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“ROAD GANG EMPLOYEE TO SERVE MONTH FOR SEDITION,” Porcupine Advance (Timmins). November 24, 1932. Page 2.1. ---- Amadeo Bonetti, a Swiss who has been in Canada for ten years, and who was arrested after trouble last May at Moore Lake Camp where he had been working with one of the construction gangs on the Trans-Canada highway, was last week sentenced to one month in jail on a charge of making seditious utterances. The accused pleaded guilty and said he was sorry and that his statements had been made in a temper. The fact that the seditious talk came close to helping along a serious situation was not lost sight of by the court and Mr. Justice Wright who tried the case at Pembroke while agreeing with the crown prosecutor, said that he felt that some punishment should be imposed. The month's term was then imposed, this short sentence being no doubt due to the fact that the man had been in jail for six months awaiting trial. The man seems to have been the victim of the agitation and propaganda carried on by aliens in the country for several years. His case should be a warning to all foolish enough to listen to these alien agitators. At the Moore Lake Camp there was a sort of Soviet uprising with talk of pulling down the Union Jack and stepping on it, throwing off all those in authority and all the other disloyal stuff talked about by the group of alien agitators. Bonetti pleaded guilty, and his counsel asked for leniency, pointing cut that he had already been in jail for six months, that he had been a model prisoner in jail, and that though in Canada for ten years he had never been in trouble before. Peter White, crown porsecutor, said he felt it was not a case requiring exemplary punishment. He believed the utterances had been made in a fit of temper, and he was quite agreeable to a lenient sentence, and did not ask for deportation.

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scoops-aboy86 · 1 month

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Cute hospital date shenanigans for the boys, and a brief shovel talk from Robin. 😊

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9 of the love spell no go au

They do have their hospital cafeteria date a few weeks later, and the food is as terrible as Steve promised. Or it looks terrible, anyway; Eddie sticks to jello. Eventually Steve gives up on the saddest attempt at a club sandwich either of them has ever seen (and Eddie has been privy to Wayne’s half-hearted bachelor attempts in the kitchen for years), gets back in line, and comes back with a tray full to capacity with more jello cups.

They attempt to treat them like jello shots until Eddie nearly busts a stitch laughing. Not quite, but It still hurts, and Steve keeps falling all over himself apologizing for the next half hour, but Eddie genuinely doesn’t care. It feels like he hasn’t been able to laugh like that in years, and before he’d grabbed his side and said “Ow” he thinks Steve looked more carefree than he’d seen him in… possibly ever. The existence of Upside Down had been weighing on him for years, and even though Eddie hadn’t known at the time he can tell that Steve holds himself differently now that it’s gone. In just the time Eddie has been awake, the dark smudges under his eyes have gotten lighter, less severe.

And, Robin tells him one of the rare occasions Steve isn’t at his bedside, the obsessive jogging and workout sessions have tapered off.

“Thank god,” Eddie groans, leaning theatrically back into his pillows as if in a swoon. “I don’t think my delicate constitution could handle it if he ever asked me to go for a run with him.” But really, he’s relieved that Steve isn’t pushing himself so hard, running himself ragged to prepare for a threat that has finally been put down for good.

Robin snorts. “Yeah, I think we can safely rule out that happening. He pestered Dustin into helping him find books on physical therapy at the library though, so I’m pretty sure you’re still in for it.”

“… Okay, that sounds ominous.”

“Doesn’t it just.” She leans forward, eyes narrowing slightly. “The dingus is very invested in making sure you heal up as best you can, and I think you know what happens when he sets his mind to something. You’re going to get well to within an inch of your life, mister, and if you ever bitch enough to make him truly upset or feel unwanted in any way, I will destroy your fretting hand. Got it?”

Eddie swallows hard. “Loud and clear, Bucks.”

“Good!” Robin sits back, switching easily from deeply threatening to relaxed and smirking. “Now that that’s out of the way, I can tease you for being just as much of a romantic as he is. A love spell, really?”

That’s when Steve returns from the bathroom, overhears, and groans. “Rob, I hadn’t told him I told you yet! You’re making me look like a jackass…”

“No no, I knew what I was getting into with you two,” Eddie says, recovering from the threat Steve had missed and flashing him a grin—because he does. Even before he was clued in on all the monster hunting stuff, he’s seen how close Steve and Robin have become since last summer. It makes even more sense now that he knows about the Russians (and that as a lesbian and a bisexual dude they’d bonded over a shared appreciation of boobies) but he already knew they tell each other everything and support each other relentlessly, even if it’s something dumb. Maybe especially if it’s something dumb.

And then he turns back to Robin with a gleam in his eye.

“By the way, Bucks, you might want to get used to the door swinging both ways, because I heard about the time you screwed up the laundry and crawled in his window before dawn on a school day looking like a pink marshmallow peep trying to steal some of his clothes.”

Robin whips her head around towards Steve. “You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone about that!”

“Why are both of you doing this to me?” Steve asks with a pout. “What did I do?”

“You’re a gossip, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him with a grin. “But we both still love you, don’t worry. Here, you want my pudding cup?”

“I thought that was the only part of the shitty hospital meals you actually like,” Steve protests, but gamely comes over (via the side of the bed opposite of Robin, who sticks her tongue out at him) and settles himself carefully on the edge of the bed at Eddie’s side.

“The meatloaf is marginally more edible than whatever that chicken casserole thing they usually serve. But we can share,” Eddie offers, and takes Steve’s pleased hum as his answer.

“You guys are going to give me a toothache,” Robin grumbles.

Steve lifts his head a little. “Shit, that reminds me. Help me remember later to call the dentist?” He’s looking at Robin, but quickly redirects his attention as soon as Eddie nudges the pudding spoon against his lips.

“Oh? What happened to Mr. Oh So Superior, ‘I never have to go to the dentist Robs, that whole summer eating ice cream and not one single cavity’?”

At the word ‘cavity,’ a tiny landslide of memory is triggered in the back of Eddie’s head and he clears his throat sheepishly. “Uh, that might’ve been me, actually. The not getting cavities after Scoops, and the, um, getting them again now.”

Steve pauses with his mouth full of a second spoonful, little traces of chocolate on his lips that Eddie is valiantly resisting licking right now. His “Mm-hmm?” sounds like it’s maybe meant to be a ‘Really?’

So Eddie explains some of his panicked spellcasting while Steve was missing beneath the mall. Steve and Robin keep exchanging these looks—”Was it to protect teeth or nails, Munson? Which one?” “Yeah, because I almost got a nail pulled off with Russian pliers, so maybe it was both” is a series of sentences that will haunt him for a long time—and by the time it’s over he’s promised to recast that spell for the entire Party. He declines to mention it’ll probably be a while before he has the energy for that and will leave him with a monster headache whenever he does, because they just saved the fucking world. And yeah, the government is flat out paying them not to tell anyone about it this time along with the usual NDAs, but they definitely deserve to exist free of dental expenses for the rest of their lives.

Also by the end of the conversation, Steve has absentmindedly finished off the pudding. Eddie doesn’t even mind, just chuckles and kisses Steve’s nose when he tries to apologize, because he’d wanted his boy to have it anyway.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 11

#wg steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #love spell no go au #scoops words

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sotwk · 4 months

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4th Day of Yule: “Four Calling Birds”

Prince Arvellas Thranduilion x Reader

Third Age 247

Men-i-Naugrim, Eryn Galen

At first, the cacophony of merry calling, booming laughter, pounding hooves, and exploding snowbanks unsettled you. You had served in the House of Thranduil all your life, just as your parents had, and you frequently saw the king's sons around the palace. You thought you knew those princes well--or at least as well as a scribe-in-residence would reasonably be expected to know the royals. This morning however, you realized you had been given a unique opportunity to see the princes in a different light, released from the confines of court protocol and formalities.

Who would have thought those gentle-mannered, refined lords could be so… so… wild out in the…wild?

“No no no!!! I said I was not ready! That was foul play!” Young Prince Gelir sputtered, shaking off the mound of snow that had been dumped over his head by the shovel-sized hands of Prince Turhir. He clutched the silver mane of his horse to maintain his position on its saddleless back, while pawing furiously at his wet face. “You sneak! You rotten--”

You diverted your eyes, which had gone wide at the outburst of coarse verbiage from the prince’s mouth. Most of the cursing was drowned out by the taunting howls and cackles of Princes Mirion and Turhir, which were even more shocking sounds coming from the noble elder sons of King Thranduil. Noro! Noro! The deep voices shouted, and in thundering gallops all three riders vanished yet again behind the trees further down the Forest Road.

“What does that word mean?”

You turned to the littlest of the Thrandilions, Legolas, where he squirmed in his seat on the sleigh between you and Prince Arvellas. Thankfully, his brother, who had remained silent for most of the ride so far, spoke up to answer.

“Nothing you need to learn or utter for a while yet.” Arvellas shook his head and smiled. “In fact, I would advise you to avoid repeating any new words you hear coming out of Gelir’s mouth--especially when he is yelling them.”

Legolas scrunched up his nose and nodded. “All right.” The elfling leapt back up on his feet, despite being asked to sit down only a few minutes ago. You and Arvellas exchanged glances, and he raised his shoulders in a resigned shrug. It was probably too much to expect of a five-year-old to sit still, anyway.

Legolas had already pouted plenty over the fact that he had to ride in the sleigh instead of being allowed a steed of his own. You sympathized with his frustration at first-- until you witnessed the sort of risky play the princes liked to engage in. You adored horses, even though you did not ride or own one, but the princes’ giant Arrochs, taller than you by over two feet, wider than a bull elk and possessing unpredictable temperament, frightened you a little. The older princes seemed to wield full mastery over them, but even Gelir was just starting to learn, so you shared in the Queen’s reluctance to permit little Legolas to mount one just yet.

“Look up there, your High--Legolas!” You pointed towards the naked boughs of a nearby tree, where a curious tree mouse scrambled across a high overhanging branch to watch their sleigh pass by. “That one is called a skyrunner.”

The elfling oohed and ahhed with loud appreciation, as he did at every creature you pointed out to him. Seeing the unbridled enthusiasm of a child enjoying new woodland discoveries made you so very glad you pushed aside your nervousness and accepted Arvellas’s invitation to join them on their winter ride down the Men-i-Naugrim.

But being in the presence of the Scholar Prince in this situation, even surrounded by his boisterous siblings, challenged your ability to wrestle away unwanted thoughts about him. It was easier to think of yourself as his mere colleague when you were busy working side-by-side in the libraries, with piles of texts to fill your mind. You reasoned that Arvellas had asked you to come for the benefit of your wildlife expertise; no had yet surpassed you in the number of pages written to document the native flora and fauna of Eryn Galen.

And what a pleasure it was to travel through these woods with the princes! For no matter how loudly they hollered, how fiercely they threw snowballs at each other, or how savagely their horses charged in and out through the trees, the forest animals did not retreat from their chaos. In the many years you had dedicated to tracking the native beasts of this realm, you had never before seen so many different creatures and rare species all at once come out of hiding, drawn to the exuberant energy of the five Thranduilions.

You were so enraptured by the number of singing birds that perched on the sleigh’s front bow, and the squirrels that scrambled onto the backs of the pulling horses, and the one cheeky fox that crept up a delighted Legolas’s lap for some pets, that you did not immediately notice that Arvellas’s eyes were not on the wondrous sight of the gathered animals. His gaze, perpetually kind and soft, and blue as the sunny winter skies, had settled solely on you.

When you looked up and your gaze finally crossed paths with his, a strange, completely unwilled squeak flew from your throat. Mortified with yourself, you scooted sideways on the cushioned bench to maximize the distance between you. Suddenly, his arm stretched out and his hand encased your fingers in a tender squeeze that sent a clear message.

You found yourself leaning close to the prince, drawn to him just like the woodland creatures were, goosebumps rippling over your skin when he whispered your name. His hand left yours to reach for your face, and your eyelids fluttered in anticipation.

“SNOW!!!” Legolas yelled happily, dropping back down in the center seat while you lurched away in time to avoid knocking heads. “It is snowing!”

At least the falling ice flakes kept the elfling completely oblivious! As you tried to gather your composure, the roar of laughter announced the return of the other princes. Three riders burst back out on the road ahead, but only Mirion drove his horse all the way up to the sleigh.

“Come on, honeg,” the eldest prince said, and stretched out his hand to Legolas. “I will take you for a turn.”

The elfling jumped up so hastily he almost toppled off the sleigh. “Truly??”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Arvellas tried to say, even as Mirion yanked their littlest brother onto the Arroch’s back, securing the child in the circle of his arms.

“This is his opportunity.” You did not miss the twinkle in the Crown Prince’s eyes, and certainly not the indiscreet wink he tossed at Arvellas. “And what can be wiser than seizing hold of every opportunity?”

They galloped off to rejoin Turhir and Gelir, and their merry band launched into a raucous song that faded with them into the distance, leaving behind the sleigh in the silence of the falling snow.

It took a very long minute before Arvellas finally broke that silence. “I apologize if this outing has not turned out to be quite what you expected,” he sighed.

“No… I suppose it hasn’t.” You took a deep breath, and something in the smell of the fresh snow and the way it brushed your cheeks gave you courage. Or perhaps the princes’ attitude of reckless abandon had pulled you in, too.

You scooted back across the bench, even closer this time, and snuggled in when Arvellas moved his arm to welcome you and draw you against the warmth of his chest. “Because I never would have dared expect anything as wonderful or perfect as this.”

Yuletide Series MASTERLIST

Yule Event Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @freshalmondpandadonut @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @spacecluster @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell @acornsandoaktrees @warriormirkwood @emmanuellececchi @minaturefics

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pedrito-friskito · 7 months

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part thirty

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

you make an unwanted but surprising detour, and find something of a silver lining.

a/n: ok I know I said the weekend and I know I’ve sucked at posting but I’ve finally got back into the swing of writing and I’ve written almost up to part 32 so here we go!!! thank u forever for ur support bbys 💕

word count: 6k

warnings: y’all know the drill.

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

“You’re okay,” you say over again. You’ve said it so many times in the last half hour it’s starting to sound less like words, more like meaningless sounds.

The carpet is stained with blood, crimson pools stretching outwards, but you’ve kept Ellie away from it, still on the ground, pressed against the wall beside the bedroom door, which now lays on the floor in front of you.

She hasn’t stopped crying, and neither have you. Hot tears flooded your cheeks as soon as Henry’s body thumped to the floor, and Joel had stood there for a long moment, one hand covering his mouth. Ellie sobbed loudly in your ear, and you called your husband’s name, your voice cracking around it.

He half-turned to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, blinking wildly. “What d’we—what just…Liv—”

“We need to bury them,” you told him bluntly, your voice somehow strong as more tears fell down your cheeks, dripping off your chin and into Ellie’s hair, “and we need to get out of here.”

Loudly, he clears his throat, and you can see the shift in his expression. That hard mask of his, all too familiar to you now, falls into place. He steps into the bedroom, returning a second later with blankets, and covers both the boys’ bodies with them. Then he comes back to where you’re still sitting with Ellie and crouches down.

“There’s a hardware store next door. I’m gonna go check it out, see if I can find some shovels or something to…” He trails off, wetness creeping into his eyes, and you nod.

“Go,” you tell him, jutting your chin towards the rifle, propped beside the door. “Be safe.”

He leans in, pecks your forehead. “Always. You’ll be okay with…?”

You nod again. “I’ll get her cleaned up.” As soon as he disappears out the door, you curl your hand around Ellie’s shoulder, shaking her slightly. “Ellie? C’mon, honey, can you get up?”

She sniffles loudly, but nods against your collar. It’s slow going, you favouring your good leg as you slide back up the wall, taking her with you, trying to shield her from seeing the boys’ covered bodies. Once you’re standing, you steer her toward the bathroom, keeping one arm braced across her shoulders. She keeps her head tucked beneath your chin, and you try to ignore the way your heart constricts in your chest.

You just want to protect her.

In the bathroom, you give her a good once over, making sure Sam hadn’t injured her in their tussle. After a moment, she waves you off, mumbling that she’s fine, and starts rummaging in the cabinets beneath the sink. There’s a near-triumphant look on her face when she produces a mostly-looted first aid kit, but there’s a wrapped roll of gauze tucked in one of the pockets. “We should change the bandage on your leg.”

You’re both silent as you work, peeling away the bandage Joel had wrapped you with last night. There’s no water to clean it out, but Ellie darts from the bathroom for a moment and returns with her backpack, producing an alcohol wipe.

You slam your palm against the counters as she cleans the blood from your skin, trying to avoid the wound, but it burns like hell. “Sorry,” she murmurs, but you shake your head.

After the gauze has been tied, Ellie sinks back on her heels as you adjust your torn pants around the bandages, testing your weight slightly. The far-off look in her eye is not unlike the look you’d seen on her face when you’d escaped the chaos of last night, after that Infected kid had ripped into Kathleen.

“You don’t have to,” you start, and your voice makes her flinch, but pulls her gaze up to you, “but I’m here, if you want to talk about it. You know that, right?”

She nods, and a single tear slips down her cheek. “I tried to save him.”

Your chest feels tight. “Sam?”

Another nod, and slowly, she gets to her feet, looking anywhere but your face. “I thought…I thought if I gave him some of my blood, then maybe…” She shakes her head. “It isn’t fair.”

“No,” you agree, offering her your hand. “It isn’t.”

“I was really scared,” she tells you, wrapping her fingers around yours, “when you stayed behind back there. Joel said he’d go back for you, once we were safe, but I thought—”

“Shh,” you hush, tugging on her hand and pulling her against your chest again. She buries her face in your collar once more and you hug her close, planting your cheek on top of her head. “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

You can feel her nod, and she gives a quiet, “Okay.”

“Here to Wyoming, I have no idea what’s going to happen. Something tells me that everything we’ve been through so far has been the easy part, and that scares the hell out of me. But what I do know is that from here on out, we stay together. And Joel and I will keep our promises: we’ll keep you safe. No matter what. You understand me?” She squeezes her arms around your middle, but says nothing. “Ellie?”

She pulls back, tear tracks on her face and nods. “I understand.”

You cup her warm cheek in your palm and wipe a tear away. “Good.”

Joel calls your name suddenly, his voice echoing through the hotel room, and you touch Ellie’s shoulder before stepping around her and out of the bathroom. His brow is hard when you look at him, but he’s got a shovel in his hands, and over his shoulder, you can see a wheelbarrow and another shovel.

You sidestep the covered bodies, trying to ignore the way your throat seizes when you see Sam’s much smaller form from the corner of your eye. Joel reaches for you as soon as you’re close enough, pulling you into the doorway of the hotel room.

“She okay?”

You sigh. “Are you?”

He shakes his head. Not now. His lips form a tight line. “We need to get this done.” But then his free hand comes to rest on your hip, his eyes darting down between you, and you see a crack in his mask. “How’s the leg?”

“I’ll live.”

“Olivia—”

“It’s fine, Joel, okay? Like you already said, we go slow.” You glance over your shoulder at the bathroom just as Ellie steps through the doorway. “We stay together.”

Stepping out of the bathroom completely, Ellie’s expression is the polar opposite of what you’d seen a few moments ago. The hard mask of her expression mirrors Joel’s, and your throat bobs as she steps quickly to where you’re both standing. Wordlessly, she grabs a shovel from the wheelbarrow, and takes off across the hotel parking lot, towards the other side of the road, where the pavement gives way to grassy ground.

You go to reach for one of the other shovels, but Joel stops you. Your brow raises. “You must be out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m staying in here while you two go dig holes.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll grab their bags. Might be something useful that Henry had. See what you can find.”

You stifle your misplaced anger and nod. “Okay.”

While Joel and Ellie dig, you consolidate your gear. Ellie’s backpack was the only one between the three of you, and you can’t bring yourself to carry Sam’s, so Henry’s bag becomes Joel’s new one. Flashlights, some batteries, a singular can of beans, a pencil, a few of the comics Sam and Ellie had bonded over, a knife, the empty guns the boys had threatened you with back in the high-rise. The parchment-wrapped food you’d given them.

Henry’s voice echoes through your head.

New day, new start.

Except it’s not a new day. It’s the same day, and you want to scream with everything that’s happened. The shred of hope you’d found in those two boys, snuffed out in an instant.

You ignore the prick in your eyes as you refill the bags, sheath the knife at your hip, put the comics into Ellie’s backpack. Once you’re done, you get to your feet, still favouring your leg as you call out to Joel. “I’m gonna go see what else I can find in the hardware store.”

He nods and points to the rifle he’d set on the ground. “Be safe.”

With the gun slung over your shoulder, you head for the building behind the hotel. There’s the hardware store, and attached to it, what you think might have once been a coffee shop. Most of the storefront is shattered, and you can see the space Joel had cleared, the glass brushed away from the window ledge, enough for you to climb through.

It’s dark inside, and you flick on a flashlight, the beam tracing across the mess inside. You spot a few shovels on the ground — most of them broken — and assume Joel hadn’t gone much farther than he had to. You do a quick sweep, making sure there are no Infected lurking in the darkened corners or behind closed doors.

What would happen, you wonder, if you were bitten again? Sure, you survived the first one, but who’s to say a second one wouldn’t do you in? Ellie was fine after the bite she’d gotten in the museum back in Boston, but did that mean the same for you?

The image of Sam attacking Ellie, thrashing at her while she screamed for you and Joel, creeps into your mind. The terror on her face — not entirely from being bit, you now realize, but also from the fact that it was her friend now trying to kill her.

You shake your head, brush away the tears that have formed.

Just keep going.

The store is empty of Infected, save for one you find tucked inside what you assume was once the break room. Stuck to the wall, fungus sprouting everywhere you look. It’s similar to the one you’d found down in the subway, the one that had scared Tess when you’d gone to confront Robert.

The first time you met Ellie.

So much has changed since then, it feels like a punch in the gut. You stumble back out of the room, the door swinging shut behind you, and drop to your knees, ignoring the pang in your leg as you hit the floor. The rifle nearly slips from your shoulder, and the flashlight pinches between your knuckles on the ground.

You open your mouth to scream, and no sound comes out.

A few minutes pass, you’re sure of it, banging your fist against the long-broken concrete tile, tears streaming down your cheeks and wetting the ground beneath you. Henry and Sam, Tess, Bill and Frank. The most recent losses sting, but they only make way for the ones that haunt you, remnants of the past you’ve kept buried too long.

Emily and Henry. Deanna. Nick. Tommy.

You don’t know if they’re alive. In your mind, the kids are still kids, but you realize that they’d be far from it now if they’re still breathing, still themselves.

Not…

You shake your head, pressing your forehead to the mossy floor and shoving your hands through your hair. You can’t think like that. It’s a path you can’t let yourself go down, one that only leads to dark places, places you’ve explored before.

Places you refuse to go.

But the loss still rolls through you, pulling more faces to the surface. Ones you know are gone.

Your parents. Anna. Sarah.

It’s just not fair. Any of it.

Sighing, you force yourself to your feet, using the rifle like a crutch to get upright. You swipe at your cheeks, lifting the flashlight and starting down the aisles.

You don’t find much. The store has clearly been picked over since the outbreak, and there’s not much left, but you manage to find a few things of use. A length of rope, a small hunting knife, an empty canteen, some camping cookware. It’s mostly metal cups, dinged and dented in places, but it’s something. You find another bag too — a canvas backpack similar to the one Henry had carried — and stuff your new items inside.

You realize you’ve been gone long enough that Joel will start to worry, and head for the front of the hardware store. As you reach the broken window, the coffee shop next door catches your eye, and you see there’s an opening that leads into it from the hardware store. Whether or not the opening was always there, you’re not sure, but you step through anyway, swinging the flashlight beam behind the high counter, craning your neck to make sure nothing’s lurking in the shadows.

Satisfied that there’s nothing, you make your way around the counter, poking at the shelves and cupboards. A rat scurries out of one of the cupboards and makes you jump, but when you flinch back, your boot connects with something that sounds hollow, and your brow raises.

You move slow, praying it’s not another rat, but when you pull on the cupboard, it won’t open. Locked. Brow furrowing, you sink down, pulling the knife from your belt. It takes a bit of finesse, tongue pressed between your teeth, but when you finally get the lock free, falling back on your ass with a huff, your breath catches when you see what was locked away.

Coffee.

Not instant, but the good stuff. Three bags of it. The kind that Frank always plied you with when you visited Lincoln. The kind that Cowan always had on hand just for you when you two were still…

The kind that you and Joel would share back in Austin, your breaks from the hardware store spent getting your caffeine fix and stealing kisses in the alleyway.

There’s even a stack of to-go cups beside the bags of coffee grounds, along with a French press.

You just start laughing. The tears come back, and you laugh until your sides hurt. It’s like the universe is saying, not fair? How’s this for not fair?

Calling it a silver lining would be pushing it. A bright spot, maybe.

Once your laughter and tears subside, you take all of it, stashing it with everything else you found in the hardware store. You can’t wait to tell Joel.

As soon as you step back outside, however, the sight before you sobers you again.

Joel is tamping down the dirt again, smoothing it out with the end of the shovel. Your throat bobs as you head back to where he stands, favouring your good leg. The pain has lessened some, but the ache is still there. Go slow, you remind yourself. Go slow, stay together.

As you reach Joel, Ellie comes into view, wearing her jacket, Joel’s in her hand. She’s holding Sam’s writing board. Your heart sinks and Joel reaches for you, brow raising at the bag over your shoulder, but you wave him off, leaning against him as Ellie hands him his coat.

The graves are unmarked, and none of you say a word as Ellie sets Sam’s board onto the ground. The wind whooshes in your ears as she straightens and steps away from the graves. She turns and looks back at you both, and her voice is flat as she asks, “Which way’s west?”

Joel tilts his head, looking over yours, past the hotel and the hardware store. The road stretches on until it fades into the horizon. Ellie just nods and starts walking toward the curb. You open your mouth to call after her, but something stops you.

Joel’s arm settles across your shoulders, and he squeezes you against him, pressing his mouth to your temple. You sling your arms around his waist, pulling him closer, inhaling deeply.

You look down at the grave — Sam’s grave.

Written on the board: I’m sorry.

“Let’s go,” Ellie calls with that still-flat tone, and you both turn to see her standing at the road, looking expectantly back at you.

You give her a nod, stepping away from Joel as he reaches down for Henry’s backpack. He takes the rifle from you and you take his coat, offering him your free hand as he slings the bag over his shoulder, then the rifle. He takes it, twines your fingers together, and you start toward the pavement. His grip on your hand is tight, and you can tell he’s trying to take some of your weight, to keep you off your injured leg. You let him.

Ellie’s eyes are glued to your linked hands as you reach the curb. They flick to your face for a second and you open your mouth again to say something, but she turns before you can get a word out. Joel squeezes your hand, and you can feel him looking at you, but you shake your head.

Time to go.

Somewhere outside of Omaha…

It’s slow fucking going.

Joel knew it would be. He doesn’t want to push you harder than he needs to. Between your leg and the concussion you’d more than likely received (and barely got over) in Kansas City, he’s watching you like a hawk. He notices Ellie doing the same, the girl lurching for your side when you wobble, slipping herself under your shoulder to give you some support when your leg refuses to. He gives her a nod each time he sees it, a silent thank you, and she just nods in return.

The days are quiet. None of you have much to say, and in all honesty, Joel’s still reeling from everything that happened in KC. The scene plays over again and again in his mind, the way you’d grabbed Ellie and tried to shield her from it, the way Henry had stared at Sam’s lifeless body.

What did I do…?

It’s all haunting him, every goddamned thing. Everything that’s happened to you since you left Boston, and hell, everything before that. It sits heavy on his chest, a gnawing pain that seems to have woven itself around his ribs, squeezing tighter when his mind wanders away from the present moment, sifting through memories that play more like a horror movie than a lifetime.

From the moment you left Boston, almost nothing has gone as you’d planned it. Joel knows he should have expected more than a few hiccups, but…losing Tess that way. Everything you uncovered in Lincoln. You’d nearly been killed twice in Kansas City, and if Kathleen hadn’t brought you with her, if that horde hadn’t appeared when it did, he doesn’t know what…

“Joel,” your voice calls, soft, accompanied by a gentle squeeze to his shoulder. He blinks, your voice muffled in his bad ear as you say his name again. “Baby, eat something, please.”

He scrubs his hand down his face, forcing himself out of his head. You’re stopped for the night, tucked in the back room of a long-forgotten convenience store. Ellie is passed out on the sleeping bag behind you, her coat zipped to her chin, hands folded underneath. She looks so much younger while she sleeps, and it makes the pain in Joel’s chest tighten when her brow furrows and she mumbles something unintelligible.

Your gaze follows his, your head turning to Ellie as she mutters again. You reach out, your hand landing on her leg, squeezing softly. “Hey,” he hears you say, “you’re okay.”

Joel’s eyes flutter shut, and suddenly he’s back in that hotel room, seeing the pair of you pressed to the wall, hearing your broken voice mutter the same two words over and over again. He can smell the iron tang of blood in the air, the gunshot still echoing through his head.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

Ellie says your name, more of a whimper than a word, and Joel ignores the sting in his eyes as he opens them again. He can see the wetness on her cheeks from where he’s sat, the camping lantern set between the two of you the only light in the space. “We’re right here,” you continue, your voice still so soft. “You’re safe, El. Nothing’s gonna happen, alright? Go back to sleep.”

She nods and Joel swallows back the lump in his throat.

Turning back to him, you slide the half-empty can across the ground. “Eat, Joel.”

He bites back his protest. There’s that glint of determination in your eye, one that’s been there as long as he’s known you, and he knows you’re not taking no for an answer. He’s been off since you left the hotel, and he knows you’ve noticed. You know him too well, and enough to know not to press him, not yet. He doesn’t know what he would say to you right now if you did.

You give a slight nod when he picks up the can, tips it back until the cold…soup? He thinks? Whatever it is, it’s long past its best-before date, but there’s something resembling a vegetable inside, the broth made slightly more tolerable by the bit of water you’d mixed in.

Once it’s empty, Joel sets the can down as quietly as he can, then gestures to you. “Lemme see your leg.”

This time, it’s you biting back your protest. He sees it in the crease of your brow, the way you bite the inside of your lip as you plant your hands on the ground, shuffling awkwardly to his side. You wince as he curls a hand around your knee, lifting your leg into his lap. There’s blood on the bandage wrapped around your thigh, red blooming through the gauze, and Joel grits his teeth. Carefully, he pulls the bandage away and you inhale sharply, reaching up and fisting the shoulder of his coat in your hand.

His brows pull down. Ideally, you would have had stitches, or some of that medical glue crap he remembers you having back in Boston. Probably brought it with you when you left, too, but your bag is long gone, most likely looted by Kathleen’s cronies. Ellie had found bandages back in the hotel, some stroke of luck, but they’ve run out, and Joel’s resorted to tearing up strips of his t-shirt to wrap around your thigh.

But it’s not enough. The going slow hasn’t been slow enough. “Where’s the water?” he mutters, tossing the soiled bandage away. You jut your chin to your backpacks, on the ground beside the lantern.

“My bag,” you answer, and Joel reaches for it, pulls out the canteen you’d found back in the hardware store. He pulls out his mostly torn t-shirt too, wetting the sleeve and using it like a cloth. You whimper as he cleans away some of the blood, bending slightly to inspect your skin. It looks just as bad as it had that night, if not a little worse.

Your fingers tighten in his coat, your mouth pressed to his shoulder, biting the fabric of his coat to combat the pain. “I know,” he murmurs softly, turning his head slightly to kiss your forehead. “I’m sorry, baby; we can’t let this get infected.” It’s a miracle it’s not already, but he doesn’t want to say that out loud. “We need to keep you off your feet for a while, somehow. It’s not getting any better.”

You shake your head, pain flaring in your eyes. “We can’t stop, Joel. Not here. It’s not safe, it’s not…” A tear falls down your cheek. “It’s only been a few days.”

“It’s been two weeks, Liv,” he tells you, rubbing his palm over your knee as he wipes at more blood. “Two weeks, and you’re still bleeding. We have to do something.”

Your head turns, your gaze landing on Ellie’s sleeping figure. When you look back at him, there’s a tear on your other cheek. “Fine. We find somewhere safe, for all of us. No splitting up, none of that bullshit ever again, you hear me?”

Joel actually cracks a laugh at your tone. “Yes, ma’am.” He leans in, gives you the softest kiss, forcing himself to ignore the way his blood rushes south at the little noise you make, the way your hand comes up to cup his scruffy jaw. “Like I’d let you out of my sight.”

The corner of your mouth twitches, but no smile follows. The pain in Joel’s chest squeezes slightly and he rubs your knee again, tilting his face up to press a kiss to your forehead. “Joel?”

“Yeah, baby?”

A tear rolls down your cheek, slips off the curve of your chin, splattering onto his sleeve. “Tell me we’re gonna be okay.”

His chest twinges again, his ribs constricting, mind reeling. He changes his grip, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to his chest.

“We’re gonna be okay.”

You know he’s right.

You know you’re all going to be okay, that your leg will heal and that you’ll find someplace safe to be while you do. You want to believe that everything you’ve lost thus far isn’t just a precursor to more. You want to believe Tommy is still in Wyoming, and you want to believe that you’ll survive to see him, to see the look on Joel’s face when he sees his brother again.

You want to believe Ellie’s nightmares will stop, that the pained expression that crosses Joel’s face when he thinks you’re not looking will go away, that the way your whole body is tense all day, every day, waiting for the other shoe to drop, that it’ll all cease.

You have a sinking feeling that the only way those will stop…

You can’t even say the words out loud. You won’t.

It’s all gonna be okay.

It has to be.

The Omaha QZ was a third of the size of Boston, and only lasted three years past the outbreak. Vaguely, you can remember the reports, soldiers passing information back and forth through the radios, the same radios you’d camped out at with Cowan, desperate to hear news of your family, of Joel’s.

God, it’s all so long ago, isn’t it? A lifetime.

Knowing what you do, you steer clear of the mostly-standing QZ walls. It’s been the same since you left Kansas City: Joel takes the lead, Ellie covers his bad side, and you stay close to her. If you so much as wobble, she’s there, tucked under your arm, keeping you upright.

“Thanks, kid.”

She only ever just nods.

Eventually, the city gives way to nature, the skyline receding, replaced with thick forests and hills, rivers and ponds. It reminds you vaguely of the cabin near Lincoln, where Joel had taken you for your honeymoon. There are paths through the forest, dug deep in the dirt, lined with tire tracks and footprints. It’s a good a path as any, though it does your leg no favours.

A few hours into the hike, Ellie spots something through the trees, halting you all, pointing. “What is that?”

Joel follows her raised finger, steps off the path just enough to disappear from view. You can still hear his movements, and just when he’s been gone long enough to make anxiety prick in your gut, he reappears, a satisfied look on his face.

“Good?” you ask, squeezing Ellie’s shoulder as she helps you forward.

He nods, offering you his hand as you follow him off the path, Ellie at your side. You move extra slowly, mindful of every step, testing the resistance before planting your foot, making sure your boots won’t slide. Joel stays close, his fingers twined with yours, only going a few feet ahead to poke around the trees, the rifle raised.

The forest gives way to a clearing after a bit, and then you can see it for real. Halfway up a hill, high up enough to see in every direction, is a watchtower. Your eyes scan the structure, praying to whoever’s listening that there’s nothing wrong with it. You can make out a high metal fence surrounding the tower, topped with barbed wire. To you, it looks like heaven.

“Who built that?” Ellie asks.

“Probably park rangers,” Joel tells you, squinting up at the tower. “It’s too far out to be FEDRA. They would have used them before, to keep an eye on things, make sure no one got lost hiking in the woods. It’ll be a good vantage point; we’ll be able to see in every direction.” His gaze lowers, sweeps through the clearing. “We’ll be safe, for a while.”

“A while?” Ellie repeats, and you can hear the twinge of panic in her voice. It makes guilt claw at your insides.

Joel speaks before you have the chance to. “We need to stay put for a bit, give Liv’s leg a chance to heal. Two weeks, maybe more.”

She swallows hard enough you can see her throat bob. “And then?”

“Then we keep going,” you tell her, squeezing her shoulder again. “Together.”

She just nods.

You and Ellie wait at the base of the hill while Joel heads up to the tower. There’s a clear path leading up to the fence gate, an overturned truck jammed between a few trees nearby. No sign of people, that you can see, or Infected. The tension in you eases ever so slightly, but when Joel disappears again, it comes right back.

Ellie’s silent as you wait, but your guilt won’t keep its mouth shut. “I’m sorry,” you say softly, “for slowing us down.”

Her head whips in your direction so fast you worry she’ll hurt herself. “What?”

“It’s my fault,” you say, gesturing to your leg, the bandage poking through your jeans. “If I hadn’t…we’d be closer to Wyoming by now if I wasn’t…”

She actually rolls her eyes at you. “You didn’t get shot on purpose. Or kidnapped. Joel told me why you stayed behind, when they started shooting at us. We’d all be dead right now if you hadn’t done what you did. You don’t have to apologize for it.” The corner of her lip tugs up, and it’s the closest thing you’ve seen to a smile on her face since… “Y’know, you’re kind of a badass, Liv.”

You lift a brow, narrowing your eyes slightly. “Only kind of?”

Ellie laughs, and the anxiety in your gut turns to triumph. “More than kind of.” She slings her other arm around your waist, keeping you upright and hugging you at the same time, and your chest grows warm. You hug her back, leaning down to press your cheek to the top of her head.

Joel reappears a few minutes later, your own triumph mirrored in his face. Finally, something fucking good. He nods, offering you his hand again. It takes time, your leg betraying you as the hill slopes up, and it takes both of them on either side of you, your arms draped over both shoulders and Joel ducking to make up the height difference, but eventually, you make it up the hill. There are clear paths dug in the dirt, what look like single tire tracks marring the ground.

“Bikers?” you ask, your brow lifting as Joel releases you to push the large gate open. It’s reminiscent of Lincoln, and you swallow back the comparison, refusing to let it get to you. “Anything useful up there?”

“Couple’a gas cans in the shed,” Joel tells you, jutting his chin toward the rusted metal structure just inside the gate. “Some stuff up there, few beds, propane. Dunno how long it’ll last us, but it’s enough for now.”

Ellie’s in awe as you step through the fence, craning her head back to get a good look. She squints up at the watchtower, shielding her eyes from the light, and you laugh. “Go on,” you nudge her, gesturing to the stairs. “We’ll meet you up there.”

You see her eyes dart to Joel, who nods as he closes the gate and locks it shut, and then she’s off like a shot, darting up the stairs with a broad grin on her face. Joel grunts as he takes more of your weight, his arm moving to curl around your waist. You look up at him, sure your guilt is clear as day in your eyes, but he brushes it off, leaning in to give you a soft kiss. “Hush,” he mutters, starting to lead you to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

You have to stop for a breather more than either of you would like to admit. It’s a few steps, then stop, a few steps, then stop. Over and over, and you’re half-sure your leg is worse than it was on the ground, but as soon as you reach the top, it doesn’t matter.

You can see everything. There’s not that much to see, to be truthful — it’s a lot of trees and trees and oh yeah, more trees. But you can make out the roads, the pathways that wind toward the watchtower. You can see the city off in the distance, the crumbling buildings making for a fitting skyline. And the windows wrap the watchtower, the glass all intact, a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the world around you. Nothing’s getting close to you without one of you spotting it.

You’re safe.

Joel was being modest when he said there was some stuff up the tower. The beds have actual damn mattresses on them, and Ellie’s already started laying out your sleeping bags. Joel tries to get you to sit, but your curiosity gets the better of you, inspecting the desk in one corner of the room. The drawers are locked, but the wood is old, and it only takes a few jimmies of your knife to have the thing popping open. A handful of bullets roll around the bottom as you slide the drawer out, and you grin at Joel as you pull out a full box of ammunition that you know will fit both your guns.

The propane turns out to be a few tiny canisters, small enough to power a camping stove you find tucked under one of the beds. You’re all holding your breath as Joel hooks up the canister, turns the dial on the stove slowly. The blue flame flares to life and you can’t hold back your excited squeak, immediately reaching for your bag, pulling out the metal cups you’d pilfered from the hardware store. And…

“I’ve been saving this,” you tell Joel, chewing your lip as you rummage around in your bag. It’s a miracle he hadn’t found it yet, but you’d wrapped your findings carefully in your spare flannel, tucked at the bottom of your bag. “Didn’t want to give it to you until I knew we could actually make it.”

His brow raises as you pull out the French press, but then his entire face twists into shock when you pull out the first bag of coffee grounds. “You’re kiddin’.”

“Swear on my life, baby,” you grin, laughing as you pull out the second bag, setting it beside the first. “Care for a little pick me up?”

He’s on you a second later, wary of your leg but grabbing you up into his arms, kissing every inch of your face he can reach. You’re actually laughing, giggling as he peppers you with kisses, mumbling how much he loves you in between.

“Jackpot!” Ellie shouts suddenly, and you break apart, though Joel still holds you in his arms. “Look what I found!”

Grinning ear to ear, she shows you what she’s found: the largest first aid kit you’ve seen since the shelter in the mall back in Boston, a gigantic jug of water — sealed, and…

A baseball bat.

Not just any baseball bat. It’s much different from the one you’ve carried for so long. Wood instead of metal, though the handle is wrapped similarly with dark leather that has barely stood the test of time. But the end of the bat, the end where yours was dented from years of use, this bat is riddled with nails, sticking out at every angle, blunt side and sharp alike.

You grin at Ellie. “Jackpot.”

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