#i remember one time she fought with the Secret Six i think | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychedelic-ink · 8 months

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𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

DAY SIX OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: slasher au (still takes place in the tlou'verse) + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, soft dark fic, horror, murder mystery

summary: bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in jackson. as the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

word count: 10k (i don't know what happened)

warnings: dubcon at the end, knife kink, descriptive canon typical violence, blood & mild gore, grief and death, an unpleasant guy hitting on you, murder, face-sitting, throat-fucking, mutual oral sex (69), dirty talk, possessive!joel, exhibitionism (tommy watches very briefly, he also kisses you in a platonic way), sex in the woods, piv, Joel is actually quite nice if you exclude the murders, mild breeding kink, size kink, little bit of blood kink

a/n: the owl mask joel wears in this to hide who he is is inspired by @softlyspector's post about the tawny owl mug joel uses in tlou part 2 which I still get sad if I think about it for too long 😭

Bodies have been dropping dead all around you long before the outbreak.

Maybe not in the everyone-you-know-is-getting-infected-and-killing-people type of way, but more so in a death-never-felt-like-a-stranger-to-you sort of way. Yet, you still don’t know how to deal with death. Your grief is as violent as a butterfly flapping its wings; the strength of it non-existent but you never know where, or when, it’ll cause a storm.

First, it was your grade school teacher. You didn’t have a particularly strong bond with her but you did like her. You still remember how your friend's voice quaked as she gave you the news on a landline. You couldn’t believe it and had to accuse her of making a joke, even though you knew she would never joke about something like this. Then your dad took the phone from you and you just assumed your friend's mom did the same. The next week, when you went back to school and the funeral was now behind all the children in the classroom, the custodian cut the last tablecloth your teacher had used for her desk and gave a piece to each and every one of you. It was a vibrant orange cloth with daisies scattered around – ugly, but you still cherished it.

Then it was your pets, grandparents – there was also the time when your pet-crazed neighbor adopted another smaller dog while she still had two untrained, over-energized dogs, and the two twins ripped the other dog apart. You had seen the carnage. By some miracle, that small, fluffy dog named Sugar was still breathing, alive. You had held a blood bag over the dog's head, hoping that the small animal wouldn't die.

She didn’t die that day, but it sure as hell left a scar on you.

As a kid, you never seemed to quite grasp the ways of grieving. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t cry. You just. . thought about it. However, the emotions came differently when you became an adult. Now when someone close to you died, you felt it more violently, oddly enough you still fought against the tears and only cried when you were alone.

On Outbreak Day, you lost everything.

Your family, your friends—your life, now it was all about survival, but survival towards what, you didn’t know. You killed for it, fought for it. Yet every move you made felt automatic like you were wired to at least try and survive — to wait it out and not be left behind when civilization rebuilt itself once more.

You made some friends along the way and lost some friends too. You locked their faces and their memories in your heart, only unlocking the box when you were truly and utterly alone.

Then you found Jackson.

And you met Joel and Tommy Miller.

Your official title is scavenger but you much prefer to label yourself as an explorer instead.

You’ve adapted to your quite well life at Jackson. You go beyond the borders, sometimes alone and sometimes with other fellow explorers, and gather supplies or try to pinpoint other locations threats might be lurking in. You’re about to go on another trip, this one shorter than your regular one to two-week expeditions, but before heading out you decide to stop by the only bakery in Jackson named The Last Crumb—previously named The Cordyceps Crumb but Maria decided it was in bad taste. You, on the other hand, had found it funny and topical.

As you patiently wait in line, your camping bag waiting for you outside the bakery, someone bumps into you from behind, then never moves back.

You turn with a raised eyebrow, not enjoying the close proximity, “Excuse you,” you snap. The man looks at you with a hint of mischief in his eyes, you roll your eyes when you recognize the face. “Move back a beat Tucker, I’m not in the mood this morning.”

“Someone didn’t get her beauty sleep,” he grins but moves away regardless. “Want me to come with you this time? Sweet thing like you alone out there? It’s ain’t right.”

“You can barely aim. Why would I want someone that’s most likely to get me killed around me?”

“I think you’ll find my company to be plenty entertaining.”

You’re about to gag when the bell of the bakery chimes, the sharp sound echoing through the wooden walls. Your face must've shown immense signs of relief because Tucker turns around to see who you're looking at. His instant frown makes you want to laugh and chuck him between the two men you’d describe as a wolf den.

“Well, if it ain’t the Miller brothers,” Tucker tuts, attempting to give one of them a friendly pat on the shoulder. He stops midway when Joel’s gaze flits between you and him, his glare hard enough to cut diamonds.

So he ends up slapping Tommy’s shoulder instead, which isn’t the best thing since you know the younger Miller hates Tucker. But among the brothers, he’s probably the one with less probability of getting your hand bitten off.

“Mornin’ Tucker,” Tommy answers, forcing a smile.

Joel is less friendly, his words directed at you, “Is this dumbass botherin’ you again?”

“I wouldn't exactly call a greeting among friends “botherin’,” Tucker says. “We’re just catchin’ up, no need to get your panties in a bunch Miller.”

“God, you’re one word away from ruining my morning,” you hiss, glaring at the unpleasant man. “And we’re not friends.”

His brows furrow, eyes going hard with an ugly snarl accompanying them, you feel braver when Tommy and Joel are around so you hold his gaze, not flinching away.

Tommy is the one to ease the tension. He lays a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing the man’s attention away from you. “I’ll get you what you want a’right Tucker? It’s on me. Just go wait outside.”

“But—”

“Outside, Tuck,” Tommy repeats and you shudder at his tone.

Tucker’s shoulders drop, defeated, “Fine, get me a raisin bagel.”

He doesn’t wait for Tommy’s response and heads out the bakery. You finally release the breath you’ve been holding, your muscles relaxing along with the exhaled breath. Joel is by your side in the blink of an eye, his broad shoulder brushing yours providing comfort.

“You sure you’re a’right?” he asks, gently curling fingers under your chin. “The prick didn’t do anythin’?”

“Nah, nothing. He’s all bark but no bite. He asked if he wanted to join me today as if that buffoon wouldn’t get me killed.” you shrug, men being assholes was nothing new to you. You’re just glad that in Jackson it seems that there are more good apples than rotten ones. “Too bad even paradise comes with drawbacks.”

Joel snorts as Tommy cuts in, “Maria would be thrilled if she heard you calling it paradise.”

“What are you smiling at? You think you can find anywhere better?” You playfully nudge Joel with your elbow. “You know there’s nothing but hell out there.”

“I do, I just think callin’ here a paradise is a bit of a stretch is all.”

The line moves and the three of you are finally at the counter, “You’re just a grump,” you tease Joel before turning your gaze to Poppy, the barista who knows everything about everyone. “Hey there, Poppy, the usual please.”

“And a damn raisin bagel,” Tommy adds.

“Well, isn’t it my favorite trio,” Poppy grins. “I’ll get all that ready for you in a second,” she locks her blue eyes on you and leans closer, you mimic her by instinct. “By the way have you heard of Ian? He wound up dead right outside the chopping block, an axe right through his chest.”

You frown, “Good morning to you too, Poppy. Jesus Christ.”

“I’ll confess I didn’t love the guy but isn’t it worrying that there’s a killer among us?” she murmurs while stuffing the goodies in paper bags. “Be careful out there.”

“Well, if the culprit is here I think I might be safer out there,” you say and turn to Tommy. “Does Maria know?”

“Of course, she does,” when you part your lips to say more, he lifts a finger and shoots you a crooked smile. “It’s confidential.”

“Aw man, can’t you just tell us who she thinks it is?” Poppy asks, Tommy shakes his head and she lets out a dramatic sigh, “I miss my murder mystery books.”

“I’ll try to find you something while I’m out,” you say, ignoring the way your heart began to race. Jackson is still a small town, it’s jarring to think someone might be out there, looking for their next target. “Though I think we could all do with a little less murder.”

You hadn’t expected your voice to crack but your tone had betrayed you. Poppy extends you the bag of goods and a latte, as you reach out you feel Joel’s hand on your waist. His lips touch your ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m sure whoever it is is only goin’ after those who deserve it.”

You lock your eyes with him, blinking heavily at the weight of his words. His voice had dropped, nothing but gravel as he whispered the words into your ear. A cold sensation slithers down your spine, chilling you to your core and making your throat tighten.

His hand never leaves your waist as the three of you head out, and after a while, that chill slowly dissolves into a pleasurable warmth.

You find solace in the woods. You love Jackson, but being in the woods away from everyone and everything makes you feel comforted. The first time you went scavenging, there was a slight fear in your movements; no matter how good your aim was, any kind of infected was difficult to kill.

But now you walk with ease. There isn’t an ounce of worry in your bones. The trees rustle happily and the smell of flowers and pine fills your nostrils. You can feel your lungs rejuvenating with every breath. Trickles of orange sunlight pour from the gaps of the trees. The sun sets, meaning you need to set up camp soon.

While unpacking, you think of this morning. How Joel and Tommy stepped in when Tucker started bothering you. Honestly, you didn’t need their protection; Tucker is just one of those men who think they might have a shot if they bother you enough times. Still, it was nice to be claimed in a way, to be accepted into a family and cared for.

Your breath hitches slightly. Tommy, you see as a close friend, a brother perhaps, but Joel... Joel is another thing. Just thinking about him is enough to start a wildfire between your legs. You wish you were brave enough to do something about it, though. Whenever you two patrol together or stay awake late at night drinking, you always chicken out in the end. It doesn’t matter how his hands linger on your thighs or his eyes drop to your lips; you're just never convinced that the Joel Miller would be interested in you beyond a friend.

An unease starts to settle in the pit of your stomach. As the air grows colder with the approaching night, your skin prickles and you feel the phantom sensation of claws dragging down your back. You set the tent as quickly as you can, your eyes darting around the depths of the forest. Briefly, you bend over to adjust the ropes.

A breath warm and damp ghosts the back of your neck and you jump, gun in hand as you turn around only to find—

Nothing.

And no one.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, adrenaline pumping in your veins, a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead. You've never had a trigger finger, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to just shoot every shadow you see.

“Dammit Poppy,” you mutter, annoyed that she gave you the brutal knowledge of Ian’s death right before you were heading out. Guilt stings at your heart. Ian was an asshole for sure, and you don’t exactly feel bad that he’s gone, but still, it was an eerie thought that someone had murdered him so violently. It had to be personal.

Some part of you wishes Joel was here, or even Tucker, just another human being to tell you you’re just seeing things.

You take a deep inhale and follow it up with a long exhale. You’re fine. There’s no one here.

You give your surroundings one last suspicious look before going back to setting the tent.

No matter how hard you try you can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you amongst the shadows.

Joel hears crickets and owls. The night had always been his friend since the outbreak. He had become a violent man with an equally violent heart. He waits in the shadows, watching. Laughter and playful shouts echo from the bar, and soon the door swings open; the man he's been waiting for crawls out of the establishment, shit-faced. The drunk man shouts his farewells and staggers toward his home.

Joel follows, his mask heating up the skin that lays underneath. His fingers itch with the need to wring that asshole's neck. One by one, he had been cleaning Jackson for the better. His tendencies subdued while also doing some good. Ian was one of those people who deserved it and Joel had enjoyed the chase, the pleas, he especially enjoyed the way he tripped and cried right before he sunk the blade of the axe through Ian’s chest.

Tucker trips, making Joel want to laugh. The idiot might not even realize he’s being hunted. Joel looks around, they are far enough for the chase to begin. Tucker continues to slip and fall as he attempts to get up. Taking the opportunity, Joel walks towards him with quick steps, making sure the first thing the asshole sees is his mask.

Tucker notices him before he gets up, his hands bracing the ground, his eyes go wide, “What the fuck?”

Joel only tilts his head. He sees the trembles rolling down the other man’s body, he relishes in his fear.

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble, whoever the fuck you are so. . . scram.”

Joel’s eyes dart to his hand on the dirt, without a second thought he lifts his foot and curb stomps Tucker’s hand. Then he kicks the side of his face, an audible crunch echoing before his scream could. The man whimpers and falls back in his attempt to crawl away. He holds his jaw, blood streaming down his broken nose.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

He steps closer and watches as Tucker’s eyes bug out. He’s too drunk to properly run away or even scream. Such an easy target. He grips the other’s hair and lifts him to his feet, he can feel the strands starting to rip from his scalp one by one, Tucker’s face twisting in pain. “Your worst fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel answers eerily calm. It doesn’t matter if Tucker recognizes him. He’d be dead soon enough anyway.

“P-Please,” he begs, realizing the same thing. “I’ll do whatever you want promise. I don’t want to die.”

Joel grunts, not dignifying his pleas with an answer. Lifting his other hand, his knuckles connect to Tucker’s face with a loud crunch, body flying to the ground headfirst.

He pulls out his knife and drops down, ignoring the ache in his knees, he grabs Tucker’s arm and aligns the sharp blade against his wrist. Tucker notices, his face going pale as a ghost. “D-Don’t—”

Joel doesn’t bat an eye as blood spurts violently over his clothes and the dirt. Drops of crimson seeping into the fabric. The knife cuts through the flesh like butter, severing hand from bone. His hand clamps over Tucker’s mouth. Joel smiles as his screams bounce off of the palm of his hand.

You come back to Jackson hand empty and earlier than intended. You were too much at unease, and being so jarred wasn’t the best while scavenging for supplies alone. During your trip, you did end up scribbling something for Poppy. It wasn’t finished but you hoped she would enjoy the first draft of the first chapter. It was mostly descriptions of what you felt, a cat-and-mouse game between two people who had bumped into each other accidentally.

While heading into Jackson, you notice a crowd in the distance. You promptly get off your horse and walk with haste. You recognize Joel and Tommy easily, both brothers standing on each end of the crowd like gates keeping a herd of sheep in check. Ellie is standing right next to Joel, lifting herself on her toes to see; Joel is holding her back by gripping the cap of her hood.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Joel turns to you, his eyebrows raising when notices it’s you and not some random person he has to ignore, “You’re back,” he says. A statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, wasn’t feeling that well,” you shrug him off. “So what happened?”

His eyes turn to steel, his jaw locking in place. Before you can ask again, he gestures for you to move up the crowd with a tilt of his head.

“Lucky,” you hear Ellie murmur as you walk ahead, gently pushing those who were looking at the sight with concern. With every step you take, the murmur of the crowd fades into the background, becoming nothing more than white noise. Maria is addressing the crowd, you think, though you're not entirely sure. The scent of blood is thick in the air, disorienting you as you get closer.

Your eyes go wide, the earth slips from beneath you but your expression remains emotionless.

It’s Tucker.

You feel as if you’re standing alone. As if you’re the only one taking in the sight of absolute horror and gore. Tucker is lying in a pile of his own blood face first, his eyes are open and lifeless, his one hand is outstretched like he’s about to crawl away.

His right hand, however, is chopped off.

It’s not even a clean-cut. The edges of his flesh are jagged and crooked, his blood-caked where his hand should be. Whoever did this cut it so it would hurt, so he would suffer tremendously.

You can’t help but gasp, covering your mouth with your right hand. You begin to shake, confusion churning in your stomach as bile coats your tongue. He’s dead. Just like Ian.

When Maria’s eyes find your own, she narrows her gaze, a small warning for you to keep it together. You can’t though. How could you? Tucker was alive and kicking a couple of days ago, just being his annoying self around Jackson.

“Calm down,” you hear Joel mutter into your ear. You shiver at the brush of his lips. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. You want to laugh. You don’t even know what that word means anymore.

Joel’s mouth moves over the shell of your ear, “He was a nuisance. Don’t feel bad now that he’s dead.”

“I didn’t want him to die,” you hiss back. “And knowing there’s a serial killer out there doesn’t exactly make me feel safe.”

Despite your half-angry tone, you find yourself leaning into Joel’s presence. Your shoulder presses into his broad chest, and without missing a beat he wraps his arms around your shaking frame. Relief comes in the form of warmth spreading along your chest, tingles forming at the tips of your fingers and toes. The voices of the crowd gradually come back but you only hear one of the many questions.

“What do you think the message means?”

Confusion crosses your face, brows furrowing as you try to make sense of it. Joel makes a choked-out sound that could’ve easily been taken as an amused chuckle.

Then your eyes drop to Tucker’s outstretched hand and his dying message written in blood.

O W L

A week had passed since Tucker’s death.

You've been thinking about both murders relentlessly, trying to piece together everything that you know so far. During this time, you're grateful for Poppy, who comes by almost every night to help you try to solve the case. That's been your sole focus for the past few weeks; you haven't been scavenging since you spooked yourself so badly that you returned early, only to find Tucker dead.

Some part of you thinks that the eeriness you felt that day was a sign of what was about to happen. It's also an odd coincidence that he ended up dead the same night he harassed you in the morning. However, there are no forensic investigators in Jackson, so it’s almost impossible to determine the exact time of death. That fact alone makes you anxious. It only means that whoever is killing everyone has nothing to worry about because even if they leave traces, who’s going to know?

In order to keep your nerves in check you end up writing a lot. You haven’t shown any of it to Poppy yet but you’re excited. You never thought writing a thriller would be the perfect way to escape the horrors of your actual life. At least in your stories, you have control.

You also visit Joel and vice versa.

Something had shifted the day he held you as you both gazed upon Tucker’s lifeless body. Maybe it was just you who felt bolder since death was once again right around the corner — or maybe Joel just felt more protective now, wanting to check on you as much as he could.

“You’re really writin’ a whole ass novel?” he asks, pouring you a glass of scotch. You still can’t get over the fact that it nearly tasted identical to the actual stuff. Jackson is truly a miracle; at least when bodies aren’t dropping left and write.

Ellie’s at a sleepover, which means you and Joel have the whole house to yourselves. With everything going on you’d expect your libido to diminish a bit but it’s as strong as ever, ready to go.

You smile as he places the glass in front of you, “Yeah,” you say, picking up the glass and heading toward the living room. “I couldn’t find Poppy anything to read and it helps me relax.”

“Relax, how?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. The couch dips with his weight, and heat crawls up from your chest to your neck when his knee brushes against yours.

“Well, it’s a horror thing. Horror slash mystery? I don’t know—whatever it is, it’s nice to have an outlet to escape what’s been happening lately.”

“So to escape brutal murders you write more brutal murders?”

You chuckle at the way his eyebrows raise, eyes going wide, “I don’t really focus that much on the gore. It’s more psychological, my sweet brute. Things don’t need to have blood to be scary.”

His grin is wide and instant, dark eyes lighting up with amusement, “What did you just call me?”

“I. . .” Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, suddenly realizing what you’d said.

“What cat got your tongue?” he teases. Joel leans closer, fingers dancing along the curve of your shoulder. You can feel the gravel in his voice. “You just called me yours, sweetheart. Does that jog your memory?”

“I also called you brute,” you quip back immediately, cheeks aflame. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t it?” his palm now presses fully into your shoulder, keeping you in place in case you might run. Joel tilts his head slightly, the plush of his lips only an inch away. “I like you callin’ me that,” the pink of his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“S-Say what?”

A small chuckle parts his lips, oddly enough it almost feels like his patience is wearing thin. He comes closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “That I’m yours,” he clarifies. “Been waitin’ to hear those words come from your mouth since I met you.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper against his lips, eyelids fluttering but not quite closing. With the confession, you feel the brush of Joel’s lips on yours. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth. You part for him with a moan, and taking the opportunity, he slides inside, tasting every inch of you.

His lips taste and feel like the forests you wander off to; it soothes you, calms your nerves, and has the taste of home. They’re chapped from the sun, yet soft. You can’t have enough of him, if he’d offered, you’d gladly kiss him forever.

Joel parts with a shaky breath, his chest heaving, “And you’re mine,” he groans, his eyes dark with arousal. It’s an involuntary action but your eyes drop to the front of his pants where you see the thick outline of his cock.

Your mouth goes dry, yet you manage to speak anyway, “Are words all you’ve been waiting for?” It’s bold, you’re highly aware, but you can’t help it when he’s this close. His scent suffocating, pulling you to him like a moth to a flame.

He stares at you silently. His thumb touches your bottom lip, slightly tugging it down. He’s not smiling anymore, only observing.

“No,” Joel answers slowly. He leans towards your ears, the thick hairs above his lips tickling your skin. “I’ve also been waitin’ to feel that velvet tongue on my cock, honey. And to feel how tight your throat gets when you take every inch of me.”

Joel blows a puff of air, it caresses your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brings your hand to the front of his pants, dragging your palm up and down his length. You shudder. The heat of it seeps into your palm despite the thick fabric of his jeans, you lick your lips absentmindedly. “This is all for you sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Joel. . .” your eyes roll back when he kisses your neck, open-mouthed kisses laid upon your skin like a gift. Your nipples tighten and if you look down right now, you know you’ll see them peeking through your shirt.

He reads your thoughts, eyes moving down before meeting your gaze again. “Didn’t know you walked around without a bra, sunshine.”

“I only go braless when I’m comfortable,” you answer. Joel cups your breasts roughly, kneading the flesh, he simultaneously sucks on your neck, teeth nipping the sensitive skin. “Oh god,” the fabric of your panties grows damp and you clench your thighs together.

“Not god,” he says sharply, sinking his teeth into you. “Joel.”

“Joel,” you moan and arch your back, filling more of yourself into his palm. You squeeze his cock, relishing in the way he makes a strangled sound. “I want to suck you off, Joel.”

“Be my guest.”

You push him until he’s lying on the couch. You’re about to unbutton his jeans but he stops you.

“Turn around,” he says.

“What?”

His wide grin nearly stops your heart, “Want to taste that sweet pussy, sunshine. Strip down and take a seat.”

“On—On your face?”

“Where else?”

You’re too embarrassed to speak, tongue suddenly too big in your mouth. Quickly, and a bit clumsily, you strip down and turn before straddling his chest. You don’t need to touch yourself to know that you’re soaked.

You swallow, “I’ve never done this before.”

His hands come up to cradle your hips, urging you to move back towards his face. You feel the blunt sting of his nails.

“That’s alright,” he mutters. “I won’t let you fall if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m more worried about how I’m gonna move, or accidentally suffocating you.”

“What a noble way it would be to go.”

“Joel!” you laugh, playfully smacking his thigh. He answers by giving your hips another squeeze, you surrender and move back until you’re hovering over his face. Your hand planted firmly over his hip bones, you lower yourself. You shudder as his tongue licks a stripe between your folds. He moans into your cunt, pulling you flush against his face.

Meanwhile, you finally unzip his pants and pull his cock out, the heft of it bumping against your nose and lips. You drip at the smell of him and swear he smiles as he sucks on your aching clit, short-circuiting your brain with arousal. His cock throbs in your palm, a drop of precome glistening at the tip. Your mouth watering, you lean forward and clean him off. Another groan echoes within his chest and he thrusts forward, the tip of his cock kissing your lips.

Eyes fluttering closed, you suck on the bulbous head and force yourself to go down until he hits the back of your throat. You wrap a hand around the base, stroking where you can’t fit, and hallow your cheeks.

“Come on, sunshine. You can take me,” he rasps. “You’re mine, aren’t you? That mouth is meant to take me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Joel pushes his tongue inside, your walls clenching around the wet muscle—you let out a loud gasp and grind down, then you feel the sting of his palm against your ass, pain blossoming from where he smacked.

Your throat rattles with a moan and Joel takes the opportunity to drive forward, your eyes go wide as you feel the length of him sliding down your throat, cutting the air from your lungs.

“Oh, fuck—” he moans unabashedly, the sounds sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine despite the strain on your throat. “That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Fuck, fuck—”

Your throat tightens around him, your lungs starting to burn. His hand caresses both sides of your ass, the abrupt pain of the smack from before subduing, “Relax,” he says, swirling his tongue around your clit. “Breathe through your nose. Just a bit more. . .”

Your nails bite into his thighs as you attempt to follow instructions. You relax your throat and slowly begin to breathe from your nose. It’s still difficult, but your lungs rejoice in the minimal amount of air that comes through. You make a mess of him. Saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth and down his length.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmurs. “Gonna fuck that pretty throat now and make this pussy come, understood?”

Eyes tearing up, you nod. From the way your stomach convulses, you know that you’re close, your skin tight over your trembling muscles. The nod is all that Joel needs from you. Holding you in place, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself completely down your throat while flicking his tongue against your clit. You scream around him, eyes rolling back as he continues to devour you and take you apart at the same time. He licks you with fat strokes of his tongue, a hint of teeth scraping your folds here and there as he fucks your throat with shallow thrusts.

You’re limp against his broad body, allowing him to use you as he pleases while all you can do is hang on for the ride. Pleasure licks the base of your spine, a searing heat caressing your skin while Joel continues to build you up only for you to fall spectacularly. Your lips start to ache, your throat squeezing around him whenever he snaps his hips forward—

And all hell finally breaks loose.

You come undone with a devastating cry only for it to be muffled by his cock going down your throat. You gush around his tongue, soaking his facial hair and mouth, Joel is underrated, licking and sucking until you’re shaking above him, every bit of tension draining from your body.

Joel comes shortly after, his hand slides from your waist and he manages to reach out in order to hold your head down. You don’t have a choice but to swallow as he spills down your throat, thick spurts of come going down while he shudders and pushes even deeper.

There’s so much of it, cock twitching and throbbing in your mouth until your mouth sucks him dry. You’re lightheaded from the lack of air; you find that it adds to the pleasure that’s buzzing in your veins, your cunt still pulsing with the heft of him still buried in your lips.

He pulls out with a satisfied groan and you manage to scoot down so you’re straddling his chest instead of head. Joel caresses your back, the gentle repeated motion sending tingles down your spine.

“That’s was fuckin’ amazin’,” he says, voice hoarse. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you answer sounding meek. “I think I need some water though.”

You get off, legs still shaking, but he grabs your hand, halting your movement. “Let me get it for you,” he says, sitting up.

“I’m already up,” you smile as his brows furrow with worry, the expression warming your heart. You quickly bend down to kiss him and he’s quick to lick himself into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. “I’ll be right back.”

You have no idea how you’re standing while feeling like jello but you manage to get yourself all the way to the fridge. You smile at the coolness touching your warmed skin when you open the door. Scanning the interior, you thoughtlessly rub at your throat in an attempt to soothe the ache a little. You grab the pitcher of cold water and notice a bit of apple pie left over.

“Hey, Joel?” you call out. He hums in acknowledgment. “Can I have a slice of pie?”

His humored chuckle follows through, “You can eat the whole damn thing after what you’ve done,” you smile and take the desert out. “Can you bring me a slice too?” he adds.

You smile and place the pie on the counter. The leftover is already two slices give or take so you decide to just take two forks with you instead of dirting a plate. Looking through the drawers, you try to remember which one is the cutlery drawer.

On your second try you find something else.

Something that makes your eyes go wide and heart throb painfully.

Your hands shaking, you pick up the owl mask from the drawer. The surface is smooth, and the color of it a light shade of brown just like a tawny owl. All the pleasant tingles fade away, the buzz of pleasure in your veins replaced by fear and adrenaline.

Heading back to the living room, you show the mask to Joel.

“What’s this?” you ask, your voice betraying your sudden outburst of fear.

Joel looks up, eyes flitting between you and the owl mask. He raises a brow, his confusion evident across his face. “It’s a mask, sweetheart.”

“No no, I know it’s a mask,” you answer, breathless. “But why do you have it?”

“It’s Ellie’s,” he stands up, his pants still unbuttoned but pulled up. You fight the urge to step away, fight the urge to flinch when he touches your cheek. “They were makin’ Halloween masks last year in school. I didn’t even realize we still had it.”

“Really?” you ask and he nods.

“Really,” Joel claims your lips in a chaste kiss, thumb stroking lines up and down your cheek. His hand slithers down your arm to your wrist and when he squeezes, you drop the mask. “Why?” he breathes into you. “Is this about the damn thing Tucker wrote down?”

You remain silent and he pulls away, dark eyes boring into yours.

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Why don’t you just allow yourself to enjoy this? You deserve to be happy.”

Your eyes widen with surprise, his words crashing into you, “I. . . Do I do that? Really?”

“It’s normal, darlin’,” he answers. “I’m pretty sure we all have survivor’s guilt.”

You let out a shaky exhale. He’s right. You were just feeling guilty of being alive when so many had died. Joel smiles back and traces the curve of yours with his fingers. “There’s that smile that I adore,” he guides you towards the kitchen. “Now let’s go eat some pie.”

No matter what though, you can’t help but turn back to look at the owl mask one last time as it lays lifelessly on the floor.

“So, tell me about this book you’re writin’?”

You let out a low laugh, “I already told you about it. What more do you wanna know?”

You stare at Joel’s back as he takes the lead, he’d decided to join you in your explorations ever since you told him how nervous you had gotten the last time. You had appreciated the gesture but still felt a tad anxious around him ever since you found that damn owl mask—

A branch snaps into two under your steps and he turns, extending his hand to you. With a smile you allow him to lace his fingers within yours, your stomach jumping a little as he tugs you close so the two of you are walking side by side instead.

“If memory serves me right we got distracted when you told me about it,” he says with that southern drawl of his. “So tell me again what it’s about.”

“Okay okay,” you smile, squeezing his hand twice. “It’s all a big mess now but the premise is that there’s this guy obsessed with this woman and he stalks her and no matter what she does, she always feels like there’s someone watching.”

Joel looks ahead, “Sounds familiar. Isn’t that how you felt last time you were out here?”

“Yeah, and it’s when I started writing it.”

“So do these two people know each other?” his tone drops, his fingers suddenly feeling like barbed wire within your hand. You swallow. “I mean in their regular lives, does the woman know that he’s the one stalkin’ her?”

You roll your shoulders, a weak attempt to shrug off the eeriness that you feel.

“Exactly. I think that just makes the whole thing creepier. He’s just a normal guy, even a friend, but he’s also the one among the shadows.”

“Interestin’,” he murmurs. “You think that’s happenin’ to you?”

“I don’t think there’s someone stalking me, if that’s what you’re asking,” you utter every word hastily, your pulse quickening under your skin.

His lips curl in a half smile, “That’s good,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be laying awake thinking about what might lingerin’ on the other side of the window.”

“I think I’m more likely to stay awake thinking about infected,” you say with a soft laugh. “But yeah, it’s all fiction. That day I probably just got scared because of what Poppy said about Ian.”

“Probably,” Joel trails off, his steps slowing. “How do you think it’s gonna end?”

“W-What?”

He stops and so does your heart. At least you think it does.

Joel faces you fully, his presence towering, he grips your shoulders and pushes you back until the air is knocked from your lungs by a tree right behind you. Your eyes go wide. He leans in, breath tickling your lips.

“How do you think your book is gonna end, sweetheart?” he asks again, eyes gleaming with something dark. “Is the guy gonna get the girl?”

“I—I don’t know.”

All you can think about is the owl mask and how it would perfectly fit his face. He cocks his head and taking a step closer, he slips a leg between your thighs. Slick gathers at your underwear—he feels the fabric dampening on his leg and grins.

“Fear turns you on doesn’t it?” he purrs. “Wicked thing.”

Relief drowns your senses. So that’s why he got all weird suddenly, he’s just teasing you. With a laugh, your head falls back against the tree trunk, “Jesus Joel, you scared the shit out of me.”

“It ain’t my fault,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re easy to scare.”

“Well, two brutal unsolvable murders will do that to a girl.”

Joel lets go and pulls away, smiling as he shakes his head, “What’s it gonna take for you to believe I had nothin’ to do with those? Even in death, Tucker causes nothin’ but fuckin’ trouble for me.”

“You don’t need to do anything, I’m sorry,” you pull him back, relishing in the way his strong arms wrap around your frame. “I’ll stop being such a chicken, promise. I’m still a bit jittery that’s all.”

“I forgive you,” he says against your lips, kissing you quickly before pulling you away from the thick trunk of the tree. “Now let’s find a place to settle down for the night.”

When you two return to Jackson three days later, the first thing you notice is the crowd. Your stomach drops at the familiar sight and instinctively you reach out to Joel, lacing your fingers together. He squeezes your hand two times.

The last thing you should be feeling is relief that now it’s not possible for Joel to be the one killing all those people but alas, that’s all you feel. Relief and love.

The trade fair sprawls before you. Stalls with makeshift awnings, tattered banners, and worn tarps create a patchwork quilt of colors, beneath which a diverse array of goods is proudly displayed. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the tang of cured leather, and the earthy aroma of herbs. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional clinking of metal form a lively symphony, a chorus of life that drowns out the ever-present background hum of death and infection.

You’ve always enjoyed the time of the trade fair. People move like busy ants, weaving between the stalls. Children, their cheeks dusted with earth, dart through the crowd, their carefree laughter that should be comforting doing the opposite. Since Tina’s death— she was one of the council members— you had been sleeping at Joel’s. Neither he nor Ellie seemed to mind you staying there.

The purpose of the fair is to exchange goods – to exchange, to connect, to share stories of survival.

Your eyes scan the crowd for Joel's familiar silhouette. He and Ellie had headed out before you since you wanted a change of clothes. Just as your gaze begins to falter, a voice reaches your ears. "Hey!" It's Poppy, she waves you over.

You navigate your way through the bustling stalls until you stand before Poppy. She's leaning against a rough-hewn post, a glint of excitement in her eyes.

“Hey, Poppy,” you greet her with a smile. “I’m looking for Joel, or Ellie, have you seen either of them?”

“Well, Ellie is with Dina, hanging out,” She points to the forest that skirts the settlement. "I saw him heading that way not too long ago."

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you later then,” Waving her off, you head after Joel.

The trees are a bit more scarce here, there’s more room between them. The forest opens up, revealing a sprawling expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. It's a stark contrast to the dense woods you often travel to, where the trees stand like guardians, their branches interlocking in a tapestry of shadow and light. Here, the gaps between the trees create pockets of sunlight that dapple the forest floor.

However, the expanses between trees can be deceiving, and without the markers and familiarity of the well-trodden paths closer to home, it's easy to lose your way.

For some reason instead of calling out for Joel, you decide to wander aimlessly. You’re not sure why. You don’t come to this side of Jackson often enough to feel comfortable with your surroundings and shouting his name would definitely be easier than walking without aim.

Soon enough you hear faint murmuring beckoning you deeper into the forest.

Survival instincts kicking in, you slow down your steps, making sure to step onto clear dirt instead of gravel or fallen branches. Hiding behind a rather large tree trunk, you stare ahead. In the distance, you see two men: one with his back against the tree, while the other holds him by the neck, the sharp blade of his knife catching the sunlight and reflecting it directly into your eyes.

You hold your breath and your eyes go wide. You hear the thrum of your heart. It’s the killer. It has to be.

You can’t quite hear them but you can decipher the tone of begging for one's life. The man holding the knife tilts his head slightly, your mouth waters at the prospect of finally seeing the murderer's face—

It’s the mask.

The same mask you found in Joel’s home in the shape of an owl. Your stomach churns violently, bile raising to your throat as you watch on. You rub at your eyes, take deep breaths—anything you can think of that would erase the image before you.

Goosebumps raising across your skin, you shake your head. It can’t be Joel. He was with you the day Tina died and no matter how competent he was not even he could be at two places at once.

A muffled scream echoes within the forest and your eyes snap to the two men, the owl had driven his knife into the flesh and bone. He pulls it out, and the body falls. You recognize who it is; Jacob. You heard his name a couple of days ago from Ellie, he was bothering both her and Dina because they were hanging out.

He’s still alive when the killer stomps his head in, blood splattering across the leys.

You’re frozen in place. Your throat dry and tongue motionless. The killer kicks Jacob one last time for good measure and finally stops. You observe the way his shoulders drop as if a great weight had been lifted off of them, then he looks up into the sky, the golden sun highlighting his mask.

Very slowly, he lifts his hand and takes it off.

Every feeling comes rushing back, too fast and too soon. Your tongue is alive again and so is your body, the world is suddenly vibrant with life and horror. The sun continues to caress the countenance of the unmasked killer’s face, his sunkissed skin the perfect canvas to soak up the light.

Joel.

You take a step back, every thought of precaution dropping from your mind. The forest starts to spin. It spins and spins and spins until the ground slips from beneath your feet. You catch yourself at the very last second.

When you look up you see his gaze staring directly into yours.

“Fuck,” you hiss out, quickly staggering up. The last thing you see before you start running is his extended hand as he tries to reach out for you.

“Wait!”

You don’t. You do the exact opposite of that. You run. You run for your life and those in Jackson at the fair.

You run with memories loud in your mind. How Joel had listened to you, comforted you, fucked you—

Tears sting your eyes. Every part of this feels like a nightmare that you hope to wake up from anytime soon. But as the wind hits your skin, you know that every part of this is very much real. Your chest burns from how fast you’re going, your legs starting to falter underneath you.

Before you can react, an unexpected force slams into you. The impact sends shockwaves through your body as you collide with something—or is it someone?—their presence as jarring as the jolt itself. Your momentum falters, and for a fleeting moment, time seems to slow as you stumble, desperately trying to regain your balance.

Two arms grab at you and without even seeing who it is, you start to push the person away, fighting against it like a wild animal.

“Let go of me! Let go of me!”

“Hey hey hey,” you hear a familiar voice repeat. “It’s me, you’re okay,” you’re shaking all around, only when you feel his hands cradle your cheeks do you open your eyes. He smiles when he sees your eyes flicker in recognition.

“Tommy?” you whisper. He nods and without a thought you jump him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. His arms coil around you in response, promising to not let go. “Oh, thank fuck it’s you.”

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I—I am okay but—Joel—It’s Joel, Tommy he’s been the one behind all those murders. We need to warn everyone, we need to tell Maria!”

You grab his arm and tug him along toward what you assume is the right way out of the forest. He remains still. Turning around, you shoot him a confused glance. 'Tommy, we need to tell people.'

“Can’t let you do that sugar, sorry.”

“Why. . . Why not?” you let go and slowly step back, heart pounding. “Is it because he’s your brother?”

You wish that was his excuse. Some moral obligation towards Joel because he’s his brother, that you can relate to. Your heart still pounds for Joel and in your brain, you’re still desperately seeking an explanation.

But Tommy allows the silence to linger, your fear and worry quickly turning into anger.

“Fine, I’ll tell them. It’s wrong.”

It only takes a blink of an eye; you feel Tommy’s iron grip around your wrist, yanking you back into his chest. He holds you. Oddly tender for someone who had made your arm nearly fall out of its socket. You thrash within his arms, pulling and hitting his chest.

“We’re doing good,” he grunts. “You gotta see that.”

You refuse to listen, your ear narrowing on the sound of your own blood rush instead of his words. By some miracle, you manage to slip your arm out and punch him square in the chin. It was a weak punch but strong enough to startle Tommy.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, calm the fuck down—” he tucks your arm back against your body and turns you around so your back is flush against his chest. You’re breathing raggedly, chest rising with every deep gulp of air. His lips touch your ear, his tone menacing, “I really wish you would’ve not done that.”

“Why?” you gasp. “You’re gonna kill me too?”

Silence follows, and with every passing moment sweat beads on your forehead, “It was you wasn’t it?” you continue. “You killed Tina. Joel only came along with me to calm my suspicions.”

Before Tommy can confirm your suspicions, you notice movement within the forest and your eyes are immediately drawn to the shadow coming forth.

“Smart girl,” Joel remarks with a half smile as he emerges from between the trees. There’s a splatter of red over his shirt but the knife seems to be tucked away. For now. “But you’re only half right, darlin’. I came along because I like spendin’ time with you.”

“Is that supposed to make me ignore the fact that Jacob’s body isn’t even cold yet?”

Joel curls two fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze while Tommy continues to hold you back. You shudder against him, a soft sound parts the younger Miller’s lips.

“He was a piece of shit,” Joel grunts. “He was botherin’ Ellie, callin’ her names, he deserved what he was gettin’.”

“So what, you guys are just playing hero? Killing everyone who’s causing trouble in town? There’s a system for that.”

“Honey,” he tuts, an involuntary warmth spreading within your abdomen. “The system didn’t work before the outbreak, it ain’t gonna work now either.”

“We protect our own,” Tommy says from behind you, breath fanning your neck. “We take care of it before it escalates. You have to understand that.”

“And why the hell would I understand?” you hiss, looking directly into Joel’s eyes while addressing Tommy.

Joel smiles, his lips curling slowly, “Because you’re one of us. And you like it when we protect.”

Your lips part with an exhale. He’s right, not that you still agree with them killing people, but you had enjoyed that primal protection coming from the Millers. It made you feel powerful, loved, cared for. All the things you craved deeply.

You ignore Joel and his words entirely, averting your eyes with embarrassment and shame.

“I just don’t understand why you did it, Tommy” you murmur. Tommy tenses behind you, his arms tightening around your frame, drawing the remaining oxygen from your lungs. “I understand the other’s to an extent but Tina didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel looks towards Tommy, it was his kill after all and the older Miller had nothing to say about it.

“She was wrecking what Maria is tryin’ so hard to build,” he answers. “She’s pregnant, stress ain’t good for her or the baby.”

“Does. . . Does Maria—”

Tommy cuts you off, “No.”

Joel leans closer, mouth an inch away from yours as he parts his lips. “I killed for you,” You hate the way your body reacts to him, wanting to close the distance between you two despite how unsettled you feel. “Ian was a piece of shit, so was Tucker and Jacob. They don’t deserve your empathy, honey. And you can’t deny that you’re glad they’re gone.”

His hair is a delightful mess. Soft locks going in every direction. All you want to do is thread your fingers within and forget about all of this. Joel’s gaze is observant, dark eyes darting all over your face. You don’t know what he sees but whatever it is, he nods to Tommy for him to let you go and he does. Legs lifeless and shaking, he catches you, his warmth welcoming. He’s still tender with you. Hands delicate as they move over your arms, shifting you so you'll be facing Tommy.

Joel’s hand curls around your neck and holds your chin so you can’t look away. You can’t read Tommy’s expression. You’re not sure what he’s feeling. However, you think he looks almost relieved that you’re not fighting anymore.

You shudder as Joel drags his lips down your neck, taking deep breaths of your fear-induced scent. His hands slip under your shirt and cup both breaths, making you squeal. Your objection is short-lived when he brushes his thumbs over both nipples, awakening them with slow strokes.

Tommy’s gaze drops to your chest.

“He’s been watching you, you know,” Joel says. “When I had things to settle in town it was him who looked after you,” his voice drops, eyes observing his brother. “I think he deserves a bit of a show, don’t you think?”

The whimper you let out is enough for Tommy to meet your gaze curiously. Joel smiles into your skin and your eyes widen as he pulls out a knife—a different one from the one he used on Jacob, you realize with relief.

Your breath hitches as he slides the knife under your shirt and cuts your shirt clean from the middle, exposing you completely to his younger brother’s eyes. Sudden arousal pools between your legs and you clamp them together suddenly, the movement not unnoticed by either of them.

“You like it when my brother watches?” he asks loud enough for Tommy to hear. “You got a little crush on him too, sweetheart, hmm? Don’t worry, he’s always goin’ to be lookin’ out for you. That’s what family does after all.”

Your neck strains as Joel tilts your head suddenly, claiming your lips in a violent kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to part your lips for him and pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking the surprised sounds of pleasure right from your mouth. Your heart skips a beat. He presses the flat side of the knife against your warmed skin, the chill of metal settling in your bones.

When he parts away, a string of saliva connects you still. “You’re mine aren’t you?” Joel groans, lips moving over yours.

You nod in a daze and he smiles, “And I’m yours too,” he says.

Your eyes meet Tommy momentarily, the younger Miller’s lips twitch in a half smile. He doesn’t say a word as he closes the distance.

Tommy cradles your face tenderly, urging you to come close as he envelopes your lips with his own, taking you by surprise.

The kiss lacks the intensity compared to Joel’s. Tommy caresses your cheeks with both thumbs. You don’t even feel his tongue, it’s just a gradual movement of lips, a type of affirmation and comfort.

“You’re one of us now,” he says pressing his forehead against yours. You don’t know how to react or what to say and you end up just nodding, your hands fisting his shirt. Him, parting away from you almost feels painful but you’re not sure why. Tommy gives you a smile and Joel a nod before he leaves.

You and Joel stand like that for a while, in complete silence, bodies flushed together, knife still resting over your stomach.

“I only did what was right,” he breaks the silence. His tone isn’t one of asking for forgiveness or understanding. His arms tighten around you. “Are you afraid of me?” he whispers into your ear, the thick hairs above his lips tickling the shell of your ear.

You don’t answer him.

“You don’t need to be,” he continues. He allows you to move within his arms, you want to see his face, you need to see him to not fear for your life. You ignore the knife grazing your skin as you turn around, your bare front snug against his chest. “I’ll never hurt you. And you’re the only person in this whole damn town that can say that. You and Ellie.”

“What about Tommy?”

“Tommy’s priorities lay elsewhere.”

He doesn’t allow you to inquire further about what he means by that. All you can detect is a hint of anger that quickly dissipates when he claims your lips once more.

You’re lost in him. His tongue captures you in a way that makes you forget the blood on his clothes—on his hands. His tongue slides against your own, pressing until you’re moaning into his mouth, your knees faltering at the knife smoothing down your skin.

Before pushing you down to the ground, he takes off the shirt he cut in half completely off of you, your bra following the pile on the grass. Your breath hitches as he takes his place between your legs, his mouth devouring your neck, “Joel. . .” you moan, fisting his shirt and grinding up to feel at least a bit of friction.

A silent laugh seeps into your skin, his breath sending shivers up your spine, “Do you still feel bad for them?” he teases, laying a wet kiss between your breasts.

You don’t think much as you answer, “No.”

And as a reward, Joel closes his lips over a nipple, sucking hard until your breathing goes ragged.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, moving towards the other pebbled flesh. “You’re too good, too kind, but they don’t deserve that sweetheart.”

He hooks his fingers into your belt loops and tugs down your jeans, laving you with soft, ticklish kisses as he moves lower and lower. When you’re completely bare to him, you have the urge to cover yourself, the grass tickles your back and the wind feels colder now. Joel smiles and pulls your arms away. He lays the knife right above your stomach and your breath hitches.

“I want to taste you,” Joel says. “But not in the way you think, darlin’,” he kisses the sensitive skin right adobe your belly button, and brings the sharp edge of the knife to your skin. “I want to taste the life that pumps through your veins.”

Your eyes widen as he nicks you. It’s a small cut and blood beads at the wound instantly. He doesn’t allow it to gather enough so that’ll trickle down, he quickly presses his lips against it, your essence coating his tongue as he gives it a tender suck. You can the blood leaving your veins, a pleasant tingle echoing from the wound and spreading throughout your body. Your eyes flutter, a moan escaping your lips as he flattens his tongue against the cut and licks with board strokes.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he rasps, pushing two fingers into you with ease. You gasp at the sudden stretch, your back arching into his touch. “So darn wet—All this for me, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, grinding down. “Joel, please—”

You hear the sound of his belt buckle coming undone, his breath heavy in your ear, “Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart, I’m obliged.”

You feel the head of his cock brush against your entrance, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your eyes close in anticipation and you whimper as he slowly slides inside you inch by inch. You can feel it, that intense fullness that can only come from him, taking his time to make sure it feels good. His size is intimidating but you feel yourself melting around him, eager and willing.

“That’s it. . . you’re takin’ me so well, such a tight little hole for me. Fuckin’ amazin’.”

He presses his forehead against yours, nipping at your bottom lip before thrusting, sending a wave of pleasure that makes your toes curl. You cling onto him for support as he pumps deeper and faster, hitting all the right spots. It takes neither of you long to climb the edge, ready to fall. You can feel the warmth of his breath, and his grip tightens on your hips. His pace quickens as the intensity builds, and you clench around him as he groans your name.

“Gonna come inside,” he slurs his words. “Gonna fill you up—shit—”

You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, his hard length contracting. As he pushes deeper into you, your insides flutter, squeezing around him. Your orgasm is ripped from you, shattering and mind-numbing. Your head spins and you cling to him, afraid that the world underneath you might slip entirely. His hot come warms you from the inside out, spilling from where his cock stretches you.

Joel remains inside until he starts to soften. He pulls out of you, leaving you feeling a longing ache deep within your core. You shudder as his come trickles down your thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, entranced, as he gathers himself over his fingers and pushes it back inside you. “Try to keep as much as you can inside.” To emphasize his want for it, he slides your underwear up your legs.

You’re tied to him now. And even though you shouldn’t, you enjoy being the one near the beast. Joel helps you dress, at least helps you with what remains, and gives you his leather jacket to wear since your shirt is in ruins. Neither of you says a word as you walk back to where Jacob’s body rests. You help him bury the body, not feeling a single thing; no grief, no remorse, no sadness.

You always did have a complicated relationship with death after all.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #hauntedhoedown

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ponderingmoonlight · 9 months

Note

Hii! Could you do Gojo + 65, please? But in a made me cry so much I’ll remember this for the next couple days way :)

There you go! This one took me quite a while and to be honest I'm not fully satisfied with how it turned out, but I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think 🖤

55. "I think I might be in love with you."

She is my weakness

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,7k

Synopsis: Even though Satoru never admitted his feelings towards you, everyone is aware of the fact that you are his weakness - a weakness that Suguru gladly uses in order to fullfill his mission. While you are on the brink of death, Satoru realizes just how much you really mean to him.

Warnings: language, hurt, death, injury

Gojo can’t catch his breath, the road to Jujutsu High suddenly feels so long. He got distracted, too distracted to notice that you aren’t there anymore. It wasn’t until someone informed him about the fact that you just disappeared, seconds later a message popping up on his phone.

Don’t worry, she’s with me. Maybe you should hurry up though.

You are a very skilled jujutsu sorcerer, an exceptional talent without special status. Satoru spent so many training sessions with you that he lost count, the only thing remaining in his memory being your mesmerizing smile.

“Why are you laughing? I’m absolutely serious, you almost got me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous Satoru, no need to pamper my feelings. Attack me instead!”

Fuck, how did he not notice that you’re gone? You’re always fighting by his side, trusting him blindly. He never allowed himself to lose track of you. Why today, when the name Suguru Geto is written on his display?

This doesn’t make any sense. It has to be a trap, Satoru just knows it. But still he’s on his way to Jujutsu High despite being urgently needed on the battlefront, hands slightly trembling. You are a great jujutsu sorcerer. But not good enough to face Suguru.

“Where is she?”, he yells, six eyes scanning the area around him in order to catch a glimpse of you or Suguru.

“Satoru, long time no see!”

“Where. Is. She.”, Gojo hisses through gritted teeth, blindfold ripped from his fury eyes.

“Woah, easy Satoru. Did you really just leave everyone else alone in order to save your little girlfriend from getting killed? That doesn’t look like you at all.”

“I make the world my enemy if it means saving her.”

You aren’t his girlfriend, the two of you never spoke about having a serious relationship with each other. He held you in his arms when you weren’t able to sleep, hands always brushing against each other when walking side by side, the two of you exchanging secret glances at each other all the time.

There’s no point in hiding it from himself any longer. Satoru is hopelessly in love with you since he first laid eyes on you and heard your angelic laugh. And the fact that Suguru put his dirty hands on you kills him from the inside.

“How touching. Too bad that she’s already dead. I have to say she fought very brave, tried to save your puny students from getting killed only to get stabbed herself. How self-sacrificing, how heroic.”

The world around Satoru collapses. You, dead? No, that’s not possible. Not even Suguru would dare to kill a skilled jujutsu sorcerer like yourself.

“Well, maybe she isn’t exactly dead already. I give you two options: Fight against me or save her. It’s up to you. See ya!”

And with that, he’s gone in the wind.

“Maki, Toge, Panda, Yuta, get out of the way. I’ll handle this.”

The confidence and rage in your voice had your students step aside immediately. You should have known that Suguru is here for Yuta, you should have realized it way sooner. There was no time or chance to inform Satoru about it. You gripped your katana tightly, eyes glistered in determination. You aren’t dumb, it is crystal clear that you aren’t able to defeat Suguru. But it is your job to defend your students, especially Yuta.

“Come on little (y/n), being Satoru’s girlfriend doesn’t make you the strongest. It doesn’t work like that. Both you and I know that this ends in blood.”

“I don’t need to be the strongest in order to distract you until he gets here.”

You fought back, over and over your blade crushed into another curse, you didn’t even stop when blood clouded your vision, whole body on fire from the countless wounds he has inflicted on you.

Is this really how you are supposed to die? Pictures of Satoru flooded your mind. You should have told him how you feel, that he makes your days better and your smile brighter. You noticed your feelings a long time ago, too afraid to lose a good friend by confessing. Now your words will forever be unsaid, he will never know how you truly felt. Your lips begin to tremble, eyes filling with tears.

“I’m sorry Satoru”, you whisper to yourself.

One last hit. A scorching pain. Then everything went black.

Satoru is aware of the fact that Suguru wants Yuta and nothing else, that you and the others have to be alive. Yuta can stand his ground until he has brought you to Shoko, back into safety. You simply can’t die without knowing about his true feelings, without knowing that you are way more than a simple friend to him and that he wants nothing more than to be by your side. If there’s a slight chance to safe you he’ll take it, fuck everything else. But firstly, he needs to find you and his students.

Maki’s and Toge’s bodies are plastered on the ground, seriously injured but alive – nothing that Shoko can’t fix. Sounds of battle begin to penetrate Gojo’s ears. So Yuta is still fit enough to stand against Suguru, huh? What an impressive kid.

His heart drops immediately when catching a glimpse of your body on the other side though. God, you are so covered in crimson that the color of your uniform is almost unrecognizable. Limb over limb, as if you just fell to the ground. Lifeless, drained, on the brink of death.

Satoru sprints towards you, ice cold sweat dripping down his face. He presses his fingers against your neck, praying to god that your heart is still beating, that there is a slight chance of you being saved by Shoko.

He has never seen you like this. Of course you were injured in missions from time to time, but the worst wound you ever had was a laceration on your forehead. No wonder, your fighting technique is very advanced after all, you spent so many hours training your ass off. But still…But still you are laying to his feet, Satoru’s shaky hands covered in your blood.

This simply can’t be true. He could never understand how Suguru could go down this path, Gojo’s last straw of his dignity being that he’d never hurt a jujutsu sorcerer or member of Jujutsu High. Why are you laying here, heartbeat almost gone and breath nothing more than a light breeze in the wind?

“Fuck!”, he yells, fists slamming into the hard ground until blood spills.

You can’t die like that, not after all the two of you have been through, not until he was able to at least tell you about his feelings.

“You might be the honored one, that doesn’t change the fact that pizza is better than burgers though. So sorry to break it to you, Satoru.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, (y/n)! Are you brainwashed? Maybe I should call Shoko, let me check!”

Your heartfelt laughter echoes through the room and Gojo’s core, hands halfheartedly fighting off his tickle attack. You are so beautiful when you shake in laughter, eyes squeezed tight until tears of joy spill out of them, your soft hands sending shivers down his spine.

“S-Satoru, please stop!”, you cry out and surrender in his arms.

Out of instinct you lay your head against his chest and close your eyes for a sweet moment. Oh, how delicious he smells, how much you love to be held like this. Your heart almost beats out of your chest when Satoru wraps his arms around you, pressing you even closer to his beating heart.

The words are hanging on his lips, it would be so easy to just tell you that he loves every little thing about you. Why does his mouth suddenly feel so fuzzy, why is all he can do stare at you in awe? Fuck, you are so lovely, he doesn’t deserve you.

“(y/n) I-… I think I might be in love with you!”, he blurts out, fists clinging onto your soaked uniform, tears glistering in his bright orbs.

If you will even survive the way to Shoko? He has to try. After all, he is the honored one. If he isn’t able to save you then no one will be? Fuck Suguru, fuck this whole useless battle. He can’t lose you today.

As gentle as possible, he picks you up in his arms, your lifeless head propped against his chest. Why does your body feel so cold? Why does the blood not stop running? Fright swallows Gojo completely, the thought of losing you getting realer and realer. Why were you here anyway? Maybe all of his student would have died if you weren’t so damn brave. You must have found out that Suguru is here. Fuck, why are you always caring about others and sacrifice yourself like that? Why didn’t you call him?

His hand caresses your face softly, tears now completely taking his sight. Because this is you, because this is exactly why he loves you so damn much.

It doesn’t take him long to get to Shoko, but it still feels like an eternity.

“Shoko, please help her!”, he yells over the constant conversations, voice completely immersed in pure horror.

Oh no, not you. Shoko pales in an instant when taking in your sight. This doesn’t look good, to be exact it looks absolutely terrible.

Satoru’s trembling arms lay you down on a makeshift sickbed, Shoko immediately by your side.

“How the hell did this happen? (y/n) is the only one apart from you that never gets hurt”, she comments while inspecting your multiple severe wounds.

“Suguru invaded Jujutsu High unnoticed despite the curtain. She must have found out. My students are there, (y/n) saved their asses from getting killed”, he explains briefly, gaze completely fixated on you and the way your chest dimly rises and falls.

“I’m gonna be honest to you, this looks totally awful. She is barely breathing and her heartbeat is way too weak. I’m trying my best but maybe…Maybe you should stay here with her, Satoru.”

It’s like the world around him is collapsing when Shoko’s words confirm his worst nightmares. You could die, right here right now. And you would die without knowing how much you really mean to him, that you are way more than just a colleague or a friend to him.

“I never told her”, he mutters, hands clinging onto yours for dear life.

“You don’t have to. Some things don’t need to be said.”

As if in trance, Gojo follows the movements of Shoko’s hands that are busy trying to save your life.

“What about the others?”

“Maki, Panda and Toge are injured but alive. Yuta is facing Suguru at the moment.

“Do you think he can handle this?”

“Sure, I’ll go back as soon as soon as (y/n) is out of danger.”

So there he sits. Seconds, minutes and hours passing by as all he can do is stare at you and watch Shoko stitching you up. You look like you’re sleeping peacefully, ready to get shaken awake by Satoru. He can’t help but stare and take in your striking features. Your face isn’t cute by any means. No, you are attractive in a more dangerous way, a woman that turns heads on the streets no matter what she wears. A woman that wraps men around her finger with one little glance. A woman that knows what she wants and how she gets it. You are treacherous and unattainable. There’s no greater feeling than seeing other men contort themselves after you as it is him that walks beside you, his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“You know that I can take care of men myself, do you?”

“Sure, but I just can’t resist.”

Little did you know that he dies to hold you in his arms and show everyone that you are his, that none of these douchebags will ever touch you like he does. Oh, how much he enjoys your attention on him, if he could he would spend every second of the day with you.

“Good morning sunshine, the earth says hello!”

“Satoru, why do you have to wake me up this early? And even more important: How did you get in my room?”, you groaned, still a slight grin plastered on your face.

“Nothing easier than breaking in here! Did you forget we have a rendez-vous today, sleepyhead?”

“Yeah, for training. In 3 hours”, you reply dryly.

“Oh, must’ve forgotten about that.”

“Or maybe you just wanted to see me”, you teased him, your very own heart beating out of your chest while waiting for his reply.

“Can’t say anything against that”, he admits.

Now he can’t wake you up this easily. You’re still not moving, eyes staying rested at all times.

“Ironic, isn’t it? That I’m the strongest but couldn’t prevent her from getting this beaten up”, he mutters, drunken gaze never leaving you.

“Every power has its limits. Suguru just seemed to have a good plan on hand and knew that she’ll come as soon as the students are in danger. That’s just how (y/n) is. You cannot influence that”, Shoko replies, her skilled fingers completely occupied by working their ways through your countless wounds.

“It’s all my fault. Suguru knew she is my weakness and that I won’t come after him when her life is in danger.”

“Stop talking shit, if she could hear you she’d probably punch you in the face for that. (y/n) isn’t helped by doubting yourself.”

Satoru buries his face in his hands, tears swelling up his eyes once more. None of this should have happened. You should have called and told him about it. You should have told him that you are in danger. Why do you have to be so suborn, so fucking brave, probably saving his students from death while risking your own life? God, he hates you for this. But also…this is exactly why he adores you so much. No, why he loves you so much. Why do you have to be on the brink of death for him to realize that you are so much more than just a friend to him?

“Satoru?”

His name. His name came out of your mouth. Satoru’s heart feels like a jackhammer inside his chest, shaky fingers intertwining with yours. God, you opened your eyes, you talked. You…you are alive.

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

“Suguru is at Jujutsu High.”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper, eyelids hanging heavy in your blood-smeared face.

“I know, darling. I picked you up from there. If you scare me like that again I’ll kill you”, Satoru jokes with tears glistering in his eyes, smiling over your concern about the others even though you almost died yourself.

“Satoru…I-I love you. Couldn’t die without telling you that.”

His hand tenderly strokes your bruised cheek, relief filling his whole body, absolutely enchanted by your sweet words. You love him. You, (y/n) really love him. Is he dreaming? Can this really be true? For years, all he could think about was you, you are the only woman that turns his head. And now you’re telling him that you are in love with him?

“Let me hear that again.”

“I won’t say it again until you say it back”, you reply, smiling widely.

“I love you too, (y/n). Was just too dumb to realize I guess.”

“Listen, I don’t want to interrupt your moment here, but (y/n) needs to rest and you need to look after Yuta", intervenes, still occupied by treating your wounds.

“Did you leave your students alone with Suguru?”, you ask in shock.

“Hehe, you need to rest now.”

And with that you watch as the man you love more than the entire earth disappears with one last look in your eyes. He saved your life that day. But not only that, after all these years he is finally yours. Maybe almost dying wasn’t so bad after all.

784 notes · View notes

lionlena · 10 months

Text

Unforgivable mistake (JoelMillerxreader) Part 4

Summary: Reader is much younger than Joel and is in love with him. One night, after arguing with Tess and getting drunk, Joel spends the night with a reader, but in the morning he breaks her heart… She runs away from Boston hoping that she will never meet this cold bastard again in her life. But almost six years later, she unexpectedly sees Joel in Jackson. She decides to hide herself and her little secret from this asshole.

Warnings: age gap (reader is about 28 years, Joel 58), strong language, swearing, past trauma, bullying, attempted rape, memories of sexual abuse, unprotect p in v, dom!Joel, Joel is asshole, ANGST, hurt, sadness and heartbreaking, sexual harassment, women abuse, violence

A/N: Sorry, but this is probably the longest chapter so far.I don't know what to write, it was an emotionally difficult chapter. There's a lot going on in it.

Part 4

After a few weeks, you reluctantly admitted that you needed Joel's help. He perfectly filled the gap that was created when neither you nor Claudia could take care of the boy. And Teddy loved Joel. It hurt you a bit, but the most important thing for you was the happiness of your son. The boy was happy when Joel picked him up when he tossed him up when he did all the things you couldn't do so well because you were smaller and weaker than Joel.

"Are you sure Teddy won't disturb you at the stables? I still have half an hour until my shift." Your friend's voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You looked at the little boy who was happily jumping up and down a few meters in front of you.

"No. Joel will pick him up in an hour."

You saw Claudia frown. You knew she loved you like a sister and your son like a nephew.

"I know what you're thinking," you murmured. "But this asshole really does his job. Since Teddy staying with Joel, he's happier and no one's teasing him."

"I know, it's just… Fuck, Y/N, this is Joel. He'll fuck off eventually."

You sighed heavily. "Let's hope not, though."

As usual, you arranged a place for your son at the back of the stable among the straw bales. You gave him toys and you started cleaning the horses. Teddy was always very polite. From an early age, you taught him that horses are beautiful animals, but they require respect and you have to be careful around them. Unfortunately, not everyone understood this.

"Y/N!!!"

You shivered as you heard Anderson scream. Instinctively, you took a step back and slammed your back against the cubicle wall.

"What happened Peter?"

"I told you it was for you I'm Mr. Anderson," he growled, and you rolled your eyes, but then the man was right in front of you and dug his fingers painfully into your arm.

You immediately remembered who you were dealing with.

"What happened?" you repeated almost in a whisper.

"Why you didn't let my son ride that gray mare?"

"Venus is only two years old and is too young."

Anderson snorted and finally released your arm. "I saw that Teddy sitting on her."

You wanted to roll your eyes again, but you were afraid of his reaction. You took a step forward and tried to stay calm.

"Teddy helps me get her used to the rider. He doesn't ride her. Venus is always attached and I'm by her side. Your son wants to ride her alone, and that's out of the question. Also, Teddy is smaller and lighter."

Anderson shoved you so hard that you hit your back against the stall door. Then he grabbed your jaw painfully and growled, "Are you suggesting my son is fat?!"

You felt tears welling up in your eyes and shook your head.

"Good," he spat. "And you'd better train that stupid mare so my son can ride her."

He finally let go of you and walked away, and you sighed in relief. You rubbed your jaw and looked around nervously. You hoped Teddy didn't see or hear anything. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time you fought with Anderson. He used to be so nice...

(flashback)

You met Peter Anderson right after you moved to Jackson. Before the pandemic, he was a gynecologist and was a valued resident of Jackson as a result. He was nearly fifty, tall and slim. His black hair was streaked with gray. He reminded you of Joel, but he was the opposite. Peter had a wife and child. He was kind and caring to you. He always smiled at you and assured you that he would help you with the birth.

You didn't even notice when his behavior towards you became too intimate. When he touched your breasts to show you how to feed Teddy. Or when he praised you saying his postpartum wife wasn't that sexy. You started to feel uncomfortable around him, but at the same time, you had no way to avoid him. You didn't know who to tell about your problem.

On your next visit, you decided to deal with it yourself. You felt his hand roaming your thigh and you pushed him away violently.

"Peter stop!" you growled. "You have to stop this. You have a wife and a child."

He looked at you with amusement. "What are you talking about child? I'm your doctor, how should I examine you?"

You narrowed your eyes and hissed, "I only came for medicine on Teddy's fever."

Anderson was not going to back down and nonchalantly replied, "That's why I need to check your breasts. You may have an inflamed breast. You're still breastfeeding him, and that could have caused the fever."

You felt yourself turn red with rage. "You put your hand up my skirt! Since when are there breasts?! You say I'm sexier than your wife and…"

The splash of a slap on the cheek spread around the room, and you clutched your face with tears in your eyes. You looked at Peter's angry face.

"How dare you, stray dog?! I tried to be kind and caring to you, and this is how you repay me?"

"I'll tell everyone what you did," you sobbed.

"Really? Then go and tell them that the doctor who looks after them treats you so badly. Come on. And you know what I'm going to tell them? That you're a little bitch who can't keep her legs shut. I'll say you hit on me and, that you're taking revenge because I'm faithful to my wife. I wonder who they'll believe? Me or a bitch who fucked someone in Boston."

You couldn't hold back your tears. You didn't understand why men were like this. First Joel, then Anderson. Or was he right? It was all your fault. There was something wrong with you.

Peter threw a small bottle with a clear liquid in your direction.

"Give the kid three drops and take his temperature, now get out of here. You're pathetic."

You ran out of his office and didn't tell anyone what happened.

Since that incident, Anderson hasn't hit on you anymore, but he's become rough and rude. He often pushed you roughly or grabbed you too hard, leaving you with bruises. He verbally abused you by calling you a bitch, a whore, a slut.

But of course, he never did it publicly, he was too smart for that. You felt trapped. You thought his position in Jackson was too strong.

You didn't know how to end it.

When you saw Joel entering the stables you shouted "Teddy! Joel is here!"

The man greeted you with a nod, but you looked away. Your son ran around the corner and ran towards Joel. He fell straight into his open arms and whined.

"Hey, 'bear cub'. What happened?"

The baby just snuggled closer to him and he looked at you concerned. You felt worried too and walked over to them.

"Maybe he's tired," you said. "Try giving him a snack and put him down for a nap."

He nodded and left the stable with his son. The little one held him tight all the way home and sniffled. Joel rubbed the boy's tiny back and tried to talk to him, but Teddy was silent. It wasn't until they were home that the boy looked at him and asked, "Can you protect mommy like you protect me?"

Joel knelt beside him. "Who am I supposed to protect her from?"

"From Mr. Anderson," he moaned sadly.

He rubbed the boy's shoulders and considered how to continue the conversation. He knew Anderson was a doctor and had a wife. But maybe you had an affair with him and the boy was just jealous.

"You need to tell me more, 'bear cub'. What exactly did Anderson do to your mom?"

The boy grabbed his jaw with his hand and said, "He's holding her like that and yelling at her. And he pushed her... And mommy hit the wall... Or he says bad words to her... Sometimes he grabs her hand and... Mommy has then a bruise. Mommy is afraid of him and doesn't like going to him..." The boy sniffed and a few tears ran down his cheek.

With every next word from Teddy, Joel made sure that Anderson was abusing you. He was furious with this guy and didn't understand why you didn't finish it. Didn't anyone in Jackson want to help you? And the worst part was that Teddy saw it.

Joel pulled the boy close to him and put his arm around him protectively. "Don't cry, 'bear cub'. I promise I'll talk to Anderson and tell him to be nice to your mommy."

Teddy snuggled closer to him and grabbed him by the shirt.

For the next few hours, Joel felt like a caged wild animal. He had to be calm, for his son, but everything inside him was boiling. When Ellie finally came home, he immediately ran over to her.

"Stay with Teddy and stay at home."

The girl looked at him surprised. "But what happened?"

"I have to do something." He grabbed his jacket. "Ellie, this is really important."

Teddy ran over to them and hugged the girl, shouting "Hi", but seeing Joel leave he quickly said, "Are you going to help mommy?"

Joel smiled at him. "Yes, 'bear cub'. Stay with Ellie and be good."

Before the teenage girl could ask anything, he was already outside. He decided to go to the bar first since it was the time most of the men gathered there. And he hit the jackpot.

Anderson was sitting at the bar drinking whiskey. As usual, he was wearing a shirt and tie, and everything about Joel was going crazy. A fucking asshole pretending to be an elegant doctor. He wasn't going to play. He walked quickly to Anderson, ignoring the surprised look from Claudia, who was standing behind the bar. He grabbed the man by the arm and turned him around.

"What?"

"Fuck off from Y/N!" he growled. "If you touch her again, I'll break your arm."

Anderson snorted and looked unfazed. He thought he was in no danger. He lowered his voice to a whisper and asked, "That little bitch complained to you?"

Joel released him and took a step back, only to gain momentum and punch Anderson in the face with all his strength. The man screamed in pain and fell from the chair to the floor and clutched his nose.

"Fuck! You broke my nose you psycho!"

Joel laughed. "It's good that you're a doctor... You'll be fine." Then he kicked the man in the ribs.

He was about to strike another blow, but some men grabbed him and pulled him away from Anderson.

You were just leaving the stable when a panting Claudia ran up to you.

"Y/N!!!" You froze at the nervousness in her voice. At first, you thought something had happened to Teddy. "Joel went crazy... He broke Anderson's nose!!!"

Your heart sped up and your breathing became ragged. Many thoughts ran through your head, and you realized pretty quickly that there was only one reason for Joel's behavior. Teddy must have seen Peter attack you and tell Joel. You looked at Claudia and tried to swallow, but your throat was completely dry.

"Where are they now?" you croaked.

"In Maria's office." You nodded your head and wanted to move, but your friend grabbed your arm. "What happens?"

"I'll tell you everything, but now... Now I have to help Joel."

You couldn't believe you said those words and you were just as shocked as she was. She finally let you go, and you ran to the building that served as something like a city hall. People met there, discussed problems, planned activities for the future, and made important decisions.

You burst into Maria's office without knocking and quickly noticed Joel sitting on one of the chairs. Tommy held his shoulders tight. In the second chair was Anderson with a bloody nose, and across from them was Maria. This scene was a bit funny. They looked like two teenagers in the principal's office, but you had no reason to laugh. As soon as you entered, everyone's eyes focused on you. Anderson spoke first, of course.

"There you are. Tell that lover of yours that I didn't do anything to you."

Joel immediately tried to jump up. "Shut up your mouth, or I will break your jaw!"

You felt like the world was spinning around you. Two men who hurt you were in the same room, and you had to choose between them. You saw Maria say something to you, but you didn't hear what. You wanted to run away. You wanted to leave Joel and Anderson behind. You wanted them to kill each other. But then you thought of Teddy and shouted, "Enough!!! I've had enough!" Everyone suddenly fell silent and you looked at Maria with tears in your eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can't take it anymore. Anderson sexually harassed me when I came here. When I rejected him, he began to abuse me. Sometimes he hit me, sometimes he insulted me ... I didn't say anything because... He's a doctor and everyone needs him."

Maria walked over to you and put her arm around you.

"She's lying," Peter moaned.

The woman gave him an angry look. "Be silent!" She looked at her husband. "Tommy, take him home. He's not allowed to go outside. I'll take action later." She led you to the door. "Joel, stay here. I and Y/N will be in the next room."

Joel didn't look pleased. He wanted to make sure you were okay, but finally nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

You told Maria everything, and she listened to you patiently and looked at you sadly. When you were done she said.

"Y/N, no one has the right to act like this. It doesn't matter that Anderson is a doctor... For God's sake, he should care more about everyone."

"I thought no one would believe me," you whispered.

Maria squeezed your arm. "I believe you." She sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Stay here for a while, I need to talk to Joel."

You nodded your head and watched her leave the room.

Maria looked at Joel and gasped. "I don't know what to do with you. I want to throw you out of town, but at the same time, I'm grateful to you. Though I don't understand why you suddenly decided to play a knight."

Joel jumped up from his seat and glared at her.

"Because Y/N don't deserve to be treated like this and my son doesn't deserve to be worried about his mom."

Maria frowned. "And suddenly you're the one who protects and cares for her?"

"What do you mean?"

"You hurt her. You took advantage of her. In the old days, some courts might even consider it rape!"

Joel winced and took a step back. "I didn't rape her... She wanted it. She was an adult and she didn't say no."

Maria looked at him with contempt. "Is that your explanation? You are and were much older than her. You saw how naive and in love with you she was. Just because she didn't say no, that she didn't scream, didn't run away, doesn't mean she wanted it, that she wasn't scared, hurt... Besides, it means Anderson had a right to bully her too because she didn't object."

"This is not the same!" he growled. "He had no right to lay a hand on her."

Maria laughed, and his fury flooded over him. "Why? Explain it to her. The man she loved hurt her and didn't respect her. Why should other men treat her better?"

Joel's shoulders slumped. Was it really like that? The way he treated you changed your life forever

"I didn't mean to hurt her... I was different."

"Possibly, but you seem to have gone back to your old ways. We don't break other people's noses here."

"What are you going to do? Let's get this over."

"I won't do anything. Let Y/N decide what to do with you."

Joel opened his mouth but couldn't say anything. He could fight clickers, robbers, or FEDRA without fear, but putting his fate in your hands. It terrified him. You had your revenge.

"Maria... Please."

"I'll talk to her and tell you what decision she made."

You looked at Maria as if she had just told you that aliens had landed in the city.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. You decide his fate. He's to go to a cell, he's to be kicked out of town."

"No," you whispered.

"Isn't that what you wanted? He broke your heart and you hate him."

You shook your head and replied, "I don't hate him for breaking my heart, but for the way he did it. And you're right, I wanted to throw him out but... That was before my son loved him and before I met Ellie. If I kick out Joel, I'll punish the kids too."

Maria sighed. "At least a cell for two weeks?"

"NO." The woman was clearly shocked by your answer. "I'm sure Teddy asked him for help, if I lock up Joel, my son will think it's his fault."

"You're too good."

You shrugged. "Let him take over my stable duties for the next week, I have to leave for a few days." Maria nodded and you just left. You wanted this day to end.

Joel opened and closed his mouth. Then he finally managed to say, "Nothing? Just a stable?"

"Yes," Maria repeated. "Believe me, I'm not enjoying it at all."

Joel was no longer paying attention to her. He grabbed his jacket and quickly headed for the door, but a woman's voice stopped him.

"Joel!"

He looked at her annoyed. "What?"

"Leave her. She doesn't want to see you."

"Maybe she doesn't want to, but she needs to hear something from me."

Joel ran outside. He must have found you and it didn't take him long to catch up with you.

"Y/N! Wait, please."

You looked at him with tired eyes. You were emotionally exhausted and didn't know if you could handle another asshole.

"What do you want, Joel?"

He walked over to you and stopped some distance away. You saw that he was nervous.

"Thank you for not kicking me out."

You shrugged and murmured, "I did it for Ellie and Teddy."

He nodded and licked his lips. He took a deep breath, looked you straight in the eye, and said. "I'm sorry... For everything. For today and... Especially for Boston. I know I made you thought that Anderson has the right to treat you like this."

You stared at him blankly. You didn't feel any better thanks to his apology. It was as if everything had come too late. The losses have already been done.

"You think you fixed everything because you hit him?" He shook his head on 'no'. "Good, because then you'd be a complete moron."

Joel winced slightly. "If I could turn back time."

"But you can't!" you growled. "And I don't want it." He looked at you surprised. "Then there wouldn't be Teddy. I don't regret having him. I just don't want him to be like you."

Joel swallowed hard and looked down. "He won't... He... He has the same goodness in his as you have. And I'll do anything that he not to be like that. Even if I have to pull away."

You were so surprised by his confession that you stepped closer. "A few weeks ago you begged to see him and now you would give it up?"

He nodded and looked at you sadly. "If it was for his own good. I don't want him to be like me. I really regret what I did to you."

"I don't want your apologies or regrets," you said confidently. "I want to know why? Why did you do this to me?" You tried to keep your voice confident, but it trembled at the last question: "What's wrong with me?"

Joel gasped sharply and took a step towards you. He stopped himself from hugging you at the last moment. "There's nothing wrong with you," he said firmly.

"Why?" you repeated the question.

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, you saw something new in them. He was vulnerable… As if he really decided to open up to you.

"You were beautiful, smart, good and so young... You still are, but in Boston, you were like a delicate flower that grew in a dump. And I was garbage. And for some inexplicable reason, you chose me..." He sighed heavily and gently brushed your cheek. "I tried to push you away. You know it. I was myself. Maybe even worse. Remember when you used to bring me cookies and I never thanked you for it." You nodded. "I thought it would make you stop doing it and make you realize that I don't deserve it. But you were relentless." He paused for a moment, knowing he was approaching the worst part. "That night... Part of me wanted to hold you in my arms and treat you like a delicate flower, but the alcohol awakened that animal side in me. The one that wanted to destroy you. Hurt you so much, that you would never again, come near to me. And it did. You left and I…” He snorted and shook his head at the memory of what an idiot he was. "At first I was glad you were avoiding me, then I realized you weren't anywhere in Boston. I even paid "old Robert" for the information. He told me you left town with Claudia and some other people. I know you won't believe me but... Then I thought you would die because of me, and I added you to the rest of my sins, and then I saw you here, alive." He smiled slightly. "And all I focused on was that if you're alive, I haven't done anything wrong, but that's not true. If I wasn't such a monster in Boston, you wouldn't fall into the arms of another monster. Y/N, I don't know if you'll ever forgive me, but I promise I'll never hurt you again."

You didn't know what to say. It was all too much. You had to clear your head. You finally whispered. "I'm going away for a few days and I'm taking Teddy."

Joel looked at you worried. "Where? Alone?"

You nodded your head. "To a safe place. To friends who live out of town. They're like grandparents to Teddy."

Joel looked at you sadly and nodded his head. "All right."

Once upon a time, you would give everything to make him look at you like that. With those puppy eyes, but now... Now you just wanted to be away from him.

"I know we're going the same way, but could you..."

Before you could finish your sentence, he said, "I'll take the long way. I'll go around."

You nodded and turned away from him, walking briskly forward.

Joel stood there for a few more minutes and watched your silhouette get smaller and smaller until you disappeared completely. And he felt that painful grip in his chest. The one he hadn't felt for many years and understood that he would do anything to make you forgive him.

My baby,

Wide eyed and pretty

You're a body I could hold

You are a good woman I'm told

I made a lot of mistakes,

And you know some of them made me

You may think me a fool,

But I am a good man too

I am a good man too

Sanders Bohlke - My Baby

Part III

Part V

Taglist: @ajeff855, @anislabonis-love, @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi, @i-workwithpens, @milla-frenchy, @quality-lust @liatome @sarahhxx03 @creedslove @jojo-munson @pascalislove @sofiparallel @goldenhxurs @elliaze @aestheticangel612 @cheyxfu @orcasoul @misshoneypaper @prestinalove

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller and you #joel and ellie #ellie williams #joel is daddy #joel is asshole #angst #hurt #too many emotions #sadness #tlou fanfiction #the last of us

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seph-ic · 1 year

Text

My favorite unofficial friend group is Rachel, Grover, Percy, Annabeth, Nico, and Will cause yes I am well aware that some of these have no basis in cannon whatsoever but I think the dynamic would be fun like:

They’re all first arc kids and I like to think there’s some odd unspoken bond from that

Tartarus club

Golden trio

Also people forget that Rachel and Grover spent a lot of time together during hoo so I’d imagine they’d be close

Nico and Percy as the token big three kids

Grover and Percy are best friends I will die on this hill

I like to think that Annabeth and Will had a similar relationship to Percy and Nico (minus the crush lol) and that they’re super close these days.

All of them fought in both big wars

Grover as the token straight friend

Rachel + Will dying all of their hair

Solangelo Percabeth double dates

Rachel and Grover stop each other from feeling like third wheels (which rarely happens)

They all hang out at Sally’s … like a lot. Cause she’s pretty much the closest any of them has to a mother figure (except will??)

Annabeth and Will nerding out about science (Physics v.s. Biology)

Nico and Rachel are liberal arts kids to death

They all have a lot of fun introducing Nico to modern day things. It’s so entertaining that they dedicate one day a month to all meeting up and showing Nico something new.

(Annabeth is black eat me) Rachel has curly hair as well so her and Annabeth swap hair care tips.

The girls actually become SUPER close and hang out all the time.

Everyone kind of takes up a big sibling role for Will and Nico. Percy and Annbeth especially and they often coach them through a lot of being-a-good-councilor-hurdles

Rachel teaches Nico how to paint. (I just remember him admiring her paintings in TON and I won’t let it go)

Will and Grover (and probably Percy) grow weed. Will uses it a lot as a medicinal herb, but he also smokes it with Grover and Percy from time to time. Also they all make weed brownies together one time and then watch Disney’s Hercules together and it’s a wreck.

TONS of karaoke, made all the better by the fact that none of them can sing. Rachel is definitely the best tho

Sparring/training together

Rachel and Will do tarot together

Grover Percy and Nico (sometimes Annabeth) play video games together alot.

They gossip a lot

They babysit Estelle

When they’re all a bit older sometimes they’ll just rock up to camp to help out and tell the kids stories

Just hanging out and drinking and being teens

Nico loves to braid the girls hair (like he used to with Bianca)

Nico will summon ancient artists, architects, and physicians, for Rachel, Annabeth, and Will to talk too

They all teach Will how to drive

Beach days

They might go camping or something

Annabeth helps Rachel work the analytics on her social media art accounts so she gets lots of followers

They all borrow each other’s clothes. This leads to a lot of interesting fashion choices

Rachel introduces Will and Percy to anime and they get SUPER into it

Annabeth and Grover build eco-friendly treehouses at camp for the nymphs and satyers

They talk about their trauma a lot. It’s much easier for them to talk about it to one another because they know they’ll understand

SLEEPOVERS. The do all the stereotypical stuff: face masks, truth or dare, movies.. ect

Percy and Nico have a lot of adventures in cooking, which they both like to do. They’ve make at least 8 different types of blue pasta

Will and Percy are honorary horse girls (wills from the country and Percy just likes horses) and they go for Pegasus/unicorn rides around camp

They all work really well in battle. Anytime there is a monster the six of them can usually take care of it in 15 minutes

Capture the flag

Secret handshakes

They will literally just show up at one another’s at 3 am to go get shakes

Percy Nico and Rachel have the same/ similar music tastes and they go to concerts together

They help each other for quests and stuff

A very active group chat

Idk I just want them to be friends and do friend things cause it’s nice and they deserve it.

#percy jackson #pjo #hoo #toa #percy jackon and the olympians #percabeth #solangelo #annabeth chase #nico di angelo #will solace #rachel elizabeth dare #grover underwood #nico pjo #grover #pjo headcanon

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just-dreaming-marvel · 8 months

Text

Caught In A Web ~ 12

CAUGHT IN A WEB MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,850ish

Summary: An old friend of Tony's reaches out. You miss swinging around the city.

Notes: I know it's been far too long. I'm slowly coming back into writing. I hope this isn't complete crap. Any comments, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated!

Bruce had entered his and Tony’s shared lab six minutes ago, with even FRIDAY announcing him, and Tony still hadn’t noticed. Tony was standing in front of the wall of windows that allowed Tony to see down into the common area. It was clear to Bruce that Tony was staring at you.

Your secret had come out five weeks ago and the whole Team had made sure that you felt safe and welcome. With the secret out, your walls began coming down more and more with members of the Team. You spent time with everyone on the Team, but no one got more of your time than Tony. The two of you were still moving slowly into your relationship, in which you could tell that Tony was getting a bit antsy about. But he wasn’t going to push you to do anything that you weren’t ready for.

You were currently down in the common room with Sam and Bucky, talking and laughing. Tony hands were clasped behind his back as he blankly stared at you. Bruce took a few steps in and cleared his throat, only for Tony to again do nothing.

“You know,” Bruce said as he finally decided to stand by his friend, “she can probably sense you staring at her.” Tony didn’t respond. Bruce glanced down at what Tony was staring at. “There’s no need to worry about Sam and Bucky.”

“I’m not worried about them,” Tony mumbled, signaling to Bruce that Tony had just been ignoring him.

“Then what’s going on?”

Tony sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s Pepper.”

“Pepper?”

“She left a message.”

“Oh?”

“She wants to meet up and talk.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I know I need to go and see what she wants but, I also don’t want to go at all.”

“How does Y/N feel about it?

“I haven’t talked to her yet…. About anything Pepper, honestly… Bruce, I… I thought that I would never be able to love again after her. I believed that… Well, she did a number on me.”

“That’s well known information around here.”

“I just… I can’t mess this one up. What Y/N and I have… it’s so different.”

“Good different?”

“Great different.” A smile crossed Tony’s lips. “I’m just getting scared that I’ll mess this up.”

“Tony,” Bruce placed a hand on Tony’s nearest shoulder, causing Tony to finally look at him. “You’re bound to mess it up in some way.”

“Wow,” Tony pulled away. He turned around and walked toward his workspace. “Thanks, buddy. And here I thought that you were on my side.”

“Tony, I am. All I’m saying is that you’re bound to mess something up in your relationship, same with Y/N. I’m not talking anything major, simply the little things. And when those do come up, I don’t see anything that Y/N won’t forgive you for and vice-versa.” Bruce could see that his friend’s mind was still running with all the negative possibilities. “I know that Pepper and you fought a lot, especially the last years you were together. We all heard the fighting more than we cared to admit. We saw the way she treated you and began to control you. She put all the blame on you, for everything. We watched it take a toll on you, even after Pepper left. You weren’t fully yourself… until Y/N swung into your life.” Tony’s lips perked up. “Pun intended… I can’t promise that you and Y/N will be forever, though however much we all hope it’s heading that way. But I will forever be thankful for Y/N. The whole Team will. She brought the Tony we all loved back.”

“She’s so special, Bruce,” Tony smiled, thinking about you. “She deserves the world.”

“I know. But remember that she’s with you for you, not the world. Also, don’t keep that Pepper contacted you a secret. Y/N needs to know that side of you too.”

~~~

As evening came, you found yourself on the roof of the Tower. You stared out at the skyline of New York City. Your left hand was gently massaging your right wrist as the place where your webs exited from tingled. You had barely used your abilities in the weeks since your secret had come out to the Team. You didn’t know you would miss swinging so much. It hadn’t been a part of your life for long and yet you seemed to long for it.

FRIDAY had informed Tony that you were up on the roof when he went to see if you wanted dinner. When the elevator opened and revealed you staring at the skyline, Tony knew what you were missing. He had been worried about when you would start longing for swinging around again and prepared for it.

You had sensed Tony’s entrance and glanced back at him as he came toward you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back into his chest. He pressed a kiss behind your ear before sighing and looking out at the view. The two of you stood in silence for a couple of moments before Tony spoke up.

“You miss it,” he stated softly.

“Hmm?” You hummed, still focused on the skyline.

“Swinging around the city, helping people. You miss it.”

You sighed, leaning back into Tony. “I didn’t think I would, at least not this much…”

“I get it.”

You turned around in Tony’s arms so that you were facing him. “You do?”

He nodded. “I do. There was a short time that I gave up the suits for—” Tony stopped himself. The two of you hadn’t really talked about Pepper yet. He was too scared to ruin what you had.

You looked at him with a caring smile. “It’s okay. You can talk about her. She was a big part of your life.”

A wave a relief washed over Tony. “Pepper didn’t like how often I was in the lab and how many suits I was making. I stopped for a while, but it wasn’t what was good for me. I’m not going to ask you to give up a part of yourself. That’s not who I am.” Tony unwrapped his arms from you and slipped one of his hands into yours. “Come,” he began pulling you toward the elevator. “We need to pack bags and head out.”

“Where are we going?”

“Upstate.”

~~~

Tony didn’t tell you anything but that he was taking you upstate and that you needed to back a bag to be gone for one to two days. After you had packed up, you met Tony in the garage and you two headed on your way.

The whole ride, the two of you sat in content silence. Tony’s hand rested on your thigh with your hand on top of his, your fingers pushed through his. You had a hunch as to where Tony was taking you: the Compound. Tony had once told you that the Avengers plan to eventually move to the Compound officially, but have been waiting for the right time. You believed that ‘right time’ meant when Director Fury gave the orders.

The Compound’s grounds where massive. At the edge of the grounds was a large, electric fence. There was one gate in and out, though the back side of the Compound was along the river, Tony told you that there was sensors in the water and along the shoreline to keep unwanted guests out. Tony followed the road heading to the building until he suddenly took a right turn, heading into the nearby group of trees.

“Seriously, Tony, where are you taking me?” You asked again.

He smirked to himself. “Just a few more seconds,” he mumbled. “There.”

The car came to a stop at the edge of a clearing. In the clearing, poles of various heights and widths were placed. Some even had smaller poles welded onto them horizontally.

“What is this?” You wondered.

“You’re new playground,” Tony answered. He got out of the car and rushed around it to open your door. “Milady,” he offered his hand to you. You smiled as you took it and allowed him to help you out of the car.

“This is all…” you looked around at various structures. “Did you build this all for me?”

“I knew it wouldn’t be too long before you were craving to swing again, so I had this built.” You looked at Tony, in awe that someone would have something built just for you. “What’s wrong?” Tony suddenly took your silence and your staring as that he had overstepped. “Do you not like it? Cause I can have it all taken down by the end of the day. Just say the word and I’ll—“

You laughed as you pressed your hand to Tony’s mouth to stop him from rambling. “I love it. Thank you.” You removed your hand and gave him a short kiss. “Thank you for caring about me. It means so much.”

“I’d do anything for you, sweetheart, give you anything— everything.”

“I don’t need everything, Tony. I just need you.”

Tony thought his heart was going to explode. It was the closest thing to saying ‘I love you’ that either of you had gotten. And, your words proved that Bruce was right.

“I just need you too,” Tony said, before kissing you.

You were the one to break the kiss, getting excited to try out the new structure. “I’m sorry,” you told Tony, trying to suppress your smile. “But I—“

“Go,” Tony encouraged, “go play with your new toy.”

“Thank you!” You kissed him briefly one last time before running over.

Flinging your arm out, a web shot from your wrist and clung to one of the post rungs. You laughed as you used it to launch yourself into the air. You swung around, laughing and cheering. Tony watched, unable to contain the grin as he leaned against his car. Some time had past when his phone beeped. Tony pulled it out of his pocket. At the sight of the name on the screen, his grin fell. It was Pepper, wondering when they were going to meet up to talk. Tony sighed, looking back up at you. He wasn’t going to answer Pepper until he talked to you about it. He wasn’t going to do anything that you weren’t comfortable with.

Suddenly, you landed in front of Tony. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket before looking up at you. You had the largest smile he had ever seen on you. You were slightly out of breath, but simply glowing.

“Tony,” your tone was already hinting at a request coming on.

“Yes?” He replied.

“Will you get in your suit and fly me around?”

Tony smiled, leaning into you and kissing you briefly. “Of course.” He tapped a few times on his watch screen and in no time, a suit was flying over from the Compound. It opened up and Tony quickly stepped in. You hurried over and flung yourself on his back. “You ready?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Always.”

next chapter >

#marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #tony stark imagine #tony stark x you #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x female!reader #tony stark x f!reader #tony stark x female reader #tony stark x fem!reader #iron man imagine #iron man fanfiction #iron man x reader

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nat-seal-well · 1 year

Text

Wip Wednesday 💙

Here’s another snippet of what I’ve been working on over the last few days, as promised! It’s long, so beware. All of what I have done right now is over 5,000 words and it still isn’t finished ;-;

(You can find the first snippet here.)

The rating has been changed from General to Teen.

Warning for discussions of past domestic violence. (A lot of it is based on events rather close to home. That’s one of the main reasons I started this in the first place.)

“My parents were married, did you know that?” he says. “They were seeing each other for a little bit, just as a casual thing. Mom was still in school, and my father was… well. I don’t know much. Mom doesn’t talk about him. But it wasn’t supposed to be anything serious; they were barely even dating. I think they were about to stop seeing each other, but they slipped up one night, and… here I am.

“And Mom—you know how she is. It fucked up all her plans. But having me out of wedlock would have fucked them up even more, especially with her own family. And so they sat down and went over everything, and it just made sense. So they got a white dress and a suit and went to the state building to sign all the paperwork, and said some lines in front a judge. I’m assuming. There’s only one photo Mom has, and she’s got it hidden away somewhere back home so that she never has to look at it again. And then she just went right back to what she was doing. And he did whatever he was doing, and they had me.”

For a moment, Damien isn’t in the backyard. He’s in his childhood home all over again, all of six years old, hidden away in his bedroom and crouching down behind the door with both hands clamped over his ears as the sound of shouting leaks through anyway. He can feel his heart pounding, threatening to break through his ribs, wanting to be anywhere but here. Here, where he is too small to be the root of so many problems and fights. And too small to even try to fix any of it.

A goose honks above him, and when he blinks, he isn’t there anymore. He’s outside, and Huxley’s left the garden to come sit on the step below him. How did he get there without Damien noticing?

When he looks down, Huxley’s hand is hovering over his own. Unsure. Damien hasn’t talked about his home life much, hasn’t gone into a lot of it, and he isn’t used to saying aloud the things that linger in the back of his head every day, like ghosts. He flips his hand, palm-up, and wraps his fingers around Huxley’s. Whether it’s for Huxley or for himself, he isn’t sure, but he squeezes anyway.

And then he continues.

“Things… were weird,” he says. “When I was younger. There was always something different about my parents, and the way they acted together, but I didn’t really understand it. And they fought a lot, about so many things. About me, sometimes.” A lot of the time. “I don’t remember when I realized they didn’t love each other. It just… crept into my brain one day. It was just there. They didn’t love each other, but they still tried to stay together, for… fuck, I don’t even know. For the sake of it, maybe. Or to save face. Didn’t want their reputations tarnished, especially not Mom’s.”

He laughs, but there isn’t really anything funny about it. “But the fighting just got worse. A lot worse.”

Huxley squeezes his hand back.

“It was loud, and vicious.” Damien can hear the raised voices through muffled ears even now. “For a little while they tried to… not be together, but stay in the same house, and that was worse. The seeing other people in secret, the fear of someone finding out. I hated being home, because it was always so tense. Everything was just building, and building, and building. Like a pressure cooker. Something was going to happen, I just didn’t know what.”

“Dames…”

Damien keeps going, because he knows if he stops now, he’ll never get that momentum back. Like a boulder rolling downhill, he can’t stop. It’s now or never.

“It all came to a head one night. I remember that—it was a Thursday. I was doing homework in the kitchen. I don’t know what started it. Probably just something small and stupid, but with how things were… it was like a match. Things escalated fast, and it got physical, and I didn’t see it, but Mom says they were on the staircase when my dad grabbed her shoulder and slammed her back against the wall, and fucked it up. Her shoulder still hurts sometimes.”

That was when the police got involved. The unempowered police specifically, to keep the magic world from finding out about it. They put Damien’s father in handcuffs, kept him for a night, and then he was bailed out the next day by a friend of his with a no-contact order and—finally, finally—divorce papers.

He moved out with all of his things, was enrolled in anger management classes by the state, and Damien didn’t see him for almost a year. Even then, it was for a few supervised hours every other weekend, and he dreaded them like he’s never dreaded anything else in his life. They didn’t last too long, though, because soon his father just… stopped requesting visits. Stopped showing up. Maybe he found a family he actually wanted to be around. Damien doesn’t know, and he isn’t sure he wants to, either.

“The fact is, that he’s gone,” he says, the words spilling from his tongue as he remembers. He’s reaching the end of his story. “And it was so long ago now that it’s really just been me and her. But… I think about it a lot. And I know that—that it won’t go that way, like it did with them, but… I wonder maybe what if it does? A marriage is just a… just a legally-binding, recognized union between two people. That’s the definition on paper. It’s just a fucking contract, technically. But it isn’t that to me. It’s… it’s screaming from down the hall, and hiding in the bedroom to stay out of the way, and holes punched through walls in anger, and it’s cops, and it’s… it’s all these other things. The thought makes me sick.

“So… so if that’s what you want to talk about, Hux, then I am so, so, so fucking sorry. But I don’t think that’s something that I can give you. And I hate it, if it is, because I don’t want to hurt you. But I can’t, and I’ve known that almost all my life. I can’t risk it.”

There. That’s it. That’s all of it, the ugly and horrible truth, out in the open. The selfish truth. Damien feels like he’s been scrubbed raw and left exposed.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fanfic #redacted damien #redacted huxley #fic wip #wip excerpt

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shychick-52 · 1 year

Text

(This *long* post is from my defunct blog from last year, and I wanted to repost it in time for the two-year anniversary of the series finale, but I ended up deactivating my blog. This one did shockingly amazing, considering how my character analysis posts usually do poorly)

When Webby describes the true meaning of family to May and June in 'The Last Adventure'-

"Heron made me, but she's not my family. Family are those who fight for you, stick by you, blindly invade a sinister villain's secret stronghold for you. Family would do anything to keep you safe and sacrifice everything to love you, no matter who and what you are!"

-it honestly makes me think of Gyro and Boyd in 'Astro B.O.Y.D.'. Hear me out (key words from Webby's speech are in bold):

Just like Heron and Bradford created May and June, Akita helped make Boyd (it's not entirely known how much Akita and Gyro each contributed, but it was confirmed in 'Astro B.OY.D.' that Boyd's "real boy programming" was entirely from Gyro) and was responsible for reprogramming him to be a killer robot, but he was never Boyd's family either...

...Despite Akita mocking Gyro here: "My gratitude for returning 2-BO to its true father." Notice how Akita called Boyd 'it', which is very telling that he always thought of Boyd as nothing but a mindless machine- his machine- to do his evil will.

"Family are those who fight for you, stick by you":

Gyro was the one who warmly welcomed Boyd into the world and validated his identify as a real boy, along with a hug. That was Boyd's very first memory, which always stayed with him and defined him throughout the years- even if only on a 'subconscious' level (despite being his most deeply buried memory after getting reprogramed countless times since Tokyolk)- which is why Boyd always introduced himself as a "definitely real boy" to everyone and offered hugs/asked to be hugged, as seen in his other memories in 'Astro B.O.Y.D.', and also why Boyd immediately remembered Gyro when he saw him again for the first time in twenty years.

Gyro not only "stuck by him" ever since he was first activated, but he continued to do so by advocating for his rights as a real boy ("fight for you") instead of a mere machine to serve humans... before Akita activated the evil programming he secretly overwrote Gyro's 'real boy' programming with. And not only did Gyro try to defend Boyd being more than just a machine, but he did so knowing he was risking Akita's wrath (it's my hc that Akita was both verbally and physically abusive), maybe even getting fired.

When Gyro finally learned the truth about the past that haunted him for twenty years, he immediately and furiously confronted Akita about it. Not only over Akita destroying his reputation and the rest of his life, but even more for what he did to poor, innocent Boyd who was just as much a victim as him (maybe even more a victim, because Boyd was a child and was always alone and ending up in the possession of one 'owner' after another, hardly ever knowing the real love and validation Gyro once gave him). Gyro went feral, like a parent confronting an injustice done to their child. He fought for Boyd much more aggressively than he did all those years ago when he was a meek intern (screaming at him, getting into a physical fight with him).

"Family would do anything to keep you safe and sacrifice everything to love you, no matter who and what you are":

Not only did Gyro risk his life to "keep [Fenton] safe" from a rampaging Boyd headed straight for him, but at the same time he also risked his life to free his non-flesh-and-blood boy ("... to love you, no matter who and what you are") from Akita's corruption and slavery. He was willing to "sacrifice" his very life, which was even more meaningful than when he was willing to potentially sacrifice his position as Akita's intern and his wellbeing those years ago. And so, Gyro gave Boyd the six words that he so desperately needed to hear from Gyro's own mouth: "You are a definitely real boy!" And just like that first time Gyro confirmed Boyd was real when he was first 'born', it was followed by a deep, loving embrace... only this hug had even more sentiment, and was twice as significant as the last one

I feel like it was a real missed opportunity in that scene in 'The Last 'Adventure' (see the beginning of this post) for Gyro to chime in and vehemently agree with Webby's speech to May and June about the true meaning of family, to declare that he's learned for himself what family is about ever since Boyd returned to his life. Maybe it wouldn't have worked because of time limits, but at the very least, they could've done a close-up of Gyro wearing a very thoughtful or emotional expression as she told her clones that! That would have said so much, and it would have given more indication of just how much he loved Boyd (because as sweet as the "Look after your brother" scene and the scene in the end where he lovingly held Boyd in his lap truly were, they just didn't feel like enough; heck, not once during the whole time Gyro was captured- especially once he learned that Bradford was planning to erase everyone from existence- did he express the least amount of concern for Boyd or fear that they'd never see other again, as I talked about in another post). It would have been amazing character development that was mostly ignored for the rest of the last season after 'Astro B.O.Y.D.', and more proof of how much Gyro softened, healed from his past, and learned to be happier and to love again.

(If you enjoyed this post, and if you read and enjoyed the other one I linked to about Gyro and Boyd in 'The Last Adventure' above, you may also enjoy my two-part analysis here on how Gyro overcame Akita's abuse)

#reposted from my defunct blog #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #gyro gearloose #boyd gearloose #character analysis #headcanon #the last adventure #astro b.o.y.d.

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godsofhumanity · 8 months

Note

do you have any headcanons about big six relationships during titan war

honestlyyyyy no i don't. i mean, not happy ones. in my hc, the Big Six (excl. Zeus) only really emerge at the end of the war.. like in the very final battle against Kronos.

for the most part, Zeus is fighting alongside the second generation of Titans with Prometheus and Metis as his right and left hand men.

only very shortly before the crux of the battle does Rhea's emetic work and Kronos is forced to vomit back up his children who emerge fully-formed... and while i think Zeus has always fought with the intention of liberating both his mother and his siblings from Kronos' physical and mental prison, i just don't think it was that easy for Zeus to see all these fully-grown gods and goddesses and be like "yeahhh they're my sisters and brothers".

i think the Titans were more Zeus' brethren then his actual siblings because he doesn't know them... and even the Titans, they've schemed together and plotted against Kronos together, but all the Titan children grew up with each other-- Zeus is the only one who was raised in secret, away from everyone else, deep in some forest where there was no chance of Kronos discovering him. Zeus doesn't even really know Rhea, his own mother, that well until the first time she visits him during young-adulthood--- and even then, it's only really to let him know that it's time for him to take charge of his destiny and defeat his father. it's not, "hi son, i'm here to spend quality time with you". it's very brief. very short. and very to the point. it has to be. the stakes are too high to let emotion dictate events.

after the war is ended, i feel that there is a very distinct, sort of awkward atmosphere-- the elder Titans have been displaced. most Titans only have about 2-3 children of their own and usually they're all in a similar domain-- but then comes Rhea's children, 6 of them, and between her 3 sons divides the entire "cosmos"-- the Underworld, the Sea, the Heavens.

and Zeus says, of course, that the Earth belongs to everyone-- but it's pretty apparent that that's not really true... between the Olympians, most domains can already be represented, and since the Olympians are the direct descendants of Kronos and Rhea, it seems natural that they'd get first priority as princes and princesses... it appears as though the age of the Titans is well and truly over.

to make things more difficult, i think Zeus himself is in a bit of liminal state between being a Titan and being an Olympian-- he could never have won the war without the Titans, but he knows also that his siblings are the ones fated to take on more dominant roles in his kingdom-- they're bonded to him by blood. but at the same time, he doesn't really know them. they just kinda appeared.

and he doesn't really know the Titans that well either- they fought together, but that doesn't replace the hundreds of years of memories and loyalty they have already forged with each other.

so i think that's very difficult for Zeus. who really is he?

i think this is partly where Zeus and his diplomacy skills get shown off... for a very long time after the Titan War, he manages to maintain good relationships with both his siblings and the Titans-- he manages to make everyone feel involved and included, and things are mostly perfect. until the creation of man, of course, but that's another story.

for the other Olympians, i think things are mostly awkward. i do not believe that they would have been sitting around in Kronos' stomach playing cards, telling jokes-- i think they would have been quite unconscious with no physical state. i think they wouldn't be able to remember much, if anything.

so, even though the Olympians have sort of "grown up" together, they haven't really. they're strangers to each other. but, they're strangers together. they have a natural "bond" that pulls them together, so i think it's easier for them to stick together. joint familial trauma and whatever.

but yeah, i think it would have been super strange to have to emerge into the world, fully-grown, and have to assimilate into it... it would have been awful. i'm sure they would have mostly stuck together by themselves, which wouldn't have made either Rhea or Zeus' lives any easier.

it's kind of like when you start at a new school and everyone's already in their own friendship groups and cliches, and they've got their own inside jokes... it's just awkward and weird.

that's not to say that the Titans were mean to the Olympians. no way. i think Prometheus and Metis especially made time to make them feel included, to bring them up to speed. i've already mentioned before my hc that Metis, Hesione (Prometheus' wife), Asteria, Leto, Eos, Hera, and Demeter had a really tight friendship and were very close. i think Hades and Poseidon would have also found fellowship with Prometheus, Pallas, Helios, etc. but i'm not sure that they ever reach the "loyalty state" that Zeus, and Prometheus too, would have dreamed about-- a perfect world where the Titans and Olympians walk hand-in-hand.

#anon #anonymous #well. i wrote way more than i was supposed to.#asks #hc

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lya-dustin · 1 year

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Someone will remember us

Chapter 55

Gif by @ashley-jones

Taglist: @stargaryenx @mercedesdecorazon

Tw: implied offscreen murder and sexual assault of children(a.k.a blood and cheese)

She is too nervous about this.

There are giggles, touches she initiates and the moment the door locks, Aemma changes into a riding habit she had made a month ago, it is snug over her belly, but it fits and that is all that matters.

“Fly to Stokeworth, they are loyal to your mother.” Aemond orders as he leads her down the same path she had taken weeks before. “The distance here will not be too taxing for you and allows you a respite for your travels.”

He is a worrywart, always has been. During the progress he was always hovering over her fearing the worst and now Aemond fears she might hurt herself if she flies directly to Dragonstone.

A ship takes roughly three to five days to get there, a dragon ride was about half a day and a heavily pregnant woman who’s been confined to a bed will not be able to handle a direct flight of six hours.

“I’m not an idiot.” She said as she followed behind him. He had put himself ahead of her, in case they find someone in here, but the ratcatchers won’t care and if they do, Aemma will be gone by the time they find someone to tell. “I will fly to Stokeworth, then to Duskendale and then to Spicetown. I’ve made this flight a dozen times, Aemond.”

“Take my hand.” Not a suggestion, but a command which she protests.

“I need to know where you are, I cannot see well, remember.” He reminded her and she conceded.

His hand is clammy, they always are when he is nervous. She used to tease him about it when they were little and still did until now.

“You’re scared.” She points out and fought the urge to tell him everything would be fine.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he throws back as he hands her his dagger unprompted. “One or all of us could die tonight.”

“We won’t die, I promise you.” She said taking his dagger and noticed she hasn’t recoiled from the disgust.

She hadn’t that morning either when he almost tried waking her up with a kiss. She had almost wished to have let him take a few more liberties with her, pregnancy didn’t mix well with separation.

The path had yet to be cleared completely, but it was wide enough for them to walk side by side. He still holding her hand and she no longer trying to slap it away.

“I know you hate me and think me a craven, but I cannot lose you.” He turns and she can see it in his eye that he is putting her above his family, and she wished this moment had not come so late.

“I don’t hate you.” Aemma said quietly, as if it were a secret he was not to know. “I have tried, but I just, I just can’t.”

To hate you, I’d have to cut out my heart. She wished she could tell him the agony he has caused her. Unable to rid herself of her stupid and weak womanly heart who loves him even after what he did.

“I killed your brother, I broke my promise to you and our son, it goes against reason.” He points out, as if she didn’t know that.

“Love, the greatest gift the gods gave us.” She said sarcastically and Aemond still looks at her as if she lost her mind. “I want to hate you, I cannot forgive you, but somehow I cannot find in my weak womanly heart to hate you.”

“You’re not weak, don’t sell yourself short, Aemee.” He says and for a moment it’s as if nothing had changed between them.

“I know my limitations, Almond.” Aemma used that old nickname that usually annoys him. He hates almonds and hates it that one time his father wrote almond instead of Aemond on a letter.

“If you were weak, you would have married Stark as your mother wanted instead of going against her and marrying me.” He reminds her.

“If I had been strong, I would have taken matters in my own hands and stopped this fucking war by before it even started. Instead, I let the adults order me around like a puppet.” If only she hadn’t listened to her grandparents and Teora, if only she had told Aegon and her mother none of this would have happened.

All the deaths, all the hurts, all that senseless destruction is her fault for being a weak little girl.

“We cannot stop fate, Aemee. We can just ---” he stops abruptly when they finally get into the hidden doors in the saddle room.

The dragons are frantic, Dreamfyre who is as passive and meek as Silverwing is roaring bloody murder and the twins’ hatchlings are not faring any better.

“Something is wrong.” She whispered and she knew her worry was mirrored on his face even if he refused to stop trying to get her into her saddle.

Morghul, Jaehaera’s dragon, shrieks as if it were being murdered and his mother snapped and bit at the dragonkeepers who tried their best to see to the hatchling.

His sister, Shrykos, keeps them away from him and their mother as if defending them from this unseen assaulter.

“We need to turn back; your sister needs us.” Aemma tugs him back and for a second, he thinks of listening to her. “Jaehaera is in danger, your niece needs you!”

“Aemond.” She pleads with him, and both come to a stop. A part of her knows that this is her only chance to escape.

But she would gladly give it up for Helaena and her children.

“If we turn back, you will be the one in danger.” Her husband holds her by the shoulders and then took her face in his hands when Aemma still urged him to forget her and run to his family’s rescue. “I cannot lose you.”

Aemma could lie and tell him he won’t, that his family won’t kill her or hurt their son, but both know the truth. The moment the baby is born she is dead.

“The moment I know you are away from this place, I will make sure they are safe, I promise you.” He tries to convince her that they are doing the right thing to ignore the cries for help the hatchlings make.

Morghul grows quiet and yet continued giving pained cries, but then Shrykos lets out a shriek so awful before she falls dead.

“Jaehaerys.” Aemma clings to Aemond and begs him to turn back. “Someone’s killed him, Aemond, please, Helaena needs us.”

Someone had hurt and killed the King’s children, someone who wanted revenge. Just the notion that someone would harm an innocent child makes her sick to her stomach.

Her mother wouldn’t do this, no, mother genuinely cared for Helaena and would never hurt a child.

But then there was the man who killed his own wife and Aemma’s own father.

Could Daemon be so cruel as to order innocent children to be killed?

“Henujagon.” He orders the moment he’s finished securing the chains on her saddle. “Sōvegon.”

Leave. Fly.

And her dragon, takes his orders as if they had come from her.

#aemma velaryon #someone will remember us fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #asoiaf fanfic #ocappreciationtag #fyeahhotdocs

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what-gs-watching · 7 months

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“Saving people, hunting things…the family business.”

Alright. We’re gonna do it. We’re gonna talk about Supernatural. We can’t talk about ALL of Supernatural, that would be ridiculous, but it deserves a comfort show spotlight.

I’m going to admit it: I resisted for a long time. My husband used to stream a shit ton of tv, he needed something to fall asleep to, so in the past I’ve groggily slept through random episodes. And I didn’t really care about it.

I remember when it came out, I loved Jared from Gilmore Girls naturally but I never got into it. Honestly, I was really annoyed there was a character named Dean that wasn’t Jared, I’m a fickle bitch.

So it was whatever. But again, I lost all sense of everything during the pandemic and started binging. I went through all of the X-Files (even the newer seasons, I did it all, it was a thing). I went insane watching Fringe. I was devastated when I lost Peter Bishop, aka perfect New England boyfriend. And then Netflix really started flinging Supernatural at me. Like, really hard.

Last December, I was already spiraling with my job a bit, I can see that now. I was tired. And I needed something else to get lost in. TV was literally the only thing I had energy for. And there were 15 fucking seasons. That’s too many seasons. So I begrudgingly gave in, and I started it.

Y’all know what it’s all about: two brothers, Sam and Dean, are hunters (of monsters) because their mother was murdered by a demon when Sam was just a baby, and their father, John, couldn’t let it go. So he packed the boys up for life on the road, hunting the thing that had ruined his family, thrusting his kids onto a path they did not choose.

And I’m gonna be honest, I fought the whole way. I really did. I kept asking my husband what the eff was up with Sam and Dean. Just…why? I kept shouting at the screen that the two of them needed boundaries. But I also kept watching. I like a good Monster of the Week. And I’m a weirdo for overarching storylines. I like the lore, I do. Secret nerd, me.

And like I said, there’s no real way to talk about ALL of Supernatural, but that’s okay because it’s really about the little things for me.

The brotherness of it all Does Sam and Dean’s absolute and unwavering dedication to each other drive me nuts a little bit? Yes. They make so many stupid decisions to save each other - Sam with the demon blood, Dean selling his soul to save Sam, Dean with the mark, Sam jumping into the cage with Lucifer. There are literally probably hundreds of examples. It’s exasperating.

Dean thinks his entire existence is meant to protect Sam, I get it, he was conditioned that way, and Dean is basically the only thing Sam has left in the world, so it’s mostly mutual (except for that whole purgatory situation, he really didn’t try at ALL to find him? C’mon) but it’s also heartbreaking. John fucked up their lives, that dude was driven by the singular thought of avenging his wife, when he had a six month old and a four year old to take care of? Like, she’s dead my dude, but you have these two little fragile things you’re supposed to take care of and protect and foster, and this is the route you take? Fuck, man. I can’t imagine going through that.

Creating your own family Which leads me to Bobby. Crotchety, kind, beleaguered Bobby. Those boys needed an actual father figure and this weirdo stepped up so perfectly. He encouraged them and tried to guide them with a gentle hand - he knew those idjits would fuck it all up but he went along with them as much as he could, playing that parent game of trying to let them make their own choices as long as it wouldn’t destroy them. The episode where he’s fighting his reaper, trying to get away, and his last memory is an innocuous movie night with Sam and Dean? Tragic and sweet. I’m still mad my boy Bobby was done dirty, dying during one of the worst seasons (Leviathans, am I right?) but I appreciate their grief over losing him was real.

On the topic, I also have to say that I love the people Sam and Dean end up pulling into their orbit. Charlie was a fucking delight, and her bond with Dean was so pure; she was the little sister he never had and you can tell he let her in right away. When she says “I love you” and he just says “I know” it’s as far as Dean can go and it’s just good. I don’t think I could have forgiven Sam for getting her killed in a stupid plan he purposely kept from Dean. She agreed to help because she wanted to save her brother and she got murdered for it. Good deeds don’t go unpunished, gang.

Also, Jodie and Donna. In a show that doesn’t really seem to care about women at all, you get two badasses that can hold their own and won’t take any shit, and Sam and Dean acknowledge how strong they are. Out of all of the random spinoffs they tried over the years, theirs is the one I would have preferred to get lost in.

And, I’m gonna say it, Jack. I was ready to hate that little antichrist but he charmed the hell out of me. Mostly because of the ‘three men and a baby’ vibe, Dean and Sam and Castiel trying to rear that sweet summer child away from destroying absolutely everything and eventually, really really succeeding. I might be in the minority, but it was really satisfying. Jack is my babe, I’ll shout that shit from the rooftops.

Castiel Castiel is a whole thing, I know. And I love it. He gets his own category.

Sweet, complicated Castiel. I have a special place in my heart for Cas. And it’s not entirely because of the whole Destiel situation. That crazy angel had a big ol’ character arch and I truly appreciate it. Hated him in the beginning, and then that whole “assbutt” moment happened and he turned away from heaven and the great plan and toward humanity. And then a lot more drama, trying to rule in heaven and the leviathans, ending up as a human for a bit, his whole thing with Metraton, etc.

But Cas is important because Dean is long-suffering, always the one to lose and make the hard (sometimes stupid) choices and he’s so resigned to his fate but Castiel is the buoy in all that. He’s the only one fully committed to Dean. The episode where Dean forgets who he is and he stands in front of a mirror repeating ‘Sam is your brother, Cas is your best friend’ - of all the things Dean is and needs to remember, that’s important. Castiel raised him from perdition, searing him with the mark of his grip. They’re bonded.

I really love that Castiel gets to be his own thing a part from the boys, he grows so fucking much, but he’s also always Dean’s anchor. No matter how you feel about Destiel and the implications, the fact that Cas comes to understand humanity enough to say that just telling someone you love them without that being returned can be the best moment of your life, can be true happiness, is really something. Sometimes that is enough. Getting out of your own way can be enough.

I clearly have a thing for angels that can be a little bit of a bastard. I will ALWAYS root for Castiel.

Baby I’m not sure why I’m so charmed by the dedication to Baby, but I love it. It appeals to a very specific aesthetic in me. Of course that’s the kind of car they roll around in, perfectly old and beautiful, all sharp black lines and power and time. It’s Dean’s dedication to the family business and one of their only constants. He teaches Sam how to care for her, and he rebuilds her over and over. He even manages to pick her out in the first place, eventually. It’s sweet that Baby is home. She’s the heart, gang. Solid, strong, broken over and over again but always persisting.

The universe One of the best pieces of Supernatural is the universe it creates for itself. How adamant they’d been in the beginning that yeah of course demons exist, but God definitely doesn’t, but the random other gods found in lore throughout history do. It's so easy to change a universe that draws a line in the sand, and it just keeps getting bigger and more complex and silly and reckless.

I love the little touches. The fact that there’s a Supernatural book series, with an underground fan base enough to host a con (though I don’t want to get into the Chuck of it all, I’m still absolutely irate over all of that). Sam and Dean being so utterly embarrassed by them is hilarious, but it’s a way for them to get the recognition they deserve, even if it’s through fiction. People love those books, their story, and even if they never get thanked in real life, there are people out there believing in them.

I mean, the all girls’ school musical? Absolute perfection. That episode was meant to be a love letter to the entire thing, and it’s so perfect. Sam wonders why it isn’t “Samstiel”, and Dean is upset to learn about BM scenes, aka boy melodrama. The song girl-Cas sings, I’ll just wait here then… and their stripped down version of the boys’ unofficial anthem. It makes my tween heart sing, it satisfies my cravings for all things meta (jesus I’m basic). It’s just warmth and love and appreciation.

Frenemies AKA, unlikely and this-is-a-stupid-fucking-idea allies. All good shows need this. Crowley was never a true favorite of mine, but I appreciate that he saw how valuable keeping a tenuous relationship with the Winchesters could be. And I will still always and forever laugh at the fact that Dean was in his phone as ‘Not Moose’. One of my absolute favorite gags. Those two are perfectly Moose and Squirrel. His affection for the two of them proving that demons can be a little bit human, too. But that doesn’t get him off the hook for convincing Dean to take on the mark, even though I secretly enjoy their bromance once he does become a demon. Sometimes you need to have that friend you secretly kind of hate a little because they’re a dick, but they’re useful.

(Side rant: the Crowley/Crowley situation between Supernatural and Good Omens is making my brain bleed, I can’t make myself say it differently enough in my mind for there to be a good enough distinction because y’all, one is an obvious smash and one is an obvious pass. I’m just sayin’. It’s making it difficult to yell at the tv…)

Also. Rowena also falls into this category. Again, another strong woman in a room full of idiot men, holding her own. I’ve been that woman a lot of times, surrounded by boys who just can’t get their shit together and you stand and you watch and you help or hurt when you can, because at the end of the day. you need to be out for yourself. I respect the fuck out of her for looking out for herself. She was world weary because she had to be, she lived through hundreds of years of oppression and she was gonna get what was hers, but by the end, she came around to those boys. She’s the friend you keep at a distance because you’re never sure what the fuck they’re gonna do, but you can appreciate her seeming unpredictability because sometimes she uses it to help you, or thrust some unfortunate truth at you that you need to hear.

The point is: all of these little random things amount to something absurd and funny and gruesome and welcoming and silly and strange. And I could probably write ten different posts like this, pulling out more things that make Supernatural what it is, and that’s what makes it so all-encompassing.

So. I spent four months watching this show. Every day, some ridiculous Sam and Dean adventure. What were they gonna get up to? I never knew, but it was reassuring to know they’d always get out of it. It was my main comfort, and four months is a really long time.

When I got to the end of it, I was mired in yet another ridiculous work emergency and everything about me was fried. I was raw, fraying ends. So when I watched the finale, I sobbed. Like, really sobbed. Trying to take breaths I couldn’t quite make deep enough, while Dean was driving Baby and they were playing ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’. The episode ended and I kept crying. I went and found my husband and just cried at his face. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever watched the end of it or not and I tried pathetically to explain why I was crying so hard. I cried for everything that I was. It broke a dam I’d been holding in. And I felt stupid for it, who gives that much of a fuck about a show about hunting monsters?

But it wasn’t necessarily about the show, I mean it was a little bit, but it was also about me and whatever the fuck I was going through. And that’s what content is for. I’d wrapped myself in a Sam-and-Dean blanket for months to try and blunt a bunch of things, but they brought those things up to the surface anyway.

Feeling the real emotion of things through fake things. Is it healthy? Probably not, but it’s an art form, it’s a coping mechanism. I was crying about software and work melodrama and life frustration (can I still claim to be having a quarter life crisis if I’m in my 30s?), but also about Dean dying on the job in the way he’d always assumed he would, about Sam’s kid having the same tattoo, about Bobby being there at the end, about Sam being there at the end. It’s just easier that way.

All that to say, I can’t recommend the Sam-and-Dean blanket enough. It’s cozy and it’s sprawling and ridiculous and complete. I put it down for a month before yet another stupid thing happened to rattle me (so many things this year), and I knew right away where I needed to go. Back to the blanket. Which means I’m in the middle of my second watch. And I’m pretty sure, that at any point in time in the future, I’ll be in the middle of some rotation of it, even if I go off for months at a time. It’ll always be in the queue, because I know when I need it, there’ll always be an adventure I'm sure Sam and Dean will get out of.

#what g's watching #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel

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iriswords · 1 year

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Febuwhump Day 4 - Knife to the throat

You can also read this on ao3 and find all of my febuwhump fics here

tw: tw: held hostage, mention of past captivity, self-esteem issues, light injuries, fear of torture

Fandom: Six of Crows

Words: 2394

Kuwei is held hostage in exchange for something Kaz possesses. He is certain no one will come for him and resigns himself to die in his cell, miserable and alone.

Kuwei shuddered as he stepped out of the Slat and onto the Barrel’s streets. The winter’s cold had truly settled, and his coat was doing little in shielding him from it. He had put on his lighter coat this morning, thinking he would be too hot with the other one, and he was regretting it now, as vicious cold sipped in through the thin material and into his bones.

Night had long since fallen, but the streets in the Barrel weren’t any less crowded. If anything, there were more people now than there were during the day. Kuwei hurried through the streets, arms wrapped around himself and shoulders hunched, both to protect himself against the cold and to avoid catching the attention of people in the streets. All of the Crows had already left the Slat and gone to Wylan’s mansion on Geldstraat, but Kuwei had wished to stay at his designated room—transformed into a lab—to work a while more. He’d thought, foolishly, at least one of them would wait for him. He’d always made his distaste and fear of the Barrel streets well-known.

He hadn’t been surprised when he’d come out of his lab and found even Kaz’s office empty, just disappointed. Nina had stayed in Ravka, and none of the four remaining Crows liked him very much. Kuwei was certain the only reason Wylan allowed him to stay at his house while Kuwei was in Ketterdam was that Wylan was too polite to turn him away.

Now, he simply hoped they wouldn’t already have eaten by the time he arrived at the house.

Kuwei woke up in a dark, humid cell. Hard, uneven cobblestones dug painfully in his butt, and thick metal manacles held his wrists above his head. It was not the first time he had woken in such a predicament, but he’d thought he wouldn’t have to again, now that he was free from the Shu and the Fjerdan, now people thought him dead and no one was after his secrets anymore.

He would never find out. As he turned on a narrow street, a hand shot out from an alley and grabbed his wrist. The hand yanked him into the alley, and Kuwei stumbled along, trying not to lose his footing. He crashed against a broad chest anyway and had time to neither cry out—not that it would be much use in the Barrel—nor fight back against his assailant before they brought their arm around Kuwei’s neck, pinning him against them and cutting his air off.

He trashed weakly against them, his nails digging into their skin, to no avail. Before long, dark spots dotted his vision, and he lost consciousness.

Cruel, remembered terror curled in his stomach, and a dry sob slipped from his mouth. Was there nowhere he’d be safe? Had someone recognized him for who he was, or was he just the unlucky victim to slave traffickers?

Heels slammed on the cobblestone with rhythmic regularity, and a few seconds later, a stern woman stopped in front of Kuwei’s cell. The lamp she held threw uneven shadows on her face, but even then Kuwei could make out the brutal twist of her mouth. He choked on his fear. Whatever she wanted, she would do everything to get it.

The woman huffed impatiently. “Yes, Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel. He has something I want, and threats have not pushed him to give it to me. I figured their execution might.”

“You’re awake,” she remarked, her voice icy and distant. “Good. How long do you think it will take the Bastard of the Barrel to come to get you?”

Kuwei startled. “Kaz?” That was the name he went by, wasn’t it?

Kuwei stared at her with round eyes. He fought back the weird urge to laugh. She was badly mistaken if she thought Kaz would move a single finger to ensure Kuwei’s safety now Kuwei wasn’t worth anything to him. Had Nina been there, she might have bullied him into helping, but the four Crows in Ketterdam at the moment bore him at best a profound disinterest and at worst deep-rooted dislike. They wouldn’t come for him.

“Why me?” he asked his captor. It didn’t make sense. How could she have thought he’d be the best one to convince Kaz to act? That he’d be a means of pressure at all?

“The others would have been too difficult to kidnap. They’re all more careful than you are.” Shame rose to Kuwei’s cheeks. “But it doesn’t matter. Brekker will come anyway.”

Kuwei shook his head vehemently. Perhaps she would release him if he could make her understand how worthless he was as a hostage. “No, he won’t. He doesn’t care enough about me.”

The woman arched an eyebrow. “You’re a Dreg, aren’t you?”

“No, and I don’t intend to become one.”

“I don’t believe you,” said his captor and turned on her heels. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, and the light dimmed until there was none again. Kuwei wondered where he was. He didn’t know Ketterdam enough to make a guess, but it looked like an old prison, a holding place for criminals.

“I’ve watched you come and go from the Slat. You were with him multiple times. You were with the others, too.”

Kuwei scoffed. “That doesn’t mean anything. I’m telling you, your plan won’t work.” And Kuwei would be left alone in this cell, waiting for someone to end his misery. Still, better him than any other Crow. They were too important. They loved each other too much. They’d break, if another one of them died. If Kuwei died, on the other hand… Nina would mourn him, probably. But she’d soon be over it.

Kuwei waited in his cell. He had no way of telling how much time had passed. Growing hunger knotted his stomach, but his captor didn’t come back to give him food and water. He slept in fitful dozes and often woke with a gasp, unable to get his bearings. His father’s corpse visited him in his sleep, and when he was awake, memories of previous captivities swirled in his mind. To distract himself from his past, he thought of the Crows, but his thoughts turned dark with brutal speed. He wondered if they had even noticed his absence and if so, how long it had taken them. He wondered if they were worried, or if they couldn’t care less.

Desperately, pathetically, he imagined them coming to his rescue, imagined them showing him they cared. When he took to daydreaming in such a way, all he managed was to make himself cry. He had no hope they would come.

His captor returned, eventually. Fury distorted her face.

“Brekker is an arrogant bastard, but he is mistaken if he thinks I’ll just give you up if he doesn’t meet my terms,” she spat at Kuwei, as though it was his fault Kaz wasn’t coming.

Kuwei sighed. “He just doesn’t care enough about me. I told you that already.”

“Shut up! I didn’t ask you to speak.” Keys jangled as she opened the cell, and Kuwei recoiled backward when she stepped into the narrow space. “If he needs more incentive, I’ll happily give him some.” Kuwei didn’t want to serve as an incentive. He didn’t want his body parts to serve as incentives. Which would it be? A finger, an eye, an ear? His tongue, perhaps, if she was truly angry that he’d spoken.

She unsheathed a knife from her side, and Kuwei let out a broken keen. His vision blurred with burning tears. The woman stepped closer until she was towering over him. Nimble fingers played with the dagger. Kuwei was breathing too fast, tears streaming down his face, a sob stuck on the edge of his throat.

The woman grabbed his hair with a firm hand and held his head into place. Kuwei clenched his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. But the woman only took a lock of hair and placed it into a box Kuwei hadn’t noticed until now. He stared at it, dumbfounded, and his captor laughed.

“Oh, darling, don’t worry. This isn’t the only thing I’ll send.”

Kuwei’s head snapped up towards her as fear skyrocketed in his stomach. But she put the knife back in its sheath and instead went for the keys dangling from her belt. She freed one of his hands, then the other. Kuwei would have liked to throw himself at her, to do anything to defend himself, but he hadn’t moved or eaten in days, and he was weak as a kitten.

All he could do as his captor unsheathed her knife again, her eyes gleaming with eagerness, was to scramble back to wedge himself in the corner of the room. She laughed and moved closer, until she could grab his hair again. She yanked his head back so he was looking at her in the face. Her blade caressed his cheek; blood pearled from the shallow cut.

The woman bent down toward Kuwei, as though she was about to say something. Kuwei would never know what that thing was, for the corridor’s wall facing the door of his cell exploded. The woman let go of Kuwei and whirled around. Kuwei’s head bounced against the stone wall from the suddenness with which she released her grip on him, and the world spun around him.

Before Kuwei could begin to comprehend what was going on, his captor grabbed him again and yanked him up by the arm. With one arm, she pinned him against her, and with the other, she pressed the blade of her knife to his throat.

Kuwei sucked in a startled breath when his eyes focused on the corridor. In front of Kuwei stood the Crows. All four of them. Jesper pointed his guns at Kuwei’s captor and, subsequently, at Kuwei, and Wylan had a hand deep in his satchel. Kaz stood next to them, Inej hovering behind his shoulder, acting as his shadow and making her presence forgotten.

They had come.

“Do you have what I asked, Brekker?” asked Kuwei’s captor. “You better have it, or the boy dies.”

“If you harm him, you won’t live to regret it,” threatened Jesper. The woman ignored him.

“Give me what I want, Brekker, and I’ll release him.”

“I don’t trust your word,” replied Kaz coldly. His eyes, hard and unreadable, were fixed on Kuwei.

“You don’t have a choice,” spat the woman and pressed the blade harder against Kuwei’s neck. The skin broke, and blood trickled slowly down his neck, staining the collar of his shirt. Kuwei held his breath as well as he could and closed his eyes. He didn’t dare look at the Crows. They had come, but perhaps they had thought they could retrieve him without having to agree to the demands of his captor. What would they do now?

Kaz’s cane clicked against the stone floor as he entered the cell. Kuwei’s eyes flashed back open, and he stared at the man with wide eyes. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Inej slip into the cell, nearly melting into the wall. His captor hadn’t noticed her. Kaz stopped a foot away from Kuwei and the woman and reached into his pocket. He took out a neatly folded paper and held it between deft fingers.

“If you want this, you’ll have to let him go.”

The woman scoffed in Kuwei’s ear. “I know you, Brekker. I ain’t doing shit so long as I don’t have the paper. Put it in the box in the corner of the room, and I’ll let the boy go.”

Kaz’s eyes didn’t even glance at the box. They stayed fixed, unyielding, on the woman’s face. “No,” he said, and a second later, the woman gasped. Inej had entered the conversation, Kuwei guessed. “You let him go, and you’ll have the paper,” continued Kaz. “If you don’t, the Wraith will take care of you.”

“What tells me you’ll keep your word?” snarled the woman.

Kaz smirked wryly. “You don’t have a choice,” he parroted. “I don’t care about this paper. You can have it. But you have to let him go first.”

A moment passed. Tension thickened in the air, and Jesper’s fingers tightened around the handle of his guns. Wylan’s eyebrows were furrowed with intense concentration.

“Tell your guys to let go of their weapon,” demanded the woman eventually. Kaz turned to Jesper and Wylan and nodded. Jesper muttered something derogatory under his breath, but he kissed each of his guns and put them on the floor next to Wylan’s satchel.

Finally, the woman released Kuwei. She pushed him forward harshly, and he would have sprawled on the floor had Kaz not caught him with a firm arm. Quick as a bird, the woman snatched the paper from Kaz’s fingers and escaped through the hole in the corridor’s wall.

With more care than Kaz had ever shown Kuwei, he lowered him to the ground. Kuwei slumped against the wall, breathing hard. The cuts on his cheek and throat stung, but he’d had worse.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. Kaz waved his apology away.

“Are you injured?” asked Inej, kneeling beside Kuwei.

Kuwei shook his head. “Hungry and dehydrated, but aside from that, I’m fine.” He was not. He would have nightmares about this for weeks and couldn’t bear the thought of the Crows hating him even more. “Why did you come?” he asked.

Jesper appeared behind Inej, Wylan by his side. “Why wouldn’t we?” replied the sharpshooter.

Kuwei didn’t dare meet any of their gazes. “Because you hate me,” he whispered. “And now I’ve made you lose something valuable.”

“We don’t hate you,” said Wylan. Tears gathered in Kuwei’s eyes. Adrenaline was coming down, and he was coming undone.

“You don’t have to—”

“We don’t hate you,” repeated Kaz. “And Inej and I will go and retrieve the paper tonight. Make an example out of the woman, show anyone who thinks they can go against me that they are badly mistaken.” He stopped, and his face gave a strange twitch. “We would have come anyway. Your life is more valuable than this paper.”

Tears spilled on Kuwei’s cheeks. He couldn’t find his words.

“Let’s get you home, alright?” said Inej gently.

He nodded. The Crows had come. The Crows cared.

@febuwhump @the-narnian-sea

#my writing #creative writing #fanfiction #fanfic #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday4 #held hostage #self-esteem #light injuries #six of crows #crooked kingdom #soc #kuwei #kuwei yul bo #whump

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trip-tuckers-hyperspanner · 1 year

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The Time Malcolm Asked Her To - 2

5 Times T'Pol Kept a Secret and 1 Time She Didn't

Lieutenant Reed groaned as he sat down next to T’Pol and Trip in the mess hall. “I think I’m a bloody idiot,” he confessed. “I’ve messed up.” He set his tray down and shook his head. His head was spinning and his stomach was churning. “Hoshi’s going to kill me.”

“Is there a particular reason?” T’Pol asked, forking a small cherry tomato into her mouth. Trip was still chewing whatever he had eaten before he started digging into his pecan pie. Did that man ever eat anything other than pie? It was only ever dessert or something meaty. He wondered how Trip’s eating habits would mesh with T’Pol’s, considering she was a vegetarian who preferred meals with purpose and straight sustenance.

“I might have accidentally said when we get married rather than if,” he said. Malcolm pushed his fingers into his hair. He closed his eyes. “We’ve been together for six months now. It’s horribly rushed, I know, but I’ve never been so sure about anyone. And I know she’s not one for a quick hitch! She says she loves me and she’s never felt this way about another man, but I don’t know… All I can say is I’ve mucked it up rather badly.”

Tucker stopped chewing and waved his fork around as he spoke. “I mean, you’ve been datin’ longer than T’Pol and I were before we got engaged. We went from nothin’ to fiancés in no time flat. In fact, we didn’t date.”

“I only made the logical decision,” his fiancée said once her food was down. Watching her eat was like watching a princess in one of those century-old movies. “Are you objecting?”

“No,” he said, not laid-back but not curt, either. He cut into his pie. “I’m just sayin’ skippin’ the entire courtship isn’t how it’s usually done. If Malcolm and Hoshi wanna get married, too, that’s fine. In fact, if they want to, they should.”

“I haven’t asked her yet,” Reed protested. “I haven’t even asked who’s going to do it. I think she’d prefer if I did it —”

Trip jumped in with, “She absolutely would.”

“— But I don’t want to jump into something she isn’t ready for, either.”

“Lieutenant, you have known Hoshi Sato much longer than most in your position,” T’Pol reassured. “Living and working with someone for such an extended period would eventually provide you with all the necessary information one would need to make such a decision. Getting to know Commander Tucker through life-or-death situations has shown me his character and his reaction to stressful circumstances, thus allowing me to ascertain how to diffuse major arguments.”

Reed bit back a comment about how they always fought, but then remembered the day a single blink from T’Pol had silenced Trip immediately. She was also twenty times smarter than he was, so she probably knew what she was talking about.

“That’s probably why you’re thinkin’ about marrying her so soon,” Tucker supplied, snapping his fingers. “You know her pretty well. She likes you. You like her.” He put another bite of pie in his mouth. “T’Pol, you sure you don’t wanna try this?”

“I have no desire to, but thank you for the offer.”

“I love her,” Reed said. He sat back. “But don’t tell anyone that I’ve been thinking about it. Proposing to her, I mean. I wouldn’t want her to worry.”

Trip smirked. He chuckled and swallowed his pie again. “Are you asking us to swear to secrecy, Lieutenant?”

Malcolm nodded after a moment of silence. “Yes, please,” he said. “I can’t let Hoshi know yet. It’ll be a while before I propose, if at all.”

“The human desire to keep things as a surprise is baffling,” T’Pol said, taking another bite of her food. “I fear I will never understand it. However, I will keep it a secret until you say otherwise.”

“C’mon T’Pol,” Trip laughed. “It’s fun. Who doesn’t like surprises? Especially when it’s a good one? There’s nothin’ better than thinkin’ your day is great as it is, and then someone who loves you decides to drop a fun little question or give you a gift… It’s fantastic.”

“Despite my love and affection for you, Trip, I will never agree.”

Malcolm nearly choked on his own spit. He had never heard the Sub-Commander call Tucker by his nickname, let alone his surname without his rank accompanying it. Maybe there really was more going on than he had ever noticed.

The Chief Engineer’s ears turned pink. He shook his head and tried to hide his smile. “Whoa, missy! No need to get so gushy.”

She flicked her eyes to her partner. “I am perfectly solid, I assure you.”

Trip only laughed more.

Reed wet his lips and leaned closer over his untouched food. How did they manage to get to a proposal? They made it look so easy! It was quite disgusting, honestly, despite T’Pol being a Vulcan who apparently couldn’t feel her emotions. “What should I do?” he asked. “You two are the only ones I know who are engaged.”

“You’re asking the wrong couple, Malcolm. I don’t think this is traditional for either of us.” Tucker set his fork down as he finished his pie, pushing his plate away from him. He sat up in his seat and faced Malcolm fully. “I mean, look: there ain’t nothing regular about a human and a Vulcan being friends. It’s even rarer for them to be in our position, isn’t it?” He turned to T’Pol for confirmation.

“That is correct. I looked through the databases — there are very few cases of humans and Vulcans marrying. There are exactly four recorded examples since the first contact between our species. There are no recorded cases of Vulcan-human hybrids.”

The Commander did a double-take. “None? Is it impossible?”

“Theoretically, no, but the odds are against us.”

“Who proposed?” Malcolm asked, changing the subject. He was grasping at straws here. He had to know how to make his job easier. That, and he didn’t want to hold Trip as he mourned the children he might never have.

Trip pointed with his thumb. “She popped the question. I wasn’t courageous enough to ask her to be my bride without kissin’ her first.”

“Well, I suppose that makes more sense…”

“Must the question only come from one of you?” T’Pol leaned in, now twice as curious as she had been.

Tucker got on it. “It’s an Earth thing, specifically Western culture. It’s really important to ask the question and then celebrate the acceptance of it since it only happens once in a lifetime.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “Er, it’s supposed to.”

“That is statistically untrue,” T’Pol said. “But the sentiment is appreciated. I am confident we will manage a lifetime relationship.”

Malcolm nodded along. “We’re both certain things will fold out that way, too. She wants to be married. Her and her strawberry cake…”

“That’s awesome, Malcolm,” Trip told him earnestly. He looked back at T’Pol. “But yeah, basically, the whole idea is to promise loyalty and devotion your whole life long until one of you dies.”

She blinked slowly. “I believe most values concerning marriage are relatively the same. I simply find the concept of the question being more important than the marriage illogical.”

“Most people don’t enter into relationships knowing if they want to marry each other, T’Pol,” Trip said to her. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s not planned out.”

“How unwise.”

“I suppose one could blame our emotions.” Reed picked at his food. His tummy was still quite unhappy with him. “What if she says no?”

“Then she had no business being with you.”

“T’Pol.”

Malcolm shrugged though, taking in what his friends were saying. “I think I’ll do it,” he decided. “Then perhaps we could plan our weddings together?”

Trip suddenly perked up. He set his fingertips on T’Pol’s, who then gingerly removed them after a moment. Reed had never seen them touch before. “Hey! What if we had a double wedding?”

He felt a little bit better. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” he admitted. “It could be quite fun, save for the fact we would have to invite a few more people than I thought before.”

T’Pol looked at Tucker. “You wish to extend our engagement, Commander?”

“C’mon, honey, it’s killing two birds with one stone! We can make it happen. Think about it — it’ll give you time to research a human ceremony and then we could have a Vulcan ceremony too!”

“I would prefer a human ceremony. If Ensign Sato desires it once Lieutenant Reed proposes, we can do as you both please.”

“Then propose to her A, S, A, P, Malcolm!” Trip hissed, looking like a little kid who had too much candy. He kept looking over T’Pol and then back at Reed as if the situation would come faster if he had willed it to be so.

“Deliver your proposition with the proper preparation,” she contradicted him. “Allow her to consider the idea without fully ‘popping the question.’”

Malcolm took a solid twenty seconds to consider everything his friends had just told him. He rubbed his neck. “That is good advice.” He pursed his lips. “If it was running artillery, I’d understand it much more.”

“Or pick a peck of pickled peppers,” Trip said, rolling his eyes. “If you think it’ll work, give it a shot.”

“Give what a shot?” Hoshi asked, suddenly appearing behind Malcolm. He jumped a mile into the air, but she was smiling kindly. She had her hair in her usual ponytail and her tray of food in her hands; she was perfectly average and yet still so angelic. She moved to sit between him and T’Pol.

“Oh! Hello, darling,” he said, clearing his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she replied. She arched her brow at him. “I was just coming to sit by you. What are you guys talking about?”

T’Pol opened her mouth to explain, but both Reed and Trip stared at her pleadingly. She closed it before gently saying, “We were discussing what type of matrimonial ceremony Commander Tucker and I will have. We have decided on a human ceremony.”

“Oh! That’s great!” she beamed. Hoshi started cutting into her food. “Do you have a maid of honor picked out, yet?”

“Not quite,” she answered truthfully. Malcolm could have sworn she was giving him a look of pure disappointment as she added, “It will all depend on how things unfold.”

#star trek enterprise #trip x t'pol #trip tucker #t'pol #hoshi sato x malcolm reed #malcolm reed x hoshi sato #hoshi sato #malcolm reed #gaitwae writes

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aarghhaaaarrrghhh · 1 month

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A Summer in a Pioneer's Neckerchief/Лето в пионерском галстуке - Chapter Six

Chapter Six - Conversations about the Personal and the Indecent

The carousels by the children’s dorms had become the unspoken meeting place. Yurka went there after lunch, or dropped by when he had an hour free, or in the evenings before the disco, and after a little time had passed, Volodya also appeared there. Yurka liked to sit on the carousels, rocking back and forth, looking off into the emptiness in front of him and think about anything. He liked it when Volodya sat beside him and also looked silently into space. Sitting like that, together, while watching the kids and listening for their shouts, there was something at the same time essential, unusual, simple and natural in it. Yurka felt comfortable, like when with his grandma at the playground in his childhood.

But more than anything else, he like the last few evenings, when, after rehearsals, having given the fifth troop over to Lena’s hands, for her to spend time with them until lights out, Volodya and Yurka would make up horror stories for the kids. Once they even missed the time for lights out, when they were meant to go tell these very horror stories.

The first week at camp had come to an end announced Mitka’s voice over the morning radio broadcast, as though the pioneers did not know that themselves. Yurka remembered that day very well. They were sitting on the carousel and Volodya asked him, indicating on his face:

“Where did you get that scar?”

Silence reigned on the playground; it was quiet hour for the whole camp. Yurka, as usual, ran away from it, to which the responsible counsellor merely reminded him should dive into the bushes should he see anyone on the path leading to the dorms. The thing was that sometimes, some counsellors checked that children were not left alone. But there was nothing for which to fault Volodya, he and Lena had switched so that she was on duty during quiet hours, while it was him during discos. It was thus at that moment.

Yurka instinctively touched his chin and felt around with the pads of his fingers for the old scar beneath his lower lip.

“It was some hooligans who harassed me. There were three of them, and, as it happened, only one of me! So, uh…” he faltered. Yurka had told everyone this version the story of how he had gotten his scar. In it, he was a courageous little boy, who, at the cost of his own broken, bloody lip, fought the bullies off the street. But for some reason, he wanted to tell Volodya the truth. “You know, in reality, I took a tumble off a swing when I was eleven. I was swinging really high, I wanted to show off in front of the girls who lived nearby, they were walking nearby at the time, I let go and… To sum up, I did a wonderful somersault, flew off the swings, scraped my nose two metres through the dirt and smashed face-first into the sandbox. I split my lip so badly that it took fifteen minutes to stop the bleeding. My dad even had to give me stitches! So, there you go.”

Yurka was sure that Volodya would think him a fool and a braggart, and laugh at him, but he simply smiled kindly:

“So, you have a memory of a brief, free flight. A Karlsson.”[1]

Yurka could not hold his smile back: This Volodya is rather strange on the whole, too kind and understanding. Even Yurka himself would have taken some kind of schadenfreude from the situation, but Volodya did not.

“We have a Karlsson, Sanya, while I’m–”

“Gagarin?”

“Chkalov,[2] at most. I didn’t fly that far, after all,” replied Yurka and looked searchingly at the counsellor. “Well? Now that I’ve shared my secret with you, share yours!”

Volodya bent his eyebrow in surprise and nodded:

“Alright, ask.”

“Why did you really join the counsellors? It’s clear that you don’t particularly like looking after children.”

“Hm…” while he thought about his answer, Volodya absent-mindedly poked at the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses. He sighed and blurted out, as though learnt by heart, the sentence, “It’s a good way of gaining useful experience and – Yura, don’t argue – getting a character reference for the Party.”

Yurka snorted. A week ago, at the first line-up, he would have believed that the ideal Volodya – his whole self a proper Komsomolets – would need nothing but his good name, but now…

“Twenty-five – that’s a reference![3] And if you’re telling the truth, surely that can’t be all? Just a good reputation?”

Volodya faltered and sorted his glasses out again, despite that they were already in the right place.

“Well… not quite. To be honest, I’ve always been very shy, it’s difficult enough for me to get along with people, to communicate, to make friends. But with children… My mum works as a preschool teacher, she recommended me to become a counsellor. She said that if I want to learn to find a common language with people, it’s best to start with children – they don’t have inhibitions.” He fell silent again, and Yurka thought that if he went to adjust his glasses again, then he would have to slap his hand. You’re actually more useful. I mean, you’re better at finding common ground with them.”

Yurka proudly squared his shoulders, but immediately lowered them:

“It’s our shared service,” he said. “I also don’t like playing around with the really small ones, that’s to say, I don’t know how. But to help you, well… Anyway, remember! Yesterday after dinner, I stomped over to the troop and saw Olezhka. He was sitting on the square all alone, crying, I approached him and asked what was going on. It turns out that all this time, the kids have been teasing him for his lisp, and now that he has almost the main role, the teasing has become… he says he can’t cope with it. The poor wretch is already embarrassed and then on top of that he hears from the other kids stuff like ‘How on earth do you mean to perform when you lisp so badly!’”

“Is that a direct quote? Who from?”

“I don’t know who. I only understand every other word from Olezhka and then he was sobbing as well, I couldn’t make out half of it. To the point, Volod, I’ve thought about it, and it’s true, he really does pronounce all these words badly, like ‘partisans’, ‘battle’[4] and so on…”

“A lisper in the main role…” repeated Volodya moodily. “Of course, it’s not the main role, there’s just a lot of lines… But he asked for it himself and I thought, on the contrary, that it would give him self-confidence. We need to come up with something, but we can’t take the role away from him, Olezhka would get so upset, so we should try, uh… Got any ideas?”

“I do, that’s what I wanted to talk about! What about, before he learns all the words, we rewrite his script so that words with the letter ‘r’ are as few as possible?”

And they began their rewrite, swapping words with ‘r’ for synonyms. The work was not much, but it turned out to be so complicated for them that over just one day they had not got very far at all, and they understood that they would need more time. Then, Volodya asked Yurka whether he would not mind if he tried to get him out of quiet hours, but on one condition – that during these times, Yurka would not move even one step away from Volodya.

Yurka was so delighted that he jumped up on the carousel:

“Of course! Of course I want to!”

Not only would he no longer spend two hours wandering around the place, not knowing what to entertain himself with, but this time would be just him and Volodya, privately! Why would he even ask – the answer was obvious. But his joy was quickly extinguished as he recalled Olga Leonidovna’s stern voice and her reprimands: “A child must always be occupied with something, and a counsellor must always know where and what he’s doing.” But his counsellor was Ira, not Volodya. Yurka wilted. Giving the blockhead Yurka leave to get out of quiet hour? As if! It was completely impossible, why would Volodya tease him with it?

“We don’t have much script to go through,” Volodya was thinking aloud the whole while, “but it is very complex and responsible, an important role on the whole. There’s no time at all for an imaginative reworking, we need to hand it in to him as quickly as possible! Think about it yourself, how many hours do we need? Six to eight as a guess, but where to take them from? Not from rehearsal times, nor from my work time with the fifth troop either.”

“Yes but a script is a script. Even if they give the go-ahead on the rewrite, giving me leave to go is another story entirely,” Yurka soured completely.

“I shall reveal what to you is probably a secret, but in our camp, there are children who are let free during quiet hour. An incredible business. In my camp no-one was ever let free, but, clearly, times are changing. The, you were given to me not as an actor, but as a helper, and here, help really is needed now. They can’t bar you from competitions, communal work or the disco, they also can’t stop you from writing during rehearsal – I need you.”

“I feel like, all the same, it won’t work out.”

“I’ll have a little chat with the older counsellor, and ask Lena to support me; she works with me, she sees and knows everything,” Volodya, of course, noticed the shift in his mood and patted him cheerfully on the shoulder. “It can’t hurt to try. We’ll see what kind of diplomat I am.”

By the next morning, at the staff meeting, Volodya asked Olga Leonidovna for permission to take Yurka out of quiet hour. But getting it turned out to be oh so complicated.

Later in the day, as he walked towards the playground after lights out, Volodya, accustomed to speaking quietly beneath the windows of the fifth troop, almost shouted:

“Picture it, Yur, for a half hour this question was discussed by the whole staff of counsellors, I just barely persuaded them. Olga Leonidovna did not agree right away, but it was actually clear that she wasn’t particularly against it – when she’s against something, thunder rolls across a clear sky – but she asked for an opinion from the elder counsellor, and from the rest as a formality. They nodded, they also agreed, and it’s not surprising – is it not all the same to them, who helps me rewrite the script” At that point, Irina jumped in with some rubbish about how, on the contrary, public speaking will benefit Olezhka, supposedly it will prompt him to try harder with the speech therapist, she says! I almost fell out my chair – it’s rubbish and rubbish is dangerous for Olezhka! And she very well may actually think that and go on worrying about it, but it’s not like that. She’s throwing a spanner in the works!”

Up until then, Volodya had not been able to make peace with her. He had tried to apologise several times, but Ira, would put an end to the conversation without letting him say his piece. Volodya was confused and more than once confessed sadly to Yurka that this discord with Ira upset him greatly. But at the meeting, no matter what Irina might have said, Olga Leonidovna turned out to be more sympathetic to Olezhka’s problem and gave Volodya permission.

“For real?! I can officially stay up?!” Yurka could not believe it.

They sat at the playground as normal. Yurka kicked along the ground in joy and spun the carousel. The dandelion blossoms had been gliding along the ground up to then, only rarely raising higher than the knee and floating into his nose. Now, disturbed by the wind, they rushed about the air in a mad swarm.

The same time, as though a team, the guys kicked off and stopped. The blossom caught in Yurka’s throat, he fell into a coughing fit and, blinded by the tears welling up, blinked stupidly and began to take a look around and was awestruck by the beauty of the place. It was as though he had seen it for the first time. On the ground, dandelions circled about like broken white umbrellas and lazily settled on the grass. Umbrellas on the ground, and in the sky there also floated umbrellas - not far from the camp was an aerodrome. White aeroplanes flew over Lastochka every day and from them sprung paratroopers, opening their parachutes and descending, as they learnt to land. To watch that was unreally beautiful. And how had Yurka not noticed it earlier?

Having looked around, he understood that everything in this place was beautiful and Volodya was very beautiful. Especially today, now, when he told him this wonderful news and suddenly, gleeful, ruffled and ruddy, bgean to laugh so contagiously that Yurka also began to giggle. He had never seen Volodya so happy. Yurka, most likely, had never himself been so unaccountably happy – they had given him permission to leave quiet hour and that meant that now they could be together for as long as they pleased. And from that time, every free minute, they spent on the script rewrite – it needed to be finished quickly and given to Olezhka to learn.

But something always got in their way. Almost the whole day fell through because of that Yulya from the fifth troop, who desperately wanted to go back to her parents. It was a shame about the time, but Yurka tried to treat her problem with understanding. After all, he himself very much disliked camp on his first season. Yurka truly did not know what he was doing there and why he had been sent there; he thought that he was being punished, and he too had blubbered as he changed his opinion on the camp to the diametric opposite only at the end of the season. But Volodya’s Yulya was struck by such hysteria that it took both counsellors, the pedagogue Olga Leonidovna and a nurse to calm her down. By the evening, Volodya was worn out so badly that Yurka let him go to sleep rather than have their sit-around.

The second lost day was Parents’ Day. It was doubly offensive that it passed by so quickly a confusingly. After all, to tell the truth, Yurka looked forward to it no less than all the other kids. It was like as soon as his mum gave him a hug, the troop concert had already begun. No sooner had they gone walking around the camp than it was lunchtime. No sooner had they played that game where you run through a tunnel formed from two rows of people joining their hands over an aisle than they were being fed again. No sooner had his mum, in a team along with the other mums, got into a Chinese skipping rope competition – adults against girls, than it was time to say goodbye.

It seemed to everybody, adults and children alike, that they hardly managed to exchange two words with their relatives, and Yurka was no exception; he only discussed the theatre. He wanted to share his happiness that he had got to know this wonderful guy Volodya and forged such a strong friendship that he did not now know how he could get through a day without him. His mum would, most likely, be glad at such news – finally her son was coming to his senses and getting along, not with some little punk, but with a proper Komsomolets. But Yurka kept his mouth shut, abashed, not knowing how to properly convey his feelings, or in general how to characterise them.

But what else to talk to his mum about? How the food was filling, but not very tasty? As though she did not know herself what it was like at camp.

Before taking a seat on the bus, his mum gave Yurka a peck on the cheek and cautiously asked:

“Have you made friends with any of the girls yet? I’ve not been acquainted with any of them…”

“There’s Ksyusha, I asked her to danse,” replied Yurka, awkwardly pointing at Zmeyevskaya. He began to feel very uncomfortable. His mum had never spoken with him about girls before.

Towards the evening, it was now him who was burnt out. Yurka, of course, did not go to sleep, but he had neither the desire nor the energy to pore over the script. He and Volodya simply sat on the carousel and rambled on together about everything and nothing.

However, over the course of the time spent together, they had managed to truly befriend one another and sometimes even shared private things. But often they did not ramble and instead laid out the notebook and some paper across a knee, bent over them and began a brainstorm. At least, they tried to begin one.

“So… ‘war’, ‘war’…” Volodya thoughtfully gnawed at his pen, enunciating each sound and almost savouring the ‘r’, “’war-r-r…”

“’Battle’, ‘conflict’,”[5] Yura gave out a couple of synonyms and yawned monstrously.

They sat around for a long time that day. The sun beat down particularly hard; Volodya hid himself in the shade of the bird-cherries growing next to the carousel and would not even stick out his – as Yurka was convinced from time to time – good-looking nose. Yurka himself kept his favourite imported red cap on the whole day. His forehead got sweaty, the strap pressed uncomfortably into the back of his neck, but Yurka stubbornly persisted through the discomfort, afraid that he would sunburnt even in the shade.

Despite the heat, the work went well: in that quiet hour they got more done than in the previous two days put together. But there was a lot left. Yurka was tired, his neck and arms were numb – he had been sitting for half an hour almost without moving. But he did not regret it: this work felt more important for him than some horror stories. Cracking his neck, he stood up from the carousel and began to walk around it, stretching his aching back.

“Yes, ‘battle’, that’s good,” muttered Volodya without taking his gaze away from his notebook. “’With the aggressor’…”

“A battle with the aggressor, with the Nazis, with the adversary… Sounds a bit strange.”

“And they all have an ‘r’ or an ‘s’ sound,” agreed Volodya.

“The occupation!”[6] it dawned upon Yurka. He paused and pointed his finger dramatically upward.

“Precisely!” Volodya looked up from the papers, glasses sparkling, and smiled. “Ah… no, wait. An adjacent sentence has ‘the occupation’, we can’t take it from there.”

“Why not? Come on, let me have a look.” Yura flopped into a seat next to him and snatched up the notebook.

Volodya moved closer to him and tried to take a look at the pages. He reached out with his pen, meaning to use it to point at the text, but Yurka, not thinking, kicked off and the carousel began to rotate. Volodya lost his balance and fell onto Yurka so hard that the hard brim of his red cap painfully jabbed Volodya in the forehead.

The pages slowly fell to the ground and scattered apart on the light breeze. His gaze following them, the counsellor looked down at his feet and blushed.

“Oh,” he whispered. Just as he cast his gaze downwards, Volodya understood that for almost a minute he had been holding Yurka by the knee and he sharply withdrew his hand.

“S-sorry.” Yurka also began to feel uncomfortable for some reason. He coughed, embarrassed, and casually turned the cap backwards.

“How strangely you wear it.” This remark, as well as the airy tone put on by Volodya, sounded silly.

“I don’t wear it like that. Well, that is, I am wearing it like that, but it’s hot today and now I had to, so that you… well so that you don’t bump… well…” he completely faltered and then abruptly changed the subject: “And what, you don’t like it?”

“Not at all, it looks good on you. Your fringe is sticking out so funnily. It’s a cool hat, really! And those jeans you have are cool too, and the polo shirt. I remember, you were dressed amazingly for the disco… that you didn’t go to.”

“Oh yeah, it’s all imported.” Yurka was so proud of himself – he never doubted that his clothes weren’t outstanding.

“Where are you getting this wealth from?”

“I have relatives who live in the GDR, where they bring them from. But this hat here isn’t German, by the way, it’s American.”

“Awesome!” exclaimed Volodya.

Flattered and pleased with himself, Yura started to tell him in detail about the origins of his favourite imported things. True, his jeans were not technically American, but rather Indian, but he was not going to specify that.

“You know, it’s not just the clothes that are rad over there in Germany.”

“Yeah, I know, the technology and the cars as well. Somewhere in a magazine I saw such a cool motorbike!” Volodya’s eyes widened.

“In a magazine… Yeah, they have magazines there like there’ll never be in the USSR.”

“Oh, be for real! I tell him about a motorbike and he’s going on about magazines. We’re not very alike.”

“You just haven’t seen them and don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re so-o-o great!” Yurka conspiratorially raised and lowered his eyebrows.

“What then, huh?”

“I won’t say.”

“Yura! What’s with the preschool antics? Say it.”

“Ok, alright, I’ll say, but it’s a secret, alright?”

“Komsomolets’s honour.”

Yurka narrowed his eyes at him:

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“In spring, my uncle came to stay with us and brought some stuff: clothes, naturally, make-up for my mum, something for my dad and magazines. Well, normal magazines, only they were in German, with clothes and household stuff. So it went. In the evening, I was sent off to sleep, while they stayed in the kitchen. Mum left soon after, and my uncle stayed together with my father. My room, as it happens, is close to the kitchen, you can hear conversations there very well… And by that point they were, ah, hammered, and they began to talk really loudly, so that I could make out every word. I just lay there, listening. It turned out that my uncle also brought my dad some magazines, just, ahem… of another kind. And then, when I was home alone, I found these magazines.”

“What was written in them? Something anti-Soviet? In that case, it’s dangerous to keep magazines like that at home.”

“Not at all! I don’t yet know German well enough to read fluently. Besides, there wasn’t any text, just pictures. Photographs.” Yurka leaned in so close to Volodya that his lips almost touched his ear and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Of women!”

“A-a-ah… Um… Well yea, I know that such magazines exist…” Volodya withdrew an arm’s length away from Yurka, but Yurka practically nestled up to him and spoke hoarsely right into his ear:

“They were with men… You know, with men! They were–”

“Yur, don’t, I understand,” Volodya moved away again.

“Just picture it!” pronounced Yurka in a rapturous whisper.

“I can picture it. Can we change the topic? This isn’t appropriate for pioneer camp.”

“Surely it interests you?” Yurka was thrown into confusion.

“I’d be lying if I said it was of no interest at all, but… it’s not for nothing that it’s banned, it’s very, very indecent!” Volodya stood up and walked a couple of steps away.

“Listen, there was something I didn’t understand there, Volod.” Yurka became animated again. “I saw something unusual… Hey, you’re older and must know. I just want to know whether that stuff there really was photographed or whether it’s, I don’t know, some kind of drawing–”

“Yur,” Volodya darted up to him and whispered in his ear, “it’s called ‘pornography’. You’re at camp, I’m a counsellor, and the counsellor has told you that you must not look at that stuff, it’s a depravity!”

“So you don’t look at it and I don’t look at it, I just wanted to tell you what was there. Explain, is it just not right, or impossible, or is it maybe not real?”

“For crying out loud, Yura!”

“Hey, Volod… are you my friend or what?”

“Your friend, of course,” Volodya blushed and turned away.

“Then tell me… There’s how it normally is – that’s all clear.” Yurka began to ramble anxiously. “But a few of the photographs there showed him– with her– not there, but– you know, in that place– you know, what you sit on!”

“A chair?” Volodya might have been joking but his face was not merely serious, but angry.

“Quit it! I just want to know, is that possible to do or not?”

“’Quit it’?” Volodya venomously mimicked him. “Yura, you’ve crossed the line. That’s all, we’re changing the topic! Another word and I’ll leave and Olezhka will have to ‘entew into waw with the aggwethor’, and I’ll tell him it’s all because of you!”

The conversation was cut off by a klaxon, signifying that quiet hour had ended.

“You need to go anyway…” mumbled Yurka resentfully.

***

At the afternoon snack, as he half-listened to the excited gossiping about the upcoming game of capture the flag, Yurka was focussed on just one thing – regretting how he had asked Volodya about that. Volodya would not even look in his direction and if his gaze fell by chance on Yurka’s corner of the canteen, the counsellor’s facial expression alternated from serious to repulsed. Or was Yurka imagining it? Everything seemed to be something imaginary to him – for example, that he and Volodya had become real, truly close friends. But now, his reaction, the ice in his normally warm voice proved that between them might be whatever they pleased, only not friendship. A strange sorrow gripped Yurka. They did not even seem to be fighting. So they had an argument, what nonsense. It was nonsense, but now Yurka felt hurt and ashamed.

Sad and lost in thought, he headed to rehearsal, stoking the cinders of his shame along the way: It’s my fault. What an idiot I was! Asking a Komsomolets those kinds of questions. And not just any Komsomolets, but one as sheltered as him. And what for? It would have been better to ask the kids from the street. Maybe they would have laughed too, but they would also have found it interesting! Even if Yurka had spoken about that, in the first place, it was a very personal topic, which meant he had shared something personal with Volodya, or, more accurately, tried to share. What did he, Konev, a regular blockhead who hung out with any old hooligans, have to do with an elite like Volodya? And now he pushed him away and shamed him, and then, just to make sure, hit him with that look. He was not aiming for it but struck upon it; Yurka trembled.

He recollected all this and stopped halfway: Why did I ask him about that in particular? What for? So that he’d roll his eyes or so that he’d explain? And he even says he’s my friend! Uh-huh, as if! A liar, he is, not a friend! Friends don’t like that!

In the open area by the stage, it was busy as always. Girls from the second troop were drawing some kind of map on the asphalt with chalk, while the big-eared Alyoshka Matveyev hung around them, giving them some advice and slipping them chalks.

“What’s that you’re making?” Yurka hailed him.

“What do you mean? We’re preparing for capture the flag. Look, we’re drawing a map for the main headquarters. Olka had this great idea – in the main headquarters will be our intelligence operation, and we’ll mark on the map what we find out about where each troop is.”

“The disco is tonight; the map will get rubbed out under everyone’s feet.”

“It’s nothing, tomorrow we’ll just go over it in outline. It’s faster doing it like that than starting from nothing,” rambled Alyoshka. “Don’t you want to join our intelligence gatherers?”

“No, I don’t.”

As soon as Yurka turned away and took a couple of steps towards the theatre, Alyoshka suddenly appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Konev, give it a think.”

“Alyosh, no-one in the main headquarters will take me, I’ll be with my own people. Now let me– go, mind your own business…”

“Why wouldn’t they take you? They’ll take you, if you ask. Aks them, Yur! You have such long legs, you run so fast…”

Alyoshka obstinately minced along behind him, intending to either trip him up or grab him by the elbow. Out of breath, stamping and wheezing, he was in general trying to draw attention to himself by any means possible.

“Alyosha, you’re too much!” groaned Yurka. “Alright, I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah? And what else?”

“Give me some chalk.”

“Here,” Alyoshka offered him the box and Yurka took one.

“Thank you. I won’t go. I’ll be with my own people.”

“Then why the chalk?”

“I don’t have much calcium in my system, I’m going to eat it. Oh, they’re calling you, do you hear?”

“Yeah? Who? Oh, Olya. Well, I’ll be off, and you’ll give it some more thought.”

Could he have been mistaken to refuse the intelligence gatherers? If he were running around the field the next day, he might find a way of staying with Volodka. After all, he would be nervous that some plump little Sashka would slip into a ditch and break his arms, legs, and the ditch itself. Of course, the second counsellor would not leave Volodya alone, but it was perfectly accurate that he would also need Yurka, perfectly accurate, perfectly!

I don’t need him! protested Yurka’s pride. You run around fussing like Alyoshka, and it’s all the same to him. I didn’t try with those stupid horror stories and with the theatre for myself, and he just grouses and lectures. That does it! I’m not going anywhere any more. Not a-ny-where! Rehearsal least of all. He shouldn’t have glared like that, let him deal with his own stupid play himself, I’m not going anywhere! and he did not go. He turned around on the porch and stomped back through the dancefloor to the tennis courts, where according to the timetable, the first troop was getting ready to play.

There were all of two courts, plus tables for table-tennis. The first troop, headed by Ira Petrovna, was present in almost its full capacity – apart from Masha and the PUK girls. Some were playing badminton, some were rooting for them and some were simply hanging out in the chain-link box of the court. Yurka loved to lean back on the fence, rocking about the wire rhombi and watch the others play. But that day he did not plan to cheer others on, he was planning to beat everyone and take out his anger on the shuttlecocks.

Having spotted him from far off, Vanka and Mikha waved in synchronisation, inviting him to join their team. Yurka was a top player, while those two could neither play nor fight back properly; only those who liked losing joined their team. Yurka was not one of them, but he did not ask the other kids if he could join them, he silent grabbed a racquet and served. The shuttlecock flew over to his opponents and struck Ira Petrovna on the forehead.

“Sorry!” cried out Yurka.

Expecting Ira Petrovna to start having a go at him, he cautiously made another, ‘clean’ serve, but the counsellor cheerfully winked and turned away.

After that scene in Volodya’s room, Ira had been avoiding Yurka, and when they happened to be doing something together, she became quieter than water and lower than grass. Yurka, naturally, was not going to tell anybody about what he had seen, but, judging by her angelic behaviour, Ira thought that he was capable of chicanery and blackmail.

Yurka sulked to himself, Who does she take me for? but he gave no audible hint of this. Ultimately, this state of affairs suited him: the counsellor had stopped baselessly making him out to be a culprit and a scapegoat, and in all, a fragile and awkward peace, but peace all the same, had been established between Yurka and Ira Petrovna. The same could not be said for her relationship with Volodya.

No sooner had Yurka remembered that that into his imagination burst and blossomed in all its colour that repulsive scene at the theatre – Ira’s white face, shaking hands, tears of rage in her eyes and Volodya glaring angrily opposite. Oh, Ira Petrovna won’t forgive him, not something like that… sympathised Yurka and spat right there with annoyance – again he was thinking about Volodya!

Volodya was everywhere, even where he could not be. At that moment he was definitely occupied with the actors in the theatre, but it seemed to Yurka as though he caught a glimpse of his figure over in those bushes.

Ira continued. Yurka waved his racquet around, not to return the shuttlecock, but as though chopping the sunbeams up into pieces. The beams remained safe and sound, but Yurka, sweaty and dishevelled, satisfactorily killed the midges.

Their team kept score. For almost the whole game, Vanka and Mikha stood on the spot, while Yurka jumped around like a madman, and before sending the shuttlecock off on its game-winning volley – perhaps into Ira Petrovna’s forehead again – he turned and once again saw Volodya amongst the bushes.

This time it really was him. Pensive, with a timid smile upon his lips, Volodya drew up to the cage around the court, but, stopping a meter away from the entrance, did not decide to go in. Instead, stepping up behind Yurka, he stopped by the wire mesh and put his fingers in between the metal rhombi.

“Yur, why didn’t you come?” he asked quietly, but Yurka caught it.

Without looking, he sent the shuttlecock back and pressed up close to the cage and looked Volodya in the eye with a challenge.

“It’s not like I have a role anyway, what would I do there?”

“What do you mean, what would you do?” Volodya looked at him sadly, but, after shaking his head, gathered himself and explained in his accustomed ‘counsellor’ tone, “Olga Leonidovna gave an order – whether you have a role or not, you have to come to each rehearsal. You help me and I put in a good report for you.”

“Go and give a report, what does that have to do with me?”

“Do you want to go home already? They’ll kick you out in the blink of an eye, you know.”

“Kick me out for what? I’m playing with my troop and, by the way, with my counsellor. Ira Petrovna’s got my back.”

Whilst waiting for a response that didn’t come, Yurka tapped on the toe of his tennis shoe with his racquet, looked off to the sides and stomped over to the bench to take a glass of boiled water. Volodya headed after him.

“You’re upset with me,” he guessed and lowered his gaze guiltily.

“As if!” snorted Yurka. “I’m not upset. I just understand that with you I can talk about far from anything.”

“That’s not true! Say what you want!”

“Uh-huh, of course,” Yurka turned around and started to drink his water.

“Oh, what’s with you? I… you know what, Yur?” Volodya pensively laid a palm against the wire, which quietly rattled. “I’ve also seen those kinds of magazines.”

“Oh yeah? Where did you get them?” Yurka turned back around and stared unconvincedly at him.

“I study at MGIMO,[7] there’s guys there whose parents are diplomats, sometimes they manage to get a hold of–”

“Where?!” Yurka practically shouted. “AT MGIMO?!”

“Yes. Only, I’m begging you: not a word about the magazine to anybody! Yura, this is very serious. If even the single stupidest rumour about such a thing comes out, I’ll be booted out.”

“Come off it, there’s no way!”

“There very much is a way. A classmate who was carrying that magazine around with him fell victim to it. He was expelled within a month.”

“But if it’s so easy to get kicked out, how did you get in? Are you a cheater, huh?”

“As if! You think you couldn’t do it yourself?”

“It’s not something on my mind, breaking in there is almost impossible: the competition is large, and it’s enough pain as it is having to be ‘ideological’. There’s the approvals you need to gather: from the Komsomol council at school, from the Komsomol district committee, from the district committee for the Party, you need to go to all the interviews…”

Volodya nodded as he listened, while Yurka continued to enumerate, ticking off on his fingers, how much he would need to do, where he would need to be a member, how many times and in which ways he would need to participate, where he would need to go. He suddenly stopped short – who, besides Volodya, could get in there?”

“Well… To be honest, I only got in by the skin of my teeth,” he smiled modestly, once Yurka deigned to finish. “The medical board turned me down, get this, because of my sight. I argued with them – the military commissariat accepted me, I’m good enough for the army, but here you won’t take me on to study? Really, the story is quite long and uninteresting.”

“And how is it – studying there, is it hard?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s easy, the main thing is that it’s interesting. Almost every day I drop by the guys in the dorm, they organise such fun gatherings.”

“Do you all drink tea?” Yurka recalled Volodya’s outrage and frowned.

“There’s everything at these gatherings,” replied Volodya, whispering.

“Including depravity?” Yurka squinted.

“How dare you, we’re Komsomoltsy!” Volodya gave a stern look but immediately smiled, “Okay, alright, I’m joking. There’s everything: Préférence,[8] girls, port wine, uncensored literature.”

“Hang on, port? You have alcohol as well?” Yurka whispered now too. “Where do you get it? When my neighbour got married, they couldn’t even get a bottle of vodka for the wedding, they drank spirits that my dad stole from work.”

“It’s me that calls it port,” Volodya began to explain. “My coursemate brings it. He lives in a village in the oblast and they distil an outstanding moonshine there. For some, the taste reminds them of cognac, for me, it’s port. This prohibition can’t end soon enough. It’s scary for Mishka, he’s putting everything on the line.”

During this dialogue, Yurka’s offense disappeared. He forgot about it so quickly that it was as though neither it, nor the discord, nor even the cause of their arguing had never happened. It was like they, candid as always, were now talking about the same things as always, and at the same behaved and looked as they usually did: Yurka was unkempt and enraptured, Volodya was tidy and a bit haughty. There was only one difference: the fence, almost as tall as the sky, drawn up between them.

“Shall we go to the rehearsal, Yur? Afterwards, I’ll tell you anything you want,” suggested Volodya. His face lit up and the furrows in his forehead smoothened out. “Just let Irina know you’re going with me.”

Yurka nodded. He ran over to Ira, excused himself while giving the side-eye to the gym instructor hanging around nearby, placed his racquet on the bench and exited the court.

“Does this mean you abandoned everyone there to come look for me?” he inquired when they turned off from the main plaza towards the dance floor.

“I left Masha in charge of the main stuff. She’s of course great, but she won’t be able to do the rehearsal, and we need to work really hard today. There won’t be any activities tomorrow.”

“Right. It’s capture the flag tomorrow,” Yurka was upset. After all, that meant that today, because of the preparations for the game, they would not get to be together, just the two of them: after rehearsals, Yurka would be occupied with sewing his shoulder strap[9] and in the evening, an inspection of the first troop’s formation and songs was planned. The next day, all the staff and children of the camp would be wholly and entirely swallowed up from early morning until well into the night by the vast game. Nevertheless, Yurka was mistaken not to go be an intelligence gatherer in the headquarters.

[1] Karlsson-on-the-Roof, a children’s book character invented by Astrid Lindgren, the author of the Pippi Longstocking books, who has a propeller on his back that lets him fly.

[2] Valery Chkalov, 2.2.1904–15.12.1938, a famous pilot, somewhat similar to Amelia Earhart, whose most famous feat was a non-stop, 63-hour and 5475-mile long flight from Moscow to Vancouver via the North Pole in 1937. He died in a plane crash the next year.

[3] I believe this is a reference to grades; in the Soviet Union and Russia, students are graded by numbers rather than letters, with 5 being the best and 1 being the worst – I would need to check how many subjects a student Volodya’s age would be expected to have grades in, but I imagine a sum score of 25 is equivalent to straight-As. That said, I’m also not sure that all of a student’s grades get “summed up” in this way, but if he’s not talking about grades, then I have no idea.

[4] In Russian, bor’ba

[5] In the original Russian, Volodya is reflecting on the word bor’ba ‘struggle, conflict, combat’ and Yura suggests boj ‘fighting’ or bitva ‘battle’

[6] This time, the word in contention is vrag ‘enemy’, for which Yurka suggests nedrug ‘foe’, neprijatel’ ‘adversary’ and finally, zakhvatchik ‘invader’

[7] Moskovskij Gosudarstvennyj Institut Meždunarodnyj Otnošenij ‘Moscow State Institute of International Relations’, the most prestigious university in Russia for studying politics.

[8] An apparently very complicated card game popular in Russia

[9] Capture the flag was a more intense game at pioneer camp, called Zarnitsa ‘Heat lightning’, where everyone would wear two shoulder straps, which represented a kind of health bar for each player.

#лето в пионерском галстуке #my translations #lgbt #ya #russian #translation

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